#HI so i have like five oil paintings that i worked on all semester and now have decent enough photos to post hsdkglhfdl

[domesticmail]

on living together and decorating

under the cut because personal, also disorganized

so, i shared a room growing up. i absolutely detested this with all of my being, but it wasn't really my choice. my parents bought a house with five bedrooms: the master bedroom, two jack-and-jill rooms downstairs, and two bedrooms upstairs. of the two bedrooms upstairs one was almost the size of the master - the princess suite. we moved in when i was 11 (my sisters 8 and 6, respectively) and i realized very quickly that sharing a room was going to become a problem.

for one, my sisters were closer to each other in age, so they agreed about essentially everything. this meant i got completely pushed out of any say in how the room looked, because if i disagreed with them, it was still two to one. (and make no mistake, my parents would simply side with the majority.) so the walls were painted dark purple.

second, any decoration i wanted to ADD to the room had to be approved by both of them. this wasn't really a problem with my youngest sister, who had more important things to think about i assume, but my other sister was a bit more difficult. i remember distinctly the day i asked her (we were around 16 and 13 at this time) if i could hang a bi flag up above my bed. she was so offended - how DARE i want to be so loud about my sexuality? why do i have to be so open about it? (my parents backed her up and i was never allowed to have a pride flag.)

when i moved for college i was so fucking excited i could finally decorate my own space. and i did!! i adored my dorm and how comfortable it felt.

carrying on, i lived in a big bedroom in a farmhouse basically alone with two dogs and a cat for a month when i went NC with my parents after second semester. after that i moved in with my boyfriend, who lived in a room in a townhouse that was WAY too small for both of us (but it was the only place we could afford so we sucked it up). the landlord there was a piece of shit, so i craigslist hunted for a month before finding the strangest house available to rent. the posting looked like this:

2 bed 1 bath available for rent $1300 2 bed 1 bath available for rent off [redacted] road, no pictures posting for a friend. Call [landlord's name] XXXXXXXXXX DONT TEXT!!

so i called.

an old man answered the phone angrily. i explained that i'd seen his craigslist post about a house for rent and my partner and i were interested. he sounded very pleased and informed us we could head over whenever. he lives in the south half the year (meaning he's one of the old wealthy dickheads who has a fucking SUMMER HOUSE in the town i can barely afford to live in because of assholes like him) so alas he would not be able to meet us there, but we were welcome to go over and take a look around.

at this point my boyfriend, who had been silent up until now, said, "wait, what do you mean, go over?"

and the landlord so nicely replied, "the front door is unlocked."

we lived there for about seven months, until this may. it was FREEZING in the winter because mice living in the walls (i know.) had chewed through the electric heater in the living room (i know i know i know); i once went to grab olive oil to make eggs and it was all solidified in the bottle. my fucking olive oil FROZE. that's how cold it would get. all the while the house is on a well, and either a. the well water was contaminated or b. the water heater needed a new anode rod because the water constantly smelled like rotten eggs (but we refused to pay to fix that because....not our house). it was on an acre of land right off a main road in the mountains, meaning it snowed a holy fuck ton and i was unable to get to work several days last winter because the weather had literally snowed my car into the driveway. (unrelated, i also got my car stuck in a ditch about 200 feet up the road from the house during a snowstorm once. that road is so awful that in the winter months if you hear sirens headed that direction you almost know it's because someone got in an accident.) several times i had to ask a neighbor to plow our driveway in exchange for cookies or shoveling snow off of his roof, so that we could get our cars out and go to work.

anyways we had to move again and now we're in the apartment i told you about originally. only a few of the places i just told you about had a formal lease agreement with us (i was stupid and 18 and had never handled literally anything in my life before. i have a lease now), so they never felt fully permanent. the walls stayed bare and my decorations and pictures and posters stayed packed up because it would just kill me to make somewhere my home and then take it all down when i have to leave.

but now we have a lease!! and so i can't be kicked out whenever! my safety and shelter is assured for at least another year! so i've started decorating. small pieces, mostly thrifted art or anything mason likes. he is very practical and utilitarian, i don't think he has any actual interest in decorating, but he'll give me his opinion when i ask.

really, though, i think he knows how much it means to me to be able to decorate some spaces however i like. our bedroom has my album covers all over the walls; the space above the couch has a beautiful print of some flowers, a painting of a horseshoe that says "HORSESHOE" on it, a picture of us (too small for the frame so the cardboard backing shows around the edges), and a couple other small paintings. one pretty impressionist painting on canvas of a couple walking under an umbrella. i didn't have to get up from my computer to name those; i just instinctively know, because i picked each piece out!! i decided each artwork had meaning to me, and now i get to display them on the wall, nobody's permission needed!!! that is EXHILIRATING for me!! it feels like i am putting my heart, my brain, my thoughts and feelings into my home and letting it really connect with me as a place of safety, comfort, and rest, not just the place i come to hang out, eat, and sleep.

props to having a supportive partner who lets me indulge in my hobbies and interests without making me feel like i'm "too much"

#personal #i still have the broken pin from the plow!! #will post pics later

[keymintt]

cathedral

#art #painting #oil painting #bones #ribs #orange #red #my art #traditional #dinosaurs #tradiitonal art #HI so i have like five oil paintings that i worked on all semester and now have decent enough photos to post hsdkglhfdl #so uh. i guess buckle up for those?? they're all gonna be queues for the next few days #fossil #also i unfortunately don't remember what bones these are from i took this at houston's natural history museum this summer #greatest hits #also hey i have prints of this up on my online shop yeehaw

[jaskierswolf]

Hi! Can I request a Jaskier x female reader where reader is a student at Oxenfurt and meets Jaskier in a lecture (that he does as a guest lecturer)? And then they meet each other in the library and different places and they start liking each other and flirt and date?

Hello! This isn't explicitly female, but I guess you can just imagine whatever. I tend to keep my reader fics very vague 😂 So as stated way back when I got this ask, it's Jaskier/you (rather than y/n).

It's the first time I've written this format in a non RPF way, so enjoy!

_

As a teenager you had never had the opportunity to study at Oxenfurt, funds were short and the illustrious academy was far from affordable. After years of working at taverns in the city and selling whatever novels and poetry you could, your dreams were finally coming true. Having lived in the city for years, you knew your way around the streets well, but the academy grounds had always been off limits - students and teachers only… and apparently that witcher that liked to visit once in a while.

It was mysterious and exciting and new!

You couldn’t wait to start. Gripping your schedule tightly, you made your way through the grounds to the university, eagerly taking in the beauty of the gardens and the elven architecture. Around you there were gaggles of bright young things, nobles who were able to start their education at the usual age rather than in their twenties. Perhaps you should have felt self-conscious but there was only excitement. You might not have as many friends in your classes but that was okay, you had plenty of friends in the taverns and at the market.

This was simply another opportunity to grow, and you were going to make the most of it.

The lecture room was exactly how you’d pictured it; old oak desks with benches that would kill your bottom after hours of sitting down. Maps, old oil paintings, long forgotten texts and tapestries adorned the walls. Thick heavy velvet curtains hung around stained glass windows. All in all, it was the very vision of wealth and luxury, and you could see why Oxenfurt’s bardic graduates had a reputation for their courtly appearances. Even the younger bardlings that surrounded you were wearing colourful silk and fine jewellery.

Gods, the professor would probably be even worse.

This class was supposedly taught by the famous troubadour, Master Jaskier. He was a travelling bard, but his ballads of the White Wolf were known throughout the land. Everyone knew he was brilliant in both his trade and, if the rumours were to be believed, in the bedroom. The excitement in the room was tangible… for the first five minutes.

It was now going on ten and Professor Pankratz was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed and picked up your quill, scribbling around the edge of your parchment, doodling various flowers and nonsensical shapes until finally the door flung open. The professor crashed into the room, his robe billowing out behind him with a loud:

“I am so sorry! Geralt’s in town and we stayed up far too late drinking last night. Gods, that man can hold his liqueur,” Jaskier chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “There is a very good reason why I’m only a guest lecturer. My time management skills are, quite frankly, appalling, but! But, I, well, I- fuck!” Flailing his arms, Jaskier spun around, scrambling for the tube of parchment on his back and you couldn’t help but laugh. His eyes met yours for just a moment and he winked, making your cheeks warm in a blush. It had been a while since such a handsome man had flirted with you and you found yourself basking in his attention. “Ah, got it! See I can be functional! Right then, shall we begin?”

The lecture flew by in what felt like mere minutes. Jaskier was engaging with many fascinating tales of his time in the continent, not at all what you had imagined from your first lecturer of the semester. Of course, it helped that he was easy on the eyes and you were sure that most of the class had a crush on your flamboyant professor, but it appeared, unless you were being uncharacteristically narcissistic, that he only had eyes for you. Throughout the lecture his cornflower blue eyes would land on you and a bright smile would grace his lips.

Dearest Melitele, you were completely gone on the man.

“Ah, my dear,” he called as you were passing the front desk. “One moment of your time!”

Blushing, you paused, shuffling your satchel onto one shoulder. “Yes, Professor?”

“I- ah… well, you see,” Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips and his cheeks flushed a bright red to match his doublet that was just visible under his robes. “I know you’re a student, but… well. You’re clearly a little more mature than the others and I- I’m only a guest lecturer. I thought maybe you’d like to get a drink in town later?”

Everything in you wanted to say yes, but you knew how it would look to the other students, so regretfully you shook your head with a sad smile. “You know I can’t, Professor.”

“Jaskier, please. Gods, Professor Pankratz sounds so formal, my father would be pleased.” He shuddered but his lips were still pulled into a smile even though he stared down at you with sad blue eyes.

You just laughed, resisting the urge to kiss his cheek, and hurried from the lecture theatre. That was, you thought, the last of it… except it really wasn’t. The next day when you were studying in the library, Jaskier plopped down opposite you with a pile of marking that was not enviable. He grumbled his way through it, making idle conversation, remarks about the weather, gentle flirtation about your clothes, your smile, even the colour of your eyes.

And again the next day, Jaskier found you whilst you were taking a walk in the gardens. The idiot pretended to be surprised to see you, but you saw straight through his act. Still, the company was nice and his lilting tenor was relaxing after a long lecture about textual analysis. Your first lesson with Jaskier had spoiled you, the rest seeming rather dull in comparison.

By the end of your first week, you realised that you came to treasure every moment with the man. Yes, he was a complete disaster of a lecturer, far younger than any of his colleagues and truly a mess, but he was funny, smart, ruggedly handsome. His cheeks were now covered with a light stubble that he had a habit of scratching mid-lecture, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of his rings as he flung his arms out wide, excitable and so very alive.

You were halfway in love already.

Sure, everyone seemed to be, but gods, who could blame them?

By the first month, your crush seemed to have bloomed into a full on infatuation, not helped by the roses left at your door, sweet treats delivered anonymously by a courier every time you had a lecture with Jaskier. The professor would tease you for having a secret admirer but you could see the twinkle in his eyes. It was all very confusing, the love you held in your heart versus the logic and reasoning of your head that said it was a terrible idea. It was bad enough that you were older than the other students, but if they knew about it you would be ostracised. Your grades would be doubted and your pride wounded.

So you ignored his advances as best you could, playing along with the anonymous secret admirer game that Jaskier was playing until the last lecture of the semester. The pair of you danced around each other in a waltz that walked the line between appropriate and not, dates that weren’t dates, meetings that were completely unarranged but nice all the same. Each lecture was spent sighing wistfully as you pined for a man you couldn’t have, knowing that he wanted you too.

But finally the day had arrived. Jaskier bowed dramatically to the classes, his fringe flopping in front of his eyes.

“And with that, I bid you adieu, fair students. Learn well, write from the heart, and love brighter than the sun. I hope to see you on the road!” Jaskier winked and gathered up his belongings for the last time, waving cheerfully at each student that passed him. It wasn’t a hard choice to deliberately hang back like you had in that very first class. “Ah, hello dear.”

“Jaskier,” you said with a smile, the first time you’d used his chosen name rather than his title. Jaskier’s eyes widened and his cheeks stained pink, seeming more like a teenager than the kids he taught. “It’s a difficult decision, I hope you understand. My secret admirer has just been so sweet… but… if it’s all the same to you, I’d quite like that drink now.”

With a beautiful laugh that would put the nightingales to shame, Jaskier dropped his bag and parchment tubes onto the floor, rushing forward to pick you up in a flying hug. You squeaked but his arms were strong around you, lifting you with ease. When he finally dropped you back down to the floor you were both red faced and giddy, and you leaned forward to brush your lips against his cheek.

“It’s a date, Professor,” you teased before running from the room, leaving Jaskier dumbstruck and blushing behind you.

A date. A real date. You couldn’t wait.

#the witcher #jaskier pankratz #jaskier/reader #julian alfred pankratz #oxenfurt #wolfie's witcher writing

[starrynite7114]

Body Art (Angel Reyes)

A/N: Good morning everyone! This was done last night, but work was insane and I didn’t have a chance to post it. Hope you all enjoy this one. It was one of my requests that I have not had the chance to do. But I finally got to do it! I’m making my way through my request list right now, so hopefully I’ll get everyone’s request done soon. 

The request list link is below, please check if your request is there, if it is now, let me know so I can put it in! Still currently taking requests if you all would like to make one. 

Art smut with angel Reyes! He asks you to let him do body art on you. All front and you’re wearing panties right and he asks you to take your bralette/ bra off and he’s like woah and yea lol - @cherry-icetea​

Sorry it took so long love! Hope you enjoy! <3

Enjoy!

Masterlist

Request List tagged list: @justahopelessssromantic : @ifoundmyhappythought : @iambabyharry : @everyhowlmarksthedead : @briana-mishell24 : @bribri-82 : @briannab1234 : @carlaangel86 : @twistnet : @marvelmaree : @blackmissfrizzle : @thickemadame : @woahitslucyylu : @chibsytelford : @agirllovespasta : @sesamepancakes : @enamoured-x : @encounterthepast : @trulysuccubus : @jadert15 : @elcococruz : @gemini0410 : @cherry-icetea : @claytoncardenasbabymama : @sadeyesgf : @xserenax-13 : @whyisgmora : @samcrobae : @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass : @sheeshgivemeabreak : @lady-pswrld

You and Angel have been quarantined together for a month. 

While you two enjoyed the other’s company, the movies and television shows to binge on was slimming down. You both loved nature and craved to be outside. You missed being able to just walk outside without a worry.

But you also knew not to be selfish. 

This was for the better and it was going to save lives. 

But you both were surprised that you haven’t wanted to kill one another. Surprisingly enough, you two enjoyed one another’s company and gave the other space when needed. You two shared a two bedroom apartment. It was nice to share your apartment with a friend, especially one you met through your ex-schoolmate Ezekiel. You and Ezekiel had become close during your first semester at Stanford and when you found out of his fate, you visited him weekly. He didn’t close you off and you were thankful for that. One time you came and his family was there, you met his big brother, Angel and his father Felipe. 

The attraction to Angel was immediate, but you kept everything at bay since you both were in different places.

But somehow, four years after meeting, you found yourself in Santo Padre. While you two texted often, you didn’t hang out with Angel much. When he offered to room with you when you immediately moved to Santo Padre, you were hesitant at first, but you realized that there was no other person you would want to room with besides Angel. 

Work brought you to Santo Padre. Currently, you were a teacher at the high school. It was nerve wrecking since teenagers could be little shits, but somehow, they enjoyed your world history facts that you always taught them.

Living with Angel was a delight. He always brought you home food when he could and helped you cook when he could. He did your laundry for you when he was doing his. Always made sure your oil was changed for your car and everything. And it was always a plus to see Angel walking around shirtless. That man was a god and if you just had some guts, you would jump him, but there was always this unspoken thing between you two. EZ was his younger brother and you were EZ’s best friend, you two were just not allowed to be together, for EZ’s sake.

Regardless, that didn’t mean your attraction was nonexistent. Angel was very attracted to you, and he has been for years, but his promise to his brother always trumped his desire for you.

However, with this quarantine in place and the time he spent with you, Angel found it harder to resist you. Walking in those booty shorts of yours that showed off your assets. He was a strong man, but there was just so much he could take.

One of the best things about living with Angel was the artwork. He painted your room, the artwork suited you so well. You loved watching Angel paint. Your favorite thing to do was reading a book while Angel painted on the ground, concentrating on his next masterpiece. If this outlaw biker thing didn’t work, he could totally open up a gallery. 

Currently, you both were on the couch, finishing up the Punisher. Angel had his head on your lap, as you watched the show intently, digging the storyline and enjoying the eye candy.

“This show is amazing.” You praised it as the ending credits came on.

Angel clicked his tongue. “Or you mean the guys are hot?”

“Don’t be jealous Ignacio, you’re still the apple of my eye.” You pinched his cheek, causing Angel to push your hand away, but he chuckled, loving the feel of your skin on his. It was pathetic really, but he promised EZ he would never fall for you. He thought that maybe EZ was in love with you, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Want to take a break from watching?”

“Sure, what you got in mind? If you say let’s fuck, I’m going to slit your throat.”

“I love it when you threaten me.” Angel chuckled, sitting up. “Want to help me paint?”

“You know I don’t have an ounce of talent for art in my body.” You’ve painted with Angel a few times and he always told you how you were getting better, but you somehow doubted that. Angel was a great teacher, really nice too. Maybe if he didn’t want to do the art gallery, he could definitely be a teacher. 

“No, let me paint you.” Angel really enjoyed your presence whenever he was painting, he felt inspired and encouraged whenever you were around. 

Angel has never requested to paint you before. Wait, that’s a lie, he has numerous times but you always shut him down and made an excuse to leave. He knew that you wouldn’t be able to make an excuse today. You were stuck at home after all.

“Me? No way.” You shook your head. “I feel like we can FaceTime someone and you can paint them instead.” 

“Come on mi dulce, I’ve always wanted to paint you.” He took your hand in his, trying to ignore the butterflies and the spark that just coarse through your body.

“Angel, let me FaceTime Kristin, remember how hot you thought she was?” You were really trying to get out of this as best as you can. You couldn’t keep still and there was no point in painting you.

He recalled making that comment, but he only said it to get a reaction out of you, which obviously didn’t work. “Nope, I want you.” The way he said it, it made the butterflies in your stomach move around even more wildly than before. 

“Can you just not paint me and say you did?” You offered.

“You don’t trust me?”

“No, I’m just shy.” 

Angel smirked. “Shy? You don’t have to be shy with me.” He stood up, taking your hand and taking you to his room. “Do me a favor mama, strip to your bra and panty.”

“What?!” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Come on baby girl, you won’t be fully naked.” He tried to ease your shyness.

“Alright fine, but I expect to be compensated for this.” You were comfortable with your body, but this was also Angel who most likely has seen so many beautiful girls naked. And he may have also slept with you before, it was a drunken night which you remembered well however, you weren’t sure if he did. He’s never mentioned it and you didn’t want to be the one to do so.

As you took off your clothing, Angel immediately regretted asking you to be his model. He’s always imagined how you would look in your unmentionables and he was beginning to forget about his promise to EZ and well, he was fucking forgetting EZ. 

He’s seen it all before. He was buzzed that night, but he definitely wasn’t drunk. At times, you haunted his dreams, seeing you naked could make any man go crazy and it fucked up Angel. He didn’t even know how to approach the subject and quite frankly, since you didn’t mention it, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to embarrass you or himself.

That one night three months, two weeks, and five days ago was embedded in his mind. He never told EZ about it knowing it would upset his younger brother. But seeing you before him now, Ezekiel could go fuck himself.

“Angel?” You broke him away from his thoughts, biting your lip nervously.

“Sorry, fuck.” He chuckled. “You look fucking gorgeous, querida.”

God when this man spoke Spanish? Used a term of endearment for you in Spanish? It made your thighs clench together because all you wanted to do since that night maybe 3-4 months ago, was fuck Angel again. But with his relationship with EZ just being repaired again, you didn’t want to have them fighting over this. You understood why EZ was protective of you, you technically just had him, but it was also quite annoying.

“Thanks.” You smiled shyly. “How do you want me?”

“You want to lay down? Just so it’ll be more comfortable.”

“Sure.”

Laying down on the floor, Angel looked at your bralette which was burgundy at the area of the cups with flowers branching up from the sides, the bottom of the bralette was black lace. Angel bit his bottom lip, thinking of how he could connect your bra to your panties. Your panties were burgundy, matching your bralette, with lace at the top of your underwear.

You watched as Angel’s eyes roamed up and down your body. It was comfortable, oddly, not creepy whatsoever, but then again, this was Angel. Even though he had this intimidating presence, he was a fucking teddy bear that loved affection and being spoiled.

“Can you at least give me a pillow?” You requested.

Angel chuckled, handing you a pillow. “Don’t know if I told you yet, but you look absolutely stunning.” He began to feel nervous, unsure if he could actually do this. But he reasoned that of course he could, why wouldn’t he be able to do so? He was an artist, he could push his desire for you to the side while he was touching your body. 

Fuck. He was screwed.

Taking out the paint for him to use, he picked burgundy, white, green and a light shade of blue. He had this picture in his mind that he wanted to portray on your body, but all he could picture was having you naked, your sweaty body against his, you breathily moaning, gasping out his name. He shook his head, trying to concentrate. He could paint on you, this was going to be easy. 

Angel began to paint on the black lace of your bralette, a giggle escaping your lips. He chuckled, forgetting how ticklish you were. This whole quarantine has been ridiculous, but he never knew how much he would enjoy life just being at home, but that had a lot to do with you. At first you had offered EZ to stay with you two, but EZ insisted on staying with Felipe. Angel didn’t mind, he wanted you all to himself. Even though you two have been roommates, he didn’t know much about you. He barely found out that you were afraid of heights even though you went hiking with him whenever you two had the chance to do so. He also didn’t know you could handle your liquor better than any of the fucking guys, which thoroughly impressed him. He also didn’t know that you have four tattoos, all on your back, that represented major events in your life. 

He also didn’t know how much he’s been avoiding his feelings for you till he was stuck at the apartment with you with nowhere to go.

“Is this the set I got you for Christmas?” You asked him as he began his work on you.

“Yeah, it was. I’ve used a majority of the set except for this.” Christmas, it was three days after that you two slept together. Angel woke up and you weren’t in his bed anymore. He was going to bring it up, but it seemed every time he tried, it just never happened. “Do you remember what happened a few days later?”

“When we got plastered and played a prank on EZ?”

It was a few hours before you two slept together. EZ was sleeping so you and Angel had the idea of using a feather and shaving cream, tickling EZ on certain spots on his face till he was fully covered. EZ didn’t wake up till Gilly and Coco busted out in laughter when they walked into EZ covered with shaving cream.

“Oh yeah, good times.” Angel chuckled. You felt his fingers moving across your stomach, spreading the paint. “Why are you so tense?”

“Cause I’m trying not to be ticklish.”

“Or maybe I make you nervous?” You could hear the smugness in his voice.

“Nervous? For what?”

Fuck it.

“I don’t know, you tell me mi dulce.” He moved on your other side, to paint that side. It wasn’t his best work, but he just wanted to touch you. “So do you remember that night?”

“I remember bits and pieces of it.” You were being truthful, but it seemed that Angel was trying to have that long awaited talk. It’s not like you didn’t want to discuss it, you just didn’t know where to start. 

‘Hey, remember the time we fucked? Just wanted to let you know that you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.’

Yeah, that would go over well.

“Do you remember when we had sex?” Angel was playing it nonchalant, painting random patterns on your skin. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing anymore, but he just needed something to distract him, in case you rejected him. 

“Yes, I do.”

“Why’d you leave me alone on my bed?”

“Come on Angel, you don’t want to have this conversation.” You didn’t. Angel always seemed forbidden and they were so right that forbidden fruit tasted so much fucking better. You were certain that you and Angel had sex at least four times that night. 

“I do, you don’t? I promised Ezekiel that I would never make a move on you, but to be fucking honest, I don’t really give a fuck anymore.” Angel noticed then that he had painted angel wings below the lace of your bralette. He bit his lip, just thinking of how beautiful you would look with something he created tattooed on you. 

“What are you talking about?” You slightly sat up, looking over at Angel. He softly pushed you back down so he could continue painting, or whatever the fuck he was doing.

“I like you, I’ve liked you for quite some time but I haven't made a move cause Ezekiel asked me not to.”

You were speechless, unsure of what to reply. You like Angel too, but you were wondering if he just liked you now cause there was no one else to sleep with. But he wouldn’t say those words to you just to get in your pants, it would ruin everything. 

“You're kind of making me nervous here.” Saying his feelings aloud made Angel feel vulnerable, made him feel terrified of what the outcome could be.

“I’ve liked you for some time too, but I just figured you didn’t want to cross the line and I could respect that. I left you in bed that morning because I’m not good with rejection. We were both intoxicated and needed some release, I was cool with that.” You truthfully told him. “I think you’re an idiot for listening to Ezekiel.”

The brush strokes stopped and before you knew it, Angel was hovering over you, his lips on yours. His lips were warm, just as you remembered, parting slightly along with yours, his tongue slipping in your mouth. Your hands were on his neck, scratching the back of it. He groaned into your mouth before he pulled away. His eyes roamed down your body, biting his lips as he did.

“Fuck baby, can I take off your clothes?” His voice was so intoxicating, it became deeper. You remembered his voice the most that night. Angel was very vocal, which didn’t surprise you. His mouth made you fucking go insane.

You nodded your head. Angel removed your bralette, licking his lips as his thumb played with your nipple, grazing it softly before rolling it in between two fingers. You bit back a moan, arching into his touch. You’ve slept with a few people after Angel and you were upset how he ruined other men for you. Angel knew your body so well, that one night fucking ruined you and you honestly weren’t even mad about it.

“Are you wet baby girl?” His hand drifted down to your underwear, his art work was slowly being lost with every movement of his fingertips against your skin, but he didn’t care. Your body was art for him, the way you were taking a breathy gasp was music to his ear. He couldn’t wait to hear your moans again. He’s fucked other women after you and he would call out your name, even though the moans, the scent, the feel wasn’t the same.

“Yes,” you answered. 

Angel’s fingers slipped underneath your underwear, running a finger up and down your slit. Circling your clit a few times, you moaned out his name, feeling yourself become wetter with every touch. He slipped a finger inside you, pulling it out and adding another when he slipped it back in. Your legs voluntarily widened, accommodating him as he kneeled in front of you. He slipped your underwear down your legs, you were bare in front of him now and he felt his cock twitched as he watched your pussy swallow his fingers. 

“Are my fingers stretching you enough baby? Preparing you for my cock?” He kissed your lips, moving down your neck, nibbling, marking you as his. Looking down at his artwork that was smeared by his own fingertips, he had to say that it didn’t look terrible whatsoever, your skin was glistening with sweat. “Can I take a picture of you baby, take on my runs?”

All you could feel was Angel’s fingers working their magic on you. His words registered, but as much as you wanted to fight him about having your nakedness on his phone, it was kind of hot. 

“Okay.”

“Yeah baby? Fuck.” Angel got his phone that was on the coffee table, smirking as he opened up the camera app. Your face was covered by your arm, which he didn’t mind. He already had so many pictures of your face, but this was different. He took some pictures before putting his phone away. He felt your pussy clenching as he continued to go in and out, stroking your clit every once in a while. “Oh baby, I feel that. Querida, you cumming?”

“Fuck, yes Angel, holy fuck.” You cried out, back arching as you came.

“For months, I’ve been waiting to see you in this state again, to hear you moaning out my name in a blissful state. Hearing it again, seeing it again, I won’t ever be able to have my fill of you.” He continued to move his finger in and out of you as he said that, helping you through your orgasm. 

“I’m feeling it again,” the feeling was building in your stomach, again. You heard Angel chuckle as he took his fingers away, causing you to whine. 

He took off his shorts and his shirt, sitting against the couch. He pumped himself as you licked your lips, remembering just how good his cock felt inside of you.

“Like what you see?” Angel held his hand out to you.

You nodded your head, crawling over to him. 

“No time for you to suck my dick baby, I need to be inside of you.” He watched as you stood up and slowly squatted in front of him, making him groan. Slowly, you sink down on his cock, stopping every once in a while to adjust to him. He threw his head back, the sensation was incredible. “Look at that pussy stretching to fit my dick.” He rubbed his thumb around your slit, using the wetness to wet it so he could rub your clit. 

Throwing your head back, Angel watched the look of pure pleasure on your face, memorizing it. He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would have you, like he said, he didn’t care what Ezekiel thought. They were adults, you’re a grown ass woman, EZ could suck it up.

You had your hands on Angel’s shoulder, using it as leverage as you moved up and down his cock. The burn, the stretch, everything about it felt amazing. If there was one thing you remembered vividly about that night all those months ago, it was how well you fit with Angel. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you didn’t care, his cock just felt so damn good.

“You feeling good mi dulce, you missed my dick?”

“Do you ever shut up?” You groaned as you felt your movements speeding up, trying to chase that euphoric feeling. 

“I could, but I know how much you like my filthy mouth.” Angel pulled you against him, your chest against one another. He wrapped his arms around you, trapping you against him. His hips thrusted upward, hard and fast, and you just took in the onslaught, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm hit not a few minutes later. He continued to fuck into you, causing you to scratch his sides, moaning out his name over and over again. He slowed down, letting go of you. 

Your head landed on his shoulder, your hand on his stomach. “Give me a minute.”

Angel chuckled. “My dick too much for you baby? Don’t worry, we’re gonna be fucking so much, you’ll learn how to keep up with me.” He kissed your shoulder. “This pussy is mine now, hell, it’s been mine since that night.” He pulled you away from him so that he could kiss you, his tongue entering your mouth. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, helping you move up and down as his lips touched yours, his breath just hot against your lips. “We sleeping in the same room now baby.”

It wasn’t even a question, it was a statement.

“My room, I don’t like your bed.” You kissed him again. Pulling away, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t care which room, as long as you’re in my arms.” Angel laid you on your back, bending your knees and holding them at the back. Looking down at where you two were joined, he smirked. “Can’t believe I listened to EZ.”

“Such a good older brother.” You teased Angel. “Shit Angel, go faster.”

“You don’t like this pace baby? You don’t like it when I go slow, taking my time on you?” Angel ran his hands up and down your thighs, moving it down to your stomach as his art was smeared all around. “I wanna design a tattoo for you querida.”

“No, we have time for that later. Fuck me.” Angel chuckled. “If you fuck me good enough then you can design whatever you want for me.”

You saw how Angel’s eyes darkened, he had your legs hanging on his shoulders. He pounded into you, in and out at a fast pace. You slightly regretted challenging Angel, but this felt so fucking good. 

“This hard enough for you baby?” He taunted. 

You nodded your head. “It feels so good.”

“Yeah you do, you feel fucking amazing querida.” Angel groaned. “You look so beautiful underneath me baby, you’re just gripping my dick baby. This is my pussy, ain’t no one else ever going to see you this way from now on. Fuck those puto’s you took home.”

Taking one of his hands that was beside your head, you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking on it before you directed it towards your clit. Angel immediately followed your order and rubbed it.

“You look so good like this.” Your eyes were closed, toes curled, and lips bitten. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his skin and he fucking loved it.

“Angel!” You cried out as your orgasm finally came. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He followed right after you, moaning out your name as well. He pulled out, the emptiness making you whimper. Angel helped you up, his cum dripping down your leg. He smirked as he watched it go down and you rolled your eyes.

“Such a guy.” You playfully pushed him. 

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, his cock was already semi-hard. 

“You ready for round two, cause we ain’t fucking leaving our bed till at least Monday.”

It was only Thursday.

#angel reyes #angelreyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #angel reyes fanfic #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fic #mayans mc fanfic

[jungxk]

just one (vi)

notes: the only guy on campus who’s track record trumped that of your best friend’s - park jimin - was jeon jungkook. not that that was a problem…until he set his sights on you.

warnings: smut (f recieving), protected sex

genre: drama, romance, humour, college!au

wordcount: 5.3k

part i // part ii // part iii // part iv // part v // part vi // part vii // part viii // part ix // part x 

you watch sadly as you tip your case of empty paint tubes into the bin. they were your absolute favourite, a birthday gift from jimin almost two years ago. you had been so careful and stingy with them all this time to preserve as much as possible - at least to get you to the end of the semester - so it was disheartening to have to finally throw them out. oils were always your favourite. still, there wasn't much time for moping; if you were to get your next piece finished by the deadline you better start now because of the drying period between layers of watercolour.

"maybe jungkook has a hairdryer..." you mumble to yourself before padding over to his room. he's sitting at his tiny little work desk with his back to you when you peek over his shoulder. "kook, do you have a hairdryer?"

he points without removing his eyes from the screen. "the bottom drawer over there."

"thanks," you do a double take as you pass him with the appliance in tow, his eyes a little bloodshot and face twisted into what looks like terror. usually you couldn't so much as clean a paintbrush without jungkook all over you while you were at his place, but he barely spoke the whole afternoon. you take a tentative step towards him, because if he was anything like jimin when he's stressed he might get rabid. "you alright?"

"i dunno, am i?" he collapses back into the chair, threading his fingers through his hair which was getting wonderfully long. but the only thing you can pay attention to now are his panicked eyes and jittery knees. "i don't know what the fuck any of these numbers mean! why do i even need this for photography-"

"what is it?" you smooth your hand over his back, muscles stiff.

he deflates under your touch. "i agreed to peers taking questionnaires about my portfolio so far and i fucking regret it, noona. this stats software looks nothing like minecraft. i dont know what this all means. my prof said it'd help with cohesiveness - whatever that means - but he's off on one if he thinks this has done anything other than confuse me and ruin my life."

you try your best to hold back a smile, but jungkook is so cute when he's pouty and frustrated. "okay, well what are your variables?"

"my what? baby, i'm not in the mood right now-"

"no you dipshit, like," you gesture with your hands. "what are the things you're measuring? in the questionnaire?"

jungkook stares at you blankly. "i'm...what?"

you roll your eyes, grabbing the back of his chair to swivel him and plop onto his lap. "let me see."

jungkook has no idea what's going on, both because he doesn't know what you're talking about and also because you're covering the screen so he's spared of having to follow your clicking and tinkering. all he knows is that you fit nicely on his lap and that your bare thighs are warm on his, and it's much easier to focus on that anyway. especially since you aren't wearing underwear. after a few minutes he hooks his chin over your shoulder to at least try to keep up. "what are you doing, noona?"

"just cleaning up your dataset," you mumble. you finally perk up after a few more minutes. "oh, okay! so all you want to know is if the people who like the first half of your portfolio like the second half just as much, and whether that opinion affects the other? like a correlation, right?"

he sits up excitedly. "yeah! yeah, that's it," he stares at your profile in disbelief while you waste no time in running the analyses. "how do you know about this stuff, noona?"

"i did stats in my science major. the software i had back then, now that was a real pain in the ass. but this one isn't so bad," you reply absently while jungkook keeps staring at you like you're an angel that descended from the heavens especially for him. he has yet to believe otherwise. "hmm, you know i think you can skip all the sample level descriptives and cronbach's alpha scores and go straight to pearson's r if all you're looking for is a correlation. what would you prefer?"

he breathes in your hair; coconut, jasmine. his cologne. "you’re so sexy when i don’t understand what you’re saying."

x

x

x

jimin's face twists when he tests the contents of the pan. "can you tell me why this tastes like tae's dirty socks?"

“can you tell me why you know what tae’s dirty socks taste like?” you lean over the counter, swiping a finger over the ladle before bringing it to your mouth. you always used to cook for your family when you were younger, and although you had gone off it after what happened, you didn't mind when it was with jimin. with him, you didn't think about the memories of cutting onions with your father or grinding chillies with your mother and sister. it all felt new again, something that was never tarnished. which is why jimin is the only one you can stand to cook with even if he's unable to make anything but mojitos and a single pasta dish. "not enough garlic."

he squints at his phone while you manoeuvre him out of your way. "but it says two cloves in the recipe?"

"it's never two cloves," you take the knife and start to crush and peel more. "always start with four, maybe five."

"can't we just order takeout?" jimin pouts pathetically. he just washed his hair so its still damp, cheeks a rosy from the bathroom steam. you only wish his long line of hookups could see their ladies man now, bundled up in a powerpuff girls  sweater that he stole from you months ago.

"no," you pluck his phone from his hand before he can dial, replacing it with more cloves for him to peel. "you've been having takeout all week! all that oil can't be good for you, what's the point of sweating your tits off in that gym if you're just gonna eat shit?"

"i don't always eat shit!"

"jimin. we share a just eat email account. i know the chinese place isn't sending me customer loyalty codes," he rounds the stool where you're sat in the small place between your back and the wall, his palm skirting behind your waist to move you gently aside. "just let me see you eat a vegetable today, i'm begging. so if you keel over tomorrow from IBS i'll feel less guilty."

"alright alright," he huffs, rubbing at his puffy eyes with his sleeve before picking up the knife again. "i don't see what the big deal is, if i was breaking out then that'd be another issue but my body can clearly handle it. maybe it's like that episode of drake and josh where his body becomes accustomed to all the junk food he eats and-"

"please don't use drake and josh as a marker for your health."

"fine," and then without missing a beat, "but what about kenan and kel? all that orange soda and kel was totally fine. healthy even."

"physically, maybe. but did you see the screw in the tuna episode? don't tell me he didn't have inner demons that may or may not have been increased by an overly processed diet," you pause. "wait, am i the kenan in this friendship?"

"depends. i want to say you're the brains but i've also seen you try to open a can with a fork, so."

"hey! that wasn't my fault!" you exclaim, but jimin ignores you purposely. "taehyung told me you fucked yeri in the kitchen, how was i supposed to know what was and wasn't contaminated?"

"___, the fork was plastic."

"well what else would you have me do, starve?"

"what is this, the fucking famine? you said it yourself, we share a just eat email so the smart thing to do would be order. besides i dunno what makes you think i'd fuck a girl with a can opener in my vicinity anyway-"

"um, you're you," you chastise. "so i rest my case."

"then i'm definitely kenan," jimin laughs when you swat at him before your phone vibrates, one after another until it almost falls off the kitchen counter if you didn't grab it in time. you don't dare to unlock your phone when you see the contact name on the screen, too hyper-aware of jimin eyeing you over the chopping board. even he sees the gist of the messages jungkook sent you.

[jungkook 7:13pm] u left ur shirt here again noona

[jungkook 7:13pm] at this rate ur never gonna get it back are u :)

[jungkook 7:14pm] i'm free all day tomorrow

[jungkook 7:16pm] wanna come over?

[jungkook 7:16pm] i still haven't washed it btw so

[jungkook 7:17pm] we can do laundry together :))

[jungkook 7:18pm] or maybe later tonight ? i can pick u up ?

you don't even get a good read of the messages - all those smiley faces gave you enough of an idea. it wasn't a surprise or anything, but you still switch your phone to do not disturb and leave it face down on the counter like you have something to hide. which you don't. so why did it feel so wrong? so disrespectful, here in jimin's kitchen? you gnaw at your cheek.

jimin has his back to you so thankfully you're spared of having to gage his expression. he's probably sent a million thirsty texts so he knows what they look like, knows that he shouldn't be surprised. still, he shifts from foot to foot uneasily. the only thing that makes him stop is you leaning wordlessly over him to lower the stove to a simmer, turning the tap on to wash some rice and hum quietly. here was jeon jungkook, arguably the biggest stud on campus blowing up your phone on a friday night but nothing felt different. you'd always choose him and jimin knew that.

"what do you think of egg fried rice?" you ask over your shoulder. "i haven't made it in ages. the one with the veggies?"

jimin smiles. "i love that one,"

x

x

x

"he's not back yet?" you ask when yoongi lets you into the flat, shoulders deflating childishly. he gives you a lazy shake of his head before nudging you to the sofa to take up your usual spot on the matted cushion in the corner, kicking your shoes away and sitting cross legged. yoongi and namjoon's flat was only round the corner from jungkook's, a worn down little two-bed that smelled rather questionable at times, but it quickly became a familiar place. a safe place. especially because of how often you'd come over while jungkook was running late at class or the gym or photo-hunting. coming to terms with the fact that you were sleeping with jungkook wasn't that hard, but being friends with his friends was.

"it's leg day. you know how jungkookie feels about his chicken calves," yoongi says before flopping down next to you. namjoon was tucked into the other side with a book, effectively squishing you into yoongi with his big shoulders. if jungkook was here he'd pout about having nowhere to sit and the thought only makes you more pleased. "he'd be there until sundown if you weren't waiting for him."

"are you sure you're one to talk about chicken legs?" you reach to tickle yoongi's knees and he barely manages to flinch away in time.

"i love my chicken legs the way they are, thanks. can't say the same for your boyfriend though."

you freeze. "i told you to stop saying that, yoongi. you know he hates the b word. one more slip up and you won't ever see me here again. last time he avoided me for two weeks!"

"never see you again? doubt it. your hair clogged the shower drain yesterday so you pretty much owe rent at this point," yoongi keeps flicking through the channels on the television. "besides, i know what a man with a monkey on his back looks like. kookie just doesn't like being reminded of it because unfortunately for him there's no rehab to quit you."

a rush of blood goes straight to your cheeks. yoongi loves to tease you and you know that, second only to jungkook who actually does get off to it, but you still tap nervously on the carpet with your toes while desperately hoping for namjoon to step into the conversation with a weird conspiracy theory or black hole fact he read on an astronomy blog. anything to dig you out of this metaphorical hole you and jungkook are hellbent on ignoring. yoongi sees the way you curl in on yourself slightly, a sensible and collected flower like you reduced to a fidgety school girl. it's cute.

"hyung," namjoon says with his eyes still glued to his book. "stop winding her up or her face'll explode and then jiminie will come for your throat."

yoongi scoffs. "and? what's that short-ass gonna do, cry on me to death?"

"you're like two inches taller than him."

"two and a half, actually."

"so he really was a crybaby?" you scoot to fold your legs under you. "jungkook told me before but i didn't believe him! i've tried everything but i can never get a reaction out of jimin...i mean, if horny isn't an emotion."

"oh yeah, totally," namjoon puts an arm on the back on the back of the sofa behind you when he looks up. his silver hair brings out the beautifully rich undertone of his skin and it's difficult not to stare, being so close. "if the patriarchy hadn't fucked him up he'd be a real tree hugger, i'm sure of it. but the last time i saw him cry was...hmm..."

"five years ago," yoongi chimes. "when jungkookie got caught."

"ooooh yeah," namjoon nods. "but jimin and jungkook were super close back then. he was so protective of him, waited in the custody office for hours until they finally-"

"wait," you look between them. "caught? what do you mean?"

the boys exchange a glance between them. it's not like you didn't know that yoongi sells weed and often with namjoon's help. in fact, they often told you about their wild stories and close calls. but they had never mentioned jungkook being involved with any of that stuff, and neither had he. you always just assumed that he'd kept his head out of it, being a college student and all but yoongi's shrugging and namjoon's pursed lips tell you otherwise.

"jungkook got charged with possession as a minor," yoongi says. "i mean, seventeen but still. too baby-faced."

"jungkook sold for you?" you repeat, not quite believing your ears. he had always been the better off out of his friends that often did shadier things, but the more you got to know him the more you felt like the jungkook you heard about and the jungkook you knew were two different boys. it really shouldn't have come as a surprise, since he had practically grown up with yoongi, namjoon and jimin. his hyungs were his family and he'd do anything for them, there was really no reason he wouldn't take up their trade.

"oh yeah, almost a year. he was good at it too," namjoon laughs. "our kookie's good at everything if you give him enough chances."

"so what happened?" you press. "does he...does he still sell?"

"are you kidding? we got him out of all that shit the second he stepped out the office," yoongi rubs the back of his neck. "jungkook isn't like us. he's a good kid with a lot of talent and he didn't need to be doing all that you know? we convinced him to go to school instead but even then, jimin made us swear to look out for him because he left earlier than kookie."

"wow, jimin really hasn't changed," you lean back. "in like, taking care of people i mean. so is that when jungkook got into photography? he did talk about getting his first camera when he was like eighteen or something..."

namjoon nods happily in recollection. "yup! we were so proud when jungkook got accepted into university, especially after jimin and hobi. people from our town don't usually pursue higher education-"

"especially with kookie's record," yoongi laughs.

"why?" you blink at him.

"the weed was one thing, but jungkook also got a strike for violence."

namjoon winces. "hyung, he's gonna throw a tantrum if you tell her..."

"i don't care. she's fucking him, she has a right to know," yoongi retorts evenly, dark eyes swivelling to meet yours. his light hair is matted from under his beanie, barely missing his lashes. "a few years ago jungkook beat a guy so bad he had to go into emergency. it was pretty gross. broken nose, missing teeth, you name it. he's been on thin ice since but he doesn't act like it."

you take a second to digest the information. "do you...do you know why?" you waver, unable to keep the horror from your voice. "knocking a guy's teeth out? people don't just do that!"

"kookie did," namjoon sighs.

"but why? it's so...i just can't imagine jungkook doing something like that..."

"something like what?"

your head snaps to the doorway where jungkook can be seen only partially when he bends over to unlace his shoes, namjoon and yoongi simultaneously pinching your legs to wipe the wide-eyed look off your face. it was one of the many times when wearing your heart on your sleeve did not do you any favours. you just about manage to look normal enough within the half a second it takes for jungkook to come in, hair mussed from his post-gym shower and tee wrinkled from being stuffed into the bottom of his bag. his eyes look extra big today, nose and knuckles blushed pink from all the lifting. he couldn't look farther from the violent offender yoongi and namjoon described. in fact, the sudden urge to kiss him hello was near suffocating.

"i was telling her about the time you wore hyung's underwear for two weeks," namjoon explains, years of lying paying off with how smoothly he returns to his book.

"what!" yoongi splutters. "are you kidding?! a whole week, jungkook that's disgusting-"

the younger boy winces. "not the same pair!"

"wait. you took more than one?!"

"um..."

"how many. tell me right now you little shit."

"i promise they were clean!" jungkook says defensively, but his buck teeth show in a defensive little grin. it's impossible to be mad at him. "my washing machine broke, remember? and i never have change so i didn't go to the laundrette's and-"

"which ones?" yoongi's voice becomes obnoxiously loud with dismay. "tell me right now so can go upstairs and burn them. jesus jungkook you could have at least asked me, now i have to live with the knowledge that your bollocks is acquainted with mine until i die-"

"hyung they were clean," jungkook insists. "and if i asked i knew you wouldn't have let me borrow them!"

"yeah because it's gross! why didn't you just take joonie's?"

"i did. but he caught me and told me to take yours instead."

you just about manage to insert yourself between yoongi before he can grab a fistful of namjoon's hair while jungkook throws back his head in a loud cackle.

x

x

x

[jimin 7:58pm] you dont mind do u?

it's hard not to roll your eyes at his message, momentarily leaving your phone on the bed while you unclasp your bra. it wasn't the first time jimin had bailed on you last minute because of some girl he'd picked up for longer than expected. you're just thankful that this time he had the courtesy to tell you before you got to his house and burst into his bedroom without knocking only to see areas of your best friend you really did not need to see. even though you shudder at the memories - yes, plural - the sinking feeling of disappointment can't be masked. it's movie night.

[you 8:01pm] yh its fine

[you 8:02pm] but u owe me one i put on a bra for you asshole

[jimin 8:04pm] ofc babe

[jimin 8:04] just skip it next time :)

you snort before locking your phone and throwing it on the bed, padding over the room in your knickers to select some sleeping shorts off the floor. jisoo went home for a family birthday and seulgi had a deadline for monday, so it was safe to say you were alone for the weekend. you were used to being alone but you didn't like it; it was the reason why you'd always trudge to jimin's if the girls weren't home or even yoongi and namjoon's, even if it was just to take a nap on their sofa. you needed the noise, the background bickering. that's why there's only so much paint brush washing and kitchen cleaning you can do before reaching for your phone and messaging jungkook.

or at least that's what you tell yourself when he's in your bed within the hour, head resting on your stomach and his leg thrown over your ankles. you trace along the tattoo on his bicep closest to you, admiring the cohesiveness and line placement while jungkook dozes off, like he often does after sex. he's had a long week so you let him sleep, hair sticking up and mouth open like a toddler, so impossibly cute you can't help combing through his nape. jungkook doesn't often spend the night at yours so this was a rarity, and you had to admit he did look a little out of place in your tiny little room. he was far too big for your bed, one foot already hanging off, clothes and jacket hurled into the corner with only cheap fairy lights to rely on so you don't go tripping over his shoes at the door.

you could draw him like this. jungkook's eyelashes are short and pin-straight, eyebrows angled and distinctive. quick, sharp pencil strokes. he's got the faintest shadow above his top lip from where didn't have time to shave today. you'd use charcoal for his hair, black with a slight wave. a swooping curve for his nose, a more gentle line for his jaw. he looks harmless like this: not at all resembling the boy yoongi described.

"why are you so quiet, noona?" he grumbles into the duvet, eyes still closed. "you should be snoring my ears off by now."

you pout. "i'm too busy wondering how i'm gonna get your river of drool out of my pillow."

he snorts. "throw your sheets in on a fast cycle and voila."

"what fast cycle? i just press every button on the machine until it starts."

he opens his eyes. "you're an animal."

you laugh, tugging on the roots of his hair where your hand is still nestled inside. "how do you know so much about washing machines anyway?"

"my mum worked a lot growing up," jungkook yawns. "hyung did the cooking and i did the laundry."

you freeze. "you have a brother?"

"i swear i told you that," he scoots across your stomach, taking the pillow with him to position it over your hip so he can look at you properly. his eyes look glassy in the lights, lids hooded and hair pushed back. a real dreamboat wrapped in a hello kitty duvet. "two years older, same as jimin."

"no wonder jimin cares about you so much," you keep playing with his hair, watching his eyes droop closed. "he may as well be your brother." jungkook hums in reply, growing more and more drowsy from all the petting. "so...how come your mum worked so much?"

his eyes open to look at you, hesitating. "dad left when we were young. she didn't really have a choice."

"i didn't know that jungkook..." you pause. "that must have been hard."

he rolls to face the ceiling, like he's thinking twice before he answers. "not really. eomma's a badass, there's nothing she can't handle. yeah money and stuff wasn't easy, and it sucked when i was younger and didn't understand why hyung and eomma were so upset after what happened, but it's whatever. the three of us are so good together, you know? i like it like this."

you nod. because you do know. or, did. you wonder now if that's the reason jungkook got involved with yoongi and namjoon in the first place, to help out his family, but even you know some questions are better left unasked. instead, you chip away at jungkook while you can, since you know barely anything about him beyond student life and his friends. who knows when he would be in the mood to open up again. "so what does your brother do?"

"an accountant. for some fancy law firm in the city," he smiles. "hyung is super smart. like you."

you laugh. "you know i didn't finish my first major, right?"

"by choice. not because you weren't capable," he finishes, and to that you have no choice but to shut up. no one had ever put it that way before. "he's super quiet like you too, keeps to himself. gives really good advice. oh my god, and his kimchi pork stew - amazing!" his teeth gleam take up his whole mouth when he smiles, lines creasing around his eyes. "so many times when me and mum would argue, hyung was the reason why we'd stop. guess i got her temper."

you watch him closely. "you argued often?"

"at one point, yeah. not because we didn't like each other or anything, just..." you can see him hesitating again, cheek sucked in from where he chews it while staring up at the ceiling as if the memories are playing back at him on a projector. you keep quiet, let him get there on his own. "mum went through a phase where she dated a lot. felt bad that neither of us had a father figure and all that bullshit. she brought home some real dickheads, some top tier cunts i'm telling you. and i...wasn't exactly nice to them. ever since then i just hate seeing girls be pushed around by assholes, you know? it does something to me, i dunno. here," he lays a hand over his stomach. "i can't just watch. i can't. it's like i'm gonna be sick."

it's hard not to cry listening to him, seeing the lines in his forehead appear along with the crinkle above his nose. it made sense now, what yoongi told you about before. thinking back to the whole escapade with jinyoung in your kitchen, the whole thing hit you differently.

jungkook was exactly the kind of boy your old family would have frowned upon, reckless and thoughtless and emotionally-driven in the face of adversity. absolutely everything you were taught not to be. but you admired him for those very reasons. before you can start crying you sit up, silencing jungkook with a kiss before he can ask you what's wrong. it's firm and deliberate, your hands holding both his cheeks. he's breathless. "you seriously fucking worry me, slick."

"oh?" his eyes stay focused on your lips while he moves to you, positions you underneath him on the foot of the bed, pulling your thighs around his hips so you gasp at the feel of his semi on your soft inner thigh. he dips his head to kiss along your sternum, hand ghosting over your breasts before closing his mouth around your nipple.

"i nev-never know what you're gonna do next," you exhale shakily, arching into him involuntarily at the sensation. jungkook takes the opportunity to rub the pads of his fingers against your cunt, using the remnants of your arousal to help you along. sure enough you accept his fingers greedily, but he takes his time in stretching you out and easing in further, further.

his thumb gently passes over your clit and you shake. "never? not even now?"

you have to forcibly yank his face away from your tits to kiss him, slowly and with passion. his skin grows damp under your hands, muscles rippling under your touch from where he holds himself up on his forearms. he likes feeling the softness of your tummy against his, your thick thighs cushioning him snugly against you. just like always, it's torture having to pull away from you for a brief second to grab a condom, but the familiar chuckle you breathe out to see him speed back into your arms almost makes it worth it. you take the packet from him, about to tear it open before he grabs your hand with a cheeky smile. "in a minute."

before you can question him about it you yelp he tugs you by the hips, sliding up to angle your ass so your knees have no choice but to hook over his shoulders. jungkook's arms wind around the top of your thighs, thick and secure, nails scraping gently through your coarse curls before he pulls your legs apart as wide as they'll go and lowers his mouth onto you. the noise you make is just as embarrassing as always, so loud and uncontrollable, hysterical even. you've gotten used to being jungkook's fourth, fifth and sixth meal of the day but he steals your breath away every time, leaves you squirming and trembling and this instance was no exception. today he was feeling indulgent so he eats you out messily, makes sure he's loud enough for you hear every squelch and slurp. you physically shake when he sucks a gently kiss to your clit, proud of yourself for not screaming. jungkook, however, isn't happy about that and keeps sucking until you do. harder, harder, and then filling you up with his fingers so you have something to clench around when you cum all over him in a rush.

your back is still off the bed when he reaches your eye level again, the family sound of the foil wrapper ripping from the condom packet making you lift your head up to look at him. he's already rolling it down his length when he peer downwards, and even though you only get a glimpse of his blushing head he's sticky and hot with pre-cum. you wiggle in anticipation and jungkook laughs at your cuteness before leaning back down, taking your hands in his for a change. he can see the appeal, interlocking your fingers with his palms against yours and using only his hips as leverage to push into your sopping center, letting you move against him so he's lodged in as deep as he can fit before he starts rocking into you.

your moans are his favourite song, maybe that's why he wants to listen to them all day. he'd like to make you cum again but it's difficult for him once his hips start stuttering uncontrollably, no matter how much he tries to slow his pace. you let go of his hands then to take his face, his eyes closed when he feels you press your smooth lips to his cheekbone; an encouraging kiss. a go on, i want you to kiss. the moan he let's out before giving in is fragile and wispy, nose digging into your neck while he ruts against you to his end. you clench around him harder just to hear jungkook whimper again, pliant and weak in your arms. all of a sudden, out of nowhere you wish you could feel the rush of his cream spilling from you when he pulls out to discard the condom. he nestles back into your breasts afterwards, smelling himself on your skin. 

jungkook falls asleep smiling.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts smut #jimin x reader #jungkook au #jimin au #jungkook scenario #jimin scenario #jeon jungkook au #jungkook x you #bts x you #jungkook college au #jimin college au #bangtan x reader #bangtan smut #bangtan au #bangtan x you #jungkook fic #jimin fic #jungkook fanfic #myfic

[talkfastromance4]

Ashton snippet

Found this while perusing through old docs, it’s titled ‘Don’t Call Me Angel” and it ends abruptly because I never finished or I don’t know what happened. But here’s a snippet of a TA!Ashton as an art teacher. 

Might have to add this to my list of WIPs to finish if it gets good reviews. Let me know what you think :)

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

• • • •

Ashton has always felt things so deeply. He loves deeply, he rages deeply, he sympathizes deeply and he plays his drums with everything he’s got. He tries to keep his emotions in check but they change like the tides, even he finds it hard to keep up with them.

Ashton lives, breathes and sweats creativity. His passion is seen in his brush strokes, his despair is shown through the negative space of his photographs. Long hours spent in the dark room and sometimes endless nights painting on large canvases in his studio apartment has given him the cliché brooding artist look; dark circles under his eyes complete the look.

When he’s not in the dark room or his apartment he frequents the coffee shop that is the perfect halfway point between his familiar places. It’s called Java Bean and serve the best iced coffee Ashton has ever tasted to tell you the God honest truth and the shop is a literal godsend for being open twenty-four hours.

Ashton’s insides are made of caffeine, paint and a constant ebb and flow of pulsating thoughts and phrases that won’t leave his mind unless he writes them down in his sketchbook. That’s another thing Ashton can never leave the house without, his sketchbook.

It’s large, black and hard covered even though the spine has long since lost the potency of its glue causing it to lie open like a cracked crab. It’s filled with his thoughts, lyrics he can’t get out of his head, small sketches of flowers or images he sees late at night when he dreams (when he gets a chance to sleep).

The book is his vice and he would rather die than ever part with it for Ashton is a closed book with every person (aside from his three best friends) but he opens up fully between those pages.

For his last year at University he’s the TA for his favorite art professor, Miss Dooley who is the perfect amount of scatter-brained and genius. She calls every student ‘pet’ and always has incense or essential oils burning in her classroom.

It has been Ashton’s wish and dream to be an art teacher for high school students, to help those like him who want to stay in their shell reveal who they truly are on the inside.

“Hello, my pet,” Miss Dooley trills in her usual sing song voice as Ashton enters the large art classroom.

He inhales the acrylic paint, the fresh wood waiting to be turned into canvases and the waxy aroma from the oil pastels stowed away in a cupboard. It’s one of his favorite smells in the world, the mediums just waiting to be used and Ashton’s fingers twitch in anticipation to create.

“Hey, Miss D,” he grins making a beeline to her desk at the front of the room. Behind her on the charcoal colored chalkboard is her name in calligraphy with broad strokes of curves and flowers.

‘Advanced Art Multi-Medium’ is written in block letters below her name as well.

“Excited for this year?” she asks rolling around a small was of blue putty in her hands. She claims it keeps her fingers and joints from failing so she’ll always be able to make art.

“Yeah, does it look like we’ll have a good class this year?” he taps the pads of his fingers on the black resin tabletop, a habit he’s always had when he’s anxious.

“Oh, I think so,” she beams her robin’s egg eyes twinkle. “It’s a full class this year, which I have you to thank for my little chickadee.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“You’ve been the best student for the past six years you’ve been here, my prized pupil and a very handsome fella if you don’t mind me saying.”

Ashton feels the back of his neck heat up from her sentence full of compliments. Surely he’s not the reason for a full class this year? That’s ridiculous.

“I don’t think—“

Before he could finish the double wooden doors swung open and a flood of college students entered and Ashton couldn’t help but judge the first few that came in. He recognized three of the girls in front who were in Delta Zeta which he knew the only amount of creativity in their body was decorating photo backdrops.

Apart from them the rest of the class he’s seen hanging around the art wing of the school and at some of the showings he was at. At the rear was one of his best friends, Michael Clifford who decided a month ago to dye his hair a deep purple again. Michael smirks at his friend as he takes a seat next to a petite girl opening up a small black notebook.

Ashton let out an exasperated breath through his nostrils at his friend who did not tell him he’d be taking this class.

“ . . . Twenty- three . . . and twenty-four. Excellent! We’re all here!” Miss Dooley claps her hands together and moves to the front of her desk to smile sweetly at her pupils. “I recognize some of your faces but welcome to Advanced Art! I am Miss Dooley and this young man next to me is Ashton Irwin who will be my aide for this year. Would you like to inform them what this year will consist of?”

Ashton clears his throat then steps forward to stand next to Miss Dooley but ends up leaning his back against the counter behind him. He wanted them to see he was relaxed.

“Hey everybody. This year will be about using different mediums and creating something great out of them and also finding your niche in your art. Every class you’ll have five sketches of a landscape or a self-portrait or anything else that catches your eye. If you don’t have a sketchbook I recommend getting on.”

Every eye is on him and he is making a point not to look anywhere near Michael in the back. He clears his throat again before continuing.

“Your final exam for the first semester will be the beginning of your portfolio which will show the progression of your ‘voice.’ When—“

“Our voice?” a platinum blond of the Delta Zeta trio asks with her hand in the air, a confused pout on her glossed lips.

Ashton folds his arms across his chest, the leather of his jacket squeaks from the motion.

“Each artist has a voice in their work, a certain style that is all their own. That’s why when you see the blurred colors of a lily pond you know it’s Monet or the small pointed brush strokes and vivid colors of Van Gogh. Art is a voice for when you don’t know what to say, you can convey so much emotion into it. By the end of the year I want to be able to tell who’s piece is who’s, that’s how prominent it needs to be.

“If you don’t think you have it in you or won’t rise up to the challenge of being vulnerable, then I suggest you drop the class. Some people really want to be here and create art, I don’t want you to be deprived of that.”

He stands there eyeing each and every person almost daring one of them to stand up and walk out. A motion of a hand raise catches his eye in the back, he thinks it’s Michael and is ready to kick his friend out if he makes a rude comment. But it’s not Michael, it’s the girl sitting next to him.

“Yes, pet?” Miss Dooley calls on her.

“How many pieces should be in our portfolio?” she asks in a gentle voice but with sureness behind it.

“However many it takes to find your voice,” Ashton answers her. She nods then bends over her notebook to write furiously on the page.

“Well, since no one has jumped ship, let’s start off with a little exercise. Turn to the person you share a table with, introduce yourself and sketch them while you get to know each other. You will be each other’s buddies for the semester. Begin, my pets,” Miss Dooley claps her hands together again and all the students shuffle around for pencils and paper.

» » » » »

It’s a Friday night and Ashton is sitting in his favorite booth at Java Bean with his sketchbook out and earphones in to block out the small chatter of other college students. His first week of class as a TA went really well, a lot of the students showed promise. To his amusement Michael’s first sketches were of the little succulents he has scattered about his apartment.

Ashton was pleased that they took him seriously and Miss Dooley always offered her help and guidance to those who had questions. None of the students had approached Ashton but he was fine with that, he’s still learning by watching Miss Dooley interact with them.

Ashton’s hazel eyes landed on Michael and Calum approaching his table as he sipped at his black coffee. He licks his lips watching them approach with shit eating grins on their faces and he reluctantly removes his earphones. He closes his sketchbook with a soft thump, slightly glaring at his friends. They know better than to interrupt him while he’s drinking coffee and immersed in his sketchbook.

“Hey teacher,” Michael snickers pulling up a chair from the next table over. He slumps down in it with his fingers twiddling in his lap while Calum spins the chair opposite Ashton around and straddles it.

Calum pulls his dark gray beanie down lower over his ears then rests his chin on his elbows.

“Can I help you with something?” Ashton sighs leaning back in his own chair.

“Luke’s throwing a party tonight,” Calum begins, “a back to school rager, if you will.”

“Good for him.”

“C’mon Ash,” Michael whines leaning forward on his knees. “Come party with us like old times.”

“You mean like when we were freshman and your head caught fire?” Ashton quirked his eyebrows up.

“We were young and dumb then,” Michael waves it off. “Come on, it’ll be great. The girl I sit next to in your class will be there.”

“And?”

“What girl?” Calum pipes up.

“And she’s cute,” Michael shrugs, “and it will be fun for you to get out of your little hermit hole you’ve set up here.”

“I dunno guys. I want to get up early tomorrow to take some photos of the waterfall. In my photography class I’m doing a series of different locations throughout the seasons, and I think the—“

“Yeah, yeah, we get it,” Calum interrupts holding his hand up. “Just . . . come hang out with us before you get neck deep in your work, yeah? Just for a few hours.”

Ashton rolls his eyes then sighs before giving in.

“All right, fine. I’ll come.”

“YES! The Ash Man is back!” Michael hollers clapping his friend on the back and the other customers turn to look over in irritation.

“You’ve never called me that,” Ashton says gathering his stuff in his shoulder bag, “and don’t start now.”

 The party was like any other party Ashton has been to in his college career, granted it is a bit tamer than when they were all freshman and sophomores. For the most part everyone had their clothes on which relieved Ashton. He hated having to try and wrangle whoever it was to get their clothes back on.

The townhouse was stuffy with vape smoke making the air foggy, beer and liquor filled his nose and he felt the music course through his body.

“Hey, you brought him!” Luke exclaims with a large smile. His arms are raised bringing Ashton in for a tight hug. “Glad you’re here, buddy.”

“Thanks man,” Ashton says tousling the younger guy’s golden curls.

“Drinks are in the kitchen, but I think I hear a shot of fireball calling your name,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows dragging the guys into the kitchen.

“I haven’t had fireball since New Year’s two years ago,” Ashton chuckles.

“Ashton! Hey!”

His head snaps when he hears his name then wishes that he hadn’t. The voice belonged to Breanne Thomas, a girl he used to hook up with on and off a few years back. She was even the model for some of his photography assignments.

“Oh, hey, Breanne,” he nods politely then shuffles past her into the kitchen. He did not want to relive old times with her at the moment.

“Yikes, sorry, mate,” Calum says handing him a shot glass filled with the golden liquid.

“Whatever, let’s cheers to a new year,” he shakes it off holding his glass up in the air. They all clink and down the shots heartily. Ashton remembers the burn as it travels down his throat and into his stomach.

As the night progresses he becomes pleasantly buzzed and that’s when he knows to stop. He just stumbles out of the bathroom when he hears his name being called and looks up to see Michael waving him over near the back of the house to the backyard.

Ashton pushes through the bodies, waves of weed swirl around his head and it’s so strong he’s sure he’ll get a contact high from it. When Michael becomes more in view he notices the girl from his class standing next to him.

“This is Lennox Hastings,” Michael introduces with a loopy smile. “Lennox Hastings this is Ashton Irwin. Our teacher. My best friend.” A small hiccup escapes him.

“Hi,” she smiles shyly at Ashton, “And it’s just Lennox. You don’t have to use my last name Michael.”

“It’s a badass name, Lennox Hastings! I have to say it all. You should show him your notebook, he’s got one too. Oops, I’ve got to go. Bye!”

He skirts away into the crowd and Ashton shakes his head at his drunken friend then turns to Lennox who now looks oddly familiar now that he knows her name. Apart from seeing her in his class he swears he’s seen her somewhere else before, but where? Or did she have a twin?

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with him as a table partner,” Ashton apologizes and she laughs lightly.

“He’s not so bad. He’s fun to talk to when I’m not working.”

“How’re you liking the class so far?”

“It’s good, I’ve been looking forward to it since I got here, actually. I was in all advanced classes in my high school and I’ve heard how amazing Miss Dooley is.”

“Yeah, she’s great,” he smiles then glances around at their surroundings. There’s a couple making out against the fridge and Ashton realizes it’s Calum and some short blond haired girl. “You wanna step outside? Get some fresh air?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she smiles opening the door.

Ashton picks up two water bottles from the bucket on the counter then follows her into the warm August night. The screen door swings shut behind him, he inhales deeply and sits on the gliding bench besides Lennox.

“Thanks,” she says taking the water bottle from him and takes a sip. “This isn’t weird, is it?”

“What isn’t weird?”

“Us being out here? You’re basically my teacher,” she laughs nervously.

“Nah, I’m just an aide. I’m not a teacher yet,” he grins at her.

Now that he’s not inside the house with loads of distractions all around, he can finally get a good look at her. She looks familiar for some reason now as he stares at her in the yellow porchlight. Her auburn hair is pulled up in a half ponytail with some fly aways clinging to her round cheeks. Her eyelashes are long atop her doe eyes and Ashton finds himself wishing to see what type of blue they are and if he could paint them.

“You’ll make a good one,” she says pulling him from his wandering mind.

“Ya think?” he leans back and rocks the glider back and forth slowly, it creaks and groans as he does.

“Yeah, you control the room well and I can tell how passionate you are about art.”

“Thanks,” he says sheepishly. He’s never been able to take compliments well, whether it’s about his art or himself. “How’re the rest of your classes going?”

“Okay so far, lots of work already in my poetry class and advanced art,” she gives him a sly smirk and nudges his ribs playfully with her elbow.

“You write?”

“Mhm. Wrote a lot this summer, great inspiration,” she says grimly.

“That’s good, right? I’ve heard writers block is shit.”

“It is.”

“So what inspired you?” he turns his body so he’s angled towards her more.

Lennox shakes her head, a piece of hair clings to her lip and Ashton desperately wants to pull it away.

“I don’t want to bore you with my heartbreak, Mr. Irwin,” she says.

“Please, call me Ashton,” he grimaces at the title. “I’m an artist, too, remember? Heartbreak makes the artist.”

“You already know it, though, the cliché story of girl meets boy. Girl falls for boy and they date and commit but then the boy gets a record deal and leaves girl behind.”

“Wait,” Ashton sits up straighter when he heard record deal. “You aren’t talking about Harry Styles, are you?”

“You know him, huh?” she says airily.

“Yeah, we don’t get along very well. At all, actually,” he chuckles.

“How come?”

“That’s not important right now. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

• • • •

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[darlinrogue]

"You know,"—Kenny lifts his head, weary, from the window and glimpses Adam, exhausted as he drives through the vacant streets of whatever city he'd managed to drive to without Kenny noticing—"you mentioned a girlfriend before?" An incongruous question, perhaps, but Kenny, truthfully, has wondered often about Adam's sexuality. And at three o'clock in the morning, he and Adam have to stay awake somehow: introspection it is. "Do you, uh, only like women? You don't have to answer—"

Comfort for Sol after the Dec 2. Dynamite We NEED IT

Adam and Kenny

A light waltz rolled from the radio in three-four time. A Strauss, Künstlerleben op. 316, written in 1867, a jovial, ‘gay,’ piece. Interjected into a Vienne at the edge of disaster as Austria crumbled around the carnival city. The song infused with a melancholic melody and yearning string instruments. The decaying nobility dreams of a glory day long past and danced the inevitable fall of their dynasty away. So, explained the smooth voiced disc jockey that introduced the piece with all the confidence of a history nerd who probably got shoved in a locker in high-school. Adam wouldn’t pretend he was smart like that, this station wasn’t his first choice. After five hours in the car they had cycled through: Adam’s playlists, Kenny’s playlist, and every other radio station on air. Thirty minutes into a marathon of Norteña music, Adam cracked first and turned on the benign classical music, played on a public air wave. All just to eke out some variety from the bland monotonous strips of American highway and interstate. Besides, no words, and especially no Spanish that he only half-understood in his current state, meant it required less brain power to process. A resource that was in dwindling supply for Adam. 

Adam tapped his finger against the steering wheel in time with the waltz. Apparently, this was like old fashioned twerking. A dramatic, intimate dance where partners held each other close and danced vigorously. Despite the song being undeniably wonder bread white, Adam found a natural ebb and flow that sparked a desire to move in some way. Bob his head a little bit, tap his foot, all as he nudged the cruise control-up another notch. The car engine revved and the speedometer edged in at a solid eighty miles an hour. With no one else on the road Adam dominated the left lane. It was a pure head rush, breaking the speed limit with no restrictions and no witnesses. All while listening to a playful violin trill. Brights on, illuminating the tall cedar, oaks, and pines, twined with dense underbrush on the sides of the road. The, black, ominous trees walled the interstate, trapping them, forcing them the only way forward. The white and yellow marked pavement extended far into the twisted dark, with hints of gentle turns far off. A couple miles down the road, twin red taillights glowed like angry eyes. The mapping program on his phone noted their exit was next. He compressed the breaks, the cruise control flicked off and Adam coasted onto the ramp. 

Kenny shifted, and the movement drew Adam’s attention for a split second. Kenny sat in shotgun with the chair leaned back. His hands threaded through his hair and rubbed at his eyes. Best as Adam could tell he had spent the past three hours passed out and had not even been roused when Adam smack him for snoring. In a moment or two he was upright and alert, peering-out the window, his curly hair like the silhouette of a mop. Adam explained they were taking a diversion into Knoxville for the sole reason that Adam had to go pee. Kenny muttered his assent. 

Google Maps took them to a beat-up 24/7 gas station at the edge of the city. Moth riddled, flickering and humming, fluorescent lights illuminated the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Lined beneath the front windows was stacks of firewood, an ice machine, and a tire pressure gauge. Adam left Kenny to fill-up the tank while Adam lunged out of the car to make use of the facilities. Inside, an exhausted looking twenty-something attended the counter and her phone. Over the top of the rows of junk food riddled shelves, Adam saw the bathroom. After taking care of his physical needs, on his way-out he perused the aisle while Kenny took his turn in the Powder room. He bough a couple packages of cookies, crackers, and bags of chips. Then, a coffee from himself from a somewhat suspect machine and a bottle of 2% from the fridge, for Kenny. Adam paid at the register and sipped on his caffeine as he stepped-off the curb outside the station. Cars rolled by on the road, whispering with the heated Summer wind. Kenny, already back outside, stretched-out beside the car, his gold hair white-washed by the lights. Sliding into the front seat, Adam offered Kenny the milk on one stipulation: Adam could use it to thin his coffee. It turned-out that he had purchased mud water. Kenny agreed and they were back on the trail, navigating the downtown and suburbia, in search of the road North. The street lights faded, and into this darkness, as Adam waited for a red light to turn green, Kenny began his thought: 

You know. 

Green light, go, Adam hit the gas, and rolled through. For a second, once through the intersection, he glanced at Kenny. In the dark car, lit by the thin dashboard glow, Kenny peered at him, curious, bur not pressing. There was a glimmer in his blue eyes. Adam returned his gaze to the windshield and the passing silver screen of Knoxville scenery. A right took them back onto the highway and Adam merged with the sparse traffic as he processed what Kenny asked him. You mentioned a girlfriend before? Do you only like women? Back on the smooth sailing of the interstate, Adam sunk back in his seat and sought comfort from the shitty coffee. It tasted bitter and yet smoother with the milk. 

“You asked me two questions, there,” Adam observed, lifting a corresponding number of fingers. It’d be easy to only answer one, Kenny wouldn’t force it. He resolved, tongue darting over his chapped lips, to answer both. He reached-out and turned down the radio to but a couple notches. “And uh, well, I guess, the answer to both is it’s complicated.”

“I mean, yeah, these things usually are,” Kenny joked, he leaned back his seat a little bit and propped a foot on the dash. He glanced at the mapping program on Adam’s phone and the oppressive number of hours left, “We got time though, so take as much as you need. Like, I’m just curious is all, and if I keep sleeping in this chair I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow, Piz.”

“Well, to answer the first question,” Adam chuckled. “I did have a girlfriend, once, back in college.”

“Ah, a college sweetheart--” Kenny teased. “That’s classic.”

“Yeah,” Adam chuckled. A fond smile spread on his lips. Like those arrogant, dancing nobles in Vienne, he thought of a time long gone. “We’re still friends, you know, we talk every now and then, meet-up for lunch or something, she’s married now, pregnant, with her first kid.”

“Okay, but that’s all past tense, what happened? Give me the details, man,” Kenny said. He interlaced his hands behind his head, shifting in the car seat. “I mean, if it’s not too hard, or anything.”

Adam shrugged, one shoulder-up to his ear with casual dismissal. Maybe a few years ago it would’ve been 'hard’ but things had changed. He had changed-- or rather, something had changed around him. There was someone else now for him to be heartbroken over. The old stuff were all scars now, not wounds that leaked with the slightest prod. Not like they used to. 

“So, the deal is I went into college with like, two years of credit, yeah?” Adam said, he checked over at Kenny to make sure he was following. “You can imagine this kinda put me in a weird spot. I was a Freshman but also basically a Junior and I was taking the classes in my major right away. I didn’t make a lot of friends that way, though. So, yeah, she was a little older than me and her name was Amanda. Long black hair, dark eyes, kinda short, but pretty, she was an art student, so we met in like this advanced drawing class. And Kenny, holy shit, I have to show you pictures of some of the stuff she does, when we get to the hotel, it’s nuts. Like these hyper realistic watercolor and oil paint portraits, that look even better than the actual thing. She works as a like, a background artist in L.A., now, so she’s legit. Way better than anything I could do.”

Kenny hummed, low in his throat, and Adam took that as a cue to continue.

“So, we met in class, and, over the course of the next semester we got to know each other, really well,” he said. “Like, I was hanging-out in her apartment to do projects and she was hanging-out in my dorm. I moved in with her for my Senior year, after she graduated. She just needed a roommate, you know? And not long after that we just, kinda started dating. I don’t know, it’s-- it’s hard to describe, even now, how I felt about her. Like, just this intensity I never experienced before. I really thought I was sick, actually-- like my stomach hurt. I called my mom and she told me I was a dumbass, and that I had a crush. It’s just that I was never interested in dating in high school, like I talked to girls and stuff, went to prom with one of my friends, but nothing like, you know?” Adam made an almost helpless gesture with his hand.

He rested his palm against his thigh. His other hand guided the steering wheel. Then, real quick, Adam focused on setting-up the cruise control again. If he had to compress the gas for the whole trip, his right hip would be sore as hell by the time they reach their destination. A couple nudges and they were flying at a clean eighty again. Adam took that time to organize his thoughts. Kenny didn’t say a word, but Adam could tell he was waiting for the elaboration.

“I really thought,” Adam murmured, his voice softened, wistful. “That I was going to marry her. Like, I was going to jewlery stores, looking at engagement rings, trying to figure-out how to save-up.”

“What, really?” Kenny asked, he leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the arm rest. “Seriously, man?”

“Yeah, we dated for almost two years after I graduated,” Adam said. “I was working as a teacher and she was a freelance artist, it was really great. Of course, I was traveling a lot-- on account of the wrestling thing, and she came to some shows, I don’t think she really got it? Amanda was sensitive, wouldn’t hurt a fly and she didn’t really vibe with fighting. Which, is fine, I was fine with it. I mean she watched these soap operas that I didn’t get, so it was kinda even, you know? But I think all that time away from home didn’t do a lot of good for our relationship. You know I was young, Kenny, like twenty-two? And she-- she got a job in California, and we talked about it, and--”

“Just didn’t work-out, huh?” Kenny asked, voice low. 

Adam shook his head, lips pressing together into a thin line. He still recalled that conversation over the dinning room table. His hands interlaced in front of him, her on the other side, going through the logistics. She was so good at that, planning. That was something they shared in common, overthinking. This move was a dead necessity for her career. Texas just didn’t have the same opportunities that the City of Angels did. Except, Adam was training in Texas, fighting in Texas, teaching in Texas. It was the middle of the school year during his internship. He couldn’t pack-up and leave. The suggestion she came to was obvious but it didn’t make it easy. They break-up, go their separate ways, not try to force all of this to work to the determent of them both. For years Adam cursed himself for agreeing. He believed, as he laid in bed alone and cold, ruminating on his failures, he should’ve fought harder. Fought harder for them. Hung-up on what could’ve and should’ve been. It hurt more when she found a new guy in California. He still went to her wedding and was her best man. Because Adam still loved Amanda and he always would. 

And he was okay with being next to her, because their relationship, their bond, was more important than his wounded pride. 

“Yeah, it didn’t work-out,” Adam agreed. “I was, upset, for a while. A long while, actually, like, I really thought I’d never get another chance like her again, but--”

He paused, and ended the thought there. Amanda was so amazing, so brilliant, so awesome, and funny, and caring and kind, and she loved cats. She picked out local art for their apartment. Yet, Adam also remembered her occasional moods where she just couldn’t be talked to until the storm passed. The way she set her mind on things was sometimes endearing, sometimes frustrating. She wasn’t perfect, but she was great. It was apples-to-oranges, to compare her and Kenny. They were completely different people and Adam loved different things about them-- yet, it was still love. It couldn’t be measured or quantified. The only time he had ever felt this intensity before was with Amanda. He really didn’t think there was another person on this planet who could steal his heart like Amanda did. Then he met Kenny, and fell in love with Kenny.

And whoops, there was at least one other. 

“You know, you live, you grow, you move-on,” Adam said, he shrugged again and nodded to himself. “If we hadn’t split I probably never would’ve gone to Japan, or met you and the Bucks. Or, joined AEW, never been tag-team champion. It’s a real Robert Frost poem, I could be a teacher in L.A. right now, instead of-- well, driving eight hours to Chicago in the middle of the night, but my point stands! I-I imagine you get it, picking between your career and well, sometimes relationships.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get,” Kenny muttered. He looked out the window. His nails scrapped against his jeans. “You know how it was with me and Ibushi. How leaving Japan felt. Especially, after we reconciled after so many years-- but that’s how it is.” He trailed off, leaving the thought behind.

“So, like, were you two ever,” Adam interjected. He glanced over at the same time Kenny did. Adam darted his gaze back to the red, feeling his cheeks heat and rosette. A deep appreciation for the late hour filled him. “I mean, like, I don’t know how to ask this. Were, you and Ibushi, you know, together? Like, together, together. Obviously, it’s not my business, but I’m just, just curious, is all. Like, the Golden Lovers, man? There’s some crazy rumors out there.”

Kenny laughed, a full chuckle that churned Adam’s stomach and yet set his face on fire. That sound made Adam feel warm, he wanted to hear it again desperately. “Yeah, Kota and I dated. We were together for like six years, and yeah, like you, if same-sex marriage was legal in Japan, I would’ve married him.”

It was such an upfront statement. a matter of fact If he could, he would, but the lack of gold ring on Kenny’s left finger told Adam he didn’t. Kenny nodded to himself but the silence lingered, the sentence wasn’t finished. The clock turned over to 3:23 and they passed an exit with bleeding, gold lights, with hotels, restaurants, and street lamps. 

Kenny continued, but his voice was softer and more raw. “But then-- well, I screwed it up. I mean, I really messed-up. It wasn’t like you and your girl, where it was a pretty understanding with a clean break. I didn’t trust him, like I should. I thought he was going to leave me and so, I left first. Then like an idiot, I lashed-out, and ruined everything we built, and it ended. Just. Like. That--” Kenny snapped his fingers-- “We never got back together but, we’re friends again, we made-up, you know that, but the things I did, the things I did to Kota-- it's something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life.”

The night hid Adam’s expression. The darkness was a comfort. It hid the monsters in the back seat. The purr of the engine whispered in the absence of Kenny’s scathing indictment of himself. Like, he was judge, jury, and executioner, of his own tarnished soul. Adam could imagine what Kenny saw. His face in profile, the tree line whipping by the car windows, an impassive, emotionless, and neutral party, listening without comment to Kenny’s story. He wouldn’t  see the slight grimace or twisting of Adam’s lips. Remembering all the shit Cody said about Ibushi. Adam, twisting Ibushi, Kenny’s arms back, while Cody reared with a chair. Holy fuck, was he such an embarrassing idiot, a complete moron, a destructive piece of shit. If Kenny saw the guilt in Adam’s eyes their conversation would screech to a sudden halt. Akin to if Adam slammed the breaks on the car right now. Instead, Adam allowed Kenny to mourn and didn’t derail to his own bullshit. It was the only way he would’ve heard the next bit, whispered into open air. 

“He really was the first man I loved.”

Kenny sighed and leaned back into his seat, defeated, limp. Now, Adam realized, was definitely time to shift gears. Car analogies aside, Kenny couldn’t be left to ruminate. If there was a person who understood how much it sucked to obsess over an old ex, it was Adam Page. 

“So, you’re like, gay?” Adam asked. He placed both of his hands on the wheel. Shifting, he rubbed his fingers over the rubber and plastic, feeling the coarse texture. Sweat pricked his palms and he heard his pulse skip, skip, and then it was off to the races. “That’s cool by the way, I’m totally cool with that, I mean--”

“Close, but actually, I’m bi,” Kenny said. He chuckled and then nudged Adam’s elbow with his hands. The brief, familiar contact enabled Adam to crack a grin. “Bisexual, guys, gals, non-binary pals, it’s all good to me. I know I don’t talk about it a lot. It’s not something I really like to have out there, circulating. It could cause problems in Japan, and it could be a whole thing, but I trust you. We’re partners, and, it’s kinda something I want you to know, actually.”

Adam grinned to himself and nodded along with Kenny points. He straightened in his seat, wiggling his butt back so his shoulders were flush with the chair. With a crick of his neck he popped a vertebrae with a satisfying ‘clunk.’ 

“Yeah, I was, actually going to say,” Adam began, he swallowed. “I uh-- I am too, bi, I mean, like I think I am. I haven’t tested it but, I’m, pretty sure. I haven’t... done anything, with a guy, before? I just have these feelings? Right, you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Kenny said, drawing-out the syllable. Adam could hear the smile in his voice. “I know how it is. I know, I get it, it’s all in your chest, right?” Kenny moved his hand over his heart to indicate what he meant. “You see a guy and it all kinda clicks in your brain, same way it does for a girl. I get it.”

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever really told anyone that,” Adam said, a little breathless. 

Kenny shifted and his chair cranked upright. A fleeting, fluttering touch on his left elbow drew Adam’s gaze down. Kenny placed his hand on the center console between them, palm-up. He wiggled his fingers, an expectant invitation. Adam steadied his grip on the steering wheel and wiped his right hand down his jeans to clean the sweat off. He laid his hand in Kenny’s and Kenny interlaced their fingers, then squeezed. Adam wondered if Kenny could feel his stuttering pulse through the connected vital points of their wrists. Or, if he minded that Adam’s hands were damp. Yet, his nerves and troubled thoughts soothed, mostly to a stream of ecstatic proclamations about how he was holding hands with Kenny. 

“I appreciate you being honest, Piz,” Kenny said. “I know it’s hard. Especially, when maybe you don’t have all the answers, but I’m glad you’ve figured some of it out. I don’t think I knew until I was in my twenties-- how about you?”

“Not long,” Adam admitted. Feelings, ideas since he was in high school, but nowadays he was totally certain. he rubbed his thumb over Kenny’s knuckles. Kenny had long, thin fingers, but a strong grip. Adam could feel his coarse callouses. The warmth of his hand. “In a way I always knew, this has always been a part of me. It was Amanda who helped me figure out the name for it, though.”

So, you’re bi, Amanda had said and Adam had stared at her like he was an idiot. Anytime Adam was around Amanda he felt like an idiot, but only because she was so smart. She had laughed at him and sipped on her beer. They sat outside on the porch, in cool Spring air, a rare balmy day at the outskirts of Los Angeles. She told him she was pregnant. He told her about Kenny. It was a fair exchange-- until Amanda asked him to be her kids godfather, or something similar, or whatever. And Adam had actually started crying, like a total sap. Yeah, yeah of course, that kid’ll be the best fucking horse rider this side of the Mississippi. She patted him on the shoulder and told him she’ll be cheering for him and Kenny. Next time she watched AEW-- because she did that every now and then these days. 

She really liked Sonny Kiss-- Adam always knew she had good taste.

“She sounds great,” Kenny noted.

“She is,” Adam agreed, nodding. “If you ever get to meet her, I’d think you’d like her.”

Adam cocked a slight grin. Something was lighter in him, the air a little clear. It felt better, it felt right, to say it. Adam Page is bisexual, he likes guys and girls, and other stripes of human beings. It was the only way he could feel what he felt for Kenny. Exactly like it was for Amanda. Stomach full of butterflies, every emotion magnified to a soul-aching need, so Adam was raw and on edge. This terror, nausea, built like a screaming tea-kettle, into agony the demanded a release to relieve the pressure. This time, though, Adam found no outlet. Amanda was the one asked him out first, to the movies, to see The Avengers. He remembered sitting in the darkness of the theater, alone and sweaty, until she laid her head on his shoulder. Amanda who confessed first and who drew-out of Adam the depth of his feelings. Now that Adam thought about it, it was Amanda who texted first, Amanda who called first, Amanda who kissed first. Amanda who broke it off first. Adam Page was not known for taking the initiative in his relationships. Yet, he always figured it out, caught-up learned, and followed her lead. If he could just do the same for him and Kenny-- that was a pipe dream so obscure it almost made Adam scoff.

He couldn’t ruin another good friendship, he just couldn’t. 

Adam was running out of bridges to burn. 

“You know, it’s weird,” Adam said. “Because it’s like, I’ve never done anything, with a uh, you know-- a man before. The opportunity has never really come-up. I just kinda wonder, how am I supposed to know these feelings are real?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can answer that one for you, Page,” Kenny said. “But I definitely didn’t know until I met Ibushi. Then, it was real obvious. Yet, I always had a sense of it.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Adam murmured. He squeezed Kenny’s hand and Kenny squeezed back. 

He definitely got it. At first, in the infancy of these feelings he’d thought they’d die or go away, like a bad head cold. Because Kenny Fucking Omega, could never love Adam Page. They were not in the same league, the best wrestler in the world and the weak link of the Elite. Then they were tag-team partners, and absence is not what makes a heart grow fonder, presence is. Long car drives,  where they shot the breeze about anything and everything-- just like this. Hours spent chilling in the same hotel room, showing each other stupid memes, or watching TV together. Plane rides with their heads stacked on each other and complaining about the pressure change. Working-out in the weight rooms and spotting for each other. Training together, practicing the Last Call ‘till they got it right and didn’t fucking hit each other anymore. The longer Adam spent with Kenny Omega, the more certain he was that he loved him. 

Loved him in a way he’d only felt once before. Loved him in a way that was different than how Adam felt about his mother. It was love, 100% all the way, love. True love-- wove, twue wove, to quote a good movie. Love that had all sorts of implications not just for his relationship with Kenny but Adam’s relationship with himself. How he understood himself and who he was. At twenty-nine years he was uncovering more and more about the person of Adam Page, the Hangman. Most of it, Adam didn’t like. Some of it, he did like, and he did like loving Kenny. Even if all he got to do was hold hands and talk. 

“There’s a pool at the hotel,” Kenny said, suddenly, breaking Adam from his introspection.

“Yeah?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah, I checked it out earlier,” Kenny said. “Listen, after we pass-out for a few hours-- you wanna go swimming? Of course, there’s the weight room and all that, we can do a few sets, blah, blah, blah-- but I wanna go swimming too.”

“I didn’t pack swim shorts-- did you?” Adam laughed. He had to wiggle his hand free, unfortunately, from Kenny’s grip so he could make a lane change. 

“Bro,” Kenny stated, and Adam could feel Kenny’s eyes drilling into the side of his face. Intent, focused, and dead serious, “We have large, ample salaries as the Tag-Team Champions of AEW that can fix that problem.”

“Fair point,” Adam admitted. He shuffled his hands on the wheel a little bit and then cracked a big grin. “But yeah, I’m down to work-out, I need to work on my bi-ceps.”

Silence, total silence, Adam shot Kenny the most shit eating grin. For a moment Kenny stared at him, wordless, as if processing that nuclear bomb. Adam had to return his eyes to the road. Then, Kenny smacked Adam’s shoulder. Adam laughed and then laughed harder, when he heard Kenny break into chuckles. 

“Do you think Tony Khan will let us change our team name to the Bisons?” Adam asked.

“No,” Kenny wheezed, his voice strained. He covered his eyes with his hands, shoulders shaking. “No, I don’t think so.”

In the wake of the laughter, Adam settled. Kenny leaned back his seat and despite his fear of cramps, was dozing in a few minutes. Dawn broke before they hit Cincinnati, a brilliant glow of purple, pinks, and golds on a distant blue horizon. It was right to Adam, to park on the 3rd level of the deck and to haul all their shit out of the car. Check-in, bleary eyed at the front desk, and then shuffle into the elevator, with a bagel, stolen from the breakfast, wedged in his mouth. Brush his teeth in the bathroom, kick off his shoes and pants, and then flop into bed. He vaguely recalled Kenny telling him good morning before they fell asleep. 

#ofgrief #‘The Hangman’ || Adam: IC #‘Deals with God’ || Adam: Verse #‘Beloved’ || Adam and Kenny

[fabuloustrash05]

Courting a Salamandrian

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Words: 3634

Warnings: Some sensitive topics discussed, but nothing major

Author’s Note: This took way longer than I expected and I apologizes for that. My plan has been to have a new chapter out ever two months and I’m hoping I can keep up on that schedule but I recently started my second semester of college and I want to focus more on my school work so we will have to see where this all goes. Hopefully I can stay on schedule. Anyway, enjoy chapter 4! XD

~~~~~

Chapter 4: Future In-law

The four brothers enter the lab to retrieve breathers. Their focus is the same: they need to go to Dimension X to borrow a ship from the Utrom. Then, they can fly to Salamandria to see Sal Commander. 

Donnie goes to his desk and opens one of the drawers. He pulls out a small piece of tech.

“Woah, isn’t that the portal thingy for Dimension X?” Mikey half whispers-half squeals as he leans on Donnie’s shoulders.

“It’s not a thingy,” Donnie said. “The Utrom council gave me a portal generator to their base, so I have easier access to them and their laboratory. This way, I can go to their world anytime I wish.”

Donnie presses a small button on the portal generator. It begins to glow. The generator floats off Donnie’s hand and hovers above the brothers, as a triangle-shaped portal appears, glowing pink.

“Everyone have their breathers?” Leo asked.

They all nod, strapping on the apparatus that will help them survive alien atmospheres.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Raph says as he enters the portal, his brothers following close behind him.

As the Turtles exit the portal one by one, they find themselves in the Utrom lab.

“The Turtle Warriors!” a surprised voice exclaims. The brothers turn to see Rook. She is alone in the lab, working on her computer. She jumps up from her seat and hurries over to the Turtles to greet them. 

“It’s always a pleasure to have you here -- but you're not scheduled for another meeting with the council …. um, for another month.”

“Rook! Perfect, just the Utrom I wanted to see!” Donnie says as he walks up to her, 

“Donatello! Have you finally changed your mind about the Queen’s offer?” Rook asked.

“N-no.” Donnie answered. 

“What offer?” Leo asked as Donnie’s two other brothers looked at him confused.

Donnie looked at his brothers and sighed, “The Utrom Queen offered me a position in her council. To become ‘Knight’.” His brothers stood there shocked, “but I already told the Queen that I’m not interested.” 

“I understand, Donatello, but remember the offer is always open. The council would be lucky to have someone as brilliant as you.” Rook smiled at him.

“Thank you, but my answer is still no.”

Donnie’s brothers looked at him surprised that he turned down such an offer. It's a dream come true for him, yet he said “No.” Why?

“My brothers and I came here because we need to borrow one of the Utrom ships,” Donnie continued.

Rook looks at the Turtle confused, “Why so?”

“That’s for us to know and you to find out,” Raph rudely says. Donnie rolls his eyes. Raphael has been in Dimension X for five seconds and is already getting impatient.

Leo jabs at Raph giving him an annoyed look that tells him to behave.

“We need one for a quick personal mission,” Donnie explains. “Can you please give us one? We’ll bring it back undamaged, like it was never taken.”

Rook sighed “Look, Donatello, as much as I would like to help you and your brothers and lend you a ship, I cannot allow that. Bishop will not be happy knowing you borrowed a ship without his consent. And besides, we have rules. If you want a ship you need to go through some paper--”

“Oh! If I knew you four were coming I would have cleaned up the lab a little,” a kind voice said entering the room.

The Turtles turn to the voice. They see a robot in white, with gray and brown metal patches covering parts of his body. The robot smiles at the Turtles.

“Fugitoid!” The brothers shout, smiling, as they walk up their old friend to greet him. 

“It’s been too long!” Mikey laughs.

“How’s that new body treating you?” Donnie asked. 

“Oh, perfectly fine, thanks to you, Donatello, and your friend Rockwell. So, what's with this you needing a ship? Planning on going somewhere?”

“He said it’s for them to know and for us to find out,” Rook said, pointing at Raph.

Raph rolls his eyes and groans.

“Impatient, aren’t you, Raphael?” Fugitoid asked, “Does this have something to do with you?”

“What's with all the questions? Can you just give us a ship!?” Raph complained.

“Calm down, Raphael! I may not be as together as I used to be, but my smacking hand still packs a punch,” says Fugitoid as he lifts his left hand and twirls it in Raphael’s direction.

“Sorry,” Raph sighs. “Look, I just need to get to Salamandria to see Sal Commander. That's it.”

“Does this have something to do with Y’gythgba?” Fugitoid wondered aloud.

Raph blushes. He can’t help it, even when he hears her name. Mona Lisa. Y'gythgba. It doesn’t matter. Both names sound equally beautiful to him. Raph nods.

“Is something wrong with her?” Fugitoid asks, worried, “Is she alright?”

“No, she’s fine,” said Leo. “Raph just wants--” Leo looks at Raph, remembering his brother’s wish to not tell anyone what he’s planning, unless it came for him. “...Nevermind.”

“Raphael,” Fugitoid said kindly, “If it’s something urgent then I must know… I’m your friend. You can trust me.”

Raph sighed and looked at Fugitoid. He knows that in order to accomplish his task, he must learn to trust his friends with his heart’s secret.

 “I want to ask Sal for his blessing, so I can ask Mona to marry me. Can you please lend us a ship?”

Rook’s eyes widened with surprise. Fugitoid’s robotic eyes did the same. Rook stayed silent with shock as Fugitoid smiled at the turtles.

“Well, I think we can make an exception for you, my friend.”

“But Professor--”

“It will be fine, Rook,” Fugitoid says, cutting off the Utrom. “I'll explain everything to Bishop.”

Raph smiles, “Thanks, Fugitoid.”

“There’s a newly repurposed stealth ship outside. Be careful out there, my friends.”

As the Turtles leave the lab, they thank their robot friend one final time - and waving him goodbye, they enter the stealth ship. 

The ship smells of engine oil, disinfectant and fresh paint. The boys inhale the mechanical aromas and can’t help but smile. Mikey and Leonardo take their places around the control panel, stabilizing themselves for take off. Raphael steps into the navigator’s position, and Donnie takes the controls. Soon, the engines roar to life. The ship begins to hover off the ground, and the four brothers set off to Salamandria.

In the ship, the brothers stayed silent as Donnie piloted the ship. All staring at him. All thinking the same thing.

“When did the Utrom Queen offer you a position?” Leo asked, breaking their silence.

“...A few months ago…” Donnie answered, keeping his eyes on the controls.

“When were you gonna tell us?” Raph asked.

“I didn’t see a reason to. I never accepted it.”

“But the offer is still on the table,” Leo added, “Donnie, this is an amazing offer you were given -- but you turned it down.”

“Yeah, Donnie. Why did you refuse it?” Mikey gently asked his brother.

“Because I didn’t want to be away from my family. You guys, April, everyone… If I joined the council I wouldn’t see you all as much as I do now. I actually really do want that job, but not if that means I have to be away from my family. Besides, me being Knight? I would have equal power to Bishop, maybe more! I couldn’t handle it.”

“Yeah, but if you did have that power, maybe you could change some of those laws Bishop planted on us mutants,” Leo said.

Donnie stayed silent.

“Well, if you ever do change your mind and take the job, we’ll be there to support you,” Raph said to his brother giving him a slight smile, “Just like how you guys are with me right now.”

Donnie turned his head to his brother and gave him a soft smile before bringing his focus back on the control panel of the ship. He couldn’t possibly have Raph worrying about his brother now. Donnie decided then that his dilemma will linger and be dealt with after Raph and Mona are happy.

The brothers stayed silent again as they traveled in the space ship, the gentle hum of the engines barely noticeable. It didn’t take long before Salamandria appeared in the window, glowing brilliantly in its nebulous atmosphere, that misty cover reflecting the light from orbiting satellites and space stations. This was a welcome sight for Raphael, because if he stayed on that ship for another minute, he would have thrown up. 

After a perfect Donnie-landing, they disembarked and were immediately greeted by Salamandrian guards. Explaining who they needed to see, the guards guided Raphael to the training hall while his brothers waited by the ship. The brothers knew that this was something Raphael had to do alone.

Raphael entered the training hall. Immediately, his attention was turned to a sparring session. Sal Commander.

 He was as battle scarred and roughed-up as ever. But still, Sal Commander had a regal air about him. His battle posture always erect and forward facing, dominating the room and all within it. You knew by just a glance, this is the man in charge. 

Sal was training with two other Salamandrians. Based on their fighting stance and bad form, Raph could tell they were rookies.

The two warriors attacked Sal with their blades, but he easily dodged them both. Quickly, he responded with a counter attack which produced a couple of blows to the soldiers. They both fell to the ground.

“Oh, Raphael! What a surprise!” Sal Commander said as he noticed Raphael enter the hall. At that moment, one rookie attempted to do a sneak attack on the Commander. His failure was epic -- Sal grabbed his arm and threw him over his shoulder, resulting in a spectacular crash into the wall near Raphael.

The other rookie attempted another charge, but as soon as Sal heard her ‘warrior screech’, he drew his sword and deflected her blade with his, pushing her back and slamming her to the ground. He aimed his sword near the rookie’s face, the point of his blade nearly touching her nose.

“You both need to plan more carefully. You’re not going to survive in battle if you don’t know your strategies well.” The Commander aims his sword away from the rookie on the ground. “I think that’s enough training for today, recruits. You are dismissed,” he announces.

The two rookies nod and quickly leave, leaving the old salamander and the red turtle alone.

“It’s been awhile,” Sal says as he approaches Raphael.

Raph smiles, “It's good to see you, Sal Commander.”

“You’ve grown.” Sal says with a chuckle as he places his hand on Raph’s head, “Last time I saw you, you were half Y'gythgba’s height.”

“I wasn’t that short!” 

The Commander snickers, “Speaking of, where is my Lieutenant? Did she not come with you?”

“No, just me. Well, my brothers are here, too. But no, Mona’s not here.”

The Commander walks towards a nearby bench and sits down. “I see. Then what brings you to Salamandria?” he asked, gesturing to Raphael to sit with him. “It’s not everyday you travel across the galaxy without my Lieutenant.”

Raph joins Sal on the bench. He continues, “I actually came here to talk to you. It’s about Mona Lisa.”

The Commander looked worried, “Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s perfectly fine. I just wanted to ask you something. Something important.”

“Which is?”

Raph was quiet for a moment. He knew just learning from Mona that marriage doesn’t exist on her planet, so how was he going to be able to explain this to him?

“Well, um, on my planet, there's a tradition,” Raph begins. He runs his hand over the top of his head. “It’s when a couple who have been together for a while and love each other very much want to, I guess you could say, commit to their relationship. Where the two become one with each other and, well, I wanted to ask you-”

“Raphael…” the Commander says as he leans toward the flustered turtle, looking him in the eyes. “Are you asking for my permission for you to engage in coitus with my Lieutenant?”

Raph’s face turned bright red from embarrassment, “WHAT?! N-NO! That’s not wh- I mean we’ve already- UGH! No! That is not what I’m asking you! I want to marry her!”

“Marry her?” Sal Commander repeated, looking at Raphael confused, “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

“It’s something a couple does on my planet when they want to spend the rest of their lives together, how you would put it, becoming mates for life. I wanna be with Mona for the rest of my life. I want to ask her to marry me, but I wanted your permission. I wanted your blessing.”

“Why me?”

“It’s tradition on my planet to ask the parent or guardian of the person you wish to marry. She told me about her childhood and what you did for her. She said you were her mentor and kinda like her guardian. So ... I wanted to ask you.”

“She said that?” The Commander was flattered.

“Yeah… She told me about her parents and how you were there for her when they died.”

“She told you about her parents?”

“Yes. She did.”

Sal Commander sighed, “Those two were the best warriors I’ve ever had. Respected and admired by all. Their love was pure and true, something I’d never seen in a pair in a long time. Not even my former mate and I had that kind of romance.”

Raphael stayed silent as he listened to the Commander telling his story.

“They were so happy and when they had Y’gythgba -- she was such a joyful child when she was little! I thought they would be happy for the rest of their lives. But then the Triceratons attacked...” The smile on the commander’s face quickly began to fade away. “After their deaths, Y'gythgba’s life changed. That little girl who always had a smile on her face was gone. I took her in and-”

“And you trained her to be the best warrior she could be. Just like her parents?” Raph added.

Sal nodded, “Exactly. I wanted her to live up to her parents so I turned her into the ultimate warrior. She was strong like her mother and intelligent like her father. She became the top fighter and respected by many, just like them. She and I were so focused on training and nothing else.” He sighed. “I was so focused on training her, I never gave her the childhood she deserved and once she was old enough, I realized that I only made her suitable enough for battle or to find a suitor.”

“What do you mean, you made her ‘suitable’?”

“Raphael, when a Salamadrian female reaches a certain age, she is required to follow a protocol. She will be matched with a male so they will conceive a child who would be capable and useful for our planet. Since Y’gythgba was my top fighter, all the males wanted her.”

“Yeah, Mona told me a little bit about her, um, suitors...” Raph began to feel uneasy. It was weird knowing there were other men in Mona’s life before him, but yet he knows how she felt about them. 

Sal Commander huffed, “Those men were never worthy enough to be called a “suitor” for my Lieutenant! Each one was worse than the last. They saw her as a trophy. nothing but a prize for them to brag about. They never wanted to love her. Just wanted her to bear children for them. All of her suitors wanted to control her, but she didn’t let them do that. My brave Lieutenant scared those honorless men away! And I’m glad she did! They didn’t see her as a warrior like you and I do.”

Sal looked at Raphael, seeing him begin to become enraged. Knowing that these other men never treated Mona Lisa like the warrior she was and only wanted her for their enjoyment and praise disgusted him. The very idea that men in Mona’s life treated her with such disrespect angered Raphael. She never deserved to be treated that way. 

“You’re different from the other men who were in Y'gythgba’s life,” Sal said, placing his hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “You listen to her. Care about her. You make her happy. An emotion she wasn't able to experience when with me.” Sal Commander looked at Raphael with distress and sighed, “I put her through a lot, you know. She was so devoted to training and to fight the Triceratons, and I was proud of her. I put her through the most brutal and harmful training I could throw at her. All she did was train or fight in wars, never having time to actually be a child and live her own life. She sacrificed her childhood for her military training, never having a chance to live her life and have fun. But that’s what you gave her. A chance to live.” 

A smile begins to appear on Sal Commander’s face once again, “Everytime she comes to visit I notice she’s smiling, laughing, and seems more relaxed. Something I haven't seen her do since she was a child when her parents were around. No longer does she have to worry about which war will call her to battle next. I receive messages from her from time to time, telling me that Earth makes her feel free, but I don’t think it was Earth that freed her. I think it was you, Raphael. You freed her from a life that broke her. You came into her life. You fixed her.”

Raphael smiles at the Commander, touched by his complement.

“You’re a good man, Raphael.” He smiles, “You have my blessing.”

Raph smiles at the Commander. “Thank you, Sal Commander. I promise I'll protect her and make her happy for the rest of my life.”

Sal gives Raphael a smile, “I already know you will.”

With that, the Commander escorts his future son-in-law back to his ship, where his brothers patiently wait for him. The brothers are happy to see Sal Commander, and after warm greetings, Turtles head back to Dimension X.

Back in Dimension X, in the Utrom lab, Rook quietly organizes her desk as Fugitoid goes over files on a big screen computer.

“You think he’s going to go through with it?” Rook asked, breaking the silence.

Fugitoid looks at Rook confused, “Who?”

“Raphael. Is he actually going to ask that Salamandrian girl to marry him?”

“It appears so. I saw it in his eyes. He seemed so passionate in what he was saying. I think it’s sweet.”

Rook stacks up some files into a neat pile on the desk. She smiles, “I think so, too.”

Fugitoid smiled. “I was there when first met, you know. They were young and in love. Both inexperienced with romance yet they still made it through some tough times together. I have no doubt that they will be forever happy with each other.”

“Perhaps you're right,” said Rook, “Just imagine the results these two could create for the galaxy. They could change it for the better. I think it might be even possible for--”

“Why is one of the stealth ships missing!?” a demanding voice enters the lab.

“Bishop!” Rook exclaims, “Y-you’re back early!”

“The meeting with the EPF ended early today,” Bishop explained. “Now, why is there a stealth ship missing from outside? All ships must be accounted for. You know that.”

“Yes, Bishop. We’re aware,” Rook stammered, too nervous to tell Bishop the truth.

“My apologies Bishop,” Fugitoid jumped in, “but I have to put the blame on myself. The Turtles came by earlier and needed to borrow a ship for one quick trip.”

“Why did they need a ship?” Bishop asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Bishop, the Turtles are just going to Salamandria and they’ll be back to return the ship soon.”

“Salamandria?” Bishop wondered. “Why are they going there?”

“I think it’s best that you don't worry about it, my friend,” said Fugitoid as he gently pats Bishop’s shoulder.

Bishop glares at Fugitoid, “Tell me,” Bishop demands.

Fugitoid sighs, “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Raphael just wishes to marry Lieutenant Y’gythgba and is off to Salamandria to ask for her commander’s blessing. Like I told you. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“What?!” Bishop said, shocked.

“If you think about it, its kinda wonderful,” Rook said popping in between Bishop and Fugitoid. “Just think about the results and changes they could create in the galaxy,” she paused. Then gasped, “Their offspring!”

“It could be possible,” Fugitoid added.

Bishop was silent, standing still as the two scientists continue talking about the possible events of such a marriage. He pushes up his glasses that were sliding off his face and clears his throat.

“I must go,” he said as he quickly turned and left the room, leaving Rook and Fugitoid to their discussion about the couple.

Bishop entered his private office, and closed the door behind him. After a minute of pacing, he sat at his desk.

He tosses his glasses onto the desk. “I always knew that Turtle was trouble,” he mumbled to himself. “Him being with her is already out of order for the galaxy. He’s a mutant, she’s a Salamandrain. In love? Marriage? Offspring?? It’s not right. What will happen if they do wed? The rules I made for the galaxy will change! Or break completely. It’s not how I see the future for Earth!”

Bishop clenches his fists in frustration and slams them down. The organized chaos on the desktop jumps, shivers, and is still.

“I cannot let Raphael go through with this...”

~~~~~

[TAGS]

@waferreyes (for making the cover!)

@monarel @starfiretheninja @ryebread-02 @cesarin @terra-mations @nerdgirllife @petrichormeraki @kiaratheleo @tinysuitcasepicklehuman

(If you would like to be on the tag list to be updated on the newest chapters, message me and let me know!)

#courting a salamandrian #my fanfic #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #sal commander #g’throkka #tmnt mona lisa #y’gythgba #salamandrians #fugitoid #rook #agent bishop #utrom council #tmnt ramona #raphmona #raphael x mona lisa #raph x mona lisa #raph x mona #chapter 4

[s7vencity]

Vmon/Taejon 001

Modern day witches - ©soupsol

It’s late.

Well not so late that the herbal shop would be closed and in turn render Taehyung’s trip completely useless.

But late enough for Namjoon, the owner to raise an eyebrow as to why anyone would show up five minutes before he’s about to lock up.

The door chimes when Taehyung pushes it open and a gush of wind rushes in along with him, causing the various charms hanging from the ceiling to sway about gently.

He’s immediately hit with the scent of dried herbs, wood and incense and relaxes his hunched shoulders at the warmth slowly seeping into his pores.

“Ah Taehyung-ssi, I should’ve known it was you, hello.” Namjoon appears from behind the beaded curtains, giving him a dimpled smile as he settles near the counter.

His tall broad frame is drowned by an oversized black top with exaggerated sleeves that cover his hands entirely. A single choker sits around his neck and the way the lights above him bounce off his blonde hair, gives it a soft glow.

Taehyung thinks he’s beautiful.

“Uh h-hi, sorry for coming so late.” Taehyung squirms a little in embarrassment, his cheeks pink as he looks at Namjoon from behind thick lashes, feeling shy under his gaze.

“It’s alright, I’m used to your strange hours by now, although this is the latest you’ve ever come.” Namjoon chuckles; he doesn’t look annoyed, even though he probably should be.

If anything his smile just seems to grow wider and Taehyung simply rules that to him being a loyal regular customer, rather than getting his hopes up that he’s been looking forward to seeing him.

“Yeah it’s sort of an emergency, I’m out of chamomile buds you see and it’s for a potion.” Taehyung hasn’t been able to sleep properly for about a week now, his usually glowing sun kissed skin looks dull, the dark circles under his eyes are prominent and overall, he just feels like a zombie.

Being a university student through assignment season and working a part time job has made insomnia his best friend.

Luckily for him, he’d finally managed to perfect the recipe to his sleeping potion and now that he’s submitted his last essay for the semester, Taehyung wants to spend the entire weekend catching up on precious sleep.

He was about halfway through taking out all the ingredients to start, when he noticed he was low on chamomile buds, which is a vital part of his potion.

Taehyung knew Namjoon’s shop would be closing soon and that it’d be cutting it close running there now but he really needed those buds (and would take any excuse to see him too).

So with a tired groan, he clumsily shoved on his boots and coat, grabbed his backpack and keys then bolted out of the door.

“School giving you stress huh?” Namjoon asks sympathetically and Taehyung sighs with a nod. “I remember those days, pulling all nighters and long library sessions, it’s not easy. But you’ll get through it, you’re a hard worker and I believe in you.”

Taehyung’s face flames at the compliment and he averts his gaze, mumbling a pathetic string of sounds that loosely resembles a thanks and Namjoon giggles.

If it isn’t already obvious, Taehyung likes him.

He always tells himself that he’ll be confident, that he’ll look Namjoon in the eye one of these day and tell him he’s the cutest witch he’s ever seen and finally ask him out on a date.

But then the second he sees Namjoon’s pretty dimples, those deep brown eyes and plump rosy lips. His brain scrambles, he starts to sweat and his heart feels like it’s going to explode because there’s absolutely no way that he could do it.

Namjoon comes round from behind the counter and beckons Taehyung to follow him.

They walk towards two large floor to ceiling wooden shelves, covering the old burgundy walls. They’re stacked with jars filled with a variety of natural herbal ingredients that Namjoon grows in his garden at home.

He’s a green witch who’d gotten the genius idea to combine his love for nature and plants to start a business, making his trade by selling great quality herbs for the local witches.

Jimin recommended his shop to him after Taehyung complained about needing a new place to buy from because he’s sure Ms Kang was ripping him off (which she was).

Taehyung had then been confused how he’d never heard of Namjoon’s shop, especially since it was so close to his apartment. But Jimin said he’d only been there for a few months yet already his business was booming because of the quality and reasonable prices. Plus the owner was apparently a sweetheart.

So he trusted his friend’s judgment and decided one day that he’d visit. It’s a quaint little place that has all the essentials he would need; from herbs, to candles, crystals, essential oils.

“Hi there, do you need any help?” A deep voice had asked from beside him and Taehyung turned to tell the person he’s fine but stopped dead in his tracks when his eyes fell on the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Namjoon had smiled at him, his hair was ash blonde at the time and he had glitter on his lids. He was wearing soft green overalls and a cream t-shirt underneath it with a choker around his neck.

The crush was almost instant.

“Is it just chamomile you need?” Namjoon asks, grabbing a jar from the shelf, his sleeves roll back revealing his large slender hands and glossy black nails as he turns to Taehyung expectantly.

“Uh yes, I stocked up pretty recently so I’m good for a while.” Namjoon nods and hands Taehyung the jar as they head back to the counter so he can pay.

Suddenly there’s a loud rumble coming from outside, followed by a few splats of rain hitting the concrete.

“Oh no.” Taehyung groans, just his luck, of course it’d start raining when he was out with no umbrella or coat that has a hood.

“It’s raining?” Namjoon frowns, seemingly sharing Taehyung’s pain. “I only bought a light jacket today and I don’t have an umbrella, fuck I’m going to be soaked.”

He sighs frustratedly, pouting a little as he bags up Taehyung’s shopping and takes the money he hands over, punching the code for the till to open in a sulk.

Taehyung looks at him nervously, he remembers Namjoon telling him once that he lives at least 30 minutes away from his shop, which is the only downside of the location. With the way the rain was starting to come down, there’s no way he wouldn’t get sick by the time he gets home.

Honestly, Taehyung would never forgive himself, if he didn’t at least try to help him.

He bites his lip, feeling nervous at what he’s about to ask. His heart pounds loudly in his ears and he almost forgets to say thank you when Namjoon hands him his change and shopping bag.

“Do you maybe want to go back to my apartment with me?” Namjoon’s eyebrows raise in surprise and his eyes bulge like saucers, making Taehyung’s ears burn violently at how suggestive his words sound. “No, no, not like that, I-I mean, it’s just that I live fairly close to your shop, if you wanted to maybe wait out the rain... I’d be happy to have you.”

When Namjoon doesn’t respond after a long moment, Taehyung wants to curl into a ball of shame and humiliation. Why did he have to open his mouth, who even says that? Now he just looks like a creep.

Oh God, what if he’s banned from his shop now because of this? He’ll probably wake up tomorrow to posters of his face everywhere saying ‘beware of this pervert’ and be shunned from the town or something.

If only the ground would swallow him up right now.

“Okay.”

“Oh God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’ll leave no-.” Taehyung freezes, looking up at Namjoon with wide eyes. “Wait what?”

Namjoon chuckles and Taehyung’s stomach flips at the sound.

“Yes, I wouldn’t mind coming with you.”

“Really?” Taehyung can imagine the shock painted on his face right now, as he looks at him with big hopeful eyes and parted lips, Jimin always told him he resembles an excited puppy when he does that. Which must be true because Namjoon looks endeared.

“I was wondering when you’d asked me out, sure it’s not how I’d hoped but it’s a start.” He smiles adorably and Taehyung can’t help it, he smiles too, in fact it turns into a full boxy grin.

He can’t believe it, of all the impossible things that could happen to him, he never thought Namjoon would be interested in him too.

He always believed his lingering smile and attempts to prolong conversation were just him being friendly. How he always seem to have what Taehyung needed and sometimes gives him a discount without a reason.

Which he knows now.

For once it’s Namjoon’s turn to blush under his intense gaze and he scratches at his nape to avoid Taehyung’s eyes.

“I’ll just go close up and get my coat.” He says, before disappearing behind the beaded door leaving a grinning Taehyung who punches the air happily.

#vmon #bts taejoon

[bnhascribbles]

Secret

Shinso x Reader

Fluff; Spa nights and ill-kept secrets (AKA I was upset I couldn’t find a pic of Shinso with cucumbers on his eyes–ya boy could use ‘em)

Words: 1.1K

Warnings: None

Holding Friday spa night in the dorms had been a tradition since you were all first years at U.A.  It started out as a way for the 1-A girls to bond away from the guys, to unwind and get to know each other better after a long week of training.  Then Aoyama insisted on being included somewhere in the second semester of first year, and it became an “all-interested-parties attend” sort of deal.  Not that any of the others ever actually accepted the offer (with the exception of Denki, who strolled in a couple of times just to get his nails painted whatever color he was “feeling” that week); Usually, it was just the usual gang chilling out in Toru’s room, trying out whatever dumb beauty hacks suited the mood.

But as you entered your second year, a new participant started to frequent your Friday night hangouts–one that could use more than a few tips in self-care.  Most of the time, he just came by and passed out on the carpet, but not before you all had your fun with him.

Shinso wasn’t a slob per se.  He always at least smelled clean, which was more than you could say about half of the other guys in the class.  Even so, training with Aizawa, it was only natural that he’d picked up a couple bad habits.  Like letting his hair just stick up like that (at least pull it back with a scrunchie or something).  And ignoring the way his capture weapon rubbed his hands raw instead of taking two seconds to, you know, put on some gloves.

Thankfully, he had you and your squad to dote on him.

“These are some persistent dark circles.” You muse over the subtle roar of MCR.  It wasn’t really “relaxing” music, but seeing as Momo and Mina could never agree on a band, you’d let Kyoka choose the tracks this time around.  “Shinso, you’re gonna ruin that beautiful face of yours if you keep getting eight hours of sleep a week.”

Shinso lays back, resting his head into your folded legs.  “Sleep?  I don’t know her.”

Mina lets out a whoop from the balcony where she and Ochako are letting their feet soak.  You groan towards the open door, shouting a halfhearted “don’t encourage him” before reaching over and dabbing a few drops of peppermint oil on each finger.

“As awesome as I know you are,” your fingertips rub small circles along his temples, “Even you can’t keep this up forever.  You’re bound to crash if you don’t take better care of yourself.”

“Mmm.”  He grunts, shutting his eyes.  You can tell he’s only half-listening to your lecture.

You roll your eyes and wipe off your hands.  If he wasn’t gonna change his ways, the best you could do was help him deal with the damage.

“Rosewater and raw potato didn’t seem to work too well, and as much as you know I hate being basic and boring, I think it’s time to try an old trick.”  You grab the cucumber slices from the bowl of ice water at your side and press them to Shinso’s eyes.  “Don’t nap yet; They’re only staying on for fifteen minutes.”

He doesn’t respond, and part of you just knows he’s already halfway into dreamland. You sigh and weave your fingers through his hair, smiling a little when you notice how much softer the locks feel this week.

The best part about your classmate was that he never really argued with anything you tried to do.  Egg whites for oily hair?  Sure.  Avocado mask for dull skin?  Go for it.  He didn’t seem to care about much of anything–didn’t seem too preoccupied with keeping up “manly” appearances by skipping out on the treatments you devised during these sessions.  Sure, Aoyama was the same way, but it was refreshing to have another guy in the mix.  One without so many… opinions on everything.

Plus, it also helped that you kinda, sort of, maybe had a teeny weeny crush on Shinso. Emphasis on “teeny.”  It’d started up when you watched him fight at the first-year sports festival, so really, it was only a little more than half a year old.  Besides, it wasn’t like you actually had time to think about anything other than your training nowadays, what with the way Aizawa was driving all of you into the ground with his cruel and unusual exercises.  Boys seemed a little less important when you were busy leaping off high-rises and wading through all sorts of industrial muck.  Even though you have to admit, it was harder to focus when you knew Shinso was watching, those violet eyes boring into your skull as you–

Okay, scratch the “teeny weeny” bit.  You were crushing hard on your sleep-deprived classmate.

Fifteen minutes pass like nothing.  Your phone timer buzzes and you (reluctantly) untangle your fingers from Shinso’s hair. Your numb legs would no doubt feel much better once they were rid of his weight, but dang, you were enjoying having him so close.

The moment you lift the cucumber slices off Shinso’s face, his eyes flutter open, albeit, just barely.  Only enough for you to catch a hint of his purple irises through those impossibly-long eyelashes.  He shifts in your lap, yawning.

“Am I pretty yet?”  He asks with a sleepy lilt to his voice.

Gorgeous. A model. An absolute snack.

Thankfully, the ramblings (and the drool) remain strictly confined to the inside your head.

Shinso’s eyes open wider as he stretches his arms out behind the pair or you, fingers tugging at the edge of Toru’s rug.  His painted nails (Midnight Wonderings, a deep purple color that everyone voted would suit him the best) compliment the cameo pink wool nicer than you would’ve guessed. Then again, maybe you had a thing for guys with painted nails.  Or just for him.

One of Shinso’s eyebrows quirks up less than a millimeter and you nearly forget how to breathe.

Yup, it was definitely him.

“You always are.”  You stammer, caught off-guard by the way his eyes alone can make your face heat up.  There was no way you were gonna let him see you get all blushy though–you hadn’t spent half a semester keeping your secret to yourself just to get found out like this.

“But you need five more minutes.”  You add on as you shove the cucumber slices back against his eyes, just a little too quickly.  “Like I said, these dark circles are persistent.”

Shinso smirks, but doesn’t make any move to pull away from you.  “Sure you don’t wanna use those five minutes for yourself?  A little birdie told me green tea is good for red faces.”

And at that moment, you wanna die just a little.

“Shinso, please just shut up and take another nap before I make you.”

He chuckles.  “Seems like a win-win situation to me.”

The choked noise that comes out of your throat is anything but composed.  The whole situation is only made worse by the fact that every single person in the room has this knowing grin plastered across their face–their long-held suspicions probably confirmed by your tomato-red complexion.

Maybe your secret wasn’t as…well, secret as you first thought.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha #mha #bnha imagines #shinso hitoshi #shinso #mha imagines #bnha shinso #I really want relaxed shinso #my boi deserves it #inspired

[bananonymity]

(part 1)

“Are there any other options?” said Emil. “That aren’t a four-hour course?”

Ludwig, ever patient on the outside and ever frustrated and ready to throw his keyboard out his office window on the inside, went back to the drawing board of available courses.

“Studio art has some openings this semester,” said Ludwig. Emil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s fine, it’s geared towards beginners. And you ar en’t expected to make museum-worthy masterpieces in there. It’s to study both the creation and the criticism of modern art.”

“I don’t know much about modern art,” admitted Emil. He admitted to a liking towards minimalism, which brought great astonishment and exasperation from his roommate Leon, who upon seeing Emil’s decor of his side of the dorm genuinely worried that Emil was tight on money and therefore lacking in any possession. But a college course on it, especially as a first year student, inevitably felt daunting.

“That’s all right,” Ludwig said. “After you go through Professor Bonnefoy, you will understand it, whether you like it or not.”

-

“Now tell me, class,” Francis Bonnefoy said. His voice was as silky as the freshly squeezed oil paints on the palette. “What do you gather from this piece?”

On the projector, which Professor Bonnefoy spent a good five minutes cursing at in the beginning of class trying to make it work, was a Cy Twombly piece, The Italians, MoMA, 1961. Francis stood at the head of the room, smiling at his class with anticipation while the students stared silently ahead.

Michelle knew that this was an important piece of work. By the way that Francis’s chest puffed the moment he brought the photo up, she could assume that he was very fond of this piece. It was in the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. It also looked like what would result if one gave a child a 96-crayon Crayola box and a white wall.

“Anyone?” said Francis.

No one said a word. One student was constantly taking off their glasses, polishing the lenses, and returning it to their lens as if he genuinely thought that the scribbles were a speck of dust on his specs. Another student buried their face in their hands. The student next to Michelle burst into tears.

Francis immediately blossomed as if the student’s tears of terror watered him into fruition.

“It is a moving piece,” he said. “No--a powerful piece. You feel it, don’t you, Raivis?”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Raivis whispered through his tears.

“What is it that Twombly is trying to express in this masterpiece?” Francis said, plowing through Raivis’ grief. “What is it that he is trying to communicate? Modern artists do not aim to make beauty--that is the philosophy of the old world. The old age of art, who think that one must have some technical skill in order to be an artist.”

“They weren’t wrong,” someone muttered.

“Twombly did not want to impress,” said Francis. “He wanted to communicate. He was a cryptologist in the military before he became an artist. He communicated through code, through mathematics, through complexity--”

He slammed his hand against the projector in a fit of passion.

“What is it, in this piece, that you can pick up?” said Francis. “What symbols do you pick up, that mean more than they say? Michelle!”

Michelle jumped in her seat. Why, oh why, couldn’t he have randomly called on her during the Duchamp example? At least she could recognize that the art piece in question was a urinal.

“What,” Francis said, “do you see? What message is being conveyed?”

“Um.” Michelle squinted at the painting. She did not know what to make of the scratched lines and the jagged scribbles. She definitely did not want to be the student who had to bring up the definitely phallic shape in purple crayon in the middle of the piece.

“It says....’The Italians’ on it,” Michelle said. “So it’s...definitely taking place in Italy?”

Francis sighed heavily, a heartbroken sort of sigh that made Michelle feel like she had not only betrayed him, but also set his life savings on fire and kicked his dog.

“Observation must start somewhere, I suppose,” Francis said. “It is my fault, we should have gone into the history of European graffiti. Then...then you would be able to understand...Now take notes, everyone.”

Michelle popped more lead into her pencil. She did not doubt that she could probably recreate this piece onto her notebook as notes, if only to make a point to herself. But she reckoned that Francis would give her zero marks if he caught her.

-

“You don’t make it sound like a good thing,” Emil said.

Ludwig did not bother hiding a grimace.

“I suppose art just isn’t my thing,” he said.

(tbc?)

#hetalia #hetalia au #university au #aph france #aph seychelles #aph germany #aph iceland #credit to thedisappointedidealist12 for their rendition of francis

[jj-lynn21]

You will remember things that we never said ch 1

Starring college rocker Axel Cluney

Music by Dolly Trauma: Morla , LIGHT BULB  

Character idea  Billofourtime 

Detrimental behavior courtesy of my college years lol

photo by @hiddlelecki

Warnings: aloofness, vulgar language/behavior, complete lyrics to songs

ch 2    ch 3    ch 4  ch 5     ch 6​   ch 7

Stephanie Westin had aspiration of becoming a great writer. She wasn’t sure a University degree in anything would help her. According to her family and friends that was the only place to go next. So, she applied to major in creative writing and minor in art. She was able to get a scholarship that paid for her courses, books and even included a meal stipend. She planned to work hard. Take the maximum load of courses each semester and be done in two years, maybe three at the most.

Axel Cluney never had anything handed to him. He worked his ass off from the time he could find a job outside of the house. He washed dishes in restaurants, mowed lawns and painted houses but when his Dad’s buddy, Derick, let him work in his tattoo parlor he had found his calling. That’s how Derick would put it anyway. Axel just liked the job didn’t get in the way of his other creative outlet, His band Zeigeist.

It was Derick who encouraged Axel strongly to get a degree in business with a minor in art so he could take over the tattoo parlor when Derick retired. Axel reluctantly agreed. Derick had practically raised him when his Dad ditched town a few years after his Mother passed away. Axel was fourteen and just wanted to quit school to go look for his Dad who never treated him very well anyway. Derick convinced Axel not to quit. He encouraged him to do better than Axel ever thought he could. He was a better Dad to him than his Dad ever was, which Axel never told him.

The first week of classes. Neither Stephanie nor Axel knew where anything was located. When they finally found room twelve in the creative art’s building, they almost bumped right into each other reaching the door at the same time from opposite sides. They looked at each other a second. Stephanie smiled. Axel just had a blank look on his face as he opened the door and let her go through first.

She sat up front in her fitted blue jeans and red V-neck long-sleeved t-shirt. He sat in the back in his long sleeve black turtleneck and dark denim jeans. She still noticed the tattoos on his hands and fingers. Also, how his green eyes seemed to make her nervous. Axel noticed how her wavy blonde hair fell to the opening of her shirt revealing the tops of her ample breasts. He licked his lips absentmindedly.

Come Thursday evening Stephanie already felt overwhelmed with schoolwork. The syllabuses she received from each class had reading assignments and project deadlines for the whole semester. But since she had the work in front of her she thought she would just get it all done in a few days or maybe weeks other than the tests she would have to wait for instructors to give her. She shared a dorm room with Bella. She only had seen her briefly at the beginning of the week.

“We are going to be great friends,” Bella hugged Stephanie tight when they first met. “We will have great adventures. Working towards a goal is great but you have to live life girl.”

Stephanie laughed at Bella uncomfortably. Stephanie likes her privacy bubble and studying towards her goals just fine. There would be time to “live life” later.

Bella opened Stephanie’s bedroom door when she got to their dorm room, “Come on and get ready Steph. Its Thursday night. You have all weekend to study. You need to go see my friends band play at Hide & Seek. We can walk so we can stumble back drunk if need be.” She laughed.

Stephanie looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “I’m fine. I just started organizing my studying, so I get the most done in the least amount of time. I have an art project due in a week. I need to do a portrait of someone interesting. So…”

“I will find you lots of interesting people.” Bella said. “It will be like your studying to find that perfect portrait specimen. You go this one time and if you don’t enjoy yourself, I will never ask you to come party with me again.”

Stephanie looks at her new roommate exasperated, “alright, I’ll go. What kind of music does your friends band play?”

“My friend, Rick, is in a metal band called Dark Breed.” Bella brushed her long ebony hair.

Stephanie took her hair down from the bun she always wore when studying. Then brushed it out adding a bit of shine oil to bring her waves back to life. Both girls touched up their makeup in the mirror.

“You are so easy to share the mirror with Steph.” She touched up her mascara. “Your so short I can see right over you.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie put some light pink natural looking lip stain on your lips. She wasn’t sure if what Bella said was really a complement, but she tried to look past short girl jokes she has been hearing all her life.

It’s a great evening for a walk. The air is crisp with fall smells as Stephanie and Bella walk to the club. Bella goes on and on about the club she is taking Stephanie to and how the people just welcome everyone that aren’t critical of others.  As soon as they walk in Stephanie hears the buzz of amps being setup. Some drummer practicing beating down hard on his set. And a guitar being tuned. She doesn’t even glance towards the stage as she paid five dollars and Bella pulls her over to introduce her to her friend that plays bass.

Stephanie heard some guitar, bass and drums form a song. Then a familiar voice starts to sing.

“Stick around. Talk to him. I would kill for love. I would kill for love. Stick around, for what you miss. He will spread you love, spread you…”

Stephanie looks up hearing the beautiful vocal backed up by a heavier sound. It’s the guy that opened the door for her Monday. He is covered in elaborate tattoos. His voice easily grabs Stephanie as everyone else around her continue to talk.

“Don’t believe in us from then. I will kill for love. Kill for love. Who are you now turning me down, turning me down, as long as you can cum we can fuck all night, as long as you cum we can fuck…”

Bella finally notices Stephanie’s infatuation with the sound. She smirks as she stands behind her with her hands-on Stephanie’s shoulder. “I told you, you would like it here.”

Stephanie said in a voice not quite comprehending her surroundings, “Yeah.”

“That’s Zeitgeist.” Bella said. “The singer is Axel. He’s hot, right?”

“He’s in one of my classes.” Stephanie said.

The song continues to play. “as long as you can cum we can fuck…they all want your legs, they all want your legs facing the moon…But do they cum into you…”

The crowd in front of the stage is moving to the music. The next song they perform starts off slow enough. But a mosh pit starts to circle. Rick and his guy friends stand in front of Stephanie and Bella so they can enjoy the music without having to be involved in the malay.

Axel starts in a soft voice, “Muscle was your man, and through your self-arising plan, you took this kindness that I showed in places special to their core, and shoved me out of your promising timeline, after give me those good signs, stranger tell me why you picked my brain to ask just where you might find…” The song starts to crescendo. The mosh pit starts to bounce off each other. “Come again my snow-white shroud, I will take your hand and you will say…” Axel’s voice gets gravely and deep as the pit starts bang into each other roughly and the music increases intensity. “My first seven days, my first breath of pain, you self-loathing bitch, your cut with need no stitch…” The music intensifies on as Axel bang his head holding the mic away. The pit goes nuts until the music slows again for another bridge of the song before Axel ends it with a howling scream while the people in the pit go nuts.

It’s the most amazing experience Stephanie ever felt at a concert and she had been going to concerts from right before she was born. Her Dad is a hippie rocker that took her to see Led Zepplin and Pink Floyd. Her mom is more into main-stream nineteen-seventies music taking her to see Captain and Tennille in which they let her sit and pet their dog on stage when she was a baby while they sang Muskrat love. And her name was already in a song that played on the radio because her mom and dad knew the singer. Her mom sat at the piano while the singer wrote the song and asked about her daughter. And that’s how her name got in the song.

Axel jumps off stage as his band cleans up their equipment. Some guy screams, “Hey Axel, sounds like you need some Pussy.”

Axel screams back at the guy, “Its not quantity. Its quality. And your girl is fucking finger licking good.” He licks his middle and index finger before flipping the guy off.  Then he turns seeing Stephanie a few feet away. He freezes like a deer in headlights.

Bella said, “Hey Axel, I guess you have seen Steph around but not been really introduced.”

Axel gains his composure. Stares with a hard ass look on his face and just nods. He leans over Stephanie to whisper something in Rick’s ear. He crosses his arms when he stands back up straight. Glance at Stephanie a second. Looks back at Rick, “Well?”

“Yeah, we can start with that, Axel.” Rick said. “Just tell your lead.”

Axel jumps back on the stage and whispers something to his lead guitar player before disappearing into the restroom. Rick takes his leave from Stephanie and Bella to get ready to play. Bella heads to the front of the stage. Stephanie is right beside her. A few husky guys get between them and the ever growing mosh pit. Axel’s band’s guitar player is on stage with Dark breed. So, there is two guitar players, bass, and drums as the lead singer for Dark Breed, Mick, takes the stage.

“We’re going to do something special for you tonight.” He said. “We only performed this with Axel & Todd one other time. Maybe some of you saw that performance. It’s called Light Bulb.”

The crowd goes crazy as Axel steps out on the stage again. “Fuck you Axel,” Stephanie heard someone say. Axel flipped them off.  He paces the stage as he prepared. Mick paced the opposite way. They both look like caged tigers ready to devour the crowd if let off the stage. There is silence in the room as the music begins.

Mick starts low just saying, “suffocate” in the back ground as Axel starts to sing, “Insatiable you pay again, for nothing for nothing, spongin the blood without defense, for nothing, for nothing, and all of this is on your knees, for nothing, for nothing, pulling the sheets over her feet, for nothing, for nothing.”

Mick whispers into his mic, “anguish, alone. suffocate”

Axel continues, “Your saving her, eight times a day, for nothing, for nothing, and when your late you must explain, for nothing, for nothing, you suffocate, you suffocate, for nothing, for nothing…On your own time, such a long time, It’s alright, broken ones enjoy those chains, And don’t fight, nothing ever gets away…”

Stephanie finds herself getting emotional over the melodic song. Bella sees her and stands behind Stephanie holding her. They sway as the song continues.

Axel sings, “Don’t say the word love. I remember you when you were alone, and you seemed as happy then. It’s alright, broken ones enjoy those chains, And, don’t fight, nothing ever gets away…from here…”

“From here,” growls Mick in the background.

Axel and Mick sing, “I don’t think I need this, just go away. And I’m sure I need this. Won’t you please stay…”

#rocker axel #axel cluney #alternative rock #metal #punk #fiction #fantasy #college life #au axel #original story #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård edit #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard art

[sleepyfan-blog]

Hoodies with IBVS Crink?

Fandom: IBVS by @onebizarrekai

Characters and pairing: Christopher Jackson, Isaac Beamer, IBVS Crink

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,183

Summary: Chris’ boyfriend is a hoodie-stealing sneak. Clearly this calls for Vengeance.

“So that’s where my hoodie went! I’ve been looking for it for three days! Why do you have it anyways?” Chris grumbled, pouting a little at his boyfriend as he walked over to where Isaac was sitting - the other sketching something on a pad of paper.

“You said that I could borrow it - the hoodie I was wearing got splattered with paint in art class, remember?” Isaac responded with a shrug and a small, unrepentant grin on his face. “So I’ve kept it. It’s a really nice hoodie. And it reminds me of you, so win-win!”

The taller teen frowned a little, rolling his eyes and huffed a little before grumbling half-heartedly “I… I suppose that’s true… But that didn’t mean that you could keep my hoodie forever….” Isaac looked really adorable in his hoodie - the other was kind of drowning in it, and his sweater paws were cute.

Ink hummed a little, glancing up at Chris before stretching and slowly standing up, shuffling over to where his boyfriend was, and pulling him into a hug. He rested his head on one of the other’s shoulders, his eyes half-closing “Hmm… But I really wanna keep this. At least for a little while longer? I do have a spare hoodie in my backpack - you know the brown one with almost no paint stains on them? We could trade.”

Cross sighed a little as he wrapped his arms around the other, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Isaac’s head. He answered after a moment “Sure, if it’ll fit.”

“Hey, it’s not as if you’re that much taller or broader-shouldered than I am!” Ink gasped, mock-offended as he grinned up at Cross, slowly letting the other go and grabbing his backpack. He rifled through the main compartment, and pulled out his well loved, if slightly wrinkled hoodie, holding it out for Chris to take.

Cross smiled a little and put on the hoodie, grinning a little more when he realized that the brown sweater smelled like Ink- and understanding hit him over the head as to one of the reasons why the artistic teen might want to keep the sweater “Thanks Isaac. This is pretty comfy. Whatcha working on?”

“It’s the beginnings of my term project. We’re supposed to start by creating a sketch about what inspires us.” Ink responded with a small grin “Like… If being out in nature helps to inspire someone to create, we’re supposed to sketch out the ideal space. Along with, if we want to, the people who encourage us to continue to pursue art.” He’d started to sketch the park that they all lived near - or at least the beginnings of it. It was currently raining, and Isaac didn’t feel like getting soaked down to the bone. He was also trying to figure out how he wanted to sketch Cross into the scene. Maybe he’d have the other on one of the swings on the swing set… He’d also sketched the other in at least a dozen different ways  (occasionally with that sword that he could summon in hand, looking like a badass hero, and Isaac was looking up how to draw different kinds of armor, trying to decide what would fit the other best). Not that he would hint at the other’s unusual ability for something that was for school - he wouldn’t put the other’s secret in potential danger like that - as who knew how the adults would react to finding out that some of them had weird abilities.

“Oooh… I want to ask to see what you’ve got so far… But I don’t want to be too nosy. How big is the final drawing and/or painting supposed to be?” Cross asked curiously - he didn’t know much about art, but he wanted to do his best to encourage his beloved. Isaac was really talented and he was sure that the other could do a lot with it if he wanted to.

“It depends on the medium that we use… But I’m planning on using paint - I haven’t decided if I’m going to use acrylic, oil or watercolor… Oil painting is a pain because it takes the longest to dry between coats… And the scene that I plan on drawing… I…” Isaac is tempted to use water colors - which is different than what he normally uses - but he has such a striking image of Cross and him on the swing set, almost but not quite holding hands, the sunset in the background painting them in a variety of colors… And the soft colors that he can picture in his mind are more suited to water colors than the other two… He’s also tempted to do it in black and white - perhaps using charcoal and colored pencil. He plans on sketching out the scene from several different perspectives and using different techniques before settling on one. He’s got the entire semester in order to get it done - but the deadline for a five by five inch pen and pencil lined drawing of his scene is due in less than a month, and Ink is feeling a little unsure as to how well it will go.

Cross notices the other’s distress and leans in close, pressing a light kiss to Isaac’s lips, one of his hands coming up and gently brushing a stray lock of hair out of the other’s face, a small grin appearing on his face “Hey, it’s okay, Isaac. You’ll be fine. Maybe you should take a little break? You seem to be pretty stressed about this art project… I know you’ve been working on it for a while. Why don’t you show me that new indie horror game you wanted me to play. I haven’t yet because my computer got confiscated… Again…”

Isaac scowled a little at the implications of Chris’ father being a shitty asshole again - but brightened at the thought of being able to see the other’s ridiculously endearing reactions to the games that he really liked to play. “Sounds good to me! My parents won’t be home until late - and they left me enough money for pizza or whatever we want to order in. I’ll make the call and we’ll settle in for a few rounds of The Darkness Within - I’ve only played the first couple of hours, and it’s got a great atmosphere and a fascinating storyline so far.”

Cross nodded, helping the other set up the player “Hey - can we have some wings with the pizza and soda? I’ll pay for the extra, if they didn’t leave enough. I’ve been craving some super spicy hot wings for weeks and it’s been killing me.”

“Sounds great!” Ink responded with a grin, already scrolling through his phone to pick out the pizza place that would deliver fastest - delighted that their favorite place was running a special that allowed them two extra-large pizzas and soda for half off. “Oh hey, if we order garlic bread, they’ll throw in a dozen wings for free with this online coupon. What do you think?”

“I love garlic bread. Let’s go for it.” Cross grinned back, nodding.

#good things happen bingo #ibvs #Isaac beamer #Christopher jackson #ibvs crink #my writing

[jessethejoyful]

the art school au no one asked for

I decided I wanted to try writing a carry on fic and they say you should write about what you know so - read it here or on ao3

Baz is a painting/drawing major, Simon is an animator, and much problem ensues. 

BAZ

At the end of every spring and fall semester, the art school hosts a student showcase, so we can gain experience with exhibitions and the like. I thought about entering a piece, one of my paintings, but I deliberated long enough that I missed the deadline. Which is absolutely fine, because everything from this semester felt like garbage to me anyways. I was trapped somewhere in my own headspace - but, anyway.

I wander through the student show, my eyes passing across the canvases and sculptures. Mentally, I have to keep my nose from wrinkling at some of them (how did these kids get into an art school? Is there actually any criteria, or do you just have to toss paint on a slab and say please?). Some of the students are standing next to their pieces, obviously brimming with pride. There’s one boy stopping anyone who is unfortunate enough to glance his way, and asking them a barrage of questions. (“How does it make you feel? Which one is your favorite? How much would you pay for this?”) I avoid him carefully, giving him and his creepy multi-face painting a wide berth.

It’s something of a surprise when I come across a laptop, set up on a podium by itself. That’s not art. But when I wander up to get a closer look, I realize it’s an animation reel. I’ve come up at the tail end of someone throwing a ball at a wall, which looks nice but is rather boring. I’m about to turn away when it changes to another clip.

The shot begins on a girl, curled in on herself, and a moment of her finger tapping the white space beneath her. And then she shoots up, arms flaring wide, head tilting back, and I’m blown away by the style of it. It’s not normal 2D animation, but a sketchy, wild style that somehow carries a lot of emotion just in the chaos. The video follows the girl, a ballerina, through a routine that I imagine would be heart-wrenching if it had music with it. Even without, I feel a pull in my chest, watching the obvious pain that flits across her shadowy and angular face.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.

The scene ends with the girl knelt down again, her back heaving as she breathes heavily, and I realize I’ve been holding my own breath. It comes out in a rush as the reel changes again. I expected something just as amazing, but instead have my eyes assaulted by an ugly, gritty-looking clip of two stick figures beating the shit out of each other. I feel the scowl rise on my face and narrow my eyes at the name attached to the podium.

Simon Snow - who the fuck would name their kid Simon Snow? Sounds like the heroine of some sappy young adult novel. Maybe it’s an alias for a less idiotic name.

I straighten and adjust my jacket, eyes flicking back to the screen in the hopes that the ballerina clip was back, but instead it’s moved on to some boring clip of fish leaping from a river. My scowl deepens, and I move on, refusing to return to the laptop. Anyone who would put such a stupid video in a showcase deserves no more of my attention.

The name Simon Snow flits through my head now and then over the summer, while I serve coffee at a small, artsy shop near campus. I wonder if he ever comes in, but no one claims the name Simon for their cup, and eventually I forget about the reel, and Simon Snow, entirely.

Until the start of the new term, when I’m carrying my supplies into the art building, my  heavy bag hung painfully on one shoulder. A girl’s voice shrieks, “Simon!” and I’m nearly bowled over as she dives by me, and I register a mane of frizzy red hair and warm brown skin, similar to my own.

“Sorry, Basil!” she squeals as she barrels away, and I’m startled enough that it takes me a moment to reply.

“How do you -?” But she’s already gone, down at the end of the long corridor and throwing her arms around a tallish boy with wild bronze hair, freckles so numerous I can see them from here, and a laugh that reverberates through the hall.

That’s Simon Snow?

Shit.

SIMON

Penny surprised me in the art building, but I was glad she did - she’d been gone all summer to study in Italy, and I’d missed her like I’d miss my left hand. She spent nearly two hours chattering to me about the different sites she toured, the museums she visited, the food she’d eaten, and I listened happily, grateful to have her voice filling up our cozy flat again. It had been far too empty without her.

I don’t know how she does it, but Penny is double-majoring in art history and sculpture. She’s dead brilliant at both of them. I was royally fucked in my own mandatory art history class until she started helping me. We’ve been friends since high school, so she knows I’m shit at studying, but I managed to brush by with her help. Thank God - I wasn’t eager to repeat that class. The professor nearly fell asleep at his own lectures, I don’t know how Penny can stand him, and he’s her faculty advisor.

Despite the heavy course load I signed on for this semester, I’m glad to be back at it. I spend summers feeling off-center, like I lose my sense of direction for a few months before wandering back from the wilderness in September with leaves in my hair (it’s a feeling that’s kind of hard to describe).

Animation is a lot more work than anyone outside of the field realizes. I don’t think I even realized it when I started, but now I couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else. Watching my pieces come to life on a screen is like a drug, a high that’ll never come down.

But it’s exhausting.

During the semesters, I spend more time in the computer lab than out of it, making use of the huge tablets and desktops provided by the school. Penny will come hang out now and then, but I get so scary focused and quiet that she usually gets bored and wanders out after a few minutes. She fell asleep there once, half-off her chair, and I let her sleep, waking her up around two when it was time for us to walk back to the flat.

Now we’re only a few weeks into the new term, and I’ve already fallen back into the habit, chatting up the lab’s student assistant before I claim my spot in a corner, ready to work until I pass out.

I try to keep an eye on the clock, but I get so into my work that hours pass without my notice. When I realize I’ve been there for coming on six hours without a break, I force myself to drop my pen and sit up, feeling my back creak in the process. I think I’ll go heat up one of the frozen meals I’d thrown in the student fridge last week; I can feel the hunger creeping up in my stomach.

It’s so late, just past midnight, that barely anyone is around. I’d work at home if I could, but the equipment is so expensive that I can’t really afford my own, with only a laptop and a shitty knock-off tablet that I use for personal stuff. The cord is fraying and half of the time won’t connect, but it does what I need.

I’m shocked when I amble into the student lounge to find a guy digging through the fridge, the room around him so dim that the bright white light makes him look pale, like a vampire. But when he closes the door and stands up, I realize he’s got almond brown skin, and grey-green eyes like a deep lake. And he’s scowling at me.

“Can I help you with something?” he snarls, clutching a carton of cream, and I’m immediately caught off guard by the aggression in his tone.

“Yeah mate, you’re in front of the fridge,” I say slowly, pointing. His cheeks darken and he steps away, heading to the counter where there’s coffee brewing. Neither of us says anything for a long bit, while I pull my food out and chuck it in the microwave.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observe him, trying to take stock. The half-up bun and long sleeve black button-up seem about right, but I’m surprised by the massive black combat boots, giving him an easy extra two inches in height.  

Finally, because the silence is deafening, I say, “Working late, then?”

His answer is abrupt. “Yes.”

I try again. “My name’s Simon.”

“I know.”

I furrow my eyebrows at him, fed up. “Want to tell me yours then, or are you just going to keep being a dickhead?”

This clearly startles him, looking at me with wide eyes and saying his name, two quick syllables. “Bas-il.”

“Bazzzz-il,” I drawl, dragging out the z sound present in that ridiculous name. His lip curls, actually curls, and I’m almost impressed before something occurs to me. “Wait. Not Basil, as in T. Basilton Pitch?” There’s no way there’s multiple people in the world with a similar name, let alone this school.

“The very same.” I’m floored. This is the prat whose art I always notice in the halls? Every time I see an impeccable figure study or a breath-taking oil painting, the name ‘T. Basilton Pitch’ is always attached underneath.

Five minutes ago, if you had asked me who I thought was the most talented in the building, I would’ve said Pitch immediately. But now that the arse is standing in front of me, antagonizing me, I’m not about to give out any compliments.

“Oh. I’ve seen your work in the cases.” The microwave beeps at me, and I fiddle with it before saying grumpily, “S’ pretty nice.” Damn. That sounded more sincere than I’d meant it to.

“I’m flattered, I’m sure,” Basilton says sharply, before loudly dropping his mug into the sink and disappearing out the door. I throw myself down at one of the tables and start shoveling mashed potatoes into my mouth, annoyed now.

T. Basilton Pitch.

What a tit.

PENNY

It’s 3 am when Simon finally wanders in, squinting even in the darkness, dragging his feet like he’s left lead in his shoes. He always does this, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion and probably ruining his eyes in the process.

And then he has the audacity to try and lecture me. I’m reading by a soft lamp when he comes in, and he snaps at me about damaging my eyes, by reading in such dim light. I raise my eyebrows at him and flip the book shut. “Who spit in your tea tonight, Simon?”

He glances at me apologetically, dropping his bag onto the floor before throwing himself down on the couch beside me, head resting on my hip. “Basil,” he growls, as I absentmindedly run my fingers through his curls.

“Oh, met him, did you?” Simon sits up and looks at me sharply.

“You know him? How?”

I shrug. “He was in my Drawing II class. Put the rest of us to shame, with his drawings and his shit attitude. The professor told him to shut the fuck up once when he made a girl cry, and he just sneered at him. It was quite a scene.”

It had been a real scene. I make a point not to be friends with assholes, but I remember I couldn’t help being a little bit fascinated by this tall dark prat, who looked ready to throw hands every time the professor said anything. And it hadn’t really been his fault that girl started crying - we were in the middle of a peer critique, and Baz told her in somewhat harsher terms that her anatomy was way off.

She’d just started bawling. It was embarrassing for everyone.

I tell Simon as much, and he seems genuinely intrigued. “Maybe he’s just an asshole to people he doesn’t know,” Simon says slowly. “Maybe if I’m nice to him, he’ll be nice back.”

“Simon, not everyone’s like you. Like if a golden retriever became a human.” He looks almost offended at this. “Baz is endlessly contrary. I wouldn’t put money on even you being able to befriend him.”

“Penn, come on. Everyone needs friends.”

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

BAZ

Three days after I officially met Simon Snow, I’m still kicking myself for the whole thing.

Seeing him up close had just been too much. This dead handsome idiot, standing over me at nearly one in the morning, staring at me with his mouth open - far too much for my sleep deprived brain. I’d gone and made a complete ass of myself.

It was the first time I’d left my studio that day, just looking for a coffee, and my brain had stayed behind.

Honestly, though, it’s probably all for the best. I’m too fucking queer to have a guy that good-looking around on a regular basis. (What is up with all those freckles? He looks ill. I want to draw the constellations on his face.)

When next I see him, it’s thankfully from a distance again, far across the campus green. He’s got two girls with him. I recognize one of them, short and stout with that mad frizzy hair, but the other is a complete stranger. Even far off, I can tell she’s beautiful, even to my gay ass. (I’m gay, not blind.) She’s the kind of beautiful you can’t help but notice. Waist-length honey blonde hair, a perfect figure, expensive-looking clothes and high-heel ankle boots, though they still don’t make her as tall as Simon.

Too late, I realize I’ve completely stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, gaping at them across the lawn. My eyes lock with Simon’s, and suddenly he breaks out into this enormous grin.

I might be a little fucked.

Simon is saying something to the girls and then jogging toward me, and my time to escape has fled. Not that I could’ve - that smile was so much I think it rendered me briefly immobile, gluing my shoes to the pavement.

“Hey, Basil,” Simon greets me sheepishly, stopping before me and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks so carefree, in loose jeans that somehow look good, and a graphic tee partially covered by a paint-stained hoodie. He rips the green beanie off his head and shoves his hands through his orange curls, making them stand on end. And he’s wearing these massive circular, wire-framed glasses, and I’m mesmerized.

“...Hey?” I say, cursing myself for letting it come out sounding like a question. Simon doesn’t even seem to notice, his smile smaller now but no less painful to look at.

“Look, I wanted to apologize for the other night. I was completely knackered, I’d been in the lab for hours and was feeling a bit grouchy.” To say I’m startled by this apology is putting it lightly. I’d been rude first, what is he apologizing for? Defending himself?

Maybe just this once, it would pay to play nice. I glance over Simon’s shoulder, where the two girls were still watching their interaction, waiting. “Er - it’s alright. I’m - sorry as well. I was barely functioning that night.” Simon’s face lit up at my mostly friendly response, and I think I might be barely functioning now.

“Penny and Agatha and I are going off campus for a bite, you wanna come along?” Agatha must be the other girl. I vaguely remember the name Penny, some distant memory from second semester. But there’s no way I’m up for that much social interaction today; just this interaction has nearly killed me.

“Ah, I’ll - have to pass,” I choke out. “I’ve got a date.” Simon looks surprised before I finish, “With my studio.”

There’s no way it’s relief that flashes across Simon’s face at that amendment. No fucking way.

“Oh, right, then,” he says. “Another time, then.”

Weary now, I try to smile, but I think it must look like more of a grimace, before I stride away.

“Basil!” Simon calls my name and I turn back to look. Now that I’m looking at him, he seems not to know what to say, his hand pulling awkwardly back to his chest like he’d been reaching out. “Uh - good luck with the painting!”

“Cheers,” I reply, walking away then without looking back.

SIMON

I’m wandering back to the computer lab that evening when I notice the light on in the studio labeled T. Pitch. It’s pretty late, already after ten, and while I’m not surprised Basil is still here, I’m a little curious. I’d grabbed a few scones from the bakery Penny works at before coming back to campus, with a mind to eat them later - but maybe Baz would like one. I’d heard Penny call him Baz, and I can’t blame him for the nickname. I wouldn’t want people calling me Basilton either.

I wonder what the T stands for? Could it be something worse than Basilton? Is that possible?

I knock twice on the door of the studio before turning the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Baz is clearly shocked to see me, jerking his hand away from canvas he’s working and yanking his earbud out.

“Christ - ever heard of knocking?” All this guy seems to know how to do is snap and snarl. I’m already bristling.

“I did knock.”

“Well, you’re supposed to wait for me to say come in.”

“You’ve got headphones in.”

“Exactly.”

I force myself to take a deep breath, before I hold up the pastry bag. “Thought I’d bring you some food. You seem the type to get sucked in and forget to eat, am I right?” I can tell by the defensive look on his face that I am. “Look - don’t say anything. Just take this, alright?” I take the wrapped pastry from the bag and toss it too him, and he’s not too bewildered to catch it. “Have fun, yeah?” I back out the door before Baz can say anything else and snap it shut.

I don’t know what I expected. Some declaration of gratitude? I’d never expect that of anyone, let alone that prickly bastard. That’s not why I do things for people.

But fuck, was it too much to even be civil? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grouchy. He’d seemed to quiet earlier, soft, almost. Shy. Maybe he’s bipolar. It wouldn’t surprise me whatsoever.

Or maybe he’s just an asshole.

I continue onto the lab, spinning my chair so the back touched the desk, and straddle it, resting my chin on the cushion. Penny yells at me that I’m going to ruin my back sitting like this, but it’s comfortable, so I always ignore her.

I’m struggling with a frame I’m working on, unable to get the flow right between shots. It makes me blink out sometimes, when I get really stressed by something that isn’t meshing. Normally I’d take a walk, but I’m not so sure tonight. What if I run into Baz? I’m pretty sure I’d deck him at this point, I’m so worked up.

I should probably just call it a night. I look at the close - 2 am. Yeah, I’ll just call it a night. I flick the light off as I leave the lab, letting the door shut behind me.

As I walk by the private studios, I notice Baz’s light is still on.

I keep walking.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #rainbow rowell #carry on simon snow #simon snow carry on #carry on tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch carry on #baz carry on #carry on baz #penelope bunce carry on #carry on penelope bunce #penny carry on #carry on penny #agatha wellbelove carry on #carry on agatha wellbelove #agatha carry on #carry on agatha #carry on fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #writing #here we go kids #art school au

[jmhwritesstuff]

(Wanted to share a piece of what I’m currently working on. This story follows Lexi as she returns home after three years of university to face her past. This is a rewrite and still quite rough around the edges, but it took me a while to get this first chapter down so I’m a little proud of it regardless. If you read it, thanks for taking the time to do so!)

Freefall: Chapter 1

Present Day

I had been standing on the edge – that much I could remember. One of those moments where your toes are no longer on the ledge and you’re staring down, and you can feel yourself tipping forward and then – nothing. You don’t fall no matter how long you wait for it. No matter how close you get.            But you swear you could. Oh, you swear with every damn shallow breath in your battered lungs you could. But you don’t. You never do.            I don’t know what pulled me back, but something tugged at the edges, stopping me from going over completely. I remember I couldn’t wait to hit the bottom; I remember the gaping hole in my chest at realising I would live another day. The bottom never came – it eluded me – and a part of me forever claws and screams for answers.            Why? Why couldn’t I reach it?            Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t supposed to. And maybe that’s why it’s okay to come back. To come home. A home that isn’t really a home at all – it’s just a place now. Has been for a long time. 

           I drummed my hands on the wheel, waiting at a red light. I glanced at the half-burnt cigarette between my fingers, watching as the smoke swirled up and out the window before finally deciding to toss it. Smelling of smoke wasn’t going to help me today, and no amount of nicotine could calm the nerves in my stomach anyway.            The light changed to green, I geared the car forward, and rounded the corner onto the familiar street of my childhood. The sun blared down onto the pavement from above, but the warm glow didn’t deceive me. If only everyone knew the stories; if only they had seen even a glimpse of the life I had lived here. I tell myself it could have been worse – much worse – but three years away still didn’t seem long enough. If I had it my way, I never would have come back at all.            I scanned the houses as I drove, peacefully nestled together with pristine gardens. The street was empty, quiet – probably no kids here since I left – and then I slowed as I spied my parent’s house. I carefully parked up behind my father’s blue truck and switched off the engine.            I slid my sunglasses onto the top of my head, eyes sweeping over the view of the home I had left three years earlier. The flower baskets, now empty, still hung either side of the blue front door, the silver doorknocker still intact. The garden was clean, the grass freshly cut, the stone path near-immaculate. On the surface, nothing had changed.            The anxiety took a moment to settle, a wave of nostalgia briefly washing over me – interrupted by the front door swinging open to reveal my mother. A beaming smile plastered on her face, ash-blonde bob bouncing on her shoulders, she was almost skipping towards the front gate as she stepped into the sunlight.            “Lexi!”            I ducked my head, dropping the sunglasses over my eyes so she couldn’t see me rolling them, and forced myself out of the car. She pulled the gate open and threw her arms around me with a squeeze. Much to my detriment, the tiniest pang of guilt crept in as I returned the hug.            I had avoided coming home since I first started university a whole other town away, trying to separate myself from everything I knew here. But she was my mother, and I was her daughter, and I suppose cutting myself off from her wasn’t entirely fair.            I had my reasons. Those reasons didn’t disappear when I did.            She held me at arm’s length. “I thought you were going to be late.”            I glimpsed at my watch and shrugged. “Nope. Right on time, just like I said.”            As far as first digs went, it could have been worse.            Taking my hand, she led me back up to the house, bustling me inside and shutting the door behind us.            “Where is everyone?”            “Your dad is in the back garden,” she replied, still smiling as she veered left into the kitchen. “Charlie is at work for another hour yet. But he’s coming straight home – he can’t wait to see you.”            I brushed my fingers through my hair and leant against the doorframe, stifling a snort of disbelief. I hadn’t heard from my brother in three years. Somehow, the prospect of Charlie missing me seemed incredibly unlikely.            Removing my sunglasses again, I watched my mother pull bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer, laying them out on the kitchen counter – still smiling. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen her this way. She certainly hadn’t been this happy before I left; so much had happened all that time ago and I could still picture the way she used to look at me. The disappointment. The exasperation whenever she didn’t know what to do or what to say to me. Neither of my parents had been particularly proud of me back then.            They were probably relieved to see the back of me for a while – maybe it even helped.            It made me wonder how my father and Charlie would look at me now, too.            I shoved my hands in the pockets of my faded jeans, unsure what to do. “Is Charlie still working at the gym?”            She didn’t look at me as she said, “You would know if you bothered to pick up the phone once in a while.”            Her tone was airy and light, a tiny laugh in her throat. But the accusation didn’t go unnoticed. It may have been three years, but the low gut-punch was as familiar as ever. I knew that tone – a few years away wouldn’t change that.            I ignored it, kept my voice bored as I said, “University keeps you busy.”            She turned to face me this time. “You could have spared five minutes, Lexi. You had five minutes, didn’t you?”            I met her blue eyes for the first time since arriving. My jaw clenched. Her smile was gone. We levelled our stare until, finally, she turned her attention back to the cutting board. I listened to the knife dice through carrots. I knew I’d have to endure at least a little scolding my first day home, so like the good daughter I always should have been, I kept my mouth firmly shut.            I pushed off the doorframe, turning to take in the hallway. The wooden floorboards had been replaced – they were darker now, more cedar than birch – and the dark red wallpaper had been stripped in favour of mulberry paint. Family photos, just as I had remembered them, adorned the wall leading up the staircase, framed in silver filigree. I angled my neck to look at them.            The first, my parent’s wedding day, followed by a professionally taken photograph of them holding baby Charlie only a few years later. There had never been a baby photo of me for as long as I had lived in this house, but there was one of the four of us together. I was six at the time, Charlie nine, and my parents stood with tight-lipped smiles on their faces – proud, forced. Posed. Charlie was the same, but I was beaming, all white teeth and squinty green eyes.            I grinned to myself. I had always been the odd one out. Unruly and bright, adventurous and curious about the world.            Oh, how things had changed.            The last photo, at the very top of the stairs, was Charlie adorned in his graduation gown and cap, diploma in hand. And as I averted my eyes to the table by the door, where the bowl with my father’s car keys lived, there were two smaller frames that held yet more pictures of my brother.            One was from the day he completed a cycling marathon when he was twenty-one, not long before I left, shaking hands with the event organiser handing him a certificate. The other, a candid photo, when he was just a kid fixing the front wheel of his bike for the first time by himself. Oil stained his hands, a smudge of it on his cheek.            Charlie. Perfect Charlie. He was blonde, like our mother, with the same blue eyes and slight up-tilt of the nose. I used to believe it meant I was more like our father, but it turned out the only thing I got from him was my dark hair.            Truth was, in the end, I was nothing like any of them.            “There she is!”            I scrunched my nose up with a smile as I turned to my father emerging from the living room. He wrapped his arms around me, briefly, and planted a quick kiss on the top of my head. Then he held me at arm’s length as he said, “It’s nice to have you home.”            I stifled the urge to say otherwise and looking up at him I could see there were more grey hairs than before, deeper lines around the corners of his eyes.            “Only for a week,” I said.            A hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, a tell-tale sign that my mother hadn’t told him as such. “Oh? How long do you have left at university?”            “Three weeks.”            “And then you’re coming back for good?” He headed into the kitchen where my mother was still chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a pan.            I took my place against the doorframe again and crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s the plan.”            For now. There was a week’s break at the university, no classes, and I’d had no reason to stay behind. Much to my dismay, everyone else had returned home, too, and most of my work was complete for the semester. So, when my mother called, and I finally picked up, I had no choice but to give in to her persistence. Since I would be returning home after three weeks anyway, it made sense to at last show my face. I would have to move back home for a while to plan my next steps, but I had no intention of sticking around – and I had no idea how to tell them.            It wasn’t that I thought they would be disappointed to see me leave again. On the contrary, it seemed ludicrous to imagine living at home forever, especially with a family that felt as taut as ours. But I didn’t know what I was going to do next, once university was over, and it wasn’t a conversation I really wanted to have with them.            “So, how’s my room looking?” I asked. “Is there enough space in there for a person?”            My father chuckled, taking a seat at the dining table and unfolding a newspaper. “Your room is untouched. No one has been in there since you left.”            I blinked. “At all? Dad, it’s been three years. Are you telling me that you haven’t moved anything in there while I’ve been gone?”            “Why would we do that?”            I opened my mouth, shrugged. “Spare room. Extra space. I don’t know, it kind of makes sense to use it for storage.”            My mother clicked her tongue. “It’s always been your room, Lexi, you haven’t moved out entirely just yet.”            The hairs on my arms rose – I hated the way she used my name.            “Sit down.” My father gestured to the chair opposite himself. “No need to stand, this is your house, too.”            The urge not to react surfaced once again – it was like second nature, an old habit impossible to break. I clenched the car keys in my hand and made my way to the table, but as I sat down, it was immediately uncomfortable – unnatural.            This wasn’t home. It was just a place. And no matter how much I had tried to change that feeling, it had always remained true. I couldn’t recall a time when it wasn’t.             I waited a few minutes, flitting my gaze between my mother preparing dinner and my father nose-deep in the newspaper. She was stubborn, and he was oblivious. It didn’t make for great conversation. I blew out a sigh between my lips, jangled the car keys between my fingers.            Finally, I stood again. “I’ll be upstairs.”            I took a few slow steps at first, giving them a chance to acknowledge my leaving, but still no one said a word. So I left the kitchen and ascended the stairs, two steps at a time. At the top, I paused – the hall looked longer than I remembered, my bedroom door at the very end, closed and … small.            My throat felt thick. My stomach rolled.            No. I wasn’t ready.            I turned around and headed back down. I’d have to face it eventually, but there was no rush. Instead, I spent the better part of the next hour inspecting the rest of the house. For the most part, everything was the same, with just a few new licks of paint. And everywhere I looked, every place I stood, was filled with the memories I had tried so hard to forget.            It was why I hadn’t come back – why I couldn’t. Too much had happened here in this house and in this town, and there were faces of people I once knew that I was afraid to see again. And some faces that I never would.            Sometimes, that felt worse.            I was standing outside the open patio doors, watching the clouds roll by overhead and lost deep in reverie, when voices drifted through the house. My parents were talking, laughing – and Charlie had at last arrived from work. The moment their voices fell into a hush, I knew they were telling him I was home. It was how they always used to talk about me, and it was how I always knew that I didn’t belong.            Well, I wasn’t going to make the first move. I’d let Charlie decide how he wanted to approach me after all this time.            It didn’t take long.            “Hey, sis.”            I turned to look at him over my shoulder as he stepped tentatively to my side. Calling me ‘sis’, or ‘sister’, was something he had always done; always referring to me as what I am to him. If he ever used my name it meant he was being serious. Maybe this meant he was going to be civil.            I tried to smile, but it was weak. “It’s been a while.”            He nodded, hands in his pockets. He was still wearing his work uniform – a black tracksuit with baby blue stripes down the sleeves of his jacket, and a shiny nametag attached to the left pocket. And there was stubble, which was unusual for Charlie. He was the poster-child for pristine, but there seemed to be something … relaxed about him.            I poked his chin. “What happened here?”            He grinned and dragged his fingers down his cheeks. “Trying something new.”            “Being a man?”            He rolled his eyes, but he still laughed a little. “I just wanted to see if I could pull off a beard.”            “They take a while to grow, you know.”            He shrugged. “It’s only been a week.”            I turned my eyes back to the sky and we fell into silence. He shifted and sighed and continued to glance at me from the corner of his eye. I wondered if he was ever going to say what was really on his mind – something he used to avoid doing with me when we were younger. Until things got bad, anyway.            “You look good,” he said. “Better.”            I chewed the inside of my lip.            I turned to face him, and I saw his wall shoot up. But I held my tongue.            That wall – we both had one. It was how we could tell when the other was on the defence, when things were about to get sour. It was a way to tell when we had said something we shouldn’t have; a way to prepare for biting our tongues before we said something regrettable.            Perhaps we had both learnt to finally back down from a fight, because as much as it caused an odd twinge in my chest, he wasn’t wrong. I did look better, and rather than make an unnecessary snarky comment, I offered a small nod instead. He seemed to relax at the gesture, then turned back into the house.            With not much else to do, I followed. Dinner was almost ready; the smell of boiled vegetables and minted lamb drifted through the rooms. I taught myself to cook while I was away, so that I didn’t have to face the horrors of living on packet noodles or mac and cheese, but my mother’s cooking reminded me that I wasn’t anywhere near her level yet. Home-cooked meals had become a distant memory, and to say I hadn’t hungered for them would be a terrible lie.            We each took a place at the dining table – exactly the same as before – while my mother laid out all the food. Dad tucked in first, pulling a few slices of lamb onto his plate, followed by a large portion of cabbage and sprouts. And those damn diced carrots. Then Charlie did the same as we waited for the roasted potatoes to come out of the oven.            I waited until everyone else began to eat before filling my own plate and, as I predicted, there were more potatoes and gravy left over than vegetables. I took one small scoop of sprouts, then shovelled the potatoes onto the side of the plate before drenching them in gravy. I used to do this when I lived here – I missed it. Just for good measure, I took a few extra slices of meat, too.            They chatted as we ate, and I sat back and listened. And it was while my eyes searched their faces as they spoke that I saw how happy they were. They were content, talking about work, laughing at inside jokes about colleagues. Laughing at each other’s stories in general. I garnered a few quick glances from Dad and Charlie – but my mother avoided eye contact throughout dinner. It was fine: I wasn’t waiting for her to notice me, I was too busy taking in this life, this family, that wasn’t mine.            Somewhere, deep down, I ached.

#freefall #wip: freefall #contemporary #drama #teen drama #writing #writer #original story #ya #young adult #jmhwriter #portfolio #other wips

[lifeofbouyd]

Soldier Freak

Dear Bouyd,

I hope all is well with you and thanks for giving me a chance to tell my story. I do hope you and your readers will enjoy.

Back in college, I was one of the most wanted girls. Thanks to my small waist, big ass and a pretty face who made it possible. Men and women perused me daily trying to get between my legs but I was more focused on getting an education than getting fucked or sucked by random people. I had my game all planned out until my father decided to he wasn’t gonna pay my tuition anymore. Where the hell did he expect me to get money from to pay by myself? He could have at least said he’d pay half. For one, I didn’t have a job because there was no need for a job and secondly, I didn’t have a man spending crazy money on me because that was my dad's job. Against all odds, no experience nor a known skill I started searching the classifieds for a job. Anything was better than nothing. Eventually, I found my calling, just when I was about to give up.

Ad:

Are you in need of quick cash? Have no experience but can read and write fluently? Currently enrolled in college? Earn up to 80k every month. Submit your resume to the email address provided below. We look forward to meeting you.

Call me greedy if you wish but I was not going to be a drop out. I drafted my resume and sent it off. Crossing my fingers and praying. It took only three days for me to get a response and to my surprise they wanted me to come in for an interview. I put on my “Sunday best” and headed for their office not too far away. They loved my jovial spirit and the fact that I really needed the job. Instead of placing me in the packing room for which I applied , they placed me in sales and inventory. That was 115k a month. Just like that I had made a way to survive. I was making enough to cover all my expenses and didn’t have to kiss my dad’s ass for a thing. On my way home I got a ride with a soldier dude, nigga claimed I was in a bad area and even the taxi men are rapist and thieves. I didn’t even think for a second before jumping in his military van. He was somewhat of a gentle man or at least he tried to be. He got us food and drinks before dropping me off and he didn’t even ask for my number which weird. I hadn’t seen him until about two weeks later. He picked me up from the same spot. He introduced me to his buds as his girlfriend and I played along because I wanted the free drive. He dropped them off then got us something to eat and took me back to my place.

Vybz: You wanna go out tonight? My friends and I will be hitting Taboo later on. You up for it?

Well, it was a Saturday night; no work nor school the next morn, of course I said yes. I got all dressed up and spent approximately an hour fixing my face. “Pretty on fleek” was my motto. His eyes stripped me naked the moment he picked me up. I could feel his eyes between my legs and in my bra. The feeling of him staring me down made me tingly. I reclined my seat and raised the sun roof, staring into the galaxy while sexual thoughts ran through my mind. I hadn’t had sex in a long time and I felt like I’d let him take me down if he made me have a good time. Henny, Red Bull, Campari and orange juice; an unorthodox lineup but that shit “lik mi chip”. I was super charged. I kept whining on him from front and back causing his shaft to stretch across his pants. The moment I realized how hard he was I turned around to give him a lap dance. I was showered with $100 bills. Call me greedy but I scraped it all up and tucked it in my purse. That was $7000 towards my expenses 😂. We left the party around 3 am and headed home. He touched my leg and I got soaking wet. “Mi oil did a ride mi”. I opened the sun roof trying to cool down but my body wanted something thick and milky. I reached over and pulled his zipper down to take his dick out and to my surprise it was already rock hard. I gently stroked it with my right hand while rubbing my clit with the left. Both my skirt and his seat were soaked with cum. I started climbing him while he was driving, causing him to pull to the curb. I shifted my soaked underwear to the side and sat on his pipe. Bracing against the steering with one hand on the chicken bar I started to ride his dick. He had one hand and my shoulder and the other holding my waist. In synchrony we made love. It was a shaking, squeezing, moaning, squirting kinda sex. I hadn’t felt so good in a very long time. He had me lay on my back with my legs almost touching the ceiling; deeper and sweeter he planted it inside me. Tears ran down my cheeks. He pushed me all the way to the back seat with my legs still raised. He started kissing on my already paralyzed from sex legs causing my heart to skip several beats while I gasped for breath. He slowly dragged his tongue all the way to my thong before rubbing his tongue all over it. Nigga’s tongue was at least seven inches long. He ran it up and down my clit then sticked it in and swirled it around inside me. I had to hold my mouth and close my eyes not to scream. I grabbed his head, I grabbed the seat, I slapped my pussy and did that on repeat. I vibrated like an alarming clock while I sprayed his face with hot cum. Vybz was no regular freak. He had a PHD in eating. He made me regret not fucking him the first day I saw him. I was so defenseless when he asked me to ride his dick; all I could do was ask him to take me home. I fell asleep long before he even drove off.

I woke up in a strange room. A big bed with expensive sheets. Curtains that matched nothing and a tv that seemed too big to be on the wall. I smelled something delicious coming through the door but I couldn’t help but look around as if I was lost. A big portrait hang on the wall. They had painted him as a god with a sniper rifle in his hand. That’s when I realized where I was, he had taken me to his house instead. He came through the door with a breakfast tray in his hand which was different from anything I’d ever experienced. It was a really nice gesture but I could help but noticing how sexy he was. Big arms, a muscle packed tummy, hard chest and muscle built thighs. He was smoking hot and he cooks. I had fallen in love with this man I had only planned to fuck once. I took a long warm shower trying to beat the feeling out my head but it only made me hornier. I came out with nothing but my towel on. He grabbed it off and kissed my waist. He squeezed my nipples and grabbed my ass while he ran his snake of a tongue over my legs, waist and belly bottom. I was dripping wet and shaking as if I was cold. He grabbed me by the legs and held me on his shoulders, giving him full access to my juices. His tongue created chaos. I came on his face at least five times before he held me on his manly hood. Him beat it , eat it, beat it then eat it again. I was weak to my knees. I just kept cumin. For months we had sex and it was awesome.

Good dick but great tongue. I tried avoiding him so many times but that tongue kept me coming back. He’d come by my work place to pick up to pick up supplies for the camp and on most occasions we had sex in my office. My boss decided we would have a Christmas party and we could invite our partners. He was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend and the only nigga I had sex with since the year started. I thought he’d never show up but eventually he did. He kept squeezing my ass and scratching my legs which made me super horny. I had him meet me in my office where he devoured me on the table before fucking me hard from behind. Just as he came on my ass my boss walked in. There was no covering it up.

Boss: Vybz, is this how you treat your wife? Fucking my employee at my party. Have you forgotten your wife is my sister? Venice, your fired. I gave you a job, a way to survive and this is how you repay me?

We just sat there. We couldn’t even answer her questions. He said he had a girl but he never mentioned marriage. I lost my job simply because I couldn’t keep my legs closed. On the other hand, he couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth. He pellets a wipes from a pack I had on the desk and wiped his oats thick cum off. He slapped my ass and grabbed me by the throat. Bracing against my ass he said, “no matter what happens, I got you”. That was all the reassurance I needed. I pushed him back on the table and jumped him. With my hands on his shoulders and feet on the table, I danced on his dick like a crazy woman. I had already lost my job so why hold back. I packed my stuff as soon as we were through and he took me home where we continued where we left off. I had already paid for my last semester so I had nothing to worry about at that point. I even tricked him into paying my tuition which was already paid so I had a lot of cash sitting on. We dated for two years before breaking up and since then I ain’t ever had anyone do me like he did. I even had to hit him up a few times lately for a fix.

Good dick and great tongue. Never to be replaced. I just Regret is breaking up but I wouldn’t change a thing if I got the chance. Shoutout, Soldier Freak. You are greatly missed.

Yours truly,

Kim