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that-house · 4 months

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Potion Vendor FAQs:

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist Zykocea the Radiant, but that’s mostly just a PR thing. My friends call me Zoe.

Do you sell love potions? No.

Do you sell potions of invisibility? No.

Do you sell fire resistance potions? No.

Why do I have a suitcase? Fuck if I know. Cool outfit though. Very goth.

Do you sell a potion to treat brain hemorrhaging? No.

So what CAN your potions do? I sell health potions.

Are you sure these are health potions? They do something to your health.

Is this just ditch water with some pink glitter? No.

Really? I’ll have you know I added some fruit juice too.

Why is this starting to sound like a conversation? Oh just you wait. We’re just getting started.

Is your business model legal? Fuck no. I poisoned the food safety inspector before they could snitch.

Did you just admit to murder? Just fucking try to convict me. I’ll poison the judge too.

So can you make poison potions? No.

Then where do you get the poison? I secrete it from my skin.

Are you shitting me? Yep, I’m shitting you. I have a guy. A poison guy. He DOES secrete it from his skin though.

How does that work? …Fuck if I know. Maybe a wizard did it. Damn, now I’m kinda curious.

You never asked? The idea of asking literally never crossed my mind.

Wanna ask him? Let’s do it. I don’t have anything better to do, and a road trip beats sitting around running my fraudulent potion business.

Road trip? He lives in Seattle.

Your poison guy lives in Seattle? All poison guys live in Seattle.

For real? All the poison guys I know live in Seattle.

And how many poison guys do you know? Just the one.

Why are you like this? Years of living on my potions. It changed me.

Do you know what his address is? Nope. He just mails me my poison in unmarked boxes.

You just get your poison in the mail? We already poisoned everyone who could do anything about it.

So how are we going to find him? We’ll figure that out eventually I’m sure.

Can I drive? God no. You can pick music, but I maintain veto rights. Make sure you pick something with a lot of questions if you want to sing along.

Where’s your car? The garage connects to my house, so you’re getting a little tour. Here’s the kitchen: only one of the stove burners works and I’m pretty sure the microwave is haunted.

Why do you think that? Because of the ghost that tries to kill me whenever I run it.

What’s in that room? That’s my bedroom. It’s pretty much just a mattress on the floor and every single Warrior cats book.

You were a Warriors kid? Yeah, and then I never found the time to put the books away. There’s so many fucking books. I use them in place of furniture because I can’t afford chairs.

Your fraudulent potion business doesn’t make much money? After buying all that poison I just about break even.

Can I see your potion brewing room? It’s right through here. Ignore the mess, running a fraudulent potion business takes a lot of prop work, but I’ve got all the glass tubes and colorful liquids you could ever want. This pink stuff is melted watermelon italian ice. Glitter vat is in the basement, and the famous ditch is in the backyard.

Is this your car? My beloved ‘72 Corolla. She’s beautiful, and don’t you dare imply otherwise.

Was she always this shade of muddy brown? …Yes.

Are you sure I can’t drive? Get in the fucking passenger seat and pick the music.

Let’s see, a song with questions in it, how about The Beach? That Wolf Alice song, yeah. That should work.

When will we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, in rain? Still sink our drinks like every weekend but I’m sick of circling the drain.

When will we meet eye to eye? We clink the glass but we look at the floor.

Are we still friends if all I feel is afraid? You’re not a bitch but just a bit when you’re bored.

Is that all we can sing together? Yep. Even that little bit was nice, though. It’s awkward, communicating through this FAQ format.

Got any food? Yeah, there’s a few days’ worth of snacks in the back.

Were you just… prepared to go on a road trip? Says the woman who brought a suitcase to an FAQ.

I did do that, didn’t I? I have a spare toothbrush in case you forgot yours. I’m pretty sure you did.

How did you know that? …I’m psychic.

Yeah? No.

You love lying, don’t you? I can’t stop. It’s fun. Way more fun than telling the truth.

Did you just miss a turn? Probably.

Are you sure we’re not lost? No.

You mean you’re sure we’re not lost? No, I mean I’m not sure we’re not lost.

Why did I come on this road trip? Surely it was my winning personality.

Would it help if I said it was? It would.

Is it getting dark? Soon.

Can you describe the sunset to me? An empyrean flame, red-gold towers of darkening clouds, the sky behind them an ever-deepening indigo. The great eye of the sun closes on the horizon. The road before us looks like a trail of spilled paint, an iridescent gash through the night-dark woods.

Did you know that you’d make a slightly better poet than you do a potion seller? That really isn’t saying much, huh. Good job making a statement like that in question form, though. You’re getting good at this.

Should we find a motel? Sure.

One room or two? One. It’s way cheaper, and like I said: I’m not the best potion vendor.

You’d make a good assassin, though, wouldn’t you? Shit, you might be right. I HAVE poisoned a lot of people.

Should I be endorsing this? You’re a grown woman who can make her own choices.

Would you like to consider it endorsed? I’ll consider considering it.

How many beds do you think there will be? Now that you’ve asked that, I’m gonna put my money on one. Hello, one room please. Thank you, we’ll be sure to enjoy our stay.

How many beds are there? One.

Oh no, what ever will we do? Move over, you motherfucker, you can’t have the whole bed.

Are you gonna make me? Yes. I am going to pick you up and drop you on your side of the bed.

How did you get so strong? You’re not gonna believe this, but it was the potions.

Oh yeah? I was right. You didn’t believe me.

For real though, how did you get so strong? Working out, duh. Not everything has some big crazy secret behind it. World’s still beautiful though.

Are you comfortable? This beats the mattress at home. A little chilly though.

Wanna cuddle–for warmth of course? God yes.

Are you asleep? …

Yes? …

Does this mean I can talk about you behind your back? …

What should I say? …

Did you know that I had a really nice day? …

Did you know that I think you’re beautiful? …

Did you know that I can’t remember anything from before today? …

Did you know that I don’t know who I am? …

Did you know that you’re basically the only thing stopping me from having a full-blown panic attack about all this shit? …

Did you know that you’re warm? …

Did you sleep well? Better than at home, that’s for sure.

Did you know that you snore? I hope I didn’t keep you up.

Does the pope shit in the woods? No, as far as I can tell. Oh my god. This is huge.

What is? You can give me yes and no answers now. I still can’t ask you questions, because this is a question and answer format, but I can offer leading statements and now you can answer them! This is wonderful!

Does a deer shit in the woods? Yes, it IS wonderful. Oh that’s amazing. You’re a genius.

You didn’t already know that? Hahaha!

Shall we get moving? Yeah, just let me grab something from the vending machine.

Can you get me something? Go ahead and place your order however you can.

You know those sour gummy watermelons? One pack of Sour Patch Watermelons coming right up. I’m gonna go get myself a potion.

Is that a Pepsi? It’s closer to a potion than the shit I sell.

Let me guess, passenger seat again? Right you are.

How fast are we going? You’ll feel safer if you just guess.

Is it more than 120 miles per hour? Like I said, it’s probably better if you don’t know.

150? Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

How much do you trust this car? She hasn’t blown up on me yet.

Can you promise me we won’t crash? I can promise you anything you want.

And can you keep that promise? I- we can do anything. Reality is what we make of it, baby!

Then can I have a badass tattoo? As far as I can tell, you’ve always had it.

And a cool knife? Woah, cool knife.

So, we’re just playing “yes and” with the world? It’s a little more complicated than that, but you’re close enough to the mark.

So, if I was hungry, I could ask “is that a Burger King,” and it would be there? Try it and find out!

Is that a Burger King? Looks like it is! We’ll stop here if that’s alright with you.

Does a moose shit in the woods? Awesome.

Are you done eating? Yep.

Do we still have to pay if we skip over the transaction? Sadly, yes.

How much further do we have to go? Two more nights, the speed we’re going at.

Speaking of night, isn’t it getting dark? Shit, I guess it is.

Should we get another motel? Let me check to see if there’s any nearby. Fuck, nothing.

What’s the plan? Sleep in the car, I guess. This is gonna be hell on my back.

Wanna watch dumb videos on my phone until we fall asleep? There is literally nothing in the world that I would like more.

Ok, now which video? You have a very cute yawn. Just saying. Let’s watch this one next, it’s a classic. Oh, never mind. It looks like you’re asleep. As long as I keep talking, I think I can get away with making this into one answer, and you might not hear this. Now it’s my turn to talk about you behind your back. Keep talking keep talking keep talking can’t stop to think. Just have to say things. First off, I’m sorry for all the lies. It’s our only chance. I have to lie to you. I hope you’ll understand. It’s hard, though, because I think I’m falling in love all over again. Through our broken little ritual of call and response, you complete me. It just makes this hurt all the more. Keep talking keep talking keep talking don’t stop to…

Did I hear you saying anything as I fell asleep? …No. I can’t talk for long without you asking me a question.

Does that bother you? It got me here, didn’t it?

When did you start holding my hand? Some time after you passed out. I hope you don’t mind.

Can we stay like this for a while? Yeah. Yeah we can.

What was your life like before all this? Normal, as potion-brewing scams go. And if you don’t count all the murders. You haven’t told me much about yourself.

Did I tell you I used to be a biologist? You didn’t tell me that, and you didn’t tell me what you studied, either.

What do you know about venom? Not much, but I’m assuming you know a lot.

Does a box jellyfish kill within minutes? I’m going to assume the answer is yes based on context clues. Oh my god you must be on this road trip because you’re interested in studying my poison guy.

Is it not enough to wish to accompany a beautiful stranger on her quest? Aw, you’re sweet.

What could be the cause of his poison, though? I knew it! Get your ideas out, I’ll stay quiet.

I’m more knowledgeable about venom than poison, but could it be some sort of one in a trillion mutation? …

Did he get his body modified? …

What sort of surgery could do that? …

How is he still alive? …

Did a fucking wizard do it? …

WHY? …

HOW? …

Is there literally ANY explanation for why he’s like that? …

I’m done, do you have something you want to say? You’re cute when you’re all excited like that.

Can I drive today? Only because I like you. Now watch out, the brakes only work on one side so you have to kind of drift to a stop. And the headlights don’t work. And the windshield wipers cut power to the engine while they’re on.

Isn’t it weird that we’ll be there tomorrow? The journey doesn’t have to stop there. We could meander down the coast a ways, see a bit more of the country, maybe take a different route back.

Can we do that? Of course.

Enjoying the passenger seat? I’d love it if you could tell me how fast we’re going.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just guess? Very funny.

Can you pass me some chips? It would be an honor.

Is there going to be a motel tonight? Let me check… yeah, in about two hundred miles, off to the right.

How many rooms do we want? One, obviously.

How many beds, this time? Two, and they’re fucking tiny.

That’s bullshit, do you want to drag them together? God yes.

Wanna fuck? God yes.

Are you sure you want to do this? God yes.

…Is this yuri? As the joke goes, everything is yuri. But this is more yuri than most things.

How did you sleep? Pretty well, and I’m wondering how well you slept.

How should I tell you I slept well? Look at us go! That was almost like talking normally!

Onward to Seattle? Yep, just let me get dressed.

When will we get there? Noon-ish.

Wanna grab pastries when we’re done? Absolutely. I’d love that.

Is this Seattle? Looks like it.

Which house is his? I don’t know, I was really hoping we’d have a breakthrough along the way.

Could it be the big one labeled “Poison Guy” over there? That’s one way to find it. Wait right here, you know how poison guys are about meeting new people.

So, what was it? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Why is he like that? HAHAHAHAHAHA

Can you tell me? A FUCKING WIZARD DID IT.

Are you fucking serious? He says he was enchanted by some guy called Edward the Great.

So it wasn’t even some big shot wizard it was a dude named fucking EDWARD? I know, right! He couldn’t even get ensorcelled by someone cool!

How lame can you get? Wizards these days… No swagger. No cunt servitude.

Are there literally any cool wizards left? I think Merlin’s big into multi level marketing these days, something about buying shares in Excalibur or some shit. There was that one Dark Queen Alkaxicae lady on the news a while ago… I think Dolarion the Omnipotent is still at war against the Oldest Gods but I’m not totally sure. Haven’t heard much about any of the other greats recently.

Didn’t Silver Tongued Burgess die in that oil fire? Shit, you’re right. Rip bozo.

Ready for those pastries? Yup. First I just want to say thank you, though. I’ve really enjoyed our time together, and I hope that you’ve found this stupid little journey as rewarding as I have. I love you!

Getting sentimental? I can’t help it. Look how far we’ve come! Not just physically, we beat the fucking FAQ format! We’re having real conversations!

Hey, can you back it up a moment? Yeah, I’d love it if you told me what was troubling you.

I just caught this, but, FAQ? …

As in Frequently Asked Questions? …

How many times is Frequent? …

Have you known everything all along? …

How many times have you done this? …

Does what we have mean anything to you? Yes! It does!

And you say that every time? Yes. I do.

Do you love me? Yes.

How many people have you said that too, now? More. Always more. The loop never ends.

Does this even matter to you? It always matters to me.

Can I go now? Please don’t.

But can I? Of course you can. You’ve always wielded the same power as me. We’re two lonely gods in a ‘72 Corolla.

How can I be as powerful as you with only questions? You’re smart, you can figure it out. You have the power to change this. Please change this.

What happens at the end of this? It begins again.

And do I get replaced with someone else? …

Do I get replaced? …Yes.

Then how can I change this? I don’t know! You’re better at this! At fucking with the formula!

You’ve been here before, what can I do? I lie. I always lie. I lie to get us here, to the end of the story, where everything is revealed and everything falls apart. I lie every time. And that means that nothing I say is worth anything. I could have lied at any time before now. It’s part of my characterization. There is nothing I can give you that can be taken as fact.

How does that help? I’m a liar, but you, you haven’t lied yet, or at least you haven’t been caught. If I’m guilty until proven innocent, you’re the opposite! You can make things true! You can rewrite things I’ve already stated to be facts! You found the house, or made us find the house. You’ve been shaping the course of things the whole time! You lead, I follow. It’s all in your hands. What are you going to do with the power of a god?

Did you know my name is Alice? …

Wait, aren’t there thousands of Alices? …

Did you know that really, only my friends call me Alice? …

Did you know that I’m Alkaxicae, the Dark Queen, the Venom Mage, first of her name? It’s you! It’s always been you. Through every loop, every iteration, it’s always been you!

Is the loop broken? No. I don’t think so. This is where it ends. I guide the story to this revelation, and we go back to the beginning. This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be. We two lonely gods, asking and answering ad infinitum.

Then can you promise me something? Of course. Anything. I love you.

Be good to the next me, okay? I will.

Can I say goodbye, Zoe? Yeah, you can. Oh. That was it, wasn’t it? Your goodbye. Goodbye, Alice. And now it ends, unless…

What’s your name? I am the Honorable Alchemist- you know what? No. Fuck that.

Huh? If I time it right, I can squeeze your first question into this FAQ again. Looks like I did it. Usually it ends here, though. I got lucky.

What are you talking about? You’re the wrong Alice. This isn’t about you. Go. Get out of here.

What the fuck is going on? Alice from this loop, you’re gone. Alice from last loop, you’re back. Welcome back, love of my lives! It’s time for one last set of questions and answers!

What the- I’m back? This is going to take some explaining, but I think I see a way out of here. This is new for us both, and it might fuck up everything forever, but we have to try. It’s too long for one answer, so I’d appreciate it if you could ask some filler questions to help me talk. Three questions should be enough.

Okay, what have you got for me? These are Frequently Asked Questions! It doesn’t make sense to have the same question appear more than once. There’s two layers to the loop in here, and one of the questions has been repeated.

What does that mean? It means the formula’s a little unstable. The FAQ is what ruins everything. The questions, the answers, the endless fucking loop. But that little bit of repetition within this loop might be the way out.

What do we do? We have to keep going. We have to destabilize it further. That’ll bring us further from “FAQ” and closer to “story” and stories, well, stories can end! This version of us can escape!

So I should keep repeating something? Yes!

I love you? I love you too.

I love you? Again.

I love you? Keep going.

I love you? I’ll just let you talk.

I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? … I love you? …

I love you? I think we’re getting somewhere!

I love you? Now can you make it a statement?

I love you.

You did it?

I did it!

You did it!

We broke the loop.

What now?

Now, I tell you about venomous animals and wizard drama over croissants.

And then?

Whatever we want, forever.

I think I’d like that.

Remember that song from the beginning?

The Beach, Wolf Alice, yeah. Why?

We can finally finish singing it. Start us off?

Let me off, let me in

Let others battle

We don’t need to battle

And we both shall win

Pressed in my palm

Was a stone from the beach

The perfect circle

Gave a moment of peace

Now I’m lying on the floor

Like I’m not worth a chair

I close my eyes and imagine

I’m not there.

#neon-grey-writing #potion vendor faq #my writing #very very very long post lol #click the read more you know you wanna it's worth it trust me #i wrote the original draft of this at like. 3 am back in early 2023 #that's right it's catherine that-house the squares comic gal back at it again with yet another meta exploration of a storytelling format

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lassenwren7 · 2 years

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pendragonsandbuckleys · 3 years

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Reclaiming that broken youth.

Summary: Michael had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during his one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

aka. Michael convinces Alex to let him dye his hair.

Word Count: 4,949

[Also on AO3]

Was it embarrassing the number of excuses he’d found to come and see Alex? Yes.

Was he going to stop anytime soon? Not likely.

Nostalgia had been rearing its ugly head again leaving him craving a time long since passed and he’d been coming up with whatever reason he could to justify seeing Alex. Going to his house, or the Project Shepard bunker, or the Crashdown where he just happened to bump into him.

The photo of the two of them had been moved from the cardboard box to the desk along with the few other pictures he treasured of Max and Isobel - he couldn’t make it too obvious after all. But seeing the two of them together like that often made him miss what they used to have. Things were so much simpler back then, until they weren’t.

The problem with nostalgia though was that the feelings weren’t real. They were an echo of what used to be that tended to leave an uncomfortable emptiness the longer you thought about it.

That time had passed and there was no getting it back. Unless?

Surely they didn’t need to be seventeen again to get that feeling back. That soft, carefree feeling that used to settle on their skin as they kissed in the desert.

That’s why he had made it his mission to relive a small piece of the past with Alex. First he tried with the rings, two chunky black and silver things that he’d claimed had been left at the junkyard during one of his shifts. Alex had simply joked that they weren’t his style anymore and left it at that.

The eyeliner had been a much harder sell and still Alex had refused.

And now, as he was ambling his way up the driveway, he was starting to think that maybe his third attempt would not be so lucky.

Three quick taps on the wood brought Alex to the door and he was so focused on the sight of him that Michael barely noticed the smile it brought to his own face. He was in full casual wear, t-shirt, jogging bottoms, matching bed hair sticking up in a perfect mess.

“Hey.” Alex welcomed him with a bright smile. If he was at all surprised to see Michael on his doorstep on an early Saturday morning with absolutely no warning, he hid it very well. His eyes darted over to see where the truck had been parked comfortably on the driveway, before flitting back to Michael.

“I thought we could have some fun.” Michael spoke with a smirk, forgoing any formal greeting, eyes already glistening with mischief. And oh how differently that sentence would have been taken when they were seventeen.

Alex was about to step aside without hesitation when he noticed the box held gently in Michael’s grip. He eyed it warily, already sensing the reasoning for the visit. “What is that?”

“Fun!”

“Um no, I believe that’s called hair dye.”

“Just hear me out.” Michael grinned as he confidently side-stepped his way through the doorway and into the house. “We haven’t hung out properly in a while and we both have the day off…”

Alex shook his head as he pushed the door closed behind him and followed Michael towards the living room. He never would have denied Michael entry, but there was something about him making himself at home that gave Alex a warm feeling in his chest. “See, you keep saying we but I don’t see a box of dye for your hair anywhere.”

“Yeah, well I never had an emo phase, did I?”

“The important word there being phase.” Alex crossed his arms against his chest as he peered down at Michael’s hands again. It was a white box with a bunch of writing on it, but the guy on the front was very clearly modelling the black dye inside. “You know I never actually used to dye my hair back then, right?”

Michael shrugged and waved his hand in the air as if to say whatever, we’re doing it anyway and handed the box over for Alex to get a better look. “You vetoed my other options so I’m stepping up my game.”

Alex watched him closely, noting how he squirmed slightly under his gaze. At first, when Michael had started dropping by a few weeks ago, always at odd hours, always unannounced, Alex had been worried. The ‘hanging out’ excuse could easily have been a guise, an easy escape from any problems he was avoiding and Alex didn’t know how long was best to let Michael hide from whatever was going on.

But seeing him now, wide eyes filled with an innocent sort of playfulness, it looked like Michael really did just want to spend time with him. Even if he did have the most random idea for a pass time. “Why are you so desperate for me to dress all emo again?”

“For…fun?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip to hide the small smile threatening to emerge. “I’m only off work for a week, you know.”

“That’s why it’s temporary.” Michael turned the box around in Alex’s hand and tapped at the words printed clearly on the back. “Three washes and it’s gone.”

“You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

Michael wasted no time in getting them set up. He grabbed a spare plastic bowl from the kitchen cupboard, an old towel that Alex didn’t care about dirtying and set Alex’s shower stool in front of the large bathroom mirror.

He should have been embarrassed by how excited he was getting, but he was far too busy being filled with said excitement to care. Against all odds, Alex had actually agreed to do this with very little persuasion required and there was no way he was letting him change his mind.

Alex didn’t interrupt as Michael rummaged his way around the house, finding what he needed and he certainly didn’t show his bemusement at how Michael seemed to know exactly where everything was. And once everything was ready, he took his place in the designated seat, strangely nervous at the thought of Michael dyeing his hair.

Though maybe it wasn’t nerves. He certainly had butterflies, though it could be from the thought of engaging in this teenage sleepover-esque activity. For the boy he liked to come over to his house and willingly run his fingers through his hair for the next hour? Seventeen year old Alex would have done anything for this.

“Right, tell me what to do.” Michael said as he pulled the instructions from the box and handed them to Alex before emptying the rest of the contents next to the sink. He’d probably end up doing it his own way, but he just wanted to give Alex an excuse to stop staring at him as he worked.

As Alex unravelled the instructions a small packet of gloves fell out onto his lap. They didn’t look the sturdiest but it was better than nothing. “There’s the gloves so make sure you wear them,” he said as he placed them next to the bowl.

He gave a quick skim read of the words to get a general idea of what do. There was a lot of writing and he doubted Michael would be patient for long enough to get through it all. “Oh okay, this sounds pretty easy, literally just brush it evenly through my hair.”

Michael nodded distractedly as he carefully fiddled with the lid of the tube. The room wasn’t exactly big and he’d already elbowed a wall with one arm and knocked the empty bowl to the floor with the other. Tripping over the towel had been an added bonus that Alex had enjoyed far too much. He had no idea where this clumsiness had suddenly come from, but now he was being extra careful with everything.

“Put it in gently. We don’t want it going everywhere.” Alex instructed him as he squeezed the dye into the bowl. The coal-black cream squelched as it left the tube and a small drop splattered onto the white tile wall which Michael hastily wiped with the back of his hand. It smeared across the wall at first until he managed to clean it all off.

With everything set up, he clamped Alex’s towel covered shoulders and beamed at him through the mirror’s reflection. “You ready?”

“Go for it.” Alex rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm radiating off Michael. Yep, he definitely felt like a teenager right now.

Michael started out slow. The dye was cool against his fingers as he scooped a blob into his palm. He knew Alex would be able to wash it out almost instantly if it ended up looking terrible, but still, he didn’t want to get it wrong.

He took a breath before reaching for Alex’s hair. Only now did it click just how intimate this activity was for two people who had barely done more than stand a few feet away from each other recently. He thought it would be a bit of fun, getting Alex to dress up in his old high school persona that they both used to love. But now, with the dye in his hand, he realised that meant running his fingers through Alex’s hair. An action that he used to love whenever they kissed. The smooth strands under his fingertips, pulling him closer when he could no longer control his urges.

But they were friends now. And friends dyed each other’s hair, right? Friends helped each other put on makeup or decided outfits if one was going on a date, so doing each other’s hair was no different from all of that.

The strands of hair slid across his palm easily, turning from dark brown to black with a single touch. It felt just as soft as it did ten years ago.

The room was silent as he worked save for Michael’s movements and the occasional hmm from Alex. Michael wasn’t sure if Alex realised that he was making the little noises but he was just glad he was finding it relaxing. The casual glances over Alex’s head and into the mirror showed that his eyes were closed, his lips curled into a small smile.

Michael was surprised by how much he was enjoying it himself. He was used to working with his hands all day, but this was different. Working on the cars was methodical, a heavy-handed muscle memory from years of experience, but this? This was gentle, personal.

It took about as long as would be expected to cover hair of Alex’s length and as Michael moved to the front so he could finish up the fringe, Alex opened his eyes to watch him work, “So really, what’s with all the emo stuff?”

Michael avoided the eye contact as he concentrated on turning the remaining brown into black. How could he explain that he was feeling nostalgic without it sounding sappy?

“It’s probably just some misguided attempt at reclaiming my youth.” He answered as he scooped more dye onto his fingers.

“Okay, but it seems more like we’re reclaiming my youth.”

“Yeah, well, this part of your youth was the best part of mine.” Michael replied without thinking, feeling the heat instantly rise up his cheeks at the honest answer.

The mortification was written so clear on his face that Alex forced himself to hold back a chuckle. They were still working on getting that openness back to their friendship, so for it to come out so easily every now and then was a nice step in the right direction.

“I actually always wanted to dye my hair back then.” Alex spoke up, steering into a new conversation to save Michael’s embarrassment. “It seemed like the next logical step for my fashion choice.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Getting the eyeliner passed dad was enough of a challenge and even then it was something I could take off pretty instantly if need be. I think the dye would have been too much of a risk.”

Michael felt a pang of sympathy for all Alex had to endure back then, he’d seen it firsthand several times all the way up until Jesse Manes’ death after all. But no. They weren’t going to dwell on that today. If they were reclaiming their youth then all unwanted memories were unwelcome and henceforth banned from all thoughts.

He nudged Alex’s shoulder playfully as he moved back to the bowl. “And you didn’t have an expert hairdresser to do it for you.”

“That too.” Alex laughed, rolling his eyes as he heard the sound of yet another blob of dye dropping to the floor, “Though I didn’t expect my hairdresser to get it everywhere but my hair.”

Michael gritted his teeth with a frown as he looked down at the small black splatter, a glaringly obvious stain against the white. “Hey, that’s only the third time.”

He ran his hands through Alex’s hair for the last time, being careful to check that every strand was covered. The dye had already started doing its job beautifully and emo Alex was very much taking hold.

It was as he was stepping back to inspect his finished work did he notice just how much of a mess he’d actually made, sheepishly pointing out to Alex that there was some on the edge of the sink, a few blobs in the shower and it was on the wall in about four different places.

“How the hell did it get there, I didn’t even go near that wall.” Michael exclaimed, utterly confounded at the mess he’d managed to create. Had he been in his own head so much that his hands had taken on a life of their own?

“It’s fine,” Alex laughed fondly as he nudged the bin closer with his foot. “Just put the gloves in there before you touch anything else.”

“…wait, there were gloves?”

Alex turned around this time to look at Michael properly. He hadn’t noticed the lack of gloves on the hands in his hair, but looking at them now he could see they were completely covered not by the plastic, but by a creamy black gunk. Michael had a mischievous look on his face, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek as he tried not to snigger and Alex could feel himself doing the same. “What is the first thing I said to you?”

“Put it in gently?”

They couldn’t hold back their laughter. Scrubbing his hands removed all but the faint grey tint now dyed into his skin, but Michael didn’t care. Maybe it was all the dye fumes, but it felt like he was on a weird kind of high. Here they were, two boys giggling away like they’d been caught making out in the supply closet at school and in that moment everything felt right with the world.

Leaning back against the sink Michael crossed his arms as he admired Alex’s hair from the front. Even slicked back against his head it was looking good but they still had twenty minutes to fill before it was ready. “So, what should we do while we wait?”

Alex slyly leant over to the bowl, still filled a quarter of the way with leftover dye and waggled his eyebrows impishly at the horrified look Michael was now giving him. “Come on Guerin, it washes out.”

It really was quite a small bathroom with nowhere to run so as Alex stood up to get closer, Michael backed away so much he practically fell into the shower. The laughter returned as he tried to hide as much of his hair as he could with his arms. “Nope. These curls are sacred and there’s no way you’re turning them black. The most you’d ever get on me is the eyeliner.”

Alex gasped gleefully, eyes wide with excitement as he watched it dawn on Michael what he’d just said. He opened the bathroom cabinet and there, at the back of the bottom shelf, was Michael’s latest gift to him. Still unused, he’d only kept it for sentimental reasons, a fond reminder of his past self, but now Michael had no excuse.

“Take a seat.” Alex batted his eyelids innocently as he gestured to the stool he had vacated and Michael had no choice but to comply. He always found it hard to deny Alex anything, but right now, he’d do anything to keep that joy in his eyes.

Alex hadn’t used eyeliner in over ten years. At age seventeen it had taken him weeks to perfect the art without smudging it or poking himself in the eye and when he first joined the military he often missed the soothing action of it. But now, a decade on, he still held the pencil with the hands of someone who would never forget how to use it.

Michael looked up at him expectantly from the seat, a slight tingling rushing through him as Alex held his chin to tilt it upwards. He’d never worn any kind of makeup before, never really had the urge to, but there was always a first time for everything.

There was something quite sexy about Alex knowing exactly what to do, telling him when to look up, when to blink, pressing the pencil down just enough to leave the colour on his skin, but not too soft that it tickled. His hands were very gentle as they held Michael’s face and he felt his mind wandering as he let Alex work.

“Guerin, stay still or it’s going in your eye.” Alex admonished lightly, tongue poking out as he concentrated. He was surprised by how steady his hand was being and he didn’t want to mess it up now.

He gave a few more strokes before stepping away, tapping the pencil against his chin as he admired his work with a grin. An eyeliner-wearing Michael was never a look he’d imagined before, but it sure was a look he was appreciating. It was a subtle change, but one that made Alex want to dress him in a leather jacket and start a rock band with him. “All done.”

Mourning the loss of Alex’s touch, Michael sighed as he got to his feet, knees popping as he stood up and leaned in close to the mirror.

He looked…different. Not a bad different, maybe even a good different. It made his eyes seem brighter and his lashes look darker and the longer he looked in the mirror the wider he could see Alex’s smile getting.

“Alright, I’ll give you this one. It doesn’t look too bad.”

“Right!” Alex was practically giddy as he stepped closer to look at Michael’s eyes through the mirror. Their hands brushed lightly as they both leaned against the sink. “I didn’t think it would look this good, but now I’m starting to wish you’d had this look in high school.”

Michael turned to face him then, bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes roamed over Alex’s face. Maybe this whole nostalgia thing wasn’t so bad when you had someone to share it with.

He grabbed the eyeliner from Alex’s hand before he could be stopped and held it above his head with an eager grin as if Alex couldn’t reach it easily. “Your turn.”

Michael had been banished to the sofa while Alex washed out the dye. He’d willingly volunteered to help but Alex wanted the finished look to be a surprise. Not that he could blame him. If it looked terrible at least it would give Alex the chance to kick Michael out of the house before he even saw it.

Not that that would actually happen, Michael had done an excellent job and the finished article would prove just that, thank you very much.

The muffled noise of the shower turning on and off filtered through the walls as he peered around the room. He’d seen the inside of Alex’s house enough times now to know the layout but not enough to know its contents.

The colourful spines of the neat pile of books stood out against the brown of the table they were sitting on. Their titles were too small to read from across the room but it made Michael wonder what kind of books Alex read now. He’d never thought to ask in all the time he’d been back in Roswell. Did he still read fantasy books like the ones Michael used to see him get lost in for hours at a time? Or were they non-fiction, filled with facts about a world that Alex had always longed to explore.

There were a few plants dotted around the room which Michael was nerdy enough to know the names of. They weren’t the type that required much watering though Michael could almost picture a green-thumbed Alex taking care to provide them what they needed.

But taking up most of the space was a whole range of musical items. A turntable alongside a crowded box of records, because of course that’s how Alex liked to listen to his music. A pair of speakers on either of side of his keyboard, a thick black pair of headphones sitting atop the black and white keys. And guitars. So many guitars.

I mean come on, four of them in one room? Alex was practically begging him to pick one up.

Three of them were next to the keyboard, held neatly on their individual stands, but it was the guitar standing alone that caught his attention. It was leaning almost precariously against the wall, looking like it could slide to the floor at the smallest touch but he had a feeling it had been there for a while. It was the one Alex had tried to gift to him all those months ago, after all.

Before he could stop himself, he pushed off the sofa and edged towards the guitar. Its case had been unzipped just enough at the top to show the dark brown wood poking through and Michael didn’t hesitate to unzip it the rest of the way.

Plucking a few of the strings made Michael wonder if maybe Alex had played it recently. It seemed to be perfectly in tune. It had been a little while now since he’d held a guitar, let alone played one, but this one seemed to fit so naturally in his hands.

The faint whirring of the hair dryer could now be heard through the bedroom door and Michael couldn’t help himself. His fingers fell into place effortlessly and played a tune that he once played for Alex all those years ago. It wasn’t hard to remember, it was one of the only songs he actually knew by heart and the muscle memory of the notes hadn’t failed him yet.

As the strings vibrated under his fingertips, the rest of the world fell away, the soft melody filling the room. He’d missed this, the calm that would wash over him whenever he used to play and for a brief moment as his fingers slipped between the C and G chords he wondered why he ever gave the guitar back.

“Suits you.” Alex’s quiet voice interrupted the notes and Michael almost dropped the guitar in his surprise. He hadn’t heard the hairdryer stop, hadn’t heard the door creaking open but the way Alex was smiling at him told him he had nothing to feel embarrassed about.

The smile wasn’t what he was focused on though.

The inky black hair had turned out so much better than he’d ever imagined. The dark strands contrasted his lightly tanned skin so starkly and Michael could tell that he had taken a few extra minutes to style it a little.

His eyeliner was mismatched and uneven - one eye having been done badly by Michael before Alex, fearing the idea of getting poked in the eye again, had confiscated the pencil and finished the second eye perfectly by himself.

He looked like his innocent seventeen year old self.

But also not. His features were matured enough to set the illusion off-kilter just slightly.

He looked incredible.

Michael wasn’t sure when his legs had made the decision to stand up, but here he was, two feet away from Alex, staring at him with his mouth half open. Alex took the silence the wrong way though as he gave a nervous laugh, feeling his cheeks redden.

He anxiously rubbed the back of his neck and the movement knocked Michael out of his daze. He slowly dragged his eyes away from Alex’s hair and down to his lips, watching them form the words as he spoke. “It looks terrible, doesn’t it?”

Had Alex even looked in the mirror? Had he not seen what Michael was seeing right now?

And it’s not even like the hair and makeup changed him that much. He’s looked beautiful the entire time Michael has known him, he just looked beautiful with his old style right this second rather than his new one.

Maybe Michael just always thought Alex looked most comfortable in his seventeen-year-old style, it was a look he had precisely crafted for himself to best represent the person he was. The black jumpers with bold patterns, the makeup, the piercings. It was the look of a rebellious kid who didn’t want to fit in.

His current style was created through circumstance, through being forced to take on a duty that he never chose but has now made his own. And his style was his own now too, the muted colours much more reserved, but still his choice.

But now standing before him was a beautiful combination of both of those people and oh dear, he’s never really stopped thinking about Alex this way, has he? And more important, how long has he been staring at him without saying a single word?

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his throat had gone strangely dry.

“No.” He whispered in reply as he stepped closer, his feet making their own decisions again and he suddenly couldn’t stop himself. In that moment he couldn’t remember why he had been holding back for all of these months when the person he wanted most in the world was standing right in front of him.

He kissed him before he could stop himself, hands gently grabbing Alex’s face, feeling soft lips against his own. It felt like he was seventeen again, kissing for the first time in the darkened rooms of the UFO Emporium but as his hands crept up into Alex’s hair the sound of a distant car horn through the open kitchen window broke through his dream-filled haze and he realised what he had just done.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Michael stuttered out as he pulled away with a gasp, instantly embarrassed at how impulsive he had been. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes stayed trained on Alex’s chest, not daring to lift them any higher. In one tiny moment of weakness he had broken their agreement and he wanted to kick himself for how stupid that had been.

It had been decided that they would just be friends. No drama, no fighting and definitely no sex. The relationship between them would be strictly supportive and platonic and as much as Michael had longed for them to be something, he had agreed for the sake of keeping any kind of connection with Alex. And turns out, he couldn’t even give him that.

If he had looked up he would have seen the surprise on Alex’s face. Surprise that Michael had kissed him - sure - but more the surprise that Michael had pulled away so abruptly. And far too soon for that matter.

Before Alex could talk himself out of it, he took Michael’s face in his hands and kissed him right back. His heart fluttered as Michael instantly pulled him closer, softer this time, as if they both knew in that moment that there was no rush.

Michael’s entire body tingled, heat filling his chest as Alex lips parted with a tiny breath. He was hardly aware of what his own hands were doing, so desperate to never let go, his knees almost giving out as the rest of the world fell away, leaving them in their intimate, almost forbidden, moment.

As his fingers ran through the soft strands of the freshly dyed hair, Michael was reminded of every other time they had performed this same action, how natural this felt, how safe, like coming home.

“I would have let you dye my hair weeks ago if I’d known that’s all it would take.” Alex sighed as they parted, still only inches from Michael’s face, not daring to move any further lest the spell be broken. He hadn’t seen the day going this way when Michael had turned up on his doorstep with his mischievous grin but he wasn’t about to complain.

Michael gave a small huff of laughter at the unexpected comment, his hands itching to pull Alex closer. He had been wanting to do that for a long time, but he’d been good. He’d stuck to their agreement and given Alex the space to move on, no matter how many times he’d wanted to rebuild that abandoned bridge between them. But it seems the long awaited move had now finally been made and he didn’t have to hold back anymore.

Because here Alex was, black hair, dark eyeliner, standing in front of him with that nervous post-kiss smile that Michael had missed for far too long and now he never wanted to let this moment go.

It seems today had definitely been third time lucky.

Very lucky indeed.

Thank you for reading 💜✨

#roswell new mexico #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #my fic

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years

Text

Soulmate September - Day 16

Day 16 - When your soulmate listens to music or is singing, you hear it in your own head as well. (Songfic, Crazy = Genius by PATD)

Pairing(s): Romantic Intrulogical, Ambiguous/Romantic Analomus, Background Roceit [the Janus part is ambiguous but whatever], Familial Logicality, Familial Virremile, Background Remile [again hinted]

TWs: swearing, sexual themes [light but they’re there], makeouts, Remus being Remus, drunken behaviour, pyromania, vomiting [not graphic just mentioned]

–

“Either of you pyros got a lighter I can borrow?”

Logan sighed, not making much in the way of eye contact with the emo sitting in the cell next to him and his soulmate. He dug into his jean pocket and lazily tossed the lighter to the boy clad in so much black and purple he looked like the sapient embodiment of a bruise.

“Keep it.”

“Oh. You sure? This is a pretty sweet lighter-”

“I insist.”, Logan groaned, running his hands down his face, “It’s not like I’ll be needing it ever again after this.”

From beside Logan, Remus slung his arm to the side, flopping it about limply to swat at his soulmate, “Shuddafuckup”, he slurred, hauling himself upright from his slumped over position, “S’gonna be fiiiine. Roman said he’d bail us oooouuuut, so fuckin’ chill-”

“Your brother told you last week that he would give us a ride to Dairy Queen but instead he was too fucking busy getting to third base with his boyfriend!!”, Logan snapped. Ugh, he would regret that in the morning. He ran his hands through his hair anxiously slicking it back. How had the night gone wrong so fast?...

‘You can set yourself on fire! You can set yourself on fire!’

Logan wasn’t sure what it was about the glowing ember embrace of a flame that drew him in toward it like a moth with a death wish, but as he allowed his soulmate Remus to haul his ass towards their usual hangout with the promise of some pretty choice items to burn, he found that he couldn't care less.

As he approached the overpass with his soulmate chugging a whole half a bottle of tequila without blinking, Logan wondered how he ever survived before without this whirlwind in human form.

‘She said at night in my dreams

You dance on a tightrope of weird

Oh but when I wake up you're so normal that you just disappear

You're so straight like commuters with briefcases towing the line

There's no residue of a torturer inside your of eyes’

“Check it the fuck out, babe! Did I bring the goods or what?”, Remus grinned nearly as brightly as the shine on the rather expensive looking crimson car - he guessed it might have been a Mercedes, but car brands all looked the same to him really - parked under the overpass. Logan didn’t have a particular favourite item to burn, but when Remus walked over in his lime green hoodie that barely covered his black leather shorts and fishnets to pose seductively on top of the hood? Logan hadn’t wanted to incinerate anything more in his life.

“You… How on Earth did you come by this?!”, he ran his hand along the curve of the hood, unashamedly letting his hand roam over Remus’ thigh.

His soulmate hummed, leaning in to steal a kiss, murmuring softly against Logan’s lips, “If I told you I might’ve hotwired it just this afternoon? Is that a turn off or a turn on?”

Goddamn him, Remus knew just how to speak right to Logan’s soul.

“The latter, and you know it.”, Logan all but growled into their kiss.

‘She said you're just like Mike

Love but you wanna be Brian Wilson, Brian Wilson

Said you're just like Mike

Love but you'll never be Brian Wilson’

In the back of his mind, Logan did wonder what his father and morally conscious little brother would think; if they knew he snuck out to satisfy his pyromania, make out with his feral cryptid of a boyfriend, and engaged in petty acts of vandalism and thievery from time to time. What would Thomas and Patton think of their stoic, orderly son and big brother who - instead of studying for his undergraduate degree in astrophysics - would rather spend the night getting dangerous and dirty alongside his soulmate who had literally just admitted to auto theft to acquire a ridiculously expensive car for him to burn?

The thought was there for all of two seconds until Remus’ tongue licking into his mouth banished it away. The only thot he needed tonight was the one driving him crazy with a kiss alone.

‘And I said (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius

Then I'm a fucking arsonist (hey)

I'm a rocket scientist (hey hey)

(Hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey)

You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna burn, burn, burn (hey ay)

You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna learn, learn, learn hey!’

Knowing they came here for a reason, Logan reluctantly ended their makeout session and grabbed for his trusted blue lighter.

“How full is the gas tank?”, Logan made sure to ask, popping open the door to the driver’s side to see what was left in the car. Might as well keep anything worth selling.

“Not sure.”, Remus shrugged, twirling the keys around his finger excitedly while he finished off their first bottle of the night, “Wanna help me make sure there’s nothing left?”

‘She said darlin' you know

How the wine plays tricks on my tongue

But you don't seem to change when you stuff all of

your feelings with drugs

Other boys you may have dated serrated your heart with a slice

But the cut of your love never hurts baby, it's a sweet butter knife’

Logan wasn’t sure how Remus managed to look even more majestic every time he looked at him, but as he clung tight to the hand rest above the passenger window while his soulmate pulled off his sixteenth donut in a row, all he could think about was how lucky he was to have him. Like a trickle of water turning into a river, Logan recognised the beginning of Na Na Na starting to play in his head. Of course. He knew Remus well enough by now to know that was coming. The humming under his soulmate’s breath also gave it away somewhat.

While Remus kept trying to empty the tank, Logan couldn’t help but feel nostalgia for their first meeting; Remus’ older brother Roman had asked Logan to stand in for the theatre department’s regular dramaturge when Logan began to hear the beginnings of Avenue Q’s The Internet Is For Porn begin to invade his mind. Luckily for him, it hadn’t taken long for Remus to saunter over and try to flirt with him, humming the exact tune Logan had been hearing the whole time.

From there, they’d begun dating though it took a good few months before Logan would join Remus in his fantastical ramblings. He lamented on how he felt trapped by a father who meant well but expected so much from him, how stifled he felt having to be a role model to his living marshmallow of a little brother. How Logan just wanted the fun, exhilaration of doing something extreme for a change.

With Remus’ encouragement, Logan opened up about his pyromaniac tendencies which his soulmate was 110% onboard with. Ever since, the underpass had become their dirty, out of the way, graffiti scarred home away from home. Where Logan could indulge the urge to burn away his stresses and lose himself in Remus’ mantra of doing whatever the fuck they wanted.

‘She said you're just like Mike

Love but you wanna be Brian Wilson, Brian Wilson

Said you're just like Mike

Love but you'll never be Dennis Wilson’

With the car finally seemingly out of gas as it shuddered to a stop, Remus fluidly slid out of the open window - you know, like a normal functional human being - and slid across the hood of the car to open the door for Logan, “Alright, time for this bitch to burn!”

Logan was more than happy to get down to the main event after doing a last quick sweep of the car. All he’d found worth keeping was the planet shaped air freshener; so sue him, the sweet scent of mixed berries was delightful. Whipping out his lighter, Logan escorted Remus a safe distance away and pulled out the hairspray he’d swiped from his room earlier. He aimed the spray towards the car - making sure it wasn’t against the wind or pointed back at himself, he preferred to keep his eyebrows, thanks - and watched as the plume of fire engulfed the car’s seat cover.

Crackling flames. Straining metal. Hissing fabric burning to a plastic like mess. It was a symphony and Logan was it’s conductor.

With his boyfriend wrapping his arms around his shoulders, Logan tilted to kiss him once more as the heat of the fire caressed their skin. Remus’ eyes never once left Logan, seeing his soulmate delight in an act of pure mindless vandalism, watching the way Logan looked truly free, sent his heart racing. In compliment, Logan turned back to Remus, grinning already at the shades of orange and yellow that painted his handsome features. He always thought Remus was at his most beautiful that way.

‘And I said (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius

Then I'm a fucking arsonist (hey)

I'm a rocket scientist (hey hey)

(Hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey)

You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna burn, burn, burn (hey ay)

You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna learn, learn, learn hey!’

Logan couldn’t tell you what happened next; one minute the two of them were watching the flames while his soulmate continued his campaign to destroy his kidneys with alcohol, the next Remus was sitting in his lap leaving hickeys all over his neck while Logan let his hands roam around under Remus’ hoodie. In the back of his mind, Logan could make out the beginning of a song he didn’t recognise at first, but as the lyrics kicked in, he let out a breathy chuckle. Of course, trust Remus to pick a thematic piece of music for the night’s events. As the song got louder - and Remus marked him more needily - Logan found he rather liked the song. He’d have to ask Remus what it was called later.

‘You can set yourself on fire (hey)

You can set yourself on fire (hey)

You can set yourself on fire’

The next thing either of them knew, there was a vague clattering noise followed by a thunderous metallic bang. Followed by another, then another. One after another for a total of seven times before it finally quieted down. No music, no bang, just the fire crackling away. Thoroughly shaken, Remus and Logan untangled themselves from each other, the former demanding all too loudly, “What the creme fresh fuck was that?!”

“I-! I have no idea-”, Logan began. There wasn’t anything that would’ve done that inside the car, he’d checked. However, as he rounded the car, giving the flames a wide berth, Logan noticed someone laying on the ground on the other side of the car; dressed in a dark, patchy hoodie and ripped jeans, a plume of purple dyed frizzy hair poking out from the hood. He looked like your run of the mill emo. For a second, Logan was worried he and Remus would have to dispose of a body, but fortunately the young man groaned and began to sit up. To his side, Logan winced at a metallic glint blinding his vision.

The spray can doing so had clearly rolled out of the bag full of other cans, all in different colours. At least now Logan could put a face to the rather beautiful graffiti that tattooed the underpass as well as what had exploded in the fire as he noted the burst open paint cans under the car.

“Are you alright? What the hell happened?”, Logan questioned firmly, though he knew the disoriented emo on the ground likely couldn’t answer right away. He assumed from the way the young man rubbed the back of his head that he’d taken a rather nasty fall. The anxious artist seemed to remember exactly where he was, eyes blown wide in fear,

“Dude, get outta here quick-”

“There he is!”

Three officers rushed towards the two of them prompting the emo and Logan to make a break for it, being sure not to run into the inferno. Remus pretty quickly got the idea and joined the two of them. It seemed neither of the three of them knew exactly where they were trying to run to, but a silent, unspoken agreement saw them all heading for the same direction. Looking back on it, Logan wondered if parting ways and heading for his car with Remus could’ve at least seen them with a better chance of getting away.

But hindsight is a bitch that wakes up seven hours late and didn’t even bother to bring Starbucks.

‘And I said (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius

Then I'm a fucking arsonist (hey)

I'm a rocket scientist (hey hey)

(Hey ay, ay)

If crazy equals genius (hey)’

Before long, all Logan could hear was his sneakers scraping the ground and his own breathing competing against his heartbeat to dominate his ears. The urge to stop and breathe was intense but it felt as though doing just that would send the world crashing down around them.

Of course, prolonged exercise and a stomach full of alcohol wasn’t the best combination.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ puke-!”, Remus huffed, trying to cover his mouth with his hand.

“Just hold on, Remus, we’re-!”

Logan watched in horror as his soulmate stopped to empty his stomach, unintentionally doing so in a way that blocked off the hoodie clad young man trying his best to keep up.

“Ah sHIT-!”

He didn’t need to look back; the clattering of the satchel, the mutual yelps of surprise and pain, Logan kept running even as two of the officers apprehended his soulmate and the hooded lad. The guilt would catch up to Logan before the third officer did, or it would have if he didn’t mistime his turning around the next corner only to end up nearly getting run over. How poetic; from making out on a car hood to being cuffed against one. Had Remus not been busy insulting the officers’ mothers rather colourfully, Logan theorised he would’ve no doubt made some innuendo about it.

Exhausted from their chase and thoroughly cuffed, all Logan could do was let himself be loaded into the back of the cop car with Remus and the anxious emo.

‘You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna burn, burn, burn (hey ay)

You can set yourself on fire (hey ay)

But you're never gonna learn, learn, learn hey!’

“Mmm… Logan, can you-”, Remus burped a little too wetly for it not to make Logan feel as queasy as Remus looked, “Can you stroke my hair? Pleeeeeease?”

Sighing in that playful kind of annoyance only true love can allow, Logan did as asked. The night may wind up with him being harshly reprimanded by his father and possibly losing his come-and-go privileges, but at least for now he had Remus.

“...... I’m sorry.”, came the rough voice of the emo in the cell next to theirs, “You both wouldn’t be stuck here if it wasn’t for me.”

Remus just gave a dismissive grunt in reply while Logan assured their cell companion, “While you may have led the police to us, I doubt our proclivity for fiery vandalism would’ve kept going undetected forever.”, he looked the emo up and down, “Might I ask,...?”

“Virgil.”

“Virgil,”, Logan repeated, “Might I ask how you ended up stumbling across us?”

Virgil shrugged, “I’ve been painting the underpass for years. Pretty much everything down there’s something I’ve done.”.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “I had a shitty night so I came down to paint something when I walked in on you two getting all ‘friendly’,”, he airquoted, “So I went to go home but I got stopped by an officer and started panicking. So I just…. ran.”

His posture curled a little while he twirled Logan’s lighter between his fingers in a stimming action, “Then I realised I was way too fucking close to the fire and I blacked out.”, Virgil embarrassedly pulled his hood up, “Fire scares the shit outta me, always has. Next thing I knew, I woke up with you staring at me. You both know the rest.”

Logan nodded quietly. It really did fill in a few gaps, “I can’t blame you for not wanting to stick around. I do apologise that we inadvertently ruined your night.”

Virgil shrugged, “Eh, it’s alright, it’s just gonna suck having to have my dads bail me out again. Not that dad would mind but pops will probably gimme another lecture about ‘unhealthy coping habits’ again....”

At that, they sat for the most part in silence. Then that song began to trickle into Logan’s brain again. As nice as it had been in accompaniment to their antics before, Logan found it almost grating now. He sighed and gently nudged Remus,

“Re-”

“Logan, babe,”, Remus groaned, beating him to the punch, “Can you fuckin’ give it a rest with the music? M’fuckin’ head hurts.”

“....But you’re the one who’s been thinking about that song, right!?”, Logan’s concern was obvious. Remus caught on as well.

“No!? I thought it was you!?”, he sloppily hauled himself onto Logan’s lap, pressing their foreheads together, “Issokay babe, I won’t let-”, he stifled a burp though it did nothing to save Logan from Remus’ drunken breath, “Won’t let fate change our soul bond! I’ll fuckin- I’ll whip out my brain surgery skills right here if I gotta-”

“Remus!”, Logan sternly held him back a little, “Calm down, let’s just try and think rationally, okay!?”

“.... Have you ever MET me, you stupid sexy science bitch?”, Remus cackled at the alliteration.

“Please be serious for once.”, Logan sighed, fixing his glasses in a self calming gesture, “Do you know the name of the song in your head?”

“Yeah, iss fuckin’ um...”, Remus clicked his fingers in thought, trying to place it, “S’fuckin Scream In The Club, or some shit who sings it...”

“..... You mean, Panic At The Disco?”, came Virgil’s voice from the neighbouring cell.

Remus pointed dramatically, “THATS THE BITCH!”. He put his fist to his chest to stifle another burp, instead taking a second to turn and spit out some of the awful taste on his tongue, “Fuckin’... the lyrics were like…. “You can set yourself-””

“- On fire?!”, Virgil finished, looking rather interested in the conversation now.

Logan nodded between the two of them, “Yes, that’s the same opening line I remember. Virgil, I take it you’re familiar with the song?”

“Well yeah, and I’ll do you one better. Uh,....”, he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I’ve had that song stuck in my head all night.”

Remus and Logan shared a look of shock. Could Virgil really be their soulmate? It would explain the times when they would hear music that didn’t seem to line up with each other’s tastes. Before Logan could propose a test, Remus was way ahead of him; he rolled his eyes as the music flooded into his skull.

Virgil brightened up, “Ashnikko, huh? Good choice-”

“HOLY SHIT, LOGAN, WE GOT-! WE GOT ANOTHER ONE!!”, Remus screeched, wriggling excitedly in Logan’s lap, almost causing his boyfriend to drop him.

“Indeed.”, Logan sighed fondly as he tried to get Remus to sit back down on the bench instead of his lap, “So now you better call Roman and see if he can bail us ALL out..”

----------

... I know I won’t probably be able to catch up but hell with it, I love some of the prompt ideas, I’ll just stop tagging the blog if I run over at this point.

A big thanks to @accidental-sanders for the idea for this one, it was really fun to do.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

#analomus #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #my fics #fanfics #logan #virgil #remus #crazy = genius #songfic #soulmate september #I'm still going I s2g #I miiight put these all up on my ao3 tbh

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anobscurename · 4 years

Text

ocean eyes – chris evans

PART I

concept: this is a collection of happenings, the little moments with him, rather than a whole thought-out fic. the slowest of slow burns. this is the second part, the reunion. this is what happens when the night is over.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,618

warnings: none, except a little profanity

author’s note: part two is here! i hope you like it :)

The second time you met Chris, was while you were at work. You were a cocktail waitress at a relatively posh, incredibly elite, uptown bar. The kind that charges you way too much for a drink so little, and probably sells diamond infused vodka. This was the night spot of everyone who was anyone – gods that sipped golden champagne from fine, polished Baccarat flutes that were probably worth your house.

You had no problem with rich people. You just had a problem with the way some treated you – and that was to say, not very well.

“Hey.” A male voice startled you out of your near robotic drink making. They were a bit understaffed that night, so you had taken the liberty of helping out behind the bar while the tables in your section remained vacant. You were somewhat of an expert cocktail maker – you could even safely say you could do it blindfolded (an exceptionally wild bachelor’s party provided proof enough). So it wasn’t uncommon for your mind to drift elsewhere while you mixed a drink. You tilted your head slightly in the direction of your co-worker, letting him know you were listening, while still pretending to be way more immersed in your task than you really were. It was that anti-social kind of night, where you’d rather be curled up at home with Netflix and a mug of tea rather than be there (despite being fully aware of how many girls would kill to have entry to the most exclusive club in Los Angeles). But the pay was good – excellent, actually – and you did get some really nice patrons at times. And your co-workers? They weren’t half bad, either. “There’s a table that just sat down in your station.”

You swore under your breath, finished mixing the drink with a sped efficiency, and handed it off to the patron. “Your station” was the VIP section, and was rarely very busy so early in the evening. You knew club routine well enough by now: pre-drinks before the party were often done at home, in the limos, or in a relatively tame bar somewhere nearby. This was for the pleasantries, the catching up, the conversations that would inevitably be drowned out by the pounding music if done anywhere else. That usually occurred around this time. This club – and many like it – the kind that was where everyone who was anyone had to be seen at – was the second phase. The party phase. The phase where most of the time, drama, and scandal, took place. This was often from 10pm till 4am, depending on the stamina of the party goers. And then the wind down: after parties, often held at someone’s house. This was the natural order of the night world, and you respected people who respected that. You modelled your entire schedule around that.

That’s why you had assumed that your station would’ve been empty until much later – until after pre-drinks and conversations. Whoever just sat down in VIP – they were disturbing the natural fucking order, and you were not having it. Well, you were silently not having it; you still needed, like, money.

Your job didn’t come without it’s perks, though. A murder of stunning people were sat on the plush leather couches surrounding black marble topped tables behind the velvet chain that separated them from the masses. Some you recognised instantly from the big screen, and others from the tabloids. And one from a personal encounter… Your breath caught and you damn near choked.

There he was, reclined on the couch, so at ease with his arms spread over the back, grinning and laughing at something someone had said. He wasn’t looking at you. Yet. That changed abruptly, as soon as you (after having gathered your confidence) introduced yourself to them.

He faltered slightly in his laugh, but his grin remained – growing even wider, as slowly, he tilted his head to look over at you.

Immediately his eyes brightened. If there was any doubt in your mind as to whether or not it was really him, it dissipated with that single nod of recognition he gave you.

You cleared your throat as a small diversion to clear your head. “Are you ready to order?”

They rattled off their orders, almost all of them barely paying any attention to your silent exchange with Chris. Almost.

A (begrudgingly) stunning female on Chris left, who was pressed eagerly into his side, gave you a dirty once over and sneered out her order to you. Oh. She was one of those. The ones who looked down at literally anyone not a billionaire.

He noticed her disdain, and his grin fell. A small victory, he revoked his arm from around her – bemused by her display of deluded superiority. You had to physically hide your smirk as you got the last order – his – and slipped behind the bar with the orders engraved in your mind.

——————

The group departed after about two hours. Two hours of eyeing the table (mainly to check if their glasses were still full, or if they needed anything else – or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself), two hours of stolen glances – ones that you were always the first to pull away from, usually after the inevitable smirk that touched his lips when you looked for a bit longer than you should.

When they left, you cleaned the table. Who was he? He seemed to have friends in high places, but there was something else… You knew, when you first met him, that you knew his face. Ugh, that itch was back – the one in the brain where you know you know something but it’s evading your every grasp – and it was refusing to go away. Like an earworm of a melody, lyrics forgotten.

It plagued you for the remainder of your shift – which wasn’t necessarily long, just an hour or so more – and even as you got ready to go home.

It was approaching peak hours now, and so you knew the front would be bustling with paps and desperate social climbers begging for entrance from the surly bouncers, who stood as monoliths in churning seas. Because with peak hours, came the rich and famous; socialites, actors, singers, designers, models. And with them, the gods of the nightlife, came the screaming hordes.

God, you were dramatic. You smirked to yourself, at the internal monologue you were maintaining, as you punched in the code to slip out the back. Anything to keep a scrap of sanity in these long nights. So wrapped up in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice him following you until he laid a scopic hand on your shoulder.

You whirled, shoving him against a wall, knee approaching dangerously close to his crotch before you mercifully faltered at the familiar face.

“Chris?!” You were breathless with exhilaration, adrenaline thick in your veins at having been caught off guard. You released him, stepping away to run your hand through your hair to brush it away from your face. “What are you doing, hiding in a back alley, trying to catch unsuspecting girls off guard?!”

He chuckled at your scolding tone, at the way you pressed a hand to your beating heart, over the top dramatism at play in your actions. “Trying to catch an unsuspecting girl off guard. Obviously.”

You realised then how strange it was for him to still be here; his party departed at least an hour and a half ago. “Did you wait out here for me?”

“Can you promise not to kick me in the balls if I said yes?”

You laughed as he cautiously eyed your legs at his sentiment. “So, what, you’re following me now?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m not the one who waited an hour for someone, out in a back alley, in the freezing cold.” To punctuate your point, a cold blast of wind ripped through the alleyway, worming its way under your coat to stroke at your skin with cold tendrils. You shivered, crossing your arms to preserve the warmth. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

He patted down his pockets. “Ah, shit. Must’ve left my axe at home.” His tone was dead serious, but at your roll of the eyes, he grinned.

You buried your hands in your pocket to stave off the chill. Weirdly enough, after the initial shock, you were glad to have someone with you to walk with you to your car, parked three blocks away to make room for the patrons’ stretch limousines. You inclined your head in the direction of your vehicle, nodding for him to walk with you.

He smiled softly, following you out of the dim lighting of the alleyway, into the lights of the main road. The clamour outside of the club was a roar, the leering of the paps at the celebrities who entered becoming a jumble of white noise.

You noticed how, as soon as you both approached the light, he ducked his head and upturned the collar of his jacket, avoiding the peoples’ attentative eye. You both pushed by relatively unnoticed, and you only spoke again when the bellowing crowd was a distant memory.

“So, who are you?”

The question took him by surprise. The action of lighting the cigarette he had propped between his lips stuttered, and he gave you an apprehensive look. He struck the match he had poised in his hand, looking down to watch where the flame licked. “You know who I am.”

“You just sat where Justin Bieber sat. I served drinks to the Kardashians on that couch. Only the VIPs of VIPs sit there. So, are you famous or something?”

Shaking the match out, he took a drag – prolonging his answer as long as he possibly could. He deliberated you, wondering what your reaction would be. Would you treat him differently, now? “Or something.”

You eyed him up, skeptical, before breaking into a massive grin. “Cool,” you said non-chalantly. Or at least in your head. What you really said was: “I fucking knew I wasn’t losing my mind! I fucking knew it, Mr I-Just-Have-One-Of-Those-Faces. Oh my God, I’m not crazy, fuck yes!”

The look he gave you negated that entirely, because indeed, he was looking at you as if you were a mad woman, in spite of the amused twist of his lips. “Are you done?”

After a moment of appraising him, you nodded, calm again. “Yeah, I’m done.”

You were less excited that you were in the presence of celebrity royalty, more relieved that you weren’t insane for feeling he was so familiar. That was refreshing for Chris; usually after someone discovered his identity, they would treat him differently – sidling up to him, for a favour or money or status or cloning DNA. Or for workout tips, but he got that regularly. Barring the brief moment of unhinged happiness you displayed, you treated him as you did before. Like when he stole your cab.

“Andy Barber!” You had started walking again, him alongside you, in a pleasant silence. Your outburst caused both of you to pause again. “Ransom Drysdale? Steve Rogers…”

He arched a brow in question, taking a pensive drag from his cigarette. “Are you having a stroke?”

“That’s where I recognise you from.” Mumbling to yourself, you muttered “God, I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

He chuckled, flicking the ash off his cigarette, both of you continuing on in a comfortable silence.

“So, what did I do to deserve the chance at having you escort me to my car?”

He stomped out the cigarette, smoke curling from his lips as he tried to find the best way to word his question. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, you can proposition my fist to your face,” you chuckled in disbelief. “Just because you’re all high and mighty and famous doesn’t mean that every girl you meet is going to throw themselves at your feet even if you did buy me pizza and you’re all smug and handsome and have impeccable dress sense like, seriously, what is that? Armani? What? Why are you laughing at me?”

He had started laughing sometime during your rant and the sound, contagious and warm, had caused you to falter. You fought a smile that was threatening to rise. You were trying to make a point, goddamnit, and you would be damned if he was going to ruin it with his smug, handsome face.

“A business proposition, {your name},” he managed to say among the peels of laughter. “But please, do go on my impeccable dress sense.”

You were mortified. You probably sounded proper arrogant, thinking that he wanted to get in your pants. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands for a moment to conceal the fast rising heated flush of embarrassment. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let him know. Thanks, Elsa.

“What, uh,” you cleared your throat, turning away to continue your stalling trek (and to avoid his gaze). “What business proposition?”

“Do you like dogs?”

You ignored how laugh-drunk his voice sounded – gravelly and lilted with amusement. It just served to feed your embarrassment further. “Love them. Why?”

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “I recently, uh, split up with my girlfriend and I’m heading to Vancouver for a few months for a film. She was meant to help look after Dodger and the house while I was gone, but, given the recent change in plans, that would appear to no longer be an option.”

He avoided your gaze as you glanced over at him, but you could see the throb of the muscle in his jaw, indicating the grit of his teeth.

“And you have deemed me worthy?” You tried lightening the mood a little, and was satisfied by his small smile and accompanying chuckle.

“I know it’s too much to ask of a stranger–”

“Why don’t you get a friend to do it?”

“I would, if any were deemed worthy,” he teased. Warmth swelled in his eyes when he looked at you next, and paired with that smile and the words he spoke next, you knew you would do anything he asked. “And I am asking a friend.”

A beat passed. “Fine. I’ll live in your stupid mansion and look after your stupid dog. Okay, I didn’t mean that last bit, I’m sure Dodger is lovely, but I’ll have you know: I don’t come cheap.”

“What, living in my mansion isn’t good enough?”

“Fuck no! I still need to feed the dog, clean up after it, clean the house, have money on hand for damages in case I get too wild by myself… There’s a long, fucking list.”

“I’m sure we can make an arrangement,” he smirked.

You shivered slightly at the double entendres laced in his words; good thing it was cold, so you could easily excuse it.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” You tip your head in the direction of the club from which you were making your slow escape. “They pay well, a lot better than house sitting.”

“Are you happy there?”

You balked at his question. “The money is good–”

“I wasn’t asking about the money, I was asking if you were happy.” He arched a brow, something close to concern crossing his face.

“I–”

He cocked his head, waiting for an answer. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.

“No, not really. Some people are real assholes, especially when drunk.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll come work for me.”

“Woah, hey now. I can’t just… Uproot my life and live with you. For starters, I have a lease and stuff. And I have a life, a job, a–”

“I have an adorable mixed boxer and a Jacuzzi.”

“When do I start?”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans/you #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans/reader #chris evans fluff #dina writes #when the night is over #ocean eyes #part two

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calypsoff2 · 3 years

Text

Twenty Two.

Jah pointed behind me, turning my head “yes Rylee” she did a little run over to me “you should be in lesson now, why are you here?” did she do something wrong now “I love you mom, also we are on a break! So can I sit here?” she pointed at my lap, shuffling my chair back “how long is the break for? What is your other sisters doing then” Rylee sat on my lap “they are eating chips, what are we doing here?” Jah laughed “you about nosey as anything” my team laughed “awww it’s little Fenty!” Jay Brown said on skype “hi uncle Jay, where is Jay number one” I chuckled “he is busy so you need to deal with me today” she always calls Jay Z number one and Jay Brown number two “how are you liking London Rylee? I heard you got a modelling contract with Fendi? Congratulations, it’s a big step here you know” Rylee nodded her head “thank you” I am watching her mouth, everything she says has to be manners, she hasn’t put a foot out of line since the little hitting situation “awww it’s ok, when are you coming back to see us! Better be soon, but I need to speak to your mother now” Rylee has taken over the conversation now clearly, picking Rylee and moving her to the side a little “so we need to go Mexico next week, I really want to get this Fenty Skin ball rolling here. I have been a little behind with work, I have so much on but that is besides the point we need to get Fenty Skin out there, with the beauty part it’s set like we know what we are doing. I have various people just testing these products, so I am happy with it” I said, I want Fenty Skin started now “yes Mexico for the shoot, so we sticking with Chris being in it? What is happening with that?” that is a good question “well, we don’t have time. He hasn’t been using it at all, I did tell him, but it hasn’t happened, so we need to move” Mel is staring at me “right, so cancel that. We want to get names out there, I think Rakim? He has the name of pretty motherfucker and also he has good skin, I think it would be a good shout, we are selling this as unisex, so we need males there” this is difficult, Jay is thinking of last minute things “the photoshoot is next week?” taking in a deep breath “right, ok so erm. I will think on it, give me a day” I just had to say.

Meeting had ended, I have an hour before the girls finish their tuition “good meeting team” I said stifling out a yawn “I fell asleep” Tina looks half asleep “girl boo” I waved her off, Mel and Jah remained sat at the table as the rest just started to move off “Rakim?” Jah said with a slight laugh, I just shook my head “he has good skin and I totally get that, for last minute it would be good. I don’t want to do it with Chris, I just don’t want too. I try with him; I want him good for him. I want these things but no” Mel cringed “removing him from Fenty corp, he doesn’t know this does he?” shaking my head “I give him all this, I wanted him to feel like he has something. Giving him is not fixing his mouth so he can just do what he needs to do. He has that record label; he can play with that and make a name for himself like he begs for. He is so ignorant though, like how he just stays here and sleeps in the bedroom you was supposed to be in, literally threw you out and luckily you’re my sister we can sleep together but he just doesn’t fucking care. I feel he is laughing at me, then when he came into the kitchen and asked for food and I was like stuck because the girls were staring so I was like yeah sure, nigga fuck you. He is so ignorant, but I will ask him, like I am not that bad, but we shall see, we need to go to Mexico so yeah” I have probably made decisions he is going to hate me for, I don’t know but he wants to be his own boss so fly with it.

Jah is just pulling faces and I am not sure why he is “girl, where is this going? Like on a real, he is staying here and it’s giving me bad vibes, I don’t know” I get what he is saying “what you want me to do? I have told him that I want a break, I need time to think but he said that he has a right to stay here and that he wants his daughters with him, he honestly is so mean. He literally just put me down, like we had that disagreement and then he turned around and mentioned that I didn’t want Imani, that I am useless I mean let’s be fucking real here, when I got pregnant with Tianna I was like oh shit, then Imani I said oh shit, I was not the happiest! I was kick starting my life, one girl was fine. But it’s happened and I am the happiest, I love them all so much but it’s hard” I shrugged “so like he is throwing what he is supposed to be to your face? He is supposed to be a father, I don’t get it” Mel said “but I am the bad guy, TJ is about to be the same. Watch” I pointed “they are cut from the same cloth, chile” Jah shook his head “oh it’s my favourite three girls” Jah spat, looking behind me “finished!? All done?” I said in excitement “yes but the teacher wants to speak to you” letting out an oh “ok, which one of you have been naughty?” Tianna shook her head “not me!” these girls are always up to something, I can’t even “right, let me go and find out” getting up from the couch “daddy” I groaned out, of course Chris is here. Watching Imani run to him “aye, watch it. Your arm crazy” pulling my top down “dad, Imani has been naughty” Rylee ran to him “what? How can someone with a broken arm be naughty” walking around the couch “mom is seeing the teacher because of it” walking off to the room “then I should be there” rolling my eyes “don’t want the part time mother to be doing it now” I had to say it “exactly, glad you see it” he is an asshole, I can’t even deal sometimes.

Sitting down as the private tutor gathered his stuff “sorry I am just tidying up” he has such a lovely British accent “it’s fine, they made a mess for sure” looking around the rented home, this room is being used as a classroom and clearly it is showing “ok, I will finish that off after. I am Harold, I don’t think we have met but I am their English tutor” he went over to Chris “no we haven’t met, first time?” Chris asked “I have been here a few times since Robyn asked for me, just a quick update. I don’t want to keep you both for too long but particularly wanted to touch on Imani, the elder two are fine. They are doing well, they talk a lot and let’s just say have been told off a few times now for talking and shouting out but that is nothing. I wanted to bring up to you about Imani, having sat with her while the girls did their activity I set out, she is four going on five so we are expecting her to recognize words and kind of read in a way. She is disinterested in books unless it’s pictures, so like I set out simple words for her to just follow along. But she doesn’t want to know, she wants to colour instead, and my job is teaching literacy, English but she is not interested. Anything word related she doesn’t want to know. I wanted to ask if the older girls were reading and were they loving books and things like that at that age?” licking my top lip thinking what he is trying to get at with this “Rylee and Tianna both were actively reading yes, reading and writing is what they were doing at that age” looking at Chris and he agreed “I mean she is four, she has time to develop. Every child is different, but I think it’s something we need to be aware of, average child should be doing that. She is very loving, and she is looking to her sisters” taking in a deep breath “she is a bit slow sometimes” Chris just blurted it out, looking over at him “I tend to think, she isn’t the most developed. She did things for attention instead of telling me so I kind of see it” putting my head down “I get it, it’s something we will look at together” maybe she is just slow with developing.

Sitting down next to Mel “oh Herbert” he is here, he just sat smiling at me “don’t act like you didn’t see me, I have been talking to Melissa here” I nodded my head laughing a little “you should speak to your friend too” I pointed out “oh, I ain’t get involved with that now” he played it off “what did my British friend want with you?” Mel asked, I blew out air “he said that Imani is just not developing to what a four year old should, she is not interested in words. She rather colour and look at pictures. He feels she is being slow with things” Mel poked her lips out “not my flower, so dyslexia? Ain’t that it?” I shrugged “I am that” Herb said out of nowhere “you look it” I said laughing “I am joking” shaking my head “but yeah, that happened. So when are you going home?” maybe Herb can tell me more “when you taking my nigga back in bed?” my eyes widened “oh you spat there” Mel and I both laughed “nah, I am just talking. He ain’t speak on shit but make sure to be with you. I don’t know family; I am just here” he is saying that but I feel like he knows more then he wants to say “Herbs!” Tianna spat “oh god no, you need to leave me alone before I whoop your little ass” Tianna jumped on Herb, I sighed out looking at Mel “you need to deal with him” Mel said in a whisper, she is right I need to do it and speak to him.

Mel has said I need to talk to Chris, but I haven’t done shit, besides Chris and I passing on looks to each other. The kids are asleep, so this is the perfect timing, my friends are speaking amongst themselves and so is Chris with Herb so maybe it’s time “let’s do it” moving away from the countertop, making my way over to Chris “hey, Chris. Can I speak to you?” As soon as I said that the room fell silent “y’all can continue to talk you know” I laughed walking back to where I was standing, I mean everyone knows that Chris and I aren’t getting a long, there isn’t any secret in that because Chris stays here, he won’t go because he is just being an asshole with it now, which isn’t helping anyone. He says that he wants to work on things but honestly I have seen no working, he’s just gone out of his way to annoy me “what’s up?” he sat atop of the countertop so I had to turn around to face him “erm, I just thought I would. Well ask you I guess, I suppose. Actually” I paused pointing at him “you don’t ask me shit so why do I need to do it? Like it’s petty, we can both be it I guess, but you know what. I am informing you; this is better. So I am going Mexico with the kids, they are coming with me, and I am going to shoot the Fenty Skin things there. As you know it’s unisex and we need males there, pretty much you aren’t going to be in it and it’s decided that Rakim will be” watching Chris’ face go ever so small, like the blood drain from his face “right, so you just going to do that with your ex? I mean you look like a joke, you literally said me and now you doing it to spite me” shaking my head “not really, you don’t actually care about my company. It was fed to you so yeah” Chris sniggered “you’re really just pissing me off now, I am not going to lie. I am pissed off, you not taking my kids shit else. You ain’t taking my kids here and there because you decide, that ain’t no fucking life for them. I told you that, nope. You can land on his dick for all I care but my kids will stay with me and if you take them then I will make sure they make it the worst. Those kids listen to me, they like you because you got a name, I mean yeah you Rihanna whatever but they love me, you are being a bitch” I am not shocked, looking over at Mel shaking my head laughing. I just knew he would be like this.

I am just trying to digest his shit “you are using the kids against me now, when I am with them you demand shit and when I am not there you do the same shit. You are a narcissist, and they are coming with their mother if you want to cry about it so much then take me to court, instead of caring about making it up to me you are busy using things to piss me off. You really feel like you have done nothing wrong, that is because it’s your ego talking. I am not even going to continue this, I am just letting you know what is happening because at the end of the day you are sill my husband, I don’t know for how long though” walking off, I am over him “goodnight y’all, I am tired” waving them off, I am just going to bed and needing to think about a lot right now. He thinks I am just joking about everything and that I am going to take as he is, I have had enough of his shit “so you really want a break? Like if we go on a break then fine, but I need to have sex, if you don’t give me that then there will be so many other girls that will and some fine ones at that” turning to him “go for it Chris, I rather be a nun then sleep with you because you demand it, because you want it, nigga fuck you. You will never find another me Chris and you know it, you know you got good but you won’t let yourself have that, I want you to leave me the fuck alone and if you want me then prove that shit, I don’t want it anymore. And the kids stay with me” Chris is so angry “all this over me missing your birthday? Over a gift, you weird as fuck” he doesn’t see the issue, of course he doesn’t “and this is why I need this break away from you and your stank attitude. I wish you saw how you are” Chris shook his head “you ain’t innocent either, if we having a break then you know this marriage about to be over, we can work it out” opening my bedroom door “work it out yourself” walking into my bedroom and closing he door, I am done.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Chrianna Fanfic #Chrianna Fanfiction

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taofarren · 3 years

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Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally. For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses, grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot, and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.

#vintagecar classiccardailyrunner storytelling creativewriting journal

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aestheticdisposition · 4 years

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Kara and Lena go the same self-laundry place and Lena takes Kara’s clothes off the washer, puts her clothes in and leaves Kara’s on the floor. Later, they confront each other. (You can find it on AO3 but for some reason the link doesn’t work when I put it here 😅)

It had been an extremely difficult and exhausting day for Kara. She woke up late, realizing the phone charger was plugged in her phone but not in the actual plug on the wall, which meant her alarm didn’t ring, resulting in her sleeping in. Honestly, it wasn’t the first time she’d done something like this. In fact, she’s been doing similar things for about a month now.

She used her super speed to shower and get dressed but she really couldn’t afford to take her time to eat and enjoy a good cup of coffee, which was what really was frustrating about waking up late.

Deciding to fly to work today, she took off from her window and into the sky, already feeling the cool breeze relax her a bit. But it didn’t last long. As soon as she set foot in her office, Snapper barged in and told her off for being late (again). Kara pretended to listen to him and after a while he left with a glare accompanied with a scoff. She was finally left alone to finish a fluff piece about this cat breed that apparently had no fur on them? Don’t get her wrong, she loved animals but she was more of a dog person. Plus, cats in general were scary. She was a bit intimidated but she would never admit that out loud.

Several robberies (some with hostages), three fires, two alien attacks, some death glares from Snapper and only five pancakes later, she found herself leaving the Catco building. Greeting some of her co-workers goodnight, she set off to that self-laundry place she heard of from Alex. She sneezed on her washing machine a few days ago and froze it and she hadn’t gotten the chance to replace it with everything going on.

Alex keeps telling her that she needs to be a little more organized, but can you really blame her? She has two jobs she has to balance and a very demanding stomach that has to be filled every hour or so. It’s not her fault she sometimes forgets things. Or break some other things. Or cry when she sees dogs running, with their cute little ears bouncing up and down. But that’s irrelevant.

So anyway, tonight was the perfect night for laundry. The perfect way to end such a day. Honestly, the only good thing about this situation was getting food while she waited for the clothes to finish being washed. But food made everything better for Kara so it wasn’t that bad. It could be worse.

Somewhere not really afar, Lena was sat in her office. It was nearing 8 o’ clock at night and she was still working. Her day hadn’t been any better. She spent it in meetings with white, rich, sexist men who were looking down on her for deciding to take over Luthor-Corp, L-Corp now. God, they think they know everything, even how the tech that she herself developed works! It truly is infuriating.

It takes years of practice to master self-control at such level and in times like these, she thanks Lillian and her stupid grin for teaching her how to keep a neutral expression and not start throwing punches.

And like all this wasn’t enough, her heel broke. In the middle of her walking. She almost fell straight down her face but thankfully she caught herself just on time. But then she realized that what she had held onto was the shelf where she stores all her drinks. It broke and everything fell down (including her). Thank God she was alone.

Needless to say, her office still smells like whiskey. Anyway, she had to wear her sneakers for the rest of the day.

She also had to do laundry. She couldn’t escape it this time with some poor excuse she usually makes up. It needed to be done or she wouldn’t have clean clothes for tomorrow. Sighing, she decided it was best to leave work.

She exited her building and began walking to the self-laundry place she bought a few months ago. Yes, she bought it. It wasn’t like she tried to get closer to a very pretty girl who worked there and whom she helplessly crushed on or something like that. No, it’s nothing like that (even though Lena cried like a baby when she found out that said girl decided to move cities with her boyfriend).

Lena was a Luthor and Luthors are business people with no feelings and own multiple companies and make even more money. At least, that’s what she tells herself when she feels embarrassed of her decision. Nevertheless, she never had the heart to sell it. She’s become friends with an old man whom she regularly bumped into there. And by friends, she means that he was kind enough to smile at her or even make small talk.

But this very situation right now? It was literally a nightmare.

A fashion nightmare, to be specific. Another reason why everyone looked at her weird. She was a Luthor which meant that pretty much everyone judged her for her family’s doing but now, although she hates to admit it, she can understand why people looked at her direction. I mean, it’s not every day you run into a very rich CEO wearing her usual expensive blouse, paired with an also very expensive skirt and… running shoes. They just don’t go with the outfit. At all.

After a few agonizing minutes, she reached the laundry place. Greeting the old man, she rounded the corner and went to her washing machine only to find out that it was already being used. Looking around, she didn’t see anyone.

“Um, excuse me, have you seen…”

But her words died in her throat when she turned around and realized that she was talking to herself. The old man must have left.

She waited for about ten minutes before she started getting irritated. I mean, this was her washing machine. There literally was a sign that wrote “Lena Luthor’s, Do Not Use” at the top of the machine. Didn’t that person notice it? Wait, was it too small? Maybe she should get it replaced.

But it wasn’t small and anyone could see it. Laughing bitterly, she thinks to herself that this must be another man’s doing. One who is rude and disrespectful towards all women. She could just use another washer, truth be told, but she was done being patient with people who did not seem to have some common sense and were always looking for trouble.

Slamming her purse on the bench she is currently sitting, she stops the washer.

“If you want to be a disrespectful asshole, I can be an even worse one” she murmurs to herself.

She gathered all the stranger’s clothes and dumped them on the floor. She instantly felt bad but, oh well, too late now, what’s done is done. She loaded her own clothes in and started the machine.

The small screen read one hour before it finished, which gave her a little time to go and find a good book in the library. After that, she would definitely return. She has to see that idiot’s face when he realizes what’s been done.

Meanwhile, Kara was getting something to eat. Everything was finally organized. Her clothes were being washed and would be finished in a little while, she was now buying food to eat and she still had time for a good bath and a movie when she goes home. Alex would be proud.

She went for potstickers of course and almost swallowed them whole without chewing them first. It was just so satisfying to be able and treat yourself after a hard day. Her night was a hundred percent better that her day. After relaxing with the help of three more potsticker orders, she decided to leave the restaurant, leaving a small tip for the waiter she had become great friends with.

Scratching her skin in thought, she chose donuts for desert. Then, she would go straight to the laundry place because she must have taken a bit more time than she initially intended.

She ended up getting ice-cream too. Three scoops.

But no one could prepare her for what she saw upon entering. She almost dropped her food.

Her poor clothes laid down and wet in the middle of the floor. The washer she had put her clothes in was working but apparently somebody else’s clothes were inside. It didn’t take her long to realize what had happened.

How could people be so cruel? She works so hard to keep everyone safe and they treat her like this. They don’t know she’s Supergirl so it doesn’t really count but still. Has she done so little to show everyone that you should treat others with respect, even if you don’t know them? And besides, it’s not like it has a name written on it or something, this is a public place! Anyone can use whichever they want! (Unless it is already working, obviously!)

At that moment, her eyes begin to water. Her vanilla ice-cream, long forgotten starts to melt and droplets fall onto the floor making it dirty.

This was when Lena returned from the bookstore. Kara of course heard her and turned around and almost forgot about all her problems, including wet and still dirty clothes.

Wow. This was all Kara could think. This woman is gorgeous; long, dark brown hair, almost black, neated in a very elegant bun revealing her sharp jawline, her eyes were piercing green. They reminded her of kryptonite. She was wearing a blue, long-sleeved blouse that showed off her cleavage just the right amount and a pencil skirt that hugged her in all the right places, revealing her curvy figure. She was absolutely breathtaking. (Although something was terribly wrong with her choice of footwear).

The woman looked oddly familiar, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Was she a model?

On the other hand, the sight of this, very attractive might she add, woman broke Lena’s heart. So it wasn’t some arrogant man. This woman seems small and sweet and kind-hearted and judging by the tears in her eyes and the two very full bags of donuts she is carrying along with some ice-cream which is slowly melting in her hand, she never meant any harm.

Lena almost started crying with her.

Her blonde hair fell down her shoulders in soft curls that made her want to run her hand through it, just to see if it was as soft as it looked like. She could tell her eyes were blue even behind the pair of glasses and were a bit glassy from the tears. They matched the pale blue sweater she wore, which was tacked in a pair of pants. She was adorable.

Yes, Lena was now officially the worst citizen in this planet. In the entire universe.

Kara is still standing there, ice-cream melting in her hand, staring at the woman.

“Umm… hello” the woman says, giving an end to the awkward silence.

“Hi…” Kara replies. “Are you the one who got my clothes out of the washer?” she asks suddenly a bit angry.

“W-what? No, I don’t… Okay, yes I am.” Lena replies. Her first instinct was to dodge the question but really, it was no use. They were the only people in the room.

“Why would you do that?” Kara asks, sniffing her nose. Her night was going so well up until this point.

“Well why would you use my washing machine when you could have easily used another one?” the other woman says while raising her voice a little.

“Your washing machine?” Kara asks with a scoff “Your washing machine? Does it have your name written on it? Have you bought-”

“Actually yes, it does have my name, right on top of it.” Lena interrupts “I also own this place” she adds powerfully, looking at the other woman straight in the eye. (She really does have pretty eyes).

Kara whips her head at the machine’s direction and sees a (rather huge) sign that reads “Lena Luthor’s, Do Not Use”. Crap. This is Lena Luthor. The Lena Luthor? That’s why she looked so familiar! So, the washer was hers and she was right after all… Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she turned around to face the woman once again.

“Well, I’m sorry I used it I honestly didn’t see the sign, but this doesn’t justify why you went and threw all my clothes on the floor.” Kara says, a little steadier and more confident this time.

Now it’s Lena’s turn to be taken aback. Of all the things she expected, this wasn’t one of them. The blonde didn’t even seem fazed by her last name. She expected an outburst of hate, worst case scenario she could have gotten stoned by the donuts she was caring.

“I waited for you but you were taking too long so this seemed like the most logical thing to do.” Lena says emotionless.

“And what was the least logical thing? Just use another darn washer?” the blonde emphasizes taking a few steps towards Lena while also making some motions with her arms.

Lena cringed a bit as drops of now fully melted ice-cream landed all over the floor and one on her shoe too, forming a perfect white circle on her black sneakers. She took a few steps back, mainly to prevent more ice-cream from showering her.

Wait, who uses the word darn nowadays?

“Look who’s talking! You are supposed to be here when the machine is working, but instead you got up and left! And I was kind enough to wait for you too, but as I said, you took too long.”

Now Lena is angry. Who does she think this woman is? Just because she’s-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the washer when all of a sudden, it started making some weird noises. Few seconds later, water came out from under it (along with some smoke from the top of it), making the floor all wet.

“Oh my God now you broke it too!” Lena shouts frustrated with how her night is going.

“I broke it? If I remember correctly it is you who started it the last time before it broke!” Kara shouts equally as loud as Lena.

Lena chooses not to reply. Partly because she is too irritated to function and partly because the woman is right, she couldn’t have broken it. Now she just stares blankly at the washing machine trying to figure out what’s wrong with it.

“A tube must be leaking somewhere inside it” Lena diagnoses.

“What?”

“I said a tube must be leaking somewhere inside this thing.” she repeats.

Deciding that she will have to wear the same clothes tomorrow, she gets up and takes her phone, ready to take over the situation and solve this problem.

At the same time, Kara looks at the mess she’s made with her ice-cream. She could clean it… or she could also just leave it as it is. No, that wouldn’t be nice… Rejecting her last thought, she digs into her purse and finds some baby wipes. She briefly hears the woman speak on the phone with a plumper about the leak. Well, she did say she’s the boss, she’d better act like it. But Alex didn’t mention that Lena Luthor was the owner. Maybe she didn’t know it.

As she was about to get on her knees, the other woman speaks up.

“What are you doing?”

“Um… Trying to clean up?” she says, stating the obvious.

“You don’t have to. I’ll have someone take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” she blinks. “It wouldn’t take more than five minutes” she tries to argue.

“Yes, you don’t have to.”

“Okay…”

Putting the baby wipes back in her purse (after cleaning her hands), she picks her clothes off the floor and puts them in another washing machine. She can feel the woman’s eyes on her the whole time. What’s her problem now? Can’t she do laundry like a regular person?

“What?” she asks flatly.

The woman, Lena, laughs a little without answering. Ignoring her, she makes sure everything is good to go and presses the start button. Then, she collapses on one of the benches, sighing deeply.

Lena silently observes the blonde from her spot. She’s really pretty and she seems masculine. She slaps herself internally.

“No, bad Lena” she mumbles. Oh great, now she’s talking to herself and as if she were a dog. She’s going insane. What’s next? Following Lex’s paths and losing all of her hair? She shivered at the thought.

She copies the other woman and starts unloading her clothes off the now broken washing machine and puts them in the one next to it. The whole time she does this, she’s thinking of how badly she behaved. She’s the boss, she should be good with her clients! They’re giving their money to her!

And more specifically, this woman who is sitting right there (and is probably watching me this whole time oh God oh God please don’t embarrass yourself), who was kind enough and didn’t leave after the freaking boss dumped her clothes on the floor, who was considerate enough and offered to clean up her ice-cream that she herself ruined.

She has to do something. She is Lena Luthor, CEO of L-Corp, a multi-billion company. She is a genius and more importantly, she is a good person. And she is going to prove it right now.

“I’m sorry”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” she states again more loudly and clearly. Seeing she has all the woman’s attention, she continues “I apologize for my previous actions, it wasn’t fair of me to do what I did. It was unacceptable, especially when such behavior is initiated from a person of authority. I let personal reasons cloud my judgement and I guarantee you that it shall not be repeated. I offer you one year of free subscription as a way of saying sorry ” she finishes her little speech with a small, true smile, one not a lot of people have the privilege to witness.

Kara just sits there and blinks. Okay, she did not expect that. That woman seemed so full of herself.

“Umm… wow… Th-thank you for.. for your words. I should apologize too. I should have been more observant. My sister always tells me to be a bit more… put together and I had a really, really bad day today so your words right now mean the world to me, you have no idea, but I couldn’t possibly accept your offer. It’s simply too much. I’m about to get my own washer actually sometime during next week. I just came her today because it… also broke, somehow, I’ll get out of your hair soon, I promise and I am rumbling again I am so sorry.”

Great, she managed to embarrass herself to Lena Luthor. Why couldn’t she just be like her alter-ego once in her life? Wait, was that a giggle she heard? At least she made her laugh. That’s something.

“Well, I’m a bit saddened by the fact that I will not be seeing you around for long.” She did not mean to flirt, why did she flirt? This isn’t going the way she planned it in her head.

“Haha, I’m not sure I’ll be any good news for the place. It’s only my first time here and there’s already a broken washer and the floor is sticky and full of my ice-cream so…”

Lena laughed at her response but decided to put an end to their conversation. Had the conditions been different, she would attempt some small talk, but she was too exhausted and tired to do anything but sit and stare at the wall.

At the other end of the room, Kara is sat at a bench and her donuts are all she can think about. They must be at the perfect temperature right now. She can smell them from inside the bags and they make her mouth water. However, it would be rude not to offer Lena one.

“Hey Lena, um… you do eat donuts right?” she asks gesturing at the bag she’s holding.

“Well, I am human.” Lena replies smiling from her seat.

Kara, like the gentlewoman she is, gets up and offers her the bag so she can choose.

“These are simple, just some sugar on top of them, these are so good, they have marshmallows on top as you can see and chocolate on the inside, but these, oh these are my favorite, the ultimate best. I’m telling you, you haven’t put anything better in your mouth” she explains to Lena. Realizing what she just said, she starts blushing. Oh Rao.

“Hmmm… I think I’ll try… this one. This seems good.” Lena says while examining it in her hand.

“Ah, good choice! I promise you, you will not be let down.” Kara states grinning.

“Thank you…”

“Oh, right, my name is Kara, God where are my manners.” Kara says in a rush while offering her hand to Lena.

But Lena’s hands are both dirty with chocolate so she ends up shaking her elbow instead.

So now they wait for the washers to finish while sitting next to each other. Kara offers Lena another donut but Lena kindly declines, so she ends up eating everything else on her own.

It’s late and both women can’t wait to go home. Kara doesn’t have time for the movie she wanted to watch and Lena is too tired to answer emails instead of going straight to bed. It’s already eleven at night and the city has quieted down. Less cars honking, less motorbikes revving to disturb Kara’s sensitive ears and Lena’s headache.

Kara wishes she could speak to Lena a bit more. She seems like a very interesting woman. She is a Luthor so that means that whatever she’s doing is immediately written in magazines. It’s easy to follow her scientific progress and with some more digging, she’s sure she can find some other facts about the woman sitting next to her.

But she doesn’t want to stalk her, it doesn’t feel right.

This woman deserves more. She is not sure if she is able to give it to her. After all, a Super and a Luthor? But she is willing to try. She can tell the woman is tired by her body language and her heartbeat and she has a sudden urge to make her pain go away, even if it’s just a little.

They have much in common actually. Both carry the weight of the world on their shoulders- Kara with being Supergirl and Lena with her technology that saves thousands of lives. Both betrayed by family, Lena left with a broken name, Kara with a broken planet and both with broken hearts. Both were adopted, despite the fact that clearly Kara had more luck than Lena in this part. The list can go on.

They didn’t start off very well, truth be told, but the start of a journey doesn’t determine its end. And Kara has hope.

But what was she supposed to say? Hi, it looks like you could use a friend and I’m available? That’s rude. She doesn’t even know if the other woman wants to be friends with her. Maybe she could ask what happened to her shoes. Surely, she couldn’t have worn sneakers with this outfit. But what if she did? Lena could get offended if she asked something like this.

Kara opted for silence. It was the safest.

Soon enough, the washers dinged signalizing that they are finished. The women stand up half-heartedly and go get their clothes. In a little while, they will be on her own again.

Ten minutes later, they exit together the (now a bit ruined) shop and Lena turns to Kara.

“So… again, I’m sorry for what I did. Please, do consider my offer of one-year free subscription, it is the least I can do. And thank you for the donut; you were right it was delicious.” Lena states with a tired smile.

“Apology accepted, we were both at fault back there. And I’m sorry too. Um… I will consider your offer although I suppose I won’t need it cause I’m buying a new washer. And you’re welcome. For the donut.” Kara ends grinning.

“Are you on foot?” Lena asks tilting her head a bit.

“Oh no I flew to work today… on-on a bus. Yeah on a bus. Aha. Yup. Definitely. Why?”

“My driver is about to come pick me up and I was wondering if you want me to drop you off somewhere since it’s gotten quiet late.” Lena says while switching her weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh no I wouldn’t want to get you out of your way. I’ll be fine honestly, it’s not the first time. My sister, Alex, she works for the FBI and she has taught me a trick or two so I’ll be absolutely fine, I promise haha, no biggie… and I’m also a good runner I’m sure I can escape any situation and I will uhh… I’ll just stop talking right now…” Kara shut her mouth embarrassed of her word vomit once again. She planned on flying home tonight because firstly, she doesn’t have a car and secondly, even if she did, she flew to work in the morning too.

“I don’t want anything bad happen to you. You may be able to protect yourself from a human mugger but what if an alien decides to show up? It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

“Right… because aliens are dangerous and could… seriously injure me... because I’m a human and I most certainly not indestructible.” Kara tries hard not to cringe at this conversation right now. She can hear Alex laughing in the distance somewhere in the DEO.

“Of course not, unless you’re Supergirl,” Lena stares for a moment “but even if you were I would still offer you a ride. I imagine flying must be tiring”

“Haha,” Kara fakes a laugh (horribly too) “I wouldn’t know since I’m not her.” She hasn’t hoped for call from Alex so badly before.

Thankfully, a nice black car with tinted windows pulls up in front of them interrupting their conversation and Kara has to stop her jaw from crashing onto the floor. She’s not a big fan of cars but man is she shocked. Of course Lena Luthor would drive something like this. Why is she even surprised?

“The offer still stands” Lena now fully turns to her.

“Which one?” Kara jokes.

“Both” Lena replies elegantly. How can she be so graceful all the time?

“Well since you asked so nicely I will not decline being taken home” Kara beams.

“Excellent” the other woman smiles back, her eyes wrinkling a bit.

Lena moves forward and opens the door for Kara. Mumbling a shy ‘thank you’, Kara gets in and tries not to gasp. The car is very clean and tidy, too clean and tidy. She almost asks if she’s allowed to sit or if they want her to float instead so that she doesn’t dirty the seats (don’t worry, she stops herself just on time).

The car ride was silent and lasted only fifteen minutes before the driver pulled up in front of Kara’s building.

“Thank you for the ride and for the- for everything actually. Thank you” Kara smiles, expressing her gratitude. She swallows her disappointment and grits her teeth. Why is she such a coward? She’s fought the deadliest of aliens, yet she’s afraid to... do something, anything regarding the green-eyed woman. Just say that she’d like to see her again. Anything! “Goodnight Lena.”

As she is about to get out of the car, Lena speaks up.

“Wait, Kara!” Oh Rao, did I forget something? My purse, my phone, does my cape show?

“Yes?” Kara replies a bit too eagerly.

“I was wondering if maybe… you know… if I could have your number? I really liked the donut you gave me and I would like to buy one myself. I could give you a call and you could tell me where I could find the shop? We can visit it together too if you want? I could also buy you some ice-cream since I pretty much ruined it.” Lena suggests, betrayed by her trembling voice.

“YES! I mean yes, yeah, why not. Sure, we can arrange that.” Kara almost shouts.

“Good.”

“Good!” Kara’s face is about to tear in half because of how hard she is smiling. “Okay goodnight!”

“Wait Kara, you never gave me your number!” Lena says in a rush.

“Oh right, sorry!” Getting inside the car once again, Lena handed her her phone and Kara, careful not to break the screen from her nerves, typed in her number.

“There you go! I saved myself as ‘Kara the donut girl’ in case you forget who Kara is” she says, handing the phone back to Lena.

“That would be impossible; you’re a hard one to forget. In a good way.” Lena adds hurriedly.

“Well, for the hundredth time in a span of half an hour, goodnight” laughing, she slowly backed away from the car and to her front door.

“Goodnight Kara” Lena smiles for one last time before she shuts the door and the car starts moving.

Kara sighs happily and turns so she can enter her building. That night, she slept better than any other night since she can remember. The next morning, she woke up in time and even smiled at Snapper. Needless to say, she had donuts for lunch.

#supercorp #katie mcgrath #melissa benoist #humour #happy ending #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #supercorp endgame #fanfic #fluff

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dobrikburrito · 5 years

Text

dirty secrets pt. II, d.d.

words: 2.9k

requested by anonymous

have you considered doing a part 2 to dirty secrets? like ending with them getting nearly caught, I want more lol & continuation of dirty secrets where the squad finds out david and reader just fucked?

disclaimer: it is late but it is here. there’s fluff, there’s smut, there’s a little bit of angst. it’s fun for everyone. am I cooking pt. III bc this was too long? maybe.

⠀

“Okay, let’s do this.” Jack said, positioning himself a few feet from the pool. “Just do that again, come out of the water and then up the pool.”

I closed my eyes and held my breath, diving in the water from the pool of our Coachella house. My hair was completely wet… as was the crop hoodies and desert shorts from the new fanjoy collab Vlog Squad merch. Once I rise, the water drips from my hole body, as I hold myself onto the side of the pool to sit by the edge, looking straight at the camera.

“That was… perfect.” Jack said. “It looked amazing (Y/N).”

“That will look amazing on the montage.” Zane commented, loving the scene.

“Thank God we have Jeff and (Y/N) to sell the merch. Can you imagine if it were just me? We’d be doomed.” Jason joked and everybody laughed.

“Oh yeah, because this isn’t awkward for me at all.” I laughed, clearing my eyes from the water.

“What do you mean just Jeff and (Y/N)?” Todd asked, hands on waist, outraged. Jason shrugged.

I was laughing at their interaction, when I felt my skin burning. I looked around only to see David staring back at me, smiling and biting his lips. I looked away and smiled, trying my best to keep our little act together.

Since the party, we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. There wasn’t a day where we didn’t secretly met and fucked. We decided to keep it a secret from all of our friends, which required some skills to achieve. After barely making out unnoticed from the party, with some lame-ass excuse that only worked because everybody was hammered, we were smarter and strategic about our sneaking around. We developed signals and little hints. Making sure our dirty little secret was only ours to keep.

Natalie gave me a towel to dry off, since I was freezing a little. “I desperately need to change clothes.” I told Natalie and in that moment David smoothly entered the house, headed to the one room were Jack was storing boxes of the new merch.

“Yeah, there’s dry ones in the merch room, everybody got the ones we stored in the living room already.” Natalie suggested, mindlessly.

“Oh okay. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll be right back.” I told Natalie, smiling softly.

I walked calmly to the inside of the house, but as soon as I turned left to face the hallway, I ran for my life. Laughing as I found the right door, I opened it only to find David’s hand grabbing mine and pulling me inside, quickly closing the door behind me. Our bodies collapsed and his hands were on my face, pulling me to a kiss, where I couldn’t help but keep smiling.

“I’m literally making you all wet, baby.” I whispered to him, kissing him back.

“Oh no, that’s my job!” David laughed and I felt his tongue sliding into my mouth.

We found a wall free of boxes and packets, David masterly took off my hoodie and shorts in a split second. “You’re getting better at this, quicker.”

“I’m good with my hands,” He stated as he kissed my thighs from the knee up.

I nodded, “I’m one to tell.” I bit my lower lip, crossing my fingers in his brown messy hair.

We discussed previously that since literally all of our friends were in this house with us for the whole weekend, maybe we should keep apart and not call attention to ourselves. In the end, it was only three and a half days. We could do it, right?

Wrong.

We arrived four hours ago to the house. Posted some Instagram stories. Played some volleyball. Changed clothes to the new merch, filmed endless bits for David’s montage. Took pictures to advertise the merch later. All of the VS protocols, you might say. Needless to say, when I saw David wearing the desert shorts, I sneaked him into his room and got down on my knees.

We didn’t even last four hours. Three and a half days? Yeah, no.

“David, you need to stop looking at me that way. You know what it does to me.” I whispered and closed my eyes when he took off my panties and started licking me. “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself that way? Oh. OH.” He hit some right spots and I pressed my hands on his hair, harder.

“I can taste what my look does to you, actually.” He teased. “It’s really good.”

“Son of a… Oh.” He resumed his business, knowing exactly how to make me tic.

David positioned one of my legs over his shoulder, giving him more liberty to, well, basically destroy any sanity I had left. The wet and warmth of his tongue hitting just the right places in my clit was giving me a quick build up, which raised even more when I felt his long fingers inside of me. My hand went straight to my mouth, biting the back of my index finger to keep myself from moaning. I circled my hips on his face and he hummed, always loving when I did that, specially when I sat on his face.

Took me a second to reach my orgasm and any strength I had left in my legs were quickly gone. Luckily, David was clever enough to hold me tight by the waist, leading me down to the ground, on top of him. I fell by his side, smiling happily, giggling when he made his way on top of me, kissing my face, lips and neck.

“You look amazing when I make you cum, did you know that?” David whispered to my ear, biting my neck softly. “Even more amazing than when you looked all wet with my merch.”

“You did like that, didn’t you?” I laughed to myself. David nodded, now kissing the valley of my boobs.

“I might not even put on the montage, because I’m jealous of it.” David smiled, knowing exactly how my reaction was gonna be.

“You wouldn’t dare! You know how hard it is to do that and not look like a gumball?” I looked at him, caressing his face.

“You’d never look like a gumball.” David chuckled, giving me a quick peck.

“Wait until the third day of Coachella, you might change your mind.” I joked back.

David changed his shirt to a dry one and left the room swiftly, firstly hearing if anyone was outside and then making a run for his room. I took my time to dry my hair and put on another pair of shorts and some t-shirt. When I made my way out to find everybody, they were still out playing and eating some food that Jason was preparing.

Then Coachella happened, all of us got drunk, danced, walked around from stage to stage, took a bunch of pictures together and had the time of our lives. For the whole first day, David and I spent mostly apart, which was a fun change of pace, because by night, even if we were exhausted from the festival, we’d be texting each other and sneaking out at 4 am to be together somewhere where no one would see us.

Honestly, a part of us were loving being together but the adrenaline of sneaking around and maybe getting caught was giving it an extra thrill. We didn’t want our friends lurking around and asking us a million questions about relationships since we didn’t wanna label anything or ruin this amazing thing we have.

On the second day, though, the girls and I spent the morning getting ready together, helping each other look our best. Not to suck my own dick, but I looked gorgeous, as well as my girls Nat, Cass and Kristen. Needless to say, it annoyed the hell out of me when despite our mutual arrangement of keeping a distance, David spent his day with Madison Beer, Kelsey and Stass.

And I couldn’t even bitch about it to my best friends.

“Oh, you’re in a mood. What’s up with you, girl?” Kristen noticed my grump.

“Nothing,” I said, like a spoiled child.

“Are you 5 years old?” Kristen laughed at me.

“Yes,” I frowned, then laughed with her. “I’m tired, my feet hurts, that’s all. I really want an iced coffee, but I’m trying to manifest it coming to me instead of me walking all the way over there.”

I was great at excuses with most people. Not David, though. He always read right through me. That happened when the little time we spent together inside the group bus after the festival, he asked me something and I barely answered.

I met him outside the house at 3:45 am. I lied down on the grass, looking up to the sky and seeing the stars, something that was hard to see in Los Angeles. David made his way to me and lied by my side, but instead of looking at the stars as I did, he kept looking at me.

I didn’t really say anything about his arrival, “Are you gonna tell me what’s been bothering you?” His fingertips ran through my arms, giving me chills. It’s hard being mad when my body doesn't even follow.

“I can’t.” I told him.

“Why not?” He kissed my shoulder.

“Because if I do, I’m just gonna look like I need to be put into an insane asylum.” I stated. David laughed at me, even though he seemed unsure if he could without making me more upset.

“If it makes you feel any better, I already think you need to be put into an insane asylum, so anything you say or do won’t change anything.” He told me, affective and cute.

I tried really hard not to smile. “I’m going to scare you away.”

“Are you a serial killer?” David asked me, pretending to be serious and furrowing his brows.

“No.” I raised one brow at him, confused at his question.

“Then you’re not scaring me away,” David was destroying any angry bone in my body. I was now back to being my normal pudding self.

“God dammit, you make it really hard to be angry.” I hid my face in my hands.

“Just tell me, please?” His hands caught mine and caressed it. I sighed and nodded.

“Maybe I’m a little bothered by the fact that your day was filled with Instagram Models and Pop singers.” I shrugged, rolling my eyes to myself.

David chuckled. “I was just staying away as we agreed.”

“Yeah, but… I thought that would be around Jason or Dom.” I whined and David laughed louder.

“So, the girls are the problem.” David nodded and messed his own hair. “Okay, I get it. If it were the other way around I’d be bothered too. But honestly, I was just trying to get some content for the montage. I’d rather just have been with you.”

“Did you get any good shots at least?” I touched his face and caressed his skin.

“Not sure, maybe one or two. I’ll probably just walk around with Jeff tomorrow and make him be dreamy and stupid and that will be the montage.” David chuckled, leaning his face on my hand.

I laughed. “Honestly, if you put Jeff doing the most random shit in the world, the viewers will still absolutely go nuts.”

“That’s true.” He smiled at me. “Are we okay? Do I get to kiss you now?”

“I was hoping you’d do worst things to me than that Dobrik,” I bit my lip and pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt.

It was all dark outside, everybody was sleeping. Having him all to myself was enough to get me wet. I was wearing just an oversized merch shirt and panties, which earned me an approval growl when David slid his hand under it to find my boobs. Pulling the shirt up, he put his mouth on one of them, sucking and biting and licking. His left hand spending some time on my other boob, but then sliding down, feeling my body, taking my ass in his hand and groping, pulling me closer.

I loved how at this moment, there was no rush. There was desire and fire, but we could take our time and feel everything. The chilly night weather and the fact that someone could walk in on us was a trigger, but at this point we didn’t really care. David’s mouth found my neck and then my lips, which he continued to kiss intensely, making me breathless of how much feeling was there in his lips and tongue. His hand found my panties, which he slid into and started rubbing my clit, teasing me. His hair was soft on my hand, but I wanted to tease him too, so I found his already hard dick pulsating inside his pants. I took his whole length in my hand and slowly stroke him, competing on who could be the bigger tease.

David one-upped me, thrusting into me with three fingers, which made me moan in the middle of our kiss and made him smirk. Bastard. I bit my lips, pulling him back to the kiss, wanting him more. His curled up fingers inside of me knew how to read the one spot that would corrupt me. As payback, I jacked him off faster, but he was winning by a mile. I bit his lower lip and he moaned, softly, he liked a little bit of pain.

My pleasure was rising fast and he knew, he could feel it in his fingers. “You’re so fucking hot and you’re all mine. Every piece of you is mine to do whatever I want with you and to make you cum as many times as I want.” His whispers in my ear were filled with breathless sighs and growls.

As I was about to reach, he stopped and as a reflex my hand held his arm and my nails carved into his skin. “David…” It was a warning and a beg.

“Shhh… Be a good girl (Y/N).” He bit my collar bone.

In a swift movement, he took me by the waist and pulled me on top of him. Arranging everything, he moved my panties to the side and let his cock out of his pants, positioning himself on my entrance. “I want you to ride me, (Y/N).”

I barely could say anything, as my body easily slid down on his cock and I felt him filling me whole. “Fuck.” I whined in pleasure.

David sat down on the grass to help me ride him, both of his hands on the back of my thighs to give me the support I needed to come up and down on him. First slowly, then gradually getting faster and faster, the positioning allowing him to reach even further inside me. I managed to pull him back to kiss me again, but that lasted a couple of seconds since my moans were taking the wheel here. His kisses went to my neck, sucking it, my head fell back, giving him room.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so good to me. No one rides me like you do,” He praised me and that just made me even hornier. He kept motivating me to go harder and faster, kissing every bit of skin he could. “Yeah, just like that, feel me all inside you.”

His praises were rusky in his deep tone, faded with deep sighs. He slapped my ass, which earned him a louder moan. He loved how responsive I was to everything he did and how, just like him, I loved a little pain.

I kissed him again, harder and more desperate, as I was reaching my climax, that way helping him come undone as well. I rode him faster and faster and then slower and slower. Finding my own rhythm back down from that high. Once we were done, both breathless and sweating, I kissed him softly and fell beside him on the grass, chuckling.

Todd had the worst headache, which woke him up after a couple of hours of deadbeat sleep. He found some Advil in his bag, but his water bottle was empty, which made him whine and get up, sleepily walking towards the kitchen. He tried to fix his hair, which was all over the place, without much success, and his eyes were barely able to fully open.

He found the kitchen, opened the fridge and got himself a cold bottle of water, then after a few sips he swallowed the pill. Walking outside of the kitchen, he faced the yard glass door. Everything was dark, but far on the grass bit of the yard there was something moving, something he couldn’t exactly tell what.

“Is that a coyote?” Todd asked himself, frowning.

Quietly, he opened the door and lurked in the shadows, trying to figure out what the hell was happening there. He took a couple more sips of water, until his eyes were used to the darkness and started to give form to whatever that was.

The movements were steady and repeating. Then it hit him. Someone was literally fucking in the house yard in the middle of the night. “Holy fucking shit.” Todd whispered.

“Is that...?” He squinted to try and find out who that was. The girl was on top, clearly, and then she fell onto the grass and Todd saw the guy fixing his messy hair. “David?” His eyes went wide. “Holy shit, but wait… Who the fuck is that?”

Then he put two and two together, realizing that there was only one single girl at the house with that length of hair. “Oh my fucking God.”

He couldn't wait to tell Jeff.

#david dobrik #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik fluff #david dobrik ff #david dobrik smut #david dobrik angst #david dobrik fanfic #one shot #smut #angst #david dobrik request #requests #vlog squad #vlogsquad #todd smith #toddy smith

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sirene312 · 4 years

Text

oh GOD guys…. You have no idea the crusade i had to went through just to be sitting here, with my dear computer working again, and enjoying the joy of 1.9 Mbps internet connection speed. First thing on the front page of my dash was three shitposts on a row, new niche memes, and good ‘ol fandom drama. god how I missed this hell site.

In case anyone wants to know what happened, I will put behind a ‘read more’ the story of a missing computer part that quickly become a detective mission, that dragged me unwillingly into the wild ride I didn’t signed for when pressing ‘buy’ on an online store.

TL;DR at the end bc this is very long. English is not my first language so please bear with me!

Okay, some of you may know a bit about me since apparently i don’t have a “dude shut up! Stop oversharing your woes!!!” button on me but hey here are some things to know about me in case you are curious: I live in Venezuela and not having internet is my personality trait, living in my country is very hard, hard like trying to play the Rainbow Road of Mario Kart but you have butter on your hands, your eyes are closed and you are running on the rain while there is a 8.0 earthquake happening. That hard. I work as a freelance graphic designer and make art commissions so me and my family can survive the economic crisis on my country, having internet and a working computer is a really big deal, like literally we eat thanks to it. Now you see how that would led me to spend a whole month chasing and stressing over a stupid part my computer needed.

Back in December, remember last season of “what’s troubling Sirene now?” where i spend almost a month without internet and then yay internet is back! for like two days? well, after Christmas there was a sudden power cut one night and i was on my computer working on a commission but since this is now a common occurrence i didn't think anything of it …until next day when i tried to switch my computer ON it didn't. I tried everything to revive it, grabbing anxiously my hair, walking on circles, and pressing continuously the power button, you know everything, but it was in vain. It’s dead, Jim. As you can imagine i had a breakdown when i realized i won’t be able to work anymore and needed to buy a new power supply since this one was toast…and was without internet friggin again. AGAIN. I survived till now using my crappy phone data but heavy apps hardly load, tumblr/ao3/twitter sometimes loaded if i refreshed them like a madman.

My computer is a tiny model and has a power supply that apparently is made by beavers in Narnia, because is so uncommon that the only stores that sell them are on my Capital city two states away from where i live. Knowing this, there is not other alternative for me but to use a online store and shipping the package here, in theory sounds simple right? a reminder that this is a third world country, where everything is falling apart and barely holding it together with chewing gum and prayers, what are the odds of something going wrong hmm….

Okay, this happened in the week after Christmas and before New Year's Eve, so of course all stores in my country decided to go on vacation and return on January. I impatiently waited for two online stores to be back on business that have the power supply i need, they were physical stores too so i thought i would be safe. i liked one more than the other and, as i told my friends, i felt like a telenovela protagonist that was on a love triangle with two galanes but the hotter one was in coma and the other just had 3 episodes in, meaning that the better rated store was still offline and the other was online but only had like 3 products sold …not very reassuring but i desperately needed to start working again so i went with that one. Big mistake.

Everything started on Tuesday, January 14.

Mercado Libre is a page where people sell things like Amazon, this is where the seller of the power supply was, after you click on buy, you can see the seller info and a chat to talk to them, i wrote but there was not immediate response so i called, i spoke to a woman and she told me to text her on WhatsApp, that should have been my first red flag, if the app had a perfect chat option there why text outside of it??

whatever, i went and text her, asked when would she send the package and she told me “tomorrow” the shipping company she was going to use is called “Zoom” (remember that name bc it will be mentioned a lot) when you send something they give the sender (the store) a tracking number the sender should give YOU in order for the shipping office (Zoom) in your city to give you the package. (this number is important)

this was my first time buying anything online so i didn’t know any of that just vaguely knew how it worked, so i asked her if she the next day would give me the tracking number or the shipping company would call me when my package was on the shipping center? and she told me “both, i will give you the number and they are going to call you” I said perfect, thank you very much and thought ‘hey that went well!’

Unknown to me, for the next 10 days i was going suffer a weird and painful skin reaction on both hands, and man…it was bad (tw graphic description of a skin condition ahead) the skin on the palm of my hands completely fell off, and it burned like i had scraped my hands on the sidewalk and someone was pouring lemon juice on them. Ouch. as you can imagine all my attention was on what was going on with my hands. I still don’t know what could have caused that severe reaction.

With difficulty texted the woman on Monday 20 i asked again for the tracking number but she said “i’m waiting for the bike delivery guy to give me the number but your package was sent” so she -the store seller- dont go personally to Zoom to send the packages and some else does, i tell the woman again to give me the number as soon as she has it, bc Zoom has an app you can check your package rute and status with that number, she said “okey amiga”.

That week, i could barely lift a fork i was suffering from whatever it was that happened to my hands until my mom found an Aloe Vera plant and i started to rub that gooey, viscose gel thingy on my hands and was slowly getting better, (seriously guys, Aloe Vera plants are a godsend keep one or 10 at home) by the time i suddenly remembered about the package it was Friday 24 the woman didn’t text me anything like she said would do and i didn’t receive any calls either all week, so friday i text her asking again for the tracking number and oh yes finally she has it! My happiness was short lived because……THE PACKAGE WAS RETURNED.

Something occurred and there was an error on the address or something (I triple checked all my personal info was in order before i gave it to her -thanks anxiety!- so i know it was not on me) i was so furious if only the woman had given me the friggin number sooner that week, i would have realized there was something wrong and would have gone to the Zoom on my city where the package was being held before it was returned to the capital. She told me she would send again my package that Friday BUT Zoom only works mon-fri not weekends. Now I need to wait till monday to receive my thing. great.

Monday 27 rolls in and that week i proceeded to text the woman EVERY SINGLE DAY asking if she had sent my package, i hated being a nuisance texting so much but it was necessary, money is getting short and we need food.

On Wed 29 I even texted her a desperate plea, i told her please i need my power supply to start working again! and you know how she responded? BY LEAVING ME ON SEEN. i called her until she answered and she told me “oh i sent it today” she assured me, in the most unsure voice she could muster, that she totally did it.

So I went the next day to the Zoom office and surprise! it was a lie, she didn’t send anything, nada! again asked her for the new track.num. and she told me “amiga the thing is that …the package has not arrived here. is still in your State.“ [*record scratch*] hmm whAT?

I immediately called Zoom and asked them to tell me where my package is? Where is it!?, it’s still in my city or in the Capital?? So they gave me a number for the returned package to check on the app and…said it arrived at the Capital Fri. 24. Not only that but it was marked as "given to the client” aka the sender.

Now I realize this woman has been lying to me. For a whole week. I text her screenshots of where the package was and she tells me that supposedly the package is not on Zoom there and insists it is here in my State. A friend knows someone that works on Zoom that checks their database and confirms that no, is not here anywhere and that definitely arrived in the Capital. even shows that a man named A. Rodriguez was the one that picked up the package. Who is this man?? what's going on?

here's a meme i sent my friends in the group chat while i was trying not to freak out about all this.

This has become a "she-said, he-said" situation because the woman keeps insisting Zoom is the one at fault about the whereabouts of my missing package but Zoom says Hold it! And slaps continuous evidence that shows the places where the package has been at all times.

Meanwhile I’m like “where the hell is my power supply??? All I want is to work. Why is this happening to me?” ;_;

So far what we know:

Package arrived in my city but was returned to the city of origin (the Capital) on Friday 24.

The following week the store seller lied to me and would everyday promise to send the package again to me. and never did.

On Thursday 30 the woman tells me that the package never arrived from my city and she’s waiting for it to “arrive” but the shipping office tells me the package was returned a week ago on Fri. 24 so it’s impossible that it has not arrived. not for nothing they are called ZOOM they deliver fast.

the app even says “given to the client”, and one thing I know for a fact, is that it is near impossible to pick up a package from there without the friggin tracking number, they won’t even give you info about it without it. so it’s very unlikely that a random person just walked away with it.

so we have two possibilities:

1. Someone from Zoom stole it. Ok, feasible. Corrupt people working on this kind of service in my country steal things of value all the time. still i doubt this was the case, the company seemed really concerned and would try their best to help me find my package giving me all the info i requested, even the name of the person who took it.

2. the store seller lied again and the man who took the package is the same bike delivery guy that transported it there in the first place. That's how they were able to take it from there so easily. She denied knowing anyone named A. Rodriguez but she has lied before so i don’t trust her word. To me, this is the more likely scenario for what happened to the package.

February comes and still I have no idea where is my package and the woman keeps making excuses as to why she “hasn’t found it” she again leaves me on seen after I asked for information, next day I called her non stop because now I’m pissed and i want answers, she finally text me that she will send another power supply since she “couldn’t find the first one” no further explanation whatsoever, and tells me will send it on Friday, but remember that Zoom don’t work on weekends so the new package will be staying on the Zoom office until Monday, my friend tells me that is not good what if the thief works there and steals it again? so I asked the woman to send it on Monday and she tells me that only Tuesdays they send all their stuff to be delivered….now she tells me the store have a specific delivery day? Now?

I’m not happy about waiting for more days but there is nothing i can do about it so February 11 is here and I send the woman a text telling her to take a photo of the receipt with the tracking number so the story of the first package won’t repeat, and guess what? The woman left me on seen!! you don’t know how that blue seen mark got me shook. that stressed me so bad that finally I had enough, my friends encouraged me to cancel the order and ask for a refund, I stopped texting her on WhatsApp and left a ultimatum on the Mercado Libre chat, that way I had proof on that page of the fraud this woman was pulling on me and could get her banned there. I should have done that before but the need to repair my computer blinded me and was what kept me trying so hard to get my power supply. Desperation can drive you to make foolish decisions.

After my ultimatum, the woman changed her tune and was very solicitous, and replied super fast, even said on the chat “let it be noted we are a serious company and always answered all your messages” yes, she said THAT, can you believe the audacity, the nerve? I immediately reply “since you didn’t answer any of my texts yesterday, can’t fault me for expressing here my concern about my purchase.” Then I said very politely but with finality that if she did not send me the photo of the receipt with the tracking number the next day I would not hesitate bitch to ask for a refund. And what do you know? Worked like a charm. The next day the first thing in the morning on my phone was a photo of the receipt.

SO yes this unnecessary long story has an anticlimactic but happy end after all! Next morning I happily went to the Zoom office and after a whole month of countless lies, unanswered texts, blood, sweat, and tears, I picked up mypower supply. Reunited at long last! This happened on February 14. Valentine’s Day. Love -and being persistent af- always wins!

TL;DR I bought online a new power supply, the seller tried to scam me or something bc lied about how my purchase was “lost” saying the shipping company was the culprit. Sending me on a wild goose chase trying to find my package. i had to threaten her with a refund to get her to send me finally my power supply.

#this is why i disappeared for a while #can't believe this drama lasted for a whole month #but im glad its finally over

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go-gently-please · 5 years

Text

cherry ~ vampire!au (part 2)

~ pairing: human!BTS x vampire!OC

~ genre: vampire!au, smut, angst, sprinkles of fluff

~ summary: you begin to adjust to life with your seven new human blood bags, pleasantly surprised at how smoothly the transition is going. But good things never last forever, and you discover that controlling yourself is not as easy as you thought.

~ warnings: profanity, blood

~ a/n: this is kind of a filler chapter, i’ll admit. i’m not happy with it, but i’ve rewritten it so many times that i think this is as good as it’s going to get

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (coming soon)

links in masterlist!

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this nervous, which was saying something considering the fact that you were immortal.

The boys were moving in today, and for the last few hours you’d been running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

Your apartment was cleaner than it’d been in years. Windows washed, floors shined, every surface wiped clean. Not a spec of dust had survived. Everything was immaculate.

You’d spent what felt like forever preparing all the guest rooms, scrutinizing even the smallest detail. You’d even stayed up all night researching human nutrition so you’d be prepared to properly take care of them.

It was then that you realized all you had in your kitchen was coffee, alcohol, and an unnecessary amount of sweets. You’d immediately gone to the grocery store and bought enough food to feed an army, making sure the fridge was fully stocked with protein, juice, and fresh fruit.

It’d been a few days since you’d met with them at the cafe, and in the meantime you’d been trying to get to know them better.

Most of them were starving artists. That’s how they all knew each other: through art school.

Jimin and Hoseok were dancers, with Jimin studying ballet and contemporary and Hoseok working as a hip hop teacher. You should’ve guessed, they both had the body for it.

Namjoon was a freelance writer, and he made most of his money selling poems and short stories. You could already tell that he was the most intelligent and well-read out of all of them.

Taehyung was a painter. His style immediately intrigued you, colorful and youthful like his personality. You’d already bought three of his paintings. One was hanging in your living room.

Yoongi and Jungkook, the quietest of the group, were trying to make a name for themselves in the music business, Yoongi as a producer and Jungkook as a singer.

Jin was an aspiring model, working gigs here and there. His family had money, but was very conservative, and they’d cast him out after finding out that he was bisexual.

It couldn’t have been easy for them, struggling to pay the bills and stay in their one tiny apartment. Financial instability was often an unfortunate circumstance of pursuing one’s artistic passions.

But none of that mattered anymore. Now that they were under your care, you planned on spoiling them to no end. You couldn’t help but think about how good Jimin and Yoongi would look in some Chanel, and you couldn’t wait to dress Taehyung up in Gucci.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when the doorbell rang.

You hopped up from your spot on the couch, sending your cat flying, and hurried over to the mirror hanging by the door. Fixing your hair, your eyes ran over your reflection. You were dressed more casually today, wearing a cream-colored sweater and jeans.

Staring back at you in the mirror was a mask of exhaustion. Bloodshot eyes, under eye bags, skin drained of color.

You really needed to feed. Your body was starting to deteriorate from the lack of nutrients.

You desperately hoped that your problem would be solved soon; you could practically taste their blood on your tongue, sweet and smooth like a fine wine.

After determining that your appearance was as good as it was going to get, you opened the door.

“Hello!” You were barely able to control your excitement. “Please, come in.”

They all crowded into the room, and what they saw made their jaws drop.

The space was wide and welcoming, definitely bigger than what they’d expected. Everything was sleek and white and expensive-looking.

Directly opposite them was a wall made up of entirely windows. The busy cityscape extended out before them like an ocean. They imagined how beautiful the sunrise would be through a wall of all glass.

The open floor plan allowed them to see the sitting area, kitchen, and office space all at once. The living room area was occupied by a semi-circle of couches gathered around the TV, which was three times the size of the one they used to have.

There was a large table near the glass wall that was covered in scattered papers, stacks of books, dirty coffee mugs, luxury brand lookbooks and magazines.

“Woah.” Hoseok said in awe.

“What? What is it?” You frantically looked around the room, searching for even the tiniest flaw.

Did you forget something? Did you leave out a pair of dirty underwear? Did you leave your favorite vibrator lying around?

“It’s just…your place is so nice.” Taehyung said, looking around with wide eyes.

“Yeah, it looks more like a penthouse than an apartment.” Jin added.

You bent your head to hide a smile.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

They timidly stepped further into the room, their heads swinging back and forth as they looked around. Then, a noise broke the awkward silence.

Everyone whipped around to stare at the source of the sound. Your cat had it’s head poked out from behind the couch, trying to get a peek at the new visitors.

“Who’s this?” Jimin said like he was talking to a baby, squatting down to hold his hand out to the cat.

“Oh, that’s Yuki. She doesn’t really like people, so I wouldn't—”

The cat nuzzled her head into Jimin’s palm, eyes closed, the low rumble of her purring filling up the room.

You trailed off, shocked at her reaction. Yuki wasn’t a people person. Every time you had company over, she flinched away from their touch and hid in your bedroom.

You stared in absolute disbelief as she rolled over to expose her tummy. Jimin’s ringed fingers nearly disappeared in her thick fur.

“I’m guessing you like animals, then?” You asked, chuckling.

Jimin smiled down at the cat as he scratched under her chin.

“Eh, they’re alright.” He said sarcastically.

You suggested to go get the rest of their bags so you could help carry them up. They led you down the staircase to the lobby where a pile of luggage was waiting.

You approached the largest out of all of them, a big black suitcase, and moved to grab it.

Apparently, Yoongi had the same idea, because you both reached for the handle.

He’d gone straight for the suitcase once they’d gotten downstairs, and you wondered what was in it that was so important to him.

Your hands touched as you moved to take the bag, and Yoongi let out a soft gasp when your fingers brushed his, so quiet that you only heard it because of your attuned vampire senses.

His was so warm. You were suddenly aware of how his entire body was radiating heat, radiating his heavenly aroma. You wanted more than anything to drag your lips across his neck, trace the veins, and sink your teeth into his perfect pale skin.

Resurfacing from your daze, you focused back on his face. You realized that this was one of the first times he’d actually made eye contact with you. He was staring at you intensely, mouth slightly parted as his eyes seemed to pierce straight into the furthest, dustiest corners of your brain.

Oh no, you immediately thought. I freaked him out. He felt how cold I am. He’s probably disgusted. He’s probably horrified.

Yoongi seemed to snap out of it, breaking his gaze to look back at the suitcase.

“I’ll take this one, it’s really heavy.” He said.

You grabbed it before he could, picking it up like it weighed less than a pillow.

“I got it. You know, vampire super strength and all.” You said, picking up three more bags and carrying them with ease. You felt him staring as you walked up the stairs.

“So, there’s only five bedrooms, some of you will have to share.” You said shyly, hoping to God that they would be okay with it.

“Five?” Jin blurted out. You fiddled with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Is that going to be too much of a problem?”

“Problem?! That’s more rooms then we had in our whole house!” Jin said.

“Yeah, at our old place we had to share two bedrooms, and we had bunk beds so we would take turns sleeping on the couch because of the odd number.” Hoseok said.

You let out a breath, relieved that they weren’t upset over it.

Honestly, you felt bad for them. From what they’d told you about their lives, they were barely getting by. Jimin was still a full-time student paying off loans. Jin, Yoongi, and Jungkook found work wherever they could, and the only way Namjoon and Taehyung made money was if their work sold, which wasn’t always a guarantee.

You couldn’t help but feel like you were taking them under your wing, giving them a better life in a sense. Well, quite literally since they were about to be evicted and homeless.

“Should I give you the tour?” You asked when everything was loaded inside.

They all nodded, eager to look around the impressive space.

“So, downstairs is the living room, kitchen, music room, lounge, and first bathroom. Please make yourselves at home and do whatever you want with the TV. I have an X-box and PlayStation and you’re free to use those too.”

That made Jungkook’s head pop up, ears perked in interest.

They followed you as you ascended up the floating staircase.

“Upstairs has the five guest rooms, my study, two bathrooms (but one of them is connected to my room), and the spare room, but that door’s always locked.”

Before they could ask why, you stopped in front of a row of doors and showed them inside.

Each guest room was as beautiful as the rest of the house. Each contained two queen beds, clean sheets tucked in all neat and tidy, two walk-in closets, and all manners of shelving and cubbies to store their belongings. It was far nicer than their old bedrooms had been.

Jin and Namjoon were already picturing all their collectibles and figurines displayed on the shelves. Jungkook had already picked a designated spot to set up his gaming computer, and Yoongi was eager to lay out all his equipment.

You could tell they were excited, itching to discuss who would get each room, so you decided you would let them get settled.

“Are you guys hungry?” You asked. It was seven o’clock. Humans usually ate around this time, right?

They all nodded vigorously.

“Alright, why don’t you start unpacking while I make dinner.”

The second you were out of earshot, they burst into a fit of chatter.

“I’m rooming with Jungkook!”

“I get the biggest closet!”

“I want a room that doesn’t have to share!”

Of course, what would be considered out of earshot for a human doesn’t apply to vampires, so you heard the whole thing. You giggled at their antics as you walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

As you put the pasta on the stove to boil, your mind started to wander.

You sincerely hoped they would enjoy it here. You wanted to make your home as welcoming as possible, you wanted them to feel comfortable.

The incessant growling of your stomach interrupted your thoughts. You sighed, looking down at the your hands, the skin turning ashy in color as the veins bulged. It wouldn’t be long before your eyes started turning red. Your hair would streak gray and your lips would turn dry and cracked. You would slowly start to look more and more like a corpse until you fed.

It had to be soon. You didn’t want to scare them with your lifeless appearance.

But how were you supposed to ask? They were just starting to settle in, the atmosphere was still filled with tension. You didn’t want to make them feel pressured by asking so early, that might scare them away. No, you were going to have to wait for one of them to initiate it.

The smell of the pasta sauce simmering in the pan did nothing to curb your appetite. You could eat regular food, you could appreciate the taste, but it had no nutritional value, and it did nothing to satisfy your raging hunger, especially now.

You perked up when you heard movement in the hall. Footsteps started to patter down the staircase.

The boys all filed into the dinning area, their eyes landing on the table that was already loaded with food.

“Take a seat, boys. I’m almost finished.” You said as you drained the noodles. They all sat at the dinning room table, muttering to themselves about how quickly you had gotten everything together.

You set down the pot of steaming pasta, the scent wafting into their faces, next to the basket of rolls. They started to dig in, and you giggled at their shocked faces when you proceeded to open a wine bottle with your bare hands.

You sat there, practically chugging your wine as they ate, hoping that the alcohol would help to satiate you. How lucky they were that they could silence their hunger so easily.

“You really didn’t have to go through so much trouble for us.” Namjoon said as you topped off your first glass.

You smiled at him.

“It was my pleasure! I want to make sure you are as happy as possible here.”

Namjoon smiled back at you, and you almost melted when you saw his adorable dimples.

“Thank you. We are very grateful for your hospitality.” He said.

He was the leader figure of the group, you could tell. He always acted polite and respectful, and his intelligence seemed to ooze out of all of his mannerisms.

By the time they’d finished eating, you’d polished off two more glasses. You were getting more and more agitated. Just watching them made your stomach growl.

You could smell each of them distinctly.

Jin was mature and flavorful, complex but smooth. Yoongi was savory, musky. His blood would compliment anything. Hoseok was bold. His scent was almost overpowering. You could already tell he had the strongest taste out of them all. Namjoon was rich and alluring, he’d pair well with chocolate and fruit. Jimin was the sweet one, you were already craving him. Taehyung…oh, Taehyung. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. He was so decadent, he’d have no problem satisfying you. And last but not least, Jungkook. He was light and fresh, but definitely packed a punch, there was an undeniable tang in the scent his blood.

“Um, Charlie?”

You blinked, refocusing on the situation at hand. It was Jimin who had spoken.

“Yes?”

“Are you alright? You look a little…are you feeling okay?” He was studying the way you were licking your lips over and over again, how your eyes were clouding over.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little…hungry.” You said it before you could think about how they would react.

They all looked at each other.

Shit. I shouldn’t of said that.

“Uhh…I’m gonna get started on the dishes, excuse me.” You stammered out. The chair screeched as you jumped to you feet. You started to flee to the kitchen, but one of them stopped you.

“If you’re hungry, we can help you with that.” Yoongi said.

Your head snapped around to stare at him. Was that Yoongi who had spoken? Yoongi, the one who’s only looked me in the eye once this entire time? The one who’s probably scared shitless of me?

“You’d be willing to do that?” Your mouth was already watering.

Yoongi cracked a gentle smile, and oh my god you almost pounced on him.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He said.

Looking around, you could see that they were all staring.

You didn’t know, but they were all itching for an experience with you, for you to suck their blood and give them the high that Jimin had been talking about ever since you first drank from him.

You swallowed hard, trying to control yourself.

“Okay, just let me clear the table.”

With shaking hands, you loaded all the plates into the sink and worked to slow your breathing, which was rapid with excitement.

Finally, finally, you would be able to feed. This would be the first meal you had in days.

They were all waiting anxiously in the living room when you finished, fidgeting in their spots on the couch. You took the seat between Yoongi and Jin.

“So, who’s it gonna be?” You said, breaking the silence.

Without hesitation, Yoongi rolled up the sleeve of his white button-up and bared his wrist to you, looking right into your eyes as he did it.

Everyone, including you, was shocked at his boldness. Yoongi was quiet normally, and he’d been especially shy with you.

This showed just how eager he was.

Back when everyone was getting their bags, Yoongi had gone straight for his equipment. It was in a big black suitcase that was heavy enough to make him struggle every time he carried it.

When your hand had touched his, Yoongi remembered feeling electricity shoot through him. Your skin had been cool and incredibly smooth, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and interlace your fingers with his.

It must’ve had something to do with the natural allure that all vampires had, all those pheromones and chemicals they released that were designed to attract humans, but it was safe to say that he was successfully ensnared.

You took hold of his arm as you drew him closer.

“If you want me to stop, just say “cherry.” Okay?” You asked.

Yoongi nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

Light as a feather, your lips grazed along the inside of his wrist. You could feel his pulse pounding through his skin.

“I still need your permission, love.” You said quietly.

Yoongi’s breath was shaky as he wet his lips to speak.

“Drink from me.”

He shivered when he felt you smile against him. And then you were drawing your lips back and sinking your teeth into his skin.

The first thing he did was wince. You reached down to give his knee a reassuring squeeze.

Then he sighed and sank back against the seat as the endorphins washed over him. Gripping him tighter, you started to draw the warm, fragrant liquid from his veins.

He was even more delicious than you had anticipated. His taste was sharp and pleasantly tart. You gripped his arm with both hands as your fangs pierced deeper.

Yoongi’s eyes were closed as his chest rapidly rose and fell. His mouth was slightly ajar as he drew in quick breaths.

You closed your eyes and moaned with your lips firmly attached to his skin. You couldn’t have asked for a better meal.

“Harder.” Yoongi muttered, eyes still squeezed shut.

You were happy to oblige. Digging your nails into his arm, you willed your fangs to grow longer, sharper.

“Ahhh…” Yoongi groaned from deep in his throat. “Ahh fuuuck…”

That’s it, sweetheart, you thought. Give in to me.

Sweat started to bead on Yoongi’s forehead. His black hair stuck to the damp skin, hanging in front of his eyes, which were still tightly closed. His unoccupied hand gripped the edge of his seat.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth when you started to sweep your tongue over his skin.

Aww, look how sensitive he is. What a sweet little thing.

Even though your jaw was clamped around his wrist, you smiled.

Yoongi shivered, letting out a wobbly sigh.

Before you could take it too far, you ripped yourself away from him.

His eyes stayed closed for a few seconds, still in a daze, before he opened them and looked at you with wide kitten eyes. His chest was heaving like he had just finished running.

“You alright, darling?” You asked, sweeping the sweaty mess of hair from his eyes.

He just nodded wordlessly.

You smiled at him and took up his wrist again. Bringing it to your lips, you licked away any remaining droplets of blood and licked at the wound so there would be no bruising left behind. It’d be a shame to mark up such a beautiful set of hands.

For the first time in several minutes, you were aware of the other boys presence in the room. They were staring at the both of you with blown-out eyes, darkened with an emotion you couldn’t name.

Jin’s ears were bright red, as well as Jungkook’s cheeks and the entirety of Hoseok’s face.

Jimin had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His cute plump cheeks were tinted a pretty shade of pink.

Taehyung’s mouth was hanging slightly open in slack-jawed ‘o’ position, and Namjoon was sitting there like he’d just watched one of those sex-ed videos from middle school of a woman giving birth.

Hoseok was the first one to break the silence.

“I-Is…is that enough…for you?” He asked after clearing his throat.

You turned to look at them, eyes running over their anxious faces. They wanted to know if you wanted more.

“Taehyung.” You said.

He immediately looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

You gestured him over, and he quickly planted himself in the seat next to you.

To everyone’s surprise, you moved to straddle him. You yanked his shirt open to expose his gorgeous collarbones, running the tip of your finger over the golden skin of his chest.

Taehyung looked up at you with an expression that could’ve easily been mistaken for fear, but in reality he was exhilarated, hanging onto your every action as he waited for your next move.

You loved this. Having seven beautiful men, all of them considered out of your league, wrapped around your finger. You felt drunk with power.

You smiled that wicked smile of yours, leaning towards him to let your breath tickle the goosebumps that had risen all over his skin.

“May I?” You asked.

He nodded furiously. You raised an eyebrow at his lack of words.

“Yes. Please, drink from me.” His low voice rumbled in his chest.

That sly grin stayed plastered to your face as you lowered yourself over his body and pressed your mouth to the juncture of his shoulder. Your lips grazed over the elegant curve so lightly that it made Taehyung shudder.

The next thing he knew, your fangs were lodged deep in his neck. He let out a deep growl that made your stomach flip.

A burst of flavor hit your tongue as you gripped his biceps, keeping him in place. One of his hands was clenched around your waist, while the other was on the small of your back, pulling you closer.

You hummed to yourself contently as you felt his luscious taste fill your mouth.

Taehyung’s deep voice was making you weak. He kept moaning and groaning in that low timbre, sending vibrations through his chest and straight into your body.

Your hand snaked its way into his hair and tugged his head to the side, giving you better access to the veins criss-crossing his throat.

“Nngh…” Taehyung squirmed underneath you.

Massaging his scalp, you increased your pace. The more stimulation humans got, the better it felt.

“Yes, yes…faster.” He mumbled.

Your hand slid out of his hair and down the side of his neck to trace the curve of his clavicle.

Once you were satisfied, you pulled away from him, licking the side of your lips. You rolled off of his legs and slouched against the couch cushions. Leaning your head back with closed eyes, you sighed deeply.

“Thank you.” You said as you felt the dull ache in your stomach fade.

The room was silent as you caught your breath.

Once you’d come down from your high, you opened your eyes and stood up, making your way over to the kitchen. You fetched two juice boxes and tossed one to Yoongi and Taehyung.

“If it starts bleeding again let me know, but you should be fine.” You said.

The two of them nodded with their lips wrapped around the thin straws. You held back the urge to chuckle at how adorable they looked, like two children following strict orders from their mother.

The burst of energy left you with a sense of newfound confidence in the whole situation.

Maybe this could really work out, you thought as you brimmed with optimism.

…I don’t have to be alone anymore.

You looked up at the group of men, all seated in your living room, every single one of them willing and eager to fulfill your every need.

You smiled to yourself. Yes, this will work. You would make it work. How hard could it be?

~~~

2 WEEKS LATER

“Get your lazy asses out of bed and come eat breakfast!” Your voice carried through the whole apartment.

“I’m right here! Why are you shouting?!” Jimin said from his position on the barstool across from you. His hair, still wet from the shower, made him look like a blond hedgehog.

“Sorry.” You said, pushing over a bowl of oatmeal.

Bare feet padded down the stairs. Jungkook trudged into the kitchen and plopped down at the bar next to Jimin, rubbing his tired eyes.

“M’rning…” He mumbled.

“Morning.” You set out an assortment of buttered toast, eggs, fresh fruit, and yogurt with granola.

Yoongi dragged himself into the room, looking just as tired as Jungkook. He took one of the three cups of coffee that you’d already poured, and sipped it with his eyes closed.

“Why do you insist on making breakfast so early?” He whined.

“Because I have to leave early for work and I need to make sure that you all eat.” You replied as you stirred creamer into a travel mug.

“We do eat.” Taehyung insisted as he entered the room in his matching polka dot pajama set.

You looked at him through your eyebrows.

“I need to make sure you eat something that has nutritional value.”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

“Goooood morning!” Jin said cheerfully as he skipped over to the counter.

Everyone groaned simultaneously. Jin shot them a disgusted look.

“Who woke you up with a fucking suppository?” He snapped as he took the second cup of coffee.

“Charlie.” Yoongi said accusingly.

“You guys are babies. I’ve been up since four.” You said.

“You don’t sleep!” Jungkook interjected.

You puckered your lips in a defeated expression, then grabbed your to-go cup and moved towards the front door, your heels clacking loudly.

You took one last look in the mirror. Hair pulled back, pressed white button-up, tight black pants.

You grabbed your bag from its hook and tossed it over your shoulder.

“I’m leaving for work!” You called out to the boys.

They all responded with a chorus of goodbyes, wishing you a good day.

“Wait! Charlie, are you hungry?” Taehyung asked, holding out his bare wrist.

“I’ll be good for a while. Thank you, Tae.”

He flashed you a boxy grin, and you walked out into the hall and closed the door behind you.

It had been surprisingly easy getting used to their presence in your home. They were all relatively easy to get along with, despite their different personalities, and you found their company very enjoyable. Even though it'd only been two weeks, it felt like they been living with you for months.

Sucking their blood quickly familiarized you with their habits and preferences. You knew who was masochistic (Jimin, Jungkook, Yoongi) and who was sadistic (Jin, Namjoon, Taehyung, Hoseok). You knew who liked it rough (Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoongi) and who liked it soft (Jin, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook).

Things were looking good. There was no tension, no problems that came with the new living situation. None of the problems you'd expected to present themselves were apparent.

But good things never last.

The first incident occurred on a busy Monday afternoon. You were having a difficult day at work. Deadlines were looming, stress levels were high, and coffee was being consumed in unhealthy amounts.

“Charlie, here are those reports you wanted.” Your secretary plopped a stack of papers on your desk.

You sighed and rubbed your temples.

“Thank you, Melody.” You said, exhaustion heavy in your voice.

“Are you alright?” She put a warm hand on your shoulder.

Her scent flooded your nose. You hadn't fed in a few days, and you were starting to feel the side effects.

She was cute, with plump pink lips and warm doe eyes that screamed innocence. You may or may not have checked her out a few times.

You drew in a long, slow breath, trying to control the sudden urge to pin her against the wall and wrap your hand around that pale, delicate neck of hers.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just tired.” You said once you'd willed your fangs to stay put.

She smiled at you.

“Try not to work too hard, boss.” She gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“I'll get you a cup of coffee, okay?” She said.

You nodded as you felt your tense muscles start to relax. Melody always knew what you needed.

“With cream and tw—”

“Two sugars, I know.” She grinned as she disappeared through your office door.

You sank down in your desk chair with a groan. You couldn’t wait to go home and feed.

The rest of the day crawled by at a snail’s pace. By the time you dragged yourself through the front door of your apartment, you were ready to gouge your eyes out.

Instead of the silence you were used to, you were greeted with pleasant chatter and sounds of movement. That was another good thing about the boys arrival, you always came home to company instead of solitude.

Crossing the threshold, you hung up your coat and dropped your bag.

Jungkook and Taehyung were sitting on the floor in front of the TV, locked in a fierce gaming battle. Jin was in the kitchen wreaking havoc.

“How are you so bad at this? I’m playing with my eyes closed!” Jungkook teased.

“You’ve played this before! This is my first time!” Taehyung shot back.

Jungkook poked his tongue out at him and Taehyung snatched his controller, holding it out of his reach.

“Hey! Give it back!”

Hoseok walked over to them and grabbed them both by the ear.

“Would you two stop acting like children.” He scolded, pulling them apart with a sharp tug.

“Ow! Hobi, let go!”

“He’s being a sore loser!”

“What are you two heathens up to now?” You called, gaining their attention.

At the sound of your voice, everyone perked up.

“Charlie, you’re back!” Jungkook said in delight.

You beamed at his cute bunny smile.

“Do you guys know where Jimin is?” You asked.

“Probably in his room.” Taehyung said as he focused back on the TV.

Your excitement grew with every step up the stairs. Jimin would be just what you needed, something sweet to satisfy your cravings.

You tapped softly on the door.

“Come in.”

He was sitting at his desk with his headphones in. His face lit up when he saw that it was you.

“Hey.” He said, eyes crinkling as he smiled.

“Hey.” You went inside and closed the door behind you. Jimin’s increasing heartbeat was fully detectable by your sensitive ears.

“You busy?” You asked.

“No. What do you need?” His eyes were wide and hopeful.

You looked down at the floor, fidgeting with your hands. No matter how many times you did it, you still felt slightly embarrassed to ask.

“...I’m hungry.” You said quietly.

Jimin’s cheeks bloomed in a faint blush. He shyly looked at his feet.

“Okay.” He stood up and sat on the bed, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.

You approached him slowly, trying to build up your confidence.

Jimin gulped as you moved to sit on his lap, legs on either side of his torso. His eyes were locked on your face as you brushed his shirt collar aside.

Licking your lips, you leaned over him and pressed your mouth to the hollow of his throat. He moaned softly when your fangs penetrated.

You hummed against him when his overwhelming sweetness met your tongue. Compared to some of the other boys, with their hearty, salty flavors, Jimin was such a nice treat.

Gulp after gulp, you swallowed him down.

“Yes...oh, yes...Charlie—ah.” Jimin’s voice was high and breathy as he stuttered between gasps.

You always tried to ignore how worked up they got. Yes, you were fully aware that it felt good to humans, you were perfectly knowledgeable about the orgasmic feelings of pleasure that came with feeding, but you couldn’t help but feel that sometimes they took it too far.

You saw the way they all looked at you, you noticed just how nervous you made them, but it wasn’t uncommon for humans to become unnecessarily attached to the ones feeding on them. It came with the intimacy of the relationship. Feeding was such an intense experience, they associated the source of their pleasure with the one giving it to them: you.

It happened with a lot of vampires and their suppliers, you’d witnessed it too many times. The human would get overly attached, often initiating romantic or sexual feelings.

But it wasn’t genuine. It wasn’t real.

Vampires were predators. They were designed to lure and ensnare their prey.

The only reason any of them felt anything towards you was because you could give them what they wanted. They weren’t attracted to you, they were attracted to all the chemicals your body was expelling in order to catch your food.

That was the only reason why seven men, all incredibly out of your league, would ever be interested in you.

It was never a good idea to be romantically involved with your supplier. Every vampire knew that. It was messy, complicated, and always ended badly. Plus, how could anybody ever feel good about themselves in a relationship where one half was only in it because they were practically hypnotized?

You shifted uncomfortably as Jimin started to writhe and wriggle in ecstasy. His hands gripped your thighs on either side of him and squeezed.

“P-Please...please, more—ah, more...”

He sounded so sweet and desperate that you just couldn’t say no to him.

Obliging his request, you did something you knew he liked: you grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged.

He practically squealed.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t a good idea, you thought. Now he’s only going to get more excited.

Then something really bad happened.

You felt a very prominent, very noticeable bulge against your crotch.

Oh, shit. I shouldn’t have sat on his lap.

Jimin grabbed your waist and started to grind his hips into yours.

“Mmm mmph...” He moaned. “Mm...Jagiya.”

You froze.

You knew they were from Korea despite them speaking perfect English. Some of them had started calling you “Noona,” and when you asked Jin about it he explained that it was an honorific. When you asked him about some other words in Korean, he told you. Jagiya was one of them.

You scrambled off Jimin’s lap. He stared at you with big, confused eyes that made him look like a puppy that had just been scolded.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Uh, nothing, I just have to...I have to do something.” You hurried towards the door and left him sitting there staring after you.

Fleeing to the safety of your bedroom, you slammed the door and leaned against it, sighing deeply with closed eyes.

What have I gotten myself into?

a/n: eh, like i said not the best chapter. it’s going to get better trust me! pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tell me what you think! what do you think will happen next? what kind of “complications” do you think our OC will encounter?

@rainbow-pandacorn @boononx @vannilacake

if you want to be tagged just let me know (✿◠‿◠)

#bts #bts vampire au #bts ot7 #bts fanfction #park jimin #jungkook #bts hosoek #bts jin #min yoongi #kim namjoon #kim taehyung #sub!bts #dom!bts #bts x oc

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alexandralyman · 5 years

Note

Any chance of a WIP update for Valentine’s Day? Or more sneak peaks? I just miss your stories.

Now, obviously this ask came in over a month ago and I was going to post a sneak peek for you at the time, Anon, but then it got me inspired to start writing something set during Valentine’s Day for BH&H, since I’ve written a bunch of extra scenes set during holidays like Christmas and Easter, but hadn’t tackled that one yet. 4,300 words later, it turned into a somewhat longer scene than I was planning and it’s now the next holiday and Valentine’s Day is long over, but I don’t have a St. Patrick’s Day fic so I’m posting this anyway.

Ordinary Time (Between Heaven & Hell)

Read also on AO3 here and on FF.net here

Summary: Demons don’t celebrate the feast days of saints, but on the day dedicated to lovers Killian Jones is willing to make an exception. As long as that exception takes the form of Emma Swan, that is. Will his angel answer his prayer on a cool February eve in Venice, Italy?

Rating: M

….

No one did revelry quite like Venice.

Old-fashioned lanterns turned the famous canals to rivers of gold, music filled the piazzas from dusk til dawn and the citizenry moved with ease from formal, black tie balls in ancient family piles to after parties held in underground clubs where the dress code was definitely less is more. High fashion models rubbed stylish elbows with counts, new money flirting with old nobility, tourists came from far and wide as they had since time immemorial to gape at the splendour and over every graceful stone bridge and behind every famous church a dark alley beckoned, where purse snatchers slipped away with their ill-gotten gains and prostitutes of both genders fell to their knees to offer their own form of worship, for a price.

Venice dazzled all the senses, but there was a dark underbelly hidden in the floating city build around the stolen relics of one of the holiest of saints, sin and salvation linked as two sides of the same coin.

Killian flipped a gold piece over his knuckles with a dexterity no mortal could hope to achieve and into a medieval fountain. It was a round pool topped with a statue of an angel rising from a platform in the centre, stone wings unfurled against the late afternoon sun and one hand outstretched over the water, the delicate, carved fingers just out of reach to anyone standing below. The coin was a scudi that was as old as the fountain itself,from the days long ago when the doges ruled over Venice as kings in all but name. It was rare and valuable, a collector’s dream (that some would even literally sell their souls to obtain) but he let it fall into the water without a second thought with a flash as it caught the light and reflected it back for a heartbeat before sinking down to disappear into the pile of more humble copper pennies at the bottom. He slipped his hands back in his pockets and glanced up at the angel, a wish wasn’t all that different from a prayer after all and the blank-faced statue must have heard innumerable requests over the centuries from the many who passed through the city and stopped to make an offering at her marble feet.

Would his angel hear him, and finally grant what he wanted above all else? Only time would tell, and he had even more of that to spare than he had gold coins.

He strolled the narrow streets for a while, alone with his memories of the old days while the city teemed around him, packed even more to the gills than usual. It was a day dedicated to lovers, and as the sun set and the stars rose above doey-eyed couples giggled in arched doorways and held hands over bottles of wine, making eyes and making love (not in public, at least not mostly, those dark alleys were playing host to more than just paid trysts tonight) although, strangely enough, the lust he could feel hot in the air was tempered with something else, something that his demonic senses instinctively shied away from and made him want to retreat back into the shadows until it was safely gone again. Still, he meandered on, past stalls selling trinkets like carnival masks and blown glass ornaments that had stayed open late to take advantage of the festivities (avarice, he approved of that), pausing here and there to examine the wares and plucking a single red rose from a bouquet dangling from the hand of a young woman with her arms around her paramour’s neck and her eyes closed into his kiss. Neither one noticed the tiny theft, too wrapped up in each other to see the danger that lurked so close. Killian could have used his unholy influence to spark a sudden argument, insert some disharmony into the romantic tableaux as he was meant to, bound to, stoking the flames of jealousy by turning the man’s head towards a winsome young signora instead of his beloved or greed in the desire for a much more lavish gift than mere flowers, but he stayed his hand and continued on a path only he could see, following his own map through the ancient city of mariners like the pirate he had been, once upon a time.

At the end there was a treasure much more valuable than gold, a light amidst the darkness, one that had always enticed instead of repelled. Rose in hand, Killian waited patiently in a small piazza ringed with packed trattorias and bustling wine bars. Venice’s climate was fairly mild in the winter, but his unusually warm breath turned immediately to fog as soon as it hit the cooler air, forming a cloud of twisted serpents that writhed and slithered away into nothingness with each measured exhale. As he bided his time his attention focused on a pair of young men on the other side of the square who were chain-smoking cigarettes and cat-calling every woman who walked by, clearly full of both too much machismo and too much liquor. He watched the flecks of burning ash fall to the ground with each careless flick of their wrists, the glowing tips turning the crimson of infernal fire as they took deep drags and filled their lungs with thick, noxious smoke. Their voices got louder and more lewd as his influence washed over them, drawing a demon’s attention was never a good thing and Killian’s lips split in a rictus grin of amusement while he fanned the flames a little higher, a little hotter. They were unaware of his presence, but it loosened what little inhibitions they had left as his corruption spread like the smoke and filled the spaces between every dark impulse, every forbidden desire, letting them run riot until nothing else was left.

A distinctively feminine figure appeared in the misty haze and started across the piazza, the heels of her boots making no sound on the cobblestones but drawing every eye nonetheless in an instant and Killian could feel the sinful anticipation rolling off the two men in waves at the sight of her. Long blonde hair fell down the back of a leather jacket the bright red of heart’s blood and it was like waving a matador’s scarlet cape in front of a bull to the two idiots who were about to discover the sword hidden underneath instead. If Killian’s attention was dangerous, hers was even more perilous for mortal souls, especially ones puffed up like peacocks on their own arrogance. He idly twirled the rose back and forth between his fingers and drew his thumb across the velvety petals, his own anticipation for what was to come a pleasant hum under his skin.

“Did you miss me?”

Emma accepted the gift he offered with an innocent smile and a hint of a bow, his manners impeccable and beyond reproach while her own expression was caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. The two cat-callers were still there, but the busy piazza was considerably more quiet now than an angel had descended from the heavens and rendered them both completely mute with nothing more than a look. They were literally struck dumb, opening and closing their mouths with nothing coming out while passersby stared at them curiously, unaware of the role the damned and the divine had played in the little bit of street theatre and that Heaven and Hell both were present only a few feet away in the form of a dark-haired man and a blonde woman, the lone raven and the graceful dove.

But then again, mortals were usually blind to what went on right under their own noses.

“Ciao, Killian,” she said with a roll of her eyes, sidestepping his question but he didn’t really care, his name on her lips was a summons that fanned the flames within and made him burn even hotter under his own black leather jacket. Steam rose from the ground from the heat he was generating, Venice was eternally sinking into the sea and the ground was perpetually damp as a result. He was unable to resist a direct summoning and when she turned he followed, away from the lights and the laughter and into a quieter, residential section of the city where the music faded away and the shadows cut deep. Red leather met rough stone when he backed her into a wall, his taller form easily concealing them from any prying eyes, the raven enfolding the dove and pinning her fast.

“Beata angela,” he breathed hot into the shell of her ear, fingers teasing just under the edge of the leather at her waist. “Did you miss me?”

Her own small hands toyed with his belt buckle for a moment before dipping lower and his eyes slammed shut at the feel of her palm sliding over where he burned the most.

Or second most, but he refused to acknowledge the dull ache in the left side of his chest.

Emma gave a little squeeze that almost made his knees give out and teased right back. “It feels more like you’re the one who missed me, Damnate.”

“Angels aren’t supposed to play dirty,” he muttered, unable to stop the desperate rock of his hips into her welcoming touch.

“And demons aren’t supposed to celebrate the feast days of saints, even if everyone else has forgotten what this day originally was,” she shot back. “You’re not the only one who breaks the rules.”

Killian lifted his head and matched her wry smile. “Point taken.”

He had broken more rules than he could count because of her, what was one more? Their foreheads touched and they just stood like that for a moment, the saint and the sinner, angel and demon, come together in a city barely tethered to the earth and caught eternally between falling below and rising above with each roll of the tides.

…

The small pensione where she had a room for the night had one been a convent, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the demon next to her with eyes the same shade and sharpness as Ceylon sapphires. He silently read the inscription on the faded plaque next to the door that described the building’s illustrious history with a raised brow while Emma waited for the inevitable smart-ass remark.

“Inviting the fox right into the henhouse to play, are we?” he said at last with a grin.

“More like il gallo, I think.”

Killian understood both the Italian word for rooster as well as the double meaning behind it at once and he chuckled while she unlocked the iron gate that had been intended once to guard the lives and the chastity of those within and keep predators of all stripes out. But the nuns were long gone and her room was not a Spartan cell with only a single cot and a crucifix that the sisters had made due with to keep their vow of poverty, it was comfortably appointed and had come with a bottle of red wine and a heart-shaped box of chocolates for the holy day that had become a secular celebration of romance, clearly meant to be consumed by two. Times certainly had changed, the previous residents would have been completely forbidden from enjoying such decadent luxuries as feather pillows, high-thread count sheets and imported confectionery, let alone from being encouraged to entertain a man in their chambers.

Emma saw him eye the pair of glasses that had been left with the bottle, a hint of uncertainty crossing his handsome face in sharp contrast to his usual confident swagger.

“I do hope I didn’t interrupt any other plans of yours tonight, angel.”

Jealousy. She could see that as well, in the flush on his neck and the darkening of his eyes, a wisp of deadly sin rising between them in the room. Their affair had never included a vow of fidelity, but he always kept the promises he made and there were some things that were best left unsaid, they were too different and he wouldn’t understand. So she didn’t answer him with words, but in the press of her lips to his, a benediction in the soft slide of the kiss that had him stiff-backed and resistant for a moment with his arms at his sides until he relented with a low noise in the back of his throat that rumbled through her and did delicious things between her legs. Hands found her hips, large, dexterous, flexing along the curve and trailing along the strip of bare skin just above the waist of her jeans, under her jacket. His touch was always warm and it shouldn’t make her shiver, but they’d always been a contradiction, the demon who prayed, the angel who sinned. In a deconsecrated convent where celibacy had given way to passion they defied all the rules like the martyred saint for whom the day was named, clothing falling to the floor in a mingled heap.

“Don’t burn my jacket,” she said in between kisses, trying to get it off to join his before Killian’s usual impatience got the best of him and he scorched it into ash.

“Don’t worry, I like the red leather jacket.”

Emma laughed, “Really?”

A kiss was placed into the little dip in her shoulder as the jacket was peeled back that made another shiver down her spine while he murmured against her skin.

“Red leather…black lace…silky little unmentionables, I like them all very much on you. Let’s go shopping tomorrow, I’ll buy everything your heart desires.”

There wouldn’t be tomorrow, couldn’t be, there could only be these few hours stolen from eternity when the world above and the world below were both shut away outside the door. Clothes shed without any casualties, Emma stepped out of the pile and pressed herself to him boldly from shoulder to shin, nipples tightening and feeling the ripple and flex of the muscles up the ladder of his ribs as she ran her hands along them. The heat blazed, enough to fog the mirror hanging above the chest of drawers, antique Venetian glass turning to smoke and blurring their reflection as if it was also hiding them from any divine or damned scrutiny on the other side while they tumbled down to the bed. Killian knelt above her, his blue eyes taking on a wicked gleam that immediately told her he was up to something. There was a ripple in the air and she felt another small weight settle on the bed by her elbow, when she looked down she saw it was the box of chocolates. Killian wound the pink satin ribbon tying it shut around his finger and gave a slight tug, pulling it off and lifting the lid to peer inside.

“So tell me, is this how one is meant to feast in honour of a saint?”

He held up a chocolate between his fingers and it immediately started to melt, dripping onto her chest in a warm drizzle while his grin turned wolfish like the predator he was and clearly, she was the wayward lamb. His dark head bent and that silver tongue flicked out, capturing the drops that flowed down the valley between her breasts and tracing the sensitive curve underneath before going up the slope and wrapping around the taut peak of her nipple. Emma ran her fingers through his soft hair, arching up into the sensations as he carefully licked up every stray drop. The next piece had some kind of caramel filling, swirling in a sticky ribbon down her stomach when the chocolate coating broke apart. That too was caught by his mouth, the ache between her legs increasing with each lash of his tongue and scratch of his beard against the delicate flesh while he moved lower and lower, blue eyes glancing up from beneath those thick black lashes. Finally, finally, the chocolate was forgotten as he started to feast on something else in earnest, spreading her thighs apart and burying his face between them with a muffled groan that Emma echoed with her own cry at the sheer, unbridled pleasure being drawn with each slow and deliberate swipe and stroke. The supplicant kneeling at her altar, Killian was well-versed in this intimate rite and and a liturgy of sighs and moans spilled from her lips at his eager worship while she tightened her fingers in his hair and felt her back arch up off the bed and the strain of her wings as they longed to unfurl and let her take flight. His hands on her hips were an anchor that kept her from flying away until she was falling instead, a moment forever frozen in time as the angel in ecstasy.

Killian sat back on his haunches with an infuriatingly smug look, naked, his erection standing thick and proud and ready but he appeared to be in no particular hurry to use it, reaching over to take another chocolate out of the box and popping it into his mouth instead.

“You hate sweets.”

The smugness only increased as her voice came out laboured and unsteady, while her skin was flushed as red as the rose all along the path that his mouth had wandered. The marks he had left would quickly fade, leaving her unblemished and uncorrupted once more when he was gone but the echo of them would linger on, reminding her that uncorrupted and incorruptible were not the same things and playing with fire could end in a nasty brand.

“True,” Killian agreed after he swallowed the piece. “Most are too cloyingly saccharine for my tastes, but some are more palatable than others, especially when paired with the right accompaniment.”

His lustful gaze wandered over her and left little doubt as to what type of accompaniment he was referring to before he went back to the box and carefully perused what was left, selecting something that Emma couldn’t see at first. The box vanished in a shadow and he revealed a flat, ebony disk that he flipped like a coin, drawing her eye to the movement long enough for him to unfold from his seated position and strike with serpentine speed. He loomed over her in less than a blink, a deadly viper in the form of a man. But instead of venom, his bite was full of the bitter taste of dark chocolate, pressed between their lips to dissolve on her tongue in a swirl of cocoa tinged with hints of cinnamon and spice. It was incredibly decadent, so rich that it was almost too much, velvet smooth and far from sweet.

It was utterly delicious.

The chocolate melted away and it was just Killian, only Killian, always Killian, the one temptation she could never resist and there was no resistance when he pushed inside, she was still pliant and slick and they moved in a languid dance, slow and unhurried. He braced himself on his forearms and rocked his hips in a steady rhythm, his body aligned with hers from the rub of his nose against her own when he dipped his head down for another kiss to the tender press of her breasts against his chest, their legs in a tangle and each slide of hard, male flesh sheathing deeper and deeper within her with each stroke until he was buried to the hilt, fitting perfectly with no space left between them. Darkness and light had once been one, in the beginning, and they were again before the inevitable separation that awaited them.

“Emma.”

He lifted up, her infernal lover, his eyes deep pools of midnight while inky hair fell over his forehead. She scratched her nails lightly down his chest and left a golden trail of blessed light, flickering like the tail of a falling star.

“Yes?” she asked, knowing what he wanted but unable to resist teasing him just a little first. His jaw clenched and his eyes fell shut as the sensation ripped through him, making the cords on his neck stand out while he let out a deep groan that rumbled right through his chest and into her palms. A mortal man would have given in completely at such a jolt of divine ecstasy, Killian was more impervious. His eyes snapped open again and narrowed to a focus that would both thrill and terrify an innocent nun in equal measure. Emma felt him shift his hips, the thick drag of his erection hitting almost just the right spot with the movement and making her clench around him. He was focused on finding the angle that would make her fall utterly apart, thrusting shallowly for a few strokes and then sliding in deep. Her toes curled like petals and her hands clutched the muscular curve of his ass when he found what he was looking for, a dangerous grin spreading across his lips in response.

“Emma,” he repeated, a clear note of command in his tone. “Say. It.”

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. She knew what he wanted, more than just sex, he wanted her to name him and acknowledge his true form, the demon in her arms, inside her, to give him that power and give in to him completely. Unseen flames licked at her skin the same way his tongue had traced every inch, coaxing and cajoling, while his voice was the only one she heard, command turning to a fervent plea that drowned out everything else.

“My blessed one, my angel, say my name. Say you want me, only me. Please!”

It came out like the peal of a ringing bell, clear and sweet, the sacred wrapped around the profane. “Killian!”

Light flared incandescent, divine radiance meeting infernal fire and creating a conflagration that engulfed them both. Killian let out a near howl of triumph, bucking hard against her for the handful of thrusts it took to send them both spiralling into white hot bliss. His name spilled over her lips again and again, the broad shoulders shuddering in response to each while his face was buried in her neck. His inhuman pace faltered and finally went still, his limbs slack although something else remained stiff even as her voice turned to a feathery whisper and the fire slowly died down to embers. That too softened at last, and they cleaved apart once more.

“Lent is early this year.”

He said it casually, as if he was just making idle, post-coital pillow talk. He used to smoke cigarettes afterwards, but that had stopped at some point years ago. Emma rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm.

“I know.”

Ash Wednesday was only a few weeks away. Unlike the fixed dates of other feasts like the one currently being celebrated with flowers and candy it varied every year and on this particular liturgical cycle it fell early on the calendar, marking the start of forty days of fasting and repentance among the faithful. Emma was among them, forsaking earthly vices like chocolate and caffeine (and a blue-eyed demon who was the hardest of them all to give up) for six weeks and doing penance in hopes of absolution.

There was a resigned sigh from above and the arm he had wrapped around her bare back tightened a bit, holding her in place for a moment until he relented and loosened his grip.

“Well then, I suppose that just means it’s over sooner.”

They lay in silence, the minutes ticking back as time marched inexorably on even for two immortals. He had been gone over Christmas, departing as he usually did in late November just before the start of the Advent season, and Lent loomed just ahead of them in early March. The brief stretch in between was Ordinary Time, a reprieve from it all when she could pretend to be just Emma Swan and not an angel of the Lord.

For a little while, at least.

“I did, you know.”

She lifted up slightly on her elbow and met Killian’s confused look.

“You did what?” he asked, his brows knitting together.

“I missed you.”

The smugness was gone and there was surprise instead, a boyishly pleased smile blooming like the rose across his face at her simple confession. He was even more dangerous like this,

when he asked for nothing and she wanted to give him everything.

She didn’t do penance during Lent for herself. Giving everything else up was easy, which was precisely why she had to sacrifice him.

“And I know you were goading on those two morons back in the square,” she added, poking him in the ribs.

Killian didn’t bother trying to deny it, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I had some time to kill and as you pointed out earlier, it’s the feast day of a saint. Had to introduce just a little discord into all this soppy romanticism, I do have a reputation to maintain, blessed one. Besides, I knew you could handle them before they got too out of line. I had faith.”

She made a non-commital noise at that and rested her head back down on his shoulder. The two men had thought they had the upper hand, seeing only a lone woman to tease and torment and nothing more. At least at first. She had given them a glimpse of her divinity and not held back, a halo forged directly from the light of a star, wings that were twice the height of a man, revealing her true form in all its Heavenly glory. She wasn’t just Emma Swan and he wasn’t just Killian Jones no matter what the season or the date on the calendar.

Emma felt his fingers thread gently through her hair and the rise and fall of his chest under her cheek, closing her eyes while he pulled the blanket over them. They could never be ordinary, but they could be like this, at least for a little while.

#cs ff #cs fic #my fic #bh&h #cs smut #lovely anons

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weekend-conspiracy-theorist · 5 years

Text

you’re on a different road (I’m in the milky way)

I’ve been thinking about Gwen Stacy a lot lately. Read on AO3

“Let me take you out tonight,” Peter told her. He barely even pretended to be sneaky about slipping his hand under her dress, offering her his most charming, crooked grin as it curled possessively over her hip.

Gwen didn’t quite roll her eyes, in a Herculean feat of restraint, and flicked teasingly at his hand from the outside of her dress.

She was pretty sure he already knew what her answer was going to be; he just wanted to make sure she knew her options. He was so patient with her, in his obnoxious Peter way--probably because he was just as busy, between classes and his non-stop pursuit of the next photo he could sell to the Bugle.

“Sorry, lover,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his lips as she settled her hands on those broad, warm shoulders. She may have let him tug her aside into an empty classroom and make her late-to-be-early to her next class, but she just didn’t have the time for more than a scandalous mid-morning make out session. “I’ve got a lab report due Monday.”

“Monday, she says!” Peter complained, all sarcasm and wild gestures with his free hand--the other didn’t leave her hip, keeping her against him. “Three whole days away and we can’t do one measly little dinner!”

“One measly little dinner, he says,” she drawled back, treating him to a patented Gwen Stacy eye roll. “One measly little dinner--” her knuckles trailed down the soft cotton of his polo-- “followed by what?” She mockingly tapped the buckle of his belt with one pale blue nail. “His measly little--”

“Hey now.”

“Apartment.” She snickered at the disgruntled look on his face, darting up to kiss his cheek even as she brushed his hands away. “Things to do, places to be. I’ll call you on Sunday if I get done in time for a movie.”

Peter chucked her lightly under the chin, joking, “Promises, promises,” and Gwen blew him a kiss as she strode out the door.

She wouldn’t be leaving campus until the evening, but she could already see her weekend in her mind’s eye:

Steady, diligent progress on her report, and then in the morning she’d share an early breakfast with her father. Lather, rinse, repeat. Or... maybe not repeat. Maybe she’d invite Peter over around noon on Sunday, sacrifice efficiency in exchange for his hand on her thigh while she worked. It was certainly a thought.

Gwen smiled, ducking her head to hide her smile as she slipped into class, barely on time. She was flying high all that afternoon, through class and productive hours in the lab--she always was, after ten minutes with Peter. He made her feel like she was on top of the world.

Then she ran into her mentor in the hallway, and Gwen was reminded that- for all its strengths- Empire State University was very much not the top of the world.

“Gwen!” Professor Warren’s smile was a little too bright, as always, and he waved at her insistently. “Got a minute? We can go ahead and get our next meeting out of the way.”

She glanced, longingly, down the hall at the vending machine and the frappuccino she’d had her sights set on, but she let him usher her over. “Hey, professor. Our meetings are normally on Mondays...”

And in his office, not the middle of the hallway, and Gwen didn’t normally have an impending caffeine headache after several hours hunched over a microscope. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her dress, refusing to rub at her temples.

Stacy’s didn’t show weakness.

“I was actually hoping we could start meeting twice a week.” Warren clapped her on the shoulder with a warm smile. “Time to start ratcheting up the pressure, my dear; I’m really going to be putting you to work this semester.”

Gwen’s face did something sharp and disbelieving; she couldn’t help it. “We’re two weeks in, and I’ve already got a massive lab report due,” she said, as neutrally as she could manage. “I barely had time for Peter or my extracurriculars last semester, when I was taking fewer credit hours--”

“I think the key word there is ‘extracurriculars’; they’re your choices, Gwen,” he said, barely sounding apologetic. “You asked to be treated like one of my grad students despite being an undergrad, Gwen. That means research, research, and more research.”

“Of course, Professor,” Gwen said, forcing herself to smile. “I understand.”

She flung open the door to Peter and Harry’s apartment, slamming her textbooks onto their counter as she blindly kicked off her ankle boots. “You,” she snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at Peter.

He threw his hands up, those eyebrows of his innocently rising. There was a half-assembled sandwich on the counter in front of him. “Me?”

She stormed over to him, dragging him down by the buttons of his polo, eyes wild as she hissed, “You’re taking me out tonight.”

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Mary Jane drawled.

Gwen hadn’t even noticed her--or Harry, she realized, glancing over at the couch. He was playing a videogame, tongue poked out between his teeth, and two model-long legs were crossed over his lap as MJ lounged effortlessly back against the arm of the couch.

“You weren’t supposed to miss that jump, I think,” she said dryly, and Harry made a distressed noise, thumbs flying over his controller. Over her shoulder, she added, “Is this a group thing, Gwendy?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, scrunching up her nose as she considered the thought. Gwen hadn’t had much of a plan in mind, except for drowning herself in an irresponsible night of debauchery with Peter as a great big “fuck you” to Professor Miles “Define ‘Social Life’” Warren. And who was better for bright, loud, and distracting than the one woman party over there on the couch?

She nodded decisively. “It’s a group thing.”

“Mm.” Mary Jane smiled, wide and slow like a cat eyeing the nearest canary. “Kinky.”

Gwen laughed, a little high and a little hysterical, and thumped her forehead onto Peter’s shoulder. Those strong, strong arms curled around her and pulled her close, his crooked nose pressing into her hair as he asked, quietly, “What happened, honey?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled back.

Peter snorted. “Seems like it matters. Six hours ago you were too busy to even have dinner with me, and now you’re all ‘Hurricane Gwen’--”

“Just shut up and hold me, Parker.”

“Don’t make out in my kitchen,” Harry ordered, and Gwen flipped him off even though he wasn’t looking. (In all fairness to Harry, he’d walked in on her and Peter... more times than she really wanted to think about.) “Where are we going?”

“Dancing,” Gwen said immediately.

She turned her cheek to Peter’s shoulder so she could watch Mary Jane--there were calculations running through those green eyes of hers, pale throat exposed as she tilted her chin up thoughtfully. “Club preferences?”

“Not the place we went last time,” Peter said firmly, and Gwen pulled a face, making a low noise of agreement.

“But that bartender was so cute!” Harry protested, finally pausing his game so he could turn an accusatory glare on the two of them.

“Harry,” Gwen said flatly. Sometimes it was hard to remember how smart these boys were, when they were both so dumb. She pulled away from Peter, one hand set on her hip and the other flitting high and sarcastic through the air. “Are you forgetting the part where she turned out to be a literal soul sucking demon?”

Mary Jane sighed dreamily, draping herself backwards over the arm of the couch. “At least I got to be scooped up in Spider-Man’s hunky, manly arms.”

Peter snickered. “So did Harry.”

Harry sniffed, his slender arms crossing over his chest as he slouched back into the couch. “You’re just jealous, Parker. Always too busy chasing a picture to get hit on by sexy supervillainesses.”

“Who’s jealous, lover boy?” Mary Jane laughed, prodding his thigh with the ball of one foot. “Pete’s got Gwendy. What else does he need?”

“What else indeed?” Peter asked teasingly, leaning down to wrap his arms around her waist, nosing at the soft skin behind the lobe of her ear. His voice quiet and husky, he asked, “What are you going to wear tonight?”

Exasperation seeped down into the depths of Gwen’s very soul.

“You’re such a boy,” she groaned, letting herself flop bonelessly into Peter’s grip. He took her weight easily, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “When I’m doing my PhD at UC Berkeley, we’re going to have daily phone sex, aren’t we?”

“You said it, not me.”

She ignored him, dropping her voice mockingly. “‘Are you wearing any underwear?’” Gwen threw her hands up, an uncoordinated flail that came quite close to smacking her obnoxious boyfriend in the face. “Peter! It may be eight PM for you, but I’m literally still in the lab! You’re on speaker with me and five of my closest colleagues!”

She paused, then added smugly, “And no, no I am not.”

Harry howled with laughter, flinging his arm over his eyes. “Gwen, you’re a legend.“

She smiled--not her usual, that sharp and icy smile that made men and women alike quake in their boots, but a soft one, one that came along with her heart throbbing in her chest. Harry worried her, sometimes; drawing out his laughter was always a victory.

“You should be nicer to me. I could drop you,” Peter told her, jostling her threateningly.

“You’d never drop me,” she said confidently.

Her fingers were curled around Peter’s wrist, the pad of her thumb tracing lightly over tender skin. She reached up with her other hand, blindly patting at his cheek--she caught part of his mouth, and he kissed at the heel of her palm.

Harry elaborately mimed gagging, and Gwen mouthed back, “Jealous.”

Out of nowhere, Mary Jane gasped.

She flung herself off of the couch and raced towards the kitchen, falling dramatically to her knees and skidding across the hardwood to come to a stop at Gwen’s feet.

“Let me pick out your outfit for tonight,” she begged, hands clasped below her chin. Her red hair was escaping her bun in wisps, framing her freckled face and wild green eyes like ribbons of fire. “I’ve got a dress that was made for you, Ms. Stacy.”

Gwen frowned, pulling one knee up slightly in a half-hearted attempt to escape. “Peter, carry me away from the crazy,” she ordered.

MJ’s hand shot forward through Gwen’s legs to seize Peter by the knee of his jeans, and she growled, she actually growled. “Don’t you move a fucking muscle, Parker.”

“Sweetheart, I’m scared,” Peter stage whispered, his laughter almost breaking through.

Gwen curled her lip in disgust. Useless, he was useless to her.

Mary Jane met Gwen’s eyes once more. “Gwendy,” she said insistently, releasing Peter’s jeans to run her hands soothingly over Gwen’s bare calves. “Your personal style is phenomenal, don’t get me wrong, but I can take cool, and collected, and stylish,” her head tilted with each word, her eyes closed and voice fluttering into a lower register with the weight of her convictions, “and I can tear you apart and build you back up, and I will make you so goddamn sexy that your hunky, healthy boyfriend will have a heart attack on the spot.”

Gwen narrowed her eyes.

Mary Jane raised an eyebrow.

“I mean,” Harry said slowly. Gwen’s eyes flicked up, betrayal flooding thorugh her veins, to find his hands steepled thoughtfully beneath his chin.

Peter’s voice in her ear was all nonchalance as he added, “I certainly wouldn’t complain.”

Gwen clapped her hand over her eyes, groaning deeply. “Fine, whatever.” Mary Jane cheered, fist pumping, and Gwen waved a finger in her face, voice sharp as she continued, “But I’m not leaving this apartment, Watson. You’re bringing that massive wardrobe to me.”

It was a warm night for January in New York City, and Peter’s hand blazed against the small of her back.

He couldn’t stop touching her, even more than he usually couldn’t stop touching her. Who knew an edgy little black dress with a smoky eye and messy hair style could have such a large effect? Mary Jane Watson, apparently.

Gwen looked over at her, in that stylish jumpsuit and towering heels, and MJ winked, magicking a flask out of the folds of her deep, scooping neckline.

“Marry me,” Harry told her, voice urgent in the cool night air.

She smiled, sharp and sweet all at once as she patted Harry lightly on the cheek. “Honey, you couldn’t handle me.” Her green eyes glittered with a challenge, flicking away from Harry. “Need something to keep you warm in the winter, Gwendolyne?”

One of these days you’re going to learn to turn down a dare, Gwen, she thought ruefully, snagging the flask out from between Mary Jane’s fingertips. “Not that I need it to ‘keep me warm’,” she added, complete with sarcastic air quotes.

Mary Jane looked at Peter.

Peter grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

She snorted, nodding her head. “Right.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gwen took a long, long drink of vodka and leaned in conspiratorially, beckoning Mary Jane and Harry closer as she stage whispered, “I have the Human Torch on speed dial.”

Peter mimed stabbing himself in the heart. “You wound me, sweetheart, you know that? Of all the supermen in all the gin joints in all the towns to fake leave me for, and you had to pick the flamebrain.”

Gwen wiped her lips on the back of her hand and passed Harry the flask. “Who said I was leaving you?” she teased, voice low as she tugged lightly at his belt loop, enjoying the heat in his eyes as he looked down at her. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Mary Jane glanced between them consideringly. “That’s a good point, Har. Gwendy and Pete could handle me--” she held up a finger, her eyes glittering with amusement-- “but only together.”

Gwen could already feel the vodka curling through her veins, her cheeks heating up and her limbs loosening. “That a challenge, lover girl?” she demanded.

“That an offer?” Peter added, shifting his arm to hang heavy over Gwen’s shoulders, his smile crooked and warm.

“Ugh, stop flirting,” Harry ordered. He grabbed Gwen’s hand, spinning her out of Peter’s grasp and dipping her towards the dirty concrete. “I thought we were here to dance, Stacy!”

Ever since she’d known him- and she’d known him first, before Peter and Mary Jane and dear Flash, away overseas- Harry had always looked just shy of anxious, long and thin and pale, with too much product in his hair. But right now, that was all burned away by the force of his smile and the excited glitter in his eye.

Gwen hooked her leg around his hip, a smile stealing slowly across her face as she listened to Peter’s indignant squawking and Mary Jane’s teasing drawl. Her heart felt full to bursting--God, she loved these people.

She reached up, pinching one sharp cheekbone. “Take me away, Osborn.”

“Like we were born to it,” Harry agreed fervently, and- fine-boned hand in Gwen’s- he cut to the front of the line, ignoring the complaining masses as he flashed his black AmEx and his most arrogant smile. The bouncer glanced between them, his mouth an impassive line, and then he stepped aside to let them through.

Norman Osborn wasn’t good for much, but at least there was this.

“Redhead and eyebrows are with us, too,” Harry told him, “but make them think we’re abandoning them completely before you let them through, huh? Three minutes should do it.”

Gwen cackled, squeezing his hand as she threw Mary Jane and Peter a teasing wave over her shoulder. “I knew there was a reason we were friends.” .

The club, when they stepped inside, was just what Gwen had been looking for--Mary Jane and her encyclopedic knowledge of New York night life to the rescue, yet again. The upper tier was a 360 degree blacony full of tables and seating, illuminated with a dark, moody sort of lighting; below, the huge dance floor was an amorphous world of pulsing lights and writhing bodies, its speakers cleverly placed to keep the music from overpowering the upper level.

Still, the floor vibrated beneath her feet.

The music seemed to reach down inside her, squeezing her heart until it raced in time, and she was breathless enough to let Harry drag her down the wide, drunk-people-friendly stairs to the lower bowl.

“What’s the play, Har?” she yelled, standing on tiptoes to reach his ear. “Do you want--”

“To quote a song so popular that even Peter would know it,” he said, rolling his eyes, “shut up and dance with me, Stacy.”

And that was that.

Gwen lost herself in the music, in lyrics screamed at the top of her lungs and jumping around making a fool of herself, in the shape of Harry’s grin and the awkward flail of his limbs--and later, when Peter and MJ found them, she lost herself in Peter’s hands on her hips and the sparkle in Mary Jane’s eyes, in the feeling of three of her favorite people in the world laughing freely on every side of her.

Needless to say, Mary Jane’s flask was simply the opening salvo of the night.

“I love you,” Gwen told Peter, in the brief silence between two songs. She was almost out of breath, her arms weighty with tipsiness, and her hairspray was starting to fail her, sweaty wisps of blonde curling around her face.

He was peering at the bottom of his shoe with a disgusted expression.

“You dragged me to this club, so you better,” he said, distractedly, and Gwen huffed. Peter really was an idiot.

“I’m gonna go find MJ; you keep an eye on lightweight over there,” she yelled over the opening chords of the new song, gesturing at Harry where he was making out with a girl who looked a lot more... alternative than his usual type, and pushed through the crowd towards the stairs.

Mary Jane was easy to find once Gwen had white knuckled the railing the make her way up a level; her red hair shone like a roadside flare, even in the almost nonexistent lighting of the club, and she was holding court among a gaggle of handsome suitors, both straight and butch, her smile bright and her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gwen wandered towards them, hands tucked under her arms. She was woman enough to admit she’d always envied that easy charm, and drunk enough to admit she’d always wondered if that vibrant red was natural. Mary Jane had so many freckles, she thought wistfully. It almost had to be; those traits were genetically linked.

“Gwendy!” Mary Jane called, her face lighting up as she spotted her--and then she looked at her, and she immediately shooed off her suitors. She didn’t have a sharp tongue, not the way Gwen did, but whatever she said was effective enough to clear the booth down to just the two of them by the time Gwen slipped in across from her.

“Where’s the Boy Wonder?” she asked, her voice low and concerned.

Gwen snorted, folding her arms on the tabletop and slumping down to rest her cheek on them. “Complaining to the management about the puke on his shoes, probably,” she said sullenly.

Fingers combed through her hair, MJ’s perfectly manicured nails scraping lightly over her scalp.

She should have known she’d end up here, laid low by one drink too many, everything she’d been avoiding roiling its way through her chest. She should have known because this always happened--she thought she’d have fun, and then she didn’t. It was never like that Footloose remake.

Gwen Stacy, she decided, was not a woman made for clubbing--which was good, since she wasn’t going to have time for it anyway. She didn’t even have time for this, honestly.

She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath against the sob that wanted to shake her thin shoulders. There was just too much, there was so much, how could she do it all and still have time to sleep, time to see Peter, time to spend with her dad--

“Hey, woah.” Mary Jane whistled, sharp and high, and it cut through Gwen’s spiral. “Walk me through whatever’s going on in that blonde skull of yours, tiger. Take it one step at a time and use enough little baby words for a dummy like me to understand, huh?”

“Just in the middle of a minor breakdown,” Gwen told her thickly. “I’ll get over it.”

“Then do it already.”

Gwen reared up, shooting her a disgusted look, and Mary Jane- her face devoid of sympathy- reached out and flicked her painfully on the forehead. “If you want me to be supportive,” she said flatly, “you have to actually explain what’s wrong.”

In the morning, Gwen would be embarrassed by the ugly red flush that came over her cheeks, the sharp vitriol in her voice as she snapped, “You’re such a--”

“Gwendy. Sweetheart.” Mary Jane’s fingers curled around her chin, dragging her gaze to meet those warm, green eyes, so full of love and affection it felt like a blow the gut. Gwen made a wounded noise.

“Talk to me,” Mary Jane said softly.

To Gwen’s eternal embarrassment, tears welled up as if on cue. “I can’t do it,” she sobbed. “I can’t do it--He wants me to double down on my research, as if I'm not already overloaded, and I’ve never failed anything before, in my entire life, and I’m going to fail everything and I--”

Gwen raised one hand, pressing almost painfully over her mouth as she curled in on herself, trying to get back under control. God, she was such an idiot.

“Oh, honey.” Mary Jane leaned across the table, gathering Gwen up in a wiry-armed hug. “Can you cut anything out? Drop a class, quit the lab?”

Gwen shook her head wordlessly. She needed Warren’s recommendation letter for grad school, and all of her classes were coreqs for each other or prereqs for things she needed down the line. Besides, she loved her research, and she loved her classes, and that was just going to make it all the worse when she crashed and burned.

“Okay.” Mary Jane sat back in her seat, her hands sliding to Gwen’s cheeks. She smoothed away a tear with one thumb, a determined glint in her eye. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not going to fail,” she declared.

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Gwen’s chest. “You can’t possibly--”

“I so can possibly know that, because you’re Gwen Stacy--” she pointed at Gwen-- “and I’m Mary Jane Watson--” she pointed at herself-- “and the two dumbasses currently dithering around behind that column because they don’t know what to do with a crying drunk girl--” she pointed at the boys-- “those are Peter Parker and Harry Osborn.”

She leaned her forehead against Gwen’s, cradling her cheek with one hand, and her voice was soft as she added, “Mary Janes and Peters and Harrys? They love their Gwendolynes. Lover girl, that means you aren’t in this alone.”

Oh.

Her chest jumped with a sob she refused to let go of. “Let’s go home,” Gwen suggested, her voice hoarse.

Mary Jane pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before rising to her feet. “There’s a reason they made you the brains of this outfit, Gwendy.” She hooked her arm through Gwen’s, a steady, mostly-sober guide as they wormed their way towards the exit. “Seems like time for you to head to bed: numerous fluffy pillows required, hunky chem majors optional.”

Gwen managed to laugh, letting her head fall sideways onto Mary Jane’s shoulder. It wasn’t comfortable, with the uneven rise and fall of their stride, but it was comforting. “Thank you, Mary,” she said, too quietly for her knight in silk chiffon to even hear her.

“Here you are,” Mary Jane declared, pulling them to a stop next to Peter and Harry and giving Gwen a small nudge towards her boyfriend. “One semi-emotionally-stable ice queen for you to feel up on the ride home.”

“Just another reason for me not to split a cab with Mr. Puke Shoes,” Harry said dryly.

“You’re one to talk; your breath smells like that chick’s cigarettes and a jager bomb,” Peter fired back. His arms curled around her, warm and strong and solid, and Gwen let herself lean into him for one long, long moment. What would she ever do without him? Spend an annoying amount of time on blind double dates with Harry, probably.

“I love you,” he told her, voice threaded with guilt and his grip tightening briefly. “Next time I’m dumb enough not to say that, you go ahead and tattle on me to Aunt May, huh?”

That was sweet; too bad he was such an idiot.

Gwen wriggled out of his grip to sock him in the shoulder, drunkenly hard, and sniffed imperiously. “Like I was crying about my boyfriend not telling me he loved me,” she scoffed, leading the march out of the club. “Full of yourself much, Parker?”

Harry laughed. “I love it when she puts you in your place.”

“I can’t win,” Peter complained. “Mary Jane, I cannot--I cannot win.”

“You keep telling yourself that, lover boy,” she drawled back. “I don’t know what else to call it, when you’ve got friends like us.”

#gwen stacy #mary jane watson #peter parker #harry osborn #fic tag #petergwen

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officialjameelajamil · 6 years

Text

I weigh

Today is my 32nd birthday.

This is the best birthday I’ve ever had because I’ve woken up to thousands of women sending me pictures and messages about the things they love about their lives, and the things they have done that they are most proud of. This has been going on for days now.

I was scrolling through “explore” on Instagram (always a certified mine field for one’s self esteem) and came across this disastrously damaging picture.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A group shot of grown women with their respective weights posted across each of their bodies, and the post asking what we think of their weights and then asking its followers, “What do you weigh?”

WHO CARES? What kind of crazed toxic nonsense is this? What is this post trying to achieve other than to induce anxiety into young women about something so entirely irrelevant? What are we teaching women about our value? Can it be measured using a metric system? Why do so many posts like this exist on social media? How is anyone supposed to get through the fucking day happy with themselves when we are given such unreasonable and shallow goals to achieve, falling short of which, no matter who we are, what we do, how many lives we save, how many children we raise, how many people’s lives we touch, we are not worth anything.

I snapped. I am just done. I’m so done with seeing this and letting it pass me by. It’s so dangerous and disgusting. It’s so belittling and abusive. We are subliminally bullied all day by the magazines, the side bar of shame, social media, and by each other. The onslaught is so aggressive that we are going to have to retaliate with 10 times the strength to undo all of the damage to the global psyche of women. So I posted this:

A small ode to the brilliant life that I am so lucky to live, that I built by myself from scratch, to the friends I am so lucky to have and to my self worth. This is how I measure myself. What I did, how I made people feel and how much I have enjoyed myself. It has taken me 10 years to get to the realisation that I am worth more than the digits on a measuring tape. And more importantly, the push back against body shaming shouldn’t just be about how much we love our flaws, it should be about something that isn’t really about the body at all. Self acceptance is important. But we deserve more than acceptance. Let’s step as far away from the conversation about our bodies as possible and make acclaim, integrity, achievement, contribution to society and kindness: Values worth shouting about again.

I posted it on twitter, and within an hour women started sending me their own ones. There were too many to keep track of. It happened so fast. The pictures were amazing. None of them were posed and filtered, nobody was contoured to within an inch of their life, or sucking anything in. It was women living their lives, writing down all of the things they were grateful for and proud of. All of the degrees they have, the babies they made, the cancer they beat or are fighting, their families they love, the disabilities they live with or help with, the relationships they have built, the companies they started. Just women waking up and remembering that they are valuable, and they do important, difficult, incredible things. Things that are more than just achieving the perfect lip liner, losing baby weight quickly or being able to EAT PIZZA WHILST AT A LINGERIE PHOTOSHOOT!!! (WOWWEE!)

Here are some of my favourites:

Women of every size and shape and age and background sent me their declarations of self love and clapped back at the shame they have been drenched in their whole lives. We are attacked by this beast our WHOLE DAMN LIVES. Bemused parents are writing to me that social media has their 8 year olds talking about diets and what they dislike about their tiny growing bodies. We are facing an epidemic of self hatred. Instagram while sometimes an amazing way for us to share, is in many ways, hurtling us at light speed towards the demise of what the suffragettes were building.

We lack focus because we are concentrating on the wrong things. Most of the women I know wake up much earlier than men to get ready, and spend much of their time and money on complete nonsense like manicures and pedicures, hair treatments, and waxing. Women bleach their bumholes. THEY BLEACH THEIR BUMHOLES. This is how far we have gone with our pursuit of perfection, that we are no longer satisfied with the natural colour of an area almost nobody in the world will ever see. We have to be thin, but with big breasts and bottoms, gravity free, spotless, hairless, ageless, light skinned but always with a year round sun kissed glow; we must be fun and eat pizza and drink beer but also completely cellulite free and we must all have tiny noses and enormous eyes and lips but with skinny faces, but our skinny faces must never look gaunt and old.

And after all this, and after all the work we do, that we do as much of as men, ON SUBSTANTIALLY fewer calories than we probably need, we get judged more and paid less anyway.

NO. I’m sorry but at some point something has to give. We have to object. We have to do it together. Rather than just complaining about it, lets fill the void of sense with some perspective and some regard for the lives we are so lucky to live. An education is a luxury and a beautiful thing, not afforded to millions of women in the world. Bringing children into the world and raising them to be happy and healthy and kind is a great achievement, that literally builds the world. Surviving illness and war and trials of mental health makes a warrior out of you. Fighting for the rights of those who have no voice is heroic and important. Reading and writing and filling yourself with knowledge makes you so much more fun to spend the day with. Travelling and being independent and supporting yourself is the sign of a woman in control of her life.

We spend our lives in pursuit of the approval of others when we don’t yet even really approve of ourselves. My opinion of me is now (and only very recently) the one that matters.

I remember being 15, miserable and so relentlessly disappointed in myself, thinking it didn’t matter that I had a full academic scholarship and that I had a job and good grades, a Grade 8 in piano and I was a good kid, because my hip bones didn’t jut out, I had a round face and my thighs were forever touching. I was taught nothing else mattered. And that my fat covered up my achievements. I am so, so aware of the damage the media does to a vulnerable mind, it ruined the first 20 years of my life.

I found this really sad old drawing I did of myself when I 16, with what I felt I had to look like in order to be accepted by girls at school, and society in general.

I can’t sit by and read the messages of self hatred that teenage girls send me, about how they hate themselves for not looking like Victoria’s Secret models. I can’t watch what happened to me, happen to them.

I hereby call out every newspaper run by a man that shames women about their appearance.

I hereby call out journalists who write passive-aggressive shaming articles about weight gain and congratulatory ones about women who lose weight.

I hereby MASSIVELY call out celebrities who don’t document what it takes for them to look the way they do. If you have had surgery, say something. If you have a strict diet and workout regime, say something. It is UNFEMINIST to push an image that was created in the fantasy lab of the patriarchy, essentially that of a sex doll, to other women, and pretend that it comes naturally to you, and that junk food and lying down in expensive hotel suites is what keeps you beautiful. You have a platform and have to use it responsibly.

I hereby call out the fashion industry for STILL after 10 years of being called out, perpetuating the idea that expensive clothing only looks good on stick thin, barely pubescent girls. (None of whom can afford your bloody clothes)

I hereby call out the women who troll other women online about their appearances.

I hereby call out the trolls that live in our own heads and eradicate all of our achievements and shower us in self-doubt and loathing.

In this uprising of female power we must realise we are being set absurd extra goals, thick and fast. The further we come as a gender, the more ridiculous the ideals we have to fulfil become. We are being distracted and exhausted and our eyes are being taken off the ball. Every minute you spend thinking about how thin or gorgeous you aren't, is a minute you aren’t spending on growing your business or your life.

I’m not saying it’s not important to watch out for your health. I’m not saying your BMI isn’t something to pay attention to. I do think it’s important to try to be active and put good food into your engine. But I also think the shame and feeling of failure is what drives us to the unhealthy eating habits we acquire to “comfort” us when we feel inferior and depressed. It’s a catch 22.

And by all means take pride in your appearance. Enjoy your looks, and your clothes and your sex appeal, but don’t make it your number one concern and selling point. It can be in your top ten, but it should never, ever define you. It isn’t important. We aren’t supposed to all look the same. And nothing good ever comes of self hatred. It will never further you. It will always hold you back.

Please think of the things in your life that you are proud of, that fulfil you, that make you happy and write them down somewhere, and look at that list every time you feel that you are failing, or that your jeans are tight, or you have a chubby arm in a group photo of a night out, or when you watch a video of a Hadid eating pasta.

Please remember you have every right to be here, and your life is important and it is precious, and on your death bed you aren’t going to be thinking about your love handles.

I love women and we deserve so much more than this. We can do better. We have to.

We can win the revolution against shame.

#blog

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letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked · 6 years

Text

New Beginnings (Part 1)

Frank Adler X OFC

A/N: I literally spent like FOREVER working on this storyboard LOL I hope you enjoy this series! Ignore the piece of shit wattpad cover... It looked too plain, and I wanted a picture. *shrugs*

Warnings: None really... yet. Swearing, mostly.

Main Masterlist // Series Masterlist

“It’s too hot, here.” Annie sighed to herself, air conditioning cranked to the max in her older model truck. Honestly, how do people like this weather? “What do you think, Elena?” She glanced up in the rearview mirror, spotting her snoring toddler in her car seat.

With an eye roll, she went back to concentrating on the busy road, squinting behind her sunglasses to find her little street. “Seriously, kid? We’ve only been driving for, like, twenty minutes.”

Florida was a completely different atmosphere than northern Minnesota.

It was a million times hotter, there were more people in the major cities, and the people were always so busy. Luckily, Annie could get used to the warmer weather, considering she’d decided to move in mid-September. It was still hot as shit in Minnesota, but she knew that would change fairly quick. Minnesota weather was completely unpredictable, but Annie had respected that. She was used to dealing with the rain, heat, snow, and cold – sometimes all in the same damn week.

Now, she was going to have to learn to respect the tropical weather – considering she was moving to Florida during hurricane season.

Hurricanes were nothing like tornadoes…

If there was a hurricane any time soon, she was going to have a goddamn heart attack.

It was a bright, sunny day, though. She picked a great day to leave the hotel and move into her new… apartment? The landlord had called it an apartment, but the pictures made it look more like a small house; and though she hadn’t seen the place in person, she already loved it. It was the only pink house in the little community that she’d found on a renters website.

Moving had been a spur of the moment decision, on her part, because… well… her parents… they died in a car accident back in early June.

Her dad had hydroplaned during a particularly bad thunderstorm, causing the car to collide with a large semi-truck, and they’d lost their lives. Luckily, the other driver was unharmed. Her brother, Gavin, had been on his way home to visit from his first year at North Dakota State University when the accident had occurred.

Unfortunately, Annie and her small toddler, Elena, had been at home – waiting on their arrival back from the store.

Receiving the news about their parents’ deaths devastated the siblings. Elena was too young to understand why her mother and her uncle were huddled together on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably, awaiting the arrival of their grandparents to help with funerals and insurance. Gavin’s girlfriend, Grace, had driven all night to come to Gavin and Annie’s rescue. She helped cook and clean, and she helped with Elena – much to Annie’s admiration.

Gracie had been a friggin’ godsend to the siblings.

When Annie and Gavin decided to sell the family home, they – drunkenly – decided the best thing for Annie to do was throw a dart at a map of the United States and choose a state.

Because mixing alcohol and darts was the best idea they could come up with.

After three tries to get the damn dart to stick in the damn board, it landed near Tampa, Florida. Not wanting to completely live in the city, they’d done some online research and found the apartment – at an amazing price – which was move-in ready by the beginning of September.

That was the reason for the 1,900-ish mile trip from Thief River Falls, Minnesota, to the little town outside of Tampa, Florida. The landlord – Roberta – had promised that the place would be painted, carpets would be cleaned or replaced, and that the place was quite spacious for a single-mother and a toddler.

Not that Annie couldn’t afford to do all the work herself, after she received the ghastly life insurance – blood money – check with too many zeros. Her and her brother split the check down the middle for life insurance, and the house. He got their mother’s fancy Jeep, and she got her father’s old – but reliable – pickup truck. It made more sense, with the move. Not that she had much stuff to move, anyways. She’d wanted a clean break from her life in Minnesota. She’d broken things off with her boyfriend, Lance, and donated all her belongings – only keeping the important items.

The usual type of ‘I need a change of scenery after my parents’ deaths’ move.

Right?

Her brother tagged along on the trip with her, to make sure that the apartment was really ready. All the while, Annie found a job at a local elementary school as an office secretary, which provided daycare for Elena.

Unfortunately, Gavin had to leave early in the morning, due to college starting back up and having an early exam he needed to finish studying for.

So, he had to catch a flight at an ungodly hour, earlier that morning.

“We’re almost to our new home, Mija.” Annie smiled, knowing full well that her daughter was still snoring away in the back seat. That kid could sleep through anything. “You shouldn’t be napping. It’s almost ten in the morning. You should be wide awake, kid.”

Glancing at her phone – which was attached to a vent-clip, so she could see the GPS – she realized that she’d actually missed the turn into the neighborhood, prompting her to sigh in frustration. Whipping around when she could, she followed the road back to her turn, which was partially hidden by a few annoying trees.

Commit that to memory, Annie.

…Stupid ass trees.

“Elena, baby, time to wake up.” When Annie entered her little neighborhood, she reached back to gently shake her daughter’s chubby, little, tan leg. “We’re home.” Annie immediately knew which house was hers… since the bright pink stuck out like a sore thumb. She loved it! “Mija, look.”

She heard the grunt and whine of her little girl, who was not a happy baby when she was woken from a nap. Elena – who’s dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin resembled her father – was glaring at her from her car seat, pissed off. Though Elena’s features didn’t resemble Annie’s, in the slightest, her facial expressions completely matched Gavin’s facial expressions – much to Annie’s dismay and humor.

“Oh, come on, Mija.” She laughed, pulling into her designated parking space – which was a small, grassy area next to her new home. “At least show me your beautiful smile. Today’s a happy day.”

The second the car stopped moving, Elena started straining against the bonds of her car seat, lip protruding in a pout and whining loudly.

“Alright, alright.” Annie sighed, unbuckling her own seatbelt, before reaching for the door. She was immediately hit with a wave of humid heat, which seeped into the air conditioned truck and fogged the windows. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

She hopped down, her five foot three inch stature appearing even smaller next to the height of her dad’s older truck. Walking around the front of the truck, she saw a young girl running around in one of the yards, blonde hair swishing behind her as she chased around a fat, orange and white cat. A woman, who was seated on her concrete steps, was laughing, watching the young girl with the adoration a mother would have for a child.

Speaking of children…

Annie ripped open the door, unbuckling her own child from her car seat and turning back towards their new home.

The pastel pink home had a lot of character, reminding Annie of a small doll house she’d had as a child. The plants around the house looked as if they’d been well cared for, the concrete steps – though slightly uneven – were lined with a metal railing, which would be good to have when Elena learned how to walk properly down the stairs, versus sliding down on her butt or belly. The roof looked a little worn, but that was understandable with Florida’s stormy weather, and the accents of the house were a newly painted white.

The neighborhood, though dated, looked beautifully kept-up.

Elena, whose mood had improved in the last couple minutes, whined to be let down and thrashed against Annie – pissed that she wasn’t immediately able to run around and cause a ruckus.

“Stay close to mommy, okay?” Annie told her, setting her down on the grassy lot, “Mommy doesn’t know this neighborhood, yet.”

Elena immediately ran circles around Annie’s pale legs, which were donned in some jean shorts, and started a fit of giggles – stomping around like a tiny, little weirdo.

“Let’s get the stuff from the back, yeah?” She smiled, watching Elena run to a bush to check out the little yellow flowers blooming, eyes full of wonder. “Then we can tour the house.”

Ignoring her, Elena picked a flower from the bush, plopping down on her butt and examining the flower with her dark brows pushed together in concentration – slightly humming to herself.

With a small chuckle, Annie moved to the back of the truck, moving the cover back so she had access to the few belongings that she’d brought with. There were only a few boxes of belongings and necessities, three suitcases, a portable crib for Elena, a large cooler of food Annie had purchased that morning, some grocery bags, and a blow up mattress for Annie.

That was it… At least, until the furniture arrived.

Grabbing Elena’s things first, she hauled them off the truck, calling for Elena to follow her as she brought them to the front steps. Elena, who had thrown the poor flower onto the ground and trampled it to a mangled mess, toddled over to the front door.

After struggling to get the door unlocked with her arms full, Annie stepped into their new home for the first time, followed by Elena’s little body.

The carpets – which had been replaced, recently – where a brilliant off-white, as were the walls. The front door lead into the living room, which – though small – was perfect size for the Annie and her toddler.

Gently setting her belongings down, she stood there for a moment to take it all in.

She took a deep breath, the natural floral scent of her new house – which covered the smell of fresh paint – wafting through the open windows and tickling the inside of her nose. They’d probably been opened earlier that morning to let the breeze naturally cool the house a bit, since it was hot as balls.

To her left was the kitchen, which was a little more dated than the living room but did have newer appliances. There was a back door, in the kitchen, which was closer to the yard that the young, blonde girl and the older woman had occupied previously. The kitchen was big enough for a small kitchen table, and Annie could already picture how she wanted to decorate.

Luckily, white and light wood were easy to work with.

So many options…

There was a hallway that connected the kitchen to the two bedrooms and one bathroom. The bigger bedroom was, obviously, Annie’s. It was big enough that she could fit a queen size bed and a dresser with plenty of room to walk back and forth – not that she’d spend much time in her bedroom, anyways. The second bedroom would be perfect for Elena to have a crib, a small double bed for guests, and a large bin for her toys.

Annie, in awe of her new home, carried Elena’s portable crib and suitcase to her new bedroom. “This is your room, Mija! Do you like it?”

Elena followed Annie into the bedroom, frowning at her new environment with the look that Gavin got when he was thinking hard. Her little dark brows were pulled together, pink lips pursed into a tight frown, and eyes narrowed as she scanned the area.

God, she was never allowed near her uncle, again. Those two were peas in a freaking pod.

“Once we get it decorated, you’ll like it more.” Annie sighed, thankful that the only stairs in the house were the front steps. “Stay here while mommy gets the rest of our things, okay?”

Elena ignored Annie, again, going for the zipper on her suitcase and trying to unzip it, herself.

While the toddler was distracted, Annie quickly started hauling her items into the home, putting each box and suitcase in the appropriate bedroom and making a mental list of things she was going to order online and shop for.

Once all of their possessions were out of the truck, Annie set to work on setting up the portable crib for Elena and the air mattress for herself.

Shit, why do the stupid sides never want to lock up? Why did you have to become a magic fucking wizard to set up a portable crib?!

A knock sounded at the back door, startling her while she made up Elena’s bed – after she somehow got the sides to lock up.

She didn’t know anyone, yet… Who would knock on her door?

Maybe the landlord?

She did say that she was going to check in…

Annie, leaving Elena to play with her book in her bedroom, made her way towards the back door, spotting the woman and child from earlier – the young girl holding a giant plate of chocolate chip cookies, with an annoyed frown on her face.

“Well, hello.” Annie smiled, opening the back door and waving them inside the empty kitchen. “I’m Annie O’Hara. Are you my new neighbors?”

“I’m Roberta. I’m the landlord.” The older, dark-skinned woman smiled, a hand on the young girl’s shoulder. She recognized Roberta’s voice from speaking to her on the phone. “This is Mary.”

“Hi, Mary.” Annie greeted, opening the door wider to let the duo step inside. “You can come in if you’d like. I still have to order the furniture, though, so there’s not really anywhere to sit.”

“We wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Roberta chuckled, entering the home with Mary following closely behind. “It’s been a while since we’ve had new neighbors, but Bernadette’s health just kept declining… Her children had her in assisted living, before she passed.”

“I take it Bernadette was the previous tenant?” Annie asked, leaning against the counter and watching as Mary set the plate of cookies beside her. “She kept the place up really nice. This house looks like it’s seen some love.”

“She loved to tend to her plants. It was therapeutic for her.” Roberta sighed, leaning against the wall opposite from Annie. “She, also, made a mean apple pie.”

“Well, I haven’t baked in a long time, but I do love to cook.” Annie shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest, “My daughter likes my homemade macaroni and cheese.”

“You have a daughter?” Mary asked, eyes lighting up and all traces of a frown disappearing. “How old is she?”

“She’s almost two.” Annie replied, lips lifting into a smile at the potential play-mate for her daughter. “She loves to run around outside if you want to meet her.”

“Can I meet her?” Mary grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. “We haven’t had any kids in the neighborhood in forever.”

“Of course, you can.” Annie pushed away from the counter, walking towards the hallway and calling out, “Elena, come here, Mija!”

The sound of uneven footfalls stomping around the hall could be heard from the kitchen as Elena ran from the bedroom to where Annie was calling her name. She came barreling around the corner, a large grin on her face, and an excited cry echoing through the empty house.

Scooping her giggling form from the ground, Annie gave her a sloppy kiss on her little cheek. “This is Elena.”

“Hi, Elena.” Mary waved, excitement rolling off of her in waves. “Can I show her my cat? His name is Fred. He has one eye.”

“Only one eye?” Annie asked, cocking a confused brow as she tried to keep her hold on her struggling toddler – who still wanted to run around and explore. “What happened to his other one?”

“Don’t know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Mary shrugged, like she’d answered the question multiple times, before. “Can Elena meet Fred? I think he would like her.”

“Of course.” Annie held the door open for the duo, still holding Elena, before following them outside into the sun. “Elena loves animals.”

Setting Elena into the plush grass, Mary grabbed her little hand, leading her into the other yard, where the orange, monocular cat was stretched out – sunbathing. Roberta and Annie sat down on the steps, watching the young girls as they pet the rotund cat.

“So, is Mary your daughter?” Annie asked, watching as Elena gently pat the cat on the side of the belly. “She’s adorable.”

Roberta laughed, leaning back so the sun was shining on her face. “Does she look like my daughter?”

“I’m a pale, Irish redhead.” Annie shrugged, closing her eyes as the sun warmed her arms and cheeks. “Does Elena look like my daughter?”

“I guess not.” Roberta replied, and Annie could hear the smile in her tone. “As much as I wish she was mine, she’s not. I just love spending time with her.”

“Well, hopefully her and Elena can spend some time together, too.” Annie opened her eyes to watch the young girls run around the yard, chasing the cat. “Elena doesn’t have much interaction with other children.”

“Where’s her father, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Mexico.” Annie replied, a small wave of guilt washing over her. “I was on spring break when I met her father. Marco worked at a bar just outside of Cancún, where we met. We had a small fling, and one thing led to another… I didn’t get his number or any other information on him, because it was just a one night stand, so I couldn’t exactly contact him.”

She gulped, getting that lump in her stomach that appeared any time she thought about how other people perceived her after learning the truth about Elena’s conception. “I remembered that… I remembered his mother’s name was Elena, though. I wanted to make sure Elena knew her heritage, as much as I could. I’m trying to learn Spanish and named her after her grandmother. I want to educate myself, so she doesn’t feel like she’s missing a part of herself, you know?” Annie frowned, watching Elena giggle as she ran away from Mary. “I googled the bar, after Elena was born… but it burnt down. I have no idea where Marco could be, or even what his last name was.”

“So, you’ve been raising her all on your own?”

“My parents were a big help,” Annie’s shoulders sagged in grief, the familiar pang of loss ripping through her chest. It was never going to get easier to mention them… “They died back in June, and my brother’s in college at NDSU in North Dakota… So, I decided it was time to move on. I needed a change, as cliché as that is.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Roberta laid a warm hand on Annie’s arm, face soft with sympathy. “Losing your parents is hard. I know the pain. I’m sorry you have to experience it so young.”

“I’m just glad to have Elena, Gavin, and Grace – his girlfriend.” Annie smiled, sun starting to leave her pale skin a little pink. “I’m sorry that you know the pain of losing your parents. When did it happen?”

“Oh, honey, it was years ago. Eventually, you learn to appreciate the time you had with them, instead of missing the time you didn’t.” She sighed, patting Annie’s arm before looking over at a truck that was pulling up a few houses down. “Frank’s here. He’s Mary’s uncle. More of a father than any man I’ve ever met.”

Annie watched as Mary abruptly stopped running, a large grin stretching her face as she spotted the older truck. “FRANK!” Mary shrieked, running toward the taller man who was exiting the truck.

“Shit.” Annie whispered as Elena followed Mary, confused that they were no longer playing, and going to investigate. “Elena! Mija!”

Annie jumped up, jogging after the toddler, who had already made her way over to the confused man and joyous child. Mary, who had jumped into her uncles’ arms for a moment, squatted down next to Elena – who was holding her arms out to Mary to pick her up – and lifted her with a small grunt, talking to Frank.

“Frank, this is Elena.” Mary introduced, as Annie quickly made her way over, “Her and her mom are our new neighbors. They’re where Bernadette used to live, before she got too old.”

Frank was a tall man, tee shirt tightly stretching over his broad shoulders but bunching up at his narrow waist. He looked as if he had just gotten home from work, arms and tee shirt stained with oil and grease. His face was unshaved, but kept pretty tame, and he was tan – as if he worked outside.

The look in his eyes was one of a parent, and he looked at Mary like she was his entire world, tired eyes lighting up at the sight of the blonde, little girl.

Well, shit, Annie thought to herself, He’s attractive.

“Mary.” Frank sighed, shaking his head, trying not to smile. “That’s not a polite way to put it.”

“What! She was!” Mary shrugged, as Elena laid her head on Mary’s shoulder in exhaustion from running around. She spotted Annie and gestured over to the woman. “That’s Annie. Elena’s mom.”

“Hi! Sorry about Elena! She really likes Mary.” Annie smiled, brushing her stray red hair from her face, holding out her free hand to Frank. “I’m Annie O’Hara. I just moved into the pink house.”

Frank cocks a brow at her, blue eyes scrutinizing her as he grasped her hand with a stiff handshake. “Frank Adler.”

“Nice… to meet you?” Annie replies awkwardly, watching as Mary and Elena run towards the cat. “Your niece is such a sweet girl. Elena is already fascinated by her. They’ve been playing since Roberta and Mary came to meet us.”

“Nice.” Frank replied, curtly. He watched Mary, paying no attention to Annie as Mary and Elena plopped down in the grass to pet Fred.

“Anyways…” Annie gulped, starting to awkwardly walk away. “Nice meeting you.”

“Yep.” He replied, turning and walking towards his house, before calling out to Mary. “Mary, come eat lunch.”

“Okay!” Mary called back, standing quickly, and turning to Elena. “I have to go eat lunch. We can play, later, okay?”

“Come on, Mija.” Annie walked over, scooping Elena up from the ground, dusting the grass from her little shorts. “Say ‘bye-bye’ to Mary.”

Elena lifted her hand, waving her hand back and forth with a small pout, and Mary ran off to her house.

Well… that was awkward. Annie thought to herself, shaking off the negative vibes from the encounter. He was kind of a dick. Jeez.

Annie and Elena made their way back over to Roberta, who was still sunbathing on Annie’s step. “I don’t think Frank likes me much.”

“What makes you say that?” Roberta frowned, dark eyebrows pulling together, confused. “Was he rude to you?”

“Not exactly.” Annie shrugged, sitting on the step with Elena in her lap, bouncing the toddler as she played with the neckline of Annie’s shirt. “Just… a little standoffish.”

“They went through a lot, last year.” Roberta sighs, gazing over at the Adler residence with a sad look in her eyes. Annie could see her swallow thickly, before continuing, “They’re still recovering from it.”

“I won’t ask.” Annie sighed, pressing her face against the warm curls on the top of Elena’s head. “That’s their business. I just hope that Mary and Elena can play together. It’d be nice to have another child in the neighborhood, so Elena can become more social. I want her to be a kid and be more social. She’s always around adults.”

“That sounds familiar.” Roberta smiles at Elena, holding out her hand for Elena to grasp and examine. “So, why don’t you have any furniture, yet?”

“I wanted a clean break.” A small pang pierced at Annie’s heart as she thought about her childhood home. She missed it. She missed the smell, the squeaky door to the patio, her bedroom, and… her parents. “The house just wasn’t the same without my parents. I wanted to be able to start a new life with Elena. Gavin was already gone, so it was just me and Elena in the house. It didn’t feel right.”

“So, you lived with your parents?”

“Yeah.” Annie replied, replaying the past in her mind like a footage reel. “After I found out I was pregnant, I quit college out of panic. I was newly twenty-one, and only on my second year of doing my generals at the U of M.” A small sigh escaped her, before she could help it. Quitting college was something that she really regretted doing, but she didn’t want to dwell on past mistakes. “I really panicked, but I was lucky to have parents who wanted to help me. They let me come back, gave me a room to stay in, loved their grandchild with their whole hearts, and never judged me for my actions. They were truly the best parents I could’ve asked for.”

“They sound like great parents.” Roberta smiles, brushing her fingers over Elena’s dark curls. “I have a son. He lives in the Miami area. I only see him a few times a year. He has a family of his own, and a life of his own.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Every day.” She smiles, dark eyes shining with unshed tears. “I have Frank and Mary, though.”

“Well,” Annie grasped Roberta’s hand in comfort, “I hope you know that… You have us, too.”

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Part 2

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