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lustbile · 3 years

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

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platypus-quacks-too · 3 years

Note

hi!! re: your jury duty post, I did write a fic for this but I think you might have seen it!! I don't remember though, so I figured I would message you just in case. I can link you to it if you'd like! but also that fic is francc relationship so I totally get wanting to see like, a fic of canon fran and cc and what happened over those 8 days because that would be fantastic too

I did see it earlier today! Now it's bookmarked and ready to be read soon :) And btw I am totally fine (pun intended) with fran/c.c. shipping stories? I am actually reading your collab I'm not that girl! It's obv not my main ship (that being c.c./niles to my deathbed) and while I usually prefer more 'canonish' tales if a dynamic is interesting and the story is well done, I am all for it. At this point I understood that the second most interesting dynamic to me in the show was c.c. and fran building/potential/you-name-it friendship, and well - as someone brilliantly said on this site, the nanny is that one show within you can ship all the main 4 characters in all combinations and still be somehow right. This said, if anyone has a fic of canon about those 8 days (or just in general about their friendship) just whistle and I run to it.

#I babbled too long again haven't I?#the nanny #c.c. & fran

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cqlfic · 4 years

Text

for as long as i live (and as long as i love)

link to AO3 AUTHOR: pallasj (@pallasjoannas) T, 6983 words, 2/2

RELATIONSHIPS: Lan Wangji / Wei Wuxian BLURB: soulmates AU, soulmarks of the last words your soulmate will say to you

SUMMARY:

As long as he takes to heart the rules of the Cloud Recesses, as long as he walks straight on his path of cultivation, then a soulmate is nothing to him in the grand scheme of things.

(His mother, locked in a cottage surrounded by gentians. For her, he won’t make the same mistakes his father made.

And after all, Lan Wangji thinks bitterly, putting back the bronze mirror in a cabinet, who would want to love someone who would only push him away on either of their deathbeds?)

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and the marks they bear that tell of the last words that their soulmate will ever say to them.

creator chose not to use archive warnings, soulmate-identifying marks, of the last words you say to your soulmate kind, mostly follows canon otherwise, alternate universe - soulmates, introspection

[link to all bookmarks]

#r:lwj/wwx #a:pallasj #a:pallasjoannas #ao3 #mdzs #fic recs #this is a heartwrenching set up to soulmates ngl like ? you can't even know for sure they're your soulmate until its their LAST WORDS TO YOU #*muffled sobbing*#this weaves soulmarks into novel canon seamlessly!#and also tbh just from a tattoo perspective i think it'd be funny to have ''get lost'' (滚) as a tattoo #JUST AESTHETICALLY

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abripikuunah · 5 years

Text

Thalassophile

Pairing: Odazai (Oda Sakunosuke x Dazai Osamu) || Word Count: 5201 || Rating: Teen and Up (Imply Suicide, Light Angst, Fluff)

A/N: My first submission for Odazai Week! Day 3 ( Gakuen Au ) !!!!This has illustations so I hope you would like this gift of mine! Comments and Criticism is very much appreciated and I want to here your thoughts! I hope you have enjoyed this fic <3.

Summary:

The footprints in the sand carries the existence of our adored past, but the waves full of painful memories has swept it all away...

Only the moon and the starless sky was present that time.

It was cold, so cold that the temperature feel like it was squeezing him, from his flesh reaching through his nerves and bones, leaving him breathless, but it felt right.

Water fills his insides as he let himself drown in the salty water. His hazy eyes watched the light of the moonlight reflect on the sea, imitating a barrier between his pathetic life and the afterlife he desired. He's so close to it, as he could feel the corner of his sight blurring. His insides are screaming in the burning sensation as they're about to be filled with ice prickling water.

So cold, very cold.

Just how it should be.

He closes his eyes, and let the flash of white overcome him and his senses.

But before that happens, a certain red stained all of it.

“Oh…”

THUD!

That’s the last thing he heard before his vision was turned into complete darkness. He didn't know what happened after that. There's nothing to see, nothing to hear, just blankness. Had death finally consumed him whole, and threw him away from his miserable life?

No… that felt too cheap.

He isn’t sure where he is today, but the next thing he knew, he was staring upward at a white ceiling with a fan rotating to circulate fresh air.

‘I’m not dead.’

“Hey.” A voice calls from behind him.

He looks at the corner of his eye to see his company, just to make sure his guess was right. Red eyes that resembled the warm hues of the sunset in some sky; it felt so warm and comforting. Its radiance was soft, as if those eyes could relax Dazai just by looking at him. The two kept staring at each other, as Dazai smiles while turning his head, twisting his body for a bit before greeting back, “Hey-” Only to feel a sharp pain pricked somewhere in his brain “Ow, ow it hurts…” The brunet mumbled, massaging his temples.

“Careful. What happened almost caused you to get paralyzed.” The other man sighs as he inserts a bookmark in the book and scooted closer to inspect the injured man. Dazai gave out a chuckle and was about to retort to assure the man he's alright, but his breath was caught in the air when he felt a thumb caressing his unbandaged cheek. He bit his lower lip before they hesitantly turned upward into a faint smile. “I'm fine, Odasaku. Of all people, you should be the one who knows that a mere slip wouldn't kill me.”

The red head looks at him with disbelief, “You never know Dazai.“ he says, his voice bold and strict. The younger man frowned at him, much like a toddler whose toy was taken. But can you blame Oda? Dazai might have survived all the punishments of his past mishaps or attempts, but in the end Dazai is still a human, born with flesh and bones just like the rest of them. Not immortal nor a being that could regenerate his wounds quickly. Granted, his body does have an impressive remark on healing himself for such a surprising speed but there would always be the time Dazai won't be so lucky.

“Geez Odasaku, I told you, I’m fine and as you can see, I'm well.” he opened his arms widely for emphasis, but was only given a raise of a brow in reply. “Though my heads hurts a little- but my body can manage.” A grin was etched on his face to assure his companion, and Dazai quickly changed the subject. “Getting gloomy when I just woke up, no? Let talk about something else shall we?” He then points at the hardcover book Oda was holding, “All those books that you've been reading, are they for your upcoming program?” He inspects the title as the red head nods. “My, you seemed excited to become a teacher~”

“Student teacher.” He corrects the brunet who sits up, “It'll just last two months. Starting from the second half of the semester until the last week of your third quarter. After that I'll go back to college and finish my degree.” Oda adds.

“Wahh!” Dazai immediately twisted away to raise his arm to cover his eyelids and make a dramatic fuss, ”Odasaku will leave me alone and rot at campus all by myself. So heartless and cruel of you, leaving your dear friend and lover like this.This pain is much worse than being tortured to sweet, blissful death-”

And he let out another exaggerated cry when a throb pulsed through his head.

The older could only watch the younger complain about his concussion without giving any help - until he decided to hold on Dazai's chin so he could reprimand him with a stern glare, “Maybe if you didn't keep yourself getting injured. We’re both college students attending the same campus now.”

Dazai opened his mouth, ready to protest, but when no words are able to form to escape his mouth, he immediately closes it before puffing his cheeks and shot back, “So mean, Odasaku-sensei.”

That phrase causes butterflies in Oda’s stomach, but he doesn't want to cater to those thoughts for now. He gently pinches Dazai's cheek, who whines in protest. “Don't call me like that when we're both alone.” Despite the warning, Dazai gripped Oda's hand and smirked mischievously, “What was that, Odasaku- sen~sei~?”

Oda pinches a bit harder and Dazai yelps, “What am I gonna do with you?” the older sighs.

When he stops pinching, they stare into each other’s eyes. Dazai's pupils traced every feature of his partners face looking for slightest bits of changes other than the heavy eyebags that took toll on his skin - probably for staying up to check on him, Dazai deducts. But that mere thought gave a fluttering feeling in Dazai's chest.

At the same time, Oda just gazed at him tenderly, but noticed a little bit of redness in younger man’s cheek. Oda takes the initiative and leans towards Dazai's face to give a chaste peck on his crimson skin as an apology. When he pulls away, Dazai sits up properly and snakes his arms around Oda's neck while the latter placed the book on the nearest coffee table and lets the brunet take the initiative. Dazai then tries to catch his lips and soon after, their lips connect and share a innocent kiss, hopefully to express the words ‘I miss you’ and ‘I'm so worried’ through the contact. Dazai tilts his head to coax himself closer -

That is, until another pulse from his migraine hit him. He quickly pulled away, yelping a little while massaging the sides of his temples to relieve the pressure a little. “Rest for a bit, Dazai.” Oda instructs as he let out a deep exhale, “I'll let the doctor know you're awake.” He stands up, only for a hand to grab his wrist.

“Stay for a bit will you? “ the brunet pouts. “I don't know how long I was unconscious and I don't want to see the doctors immediately after I just woke up from that cold, soundless sleep.” He gently adjusted himself to the side, careful not to trigger anymore pain and extended his arm out, “Come here and snuggle with me, Sensei!”

“Stop that.”

“Never~” Dazai continued to tease.

Then Oda gave another glare down at the floor and was silent, but Dazai shyly looked up at him like a stray kitten.

“Please?”

Oda huffs in amusement as he shook his head. Honestly speaking, Oda doesn't have the will to refuse his lover, even if he didn't have to put up that adorable act. “Fine.” he declares as he walks back towards the brunet who smiles in victory.

“Okay but after ten minutes, I'll call the doctor.”

“An hour!”

“Dazai… Twenty minutes or I won’t make curry for you.” Oda argues.

“Ehhhh?! Fine.” He scoffs childishly.

When he walked towards the brunet, Dazai asks “That look on your face… Did I worry you too much?” he smiled as he watched Oda sit on the bed, the bedframe underneath squeaking in protest. When Oda’s weight sinks in the mattress, he helped Dazai settle in next to him, careful not to bump the syringes and pads connecting Dazai to the heart monitor and IV tube. Lanky arms wrap around Oda’s chest while the redhead gripped Dazai’s hips and pulled his body closer. Dazai sighed with bliss as he let his head rest on Oda’s chest. “See? I'm still warm Odasaku. I'm still breathing, alive. You don't have to worry.”

“Well you did fell on the stairs four steps away from the ground.” His companion says in defense, resting his cheek on Dazai's hair. “That alone is concerning and you can risk yourself bumping your head pretty hard and having an internal hemorrhage. Thankfully you didn’t break your spine either, since-”

“Odasaku,” the brunet stops him, “How many times do I need to tell you that I won't die that easily? Geez, a mere trip down the stairs is an embarrassing death after all. I don't want the neighbors to brand me, Dazai Osamu, the bandaged man that died because he fell of the stairs. I would be the laughing stock of the century if that happens!” He huffs, grimacing at the thought. “I would rather have a sweet romantic suicide with a beautiful lady. That alone is poetic.”

Dazai really likes to slip words in his tounge like water without thinking any consideration, Oda thought with a grimace on his face. Despite Oda getting used to hear his whims about suicide and tantalized about death accepting him from this ‘miserable cruel’ world, Oda can't shake off the thought of seeing Dazai in his deathbed. Even with spending much of his time lecturing the young man, the words coming from the third year’s mouth stings painfully in Oda’s chest.

But despite it all, he still continues to be with him, willingly to check up on him and make sure he's not alone because-

Because he loves Dazai.

“I'm just scared to lose you…” he finally admits under his breath.

“Not like last time...”

None of them uttered out a word after, Oda was only waiting for Dazai's reply, wanting to know how he would react, but knowing Dazai, he won't show anything at all. Dazai's breath was stuck in the air, unable to reply to his confession. He's glad that Oda cannot see his expression at this angle or he would probably jerk away from him if this man had witnessed the redness of his ashamed face. When he felt the grip on his waist tighten, he scooted closer and hid his face in Oda’s chest. “Heh, silly Odasaku…”

They continued to stay like that for minutes, Oda keeps stroking the fringes of his hair, Dazai keep listening to Oda's heartbeats pounding, thump thumping in his ears. They chatted about him being unconscious for two days, then onto the news that's happening in their neighborhood. The middle school graduates, including Nakajima and Tanizaki, were becoming first years and they would soon be Dazai's schoolmates. The other piece of news they discussed is that Kunikida, one of Dazai's ex-classmates, was offered a student teacher position at Dazai’s school by none other than Fukuzawa himself. But the big news they talked about was-

“What?!” Dazai exclaimed.

Oda had to live at his university for a whole semester - and to make matters worse, he was going to be leaving tomorrow. “Just how? The semester doesn’t start for another week or so, right? I thought you're okay with commuting?”

“It was sudden, but Natsume-sensei offered me to stay at his place for the time being since he thinks it'll be more practical and I would lose a lot of opportunities just by traveling everyday for a long period of time.” he kissed Dazai's cheek to lighten up his mood and assure him. “I'll be back next month. Don't worry.”

“Hmph, fine. But you better bring me something when you return back home.”

Home…

Those words make Oda chuckle as adoration bubbled up his chest, “Will do, Dazai.” As his lips pressed against his forehead.

This continued on until Dazai looks out the window and sees the view of the ocean from afar. A thought came into his mind, but Dazai hesitates if he should even mention it. But then again, this would be the last day the two of them would see each other until three whole months passed.

“Odasaku.”

So it doesn't hurt to try.

“You know, I made you worry for no good reason.” He starts, shifting from his position to meet his lover’s gaze. Oda looks at him with a brow raised. He smirks, “As an apology, I'll be doing you the favor of going to the beach with me. I think I’ll get discharged today anyway, since I think I'm a good shape now. It's been a while since we visited there together, what do you think?”

The older blinks at his partner’s invitation and looks at the ceiling to ponder. “Well…”

“Beside, I won't see you in months.” He adds, hoping to finally be able to convince the man besides him.

The redhead took a deep breath. He seems to be contemplating with his thoughts while Dazai waited for a reply, but then he felt Oda pulling away from his grasp. Oda stands up and fixes the collar of his shirt, “I'll go fetch the doctor then. I'll be back quick.” he turns around and gave a small tilt to check on Dazai, who just smiles.

“Hurry up then, while the sun is still up.”

----

Only the moon and the starless sky was present that time.

It was cold, so cold that the temperature feel like it was squeezing him, from his flesh reaching through his nerves and bones, leaving him breathless, but it felt right.

So cold, very cold.

Just how it should be.

He closes his eyes, and let the flash of white overcome him and his senses.

But before that happens, a certain red stained all of it.

---

Scarlet eyes worriedly trailed behind the lean figure as Oda watched the boy excitedly take of his shoes while examining the beach. Fortunately, the doctor said Dazai was free to leave, but has to be cautious, not move his head so much, and not perform any heavy activities for quite awhile. “Be careful.“ he reminded the exuberant Dazai.

But his words seems to be ignored in the playful breeze as Dazai turns around, waving at Oda and shouting “Odasakuuuu!” before running back to him and yanking his arm to invite themselves closer to the sea. “Come on! You can't have me just enjoying the sea by myself! I would look stupid.”

“But the doctors said that you're not allowed to move your head too much-” he was interrupted when a finger was pressed against his lips.

“Oh hush and do me a favor by not reminding me about those cruel instructions by that doctor, and let me enjoy this last day of summer with you for a bit, okay?” Dazai fumed, but when he notice the darkness of Oda’s expression, his face shifted into worry.

Oda… Oda wanted to say no, the anxiety that's pounding inside his chest was demanding for him to decline and be strict. He wished to say he's already being considerate, escorting him to the beach despite these disturbing emotions that crawling up his spine. Yet he doesn't want Dazai to be upset, but in the end, he was afraid of both outcomes. He thought of himself as nothing but a coward.

A coward that let those horrible memories of the two of them being wrapped by the ocean’s deadly embrace be the sole reason behind why he’s scared to visit the place they used to favor so dearly.

Dazai, the genius that he is, seems to read the toll on his mind. So his expression softened, “Hey.” He calls out to Oda, who blinks and then stares toward him in acknowledgement. “I told you, this is my apology for falling down the stairs, so I promise I won't do anything stupid or do things that will make you even more worried, alright?” He smiles, brown eyes softly gazing at his partner.

The older man studies Dazai before he finally tilts his head down in defeat just by seeing those big eyes, as stubborn as they were soft. “Fine.” He saids before adding, “But if I see any small signs that you’re getting worse, we'll go home immediately.”

Dazai's mouth forms a grin of agreement and continues to drag his boyfriend along the shore. Oda watched Dazai - his face beams in delight, so bright and cheerful, but is he feeling happiness in his heart right now? Is he truly happy? He doesn't want to ask, but he wants to believe it. And if it was reality, then Oda wishes for him to hold unto those emotions till the very end.

The shore is where they're free, like the birds that flew away from the depressing earth and bathed in the warm glow of the radiant sun. This feeling of warmth and freedom is what he missed years ago.

Until that tale of a boy whose blood spilled over the shore would never leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried. In the end, those tales would only lead him to break.

But he wants to throw it all over the edge of the horizon and let him forget the uneasiness in his chest. The echoing reverie to see Dazai smiling again caused determination to well up inside him. If he could treasure and let that smile last, where his skin radiates brighter than the sun, those chocolate eyes that twinkled like the liquid gems of the sea, then Oda would do his damndest to suppress the dark memories and his overall agitation that has been mocking him.

A quiet smile etched up in Oda's usual expressionless face as he cherished the moment.

When they're close to the ocean water, the brunet lets go of Oda's arm, scoops a handful of water and throws it towards his companion.

“H-hey!”

Dazai lets out a childish giggle from seeing Oda glare at him. Rolling his eyes, he starts to take off his shoes and decides to play along with the younger’s antics. “So you want to play it that way, huh?” He lets his voice sound murky and dark, like an overly dramatic villain.

“Uh oh. Sensei’s getting mad.” Dazai teased as he moved away urgently from Oda’s impending wrath. When Oda finally placed his shoes and socks on the beach, along with Dazai’s necessities, away from the ocean’s reach, he followed his partner with a smirk on his face. “Are you testing me?”

“And what if I am?” Dazai grinned, “Bring me your best shot Odasaku!”

Then Oda rushed towards Dazai, pulling him close in a tight embrace as their laughs echoed across the neverending sea.

------

His throat hurt, desperate as he gasped for air…

It feels so hard to breathe, his lungs are burning, it all felt dry.

He hears someone screaming, shouting, calling, its voice clawing deep in the night, but he doesn't realize who and why.

But when scarlet red was stained in his palm that has slowly been seeping away towards the water, a sign of a promising fate that would end in tragedy, he knew why.

It was his own bruised throat and no one else but himself who has been screaming underneath the dark night.

And the whole village were able hear the mournful screams of Oda Sakunosuke as he desperately tried to save Dazai Osamu, the boy whose blood was spilled in the never ending sea.

------

Eventually, darkness came and the moon has replaced the sun, soft light reflecting off the sparkling water of the ocean. The breeze was chilly as it softly caressed their skin that was still damp with the ocean water. Their fingers are laced while their bare feet sink into the sand as they walked around the shore.

They quietly talked about small things, between hushed voices and whispers, their fingers playing with each other as their conversation leads them nowhere in particular. They let themselves be steered away from the cruel reminder of time’s existence, away from reality, just away from everything to forget the burden in their outside worlds. They revelled in the normalcy as young adults who just wanted to be together, and enjoy each other’s presence.

But now that it's dark, it feels like they're slowly breaking away from their own illusions.

So they talked and talked as if tomorrow would never come.

Until they finally have nothing to say to each other anymore, and only the rushing water singing a soft melody to accompany the evening air could be heard. Their arms are close as if they could feel each other's pulse, both are alive and well. Dazai watches the waves reaching towards them, occasionally kicking the salty liquid half-heartedly for amusement, while Oda's eyes travels at him. Both men are buried their own thoughts.

If Oda wants to guess what's going inside Dazai's mind, it would probably be about his fascination about suicide.

Drowning is the method he always favored, Oda know this, it pains him to say it but he has witnessed it many times before. Dazai told him that whenever he sees the beach, it feels like an open gate for him to escape his way to escape reality. The place where he looks upon to to let his thoughts be free within the wind and a place where he can enjoy himself.

A place where he would marry death.

Oda blinks for a moment as they halt their movements, none of them utter a single word but Oda stared at Dazai expectantly. The brunet eyes however, despite uninterested, traveled towards the cliff making Oda followed his direction of sight.

Oda would admit that there was something that always worried him about Dazai. Dazai’s mind was so sharp and intelligent, far more than was good for his sake, and it reminded him of a cliff towering over the sea, enticing humans to explore it but like a promising death and despair should they make one false move, even if it was to turn back and flee. Breaking the wild silence, Dazai finally mutters, "It's been eight years since we both visited here, no?" Oda was only able to hum in reply. "Eight years..." He repeats, as if he trying to properly taste of those words in his mouth. Before the older has the chance to interrupt, the other continues to speak, "Since then, everyone treated me differently. People started to be distant. They're always worried, they think that I could blame them. Though I'm not sorry, either. After all, even I wanted to be distant away from myself." 'Away from this world...' It was unspoken but nevertheless, Oda can hear it out loud in the heavy air. "Dazai-"

He interjects with a small voice, "But you..." He pauses, biting his lip until he was able to form the proper words , "You treated me the same. You always gave me normalcy, no matter what." “Despite this disturbing tendencies of mine, you still accept me as who I am.” But then, Dazai turned his head and faced him as he gave an unpleasant stare, almost starring past Oda. "If I wanted to be honest Odasaku, I want to read all the pages of your book to understand." Oda felt his fingers were gripped tightly as if they would slip in mere seconds away in his grasp the moment it loosens.

“What don't you understand?” He asked, rubbing his calloused thumb at Dazai's to provide comfort, gesturing him to tell his thoughts out and not to be afraid to speak the truth.

“I…” His voice trails off. Eyes watching their laced fingers for an encouragement.

“You still kept seeing it right? That moment where I almost died.” he breathed out.

Oda will always remember, he will never forget how terrified he is to see Dazai in the bed, heart weakly beating, skin colder and whiter than the snow of winter. How everyday it pains him to see that time, when his life was held by a single thread, ready to snap both Dazai's life and Oda's sanity.

Dazai's eyes looked deeply into his, searching for a sign if he should stop or not. Oda doesn't speak but he nod to beckon the younger to continue.

“Since then, you hated going here because you always remembered, and despite knowing that, I was still selfish and asked you to go with the beach with me. And you made an effort to grant this wish of mine and went along.” He breathed out as he finally asks.

“How do you do it?”

He was gazing so deep into Oda's eyes, that he flinched for a bit when he felt a warm hand stroke his cheek and brush the hair on his face. He really doesn't understand why; it was so foreign, so new no matter how many time he did that. Regardless, it was still comforting and serene.

Oda glances down before he looks back at him again and gave out a small smile. “We are all humans. All born with our own flaws and our selfishness. I don't want to sound like a hypocrite, but whatever selfishness and flaws you have, it still adds the fact that it made you the Dazai Osamu I fell in love with.” He admits.

Dazai pretended not to be flustered but the redness of his cheeks betrayed him until Oda casually added, “For me, one of my selfish desires is to see you smile and grant the promise I made.”

His eyes widen, mouth hanging, If the brunet's face was dusted with red before, then his face right now is almost at a tint of a tomato.

“Seeing you happy today is enough for me.” Oda continues, leaving Dazai breathless. It wasn’t the first not going to be the last, but...

Never once can a person leave the garrulous Dazai hanging wordless. He cannot think of any befitting words to shoot back at his lover. But he still felt obligated to continue the conversation. In the end, after what felt like an eternity, he was only able to say

“Thank you.”

The voice was low and faint but the wind managed to carry it to Oda’s ears.

“I had fun today.” Dazai murmured, after having the courage met those scarlet eyes once more with his, a sincere smile etched in his face as the dimples pops out of his cheek to signify how genuine his expression is. “And I'm glad you have as well.”

Oda can can feel the tip of his ears burning and was only able to pat Dazai in the head. “I'm glad. After all, anything we do together is fun.”

Dazai huffed out a breath and forged a knowing smirk, “Not as fun as yourself.” He reciprocated.

Oda was only able to raise a brow out of confusion, not knowing what he meant as the other could only laugh in delight. Dazai pinched Oda's nose while the latter grunted in protest.

After rubbing his nose, Oda noticed the full moon staring up at the sky. Dazai followed his gaze and mumbled, “Time really flies fast, huh. It feels like yesterday we were just kids playing here with Ango, and I just woke up a minute ago from being unconscious. But the reality is, many years have already passed since then.”

Oda can only hums in concordance. “It's getting late.” He finally reminds Dazai and himself about the unfortunate reality of the world they live in. “It's time to go home.” He sighs as he watched Dazai groaning in disapproval.

“I don't wannaaa.” He whined, eyes begging for consideration from Oda. He clings on the Oda’s arm and continues protesting. “Besides, where Oda is is my home.” He declares but after a few seconds of a starting match with his boyfriend, he finally, reluctantly, agrees.

“Come on. Let's go at your place and get you showered.” Oda then walks, escorting Dazai towards the exit where the main street is. The prodigy walks in tow, a mischievous smile on his face. “Aww, then why not we shower together so you can warm me up?” His voice tingles with a certain promise.

Oda, however, chuckles at the sly suggestion, “That is nice, but I have something else in mind”

“Oh?” Dazai eyes glistened with curiosity. He leans toward Oda's shoulder and pressed his cheek against it affectionately, “This better be interesting since you're able to turn down such an offer. Tell me about it then.”

“Well.“ he paused, and looked around the beach so he could let the revelation of the surprise be dragged on longer. The brunet still saw through his own antics and kept nudging him to go on. Finally, Oda said, “While you're taking a shower, I would prepare a dish I just learned how to make a while ago.”

Dazai tilts his head for emphasis, “Oda will cook something for me! Does it have crab?”

“Crabmeat and Zucchini with Kofuki and homemade mochi.” He announced.

Excitement flashes on Dazai's face as he then took the lead, dragging Oda hurriedly behind him like a child, “Let's hurry then, I’m hungry - and snuggling can come after!”

Those words sowed warmth in Oda's chest.

To see Dazai's heart right now set in the right place, his mind not hidden away in the shadows where his demons kept whispering to him. To be able to witness his genuine smile and hold his now warm hand. It's enough to Oda. Even though he rarely, if ever, displays this sincerity to anyone else, if he kept holding his hand and let him know his presence will always remain there, to encourage him and support him, then maybe he would finally fully open up to them.

They might be back to reality now, where the complicated system of life and all its problems would never change. But there would be a time where they have nowhere else to go but wander aimlessly. Regardless of what life brought them, they will face it nonetheless and survive through the cruel seasons. They will hold each other close and take each other's hand and never let go.

After all, that's their oath towards each other.

‘Even if you will drown in your own abyss that will consume you alive… take my hand’

In a small little ward, a young boy vowed a pledge to a dear friend of his, who looks at him with hollow eyes.

‘But what if I don't take it? What if it's all too late?’ He asked, studying his redhead companion carefully. The redhead suddenly grabs his hands, and without hesitation he declared-

‘Then I'll catch you in my arms and won't let you go.’

…

It was a memory that they would forever hold.

For once, light was evident to the young patient’s eyes. For once, he didn't feel alone. For once, he had seen the faint ray of the light . For once, the boy who accepted that he would never be loved believed a promise.

A promise to hold him .

And Oda will stay true to his words, and he will never let go.

Not now...

Not ever.

Sadly though, their paths followed the unpredictable ebb and flow of the stormy waves of life.

And the only certain things within life is the bittersweet endings and broken promises.

-THE END-

#odazai #My writing #my art #odazaiweek2k19 #odazaiweek #bsd #bungo stray dogs #Oda Sakunosuke #Dazai Osamu #fanfic

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flourchildwrites · 5 years

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Witch, Please! Fictober 2019 (9/31)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation. Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for. You just might get it.

Prompt: “Shipwrecked” from Writetober 2019 Prompt List

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)

Relationship/Pairing: Team Mustang starring Riza Hawkeye, Implied Royai

Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count: 1,507 words

Read on AO3

Riza Hawkeye's first memories were of the sea.

She remembered her mother pulling her up to peer over the bow of their ship, the Lady Elizabeth. The salt air had stung the young girl’s round face and caught the wispy ends of her dirty blonde hair. But even from the tender age of five, Riza saw freedom hanging just beyond the horizon, and she never once yearned for life on dry land. It was fair to say that Hawkeye earned her sea legs before she even learned to walk, born below deck and raised in the captain's quarters alongside a cabin boy who would one day become king of her floating castle.

At first, Riza resented her father’s deathbed decision to name Roy Mustang the captain and she the sailing master. By rights, the Lady Elizabeth was her property, but with time, she began to understand Berthold’s twisted, if accurate, logic. Captain Mustang had a dashing persona and an innate understanding of the way the world worked both at port and sea. He wielded his charism like a weapon, narrowly escaping one close call after another while Hawkeye tended to reply on the pistol tucked into her sash and the dagger hidden in her boot.

On nights like this one, Riza marveled at the way the crew responded to Captain Mustang’s confidence, even as she knew their ship was all but lost.

Lightning cracked the sky overhead as its tendrils cut the darkness to pieces. The weather had turned quickly, leaving precious little time to secure the sails and batten down the hatches, much less head further out to the open sea. Tempest winds rocked the ship back and forth, and the ship's sturdy planks groaned with the effort of resisting the melee.

“Tether yourselves to the ship,” Captain Mustang called out, “and get Furey down from the rafters.”

Disregarding his own well being, Quartermaster Havoc wrapped a length of rope around Hawkeye’s waist as she gripped the ship’s wheel and heaved it back into position. Overhead, Kain Fuery flew like a sparrow amongst the sails, as lithe as a dancer with the hardened edge of a seasoned boatswain. Only the young Elric brothers could hope to match his agility.

“Should we drop anchors, Captain?” Edward yelled. His pitchy voice strained against the wind and rain.

“Aye, do it now!”

No sooner than the word was given than Riza heard the telltale sound of metal scratching the deck and chains plummeting into the depths. For a split second, Hawkeye glanced in her captain’s direction and graced him with a stern but approving nod. They were going to make it. The storm would not…

No sooner had Roy’s onyx eyes met’s Riza’s copper gaze than the boat lurched, side-swept by the changeable tide. Wind battered the Lady Elizabeth’s starboard side, and the chain securing the anchors strained under the pressure, working against the vessel's integrity. It was then that both the captain and his sailing master remembered the damaged mainsail as well as the purpose of their journey to Tortuga — much-needed repairs. Another gust struck the ship sideways, and the Lady Elizabeth began to falter, her rafters snapped and the craft started to fall to ruin. In a split second, Hawkeye made a decision, communicated to her captain with little more than a look as the crew’s bodies were thrown about the tipping ship heading sidelong toward the craggy coastline.

“Abandon ship!”

Experienced sailors readied the rowboats, tossing supplies and helping injured crewmates into the smaller crafts. Riza’s hands tightened on the wheel even as she untied the tether at her waist. Hawkeye braced herself for as long as she could against the pull of the tide.

A flash of green caught Hawkeye’s sharp eye, and she glanced sideways to spy the ship’s quartermaster wedged beneath a pile of fallen debris. The bright green sash given to him by his sweetheart fluttered in the gale-force winds. Jean Havoc struggled to free his legs. His panic-stricken face paled as fresh blood painted the deck.

Hawkeye moved without the memory of deciding to do so. Her boots pounded against the worn planks as her spirit raged against the storm. All the while, she thought to herself that it was bad enough to lose her mother's ship. She refused to lose Jean as well, a crewmate and her friend.

“Havoc,” Riza cried as she reached him and pushed the wreckage from his legs. "We've got to go!"

Grabbing the muscled man under his arms and hoisting him upward, Riza helped him to the port side of the ship, closest to the shore. Both seafarers gripped the banister and looked down at the last remaining rowboat as a sickening crack sounded from above and the mainsail finally gave way.

“JUMP!”

For a moment, Riza felt her body suspended in midair alongside the injured quartermaster, and during those precious seconds, she traveled back in time. Gone was the wind whipping her loose shirt and pull of trousers skimming the contours of her legs. The pistol at the young woman’s waist fell away, and it was replaced by a child’s coin purse stuffed full of spending money for the market at Riza's favorite seaside town.

When Riza looked down, she did not see Captain Mustang. Instead, her mind's eye conjured images of 16-year-old Roy, dirty-faced but strong and freshly promoted to a full-fledged crewmate. The mischievous dark-haired boy laughed as he waited with open arms to catch her, and Riza trusted that he would let her fall. She knew they would find their way again, however hard they had to work to resurrect the Lady Elizabeth from Poseidon's grasp.

...

“Roy!”

Riza awoke with a start and sat up suddenly, clutching a bandaged area around her chest. She gasped for breath as her mind reeled, pulled unceremoniously from the unpredictable waters of the Carribean to a soft bed in a small room adorned with lace curtains that fluttered in the gentle breeze.

In the corner of the room, a familiar figure dozed in a moth-eaten armchair. Roy’s head lolled against the wall. His clothes seemed fresh-pressed and dry though his arm was bandaged and hung in a sling.

“Easy does it, girl,” a gravely female voice sounded from Riza’s bedside, accompanied by heavy footsteps against the house’s wooden floor. “You took quite a knock on the head and broke a few ribs in your fall, I suspect. Roy-boy brought you and the rest of the crew here last night. You’ve all been lucky to wreck so close to Tortuga. All except for that blond boy. Shame that, with a body like his.”

“You mean Havoc,” Riza interjected. “Did he… Is he…”

The older lady sighed and placed a basin of water on Riza’s bedside table. Even under the pressure of Riza’s unspoken inquiries, she took her time. The woman straightened up and tucked a lock of dark hair behind her bejeweled ear. The deep lines of her aged face betrayed no emotion.

“He’s alive if that’s what you asking,” she clarified, “but I can’t say he’ll walk again. Now, clean yourself up. I’ll send Madeline in to check your wounds and redress them if necessary. Unless, of course, you’d like Roy-boy to do it. He was very insistent that no one see your back.”

At the mention of her tattoo, Riza laid back. She pressed her neck against the pillows and swallowed hard. Briefly, she searched the older woman’s face for a sign of recognition and marveled that Roy would expose the map to anyone outside their small circle of trusted equals. It was said that Van Hohenheim’s treasure was without compare, containing treasure greater than gold that could reverse death itself. Roy sought it for his departed best friend and Riza for her mother.

In response, the women merely chuckled. “Smart girl. I wouldn't trust me either,” she said, turning her back to Riza and walking toward the door, “but in this case, I think we’d both be proven wrong. They call me Madame Christmas around these parts, but you can call me Chris Mustang.”

She thrust the door of the room open, ushering in sights and sounds from the tavern below. From her perch on the bed, Riza spied a few familiar figures moving with ease around the barroom. Riza breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the comforting sound of Heymans Breda’s fiddle, Alex Armstrong’s boisterous laugh and the Elrics squabbling over the merry ruckus. The smell of beer and freshly baked bread soothed her senses as effectively as the gentle lapping of calm waves against the shore.

“Welcome to The Prodigal Son Tavern and Inn, Miss Hawkeye,” Chris announced. She threw a softer glance in Roy’s direction as he snoozed peacefully through the hubbub. “It’s nice to have its namesake back again.”

And though Riza missed the sound of seagulls and feel of the sun on her freckled skin, she was content that the Lady Elizabeth’s grand misadventure had somehow lead her to a place that felt like home.

A/N: When I saw the shipwrecked prompt, I had to do this even though I know nothing about sailing. This chapter is heavily inspired by @tomochingus' ridiculously amazing Pirate AU art. No, I did not ask permission to write this. Yes, I do feel a little bad about that, and if anyone if upset at me, I am sorry. I just really wanted to share this! As always, please send me pairing requests for particular Fictober prompts through my tumblr. I've got one prompt (YAY), and I'll be working on it soon. Otherwise, if you read something you like, let me know. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs mean so much to me.

#virthiefictober #fictober19 #writetober19 #fma #fmab #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #royai #team mustang #jean havoc #kain fuery #madame christmas #pirate au #shipwrecked #tomochingus #flourchildwrites

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p4rkjiminie · 5 years

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jikook fic rec pt 4

pretty much all of my ao3 bookmarks

most of them have some kind of smut

always read the tags to see if it’s something you’re comfortable reading

completed only

♥ = favorites

sorry if some fics are badly categorized..i just couldn’t find the best one for some fics

SINCE TUMBLR RUINED MY BIG POST, I’M GOING TO POST IN PARTS.

au: friends to lovers+neighbors

amber and gold

You

at last, we grow together (series)

When You Love Someone

rose-coloured boy

Hold Me Tight (Don't Let Go)

the cat's in the bag

as day goes by you hold on tight another day (you're wondering why, you know why)

warm me up

this is where i see you, on a bed of roses (when i wanna kiss your silhouette)

firsts, lasts, and always ♥

Boys of Summer

bone appétit ♥

let's cross the lines

Be My First, Be My Last

Track one: I love you ♥

Shameless

Training Wheels ♥

it leads me to you ♥

no masters or kings

we drew a map to a better place (but on that road i took a fall)

thoughts on friends (and loving friends)

there for you (love is a road that goes both ways)

lost in the gaps

(my heart beats) for you

love kinda bites (but i'll bite back)

Shall Ever Be

Summer on its Deathbed

two sides; same story

the rising tide

#jikook #kookmin #fic rec #jikook fic rec #jimin #jungkook #mine #part 4

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vryyn · 5 years

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Short Story: Caught

I won second at a writing event so I'm comfortable sharing this. Let me know if there is anything that needs to be improved! Thank you ❤️

Last summer, my then boyfriend showed up in my parents driveway, walked to my window, knocked on it until I opened it, cupped my face and stared deeply into my eyes; “Karina,” he said, “I think we should see other people.” I started laughing as he stumbled back to his convertible. I was just waiting to hear some fucking bullshit that only his dumb ass could make up until I saw the boy in the driver's seat. This boy was wearing one of his shirts. The same boy who gave him cookies on Valentines Day. Era el mismo chavo who brought him cake for his birthday. Era el mismo chavo que lo llevó a su casa después de la pachanga de Ana la semana pasada. That’s when I knew the rumors were true- estaban chingando. And that fucker had the audacity to bring the person he was cheating on me with to our break up. I was pissed.

I threw myself out the window ready to explode on him. I wanted to hurl dad’s stereo at his windshield and scream, “Maybe now you’ll listen with your pinche ears and not your dick!” I wanted to make the helicopter whirling around over our heads to stall from the sheer magnitude of reverberations erupting from my voice. I wanted to scream all the Spanish obscenities I knew so that I could feel the spirit of abuelita return to the land of the living with a towel and a bottle of water to coach me where to hurt him next. I wanted to see him drive off into the night, sobbing so hard that all the little kids who heard him cry would think it was the Llorona coming to drown them in the Río.

But I didn’t do any of those things- hell I didn’t even say a word. I just stood there in front of his car, staring at him hobble his way to the passenger seat. The old rickety convertible rolled out of my parents driveway, puffing out tufts of smoke, humming on it’s slide down onto the street, crackling under it’s wheels, its headlights bore into my eyes. I just wanted to see him, to look at him, but he was avoiding me. He turned his car around and stood there for a moment, letting the fumes the convertible puffed out surround him. And all at once, the hums, the crackling, him they were all just gone.

He left the air filled with this erupting, thunderous silence; the fumes he left started swarming the neighborhood, invading my parents driveway. The fumes wrapped around the air and swallowed me, chastising me into joining them as they floated around and intoxicate the air. Anger was seething in my stomach. It was circling and curdling around my belly button, burning my insides with the obnoxious smell of gasoline. I ran inside and threw myself over the kitchen sink and vomited. I sank to the floor, sobbing in frustration.

I remember thinking about how useless I was. It was my one chance to do something amazing, to be proud that I didn’t let myself be one last victim of high school drama. It had nothing to do with him and what he did. In fact, I’m happy he figured himself out. I hated what I let happen. I hated that I couldn’t stop something I had no control over. I hated how I didn’t know what to do. Mom found me in the morning covered in sunshine and tear stains. She didn’t say anything, she hugged me and kissed my forehead and handed me the best taco I ever had.

That was a year ago. I haven’t been home since I left to college. I dunno it just feels weird to be staring at that spot a year later, like whatever didn’t happen that night was still here, floating around the moonlit room, poisoning my thoughts. I really didn’t want to be back home but I had nowhere else to go.

The stranger who gave me a ride back home somehow barreled through the I-77 before performing a drift into the I-281. She completed a 7 hour drive within 5. I dunno who gave her a car or a license, but I should have performed a citizen's arrest on her ass. I would have offered to drive but I would have driven us off the road and into a tree. Then I would have been all like, ‘Omg I’m sorry! We can buff out the dents!’ And then I would have pushed her out and stolen her car.

Headlights flew across the living room, illuminating the novelty French doors proudly standing in the living room. The headlights poured into the house as dad stumbled through the back door, nearly dropping the third cup of coffee he was trying to balance. The light reflected off our tiled floor, forcing the mesa to grow a shadow. I saw that shadow a lot when I was younger. I would sit by the back door and wait for mom or dad or both to come back home, waiting to see if they needed help stumbling back to their beds. I had always thought that the mesa’s shadow looked like one of the hands of the Lechuza, ready to cast a curse on me.

“¡Si tiras me cafe,” Mom cursed out from the truck, “te voy a mandar a dormir en la sala!”. Bewildered, dad turned to face mom, squinting through the light.

“¡Nahambre babe!” Dad shouted back. “¡No te pones asi! ¡Calmate!” He walked over to the mesa and carefully put the coffees down, trying very hard not to drop any of them. I thought he could see me from where he was but I didn’t realize how well I had hidden myself in this darkness. When I was younger, mom and dad would both get mad at me for doing that- quietly standing in the dark. They’d stare at me and ask what I was doing. All I would do was shrug and tell them that I didn’t know, I was just there. Then they would send me to clean my room.

The headlights turned off and in its place was the echoing click- clack of mom’s chanclas. She wore those things all the time when she was home. Their echos stopped when they found their way to the doorway. She turned the lights on as if her presence alone sparked life back into the house. An orange light sprang to life, sprawling around us, revealing ourselves to each other. Mom’s eyes flew to mine.

“¡Karina!” She shouted. She scooted her way to me, arms open ready for hugs and besitos. After a moment of realization, dad followed after, offering me the “hombre” version of it- a really long hug.

“¡Hola ama,” I said, “hola papa! I’ve missed you!” I really meant that. That was the most sincere thing I’ve told anyone in a while.

Dad had pulled away from me and was looking at me with the smile I had only seen him wear in the pictures taken right after my hermanos and me were born. Mom was still hugging me. Her hug brought warmth back into me as she swayed from side to side, rocking me with her. It reminded me of the same warmth that summers brought to us. I would aimlessly run around in the bosque nearby the house with my brother and sister. I’d be out there, running around with Marcario y Jennifer, playing cops and robbers and superheros and Tarzan. We got dizzy from all the times we climbed trees and rocked and shook them around, pretending they were buildings tumbling over. Mom would tell us not to be there at night because the Llorona would come and get us. For a while that would work and send us running home when it got dark. Being a older now, I know that it was just her way of making sure we weren’t mistaken for. I was excited to see the bosque again but, to my surprise, it’d been cleared out. You can see the Rio from our house now.

“¿Quieres pan dulce?” Dad said.

“Oh mi Dios, you brought pan dulce?” I said with excitement. Dad nodded and looked around the mesa. Pan dulce was always something that we had around the house when I was younger. Every event was happily bookmarked with them ending the day.

“Babe,” he said, “where do you put them?” For all the Spanglish that was spoken in this house, dad’s English still isn’t all that great. Mom peeled off of me to turn and look at him in playful disgust.

“¿¡La dejaste en el carro?!” She said.

“¡Yo andaba trayendo los cafes!” He said.

“¿Y no pudiests trier el pan? What happened to that third arm you were telling me about on the way here?!”

“¡Babe!” Dad gasped. He must have been hit by lightning because he was shocked. He looked at me, lowered his head, and sheepishly whispered, “Oye not in front of Karina.” I was holding in my giggles, I was not going to laugh at this in front of them, I may almost be twenty, but they still saw me as the same child that almost drowned in three feet of water.

I smiled- they went on and on, neither one making a move to go to the truck and get the pan dulce. Their playful banter is what I always remembered about home. I slipped away behind them and walked out the door to go get them.

The garage was always mess of smells, sometimes it smelled like oil, sometimes like gasoline and lawn clippings, other times it smelled like leftovers but tonight it just smelled like home. The garage door was still open- there was a slight breeze tonight. You could hear it bothering the trees like little four year old me bugging someone until they helped me. You could see the vesinos blue night light he installed for the five dogs he had in his backyard. Me and my sister would tell stories about their dogs being from Mars because they always had a thin layer of red dirt around them. We’d tell our parents, thinking that we just made the biggest scientific discovery on earth (because c’mon eran perros de Marte! How could it not be!) but they just smiled and never said anything else. They didn’t even play along with it. Probably because they knew how much money the vecino made off of them.

The dogs started barking over the sound of leafs rasping on our cement driveway. Some of the air crept into the garage and sent my fleco over my eyes. I shoved it behind my ear and saw something completely new- this was a new truck. It was glistening, even under the faint light from the vecinos. What happened to the old one? The white one? The one that took us everywhere and lead us to new adventures when it decided to break down? Up until her deathbed, abuela always told my parents that they needed a new one and, whenever she came with us on our little adventures, we wouldn’t hear the end of it. When she decided to be useful, she would hobble out of the cramped truck, pop open the tail lift and try to catch the attention of one of the drivers passing by. The instant that their rear end license plate was visible, she’d look at me and tell me to join her curse- fueled rant about the people driving away for not helping us. But there was only one time when she didn’t do that.

We were in the middle of nowhere, mom and dad were fumbling around with a map of the valley trying to figure out where we could get help. Marcario and Jennifer were knocked out in the back seat of the truck, they were too tired to see how this adventure would end. I sat with abuela trying to name all the stars shining above us but there was so many. ‘¿La oyes?’ She said. I turned to look at her but she wasn’t really looking at me, she was just staring into the night. She looked like she was daydreaming. ‘¿Todo eso violencia, la oyes?’ I remember seeing all the wrinkles around her face, the scars on her cheek, the swelling around her eyes, the dark tamarindo colored marbles were shifting under her eyelids. I never seen her look so tired. I don’t even know what she meant. I just remember looking back up at the stars, feeling the slight breeze shake everything around us. Abuela was breath deeply, like she was trying to hold something in. The night was silent. It was happy with the bitterness from the words that weren’t spoken or, in this case, understood. The silence just festered there, seething with content from the words that swarmed onto these empty lands. There really wasn’t anything but wind.

The wind blew a leaf, crashing it into my leg. It was unaware I was standing there in the dark. I shook it off and walked to the passenger door to see two paper bags of pan dulce sitting on the seat. I really dunno how they forgot to bring it in pero asί es. The door was still unlocked when I tried to open it. I reached in, grabbed the bags, and walked to the door.

Before I opened the door, I turned back and clicked the button to close the garage. I watched it fall shut. I wanted it silence anything that was happening out there. I wanted it block whatever wanted to seep through in the dark. I watched it close shut, watched it wrap its greedy hands over the light invading from outside, choking it out, letting the darkness swarm in. I stood there for a moment, feeling the static of the silence buzzing over my ears. The air had thinned out, all that was left in here was me and those fucking fumes that the truck left floating around. I put on a smile and headed in.

Mom and dad had separated and sat by the mesa with their coffees, laughing about something they just finished saying.

“¡Mis hijos!” Dad said jumping from his seat to get the two paper bags in my hands. I cackled and handed them to him. He waddled his way back to his seat. I can tell he was going to drown them in his coffee.

“Where’s Marcario?” I asked pulling up a seat.

“He’s on a date.” Mom said. She was smiling to herself behind her cup. She was already on her second cup of coffee. Dad nodded with wide eyes.

“Mira what did I tell you,” he said, “Marcario ¡es como su papá! He has pege!” When I left, Marcario was having a hard time talking to boys even more so with girls. He was still trying to figure himself out and how he felt about either one but I guess he did.

“¿Y tu hermana? ¿Jenni? Me dijeron que venía contigo.” Dad asked standing to get plates.

“She was, but she has to work three full shifts for the next three days.” I said. “We won’t see her ‘till next week.” Mom silently nodded as dad came back with paper plates. He passed them around and quickly got one out of the bag.

“How was college, mija?” Mom asked. That was hard to explain. I didn’t really feel like I was there. I kinda just walked from from place to place with complacent smiles and half hearted laughs. I tried to be engaged in the things that my professors wanted me to be engaged in. They wanted me to care about what was happening in class. But I just couldn’t. The other students would answer everything before I could ever build up the determination to answer. And then they’d say something so fucking stupid that I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. Y por un pinche razon, the professor would praise their answers and chisel them into a tablet to rub it in our faces. I don’t even know how I passed any of my classes. I didn’t do any of the work; days just passed and I wound up here.

“It was fine,” I answered, “I had fun.” I felt mom staring at me. She always said I was a bad liar. The first time she ever told me that, I was trying to convince here that the vase had been pushed over by the ghost of Christmas past and was clearly not me who tumbled over it. She just stared in silence, the same way she was now except she’s not going to call dad to get mad at me.

“Okay,” dad said, halfway through a concha, “were you and your cousin amigos?” When I left to college, dad told me how I had a cousin there already attending and that he could help me out with anything I needed. We exchange contact information and hung out once or twice but that was it. I would text him, asking for help but he never answered. He just left me in the dark. Everything came in at once after that- grades, classes, directions, laundry, driving, I did it all alone and I don’t want to have to ever again.

“Yeah we got pizza a lot,” I said hoping mom didn’t detect that lie. Dad just nodded and turned to mom and said something about the house bill.

I grabbed the bag and put a concha on my plate. I didn’t want it but I didn’t know what else to do, so I picked it up and bit into it. I felt the mechanical break down of the pan happening in my mouth. I could feel all the sugar and bland lumpy pan dance together in there. I couldn’t hear anyone or anything else. I felt the silence winding up like a clock, ticking inside of me, each tick banging my stomach. There was an empty, rotten feeling circulating in my stomach remembering the things I haven’t done. I want to walk into all my classes and throw all those kids out of windows for being so fucking stupid. I want to walk over to the vecinos house, throw him into the dogs, and free them after they’ve had their way with him. I want to tell mom and dad to stop talking about these adult things and just be stupid again. I want to tell them both about how much I hated that new fucking truck. I want to tell mom and dad how I wanted abuela to tell me where and who to be angry at next. I want to tell them both how I much that bosque meant to me. I want to tell them that coming back home has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I want to tell them of how fucking terrified I am to have to leave again. I could still smell the fumes creeping in from the garage. They were curdling and running their hands on the inside of my stomach. It was seething through my gut, spilling over into my throat. I just really didn’t want to any fucking piece of this. But there’s nothing I can do.

I can feel the the concha still being chewed over in my mouth, the heat that’s rising from my teeth grinding on the pan was making me tremble. It became this muck that stuck to the roof of my mouth, just clinging on hoping to become whole again. But there’s nothing I can do for it now, nothing but swallow it down.

#writing #spanish #long reads #personal #writeblr #short story #story #storytelling #reading #criticism #critique #anger #breakup #spanglish #latina #latinx #hispanic

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