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theseshipsshallsail · 3 years

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There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid.

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“Why not indeed?”

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison.

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor.

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them.

“Oliver? You okay?”

No.

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins.

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything.

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be?

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant.

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?”

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet.

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse.

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty.

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends.

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone.

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away.

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid.

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look.

In truth, he already does.

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating.

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.”

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -”

“Tempt you?”

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing.

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?”

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -”

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.”

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon.

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth.

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.”

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.”

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.”

“It’s gone midnight!”

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.”

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs.

Flush against his.

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

#cmbyn roll the dice challenge #fanfic #oliver pov #elio and oliver #cmbynrollthedicechallenge

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angelicyoongie · 4 years

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brick by brick

⤷ 1.2k follower event request: Taehyung x Yoongi + “Are you drunk, stoned, or just stupid?” + Humor ⤷ anon said: Heyy I love this kind of games 🤩 can I ask for taegi + c18 with humor please? Its up to you if you want to write it or not tho, I just love to read your works 😆 ⤷ word count: 1,400 words ⤷ a/n: It was never supposed to take three months for me to start fulfilling these, but uhm .. better late than never? And sorry anon, this story ended up very different from what I had originally planned (so it might have ended up being a little more angsty and less funny than you wanted), but still, I hope you like it!

Yoongi grumbles under his breath as he sinks further down into his coat, the cold wind biting at his pale cheeks. He can’t believe he’s out at two am again, trailing after Taehyung like his own personal guard dog. It isn’t like Yoongi doesn’t have better things to do, because he does, in fact, have many things he’d much rather be doing right now. And one of them could’ve been being asleep in his bed, because well, it’s the middle of the fucking night.

But Taehyung doesn’t seem to care about Yoongi’s protests, not when he consistently drags him out of his warm and cozy bed like clockwork every month. Instead, he just wraps himself around Yoongi like a second skin, whining into his neck about being afraid of the dark and I’m scared of being alone hyung, and well, Yoongi is weak and Taehyung knows it. He knows how to play him just right to get what he wants. And maybe Yoongi pretends to hate it a little more than he actually does, because even though he craves sleep, he also craves Taehyung’s boxy smiles and warm laughter in a way that he shouldn’t. In a way that goes far beyond the safe walls of friendship they’ve built up brick by brick over the last two years.

So here he is, freezing half to death in the biting weather as he follows him around. Yoongi’s sharp eyes never leave Taehyung’s form for even a second, not willing to lose him after what happened last time. Yoongi swears he had only blinked, but in the next second Taehyung had been nowhere to be found on the busy street they had been walking down for Taehyung’s last project. It had been something about capturing the essence of life, but Yoongi swears it felt like the last drops of his youth left him as he realized Taehyung was gone. He had walked through the nearby alleyways and streets for an hour, so close to calling in Seokjin or the police or even his fucking apartment janitor for help when Taehyung had stumbled out of a nearby record store, all pretty smiles and “Look what I found!”

Yoongi has learned from his mistake. At least, so he thought. Yoongi’s gaze flickers down as he stumbles on the uneven path, a puff of air escaping his lips as he tries to steady himself. The moment he looks back up, Taehyung is gone.

Yoongi freezes in his tracks, eyes sweeping frantically over the dark road as he tries to figure out if Taehyung has just crouched down out of his line of sight. But no, he can’t make out Taehyung’s figure against the bushes or trees lining the path, and Yoongi realizes with a disgruntled groan that Taehyung has left him here alone. Again.

“He’s going to kill me some day,” Yoongi groans, straining his ears for any sounds as he follows the path, steps a little more hurried than before. Yoongi just thanks whatever gods are out there that Taehyung chose the university grounds as the place to disappear in. The trail they’re on goes through the middle of the forest surrounding their university, and sure, it’s a forest, but you can reach either side in thirty minutes tops. And the scariest thing hiding out here is probably a rabbit. Or maybe, if they’re really unlucky, a student smoking a joint. And Yoongi is fairly certain he can at least deal with that – if not, he wants all the hours he has spent working out with Jeongguk back. That kid knows how to run him to the ground only to push him even further, and while Yoongi enjoys the results, he’s not sure it’s worth the aching muscles that haunt him for days afterward.

Yoongi is lightly panting by the time he catches the low timbre of Taehyung’s voice. His annoyance level maxed out from having had to follow the path all the way around only to end up where he first lost him. Yoongi huffs as he follows the sound of Taehyung’s voice, the noise taking him of the trail and into the surrounding forest. It’s even more difficult to navigate the grounds in the darkness, but Yoongi just grits his teeth whenever he stumbles, determined not to lose Taehyung a second time before he can even find him.

He lets out a sigh of relief once he spots Taehyung’s freshly bleached hair, the area he’s in entirely unfamiliar. It almost looks like a small park inside the forest, with overgrown benches and a low broken stone fence surrounding it. Taehyung seems to be talking to himself as he circles around a small statue that can’t be much taller than his leg, and as Yoongi gets closer, he notices that it appears to be in pretty bad shape too. He’s never heard of this place before, not even a whisper from the other students has reached his ears about this part of the forest. If judging by how run down and abandoned everything looks, Yoongi guesses their university has likely already forgotten it even existed.

“There you are hyung! Took you long enough,” Taehyung grins as he waves him over.

“Took me long enough? You’re the one who disappeared! We’ve talked about this–“ Yoongi’s rumble is cut off as Taehyung suddenly clap his hands together, an excited smile lighting up his whole face as he gestures up to the statue.

“I think this would be perfect,” He says. Yoongi’s step falters, his eyes flickering back to the cracked stone. “Perfect for what?” Yoongi asks carefully, his eyes narrowing as he glances back at Taehyung.

“My project of course! It’s about the progress of time, remember? Hyung, haven’t you been paying attention to what I’ve been telling you?” Taehyung pouts, and Yoongi swears his heart drops and soars at the same time. What he wants to say is of course I have, I always pay attention to you, I always remember but instead he just scowls, mutters out an “I have too much to keep track off.”

And maybe the worst part is that Taehyung doesn’t even seem fazed. He just brushes off Yoongi’s comment with a smile, his eyes straying back to the statue. Yoongi watches him out of the corner of his eye, his stomach already heavy with guilt. He hates being so indifferent, hates pretending like he doesn’t care, but his lips are too loose, always threatening to let the words on the tip of his tongue slip out. So this is better. It’s better to keep his distance. To stay where it’s safe – with their perfectly crafted wall between them.

“So, what are you going to do with it?” Yoongi says, his voice cracking against the silence between them. Taehyung circles around the statue once, dragging his hand along the grimy stone as he gives it a final once over. He finally turns back to Yoongi, the brilliant smile on his lips making Yoongi’s breath hitch as he says, “I think we should steal it, hyung.”

Yoongi blinks, struggling to make sense of what Taehyung just told him. “Steal what? The statue?” Yoongi hisses.

“Yes! I know I can make this into something really pretty.” And Yoongi knows Taehyung probably can, but this is illegal, this– “Taehyung, are you drunk, stoned, or just stupid? This belongs to the university! If they find out we took it we’re fucked.”

“But they won’t find out hyung! I promise they won’t recognize it,” Taehyung ignores him, pleading as he takes a step closer, his eyes sparkling in the darkness. Dangerous dangerous dangerous, his brain yells but even then, Yoongi is weak.

He takes a deep breath, and the cold air rushing in to nip at his lungs serves as a harsh reminder that this is a bad idea, and that they’ll definitely get caught, but, “Fine. If we get caught I won’t hesitate to pin the blame on you,” Yoongi bites, but they both know he would never.

It takes them nearly an hour to get back home, the heavy statue balancing on their shoulders serving as a mocking reminder that Yoongi is too easy, too smitten. But then Taehyung sends him one of his trademark boxy grins over his shoulder, and Yoongi is already internally plotting where they can find their next statue if it’ll make Taehyung look at him like that again.

Click here for the 1.2 follower event masterlist! Please leave a comment/reblog if you enjoyed :)

#bts au #bts fanfic #taehyung x yoongi #taegi #taehyung #yoongi #taegi fluff #bts fluff #bts angst #bts university au #1.2k follower event

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bubmyg · 4 years

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something new - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: youtuber!au, established relationship, fluff, minor mentions of insecurity and anxiety

word count: 1,821

summary: you’re gone for the evening and jeongguk has a video idea or the one where he’s ten levels of shy when your hands are on his cheeks (alternately, loosely based off that one jenna marbles video)

There was an ambient huff that succeeded the flicker of red snug next to the lens of Jeongguk’s camera, one that landed his hands on his hips, gathering the baggy material of his jacket around his lean waist. He sighed, still bent forward over the sink where the camera rested idle on the lip between the wall and the mirror, sweeping gaze studying a particularly concerning stain centered on the plastic covering layered inside the shower curtain.

After a good ten seconds of silent filming, he reached for the dye kit curled next to the facet, lifting it up to the camera where he got impossibly close, wrinkling his nose and speaking to what would eventually be his audience.

“Is this a bad idea?”

Jeongguk pulled back to inspect the cardboard in his hands, flashy advertisements and chemical formulas that essentially translated to bleach, something that would ombre out the shaggy ends of stark brown hair that messily brushed at his flushed cheeks. He half expected you to answer his question spoken into the empty apartment, your figure to materialize hours early from the party you were attending on some hunch that he was doing something ridiculous.

But you didn’t appear, not even through a text on the phone in his pocket, and he was still alone with a box of hair dye in his grasp and his camera capturing the comedown of what had been a previously eureka moment for a video idea when you’d kissed him goodbye and evaded the third ass slap of the night.

Another silent breath and he shrugged, pointedly dropping the hair dye box to the edge of the sink, the slam a little too directed and the cardboard fumbled into the sink basin. Jeongguk didn’t falter aside from wide eyes, shrugging as he sliced a fingernail under the seal and began to unpack the contents.

One plastic glove was slid across inked knuckles, leaning toward his lens again, “Something new, right guys?—” He paused long enough to slice his gaze to the mysterious shower curtain stain before winking, lowering his voice a half octave, “Right, baby girl?”

“I…” Jeongguk trailed off, ruffled crooked fingertips into the locks partially damp and parted across the center of his head, “I think I like it?”

His nose wrinkled at his reflection first and then at the camera he pointed toward the mirror, “I mean it’s definitely different, and my hair doesn’t feel too disgusting….”

He went about cleaning up the evidence, lugging his camera along with his as he did so, capturing angles of his puffed cheek and the disgruntled noises he groaned in tandem with his aching joints. In sliding his hair brush back into its proper drawer, he dislodged a pair of old scissors, chipped blue handle and slightly rusted metal ends and all.

The scissors snapped once over Jeongguk’s reflection in the mirror until he pulled the camera aside to stare at his reflection, speaking for the camera’s benefit, “I shouldn’t trim it...should I?” and then once for his own conscious to get the hint, “We are not cutting our own hair.”

Jeongguk’s adventure lasted barely an hour into the at least three you promised to be gone, wallowing him deeper into the mountain of unmade sheets on your bed. He tried to preoccupy himself with phone games, only to distract when drying waves of half blonde would flit into long eyelashes. He tried to catch up on Jimin and Taehyung’s newest gaming series, only for his thumb to itch over one of his various camera applications to stare at his reflection, grappling with the faded hue of colors across his locks. He tried to edit a different video, only to catch his reflection in his laptop screen and wish you were home right now.

He fell back into the cycle of phone games, something concentration consuming that managed to pull his conscious out of his muddled excitement and anxiety even for a span of ten minute intervals. The mundane, repeated actions of the character on the screen managed to lull out his concerns, positive or otherwise, in those time frames as well.

So much so that when he registered the sound of your key in the front door, he nearly bashed his nose off the edge of your dresser in route to snatch one of his bucket hats off its hook to smash over freshly dyed tendrils.

Jeongguk heard your call of greeting but missed the stride of your figure immediately to the bathroom, giving him some time to, conspicuously, situate himself on the couch in the living room. Except the lean of his stature to the corner of decorative pillows and folded throw blankets was anything but conspicuous, knees stiff underneath himself, shoulders square to a television that wasn’t on, phone forgotten somewhere in his rush to hide but also seek. He folded his fingers together, shoving them between his thighs and effectively making himself seem that much smaller as he squirmed upon hearing the bathroom door open.

You didn’t notice anything odd about his behaviour at first, and if you did, you didn’t let it show. Softly, you pushed down on his knees, standard procedure to clamber across his lap as you looped tired arms around his shoulders and pressed your nose into his neck. He froze only long enough to untangle his fingers from each other and stutter warm palms across the small of your back.

“Did you have fun?” Jeongguk nosed into your hair, conscious of the way the baggy front flap of his hat settled across the bridge of his nose. He was more conscious of that then the way his voice caught on certain syllables and ended in one hard swallow that elongated down the length of his throat.

“Mhm, just tired.” You lifted from the crook of his shoulder to slide your hands to his neck, staring at him with a cocked chin, “How was your night?”

For a half second, he thought somehow, somehow, you’d caught him. The very fear that iced through his veins contributed to the harsh stutter that laced further into his words, not smooth at all as he shrugged, “Fine, you know, nothing too exciting.”

The smile curled to each corner of your mouth was gentle, thumbing underneath Jeongguk’s jaw, “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing.”

The cocky expression paired to the appearance of his teeth was wholly genuine, “Nothing.”

You pinched the skin directly underneath his ear, fond grin growing when he yelped and glowered out from the shadow of his bucket hat. You hummed, musing as your thumb soothed over the skin you irritated, “Right…”

Jeongguk whined when your lips touched his cheek, an involuntary reaction that paired with his hands flexing at your back. It happened again and again, a series of your kisses covering his face while he tried to mewl out protests in between, feathery light brushes of your pursed mouth until it tickled at the tip of his nose and the corners of his mouth to have him giggling, effectively scrunching and stretching the very skin you were trying to shower in adoration.

It was a similar daze that mediated the zombie like throng of actions in his various mobile games, one that had him lazily beaming at you when you pulled away to look at him, so similar that he barely blinked until the shadow hanging in a neat circle around his head was gone, his bucket hat now forgotten on the adjacent couch cushion.

You said his name with an exclamation point, aweing at the dyed strands with an excited glint in your irises. You fretted over him while his skin slowly crawled into a different dye of its own, one of a blotched red variety that gathered in the highest volumes around the various moles and freckles on his features.

Crooked fingertips brushing through Jeongguk’s scalp became gentle palms on his warmed cheeks, tilting his gaze firmly to yours as you landed a soft peck to his bottom lip.

“Is this what you were doing while I was gone?”

“Yeah, I wanted to do it anyway but thought it might be a good video too…” He shrugged when your lips bloomed into a lingering kiss on the right corner of his mouth, “You know, come dye my hair with me but also surprise my girlfriend who left me unattended for a few hours.”

You sensed the but in his voice so you kept quiet, kissing his eyebrow in route to brush your fingers through his hair again.

Softly, Jeongguk inquired, “...do you like it?”

You responded by wrapping your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his skin. “Hmm...do you?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk leaned his cheek against you, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Of course I like it, Guk,” You kissed the spot below his ear, “You look hot.”

The assurance was the spur of confidence he needed, or at least enough to mask any remaining insecurity, quick in wrestling your squealing figure underneath his to busy his lips at the base of your throat. “Hot, huh?” He nipped underneath your jaw, gaze flicking up at you under dyed fringe that had flicked across his long eyelashes.

“Where’s your camera?” You countered, managing to wrestle an arm out to press the heel of your palm into his forehead.

“Don’t worry, I forgot it in the bathroom. Maybe instead of this video I’ll just post a picture out of the blue,” He nudged your hand down by your wrist to kiss the center of your palm before pinning your hand above your head. Teasingly, he pressed you further into the dislodged decorative pillows, dangling his fringe above your face, “If it’s as hot as you say...it’ll probably garner a good reaction.”

Your eye roll earned Jeongguk’s mouth back on your neck, teasing out more laughter in gentle nips underneath your jaw bone until you managed to wriggle from his gasp, curling soft hands around his cheeks again to hold him in place.

“A big head doesn’t suit you, babe.”

He heated in your grasp, faltering in the way his thigh shifted between your parted legs and the dangle of his freshly dyed hair was on accident when his chin hinged shyly. “Okay but seriously…” Dark cocoa irises brewed in question, “Do you like it?”

“I love it because it’s you and I love you.” You let the words sink in by feeling his skin heat considerably against the soft grip of your palms while his gaze flicked to the corner of shyly crinkled eyelids. Eventually, you coaxed him closer to brush your lips against his, “But seriously? You look hot.”

“...how hot?”

You groaned, hooking an arm around his neck, “Come here, you big dork.”

He took your request literally, collapsing his arms to fit them behind your shoulder blades.

“Jeon Jeongguk you’re crushing me—”

“But you said to come here—”

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts x reader #bts scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #fic: ytber jk

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

Text

Call me yours (pt. 5)

(Ot7 x Reader) (Hybrid Au!) (Blind! Reader)

Summary: You never would have imagined that more love was hidden right next door, just over your garden fence. but will you and Hoseok ever get there? will you ever have your first date?

Pairings: (Human! Hoseok) x (Human! Reader) x (Wolf hybrid! Namjoon) x (Dog hybrid! Seokjin) x (Cat hybrid! Yoongi) x (Tiger hybrid! Taehyung) x (Bunny hybrid! Jungkook) x (Cat hybrid! Jimin)

W/c: 6.0k

Tags/Warnings: LITERALLY every bit of this is wholesome fluff, no angst at all here.

- To say that Jimin and Yoongi have gotten close over the past few weeks would be an understatement. Jimin is the first thing on Yoongi’s mind when he wakes up and the opposite is also true. though Yoongi for whatever reason- is usually the more nocturnal one, so Jimin usually heads over in the early morning to slip into Yoongi’s bed in the upstairs, or wait in the kitchen starting the morning coffee and bringing it to all of you in bed.

- it’s not that he’s not like- comfortable slipping in between you and Yoongi on your too-small-for-4-hybrids bed, it’s just that there are some invisible lines that they’re just not comfortable breaching yet. Jimin sighs while he makes the coffee and thinks about it. Hoseok needs to ask you out already so that they can stop pretending that they’re not all building their lives into one another.

- You’re the only one usually stirring when he heads in on those mornings. It’s exceedingly sweet- especially the first time it happens and you pop your head up from where it was buried in Yoongi’s chest, Namjoon and Seokjin curled into their little puppy pile of cuddles to the side, your hair all ruffled making Jimin coo and smooth it down. asking softly if you’d like some coffee, kissing you on your forehead as he whispers good morning so as to not wake the others up.

- Jimin at least has no problem being affectionate with you, really Hoseok needs to take notes one of these days. though really, it’s not that hoseok has problems being affectionate just being affectionate while makeing his intent known. but then again jimin could probably give him tips on that too since he’s recently taken up the task of letting everyone know just how much he apreciates them, often vocally, with many purrs and alot of scentmarking to physically reinforce his point.

- Yoongi grumbles and pulls you more firmly against him before he realizes Jimin is there, grumbling without opening his eyes, “5 more minutes Seokjin-Hyung, it’s my turn to snuggle her” Jimin giggles before he presses a warm cup in between your fingers. You hear him set a second one for Yoongi on the bedside table.

- You sip at it gratefully, suddenly quirking your head to the side, “what did you put in this?” Jimin shrugs, you feel the edge of the bed dip. “I couldn’t find your sugar so I used maple syrup like Hobi does,”

- “Hoseok uses maple syrup instead of sugar?” you ask, somehow way too endeared to learn this little fact about him- because of course, Hoseok (with his syrupy sweet soul) would like something like this.

- The first time Jimin surprises Yoongi with a pounce, Yoongi’s resounding yowl makes Namjoon and Jungkook almost cry laughing. Especially when they go over to the side of the house and witness Yoongi’s dazed expression as Jimin straddles him. The watering can he was using to water the catnip they’d planted on the side of the house discarded in the grass. To see him Still pinned, happily being groomed by Jimin, his purs rippling as he licked and licked and licked, and promptly erupted with laughter.

- “Someone’s got a crush,” Namjoon says when he wanders into the kitchen one afternoon in late July and runs a hand through Yoongi’s hair- all splayed and rumpled and sticking up from where Jimin had groomed him again, it’s definitely becoming a daily habit.

- Yoongi’s resulting blush makes Namjoon cackle and teases more, gripping the younger by the shoulders and giggly swaying side to side, miming a wedding march and punctuating each twirl with a whip crack. He’s a little more goofy than usual, The strange behavior might have something to do with the fact that Namjoon had just woken up from yet another sunny nap with Jungkook in the garden, he’s a little heat hazy. “You’ve been spending too much in the sun, and all that soil is gonna rot your brain.”

- “Doesn’t change that Yoongi likes Jiminie.” He says in a singsong voice his giggle deep and adorable.

- “Oh go find somewhere dark and grow some moss you gossipy asshole.”

- Seokjin snorts from where he reads a book at the table. “Yeah Joonie, you’re one to talk with Jungkook trailing after you like that,” Namjoon freezes. “Wait-what? What do you mean?” he’s blushing from his feet to his ears. Yoongi sends Seokjin a small grin that makes his heart thrum a little harder. Seokjin reaches out absently passing a hand over Yoongi’s side. Making him shiver in the best way.

- “I don’t think he comes over here every day for the carrots Namjoon,” Seokjin comments wryly. Namjoon looks nearly contrite until the bunny hybrid in question bounds into the kitchen almost tripping over the rug like he does nearly every time, half falling into the kitchen. Yoongi catches him with a well-placed arm.

- “Kid you gotta watch it!” Jungkook’s wide smile with his teeth gnawing at his lower lip is so cute that it just might make all of them blush, and let him get away with being barely contrite. A glance around the room solidifies that yes- they’re definitely all blushing and crushing over the sparkly, wide-eyed, floppy eared glory of Jungkook.

- “Oh thanks Hyung! I finished twining up the honeysuckle and deadheading the lavender? Is the hydrangea next Hyung?” a faint blush colors his cheeks, barely brushing the tops of his cheekbones as he looks at Namjoon. “Yes, kooky- I’ll be out in a second.”

- “Do you want something to drink Kookie?” Seokjin asks. because as much as he knows they love working out in the sun all day Seokjin can’t help but look after them and make sure they’re just as watered as the garden. Kooky nods happily, and asks hopefully “Do you have carrot juice?”

- Seokjin barely contains his smile as he sets Jungkook up. Seokjin had made sure he picked some up from the store last week solely because of Jungkook. The three hybrids watch as Jungkook downs the whole thing in one big gulp, eyebrows raising. Blacktopped tail twitching from side to side and showing the white underside before he places it on the counter (remembering not to slam it- a lesson when he’d accidentally shattered one of their cups last week)

- He nuzzles into Seokjin’s shoulder as he says, “thanks Hyung!” then pulls Namjoon outside. The entire exchange of juice takes about 30 seconds. And leaves Seokjin feeling all kinds of gooey and fond affection. He has to steady himself against the counter. “Jesus” Seokjin comments to no one, holding his heart and shaking his head. Yoongi snickers.

- “Yoon” comes a crooning voice that can only be Jimin, making Yoongi flush and crumple. “Oh my god just go” Seokjin pushes his hip, “leave all of your flirting out of my kitchen, I just want to relax- oh my god.” And Yoongi heads out of the kitchen looking like he’s about to brave a typhoon- his tail flicking back and forth alert the whole time (though he does go willingly- that fact makes Seokjin externally smile, and internally feel a little smug)

- “Jinnie?” You call from inside the house, Seokjin smiles softly, putting his book down and setting his thick-rimmed glasses to the side, “in the kitchen love.” He responds you follow the sound of his voice, finding your way to hug him from the side.

- Settling into the comfort of his arms. His face pressed into your stomach, arms loosely wound around your side. Relaxing into The of your oldest lover, nothing feels quite so calming, or quite so comforting as Seokjin.

- Seokjin hums against your stomach, moving his neck a little bit to scent mark you. An old habit, and a little futile because you smell like a mess of all of them now. Though with a sniff- he realizes (with no small bit of pride) you do smell like him the most.

- “What’s going on in Jinnie world?” you ask, running a hand through his hair to scratch behind his ear. It’s a little bleach fried, last month Jimin and Yoongi had ganged up on him and convinced him to dye his hair. And though you knew it was some “awesome” shade from the amount that Yoongi complimented Jin.

- You didn’t remember exactly what color it was. After you’d felt it for the first time and whined about the new texture, Seokjin had vehemently promised to never dye it again. He loves the ear pets way too much to make them even slightly unpleasant for you.

- “Oh you know- just the impending threat of romance from a certain bunny and kitten.” or a tiger and red-headed cutie for that matter, he adds in his head but doesn't say out loud for fear of the teasing it would incur.

- “Mm, not a kitten.” Jimin pouts from the doorway, hair all fluffed up and curly. Jimin looks extra cute in an extra-large dark blue sweater that probably belonged to Jungkook at one point (it has orange carrots printed all over it).

- Jimin sniffs at the air huffs a glance at Jin put upon look stepping closer to the two of you to Scent mark your shoulder and neck the purr in his chest vibrating softly. Jimin doesn’t break eye contact with Jin the whole time, as if daring him to make some comment. You flinch when he gives you a small lick to the back of your neck, exposed from your hair up in a bun.

- “Jesus Christ,” you say, pushing at his shoulder playfully the same second Seokjin clenches around your waist, crying “go scent mark Yoongi you brat! Leave my human to me!”

- Jimin giggles and flicks a wink at Seokjin, “not for long puppy.” he passes back through the door, down the stairs and probably back to where the hammock and probably Yoongi is (not before snatching a bag of chips from the pantry).

- Even after his heat Jimin has been… a little flirty with all of them teases Namjoon and you almost as much as Seokjin does, and Seokjin feels a little pity that Yoongi has to bear the full force of Jimin’s brattiness like that. Then again, Yoongi probably greets it with the same begrudging enjoyment that Seokjin finds himself feeling when he sees the 6 of them together all floppy and falling over each other under the terrible weight of multiple crushes.

- At the thought of it, Seokjin whines lowly rubbing his neck along your stomach not satisfied by how much you smell like your shampoo “Feeling possessive Jinnie?”

- “Can’t help it” he mumbles, voice thick through the growl building in his throat. grabbing your hand, hesitating a second, before he places it on his head again from where it had fallen. You oblige him with consolatory ear rubs. But it’s still not enough, jin surges’ up, standing and kissing your cheek before moving to your other one and then to your lips, you smile into the kiss as happy as you’ve ever been. and Jin flops back down once you look sufficiently blushy.

- “Uhm” Weight creeks over the door stoop and Seokjin’s ears flick in the direction of the sound. Taehyung stands in your doorway fingers tapping on the handle. Shoulders hunched, and his curved ears bright orange and pinned back against his cinnamon-colored hair. “Hey Tae,” you say, giving the hybrid a wider than usual smile.

- Over the past few weeks, you’ve learned that Taehyung thrives off of obvious enjoyment. Telling him you’re happy he came over or complimenting him when he helps has been amazing for his self-esteem. He’s become a lot more vocal as a result, though he’s still definitely shy in situations like this when he’s not sure if he’s 100% welcome.

- Hoseok even thanked you for it the other day; you’ve had such a positive effect on the hybrid. He doesn’t even cling to Hoseok in the mornings when he leaves for work anymore.

- Hoseok had told you that with a hand on yours over the banister, your hands lightly entwined in the haze of the evening as you waited on the back porch. After He’d come over to retrieve Jimin who had made himself very comfortable sleeping in your upstairs bedroom.

- Jungkook had quite literally had to carry him out, appearing in the yellow kitchen light a second after that, you see it for a moment against the light- a blob of darkness that must be Jungkook that quickly shifts. Hoseok’s hand sliding out of yours regretfully.

- The calico cat had slept on, dead to the world with his head tipped against Jungkook’s shoulder arms loosely twined around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook’s strong arms gripping under either of his thighs, lifting Jimin like he weighed nothing.

- “Wait” Seokjin had said, in the doorway of the kitchen, his apron wound around his waist. Jungkook had paused and let Jin press a little kiss to Jimin’s cheek. to which Jungkook had pouted and shifted from foot to foot nervously a move probably learned from Jimin. But he doesn't even have to ask just looks up at Seokjin with his wide dark eyes and he’s already kissing him on the forehead too. “Goodnight loves” Seokjin had said, low and hushed.

- Jungkook looked equally as reverent and put upon with affection his little cottontail twitching happily as Hoseok had chirped. “Sorry about that! He’s such a goof falling asleep everywhere.” His hand hovering a second next to yours as he said, “see you tomorrow I guess” you’d smiled, a little too happy at the thought of seeing him again. “Yeah! See you tomorrow”

- Yoongi had stumbled down the stairs soon after. Seeking out your lap for comfort. His words slurring, “where did Minnie go?” Namjoon had tugged on his tail playfully, “he had to go home- you know to his actual bed where he actually sleeps- I swear when I read that cats sleep 18 hours a day I didn’t actually think that was true for hybrids.”

- “Hoseok says tiger hybrids don’t sleep that long.” You had commented. All their ears perk up at that- it’s no secret you have a soft spot for the shyest hybrid next door.

- The hybrid who is now at your door, looking down like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed in. Tae shifts from foot to foot, “I was wondering if-” his voice is small, strangled by the anxiety in his throat. “Could I help you cook today Hyung? Minnie and kooky are both hanging out with Yoongi-Hyung and Namjoon-Hyung and Hobi-Hyung won’t be back from work till 6.”

- One thing that Hoseok had imparted to you was how unused Taehyung was to being alone and how anxious it made him. A few weeks ago, Hoseok had to call over and apologized, saying that they wouldn’t be able to make it over for dinner like usual because of Taehyung.

- Jungkook had told you later what had happened. How Taehyung had become so touch starved and shivery and anxious that they’d all piled on top of him the whole night. He’d whined and almost burst into tears each time any of them had gotten up from the cuddle puddle.

- It’s that neediness that makes you part your arms and let Taehyung fold his large body into yours, determined to make himself as small as possible no matter that you’re still in-between Seokjin’s legs, he has to part them more to let Taehyung in.

- Seokjin casts a glance at the clock, letting his hand trace over Taehyung’s arms where they’re wrapped around your back, he’s putting his full weight on your shoulders and all- but you don’t mind. Seokjin feels the Fondness creep up in him, he wants to coo at the way Taehyung’s ears always shake back and forth when he gets happy.

- “It’s a little early to start Taehyung if I started dinner now it would be a little cold by the time Hobi gets home.” Seokjin doesn’t let the significance of home linger but catches the way you bite your lower lip. Because the only ones who haven’t accepted that they’re all basically headed that way are you and Hoseok.

- Taehyung looks crestfallen for a moment, “But I think we do need to go to the store to get some stuff if you’d like to accompany us- if you’re feeling up to it.” Taehyung perks up instantly and nods happily “Definitely! I can help you carry the groceries!” Seokjin definitely does not mention the fact that they don’t need enough stuff to require both Tae and Seokjin to go- but maybe Seokjin should utilize the extra help when he can get it. And he won’t burst the adorable bubble that is Kim Taehyung.

- “We should probably leave Hobi a note,” you say, “and tell the others!” Taehyung walks to the edge of your deck and shouts- surprisingly loud after his quietness to the others. Yoongi and Jimin may not hear him- but if they wake up and head over to the garden to ask Namjoon and Kooky they’ll find out where you went.

- “A heart? Really? You want me to add a heart to the note? You know you two could just text,” Seokjin teases; when you dictate him a note to Hobi- you’ll put it on his front door. There is a little collection of likewise notes that Hobi has left on your door on sitting on the window sill, occasionally you’ll bring the small pile over to Seokjin and ask him to read them to you. As it goes- most of them are actually for Seokjin- since Hobi knows you can’t read them without the help of the others.

- Though that might change soon. The other day Jimin came over for Yoongi, Seokjin had answered the door. Jimin had barely even stopped to press a sticky note to Seokjin’s forehead, stood on his tippy toes to kiss him fully on the lips with a loud (and wet) smack. Before he stomped up the stairs to what Jimin has started to call “the cuddle room” ie Namjoon’s/Seokjin’s old room, and where Yoongi slept whenever he wanted to stretch out like a starfish. (Taehyung shows up soon after, and also piles into the cuddle room after sleepily bumping into both the wall and Namjoon on his way up the stairs.)

- Namjoon roared with laughter until he can get enough breath to tell you what happened and then the laughter doubles. Seokjin still standing in the doorway. Absolutely astounded at Jimin’s unending battiness, but blushing so hard that he almost wants to melt into the floor.

- Hoseok always leaves little footnotes for Seokjin too- always little tidbits or jokes, like hope you have an eggcellent day Jin-Hyung! or I’m gonna try and find some of your youtube videos on my break today, or why can’t towels tell jokes? because they have a dry sense of humor! that leave Jin grinning and laughing after he reads them.

- Even though Seokjin is often the one to receive the notes, Jimin had informed you that Hobi got a book on braille so that he can start giving you ones that you’ll actually be able to read. The little sneak- Hobi had probably meant it to be a surprise.

- He’d picked it up from the local library on an outing with Jimin and Namjoon. And Hobi had sent you what Seokjin described as an adorable picture of Jimin and Namjoon snuggled in one of the reading nooks together. Seokjin ends up printing out that picture and adding it to the growing collection of them on the wall in the living room.

- There are more than a few hearts on those notes; sometime Hobi will sign them with a heart instead of his name. If Seokjin could roll his eyes anymore they’d fall out of the back of his head, he doesn’t know why Hoseok doesn’t just ask you out already- they all know it’s coming. But still, you insist on tiptoeing around each other.

- Taehyung happily takes your arm while you walk to the store, chirping and pointing out the strangest things. “I like this street because all of the doors on the houses are different colors,” and “that car has like- a billion stickers on it- and half of them are for the same sports team” Seokjin chimes in whenever possible. But sequitously drops back and takes a photo of you two, adding it to his Instagram...which is greeted by immediate fanfare.

- It’s not like Seokjin has been really secretive about the growing change in his life or hid it from his fans, but his youtube channel has taken somewhat of a backseat recently with all of the excitement in his personal life- he’s only been making cooking videos like once or twice a week instead of nearly every day like he used to.

- He hasn’t come out and said it or alluded to why Hoseok's hybrids have started popping up here and there in his social media, or even the human himself who helped Jin try to kook blindfolded the other day. He asked you first of course, and you made a mini-competition out of it with you, Seokjin, and Hoseok cooking together and the others testing it- none too surprisingly, Seokjin still wins because you and Hoseok spend most of the time giggling and falling into each other and burn both of your pans.

- The episode finishes with you talking about your blindness, both of them leaning in and admitting how hard it must be for you. though it’s never really your intention to feel indulgent, you admit it was kind of cathartic. Seokjin and Hoseok come out of it with new a new perspective. A the moment, when you sit in between both of them and they admit how strong they think you are.

- At the store, Taehyung sets about retrieving things for Seokjin, who barks off a list from his phone. All in all its uneventful though Seokjin does add a carton of Minnie ice-cream cones to the cart after Taehyung glances at them a few times, his ears pinned to his hair, unsure how to ask for them. He blushes and Seokjin sends him a knowing glance. later outside, Taehyung gives Seokjin a small smile that's worth everything and says, “you take care of us so well Hyung,” his smile boxy and easy, leaning into Jin so sweetly.

- When you get home, you’re not surprised to find Hobi sitting on your back porch watching Namjoon and Jungkook throw a frisbee back and forth, occasionally sending it Hoseok's way. The gate between both of your yards is open (it’s rarely closed anymore).

- Seokjin drags you close and whispers when he spots the redheads work tangled mop sitting on your steps. “He’s wearing his suit- I’ll have you know it looks all rumpled and cute. Ask him out before I do I swear” before he nudges you in the direction of the stairs.

- Hobi straightens at your presence, standing in a rush; Seokjin sees that he’s holding your note. Taehyung makes to say hello to his owner but before he can Seokjin drags him back by the hood of his sweatshirt. Pressing a kiss to his cheek in response to Taehyung whines. “Why don’t you help me chop up some of the carrots for bibimbap Tae,”

- “Thanks for taking them today,” Hobi says, taking your hand and helping you sit down against the steps next to him.

- “It’s no trouble- I think Namjoon’s glad for the company, and Yoongi as well, I think anyway. None of us mind it at all.” And it’s true, you love the way that your house has become a meeting place for all of them, even though it does get twice as loud as usual, and sometimes it’s more difficult than usual to distance yourself and concentrate on work.

- “How was your day?” you ask, Hobi sighs his hands through his hair, making it look even more tousled, curling against the nape of his neck in the humidity “Long, I’m just happy it’s Friday!”

- “Oh yeah forgot it was,”

- Hoseok pouts, pushing against your shoulder amicably “I’m still so jealous you get to work from home and make your own hours- that’s so convenient and I’m stuck going all the way into the city every single day,”

- “Yeah it has it’s perks, I get cuddle while I work more often than not. Did you know Tae cuddled me all day yesterday? Kookie too because Namjoon had another day at the community center.”

- “Yeah, he gushed to me about it for about an hour last night while he took a bath. speaking of cuddles” Yoongi and Jimin walk past the two of you- probably on the way to the cuddle room now that the hammock is a little too cold, but Hoseok doesn’t let Jimin past, yowling for a moment when he pulls the cat into his lap.

- On the other side of you, Yoongi cuddles up to your side, kissing your cheek. the sound of loud purring pervading the back steps. Eventually, the two cats detangle themselves and head upstairs. Someone (probably Tae) starts up the speaker in the kitchen to play some new kitschy pop music that spills through the open door.

- Hoseok lets out a happy sigh and taps his foot to the beat subconsciously. Jungkook crows in delight as he makes a particularly large hop, catching the Frisbee out of the air making Namjoon jump up in down happily- a habit that he’d begun to pick up from Jungkook.

- “You seem a little quiet today,” you comment, your hand hovering just an inch away from Hobi’s on the wooden step, you dont know that hoseok has his eyes closed and is listening to all of it.

- The clangs from the kitchen, Jungkook’s and Namjoon’s happy yells, the music, the everything that Hoseok appreciates so much. both of you would be lying if you said that your hybrids had nothing to do with how reluctant you are to push forward with your own relationship. Thought it’s nothing that either of you would ever admit to- not even to Seokjin or Jungkook. In the worst case scenario- if you date and then break up- it would probably break all of their hearts not only yours.

- but hypotheicals only do so much for so long, hoseok stretches his hand out a little, his fingertips pressing against yours. For a moment he resists the urge, he’s loathed to damage the peace here, but then you give his had a reassuring squeeze.

- From inside the kitchen, Yoongi and jimin have decided to stay and help chop things, but the cutting boards lay untended on the counter. Taehyung too has piled to the side of the bay doors to secretly watch the two of you. “Jin get over here” Yoongi hisses as Taehyung jostles him by leaning his elbows on Yoongi’s shoulders. “I think it’s finally about to happen” jimin whispers hiss as they watch, all piled to peer around the door.

- Both of you are oblivious to the audience you have, even as Namjoon and Jungkook start sending you two furtive glances. “Do you want to maybe-” Hoseok pauses, a little unsure, “go out for ice-cream tomorrow? Have you been to the cute place in myeongdong yet? They mix shaved ice and vanilla and it’s so good.”

- “Yeah but we probably would have to get like 5 for all of them Seokjin loves shaved ice so much-” Hoseok’s hope falls incrementally. he scratches at the back of his head with his other hand.

- “Uhm I meant- I meant just the two of us? But you can totally bring Jin if you want to I know he’s like- I know I’m not great at like making sure you don’t crash into things” he thinks about an unfortunate incident that occurred last week when you came over to his house and almost fell horribly into a glass side table. internally wincing.

- “But I thought it would be nice to kind spend some time one on one… if you- if you want to” he trails off, glad you can't see how bright red he is- god it’s been so so long since he asked anyone out on a date he can’t believe how badly he just fucked that up.

- But you won’t let him get away with anything. “Do you mean like a date?” Hoseok’s ears burn, he replies even quieter and even more unsure, “only if you want it to be- we can, we can just go as friends too, if you- if you want?” you grip his hand tight, glad that the light spilling from the kitchen allows you to properly judge where Hoseok’s face is, reach out to press your hand to his cheek.

- Inside, Seokjin slaps a hand over Jimin's mouth the second he’s about to shout in joy, while Yoongi pumps his arm and swallows his excitement as Taehyung bounces on the balls of his feet, biting on his knuckles to keep from exclaiming, boxy grin impossibly wide.

- “Shaved ice sounds lovely, we can go just us two- I’m sure the boys will be glad to have some time to goof off.”

- “Okay” he says, the words quiet and hopeful, He leans his hand into your cheek, you can feel how warm it is, and the flutter of his eyelashes, the streach of his mouth into a wide smile, softer than the rest. All of it- you are keenly aware of every little movement he makes to lean in closer to you. and feel even more keenly when he stops, heating up a little as he turns his head and sees whatever's in the kitchen.

- He stays for dinner, all of them do. they move the kitchen table out onto the deck and pile in, though Yoongi does have to sit on the ottoman that was in the living room. (Though Jimin is practically sitting in his lap the whole night- really why did you even bother grabbing 2 chairs for them?).

- None of them mention or tease when you both inform them that tomorrow night you’re going to go out, though the eye wiggling wink jimin gives Hoseok makes him flush and sink into his seat.

- You compliment Taehyung on the braised acorn squash he tells you proudly that he made all on his own with barely any help from Seokjin. He feeds you the best piece with his own chopsticks, and he blushes and flicks his tail against Seokjin’s face, squeaking when he grabs it and pulls lovingly.

- The next day before your date with Hobi, Taehyung, and Jimin and Jungkook walk over to your house toting their X-box, it’s many cords and more than a few bags of snacks.

- Seokjin answers the door and lets them in. Jimin snickers standing on his tippy toes to press a kiss to the underside of Seokjin’s jaw and says, “he changed 5 times for this” within earshot of you, Namjoon snags his hip and scents along the Coolum of Jimin’s throat in hello after doing the same to Jungkook and Tae. “she changed 3 and had us weigh in on each outfit” Namjoon adds.

- Seokjin stoops to kiss both of their cheeks, “I spent a full hour on her makeup too!” then he returns to your side to help you put on your jean jacket, before you dart back into your room at the sound of the doorbell “just tell him I’ll be ready in a second! i forgot about my perfume”

- The doorbell rings again, and Seokjin lets Hoseok in. His leg is twitching and he tosses a little nervous hello at Seokjin before his hands reach up as if to run through his hair- carefully a little windswept before he stops- like he’s worried about messing it up.

- Seokjin takes one good look at Hoseok’s rumpled white button-down and shakes his head. “That won’t do” tugging on the corner of his shirt half-tucked into his tight dark skinny jeans, tugging it up further so that it comes loose “off- there's iron in the laundry room.”

- Hoseok eyes Seokjin for a moment, when the elder raises an eye expectantly Hoseok finally starts unbuttoning it. “No undershirt- really?” Hoseok blushes at that and throws him the shirt. Jimin wolf whistles, which Namjoon answers with an honest to god whistle. Both of them leaning over the back of the couch to watch Hoseok, drinking in the low rise pants and happy trail combo (along with the abs? how the hell does Hoseok manage to have abs when he has full-time job?)

- Jimin’s green cat eyes are sharp and teasing “Hey hubby” he greets with a flutter of his eyelashes, his patchy tail swishing. “hey menace” Hoseok teases lovingly, as he trails away after Jin.

- Just under the stairs and it’s cealing slanted on one side, Seokjin leaves the laundry room door open. a shelf of cubbies consumes the nonslanted wall some of them empty and others full of towels and bins of winter jackets or baskets full of snow boots. There is a basket of laundry on top of the drier and Hoseok definitely doesn’t let his eyes linger on whatever lacy and translucent thing is kind of falling out and over the top.

- Seokjin pops an iron board from where it’s folded against the wall, clicking on the iron (which was many more settings and looks a lot more heavy duty than a regular one) and makes sure it’s filled with steam. Hoseok briefly recalls one of your late-night conversations about Seokjin- about what he’d done before you’d adopted him and his time as a show hybrid, and Hoseok briefly wonders if he’d learned how to do this from that.

- While they wait a minute for the iron to heat up Seokjin holds out his hand. “give me your phone” Hoseok hands it over with a raised eyebrow, Seokjin clicks around on it for a moment.

- “I think it’s good that you both are getting some alone time but incase anything happens I want you to have my number.” Jin says. “I don’t want to smother you both but-”

- “Jin you’re not some overprotective parent. I totally understand why you would be- hell- I’m worried every time she takes Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook to the park.”

- “It’s not that I don’t trust them it’s just that…“ where Seokjin trails off Hoseok finishes.

- “They’re not the most aware bunch.” Seokjin smiles at Hoseok finishing his sentence, looking up at Hoseok with only the thin ironing board between the two of them. And Hoseok finds himself suddenly aware of the fact that he’s shirtless-In what is basically a closet with all 6-foot glory of Kim Seokjin and his delicate countenance that disarms Hoseok in dangerous ways.

- Even with you waiting for him out in the living room, Seokjin makes his heart stutter and it’s not like you wouldn’t understand if he explained to you. More often than not Hoseok has come in to find you snuggled into Seokjin or kissing him or cuddling him or Namjoon or all three of your hybrids. And newer- all three of his. And Hoseok doesn’t mind one bit.

- Seokjin checks the iron, holding his hand a safe inch away from it to feel its heat and then turn it up all the way, before he starts and carefully smoothing out Hoseok’s shirt, pressing around the edges with a practiced air. “is it bad that I’m nervous?”

- “It would be worse if you weren’t.” Seokjin finishes quickly, setting the iron back into a standing position and Hoseok is sure he has one of those back in his house but he’s not sure he’s ever used it- some move in present from his mother. Seokjin holds shirt out for Hoseok to step into.

- Is it just Hoseok’s imagination? Or his Seokjin letting his fingers brush a little more over the planes of his chest as he button’s up Hoseok’s shirt. He’s blushing by the end of it.

- When Seokjin makes a ticking noise at his hair and runs his hand through Hoseok’s hair to make it more tousled. he bemoans the loss of effort, he’d spent thirty minutes makeing it perfect, but the intent expression on seokjin’s face, suddenly closer, makes the complaint die in his throat. “She’ll be able to tell,” Seokjin says. “What?”

- “if she touches your arm or your shoulder she’ll be able to tell if it’s smooth or not- and she likes it a lot when it’s smooth and soft.” He says as he runs his fingers down Hoseok's arms and to the cuffs rolling them up once then twice, and checking intermittently to make sure they’re even.

- Seokjin looks down smiling at his memories. “do you know that when we first got here both Namjoon and I individually and independently decided that we both didn’t want to wear any fabrics that she didn’t like? Because we cuddle so much and neither of us wanted to put her off?”

- Hoseok laughs, because what Seokjin’s describing- that’s cute. “What ones should I be worried of? Not that we’re going to be cuddling tonight or anything really” thought Hoseok does have hopes. Seokjin grins- like he knows Hoseok is imagining it. “Say away from chiffons and wool blends, cotton is usually a safe bet- just god no microfiber”

- Seokjin continues combing through Hoseok's locks. Hoseok gets why the hybrids love head rubs so much- it feels unreasonably good and Hoseok doesn’t even have a pair of ultra-sensitive nerve ending dense ears on top of his head. Seokjin fusses with Hoseok’s hair, turning the curls this way and that to get them to a cute placement. “Will she be able to tell my hair is messed up too?”

- Seokjin takes a step towards Hoseok. Close but not pinning him against the ironing board quite yet. Hoseok realizes how tall Seokjin is, the few inches between the two of them feel greater now. Hoseok rarely feels so pinned in and small like this doesn’t even really like feeling that way at least not the same way that Jungkook and Taehyung like.

- But it does calm the nervous bits of him to have Seokjin so close, the tender affection exactly what Hoseok needs as his hand squeezes the back of Hoseok’s neck. “No” Seokjin says, his mouth a perilous few inches from Hoseok’s, the room suddenly too hot and small to contain all of this. “that’s for me.”

- Seokjin doesn’t kiss Hoseok like Hoseok thinks he will. Instead tipping their foreheads together and letting hoseok feel every brush of closeness until their lips truely meet. The moment is quiet and tender, almost stolen. Hoseok’s hands fist in the back of Seokjin’s shirt and the elder's hands are still nested in Hoseok’s hair. Just for a moment really, but it somehow makes Hoseok feel like a live wire sparking with it all, and suddenly he’s not anxious about your date at all as he breaks apart.

- “I trust you with her Hobi.” Jin says after a moment, letting their noses brush before Hoseok pulls back, steadying his hand against the ironing board without thinking about the hot iron.

- This is how your date would have gone:

- Hoseok’s heart would have beaten quick when he saw you in your baby blue dress in your living room, the hybrids would have teased both of you for your blush and Seokjin would have quite literally pushed both of you out the door. Shaved ice would have been a lovely affair in which Hoseok cutely fed you spoonfuls while you let him have sips of your hot chocolate which you got even though it’s the middle of summer.

- Then after, the two of you would linger and walk by the river and Hoseok would have explained to you how all of the lights look and all the neon shrouded night and how hot humidity of summer made the light look diffrent.

- On the way home, the two of you would have cuddled up on the train close and Hoseok would have frozen and gone still when you laid your head on his shoulder and intertwined your hands your ankle brushing his. Scared that the jostling of the moving train would make you vacate his shoulder, a spot that your cheek had always been meant to rest on.

- And then when you got to your front door the following conversation would have taken place:

- “I just realized- we don’t really get to say goodbye- I’ll just go in and get them and then we’ll go over to my house and ugh- I was hoping this would be like the movies- you know when the guy walks the girl home and then they-“ Hoseok would have choked off, stopping his rambling, realizing what he was just about to say.

- Kiss, he would want to kiss you goodnight, a small nervous smile plays on your lips, and Hoseok would have thought wow good job Hoseok now she totally thinks you’re a creep- though it’s not exactly wrong to want to kiss after the first date? He had been clear that this was a date right and you’d agreed so-

- “I’ll pretend it’s a movie if you will.”

- “Oh” he would have said, would have shifted closer his hand coming up to your cheek, “okay,” his lips would be soft and tentative despite the fact that hoseok gives and gets kisses more than the average human. his hair brushing at your forehead, nose a little off, it would be shorter but he’d catch you with your lips parted and now can’t resist opening his mouth a little too. He would have sucked your bottom lip between one of his, not biting on it but pressing it.

- Your hands would have come to rest on his shoulders and coincidentally- his nicely pressed smooth silk shirt, smoothing over it, and retaliated by pressing in close makeing hoseok’s head go the best kind of hazy. nose filled with the prick of your sweet perfume, hands full of the softness of you- and everything from your little ghap when you part every kind of right.

- Neither of you would have cared that you where in the middle of the street, especially when Hoseok’s hand would have gone up to cradle the back of your head and run through your silky hair, he would have tilt your head to just the right angle so that you would melt into the kiss like chocolate on a hot summer day.

- You two would be so caught up In what is basically making out that you wouldn’t notice your front door opening, the 2 hybrids that can't fit into the doorway looking on from the window as Seokjin snorts, “Finally!”

- But instead, what happens is this:

- “Mother fucker!” Hoseok yells flinching back when his hand touches the still burning hot iron, doubling over as hot and consuming pain laces up his arm from his sensitive palm.

(Please comment and reblog! Likes are nice, but they do little to support content creators!)

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photorose11 · 4 years

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An Unbreakable Bond Ch. 1

Here is my latest Ichiruki fic that will be multi chapter! I haven’t started Chapter two yet but I’m sure I will soon. This takes places after almost three years after Ichigo loses his powers after the battle with Aizen. I know in the manga him and Rukia are separated for 17 months but I wanted to put a little more time into it. This is probably kind of sappy, maybe a little AOC but i tried. lol I listen to a lot of music when I write, two good songs that go with this chapter. “I Can’t Breathe” by Bea Miller. and “Lost Without You” by Freya Ridings. Both are beautiful songs. I hope you all enjoy this, please let me know what you think! <3

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach. (If i did, it would have ended a lot differently.)

---

Chapter One: Lost Without You

It had been two years. Two year since he had seen her. Heard her voice. Felt her reiatsu. The first year was hard. Every morning he would wake up, without hearing his closet door open up and seeing her jump out. The first few weeks, he thought he could still hear it because he had gotten so used to the sound in the morning. But every time he looked, the closet door was still closed. She was not there. Every morning he would give a sigh and then reluctantly begin his day.

He tried to focus in school, after a few months it got a little easier to focus and his grades went up because of it. He wished that made him happy, but it didn’t. Frankly, he didn’t care. He tried to, but after spending so much time fighting hollows, arrancars and Aizen. Seeing death, experiencing death and bringing brought back to life (thanks to Orihime) he didn’t know how school can feel that important after going through things such as that.

Every night after eating dinner with his family, he would get ready for bed. Take a shower, get in his pajama pants, brush his teeth and try really hard not to stare at her Chappy designed toothbrush that was still there next to his. He knew she wasn’t coming back, but he didn’t have the heart to throw it away, at least not yet. She had loved that toothbrush. After brushing his teeth, he would crawl into bed, stare at the ceiling and think of her. He would look back at the closet door, imagining how it would be if she was still on the other side of it. He knew he would be a lot happier, if she was still here.

The first year, the pain in his heart felt like someone stuck there Zanpakuto through it and twisted it before ripping it out. He felt it the most at night while staring up at his ceiling, remembering her.

The second year, it wasn’t better. It became worse. He started questioning everything. What was the point of everything that happened if it meant in the end, he lost his powers and lost her? Were they destined to meet just so they could be ripped away from one another? What in the hell was the point of living in a world he didn’t feel like he belonged in, because she wasn’t there with him anymore?

During the second year, every night after getting ready for bed he would stare up at the ceiling again, remembering everything he could about her. Still glancing at the closed closet door, gripping onto the front of his t shirt trying to over come the blossoming pain in his chest. He would close his eyes, as tight as he could. An then he would remember the last time he saw her before she vanished in front of him. He remembered the way she looked up at him in that last second, the look in her violet eyes. He then would think ‘it looked like that goodbye was killing her as much as it was killing me.’

On the last night of the second year, he goes through his usual routine. He remembers that last moment. The last time their eyes met, when he saw her vanish from his view for the first and last time. He grips his t shirt harder, turns onto his side where he can stare at the closet door now fully in his line of sight. He gives an aggravated sigh, thinking how it’s been two damn years, will be the beginning of three tomorrow; and she’s still gone.

She is not coming back.

He rolls back onto his back, but not before glancing at his desk where he can just faintly see the outline of a drawing he has had hung up over his desk for the last two years. One of her drawings he had found in the closet after they had said goodbye. It was a drawing of her in bunny form, he can tell by the semi short black hair. And next to her was another bunny with orange hair, and what looked like a big sword on it’s back. They were in a field, with the sun showing above them. He remembers how he found that drawing laying in his closet a few days after he last saw her. He had held it together until he first laid eyes on it, then before he knew it, he was on his knees in front of the closet, hands covering his face as he cried. He wonders if she drew it meaning to leave it with him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her for much longer.

He feels tears sting his eyes while gazing at it before giving yet again another aggravated sigh and putting his right arm over his eyes, trying to calm down. He questions why he is acting like this, like a complete and utter fool. If Rukia knew she would definitely kick his ass and call him a fool and tell him to start acting like a man. He smiles at the thought of that. He missed calling her midget. He actually missed her calling him “Strawberry”. And then he thinks some more and starts questioning.

‘Why the hell is this still effecting me years later? I know she’s gone an she’s not coming back. Why does It still hurt as much as it did the first week? It’s not like I lo-‘

Before he can finish his thought, he removes his arm from over his eyes and lays it over his heart. Feels his heart rate speed up. His eyes widen and he sits up with a start. Looking at her drawing again and then looking at the closet. In that moment he realizes something that’s really always been right there in front of him... in that moment it feels like time has stopped. He can hear his heart racing, his body slightly shaking; overwhelmed with this sudden realization that is leaving him breathless.

He slowly pulls the bed comforter off him and gets out of bed. He moves to the window and looks up at the night sky and sees it’s a full moon tonight. He feels wetness on his face, he knows what it is but in that moment he doesn’t care due to the breathtaking realization he just had while laying in bed thinking of Rukia. He doesn’t know why he feels scared to say it out loud, but he pulls up the courage to say it because he feels he needs to. He knows she won’t hear him because she’s on a whole other plane of existence. But he thinks saying it may take a little bit of the pain out of his chest.

“I.. love you, Rukia. I think I have always loved you. I just realized it now. I really am a fool; it took me all these years to finally see it. I’m sorry I never said it to you before we said goodbye.” He could feel new tears forming.

“I feel kind of stupid saying this out loud when I know you can’t hear me, but that’s okay.” He took a deep breath, clutching his hands into fists in front of him before speaking again.

“I don’t understand why you can’t visit though. Knowing you, you want me to move on with my life because I’ve lost my powers. I get that, I do. But…” he unclutches his fists before giving a sigh and clenching his eyes shut.

“It feels wrong not being able to talk to you or see you. I know you’d say I belong here because I’m still alive but... I really only feel like I belong wherever you are, with you by my side. I don’t feel alive here without you. Because I’m in love with you and you’re still my best friend. I miss you, Rukia.”

By then he could definitely feel the tears on his face, sliding down his cheeks hitting his hands that are on top of the window seal. But it didn’t frustrate him. He was okay with it. It felt good to say what he did even thought he knew she couldn’t hear him. After a few moments of looking at the moon, he slowly moved back to bed and got under the covers again. He wiped the tears off his face and in minutes he was asleep, clearly worn out from the last ten minutes.

---

He had no way of knowing that a violet eyed Shinigami was standing beside his bed, her own tears streaming down her face. She had heard everything.

He had no way of knowing that she had been there since he had been getting ready for bed, a little over an hour ago. She had been in front of his closet door when he was laying in bed and he kept glancing at the closet door and then above his desk. She knew he was thinking of her. It made her heart ache in a certain way she had become all to accustomed to in the last two years since they had said goodbye. When she returned to Soul Society after disappearing from his view almost three years ago, she gave her report to the head captain and went straight to her corridors at the Kuchiki Estate. Once she had slid her door closed, she dropped to the floor and cried. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like that before, like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. She still felt that pain, every day.

She didn’t expect him to get out of bed when he did. She was standing a few feet behind him when he started talking. After the first few words spoken from his mouth, she thought maybe he knew she was there. Those first few words made her happier than she had ever felt before, but also incredibly sad because even if she said it back; he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

After his small speech spoken into the night air, she was clutching the clothing by her heart. Struggling just to stay upright. She wanted to scream and cry and ask Kami ‘Why, why WHY did this have to happen? Why he did have to lose his powers causing us to say goodbye?’

She watched him slowly move back to his bed and get under the covers. Watched him wipe the tears off his face and drift off to sleep. She felt her heart rate speed up and took a few steps closer to his bed, looked down at him; realizing what it is she needed to do for him… and for her. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to his face, cupping his cheek; running her thumb along it. She heard him give a happy sigh. She smiled tearfully, before pulling her hand away. She knew he couldn’t hear what she was about to say, but that was okay.

“You fool.. I’m in love with you too, Ichigo. It took me just now to truly realize it. I know these last two years have been hell, they have been for me too.” Before she continued, she gently knelt by his bedside and shakily reached out a hand and laid it atop of his. She looked up at him, new tears forming in her eyes.

“But I am going to fix this. You are going to see me again. I’m sorry it took me two years to realize that I’ve been a fool for staying away this whole time. I have missed my best friend.” With that said, she gave his hand a light squeeze before pulling away and standing back up. She walked to his window, gave one last smile at his sleeping form before speaking one last thing.

“You will see me soon, Ichigo. I promise.”

-----

They did not know but in just a few days Ichigo would meet Kugo Ginjo, not to long after that Kisuke Urahara will ask for Rukia’s help in order to restore Ichigo’s powers. Without hesitation, she agrees. The next few weeks, things will change more then they had in those last three years.

They both realized it as soon as Rukia had pierced her Zanpakuto through him again, and he slowly turned his gaze towards her. She gave a smile meant only for him. She felt the beginning of tears in her eyes but pushed them back. Now was not the time for tears. Tears of happiness will have to come later. All he could do in those first few moments was stare in shock, before he felt the familiar feeling of power consume him. She watched on in excitement for him, and happiness. She knew they had a lot to discuss, once these battles were over.

She had no doubt in her mind that he would win this battle. He always did. She continued to watch him, wondering what the future would hold once this was over.

Whatever it were to bring, she was ready to face it with Ichigo by her side.

#ichiruki fanfic #ichiruki fanfiction #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #ichigo x rukia #bleach fanfiction #so sappy #i love them #bleach #lost without you

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

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A Night Like This (Sriracha, Part 10.)

Description: A problematic college student gets the worst summer job of the ‘83 - Jim Hopper, the Chief of police in your hometown will have you as his secretary since his old lady Flo has two months lasting holiday. It was agreed so Hopper could let you far away from all the trouble.

Part Summary: The last fourteen days in Hawkins is all you have. And Jim is willing to do anything to give you the most unforgettable fourteen days of your life so far.

A/N: OKAY. I HEAR YOU SAYING - NEVER SURRENDER IS 1985. Baby, pretend for me that it was released two years prior. Queen (the movie) also wasn't accurate as well and did you walked out of the cinema? Also, the next few parts are going to be influenced by Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now by Starship, because that's such a cheesy love song and it made me fall in love with the eighties music.

Word Count: 6 K (AND I OOP-)

Tagging: @nemodoren @missdictatorme @creedslove

Master list: H E R E

When you opened up your eyes, you were all alone in the bed and the trail was smelling just nice. You heard dishes making sounds and a male humming, which you assumed that it had to belong to Hopper. You heard quick footsteps and then quiet opening of the door and you smiled, when Hopper stuck his head there with a curious face.

He smiled as well when he saw you just resting in the bed. He opened up the door completely, letting the smell of cooked food in and he sat on the edge. Hopper really did something with himself - his hair was surely taken care of, but he kept the beard. He was dressed in a brown flannel shirt and jeans, the shirt tugged in. You inhaled and then you giggled, hugging the pillow under you.

“What?” - Hopper asked and leaned into his palm, resting it next to your leg.

“Since when do you wear cologne?” - You asked and your smile widened even more. - “And by the way... Good morning, handsome.”

“So, she still thinks that I'm handsome even if we are both sober.” - Hopper noted quietly, making you laugh. - “Slept well?” - He asked and laid down, his face now in the range of touch.

“You can say that, yeah.” - You nodded and did as you wished to - you raised your palm and touched his jaw for the first time. You wondered at the feeling of his soon-to-be-beard on your skin. The hair on his face was harsh. You didn't know if he remembers a shit about the last night and you half-expected that he'd turn away or something. But he didn't. - “You?”

“Well, I almost hit the sack and suffocated you once or twice durin' the night. But you always snuggled back.” - Hopper smiled, kissing the inside of your palm. So he remembered at least a part of the night. That made you smile even wider. - “Like a damn sweet tick.”

“How much do you remember from last night?” - You asked and smiled when you saw his nose traveling on your wrist and down. Hopper put his fingers around your wrist just like that, he had impressively long fingers, and gently dragged you slowly dragging you until he put his arm around your waist. There was a small moment on silence when the man looked you in the eyes for permission before you leaned in for a kiss. This one was different - first thing was that your teeth weren't brushed yet and the other one was that... This felt more passionate. This felt more real than the underwater kiss. It felt sober and wanted. Again, the heat traveled throughout your whole body and slowly, you got on your knees to give even more into the kiss, holding his jaws in your palms so you were sure that he won't turn away.

Little did you know that Hopper wouldn't turn away under any circumstances.

You kissed him. And he was kissing you back. If you weren't a responsible adult, then things could get heated pretty quickly - his tongue was swift with entering your mouth, your teeth met once or twice and he even bit your teeth with a contained smile. And that taste... Oh, Lord. there were definitely cigarettes and some food he tasted before he checked on you, but his personal flavor? Oh damn. With a wide smile, you pulled away from the kiss, hugging his shoulders as you sat down.

That fucker's contained smile was more than words - he was giving you a grin, slowly licking his lips. Hopper couldn't take his eyes off you even when you were asleep. Messy hair, sloppily winking eyes and a contained expression. He didn't surely tell you everything about the night - he had woken up around four in the morning to take a piss and he forgot that he had someone there with him - until you hummed angrily because he was moving.

Jim noticed that you were hugging him, your legs entwined with his, your fingers entwined. He wiggled out of your embrace in the most gentle way he could and quickly pissed so he wouldn't leave you all alone. When he came back, he only quickly put boxers from the same drawer you took them and the positions changed. Now he was spooning you, his arm wrapped from your hip to your breasts because you were way gentler than he was. You hugged one of his legs with both of yours, your arms circled around his.

He couldn't fall asleep since then - he only laid there pressed on you, his nose was buried in your hair as he held you so you could feel completely safe. He didn't feel such calmness for a really long time. All the negative feelings disappeared through the window and the only thing he was concentrating was the beat of your heart against his very own and the way you held his arm.

Maybe you were right after all. The toughness and ignorance were only masks so he could stay on his own until the end. He wasn't able to open up for anyone else - he wasn't sure if he would survive another person tearing his heart apart like Diane did. But with that, he restrained himself from such beautiful feeling as those which he felt were. What a shame.

“Does that answer your question about my memory?” - Hopper mumbled before giving you a peck and getting up, disappearing into the kitchen for a moment. - “I got you somethin'.”

He put the small bag aside, that was for you as well, but he was happier about a particular tape he got his hands on. The youngling selling the tape to him was rather surprised that the tough guy Jim Hopper, the Chief of Hawkins police department, could listen to the Romantics. He gave the tape to you and you opened it up.

“In Heat by The Romantics?” - You asked back - it included three songs. Talking in Your Sleep, A Night Like This and What I Like About you. Nothing, literally nothing, could be cheesier than getting a tape like this. But you smiled and it really made you happy. And that made Hopper happy as well. - “What's that for? Jesus, Hopper, thank you... But I have this at home already.”

“I bought it so we can listen to some of their songs here. Maybe even dance to them?” - Hopper asked and put his lips into a smile. You opened up your mouth and then laughed once again. Hopper was inviting you to your place at least one more time.

"For real?" - You whispered to him, looking him in the eyes. Was that a date proposal? Was that Jim telling you that he likes you in his own way? No matter what it was, you felt happy. He nodded, humming. - "You can stick around if that's what you would like to do. I won't be mad."

"My last two weeks in Hawkins are all yours, then." - You promised, throwing the tape into the blankets, pulling him in for another kiss. So this was a kind of proposal for him. He didn't want to tell you that he wants to date you or that he wants to tell you that he really likes you, he just wasn't able to bring himself to say things like that out loud - but that tape was damn close.

"Hey. What about takin' a shower and having breakfast first? My turn to show you that I can cook." - Jim pushed you away gently. Now, when it was obvious how much you wanted each other, there was no need to take everything quickly. You sighed and got up from the bed, pulling him closer with his shirt for the last peck before leaving.

"And don't you stare at my ass, Jim Hopper!" - You yelled back at him and he just smirked, already staring at your ass clothed in his boxers. While you were in the shower, he hung you the bag there - there was a toothbrush with fresh toothpaste, a comb and a pair of black, lacy panties which were really similar to the ones you left at your place - at least he could say what style did you prefer and what kind of underwear you liked. You weren't complaining at all, no, but it rose your eyebrows pretty quickly.

Once you dressed up into your clothes, still leaving his old, bleached stained blue shirt on, tugged into your pants, you went to look at the masterpiece he was cooking.

The presentation actually surprised you - there was a mug for both of you and you could choose from coffee, juice, and tea. He bought some fresh fruit and he was cooking something you couldn't identify, yet it smelled just delicious.

"And she keeps on stealin' my clothes, doesn't she?" - Hopper asked while he added milk into the mysterious food and you sat down to the table, pouring yourself some tea.

"You bought everything in the grocery store, didn't you? Bet that this is the biggest amount of food you had here in a long time." - You answered back and took a plate of banana while you watched his ass. He had a great one, you needed to say. - "Nobody knows you're wearing actual clothes because no one in Hawkins saw you outside your uniform, calm down."

"Touché." - Hopper answered and poured you the thing inside a bowl. It looked... Awful. You looked him in the eyes and saw how excited he is for you to try it out, so you bit your bottom lip and took a whole spoon of the mysterious something. You expected immediate throwing up, but it actually was delicious. You rose your eyebrows and nodded with respect, taking another plate of banana.

"Finger-lickin' good, isn't it?" - Hopper asked, taking his bowl to sit on the opposite side of the table. You opened your mouth, your face clearly showing a good portion of the offense.

"That's my catchphrase, Mr. Handsome! Don't you dare to steal it." - You responded, eating more of that sweet something.

"Oh, I forgot that KFC shamin' is your thing. My sincere apologies." - Hopper answered in response.

You were amazed by how relaxed he actually seemed to be. You never saw him smiling... Let alone smiling without being unable to stop. His jokes were just a continuous thing that didn't seem to disappear as soon as you open up your mouth.

"It's Friday. What are you doing tonight?" - You asked and finished the bowl in complete silence, yet the childish looks and grins were still in the air.

"Don't have any plans. What are you about to do?" - Hopper asked back and started to clean up the table. Another childish smile came upon your lips as you stole him another cigarette. He spared you one of those you shouldn't be smoking looks but kept his mouth shut.

"Guess I'm having a sleepover?" - You asked innocently and even if Hopper's face was turned away from you, you could say that he's grinning. Secretly, he hoped you would say this, but he wasn't giving you any of that for free.

"Oh, really? At your friend's?" - Hopper asked back, pretending to play along. - "What are you goin' to do, girls?"

"Girly stuff, you know what I mean. She has around six and a half feet, a beard and she is pretty buffed, so I'm going to paint her nails, we'll talk about boys, watch TV and I'll tell something about current fashion trends." - You poked fun of Hopper's shirt and at the moment, Hopper turned around to face you.

"Is her style really that bad?" - He asked worriedly. He wanted to look good for you, because it was actually a miracle to have a girl so much younger liking someone like he was. He wasn't in the best shape, looked like a living nightmare in the morning and he overall was just a bit too old... For a college student.

Hopper didn't know what was attracting you to him, but he told himself that he won't be risking if he takes a bit better care of his looks that morning.

"No, she looks good, but I think we can bring out her eyes even more. They're beautiful." - You said quietly. Hopper didn't have a proper response to that, so he just turned back to continue with the dishes. So you thought he was hot. You told him he's handsome. And you liked his eyes. What else did you like about him? He had thirteen days to discover all of it and to be honest... He couldn't wait.

"Anyway, I'm going to head home. Mom was kind of weirded out when I just disappeared minutes before dinner. I owe her an explanation. Do you have any menthol chewing gum around here by any chance, big guy?" - You stood up and took your backpack, packing all your stuff - the clothes from yesterday. You left the comb, toothbrush and paste he bought you in the bathroom, so he would know you're keeping your word.

"In the car." - He threw the keys at you and let you take your bike from the trunk. But there was the chewing gum, that was a real mystery for you. Well, until you felt two hands on your hips while you were leaning into the car, desperately searching for it.

They were hidden under the newspaper in the small drawer at the co-driver's seat. - "Need a ride home?"

"Oh, dear lord, no. That would be weird. One of our neighbors came to ask mom when you gave me the first one and I wouldn't explain why did you do it for the second time." - You smiled, looking him in the face. He wasn't smiling anymore. Was he sad that you're leaving? It would be cute, but it would make you sad as well.

"Hey, don't give me a face like this. This weekend is all yours. I promise." - You rose your pinky and gave him a smirk. He repeated your actions, starting to smile as well. - "But now, you should at least pretend that you're interested in your work. It's about nine, the right time to head to the office."

"Flo won't be mad if I tell her that I was savin' a person in distress." - His hands found your waist and you almost went mad. Jesus, all of that was just so exciting for you. Your smile widened when you caught the shirt on his chest and brought him a little bit closer.

"So that's you were doing every morning?" - You whispered, daring to look him in the eyes.

"Not until now." - Hopper admitted with a smirk, finally kissing you. It was a strange fascination to feel his lips pressed to yours, the beard scratching your face, the playfulness when you opened up your mouth just right to let him take control of the situation. You didn't even realize how close you pressed his body and how tight were you hugging him, traveling with your hands on his back - until the kiss stopped.

"I’ll swing around here by eight? What about that? Maybe leave me a key under the big mossy rock?” - You swung legs over the bike, taking the bubble gum to your mouth, looking at Hopper. - “You have yourself a deal, missy.” - Hopper told and with that, you biked away from the trail.

You were happy - you really were. You didn't exactly know how to name the thing you two had - it wasn't a relationship, it wasn't romancing, it surely wasn't dating - what the hell was it, then? Should you even think about that? All that mattered was that you felt good around him and he felt good around you. Kissing him wasn't exactly in the plan, but when you thought about it, your heart raced at the speed of light. His Blazer drove past you, but he didn't acknowledge your presence since you were both waiting for a green light in front of the city hall. When it showed, both of you turned at the opposite sides - you were speeding to your home and Jim was off to the office.

You knew that your mom will be really super-pissed once you walk into the house. But you could say that you didn't give a fuck. There were more important things you got on your mind. You parked your bike next to the garage and unlocked the door, your mom almost immediately jumped at you.

“Where the hell have you been? Just running out of the house at seven p.m.? What's gotten into you?!” - She closed the door with a slam. And as you heard the loud bang, a perfect excuse formed in your head.

“Hopper.” - You said with hesitation. She put her palms on her hips, watching your face. - “I realized that it was on the sixteenth of August yesterday and... Hopper told me that he was in Vietnam on this date nine years ago, something nasty over there and I was just worried about PTSD coming back. I also thought that I can make a great case study out of that.”

There was a moment of silence when your mom was thinking about what youve said. After that, she nodded slowly, watching the t-shirt you had on.

“Oh, so you were with him?” - She asked and you could say that shes a partially afraid of that.

“Well, yes, but he was already wasted by the time I found him. He just needed someone to talk to, mom. And... He puked on me, so that's why he borrowed me this shirt. Yeah.” - You gave her a small smile before she hugged you. Oh, so now, you were the hero of the story. Only if she would know... You closed your eyes and hugged your back with a sad smile.

“You are such a good girl and we raised you so well. You saw a troubled man and decided to help him when he needed it the most. I'm so proud of you.” - She held your face and kissed your forehead. Aiden was just walking the stairs down when he saw the situation which was going on.

Your eyes met for a while and he could say that something isn't exactly the same on you. He could say - you maybe hated each other, but he was your little brother in the end. It made him furrow, but he kept his damn mouth shut. He knew that if you would be up for a talk, you will come to him on your own.

“Also, would you mind if I stay for the weekend at Julia’s? We want to hang out before I move out to Indianapolis.” - You bit your bottom lip nervously, smiling at her. Julia always had your ass when you were doing something that your parents didn't have to know about, just as you had hers. You knew each other since kindergarten and actually hanged out a lot, but since boys and different interesting things came to both of your lives, you decided to cover each other when you need it.

“No problem, darling. She'll be thrilled. What's your plan?” - Your mom asked while you were on your way to the phone.

“Julia wants to take her new car for a ride, so well be most probably go to the drive-in theater.” - You told her with a smile, dialing the number, watching your mom continuing with tidying up. Julia's mom picked up in time.

“Nguyen’s residence, what do you need?” - She asked in a sweet tone. Dear Lord, you loved Mrs. Nguyen. She was a sweetheart working as an economical assistant in local mechanic’s and she always cooked the best pancakes.

“Hi, Mrs. Nguyen, it’s Y/N. May I speak to Julia?” - You asked and took the backpack off. You heard Mrs. Nguyed yelling at her daughter and their dialogue in the dialogue before Julia got a hold of the actual telephone.

“What's up? I haven't heard from you in weeks. Heard you still got a job at the PD station, how's that treating you? Or, how's Hopper treating you? Still the pain in your ass?” - She giggled, poking fun of you. You rolled your eyes and laughed as well.

“Nice weather today, want to plan something?” - You asked, sending her a clear message to make her understand what you needed from her. She made a long “ah” before letting you answer her questions. - “The part-time job was actually fun. I helped with a few cases, the policemen were really polite and nice... I enjoyed the stay there.”

“Definitely a nice weather out there, missy. I just wanted to call you and ask the same question. Steve from biology classes, you?” - She covered the phone, you could hear that, and you made a sound so she would understand that you can't exactly speak. You didn't even want to talk with her about Hopper. Not at that point. You didn't even know if there's something to tell her about.

“Okay, I'll see you in the evening then.” - She yelled clearly so her mother would hear her and you laughed, looking at your mom as well. - “See you, bye.”

With that, you had a long day ahead of you. First of all, you packed everything you thought you needed, prepared an outfit and had a shower. Then you decided to wear something else and rearranged the outfit again. You needed to look like you're not up to something, but you wanted to look attractive at least a bit.

Around lunchtime, you descended to the kitchen to have some lemonade, since it was almost unbreathable in your room. And you almost shitted yourself when you heard who was calling to your mom.

“Ah, yes, Chief. She told me about your PTSD problem and so... I'm so sorry about that. - Ah, yes. - She’s here actually. - You want to talk to her? - No problem. - To thank her for listening to you? - Alright.” - She nodded at you, giving you the phone. You nodded at her and waited until you saw her going to the garden.

“Are you actually crazy?” - You breathed out and giggled, almost whispering to the phone. You could almost see Hopper licking his lips at that. And he was also smoking again.

“I ain't the one who told your mom I have PTSD. I just thought about takin' some food and then pickin' you up?" - Hopper asked as quietly as you and you giggled, making a serious face when your mom entered the room again. - "No, that's alright, sir. Oh, don't worry about the shirt, I'll just do the laundry. Anyway." - You talked while she was in the room, watching you with a smile, going back whispering as soon as she left.

"No way, Hopper. The food sounds just great, but no picking me up. I can drive my own bike, you know?" - You asked, leaning your shoulder to the wall. No matter how embarrassing this was for both of you, it was actually very sweet.

"And I would've never doubted that. See you at eight-fifteen then?" - He asked quietly again and you rolled your eyes. Jesus, that man was a piece of work.

"Yes. At eight-fifteen, your place. And don't ever call here again. Mom would ask me." - You begged him, watching your mom watering the roses in front of your house. - "And I really don't want to tell her. Go back to work, Chief and solve a case for me."

"Right. See ya." - Hopper chuckled and ended the call. You ran the stairs with a glass of lemonade in your mouth, smile widening from ear to ear.

Then you sat at your bed, listening to the radio, listing through the magazine when a thought came up in your head. Nobody aside you two could know. That something youve started that morning, whether it will end up after this weekend, a week or when you'll leave Hawkins, you had to keep your mouths shut about it. Nobody could see you, nobody could suspect anything.

God, that man was twice as old as you were. People would talk and they wouldn't hold anything back as soon as they would hear about you having a little romance with the local Chief of police. Relationships with such an age difference were unacceptable - sure, celebrities were doing it, but you weren't a celebrity. You were just a smalltown girl.

Many thought that Hopper isn't sane at this point, what would they say about him now? You heard from people that he's sleeping around with women, yes, but seducing a college student? Unacceptable. You needed to talk about this with him.

That was what you were thinking about when you unlocked his trail. He really did leave you a key under the rock as you told him. Without hesitation, you got to clean up, picking up the rest of the cans and packagings that were literally everywhere while you made sure that the living room is ready for you just to lay there, watching a movie or something. You had enough time to even clean up the whole kitchen before you could hear the door unlocking. You thought about organizing his drawers with clothes, but in the end, you told yourself that that would be a bit too far - but you needed to talk with him about that.

When Hopper came in, he was still dressed up in his uniform and he held a paper bag with food in one hand, hiding the second one behind his back, closing the door with one of his ankles. Your head automatically leaned to your shoulder from cleaning up the sink when you admired his looks.

"Hey there." - You mumbled and cleaned your hands with a sweet smile. When he showed you the surprise he was hiding, you chuckled and watched a beautiful daylily he brought you. - "Ah, you shouldn't buy me a flower. That will raise eyebrows." - You mumbled while you admired the flower, sniffing it, your smile widening.

"In fact, I stole it from old Mrs. Darcy's garden." - Hopper chuckled and you opened up your mouth, watching the man with disbelief.

"You didn't!" - You squealed with a burst of laughter.

"Yea, I did." - Hopper smiled as well and you hugged him from the back, the flower still in your hand. His palms found yours and you felt safe at that moment. - "I've missed you there." - Hop rose one of your palms to his lips, kissing it, while you took the hat off his hair. It was ridiculously hot there even if you already opened up the window and the French door leading to the small terrace behind the trail.

"Give yourself a shower and being so cheesy, I'll prepare the dinner." - You shushed him away from the food, laughing at him while he was leaving the room. He watched you when you looked away to prepare the food. He noticed you took the t-shirt which you stole from the first time, the gray one with orange stripes and denim shorts, but you haven't done any make-up. Around Jim, you were staying true to yourself, sending him a signal - whatever he wanted to tell you or do, it was fine.

He was troubled. It would've been strange if he wasn't troubled in some way. He was a war veteran and a police chief. All of those changes and formed Hopper into the person he was that day. And you were completely fine with it.

When he got out and put some clothes on, he found you sitting on the couch, along with a bowl of popcorn, prepared food and two cans of Coca Cola. You were watching the news, clearly paying attention to what was happening.

"I haven't bought that." - He pointed at the popcorn and cans, but you nodded from listening to news about the parliament. - "Yeah, I did."

"You could've just told me." - Hopper mumbled and unwrapped the burrito. You looked at him with a smile.

"I have my own money, calm down. It's just some Coca Cola and popcorn, it isn't like I paid your rent or whatever." - Was a witty remark before you unwrapped yours as well, putting a small plate on your thighs to not mess up the couch. You sat next to each other like two five-year-olds, eating in silence while you watched the news about the weather.

"Jesus, will you move closer on your own or should I drag your ass here?" - Jim asked when it was almost ten minutes since you started eating. Without hesitation, you moved closer, letting his arm hug your shoulder. It was enough to make you giggle and heart beat faster. - "I meant what I've said. I've missed your ass sittin' at the desk."

Hopper leaned in to kiss your temple, bringing you a bit closer to him. You put your elbow on his thigh dressed in a pair of jeans, smiling with eyes closed.

"I've been thinking about you." - You straightened before you reached out a hand to catch his jaw. You didn't even need to pull him for a kiss, he went for one on his own. It was a burrito tasting kiss and you liked it.

"Wait. Let me... Get these out of the way." - You put both his and your burrito on the plate, putting it on a table before immediately coming back to the part where ended - pulling him closer and climbing on his lap while you closed your eyes and made a pleasant sound. Jesus, you wanted him to kiss you all night long, tasting his personal flavor and cigarettes from his tongue.

You could feel as his hands slowly pulled the t-shirt out of the shorts, gracing over the skin on your lips gently as your hands caught his jaws. The man let you lead the pace of the kiss, still using the tongue first.

When you moved away to take a breath, his eyes remained closed as his tongue cleaned off his lips.

"Before anything else happens..." - You whispered, still heavy breathing, your heart beating so loud that he just had to hear it. - "There are things we have to talk about, is that right?" - Hopper finished, leaning the back of his head into the wall.

"Yeah." - You climbed off, letting on your feet on his thighs. - "You first." - Hopper sighed a bit and you exhaled as well.

"Secrets." - You said quietly and looked him right in the eyes. Hopper chuckled at that. - "What with secrets? Like we should tell everything about ourselves to the other one?"

"No. Hop, we need to be a secret. People would be outraged if they would find out that you're spending time with someone who is half your age. Some people don't exactly love you and this would hurt both and me. Let's just pretend outside the trail that we're just strangers." - You cleared yourself in a begging tone. That was a thing that didn't cross his mind, but you were right. The news would spread rather quickly and the people would look funny at both him and you, they would talk things behind both your backs. And that wouldn't be exactly nice.

Hopper slowly nodded, taking a sip from your can. It was very adult of you to demand such a thing as keeping all of it in secret.

"Right. Now's my turn." - Hopper looked at you as Never Surrender by Corey Hart started to play on the TV. At least, there wasn't that awful silence in the room. - "How long is it you're in town? How much time's remainin'?"

"Thirteen days if I count this one." - You mumbled back. So little time to actually have something developing. Thirteen days. He had barely two weeks before you leave for Indiana. And then, when he's going to see you again? On Thanksgiving? Christmas? Jesus, these thoughts were awful.

"Come here." - He mumbled to you as the chorus came and Corey Hart was yelling the words at the top of his lungs. You climbed back on his thighs, visibly sad from the topic. Only thirteen days were all you two were left to have. You closed your eyes when his palms caressed your jaws, thumbs carefully drawing circles on your cheeks. - "If these thirteen days is all you have for me, I swear to you that it's going to be thirteen days you'll never forget."

Slowly, you rose your eyes to meet his gaze. The warmth and sincerity he had there almost melt you down. Hopper was speaking from the bottom of his should and it could be felt.

"For real?" - You asked back when first tears left your eyes. There weren't sad, no, not at all. You couldn't be happier at that moment.

"I mean it. You'll be thinkin' about me long after you leave Hawkins, so much that you'll hate me in the end." - Hopper mumbled and before he could say anything else, you shut him off with a kiss. This time, you didn't let him stop kissing you, while you laid down on the couch.

Every time it seemed that Hopper just really wants to tell you, you grabbed his shirt a bit tighter, used your tongue or whatever the situation needed.

"Hey. Hey. Slow down." - Hopper actually stopped after a good ten minutes of that making out session. You let him go and disappointedly looked at him. You've disappointed yourself. So much for you whoring around. Nervously, you followed his movements and sat, scratching the back of your neck.

"Are you sure that this is what you want?" - Hopper mumbled and lighted up a cigarette. Was he doubting you or himself? You couldn't tell, but you carefully listened to him. - "You once told me that I'm a fuck up. Are you really ready to go down this path?"

You've told him what? That he's a fuck up? Oh, Lord. The night you've blacked out. You always spoke your mind when you had too much to drink. You closed your eyes before taking the Camel out of his hand, taking a long puff before giving it back. Who was he doubting? You or himself?

"I am. I swear I am." - You nodded and moved a bit closer, touching his knee as your lips kissed the material of his shirt. Jim moved his head closer to let you know that he's enjoying the affection. - “Are you ready for this?”

At that moment, he needed to take a good look at you. At your face, the small curve of your nose, the bright eyes in your eyes, plush lips kissing his shoulder. He felt your hand drawing circles on his back. You weren't forcing anything - just a word and you would just snuggle back, enjoying the movie with him. Just a word and he could let himself feel safe next to someone that actually understood what he was trying to say. Was he ready to see you leaving once this is over? Will it destroy him completely? Hopper guessed that the only way to be sure is to find out.

“One never knows.” - Hopper smiled back, tapping the cigarette out. He stood up, giving you his palm and helping you stand up. He turned off the TV and the lights, making sure that only the light in his bedroom is on. You watched him putting the tape in, finding the song youve danced to.

“Last chance to wiggle out of this situation, Chief.” - You took his hand, giving yourself another slow twirl, just like the last time. Was he ready? Only your smile and eyes made him sure. You were sure - why should he be hesitating?

So he leaned in for another kiss - and this time, you moaned into his face when he did so.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper #jim hopper imagine #chief jim hopper #james hopper #jim hopper stranger things #stranger things #stranger things Netflix #never surrender #corey hart #i love eighties music so much #sksksksk

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bandzrus · 5 years

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French Toast (Part 1)

The Dirt! Nikki Sixx x Reader

Masterlist

SUMMARY // requested by @brooklyn-antiques – “I’ve been super into the idea of either Nikki or Tommy getting with a girl who is their complete opposite, and never in a million years could anyone see them together, their development with each other and the shock of the people around them because what?? These two people together make no sense!! Idk I’m a huge fan of unexpected pairings”

NOTE // this is my first request I hope I did okay.

WORDS // 3379

TAGLIST // ��@brooklyn-antiques @shamelessobsessions @mainly-me @broken-pieces

***

You had always been the oddball of your friend group. Raised in a very conservative neighbourhood in LA, your family was the textbook definition of perfect. Your mother was a stay-at-home mom, your dad worked in an office, you were a straight-A student in university, and your younger brother was the quarterback of his high school football team. Your friends on the other hand were heavily involved in the music scene and spent all their free time prowling record stores and the Sunset Strip. While they dressed in leather, wore stripper heels, heavy makeup, and teased their hair, you were the total opposite. It wasn’t that you had anything against how your friends looked or the stuff they were into, it just wasn’t your scene. Or so you thought up until the night you met Nikki Sixx.

It had been a surprisingly cold night in LA and your parents were out of town for the weekend visiting your grandparents in Oregon. Knowing you had nothing better to do, your friends convinced you to come with them to a Motley Crue show at The Rainbow, and you reluctantly agreed. Foolishly leaving your jacket at home thinking the weather was better than it was, it started out as a miserable night. In your favourite little yellow dress, you were freezing and stuck out like a sore thumb. Rubbing your arms and shivering, you and your two friends waited in line outside.

“This is gonna be freaking awesome!” one of your friends, Donna, said gleefully, bouncing up and down in excitement and to keep warm.

“I heard during their last show one of them punched a guy and knocked his teeth out!” your other friend Marion remarked as if it was the coolest thing in the world.

“They sound like real stand-up guys,” you muttered, shuffling your feet and avoiding the awkward stares of everyone around you. The line was moving, but not fast enough. Looking up at the night sky, it looked very likely that it was going to rain. You really should have brought a jacket, but instead you were stuck huddling close to your friends with only your purse as comfort.

“Trust me, Y/N, you have no idea what you’ve been missing,” promised Donna, patting you on the back right before the three of you got to the door. Flashing the bouncer your IDs, the three of you entered The Rainbow.

It was much warmer inside, though you were sure it was because of the mass amount of people radiating body heat, not the actual heating system. You were thankful anyway, even though it wreaked of BO and booze. Grabbing your hand, Marion started leading you through the crowd towards the bar.

“Can I get a beer please?” she asked, batting long eyelashes at the bartender. Donna flanked you on your other side, leaning her back against the counter and ordered the same.

“Marion, if you see the singer let me know,” she said.

“You want his autograph or something?” you asked, tapping your finger anxiously on the counter.

“Oh I want more than an autograph,” Donna winked. She and Marion just laughed as the bartender handed them both their drinks. Pushing into the crowd, your friends dragged you by the hand until you were much closer to the stage. It took a lot of wiggling, some use of elbows, and a lot of sorry’s and excuse me’s, but you made it. The lights on stage were dim at the moment, but drums and mic stands were set up. You’d never really been to a concert before, especially not one like this. There was a big hairy guy standing next to you and behind you were a bunch of ditsy bleach-blondes jostling to be at the front. Spotting the anxious look on your face, Marion leaned over to you.

“Don’t worry Y/N, just stick with us and you’ll be fine.”

“It’s gonna be a night you’ll never forget,” promised Donna, squeezing your hand reassuringly. You didn’t know then how right she was. Just as the pack of blondes elbowed their way in beside you, the shadowy forms of four people could be seen on stage right before the lights came on.

“ALRIGHT! WE ARE MOTLEY CRUE!”

The crowd erupted and you almost threw your hands over your ears it was so loud. The blond on stage who had announced the band was obviously the singer and the one Donna had been talking about earlier. He was definitely Donna’s type; she was all over cute rock star blonds. You were about to say something to your friend about it when the band started playing.

“Don't you know, know, know

It's a violation

I still hear you saying

Such a perfect, perfect night

No, no, no fight all temptation

Well, in a black-hearted alley fight

I'm screaming

Take me to the heights tonight

Take me to the top

Take me to the top!”

Everyone in the whole club was screaming ‘take me to the top’ and by the second verse you almost were too. There was something about the band that just made you want to chant right along with them. People had their fists in the air, girls were swooning, and you were coming to the realization that perhaps you had been missing out. The energy wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before. You had just started shouting along with the band and the crowd when you felt something tug on your shoulder. As you turned around to see what it was, you felt the weight of your purse leave your shoulder and the shape of a greasy haired dude disappear behind the big hairy guy.

“Hey, give that back!” you cried, voice almost completely unheard over the music and the crowd. Pushing past the big hairy guy you attempted to chase after the thief, but your path was blocked and he had disappeared from your sight.

“That guy just stole my purse!” you tried, hoping someone would hear you and help. You turned back to your friends, about to ask for help when suddenly there was a shout from on stage and the bass cut out.

“Hey asshole!”

The guy who stole your purse froze as the bass player pointed at him. Tossing his bass off his shoulder, he jumped into the crowd after the guy. The room erupted into even more chaos as people moved out of his way. Black hair flying, he threw a punch at the thief that clocking him right in the ear and knocked him to the ground. Grabbing the thief by the hair, the bass player hit him again, this time full in the face. There was a crack sound as you heard the thief’s nose break and blood started to pour from it. Then security arrived and yanked the raven-haired bassist off him, still kicking and holding your purse. One of the other security guys grabbed the thief by his collar and you watched as he was thrown out holding his nose.

“Don’t fucking come back!” the bass player shouted as the guy left, brushing the security guard off. Then his eyes landed on you. Your two friends had come up behind you during the brawl and gave you a little push forward. The band had stopped playing and the room had gone quiet.

“Oh my god are you hurt?” you asked, spotting the blood on his hand.

“Nah,” he said, wiping it on his torn up shirt.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

The bassist just chuckled and scratched his nose with his thumb.

“You look a little lost, I figured you could use some help,” he shrugged. You made to take your purse from him, but he lifted it over your head.

“Hey!” you pouted. If you were about to have your purse stolen a second time this was going to be an awful night. Your parents would kill you if you lost your ID and your credit card.

“I’ll give this back if you promise to have a drink with me after the show,” he smirked, looking down at you.

“I don’t drink.”

“Pffft what?”

“You heard me,” you huffed, trying to snatch your purse from him again to no avail.

“Fine, then what about dinner?”

“Dinner?” you squeaked. You could overhear a bunch of the ditsy blondes from before making rude comments. “Fine.”

Smiling, the bass player gave you back your purse.

“It’s a date,” he said with a wink before clambering back onstage. Picking up his base and patting his mates on the shoulder, they resumed the show. You were quickly pulled back into the crowd by your two friends.

“Holy shit, Y/N do you know what just happened?!” Marion screamed, shaking you by the shoulders and grinning ear to ear.

“I almost had my purse stolen – twice!” you snapped, hugging the bag in question tight to your chest.

“Nikki fucking Sixx just asked you on a date!”

“Do you know how many girls in here will probably try to kill you during the next hour?”

“I’d rather not think about that,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder to find the pack of blondes shooting daggers at you and muttering. You almost finished your sentence by saying you didn’t really want to go anyway, but stopped yourself because it wasn’t true. At the very least you owed Nikki a shot because he had gotten your purse back, but another little part of you was excited. You’d been on a few dates before with guys in high school and one or two from college, but all with stand-up guys from sports teams or future lawyers and nothing ever stuck. Nikki was completely different and you were intrigued. You’d never understood your friends’ fascination with the music scene until about fifteen minutes ago and you now you wanted more.

“You’re telling us everything after!” Donna insisted, grabbing your arm and bringing you back between her and Marion. Holding your purse tightly you rejoined the crowd in cheering for Motley Crue.

Their set went for a bit over an hour, and you spent the whole time staring at Nikki. The more you watched him the more you started to realize your friends weren’t as crazy as you’d thought for liking all these guys. He was pretty cute, you had to admit. So, so, so not your type, and so not a person you ever thought you’d bring home to your parents, but you couldn’t help but love the way he moved on stage and the way he was so wrapped up in the music. You could tell he really cared about it and what they were doing.

When the show came to an end, you watched carefully which direction they went offstage. As the crowd slowly trickled back out into the street or swarmed the bar for one last drink, you waited with your friends until there was a clear shot to the backstage area. There were a bunch of other girls already there leaning against the wall in the hallway waiting for the band too. If they weren’t giving you dirty looks, they were raising their eyebrows at you. You felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves. That was until you spotted Nikki coming out of one of the dressing rooms. Thankfully he spotted you too and motioned for the security guard to let you through. Turning back to your friends to give them a nervous smile, you ducked under the security guard’s arm to meet Nikki.

“Kinda surprised you didn’t just leave,” he remarked as the two of you made for the back door of The Rainbow. “You don’t look like the type of girl who hangs out around here.”

“I thought about it,” you confessed, looking down at your feet.

“What changed your mind?”

“I figured I owed you one for getting my purse back.”

“I still can’t believe you don’t drink,” he muttered, shooting you a smile.

“My friends do it’s just… not for me. Sorry to disappoint you. Like you said, I’m not the type of girl who hangs out around here.”

“That just makes you more interesting.”

Holding open the door for you, it was then that you realized it had started to rain.

“Crap,” you muttered, slinging your purse over your shoulder and rubbing your arms.

“The restaurant’s not far,” Nikki promised. Nodding, the two of you dashed across the street and around the corner to a Denny’s. Dripping rainwater on the doormat, you looked up at Nikki. His makeup was heavily smudged and the rain had deflated his hair a bit, but he still looked good. A waitress offered you both menus and you slid onto a booth by the window. You kept glancing at him over your menu as you pretended to read. This was by far the craziest thing you’d ever done and you were unbelievably glad your parents were gone for the weekend so you wouldn’t have to explain why you were out so late with no jacket.

“You’re staring at me – I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” the bass player chuckled, putting his menu down.

“S-sorry,” you stammered. “This is just… the most insane night of my life.”

“You need to get out more.”

“You’re probably right,” you admitted, smiling at him. “What are you getting?”

“Jack n’ coke, probably a burger.”

“I was thinking waffles.”

“So you’re a waffles over pancakes girl.”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “I guess so. They’re both alright though. What about you?”

“French toast actually.”

“They have that,” you said, pointing to it on the menu.

“Maybe I’ll get that instead.”

“I liked the show.”

“I was afraid to ask you about that,” confessed Nikki, watching as the waitress came over to your table.

“What can I get for the two of you?” she asked, ready to scribble down your order on her notepad. You let Nikki go first.

“Can I get a Jack n’ coke and the French toast?”

“Sure, hun. And what about the young lady?”

“Just the waffles please,” you answered, folding your menu up and handing it to her. Nikki did the same and then she left. You actually were pretty hungry, so you were glad your evening plans had changed.

“You guys really look like you love being up there,” you told him, resting an elbow on the table and finally letting go of your purse.

“Yeah,” Nikki said. “It’s the best goddamn feeling in the whole world. Seeing all the people who are there just for you, and hearing them sing our lyrics back to us, it’s pretty fuckin’ cool.”

“I can imagine,” you smiled.

“What kind of shit do you do?”

“I’m going to university right now, but still living at home,” you frowned.

“You’re just the walking definition of a goody-two-shoes.”

“And you’re the walking definition of a dysfunctional rock star,” you shot back. “Jumping offstage, punching a guy in the face, and ordering booze from a Denny’s.”

There was a pause and then both of you burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe we’re going on a date,” Nikki chuckled. “You don’t seem to like me very much, maybe I should just get you a cab and you can go home and never think about me again.”

“You know what’s funny?” you said. “I do actually like you.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that to let me off easy?”

“No, you’re actually pretty interesting. Most of the guys I’ve been out with are football players or soon-to-be-lawyers.”

“Is your neighbour Mr. Rogers?”

“No, I’m serious! This is… actually kinda fun,” you admitted, smiling at Nikki. He gave you a grin right back, drumming his fingers on the table top.

“You are so not my type,” he said.

“You’re not mine either.”

“Don’t we make a pair.”

“Oh we definitely do,” you chuckled as the waitress came back with your meals.

“French toast for the gentleman, and waffles for the young lady,” she announced, sliding the plates onto the table before handing Nikki his Jack n’ coke.

“Thank you Dorris,” grinned Nikki, taking the Jack bottle and tipping it’s entire contents down his throat in one go. You just shook your head. Dorris rolled her eyes and left the two of you alone again.

“A real tough guy I see,” you chided.

“I prefer bad-ass.”

“You would.”

Digging into your meals, you were surprised just how hungry you were. Nikki was hungry too because both of you barely spoke a word to each other as you shoveled breakfast food into your mouths. Wiping your mouth delicately with a napkin, you finally leaned back in the booth again and sighed. Nikki polished off his coke and did the same.

“That was really good,” you said. “I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”

“Glad I went with the French toast over the burger.”

“That good, huh? I should get you to try my mom’s recipe, it’s to die for.”

“Only on our first date and we’re already talking about meeting parents, wow. I didn’t realize you were that serious,” joked Nikki, stacking your plates one on top of the other.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Then what, you’re going to bring it to me at my house?”

“I-“

“I’m just kidding.”

“My parents would probably kill me and then you if I ever brought you over,” you confessed, running a hand through your damp hair.

“You could always bring the French toast to one of our gigs,” suggested the bass player. “We’re at the Troubador in a couple of days, you should come.”

“I don’t know…”

“You’ll come to one, but not another?”

“My friends dragged me to this one.”

“Come to our show on Monday, I promise it’ll be fun.”

You mulled the idea over in your head. Your parents would be back by Monday, but you figured you could always brush off your late night with a lie about helping someone study. Your friends were probably going on Monday to Motley Crue’s show anyway, so you could get a ride from them again.

“Okay fine, I’ll come,” you agreed.

“It’s a date then,” grinned Nikki, holding out his hand to shake on it. You took his calloused hand in yours and made the deal. Dorris the waitress came back to your table just as you started rummaging through your purse for change.

“I’ll take these,” she said, loading the dishes into her arms. “And I’ll be back with the bill in just a second.”

Nikki’s hand stopped your rummaging.

“I’ve got this one,” he said, unfolding a couple bills and leaving them on the table. “This should cover it. Keep the change.”

The waitress thanked him, and the two of you made towards the door.

“Thanks for paying for me, you didn’t have to,” you said, turning to look up at Nikki.

“A guy’s supposed to pay for his girl.”

“I’m your girl now? It’s only our first date, I didn’t know you were that serious,” you remarked, using Nikki’s line against him.

“I’d like you to be,” you said. “You’re so much different than all the other girls I’ve been with.”

“Likewise.”

“So that’s a yes then?”

“That’s a yes,” you said, giving him a smile. You were probably biting off more than you could chew by dating Nikki, but tonight had been the most fun and excitement you’d experienced in a long, long time and you weren’t about to let that go.

“I’m calling you a cab,” Nikki said, popping a couple coins into the slot of the machine. You waited patiently for him to finish, hugging your purse to your chest again and praying it wasn’t still raining outside. It probably was.

“Can we wait in here? I didn’t bring a jacket.”

Nikki nodded and you two spent the next five minutes waiting by the door of the Denny’s in comfortable silence. When the yellow vehicle finally pulled up outside, you bid the bass player farewell and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. You were blushing pretty hard yourself, but couldn’t help but notice him turn a few shades pinker under his smudged makeup too. The whole ride home you couldn’t get him out of your head. You were already dreaming about Monday.

***

So I’m probably going to write a part 2 to this because I didn’t quiet get as far into the relationship as I wanted, so be on the lookout for that!

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dakotacrisis · 5 years

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Been meaning to get this finished for a bit now. Normally a very fluffy writer, sweet stuff that’ll rot your teeth. But I’m gonna go with some salt this time around. With fluffy bits thrown in because it’s cute. Based off of this post.

Marinette couldn't have been in a happier disposition walking to school. She was caught up with her schoolwork, she got a full eight hours of sleep, no akumas all this week, and a wave of inspiration saw to many new designs in her sketchbook. The only thing that could make this better was if Adrien showed up with a tray of her favorite flavored macarons!

She skipped up the steps and into the school. “Good morning, Alya!”

“You’re in a good mood today.” Alya smirked at her friend, “Chloe get a botched haircut?”

“No, it’s just a good morning.” Marinette took a deep breath, “I feel like for the first time in weeks I can stand still and breathe.”

“Good for you, girl. Get that self care.” The two started a conversation for their plans for the week as they walked into class.

Marinette sat down and disaster struck. “Ugh!” she shot up from her seat, “My seat is wet!”

“My side isn’t,” Alya patted her side of the desk. She brushed a finger over Marinette’s side and sniffed, “Smells like cleaning product. Maybe bleach?”

“Bleach?”

“Turn around,” Marinette turned and Alya cringed, “Yep. Definitely bleach. Your entire butt is discolored now.”

“Darn it!” Marinette stretched to see her favorite pair of pink jeans now ruined. “I can’t walk around like this.”

“Go home and change. I’ll clean this up.”

“Thanks, Alya.” Marinette bolted from the room. This was a damper on her day but it was no matter, her house was right across the street and she had plenty of time till class started.

She flew down the stairs and was running for the front door. But her two left feet did what they do best and next thing she knew she was falling face first into the ground. “Ouch…”

“Marinette, are you okay?” she heard a voice behind her. Adrien.

“Yep!” she rolled over so he couldn’t see the huge stain on her butt, “Perfectly fine. Not even a scratch.”

“Are you sure? It looked like you hit pretty hard.”

“All good here.”

“Good.” he held out a hand to help her up, “I was actually hoping to see you before class.”

“Yeah?” she perked up.

“You know how we have that project for history? The one where we analyze the evolution of stuff?”

“What about it?”

“Well, since I know you’re really into fashion and I’ve been raised in that world since birth I was wondering if maybe you wanted to team up. We could write a whole presentation on how fashion evolved throughout history.”

This was amazing! Adrien wanted to be her partner for a project. A fashion project! That meant hours researching together, creating the presentation together, talking late into the night about what they found. Then that late night talk slowly turns into a deep conversation about their hopes and dreams and deepest darkest secrets. Their sleepy minds and bodies confessing things they never dared to say in the light of day. Falling asleep with the phone on and waking up the next morning remembering what they had confessed but still happy about it as they realize they were utterly made for one another--

“Whoa, Marinette, what happened to your butt?” Nino’s voice broke her out of her daydream.

Her face went pure red as she turned away from him trying to cover the stain. She got so enamored with Adrien she had completely forgotten why she was out here in the first place!

“Oh…” Adrien glimpsed at the stain but immediately turned away, “That uh...that doesn’t look good.”

“I--I uh--” This wasn’t happening.

The bell rang and Marinette tried not to scream. She had wasted her time to get changed. If she left now she’d be late for sure.

With no other option she took off her jacket and tied it around her waist. It would hide the stain for now. But the emotional damage had been done. “It’ll be okay, Marinette,” Adrien placed a hand on her shoulder, “It’s just a little stain.”

“You’re right,” she smiled at Adrien, “Also, I’d love to be your partner for the project. It sounds like a great idea.”

“Great. Now let’s get to class before we get in trouble.” They rushed back upstairs to the classroom.

Alya assured Marinette her seat was safe now but had to wonder why she was still in the same clothes. One look at who she entered the room with though was all the answer she needed. As Ms. Bustier started role call Marinette brainstormed who would have put bleach on her seat. Kim is a prankster but he would have done it to the entire class if that was his game. Chloe seemed a good choice but she had seen her and Sabrina come in after her incident. That would only leave--

“Lila?” Ms. Bustier called.

“Present.” Lila’s voice rang from the back of the classroom. Marinette sat boiling with rage. Of course it was Lila. Trying to sabotage her via lies wasn’t enough, now she had resorted to clothes ruining pranks.

“Alright class,” Ms. Bustier called her attention back to the lesson, “Don’t forget that I will need your pairs for the history project and what you’ll be presenting by the end of the day.”

Marinette’s raged quieted down. Who cares about Lila’s dumb prank? A ruined pair of pants was nothing compared to having Adrien as Marinette’s history partner!

“Actually Ms. Bustier,” Lila said, “I don’t have a partner and seeing as how there is an uneven amount of students I don’t think it would be fair to make me work alone.”

“One group of three should be fine.” Ms. Bustier shrugged.

“Then that group has a bigger advantage then the pairs. Maybe it would be best if we all worked separately. That way it is equal.”

Marinette turned and glared at Lila. No way is she splitting up Adrien and Marinette that easily.

“I suppose that would be more more fair.” Ms. Bustier agreed. “Instead of presentations how about everyone writes a three page paper on the evolution of whatever you choose.”

That little--

“Perfect!” Lila clasped her hands together, “I’d like to cover the evolution of fashion.”

“Alright,” Ms. Bustier jotted it down on her clipboard, “Lila has fashion. Anyone else have topics?”

No. No this wasn’t happening! Her project time with Adrien! Her topic! Her pants! Lila had ruined them all in less then ten minutes! Marinette bit down on her notebook to keep from screaming. She risked another glance at the object of her ire. Lila was looking right at her with a devious smirk. She couldn’t even call her out for ruining her day. There was no proof that she was the one that put bleach on her seat and it wasn’t exactly against the rules to convince the teacher to change the format of the assignment. Still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be angry about it.

During lunch Marinette got to go home and change clothes. At least that was one problem fixed.

If anything Marinette should have realized exactly how this week, nay, this month was going to go. Lila was out to get her. To punch her into the ground so deep that she could never escape. In a way...she succeeded.

That week Marinette was the victim of many pranks. She thought the bleach was bad. Marinette wished for something as nice as bleach. Her locker was filled with shaving cream ruining all her homework the next day. Poison ivy was rubbed onto her desk giving her hands and forearms a horrible rash. Her backpack had a bunch of broken pens dropped into it. Lila even managed to get gum in Marinette’s hair without her noticing.

Still Lila left no evidence. No one saw her do it and there were no cameras where she could have tampered with Marinette’s things. Marinette complained to Alya about how Lila was ruining her life but her best friend didn’t think Lila could do it. Alya only thought that Marinette was blaming her because of Lila’s interest in Adrien.

“Lila,” Marinette approached her after having gotten the gum carefully clipped from her hair, “I know what you’re doing.”

“Doing what?” she blinked her eyes innocently.

“These dumb pranks. I know it’s you that’s doing it. I don’t care that you don’t like me but how is this making you happy? Sure they can make life harder but at the end of the day it is merely you ruining objects. They can be replaced or fixed. No real harm.”

“So what you’re saying is that I should do something worse?” Lila smirked.

Marinette’s blood ran cold. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“Listen pigtails,” Lila got closer, that smile too sweet to be real, “I was being kind before. I promised to ruin you and that is exactly what I’ll do. You think shaving cream and gum is bad? You’ll wish that you never crossed paths with me Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If you want to avoid what I have in store for you then back off or you’ll see what I can really do.”

She flipped her hair and shouldered her way past Marinette. Marinette couldn’t move herself from the spot Lila had rooted her in. The last time Lila had made a threat like that Marinette almost got akumatized. She pulled out her phone and went the picture folder she kept full of things that made her happy. It was her emergency pick-me-up in cases like this where she felt at her lowest. She had been using it a lot lately.

Once she had calmed down she adjusted her bookbag and took off for home.

It was the start of a new week and Marinette was taking extra precautions to avoid any more pranks or whatever it was Lila had threatened. She made it about halfway through the day without hitting a single snag. There was a study hall and Marinette was in the library putting the finishing touches on her history paper about the evolution of baking. She had exceeded the three page requirement to a lofty four and a half. If she could have had fashion as she would have liked it would have been even longer but Marinette was still very proud of her paper.

With a quick spell check she hit print and went to collect her document from the printer. Good thing she finished it when she did seeing as how it was due in twenty minutes. She would have had it done yesterday if it wasn’t for a nasty akuma taking up the better part of her essay time.

She got to the printer and sighed. Paper jam shredded her essay. She unjammed the printer and went back to the computer to reprint it.

“What in the…” she trailed off as she looked at the computer screen. Where was her essay? The document was gone! Not just the essay but all her notes and the sources she had saved. She tried everything but her paper had been wiped out of existence! “Lila!” she growled under her breath.

The bell rang and Marinette dragged herself to class. Hopefully Ms. Bustier would understand. The class started to hand in their essays. “Marinette, where’s your essay?”

“I had it done. Completely, one hundred percent done, but when I went to print it the printer jammed.” Marinette muttered.

“That’s alright, just e-mail it to me.” Ms. Bustier answered.

“Also,” she took a deep breath, “The essay itself was deleted from my folder along with all my research notes.”

“How did that happen? Did the computer crash?” Ms. Bustier was looking at her now with more suspicion than sympathy.

“No. Someone deleted it.” Marinette could practically feel Lila’s triumphant smirk beaming behind her.

“Who would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know…” she mumbled. No one was buying this. She knew what she looked like. It was an even less believable story than the old dog-ate-my-homework excuse.

“Well, I’ll give you till tomorrow morning to hand in your essay.” Ms. Bustier’s words were clipped, “But next time I hope that you’ll take your assignments more seriously and not wait till the very last minute to do them.”

“Yes, Ms. Bustier.” she sunk lower in her seat. Class continued on and Marinette spent her entire night trying to recreate the essay. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one she had before. Barely making it to three pages as the sun poked through her window. At least it was done.

She e-mailed it to Ms. Bustier and collapsed into bed so to get an hour or two of sleep. Her alarm went off way too early for her liking. Too tired to summon the ability to care about anything Marinette pulled herself from bed, threw on a pair of sweatpants and her comfiest t-shirt and hoodie, used her hands as a comb and shuffled downstairs to grab a croissant and tea. Normally she didn’t like using caffeine as a means to keep herself awake cause it only made her heart rate increase without actually waking up her mind. If there was a chance it could work this time though she’d take it.

Marinette trudged up the stairs of the school and dropped into her seat. Lila could set her on fire for all she cared. “Morning Marinette...oh wow.” Alya settled her head next to her bestie’s. “Late night?”

“Shh,” Marinette covered her mouth, “Sleeping.”

“Okay. But I feel it is safe to warn you that the art students: you, Alix, Nathaneal, Marc, and the rest of them are getting those pictures for the newspaper done today.”

“Nooooooooo,” Marinette pulled her hood up further, “I look like crap.”

“Sorry, girl,” Alya rubbed her back, “Maybe there’s a design in the art room you can slip into during photos.”

“That doesn’t help this,” Marinette pointed to her bedhead and dark circles.

“A comb and some concealer will have you looking fresh faced in no time. Now shush, you have a solid five minutes of napping before class starts.”

“Thank you,” Marinette yawned, “Love you.”

Shockingly enough those five extra minutes didn’t do jack for Marinette’s tired mind. Neither did the tea. At least it tasted good. Alya kept having to nudge Marinette awake throughout the lesson. She was starting to wonder if maybe she should have stayed home today. It was a shorter day too so it’s not like she would have missed a whole lot.

The time for pictures came and Alya helped Marinette clean herself up. Her hair was tidier and with some borrowed concealer from Rose she was looking more awake too. Now all that there was left to do was slip into that dress she had hanging up in the art room.

“Hey Marinette,” Marc waved to her, “Is that what you’re wearing for pictures?”

“No, I was gonna--”

“There we are, how do I look?” Lila emerged from the backroom wearing Marinette’s dress. “It wouldn’t stand a chance on real runway but for a college student it’s passable.”

“Lila,” Marinette’s done meter had reached it’s limit, “Get out of my dress.”

“What? Why?” she pouted, “I was only doing it as a favor to you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been told I make an excellent model and the teacher here said that I could model your designs. That way it shows off your work and my skills.” she gave a little twirl.

No. Lila had done a lot but Marinette was not going to let her parade around in a dress she had put her blood, sweat and tears into. It was the absolute pinnacle of her designs. The scalloped straps, the ruffles of the ballgown, the print she had custom made, the butterfly decal she had hand sewn onto the drop waist. She had put so much effort, care and money into making this dream gown and Marinette didn’t even get to model it. She’d rather pull an ugly step-sister and tear it to shreds than see Lila in it.

“Take it off.” Marinette ground out through clenched teeth.

“What was that?” Lila asked.

“Get out of my dress or I swear I will hold you down and pull you out.”

“Marinette, stop, you’re scaring me.” she curled into herself. Her eyes were wide but not with fright. It was a challenge.

“Chill out, Marinette,” Alix stepped between them, “It’s just a dress. Who cares if she’s wearing it?”

“No. It’s okay,” Lila sniffed, “Marinette made it. She should decide who can wear it.” She made a big show of hanging her head as she marched back towards the backroom.

“Nonsense,” the teacher stopped her, “Lila, wear the dress. Marinette,” he crossed his arms, “If you cannot nurture the dreams of your fellow classmates because of your own pride then I don’t think you should be in these photos.”

“But--”

“Your dress will still appear and we will give you credit but I think it would be in your best interest to go home. Besides, you look exhausted.” he ushered her towards the exit.

Marinette wanted to shout. Scream. Cry. This wasn’t fair! Lila was ruining everything! Still, they disappointed glances mixed with the angry faces of her classmates did her in. She turned tail and ran out of the room. She locked herself in her room and let herself have a good cry. Tikki kept her company, not saying anything but instead being a reassuring presence by her side. Lila may have the whole school wrapped around her finger but Tikki was there. She knew the truth. Everything would sort itself out.

At school the next day Marinette was awake, stylishly dressed, and ready to face anything Lila could throw at her. A group was surrounding Lila’s desk in the back. “Hey Marinette, did you wanna see the newspaper?” Nathaneal popped out from the group.

“Oh sure,” she was still miffed by the whole debacle yesterday but at least her design was out there for everyone to see. Even if it was on Lila.

She skimmed over the article but didn’t see her name anywhere. “Is this continued on another page?” she asked.

“No. It’s all here.” Alix shrugged. “Why?”

“My name…” then she spotted it.

‘Lila Rossi (pictured center), aspiring model, poses like a pro in beautiful ball gown. The dress was designed and created by fellow art student, Margaret Dubois-Peng (not pictured).’

“Oops, looks like the journalist got your name wrong, Marinette,” Lila frowned, “Such a shame. I gave them your name myself. I guess she misheard.”

“Kim,” Marinette called, not taking her eyes off Lila, “Hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From this.” she launched forward and Kim’s arms encircled her waist before she could make it over the desk. “It wasn’t enough that you got me kicked out of the picture but you gave them a wrong name too!”

“Hey, break it up!” Ms. Bustier charged them, “Marinette! What on earth do you think you are doing? I know you are upset but you cannot go around blaming other people for it.”

“Ms. Bustier, I--”

“That is enough. You march yourself down to the principal’s office right now. Maybe by then you’ll have cooled down.”

Everyone in class was glaring at her. Charging Lila hadn’t been a good idea. She couldn’t help it though. Weeks of torment at the hands of this girl had caused her to snap. Not that anyone would believe her. Not after what they had just seen.

The fight gave out and Marinette kept her eyes downcast as she shuffled to the principal’s office. She couldn’t keep living like this. If she didn’t do something soon then Lila could very well get her akumatized. Then where would Paris be? She needed to keep her cool. For the sake of Paris. Marinette literally couldn’t afford the risk of being upset.

(2) (3) (4)

tagged: @unassumingsoda

#miraculous ladybug #transfer au #salt fic #marinette dupain cheng #lila rossi #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #writing

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momtemplative · 4 years

Text

Saturday Afternoon, MACRO and MICRO

Definition of Macro: large-scale; overall. ie., THE FOREST.

Definition of Micro: extremely small. ie., THE TREES. Definition of Macro, here: The wild world at large.

Definition of Micro, here: The tiny home we inhabit, where we “shelter in place.”

MICRO—I sit here in our tiny RV that is parked in the driveway. It’s where I “go to write”, a creative parlor with wheels and a view of our magnificent choke cherry out the window that is just starting to think about blooming. (I don’t blame it for being hesitant.)

Months back, Opal and her friend pretended this RV was a rescue vehicle for dogs—all dogs but mostly pit bulls, a breed Opal feels is highly misrepresented. From where I sit, in the passenger seat swiveled to face the rear, there are four black-and-white photocopies of gorgeous dog portraits staring at me. One pit bull in particular looks straight through me.

I’ve purposefully resisted straight-up news, aside from my nightly installment of “Good News Network” and NPR’s weekly “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” radio quiz show. But living without allowing for the outside to seep in feels unhealthy in its own right. Selectively permeable would be the proper thing to practice now.

So I crack open my computer and dip my toes in the NY Times live coverage of the Coronavirus.

I can hear Jesse’s future voice in my head: How was writing?

Me: Good, but I’m feeling a tad suicidal now.

Him: Why?

Me: I read the news.

Him: Now why would you go and do that??

MACRO—“With President Trump having undercut the new guidance of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention by immediately declaring that he would not wear a mask himself, it was far from clear how many Americans would ultimately embrace the recommendation.”

MICRO— I return from the RV to find a house party of three people in my living room. Thankfully, my family did not get the memo that in this moment, life on the outside is complex and backwards. Ruth is on Jesse’s shoulders, no pants, shit-eating grin and fresh-cut bangs in her eyes. She shakes like a puppy with over-large ears and Opal twirls in her No ProbLLama nightgown to the Imagine Dragons song, Zero. Inside our little bubble, things are bumping! The sun floods the living room and even the anti-social cat seems obliged to hang out—from an appropriate distance.

MACRO—Governor Andrew Cuomo warns that, as infections passed 113,700 and deaths 3,500, New York State would reach the worst point of the coronavirus crisis within a week or so. He also said the state was using the machines for coronavirus patients at a rate that would exhaust its stockpile in just six days.

MICRO—Three boxes are stacked one atop the other in front of our door like a cairn. One box is for Jesse’s birthday next weekend, the others are for Ruth.

It’s looking like COVID-19 will spit us out the other end proficient in at least one new talent—Opal’s is roller skating. She insisted on using my skates, which she found while foraging for activities in the garage like a squirrel for food. After a few days of wearing those up and down the down-stairs hallway, and back and forth on the sidewalk out front, I was certain the future for her ankles was bleak and we ordered her a pair on Amazon that were her size.

Ruth observed all this unfolding and with no intention of leaving empty-handed. Unfortunately, toddler-sized skates are much harder to come by. So, many weeks into the future, Ruthy finally got her own skates that go over her shoes and are, frankly, awesome. She also picked out the tackiest Olaf helmet—with a carrot-nose that actually protrudes—after instructing me to “search on Amazon for Olaf now please.”

Each of those treasured items are contained in the boxes on our porch. I jump into our current porch-sanitizing routine (bleach wipes and spray lined up on the porch without apology)—wipe box, open, wipe down package inside, wash hands thoroughly.

You can practically hear Ruth buzzing as suits up for a jolly, though quick to be exhausting, skate around the block. Her uniform killed, and would have worked as well for Halloween, Burning Man, a rave and a roller derby—mixed patterns for shirt and pants, knee pads and skates from Trolls, Olaf helmet. When she velcroes her final skate, I hear a faint, prayer-like utterance from Jesse: dear god. She is an eye-full that could save a life.

MACRO—Trump is getting help with the November election. His campaign just rolled out a new ad, titled “Hope,” featuring appreciative quotes from Gov. Cuomo and Gov. Newsom of California. With the lives of their constituents at stake, they’ve given him the made-for-TV sound bites he was never able to extract from Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky.

MICRO— Thank god for these kids. If I were being force-fed the news then led to an empty house with, maybe, a roommate-peer who is also stressed and bloated with sad information, or if perhaps I were old and alone, I’d be struggling in an entirely different way. Sure, I have my moments of fantasizing about what it would have been like if COVID and shelter-in-place came at a time before or children, during a time when I could have relished cleaning and reading and making a weeks-long retreat out of an unsavory situation. But the fact is, these kids keep the scales level.

Not to mention the fact that affection is built-in. Even though Ruth is less interested in snuggling than she is in building block-towers or submerging every toy she owns in water, we seem to be touching constantly, in this or that way. Hugs from Opal and Jesse, snuggling on the couch for a show, holding hands on our walks around the block—it’s all-inclusive. The fact that this is not the case for everyone is something I am well aware of.

MACRO—Jared Kushner has embedded his own people in the Federal Emergency Management Agency; a senior official described them to The Times as “a ‘frat party’ that descended from a U.F.O. and invaded the federal government.” As The Washington Post reported, Kushner’s team added “another layer of confusion and conflicting signals within the White House’s disjointed response to the crisis.”

Kushner, you can’t shatter us. Young girls in roller skates win every goddam time.

MICRO— Our block continues to be paradise. Any interest we had six months ago in selling this house has been waylaid and, thus, we are appreciating our home base in a truly different way.

As we make our way down the block with two girls on their respective wheels, we holler at our beloved across-the-street neighbors, friends of 14 years. They sit, mysteriously, at a card table in their front yard, as if they are having an invisible garage sale. We exchange a boisterous, level-12-volume conversation from across the street, talking over each other and at the same time, expressing everything we possibly can in the tiny window we have while the girls scoot away on their skates.

The corner that turns on to the bike path and is covered with ancient ponderosa pines smells musty and earthy and perfect. Like every camping trip ever taken. Every hike through the woods. A momentary dose of equilibrium.

When we circle back, our neighbors are still outside.

One of them asks, “Hey, have you guys been wearing masks outside?”

“No, Governor Polis just suggests it for any public place—grocery, whatever.”

“We saw a few people driving by with them on.”

“Yea, so did we, we saw a few people out walking with them on, just outside.”

I guess the point is, if it’s not gonna hurt, you might as well do it. Hell, if we are in this far—as is shelter-in-place—then we might as well take it all the way. To pick up the slack for people who aren’t doing what they should be doing. (We are actually yelling all this in conversation across the street.) The idea that some people would still not be doing what they are supposed to be doing is ludicrous. I’ve vented my rage at the college students of America over St. Patty’s Day, but they are all home by now, are they not? So who are we talking about here?

Fact is, as I just learned today, there are still five states that are not mandatory shelter-in-place. (I’m sorry, what??)

MACRO—“I can’t lock the state down,” said Gov. Kim Reynolds of Iowa, which has recorded more than 600 confirmed cases and at least 11 deaths. “People also have to be responsible for themselves.”

MICRO— Opal has been loving her evening ritual of putting Ruth to bed. She says it’s one of her most ‘special times of the day,’ though it happens only a few times a week. She takes her little sister down by the hand, gets her jammies on and teeth brushed, reads to her, the whole precious nine yards. She does that tonight, leaving Jesse and I to the quiet of ourselves and our space-sans-kids in the family room.

Jesse promptly dozes off in the rocking chair. I lie on the floor with eyes closed in star-pose, taking up some glorious space. These days are taking a toll. But it’s also true that I laughed so hard on four different occasions this afternoon that I buckled over twice, slapped a knee and wet myself.

So much is going well in our tiny Microcosm that sometimes it’s easy to forget the Big Picture Macro. Ignorance is indeed not far from a certain cheap kind of bliss. It makes sense why people do it, why people feel the need to avoid discomfort. But, ultimately, the mind knows when it is missing something. The soul knows when it is being cut-off. Our beings can feel when humanity is suffering, whether or not we choose to admit it to ourselves in so many words.

“Mom!” Opal whisper-yells from down the hall. “Ready!” Meaning, she’s ready for me to come and finish Ruth’s bedtime with a song. But by the time I get to Ruth’s snug and utterly safe kid-room, she is fast asleep.

4/4/20

(all quotes in italics come from the NY Times live coverage of the coronavirus from the previous week.)

#momtemplative #HeatMamaWords #mindfulparenting #micromacro

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vincess-princess · 5 years

Text

just another night

some people are interested, so here it is! i kinda experimented with sound and flow and am a little bit nervous how it turned out. also, do you think i should post it to rockfic too? also it’s kinda long so im putting it under the cut. as always, giant thank you to my lovely beta @polska-tankietka , without you this would be so much more trashy

Fandom: Motley Crue Pairing: Nikki Sixx/Vince Neil Word count: 1547

The bar is stuffy and smelly. Music roars in Nikki’s ears, light flounces before his eyes; red-yellow-white, red-yellow-white. Nikki can’t make out the hair colour of the boy who’s been looking at him for the last twenty minutes. Nikki looks back and taps on the counter. Bartender serves both of them Jack Daniels, and he senses an understanding soul.

The boy has a girlfriend, and at first Nikki wants to throw them the fuck out. After observing them a little, he changes his mind. The boy doesn’t even look at her; she sulks, drinks shot after shot, leans on the counter, finally gets up and totters towards the toilet.

The boy watches her until she closes the door. Then he looks at Nikki. And smiles.

Nikki smiles back.

The boy nods, shows him three fingers, empties his glass and disappears in the crowd. The music is so loud the air seems to be vibrating, Nikki will soon be able to see sounds.

Nikki starts counting seconds. The whiskey messes up his count, and he has to start again. He gets angry, starts straight from fifty.

One hundred seventy eight. One hundred seventy nine. One hundred eighty.

Nikki gets up, throws his jacket on the stool and heads to the men’s toilet.

Here, he can’t see well either, but he makes out that the boy has blonde hair. There’s barely enough room for two, Nikki almost knocks his head on the lamp. He still has to lean forward, the boy pulls him closer, his fingers gripping Nikki’s hair, his breath smelling of whiskey. Nikki closes his eyes and opens his mouth, his world is bitter and wet, tasting like cigarettes and smelling like cheap perfume, and the fingers in his hair are pulling demandingly, almost painfully, almost. Nikki’s tired of bending over, he grabs the boy under his thighs and lifts him up, his back against the wall, he laughs without sound, “what a strong boy”, and Nikki thanks someone silently for bad lighting in the room.

The boy accidentally bites Nikki’s lip and quickly apologizes, Nikki wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter, even the taste of blood won’t dilute the bitterness in their mouths, but he doesn’t want to stop the kiss, not now, please. The boy is a very skilled kisser, but it’s not a contest for Nikki: his hand feels the hotness of the boy’s skin, the part of his back right above the belt of his jeans, and he slides his whole palm under his tee, and he just can’t get enough of him.

“We don’t have much time,” the boy whispers in his ear, and Nikki’s mouth feels so cold and empty without the blonde’s tongue in it. The boy’s hands are cold too, and Nikki shivers a little when these fingers brush his skin right above his jeans. Nikki tries not to look, this is not his first time but he still blushes like a schoolgirl. Instead, he looks at the boy’s hair that is darkened at the roots, tangles his fingers in it and pulls him closer. The boy doesn’t resist - he doesn’t need to see what’s down there to handle it, his breath is hot on Nikki’s neck, his hair tickles his cheek. Only now Nikki notices he’s a head shorter than him.

“Are you even eighteen?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Twenty already,” the boy looks Nikki straight in the eyes, resentfully, almost defiantly. His eyes are dark, brown, maybe. “Do you really care?”

“Don’t wanna go to jail because of such trifle.” Nikki smiles insincerely while everything inside of him screams, stop it, he will leave, he will leave you alone here, do you want it?

“I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway,” the boy says indignantly, and for a second Nikki fears he’s too angry to go on. But they’ve already got so far, and the boy, too, feels this growing tension in his crotch, and he doesn’t want to stop.

Nikki can’t help moaning when the boy’s hand slips under his belt. Nikki strokes his head, he would never think such a non-sexual gesture would work, and the bleached hair under his fingers is stiff, a little bit damaged already, but not in vain, definitely not. The neck under the hair is sun-burnt to dark-red, and Nikki can’t understand whether pain or pleasure is behind the boy’s moans, but he doesn’t try to stop him, so Nikki hopes it’s alright. And those strong fingers down there move faster and faster, and Nikki accidentally bites his partner’s shoulder, but the boy doesn’t listen to his apologies, “let’s talk later, after we’re over”. Nikki puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his screams, there’s another toilet just behind the wall, what if someone will hear him? Yes, a silly concern, the music is too loud, but Nikki doesn’t want to give them out, they really don’t need to be interrupted right now.

And then the world explodes in front of his eyes, and everything goes black and white, and for a few seconds Nikki can’t breathe and only presses his face into the tanned shoulder with a white trace of a strap.

They should have probably brought tissues with them.

The boy smiles, teeth shine like pearls in a brown face. “Was it good?”

“…oh fuck yes.”

Nikki buttons back his jeans. “My turn.”

The boy’s jeans are easy to take off, very useful in a club. “Did you forget underwear on purpose?” They don’t talk – they whisper, soundlessly, the music doesn’t let them hear each other, but it’s ok, Nikki understands almost every word, as though he finally learned to read lips.

“Sure,” the boy blinks in surprise, “why would you need it here?” and Nikki almost laughs, almost, because he’s kind of right.

Nikki got told a lot in the past that he has calloused fingers. He usually shrugged it off - it’s the cost of playing the bass, - but now he’s worried the boy won’t like it. He is wrong. The boy tilts his head back and moans loudly, openly, shamelessly, as though there are no people behind this thin door, but Nikki doesn’t care, not anymore. Let them hear. Let them envy. Something cracks behind the boy’s back, and they clumsily move around to avoid knocking down the fragile sink, and Nikki is not afraid anymore to cling to him, because it’s much harder to knock down the wall, although they probably could do it if they had enough time. Now they have too little of it, but Nikki doesn’t care, he lives in the moment, in their broken breath and desperate moans, in the drops of sweat on a tanned forehead. He holds the boy with one arm while he scratches his shoulders and smears his lipstick on Nikki’s shirt, so submissive, so fragile, and Nikki loves it, and he knows it’s not true, he knows he’s wrong, but one can always dream. They won’t meet again anyway, will they?

The boy whimpers quietly, and Nikki’s palm fills with warm and wet. Nikki holds him so tight it’s almost painful, because if he lets him go, they will both collapse. They stand there panting and don’t look in the other’s eyes and don’t understand why it’s so hard to just release their grips, to just say goodbye. They don’t owe each other anything, right? Seconds are hours, hours are seconds, and time stretches like rubber and sprints like a leopard, and doesn’t obey any known laws. How long it’s been, a minute, an hour, a day?

“It was so cool,” the boy’s whisper breaks the fragile silence. “Are you a guitarist?”

“Bassist.” Shit, so he didn’t like it?

“Even better,” he looks Nikki straight in the eyes and a smile hides in the corners of his mouth. “I love musicians.”

Nikki pulls him into a kiss to not let him notice his blush. They kiss, and Nikki can’t stop thinking that it’s their last one.

“Alright,” the boy breaks the kiss a couple of minutes later. “I gotta go. You have magnificent fingers,” and he slips out of Nikki’s arms and almost turns the doorknob.

”Wait, tell me at least your name.” The last thing to ask in a gay club, but Nikki needs to hold on to something.

“Wharton.” The boy smiles, slyness in his eyes. Definitely lied. “Yours?”

“Frank.” Who could think he would use it again. “It was nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Same. Three minutes, as before?”

Nikki nods, and Wharton leaves. A few seconds that Nikki lingers for, his head still in a haze of his recent orgasm, are enough for Wharton to blend in with the crowd. Nikki looks for him until he’s dizzy from all the music and the lights but it’s all in vain.

He leaves the toilet and plods back to the bar. He wants to get drunk enough to pass out but so much alcohol is beyond his means. He grabs his jacket, and – a piece of paper flies out right under the counter.

It takes him ten minutes, two broken nails and scratched fingers to fish it from under the counter. There are some numbers on it. And a “Call me. W”

Nikki is on his knees, smiling like an idiot.

#nikki sixx #vince neil #fanfiction #motley crue #vinikki #oneshot #i wish you could read the russian version #it's so much better #here i'm limited by my vocabulary #this was kinda like 'can i write smut without mentioning the word cock at all'#it turns out that i can #so techincally it can be tagged as pg-13 #despite that actual sex happened there #i'll later add a link to the russian version #i just haven't posted it yet #please let me know what you think of it #my writing #motley crue fanfiction #motley crue slash fanfiction

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dontbeshytoaskforhelp · 4 years

Note

i’m starting to feel insecure about my physical appearance for the first time and idk what to do

We all get to a point in our lives where this happens. Even the girls and guys you may perceive to be perfect, have flaws. Not just flaws that others can see, but ones only they are fretting about. The “hottest girl in school” could go home and stare at her thigh in shame, feeling as though they’re too fat. Or the “hottest guy at work” may hate looking at himself in the mirror because he hates his nose and thinks his teeth aren’t white enough. So when it comes to this, you are far from alone.

I pride myself on being very confident and having high self esteem - which confidence and self esteem are not the same thing. However I know that I have physical flaws, along with mental and emotional ones as well. But speaking solely on physical flaws, I don’t let them bring me down for a few reasons.

Number one; I remind myself that everyone else has physical flaws too and so it’s completely normal. Number two; I remind myself that, yes, I have flaws, but I also have a lot of strong points as well. So while my flaws might make me uncomfortable at times and in certain scenarios, my strong points shine through in many more. So I try my hardest to forget what I hate about myself and instead focus on the things that I love about myself.Number three; most physical flaws can be worked on, improved and even completely changed/fixed.

For number three, to show you what I mean, I’ll list the things I don’t like about myself physically and what I’m doing to work on them. It’s what is written is italic, so if you don’t want to read all that, just skip back to where it’s normal text again.

I’m thin, but my stomach is a bit overweight from pregnancy and that bothers me a lot because I used to have a flat stomach. So the small stomach bulge I’ve got is definitely the one thing I hate the most about myself, and I even went out and bought one piece bathing suits because I can’t get myself to wear two piece. In the beginning it was so bad, I would hide my stomach under a shirt or blanket during sex. I sometimes still get awkward in front of my husband with my stomach and will often cover it with my hand/arm during sex, and I VERY rarely walk around shirtless now. But I’m trying to get over it because he tells me he loves me regardless and still finds me sexy and beautiful - so that does help. But it doesn’t fix it 100%. So what I’m doing is I’m working out. It won’t fix my stomach 100% or put it back to how it once was, because after two births, my belly button area is stretched and would require surgery to fix. Maybe one day I’ll do that but I genuinely believe if I get my stomach back to being flat, I can over look that because it’s just a part of womanhood and any self respecting woman who may notice that on me, would know and respect that.

So for my stomach having a bulge - I’m working out to fix it.

I have bags under my eyes because of a sleeping disorder, so I have a rough time sleeping and usually only sleep 2-3 hours at a time before waking up for 30 minutes, repeating, etc., and often getting bad sleep when I am sleeping due to near constant nightmares.To help with that I’m using solutions to put under my eyes, lotions for my skin, etc. to improve my skin’s health.

I get A LOT of compliments on my legs. I’m pretty small all around (minus the small bulge in my stomach) and I’ve got a really big perky butt. Especially for how thin my waist is. I literally have had black girls tell me I have a black girl booty hahaha I love that about myself, and although many say they also adore my legs, I don’t. Just because someone else loves something about you, doesn’t mean you’ll love it too, right? So for me, my legs need to be toned up more. Again, I’m working out.

Then I hate my hair being so frizzy and hate that I had to cut it short. While I COULD buy extensions, they’re expensive, especially since I’m a natural red head and so to match the extensions I would have to also get my hair dyed ombre. It’s just too much money, so I instead am trying different shampoos to find out that gets rid of the frizz, taking better care of it, brushing it more often, and just waiting for it to grow (impatiently haha).

Lastly, my teeth. I just have bad genetics with my teeth so despite everything they’re pretty yellow. It’s one of those things where despite brushing and all that, they just wouldn’t stay white. So I use in home teeth whiteners, brush twice daily, use mouth wash and floss once per day. It has helped A LOT. They’ll ALWAYS be yellowish, but at least they aren’t as yellow as they once were. Once I get a second job I plan to have them bleached every 3 months professionally.

So, most flaws can be fixed (at least to some extent). As I’m sure you noticed with some of my flaws, there isn’t anything that can completely fix what I don’t like about myself. I can only fix it to an extent and from there the rest is just mental. I have to remind myself that flaws are okay, that others have them too, and that I have so much to be happy about and love about myself that a few minor things that can’t be completely changed shouldn’t be enough to bring me down.

Also, if a girl, makeup was a life saver for me when I lost my self esteem for a while. Once I got good at it, it really did help me with my self esteem issues. Now I can even go out to stores and run errands or relax in the house without makeup on. I don’t need my makeup done to take pictures every time either. While I always wear makeup when going to work or out with friends and in most of my photos, it isn’t something that I require at all times like I used to. I used it to help me gain my confidence back and once I had it, I’ve been able to be confident without it too. I just wear it when going out because I genuinely enjoy doing my makeup. But if I was told I couldn’t wear it for a week and had to go places without it, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Last thing I want to say, just because you may not be completely comfortable with your appearance (and I truly believe no one is), know that there are plenty of people out there that find you cute, sexy, beautiful, attractive, etc. It may not seem like it, but there are billions of people with billions of preferences. You definitely match for what MANY people find to be cute/etc.

#self esteem #confidence #self esteem asks #confidence asks #confidence advice #self esteem advice #writing #my writing #asks

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timelordthirteen · 6 years

Text

The Don’t Fall in Love Job 3/?

Mr. Gold/Lacey French, Explicit overall

Summary: Con artist Lacey never planned on staying in Storybrooke, just long enough to let the heat cool off in Boston from her last job. She also never planned on falling in love with the town’s eccentric pawn broker, Mr. Gold, but here she is living a life built on nothing but lies. Well, almost nothing… This is what happens after it all falls apart.

Chapter Summary: After leaving Storybrooke, Lacey gets some unexpected, life changing news, and remembers the first time she met Mr. Gold.

Notes: You all knew this was coming. Please bear with me, I promise not all is what it seems. :) I may have to put together some timeline notes at some point, but I don't plan on making a habit of flashbacks in this story as it's primarily about where the characters are now, not where they have been. Unbeta’d and probably a mess.

Warnings: Pregnancy, Unplanned pregnancy

[AO3]

The bathroom was dim and dingy and smelled of bleach.

Lacey stretched her arm up and leaned against the wide mirror, her forehead resting at her elbow. The glass felt wonderfully cool and she sighed as above her head one of the light bulbs flickered and went out. Her other arm hung limp at her side, her fingertips barely holding the slim plastic handle as it dangled. She sniffled sharply and then sucked in a breath through her nose, her eyes watering as the acrid scent stung her sinuses.

After a long moment, she straightened and stared down at the double lines, taunting her with their happy pink color. It was such a simple thing. Two easy steps: pee on a stick, ruin your life! She dropped the test in the little trash bin, wincing as it clanged and landed on top of the other tests she’d taken over the last three days. They all had the same answer, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

Pregnant.

With another sigh, she shuffled out of the bathroom and collapsed on the narrow bed, the metal springs squeaking in protest as she shifted and rolled onto her back. If she had been strong enough to keep walking, none of this would be happening. She should have never left Boston. She should have never stopped in Storybrooke.

She should have never fallen in love.

8 months ago...

Lacey shivered as she stepped off the bus.

The light of a red neon sign cut through the hazy gray afternoon, and she headed towards it. An early March drizzle matted her hair as she walked down the street. The steady rain was slowly melting the dirty, gray piles of snow, leaving behind a layer of grit that washed into the streets. The remains of winter always seemed so morose and dreary, despite the increasing hours of daylight.

She stopped and looked up at the sign, Granny's Diner. It had the kind of ring to it that made you think of black coffee and cherry pie, and she started to smile. On the surface, Storybrooke seemed like a decent enough place to stop for now, at least until she figured out where to go next. It was small, and the nearest big box store or Walmart was an hour's drive away, but it was also the last stop the bus made before it crossed the border into Canada. She couldn't risk her fake passport failing a customs inspection.

A quick search on her phone told her Granny also ran a small inn, with free breakfast and basic cable. She could tell from the outside of the building that it had that odd, only in New England charm, the kind that somehow made the combination of gingham curtains and kitschy sailboats in bottles work.

Granny herself was exactly as expected, an older woman with curly gray hair and a pair of wireframe spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She gave Lacey a flat, unconcerned look over the rims of her glasses as the door shut, cutting off the chill from outside.

“Can I help you?”

Lacey put on her sweetest smile and walked up to the counter. “Hi, I'd like a room, please?”

Granny frowned and slipped her glasses off, letting them dangle from a beaded lanyard around her neck. “You're definitely not from around here.”

She smiled wider and shook her head. “What gave it away?”

Her accent was fairly unmistakable, of course, but she didn’t see the point in hiding it from anyone here. She’d done that for years in Boston, along with the occasional wig or colored contacts. No one would be looking for a Australian, much less in the middle of nowhere Maine.

Granny started to grin, and flipped open a wide ledger. “How long will you be staying, Miss...?”

“French,” Lacey said automatically, inwardly cringing at how easily she’d used the familiar alias.

Granny's eyebrows lifted.

“Belle,” she added quickly. “Belle French.”

Rule number one: keep the lie simple. The more complex the lies get, the harder it is to keep them straight in your head.

The old woman seemed to be deep in thought for a long moment, then she clapped her hands together and grinned. “Oh! You're the new librarian!”

Rule number two: if the mark suggests or assumes something about you, go with it. People are less likely to question something they came up with.

“Yep!” Lacey answered brightly. “Yeah, that’s - that’s me!”

She’d probably spent a total of five hours in an actual library in her life, but what the hell. She pretended to be a ballerina once, and almost ended up the understudy to a Russian prima ballerina. Besides, she didn’t plan on staying long, so if she made a few bucks shelving some books, it certainly wouldn’t hurt her situation.

Granny nodded and made a note in her ledger, then turned to take a key off the rack on the wall behind her. “Well, then we’re very happy to have you stay with us. How many nights will you be staying?”

“Thank you. Um, just a week for now,” Lacey said absently as she scanned the short list of names in the ledger. “I’ll, uh, look for a permanent place once I get settled in my new job.”

The last entry in the book was five days old, and before that the most recent guests were from almost three months ago. They were probably staying in town for the holidays, or waiting out a snowstorm on there way to somewhere else. She wondered just how sleepy this little New England town was that a cozy inn like Granny’s, in a town along the coast, was used so infrequently.

She pulled out a credit card she was pretty sure still worked, just as the other woman turned and set the key on the counter.

“Just sign in here,” Granny instructed.

Then she picked up the credit card and swiped it as Lacey held her breath. The name on it was wrong. If Granny noticed she’d have to come up with some excuse, but within seconds the card was back in her hand and she was tucking it away in her purse.

Lacey looked up from signing her new alias. “Thank you, Ms...?”

“Lucas,” Granny replied, eyeing the signature before giving Lacey an appraising smile. “Martha Lucas, but everyone just calls me Granny. I put you in room number four. It has a nice view of the town square. Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square, but since you’re the reason the library is reopening, I'll waive it.”

“Thank you, Granny, I -”

“Well,” came a smooth, accented voice from behind her. “Who might this be?”

Lacey turned to find a man in a well-tailored, dark suit. He had brown hair to his shoulders, streaked with gray at his temples, and stood with his hands casually folded over a gold handled cane. There was something imposing about him despite his slim build, and a look in his eye that was a strange mix of cool indifference and curiosity.

“She’s the new librarian,” Granny said, gesturing towards her.

He started towards Lacey, the movements graceful even with his slight limp, and then stopped next to her. She glanced at Granny, and saw the woman’s entire demeanor, which had been pleasant thus far, shift to being very standoffish. She glared as she reached down under the counter, pulled up a metal lockbox, and took out a sizable roll of money, tied with a rubber band.

Lacey’s eyes went wide as she watched Granny feather the ends of the bills with her thumb before holding them out to the man.

“It’s all there,” she snapped as he reached out and took the money, plucking it from her grasp with two long fingers.

“Of course it is, dearie, thank you.” He turned to Lacey, and gave her a slow smile. “So, new librarian?”

Lacey nodded. “Yes, I’m -”

“Miss...Frank, if I remember?” he interrupted, touching a finger to his bottom lip. “From...Hartford?”

Her eyes were drawn to the digit as it rubbed back and forth, and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was an old trick to help keep her focused when she was unsure about the next lie that came out of her mouth, the story she was about to build out of it. He seemed to be the type of person who knew things, who had a hand in everything, and wielded a quiet sort of power. The way he was looking at her was unnerving.

“French,” she corrected. “And I just got in from Boston.”

Rule number three: always make your story close enough to the truth that your reactions and memories are natural.

“Ah, yes.” He inclined his head slightly and held out his hand. “I’m Mr. Gold.”

Lacey held his gaze for a long moment, and then let it flick down to his hand before she took it in hers and gave it a firm shake. His fingers were warm and soft, except for a light callous on the pad of his thumb. It brushed her skin for a second, and she swallowed.

“I’m Belle,” she said, meeting his calculated smile with one of her own. “Belle French.”

He flashed his teeth and she caught the glint of gold, her eyes widening as she pulled her hand away.

“Belle,” he echoed softly. “What a lovely name.”

She watched as he moved to the door and opened it, letting a sharp sliver of sunlight in that made his eyes look deep and warm. The thumb of her right had moved absently over her fingers and palm. She could still feel the gentle grip of his hand on hers.

Gold met her eyes and gave her a small nod. “Enjoy your stay...Belle.”

Outside it started raining, the wind slapping water against the window in a steady, soothing rhythm.

Lacey’s hand had drifted down to her belly as she thought about those first minutes in Storybrooke. It came to rest over the waistband of her jeans for a moment, before she pulled it away. Whatever was happening was right there, right under the dark denim fabric and layers of skin and muscle. Something was taking root inside her without her permission.

The thought made her feel sick, and she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up. Her eyes squeezed tight as she breathed in and out slowly, listening to the patter of the rain until it passed. She supposed there would be more of that in the next few weeks, along with a whole lot of other changes. There would be months of it in fact.

She shifted onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the cracks that spread out from the old plaster medallion in the center. It was sort of like her life now, all the cracks she’d created with her lies and schemes, all the people she’d pushed away. She couldn’t have a baby or be a mother. This was no kind of life for a child, or for her anymore, but it was the only thing she’d ever been good at.

Well, almost.

For a while she’d been pretty decent at running a library, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She couldn’t really put a job that should have never been hers, that she’d held under an assumed name, on a resume. She also couldn’t put model, pool shark, lawyer, county zoning clerk, or flautist on there either, no matter how well she’d pulled them off at the time.

Thunder rumbled and she shivered. It would have been easy to let herself remember more than just the first time she met Alexander Gold. Like the time she’d ducked into his shop to get out of the rain, the day the power went out on them in the library, or the weekend they’d spent in his cabin by the lake.

That weekend had been magical. It had also been the one and only time Gold said he loved her, before their last moments together in Storybrooke. She could still hear his voice gasping her name - Belle, Belle, Belle - over and over until they were both spent. And then the softest whisper, so faint that it could have happened a dream. I love you. The look in his eyes afterwards was undeniable, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces even as she pulled him to her and kissed him.

If only it had been real. But Belle wasn’t real, she was just another lie, another mask worn on the outside for a while. It didn’t matter that it had been the hardest to remove, the hardest to walk away from, it wasn’t her. Gold’s love wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. It wasn’t for her.

Belle would have said it back, she thought. If she’d really been Belle, deep down, she would have said it back and that would have been it. The beginning of everything instead of the beginning of the end.

Belle would have stayed.

Belle would have wanted a baby.

Belle would have been brave.

Lacey sucked in a breath and sat up, running her hands through her hair roughly as she brushed it back from her face. She twisted it up and snatched a hair tie from her nightstand to wrap around it. Then she stood and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she headed out of her bedroom.

Rule number four: plans change, always have a backup.

There was a few hundred dollars in the bottom of a ceramic cookie jar on her kitchen counter, which she pulled out and rolled up in her hand. It was her emergency stash, leftover from the last paycheck the Storybrooke Public Library had paid her. Well, that it had paid to Belle French, who had immediately cashed it and stashed it.

She squeezed the money in her fist and shoved it in her pocket as she stepped out of the apartment building and into the rain. It felt everyone she passed was judging her, like they knew where she was going and what she was going to do.

The storefront the clinic was in used to be a salon. Some of the exam rooms still had the hair washing sinks in them, with the flexible hoses and the cutouts where you would lay your neck. Once upon a time, Lacey had wanted to be a hairstylist. And a makeup artist. And an actress. And a zookeeper.

None of that happened.

Her leg kept bouncing nervously as she sat on the hard plastic chair. It made the paper form flap against the clipboard. When she got to the line that said patient name, she paused and blinked. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to write and the ink from the pen bled into the page as she watched.

Who the fuck was she anymore?

She took a slow, deep breath and scribbled the only name her fingers could manage to write - Belle French - hoping that by doing so, she could borrow just a little of her alter ego’s courage.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #golden lace #golden lace fic #my rumbelle fic #the don't fall in love job #fic

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feelinomni · 5 years

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Trail of knives

The sound of her blood dripping is like music to me. Drip… Drip. it's echo resonating across the empty apartment. A symphony of drips, drops, and echos. Her name was Michelle Ruby. She was a detective in the NYPD, a good one too, almost caught that school shooter. Her Manhattan apartment sits bloodstained and empty now.

I open my duffel bag and remove my hunter’s knife from it, the familiar handlebar feels comfortable in my hand. After running through the procedure in my head, I remind myself that my objective is to conceal her identity. Now I have only two teeth left to work on. I hear a creak and the sound of keys clinking together. Poking my head out the door, I see the door ajar and muddy footprints leading to the kitchen. Uh oh.

Dropping the hunting knife on the floor, I zip up the duffel bag and quickly, but silently make my way to the window in the back of the apartment. Opening the window I look down, it's about a one-story drop. Looking back I can see that their shadow is approaching the room with the body. I drop the duffel bag below and look up for a second. The cool night breeze brushes up against my face. Gathering all my will, I crawl out of the window and begin my descent. It isn't that hard to climb down, I just need to avoid windows.

I drop down to the ground after my ¨perilous” climb and start looking for my duffel bag. From my view at the window, it should´ve landed somewhere near these bushes. Ah, there it is. Grabbing it I begin my way towards the safehouse.

___________

¨ The victim's name was Michelle Ruby,” the autopsy tech stated eagerly, “stabbed in the spine, the knife was found at the scene, still bloody. Andrews dusted for prints, belonged to an Amanda Logan. ¨

¨Alright, thank you, Mr. Powell.¨ I acknowledged, still flipping through the case file, ¨anything else?¨

¨Yes, the vic`s mandible and all the teeth were removed.¨ he added, adjusting his lab coat, ¨thank you agent Mackenzie.¨

¨No problem.¨ I concluded. Walking out of the room.

Okay, so the prints found at this scene are the same as the ones found at the other scenes. The other scenes also had the same style as this one, except at the others the knife was in the victim's eye socket. Something must´ve spooked her. I'll talk to the victim`s daughter, see if she knows anything.

“So, Grace. What time did you get home?¨ I inquired, leaning forward.

¨Around midnight, um I was with my friends and we were watching a movie. After that I went to pick up some chips and dip, then I came home, put them in the kitchen and went to find my mom,¨ she managed. ¨then...then I..¨ she added, her eyes brimming with tears.

¨ That is all I need, thank you for your time, and I´m very sorry for your loss.¨ I concluded.

___________

That was close. I shouldn't have left the knife behind.

This safehouse is the definition of redneck. Stuffed heads of deer, wolves, and various fauna lined the wood log walls. You would think that a hunter with a southern accent would walk in and ask, ¨whats cookin,¨ with an animal carcass slung across his shoulder.

That isn't who walks in though. To be exact, the ones who walk in are twenty officers with guns, twelve fully armed FBI men, one detective, and a partridge in a pear tree. Literally. They have a bomb labeled, ¨partridge in a pear tree.¨ Five bucks say that I can´t get out of this.

They are taking me to the main FBI building, for a ¨proper investigation,¨ which means they are going to get ahold on every piece of ID, DNA, and prints they can get without killing me, interview me, and then lock me in a high-security prison with a plush cat for the rest of my days.

I have been sitting in this interrogation room for three hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty seconds accordion to the clock above the one-way glass, where some agent is looking at me. May as well entertain them.

_______________

Why is she making faces at me? This woman is wanted in all fifty states, under two names in a few. In fifteen years she will sit in the electric chair and be shocked to death, and yet she is smiling at me. No wonder the other agents on her case say she is insane. Three and a half hours is enough time to stew. Time to interview, hey, that rhymes!

“You were found in a safe house less than a mile from the scene where your prints were on the hunter's knife that killed Michelle ruby, a detective in the NYPD.” I accused, “Michelle Ruby also fit the general description of all of your past victims, she was slaughtered in a similar fashion as all of your past victims. We have all the evidence we need, if you confess, it’ll look better and you might get a slightly reduced sentence.”

“No. No, I won’t confess,” Amanda states firmly, “because if I do I will leave this building in a prison outfit and shackles, if I don’t, then I will leave either in a body bag or a free woman.”

“ Oh, and how will you leave this building a ‘free woman’?” I sarcastically inquired, using air quotes.

“ With your help of course, silly!” She giggled, “also I have about twenty agents working for me in this building, two of them are in that room behind you.”

“ Sure, and how exactly do you know that?”

“Because, they showed themselves about four minutes ago, also this interview isn’t being filmed.”

“Oh.” I finished. So, if this isn’t filmed, and what she said is true, then screw it, she's cute, and the system is corrupted anyway. “How do you want to get out of here?”

“You have access to all the floors in this building. Correct?” she asked

“Yes,” I replied

“Good. To get out of this building we need to first get to the back entrance, from where we need to commandeer a van, meander around the city until every corner of it has seen the car we steal,” she instructed. “can you do that?”

“Yes, I’m Louise by the way.”

“Alright Louise lets go,” she added with a smile.

__________________

Holy guacamole she is pretty. And she is joining me in the serial killer business. Awesome! Still, we need to actually escape. Let’s do this. Opening the door she holds my hands behind my back and pushes me through the hall to the elevator, once we got to the elevator and the door closed…

“ This elevator will take us to the second floor, from here we’ll take the emergency exit stairs to the back entrance” she updated, loosening her grip on my wrists.

“Okay, do you have a van lined up?” I asked, turning around to face her.

“Yes,” she responded, “ I talked to my buddy in equipment, he has one lined up for us.”

“Okay,” I concluded turning around and putting my hands behind my back.

Amanda takes them and we turn to face the door. Walking out a man bumps into us, he is on my side, but Louise doesn’t know that.

“Agent, where are you going?” he inquires.

“The suspect has to be taken to a high-security prison ASAP,” Louise replied sharply

“I can take her off your hands if you want?” he pressed

“No, I am the primary on this case, I will do it.” Louise insisted. I shook my head at him, letting him know he can leave it alone.

“Alright,” he sighed, admitting defeat and walking away.

With the exit right in front of us, we make a beam line towards it, pushing through people as fast as we can. Finally, we reach the exit. Opening the door we step outside to see a van waiting for us.

She guides me towards the door and opens it for me, I climb in. the van is covered in FBI logos, merchandise, and fake weaponry. Sure. totally discreet. Oh well, better than nothing.

“Is this thirty-sixth street?” Louise asked me impatiently.

“No, this is thirty-fifth, the next one is thirty-sixth,” I informed, leaning back in my seat and putting my feet up on the dash.

“Why do have to go through the whole city?” Louise asked

“ So the cameras have a hard time tracking our route,” I reminded her, “ and after this, we head for the border, Towards British Columbia.”

“Alright.”

____________

“Psst, hey! We’re here, we’re at the border!” I whisper-shouted to Amanda, who lay sleeping in the passenger seat.

“Huh, what?” she asked groggily, sitting up in her seat

“We’re here, we’re at the border,” I repeated, leaning over towards Amanda.

“Oh, okay, I’ll get the fake passports,” she stated absentmindedly, ruffling through the duffel bag.

“You brought fake passports?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

So it turns out that Canada is huge. Getting from Ontario to Manitoba took an entire day. Only stopping for gas and bathroom breaks. At least the other states, no, provinces are smaller.

We finally made it. The safehouse in BC. the entire trip from the Ontario borders to this safehouse took three.freaking.days, I don’t think I’ll ever sit down again.

____________

Louise and I have lived here for six months, we are settled in and have become bored. I think its time to start choosing a victim with her.

“So I was thinking, Tamera Kelly, forty-three years old, blonde, dirty cop.” I proposed, showing Louise a picture.

“How about Monica Jones, thirty-two, brunette, convicted felon” she offered, handing the file back to me.

“How about those jerks that wouldn’t stop playing their horrible rap music at the gas station in Winnipeg?” I suggested jokingly.

“Actually yeah, that would be nice,” she affirmed

“I’ll get my gun, you grab the garbage bags and the bleach?” I offered

“Sure. don’t forget the knives and ammo too.” she reminded

“Will do. Meet back in twenty?”

“Yep.”

#writing #school project #school #gay #lesbian #suspense #dark #murder #serial killer #original #story #short story #macab

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sarcasm-loathing-blog · 5 years

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⋅⊱♊qυєsτiσทiทg i∂єทτiτiєs♊⊰⋅

She stumbled in as another strong gust of wind pushed her into the building, the left double door caving in and flinging open, banging against the wall. The sudden slam echoed into the living room and empty space, causing her to grimace and scramble to close the door. So much for stealthy.

The chilling sounds of an oh so familiar cartoon reached her ears. She averted her gaze to a nearby wall as she shut and locked the door behind her, feeling the harsh breeze rattling the doorknob as she did so. She could hear the show, but at the same time she could somehow still see the up and down jerky mouth movements of the ship on the screen, that horrible horrible laugh. She had a bad rep with the show, having watched one episode as a kid, that kind of cut cable from her family forever. It was just a fucking show, but dear god it was sickening, especially the character, the skin taker. His mouth movements weren't particularly pleasing, he grinded his teeth left to right instead of the normal way a puppet should, up and down.

After her silent and short lived panic cooled down, she brushed herself off like something had stuck to her whilst she had made her way to the mansion, that wasn't the case, every hair was in place, not a single thing had ruined her appearance, because she was perfect. She strived to be the embodiment of perfection.

Ever so casually, she heaved the heavy backpack off of her shoulders before slinging it onto one of the rings of the sturdy coat rack, testing the stability before letting go and turning her head towards the three or so figures hanging on the couch, watching-that show. It should be static to her by now, right? Right?

She narrowed her eyes at the characters, trying to identify them with what little light shed onto their figures from the soft luminescent glow of the screen, then-it clicked. Sideburns, Ashy, and Goggles McGhee. Three of whom she didn't exactly interact with-well, what do you expect, with the higharchy of this damned mansion, you would be a fool to even glance at the musketeers with what authority they had. She began to back away, her clammy hands folding together as a possible comfort technique.

They all seemed fixated on the small retro TV, she often wondered how the hell they got cable and electricity all the way out here, she's made a theory that there was some sort of electrical system only for pastas or something, but its an extremely weak theory. She rolled her eyes and silently scoffed, uninterested in the activity. Its safe to say she hasn't watched TV in a while, 5 years at best, considering her RV just barely has electricity, she doesn't need a TV-well, she wish she had one, sort of.

Sideburns, or Masky, to others, sat with him. It would be foolish to address a proxy as an equal, she had a silent respect for them both, strong powerful beings whom don't have to slave away with a broom every day. They're living the life-well, not exactly. She was one who was allowed to remember her past life, give or take she had succumbed to the fact she had no hope of returning to it in the future.

Suddenly, as quick as a crack of lightening, Ashy turned his head away from the screen, the black endless orbs of the mask peering into the darkness, she heard a deep inhale. What was it doing? She deemed him it for just a moment, his movements so animalistic you could actually feel the wild like aura he held. Oh god, his gaze had directed om her. He made a movement with his hand, seeming to slap Sideburns on the shoulder with the back of his hand, causing Sideburns to startle a bit before glancing back over his shoulder. Well, this is-she didn't know what to call it. Disturbing? Unnerving? She didn't like the position she was in, then-Ashy began to rise from the couch, he began to speak-there was a raspy undertone in his voice, like he doesn't use it a lot, something seemed to creep from his words, something slimy and black with a bunch of tiny legs.

"Who are you."

It seemed more like a demand then a question, she flinched on instinct as she felt eyes almost immediately peer towards her in the darkness.

"Your dad, im back with cigs"

Ashy seemed to be narrowing his eyes-or lack of, definitely lack of, on her. She swollowed the hard forming lump in her throat as she tried to turtle into her clothes, seemingly phased by the cold glare that the being was somehow directing at her.

She froze in place, only then realizing that she was backing away, the heels of her boots scuffing the peeling yellowed hideously wallpapered wall behind her as she drew her arms to her chest, her head lowering to cover her neck in case the figure went for a punch to her throat. How does someone answer that?

"Hey, my name is Trinity, im the fucking maid who washes the skid marks from your undies, good luck holding a proper conversation with me because the only thing I want to talk about is how fucking horrible my job is, I hadn't had proper social interaction in, like 5 years!"

Yea, that would totally work, her hand slid into her coat, fingering the Browning high power 9 mm pistol that bounced at her hip. It gave her a raw sense of empowerment, like she was a ring leader, and Eyeless jack was a lion.

"My name is Trinity. I clean up around here, I usually do it at night, but I had something to do last night and never had to opportunity."

She was mildly impressed by the steady dull flat tone she used and how she was able to speak over a mumble. She didn't get to cocky yet, how would they believe her? Did she have to whip out her bottle of Windex and cleaning rags?

"That's a nice name."

Masky was a little unamused by the female. Sure, he may not of seen her before, but no, she doesn't faze him. He blinked slowly, then looked over at Jack. Look, it'll be pretty sad seeing this gremlin of a woman try and fail to fight this hulking figure, so he decided to give her a hand and take her word for it. Most creatures couldn't pass through the mushroom circle anyways.

His voice sounded deep, as though he hasn't slept for a couple of centuries, with a bit of a smokers cough. He didn't introduce himself, who cares for casualties? His gaze darted towards Goggles McGhee , instead of soaking the drama in, the male was leaning forward, fixated on the static covered screen as if it was the most engrossing morning cartoon he's ever watched. Sideburns rolled his eyes underneath the black opaque fabric covering the eyeholes of his mask before glancing back at the gorl.

She pursed her lips together, her eyebrows knitting in confusion as the words had rolled around in her mind, slowly peacing together into a sentence, a little lightbulb finally flicked on inside her mind as she nodded slowly. "Thank you-?" It seemed more like a question, its been a while since she actually-got a compliment, you know? Because she was the embodiment of loneliness.

Ashy, on the other hand, would need a bit more convincing. If he could, he would have already tackled her to the ground and ripped out her spine from her still squirming soon to be corpse, but something was nagging him in the back of his mind, something was telling him that maybe she was telling the truth. He ignored that tiny thought, his hand sliding into the grey worn and bleach stained hoodie he adorned before fingering the warm smooth metal of the blade. It felt alive, due to how his body tempature was keeping it warm.

"I smell bullcrap."

"It's probably your upper lip."

Her gaze adverted back to Ashy, a frown tugging on her lips as she cocked her head. "Well, im sorry to hear that, would you like me to elaborate?" She held a snarky comment on the back of her tongue, it pressed against her teeth, struggling to push out before she heard the soft thump of a stuffed toy hitting a step and the pats of tiny feet hitting the smooth floorboards of the second story hall. There was a flash of a dirty salmon color in the corner of her eye before it dissapeared, She couldn't keep one eye on jack and the other on the toy, so she kept her eyes on jack, but did address the toys presence for future reference.

Jack turned his head, listening in-a giggle erupted from the hallway, high pitched and playful. Sally. Ashy couldn't see Sally, also known as button eyes-but he could smell her. She always smelt of letting meat and sugar cookies. His defensive attitude kicked in as he gripped his scalpel in a vice-like grip, bristling like an angry cat at this point “I don’t know who you are, but you don’t belong here, if you worked here over night then I'd at least would have picked up your scent.” he growled, his heart rate picking up.

His chest hurt, the goop kept streaming from his sockets, he felt his headache lightly at the back of his skull as he rolled his shoulders.

"Well, if you were able to smell me, then you'd possibly be able to smell yourself and take a bath for once, news flash-you reek of death."

The words left her mouth before she could comprehend what was happening, she mentally struggled to shovel them back down her gaping maw before it was too late, a flash of regret misted her eyes, but it was true, even from here, she could smell the rotting flesh interlaced between with teeth and underneath his nails. This seemed to silently enrage him. "Look-you, do I need to prove it? This place would be a fucking dump without me." She jabbed her thumb into her chest, her eyes narrowed into an ice spiked glare, she was going all out with this.

She felt angry, frustrated, scared, etc.... Why the hell was she even having this argument in the first place? It was clear that this person was insignificant and unimportant-no, that's not true, that's definitely not true, they were important, they were strong, they could kill her.

Sideburns looked back and forth to who was talking. The conversation was going nowhere, the two only threw threats at one another whilst also trying to gain the upper ground, it was aggravating. He blinked hard, almost shed a tear, but he's extremely dehydrated. His tiredness was getting the best of him, which is a bad thing in this situation.

"Look, how about we let her go, besides, she cleans. I mean, it's like arguing with a janitor, you're not going anywhere if they speak Spanish."

She was tempted to gasp melodramatically, how dare he compare her to a janitor-but she didn't, she kept silent, ever so slowly closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose to suppress the oncoming headache. Dear lord, save her soul, she didn't ask for this, she didn't ask for this job, it just came to her. In all honesty, she wanted to crawl into a ball and dissapear into a black endless void, she was edgy like that-no, she actually wanted to be home. She wanted to be back at home before she had moved away from college, back with her mom and three brothers, as they danced in the bare widely spaced living room to music. Those were the good times, before she changed her hair and begun to wear eyeliner and smoke pot. Before she met all her horrible wreckless teenage friends, back when she was as free as a bird.

Ashy then, at the last moment, reconsidered before forcing himself to put his weaponry away back into the hoodie pocket it had previously resided in, such a shame he couldn’t use it today.

“If you make one wrong move or even lay a finger on Sally you won’t be so lucky...” he said with a snarl.

Jack turned his back to the woman with one final glance before turning back and giving his sleeve a sniff, even through his mask he could smell how horrid the stench emitting from his body was, his nose wrinkling in disgust. She was somewhat right, he hasn't bathed in a while.

"I'm sorry, who?"

She didn't know who this "Sally" was, perhaps it was the figure that had raced away, leaving the stuffed toy behind. She felt a bit more relaxed, give or take she no longer was an antelope dangled by the bind legs above a pit full of tigers, the corner of her mouth twitched upward, almost forming a small smile before dropping.

Thank the Lord, someone changed the channel, that droning static of candle cove was enough to make her want to rip her eyes and ears out as she envied the death. She felt a bit more clumsy now, with both her actions and her words, she needed to stay sharp, at any moment, Ashy could lunge at her and plunge that tiny little weapon of his into her gut, she wasn't a fan of dying.

"Hey, I was watching that!"

Goggles McGhee flung his hands upwards a bit before shaking his head and cussing underneath his breath. Sideburns had begun to flip through channels to see what else was on besides that creepy cartoon, he eventually landed on some sort of modeling show, the clothes they wore were hideous and it seemed that 20 gallons of hair spray held each models hair in place.

After getting little to no response, she rolled her eyes and grimaced, disgusted in her own behavior, but she couldn't help but let a sense of satisfaction and entitlement seep into her as she crossed her arms. Now then, what shall she do first? She supposed cleaning the fridge out should be what she should start off with, if she survives that, the rest of her chores would seem to be mildly easy. She turned on her heel, heading towards the kitchen with the black snakey like tail dragging behind her, whipping or flicking slightly.

Once she entered the kitchen, she noticed how dark in the room it was, considering the grime on the outside windows and the blackout curtains on the inside, her hand reached up, patting along the wall for a switch as she tried to peer through the darkness. "We're back in harmony." She muttered to herself. It was a small quote from one of her favorite books she had as a young teen, a thick novel of sorts. Finally, she found the switch before flicking it upwards with one hand, almost immedietely the bright shockingly white glare of the light above caused her to hiss and squint in distain, her hands flying to her eyes to cover them as the shock of the sudden light gradually released.

Ever so slowly, she removed her hands from her eyes, dropping them to her sides and taking a moment to review the previous events and peace together what happened. Should she apologise, should she say sorry for even being there? No, she had every right to be there, you shouldn't accuse someone of being an enemy just because you don't see them on a day to day basis. She felt slightly hurt, like she was uninvited in the only work space she had.

She shook her head quickly frim side to side, her glossy dark locks bobbing around before she shuddered. "No, im not going to do that. Risky, risky-" she didn't finish her sentences per usual, how could she? Besides, it wouldn't matter if she apologised or not, in about 4 hours or so she could head back to her RV. In 4 hours, this would be nothing, she would go back to working at night, she would go back to the silence and solitude and peace. This was a mere ripple in her pond of routine.

It was time to get to work.

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