#i was gonna clean it up and then i lost steam | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mangoshorthand · 1 year

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Prompt from @missjiru that I picked up from this post. She is an incredibly talented artist and I can personally attest that her lewds are 🔥🥵🤤(check her profile for the tiniest hint of the possibilities!). Luckily for all of us thirsty people, she accepts commissions.

The whole crew is out for karaoke for whatever reason (wedding, everyone's collective birthday or something) and fem!reader sings this track and Five is mesmerized. They eventually go back home/to the academy. Maybe they are chilling in the bar area. Five asks if she'll sing it again just for him. Burlesque-y, strip tease-y, sexy shenanigans ensue?

The Birthday Boy | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3.8k words, Rated E

October 1st: the communal birthday.

Until recent years, bad memories of being ‘the birthday kids’ meant that Five’s siblings liked to celebrate their birthday apart. Since regaining a new sense of themselves as a family, however, October 1st became a family gathering more strictly observed than Christmas or Thanksgiving.

The routine was a loose one: the afternoon was spent with the entire family at Griddy’s Doughnuts, laughing and, on Five’s part, complaining about how it wasn’t what it used to be. Every year he had the same complaint, and every year he was told not to be a miserable old bastard. After that it was dinner, drinks and a night of karaoke on the town.

You’d woken Five that morning with a steaming pot of coffee, a lingering kiss and birthday gifts. He’d recently expressed an interest in learning the guitar, so you’d got him lessons, but you privately didn’t hold out much hope for these: you’d seen him try to learn the basics of violin with Viktor once, and he’d lost patience as soon as it became clear he wasn’t going to be an immediate prodigy. You thought the cufflinks and tie pin you got him, however, might have a longer lasting benefit. These, he sported proudly in the bar.

It was lucky the lights were low, Five thought, because Diego was a total mess. He held a beer loosely in one hand and swayed expressively along with the music. It was refreshing to one of the most sober in the group.

“-And love dares you to change our way of Caring about ourselves,”

Beside Diego on the stage, taking the part of David Bowie, Five side-eyed him as they sang in unison. He had to admit, despite being this drunk, Diego was really going for it with his Freddie Mercury.

“This is our last dance, This is our last dance,”

Five smirked as Diego stumbled, belched and hit a bum note.

“This is our- Jesus, Diego!”

Five shook the deluge of spilled beer off his now-soaked jacket

“Under pressure!” Diego continued, unperturbed, now holding the beer bottle upright again and raising his arm above his head.

“You’re paying for my dry cleaning,” Five said, swiping at his waistcoat before rejoining Diego to sing the last two lines.

“Under pressure, Pressure.”

Five was conscientious in karaoke, as in most things: leaving a song unfinished was bad form in his opinion.

“Idiot,” he grumbled, as the song came to its end.

“It’s my birthday,” slurred Diego, “don’t be an asshat.”

“Don’t remember wishing for a beer-shower when I blew out my candles.” Five grumbled.

He slotted the mic back into its stand, shaking his head and left Diego to his own devices. He stepped off the stage and craned his neck over the other patrons to where he’d left you at the bar.

“She’s gone to powder her nose,” said Lila, appearing unexpectedly at Five’s side.

“Right.”

“You look like you’ve pissed yourself,” she said, matter-of-factly.

Five rolled his eyes. Behind him, he sensed Diego’s unsteady gait approaching.

“I’m gonna go clean up. Try to make sure he doesn't end up in a ditch.”

Lila gave a mock salute and Five edged around her, moving in the direction of the men’s room.

He fixed the spill as best as he could. First dabbing it with folded toilet paper, and then drying the wet patch beneath the hand-drier, earning him stares and the odd smirk from other bathroom users.

When he at last pushed open the heavy bathroom door, he was greeted by the sound of slightly-distorted piano, drums and electric guitar over the speakers: a tune he vaguely recognized.

Just as he was about to turn his steps towards the bar, the voice of the singer caught his attention.

“-And they could never tear us apart.”

He smiled, recognising you before his eyes could turn to see you on the stage. When his eyes caught up with his comprehension, they were well rewarded for the effort: he was enthralled immediately.

You swayed gently from the shoulders, in circular movements back and forth. Effortlessly alluring in that wrap dress he loved on you: the way it skimmed your curves, swelled and dipped in all the right places like a lush range of hills and valleys. It showed just enough smooth skin to make him crazy, and hid just enough to make him anxious to see more.

He was staring, he knew, but the way your lips moved only an inch before the mic was already giving him ideas.

You caught his eye, and a glowing smile lit up your face. To be the object of that look was the best gift you’d given him that day.

In turn, you studied him as you inhaled to sing the next line. There he was, his back and one foot against the wall, leg bent. His arms were folded and his brows raised in interest.

“You, you were standing,”

You maintained eye contact deliberately as you sang it, giving him a cheeky wink for good measure. It let him know that, from your perspective, ‘you’ wasn’t some lyrical archetype, but him.

His expression flickered: one corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyebrows quirked, but it was his eyes that made the greatest impression. They fixed you with a brooding, assessing gaze.

You knew perfectly well what was on his mind. You knew that look: it was the one that removed your every inhibition and left you happy for him to do as he pleased with you. With that look, you knew something of what would be in store for you when he got you home.

“I was there, Two worlds collided”

Klaus appeared at Five’s shoulder.

“Heavens, you should be using protection rather than eye-fucking her raw.”

“And they could never-” Ever, ever, tear us apart.”

He and Klaus clapped as the music finished, Klaus watching Five with amusement, Five still watching you.

“I’ve got a viagra guy if you need some little blue pills, grandpa?”

Heading over to rejoin you as you stepped down from the stage, Five flashed Klaus his most dangerous smile.

“I’ll be quite alright, thank you.”

As you made your way through the crowd, he came upon you suddenly, stepping out from behind a rowdy group of women.

“Hello,” he said, simply, his hand coming immediately to your lower back- a reassuring and slightly proprietary presence.

Smut below cut

*** You snuck out early, arriving back at the Academy before everyone else. Five dragged you into the living room for one final drink before turning in. His soaked jacket and waistcoat were thrown on the couch behind him, and he sat on one of the barstools in his shirt and tie. He watched you as you moved busily behind the bar and winced as he took a sip of his newly poured drink.

“Oof. You don’t skip on tequila, do you?”

“Nope,” you said, placing a cocktail umbrella in his drink with a flourish.

He let out a breath or two of laughter.

“Thank you, dearest.”

He was eyeing you with the same look he’d given you back in the bar. You tried to meet his gaze, but the knowing smirk that appeared there made you flush and look away.

“You have a good voice,” he said, while you studied the polished surface of the bar, “I was sorry to only hear the end of that song.”

“Thanks,” you said, a little embarrassed, stirring the straw around your own cocktail.

He considered you for a moment, head tilted.

“Would you please sing it for me?”

“What?”

“I want you to sing it again.”

He jerked his head, indicating the space on the rug in front of the bar- an informal stage for his viewing pleasure.

“Five-” you said, trying to dissuade him, but he interrupted you with an imperious look.

“Hey- it’s my birthday, remember.”

And then he grinned. It was a maddening expression. He looked, honest to god, as if he’d just beaten you with an infallible argument. Which, of course, he had.

Slowly, you stepped out from behind the bar and set yourself in the space he’d indicated. He pivoted on the stool, so that he was sitting facing you. Drink in his left hand, he leaned casually backwards against the bar. He looked effortlessly sophisticated; confident; self-assured.

“There’s no music,” you said, hoping for an excuse to wriggle out of it.

You should have known. He just smirked and produced a remote control from his pants pocket. He pressed play and the sound of the mellow piano issued from unseen speakers.

“I set it up while you were in the bathroom.”

You shook your head and huffed, half exasperated, half gratified. He inclined his head at you expectantly, as if to say: ‘Well, go on then.’

With no more than a quick roll of your eyes at this, you let the music take you away from the slight self consciousness around performing this way for an audience of one. Despite the feeling of exposure, your hips loosened, the flow of the music taking them into a soft sway.

After all, you’d been ‘exposed’ in front of Five many times before, and in various different ways. Why should this be any different?

He watched, satisfied: the way your legs went on forever in those heeled shoes, the way the snug fabric around your hip stretched and undulated with the tidal movement of your pelvis. They’d look good moving that way on his lap, he thought, with the skirt hitched up nice and high, of course.

“Don’t ask me, What you know is true,”

Even with your eyes closed, your voice wavered with nerves. You could feel his eyes on you like a breath of wind, raising the hairs on your exposed skin.

“Don’t have to tell you, I love your precious heart,”

“Strip,” came his voice.

You stopped singing, wrongfooted.

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” his voice held a quiet command, “it is my birthday, after all.”

He gave you another imperious raise of his eyebrows, slurping his margarita through his straw. He looked as if you were a mildly-entertaining TV show that he was reserving full judgement on.

You shook your head, laughing disbelievingly at his cheek.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want to.” he said, silkily, “I know the idea turns you on.”

“Anyone could walk in!” you said, unable to hide your delight at the idea.

“Exactly,” Five said, voice low, “and you like that, don’t you?”

A smile spread slowly across your face. You did like that. He could read you like a book, and this knowledge combined with the situation itself made your pussy give a little twinge. You could feel yourself becoming wet already.

You stepped backwards onto the rug, to give him a better view. His little demand made you miss the whole first chorus, and now the drums were beating stirringly towards the second verse. You made the most of this, looking him in the eye as you rolled your hips more suggestively this time, letting their flow bleed into your waist and torso. You raised your arms above your head slowly, arching your back so that your breasts were thrust into greater prominence.

You grinned as his eyes flicked there, just as you intended. So easy to direct.

Time to up the ante.

“We could live, For a thousand years,”

Your hands skimmed your body on the way down, cupping and rubbing across your breasts and coming to rest on your hips. Five’s lips pursed as he watched, readjusting his seated posture to spread his legs fractionally wider.

“But if I hurt you,”

Your hands came to the tie at your waist.

“I’d make wine from your tears.”

Slowly, you began to loosen the knot, Five watching hungrily. Seemingly without his knowledge, the hand not holding his drink left the bar and came to rest on his thigh.

“The shoes stay on,” he murmured.

“I told you, That we could fly” The dress undone, you held it around yourself, loose enough to give him a better view of your cleavage, but tight enough to tease. “Cause we all have wings,”

A twitch of the skirt’s hem to reveal your upper thigh. Five put his drink down.

“But some of us don't know why.”

You began to sing the chorus, but your voice petered out. Five’s longest finger was in motion, stroking softly up and down his inner thigh. In another situation, it might have been an innocent fidget, but not in this one.

While you hadn’t expected this, exactly, you had anticipated Five wanting to see you in your underwear before his birthday was out, so you’d chosen lingerie: black lace bra and panties and, for good measure, stockings with a suspender belt.

You dropped the dress.

“Mm,” he said, softly.

You gyrated to the music, closing in on him and running your hands down his chest. His hands reached out for your hips, but you moved them away.

“Wait. Don’t touch yet.”

He nodded, both hands moving to his knees. You bent from the waist, fingers continuing their journey: skimming past his waist, stomach and down both his thighs. He ogled your breasts, this angle making them seem extra full, cupped perfectly by the bra. He had to control an almost-overwhelming impulse to rub his thumbs over your nipples, poking prominently behind the delicate lace.

You heard his controlled, huffed out exhale and smirked.

When you straightened back up, his eyes were back on yours.

“Can I touch myself?”

His voice was low, gravelly.

“Only because it’s your birthday,” you said, grinning and stirring your hips with honey-smoothness.

His hand immediately cupped himself through his pants, his thumb stroking lazily up and down his shaft. So far, the fabric had hidden the significant bulge between his legs, but as his palm flattened it around him, you could see it, the manhood swollen and heavy in his hand.

You revolved on the ball of one foot, still moving your hips in that syrupy way. You sat softly on his lap, grinding your ass into him where he was hard.

“Oh shit, that’s just not fair,” he groaned, both arms returning to the bar, “how am I supposed to not touch you now?”

You chucked as you rubbed yourself sinfully against him, glorying in his tight breaths; his gentle shifting beneath you as he tried to increase the friction. With the song having ended a minute or so ago, the only sound was his sighs and the slight creak of the barstool.

When you noticed his knuckles turning white, gripping the ledge of the bar, you thought he’d had enough.

“You can touch me now,” you said.

His hands immediately came to your hips and firmly slid you off his lap.

“Get on your knees,” he growled, with a glimpse of teeth visible beneath the curve of his upper lip, “blow me.”

You moved to obey, but not fast enough, he used his grip on your hips to urge you faster, turning you towards him before grabbing your shoulders and push-pulling you down towards his crotch.

Your knees hit the plush pile of the rug and you looked up at him as he feverishly unfastened his belt, parted his flies and pulled his cock unceremoniously from his underwear. It was thick, stiff and a deep, fierce red at the tip.

“I’m in charge now, okay?” he said, barely moving his lips.

“Yes sir.” you replied, the epithet half in jest and half not.

At this confirmation, his right hand laced itself in your hair immediately, reinforcing the message. In his left hand, he held his cock by the base and, angling your face towards it, he let it drop so that it lay obscenely across your face. The soft impact of his weight brought a sting of pleasure to your core, radiating outwards from your pussy. You could feel your own wetness collecting against the lace of the panties.

“Put out your tongue.”

His voice was still deeper than usual. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he sounded angry.

You did as you were told. Taking himself back in hand, he slapped himself into your tongue, wetting his tip liberally with saliva and enjoying the view.

He let out a growling breath as he directed himself slowly into your waiting mouth, sliding across a slick tongue until your nose met his neat curls. This was the best part, he thought, the first time he was wholly inside you. The feeling was something like sinking into a perfectly warm bath, cock first.

“That’s it,” he whispered, still in that gruff tone, “that’s it angel. Go nice and slow.”

His grip loosened on your hair, signaling for you to take over.

He was hard and hot in your mouth, his skin silky against your lips.

You looked up at him, watching as expressions passed across his handsome face, changing and morphing from one to the other as the sensations took over him: smug satisfaction became ecstasy and ecstasy became mild amusement as the movements of your mouth kept him on his toes with unexpected spikes of pleasure. As you drew your head back, your lipstick stained his skin, leaving a colored smear all the way up his shaft.

He looked down at this, mouth agape; wide-pupiled eyes shaded by his thick, dark lashes. Amusement was gone now, replaced by nothing short of incredulity.

“My God,” he whispered.

Your lips formed a seal around his head, to hold him in your mouth as you licked eagerly at his tip: something that always made him weak at the knees. Tonight was no exception: his grip on your hair tightened again and he made an abrupt, pained noise, as if he’d just been struck by an enemy rather than pleasured by his lover.

As his neck arched and he looked straight at the ceiling, he rocked forwards on the barstool, getting his cock as deep as you could take it.

“Ah shiiit,” he called out, the words almost an inarticulate sound.

Encouraged by this, you tried to swirl your tongue again, but his shaft pinned your tongue down. Instead, you bobbed your head, swallowing his cock again and again, letting your lips stroke him as they dragged and plumped with his passage between them.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, as he tried to stop himself thrusting against the barrier of your throat, “just incredible, baby. I’m so…I’m nearly there.”

One of your hands came to his, still rooted in your hair, and gripped it. You guided his hand to push and pull at your head, inviting him to control its movement and take his own pleasure.

He made a low grinding sound in his throat as took you up on your unspoken offer. He held your head more firmly in his hands and stroked himself with your face, slowly pushing you down and bottoming out in you and then, just as slowly withdrawing with hissing breaths. Every time, with intense self-control you could sense in the set of his grip, he stopped just short of your throat.

As he continued to use your face this way, you could feel his fingers tightening and loosening spasmodically. Hiis movements were becoming more erratic, his breathing ever more shrill and gasp-like.

Amd then he moaned, tensed, and froze.

He turned his face back to you and drew your gaze to his. He began to tremble. His eyes were hazy, strung out.

“You want to swallow it?”

By way of answer, you sucked his cock again, resuming at the same tempo he’d been at before he stopped.

“Oh fuck!” he barked.

Again, his pelvis was thrusting messily into you, incapable of the finesse needed to avoid occasionally butting up against your throat. Your eyes watered, your larynx constricted, but you held out, (it was his birthday, after all).

Your tolerance wasn’t tested long. With a shout, his pleasure burst its bounds inside your mouth, painting your tongue with the evidence of his orgasm: thick, salty and potent. He held your head to his crotch as if letting go might mean death. His shrill breath hitched as his cock throbbed with pump after desperate pump deep into your throat-

The sound of the door and rowdy voices.

Five, preoccupied as he was, didn’t immediately register this, so you thumped your fist on the outside of this thigh. This brought him back to the here and now and, instinctively, he blinked, dragging you with him by the hold he had on your head.

You emerged, dizzily, behind the bar, shielded from the eyes of his siblings, newly arrived home. Still coming, Five let your head go.

“Shit, your dress,” he muttered, distractedly, leaning against the polished wood and wriggling tensely.

His hands went urgently to his waistband to cover his dick, still shooting out thick but waning splashes of come, but he found your head still resolutely in the way.

“What are you-? Oh shit,” he whispered.

Unbelievably, you were still sucking him off, still swallowing his seed even as his siblings were saying their goodnights in the atrium. He closed his eyes and shuddered, keeping his moans in with difficulty as you diligently ensured that every last moment of his orgasm was earth-shattering, even at the risk of being caught this way.

“God, you’re such a freak,” he whispered, as your tongue swiped at the final drops of come beading at the end of his dick.

“Thanks for noticing,” you said, giving him one of his own, self-satisfied little smirks, “Happy birthday.”

You kissed his tip one final time.

Five shook his head, unable to believe his luck, but he couldn’t bask in the afterglow.

Hurriedly, he made himself decent and blinked back around the bar, leaving you to crouch behind it alone.

“Hey Five. You’re still up?”

Luther’s voice. His footsteps were approaching the living room.

“Just off to bed actually,” you heard Five reply, slightly out of breath. At that moment, your dress landed just in front of you, flung over the top of the bar by Five. You reached for it and scrambled to put it on.

“Oh okay,” came Luther’s voice again, slightly disappointed and closer now, “I was gonna have one more drink if you-”

“Um, no!” said Five, stepping between Luther and the bar. I got some margarita left. Let me pour you one.”

“Huh,” Luther sounded pleasantly surprised at this obligingness, “thanks Five.”

Fully dressed now, you straightened up, smoothing your tangled hair and holding a bar towel.

“Oh, hey,” Luther said, sounding even more surprised now, “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s because I’ve been on my knees for so long.” you said.

This made Five’s head whip around to stare at you. If looks could kill…

“I’ve been cleaning up,” you said, looking directly at Five now and smiling sweetly, “I spilled some tequila.”

“Oh, right,” Luther said, unconcerned and totally unsuspicious.

Five’s lips pursed. Clearly, he intended to deal with you when you got upstairs to bed.

…And you’d make sure you held him to that.

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hatsunemitskislobotomy · 3 months

Text

“ 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨,

𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

┊❛ 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙪𝙥 𝙤𝙛

𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 ❜┊

“ 𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘦𝘥 ”

❀° ┄───╮

its my little meow meow’s birthday 🥹

no hate but like lowkey if gege put me jjk kenny would’ve had to box it out with me before getting his grimy brain fluids on my pookie bear

matter of fact throw gege in the ring too— he still hasn’t payed for his crimes either

╰───┄ °❀

he felt filthy.

the taste wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard he tried.

“curses taste like a rag that was used to clean up shit and vomit.”

mission after mission.

day after day.

was this really how he was supposed to go on? being a sorcerer was a thankless occupation that was at the cost of his sanity.

his morals could only do so much to keep him from coming undone, a fraying thread— slowly unraveling to reveal something sinister.

and the taste— god he couldn’t get rid of the taste even if he wanted to.

satoru had asked him if he lost weight not too long ago, to no one’s surprise— swallowing curses does ruin one’s appetite.

sometimes he felt like he’d skip meals after a mission for weeks at a time, his companion practically begging him to eat.

he couldn’t say that this week would be any different. he just wanted to be home and away from it all, in the arms of his beloved no doubt.

————————————

with a click of the lock, he pushed open the door, dragging his feet.

immediately he was hit with everything and nothing. his senses went blank save for his hearing and sight, he was taken aback and then he remembered.

“hey sugu…” a pretty little head peeked around the corner

“is this your doing…?”

she smiled sheepishly before fully emerging from behind the corner, a steaming mug in hand.

“i’ve been working on it.”

her cursed technique, she was always humble about it. it wasn’t as flashy as his own or satoru’s, she’d argue that it wasn’t nearly as useful like shoko’s.

but at this moment, he couldn’t disagree more.

“i’m going to bring back your smell, yeah?” she murmured softly, passing the mug to him

and slowly his smell did come back, revealing the steaming mug to be the dark roast coffee— perhaps the one satoru brought back for him on a mission abroad a few months back.

the smell was overwhelming considering it was the only thing his brain could process, but not in a bad way. almost as if it was ridding him of the foulness that plagued him a mere few minutes before.

“y/n i—“

“you must be exhausted.” she cut him off with an apologetic smile

“i uh.. started a bath for you, some bath salts are in there to help— should be enough time for you to relax and then i’ll bring your taste back so you can drink your coffee.” she fidgeted, a habit she’d do when she rambled

his tired eyes couldn’t help but soften.

“you didn’t have to.”

“i see how missions take a toll on you suguru…”

“it’s my duty—“

“but at what cost?”

his eyes snapped down to hers. all this time he thought his inner turmoil, his resentment and bitterness that was festering— he thought he kept it well away behind his morality and sense of duty… and she just saw through it so casually.

she could see him.

his throat went dry as he tried to speak, she just offered him a smile.

“it’s the least i can do— now stop second guessing whether you deserve it, the water’s gonna get cold.” she mused before taking the mug back and disappearing further into the small apartment

and as much as he’d like to stand there and process, that bath sounded really nice.

————————————

he stayed in that bath until the water became lukewarm, she really had a knack for aromatherapy. the bath salts left a eucalyptus scent wafting through the bathroom as the water relaxed his aching muscles and the unrest in his mind.

he had dressed into something comfortable before emerging from the bathroom, pajama pants and a plain long sleeve, his hair out of its neat bun instead the raven tresses still dripping a little bit of water down his back from his lazy towel drying.

the rest of the apartment smelled warm and cozy, it usually smelled like this anyways but with his sense of smell heightened he could appreciate it more.

he made his way to the living room where she sat couch, waiting for him with another steaming mug of coffee.

“come, sit down here.” she tapped the spot with her foot

he took the invitation in stride, nestling on the floor with his back against the couch as he sat in between her legs.

she handed him the cup of coffee before trailing her fingers through his hair, gently working out the knots. he took a sip of the coffee, his senses finally allowing him to taste the bitterness of the drink.

he could stay like this forever.

“do you want to talk about your day?” she hummed

“there’s nothing significant about today, just another mission.” he murmured against the rim of the cup, staring into his drink that reflected his eyes

“you can’t say nothing significant happened today!”

he tilted his head up only to be met with a frown.

“what do you mean…? it was just another mission day…”

“can’t believe gojo was right about this.” her frowned deepened

“am i missing something…?”

“your birthday silly!”

he blinked a few times.

his birthday?

he checked the date on his phone, his lips forming a little ‘o’ at the calendar staring back at him.

so it was that time of year again?

“gojo said that you have the tendency to forget but i didn’t think he was serious.” she pouted

“now why are you upset?” he reached up from his position, resting a hand on her cheek

“because it’s your birthday— stupid higher ups made you go on a mission on your birthday!”

well when it was put like that…

“gojo and shoko wanted to throw you a surprise party after your mission but i remembered how overwhelmed you get sometimes especially after dealing with curses… figured a party was the last thing you wanted to come home to.” he couldn’t help but smile at the little detail she picked up

“they still plan to come by later with takeout and cake… but i suggested that you had some time to decompress and recuperate first and they were on board.”

“i don’t deserve you.” he blurted out

“well that’s too bad, i think i’m quite comfortable where i’m at.” she chuckled lightly, tapping the side of his face affectionately

“you’re always taking care of people, who’s gonna take care of you?” she let out a sigh, her gaze shifting downward in a pensive state

“y/n..”

“let me do this for you okay? then you can push me away and be your broody self—”

she felt the words die in her throat as she felt his grip on her arm.

“can i be greedy for a moment?”

“it’s not greedy if it’s for your sake.” she frowned a bit

he took that as a sign when he got up, with his knees to the ground he still managed to hover over her sitting figure on the couch. his rough hands cradling her face like precious treasure.

despite her eyes widening in surprise, there was no hint that she wanted him to back off.

“can i be greedy?” he repeated hoarsely, his breathing stilled after realizing their proximity

“with me, you can be as greedy as you want.” she whispered

and he was more than happy to oblige, feeling and tasting her warmth as he pulled her in, capturing her lips with his in a slow, sweet kiss.

all he could taste was her sweetness that complimented the coffee taste that still lingered on his own lips. a comforting contrast to the nauseating and despicable taste of his reality, a piece of his own little heaven, his sanctuary.

and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“happy birthday suguru.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk geto #geto suguru #jjk drabbles #happy birthday suguru #happy birthday suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #suguru angst #suguru fluff #gege when i catch you gege #like ill box it out with you too #put me in a rink with gege and kenny like I’d win fr

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writemekpop · 1 year

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Perfect 10 | Na Jaemin

Summary: Jaemin is perfect... he cooks, he cleans, and he's the best sex you've ever had. So why can't you stop thinking about Renjun?

Genre: Husband!Jaemin, angst, suggestive

Word Count: 1k

Your boyfriend Jaemin’s hand grazed your thigh. His plump lips glinted in the candlelight as he leaned in to kiss you.

You gazed at his tousled chestnut hair, and his plump pink lips.

You blinked, and suddenly, his face morphed into your coworker Renjun’s.

You pushed him away so hard his wine spilled onto the sofa. “We are never doing that again!” You hissed at Renjun.

Then you blinked again, and it was just Jaemin. That was crazy.

Jaemin frowned, one hand pulling through his hair. “What you saying, honey? Did I… do something wrong?”

You sighed, pressing your palm to your forehead as if you had a fever. “No babe, I just… don’t feel well. I might pack in early today.”

Without giving Jaemin a chance to answer, you bolted up the stairs. As soon as you reached your bedroom, you allowed yourself to fully freak out.

Last night, you almost kissed the office secretary, Renjun. He was young, cheeky and unbelievably pretty for a boy.

You’d been flirting with Renjun for weeks, not because there was anything wrong with your relationship with Jaemin, but just to give you something to cheer you up. Raising a one-year-old child was just so mind-numbing.

Last night, when you saw Renjun standing at the copier, and you couldn’t resist standing behind him. You grazed one hand up his arm that was propped up on the machine and said, “Shush now, work husband.”

It was just a joke – but when he turned around, Renjun’s face was serious. His pink lips were only inches from yours. He leaned in, smiling almost, and the worst part was that in your mind, you were begging him to go further- till you were interrupted, and the moment was lost.

You had been planning not to tell Jaemin, but now, it was getting harder to keep your secret. You steeled yourself. An almost-kiss wasn’t even cheating! Everyone made mistakes, including Jaemin. You knew he wasn’t as perfect as he acted.

Just as you thought that, Jaemin came into the room. He was wearing the worn pink apron he used for chores, and he held a steaming bowl of ramen in his hands.

“My baby… you shouldn’t skip a meal, you hear me?”

Jaemin put the bowl into your hands, fluffing your pillows with endless tenderness.

When he saw you weren’t eating, he frowned. “Oh, right,” he said, then lightly blew on your ramen. “Sorry, I made it too hot.”

The bowl was stiff in your hands. You couldn’t speak.

Jaemin sighed theatrically. “Don’t be mad! I said I’m sorry! I know I never give it enough time to cool…”

Jaemin studied your face, concern washing over his handsome features.

He caressed your cheek with one thumb. “Y/n, what’s really wrong?”

That was what broke you. Tears flowed down your face, ugly ones, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. Jaemin just put the bowl down and hugged you, like he would never let go.

“I was gonna kiss him… Renjun…” you choked out.

Jaemin frowned. “That guy from work?”

You nodded, sniffing. “Nothing actually happened, though. I promise!”

“It’s fine,” Jaemin said suddenly. “You didn’t actually cheat.” Your mouth dropped. “You’re not mad?”

Jaemin sat on the bed, head in hands. “I don’t know, Y/n! What do you want me to say?” His voice was thick. “You know what? I- I need some time to think about this. To think about us.” Jaemin stormed out of the room. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling hollow.

---

It had been two weeks, and Jaemin hadn’t spoken a word to you outside of the bare minimum.

He still kept the house sparkling clean and cooked all your meals, like normal. In fact, his meals had gotten more and more extravagant as he got less and less friendly. It was like, by stuffing you with elaborate sushi every day, he was showing you that he, unlike you, was a perfect partner.

One night, when you were curled up in bed alone, Jaemin tucked himself in next you.

“Jaemin, you’re here! Do you… want me to take the couch?” you asked, stunned. These past two weeks, Jaemin had refused to sleep next to you, sleeping on the couch instead. Jaemin shook his head. “Nope. I’ve forgiven you. You see, I flirt with girls too, so I figured it’s no big deal.” You felt your stomach twist at his words, but you refused to show your pain. “That’s great,” you said.

“Oh yeah,” Jaemin continued, “I flirt with girls all the time. Why do you think I do my shirtless workouts in the backyard? It’s so our neighbour can make her comments about how ‘kissing burns six calories a minute’.”

“That’s… funny,” you say, although you feel a little sick. You make a note to never invite her over again.

“You know…” Jaemin says, propping himself up on his elbows, “Come to think of it, now that you’ve almost kissed a guy – I kind of have a free pass. Why don’t I go over to her house tomorrow, see what happens-“ “Shut up!” you yell, covering your ears, screwing your eyes tight shut. “You win, okay? The idea of you even looking at another girl is like a punch in the face.”

You look, and see that Jaemin is breathing hard, his eyes glassy. Now his cheerful act has dropped, you see the pain still fresh on his face. “I just wanted you to know… how it felt.” You stroke Jaemin’s beautiful cheek. “I’m so sorry I hurt you – and I know there’s nothing I can do to make it better. But I love you. I’d rather have you than a thousand Renjuns.” Jaemin’s eyes fell shut. He leaned into your hand. “You’re not just feeling guilty, are you? You really do love me?” You leaned in and kissed Jaemin with all the pain and passion you’d been storing up the past two weeks.

“Always.” You smiled a little. You moved over so you were straddling him, and flicked your hair over one shoulder. “Jaemin, I’ll show you just how much I love you.”

Jaemin curled a stray strand of hair around your neck. “I would love that.”

—

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crappymixtape · 1 year

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you're never far behind • part one

when your dad calls and needs your help at home in hawkins you can't say no, but when you arrive back in town you uncover a friendship you thought you'd lost a long time ago | ( 6.2k, angst, tiny fluffies, best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, steve x reader, steve x you )

Y O U ‘ R E N E V E R F A R B E H I N D 🎶 long time, wild rivers

“Was so good of you to come, hon. It’s a lot for your dad to do on his own, especially on delivery days. Can’t lie, sure is nice to see your face around again too! Need a warm up?”

“Please? Thanks, Georgie.”

“Sure thing, sweets.”

Steam lifted from the mug on the counter in front of you as Georgie filled it with more hot coffee. The diner still looked the same as it had when you’d left four years ago. Black and white checkered tiles, worn red plastic seat tops sparkling dully in the florescent lighting from above, the smell of french fries and Georgie’s perfume mingling in the air.

You’d arrived home, home in Hawkins, the night before and had only been to the diner and the post office, but people were already talking about it. Word got around fast. Your dad had been stubborn about it at first, but after he knocked over a couple of shelves in the shop he knew he was in over his head.

He owned the only bookstore in town, Turn A Page, for the last twenty years and took pride in the fact that he didn’t need any help doing it. But then he broke his leg falling off a ladder in the front yard trying to clean out the gutters and it took him a full week to call you.

“Hello?”

“Hey, scout. It’s me, doin’ okay?”

“Dad, yeah I’m good. Just finishing up a few things for a deadline. Everything okay down there?”

Silence.

Your dad was never quiet, so you knew it wasn’t good.

“Dad,” your tone was flat, firm, uninterested in bullshit and he hummed for a second longer, buying himself a bit more time, but gave in when he heard you suck in an anticipatory breath.

“It’s fine! It was just a little tumble. Cleaning out the damn gutters is a mess, but the x-rays came back showing a clean break, which is great news by the way! And I’ll only need crutches for a couple of months–”

“A clean break? X-Rays? Dad! C’mon, what the hell?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, I’m really fine down here. It’s just that, you know crutches, they’re kind of clumsy and hard to get the hang of and–and I bumped into one of the shelves at the shop and well…”

“And well?” you pushed, heart dropping from your throat after realizing it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought.

“Well, I hate to ask you. To be a burden, your old dad…”

“Dad,” you softened a bit, holding the receiver to your ear as you twisted the cord around your finger, waiting for him to just spit it out.

“Think you could come down for a month? Just to help me around the shop, get things set up for my stupid crutches? Maybe help me interview someone to putter around and do the stuff I can’t do just yet?”

“Yes. Of course I can. Dad, I really wish you’d ask someone else to come do the gutters. It’s not like you’re gonna all of a sudden need hearing aids or a walker just because you’re asking for some help.”

“Hey now, I manage just fine on my own. I raised you by myself, gutters ought to be a damn cake walk.”

You huffed a small laugh and shook your head, leaning against the wall in your kitchen, “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’re lucky I never take vacations.”

“And what a trip, huh? Come stay down here in Hawkins for a month and maybe you’ll wanna stay this time,” you could hear his smile on the other end as you let out a small groan.

“I doubt it, but I’ll hear your pitch when I get down there.”

“Perfect. It’ll be good enough you won’t even have any questions at the end.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence again, but this time it was warm. Like you were sitting next to your dad on the old brown couch in the living room back home watching Family Ties and eating microwave whatevers while you laughed so hard you cried. Maybe you did miss it a little.

“Okay, dad. I gotta go, I’ll catch the bus down after I let work know.”

“Thanks, bub. I really do appreciate it.”

“It’s okay, I want to.”

“Alright. You know I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

“You headed over to the shop? Can I send you with a coffee and cinnamon roll for the boss?” Georgie asked with a sweet smile, her long earrings dangling just below her jawline as she turned toward the pastry case.

“He doesn’t need anymore sugar, Georgie,” you chided, but your tone didn’t hold any heat as the older woman turned back around, cinnamon roll boxed up tidy in one hand and a to-go cup of black coffee in the other.

You leveled her with a look, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gave you away. “Fine. But maybe make some croissants or something with less–” you waved your hand toward the sticky-sweet-frosting-coated rolls in the case, “–well, just less.” Both of you started laughing and Georgie gave you a wink.

“Okay, sure. I’ll see what I can whip up.”

“His heart thanks you,” you sighed, shaking your head and getting up from the counter. “I’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure,” leaving some cash on the counter you shouldered open the door, bell jingling brightly above you, and stepped out onto main street.

The sun was out, warming everything in the bright early morning light. You could already feel how it wanted to heat up, wanted to make your skin feel too hot and bright. Pink and red like ripe strawberries, wanted to kiss it and dot new freckles along your nose and cheeks. The ones you’d hated when you were younger, but liked now for whatever reason and even though it was September, summer was clinging on a bit longer refusing to let go, and down town was buzzing with activity. People were bustling around getting ready for the day, shops opening and setting out their signs on the sidewalk, pulling people in to browse and seek refuge in the late afternoon heat.

After the old antiques place closed up next to Family Video your dad was quick to jump on it and lease the space, seeing the potential it had and wanting to put action to his passion for books.

He and your mom divorced when you were young, too young to understand or ask questions or get lost in the whys and the only memory you had of her was a glowing, glittering thing. Dark, tight curls and lavender, eyes warm like burnt caramel, hugs pulled close and while you don’t remember you were at least thankful that it was a happy one.

Growing up you swore that love was real, swore you’d find someone to sweep you off your feet like they did in all those Disney movies, but as time spun on you realized that maybe love was a story people told themselves as a distraction. Like looking through magazines full of pictures of places far, far away and telling yourself someday you’d visit when you knew you really wouldn’t. Your dad, despite his own history, felt differently.

He thought love was a wonderful, all-consuming thing that wrapped itself around you like hot cocoa after being out in the snow. A beautiful give and take. Terrifying honesty and openness that would set you free once you surrendered and even though he had remained single after your mom he still believed it.

“Morning, bub! Oh coffee, thank god. And a cinnamon roll? Remind me to stop by the diner on the way home, Georgie’s a sweetheart.”

“Yeah well, I told her you don’t need anymore of this,” you said, shoving the box at him from across the front counter, “Or broken bones won’t be your only worry.”

“Hey, now. Let me have this,” he grumbled back, taking a drink of his coffee, but then his expression softened as realization came over him. “Ah, I forgot to tell you. It’s game night, so we’ll close up shop and just head over to the high school after,” he said casually, opening up the register.

“Game night?” you started, worried there was some weekly canasta game he’d failed to tell you about, but he laughed and waved you off.

“Game night. Basketball. You know, round orange ball? Throw it into a hoop?”

You firmed your lips into a line and rolled your eyes. “Yes. Okay. I get it. Are we cheering on anyone specific?” you asked expectantly, tossing your bag behind the counter, taking your name tag from the drawer and pinning it on your shirt.

“No, but if we didn’t go we’d be a disgrace to the whole community,” he stated very matter-of-factly and you shook your head.

“Okay, okay. Game night. Great, can’t wait.”

“Listen, I’ll buy us popcorn and soda and do the whole thing. Just like you’re back in high school,” he bribed and you looked at him skeptically over your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be back in high school.”

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad was it? Besides, we’ll see a couple of your old friends I’m sure.”

“Friends?” you felt your stomach flip over at the sudden rush of memories that flooded your mind right there on the spot.

Red licorice, filling the van with hazy smoke, juice too sweet and mixed with bad vodka, late nights floating weightless in pools while the moon hung overhead.

“Yeah,” your dad’s face scrunched up in thought, digging for names, and when it finally hit him he jabbed a finger at you. “Eddie Munson for one! He’s around here. And that Buckley girl, she manages Family Video now and…” his eyes lifted to the ceiling, thinking, and then, “Oh! God, I need more coffee. Steve, Steve Harrington. He took the coaching job last year. Best one we’ve had in a long time.”

Steve.

Steve Harrington.

Your brain felt like it had disconnected from reality. Like it was scrambling to try and figure out what exactly your dad had just told you and the look on your face was apparently making that all too obvious.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just thought you’d like to–”

“No! No that’s great,” you cut him off, trying to give him a big smile and thankfully he took it as you turned around to face the bookshelf again, “Can’t wait to catch up.”

Everything was a mixture of cheers and boos and the clock buzzing and the slap of the ball on the court and you tried to ground yourself in it all, but it felt like you were drowning. It was so familiar, but so foreign and as you watched the kids on the other side of the court you tried to remember what it was like. Laughing with each other or sneaking booze into paper soda cups or not caring at all being attached at the face in the stands.

You might have been able to get a grip on shit, might have waded through the night just fine, but there was something else that held you tight like a vice.

Messy brown hair, moles and freckles like tiny constellations scattered across his skin, the same old dirty pair of Blazers on his feet, the curve of his mouth, the way he propped his hand on his hip.

Steve.

Your best friend.

Was your best friend.

You knew you should’ve been watching the game, should’ve been paying attention so that you could hold at least a semi-decent conversation the next morning in the shop, but you couldn’t pull your eyes away.

Coach Harrington.

Was he the same as he’d been before you’d left? Smug and cocky, but all warm and soft underneath. Shotgunning a beer one minute and holding your hand tight and close in his the next. Singing loud enough in the car his voice cracked and broke until he fell apart into laughter and looked over at you with those eyes. Burnt caramel, warm honey, flecks of gold and green and deep and–

“Hell of a game! My god, paper’ll have a heck of an article tomorrow,” your dad’s voice shook you back to reality and when you looked back up at the scoreboard the time read 00:00.

“Yeah, yeah damn. Great game,” you laughed weakly and tried to smile at your dad, eyes flicking back over to the sidelines to see Steve and the rest of the team were gone. Because of course they were. The game was over.

“Well. Don’t feel like you gotta come straight home,” your dad said, giving your arm a squeeze, “I know you probably wanna catch up with your friends.”

“Dad–” you started, brows furrowing together as you pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “I really don’t feel like we’re friends, it’s been years since–”

“Oh don’t be silly, time doesn’t matter,” he waved a hand dismissively at you and stood from the bench, a crutch under each arm, “Just go say hi already. Scaredy cat.”

“Excuse me–” you protested, offense all over your face as you got ready to dig into him, but it stalled on your lips as you heard the metal slam of a door across the gym. It was a knee jerk reaction to look up and as you did you wished you hadn’t.

Your eyes met Steve’s, his faded navy baseball hat working overtime to contain all that hair, and while it was only for a split second it felt like a lifetime. You’d been thinking all night about what you were going to do, what you’d say, and maybe you secretly hoped he’d give you a smile but you were met with something worse.

Indifference.

Not so much as a smile or a nod or half-hearted wave, his lips in a firm line, or was it a grimace? It couldn’t be, but then he was looking away and shoving open the gym door into the parking lot.

“Excuse you–” your dad retorted, but when you didn’t sass him back he waved a hand across your eye line. “Hey, you in there?”

“What?” fell out lamely and your head whipped back around.

“You were about to take me to school on something, but…” he drifted off, eyes flicking up to the door Steve had just left through.

“Oh, I just mean–it’s just–it’s been so long. You know? They’re probably busy and–”

“Bub, you don’t know until you try. You’re gonna want someone your own age to talk to while you’re in town. Look, I’m already driving you nuts,” he laughed and reached over to give your shoulder a little poke.

Rolling your eyes you jammed your hands into your pockets and jerked your head toward the door, “C’mon old man. You can drive me nuts at home.”

“Alright,” he chuckled and clumsily followed after, still getting the hang of his crutches. “But promise me you’ll get out every now and again while you’re here? Please?”

Looking down at the old gym floor covered in scuffs and dents and dings you sighed. Was this the wrong decision? Should you have stayed home? Just sent someone else to help out? “Okay. Sure. I promise,” you murmured opening the door for your dad and walking out into the night.

The next morning you were up again early, throwing on a pair of jeans and a band tee, Chucks beat up and snug on your feet. The exact opposite of what you were supposed to wear to work back in the city, but it was a surprisingly welcome change. No presentations to creative leadership, no manuscripts to screen, no deadlines and no phone on your desk ringing off the hook. Just the smell of books, the lilt of the bell on the door and too much time to think.

Think about last night. About how you still had nearly a month left in Hawkins. Had no idea how you were going to spend it and no idea why god’s name you were still thinking about him.

About Steve.

About the look, or non-look, he’d given you.

And while you couldn’t blame him, it didn’t make it sting any less.

Hand on your closet door you moved to shut it, but your eyes caught a flash of red. A box on the top shelf. You’d taken most everything with you when you moved to Indianapolis for college, but had apparently missed that.

Pulling it down you blew the dust off the top of it and lifted the lid slowly to find a pile of forgotten memories looking up at you. Throat tightening, a flood of unexpected emotions poured over you, wrapping themselves snug and warm around your heart.

Polaroids of a younger version of yourself grinning up through the frame, joint dangling from your lips, a pair of sunglasses perched on your nose. One of Steve and Eddie mid-jump into the quarry on the hottest day in July. Robin laughing, cheeks stuffed too-full with grapes on a dare to see how many she could fit in her mouth. Nancy’s tiny frame enveloped by Jonathan’s big arms, his hand outstretched to block the lens, both of them grinning like mad.

You felt a small laugh fall from your lips as you gently set the box on your bed, gathering the polaroids up and setting them aside to find more things at the bottom. An old half-smoked joint stub, a lighter, a button with “Nancy for President!” on it, movie tickets and a couple pieces of popcorn, an old Family Video name tag, and something bright hiding under a pair of 3D glasses. Reaching in, your fingers softly lifted it from the box.

Tiny little strings of thread twisted together in a messy braid. Your three favorite colors, purple, green and pink tangled together in a promise you’d made Steve all those summers ago and you felt your chest squeeze. Guilt. Regret.

“God, I’m terrible at this, it looks like shit,” Steve grumbled, tongue poking out between his lips in concentration as he tried to braid his strings together.

Both of you were sat on the floor of your room, knee to knee with your back against your bed, radio playing Pet Shop Boys in the background. The last rays of sunlight fell through your window and danced across the bare skin of your legs, fan on the ceiling pushing too-warm air around the room.

“It doesn’t look like shit, it’s fine–” you tried for reassurance, but the small smile playing on your lips gave you away.

“Fine. That’s not ‘good’ or ‘great’. It makes it sound like–” Steve started to protest, but then he glanced over to see your fingers deftly twisting together his favorite colors – yellow, blue and orange. “Christ, yes it does look like shit! Look at yours, are you kidding me?” he flung a hand out for emphasis and you let out a laugh.

“Shut up! I’ve been doing this since second grade or something stupid, cut yourself a break,” you reached across your lap to shove him, expression softening as he shook his head.

“No, no way. You can’t wear this. People will ask what idiot tried to make you a dumb friendship bracelet in the dark with two left hands,” and he started to ball it up, but your hands covered his, head dipping down to look at him properly.

“Steve, it’s not about what it looks like,” you chided gently and he huffed a sigh, but you gave him a little smile, “Best friends forever, right?”

“Best friends forever,” he mumbled back, your little motto, but when he looked up at you his frown softened.

Silence lingered then for a moment between the two of you, his eyes still looking into yours as you floated in the soft light that filled your room, your hands pressing into each other. The last bits of sun and summer holding you tight in its warmth.

Steve’s lips parted as he stared at you, the look in his eyes making you feel like all the air had been pulled from your lungs, like your room had fallen away and all that existed in that moment was you and Steve.

“D’you have to go?” he murmured.

“I–” you stuttered, suddenly unsure of your answer, waffling on what had been such a sure decision just a few of months ago. To get out of Hawkins. To find something new. Something away from Steve and leave all of this behind.

“Just stay.”

“Steve…” your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes looking and searching his as he untangled a hand from yours and settled it gently on your cheek.

“Stay,” he whispered and as he leaned in slow and steady you swore time stood still, his lips pressing into yours, warm and soft like they held summer and promises of forever.

“Didja fall in up there? Cos if you did, I can’t climb the stairs to help you, bub,” you sucked in a gasp, your dad’s voice pulling you out of the spiral you’d fallen into, tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. Hastily wiping your arms across your face you tossed the bracelet back into the box and shut the lid, shoving it back up on the shelf you’d found it on.

“Yeah! Sorry, just trying to find my other shoe,” you lied, voice wobbling a little as you hurried over to your dresser mirror to make sure you didn’t look like you’d been crying.

“Alright, meet you at the car!” he called up the stairs and you took in a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“It’s fine. You’re fine,” you whispered to your reflection.

And somehow you’d managed to gather yourself together before hopping into your rental car, driving you and your dad down the road to the diner for coffee before work. The sun was out again, but it didn’t hold as much heat as it had the day before and you opted to open the windows instead of cranking the AC.

“You sure you want it hot?” you asked your dad, shifting into park at the curb.

“Yes, I’m sure. Coffee is brewed hot, why would you cool it down?” he shot back indignantly and you huffed a laugh.

“Alright, no one’s judging, I just–” shutting your door you poked your head in through the window, “–it’s gonna be warm again today. Cold is nice sometimes!”

“Hot, please!” your dad yelled after you as you pulled the diner door open, waving him off with a dismissive hand.

“Mornin’, hon! The usual?” Georgie greeted you warmly, earrings dangling past her jawline and bright in the light from the windows.

“Yes, please, but make mine cold if you can?”

Saddling up at the counter, your fingers idly flipped the plastic pages of one of the menus while you waited, the sound of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. It was odd, the comfort this place offered you, but it was needed this morning and you settled into it easily like a warm hug. Like seeing an old friend and you were so content you didn’t hear the bell on the door ring behind you, but the voice that followed was louder than your heart pounding against your ribcage.

“Gigi! Need a coffee and bacon, egg on toast to-go this morning.”

You nearly fell off your stool to hide under the bar, but opted instead to be an adult and hide your face behind your arm, propping an elbow on the counter and tossing your gaze off in the opposite direction.

“Stevie! Lord have mercy, that game gave me a couple of new gray hairs,” the older woman teased playfully and the laugh he gave back made your stomach flip over.

“Sorry, we’ll do better next time, promise.”

“Good, you better. S’on me this morning.”

“G, you don’t have to do that–”

“Yes, I do! Don’t you fight me on that, I’ve got a mean south paw.”

Steve laughed again and you wanted to die as he sat on the stool one over from you, drumming his fingers on the counter and shaking his head, “Okay, okay. You win.”

“That’s right. I do,” and Georgie busied herself with getting his coffee, barking back his order to the cooks just as yours came through the bus window.

Shit. No way to leave undetected now.

“Alright, sweets. Here’s your dad’s coffee and I had Hal whip up a little whole wheat toast with scrambled eggs. Better than a cinnamon roll?” Georgie gave you a very pleased look and you felt like you were going to collapse in on yourself as you moved your hand away from your face to take the two coffees and box of food.

“Thanks, Georgie,” you mumbled sheepishly, keeping your eyes straight ahead, but you could feel him looking at you.

Clearing your throat you left a wad of cash on the counter before turning to leave, looking everywhere except that damn stool. You made it halfway to the door before his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Thought that was you.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you wished running out of the diner had been an acceptable response to both the panic rising in your chest and Steve’s clipped tone, but you didn’t and instead turned around to finally face him.

“In the flesh,” you joked lamely and immediately wanted to kick yourself.

He was studying you as though he were looking for something. Eyes still warm like honey, mouth firmed in the same line they’d been pursed into the night before, brows unamused and pulled in at the middle. He didn’t laugh.

“Had enough of the ‘big city’?” he mocked, tongue jamming into his cheek as he watched you uncomfortably shift your feet on the checkered tile floor.

“Yeah, smells worse than cow shit if you can believe it,” you were shocked at how quickly you were thinking on your feet and almost grinned at him, but his reply knocked you down a peg or two.

“I could’ve told you that,” he grumbled, turning in his stool to look back at Georgie, the older woman flicking her eyes back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. In fact most everyone else in the diner was watching now and you felt heat rise in your cheeks.

“Well, I’ll be here all month, so knock yourself out,” and before he could throw anything back at you, you hurried out the door to the car and didn’t look back.

The conversation with Steve, if you could even call it that, was all you could think about for the rest of the day and your dad knew something was up, but he didn’t push you on it. You had to go back and fix the books you’d put in the wrong place in your mess of distraction after lunch and when you finally came around the back of the counter to get a drink of what was mostly melted ice now than iced coffee, your dad gently prodded.

“Georgie say anything this morning?”

“Yeah. Said she’s only feeding you whole wheat toast from now on, so get used to it,” you grumbled and he smiled, gently grabbing your hand before you could stalk away to hide in the rows of books.

“Did anything else come up?” he fixed you with an expectant look and you frowned.

“No.”

“No?”

Closing your eyes you loosed a sigh and put your face in your hands. “Everyone here hates me,” came out muffled through your fingers and your dad let out a belly laugh.

“Hates you? Says who?”

“Everyone.”

“Bub, no one hates you,” he reached over to yank your hands away from your face and gave you one of his I’m dad, listen to me looks.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one running away from shit,” you argued back, folding your arms tight across your chest and his expression softened.

“Least you came back? I’d say that takes some courage,” he countered, lifting his brows for emphasis and poking you gently with the end of one of his crutches.

You frowned and he laughed again, reaching over to pull you into hug. “Listen. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Most of the time these things are cleared up with a simple conversation,” he said, holding you out at arm’s length.

“Simple conversation? Yeah I don’t think so–”

“You haven’t even tried,” he cut you off and gave you a stern look, “Y’know, I’m not as dumb as I look.”

“I didn’t say that–”

“Promise me you’ll talk to him. Even if it sucks at first, just try it.”

You sharply exhaled a short puff of air through your nose, looking down at the floor not wanting to give in, but you could feel your dad staring holes into you.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll try,” you conceded, kicking a toe into the base of the counter and your dad shoved your shoulder playfully.

“That’s the ticket, and you know I’m always here for advice,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips.

“No offense, but no thanks,” you teased, walking back to keep stocking the shelves and he called after you.

“I’m like, twenty-two years older than you are! I know a lot!”

“Sure you do, dad! I’m sure you do.”

Cleared up with a simple conversation.

Sure. Right. Of course. But where were you supposed to even have said conversation? How were you supposed to ask Steve if he wanted to talk? Just waltz up to him on the street and casually see if he wanted to have a sit down with you? There was no way you were going to be able to muster up the courage to approach him at the diner and after that fated morning you made sure to arrive before or after he grabbed his usual 7:30am pick-up.

It wasn’t until you were closing up shop again on Friday that your dad reminded you of the plans you’d made. Well, that Hawkins had made for you.

“Better giddy up, gonna miss tip off,” your dad was digging around in the counter drawer for the keys as you finished sweeping the entryway.

“Tip off?”

“Yeah,” he stopped his search long enough to give you a look and then went back to digging, “Game night.”

Oh, fuck. Right. Game night. Because all of Hawkins shut down at five on Fridays for basketball and god forbid you miss it.

“Think I’ll stay home,” you mumbled, eyes on the floor, but you could feel the judgement your dad was throwing across the shop at you.

“And miss out on quality time with your old man? Before I’m all wrinkly and need an actual wheel chair?”

“That’s not fair,” you flicked your eyes up to frown at him, pointing a finger for emphasis and he grinned.

“You drive, I’m a little–” he shook a crutch at you and it was like you could physically feel yourself giving in.

“As soon as you get rid of those? I’m gone,” you grumbled and he laughed, an Aha! coming from behind the counter as he finally yanked the keys from the drawer.

“Lock up, I’ll start hobbling,” tossing the keys at you, you barely caught them and as soon as his back was turned you stuck out your tongue. What? Maturity is overrated.

The gym was packed. Your dad had failed to mention Hawkins was playing their rival team from the next town over and you tried to get a grip on shit. It took everything in you to not look at Steve as the starting line up was introduced, and you managed somehow, but once the game started you couldn’t help yourself.

Stealing a glance, you felt your pulse flutter against your neck. God he looked good. Same faded navy baseball cap snug over his mess of brown hair, hand propped on his hip as he yelled plays from the sidelines, jaw clenched on the wad of gum in his mouth and you grumbled under your breath, but your heart told a different story as it hammered against your ribs.

You sat with your arms folded across your chest, determined to be unhappy and miserable for the entirety of the game, but somehow every time Hawkins made a three-pointer or nailed all of their free throws after a foul you felt yourself softening until there were only two minutes left. The game was all tied up and you were a screaming mess.

“C’mon!” you yelled, hands cupped around your mouth as you stood up with the rest of the fans, “I can play better than these guys!”

Your dad had to bite back a laugh as he did his best to ignore you, trying not to bring attention to how invested you’d become. The rival team hit another bucket from the three-point line and you groaned along with everyone else, Hawkins down by two with 0:30 on the clock.

The point guard on the other team called a timeout and usually everyone would sit down, but the entire gym was still on their feet, anxious and watching as time ran out quickly.

Steve huddled his team up, gathering them around his clipboard and you craned your neck to try and see what was jotted down, but it was covered up by all the heads in the way. Watching as he talked to the boys you noticed how he was firm, but still soft. Decided, but encouraging, and when the buzzer went off you could just make out what he yelled at the team.

“Remember, it’s not about what it looks like! Long as you’re trying!”

Your breath caught in your throat.

It’s not about what it looks like.

Your words.

And you were so caught up in it all you didn’t hear the crowd when Hawkins hit the last three-pointer to end the game with a win. Didn’t hear your dad cheering next to you so loudly his voice cracked. Didn’t feel the bleachers shaking with all the jumping and bustling about. All you could see was Steve and as the team rushed him after the win he looked up and met your gaze, a flicker of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“A photo finish, scout!” your dad grabbed your shoulder, other hand throwing a fist into the air, “Good game, boys!”

“Oh,” fell out, the sound of everything rushing back in against your eardrums, and you quickly put your fingers to your mouth to whistle, “Good game, Tigers!”

“Still don’t have to come home right away,” your dad was looking back over at you with a knowing smile on his face, “Georgie’ll give me a ride.”

You bit in your bottom lip, wishing you were unsure of what you wanted, but your eyes looked over at Steve and you knew what your answer was going to be.

Simple conversation.

“Yeah. Alright. I’ll stay, but don’t get too excited,” you grumbled, cramming your hands into the pockets of your jeans as the gym started to clear out.

“Great! I mean–cool,” your dad tried to recover, tried to not sound too excited, but his outburst gave him away. The next look you fixed him with was enough of a cue and he hobbled away after Georgie, making his way out with the rest of the crowd and leaving you there awkwardly in the stands.

Your eyes scanned the gym and couldn’t find Steve, but it was the same as it’d happened last time. He was gone soon as the game finished and then reappeared after a little while. Probably giving the boys a post-game run down or something, so you tried to make yourself look busy.

Reading the plaques on the walls, looking at the Hawkins hall-of-fame jerseys hung up in the rafters, the signed championship balls in cases along the walls, including the one signed by Lucas Sinclair.

A smile pulled at your lips and you put a hand on the glass, reading all the names one at at time, pausing just a little longer at Lucas’ signature. He was always so sweet.

“Taking a stroll down memory lane?” someone spoke up behind you, startling you a bit as you sucked in a gasp, and when you turned around to see who it was you wished you hadn’t.

Steve’s voice was a little less harsh than it’d been earlier in the week, but he still wasn’t smiling as he stood there in the empty gym looking at you like he was trying to dissect things and you felt your chest squeeze.

“High school, the best days of your life,” you mock swooned and he cracked just a tiny bit, the smallest little smirk, and you held onto it. Tucked it into your back pocket and saved it for later.

“Yeah. Bunch of bullshit if you ask me,” he retorted, feeding off your sarcasm and then turned abruptly and walked out the side door.

You stood there for a minute, confused. Didn’t he just agree with you? But then he was poking his head back in through the doorway, looking expectantly at you with those warm, brown eyes.

“Are you coming or…?”

Shit, you muttered and half-jogged to catch up as he disappeared out of view of the door frame.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington stranger things #steve stranger things #steve x you #steve fanfic #steve x reader #steve x fem #steve harrington series #steve harrington fic #steve harrington request #request #ask

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euphreana · 4 months

Text

Cleaning Up

I originally wrote this as a script for a comic, but it lost steam so I turned it into prose. Enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~

The night was unusually quiet. That wasn't surprising - most people were locked in their homes, trying to hide from the renegade queen-killer on the loose. The boss was DEFINITELY going to rant about how bad this was for business tomorrow.

Luke grumbled about this as he threw the back door of the sandwich shop open. Behind him, the kitchen radio squawked the latest updates on the news. "Remember, the Queen Killer is dangerous. Citizens are advised to report any sightings to Public Security immediately." "Dangerous, call security, yadda yadda yadda." Luke muttered, dragging the final trash bag of the night outside.

The radio transitioned to an eyewitness interview. "I saw the man myself - an absolute lunatic - dark hair, wild eyes…" "Ooooh shut UP already! We all know everything about the murderer!" Luke hollered as he swung the bag of trash at the nearby dumpster. It missed. Luke glowered and picked up the bag again. “Damn Institute never did anything useful for ME, why should I care if one of them gets offed? It's about time they changed things up." "… captured alive. There is now a 600 gold reward for information on the queen killer's location…" Luke's ears perked up. "Okay. Sure. Consider me interested."

He gave the trash bag one final swing and watched it sail over the top of the dumpster, landing inside with a satisfying BANG. A quiet groan sounded in response.

Luke blinked. What in Gloreth's name… The alley was empty except for the dumpster and some recyclables bins… that had a metal-clad boot sticking out from behind them. Luke came closer. There he was; the queen killer himself, slumped against the dumpster. He looked like a dead rat.

Luke kicked the boot sticking out from the hiding spot. No response. Luke huffed. "So much for a reward…"

The queen killer's eyes snapped open. He pulled back into the corner, his single arm trying to keep himself upright. "I didn't do it!"

Luke took a step back, hands out. "Hey, hey, easy man…"

The queen killer was faster than he looked. Within a second he'd gotten to his feet and begun a staggering sprint down the alley. Images of reward money disintegrating flashed in Luke's mind. "WAIT!" The queen killer hesitated for a moment, glancing back at him. Luke held a hand out. "Wait wait wait… I uh… I can help you!"

A minute later, Luke was pulling the queen killer into the kitchen by his one remaining arm. The man was only mildly coherent, weak from blood loss. His armored right shoulder was dripping on the floor as he slumped down in the corner between the back wall and a prep counter. Luke made a begrudging mental note of the cleanup he'd have to do later. Much later. Right now he had to keep the man alive long enough to get that reward.

"Wait here. I'm gonna… I'll be right back. Just stay here." Luke dashed around the corner to the employee lockers. It only took a moment to pull his phone out and dial Public Security. A faint beep came from the speaker.

"Hello?" Luke whispered, "I've got-" A prerecorded message interrupted him. "If this call is regarding a sighting of the queen-killer, please press 1." Luke pressed 1. The phone beeped again. "Due to a high number of sighting reports, we are currently unable to take your call. Please stand by and an operator will get to you shortly. The estimated wait time is… sixteen… minutes."

Luke stared at his phone, horrified as faint hold music began to play. This couldn't be happening. He was so close!

A faint groan came from the kitchen. Luke glanced in its direction. "The guy can barely stand. I can handle him for sixteen minutes - just need to keep him alive. That's what the reward deal was, right?" He left the phone on the locker shelf, music still playing. "Hey, hey stay there. You hungry? I'll get you something. Just stay there."

One minute. There was some leftover food Luke had planned to take home, but the thought of a reward made it easy to hand over.

Two minutes. The queen killer was indeed hungry. The food disappeared in seconds.

Three minutes. He was thirsty too.

Four minutes. Very thirsty.

Five minutes. The queen killer was looking slightly more alert as he finished the last of the leftovers. Luke wondered if feeding him had been a mistake.

Six minutes. The man in the corner put his fork down and looked up at him. "Thank you…" Luke glanced away. "Yeah… yeah no problem. You need anything else? I'll get it - don't get up."

The man unclipped his right pauldron - the one over where his right arm should have been. "Bandages…" "What do you mea-ohhhhh good Gloreth there's blood. Theeere's blood. That's a LOT of blood…"

There wasn't much left of the arm - just a messy stump. The inner layer of the knight's armor had done its work of sealing the surface of the wound, but that had been made with the intent of being treated by a professional later. Now the material was soggy with blood, dripping and looking ready to fall apart. The queen killer held the stump out. "It won't hold for much longer. I don't think I'll last long if it breaks…" Luke gave it a look, never mind that he was feeling woozy. Ten minutes of waiting left, and he wanted that reward. "Yeah… yeah I can try… I saw something like this in a movie once. Just let me…"

Seven minutes. Luke got out an oversized knife - the only flat metal surface with a handle he could find. The stove only took a moment to flare to life.

Eight minutes. Luke hadn't used the stove's highest setting before. It was hotter than hot.

Nine minutes. The flat of the blade started to change colors. Luke had to put two oven mitts over the handle when he picked it up off the open flame. "I can do this," he muttered to himself, "Pretend the blood isn't there. It'll just be like… cooking meat. I can do that." He turned off the stove and went back to the man sitting in the corner. "This is probably going to hurt. A lot." The man held the stump up wearily. "Can't get any worse."

Ten minutes. The sizzle of hot metal against flesh filled the air. The queen killer screamed through gritted teeth, head pressed into the wall. Luke was struggling to keep his hands from shaking. "Hold still… please don't make me drop this…" his expression twisted with horrified disgust as smoke drifted into his face. "That should… There I'm done I'm done I'm done!"

Eleven minutes. Luke vomited into the nearest sink. The queen killer was slumped back against the wall, dazed from pain. The now-cooling knife sat on the stove.

Twelve minutes. Luke returned, still looking queasy. "Please tell me it worked…" The queen killer weakly examined the freshly cauterized wound. "It… isn't bleeding anymore." He turned to Luke with a curious gaze. "Why are you helping me?" Luke stammered for a moment, then was interrupted by a voice from around the corner. "Public Security. Please describe your sighting in detail."

Luke froze. The queen killer snapped to high alert. Then they both made a mad dash for the phone in the other room. There was a rustle from the phone speaker. "Hello?" Luke's hands latched onto the phone just as the queen killer's hand grabbed onto him from behind. "I GOT-" The one-armed man yanked Luke to the ground, the phone slipping loose and clattering on the tile. "-THE-" The one-armed man slammed his hand down on the phone, effectively hitting the 'end call' button. "-GUY!"

Silence. Luke looked at the man who'd just sabotaged his reward. "WHY?!" The man held up his remaining hand pleadingly. "I swear on Gloreth's name I didn't fire the weapon. It just went off - I didn't even know it was there!" Luke pulled away. "The Institute says otherwise." "Why would I kill someone who gave me a future?" "Because… you're a… dangerous… wild-eyed… lunatic…" The one-armed man visibly deflated, looking hurt. "Is that what they're saying?" Then he gave a faint laugh. "Why am I surprised? The Insitute has always had in it for me… now they got what they wanted."

There was a long moment of quiet.

Luke glanced away. "The Institute's a bunch of overstuffed blowhards. They can stuff it." The one-armed man looked at him hopefully. Luke picked up his phone again. "I'm still calling security. There's a reward for… information. Probably. Just get out of here and don't tell me where you're going."

The one-armed man got to his feet shakily, clamping the pauldron back on and pulling his hood over his head as he went to the back door. Luke's fingers found the redial button. The man glanced back at him for a moment. "Thank you." "Whatever. Just go."

Luke was alone. His phone chimed with hold music. With nothing else to do, he turned the radio back on. "… I repeat, this man is armed and dangerous. Do not attempt to engage if sighted." The phone beeped. "Public Security. Please describe your sighting in detail."

Luke stared at the phone for a long moment.

He pressed the 'end call' button.

#I really would have loved to make this a comic #but it would have been WAY too many pages of drawing #(at least 15 #and my max so far has been 10)#but with an ao3 account incoming I can share it in other ways!#nimona #fics #nimona fanfic

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werewolfnightwalker · 6 months

Text

Home

It wasn't much, at first.

In fact it was nothing at all, just an empty one bedroom apartment and a mattress on the floor. But for Hawks, who never had anything that truly belonged to him, and for Touya, for whom this was a fresh start, it was everything.

Touya worked his ass off at his new job at Hawks' new agency; it was smaller than the first had been, the dozens and dozens of sidekicks reduced to a select few teams, who found themselves actually able to help their boss instead of just cleaning up his mess. Touya only had a desk job, days filled with filing reports back and forth, but when his desk was literally in Hawks' office and gave him free access to the hero's snack stash, he had no complaints.

Eventually, when they were able to pocket their first paychecks, they bought a table and chair set. It was secondhand, but it fit perfectly into the corner they designated the dining room. They even had enough left over to order takeout, which they got to eat at their new table.

At the next check, it was a bed frame. Some slats were missing, one leg wobbled, but Touya solved that with a quick venture to a cheap crafts store. They managed to find a couch, a recliner, and even an end table just by taking night drives through neighborhoods and whisking the furniture off the curb where it had been left out for trash. A handful of nails and duct tape, and a 24 hr rental of a steam cleaner did wonders for the old junk.

Mirko gave them their first TV.

"We don't want charity." Dabi scowled.

"It's not. I lost the remote and was gonna toss it anyways." She rebuked. They took it, and Hawks found the remote for five bucks online. Friday night was spent curled up under a shared blanket, watching a show on a streaming service they paid for themselves.

Bit by bit by tiny bit, their apartment came together. Soon they had a bookshelf, that they filled with books and knickknacks from garage sales and secondhand shops. They bought posters and paintings and flags and neat things to decorate their walls, until the apartment was colorful and alive. They found a desk and chair set at a flea market, and suddenly Touya had a place to do artsy things and try out hobbies he'd never had before.

Hawks won a laptop in a giveaway at another hero's agency, and found that he really liked online puzzle games in his downtime. Their Friday nights in front of the TV started to include playing games and knitting together. Eventually, they had enough to replace their cheap and plastic cookware with actually decent stuff. Touya, admittedly, cried a little when he bought his very own rice cooker.

It took months, maybe even years. But one day Hawks- Keigo, he wasn't at the agency right now, he was allowed to be Keigo- stopped and took a look around at his little apartment, at the coat rack he put together last weekend and the new curtains Touya had picked out, at Touya sitting on the couch with a book and the cat they took in from the streets, and realized he was home.

#conans writing #dabihawks #dabihawks fluff #long post #dabi #mha dabi #bnha dabi #touya todoroki #bnha hawks #mha hawks #keigo takami

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nintendoni-art · 6 months

Text

So lets talk about Tabi, who is currently running in the @sonic-oc-showdown

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Right, so, they ended up getting their name while I was trying to name a separate character. While double checking to make sure that "Zori" didn't mean anything offensive, ended up finding out about Jika-Tabi and went from there.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range) Born a couple decades past when the Nocturne Clan were supposed to be put in the cage/ The Knuckles Clan made their attempt to grab the Master and Chaos Emeralds. In their universe, the former didn't happen and the latter wasn't stopped.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)? ....No. Not anymore.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

Steamed Soybeans! They like a little bit of chili oil and salt on them sometimes.

💼 - What do they do for a living? Salvage work, mostly. They'll spend their days scavenging badniks, item boxes, old chaos ore, you name it. Then they'll archive it and cobble stuff together in order to make things to help their fellow chao, like sensors to alert for predators, or filters in order to make sure water stays clean.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies? Oh, tons! They love studying mechanics and, learning how to polarize lenses to find chaos radiation signatures, as well as Extreme Gear propulsion systems. And as of recent, they've been doing their best to revive a lost technique of gem cutting for maximum effect of their molecular structures. It's going well! ... It's going too well.

🎯 -What do they do best? Thievery! They will steal anything that's not nailed down and if it, they'll take a hammer to it. It's second nature to them, really, anything they find interesting, or shiny, or they need/want it, they are going to get it. There's not a lot you can do to stop them, the challenge is half the reason they love it so much.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Tabi likes taking a few hours in their day to train. Free Running, Swordplay, trying to channel their natural connection with Chaos Energy in order to boost their own abilities, just to get out of the nest every once in a while, ya know? On that last bit, they used to be able to access what they could do with chaos energy with song and they could sing you an aria that could heal grievous injuries and soothe the soul. ...

Tabi... doesn't sing much, anymore. They hate doing that.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

They bit a child once. It wasn't biting the child that was the best memory, mind you, they thought said child was gonna eat them, to be perfectly fair.

But they've been so happy being the best parent they could be to that kid, it's funny that's how they remember meeting them.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories? ...You know...

...it wasn't the fact that a Raptor Hawk attacked them. Or the fact that the Field Medic didn't have a choice but to amputate what was left of their wing. Or the fact that the experience left them so rattled, they couldn't quite keep up with the rest of the Babylonian Mercenaries they'd been raised with since hatching. It was the fact that when the distress signal they were charged to watch until their owner came back finally went out, the worst part was that it took 4 weeks to realize they might not be coming back.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one? Nuh uh, their horns used to go straight back with no horns, and they were closer colored to an adult dark flight chao.

And that's not to mention the other designs, depending on what time period it is...

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

I looked up the word "Zori". I saw what socks went with Zori. I got Ideas.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Shonen? Anything where if you fight people and you win they become your friend.

Or whatever the hell The Last Of Us is.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Agender Demisexual

🙌 - How many siblings does your OC have?

None, anymore.

There were some other chao they were raised with, but they never really saw them again, except like...maybe once or twice.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

None, anymore.

It suits them just fine.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

I like the fact that if you manage to get them to respect you, you'll have an ally for life, and they consider you family, they will fight god in order to protect your smile.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC? Far too much.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Killing? No. Passing away peacefully after centuries of life? More likely. If anything? Something along the lines of being asked by El-ahrairah to join their Owsla. Sure, they'd balk at first, but they'd eventually accept their time is done, their era is over, and it's time to go, and it's ok to let what they've done echo in folklore and the like. They need that rest.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Birds. Big ones. If you have a low flying enough drone casting the shadow of one, or have some bird of prey calls playing near them, they'll freak out to the point of having severe panic attacks all the way to dissociating, but why would you do something like that.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival? They do have one. Of sorts. Tabi eventually manages to work through some of their feelings towards Mobians, and a lot of their anger gets blunted with age, and actually opening their heart up a bit. But a lot of the chao that follow them didn't have good experiences with Mobians either. And some of those chao weren't happy about their change of heart...

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

About 5-6 years now? I think?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC? .....*cough* 27.

#So a lot of my Chao lore was inspired by watership down #it's one of those books that just stay with you #One of my favorites #Tabi #Sonic OC #Chao

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rubyarrows · 7 months

Text

Papers and Coffee

One particular evening, YN settled into her familiar corner of Lance's office, surrounded by a sea of papers waiting to be reviewed. The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminated her workspace, casting a warm and comforting light on her surroundings. She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes, as she adjusted her glasses and picked up a stack of math assignments to grade.

As she dived into her task, YN was blissfully unaware of the time passing. The rhythmic scratching of her pen against the paper became her background music, soothing in its familiarity. But as the minutes turned into hours, the neat piles of papers began to spread and sprawl across the desk and floor.

Just as YN was lost in her sea of papers, Lance, her older brother, walked in with a gentle smile. He was well aware of YN's tendency to immerse herself in her work and the resulting chaos that often ensued. He had made it a habit to check in on her, offering his support in any way he could.

"I brought you coffee," Lance announced with a soft chuckle, holding up a steaming cup of her favorite brew. He watched as YN looked up, surprise lighting up her eyes at the unexpected gesture. Setting the cup down on the edge of the desk, he surveyed the organized chaos around her. "Looks like you've got your hands full again."

YN grinned, a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion in her expression. "You have no idea. These assignments seem to multiply like rabbits."

Lance walked closer, surveying the mess with playful amusement. "Well, it's a good thing you have your own personal grading sanctuary here. Though I must admit, it's getting a bit challenging to find the actual desk."

YN laughed softly, a musical sound that brightened the room. "I promise I'll clean up when I'm done. Thanks for the coffee, by the way. You're a lifesaver."

Lance leaned against the edge of the desk, his gaze warm as he looked at his sister. "Anytime, sis. You know I'm here for you."

YN set her pen down, a touch of vulnerability in her eyes. "I really appreciate it. Teaching online can be so isolating sometimes. Coming here and having this space…it means a lot."

Lance reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately. "Well, you're not alone. And don't forget, I'm just a knock away."

YN smiled up at him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her chest. "I'm lucky to have you as my big brother."

Lance's smile softened, and he gave her a one-armed hug. "The feeling's mutual, kiddo."

As YN and Lance were engrossed in their heartwarming sibling moment, the door to Lance's office swung open, revealing Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan.

"Wow, YNN, I thought I was drowning in paperwork," Booth exclaimed in mock astonishment as he stepped inside, Brennan following close behind with a knowing smile.

YN looked up, her cheeks tinted with a faint blush at the sudden intrusion. "Oh, hey Booth, Dr. Brennan. It's not usually this chaotic, I promise."

Lance gave a friendly nod to the duo. "Hey, Booth, Dr. Brennan. Just the right time for a dramatic entrance."

Brennan approached the desk, her observant eyes taking in the scattered papers and the atmosphere of camaraderie in the room. "It seems you have a productive workspace, albeit a bit...overwhelmed."

Booth grinned and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Hey, we've all been there. I remember when Bones had a mountain of bones to identify and I thought I was gonna lose my mind."

Brennan shot him a slightly exasperated look. "That analogy is not entirely accurate."

YN chuckled, finding their banter amusing. "Well, at least I'm not dealing with bones. Just a mountain of math assignments."

Lance gestured to the cups of coffee on the desk. "Can we offer you some coffee? We seem to have an abundance."

Booth's eyes lit up. "Coffee? Now you're speaking my language!"

Brennan smirked, raising an eyebrow at Booth's enthusiasm. "I didn't know caffeine addiction was classified as a language."

While Brennan and Booth playfully exchanged remarks, Lance and YN shared a knowing smile. The arrival of the Jeffersonian duo had added an unexpected but pleasant twist to the evening.

YN pushed aside a stack of papers to make room on the desk for more coffee cups. "Help yourselves, and thanks for joining the paper party."

As Booth grabbed a coffee cup and took a sip, he surveyed the room with a raised eyebrow. "So, Sweets, what's the occasion? Are you trying to set a new record for the most papers in one room?"

Lance laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, just sibling bonding over grading marathons."

Brennan's curiosity got the better of her. "Sibling bonding? Is YN a teacher too?"

YN nodded, her eyes lighting up as she explained, "Yes, I teach online grade school classes. This is my refuge for grading and tutoring. And Lance is kind enough to let me use his office."

Booth took another sip of his coffee, leaning against the desk. "Well, that's nice. It's like a family workspace here."

Brennan's gaze softened as she studied the scene. "Yes, there's a sense of unity and collaboration in this room. It's rather heartwarming."

YN smiled at the unexpected compliment. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan. It's nice to have a space where I can feel supported, even in the chaos."

Booth nodded in agreement. "Hey, we all need our safe havens."

As the conversation flowed, the room buzzed with a sense of camaraderie. The unexpected visit from Booth and Brennan had turned an ordinary evening of grading into a memorable and uplifting experience. With cups of coffee in hand, they continued to share stories and laughter, bridging the gap between their different professions and finding common ground in the challenges they faced.

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #bones #bones x reader #bones imagine #bones imagines #bones fanfiction #lance sweets #lance sweets x reader #lance sweets imagine #lance sweets imagines #lance sweets fanfiction

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escapetheshark · 3 months

Text

Genre: smut; angst; supernatural; horror

Rating: 18+

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

Word count: 2,8k

Warnings: adult language, smut, blood and gore, raw meat, masturbation

Summary: Tired of being exploited, two low-wage workers bond over their desire to eat the rich. Quite literally.

A/N: I don't know, lads. Happy late Halloween? This is pretty disturbing by SKZ fanfic standards, you have been warned. Dead dove, do not eat. It is chaptered, but it's gonna be short and I promise I'll update Off The Deep End soon.

Chapter 1 of ?

The rat race. I am not caught up in it. What I am caught up on is the need to afford basic necessities. I have no desire to climb the ladder, I simply desire to exist comfortably. But comfort does not desire to exist in me, as is proven by the excruciating torsion in my spine, as I pick up yet another wet rag off the floor. It's been a particularly difficult day between bags full of dirty linen, wet towels and toilet brushes. It aches, it canes, it's hot and sticky and uncomfortable and I have no choice but to endure it, even though I'm tired and hungry.

"Excuse me," it's faint, the voice. Like its owner can sense the sleeping bear within me and does not wish to disturb it. I don't spare it any mind as I lazily shift to the side to allow him to pass, glancing at the dress-pants-clad round buttocks as the man pushes his little mini-bar trolley through the corridor. Nice, I catch myself muttering, the glance turned into a gaze. The encounter is quickly forgotten, however, as a ping on my phone snaps me back to reality - oop, there goes gravity. Sadly, there is no mum's spaghetti this time. Can you please bring down the linen bag from the 5th floor? The sigh that leaves my throat is more like a pterodactyl screech as I saunter away into the storage room.

It's hard not to sulk into the barely comfortable chair, staring at the plate full of dried-out croissants - guest breakfast leftovers, pondering whether or not I should just wrap one of them in a napkin and take it home, like a bottom feeder who can't afford fresh croissants from the bakery. Which is true. Still, having to acknowledge it so blatantly makes my head hurt. Fuck it, I'll put it into the toaster for dinner.

"Rough day?"

"As rough as all other days," I shrug, not sparing the man even a look. But he demands to be looked at when he loudly places a mug on the table in front of me and sits across from me. It's the mini-bar boy, still wearing his pristine white button-up shirt, yet his clip-on bowtie has gotten lost somewhere and the two top buttons are undone, his milky skin peaking through. "You?"

"Yep."

I can't help but stare at his neck, skin supple and pale, prominent veins adorning it so purely. I get horny when I'm tired and angry, maybe that's why this random co-worker I hardly ever talk to, who doesn't even look particularly appetising to me most of the time suddenly seems like one hell of a snack. The whole damn meal, even.

The steam from the hot drink he's placed in front of me fogs up my glasses as I inhale the scent of lemon herbal tea, the fancy stuff we have for guests that we're not supposed to drink ourselves. "Cheers," I simply say, looking at the man.

Perhaps it's awfully cliché, but it does feel like time has come to a halt now that I've sat down for a minute and put down the mop. I haven't dared to look in a mirror yet, but I can imagine my hair completely out of place and dishevelled, my face red from the heat and exertion, eyes dead behind my thick glasses. In front of me, however, Chris - I'm pretty sure his name is Chris - looks nearly immaculate with his carefully combed hair, perfectly rosy cheeks and a slight glint in his eyes. He must have a good home life, I think to myself, or he doesn't watch the news.

"I spend 8 hours a day cleaning beautiful bathtubs, yet I go home and take a 5-minute shower in nearly cold water because my water heater has been fucked for God knows how long and these cunts don't pay me enough to pay rent and bills, get groceries and get shit fixed."

Chris seems caught off-guard by my sudden statement and I'd feel awkward if I wasn't too exhausted to fully care about a co-worker's opinion. He takes a sip of his tea and I do the same, both hands holding onto the warm mug in an attempt to keep them busy. "These shoes are so fucking uncomfortable," he confesses, his eyes on mine, a certain mischief glistening on them. "I spend 8 hours a day pushing around a trolley full of expensive alcohol, yet I go home to shitty supermarket beer."

"Touché, friend!"

He glances at his wristwatch before leisurely getting up, walking to the sink and washing his mug, then grabbing his jacket and backpack off a shelving unit full of other employees' personal belongings. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, friend. I have some shitty beer to drink." I look at my watch too and let out a beastly yawn. The bus is a few minutes away and it's way too cold to wait at the bus stop, so I sip my tea slowly while mindlessly scrolling on my phone, desperate for some kind of stimulation or excitement, but all I see are photos of babies, cats, dogs and food.

It's dark by the time I get home to my overpriced, tiny and desperately needs TLC studio apartment and my stomach is growling, I haven't eaten in Lord knows how many hours, save for the dried croissant, and even the uncooked mince in my fridge is starting to seem appetising. Cooking is exhausting, ordering in is expensive, the grocery store is a bit too far away to justify walking just for a frozen pizza, and the dairy is closed by now. What else do I have? Stale bread, half a pot of vegemite, no butter… Why is that raw meat actually feeling like it would go down? No cooking time, no clean-up. Is raw pork really that bad for you? That's crazy, maybe what I need is a shower, a four-finger self-loving session and to just fucking sleep. Sleep for dinner, a poverty classic.

Porn is useless these days, ever since I read that article about how porn stars are mistreated and the websites are full of non-consensual bulshit, I can't even watch it anymore, let alone get off. My fucking hunger for knowledge always ruins my life… I could go read some smut, but I always end up criticising the poor grammar and spelling and unrealistic scenes instead of getting wet. I haven't fucked in a while, so I don't even remember what that feels like, what a cock looks like, the warmth of someone's fingers pushing inside of me, stretching me out… Chris. The hot mini-bar boy from work. He has nice fingers, right? Despite being short and kind of average, he's generally easy to look at. Just some guy, but he has dimples when he smiles and there is definitely a glint of mischief in those brown eyes of his, not to mention his arse looks phenomenal in those black dress pants he always wears. Yeah, Chris will do. The awkwardness of thinking about a co-worker while masturbating doesn't last long, it eventually fades when my finger easily finds the exact spot in my clit that makes it feel good. Normally, I'd half-heartedly rub on it for a while until it makes my walls clench around nothing and call it a day, but today I'm in the mood to prolong it a bit, make it a bit of a show. Where did I put my dildo? I haven't used that one in a while and it was far too pricey to be collecting dust.

My stomach growling is slightly distracting, even with my arsehole full and my clit being fustigated by the calloused pads of my fingers, hips rotating as I desperately try to swallow the dildo whole, my pussy throbs around nothing, empty and wet. Why I chose today to try shoving something up my ass is a mystery, but I couldn't help it, it's like I've been possessed by some kind of hungry monster who won't be satisfied with a 5-minute session of clit rubbing accompanied by some run-of-the-mill vaginal insertion. No, today I crave more, insatiable, for whatever goddamn reason. I have to cover my mouth with my free hand, lest my desperate groans alert the neighbours, and the second I imagine Chris lying on top of me, cock where the dildo currently is, biting my neck, I crumble. It travels up my body like lightning, I've never come this hard in my entire life and I can't even process how I feel about it as I see those white dots behind my shut lids.

Fuck!

Everything feels fuzzy when the alarm inevitably pulls me from the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. I forget about my weird dream almost immediately, but not before noting that I should probably never go to bed that hungry again, because it definitely fucked me up. At least it's the last day at work before my regularly scheduled time to do chores around the house, also known as days off. There's a weird smell floating around the apartment, but I chalk it up to mould or some kind of plumbing issue that will never get solved before hopping in the shower, my arsehole is still sore from last night's treatment. What got into me, I will never understand. I'd rather forget about it, but the ache won't let me. There's blood circling the drain, I'm not sure where it could be coming from. Did I cut myself? Is it my period? Did I tear something inside me when I stretched my sphincter with a dildo? What the-

Along with the blood, I see blurry chunks of… something. Meat? Am I peeling away? Panic starts to set in as I search every inch of naked skin for a deep cut or something, is it my ass? Is my ass actually that badly bruised it's somehow peeling away? The smell gets more intense the more chunks fall into the drain, causing it to clog, water pooling on the floor. I bend down, my body squeezed against the too-narrow shower walls, I can't see very well without my glasses but I hesitantly reach my hand towards the drain and it feels absolutely abhorrent, the texture is so nasty I nearly add vomit to the mixture. I bring it to my nose, the stench is beyond agonising. Is this- is this mince pork? Why is there minced pork on my drain? I can't handle it anymore, and I feel my insides spill on the shower tile, unable to flow anywhere, I can barely breathe and my head is spinning.

By the time I come to my senses, I'm lying on a bed that isn't mine, and I know this because the mattress feels way too thin and the air doesn't feel stuffy and mould-ridden. I hear voices around me that I don't recognise and opening my eyes is futile since I have no idea where my glasses are. I try reaching out for them, surely they'd be on some sort of bedsible table, but I immediately feel a sting on my hand and something attached to it.

"Oh you're up," a female voice says, but all I can make out of the woman is her small stature and the fact that she's wearing something teal-coloured. "Here," she said finally handing me my glasses so that I could see my depressing surroundings - a hospital room, sterile and blunt as they tend to be. "You fainted in the shower, so we got you on IV and just let you sleep it off, we'll need to run some tests just to make sure there's no underlying condition, which doesn't seem to be the case according to your history. You should be released hopefully tomorrow morning."

Although I can definitely see more clearly, I still have no idea what is happening. The last thing I remember is vomiting in the shower, and then I woke up here. I'm not sure I have the energy to piece together the little clues I have, or even think about any clues whatsoever, but I find myself hungry again. My head pangs as I painstakingly get up from the cold hard hospital bed and I drag around the IV in search of a vending machine or a canteen or anything I can eat, my legs weak as the room slowly spins around me. The only thing I can smell is blood and it makes my stomach hurt even more. I get back to my room having found a couple of cardboard-flavoured protein bars, a can of coke and some crackers, but my hunger remains unquenchable and I can't figure out why my stomach won't stop hurting, and I surely don't even wish to think about how I ended up in the hospital to begin with, how would someone even find me in the shower passed out in a pool of my own vomit, and how mortifying the thought of being found in such condition by an actual human being even feels.

By the time the nurse brings me lunch, I am starving like a wolf. It all looks and smells unappetising, nevertheless, I swallow without chewing, inhaling the flavourless rice and meat, using my bare hands to shovel it into my mouth, barely able to take a breath in between. Thankfully, the nurse left and the curtains that separate my section of the room from my neighbour's are drawn shut, or they would think me an animal. I consume the meal within seconds, something I've never been able to muster even at the top of my hunger, yet I crave more. I'm nowhere near satiated and I wonder if I can ask for another portion, but the lack of seasoning does throw me off. My stomach grumbles again, and the last time I tried sleeping it off I ended up in this predicament, plus I'm missing work which means my pay will be even more nauseating than that soggy broccoli I just wolfed down. Speaking of work, when the nurse comes back to retrieve my empty tray, she brings news of a visitor. There he stands, not tall yet somehow mighty, painfully average looking yet the reason I shoved a dildo up my ass last night - I think it was last night, at least.

"How are you feeling," he asks, still standing there like a looming demon, hands in his pockets. This is the first time I see him wearing street clothes as opposed to the penguin uniform. I want to ask why he's visiting me at the hospital, given that we're merely co-workers and have barely exchanged any meaningful conversation in the past few months.

"I'm- I'm alright, I guess. Why are you here?" He chuckles for some reason, dark eyes piercing as always and those pretty dimples of his making an appearance. What he says next leaves me in a state of disarray I've never felt before, humiliated to the bones.

"Well, I did find you naked face down in your own spew, so I thought I'd check on you and make sure you're alive."

And he laughs. He laughs like he knows I'm utterly degraded, IV stuck in my hand, weak and trembling as he confesses to having found me in that state and somehow taken me to the hospital.

"Don't worry, I didn't tell anyone about the raw meat. That's our dirty little secret." And he winks, a shit-eating grin I wouldn't have imagined on such a wet towel of a man.

I'm blinking, fully panicking but afraid to make it a spectacle, I can feel sweat running down my back and my pussy tightens in discomfort. Raw meat? I don't remember any- What exactly happened? The weird dream comes back to me, where I crouched by my open fridge and gobbled down that leftover raw minced pork like a goblin. Then my shower drain clogged in whatever weird bloody substance… No no no no, this can't be real…!

Chris seems amused by my panic as he approaches me, sitting on the fragile hospital bed beside me and leaning in so close I can feel his breath caress my skin and smell his breath when he whispers right in my face. "The cravings. I have them too. You'll get used to it." He leaves at once like he didn't just shift my entire world upside down and make me feel the most humiliated I've ever felt in my entire life. Next, he's gonna tell me he also found me with the dildo up my ass and whimpering his name? But the cravings… What cravings? And he has them too? I feel dizzy and I keep thinking this too is part of that weird, never-ending dream. Come on now, where's my alarm? I'll gladly go to work just this once.

To be continued

#neverendingdreams #n.sft #fanfiction #disturbing #idk how to tag

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drama-rebellion · 9 days

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Two souls

(A short story about my two souls, living together. One wants to be healthy and productive, the other self-destructive and addicted to the darkness. A story about what the sides borderline look like in my world)

The sky is covered in dark grey clouds. The soft rain creates little rivers flowing down the window. Vala blows the cigarette smoke into the cold air, while she looks down on the empty street, wrapped in her soft blanket, a steaming cup in her hands. Although the heat is running on full power, it’s uncomfortably cold in the little attic apartment she lives in together with her best friend Noxa. The other girl had just woken up and yawns extensively. “Good morning”, Vala greets her, but only gets an incomprehensible grumble as an answer. “Coffee?”. She nods. In the small kitchen she pours a second cup, black as the night. Noxa mumbles a “thanks” and takes a small sip. Her hair is ruffled and she needs to shower. Empty bottles and cans pile up next to her bed. She had slept 13 hours straight. After she puts the coffee on her nightstand, she reaches down and checks the cans. Once she finds one that still seems to contain some beer, she gulps it down and grimaces, then lights a cigarette. Vala sighs, but doesn’t say anything. She accepts her friend like she is. She wishes there was something she could do to help her fight her demons with something else then alcohol, but didn’t judge her if that was the only solution for now. Also she is most creative when a little drunk. Vala had visited her all the time when she was in the hospital, forced to stay sober and she had been completely miserable. But one day, she swears to herself, they would find a different way.

“We have no more beer”, Noxa states. Vala, who had sat down on the couch, laughes. “I told you not to drink all of it yesterday, but you didn’t listen.” The other girl moans. “Yeah”. “You should take a shower. You smell.” “I don’t care, I don’t want to.” It is always hard to motivate Noxa to even the tiniest actions of human life. Like cleaning, doing the laundry or simply taking care of herself. For the first time that day, their two cats emerge from their hiding places. With demanding meows, they walk up and down in front of their food bowl. Vala gets up, puts her empty cup in the dishwasher and gets a can of cat food out of the cupboard. They are running low. While she puts the meat junks in the bowl, she addresses her friend over the shoulder: “If you shower, put on clean clothes and collect all the trash around your bed, I am gonna go to the store with you. We need cat food anyway and the fridge is almost empty too.” The outlook of more alcohol gets Noxa on her feet. Vala sees immediately that she’s quite shaky already, but pulls herself together. The fresh clothes she gets out of the closet don’t match at all, but Noxa doesn’t give a shit about her looks these days. While her friend showers, Vala cleans up the kitchen and gets dressed herself. It’s almost noon by now. Once done, the other girl looks much healthier already, although she didn’t bother to do anything than the absolute necessary. While she puts on her clothes, Vala can see the countless markigs covering every inch of her body, also her ribs are clearly showing. She basically gets all her calories from alcohol, but that doesn't nurish her body. The scars are the relicts of the war she fights with herself. Most of them already turned white and officially Noxa has stopped cutting, but every now and then she still slips up and Vala has to drive her to the hospital to get stitches. Fortunately the last incident of that kind had been over a year ago already, no comparison to the times, when she would cut on a daily basis. Every morning Vala would clean up the blood from the floor, change Noxa’s red stained bed sheets and take care of her wounds. Right now she might be in a bad place, but not nearly as lost as she had once been. Now Vala helps her to pick up the empty bottles and cans, because it’s clearly exhausting her. She needs a little break before putting on her shoes and jacket. "Don't forget your meds", Vala reminds her. Noxa rolls her eyes. "I'll take them when we get back." "No, now! Otherwise you forget." The other girl gives her an annoyed look, but does as asked. Once the anti-depressants, mood-stabilizers, potassium, and a couple of other unpronouncable meds are down her throat, they get ready.

They take the trash and their backpacks, Vala closes the door behind them. Two flights of stairs down and they step outside into the rainy autumn day. The smell of rotten leaves and wet pavement fills the air. “Damn it, is that cold”, Noxa complains. Her friend actually enjoys the weather, but doesn’t tell her that. Without talking they get on their way to the store. It’s not far. There are barely people around. Only some dog walkers with their canine companions, some kids hurrying home from school, an elderly couple hand in hand. Typical life in a small town.

In front of the store they return the empty cans and split up as soon as they step through the door. Both of them have their own shopping list. Vala gets herself some low fat curd, natural yoghurt, various fruits and vegetables, protein chips, smoked tofu and a big coke zero, plus cat food. Noxa on the other hand, arrives at the check out with a six pack of beer and three bottles of wine, some sweets, a frozen pizza and zero cal energy drinks. It’s her usual purchase, although she mostly doesn’t even eat, only when Vala insists. The alcohol works better on an empty stomach, Noxa had once explained to her. Outside the wind has gotten stronger, tearing at their jackets. On the stairs to their apartment, Noxa has to stop twice due to her lack of stamina and the heavy groceries. She tumbles over the doorstep and immediately collapses on the couch, breathing heavily. Vala saves herself a comment. They’ve had this conversation so many times before. Instead she gets rid of her shoes and carries the two bags into the kitchen, putting the cooled stuff in the fridge. With some curd and half a mango, she prepares her breakfast, or rather lunch. Meanwhile Noxa has gotten out of her jacket too and pulls two cans out of her backpack. Both sit on the couch, Vala with her fruit salad and Noxa with her beer and energy drink. With a fizz she opens both, drinks half of the beer in one gulp, flushes down the terrible taste with energy. Once Vala had asked her, why she drinks it if it tastes so horrible. “I don’t do it for the taste. Beer and wine are cheap, the good stuff way too expensive for wasting it on casual day drinking”. Makes sense. “Wanna watch something?” Vala asks. “Yeah sure.” “And what?” “Don’t care”. That is probably Noxa’s most used phrase, because she actually doesn’t care about anything much anymore. Vala should be offended, but she isn’t. She knows that her friend isn’t doing it on purpose. She has her wars to fight and her demons eat her alive. Vala only tries to help as much as she can, watch over her, sometimes admitting her to the hospital when she really is close to stumble over the edge, but that hadn’t been the case in quite some time. It just makes her sad to see Noxa fading away everyday a bit more. There had been a time she was an actually happy and positive person, but that’s long ago, nothing more than an echo from the past. So often Vala asks herself, what went wrong, what had happened to her best friend and if there had been anything she could have done to prevent her from getting so bad. The guilt is misplaced, but she can’t help feeling this way. Vala gives her best to get her out of her hole every now and then, but barely succeeds. The pull of the shadows on her is too strong. Now Noxa just stares blankly at the TV where a documentary is flickering over the screen. Absently she pets the cat next to her, sometimes taking some sips from her beer, or smoking a cigarette.

In the early evening, Vala prepares her dinner. While cutting vegetables and the tofu, she can hear her friend sapping through the program in the other room. While the oven is heating up, she takes a short shower herself and switches into her comfy sweatpants. Although she knows that Noxa isn’t gonna eat much, she unwraps the frozen pizza and puts it in the oven along with her veggies. In the living room she is surprised to see that Noxa has her I Pad on her knees and is drawing something. She hasn’t done that in days. Her inspiration is very inconsistent, but the results not less admirable. While waiting for the food to be ready, Vala cleans up the room a little bit. Collects empty wrappers, cigarette stumps, empties the ashtray and sweeps through the room with a broom. It’s already quite dark outside, so she lights the dozen candles scattered everywhere as well as a scent stick, and puts on the fairy lights. It’s a pretty cozy ambience. She gets the metal plates out of the oven, piles veggies on one plate, the pizza on another. After slicing it, she puts it in front of Noxa on the living room table. “Eat”, she tells her, like a mother to her toddler. “Don’t feel like it”, she says and drinks some wine instead. “Come on, please. At least a bit”. Noxa sighs, but gives in. After it cools down a bit, she even eats two slices, while Vala enjoys her own meal. The evening passes by without anything special happening. The two girls are even quieter than usual. Sometimes, when Noxa has drunk enough, she gets quite talkative. Then she rumbles about the most unusual facts and drifts away in nostalgia, memories of happier days. At the moment she is still busy with her I Pad and once she’s done she shows Vala her latest work, who had been waiting excited already. The picture shows a faceless monster of some kind with a crown of thorns on its head. It’s disturbing, but also beautiful. “Very good, I love it”, Vala says. She is very creative herself, but more into words than drawing, although she hasn’t written anything in a while now. Her thoughts are too clouded. This dark void hovers over them for days now. There are these times. Every night, when Vala goes to sleep, she hopes that tomorrow will be better, but it rarely is. Noxa is quite drunk by now, puts her I Pad away, mumbles a “good night” and tumbles into bed. Vala smokes one last cigarette. Silently she watches the night outside the window and without even realizing, she starts crying. Hot and salty the tears roll down her cheeks, while she wonders if life will always be this way. If they will ever be alright.

#drama rebellion stories #borderline personality disorder #writing #short story #mental illness #tw alcohol #tw s3lf harm #tw depressing stuff #two souls

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