#i thing the best part was seize the day for really i almost screamed when zack and jordan came on | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

winterlynightlystories · 1 year

Text

The two sides of the same coin

Pt.1

Tw; mention of murder, gang activities

Do not copy or steal my work please

Fraternal Takemichi/twin brother, future Mikey/Male!reader

Summary; Takemichi learns he has a twin brother who was abandoned at birth. What a surprise when his brother can see in the future, but is also the leader of another gang. And his total opposite.

Note; The good old cliché of the good and evil twin! Making the title pretty literal. I love all those myths and legends about twins so here it is! (also sōchō = leader :)

This story might be around 3 or 4 chapters because I am a potato 🥔 and this story is becoming waaaaay too big to be posted in one part. Because This is just an “introduction” and yet it's almost 2000 words.

Also, the reader can see in the future (24 hours in the future, all the possible outcomes), unlike Takemichi who travels in the past from the future. They are literal opposites.

~~~~~~

Takemichi’s hands shook as he held the picture he just found in one of the cardboard boxes filled with memories of his childhood. The Time traveller felt like going crazy. Because his world was now falling apart. All that he believed was put in question with that simple picture.

It was the day of his birth. Such a simple, classic picture. Except he wasn't the only baby. There in the arms of his mother slept two newborns. On one of the bracelets, Takemichi found his name, but it was the second which stole all his attention.

His mother had found him and immediately screamed at him when she realized what he had in hand. The dispute turned sour when she refused to answer Takemichi’s questions and tried to take the picture back. Too blinded by his anger, Takemichi hit her before running away. He didn't stop until he found Mikey and Draken at the dojo. There, all the captains and more members sat in the steps and all around the place, talking.

The second Takemichi saw his friends, all traces of anger vanished, replaced by a broken heart and a hole in his chest.

- “Mikey! Draken!” screamed the teen, catching their attention.

- “Hey, Takemitchy!” screamed back Mikey, getting off the steps and waving at him.

Takemichi saw Chifuyu rise to his feet, saying something he could not hear, but the next second the three of them ran to meet him. Unable to contain his tears anymore, Takemichi broke down crying and fell on his knees.

- “Oi! Takemitchy, what's wrong?” asked Draken, grabbing the teen by the shoulders

- “I... I have a brother.” sobbed Takamichi, showing the picture. “They all lied to me and my mother refused to tell me anything!”

Mikey took the picture and they all looked at it, at the newborns holding hands and sleeping peacefully.

- “Holy shit, dude! You're a twin too?” exclaimed Angry before his brother slapped him behind the head. “I mean... It must be a shock, right?”

- “And where is your brother now?” asked Mikey, his eyes not leaving the picture.

- “I don't know. The only thing she said about him was about how he was a demon’s son and a delinquent,” answered Takemichi, drying his eyes.

- “Well, if he is in any gang, we will find him. C’mon Takemitchy, get on your feet man.” said Draken, grabbing the teen and forcing him up. “We are going to give you a hand.”

- “R-really?” asked the blond, eyes tearing up again.

- “Of course! Right Mikey?” cheered Smiley.

But their leader said nothing, eyes focused on the picture. Mikey seemed lost in his thoughts and probably didn't hear them. But the expression of worry in his eyes said another story.

- “Hey Mikey, you good?” asked Draken

- “His name is Y/n... Right, Takemitchy?” questioned Mikey, ignoring his best friend

- “Huh, yeah? Why?”

- “Because there is a gang leader known as The Spider whose name is Y/n. And you two do share some resemblance.”

There was a heavy silence that Takemichi didn't understand. Hope filled his heart and eyes before he seized Mikey’s arm.

- “Do you think it could be him? Really him, I mean?”

- “Say, ‘mitchy? Did you ever heard of Tokyo’s Oni?” asked the young leader, turning his head toward his friend.

- “Huh, no?” replied Takemichi, at lost.

- “Wait, Mikey! You can't be serious? That guy could be our Takemitchy’s twin?” gasped Draken

Mikey only nodded before putting a hand on Takemichi’s.

- “Tokyo’s Oni is a pretty violent gang. They have a lot of blood on their hands and are said to be affiliated with the Yakuza. They use to have little groups everywhere in Tokyo. They recently got a new leader. Most people refer to him as The Spider.” explained Mikey.

- “It's said no one can touch him!” added Angry

- “Almost as if he knew your moves before you even decided them.” added Smiley.

- “Didn't they retract in Ginza?” asked Chifuyu

- “Last I heard, yes,” replied Mikey.

Takemichi almost stopped listening to the conversation when he heard the twins describe his possible brother. Could it be? Maybe... It was almost impossible, because what would be the chance that you two were time travellers?

Takemichi also had no memories of your supposed gang. Naoto also didn't mention them. But he needed to find you. Maybe it would be a mistake or maybe you could help him make things right. Especially after Baji's death, Takemichi realized he needed more help.

- “Mikey? Does it mean...” began Takamichi, but was interrupted by his friend.

- “Let me see if we can find their true location, then we will go find your brother Takemitchy!” exclaimed Mikey, giving him his biggest smile.

Naturally, Takemichi jumped at Mikey, hugging his friend and crying on his shoulder.

Sitting in the backroom of a bar, you listened to the music playing. Eyes closes, you still kept your attention on your Captains' gambling. The smell of cigarettes mixed awfully with the one from their drinks. You felt a headache coming your way if you stayed longer. Yet, you had nowhere else to be and preferred keeping an eye on those fools. You didn't want any of them jumping on the others.

- “Hey Sōchō! Did you hear of the latest news?” asked your First captain, making you sigh

- “What now? Surprise me Akemi”

- “There was a huge gang fight last week between the Tokyo Manji Gang and Valhalla!”

- “And why should it interest me, Akemi? I never heard about any of them.”

- “Because there are rumours about the Tokyo Manji Gang. They say their leader wants to rule the whole of Tokyo! And you want the best part? His gang barely got one or two hundred people!”

Everyone laughed and you slowly opened your eyes. You stared at your ten Captains, waiting for them to calm down. You were unimpressed by the announcement, not even slightly worried. What could a hundred thugs do against the few thousands of yours? You had enough members to probably restore all the bases around the city but didn't want to.

Not now.

No, you still needed to be fully accepted and destroy all attempts at betrayal. It would take time and patience and some showtime too.

- “I must admit, this sound absolutely ridiculous. A single gang, ruling Tokyo? Not even the Yakuza can do it.” you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

- “Isn't their leader the same age as our Sōchō?” asked a woman, Aneko.

- “Think so.” replied her sister Hanae, finishing her glass. “I think one of his friends died during the confrontation with Valhalla. What I do know is how his older brother was the founder of the Black Dragon gang. Dude died a few years ago in his bike shop.”

- “Wasn’t his name Shin, or something like that?” asked Akemi.

The name rang a bell in your head, but you could not replace it or put a face on it. It was frustrating because you knew that name.

- “Yes! It's the short version but who cares?” replied Hanae. “I also know, from good sources, that Toman, that their surname, absorbed Valhalla after beating them. So they must have won another few hundred or so members.” she chuckled

- “Oh! I smell backstabbing!” shouted Akemi.

You smirked. It was so obvious! This was a mistake they should not make, especially with how small their gang was. It was a great opportunity for revenge or a free kill.

- “Hey, sōchō! What do you think about all of it?” asked Akemi

- “I say; let them try. We will show them what a real gang is!” you replied and they all cheered, raising their glass in your direction.

A soft knocking interrupted your discussion. With a simple ‘enter’ from Akemi the door opened, revealing Hanae's vice-captain. Bowing low, the young man excused himself.

- “Mah! What is it again? Can't we have a peaceful meeting?” complained Hanae.

- “I’m sorry Hanae-Taichō, but this is important information!” urged the newcomer

You shared a look with your Captains before turning your eyes to the young man.

- “Then go on. What information do you bring me?” you asked, curious.

- “Members of the Tokyo Manji Gang have been seen in and around Ginza asking about our location and... And about you Sōchō. Their own leader has been seen doing the same with his vice-leader.”

A heavy silence fell in the room as you slowly rose from your chair. Rage flooded your veins and in anger, you slammed your fists on the wooden table. All captains flinched, staring at you.

- “They dare?” you asked, coldly. “They win a child fight and now come for the big fish? Answer me! What do they want from us?”

- “I...I don't know Sōchō! Apparently, their leader, Mikey wishes for a meeting with you. I swear it's all I know!” trembled the vice-captain.

- “Hanae-chan, take your whole division with you and go find that Mikey. Do not engage in a fight, but get me the whole story. You have my permission to scare them.” you ordered, not leaving your eyes off her vice-captain. “You go with your Taichō and will report to me the second they talk.”

Bowing again, the vice-captain left the room, followed by his captain.

With a deep breath, you calmed yourself before adding;

- “Keep an eye out for them. If they search for trouble, you all know what to do. I want a clean job and nothing left behind.” after they all silently agreed to, you dismissed them. “Same time tomorrow. Hopefully, we shall all have more information and will discuss what to do next.”

Once you were alone, you sat back in your chair and closed your eyes. After calming yourself enough, you Activate the visions.

Almost like a curse, you could see up to twenty-four hours in the future and all its possibilities. You only had yourself to blame for that. You should have believed the old homeless man and not killed him. But it was so useful! You finally had a roof above your head, money and now power. You were only a teen and yet you controlled the future of those around you! You enjoyed the fear and respect they all had for you.

The first image appeared before your eyes; schools, homework, meeting and nothing useful. Over and over the same path appeared, barely different. Then, you hit the jackpot.

Hanae and her vice-captain bowed to you and her words had you shocked. So much that the vision stopped and vanished.

- “I have a brother” you gasped, hands gripping your head. “I have a twin.”

#tokyo revengers #tr takemichi #sano manjiro #draken #toman gang #x male reader #male reader #sano manjiro x male reader #mikey x male reader #tokyo revengers x male reader

207 notes · View notes

symbioticsimplicity · 1 year

Text

So I made a sequel to this post, and it looks like there will be another part after this! These boys are too much fun to leave alone, thanks once again to @thediktatortot

Part 3! Part 4! AO3 link!

Steve dearly wished that whatever God he pissed off in his life time didn’t have such a fucked up sense of humor.

Their plan worked flawlessly, with a roar Billy punched his way through the head of the first demodog at their door. The next one was deflected by Tommy and the baking sheet he’d found in the teacher’s lounge, making it easy prey for Steve and his nailbat to pick off. Eddie and his spear shredded through the demodog that leapt at him, and Billy crushed it’s head with his foot for good measure.

They were out, and they were moving, tossing or killing anything that came their way. There were dozens of the damn things, but they were making progress.

Until Tommy tripped.

Steve saw it in slow motion, his heart seizing up in his chest as he heard the yelp, saw the creature with it’s teeth around Tommy’s ankle. He was struggling against his own demodog, the thing was bigger than the rest had been and even with Billy’s help it refused to die easy.

There was no way he’d be able to reach him before they did.

“Tommy!” He screamed through gritted teeth.

Tommy’s wide eyes found his and Steve heart tore itself in half as he smiled at him. Tommy wasn’t the brave in the face of danger type, he wasn’t trying to reassure Steve. He smiled like that when he was scared and nervous and didn’t know what else to do. He’d done it on the first day of kindergarten and the first day of highschool and Steve wanted to throw up at the sight of it now.

But then a leg was blocking his view, a black jean clad leg.

“Get the fuck up, Hoops, if you die like this they’re gonna think I killed you and I’ve outgrown my whole ‘wanted for a murder I didn’t commit’ phase.” Eddie drove his spear into the the demodog on Tommy’s leg, holding his shield up to keep the next one back.

Tommy looked up at Eddie like he’d seen an angel, almost immediately scrambling to his feet, only to fall back down with a curse.

“Can’t!” He hissed.

Steve slammed his bat into the demodog he and Billy were fighting, half paying attention to it, half to Eddie and Tommy. He knew better, he really did, but his instinct to protect overrode his common sense as it so often did.

“Duck!” Billy shouted, catching Steve’e ear but not his attention.

Steve did not in fact duck, catching the overgrown demodog’s back leg straight to the dome. He briefly had the thought that it wasn’t really a true Hawkins Adventure until he’d gotten some sort of head injury.

The thought immediately rolled into getting the hell out of the way as Billy snagged his nailbat from him and swung for the fences.

The smart move would have been giving it to him in the first place, as the creature’s head went sailing down the hall as if it hadn’t just been attached to a living creature.

“Head in the game pretty boy.” Billy pulled Steve to his feet, “Nobody dies today means you too.”

If he’d known Billy any better he would have sworn the tightness around the edges of his eyes was concern. But to the best of his knowledge, Billy tolerated him out of necessity the same way he tolerated most things.

“Can’t have me bringing down the mood.” Steve agreed, noticing that Billy’s hand was still lingering on his forearm where he’d picked him up.

Billy noticed at the same time he did, pulling away almost as though burned.

“I’m not explaining to any of those kids that you bit it.” Billy shook his head, “Easier just to keep you alive.”

While not the warmest declaration of care Steve had ever heard, it was something at least to show that Billy Hargrove had a heart in there after all. He would probably have given him more shit, if they hadn’t been needed elsewhere.

So instead he nodded and turned back to where Eddie was keeping a smaller and smaller perimeter around he and Tommy.

“Them too.” Steve rushed towards them.

“Them too.” Billy agreed.

“You know, if you wanted me to carry you, you could have just asked.” Billy teased as he carried Tommy down the broken rib cage of Hawkins’ main road.

Tommy had his arms crossed over his chest, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as Billy bridal carried him as though he weighed nothing. His ankle was in pretty bad shape, would need stitches at the very least, but they’d wrapped it as best they could using the flannel Eddie had been wearing. It wouldn’t solve much, but it would hold until they got somewhere safe and that was all they needed.

“I’m not a chick, Hargrove, I’m not looking for some big strong man to save me.” Tommy rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, you telling me this beefcake doesn’t have you swooning at all?” Eddie chimed in, grinning like a loon, “All the work of saving our asses, and not even a flutter?”

Tommy rolled his eyes so hard Steve’s own did the same instinctively.

“You saved me.” Tommy asserted. “Shouldn’t you be pimping yourself out here?

“You’re right! I was the daring knight in shinning armour for this rescue, I should get the damsel! How about it Hagan, you free tonight?”

“Do you ever stop yapping, Munson?” Billy’s slow, heavy glare rested on him.

Eddie kept smiling like he couldn’t feel it at all, “Nope!”

“Steve, put a muzzle on your pet freak, would ya?” Tommy groaned, the pain making him more irritable than was already native to him.

Steve hardly heard the conversation, his focus moored on the walkie talkie he’d just barely managed to scoop up on their way out of the school. He’d dropped it on the way in, and it looked like it had been stepped on, but the damage was mostly cosmetic. It was still receiving a signal, he just had to hold it in just the right position.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m nobody’s pet.” Eddie pouted, “Pets take a certain amount of love and patience and feeding and no one has shown me any of that, so I’m staying feral thank you very much.”

“I’m showing you patience, I’m showing you a lot of patience.” Billy grumbled.

Eddie’s grin was back just like that, “You gonna love me and feed me too, cause I’m not really opposed--”

“Guys, shut up.” Steve hissed, the walkie cutting in on the corner of a conversation.

“--eam. Repeat Team Macho Man, do you read?”

“Yes!” Steve almost shouted into the receiver, “We read, we’re here!”

It sounded like Dustin on the other end, which immediately waylaid one of Steve’s biggest fears.

“Oh thank-- okay guys so the plan changed. Find somewhere to hole up for the night and we’ll regroup in the morning.”

It was as good a plan as any, and honestly at this point with how far South their original plan had gone, he was sure they needed the time to work on a new attack plan.

“Rodger that, any injuries on your side?” Steve asked, knowing Dustin would hear the underlying question that he couldn’t bare to ask.

“A couple, but nothing life threatening. You?”

“One,” Steve said until Eddie nudged him and he remembered his own bloody head wound, “Er, two, but nothing life threatening here either.”

“Good.” Dustin sounded as relieved as Steve felt, “Then get your asses somewhere safe. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you in the morning.”

Steve took a deep breath and let the knowledge that his friends were alright soothe the remnants of anxiety clustered in his chest. They were alright, they were all alright.

“Okay, now that Mama Bear is soothed, where are we going?” Billy caved in the moment of peace, “I’m not carrying Hagan all over the town so it better be near by.”

“Thought you were enjoying carrying me, Hargrove.” Tommy smirked.

“Never said that.”

“Didn’t have to.” Tommy grinned salaciously.

Steve watched Billy visibly think about dropping him and decide against it.

“Keep talking shit and I give you to Munson.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes, “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t carry you either.” Eddie made a face, “Pretty sure you’d end up in the creek. You could swim next to us, like our own personal Hasselhoff. Hey, you guys think demofish are a thing yet?”

Steve winced, picturing all manner of deep sea fish he’d learned about in high school. Along with his already tumultuous relationship with water, the visual had his hands going clammy.

“No one is tossing anyone into anything cause Hagan is gonna be a gentleman, isn’t that right?” Billy asked with that menacing edge he seemed to be able to produce on the fly. Coming out of Steve that same sentence would have sounded like a nagging mother.

Sometimes he envied Billy his role in their group. Just a little.

“I can’t promise anything.” Tommy muttered, “But I’m trying.”

That seemed to soften Billy a little, though only by fractions. He wasn’t the type to drop his guard all the way for pretty much anything. But in the middle of the multidimensional warzone Hawkins had become, one would be more likely to draw blood from a stone.

“‘Preciated.” Billy murmured in response, catching Tommy’s attention, “Now where in the fuck are we going?”

“How about Mel’s?” Steve suggested.

“The convenience store off main?” Eddie asked, poking his head around Tommy and Billy so he could see Steve.

“Yeah. It’s got bars on the windows, a security door, food, drinks--”

“Cigarettes.” Billy added, nodding along as thought his alone made the place viable.

“And booze.” Tommy pointed out, “I could use a shot. And so could this fucking bite, it itches.”

“Might have to cut it off.” Billy said stoically, his poker face cracking at the look of sheer offense Tommy shot at him.

“No the fuck we will not.”

“Seems like a good place to set up shop.” Eddie drummed the tip of his spear on his chin, full body wincing as he realized what he’d just done.

“Never been so happy about the idea of a wetnap bath.” Steve winced in sympathy for Eddie as he wretched.

Billy laughed so hard he almost dropped Tommy.

They made it to the convenience store with relative ease. Sure they had to fight a creature they had no name for to get inside, sure Tommy had puked when they realized the piece of meat Billy threw to distract it had been someone’s leg, but all told, it went better than Steve had thought it would.

Now they were barricaded inside, with Steve and Eddie rounding up ‘dinner’ while Billy tended Tommy’s wound.

“Never would have clocked you for a nurse, Hargrove.” Tommy said through his teeth as Billy dabbed blood away from the bite on his ankle with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“You’ve never talked to me before today for more than five minutes.” Billy muttered, pressing the whiskey and water soaked rag delicately against the outer edges of the wound.

Tommy groaned, his head tilting back as he tried to breathe past the sting of it. Billy handed him the bottle of liquor without looking.

“Fuck, thanks.” Tommy spun the top off with one move, a practiced flourish that he’d done a hundred times as a party trick.

“Mmmhmm. It’s gonna need stitches, but you’re lucky.” Billy pinched the side of Tommy’s foot, all but ignoring the indignant ‘OW!’ the action produced, “Doesn’t look like it fucked up any nerves or tendons or shit. Hit the bone though, that’s gonna hurt like a bitch.”

Steve had seen Billy drop into this a couple times before. But the vertigo that had hit him the first time Billy helped him close up his wounds rather than causing them was still unmatched. Out of all of them, Billy was undoubtedly the closest thing they had to a field medic.

“Thank you, doctor Hargrove.” Steve smiled a little at Billy, not entirely surprised when the ghost of a smile met him back.

He crouched down and let his bounty sprawl out in the space beside them. He’d grabbed as many things that were as close to actual foods as he could find. Canned chili, Vienna sausages, spam, even canned veggies. Eddie, of course, had gone the opposite route and rounded up as much junk food as his arms could carry.

“There was a generator when I poked my head in the back,” Eddie popped back up as soon as he set down his haul, “It’s getting dark and as much as I’d love to have a romantic candle lit dinner with you guys, that’s more of a third date kind of thing.”

“I’m pretty sure this counts as a third date,” Steve glanced over at Eddie, “If we’re going by Upside Down related bullshit.”

“We’re on our third, Sunshine and Flash Thomson are still new. Ish.”

“Why does he get a comic book character and I get ‘Sunshine’?” Billy groused, “And this isn’t a date, Munson.”

Eddie sauntered on towards the back, “Why not? The adrenaline, the bonding, the fear of fucking it all up, it’s got the right vibes.”

“You haven’t been on a single date have you?” Tommy asked at the same time Billy said, “Because I have higher fucking standards for my dates.”

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders vaguely and disappeared around the corner into the back.

“God he’s fucking weird.” Tommy muttered.

“He grows on you.” Steve shrugged.

“Like mold.” Billy agreed.

Ultimately, Eddie did get the generator running, and they managed to heat up their food on the little radiator Billy found tucked behind the counter. Steve never would have thought of that, even presented with the same options, wouldn’t have managed to heat the food as evenly as Eddie and Billy had even if he did.

Now their bellies were full, and they were passing around a bottle of raspberry vodka that Billy had deemed ‘too sugary’ to clean Tommy’s wound with.

“So,” Tommy interrupted the mostly companionable silence they’d been sharing for the last few minutes, “You guys have been stuck hiding out from monsters before, what’s traditional to pass the time?”

Steve breathed out a laugh, rolling his eyes while Billy took the bottle from Tommy to down another swig.

“Usually we take watches, but nothing followed us in here. Probably still should.” Steve answered.

“Okay, should have been more specific, what do you do that isn’t boring as all fuck?”

“In my experience, usually the paralyzing bone deep fear keeps it from being too boring.” Eddie shrugged, “But this is a pretty nice set up we’ve got going, spoiled punk like you could call it boring.”

Tommy threw an M&M at him, which Eddie caught in his mouth. Billy applauded and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer offense on Tommy’s face yet again.

“I was going to ask if anyone wanted to play a drinking game like a normal bunch of dudes but I should have fucking known better.”

“Hey you’re not normal anymore either.” Eddie argued from around his misbegotten treat, “When that bite scars, you’re not gonna be able to just explain it. That puts you right at the weirdo table with the rest of us.”

A look passed over Tommy’s face a little too fast for Steve to catch, “You… all have scars?”

Billy grunted but Tommy’s eyes were on Steve.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, “Plenty.”

Eddie lifted up the bottom of his shirt to show off the scars the demobats had left him. They hadn’t healed smoothly, the skin there largely being grafted from his back, which while also having suffered damage, wasn’t as gnarly to look at as his sides were. Eddie didn’t seem too put out, though Steve knew him well enough to know how well he could lock down his insecurities.

“Stevie’s got matching ones, but these are from like six months ago.” Eddie let his shirt back down, “Bats.”

Tommy looked a little queasy, still hadn’t blinked since Eddie had lifted up his shirt.

“Didn’t get bats. Liquid people monster.” Billy’s voice was tight with emotion he would sooner die than show in front anyone else, “Fucked me up pretty bad.”

That was an understatement if Steve had ever heard one. Billy had been in critical condition for three weeks, and then spent the next eight months recovering. They still didn’t know everything going on with him, other than that in addition to super strength, his blood was now basically battery acid.

“No scars?” Tommy asked, though his voice was much softer than Steve was accustomed to hearing it.

Billy sighed, sitting up to strip off his top. He only hesitated a moment before he was pulling it up and off of himself.

In the center of his chest was a dent with tightly stretched pink skin across it. The skin was almost shiny and so thin when he breathed Steve could easily see the bones through it. On either of his sides, the skin was similar to Eddie’s though the wounds were single points rather than jagged collectives. Some of the musculature on his left side was also concave, missing where it hadn’t been able to heal properly.

Steve heard Tommy’s intake of breath, knew he was comparing what he saw with what he knew Billy had looked like before. To Steve surprise he wasn’t recoiling in horror, wasn’t spewing venom to cover for the fear it must have seeded in him.

“Well shit.” He whispered, “Should I ask what the other guy looks like?”

Billy laughed, softly at first before it seemed to take root and he couldn’t stop. He tilted over, laughing so hard tears formed at the corners of his eyes.

“What?” Tommy asked, when it was clear Billy wouldn’t be able to answer him, “I know I’m a riot but I’m pretty sure I’m not that funny.”

“The other guy was a four-story tall melted people monster that got taken out by a little girl and an assload of fireworks.” Steve explained, “Billy looks way better than it did.”

“Hey Munson, you want to pass me back that bottle?” Tommy shuddered.

“Yeah, take a double man.”

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson #tommy hagan #stranger things #mungrove #harringrove #steddie #stommy #i don't think the other ships have names?#ha³son

301 notes · View notes

jokeroutsubs · 6 months

Text

Joker Out in Tvornica Kulture - Jokeroutmania

On Friday, the first of two sold out concerts of the Slovenian music sensation, Joker Out, was held in Tvornica Kulture.

“This is the first post-Yugoslav Slovenian band that sold more than 50 tickets in Zagreb”, Ivan Ramljak, a longtime music journalist who has since turned into one of the best domestic documentary film directors, jokingly commented to me on Facebook. The truth is an inseparable component of every good joke, including the joke mentioned above.

The last post-Yugoslav Slovenian band that performed in the same concert venue was the band Siddharta, who also filled Tvornica Kulture, two decades ago, but in unusual circumstances in which a considerable amount of buses full of their Slovenian fans also came with the band. In 2003, at the peak of their career, Siddharta filled Bežigrad Stadium in Ljubljana and their loyal followers really followed them everywhere, and to Zagreb as well. That was the only night in Tvornica Kulture in Zagreb when I couldn’t hear Croatian spoken in the audience almost at all, so in that sense maybe the theory that the Zagreb public didn’t buy even 50 tickets was correct, despite the euphoria that dominated in a full Tvornica.

Twenty years later, Joker Out is a whole different story. Maybe it wasn’t obvious this summer, when they were the opening band for the popular Serbian duo Buč Kesidi at Šalata, but it definitely was at Špancirfest in Varaždin before Franz Ferdinand’s concert. To picture it, it’s enough to retell the story from the backstage, where the Scottish stars arrived right when the audience was screaming, saying goodbye to Joker Out. Alex Kapranos was delighted and surprised by it at first and asked if people were really so excited for Franz Ferdinand, but his mood was ruined when he got the answer that the reaction of the public was towards the opening group. On the other hand, maybe that was one of the reasons Franz Ferdinand delivered an excellent performance that night. Competition is a good thing.

The Zagreb promoter of Joker Out’s recent concerts was also very surprised when the tickets sold out and the decision to add another date was made. The tickets for that concert sold out as well, and the final tally is approximately 3,400 tickets sold for Joker Out.

The Croatian general public found out about Joker Out from Eurovision, where this band represented Slovenia. “They’re really handsome guys. We’d love to play around with them, if we find the chance. Maybe we’ll stick carnations up our asses or have group sex”, Mrle from Let 3 joked around in his usual fashion, but in a somewhat patronizing way. However, now at the end of the year there’s no joking around with this Slovenian band, who’s not only in demand in our region, but also more widely, from Scandinavia to Gibraltar. In addition, they recorded the song “New Wave” together with the legendary Elvis Costello, and a fairly well known British agency took them under its wing. Translated from the promoter’s language: If you want to book Joker Out, calling Ljubljana won’t work, for that you’ll have to dial a number in the UK and agree on their terms and prices. Sharp, isn’t it?

Now, it’s not exactly appropriate to stick a carnation up someone’s ass when they can teach about success in jumping to the most lucrative position in show business, which is being a teen rock star. Carpe Diem? Joker Out have definitely ‘seized their day’.

The Zagreb concert, scheduled for 21:00, started at 21:00, accompanied by screams of the entire Tvornica Kulture. Yes, screams that are an integral part of the song “Sunny Side of London”, which starts with a Beatles polyphony from Joker Out, followed by a ‘Beatlemania’ from the audience when the frontman Bojan Cvjetićanin appears. Basically, a ‘Jokeroutmania’, without exaggeration. I haven’t seen or heard that kind of mutual engagement in a long time.

This wasn’t a case of initial enthusiasm, which usually lasts for 10-15 minutes and then the band has to pull it on their own in order to raise the tension again to a new peak, according to the invisible sinusoidal rule. No. Last night, the venue sang with the band from the first until the last song for almost two hours, and when “Sunny Side of London” was performed as the last encore, it was followed by even louder screams than at the beginning. As if the enthusiastic and adrenaline-charged youth in Tvornica Kulture didn’t dance and sing the whole time in between.

I dare to say that the Slovenian language has never been sung so heartily and accurately in Tvornica. English as well, and we can’t even talk about “Demoni”, which is in our language. The band itself is full of first-class musicians, and one of the more experienced visitors said that evening: “We watched far more unstable British bands at INmusic festival”.

Of course, Joker Out’s songs are in the rock sphere, which massively attracts the teenage audience. But these songs are neither bad, nor do they bring with them the well known “stink” of pandering to the public. Joker Out believes in their songs. There’s no fraud with them, and their strongest “joker up their sleeve” is Bojan Cvjetićanin, who is a born frontman - he learned all the lessons, and managed to maintain naturalness and spontaneity, especially in communication with the audience.

With the exception of drummer Jure Maček, who cannot move around the stage due to “his job description”, the entire line-up alongside Cvjetićanin, i.e. guitarists Jan Peteh and Kris Guštin, as well as bassist Nace Jordan, formed a barrier at the very edge of the stage during the entire concert, which was an added bonus to the euphoria. No one turned their back to the audience during the performance, on the contrary, they were “on the front line” from the beginning until the end.

And of course, Joker Out are far ahead of similar bands that use pre-recorded instrumentals and samples during their performances. Namely, they have that old school, organic approach, which brings success in a time when there is a lot of talk about the popularity of trap music and similar genres, and about the lack of relevant young guitarist bands that could attract significant interest, primarily from a young audience.

And finally, we’re not talking about a band that was created as a project before the Eurovision Song Contest and is now flying on the wings of that success, but about the guys who have been working since 2016 on something they were recognised for across Europe six years later. As much as I appreciate Let 3, I have to express my doubts about who has better “group sex” with the audience. The only thing I have no doubt for is that Tvornica Kulture will be on fire tonight as well. The teenage audience chose their heroes and they didn’t choose wrongly.

Original article Ravnododna (11.11.2023)

Translation credit @moonlvster

#joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #jokeroutsubs #jan peteh #kris gustin #bojan cvjetićanin #nace jordan #jure macek #kris guštin #tvornica kulture #zagreb

39 notes · View notes

whump-a-la-mode · 2 years

Note

hello! i hope you're having a nice day :)

I was thinking about your 'villainous recover centre, but they actually help' today and re-read the entire thing lol. I was wondering when it was going to update. I really enjoy your writing!!!!!!!

Thanks lol :

Ahh, I’m so glad! I know I kinda left the last piece on a cliffhanger, so I hope you like this part!

I think this is actually going to be the last piece of Villainous Recovery Center, I’ve loved writing this series, and perhaps I’ll write more side pieces or spinoffs in the future, but, for now, this is the end of the main story. Thank you all so much for reading along! Sorry that it’s short, but this is where I felt it would be best to end things off

Masterlist is here.

With further ado, here we go!

CW//Panic attacks, abusive family members, past abuse, manipulative behavior

“Villain! I- I can’t believe I found you. Oh, goodness. Let’s go home!”

Villain had never been particularly fond of Supervillain. It was for that that the new recruits always thought they were so ridiculous, so aloof. How in the world could someone not like Supervillain? They were so nice! Parental, almost.

They knew enough about parental figures to know to never trust your first impressions of them.

This was supposed to be progress, Villain’s first day out of the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center since their arrival. A visit to the mall with Hero, the constant companion in their recovery.

They had known it was going to be frightening, knew it was going to be stressful. Their first time out of the facility in over a month, outside of a controlled space and out into public. Villain had expected loud noises, crowds, pushing people, sights and smells they were not used to.

Villain, however, had not expected Supervillain.

The unease they had felt ever since entering the building... How long had Supervillain been here for? How long had they been watching them? And now the lights were off, and people were running, screaming-

Villain felt their throat seize up as they took a step back. They stood in the middle of a towering hallway, storefronts gaping on either side, civilians already taking to cowering in the nearest store, behind the nearest kiosk.

Second by second, they were losing their cover.

Supervillain stood, perhaps a hundred yards down the hall, an area having already cleared around them. There was no sign of destruction, no indication that they had broken through the ceiling or the walls. No, they had walked in. Walked in, and...

And likely, they had been following Villain this whole time. Seeing them smile. Watching them hold Hero’s arm and chatter merrily.

The thought made Villain feel sick to their stomach.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Supervillain once more called out, voice somehow managing to echo over the cries of frightened peoples. “And look where I found you, right in plain sight!

Come here, come on, I can get you out of here!”

They spread their arms open wide, as though expecting a hug.

Villain felt their stomach twist, vision going hazy. They had all but forgotten about Hero’s presence until they felt a strong, steady arm around their shoulders.

“Who is this?” Hero whispered into their ear.

Villain’s jaw was trembling. They barely managed to reply:

“Not a friend.”

And they weren’t. Supervillain... They tried to pose themself as a leader, as a parent, as the guardian of all the villains of the city. Love was a word commonly used around them.

Yet, it was the most conditional love that one could imagine. One slip up, one mistake, the slightest false step, and it all fell away. Comforting hugs turned to slaps across the face, kind whispers to shouting.

Villain had been in the business long enough to make their fair share of slip ups. It had been so very long since they’d thought about Supervillain, so far long since they’d seen their face. Now, they felt their chest rising and falling in sharp bursts, breath getting caught in their throat.

“Do you want to go with them?” Hero spoke softly.

“No. No, no, no.”

“Then tell them. If we can get them to go away peacefully, then it’ll be better for everyone.”

Villain bit their tongue so hard that it bled.

They tried. They’d spent so long in their sessions at the facility, learning how to say the hard thing, to think the thoughts that they did not want to acknowledge. Now... Now, they had to put it into practice.

And they couldn’t.

Tears began to seep down their face as Villain turned, latching themself onto Hero, holding themself there as though their life depended on it. Was it stupid? Certainly. Beyond certainly. And yet...

“Hey. It’s okay.” Hero whispered. “It’s okay if you can’t.”

They felt themself moving, a beast with four legs as Hero shifted backwards. When Villain again opened their eyes, they found themself safely behind a couch.

“Stay here.” Hero gave a small smile. “And let me be the hero. Your job, now, is to recover. Not to save the world.”

#villainous recovery center #villain whumpee #hero caretaker #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #caretaking #fluff #soft #hero villain whump #hero villain trope #hero villain prompt

37 notes · View notes

wallflowerimagines · 3 years

Note

Hello! Um... I don’t really know how to start this but say I love your hc! I think you do a fantastic job on them, there all very sweet but being the s.o.b I am I’m here to ask for some angst. How would you think the lords act if their S/O died?

...I'm feeling mean. 😈

Warnings: Angst, Death, Horror Game villains making bad decisions/not coping with tragedy, suicide.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Denial, Denial, Denial

You can't be dead. There has to be something, anything that she can do to save you. Alcina scrambles for a solution, attacking the problem from all sides, despite the reality of the situation staring her in the face.

Immediately injects your body with Cadou in a desperate hope to save you. Any possible chance that he has to save you she's going to take it.

It's not likely that your corpse reanimates, but it does mutate. At the end of the process, what's left of your body hardly even looks like you anymore, and she can't bring herself to look at it.

She builds a gilded crypt for your body-- it's stunning. It's inspired by you, all your favorite colors, styles and hobbies are incorporate to make the room feel full of your spirit. Alcina is an artistic woman, and she throws herself into the project like she's possessed.

It might take years, even decades to complete. It has to be perfect. When it's done she feels accomplished, but twice as empty. It might be one of the most beautiful dedications she's ever made, but it can't replace you. She has the room sealed off with no way to get to it, so she can't be tempted to visit. She just needs a piece of of you still in her home, or she can't get through the day.

...If your corpse does reanimate, it's actually worse for Alcina. Whatever she brought back was a shambling, horrifying mess of mold wearing your face. It couldn't think for itself, or even follow commands--it just wanders in circles and attacks anything that gets too close.

She keeps your reanimated corpse in a cell, unable to bring herself to destroy it completely. Sometimes, she'll go down to the basement and talk to the thing like it is you, telling it about her day, having one-sided conversations and thinking of all the wonderful memories the two of you shared.

When its dead eyes meet hers, her lungs seize in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. Alcina doesn't cry often, but when your corpse meets her gaze she starts to sob. Those eyes used to look at her with life and love and now...

Still, she can't stop herself from visiting it. It's a compulsion she can't stop, and it tears open the wound every time, but some irrational part of her deep, deep down thinks that one day, she'll descend those steps and you'll be there to greet her with a warm smile.

In either scenario, she will never have another partner. You're impossible to replace, and she feels truly, genuinely empty without you. Rest well, Darling. You'll never be forgotten.

Donna Beneviento

There is such a thing as a last straw, and this is it for Donna.

Please remember: this is a woman who has lost everything. Mother Miranda might have given her a new "family", but Donna is not nearly as attached to these new members as she is to her original family. And the loss of her original family has shaped her in such a way that if you died? She would be absolutely devastated.

It's not fair to put this kind of pressure on you, but in a very real way you were her last hope for normalcy. She had all these plans to fix her family with you. You were so instrumental to her hopes for the future that now that you're gone, it feels like she has no hope at all. You were her missing link, her one true love, and now that you're dead...

Donna screams until her throat is raw when she finds out you're gone. Angie can't help her, nothing can. She just can't cope with reality anymore.

She'll build a life sized Doll of you to try to help herself cope, but the minute she tries to implant of piece of her Cadou in it, she is filled with such a vehement hatred of the thing that she starts scream-crying before she takes an axe to it's face and hacks it to pieces. How dare it pretend to be you?!! It's not even close to the real thing, she shouldn't even have tried--

She might try to induce a hallucination of you to help her get through the day to day, but it's not the same. She can't perfectly mimic your laugh, or your smile, or the way you tuck her hair away from her face. It's so obviously not you, and Donna is... alone.

I do hate to say it, but she will absolutely try to kill herself if you died. You were the one person who understood her, empathized with her, and you were her best friend. You were her support system, the one person who could carry her through the worst times in her life, but you're gone. Donna can't believe that anyone else could be there for her like you were.

Salvatore Moreau

Absolutely, irreparably broken.

When the two of you were in a relationship, you busied yourself not only with smothering Salvatore in all of the love and affection that you could, but you also did a lot to help his self-esteem and mental health.

You made sure he knew that he was loved, that you could never hate him, and even on your death bed you make him promise never to forget how wonderful he is.

Once you're gone, though, Salvatore cracks.

He clings to every bit of you felt behind. All of your jewelry, clothing, pictures and sentimental items are preserved to the best of his ability. Your living space is transformed into a shrine dedicated to you.

It's not healthy, but he also deifies you in his memory. Mother Miranda is no longer the only person that he worships-- the memory of you is now sacred to him. You become something holy and perfect in his mind's eye. It doesn't matter how many flaws you had in reality, your death has turned even your worst flaws into traits to be admired and praised. His perception of you is totally twisted.

Speaking of Mother Miranda, he regresses a lot. His adoration of Mother Miranda was something you were helping him work through, but now he's right back at square one, and even worse off than before.

Moreau can't make a decision on his own anymore--from what to say, to what to do, and sometimes even what to eat. After all, it's his fault that you died, isn't it? You were his partner and he used to be is a doctor. How could he possibly trust himself with anything when he couldn't manage to save the most important thing in his life?

To the rest of his family, he's more pathetic than before. His obsession with his Mother was usually limited to when she was in the room, but now it's constant.

If he ever hears the quote "It's better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all," he gets supremely, violently angry. No. No, that's not true, it's bullshit, how dare you even say that to his face.

If he hadn't loved you, you would be alive. He would be alone, but you would be safe. You would be happy.

Now he's alone, and all you are is dead. He can't ever come back from it.

Karl Heisenberg

Rage. Unending, earth shattering Rage.

Whatever killed you better start to fucking pray, because Karl Heisenberg will not quit until it's suffering.

He doesn't kill who or whatever it was. He let's it sit there, mangled beyond belief, and uses his knowledge of mechanics and biology to keep it alive in constant, unending pain.

It's cathartic for him, but not in a healthy way. The more he hurts it, the better he feels, but at the end of the day, you're still gone, and he's still alone.

He's... lost.

Heisenberg should be angry, fuck he wants to be angry more than anything, but the longer he keeps the thing alive... emotions seem like they're too far away anymore. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants... you.

He keeps something of yours in his pocket at all times, just to run his fingers over it and remember you. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile... It's almost like a stress ball, and these days sticking his hand into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the thing is the only way he can calm down.

Sometimes he turns to ask your opinion on something, or tell you a joke with a big smile on his face because this one is going to make you laugh for sure-- and then he freezes when the reality sets in once again. You're not here.

Remember, Heisenberg has idealized the two of you as this perfect partnership. You were the first person who looked at him and loved everything that you saw. You weren't just his first real relationship, the first person that he implicitly trusted, but you were also his very first real friend.

He wasn't the most friendly person to begin with, but he did get better because of you. He was still spoiled, a little socially awkward, and maybe his dark sense of humor would slip and get a little too much, but he grew as a person.

Now that you're gone, he can't even remember what it's like not being a cruel, empty shell of rage. All he has left is his hatred of Mother Miranda.

After a while, it doesn't matter if he's ready to take her on or not. He's going to face that bitch head on and kill her, or die trying.

If he wins, he's finally free. If he doesn't... that's not so bad either. Karl doesn't really believe in an afterlife, but there's something appealing about joining you wherever you might be.

#angst #death #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #dead reader #tw: suicide

621 notes · View notes

comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Note

Okay but imagine- geralt (consensually) using axii on jaskier (maybe to calm him down? Take away the pain? Idk it’s up to you)

i would first like to apologize for how long this sat in my inbox. ye ole non-smutty fics and i had a bit of a rough patch there for a bit but i think we're past it now? anyway, have some of this:

Warnings: exhaustion descriptions, tfw you walk/stand too long and everything hurts, a tiny bit of fluff, axii isn't necessarily discussed but its used to help

_______________

Traveling with Geralt was the highlight of Jaskier’s life, but adjusting to the road every spring always knocked him on his ass. No matter how much walking and stair climbing and even jogging Jaskier attempted to keep up over the winter, he was always left staggering through the first weeks of travel.

He made sure to do absolutely everything he needed to, including pee, before so much as sitting down whenever they made camp. If he didn’t, the tasks simply wouldn’t get done. Geralt was too stubborn and Jaskier wouldn’t be able to move.

His muscles would be jelly by the time they stopped, his legs moving out of sheer habit more than any actual instruction from his brain or willpower. His bad knee would ache and if he stepped wrong he’d get a shooting pain up the front. Even worse, his ankles screamed at him as he stepped over rocks and sloshed through mud. Scratch that, his hips were the worst, a near-cramping tightness in them that had him almost hunching over by the end of the day. Sometimes he couldn't even tell if it was from the pain or the muscles no longer doing their part to support him. And when he stopped moving it all seized up.

That particular year, winter had been brutal in Oxenfurt. Snow had made it impossible to keep up his usual walking routine and he’d gone and twisted an ankle rather dramatically while attempting to show off for another instructor. It shouldn’t have surprised him that his body wasn’t taking kindly to this sort of abuse, but it made him angry nonetheless.

And fuck did it hurt.

It had never hurt this bad. He didn’t even bother setting out his bedroll, he simply laid down next to the fire Geralt was building. Even the forest floor felt like sweet relief so long as he stayed horizontal. He didn’t notice, or care, what Geralt was doing, just laid there measuring his breath and longing for a soak in a hot bath.

Geralt seemed to be angling for more misery, jarring the bard back into awareness by slapping two cloths full of melting snow over his knees.

“Fuck you,” he groaned, not even able to sit up and remove the homemade torture devices his best friend had dropped on him.

“Later. Don’t move these,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier snorted as he let his eyes close again, “Couldn’t if I wanted to.”

With an amused ‘hm’ Geralt was up and milling around the camp. Ten-ish minutes later he came back to Jaskier’s side to move the melting snow to his ankles, then to his back a little later. Jaskier barely noticed him removing the now rather small bits of snow from his body. He did notice Geralt wringing the cloths out, letting the freezing water dribble all over his face and neck. He flailed a bit, and let out a yell, but he really couldn’t move much. Not quickly anyway.

“Hm,” Geralt chuckled, crouched down next to him, “Can you roll over?”

Jaskier thought about trying, then thought about how his back screamed just from staying still, then shook his head.

Again, Geralt was gone and shuffling about. This time Jaskier paid attention though. Geralt pulled both bedrolls close to the fire, and, after a little resituating, rolled Jaskier into one. He then dragged him to the other side of the fire, with colorful protests from the bard. When he was laid down on a large patch of thick moss, Jaskier complained far less. Everything still ached, but at least he was a touch more comfortable.

When Geralt shimmied in the bedroll with him and pressed his chest firmly to Jaskier’s back, the bard nearly cried.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispered in his ear, on hand working at the disgustingly tight muscles in his hip, “I pushed you too far today. I don’t like when you cry.”

“I just missed you, darling,” Jaskier chuckled, doing his best not to sniffle, “It’s not that ba-”

“I can smell how much it hurts Jask.”

A couple tears finally fell onto Geralt’s arm that Jaskier was using as a pillow as he lost the performative energy that was keeping him together.

“I just want to sleep,” he breathed, not trusting his voice not to break.

Geralt nodded and lifted his hand to form axii, “Then sleep without pain.”

The last thing Jaskier remembered before the fuzzy haze swept over his body was Geralt placing a kiss on his temple. He would wonder if it had been a dream for decades.

240 notes · View notes

pftones3482 · 3 years

Text

One of the commissions I'm doing for @randomfandomfan ft Hurt/Comfort Adrinino. Find it on my AO3 here.

Set post Rocketear and pre any kind of romantic relationship (tho it's hinted at). This was already a fic I wanted to write, and one of the prompts they sent me fit the concept almost perfectly, so I ran with it.

Under a cut for length.

“It’s your fault.”

Nino jumped about a foot in the air, whirling from where he’d been shutting his door with his phone pointed menacingly at the source of the voice. His backpack smacked him in the hip, knocking him off kilter, and he stumbled, bracing himself on the doorknob. His eyes scanned the room slowly, shoulders easing when he didn’t spot anyone. “Hello?”

“What are you, dense, kid?” scoffed the voice again, from right in front of him, and Nino squeaked at an embarrassing pitch when he registered the Kwami floating there.

The Kwami.

A black cat Kwami.

Nino dropped his defensive (if somewhat undignified) stance, staring at what was definitely Chat Noir’s Kwami. “Um. You’re not supposed to be here.”

The cat’s eerily green eyes rolled. “Wow. Intelligent.”

Nino spluttered, feeling awkward. “W-Well I’m sorry, dude, how do you expect me to react!” he demanded, throwing his hands up in the air. Something like ice settled in his gut as the Kwami’s existence finally clicked. “W-Wait, why are you here? What happened?”

“You happened,” the Kwami snapped, and uh. Okay. Not what Nino wanted to hear right now.

“What?”

“YOU. Do you have any idea how much you upset him? How much you hurt him the other day? He won’t say it, Nino, but he’s hurting. He’s been hurting, and you unloaded on him and beat him and told him how awful he was and if you weren’t his best friend and I didn’t think you were the only one who could help right now, you’d be in a pile of rubble.”

Um.

Holy shit.

Nino had never heard a Kwami so pissed. Wayzz could get a little condescending sometimes, and Ladybug had admitted that her Kwami could be a little snarky (as could Trixx, as Alya had confirmed time and time again). But never had he seen a Kwami literally shaking in rage.

He’d be more terrified if the cat’s words weren’t sinking in.

“Hang on, hang on, dude,” Nino said, crossing his arms in an “x” through the air. “Is this about Rocketear? I apologized, I-I thought me and Chat were okay. Also like, I respect the guy, but he has no idea who I am, dude, we’re not best friends.”

“Had,” the cat spit out. “He had no idea who you were.”

Nino’s stomach swooped out from under him and he gripped his desk chair tightly to keep from tripping. “What?”

The Kwami gave him a smug, if not irritated, smile. “You told him yourself.”

“D-During…when I was fighting him?” Nino squeaked. “N-No, I saw the footage, I didn’t tell him I’m Carapace!”

The cat softened. “Before, Nino. Before you were akumatized.”

“I didn’t-”

“Of course, when Ladybug appears, he throws himself to her feet with roses and love confessions!”

Fuck.

“But he is always rejected, because Ladybug thinks that he’s annoying. And she is COMPLETELY right!”

Oh, fuck.

“I know because I’m also a superhero. I’m Carapace.”

“Shit.”

Nino fumbled for his desk chair, sinking into it hard and banging his elbow on the back. The pain was almost numbing. He put his head in his hand, pushing his hat back off his head and staring blankly at the wall.

“Oh my god, dude, I-?”

“Yeah.”

The Kwami sounded almost sad this time, and that, somehow, was worse than him threatening to kill Nino.

He didn’t really remember being akumatized, until the end, when Alya broke him from Shadowmoth’s hold. And despite warnings from his friends, he’d watched the footage from his akumatization. Even without Alya recording, someone usually was, and the footage was always online by the end of the day.

He knew what he’d done to Chat Noir.

He’d seen the way he dropped his baton, a sign of surrender. The way Rocketear hadn’t hesitated to push him back with everything he had, pounding him again and again and again into that van, how he’d grabbed him by the head and slammed him backwards like-

“Nino!”

The Kwami’s paw was gentle on his wrist and Nino shuddered, scrubbing at his eyes furiously and dislodging his glasses. “Oh my god, oh my god, where is he?” he choked out. “I-I need to find him right now, Kwami dude, I-I can’t believe I-”

“Plagg,” the Kwami offered, his scratchy voice easing Nino from his panic. “And it wasn’t you, kid.”

“B-But it was, that’s the worst part,” Nino whispered, standing and pacing now. “I hated him, I hated him so much I – oh my god, he tried to tell me.” He laughed, bitter, holding his hands together behind his head. “He tried to tell me Alya and Chat didn’t have a thing and I-”

“Nino,” Plagg interrupted. “He’s on the roof.”

Nino stopped, blinked at him. “He’s what.”

Plagg nodded upwards, his antenna bobbing. “On the roof. Been there every night for the last week.” His voice lowered. “He wanted to talk to you, but he’s too scared.”

“He’s on the…he’s on my roof?”

Nino scrambled around his room, grabbing a jacket and an extra hoodie before reaching out, snatching Plagg, and shoving him into his hat. He froze a millisecond later. “Um. Please don’t cataclysm me for that, dude.”

Plagg’s chuckle was more like a purr. “Please. As if I’d need to use all that on just you.”

Nino supposed he should be insulted, but with everything he now knew, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was nearly one am – he’d been out late studying with Alya – so now he crept from his room and to the front door, hopeful not to wake his family. Grabbed his key off the hook by the entrance, and then eased the apartment door shut behind him.

It was only one flight up to the roof access, usually locked, but Nino had come up here with Alya more times than he could count, so he knew that if you wiggled the lock just right, it would come undone on it’s own. They’d oiled the hinges ages ago so that it didn’t scream every time it was opened, and now it was silent as Nino pushed it up and stared over the flat top.

Adrien was silhouetted in the moonlight, precariously close to the edge, and it made Nino’s breath hitch. He pushed the door all the way open and clambered up onto the roof as quietly as possible, easing the hatch shut again before turning back to his best friend and slumping.

Best friend.

God, how could he have-?

“You didn’t know,” Plagg whispered, gentler than Nino had expected him to be. The Kwami zipped from his hat, hovering in the air next to him, and he offered Nino a grim smile. “I might hate you a little right now for what you did to him, but you didn’t know, kid.”

Nino let out a shaky breath and started the trek over to his friend, fiddling with his extra sweatshirt. The night air was chill, and he was glad he’d brought it – Adrien was in nothing but short sleeves.

“All week, huh?” he murmured, watching as Adrien jumped a little, fingers tightening on the edge of the roof. “Could’ve just called, dude.”

Adrien twisted, lips parting. “How did you know I was-?”

His eyes landed on Plagg and a squeak slipped from his mouth as his hand shot to his shirt pocket. It wouldn’t have been funny if he hadn’t gone so pale.

So Plagg hadn’t told him he was telling Nino. Interesting.

“Y-You can’t-! You told-?”

“You’ve been here all week, Adrien,” Plagg snapped. “You weren’t gonna tell him, I was. You need a cheese in your corner.”

Nino had no idea what that meant, but he couldn’t stop staring long enough to care.

Adrien’s eyes were tired. There was no glint in them. The circles under his eyes were deep – he must’ve been wearing makeup to school, because Nino hadn’t seen them until now. His hands were trembling, his lips were bitten raw, and Nino felt his entire heart shatter.

“I am…so sorry,” he choked out, tears spilling over. Adrien jolted, turning his gaze from Plagg to him.

“Nino-”

“No, dude, no, I-I-I…I don’t care that I didn’t know. I should never have said those things, I should never have hurt you like that, oh my god dude, I hurt you so bad, I like could have killed you, a-a-and…”

He froze, reeling, and stumbled back. Adrien got to his feet warily, holding his hands up. “Nino?”

“You were gonna let me.”

He wanted it disproved, but Adrien’s flinch told him everything. His chest seized and Nino choked on his breath. “You were gonna let me, you would’ve fucking let me, you fucking asshole how could you? Do you have any fucking idea how much I care about you dude?”

He shoved Adrien without thinking, hands firm against his shoulders, pushing him back and away from the edge. Adrien’s eyes were wide, lip trembling, and Nino pushed him again, closer to the center of the roof, this time forcing the sweatshirt into his grasp. Adrien clung to it, lips parted, and Nino dragged his hands through his hair, pacing as Adrien shrugged the sweatshirt on. He’d left his hat downstairs, he registered somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Oh my god,” he choked out. “I-I…I’m so sorry dude. I’m so sorry, your dad, and then school, and modelling and your stupid model diet and then you’re a literal superhero and I’m supposed to be your best friend and I didn’t even…”

“You weren’t saying them about me,” Adrien whispered. “I know that.”

Nino spun to face him, vision blurry. “If you knew that you wouldn’t have been on my roof every night for the last week working up the nerve to talk to me. If you knew that you wouldn’t have thrown down your weapon and let me beat you to-”

He cut himself off with choked cry and he rushed at Adrien, clinging to him with a force he didn’t know he possessed. He cradled his friend’s head gently, heart sinking for a moment until he felt Adrien’s hands lift to settle tentatively on his back.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered into Adrien’s ear. Nino swallowed, throat aching. “I don’t hate you, and I don’t hate Chat Noir. I was mad. A-And that’s not an excuse for what I said, and I’m so sorry. I’ve never hated Chat Noir, dude. He was always my favorite. I just…”

“You were upset,” Adrien finished, soft.

“Jumped to conclusions,” Nino corrected. “I was jealous of Alya keeping stuff from me, and I jumped to conclusions, and I hurt you, shit I-I hurt you, I-”

“I’m okay, Nino. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Nino croaked, tightening his grip. Something in him breathed easier when Adrien tightened his own back, harder, his shoulders starting to shake. “It’s not okay, I love you, dude. Don’t do that for me. Don’t ever stop fighting back when it’s your life at stake, I-I can’t…”

Adrien’s grip clenched in his hoodie and suddenly Nino’s neck was wet with tears. Nino carded his fingers through Adrien’s hair, turning his head just slightly to press his lips against his temple. “Talk to me, dude,” he whispered. “I’m here now, you don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”

“You can’t tell, Nino,” Adrien croaked. “I mean it, not even Alya. Y-You can’t. Promise me.”

“Hey.”

He pushed Adrien back, gentle, and cupped his cheeks, swiping away the tears on his skin. “I promise,” he said firmly, staring Adrien in the eyes to show he meant it. “This is too big to tell, dude.”

“You told me-”

“I trusted you,” Nino said, squeezing Adrien’s shoulders. “I was pissed, and I knew I trusted you more than anyone, and I knew you wouldn’t say anything. A-And I was wrong, dude. I shouldn’t have told Alya’s identity. Mine is one thing, but that wasn’t okay. But man, dude, you have it rough as it is, without anyone knowing you’re a superhero. I’m not telling, dude.”

Adrien swallowed, throat bobbing, and glanced behind Nino, where he presumed Plagg was floating. Plagg must have indicated something, because he slumped and gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Nino.”

Nino shook his head. “Don’t thank me. D-Don’t…not after that.”

Adrien’s hands were on his cheeks now, fingers freezing. “Hey. It wasn’t you. You might’ve been mad, but it wasn’t you. It was Shadowmoth amplifying those emotions, and you beat him. You beat him, Nino. I’m…so proud of you for that,” he whispered, voice cracking.

Nino pulled him in again, arms clinging to his back and his nose pressed into the hood of Adrien’s borrowed sweatshirt. “I’m proud of you too, dude,” he said. He felt Adrien’s grip tighten on his back. “No one ever says it. I’m proud of you. And I’m-”

“If you say sorry one more time,” Adrien croaked, laughter behind his tears, “I will personally dangle you off the Eiffel Tower by your shield.”

Nino chuckled and stepped back, tugging Adrien’s wrists gently. “Come inside,” he pleaded. “It’s cold out.”

Adrien glanced behind his shoulder, teeth worrying at his lip. “I should get home,” he said. “It’s late.”

“Then they won’t notice,” Nino said, pulling him a step further. “C’mon, dude. You’ve been by yourself for so long. I wanna hear about being Chat Noir.”

Adrien looked back to him, lips parted. The glint in his eyes was illuminated by the surrounding buildings, and something in Nino’s stomach twisted in a way he wasn’t going to question at the moment. “Really?”

“You kidding? Of course, dude.”

Adrien’s mouth slid into a tiny smile now, head tilting in that puppy-dog way only he could pull off. “Yeah. Y-Yeah, I’d like that. If you’re sure it’s-”

Nino knelt down and lifted the roof access cover, climbing onto the ladder and looking back up at Adrien with what he hoped was an inviting grin. “Dude. Just get inside already.”

Sneaking back in was harder than sneaking out, only because now he had another person in tow, but they managed to get back into his room without waking anyone (even after their quick excursion to the kitchen for a block of sharp cheddar, because Plagg was whiny). Nino shut off all the lights in his room except his desk lamp, leaving the soft glow to illuminate the corner and moving to his bed.

Adrien hesitated at the foot of it, fiddling with the sweatshirt strings on Nino’s hoodie (and Nino was ignoring how much he liked that image, that was something he could confront in the morning). “Um.”

Nino rolled his eyes and held out an arm. “Come cuddle, bro. And tell me about being the hottest bachelor in Paris.”

That got a snort from his friend, and Adrien crawled into the bed next to him, flopping against Nino’s side and leaning his head against his shoulder as Nino tucked an arm around him. “I thought I was the hottest bachelor in Paris.”

“Oh my god, you and your alter ego literally are competing for the same spot, that’s so fucking funny,” Nino cackled, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake Chris next door.

Adrien chuckled and then fell quiet, and Nino traced a circle on his arm, feeling the mood shift. “Wanna talk about what’s been going on with you and Ladybug?”

“How did you-?”

“It’s pretty obvious when you’re working directly next to the two of you. And especially now that I know it’s my best bro behind the mask? What’s up?”

Adrien went still again, and then rolled over, pressing his face into Nino’s shoulder. “Can we talk about that tomorrow?” he mumbled. “I’d rather just…hang out, for now.”

Nino tightened his grip, focused on the ceiling, and tried to quell the racing thoughts in his mind. “Of course, dude. Of course.”

Adrien’s breathing evened out, and Nino had a feeling he probably wasn’t heading home anytime soon. He didn’t care, just shifted to put his phone and glasses on his nightstand and then rolled over to hold his friend closer, smiling thinly when he instantly clung back.

Plagg was curled up on the pillow above Adrien’s head, and his cat eyes blinked sleepily as he studied Nino. “Thanks, kid.”

Nino loosened a hand and reached up, scratching the cat on the head, fully prepared to lose a finger. To his surprise, Plagg just purred and nudged up into the touch. “Thanks for breaking the rules for him,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry I put both of you through that.”

“You’re a good kid, Nino,” Plagg said, yawning and curling his tail around himself. “Stupid, but good. Wayzz likes you for a reason.”

The Kwami went quiet and started snoring, leaving Nino to flush at the compliment, run his fingers through Adrien’s hair, and fall asleep with a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

#my writing #writing commissions #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #rocketear spoilers #plagg #miraculous ladybug #ninoir #adrinino

268 notes · View notes

lovelystay · 3 years

Text

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖 🍒

𝕟𝕠𝕟 𝕔𝕠𝕟

(ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥)

[Rᴇsᴜᴍᴇ : han jisung had a boring college life , nothing exciting until he started to know you. You were like a drug and he quickly got addicted. ]

Jisung’s life is very boring , no family , no friends, no girlfriend , no special skill , nothing exciting . You were probably the only good human interaction he had in all of his college years , a young beautiful student , third year in college , very lovely with him. He thought you were interested in him , but , you only came up to him because of some activities that your teacher told every new student to do, like asking older classes about their college experience and some other things.

After you’ve talked to him , he was smiling all day his heart was beating fast , he couldn’t stop thinking about you . Han tried to get closer to you , but each time he did ,it was too short , too fast for him . I mean, of course , he is in his last year of college and you’re in your third year , the schedules are so different . But jisung found another way to stay close to you , the difference is ; you’re not aware . As weird and creepy as it sounds , he thinks that it’s not a big deal because he’s not hurting you ...

Han’s life was boring and lifeless , so devoting his free time entirely to you wouldn’t be really bothering .

After stalking you on social media and tracking you down from time to time , he decided that owning something from you would be a great form of reward .

Today was the day when he finished classes an hour sooner than you. Which gave him the time to get to your dorm . As soon as his classes ended he hurried to get there , he had no one to wait for and no one to wait for him .

His heartbeat got really fast but he was confident anyway , the doors could get unlocked with a 4 digits code , Han sometimes followed you when you get back to your room so he already had the code fully memorised in his head .

Quietly and surely , jisung stepped into your little home , penetrating your personal space without you knowing anything. He was very quiet and careful with the noise, the walls were pretty thin and no one was supposed to be here .

With his bag still on his back, Han bends down to take off his shoes leaving them almost right in front of the door and then rush to find out where your room is .

He found it pretty quickly after opening a random door, everything looks so nice. It smells good , everything is cleaned and pretty just like jisung would have imagined. Han stepped inside and wondered about what he was doing , wasn’t it a little too much ? Was he crossing a line ? Why would he do something you clearly would dislike if he likes you so much ? Too much question came to himself and he decided to answer none, the bad has already been done , he’s here already, he can’t step back after coming this far...

He shook his head trying to clear his mind and searched your room to finally open your closet . The first thing that came to his mind were your underwear. Jisung loved to imagine you in cute lingerie and even just basic underwear it would turn him on like crazy and would get him a boner randomly in class . As soon as he opened the closet ,he opened random drawers in hope to find what he’s looking for. Jisung let out an audible gasp when he found laced black underwear, his heartbeat got faster and faster imagining you wearing those , just for him . He took them in his hands and slowly observed them , watching every single details. Curious , he wondered what they would smell like , he could feel his sanity slowly leaving his body and mind not caring about anything anymore. Han took them in one hand and brings them up to his nose , he practically inhaled In them, appreciating the good scent they had. Jisung quickly got carried away , instead of heading back to his home and living your dorm before you came , he took off his own underwear and pants down to his thighs and masturbated with your piece of clothes. He shifts between putting the underwear on his pink tip and down his nose ,thrusting up to get himself off, he immediately set a high pace because of how excited he was. The adrenaline of sneaking in your dorm was already getting him sick but having an underwear you probably wear not so long ago got him really rilled up.

Little did he know , you had a test on this last hour and you could leave earlier if you finished before the bell rings. Which happened, you were so happy, the test wasn’t as difficult as you thought which resulted in you completing it pretty quickly. With a smile on your face you headed back to your dorm, happy to finally getting to rest after this day that seemed so long. You instantly perceive a pair of shoes that were totally unfamiliar to you , they look like a man’s. No one even came here and you don’t have any pair looking like this one. It triggered something in you, someone is in your home without your consent and is probably dangerous. With your body starting slowly to shake out of fear, you tried your best to be quiet and got to the kitchen to get a knife. Your hearing wasn’t the best but wasn’t bad either, you could hear some sounds coming out of the direction of your bedroom. Someone is definitely there. Slowly and on your tiptoes you walked to your bedroom scared to life and wanting to get that stranger out of your home.

Your hands seemed to start trembling but your grip on your knife was tight enough so you were sure you wouldn’t drop it .

The steps you took were small because you were nervous but you still were getting more closer and closer to your room. The door was slightly open , not completely but not closed either which allowed who to take a peek of who was inside. You moved forward until your shoulder was touching the door, you stopped breathing and focused. But your grip on the knife loosened and you dropped it, the sound of the knife dropping on the floor scared you so you immediately screamed, Jisung was as scared as you, he knew when he heard the sudden noise that it could only be you that was there. You glanced at the person that you soon identified to be Han jisung , he was almost naked , you could see his private parts and your closet was open with panties dropped to his side , you understood what he was doing and panicked. He definitely knew you were there now. While you were almost paralysed with fear, he hurried to put his pants back on as nothing happened. Your thoughts were tangled you couldn’t understand a lot and everything got exhausting and stressful at the same time really quickly. You saw him struggling to get up and trying to get to you so you started screaming in case someone was passing by and could hear you and save you , which would probably not happen . Han was quick to put his hand on your mouth to shut you up , you got disgusted and scared and told him «You’re a dirty and disgusting pervert get off me! » you screamed fear and total honesty. Jisung get surprised at your words and got mad. He loves you so much and care about you but instead you just think of him like a disgusting being. He lets you go for a second to get the panties and immediately shove them in your mouth roughly making you gag a little. « Who’s the dirty and disgusting now huh ? Try and talk with those cum filled underwear of yours in your mouth. » he said laughing at you and how dumb you looked.

« I wonder how you actually taste down there » he smirked and touched you from your breast down to your covered pussy only hearing muffled screams coming out of your mouth. Han sweared he could’ve cum right there just by feeling your intimate parts up in his hands. He bite his lips and pressed his hand harder on your clit giggling at your face with the wide eyes you just gave him. « Let me show you how good I can make you feel baby » jisung said his voice full of sincerity and looking at you eyes full of lust.

You shook your head left and right knowing that the words that would come out if you tried to talk would be incomprehensible. He smirked and told you « I know you act like you don’t want it because you’re scared but I want to taste you anyway ». He noticed that you two were still standing next to your room’s door so he grabbed you by the arm and forced you to go with him on the bed. Jisung then brabbed the top of your bottoms and slide them down to your ankles leaving you completely exposed to him. You tried and shook you legs to hit him and maybe get away but he was way stronger that you and you probably wouldn’t be able to go past your bedroom’s door anyway. Han smacked your thighs and seized your ankles to spread your legs and force them open, he laughed pridefully when he got a clear glance of your vagina, he could only imagine it before but now he surely won’t have to anymore.

Jisung grabs you by the thighs and dives in. His tongue teased over your clit, stopping occasionally to suck on it wanting to hear the girl he’s obsessed with scream his name. Your moans and cries were muffled by the underwear, but Han could hear them well enough to think that you were enjoying what he was giving to you. He was tasting you and feeling you get wet against your will.

You were extremely ashamed of yourself even though it wasn’t your fault but you felt the pleasure building up and your high getting closer as jisung was licking and kissing your private parts. He could probably tell. While you cried louder hitting your high jisung looked at you smirking , he looked at you in the eyes and continued to eat you out , overstimulating you. It hurts really bad, you knew you were sensitive and hoped he would’ve stopped sooner just Han just wouldn’t. He enjoyed receiving a reaction from you whether it would be a good reaction or a bad reaction, as long as he has your attention he is happy. Seeing you squirm around and try to get him get away from you was enjoyable for him. But you really hated it his tongue kept circling around your clit were it hurts the most when you were overstimulated.

Jisung got worried someone may hear you two so he added a hand over your mouth considering that the piece of clothing wasn’t enough anymore .

« Are you ready for my cock sweetheart ? » han said in a mocking tone , knowing you couldn’t answer. You tried to scream again in hope that someone would come but he got up and leaned it your ears to warn you « You better keep your voice low or the disgusting guy like you said isn’t going to treat you so nicely anymore », you could feel his hot breath tingling your ears as the words came out. Nicely ? That was nicely ?

Han got back up and said in a normal tone of voice « I hope I’m your first, I want to be a special someone for you, because you’re very special to me ». You almost wanted to throw up hearing him acting as he love you after he did all of this mess. You looked at him in the eyes in a very derogatory way that he didn’t quite enjoy. « Alright » jisung sighed.

His cock was already out and firm. Tears were rolling down your eyes again crying and choking on your own spit. He took his hard and leaking cock in his hands and slid it up and down your pussy moaning and feeling your wetness mixed with his saliva. He entered you and stretched your pussy out earning a gasp from you. To test and by curiousness of your reaction, he immediately set a high pace that got you to scream, breathing was already hard with that thing in your mouth but it now became harder as you couldn’t catch up with him. It made your boobs move in a way he loved, so to not keep his hands empty he grabbed them liking the pleased feeling of your hard nipples against his palms.

Jisung loved fucking you so much it could become a drug to him, he’s already addicted to you anyway.

You didn’t even tried to fight him anymore your whole body felt numb and every single one of your muscles aches.

When he felt his high coming, the stalker pulled out, he grabbed his dick in his right hand and jerked off in front of you rapidly, throwing his head back hissing and moaning your name until thick white fluid came out and landed on your breast. Decorating and marking you in his own way.

304 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 3 years

Text

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart.

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong.

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends.

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table.

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided).

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is.

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you.

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it.

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it.

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf.

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open.

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense.

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood.

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified. How dares he?

What does this fucking mean?

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that.

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear.

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you.

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses.

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone.

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you.

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet.

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake.

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot.

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you.

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one.

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?”

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt.

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination.

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious.

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar.

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure.

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes.

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere.

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands.

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back.

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment.

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp.

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him.

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?”

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense.

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been.

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!”

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth.

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed?

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those.

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming.

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too.

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it.

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.”

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything.

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it.

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.”

“Great. I don’t care.”

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you.

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”.

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it.

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia @btstrasht @jkbangtan7 @taehugger @kaepjjangiya @daggerbeneathmygown @cuteipat @jinsalpaca

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #ggukienet #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #my writing

331 notes · View notes

awkwards · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 3. Deep Sea Desires : Oviposition | Bakugou

Day 3: Oviposition

Title: Deep Sea Desires

Pairing: Bakugou x F!Reader

Count: 3.6k

Summary: You save a guy on the beach. Little did you know that would open your eyes to a whole world you never knew existed.

Warnings: Noncon, kidnapping, manipulation, forced breeding, oviposition, drowning

Note: man, did I spend so long trying to make tumblr accept my gif for this one ^^; Well, here we are! Also, thanks for all of the support! My inboxes are open~

There was something so beautiful about the ocean.

For as long as you could remember, your family had always called you a child of the sea. If they couldn’t find you, it was likely you were down in the sea foam. From a young age you were more comfortable in the rolling waves than on land. Whether it was being one with the waves, traversing the sandy beaches, or bathing in the sunset, it didn’t matter.

Years have gone by and your fascination has never wavered. Even after your family passed on, this was still your home.

Even now, you found yourself returning to the sandy beaches. In your stress, it never failed to calm you down.

Making your way to the secret alcove always allowed you a peace of mind. No one knew where your little cave resided. From there, you had direct access to the ocean, and the solitude away from wandering eyes of the beaches behind your home.

Today was no different. One hard breakup led to you rushing back to the comfort of your ocean.

What you didn’t expect was the body residing inside your cave.

When you finally slipped into the hidden alcove, a startled gasp left you.

A rather large man with blonde hair looked as if he had washed up on the beach, unconscious. When the water pulled away from his body, you could see a large gash in his shoulder, as if he had been speared. Blood soaked the sand beneath him.

“Oh my god!”

You rush over, hauling your bag off your shoulders. You always kept a med kit and snacks with you just in case of something like this.

Kneeling next to the man, you immediately place your hand in front of his mouth to feel for breathing. A sigh of relief floods you. At least he was still alive.

You pull your jacket off of your shoulders and quickly drop it over his nude waste, respectfully not looking at his rather large package.

Inspecting the wound, you grimace. The skin was ripped in a way that only a spear could have done so. Cleaning the wound as best as you can, you begin prepping the line to stitch him up. Not without poking yourself first. Sucking off the blood from your finger, you start. Making quick work to not disturb the man, you work diligently to stitch up the gash. His skin is so cold...

By the time you finish, the afternoon sun has sunk to a beautiful sunset. You let out a sigh, sitting back to examine your thorough work when you notice his eyes are on you. You flinch.

Vermillion eyes appear to be examining your face. They suck your breath away.

How long had he been watching you? Why didn’t he say anything? He hadn’t even flinched.

“I just finished patching you up… how did you get here? What happened to you?”

A grunt from low in his chest has your skin crawling. He uses his arm that’s okay to push himself up into a sitting position, his face directly in front of yours now. His eyes narrow.

You can feel your heart rate pick up. He’s so close, you can feel the warmth of his breath as it washes over your face.

“I’m… y/n.” You say softly. “What’s your name?”

The scowl on his face loosens just barely, as if he recognized the name. His eyes roam around the cave.

“Whoa, sir? You don’t want to move too much! You might rip the stitches.” You touch his arm hesitantly.

In an instant he turns, his arm gripping the wrist of your hand that touched him. His eyes seem to glow as he glares hard at you.

“Oh.”

It takes a second too long to realize he’s hurting you. Fear crawls up your spine as you try to pull your wrist out of his hold. His hand is huge, you realize, and he’s strong too. He doesn’t even budge as you try to yank yourself away.

A small tch sound comes from him as he lets you go. Before you can blink, he’s standing up and walking towards the mouth of the cave. You avert your eyes as your jacket drops to the sand beneath his feet. What a great ass…

Then, he just vanishes into the water.

You scrub your eyes. You’re sure you watched him walk out of the cave. Then a large wave crashed over the sand and he was just… gone.

What the fuck?

~.~.~.~

Despite the scare in the cave, you find yourself returning daily. Maybe it was in hopes of seeing the blond stranger again, maybe it was to try and tell yourself that really happened.

Besides, everytime you return to the cave, a new and pretty shell and stones appear. It’s almost as if the sea was offering you gifts. Who were you to refuse such pretty things? Today was no different. There was a perfectly round and smooth piece of gold about the size of a quarter.

Still, part of you misses the stranger. You couldn’t say why, but it was as if you’ve met him before?

Shaking that thought from your mind, you lay down in the sand, eyes watching the light from the ocean reflect off the roof of the cave. You hold onto the piece of gold in your left hand, the same one with a bruise from the stranger. It was cool to the touch.

Your eyes begin to drift closed with the water caressing your legs.

When you rouse from your sleep, it’s easy to notice a few things before you open your eyes. Even with a foggy mind you can tell something’s off.

Firstly, your body is chilled to the bone. The sun has made its descent, leaving you to the chill of the ocean’s water at night.

Second, your legs feel like they’re being pinned in place by something heavy and slick, all the way up to your hips.

Lastly, warm air seems to be rushing over your face.

Forcing your eyes to open, it takes them a moment to adjust to the darkness. In the darkness you can see glowing vermillion eyes.

Gasping, you try to yank yourself away from the blond who is laying on top of you. He’s braced on his arms next to your head, looking down at you.

“Finally.” He growls softly. His voice is too gravely to sound human. It’s jarring, enchanting.

You can’t move, and your eyes look down to see why. Your breath hitches when you see what has your legs pinned in place. You freeze, and stop moving completely.

Where his waist should be is a tail. A tail. A giant, dark vermillion tail.

Wonderment fills you. “A mer.”

Something akin to a cocky smirk covers his face. His razor sharp shark-like teeth glimmer in the moonlight as he nods. For some reason your earlier panic subsides as you take a close look at his face.

Your eyes glance down to his shoulder, no longer having any stitches. That’s strange. The only remnants of the wound is a faint white scar. Your hand trails up and runs over the white line. “How?”

“Healed.” He grunts out. You drop your hand down by the side of your head, amazed. That’s when it hits you. All of the shells. “Wait. Have you been leaving all of the shells for me?”

One of his hands moves, laying over top yours which lays vacant near your head. His palm presses into yours, and you can feel the cold of the gold piece pressed between your hands.

“You accept?” His voice gravels.

“The coin? Um. Yes. It’s very pretty.”

Something changes in his face. His eyes dilate. His breathing changes. It’s almost like his whole body shudders in excitement.

The rational part of your brain is screaming at you. You should probably be afraid of this man with razor sharp teeth and extreme strength, who you probably shouldn’t accept anything from. The other part of you is so transfixed with him, though, as if this was the world you belonged to.

Chilled by the waves lapping at your legs, brushing up to your hips, it takes you a moment to realize his hand grips yours with the coin in it. Not only grips it, but begins to tug on it as he shuffles back into the water.

“Whoa, where are we going?” You stumble, being pulled into the frigid water.

Your limbs lock up as he pulls you towards the mouth of the cave where the water is to your chest when standing.

Instead of using words, he makes a sound akin to a seal bark before yanking you into the water under the moonlight.

Gasping, you force your head to stay above water, all while he begins to drag you farther from the land.

He comes to a stop, pulling you close enough to wrap his free hand around your waist, eyes analyzing your face. The cave is much too far for you to try and swim back to now, with your body seizing from the cold. Shivers wrack every inch of skin as you press into the mer.

“Where are you taking me?”

His grin comes back. Instead of answering, you feel him wrap your hands around his neck, his wrapping around your waist as he nudges your legs to wrap around him. “Take a deep breath.”

You barely have enough time to before he launches the two of you under water. The rapid change in pressure makes you press your head against the mer, eyes shut tightly, the salt water rushing around you. You’re rapidly losing your breath. Panic rears up in your chest, sharp and choking. Your chest is already aching from the lack of air, and you’re not able to thrash against the mer as you’re dragged farther down. You’re so disoriented that you’re honestly not even sure what direction you’re going anymore; the salt burns your eyes when you try to open them, and everything is so dark that you can’t see anyways.

For a moment everything goes dizzy. This is how you die, clutching a golden nugget as a mythical creature drags you to the depths of the ocean.

~.~.~.~

Consciousness returns to you slowly and painfully.

The first thing you register is the soreness in your chest and ribs. Every deep breath is an effort, and it feels as if your lungs are actually catching fire. You inhale sharply, which only leads to you sputtering in pain. When you finally crack your eyes open, you think you’ve gone blind, the darkness refusing to fade even with your eyes no longer closed.

When you push yourself up into a seated position, it’s easy to feel that you’ve been sprawled on the wet, rocky floor of a cave. You move your head slowly to try and take in your surroundings. That’s when the darkness gives way to a glimmering blue light all around you. Bioluminescent algae offers a slight glow, and your breath gets caught at the absolute beauty of it all.

You’re sprawled on a ledge of the cave, the other half of it submerged in the most beautiful clear water you’ve ever seen. Beneath the clear water is a depth of pure darkness; it makes you shudder as fear clouds your brain again.

Regardless, you’re still alive, and the relief at still being alive fights the growing sense of unease in your mind. You can’t see an entrance to the cave, which means you have to be in an oxygen pocket somewhere far under the surface of the ocean.

A splash to the left of you practically makes you leap. You whip your head to the side to see where that noise comes from, and part of you relaxes when you see those glowing vermillion eyes. They seem even brighter from down here. You can only barely make out the top of his blond hair, his nose and everything else submerged in the endless water.

“Y/N”.

You jump at your name, the voice echoing in the cave. It’s like the water carried his voice. Instead of gravel, it was smooth and silky, making you shiver at how pleasant it was. You go to run your hands over your arms and realize the gold piece is still wrapped firmly in your hands.

“You said my name…”

“Katsuki.”

“Katsuki?” As you say his name, the sound of water rippling catches your attention, and you watch him. His body smoothly cuts through the water until his body is perched against the front of the rock.

A pleasant rumble from him distracts you, making it feel like a nice, pleasant hum echoes in your mind.

His hand, with extra long talons that you did not notice before, wraps around your ankle and pulls you closer to him.

“Where are we?” You mumble, your words suddenly feeling heavy in your mouth.

His eyes, which were still dilated greatly, turn from your legs to your gaze. “My home. Our home.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

A soft growl escapes him as he pulls his upper half out of the water far too gracefully for someone with a body like his. He lays his torso across you, his hands gripping at your waist as his nose rubs across your stomach. “You accepted my mating advances. The gifts, our blood mixing, accepting my personal token.”

Your jaw drops. You inhale so sharly that you nearly choke all over again. “I- excuse me? No. I don’t. I don’t want this- get off me!”

His chest rumbles as he nips at your hip, making you gasp and instinctively roll your hips.

“You can’t even let go of the coin,” he chuckles, his vermillion eyes latching onto yours. “It’s already starting to take effect.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but when you feel his chest rumble again, a pleasant haze fills your mind. The heat in your blood hurts.

“Let me show you.” Katsuki leans in.

The kiss is clumsy at first, your head far too hazy and distracted. That is until you feel the stark difference between the two of you. Your body is beginning to heat up like an inferno has entered your bloodstream, and he’s cool and soft.

He pulls away from the kiss, leaving you blinking stupidly after him. He pushes your shoulders till your back is pressed into the mossy ground underneath you, and it’s so soft.

“So fucking warm,” he coos, nuzzling your throat, and running his tongue along your pulsepoint. His hands skim your sides, the claws dragging just enough to make you shudder against his chest.

His clawed hands drag up to your wet tshirt. “Stop, please.” An amused chuckle leaves his lips. Even to your own ears you sound pathetic.

His fingers tug irritably at your clothes. In his frustration, he decides to forcefully remove them, his nails easily cut through the fabric, and the wet material is yanked away from you. Followed quickly after is your shorts.

Katsuki wastes no time in exploring your soft skin, his thumbs rolling your nipples. You gasp, and can’t help but grind your hips up into him where he’s pressed in between your legs. Katsuki laughs a breathless, snarling laugh before grinding back into you, the base of his tail just under where his human half ends. He’s gripping you by the hips, grinding against you. You can’t help but twitch your hips back against his scales when he hums against your pulse point.

He slides further down your body, easily prying your legs apart. Almost all resistance is gone from you now as the fire consumes you within. “You smell good.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, burying his face between your thighs and inhaling your scent. Your hands cover your face, but don’t make any effort to pull away. His tongue is a cool salve to the heat burning you up.

When his tongue starts to prod at your clit, your whole body jerks in surprise. His tongue is cool, and it ebbs some of the heat pulsing in your veins. He pins your hips in place, his noises vibrating against your dripping pussy.

He hums loudly, licking at your slit. His tongue finds your clit, and he sucks it so eagerly, your back arches completely off the ground. You gasp, writhing in place. Your noises only encourage him, and he’s obscene with how vigorously he eats you out.

“I wonder if you’re this hot inside, too.” He murmurs.

“Oh god.” You whimper as your head swims with pleasure. You need more.

Katsuki drags himself back up to your face, chuckling before he presses his mouth to yours again.

That’s when you feel it. There’s a bump in his tail where it presses against your cunt, about where a man’s penis should be. It moves slowly, grinding into you. Then, all at once, the tip of his penis pushes out from a slit you hadn’t seen, rubbing along your folds and your stomach.

Your breath hitches when his tail grinds between your legs. Your knees fall open wider, your head swimming with heat and pleasure. He hums again as he gives languid licks along the ridges of your neck. “I’m going to mate you now.”

A moment of clarity hits you then, just briefly. “No, wait! I don’t want this. Stop -”

You gasp as the tip of Katsuki’s dick presses into you. Your eyes glance down as the slide of his dick stretches you open.

He moans long and low as he clutches your hips. Any semblance of moving slow vanishes instantly as he snaps his hips into you, bottoming out completely. You’re full.

Your vision goes white from pain and pleasure. Katsuki’s dick is big, the textured scales of his tail pressed flush against you. He pants into your neck, flexing his hips.

He pulls his hips back only to slide back in, smooth and fast. Your toes curl as your breath escapes you. His eyes are half-lidded, locked onto your face. He holds your hand that is still clutching his gold coin, and sets a brutally fast and hard pace. His rhythm is smooth, hitting so deep inside of you that it renders you completely speechless.

Breathless moans roll from you as the sound of slapping and grunts fill the cave.

“You’re so fucking warm,” he grunts out. “Gonna fill you with pups.”

His cock rubs that perfect spot inside of you, it has you hurtling near the edge. The coil is twisting so fast, you’re barely holding on.

Katsuki pushes so hard forwards, all you can do is whimper as his cockhead kisses your cervix. He snarls, his teeth latching onto your pulsepoint just shy of ripping your skin. The pain tips you over the edge. Your body convulses as pain and pleasure make your eyes roll, gasping as you rut into him.

His body goes taut as he pins you beneath him. You whimper as his cock presses past your cervix, burying deep inside your womb. That’s when you feel something else pushing into your entrance, slipping into your stretched pussy.

Eggs. You choke on a moan as they grind past your g-spot. Crying out due to the overstimulation only makes Katsuki hold you tighter, allowing the eggs to travel all the way until they plop into your womb. You cry out, cumming again at the sudden pleasure that shakes you to your core.

He lets out a deep grunt as he rocks his hips against you, two more eggs pushing past your barrier.

“Oh fuck, oh. Katsuki-” you babble mindlessly. The burn in your veins finally disappears, leaving you shaking in the aftermath of your orgams.

Katsuki gently rubs your stomach, making you cum again. He hums softly, satisfied, as his hips roll against you again with too much force. Blackness dots your vision as you feel the dizziness return to your head.

Finally, his cock twitches inside of you as cold cum fills you up, shooting directly into your womb with the eggs. He pulls out slowly, causing your whole body to shudder at the feeling.

Your hand presses against the bulge of your stomach that he’s rubbing gently, fondly.

“Pretty mate,” he coos, kissing your lips gently.

Exhaustion crashes over you instantly.

“Why did it hurt so much?” You croak softly.

His grin turns cheeky. “You can’t expect to raise a litter of sea pups on land, can you?”

Katsuki drags your limp body into the soothing cold water. You press yourself into his arms, seeking comfort. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the King of the Mer needs a Queen of the Mer.” He rolls his eyes, although his amusement is clear as day as he holds you close. “Soon, you’ll be just like me. A mer who can walk on land.”

Is that why he didn’t have a tail when you first saw him?

“Stop thinking.” Katsuki rubs your stomach again, making your whole body shiver as his hum lulls you towards the darkness. “It’s time to sleep. The change is a long one.”

You hum, drifting off to sleep as he drags you under the surface of the water.

#kinktober 2020 #awkwardskinktober #bnha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #mermaid bakugou #TW : forced #tw : noncon #tw : dubcon #tw : oviposition #tw : breeding #tw : drowning #awkwards kinktober

806 notes · View notes

dreamkidddream · 3 years

Note

AJVWDJL i found a blog that writes for junichiro bless your heart and congrats on all of your followers!!💗💗

if scenario 2 isn’t taken for your event, can you write it for him? (junichiro just to clarify)

if it is, don’t worry abt it!! enjoy day! mwah!💋

Thank you lots!! 💚💚 I am loving all the Junichiro requests seriously keep em coming! He really plays a bigger part in the ADA than people think so he needs more love and this is one of my favorite pieces I got to write for him🤧🧡 reader is gender neutral!

SN: so I’m pretty sure that most people know what a pink slip is, but for those who don’t it’s basically a notice that says you’re fired 😬

Prompt Scenario: “Person A is about to leave for work. Person B asks them if they've forgotten anything, and Person A gives them a kiss. Person B turns red and opens their hand to reveal Person A's keys/wallet/etc., saying 'I meant this, but thanks.'” with Junichiro!

You are running late. Again.

You would think that sleeping over at the twins’ place sometimes would help this from happening so much, but it did the complete opposite.

Usually you two would be up, him cooking breakfast and giving you a kiss as a good morning, and would make small talk until you had to leave for work (not without a “see you later” kiss). You didn’t work at the agency with them, instead having a job that’s “so much uncooler and boring” (your words not his), and today made you more jealous about that. Not only did you sometimes have to wake up earlier before them, but they had the day off today!

You wanted to grind your teeth at the fact that they can laze around while you have to break your back for an ungrateful boss, but you knew that they deserved it. They risk their lives everyday, and you can’t even imagine how much of a strain it is on them, especially Junichiro. So you did the grown up thing and got over it, even getting up and pecking him on the cheek, ready to get your day officially started (even though you were dragging your feet in some form of denial).

Besides waking up snug in his arms every morning is one thing that you will never complain about.

Until this morning.

You thought that you were way ahead of schedule than usual, and that you woke up before your alarm went off, which made you very suspicious. You brushed it off at first that you finally got some good shut eye, evident of the drool that accidentally got on your boyfriend’s shirt. You started on your regular morning routine and decided to be the best partner/friend and start on cooking breakfast for once since you had the rare opportunity to be the first one up. You took out the ingredients and set them aside, this morning was off to a pretty good start!

It wasn’t until you tried to check your phone that you noticed that it was dead.

You felt your heart sink and your panic swell.

Rushing back into the room, you reached across Junichiro’s body (that was cuddling your pillow in your absence) to snatch his phone off the charger that you noticed the time.

You were late. Like at risk of being fired late.

You wanted to pluck your eyelashes out and scream at the heavens; what the hell is wrong with you?! You knew that this morning was going too smooth for everything to be okay! How did you not put your phone on the charger-

“Baby, you okay?”

You snapped your head towards Junichiro, who was rubbing his eyes, bed head all over the place.

“Junichiro, this is an emergency!”

That seem to wipe all the sleepiness out of eyes, body now alert and tense. “W-what’s wrong?! Are you hurt?! Did someone try to attack you?! Where is Naomi, is she oka-”

“I don’t have time everyone’s okay! I’m running late AGAIN!”

“That’s it?”

“Junichiro this is SERIOUS! I could lose my job if I don’t make it”, you grasped his phone and felt your blood pressure rise even more “in the next 20 minutes!” Walking to your building took atleast 15 minutes, which meant that you only have 5 minutes to rush. You haven’t put on your uniform yet, your phone needed some juice, you couldn’t find your ID to get inside the building, you didn’t even have the chance to cook breakfast-

“Okay, don’t worry! Get dressed, I’ll handle everything else!” With a determined look, he shot out of bed and into the kitchen. You pretty much fast forward through everything; uniform all wrinkled, name tag upside down, and you’re pretty sure that even your underwear is inside out. At this point, you didn’t care; you won’t even be able to wear this uniform if you don’t leave ASAP.

With the clock ticking down, you began to practically run out of the apartment. You did a mental check; keys, phone with only 10% battery (bless Juni for charging it while you’re running like a track star), quick breakfast that you can eat for lunch. Okay, if you sprint to work, you should make it before your boss finishes filing out your pink slip-

“Wait! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Oh yeah! You almost missed out on one of the best parts of your day.

You nearly tackled into him, slamming your lips onto his. It would have gotten more passionate if not for the time restraint, but you have no room for protest (and you’re not really upset, the only complaint being that it should be longer and many more). You pull back, give him a quick “love you and be safe” and go back to bursting out of the apartment when he held onto your waist with one hand, the other hand dangling your mini wallet with the ID you desperately need to get in.

“I meant this, but t-thanks.”

Oh.

You could see how red he’s turning, and you would have teased him a little about it, but you just didn’t have the time. And you were somewhat grateful too because you didn’t want him to see how flustered you were getting either.

You seized the wallet, gave him a quick peck (missing the soft smile that he gave you), and went back to running out the door. You yelled out a promise that you’ll text him when you get there, and for him and Naomi to have a good day.

You made within a literal minute, huffing and panting as you sat at the desk. When it was lunch time, you opened up the mini breakfast that he packed and saw that he made your food in shapes of stars and cute mini bears that melted your heart.

You are definitely going to make it up to him for this, no questions asked. He’s beyond boyfriend material at this point.

Not only that, a little note was taped on top of the container.

‘Have a great day at work! You’re one of the best things to ever happen in my life, don’t forget that. Love you’

-Juni

You don’t know where you would be at without Junichiro, and you didn’t want to imagine how life would be without him.

#bsd reader insert #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs reader insert #bsd junichiro #bsd tanizaki #junichiro tanizaki x reader #tanizaki x reader #tanizaki junichirou #junichiro x reader #bungou stray dogs #dream’s 100 + 200 followers prompt special 💙

165 notes · View notes

shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

Scream for Me

Kaminari Denki

word count : 5.7k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]

themes : villain!denki, yandere!denki, implied stalking/obsession, DUBCON, coercion, quirk use… denki has a tongue piercing

bio : It’s been two years since your hero best friend fell off the face of the earth, and since then, he’s resurfaced as a prominent villain. You don’t want anything to do with him. So naturally, he comes to you.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “hero turned villain” slot ;) once again this fic contains DUBCON so please beware before you continue… also so sorry if denks is OOC in this— i am aware that in canon he does not have a mean bone in his body

side note: this fic is dedicated to @fanfic-me-up , the beautiful bday queen! she deserves the best, so please wish her a happy birthday! also, a great big thanks to @hawks-senseis and @boom-bakugou for beta’ing <3

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄳eep bass rattles your bones as you step around the glowing dance floor, drunken bodies bumping into your sides carelessly. It’s some electronic song pumping through the speakers and causing your ears to buzz, your tongue sliding over your lip as you make your way back to your tabe. The group you’re with barely even notices your return, your adventure proving victorious as you harbor a sweating glass in each hand. The fruity concoction initially tastes sweet on your tongue, the burn of the alcohol bleeding in afterwards and making your face twist in a bitter scowl. So much for the bartender’s lame attempt at flirting— his promise of “you won’t be able to taste the vodka at all!” falling flat.

Your flavor of the night throws back a shot from the table, the sticky glass clinking loudly as he slams it down. He’s cute enough— your classic type: tall and slender, a sleeve decorating his tan arm with swirls of ink, dark hair hanging over his bright eyes, and pink lip adorned with a silver ring. In your opinion, he’s the hottest of his group, which had joined your pack of girls nearly as soon as you’d entered the threshold.

Yet for some reason, you find yourself restless as he grinds against you, his hands firm atop your hips. Maybe he isn’t as hot as you think… or maybe you’re not trying to score tonight. Ha, as if that could ever be the case. Maybe you’re not drunk enough, or maybe you need to top off with something better than alcohol. Rolling your neck, you place your head on his shoulder, his hands immediately gliding up your torso to pull you closer against him. You can feel his semi through his jeans, and the recognition of it makes you smirk, closing your mascara-framed eyes and allowing him to sway you to the beat.

And you try to enjoy it— you really do.

But still, there’s something off.

There’s this itchy feeling of dread crawling across your skin, spreading over your body and seizing your heart with an icy fist. The poor muscle starts to beat furiously against its sudden confines, your eyes opening and moving to survey your surroundings— feeling like prey about to meet its certain fate.

That’s when you see him.

He’s right by the exit of the club, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent glow of the neon signs on the wall. Physically speaking, you can’t see much of him— he’s all the way across the room in a crowded, dinghy club— barely enough light for you to see his face. And yet, those haunting, golden eyes pierce straight into you. You freeze, bottom lip allowing gravity to take it prisoner, your breath caught midway in your shriveling lungs. The guy you’re dancing with doesn’t seem to notice, only pressing his hips harder into your ass.

It feels like you’re ripping roots from the earth as your feet move on their own accord, first one trembling step— then two. Now that you’re level with him on the main dance floor, he’s swallowed up into the tangling sea of shadowy limbs. You try to push your way over to the exit, but by the time you stumble out of the crowd, he’s nowhere to be found.

Whatever kind of buzz you had previously felt is instantly cut short. Trepidation oozes into your veins, chilling your bones and sending shivers all the way to your toes. On one hand, you want to believe in yourself— you’re sure that you’d seen him— but on the other hand, dismissing the sighting of the man would be much easier to do. And you hadn’t seen him in front of you in two years… the thought makes your chest feel tight, torn and bleeding with discomfort.

You miss him so much.

But even if you could see him again, he’s not the same boy you adored anymore… no, that would be impossible. And he could never be here, in this club, either. It might not be the best part of town, but it’s still a bustling spot in the city night life. There’s no way someone with his level of fame could just show up to a popular club like this on a Friday night, undetected.

So you write it off— take the easy way out. You’re drunk, there’s a lot of people here, and you were probably just looking for a reason to get off that guy at the table. That’s all it can be; your mind playing tricks on you. Of course, you hadn’t seen him.

That would be ridiculous.

Impossible.

It’s no surprise you feel sick to your stomach at the very idea of seeing him. Whether it’s because your stomach is filled to the brim with butterflies, or because your body feels shocked— as if his electricity crawls across your skin and makes your hairs stand on end— you’re not sure. Making your way to the back of the club, you somehow find the hallway void of a bathroom line. Never had you been graced with such a blessing, and you quickly make your way toward the door, giddy to be able to have a moment to yourself.

Once you’re inside the room, you take a moment to examine yourself in the mirror. Your hands planted on the countertop, you lean in close, eyes searching your reflection for anything that could be off. You still just don’t feel right, and you’re not sure why. The walls are colored in a dark turquoise hue, the black marble counter opaque and matching the dark stalls behind you. Fingers fidgeting for something to do, you pluck the lipstick out of your comically small purse, lining your lips before blotting the color with a paper towel.

A low wolf whistle splices the still air of the lavatory, echoing lowly on the tiled walls.

Every cell in your body is frozen, your gaze trained on a pair of yellow, slitted eyes over your shoulder. He’s slipping out of one of the stalls, taking his time as he crosses the room only to turn the lock on the door. Your heart starts to beat again at the realization that he’s really here, and that he’s just sealed the two of you in together.

Escape is the only thing on your mind right now, your eyes darting between the door, the vents on the ceiling, and the window that looks just a bit too small for you to wiggle through. Fear begins to bubble into your bloodstream, burning you with its sheer cold, like dry ice on naked skin.

“Cat got your tongue?”

His voice is just like it was before he disappeared, but all signs of his playful, positive attitude are absent. Instead, he sounds almost bored… and there’s this tone to his inflection that feels like cough syrup— thick and sticky, leaving a rancid taste at the back of your tongue.

Poison.

He keeps his distance from you, content to just watch your gaze in the reflection before you. You can’t help but look at him; too terrified that if you look away, he’ll be gone and then there’s no denying you’re crazy. You’ll have to get checked into an asylum or something, because you’re certified insane— nevermind if you’re imagining him— you can’t help but think he looks good. Really good.

Dressed in black from head to toe, he looks like he’s one with the shadows of the night. Even his hair is black now, raven strands perfectly framing his handsome face. The yellow streak in his hair is in the shape of a lightning bolt, colors inverse of what they used to be, when he was a peppy blonde. But those days are long over now, and the snakebite piercings adorning his full lower lip draw you in, much to your dismay. He looks damn good in his distressed jeans, the leather jacket sitting just right on his shoulders. And just like the last time you’d seen him, a tight, black choker sits perfectly on his throat.

“What, hmm? Nothin’ to say, sunshine?” Oh, that name. The term he had so affectionately coined you when you were still just classmates. When you were his best friend.

It takes a moment for you to think, and another for you to actually force the words out of your mouth. “What are you doing here, Denki?” You sound totally breathless, and it’s partly because you are— you’re completely shocked that he’s here, with you, in some nightclub bathroom. The balls he has to be out in public right now…

“And I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, lips curled into a displeased frown, and those big, golden eyes trailing up and down your body, assessing you in the same manner you had him. But he doesn’t stare; he’s already looked at you for plenty long. He’s over just simply looking at you. “It’s so good to hear your voice, Y/N.”

You don’t know what to say to him. After two years of Kaminari Denki dropping off the face of the earth, and more recently appearing on Japan’s ‘Most Wanted’ list instead, he’s come to you out of the blue. How did he know where to find you tonight? Does he have someone watching you? Is he… Does he still have those feelings that he used to pretend didn’t exist?

“Why are you here?” You try again, whispering, like anyone will be able to hear you over the thumping bass outside. But Denki hears you, leisurely stalking over to you.

Whipping around, your trembling fingers grab onto the edge of the countertop. You’ve read the articles, heard the news. You know the things he’s done. The terrible, unspeakable things.

Denki stops a step away from you, tongue glazing over his lip as his eyes rake over your front. A flash of metal between his lips catches your eye, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights before it’s gone.

“To see you, of course.”

He’s close now, and you can see that he’s taller, broader— more muscular than before, even underneath his jacket. His physique distracts you from his words for a moment, softening the devastating blow of fear. Your widening eyes jump up to lock with his, his gaze casting a sinister gleam over your rapidly-heating cheeks.

Denki closes the distance between you, gripping onto the side of the counter and leaning down to hang his face in front of yours. He smells slightly like smoke, stale cologne wafting onto you as his hips gently meet yours, trapping you against the sink behind you. His belt buckle presses onto your stomach, digging into you as he takes a deep breath beside your neck. You’re paralyzed beneath him, sucking in a small gasp as his fingers trace over the bottom of your spine, tingles shooting through you.

“Did you miss me? Because I missed you,” he murmurs against your throat, the cool gold of his earring dragging on your jaw. “So fucking much.”

His fingers trail to the back of your hips, palms landing on your dress as he squeezes your waist and pulls you closer to him. Your chests bump together, your cleavage pressing onto his front. Your hands fly up to push his shoulders, hating how your feelings clash against each other, turmoil brewing in your stomach. “Let me go,” you plead, spine stiffening as his fingers knead at you.

Denki chuckles, nipping at your skin and trailing the tip of his tongue along the column on your throat. “That’s not how this works, sunshine.” He pulls back to drop his gaze to your lips before his honeyed eyes swallow yours again. Wicked intent swirls in those caramel irises, tendrils of terror snagging tight around your throat. And yet, some small, sick part of you feels safe, feels comfortable in front of him— as if he’s the same guy who would stay up all night long with you just to play the latest video game, or do something crazy like make cupcakes or drive to the beach at four in the morning. As if you don’t know what he’s done since the last time you’ve seen him.

At the recollection of those unspeakable deeds, you whimper, heavy tears pooling along your lower lashes. “I’ll scream,” you threaten, though it doesn’t come out sounding like much of a threat.

A wide smirk curls the corners of his lips, that tongue jewelry making another brief appearance as he opens his mouth and leans into you. “You think anyone’s gonna hear us?” A dark brow rises on his forehead, amusement washed over his sharp features. “You’ll scream when I tell you to.”

Heat surges through your stomach at his crude suggestion, your body betraying you as his hands slide underneath your dress, his bare palms cupping your ass and distributing a confident squeeze. His fingers inch in between your legs, reaching out to ghost over your pussy through your thin, sheer thong.

The tough girl act proving fruitless, you decide to switch tactics. “Please, Denki, I don’t want to—”

“Why are you so fuckin’ wet, then?” He growls, fingertips pressing against your slit harder. He brings one hand before you, forcing you to look at the strands of slick that stretch between his fingers. Your face heats up, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. How could your body be so turned on right now, and your feelings so conflicted? The tension inside of you only worsens when he dips the fingers into his mouth, making a show of his pierced tongue stroking against them.

Finally his lips crash against yours, desire bursting inside of you and leaking into every corner of your body. You can’t move, can’t think, with his lips on you, moulding and pushing onto yours like waves in the restless sea. There’s passion behind his caress, a motive squandered and swept underneath the rug for far too long. He’s wanted you since high school, and now, he can finally have you.

“Please,” you beg quietly as you pull away, digits curling into the collar of his jacket, your lip trembling and a tear shooting down your face, “Denki, you’re scaring me.”

“Aw, cutie— no need to be scared,” Denki replies, rubbing the soaked front of your underwear as he smothers your neck with the gentlest kisses. “I’m the same old, lovable goof as before. Your Denki, your sparky. Well, one thing has changed… I waited for so long trying to think of something, anything that could make you realize how good I would treat you. I wasted so much time just playing my part as your best friend, a shoulder for you to cry on while your worthless boyfriends would betray you. It took me a while before I figured it out though—” he pauses for dramatic effect, leaning in so your lips brush “—that you love being treated bad.”

You’re speechless as his mouth conquers yours again, his tongue surprisingly sweet as it slides into your mouth with practiced ease. Your body is frozen solid for one whole second before your dignity withers and dies right before your very eyes, your thighs clenching together on either side of his intruding hand. His lips pull into a smirk, rough hands gathering the backs of your thighs before he sets your ass on the edge of the counter. It should be embarrassing how easily he peels your legs apart to stand between them, the heat leaking from his hard, jean-clad cock onto the inside of your thigh.

Noticing your stubborn hesitance, he sighs lowly as he takes his lips from yours, issuing a shockingly pleasant kiss to your cheek. “Don’t worry, sunshine,” he says, hand landing on your jaw to steer your gaze directly into his. For the first time tonight, you feel like you see the faintest glimpse of him. The real him, the one you loved and laughed and cried with. He’s sincere. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise. Unless… you’re into that?”

Your hand sails through the air automatically, an ingrained, pre-programmed response to his naughty suggestion. Only it doesn’t quite reach its target, for Denki’s strong grip keeps your wrist from moving any further. With a click of the tongue and a curt, unamused glance, he shoves your wrist back, pinning it against the cold mirror behind you. His other arm wraps tight around your waist, your bodies flush against each other.

“Bad girl. You gonna make me hold you down the whole time? That’s no fun,” he admonishes in your ear, hand scooping your ass through your dress and pressing you up against him. His erection digs into your thigh, hot and hard against your shivering skin, even through his jeans. “C’mon baby, m’gonna make you feel so good.”

You had sobered up at the sight of him, but now a new kind of intoxication sweeps through you, knocking you off your metaphorical feet and throwing you into the deep end of a sticky, ambrosial pool of desire. There’s no way you can say that you’d never thought of Denki ravaging you— you’d thought plenty about it, actually— but you’d never pictured it going quite like this. Even so, you can’t deny that his new look looks especially good in him, and as he’d previously pointed out, your body was more than happy to entertain him.

So you give in.

You only tilt your head back the slightest bit, and Denki’s already descending down onto you, starving tongue greedily slithering down your front. A hand tugs down the front of your dress, his lips wandering over the tops of your tits in your bra. Teeth dragging the silky material down, he groans as your bare chest is exposed, nuzzling a cheek against you as he begins to suck and nip at your flesh. The cool metal of his piercing beside the wet heat of his tongue washing over your nipples makes you moan, your free hand slapping over your mouth in mortification. But Denki only moans back, the lustful noise making your cunt twitch, longing for his attention.

Eager to please, he lets go of your wrist, maneuvering you in his hands so he can easily slide your thong to the side. His thumb dips into your entrance, gathering your abundant slick before it floats north, circling your pulsing clit. He swears against your tits, tongue still tracing your areola diligently as a fingertip begins to prod at your drooling hole. You can’t help but whine aloud, your head knocking back and your spine bending to press yourself into his caress. It’s wrong to be into this, you know this, and yet his tongue, his touch, his kiss— it overpowers all logic, your brain turning a blind eye as your body eats up every ounce of attention he offers.

You’re rewarded for your behavior when a slender finger slides into you, then another. The two digits begin to pump into you, curling as they disappear into your pussy, brushing deep inside of you. Denki trails his mouth back to yours, tongues tangling in a furious mess. Your fingers card through his inky locks, nails scraping his scalp as you grapple onto him. Your legs fold around his waist, hips rolling as he fucks his fingers into you tirelessly.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he groans, marigold eyes fixed on his digits slipping in and out of your dripping cunt. He sucks in a quick breath when your fingers find his belt, unfastening it and ripping down his fly. “Impatient?” he teases as you undo his pants, the dark denim falling along with his boxers.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, standing tall and proud as it pops out of its confines. There’s a thatch of blonde hair at the base of him, the very tip glistening with a swollen bead of pre. Hesitation long gone, you bring a hand to your mouth, allowing the thick saliva from the back of your throat to pool in your palm before you guide it back to him. Denki moans as your wet hand wraps around his throbbing length, squeezing just tight enough to feel how hard he really is. Slowly, you jerk him off, both your mouths parted as you pant, eyes boring into each other. His fingers thrust in turn with your fist, the squelching sound bouncing off the tiled walls.

It feels like your body is on fire, every movement of his hand stoking the flames, and you can only watch, helpless, as the inferno grows larger and livelier. There’s a small pressure forming in your stomach, your slick pouring out around him. You can’t contain your moans any longer, your arm curling around his neck to draw him close before your teeth take the skin of his neck hostage. Your noises of pleasure are hushed as they fall onto his throat, your lipstick smearing on the pale expanse of it.

Denki’s hips begin to move in accord with your hand, movements free and effortless as they greet your slippery fist. His cock is hot and swollen on your palm, veins bulging and rubbing against you. It’s only a matter of time before he’s had enough teasing, taking his fingers from you and swatting away your hand. He pants as he lines up the head of his cock with your glistening cunt, breath uneven. And then he’s pushing into you, stretching your silky walls wonderfully, burying himself inside you to the hilt.

You cry out when his hips bump yours, struggling to keep your half-lidded eyes open. Cheeks feeling hotter than ever, you wrap your other arm around his neck, pussy fluttering around his big cock as you adjust to his size. Surprisingly, Denki starts off slow, gently rocking his hips into yours. He sighs as his lips find yours again, the cold jewelry from his piercings foreign but welcome against your heated skin. He distracts you with his tongue as it slides between your lips, reaching out to greet yours. His fingers knead at your tits, your nipple trapped between his thumb and forefinger. The tingling sensations fluster you as his thrusts start to become deeper, harder— each one gracing your sensitive walls with a rub of his thick veins. His tempo begins to hasten, cock pushing into your scorching, dripping heat just as quick as it retreats. The pair of you are moaning, gasping for breath, too lost in each others’ bodies to bother with worrying about being caught.

“Does that feel good? You like it when I stuff you with my cock, sunshine?” Denki purrs, tugging at your nipple between his fingers. His teeth ghost over your bottom lip, hips slapping loudly against yours as he continues his attack on your cunt. He groans loudly when your walls tremble around him, clenching down as he finds a new angle that allows him better access to your most intimate spots. “Fuck, your pussy fits me so perfectly, so wet and tight… Made just for me.”

Even though his sentiment should be concerning, you find yourself more turned on than ever, your submission leaking out and mixing with the lust surging through your body to create a cocktail of desire stronger than anything you’ve ever felt. Unadulterated moans float out of your parted lips, raw pleasure shooting into you as the head of his cock pounds into your g-spot. Your shaking legs spread on their own volition, welcoming him inside as deep as possible. Gasping his name, your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, exploring his warm skin and the taut muscles hidden below. “D-Denki! Oh, fuck!”

Denki growls beside your ear, the sound primal and heated. His pace continues, relentless, as he lets his hands fall from your tits, opting to clutch onto a thigh and hold you open for him instead. “You dunno how long— oh, fuck yes— nngh, you dunno how long I’ve been dreaming about this, Y/N. Y-You, moaning my name like the filthy little slut you are. My slut, my girl… My sunshine— shit!”

You whimper as he pulls out of you abruptly, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thigh. His wet cock jerks against your pussy, which twitches in response, as if calling out for him and begging for his return. You pull at his hips, desperate for him to be inside of you again, wanting— no, needing for him to stretch you full.

He catches his breath pretty quick, letting out a low chuckle at your impatience. “Got a little too close there… this pussy is even better than I thought it’d be,” he explains, gathering you in his arms and placing you on your feet. He turns you around, pushing your back so you lay nearly flat, bent over the counter. Cock gliding against your slick folds, he evens his breathing as his thumbs pull your cunt apart, golden eyes settling on your twitching hole. Playful as always, he rubs the tip of his length over your entrance, not quite pushing hard enough to actually penetrate you. You watch him in the mirror before you, seemingly entranced in his own show.

“D-Denki,” you swallow your pride, restless to be stimulated again. At the sound of his name leaving your wanton lips, his eyes flicker up to meet yours in the reflection, filled with curiosity and mischief. “Please, put it back in… I… I need you, Denki.” You whisper the words, and it’s honestly a miracle that he hears your plea, for the club music still pounds through the thin door. The embarrassment is overwhelming, forcing you to close your eyes. You can’t bear to meet his gaze, shame coursing through you. Here you are, being ravaged by your ex-best friend, now turned villain, in a nightclub bathroom… begging for his cock, like a whore.

The feeling of his length pressing into your dripping heat shakes you from your shameful thoughts, eyes flying open to meet his caramel gaze again. “Don’t worry, sunshine,” Denki coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, “I need you, too.”

You can’t fathom any response, his thick length filling you to the brim as his hips jostle yours, completely inside. The stretch is superb with this new angle, the veins on his cock so deliciously stimulating your snug, velvet walls. He draws back, only to snap forward quickly, your legs quivering at the bliss that emanates from the wonderful stretch he provides. His words have a sinfully pleasurable effect on you, a shiver spreading over your form, and your spine bending, ass pressing into him even more.

Denki hums as he begins to hasten the tempo, soft smacks filling the stuffy air inside the room. His cock glides into you easily, lubricated by your copious arousal as you pulse around him. Your ass jiggles as he begins to swing his hips harder, drilling into your slobbering cunt with renewed passion. Rough hands clutch onto either of your arms, holding his own arms straight as he uses the new grip on you to further his momentum.

Stars dance before your eyes, his cock hammering into your most sensitive area. The position he has you in provides just the right angle for him to assault your g-spot, your jaw unhinging as a string of high-pitched moans tumbles from your throat. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, rolling down your face and spattering against the dirty mirror as he continues to pound into you mercilessly. You try to form the words to warn him you’re about to cum, but you can’t think, let alone speak.

But it seems he doesn’t need your warning, for Denki analyzes your lewd expression in the reflection, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Go on, do it. C’mon sunshine, you can do it. Cum for me, fuck, cum with my cock stretching out your sloppy little hole,” he orders, still slamming into you ruthlessly. “I wanna hear you when you cum, lemme hear that pretty voice of yours— scream for me.”

You hate that his filthy words have such power, but that doesn’t deter your cunt from wringing snug around him, the coil in your stomach compressing tighter and tighter until your vision turns white and your body goes rigid. Waves of euphoria crash over you, sucking you into the sea of pleasure. Your lungs burn as you scream out, pure ecstasy zipping through your every limb. Denki has to stop thrusting, his grip digging into your skin as he struggles to keep his own orgasm at bay. Your pussy constricting around him has him losing his breath, teeth descending onto his bottom lip as he tries not to cum.

Finally your cunt stops seizing, your body relaxing onto the countertop. Your mind is totally hazed, filled with an electrifying fog of post-orgasm bliss. But Denki’s quick to snap you out of it, picking up right where he left off and sending his cock surging into your tender heat. Once again you’re thrown into the vicious throes of pleasure, his cock the only thing you’re able to focus on as it drives into your slippery, gummy walls with ease.

His hands flying to latch onto your waist, he holds onto you tightly as his eyes find yours in the mirror, his orbs meeting your barely-open ones. That same spring is gaining pressure in his own stomach, the moans slipping out of him as good an indicator as any that he’s getting close. Fisting your hair, he pulls you upright, his slender fingers slipping from your tresses to lace around your throat. “Mmmm, m’close baby,” he pants, his hot breath fanning against your ear.

He begins to kiss at your jaw, littering it in affectionate nips and licks. Moving one of your legs so your knee rests on the counter, he pistons into you, hand wandering down to press against your stomach, the tips of his fingers just reaching your clit. Your body stiffens at the sudden stimulation, the bundle of nerves having been forgotten since his cock speared into you. Yet he rubs at it attentively now, fingers dipping down to where his cock draws in and out of you to gather excess slick before he continues.

“Ohhhh, fuck,” Denki grunts, his fingers tightening slightly around your neck. You can still breathe, but the feeling of his hand flush against your throat sends heat to your core, your pussy clutching onto his cock in desperation. “Gonna paint the inside of this sweet little cunt white… fill you up with my cum, nice and full.”

Icy fear trickles into your veins at the premise of him unloading into you, nothing to stop his seed from fertilizing you. “N-Not inside, Denki,” you beg hoarsely, your voice meek and mild, still recovering from your screams. But he doesn’t seem to hear you, or at least, he doesn’t acknowledge you— only continuing his ministrations on your clit and the vicious onslaught of his cock sheathing inside of you. “Please,” you whimper, your arms reaching behind your head to touch him, one hand landing in his silky hair and the other on his shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s right. Beg for my cum… Mmm, love it when you say my name like that, sunshine,” he moans, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to heed your words. Or perhaps he chooses to ignore them, his pace morphing into ragged, unmeasured thrusts, and his hips jerking as he loses himself in your tight, wet heat. “Take it, Y/N— every last fucking drop’s for you,” he whispers in your ear, eyes closed and lashes fluttering on your jaw. He groans as his orgasm tears into him, electricity from his quirk bursting through his body. The energy flows into you, shockwaves seizing over your body as the lightning rolls off of him. Somehow, even though he’s howling out in his own ecstasy, he manages to direct the electric current to the fingers that toy with your clit, sending another orgasm hurtling toward you like a bus with no brakes on the freeway. The static zips through you, quivering your bones and making your body melt like ice cream on a hot summer day. Your cunt milks his cock well, your climax making your walls contract and clamp around him. Searing ropes of his sticky seed land deep inside of you, his cock gushing and emptying his load into your tender heat.

Once the overwhelming pleasure has subsided, your body falls slack in his arms, slightly twitching in recoil from the surge of electricity. Denki coos at you as he catches his own breath, nuzzling into your neck and littering your skin with kisses. He whispers sweet nothings to you as you come back to reality, still subdued from the all-consuming ecstasy that had taken hold of you entirely just moments ago. Slowly he slips out of you, careful to slide your panties back in place to catch his load as it starts to leak out of your aching hole. Moving your leg off the countertop, he turns you around, smiling happily as he fixes your smudged makeup and frazzled hair. Your body is too weak to try to fight him, so you let him hold you against his lithe form as he fixes your dress, covering your ravaged body as best as he can. He takes a moment to rub off the lipstick stains from his skin, buckling his belt before those marigold eyes find yours once again.

“Finally, you’re mine,” he muses, yellow eyes glinting at you under the harsh, fluorescent lighting of the dirty bathroom. He tilts his head as he cups your chin, angling you to look into his intoxicating gaze. “Oh sunshine… what fun we’ll have together.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

yayyy my first denki fic :D also my first time writing villain/yandere stuff too... so please be sure to lemme know if you enjoyed!

➥ masterlist

➥ BINGO masterlist

#kaminari denki smut #kaminari smut #bnha smut #mha smut #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #kaminari denki fic #kaminari fic #bnha fic #mha fic #tw: dubcon #tw: yandere

2K notes · View notes

lazyliars · 3 years

Text

The Quackity Meta: Justice without the Blindfold

[Anonymous asks: (DSMP) Somebody talk to me about Quackity and Eret’s character. I wanna talk about what Quackity’s views on power are with what he’s planning to do with Sam along with whatever he saw in the egg. I wanna talk about why Eret thinks reviving Wilbur is the best option for the sever to lead and their views on what a leader should be with them being the king of the Dream SMP. I wanna talk about Quackity planning to create a casino for the server to rise to the top. What does it mean to be king?]

[/rp. All mentions of dream smp members should be assumed as referencing the character, not the cc, unless specifically stated otherwise.]

At the heart of every conflict, if you look closely enough, you will find a similarity. Two contrasting ideals will reveal their own likeness, in the stage they play out their war – they both fight for the same result; to be known and followed and asserted, and in this they are the same. There would be no conflict if both sides shared nothing in common.

Lets talk about Quackity.

We'll gloss over a good deal of Quackity's history to get to the meat of this discussion, which involves Technoblade. But there are a a few lesser known facts about Quackity's early days on the server that are relevant to the discussion, like that Quackity joined the server because of Tommy.

Namely, he joined for The Cartel, a short-lived organization comprised of him, Tommy, Tubbo and Jack Manifold, and their aims of obtaining power over the entire server by getting a monopoly on one object, the Phantom Membrane.

(Trivia: This is why Technoblade had to strike a deal with Tommy for the membranes – Phantoms are turned off on the Dream SMP now, so their monopoly actually ended up working. (Un)fortunately, Tommy traded nearly his whole supply for the priceless act of... making Techno scream really loud and talk in a funny voice. Worth it.)

However, Tommy's interest in the Cartel waned almost immediately, to Quackity's frustration. Tommy was constantly busy with his Vice Presidential duties in L'manberg. Quackity wasn't entirely left out, and he helped Tommy on multiple occaisions, but this was back in Wilbur's L'manberg, where non-europeans were strictly banned.

Quackity would slowly come to resent Tommy for this over time. He joined the server to be with him, took his side in nearly every conflict, including the ones that were L'manberg-oriented, and yet he wasn't allowed to be a citizen of his friend's own nation.

The resentment would reach a boiling point when Quackity discovered Wilbur's bid to consolidate power by running a sham election – with a one party system. Quackity challenged him, formed Swag 2020, and the rest is history...

The takeaway here is that from the start, Quackity has been shunted aside by people in power – Tommy, Wilbur, and then later, Schlatt. This wouldn't prevent him from executing his own immoral power grabs, but that trait – the distaste for people with power holding it over him, is one that would stick around, and become even more prominent later... Quackity has more reason than most to hate tyranny.

But “Tyranny” Is a word thrown around on the SMP often enough, that it's probably up there with “betrayal” and “pop-off” in total wordcount. But few use it more commonly, or more persuasively, than Quackity and Technoblade.

This begs the question: what is Tyranny in a M/inec/raft role play, and why do Quackity and Technoblade both detest it so much while still hating each other?

Well, after a moderate amount of research, I have discovered the following:

Tyranny is complicated.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

...No, but really. Tyranny is very old concept. The words originates in, you guessed it, Ancient Greece, but conceptually, the idea goes waaaay back.

Now, that last thing I wanna do is give anyone a history lesson. I'd suck at it and I haven't done that much research. But the takeaway here is that “Tyranny” has come to be defined in fairly vague terms. We'll look at a few different ones in reference to the SMP.

Oxford dictionary defines a Tyrant as: A cruel and oppressive ruler. / a person exercising power or control in a cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary way. / (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

Lets look at the first and last definitions: A cruel and oppressive ruler; (especially in ancient Greece) a ruler who seized power without legal right.

By these definitions, one could call Quackity tyrannical during his term as Tubbo's VP. He exercises the power granted to him as a government official to spearhead an operation to execute a man without trial. He violently invades the home of a citizen and then puts said man on house arrest, and to subdue the target of this operation he threatens a pet (-a vague but ostensibly severe criminal act in the terms of m/inec/raft specifically-) and then reveals to Techno that the reason he's doing this actually has nothing to do with the crime Techno was accused of, and it is instead a ploy to consolidate power.

Quackity is leveraging his position in the government to amass power, and using that power to harm individuals (Philza and Techno,) in process. As an added bonus, his position in that government came from usurping Schlatt, a legitimately elected official. Thus, Quackity is a Tyrant.

But there, in Schlatt's government is where things get complicated.

Quackity had some power in Schlatt's government. Not the same kind as he did in New L'manberg, but arguably a more unrestrained form – Quackity could basically do whatever he wanted, as long as it pleased Schlatt. In New L'manberg, Quackity needed to convince not only Tubbo, but the rest of the cabinet whenever he wanted to initiate a new project. New L'manberg, while still maintaining a ruling class, had a far more equal distribution of power than Manberg did. It was still democratic.

And while we're on the topic of Quackity as Schlatt's VP, Quackity had almost instant regret the day of the election. He was undermining Schlatt from the start, questioning him, trying to stop Tubbo from breaking the signs that read “if you break this sign, you hate your viewers” and freeing Niki when Schlatt trapped her in Jack Manifold's house and then whispering at her to run.

Quackity only fell into step with Schlatt in the aftermath of Election day, when he saw a major desire fulfilled; the tearing down of L'manberg's walls. These walls were a symbol of L'manberg's isolationist roots that prevented Quackity from joining in the first place. It was one of his biggest promises whilst campaigning.

From this point on, up until the festival, Quackity would be in support of Schlatt. The things he did try to push back on would be downplayed and ignored, if not scorned. This period of time is difficult to pick apart where Quackity's personal morals and ideals begin, and Schlatt's influence ends. The steadily worsening abusive dynamic between them doesn't help this vagueness, either.

I point this out because I've seen people conflate Quackity's abuse at the hands of Schlatt, and his willingness to participate in Schlatt's rule as being of the same root; implying that Quackity only followed Schlatt because he was in an abusive relationship with him, when the reality is far more complicated. Yes, their relationship was a major factor in Quackity's actions, but downplaying his ambition and willingness to accept Schlatt's Tyranny when it helped him realize his own goals does a disservice to the nuance of Manberg-era Quackity.

What all of this points to is an individual who has a strong, some might say defining sense of Justice, yet also a susceptibility to Temptation. Quackity’s experiences with disenfranchisement by Wilbur and Tommy, coupled with his Dark horse victory in the election paints him in a sympathetic, even heroic light. But the way he slowly relinquished more and more power to Schlatt, and ended up indulging in the fruits of tyrannical gains when they proved they could get him what he wanted.

...

So, back to the question... Is Quackity a tyrant?

The answer to that question is a solid “mmmmaaaybe??”

It comes back to what you consider Tyranny. Quackity has never held complete power – he has always, always been scrapping and struggling and fighting to get a foothold in the machinations of the truly powerful, like Dream and Wilbur. He's very much an underdog story.

On the other hand, the times that Quackity has held positions of power, he's done some questionable shit. People like to forget that, while he was deeply disturbed by it, he wasn't exactly against Tubbo's execution at the festival. Putting Phil on house arrest and executing Techno without trial also count against him.

Like most things on the SMP, it's just complicated. Quackity's motivations run deep and aren't always obvious. He doesn't seem to want to hurt people just for the sake of hurting them, or use his power in arbitrary ways, but when he can personally justify it, the sacrifice of his moral integrity gets severe sometimes.

What it looks like is that more than anything else, Quackity wants control, and to never, ever lose his own autonomy. That is also why he despises Technoblade.

...And here we are at the Technoblade part of this meta, AKA the MASSIVE BULK OF THIS ANALYSIS. Which you can read HERE, because it’s too long to fit in just this one post.

#Dream SMP #Quackity #Tommyinnit #Wilbur Soot #Jschlatt #Technoblade #Dream smp analysis #lazytext #long post

184 notes · View notes

sunnysviolin · 3 years

Text

Omotober Day Five- Photograph

“That's the thing about trust. It's like broken glass. You can put it back together, but the cracks are always visible--like scars that never fully heal.” ― Hope Collier,

Aubrey was almost out the door when her mother dropped the bombshell on her. Usually her mom wasn’t even awake when she was leaving for school, she was still sleeping off whatever bender she had gone on the night before. She was up today, in a stained robe with unkempt hair, but she was up.

“We’re going to visit Flora for dinner tonight. Go home on Basil’s bus, I don’t want you trying to skip out on this,” Past Aubrey would have been elated. Not only was her mom up, but they were going to see her best friend for dinner. Now she growled in irritation and rolled her eyes.

“Mom-”

“Aubrey, don’t even think about starting up,” Her mother cut her off with a warning look. Aubrey shut her mouth but hot anger lit up in her veins. She bit her tongue to stop from screaming as her mother continued her lecturing, “That woman is old and her time is coming soon. Respect thy elders, it’s the godly thing to do,”

The hypocrisy of it filled Aubrey’s mouth with poison, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Her mom loved to spout religious crap like this all the time, acting like saying scripture somehow equated to being a good person. Aubrey would have loved to ask her what part of her oh so precious book told her that getting drunk every night was godly, but if she started that fight again she would never make it to school on time.

“Whatever,” Aubrey muttered in lieu of her actual thoughts, pushing past her mother and out the front door. Her mother’s little lecture had taken long enough that the bus stop was completely empty, and that only made Aubrey’s mood even worse. She seized her scooter and whipped it around, putting all of her mental frustration into the physical act of riding to school and away from her house as fast as possible.

The ride did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s anger and a dark storm cloud hung around her through every period. Students gave her a wide berth and teachers looked at her with distrustful eyes. They were all expecting something to happen, and she hated them for it. They always expected the worst of her. Kel had tried approaching her during their shared study hall, and she ignored him till he left. He wasn’t a true friend, he didn’t really care about her. Aubrey had to remember that, or she would fall for his tricks again.

By the end of the day, Aubrey was exhausted. To the rest of the world, she seemed just as bitter and angry as she was when she got to school, but it was just an easy front that she put out to keep them all away. Truthfully, she just wanted to go home, climb the stairs to her room, and curl up with her bunny (). She wanted to block out the world and all of the fake people in it, forget about false friends and the never ending loneliness that threatened to crush her at any point.

She couldn’t. She had to go to Basil’s.

She found Basil waiting outside, off in a corner. He was standing slightly hunched over, like he was trying to disappear right where he stood. Absolutely pathetic, but that was Basil. A weakling who had used Aubrey. Kel was with him, clearly talking at Basil and not to him. Basil wasn’t even paying attention, just staring off at the trees and playing with his fingers the way Aubrey hated. She walked over in long purposeful strides, putting herself in the middle between the two boys.

“Get lost,” Aubrey snapped, hoping that Kel would argue right back with her. It would be a good outlet, something that would get rid of the storm cloud. Basil was no fun to fight with, he just cried and apologized. At least Kel would do it properly.

But luck was not on her side. Kel didn’t fire back with a harsh retort or even give her a glare. He just sighed and rolled his eyes, something that instantly set alarm bells of resentment ringing in her head. She hated when he acted higher and mightier, rising above her like he was too good to fight with her. It was the same as her mother’s religious rambling, just another hypocrite who thought they were better than they were and judged Aubrey for not playing their game.

“I’ll see you later, Basil ,” Kel said, deliberately putting emphasis on ignoring that Aubrey even existed. The urge to kick out his legs and pound him into the dirt was overwhelming, but the sound of the buses starting to rumble cut off that train before it left the station. She growled and yanked Basil along with her by the wrist, walking over to his bus and climbing the high steps. Aubrey practically threw him into an open three seater and launched her bag in after, sitting as close to the aisle as she could and as far away from him as possible.

She didn’t want them, but as she sat on the bus with her former oldest friend, memories of all the times they had done this before came to her one by one. They had always chosen a two seater before, they hadn’t needed the room of three. They would cram close together and read the same book, or chat about all the things they could do when they got to his house. They had almost missed their stop multiple times because they were so lost in their conversation, and oftentimes they had to shout for the bus driver to hold on so they could get off. It was funny, sweet to the point of saccharine.

The thoughts made Aubrey sick now. She tried to pretend it was just the righteous fury she obviously should have felt at their betrayal, but there was something else in there. A thing with dark claws that dug into her chest and made itself known with pain. The word for it sat heavy in her mind, there but unspoken, pushed to some long forgotten corner that she never looked at and never wanted to. Aubrey had enough trouble grieving the dead, she had no need for grieving the living too. The bus reached their stop and she hopped off without looking back. Basil would follow or he wouldn’t, she didn’t care either way.

“Aubrey!” Flora tottered towards them down the sidewalk, her cane clutched firmly in her right hand. Her white hair was pulled up in her signature bun, and her dress was a pretty floral blue that matched her eyes.

She pulled Aubrey into a hug once the young girl was close enough, holding her in a tight squeeze. Aubrey put her hands around Flora, but she didn’t hug her back. Flora was fragile, her bones easily felt through paper dry skin. Aubrey hoped she never got old enough to feel this breakable, but the hug was still warm and comforting. Flora smelled like old lady soap and dried flowers and clean laundry, a smell that Aubrey loved for how safe it made her feel, and hated for how fleetingly often she got to experience it.

When Flora pulled back she kept her hands on Aubrey’s upper arms, looking the girl up and down. Aubrey resisted the urge to squirm, holding her breath as the old woman appraised her. She hadn’t seen Basil’s grandmother since the funeral almost two years ago, and she knew Flora hadn’t seen her shocking pink hair yet, or the new styles she liked to wear. Aubrey began to steel herself for a long winded speech about respecting her body like a temple, the kind her mom liked to preach after her second bottle of wine.

“You got taller,” Flora commented, turning around and leading the way back to the house, “Come inside, I made some snacks for you two,”

Aubrey slowly let out the breath she had been keeping, letting Basil walk in front of her and towards his house. Flora had never been a mean spirited woman or purposefully judgemental, but Aubrey’s threshold for trust was a lot lower than it used to be. Her anger began to bleed out and shame took its place. Aubrey usually thought the worst of people, and that didn’t bother her because she was usually proven right in the end, but there were exceptions. Flora had never done anything to earn her ire, even if her grandson had.

Aubrey followed them into their home, taking her shoes off at the entrance and looking around. Nothing had changed really, flowers and plants still hung in pots all around and the bookshelf was still packed to the brim. There was a pot bubbling on the stove and vegetables half cut on a board next to it. Flora gestured towards the table and slowly made her way to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and two oranges. She made quick work of the fruits and was soon putting a platter of cut up pieces of fruit between the two children.

“You two can finish your homework here while I finish up the grub. Dinner is going to be in an hour and a half. I know five o’clock is a little early for you youngins, but I like to be in bed by six!” The old woman laughed at her own nonexistent joke, the sound creaky and roughened with age. She had to stop to cough halfway through, but she waved away Basil’s worried gaze and reaching arms, “Please dear I’m fine. Aubrey you have to teach my grandbaby here how to relax more and just enjoy life,”

Aubrey didn’t respond, using digging through her backpack as an excuse to not have to acknowledge what Basil’s grandmother had said. It was less of a hassle to pretend that she hadn’t heard then to lie and act like she cared if Basil was uptight or not. Basil also didn’t say anything, he just started his work in silence. Flora’s genial mood faltered ever so slightly, but she took their dampened mood in stride.

“Okay then, while you two mope, I’ll keep working on dinner,”

Flora went over to the kitchen proper and turned on the radio, listening to some talk show that Aubrey’s mom also liked. The girl settled into her seat and began to flip through her work, picking and choosing which assignments she would do and which ones she would blow off. There was no point to doing some of them, the teacher was going to fail her anyway, so why should she try? At least if she put all her efforts into one or two classes with cool teachers, she might pass. It was almost dinner time when her peace was broken without her permission

“Did you understand the earth science homework?”

Aubrey looked up, shooting Basil a derisive look for even bothering to speak. He flinched away from her, but held firm, waiting for an answer. She didn’t even want to bother, but she knew Flora was nearby and probably listening, and she would have questions if Aubrey ignored her grandson, or worse, told him to shut up.

“It was easy,” Aubrey tersely replied, putting her anger into her pen. Her words started to come out jagged and uneven, but she didn’t care. It felt good, “It’s just identifying minerals,”

“I don’t get it,” Basil murmured, more to himself than to her. He scratched something out on his worksheet and fisted a hand in his hair, “She explained this over and over, I don’t understand why I don’t get it,”

Aubrey watched the display of his anxiety for a few moments before letting out an exaggerated sigh, letting her head flop back against the chair. It wasn’t even fun to watch him get upset, it just made her feel bad, which only made her angrier. She pushed her chair away from the table, enjoying the loud screech it gave and how uncomfortable it made Basil. Then she stood and walked around the table, leaning over him and getting in his space.

“Which one are you confused on?” She demanded, and he pointed to the question with a shaking finger. She looked at the problem and rolled her eyes. It wasn’t even one of the difficult ones. Their teacher had given them a table of potential minerals and then a series of questions with specific properties. They had to correctly pick which mineral went to which list of properties.

“Okay so you already got half of them, so you just have diamond, muscovite, talc, and gypsum left,” Aubrey stated, going over the options, “The mineral cleaves into thin sheets, has a white streak, and a pearly luster. Which out of those ones has those traits?”

Basil didn’t respond, still shaking from their proximity. He stammered out some unintelligible words, his hands clasping together around his middle. Before he could devolve into an entire anxiety attack, and more importantly before Flora noticed what was going on, Aubrey would have to deal with this

“Would you quit that? I’m not gonna bite,” She barked, and he flinched further away. Great. Aubrey forced herself to take a breath and count to ten, the thing that the annoying school counselor had showed her that almost never worked. Aubrey tried again.

“Okay instead of thinking about it that way. Let’s go with which ones don’t have those features. Does diamond have a streak?”

“No it’s harder than the streak plate,” Basil responded, which was what their teacher had said word for word. Aubrey had started off with a question she knew he would know the answer to, because Mrs. Tommen had made Basil repeat her when she thought he wasn’t paying attention earlier that day.

“So then obviously it can’t be diamond.” Aubrey said, unable to take all of the snottiness in her tone. It had to be good enough, besides he should know it was stupid that he needed help with this.

“The rest have a white streak though,” Basil said after a quick check of his notes, “It could be any of them,”

Aubrey briefly considered banging her head against the wall. Anything to get her away from rocks and this idiot. She walked around to her side of the table and went back to her own work, putting her head close to the paper.

“Look at the rest of the traits. They don’t all have the same traits. Just do it that way, and quit bugging me,” She hissed. Basil wilted, but he focused back on his work.

“Thanks for the help,” It came out quiet and timid, but it was there. Aubrey jerked her head in a nod, and the two of them lapsed back into silent solo work until Aubrey’s mother knocked on the door. She was dressed in a purple dress that had seen better days and came bearing store bought cookies that still had a sale sticker on them. Her hair was done, but flyaways surrounded her head like a dust cloud, and her smile was entirely fake.

Flora came over and greeted Aubrey’s mom with enthusiasm, thanking her for her generosity and guiding her to the table. They made small talk as Basil and Aubrey gathered their things and Basil set the table. How her mom’s job was going, how was Flora’s health, all the usual things Aubrey couldn’t care less about.

The conversation only got more boring when dinner started. When they had done this in the past, Basil and Aubrey easily entertained one another with jokes and teasing jabs and barely noticed the time passing. Now each minute was an hour and Aubrey had achieved levels of boredom previously never reached. Aubrey caught Basil’s eye and nodded towards the doorway to the bedrooms, hoping he caught her hint.

“Um G-Granny?” Basil stuttered, grabbing her attention, “May Aubrey and I be excused?”

Flora looked at both of their plates and nodded, patting Basil on the arm. They gathered up their plates and put them in the sink. As she was about to finally escape, Aubrey’s mother crooked a finger in her direction. She walked to her mom and was pulled down roughly by the arm. It was nothing like the gentle pats that Flora gave Basil, but a clear warning.

“Behave,” Her mother said in a harsh whisper, and Aubrey gritted her teeth.

She hated that word. She hated her mother. She hated this whole stupid dinner. Aubrey didn’t bother to answer as she pulled away from her mom. Her mom didn’t want an answer, she wanted a doll for a daughter. A pretty perfect doll that made small talk and smiled at jokes that weren’t funny and did whatever she asked. Aubrey stole away from the kitchen table, walking into Basil’s room and shutting the door. She didn’t like spending time with him anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him, but anything was better than being reminded just how much her own mother didn’t like her.

Basil’s room was also in a stasis, unchanged and unevolved from when she last saw it. The only difference was a blooming white orchid, the petals spread around the stem like angel wings. An orchid that was cared for meticulously, surrounded in the dying light of the day with a golden halo. An orchid that stopped Aubrey in her tracks when her eyes landed on it.

Aubrey had only seen orchids like this in one place. She had assumed that the Pastor did it, or some of the church ladies. She knew that the auxiliary had a circulating list of volunteers that went to tend to the graveyard. Aubrey had even considered that the strange man who always seemed to be in the cemetery might put them there next to her.

She knew Hero didn’t visit. He never went anywhere near the church, hadn’t in years. She didn’t know or care what Kel did, and Sunny didn’t even leave the house anymore. Aubrey had thought she was the only one that visited, the last person that even cared. For some reason her brain had completely blocked out the logical idea that Basil, who loved flowers more than anything, would be the one to carefully tend to a difficult to grow bloom.

“You put these by her?” Aubrey asked quietly, tracing a finger over the delicate petals. Neither of them needed Aubrey to say who “her” was, there was only one person left that connected them. Basil nodded, keeping his eyes down and away from his former friend. Aubrey continued to stare down at the flower, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.

“It’s a white egret,” Basil said, sitting on his bed near her and looking at the flower, “It means my thoughts will follow you into your dreams. I thought it was...I thought she might like it,”

She would have. Mari would have thought it was incredibly sweet, and she would have been able to tell Basil so. She wasn’t like Aubrey who spewed hate without a care in the world but who could never manage to say something kind without stuttering. She would have been able to bring them all together so effortlessly, there would have been no issue. None of this would have ever happened in the first place.

Aubrey was adrift, alone in a sea of confusion that sent wave after wave to try and drown her. She wanted to sit on the bed next to Basil, wanted to finally crack open and let everything out. She could trust him to listen, trust him to care. He was the only one besides her who still cared enough to visit. She should do that. That would be good. But she couldn’t get her feet to move.

“Aubrey?” Basil said, hesitant but still reaching out. She pulled away from the orchid, stumbling back and looking around. A thick leather bound book in the middle of his bookshelf caught her eye, and she wandered over to it. She knew this book.

“Aubrey, don’t.” Basil ordered, his words meaning nothing to her. She could hear him say it, she could even be mildly shocked that he even dared to talk to her like that, when he had been so timid before, but none of it really reached her. Aubrey pulled his photo album out from the shelf, holding it in her hands and opening it.

Instead of the soft faded colors of their childhood, there was black. There was black over Sunny’s birthday, black over her pink raincoat. She could barely make out Hero and Kel arm wrestling, and she only knew which pictures were from the beach based on the small bits of yellow that peaked through the marker staining the memory.

He had scribbled over Mari’s picture.

Aubrey had never had an out of body experience like this. She was always solid, always grounded. Even when she had heard what Mari did, there was no part of her that was able to check out of the situation. Now she was high in the sky, somewhere distant and far where she could only watch as her heart was broken all over again.

A rough tug jerked her back into her body. Basil had snatched the album back from her, his eyes wild and blown wide open. She couldn’t even respond, she had no idea what to do first- steal the album back, or kill him.

“Get out!” Basil shrieked, holding the book against his chest and falling to his knees. She didn’t want to. She wanted to hit him, to feel his bones breaking under her fists and hear him crying out in pain. She could hurt him worse than he hurt her, make it so she wasn’t the only one suffering. He did this. He was the one who did this, and she wouldn’t be to blame for that. She wanted to wring his neck, to break down and start sobbing.

She wanted to run.

Aubrey shouted in rage, beyond words and beyond any outward expression of the emotions roiling within. She bodily threw the door open, running past the table and out the door. She heard her mother and Flora calling for her, but she ignored them, slamming the door and continuing to sprint away. She got back to her house in record time, not bothering to close the front door as she climbed up the ladder to her room as quickly as possible.

Aubrey locked the trap door to her room, finally letting out the scream that had been building up within her. No one was there to hear it but her bunny, and she was currently hiding in her hut from Aubrey’s meltdown. Aubrey flung herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillows, screaming again. She could hear her mother coming into the house now, screeching in rage at Aubrey’s dramatic exit, catapulting insults left and right about Aubrey. The girl wasn’t listening and didn’t care. Her mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. She would get that album back from Basil, whatever it took to do so, and she would never, never, trust him again.

#omotober #omori #omori fic #omori basil #omori kel #omori aubrey #I FORGOT TO POST YESTERDAY #I mean i did on ao3 but NOT HERE #ANYWAYS #so tired

29 notes · View notes

ravenvsfox · 3 years

Text

Things Fall Apart; the Centre Cannot Hold

Summary: He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

(Adam's perspective throughout Mister Impossible, as his worry reaches a fever pitch, and the two versions of himself begin to converge)

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: mi spoilers, death/suicide mention

A/N: batshit middle books my beloveds. adam pov or bust 😌

Read on AO3

In high school, Gansey would very occasionally call Adam in the middle of the night.

He would speak low and fast, his panic pinched between thumb and forefinger and held at a respectable distance. Adam would smother the receiver with his palm and step outside of his family trailer, listening hard for movement at his back.

The news was always the same: Ronan Lynch was on his latest rampage or bender, exercising his dark talent for bullying his way into people’s lives and then breaking down all of their windows and doors trying to get out again.

Gansey would fret and apologize, guilty for luring Adam out of his wolf-den, guiltier for neglecting his duties as Ronan’s warden. Adam would wait tiredly on the line for Gansey’s anxiety to exhaust itself, and then dutifully join the search party.

He would step into his beaten tennis shoes and pry his bike from the fence, silencing the silvery shock of metal on metal, and avoiding the reedy whir of the spokes by holding the whole thing aloft until he reached the gravel road.

From there, he would venture out into the abandoned Henrietta streets, the crunch of his tires cutting clean through the woolly midnight silence. He often circled the perimeter of the park nearest Monmouth, stepped through the great dark portal into St. Agnes, and nipped under the old bridge, squinting into the darkness for the challenging shoulders, the oil-slick BMW gleam, the slump of a body or clatter of bottles.

This is a part of Gansey that I admire, he would think. And with equal fervour, this is a part of Gansey that I resent. This blood attachment to Ronan, who was not even attached to himself. The insomnia that seized two heads of the lopsided Cerberus that Adam, Ronan, and Gansey were all part of, a restlessness on either side of him that shook him awake over and over again.

He chased Ronan’s shadow, hating him. Hating his thoughtlessness, his privilege, his chokehold on Gansey’s interests, his purposefully and continuously ruined potential, and yet bristling with anxiety at the idea of finding him bleeding.

They hadn’t known then that he was a dreamer, but they’d felt the ear-popping pressure of his grief, glimpsed the hulking animal of his self-loathing, urged onwards by the twin spurs of Declan and Gansey, the past and the future, digging into his sides.

Adam had seen Ronan, teeth bared, hurling himself at rock bottom, and he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled him back by the collar.

Things are completely different now, but he still finds himself sleep-raw and petrified, reaching after Ronan in the dark.

He examines himself in the mirror of the communal bathroom in Thayer hall. The overhead lights are an unflattering yellow, the sink has a long dark hair stuck to its basin, and Adam’s face is gaunt and bruised with lack of sleep.

He’s losing it, a little bit.

He takes his own pulse, focusing on the faraway burble of the ley line. Everything, lately, seems far away.

As if through a stranger’s eyes, he slips from the seafoam tiling and bleach tang in Thayer’s North bathroom to the accordion door of the trailer toilet, the creaky cubicle shower, his gawky, hurt reflection in the burnt-out light. This version of Adam had to watch his best friend’s best friend escape suicide watch and get screaming drunk in public, treading mud and malicious dreams all over Monmouth manufacturing.

He can still smell the salt tang from teenaged Adam’s ocean of disdain.

Now that he loves Ronan, his irritation has only gotten sharper, more deadly. Ronan performs each perilous swan dive into the unknown, each foolhardy act of self-sacrifice, as if the people who care about him aren’t gasping spectators. It makes Adam furious.

Perhaps neither of them have changed as much as they wanted to believe. As Gillian keeps advising the crying club—with the confidence of a seasoned psychiatrist—progress isn’t linear.

He keeps remembering the chafe of Ronan’s shoulder against his ribs as they got oriented in his little bed, the glisten of tears and nightwash wringing his lovely eyes, the lonely twist in his unguarded late-night voice over the phone, the one that Adam had almost liked, because it meant that he was indisputably missed. It was worse, that Ronan had been trying so hard for Adam, because it was easier to tell when he stopped.

He slides fingers over his temples, smooths a knuckle over each eyebrow to ease the tension he always carries there. Sleep is a little knot of gristle lodged at the back of his throat; he can’t swallow it and he can’t spit it up. It never used to be this hard to put his problems to bed. He would worry the weight on his chest into small pieces, and go to sleep knowing that even the worst things about his life were organized correctly.

This time though, he’s out of sorts, divided, always busy but always spinning his wheels. He has a white-hot secret pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Every time he folds himself into bed, his subconscious helpfully reminds him that Ronan might be dead. And then a highlight reel plays in his head like an In Memoriam: Adam’s hand cupping Ronan’s nape, a barn silhouetted against a melancholy sky, a fistful of dreamt light, a dozen hard-won smiles and a hundred easy ones, a white handprint on a flushed thigh, a colourful joke to placate a brother, a kiss pressed to a dream’s forehead. All of that—gone. And Adam, at Harvard.

He highlights long patches of text in his sociology textbook, drinks a sensible amount of jack and coke at Eliot’s birthday party, declines Gansey’s calls by sending cheerful and conciliatory texts, and drifts through the library with his hand knotted in the strap of his satchel, looking for something that he can’t really articulate. He reads the same line of theory over and over and over and over, feeling like he’s scrying, like his focus isn’t his own.

He did all of this before Ronan went missing too, but now it’s a whole different class of performance. It used to be, I’m convincingly attentive, I’m sipping overpriced coffee on the way to class like a good Ivy leaguer, I’m making an impression on my professors, I’m forging friendships. Someday I will cash in these relationship tokens, and it all will have been worth it. It felt impossible that his life could be so simple and rewarding.

Now he thinks, I’m studying for finals and my boyfriend is being hunted by people whose job it is to kill him. I’m drinking a latte and the only people I’ve ever loved have left me, and I'm alone again. I’m putting my hand up in class and somewhere, Ronan’s life is changing, rapidly, dangerously, without me.

He lies to everyone, all the time, and tells himself that this life he’s building is more important than anything.

Once, as they cleared placemats and mugs full of stagnant coffee from the kitchen table, Ronan—still cobwebbed in his most recent dream—had detailed the sensation of hovering over himself afterwards. He was unable to manipulate his physical body or even really recognize it as his own, and his consciousness, detached, had its own limbs, its own intentions. He was like a parasite trying to wriggle back into its host.

Whenever Adam consults his double in a bit of glass, he imagines himself as a nimble dreamer, peering down, working to bring a fantasy to life. He can see his own outline, a slick college student with a flat, pleasant affect and a gaggle of soft-shelled friends. He plays his role impeccably well, but he can’t fit himself into it. If he passed himself in the hallway he would not stop.

Looking in the mirror now, he feels a red pang of fear, then a supercut of the ways he used to let himself love and be loved, then resentfulness hot on the heels of his worry.

His reflection withers, and he looks deliberately down at his hands. It’s a Tuesday, and he needs to sleep, or his tightly-scheduled Wednesday will be a misery. It’s a Tuesday, which means he hasn’t spoken to Ronan in—he stalls. Call me, he thinks, miserably. Just call me.

He can deal with a multitude of challenging and improbable situations if only he can see them clearly. Ronan is, for whatever reason, keeping him in the dark.

The not knowing is bad. It’s not how he functions. It’s not how they function. But instead of dwelling, he puts his back into the narrative that is now his reality: Impeccable student. Devoted friend-group. Tough break-up. Bright future.

Ronan isn’t here. Can’t ever be, physically, so far from the ley line. Adam has to be.

“Croissant, as ordered.” His gaze snaps up, connecting—not with his own image, but with clever, horn-rimmed Gillian. “They tried to foist it upon me without butter, if you can imagine that.” She deposits a crinkly brown and tan paper bag in front of him, and then two little plastic pots of butter. Adam regards the squashed shape of the bag’s contents with confusion.

It’s— “Is it Tuesday?”

“Wednesday,” Eliot corrects airily, licking jam from their thumb.

“My god, Adam. Whatever happened to your infallible circadian rhythm?” Fletcher asks. “You are the Swiss timepiece by which we measure our days.”

A terrible wave of vertigo strikes him, and he’s grateful to find himself sitting, at one of two conjoined wrought-iron tables in the courtyard near Thayer. He can feel the ley line breathing for the first time in a long time.

He must have gone to bed after his late-night breakdown in the bathroom. He must have. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was. His hand strays to his hair. Wet. He’d woken, showered, and met his friends for breakfast, and he can barely remember it.

“Sorry,” he chokes. “Sleep deprivation is catching up to me, I think.”

“Aw, chicken,” Benjy says affectionately. “I’ve sung those end of term blues. The profs think we’re machines. Don’t even get me started on Dr. Fraundberg’s Lit Crit for assholes.”

“Whyever would we?” Eliot says. “We want to make it to class before noon.”

“Har-har. You wound me. Adam you’d better get a tissue ready, I’m about to tear up.”

“Also,” Gillian says, pointing her be-honeyed knife in Eliot’s direction. “Speak for yourself. I want to make it to class never.”

“Your presentation is going to be exceptional,” Fletcher tells her. “Your rough draft already drove me into paroxysms of jealousy. I don’t know why you’re so concerned.”

“I don’t just want to pass,” Gillian says. “I want to win.”

“Admirable,” Benjy sniffs.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Adam,” Eliot says, at length. He’s aware that they’re all trying very hard to act like they don’t notice how poorly composed he is.

“Can’t a man savour his pastry, Eli?” Fletcher rumbles.

“No, that’s fair,” Adam sighs. The four of them peer at him expectantly, eyebrows arranged into an array of benign and non-threatening shapes. “It’s possible I’m having a slight breakdown,” he says, adopting the grim hyperbole of a student for whom finals are the beginning and end of their emotional upset.

Everyone at the twin tables indulges in a bit of mild laughter.

“What a coincidence, so am I!”

“Well if it’s only slight, I’ll stow my concern.”

“Harvard or personal?”

He smiles faintly, and says, “kind of both. The personal is political, or something.”

He thinks he’s laying it on thick, but Gillian grins at him. “'Atta boy.”

Fletcher goes to take a sip of his tea, but chokes when his phone lights up with an incoming text message. “Criminy, is it eight already? Starting the day with a bang, as usual. I’ll meet you at Weld this evening, yes?” he asks, shaking out his tweed jacket and thrusting an arm through it, securing the remains of his bagel between his teeth with his other hand.

“Of course,” Adam says. Fletcher gives him a thumbs up, mouth charmingly stuffed, and sweeps away across the now bustling courtyard.

“Hey magic man,” Eliot says. “Will you do a reading for my sister tonight? The break-up with Margot is hitting her kind of hard. I’m pretty sure she just wants to be told she’ll find love again.”

Adam watches the juddering impact of Benjy kicking Eliot under the table.

He shrugs. “First come first serve, but I’ll give her the friends and family discount.”

“You’re a prince,” Eliot says, blowing him a kiss. Adam tries to imagine any of his friends from Henrietta doing such a thing, and can’t. “Come along Benjy. Bookstore or bust. They’re giving out discount computing textbook codes at sixty dollars a pop.”

A slip of paper for sixty American dollars. Adam’s head aches profoundly.

Gillian waggles her fingers at their friends as they depart, then she turns and fixes Adam with that familiar amateur therapist look.

“What?”

“Are you sleeping?” she asks bluntly.

“I’m a very good sleeper,” Adam says wryly. “Ask anyone.”

“But are you actually doing it?”

“Yes, Gillian.” Liar, liar. “Do you want me to keep a dream journal as evidence?”

“Oh, yes please.” That shark’s grin. “I’d pay to know what the fuck is going on up there.” She taps her own temple to indicate Adam's guarded mind.

He spreads his hands between them. “I’m an open book.”

She hums, only half-smiling now. “I dunno. That Southern charm. I’m never quite sure if I should trust a politeness that perfect.”

“On that note,” Adam says, standing. He’s relieved to find that he’s wearing matching socks, and his pant legs are rolled just so. There’s a tiny streak of yellow on one of his shoes, and with a jolt he realizes that it’s dream-crab guts. He presses on. “Thanks for the croissant. And the psychoanalysis. Send me the bill.”

She salutes him with her coffee cup. “You couldn’t afford me.”

He laughs, and turns, and then spends the whole walk to his 9 AM class trying to straighten all of the haywire compasses in his brain so they point due north.

His assignment is in his bag, pressed neatly into a navy blue folder. He has three classes today, a meeting with his supervisor at three, a study block set aside from four to six, then dinner, then tarot readings all evening—his phone rings. His treacherous heart leaps. Ronan.

He stops mid-stride, scrambling for his cell in the front pocket of his bag.

“Hello?”

“I—oh—Adam! I didn’t expect you to pick up. How on Earth are you?”

“Gansey.” He exhales through his nose. “I’m just on my way to class.”

“Fantastic to hear your voice. How’s—not that one, Jane, the I-90—exactly. How’s Harvard? Are you batting away job offers yet?”

“Constantly. How are your nature hikes and hippie communes? Contracted any backwoods diseases yet?”

“Charming. I’m actually in remarkably fine form, health-wise.”

“Is that a brag?”

A guffaw. “More of a curiosity. It’s actually part of the reason I’ve been trying to get in touch. Have you noticed any surges of power from the ley line lately? I mean, of course you have, but do you have any idea what’s causing them?”

He frowns, pinning his cellphone between his good ear and shoulder as he heaves open the ancient door to the physics building. “I could give you my best guess.”

A beat, and then, “I’m listening, Parrish.” Something about the way he says it makes homesickness pulse painfully in Adam’s chest.

He finds a semi-secluded stone slab bench behind an empty stairwell, and slings his belongings across it before he replies, “Dreamers.”

“Dreamers,” Gansey repeats, but it sounds like he’s saying of course! “Plural?”

“At least three.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet.”

“Ronan hasn’t spoken to you,” Gansey guesses.

“Not—in a few days.”

“Is everything alright?”

He swallows, and is horrified to find tears burning at the back of his throat. There’s no pretending with Gansey. It’s why he never calls him.

“Adam,” he says quietly. “Is he in trouble?”

He struggles with his composure for several long seconds. “Possibly.”

A world-weary sigh. “I really wish you had called.”

“Yeah, well,” he says vaguely. He checks his watch. 8:23.

“So he’s playing with others. Why would Ronan want to do that?”

“I think—he’ll do anything not to feel powerless.” He understands as soon as he says it that it’s the pockmark in the windshield from which all of the damage is splintering outwards. “And people take advantage of that.”

Gansey makes a thoughtful noise, somewhere a thousand miles away, and it clicks in a lock and opens Adam’s shoulders up. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone in this fight. How could he have forgotten careful, persistent Gansey?

“Well. He’s certainly not powerless. I almost feel back to my pre-Cabeswater self. Everything is pleasantly linear. And Blue is—lighting up.” In the background, he hears her say supercharged with relish. “I can only imagine what it’s like for full-blooded dream stuff, with all of that energy at their disposal.”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Adam says carefully. “It’s good for a while, helping all the Matthew’s of the world, and then what? Where does all of that diverted power end up? What makes dreamers qualified to harness it without their worst nightmares manifesting?”

“You’re worried about the Lace.”

The last time they spoke, Adam had told them briefly about his last scrying session, warning them to look out for the hateful, faceless thing that had pierced his cells and magnified all of his pain and fear until all he could possibly do was scream.

“I’m worried about Ronan. I know he’s in over his head, and I know he won’t believe it until it’s too late.”

“Sounds like someone I know. Don’t bite off more than you can chew with this, Adam. I know you’re enormously busy.”

It stings, a little. “I’m still going to—I’m obviously still going to make time for him. Especially when he’s—“

“Struggling. Yes. I understand perfectly.” It occurs to Adam that, unlike his well-meaning Harvard friends, he actually might. A needling murmur in the background, and then, “listen, Blue’s telling me that you should get in touch with the psychics, and Mr. Gray.”

He nods. The rhythm of problem-solving is soothing his frazzled nerves. “I’ve been considering it. I’m also pretty sure that Declan has been keeping his own tabs on things.”

“My money’s on yes,” Gansey says. Adam half-smiles. His money has been on a lot of things. “Poke around when you can. See what turns up. I’ll give Ronan a call, not that it’s ever done me much good before.”

“I’m pretty sure he ditched his phone.” He checks his watch. 8:24. It feels like it’s been much, much longer than a minute. There is so much day ahead of him.

Ordinarily, he would be compartmentalizing better than this. No feverish Gansey phone calls directly before class. No pleasure with his business. No finesse when logic will do the job just as well. But the subterranean, black-eyed Adam is still within him, tethered to the ley line and to his friends, and he wants very badly to fix this.

“Ah, Ronan,” Gansey sighs. “It’s always got to be him, doesn’t it?”

“I know,” Adam says narrowly. “If he’s not looking for trouble it’s looking for him.”

“You sound like Declan.”

Adam makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. Blue must be leaning across Gansey, because she says “that’s a new low,” almost directly into the receiver.

“I’m hanging up now,” he says flatly.

“Update me if anything changes? We’ll come home the moment things go south.”

He resists the urge to check his watch again. “Don’t cut things short on my account.”

“Well. Don’t disrupt your studies on Ronan’s. I’ve never known you to put your future on hold for anything.”

“I’m not—“ he stops. “Ronan is a part of my future.”

“Good,” Gansey says warmly. A test, then. And like most tests, there was never even a possibility that Adam wouldn’t pass.

______

It’s easy to tell when a dreamer is suffering.

As the energy from the ley line ebbs, dreamt creations judder and bolt like horses loosed suddenly from the service of a carriage, galloping towards safer pastures. If the dreamer is in more immediate peril, the dream simply folds its limbs into an agreeable shape and passes into sleep.

In the wee hours of Thursday morning, Adam lies awake in bed, dangling his hand between the wall and his bed frame, feeling along the subtle unfilled crack in the plaster. A flagpole casualty, from the day that everything stopped being enough for Ronan, and he slipped away on a dreamt current like a dark Ophelia.

He’s being dramatic.

He feels the drywall flaking, and digs his thumbnail into the split, wanting to rip the whole wall open with his fingers.

He keeps picturing Matthew’s half-lidded eyes, cloudless and blue as a wide prairie sky. The slouch of his posture, the tarnished golden head, the body briefly without a pilot.

Matthew had looked—Adam turns in bed, taking his chalky hand from the wall and fisting it in the sheets. He had looked like a faded old pillow, tucked unobtrusively into the chair by the window. He wouldn’t respond to Declan’s call, fluttering his drowsy lashes, and Adam had thought, ah. This is how I find out. His heart slumped over in his chest, dizzy with sudden grief. The tarot cards in his hands were dead leaves.

This is what happens when your life is tied to my brother’s, Declan had said, diverting his horror into scorn as he often did. The death of any one member of his family ensured the destruction of another. It had always been that way.

Matthew eventually roused, and Adam had closed his eyes and turned his face towards the ceiling until he could be normal again. He felt suddenly foolish for peddling lies to college students when magic was so obviously in the room with him.

Earlier, he had called Maura over lunch, and she vaulted right over small talk to ask him, with concern, about his loosening grip on his psychic inclinations. She’d said, “You do know that the ley line isn’t the source of your problems, right? Give yourself some credit. You can fuck things up in a completely non-mystical way.”

She pulled the Magician, reversed, and the eight of wands, and then, without further comment, passed the phone to Mr. Gray.

Unexplained weaponry, he’d reported. The Lynch brothers loosed on two separate worlds at the same time. Buttoned-up Declan for the first time unbuttoned, schmoozing with an array of dangerous and connected people, trading in secrets just as his father had. Purposeless Ronan for the first time with a purpose, wading out from the murky waters of his dreamspace and bringing the tides with him.

Bryde, the name in the corner of everyone’s mouth, joined all at once by Ronan’s and Hennessy’s.

Renegades, liberators of dreams, scorchers of earth. He could see, easily, why this would appeal to Ronan. A mission, finally. A father figure to guide his hand. A world that wanted his dreams, and wouldn’t crumple under the weight of his unusual ambition.

When they were teenagers, Aglionby was just another one of Adam’s jobs, but it was one of Ronan’s nightmares. He would go to school, a hooded bird of prey, seething with resentment and squandered ability. He longed for the Barns because of what they represented: the childlike belief that his family would never die; the possibility for creatures like him to roam free; a landscape powered by unconditional love.

Bryde, Adam knows, must be offering him the same relief. Exquisite flight, after the cage.

It’s not possible, is the thing. It’s a pipe dream. A Niall Lynch fairytale.

Foresight has never been Ronan’s strong suit. He gets it into his head that a solution is right up until the point that it falls apart in his hands. He throws himself entirely into belief. It makes him an extraordinarily loyal and trusting person. It also makes him stubborn, rash, and susceptible to manipulation.

He believes in one facet of something, and the rest follows. He can’t just take a sip—he downs the bottle.

Adam is a boy on a bicycle in November, needing to find Ronan alive so that he can hate him without feeling guilty about it. He never stops oscillating between resentment and love, reality and unreality, understanding and disappointment. He wants to be normal so that he can choose to be abnormal. Sometimes he wants the cards without the magic.

He closes his eyes and remembers a slumbering mouse against an angular cheek. He imagines Matthew like that, perpetually immobile, perpetually innocent, like a taxidermied puppy. The pieces of Ronan’s consciousness that will linger after his death, statues in a graveyard. Tamquam—tamquam—

What would Ronan be without his dreams? Here, Adam thinks. He’d be here.

He stays in bed for another wasted hour, and then stands up, disoriented, in the dimness of the room. Fletcher is snoring softly. Someone outside their cracked window is shuffling over the concrete stoop. His upstairs neighbour is playing tinkling soundtracks while he sleeps. Adam can’t be here anymore.

He plucks Fletcher’s laptop silently from its charging station, tucks his bare feet into stiff leather shoes, drags the cardigan from his desk chair, and lets himself out into the hallway. The glare from the overhead light pins him against the wall for a moment.

He shuffles half-blind down the hall and upstairs to the solarium, nearly losing one of his unlaced shoes in the stairwell in the process. The lights are blessedly shut off up in the attic, and he feels his way to the nearest of the tables hunched in the shadows. Aching with fatigue, he sits, unfolds his stolen laptop, and gets quietly to work.

He’s never had the time nor means to be truly proficient with technology, but he extracted a handful of leads from Mr. Gray, and he’s been in touch with a friend of Benjy’s—a computer science grad student and hacking hobbyist.

He chases key phrases down rabbit holes and assembles news articles, tracking Ronan’s movement by his “unexplainable” signature (code for mind-fuckery, joyful innovation, and dark humour). Adam is a practiced note-taker and serial obsesser, so it’s barely a strain to find Ronan—whom he knows better than anyone—cropping up all over the continental United States.

“What are you doing,” Adam murmurs. The sky lightens gradually to periwinkle. He has work today, but his shift doesn’t start until noon. His mouth is bone-dry, and his head feels cotton-stuffed the way it always does when he’s pushing his body to its limit.

When it’s late enough in the morning to be socially acceptable, he messages Benjy’s friend with the bare bones of what he’s looking for: a project under wraps, a lonely last name, a suppressed pattern. They correspond, remotely, until Adam is reading government files over watery coffee, wearing sweatpants, dress shoes, and a cardigan with cracked elbow patches.

He pores over it all, cross-referencing dates, and ignoring the widening sink-hole in his chest.

Industrial espionage isn’t at all Ronan’s usual brand of destruction. Highly controlled, not much up-front gratification. A little more political than Ronan usually leans. A lot more ambitious. Whatever their agenda, ley energy is flowing more easily now that it's unobstructed on such a large scale. Adam has been feeling its effects rippling all the way out to Boston, a persistent background pressure, unavoidable as a migraine.

It’s clear that the Moderators are desperate to eliminate Bryde’s party. Their reports are a comedy of close calls.

Slowly, Adam begins to understand the scope of things.

Billions of dollars in damages, manmade structures ripped from their foundations. Magical fugitives hunted by a team that specializes in murdering the targets they call Zeds. Visionary headlights pointed towards certain apocalypse. A world that is always awake, but always, always feels like it’s dreaming.

It’s pretty much exactly as he feared. Night terrors. The Lace. Beasts and legends. Adam holds his head in his hands. It’s more than what Ronan must be imagining. It’s more than Aurora waking happily in Cabeswater, powered by the swaying trees. It’s the indiscriminate waking of every incredible thing that’s ever been dreamed.

He’s struck by a wave of hopelessness that rushes all around him and tears at his hair. Ronan, dreamer of baubles that dispense music and light, cars that go very fast, and menageries of curious creatures, recruited to a cause that transmutes creation into chaos. Ronan, promising to wait, and then running full tilt at a future that can’t possibly keep Adam in it.

His dream half is going to destroy his human half, and he’ll take everybody else down with him.

If he could just see him, maybe—

His jaw creaks, teeth clenched tight against the emotional groundswell. The late morning sunshine strikes him, and he feel more like a vague, pale shape than a person. Like a dream, maybe.

Alter idem.

If Adam can’t reach Ronan, maybe the Moderators should.

He feels the weight of that awful thought burning a hole through his stomach lining. He can’t think about it. He needs to go to work.

_____

The next evening, he experiences a surge of power so acute that it nearly puts him in a coma.

It’s another Wednesday night, and another batch of his peers hitch polite smiles to his heels as he passes them by, winding his way up into the high, arched sunroom at Weld hall. They’re all wishing for magical solutions for their mundane problems, the opposite of Adam in nearly every way.

He bumps knuckles with Benjy and Eliot in turn, pulls up his chair, and knocks his last reading from Persephone’s deck, mostly out of habit. He consults his phone idly as his friends try to make pleasant conversation, holding up a finger when he finds a new batch of texts from Gansey.

John Amos power plant in WV shut down Monday

Intense. maura said she could’ve brought HER dreams to life afterwards

no word from Ronan yet? Leads from Declan? pls advise

I’ll assume no news is good news

He puts his phone in his satchel and fastens it closed. Every new scrap of information he gets feels like a stroll through Ronan’s security system at the Barns—hopelessness compounding and compounding until he staggers out the far end weeping.

He needs to focus on something productive. He nods at Benjy to start letting people inside, straightening the notebook where he usually scribbles his observations. Here, he is an adjudicator: powerful, organized, and reserved, tallying points and offering constructive critique.

His curious audience starts pouring in then, amateur wiccans and wannabe believers, aggrieved last-resorters and skeptics following friends’ recommendations. It’s a brighter collection of characters than Aglionby could ever have hoped to foster.

Gillian texts him to say that she just passed Weld and his line-up was out the door. He is a prim and unobtrusive con artist, a false prophet, and business is booming.

Eventually, a bespectacled girl who looks anywhere from five to ten years his senior sits across from him, tucking a bag armoured to the teeth with candy-coloured enamel pins between her feet.

“Hi,” she says nervously. “Anna.” She stretches her hands out in front of her, then thinks better of it and drops them into her lap. “I’m not sure how this usually goes, so you might have to hold my hand a little bit.”

“No problem,” he says smoothly, passing his deck across the tabletop. “Just go ahead and shuffle. Concentrate on what you want to ask the cards.”

She does as directed, struggling a little to keep the papery stack in check. Not a natural born card sharp, then. He studies her neat black shirt, tucked precisely into a plaid skirt. A Marilyn mole drawn on just above the corner of her mouth. A pride flag pin he doesn’t recognize next to a cat wearing a cowboy hat, and the word “rude” in cursive.

She holds the deck fleetingly to her chest, eyes squeezed shut like a child making a birthday wish, and then plops it in the centre of the table. A card slips near the top, slightly uneven, and Adam plucks it free.

He hums thoughtfully. “Eight of cups. Okay. So you’re having some trouble with letting go.” She frowns and nods once, quick.

He lays out the rest of a simple five card spread neatly between them. A couple of stray swords, the chariot, a wand.

“It seems like things are stagnating in your personal life. Maybe your friend group used to feel like your family, but you feel like they’ve lost interest in you. And you love them, but Anna, if you’re being honest with yourself, you’re pretty sure you were done with them before they even started pulling away. Right now you’re kind of just going through the motions. A couple of years overdue to convocate, right? Everyone else moved on to greener pastures.” He taps his thumb thoughtfully against the bones of his opposite wrist. “It’s not even the loneliness that gets you. It’s the not knowing. Are you supposed to chase after them? Is there another community out there for you? There is, you know.”

He notices another card spilling loose, and he grabs it without thinking. The Magician again. He thinks, huh, caught in the coils and dust of Persephone’s overturned cards.

And then the waking world disappears.

Adam is airborne, tumbling up into the atmosphere on a geyser of ley energy, whipped by branches and light. He throws his arms out to stop himself, but he’s only a projection, so his momentum doesn’t slow.

Something—Lindenmere? The cosmos?—shows him a series of images: an upturned nose made from oil and turpentine, a coiled old tree stump, a red-haired woman grinning toothily and then exploding, a rose the colour of warm dark skin, a pale scar-split hand cradling a silky head, the animal haunch of something black, a terrible voice booming turn back—

He skitters away, panicked, and bumps into his own body. Or not his own body. A double, blinking confusedly in the bathroom mirror.

His doppelgänger turns to leave, and Adam reaches after him, through the mirror, following himself into a version of Thayer which is not Thayer. Everything is alive, in this reality. Energy sings and saws its fingers together.

It’s a memory, but it’s also the present, and it’s also a nightmare. Wake up!

Obediently, the city wakes.

He gasps, although he doesn’t have a mouth. It’s the heaving first breath of a sleeping witch, like Gwenllian turning in her grave.

Adam struggles against the current of wild power, thick and pungent as gasoline. Everything feels more intense near magical artifacts, dream stuff, supernatural fault lines, and it is with great effort that he hunts for something familiar, something heavy enough to bind him. He was unprepared for this, and although everything around him is bitingly familiar, he's lost. He wheels around and around, reaching for his most trusted tethers—Gansey, Ronan, Blue, Persephone—

Persephone.

He follows the lingering perfume of her intuition, feeling blindly for those old handholds in her tarot deck, that familiar grip, like the hilt of a trusted weapon.

And then he finds himself looking again at the girl, Anna, her fate bunched around her narrow shoulders. And then at his own empty body, a glowing card clamped between his fingers. As soon as he’s aware of looking at himself, he’s looking out of himself, and he stands up quickly, overturning his chair.

“—Adam? Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

“What on God’s green Earth was that?”

A palm between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t touch me,” he chokes.

The hand retreats. A murmur: I’ve never seen him like this.

“Is it—is it bad? Am I going to be okay? Is it bad?” Anna keeps asking, horrified.

“You’re fine,” he manages to say. “I’m sorry.” The ‘o’ in sorry comes out a little wide and swerving.

“You went blank,” Benjy says, voice high with residual panic. “For like—ten minutes. Beyond hyper-focus.”

“I thought it was a gimmick,” Eliot says. “But a ten minute gimmick? What is this, Las Vegas?”

“I got carried away. I have to,” he swallows. “I need a minute. I promise everything’s fine.”

“Do whatever you need to do,” Eliot says quickly. “But, fair warning, I’m going to ask you a hundred questions when you get back.”

“And then I’m going to ask another hundred,” Benjy says. “Magic man.”

“A riddle, inside an enigma, wrapped in a sweater vest,” Eliot muses. He can tell they’re still shaken. He’ll have to deal with that, later.

“I'll be right back,” Adam says, touching them very lightly on the shoulder as he passes. The ley line is bursting, and he feels so flushed with its vitality that it almost makes him sick.

He stumbles past them, all the way out of the building and into the street. The winter air tears at his thin shirtsleeves, nips at his sock-less ankles. He shields his eyes against the sun, watching a bird swoop low overhead. A silvery, seagull-sized thing, but with knobby legs that taper into—he squints. Hooves?

He keeps moving, propelled by the mad urge to catch the bird, to pin the wild magic down so he can understand it.

Adam walks for what feels like a long time, trying to find the source of all of this haemorrhaging power. He spots a couple of fidgety-looking students, a few more curious creatures. Somewhere, faraway, there’s music crooning, and it sounds exactly the way a hot shower feels.

He stops in the middle of Oxford street, head cocked towards the natural history museum across the way, the orderly buildings, the sparse evening foot traffic. Business as usual. All of it screaming with energy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a parade of scuttling creatures marching towards an invisible destination. Frowning, Adam crosses the street, chasing the peacock blue shimmer from an unfurled wing. He slows, stooping in the alley to pick one of the strange insects from the stream. He peers through a nail-sized hole in its head. Its spindly legs wave fearfully for a moment, and then it goes limp in his hand.

The ley energy punches out of him, and he sits back on his ankles, winded.

Adam gazes down at the jewelled beetle in his palm, its siblings scattered out like shell casings around his knees. Dreams, all of them. Briefly, impossibly roused in a dead city. He stands, letting the beetle drop from his hand and bounce across the concrete. He kicks them all hurriedly behind a nearby bench, mind racing. Bugs from an exhibit next door, no doubt. Dormant animals, transplanted from their habitats and pinned in place for decades.

What kind of ecoterror was wrought to bring about a flash flood of energy in a drought? How must Ronan be feeling, out there in the world, wracked with waking dreams? What unimaginable monsters were just stirring in the shadows because of him? Is Bryde one of them?

His lives are merging. The distant rumbling of thunder is overhead now, and the downpour is rolling in. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep dry.

Standing in that alleyway by himself, drained and ordinary again, he feels terribly alone.

He weighs his feelings against his logic for several agonizing minutes, standing still and watchful as a predator. He recalls the jarringly clinical accounts of Ronan's most intimate dreams, the sparsely encoded language in those government files outlining the world-ending dangers of something Adam had, for a long time, shared a bed with.

If something happens to Ronan now, it might kill Adam. If something happens because of Ronan, it might kill everybody.

Another minute, and he has his phone out and ringing.

“Hello?” Declan answers. Oddly, it’s not his usual prickly greeting. He sounds almost jovial.

Adam looks out into the darkening street, feeling like a death omen, a shadow across someone’s doorstep. “We really need to talk about Bryde.”

______

It’s the worst possible time for Declan to be withholding information from him.

Adam had graciously tipped his hand and Declan was, infuriatingly, holding back, as if this was a low grade in Ronan’s high school algebra class, and not the cataclysmic fuck-up of a powerful dreamer.

Declan, so uncannily like his brother in vulnerable moments like this, had thought of Matthew first. A world where dreams could stay awake, he’d marvelled. As if they could afford to think so small.

Once, Adam had awoken to find his arm glued to the bedspread. Ronan had dreamt a bee-less hive in the night, and it was oozing a steady stream of honey into the sheets between them.

“Score,” Ronan had said, when he’d rolled back into his body. “Sting-free. Fucking vegan.”

“What happens when we don’t want any more honey?” Adam had asked, critically. Ingesting dreams always felt like a slippery subject. “Does it shut off like a faucet?”

It didn’t. Ronan filled a dozen amber jars full, and then abandoned the hive in a dusty kiddy pool in one of the barns near the back of his family property.

A month later, Opal had crept in through a window looking for trouble, and emerged, shrieking, in a viscous flood of syrup.

Combing the mess out of Opal’s fur, her little legs slung across his lap, Ronan had complained about the magnitude of the clean-up job he would have to do, the special honey hoover he would have to create, what a waste of a dream it would be. Adam reminded him of his faucet idea.

“Too late for that, Parrish,” he’d griped.

It was their pattern. A marvel, too good to be true. Adam, the skeptic. Ronan, too in love with creation to care about consequences.

Eventually, it will all be too late.

Ronan will pursue this liberation fantasy, this golden daydream, even if it never stops oozing. Even if it makes the whole world uninhabitable.

______

That night, Adam tries to scry for the first time in months.

He gently pushes the crying club—only tenuously placated after the tarot incident—to have drinks without him, claiming stress-induced fatigue. He leaves his study notes open and blinking on the bed, lights a sad little tea light, and casts himself out into the ether.

Straining hard, he searches for the familiar contours of Ronan’s dreamspace, plucking the distant strings of the ley line and listening for the particular timbre of Ronan’s consciousness.

He doesn’t like walking this tightrope without a net, but Harvard isn’t exactly flush with psychic spotters. He keeps a delicate balance, far from his body, inching closer and closer to Ronan’s mind, the safe plateau at the end of this rope.

Eventually, he finds himself in a grey bedroom. It's full to the gills with water, there's a toy sailboat bobbing past at chest height, and storm clouds huddling nervously on the ceiling. Adam’s hair plasters instantly to his scalp.

“Ronan?” he calls, sloshing through the curiously luminous water. It starts raining harder. A familiar, curly-headed child stares at him through the darkness, eyes sharpened into silver points in the moonlight. “Ronan?” he asks again, gently this time.

A muffled sentence, a sad, crumpled expression, and then Adam is staring at a closed door.

“What—let me in! Ronan!” He pounds at the door. “Come on!” He can still feel rainwater, unnaturally warm on his neck.

A voice in his head, not Ronan, whispers, turn back.

“No,” he snaps, knocking harder. “Just let me—“ A sudden gust of wind in his sails, and he’s ejected from the dream altogether.

He pinwheels for a horrifying, weightless moment, struggling to tune back in to the feeble light from his stubby candle, and then dragging himself, hand over fist, back to his dorm room.

“Fuck, Lynch,” he says, when he has a voice. “Don’t be stupid.” He recrosses his legs, shaking off the pointless, clinging feeling of rejection.

When he tries to reach out again, searching, searching, Ronan’s expecting him. He never makes it past the threshold.

Back in his body, he knocks his candle over, relishing the controlled destruction, the spill of wax, the sizzle of the squashed wick. A fire he can actually put out.

______

The next time Adam scrys, Ronan looks like himself. Maybe a little scruffier, with what looks like a tunnel piercing on his right ear, and a rare openness to his posture. He’s lounging in a pasture up against a sleeping cow, boots up.

As Adam watches, he tips his shaved head back into its mottled hide, and the sun makes his eyelashes into lit matchsticks. He loves him very much. He’d almost forgotten.

“Don’t lock me out,” he says quickly. Ronan opens his eyes, and when he sees him he smiles instinctively.

“Adam,” he says, vaguely. And then he locks him out.

“No,” he cries. “Would you listen to me.” He feels for the fissure in space and time, the pocket where Ronan is dreaming, sweetly and inaccessibly, about the only home Adam has ever known.

Nothing gives. Nobody replies. He crawls back to Harvard, weak with misery.

In the next dream, Ronan is older, driving a boxy jeep over a foreign landscape. Rolling Irish hills, skies humming with artificial energy. A woman who can only be Jordan Hennessy, chattering in the passenger seat.

Then it’s Ronan with his head in his dead mother’s lap, stroking the downy wing of a black swan.

Then Ronan and Hennessy again, opposite one another in a sunny gallery. One of them examining an impressionist portrait no bigger than a postcard, the other examining the exit.

Then Ronan, discovering Matthew’s corpse in a dim hallway, blinking furiously at the stranger crouched over his prone body. “What did you do?” He sounds like a kid reprimanding his sibling for getting them both in trouble.

Every time Adam gets close, some defence mechanism stops him, like a firm hand against his chest, pushing him away again and again.

He doesn't know what to do except keep trying.

______

Blankly, he looks down at a sink full of tinfoil and uneasy water. In pieces, he becomes aware of his surroundings—green stalls and laminate countertops, a row of hundred-watt lightbulbs, and somebody rattling the locked doorknob.

“Adam, are you in there?” Fletcher. “We’re going to be late. It’s nearly ten. Adam?”

“Just a minute, sorry,” Adam slurs. He stares closely at his face in the mirror until he recognizes his own features. He has an exam at 10:30. He glances down at his watch. 9:52. He had been so sure that he could just drift for a few minutes, maybe catch Ronan before he woke up. That was almost an hour ago.

He drains the sink, hands shaking, cuffs getting damp. The lightbulb filaments float behind his eyelids when he blinks. He throws his satchel over his shoulder, smooths his hair up and out of his eyes, and rubs the bags under his eyes until they hurt.

When he lets himself out of the bathroom, Fletcher is directly outside, tapping a nervous rhythm on his hips. His hands fly from his body and into the air at the sight of him.

“Adam! Thank god. I’ll cancel the search party.”

“I got lost in my notes,” Adam says, as they both make for the stairs.

“Of course you did,” Fletcher says warmly. “A supremely Adam move. I just hope you’re taking care of yourself. Gillian thinks you might be—well—not spiralling, but—“

“I’m handling it.” He takes several mental paces backwards. “Uh—poorly, clearly. I’m sorry Fletcher, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Fletcher, to his credit, recovers quickly. “I can’t imagine going through my first semester of college and a break-up at the same time. You’re a stronger man than I.”

Adam rather doubts that Fletcher can imagine going through a break-up at all, but he nods conspiratorially. They hop down the last few steps and out into the chilly sunshine together.

“You’d be amazed what one can do out of necessity.”

“Too true. We all have our hidden depths, don’t we,” Fletcher says thoughtfully. For a moment, Adam considers telling him—something, looping him into this tangled web with him, but then he says, “now, chapter twenty-three wasn’t on the outline, was it? I beg you to say no. Lie, if you must.”

And Adam is a student again. He doesn’t have out of body episodes. He doesn’t carry wads of tinfoil in his trouser pockets. He doesn’t keep deadly secrets from people whom he is mostly pretending to like and understand.

They walk onwards, towards a test which Adam will rouse himself for long enough to ace. Then he will think of the next thing, and the next. Appease these school acquaintances of his. Tinker with finicky car engines. Make flash cards. Drift into the beyond using one of Fletcher’s three-wick candles from pottery barn. Text Declan, who activates Ronan’s accountability in a way that Adam does not. Call Gansey, if he can bring himself to face his disappointment.

And clear away his feelings, which keep pouring out of him like so much honey.

______

Ronan hangs up on him, and Adam holds himself in the biting wind outside the library for a very long time.

He’d thought, if he could only speak to him, that he could begin to undo Bryde’s poisonous influence. They know each other. They’ve known each other. Ronan would listen to Adam’s fears as he always does. Adam would appeal to Ronan’s heart, which tends to ache for helpless things. They would see how lost they had become without each other. Adam would be allowed back into Ronan’s dreams, and Ronan would be allowed back into Adam’s future.

Why didn’t you text back?

As if they’ve been suspended in time since Ronan’s last tamquam, and none of it—the running away, warding his dreams against Adam, abandoning his phone, trusting a complete stranger over his friends and family—had ever happened.

It’s absurd. He should have expected it. Ronan was searching for a reason to stay, and when he looked for his reflection, his second self, Adam wasn’t there. For a single moment, he wasn’t there, and now he’s paying for it.

Impatient, wrathful Ronan. Leaping from the moving vehicle because Adam was going the speed limit. Going rogue, and then calling Adam with all of these stinging accusations, like he was the one who’d been abandoned.

He thinks again of Bryde manipulating Ronan, preying on his loneliness, his love for his brothers, his fear of himself. This big bad rumour, older and crueler than the Lace itself.

And Ronan letting himself be manipulated, putting on blinders, using Adam’s brief silence as an endorsement for a glorified joyride with unthinkable global ramifications. Self-destructing because things got a little too quiet.

Adam feels hot rage taking ahold of him with its sticky fingers.

Then he thinks of Ronan saying I need to see you, his thin, frightened voice finding Adam from somewhere out there in the city, and his anger goes clammy.

There’s no way Ronan will call again. Negotiations were off as soon as Adam refused to house them both from the Moderators.

And now, without Hennessy, Ronan is the last arrow in Bryde’s quiver. He’s going to be the explosive that brings everything down. He’s going to be buried at ground zero.

If I'd replied an hour sooner, would he really have waited? If I’d gone to school closer, would I have noticed him disintegrating? If I explained that my dream isn’t what I thought it would be either, that he’s the only thing that feels real, would he have said it back to me?

After everything that’s happened, am I going to be the one who gives up on Ronan Lynch?

Everything is so fucked.

He calls Declan.

He picks up on the first ring. “Parrish—”

“He hung up on me,” they both say at the same time.

“Mother of God,” Declan moans. “Then there’s no hope. He thinks I sold him out to the Mods.”

“Did you?”

“No. I did exactly as we discussed. I negotiated for his safety. I thought—I mean, you said it yourself, Adam. Being anti-apocalypse is a pretty solid platform.”

He shakes his head. “Ronan won’t see it that way. He’s not like us. He doesn’t want to be moderated even a little bit.”

“Believe me, I know that. The way he was talking—about the world screwing them over, all of them, dreamers. That’s not the way my brother thinks. That’s all Bryde. And now he’s taken him—Christ—Christ knows where.”

“He wanted to see me,” Adam feels compelled to say. “He was trying to come here.”

“He said that? That's good,” Declan says, relieved. “Where—“

“I let him get away,” Adam says, through numb lips. “I let him go.”

______

He texts Gansey, things have gone south, and then he turns his phone on silent.

His puts his fingertips to the floorboards, a knobbly hand on either side of a scrying tableau: the leaping flame of a candle, a well-organized pile of cards, his overturned phone and discarded tie. He’s just finished crying, and he feels volatile and ill-prepared even as he ties himself to the flickering light.

His mind races through the night like a skipped stone. Vaguely, he pictures a vast body of water and a glittering mountain range, with no horizon line in-between. Darkness reflected in darkness.

“Ronan,” he calls. The dreamspace whirs and grinds its gears and won’t reply. “You know this is wrong. You know, or you wouldn't be hiding from me.”

It’s all water out here in this sublime mirror-space, but it’s also warm, like the steam rising from a hot spring. Something is moving, changing things on a chemical level.

For a moment he thinks he sees himself, a wan doppelgänger with its hands raised. But it’s not Adam. It’s Bryde. Cool, sturdy, a pale Atlas holding the dream together on his back. He recognizes him instinctively.

Adam deliberately throws his mind closer, into the terrible heart of this fire Ronan is creating. Smoke whispers and catches all around him, and it’s even harder to tell the difference between things now. No horizon, no seam, no reality, no death.

What have you done? What are you doing?

The heat is quickly becoming unbearable. Adam is stretched too thin, and the fire is fraying him, eating through each fibre of his connection to reality.

Ronan, please, I need you to stop. I’m losing my grip. Listen to me.

And then, without any warning at all, he collapses on his dorm room floor.

He hacks and retches, lungs full of phantom smoke. Everything feels very wrong. He thinks for a second that he’s blind, but it’s not his vision, it’s another, less tangible sense, it’s—

He scrambles backwards on his hands, heaving. He tries to pull himself up onto his bed, head first, then chest, but he has to stop with his face buried in the comforter.

Ronan is—he must be—he’s—

“God, no, oh my god, no, no.”

He needs to throw up. He needs to call somebody. There’s complete silence in his head.

He was slingshotted back to Cambridge, swatted back along the zipline to his body, because there was nowhere else for him to go.

He’s sure, in a very non-magical, intuitive way, that every dream in the world has just collectively collapsed. Adam staggers to his feet. There’s a smoke alarm going off, somewhere. A background hum of electricity groaning as it shuts off. A high, scared voice.

As if in a trance, he goes to the window.

There are five dead lightbulbs in the nearest row of street lamps, what looks like a sleeping child out in the middle of the square, and a woman clutching her chest and sitting slowly on a bench.

Panic is deadening his senses, crawling blackly into his mouth and nose and eyes. He thinks of Matthew sitting weakly by the window. Opal slumped over a stump in the woods. Chainsaw falling from the sky like a stone. Gansey’s Cabeswater heart decaying in his chest. Ronan, either dissolving into nightwash or felled by a Moderator’s bullet, dead, lost, or powerless.

Every morsel of magic, every innovation, every cherished friend, every sacred place, turned off like a faucet.

The world outside, drooping and disconnected, is now exactly as ordinary as Adam has been pretending it is.

The ley line is gone.

#mister impossible #the dreamer trilogy #mi spoilers #tdt #adam parrish #trc #trc fanfic #pynch #mine #my tfc besties...... soon #in the meantime. here's some adam pov please clap

62 notes · View notes