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bunkerbucky · 3 years

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Casual Sabotage *Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Reader is hit with sex pollen. Except she doesn't crave her boyfriend, Steve Rogers. No, it's his best friend, Bucky Barnes, that she wants inside of her. Bucky, in the beginning, is a good bro and refuses. But due to the fact she sucks his dick so good he kinda, sorta, loses that restraint and just fucks her regardless of who she belongs to.

Rating: Explicit [+18]

Warnings: Sex pollen= Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Rough blow-job, rough oral-sex, vaginal sex, praise kink, breeding kink, size kink- Bucky has a big dick in this lmao, choking and biting kink, infidelity; Reader cheats on Steve.

TW: Dub-con- Reader is under sex pollen, so she actually cannot give consent and also because Bucky is so resistant in the beginning. It turns consensual on Bucky's part, he gives in to the temptation. But, obviously, reader is still influenced so... the lines are blurred.

Yourself and Bucky had searched the Hydra base from tippy-top to bottom. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which infuriated you a little. With the amount of recon work you both had to do, the long nights of watching the agents coming and going, you felt like you both deserved a small win, at least.

A long sigh escaped from your lips as Bucky's fingers typed furiously on the computers keyboard, a USB stick in hand just in case he found something exciting. Your arms were crossed over your chest, eyes scanning around the bases' security room, roaming the shelves and cabinets that held nothing of importance. A week of nothing, you wanted to cry.

"Hmm," Bucky low hum attracted your attention, "It says there's a basement to this building, we haven't checked that out." His steel eyes look over the screen and at you, you respond with a shrug of your shoulders. "We've got two hours before the cavalry arrives to pick us up, let's explore and see if we can obtain something to keep from Rogers from complainin'"

You giggle slightly at Bucky's comment, nodding in agreement with him. Steve would have a lot to say if you went back empty-handed, especially since he sent you both rather than himself. But you couldn't lie and say the thought of seeing Steve after so long didn't excite you. You had missed your boyfriend dearly, you weren't allowed on missions together since finally making things official. Work ethics and all that jazz.

Instead, you and Bucky had started to partner up, Steve didn't trust anyone but himself, and Bucky, to keep an eye out for you. Who better to watch over his best girl than his best friend, plus Bucky was your friend before you got with Steve.

"What if we go down there and there's a great, big monster waiting for us?" Sliding into the small elevator beside Barnes.

Bucky looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, "Then I'll be throwing you out as a distraction, so I can press the elevator door button to leave."

You both ended up laughing at his response, although when the doors finally did open and reveal a darkened basement layer... there was a moment of silence, you both side-eyeing one another at the lack of sound and movement.

Bucky stepped off first and the automatic lighting triggered him to pull his gun from its holster, his reflexes sharp and fast. You step off and follow Bucky down the hall towards double doors, the room through those doors was abandoned and huge. Desks with old computers, all smashed and out of use. Stacks of files and paper scattered on desks and the floor. Despite the mess, it all looks really promising, there had to be something amongst the chaos.

You both separate to cover more ground, you only had a limited time before you had to leave. You looked through paper and files, shuffling through stacks of meaningless bullshit. Hydra certainly kept a record of everything, including all the worthless crap. You wondered if they actually printed this stuff to lead you guys on wild goose chases like this, to make sure you were distracted with searching for something important amongst all their bullshit.

You ended up in the far back of the room, a small desk area had random empty vials littered across it. Files labelled in Russian, that you couldn't translate very well.

"Hey, Buck," You called over your shoulder as you lifted an empty vial, a cork tightly shoved in the top; curious. "Think I might've found something."

The vial itself was black, not black liquid, the vial was just black. It didn't feel weighted, it didn't feel like anything was moving inside of it. So, curiosity got the best of you because you yanked the cork off the vial. Black smoke puffed out and into your face causing you to inhale and go into a coughing fit. Waving your arms in front of your face, coughing at the inhalation of whatever was inside that vial.

It smelt like... old leather, peppermint toothpaste and...something else, like a deep musk. Odd.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bucky suddenly appeared at your side, a hand placed on your back and eyeing you with concern. He then grabbed the vial from your hand, it was clear and no longer black. "What happened?"

Your coughing had subsided, you felt fine. "I think there was some kind of smoke or whatever in there, I don't know. The black stuff just burst out, I was stupid-"

"Damn, right." Bucky looked mad, which was a given. "Hydra is known for making gas poisons, Y/N. That was a rookie move, never open strange vials." He didn't sound too mad at you, a little more concerned and worried.

You nodded, frowning when feeling the back of your neck sweating. You felt... hot. A sweat was taking over your body, your mouth was getting dry and your mind was going fuzzy. Bucky hadn't noticed, his eyes cast down to the Russian files on the desk, his hand flipping through the old pages and taking the information in with wide eyes. You briefly wondered if whatever is written in that file had anything to do with that vial.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered.

"What?" Your throat was scratchy, your breathing was becoming laboured and your palms were sweaty.

You didn't feel hot, though. You didn't feel sick either.

"Well, I'm guessing whatever was in that vial was... to put it plainly, sex pollen. It makes the patient unable to think of anything but sex, all they want and all they feel is lust. It's basically either used to breed or on prisoners- the pain of not getting off thoroughly enough can lead to the patient taking extreme measures: death." He shakes his head, you don't notice the horrified look In his eyes at the thought of maybe it being used on him when under Hydra's control. "You're likely fine, though."

"I wouldn't be so sure," You managed to gasp out, your thighs squeezing together and eyes closed, you wanted to feel embarrassed but you couldn't. "My head is spinning and, fuck, I need to get this off. I feel too hot, I'm burnin' up." Clawing at the collar of your own tact suit, your hands were shaking and you couldn't bring yourself to look at Bucky.

You wanted to look at him though. You knew he was standing close to you because you could smell him, he smelt like the black smoke did. He smelt delicious, intoxicating in the best way. God, you wanted him so badly. You needed him.

"It's going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, we'll get you back to Steve and he can-"

You shook your head and finally pulled the zipper down of your jacket, shrugging the bulletproof material off your shoulders.

"Need you." You managed to mumble out, lifting your gaze to Bucky, who was frowning and shaking his head. "Please, Buck. I need you! I can feel my skin crawling and-I'm in so much pain, please." Your voice a mix between a whine and beg.

"I can't- you're not thinking properly. Steve will be here soon and he can help you, he's your boyfriend, remember?"

You pulled the black, tight sleeved henley from your body and let it drop to the floor, it covered in sweat. You're standing in a sports bra and tact pants, chest heaving as you try to intake gulps of oxygen from your panting. Even with half your clothes off you still felt sweat bead and drip down your skin.

"I can't wait that long," You sniffled but no tears forming. "Please, I want you-I've always wanted you. You read the file, I'm going to die!"

Bucky continued to shake his head. "I won't do that Steve. It says that it took a couple of hours till that point, Steve'll be here soon and I'll explain to him what happened."

You groaned painfully, shaking your own head now. Not understanding why he couldn't just help you now. You were in immense pain and the throbbing heat in your core wasn't letting up.

You didn't want Steve to help you. You didn't need Steve to help you, it wasn't just because he wasn't here. You wanted Bucky. The smell of him, the heat radiating off his body when it was close to yours. You craved for him to touch you, to fuck you. You were sure the moment he touched you that the pain would ease, the flames that were consuming you would simmer down.

And you were certain that he wanted you too.

Taking the initiative you moved closer to Bucky, the short hairs on the back of your neck were drenched in sweat, you could feel it drip down your back. You placed a hand softly on his metal arm, the cool vibranium instantly cooling you down. Bucky let out a shaky breath and looked at you, eyebrows furrowing together as he took in your features. You were sure you could see the fight in his eyes, he wanted to help you. To touch you.

It was frustrating that he wasn't giving in. That he wasn't falling to his desires.

"I won't tell Steve, I promise." You whispered and pressed a kiss to his collar, inhaling his scent and shuddering when it filled your senses. He wasn't pushing you away, but he also wasn't giving in to touching you back. "It can be our little secret. I know you'll make me feel really good, he won't be able to help me like you can."

Her other hand trailed down his chest and stopped at his belt, Bucky was too busy telling her everything he had already been saying. Telling you how you love Steve and Steve loves you. It would break Steve's heart if he found out about this talk from you if he knew what you were saying to Buck. You didn't care, not right now anyway. You had always found Bucky attractive and before getting with Steve you had entertained the thought of Bucky, but he was just getting back his life. A relationship seemed too much for him, well that's what you thought.

You didn't settle for Steve, that was never the case. You love Steve, you know that. But, right now, here with Bucky, you knew that he'd be able to help you with this- more than Steve could. Steve was a peaceful lover, an attentive one. You needed this illness fucked out of you- at least, that's what your hazy brain was telling you.

Your hand slipped under his belt, a wide grin taking over your face at Bucky's shock, words choking out as you wrapped a hand around his dick. A sense of pride coming over you as he began to get hard in your hand, a few quick jerks as started to undo his pants with your free hand. Bucky was stunned into silence and compliance, unable to stop you just from the fact he hadn't been touched like this in a while.

He came to his senses when you noticed you get to your knees, his pants undone and pulled down his muscular thighs. Bucky slapped your hands away and tries to pull his pants back up, but you were putting up quite the fight. You roughly pushed him back, he ended up falling to the ground due to his pants restricting his movements. In the moments he fell down and was trying to figure out what happened, you had pulled down his boxers and gulped dryly at his semi-hard length.

"You're so big," You mumbled before wrapping your lips around the tip, a loud groan echoed through the room from Bucky.

You could feel him growing inside of your mouth as you tried to take more of him down, slobbering up his dick and licking around the shaft. Pulling off to run your tongue around the veins and down to his balls, gently suckling them into your mouth as you jerked his length till it was fully standing erect. You smirked to yourself at all of the noises Bucky was making, a hand being placed on your hair- which normally you hated Steve's hand in your hair, but you'd allow Bucky this time.

"Fuck my throat," spit was around your mouth and down your chin, "fuck my throat with your big cock."

Bucky's eyes were wide and lust-filled, there was still a hesitancy from him. A dilemma going on in that head of his, so you wrapped your lips around his cock again and started to slowly take him down. He was bigger than Steve, so much bigger, but that only spurred you on. You wanted him to roughly fuck your throat, you wanted to feel him at the back of your throat even after this.

You felt both his hands on your head... he started to push your head further down, the tip hit the back of your throat and you still hadn't taken all of him. He started to ease past your limitations, your eyes filled with tears as he stuffed your mouth impossibly full. Your lips stretched wide around his girth, he could feel your throat constrict around him and the slight gag you couldn't help because of how far he was down your throat.

"Fuck, so good." Bucky groaned lowly, eyes completely black and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You knew your panties were soaking, a slickness collecting on your thighs as you rubbed them together, the flimsy material of your underwear was sticking to you and making you rub yourself just to alleviate the friction. "I'll deal with your pussy in second, right now I'm going to fill this hole up."

It was like Bucky snapped, the trepidation he was feeling before was long gone. It was now replaced with this new Bucky, and you loved him.

He wasn't merciful when he started to thrust in and out of your mouth, his balls were slapping against your chin harshly. The grip in your hair was harsh as he pushed and pulled your head to meet his hard thrusts, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as he basically skull fucked you. Loud gagging sounds, your throat squeezing his cock as you fought for air, he only eased up when you looked like you were going to pass out. It was seconded worth of air before he repeated his onslaught, spit and cum was dribbling down your chin and onto your chest and sportsbra. Bucky kept his eyes on you, it made you shiver how he was looking at you.

Bucky didn't warn you when he was about to cum, instead, he held your head down, almost shoving his entire cock down your throat as loads of his cum spurted out and shot straight down your throat into your tummy. You hardly tasted his cum because of how far he was down your throat. He groaned as he came, swallowing thrusting his hips into your mouth as he milked his orgasm. He pulled you off his cock, it was still hard, thankfully.

He helped pull you to your feet then undressed you, roughly pulling the sports bra off your chest and yanking your pants down your legs. He ripped your panties to shreds and let the tattered pieces fall to the floor, his hungry gaze took in your shaking, naked form. Your thighs were glistening from your arousal and it was still leaking from your pussy, hardly any attention to it made you needy and wishing to be stuffed full.

"Turn around." The authority in his voice made you shiver.

You turned around and felt Bucky place a hand on your shoulder, bending you over the desk where you found the vial. The pieces of paper clinging to your sweaty skin and making you keen into his touch more. He kicked your feet further apart, a hand tickling the insides of your thighs and collecting your sweet juices. Expecting to feel fingers prodding around your entrance, instead, you felt a firm tongue lick from clit to fluttering hole, it dipping inside and collecting the juices wanting to leak out of you.

Your mouth fell open into a silent scream, his tongue was exploring so far into your pussy, his hands gripped your cheeks apart so he could push further inside of you. Tongue fucking you so roughly and expertly, your eyes almost went crossed out from the feeling. You didn't know you could be tongue fucked this good, but Bucky just lived to prove you wrong. The slurping sounds and moans from the man behind you, he lifted and bent your knee to rest on the table; opening you up further for his trained tongue.

"You're gonna have to let me have a taste of this everyday from now on, baby." Bucky groaned against your pussy, mouth closing around your clit as he sucked harshly, your mouths drowning out his own. "Taste so good," the tip of his tongue running figure eights on your engorged clit.

Bucky must've stayed between your legs for minutes, but it felt like hours. He pulled two back-to-back orgasms from you, only using his tongue. When he was done eating your pussy, he stood up and draped himself over your back, an arm wrapping around your neck as he breathed heavily into your ear. You could feel his cock nudge up against your pussy, sliding and coating himself in your juices.

"You ready for me?" You whined your response, trying to push yourself back against him but his arm tightened around your throat- not restricting your airflow. "Think your little pussy can take my dick, dolly?" You nodded in a rush, needing it inside of you otherwise you was going to die. "I've got you," The tip nudges against your entrance and began to push inside, the stretch was painful but welcoming. "Daddy's got you."

Your pussy fluttered around his length, the more he pushed his thick length in the more you moaned. He wasn't even half-way in when you started to babble about how he was too big for you, how he wouldn't fit inside of you. That only made Bucky want to prove you wrong, want to prove that you were made to take him. He started to thrust shallowly, rocking his length in and out of you, impaling you on him more whenever he pushed forward.

Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he stopped and remained inside of your tight, heat for a moment. Relishing in the way you were split open around his cock, your walls were spasming around him and he was having a hard time not cumming on the spot. You felt so tight, so warm and wet around him, suddenly envious that Steve got to have you all the time. But he was planning on ruining you, to make sure the next time you fucked Steve it wouldn't feel as good.

He was going to fuck you so hard, so deep that you'd be wishing Steve was this big.

"Hang on, baby." That was the only warning you got.

Bucky started to pummel inside of you, his thrusts were hard and fast, his cock was kissing your cervix. You really could only just lay there and take it, your mouth open as moans were ripped from you, eyes rolling back as he kept impaling his girth inside of you. He was hitting spots so deep you knew you'd be feeling him for days afterwards, you'd be walking with limp and sore, it was worth it.

The way he was fucking you, it was as if he had something to prove.

The sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts and groans right beside your ear. His arm around your neck, clenching and cutting your airflow off at times, had you cumming within seconds and he still didn't let up. He didn't stop and fucked you through your third orgasm.

Your mind was starting to come down from the pollen, the pain and fever you were feeling had gone. Replaced now with pleasure and pain, a mix you didn't think you were into but now couldn't get enough of. All you could think and feel was Bucky Barnes. This was no longer the effects of the pollen anymore, this was pure you and riding on the afterglow of Bucky fucking you like you needed.

"Harder." You mumbled through heavy pants, tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder.

A smirk crossed his features, metal arm holding your hip in a bruising grip. Complying with your order and snapping his hips hard into your heat, grinding his hips against yours before pulling back out and repeating. It causes your back to arch, pressing your pussy back against his thrusts with little mewls leaving your lips.

"Kiss me." You plead breathlessly.

Bucky doesn't falter with that demand either. Draping himself over your body again and pressing his plump lips against yours, the kiss is far more gentle than his thrusts, but it still has you moaning against him. He was kissing you like you was fragile, yet fucking you like you were some kind of sex toy that he was using just to jerk off into. It was making your head spin and your pussy needy for more.

"You gonna come again?" Bucky chuckled against your ear, you nodded sharply and cried in pleasure when he bit your shoulder, cumming on the spot when his teeth dug into your flesh. "Mm'good girl." He mumbled as he licked at the tender spot, you could feel his hips stuttering their pace.

"Cum in me." You grinned and he cursed lowly, eyes squeezing shut. "Want you to fill me up, daddy. Fuckin' fuck a baby into me, fill me up."

The arm around your neck was pulled away, hand splaying across your back as he started to thrust into you in tight, fast and hard thrusts. Using your body to seek his own pleasure now, you were biting your lip at the thought of him filling you up. Not even caring if he actually did knock you up, you needed his cum inside of you.

Bucky found his end after a few careful thrusts, warm ropes of his seed filling you up and then some, he filled you up so much that it started to seep out around his cock. He groaned at the mess he made inside of you, he carefully pulled out of your abused cunt to see your hole clenching, trying to keep his creamy load inside of yourself. He had to look away because if he kept staring he'd get hard again, he didn't think you could take another round or load.

You remained bent over the desk and trying to catch your breath, his human hand was rubbing comforting circles on your back. Before you or Bucky could say something a buzzing sound captured both of your attention, it was coming from Bucky's pant pocket. He left you to retrieve his phone, eyes scanning over the device for a moment before he looked at you.

"Steve is waiting at the extraction point for us," You nodded mutely and you both got dressed in mutual silence.

He helped you to look presentable, ignoring the fingerprint bruise on your hip and the obvious bite mark on your shoulder. You were unsure how to explain any of that to Steve, you were also unsure how to explain what happened to Bucky. Obviously, you had still had those feelings for him, right? Otherwise, you would have been able to wait for Steve, it was like all sense of self-control had left you and only Bucky remained in your mind.

As you both left the base in awkward silence, treking the five miles towards the extraction zone, you wondered if you would have craved for Bucky if you was with Steve. If after all this time it was Bucky and not Steve you wanted.

All you knew was that Bucky had ruined you. You could still feel the impression of him inside of you, the way he had so deliciously stretched you open and impaled you on him. The way he had roughly fucked your throat like it was nothing but a hole to get off into. He had fucked you, in more ways than one.

(Please, let me know what you think! I’m also taking requests too! Honestly, kinda wanna write a part 2 where Reader tries to have sex with Steve but fakes her orgasm just to go to Bucky... I’m a bad person, I just think Bucky would be better than Steve tbh lol~ Lilith)

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #steve rogers x reader

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battinscn · 2 years

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𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

< 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗐𝗈

✧·ﾟ:*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

⌜𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍⌟

✧·ﾟ:*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧·ﾟ: *✧

𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗱𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻𝘀

𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘪 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺'𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 held onto the quill in front of him, twirling it around as he stared at it.

draco had 10 days before the start of the christmas holidays to curse the quill and return it to dumbledore.

he had to do all that before students started going back home so as to lower the suspicions of him being the culprit.

voldemort had been on draco's heels about completing his tasks, each letter he was sending through his mother was getting more and more threatening.

a frustrated sigh left the boy's lips as he buried his face in his hands, thinking about how he would go about his plan.

if he could not fix the cabinet, the best he could do was to kill dumbledore.

draco did not want to kill his headmaster, just the thought have having to do it made him sick in the stomach.

but it was either he get tied to a table and crucioed for the rest of his life or he completed his task.

the decision was rather obvious.

draco slipped the quill into his pocket and walked out of the slytherin common room.

he stopped in front of the defence against the dark arts classroom, knocking on the door.

professor snape opened it and let the boy in.

severus had been appointed the new defence against the dark arts professor after umbridge got a promotion to work at the ministry.

"i got this from dumbledore's office," draco pulled out the quill from his pocket and placed it on the desk.

"i-i can curse it and return it to him anonymously...but i don't know any curses."

severus leaned on his chair, his arms folded.

he had not told dumbledore of draco's task. even though he was supposed to be a double agent for the order, severus was afraid if he'd reveal draco's task, dumbledore may punish draco or do something to prevent him from completing his task.

this would not only hurt draco, but hurt himself as well due to the vow.

as much as severus wanted to fight on the good side, he was being put in a tough spot morally.

"look, i can't tell you what to do, or how to do it, but there's books in the restricted part of the library that you can refer to," severus stated.

draco nodded his head in acknowledgement, "thank you professor." he breathed out as he left the defence against the dark arts classroom.

the slytherin decided it would be best if he went to the library in the evening after curfew so no one would see him sneaking.

he waited till it was eleven and was certain that most of the students were back in the dorms when he creeped into the library's open doors.

"lumos," he whispered and light emitted from the tip of draco's wand.

he tiptoed towards the back of the library till he got to the rope cordoning off the restricted section.

with a hesitating sigh, draco stepped over the rope.

there was not many shelves, only two. the blonde walked through the bookshelves till his eyes fixated on golden words printed on the spine of the book.

magick moste evil was the title of the book.

he picked up the big black book from the bottom shelf and blew the layer of dust off it. he remembered during their first year, harry potter had opened the book while sneaking into the restricted area and it screamed when he closed it.

not wanting to draw unwanted attention to himself, draco decided it would be a good idea to read it when he got back to his room.

he held the heavy book in his arms as he walked back into the normal section of the library. but before he stepped out of the library someone behind him called out his name.

"malfoy."

draco turned around and was faced with none other than harry james potter.

"fucking hell. were you stalking me or what?"

"you were in the restricted section!"

"i'll tell you what sherlock holmes. you are unbelievable."

"what were you doing past curfew, in a place students aren't allowed to be in?"

"i'm a prefect, i was doing my rounds, checking to make sure no students are in there. the question is what are you doing out past curfew?" draco looked at the boy through narrow slits.

"i..uh.." harry stuttered, lost for words because he knew draco was right.

harry was holding onto a black leather book, the words 'diary of the half blood prince' on it.

"that's what i thought" draco rolled his eyes as he turned away.

"i know you're a deatheater!" harry shouted.

"you don't know shit about shit you git," draco seethed.

"do you hear that?" pansy asked hermione as they walked hand in hand.

"yea, i think it's coming from the library," hermione agreed.

the two girls quickly went towards the direction of the noise and they saw draco and harry outside the entrance of the library.

harry pulled out his wand and was about to cast a spell on draco when pansy intervened.

"stupe-"

"expelliarmus," pansy pointed her wand right at harry as harry's flew out of his hand.

hermione and her immediately rushed to the boys.

"what are you two helping him! he's a death eater for bloody sake! he's just like his pathetic father!"

"look potter, i don't care how much you hate us slytherins, but don't talk shit when you don't know shit yourself," pansy spat at the boy.

draco's brows raised in surprise that pansy was standing up for him. pansy had not said a word to him since y/n left hogwarts.

"draco and i are going back to the dungeons," pansy informed the two gryffindors, but it was more meant for hermione.

"um...thanks for sticking up for me." draco broke the silence between the two as they were walking up the stairs.

pansy let out a sigh.

"i can't forgive you for what you did to y/n because that's for her to decide, and i do hope you know i'm incredibly disappointed in you draco. but i did miss having you around, sure blaise is cool, but it just isn't the same without you."

draco flipped open the book and read every word of every page.

most of the curses in the book were torturous and painful.

"sleepwalking curse," draco read the last page aloud.

"the sleepwalking curse puts an individual into a deep sleep from which they might never wake."

this meant that draco would not have to technically kill professor dumbledore, but still be able to complete his task.

the slytherin set the headmaster's quill on his desk as he waved his wand over it, reading the pronunciation of the curse off the book.

"i now commence the christmas feast!" dumbledore announced as cheers erupted from the various house tables as students started tucking in.

draco sent a silent signal to crabbe and goyle who were sitting a few seats away.

"i'm going to the toilets for a bit, don't go eating all the food zabini," draco forced out a chuckle as he stood up from his seat opposite pansy and blaise and left the great hall.

crabbe then walked out, goyle following not long after.

the three slytherins walked to dumbledore's office, careful to not make themselves seen.

"you two wait here and keep a lookout, i'll go in," draco whispered and the two boys adhered to his instructions.

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋 >

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanficiton #angst #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco angst #draco malfoy angst #slythern reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco fanfic #metanoia

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Melted Mask

awitchbravestheverge prompt: I don't know if you're still taking prompts but you are a master of hurt/comfort and would sell you my soul for some of that for Janus. Maybe where he's feeling insecure or like he's worn out his welcome post acceptance, or maybe a little touch starved, or both. Preferably with Virgil or Patton as the comforter, but if not thats ok. I just have a never-ending need for fic where people are soft and gentle with the snake boy, and I love everything you write with my whole heart

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: DLAMPR, focus on anxceit and moceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide I don’t mind

Warnings: uhhh sympathetic deceit and remus

Word Count: 4804

“How many masks of your own face are you currently wearing?”

“At least four.”

Between the gloves, the cape, and the hat, there’s not an awful lot of Janus that is seen most of the time. Not that he particularly minds. There is a certain benefit that layers upon layers of clothing provides. One, they’re perfect for concealing his cane—the others always look so surprised when he summons it from nowhere. Two, he is Dark Side, thanks to Roman’s fantastic naming system. There is an aesthetic standard that must be met. What was he going to do, show up in some ratted old hoodie?

Three, well—there is an awful lot to look at. If the others are focused on the clasps at his throat, the shock of the yellow gloves, the logo hidden under the black fabric, they’re not looking at him.

If they were, they’d see his scales.

He is the only side with a visible animal trait, after all. The scales cover the left side of his face, down beneath his collar. He doesn’t mind the stares—come on, it’s so easy to catch them off guard, how could he?—but sometimes he does wonder if they’ll ever get used to it.

To him.

The scales are a reminder. That he’s different. That he’s not like them. He’s not like the others, he doesn’t look like Thomas, at least not to the extent that they do. Thomas doesn’t have golden scales along the side of his face. Thomas doesn’t have a mouth that curves up along his cheek. Thomas doesn’t have a slit-eye pupil. No, no, Thomas is normal.

How dreadful.

Then, of course, there are the lies.

‘Deceit.’ Such a funny word. And so…polarizing.

‘Deceitful,’ ‘dishonest,’ ‘dastardly’—lot of ‘d’s, here, hmm?—all of the words that just mean he’s a liar. And lying must be bad, right? So it follows logically then, because we simply adore logic in this house, that he must be bad.

He’s not to be trusted, he’s a liar. He’s not honest, he’s a liar. They have to double and triple-check everything he says because he’s a liar.

They always conveniently seem to forget that you can always trust a dishonest person to be dishonest. It’s the truthful ones you have to watch out for.

Janus knows he’s a liar. Frankly, he’s quite proud of it. He’s gotten very good at it too; twisting the words together just right in order to tug slightly at a heartstring there, block off just a little rationality there, get the job done. The others always get caught up in his words, too busy focusing on the minutia of it, the details, leaving him free to step around them and speak to Thomas.

They see the gloves, they see the scales, they see the lies.

They see the masks.

Oh, sometimes he’ll put on a little bit more of a show if he needs to make a point, if the normal masks aren’t quite enough to get Thomas to listen. He’ll tie a hoodie around his shoulders, push a pair of glasses up his nose, knot a tie around his neck. Problem is…those ones are a little easier to see through. No matter how hard he tries, all of his disguises end up being a self-portrait.

Which is how he ended up here.

“You know the rules,” Patton says, his hands on his hips, “no impersonating others outside of filming!”

Janus rolls his eyes and idly flicks a speck of dirt off one of his gloves. “Oh, please. You don’t want me to do it during filming either.”

“No, I don’t, but we made a compromise, kiddo, now we both have to stick to it.”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure the others will be relieved to hear so.”

“What have we said about impersonations?”

He sighs. “The others may be idiots—“

“Oi!”

“—but idiots are also deserving of respect,” Janus finishes, glancing at Virgil draped over the back of the couch. “And I would never dream of being anything less than perfectly respectful.”

Virgil snorts. “What do you even get out of it anyway?” He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, you haven’t been tricking Roman into telling you how to impersonate us better, have you?”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Janus!”

“What? Like you don’t make a habit of going to the others for advice.”

“There’s a difference between openly asking for it and tricking them into giving it to you.”

Janus levels a stare at him. “I suppose there is, isn’t there?”

“Hey!” Patton steps between them. “That’s enough.”

“Oh, well—“ Janus makes a show of resettling his cape—“if you say so.”

Patton sighs. “Janus, we are trying, okay? You heard Thomas, you’re…well, you’re more welcome now.”

“And you’re doing a marvelous job of that.”

Patton doesn’t quite deflate, but it’s close. “Well, maybe we could all try a little harder.” He gives Janus a pointed look.

“Yes, I’m sure my efforts will be richly rewarded.”

“Well, you could start by showing up as yourself more often.”

“Myself?” Janus gasps theatrically, putting a gloved hand to his scales. “Who’s that?”

“Dude,” Virgil sniggers—Virgil did always appreciate his sense of humor—“how many masks of your own face are you currently wearing”

“At least four.”

Patton lets him go with another verbal slap on the wrist and Virgil flips him off. Janus sinks out, striding down the hallway near his room. It’s quieter here. The walls hum a little less. He can think.

He hadn’t gone to Roman to gets tips on his acting. He’d gone because Roman doesn’t want to talk to Janus.

Janus, the liar. Janus, the manipulator. Janus, the Dark Side.

Janus shuts the door of his room and instinctively slumps, the cape hanging off his shoulders. He knows Patton means well, and Virgil’s…Virgil, but sometimes it stings a little more than it should. Not that the others will ever see it.

He’ll never forget the look on Thomas’s face when Logan said he was the side that acts with the one priority of self-preservation. Of how it instantly demonized the idea of protecting yourself. Of Thomas keeping himself safe.

He looks at his hands, sees the gloves. They still don’t fit quite right, even after all these years. He can’t get the seams to run down the sides of the fingers, not curve around to the front or the back. It really shouldn’t be this difficult. Especially considering how much use he’s gotten out of them.

Lying kept Thomas alive. It kept him safe. He helped keep Thomas safe. When Virgil couldn’t breathe, when Logan faltered, when Patton froze, Janus would quietly make his way over to Roman and whisper a suggestion. Just a suggestion. To lie. To keep Thomas safe. To get them out of here. And it saved them. So many times.

Janus walks over to the mirror. It’s a fairly modest thing; about the size of a small sink, oval, large enough so he can see himself completely if he takes a few steps back. He ignores his own face and reaches for the golden latch on the side. He turns it.

The cabinet swings open to reveal a dark velvet interior with several small podiums. Each has a thin mask laid atop it. They gleam in the low light of the room. Janus reaches out and carefully makes sure each is perfectly centered. As he does so, his gloves linger on the fine print beneath the podiums.

Everyone has masks. Versions of themselves to present to the world when they need to. A mask that keeps you safe, a mask that keeps you alive, a mask that has the courage to speak when you don’t. The mask they wear around their homophobic relatives, the mask they wear when they need to make a phone call, the mask they wear when they need to pretend they’re something they’re not.

Janus is very, very good at making masks.

He never wears these. These are for Thomas. When Thomas needs help, Janus slips one of these out of the cabinet and sets it on the desk in front of the mirror. He looks at it, then at the mirror, and works. These masks are what helps Thomas.

He shuts the cabinet with a decisive click, suddenly confronted with his own face.

Janus is so good at making masks that he doesn’t even need a mask to wear one.

A mask because you’re the bad guy. A mask because you can never be trusted. A mask because when you try to be vulnerable they won’t listen. A mask because they don’t want you, they want the character that you embody to survive.

He pities the others sometimes. They don’t have these masks and they hurt. They can’t distance themselves, pull away just a little more, embody a role so that when it’s over, when they’re safe again, they can take it off and breathe. But they don’t. So they just get hurt. Over and over and over.

Janus’s lips involuntarily curl up into a snarl. The hand on the mirror closes into a fist.

They’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

He’s not supposed to hurt them.

Part of him argues that he has to. If he keeps working the way he’s been working he can get right to Thomas, who is who needs the most protection. If he tries to do it their way they risk Thomas getting hurt and Janus won’t have that.

Part of him whispers that this is good for them. If he can make them a little tougher, help them get thicker skin, they’ll be safer. And then it won’t matter if they hate him. They’ll be safe. That’s all he cares about.

The rest of him—

…well, the rest of him is currently the reason he’s having trouble looking in the mirror right now.

The problem with wearing so many masks is that it becomes harder and harder to figure what’s the mask and what’s not. And he’s gotten so good at making them that now…now he doesn’t have to think about it.

A mask for when Logan asks to debate about philosophy. A mask for when Remus wants him to help him and Roman make something new. A mask for when Patton wants to bake. A mask for when Virgil comes to him for help.

A mask for all of them. A mask for none of them.

Janus doesn’t want to wear the masks all the time. He wants them to be warm, to care, to smile when he comes into the room, or even ask where he is. He wants to laugh as Patton smears batter all over his nose accidentally. He wants to listen to Logan ramble about some new advancement in quantum gravity. He wants Virgil to come plop down next to him while everyone else is in the living room. He wants Remus to stay with him while they watch the others get into ridiculous fights over board games. He wants Roman to not be afraid to come talk to him.

He wants.

Janus is selfish.

But he isn’t stupid.

He knows they don’t want him. He knows they don’t want him, even without the masks. Deep down, he knows they don’t need him either.

But Thomas does.

So here Janus will stay, in the dark, in the cold, wearing too many masks of his own face to keep count.

—————————————————————

The Mindscape is cold. It never quite feels solid. Drafts blow in and out of the walls, through the little gaps in the floor, from places that Janus can’t find, no matter how many times he looks for them. He bundles himself up in his cloak and his hat and does his best to hold still, sink in as much warmth as he can. He sneaks up behind the others, pressing himself up near them, purring in their ears, just to snatch their body heat. They always shove him away with flustered protests and blushy little faces. They’re so adorable.

Plus, he knows that’s all he’s ever really going to get from them.

But he’s cold, goddamnit. Why do they keep the air conditioning so high in this house? Snakes are cold-blooded. They get slow. Lethargic. Hypothermic, if it gets very bad.

Janus can’t afford to be slow.

So he wears his gloves, his cape, his hat. He stands opposite the window so he can get the most sunlight. He finds the patches of warmth where none of the others will find him and he can curl up for the warmth he needs...

…and fine, maybe it’s a little more than just being cold.

The others are…touchy. Patton throws his arm around just about everyone. Bumps his hip against theirs. Pats their shoulders, squeezes their hands, kisses their cheeks. Roman sweeps people into his arms, pulls them in for hugs, keeps an arm around their waists for as long as he’s allowed. Remus can and will just tackle whoever he wants. Logan holds himself a little further away, but even he’ll lay a comforting hand on someone’s arm. Janus will admit he was shocked when Virgil started exhibiting spider characteristics. That Side is a cat and you will not convince him otherwise. And everyone knows if a cat falls asleep on you, you’re not allowed to move until it wakes up.

Not that Virgil has fallen asleep on him recently.

Janus is not too proud to admit that at first, he didn’t want their touches. He had a job to do, he didn’t need to be distracted. But now…now he does.

He sees the way they move around each other and it stings. The accidental brushes he gets from standing too close or when they aren’t thinking about it sear through layers and layers of clothing to burn into his skin. When he stays close to them—close, but not too close—his whole side begins to tingle, reaching for them, their warmth, for them. But now it’s too late. His mask is already firmly in place and they know Deceit hates being touched.

That’s another reason for the layers. For the gloves.

Janus knows that if they ever touch him directly, skin to skin, his mask will shatter. And that is too dangerous to risk. With his gloves, his cape, his hat, his masks, the only way that would happen is if one of them tried to touch his face.

And that is certainly very likely indeed.

The clothes give him a barrier. A last line of defense. No touch is better than unexpected touch.

But that doesn’t stop him from being cold.

He can tell it’s going to happen when he can’t quite close his fingers around the end of his staff in the middle of their conversation. His gloves don’t catch on the wood quite right and he has to fumble to grab it properly. He glances up. No one’s looking at him.

Are they ever?

He tucks his hands smoothly out of sight, frantically burrowing them into his cloak to see if they’ll warm up. He locks his knees. No good. His fingers start to hurt as he flexes them. They’re still not moving faster. It’s cold.

He glances at the clock. Two minutes. He can last two minutes. Or so he thinks, until his jaw starts to clench. He clenches it harder, ignoring the protest from his neck, his shoulders, trying to make it stop. He takes a deep slow breath and tries to relax, to stop his muscles from tensing. It works, barely.

One minute.

His hands aren’t responding properly. He can barely move his fingers. He just needs to get out of here. If he gets out of here he can get warm. He has his electric blanket, he has everything he needs. He just needs to leave.

Thirty seconds.

The conversation draws to a close and Janus nods deeply, tossing one last barb over his shoulder as he sinks out, only to collapse in the hallway as soon as he does. A draft flows out right next to his shoulder, freezing fingers dancing up his arm, along the back of his neck, diving into his collar to snatch more of his warmth. He curses, heaves himself to his feet, and makes it to his room. It’s so cold.

Something tugs in his chest. No, no—!

“I suppose there must be a good reason for summoning me back,” Janus drawls, snapping his gloves right back into place as he appears in the living room.

Patton and Virgil stare back at him. Patton fidgets with his hands. “W-well, we, uh, I had a question for you.”

Damn. “Well.” Janus spreads his arms, trying to play off how slow he’s moving for dramatic effect. “I’m here. Ask away.”

“I, uh, a few days ago you mentioned that you didn’t feel as welcome here.” Patton looks at him with such an expression of sincerity that it makes Janus’s tongue itch. “And I wanted to know what I could do to help.”

“Aren’t you sweet?”

Patton won’t be deterred, it seems. He stares at Janus, resolute as ever. It’s so cold in here he’s going to start slurring in a moment.

“Janus?”

“That is my name, yes.”

“Are you…are you feeling alright?”

Janus gestures to himself, movements growing slower by the second. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

Slow. Too slow.

Patton frowns. He gives him a look. “You don’t seem like you normally are, are you sure?”

“I am entirely in one piece.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Honey, if you’re looking for a straight answer, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place.”

Virgil moves. Right, Virgil was here too. Janus is slow. Too slow. He can’t move. He can’t get away. His mask forms a bored expression on his face, quirking an eyebrow. Virgil approaches him and holds out a hand. A cold part of Janus’s chest leaps.

The lips of the mask part. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”

“This,” Virgil mutters, and cups the side of Janus’s face.

Everything stops.

Distantly, he feels Virgil’s hand leave his face. Hears something about being too cold. Sees a blur of blue rush away. But all he can focus on is—

Warm. Virgil touched you. Warm. Warm. So warm. Keep the mask on. Don’t let the mask slip. Warm. If the mask slips everything will be ruined. Warm. Don’t you remember how to take the mask off? Virgil. Patton. Warm.

“Janus? Janus!”

Janus blinks. Virgil is still standing in front of him. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows. The mask is frozen in place, iced into a neutral expression.

“Hey,” Virgil says quietly, “you’re freezing, bud. You gotta get warm.”

Janus can’t speak. The mask is so cold.

“You remember what happens when you get too cold,” Virgil continues, taking a step closer. Janus can’t move. Virgil’s frown deepens and he tilts his head. “What’s going on, Janus, you don’t normally let it get this bad.”

Yes, Virgil, we’re aware.

“You could’ve asked, dude,” Virgil says, taking another step closer, a little exasperation mingling with the concern, “any of us.”

The mask smirks. Barely. “Yes, because I’m sure everyone would be so willing to cuddle me so I could steal their body heat.”

“You don’t know that.” The mask doesn’t move. Virgil glances over his shoulder. When he speaks next, his voice is lowered to a whisper.

“You don’t have to keep that on right now, Jan,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. I know you. You can…you know. Emote and stuff.”

Janus huffs a laugh. It’s weak.

“You ever wear a mask so long you forget how to take it off?”

Vigil pauses. “Huh?”

“Ever pretended to be something for so long you forget which is real and which isn’t?” Janus’s smile turns sad. “Made yourself believe it too?”

Virgil’s eyes close for a second. When he opens them, the concern in his gaze takes the last of the warm breath from Janus’s lungs. “Does this have anything to do with…?” He waves in Janus’s direction.

Janus nods, slowly, so slowly. “I can’t. Because I’ve been…I’ve been trained out of it. I built my masks to hide behind. And now I can’t take them off.”

“And we haven’t been good about helping you do that, huh.” He sounds so tired. He’s been through so much…

“I’m…”

The mask won’t let him apologize.

Like they would ever accept it.

“No, no,” Virgil says, “don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for what you’ve been put through.”

Oh, Virgil…

Virgil glances over his shoulder. Then he shakes his head. “Just…look, go.”

“What?”

“I know this isn’t the time to talk about stuff. You’re not in any sort of shape to do that and Patton will understand. Go get warm.” He gives Janus a pointed look. “You take care of yourself first, okay?”

He tries. He goes back to his room and buries himself in blankets, in pillows, in more layers than he can stand. The pressure is good but it’s still so cold. The weight of the electric blanket is nothing compared to the warmth of Virgil’s hand. Everything in here smells sterile, clinical, detached. It’s all so cold.

You take care of yourself.

The last sentence rings through his head late at night. He wants. But everyone’s probably asleep by now, and god knows they need to sleep. Surely it’ll be alright if he just goes to the living room? That’s not too far, right?

There’s a fire going in the fireplace—since when did they have a fireplace? And there’s someone sitting on the couch. Hmm. Maybe if…if he’s quiet, if he doesn’t make too much noise, he can slip in and soak up some of the warmth.

Virgil turns around.

“Hey, Janus,” he murmurs, standing, and comes over to him. “Can’t sleep?”

Janus shakes his head. It’s warm in here, but he’s still cold. Virgil can see that, apparently.

“Here,” he says, handing him a cup of tea that appeared out of thin air, “drink. It’ll warm you up.”

Janus takes it cautiously. Isn’t it Virgil’s? There’s no way Virgil would’ve know Janus was coming…right?

“This is my third one, figure I should let you catch up first.”

He gestures to the couch, an encouraging smile on his lips.

“Sit. C’mon”

Janus does, sinking into the plush couch and cradling the warm mug in his hands. The couch groans as Virgil sits next to him. He can feel Virgil just out of reach, just there…

“I like watching the fire,” comes a low voice from next to him as he sips the tea. “Helps me think. Or stop thinking.”

He keeps talking in that low voice and the warm tea flows through Janus, sapping the cold slowly away from his body.

Distantly, he feels someone steering him down onto the couch, and heavy arms around him.

“Or maybe you just need a cuddle. Go to sleep, Janus.”

—————————————————————

“ — stop twitching, Remus! You’ll make a mistake!”

“Stop tugging his arm all over the place and then you won’t.”

“Will you two pipe the fuck down? You’re gonna wake him up.”

“Says the loudmouth!”

“Roman, stop it.”

“Stop moving his arm!”

What is…? He’s lying on something. It’s warm, really warm. It smells like…coffee, makeup, and…cinnamon? He shifts slightly, and oh he slept on his neck wrong. A low groan escapes his throat.

His pillow stiffens. “Shit. He’s awake.”

“Good going, Remus.”

“You were the one yelling!”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you.” The chest underneath him vibrates. “Shh, snake-face, go back to sleep. You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

Janus shifts again, trying to look around, but he’s held down by another strong arm. A hand cards itself through his hair—where’s his hat? “Shh, be still, buddy, you’re okay. Can’t we get you back to sleep?”

“What…’s going on?” His tongue feels heavy, swelling up in his mouth.

“I believe the chances of getting him back to sleep will increase if you tell him what you’re doing.”

It’s…Logan? He appears, fuzzy but definitely there, over the back of the couch. Janus tries to turn to make it easier to see him but his right arm is pinned and he can’t move—

“Easy, J, easy, shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, just keep your arm nice and still, okay?” Virgil, it’s Virgil he’s lying on, runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m pretty sure Roman would pitch a fit.”

“Hah.” Roman snorts from somewhere close to the ground. “If this got ruined, yours would be too.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going last,” Remus says, “this wouldn’t’ve been an issue.”

And then he feels it. Something is drawn sharply across his right wrist.

“Shh, shh, Janus, breathe, breathe, you’re okay, damnit, Princey, stop! You’re making him freak out!”

It’s gone, the contact is gone. His arm is still hanging over the edge of the couch but it’s held there by Virgil’s arm and another hand.

“Hey there, Snakey.” Remus appears over Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

Roman snorts. “There’s something wrong with how you phrased that.”

Then suddenly Patton appears out of nowhere and doesn’t surprise him at all. Luckily, or unluckily, Janus is far too exhausted and disoriented to react more than rucking up the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie a little. Patton looks at the couch.

“There isn’t room, Pop-star,” Virgil says, lazily stretching so his bulk takes up all of it, moving slow enough so Janus isn’t jostled too much. Then Virgil yelps and their lower bodies are lifted and he can feel the couch sag under another body.

“What the hell, Pat.”

“Now there’s room.” Patton reaches up and ruffles Virgil’s hair.

There are so many people and it’s warm but why are they all here? Did he miss something? Does he need to leave?

“Looks good,” Patton says, interrupting his train of thought, “it’s coming along well.”

Logan clears his throat. “Would someone like to inform Janus about what exactly ‘this’ is?”

“Oh, right, sorry, Snakey,” Remus says, crouching back down, “let’s show you.”

Virgil turns over slowly, lifting his arm and using the leverage to shift Janus onto his chest. “Jeez, Janus, you’re light. Patton, have we been feeding him enough?”

“I suspect there’s been a lack of communication, kiddo.”

“Now is not the time to yell at him, Patton,” Logan says quietly.

“I’m not yelling! But yes, now is not the time.”

Virgil coaxes his head to one side, and Roman lifts his arm by the back of his hand.

Janus’s mouth drops open.

There are little animals drawn on his right arm, from his wrist to his elbow. There’s a navy cat, simple and clean, near the vein. A light blue frog with little glasses. A purple and black spider. A green octopus with large black tentacles. And an unfinished red dragon right near his wrist.

“If I could finish,” Roman asks softly.

“Alright, calm down, here.” Remus lowers his arm and holds it steady. Roman puts the brush back to his arm and starts painting again. Virgil and Remus start arguing about something, probably, but he can’t focus on anything besides the soft bristles of the brush on his arm, the rumble of Virgil’s chest, and the warmth of the weight on his legs.

Logan stands behind his head. “You don’t need to wear a mask here, Janus,” he says softly, “not unless you want to.”

No one else hears him except for Patton. He gives Janus’s leg a squeeze.

It’s warm. It’s so warm.

He wants to watch as Roman paints the dragon but he’s tired but he doesn’t want to sleep yet…not just yet.

Patton reaches towards his face. His finger lands on his forehead and drags gently down the bridge of his nose.

What…?

Oh.

As he follows his touch, Janus’s eyes drift closed.

It’s so warm.

And a warm hand on his cheek wipes the last of the mask away.

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

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I Carry Your Heart With Me

~Notes: Hiya loves! So I wrote this in dedication and thanks to the gorgeous @sophiegaladheon for donating to the amazing Fandom Trumps Hate event!!!! I moving this from AO3 just because of me wanting to just a couple things lol. You’re a remarkable person Sophie! Thank you for being so SO beyond kind and for being patient with me and I’m glad that you enjoyed this when you read it<3<3 It literally makes me emotional with joy!!

Send ME A Prompt | A Reblog Is So SO fucking amazing!!!

And as the bandaged knot was tightened,

the two men smiled into each other’s eyes

—Hart crane

There’s muffled laughter that reverberates through the door, drown out by the playlist Pez had queued up as soon as they all had clambered into Alex’s room to begin getting prepared for the wedding of the century. Henry can easily picture the way Beatrice is swiping a makeup brush across June’s cheekbones, and how Pez and Nora alternate between dancing on Alex’s bed to screaming about their hatred for most people; and it makes him grin. Their group is unconventional as hell, but they’ve all slotted into one another’s lives so seamlessly that there must be something like providence that brought them together and kept them as bound as they are. And Henry loves them all with every inch of himself, but he soon loses attention when his eyes flicker from the door to the mirror in front of him where Alex is still primping and preening.

The dim light of the loo attached to Alex’s room glitters in his brown eyes, softly caresses his features while he sprits on his final coat of cologne before the night commences, a idl hand tousling his hair into an artful sort of muss, and Henry can’t take his eyes off of him from where he’s lounging against the wall behind him, flickering between appreciating the sight of Alex’s miraculous arse in those black slacks, and his gorgeous reflection that’s grinning at him knowingly; either way Henry’s smiling to himself at the lovely sight of it.

Alex is beautiful through every layer, to his very core, and it makes Henry go weak at the knees, makes his head swim with the realization that he’s with him, that he chose Henry. Alex loves Henry, and that must mean something. Must mean that the frantic thudding to Henry’s heart— the adoration and love and need Henry’s always been crippled by— is mirrored in Alex’s own. Not to as drastic of a degree surely, but it’s there. And that’s enough, that’s all Henry had ever wanted ever since that brilliant day at the Olympics that sealed his fate so unswervingly. A fate that was made only more permanent once they had fallen into one another at Philip’s wedding, and just kept falling in different ways in different countries in different intensities. A falling that never stopped, a falling that intwined them in ways that Henry could never fathom unwinding. A falling that locked them together in ways he was brought up reading about in feted love stories printed out in black and white, and what he got to see painted out in real life with how his mother’s eyes always twinkled that bit brighter when gazing at his father, and how Arthur’s smile in turn only ever got soft in that particular way when she was besides him. A love story Henry never thought he could have, never thought would be within his grips considering how bleeding gay he is. But he did.

Henry found that picture of glittering color, that wave that can swallow him whole if he’s not careful, that strumming to his insides. He found it in how Alex laughed with his head thrown back when he's especially happy. Found it in the way Alex reads while mouthing the words, like his lips couldn’t stay still even in silence. Found it in the look on Alex’s face when Henry brings him over the edge in their bed. In the way Alex kissed him back underneath a thousand polluted city stars and amidst the vivid greens of the Whitehouse garden that January night. Found it in the way Alex’s touch to Henry’s skin always felt like a cocktail of excitement and wanting and comfort.

Henry’s found his forever with Alex and there’s no doubt in any nook or crevasse of his insides that they wouldn’t spend the rest of their lives knotted into one another. But the thought does feel like a bit of a noose clamping around his heart— painful and terrifying with its intensity— when it makes the left pocket of his suit drag that bit heavier. The pocket where Henry tucked in a small velvet box with the wedding band his father had worn till his final breaths, the one that Henry’s resized in Alex’s measurement and bought a matching pair for himself. And it’s making his insides go this strange tingling feeling, standing here in the confluence of all he and Alexander are and all they have been and all they will be.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to ask, like he hasn’t wanted to ask Alex every minute of every day ever since his mother had given him the piece of jewelry six months ago with a thin smile and watery eyes. When she had asked him to help make their family full once more.

God, Henry wants to ask him, wants to get to call Alex his partner in every delightful sense of the word. And he even thinks Alex’ll say yes, is almost positive of it. Even if they end up with a longish engagement. That doesn’t matter to Henry, it’s the promise of the whole ordeal, the promise of wanting to spend forever tangled into each other’s arms. But for all of Henry’s talent with a keyboard and his knack for syntax and his naturally developed mind that’s always been able to fold words into one another to read like a stream of thought. He’s not nearly as well versed with his tongue, with his spoken syllables pouring out his mouth in a coherent, tender sort of way the first time around. And Alex deserves that, deserves the whole damn experience of it. He deserves pink flamingos and double rainbows and a big band playing the first song they kissed to while they stood in the center of fairy lights with a crowd crooning and crowing in the background.

Alex deserves it all and Henry doesn’t know how to give him any of it, but God he wishes he could.

“We look like a pair of stallions if I do say so myself Henryson,” Alex says, pulling Henry out of his romantic daydreams, and pinning him with a smile as bright as the bloody sun.

Gingerly, Henry reaches his arm out and twirls a finger into one of his curls, tugging slightly. “I suppose you’re decent. Perhaps Zahra won’t skewer you on her big night.”

“Hmm,” Alex smirks, saddling closer up to him, hips brushing against hips as he locks each of his hands on either end of Henry and dimples up at him, affecting that mischievous air that Henry’s always been weak for. “And tell me sweetheart, would you protect me if she harmed one little hair on my perfect head?”

Henry exhales amusedly from his nostril, bending his head forwards to press against Alex’s own, and dragging his thumb across his plump bottom lip. “Dunno, I reckon you might’ve deserved it. You do have a cheeky mouth after all love. And your hands are a bit of a hazard.”

Alex leers right then, glittering with intent. “I bet you’d like to see what my hands could do to you.” He counters, sliding his palm to the front of Henry’s already pitched trousers, and as much as he does crave the silent offer, he suddenly gets the awful thought of Alex finding the weighted pocket and the ring embedded there, and no. Absolutely not! Henry will not propose to the love of his life in the middle of a sodding bathroom while in the midst of getting a handy!

In a flash, Henry’s moved so Alex is crowded against the shut doorway— the music louder here and clouding Henry’s mind slightly as he dips down to crash his lips against Alex’s own. Admittedly, it’s not their smoothest snog, more like a cacophony of spit and lips and teeth, but it still makes his every nerve endings go ablaze and his toes curl and his ruddy heart pulse unevenly. And Henry reckons that it’s just a side effect of merely being in the presence of Alex like this, full of intent.

Unlatching himself from Alex, Henry moves to mouth against his neck, tasting his skin that’s a bit soured by the endless cologne but pleasant enough if only Henry knows that its Alex’s supple skin beneath his grazing lips.

“Ooo,” Alex pants out breathily, canting closer eagerly, and hands fisted in Henry’s curls. “Yeah, mmm. I like this too.”

Henry smirks to himself, snorting at him as he slowly moves apart so that there foreheads are touching once more. “You reckon you can stay quiet for me?” He asks lowly, pressing a none too delicate finger down his clothed chest before landing at the front of his trousers, and begins to circle the hardness growing there.

“Why?” Alex asks, dark eyes glinting and lips quirked into a cocky sort of grin. “You think you’re good enough to make me loud Henryson?”

The growl caught in Henry’s throat takes them both off guard, but it also makes Alex beam with pure mirth, so Henry only kisses him once more— hard and rushed and greedy— before he twists him around without warning and begins to kiss across the nape of his neck and the breath of his broad shoulders, stopped intermittently by a lapping tongue or tender teeth— as Henry also palms Alex’s front, unbuttoning his suit jacket to tossing it to the countertop, quickly moving to unbutton Alex’s shirt too, so Henry can drag a hand through his very hard, very naked skin, nipples pebbling under his ministrations, before he gingerly— methodically— undoes Alex’s trousers, falling along with his pants to the ground and shackling his ankles in place.

“I reckon I can, but I also need you to be quiet about it lest the others get concerned over your mewling,” Henry whispers, lecherous against Alex’s ear as the hand not playing with Alex’s nipple, grips his now fully hardened dick, pumping only slightly as he thumbs at the leaking seam.

“Humph, I don’t— Oh. I don’t mewl!” Alex grumbles out, trying to rock his hips to get some friction going but instead getting increasingly redder with frustration at Henry’s unyielding wrist.

“Oh? You don’t?” Henry asks with a smug sort of grin as he quickly squeezes harder around his shaft, twisting and pumping, making the other boy toss back his head, turning it so that his small yelp is muffled by Henry’s neck.

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later tonight, but for now if you don’t mind putting your hands against the door while I grab the lube?”

Alex glares at him with an air of absolute irritation, but agrees anyhow, kissing him deftly before pressing his hands against the door, bent slightly so that his naked arse is out for show, clenching and relaxing in a sort of sensual rhythm with anticipation. And Henry smiles at the lovely sight of it as he shuffles through the drawer they had tucked away their essentials the first day of coming back to DC for the wedding. He plucks out the jar of lubricant from the mess of other tools and a few toys, idly thinks of popping out the plug to tease but decides against it. He wants to feel Alexander, wants to really be inside of him.

“You are such a slow fucker Henry!” Alex barks from over his shoulder, still poised for a good shagging.

Henry snickers, flicking Alex’s nose endearingly before shedding off his own jacket and undoing his trousers. “Oi, I’ll show you slow.” He goads, rubbing a good amount of the clear liquid into his palm before he takes his own cock in hand and strokes leisurely, reasons he could really just come from the sight of Alex waiting for him, perfect and precocious and panting. Though it’s not much of a punishing considering that Alex’s pupils only grow that bit larger and his cheeks flush in a familiar, wanton way.

Henry smirks. “You’re enjoying yourself?”

“You’re fucking hot,” Alex sputters. “How can I not?”

Henry bites down on his bottom lip so not to appear too pleased at the retort, but he also can’t stay away from Alex for much longer, and just saddles up behind him, cloaking his fingers up with the lube hurriedly.

“You ready love?”

“Have been ready you dickwad.” Alex snipes, shaking his arse again for good measure. Henry just grins, bending down to nip at his shoulder in penance as a singular finger circles around Alex’s fluttering hole, before he just dips it into the entrance up to his first knuckle, making Alex moan.

“Shh,” Henry reminds him, clapping a hand against his mouth pointedly. “I love hearing you dear, but I don’t think either of us want to suffer through the ribbing the others will dole out.”

Alex nods, face grimaced but still eager as he rocks backwards, making it so Henry gets up to his second knuckle before reasoning that it’s about time for a second finger.

“Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” Henry breathes out, can’t prevent the wonder from seeping into his voice as he stretches Alex out, just barely pulling out for a third digit before Alex’s chest rumbles with a sound of exasperation.

“Just go in already.”

“Oh? yeah? You think you can take it?”

Alex swallows down, hard, before nodding quickly. “Please Henry, you’ve been playing with me for like hours.”

“It’s barely been five minutes,” he says wryly, laughing when in turn Alex only sticks his tongue out fumingly. “Right, right, well I suppose we do have a prior engagement.”

“Yeah, course. We don’t wanna be late? Think about how gauche!”

Henry chuckles once more, rubbing a new coat of lubricant to his cock before lining up to Alex. “You’re just afraid that Zahra’ll have your head on a plate.”

“Please, sweetheart, for the love of God can we not bring other people into the conversation while you’re getting ready to fuck me?”

Henry concedes with an abashed quirk of the lips, takes Alex’s flagging erection in hand and strokes it once and sure before he slowly inches into him. And fuck, Henry will never not love the sensation of Alex, in all forms. On him, against him, inside of him, around him. Alex is the headiest sort of drug and Henry doesn’t think he’d ever survive a withdraw, that he can ever not crave him in all his variations of light.

Breathing in deeply, Henry finally bottoms out, practically collapses over Alex as he tries to re-acclimate himself to the tight, throbbing heat of him. It’s so bloody miraculous.

“H— Alex nearly whines, shaking himself a bit. “Move, will you?”

“Oh, right,” Henry musters back up his focus, sliding out of him only partially before slamming back inside, is always afraid of hurting Alex. But then Alex squeezes on the wrist where his hands are resting on either end of his hips, and squeezes, And that’s as clear of an instruction as he can give while staying hush, hush. So tossing all caution to the wind, Henry thrashes into him without abandon, pulling out nearly completely and then pounding back inside in a graceless, unforgiving pace, and it’s enough for Alex to leap on his toes, for him to squeeze his eyes shut while his head rolls back on Henry’s shoulder, for his hands to shake on their perch against the increasingly rattling door. And some idl part of Henry’s mind— the one that isn’t swallowed up entirely by Alex and all the sensations he sparks to life within Henry— prays to God above that their friends aren’t paying any mind to the shut bathroom entrance.

“Yes, yes, yes Henry.” Alex moans out, losing his footing when Henry pushes in that bit harder, that bit deeper, targeting exactly that nest of nerves within him, and he quickens his pumping of Alex’s dick, feeling buoyed when Alex comes without warning. Hot, white liquid pulsing out of him in a pulsing stream, and making it so Alex can only lie boneless against the doorway. And it doesn’t take Henry long to follow, an arm slung tightly around Alex’s waste as he thrashes forwards, lost in the entirety of him, kissing the nudges of his spine as he catches for his release, nudged on by the pulsing and slickness and it’s just once more before Henry is coming also, hurriedly pulling out as his own spunk spills across the expanse of Alex’s back and arse and the tops of his thighs. Henry stares at the picture of it with reverent eyes as he leans against the sink, breathing heavily.

“God, we are good at that.”

“Tell me about it,” Alex says, face flushed an absolutely glowing as he rummages for a couple hand towels, and then seemingly thinking better as he glances at them, and then his and Henry’s messy states.

“Second shower?”

Henry nods, “Think we ought to.”

“Right, well you wash me first because I think i’ll need like another ten minutes before I can move any extremities.”

Henry laughs and tugs him close for a quick kiss. God he loves him so much.

The grandiose, Willard ballroom is dressed in ornate decorations and filled with sharply clad folks who are some of the top tear heads of Western politics, though for the most part they’re drown out by the familiar faces of Shaan’s family, and even more that either share Zahra’s nose or the shape of her eyes. It’s beautiful in its discrete, demure nature and it makes Henry’s heart flutter. He only wishes he had a decent sodding poker face because right then Beatrice, in all her smug glory, saddles up to him, and leers.

“You thinking about that wedding journal you had as a lad.”

Henry glares, fuming. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Your theme was red with golden accents wasn’t it?”

“Did I ever tell you that you were adopted.”

“You even had all these cute little sample cards for the invitations.”

“We found you in an alien species of barmy bints.” Henry continues to growl.

Beatrice laughs raucously, tossing back her chestnut curls and pinching his cheek like the doting older sister she’s always been. “You’re precious when you get all cross.”

“I hate you.”

“Nah, you really don’t,” she says loftily. “Now c’mon, Alex and Nora are trying to steal some flowers from the bouquet before Zahra notices, and we’re s’pose to be distracting the newly weds.”

Henry rolls his eyes long sufferingly. “We’re dating absolute lunatics, you do know that, right?”

Beatrice smiles— resigned— and hooks her arm through Henry’s own. “I know, we’re truly a mess.”

If there was ever the picture of a glowing bride— beautiful and bright and breathtaking— Zahra would be the epitome of it. Her curls are pulled back into an elegant bun and her lovely features are only accentuated by the makeup rather than obscured by it, and she hasn’t let loose of Shaan’s hand for the whole reception. It brings a pang to Henry’s heart, not envy per se, but longing. Longing for what they have, for the pure, unadulterated simplicity of it. And it’s only settled when he thinks of Alex, knows that he has that precise kind of relationship with him. And God, he’s never wanted to show it off more.

“You guys having fun,” Shaan asks, pecking a kiss to Beatrice’s cheek and slinging an arm around Henry’s shoulder.

“’s a beautiful night,” Henry tells them, his voice vibrant and his heart full.

“Thank you sweets,” Zahra preens, brushing back the curls from his forehead and eyeing him speculatively when her fingers come back wet.

“Erm— Don’t ask?”

Zahra looks only mildly alarmed but fully understanding, humor twinkling in her dark eyes. “Ah, well then, speaking of which. You two mind informing your better halves that they aren’t slick, and they’re only lucky I put a decoy in the place of the real bouquet instead of actually punishing them.”

Laughter bubbles out of the foursome and Henry isn’t at all surprised that she’s always two steps ahead.

“Bloody hell, I told those dunces that they could never pull one over on you!” Beatrice groans, arms crossed and weight slung to her left hip. “But do they listen? No of course not.”

“We should probably tell them that they need to wait in line for the bouquet toss like the rest of us, yeah?” Henry asks her, smiling pleasantly at a new couple that’s meandered over to shake hands with the bride and groom.

“Oh no, let them deal with it on their own, we, my lovely little brother, will be drinking to forget.”

“How very British of us.” Henry snorts wryly.

“Never said I wasn’t predictable,” she retorts, grabbing his wrist and carting him off to the open bar.

It’s an hour later that finds a very disgruntled looking Alex saddling up to Henry with a very prominent frown, his hair covered with wayward petals that Pez has been tossing around without abandon for practically the entirety of the night. The venue’s dwindled down so that it’s only Zahra’s and Shaan’s nearest and dearest that are left. From the table’s he’s sat at Henry can see his mother holding a conversation with Luna and Leo that’s filled with laughter, and he sees June with her father trying to set up a new playlist to the speakers once the live performers had left. He can also spot Ellen and Zahra giggling like school girls while Shaan nods along, and kisses his now wife’s hand intermittently between the smiles he tosses Nora and Beatrice who are starting a ridiculous dance with a few others to the tune of the Peter Gabriel song playing out.

It feels like the room has been bathed in a sort of serenity that makes something warm and remarkable unfurl in Henry’s gut. An ambiance of love and nurture cradling them all together.

“You could’ve told us it was a ploy you dick.” Alex harrumphs for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.

“You should’ve known yourself,” Henry toots, a little too busy musing on how Alex’s long lashes kiss the tops of his cheekbones every time he blinks and how beautiful he looks in the moonlight shimmering through the wide partitions.

“How did she make it so they stung! That’s all I ask you!”

Henry smiles indulgently, moves forwards to kiss the hinge of Alex’s jaw to console him. “She’s a evil genius love, don’t let it upset you.”

Alex sniffs, still sulking but already beginning to relax his muscles. “Yeah, whatever, at least Pez caught it instead some random fuck.”

“He is happy with himself, it’s cute. Innit?” Henry says, flickering his eyes over to where his best friend's dragging a giggling June off to the dance floor.

“Mmm, yeah.” Alex says, tucking closer to Henry’s side. “Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Henry pulls back, pinning him with a one eyed squint. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Alex shuffles in his seat, cheeks flushed and eyes downcast. “The whole thing. Like it makes you think of the future and all of that crap.”

Henry swallows down the lump in his throat, feeling suddenly dazed. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

Alex looks up, smiling thinly. “So what? You want something like this? With the flowers and music and you in a white dress.”

Henry glares now, flicking Alex’s nose. “Oi, who said I’m the one in the dress?”

“Well sweetheart, you do have the legs for it,” Alex croons smugly, kissing the corner of Henry’s mouth tenderly and laughing when Henry begins to prod at his side.

“You’re an arse.”

“But you still do,” Alex asks. “Think about it I mean?”

Henry breathes out, caressing Alex’s cheek to try and infuse all the love and adoration he feels for him in that single touch. “I think about it every bloody day Alexander, I want you for forever.”

Alex’s shy grin transforms to it’s ordinary, megawatt brilliance, and he kisses him right on the mouth with fervor. “God I love you.”

The knot in Henry’s chest loosens, and it suddenly feels like he can breathe again, like the love he feels for Alexander isn’t drowning him with its intensity but coaxing him into wakefulness, into feeling alive for the first time in a long time.

“I’ve got a ring,” he admits, speaking against Alex’s lips, and tugging him closer.

Alex pulls back a bit, brows hiked and gaze alight. “Oh yeah?”

“yeah, yeah I do. But I reckon if I propose to you in the middle of Zahra’s wedding she’d poach my head to a stake.”

Alex snorts. “You’re not wrong. But lucky us we’ve got a whole hotel filled with empty rooms.”

Alex smirks wickedly and Henry feels his insides go abuzz. “Let’s go.”

And when Alex twines their fingers together, pulling him up and kissing him softly before they can rent out a room, Henry suddenly feels so very light.

#FIRSTPRINCE #ALEX CLAREMONT DIAZ #henry fox mountchristen windsor #RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE #RWRB #SPILT INK #Reblog are life lmfao

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lvdbbooks · 3 years

Text

2021年9月13日

【新入荷・新本】

Sebastian Stadler A CLOSE UP OF A LARGE ROCK, I THINK., Kodoji Press, 2021

Texts by Marco Poloni and Nadia Veronese, English, 24 × 32 cm, 128 pages, 102 color and black & white plates, softcover with printed mylar jacket with flaps.

価格：8,250円（税込）

チューリッヒ在住のアーティスト、セバスチャン・スタドラーによる作品集。写真作品「L'apparition, 2015-2019」と、画像認識ソフトウェアによって生成されたテキストを組み合わせ、画像技術の発展に伴う「見ること」の進化とアルゴリズムの影響を受けた未来を考察します。

本書にテキストを寄稿したマルコ・ポローニは次のように言います。「セバスチャン・スタドラーは、世界の事物性を浮かび上がらせ、記号論的プロセス、つまり解釈の偏りによる意味の生成を一切排除した世界の投影を行っている」。

Sebastian Stadler’s book work A CLOSE UP OF A LARGE ROCK, I THINK. combines the artist’s photographic work L’apparition, 2015–2019 with text generated by image-recognition software. Each of the images, whether single or in a series, is a double exposure composition: a relatively generic scene or location is merged with a digital texture or surface. This combination sometimes punctures the image; on occasion it barely makes the viewer aware of the artifice of the reproduction.

The photographs are combined with two forms of text: either a tentative description, like the book title, or what reads like an unmoored quotation. Both have been generated or sourced by an image-recognition algorithm that Stadler has employed in other works; this has been fed the images of L’apparation. The algorithm first presents its findings with the modest addendum ‘I think’. In a second step this has been cross-referenced with a huge text database, the Project Gutenberg digital library, in order to source unrelated quotations that accord with the image content identified. A screen-printed mylar cover around the publication further articulates the image-layering process. The book is printed on paper that is ultra-high gloss on one side and uncoated on the other. Not all pages have been cut, most remain closed with perforated edges; the book’s edit takes into consideration both surfaces of the paper, as depending on how the book’s signatures are bound, more matt or more gloss becomes visible leafing through. The closed pages hide other images and quotes waiting to be discovered.

The publication was created in conjunction with Stadler’s Manor Prize-winning exhibition at the Kunstmuseum St. Gallen, curated by Nadia Veronese, which is also documented. Veronese contributes one text collating all the works shown in the exhibition, with a second on L’apparition by Marco Poloni. Through the different forms of text and images, the book is a reflection on how what we see has evolved as image technologies have developed, and a look to a future ever more influenced by algorithms. In Poloni’s words ‘Stadler produces projections of the world that bring forth its thingness and dispense altogether with semiotic processes, that is, with the production of meaning through the bias of interpretation.’

Sebastian Stadler (Swiss and Finnish) was born in 1988 and lives in Zurich. He studied photography at the Zurich University of Arts (ZHdK) and the University of Arts in Lausanne (ECAL). His work has been exhibited internationally, with solo exhibitions in Switzerland at institutions such as the Photoforum PasquArt in Biel or Kunstmuseum St. Gallen. Stadler has been the winner of awards including the Swiss Art Award (2013), the grant of the Canton of Thurgau (2017) and the Manor Art Prize (2019). ‘A CLOSE UP OF A LARGE ROCK, I THINK.’ is his first book with Kodoji Press.

http://sebastianstadler.ch/

#Sebastian Stadler #A CLOSE UP OF A LARGE ROCK I THINK #Kodoji Press

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Codename Cupid: Chapter 1

Pairing: OFC X Some members of OT7

Genre: Angst, Secret AgentAU, Government AgentAU

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: Introduction to the leading lady and the broken hearted heiress who wants nothing more than to find the men who broke her heart. But is that all she’s searching for?

The Broken-Hearted Heiress Present Day

The light breaks through the stained-glass windows arched above the double paned – somehow always rattling – glass below. The wood, warping slowly, gives way to the rustling of mid-winter, not raging hard enough to knock leaves off the trees, but enough that a cool breeze sweeps through my office. It seemed a universal problem, the lower the rent, the more problems to endure. In my five years in this particular office space, its quirks have done nothing but rage against my nerves. The door that you have to slam shut in order to lock, the bathroom that’s barely big enough to turn around in, and the slight smell of dumplings from the restaurant on the corner. What it lacks in esthetic beauty, it holds in convenience. Close to the business district, near the freeway, an overwhelming amount of natural light and original woodwork, stunning views of what was a park, now a set of townhouses recently built. The rent, barely changing from year to year, has kept me here this long. That, and the landlord was one of my first cases when I get my PI license, and has sent any a client to me, talking about discounted rates while he jacked the prices. A 20% discount, which luckily brought the price down to my original rate, made them feel like I was a steal. I couldn’t thank Mr. Yang enough for the support, or the fact that he got my windows cleaned every year, free of charge.

I’m the only PI on this side of the city, and the only one in a twenty-mile radius with quick, efficient results. I pride myself on my results, and my 5-star Yelp rating is proof of that. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, I do carry a taser and maize, out of precaution. Being a woman snooping on other people often leads me down back alleys, towards dangerous men and secrets bigger than the universe. But I love the danger, the inability to pin me down, the uncertainty that I am who I say I am, and not the secretary waiting patiently for my boss to come in. In the years I’ve been working, the suspects always remain confused on who exactly I am. Their worst nightmare? Their godsend? Their hope? Their noose?

I’m both their hurricane and the eye of the storm. They just can’t decipher when I’m which.

Leaning back in the chair, I sigh, eyes drifting from the too bright computer screen to the refrigerator. The left-over cheesecake calls from its Styrofoam container, eat me, eat me, devour me, it beckons. I want to, more than I care to admit, and there’s no way I can deny the salivation that has been occurring as I try to organize rates for my last client. All I can think about is the creamy texture mixing with the stark contrasting raspberry swirl, the bite of the rum that courses through its silky layers, and the crunch of the graham cracker crust… I waited for weeks to get a slice of it, and finally, finally, the treat is mine. Now it sits, belonging to the mini fridge. I know, it will still be waiting for me after I finish. Waiting to be goggled up with a glass of pinot grigio and maybe, if I have the energy, eaten after a large bowl of pasta that I make instead of you know… DoorDash. I can’t order out again, especially when I am perfectly capable of cooking for myself. Capable and willing are two different things, and truly, I am unwilling.

I force myself to stop ogling my fridge and lower my eyes to my computer screen. This last client, Lee Euna, heiress and CEO apparent of Lee Enterprises, had left much to be desired. She had minimal, factual intel, which stemmed from a list of names of the men who have wronged her and her family. It wasn’t a short list, by any means. Five names sitting prettily on a piece of paper, her handwriting detailed and immaculate.

“How stunning are those names?” she had asked. “Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung. Pretty names, prettier men.”

Euna brought photos and as much information as she had, though her eyes were withholding, and she had few answers to my standard questions. What she lacked in factual information, she made up for in her manifesto. It was no shorter than 100 handwritten pages and filled with every wrongdoing the five have committed against the Lee’s. From what I can sus out from our meeting, she was slightly deranged, a multi-billionaire, and seeking some sort of vengeance. The crimes committed ranged from cheating, to what looked to be embezzling and insider trading, though she provided no financial records and no hard proof the men were profiting from Lee Enterprises. How she, and her siblings, ended up in relationships with these men is included in a separate, typed and printed, volume which gives around 50 pages of grotesque details about each man.

In reading through the documents, I begin to piece together the narrative she’s trying to write: five men, unrelated, had all fallen into bed with her, her siblings, or her company, only to break her heart on or around Valentine’s Day, one almost every year for the better part of a decade. The men, having never crossed paths personally or professionally, to her knowledge, had no university in common, no careers that were similar, no mutual friends. Their only link, the Lee’s. Her manifesto is full of inaccuracies and plot holes bigger than anything Neil Breen has ever written. Through her writing, it’s apparent that she wants blood, but for what I cannot tell. Their unsubstantiated crimes are nothing more than fabricated lies, and for the money she’s willing to pay me, I can tell she wants me to come to a specific conclusion. I’m not sure I’m going to provide her with what she wants, or rather what she assumes I’ll find. Which means one of two things, either Euna is absolutely shattered, or, or, there’s a larger conspiracy at play that I am just a pawn in. Either way, it won’t hurt to go a step further to unearth more about these men and understand why Lee Euna wants them found.

The first, Kim Seokjin.

Next: Love at First Algorithm

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custom-printed-folding-cartons · 3 years

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The Important Features of an Erected into a Wide Range of Designs

The conceptual solution is the procedure whereby the specification of the carton is developed that involves its appearance in such as sizing shape printing and function as product protection and ability to avoid wasting materials. The large scale invent of packing use in every carton is a specially created with customised design where the needs of the product market and the consumer are showing an ability by arranging. It is recommended that a checklist of the needs of the carton should be established at the start of the design process to ensure that all the required needs are evaluated during the design process. A major benefit of the carton design process is that the tools for a new or modified design is relatively inexpensive because the traditional graphics and structural design techniques. It has been augmented with computer aided software to the new concepts and prototypes can be produced for evaluation. The low in price cost and rapidly custom printed folding cartons Brisbane create impact in visual interest through surface design of carton shape and surface design is achieved in a number of ways to help interpret the freshness.

The illustration text by a glossy or matt surface finish in printing and varnishing choice of cartonboard surface whiten smooth of the surface finish with hygienic effect can be created on the inside of a custom printed folding cartons. The proper circumstances in using a cartonboard with a white reverse side metallic effects in lamination with aluminium foil and hot foil stamping created graphics. The bonding process of layers with oriented polypropylene polyvinyl chloride or cellulose acetate surface texture in relief using embossing either overall or to emphasize high quality example. The distinct difference on functional work features in structural design of the carton shape can include three dimensional shapes with rectangular or square panels cartons with double thickness walls. The cavity walls hinged lids with different geometry side and elliptical shapes for custom printed folding cartons incorporating special features to facilitate opening and reclosing. To make it easier to carry with windows and internal platforms to secure and display the product shapes with tapered sides designs leak-proof and sift-proof corners has two dimensional wallet shapes cartonboard with a plastic blister or packaging.

Product protection and preservation depends on the product as well as the methods of packing distribution and use within the required life span of the product to protection the usually take to refer in the adequate containment. The preservation from breakage through physical or mechanical damage preservation has the maintenance of become more perceiving of the custom printed folding cartons. For the most part passing a matter to food products and those non-food products with special features where the product is in direct contact with or in redundant to the multilayer material. The design features relating to performance include the choice of cartonboard and its strength which is determined by grade grammage and thickness. The extra capabilities may require structural features such as the need to be sift-proof or liquid tight and provide for easy opening and reclosing of product protection that requires for multilayer material. A plastic extrusion coating or lamination has an addition to the strength of custom printed folding cartons board the structural design contributes strength through the use of features in double cavity walled panels design of closures.

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2018shawn · 4 years

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baking in paris | sm

warnings: mentions of smut etc etc possibly swearing?? I also have NOT proof read don't come for me. should probably mention this is an au lol

word count: 2k ish

Summer in Paris was dreamy. The balance of the bright sun beaming down onto vibrant bodies mixed with the soft breeze that forced leaves to scatter down the street was the perfect setting and it was everything you dreamed of and more. Your thin, flimsy blinds were the only thing blocking the heated rays from filtering into your room, mostly because you didn’t want Gabriel across the road seeing your ta-ta’s in process of getting dressed.

Your apartment was simple, a beige and white colour pallet flowing throughout with a touch of fresh flowers ever so often from the local florist down the road from your café. The acoustic playlist was the soundtrack to your early morning, the smell of lemon drizzle cake filling your senses as you washed the dishes, the baking area currently looking like a flour explosion had gone off. The one thing that immediately sold this apartment to you was the double oven and large kitchen island that was more than ample for your baking experiments.

Today was your day off, which was very much needed because running a café in the height of tourist season was extremely tiring, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. As much as you needed the day off, waking up and baking a fresh batch of cakes for the café was your number one priority, because your shop didn’t get its reputation for nothing. It was almost mid-morning by the time you’d finish decorating both cakes, much precision and care going into each. Who said days off were for relaxing, right?

A knock on the door sounded, and you assumed it would just be the little old lady, Camille, across the hallway, who always moaned you played music too loud in a morning. You wiped your hands on the apron that covered your high waisted denim shorts as you padded over to the door, shouting at your device for the music to go down to volume two.

The other side of the door, Shawn stood with a loaf of baking parchment in one hand, his other shoved into his pocket after knocking on the door to number 10. When you swung the door open and stared into his chest, because you expected it to be Camille who was dramatically shorter than Shawn, he laughed and tucked his fingers under your chin, dragging your face upwards.

“Shawn…” You breathed, more than shocked at his presence. “Hi. What… How… Why aren’t you at the bakery?” You asked, because more often than not he did the morning shift in the bakery next to your café, setting up for his boss and making sure the savoury breakfasts were ready to fill tourists’ belly’s.

“My boss came in and it was ridiculously quiet, so I worked on some new stuff and he said I can take a break for a few hours.” He wafted the item he was holding, the smell of fresh, doughy bread overpowering the lemon drizzle coming from your kitchen. “And I would like a professional opinion.”

You offered him to come him, suddenly feeling nervous that he’d only been here twice before and both time you had drunkenly hooked up. He didn’t realise how authentic your small apartment was, but he remembered the balcony in your bedroom and how he’d fucked you over it late one night. You and Shawn were friends, you think, maybe something slightly more but nothing dramatic. Friends with benefits is what you would use to suit your relationship best, although you could count the amount of times you’ve been physically together on one hand. He was a real sweetheart, who moved over here for a breath of fresh air, just like you and that’s how the friendship started. It blossomed furthermore when he got job at the bakery next to your café, which was a bonus for him because it meant he didn’t have to fly straight back home after running out of money, and more so, it was a bonus for you because you got to see him almost every day and you’ve seen a lot worse views in your time.

He complimented the smell of your baking and you suddenly felt bad that he was bringing you goods and you had nothing to offer, so you gave him the bowl of left excess cake sponge to which he happily picked at. He sat down his parcel, perching himself on the bar stool at the kitchen island as you hoped up onto the island itself, your legs swinging over the edge.

“This looks insane!” You exclaimed, pulling open the baking paper to reveal a twisted bread dough, still warm and golden from a fresh bake. “Caramelised onion?”

“And brie.” He smiled, popping a chunk of lemon drizzle sponge in his mouth, enjoying every mouthful. Shawn loved how much you loved food and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him want to be better baker. He pestered you non-stop for a tutorial on your secret cakes and sweets, but if you told him that you’d have to kill him, obviously.

“My favourite.” You smiled, grabbing the two plates and knife you pulled out the cupboard.

“I know,” he took the knife from you, cutting into the bread softly, the outer layer cracking with a crunch but inside softly slicing perfectly. Your mouth juiced as your stomach growled and you became suddenly aware that you were too busy in the thought of feeding everyone else that you had not fed yourself this morning.

“Someone’s hungry” He laughed, standing up from the bar stool and walking in front of you, tapping your knee to usher you to open your legs wider. Once open, he slotted snuggly in between them and your breath hitched at the new contact of your thighs hugging someones hips - not just any hips either, Shawn’s hips. He picked up a slice of bread, which was light work for his massive hands, and brought it up to your lips. You wondered if he noticed your breathing was deeper since he’d moved in between you or if he noticed that you were biting your lip as you adored every small feature on his face.

Truth be told, he didn’t notice; only because he was too busy trying not to act like a complete loser in front of you, even though you’d seen him be a complete dork on many occasions. That’s what made him more endearing, you thought. The simple fact that someone can be so completely nerdy but so incredibly attractive at the same time and you had to remind yourself that he was just here for the summer. Attachment was not an option.

When you bit into the pillowy bread, your eyes closed shut, noting all the small little flavours that he’d added to the loaf, making the experience much more enjoyable than your normal breakfast routine. “Oh my god, Shawn. It’s amazing!”

“You think?”

“Uh, yeah!” you slapped his arm with the back of your hand, opening your mouth again to which he happily obliged, and fed you another bite. “Seriously, I don’t know why you don’t come work for me and we can take over the world.”

Shawn had to bite his tongue; they couldn’t take over the world, he was going home in less that 2 months and as much as he wanted to stay, he needed his home too. He innocently smiled, placing the bread back down on the plate which you stuck your bottom lip out at, feeling hungrier now you’d had a couple of bites. You leant back on your hands, forgetting about the covering of flour on the island behind you, instantly feeling the powdery ingredient under your touch. Your breasts stuck out as you leant backwards, Shawn using every inch of his willpower to not bring his lips down to them, your white bardot shirt revealing the upper half of your chest and contrasting against your tanned, summer skin. Underneath your apron lower down, he could see a slither of denim, and he knew how well you pulled of those exact shorts, even if he hadn’t seen you in them fully today. “Ooo, the thought of me working for you....” he laughed, arms reaching around and resting on the lower of your back in a bid to feel closer to you again. “Telling me what to doooooo...” He sang, pulling his mouth into a suggestive smirk.

“You’re such a sub, Shawn Mendes.” You laughed, throwing your head back, making a brief statement to your sex life and of course, he knew that. He wasn’t submissive, per se. In fact, there’d been a couple of time’s where he’d roughed you around that much you didn’t know if you were sleeping with the same guy. But truthfully, he’d be on his knees for you before you even had to ask and he’d never met anyone who had this effect on him.

He threw his hands up in defensive, only briefly removing them from your body before they returned to behind you. This time, you felt his hands put more pressure onto your body, your denim shorts sliding along the smooth island surface as he pulled you a touch closer. “Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself?”

“Pfft, have you seen yourself?!” You raised your eyebrows, instantly biting your lip to stop yourself from spilling anymore affection.

He stared into your eyes, trying to hold back a smile, “did you just compliment me?” he brought his palm to your forehead, switching in between the palm and back of his hand, “are you feeling okay? what did I put in that bread?!”

You used your body to help you lean your weight foreword, bringing one of your arms around and smacking him in the chest, a smoke of flour filling the air in between you. You had forgotten (kinda), and tried your best to act apologetic, gritting your teeth together as he switched his eyes in between the hand shaped, flour print on his black t-shirt and your -now- barely flour covered palm. Having no time to react at all, he reached behind you and scooped up and left over flour he could see before bringing his hand up to your face, cupping which despite the fact he was messing you up, you leaned into, squirming as he tickled the side of your neck. “You’re an ass, mine was an accident!” you squealed, trying your best to move away from him but his grasp too tight.

“Oh yeah?” he smirked, too concentrated on staring into your eyes to realise you were reaching back round for more flour. With a swift movement you brought your hands in front of you, blowing quickly at the ingredient in your palm. His eyes squinted closed and he screwed up and blew his lips, trying to get any taste out of his mouth.

“Yeah” You innocently shrugged, wiping your hands down your apron for probably the 60th time of today.

Moving closer to you, you laughed at his powdery face, although admired how pretty he still looked. You knew you’d get hell later when he tried to shower the flour out of his perfectly spiralled curls, but it was worth it. His lips hovered over yours, waiting to gauge a reaction from you and although you didn’t give him one, he pressed down onto you, letting out a breath of relief as your features locked. Your bodies were a mess of tangled, floury limbs and whimpering noises as you worked on each other, grabbing at whatever piece of each other you could. You pulled at his black t-shirt, aware you’d already messed it up and he tugged at the string of your apron, letting it fall loose besides your hips. You couldn’t help but think that Camille would soon be banging on your door, complaining of the noise that wasn’t from the music.

—

taglist: @imaginashawnns @fallinallincurls @mendesficsxbombay

#Shawn mendes #Shawn mendes smut #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes au

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likeawildthing · 4 years

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in terms of design advice, any ideas for a broke college student apartment room? 💕💕

college is a weird time because you are kind of a grown up but also definitely not! and your interests and tastes will change so rapidly in the next few years. so honestly it’s a great time to experiment and be creative. this advice all depends on your particular space, but in any small space everything that can be double duty, should be double duty (night stand is also a tv tray/laptop tray, art is also bulletin board or jewelry holder), the more uses you can get out of something, the better! going vertical on the walls where you can get away with it is amazing. here are a few easy and cheap ways to upgrade and some basic design principles:

take this design quiz to find out your style (plug in a fake email) and then google or pinterest away. you’ll see repeat themes (for ex. major bohemian trend is macrame, which easily DIYable, or MCM is all about legs and clean profiles). maybe that would be fun post - to highlight different styles and trends. but here are some upgrades that translate to any design style for cheap:

PLANTS

don’t go to a nursery and drop a hundred dollars you don’t have. a plant or two or three you really love will change the vibe of the whole space, and give you something to take care of, which is ofc good for your mental health. tips for getting plants and planters on the cheap!

think of a relative or friend who already has houseplants and ask for free ones next time they’re splitting. i literally did my entire garden this way in my first place.

look on like FB marketplace or whatever your swap site is because people are often selling plants or cuttings for a discount.

i have literally split the cost of a plant with a friend and then split it in half, like a baby before Solomon

pothos plants of any kind are easy to take care of and can split into smaller plants pretty regularly.

succulents are usually a few dollars at the store and everyone loves them! start with one simple succulent.

herbs! if you get herb garden seeds or plants you literally make what you eat!

if you have pets, make sure they are pet friendly.

i do not spend a lot of $$ on planters! i use terra cotta because 1. they’re cheap as hell and 2. cute! some of my favorite planters are terra cotta pots kristina painted for me! you can also thrift pots, which i would encourage, or reuse food containers by putting small holes in the bottom.

create hanging plants by making yarn macrame holders! youtube is your friend on this! you can get a ceiling hook for like $3 if it’s a solid ceiling (drywall) and super easy to patch up when it’s time to leave.

ART

function + form. something organic that you can change out inspiration or art, like a cork or inspiration board (look on like a varage sale or in a thrift store for this). you can get four12x12 cork boards from target for $7 and create something like this from two of them, which is in and of itself a piece of art (and you can take it down w/out damaging walls)

other cheap things i have done for art:

calendar or magazine pages in thrifted frames (my favorite cheap tricks is to get matte black or white craft paint for $1.25 from wm or target and paint a bunch of odd frames to unify them)

a picture ledge like this from ikea is your best friend because you can interchange the art to be whatever you want!

embroidery hoop fabric bulletin boards

seriously, posters are cool. get a cheap poster online and hang it with washi tape. it’s not precious. if you want something more grown up, try to thrift a frame for it for cheap. if you don’t like the color of the frame, paint it! if you can’t hang something heavy like this on the wall, use command velcro strips OR set it on top of a dresser or bookcase and lean it against the wall.

i love tassels and buntings. just google either of those and you’ll get thousands of cheap ideas. in my last bedroom i just had a bunting i cut and made over my bed and it acted like a bedframe and i loved it.

just free prints from the internet hung up with little clips like this ($2 from target) or bulky push pins – those holes are so easy to patch!

when my kids were little until two weeks ago i had an entire wall covered with their artwork. i’m saying maybe go to the thrift store, get some ugly canvases with your friends, and have a painting party. everyone brings a $4 thing of acrylic paint and a brush and have a party. good memories + new art for everyone. swap at the end!

pictures! actually print out those pictures and tape them to the wall with washi tape. you can also do something like this with push pins for as big or small as you want to make it (i have this in my living room

here’s a proper primer on the 7 elements of design, but you can skip that and go here if you want!

BALANCE

white space and focal points. in the same way that you need to break up one massive wall of text into digestible paragraphs, you also need to break up the focus in your room. a FOCAL POINT is a statement area in your room (i.e. the window, over your bed, your desk) that your eye is drawn to, and where you want your eye to be drawn to. ideally rooms should have ONE focal point (that’s like the adverb room for writing) but in a dorm apartment, that isn’t practical because it HAS to be multifunction. the important takeaway is that white space on your walls is okay, and important. it gives you a soft space to land, visually, which is important in making you feel more relaxed and even productive.

groupings – grouping like with like makes great sense organizationally AND design wise. a collection of postcards will look amazing on the wall together rather than spread around the room.

LAYERS

adding layers can make a space feel luxurious – curtains, rugs, extra throw pillows or an extra blanket on your bed or chair. plants are great for this, but fabrics and baskets can add another layer. these can be pricey so i would a. raid your mom’s house if that’s an option and ask if she needs ‘x’ rug or curtains anymore. you can also thrift curtains for cheapppp or even look for clearance fabric – once you wash the curtains they really are safe to use. clearance frabric can be hemmed without being sewn and hung with curtain rings if you need to. and $5 tension rods can work as a curtain rod inside a window frame if needed. i could do a whole post on this but a cheap rug next to your bed and something soft on a window can do wonders! dude i have also bought cheap cotton weave cloth from walmart and used rit dye to make turqoise curtains and i loved for years. see also: RIT DYE

so decorative pillows are expensive as HELL but regular, cheap pillows are like $4. i get cheap fabric or thrift fabric and sew my own, which you could do by hand, really, and use the pillow stuffing to make it. ikea also sells great cheap pillow covers!

COLOR

gosh there are no hard and fast rule here but here is a great primer series on color theory for design that you can translate to your room

simplifying a color palette will feel more calming to you, and so will using cool colors like blues and greens. but again, no hard and fast rules. repeat a color or element (shape, pattern) throughout a room 3x (ex. i have a blue rug and that same blueish tone is in a chair and also on a bookshelf. they don’t have to be the same blue, just color family, and it makes it all seem more intentional)

HOW TO DO IT CHEAPLY

buy secondhand. there are entire thrift makeover and upcycle youtube channels that are amazing! same for diy blogs.

reuse and repurpose what you have. i turned a dvd player box into a toy oven for my kids and they used it as a play kitchen for four years. my bookshelf that stores our games in my living room was $12 from salvation army - i just painted it and added casters for $15. my dresser was a thrift from the REstore, a habitat for humanity store. my end tables are actually butcher block pieces that were in my dad’s factory for forty years. i love bringing old things back to a different life. and you don’t always need a ton of tools to do it.

barter and trade. i traded a one of my kid’s dressers for the hutch that holds our toiletries outside of our upstairs bathrooms.

sell and repurchase something that works for you. i sold my old bookshelves on fb marketplace and bought another that actually works better. this isn’t applicable to everyone!

make muffins for someone in exchange for their sewing skills or knowledge. i’m teaching my friend to sew right now! libraries often have classes and such to learn new skills.

OK so i have rambled enough. i could ramble more. i hope this gets you started and if you have more specific or follow up questions, on this or organization side of things, let me know! remember these are all just guidelines and the most important thing is having a space you love, that makes you feel comfortable and that you’re proud of and happy in. comparing yourself to others isn’t always the best and you can make it a space you love no matter where you are.

#linds dispenses hack job design advice #Anonymous #dorm room #design

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