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threadbaresweater · 1 year

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The Feeling is Mutual

@drunkenlion asked: Hii! Can I please get NSFW headcanons or a drabble with subby Gojo and orgasm denial/teasing/light degradation from female reader. Thank you very much 💖💖

So, this isn't exactly what you asked for, but I kind of had an idea and just went for it. I hope you like it anyway! Thanks for the request! The details: 1.5k words; mutual masturbation, established relationship, Gojo listens like a good boy (for once), some mutual teasing, cum eating. NSFW. This might be the filthiest thing I've written in a while. I am also learning that I tend to take requests as suggestions...

“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally waking up.”

Perched at the foot of your bed, you giggle to yourself as Satoru stretches his long arms above his head, legs shifting beneath the sheets. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but his grin is laden with the dregs of sleep, and there’s a little dried patch of drool at the corner of his mouth. You wiggle your hips a little and prod his shin, eager for him to fully wake up.

Fresh from the shower, your skin still glistening with subtle moisture, you’re not wearing a thing. Legs tucked beneath you, nipples hardened in the light breeze that blows through the half open window of your bedroom, you know exactly what’s going to happen when he sees you. Satoru craves tactile stimulation when it comes to your body. He sees, he covets, he touches. He has loved every part of you over and over again, and he takes advantage of every opportunity you afford him to do so.

What he doesn’t know, however, is that this morning… you’re not going to let him.

“Hey, baby,” he drawls, slow and sleepy, toes beneath the sheets poking at your knee. You grab hold of his foot and shift away from him a few inches, just out of reach. He’s long, though. He’s long and he’s lean, and you’ll have to move away from the bed completely if you want this to work to your advantage. He opens his eyes, then widens them ever so slightly when he sees you sitting so pretty. “Whatcha doing over there?” He reaches a hand out to you and you lean away with a smirk.

It’s too tempting here. Too dangerous. So you make a show of slinking off the bed and over to the armchair in the corner, sinking low into the cushion and opening your legs just enough to entice him. Oh, he’s awake now, and when he sits up and begins to peel the covers back, you stop him with a lift of your index finger. “Stay,” you command– quiet and calm, with an edge of saccharine danger.

Satoru pouts. That luscious bottom lip pokes out at least an inch, and when he moves again to try and close the distance between you, you raise your palm. “Ah-ah! I said stay.”

“You’re not being very nice. I just woke up,” he says, fisting the sheet around his cock. He’s rock hard– of course he is, it’s morning– and desperate to ease the ache. “Help me?”

“Mmmm…” You press a finger to your cheek and twist your lip as if weighing his request, then slip that same finger between your lips, watching the way his mouth forms around his low, rumbling moan. “I think…I’ll help myself first.”

He stammers, and he slips his hand under the sheet now, under his boxers, thumb running over the tip of his cock before he takes the full weight of it in his palm. “Yeah? Two can play at that game, baby. And I’m gonna win.”

It’s a dangerous game, one you’re confident you’ll win. “Yeah?” you ask, breath hitching as you open your legs a little further, dipping a finger just past your folds. “Wanna bet?”

Satoru figures he wins either way, though. He gets off, and he gets to watch you pleasure yourself. Of course, he’d rather have your mouth on his cock than his own hand; he’d also rather have his face buried between your thighs, but with a front row seat to your own undoing, he can’t complain too much.

You shift your posture so you're sunk low into the chair and widen your legs a little further. You're so wet that it would be embarrassing if you weren't trying to murder him. One lazy finger disappears inside, pushing just past your opening, and you let your eyes drift shut for just a second. There's a warmth in your belly that demands attention, and a rush of pleasure that tingles down your spine. It's your body– you know it well. Better than Satoru.

He knows it, but he would never admit defeat. He watches you through a haze of lust and wonder, palm gliding up and down his length as if he's in no hurry at all. He's confident you'll be begging for him in no time.

"You need me, don't you? You wanna ride my face. You wanna–"

"Shut up," you hiss. But there's a lilt in your voice, a little giggle that bubbles up from your throat because you know him. You know he’s dying to feel you. You raise your free hand to tweak one of your nipples, twisting as you open your eyes to watch him, your pupils blown, breathing a little ragged.

Satoru grunts softly, propped up on pillows, crystalline eyes focused on the show between your thighs. You see the slow motion of his hand beneath the sheets, salivating at the thought of sucking him off, of watching him come undone. There’s something better at stake, though; the satisfaction of bringing yourself pleasure while he watches, wanton and helpless. “You look good enough to eat,” he slurs, tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Your pussy throbs, slick and swollen, so you slip your finger further inside, head lolling against the back of the chair.

“You would, too,” he counters, cheeks now dusted pink. He’s awake. He’s aware. He wants you.

“Mmm… I think I might like this better,” you say. It’s not exactly a lie. There’s something about bringing yourself to orgasm that feels empowering. Satoru is a skilled lover– generous, abiding, always down to try new things. He’s never left you disappointed. Then again, neither have you. With a quiet, breathy moan, you slip your fingers into your mouth and make a show of licking them clean before spreading yourself open, pushing two fingers inside with more force than you’ve used yet this morning. Your hips twitch, your breath catches, and your boyfriend huffs a laugh.

“So dirty,” he says, though he’s gobbling up every little thing you give to him. A quick glance tells you that he’s pumping himself faster now, and you bite your lip.

“Move the blanket,” you say. “Wanna see it.”

He quirks a brow, and you notice the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Yeah? Ask nicely.”

“Move. The. Blanket. Now.” You won’t let him turn the tables on you. You’re in charge here, and you intend to keep it that way, though it’s getting more and more difficult to keep your composure.

Satoru’s eyes widen, but his grin remains in place as he peels the sheet and quilt away; you’re rewarded instantly, the sight of his cock in his hand making your legs tremble. Of course, you’re close, too. You tell him so. “Gonna cum, ‘Toru. Watch.”

“Show me, baby.”

“Feels so good,” you whine, bracing yourself against the chair. Eyes shut, chin tucked against your shoulder, you show him. You stroke yourself in the way that only you can, able to control that wave of pleasure– to savor it, to stretch it out as long as possible until you’re falling over the edge, fingers working furiously against the puffy skin, slick and shining with your release. It’s a good one, too, made much more satisfying by the way Satoru watches you. Your moans are loud and over the top, laced with curses, with his name, broken as it’s formed on your tongue; it’s music to his ears.

He isn’t far behind you, and as you’re coming down from your self-induced high, you open your eyes just in time to watch the thick, white fluid seep through his fingers, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to catch his breath. Satoru is quiet when he comes, eyes closed as he allows himself to succumb to the sensation of weightlessness. His head feels light, his limbs heavy. You watch him, fascinated. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, even when he’s falling apart. Especially when he’s falling apart.

“C’mere,” he says, his voice husky as he pats the space next to him.

You go to him. He tucks himself against your chest and wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your breasts. You ask if he’s satisfied, then kiss the crown of his head.

“Not yet.”

Before you can ask why, he’s ducking under the blankets. His breath is hot on your thighs, and when he cups the back of your knees and opens you to him, you know you won’t be getting out of bed until he’s had his fill of you.

#satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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aurborsau · 7 months

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One shot based off this comment:

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Word count: 5,472

Paring: Terry silver/Daniel LaRusso

Warnings: rape/non con, underaged, drug use

Rating: explicit

Daniel woke up in the middle of the night to Terry's frame pressed hard against his back. He tried to shift his weight only to be unconsciously pulled closer by a hand on his waist. He contemplated waking Terry up, but he couldn't bring himself to speak up. instead, Daniel reached out tentatively, intending to remove Terry's arm from its place on his hip. However something stirred within him. He felt himself grow hard in his shorts, craving the man’s touch.

“Terry.” He whispered quietly, testing to see if he was awake. When he didn’t respond, Daniel hesitantly ghosted over his thick arm hair, reaching behind his hand to interlock their digits, softy as to not wake him. Pulling Terrys arm further up his chest, he backed into Terry’s warm body as close as he could. That’s when he felt it: pressing against his ass was something unmistakably long and hard between a thin layer of boxers. He freaked out and ran to the bathroom.

“Fuck," he muttered under his breath, placing a hand on the counter to steady himself. His mind raced with confusion and arousal. He leaned against the sink, hoping his hard on would disappear. He couldn’t help but wonder if Terry’s arousal was for him, but quickly brushed it off as “morning wood.” There was no way a man like Terry would want him anyway.

Daniel sighed softly, trying to calm his racing heart. He knew the growing budge in his pants wouldn't disappear, not with all the thoughts and feelings swirling around him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, taking himself in his hand. He desperately tried not to think of the man asleep in the other room but it was no use. All he could think about was how it felt to have Terry's hand on his hip, how his skin tingled with desire. his body betraying him at every turn.

He came quickly onto the porcelain floor beneath him. He expected to feel dirty and guilty, But he didn't. Instead, it was a mix of relief and longing that washed over him. If anything he craved more.

He cleaned up his mess and slipped back into bed, quite as a mouse, making sure to keep a safe distance between himself and Terry.

The next morning, he didn't bring it up, but the tension in the air only seemed to grow thicker. a week later, Terry and his mother started dating. He expected them to break up in a month but was proven wrong when he came home one day to find a flashy engagement ring on his mother’s hand. He was against it at first, resenting Terry for not choosing him — although he would never openly admit that. but once they moved into Terry's house, it became hard to ignore his now stepdad.

Daniel sat in his room listening to music while he did his homework. Terry was still at work while his mother was out spending her husband’s money no doubt.

He found that he couldn't focus on his homework, instead thinking about that night in the hotel. How warm and comforting Terry felt against him. He felt protected by him in a way that wasn't fatherly, but something else entirely. He missed the way he smelled: expensive cologne and cigar smoke filled his mind. He yearned to feel Terry's hands on his body again. It had been so long since they’d hung out, let alone talked. He put away his homework and made his way to his stepfather's room. His mother's things scattered on her side of the room. He slumped down on the California king-size bed, burying his face into his pillow. It smelled too much of his mother's rose-scented shampoo, so he pulled away in disgust. Laying flat on the bed, he looked over to the big walk-in closet on Terry's side, calling to him.

He opened the doors to reveal an array of clothes, shoes, jewelry, hats, all carefully organized and displayed. As he walked, he brushed his fingers over the many sleeves that hung on the rack. He pulled out a dark brown trench coat and a top hat buried deep in the closet.

Daniel checked the alarm clock on the side table. Terry won't be home for another couple of hours. He took this as an opportunity and took down the coat from the rack, walking out to lay it on the bed ever so carefully as to leave no trace of him being here. He slipped the jacket over his shoulders. It was hugely oversized, but it felt like a warm embrace. He brought the collar up to his nose and reveled in the smell of his stepdad.

He spotted a little wooden box on the dresser containing cigars, which Terry indulged in every night. Carefully, he opened the box and pulled one of the many cigars, holding it up to his nose the way Terry did before he lit it. Holding it in his teeth, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The jacket hung low to his feet as he held the cigar in his mouth. It needed something... shiny.

Going back into the closet, he opened the jewelry case and pulled out a silver chain and a Rolex, putting them on. He went back to the mirror, admiring himself.

"Margret, get me the phone," he mimicked Terry's voice and command in the mirror, holding the cigar in his mouth.

A soft chuckle echoed through the room as Daniel mimicked his stepdad's voice.

“I don’t sound like that you know?” Terry entered the room. Daniel jumped and dropped the cigar, letting out a little yelp as he was startled. He quickly regained his composure, smiling sheepishly at his stepdad. “I thought you were at work.” He panicked.

“Ive been so busy lately, I missed you. So I came home early, thought I’d take you out. But it looks like you’ve been making your own fun without me.” he leaned against the doorway.

Daniel picked the cigar up from the floor, then looked back to Terry. "I got bored without you here. I just wanted to have a bit of fun before you came home." Daniel smirked, trying to play it off casually. He put the cigar back in the box and started to unclasp the watch. “no, keep it on.” He moves closer, towering over his small frame.

Daniel looked up at him, his heart racing as Terry towered over him. "Why?" He asked, his voice slightly shaky. This close, he could feel the heat from Terry’s body, and it sent shivers down his spine.

“I like this look on you Danny-boy.” He carefully sit down the bed. admiring his stepson. His heart pounded in his chest as Terry's deep voice echoed through the room. “It’s huge on me.” he looked himself up and down as he felt Terry’s eyes on him.

Terry chuckles softly, his eyes darkening slightly. “Well, maybe I can find you something that fits a bit better. What do you think?”

“What do you have in mind?” Daniel inquired.

Terry gets up to start unbuttoning his shirt. Daniel’s eyes widen in shock. “You’re… taking your shirt off?” he backs away. Terry grins wickedly, his fingers expertly sliding the shirt off his shoulders to reveal his toned body. “Why don’t you try it on.” it was a light lilac silk dress shirt, still two sizes too big.

He eyed him down like a predator to its prey. He holds it out. Daniel takes it from his hands and starts to put on over his T-shirt. Terry stops him.

“No, no. Take it off." He says, his voice low and commanding. His tone leaves no room for argument. Daniel feels himself teetering on the edge of excitement and fear. He slowly pulls his T-shirt over his head, leaving himself on display for the man sitting on the bed.

“Danny, look at me." He commands, his voice firm yet gentle. Terry's eyes travel up his body, taking in every inch of his skin, as he watches Daniel slowly lift his shirt over his head. His heart pounded as he met Terry's gaze, his chest heaving slightly with anticipation. Terry got up from the bed to reach behind him pulling out the cigar he dropped on the floor from the box.

“it looks good on you.” he slumps back down on the bed. Lighting up a cigar. “keep it.”

Daniel feels the warmth from the cigar as Terry blows out the smoke. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “I can’t possibly.” He glanced down at the floor, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with his step dad.

Danny, it's just a shirt." He says, taking a drag from his cigar. "Besides, I like seeing you in my clothes. you can wear it to bed if anything.” Daniel nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. He brings the collar of the shirt to his nose finally relishing in Terry’s smell.

Terry gently pats the seat next to him. “Come. Sit with me.” Slowly, Daniel moved closer to him. As he sat down on the edge of the bed, he couldn't shake off the feeling of fear that washed over him.

“Why are you always smoking these things?” Daniel questioned.

Terry chuckled softly, his eyes meeting Daniel’s. "I find it quite relaxing after a stressful day.," he said, taking another puff before blowing out the smoke. Daniel bit his lip before gaining a bit of confidence to ask “can I try?”

Terry’s piercing blue eyes never left Daniel’s. “How would your mother feel If I let you smoke?”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

Terry smiled, his gaze lingering on the teen for a moment before he agreed. “fine. but if I’m letting you smoke, we do it my way.”

“Your way?”

"Yes, Danny. My way," he purred, his voice deep and resonant. He placed his hand on Daniel’s lower back. Evoking a surprised gasp out of him. “You have to get real close.” He obeyed. “Good, now Open your mouth.”

As Terry spoke, he took another drag from his cigar, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Then, he leaned forward slightly, blowing the air into Daniels mouth. “Now, hold it in your mouth. Don’t inhale.”

Daniel keeps eye contact for the first time. Slowly inching closer as he breathes in the smoke. Daniel's heart raced as the warm breath mixed with the smoke filled his lungs. His eyes locked onto Terry's, a mixture of fear and excitement flickering within them. In an instant he pulled away coughing. Terry reached over to brush a strand of hair from Daniel's face, his fingertips grazing the boy's cheek. “I told you not to inhale.” He chided In a coaxing tone, Daniel could just melt into.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better this time.” he was determined to make his stepdad proud. Terry smiled softly, pleased by Daniel's determination. "That's my boy."

Terry brought the cigar to his lips and inhaled once more. He gently grabbed Daniel’s chin and opened his mouth. He leaned in closer this time, lips just barely ghosting over over Daniels.

Daniel closed his eyes softly as he breathed in the smoke from Terry, holding it in his mouth, just as he instructed. The nicotine buzz quick but enjoyable.

"That's it, Danny," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You like that?”

Daniel could only nod, finally opening his eyes. “I want more.”

Terry chuckled softly, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Of course, you do." He moved back, creating some distance between them for a moment. Taking a long drag, he grabbed Daniels face in a tighter grip than before. His lips brushed Daniel’s as he blew the smoke into his mouth.

they did this a couple more times. Daniel could feel the warmth spreading through him, the pleasure mixing with the smoke and making him lightheaded. He was lost in the sensation, his body yearning for more. "Thats it, just feel." Terry praised him. “Do you need to lay down?” Daniel nodded his head. "Alright, Danny," Terry replied with a gentle voice that held an authoritative edge. He placed a hand on the small of his back, gently coaxing Daniel to lay his head on his lap. Brushing away strands of loose hair falling in Daniel’s eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“good. I feel good” he stuttered and closed his eyes as he held himself back from gagging from the taste. “Good," Terry replied, his voice like silk against Daniel's skin.

Daniel closed his eyes, not fully processing everything that was happening in the moment. Terry reached over to his nightstand, unlocking a hidden compartment, revealing a glass pipe filled with water and a few small pieces of hashish. "Do you trust me, Danny?” He was too out of it to ask questions, his eyes peeling open to look up at his stepdad with admiration. “Yeah I trust you.”

Terry smiled at that, seeing the trust in his step son’s eyes. “Now. I want you to inhale on this next one. Can you do that for me Danny?” He nodded as he turned over to lie on his back, his head still in Terry’s lap.

Terry took a moment to prepare the pipe, carefully heating up the hashish and inhaling the drug. He then leaned forward, Daniel instinctively opening his mouth for Terry to blow the smoke into his mouth once again. he was far to gone to complain, or pull away.

Terry watched as Daniel succumbed to the drugs' effects. His body relaxed further into his hold, seeking comfort. Daniel felt the warmth of the smoke fill his lungs, the taste of hashish heavy on his tongue.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he felt the pleasant haze settle over him. His body was heavy, almost floating, and he found himself leaning into Terry's touch. “More.” He silently begged.

Terry chuckled softly, his fingers tracing gently over the delicate skin on his face. He reached for the pipe again, preparing another hit for both of them. He laced his fingers in Daniel’s shaggy hair, holding his limp head in his hands. Blowing another hit of smoke into Daniel's eager mouth, He watched as Daniel's eyes fluttered shut, lost in a pleasurable daze, and felt a rush of power course through him. The boy’s body limp in his hands. Terry could do anything he wanted to his vulnerable stepson. And Daniel would have no choice but to take whatever was given to him.

after three more hits of the hash, Daniel slowly opened his eyes, the room dancing around him. He was lost in a sea of pleasure, with no desire to fight it. His body felt heavy and warm, and he was grateful for the comforting hands that held him in place. "That's it, my sweet boy," Terry purred, his voice thick with lust. He stroked Danny's cheek lovingly, his thumb tracing the outline of his jaw. "Do you want to try something else?” He thumbed at his wet bottom lip. “Something a little more…pleasurable.”

Daniel's eyes flickered open, glazed over with the drug's influence. He looked at Terry, his mind foggy but responsive to the desire in Terry's voice. "Pleasure... more pleasure," he mumbled, his body trembling slightly under Terry's touch.

Terry smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. Before Daniel knew it he was being hoisted up so that his back was flush against Terry’s naked chest. “Your getting hot aren’t you?” at those words, Daniel’s skin was on fire. The clothing stuck to his skin and itched feverishly. He felt like a marionette being controlled by its master. His body shuddered as the intense heat washed over him, making him even more pliant and responsive. He moaned softly, arching into Terry's touch. "off.” he tried desperately to shrug off Terry’s oversized shirt.

Terry complied. unwrapping him like a gift. Tentatively unbuttoning the lavender dress shirt.

As the fabric separated from Daniel’s skin, cool air replaced the scorching heat, causing him to shiver slightly. His senses were heightened, every touch, every breath seemingly electrifying.

Terry chuckled, his breath hot against Daniel's neck. "You're so responsive," he whispered, moving to help him out of the shirt entirely. Terry moved his hand down, tracing the contours of Daniel's chest and abdomen. His touch was feather light, tentative fingers poked his ribs, making Daniel squirm away. “That tickles.” The look of Distress on Daniels face only seemed to fuel Terry’s sadistic desire, poking him in the ribs again.

“You don’t like it when I tease you huh?” Daniel could only moan in protest.

“How do you think I feel? I see you prancing around in those little shorts. Always laying out by the pool. You do it just to tease me. And now I finally get a bite of the forbidden fruit.”

Daniel tried his best to process Terry’s words but his mind was all over the place, every nerve ending set ablaze.

He gasped softly as Terry’s hands pounced on his sides, Daniel groaned, squirming under the man’s touch. "I didn't mean..." he panted, his heart racing. The sensations were overwhelming him, “Come on, admit it.”

“Admit what?” He whimpered.

“Admit that you like the attention. You like showing off your body for me. You like the way I look at you.”

Daniel's breath hitched, his face flushing even more under the torrent of sensations. He couldn't deny the truth in Terry's words, “I like it. Ok, I like it.”

Terry groaned in appreciation. “Good boy.” He stopped the torment on his ribs. “You trust me don’t you?”

Daniel nodded slightly, his eyes closed in anticipation. He trusted Terry, more than he had ever trusted anyone before. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible. This didn’t seem to satisfy the man. “Yes, what?” Daniel remembered back to when they first started training together. Terry would correct him every time he didn’t call the man Sir.

“Yes, Sir.” He sank deeper into the black abyss, surrendering to Terrys voice. Nipping at his earlobe, Terry moved his hand to the button of his jeans, undoing them slowly. Daniel felt the heat from Terry's fingers against his bare skin as he slid down the zipper. A surge of adrenaline suddenly kicked in and he realized just how wrong this whole thing was, his hand shot out to grab Terry’s wrist, trying to pull it away with all the strength he could muster. “Terry, what are-“

"Shh," Terry hissed, “we’re just having a little fun.” He pulled his wrist free from Daniel's grip with ease. "This is what you wanted, remember?" He leaned in close, his breath hot against Daniel's neck as he whispered slowly and deliberately: “At the hotel.” He Left soft kisses on his neck. “You thought I was asleep.” He could almost see the cogs turning in Daniel's head as he processed what he was saying. “And you didn’t deny me.” Terry nipped at his ear lobe, his warm tongue lapping at the skin behind his ear.

The sudden realization hit him. His cheeks flushed an even darker color, thinking back to that night at the hotel. “You… you were awake?" he whispered, his voice thick with desire and confusion. His body still trembled with anticipation, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him this wasn't right.

“I was. I just couldn’t help myself around you anymore.”

Daniel groaned softly as the memories came flooding back. He had wanted this, asked for it even. But now that it was happening, he wasn't sure he could handle it. His heart was racing and his cock was throbbing painfully in his pants. “Tell me you want me. You need me.”

His eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto Terry's as he struggled to respond. "I… I need you.” Daniel whispered, his voice trembling with need. He arched his back slightly, offering himself to Terry's touch.

This was all the incentive Terry needed to push Daniels jeans off fully, pushing them off with his foot and kicking them off the bed. leaving him in his baby blue, plaid boxer shorts.

Daniel’s heart pounded harder against his ribcage as Terry's hands found their way beneath his boxers. His breath hitched, and he bit his lower lip, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation that was rapidly spiraling out of. Terry pushed his boxers down, revealing his throbbing cock to the cool air. He groaned as Terry took him in hand, stroking him slowly and deliberately, spreading the precum around his shaft.

"You're so beautiful. My beautiful little boy.” Terry delicately grabbed his face, turning it to the side to finally connect their lips. Terry's tongue found its way into his mouth, tangling with his own. The taste of him was intoxicating, and Daniel was helpless to resist. He moaned into the kiss, arching his back as Terry's hands continued to stroke his cock, teasing and taunting him with just the right amount of pressure. Terry pulled away, a strand of spit still connecting them together.

As their lips parted, Danny's eyes were heavy-lidded and filled with desire. His chest rose and fell rapidly under Terry's attentive touch. "More," he panted, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "Please.” He didn’t quite know what he was asking for.

“Tell me what you want Danny. Use your words.”

"I... I want you to touch me," Daniel panted, his eyes locked onto Terry's. "Make me feel good." His voice was shaky. “Please sir.” His final plea.

"Good boy. You're so pretty when you beg," Terry purred, “Now open that pretty mouth for me, baby. Nice and wide for Daddy.”

Daniel’s cock twitched slightly at the new, possessive nickname but he did as he was told, opening his mouth obediently.

Thick fingers prodded at his bottom lip, before dipping into its hot center, pressing down on his tongue. “Taste yourself on my hand.” Terry commanded.

Gasping softly, Danny obeyed Terry's command. His tongue darted out to taste his own pre cum on Terry's hand, moaning lightly around it. The salty tang mixing with his own natural flavor only served to fuel his desire for more. Terry groaned at Daniels reaction, pushing his fingers deeper into his throat, Daniel's eyes watered as he gagged on Terry's fingers, instinctively trying to pull away. “Don’t.” Terry warned. He added a second finger, collecting as much spit as he could. Terry's fingers slid deeper into his throat, Daniel tres his best to not gag but it was a futile attempt, his eyes blurry with tears. He gagged and coughed, his body shuddering as he tried to breathe around Terry's fingers. “I can’t. I’m sorry Sir.” He was ashamed to disappoint his step father. “Shh… you’ll get better at that over time, trust me.”

His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment at his current state: eyes red with tears, lips swollen and wet, and he couldn't meet Terry's gaze. "Do it again, I’ll do better this time." He begged. “No Danny, I have something much better planned for you.” Terry said before sliding his spit soaked fingers down his taint and to his tight entrance, prodding at the ring of muscle.

His body tensing up at the unexpected intrusion. “I… I'm not ready.” Terry didn't listen to the boy trembling in his lap, he only continued to force his passage open. "You have to relax for me baby. I know you want this just as much as I do. Just let me in.” Terry’s other hand now hiking Daniel’s thigh up to his chest to get a better angle.

He tried to relax, his hole clenching as he fought against the invasion. Terry prodded two more fingers in. "Sir... it hurts." He whimpered, tears threatening to spill over again. but his weak attempts were easily brushed aside. "It's too much.”

“Shhh… you're doing great baby. Just take deep breaths and try to relax. You know you want this, don't you?” Daniel wasn’t quite sure anymore.

He began to scissor his fingers inside Daniel, stretching him out. The tight heat wrapped around his fingers like velvet. “This won't hurt for long, I promise. Just a little more, then we'll get to the fun part, okay?" Daniel could feel the burning sensation but he knew that it wouldn't last forever. He just had to endure it.

He pulled his fingers out and moved Daniel off his lap, getting up to remove his own pants, a predatory look in his eyes as he grabbed Daniels ankles forcibly and pulling him further down the bed. Daniels eyes widened in surprise at the site of the older man’s cock. He’d seen the outline of it, when Terry brushed against him. But he didn’t expect it to be as big as it was. It curved against his stomach, pre cum leaking at the tip in anticipation.

Terry chuckled darkly at the look of fear on Daniel’s face, his voice low and seductive. "I'm not going to hurt you, Danny," he lied softly.

Daniel swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. "I... I trust you," he managed to say, his voice shaking. He had no choice but to trust him.

Terry nodded, satisfaction settling into his tone. 'Good.' He said softly before guiding Daniel's legs further apart and positioning himself at his entrance.

Daniel's eyes squeezed shut as he felt the head of Terry's cock press against his tight ring of muscle. He could feel every vein and ridge, the heat from Terry's skin searing his own.

"Just relax and let me in.” Terry murmured, his hand splayed possessively on Daniel's stomach.

Daniel bit his lip hard, trying to focus on Terry's words instead of the burning sensation that threatened to consume him. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, tensing his body before finally relaxing. The invasion was sudden and sharp, but he managed not to cry out. Terry groaned and collapsed onto his stepson as he bottomed out fully, kissing his forehead as he caressed his trembling little body. He held him close, like a blanket, trying to snuff out a fire, their sweat-slicked skin melding together as he began to thrust gently inside him. “Your so tight, baby.” He panted sweet nothings in Daniels ear.

Daniel's body tried to reject the intrusion, but he forced himself to stay still. He bit his lip, tears streaming down his face as he felt himself stretching around Terry's massive cock.

Feeling the resistance, Terry leaned down and captured Daniel's lips in a fierce, dominating kiss. His thrusts grew harder, as he claimed what was his. "My sweet Danny. All mine," he groaned into the kiss. his thrusts became more confident and powerful, his cock pistoning in and out of Daniel's tight, virgin hole.

He placed his hand on Daniel’s stomach, Large hands rub at his trembling tummy, feeling the outline of his cock as he thrusted in and out of his vulnerable step son.

He placed Daniel’s own hand on his stomach. “Feel how deep I am.”

Daniel gasped, feeling the thick shaft prodding at his skin beneath his fingers. His eyes widened in shock as he realized how far Terry had been inside.

Suddenly, Terry hit something inside of him, sending a wave of pleasure throughout his body. “What… what was that?” Daniel breathed out.

"That, my love," Terry grunted, his eyes darkening with lust, "was your prostate." He continued thrusting, finding that sweet spot again and again.

Daniel moaned, feeling Terry's cock pressing against his prostate over and over again. It was a sensation like nothing he had ever felt before, something close to pure ecstasy. Their moans filling the room. He was starting to feel lightheaded from the pleasure, his body begging for release.

"Terry... please..." He pleaded, not knowing exactly what he was asking for.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Terry growled, his pace quickening. He knew that Daniel was close, and he wanted to watch the expression on his sweet face when he finally came.

"Touch me." Daniel panted, his eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure intensified. "Please Terry, I’m so close."

With a smirk, Terry reached down and wrapped his hand around Daniel's cock, starting to stroke in time with his thrusts. It was clear that Daniel was close; he could feel the tremors running through the younger boy’s body. As his rhythm picked up, Daniel felt his orgasm building faster and faster. “Cum for me baby. Cum for your daddy.” Daniel’s body tensed and he let out a loud moan as he came, his hot seed shooting onto his stomach and chest. He arched his back slightly, feeling completely spent.

Terry pulled out of the tight hole, a loud squelching noise following suit. He watched with satisfaction as Daniel's sensitive flesh stretched back into its natural shape, only to gape around the ghost of his cock. The sight alone was enough to make Terry cum. He fisted his cock, quickly releasing his seed over Daniel’s heaving chest where his own cum sat cold

He slumped down next to the boy, leaning over to admire his step son, their combined juices glistening on Daniel's skin. "You're so fucking perfect.” his voice rough with desire. He dipped his finger in the white puddle on Daniel’s sweat soaked skin, mixing their combined fluids. He then brought the smeared finger to Daniel's lips, forcing them open gently. "Clean me up," he commanded, his eyes dark.

Daniel parted his lips, taking in the finger covered in their combined fluids. His tongue swirled around the digit, tasting both himself and Terry before sucking softly, He swallowed reflexively, feeling the mixture of their fluids slide down his throat. His heart raced, still not fully believing any of this was real.

Terry leaned over him to lick up the rest of the sweet nectar, tinged with a slightly salty taste from his sweat. He pulled Daniel into a heated kiss, semen still in his mouth.

“God, I love you so much." Terry breathed out, his heart still pounding from the rush of pleasure. He wrapped an arm around Daniel, pulling him close as they lay there, basking in the afterglow of their love making.

Daniel felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over him as he came down from his high. "I... I can't believe we just did that." He admitted, a hint of fear in his voice.

“I know.” He pressed a soft kiss to Daniel's forehead, running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, holding him tightly.

Daniel looked over Terrys shoulder, a picture of him and his mother hung on the wall. He was to busy thinking about Terry to acknowledge the existence of anyone else, he’d completely forgotten about his mother. “Oh god.” He shot up. “Oh god Terry. What did we do.” He started to panic. “Danny, baby. It’s ok”

Terry watched as Daniel's expression shifted from bliss to panic. “No Terry, it’s not ok. I mean what’s my mother gonna think when she finds out that her *‘*baby boy*’* is sleeping with her husband?” Daniel grimaced at the nickname, redefining it in a way that was far from innocent.

Terry moved swiftly, pulling Daniel back into his embrace gently but firmly. "Shh, shh,” he comforted his step son.

"Daniel, look at me," Terry said softly, holding onto him tighter. "Your mother is not here and she doesn't need to know anything about this. This is just between us." He brushed his thumb over Daniel's lower lip. He but his lip nervously. “I feel awful. I mean what kind of son does that to his own mother?” He rambled on.

"Daniel, stop it," Terry said sternly, bringing him back down to earth. “I don’t regret anything we did. You liked it, I know you liked it. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” He held both of his hands in his.

“Really?”

"Really," he reassured, squeezing his hands. "Nothing is going to stop me from taking you again. I promise you that." He brought his hands to his lips. “I love you, Danny.”

He bowed his head, eyes widening at the statement. "You love me?"

"more than anything." Terry said softly, pulling him into a hug. “And I won’t let anybody take you away from me. Not now. Not ever.”

#Terry silvers a creep what’s new #explict #18+ content #daniel larusso #terry silver #silverusso #Daniel LaRusso needs a hug #Silverusso one shot #ralph macchio #cobra kai #karate kid #Youtube

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hashioki7 · 19 days

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If Travis became a cat...

As the title suggests, Travis becomes a cat. It's a slightly longer story than the usual flash fiction of mine.

Travis woke up in the morning and realized that he had turned into a cat. The moment he woke up, he felt something was off. The bed felt strangely wide, and the ceiling seemed unusually far away. His body also felt unusually light. Looking down to see what had happened, Travis saw black fur and fluffy paw pads, and let out a scream, or at least he thought he did. In reality, all that came out of his mouth was a pitiful "meow".

Rushing out of the room, Travis jumped onto the bathroom sink and looked into the mirror. There, staring back at him with insolent yellow eyes, was a round, black cat.

Travis felt despair. But strangely, there was no resistance to accepting the situation. After all, he had witnessed people turning into werewolves for six years. He understood that strange things could happen in the world.

But why me, of all people?

This is really trouble, he thought. Today, Laura was supposed to come to North Kill to meet Travis. Looking at the clock, it was 10:30. She said she would be waiting at the café from 10 o'clock.

"I intend to stay until 2 o'clock. If you don't want to come, you don't have to. But I want to talk to you."

He remembered the message she had sent him. Honestly, Travis didn't really want to see her. Because of Laura's actions during that incident, Travis had lost most of his family. Of course, he had also done terrible things to her. He didn't know how to face her now.

It had been six months since the incident. Travis thought it would be best if they both forgot about it.

But maybe this is rather convenient. After regaining some composure, Travis thought so. She is a veterinary student. And she had even experienced turning into a werewolf. If he could somehow convey his current situation to her, maybe she could come up with a scientific solution to this strange phenomenon.

It was strange that he still had such trust in her after that incident, but Travis didn't have the luxury of thinking about that now. Once he made up his mind, he jumped out of the open window and ran to the café.

Laura was sitting alone at the café's outdoor terrace. There was a cup of hot coffee in front of her, but she hardly touched it. Nervously, she alternated her gaze between her smartphone screen and the people passing by. It was clear she was waiting for someone.

Seeing her looking so helpless, Travis felt a pang in his chest.

"Laura."

He ran to her feet and weakly spoke. But his voice only turned into a meow and dissipated into the air.

Oh no. Travis felt for a moment like he wanted to disappear into the ground.

"Oh, what a cute cat,"

Laura noticed him and gently reached out to tickle him under the chin. Inadvertently, Travis let out a purr again, and he felt dizzy.

No, that's not it.

Travis made the shushing sound that cats make when they're angry. Laura said "hey, stop", but he jumped onto the table in front of her without a care.

"Laura, it's me. It's Travis. I woke up like this this morning. I need your help."

No matter how desperately he pleaded, his voice only turned into the meow of a cat. Laura looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"You're quite friendly"

There's no way that's true.

Travis, feeling exasperated, stopped meowing, realizing how ridiculous it was. Isn't this girl supposed to be aiming to become a veterinarian? How could she be so unable to understand animal feelings? Travis narrowed his yellow eyes and glared at Laura, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on her, an animal lover. For some reason, she smiled and rested her chin on her hands, gazing at him affectionately. Maybe that's it after all. Because now he was just a cute little cat on the outside.

Still, Travis had never imagined her looking at him with such an expression. Such a soft and gentle face. Feeling strangely agitated, Travis licked his paw nervously.

"If you'd like, would you accompany me? I've been waiting for him and got bored."

She started talking on her own, oblivious to Travis's thoughts.

"I've been waiting for an hour. That rotten sheriff is so rude, making a girl wait. I've been messaging him, but he hasn't even read them."

She sighed deeply, furrowing her brows in frustration as she looked down at her smartphone screen.

"He's not coming. What a coward. He's still the worst corrupt sheriff. I was a fool to expect anything from him."

"It's a misunderstanding, I'm right here." As usual, this girl speaks so rudely about him. Travis tried to protest desperately, but all that came out was a threatening hiss.

"Thank you for being angry with me."

That's not what's happening! Does this girl really have the talent to be a veterinarian? Travis wondered, feeling too drained to even muster up anger as he slumped limply onto the table.

"Maybe it was unnecessary after all," In stark contrast, Laura muttered in a subdued voice. Travis, who had been curled up, twitched his ears at her words. Feeling a sense of unease at this change, he lifted his head and found Laura, with a face on the verge of tears, holding her head. Travis's eyes widened in astonishment, and his pupils dilated quickly. However, no matter how surprised he was, all that came out from Travis was a short, indistinct "meow" sound, neither a confirmation nor encouragement in his current feline state.

"I knew deep down that he wouldn't come. …Because of what I did. To him, and his family," she continued. Her shoulders trembling as she let out a deep sigh. Travis finally noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "He did some terrible things to me too… and there are a lot of things I want to tell… but now I understand. He isn't as bad as I thought, and he was trying to protect me," she confessed. Travis straightened up, feeling a sense of awkward. Before he knew it, his gaze was fixed solely on her. "I should have talked to him more. I've been thinking about it for the past six months. So I thought… maybe it's not too late to do that now. I can't undo what's been done… but I still want to talk to him properly. I want to face that together with him," she continued, her expression heavy with sorrow. "But it's none of my business, really. If I were in his shoes… I wouldn't want to see me. I guess I've gone off the rails again," she added. A single tear falling from her lowered eyes.

It was the first time she had shown weakness in front of him. Even when she was imprisoned for two months, when her lover turned into a werewolf and attacked her, and when she killed Silas—she had always been surprisingly strong.

Why is he only realizing this now? Travis cursed his own heart. She was just a girl. She had her own worries and sorrows, just like him.

"Laura."

Even though he wanted to convey that he was here, the voice that came out was just a meow again. But Travis didn't mind. If this voice could comfort her even a little, then that was enough.

As she said, he was a coward. She was sincerely trying to face the consequences of her actions. And yet, he was afraid to face his hatred and guilt towards her. He was trying to pretend it never happened and run away.

—If he had come here yesterday in human form, could he have lightened her burden even a little?

His stomach felt tight. Laura still didn't raise her head. If words couldn't convey it, then he had to convey it through actions. Travis quietly approached her. But here, he hesitated for a moment. Even though he was in the form of a cat, he didn't have the courage to lick her face. After much deliberation, he decided to purr and rub his cheek against her arm.

"Are you comforting me?"

"Ah, I see. You're really talented as a veterinarian." Travis thought.

Although her eyes were still wet, Laura wiped her cheeks and smiled a little more brightly. "Thank you. You're right…it's not like today is my last chance. If I can't meet him, I can come back again until he meets me." That's troublesome, Travis thought, but he decided not to say anything. And then he realized that even if he said something, it would just be in cat language, so she wouldn't understand anyway.

Anyway, there was nothing more he could do at the moment. And feeling terribly tired, Travis suddenly felt sleepy. It would be better to go home and sleep. He didn't know why, but he instinctively felt that way. With one last meow as a farewell, Travis jumped off the table and reluctantly went back home.

The next morning, Travis woke up and breathed a sigh of relief as he held his hand in front of his face. The bed was as usual. There was no sense of discomfort in his line of sight when he got up. Looking into the mirror, he saw the familiar unfriendly face of the sheriff staring back at him. What had happened yesterday. Leaning on the bathroom sink, he thought for a while. But what he was thinking about wasn't the miraculous phenomenon of turning into a cat. It was Laura and—the tears she had shown.

She said she would come back as many times as it took to see him. So if he waited, maybe he would eventually receive a message from her. But he didn't think he needed to wait for that. First, he wondered how he should apologize for not being able to go to their appointment yesterday. How would the excuse "I turned into a cat" go over? Frowning deeply, lost in thought, Travis went back to get his cellphone from the bedside table.

#i write one flash fic every day #continue for 30 days #travis x laura #flash fiction challenge 17

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to-star-lake · 3 years

Text

one & only

sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader { you're sanzu's one and only. }

18+ minors dni | murder, drug use, dark themes, rough sex, choking, toxic relationship, character death, bonten sanzu

a/n: sanzu's name { 三途 } is written the same as 三途の川 { sanzu-no-kawa, “river of three crossings” or “sanzu river” } which is the japanese buddhist version of the river styx.

sanzu doesn't call you his girlfriend. he'd never use such pedestrian language to describe what you are to him. soulmate is closer. but still, to take everything he felt about you and edit it down to a single word? it wouldn't be possible.

the best he could describe it is perhaps that you were made for him.

the day mikey introduced you to the other executives as bonten's newest advisor, sanzu stood in the back of the room, unconsciously biting his lip as he stared at your clean and crisp white tee shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black slacks. your perfect skin. your shiny hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. your delicate hands. and the sharp glisten of your eyes. you looked so sincere.

a top scholar and graduate of the national university. your parents had been foreign diplomats. you spoke five languages. all this brilliance packaged neatly behind such a pretty face. oh, you were so perfect. so pristine. i'll make you regret playing with monsters, little princess. sanzu thought he couldn't wait to break you.

it didn't take him long to realize how wrong he was.

he'd stare at your hands, the ones he thought were so delicate, as they beat mercilessly into the skull of a traitor that lay limp beneath you. being a bonten advisor meant you never needed to get your hands dirty. but you didn't mind. and sanzu felt a trickling heat of excitement shimmy up his spine watching the blood splatter across your perfect skin, staining your clean shirt.

he'd listen in awe in the war room as your fingertips traced gracefully over blueprints of the city, and you'd describe plans for a new building downtown. a new shell business to run money through. a merger with a smaller, weaker gang simply as a means to procure disposable foot soldiers for mikey.

on one particular night, he'd sat back and watched you, transfixed, as he pulled the car up beside a dark tinted suv at a stoplight on a deserted street on the outskirts of shinjuku. you'd pointed your gun out the open window, so fast and precise on the trigger, taking out all the passengers in the car. he would've missed the shots with a single blink.

he couldn't recall all the details of the rest of that night. but he woke to find you in his bed the next morning, your naked body tucked comfortably under his sheets beside him.

his head pounded and he tried to remember what happened but all that he could recall were a series of blurred images. of the two of you leaving the war room together after receiving orders from mikey to take out the heads of a rival gang. a vision of your bare thighs, exposed under a short, plaid skirt as you sat in his passenger seat, and the quiet rattle as you attached a silencer to the end of your gun.

he remembered the sound of indistinct chatter and an image of you sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant. a vague recollection of a bottle of scotch, of him staring at himself in the restaurant's bathroom mirror as he wiped some white residue from his upper lip. of you, bent over the sink with a straw in your nose. a blurred reel of your legs wrapped around his waist, of him pushing you up against the mirror so hard the glass cracked and you moaned into his open mouth. you sounded as sweet as you tasted.

in the grey winter light here in his bed, he looked at the blotches of blue and purple bruises that lined your neck and chest. at the edge of your perfect lips, a little swollen and the skin a little cracked. at the indentation of teeth marks on your shoulder, red with coagulated blood under the surface.

your eyes fluttered open and for a moment he was afraid. afraid that the cold light of day would be too harsh for you. afraid that all that was mystifying and beautiful in the night would be destroyed by the light. afraid you would leave.

but you'd looked into his eyes for a moment, and your lashes fell closed and you'd snuggled into his side, languidly dragging your arm across his chest.

let's sleep a little more, my head hurts and we still have at least another hour before we have to go meet the others.

oh, your voice sounded so sweet, still raspy with sleep, a lullaby to his ears.

as bonten leaders, he knew a relationship with you was strictly forbidden. he knew what mikey would do if he or any of the others ever found out. and he knew you knew too.

but you simply shrugged your shoulders as you picked up your clothes that were scattered across the floor of his bedroom. like you knew what he was thinking, and said i'm not afraid of them. are you?

he'd laughed at himself then. just who was corrupting who? he wondered.

the time he had with you began to envelope his heart. and the love he felt for you; small, crackling embers at first, had grown into a fire so bright and wild and twisted it could not be extinguished.

you were his partner; his chosen one. he loved the way your knuckles looked when they were bruised and red; such a beautiful contrast against your delicate and soft skin. he loved the way your fingers graced the handle of your gun, the dead calm of your eyes when you pulled the trigger. he was intoxicated with the knowledge that you were watching every time he carried out his duty as executioner.

his infatuation with you burned in his chest when he'd glance up at you, standing in the distance, eyes fixed on him and you'd slowly drag the palm of your hand up your thigh; testing his willpower to not pin you to the ground and tear you apart right then and there in front of his men.

under the cover of darkness, the two of you came alive. going on sprees, speeding through the bright streets of tokyo, the lights around you a blurred spectral of color to your bloodshot, medicated eyes.

in the midnight hours, your bodies would be intertwined, and in your arms he found a sanctuary. your body was the most addicting drug of all. you made all the pain disappear.

the quiet hours of the early morning, when time teetered on the edge of night and day, he'd lay on your chest, and for just a little while, his world would fall quiet. the air around him felt still. he would be coming down from his high, and he could feel everything. but he didn't mind. these small hours of lucidity shone brilliantly in his mind. when he could hear your breathing. feel your heartbeat so vividly beneath your bones. smell the lingering and sweet scent of your skin on his.

he'd become so possessed by you, so possessive of you that one night when he had you laid out beneath him, your legs spread wide for him, and he thought you looked so beautiful like this. so perfect like this for him. your skin, slick with a layer of sweat, luminescent in the moonlight. your lips, parted and choking out shaky pleas for him, begging him not to stop.

he buried himself so deep inside you, nails clawing into your skin, so desperate to be one with you. and he thought no one, no one else would have you like this. he was so intoxicated by the medley of pills in his system, completely unhinged in the euphoria of being inside you, he'd reached for his gun on the nightstand and held it to your forehead, point blank between your eyes.

you didn't even flinch. he watched you knock the gun from his hands, and slide your fingers up his wrists, and pulled his hands to your neck, letting him wrap them around your throat. if you're gonna kill me, do it with your own hands, you'd said.

god, he loved you so much. he wanted you so much, he needed you so much. he'd closed his hands around your neck with the gentlest force and watched your eyes roll back.

say my name, he'd command. and when you did, he closed his hands more forcefully around your delicate neck so he could feel the vibration in your throat as you choked out his name over and over. you'd clenched down so tight around him and he came harder than he ever had, collapsing into you.

he'd slowly let go of you, chest heaving, and gently caress at the skin of your neck, red and starting to bruise.

y/n...if i died, would you die with me? he'd whisper into your skin.

mmh, yeah. you'd whisper back.

i don't want anyone else to have you. i want you to be mine forever. he'd kiss the corner of your lips.

he'd feel your fingers laced up into his hair, your legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him close.

what am i going to do with you...i might really kill you one of these days.

he'd lift his head to look at you. and your expression didn't change a bit. your eyes held the same resolve they always did, and you said, then i'll wait for you by the sanzu river.

this was what flashed through his mind when he walked into one of bonten's warehouses late one evening for a meeting of the executives, and he saw all of them standing in a circle around you, bound and tied, blood streaming from your hairline, your bruised body limp on the concrete.

he fell to his knees then, watching mikey shove the end of his gun against your temple.

did you think i wouldn't find out? mikey's thumb clicked down on the hammer.

he saw your eyes flutter open and find his. you smiled.

the muzzle flash was bright, and the shot rang through the dark, open space.

he stared at the blood pooling from the side of your head into the dust. he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. shit, am i really crying right now? he laughed at himself.

WHO ARE YOU LOYAL TO, SANZU?! mikey demanded.

i'll wait for you by the sanzu river. your words echoed in his mind.

mikey may have been his king. but you were the redeemer, his messiah, his salvation.

the choice was simple.

he pulled his own gun from its holster and held it up to his temple.

i'm on my way, love.

#haruchiyo sanzu x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x you #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu imagines

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vikdrain · 2 years

Note

Hi! I saw your taking requests for Arcane could you write a Viktor fic? Maybe a hurt/comfort where they get in a argument and he blows up on the reader and tries to make it up to her? Or really anything I just need more of Viktor! Hehe

[ of course i got u! also sorry this kinda took long i've been busy with school work ^^ ]

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It wasn't unusual for Viktor to come home late, he's a talented man devoted to his work after all, but it had started to become more frequent, almost daily. By the time he came home, you had already fallen asleep from waiting for so long, and by the time you woke up, he was gone again, escaping your desperate grasp each and every time like chalk in rain. Sure, he left little notes for you around the apartment if he wasn't able to see you at all that day, telling you that he'll make it up to you, telling you that he loves you so much. It was almost bittersweet reading those notes every freezing morning, clutching the blanket you once shared with him, hugging the pillows he used to rest on, trying to remember what it felt like to hold him. But just like him, the notes started to disappear too. It had been so long that his scent started to fade from the bed, there was nothing left to remind you that he was still there for you. You tried so hard to keep it together and suck it up, for him, for his work, for his dreams and ambitions. Everything you did was for him, suppressing your emotions and needs like they didn't exist, like they weren't as important as his.

It was two in the morning, the sky was as black as tar with the exception of the waxing moon, not quite bright enough to illuminate the barren streets outside your apartment complex. There you sat, cross-legged on the living room couch, counting on some sort of divine intervention that Viktor would show up. And he did. The sound of the rickety twisting of the doorknob caught you off guard. There he was, walking in and looking at you as if you were a stranger. His eye bags were the worst you've seen them, his hair had grown out and was more unkempt than usual, you could hardly recognize your own boyfriend.

"I was starting to think you weren't ever going to come home," you kept your voice low, if you had raised it even just a little louder you might have started to cry. He stopped in his tracks, standing across from you on the other side of the coffee table.

"I've been busy, dear, you know that," he sighed, not even providing the common decency of looking you in the eye when he replied.

"Don't call me 'dear' if you're just going to neglect me for weeks and act like everything is okay."

"Neglect? I don't understand, you're making a fuss for no reason as usual," the venom in his voice made your heart sink.

"As usual? You don't even know what 'usual' is for me because you're never fucking here, Viktor. Have you ever even thought about me? About my feelings? About us?"

"This is ridiculous," he scoffed, raising his voice which he rarely did, especially to you, until now, "I'm sorry I can't cater to your selfishness when I'm working every day trying to actually do something with myself while you're constantly pestering me."

"So that's what I am to you? Do I annoy you, Viktor?" Your throat went dry, it seems that all the moisture in your body went up to your despairing eyes.

He didn't answer, the only noise that filled the room was the static buzz of the lamp above you, you took it upon yourself to accept his silence and do what he seemed to want. You left, slamming the door behind you, but Viktor didn't move an inch. He stared blankly at the couch where you once were, the indent of your body in the cushions was quickly disappearing, reverting back to its original form. How could I have let myself become this cruel? he thought. Pure disgust plastered all over his face, toward himself, toward his attitude, his loss of morality and common sense for letting someone like you feel that horribly.

You leaned against the railing of the building's rooftop, it was the only place you could think of where you could let the floodgates loose in peace. The raw early morning air struck you in sharp waves, numbing your hands and face in the process until you felt an unknown weight over your shoulders. You snapped your neck almost a bit too hard trying to see what was behind you, it was Viktor, draping his coat over you, adjusting it with an unparalleled focus to make sure it completely enveloped you. For the first time that night, his eyes met yours, and instead of vexation, there was regret, worry, and longing mixed into his golden specks. With just five seconds of eye contact, it was the first time in weeks you felt recognized by him, it wasn't like how he looked at you when he entered the apartment earlier, not at all. He was seeing you, truly seeing you and only you. Your bottom lip quivered, holding in a sob, until now, you almost forgot what his affection felt like, and he knew it.

Your voice was unstable, but you spoke anyway, "I just-"

Before you could finish, Viktor extended his arms and squeezed you tight as if you would fade away if he let go even just a little bit, dropping his crutch to the floor and leaning into you. You stumbled a bit from the sudden weight but instantly melted into his touch, burying your face in his shoulder and leaving tear stains all over.

"It appears... that I lost sight of what is important to me," he finally spoke, his words flowed out carefully calculated, not wanting to mess up again. You stayed silent, he expected as such and continued, "I swear to never make you feel like that again, I'll try to- no, I will be better, for you."

You lifted your head up and muttered, "What about your work?"

"Well, I can't completely abandon it, it'll take time for me to adjust, but ehh.. I'll come home early, I'll work from home some days, whatever you want, dear, I'll do it."

"Is this just another empty promise?"

Viktor looked exasperated by that question, but he couldn't exactly blame you for being skeptical, "If I break this promise you can burn my lab to the ground," he held up his hand in front of you with his pinky out. You let out a light laugh at his preposterous stakes, coaxing a smile out of him just by seeing you smile. You wrapped your pinky around his, he brought the promise to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss to seal it into existence.

"I love you, and this time I won't ever let you forget that."

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane viktor #arcane x reader #viktor imagine #viktor league of legends #viktor the machine herald

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

PAPER-THIN WALLS

a/n: i woke up totally in themood to write just straight up smut... and that's what i did lmao. there's not much plot in it, just a whole lot of fucking, so enjoy!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, oral, the good stuff

word count: 3.8k

masterlist

The Avengers compound was built almost perfectly with its luxurious suits, several entertainment rooms, fully equipped training areas and millions of hidden snack and drink bars all across the building. But the stress this time is on almost.

Bucky was never sure if the walls were originally built to keep less noise than in any other buildings, or if it was just his super hearing that allowed him to catch conversations and noises that weren’t meant for his ears. He would often hear gossiping agents as he walked down the hallways, or Vision and Wanda talk about recipes and TV shows in her room and there was this one time he heard Nat and Bruce have a discussion that was surely not meant to be heard by anyone but the two of them. He is still trying to get rid of the words he heard.

Having a room next to yours, he often sat on his bed, hearing you shuffling around, humming to yourself. As the latest addition to the Avengers, you felt a little out of place at the compound, like you were a stranger to the team even though they never gave you a reason to think so. This feeling of not belonging is what brought you closer to the century old super soldier on the other side of the wall, who despite being free from the claws of Hydra finally, still felt like an outsider in the superhero filled complex. Bucky always thought he was hard to make friends with, but he had to realize that it was all about who he was trying to make friends with. Because with you, it was an instant, like he had known you his whole life, you’ve definitely become one of the closest people to his heart in a very short time.

With this friendship came some undeniable feelings and tension from Bucky’s part. He couldn’t help but fall for you, how couldn’t he? He would have been surprised if it didn’t happen, after spending so much time with you. He found himself craving your presence, to be with you, talk to you and listen to you at the same time. He was a sucker for your lame jokes that he would laugh at even if they weren’t that funny. He loved your enthusiasm whenever you brought a new book and basically told him the whole plot, spoiling the story, but he never minded, because the way you rambled in excitement made up for everything.

And of course, he has been attracted to you since day one. Even when you weren’t that close, he couldn’t deny how much it affected him when he saw you spar with Steve at the gym in just some tight shorts and a sports bra, or when you linger around in the kitchen early in the morning wearing only an oversized shirt and your underwear hidden under the long fabric. It stirred his fantasies that’ve been sleeping for decades and late at night, when he was lying in his bed restless, his vibranium hand firmly curling around his erection, he thought about you. How you’d taste and feel, what it would be like to have your body pressed against his, his name falling from your lips in a whimper as he pleases you all over and over again. Sometimes he felt dirty after an elaborate fantasy, barely able to look into your eyes, but he just couldn’t help it. You had him in the palm of your hand.

What he doesn’t know is that he is not the only one with fantasies and desires. Because on the other side of the wall, you’ve often found yourself craving the mixture of warm and cold touch from flesh and metal hands, toned muscles flexing under your palms, pink lips whispering into your ears as you arch against his body… Bucky has been living in your mind rent free and you’ve been having a hard time containing your desire for the super soldier.

Having sex dreams is not at all a new thing for you. It happens every once in a while, waking from a heated scene only to find yourself alone in the comfort of your room, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to bring yourself back to reality. It was never an inconvenience, but in the past few days it’s been getting worse. You’ve had a wet dream for three days in a row, jolting awake right when you were about to climax, a wave of disappointment washing over your body as you fisted the sheets in your sweaty palms. And the worst part? All of them have been about Bucky.

It’s another sleepless night for Bucky, nothing new. He has tried to chase himself into sleep with everything already, TV, ready, music, even counting sheep, but nothing seems to be working, so he is left with lying in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling, the soft bed sheet throw across his naked upper body, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, because it’s been hot these past week, but he is not a fan of using the air-condition. The dogtags are lying messily on his naked chest, his vibranium finger playing with the wrinkles of the sheets mindlessly.

His eyes slowly flutter closed, a promise of some rest finally nearing the corner, but right just then, he hears some muffled noise coming from the other side of the wall. His eyes snap open as he sits up, trying to make out what it is, but he catches no words, just… grunts and some shallow panting, as if someone was struggling.

What if you’re sick and something is wrong? You’ve been a little worn off the past days, maybe something was lingering in you.

Kicking the sheets off of himself, he pads his way to the door, his bare feet tapping on the hardwood floor as he walks out of his room, heading to yours, stopping at the door. Pressing his flesh hand to the door he takes a moment to listen to the voices so he can make out what’s happening, but it really feels like you’re in a struggle, but he has no idea why. Knocking lightly on the door he hopes to get an answer, but nothing of sort comes and he stays still, debating whether he should go in or just leave. Right when he is about to retreat he hears you gasping, as if you’re at a short of breath and it pushes him to check in on you.

Opening the door he pops his head inside, the darkness fully taking up the room, your king sized bed in the middle, a few strikes of moonlight sneaking through the curtains that are not entirely drawn.

“Y/N?” he calls out softly, not wanting to startle you, but no answer comes once again, however he can see your figure tossing and turning under the sheets, another gasp slipping through your lips.

He walks closer, stopping at your bedside, seeing how your eyebrows are pulled together tensely, chest heaving as you keep moving around. Bucky feels like an intruder, you’re definitely asleep, probably having a nightmare, but he is not sure if he should be in here. Should he wake you? Or just leave? Would you be mad if you found him here upon waking up? After some hesitation he decides it’s better if he leaves, but right as he turns around, taking just one step towards the door, he finally hears a word from you.

“Bucky,” you whine, his name coming out a little slurred, but still clear to him. “Bucky, please!” you continue, his eyes widening as his head snaps around, eyes returning to you. You’re still asleep, but he notices your hand moving down your chest and then disappearing under the sheets, between your legs. That’s when he realizes that it’s not a nightmare. You’re having a sex dream about him.

Clearly trying to chase your release, your lips part as you moan, the voice instantly making Bucky’s cock twitch while hardening. His hands curl into fists as he is fighting himself whether he should do something or leave, but when his name slips through your lips again, he goes feral. He would be damned if he lets you get stuck in your dream when he can please you in real life.

He finds himself striding back to your bed faster like ever, like an elegant lion, hungry for his prey as one of his knees sink into the mattress between your open legs, keeping his weight up on one arm while the other finds your waist. The shirt you always sleep in has ridden up to just below your breasts, the exposed skin watering Bucky’s mouth as he squeezes your waist gently but firmly enough to wake you from your fever dream.

Your eyes snap open and you stare up at him slack-mouthed, your brain barely able to process the sudden change between the Bucky in your dream and the one holding himself up above you in real life.

“Bucky? I—“ you breathe out, the cloud of confusion on your head making it hard to even form a sentence. He leans down, his face just inches away from yours and even though it’s quite dark, his blue eyes are basically piercing. His dogtags fall to your chest, right above your wildly racing heart and you wonder if he can hear the pounding in your ribcage.

“Shh, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers and without a warning, his lips crash down onto yours.

It’s so hard and passionate, filled with hunger and longing, the air gets knocked right out of your chest as you eagerly kiss him back while he slowly moves himself until he is fully between your legs, his hips coming down to meet yours and you moan when you feel his erection pressing against your already soaking wet core. Your hands find their way up into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and he can’t stop himself from growling at your action, grinding himself against your hips, both of you desperate to take it further.

Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, he grabs your panties and tugs them down your bare legs, throwing them across the room before he rids you from your shirt as well, so now you’re lying completely naked in front of his lustful eyes. He could devour you with just his icy blue eyes, he looks glorious, towering above you with his broad, muscular shoulders and toned chest, you’ve never been more desperate for a man before.

Your desire takes action, pushing yourself up your lips meet his chest, kissing the hot skin, your tongue sloppily pressing against him as you make your way up on his body. His vibranium fingers tangle into your hair as he holds the back of your head, pulling you up to kiss you again, both of you in a kneeling position while your hand reaches into his underwear, palming his hard cock, feeling up his size before you push the fabric down and he kicks it off easily, his erection now pressed between the two of you teasing and tempting you, making you buck your hips forward just for the slightest friction.

“Were you dreaming of me, doll? Huh?” he questions, his lips nibbling on your lower lip as he takes it between his teeth and gently tugs on it.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, hands grabbing onto his hips before they move down to his bare ass, pulling him closer to you, earning a moan from him.

“And what was I doing in your dream?” He kisses down your neck, stopping at a soft spot before he starts sucking and biting on it, marking you as his, something he’s been aching to do since the moment he laid eyes on you for the first time. Your brain almost shuts down, one of his hands is on your jaw, keeping your head in place, while the other one is gripping your waist harshly, his fingers digging into your muscles. You fail to answer his question as just a whimper leaves your lips at the sensation.

“Words, sweetheart. Use your words for me, will you?”

“I, uhh—You used your f-fingers,” you croak out, a satisfied grin tugging on Bucky’s lips at your words.

He pushes you back on the bed, making you lie on your back as he gets on top of you once again, but this time he doesn’t stay like that long, after a hard kiss he climbs down until his face aligns with your core, his hands parting your legs widely, baring you to him fully.

“Tell me, where did I use my fingers?” he hums, face so close to your center that you can feel his hot breath on you. He teases you, running his hands up and down your spread thighs, his fingers just grazing your folds before moving away every time.

“Bucky, please!” you cry out, grinding your hips up, but you only reach his chin before he leans back with a pleased grin on his face.

“Just tell me and I’ll do it. Where did I use my fingers?” he repeats.

“On my pussy! You fingered me!” you groan, your cheeks heating up from the blunt comment you just made, but it’s exactly what Bucky wanted to hear.

Two of his fingers find your clit easily, starting off with slowly drawing circles on it, stimulating your nerves and it’s nothing like in your dream. You curse under your breath when his fingers move to your hole and he pushes both of them inside, his lips taking their place on your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you groan in pleasure, your hands immediately snapping to his head, fingers lacing into his chocolate locks as you shamelessly grind against his face.

Bucky is not a man of many words, but god damn, he can use his mouth like a fucking master. It feels like your whole body is on fire, you’re sweating and shaking, his fingers curl inside you every time he thrusts into you and he is stroking that one heavenly spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back into your head. His tongue is slick and sloppy against your wet pussy, but he is drinking it all up as if you were his last meal before death.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum! Bucky!” you gasp as your back arches at the sensation, your orgasm building up rapidly.

“Cum on my tongue and fingers, let me make your dream come true,” he growls against your heat, picking up the pace of his fingers which completely throws you over the edge.

You come with chanting his name over and over again as you ride your high, thighs shaking and tightening on either side of his head until you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Bucky pushes himself up, his lips glistening from your juices and you watch him wipe his mouth with his fingers, licking them afterwards like he just finished eating a chocolate cake, a satisfied grin on his ridiculously handsome face. He crawls up on you until his lips can finally reach yours again, kissing you in a slower pace, but still with a lot of passion to offer.

“Tonight wasn’t my first sex dream about you,” you slyly admit, lips brushing against his as you speak.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm, so there’s more to act out.” His still hard cock twitches again and you’re fast to reach down and palm him again, wrapping a hand around him as you give his cock a few lazy stokes, but it surely has an effect on him.

You’re quick to turn him over, pushing him to lie on his back as you straddle him, steading yourself with holding onto his waist, his eyes bore into yours intently and your mouth hangs open when you grind against him, his hard cock sliding between your wet folds.

“The other day, I dreamed about riding you, your cock filled me up so good, but right when I was about to cum I woke up,” you tell him, not sure how this sudden confidence came from, but you just can’t help yourself. Bucky growls at your words as his fingers dig into your thighs.

“Then let’s make up for that, love,” he breathes out and you nod eagerly, lifting yourself up just enough to position him to your hole and then you sink down as far as you can, his dick filling you up inch by inch and your breath hitches when you finally settle, his length fully buried inside you.

“Oh, fuck!” you whine before you start moving yourself up and down his cock, grinding back and forth, the feeling of him inside you so intoxicating, you think for a moment that this might still be your dream. If it is, you hope you don’t wake up this time.

Though your training has strengthened your legs so you are able to ride him in this position longer, it still tires you out. Bucky notices when your movements slow down, his hands running up your torso, kneading your breasts before they end up on the back of your neck, pulling you down so you lie on top of him, his strong arms wrapping around you. His lips kiss the side of your head before he starts thrusting up into you, doing the work for you this time. You can’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering as your second orgasm is starting to build up, your senses are on the edge.

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m so close,” he gasps, his thrusts becoming a little uncoordinated and you feel the same way, only moments away from your climax.

You push yourself up, pulling him with you, wanting to take back control before you both reach your relief, you get into a sitting position that allows you to grind in his lap, moving your hips back and forth as fast as you can. Bucky’s lips find yours again, kissing your sloppily before they travel down your neck and he licks at your collarbone as you hold onto his broad shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good, oh God!” he whines, his head falling backwards as you keep moving, both of you sweating, but neither of you really cares, you’re just relentlessly chasing your high again.

“I want to feel you cum. Please, Bucky!” you beg him, squeezing your walls around him, the action completely maddening the man as he holds you to his chest and flips you over with ease, his body weighing down on you as he starts fucking into you fast and hard. You could throw a fuss about how he took control again, but you don’t mind it, not at all. Because the way he pounds into you, his cock disappearing to the last inch inside you with each thrust, your whole body starts shaking as your orgasm finally reaches you.

Your squeeze your walls again around him and the moment he hears his name fall from your trembling lips he cums inside of you, filling you up entirely, marking you with his pleasure.

He rides his high with a few more sloppy thrusts until he stops, his forehead falling against yours as you both try to catch your breath. He captures your lips in a soft and slow kiss, so different from the ones you shared before. Then he finally rolls off of you and you let out a displeased grunt when you feel him slide out of you.

For a while it’s just the silence in the room mixed with your soft panting, but he is the first one to break it as his head rolls to the side, looking at you with those fucked-out eyes of his.

“How long have you been having these dreams?” he asks, turning to his side so his hand can spread out on your naked stomach, fingers drawing tiny circles on your sweaty skin.

“A while,” you admit.

“I wish I heard you earlier through the wall,” he chuckles, but your eyes widen.

“Wait, what? You heard me through the wall?”

“Yeah. Thought something was wrong so I came over to check on you.”

“God, I must have been really loud,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands, but he is quick to peel them off and leaning closer he kisses your lips gently.

“Don’t blame yourself, these walls are like paper. And besides…” A sly smirk tugs on his lips as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb running along the line of your bottom lip. “I fucking love it when you’re loud.”

“I wasn’t even screaming yet,” you tease back, your comment definitely catching him off-guard, but he likes it.

“We’ll get there next time.”

You and Bucky walk into the kitchen in the morning, completely oblivious to the rest of the world, still in the bliss of last night. Nat, Tony and Steve are sitting at the kitchen island, sipping on their morning coffee when you emerge from your room, all eyes immediately glued to the pair of you.

“Well, good morning, everyone,” you chuckle a little nervously, not sure what the stares mean.

“Morning,” Nat smirks, shaking her head before she turns back to the newspaper unfolded in front of her.

“Nice of you to make an appearance, I have some news to share with you all,” Tony announces as you pour some coffee for yourself while Bucky grabs everything he needs to make breakfast for the two of you. Nodding you signal to Tony that you’re listening. “I decided to do some remodeling on the compound.”

“Oh, what are you getting done?” you ask, wondering what could possibly need work on the building.

“Nothing major, I’m just gonna make the walls soundproof, so we don’t have to listen to you guys fucking all night long.”

You almost choke on your coffee at Tony’s blunt comment, cheeks heating up right away, you were not expecting that. Though he is looking at you and Bucky, who is now standing behind you with a hand on your waist, with a stern expression, you can see the small smile hiding in his eyes. He finds the situation rather amusing instead of annoying.

“Yeah, next time maybe keep it down a little,” Steve suggests as he stands from his seat, grabbing his mug. Walking past the two of you, he pats Bucky’s shoulder however. “But I’m glad you guys are finally getting it on,” he comments before walking out, Nat and Tony following him right after, leaving just you and Bucky in the kitchen.

You glance up at him with concern in your eyes, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, but he doesn’t seem to be ashamed at all. Instead, he leans down, pecks your lips shortly and then whispers:

“I told you. Paper-thin walls.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you

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aetherarf · 3 years

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Hi hello i saw your requests are open!! And i dont know if this is allowed but can you do genshin boys caught cheating and they played it off and later on they started to regret what they did and when they found the reader, the reader is now happy or disappeared or idk ITS UP TO YOU TO DEICIDE HEHEHEHE IM SORRY I LOVE READING ANGST SM SO ITS OKAY IF YOU WONT TAKE IT !! YOUR WORKS ARE REALLY GREAT BTW!!! (more than great i mean *chefs kiss*)

Yes I've finally gotten to this one! I hope it's angsty enough for you 😘

[[ WARNING: CHEATING, NON-LETHAL INJURY, ALCOHOL ]]

[[ Summary: Kaeya, Childe, and Diluc end up cheating on their partner... They get caught, not by their partner, but someone else. As the days pass, they begin to regret it... only for their little secret to get back to their lover...

Note, Kaeya's is longest/wordiest cuz I didn't realize I should probably be a bit more brief... Kaeya favouritism lol.

Overall Word Count: 3'602 [rip me]

Kaeya Word Count: 1'841

Childe Word Count: 950

Diluc Word Count: 811 ]]

Kaeya

Distantly, he remembers an old saying from Crepus, in response to his question-- "Why do people drink so much?"

"Well... Alcohol doesn't solve anything, but it can make you forget questions you'd rather not think about."

He understood that as he got older. Why stress, and think about things he could not control? ... Well, maybe he should deal with them, but that's easier said than done when his entire life was on the line. Every night, in the tavern, he drank to forget. Not that he'd admit that to anyone.

And, somehow, he had forgotten more than he'd like to admit. On his lap, a beautiful woman, and he was tugged to a back closet of the Angel's Share. She tasted sweet, like wine and sugar. If it wasn't for an intruder, ( despite the fact that he was the one intruding into staff-only area ) he likely would have had a far better time, to completely lose himself in his inebriation.

"K-Kaeya!" Uh oh, as his vision focused, he could see Diluc's unmistakable silhouette, with that fluffy red hair and broad shoulders. "You," he pointed to the woman, "Out." The woman, not wanting to envoke the wrath of Sir Ragnvindr, running out immediately. But, Diluc didn't let Kaeya out, not that he was fighting to get out. Instead, he walked closer.

"What have you done?" he asked, voice low and full of rage. However, Kaeya could only smile,

"What do you mean, Master Ragnvindr?" He asked, all sly.

"You cheater," he snapped, "You do know that wasn't your partner? The one you swore yourself to? They were just looking for you, you know." He was nearly yelling, forcing his voice low...

And that, that idea, the realization of everything hit him harder than even the biggest bomb's that Klee had ever made. He... did.

"Look," The world was no longer warm an fuzzy, just a little shift away from his normal reality, everything crashing down. The thoughts that haunted him when you slept so peacefully in his arms, when he would see the knights laughing and smiling together, the ever-haunting knowledge that he was alone amongst them...

The way only you did not have that odd look in your eye, of wonder upon seeing something unique, or of something alien that terrified... You only looked at him as what he wished to be seen-a person.

And here he went, fucking it all up.

"Look," he said again, tears in his eye, "You, you can't tell anyone," He all but snapped at Diluc, who's eyes widened in shock, "I-I wouldn't tell if you did it, you have to do the same for me," he promised, desperately trying to think of what to do...

"Kaeya, this isn't about me, this is about you and-and them," Diluc didn't even need to say the name, "You're better than this, I won't tell, but only if you do."

Kaeya's brows furrowed, he wasn't used to feeling so... betrayed. Normally, it was expected, but this... but this was different! Wasn't it...?

"It has nothing to do with you, I... I can deal with it on my own, 'Luc." He insisted, straightening out his back. He was only a tiny bit taller than Diluc, but he wanted to hold it over him, to prove he wasn't going to let him use him over his... his mistake.

"Kaeya," his voice was... softer. Kaeya didn't want to hear this voice, this consoling voice. Not after everything, not... not like this!

"Fuck off, Diluc," he snapped, pushing him to the wall as he stormed out, "You made it clear you want nothing to do with me, don't try now. Not like this," he demanded, seeing Diluc look at him, eyes wide... shocked.

"Fine. Get out and don't come back." Diluc hissed, voice much lower, his eyes glazed over. Kaeya almost wanted to yell at him, to keep fighting... But, no, no, he didn't. He couldn't do that here, not when he was too desperate to figure out what to do, leaving through the front of Angel's Share, slamming the door behind him.

And he ran. He didn't know why, he wasn't headed home, but he just... he felt like he was running from his mistakes, the wind biting at his face, until he finally skidded into an alleyway, his back against the wall, his hand put up to his mouth, biting at the base of his thumb to stifle the sobs that wanted to burst from his chest. It hurt, oh, it hurt, but it felt... right, it felt like he should hurt, his teeth clasping harder onto his hand, tears rolling from his eye as he roughly breathed through his nostrils, his brain desperately trying to figure out what to do, what to say, what to think... But it all only ended up in a jumbled mess, of black and red and tears and crying.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but by the time he stopped biting his hand, it felt... hot, for some reason, and as he looked at his hand...

Red. Bite marks. His teeth had sunk in so deep, his skin was broken and reddened and bloody. He couldn't even feel the pain, like when the burning fire had turned to grey, dead embers... he felt nothing, his own bodily sensations distant in an odd way.

He doesn't even know why, but upon seeing his blood ooze from his flesh, he swing his fist towards the brick, hearing it clatter against it. He stared at his hand, pulling off his glove to stare, dazed, at his busted knuckles.

Holding his fist close to his chest, he finally walked home.

If I don't tell them, he thought, I can live with it. I've lived with worse. I live with worse.

He didn't want to.

But he did that-he cheated. He cheated on the one person that could make everything feel okay, like he never hurt anyone, like he wasn't from a distant corrupt land, like he wasn't the monster he was told to be.

Should he say it? Tell directly?

...

It wouldn't matter if he told immediately or in a week. He-he trusted you'd understand, he could... He could figure it out. He just, his brain was both sinking and floating, drunk yet sober, he wasn't in his own body right about now. He was somewhere gone, and he couldn't be making any decisions.

Shambling his way home, he opened the front door... And hesitated, listening. Looking. You weren't in eyeshot or earshot, so... He could wrap up his hand before he gave everything away, or at least, his temper tantrum of sorts. He rummaged around before finding that small first aide kit, cleaning the wounds of his own cause, and bandaged up his hand... for a second, he tensed, hearing your footsteps, but he opted to finish wrapping it before you could see.

"Kaeyaaa..." You whined, "You didn't come to bed..." You walked over, hugging him from the side, resting your head on him. How sweet you were, how cuddly... As though nothing happened.

"I'll come to bed in a minute," he said, "I just need to finish this real quick."

You peeked over to look at whatever he was messing with, and woke up in an instant, reaching over to his hand as he was tucking the end of the bandage away, so it wouldn't unravel so easily. "What happened?" You asked, tenderly holding his injured hand with both of yours.

"Nothing to be worried about," he reassured, trying to hide how his voice shook, "Just wanted to patch it up."

With one hand, you gently stroked his, and then lifted it to your mouth to give a loving kiss atop it. "Are you okay to come to bed?" You asked, still tired from the late hour.

"Of course," he wanted to kiss you, badly, but he refrained. You shouldn't, Kaeya, your mouth is dirty.

The two of you walked to bed, he undressing just enough to comfortably lie down...

Feeling how you snuggled up to him, sighing in such comfort now that he was home, and how you soon became a weight upon him as you sunk back into sleep...

However, he did not sleep that night. Or the next, or the next... Or the next.

Days, truly, passed. He did not sleep, he was not sleeping, Jean even scolded him for blacking out more than once, stunned when one second he was standing, and the next he was on the ground, no memory of having fallen, with the knights consoling him.

He started staying later, he had not gone back to the Angel's Share. Many mornings, he was not there when you woke. You knew he was busy, but... this was horrific.

Eventually, two weeks have passed. He steeled his nerves, and he was going to talk to you about it. He didn't want to live like this, with this guilt and agony upon the things he could not fix--but he could fix this. He could-he could make this better.

But, as he walked into your shared home... an eerie silence. As he looked around, it felt like... a lot was missing.

Everything that was missing, from simple objects placed about to pictures on the walls, were all yours. Of you.

Save for a single picture frame, with shattered glass, and a picture of him and you, smiling. It was one of the more coherent pictures the two of you had made.

Beside it, a note.

Dear Kaeya,

A woman came to me recently, telling me of you. Of how you kissed her, and nearly slept with her at the Angel's Share. She was unaware of the fact that you had a partner, and had finally found and confided in me about this.

I don't know what made you cheat on me like this, but worse still you've been avoiding me, and you wouldn't even tell me. If I knew... then we could have talked about it, we could have gotten counseling. We could have fixed this--fixed us. But you were gone.

I don't want to hear you say it, say that you don't love me or you don't want to be with me, so I left. I'm not in Mondstadt, I've gone to live with someone I can actually trust. Please don't look for me, I need time. Your lack of communication was enough to tell me you don't care enough to fix this.

Sincerely, Your former beloved.

Tears truckled down onto the paper, and he nearly crushed it in a single fist... But, no, he couldn't, he couldn't destroy the last connection he had to you, no matter how badly he wanted to rip out his eye, so he never had to look at it ever again. He collapsed the floor, the letter, and the framed picture falling to the ground, a broken, loud laughter rung through the house as tears fells down his face, maniacal in nature...

He wanted to be alone, and gone, for a long... long time.

Childe

Childe didn't understand the meaning of 'exclusive' as well. He loved you, dearly, but to him, love was a thing to be given more freely. Maybe it was just a lack of communication, or maybe he completely misunderstood your words, but with an old friend he slept with time and time again...

When Scaramouche saw him sending off his friend with a goodbye kiss, it being a casual commoditiy in his mind, only then did he get utterly chewed out for this.

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Scaramouche snarled at him, "You're not even shameful about this, you cheater." He snapped, as though he was truly angry for you, instead of just a generally very angry person. Childe shrugged.

"I wouldn't mind if they slept with someone else," he said casually, "Doesn't mean they love me any less, you know?"

Scaramouche tried to response, but he was simply flabberghasted. "Most people don't think that way, you airheaded moron."

Childe just laughed, brushing off the shorter harbinger, before walking off without a care.

But... in the end, the words got to him.

Maybe you didn't think that way? You two had spoken of marriage, a very possible reality that he was looking forward to... But, maybe there was a... culture clash, maybe? A clash of upbringings?

He found himself wondering these things at night, when you were snuggled up to him, unaware of the whirlwind of fear in his mind.

Silently, he resolved to simply stop--It would keep you happy, a little secret he didn't mind keeping. Maybe in many, many years, he'd mention it, but... he thought that was okay. That could be the last time he'd ever do something like that...

But, as he came home... You were sitting, waiting for him.

"Please, come sit down, Ajax," that morose tone, it made his heart ache... so he obeyed without question. You looked at him, face puffy and eyes red... "Tell me the truth," you asked, his heart sinking, "Did you cheat on me?"

He froze, but... "Y-yes, but-"

"I don't need an explanation," you admitted, a small, broken smile on your face, "I knew I wasn't loveable enough."

"Wait, no, no, that's not it at all-"

"No," you interrupted, "I don't need an explanation. I'll be out by tonight," you looked down at your lap, his heart shattering into even smaller pieces,

"Babe... please, please, let me explain, I'll never do it again-"

You stood,

"If you'd do it once, you'd do it again. Don't talk to me," you hesitated, "If you want me to be happy, don't look for me ever again."

He was trying to reach for you... but, he couldn't make himself grab you, not when you so delicately shied away...

Eventually, he gave up. No amount of fighting would stop you, and... and he... he couldn't keep seeing your pain as you cried for him to just leave you alone.

Was this love? The pain of another, the terror not of considering spending the rest of your life with them, but the terror of not spending the rest of your life with them?

Before he knew it, he was staring at a mirror, shards of glass in his fist, more than a few holes in the wall and a broken door, the shattered mirror distorting his expression...

Upon walking through the house, he saw that there was... it felt so empty, without your delicate touch and presence making it a place he lovingly called home.

"No," he whispered, hoping... were you here? Did you see... whatever he blacked out and did, the tantrum he did not remember? Did he, oh gods above, oh gods, he didn't hurt you, did he?

...

But he never got an opportunity to find out.

By the time he had sobered up from his tantrum... you were gone. Only a note, left behind, Don't look for me.

Because, you both knew, if he really wanted to find you, he could. He could capture you, trap you... hurt you.

But he didn't want any of that, as much as it hurt to have you away... to make you hate him anymore than you already did was enough to drive a man to near insanity.

Even after you had been gone, he would sit, whenever he was not forced to work, to fulfil his duties to the Tsaritsa... he would wait. He would cook your favourite dishes, read the books you liked, go to the places you enjoyed...

Only after weeks of this, did it hit him that you truly were never coming home. He knew that, but... but, somehow, his heart, his emotions hadn't caught up.

For a second time, he had destroyed your shared, no... his home.

It just wasn't home without you.

Unable to endure the idea of still being here, of a place where he had held you so many times, kissed you, loved you, and suddenly you were all but gone... He tried to do anything to avoid it, to avoid that demon that desperately tried to crawl out of him, threatening to burst from his chest.

Even the other Harbingers had noticed this, how... awful he had been, how he had lost himself. Even Scaramouche, the one most openly said to be the easiest to hate amongst them all, with an uncanny talent to bring even the most pacificistic souls to pure rage, had done well to stay his tongue, never kind, never sweet, but he would give him the isolation he craved, only speaking as much was necessary.

He didn't know what to do with himself, but whenever that happened... he'd just throw himself to the maws of death and, unluckily, crawl his way back out.

Diluc

Everything felt hot and fuzzy and...

Red.

Was red a feeling? His face was red, his body burned, and he could scarcely breathe, he definitely had accidentally drunk some alcohol, but for once, the effects of inebriation hit him. However, while he couldn't understand why people would devote their lives to this sensation, he could appreciate reality being distant, when he knew if he wasn't drunk, he would have spit up the wine and some extra blood, making it an even richer red color.

A warm feeling around his dick, he saw a pretty, if not distorted, face. It didn't take long for him to explode with sensation, his eyes shot wide... and a kiss pressed to his lips.

He almost chased that pretty face, only to see it disappear, he falling to his knees, rasping for air. Moments later, he felt hands on his shoulder's, shaking him. He shot his head up, seeing Kaeya looking at him in fear, and distantly, he heard his name...

"Diluc. Diluc. Diluc! Say something!"

Diluc stared at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but he only ended up jerking his head down, coughing into his elbow, seeing blood on his black coat... Kaeya noticed, too, frozen in shock.

"What happened?" he asked, his eye wide in shock.

"I..." Diluc rasped out, and his eyes widened in shock.

He realized what he had done.

He. He slept with someone who was most definitely not the one he had sworn himself to. Some-some random woman who was likely enchanted by the prospect of a rich man.

"Diluc!" Kaeya shouted, afraid, "What happened?"

Diluc shoved himself up, his hand on Kaeya's shoulder, already rushing to run out and all the way back to the Winery-but not before Kaeya grabbed him, stopping him, strength near equally matched.

"'Luc, I'm not letting you go anywhere until you-"

"I did," Diluc was still gasping for air, "I did something terrible." He admitted, with no small amount of pain.

"What did you do?" Kaeya asked, "Don't run, don't run, you're going to choke on your own blood-"

"No!" Diluc shouted, throwing Kaeya off his arm, running on pure adrenaline, even as his face was beet red, and his vision blurred.

But he needed to confess his sins, immediately, he needed to... now, now, now!

He heard Kaeya shout, but in the end, as he had to stop just to rasp for air again, the burn of alcohol still in his throat, he heard no shouting, nothing but the sound of his thundering heartbeats in his own ears.

Finally, he got to the Winery. You saw him, shocked, seeing his red face and how distressed he was, his hair nothing short of a fluffy mess.

"Diluc," you run over, he leaning on you, just to not collapse from the lack of air, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." He shuttered out, sucking in a breath, "I cheated on you."

You were reeling, "You-What?"

"I-I accidentally drank wine. I was drunk, I can't..." He was still heaving, "I can't breathe... I don't... I don't know what happened, but... She... a woman, she..."

He couldn't finish, but he didn't need to.

"You cheated on me and the first thing you did was come home and brag about it?" You asked, equal parts anguish and anger,

"No," he rasped, his knees buckling as the world tried to disappear on him, "I can't..." his hand went to his throat, "Wait..."

He didn't know what happened, but he only saw flashes after that--Your tears, his bloodied hands, you leaving.

And he was alone, on the ground, barely able to breathe, to think... to do anything.

You left him.

You were gone.

And, somehow, he wasn't mad at all. Having breathed long enough to move again, he stood... and he found the half-empty bottle of wine left on the table, the wine you adored so.

He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, feeling his throat and tongue swell, it crashing to the ground as he fell, unable to rasp even the slightest breaths,

I deserve this, he thought, I deserve this. This is all I deserve.

...

...?

For some reason, despite his better wishes, he woke up. He lay in bed, a cool, wet cloth over his forehead... his flesh burned, and his tongue was still swollen, he unable to wiggle it in his mouth. His breathing, still, was labored, but it seemed that he was still breathing, despite everything.

He watched as Adelinde cautiously walked over, looking down at his face, "... Master Diluc, are you alright?"

No, he wasn't, but he could not even sob and cry, for he could not breathe enough to do so.

A cruel twist of fate, but he was not deserving to cry, he was the one who hurt you. You did nothing but love him.

He didn't deserve anything right now.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #diluc #childe #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin childe #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #bark writes #// also dw anon i've written way more messed up stuff than this #// :)#// also idk why ppl cheat beyond the thrill of it and i wanted to make it more interesting than that #// chlide was the closest to that idea #// i got some shitty news + people who didnt stop bringing it up so this took way more time than i'd like to admit

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Take Care of You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Dean is always there.

Requested by Anonymous: ““Here. You look hungry.” because I feel like this is Dean's love language”

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: bit of angst, self doubt, mentions of injury, food, fluff

A huff fell past your lips for what had to be the millionth time within the last hour and a half, the motel door closing roughly behind you from the force you pushed it shut with. You were tired, you were frustrated, you were miserable. The hunt couldn’t have gone any worse in your eyes, it was one thing after another with seemingly no end in sight at the time. You were sure you’d never been off your game quite like that in all the hunts you’d done.

You felt like you failed.

It wasn’t until the sound of that familiar engine sounded and grew distant, signaling they’d left, that it felt like the tension in your chest was starting to break loose. You were sulking the entire way back to the motel, tucked away in the back seat with tears fighting desperately to spill down your cheeks. It was a battle you gave up trying to stifle eventually, those very tears rolling down heated skin before collecting on your shirt.

You were quiet the entire drive save for the occasional sniffle you muffled with your sleeve, having gone unnoticed, at least you thought you did. Because you were so wrapped up in picking apart how you did that night, about everything that had gone wrong rather than the things that went right, that you missed the way Dean glanced in the rear view on more than one occasion. You hadn’t seen the clench of his jaw and the tightening of his grip on the wheel at the mere sight of your obvious anguish over it.

He knew there was nothing he could say to make it better in that moment and that was something he hated amongst other things.

You had passed up dinner when he’d asked, as kind as ever despite your shortness with him, simply asking him to drop you off at the motel so he could grab a bite to eat with Sam. Teary eyes and a frown wasn’t something you wanted them to see, nor did you want to dampen their mood that surely was already soured at that point.

So he did just that, dropped you off in front of the room the three of you had reserved for the past two nights. Even though you could hold your own, he still waited for you to go inside before he left.

You turned on the faucet at the sink in the small bathroom, cupping your hands under the tap before bending down and splashing the cold water over your face. It was an icy jolt, one that soothed the heat in your cheeks and the clutter of thoughts in your mind. You repeated the action at least three more times before swiping the hand towel from its hook, patting your face and hands dry. It grounded you a bit more than you were just moments before, and you switched the light off and tossed the towel on the counter before making your way back to the bed you shared with Dean.

It was unmade from where the two of you had left it when you woke up that morning, two duffel bags sitting on the carpeted floor unzipped and rifled through from your change of clothes. The mattress bounced when you took a seat on it, boots kicked off and jacket folded over top of your back before you leaned back against the headboard. It was among the nicer motels you’d stayed in as of late, certainly better than the disco themed room you resided in on a hunt in Las Vegas just weeks before, and definitely better than the room with no heat the time before that.

You swiped the remote off the nightstand seated between the two beds, switching the tv on to whatever reality show you could find first. It wasn’t until then that you realized just how much your feet ached, just how sore your back had been. It didn’t help that you’d been thrown against the wall by a rogue spirit—not the first time nor the second time.

It left you feeling like the human equivalent of a punching bag and the tub back at the bunker never felt more enticing than now. The tub that sat miles away just waiting for you to come back home.

There have been worse hunts you’ve been on, ones that you’ve come out of in a lot worse shape than this. Ones that left your cheeks burning with embarrassment over a clumsier mistake than the ones you made a mere hour before. Ones that ended in arguments with Dean, most of which you hadn’t recalled what they were about but a few that you do.

There were worse hunts, but the events that unraveled that day were ones that you couldn’t shake. The built up tension and frustration before that point having been too heavy for you to let it go. You know sitting and stewing on it will do nothing but sour your mood even further, will make it all the more difficult for you to go back out on another hunt with a positive outlook. But you were too tired to do much else other than that very thing.

You weren’t sure how long it’d been that you’d been in your own company, using the time to do nothing but think about the day you wanted so desperately to come to a close. It was a nightmare, one that left you feeling tired and embarrassed.

But what you did know was the sound of two thuds, shortly paired with the jiggle of the doorknob and the whistle of the older Winchester as he stepped into the room. You heard Sam mention something about showering before he disappeared into the bathroom with a change of clothes, promptly closing the door behind him.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted, upbeat despite your mood displaying the opposite.

You nod, waving in his general direction as you flip through the channels in search of something else to watch even though you hadn’t really been paying much attention to the tv. You’d been watching the same show for the last who knows how long and you couldn’t even begin to grasp what it was about. It wasn’t long before the light of the lamp had dimmed, Dean standing in front of it as he nudged you lightly.

When you turned your head to look up at him, you spotted a brown paper bag in his hand with a grease stain or two on it. “Here. You look hungry.”

You purse your lips as your gaze went back to him. “Am not.”

“Are too. Your stomach was rumbling louder than my car the whole trip back, sweetheart.”

After a moment of squinted eyes and raised brows in a defeated attempt to prove your point you sighed, taking the bag from him with a small but appreciative smile as he pressed a kiss to your forehead before rounding the bed to sit with you. It was the littlest of things that made moments like this all the more better, softening the blow you felt you’d taken after the day you had. It was the little things Dean did that showed you just how much he cared. He wasn’t one to express his emotions through words as much as he did through actions.

He took his rightful spot next to you, the bed jostling around a bit before stilling once he had gotten comfortable by your side. He snagged the remote from you with a smile, one that grew fonder as he watched you enjoy your food no matter how much you tried to say you didn’t want it. By the very smile on your face, even if it’s small, he knows he’d made you feel better. He’d much rather see a hint of a smile than the frown you were sporting the majority of the day whether you had realized it or not.

The tv was changed to a movie, the title slipping your mind but seemingly it’d been one that wasn’t too bad judging by the way Dean had laughed, tossing the remote down in favor of tugging you closer with an arm around your shoulders and a kiss to your temple.

“You did good out there, you know,” he murmurs, pulling a scoff from you.

“Did not,” you say, stuffing another fry in your mouth.

“I’m serious, you did good today, Y/n.”

“Dean, I nearly face planted at Casper the friendly ghost’s feet today, not to mention that spirit tossed me around like a chew toy. I wouldn’t call that a win,” you grumble, feeling his eyes on you.

It was confirmed when you turned your head to look at him, his gaze on you as his lips pursed in disapproval. That and it was topped off with the raise of his brow, a huff puffing out from his nose. You knew he wouldn’t agree with you, not in a million years, and you didn’t see how he couldn’t. You made a fool of yourself today and if no one knew any better, they would have thought it’d been your first ever hunt of your life.

“Stop that,” he says with furrowed brows.

“Stop what?”

“That thing you always do where you get all wrapped up in that pretty head of yours. Stop that.”

“You mean the thing you always do?”

The crease between his brows deepens and the dimples sitting at the corners of his mouth do the same, his boot nudging your foot. You raise your eyebrow and smile softly, turning away as you finish up your food. You may have won that argument, if you’d even call it that, but he knew he was right. You knew he was right.

He chose to say nothing more on the subject, knowing full well you’d have a counter readily on the tip of your tongue to just about anything he could say about it. Instead, he settled for pulling you closer after you put the wrappers in the bag, putting it on the nightstand. You tucked into his side, the place you wanted to be most after the day you’d had. He was warm and solid and there, he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Dean Winchester might not have been a man known to show big acts of affection with frequent I love you’s and grand dinners to fancy restaurants, he might not buy you expensive gifts or pretty flowers to show you his love for you. But he didn’t really need to, he never needed to do that. He was your rock, the one you could rely on in anything that bothered you. He was safe.

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed and you still hadn’t known what exactly was going on in the movie that Dean had put on to watch. You were far too caught up and distracted with the beat of his heart as you lay your head over it, or the way he’d been absentmindedly dragging the tips of his fingers along your shoulder as he watched the tv. At the occasional chuckle rumbling in his chest and jostling you around a bit but you didn’t mind. You were finally comfortable, finally able to relax after tracking down the same spirit for the past two days.

Now it was over and done with, and now you could put it behind you.

“Thanks for thinking of me, De,” you murmur, gesturing to the now empty paper bag.

He laughs softly, lips pressed to your forehead. “I’m always thinkin’ about you.”

You smile then, looking up at him with a certain fondness that never fails to make his heart flip in his chest now matter how much he tells Sam that it doesn’t. It always does when you look at him like that. But for the first time that day you felt better, felt at ease that maybe everything hadn’t gone quite as badly as you’d envisioned it had.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours.

You bumped his freckled nose with yours, a soft sigh falling past your lips and fanning over his own. But the exasperation you felt had quickly melted into an even softer smile, one he couldn’t see but he knew was there when it pressed into his lips. “I know you do, De.”

He kissed you again, and again, the smile on his lips brushing over yours just like you had done.

“You taste like a burger, sweetheart,” he chuckled, even more so when you swat at his chest.

“Yeah, and you taste like pie,” you counter, shaking your head.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he adds, sweet enough to smooth it over with you. He tugged you in again, his lips meeting yours in a kiss even sweeter than the last, his breath warm against your lips as his kiss lingered more than a few moments before he went in for another. “Yeah, totally not a bad thing.”

You laugh softly at his hum, any remaining upset that you felt simmering in you now dissolving at that point and replacing it with something happier.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic

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txciaz · 3 years

Text

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

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achillieus · 3 years

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

quick note: i wrote this back in 2018 after meeting sebastian in greece but i redited it now, so if you see any mistakes or typos please tell me :)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

part: 2/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

It’s Monday when they come back from their small trip to the south. You’re watering the jasmine in your balcony when you hear the engine of Argyris’ car slowly shut down and see two figures getting out of the back seats.

It’s him and a blonde woman. You remember meeting her that night in the terrace. You’ve learnt that she’s a great actress and will play the other main character in the film.

When she notices you looking at them, she waves.

“Hey, Sebastian it’s your friend there.” She gives his shoulder a soft nudge.

We’re not friends. That’s what you almost yell back at her.

His head shots up, smiling.

He’s always smiling. It’s getting annoying.

You can see him going through his bag as he calls your name.

“Look, I brought you some traditional sweets.” He’s holding a small wrapped up package. He starts wiggling it in the air.

He looks so jolly and proud of himself. It makes your throat dry.

And before you can control it, you laugh. You can’t see it from where you’re standing but he bites his bottom lip at the sound.

Two hours later he’s sitting in your kitchen devouring half of the pastries he got you.

“These are actually so good, how can you not like them?” He says and it comes out all garbled. His mouth is full of sugary dough.

You do like them. But he does too. And you can find them anytime you want here. You doubt it’s the same in New York.

“They’re just not my favorite,” he nods “but thank you anyway.”

“Well let’s say you owe me,” you furrow your brows in confusion “and will repay me by sending me some of those once I’m gone.”

He laughs before taking another bite.

And as you stare at him, you notice that he’s different. His gaze is tranquil, his voice is soft and he has some cream at the corner of his lips.

Like that, he looks more like a guy you met at college than a well known actor.

Like that, we could be friends, you think.

You talk a lot. He tells you about his time in Romania and his first audition. It makes you realize you are far more interested in acting than what you thought. You tell him how you think team Iron Man is the superior team. He gasps, as if he is hurt.

He doesn’t mention his girlfriend. You don’t ask about her. It’s easier for both of you this way.

A stifling heat rises to your body as you walk under the burning sun. You don’t realize how Argyris gets you to give Sebastian a tour around the city, but you can remember a pair of light eyes pleading you.

You can easily hear him humming to himself. You turn to look at him. He’s wearing a hat and his forehead is sweating. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re in a very good mood today.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well I’m stuck with you for the day so what choice do I have?” You shrug.

He makes a face at you. You crack and a huge smile forms in your face.

He leans closer, mouth to ear and then he speaks.

“You know, I can’t tell if you hate me or just like me too much.”

His breath hits your cheek.

You try not to blink at the sudden foreign touch.

His words find your skin and they’re so clear and powerful. Suddenly you’re an open page to him.

He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for an answer, a nod, a glance.

You are still standing close, the city sounds doing nothing to ease the heated silence between you two.

He realizes you’re not going to give him any response so he lowers his eyes.

And then, when he looks up again, it almost feels like he gives you mercy and agrees to let you get away with it this time.

He smiles.

“So where is Acropolis?”

When he’s lying on your couch after six hours of being a tourist and under the summer sun he looks exhausted. Still he’s his typical talkative self.

“You are always so pumped.”

“And you rarely are.”

“Doesn’t it get tiring?” you ask each other at the same time. It seems like you are two different sides of the exact same coin. One body. One heart.

“Today was nice.” He stretches his arms. “Thank you.”

You open the window. There is barely any wind out there. The air smells of hot cement and flowers.

The man on your couch has closed his eyes, breathing softly.

You try to ignore him over and over for the last days. Until you cannot ignore him anymore; your world has come to an end.

So many people know who Sebastian Stan is.

Only few will ever know him like this; falling asleep on a cheap brown couch with his hair messy, his chest rising and falling and his mind empty of thoughts.

These are photographs of your memories now.

An involuntary smile spreads across your face at the thought.

You see him swift and his hand clenches tightly around a throw pillow.

“Stop looking at me like that you creep,” he says.

“Come closer,” he means.

The sun is long gone and he’s still asleep when there’s a knock on your door. It’s Argyris.

“Please tell me he’s here.”

You nod and motion towards Sebastian’s drifted away body.

“When I left you this morning, I didn’t actually think you’d last this long together.” He tells you the moment he sees him.

The words fall out of his mouth too easily for your liking. “But I should have known better.”

You don’t understand much. You take a step out of your door. You don’t want to wake him up.

“Do you know how many times he mentioned you while we were away?’

Everything stops and falls quiet in the hall.

The words choke you. You shake your head.

“I need you to be smarter than him.” He says and touches your shoulder. “His world moves too fast for people like us.”

It’s effortless not to look at the man in front of you. It’s hard not to shallow his saying.

He wakes up an hour later. He looks at you and it feels sacred. His eyes are still red and the pillow has left a mark on his left cheek.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep here.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it was rude, you should have yelled at me to wake up or something.”

“But you looked tired.”

You carry on with doing the dishes and you hear the couch squeak as he stands up and steps towards you.

The water is refreshingly cold on your skin and the soap smells like lemon.

His hands find your waist and his touch is burning. You wish he disappears. You wish he stays for the night. You don’t even know what you’re wishing for anymore. He comes closer and rests his head on top of yours.

And then he wraps his arms around you and you get flashes of days and nights where there was not enough air for you to breath and your ribs ached.

His action is not so noble. It feels like his body steals all the rationality you have. But it gives you this feeling that there will be no more starless skies at night. And that’s enough for now, so you don’t complain.

His skin feels soft and he smells of sweat and vanilla. Somehow you find that alluring.

He looks at you for a second, like he’s trying to memorize your face. And then he pulls away completely silent.

You try to understand what he’s thinking but he gives nothing away. You were never good at reading people.

You blink and he’s almost out of your apartment.

“Goodnight” he shouts.

“Goodnight” you whisper.

You close the window. You wonder how he will spend the night. He probably won’t sleep soon. He just woke up.

But you can’t sleep either. You just move around in your bed. You sink into the sheets and try to close your eyes.

Your phone buzzes.

He follows you on Instagram.

I need you to be smarter than him.

You go through his profile. You want to think he’s doing the same. You want him to do the same.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

You sigh. Perhaps there could have been a time when you would have stayed away from him, but you can’t pretend to ignore it for much longer. And you’re scared of it. And you’re scared of him.

But you’re more scared of how hard it’s for loneliness to fade. And you wish this doesn’t end like a greek tragedy.

One day of the following week you go out for coffee. The curly haired woman comes with you. You don’t understand why. And while you’re adding more sugar to your espresso, she tells him she loves his acting. She uses all kinds of adjectives to describe it; hopeful and poignant, celestial.

You like the way she talks. She sounds beautiful. You almost envy her abundance of words.

But Sebastian stops listening.

He watches the way your fingers wrap around the sugar box. He can see your nerves and your synapses move underneath your skin and he thinks he’s watching a dance show.

He will never tell you, but it’s then; under the morning sun and with sugar in your hands, that he feels his heart beat with the power of cymbals for the first time.

He thinks you don’t have to know.

He’s wrong.

You learn the girl is an actress herself. They’ll be in the movie together. They look stellar together.

Looking at them, gives you a violent feeling that wrenches your stomach around.

You can’t hate her for that. You feel like it’s more your fault than hers. That feeling however, grabs you by the shoulders and doesn’t let go. You try not to let it show.

But for some reason when Sebastian almost touches your palm, you look at her and you’re certain this is entirely mutual.

You make a silent agreement to not include him in any of this.

“You were extremely quiet earlier.” He says as you reach the building you call home.

He wants to spend time together until his scheduled shooting. You don’t complain.

“You always say that.” You try to joke. He looks right at you.

And then you notice that his eyes aren’t the color of the sea. They’re more grayish blue. They’re like a frozen lake in December.

“I know,” he starts messing with his hair “But you can’t deny you barely talked back there.”

When you enter your apartment, he immediately throws himself on your couch. These last few days it feels like he owns that right spot there in front of your big window.

“I’ve told you, I talk when I have something to say.”

He smiles at your words.

“Then I must be lucky you talk to me.” He whispers softly.

You sit next to him. If you move a little closer you could touch him, feel his warmth. You don’t.

You never thought of how easy it has become to talk to him. You don’t keep your thoughts locked and your teeth clenched around him. And that’s a novice feeling for you.

You let your eyelids fall close and lay back.

There’s a language between you two. It starts with secret glances and whispers and now it contains words that build and ruin bodies and souls.

Sometimes you want to say them all together. Sometimes you just want to open your mouth and let everything flow out but then you’re scared you’ll make him mad. Or you’ll make him love you.

You can’t decide which is worse and that’s enough to stop you.

“What is this thing between us?” He sounds all tender-like, but his blood feels heavy at the moment. He’s not sure if he can keep breathing. He regrets the words that leave his lips, when it’s already too late.

You have the answer figured out long time before he asks. But you’re not ready to give it to him.

“I don’t know” you open your eyes “I don’t know.” You repeat.

He doesn’t tell anyone but sometimes he feels nauseous before a shooting. You can clearly see that now. His pacing up and down the room and his roaming eyes give him away.

You are surprised. You never thought he could be nervous. He looks so confident and radiant all the time; you sometimes forget he is still a regular human being.

“You have no reason to worry.” His lips twitch.

“I know.”

“But you still worry.” You grin and catch his arm to stop him from moving.

The look he gives you is acute.

“You have no reason to be sad,” he starts, without breaking eye contact “but you still are.”

You feel naked and hug yourself close.

It’s very strange to have someone scratch everything from you and see your raw truth. You’re not certain it’s something you enjoy. You wish it didn’t make you quiver.

Sebastian wishes he could scratch deeper under your dermis and your fingernails and slither there between your muscles and your heart where blood runs thick and melancholy hasn’t conquered yet.

“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head.

“You didn’t say anything hurtful.”

You worry your words may come out bitter. You don’t want that.

“It won’t last forever.” he says and then your name appears in his tongue. You like the way he says it. It almost sounds like poetry. “You won’t be sad forever.”

You smile and, in that moment, you aren’t a worldwide known celebrity and a girl in her early twenties. You are just two people seeking comfort.

The same night there’s a party for the first day of shooting. You don’t feel like going, but he doesn’t let you stay home.

What did you do last night?

Went to a party with Sebastian Stan, typical Thursday night.

You can picture the look on everyone’s face. It makes your lips turn upward just a little.

“I told you to be careful.” The voice sounds almost far away but your neighbor is standing right next to you as he mutters.

“I am.” You say with a laugh. He crosses his arms.

“No, you are here, watching him starry-eyed.”

Your fingers start playing with the rough fabric of your dress.

“I don’t know how to stop it.” You whisper.

He tells you to not entail yourself in something you don’t know the way out of. But what does he know about solitude and rushed breaths?

What does he know about a pair of eyes that look like a frozen lake?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He’s watching you from afar while you talk with Argyris. He notices how your chest moves along with your breathing in a way it looks like it’s made of pure glass.

For a while he thinks of staying there and keep observing you but then Argyris leaves and you’re all alone. And he starts walking closer to you.

All eyes are on him as he goes through the main dance floor. The curly haired actress stops moving to the beat and follows him with her gaze.

They both reach you.

And you know he’s moving towards you before you can see him. It’s like your body is aware of his presence madly fast.

His eyes seem darker under the hazy light.

He grabs your hand.

You almost heave.

“Let’s get out of here.” He breaths.

You walk for some time. It’s late and Athens is quiet around that time. There is only a soft broken sound of cars and you think about that time you saw a car crash happen in front of your eyes.

You sit close in an old dirty staircase in a forgotten back alley. The city has a lot of those, but people don’t notice. They just walk past them, always in a hurry.

Sebastian sighs heavily. He looks at you in a way it makes you think he’s trying to memorize everything. The way midnight air caresses your body, the way red lighting falls in your hair from that street lamp. He looks at you for an indefinite and long period of time and it feels exquisite.

You place your fingers on his palm and the world flickers. He’s still wearing the rings they gave him for the movie and they feel cold against your skin.

“Do you ever miss Romania?”

The question startles him.

“Every day.”

You nod. Maybe he knows more about sorrow than you give him credit for.

“I remember the dog fence and our neighbors’ daughter and the orange sky through my window, minutes before sun set.”

Your hand locks around his and you stay silent for a while.

“This is the Lyra constellation.” His eyes light up as he looks up.

You remember reading about how much he’s into space. It’s intriguing.

“Where?”

He doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead he picks it up and guides it with his own. His body moves closer. There’s no cold in the air.

As your eyes search for the stars that your hands point at, he watches you and he’s certain that one day he’d love to lay on his back, with you on his side and show you all the little dead planets in the sky. Show you the secrets of the universe.

And he feels like this is the type of beauty that musicians try to write songs about.

“Ah!” Your grip becomes tighter and you smile. “I can see it!”

He laughs at your childish enthusiasm.

You laugh too.

And then you let your head fall on his shoulder, your hair touching his bare skin. You don’t blame them for making him wear sleeveless shirts for the film.

You can him feel shudder at your sudden motion, but then he exhales and his muscles relax.

He observes the features of your face from this angle. He almost traces them with his fingers.

“They’re probably going to kill me for stealing you away from the party.” You whisper.

“I think I was the one who grabbed your hand and left.” He laughs again and you can feel his chest pounding.

His phone buzzes. He doesn’t look at it. He closes his eyes.

“Δείξε μου όλα τα αστέρια. ”

He doesn’t understand a word but your voice sounds too close. You feel too close. And that’s almost tearing him apart.

“What does that mean?”

You turn to look at him. The neon sign on the old building behind him keeps trembling.

“It means, show me the stars.”

And he does. And he feels like he could burn alive.

And you will never tell him; but you still think of him when you catch a glimpse of burning stars.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #monday the movie #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #letyoudown

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namjoonchronicles · 4 years

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

932 notes · View notes

elainevc · 3 years

Text

please stay pt. 2

fem!reader x levi

⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️: Mentions of blood, vomit, low appetite, weight loss, illness, needles, angst

Please do not read if these themes are triggers. Your mental health is more important than stories on the internet. Please take care of yourself <3

Weeks had passed since Levi had confessed. Your health wasn't getting better, but it wasn't getting worse. So, he took that as a blessing.

Hange did experiments and tests every day. They discovered you had alba rheumatismus rulmonum; your lungs were slowly collapsing and you weren't healing because your body was too busy trying to get the nutritions you lacked.

She explained that it was common in women who lived inside wall Rose. Only thirty years ago was a cure developed. The disease practically disappeared after that.

But now that you were diagnosed, the cure was difficult to get a hold of. Erwin had to pull some very special strings to get the syringe in their hands. It was nerve-wracking to say the least, but you wanted to get better. The survey corps needed as many soldiers as they could get and you weren't about to roll over and be killed by a little coughing.

The finally came when the procedure would take place. The 104th cadets visited you in the morning to wish you good luck. Sasha made sure to show up with a bowl of soup from breakfast.

Before they left, Levi entered the room and shooed them out.

He walked over to your bedside and carefully grabbed your hand. His cold fingers traced over your skin.

"How are you feeling," he asked like he was almost afraid of the answer.

"Eh, could be worse. At least I'm not titan food." He smiled but it wasn't genuine. The air was tense as he got lost in his rhoughts.

His eyes had a far-away look in them as he stared at your intertwined hands. When you squeezed he met your gaze. You lifted your hand to cup his cheek and like a cat he leaned into your touch. You gently led him down to your face.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's not like I'm gonna die," you joke but he doesn't seem entertained.

He was only focused on your lips as he met your mouth to his. It was soft and tender and you could feel how much emotion he was trying to convey. Levi always struggled to express his feelings and you were aware of this.

Just as you were about to start moving, he pulled away.

"Promise me you'll stay," he nearly pleaded with you. He was desperate. You smiled and nodded. Like hell you were going to leave him all by himself.

It was strange watching the seemingly emotionless captain breakdown in front of you. You knew better than anyone that he did in fact care about his comrades and he just struggled to express that.

"Hey," you spoke softly with your fingers pulling his chin up to face you, "I'm not gonna leave you."

He took in a long breath to settle his nerves and nodded.

Erwin and Hange entered quietly, a small box tucked under the section commander's arm. She began preparing the injection while Erwin walked over to you.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm ready to get this over with so I can get back out in the field."

Erwin hummed in response. His brows were furrowed in thought. Despite your long-standing friendship with him, the commander still found a way to make you nervous. Or maybe it was your body preparing for the next few days of hell. Either way, his gaze was frightening and you found yourself gripping Levi's hand a little.

Hange walked over with gloves on and the needle ready for you.

You forced yourself to put on a brave face and roll up your sleeve. They wiped your skin down and meet your eyes. The needle was inches from your skin but felt like it was already in.

They slowly pierced the skin and flushed the syringe dry of... whatever was inside.

It didn't feel any different. She pulled away and returned to the box to clean the supplies. Erwin placed a patch of thin gauze over the injection.

Levi helped you stand and led you to your room. You all agreed it would be best to go through the side effects in a comfortable environment. The cadets had helped move some buckets and what-not into the room earlier that morning.

You sat on your bed carefully and Levi stayed standing in front of you. He watched you sway a little as you felt fatigue grab a hold of you.

He knelt down so he was eye level with you. His steel blue irises stared intently at you. Neither of you spoke for a long moment before he decided to put his hand on the side of your face.

His fingers tickled your ear and his palm was warm against your cheek. You moved forward slightly to meet him.

Your lips connected with his in a soft, tender kiss. It was passionate as he tried to convey everything he was feeling in one single moment. He tasted like black tea and you found yourself loving that.

The two of you separated but he leaned in again to kiss your forehead sweetly.

You felt like you could melt right then and there.

"Geg some sleep brat. You don't need to feel any worse tomorrow." You grinned up at him. He didn't mean for it to be funny but he enjoyed your smile nonetheless.

You moved to get comfortable and fell asleep quickly under the covers. Levi sat in an armchair tucked in the corner. He never got much sleep anyway so staying up to make sure you would be okay wasn't a problem to him.

The night passed uneasily. The medication was starting to sink in and your body was becoming more uncomfortable every hour. You tossed and turned relentlessly but never once woke from your sleep.

Levi stood and poked your cheek. You stirred a little but didn't wake. He poked you again until you opened your eyes and looked at him.

"Come on, you need to eat something."

The covers were too warm to leave their safe embrace so you simply curled into them more. Levi rolled his eyes at you and left the room to prepare your breakfast.

He knew you appreciated a cup of tea when you didn't feel good.

The kitchen was oddly silent and Levi wondered where the cadets had gone. Sasha must have already had her breakfast if she wasn't in the kitchen at the moment.

Levi carried the tray of food back to your room, but when he entered your bed was empty.

The sound of gagging came from the bathroom. He set the tray down and hurried to your side. You were hunched over a bucket hurling your innards out. Yeah this was Levi, and he was obviously grossed out by the vomit, but a part of him still wanted to kneel by your side and comfort you.

He decided on a happy medium of pulling your hair back (or rolling up your sleeves if you don't have hair or wear a cap) and resting a hand on your back.

You finished shortly after and cleaned your mouth. It was safe to say you weren't hungry any more.

You returned to the bed as a sudden wave of heat hit your body. Sweat formed on your skin and threatened to drip down your face.

"Levi.. can I get a cold cloth," you ask quietly.

He nods and comes back to your side with a brown towel. He adjusts it on your forehead and instantly feel better. You cough a little to clear your throat, but this sends you into a coughing fit.

You sit up and continue into your arm. The familar taste of iron fills your mouth and soon the inside of your sleeve is coated with blood.

Fuck, this was going to be a shitty week.

The next few days were filled with your constant changing temperature and occasional vomitting. Hange assured Levi that this was the normal process and that you would get better soon. He didn't believe it entirely, or maybe that was just his cynical side.

Your thinning frame and pale skin reminded him too much of his mom. You barely ate anything and couldn't get out of bed most of the time. The bucket seemed to always be in use.

Levi hated watching you like this. He hated seeing you fall apart in front of him and that there was nothing he could do about it.

He knew that the best thing to do was to trust Hange and Erwin buf that was harder than he thought. His trust dwindled the worse you got and the two of them knew he was nervous. They saw the way he looked at your sleeping form, the way he hurried to fulfill any sudden need of yours.

It was all too unsure for him to be relaxed.

The day you stood from your bed on your own was the day he felt his heart beat a little faster.

The day you were able to walk without assistance made him want to run to you and pick up. He wanted to twirl you around in one swift motion and hold your body close to his.

The day you ate 3 whole meals was the day Levi made a promise to himself.

He promised himself to never let you go and to keep you safe until the moment he dies. He promised to protect you and never see you hurt ever again.

He wanted you to stay with him and be his forever.

That was all he wanted after that.

#levi angst #levi ackerman #snk levi #aot levi #levi x reader #levi attack on titan #captain levi #attack on titan levi #levi ackermann #levi fluff #snk angst

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oddaodd · 3 years

Text

·A Conjured Up Death Wish·

Summary: Y/n begins to worry about how much damage Grace’s ghost can cause.

Author’s note: This was requested by the lovely @captivatedbycillianmurphy and I just have to say I instantly fell in love with this request because I love ghosts and the occult so I really hope I did it justice. As always, I wish you all the loveliest of days. ❤️

Warnings: mentions of death, ghosts and death wishes.

“Could we take it down?” Y/n spoke almost timidly one night as she laid in bed next to her husband.

“Take what down?”

“Grace’s picture in the staircase” she said looking at tommy’s face assessing his reaction

She saw the way he seemed to stiffen at the mention of her name, specially if she was the one mentioning it.

“Why?” He asked although he knew it was unnecessary. Did he really need a reason other than her just not wanting to keep the picture of his ex-wife?

Y/n knew she had to thread lightly. Grace had always been a sensitive topic. She could lie and say she didn’t want her picture in her walls because it pained her, but she decided to go with the truth.

“I feel her eyes following me whenever I walk down the stairs”

When Tommy didn’t answer she took his hand in hers, soothingly rubbing her thumb on the back of his hand. Bringing his attention back to her

“Im not asking you to get rid of it, just maybe hang it someplace else so I don’t have to see it everyday”

Tommy squeezed her hand meaning he understood her reasons before pressing a soft kiss to her lips and giving a soft sigh

“Alright” he said before turning around, his back to her.

She scooted closer to him and pressed a kiss to his exposed freckled skin “Thank you”

A few hours later Y/n woke up with a jolt after a rather horrid nightmare revolving around the painting. Tommy, oddly enough was still in bed next to her, sleeping soundly. After trying to fall asleep again and failing miserably, she got out of bed and made her way towards the bathroom for a glass of water. She took a few deep breaths and some gulps of water trying to calm herself down.

She felt somehow guilty of having asked Tommy to take the painting down and she felt angry at herself for feeling guilty. If she was honest with herself she had never been entirely comfortable with Tommy’s previous wife’s painting hanging there She had always wanted to take it down but never felt she had a good enough reason. Had she provoked herself a hallucination out of her need to take the blasted painting down?

After pondering for a while she settled assured it wasn’t the case. There had been after all, several occasions when she had seen a whisper of Grace lingering about the house and Tommy himself. At first she blamed her tiredness but when those tiny glimpses of her never vanished y/n didn’t know what to think.

She took a long look into the the mirror hoping for her own reflection to answer all the questions she had, prioritizing her main concern.

“Are we going mad ?”

But she didn’t get an answer, what she did however get, was another glimpse of Grace gliding behind her and out the door, her cold eyes staring deep into y/n’s warm ones.

Y/n turned around so fast she knocked the glass of water off the sink and it shattered as it hit the tiled floor. She cursed at herself before bending down and picking up the shards.

Tommy was across the door a few seconds later.

“Are you alright?” He asked .A slight tone of panic evident in his voice, consequence no doubt of being woken up by the silent crashing sound of the glass.

“Yeah” Y/n dismissed. “I accidentally dropped it, sorry for waking you” she said as she continued picking up the glass.

“Leave it, love. Someone will pick it up in the morning” Tommy said a bit more relaxed.

Y/n then walked towards him with shaky feet, careful not to step into any poignant glass before turning off the lights and taking one last look at the bathroom, half expecting to see Grace there. She felt a bit relaxed when she didn’t see her.

They made their way back to the bed and as she laid there in Tommy’s arms she wanted to tell him what she had seen but decided against it.

The next day Tommy took the painting down.

Some months passed and Y/n grew accustomed to Grace’s sporadic appearances and began ignoring them. In Y/n’s eyes there wasn’t much Grace could do, she was a ghost after all. No matter how many vases she knocked over and how many deadly stares she sent at Y/n to startle her, she wasn’t afraid.

Her calmness and acceptance however began to waver when she noticed Tommy was becoming distant. His stare was always lost, his opium intake had increased significantly and his omnipresent death wish was becoming more and more evident as he made alliances with men of dubious intentions. Much to y/n’s dismay her mind began to wonder how her life would be without him.

His presence suddenly felt jeopardized, the constant invasion of a sick feeling of knowing he wouldn’t be next to her forever followed her everywhere. She felt she was walking on thin ice and at any moment, she would plunge into the ice cold water beneath against her will and she didn’t know if she could survive its gelid temperatures.

She had taken to talking to Ada about it since she didn’t know what else to do. Y/n found out Ada was worried for Tommy too and far from comforting her, knowing so made her nasty feelings feel more real because it meant she wasn’t only being paranoid.

One night when Y/n was hanging around Tommy’s home office (a habit she had picked up when he began spending less time at home) she got a phone call from Ada. She told her that Tommy had just been to her place talking about standing on bridges and seeing Grace. The moment her name rang through Y/n’s ears she repressed a shiver. She thanked Ada for telling her, hurriedly hung up the phone and began to cry.

Now she was afraid of her.

Her cries echoed through the big office as dread filled her body. Her throat became sore and her eyelids heavy. She had never been in such despair before. She didn’t know for how long she cried until the sound of tires against gravel made her look up from her mascara stained hands and as she did she saw Grace standing before her. Clear as day. She wasn’t smiling but her expression held a certain glee. Did she like to see Y/n cry?

“Leave him the fuck alone!” She shouted at her, violently standing up from his desk hoping it would intimidate her.

When Grace didn’t even flinch Y/n threw an ashtray at her. The heavy object flew right threw her and then she disappeared.

Suddenly the doors opened and in came a worn out looking Tommy . His dull expression turned worried as his eyes fell on y/n’a disheveled face.

“Y/n, what..” but Y/n interrupted him as she engulfed him in a desperate hug afraid he would disappear too.

“You can’t listen to her” y/n cried urgently into his chest “Don’t do what the voices tell you to do, don’t do what she says”

Tommy didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. He pulled away from her grasp and looked into her face.

“Love, Don’t listen to what Ada tells you about me” he said in a fake nonchalant tone.

“I love you, Thomas and I don’t want to loose you” she confessed shamelessly “I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“You won’t loose me” he spoke hypocritically as if Y/n’s worries were completely irrational.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend everything is alright when it isn’t” she said with red eyes. “You are falling apart and I’m here watching you and I can’t do anything while Grace lures you away

“Don’t say that” he said weakly, feeling confronted.

“She has to leave and the only one who can make her leave is you”

Tommy’s eyes glazed with sudden vulnerability coaxing a few more tears out of Y/n’s eyes. What If he didn’t want Grace to leave?

“This path you’re walking is not a very long one and if you’re holding her hand it’s going to end sooner” she said cradling his head in her hands. “Please let me in”

She could see conflict brewing in Tommy’s eyes, before he sank into her embrace in acceptance. Would things ever be as they were before?

@peakyxtommy @writeroutoftime @nyotamalfoy @lilymurphy03

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby angst #Tommy Shelby request #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby one shot #thomas shelby angst #Thomas Shelby request #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders request

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visd3stele · 3 years

Text

The beauty and his beast - wolfstar fic

summary: two different nights, years passed, some things changes, but some never do

TW: nightmares, PTSD, trauma, non depictive child abuse, themes of suicidal thoughts

A/N: I loved writing this, but I am so nervous about it. What do you think?

requests ; masterlist

fanart credit picture down below: @lunopal

Ragged voices licked his ears. Three different ones overlapped in a cacophony of hissed whispers and dooming laughs. From where he stood in the middle of his cell, Sirius could see a silhouette standing in the open door. Open, because there was no way he could escape. Three Dementors floated in a circle around him, so fast he could barely tell them apart. Black smoke, a burning smell and shadows whirled under low hoods, bringing him to his knees.

The man in the door curled his lips in a terrible grin. The Dementors were his and with each mind they broke, with each soul they ate, the wizard gained a sense of pride and morbid joy.

Sirius knew it. He knew the man, back in his school years - how far they seemed now! But Sirius also knew he was delusional. The Dementors bow to no one. They have no law, no caretaker, no master. Only their purpose.

Continuing to swirl around his frail body, sinked in to a third of what it used to be, bony edges poking out through dirty thin layers of clothing, the Dementors closed in on Sirius. Flashes of memories flew before the Animagus' eyes. James' empty ones, still open in a silent plea for his sacrifice to be enough to save his family, his brown hair dipped in his own blood, body angled in an unnatural position with his hand stretched forward above his head as if reaching for his best friend. Lily's tears, yet to dry and evaporates, stained her too pale face, the red of her hair sprayed around too lively; no blood pools formed around her lifeless body, laid on its belly as it fell onward, as if leaping away from her son, so the baby won't have to see it. And finally Harry, his godson, crying in his crib, a brown-red crust shaped like a lightning forming on his forehead; his green, small eyes, swollen, puffy and trimmed with red followed his godfather as the man turned his back on him and ran outside.

Sirius cursed loudly, beginning to shackle the chains trapping him in place in case he tried to escape the daily visit of the Prison Warrant and his guards. But the now twenty five years old has stopped trying to run a long time ago. What good would it be? There was nothing - no one - waiting from him out in the world. No, Sirius trashing around the cold, dirty dais, snapping the metal biting in his wrists, bruising his effervescent skin and almost cracking his bones as well was his attempt to run from his own mind. If he could just wipe the haunting memories away with a shook of his head, a twist of his back or punching and kicking the thick walls.

Fragments of thoughts he wasn't sure belonged to him invaded his mind. "Your fault. Traitor. Another Black." And, worst of all, one pained howl, a desperate scream in the night. Sirius wasn't sure if he heard it, or the dark creatures around toyed with him, but Remus' wild, feral yell of pure hurt reverberated inside the bars of his mind. The young wizard shut his eyes closed tightly, hoping to brush away the sound, the voices. Failing to do so, he released a scream of his own, only a hint of Padfoot, the big, black dog, his alter ego, printed in it.

The thirty four years old man yanked up. The bed sheets were soaked in his sweat, the blanket throwed on the floor. Sirius passed a shacking hand over his face, feeling the hot air leaving his mouth in short breaths, than big inhales with no exhale, the burning of tears on his warm red cheeks and the running nose. His lips felt sewed together all of a sudden, as chill after chill entered his body, cooling off his face too quickly.

It was just a nightmare, he knew. He escaped Azkaban, has been a free man from over a week already. But Sirius Black couldn't let the twelve years in prison go. The things he saw there, what the Dementors showed him day after day, carved their way in his brain, refusing to leave. Yes, he may have been wrong: his family and living friend welcomed him back. Harry was warming up to hid godfather, Nymphadora Tonks was eager to know her uncle, Andromeda even reached out, sending letter after letter and Remus - well, Remus hugged him tight and apologized for believing that filthy rat's lies. The werewolf spent his days, from first ray of sunshine until the last drop of sunlight. But the nights he went home. The nights when ghosts came to play, wounds teared open and pain leaked like blood from Sirius' heart, Remus was gone.

He tried to remember a time they didn't share a bed - before Azkaban, of course. Not in a sexual way, though it came to that in the late years of Hogwarts too. But simply for the comfort they each found in the other. It started in the second year, Sirius recalled.

Four twelve years old boys in a room seemed like a receipt for disaster. In a way, it was. After finding out their friend's secret, James, Sirius and Peter decided to sneak in the herbology cabinet, get Mandrake leaves and become Animagus. Seeing as they got away with it, the four created their enchanted map and become the Marauders, messers Prongs, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, waltzing their merry way through Hogwarts.

Not everything was merry and joyful, though. And despite their reputation, the wizards could be grave and serious when need be. Like one night, when Sirius woke them all up with his cries. The grey eyed boy stood on top of his bed covers, knees drawn to his chest, hands tangled in his shoulder length hair. He leaned back and forth, trembling. Front teeth bit in his lower lip to prevent him from making more noises as silent tears rolled down his face.

The other three boys thought Sirius saw a mean spirit, the haunted glassy look in his eyes only proving their theory further. But no danger threatened in the shadows of their room. No monster lurked in the darkness.

James was the first to get up and surf his way to the pure blood. Remus followed closely behind while Peter watched everything from the safety of his bed. Sirius' episode truly spooked him.

"Padfoot, mate, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. 'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

James and Remus changed worried looks at the sourness of Sirius' voice. Their friend would usually be the epitome of confidence, yet now he seemed to desperately try to shrink and disappear. But it was late and they were tired, so the boys decided with a swift nod that they'd pick up the subject in the morning and climbed back under their covers.

Remus jolted awake. Two out of his three best friends were sound asleep. Sirius still stared at the wall in front of him, breathing jerky. Due to his fine, superior hearing, the werewolf discerned the Black boy's muffled whimpers, sounds that kept him from sleeping.

"Sirius, why are you so afraid?" Remus whispered.

" 'm not afraid, Moony. Sleep."

"Can't. Werewolf remember? I hear you trying to not cry. You can cry, you know."

"I know." Sirius said in a tone that clearly showed he doesn't. With a sigh, Remus threw away his blanket, slipped his feet in his shoes and trailed his legs over the dorm's brick daises until he reached his friend's bed. The brown haired boy signed Sirius to scoop over, which he did, to both wizards surprise.

Later, when talking about that night, Padfoot admitted he was too tired, too shocked and too lost in his mind to think and only acted on auto pilot.

Remus brought the blankets to cover them both, still seated as they were. "Do you need a hug?" Sirius hesitated before answering, but eventually he nodded twice, a quick movement as if the boy was ashamed to admit it and wanted to pass unnoticed.

But Remus smiled softly and wrapped his hands around him. Sirius clinged onto his friend. The warmth of the gesture, the cozy closeness of a settled, stable body, a person that cared deeply about him and only him as a being, set the restrained tears free. Remus held Sirius until his body stilled and he could feel no more tears soaking his pajamas.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius swallowed, but the words demanded to be spoken. "Yes."

"Alright. I'm gonna ask you questions and you can answer with yes or no. It's your choice if you want to elaborate. Sounds good?"

"Yes." Sirius said and for a moment his usual, ironic self showed up.

"Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

"About your family?"

With a shudder, the grey eyed boy forced out another "yes."

"Your brother?"

"No."

"Your parents, then. Did they - did they do something to you?"

"Yes." Remus' arms tighten around him and he clunged harder to his friend as well. In the safety of the Gryffindor dorm, shared with his most trusted peers, comforted by the scarred boy he became an Animagus for, Sirius stumbled over his thoughts. The dream weighted heavy on his mind, but he didn't know how to let free of those horrible images that haunted him. Not images, memories. Sirius feared that if he said anything they'll become real. Not that they weren't, but they happened in the past. Talking about them, invoking them, would feel like living through them again.

And yet, part of him wanted to talk. He needed someone to know. Sirius couldn't be sure why. Maybe to hear that it was nothing, that it was ok and he shouldn't be such a weak ship. Or maybe to hear it was normal and he wasn't alone. That is how parents love and his didn't hate him after all. Or just to show someone how broken he were, hoping to be picked un and patched.

So, speaking slowly, but evenly, Sirius retailed his nightmare to Remus. In his sleep, the twelve years old boy was hanging some muggle posters in his room: bands, promo for concerts, normal things a boy his age would own. He smiled broadly, music turned on quite loud, muggle music, when his parents bursts in. Walburga and Orion both yell, but Sirius can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s pretty clear they are very upset with him, though. And the reason couldn’t be more obvious.

“Sirius Orion Black!” his mother shrieked. “Ungrateful, worthless child! You are a stain on the family’s name.”

“You should be ashamed of you. As much as I am for being your father. Well, say something. Look how upset you made your mother!”

“Sorry,” he’d try to say, but his voice would break, too small to be heard by the angry adults. Which only worsened their state. Sirius watched frozen in terror as Walburga took her wand. Only his head seemed to be able to move, and he was shacking it vigorously, wiping his cheeks with it. The young wizard tasted tears on his tongue as he repeated the same words over and over again “no, please, ‘m sorry!” It did nothing to help.

Remus stayed in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

The moon shone mockingly on the window. Last night has been a full moon and Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail failed to properly contain Moony. It happened quite a lot in their first days as Animagus. As normal, they got better over the years, the four boys falling in rhythm like an oiled machine. By the time they reached excellency, though, mistakes happened. James, Peter and Sirius thought less of it, but Remus took it badly.

As he laid in the dark, blanket drawn to cover his head as he hugged his knees on the side, the young werewolf tried to remember what happened last night. What if he killed someone? What if he will next time the boys won’t be able to restrain him? Is it worth living like this, a danger to himself and the ones around? What if he hurts his friends?

“I can hear your mind working from over here y’know?”

Remus straighten up in shock. “Padfoot?”

“Well, it’s not the Fat Lady. What’s on your mind?”

Remus shrugged, but Sirius wouldn’t stop pestering him until he poured his deepest fears and doubts.

“You won’t”

“How do you know this?”

“You won’t, Moony,” Sirius said more firmly this time.

“Alright.” Remus clearly didn’t believe him and his worries still troubled him as he turned to lay back down. He heard footsteps, then felt the mattress shifting as another body climbed over his bed covers. “I know because I am Sirius Black and you are my friend.” Less than an hour later, both boys were sound asleep.

Sirius slept in his bed that night.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It became a tradition. At first, they'd wait until one of them woke frozen in pain and panic, then they'd stay together and talk silently until they could sleep again. Later, Sirius and Remus would wait until James and Peter were out to decide who's bed to sleep in, knowing one of them - or both - ought to need the comfort.

The man kept trembling. His sobs caught in hiccups, leaving him out of breath. He did it. He left Harry for revenge. He practically made the choice for James and Lily, selecting Peter as secret keeper. His brother died and instead of mourning him, Sirius rejoiced bitterly in his cell - until he found out how he betrayed the Dark Lord.

He was just another Black. An evil presence in the world, despite his efforts. Gryffindor or Slytherin, it mattered not when his genes crafted him. Sirius tried so hard to be good, brave, loyal and the only thing he managed was to disappoint everyone. He was a nuisance and a burden and the a stain on the world. It'd be better if his sorry, useless existence would be wiped off the surface of the Earth.

Such thoughts clouded Sirius' mind when a light knock pulled him out of his head. "May I come in, Padfoot?"

The man almost broke at the nickname. Only one single person now would know to call him that. The weight of the realization hit him and another wave of tears carried the air from his lungs.

Receiving no answer, Remus kicked the door open, worry written all over him. The werewolf was panting and sweating from running, eyes wide close to terror. "Padfoot!" Seeing his oldest friend's state, he rushed to his side and hesitated only a moment before drawing him in for a hug.

"Nightmare?"

"Yes."

"Azkaban?"

"Yes."

"Dementors?"

"Yes. They-" Sirius gulped, shame tightening up in his throat. He was a thirty four man, for Godric's sake! And yet he cries like a baby. But the path he and Remus trailed off to, simple questions, any type of answer, so familiar and soothing he couldn't stop. "They tortured me. Showing me their - James and Lily's - death over and over. I left Harry, Moony. I stepped inside the house, saw that beautiful, brave child, suffering and I took off after bloody Pettigrew!" Before Remus could say a thing, Sirius continued, teeth so barred that words barely spitted out. "I heard you screaming too. I don't think that was real, but it sounded so broken, Moony. Twelve years, over twenty four full moons alone. 'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

Remus inhaled sharply, pulling Sirius even closer to him. He rubbed circles on his back, leaning to whisper in his ear "It was not, Padfoot. I should have trusted you more, star. If anything, it's my fault for spending so much time alone. So much, in fact, that it seems I neglected you, our agreement."

“It was my fault.” Sirius insisted.

“No,” and not letting him time to argue, Remus added “I know so, Sirius, because I am Remus Lupin and you are my... friend.”

Sirius pulled away only to find a reluctant smile playing on Remus' face. His body reacted before his mind could process its moving. He moved on the right side of the bed, still avoiding the other wizard's eyes. "Why are you here, Remus?"

"I couldn't sleep either. Thought to check on you as well. And good thing I did. You looked..." The professor didn't know how to finish that sentenced. Hollow. Empty. Dead. Scaringly close to death, in fact.

"Merlin! Thank you, Moony. You don't look bad yourself."

Remus chuckled. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No. You?"

"No."

Both men laughed. A bitter sweet sound passing through silence, taking with it any sign of discomfort that existed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

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kitchenscene · 3 years

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four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

#nonsense plotless words but hey they're words !!#911 fox #911 #911 fics #911 fic #eddie diaz #the diaz house #evan buckley #christopher diaz #mine:911 #texas.fic

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