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vesuvianmess · 3 years

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Popsicles?

Art by @jilljoycearts Drexxel is @vesuvianmess Vell is @deathbyarcana

A short fic recounting how these two met, pulled (with some edits) directly from a currently running roleplay.

Quick Warning: Contains mentions of stalking and harassment

"You are very welcome, have a good rest of your day!" He waved the group off with a smile. "Hiya, what can I get you?" He asked another.

Flitting back and forth from group to group, he greeted every single person with a genuine smile. There was nothing more satisfying than seeing others light up with joy. He’d taken up working at the bakery part time to help with some expenses of running his own shop. And he had to admit, the smell of fresh baked bread may have influenced that choice. The job was never boring as the market was always flooded with people, locals and travelers alike, all looking for something. Still, he only worked with Selasi during the mornings and early afternoons. When he’d had his fill, he would return home to open the doors to his own little business.

But today, he had something a little different in mind. Instead of selling little animal pelts, herbs, bits, and bobbles, he was in and out again in a flash. Having changed into something much more comfortable for the heat, he pulled a wheeled cart behind him to the town square. Near the fountain, he’d found the perfect spot and pulled the cover off the cart. It would take him a little time to set everything up, but once it was done, he noticed people already beginning to gather around. Some faces he'd seen many, many times before. Others, much more new. Taking a seat on an overturned wooden bucket, he twirled a pair of drumsticks between his fingers.

“Hello Vesuvia, I’m bringing you a special late afternoon show! Now then," he sat up a little, the line of his back straightening. "For those of you new to my show, we have fun here! Here's how this goes!" making a grand sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, he continued on. "You may request a song but there is no guarantee I will play it. I will not tolerate pushing, shoving, or otherwise harmful activity during my shows. And, as always, tips are appreciated but not required, come stay for awhile and feel the beat of the sound! I'm Drexxel Volkov, and may luck be forever in your favor!"

It started with a small metallic chime, a shortstop of little taps on the rims of the set. But before long the square was alight with the beating of drums. His whole body moved in time with each beat almost as if he were dancing along to his own song. Small children bounced and tugged at their parents' sleeves, urging them to get closer. New comers stood with delighted expressions, some even getting a little antsy standing in one place, others giving way to bouncing their bodies to the rhythm.

There was nothing better than this, looking out into the crowd as he thrummed away the minutes, flipping the sticks and singing along even though nobody could hear him over the heartbeat he'd created.

The crowd was thick as usual but new faces stuck out easy to him. Even with the prick of sweat beginning to roll down his forehead, he was able to focus enough to make everyone feel included in his performance. One face in particular he stopped at for more than a split second. A taller man with vivid blue hair, dark skin, and a sort of shaken demeanor. He looked….out of place perhaps amid the crowd, like he could bolt at any moment. Drexel found himself stealing glances at the man throughout his show, a dizzying knot of butterflies in his gut as he saw the man start to meld into the hum around him. The thrill of the performance carried him through like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, his fiery passion shining through clear as day. Every movement felt natural, every breath felt like a whole new beginning. Drexxel never came from a background that favored this sort of thing, rather it was something he'd picked up on his own time. He had the extra energy to spare and needed an outlet to help with it. Besides, he always did like seeing people smile and what better way to do that then get them moving?

Into the second song now and he felt a wave of static run through him. Someone in the crowd was a magician. He could feel it. Even through the loud beating of drums and the crashing of cymbals the low electrical humming filled his body. He was sure of it. But was this magician able to sense him as well? That he did not know. He wasn’t sure precisely where the feeling was coming from, but he was determined to draw it out. With it toying at his mind, he decided it was time to show off just a little more. After all, using magic was a good way to lure out another magician.

Drexxel simply waited as he beat along in time to find the perfect moment to really show off his moves. Normally he would have saved this bit for later in the evening, but he just had to do it now. After feeling that little pang of magic, he knew he had to show whoever was producing it, that they weren't the only one with fancy magic at their fingertips. Just a moment longer....

When the final chorus of the song hit, he let it loose. His drumsticks sparked and crackled to life, enveloped in searing hot flames. With his sticks now burning with intense heat, he slammed away at his drums with more grandeur and energy than before. With each hit fire roared from the contact point, creating a dazzling display of towers of fire in varying sizes. If anything were to draw this other magician out, it would be this.

By the end of the show, much to his dismay, this fellow kin had not revealed themselves. It was a bit of a shame really, he would have loved to have someone join in his performance. What a dazzling display that would have been. He could only imagine what kind of magic would have complimented his own.

"Thank you all for joining me this afternoon!" He gave a bow, his hair falling a bit loose from his bun. "It's a hot one out today so make sure to stay hydrated and get some good food in your belly!"

He stood and lifted his arms over his head in a long stretch before using the rad cloth tied to his side to wipe away the sweat that cling to his skin. The show was over, but people still lingered in the area, some tossing coins into an open bowl near the drum set, others approaching Drexxel with questions. He was small for his age of twenty-five, standing at mere chest (or just below) level with most other adult’s that spoke with him. He had a thin, but decently sturdy frame with most of his strength apparent in his legs. Most people would know him for a scar that ran along his right cheek. Whenever asked about it he would simply tell them he didn’t remember where it came from but knew he’d had it most of his life.

The town square was still bustling with people as he began to pack up his things. Above it all though, he could hear footsteps approaching him. He paused a moment then spun on his heel to come face to face with a regular to his shows. The man was leagues taller than himself and had a strange look to his eyes. He was holding a piece of paper, crumpled and damp with sweat in his hands. Drexxel heard the man speak but didn’t quite catch the words.

“I’m sorry?” He responded back, urging the man to repeat himself. When he did, a chill ran down his spine. “...Go out with me. Dinner.” He pushed the paper into Drexxel’s hands. “You’re so pretty.”

The smaller pulled the note apart just enough to read it. In shaken scrawl it read:

‘Don’t make a scene. I’ve been planning this. You and I belong together.’

He’d seen this sort of thing before in books and screenplays. Some secret admirer gets too confident and goes after someone who isn’t interested and it becomes a problem. Problem being a kind way to put it. Harassment was a better word for it. Bold of him to make the attempt in broad daylight, let alone a busy square. In the kindest way possible, Drexel looked up at the man and spoke.

“I’d love to, but I have plans this evening. Another show I mean.”

He felt the prickle of magic in the air again, but it wasn’t coming from the man in front of him. The magician was still in the area.

"Excuse me, I'm talking to you." the man's voice broke him from his thoughts. "I'll be picking you up this evening."

Drexxel's brow furrowed, the energy around him shifting like hissing smoke trying to catch on damp wood.

"I'm really sorry, I mean it." He offered a sincerely looking apologetic smile. "But I really must be getting home." He made a move to leave but was stopped when the man caught his wrist.

"You're not going anywhere short-stack."

This....could be bad. As much as the crowd had dissipated, there were still people lingering about. Too much of a risk to cause a scene. But every fiber of Drexxel's being was telling him to flee. He needed an out. In the most...nonchalant way possible, he attempted to wriggle his wrist free.

"Your performance really spoke to me Drexxy. It's like you were composing a symphony just for me." As he was caught in his own little moment, Drexxel pulled his wrist free. But it only lasted a second.

He felt a pull against his skin before he heard a small snap. The man had missed when reaching for Drexxel's wrist and instead caught the beaded double bracelet on his wrist. Beads had gone flying haphazardly in every direction, landing on the stones below like pellets. In that moment he felt the pull of magic much closer than before. This other magician was close. Very close.

Drexxel was unfortunately used to people approaching him with much more....fervor than he anticipated. However, this particular instance was something else. He'd never had someone so adamant on taking him home. If this were to go on for a moment longer, he was sure to lose his composer. He may be a pretty upbeat guy but he also had a notoriously short fuse.

That hissing aura was rapidly kindling itself from a crackling campfire to a firestorm. When his bracelet snapped, he felt something in him switch. Rage bubbled up under his skin like pot boiling over on a stove set too high. His fist clenched and a growl escaped him.

But then, out of nowhere, everything around him stopped. He was about to throw a fiery punch but stopped short when he saw another man between him and his new 'friend'. It was the man he saw in the crowd! He said he was there to help just now. But what was he doing here and how did he…

"How--?" Then it hit him like a hard slap to the face. "So you're the magician I was picking up on!" His anger flickered back to amusement and joy. "I knew I wasn't imagining it! Oh! The helping thing, yes."

Drexxel offered the newest stranger a warm, bright smile. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hand and shook it furiously.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Drexxel! What do you say we blow this popsicle stand and get somewhere far away from this creep?"

The other man seemed to freeze up, like he expected a much worse response. His whole arm wobbled when Drexxel shook it. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in shock. It took him a minute to process what the smaller man had said to him.

“Oh, I…that is….popcicles?” The man felt his face go hot, blood rushing to his cheeks. He was sure the smaller man would mistake him for a tomato.

Drexxel watched him curiously. It was like watching the gears of a clock turning, the way this man seemed to be having an inner monologue with himself about whether or not he’d made the right call to get involved. He could feel how shaken up the man was, his hand trembling. Not very good at keeping his cool was he? Finally he spoke again.

“It’s localized. My….my magic…it…I mean I…no, it. It will wear off when we get a distance away. He could follow? I- who, well…popsicles?”

Drexxel had always been good at making new friends and getting people to laugh and smile. He was small, yes, but he made up for his size with seemingly boundless energy. It was nearly impossible to not like the guy. But, he could tell, he kind of took this one by surprise. But it wasn't the first time someone had responded this way. Not often he got to see someone turn that red before though!

Whoever this new guy was, Drexxel had never seen his face in Vesuvia before. And he’dbeen in the city for quite some time now. It'd been since he was about nineteen. He knew almost every face in Vesuvia, even if a good handful of them were only in passing. But this one, this one he wanted to know more about. Consider his interest piqued.

When time came back and this new magician struggled to make a clear sentence, it was all Drexxel could do to hold in a laugh. Localized magic though, not sure he'd heard of that one before. He completely skipped over the popsicle schtick.

"Localized huh? Hey, think you could use your magic with mine? I'm thinking....a wall of fire!" He still hadn't let go of the stranger's hand. "I could put a wall of fire around him, just tall enough to trip him up of course. You could stop time around it until we get far enough away that your....localization wears off!" Mossy green eyes brimmed with excitement. He gave the hand in his a squeeze.

"I bet we'll make a great team!"

He could see the man trying to process the words coming out of Drexxel’s mouth. He’ll admit, he was a bit of a fast talker when he was excited.

“Wall of fire…” He repeated Drexxel’s words, more to himself than the other, considering the idea. Not terribly flawed, he thought. A quick fix but not long lasting. “Worth…worth a shot.” an unsteady voice. “Wait - a team?” Vell had barely gotten the words out before the air thrummed with magical energy and, just as promised, fire sprung to life around the note wielding creep. If the situation weren’t as it was, he might have taken time to admire the flames.

"That's what I said isn't it? A team!" He mused, giving this new friend a wink.

When time did in fact stop around his flames, the passion in his eyes burned that much brighter. He beamed at this new stranger.

"Talk about a cool party trick. Come on, let's get out of here." Still gripping that hand, he took off. Hopefully this new friend could keep up with him.

They took off out of the square, rushing past pedestrians and shopping stalls in a race to escape the area. Drexxel had taken the lead, ducking and diving under obstacles like it was as easy as breathing. He felt his new found companion trip up a few times but he managed to keep up the pace. He was new to Vesuvia and hadn’t the slightest idea where the two of them were headed. Drexxel looked back to check on his new friend at just the wrong moment. The edge of his sandal caught on uneven stone, sending him tumbling into an unattended fruit cart, scattering oranges along the alley. He’d never let go of this new companion’s hand, and in turn, the two of them fell together. The other man now had him pinned, a leg on either side of him.

“I-- We-- uh…” The stranger fought to find the right words, feeling like a tea kettle ready to whistle. “We fell.”

Drexxel could feel his own face burning a bright shade. He would have been able to laugh it off if it weren’t for his immediate attraction to this man. Impulse guiding him, he offered the man a toying smirk. “You know, I think this might be fate.” He winked. “And I don’t even know your name.”

“M-my name?” The other man stuttered.

He tried to stand, pulling on Drexxel’s hands to pull him up as well, only to lose his footing. He fell back onto the stone, the smaller of the two now sitting perched on his abdomen. The look in his eyes was….entrancing. Intoxicating even. He couldn’t look away. “I’m Vell.”

“Vell…” Drexxel liked the way the name felt when he said it. He let his hands drift to the other man’s chest, watching him with bright eager eyes.

Now, what was that saying about playing with fire?

#the arcana #fan apprentice #apprentice vell #apprentice drexxel #jilljoycearts #straight from roleplay #fanfic #ficlet #my writing #vexxel

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secondhand-trash · 3 years

Text

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter.

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth.

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did.

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two.

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around.

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there.

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?”

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes.

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice.

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank.

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning.

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes.

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser.

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper.

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face.

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric.

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you.

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list.

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus.

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.”

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom.

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You’re right.”

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #kita x reader #kita imagine #kita imagines

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

Cowboy Like Me

Read Cowboy Like Me on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 5 - Last Time

Now I know, I'm never gonna love again

Marinette was a terrible sentimentalist. After such a bad breakup it might have been cathartic to tear up the pictures of them, but Marinette just couldn't do it. No, she could bring herself to destroy the evidence of her six-year relationship. Marinette kept all the pictures, all the movie tickets, all the handwritten notes and put them in a shoebox at the top of her closet, somewhere that she couldn't reach without the help of a stepstool. Maybe the pads of her fingers could brush against the smooth cardboard if she stood on her tiptoes. But Marinette could never open it again. Inside that shoebox were the memories of being in love, kept safe, locked away, just out of reach.

As Marinette boarded the plane, she looked back on everything that had gone wrong. Though the cause of all the destruction in her life was uncertain, Marinette could pinpoint the effects exactly. There were a few things Marinette knew for certain: Marinette would never fall in love again, the city Marinette once loved now only held bad memories, and once the plane took off, Marinette would say goodbye to Paris for the last time.

Never wanted love, just a fancy car

The socialite scene of Gotham was dreadfully boring in the winter, Marinette learned. The weather was so brutal that anyone who could afford a second house in Key West or Malibu left as soon as the first snow-fall hit. Marinette stayed inside her penthouse apartment for weeks, designing her wardrobe for the next few months. It had been so long since she had been able to design for herself, without input from anyone else. It was freeing, to work with the colors, the patterns, the styles that she wanted. Marinette had forgotten what freedom felt like. For so long, she had worked for the whims of others, crafting to someone else's design.

Marinette made her first friend two weeks after the move. Silver St. Cloud was Marinette's neighbor in the apartment to the left. Silver was a model and influencer, and a self-proclaimed expert on all of the rich single men in Gotham. Upon their first meeting, Silver offered to show Marinette around Gotham and introduce her to the socialite scene. Marinette, hesitant but hopeful, accepted.

"Bruce Wayne is the best that Gotham has to offer," said Silver as they leave Starbucks, lattes in hand. "But there are plenty of men who are worth your attention - women too, if that's what you prefer."

"Bruce Wayne is the best?"

Silver nodded. "The Waynes have owned this city for as long as Gotham has been on a map. I wouldn't set your sights on him completely, though. Bruce Wayne doesn't date anyone, not even a former member of Kitty Section."

Kitty Section was known around the world, the biggest band to come out of France in the last decade. Their songs topped charts. Their albums won awards. Their well-crafted image of reclusive, mysterious artists led to a media sensation over the members of Kitty Section. Everyone wanted to know them - Luka Couffaine and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the lead vocalists whose relationship enchanted their fans. Rose Lavillant, the backing vocalist and keyboardist, and Juleka Couffaine, the bass guitarist, who were unashamed of their love for each other. Ivan Bruel, the mysterious drummer who had the name Mylène carved into his drumsticks. They were famous. They were at the top of their game. They were unstoppable.

Marinette ruined it all when she left the band. Her split had been big news, exposing a dark side of Kitty Section that their fans were never supposed to see. But after their breakup, Marinette quickly realized that she never loved music. She loved Luka, and once that love faded away, she loved nothing.

"I guess I'll find someone else," said Marinette, but it was a lie. There was Luka Couffaine, and after that, there was no one else. She might be able to love fancy dresses and expensive cars, but Marinette would never love a person again, not the way she loved Luka. When it came to love (deep, true love, not just the infatuations of childhood) Luka was her first time, Luka was her only time, and Luka would be her last time.

Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Marinette quickly learned the art of charming everyone she met, either through her impressive resume (founding member of Kitty Section) or through her newfound ability to flirt. It turns out, once you turn off your feelings it becomes very easy to pretend that you can still love.

Marinette and Silver became thick as thieves. The girls became a popular pair, charming every birthday brunch and charity dinner. For Silver, it was all about networking. As she explained to Marinette, "I'm trying to create a brand. I'm trying to turn my own name into something that can be sold, and for that, I need connections.

For Marinette, it was something to do. As long as she used her money wisely, Marinette had enough saved to comfortably live out the rest of her days. The real problem came in finding something to pass the time. Marinette rarely felt joy in living her life, the way she used to back when she was a child, the bright-eyed girl who aspired to be a designer. Now, everything from charming a billionaire to designing a new dress felt like a chore.

"Come meet Bruce Wayne," urged Silver as she grabbed Marinette's hand. "He just got back from Nepal. It's his first time in Gotham in six months. He skipped his own New Year's Gala to go soul-searching in the Himalayas. It's my job tonight to convince him to stay in town for longer than a week."

There was a determination to Silver's voice. From everything she had heard about Bruce Wayne, Marinette doubted that Silver could make him change his ways. However, that wouldn't stop Marinette from helping her new-found friend.

Silver's whole body-language changed, shifting from a determined march to a delicate float as she made her way over to a dark-haired man in a well-fitted tux. "Hello, Bruce. It's so nice to see you again."

"Silver." Bruce acknowledged her, sounding bored. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was the lead singer of Kitty Section before the band split up a few months ago."

"Kitty Section... I might have heard of them before. The band was... French?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. All the members were born and raised in Paris. Have you heard of any of our music?

"I'm certain now that I have. It was very... commercial."

Marinette ought to have slapped him across the face right then and there. Not only was commercial not a compliment, but it also wasn't even true. It was the biggest criticism of Kitty Section, their reticence to work with popular music trends. Despite her overwhelming desire to assault the most wealthy and influential man in the ballroom, Marinette instead steeled her face and gave Bruce a pleasant smile. "Thank you. So what do you do for a living, Mister Wayne."

"I travel."

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He spoke two words to her. The conversation was anything but interesting. "How interesting. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I'm not a tourist, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I travel to much more interesting places."

Marinette officially gave up on the conversation. She would let Silver (who looked to be itching to have her turn to talk to Bruce) try and fix the train-wreck of a conversation that Bruce created. "You sound like a man with a lot of stories to tell. I hope you can tell me them over lunch someday."

"Perhaps."

Marinette gave Bruce her politest smile. "I have to excuse myself. Silver, why don't you tell Bruce about your new sponsorship from Lululemon."

Silver lit up. "Oh, you have to hear about this email I got last week. It was amazing, it's so good for my brand..."

Marinette walked away, letting her distaste towards Bruce leave her. Secretly, a little part of her hoped that Bruce would leave Gotham, as he was well-known for doing. Though Silver was her friend, Marinette didn't think she could pretend to like Bruce.

"He's intolerable, isn't he?" joked a voice from beside Marinette.

Marinette turned to face the stranger, a beautiful woman, taller than Marinette by quite a few inches, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She wore a dress of royal blue silk, so elegant it reminded Marinette of the sort of thing she always dreamed of making. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne. Who else would it be?"

Marinette let out a quiet laugh. "He is quite unpleasant. I take it you know him."

"I accompanied him on some of his travels. Bruce is a good friend of mine, but these parties tend to bring out the worst in him. He hates this city and he especially hates the wealthy of this city." The woman grabbed a glass of wine off of a server's tray and handed it to Marinette, who gratefully took it.

"Then I doubt Silver will have any luck convincing him to stay." Marinette tried to keep the satisfaction out of her tone, but the woman laughed anyways, an indication that it didn't work.

"You're quite funny..." The woman paused for an introduction.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you are?"

"Diana-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted Diana's introduction. The crowd started to get frantic, and Marinette was pushed one way while Diana was pushed the other. The glass of wine was knocked out of Marinette's hand, staining the fabric of her dress. Marinette struggled to stay on her feet, desperate to not twist an ankle in her four-inch heels.

"Listen up!" shouted an oddly-dressed man. "You're all going to listen to me, and no one will get hurt."

Marinette had a very odd feeling that this would be a moment she remembered for the rest of her life.

Never thought I'd meet you here. It could be love

"They're calling him a supervillain. Apparently, his name is The Riddler," reported Marinette, looking up from her phone, where she was reading about the events of the night before.

Silver glanced up from her seat on the sofa across the room where she was painting her nails a delicate shade of pink. "It's about time Gotham got its own supervillain. Metropolis has had Superman and all the villains that follow him around for years."

Marinette snorted out a laugh. "You think that a supervillain is a good thing?"

"Sure. It means that Gotham will be getting a superhero of its own soon." Silver brightened up. "Plus, the hostage situation from last night meant that I got to spend a whole two hours with Bruce."

Marinette groaned. "I can't believe that you two are going on a date. Bruce Wayne is one of the most insufferable men I've ever met."

"It's not a date. Bruce specified it as just dinner between friends. You should come too, Marinette. I'm sure that once you spend some time with Bruce you'll warm up to him."

Marinette gave Silver a skeptical look. "You want me to come with you on your date with Bruce?"

"Again, it's not a date. Bruce said that he would be bringing one of his friends along as well."

Marinette finally understood Silver's intentions. "You want me to come with you so that I can partner up with Bruce's friend, and you can get some alone time with Bruce."

"Well it doesn't sound very nice when you put it that way," huffed Silver.

Marinette giggled. "I love devious plans. We'll just have to make it look natural."

It took a little time to get all the details, but Marinette and Silver got their plan in order. Silver would arrive first and meet Bruce and his friend. Marinette would arrive later, strike up a one-on-one conversation with Bruce's friend, and spend the night engaging Bruce's friend in conversation so that Silver could flirt with Bruce. Marinette's only concern about the evening was that Bruce's friend would be just as unbearable to talk to as Bruce himself.

The restaurant that Bruce picked out was very fancy, but Marinette didn't mind. It allowed her to wear her new dress, a pale blue and silver creation meant to mimic the shimmering quality of ice. Marinette thought it might be a little too experimental for the old-fashioned Gotham society, but Silver approved of it, and Marinette trusted her friend.

As soon as Marinette walked through the doors her eyes caught sight of Silver's white-blonde hair. Then she noticed Bruce sitting beside her friend, his eyes trained on Silver with an odd intensity. Finally, Marinette noticed Bruce's friend. She was shocked to see that it was Diana, the very woman that Marinette had met at yesterday's gala, the very woman whose introduction was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the Riddler. For a second, Marinette was shocked into stillness. The chaos of the night before had overshadowed her meeting with Diana to the extent that Marinette had forgotten how very charmed she had been by Diana. Now, it seemed Marinette had the perfect opportunity to get to know the charismatic woman from the night before.

"Marinette," the surprise in Diana's tone told Marinette that she was just as blind-sighted by their meeting.

"Hello, Diana. Fancy meeting you here," said Marinette with a smile.

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met last night," explained Diana. "I wanted to let her knew that you aren't usually so insufferable."

Bruce looked affronted. "I wasn't insufferable."

"You lied about having listened to Kitty Section," piped up Marinette. "There are a lot of valid criticisms of Kitty Section. However, our music being too commercial is not one of them."

Bruce had the decency to look guilty. "I apologize, then. I'll make sure to take the time to give your music a real listen."

For Silver's sake, Marinette was willing to forgive him. "Maybe next time you can give me some real criticism."

Bruce nodded graciously. "I'll do that."

Diana took that moment to bring back up their introduction the night before. "So Marinette, I don't believe we got the chance to finish our introductions last night. I'm Diana Prince, newly a curator at Gotham's Art and History Museum."

"I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former member of Kitty Section, currently taking a soul-searching sabbatical."

"Soul-searching for what?" asked Diana.

"I suppose I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. When I was younger I was so passionate about fashion. I made my own clothes, entered my creations into design contests, spent years creating a portfolio. I'm trying to rediscover that passion."

"Maybe you could show me your designs some time," offered Diana.

"I would like that," agreed Marinette.

"Actually," chimed in Silver, "Marinette made the dress she's wearing right now."

"Really? I would have assumed that it was professionally made. It's a gorgeous dress," praised Diana.

Marinette blushed, a warm fluttery feeling stirring deep within her. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Marinette hanging on Diana's every word. It was easy to talk to Diana. She was so naturally charming that Marinette couldn't help but enjoy herself. As the evening winded down, Marinette felt only regret that they would have to part so soon.

As Marinette stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi, she felt Diana's hand settle on her shoulder. It had been a while since Marinette had felt such an intimate touch. "I had a nice time talking to you tonight." The feel of Diana's fingers gently trailing down Marinette's arms was almost more than Marinette, touch-starved and hungry for more, could bear.

Marinette smiled. "I did too. I hope to see more of you."

"I'm sure you will." Marinette took comfort in the certainty in Diana's voice.

And in the back of her mind, Marinette began to rethink her policy of never falling in love again. Something about Diana made Marinette think that Luka wouldn't be her last time after all.

And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

Marinette could not believe he did this. After everything they had been through together, Marinette's one final request to Luka was that he not release a song about their breakup. But there it was, top of the charts, the lead single of Luka's new solo album, Different Cities. And if it wasn't bad enough that Luka broke the only promise she asked him to keep, included in the song was a snippet of the last voicemail she sent to him. She left it for him weeks after they broke up, as an explanation to him, to let him know she was leaving Gotham.

In the last few seconds of the song, Marinette's voice is hesitant as she speaks. "I know that you wanted me to stay so that we could work things out, but I don't think that our relationship is fixable. So I guess I'm calling to tell you that I give up. I'm leaving Paris next Friday. I've already bought the plane ticket. You can't change my mind. Goodbye, Luka."

It was the rawest emotion Marinette had shown since the breakup, and Luka exploited it for his own gain.

Marinette spent the day joylessly deleting emails from various news outlets begging her to tell her side of the story. As if she would give Luka the satisfaction of giving free publicity. Everyone loved drama, so Marinette was going to make her reaction - or lack of reaction, in this case - as boring as possible.

Every time her phone rang, Marinette ignored it. The voicemails started to stack up, and eventually, Marinette found herself going through them one-by-one. One from Alya, letting Marinette know that she was there for her when she wanted to talk. One from Adrien, more joking in tone, trying to cheer Marinette up. One from Ivan, directly threatening to punch Luka in the face if Marinette wanted it (and that was the only voicemail that actually brought her spirits up). One from Juleka, an apology.

In the voicemail, Juleka's voice was rough, like she had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Marinette. I begged Luka not to release it, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said- he- he said-" Juleka broke off into a sob, and Marinette couldn't help but sniffle along with her. "I can hardly recognize him anymore. Rose and I aren't on speaking terms with him now. He's no longer my brother."

Marinette wished that she could pick up the phone and tell Juleka that it was okay to forgive Luka, but Marinette couldn't. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding out.

One step forward, one steps back. Two days after Marinette considered the idea of loving again, and she was right back where she started - in too much pain to even consider friendship, let alone love.

Speak of the devil, Marinette's phone rang, Diana's name lighting up on the screen. Part of her wanted to throw her phone across the room and curl up under her blankets. The other parts of her answered the call. "Hello?" spoke Marinette, wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eyes.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Diana's voice was soft. It was the most comforting thing Marinette had ever heard.

"Not really. I can't decide if I want to punch Luka in the face or if it would hurt too much to ever see him again."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Marinette sighed. "I met Luka when I was fourteen. He was my classmate Juleka's older brother. Luka had his own band, so all the girls in our class thought that Luka was so cool, but he mostly ignored us. Then one day his backing vocalist got bronchitis and he needed someone to fill in. I was a soloist for the school chorus, so I volunteered. Luka was hesitant to let me join his band until he heard me sing. He told me I had the voice of an angel. Two days later he kissed me, and I fell in love with him so hard and so fast I didn't have a chance to consider if he was really the one."

Marinette took a deep breath, then continued, "It was a whirlwind after that. We started dating. We started a new band and named it Kitty Section. We started writing songs together. The weird part was, he never asked how I felt about any of it. He never asked me if I wanted to date him, he never asked if I wanted to join the band, he always assumed that I wanted what he wanted."

"And what did you want?" asked Diana.

"Back then, I thought I wanted a future with Luka. Now, I guess I just want to feel passion again. I've felt so empty since I left him."

"You might feel better with some company. Do you want me to come over to your place?"

Marinette looked around at her empty apartment, at the way the shadows filled the room, at the way seemed to lurk in every corner. "Sure."

"You could show me some of those designs you were telling me about the other day," suggested Diana.

Marinette glanced over at her sketchbook, which had laid empty for months. "That sounds good."

As she hung up the phone, Marinette realized that talking to Diana had made her feel a bit better. The knife wound that Luka had left in her heart had begun to close up at the edges. Marinette took a deep breath and picked up her sketchbook. If she wanted to rediscover her passion, she needed to work for it.

Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon

Marinette let out an appreciative noise as Diana re-entered the room, modeling one of Marinette's creations. "Give me a little spin."

Diana turned herself around, letting the red fabric swirl around her legs. Something about the way that the dress looked on Diana made it so much prettier in Marinette's eyes. Suddenly the fabric wasn't just red, it was carmine. The dress wasn't just being worn, it was being modeled. It didn't just move, it flowed. "It's a gorgeous dress," complimented Diana as she looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her to admire it.

"It is nice, isn't it." Marinette had been so caught up in her head she had forgotten to truly admire her creation. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "You should keep it. One of Bruce's charity galas is coming up in a few weeks. You could wear it there."

"I couldn't," protested Diana.

Marinette shook her head. "It looks best on you. I could never pull off such a vibrant shade of red." There was a second part to the sentence that was left unspoken. If Marinette made the dress knowing that it wouldn't look good on her, she must have made it for another reason. She must have made it with Diana in mind.

Diana smiled, seeming to have caught those unspoken words. "Well if I'm going to wear the dress, you'll have to put up with me gushing about how talented you are all night long."

Marinette flushed. "It's no big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress. It's your passion." There was truth in Diana's words that Marinette couldn't deny. It was so much more than a dress. It was the passion for design that Diana had helped her rediscover. It was the newfound friendship with Diana that chased away the loneliness and despair that had taken over her life. It was the glimmer of hope for a future with Diana.

Takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

Diana looked beyond gorgeous in that carmine dress. Marinette could keep her eyes off of her as they mingled around the ballroom. Marinette's dress was nice, made with the same passion that Marinette had in her younger years, but it paled in comparison to Diana. However, Diana made up for this disparity by gleefully explaining that Marinette was the creator of the dress every time it was complimented. By the end of the night, Marinette had spent so much time blushing over compliments that she worried her face would become permanently flushed.

The gala was a complete success for everyone involved. The charity, which happened to benefit Gotham Child Protective Services, raised twice their goal amount. Marinette got to spend time with Diana. Even Silver had spent the night looking very pleased with herself, her hand resting on Bruce's forearm as they walked through the ballroom together.

As the night winded down, Marinette and Diana found themselves walking out of Wayne Manor towards Diana's car. Diana had offered to drive Marinette there and back, and Marinette had eagerly accepted. Marinette hated driving in Gotham, as Gotham was known for its aggressive drivers and high rates of automobile accidents.

Marinette sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh, kicking off her heels. "Tonight was nice."

"It was nice," Diana agreed. "We'll have to attend galas together more often."

"You just want an excuse to get your hands on another one of my dresses," teased Marinette.

Diana laughed. "I wouldn't say no to another dress. But really, Bruce's rich friends are much more bearable when I have someone to make fun of them afterward with."

Marinette shuddered. "And to think I thought that Bruce was bad. His friends are intolerable. I never want to talk about golf again in my life."

The two women chatted as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham, back to Marinette's apartment.

"Thanks for driving me home," said Marinette as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"It was no problem." Diana hesitated, before continuing. "I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner sounds good," Marinette replied, strapping her shoes back on.

"I'm asking for this to be a date." Diana finished.

Marinette looked up at her, surprised. Her friendship with Diana had been so easy that Marinette had forgotten that it could be anything else. She had half a mind to decline, to stay in the familiar, but that little bit of hope in her heart urged Marinette to take a leap of faith and accept. "I would like that. What time will you pick me up?"

Diana smiled, her whole face lighting up. "How does six sound?"

Marinette smiled back, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow."

And as Marinette got ready for bed, she realized that all of the sadness that lingered in her heart since the breakup had gone away. All that was left for her to feel was hope for the future.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Diana Prince #wonderbug #dianette #my work

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Sooo I know I’m abusing the power you gave me (let me send prompts) but I’ve a very good reason, I promise (I’ve Nie brothers feelings and I love your writing) and I need to ask for this “5 times everyone realises that actually NMJ is the pushover in the Nie brothers relationship bc let’s be honest NMJ let’s NHS get away with everything and every time NMJ tries to get NHS to do something he has to bribe him with fans or resign himself to never get that done” and I find that hilarious :p

“Your sons have quite a good relationship, Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Fengmian remarked, but the man didn’t look especially impressed by the compliment.

“Especially given that they’re half-brothers,” Jin Guangshan added, and Jiang Fengmian sighed internally: the addition made the original statement into a taunt, which hadn’t been what he meant at all. “Rare to see such a good relationship in such cases.”

“Would you know?” Wen Ruohan asked, smiling poisonously. “And here I thought you had only one.”

“I’ve tasted pork; I don’t need to know how to butcher a pig. Look at how the older one lets the younger one around follow him around everywhere – certainly I wouldn’t have tolerated such a thing for one so much younger than me.”

“I always liked playing with others,” Jiang Fengmian said mildly. “The bigger the family, the better, in my view…it’s nice to help and be helped.”

“I don’t think the infant being carried around is doing that much helping,” Lan Qiren observed.

“And yet he’s clearly the one calling the shots,” Wen Ruohan mused, his eyes settling on the field where the two were playing – or rather, the toddler was demanding a ride and his older brother complying. “Given how stiff-necked the Nie family is, traditionally, it must be very reassuring to you, Sect Leader Nie, to see your son so – compliant.”

Sect Leader Nie abruptly changed the subject.

Later, he came to Jiang Fengmian, an expression of fury on his face. “It’s not any of my business, so I don’t care what’s going on with your search for that servant of yours and his family,” he said icily. “But I’ll thank you to focus on rearing your own children, and stop drawing unwanted attention to mine.”

Jiang Fengmian felt rather unjustly accused. It was true, he’d been thinking of Wei Changze’s son – of how well he’d get along with his own A-Cheng, if only Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren could be convinced to stop traveling around and come home for a little – but there was no reason for old Nie to be so snippy. There had only been the five great sect leaders around; what was he so worried about?

“You can’t be serious,” Lan Xichen said, pressing his lips together to try to restrain his laughter and altogether incapable of restraining his smile.

His smile only grew when Nie Mingjue’s shoulders rose up somewhere around his ears in embarrassment.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” he replied stiffly, and then he actually bought the – product.

Lan Xichen managed to hold himself back as they continued down the shopping street, and finally when they were back on the unoccupied path back to the Unclean Realm he let out a peal of laughter.

Nie Mingjue shot him a sidelong glare.

“Little Huaisang has you completely under his thumb,” Lan Xichen laughed. “You’re always buying him things, every time I see you – if it’s not new fans to add to his collections, it’s another animal for his little menagerie –”

“It’s not a menagerie.”

“He has a half-dozen birds, a mated pair of pangolins, and that – that beast you got for him –”

“The boar?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I didn’t buy that, I found it, and anyway the plan is to release it back onto the mountain once it gets a little larger.”

Lan Xichen waved his hand, dismissing Nie Mingjue’s little technicalities. “All that’s fair enough,” he says, laughter still in his voice and his eyes still curved up into crescents. “I would buy Wangji anything he liked, if only he had more hobbies. But even I would draw the line at purchasing my little brother erotic art.”

“He likes it,” Nie Mingjue said defensively.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Lan Xichen said, trying to move his eyebrows suggestively like he’d seen someone do once. Judging from Nie Mingjue’s mildly horrified expression, he wasn’t successful. “Still, don’t you think you’re sending him mixed messages? On one hand, you’re always yelling at him about not practicing his saber enough, and on the other you’re spoiling him rotten –”

“He hasn’t formed a golden core yet,” Nie Mingjue said abruptly, and Lan Xichen’s smiled faded. “Yes, still. It’s late, no matter what standard you hold him to – forget the Great Sects, forget regular sects, even by the children of rogue cultivators usually have the basics of a core by now.”

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to say. Lan Wangji had formed his core very early, earliest out of all his generation in fact – he had never had to worry about his brother’s cultivation, not once.

He wanted to tell his friend not to worry, that it would come in time, that Nie Huaisang would catch up…but he was right, it was late. In another year, they would be sending out invitations for select people to come study at the Cloud Recesses, where Nie Huaisang had been a few times before, but this time would be the first time all the sect heirs were in a single place.

If he didn’t have his core by then, there was a chance he’d never get it. That he’d live only the short life of a common person, shorter even than the shortened life of a Nie cultivator –

That Nie Mingjue would have to watch his baby brother grow old and send him off first.

“So I buy him things,” Nie Mingjue concluded with shrug that was anything but casual. “More things than he needs. If he finally forms a core, there’ll be time enough then to teach him discipline – and if he doesn’t, well. At least he’ll be happy for the few years he’ll have.”

“The answer is still no,” Nie Mingjue said, just he had said the first few times, and without paying the slightest attention to the table Jiang Cheng had just overturned.

“Why not?” Jiang Cheng snarled, incensed. “If we join forces together and win, we’ll strike a blow against the Wens that will be felt across the land –”

“And if we lose, the damage will be incalculable,” Nie Mingjue said, unmoved. He didn’t look up from the correspondence he was reviewing. “We didn’t come here expecting to find a Wen stronghold; neither of us brought enough people. No.”

Jiang Cheng sneered. “We didn’t bring enough people, no, but there are enough at hand if there weren’t exceptions being made.”

Nie Mingjue paused and finally put down the letter, turning to look at Jiang Cheng. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Nie Huaisang isn’t that far away, with plenty of cultivators acting as guards at his side,” Jiang Cheng said, crossing his arms. “If you summoned them, we’d have enough to tip the scales in our favor. But you don’t, just because he doesn’t feel like fighting – why do you let him walk all over you?!”

Nie Mingjue looked at him for a long moment, his gaze dark and angry.

Jiang Cheng began to feel as if he’d made a mistake, but it was too late to retract his harsh words.

“Very well,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jiang Cheng began to brighten. “I’ll write to Meishan while I’m at it; your sister can come bring along the ones who are guarding her, too.”

Jiang Cheng blanched. “You can’t! Jiejie can’t –”

“Why not? Her cultivation is mediocre, but no more so than my brother’s,” Nie Mingjue said, and he was very angry. “Or are you going to say that she’s the only one left in your family but you? That you don’t want the Wens to have a chance to take even more of your family away? Isn’t all that just as true for me?!”

Jiang Cheng hung his head.

“We’re fighting this war to win it,” Nie Mingjue said. “There’s no point in winning if we lose everything on the way. Get out and talk a walk; I don’t want to see you until you’ve beaten some sense into that thick head of yours.”

“Da-ge, you know you can’t keep the secret of the saber spirits from Huaisang forever,” Jin Guangyao said, and his voice was reasonable as it always was – calm and even and to the point, just the way that Nie Mingjue had liked so much when he’d been his deputy.

The tone mostly just irritated Nie Mingjue now – but then, most things did, these days.

“I’m aware of that,” Nie Mingjue said, scowling. His fingers were pressing at his temples – another headache, it seemed. They were happening more and more these days, and that didn’t help the quality of his temper one bit. “He doesn’t need to know all the details yet. He’ll have to bear the burden eventually, but – not yet.”

Jin Guangyao chuckled. “You always let what he wants make decisions for you, da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue ignored him. That was normal, too.

“Let me play for you again, da-ge,” Jin Guangyao said, and his smile broadened. “It might help your headache.”

Wei Wuxian was of the opinion that disturbing the unquiet corpses that had been sealed in the Guanyin Temple in Yunping City was a terrible idea, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices when politics became an issue. The once-more-ascendant-Nie-sect-is-asking-only-somewhat-politely sort of politics.

Every once in a while, Wei Wuxian cursed Nie Mingjue in the back of his mind. Surely, if he hadn’t spoiled Nie Huaisang so much, he wouldn’t have become so demanding – so insistent!

(So incredibly good at finding just the right weak spot to press on…!)

“Your brother is still going to be a fierce corpse when we open that thing,” he said. “You know that, right? He didn’t recognize you then, he won’t recognize you now – he’s an extremely powerful fierce corpse, which is going to make it very hard to control him right away. There’s a great deal of danger involved in being here.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I appreciate the warning, Wei-xiong.”

“In light of that,” Wei Wuxian continued. “Don’t you think you should watch from further away?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Wei Wuxian sighed and lifted Chenqing to his lips, nodding at Lan Wangji, and together they set about unsealing the tomb.

Nie Mingjue’s corpse was just as overwhelming as he remembered, bursting out of the tomb a few moments before they expected it, and the backlash was enough to make Wei Wuxian, with his weak golden core in this life, cough up blood, which in turn made Lan Wangji stop everything to look at him, which meant that there was nothing between Nie Mingjue’s outstretched fingers, curled into claws, and Nie Huaisang, standing there with nothing but a fan in hand.

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth to – he didn’t know what, to try something to save someone who really had once been his friend, however he’d ended up and whatever he’d done, and who he still rather liked and who’d had pretty good reasons for things and who at any rate he didn’t want to see dead at the hands of his own brother –

Nie Mingjue’s clawed fingers stopped only a hair’s breadth away from Nie Huaisang’s head.

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat.

A moment passed, and then another – and then the direction of Nie Mingjue’s hand shifted, and he ran his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair with a delicacy that Wei Wuxian, an expert on all things resentful energy, had never thought a white-eyed fierce corpse was capable of.

Nie Huaisang smiled, content. “Da-ge has always let me get away with everything.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #jiang fengmian #jin guangshan #wen ruohan #lan xichen #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #your prompt was very fluffy but the end result turned out not to be #sorry #timetomakeanewwish

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jalapeno-princess · 3 years

Text

Dance For You

(This entire photoshoot wrecked my life and my soul actually left my body how can one human be this fucking sexy it isn’t fair)

Mark Tuan X Stripper Reader

Genre: This one has all the good shit (So much fluff, tiny bits of angst and SMUT SMUT SMUT)

Warning: Rated 18+

Oral (both male and female receiving), edging, choking, face riding, breast play, degradation, doggy style, cowgirl, daddy kink, dominant Mark (one can dream)

Word Count: 11.5K

Summary: Becoming a stripper was the last thing you would have ever saw yourself doing as a job, but because you had so many financial responsibilities, you were willing to do whatever it was to get a large amount of money in a small amount of time. There were many pros that came with being a stripper; not only were you paid excessive amounts of money that you weren’t able to wrap your mind around, but your job is what also led you to meeting the actual love of your life; your devastatingly handsome boyfriend of three years Mark Tuan.

A/N: I wrote this over a year ago (I don’t know what inspired me to write this but the idea of Mark dating a stripper got me all sorts of fucked up and one of my favorite youtubers is a stripper and I just grew curious about what it would be like to have a boyfriend while being an exotic dancer) so this came out. If I’m being honest, I had to tweak this story A LOT; I was actually cringing at how bad my writing used to be I’ve come a long way guys--happy reading!!

Being a stripper was not an ideal job. They were always frowned upon by most people and ridiculed for selling their bodies in order to make money. But what most people didn’t understand, was that pole dancing and stripping was an art as much as it was sexual entertainment. When you first started stripping, it was to help pay for college, your apartment and your car. You told yourself you would quit stripping once you graduated from college and paid off all of your bills. However, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy the money you would bring home almost every single night you worked.

The club that you worked at was one of the most popular strip clubs in town. It was always packed to the point where people would have to go on a waiting list or could only get in if they had connections. Most dancers at your club were practically family to you and they made sure you knew that you were the reason everyone would come to that specific club. You were always quick to shut down their compliments because you didn’t think you were all that special. From the time you were a little girl, you’ve always loved to dance.

Whether it be ballet, jazz or hip hop, you would dance any and everywhere there was music. As you got older, you got so busy with both work and school that you no longer had the time or energy to continue doing what you loved so much. When you graduated from high school, you decided to attend college thousands of miles away from your hometown to your parents dismay. They were very helpful when it came to paying for your college education. However, because it was your decision to move away and be an out of state student, they told you that you needed to help pay for your tuition.

After months of working boring, low paying jobs, you overheard one of your classmates talking about how much money she gets paid from her job. When you asked her about it, it was then that she admitted to being a stripper and offered to get you an audition with her company in order to get a job there. At first, you were contemplating on doing so. You were raised to be very modest and anyone who sold their bodies to people for money whether it be prostitutes, hookers or strippers were frowned upon by your family. However, the income strippers received is what sold you.

You didn’t care about the consequences that came with being an exotic dancer—you just wanted life to be easier. When you went for your audition, everyone was blown away by how graceful your movements were and you were immediately hired on the spot. For the first week after being hired, your managers had the other strippers teach you the basics. Even if you were a dancer, dancing in heels and lingerie was not something you were used to. Although you had a fit body from dancing for so many years, you didn’t think you had the breasts nor the butt to be a stripper.

Seeing your fellow coworkers bodies made you very insecure from time to time, but you were very quick to learn that this was a cutthroat business. There was no room to have a low self esteem. Even if you were close with almost every stripper you worked with, things weren’t like that in the beginning. Strippers were some of the most competitive people there were and you couldn’t blame them.

They all wanted to be the best in order to attract more customers. Sure, there were times where you would regret becoming a stripper—and the guilt would eat you alive every time your mom called you to ask how college was going. But there were more pros than cons that came with being a stripper. You loved your job; the management was very lenient with your schedule, you made more money in one night than you did in two weeks at any of your previous jobs and because it was stripping that introduced you to the actual love of your life—your boyfriend of three years, Mark Tuan.

On the night you and Mark first met, he had just turned 21 years old. You were 19 at the time and you had already been dancing for a couple of months. For his birthday, his friends decided to take him to a strip club; telling him that he needed to experience such wild and fun things while he was still young. Mark wasn’t the type to go out to clubs, parties and bars. All he really cared about was school and video games; until he met you and that’s when everything changed. You were getting ready to perform when you were requested for a one on one session. It wasn’t uncommon. Men would request for a one on one performance with strippers all the time, but you had yet to do so yourself.

You’d hear stories all the time from your coworkers about how scary it could be, even if it paid more. The club charged more for one on one performances only because they could be making more when the dancer performs for a crowd rather than just one person. You told your management that you didn’t feel comfortable performing for someone alone because of the countless horror stories you heard about men getting physical and even trying to rape the dancers. However, after the few incidents, the management made sure that whoever entered the club had a quick background check before they were able to enter.

“Y/n, your customer is waiting for you in room 7. Go easy on him. He’s really cute. Oh, and wear that cute red suit you bought the other day. Trust me.”

You did as you were told and put on the very tiny, leaving no room to the imagination lingerie set while slipping on your Louboutins. After a taking in a few deep breaths and whispering words of encouragement to yourself just like you did almost every night, you made your way outside to his room. When you walked out on that stage and your eyes landed on your customer, you felt your heart rate increased. Your manager wasn’t lying when she said that he was cute. In fact, that was an understatement. He was gorgeous. Extremely handsome. Probably the most attractive man you’ve ever laid your eyes on.

For a second, you felt flustered and you were worried you were going to mess up because you were obviously very much attracted to the man sitting just a few feet away from you. But once you took a quick look at yourself in the side mirror, you marched down that stage like you owned it. Seeing him gulp as you made your way towards him only increased your confidence and soon, you found yourself sitting on his lap.

“Hi there. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem like the type to come to a place like this.” He nodded his head while you ran your hands up and down his chest.

“I don’t. It’s my birthday and my friends forced me to come. But if I’m being honest with you, I’m very glad I came. You’re extremely beautiful.”

You giggled at his words and you were very grateful for the fact that the club was dark or else he would see you blush. Nobody who came in here has ever called you beautiful before. It was always either derogatory terms; “sexy” or “hot”. Hearing him call you beautiful, only made you want to hear him say it to you again and again.

“Thank you. Oh, and happy birthday. What’s your name?” He smiled politely at you while hesitantly bringing his hands to your hips.

“I’m Mark.” You placed a soft kiss on his cheek before standing up and seductively making your way to the pole.

“I’m y/n. Let me dance for you birthday boy.”

His eyes never left you and your body the entire time. Even if it was dark, the very prominent and large bulge in Mark’s pants didn’t go unnoticed to you—it made you feel even more confident and sexy. Slowly, you walked over to him and found your way back on to his lap. You dragged your thumb against his bottom lip all the while slowly grinding yourself on top of him. Hearing his moans and seeing him bite his lip only made you go faster.

“Fuck—you’re so—fucking sexy—please—don’t stop—“

The other dancers would always tell you about how they would do more than just give somebody a lap dance during these one on one sessions. A lot of them slept with their customers willingly in order to make more money. You were never one to want to do that—you were here to dance, not to have sex with people. However, with the way Mark was looking at you with so much lust in his big, brown eyes and holding you all but gently, you wanted nothing more than to please him in anyway possible. You brought your hand down to his very thick and long cock; stroking him through his pants, earning yourself multiple moans and whines from his pretty lips.

“Can I give you a birthday gift? Would that be okay?” He quickly nodded in agreement and before you could even process the entire situation, you found yourself getting on your knees. Once you unzipped his zipper, his sigh of relief when you pulled him out of his pants sent warmth to your already soaking clit.

“Fuck—I—holy shit—just like that baby. Oh god—mmmmm—so—so so good—“

Only seconds after relieving him from the constraints of his boxers, you dragged your tongue along his slit while circling his tip. His breathy whimpers and wanton moans only motivated you to go faster; you brought him completely in to your mouth and bobbed your head up and down his length, taking him down your throat as much as you possibly could all the while fondling his balls. He pulled your hair in to a makeshift ponytail and continued to thrust himself deep down in to your throat.

“So warm and so tight. Fuck. You’re so beautiful. So fucking pretty. Look at you, taking this cock. Do you think I could fuck your face princess?”

You nodded earning yourself a raspy groan. He started roughly pushing your head on to his dick but you were too busy trying to pleasure him to even think about the pain. His cock grazed the back of your throat in the most delicious way. You tried your best to go as rough and as hard as you possibly could; licking and sucking on him while pinching on his ass cheeks. Your eyes began to fill up with tears, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop—mainly because it was adamant that he was enjoying feeling your mouth wrapped around his cock.

But you were genuinely having a good time yourself. Watching his eyes roll to the back of his head as he bit down on his bottom lip sent chills down your spine. He was so damn hot. After a few moments, you felt his white, creamy liquid fill your mouth and you swallowed it entirely. Seeing him throw his head back and the fact that he came in less than 5 minutes sent fire through your bones; it was an indescribable feeling.

You weren’t one who really cared about giving head; most of the guys you’ve been with never cared whether or not you were comfortable and it unfortunately ruined your entire outlook on sex—but something about this boy made you want to perform oral on him every single day. He pulled you up off of the ground, back on to his lap and roughly connected his lips to yours.

“Holy shit. You’re not real. You can’t be. Where did you come from? I can’t even describe how amazing that was. Shit wait, are we allowed to do this? Am I going to get in trouble for letting you blow me? Nobody can know I’m here right now my parents would probably have a fit-“ he sounded so cute getting flustered over the thought that he might get in trouble for having fun with you. You shook your head in attempts to keep his mind at ease and began leaving soft kisses along his jaw.

“You’re totally fine. Don’t worry about it.” The vibration coming from his phone broke the two of you out of your little world and he hid his face in your chest after reading the messages from his friends.

“They’re looking for me. Apparently we’ve been here for three hours. It doesn’t even feel like it’s been that long. They’re not kidding when they say time flies when you’re having fun. That was the best birthday present ever. I’m really glad I came. Literally. But I should get going. I um—can I—your number—“

As devastatingly handsome as Mark was and no matter how much you wanted to see him again, strippers didn’t get in to relationships nor did they have any sort of human interaction other than with the customers. You didn’t want to burden Mark with the fact that you were a stripper; you didn’t want him feeling embarrassed if he ever had to introduce you to people. After placing a long kiss on his lips and running your fingers throughout locks, you started making your way towards the curtains.

“Come back again soon and we’ll see about that.”

Mark stayed in your mind for the rest of that night. You couldn’t stop thinking about him—how gentle yet rough he was. How he held you as if you were such a fragile piece of glass. How he looked at you so softly, with so much adoration in his eyes. How thick and big his cock was and how you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you. But you couldn’t do that to him. You wanted to be selfish and give in to temptation by calling him and seeing where it goes between the two of you, but you didn’t want to end up hurt. You’ve heard one too many stories from your coworkers about how they’d get their hearts broken because the boys they were interested in weren’t accepting of their choice in occupation.

Just a few days after that erotic night together, fate brought you two together again; but not in the way you had hoped. You were late to class one morning because you overslept seeing as how you got home from work at almost 4 in the morning. You were so focused on your notes that you failed to see someone walking towards you until you collided with a body.

“Oh my God I am so sorry I really should be looking where I am walking—Mark?” Your eyes widened in shock at the sight of him and the grin that rose on his face filled your stomach with butterflies.

“Hey princess. I’ve missed you. I’ve been planning on going back to the club just to see you again but I haven’t had the time-“ You brought your hand up to cover his mouth and made sure no one was around to hear about what you did to make your income.

“Please don’t say anything about that. Nobody here knows that I’m a stripper and I’d like to keep it that way. Now if you’ll excuse me.” You began walking away in the direction of your building when you were quickly pulled in to his chest.

“Mark I’m late for class as it is please let me go.” He released a long, frustrating sigh and you were genuinely very embarrassed with how harsh you were acting towards him. Especially because he didn’t do anything to deserve such hostility.

“Your number. Can I please have it? I regret not trying harder to ask you for it. I’m sorry if I’m coming off rude or creepy, but I would really like to take you on a date if you’d let me. If I’m bothering you, just say the word and I’ll never speak to you again. I just hope you know I can’t get you off my mind. And before you start assuming, no. It’s not because—well—yes—you gave me the best head of my life but there’s something about you that intrigues me; something about you captivates me. There’s something mysterious about you and I can’t stop trying to think about what it is. The way you move and make that dance floor yours. The way you touched me and ran your fingers through my hair awakened something animalistic in me and I knew that wasn’t going to be the last time I saw you. The way you have so much confidence allures me and I can’t stop touching my lips because of how much I miss the feeling of yours against them. It probably meant nothing to you, but it meant a lot to me. I promise I’m not some weirdo, I have pure intentions please believe me.”

You gave him a small smile and then motioned for him to give you his phone so that you could enter your information. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t hung up on him. This is what you wanted. You were secretly hoping he’d come back to the club with the thought of continuing where you both left off from last time, but you knew why you were hesitant on taking things further between the two.

“Are you free tonight?” You sadly shook your head—you wish you were; you wanted to see what he had in mind for the two of you.

“I work from 9-3. But I’m off tomorrow. So I’m all yours.”

He grinned in excitement at your words and the two of you soon said your goodbyes. Before you let him completely walk away, something inside of you—maybe the confidence he had mentioned earlier made you grab at his wrist and pull him in for a chaste kiss.

“See you soon.”

You went to work that night with the biggest grin on your face and couldn’t wait to see where things would go between the two of you. You and Mark started texting back and forth as you were preparing for work and during your break. He told you he had the entire date planned and to say you were excited was an understatement. When you first got in to stripping, you pushed away the idea of a relationship to the back of your mind because you knew most guys wouldn’t be quite happy with the fact that their girlfriend is a stripper. But Mark didn’t seem to care and although you shouldn’t be getting your hopes up, you couldn’t help but feel like he was going to be someone special in your life.

If he didn’t want to be with you because of your occupation, he would have said so much earlier. The next day, the only information he gave you was that he wanted you to be ready by eleven and that he was taking you somewhere fun. You decided to wear a cute sundress and lightly curled your hair. You applied a small amount makeup in attempts of concealing the dark circles that developed under your eyes in the last week and decided to watch some tv while waiting for him. Mark texted you that he was on his way and you found yourself heating up at the mere thought of him.

It’s been quite some time since you were involved with another guy, let alone one that you were genuinely interested in. You were hoping that things would work well between you and Mark because he seemed like a genuinely nice person who fit the standards you were searching for in a significant other. When your doorbell rang, you tried your best to stay calm and pretend he didn’t have such an effect on you.

Truth was, you never felt this way about anyone before. You had yet to experience a real relationship and it wasn’t like you had feelings for your any of your customers or fellow classmates. Even if you hardly knew him, you found yourself wanting to learn more about him and you could only hope for things to go well for the both of you. Once you opened the door and your eyes landed on him, your heart rate increased. He had to be some sort of Greek God in his past life. There was no way someone could be this handsome.

“Hey. You look very beautiful. Not that I’m surprised. Ready to go?” You nodded as he reached for your hand and led you to his car, but not before connecting your lips together.

“Mmm, I think I’m addicted to these pretty pink lips of yours. I’m addicted to every little thing about you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks once again and he chuckled at the sight. This boy was honestly going to be the death of you. He was quick to intertwine your hands together and led you to his car—like the gentleman he was, he opened your door for you and helped you get settled in to your seat, stealing a quick kiss from the corner of his mouth.

Once he made his way to his side, he turned on the radio and absentmindedly placed his hand on your lap. The car ride was quiet in the beginning, both of you having so many things on your minds but neither of you had any idea what to say. Although you enjoyed the piece and quiet, there was so many things you wanted to learn about him—however, you didn’t want to be the first one to start the conversation. After a while, he finally spoke up.

“What are you majoring in?” From that question on, the two of you were complete chatterboxes and the conversation continued until he reached the destination. Your smile rose tenfold when you realized where he brought you.

“I hope you’re fine with the beach? I just love it here and I thought the weather was nice. If not, we can go somewhere else. I’m fine with whatever you want to do.” You shook your head and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I love the beach. I actually haven’t been to one since moving here for college.”

He beamed up at you and gently squeezed your thigh. When you got out of the car, you quickly noticed the basket in Mark’s hands and smiled even wider than you already were, if it was even possible.

“I packed us a picnic basket. I wasn’t too sure on what to get because I have yet to learn what you like, but I hope this is all okay.”

Seeing him get all shy, completely different from just a few nights ago when he was shoving himself down your throat made butterflies swarm in your tummy. He reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers while leading you to a secluded area. He placed the blanket down and motioned for you to sit down. Before you could take a seat next to him, you were being pulled on to his lap. You were about to object until he placed his lips against yours in order to silence you.

He ended up feeding you and the thought of him wanting to take care of you made your head spin. The two of you continued to talk about pretty much anything and everything your hearts desired and in the few hours you got to spend with him, you learned a lot about the shy and extremely kind hearted boy. For starters, he was a huge fan of the Los Angeles Lakers, yet he had not once stepped foot on a basketball court before. He also wanted to go in to architecture; he had a passion for drawing and he also loved anything that had to do with buildings and construction, but his mom talked him out of it in fear of something happening to him while he was at a construction site.

His favorite food was Hawaiian pizza—a fact that you were quick to tease him about, but he was quick to defend himself and it made you fall even harder for him. Once the two of you were done at the beach, he took you to an arcade: somewhere you learned he spent most of his time at. Seeing him get all excited over playing race car games and skeeball brought warmth to your cheeks. You were quickly growing fond of Mark and you knew in that moment you were screwed.

As soon as you both realized it was getting late, you made your way back to his car and he started heading back to your place. A part of you didn’t want to leave him just yet—his presence alone made you feel safe;comfortable. Even if you haven’t known him for too long, you loved the way he made you feel and you knew you could get used to having him around; that’s why you didn’t find it surprising when you invited him in for some coffee. Although, the both of you knew coffee was not going to be involved in the plans for the rest of the night. Mark wanted to be a gentleman and take things slow with you, but he knew he couldn’t—you had such an effect on him that he knew he would do anything you’d ask him to and the thought excited him more than it scared him.

The two of you found yourselves tumbling in to bed together. It wasn’t a surprise, you knew sooner or later you had to have him. If he didn’t have to go so soon just a few nights ago, you were sure you would’ve let him take you against the stage or hell, even up against the pole. With the way he was leaving rough kisses all along your body, you knew he was quickly losing his sanity too. After bringing you to heaven twice with his head between your thighs in less than half an hour, the two of you relished in your newfound relationship.

He took you in your bed, against your kitchen counter, on your couch and finally in the shower. He couldn’t get enough of you and it was evident that you felt the same way about him. After finishing up in the shower, he helped you prepare for bed and even gave you his shirt to wear as he slept in only his underwear. He held you tightly to his body and whispered sweet nothings in to your ear before finally asleep. It had to be one of the best nights you had since moving to California.

From that day on, the two of you were inseparable—like magnets. Wherever you’d go, he would follow and vice versa. The two of you could never go without one another. You found yourself falling in love with him in just a few months of dating and although the two of you weren’t together for too long; you were sure he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Mark wasn’t a jealous boyfriend—he knew you were his and his alone. At first, he was kind of insecure with dating you, especially because he was well aware that you’d continue being a stripper even if you were now in a relationship.

It wasn’t that he asked you to quit; nor did he try to make you feel bad for continuing your profession. He was proud of you for working a full time job and attending school at the same time and your boyfriend knew you were your own person before you were his—plus he trusted you. Mark knew you loved him just as much as he loved you. It wasn’t you he was worried about, it was the men who would come to the club. Knowing that you were one of the main dancers only worried your boyfriend because he was afraid that people would try and take advantage of you when he wasn’t around to protect you.

He’s been to the club countless times since the two of you started dating, and it took every bone in his body not to fight anyone who tried to lay their hands on you. You would reassure him that you were fine, and that he was the only one you would have one on one sessions with. You made sure to tell your manager you were in a relationship and did not feel comfortable performing for someone alone knowing your boyfriend was at home, waiting for you to finish work.

One thing Mark did that made your heart flutter, no matter how many times you told him you were fine, was that he would pick you up every single night that you worked—no matter what time it was. He never failed to come get you and always told you it was because he wanted to make sure you got home safely. Just a few months after the two of you started dating, he had asked you to move in with him.

At first, he was afraid of rushing things—he was afraid that he would scare you away if you weren’t ready to take that further step in your relationship, but he craved your presence and loved being around you. Plus, it was easier for him to pick you up and drop you off to both work and school. He accommodated you in any way you needed. Before you could bring over your things, you noticed he had purchased a lot of the things you needed including your shampoo and conditioner, a jewelry box to put all your jewelry in, some face masks and other skin care products and he even bought you a vanity for your makeup.

Dating Mark was a dream. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend and more. He was patient, extremely funny, generous, always put your feelings first and had one of the kindest hearts. You only fell for him more and more each and every day. He scheduled his classes so that he could take you to school and finish around the same time you did; and not that it was the main focus of your relationship, but since you started dating Mark, the both of you had a sexual awakening.

What he didn’t know, was that although you were a stripper, you’ve only had one sexual experience before him and you regret not making him your first. He took such amazing care of you when it came to sex and always put your needs before his own; he made sure you came before he did, only moved when you told him it was okay and tried out any position you wanted to. He would do anything you asked him to and made it known to you just how much he loved you both physically and verbally.

Unfortunately, the two of you had your first fight just hours ago. Neither of you remembered how it started, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how it ended. Some mean words were thrown about and you both said things you knew neither of you meant, but it was too late and the damage was done. You took your things for work and decided to find your own way to get there. You knew your boyfriend was upset when he didn’t come after you.

As soon as you walked out the door, tears came streaming down your face and you were about to call in sick for work, but you refused to let this argument get the best of you. Once you arrived to the club, you threw your earphones on and started to get ready. Your phone began to vibrate so you ultimately turned it off; it didn’t take a genius to know who was contacting you.

Other than your parents, your boyfriend was the only person you ever really called and texted. You released a long, frustrated sigh and continued to apply your make up. When you were done with both your hair and makeup, you put on your outfit and prepared yourself to make your way outside. You were not in the mood for any sort of human interaction, but there was nothing you could do. it was going to be hard, but you had to separate your work life from your personal life and right now, you had to put on a fake smile to prevent anyone from realizing that something was bothering you.

When you made your way in to the club, there were at least fifty men already crowding the stage. You tried your best to push all thoughts of your boyfriend to the back of your mind and started strutting your stuff down to the pole. Right as the music turned on, you swayed your hips to the rhythm and made sure that all the guys were dropping their jaws at the sight of you. Hearing the crowd roar at your raunchy movements and seeing all the money being thrown on stage only gave you more confidence to put more effort in to your dancing and soon the entire argument was forgotten in that moment.

To your dismay, only two hours in to your shift, some men had a little too much to drink—meaning a few people were beginning to jump on stage and your anxiety was starting to build up. You could feel your chest fill up with worry and it was getting hard for you to breathe. The only thing you could really do was move back in attempts to get as far away as possible from the drunken customers.

Before you could process the entire situation, you saw fists being thrown and when you realized one of the men involved was Mark, your heart both sank and fluttered at the sight. Your boyfriend wasn’t the most built guy out there, but you knew he could take on most of the guys in that club because of how drunk they all were. However, one guy grew angry with the way Mark was being aggressive towards him and started to fight back; seeing him sock your boyfriend in the face worried you.

You quickly ran over to the two of them and started punching and slapping the guy in attempts to get him to release his hold on your boyfriend. This was not the way you would have expected the night to go. It felt like you were begging for help for the longest time—yet no one seemed to be coming to your rescue. Finally, after what felt like hours even if it was only a couple of minutes, the security guards pulled Mark away from the now bloody man and threatened to call the cops on him even if he was clearly trying to save you from being harassed.

“He’s with me. It’s fine. I’ll take care of him.”

You got off the stage and brought your boyfriend to the back, earning yourself a couple of boos from the crowd, but you didn’t care. Mark was all that mattered in that moment. Once you reached your dressing room, you sat him down on the couch and searched for a first aid kit. When you finally found one, you quickly walked over to where Mark was sitting and immediately started applying medicine to his cuts.

“Stay here, I’ll go get ice.” Before you could walk away, he was pulling you on to his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“It’s fine babe. I’ve been through worse. I’m just glad you’re okay.” You frowned at him while gently grazing his cheek. Tears started forming at your eyelids and he was quick to kiss them away once he saw them.

“Why are you here? And why would you put yourself through danger? The security guards would’ve handled it Mark. Now you’re all beat up and if those guys remember what happened in the morning they can press charges.” He shrugged indifferently while running his hands through your hair. It was obvious he was not worried one bit of the entire situation.

“Let them. I honestly don’t give a fuck. It was worth it. Nobody messes with my girl. I’m sorry baby. I couldn’t help myself. Seeing them trying to reach out at you already got my blood boiling. But once I saw them jumping on stage, I had to get involved. I know how you can get anxiety sometimes and I didn’t want you having an attack. And I’m sorry for earlier. I was planning on talking to you on your break and I was going to wait till you were done to take you home. I don’t care if we fight, I’m not gonna let you go home on your own. I’m so fucking sorry y/n. You know I didn’t mean anything I said right? I was just mad, but that was no excuse. I’m not ashamed that my girlfriend is a stripper; if anything, I find it so fucking sexy. Nor would I force you to quit knowing how much you love it here. I hate fighting with you. I shouldn’t have let you leave while you were upset but my pride got in the way. I’m so fucking in love with you it’s not even funny. I couldn’t stop thinking about the pain on your face as you walked out the door. Please forgive me y/n. I don’t think I can handle you being mad at me. Scream at me, punch me, hit me, call me names even. But please, don’t be mad at me anymore.”

Your heart broke when you heard his voice crack and you found yourself connecting your lips together. Mark was a very sensitive person; he would cry at the smallest of things and although his friends would tease him about being too much of a softie, it was a characteristic of his that you were extremely fond of. He was hesitant at first—he was still upset with himself for making you cry in the first place; but when he felt you relax in to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist. You cupped his cheek and depend the kiss; swirling your young all but gently around his, earning yourself a couple of deep grunts. All too soon, Mark pulled away to catch his breath and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m not mad at you baby. I’ll admit, I was a little hurt by what you said. But I said some things I didn’t mean either so I’m just as in the wrong as you are. I’m sorry by the way. Everything that I said was in the heat of the moment. You’re not a bad boyfriend. You’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever ask for, you know that right? I’m very thankful to call you mine. Just the mere thought of you brings a smile to my face and when I’m not with you, I feel empty. That’s why I couldn’t stop crying when I left. I really don’t like fighting with you. I love you Mark.”

He placed multiple kisses along your face and quickly wiped away your tears. His fingers were featherlight against your face; he smiled at you while tracing your features with his index finger. Honestly, it didn’t matter that the two of you were sitting in the dressing room of a strip club; it honestly did not matter where you were, you wanted to spend as much time in the moment that time would allow you to.

After a few moments, you heard a knock on the door and freaked out when you saw your manager. You were afraid of getting in trouble for what happened but released a sigh of relief when she told you to go home early. You quickly packed your things and walked over to help your boyfriend up.

“Let’s go.”

He intertwined your hands together and the two of you walked over to his car. Once he helped you get settled in and got himself buckled, you both drove home. For the first couple of minutes, everything was quiet, other than the playlist he had put on. However, about ten minutes in to the drive, his hand absentmindedly found your thigh.

It’s not like you weren’t used to him touching you like that. On most drives, he would either hold your hand or place his on your lap—however, he began slowly tracing patterns against your skin causing goosebumps to rise. He brought his fingers closer to where you needed him the most; the coil in your stomach was twisting to the point where you had to cross your legs in attempts to form any kind of friction in between them.

To your dismay yet his delight, your boyfriend ultimately pulled away before he could do anything to help soothe the fire that was overtaking your entire body. You saw him laughing to himself and mentally cursed him before grunting in irritation.

“You’re gonna get it Tuan I swear to God.” He looked at you as if he had no idea what you were talking about and simply shrugged.

“Just you wait baby. You’re going to regret teasing me.” He bit his lip seductively while finally pulling in to the parking lot.

“I don’t know what it is, but I can’t wait.” Once he parked his car, you made a bee line to your apartment and didn’t even care whether or not he was following right behind you. You brought a chair from the kitchen in to your bedroom and took off your clothes, leaving you in the extremely tiny outfit you were wearing earlier.

You knew it was Mark’s favorite and seeing you wear it tonight is what probably riled him up and got him to fight with other people. When you heard the door close, you sat there and waited patiently for your boyfriend to enter. When he did, his jaw dropped at the sight of you and his gulp did not go unnoticed—in fact, it only turned you on some more.

“Holy fuck. Y/n—“ He reached out for you but you quickly backed away—earning yourself a breathy and extremely sexy whine.

“I’m going to give you a lap dance. However, I have rules. My body is off limits. Absolutely no touching. The minute I feel you touching me, I’m going to make it stop. If I feel your hands on my body even just once, it’s over with.”

Your boyfriend quickly nodded in agreement, willing to take whatever he could get at thus point and motioned for you to start. You turned on your speakers and soon your room was being filled with The Weeknd. Slowly, you sauntered over to your boyfriend, bringing your hands up to his face and caressing his cheek all the while grinding in to him. Seeing him bite his lip to the point where you knew there was a chance it would start bleeding, trying his best not to make a noise nor touch you made you laugh quietly to yourself.

You brought your hands in to his hair and gently pulled on it, earning yourself an exhausted groan from your boyfriend. Leaving chaste kisses along his jaw and neck made Mark shiver and you could tell he was about to lose all his sanity pretty soon. You turned around, giving him a view of your round and plump ass—you purposely dropped one of your bracelets on to the floor so you had an excuse to bend down.

Hearing him take in a breath from how much of an effect you were having on him only made you want to take your time; you wanted to break him. When you felt his hard on against your ass, heat went straight to your core. Slowly, but very roughly, you grinded yourself against his thigh and smirked when you saw him squeezing both sides of the chair in order to prevent himself from touching you.

“Mmm, someone’s excited.”

He glared at you and the growl that came from the back of his throat did not go unnoticed—you could feel yourself growing wetter and hornier by the minute. The sex was going to be mind-blowing; you just knew it.

“I’ve been hard since I walked in to the club and saw you wearing this. Fuck baby. You don’t know what you do to me. Y/n. Please. Enough. I’m dying here. You’re actually lethal, do you know that? I’ve been a good boy long enough baby let me fuck your brains out, I’m begging you.”

You bit your lip at the sound of his dirty words. Mark was a very soft spoken and gentle guy. Around his friends and anyone he was close with, he could talk up a storm. It always made you smile seeing him comfortable enough to talk with people without getting nervous or stumbling on his words. However, when it came to sex between the two of you, he was very dirty and rough—just how you liked it.

His naughty words and raspy voice never failed to send shivers down your spine. You decided that your boyfriend had enough of your teasing and with the way he protected you tonight from all those drunk and rude assholes, he deserved a little treat. When he saw you get on your knees, he let out a content sigh. Although you were seconds away from fulfilling his carnal urges, you were extremely excited to finally have his dick down your throat.

Giving Mark head was just as fun for you as it was for him. Slowly, you unzipped his pants and released him from his underwear; the sight of his hard and throbbing cock sent warmth to your core. First, you kitten licked his tip and ran your tongue all along his cock—licking back and forth, dragging your teeth along his veins before ultimately bringing him in to your mouth. The noises; his grunts, moans and cries of pleasure that were rapidly falling from his mouth only drove you crazier. You were bobbing your head at an exceedingly rapid pace; trying to bring him as far down your throat as you could without gagging all the while looking up at him with your soft, doe eyes.

“Ba—baby—fuck—just—just like that. Ah fuck. You’re so good to me. You were made to suck my cock. Faster baby please. Your tongue—I can’t even—fuck.”

Your hands found purchase on his hips as you forced him deeper in to your mouth. No matter how much it hurt and how tears were forming at your eyelids, you loved being about to pleasure your boyfriend and you knew he loved it when you blew him. He ran his fingers through your hair and bit his lip in attempts to prevent himself from moaning loudly. Whatever you couldn’t fit in to your mouth, you pumped with your hand.

Every now and then, you brought his balls in to your mouth; sucking and grazing your teeth against both testicles. It was obvious with the way he would throw his head back that his balls were even more sensitive than his actual cock and you used that you your advantage.

“Baby—I’m gonna come—fuck y/n—you always get me to come so fast you’re so fucking sexy baby. Just like that—ah fuck.” Once he came in to your mouth, you were quick to swallow it entirely; milking him of everything he had and before you could process what was going on, your mouth was yanked from off of his tip and you were being pulled in to his embrace.

“You’re not real. I know I’ve said this many times but I have a hard time believing you’re real and that I’m the lucky man who was blessed with you as my girlfriend. You’re the most beautiful girl in the entire world baby. Fuck. Your mouth does wonders. You’re an ethereal being and I’ll do anything you ask me to. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’m yours. Do whatever you want with me baby.” You turned around to face him and connected your lips together while bringing one of his hands to your core.

“Fuck y/n, you’re soaking. You’re honestly going to be the death of me you know that right? You’re so fucking sexy. My beautiful baby girl.” He took you off guard by shoving two fingers in to your heat. As soon as he started pumping, you hid your face in to the crook of his neck and tried your best to silence your moans. However, your boyfriend quickly but gently pulled you away and lifted your chin so that you were making eye contact with him.

“Don’t hide those beautiful sounds princess. Daddy deserves to hear how good he’s pleasuring you. All those men tonight can only dream of seeing you like this. Don’t get me wrong y/n, it’s so hot when you dominate me. But we all know at the end of the day, whose the real boss when it comes down to it huh? You thought you could tease me with this extremely sexy little dance while wearing my favorite lingerie of yours? You’re gonna get it I swear to God. I’m going to make sure everyone in this apartment structure knows how good I’m making you feel tonight.”

He quickened the pace and watching his facial expressions while he was pumping his fingers inside of you sent you closer to your release. His fingers were warm and the callousness of his digits only did wonders against your pussy. It didn’t take long for him to find your g-spot; during many of your love making sessions, Mark made it a habit to learn a knew thing about you. Your likes, dislikes, preferences, positions you wanted to experiment in, where your clit and g-spot were located; he just really wanted to please you and loved knowing that he was the only one who had that kind of effect on you.

“Mmm, we’ve already had multiple complaints Mark—maybe we should—FUCK.” He brought his fingers against your clit and flicked it; pinching your nub causing you to moan louder than expected.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to be doing. All night baby. Get ready to call in sick because when I’m done with you, there won’t be any feeling in your legs.”

He knew exactly how sensitive you were and always took advantage of the situation. You continued to grind yourself against his fingers in hopes of finally reaching your orgasm—but all too soon, he pulled away. When you whined at the loss, he simply giggled.

“Mark what the fuck? I was so close!” He definitely was not going easy on you tonight. Your boyfriend was going to make it known that he owned you—that he was the only one who could bring you sheer ecstasy just by his fingers. He loved tormenting you when it came to the bedroom and after that fight earlier, he was excited for the kinky, hot sex he had planned for the two of you. He motioned for you to get off of him and brought you over to the bed.

“You’re going to sit on my face with that pretty little pussy of yours and I’m going to eat you out until you’re numb. Got it?” You nodded in agreement; excited for what was going to happen in just a couple of seconds. As he lied down, he pulled you with him, having you hover over his face.

“Sit.”

Both you and your boyfriend weren’t strangers to face riding, but you were always afraid of crushing him. However, Mark was always vocal about how hot he thought it was eating you out while you were sitting on his face. He always tells you that his face is your throne and wants nothing more than for you to sit on it when you both have the time. His hands found their place on your ass and he grinded you against his tongue. As much as you loved giving head, you really enjoyed receiving it—especially because Mark was a professional at eating you out. He knew exactly what to do to make you scream, cry and beg him to hurry up and bring you to your orgasm. When you felt his fingers graze your clit, you know you were done for.

“M—Mark—Mark—baby please.”

Your hands found purchase in his hair, pulling and tugging on it as he continued eating you out like a man starved. His wet muscle felt amazing against your folds; his pace was relentless. He continuously licked stripes against your entrance; biting gently and sibling on your overly sensitive nub. Hearing him moan and hum against your cunt made you want to scream. When he pulled away, you let out a loud whine and you were embarrassed seeing as how needy you must’ve looked but you didn’t care. This was the second time he edged you tonight and you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last.

“That’s not what you call me when I’m fucking you my pretty slut. If you want me to continue, you know what to say.”

Hearing him call you such a derogatory name only brought you closer to your end. There were a few times where Mark would degrade you during sex—but it always turned you on. He brought his tongue back up to your entrance and continued his ministrations.

“Da—daddy—fuck—so so good. You’re always so good to me—just like that daddy please—please let me come—”

When you felt him nibble on your clit, the coil in your stomach released and you came all over his tongue. Your boyfriend lapped up all your juices, making sure to slurp up every last drop and hummed against your pussy. Feeling him sigh and him against your soaking core only made you wetter at the touch—as much as you were enjoying the way he gripped on your ass and smashed his face against your pussy, you needed more. When he felt you get off of him, he was confused and a little bit worried.

“Baby I wasn’t done. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want me to slow down? Y/n I’m so sorry—“

You connected your lips with his and wrapped your arms around his neck before you began to leave soft kisses along his jaw. Although he could be rough and dominant when it came to sex with you, he always made sure you were having a good time. He hated the thought of hurting you in any way.

“I’m fine babe. That was amazing as always. You’re always so good to me. And I love how dirty and kinky you get during sex. You become this animal—it’s so fucking hot and I just—need you inside me. Right now.” He nibbled on your ear and licked a trail down your neck. Your words made him hard again; honestly anything you did never failed to make your boyfriend hard as a rock.

“Fuck y/n. I’ll do anything you ask me to. As much as I love eating you out and as much as I love how you taste, I want to fuck the living shit out of you. Fuck baby you taste so good I could eat you out for hours. But feeling how tight and wet your cunt is, I want to be buried inside it.” He yanked off his pants and threw them against the wall all the while bringing his hands up to your round mounds and squeezed the both of them.

“These. These right here are my favorite body parts of yours. Well, other than your extremely pretty face—and thick thighs. Don’t even get me started on your ass babe. Everything about you is simply perfect, I can’t get over it. But your tits—fuck. So big and so pretty. I could spend an eternity sucking on these things.”

He licked and nibbled on one of your nipples while squeezing the other breast with his free hand. He did this in attempts to distract you from when he finally enters you. Although the two of you had sex almost every single day, you would never get used to the stretch every time Mark would enter you. It always felt so good, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt.

Your boyfriend was thick and long—you had a hard time believing someone could be that perfect. Even if you considered penises to be very ugly, something about Mark’s was addicting—it never failed to make your mouth water and you loved the feeling of it buried deep inside of your pussy, between your breasts and in your mouth.

“Let me know if it hurts okay? And tell me when I can move my love.” He reconnected your lips together, melding his lips perfectly with you and finally entered you, eliciting breathless moans from the both of you. You gently tapped his shoulder, letting him know that it was okay for him to move.

“You know, for someone who claims he’s going to make me immobile for the next week, you sure are very soft for me.” He chuckled and let out a content sigh.

“I’d beg to differ. I’m hard as a fucking rock for you.” You playfully slapped his shoulder as he hid his face in your neck.

“I just don’t wanna hurt you. I’m very protective over you y/n. Even from myself. You’re so delicate in my eyes. I’d do anything to keep you safe and make you happy.” You didn’t even realize a tear fell from your face until you felt his fingers gently brush them away.

“You asshole. Professing your love to me is not the reason why I should be crying during sex. But I love you too. And I’m in love with you. Madly in love with—mmmm.”

Hearing those words fall from your pretty lips only made Mark crave you in a way that he needed to have you now or else he was sure he would actually go insane and he couldn’t help himself—he needed to move. He started off slow, bringing himself in and out of you as gently as he could—but he was quick to pick up the pace once he felt how amazing your walled wrapped around him. His fingers roughly grabbed your waist and you were sure there were going to be bruises in the morning, but you didn’t care.

You loved seeing his little marks that he left around your body; it would only remind you of the amazing night before and the fact that you were his. He lifted your legs up and placed them both behind his head so that he could be closer to you while ramming himself in to you. You absentmindedly clenched around him; the feeling of him stretching out your walls made you want to scream. The sensation obviously had an effect on your boyfriend because he stopped moving and roughly grabbed both your wrists, bringing it up along the sides of your face.

“Stop that. You know exactly what that does to me. I’m going to come right now and I refuse to come before you do. Fuck baby. You’re so fucking tight and wet I can barely stay in. I would fuck you every single day if I could.” He brushed some of your hair behind your ear and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I could never get enough of you. I want you for the rest of my life. I hope you’re well aware that you’re stuck with me. You’re mine y/n.”

No matter how many times he would confess his love for you, you were never ready to hear it and your heart would always melt in to a puddle when he did so. You knew by the way he was groaning and roughly kissing you, that he was close to his release. Therefore, you gently squeezed his hand to get his attention.

“Baby.”

He looked at you in curiosity. You motioned for him to get off of you but before he could ask what was going on, you turned around and stuck your ass out in front of him. Out of all the positions, doggy was your favorite. There was something so erotic about how animalistic Mark would get in this position. He was rougher and his movements were so much faster in this position. It also turned you on even more when he would shove your face in to the bed sheets. When he realized what you were asking for, he moaned quietly to himself.

“My dirty little slut wants me to fuck her from behind? Fuck baby. I’m going to fucking wreck you. Get over here.”

He pulled your ass up against his pelvis and you moaned in sync at the feeling of his hard cock rubbing against your drenched folds. When he brought his hand up and spanked you, you could feel your orgasm building up again. Mark brought his lips up to your neck and started leaving multiple hickeys against it, you were his own personal canvas and he loved knowing people saw that you were spoken for. You pulled on the sheets and quietly screamed in to your pillow as he made his way back inside of you.

This time, he didn’t give you a second to prepare before roughly thrusting himself in to your cunt. His pace only quickened now that he could reach further in to your soaking pussy. The sound of skin on skin slapping could be heard throughout your room and every so often, Mark would whisper dirty things in your ear. His hands wouldn’t stop lingering everywhere along your body.

Your boyfriend always needed to be touching you. A lot of times, his touches weren’t even sexual; Mark had a hard time believing you were real and all his to love. Touching you was like a safety blanket to him. It only made him accept that you actually existed and that he was the proud owner of your heart. His hands were one of your favorite body parts—his fingers were long and skinny and you loved how they felt wrapped around your neck, your waist, against your lower back and buried inside your pussy. You also loved how they felt squeezing both your ass and your breasts.

You brought his hand up to your neck, hinting to him that you wanted to be choked. Although choking was a huge kink of your boyfriend’s, Mark was always very nervous and hesitant because he didn’t want to hurt you. But God, did he love the effect it had on you.

“Fuck! Did you just get tighter? You’re already soaking and tight as hell baby please tell me you’re close.” You nodded and he gently twisted your head so that he could kiss you.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much baby.” Soon, his warm, creamy liquid was filling you up to the hilt and he let out an exhausted whine.

“Baby I’m so sorry—“ You shook your head and asked him to pull out. Mark had a tendency of reaching his orgasm before you did, but it was understanding. It also did wonders to your confidence knowing that you could have him reach his release in just a matter of minutes.

“Let me ride.” The look on his face sent shivers down your spine. He was quick to lie down against the pillows and pulled you on top of him.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this breathtaking view but I would do it again and again if I had to if it meant getting to love you in every single lifetime.” You smiled down at him; his heartfelt words sent warmth to your cheeks and you knew in that moment that you would do anything he asked of you—however, your smile was quickly replaced with furrowed brows as you bit down on your lip and moaned as you sank down on his dick.

“Mmm—Daddy—please go faster. Aw fuck—just like that—harder—I’m so close baby.”

He sat up so he had a better view of your face and took this time to suck on both of your breasts. The feeling of bouncing on him while he was licking and nipping on your breasts brought you closer to your end. You sank up and down on him at a relentless pace; the feeling of his cock gliding against your walls, his fingers gripping on your ass as he helped guide your body against his and the way your ass slapped against his pelvis was a sensation you would never be able to form in to words. His tip kissed the back of your cervix with each and every bounce—and it was beginning to become too much for you to handle. Before you knew it, you were coming all over his dick with him following just seconds after.

“You’re not real—you can’t be. You’re so perfect y/n what did I do to deserve you?” You shook your head before bringing your hand up to his face and cupping his cheek with your palm.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you. I’m sorry again for earlier. I know it’s inevitable that we’ll fight again, but promise me that most fights will end like this.” He chuckled while flopping back down on the bed and bringing you with him.

“Trust me, I love making love to you at all times, but fucking you after fighting with you is a mind blowing experience. Should we fight again tomorrow?” You rolled your eyes and playfully pushed his shoulder.

“I can’t feel my legs. You win. You’re calling in sick for me tomorrow.” His laughter engulfed the room and you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

“Do you want to take a shower? I’ll carry you to the bathroom. Or I can even run you a bath if you’d like.” You shook your head—the thought of having to get up, even if he was going to carry you was exhausting.

“I just wanna go to sleep. I know you babe—we’re only gonna have more sex in the shower. I’m too sensitive for more sex tonight.” He pouted in to your neck but knew you were right. Mark would never be able to get enough of you and he wanted you to be completely recharged when he decided to have his way with you again.

“Hey, you said tonight. So tomorrow morning—“ You punched his shoulder as he giggled at the action.

“You are the horniest human being I know.” He ran his fingers up and down your back while leaving lingering kisses along your cheeks.

“I mean, have you seen yourself? And your body, God I hate the fact that you’re so insecure about it. Your body is perfect y/n. I love your thick thighs and your curves. And I don’t know why you think your breasts are small, I can barely fit one in my mouth. Oh and this ass, fuck. I cannot get enough of it. I could write a book about how much I love your body alone. Imagine if I were to talk about the love I have for you in general. A fucking novel. I never used to be this soft before. Your love made me all sappy. But it was worth it. You’re worth it. I’d do anything for you. Be anything you want me to. I’d do anything to make you happy. You’re my entire world y/n. I love you.” Tears fell from your eyes and he was quick to kiss them away.

“Come on my crybaby, let’s go to bed. Since you’re calling out sick tomorrow, I’m planning on having a lazy day—for the most part. At some point I plan on making love to you against the kitchen counter and on the couch. Maybe both. We’ll see if you’re up for it. Goodnight princess. Sweet dreams.”

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #got7 mark #got7 smut

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costellos · 4 years

Text

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang & how / who they love!

bruno bucciarati.

love language he gives: words of affirmation, gift giving, acts of service

love languages he wants: quality time, acts of service

favorite dates: having coffee at a swanky cafe, visiting the beach (loves hearing the waves crash against the rocks; also loves teaching you how to fish)

doesn’t really date since his time is so limited. likewise, he doesn’t want to drag his partner into the mobster life, so he would most likely date someone who’s also involved. it’s just easier that way.

Bucciarati doesn’t really have a “type.” at least not for physical appearance. as long as he can get along with someone and they share his values, he can make a relationship work.

will adore anyone that can have any sort of intellectual conversation with. it doesn’t necessarily have to be about politics or literature, it can be about the latest celebrity gossip and how it affects current events. really just wants someone to talk about things and how they affect other things if that makes sense?

as mentioned, Bucciarati has very limited time. he tries to make the most out of what time he does have with you and would appreciate your understanding.

because he prizes fairness above all else, his deal breaker would be witnessing your being rude for no reason (especially to children or the elderly). he doesn’t care for those who can’t show basic human decency.

the one who spoils you the most. he buys you little trinkets from every new city he visits.

leone abbacchio.

love language he gives: acts of service, quality time

love languages he wants: quality time

favorite dates: eating at a restaurant that has a live band playing (preferably jazz or swing), getting wine drunk at home

truly doesn’t believe that he deserves love.

despite that, Abbacchio is someone who loves with every fiber of his being. that’s why he’s so protective of his team upon Giorno’s arrival. if he were to ever find a partner, he would be head over heels for them.... just don’t expect him to show it outwardly.

his type is anyone who’s patient and can tolerate his snippy comments. someone who’s not naive or childish. like Bucciarati, physical appearance doesn’t matter much, but he has a penchant for thick thighs.

honestly really easy to please once you’re in a relationship with him. he doesn’t ask for much nor does he ask for much in return. he just wants to spend time with you.

however, he doesn’t tolerate those who don’t respect his boundaries. Abbacchio is already hesitant going into this relationship. if you rush into it and push him to do the same, he’d end this before it even began.

the one who cooks the best. his dishes taste like home.

giorno giovanna.

love language he gives: words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time

love languages he wants: quality time

favorite dates: visiting a natural history or art museum, going to a conservatory

he’s not particularly interested in romantic endeavors since he’s so focused on his dream.

but if he were to fall in love with someone, it would be for someone who’s just as ambitious as he. wants someone who can continuously push him to his greatest achievements. he would happily return the sentiment for them.

also doesn’t really have a “type,” but loves those who are quick-witted, natural leaders, and fast thinkers. he needs someone that can keep challenging him.

loves to spoil you with bouquets of beautiful flowers. if you like cute animals, he’d turn an old brick into a wide-eyed rabbit. he absolutely adores how your face lights up for the things he makes you.

the only thing that annoys him are those who won’t try anything new. it’s good to step out of your comfort zone, and he’d be happy to help you with that. but if you continuously dismiss him, whether it be to try a new experience or hell, a new food, well. irritated is putting it lightly.

the one who’s most observant of you. you need help with something but won’t ask for it? here, let him take a look at it.

guido mista.

love language he gives: words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time

love languages he wants: physical touch

favorite dates: going to the movies (for any genre, but loves comedies and action the most), eating at restaurants with cheap yet delicious food after midnight

he says that he wants a super hot model gf but he’ll honestly fall in love with anyone who gives him any attention. that said, he falls in love hard. he just wants to give his partner the world. it’s what they deserve. is that so much to ask?

again, he falls in love with anyone who gives him the time of day, but he has a bias for thick folks. physical touch is one of his love languages, so be prepared for him to always be squeezing your thigh.

on that note, he loves touching you intimately. his favorite place is putting his hand between your thighs when sitting next to him (”what? my hand is cold”) and on your hip when standing up.

loves easy dates. he’s a simple man. dinner and the movies make him happiest. what’s better than a good flick with delicious food and lovely company?

Mista loves fully and wholly. the only deal breaker is if you complicate his life. as mentioned, he’s a simple man. if he catches you engaging in harmful gossip, lying, or god forbid, cheating, it’s over.

the one who makes you feel the most comfortable in your skin. he’s literally always praising you, whether it’s about your appearance, your personality, or your accomplishments. such a great hype man.

narancia ghirga.

love language he gives: gift giving, acts of service, physical touch

love languages he wants: words of affirmation, physical touch

favorite dates: going to a carnival, staying in and playing video games or listening to music

really, really wants to be in a relationship but also really, really scared to be in one. loves the idea of having someone who loves you for you. hates having to be vulnerable.

but once Narancia shows his true colors (and isn’t judged for it) to a certain someone, he will fall in love with them. it’ll be easy to know, too — he’s really bad at hiding his feelings. expect lots of candid requests to hang out.

he prefers someone who’s smaller than him. he isn’t picky, though. honestly just wants someone to hold but he’d never admit that, jesus christ that’s so cheesy.

loves going on dates that stimulate him. challenging you to a carnival game or a round of Mario Kart is such a fun way to pass the time with you!

would be incredibly heartbroken if you insult his intelligence first and foremost, and anything else after. he’s self-conscious about never finishing primary school. if you bring that up to hurt him, he’d simply get up and leave. forgiveness is uncertain.

the one who comforts you best after a long day. you can always expect a long hug, a kiss, and food from your favorite takeout restaurant from him.

pannacotta fugo.

love language he gives: quality time, acts of service

love languages he wants: words of affirmation, acts of service

favorite dates: visiting a history or science museum, reading together at an old library

Fugo wants to love and be loved in return, but he knows that by doing so, he would be putting his partner in danger. he tries to avoid it as much as he can as a result.

though he can’t help it when someone treats him like he isn’t a monster. the way they smile at him, how they compliment him... it makes his heart race.

he has a weakness for people who wear glasses. there’s just something about them that makes a person infinitely more attractive to him. other than that, he needs someone that can keep up with him intellectually. yeah, he tries to keep his cool. but having someone that doesn’t require him to repeat himself saves a lot of time and effort.

although he’s no longer in school, he wants to keep learning. he loves being able to share that with you, so visiting museums or reading books together is his ideal way of bonding.

Fugo has the most deal breakers out of the gang (they’re all for your safety), but his biggest is a lack of patience. he knows that his short temper is tough to deal with, it’s just... he needs you to be patient with him. he wants this to work and he can’t do it without you.

the one who remembers details about you best. don’t tell him embarrassing stories or he’ll tease you about them later.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #bucci gang #golden wind #giorno giovanna #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #headcanons #hey what's good my name is toya mctoyason #and i'm here to bring u my sleep-deprived ramblings #no author's note this time bc it's obvious this was self indulgent /winky face #i'll just say that this is heavily based on the bachelor profiles in Harvest Moon games :^)#toya whisks u away

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

------------------------------------------------------

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

------------------------------------------

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

----------------------------------------------

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

---------------------------------------------------

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

----------------------------------------

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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matchamorphosis · 4 years

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝𝐲

𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. - 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐 + 𝒋𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒕

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || Once Upon a Time in the shiny pearly gates of an elite residential community not long ago, lived our dear sweet [y/n] Beaudelaire. a revengeful Juliet, a woeful princess within the lavish parts of these aristocratic folk. what will happen when she meets again with her once Romeo now fiend in the lovely auspicious event of her graduation party? especially when she’s out for his head.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || alternate universe AU tutor//counselor!ari levinson × [black//woc]fem!reader + bryce langely × [black//woc]fem!reader

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || angst + smut

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 9.7K

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || +18 nsfw, daddy!kink, student-tutor relationship, age gape: reader is twenty two and ari is thirty seven: don’t like, don’t read, dark elements, sexual past // intentions // flashbacks + mentions lose of virginity + future manipulation//blackmail + somewhat dark/upsetting content + alcohol mention + emotional denial

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || valley of the dolls by marina . teachers pet by melanie martinez . imagine by ariana grande

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 || romeo + juliet ☆ 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑒𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 ☆

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || hello my dearests! chapter two will come soon! ♡ anyways, enjoy reading cherubs!

THE BRONZE BELLS RING BACK AND FORTH FROM THE TOWER ABOVE, MARKING THE HOUR OF FIVE O’CLOCK.

shuffling of waitresses and waiters bustle as they seamlessly welcome, seat and serve the arriving guests as they begin to enter the dining room. not breaking or huffing a single sweat as they carry the trays of prepared dishes while ice buckets of champagne and brandy dance around the golden framed accommodation.

patrons young and old in fine silks and tailored stitches of embroidery situate themselves on the seats at the lengthen dining table. the seating arrangements that were made don’t crowd the banquet hall too much yet still very much wide that you only see eye level with the many persons right and left of you.

sharp smiles and provoking laughter, along with articulate chatter and conversations are not too loud yet not too quiet for anyone who had the nerve to add on nor the audacity to step in. devious hushed giggles and cruelly clever remarks still being heard, the affluent demons situate themselves comfortably before the grand feast.

entertained by the mulled wine and glorious halcyon strokes of the Rococo paintings that ordain the burgundy upper fortifications. soft classical music soaks through while they breath in the malodorous rich phlox air, sitting blissfully. a rays of candlelight chandeliers and the whimsically painted ceiling of the golden cumulus clouds pierced through almighty arch angels shine above their privileged heads. glimmering in the sunlight swimming the room as the servers begin re-pouring the sparkling alcohol in their half empty glasses.

being settled in the middle of the table, our dear sweet princess- sits tracing the outline of her wine glass with a single finger.

the slight high pitch hum sends her deep in the labyrinth of her thoughts as she internally chants to remind herself who she is. more so the individual figure she is manifesting, someone who will give her strength through this tear dropping moment.

though here she is, green as the frog prince tale her neglecting father read to her to sleep when she was a child- she couldn’t help but not shed the ugly ivy shade.

for only the scene in front of her would make dutiful damsels cry in their lace handkerchiefs and shining knights in silver armor woe in pity- it gave all the more reason to.

bare elbow resting on the table, it holds up her clenched fist. holding up her chin while she leans upset on forced straight shoulders. glossy nude lips pursed, sharp eyes puncture through the white cloth of the finely dressed table. once again restraining herself not to pout or let a sign of disgust crowd her face to make her emotions and thoughts obvious.

[y/n] [l/n] will prevail through this- well, until she starts to hear a giggle, and then a hushed whisper.

biting down on the inside of her cheek to ease the need of wanting to snap a snarky comment between the two individuals. for whom are speaking in front of her rather carelessly (for the fact that one of the which- his date or so you found out much earlier “fiancé” was excusable but it didn’t keep you from wanting to rip the woman’s tongue out) she simply rethinks her situation away from her prior knowledge and sit to a solid conclusion.

it seems as though you’ve been replaced

if it were possible, the tips of your ears tint up in a blistering crimson red as smoke curls, like a teapot screeching as the water was boiling over. although you don’t let that scream out nor the tears you’re keeping within. instead, slender brows arch and scrunch in their artful cynical manner.

your inflicting conscious attempts to cool down the bubbling boiling cauldron of vexes in the pit of your belly that you want to spite the man across. yet you’re unsure whether it’s because you feel like vomiting or because the scene in front of you is pushing a new level of internal disgust in yourself.

strange how you put yourself up with this in the first place is a whole heart mystery

listening in and out of your beloved friends conversations- centering around typical topics such as boys, books and bucks. [y/n] sits rather contemptible.

[y/n] doesn’t want to deal with the suffocating thick air of strained smiles, faux compliments, and forced giggles and chuckles.

all do nothing but rot her Dior perfumed presence the tragic princess is illed from this life.

facing too many cold greedy touches to her bare highlighted shoulders and too many fabricated comments twined with vicious sarcasm and shaded in fifty shades of irony. it was all too much to handle, even when their pockets were dripping in gold and bundles of cash it was all a façade. apprehending the reflection of pure hatred in the rich folks split red irises, it has all been seen and taken accounted of hundreds of nonchalant times.

all fail to make you shiver, all fail to make you resign

[y/n] doesn’t know how long she’s going to have to sit and look pretty, not for herself no but for an image.

all for the sake of her fashion designer mother, who urged her to have a gala for her high performance and decree. how can you say no to your own mother? even after all the vicious Hell she puts you through, she got you here. mistaking your own emotional withdrawal for strength at her cruel hands, she crafted her own perfect daughter.

one who showed no weakness, who gave no mercy

despite this, she feels herself crumbling

[y/n] doesn’t feel like talking or thinking about the silly and irrelevant ideals and prospects that don’t involve her sitting on his lap.

straddling the strong warmth of his thighs while your inner ones grind against his searing loins. wanting to act on the fine lines of either choking him or kissing him to death as your jeweled fingers play with the buttons of his expansive crisp white.

head full of toxic odium inflections you want to slash against the gentleman across it doesn’t mix right knowing you wish to be that women sitting next to him. the one who receives the cheeky whispers, who gets to feel his tongue when you two kiss.

instead, you ease the desire by taking a quick unnoticed swing of the moonshine in your silver flask. placing the vile thing back in your pearl Gucci clutch you grasp the item close to the ribs of your abdomen- quickly popping a mint in your mouth to mask the telling breath. keeping touch with your breathing, the shiny diamond ring on the woman’s finger almost made you choke the first time you saw it.

your heart nearly stopping dead in your chest when it sparkled and the hand that was twined with it was wrapped in another that also displayed the gold band. it threw you off completely and wrecked havoc on your heart and mind that you had to excuse yourself to cry in the bathroom.

now, your tears are nearly spent. the sight of dreaded thing only boils along with the other bittersweet things you find meaningless when it dealt with the gentlemen.

the gentlemen across the dinging table, that broke too much of your heart and took too many pieces.

[y/n] doesn’t want to look or hear the heart shattering display of affection that is proceeding right in front of her eyes.

knowing there was a certain unintentional catch to performing your celebrating gala you weren’t exactly sure what the decoy was. all until the deliberate provocative maneuvers were performed by the enemy himself.

that enemy, the gentlemen across from you, is puffing a thick Cuban cigar. not cowering against your bellicose gaze nor shudder of the battle cry that rings in the deep pools of your irises. he should know better not to play such a shrewd egocentric game when you’ve been playing it for years.

however the battlefield is empty, but you want war

you want it so bad it’s clouding your judgement, clouding every rational thought that brings you to reasonability.

if he wishes to avoid this matter let him be labeled as a wise coward. if he wishes to take you to battle then let him burn in the crossfire of his deserved loss

you’ve had the experience of driving your victims in circles- questioning themselves on their own apprehensions and relation predictions.

it was fun driving them over the lines of their morals and boundaries. it was even more fun to sit in the passengers seat as you insisted for them to not hit the breaks and for-long the steering wheel. telling them they had no worries as they drove over the cliffs edge. yet in the end they always hit the breaks and they always begged for you to forgive them for it.

no one had the will to do so, no one could satisfy your hunger

the deed at the moment- the childish yet very humorous game is more so a chore now if you were to admit. no longer a stringed merriment of imperious interest to drive your morphine high. on the other hand you aren’t going to ignore the piercing glance which soul purpose is to make you stare back.

the constant idyllic remarks that relentlessly grab your unwanted attention make him somewhat smirk as you notice it from the corner of you eye. the cocky grin almost willing you to shove that monarch title of yours in his face. slowly making him wish as you keeps his glare on you that you’d step off your throne and accuse him of revolt against the crown.

anything to make him hear your voice again

the finger of your right hand that was still tracing the wine glass halts as you grab the chalice within your clawed hold. tapping the glass slowly with your shimmery white acrylics, all you see is red.

red, red, blistering red

[y/n] Beaudelaire is furious

if anyone truly knew her they would notice that she is indeed too quiet. that the way she purses her lips is a comprehensible threat that friends, classmates, and acquaintances are regretfully familiar with.

cause they all know, that once [y/n] Beaudelaire is simmering with the acrimony of the Gods there will be vengeance to uphold. and sooner than later she will be redeemed, even if it means a dead body being buried or burned she will get away with it.

such wrathful repayment will have you second guessing your every daily decision, it will always come when you least expect it. although it will come (she sincerely promises) on a silver platter. polished and delivered by Karma herself that would make the War God Ares shiver and cower in fear and leave Athena in wonders on your foreshadowing strategies.

there are three golden rules you should know when you come across [y/n] Beaudelaire || never lie to her, never double-cross her, never get in her way

you would think these simple laws would be easy to understand, follow and obey on the account that they’ve been written like a syllabus within the minds of her subjects-

then you are sadly mistaken

there isn’t one event where an act of treason or mutiny were to be made against you, questioning your position of authority. you’ve known from the beginning that if you were constructing the building blocks of your kingdom a judicial system was to be constructed and laws were to be proclaimed.

even the rich have rules to follow in their own golden gate communities, you had your rules. it is no secret to everyone that the polished anarchy and shining throne that your seated on is built on the shameful secrets and corrupt deeds of your subjects. like a contract these vain money slicked cheats didn’t read the fine print.

the confidential information of the lieges were made as, somewhat clauses in contrary with whatever business you had to deal with or against them

everyone wished you the best of luck just as everyone wanted your throne, secretly wanting to burn you alive at the stake.

putting into perspective if they had burned you alive, taken the death enveloped in Holy fire nothing would change for their benefit. the anarchy, the high socially affluent class would crumple under new management. even the rich have rules to follow in their own golden gate communities, you had your rules.

the crown, throne and kingdom was all for you

not because it was a birth right passed down, but because the socially illusioned world created didn’t exist for you created a system that only you understood how to control.

you worked hard to have the social and financial suitors of both potential allies not just in your own state but from all around. from the Beverly Hills to the Upper East Side there are people watching over you. nobody wished to mess with you although they loved the idea of it, you knew of people that are even powerful than anyone in this room it was frightening.

teaching yourself to be socially assertive and wiser in making decisions whenever it came to making ties and bonds. a trait these close minded sheep in wolfs clothing couldn’t buy with their mommy's and daddy's plastic.

their silver spoon lives have been fed with opulent lies one mouthful at a time

the princess thinks, amusing herself she can’t help but smirk rather wickedly down at the light amber liquid in her crystal glass. it keeps her distracted from the brute man across, knowing exactly what’s conjuring in that pretty mind of yours.

coming off as innocent to the careless eye but if you knew [y/n] Beaudelaire nothing about the young lady is entirely innocent, at least not anymore. not as innocent as people loved and cherished, an element those poor simple fools took for fucking granted.

it could all have been ruined from the gentlemen in front of her, her cruel parents, fabricated friends and crushed dreams. but she used to remember herself as the sweet heartfelt cherub that’s casted into the thundering storm. a storm she cannot escape from, how can someone escape from the troubles of their own mind?

sure she was naïve then, oblivious of the ways of the affluent world around her. so uncertain and troubled, always so quiet with her nose in a book and always first to raise her hand when her teachers asked a question. a stuttering mess whenever a handsome boy would speak to her, even when it was but the simplest things.

she remembers those days. when she wouldn’t let herself be seen out without satin hair ribbons that matched her plaid skirts, blazers and stockings. simple trademarks being her black glossy heeled flats, powdered sugar bubblegum, lip-smacking strawberry chapstick, and the tender playfulness of her blooming body.

[y/n] Beaudelaire used to be pure- or whatever fucked up term that would describe a girl with no social experience.

now she’s considered an enigma. as many of her classmates and peers believe- a mystery, a paradox.

she was loyal, yet somewhat detached. platonic yet sensual, heartwarming yet tear wrenching. no one truly knows or understands her, nor wishes to. maybe the gentlemen some time ago wished but not anymore, the princess deems.

the elegant dining hall that accompanies the Beaudelaire family fitted fifty five guests. all from her graduating class, extended family, business affiliates and close courtiers bustled with energy as the food is beginning to be served.

conversations ending and picking up quickly in between mouthfuls of buttered bread rolls and sips of ancient wine. the steaming rotisserie chickens and roasted lamb shoulders sit on plates of roasted vegetables next to the multiple wooden baskets of rolls. ivory bowls of rice pea soup and dishes of white and red sauced pastas are placed in commendation with trays of salads in front of each sitting guests.

looking down at the ivory china, the pea soup was the last possible thing [y/n] wanted to consume and the flirtatious comments that were happening in front of her only added to the fire that was tearing inside of her.

thinking otherwise, he was getting back at her from her actions earlier, he was equally as jealous as her

[y/n] looks outside through the tall glass apertures, streaming in golden light the crowd of conversations and chatter going to the back of her mind. to help her recollect upon the events that happened earlier that day.

it’s a sunny breezy June day for the graduating class of Bradford for they had just arrived at the Osborne manor for lunch from the gardens of the Beaudelaire estate. considering it is the first week of summer break, long until she and her classmates are back to their books starting their third year of university.

they’ve decided instead of staying inside the fine Beaudelaire music room rehearsing their song for Madame Hautecourts (Bradfords founder) arrival next week, they’d rather spent it on the Beaudelaire estate.

surrounded by blooming flower beds, marble fountains and ivory statues. remotely unattended from any pressure bearing adults, it was heaven. enjoying the sound of buzzing bees and humming hummingbirds and the sight of elegant doves bathing in the birdbaths, their senior year was finally over and they were finally done with their studies.

the rich white teethed teens drank fizzy bourbon sodas, smoked cigars and played cards as a celebration. smiled with nefarious charm as they told, listened and laughed along detention stories and parent-teacher mishaps that have happened throughout their high school years.

it was their right to enjoy their summer break as shameless young adults committing prohibited acts. they were legal enough to break the law, but wealthy enough to get away with it

a golden ethereal moment [y/n] relished, yet couldn’t help but feel the peering stare of someone on her.

in shock she met the eyes of a figure that was staring down at her on the second story balcony of the mansion. immediately upon seeing the heavenly cerulean blue of his fierce glare caught her off guard completely, for she has never set sight of them in person in forever.

unaware from his return over seas all together she surely did not invite the man yet here he stands. head up looking down on you with those ocean hues as if disappointed with the clutch of moonshine in your grasps and the lips of a drunk boy at your neck.

ignoring the large group of adults chatting upon the carved ivory balcony. talking with champagne flutes in hand while cigarettes sit fuming in between their dazzling ring fingers, not caring for their children below as they commit their sins.

the gentlemen’s- Ari Levinson’s sharp glare was still present and it viscously dripped in distain. maybe baring the same shock you were feeling- that someone had their hands and lips on his property. knowing that tell, he did indeed notice you’re holding onto this boys hand that he will later find out is your boyfriend, Bryce Langely.

yes, the older man heard it right from your mothers lips - boyfriend.

it was a little bit, a morsel of karma that you unraveled against him. having gotten over Ari, your traitor of a Romeo you now savor in the violent delights of being a woeful Juliet. even when you sometimes feared over your newly found beau, you would overshadowed that creeping chill to spite that man who shattered your heart.

it came with its heartbreaking disadvantages but had abundances of limitless sinful privileges. obtaining a title that doesn’t include you ruining someone's will to live or playing a mind-fuck emotional waste game surely was your guilty pleasure.

granting all this, we all have learned from past mistakes- from past tragedies- that these violent delights that taste so virtuously divine, have their merciless violent ends.

this night will have its violent end and your wicked gaze told it all as it cascaded with Ari’s. so revengeful it was saddening, he thought as he exhaled the cloud of cigar smoke. feeling his fist tighten when the school boy of a boyfriend slipped his skinny fingers under the white satin of your slip dress. the beating in his chest increasing when you smirked, bite your lips on not the bastard but him.

breaking the stare wanting not to stare back, she straightens herself under the sun rays trying not to let him spoil the mood. instead of averting your eyes to the older man, you hold Bryce's bicep; lying your head on his shoulder.

the icy glare Ari returns was enough for you to wonder, were you going to regret doing this?

you’ve broken a vow, but that thought makes you bite your tongue hard in this falsehood. he broke his first, he promised he’d never leave you and he did. the pain its just as bad as you feel the metallic taste in your mouth.

I don’t belong to him, not anymore.

glancing your attention back up to the floral balcony you see that your Romeo has disappeared and serves him right. but where are you the audience touching up on this elicit affair?

well, ladies and gentlemen, let us start from the beginning...

it all started with a kiss.

a magical night that was the grand premier of [y/n’s] latest play, Romeo and Juliet.

you were the leading actress playing Shakespeare's unfortunate Juliet. the prima donna of the stage, the blazing star in everyone’s hearts that snowy February night.

[y/n] was nineteen, open to the ways of the world and at the time your Romeo was a much older man. but in the heat of the moment-

when the dazzling stage lights shone down on her and the audience cheered in a standing ovation as the single roses and bundles of baby breaths were thrown at her feet. as you took your bow, the chorus of the angels above song for the romantic tragedy of a teenage tale to be your reality.

seeing your Romeo, your Ari, grinning proudly from the side lines throwing a red rose at the hem of your gown - your heart pounded in this truth/

the romantically tragic tale was surely real when he snuck into her dressing room.

a bouquet of red roses in his hands asking her if she would like to take a stroll with him. when their eyes danced and fingers laced within each other as they walked towards the candlelit park. covering her with his own black trench coat over her revealing costume when the cold winds of January seared their cheeks. their lips met each other under a streetlamp as snow began to powder above them.

that kiss was the tipping domino that shattered their flirty student-tutor relationship into a secret scandalous affair. the visits between them only began after that, both Ari and [y/n] always either announced a date with a letter informing them or a surprise visit.

one of her favorite surprises, especially when it came to Ari- has been engraved in her memories for eons to come.

maybe it wasn’t as sweet and virtuous as [y/n] Beaudelaire dreamed of and remembered, but how can it not be when she felt like she was in heaven.

how could something be sin when it feels holy at the first touch?

it might be the endeavor of the Devil cause she still feels the temptation of his large warm hands. groping and grasping the powder blue lace of her nightie that wrapped the smooth skin of her waist on that warm pink honeysuckle June night.

a naughty moan erupted from her and a deep groan against him. [y/n] could taste the bitterly addicting taste of honeyed whiskey on his dazzling smile and couldn’t help at all but to pull onto his loose velvet tie. shamelessly whining and urging him to come closer as she unbuttoned his shirt, roaming her hands on his sculptured muscled chest.

reality has withered into a forgotten thought for dear sweet [y/n] Beaudelaire. although they both know an important figure as Mr. Levinson shouldn’t have been in her room. let alone cup the petal soft cheeks of [y/n] Beaudelaire as he kissed her harder, dancing his tongue with hers.

desire, desire, desire...

how she had desired - longed to feel his strong arms around her waist, his satin locks through her fingers, his muscled golden skinned everything against her. a thought struck her - what if her father and mother were to walk in any second?

both home early from their business trips? simple, all hell would break loose- figuratively and literally, although how could this not make her swoon more.

the danger and chaos incited the princess, she felt like a precious Juliet.

yet [y/n] couldn’t stop at the threat, couldn’t help the mesmerizing feeling of her plump warm lips against his sweet tasting ones. how he was her first kiss conflicted with the older man, it seemed she had much more experience than she was letting on.

danger and pleasure mix well, especially when Ari Levinson was pumping his throbbing hard cock into the tight virgin hole of [y/n] Beaudelaire. gripping the religious brooch of his golden chain in the palm of her hand, he continued to pump deep in and out of her. symphonies of moans and sighs adorned their blissful bubble waiting and urging to be popped.

whispering praises and soothing the dear girl as hot tears streamed from her eyes. kissing her temple telling her how well she did and how he loved her.

all while the droplets of blood curled with the puddle of nectar underneath their locked connection, soaking her rumpled Egyptian cotton sheets. his tempered hands gently caressed the curves of her summer ripe body, sucking her rose budded breasts and licking her honey slicked core.

the magical spell that she was under, the thrilling sin enfolding as he held the key to her own wrecking. how it felt so fucking goddamn right to straddle his lap and allow him to leave the dark cherry wine lovebites on her neck. ravishing in the sinfully divine reflections in his eyes, she flourished on their next encounter.

being this an unvarnished truth, it wasn’t just a kiss as you all know now. but the intensity, the pure desire radiating them both that full moon night as they ‘made love’ questioned dear [y/n] Beaudelaire whether or not it was an event she would regret for the rest of her days.

conflicts her presently as she stares down on her food, not allowing the elements of the present to interfere to connect to that corrupt heaven.

“promise me you’ll never forget this, forget me,” out of breath, you shushed in his ear and he stopped sucking the skin of her collarbones and gripping her rear entirely.

angling his face to meet hers, he examines his artwork- her ruby lips now pouty, being overworked from crashing his lips to hers. the blooming hickies covering her neck, collarbones, and breasts like springtime poppies.

the sweaty bare sunkissed skin of her naked body underneath him and her leaking honey cascading with his salty brim coats both their inner thighs is nothing but aerial piety.

noting the tears that glazed your eyes- the dear girl has never felt so defenseless, so vulnerable to heartbreak in her life. two droplet streams slip from her eyes and Ari’s heart weeps.

his precious princess being teary eyed will not do, not if he could help it.

lifting her on his lap, he raises his warm hands to cup her cheeks. wiping the tears with his thumbs, erasing their short lived existence before softly pressing his lips to hers. keeping his hands in place as she grips the silky hair that drops onto the back of his neck.

“how could I ever forget you? my angel, you are purely unforgettable. never ever forget it,” he hushes as he glides his thumb against her lips and onto her cheekbone.

he releases one hand to dig into his trouser pockets and reveals a shimmering piece that sparkles and shines in the moonlight, a heart locket. “when you wear this, i’ll know that your heart belongs to me. that I am worthy to have a place in your heart.” he glides his fingers around her throat, moving her hair to the side as he clicks the gold in place.

looking down on the locket, her fingers wrapping it close. “even without this pendent, my heart will always belong to you.”

beaming at the sight of you in his gift his heart is off to the races. you belong amongst the lavish pearl, blush pink and fanciful moonshine strokes of Lawrence Alma-Tadema’s signature paintings. the posh gold necklace rests securely around your lower neck and the promising pendant tips a luscious glossy glow upon her breasts.

she truly is art, to be seen and adored by everyone but only touched and worshiped by him/

“tell me daddy, please tell me i’m yours,” you sighed heavily, bust along with the locket lifting against Ari’s chest as you move her face even closer to his.

“no doll, daddy’s yours.” her giggle, a classical melody to his ears as she kisses him again sweetly.

he returns more passionately but stops immediately for the ding dong of the old grandfather clock announces the twelfth hour of the night, surprising as well as startling the girl. “it’s getting late, I can’t stay for long.” he quietly hushes, his voice slightly raspy causing [y/n’s] inner demons lustfully scream but she pouts and carps.

he’s leaving so soon, always so soon.

“don’t frown, pretty girl. we had to stop at some point.” he smirks as he picks up his shirt from the floor, buttoning it up swiftly.

getting up from your bed to find his belt from under it, he walks by the blue lace he stripped you of much earlier in the night. fitting the leather with his belt loops he zips up his pants, looking to the small table aside your bed he see’s his tie missing among your things.

judging from the small giggle that escapes your cheeky smirk he turns to you and opens an outreached hand. the tie as he predicted is in your hands, yet you keep it clenched against your chest looking at him as if you aren’t keeping anything from him.

though with the raise of an eyebrow and the other hand of his that softly yet firmly grabbing your jaw makes you question yourself if this trickery was a good idea, “It isn’t kind to take daddy's things, princess,”

the comment leaves your smirk dropping and a pout to form.

Ari always kills your teasing games with gentle kindness, always had the patience for your devious fairy like temper. his authorized stance was a killjoy but he held the discipline you lacked that helped balance your relationship.

rolling your eyes you give him his tie, which he takes after giving a subtle kiss to your knuckles. “good girl,” your core clenches at those words.

Ari has the right mixture of dominance and softness that made the cocoons in your stomach break free. the fluttering butterflies of lust flying to your heart and heading down to soak your already sore core.

hungry hands wander his muscled body, feeling and drinking everything in. playful eyes saunter down and lock on the front gaping tent of his pants. catching were your eyes lock on Ari smirks to himself, his dirty little girl.

he knows exactly what you’re thinking, purely naughty you are.

“my eyes are up here, angel,” and with that remark your eyes snap to his eager blue and you feel your face heating up.

the delicious ache between your legs from the previous adrenaline filled thrusts and pumps of Ari’s hips smashing into yours is like a VCR tape on repeat in your mind. leaving you bashfully smiling and shivering in cordial delight as you feel his white syrup drip from your puffy crux.

biting your bottom lip, however you aren’t at all shy to sit up over your plush pink comforter and grab his shirt needily. averting his eyes on you as you cup his bearded cheek. your eyes turn to wet glass and Ari is scared you might shatter into tears again, but your angelic smile makes him think otherwise and your holy wicked giggles do most for his growing erection.

the very things you do to him, he will never be able to explain in words.

“promise i’ll see you again, Ari. promise me we’ll have more nights like this,” lips ghosting over his purposely.

those same wandering hands slide over his chest slowly, working down exploring the front of his pants. rubbing the tent with rapacious fingertips he moans under your touch. if this feeling of intimacy was a type of bait they’re both now hooked.

“undoubtedly princess,” he keenly moans as he leans into your spit slicked lips yet you pull away giggling. “oh no, you don’t.” he suddenly grabs your waist and lifts you up from the cream sheets of your four poster bed. carrying you bridal style as he twirls you around your pale pink bedroom.

wrapping your arms around his neck you burst into a fit of hushed giggles, Ari smiles to himself.

such a darling princess, he thinks again, his darling princess

setting her back down on her bed he tucks her in and pecks her nose, caressing her lovebiten gold lace adorned neck. “my dove, i’ll see you tomorrow. for now is best you sleep.” he whispers breath warm against your lips he pulls away. turning his body to reach the secret doorway until-

“must you go? please stay, please,” you sit up, holding his face in your hands as he looks down at you.

tinges of sadness and tones of sleepiness shade deep in your eyes and Ari feels his heartstrings vibrating. how could he even think of letting you sleep alone? wouldn’t be a justified thing for him to take your purity, make love to you and leave you bare and cold all alone.

eyes shined bright as you looked up at him, so sweet and angelic and waiting for his response. he was unsure, of course his heart sang that he wanted to stay. yet questioned himself as to why he let himself corrupt your angel kin, why he allowed himself to fall in love with you. dreamt every night for you to warm the empty cold spot on his bed.

dreamt of making you his.

the killing absence is a tell.

Ari wants to stay, oh how he wants to stay.

although he is scared, terrified- that once he lays on your bed with the comfort of your warm sleeping body against his, he won’t ever be able leave.

terrified that all conscious awareness of knowing this love is forbidden will be erased cause he won’t care. as long as he feels your heart beat against his when he shuts his eyelids. terrified that this may be all a dream and he’ll wake up in his bed alone with you not by his side.

you can notice the troubling hesitation, even when his eyes are on you his mind is somewhere else. wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down on you until his clothed body is pressed softly against your bare one. until your eyelashes flutter against each other, until your lips feel each others breath.

“please, stay,” your whisper soft and airy, your face as well as the pendent ravishing in complete beauty and elegance.

you are truly his, and he will never let you go

with that he doesn’t answer because he’s taking off his clothes again till he is bare and vulnerable just like you. picking up your sheets he slips next to you. “come, my dove,” he hushes and you shuffle against the sheets to lay on him.

each of your legs on the opposite of his sides, your naked breasts pressed against his warm lifting chest. damp face still parallel to his he sees a tear leak from your eye and hear a small sniffle.

“what’s wrong?” hand at the back of your neck he pulls you closer.

“w-what happens if they find out about us? what happens i-if they tear us apart?” whimpering your voice breaks in between sobs.

Ari cups your cheeks while he shakes his head, as if what your saying is impossible and hopeless. both you star-crossed lovers should know-

by the fate of the tragic stars above was this night destined to come.

“never. never would they be able to tear me away from you. [y/n] look at me, I would never let that happen,” his whispered voice euphoric as he holds the sides of your face.

hushed sobs escaped your mouth, Ari wipes your tears with his rough palms. hugging you close until you calm down and your small hiccups can be heard. a small smile begins to unfold between the two of you and Ari folds a piece of your hair behind your ear.

you’re so beautiful when your bare and on top of him, it’s almost godly.

starry face, body and soul is just begging to be worshiped, he does worship you. “even if they try and succeed, they would be at a loss. For my heart would still belong to you, forever and always.” by that, your lips stretch in a tragic smile.

“forever and always,” you sigh as your lips meet his in a wistful kiss.

lips passionate against yours, hands in his wild hair and legs intertwined you both fall in the black hole of desire again. both of you know that this was destined to happen, that they was no way to avoid or prevent this.

your heart his and his heart yours, both eternal and forever blooming.

when you two are finally spent and sore in the most wonderful of ways, you lie on your sides. facing each other by enjoying each others presence, tracing and retaining every freckle, scar and birthmark with caressing fingertips. grabbing the red lace ribbon that was initially in your hair, you tie it around Ari’s wrist.

tired eyes going dreamy, he lays to his side smiling and watching as you wrap and finish the lace with a bow.

“it isn’t much, but if- on the account, that they do tear us apart. please know that I will wait for you. always.” hushing, your bodies glow in the loves rays of the pale lavender moonlight present.

pulling you to his chest, your face finds the crook of his neck and breath in his natural scent. “and I to you,” he says kissing the top of your hair, wrapping his arms guarding you in the most comforting way.

“Goodnight good night, my Romeo,”

parting is such sweet sorrow -

“Goodnight good night, my Juliet,”

that I shall say good night till it be morrow.

you remember after the night was more love and happiness you don’t know you could ever feel. in your opinion that morning the following day was like a perfect reverie.

Ari and you were woken up from their lovesick slumber by the sing song of the morning birds and the vivid yellow sun rays. giggled and admired the memory of last night as he pressed butterfly kisses over your hipbones and belly.

wearing nothing but Ari’s cream button up and him in his briefs they had a French breakfast out on the brick terrace barefoot surrounded by Persian buttercups and marigolds.

afterwords they took a bubble wash in her clawfoot bathtub and put on some clothes, smelling fresh of rose water and milky dove soap. walking down the staircase as he had to leave, you kissed him goodbye but he reassured you that he will be back that same night to see you again.

however with unfortunate timing, your parents returned that afternoon from their separate business trips. with greater outcomes than they both have expected, news of their return and latest success most likely cautioned Ari. he is one of her father’s most close old friends and obvious of his return he did not come to the celebrating lunch that same day which dishearten [y/n] but she knew that he would come around.

and he did, time and time again through the end of your first year of college and following into the middle your second year. that is, until he stopped and disappeared from her completely when the summer season went by.

the day you thought would be a nice idea to stop by the private elite college to see Ari. you were surprised to find that everything in his office to find everything of his gone except a letter on the desk with your name on it. you’ve examined the empty room around you, the framed degrees on the wall and boxes of filing papers vanished.

the office clerk had informed you that he was here when you arrived, seeming to suspicious you told her that you were meeting him for ‘counseling purposes’.

now siting in his chair by his desk you opened the letter with shaky hands, prepared yourself to either be completely devastated or perplexed. slipping the letter out and forced yourself to take a deep breath as you focus on the cursive black ink.

My Dearest Dove,

I beg hat you won’t be disappointed. won’t be mad or even put this on yourself, it kills me to see you cry.

I didn’t have the heart to tell you this sooner and with that I dread itself though I will be back in a couple of months.

Know that the sun will blaze and the moon will shine and the planets will orbit into oblivion.

For my love for you was gifted by the stars and with that I beg of you to do the most and wait.

it was soiled with a teardrop as you finished reading the last words. the letter left a sore pain in her heart that was laced with amorous longing. leaving his office with the letter in hand, salty melancholy tears on your tongue and a prolonging ballad hum in your tender voice.

you didn’t blame him for taking a job opportunity over seas as you later found out but it hurt knowing he didn’t tell you of this earlier. so you did what he asked you to do, to wait for him.

the lovely burning hours of wasting through your summer retreat daydreaming of your runaway Romeo to return turned into days. then with greatest unfortune days into weeks, and weeks into months till now it has been a solid year without a single phone call, letter, or personal appearance.

until now that he sits across from you.

the sheer heart shattering thought rattled in her mind that last summer day and with that tears threaten to glaze and drop from her mascara lashes at this moment.

our princess, our Juliet already accepted that it was an incident…

incident be damned.

the man is no ordinary man but a public figure. Mr. Levinson could not risk his professional career to a scandal. thinking you probably weren’t worth the risk in his eyes, you’re blinded by the truth of how utterly wrong you are.

everyone knows that he has worked and had an extensive history with the justice department in the earlier years of his life. eventually in some time in his life settled as a criminal behavioral specialist teaching a division of B.A.U students at Harvard.

when people young and old see him, they see a hardworking risk-taking man who risked his life for our country and to help many others in need. on the other hand when girls [y/n] age see him they see dollar signs, because of course the man had the opportunity to retire, but saw fit that the rank of superior director of future agents would be a better use of his time.

for just that fact alone is the true reason for his previous failed marriage, how and why it came to an end. Hell even you knew that he was divorced, you would see and notice the picture frames of a little girl that was always placed on his desk. whenever you tried to say or ask anything about it he always changed the topic, seeming empty and broken. you knew that the little girl was Ari’s daughter, you just didn’t want to push the subject but he would soon open up to you later on.

part time however, Mr. Levinson was an advocate as well as counselor for Ivy Leagues. the very first the two of you met was the day he was gathering and advising students for college preparatory programs and collecting college applications.

when you stepped inside the counselors office, and took a deep inhale of the incense soaking the air. the soft eye contact he given as you chanted about your aspirations and ambitions. the way he held your hand when you started to speak on your mental and social troubles. telling you that you were safe to speak your mind on any topic.

once you left his office that day, you felt the singing sensation of wanting to see him again. memorize his face so its like an oracle for your mind to fantasize, remember his smooth voice till you can hear it in your dreams. an unforeseen crush was formed and with that you started finding new ways of seeing him, which meant more visits to the counselor office.

you wanted to talk to him more, speaking on topics that didn’t revolve around your sweet cynical ordeals but for but for him to get a taste of your sweet cynical- well you get the picture.

you wanted to get to him to touch you. so shy touching your hand and shoulder from time to time realizing he was getting much more comfortable around you then what was appropriate for him as a counselor.

you wanted to get him to kiss you. during that prophetical freshman year of university when the Shakespearean performance commenced you did get that kiss.

if you were being truly honest with yourself, you don’t at all regret it.

you truly don’t.

he was your counselor, he was somewhat of a tutor at times but it wasn’t at all professional when they had been continuously flirting and teasing each other. an affair fueled on both sides as you two tried on riling the other person up until they had no clue what happened when your hands found each others.

it was nerve racking trying to convince yourself that you were just using him so he’ll pull some strings to get you an even closer advantage into Harvard than you already had.

Ari knew [y/n] was younger- but the intelligence, sophistication, and charm that you were gifted he couldn’t help but fall head over heels.

it was wrong, a disgusting thing to do he thought and thought. but with your consent and the love you gave back to him made those thoughts stop. he was under loves heavy burden and oh did he sink stepping forth into your siren like song.

Mr. Levinson was never a man to settle when he could do so much more, even when the man was ensured with millions of dollars the government owned him in his missions adding onto his current affluent job the man was indeed wealthy.

you’d have to be in order to be around such prosperous bluebloods, where old money and power come hand in hand. these upper class folk think they rule the world and by him being a respected figure, people laid countless loyalties to him.

it isn’t fucking fair.

how could he still sit there, thinking he helped you when he took the sharpened sword of your trust and loyalty to only just stab you with it. through your already browbeaten and broken heart you gave with shaking hands and pitiful eyes.

where you carried the broken pieces of her heart where ever you went, like a pathetic souvenir of some sort that you bragged for some reason. you were and are so emotionless, so deprived of such that you mistaken it as strength. so desperate that Ari Levinson himself helped stitch and glued back together.

all that to just shatter it within his grasp, letting the ambrosial blood gush on his hands and wipe it all over your fucking face.

so rather then turning into the broken clueless little girl you outgrew, you instead picked up the bleeding smithereens and put them together yourself. with the will of an iron fist the burning sensation of your blood, sweat and tears you forced yourself up. swearing you will never fall to a defeat like this again.

yet this won’t excuse your thoughts, you swore that you will only exchange the same treatment back to him when the opportunity occurred.

and now is the perfect time, as he sits at your will to find and make amends.

a spiraling storm begins to unravel within the mind of [y/n] Beaudeliare, she will not be silenced from her treacherous heartache. she will see to it that she will have that man begging on his knees for forgiveness, and maybe set him on fire if it suits her liking.

snapping out of her day dream [y/n] couldn’t help but not sneak a quick look at him, I mean he is across the table.

peering from the setting sun she looks to him and she wishes she hasn’t. the face she fantasizes of at night yet curses in her daydreams holds the apple of her eye and she feels Cupids skilled golden arrow rip through your heart once again.

soft toffee hair parts on top his shoulder blades, dark sultry beard slightly trimmed going in stark contrast against his white pressed dress shirt. wondering eyes lingered onto his wrinkle free collar to see the three top buttons loose revealing his golden Star of David chain and a trail of dark chest hair.

the woman next to him was indeed beautiful and held more mature features than her. if anyone were to see these two sitting together they’d assume they were together but think twice to see that the man is Ari Levinson and he is already married to his job then be shocked again when they find he’s engaged. you believe the woman's name is Miss. - soon to be Mrs - Liz Earl, but dismiss it every time she introduces herself.

asking her to repeat her name saying it always slips your mind, pretending she didn’t exist when she tried to speak to you. thus on the account of you responding you tried to make her question whether or not you liked or despised her.

it wasn’t right at all to be this petty and you know it. you aren’t acting like yourself by taking your pain and convicting it on the poor women. although you can’t deny the connection she has with Ari that makes your blood pound with resentment. you especially cannot deny that you haven’t seen him wrap his arm around her waist or chuckle along to whatever she had to say or kiss her while they lit their thick cigars. with that you rolled your eyes at your sincerity even though you were wrong doing so.

Ari would catch you within his actions and your vicious feedback. he wasn’t blind to your raging sorrow and he wasn’t petty enough to actually comment back at you or play in the game you were initiating.

but he hates to see you this way

is he the only one who sees the tears in your eyes? the falseness in your smile and remarks? the ache in the way you try so hard to present yourself that everyone seems to fall for? what is he suppose to do?

Ari can’t exactly grab your face and kiss you for the whole world to see but he wants to, he can’t avoid you any longer. desperately trying so hard to move on, even now that another women is holding his hand and kissing him he still personally wishes it was you. longing to see you again from the very beginning of his voyage he sees you now, heartbroken and patience gone to waste.

the very last thing he wanted for you, a deed he should have never put on you. even though you hate his existence, Ari wishes for you to simply look at him.

not look at him behind his back or when he didn’t know you were staring, he wants to meet your irises to his. you’ve been driving him in circles as you planned, all he wants is to hear you sweet voice yet he can’t get over your arrogance.

your self righteousness that made him fall for you in the first place

on the other hand, his presence was enough to make you shift and either burst into a mess of tears or throw a fucking bitch fit. although you will not show any sign of torment, not a single weak manifestation. especially not for the man that treated someone of your worth as a shameful sin when he worshiped you behind closed doors.

“Miss. Beaudelaire,” a deep voice rang and you turned your head to the mayor sitting on the right of your father.

“it’s wonderful to hear that you’ve been doing so well in your classes. the Beaudelaire residency endures their traditional status.” Mr. Waldeyer Hartz exclaims, peering at you from across the long table which catches everyone’s ears.

a gleaming smile is revealed and you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, they will be in for a surprise.

[y/n] can’t help but enjoy the attention, she hasn’t worked years of college hell as President of the Student Body and claimed Valedictorian while crushing any competition to not enjoy time in the spotlight.

from the corner of her eye she catches Ari clapping, bringing a chorus of clapping from all others. the gesture leaves you bashfully smile and when your eyes meet his the beat of your heart flutters in that dear nostalgic way.

a strong proud smile displayed on his face that lights up his eyes in some magical way. the lovely gesture only you got to see, cause it is only meant for you and only you.

though that divine thought once warm and sensational leaves you empty and cold. you aren’t the women in his life no more, thinking again you weren’t even his to begin with.

how can someone be loved and be claimed as such when they are buried like a dirty shameful secret?

you’ve grown up at the receiving end of heartbreak. whether it’s the cruel torment you’ve received from your classmates from your early school years. your parents toxic high expectations and standards they whipped you up to fulfill. to simply feeling broken when you keep disappointing yourself realizing you haven't gotten over your treacherous Romeo.

your Ari.

it’s too late to head back now.

you’ve put to time, effort and power into getting yourself here. it will not be shot down for a cry of remorse and validation. you will never put yourself forth in that again.

“actually, Mr. Hartz. there have been some alterations.” you say, chest empty and heart cold.

“you say? do tell!” Mr. Hartz cheers, while the guests peer their eyes on you from the sudden attention.

“i’m not attending Harvard anymore for my last year. in fact i’m transferring to Princeton, right father,” you say and your father smiles at you nodding his head.

“those individual service programs and essays did work well in the end, and not to mention Mr. Levinson’s considerate word and recommendation letters. it was quite simple to please the Princeton officials,” you smile, teeth gleaming and eyes bright.

“you hear that Levinson! your star pupil will be competing against you in the big leagues now!” Mr. Hartz exclaims, cackling and erupting in boisterous laughter along with her father and a couple other of his close friends.

she doesn’t even spare Ari a glance but she imagines the rage and offence on his confused face. unsure as to what happened but he traces back to the hours and hours of you and him together-

were you merely just using him?

the gentlemen's clapping stops and he looks at you again. you’re completely ravishing as the cheers continue and you start making your mini speech but its all hazy in the back of his mind.

is this some sort of back biting trap you set out for him to fall for or has he been clueless this whole time thinking you really felt for him?

he may have left you, but it was for your own good

how could he stay by your side just to ruin your life knowing that the love you two share will never be accepted? how could he have stayed when the love he feels for you tears at his heart? knowing he can never truly have you?

breaking his vows and promises to you of course, but if this all was a sort of plan of yours. so, has he done the right thing at all for leaving you?

yes and no. its all so complicated even when the answer is in front him, drinking her strawberry rose from her crystal glass.

he still loves you, if it was possible its a galaxy stronger than before. its ripping his lungs and heartstrings wanting to know- urging to know if you feel the same.

“an Ivy League image is to be bestowed upon you young lady. keep up the good work and don’t disappoint us.” your father says and you wince, knowing it isn’t as sweet as he spoke.

with that everyone goes back to their own silly privileged conversations as the dessert course starts to be served.

the smell of chocolate, fresh strawberries and lemony puffed pastry fills the room. plates of powdered berry oven cakes come in varies colors and sizes. trays of dark chocolate covered strawberries and white chocolate red velvet croissants replace the empty dinner dishes.

“oh, [y/n] you have met up with my grandson have you?” Ogden Osborne, the principle of Bradford adds nonchalantly.

sipping from his wine glass gesturing to the shiny blond young man no more than a seat away from her. “he just so happened to transfer for Princeton himself and I believe you will both have some classes together. am I right Bryce, my boy!” he chuckles and the young man laughs lightly giving her a flirty smile.

as if on que, Maya Langely - who has been siting to your left excuses herself from the table to chat with Finn Earl who you recently found out is Liz Earl's son. switching seats with Bryce Langely, you find yourself staring face to face with the shiny blond with the bottled green eyes.

“hello [y/n/n]. it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Bryce smiles fondly, a bit too sweet as he reveals his wolfish smile. sitting closer to you, gibing you a rather tight hug yet his hands slip under the table to grip your ass roughly.

the eyes of her father and mother and Mr. Osborne don’t notice this yet Ari grits his teeth in a seething sneer.

Ari knows boys like these, he knows they treat everything of the opposite sex as a chess piece. a challenge in their selfish and heartless games. does his Juliet know Bryce flirts with everything with a beating pulse while she isn’t around?

apparently not. little naïve [y/n] kissed her devious demon for a boyfriend after settling in the dining room when Ari himself stumbled upon hearing her blond beau. hidden away in a coat closet making out between some girls legs as he went to find a room to smoke in.

“it has, hasn’t it? a whole year! it’s your fault you’ve moved away and haven’t kept in contact with me!” you joke and he laughs and gleams that boyish smile that makes all the schoolgirls blush, gripping your ass tighter.

[y/n] and Bryce always play this game, pretending to not know each other. though they were childhood best friends they’ve grown apart due to well, growing out of each other. realizing they had different likes and interests as all childhood friends do.

even throughout high school they both never associated with each other, they weren’t within the same social circles and they sure didn’t have the same friends. with this you’d imagine they never get along yet with two horny and danger seeking teenagers anything is possible.

you won’t ignore the sexual eagerness in his eyes that is overlooked by plenty but you don’t care for him. you do not care for Bryce because your legs lift from underneath the table to slip under Ari’s one pants leg.

caressing the leg with the front of your ivory Prada heels making Ari’s gaze shoot to you when he was in midst conversation with Liz. staring at the dessert options you don’t return the stare but continue with your footwork.

guests begin to grab what desserts catch their eyes and you place a mini raspberry dome cake on your plate. cutting your fork into the lemon cake and taking it into your mouth, the whipped cream and raspberry jam covers your lips. licking them coyly, Ari’s stare is nothing but punishing.

it brings you back to all the times you purposely acted up to just have his attention. always succeeded you did as he would whisper dirty things in your ears about what he was going to do once the two of you were alone. at this moment you’re proud to know it still works like a charm once you feel his warm hand clenching your ankle.

ignoring the warning glare you chat with Bryce, joking and teasing the rest of dessert despite your fear of him creeping up your spine. occasionally, just to piss Ari off- you’d whisper and giggle sweet nothings in Bryce's ear whilst caressing your bare foot against your suffering Romeos hardening manhood.

leaving both you and Bryce smiley and giggly like schoolchildren and Ari sexually affronted trying desperately to hold in a moan.

smirking, feeling accomplished when Ari starts to sweat and hide the growing pleasure from the woman next to him. she asks if he feels alright, Ari’s respond is short of nothing but murmurs and a grunt while he shifts in his seat. keeping the small sly smile, you remove your foot all together to just place it back, rubbing his now solid cock. dipping a single finger in the cakes syrupy sweetness of jam and cream, taking your coated finger you take it in your mouth.

[y/n] could feel the burning eyes of Ari against her but you pull out your signature doe eyes. letting a slight pout come into the equation, Ari feels his heart melt and he wants to yank your foot when you start rubbing harder. maybe steal you away, pull you close in the dark corner of a secluded empty room and return the teasing favor.

wanting to do so he can’t even shift, your motions building up inside him he feels like he’s going to bust in his pants any second. so he then removes your foot giving you the coldest glare that even makes you stop. excusing himself from the table, alarming his fiancé but you roll your eyes at this action. Ari’s expecting you to follow him.

how fucking typical for the man who still thinks he owns you. you will not follow him, you won’t hop along. you aren’t his clueless bunny no more.

sudden clanking is erupted from across the table, to see sight of her dearest uncle clanking his pudding spoon against his wine glass catching everyone’s attention.

“everyone attention! i’d like to make a toast. this year has indeed been hard for us all, but when you look upon the reckoning there we see the clearing of a new resolution. it amazes me to this day that we see the youth taking charge of their futures, and I am utmost proud of my youngest niece. [y/n/n] Beaudelaire for carrying on our bloodlines legacy and continuing to bring honor upon us. ‘here here!’ for our dearest princess [y/n/n]!”

“here here!” the table cheers, raising their glasses of wine and champagne towards the dear princess, smiling and praising for your victory.

seeing sight of her father and mother smiling proudly at her, all their business friends and affiliations congratulate you once again. friends giggling, pecking your cheeks in swift hugs and your male classmates holler praises and throwing flirtatious winks.

the table continuously cheers and Bryce presses a kiss to your cheeks while you take a sip of your glass of white wine. yet you feel disheartened.

all this time you have thought you’d be sharing this moment with Ari. despite its what you’ve wanted, you feel melancholy and abruptly bitter.

this isn’t right, this doesn’t feel right whatsoever.

for how have you planned this to emotionally collapse on you when it was meant to make you feel better? how have you been focusing on yourself and loving yourself to only wish to be in the arms of the man who hurt you the most?

is this how that unfortunate Capulet girl felt? having no escape from the raging love she felt for a person she couldn’t have?

growing up, [y/n] knew that the storybooks on her bedroom shelves told no lies, the magical tales bared no falsehoods. being the innocent small girl she was, wishing upon stars by her windowsill when she couldn’t go to sleep you prayed for a prince to save you.

that night, the stars knew all your downhearted disputes, your troubling sorrows as you wept every single one to them. have they truly listened to you that North Star night ago, have they believed you?

the wise astral beings above know all and see all but are they working in your favor?

I reassure you this ladies and gentlemen, no matter how tragic or wicked the stars may be - they don’t act without purpose.

♡♡♡ thank you for reading! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this follow me to read more of my future works! ♡♡♡

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ my storybook || aka my masterlist!

#ari levinson #ari levinson × reader #ari levinson smut #brattycherubwrites #chris evans #chris evans × reader #chris evans smut #the red sea diving resort

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ratsoh-writes · 3 years

Text

My curiosity got me, so here is my submission for a match up. Sorry it’s so long! I look forward to seeing your reasoning.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

MOM FRIEND: I’m the friend that is almost over prepared for any situation and is protective, usually keeping others out of too much trouble or danger, but not stopping them from doing that stupid thing. Some people will only learn from doing it and so long as it won’t seriously injure or kill them, go for it. And I mean I am seriously prepared for most situations: I have fluffy throw blankets and pillows in my car for those who get cold, extra towels just in case we somehow get wet, umbrellas/ponchos for those who need one, snacks/water just in case someone gets hungry/thirsty, first aid kit for small injuries, etc. Ironically, I am the only one without a kid so far.

Extension of this would be my habit to act as the friend “nurse.” Willing to spend hours taking care of a friend who isn’t feeling well and give platonic cuddles if needed.

Another extension of this is my need to feed anyone who comes over. I think my love language is acts of service after typing all this.

I’M LISTENING: Always willing to offer an ear, even if I don’t believe I can council you. Plus, for some reason, people just end up splurging life stories or something that is bothering them to me. My life is mostly spent as that Naruto meme: “I have no clue what is going on, but I’ll pretend that I do.” But I’m responsible about it, I won’t offer advice I’m not sure about and will usually refer you to someone else I feel is up to the task.

PATIENT: Earned after years in customer service dealing with toddlers disguised as customers and also with friends who far exceed my energy levels. It takes a good bit to anger me or very specific things to set me off, such as when I have asked you to please stop bringing up that stressful memory of mine again and again.

I am told I am terrifying when I’m actually pissed. Most times I don’t remember much when I actually snap, just that it happened, but details are fuzzy.

CHILL: My counselor once told me if I “Was any more laid back, I’d be on her floor.” And to a point, she is correct. My house was on fire and my reaction wasn’t panic at the time, it was this odd calm that even when I reported the fire to my sister and authorities, they didn’t believe me until I showed them said fire. I am reserved with those I don’t know well or are not comfortable around. Once I trust you or you get me on a topic I love, I’m surprisingly passionate and animated.

I feel this fits under here, but I also tend to do things at my own pace. And not much can change that pace, but I will get what I set out to do done.

WHY ME?: Too many people tell me I’m a natural leader, even got awards for it, but I never volunteer or want to be the leader in anything. Usually, I just end up in that role somehow, some way. Most times because I hate disorganized messes and those times the people I am with have trouble making concrete decisions and need some guidance to work out what they really want to do or the pressure to actually make a decision. I may be an unwilling leader, but I will step up if needed.

WHIMSICAL: Sarcasm, dry and sometimes cheesy humour, and an attitude to boot, but it’s rarely to be mean. Most times it is me being playful and if I’m teasing you, that usually is a sign I like you and enjoy your company. Plus, sometimes people need a little laugh or a spark of different emotion to get them out of a funk.

INTEGRITY: I could absolutely despise someone, but like hell I’m going watch them suffer. In the same sense, if I take a job, I will do it right and not half ass it. And far too many times I’ve had to step in and explain certain concepts in order to disperse negativity or help others see from another perspective to avoid adversity.

CUDDLE BUG: With people I am comfortable with, I am a cuddly person and do not mind a lot of skinship. I am used to friends hanging all over me. Plus, sometimes I just want to curl up someone as well.

STRENGTHS:

Observant

Good communication skills & honest

Responsible & reliable

Full Size Human Heater. I am ridiculously warm and always putting off heat. Friends and coworkers alike use me as a portable heater.

Surprisingly good at being sly and collecting information if needed, like getting a shoe or ring size without tipping the person off it’s for a gift. If they manage to call it, I always fess up and playfully make a fuss they ruined the surprise.

WEAKNESSES:

Terrible at lying, so I tend to simply keep my mouth shut instead

Willfully oblivious to flirting and absolute flustered mess once I am forced to recognize said flirting

Vast open waters terrify me

Tendency to keep my troubles to myself and try to solve problems on my own (don’t want to be a burden)

Can become despondent if I feel useless at times

HOBBIES:

ART: I’ve dabbled in several different medias, but my favorite is just a pencil or pen and any paper I can get my hands on. I love drawing figures in dynamic poses. Second favorite is sculptures built from wire.

COSTUMES: I love Halloween, since it is the perfect excuse to make and wear my homemade costumes. It also lets me challenge myself by making more complicated pieces like hooves, horns, and even chain mail.

BAKING/COOKING/CANDY MAKING: I’m the cook in the house and I love it. Seeing people enjoy my food is my favorite part. Just don’t ask me for a recipe, I literally don’t have any and I won’t remember what I did.

ORGANIZING/CLEANING: I love puzzle games like Tetris and Catherine, and I love a challenge. Combine the two by having me organize and rearrange a space to make it work and I am in heaven.

STORYTELLING: When a story needs to be told, I am the one asked to tell it. Specifically I have such an entertaining way of telling it according to others. Animated and colorful language, plus a few pit stops along the way with some side stories.

PET PEEVES:

CONTRARY: Do not tell me to do something while I am doing it. That will kill any motivation I had to do it.

BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS: It is possible to compliment someone without insulting them or others at the same time. It just makes the compliment feel empty and negative. And I tend to just hum and not reward that behaviour.

TOO MUCH ATTENTION: I don’t mind attention… from people I trust and are comfortable with. Feel free to cuddle and coddle away. But vast amounts of attention from those I feel are strangers or acquaintances will unnerve me (I have literally left functions immediately where I walked in and was bombarded with shouts and attention aimed at me-sensory overload I guess).

ODD HABITS:

NESTING: No, I don’t think I have enough blankets and pillows. Yes, the giant stuffed animal is needed and his name is Snuffie.

CRUSH ME: I’m serious, some days I need one of my friends or my bf to just lay all their dead weight on top of me. It’s just oddly therapeutic.

NO, I’M NOT PREGNANT: Just cause I ate that jar of olives in one sitting or suddenly was craving jalapeno juice and crushed ramen noodles. There are never enough pickles and yes, I am determined to try every kind–I may have a vinegar addiction.

IRONY: I bake some of the tastiest, sweetest desserts and make pralines and caramels, YET I myself do not favor sweet things.

HANDS: One thing I tended to do with nearly every boyfriend and guy friend I had was play with their hands and put their hands on my face/head. I lived for being pet and having people play with my hair.

NONVERBAL MOMENTS: Sometimes words are just too much, so I instead make sounds. Can be anywhere from a growl to a cat like noise, or the reliable “Nyeh.”

NO NOs:

I think I listed a few as I went through everything else, but ignoring boundaries is the main one. If I tell you I’m not comfortable with something, do not make me repeat myself. And usually that something is given a pass the first few times it is done before I say something and explain why I’m not comfortable with it.

Example: I have thick, curly hair, a product of my mixed heritage. Well, sometimes I like to straighten it and I did just that one day. Well, a coworker decided to make a backhanded compliment, stating I should stick to what works: straight hair over my natural hair. I had gotten on him about it, but I decided to vent to a friend about what happened as well. She proceeded to constantly repeat those hurtful words and while I knew she meant it playfully during those times, I had to stop her and sit her down, explain I don’t find it funny cause the words are linked to a hurtful, possibly racist memory that I didn’t want brought up again and again. Thankfully she understood and stopped. So, I don’t snap immediately and I understand sometimes a sit down needs to be done.

Ok first of all I gotta say that I absolutely loved reading your matchup!!! It’s so well organized, detailed, and the descriptions are pretty creative!!! Do you do any writing yourself, because you should!!! alright, geek out moment over.

i’ve got three guys you’re perfect for, but let’s go for the obvious one. HONEY!!

You’ve checked off everything on honey’s list: caring, organized, laid back, and good for cuddling. Now here’s what he has to offer to the table: he will cuddle you back. This guy is the ultimate cuddle slut. You’ll never feel unloved with him. Honey is also a very thoughtful and appreciative guy. He likes caring for his partners. You may be the mom friend, but he’ll do his best to return that love as well.

Honey is a little awkward, but he’s also sensitive and empathetic to how others feel. If he puts his foot in his mouth, just tell him and he’ll never bring it up again. Plus this guy is just so honest and genuine that backhanded compliments aren't really a thing with him.

Also you like costumes!!! He’s always wanted to try cosplay or theatre. You just might be the person to give him the courage to finally stick to one.

dating honey includes:

cuddles upon heaps of soft things. He has his own collections of ridiculously soft blankets and pillows that he’ll happily add to your collection. Honey is also a master at pillow forts.

honey is a good listener. He’ll be happy to just sit back and enjoy the stories you tell. There is start though, who is also the storyteller of the underswap home. Any funny story you give about your time together will be rewarded by star with a funny story from his and honey’s childhood, much to honey’s embarrassment

if you don't really like sweet things but love baking them, then honey and star will happily finish them for you. People are usually surprised about how just how much skeleton monsters can pack away.

he’s a picky eater and will give you the wtf face when you fufil your weird cravings though lol

Oh! Also if you’re wondering, the other two would’ve been either oak or coffee

#undertale imagines #underswap #matchups #submission

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peachyteabuck · 4 years

Text

pull you out of here

summary: asgard needs a queen, thor wishes to defy his father, and you seem to be the solution to both

pairing: dark!thor odinson x reader

words: 4,971

trigger warnings: dark possessive thor, stalking, emotional manipulation, heavy dubcon, smut, slight breeding kink, heavy angst, cheating, unhealthy relationships

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

To say that Thor was mad would be an understatement. To say Frigga cared would be a complete lie.

“He’s trying to get me to marry, Mother,” he nearly screams. Nonetheless, the woman remains calm. “To cede some of my power to some woman!”

Frigga watches her son stomp around her chambers with a watchful eye, never moving from her seat across the room. She’s watched her son – her lovely, wonderful son – perform this long-winded act many times before; when Loki came into their lives, whenever Frigga had to force them to share. Thor, in classic eldest-sibling fashion, thoroughly disliked anyone impeding on what he thought to be his.

His toys, his room, his room, his power. All of it, everything he wished for, was his.

This included his throne, apparently, as is made obvious by his red-faced rambling.

“What, is he going to pluck some maiden from the streets of Asgard? Make her some puppet for during in my rule?” he’s stomping now, nearly spitting.

He stays like that – acting the same way he did when Loki stole a single potato from his plate when he was old enough to walk and talk and feel but young enough to not have a single muscle on his lanky body.

Just like usual, he eventually tires himself out, using his last bit of energy to bark in the general direction of a servant to get him some ale. He sits in the chair across from his mother, elbow resting on his knees.

Thor’s voice is quieter now, much more pensive. “Mother, what am I going to do?”

Frigga waits for the servant to bring the large drink and for Thor to gulp half of it down before responding. “What you father wants is for you to have a bride – it’s important to the people you rule over. What your father wants –“

“Is for me to give my power to some woman,” Thor scoffs into his drink. “I’m aware.”

Frigga rolls her eyes. “No, darling. What your father wants is to make sure the woman is to his tastes.”

Her son scoffs. “What does that mean?”

“It means, if you picked a woman from say,” the woman shrugs. “Midgard, then he wouldn’t be able to say no to her for fear of backlash from the Asgardians,” Thor smiles as she continues talking, now understanding. “They love their humans, you know.”

They laugh together, happy as their devised their plan: Thor would leave the next day for Midgard, spend some time there, woo some woman he knows will not impede too much into his duties as king.

So, when Thor saw you in that faded orange cardigan, the leggings that showed off your thick thighs, and a well-loved t-shirt that looked incredibly soft with your hair piled on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your feet and you yawning so adorably as you waited for your coffee to be finished, he knew he had to have you. Sure, maybe he was being shallow when he thought about being buried between your thick thighs or laying on your large breasts, and maybe he should’ve learned more about your personality before calling you his “dream girl.” But still, he knew you were the one and he needed to get you to fall in love with him ASAP.

There were a few problems with this mission:

First: he didn’t know your name, your job in the tower, or how to find you. He knew you as “the adorable one who likes coffee,” which doesn’t narrow it down, especially because they were in New York and more specifically Stark Tower, where everyone within city limits was running on two gallons of coffee, anxiety, and institutional access to research databases.

Second: after pestering every Avenger he could find, Thor found out that you had a boyfriend. A long-term one, too. About five years is what Steve begrudgingly told Thor after the God broke into his personal gym during his morning run on the treadmill (that day it was hailing, and Captain America will put up with a lot – but he refuses to get hit in the face with golf-ball sizes sphere of ice). A few minutes later, Barton (who admitted very quickly to listening through the vents) told Thor that rumor had it he was going to propose pretty soon – had picked the ring and restaurant out but hadn’t booked the reservation.

Third: very soon after learning that you were taken, Thor also learned that he would likely be spending a lot of time with you since where you worked and his favorite place ended up being the exact same. Tony’s personal lab (where he often worked with Bruce), was pretty much where you lived. Your official job description was akin to “personal librarian,” which meant keeping the lab orderly so Tony could on inventing things (or whatever else it is he does). Once, about a day before Pepper decided to hire someone, Tony spent four hours sorting screws.

Four. Entire. Hours.

You, with your degree in IT and concentration in database creation and management, were perfect for the job. He was even allowing you to use his lab for research – making you a pioneer in a field you didn’t realize existed until LexisNexis contacted you asking to moonlight as a consultant during their company-wide restructuring.

Some (mostly those who interviewed for the job and didn’t get it) called you a glorified assistant, a nanny whose only job was to clean up toys. Still, Tony spoke highly of you during parties and interviews and whenever anyone complimented his lab.

Given your dedication to your work, a few months in Tony offered you an apartment a few floors down. It was newly renovated, and since most Stark employees lived in Stark Industries-subsidized housing not located within HQ, you lived mostly secluded from everyone else.

To you, it was amazing. You never had to see anyone you didn’t intend to and you never had to brave the famously-bad New York winter weather just to go to bed. In all honesty, it was your dream life.

Thor, though, had to disagree. It made it impossible to “bump into you,” he never saw you when you weren’t working (you made it very clear you preferred to either a) work in silence or b) listen to music or an audiobook you picked). Even if he managed to catch a glimpse of you on your lunch break, you always seemed to be more interested in something else – a book, a conversation, whatever. Never, ever, did he seem to be able to catch you off guard.

About a week in, he realized this would be much harder than he originally thought.

Over the course of six months, Thor learned a few things:

First: you really like to read. He ends up asking Natasha (arguably the person you’re closest with) about every book you like in an attempt to have something to talk about.

Second (before he wanted to talk to you about the Poisonwood Bible but after he finally got Natasha to crack): You really don’t like your boyfriend, and your boyfriend doesn’t really seem to like you. When he asks why you two are still dating, Natasha just shrugs sadly.

“That’s a story for her to tell, not me, Odinson,” she said.

Third (the next morning, he sniffed around the kitchen to find anyone who would tell him anything about you): You were incredibly insecure about your body. He learned that from Steve. He learned from Sam that this was why you stayed with your emotionally distant romantic partner; because you thought you couldn’t find anyone better.

This, of course, was a lot of information to handle at once. So Thor did what a bunch of bubbly college students on YouTube called “mind-maps” so he could sort out his thoughts. What started as a fresh, clean, white sheet of graph paper ended up being a masterplan to win you over.

Step 1: Have a solid conversation with you

This happens much faster than expected. The next morning, to be exact. It’s sort of warming up, so you’re wearing a thin pullover and a pair of tight, light grey jeans. The pullover has some Midgardian logo on it, one Thor doesn’t recognize. When you turn around as you wait for the coffee machine, he asks you about it.

“What’s on your…” he gestures to said logo.

You smile bashfully, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “It’s, uh, it’s just some concept art for a book I like. ”

Thor beams. He knows he’s got you. “What book?”

You shrug, grabbing the pot and pouring the steaming liquid into your peach pink travel mug. “It’s called Nothing, it’s by Janne Teller…

From there, you and him talk about what’s possibly the darkest book of all time. You explain to him the plot, the emotion it evokes from you. It truly is your favorite piece of literature; you really could talk about it for hours.

So, you do. Over your morning coffee, then a larger-than-usual breakfast, and then lunch. You make grilled cheese and tomato soup, biting every few sentences.

“God, my favorite line, like of the entire book is like,” you take a bite, chewing as you speak. “So Pierre is talking to these kids, and this one kid is Muslim, and gave up the prayer mat, or rather was made to give up his prayer mat. And Pierre is like ‘what price was your faith?’ And that line has like, continued to haunt me. It’s just,” you swallow. “What price do we pay to prove ourselves to others, you know?”

Thor listens intently as you speak, nodding and smiling as you go on. It’s amazing how much someone lights up when they talk about something they’re passionate about. It’s probably mid-afternoon when you finally realize that you’ve been talking for literal hours.

“Oh my god,” you gush, collecting the dishes and placing them in the sink. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been-”

Thor grabs your wrist, bunching at the sleeve. “No, please do not apologize. I have been meaning to talk to you for a long time.”

You blush, not meeting his eyes. “Why would someone like you want to talk to someone like me…”

That’s sort of when Thor’s suave facade cracks a little. You’re everything he’s ever wanted in a partner. Literally ever. And your inability to see that troubles him deeply.

“My dear, you’re so smart and quick and eloquent,” he tells you, never break eye contact. “Don’t even think I don’t want to be around you.”

You blush, not responding while scuttering off and mumbling something about having to go to a meeting for Stark.

Step 2: Get you to spend what Natasha and Wanda call “quality time” with him.

This one happens a little while later. Tony, in an effort to reward you, gave you some time off. The problem is that you hate taking off work, you always have. It’s impossible for you to feel good when you’re not being productive, and the idea of laying around for three days is unimaginable to you.

“Listen, you need some sun, you’ve been cooped up in here for weeks,” Tony tried to plead with you as he hanged upside down from the ceiling.

“C’mon, I’m not a house plant! What am I going to do anyway?” you cry out from your spot on the floor.

Just then, Natasha happened to walk through the door with a paperwork mishap. If there was a lightbulb above her head, it would’ve burned bright enough to blind them. Without doing anything that even resembles what she originally walked into the lab to do, Natasha bolts out at the speed of lightning.

“THOR!” she screams when she enters his apartment. “THOR, I HAVE SOME VERY GOOD NEWS!”

Promptly, he comes out in just a towel, glowing like some candle in a dark room. “Yes, Natasha?”

She takes a minute to wolf whistle before she beings. “The darling girl you’ve had your eye on has a few days off coming up...you should take her somewhere! Do something!”

Thor’s silent. He sort of didn’t think this would ever happen...now that he has the opportunity he’s a little floored. It’s like when you’ve been doodling hearts with your crush’s name in them and then they actually talk to you. “Oh...oh Gods...what do I do? How should I ask her…”

Natasha’s a little giddy with excitement at the prospect of Thor taking you out. You’ve been so good to them in so many different ways...she wants someone to do something nice to you for once. If that meant setting you up with the super-hot God of Thunder (and Fertility...wink wink), then so be it.

“Oh goodness, you can do anything!” she mentally runs through all of the endless possibilities. “She’ll want something quiet, quaint...coffee shop? No, that’s too boring. Some fair thing? No, that’s too crazy, loud. Maybe you could...oh my God that’s perfect!”

Thor, still in a towel but now dry, looks confused. Appreciative, but confused. “What, Natasha...what is it?”

Her grin stretches from ear to ear, teeth flashing and eyes bright. “You should help her organize the bookshelf in her room, she’s been talking about it for ages and she’s always talks about she’s never had the time or the energy and-”

“You think the best way for me to get to know the future mother of my children is to help her organize her...shelf of books?” Thor is now dressed. Natasha doesn’t question it.

“Uh...hells yeah! Listen, dude. If you really want to get to know her you need to get her in a situation, she’s comfortable with,” Natasha sees she has a text indicating she’s needed for some logistical work for the next mission and turns to leave. Right before the elevator, though, she turns to face Thor again. “But don’t mention the ‘mother of children thing’...it’s weird.”

Thor takes note as he prepares to ask you about the...date? Is it a date? That he’s planning on taking you on. Luckily, he doesn’t have to try too hard, because Wanda and Steve less than five minutes later to help him.

“Oh Thor-egous Odinson!” Wanda sing-songs as she enters into his living room. She practically bouncing off of the walls as she goes to sit down next to Thor on the large, plush couch.

“Hey Thor,” Steve mumbles quietly. He chooses a chair across from both of them, obviously extremely uncomfortable with the situation. He’s one of the few people who knows you really well, though, so the need for qualified individuals overpowers his personal feelings about manipulating you into going on a date with the God (Natasha refused to use that word when Steve brought it up, though. “I’m just encouraging her, Steven, calm down,” she tried to explain to him on the elevator up. “Don’t call me that,” is all Steve replied).

“So,” Wanda chirps. “Nat told us you wanted to help our favorite little book worm organize her bookshelves on her sequence of days off?”

Thor gives a small noise of affirmation, knowing very well that Wanda and Natasha understand you the best. If he had any choice of making his plan work, they would have to be a part of it – whether they knew it or not.

They spent hours talking about you – both of them providing deep analysis of your likes, dislikes, preferences. The things you love, hate.

It ended with lists sprawled on scraps of paper, things they told Thor he had to memorize if had “a sliver of hope” of having you like him.

With pockets stuffed full of these promises, he walked away with a small smirk and much better idea of how execute his plan, as has all led him into the next step:

Step 3: Make you like him much more than your current paramour.

This part appears to be the easiest, given your boyfriend is an aggressively mediocre man-child. You’ve got a picture of you and him on one of the bookshelf cubicles not overcome by thick books, next to a few small figurines of miscellaneous origin.

Thor asks about them as you both work to clear the bookshelf, throwing everything on the floor to be sorted later. Each one makes smile brightly for a few moments before sadness overtakes your eyes. One of them – a small fawn curled into a sleeping position on a small, circular bed of grass – seems to bring a special wave of melancholy to your face.

“Yeah, that was from when we met, a, uh, a study abroad program to a Canadian university. He and I had a mutual friend who made miniatures for fun – still does, actually – and we met through her. He bought me that for our first anniversary.”

Thor does his best to hide his wicked smile, but nevertheless is appreciative of your downcast eyes. “It sounds like he really loves you.”

You don’t disagree, just sigh. “So, can you help me sort these books by color type?”

Thor smiles wide as he can. “Of course.”

As he separates the books into four piles (warms, cools, white, and black), he goes over the state of his plan:

Step 4: Have you break up with your current paramour.

This step seems to be a significantly harder step, given your stubbornness surrounding being with him. It’s not as if Thor can grab you by the shoulders and say “he doesn’t love you! He’ll never love you! Just stop being in a relationship with him!”

He totally can’t do that, right? Right?

(After a few communiques with his mother they both decide, no, he can in fact not do that.)

So he settles for driving a wedge between the two of you that even he can fit in. Somehow, that seems just as good.

Step 5: Have you join him in Asgard.

This, too, feels much harder than sowing dislike between you and your…previous courtesan.

You’re smart, interesting, something Thor has yet to see in many possible wives. The problem is, your intelligence and fascinating nature are tied to your highly demanding job that you are, unfortunately, very attached to. Attempting to keep you for anything longer than your contractually obligated lunch break is tough enough, how could he convince you leave your job? Your home?

The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves – now organized by color – stare down at Thor almost mockingly. He wonders, as he hears the teapot screeching and two mugs being placed onto the counter, if his plan worked. You’re naïve, sure, but too naïve for him to mold? He’s been manipulating people since he was a golden child – him misreading you would be a blow to his ego, his very being.

But he cannot give up. Not when he’s only two steps into his plan.

As such, Thor spends the next few weeks following you around – doing everything he possible could to make your life easier. A mug too high? He would grab it before you could sigh about what shelf it was on. Dirty dishes? He’d fill the dishwasher, do the handwashing, and put all the clean dishes away after drying them. He did laundry and put it all away in its exact place.

Natasha made a comment Thor didn’t understand about 1960’s housewives, to which the god said nothing in return. He’d join you multiple times a week to do whatever you wanted – sometimes you’d watch a movie together, other times he’d help you shop online. Sometimes he’d help you cook food for the week, once he listened to you talk about new academic research you were interested in.

One special week he even held you as you cried about the man who was supposed to be the love of your life. That week, he wiped your tears and held you as you feel asleep, nuzzling into one of the many large hoodies he had acquired on his time on Midgard. That week, he thought he had cracked it – thought he had finally figured out how to get what wants.

Unfortunately for him, the truth was not kind to his endeavors. Not even a full day had passed before you were gushing over the man once more, sparkles in your eyes and hands clutching the latest “cute” thing he had texted you.

It was sickening, really, how easily you allowed yourself to be manipulated by him. Still, it gave Thor an ounce of hope. It this imbecile could get you crawling back to him, surely a god could do it too.

So he kept with the constant visits, with the bringing you lunch and coffee and eating take out on the floor of your bedroom and watching bad movies with you. It was menial, but it was working.

You began to trust him, began to get used to his presence.

For this reason (and maybe a few more you didn’t want to talk about), the knock on your door at dusk on a Wednesday was not exactly unexpected. For this reason, you answered the door in a loose crop top and soft, worn pajama shorts and ankle socks with smiling avocados on them.

You opened the door to him, excited to show him the duvet he had helped you pick out. It looked so much better in person, and you thought he’d like it.

He followed you, of course he did, into your bedroom. You were expecting that.

What you weren’t expecting was him to slam you into one of the few spots on the wall devoid of posters, trinkets, other miscellaneous crap that made the place feel a little more like a home.

You couldn’t see much over his broad shoulders, but somehow the top shelf of the very bookcase he had help you organize all that time ago.

Each title seemed to mock you as he began to speak.

“You’ve been holding out on me, little lamb,” he said with a sneer.

You tried to push at his muscular chest to no avail. “Thor, I don’t know what you’re t-“

He pushes you against the wall once more, ignoring your cries in pain. “Shut the fuck up, you know exactly what I mean.”

He rips the crop top off – revealing your simple black bralette. He moans as his large hands palm at your breasts, and you have to fight one yourself, too. It’s been so long since you’d had sex, let alone gone to first base; your lover (the one you had been with for over five years) hadn’t touched you like that since you’d decided to move into Stark Tower and your less-than-extensive sex toy collection had satisfied you in the very least.

Still, this was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“C’mon,” he growls, moving his hands south. “You know you want to…”

“I-” You try to push him away, only being able to think of how you were going to explain this to a man you thought one day you’d marry. You have to tell him, right? You have to tell him about what Thor tried. That’s the basis of good relationships, communication. “No, I don’t, Thor please-“

That’s when the last bit of him cracks, the soft edges to his voice sharpening and his jaw squaring.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls, ripping the shorts off next. “Do you understand all the shit I’ve put up with for you? All while your shithead boyfriend barely sent you a fucking text once a week to see if you were alright.”

“Thor, I-“

“No,” he shouts, making you flinch away from him. “Don’t excuse him! Don’t try and tell me he loves you like I do!”

That makes your eyes widen in fear, makes your hands shake where they’re pined at your side.

Thor softens everywhere except in his grip, keeping you pressed against him. “Oh, darling you don’t have to worry. I’m never gonna hurt you…”

A smile spreads across his face, then, leaning close to your ear. “Unless you want me to.”

He palms your clothed pussy, slipping two fingers inside of your dripping heat. It’s a delicious feeling and you fight back a moan, terrified to give him the satisfaction.

“C’mon darling,” Thor coos. “Let me hear you.”

He removes his fingers, then, smiling when you whine before stuffing his thick cock inside of you. It fits easily, given how wet you are, and for a moment – just a moment – you lose yourself to the pleasure.

“O-Oh,” you moan. “Oh, that feels so good.”

It all breaks down when Thor speaks once more, though. words flowing between him biting at your hot skin.

“That’s right, love,” his hands roam your body with fervor. “Let me make you feel good.”

It’s then that your mouth goes dry and a sense of dread washes over you.

“I-,” you try to find your verbal footing, wanting to find a path away from him. “I shouldn’t be doing this, I-“

You freeze when Thor uses one of his large hands to wrap around your throat, pinning you between him and the wall.

“Are you fucking serious?” he growls. “You’re really thinking about him right now?”

He nearly spits when he mentions your boyfriend, skin hot from fury.

“Think of all the things I’ve done for you!” he hisses into your ear. “How much easier I made your life. What has your boyfriend done for you?”

You don’t respond. In turn, he only fucks into you harder.

“That’s right. I know how little he loves you, and how little you love him,” you scream as he flips you around, using one hand to pins both your arms behind your back with your cheek pressed to the cool wall. “And yet you stay with him, why?”

You say nothing in return, though it’s not like you could. Each word dies in your throat when Thor thrusts into you once again. All that’s able to escape are choked sobs, broken pleas that sound more animal than human. Part of you wonders if Thor can hear you, another part wonders, if he could, would he care? If he truly understands what he’s doing, does it matter whether or not you want to push him away and cut away the skin he’s touched?

You can’t tell which is worse – dangerous naivety in combination with his strength, or determination blended with disregard.

Fiery tears burn as they stream down the already heated skin of your cheeks, but even that isn’t enough to distract from the feeling of Thor’s large hands all over you.

“C’mon little lamb,” he growls, voice sending bolts of electricity through you. “Cum for me.”

He swipes at your clit in smooth, tight circles, golden hot pleasure flooding your veins.

You reach your peak with a deep, chesty moan, nails digging into the skin of his back as you bucked your hips near violently.

“F-fuck,” Thor growls, continuing to thrust into you. “You feel so good around my cock, little lamb. You’ll have to excuse me, you’re going to make me cum much sooner than I would on an average night.”

Your eyes widen in fear, ready to plead for him to pull out.

Thor just lets out a small laugh, nipping at your skin. “Don’t worry, lamb, I won’t fill you with my seed.”

You let out a sigh of relief, but it doesn’t last for long.

“The last thing either of us need is for you to be bearing the mark of my child away from our people.”

You barely have time to react before Thor tucks his face into your neck as he finishes himself off, thick white ropes of cum painting your lower half.

You think it’s over, but of course it isn’t – that would be too fucking easy. He moves two of his rough fingers – still smelling distinctly of your sex – through his masterpiece before shoving them deep into your mouth, smiling. At first you gag, but as your blood begs for oxygen you accept your fate and clean the salty substance with your tongue.

“There you go,” he coos, beaming as he gazes down at you. “Such a good little lamb…I wonder if you can clean my cock like that?”

You can’t tell which you flinch harder at, the nickname or the thought of him sticking his dick past your lips and down your throat.

“Oh, don’t try to act like you don’t like it,” Thor says between light kisses he peppers across your neck. “Don’t you just love the idea of servicing me forever?”

You can feel him getting hard again against your thigh and you whimper, desperate to get away.

“Fuck don’t make that noise, little lamb, makes me want you more,” Thor groans. “Just imagine it – you and me on Asgard. I can rule and you can be my pretty little pet.”

Your eyes widen in fear, brain now fully comprehending what, exactly, Thor wants from you.

“Thor, please,” you beg. “Please, let’s be rational. I mean, Stark needs me! Right? You know how much Tony needs me!”

Thor just laughs, burrowing his nose into the nap of your neck. “Oh, my little lamb. We’ll figure it out – maybe you can train someone else to do your job. Or Tony can finally figure out how to be a man and figure that shit out himself,” he pulls back to kiss at your temple, whispering into your sweaty hair. “To be honest, I really don’t care. He’ll lose you soon enough, and how he handles that is neither of our problems.”

It’s then that you understand, that you really understood what was happening with Thor, what he wants from you.

In that moment, you understood that if your world was crashing down, and Thor would be there to pick up the pieces – whether you wanted to or not.

#dark thor #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #lukis writes stuff #dubcon #hi im finally done with this thank fuck

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mistaeq · 4 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering if I could get a matchup?? I'm 5'4, INFP-T, and I'm a chubby girl with brown skin and glasses with thick lens! I'm a perfectionist that often gets stressed out easily and think critical of myself when I fail, sometimes to the point I might harm myself. I'm trying to better myself though.

Matchup

TW // self-harm is mentioned

Thank you for your request! You sound like an interesting and friendly person, and I'm sure your art is amazing ^_^ enjoy your matchup~

Diamond Is Unbreakable and Vento Aureo Matchup

WORD COUNT: 1.25k

My first matchup choice for you is...

Higashikata Josuke!

Josuke loves your height. As he's really tall, he enjoys resting his head on yours, hugging you from behind.

The Higashikata boy is a sucker for your physical appearance, he feels so lucky you chose him over all the guys in Morioh Cho. He loves hugging you when you aren't expecting it.

He says glasses make you look the cutest thing ever. If you feel uncomfortable with your glasses, he won't bring the topic up. Just know he finds you perfect anyway.

He's the kind of dumb fuck who steals your glasses.

You're a perfectionist? Maybe it's a side of Josuke you don't really see much, since he's pretty clumsy. But he is, too. Above all on his physical appearance. Above all on his pompadour. Above all on his eyebrows.

Also, Crazy Diamond is a licensed perfectionist, though. Since its ability is bringing stuff at its original form, he pays attention to every detail, and won't let Josuke move away until it hasn't fixed things how it wants.

If you happen to see a lock of his hair out of place, knowing you're careful abour details and perfection, Josuke will let you fix his pompadour. But only because it's you.

Josuke is used to comforting you in moments when you think critical of yourself, when you happen to fail. He has a certain best friend that does the same.

If he happens to find out you've been self harming, he'll sit next to you. And will lovingly and respectfully talk to you, without pushing you, if you don't feel comfortable.

He'll take you hands in his, and caress your wrists. You'll notice Josuke has healed you. He will kiss you, where your wounds were, and if his love can heal other wounds, he won't ever abandon you.

Tomoko loves you like a daughter, she knows her son is safe and happy with you.

When you met, you had an intimidating aura, all around you, and Josuke was able to see through it. Koichi told him to pay attention, but the tall boy never gave up on you.

Now, the whole Duwang Gang absolutely loves you. You stood with them against Kira, you went through heaven and hell with them, and you happened to hang out with them even when Josuke couldn't. You boyfriend brought you in such a good atmosphere.

You know there's someone who's got your back any moment. Also, there's plenty of reasons to laugh with them. With your boyfriend and Okuyasu around you, you're not the only giggly loud mess.

"Babe..." Josuke whined, tackling you on the couch, squeezing you with his weight. "Do you really have to attend that Writing Class... wouldn't it be better to stay here and cuddle with your amazing boyfriend that happens to be me?"

He understood you don't really enjoy those lessons and that you get stressed over them. So he tries to keep you home from those with every type of excuse. He once pretended to be sick to keep you by his side.

Josuke would be more than happy to be your armchair, while you draw. Just because he enjoys keeping you close while you do something you like. It makes him happy.

He's amazed by your drawing skills, and he usually showers you with compliments. Josuke tried to draw something for you. It was a horrible drawing, but you never told him. What you cared about was the fact that it was Josuke's one.

He sees you pout because you'd like something you can't afford? Josuke's romantic ass will buy it for you in a heartbeat.

If you enjoy daydreaming while listening to music, Josuke will make your dreams come true. He'll let you close your eyes, in his room, music all around you, while he holds you and kisses you.

My second matchup choice for you is...

Bruno Bucciarati!

You're his right hand. You have your desk right in Bruno's office.

Bucciarati likes art. And you're like art for him, your beautiful skin is, your whole body is. He likes caressing you and kissing you.

As a responsible capo, he made sure everyone in his gang respected you the way you deserve, but they're fine, so you are too.

Bruno tries to keep it professional in front of the gang, but when you two are alone in his office, he's the one who approaches your desk, looking for attention.

Your glasses have a special meaning. You now use the ones he gifted you. Their frame has the same pattern as Bruno's signature suit.

He cares about that gift, too, that's why when he cuddles with you or he smothers you in kisses, he usually takes off your glasses from your nose.

It's a good thing you're a perfectionist. Bruno cares about precision in work too, and having someone so precise by his side guarantees a high quality work to be done.

Bruno's desk is messy please put his pens and tools in order he's baby.

When you happen to fail in a mission or get something wrong while you work with him, Bucciarati knows you're gonna underestimate yourself. That's why he always pulls you in a tight embrace and reminds you he's deeply proud of you and thar you've done great.

Bruno banned every type of sharp thing from the base. You happened to harm yourself several times, but he won't allow this anymore.

He can't see you suffer, and if you want to express your worries, he'll be there for you. He'll spend extra time with you, if necessary, but won't leave your side until he knows you're fine enough.

When you met, your intimidating aura didn't stop him from treating you a nice dish of spaghetti at Libeccio's and politely asking you to join Passione. Bucciarati is an amazing man.

If he happens to see you giggling and having fun with the gang, especially Mista and Narancia, will sincerely thank them afterwards for making you laugh and smile.

Passione takes your time away, you honestly have no time to think about the Writing Class, and you're quite thankful for this.

"If that Writing Class stresses you so much... just don't go anymore." you can't believe it's a smart man like Bruno, cuddling with you while telling you this. "Passione already gives you lots of work... you don't need more pressure, tesoro..."

You'd rather spend more time drawing, and remember to show Bruno and the gang your drawings! They'll genuinely and positively react to your art. Bucciarati pushed Abbacchio to react a little more to your enthusiasm, but knowing him, after seeing Leone smile you know he appreciated your drawing.

You afterwards thank Bruno for being so caring towards you and worrying about the gang's reactions to your drawing.

Bucciarati spoils you. But only if you're a good girl. "What about we finish signing this last stack of papers and then your loving boyfriend gets you a special gift?" and he buys you the art supplies you were pouting at last time you two went on a date.

If he finds you listening to music, probably daydreaming about him, he'll join you, catching your attention singing a couple lines of the song.

Bruno's suave and soothing voice is perfect. As soon as you hear him, you stop your music, without opening your eyes, and listen to him humming a couple more lines of the song, before the feeling of his loving lips meeting yours.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo x reader #jojo matchup #jojo headcanons #jojo part four #diamond is unbreakable #jojo part five #vento aureo #golden wind #josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #bruno bucciarati #bucciarati x reader

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sinning-on-a-sunday · 5 years

Note

Could I ask for a smutty oneshot of yandere prince/king Taehyung x servant reader. Maybe he finds where y/n hides in the castle, or they're (he's more so) playing hide and go seek in the garden, or something about a punishment. Whatever you wanna do.💖 Thank you 💖

you should see me in a crown

- warnings: yandere behaviors, sexual content, obsessive behavior

- a/n: sorry this took so long, i am also sorry that is a whole 3.5k words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only way a person survives working for the Kim family is by being as inconspicuous as possible. Good servants were docile, diligent, dutiful. They worked harder than they were supposed to and never placed blame on anyone but themselves.

The only reason you’d lasted so long at this job was because you were an exceptionally hard worker. You’d served the Kim family ever since Taehyung was a prince. He’d always been a spoiled brat, cruel and narcissistic, born with a silver, jewel-encrusted spoon in his mouth. But when he became king, his ego only became that much more self-inflated.

Staff started getting fired left and right, fear engulfed the castle like a plague, and you quickly found yourself at the top of the metaphorical food chain. A servant had to bust their ass every single day just to keep up, but unlike the rest of them, you hardly ever made mistakes. It wasn’t beauty or wit that captured Taehyung’s eye, it was your tenacity.

You’d never wanted his attention, you’d never asked to become his favorite.

You memorized his schedule until you knew it like the back of your hand, you knew when he took his tea and how many sugars he liked, never messing up his order or forgetting to serve it in his favorite cup. You knew his morning, afternoon, and evening routines better than you knew your own.

One of Taehyung’s favorite things about you was that you solved problems before they became problems, like restocking his art supplies before he had a chance to run out, or ordering the latest fashion statements from his favorite luxury brands before he even requested them. He would ask you to do something only to find that it had already been done.

You never spoke unless spoken to, and whenever he needed something you were already by his side, ready and willing to do whatever it took to make him happy.

You didn’t even know he was aware that you existed until that one rainy day in November. It was one of your few days off, and you were spending it in the castle library, curled up in the windowsill like a cat. However, it was cut short before you had a chance to enjoy it.

In the throne room, Taehyung sat in his golden, diamond-studded chair, eyes scanning the room lazily. He twirled his blue hair between his fingers as he grew more and more bored by the minute.

Movement at his side made him look up. He narrowed his eyes at the woman leaning over him, a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

“Who are you?” He snapped, making her tense.

“I-I’m…” The servant girl began before being cut off.

“Where’s Y/N?” Taehyung spat out, irritation sharpening his tone.

“I-It’s her day off. She’s not working today.” The servant stuttered out.

Taehyung just glared at her.

“Well, go get her then. At least she knows that I prefer Earl Grey over fucking Chamomile.”

She scurried away before he had a chance to fire her.

You had a book sprawled open on your lap when you heard the commotion in the hallway. When you opened the door, servants were running around like chickens with their heads cut off, shouting and chattering incoherently.

“What’s going on?” You called out to the nearest person.

She froze upon hearing your voice, turning to stare at you with eyes blown wide.

“Y/N! There you are!” She lurched forward to grab your arm.

“I found her!” She shouted, causing everyone in the hallway to whip around and crowd around you. Hands invaded your vision, pushing, pulling you forward, leading you down the hall faster then your feet could carry you.

“What the hell is going on?” You shouted, letting them drag you along.

“The king is demanding your presence. He’s on a rampage, he’s already fired three people.”

Your blood ran cold. This is bad, this is really bad. When Taehyung throws a tantrum, at least one person gets beheaded, and you were certain that person was about to be you.

But what did I do? Your mind scrambled to think of a reason justifying his behavior. You didn’t recall pissing him off recently. In fact, the last time you saw him, he was in a better mood than usual.

You reached the throne room before you could think of a logical explanation. The only thought you had in your mind was that you had done something wrong and were about to be sent to the guillotine because of it.

The thick oak doors were pushed open, and you were shoved inside.

You’d been in the throne room a million times, being Taehyung’s favorite servant required it, but for some reason it looked different this time. Maybe because you thought this was the last time you’d ever see it.

The light from the twinkling chandelier overhead was dimmer, casting shadows against the walls and across the polished marble floor. Your footsteps seemed to echo like gunshots in the silence, and your hands trembled as you approached your imminent doom.

Taehyung was dressed in rich blue jacket with gold embellishments, tigers embroidered on each lapel. He had one jeweled hand held up to his mouth, flashing the giant sapphire ring on his middle finger. His eye shadow-lined eyes flickered up to meet yours when he heard you coming.

“Ah, Y/N! Finally!”

You were startled by the tone of his voice. He sounded almost…happy to see you?

“Go and make me a cup of tea, will you? Since apparently you’re the only one who knows how to do it right.” He ordered.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. Wasn’t he going to yell at you? Wasn’t he going to fire you?

“Y-Yes, your Majesty.” You said after a pause, hurrying into the kitchen to fix him his tea.

You returned in record time, far quicker than any of the other servants, and offered him the teacup in shaking hands.

He raised it to his lips, closing his eyes in delight as the warmth cascaded down his throat.

“Perfect.” He whispered to himself.

Your face was furrowed in confusion, watching him, waiting for him to deliver your death sentence on a silver platter.

But he just sat there sipping his tea, humming a cheerful tune. Several minutes passed before he spoke again.

He raised one ringed finger in the air.

“Get me a—” He began, only to be cut off by you already at his side, offering him his favorite pastry.

“Yes, exactly.” He didn’t say thank you, he never did, but he flashed you a small smile. To say it took you by surprise would be an understatement.

You waited and waited for him to say something, anything, but he just licked his fingers clean of the flaky bits of dough, staring ahead blankly.

“Um, Your Majesty?” You said timidly, deathly afraid that he would punish you just for speaking.

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Taehyung looked at you, his brows knitted together.

“Don’t you know? You’re the best servant in the castle, everybody else just fucks things up. You belong by my side.”

~~~

Over the next few weeks, Taehyung and you grew closer. He promoted you to head of staff, and you became his official personal servant, fulfilling his every whim and need. There wasn’t a time when you weren’t right there by his side.

If you were telling the truth, it was exhausting. Taehyung would throw a fit if anyone besides you tried to serve him, which meant you were responsible for literally everything. His meals, his laundry, his meetings and royal duties, even his recreational activities, you had to take care of it all.

As time passed, Taehyung got to know you more as a person. He stopped seeing you simply as the help and thought of you as more of as his own little plaything. He derived a great amount of pleasure from teasing you and watching you erupt into a fit of stuttering and blushing.

He started to notice all your little quirks and habits, like how you always avoided eye contact when you were flustered, or how you became extremely embarrassed whenever someone complimented you.

It took a few months for him to start viewing you in a romantic light, but once he did, there was no turning back.

You were delivering his breakfast one morning when he made an advance for the first time.

“Come in.” Taehyung called after you knocked on the door. He sat up in his gigantic four poster bed, hair disheveled and sticking up at odd angles, watching as you walked towards him with a silver tray in your hands. You set it down on his bedside table, trying to ignore the way his eyes were following your every move.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Majesty?” You asked, hands clasped in front of you.

The corner of his mouth tugged up in a smirk as he scanned you up and down.

“Why don’t you join me?” He said, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

You nearly choked on your own spit.

“W-What?” You stuttered out. He only smiled wider at your taken aback state.

“I said, why don’t you join me, Y/N. You must be exhausted after all your hard work.” He reached out to take your hand, trying to pull you closer. The movement made the sheets rustle and shift, revealing his smooth chest as you realized he was shirtless.

“I-I, um…I need to-I should really get back to the kitchen.” You pulled your hand out of his grasp and hurried out of the room before he could get another word out.

Every day after that became your own personal nightmare. He made his affection for you painfully obvious, touching you at every opportunity, constantly complimenting you and making suggestive remarks. You tried to ignore it as best you could, but after a while, Taehyung grew impatient.

One day, Taehyung was taking a bath in his magnificent white marble tub, when he requested that you bring him more towels. When you entered the room, your cheeks immediately turned red.

It was dark, illuminated only by candles and the low light of the sconces on the walls. The tub, which was big enough to comfortably fit four people, was surrounded by stone columns and a ring of rose petals on the polished floor. Taehyung was sitting inside of it with his arms propped up on the edge, wearing nothing but a smirk, the rings on his slim fingers, and a sapphire around his neck the size of the Hope Diamond.

He gestured you over with a curl of his bejeweled fingers, and your body obeyed on instinct.

You came to a stop and stood there next to the tub, arms tightening around the bundle of towels in your arms. Thankfully, the water was cloudy, bubbles and cherry blossoms floating peacefully, and everything below his rib cage was hidden from view.

Taehyung looked up at you, tilting his head to the side in amusement.

“You got here quick. Was someone excited to see me?” He asked in a high, teasing voice.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and moved to set the towels down.

“Ah ah ah, hand me one.” Taehyung commanded.

You pursed your lips but did as he said, extending your arm towards him and offering the piece of fluffy material.

Instead of taking it, he grabbed your wrist, the metal of his rings biting into your skin, and yanked you forward.

You fell into the tub with a splash, scrambling to sit up, facing away from him.

“I’m sorry!” You immediately choked out. You tried to climb out, but Taehyung wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and pulled you closer so your back was flush against his chest.

He chuckled as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Shh shh, calm down.” He whispered in your ear. One of his hands was gripping your waist, and the other was wrapped tightly around one of your wrists, effectively keeping you in place.

You felt his fingers drift up to the back of your dress, plucking the buttons loose one by one.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked, dreading the answer.

Taehyung nuzzled into the side of your neck, planting a soft kiss to your earlobe.

“Take it off.” He ordered.

Your stomach dropped.

Now, you had two options. 1. Tell him to fuck off and storm out, which would undeniably end in termination, or 2. Give in and allow him to do whatever he wanted with you. You were understandably leaning towards option #1, but on the other hand, you had no idea what he would if you rejected him. Would he fire you? Would he blacklist you so you could never find work again? Would he send you to the dungeon? Would he have you killed for disobeying him?

The possibilities were too risky, too dangerous, so, with a heavy amount of reluctance, you reached down to pull your dress up over your head with shaking fingers. Tossing the wet fabric aside, you shivered as Taehyung’s fingertips brushed your bare shoulder.

“Good girl.” He murmured, quickly finding the latch of your bra and unclasping it. He helped you scoot out of your panties until you were sitting there completely naked.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you felt a stream of warm water fall over your head, looking back over your shoulder to see Taehyung holding a pitcher. After your hair was completely wet, he started to lather a handful of shampoo into your scalp.

“I knew you were the right one for me, look how well-behaved you’re being.” Taehyung praised as he washed your hair.

You sat there completely silent, frozen with fear. You weren’t exactly sure why you were being so willing, maybe you’d been a servant too long, your brain was practically hardwired to blindly follow orders.

You found it very strange that Taehyung was washing your hair for you. In all the time you’d known him, he’d never done a single thing for another person. Everything he did had a selfish reason, so why was he the one serving you when he was actual royalty?

After Taehyung had rinsed your hair clean, his arms came to snake around your torso once again.

A bowl of red grapes and a bottle of wine with two glasses was sitting on the edge of the tub, and Taehyung reached over to pluck a grape from the bunch and press it to your lips.

Your parted your clenched teeth, letting him slip it inside, but his fingers lingered in your mouth.

You knew what he wanted you to do.

Your lips wrapped around his digits, sucking obediently. Taehyung hummed in satisfaction.

“Look at you, you even obey the silent commands.”

The two of you sat there for what felt like hours. Taehyung didn’t try anything other than letting his hands roam all over your body, but you still felt irreversibly exposed by the end of it.

When Taehyung finally allowed you to escape from his grasp, you quickly hopped out of the tub, wrapped a towel around your body, and hurried out of the room.

His eyes followed you as you left, that smug smile never once leaving his face.

He wasn’t done with you yet.

~~~

You’d started hiding from him. The library was by far the best spot, since it was one of the only rooms Taehyung never entered. It worked for a while, avoiding him, that is, until he found your hiding spot.

You were scanning the shelves, devoting every ounce of your attention to the words printed on the leather-bound spines, so much so that you didn’t hear the door creak open. You didn’t notice the quiet sound of his footsteps as he tiptoed over to where you were standing against the wall. You didn’t even notice as he stood there watching you, smiling to himself as you read the summary on the inside of the book jacket.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” Taehyung finally said, breaking the silence.

You audibly gasped and dropped the book you were holding.

Taehyung chuckled, bending down to pick it up and place it back on the shelf. He shook his head at you, clicking his tongue.

“I’m disappointed, Y/N. To think, you’ve been up there this whole time, denying your duties, when you should’ve been by my side where you belong.”

You felt your fists clench at their sides. How dare he, how dare he claim that I’m not doing my job. I’ve been working my fingers to the bone ever since he made me his personal servant and now he claims that I’m the one in the wrong?

“Feed your own ego, I’m busy.” You spat, turning back to the shelves and resuming your browsing.

Taehyung raised his eyebrows in surprise. Did he finally break you? Did he finally make you snap?

The king took a step forward and placed his hand on the beam of wood next to your head, caging you with his body. His face was inches from yours as he stared down at you with narrowed eyes.

“What did you just say to me?” He practically growled.

You turned to face him, blood boiling under your skin, and returned his glare with equal ferocity.

“You may have everyone else here bowing down to you, but not me. I see through your little facade. Everyone else may think you’re a king, but I know better. You’re just a spoiled little boy who thinks he owns everything and everyone. You may be able to get whatever you want, but you can’t have me. Not now, not ever.”

You waited for his reply, you waited for him to yell at you, fire you, grab you and throw you in the dungeon, but it never came. Instead, Taehyung only smirked. The gesture made goosebumps rise all along your skin.

“It seems to me that you’ve spent too much time by yourself, Y/N. I think you need to be punished.” He said.

You ground your teeth but stayed silent.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. Since you like hiding so much, we’re gonna play a little game.” Taehyung began, a smug edge to his deep voice.

“You are going to hide anywhere you want in the castle, and I’m going to try and find you.” He explained.

You narrowed your eyes, scanning him up and down.

“What do I get if I win?” You asked.

“If you win, I’ll leave you alone. You can continue to work here without any pestering on my part.”

“What do you get if you win?” You asked him suspiciously.

Taehyung’s expression darkened, and he leaned forward until his nose was almost touching yours.

“You.” He said. “If I win, you will give yourself to me completely. You will surrender to your king like any good servant would.”

It was risky, but Taehyung was an idiot if he believed that he knew the castle better than you. You’d lived and worked here for years, you knew every inch of this place.

You extended your hand for him to shake.

“Deal.”

~~~

The clock started at 2:35, and Taehyung had until 3:00 to find you.

You immediately ran towards the garden. The outside of the castle was almost as big as the inside, and with all the foliage and twists and turns in the path, you were confident that you could effectively stay out of sight.

You took off your shoes so you would leave less tracks and make less noise when walking, you tied up your skirt so you could run without it getting tangled, you even left a false trail for Taehyung to unwittingly follow.

There were plenty of lush trees and hedges to hide behind, and you jumped from spot to spot to keep Taehyung on his toes.

Your heart was pounding in your chest the entire time, ears straining and eyes searching for any sign of movement. As time passed, you were quite sure that you were going to win, but then you heard a rustle.

The sound of footsteps and snapping twigs assaulted your ears as you closed in on yourself, trying to make your body appear as small as possible.

“I know you’re out here, Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice called out over the silence.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Come on out, sweetheart. I’ll go easier on you if you surrender now.”

You bent down even further, ducking your head down. You heard leaves crunching under his boots, the sound fading until it had disappeared completely.

You waited a solid few minutes before moving, pulse thundering. You figured it would be a good idea to switch spots again, after such a close call. Emerging from your hiding spot, you turned to hurry in the opposite direction, when you collided with something hard and warm.

A pair of hands gripped your wrists, yanking you towards them.

Your stomach dropped as you looked up at your captor.

Taehyung smirked at you.

“Gotcha.”

#yandere bts #yandere taehyung #yandere v #yandere oneshot #yandere taehyung x reader

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immiebee · 4 years

Text

Valerius nearly spat out his wine and onto the noble woman sitting across from him. The pair had taken up on a light pleasant conversation during the masquerade, the Consul pleases that he had found someone that he could discuss the current topic with.

So many commoners were dressed in fancy costumes that it was hard to identify who was a commoner. Well almost. Their behavior always stuck out like a sore thumb. Clearly it was easy to dress up a peasant, but decorum training was lacking.

But all of that halted in the back of his mind when his eyes locked onto a masked figure standing across from the Countess. Their shorter figure covered in a earthy bohemian style dress, the mismatched patterns and carefully embroidered flowers making the person stand out against the elegant and outlandish costumes of other party goers. But their mask is what had Valerius doing a double take. Jealousy and awe ripping apart his heart.

How did they get an Elsweyer mask?!

Excusing himself, Valerius nearly tripped over his own feet as he strolled towards Nadia and the masked stranger. Coming up beside Nadia, Valerius gave a curt bow before giving a slight smirk, “Countess. Who is this distinguished creature that has graced your presence?”

Well played. Flattery goes a long way, Valerius......play your cards right and maybe you will get your hands on one of the coveted Elsweyer commissions!

Nadia glancing over curiously a playful smirk forming on her face, “Oh? Simply a very good friend. I thought her costume of choice would turn a fine nobleman such as yourself to look the other way.”

“Nonsense!” Reaching our to take a soft cream colored hand in his own, Valerius dropped a kiss to it. “I am a man of exquisite tastes, you should know this, Countess.”

“Well you have had a blunder or two when it came to tastes in partners.....” Noting Valerius deep blush Nadia continued, “But I do admit she is quite a keeper. Enjoy the masquerade you two.”

Valerius curiously cocking an eyebrow as the Countess left. Soon realizing he was alone with the still silent masked woman. Coughing into his hand he gently held out his arm for her, “Care to take a stroll in the gardens?”

The woman gave a soft nod before linking her arm in his. Leaving the Consul to take in the beautiful mask. The mask was shaped into a lion like head. The dark grey and earthy colors complimenting the dress she was in. The red and orange obsidian glass covered her eyes, so it quite literally was a mask. Noting the complex markings and shading had Valerius’ heart rapidly beating.

Whoever this is must be rich! A complex piece such as this can fetch a hefty price!

Soon the pair came to rest on the edge of the fountain. The man had pulled every flattery card and schmoozing he had carefully crafted over the years as Consul during their walk. Yet still the woman had yet to give him even a small giggle! Giving a soft frown he was ready to give another sappy quote from a love poem when a soft voice filled his mind.

~You can stop with the flattery, Consul. If you want to see my mask you can simply ask me.~

Blinking Valerius practically went cross eyed with embarrassment when the woman took off her mask to reveal it was the witch apprentice. Tossing her hood back, Lactarius gave a bright smile. The man throwing his head to the side as he gave a soft snarl, his golden eyes hardened at the reveal.

Leaning over Lactarius gave a soft chuckle, “Is this how nobles treat their women? Especially after telling me.....what was it? In an endless garden of flowers, I shall always pick you.”

Clutching her mask to her chest she swooned as Valerius abruptly stood. His chest now burning with embarrassment as he began to storm off, only to have a soft hand clinging to his one halt him. Turning back he glared at her, “Nevermind. You commoners are all the same!”

“Except that you are wondering why, of all the people in Vesuvia, I should have the pleasure of owning a Elsweyer mask?”

“There is a waiting list! How did you even get on the list!? Only high society is capable of having and obtaining an Elsweyer piece!” His braid falling to his back as he rambled, “Constantine Elsweyer and his family are remarkably gifted crafters! And for you to own one and not me.........”

Lactarius watched as Valerius flopped down next to her, his face in his hands as he let out a shuddered sigh. His face turning into a grimaced frown as the witch let him wallow in his sorrow. Soon the witch took the man’s hand in her own before gently placing the mask in his hand. Letting his other hand fall from his face, Valerius cradled the mask in his hands.

Staring down in awe, the man turned it to take in the minor details up close. The mask was a mix of sturdy resin with a thin layer of dark leather over top to bring out the carefully carved details. The obsidian eyes were flexible yet thick and up close Valerius could see the ground through the eyes. The inside of the mask was lined with soft breathable velvet, the deep forest green standing out.

“You want to wear it?”

Snapping out of his stupor Valerius rapidly shook his head, his eyes wide like he had been asked to rope a lion. “No! ...no.....this is yours. I will break it.”

Cocking her head Lactarius gave a soft giggle, “You haven’t broke it yet! Besides you look like you’ve seen a unicorn.” Taking the mask from him she gently tied the mask over his face before ushering the Consul to look into the calm water, “Here! You look amazing!”

Peering into the water, the man turned his head from side to side as he blinked rapidly. Taking in the mask he quietly enjoyed the feel of the velvet against his skin while also wondering just how well the mask fit, like it was made for him.

“Runes are sewed into the velvet, so it fits snug against the wearers face so don’t worry about it falling off.”

“Of course! I forgot they do that with their masks. It makes sense that an entire family could wear it.” Gently taking it off he inspected it closely a smile playing on his face, “How did you acquire your mask? It takes years to even get letter of approval not to mention a large sum of money up front to show you are serious about the wait.”

“Well, Constantine came through Vesuvia several years back with his wife. His wife happened to stop by my shop and inquired about my aphrodisiacs. One of their daughters and her husband had an issue with fertility. They had several still borns and were ready to call it quits until I suggested the pair come to Vesuvia and get an aphrodisiac for them.” Leaning back on her arms Lactarius continued, “The pair made an appearance a month later and a year later I got a letter from Constantine Elsweyer stating his daughter gave birth to a healthy baby girl.”

Rolling a leather resin coin from out of her sleeve Lactarius smirked when Valerius’ jaw dropped at the sight of the dragon shaped coin. “They gave me a front of the line pass for anything I wanted commissioned as a gift. From a large statue, a mask, a carved wall decor, or beautifully crafted jewelry. I of course chose a mask because I could wear it for the masquerade.”

Gently taking the coin and placing it in Valerius’ open upturned palm. The man stares down at the coin before looking back to the smiling witch. “What is this?”

“Send your letter of approval with the coin and you will be put into the front of the line free of charge!” Laughing when the Consul’s face lit up like a child on the eve of winter solstice, “I don’t need two pieces! Besides I don’t know anyone in Vesuvia that would truly appreciate an Elsweyer piece as much as you, Consul.”

Gasping, Lactarius let the mask fall into her lap when the man’s lips met hers. Taking her hand in his Valerius placed the coin into his chest pocket before leading her back towards the palace and across the dance floor. Lactarius quickly tying her mask back into place. “A gift like this demands a proper thanks.”

“I’d love to dance!”

“I fear by the time I’m done with you, you will not want to dance.”

“Oh~”

Art done by @ lajadelmira

#the arcana #the arcana lactarius #the arcana valerius #consul valerius #the arcana mc #the arcana game

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bombshellbois · 4 years

Text

Sticking Points

Rating: T

Summary: The summer of 1986 doesn’t look much different to Billy than the summer of 1985 did, when it started. Few more scars, few more burned bridges, but not much else has changed. He’s still working at the pool, and still giving swimming lessons to bratty kids. Today the bratty kid is Holly Wheeler.

It’s funny the things that stick in life. Billy has found himself thinking that a lot lately. His days are eerily similar to last summer, right down to the weight of the lifeguard whistle against his chest. Sure, there was the brush with actual fucking monsters (not really a brush so much as a head-on collision) but… he didn’t have any better ideas once summer came around again, really. It’s been long enough that he can drown out the memory of that voice that screamed inside his head that the sun would kill him. He still needs a job, still misses the beaches of California, and the best Hawkins can offer is this goddamn pool so…

It’s not like he has any more bad memories of this place than he does of anywhere else.

Sitting on the corner of the pool beside him, dangling her legs into the shallows, is Holly Wheeler. She’s got goggles on her head that look too big for her, with worn blue rubber around the lenses. The neon fish on her swimsuit with the tail the trails on and on reminds Billy vaguely of album art. He’d compliment her taste if he thought she did it on purpose.

Talk about things that stick. Billy’s not sure if Karen has regrets one year later, or if she’s still hanging onto some kind of guilt, but she was insistent that Billy had to give Holly swimming lessons. The size of the tip she gave him and the fact that she gave it to him up front suggests guilt.

“I already know how to swim,” Holly tells him matter-of-factly. She’s staring at him with the same huge dark eyes that her brother and sister both have. She’s blond as fuck, though. Where the hell did that come from? Karen must have used so much peroxide when she was knocked up that it soaked into the womb or something.

“I know.”

“I was here every day last summer,” Holly persists. “Swimming.”

“I know,” Billy repeats. “I was the lifeguard last summer.”

She squints at him, like she’s trying to remember if that’s true, probably stretching the limits of her 6-year-old memory span.

“So you already know I’m a good swimmer,” she says. Billy does know. She knows most of what he’s supposed to teach kids her age, but that’s her problem for having a mom who runs too wet for the pretty ones.

“I’m gonna make you a better swimmer,” he says. “Your form is shit.”

“You can’t say that!” she gasps. “Steve said I’m really good!”

Billy expected her to say he can’t say ‘shit’ because kids believe in rules like that. She doesn’t, probably because she has to hear worse than that from her brother. The Steve thing… Billy isn’t expecting it, but it isn’t a surprise, either. Hawkins’ Golden Boy is gunning for mother of the year. And hey, in this town where his competition is mostly the Karens and the Susans, he just might get it.

“Steve is a nice person.” That’s not Billy’s favorite thing to admit. Makes him feel guilty too easily. “But he’s also a liar.”

And Billy would know.

***

Steve has been to the hospital room a handful of times. Billy suspects he’s been to the parking lot way more often because Neil and Susan sure as hell aren’t bringing Max by as often as she’s here. He just sits there and makes chit-chat every time. He’s good at that, at talking and saying nothing at all. Billy can’t decide if it’s because that’s what silver spooners learn or if Steve is just actually a dumbass.

“You know I don’t actually care, right?” Billy finally says, cutting off Steve’s intense re-telling of his debate with Keith about whether or not Teen Wolf belongs in the horror section.

“You could tell me what you do care about and then I can talk about that,” Steve offers, not missing a beat. Billy rolls his eyes and falls back into the silence he’s lived in for most of Steve’s visits.

Steve groans.

“Billy. Come on, talk to me. I’m not still mad about last year, you know. We can just… start over.”

There are no free passes in life. Billy knows that for a fact. Which means Steve is just saying the right thing you’re supposed to say when someone is in the hospital. He’s a fucking liar, is what he is.

***

“Steve is not a liar,” Holly huffs. “He was a swimmer. He knows when people are good.”

“Steve’s sport was basketball.” Billy grabs the pink boogie board from the side of the pool and drops it into the water. “He just happens to have a pool in his backyard.”

“He was a swimmer when he was dating my sister.” Holly wrinkles her nose at the board and kicks it, making it float off further into the pool. “I’ve seen other swimming lessons. You want me to hold onto that and kick, but I already know how to kick.”

Billy… sort of believes that because Steve was never all that great at basketball, but he did have a jock reputation before Billy came to town. And he’s already kind of wondered sometimes why the guy always brings his pack of kids to the public pool instead of just using his back yard. But then Holly decides to be a massive pain in the ass and he decides he still doesn’t care about any mystery involving Steve Harrington.

He has to handle the Wheeler brat instead.

“Look.” Billy drops his elbow to his knee so his hunched posture puts him on eye-level with Holly. “I know you know how to kick. But we have to go through the lessons, got it?” She’s pursing her lips like she’s about to start bitching again, so Billy just brings out the big guns. “And if I tick off all the little boxes of shit you know how to do, you get a whistle at the end of the week.”

That gets her attention. Bribing always works with kids, but he’s pretty sure Holly knows it’s a bribe. She understands checking off boxes that might be pointless in exchange for a reward. Billy would bet anything her limp-dick dad uses that technique all the time.

“I want the whistle,” she says, pulling her goggles down over her eyes. They slide down her nose, the band way too big on her head to form anything closed to a seal.

“Those are too big for you,” Billy says, holding out his hand. “I’ll hold ‘em. Go get the board.”

Holly pulls them off and hands them to him. “I want them back,” she warns. “Steve gave them to me for my swimming class. He won a trophy once with them and said they’ll bring me good luck.”

Billy doesn’t believe in luck, and personally thinks there would have been more use in Steve just getting Holly a pair of goggles that fit right. But people like stories and sentiments like that. And Steve likes giving people shit.

***

There’s hairspray on the table beside Billy’s bed. Not the right kind, mainly because it’s the expensive shit, where the can is muted chrome, and the logo is in thick, flowy letters. Max sure as hell didn’t buy it. There’s not a long list of people visiting him in the hospital, but there’s only one who would think doing his hair would make him feel better.

Someone (meaning Max) must have shared with Steve that Billy’s latest ‘milestone’ (because every single fucking thing counts as a milestone if your injuries fuck you up enough) is being allowed to shower on his own. He’s happy about that, don’t get him wrong. The nurses around here are not the stuff of wet dreams, and being sponged by a 60-something who talks about her collapsed uterus was pretty much hell. But seriously, he didn’t need that shared with Harrington. That guy is being weird enough about this already.

Billy hates that he kind of wants to. Wants to wash his hair, which feels grimy and flat from being slept on so much. Wants to pick it with a comb while it’s damp, give it some lift, rub it dry with a t-shirt so it won’t frizz… and yeah, maybe spray it in place a little. And he really fucking hates that the town pretty boy, with his head of brunette fluff and nothing else, understands that so well.

He dumps the can in the trash and makes sure Steve can see it in there.

***

Holly retrieves the board and kicks her way back over with it. Billy mentally checks off that box in his head. Yeah, he’ll probably make her do it some more just so she’s quiet for longer. He’s gonna milk the promise of that graduation whistle for as long as he can. But the kid can clearly already kick.

“Don’t scuff them,” she reminds him when he must run a thumb over the rim of the goggles in the wrong way or something. Billy sighs internally. Clearly Harrington’s next generation of kids are already forming their attachments to him. Which means Billy is going to have to see him shuttling kids to and from the pool well after his current bunch gets their licenses.

“I’m not scuffing Steve’s shitty goggles, kid,” he snaps.

“They’re my goggles now,” she says, the imperious tone grating in the same way her brother’s does. And her sister’s. Fucking Wheelers, man. “And you should be nicer to Steve.”

“Steve isn’t even here. Why does it matter?” Billy sets the goggles on the side of the pool so the kid can stop glowering at him.

“Because he said I should be nice to you,” she says, tossing the boogie board up onto the poolside where it turns the stones darker with a splatter of water.

God Billy wants a fucking cigarette. “Can’t imagine why he did that. We’re not friends.”

***

“We’re not buddies, Harrington.” There’s venom in Billy’s voice, but Steve just looks tired. And kind of frustrated, like he knows he opened his mouth too wide and can’t take it back now.

“I didn’t say we were. Or that we were going to be.”

He didn’t. But ‘I can help with your PT if you want’ isn’t exactly something to say to the guy you had a fistfight with a few months ago. It’s a nice offer and it’s coming after too many goddamn nice things, and Billy… Billy is over it. Harrington just keeps showing up and talking and trying to act like he and Billy are just gonna be nice to each other. Like that’s a thing that happens in real life.

“I don’t want your fucking help.”

“I know.” And Steve sounds like he does know. Maybe he knows exactly how much Billy hates every second he insists on sitting in that plastic chair, hates every chipper word out of his mouth. And still keeps coming like a sadist. Or a masochist. Or both in one fucking punching bag of a package.

“So fuck off! Stop showing up to visit me, stop leaving shit around my room life a fucking creeper! Get on with your shitty life, maybe go collect some more kids to need you!” Billy is sure some of that wounds. If Steve’s fall from grace in his senior year was a Greek tragedy, his languishing in a humiliating job while everyone else went off to college was some depressing Dickens shit. The kind where everyone knows, and everyone judges and tuts about it. But other than a little tightening in the jaw, Steve doesn’t react.

Billy’s stomach does. Turns sour and roils and wants to take it all back as badly as Steve wanted to take back his offer to help. But the words are out and it’s full steam ahead, and he’s slapping his palm repeatedly against the button to call the nurse before Steve can do something stupid like apologize, like he’s the one who did something wrong.

Steve doesn’t visit again. He can’t. Billy tells the nurses he doesn’t want him in there, and never asks if he tries to come back.

***

“You know, if you’re not nice to people, then no one will by nice to you,” Holly tells him, breaking Billy out of his reverie. The wisdom of a 6-year-old. “But if you’re nice, like to Steve, then maybe you can be friends.”

“Wow, is that how friends work?” Billy rolls his eyes, but it’s probably lost on Holly since he has sunglasses on. “Consider me fuckin’ schooled.”

Holly grasps at the lip of the pool a few times , trying to pull herself out. It doesn’t work, so she just waves a hand at Billy’s arm until he obliges and holds it out to her. She grabs it and pull herself out of the water, planting her butt back on the corner of the pool.

“Thank you,” she says. “Now you say ‘you’re welcome’ to me.”

“Trying to improve my manners, kid?”

“Yes. Good manners make it easier to make friends.”

Billy sighs and hands her back her goggles. His brain hurts, and his chest feels a little tight from too much thinking. Too many memories that are still fresh enough to sting. A cursory glance at the row of moms confirms that no, Karen didn’t stick around. Definitely a guilt thing.

“Tell you what. Why don’t we skip the rest of the baby lessons today and I buy your silence with a popsicle from the staff freezer?”

Holly, like all smart kids, knows when she’s got a good offer on the table. She nods immediately, fitting Steve’s goggles back on her head. “Deal.”

Billy stands up and heads for the staff office, with small, wet footsteps slapping the ground behind him. Holly might be okay. She’s a quick kid, and not quite as annoying as her siblings. Yet. She might even be right about a few things too.

And with any luck, as long as there’s a decent stash of flavors to barter with in the freezer, she might even be useful in figuring out how Steve likes people to be nice to him.

#my writing #harringrove #harringrove fanfic #billy/steve #pre-relationship #I'm sure I'm not the only one who wondered what it looked like to see Billy Hargrove giving swimming lessons to a child #I feel like Billy wouldn't necessarily be nice to kids #but he'd have their respect by not being fake nice #that makes sense in my head so let's go with that #I am very tired

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