#from the bottom of my heart i hate drawing desks in rows

[horrendoushag]

Danny: Valerie thinks my shades are cool :)

Sam: Take Them Off.

For the last year or so I’ve been thinking about this scenario where Danny’s eyes start glowing in human form and won’t stop but he Still Needs To Go To School so he just wears sunglasses

closeups under the cut

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #valerie gray #dash baxter #kwan #mr lancer #my art #doodles #comic #from the bottom of my heart i hate drawing desks in rows

[cellophaine]

Home With You

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 3003

Warnings: None.

Author's Note: I figured I should give you guys a break from my smutty contents lol. And I just wanted to write an indulgent fluff piece.

As always, every likes, comments, reblogs, feedbacks and ask submissions are greatly appreciated! My heart goes into cha-cha-cha mode whenever I receive notifications from you guys (it's a happy mode)

Prompt requested by: Anonyomous (love you anon <3)

------

"Matt?!"

You called out as you walked into his apartment; the exhaustion crept into your voice. His name echoed back to you in the empty place, a tell-tale sign of Matt's absence. You huffed out a frustrated sigh as you stepped out of your heels, padding into the living room on bare feet, much to your relief. You dropped your briefcase to the floor with abandon, planting face-first onto the couch, releasing another weary sigh. This was the third night in a row you missed him on his way out, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. At this point, it had become a regular occurrence. You felt like you barely saw him as of late. All you had was the little time in the mornings with Matt's body wrapped around yours in the bed. And it wasn't enough. How could it be?

Your workload as a paralegal at Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz had picked up in the past few months. The pay was more than decent, but it resulted in more time assisting Jeri Hogarth in cases and less time spending with your boyfriend. The immense amount of guilt you felt kept building up, as you knew Matt was not happy about your situation, but he always knew what to say to make you feel better. You had spent time running around New York for researches, staying late at the office at Hogarth's requests.

The days would always end with you worn out to the bones. Matt hated how the job was clawing at you, chipping away a piece of you every day, leaving you stressed out and exhausted. But he was supportive anyway, understanding that it was your choice in the matter. And so, Matt was the only constant, comforting source in your life. He would be there every time you woke up, cuddling and kissing you, making sure that you had all your meals throughout the day, taking care of you when you couldn't do it yourself.

You dragged your enervated self into the shower, lathering yourself up with Matt's shampoo and body, indulging in his scent under the hot water. The clean smell of his soap in the shower steam helped relieve the ache of missing him in your chest. You had slept over his apartment every night. Still, ironic enough, you felt like you drifted away further from him, not of your own volition. Matt was the anchor that kept you close, but how long would it last? How long would he be willing to stay?

You patted yourself dry, walking into his bedroom, the air cool on your exposed skin. You opened the closet, pulling out a sweatshirt of his. You hugged it close to your chest, dropping your head low to inhale the smell of him. You pulled the shirt on along with his too-big sweatpants, tightening the strings at the waistband. You put on his socks, too, tucking them over the hems of the sweats, just like how he always did it. A habit of his that you had absorbed. A bittersweet thought struck you. Despite being in his apartment, often living in his space more than your own, you wore his clothes just to feel closer to him. He was close but never close enough.

You found your way to the couch again, plopping your head on the pillow. You curled into yourself, settling in a comfortable position. You didn't bother with dinner, for you craved something else. You just wanted him here. You wanted to spend every second you could get with him to make up for the time you had missed. You tried to stay up, waiting for him to come back. But the toll of the day pulled on your eyelids, luring you into sleep with much resistance from you.

A weightless feeling woke you from your sleep. You blinked sleepily; your hazy vision revealed Matt, still in his Daredevil suit, the helmet was nowhere in sight. His unseeing eyes radiated the comfort and affection you loved, and you hummed happily at the blessed sight of him. A smile pulled on the corner of Matt's lips as he laid you down on the bed, pulling the soft blanket over you. He brushed your hair off your eyes before leaning in, pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. You smiled sleepily at his gesture, tilting your face up as his warmth left your skin. Your lips met his halfway, and you sighed into the kiss that you craved with the entirety of your being. You needed this, needed him; you yearned for him. Your hand found its way to him; his light stubble tickled your fingertips. You caressed his face, needing to touch, to feel him, as the kiss grew heavy. Finally, he pulled back from you with much reluctance, within your reach, just enough so you could hear his whisper.

"Have you had dinner? I left you your favourite in the fridge."

You pressed your head into the pillow before shaking your head, along with a muffled confirmation of his suspicion. His brows furrowed, and you quickly pulled on his jaw, drawing him closer. You resumed the kiss, and once again, Matt was the one who broke away. Lowering your voice in a soothing tone, you asked in the hope of distracting him.

"Do you have any injuries that needed to be looked at?"

"It was a pretty uneventful night. I know what you're doing, and it's not working."

He responded at once; his head shook slightly in disapproval. He knew you too well. You knew that. But you didn't want to get up while all you wanted was to bask in his familiarity, his warmth again.

"I had a very long day. I just want to go back to sleep, with you. Please?"

Your desperate plea tugged at his heart. His eyes softened as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Alright. But you will have a big breakfast, first thing when you get up."

You bit your lip, brows waggling at him, even though you knew he couldn't see that. A playful, suggestive tone glided into your voice.

"Oh, I definitely would like something 'big' for breakfast."

He let out a small laugh at your terrible tease.

"I'm serious. I was gone for a few hours, and you already neglected yourself."

"I promise. I'll be yours for the entire weekend. Now, can you get your ass in this bed, preferably naked? Pretty please."

He chuckled, standing up to pull his protective gear off. A few rustles later, the mattress dipped as Matt climbed into the bed behind you. He pulled you into his chest, pressing butterfly kisses on your hair. You turned onto your back, giving him easier access to your lips. He eagerly took you on your offer, pulling you in for a soft kiss, so soft that it made you melt into his embrace. He moved to kiss your cheeks, making his way to your eyelids, ending the kiss on your forehead.

"Sleep now, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up."

You turned to your side to cuddle into him, curling your hand behind his muscular back. You nuzzled your face into his firm chest, kissing and nibbling sleepily on the naked skin. You fell asleep promptly, grateful for the weekend ahead of you.

Your phone buzzed again and again on Matt's bedside table. You groaned, burrowing your face further into Matt's chest. The faint scent of blood and sweat, of Matt, infiltrated your senses through a daze. However, whoever on the other side stayed persistent; calls came in after calls. Finally, you untangled your limbs from Matt's with frustration, answering the call to hear Hogarth's voice on the other side.

"Where the fuck are you? Why didn't you pick up your damn phone?"

"It's… it's the weekend."

"And? This case won't go away itself. Come in now, or you're fired."

Your ears met with the dead tone from the other line. You fell back onto the warm bed, feeling like you could burst into tears. Pressing your face into the pillow, you muffled a silent scream. Matt propped on his elbow, caressing your back with the other hand.

"Stay here. Quit the job. You deserve so much better than how Hogarth's treating you."

You murmured.

"I can't. Her words have weight. She can really help me with my career. The pay isn't bad either."

"I know, but it's not worth it. I don't like seeing you bend over backward to every of her demand. I can feel your exhaustion every night. I hate seeing you so harrowed and stressed out."

You sighed heavily.

"It's not like I can quit right away. Not until I can secure a better job somewhere else. Rent in Hell's Kitchen is crazy. Until then, I'm stuck with her."

You moved around in the place, talking to Matt as you got ready. When you stepped out of the bathroom into the living room, dressed in your work attire, Matt walked over to where you stood, offering you a cup of tea. You smiled sadly at him, stroking his cheeks. Then, you raised on your tiptoe, kissing him swiftly before picking up your briefcase, making your way to the door.

"I'm sorry, I can't drink the tea. I'm already late. I'll see you later tonight?"

Matt fell into silence; his head turned away from your direction. The mugs of tea in his hands stayed still and abandoned. You felt an awful jerk on your heartstring for leaving him like this. You spoke softly.

"I love you."

One moment of silence, then two. Matt reluctantly spoke, his voice small, barely audible.

"Love you, too."

You gnawed on your bottom lip in defeat, walking out the door. Your heart grew heavier with every step you took, carrying you further away from him.

When the elevator opened, you were working at your desk, just outside of Hogarth's office. You looked up just in time as the infamous P.I of Hell's Kitchen walked past your desk, sparing a glance towards you. You sprang up from your seat, running after her.

"Ms. Jones, I'm sorry, but you can't go in there. Unfortunately, Ms. Hogarth is not available at the moment."

Jones reeked of alcohol, but there was no sign of intoxication. She scoffed.

"I don't care if she's fucking another secretary in there. Step aside. I don't want to hurt you."

You stood in her path, taking your stance. Although preventing Jessica Jones from entering your boss' office wasn't your job, Hogarth made you do it anyway. She made you do many things that went beyond your responsibilities as a paralegal, as she always held her power over your head like an invisible sword, readied to strike at any given time.

Jessica rolled her eyes, sidestepping you. You stuck your foot out in her path, making her boot catch on your heel. She stumbled lightly, whirling around to face you.

"Seriously?"

You swallowed, shrugging.

"A girl's gotta do what she's gotta do."

"Maybe that girl should get another job and stop working for that monster."

Jessica quickened her pace, pushing the door open as you chased after her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Hogarth, but she …."

"… tired of your shit, Hogarth. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jessica gritted out the words. Your boss sent a deathly glare at you.

"Leave us."

She flicked a wrist at you, and you closed the door behind you as fast as you could. You went back to your desk, speeding through your mountain of paperwork. About half an hour later, Jessica walked out with a menacing expression on her face, heading straight for the elevator. Jeri walked out about two minutes later, looming over your desk.

"If that happens again, I will personally destroy your little, pathetic career. You hear me?"

You nodded solemnly.

"Have them on my desk before 5."

Hogarth left you alone for the rest of your time there. You were done with the work at a little over 3 PM. You dropped it off, and it was refreshing to see a surprise expression on her face for once instead of the usual scowl you received. Then, you headed straight for Matt's place, couldn't wait to get back to your boyfriend, despite the little not-an-argument you had earlier that day.

He wasn't home when you got there. You sighed, afraid you had messed things up with him. After changing into something more comfortable, you sat down on Matt's kitchen table with your laptop open and a steamy plate of food Matt left you last night. You sat there, your fingers tapping away on your device for what felt like hours until you heard the sound of the door being opened. Matt walked in, dressed in his usual gym clothes with a duffle bag hanging off his shoulder. His face was flushed, his hair stuck out adorably. You stood up, lingering at the chair. You cleared your throat.

"I'm… sorry for this morning. Are we … okay?"

You ached to hug him, to be gathered into his arms, to kiss him. Your bottom lip trembled slightly. You wouldn't know what to do if he said no.

He could sense your uncertainty with every word. His face softened at your vulnerable disposition, his arms opened wide, dropping his cane and bag to the floor with little care.

"Of course we are."

You lunged into his embrace, holding him tight as he picked you up easily, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You found his lips, pouring your heart and soul into the kiss. Eventually, you pulled away from each other as you gasped for air, your foreheads touching.

Matt lowered you down to the ground, still holding you in his arms, his hand caressing your spine in a soothing motion.

"I'm looking up other jobs. Hogarth is … horrible, and I'm always stressed out. You're right. It's not worth it."

"You know … Nelson & Murdock can use a helping hand."

Matt raised his brow at you; an endearing grin pulled at the corner of his lips. You smacked his chest playfully.

"As if I'm not helping you guys in my free time already."

You trailed a finger from the waistband of his sweats, ghosting over his abdomen and chest, ended your way at the pulse on his neck, stroking the delicate arc of his throat. Matt let out a small groan of pleasure.

"That means you already have an in with the firm."

You squinted your eyes at Matt while he feigned innocence.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. I would love to have you there. We still have to discuss this with Foggy, but I think he'd be thrilled."

The earnestness in his voice was unconcealed. Working for Matt and Foggy was a tempting proposal, but you wanted to give it some thought first.

"Let me think about it."

The week started anew, with another visit from Jessica Jones. Only this time, you didn't cease your work pace, even as she walked past your desk. Jessica halted, looking at you skeptically.

"Why are you not stopping me right now? Did Hogarth call of her little guard dog?"

You looked up from your computer screen, giving her a nonchalant shrug.

"Nah, the order is still in effect. But I don't care."

The P.I gave you a nod and headed for Hogarth's office.

Before the workday ended, you were summoned by your fuming boss. Hogarth stood at her desk, a glass of whiskey clutched tight in her hand. She looked upon your entry, sneering at you.

"What part of preventing Jessica Jones from entering my office that you didn't understand? Do you —"

"I understand. I just don't care."

You dropped off the folder on Hogarth's desk. She narrowed her eyes at the manila envelope.

"This is my letter of resignation. I quit. I would say it was an honour to work with you, but that would be a lie."

You left the office that day feeling so much better than you had felt in months. There was a spring in your steps as you climbed the stairs to Matt's place. You walked in as an aroma of mouthwatering food being cooked engulfed you, welcoming you home. Matt was in the kitchen, facing the stove. You walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. Matt lifted an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. Then, he turned off the stove, fully angled his body to you and gave you a warm embrace.

"So you did it? How did she take it?"

"She was furious, Matt. She threatened to make sure I could never practice law ever again. Over and over. But I'm not worried. She can threaten me however she wants. I know the law."

"I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. You're better off without her. And if she dared to do that, you wouldn't be alone. Foggy and I will have your back."

You hugged him even tighter, pressing your ear to the steady rhythm of his heart. You stayed like that for a moment as the sound of Hell's Kitchen played in the background. Matt buried his nose into your hair, peppering your face with kisses. Then, at last, he spoke up.

"So, have you given more thoughts on working for Nelson & Murdock?"

You made a tsk sound, tapping a finger against your lips, pretending to be in deep thoughts.

"I don't know. Wouldn't it make quite a scandal since I'm dating one of the bosses?"

"Considering the other boss already knows about the arrangement, no one else has to. We can keep a secret -"

Matt dipped his head; his lips brushed over the curve of your ear purposefully. The mere contact sent a shiver down your spine in anticipation. Finally, he released the last part of his sentence; his voice dropped dangerously low, dripped in an alluring invitation.

"- and have fun with it."

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock au #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #marvel imagine #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil au #daredevil imagine #daredevil fanfiction #cellophaine 100 followers event #no use of y/n

[serendipityjxmn]

Chapter 12

TW: None

Words Count: 1.4k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 13

The air is tense that morning. Your brows furrow, thinking that you have to share the ride with Jimin now that everyone knows he’s your husband. Nearing the car, you notice there’s unfamiliar face among Jimin’s security. He usually has two with him, one is his bodyguard and the other being his bodyguard as well as his driver. You never really get the chance to know them apart from their name, considering you’ve never shared the ride with your husband.

He doesn’t say anything through the ride, his eyes glued to his tab, no doubt reading the morning news. You stare outside through the window, lost in your own thoughts.

Once you reach the company, you stand behind your husband but Jimin looks back and grabs your hand in his, startling you. It takes you a moment to process everything but not long for you to realise it’s just for show yet you can’t help having fluttered heart, walking hand in hand in public with your husband for the first time.

Reaching your desk, Irene simply watches the two of you as he speaks several things to Mina who’s at the desk as well, but haven’t yet let go of your hand.

He turns to you then and you stiffen immediately. “See you at lunch.” He says, way too soft and you feel like punching him for how he’s making you feel. His thumb and index finger cups your jaw briefly and gently before he leaves for his room.

It’s just a show, you tell yourself.

Another cons of all this travesty, is that Irene is handing you a lot of things that require you to personally see Jimin. She seems keen to let you handle him entirely.

“What do you think about this?” Jimin’s voice echoes in the whole room.

Huh? You look at him, puzzled. Is he really asking for your opinion? “I- I don’t really know all about- umm, maybe you should ask-“

“If I need a professional’s advice I would’ve asked Jinyoung. Besides, you sat through the meeting with me as well. I need your opinion.” Jimin says firmly.

You look at him hesitantly. You honestly have no idea about business world. But since this relates slightly about art, which you might know an inkling about, you answer him. “I think it’s good if you accept Wangji Co to handle the cover. They’ve been in the industry for long yet they always have fresh ideas. Apart from that, you can ensure you have a good term with Taiwan since you have their company involved.”

He remains silent for a moment, staring at you so deeply you silently pray you’re not flushing. Then he nods. “We will be meeting one of the arts director in charge. You will accompany me.” He glances at the watch. “I’ll be done in 10 minutes.”

He simply says and you take it as a sign you’re dismissed.

You take one last look in the mirror. This is your first time going out in public with your husband. Although it is work related, you’re still nerved out. You’ve never accompanied him to any event. Irene apparently never does too. Sure enough. When you google your husband, he never seems to have pictures taken with other women.

When you head downstairs, you feel your heart skips a beat when you see your husband, dressed smartly in impeccable black suit. His ash grey hair had been styled and he looks so good looking you almost want to cry.

Jimin on the other hand though, has his brows furrowed and lips pursed when he takes in your appearance.

“What on earth are you wearing?” He asks once you’re close enough.

You gulp. You’ve searched through every dress in the huge closet in the limited time Jimin gave you and this was the most modest dress you could find. You’re wearing a long dress that has a huge slit in front from your thigh to bottom. Luckily, the slit is not high enough to reveal scars you have on your upper thigh. To make it worse, the dress has such huge cleavage opening space, you’ve tried bringing your long hair to front in an attempt to cover your cleavage as much as you can. “I- I’m only wearing what’s in the closet.”

He tongues his cheek and you swear he looks so hot. “I’ll speak with Mrs. Lee about your wardrobe,” is all he says before you’re ushered into his car.

Even by looking at his side profile, Jimin looks so stunning you can’t help but stare in awe.

“Take a picture, I think that’ll last longer.” He snaps and you look away immediately. How does he even know without even looking at you, you shake your head.

It’s a launching event as well as exhibition by the director Jimin’s supposed to meet, Mr. Choi.

He speaks with several people and you just obediently follow after him, taking notes of who they are. A while later, you feel the urge to pee but you decided to wait until the main launching event is done before excusing yourself to the washroom.

As soon as you’re done, your eyes seek your husband immediately between the rows of art and crowds of people. As you make your way through the hallway, you find yourself drawn to an art hung on the wall, illuminated with a warm light above it, further enunciating its creativity.

It’s a woman, alone and she’s sitting down hugging her knees.

Something tugs your heart and the more you stare at the painting, the more you feel your eyes are watery.

“It’s called the Isle of Sorrow.” A voice beside you says, making you jump. You turn to see Jimin, his eyes towards the painting in front the both of you.

“They say she lost her will to love again that’s why she’s wallowing in sorrow.”

“It could also be she’s unable to love the person she desires.” You hesitate but continue to say when Jimin remains silent. “The painter.. I think he’s potraying contradiction. She’s in sadness and the background should’ve highlighted that as well, maybe monochrome settings? Yet the brushes are bold and the colors the painter chose are strong. Her love.. is strong. But she can’t give it to the other person. Perhaps because she loves someone who she shouldn’t, like an irony the life is.” You finish. Seconds later, your eyes widen and you bit your lip. What on earth did you just say?

A heavy silence sets between the two of you in the midst of casual conversations and regular laughter heard in the hall.

“Didn’t know you’re into art.” He says after several moments.

You only smile sadly. You don’t know a lot of things about me.

“I think art’s fascinating. I like when I can have control on it. What it can become. How it turns out. I don’t have a lot of it, growing up.” You say softly.

Jimin looks at you. “A lot of what?”

Your eyes find him too and you both lock gazes briefly. “Chance to change things.”

He holds your gaze steady before you look down first. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to hold his gaze for a long time, it’s hard enough to breathe as it is with him around.

“Me too.” He says quietly and you slowly look at him again. You notice his eyes has sorrow in it too, like the ones reflected in the painting before you. “I’ve always had to live the path set for me. Kinda funny, cause I’ve never been close to my parents but they expect me to receive everything blindly. There’s always pressure on my shoulder and I can never let myself fail,” he laughs as if mocking himself. “The moment I show my weakness, everyone flocks around me to take what I have. And anyone close to me can easily turn away from me.”

You stare at him as his expression hardens. You have to say something to comfort him. “Jimin.. I.. I would never.. do that.. to you.”

He looks at you then. Eyes pierced into yours. “You will. Once you know the reason behind this marriage. You’ll hate me too.”

You don’t know what to say to that but the coldness behind his words make shivers run down your spine making you shudder.

Jimin draws his breath before he shrugs his coat out of him. He then pulls you towards him, making you gasp. “It’s okay, you don’t have to-“ you start when he put his coat around your bare shoulder.

“Just stay still.” He says.

His hands are in front of you, fixing his coat snd dangerously close to your breast. You look up and there’s no mistaking his eyes that roam over your curves so you awkwardly struggle to look anywhere else.

He’s your own husband for god’s sake.. why do you have to feel so shy?

A/N: So I actually ended up posting this chapter as scheduled 😂 there’s a sudden surge of things to be done this weekend and it was pretty hectic 🥺 I’m sorry guys I’m a mere human I hope you guys aren’t mad 🥺

Oh and i’m not really the most knowledgeable about art, but art is subjective and it all depends on how one intepret so yeah 😂

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter I thought it ended in a pretty cute way hehehehe

Link to Chapter 13 Posted on 210426 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

[yoon-kooks]

Love Note | jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, College!AU, a touch of mystery

Summary: When a stray pink notebook falls into your possession, you’re mildly disturbed to find the pages filled with a long list of popular students, their significant others, and how they got together. You can’t imagine what kind of twisted person would keep track of other people’s love affairs to the point of obsession, but you have one clue. The only person listed without a significant other is the campus heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. It isn’t until after an unlikely conversation is initiated that you begin to piece together the truth behind the boy and the notebook.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: none

A/N: this is loosely based off the manga, death note 🤪

-

Love.

Sometimes you wonder what it takes to catch someone’s attention, to capture the fluttering hearts of those around you, to be loved without trying. You don’t understand. Why is it that average folks like you struggle to have even a single classmate ask for your number while the popular kids have a whole flock of fans vying for their attention? The divide between the popular crowd and everyone else almost feels unfair. The only logical explanation you’ve come to is that some people are blessed and others are cursed.

Cursed. That’s exactly how you feel after picking up an ominous stray notebook in the hallway outside of your psych classroom.

You had found it funny how everyone seemed to step over the notebook as not to trip, but no one thought to pick it up and return it to the owner. So after the rush of students emptied out of the halls, you scooped it up and examined the pink cover for the name of the owner. Instead of a name, you found the phrase “Love Note” written across the cover in black sharpie. You didn’t think anything of it until you flipped the notebook open and saw what you saw.

You should’ve never opened the book. Because now you’re stuck with it.

Your jaw falls until it’s dragging on the floor as you flip through the pages. The pages are all practically fill with the same thing, and it has nothing to do with the lecture you just came out of. In fact, it has nothing to do with school aside from the names of students listed in it.

Kim Seokjin & Park Jiyeon – a serenade with a guitar and cheesy lyrics

Im Nayeon & Kim Taehyung – bonded while failing chem together

Lee Hyeri & Kim Namjoon – partnered up during a marine biology seminar on crustaceans

Jung Hoseok & Min Yoongi – opposites attract

Written in messy columns and rows, you recognize a majority of the names as the popular faces on campus, some of which are in your class. You assume the name paired next to theirs is their significant other because the column after that alludes to how they got together.

You get the feeling you’ve picked up the belonging of some creep and seen something you shouldn’t have seen. Because who the hell would bother keeping tabs on other people’s love affairs. It’s none of their business and it’s certainly none of yours.

Just as you’re about to head toward the lost-and-found, the name at the very bottom of the list catches your eye. Jeon Jungkook. You wouldn’t have even spotted his name amongst the hundreds of others if it weren’t for the blank space next to his. In fact, his name is the only one written without another name next to it. But now that you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it.

You’ve never spoken to the boy personally, but everyone seems to know him. Many of your classmates signed up for your psych class just to be in the same vicinity as him. He’s handsome, funny, smart, and even quite kind from what you’ve heard. He’s the total package that everyone aspires to get a piece of. Even you are a tad curious to know what kind of witchcraft he uses to draw people in so effortlessly.

At the same time, you know your place. He’s popular, and you’re average at best. You’re not the type to approach him like all the other girls begging for his affection. And you know he’d never approach you either. That’s the curse that was bestowed upon you.

If you knew the boy or at least had the guts to talk to him, you’d surely bring the notebook to his attention. Because if your name were written and singled-out in someone’s creepy notebook, you’d want to know, too. You’d want someone to have your back.

That’s the only reason why you’re still holding onto the notebook and not freeing yourself of the burden. If you were to leave it lying around or at the lost-and-found, who’s to say someone else would be willing to do the deed in your stead. From what you witnessed earlier, no one was even willing to pick the notebook up.

So you’ve decided what you’ll do. At the next lecture, you’ll find Jungkook and slip the notebook into his bag without him noticing. In that way, you can rid yourself of the notebook once and for all while also giving the boy a subtle heads-up with what’s being written about him and his popular crowd.

The plan is fool-proof.

-

The next morning, you feel it in your stomach. The feeling of stressing way too much over something so stupid. But you can’t help but fear the thought of getting caught. You’d hate for Jungkook or any classmate to catch you sticking something so suspicious in his bag. What if they get the wrong idea and think you’re the creepy owner of the notebook? You can’t have that.

Still, you do have a sense of duty to uphold. Clutching the notebook in your arms, you walk into the lecture hall with the intention of going through with the plan. You’ll still try to sit behind him or somewhere in his vicinity, and if it seems to risky, you can always do what you do best: chicken out.

Glancing around the lecture hall, you realize you’ve made one fatal mistake. You arrived before Jungkook. Feeling like a goof, you slump into a random aisle seat and toss the pink notebook on the desk. You can’t believe you were worrying so much about getting caught when you couldn’t even execute the first part of the plan.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance up at a finger pointing to the seat next to yours. The one pointing is none other than the boy you’ve been stressing over for the past 24 hours. How fucking convenient. But you know something’s up. There are plenty of other seats still up for grabs, and yet, he chose to sit right next to you? Unheard of. You figure it must be some sort of joke or bet, but you’ll take it. “No.”

“Cool,” he says, sliding his thighs through the walkway that’s always been too narrow for your liking. His duffle bag surely would have smacked you in the face if you hadn’t leaned back. When he finally settles into his seat, he deadass looks at your desk. “Cute notebook.”

Oh, you suppose that’s code for when a popular guy wants to take a picture of your lecture notes. But that’s too bad for him. “Thanks, but it’s not actually my notebook. I found it in the hallway yesterday and I’m looking for the owner.”

“Why not just bring it to the lost-and-found?” he chuckles. Now that you think about it, it does sound pretty weird, considering you don’t have the slightest clue as to who the notebook belongs to. “Do you at least know who the name of the person you’re looking for?”

“Not exactly,” you shrug. “But I figure it must belong to someone in this class.”

He gestures for you to hand it to him. So you do. All according to plan.

You watch as the boy’s eyes widen at the long list of names in the notebook. It’s only a matter of time before he sees a pattern and finds his own name written there.

“Is your name here too?” He continues to scan the list, page by page.

You shake your head.

“Does that mean you’re available?” The boy pulls out a pen from his backpack and clicks it.

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Isn’t this like a list of all the couples at our school?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Right, right,” he nods, twirling his pen. “By the way, what’s your name?”

“If I tell you, you’re going to write my name in there, aren’t you…?”

“Not necessarily.” He sets the pen down and chuckles at you with a smile. “Sometimes it’s just nice to get acquainted with the people around you. You might be surprised with the kinds of people you’ll meet in that way.”

Ah, there it is. There’s the charm that has everyone swooned.

“It’s Y/N,” you say softly. Half a second later, the boy picks up his pen and starts jotting shit down. “Hey, I thought you weren’t going to write my name down.”

You watch as Jungkook writes your name out next to his along with the description, “had a cute conversation during psych lecture.”

“I’m testing a theory,” he says.

“What theory?”

“What if this isn’t a just a weird kid’s record of couples at our school?”

“What is it then…?”

“A matchmaking machine? Like, if we write down the names of two people and an explanation of how they got together, maybe they’ll suddenly become a couple? Like magic,” he nods. You nod along, though you’re starting to think the boy has a screw loose. “I saw something like this in an anime once.”

“You mean… Death Note…?” Aka the anime where a smartass finds a death god’s notebook that can give people a death sentence just by writing their name down.

“Oh, so you’ve seen it too?”

You nod.

“I guess I’ll let you in on a little secret then.” He gestures for you to come closer. He whispers into your ear, “I’m the one who started the Love Note.”

“You’re the creep who wrote all of this?” you whisper-shout in his ear.

“No, no, no.” He waves his hands in defense. “I just helped get the ball rolling.”

“Please elaborate.” Because you don’t believe him yet.

“A few years back, my friend wanted to get back into dating after a tough breakup. But he didn’t know what kind of a girl he was looking for.” Jungkook flips back to the first page and points to Kim Seokjin’s name right at the very top. “So I took a notebook, wrote Love Note on the cover, wrote Seokjin’s name inside it, hid it somewhere around campus, and left the rest up to fate.”

“Are you saying the girl, Jiyeon, was the one who found the notebook and brought it back to Seokjin?”

“The same way you returned it to me, Y/N,” he nods. “After they got together, they filled out their section of the notebook, tagged another friend, and hid it again for someone else to find. The tradition continued amongst my friends, friends of friends, people I didn’t even know, until it finally found its way back to me.”

You get it now. It isn’t one creepy person’s notebook. It’s not witchcraft or a curse. It’s a curious object passed from person to person to spark a conversation and a potential relationship.

“So who wrote your name in it? And why?” You’d like to think someone like Jungkook doesn’t need a silly notebook to help him find a lover.

“My pal, Jung Hoseok. He said I’ve been looking lonely lately,” the boy says, glancing back at the list of presumably happy couples.

“Lonely despite always being surround by people who adore you?” Sounds ironic, but you think you know what he means.

“They don’t adore me. Just my face,” he sighs. Damn, what a struggle it must be to have a face as handsome as his. “I was hoping whoever found the notebook might adore more than what they see.”

“Sorry, can’t say that I do at the moment.” You use a teasing tone, but you aren’t lying either. What do you know about Jungkook other than the fact that he’s popular with a pretty face? That’s all you’ve ever judged him by. “I’m probably not the person you were hoping for.”

“You are who I was hoping for, Y/N,” he tilts his head when he speaks. “Adoring me is a bonus, but more importantly, I just wanted to meet someone I wouldn’t have otherwise met.”

Someone he wouldn’t have otherwise met? It’s true. The two of you probably wouldn’t be talking if it weren’t for the notebook. “I guess I fit that part of the criteria,” you say.

“Exactly.” He smiles at you as the lecture begins. You suppose only time will tell if you’ll come to also adore the boy as he so hopes.

-

As days, weeks, and even a month pass, you still have the Love Note in your possession. Recently, however, you get the feeling as though that’s about to change.

“Hey, Y/N,” says a familiar voice as a duffle bag claims the seat two spaces down from yours. The owner of the duffle bag follows, stepping into the seat right next to you from the row behind.

“Hello, Mr. I’m-too-cool-to-squeeze-through-the-aisle-like-a-normal-person,” you snicker at your psych buddy. Ever since you discovered Jungkook’s association to the Love Note, he’s made it a point to come find you during lecture. A month ago, you’d been sitting alone, and you’d still be sitting alone if you hadn’t stumbled upon the boy’s pink notebook. So you can’t say you aren’t enraptured by the gesture.

He chuckles at your fancy nickname for him before throwing an arm around your seat. You feel his eyes on you as you casually open the Love Note and scan the list.

“How many of these couples do you think are still together?” you ask, looking up and accidentally catching him staring at your lips. The new lip gloss you bought must be working.

“I’m sure not all of them are,” Jungkook strokes his wise man beard. “But all the people I personally know from the list are still going strong.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“It’s the fate of the Love Note, duh Y/N,” he gives you a cute little pinch on your cheek. “Our names are written there, and we’re still together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, but we’re not together together… yet.” You try your best to get the boy to take a hint.

“Well, if anything, the Love Note has the power to bring two people together who wouldn’t otherwise be together, right?” he says. “Because of it, I learned I like being around someone who’s honest, open-minded, and adores me for more than just my face.”

You can’t help but smile at his compliment. He’s too sweet for you to handle. “How can you be so sure that I adore more than just your face?”

“Because you’ve put up with me for a whole month,” he chuckles. “And because you sent me a drunk text the other night, confessing your heart out to me.”

“I did what?” You fumble to get your phone out of your bag and check your messages. Was it possible to get so drunk that you don’t even remember getting drunk in the first place?

“I’m kidding, Y/N.” If there’s one thing you learned in the past month, it’s that Jungkook loves to tease you. But if it gets him to smile like that all the time, you don’t mind being a little gullible. “I’m still waiting for a proper confession.”

You look into the boy’s big eyes and then back at the bottom of the list where both of your names are written. “Should we make it official then?”

“I’m already ahead of you.” Clicking his pen, Jungkook adds a tiny little heart to the end of the foreshadowing he had written a month ago. He then writes the name of his single friend Park Jimin on the line below, shuts the notebook, and hands it back to you.

After lecture, Jungkook pulls you by the hand and leads you to the building where Jimin’s class should be ending. As the two of you wait for him to walk out, you feel yourself gravitating more and more to the boy until both of your arms are latched around his. You never realized how much you love the feeling of having someone so close to you.

“Is this the one you’ve been smitten over?” The boy you assume to be Jimin points in your direction. You look to Jungkook for an answer.

“Yes, this is the one,” he says, giving your hand a good squeeze. “Now we just need to find someone special for you.”

“Like who?” Jimin asks. “I can’t seem to keep a relationship for over a week.”

“We might have a solution for you,” Jungkook says as you show the other boy the Love Note. And despite his initial hesitance, Jimin eventually agrees to partake in the tradition after seeing the effect it had on you and his pal.

“Should we leave it here?” you ask Jungkook after saying farewell to Jimin and finding a cozy bench to sit on.

“Are you sure you’re ready to let it go?” He smirks at how you’ve held onto what you had initially thought of as a creepy ass notebook. You nod. “Okay, we’ll leave it here.”

He helps you set it down off to the side, leaning in for what you anticipate to be the first of many kisses between you and him. Just before giving you a taste, however, he stops to examine the sheen over your lips. “Is that new lip gloss?”

You nod, prompting the boy to lean back. “It’s cute,” he says.

For a second, you just blink at him and he blinks back as though he wasn’t about to kiss you. Oh, you get it. He’s teasing you again.

Taking the boy’s hand, you make the bold move yourself, pressing your lips ever so softly against his. Just enough to give him a taste of the gloss you’d picked out with him in mind.

After teasing you some more for being so bold, Jungkook helps you up from the bench as the two of you head home. Leaving the Love Note behind, you understand now that the divide between popular boys like him and average folks like you was never a curse bestowed upon you by fate. Rather, it was up to you to take fate into your own hands and spin it in your favor.

That all began the moment you picked up that pink notebook.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #btsboulangerie #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts college au #jungkook fluff #jungkook college au #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #jungkook #bts #bangtan #love note

[octalove]

III: We Met

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader goes out, and finds herself in an alley with no one to call. An old memory is brought up. Part one and part two.

Who the fuck leaves a batarang lying around when they’re spying on a supervillain?

A week had gone by. A week where every day I tried to wake up and smile at my family and go to school and do calculus, but all I kept wondering was what kind of idiot leaves a batarang when they’re spying on a supervillain? I glanced over at it; I’d left it lying on my desk as a reminder. Every time I looked at it, I felt the sharp edges biting into my palm as his hands closed around mine. I smelled leather and the musty scent of unsettled dust in the warehouse. It was the same shape as the angry red bat on his chest- eye level with me.

How did he know who I was? How did he know I was there? How was it he just knew I’d show up to that same warehouse four days afterward in the middle of a school day?

“Tell Batman,” He’d said. If the secrets weren’t ringing around my head already- there it was. The line that kept echoing. Tell Batman, tell Batman. Telling Batman wasn’t an option. He’d lock me in the cave until I was thirty and growing liver spots. I’d never be Batgirl again. No way in hell was I standing before that black cowl and confessing two weeks worth of bad decisions.

That blue evening, Gotham was alive and breathing with the heat of something organic; rhythmic heart-beat in the muffled cars on the street, and the jazz clubs, eyes wide open in the bright, excited lights dotting the spiring skyline. The breeze bit subtly as the city shook the shackles of summer, and moved into early September.

I stuck close to Batman, almost apologetically obedient for the night as I tried to convey some sort of negotiation on my part; I’m sorry for acting weird, I’m on my best behavior tonight.

Robin didn’t so much appreciate that sentiment, because Batman’s side was his place, but patrol began civilly enough. Car theft on Nettleton (Red Robin dealt with), some questionable sex work in the Row (I oversaw and made sure the women were safe and willing), a robbery call (Batman and Robin checked it out- false alarm). By one in the morning, we were all mostly still in one piece, and lulled by the mildness and coolness of the night. I was dragging my gaze over Haytham Parkway when Oracle’s staticky voice came through the coms.

“Batman. There’s been a Red Hood sighting at the H&P in Gotham Village. It’s Falcone’s men.” Swiftly and gracefully, the three of us scaled rooftops, pillars and cell towers. We arrived within twelve minutes, and then planted ourselves like gargoyles. Listening. The Village was one of the more quiet parts of Gotham. It was all settled with blue collar, passive criminals, instead of outright violent ones. A few minutes passed. The building looked undisturbed.

“Do you think-“

Bang.

A gunshot followed by glass breaking. In a hair’s width span of time, Batman, Robin and I descended on the building and swung through through the shattered display window. Inside, broken glass littered the floor, along with disheveled items from the shop, stung around haphazardly. Two men were dead on the ground, blood around them like a premonitory chalk outline. They were unassuming men, but I recognized the patches on their matching shirts as Hadley’s Deli. They were Maroni’s men.

“Robin- the back rooms. Batgirl- check the perimeter. If he left the building, he won’t be far.”

I shot past them and into the dark, grappling to the roof for a better vantage point. From there I swept my gaze across the northern and eastern neighboring streets. Movement. Like a twitch in the darkness. I raced down a fire escape and into an alley adjacent east of the H&P. It was quiet. The sound of my own boots on the asphalt as I halted. It was small and enclosed- the shadows weren’t deep. If he was here, I’d know.

Click. And now I did.

“Easy,” He said, a rumbling, buzzing sound that was becoming familiar. “Easy.” The second order was much slower. I felt his presence as it drew closer, but I didn’t turn around. I was a damn good martial artist, but a gun would always be faster and deadlier than me.

“I just keep findin’ you, don’t I, little bird?” He stopped a couple feet away from my back. “Where’s Batman?” He asked. I scowled.

“He’s with the men you murdered.”

A deep chuckle. “You saw that? Maroni and I have been havin’ a… disagreement. He’s comin’ around.”

“What, he won’t submit to you?” I pressed, hoping since he was so keen on entertaining me, I might be able to probe for some information- figure out his long game.

“Something like that.”

“So all this. Is it just to get to Batman?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward. I tried to look for something to catch his reflection in- a window or something. I felt the cool metal of his gun part my hair like a curtain and press against the nape of my neck. Then, slowly, his gloved hand ghosted lightly across the side of my face, slowly, slowly, upward toward my temple until he found the button. Click. And just like that, my coms were down. No Batman’s voice in my ear. No updates from Oracle. No calling for help. How did he know that was there?

“What do want? Who the hell are you?” I said, letting frustration and anger deep into my voice. I stood cemented to my place as he drug himself around to stand in front of me, until I was staring back at that angry red bat on his chest. He’d holstered his gun.

“Why don’t you find out?” It was one part threat, one part joke that I wasn’t in on, growled contemptuously in that electronic flare that masked his voice. Whether it was rhetorical, or a genuine invitation, I took the opportunity to cautiously raise my hands to his helmet, feeling along the edges of the jaw until I found a matching set of release triggers. The architecture of the helmet was oddly congruent with something Bruce would’ve cooked up. Another mockery- like the bat.

His passive stillness terrified me. Like he knew just what was under the mask and just how I would react. Like it was all part of his plan, and I was playing my dutiful role. I pressed. A hissing noise as the inner workings went slack and released, giving me the freedom to push it up and over. When I saw his skin, then his mouth, I stopped. I stopped because he was actually letting me- and there was no reason he should be letting me except if he planned to kill me afterward. There was a long strangulation of the air between us. Gotham City- the buildings and streetlamps and gaudy, glittering marquees- seemed to quiet just to watch in anticipation. In a very coy way, his lips battled a grin. I felt like saying something witty, but stayed silent for fear of pushing time back into motion. He leaned forward, and lightning leapt in my stomach, despite myself. The dusk had alleviated, leaving only black across the sky that was rather vapid in comparison to the shining city reflected on his helm, still covering his eyes and nose.

“Scared?” He asked; quite spitefully considering my hands were trembling. Of course I was scared. But his voice was so human- smooth, but a little raspy, like anyone who gave orders for a living might have. It was low and deep, and I preferred it to the voice scrambler.

A dog barked from somebody’s fenced balcony, and some passing car shook with jaunty bass. Loud engines, sirens, honking, distant voices. The sizzling of a street taco stand. And still, somehow I was close enough to hear his drawing breath as his chest rose and fell. I went to push my fingers along the bottom of the helmet, to remove it entirely, but he grabbed my wrist.

A tiny, pinpoint red light was flashing on the breast of my suit. Batman was trying to contact me- unable to reach my coms.

“Daddy’s calling.” He looked wolfish there in the dark; featureless but a mouth displaying a cheshire grin that was wickedly snide. In a fluid motion, he released his grip on me and replaced his helmet, turning on his heel into the shallow shadows.

*

6 years prior

I hated this. The music, the marble, the champagne- all of it. I caught Alfred’s eye as he exchanged formalities with some distant-cousin-twice-removed of Bruce’s. I knew what he was looking at me for. The glint in his eye said it all.

Please behave, was the message. I’d already heard it twice this evening; Bruce told me how important this party was for the investors (aka, please behave), and Dick gave me some casual line about how he’d been looking forward to tonight all month (aka, please, please fucking behave).

It’s not like I had anything better to do. I couldn’t drink (no, not even the wine), and the only thing I had in common with company investors was that I was under Bruce’s thumb, too. Occasionally, some sweetly overbearing lady would appear, pinch my cheeks and pat my head, then disappear just as quickly. Thirty minutes passed as I sipped my ginger-ale and counted untied shoelaces, until I decided to find my brother. It was easy, really- just follow the laughter.

Dick wasn’t born in Gotham- not like me- but his rearing in the city had no doubt left a strong imprint. Everything about him proposed Gothamite glamour- even his voice. Far removed from the expensive private grammar lessons Bruce had bought him, he swung his vowels, and let his ‘a’s hang in the air, leaving an irresistible air of cocky, laid-back swagger. Some equilibrium between wealthy socialite and ‘man of the people’ he seemed adept at finding.

I found him at the snack table. He wore a perfectly-fitting suit of all black with navy satin accents, dark hair slicked back, and a very beautiful woman (I would come to know as Maya. Or was it Moira? Mara?) on his arm. A couple of his academy friends stood around him- freshly graduated, and so much wiser for it. It all suited him well. Not as much could be said for me.

“Hey.” He said, throwing me a grin.

“Hey.”

Maya Moira Mara excused herself to freshen up for a moment, and Dick put his hands in his pockets.

“Make any friends?” That was always his first question. I rolled my eyes.

“No. But you have.” It was a pointed jab- he and Babs had just taken a “break” and Maya Moira Mara’s silky red hair marked her as a painfully obvious rebound.

He sighed, decidedly ignoring me. “What about uh... what’s her name?”

“Who?”

“Ah, I forget. Her parents are international law something or other. Bruce works with ‘em. They have a daughter about your age.”

I just grunted. No use in making it seem like I was desperate for company now, considering I’d spent the last hour alone.

“There-“ He pointed to a girl standing alone, apparently abandoned by her respective international lawyer parents. Before I could slap his hand down and tell him it was rude to point, she spotted us. Following that, I’d look even weirder if I didn’t say anything, so after a nudge from Dick, I walked over to her.

“Hi.” I said, immediately wishing I could take the monosyllabic word back and try again. “I’m Jason.”

The girl smiled at me. A small, bashful sort of smile that you give when you’re the only people your age at a christmas party, so you slam together like two magnets.

“I’m Y/N.” She replied.

#batman #batgirl reader #batgirl #batsister #batsis x batfamily #batsis #batsis x bruce wayne #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #dick grayson #batsis x dick grayson #batman and robin #damian wayne #damian al ghul #tim drake #red robin #robin #nightwing #dc comics #barbara gordon #oracle

[anika-ann]

Attached: Words Lost in Translation Pt.1

Type: (mini)-series,  Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 4200

Summary: There’s a new guy in your history class – a foreign student from Milan, Italy. Handsome, nice enough, pretty smart, actually.

But dammit, you should have known that a guy complimenting the way you say his name will be trouble – Bucky certainly thinks so from the start… and he’s not wrong. Oh boy.

A/N: Attached: Words Lost in Translation is a 3-part addition to the Attached series.

A/N: Many thanks to my lord and saviour @chase-your-dreams-away​ for her help with Italian bits which you’ll find in the fic :-* Seriously, big shout-out for her, she was awesome! Vocabulary at the end if you’re interested.

And many thanks to @wxstedhexrt​ for sending me the link and putting the plot bunny into my head in the first place :-* 

Warnings: smug insistent jerk, harassment(?), swearing, one remark about LBGT+ that could feel insensitive

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

“Uhm… hi. Can I sit here? And uh—this is kinda ridiculous, but could I borrow a pen?”

A very much handsome young man was standing by your seat in the second row, week two of your first semester of master’s at uni, deep brown eyes, naturally tanned skin, relatively tall, his smile a fraction shy but honest.

What else could you have done that what you did?

Even if he wasn’t a relatively cute guy – mind you, you were dating Steve, very happily needless to say – you had no reason to be a bitch to a guy with slight accent you weren’t sure where to place, to a guy who was apparently a tiny bit lost on his first day at Bucky’s class.

“Yeah, sure. Seat all yours,” you smiled encouragingly, sliding him an extra pen on surface of the desk.

His smile widened brilliantly, exposing a set of perfectly narrow and white teeth. A twinkle appeared in his eye and you caught your heart skipping a beat.

Oh. Ah-oh.

“Thank you so much. Something tells me that the prof wouldn’t appreciate me missing the first class of his and not taking notes on the second,” your mystery student grimaced and you chuckled, unable to help yourself.

First of all, yeah, kinda on point.

Second of all, not on point at all, because the said prof was Professor James Barnes. Bucky had a relatively benevolent policy when it came to his classes – yes, he appreciated when his students were paying attention, interacting even, but as long as you weren’t an ass or weren’t making noise (or both), you were fine.

You said so to your new classmate and he nodded in acknowledgement.

“Good to know… but you know what would be even better?” he asked, cocking his head to side curiously – or teasingly, it was hard to tell.

“Oh, what? I guess you need the syllabus too, right? I can-“

A low chuckle erupted from his throat, his eyes glimmering with amusement as his gaze gave you a not-exactly-subtle once-over you weren’t sure how you felt about.

Except you knew exactly how you felt about it, you just knew you shouldn’t feel that way.

“That would probably come in handy too, but I’d rather know the name of my lovely saviour with a pretty smile.”

You found yourself lowering your gaze, heat rising to your cheeks.

Here was a thing – this was most flirting you got in like a year. You adored Steve, you truly did, from the bottom of your heart, he was a dream come true… however, the fact that you two were dating was clear to everyone.

And by everyone, you really meant everyone; considering the scene at your bachelor graduation and the mess around, it appeared that the whole damn city accepted the fact that you were Steve’s and thus no one even considered stepping on his toes.

Which was alright, absolutely, but… girl’s got needs, her ego craves a boost from time to time, even if it’s an appreciative glance from a stranger. Just a teeny-tiny bit of flirting.

No one ever flirted with you anymore.

It was why it was way too easy to fall into the sweet trap as you introduced yourself, lifting you gaze only to see your companion wearing a lop-sided smile. He most definitely liked what he saw.

“Sweet name for a sweet girl. I’m Daniel. I’m here for two semesters. And before you ask, it’s Milano, Italy,” he added quickly with a flash of his teeth again, holding out his hand – and upon having it accepted, he most certainly held it too long and swept his thumb over the back of your hand.

Which was the point when your head started yelling at you to stop this in an instant and draw a line. Yes, it felt amazing to be complimented to, but you had a boyfriend – a fucking dreamy one, no less – and you sure as hell didn’t want to give Daniel (how was his name pronounced again?) the wrong impression.

You retreated your hand with your smile turning tight-lipped, a cold pang of guilt stabbing you in your gut. Served you right.

“Nice to meet you, Daniel,” you said politely, and his expression shifted into one just a fraction patronizing.

“Da-ni­-el. Kinda soft ‘i’. Daniel. You’ll get a hang of it, I’m sure. Once more, please?”

Well, since he said please. “Da-ni-el,” you repeated more from a common curtesy, because honestly, the least you could do was to try to pronounce a name right for a handsome classmate.

Shush it, it doesn’t matter if he’s handsome or not!

Daniel smiled widely, turning his palms up and gesturing towards you. “Perfetto. Amazing. You’re a natural.”

Before you could say thanks, Bucky entered the class and you felt the stab in your insides intensify as his eyes found you unmistakably, as if he had witnessed our interaction with the Italian and was telling you he’d rat you out to Steve if you didn’t stop right now.

Ridiculous – there was nothing to talk about. You were just being nice to the friendly stranger who happened to be in your class and whom you’d be meeting for at least a semester. That was all.

Except you still felt your heart pounding furiously, equally because of the feeling of getting caught doing something wrong and because of enjoying the attention. Fuck.

Okay, fine. You’d tell Steve about this guy on your own as a precaution. It would at least remind you to keep yourself in check, because honestly, you had no desire to get tangled up in some mess. You had no desire to taint the beautiful thing you had with Steve with anything at all, less so for a fling.

Content with yourself, you forced yourself to listen to Bucky’s lecture, taking notes like you were supposed to, determined to ignore Daniel’s presence.

Except Daniel interrupted him twice with questions and remarks about accuracy, drawing attention of the whole class to him and you felt hot in your face for a whole different reason than before – simply hating that someone sitting next to you was, frankly, quickly getting annoying.

And God, you had no idea how much.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Daniel Gallo was a relatively nice guy –social perhaps a little too much, but cute and open, easy to be friends with.

However, he had one fatal flaw, one you discovered very early on; he was the smuggest asshole you had ever met.

Perhaps it was his need to correct Bucky all the time – mostly failing, because Bucky knew his shit, he was just sparing you the tinniest details, leaving them for you to find in text books.

Maybe it was the fact that Daniel hadn’t given you the pen back, not even asking if he could keep it for the day, which you’d understand despite being protective of your pens; except he carried it around for two weeks, using it in front of you, returning it only upon your curious and slightly sarcastic comment about it.

Most definitely though, it was the fact that he was unbearably insistent on flirting with you – shamelessly – even after you grew so uncomfortable that you blatantly told him you had a boyfriend. He smirked, but backed off for the day, only to continue his advances the next week.

And then Jill, a girl from your year and a sort-of-friend, actually told you that he mentioned you in front of her, saying that you were two growing rather close, if she knew what he meant, and she admitted that she snorted into her latté when hearing it.

“What? What is it?” he had asked.

“I sincerely doubt that,” she claimed she had said, causing him to frown.

“Why? She gay? I don’t think so, I can tell this kind of stuff.”

“No. She’s taken. Very happily, I might add. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Nah. We’ll see about that,” he had replied supposedly and learning that felt like a punch to your stomach, causing you to see red.

You showed him ignorance incarnate the next week, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

And then even Bucky noticed and kept casting dirty glares at you both as if you had done the worst crime.

To be honest, after that you did feel dirty; but you didn’t want to make a fuss.

In fact, you hadn’t even told Steve about Daniel besides informing him about the existence of a foreign student in your class.

Partly, shame was to blamed, because you kept wondering if you had done enough; perhaps you should have been more radical, sterner with Daniel to make him stop.

The other part of the reason was that Steve was under tons of pressure because of his academic duties; all professors had to publish an article in a prestige journals dedicated to their area of expertise at least once in two years – university policy – and working on that while teaching several classes was simply taking its toll on him. You really didn’t want to add to his stress.

It wasn’t even a big deal – Daniel was overly social and he probably said shit like the stuff you learned from Jill about other girls too. What was the golden rule? When there’s nothing broken, don’t fix it.

There was nothing. No problem at all.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Except there was.

That morning, you were zoned out, because Steve snapped at you for not doing the dishes and didn’t bother to apologize till you left the apartment in a foul mood. Then he went to shower you with texts full of apologies, gradually growing into pure cutesy (involving a picture of his puppy eyes) and gifs and stuff and you ended up spending the majority of Bucky’s lecture on your phone.

By Bucky’s policy, that was perfectly okay, because he couldn’t care less if you were smiling like a loon into your phone – hell, if he noticed, he was probably glad, knowing shit had rained down and was now being fixed.

At the end of the class, Daniel graciously offered you his neat notes – and really, they looked amazing –, surprising you rather pleasantly.

“Oh… that’s… that’s very kind of you,” you stuttered, almost rendered speechless. Perhaps you truly were just making a big deal of things, seeing something that wasn’t-

“Anything for my principessa.“

The cloud that had been following you since you left the apartment made its comeback in a second, so fast that you actually felt your stomach drop to your feet.

Oh no, you were not imagining things – after all, Daniel even had a term of fucking endearment for you. And you might not be speaking Italian, but you understood that just fine.

“Perhaps one day she’ll repay me with a dinner date,” he continued with a supposedly charming smile, one you found disgusting at the moment.

You opened your mouth and swiftly closed it when no sound came out, scoffing at your naivety. Of course he wouldn’t give them for free, jackass. You shook your head with a wry smile and packed your untouched pencil case and papers, rising to your feet without another word.

A hand on your wrist stopped you from spinning on your heel and walking away.

“Aspetta, aspetta-” an all-to-familiar voice now whispered as you grinded your teeth and glared at the point of contact, skin on skin. He squeezed your wrist almost gently before letting go. “Wait. Here. Just… take a picture, okay? Where would we be if weren’t nice from time to time…”

You really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction… but you could really use his notes too.

Dammit shit.

“Thank you,” you uttered, obediently taking a photo of the three pages of ridiculously perfect notes. Then, you met his gaze, face torn between stern and grateful. “Just… a reminder: I have a boyfriend.”

Slow smile spread on his lips and in that moment, you wanted to punch him in those perfect teeth of his. “Doesn’t stand in the way of admiring your beauty, does it, la mia ragazza…”

You had no clue what he said, but the la mia hinted you that he called you something his and that sent a surge of white-hot anger through your veins, mixing with humiliation. Your hand actually curled up in a fist, twitching – but instead of giving your piling anger an outlet, you took a deep breath, huffed and stalked away without a word of goodbye.

“See you next week!” Daniel called after you and you gripped the strap of your backpack tighter, squeezing your eyes shut.

That night, you got next to zero sleep, watching Steve’s passed-out form with tears in your eyes.

It was ridiculous, it was nothing and you were doing nothing wrong-- but you couldn’t make yourself to cuddle to Steve’s side despite desperately needing his wordless affirmation that everything was alright.

Just a simple embrace of his was like a promise of a brighter future. With him.

Chuckling wryly into your palm, you wiped at your tears and snuggled to Steve, causing him to stir and hum, his arm circling around you on instinct, a barely-there sloppy kiss to your hair chasing more tears into your eyes along with a watery smile gracing your lips.

Yeah. Everything was going to be fine.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Nothing was fine.

Daniel was getting handsy if you could call it that. His thigh brushed yours multiple times the next class as he was sitting uncomfortably close and no amount of subtle pushing away (of you and your chair) was helping, so no, there could have been nothing coincidental about that.

You dug your nails into your palm and bit your cheek, but survived the lesson somehow.

Bucky called for you at the end of the class, saving you further interaction with that Italian Satan, allowing you to breathe freely until he addressed the very problem your head was occupied with.

Bucky didn’t like Daniel’s attitude to begin with – which wasn’t surprising, seeing as he was being a prick – but he liked the fact Daniel seemed to be awfully close to you even less if his tone was anything to go by and his eyes screamed accusations and you fucking hated yourself, feeling the tell-tale of incoming tears burning in your eyes.

“I can talk to him, you know. Tell him to back off,” he offered then though, the grey with blue threads of his irises warming when he noticed your state.

The pressure in your gut eased upon learning Steve’s best friend didn’t only blame you and apparently wanted to help rather than presenting you with ‘you made your bed you lie in it’ attitude.

You even charmed a small smile for him, determined to do justice to your word: “Thank you… it’s fine. I’ll deal with him. I can handle one guy who doesn’t take no for an answer.”

And sure you could.

Daniel hugged you goodbye the next class, saying he was planning a get-away with his new friends for a weekend and it might be dangerous – fucking absurd.

With your heart in your throat, you quickly patted his back and twisted from his arms, feeling dirty.

“No kiss for good luck?” he teased, that annoying smug smile on his face and you had to remind yourself that punching him was a terrible idea seeing as you were already walking a fine line dating a professor – who happened to be the best friend of one of your professors.

You didn’t need any problems – and for some reason, you were certain Daniel would make a big fucking deal of it. So no punching it was.

Your resolve crumbled to nothing when a sudden kiss landed on your cheek, the sensation cold like a kiss of the death itself.

Before you could as much as catch your breath which got knocked out of your lungs and not in the good way, your blood pressure skyrocketing along with your pulse to a point where your head began spinning… he was gone.

You gulped, eyes fluttering shut as the world seemed to sway from its place and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a hand grasped your arm.

“Daniel, go fuck yourself-“ you snapped and glared at him- only to meet Bucky’s angry and very much concerned gaze.

“Too bad you didn’t say that about thirty seconds ago. You alright?” the brunet asked you, grip firm yet gentle as he steadied your shaky stance.

“Uh-huh,” you hummed, a little strangled noise. “And I am gonna tell him exactly this the next time I see him.”

“Not good enough for me. You’re not stupid, I know you’re not. But I’m not either,” he remarked, expression gravel. His tone hardened, unlike his eyes that studied you thoroughly, examining your face as if searching for something. “You think I didn’t notice the change of your wardrobe?”

An icy-cold shiver ran an up your spine, causing all your muscles to stiffen.

Fuck. He noticed.

You supposed it wasn’t too hard to see and it was only natural that he kept an eye on you as on his best friend’s girlfriend. Yes, your Tuesday’s outfits suddenly somehow lacked skirts and anything with a deeper neckline than a turtle-neck, simply in hopes to turn Daniel off or at least not to pluck up his interest further; an action that had taken zero effect.

But being called out like this? That stung. It hurt your pride and it hurt by its very nature, because it reminded you how pathetic you were, unable to get rid of a jerk who didn’t take no for an answer – in a public space, with witnesses for god’s sake. It made you feel weak and incompetent.

So you looked Professor Barnes dead in the eye, your lips a thin line, your voice cold as you spoke the only words that made sense at that time:

“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

So what if you stuttered? So what if his brows furrowed with what was a damn patronizing worry? You didn’t care as you gathered your stuff without another word exchanged.

You made a mental note to wear your favourite outfit the next week, forgoing pants and turtle-necks, because you could fucking take care of yourself.

Penny encouraged you, clearly having faith in you too, but she also gently reminded you that you could report him.

As if. Brining more attention to your person was the last thing you needed.

You could do this on your own, thank you very much.

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all your bravado, you asked a girl you barely knew by name if you could sit next to her and nearly cried when she said yes and another girl seated herself to your other side within two minutes. You even smiled for yourself contentedly, seeing a dawn of a new age.

And then Daniel fucking Gallo walked in and charmed his way to the seat next to you anyway, somehow managing to scare off your original saviour as well.

Well, too bad for him; you had your confidence back along with your outfit that suited you much better and you were going to tell that jerk to fuck off, just like you promised to Bucky and yourself.

“You thought I wasn’t coming today, la mia bella ragazza? I couldn’t bear not seeing you…” he started off again and you eyed him head to toe, causing a smile spread on his face. You had found that smile cute once, the kind of smile you would let a person get away with murder for.

Now it was making you want to commit murder.

“I was hoping actually.”

“Oh, sassy today, are we? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? He had the audacity to-

You can’t punch him, you can’t punch him, think of the bureaucracy and your future…

What about my satisfaction?

Zip it!

You took a deep breath and watched that asshole take a seat next to you, automatically shuffling his chair closer.

“Daniel, look-“

“Zitta, zitta…” he interrupted you softly, but the manner he spoke with only pissed you off further. Fuck Italian.

“I don’t know what that means and frankly, I don’t care. I’m taken. I said so, several times. So back off,” you hissed, watching your volume despite the prof not being in yet – you didn’t need a scene. You were disgustingly certain Daniel had brought enough attention to you already – in fact, you were shocked Steve hadn’t learned about this yahoo yet with how quickly gossip spread on this university.

And that Bucky hadn’t told him-- God, you hoped Bucky wasn’t saving it for today’s boys night-

To your utter shock and annoyance, Daniel didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, smiling widely as if amused at your antics. “Am I putting doubts in that bella testolina of yours?”

Your blood boiled at such implication… and maybe there was a thin flow of steam coming from your ears too? Because you couldn’t fucking believe this guy, implying such thing-

--okay, you weren’t sure what exactly he said, honestly, but you understood just enough. No doubts. You were perfectly sure he was an asshole you wanted to have nothing to do with.

“No! No way! Jesus- okay. Let’s be clear. Was... this,” you gestured between the two of you in self-explanatory manner, “flattering at first? Yes. But seriously, now you’re just making me uncomfortable.”

As if appealing to his conscience would work…

“Then give in. Just one little dinner,” he insisted, showing a small space between his thumb and forefinger, grinning as if he hadn’t been listening to you at all. “What could it hurt? Who knows, maybe I’ll show you a real good time and you’ll forget all about some boring boyfriend of yours… who I’m not sure he exists actually-“

You inhaled sharply, wheezing in fact, heat of righteous anger flooding your whole body. That fucker-!

“Oh for fuck’s sake-“

You can’t punch him. You. Can. Not. Punch. Him.

You repeated those words to yourself like a magical mantra that was losing its effect, because there was nothing you wanted more. Maybe except for Steve punching him, that would be quite a show… but it was not an option.

For one, Steve, thank heavens, still didn’t know about Daniel’s unwanted advances and for two, chances were that he would show a little less restraint and you wouldn’t blame him one bit. But it would bring a whole new set of trouble, so you had to deal with this alien of a man on your own.

And right now, staring into that stupidly smug face of his, you only saw one possible solution.

“Okay, fine.”

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words left your lips, numbing horror overwhelming your body.

What the fuck did you just do?!

“Yes!” Daniel whisper-yelled, pumping his fist and you noticed that the class was gradually falling silent, probably with Bucky’s approach – but there was still enough chatter going on for you to save the situation somehow.

“-but you have to earn it,” you added in an equally hushed tone.

He cocked his eyebrow, as if smelling your fear that arrived instantly after the rash decision he provoked from you. “I won’t back out from a challenge, bellezza.”

Yeah, I friggin’ bet.

Your mind was racing hundred miles an hour, choosing to ignore the whatever-it-meant petname in favour of the crisis at hand.

“How about… you ask the professor a question-“ Oh Bucky was going to have your head on a stick for that, but hey, he had offered to help you- “-and if he answers wrong, I’ll go to one dinner with you, tonight.”

…that would be alright, right? Just to get rid of him. One dinner so he would get the clue at last. You’d be a hateful bitch, possibly embarrassing him, doing just about anything for him to finally stop making your life a living hell.

Yeah, looking back at the product of your frantic brain, it had been an excellent thinking actually. Go impulsive me!

Hell, tonight was perfect for it, with Steve having a night off with Bucky and you originally planning on studying with Penny. You would tell Steve after, explaining everything—or maybe before? Bucky was your witness that you weren’t exactly an enthusiastic participant in this, surely he would help you explain and would be able to distract Steve-

But really, that was all theoretical, because Daniel would have to catch Bucky off guard first, which was very unlikely. Bucky knew his subject through and through and Daniel’s chances were extremely low anyway.

“Easy-peasy,” Daniel grinned confidently, making you internally roll your eyes at his overconfident ass.

Or perhaps you had let your annoyance show for real? You couldn’t tell anymore, the adrenaline rush in your veins making certain things too sharp and other dull. For instance, you registered Daniel’s eyes flickering towards the teacher’s stand, his already wide smile growing enough to nearly tear his mouth.

“Even easier when we have a substitute.”

“What,” you blurted out, head snapping to the professor at the front.

A flash of blond hair and a shade darker beard. Broad shoulders. Blue eyes of which you simply knew they had a glint of green in them.

Your heart positively stopped in your chest, your lips parting in mute horror.

“Oh shit.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Vocabulary: Perfetto - perfect Principessa – princess Aspetta – wait La mia (bella) ragazza – my (pretty) girl Zitta – shh Bella testolina – pretty head

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Part 2

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Eh, I swear the first idea was giving off less of a harassment vibe. But it gets better, I promise ;)

I apologize to Italians if you find this offensive, but it was in fact not my intention at all for Daniel to be a representation of a whole nation. I figured there are insistent jerks all over the globe. (And I happened to have an Italian real-life template, not gonna lie.)

#fanfiction #marvel #steve rogers x reader #professor steve rogers #professor bucky barnes #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au #professor au #modern au #college au #bucky barnes #student reader #steve rogers fanfic #avengers #mcu #avengers fanfiction #attached #attached: lost in translation #anika ann

[george-mackay-macfine]

Fight Club

Requested

Synopsis: George and Y/N used to date, then George got popular, now they hate each other, mostly. 

Word Count: 4,518

“Looking hot this morning, Y/N,” My pen stopped writing on the page of my book as I looked up to see George fucking MacKay. The left side of his faint red lips tugged upwards creating a smirk on his God-like face. 

“You know what MacKay,” I dropped my pen on the table and leant back in my chair, crossing my arms under my chest, “Normally if a boy who looks like you, smiled at me the way you did I’d be turned on,” George lent down on the table, his smirk becoming devilish. 

“Oh yeah?” His eyes darting down to the ample amount of cleavage I had on display. “What happens?” 

“Well, my heart starts to race, and my breathing increases.” I let my chest rise and fall quicker, my hand drawing across the exposed skin, his blue eyes locked on the polished nail that grazed my own skin, “I don’t know where to look, and I bit my lip a lot,” I bit on my bottom lip his eyes locked in on the flesh. “And I start to get hot,” I let the cardigan I was wearing slip off my shoulder. “And I start to feel these flutters, down low…” George’s eyes flicked to meet mine, his eyes had become darker. “And when you smile at me like that…” 

“Yeah?” He asked, breathless. 

“None of that happens.” I snapped, Picking my pen back up. “In fact, the opposite happens.” George hits the table. His head thrown back in laughter. He shook his finger at me, his smirk now a full-blown smile, It was no less gorgeous than his smirk.

“You almost had me that time,” His laughter slowed, “The whole slipping the cardigan of the shoulder,” He dropped down so he was squatting beside me. “And watching your hand move across your chest,” He grunted. “Fucking sexy,” 

“I’m busy MacKay,” I gestured to the table in front o us, my books scattered all over, laptop poised on the table the script I was trying to write open. 

“Don’t look too busy,” I rolled my eyes, moving my head to look at him, eyes turning into slits. “Alright, Jesus,” He held his hands up at chest level as if it’d keep me at bay, “Just stopping by because Chapman is getting numbers for the party before the fight tonight,” His hands dropped, 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed at your fights or parties anymore,” It was George’s time to roll his eyes, “Remember?” George shrugged his shoulders. 

“You were flirting with my opponent, friends don’t do that,” 

“Since when are we friends?” I raised an eyebrow at him, leaning onto the desk, hand cupping my head as I looked up at him. 

“You make a good point,” He stood back up, his hands rest on his hips. “You comin’ or not?” 

“Jane will be there, so I’ll be there,” He nodded his head, 

“See you then,” He tapped the desk with his knuckles before he walked past me. “Don’t forget to wear something sexy,” George’s voice whispered hotly against my ear, his hands running up my arms as he lent down, “Red always looks good on you,” 

And just like that, he was gone. 

Here are the facts about George Andrew J. MacKay, 

He’s the ‘it’ boy of our college campus, you know the guy who all the girls want to fuck. The guy that they all think that they can be the one who changes his ways - it’ll never happen,

He uses woman for his own desires, his own pleasures and the worst part is he’s upfront about this, the girls know that they're being used, but they don’t care. 

He’s a good student, all top marks… surprising, for the college bad boy. 

He’s the guy whose currently undefeated in the fight club on campus, 

He is the guy I lost my virginity too when we were fifteen, then he went to football camp, and when he came back he was the most popular guy in our school, and had no time for his first… unless teasing me counted. 

He’s the biggest pain in my ass and I still have the biggest crush on his idiotic ass.  

After a long day of classes and another long afternoon with my best friend Jane going insane and pulling our dorm apart looking for the perfect outfit to wear to the party at the frat house, I was sick and tired of hearing George’s name… in fact, I was ready to be sick. 

“You’re wearing that?” She raised her eyebrow at me as I walked back into the room, I looked down at my outfit, raising my eyebrow at her. 

“I was going too,” She pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders, “What is it?”

“It’s nice…” She turned back to the bed, fiddling with her clothes she’d pulled out. 

“But?” She spun so she could look at me again. 

“It’s boring,” 

“Boring…” 

“My mum wouldn’t even wear that, especially if she was looking at getting laid…” 

“Who said I’m looking to get laid,” She gave me a pointed look. Her head drooping to one side. “Fine,” I threw my hands up, “What do you suggest I wear then?” Jane turned back to the bed shuffling through some things, thinking.

“Black jeans, your doc’s and this,” She turned rushing to the bag I’d carelessly dropped at the door three days prior when we’d returned from a shopping trip. “It’ll look so hot.” She wasn’t wrong, the red lace bodysuit would accentuate every curve of my waist while pushing my boobs up. “Trust me,”

“Fine,” I grabbed the bag from her, and grabbed my jeans, walking back to the bathroom. Changing quickly I walked back into the room. Studying myself in the mirror I decided to leave my hair how it naturally was, not feeling the need to apply any heat to it. “How’s it look?” She turned to me, her eyes widening, a big smile pulling at her lips. 

“George is going to cream in his pants,”

“Do you have to make everything so gross?” I huffed picking up my nearby red lipstick. “George and I are nothing, no chemistry… nothing… we fight all the time.” 

“You realize people like you and George are going to fight, right?" Jane laughed. “You’re both too hot-headed.” 

"You are officially fired. You are a terrible conscious.” I glared applying the lipstick. “Now, let’s go get drunk.” 

———————-

And we were drunk. Jane and I showed up to the frat house half an hour later and headed straight to the kitchen where the ‘bar’ was always set up. There we proceeded to skull three shots each in a row. Effectively creating a buzz. 

“There she is,” The all too familiar voice of George MacKay called from behind me, “Looking fucking beautiful, as always,” 

“How drunk are you?” I called picking up a beer, turning back to face him. 

“Not drunk enough to not recognise an angel when she’s standing right in front of me,” His eyes looked over my body, “Told you red looked fucking delicious on you,”

“Actually you said Red always looks good on you, nothing about me looking delicious,”

“Well you do look delicious, good enough to eat,” I rolled my eyes and turned back to Jane. “She left,” George’s voice laughed from behind me. “Dean told me he was hankering for a fuck, so they’re probably busy getting busy,” He wrapped an arm around me, “So you’re stuck with me,” 

“None of your girls? More chance of getting laid,” 

“No, got the only girl I need right here,” 

“I hope you get punched tonight, and whoever punches you wipes that cocky smile off your face,” 

“I never get punched babe,” I rolled my eyes and pulled myself up so I was sitting on the kitchen counter. “Unless I let them,” 

“I find it hard to believe that you only get hit when you let them hit you,” I rolled my eyes as George pulled himself up beside me on the kitchen counter. “In fact, I bet that you get hit tonight,” 

“Oh really?” George’s eyes sparked with excitement. “I’ll take that bet,” 

“What?” 

“What do you want if he gets a hit in?” George steamrolled past me, 

“George I wasn’t being serious,” 

“I was,” He brought the beer bottle to his lips, stopping just before they touched it. “Now, what do you want…” 

“You to stop having sex with random woman,” I blurted out. 

“Knew you wanted me,” He chuckled. “But fine,”

“And you have to publicly apologise for fucking so many of them, and not calling them back…”

“They knew what they were getting into,” It was my turn to give him the pointed look, “Fine, deal.”

“Get ready to lose,” 

“Wait, you haven’t heard what I want when I win,” 

“If,”

“When,” He cleared his throat, “If I win, you have to stay with me for a month worth of Friday and Saturday nights, and you have to come to my fights wearing a cute little cheerleaders outfit.” I weighed it up in my head, 

Pros    

George has to publicly apologise for his man-whore ways, 

George has to go a whole month without sex… something he has nearly every night.

Cons 

 On the off chance he wins I have to wear a cheerleading outfit, and     sleep in his bed, 

“Deal,” I extended my hand out to shake him. “Get ready for a month-long lesson is abstinence.” 

“I don’t think so sweetheart,” 

“So does this mean I get to come to the fight tonight?” I raised an eyebrow, George huffed and pursed his lips. 

“Do you promise to not flirt up a storm with my competition?” 

“Does your competition promise to not find me so desirable?”

“I don’t think anyone could promise that,” He smirked, “Now, do you promise?” 

“Yes, George. I promise,” 

—————-

“LISTEN UP MOTHER FUCKERS,” The Jonathan Carrington, the M.C’s voice boomed through a megaphone. “TONIGHT WE HAVE TWO REIGNING CHAMPIONS,” 

“You think he’ll win?” I asked Dean as we stood side by side near the front of the circle, “I hope he gets punched,”

“GEORGE MACKAY FROM SOUTHWEST.” The crowd went wild, “AND THOMAS WILSON FROM NORTHERN.” The crowd still cheered, it just wasn’t as big as when it was George’s. 

“He’s not going to get punched Y/N,” Dean called back wrapping his arms around Jane. “He never gets punched,”

“Fuck,”

“What did you do?” Jane turned to look at me, her eyes narrowing. 

“MacKay and I made a bet,” 

“On what?” 

“If he gets hit or not,”

“What’s the prize?” 

“He loses he has to stop having sex with random woman, and publicly apologise for fucking so many of them, and not calling them back…”

“And if he wins?” Dean laughed, 

“If he wins, I have to stay with him for a months worth of Friday and Saturday nights, and I have to come to his fights wearing a cheerleaders outfit.”

“Pack your overnight bag Y/N,” Jane laughed shaking her head. 

“ARE YOU ALL FUCKING READY?” Jonathan cried into the microphone. “Here they come,”

“Maybe I can distract him with my boobs?” 

“Just accept defeat, it’s easiest.” Dean chuckled. 

—————-

And defeat I had to accept. George hadn’t let his opponent lay a hand on him, not even when the fight was over, and the shit-eating grin he’d sent me when the fight was done… God the things that smile did to me. 

As I walked from the bathroom down the dark hall of George and Dean’s apartment, hating that I’d walked into this trap. Of course, George wasn’t going to get hit… he never did… for once I should have listened to the rumours. 

“Fuck, Y/N” 

I stopped still my breathing hitched as I peeked through the small gap in George’s ajar door, he was leaning against the wall, his jeans around his ankles his hand working his cock… his above average cock… His above average, angry, thick red cock… That I now had the desire to wrap my mouth around it coursing through my body.

“Just like that,” He groaned again his hand going faster, his back pushing harder against the wall. His eyes shut in pleasure. “So good, baby, fuck so good,” He grunted his hand gripping his cock tighter, his abdominal muscles tightening. “Wanna come all over those tits.” 

Fuck… He looked hot. 

“Gonna come…” He groaned through clenched teeth his hand working faster on himself… Even if I wanted to I wouldn’t have been able to look away, not with how he was working his hand over himself, his fist moving over the thick appendage he’d become so known for.  “Fuck.” He let out a final hiss through clenched teeth as he came into his hand, I could see from my spot outside the room he’d come a lot… His body expelling the thick white liquid. I found myself having the urge to push the door open and go help him clean himself up, but I wouldn’t. I’d walk back up the hall quietly and cough as I neared his bedroom, giving him the time to… fix himself. 

And that was exactly what I did… I walked back to the bathroom, slammed the door quietly, but loudly behind me and coughed as I walked down the hallway, trying to ignore the dampness that seeing George leant up against the wall, hand fisting his cock had created in my panties. 

“So how is this going to work?” I asked as I walked into the bedroom, “Are you sleeping on the lounge?” George looked up from his phone, his cheeks were still flushed from his activities, 

“You take the longest showers,” Thankfully not long enough, He looked up and down my body smiling. “Forgot how good you look in my clothes, But no, we’re sharing the bed.” 

“Firstly, I take the appropriate length of a shower, secondly don’t get used to it I’ll be in my own tomorrow night, and thirdly No way,” I shook my head. “I don’t want to wake up with your hand on my boob,” Yes I did, “Or you hand down my pants,” To be honest, I’d love his hand touching me right now, fingertip brushing my clit, pushing inside of me as I moan into the pillow… or his mouth…   

“I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour,” He held his hands up in defence before doing a cross over his chest. “No touching,” He smirked. “Until you ask.” He laid down on the bed, throwing the cover over for me to slid in beside him. When I laid beside him he pulled the cover over my body, leaning across to turn off the light. We laid in the darkness in silence, my mind going over how just minutes before George was wanking, and moaning my name… and fuck it had to be the hottest thing I’d ever seen. 

“Hey George,” I whispered unable to think of anything but his cock. 

“Yeah?” 

“I hate you,” 

“You’re going to hate me, even more, tomorrow when you have to wear the outfit to my fight,” I sat up and looked at him. Even with the minimal lighting, I could see the bright smirk on his face, “Something wrong?” 

“Since when do you double down on fights?”

“When I realised it would mean I get to see you in that itty bitty outfit that much sooner,” 

“I hate you,” I cried laying back against the plush pillows. 

“Sure you do,” He cackled. “Now, I’m going to sleep, please don’t feel me up in my sleep… I know you must be dying to see if the rumours are true, which they are by the way it’s grown since you last saw it, but my cock is on lockdown.”

 Oh, George, I was all too aware of just how much it’d grown. I’d never admit to him I want to do more than touch his cock… maybe put my lips around it… maybe a little cockwarming… maybe just touch it for a while… feel the heaviness in my hand. 

“You wish MacKay,” I groaned falling back into the pillows. 

—————-

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I glared at the small red cheerleading outfit George held out towards me, “I’m not wearing this.” I glared. 

“Yes you are,” He smirked

“No, I’m not, I won’t even be able to bend over without anyone seeing everything,” 

“Just let me know when you plan to bend,” George smirked walking to his bedroom door, “Hurry we leave in five.” 

“Fucking christ,” I screamed as George shut the door. I pulled my clothes off and pulled the outfit on, surprisingly it fit me really well. The skirt brushed mid-thigh, more on the shorter side than the longer side, and the shirt showed off my boobs spectacularly…. Who knows maybe Mackay was doing me a favour and I could get laid in this. 

“Fuck yes,” George groaned as he reopened his bedroom door, “Knew you’d look hot in that,” He spun his finger in the air. “Twirl for me,” I rolled my eyes and did as he said his eyes running over my body. “Brings back memories,” He walked towards me, his hand landing on my hip as he played with the fabric of my skirt. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded his head, “To the time I fucked my first cheerleader at football camp,” Two can play at this game. 

“Well, Mackay as much as I hate this, you may have done me a favour,”

“Oh?” I nodded my head, biting my lip. 

“Yeah, this might help me find someone to fuck my brains out tonight, Maybe let me go for a bit of a ride.” I smiled innocently turning to go pull my hair into two braids. George had other ideas, he pulled me back against him. His strong hand laying across the exposed skin of my stomach. 

“The only person you’ll be riding tonight will be me.” His breath touched my neck, spreading goosebumps over the skin. “The only person who’ll be fucking your brains out tonight, will be me.” I turned to him, 

“We’ll see about that, I very much doubt you’ll be right,” His fingers pulled down my bottom lip, the pad of his thumb dipping into my mouth, I bit on it gently. “Maybe when I’m in the shower tonight you can fuck your hand again,”

“How did you…”

“You need to learn to shut the door properly G,” I smirked using the nickname I used to call him by. “Nice cock by the way,” I reached down and cupped it, patting it as I pulled away. “Let’s hope the boy who fucks me tonight has one the same.” I pulled away and walked to the door. 

“It’s going to be me, Y/N,” I turned back to him, smirking. 

“Don’t bet on it.” 

—————-

George had finished fighting again, another ‘renowned’ competitor, and I was here doing his bidding as his own personal cheerleader, I cheered when he punched the guy out and I screamed when he was announced the winner. 

“Like your outfit,” I turned as a guy grabbed onto my waist, pulling me back into his chest. “Look’s sexy,” I could smell the cigarettes and beer, and it was a real turn off. 

“Oh yeah,” I needed to find a way out of this situation. 

“Really fucking sexy,” 

“Don’t touch her.” I heard George’s bored tone come from my left, “She’s mine,” 

“Oh really?” The chuckled, “Why don’t we let her decide,” The guy released my waist, and allowed me to step away. 

“Ew,” I muttered under my breath as I looked at him. He was a stoner, long greasy hair that no man or woman would want to touch with a ten-foot pole. 

“Come home with me baby,” He muttered, his tongue wetting his lips. 

“Think I’ll stay with him, and his beyond average sized cock,” I smirked over at George who smiled back at me, “I don’t think you could even give a woman an orgasm without using toys,” 

“Why don’t you let me take you home and we can find out,”

“She’s mine,” George spoke again, “Look at her like that again, and I’m going to punch your eyes out,” 

“Look at her like what? I’m just looking at her,” 

“Like you want to bend her over and fuck her right here,” George grit out stepping towards the guy, I stepped in front of him, hands on his chest. 

“Can’t stop my mind,” His eyes moved down to my lips. “Those beautiful things would look perfect around my cock.”

“I’m going to kill you,” George stormed towards him, I managed to push him away, pushing him against the grimy wall. 

“George,” 

“I’m going back to punch his lights out.” George declared, nodding his head. “Going to punch him fucking out.” He pointed at the guy who was chuckling behind us. A crowd had begun to gather. 

“I’d love to see it, but it won’t help any.” 

“I’m going to kill him,” 

“George let it go,” 

“I can’t.”

“Why not,” I held onto his shoulders, “It’s just me.” His eyes met mine, his body stopped struggling. 

“Exactly,” He hissed. “He said it about you,” 

“He’s jealous,” I whispered, leaning up to his lips. “He’s jealous because he thinks that these lips wrap around you,” My lips brushed his with each word I spoke. 

“No one else,” He repeated. 

“No one else,” I affirmed.

—————-

“It’s kind of creepy when you’re alone,” I muttered as George and I walked into the apartment. Dean and Jane had gone to our dorm room for a private night alone, which meant the intended to spend the whole night fucking. 

“Yeah.” We both stood in the kitchen, looking over the dark apartment. “Your right it is creepy.” George laughed breaking the silence. “You can almost see the ghosts and creeps just lurking.” 

“Why would you say that?” I cried. “Now I’m not going to be able to sleep, George,” 

“Y/N, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“How do you know? Have you ever seen one?”

“No, and that’s how I know they're not real.” He smirked. I looked around the kitchen and groaned. “I forgot how much you hated ‘scary’ things,” 

“Remember when we watched house of wax?” 

“Yeah, you couldn’t sleep for a month,” He pursed his lips. “Are you sure it just wasn’t the acting that caused that?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was because I was afraid someone would grab me in the middle of the night and turn me into a human wax figure,” I said as I sat myself up on the bench letting my legs dangle off the side. 

“No one is going to get you Y/N. Not while I’m around.” George laughed walking towards me. “I promise.” He whispered as he reached me. His hands held onto my hips, pulling me forward so he stood between my legs, the too-short cheerleading skirt bunched up around my thighs. 

“Promise.”

“I promise.” He whispered again. His head ducking down so he could kiss my cheek. I relaxed into him as he gently left a trail of kisses against my jawline, making his way to my ear. “I’m sorry I said anything, are you okay?” He had one arm around me, holding me close. The other was wound in my hair, gripping it gently but harsh enough I was feeling waves of pleasure from my scalp. 

“Yeah,” I nodded our noses brushing, his lips brushed mine ever so softly. Then harder, His lips attach to mine and I moan into his mouth giving his tongue the opening it needed and he takes full advantage, his tongue exploring my mouth. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place. “G,” I whimper as his lips move from mine down to my neck, as I pull the cotton shirt he had on up, “Off.” I pleaded pushing him away. His shirt was gone a second later. 

“Tell me it’s me you picture,” George groaned his hands gripping my skin, 

“What?”

“When someone’s between these fucking legs, tell me it’s you,” 

“Always you,” I nod, “Always picture you.” 

“I’m gonna fuck you,” George says matter-of-factly, pulling me off the bench. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to see why none of those guys can do it like I can,” He spun me around and pushed me against the island, “And I’m going to remember why none of those girls were as good as you,” I heard the zip of his pants undoing, the belt clacking as it hit the tiles on the floor. 

“George,” 

“Did you enjoy it?” His hands went to the skirt, pulling it down slowly, “Them other guys fucking you while you pretended it was me?” 

“We weren’t together,” I cried out as George pushed inside of me, fuck his cock felt fantastic. 

“You think I don’t know we’re not together?” He gives a sharp thrust, causing me to suck in a breath. I look over my shoulder and I swear I nearly came from the sight alone, he was holding onto my shoulder, and my hip using me. “I think about it every fucking day.” His teeth gripped his bottom lip as he bottomed out inside me. 

“George,” 

“And it drives me insane. Do you think I like seeing you with other guys?” I push against George, managing to break free enough to push him to the floor, I sit on him, his cock back inside me, as I hold his hands up above his head while my hips circle on his beyond above average cock. 

“You think I like to see you with other girls?” I circled my hips faster, chasing my own release. 

“Easy solution then,” George slipped his hands-free, grabbing my hips and pounding up into me. “I won’t fuck anyone else if you don’t fuck anyone else?” 

“George,” I moaned as he hit my g-spot. “Need to come,”

“Say yes, and I’ll make you come,” 

“George,” His fingers dropped to my clit, pressing against it. My body shivering against his, “Touch me,” 

“Say yes,” 

“Yes,” I whispered as his hand began to rub, my body took over rocking back and forth on his cock, using him as I chased my own high. 

“So fucking perfect, always so fucking perfect,” He groaned his left hand gripping my hip. “Gonna come baby?” I nodded not trusting my voice to answer. “Wanna feel it again, feel you clenched around me,”

“I’m gonna,” I cried a tear falling from my eye as my head nodded uncontrollably as my body released. I cried out as George continued to fuck into me, “Need you in me,” I whimpered dropping down to his ear. “Need it.” 

“Gonna give it to you,” His grip tightened as he came, I felt it. Him inside me coating my walls with his come. “Fuck,” He pushed the hair off my face as we lay connected on his kitchen floor. “Give me five minutes and we’re fucking again,” 

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #GeorgeMackay #George MacKay fanfic #George MacKay Imagine #GeorgeMacKayImagine #George MacKay Smut

[nanoland]

new chapter (supernatural fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here) 

Clean Hands, part 3 

Crowley/Castiel/Dean Winchester, warning for violence and spn demons being spn demons   

0   

Another day, another assassination attempt.

“Congratulations, sir,” said Paula, bustling in with his coffee and daily planner. “That brings it to eight, yes? I recall your making some remark about throwing a small office party if we hit ten before the end of the month.”

Lifting the corpse off the row of retractable spikes he’d installed in his desk, Crowley grunted, “It was a joke. On the other hand, maybe it would be good for morale. Make the blighters less determined to snuff me.”

“I’ll add it to the calendar. Sir, your ten ‘o clock is waiting in the lobby. Should I send him in?”

Technically, ‘ten ‘o clock’ didn’t exist in Hell. Time didn’t exist in Hell.

But by God, it did for Paula.

Infamous among Crowley’s minions, she ruled his appointment diary with an iron fist (well – iron talons, more accurately) and kept a horseman’s pick tucked neatly under her workstation for anyone who was more than five minutes late.

She’d been the most competent corporate PA in the business when Crowley had purchased her soul in exchange for a medical breakthrough that had beaten down her cancer and allowed her those ten precious years. It would, in fact, have allowed her a normal human lifespan, if not for Crowley’s hounds.

(Her wish was among his favourites and her contract had pride of place in his trophy cabinet. She could have just said ‘cure me’; she’d dreamed bigger. Ambition! Now that was what Crowley liked to see. Very few people who sold their souls managed to leave the world a better place than they’d found it.

Truthfully, arranging the breakthrough had taken an amount of power on his part that, ordinarily, he’d have objected to. Ever since the Zuckerberg Incident of 2004, Crowley had maintained a policy against granting wishes that fundamentally altered the pace and trajectory of human scientific development. But he’d wanted her. Reliable PAs were like gold dust and they almost always went to bloody Heaven. “And for what, I ask you?” he’d said to Dean once. “How much admin is really involved in keeping people locked in a lotus-eater machine?”)  

“The ten… oh, piss. It’s Alan, isn’t it? Yes, yes. Let’s get this over with. Send him in.”  

Another day, another fucking workplace harassment mess to sort out. How many more sodding seminars was he going to have to host before they all got it through their heads that biting off a co-worker’s arm was not a viable long-term conflict resolution strategy?

Sigh.

It was only after four meetings and sixteen calls that Crowley remembered he’d not yet disposed of the assassin.

“I suppose I should make an example of you,” he huffed, already imagining it.

The hassle.

The bother.

Getting an apron on.

Finding the hammer.

Lugging the stupid bastard up a ladder and nailing him to the office noticeboard by his scrote.

He could always ask Paula to do it. But, bless her heart, she’d only been a demon for six years and arranging a corpse for maximum intimidation was just as much a matter of practice as talent.

As Crowley was fetching the ladder, Gwen from Legal arrived whey-faced and dogged by two dozen assistants and interns.

“Sir, it’s a catastrophe,” she wailed.

Five minutes later, Crowley was back at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Avoidable. Utterly, pathetically avoidable. All you had to do was amend the contract to state that the phrase ‘ten years’ refers solely and specifically to Earth’s orbital period, not the orbital period of the contractee.”

Gwen hung her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Finding qualified staff to manage this sort of deal is tricky. When people with, you know, science degrees and stuff die and are damned, the assholes over at the Experimental Punishments Department always snatch ‘em up first. It’s a real problem.”

“I’ll have a word with them. Ugh – alright, alright, let’s try and sort this out. How long is a Martian year?”

“The internet says six hundred and eighty-seven days.”

“Damn. Almost twice as long,” Crowley grumbled, pouring himself a drink. “What did he even want from us? He’s a billionaire. The list of things they can’t get without our help grows shorter by the day.”

“He wanted to guarantee that he’d be the first man on Mars, sir; that none of his competitors would get there before he did.”

“Wait. Hold on. The thing he wished for and the mechanism by which he’s attempting to fuck us over are one and the same? Oh, no, no, no. I’m not going to take that cheeky bollocks lying down. Get the head of Research and Development in here, now. We’re going to find out how to crash a spaceship.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to the assassin’s corpse. “Um.”

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered.

At which point Paula tapped on the door to ask if he wanted to reschedule his next five meetings, because unless he could deal with them all in a grand total of twelve minutes, he’d be late for his call with the NRA’s chairman.

When Castiel arrived – without an appointment, as per usual, but Paula had standing instructions to let him through – he found Crowley resting his head on his desk, fantasising about being a paperweight.

“I’ve come for more sex,” he explained.

Dragging himself from despair’s depths, Crowley slurred, “T’riffic.”

He instructed his meat suit to sit up and turn on the winning smile. Unlike more reliable vehicles, possessed bodies didn’t have dashboard lights to indicate an exhausted battery; instead, it announced its displeasure by growing three new tumours.

Castiel stepped back, confused. Displeased. “You’re usually more enthusiastic than this. Why is your desk covered in diagrams of rockets? Is this a ‘new hobby’?”

Exaggerated finger quotes. Damn him to the pit, he was precious.

“Kitten, rest assured I have only two hobbies and they both dress badly.”

He expected retaliation for that. Castiel hated being reminded that Crowley regularly dallied with his favourite human. It came as a surprise, then, when the angel simply reached out and firmly gripped his shoulder, declaring, “You need to rest.”

Wings flapped. Suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of a wide, glassy lake, surrounded by dense forest, and in the distance…

“Is that Mount Fuji?”

“Indeed,” said Castiel, smiling briefly. “She’s a childhood friend. I first visited when she was little more than an unusually picturesque bump in the ground.”  

There was no one around. There was nothing around. No boats on the lake, no fishermen, no families on holiday, not even the distant roar of traffic. Just them, the view, the water, and a – huh – a bright orange tent pitched nearby.

“This is where I come to relax,” Castiel informed him, opening up the zipper.

“Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Huh. I wasn’t aware that you…”

“That I what?”

“Owned things. Or even grasped the concept of owning things. Don’t give me that look; you’re the one who’s worn the same socks ever since you slipped into that God-bothering flesh puppet.”

Castiel sniffed. “Materialism is a disease. But I’m not a child, Crowley. For your information, in my time on Earth I have owned many things.”

Always fun to ruffle the pretty bird’s feathers. “Yeah? How many of them were hand-me-downs from the Hardy Boys?”

“Most of them,” he said, levelly. “With the exception of this tent and your ass, demon.”

A pin drop pause.

Castiel maintained unblinking eye contact for exactly twelve seconds, then turned and crawled into his neon den.

Practically vibrating with adoration, Crowley followed.

It was evident that Castiel, despite his laudable efforts to create a space for himself in a world that had no space for him, didn’t entirely grok camping.

There were no sleeping bags. Instead, the tent’s bottom was covered in duvets, dozens of them, soft and fresh as if they’d come directly from the shop – or, more accurately, Crowley suspected, someone’s washing line.

“I cured her dog’s foot infection,” Castiel said, somewhat defensively, settling into his cotton and fleece nest.

“Ah. And she was so grateful she said you could make off with all her laundry, hm?”

“She… did not say those words, precisely. But it was heavily implied.”

Thank sin this was only a meat suit. Thank sin, thank everything that Castiel couldn’t see the expression of hopeless, pitiable fondness that would have adorned Crowley’s true face at that moment.

It was a relief when Castiel, without further ado, started undressing. Crowley, copying him, took the opportunity to talk sense into himself.

Come on. Grow up. Get it together. You know what you are. More importantly, you know what he is. Ageless. Unfathomable. Demons, at the end of the day, are just distilled human nastiness, but him? He existed before humans. Before microbes. He’s nice to babies and bees and pot plants and Dean and that makes it easy to forget that… that…

Oh, yes. Remember when he came to Hell? The first time he saw Dean; the start of their epic, eternal, infuriating romance? And where were you? That’s right. You were with the others, standing there slack-jawed and helpless, like dinosaurs watching the comet hit. Like children gazing up at a mushroom cloud.

Twelve thousand. That’s how many demons he burned out of existence, without even trying. Twelve thousand.

Do you think he ever thinks about them? Do you think he even noticed?

Twelve thousand.

Do you think he knows how close you were to being one of them?

Do you think he cares?

He’s nice to babies. Bees. Pot plants. Dean. You, even, sometimes. He’s sweet. He’s got big, soft blue eyes and hair that aches to be tussled. He’s a top-tier, world-class fuck. And at any moment, for any reason, he could end you, easy as blowing away dust, and you can’t say for certain he would even remember your name in a month’s time.

“What? No,” Castiel protested when Crowley kissed him. “We’re here to rest, Crowley.”

Drawing back, Crowley leered. “That’s what you want to do, is it? Rest?”

Perpetually thirsty tart that he was, Castiel bit his lip and looked torn. “I… yes.”

Crowley pouted.

Firmer now, Castiel said, “We will rest for a while first. Then we will have sex. Is that satisfactory?”

No sooner had Crowley resignedly nodded than Castiel seized him and finished undressing him, tossing his undershirt and socks out the tent. When they were both naked, the cold air coming off the lake making Crowley shiver, Castiel burrowed into his pilfered pile and dragged the demon down with him.

“Rest first,” he ordered him. “Sex afterwards. No, no – stop that. Afterwards, I said.”

Crowley groaned and whined and fussed, but obeyed.  

And bugger him gently if it wasn’t actually pleasant, very pleasant, to lie there with Castiel’s strong arms locked around his torso, toasty warm under layers of wool while, outside, the lake lapped at its bank and wind rustled through the trees. No assassins. No paperwork. No blood. Everything nice and quiet. Everything calm and clean.

Then Castiel sighed, a hot puff against the back of Crowley’s neck, and said, “You know, the thing that vexes me most about Dean is the way he…”

#supernatural #crowley #castiel #crowstiel #dean winchester #drowley #destiel #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

[teacupfulofstarshine]

but i make these high heels work

summary: roman has something new that he wants to try out, but he’s nervous about his family’s reactions. he needn’t be; they’ve always got his back. 

(OR: a birthday fic for roman sanders, set in my moxiety dad au)

a/n: i’m jumping on @notveryglittery‘s “giving the gay everything he wants” agenda. happy birthday roman sanders!!! 

cw: anxiety, mild angst, fear of homophobia

wordcount: ~1.8k

read it on ao3!! 

Roman carefully smooths his hands over the fabric spread out across his bed. He knows that no one else is awake yet. Not even Logan, who routinely wakes up early because apparently he can run on crumbs of sleep and nothing else. Not even Dad, the earliest riser out of all of them, since he doesn’t have any pressing appointments. No one is awake but Roman. 

He’d tossed and turned all night, barely snatching a few hours. He knows he’s going to regret that later, but he also knows that there’s nothing particularly important happening today, so Papa and Dad will be more lenient if he decides to nap. So, rather than waiting until later to roll out of bed, Roman gets up a good hour before anyone else. He makes his bed - properly, this time, pulling off the excess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals and tucking his thick quilt in. He never has the time or the willpower to make it in the mornings, but today. 

Well.

Today, he has anticipation thrumming in his chest like caught lightning, and he needs something to do with his hands. 

Roman showers, quietly. The bathroom is between his room and Logan’s, and there’s always the off chance that the water running will wake up his lightweight-sleeper brother. He holds his breath, keeping in all the melodies that usually bubble from his mouth in the shower, and is rewarded with no signs of wakefulness from his brother. 

He doesn’t bother to wash his hair, so he doesn’t have to worry about blow-drying his fluffy curls. Instead, he spritzes them with dry shampoo he stole from his Papa and combs through them with his fingers. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to just the right state of artfully tousled, but it still doesn’t waste nearly enough time. 

Which brings him to here, sitting cross-legged on his perfectly-made bed, staring at the fabric spread across his quilt. It’s plain, compared to what he usually wears, but he supposes that’s the trouble with borrowed clothing. Adding to all that, it’s not real clothing; it’s an old prop he’d salvaged from a box of costumes destined to be torn apart and repurposed. He kind of wishes he had the courage to ask Dad or Papa to take him to the mall to buy a proper one, but he’s never been that kind of brave. 

Roman fiddles with the hem of the skirt between his fingers. 

It’s red, at the very least, but not the proper shade of red. It’s garish and bright, like a firetruck, like a cartoon bloodstain. It comes down to about Roman’s knees, hanging in loose folds, and it’s not the most comfortable thing he’s ever worn, but he loves it. He loves the way the fabric feels when it swishes around his knees, he loves the way it flares out when he spins in circles, he loves the way it feels to smooth the fabric beneath him in a single fluid motion when he sits down. 

He’s terrified to wear it out of the comfort of his bedroom, but he figures that today, June first, the first day of pride month, is as good a day as any to come out of the closet. Roman sighs, curling his hands into loose fists on his thighs. 

His phone pings with a notification, and Roman almost falls off his bed as he scrambles forward to snatch his cell phone off his desk. He takes a moment to smile at his home screen photo before answering the message: it’s a picture of himself and Janus from last year’s pride festival. They’re wrapped in a rainbow flag like a cape, leaning their heads together and laughing. Janus has a genderqueer flag painted across his cheek, and Roman has rainbow star stickers across his nose and a rainbow bandanna tying back his hair. 

Roman thumbprints his phone open and checks his messages. It’s from Janus himself. 

[7:41 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): you’re going to do wonderfully, dearest. your family loves you, and they’ll support you no matter what. and even if they don’t, i support you no matter what. i love you <3 

Roman wiggles his feet back and forth eagerly in a gleeful stim as he taps out a response. 

[7:43 am] me: thank you, snove (snake love). ily2 <3 

[7:44 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): are you ever going to stop calling me snake-themed nicknames, beloved?

[7:44 am] me: sno (snake no) 

[7:46 am] snoyfriend (snake boyfriend): i hate you <3 

[7:47 am] me: i snove (snake love) you too <3 <3 

*~*~*~*~*

Someone knocks on his door around 8:45. “Ro? Are you coming down to breakfast? I’m making pridecakes!” Dad calls. Roman’s stomach growls at the thought; every year, Dad makes multiple colors of homemade pancake batter and draws pride-flag pancakes on the griddle.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Roman says. 

“Okay, kiddo!” 

Roman takes a deep breath. He slides off his bed and shimmies out of his pajama pants. Rummaging around in his drawers, he pulls out a white t-shirt with a swooping golden outline of the Disney castle on the front. Carefully, he steps into the puddle of skirt and tugs the red fabric up over his hips. It’s not a perfect fit, but it comes down to his knees. Roman studies himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he sighs, reaching for the rainbow bandana on his desk. He folds it and ties it to form a headband which he uses to push his bangs off his forehead. “It’s going to be okay. Dad and Papa aren’t going to hate you. Thomas and Logan aren’t going to hate you. It’s going to be okay.” 

Roman waits until he hears Logan and Thomas go downstairs before he leaves. He picks up his phone, glances at the photo of himself and Janus one more time, and then steps into the hallway. 

He lurks on the stairs for a moment, glancing into the kitchen. Logan is sleepily gnawing on a bagel slathered with jam. Papa is pouring coffee into a row of mugs while Thomas helps Dad with the pridecakes. Roman grips his skirt tightly in his hands, watching his family, and then he steps into the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

“Good morn - oh!” Dad whirls around, holding a spatula which he quickly foists off onto Thomas. He hurries forward, taking Roman’s shoulders, eyes scanning up and down his outfit. “That’s new! Where’d you get it?” 

“It’s an old costume skirt,” Roman says. “Is that - am I - do you -”

Dad smiles, eyes crinkling up as he leans in to kiss Roman’s forehead. “I think you look wonderful, Roman. No matter what you choose to wear.” Roman smiles, hugging his dad tightly. He feels Dad reach up and press a hand into the back of his hair, rocking them back and forth a little as they hug. 

When Dad pulls away, Roman’s eyes jump up to Thomas. He grins, flashing a thumbs up, and Roman shakily offers one back. “Nice skirt,” Papa says, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulling him in. Roman feels Papa press a kiss to the top of his head, and he fights to keep himself from crying. 

Roman turns, looking at the only family member who hasn’t said anything yet. Logan is still placidly chewing his bagel, watching Roman with his typical calmness. “Logan?” Roman hates the way his voice shakes a little. “Do you like it?” 

Logan swallows and sets his bagel down. He scans over Roman’s outfit with a strange critical expression and says, “No. It looks completely wrong on you.” 

Roman’s heart sinks to the bottom of his chest. Logan stands up, scanning over Roman repeatedly, frowning as he stares at the skirt. ��Logan,” Dad says warningly. 

Logan keeps talking. “That is the wrong color for your skin tone. It does not compliment the tan you always achieve in the summer months. The shape is unflattering on your body type, and the material is -” Logan reaches out and rubs the material between two fingers, shuddering. “- is entirely unpleasant. This skirt is completely wrong for you.” 

Roman recognizes the glint in his brother’s eye as he examines the skirt with a critical eye. It’s the way he looks at pieces of clothing that the theater department asks him to help tailor. “You would look much nicer in a circle or handkerchief style skirt. That red is hideous, you need a darker shade. I think that dark green would also look nice on you.” 

“You . . . aren’t mad about me wearing a skirt?” 

Logan blinks at him. “To quote that Avatar show you like so much, ‘Pants are an illusion and so is death.’ Gender is a social construct and clothing should not be dependent on the genitalia you were born with. I do not care if you wish to wear a skirt or not, Roman. Why would I care?” 

“I was nervous about wearing a skirt because I thought you would judge me.” Logan takes a few steps closer, offering a small smile, and Roman feels his heart start to swell and rise like a balloon.

“I was not judging you for wearing a skirt, Roman. If you would prefer to wear a skirt, I will support you, always. I did not mean to imply otherwise. I merely meant to offer my assistance because that skirt looks uncomfortable.” 

“It really is,” Roman sighs. “I stole it from a box of outgoing props.” 

“Go put comfortable clothes on,” Logan tells him. “I am going to the fabric store with Dad later today. I will take your measurements and you can come with us to find a fabric you like. I will make you a skirt that actually fits you.” 

“You’d do that for me?!” 

“Skirts are relatively simple garments to sew, provided you get the measurements correct. I cannot promise that it will be perfect, but I will work to make sure that it is comfortable and flattering on your form.” Roman bounces eagerly. “Can I hug you?” 

Logan tilts his head, considering. “Ten seconds,” he decides, which is more than enough time. Roman pulls his brother into a hug, feeling Logan’s hand flap back and forth against his bag as he happily stims. 

“I love you, Logan,” Roman says, squeezing him tightly. Logan hums at the pressure, pushing closer to his brother before leaning backwards to signal that he’s done being hugged. Roman lets him go, settling down at the table. He can change after breakfast. 

(Two weeks later, Roman comes downstairs in a dark red circle skirt embroidered with golden stars and detailing. Logan hums, flapping and rocking happily when he sees Roman twirl around and show off the way the skirt flares around his thighs. 

“It’s perfect, it’s perfect, I love it so much!” Roman squeals. “Thank you, Logan!” 

Logan flaps even more in response.) 

#starshinewrites #little and broken but still good #happy birthday roman sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic tlamp #brotherly logince #romantic roceit

[redmoonrises]

i’ve been listening to way too many creepypastas.

@irrelevant-proxy-bitch as promised, my creepypasta sona/oc origin story. hopefully it meets the standards, heh

Genesis Caveat Origin

or, How I Became a Proxy

That thing is watching me again.

I first noticed it after a particularly boring day of school. I hadn’t paid attention in most of my classes, instead opting to scroll through Tumblr, mess around on Discord, and listen to Creepypasta readings on Youtube. I’m probably failing most of my classes at this point. I can’t bring myself to care. I can’t bring myself to care about much of anything these days. Fiction is the only thing that piques my interest, those made-up worlds are so much more entertaining than the boring one I’m stuck living in. That’s probably why I like writing so much, I can create and destroy whole worlds with no consequence to me, I can control everything and nothing, and it can be as entertaining as I want it to be.

I’m getting off-track. Sorry.

I’d been ignored all day, as per usual, so when I was walking home and felt someone watching me, I was confused and more than a little curious. I normally walk at a fairly quick pace, but I slowed my steps a little when I felt I was being watched. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. The sidewalk was empty. Actually, the whole street was empty, which is what caused my anxiety to spike. There were no people, no cars, even the storefronts looked empty. I turned back forward and picked up my pace again, walking quickly all the way home. It wasn’t until I’d reached my front door that I realized the feeling of that stare had vanished the instant I’d turned around.

Since then, I’ve felt that stare every time I walk home from school.

After the first day, I didn’t bother looking back. Something told me I wouldn’t be able to see anyone if I did. I was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. Why was someone spying on me? How long had they been watching me before I noticed? I was half-convinced I’d been singled out because I’m a textbook wallflower- no one at school would know if I went missing, and they definitely wouldn’t care. If someone snatched me while I was on my way to school, my parents wouldn’t find out until I was late getting home, and by then their frantic calls to the school and police wouldn’t do a thing- I’d probably be long gone.

I guess I was right about that part, heh. Just not for the reasons I thought.

. . .

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where were we? Ah, right.

It’s the seventh day of me being stared at as I’m walking home from school. For the past week, caution won out over curiosity, and instead of trying to spot whoever’s stalking me, I’ve just gotten home as fast as I can. I also made a habit of texting my parents when I leave school- they know how long it’s supposed to take me to get home, so if I get kidnapped they’ll know sooner. Same as when I head to school in the mornings, because I’ve been feeling the gaze on me then too.

I think part of me always knew it wasn’t human.

Shit, sorry. Focus.

Anyway, walking home. Seventh day in a row. Blah blah blah. Only this time, my curiosity outweighed my caution. Maybe I was just so damn bored of the life I had, that I’d do anything to mix things up. Actually, I’m sure that’s what it was. Suffice to say, as I walked down the eerily empty street, this time I slowed my steps instead of speeding them up. Then I slowly turned my head to look behind me. And saw it. The thing that was stalking me. I only caught half a second’s glance before it vanished, but that was enough. The details flashed in my mind. Tall, freakishly so. Black suit, torn sleeves. Something like tentacles raised up behind it. And the face- no face. At least not that my mind allowed me to see.

Then it vanished.

I spun back forwards and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The minute I got home I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing the curtains closed and booting up my laptop. A barely comprehensible entry in the Google search bar was autocorrected in seconds, and with a shaking hand, I moved the mouse to click on the images tab. Photoshopped pictures, fanart, and blurry photos stared back at me.

“I knew it.”

Like I mentioned at the start of this narration, I listen to a lot of creepypasta readings on Youtube. So I’m familiar with some of the stories. Laughing Jack. Jeff the Killer. Lost Silver. So many others. And of course, the one that started it all.

Slenderman.

“Holy fuck.”

I was being stalked by Slenderman. Why? And why hadn’t he killed me? I needed answers. Luckily, the internet is a magnificent place. I curled up in my swivel chair and started typing away, searching up everything I could about Slenderman and his proxies. Even the stuff I already knew, I read or listened to again. I took in as much information as possible. It’s said that knowledge is power, and for some things, the more you know, the more danger you’re in. But in this case, well. I’d seen him. He knew I’d seen him. What did I have to lose?

The next time I look at my clock, it’s nearly five in the morning. I’d done about all the research my brain could handle, even with my hyperfixations running at full throttle. More info probably wouldn’t matter anyway.

I’d made my decision, my plan.

Now, to execute it.

I empty my backpack of school supplies and pulled out a Sharpie. Lowering the felt tip to the fabric on the inside of the backpack, I let out a slow breath. With things like this, power always came from belief, at least that’s what the stories told me. I’d seen him, I knew it was real, it was all real. Now that I knew that, anything was possible. The line between fiction and reality is blurring.

As an author, it’s my job to break it.

I scribble a phrase on the inside of the backpack and capped the sharpie. Then I reach over to one of the books I’d stacked in the ‘bring with’ pile and drop it in.

The book hit the bottom of the bag and vanished.

I grin and reach in, hand passing through a cool sort of veil. I feel around, grabbing the book, and pull it out. It worked. It worked! I giggle, flapping my free hand in excitement. Pocket dimension backpack, success!! I start piling the books into it, all the stories I will carry with me. Then my sketchbooks and drawing supplies. My laptop, chargers, wallet, phone, anything I think I might potentially need. Even some of the food and drinks I’d snuck into my room. My blankets and pillow. Some clothes I’d grown attached too. Hell, let’s bring my stuffed animals and collection of keepsakes too, why not? It can all fit! I empty my shelf of little knick-knacks into the backpack. Nearly everything that I can lift in my room has gone into that pack.

Now… to wait.

7am. I make my move.

I stand in front of the mirror in my room, looking myself over. I’m wearing an outfit I wear almost every day. Grey jacket with a red upside-down heart on the chest, grey shorts with red on the edges, boots, a long red scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves. The only difference is that now, all my clothes have been altered by my newly discovered ability. I’m calling it “author powers” because that’s the closest I can get to properly explaining it. Now, my entire ensemble is fireproof, waterproof, and much harder to cut through that ordinary cloth. My boots are much more comfortable and molded to my feet. Everything fits just right.

Oh, one more thing. I pick up the blue-light glasses I’d left on my desk. I don’t even have to write on them to alter them, but it’s a fun little gimmick so I might just keep doing it. A couple lines on the glasses, and they’re suddenly much more useful. They’ll function as sunglasses now too, as well as a night vision and heat-seeking mode. And they’ll stay on my face without falling off. I push the glasses up my nose and look back into the mirror.

I guess the function wasn’t the only thing I altered. My ability has a lot to do with intentions.

Instead of glasses, I’m wearing a black mask with turquoise lenses. The mask only covers the upper half of my face. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Instead of my hair being the usual dirty-blonde and down to my shoulders, it’s pink, shorter and sorta spiked up- at least that’s the best way to describe it. Not spiked, that’s too sharp. But I can’t find another word right now, so we’ll stick with it. It was a transformation I hadn’t anticipated, but one that I’m sure to keep. I grin, showing teeth sharper than normal.

“This is gonna be fun.”

I hear someone in the kitchen. My dad, getting ready for the day. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work. We don’t have a foster kid at the moment, so mom will be sleeping in. And my sister is still asleep in her bedroom. Perfect.

I raise a hand, seeing the black claws that now extend from the ends of my gloves. I’d been wondering how I’d get to a knife, but I guess now I won’t need one. I tighten the straps of my backpack and step out of my bedroom.

“Heh. Time to raise hell.”

~

Six days later. Thirteen days since this all started.

It took me for-fucking-ever to find the mansion. Even longer to get there with the burden I’m dragging along. But here I am. It looms over me, giving off the same creepy vibe I got from my stalker. I know he’s there, and he knows I’m here. Someone will answer the door soon, I don’t even have to knock.

The smell of blood isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m glad I made my clothes stain-proof, I’d hate to have to throw away my gloves. As I’m waiting, I tap my foot idly and inspect my fingers. I have a nasty habit of biting the skin around my fingernails, which shows even with my claws. Oh, there’s blood on my claws. Not quite dry, so I just lick it off. Huh, doesn’t taste that bad either.

Someone’s moving inside. I straighten up slightly, hand dropping to my side. I nudge one of the bodies next to me with a foot, then take a half-step away when an arm flops to the ground. I look back to the door, arms crossed (carefully, to avoid cutting myself) as I wait. The door finally creaks open, revealing someone I don’t recognize. I assume it’s one of the proxies, but it’s not one that I’ve read anything about. Only one way to find out.

“You’re one of his proxies, I assume?” Even my voice is different, with the mask. I like it.

The proxy laughs. “Fuck yeah, I’m the number one proxy bitch. But you can call me Irre.” She pronounced it like ‘eerie’, which I thought was fitting.

I snort with amusement and take a moment to look the proxy up and down. She has pale blue skin, long hair that faded from black into red, and silver eyes. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, with a healthier-looking build than the almost-too-skinny twig stature I see every time I look in the mirror. She even looks to be about my age too, give or take a year. She gives off a chaotic sort of presence, but in a way that’s almost difficult to perceive. I’m reminded of my school days, blending into the background. After a few people told me my stare was creepy, even though I’d just been looking at them, I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Apparently I had an intensity others found unsettling, but only if they noticed me. I’m reminded of that with this proxy, only with chaotic energy instead. I smile slightly. We might just get along.

“Well, nice to meet you, number one proxy bitch,” I respond with a chuckle. “Speaking of proxies. Where do I sign up? I brought a peace offering.” An idle hand gesture draws her attention to the bodies sprawled next to me. Two bodies, carved up with precise markings, and very much dead. What remains of my parents. My claws had marked them, turned their corpses into a work of art. I’d saved the blood, bagged it and put it in my backpack. I might need it later.

Irre looks the bodies over and grins. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here. Course, that’s not my decision.” She glances back at the house. “The others will get curious soon. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m not going back. Besides, he sought me out first,” I admit. “Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

She nod in understanding. “In that case… what’s your name?”

I grin, showing sharp teeth. “I am Genesis Caveat.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #tw death #tw blood #gen writes

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Anatomy 101***

Chris Evans AU x Reader One Shot

 Warning: SMUTTY, SMUT, SMUT, NSFW, cursing, choking, slightly older man/college student

 Word Count: 5.6k

 Note: Sooo, at this point, I’m just going to stop apologizing and giving summaries. I think everyone just expects me to be one of those writers who just have fifty-‘leven open WIP

 **Loosely edited**

**Loosely Proofread**

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 "Uuugh!"

    You slammed your palm down on the alarm clock. Its annoying blaring was really grinding your nerves especially given the fact that you hadn't gotten much sleep because you decided to go to the frat party last night and didn't get in until nearly four in the morning. You looked at the clock and grimaced seeing it read eleven.

    Why the fuck did I take this class? Yes it was a core class, but you didn't have to take it this early, you could have taken it in the fall, but you had the bright idea of doing it in the spring. Groaning again you rose off the bed and sat at the edge. Hating yourself some more for your asinine decision you dragged your feet to gather your bath supplies so you could get a quick shower. You walked through the hall with your eyes closed; muscle memory was carrying you. Not caring what was going on around you, you walked into the shower room, stripped and stepped into the hot stream of water. This was precisely what you needed, not only were you a little hungover, but you were also half asleep. Usually, you wouldn’t want to get your hair wet this close to class because then you'd have to battle with it to get it straight and the process took entirely too long, but now you didn't care at all. The water beamed down on your scalp, and you sighed thoroughly enjoying it.

    By the time you made it back to your room, you had less than thirty minutes to get dressed and make it across campus to your Anatomy and Physiology class. Doing your best to hurry, you picked something cute but not too cute. It was after all an 11 am class, and the professor was a boring old man who lost your attention the minute he uttered his first word. That was bad; you needed this class not only for your degree but your career. How could you become a clinical physiologist if you didn't understand the essential functions of the human physiology? You couldn't, plain and simple. You needed to find a way to get your head in the game or else you'd be done for.

    Hearing the campus clock striking eleven, you rounded the corner and ran down the steps into the health sciences building where your class was held. You gripped your heels tightly in your hands. You regretted the choice as soon as you stepped out your dorm and saw you had eight minutes to get across campus. On an average day walking, it took at least twelve to get to class. You panted and bumped into a group of students standing around talking.

    "Hey, watch it!"

    "You watch it. This is an education facility talk outside idiot!"

    Not bothering to go back and forth you ran up the flight of stairs and down the hall to the class door and flung yourself inside.

    "And that is why and how the cardiovascular system is easily the most important system in the body."

 Everyone looked at you. Ignoring the eyes, you hurried up the steps and to one of the many seats. There were only fifteen people in this class because everyone else was smarter than your dumb ass. You made it to the fourth row back and took the closest seat. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you tried to catch your breath. You closed your eyes and held your head back, thinking it was way too early for this shit.

    "Is everything all right Ms--Y/N?"

    Your head snapped forward and landed on the man standing in front of the room, half perched on the desk.

 "Holy shit you're gorgeous!"

    The snickers that rang out around you alerted you that your censor had failed you yet again. You pinched your lips together and closed your eyes; embarrassment filled you.

    "I mean--uh, yes everything is fine," you corrected and dug into your bag to retrieve your notebook and other supplies.

    "Thank you for the compliment, much appreciated," he said as he rose from the desk and walked around it, giving you the first view of his perfect ass. Your jaw dropped as you gawked. This was not your professor. This man was nowhere close to being your professor. Everything about him was the opposite. He was taller easily reaching 6'3, his eyes looked to be blue from here while your professor's could have been green, or brow, or green, hell you didn't know. This man before you was built like he spent two hours in the gym a day and didn't take any days off and his ass looked like you could bounce a quarter, a nickel, a dime, and a penny of it and it would bounce off and create ninety-five cents, he had a magical ass, a magically luscious ass. He turned around, and your eyes widened as they zeroed in at the crotch of his pants. You could see a subtle bulge, a bulge of a man who was packing a semi-automatic but that said semi-automatic was asleep.

    "Eh-eh-eh-em!"

    Shaking your head at the unexpected loud sound, you looked up to see him looking at you. You'd been caught. You averted your eyes and flipped to an open page in your notebook and began taking notes. Thinking to yourself that no man let alone an academic professor should be this fine, you took a few calming breaths and did your best to listen to the lecture. You found yourself getting lost in him because not only was he gorgeous he was smart, those two put together made him the sexiest man you’d seen on this campus. Before long, you found yourself having little daydreams as he spoke. You fantasized about his big hands squeezing your ass, his lips tasting yours, his thighs resting on either side of your cheeks as you took every inch he had to offer. In a matter of minutes, you were wet and getting quite hot and bothered.

   An hour and forty-five minutes into your two-hour class, he placed the chalk down and walked to the front of the desk where he leaned against it. His thighs pressed together, and you wondered what it would be like to sit across his lap. You looked around and noticed for the first time the entire class was females. You wondered if they’d known sexy, blue eyes and dreamy would be here. When you looked ahead there, he was standing in front of you down at the front of the class. It was so unexpected you jumped and sank back into your seat. It was then you saw a sly smirk spread across his face.

    “Ms. Y/N.”

    You raised an eyebrow to him, giving him more of your attention, even though he’d had it this entire time.

   “True or false, Dopamine is the human body’s pleasure chemical.”

    You thought about it vaguely remembering him talk about pleasure. Truth be told once he began talking about pleasure you zoned out and thought about just that—him giving you pleasure.

   “Eh-em, well dopamine is made in the brain, and the brain is responsible for most if not all the chemicals the body produces and distributes. So with that being said; true.”

    He smirked and licked his lips slowly. “What are the body’s connection and relationship with the pleasure center? How does let’s say the first signal or spark begin all the way to completion?”

    You knew this; you’d read in the text and studied it for an upcoming quiz. Right now, though, you were drawing a blank. As you looked at him you knew he knew you had nothing. How the hell could you think with him looking at you? It was as if his eyes were boring into you, stripping away everything you used as a shield, defense mechanisms, walls, clothes, shit you felt bare underneath his intense gaze.

    “Okay, seems you might need another way to grasp the material. Come on down,” he said. You didn’t move, you looked around the room, and no one looked as if they thought this was strange. When you looked back to him, he walked back to his desk.

    “I won’t repeat it.” The authority in his voice had you shooting up involuntarily. You looked around again and the girl nearest you rose her eyebrows as if to say you were in trouble. Were you in trouble, you thought? You closed your notebook and slipped your feet into your heels before you descended the stairs to make it to the desk he was now leaning against. You stopped a few feet from him and clasped your hands behind your back. His eyes dropped to your breasts, and his teeth scraped over the skin of his bottom lip. Surprise ran through you. There’s no way your professor just checked out your boobs, you thought to yourself. This was wishful thinking. You shook your head and shook the idea away.

    “Do you normally struggle in this class?”

    “Um, no.”

    “Professor Evans. That is my name, and that is what you’ll call me,” he filled in with authority. This time you felt the butterflies in your stomach. You swallowed a little more loudly than intended and took a breath.

    “No Professor Evans.”

     “So it’s just today with me you seem to be a less than sample student?”

    “How--.”

    “You showed up ten minutes late when everyone else managed to make it on time. You were barefoot when you came in and since you’ve barely listened to a word I’ve said. So, I ask again; is it just with me you’re not the sample student?”

    Speechless you looked around the room again and crossed your leg over the other. For some reason, your nether regions were tingling. There was no way this was turning you on, you thought.

    “I guess it’s just with you—Professor Evans.”

    He nodded, stood up straight, and walked to you never taking his eyes off yours. You lost all breath in your lungs; you couldn’t even think, his eyes pinned you where you stood. You bit your bottom lip; his eyes fell to them before he disappeared behind you. Without your eyes, you still knew he was directly behind you.

    “And why is that Ms. Y/L/N?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Class give me a brief physiology of lying, spot a liar. Go!”

    The girl you sat close to shot her hand up first then spoke.

    “When someone lies, Catecholamines are released in the body.  these are the hormones that spawn from stress, which is what the body is put under when it lies, professor Evans.”

    “Good. Anyone else?” More hands shot into the air, and he called on another student.

   “The body then has tells, fidgeting, sweating, and subtle voice fluctuations to begin professor Evans.”

    You rolled your eyes; these bitches were looking for an A++ today.

    “Good. Now Ms. Y/N, which one of those tells do you think I registered with you just now?”

    You bit your tongue; this was getting a little humiliating, and you didn’t like it.

    “You tell me, Professor Evans, you’re the one between us with an actual degree on the subject. Enlighten me, pretty please.”

    Once the words were out, he looked to you, his lips smiled, but his eyes darkened from a celestial blue to an almost the shade of blue denim jeans. The transition took your breath away, and you released a gasp, one that was inconspicuous to the rest of the class but somehow you knew he’d heard it. The edges of his lips turned up into an almost sinister smirk, one that made your stomach fall partially from dread and fear, but also from excitement and anticipation.

    “Be seated Ms. Y/N.”

    On wobbly legs, you hurried back to your seat and did your best to compose yourself. He continued to lecture, but his eyes never landed on your again. He went on as if you were invisible. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. On the one hand, you were relieved not to be under the intense scrutiny of his stare, but you wanted him to look at you, you wanted it more than almost anything. For the remainder of the class, you didn’t pay attention to one word he said. You just watched him move. The way his trim legs moved and how his ass looked as it was perched atop the desk made your hands itch to touch. The way his lips moved to form speech and the way his tongue tipped out every so often to wet his lips made your mouth water and long to taste his. You could barely contain the amount of arousal you felt. It definitely superseded anything you’d ever felt before. You wanted him, bad.

    “Okay, so that is all for today, hopefully, you have a new understanding of the curriculum. Go on get outta here,” Professor Evans said.

    Everyone got into motion gathering their belongings and exiting the room. You heard the girl that sat close to you speak under her breath.

    “Goddamn, he’s fine.”

    You smiled to yourself, and the two of you exchanged an all-knowing look that said the two of you understood the situation. When you grabbed your bag, you didn’t pay attention to how you took it up, and everything spilled out. You cursed to yourself, bent down, and retrieved the items. By the time you finished, it was just you in the class. You made your way to the door. When you turned the knob, it didn’t budge. It was locked. You tried it again and added some force, but still, it didn’t move.

    “What the hell?” Looking around the room you realized you were alone, not even the professor was in sight.

    “Hello?” No answer. You wiggled the doorknob again and kicked it when your frustration rose high.

    “What did that door ever do to you?”

    Spinning around you saw Professor Evans sitting in the front seat with his legs spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. Even like this, he still looked incredible.

    “It’s locked, how did it get locked? I didn’t know these doors even locked from the inside.”

    “Well, now, you do. I locked it.” He stood and walked closer to the desk. You felt an uneasy feeling in your chest, and a chill ran down your spine and crept around to settle in your belly. You felt as if you should feel fear and part of you did, but it didn’t grip your entire being.

    “Wh—why would you lock it? What is this?”

    “I thought you needed a little more—tutoring,” he said.”

    “Excuse me?

    “You know you’ve been watching me all morning, I doubt any of the material even made it in,” Professor Evans said.

    Trying your best to keep a straight face and show no emotion or shock you clenched your jaw and held your chin high; “Ha, I was not watching you.”

    “Do you prefer gawking? I saw you staring at my ass. I could almost hear all your dirty little thoughts.”

    You wanted to die; you were so mortified. Not that he’d caught you clearly sexually objectifying him, but he had the balls to tell you. At the thought of him having balls your eyes involuntarily dropped to his crotch. You heard a breathy chuckle and snapped them back to his face. He smiled and shook his head.

    “Have a seat.” You didn’t move. One, because you couldn’t believe what was happening and two, you were afraid of what was happening.

    “Now, Ms. Y/L/N.”

    Damn your need to please. You walked toward the front row of seats before you felt him grip your wrist. You looked to him with a questioning look.

    “Not there. The desk.” Obeying, you changed courses and walked to the elevated podium where the desk was. Stepping up the two steps, you placed your belongings on the chair that held his things. Once you sat, you crossed your legs and looked to him. He stood a few feet away, just watching you. He didn’t move though. A full two minutes passed in silence, then he walked to you.

    “Uncross your legs.” Feeling a little strange, you hesitated and searched his blue eyes. They were a bit darker than before but still gorgeous. You did as he asked and took a deep breath.

    “The reading and assignment last week according to your previous professor’s notes state it was on the physiology and biology of lust, attraction, and attachment. Is that correct?”

    You could feel the heat coming off his body though he wasn’t touching you. It made your body come alive. You nodded, unsure your voice worked. Without a word, he shot you a questioning glance, one that gave you the opportunity to rewind. You took a deep breath and swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

    “Yes, Professor Evans.

    “Let’s test your knowledge. What is the biology of attraction?”

    You scanned your memory hoping you’d find even the smallest detail from the reading you did over four days ago. He was fucking with you. Who remembered their reading from so long ago, especially when they had other classes they had to read for too. His eyes never left yours; it was as if he were trying to intimidate you or make you mess up. You began to wonder if he wanted you to mess up. He smiled as if reading your mind.

    “Ms. Y/L/N. Tick, tock goes the clock.”

    “Attraction is just a mix of chemicals in your body working together to fire off a response to the brain.”

    “What chemicals?”

    “Dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin,” you filled in.

    “What effect does each of those have?”

    “Norepinephrine is the chemical that makes one giddy, energetic, and euphoric; it can even lead to decreased appetite and insomnia. Serotonin, a hormone that’s known to be involved in appetite and mood, a lot of studies have shown that serotonin may have a part to play in the intense infatuation that characterizes the beginning stages of love and attraction. Dopamine is the feel-good hormone. It’s released when we do things that feel good and have similar effects as Norepinephrine,” you finished.

    You couldn’t tell what his expression was he was behind you. Suddenly you felt his heat near your ear.

    “So it’s just with things I say you struggle with,” he whispered. God, his voice sounded so sexy, and on cue, your body responded. You felt the ache of your breasts your telltale sign they needed to be touched, the heat swirling in your belly and the slowly increasing pulsation between your legs.

   “You forgot one other thing--,” Professor Evans took a deep inhale, one that broke you out in goosebumps.

    “Pheromones. They are a huge tell-tale sign of attraction—I can smell you.”

    You tried to stifle a moan, but you were unsuccessful. You knew he heard it. Soon he was standing before, you between your slightly spread thighs with his thighs grazing against your skin. He was hot—literally.

    “Tell me about lust.” His voice was low and filled with something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something that spoke to the heat in your belly and traveling down between your thighs. Clenching your jaw, you took a steadying breath.

    “Testosterone and Estrogen are the primary chemicals. Testosterone increases libido, and estrogen can also increase arousal.”

   “What kind of arousal?” his voice was now gruff.

   “Sexual,” you whispered.

 He closed his eyes and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

   “You smell—so damn good.”

    You studied his face, went over every inch of his beauty. He had not one wrinkle. His beard was no doubt one of your weaknesses. You were always a sucker for a full beard and a nice ass; he had both. Your eyes traveled over him, but below his waist was obscured. You recognized the desire pumping through you. You didn’t expect to see his eyes open when yours returned to his face. You licked your lips, and his eyes remained there. When his lips crashed to yours, you hesitated and allowed him to expertly kiss you. His beard was soft against your face as were his lips.

    You’d been kissed plenty of times before, but this kiss was different. This kiss wasn’t from a boy pretending to be a man as all the college guys you dated had been. This was a man in every form of the word, taking charge. You felt his hand at the small of your back before he pulled you to the edge of the desk, closer to his own body. You felt the protruding bulge in his pants as it connected with your pubis. Without thinking, you moaned and laced your hand in his hair and gripped the strands as he intensified the kiss.

    In an instant, your back was flat against the desk, and he was hovered over you kissing you better than anyone ever had before. His tongue teased yours. Feeling your anxiousness rise you sunk your teeth into his bottom lip, his moan vibrated across your lips before he roughly pushed your thighs back to meet the desk. As he pulled back from your mouth, his eyes skimmed your body before they stopped at the junction of your thighs. You laid sprawled atop the desk with your hot pink thong on full display. His groan echoed throughout the empty room; then he moved his hand to your pelvis where it rested possessively for a second before he balled the dainty fabric and ripped it right off of you.

    You flinched at the sudden action and the sting it produced on your skin. Professor Evans then slapped your sex, creating a wet sloshing sound. Your back arched and a moan escaped your lips.

    “Do you know why you’re wet?”

    You shook your head; you knew damn well why, but you sure as hell wasn’t going to say it. He smiled as he dropped down to eye level with your aching core.

   “Your body is aroused by my pheromones, so much so that the dopamine in your system is increasing at a fast rate, one that is intoxicating you and bringing your body into hyperdrive. Tell me Ms. Y/L/N, is this the perfect example for lust?”

     God, he was killing you. You didn’t care if this was lust or not all you knew was if he didn’t stop talking and show you what that mouth could do as he’d been teasing all class you’d combust. He dropped a kiss to your inner thigh, and you groaned. Your arms instinctively flew to his head hoping to pull his head to you, but he evaded you.

    “I see someone is feeling anxious. Answer the question.” You still didn’t want to. You lowered your hand to your sex and rotated your fingers around your wetness. His eyes automatically dropped to watch you. He slowly licked his lips as he watched you. Two could play this game; if he wanted to tease you, you’d do the same. You slowly dipped one finger into your heat and gasped aching backward at the sudden pleasure that filled you.

    “You’re so wet, show me.”  You pulled your finger out to show him how they glistened underneath the florescent lights of the classroom. He examined your finger before his mouth engulfed it. He sucked your finger clean, ensuring to nibble and flick his tongue around it. God, he was a tease. As if sensing what you were thinking, he smiled before his mouth dropped to your sex and began pleasing you better than anyone had before.

    Your hands flew to your breasts and squeezed, trying to maximize your pleasure. His tongue rhythmically flicked across your sensitive bud, and then he was sucking it into his mouth. The change of sensations sent your body into a state of heightened arousal, one you knew preceded an impending release. You couldn’t believe you were already there. It had barely been two minutes. He sped up the movements of his mouth, no doubt wanting to torpedo you into your orgasm. The heat in your belly furled out to every inch of you, and without warning, you whimpered, gripped his head ground yourself against his mouth. He didn’t let up; instead, he sucked your lips into his mouth before you felt his finger inside you. Arching up onto your elbows, you watched as he maneuvered two fingers in and out of your swollen heat. His lips were glistening with your wetness, wetness that looked to saturate his perfectly groomed beard.

    “Fuck!”

    He smiled and pulled his fingers from you then sucked them clean.

    “Not quite yet. You’ve been biting those lips all morning,” he began as he stood before you. Your eyes dropped to his hands at his pants as he began undoing them. Once the buttons were undone, you saw peeks of grey cotton. He wasted no time pulling down his pants and underwear until his thick need flopped out and bobbed before you. Your jaw dropped at the sight of him. Yes, he carried himself with unmistakable big dick energy you somehow didn’t expect it actually to be big. It—was—big. You couldn’t tear your eyes from him. He stroked himself once, then twice until your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

   “I want to see them wrapped around me,” he finished. You shouldn’t have moved as fast as you did. You wasted no time sliding off the desk to drop to your knees before him. Once you were eye level with his need, you licked your lips way too anxious to have him. You gripped his girth and marveled that your hand couldn’t even fit around him fully. As you stroked him, you heard his breathing pick up. Tipping your tongue out to trail along the underside of his length, you ended at his smooth tip. Professor Evans groaned and widened his stance. Continuing your tease, you licked across his skin for a few more minutes until you slowly lowered your lips onto his scorching desire. Once your lips tightened around him more than halfway down, he hissed out and ended with an aggressive groan.

    “Fuck, so good Y/N!”

    You noticed he used your first name and it turned you on even more. Moving your mouth up and down his length, you decided it was not the time to be cute. It was time to enjoy yourself fully. You had been thinking about this all morning. You knew this was a once in a lifetime thing and decided to fully let yourself go. Speeding up your mouth you increased you suction as you neared his tip. Every time you did, he cursed and bucked forward, feeding you even more of his lengthy thickness. After a few minutes, his hands connected to the back of your head, and he began thrusting into your mouth. His hips sped up, and before you knew it, you were taking damn near all of him. Every time he thrust forward, you felt the tip of him slink past your tonsils. You had to stifle your gag reflex and take everything he offered. You refused to back down. His moans and grunts filled the room, and you were happy the door was locked to prevent anyone from walking in. Although, if anyone looked in the peek-a-boo window they’d see you on your knees with your spit dribbling from your chin as your professor face fucked you. You didn’t care; the danger of discovery only made you want him more.

    Professor Evans pulled himself from your mouth with a loud groan and “pop,” “Face down on that desk, poke that perfect ass out for me.”

    You did as you were told, ignoring the coldness of the glossy maple colored wood against your exposed skin. The anticipation was killing you, and it showed with the slight shiver of your body. You felt his hand connect with your backside and you moaned.

    “I love the perfect jiggle of this ass,” he said before he slapped it again, and again. Each hit made you wetter and wetter. When you felt him rub himself against your opening, you flung your head back releasing your own grunt. You didn’t have to wait much longer before you felt him fully sink himself inside your needy channel.

   “Fuck, yes!”

    You felt his hand roughly grip your hips as he rocked his hips back and forth, building the friction and pace steadily stoking your desire. He felt so good, better than you’d ever remembered it feeling before. The heat from his skin scorched you from the inside out and heightened your pleasure. Professor Evans picked up his speed and plowed into you making sure that every time he connected with your body, he forcefully nudged forward stroking the swollen bundle of nerves.

    “Shit, yes, yes.”

    “You love this dick, don’t you Y/N? You love how it fills your needy little pussy!”

    Your panting grew louder, and you tried to hold on to anything you could find, the only thing close enough was the edge of the desk. When his thrusts slowed down the force of which he slammed into you didn’t. Each bruising thrust only made your eyes lull to the back of your head more. You felt his body hover over your back and then his fingers reach around between your legs to caress your clit. You hissed at the sudden increase of pleasure and knew your release was seconds away.

    “Oh my god, yes!”

    “What’s my name?”

    “Professor Evans! Yes, fuck this tight little pussy!”

    “God damn right it’s tight. It’s been waiting for a real man to claim it,” he growled out as he increased his speed but added a slight swivel of his hips upon impact. The change of angle sent you over the edge.

    “Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck! I’m coming!” With that, the dam broke, and you hit the desk over and over as you came long and hard all over him. Still, he didn’t stop or slow down, not his pounding increased to an incredible speed and force. You knew you were going to be sore tomorrow and possibly the day after that.

    “Does this pussy love me?” you nodded wildly, not caring how thirsty you looked. You were parched and didn’t care if he knew it.

    “This pussy loves you! Shit!”

    You felt another orgasm build within you, your legs gave out, but he was there to hold you against him and the desk. His thrusts became sloppy, but they remained precise. He knew what he was doing, know how to handle a woman’s body, knew just how to make it do whatever he wanted. You felt his breath at your ear.

    “Ready for this one? It’s going to be big. Say yes, Professor.” His hand around your throat barely squeezed, but it was enough to trigger your orgasm.

    “Yes, Professor!” His grip tightened slightly, and his thrusts sped up. After one, then two and a third gut plunging thrust your second orgasm took over. You clenched around him and screeched through the intense pleasure. His hands slacked, and your body slid off the desk. He turned you to face him, and it was then you saw the unbridled need that darkened his eyes.

    “Your knees,” he grunted out through clenched jaws. You obeyed and opened your mouth. This was not your first time. He quickly stroked himself, and while maintaining eye contact with you. It was so hot your hand crept between your legs to swirl around your still needy soaking clit. Your fingers moved as quickly as his hand did and when the first spurt of his come splashed the side of your mouth yet another orgasm coursed through you. You felt his come fill your mouth spurt after spurt. It barely registered over the brain-numbing pleasure you felt from your final release. He cursed and grunted to his heart’s delight before you wrapped your mouth around him again and milked him for every drop he had left.

    After a few moments, he hissed again and released a small, vulnerable whimper before he slowly pulled himself from your mouth. You looked up to him and licked your lips of any excess before you teasingly bit your bottom lip. He smiled and shook his head as he began pulling his pants and underwear back in place. You slowly stood on shaky legs before you leaned against the desk. His eyes dropped to your hand and took it, placing your coated fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Just like that, the heat had been reignited. Staring into his eyes, you could tell he felt it too. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he stepped back from you.

    “You’re free to go.” You heard the click of the locks signaling the end of your little tryst. You walked around the desk to your belongings and smoothed over your clothes before you walked to the door. You could feel his eyes boring holes into you as you walked. When your hand touched the doorknob, you heard him call your name. You glanced back at him to see him holding your torn and tattered thong in his hands.

    “See you next class.” He moved the underwear to his nose and smelled. You wanted him again. You glanced down to his waist and saw the evident bulge in his pants and smiled to yourself. You weren’t the only one with an insatiable need. Turning you walked out the door savoring the delicious ache between your thighs. Maybe you would enjoy this class after all.

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#anatomy 101 fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans smut #black fanfiction

[silverfootstepswrites]

Amaryllis | Chapter 13

<Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14>

+++

A few weeks later, they entered Whiteriver Keep to strange looks from the guards on patrol. And then disapproving stares from the nobles and officials who walked the halls of the castle. Mercenaries weren’t an unfamiliar sight in the city of Whiteriver. It was just that they were never invited into the walls of the castle proper. The people who came and went through these gates were often traveling entertainers or diplomats from far-off lands.

“Oh. A triumphant return, then, General?” a smarmy voice came from behind.

Sakura didn’t even need to turn to know that it was Duke Hyuuga. Scoffing at her. His silken hair gleaming in the torchlight, while muck still covered her boots and cloak. He wrinkled his nose as he saw the state of her travel-weary companions as well.

“I wasn’t aware that His Majesty had sent you on some sort of journey with your friends. What a lively group,” he went on.

Sasuke opened his mouth to rebuke the man. After all, he had failed to even recognize and greet the princes of the neighboring nation. But he took a step back when his brother tugged the back of his cloak.

Because Itachi was watching Sakura’s face, not the duke’s.

“Majesty?” she repeated.

When she turned to finally face him, Sakura was still smiling.

“How sad. In your… advanced age… you must have forgotten. There is no ‘Majesty’ at the moment. Just the Regent,” Sakura corrected him. The duke’s expression hardened as she added: “Do take care of yourself. It would be a tragedy to see such a sharp mind lost to senility.”

“Good day to you, Duke,” Sakura then greeted him as she brushed past. The rest of the group trailed along after her. Including the mercenaries. Kisame glanced back to smirk at the incensed duke, who trembled with rage as he hurried along in the opposite direction.

With a weary look around the group, it was Sasuke who suggested that they retire to their rooms to wash up and rest before supper. Sakura sent Haku up to her chambers with her things before she headed off into the city on foot. Kaze she sent off to the stables to be pampered for the first time in several weeks.

The way to the Academy was busy, as always. She stepped through the gates. No one dared intercept her when they spotted her bright hair.

Sakura found a pot of geraniums on her desk upon her return. She stood in the doorway of her office as she stared at the bright purple flowers. Mud was painted onto the bottoms of her boots and she could feel the grime caked under her nails. But there were flowers waiting for her anyway.

Purple was the color of the Yamanaka family so it was easy to guess who they had come from.

"You there," Sakura called as she heard footsteps in the hall. They abruptly stopped before the soldier ran up to her. She heard the creak of his starched uniform as he saluted, fist over his heart.

"Bring me Colonel Hyuuga at once," she ordered.

Geraniums stood for true friendship. And Sakura was aware of few friends she had in this city. And only one of them would send a message to her in this manner. If Ino was sending her flowers to affirm her friendship, there had to be a reason.

Sakura moved into her office, her eyes scanning the area for any hidden presences. The windows were closed. But she still moved closer to check the locks. They seemed to be in perfect working order.

There was a set of knocks: three in a row.

"General."

For a moment, as Sakura turned, she thought she saw Neji walking over a mountain of dead bodies. The smell of decay and burnt flesh was thick in the air. But she blinked and he was simply entering her office. Seeing the odd look on her face, he hesitated in the doorway for a moment. And then he entered, bowing, right fist over his heart.

"Colonel," she acknowledged him. Only then did he raise his head.

“Your Uncle found me as soon as I entered the city. As if he were waiting for me,” she said. No point in skirting around formalities. They were both too busy for that.

“He’s been spending a great deal of time in the castle lately. It could be coincidence,” Neji replied. Sakura’s nose wrinkled at the last part. She hated that word. Coincidence.

Neji hesitated. And then he asked anyway: “Do you doubt my loyalty, General?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could live in a world where we don’t have to doubt anyone, Colonel?” she queried in return. Which was an answer in itself.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Sakura then added. Her pointer finger touching her cheek as she leaned against her desk.

As Sakura moved her finger to point to the flowers sitting next to her, there was a sudden clatter. Both of them turned to look as a knife jiggled in the lock of the window directly behind the desk. After a moment, the lock clicked and two hands pushed the window open before grasping the inside sill. With a grunt and a swing of his skinny legs, Suigetsu pulled himself up into the office on the third story.

Neji's hand flew to his sword while Sakura simply let out a tired noise.

"Is a door not good enough for you?" Sakura demanded. Smirking, Suigetsu sat on the windowsill while looking supremely proud of himself. Then again, Suigetsu appeared to have few other expressions besides that one.

"Your security is beyond bad, woman," Suigetsu informed her with glee.

"You will address the General with respect," Neji hissed as he drew his sword and pointed it at the strange intruder.

"Watch yourself, young lord. They don't call me the Second Coming of the Demon for fun," leered Suigetsu in response. He reached back to pat the large sword on his back. Glowering, Neji looked back to Sakura who seemed unconcerned.

“You should know, Colonel. I've hired some interesting men since the last time we've spoken. You may see them around the city until I leave for Plumeria," Sakura informed him. Neji's eyebrow twitched as Suigetsu just grinned at him. Still, he slowly sheathed his weapon.

And then she called Neji’s attention back to the flowers on her desk. “Who allowed these to be brought here?” she then questioned.

“Lieutenant General Nara, Ma’am,” he responded.

“And who brought them inside my office? It should be one of us. Simple couriers shouldn’t be permitted access to this room,” Sakura pressed.

“A soldier. Shall I identify him and bring him here?” Neji offered.

“Do so.”

“What’s the problem? I thought women liked flowers?” demanded Suigetsu.

Sakura stared at him. Then at the flowers. She reached into her pocket to pull out a glove. She slipped it over her fingers. And then she reached among the purple petals to pluck something out. A needle glinted in her grasp.

“Poisoned, I’m assuming,” she murmured.

Neji blanched. “I’ll see to this matter immediately, General,” he whispered.

Suigetsu knocked his knuckles against the window, drawing their stares. “Easy to pick the locks. Any rat could have crawled in to plant the poison,” he pointed out. And then he leaned out the open window. He called out: “Hey. Come look at this.”

There was a pause. And then fingers appeared over the sill. Mangetsu pulled himself through the window in one graceful motion. Neji stared as the intruder landed noiselessly on his feet.

Mangetsu stared at his little brother, who grinned. “Lady thinks there’s poison. What do you think?” Suigetsu asked, pointing toward Sakura. Neji bristled at the casual way the man referred to his commanding officer.  Mangetsu hesitated, and then strode across the room to glance over the flowers. He took a few deep breaths near the petals. Wrinkled his nose.

“Flowers overpower everything. Not even a dog could sniff that out,” Mangetsu complained, pinching his nose.

Sakura nodded. She plucked a handkerchief from her other pocket. She wrapped up the needle in a neat bundle.

Mangetsu turned to his brother. He knocked the back of his hand against Suigetsu’s shoulder.

“This wasn’t what Big Boss meant by keeping watch,” he scolded. “You’re supposed to observe from a distance.”

“But that’s boring,” Suigetsu sighed, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.

Mangetsu glanced back at Sakura. He rubbed the back of his head for a bit, thinking. And then he held his hand out to her. Neji reached for his weapon again.

“I have contacts who can look into it,” offered Mangetsu.

“So do I,” Sakura replied.

She held his gaze. Searching. He didn’t flinch away.

“Boss says to keep you alive. We don’t get paid otherwise,” Mangetsu told her. The corner of her mouth pulled up in a smirk.

“Keep it quiet," she ordered. He clenched his fist around the handkerchief she placed in his hand. He jerked his head in a short nod. He climbed back out the window, dropping quietly to the ground below. Suigetsu followed, but not before sending a wink her way. Neji stared after them.

"General, you can't be serious," he said.

"More serious than you'd know," Sakura replied.

+++

Clawing hands filled Sakura’s eyes. She jolted upright, a gasp leaking from her mouth. Blinked. And then the hands were gone.

There was silence before her door opened. And then Sasori’s face appeared, followed by the glint of his sword. His eyes scanned the room before they rested on Sakura. The disarray of her bed and the sweat beading down the back of her neck screamed of more nightmares.

“Just… a dream,” she tried to explain.

Sasori stepped into the room. Sakura thought she saw another silhouette moving behind him. She tensed before he could see that it was Kisame. Ever since the mercenaries had joined them, Sasori refused to leave her with alone. He slept in front of her door, his sword gripped in his hand.

Kisame’s eye met hers. He stared for a long moment. And then he was gone.

“I told you to let me know if they got worse,” Sasori admonished.

“You’re overreacting,” she tried to laugh it off.

Her hands clenched into the sheets as she sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes darted from him to the window and back. And then she deflated, letting the fake smile slide from her mouth. “It’s alright. I might as well be sleepless in exchange for all the damage that I’ve done,” she remarked.

Sasori ran a hand through his hair. He took a step toward her.

"Darling," he sighed.

"There's nothing darling about me. I'm a murderer. It’s simple,” she retorted as she rubbed at her eyes with the backs of her hands. And then, when she looked at him again, the smile was back. “You should go back to your room and actually rest. I’ll be fine,” she added.

Sasori stared at her. Unsmiling. He seemed to consider something before he opened the door.

“No maids in sight,” he grumbled as he ducked back inside.

“There rarely are. In this wing, at least,” answered Sakura with a smirk. The servants had made it clear who they supported during her many years staying here. Sasori appeared not to hear her as he slipped out of the room. He returned a few minutes later to find Sakura curled up on her side, her back to the door. She didn’t particularly want to see his face. And she thought she had won when she heard him leave. A moment later, she heard the faucets squeak and water began pouring in the bathroom. Sakura rolled onto her other side to glare at him when he returned, shirt rolled up to his elbows, hands on his hips.

“You’ll never fall back asleep like that, you know,” he said from above her. She didn’t answer him.

“Come on. Up," he then ordered as he stepped over to her and pulled her until she sat upright. Glaring at him. He cupped his face in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“A warm bath does wonders for the soul, you know,” he reminded her.

Sasori retrieved her robe and placed it in her lap. He slipped out of the room. She could hear him speaking with someone on the other side of the door as she slowly undressed.

The mystery of who Sasori was speaking with ended when Haku stepped into the room. Sakura threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Honestly. Waking you up,” Sakura complained. And before the hurt could settle into Haku’s face, she added, “A growing boy needs his sleep. What is that man thinking disturbing your rest?”

A shy smile brightened Haku’s face.

“It’s alright, My Lady. I would be remiss if I slept without seeing to the needs of my mistress,” he replied. He tucked his hair behind his ear before he began moving around the room, pulling clean clothes from the armoire and placing them in a neat pile.

And because Haku had woken specifically to help her, Sakura went to take a bath without much more complaint. When she returned, he had changed the sheets and held a basket of the dirty laundry on his hip. Haku moved to set the basket down.

“Shall I dry your hair, My Lady?” he suggested. Sakura pulled on her robe over her cotton nightgown in sharp tugs. Tied the belt just a little too tight.

“No need,” Sasori interrupted, holding the door open.

Haku hesitated. He eyed the expression on Sasori’s face. And then Sakura’s.

“…Tea, My Lady?” he offered.

Sakura shook her head, gave him a wan smile.

“Go to bed once you’ve taken care of those. I’ve given you enough trouble for one night,” ordered Sakura.

Haku gave Sasori one last look before he bowed and stepped out of the room.

Sakura sank into the seat in front of the small vanity. The mirrors were a little dusty. The servants at home would have fallen ill at the sight of such lazy cleaning. She reached out with her sleeve to rub the mirror clean.

“Refreshed?” asked Sasori, shutting the door.

“I suppose,” she answered, leaning her elbow on the vanity.

"Honestly, Sakura, must I do everything? Calling for your servant. Will you ever stop being a child?" he questioned with joking exasperation in his voice.

"Apparently not," replied Sakura. His laughter died in his throat before he turned toward her.

“That’s not what I…” Sasori trailed off.

He pulled a clean towel from the pile that the Haku had left behind. Unfolded it. When he began patting her hair dry, Sakura's tense shoulders relaxed. In fact, she outright slumped. Wordlessly, he picked up her brush to begin working the tangles out of her short hair. The rhythm of the bristles through her locks and across her scalp made Sakura's eyelids grow a little heavy. When he was finished, Sasori tousled her hair again with the towel. It was still damp, but not dripping at least.

“Was it that bad?" he finally asked as he tossed the wet towel in the basket to be collected in the morning.

“It’s not just the nightmare. It’s just… all of this that’s exhausting.” Sakura closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily through her nose.

“This?”

"This," Sakura repeated with a vague sweeping gesture.

"Explain," he said. It took Sakura a moment to compose her thoughts. And she opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could settle on what to say.

"My mother was always calm and composed. She was never emotional. She never woke screaming from nightmares like a child," Sakura admitted with a grimace. Sasori put his hand on her cheek to tilt her head towards him. Her eyes opened.

“Aunt Tsunade did not fight in a war. May she rest in peace, but your mother was a researcher and a princess. What great adversity did she ever face that couldn't be warded off with an almanac?" Sasori said. The gentleness in his words pierced softly into her chest. He sounded so much like his own mother.

"What of my father then?" she challenged him.

“Uncle, may he also rest in peace, was a great warrior. He feared nothing. Bowed to no one but your mother. But in private, who knows? I'm sure you can remember at least one time when your father wasn't perfect," assured Sasori.

Sakura immediately thought of the times when Father was too busy to practice sword fighting with her. There were days when he would retire to his chambers, too tired for visitors. And Mother would summon her instead, have her sit in on a day in court and follow her to her meetings. She had never thought anything of it. And trailing after those golden skirts and tapping high heels, Sakura hadn't had time to worry. Only of thought of when she would be old enough to wear such splendid gowns.

But she knew Sasori had seen the look in her eyes as she thought. Because he gave her a knowing look as he touched the back of his hand to her cheek.

"Tell me. Are you planning to concede defeat?" questioned Sasori.

“Of course not. What kind of question is that?” she answered in a question of her own. Sasori didn't smile. Instead, he knelt on the floor in front of her. Clasped her hands between his.

She knew why he did that. He lowered himself. The pride of the Haruno's ran hottest in his blood, but he still lowered himself to his younger cousin. It was surrender. And she could never ignore him when he did that.

“I am your sword and your shield. I am your hands and feet. I will move as you move. And as long as you do not give in to the Aristocratic Faction, neither will I,” he reminded her. The sincerity poured from each syllable. Like blood from an open wound.

And then he pressed a kiss to her palm. “Oh, dear cousin, if only you could pluck these eyes from my head. To see yourself as I see you. Without the titles. Without all these dirty hands pulling you in different directions.”

"Sasori," she huffed, "I'm… nothing… without titles. I'm just titles."

“How wrong you are. Titles just lie on the surface,” he insisted.

Sakura glared at him for a long moment. "Sasori," she said, letting out a hard laugh, "I am all surface."

Sasori let out a frustrated noise as he ran his hands over his face. He thought for a long moment before he reached out toward her and then pulled his hands back. Instead he sat back on his haunches, hands clasping behind his neck as he articulate the words inside his head. When he decided on what to say, he claimed her hands again.

“Your blood is the blood of a queen. Your soul is the soul of a queen. It’s not a title. Others can wear a crown, but you have always been a queen,” Sasori declared. When she didn’t say anything, he turned her to look at the mirror.

She had pink hair that curled when it was wet. She looked more and more like her mother with each year. These were all things she knew about herself. But as she watched, Sasori touched his pinkies together. Then his thumbs together. Forming a circle with his hands. He stretched his other fingers up until they stood like the jeweled edges of a crown. Slowly, he placed his hands on top of her head.

"This face was made to rule us all," he whispered. The reverence in his voice made it tremble. Their eyes met in the mirror. His glimmered like polished gold.

"Never forget this, my love. You will have that throne. And I will work until my dying breath to see it so," he swore in a low voice. With a sad smile, Sakura turned in her seat to face him. She touched his cheek.

"Sasori, you…” She didn’t know how to word how she felt. How safe she felt when she draped her arms over his shoulders. Resting her head against his chest. Just to be held. To be still.

“What would I do without you?” she sighed.

Sasori chuckled. She could feel him stroking her hair.

He didn’t say anything.

When Sakura went back to sleep, it was with her head resting in his lap, half-mumbling questions for his patient responses until she finally fell silent.

It reminded Sasori of sweeter times- days when they wrestled together in the sand and fell asleep with the sounds of pounding waves outside their windows. She snuck out of her room, climbing into his bed with a secret stash of dried fruits she had stolen from the kitchen.

Sometimes they gossiped. Sometimes they recalled the day's events with a sense of satisfaction. Sometimes Sakura cried because her mother and father were always so busy and she felt selfish if she asked for anything.

It didn't matter.

Happy or sad, they curled together, whispers tangling into whispers that Sasori always imagined drifting out between the wrinkles in the blanket and drifting out on the sea breeze. And maybe they would carry out all the way to a man sitting in his fishing boat at night with his sunburned head nodding. And those tangled wishes would slip into his ears and he might shed a tear too for the sweet girl who loved her parents too much.

Looking down at the grown woman resting so peacefully in his lap now, Sasori almost felt like shedding a tear for her too. He pushed a lock of her hair out of her face.

"Your Majesty," he sighed into the night. His breaths soft and calm, even as his mind raced with all the things he needed to do in the morning.

+++

They would have stayed in Whiteriver Keep for the rest of the season. It was nearly August- the seas were usually rough around this time of year. Even some of the most experienced sailors and merchants were reluctant to go out very far into the waves. Storms were known to brew up suddenly, capsizing ships and dashing them against rocky shores.

But one morning Kushina asked Sakura if she would like to become part of her usual garden parties where noble ladies sat around fanning themselves and gossiping.

“It’s an opportunity for you to get acquainted with some ladies your age. You’re always surrounded with dour-looking men. It could be a nice change of pace, don’t you think?” she suggested.

Itachi and Sasuke eyed Sakura’s expression. Sasuke’s gaze then darted to his brother. He opened his mouth to intervene. But then Itachi’s hand shot out to grab Sasuke’s wrist. When Sasuke shot him a look, Itachi just shook his head.

They both looked when Sakura spoke.

“Surely Your Grace must know that the peace and prosperity of your kingdom is thanks to these ‘dour-looking men’. They are the soldiers who have bled for this country. I myself would not be alive if not for their support,” answered Sakura.

Kushina’s smile faded a bit. “I was actually referring to those… guards… you brought back from the south.” She gave a pointed look to one of the mercenaries, who stood behind Sakura.

Sakura hadn’t been clued in on all the details, but apparently they had decided that one of them would be at her side at all times. They seemed to have come up with their own shifts. They didn’t interfere in her day-to-day life at all.

The one standing by her now was called Chojuro. His glasses glinted in the sunlight as he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. For a moment, their eyes met. And then Sakura smirked.

“Well, Your Grace, I wouldn’t need mercenaries if I had been provided with a retainer by my guardians during my coming-of-age ceremony,” scoffed Sakura. “So you’ll have to bear with it for the time being.”

Sakura and her traveling party were gone the following morning. No message left behind. No provisions taken from the kitchens. Just silence in the spaces she and her companions had occupied.

“Is it alright not to say anything? What if they think you’ve been kidnapped?” Itachi wondered.

“They won’t. And even if they do, they wouldn’t send anyone after me,” Sakura responded. Her hands tightening on the reins.

The trip up to Whitewave was much easier. They stopped at inns and traded tales over warm meals and sweet alcohol. When they arrived at the port city, Sasori’s ship sat waiting in the dock. The scrubbed hull gleaming in the afternoon sunlight.

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning. The tides aren’t right to leave the port tonight,” Sasori had decided with one look at the water.

The small Haruno manor was ready for them with clean rooms and fresh supplies. Supper was filling. The wine was fruity and sweet, just the way Sakura preferred.

Sasuke went to bed soon after their meal. As did Sasori, who she knew would be up before anyone else, preparing the ship for their journey on the waters.

“Sweet dreams, love,” Sasori murmured as he kissed her cheek. And then turned her head to kiss the other one. He bid Itachi a good night as well before he left the salon.

It was quiet with just the two of them. Not in an uncomfortable way. But in the way where there was so much that they could discuss that they ended up saying nothing at all.

“… It’s a bit warm in here. Shall we move to the balcony?” Itachi suggested.

Her glass of wine resting in her left palm. Itachi’s hand resting in her right. Sakura stood in the muggy sea breeze.

“You seem troubled,” he observed.

“I am,” she admitted.

“I wish I knew how to help.”

Smiling, she laid her head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to,” she assured him.

In the morning, Sasori’s ship set sail from the port.

Even though the crew of the ship should have been worried about the weather, they covered any hint of fear with the usual laughter. They traded stories with the Seven Swordsmen and immediately seemed to take a liking to one another. Rather than join them after supper for their jokes and stories, Sakura excused herself, sitting on top of crates with Itachi and wondering if the odd shapes in the distance were dolphins or whales. But when he retired for the night, she slipped under the deck to see if she could find a decent bottle of wine.

The ship was made of wood. And it rocked on the waves, creaking and groaning without cease. But for Sakura, who had grown up on the water, she knew what was to be expected and what was strange.

And Sakura heard a strange thump from inside the cargo hold.

She turned back on her heel, her sword pulling quietly from the scabbard.

Exhaling slowly through her nose, she waited for a few more heartbeats. There was the noise again. She took a few steps toward it, waiting. There was the thump one more time, a little louder.

Standing in front of a barrel, Sakura considered her options. But after deciding that it wasn't worth alerting everyone above, she tapped the barrel with the hilt of her sword. It didn't sound hollow but it didn't sound like it was full of liquid either. She tapped the barrel one more time before she took a deep breath and sliced through the rope holding the lid in place. When she ripped the top off, she saw a pale face with huge violet eyes staring up at her.

"Ino," Sakura sighed. She lowered her sword to her side, glowering at her friend.

"Hi," Ino replied with a silly little wave. The boat rocked on a particularly big set of waves and the barrel tipped over. Ino's barrel rolled across the floor, spinning back and forth until Sakura finally planted her foot on it, stopping it in its tracks.

"I should throw you overboard," Sakura remarked. Ino craned her neck to glare up at her.

"You don't have enough friends to do that. Help me out," Ino retorted. Sakura considered this for a moment before she bent over to offer her hand to Ino.

“What are you doing here, Ino?” Sakura sighed.

“Father’s been talking about marrying me off to Colonel Hyuuga. So I’m here to give him time to reconsider that awful plan,” griped Ino without hesitation. Sakura pulled her to her feet, giving a sympathetic grimace.

“Running away from home won’t solve anything. Your father is a negotiator. If he wants it, he makes it happen,” Sakura reminded her. But Ino just gave her a smug look.

“And what will he negotiate with when that dear, marriageable daughter of his nowhere to be found?” challenged Ino.

Sakura leveled her with a stare. Thinking.

“This is temporary. You need to solve this another way,” Sakura finally relented. Ino threw her arms around Sakura in a hug.

“Thank you! I will!” Ino squealed. And then she pulled away, arms still looped around Sakura’s neck. “Now, introduce me to these mercenaries everyone is talking about. Are they handsome?”

“…Oh, Ino,” Sakura sighed.

+++

Sakura and her party returned to the Southern Tea Isle just before the beginning of the second planting season of the year.

After summer monsoons, fallen trees and debris washed in with storms made for good fertilizer for the new set of crops. Though everyone wanted to throw the usual feast to welcome the travelers back, Sakura waved their suggestions aside with the upcoming planting season as an excuse. There were fields to be tilled, seeds to be planted, and ditches to be dug for irrigation.

The latest batch of silkworms had also just been harvested. Bolts of silk were sent out to the various workshops where workers dyed the precious fabric in a rainbow of colors. The stains from the dye lingered on their hands for weeks at a time. Window ledges and door frames often sported pigmented handprints.

The port was thick with merchants shipping off the finished silk as well as barrels of tea leaves. And as more products went out, more merchants came back with ships heavy with imported goods. The market became an even livelier place than normal.

Kankuro was even more cheerful than usual upon their arrival.

"Happy? Of course I am. This year's profits are even greater than last year's," chortled Kankuro when Itachi commented on his good mood. Gaara's expression was contrastingly grim as he pressed a light kiss to Sakura's cheek in greeting. Sakura's gaze flitted to Temari standing in the archway, her spear gripped tightly in her white-knuckled hand. Their eyes met. Temari slowly shook her head, gold earrings tinkling with each swaying movement.

When everyone else had exchanged hellos, and Sasuke and Haku went off to unpack, and Kankuro escorted Ino on a tour of the palace, Sakura grasped Gaara's arm, pulling him to sit beside her on the bench in the middle of the room. Itachi lingered for a moment, gaze sweeping from his brother's retreating back and then to Sakura. His foot rose and then fell. Itachi walked back over to their side, dark eyes tight with worry. Sakura met his look with a slight smile before she turned her attention back to Gaara.

"Speak to me," she said, her hands covering his. His thin shoulders sagged.

"Father," spat Temari in response. Itachi's eyes widened.

“Isn’t he gone?” he wondered.

“Father disowned Temari. And me. Our names have been removed from the family register,” Gaara reported.

“…Does Kankuro know?” questioned Sakura.

Gaara shook his head. His shoulders sagged.

From an archway, Sasori suddenly spoke up: “I will have him removed from the surface of this planet, then. I tire of that man.”

Sakura said nothing as she cupped Gaara's cheek in her hand. He turned toward the touch though his eyes refused to meet hers.

"You mustn't. The elders would never approve. And you yourself always speak of how vital our ties to them are…especially now," he insisted. He squared his jaw. But that only made him look smaller- somehow frailer.

“He’s sending a message. That he has power over me. Even from so far away,” whispered Gaara. He clenched his hands. Unclenched them.

“Without Father, we have no inheritance. No income. No place in the family crypt…” He seemed to lose himself in the consequences. Fell silent.

She tilted her head to look at him. The dark shadows of sleeplessness under his eyes seemed darker than before. But there was a glint of something fierce in his expression as he thought. It was small and so frail at the moment. Even in his battered shame, the calculations whirring in his eyes was undoubtedly Haruno.

“You’re my family. You have nothing to fear,” Sakura assured him. Sakura put her arm around him and pulled him close to her chest. “You can inherit something small from me. Maybe that villa in the Caldera that you like so much. I’ll take care of you. As you’ve always cared for me.” She noted, with a twinge of pride, that Gaara did not weep. He trembled, the thrum of delicate hummingbirds' wings in her embrace. But his eyes remained stubbornly dry.

Soon, it was time for the group to dissolve.

Sakura took a step back when she felt Itachi looking at her. “What?” she asked.

“It’s just…” Itachi hesitated. He met her eyes. “I feel like I should say something. But it doesn’t seem to be my place.”

She squinted at him. “Then why not make it your place?” she suggested. And then she looked toward her cousins’ retreating backs. She watched Temari put her arm around her youngest brother’s shoulders.

“Temari. Gaara.”

They stopped. Looking back at her. She looked to Itachi.

“You should talk to your brother. He should know what’s going on,” advised Itachi.

Temari and Gaara exchanged looks.

Sasori cleared his throat. “Being forthright isn’t one of our family’s strengths, Your Highness,” Sasori pointed out.

“Then you can make it one,” Itachi answered, unflinching, “One of my biggest regrets is that I assumed my brother would understand me even if I didn’t speak to him. But silence only breeds misgivings.”

The smile had disappeared from Sasori’s face. “Yes, but there are times when silence is kinder.”

“Sasori is right. If Kankuro knows, he’ll only feel guilt over something unchangeable. What point is there in making him suffer?” Sakura wondered.

Itachi looked directly into her eyes as he countered. “Shouldn’t he be allowed to decide how he should or shouldn’t feel?”

As Sakura considered this, she tilted her head a little. And then she turned her attention back to her cousins. “It’s your decision. I think the prince just wanted to offer some options,” she assured them. Temari nodded. She nudged Gaara and they continued walking down the path.

“Did I overstep?” she could hear Itachi worry, probably to himself. It was a soft interruption to her own stewing thoughts.

She held her hand out to him. “How about we take a walk?” she offered.

It was strange how easy it was to smile at him. And how easily he smiled back. How he slipped his hand into hers without any hesitation.

“I’d like that,” he replied.

That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Sakura found herself sitting in the Lavender Pavilion. Nothing had kept her up in particular. Her bed was soft. Her room was clean. Sleep just seemed to be somewhere far from her.

She wasn’t surprised when she heard footsteps.

“For someone so rich, you spend an awful lot of time brooding.”

As she lifted her chin, she spotted Kisame crossing the mosaic.

“For the money I pay you, you spend an awful lot of time spouting nonsense,” she retorted. The mercenary smirked. He held up an envelope.

“A message for you.”

Sakura accepted it. She appraised Kisame. His easy posture.

“It’s been quiet lately. Perhaps I employed you for nothing,” she commented.

Kisame ran his tongue over his teeth. And then he chuckled. “Being in your service has kept us… on our toes,” he remarked. And then he glanced at her. “Maybe you should consider being nicer, General.”

“I’m always nice,” answered Sakura.

He laughed again at that.

Kisame had obviously not taken her seriously when she had explained that his duty was to keep her alive. But within the first week of entering her service, he had fended off so many assassins and discovered so many poison plots that he wondered how she even slept at night.  (“Fitfully,” she had answered when he had thought to ask.) Things had improved since they had arrived on the island, but even then, she kept them busy.

Because when there weren’t active threats against her life, she made good use of the Swordsmen of the Mist’s connections. They had contacts in many cities and countries. She tested how much their names were worth and found herself more than satisfied.

Mangetsu determined that the poison discovered in the geraniums in her office was powdered belladonna. Tasteless and odorless. Not a plant that grew in abundance in the kingdom. It did, however, grow in the territories governed by Baron Aburame.

As Sakura pondered over this, Ino, sitting next to Sakura, filing her nails, clicked her tongue. “Honestly, such an obtuse plan. Obviously, everyone would point at the Aburame family first. And then Father could accuse the Baron of trying to ruin our family.”

“It’s a good thing I warned you in my letter. Aren’t you thankful for a friend like me?” she went on. And then, answered by silence, Ino looked up.

“A letter?” Sakura repeated.

“Yes. A letter.”

Narrowing her eyes, Ino pointed her file at her. “You didn’t read it,” she accused.

Laughing, Sakura waved a hand. “Of course I did.”

Lips puckering to one side, Ino glanced around.

“And I can’t believe that we've been friends all these years and you haven't invited me home with you once!" Ino exclaimed as she spun around in a circle. Sakura shot her a sideways glance as she signed at the bottom of the page.

"I can’t believe that you stowed away. What were you even thinking?" Sakura admonished in return. Ino rolled her eyes, flicking her fan open with an unnecessarily loud noise.

"Your parents are going to be worried sick. Write home to them at once. I'm sending you back once the seas calm. This is no time for you to be wandering about," Sakura continued. Ino's eyes narrowed. She fanned herself too hard before snapping it shut.

"So you did read my letter," Ino mused. She took big steps over. She sank into the chair just in front of the desk. Ignoring the look Sakura gave her, Ino put her elbows up on the table. Sakura said nothing as she handed off a stack of papers to Gaara. Only when her pen was back in its proper stand did Sakura turn to look Ino full in the face.

"Ino, I fully appreciate you trying to warn me. And I know that there are few friends such as you in the world. But you putting yourself in danger does nothing for either of us," Sakura said as sternly as she could without yelling. Ino looked unimpressed.

"…If you're hurt in any way because you didn't listen to me…I'll be very upset with you," relented Sakura as she looked back to her old friend.

"Oh please, Sakura. When have I ever been obedient?" Ino retorted with a fierce smile.

Trying very hard not to roll her eyes, Sakura gestured for her to carry on.

“Just… cause minimal chaos, please,” was all Sakura asked.

Filled with glee at the prospect of not being shipped home, Ino fluttered around peppering Sakura with gossip and distractions until Sakura threw her hands up in defeat. Her hired mercenaries, who had taken to lazing around her office or hiding up in the rafters, snickered at the spectacle.

"Why not break for an early lunch?" sighed Sakura with a pointed glare for Ino. Ino only giggled. Sakura sent a servant to inform the rest of her guests before she stamped a few last forms. Itachi and Sasuke soon joined them, Sasori on their heels. Kankuro would join soon, Sasori quietly informed her in her ear. Sakura nodded.

"Goodness, that's right. I recently received a new lady's maid and she's been an absolute delight. She's a darling one," Ino laughed with a wave of her fan as they moved together to one of the bigger pavilions that could accommodate them for a meal.

"Really? Either she's either extremely patient or extremely deaf in order to tolerate you," retorted Sakura. Ino didn't bother to pout in response to the jab, even as the rest of the group chuckled at her expense. Instead, Ino smacked Sakura on the arm with her fan.

"For your information, I am an absolute gem when I want to be. But truly, Sakura, I think you would like her. Her name's Moegi. She's young but she's really quite capable," insisted Ino with another smack for emphasis.

Sakura's steps stilled for a moment. And the entire procession stopped as they turned to see what had happened. Sakura's mouth was frozen in the same easy smile. Inside her mind, however, floodgates burst open.

The probability that a young, unmarried girl named Moegi, who was also equipped with the knowledge and manners to serve a noble lady, existing in two neighboring countries was not zero. However, the easiest explanation would be that it was in fact the same girl. Sakura's thoughts whirled to the mercenaries still strolling on ahead of her without any idea that she had stopped walking.

Her mind rifled through their faces like pages in a book. On Suigetsu, however, she found herself unable to flip past. A tiny seedling of suspicion that had been growing in her gut since the day they had first met burst into full bloom. She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

"The soldier from the tavern," she hissed.

‘Well, if rumors are right, I don't think you have much need for us. Word gets around, you know, General.’

‘Well… they say not to make an enemy of you, General.’

The same, easy smirk.

Sakura's hands clenched into fists as she called out Kisame's name. It was only then that the mercenaries stopped walking.

“General?” replied Kisame with his usual pleasant ease.

"Tell me. You’re not soldiers. Desertion in the military affords arrest. What are your thoughts?”

Sakura could feel Sasori's eyes drilling into the side of her face as he tried to see what was going on inside her head. Kisame scratched at the stubble on his chin.

"Well…if any of these lot betrayed us... we'd kill him without question. But they're free to take on other contracts as long as they don't conflict with ones we already hold. Oh and if one of them goes off on his own for a bit, we expect him to bring back a little something for the rest of us," Kisame thought out loud as he considered the question.

Sakura didn't say anything as she began walking again. Her brain was bursting with information now. In fact, she had all the pieces she needed. She laughed.

"You make yourselves sound like an overbearing wife," she commented. She elicited chuckles from the rest of the group as they also continued alongside her.

In the middle of the laughter, Sakura whirled. Her forearm connected hard with Suigetsu's throat, slamming him against the wall. Eyes narrowed, she ignored his scratching against her arm. She only lifted him higher, until his toes barely skimmed the floor.

"Suigetsu…hmm… I've been thinking for the past few weeks why your name seemed so familiar to me," she began in a low voice, silky and sweet. Suigetsu's face began to turn red. He clawed harder against her sleeve, gasping for breath. He gasped for help but Kisame's sharp eyes darted from his panicked look to the cold steel of anger in Sakura's glare before he folded his arms over his chest. Waiting.

"And then, it struck me as odd that I'd met a young man with just the same name in Ispolin earlier this summer," Sakura went on.

Sasuke let out a hissing noise as the pieces clicked together for him as well.

Sakura dropped Suigetsu. He slid down the wall, crumpling to his knees. Wheezing and grasping his neck, he glared up at her with watering eyes. His gaze snapped to Sasori as a sword scraped out of the scabbard. The Admiral pressed the point of his blade to the soft flesh of his throat.

"So tell me, Suigetsu," Sakura said with a smile, "Who the hell are you?"

He bared his teeth at her in a shaking sneer.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," he coughed. Blood pooled at the tip of Sasori's sword.

"I do love a good story," Sasori whispered with eyes full of flame.

When Suigetsu glanced up at him, Mangetsu moved to take a step forward. Kisame's arm across his chest blocked his path forward.

"Your brother's made his choices. The pretty lady's bought us with her coin. You can't interfere," Kisame grunted. Grinding his teeth together, Mangetsu shot him a venomous look before he folded his arms across his chest. Seeing that no one would come to his aid, Suigetsu hissed out a long sigh.

When Sasori dug the sword in a little harder, Suigetsu only scowled. Sakura read the defiance in his expression. The bangles on her arm jangled together as she waved a hand at Sasori. Though Sasori made a face like he had a sour taste in his mouth, he reluctantly lowered his weapon.

"Thank you," Suigetsu sniffed. Rubbing at his neck, he glared around at the gathered group. Droplets of blood wetted his palm.

"Well…since I've got such a rapt audience…" he mused. The sharp look Sakura gave him wiped the smirk right off his face.

"Big Boss lets us take independent contracts from time to time. I was gambling in a pub while we were passing through the Forest Kingdom. A man joined our table, wanted to play a round of cards with me. Asked if I wanted to make a lot of money fast," Suigetsu recalled knuckles rubbing at his chin as he spoke. He jabbed a thumb in Kisame's direction when he saw Sasuke raising his eyebrows.

"I'm no fool. I asked some questions. He said all I had to do was play soldier for a few months in the Mountain Kingdom's castle. He gave me 500 gold pieces up front. 500 for after I'd finished the job."

"And?" Sakura prompted.

"'And' nothing. I did the job. Took some notes and left them in various points in the city. At the end of the summer, I was a richer man," shrugged Suigetsu.

"He brought home his earnings. Gave us 100 pieces and we split the profits," Kisame interjected. Sakura nodded at him once. Then, she slowly tilted her head back towards Suigetsu. Arms folding across her chest, she observed him slouched on the ground.

"What sort of notes?" she queried in a soft voice. Suigetsu swallowed thickly. Suddenly it seemed like Sakura's irises were twin suns blazing down on him.

"Just- just little observations on where you were going with the prince here. Nothing treacherous!" Suigetsu spat, his shoulders rising high to his ears. At this, Sakura's gaze flitted to Sasuke. The prince's jaw was set in a firm line as he took in the interrogation. His palm rested flat on the hilt of his sword, not quite curling around it.

"Espionage, then," Sakura translated. Sasori's cheek twitched a little, as did his sword.

A gull screeched once before Sakura shifted her weight to her left leg. The toe of her boot scuffed against the wooden walkway. As she lifted her face, she met Itachi's stare. Very slowly, Itachi moved his head to the left and then to the right.

"Who was your client?" she questioned. Her voice, to its credit, was steady. It expressed a calm that she certainly didn't feel inside her churning gut. Sasori seethed. He had the look of a man who had swallowed a hundred needles. Something sinister glittered in his gaze as he looked from the young man to Sakura.

At the ensuing silence, Sasori slowly lifted his blade. The tip skimmed Suigetsu's chin before coming to rest as light as a butterfly on his upper lip.

"It was a masked man in a cloak. I never saw his face," Suigetsu admitted. He grimaced at the cold touch of metal on his mouth.

"What sort of mask?" pressed Sasori. Suigetsu's eyes flickered down to the sword still balanced delicately under his nose.

"I don't know much more," insisted Suigetsu. Gritting his teeth, Sasori jerked his blade up. The point caught the edge of Suigetsu's nostril, drawing blood. Suigetsu jerked his head back.

"Argh- a white mask! Just eyeholes and some kind of stripe on the chin! That's all I saw, I swear!" Suigetsu exclaimed.

"Sasori," Sakura called in a sharp reprimand.

Clicking his tongue, Sasori sheathed his sword. Suigetsu fell forward. His palms slapped down on the floor to stop his face from crashing down first. He heaved a huge breath. Blood still dripping from his nose as he stole a glance at Sakura. She stood as still as a statue. The only that moved about her was her short hair swaying in the salty breeze.

A bead of sweat traveled down the side of Suigetsu's face. As he fixed his hair, his hands shook so hard that he could barely sweep his bangs out of his eyes. He rubbed his sleeve across his nose, smearing blood across his face.

"What should we do with him?" Sasori demanded. Suigetsu froze. His eyes flickered hard from Sasori, to his brother, and then to Kisame. Mangetsu's mashed lips contorted into a strange shape. The glint of his canine between his lips said enough about his thoughts.

There was an agonizingly long pause. Sakura took her time considering.

Her pride screamed loudest. To be caught unaware of such a scheme was embarrassing. Next, her sense of self-preservation. The prickly desperation to shield herself from all harm nagged at her tongue.

Execute him. That's what a queen does, the voice in her head whispered. As if he could hear that voice too, Sasori gave her a nod.

Her eyes found Itachi again. And as if she had called him, he took a step toward her. Softly, his hand came to rest on her forearm. As his fingers curled around her, she felt the warmth. The piercing sadness in his eyes said it all.

Sakura let out a long sigh before she turned her attention to Kisame. Arms folded across his chest, he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"You can't kill him. I need him," he simply said.

A small smile quirked at Sakura's lips. She let out a soft huff of laughter.

"Then that is all," declared Sakura.

"Base treachery," Temari hissed under her breath. She gripped her spear a little more tightly, skin creaking against the wooden shaft.

"No reason to worry, Temari," Sakura assured her. She knelt down, knees pressing against her chest. With one finger, she reached out to lift Suigetsu's trembling chin.

"This is already my dog. I've bought him," she declared. Her stare bored into Suigetsu until he slowly jerked his head up and down in a nod.

The rest of the day passed too quickly. Suddenly, it was night again.

Sakura fell back onto the bed as she organized her thoughts. Sasori, of course, was investigating the identity of the masked man. They both suspected that he had something to do with Moegi's position both in the palace in Ispolin and as Ino's lady’s maid.

Kisame had sent Suigetsu to go gather information on the masked man on his end.

At first, Suigetsu had balked at the idea. But Kisame’s fingers closing around his throat and slamming him to the ground had quickly silenced his protest.

“Client’s not happy. You shut it and do as the lady says,” snarled Kisame. Which had ended the argument at once.

Sakura closed her eyes. Kneading her knuckles into her temples. Even a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth didn't help the strange knot that had twisted her stomach. The frustration mounted higher and higher until she felt like her heart was about to explode out of her ribcage.

She sat up and moved to the window, staring up at the clear night sky. As the countless stars swirled together in dizzying circles, she imagined falling upwards into the vast expanse of the cosmos, twisting and drifting with the heartbeats of life too. Normally, the stars filled her with a numbness that made it easier to calm herself. But even that wasn’t enough on this night.

Sakura slipped out of her room. The guards acted like they didn’t see her. She walked and she walked. Wandering. Aimlessly. Until she found herself curled up on the floor of her aunt’s favorite room. Her head resting on the older woman’s lap. Blue smoke leaking from the tip of Kurenai’s pipe as she stroked her free hand through Sakura’s hair.

“It’s rare for you to act so spoiled,” Kurenai remarked.

“Do you hate it?” Sakura heard herself asking. Her own voice sounded far away.

“No, child. Rest. I’ll watch over you,” murmured Kurenai, pressing a kiss to her temple.

+++

At the end of the summer, the Southern Tea Isle gave thanks to the goddess for the harvests. It was different from the harvest festivals that would take place on the mainland in a couple months.

The islanders lit shrines of flowers and palm trees as offering pyres, adding fuel and oil until the tides came in and swept the altars into the ocean. The elders would pick through the wet debris in the morning, divining fortunes from cracks in the scorched wood. They drew their findings into the damp sand with wrinkled fingers, children crowding around their skinny legs to peek at the mysterious drawings. The adults were seldom there for the last part of the ritual. Most were busy rising for the start of another busy day.

Sakura sat in the throne room.

The servants had long ago finished their chores and gone to the beach on the northern side of the island to join in the celebration. Normally she would partake in the celebrations, throwing palm fronds into the flames and listening to the oily leaves crackle. She would drink and eat and mingle with the people she so loved from the bottom of her heart.

But there was unease in her chest, a tight knot that almost made her feel sick. It had moved in there ever since she had returned to the island. Settling in like an unwelcome houseguest.

Her palm smoothed over the carved arm of the throne. Sasori rose from his seat on the floor beside her. He leaned his elbow on the throne, hovering over her as he took in her expression.

“At the very least I should make an appearance,” he declared.

“Go,” was all she said. She frowned as she stared back out at the rolling waves.

Sakura knew that her absence wouldn’t upset anyone. No one would scold her or gossip. They would worry about her in the morning. Ask whether she had felt unwell. She would say that she did. And the servants would brew her teas for her health. Bring her her favorite foods. Their kindness was as dependable and as unchanging as the sound of waves that filled her every breath.

Sometimes, she almost wanted to hate them for how good they were to her.

“Are you alright?”

How did he always find her like that?

With that gentle smile that asked for nothing. That plotted nothing.

A necklace of flowers hung from Itachi’s neck. The smell of woodsmoke clung faintly to his shirt as he smiled down at her.

“Will you go somewhere with me?” Sakura asked.

“Of course,” he replied.

When she took his hand, he followed her pull without complaint. She grasped one of the lanterns by the metal ring on top. They drifted like ghosts through the doorless palace.

They walked down a long corridor that Itachi had never seen before. The white curtains blew in toward them, skimming against their hands as they pushed past.

Before long, they were in the center of the complex maze of rooms and walkways. There was a rare door that Sakura pushed open with one hand. The soft light of her lantern illuminated a long hallway without windows. Their hands pulled apart. Her bare feet slapped against the cool stone as she turned, looking for something. It took a moment for Itachi's eyes to adjust but then he realized that the walls were covered in frames. He followed the warm orange glow until he found her hand again and grasped it. She was standing directly in front of one of the frames, her eyes somehow sad as she studied it.

The portrait was of Sakura, her long hair in elegant waves across her shoulders. In her outstretched right hand were seeds. In the left was a slender silver scepter. Itachi's gaze trailed over the wide eyes and the hint of baby fat in her cheeks. There was something sparkling and clear in her stare that belied her age.

"How old were you?" he questioned.

"Eight. I became Duchess. This was the day of my ceremony," answered Sakura almost in a nostalgic sigh. After a while, she pulled them back further into the room to a portrait of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair. Itachi immediately saw it in the curl of her smile and the round shape of her golden eyes.

"Your mother," he whispered, somehow afraid to speak in a louder voice.

"Queen Tsunade, twelfth generation of the Haruno dynasty of the Forest Kingdom. She was the ruler who introduced clinics within the districts of the nation to promote better health. These clinics are now largely defunct due to a lack of funding," Sakura said. Itachi felt her hand begin to shake. Not knowing what to say, he pulled her on toward the next picture.

"Queen Chiyo, eleventh generation of the Haruno dynasty of the Forest Kingdom. She was originally the consort but ascended in her own right after the death of my Grandfather. People say she was as sharp-witted as she was beautiful. She died long before I was born." There was an impish curl to this queen's mouth. Her eyes glittered, as if she was laughing from inside the portrait. Her inky hair hung in glossy curls all the way down to her waist. But the longer he looked, the more he could pick out the little fragments of Sakura. The point of her chin, the darker skin the color of warmed caramel that echoed vaguely in Sakura.

They went on, walking down the line of portraits as if in a museum. There were kings, as well as queens. Some were dark-skinned with hair the color of the midnight sky. Others were fairer with hair the color of pomegranate seeds. They were all young and all beautiful in different ways. At the very end of the darkened hallway, when there was no way to go back any further, Sakura hesitated. This frame was covered in a shroud of dusty black silk. Taking a deep breath, she dragged the fabric down to reveal a woman with a shock of silver hair that fell to her waist.

Her burning eyes were the same color as Sakura's. Though the rest of the Haruno women had been attractive to say the least, there was an edge of cruelty to this woman's beauty. Even the curve of her smile seemed frigid somehow. Her cheekbones were sharp, neck slender and long.

The fingers of her right hand held onto a red rose while her right hand was curled around a gauzy white bride's veil. The glimmer of her golden wedding band seemed somehow sinister.

"Queen Kaguya, first generation of the Haruno dynasty. The mother to us all," Sakura uttered with a slight shake of her head.

"She captivated the then king of the Forest Kingdom- wrapped him around her finger until he offered her everything in his coffers, every piece of land he owned. She married him and began slowly introducing members of her family into court until there wasn't a minister who didn't have the whispers of a Haruno in his ear. He died mysteriously in his sleep one night. But no one in court was able to point a finger at her either," recalled Sakura. She had grown up on stories of the infamous Shadow Queen.

"There wasn't even a hearing? A tribunal?" Itachi questioned.

"No. The nobles were all either too enamored with her to care or too terrified to speak up. There have certainly been bloodier beginnings to dynasties but I still can't call her blameless," sighed Sakura.

"Then Mother, should I be like Queen Kaguya or is it wrong to be like her?" Sakura remembered asking as she sat in her mother's lap. Time had blurred the shapes of her mother's face. All Sakura could make out was the shape of her mother's hand as it descended to stroke the top of her head.

"Women need to be strong in order to survive," she parroted her mother's words from then.

Itachi silently observed her face for a while before he lifted their joined hands to kiss her knuckles. Sakura turned toward him with a questioning look.

"You're not like her, if that's what's making you look so worried," he assured her before she even asked.

Before the painted eyes of her ancestors, Sakura pressed herself close to Itachi's side and allowed herself, just for a moment, to believe those words.

+++

<Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14>

#itasaku #writing #amaryllis #fanfiction #courtly intrigue! au

[ill-skillsgard]

Cat Burglars - Henry Deaver X Mistress

Warning: 18+ mentions of sex/cheating/mature themes. Please read at your own discretion.

Note: A little development, angst and a touch of cuteness!

Read more Henry x Mistress here > Masterpost

A hand on your shoulder startled you until you realized it was Henry. He wasn’t supposed to touch you or even smile too long, but sometimes, the man was blissfully negligent. You drew back in your chair and smiled at him.

“Yes, Mr. Deaver?”

A knowing grin widened across his lips, drawing his natural pout into a pleasing line, complete with chin dimple. “I’m about to start my meetings once my client arrives in, oh, ten minutes.” He looked at his watch. “Can you make sure that nobody disturbs us? It’s very important.”

“I know,” you replied. “You have three in a row with ten minutes in between. Assuming Bastion doesn’t talk your face off, you might make it out for lunch. And if not, I can grab you something.”

“I would love that,” Henry said with a sigh he didn’t intend to sound dreamy. “Thank you so much. If it’s a quarter past noon, just assume he’s talked me into a coma, and you can jet out for lunch. Whatever you want. I’m not picky.”

“Sounds good.” You returned his warm smile and turned to the papers on the desk.

The office was quiet that day, and you got a lot of work done while Henry was busy. The second client left the office looking rather pleased with himself, and Henry emerged for a bathroom break.

“Two down, one to go.” He winked at you.

“Bastion should be here any minute,” you tapped your wrist.

“Sounds good. If he arrives before I’m back, just send him in.”

Henry left and came back in time to intercept his last client of the day. The two men entered his office and shut the door. Your stomach growled ten minutes before lunch, but you put it off and crossed your fingers that Henry wouldn’t get bogged down in Bastion’s golf-talk. Henry hated golf, but his client was a top-tier, so he had to suffer through dry conversations about Florida, witless caddies and club brands.

At 12:15, the door showed no signs of opening, so you filed away your work and began to scribble out a note to leave on your desk in case Henry finished while you were out. A clicking noise approached as you signed your name on the bottom of the note and tucked the end of the pen between your lips. It was a bad habit, but one you hadn’t been successful in shaking since high school. When you looked up, a woman was standing in front of your desk.

“Hello, may I assist you with somethi—”

“Save the pleasantry. I need to speak to my husband,” her voice slithered out like a viper’s tongue.

It was Mary standing before you. You flinched from the realization, remembering her face briefly from the grocery store. Her eyes flashed and all the blood in your body drained into your legs, causing them to buzz and wobble. She gestured toward the door expectantly. “Well?”

“Uh, um... H-Henry... Mr. Deaver is in an important meeting right now and mustn’t be disturbed,” you stammered.

“Where’s the other girl? Who are you?”

“Oh, I... I’m filling in for her while she’s on maternity leave.”

You wondered if she recognized your face as she studied you over the desk from head to waist. When she noticed the make of your clothing, she quirked a thin eyebrow.

“Very nice outfit for a temp,” she said.

You didn’t know what to say and blanched a touch more. 

“When will he be finished? This is just as important as whatever he has going on right now,” she waggled a manila envelope in her hand. You noticed her diamond wedding ring glinting in the incandescent light.

“I’m not sure when he will be done. I was told not to let anybody in.”

“Well, I’m not just anybody. I’m his wife.”

Not for much longer...

“Okay, ma’am, I still can’t let anyone in.”

Mary breezed by your desk with a scoff and brought three hard thumps down on the office door. You looked on in horror while she stared at the door as though waiting for it to disintegrate. When there was no answer, she knocked again louder. 

“Henry!” She called out.

Some eyes peeked out over desks at the disturbance, some lingering and others turning away immediately. Mary sideswiped you with a vicious glare and looked at your fidgetting hands.

“Nice pen, by the way,” she smiled softly.

The silver pen twirling in your fingers stopped moving. You placed it on the desk and felt your head get lighter. The office door opened and all two hundred and fifty pounds of Bastion the insurance broker appeared with Henry looking rather spooked behind him. 

“Mary! Good to see you!” The jolly man opened his arms.

“Pleased to see you, Bastion. Sorry, I can’t chat. I have an important meeting with my husband.”

“By all means!” The man decreed. “We should get together some time. You, Henry, me and June! It will be like old times!”

“Sure thing, Bastion. Good day.”

The office door shut behind the insurance broker, cutting off your view of Henry’s pale face. A nervous heat crawled up your back, beading your skin with sweat. Objects were leaving trails behind as your eyes wiped over them. Even Bastion noticed you looked wan as fresh paper. He made an act of looking at his watch.

“Lunchtime, little lady. You should get yourself something to eat. You look like you might need it.”

“Thanks, I will. Sorry for the interruption,” your voice was brittle but audible.

Bastion leaned up against your desk, oblivious to the jolts of panic beating in your stomach. “It’s not to worry, little lady. Henry, Mary and I go way back. I got them their first policy after they got hitched. They were just two young kids. None of this fancy-shmancy Prada and beamers. Hell, even I was a rookie back then—”

Bastion’s story was cut short from the sound of glass shattering. Voices raised beyond Henry’s office door and your eyes widened. The broker chucked a curious look at the door. All the eyes that peeked out before were now anchored to the entrance to Henry’s office. Pale and cold as china, you pocketed Henry’s silver pen and looked around your desk for anything that might give away more than what you wanted. 

There was nothing on your desk that might show further connections with Henry except a bright yellow sticky note that he had drawn a childish heart on in black ink. You peeled it off, folded it into fourths and pocketed it as well. You heard more shouting from the office.

“I think you better call security. Sounds like somebody in there is about to get their ass kicked,” Bastion thumbed at the door before making a quick exit.

One of the floor supervisors came over, imploring you for answers with a serious look without having to utter a word. Her eyes bugged out behind thick glasses. You imagined Mary getting in Henry’s face, the broken glass — whatever it was — and the venomous insults you had heard the day she showed up at the condo. Your muscles screamed out to run in and put a stop to her tirade but your bones remained rooted. The worst thing imaginable would be to attempt an intervention. 

“You’re fucking someone! You have been this whole time!”

“This isn’t the place to be having this discussion, Mary!”

“Ingrid saw you with a woman!”

The exchange warbled in your ears as blood pulsed through your head, dizzying you and shortening your breath. The supervisor went to the door, but it swung open before she touched the handle. Mary appeared, twice as red as when she entered.

“Move!” She spat, and the supervisor stepped aside.

Mary walked right to your desk and didn’t break eye contact with you for a second. “Call my husband’s lawyer and set up a meeting. We’re going over this bullshit settlement in the presence of the law.”

Henry finally appeared, shaken and ready to burst. “Don’t talk to her. Your problem is with me.”

Mary gave a dry chuckle. “She another one of your whores?”

“Excuse me—”

A security guard rounded the corner and Henry sighed. When Mary saw him, her chuckle turned into a great peal of laughter. “Oh, you’ve called security on me, of course. Well, let it be known that your precious Mr. H. Deaver is a cheat and a liar who fucks whores!”

“Mary, Jesus Christ, just go before you get yourself in trouble,” Henry insisted.

“I’m surprised you can get your dick up for the prostitutes,” she jabbed. “Oh, I will ruin you. You’ll have nothing but an outfit left after this. You want your divorce? You want freedom? I hope you enjoy it with an empty bank account!”

“Ma’am, you need to come with me,” the security guard motioned for her to come away.

Mary stormed past the guard and left the entire floor gawking like fish in a tank. All eyes were on Henry, including yours. He stood straight at the door to his office, shaking his head. Once you were certain his wife was far enough down the elevator shaft, you got up and went into the office.

The wreckage was merely a drinking glass and the manila envelope in shreds on the desk. Henry came in quietly, shut the door and risked a look at you. “That went terribly.”

“Well, now the entire world knows. Or, at least, the entire floor.”

“I’m sure the news will travel quick.” Henry pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. 

“What happened?”

“She received my settlement proposal.”

“And? Suffice to say she didn’t agree with it?”

“She said her friend saw me... Us. I was a few days away from an even fifty-fifty split. Somebody saw us out. Now she wants everything... And...” His words trailed off.

“And?”

“She wants to keep my cat.”

“Your... Cat?”

“I have a cat at the house. He would have come with me to the condo, but the pet policy... Oh, god. She will never let me see him again.”

You tried not to point out the absurdity of the situation, but Henry was visibly upset. 

“She just announced to the world that you fuck prostitutes, and you’re upset about a cat?”

“He’s not just a cat. He’s my cat! I adopted him. He’s mine and she won’t give him to me.”

“Henry... A cat.”

“You don’t understand, okay? This cat... He was there when she wasn’t. She doesn’t even care about him! She buys him the cheapest food possible. And he hates her!”

“She threatened to drain you, Henry! In front of your entire office.”

“No. No... This is good,” Henry nodded. “This is great. She came in here like a hurricane. All I have to do is call up her supervisor and tell them what happened. She’ll lose her job over this. She won’t be able to afford her lawyer.”

“This is insanity,” you mumbled.

“Help me,” Henry took a step closer to you. “Babe... You have to help me. We need to get Gromit back.”

“Gromit?” You tried not to giggle.

“If she hasn’t changed the locks on the house yet, I can still go in there. We can go get him.”

“We?”

Henry grabbed your hand and brought your fingers to his lips for a quick kiss out of habit. “Please, baby. I need you.”

A knock on the door forced Henry to step back quickly. The feeling stayed on your fingers as he called for whoever it was to come in. It was another security guard with a clutch of inquisitive employees peering in behind him. “Everything okay in here, Mr. Deaver?”

“I’m fine, my good man,” Henry’s chest puffed out. “Thank you.”

The guard left with a nod and Henry deflated when the door closed again.

“So, are you up for a cat-heist?”

“You want me to become a real-life cat-burglar with you?” The question rang with a hint of amused unrest. 

“Yes. I need you to help me steal my cat. Please.”

All of the trepidation shaking your nerves faded and you nodded with a smile. “All right, fine. Let’s steal your cat back.”

~*~

You never knew what Henry’s house looked like, but you had your suspicions. It was a large two-story home on the outskirts of a suburb, one of a handful that wasn’t a copy of all the other tidy homes in the area. Henry parked down the street and you waited in his car until his wife pulled away.

“She’s going to her book club. She should be out for at least an hour,” Henry explained.

After work, Henry took you home so you could change out of your office clothes into something subtle and civilian. Henry shed his jacket, tie and unfastened the first two buttons of his shirt. There was a rosy splotch on his collarbone peeking out from his undershirt — a little mark you left on him the night before.

Henry went in first, disarmed the alarm and then motioned for you to come in. There was no time to take in the details of the house, but it was just as magazine-worthy as you expected it to be. The floors were shiny, the banister polished and there wasn’t a dusty object on the shelving units.

“Won’t she notice the cat’s gone missing?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. At least not for a while. I paid the cleaning lady to feed him and pet him every day. She doesn’t care enough to notice.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not worried then I suppose I shouldn’t be.”

“Of course not. It’s my house, too. My name’s on the mortgage,” Henry pointed out.

Without further questioning, you followed Henry upstairs while he whispered for the cat. At the top floor landing, Henry let out a soft gasp. Alarmed and still on edge from the incident at the office, your eyes shot to where Henry was looking. A grey tabby cat brushed up against a doorjamb, purring and mewling for attention.

“Gromit! My boy!”

You watched him pick the cat up and cradle it in his arms like a child. The cat didn’t seem to mind the treatment and nudged his owner’s chin affectionately.

“Okay, that’s some next-level cuteness,” you scoffed.

Henry beamed at you. “Told ya. He’s the cutest boy in the galaxy. Yes, he is!”

Not wanting to interrupt their reunion, your eyes wandered over some photos on the wall. There were pictures of parents, grandparents, extended family and a few of a younger Henry looking happy with his wife. You wondered how long into their marriage they were in the photos. When Henry noticed you looking, he set the cat back down and went to you.

There was a photo of Henry and Mary sitting at a table in their wedding clothes. Mary was gazing at the document that Henry was signing with a recognizable silver pen. It was the same silver pen you saw him writing with before you ever knew his name; the pen she saw in your hand earlier that day.

“Hey. Everything good?”

You smiled at him, though your heart skipped a beat. “Yes, everything’s good. I just like to see old photos of you... Even if they’re with her. God, you’ve aged well. You’re so handsome.”

His cheeks turned pink. Henry was still green with receiving compliments about his looks. The man had convinced himself over the years he was nothing more than average, but the intensity of his bi-coloured eyes, the cut of his cheekbones and the plumpness of his lips told otherwise. You touched his chest and kissed the space between his nose and cheek before going for his mouth.

“Soon you and I can have our photos up on a wall.”

“I’d rather have you fuck me up on a wall.”

“Yeah?” Henry’s eyes darkened with mischief. “You want to fuck in my old bedroom?”

“On the bed that you used to sleep in with your wife? The bed she sleeps in every night?” You asked. 

“Um, yes?”

“Fuck yes, let’s do it.”

#henry deaver x mistress #henry deaver fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction

[jimlingss]

Request for one of my favorite writers~ An apocalypse au with any member of your choice that you think would fit the best! Maybe the mc needs to make a choice to either save the person they love or an important person they hate (up to you really!). A story about the end of the world is always a great medium for angst haha

↳ The Crumbling World of You and I

1.9k words || 99% Angst, 1% Fluff || Apocalypse!AU || Park Jimin

Warning: Mention of suicide

It’s better to pretend that you’re dead. 

Even if you’re not, the game of imitation is the only means of survival. Try not to not be seen by others. Try not to breathe too loudly. Try to not eat too much. Try not to make too much noise. Sometimes you’d like to think that you’d be better off being actually dead. The contemplation of ending this misery is appealing on dark nights cowering in the shadows with your stomach gurgling from starvation. But your stubbornness won’t let you. You’ve made it this far — while there’s no end in sight, all your efforts and every sacrifice would be a waste if you took a bullet to your head. Not yet, at least. You can’t die just yet. You can’t die until you see him die. “There’s no food, but I found this.” He tosses you a box that you catch instinctively. It’s torn and muddy, but you find three bandages inside that your pocket with a hum. “We might starve again tonight.” Your boots are silent against the floor and you grasp your knife tightly as you round the corner, peeking over the counter. When you find nothing there, you release your held breath. “We could head to the forest. Kill a bird.” “They’ll see the smoke from the fire. It’s too risky to go back.” You turn on your heel. “So you think staying in the city is any better, Jimin? Who’s fucking fault is it anyways that they’re looking for us?! I told you that I didn’t trust them, but you didn’t listen.” “What’s done is done.” “We could’ve died.” “Well we didn’t,” he counters. “I’m sorry to say that. So what do you want to do?” There’s a drawn silence and your teeth grits. “There’s a preschool down the street I saw on our way here. There might be something there. If not, we can camp out there. It looked relatively untouched.” Jimin follows closely behind you. “Nothing’s untouched.” “Yeah, well it’s our fucking best bet, so shut your mouth.” The two of you leave through the backdoor of the pharmacy, quiet and slinking down behind fences and bushes. You’re not afraid of the dead as you are of the living. Those that pillage and steal, who serve their self-interest and would happily hold a gun to your skull and enjoy hearing your screams as they’d rip your limbs from your sockets and cook them for you to eat.  There’s a lot of sick fucks left in this world. Those that were sane have turned crazy. That includes you. After so many years of chaos and destruction, your thoughts have turned to dark places. Especially when you have to look at Jimin. And those places have taken permanent residences in your mind. You’re huddled down, about to run over to the next car to shield yourself from the light, but Jimin extends his arm. He holds you back. “What the hell do you think—” “Shush.” He puts a finger to his mouth. Jimin grabs a pebble by his foot and chucks it in the opposite direction. A zombie you didn’t see cranes his neck around and begins to lurch towards the noise. The boy nods to you, and you swallow hard, continuing. It’s not difficult to get down the block, and you take a moment to look at the graffiti on the walls, the last messages of people begging for help. Cars have been abandoned, windows broken, ivy and moss beginning to grow all over the walls. The city is decaying, but it’s not a new sight to you. The pink walls of the preschool have turned into a muddy shade, playground abandoned and filled with the ghost of children. You don’t dwell, easily prying open the barricaded door. The hallway is dark, but with the little light coming in, you’re able to notice the school pictures framed in a row on the wall. They’re of kids gathered together in front of the school before the war, three to five year olds with pink, cherub cheeks and mischievous smiles, grinning and unaware. They’re probably all dead. Jimin notices that you’re staring at the photographs and hesitates. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” you answer sharply, turning away. He nods. “I’ll check the staff room then.” You enter a classroom nearby, making sure to throw another pebble that you have in your pocket to the center of the room. When nothing comes crawling out, you take a sigh of relief. The windows are covered with planks, desks fallen over, papers sprawled all over the ground. Contrastingly, the white board has scribbles of flowers and happy faces. The drawings are sloppy to show the inexperience of holding markers.  You walk to the teacher’s desk as you slot your knife onto your belt, shifting to open the drawers. They’re empty, except for a small pair of scissors that you keep in your hands. But as you open the bottom drawer, you find a wooden frame. It’s another picture. This time of a woman and her child — a four year old that reminds you of someone. Someone with rounded eyes and lopsided lips, that held your hand with their small fingers. It’s been a year, but it still hurts like a bitch. You release a staggering exhale, feeling your eyes sting before you put the photo face down where it belongs and close the drawer as if noting happened. There’s the sound of footsteps that follow, but it doesn’t put you on alert. It’s familiar and constant. Jimin appears with a can in his hand. “It’s beans. Past the expiration, but still looks good.” It remains quiet and he reads the expression on your face. “What’s wrong?” “There’s a lot of fucking shit wrong.” You brush past him, but he grabs your wrist. “Well then tell me. We’re a team.” As if his touch burns, you shove his hands off of you. “Let me make this perfectly clear with you, we’re not a fucking team.” “Then what are we?” “I don’t fucking know. It doesn’t even fucking matter, alright? We just so happen to be together.” You step closer to him. “But believe me, the chance I get, I’ll leave you behind. Don’t think for a second that I have your back and that I’ll protect you, Jimin. You’re on your own.” “Is this because of your sister?” Your blood runs cold. “Don’t fucking talk about her.” “You know I didn’t mean to.” He moves to face you again. “I didn’t mean…” “I told you not to fucking talk about it! What don’t you understand?!” You grab the collar of his jacket, shaking him with your trembling fists. Jimin puts his hands over yours, searching your expression desperately and he whispers— “I’m sorry, Y/N.” “Well sorry doesn’t bring her back, does it?!” you scream until blood curdles at the back of your throat. You punch his chest hard with your fists, like beating a dead horse. “You let her die. You left my sister to die. A fucking four year old. I told you to watch her and you knew she couldn’t run with her fucked leg and you left her behind! You cold — hearted — bastard.”  You’re hyperventilating, jaw clenched, knuckles turned white. The fucked world didn’t harden you. It taught you how to savour your anger and sadness, and use it to find the will to live.  “You killed her.” There’s thumping. Growling. Broken feet sprinting. You let Jimin go, stumbling back. One of them comes through the door, maggots on its face, eyes bulging, thrashing at him. Jimin turns around and with his body weight, stabs his knife through its skull. But he’s unable to pull the dull blade back out. It’s stuck in the crevices and he’s shoved down as its arms try to maul his own face.  Jimin kicks it back. “Y/N!” You cup your ears, close your eyes, curl up in the corner. Please. If there’s a god out there — you pray for the first time in a long time — let him die. Jimin grabs a ruler on the ground, right in fingertips’ reach and he slams it at the zombie’s skull, hard enough that it’s stick through. The creature shrieks horrifically, and he takes the chance to tackle it down, getting a grip on the handle of his knife again. He pulls out and stabs once more, blood splattering all over his clothes like it’s just paint.  But another creature follows the noise and comes through the door — the size of a small child sprinting in bloodlust. Jimin’s still on the ground, vulnerable as he finishes off the other. And he’s brought the floor again by the child turned dead, his knife once again stuck in the other one’s brain.  He scrambles, tries to push it off as it crawls up his body. But the zombie’s nails have sunk itself into his jacket. “Y/N!” Jimin screams. And then it’s silent. The zombie stops shrieking. Blood sprays across his cheeks. His eyes are blinded, catching the sunlight that bleeds through the wooden planks of the window and reflects against the scissor’s blades. With both hands, you stab through the back of the child’s skull, again and again. It rolls off of him and you continue to spear the small scissors at its head. Ramming it until your arms are aching. Until the blade feels dull. Piercing until the bones and brain tissue feels like minced meat. “Where’s mom and dad?” — “I want to go home.” — “Y/N, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.” It was your fault. It was your fault. It was your fault.  She was only four years old. She only had you. She was your own family left. And yet, you left her behind — you dared to entrust her to a stranger. She thought you were going to save her and she waited. She waited for you to come back, but you didn’t.  You were the one to leave her behind. Jimin gets up, watching sobs break through your frame. You can hear the child’s shrieks, your sister’s, and you try to kill it. Try to get it to be quiet. Try to make it return to its grave. “Stop. Y/N.” You scream through gritted teeth, only shocked out of it when you feel arms wrap around your body. The bloodied scissors are taken from your grasp and you collapse next to the corpse. Jimin quickly embraces you, something he usually wouldn’t have the audacity to do, but he’s still a warm body that feels nice against your dirty skin. “Why can’t you just die?” The real question is why you can’t let Jimin die. “I’m sorry,” Jimin murmurs. The two of you are bloody and disgusting, but you’ve gotten used to the iron scent. It’s comforting. It means that you killed it, and that you’ve lived. “I hate you,” you tell him, having never felt hatred so deep in your stomach before. “So much.” “I know,” he tries to comfort you and it’s a futile attempt. “When the time comes, I’ll let you kill me.” But despite his promise, you know you wouldn’t feel better even after his death. Maybe Jimin knows that too. No amount of retribution can make you feel better, can make it easier to sleep at night. You can’t let him die. You only have each other now.

#Requests 2019 #bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #BTS Zombie AU #jimin angst #peachdragonrecs #the second of twelve requests!! #i've never tried my hands at a zombie apocalypse AU before #so this was fun

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 21

“I know aptitude when I see it. Selfish of me, really. Get them whilst they’re young and all that. Get my pickings of the talent pool early on.” Ansgar replied. He leaned on the edge of her desk, his leg dangling, his shined brown loafer just scraping the floor. A curl of his fingers and he inspected his nails, trying to appear nonchalant as his mind worked. He debated revealing what he was about to say, what he was about to tell her. He knew he’d pressed her buttons enough intentionally that afternoon, and he wondered if exposing her to more of his… his humanity… would send her reeling.

Which is exactly what he wanted to do, to show her the reality that was himself, to draw her out of her shell, to draw her deeper into him; but he also knew when too much was too much. He’d read her. Read her like Shakespeare for Dummies just how much his very presence in front of her brother, in front of her nephews, in front of her entire family rattled her. He couldn’t help but wonder how she would react, how beautifully insane she would be when he met mother for the first time.

For that was something else he knew – a simple corporate background check can reveal a plethora of information – that she lived with her mother. That her mother was ill. That she cared for her mother. And that endeared her to him, but he wouldn’t admit that to her… not yet. He wouldn’t admit that it made him a little jealous, actually - as Ansgar’s father had died young, and his mother had all but ignored him in the past few years. Shelved him and his mad life in favour of the stability of Magnus and his family. Which was fine. Ansgar understood the doting grandmother role, Ansgar knew he could never gift Joanna with grandchildren himself, but, even as tough and as sharp and as jaded as he was - sometimes a man just needed to talk to his mother.

And his own was distant. Unavailable. Uninterested.

Something, after Faye left him, he swore he would never be to those he cared for.

“Her nephew,” he began, still picking one nail with his thumbnail. “Faye’s nephew, Rufus. He was like that. Like Adrian and Hugo. Brilliant, curious, mechanically inclined. Genius level, nearly.” He brought the fingernail to his teeth, scraping a tiny fleck of dirt out from beneath the corona. “I had him in my tutoring program a few years back. He excelled. Designed a working lift crane of all things - something that I ran by my own engineers. Had it built, and now I use it on smaller-scale projects.”

“Do you… do you still see him at all?” She turned around then, crossed her arms over her chest and rest back against her bookcase.

Ansgar sighed. “No,” he said. “I had a row with his father shortly after Faye left me. Threatened to kill the man, actually, so… no. I haven’t seen Rufus in two years. He’ll be fifteen this April. Nearly grown.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said.

“Eh,” he shrugged, pushing himself off the desk. “It’s no matter now, is it?” He strode over to her, took her by the shoulders and planted a gentle yet firm kiss upon her lips, opening up to her quiet whimper, and the caress of her hands on his back. “I will see you at eight, darling,” he said. “Be ready by ten minutes before.”

“Why?”

“We’re having a quiet night in tonight, my place. At eight. Dinner - casual, of course - and a film in my home theatre, and whatever follows.” He smiled broadly, teeth pulling sensually at his lower lip. “Mickhail will pick you up at ten minutes until eight.” His finger traced the line of her cheek to caress over her bottom lip. “Don’t leave him waiting. He gets very cranky if he’s made to wait.”

“I won’t.”

Wink. “I know.”

****

And true to his command, Ansgar’s door chime sounded at eight o’clock on the dot. He grinned broadly as he opened the door to the elevator lobby, but that grin morphed quickly into a breathy look of astonishment, of pure desire, at the very sight of her. “Jesus, Joline,” he blurted, “you look…amazing.”

And she did, dressed as she was in a leather trimmed black blouse and a tight pair of studded and decorated jeans, the cuffs resting just at her ankles above a pair of high heeled shoes. Not the Louboutins, that time, but Ansgar found her own shoes to be somehow sexier. Her hair was done up in a high, fluffed-out ponytail, wisps of hair caressed her simply made up cheeks. A bit of eyeliner, some blush and a bright red lipstick.

“I’m casual. You said casual,” she dipped her head shyly, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I did, didn’t I?” his voice broke slightly. “Yes. You… you’re perfect.”

“As are you,” she smirked, fingering the collar of his blue linen shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of black jeans, held up by a leather belt and a decorative, yet tasteful belt buckle.

“Come in, please,” he said, gesturing. “I….” he hesitated. “I’ve a bit of a surprise for you.”

She smiled as she stepped past him into the foyer. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He chewed his lips together, like a small child upon entering a toy store for the first time. “Come with me.” He took her hand and crossed the expansive entry way. He turned her, took her by the shoulders and sat her down on a white leather chaise near the piano. He bent to her and indulged in a long, ardent kiss, licking his lips at the end of it.

“So what’s my surprise?” She whispered against his lips.

“I never did get to play for you,” he said. “Last night. We… never used the piano for its intended purpose.” He shuddered, remembering how he had taken her over the closed lid of the polished ebony Steinway, how she rode him as he sat on the leather piano bench, her legs wrapped around his waist and how she…. oh!

“No, we never did,” she smiled. “Are you… are you going to play for me now? Is that my surprise?”

He nodded, his smile almost shy, his eyes blinking, averting hers. “Only if you want me to.”

He felt her hands, warm and soft and gentle, on either side of his face. She pushed, gentle pressure to turn his gaze to hers. She pulled, drawing him closer to her, drawing him to where she could grace the tip of his nose with a soft, pillowy press of her lips. “It’s perfect. Yes. I want you to. I want to hear you play…. you fucking virtuoso.”

He barked a laugh. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” she shrugged. “Mind you it was in the throes of passion, but you know what they say about truth in it.”

“I thought it was truth in jest.”

“Jesting, fucking, it’s all the same.”

He laughed outright then. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He nodded, readying himself. “Okay.” He sat down on the piano bench, playfully tossing an imaginary set of tuxedo tails out from behind him, making her laugh again before he pulled the bench forward, laid his hands on the piano, and breathed.

In.

Out.

And with a roll of his hands, a closing of his eyes, a hunch of his shoulders and a melt of his muscles, he played.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpRzZojcP40

As became Ansgar’s modus operandi with her, what Joline expected him to play on the piano and what he actually played were polar opposites. Worlds apart, in fact. The man continued to knock her expectations off kilter and kept her guessing, continuously breaking the barrier down of the compartment she tried to keep him in.

After the afternoon she had, trying to keep him away from her family, his showing interest and even favor in them, Ansgar was more than a one night stand. He called her on her deflection for what it was and allowed her into his life, even if superficially. Who would do the same for a one night stand? As she sat, feet tucked up beside her on his lounge (judging by the amount of leather it took to make, cost more than her mother’s mini Cooper), she’d already exceeded the typical one encounter by double.

She had to try to remain distant and aloof to keep her heart. For one thing she knew for sure, Ansgar Martinsson could break her heart, devastate her without taking the pleasure in her utter destruction. As the proverbial saying went, the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference. As soon as he got his fill of their faux rebound, he’d forget about her.

All she needed to do was keep her head, stick to her word of no expectations, and enjoy the sex for however long he wanted her around. It would be so much easier to do that if he wasn’t so considerate of her, of her nephews, of her family. It was already complicated it with offering to tutor or find a tutor for her nephews. She couldn’t allow him to hurt them.

The dulcet, tremulous somber music poured from his fingers and his piano instead of some great showoff symphony of some well-known composer. Instead he chose a soothing, reflective piece with a smattering of a hopeful melody of playful high notes. This wasn’t a flashy complicated piece of an expert, this was beauty in simplicity, a classic case of less was more.

As for his skill in music, Ansgar’s boasts were on the mark, earning him every right to brag. He played as a virtuoso, focused, dedicated, respectful of the music. A lovely example of an instrument making its player shine, the piano a mere extension of him. Because this wasn’t about showing off or impressing his date (which he did effortlessly), his eyes remained on his hands or closed, his focus solely on the music and the product of the sound he made. He didn’t steal any glances her way to see how she responded or wink at her, and somehow that fact pointed to his authenticity as a musician.

When he was done, Joline applauded his efforts, grinning, appreciative that he didn’t show off like a rock star. “That was a beautiful piece, Sgar. Truly. Thank you for playing it for me.”

He bowed his head in humility, a rare moment for him. “I’m glad that you liked it.” He pushed to his feet after swinging sidesaddle on the piano bench. “Are you surprised?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

“It was written by my favorite composer.”

“I can tell.” Joline patted the lounge beside her, asking him to sit with her. “Your respect for it comes through. It makes sense.”

Ansgar sat beside her, his arm slung over the back, his hand hovering by her shoulder, cheating his body in her direction. “What makes sense?”

“What you do. There’s structure and mathematics and building materials in music as there are in construction,” she stated easily. “Music is made of notes, of course… but rhythms and melodies, chords and progressions, counterpoints and dynamics. Construction is about textures and structures, angles and perspectives.”

“I suppose that’s true. How do you know so much about it?” His fingers reached up and touched some of the strands of her ponytail.

She looked down at her folded hands in her lap. “My roommate in uni studied music, a concert pianist actually. I might have sat in a few music theory classes.”

He chuckled. “Did you make it a habit to sit in on classes outside your concentration?”

She laughed, her head angling coquettishly. “Not a habit, no. But there’s some overlap in my major, so I dipped my toe in the musical waters.”

“AH! You’re surrounded by musicians in your studies and in your job.”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I won’t ask for hazard pay or overtime. I like the way you play.” She gestured for him to give her his hands when she waved her hands in her direction.

Ansgar willingly gave her both, pulling his arm down form the elevated position.

Joline tilted her head up and on a slant after tracing his elegant fingers with her own. “I always found musicians hands to be the sexiest.”

“Is that so?”

“Truly.”

“Is that why you fell into theatre management? To be around the musicians?”

Joline unraveled from her position, sliding her high heeled feet out from under to straight before her, slinging them over Ansgar’s lap. She felt more comfortable in his physical space and felt that familiar pull for his bedroom. “I wish I could claim that, but I’ve never been involved with a musician. Except for friends, of course… my roommate, my friends, my classmates. All musicians. With the most fascinatingly sexy hands. All of them.”

Ansgar layed his hands on her thigh, positioning them as if he played her like he did his Steinway, but he only brought her that little bit closer. “What was your uni like?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Typical, I guess. All night cram sessions, midnight runs to McDonalds for brain food, congregating in one room to play a board game or watch a film, mini refrigerators, ramen noodle dinners, empty pockets, endless laundry and schedules to clean the bathroom.”

“How did you learn that you wanted to be in theatre?”

She reclined back, pondering it for a moment, “Gosh, I don’t know. When the two show days didn’t kill me?” She laughed to herself, her mind reminiscing to try to answer his question. “My uni ran shows for four weeks, one performance on Thursday and Friday and two performances on Saturday and Sunday. I remember, we did a production of Oklahoma my sophomore year. I was stage manager, my first as stage manager. I had three assistant stage managers, fifty cast members, and a set designed by the devil himself. I remember lying on the floor of the green room between shows feeling so drained, the mental capacity to manage that many people and cues drained me. That’s when I discovered M&Ms.”

“The chocolates?”

“They’re mystical and magic. That’s what the M’s stand for, I think. I survived on M&Ms,” she said matter of fact, in all seriousness.

“You survived on a sugar high.”

“You call it sugar high, I call it the power of M&Ms. They still get me through rough seasons or runs. Don’t you have any rituals or things you swear by?”

Ansgar slid his hands up towards her hip, enjoying the feel of her soft denim and her firm flesh underneath. “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I do.”

She gave him a comfortable lead, but he didn’t elaborate on that. She found her opportunity to inspect the jagged and raised flesh on his arm. The scar had caught her attention more than once, but she never got the chance to ask in their fever to get physical. “What happened here?” she asked quietly, caressing her hand up and down the uneven scar tissue.

#the best intentions

[theasstour]

0109. Largo.

Saturday, 7 March 2015

FIC PAGE | CHAPTER SYMPHONY | WORD COUNT: 6k

NB: explicit language

“Have you guys heard the rumour going around about Harry?” Becky asked as she sat eating her cereal in the kitchen one Saturday morning.

“No.” Ian frowned, looking at Tiana who stood by the fridge and looked equally as confused as him. “What rumour?”

“Finger fucked someone in the women’s loos at The Grand.” Becky explained, eating her cereal and looking annoyed. “When we went out for his birthday.”

“Shut up.” Tiana said. “You’re taking the piss.”

Y/N suddenly stopped moving a bit where she stood cutting up a cucumber for her sandwich.

“Where did you hear this?” Ian asked. “Because I would assume he’d brag about it if he did. He’s a lad after all.”

“He’s not laddish.” Tiana rolled her eyes.

“Sure is.”

“You’re a terrible judge of person, Ian.” Tiana said. “Harry’s no Jack the lad.” She glanced at Becky, ignoring Ian as he started to protest. “Where’d you hear this rumour? It sounds absolutely ridiculous.”

“Some girls in one of me lectures.” Becky put her spoon down in the bowl, reaching her arms over her head and stretching. “Reckon she’s a slag. A fucking minger for sure.”

“How do they know Harry?” Tiana looked over at Y/N as she started washing her cutting board and knife. “He’s not that popular, is he?”

Becky raised her eyebrows, smiling a little. “He’s not exactly bad looking, is he? Everyone knows who the fit European Legal Studies bloke is.”

“How? I would never have noticed Harry had he not been in flat 8.” Tiana opened the fridge and got her carton of milk out, screwing the lid off. “He cannot be that popular.”

“He’s fit, Tiana, and that’s it. People remember a pretty face.” Becky sighed, letting her arms fall to rest on the kitchen table. “How I wish it was me had had finger fucked in the bathroom stall at The Grand.”

“Do you know who it was?” Ian enquired.

In that moment, Tiana looked over at Y/N who took a bite of her sandwich, eyes quickly adverted as she knew the second they looked at each other Tiana would know. Everything seemed to click into place, because her eyes grew wide and she almost spat out her mouthful of milk. She put the milk back in the fridge and walked over to Y/N who made sure to give Becky and Ian a look, both in deep conversation, before Tiana reached her.

“You’re fucking joking.” Tiana whispered. “You’ve got to be bloody joking.”

“What did I say?” Y/N asked after swallowing the bite of her sandwich.

Tiana looked over at Ian and Becky before she nodded toward the door leading out of the kitchen. Y/N got the memo, and walked toward it, holding the plate with her sandwich to her chest the entire time. Right behind her the whole way, Tiana locked the door into Y/N’s room once they reached it and squealed. She jumped up and down over to Y/N, who was watching her friend with big eyes and a confused mind. Tiana took the sandwich and placed it on Y/N’s desk before taking a grip of her shoulders.

“Did Harry finger you in that bathroom stall? Was that why you both left the toilets just as different times?”

Y/N’s mouth hung open, no coherent words coming to mind as Tiana put words to what had happened in the bathroom stall at The Grand early February. With huge brown eyes, Tiana took in every movement Y/N made and hung onto the slight puffs of air leaving her lips as if they could help her decipher anything. Letting a heavy breath leave her lips, Y/N looked at her sandwich, but Tiana shook her.

“Silence speaks louder than words!”

“Ti, don’t… don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I tell?” Tiana asked clapping her hands together after letting go of Y/N’s shoulders. “I don’t tell anyone anything except for you. I’m just so ecstatic!”

“Why?”

“Because Harry bloody Styles fingered you in a bathroom stall at The Grand!” Tiana shout whispered, looking absolutely outraged that she had to spell it out for Y/N at all. “And you fancy him so much, just like he fancies you, and I think this is huge.”

Y/N sat own in the chair by her desk. “I’m just scared.”

Tiana frowned, sitting down in Y/N’s bed. “Why are you?”

“Because it’s too good to be true.” She answered. “Harry is too good to be true, him fancying me back is too good to be true, everything-“ She stopped herself, sighing. “This whole situation with Harry is too good to be true. I don’t know what… I don’t know what to think.”

“Y/N, it’s not.” Tiana shook her head. “You deserve good things, and Harry is one of them.”

Their eyes met and Tiana was smiling, something that eased the turmoil in Y/N’s head a little. It was good looking at her best friend, because seeing her happy made everything seem a little less intimidating and the world a little more balanced. Reaching over, Tiana took Y/N’s hands and held them tight, demanding Y/N to look at her as she spoke her next words.

“You’re only doubting what you have because… I don’t know why…” Tiana frowned a little, face turning sad. “Why are you?”

Y/N looked away, shaking her head and dragging her hands out of Tiana’s grip. “I… It’s…” She closed her eyes as she spoke. “I’ve been hurt before, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Y/N kept quiet.

“Y/N, you can talk to me.”

“I know.” She opened her eyes, nodding as she locked eyes with her best friend again. “I know, Ti.”

Tiana looked at her hands that had moments earlier been holding Y/N’s. “If I had to choose someone on this earth I’d never want to see hurting, it’s you. And whenever you want to talk I’m here, in a heartbeat. You’re one of the most important people in my life, yea?”

Y/N smiled a little. “Likewise.”

“Don’t shut things in.” Tiana warned. “Don’t do it. Because all things you keep pent up inside has a way of getting out eventually. You’ll burst if you don’t get things off your chest, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, knowing this full well.

“And I don’t want to see that happening. Not to you.”

Y/N leaned forward and hugged Tiana, holding her tight until she hugged her right back. It was a comfort to have her close, to be held by her like having her arms around her made the world seem a little easier to conquer. Y/N tried not to think much about what had caused this conversation, the event in her own life that made her question everyone’s intentions. So, balling Tiana’s shirt into her hands, Y/N held onto her best friend for dear life as she tried to understand how she herself was feeling about this whole situation. She could never put words to it.

Tiana walked back to the kitchen after a little while, and Y/N was left with her sandwich. Whipping out her phone, she called Edward on FaceTime, feeling incredibly deprived of time spent with her brother and favourite person in the entire world. He answered fast, grinning at his phone screen as he appeared, waving his hand frantically at her.

“Hiya Maverick!” Y/N smiled. “Alright?”

“I’m good, Goose.” Edward smiled back. “What’re you up to?”

She showed him the plate with her sandwich.

“Looks rank.”

“For your information, it’s not.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Anyway, how’s your day?”

“Boring.” Edward leaned back in his chair, the necklace resting on his chest glinting in the sun shining in through his bedroom window. “Dad’s out with the trees and mum’s in town I think. While I’m left in my room looking out my window.”

“Sorry I’m not home keeping you company, mate.” Y/N said, sticking her bottom lip out. “I’ll be home in a couple of days, though. For my birthday.”

“Yea.” Edward smiled. “Only four days now. And yes, I’m counting down the days. It’s boring here without you, you know that.”

Y/N felt suddenly guilty for leaving her brother behind when she went to university. He had said he would be fine with her living in London, had even encouraged it, but she knew he didn’t have many friends in college, and would often only hang out with Y/N because that’s when he had the most fun. Edward had made it obvious that he wanted Y/N to experience the world without feeling like she had to bring him along, and moving to London to study felt like a big, yet small, step. It wasn’t too far away from Hawkley, but far enough that she couldn’t go home every weekend.

For her birthday however, Y/N was going home to her brother and family. They had been ecstatic when she had shared with them the news of her coming home for a bit, and now that it was only a few days away she felt herself looking forward to her birthday, something she rarely did. Y/N hated the attention her birthday gave her, and knew spending it at uni would overwhelm her, so going home seemed like the best option. She knew Tiana would make a big deal out of it, so would Finn and Ian, and if she ever told Harry, then he might, too. It wasn’t a special day in her eyes. She was born on that day and was thankful her mother had given birth to her, but it didn’t go beyond that. Her family knew Y/N wasn’t too keen on her birthday and had always made her a cake, given her some gifts, and not made a big deal out of it. So, she was looking forward to coming back home, sitting down in her little boat in the lake by her house, reading a book and being by herself. And of course watching Top Gun with her Edward, something they always did together, but it was tradition t watch it on each of their birthdays. Edward’s was May 20th, and the two would always watch it as the sun went down, the door into the back garden open, the almost-summer sun shining in on the telly, and the smell of newly cut grass in the air. The thought made Y/N’s heart sing.

“Look at this.” Edward said, putting his phone in his lap as he rolled himself over to his wall. Picking his phone back up, he turned his camera around so Y/N could see his new painting. It was one of the many landscapes ones, this one of the row of Christmas trees behind the farm. Different shades of green and thin lines of black to indicate where one tree ended and another one started. Her brother had always had a talented for drawing, painting, and making things with his hand. He was incredibly artistic, and his ability to create something visual like he did had always impressed Y/N.

“Beautiful, Eddie.”

“Not my best, but something I painted to pass my time yesterday. You can bring it back to uni if you want.” He turned the camera back to his face. “So you remember how dull Hawkley really is.”

Y/N huffed. “Hawkley isn’t dull. Miss it quite a lot, actually.”

“Really?” Edward scrunched his nose, clearly not believing his sister the slightest. “You miss living in the middle of nowhere? Miss helping dad out at all times?”

“You know I love helping dad!” Y/N smiled. “You trying to make me remember things we used to hate about Hawkley won’t make me not look forward to coming home. Absolutely buzzing for it.”

“I just assumed you were smart.” Edward shrugged. “Guess you’ve lost some brain cells going to uni. Must be all the weed you’re smoking.”

“Stop!” Y/N laughed. “You know I’m not smoking anything, you knob.”

“Can’t be completely certain.” Edward said. “You’ve changed.”

“What?” Y/N frowned. “Have not.”

“Not in a bad way.” Edward clarified, a smile breaking out across his lips. “You’ve just changed. In the best way. You’re still Goose, but a more independent and freer one.”

Y/N smiled a little, surprised by her brother’s uttering.

“You’re still the shyest person I know, but you’re coming out of your shell.”

“I should be saying this to you, not the other way around.” Y/N said, making Edward chuckle. “You’re my little brother and you’re giving me a motivational speech?”

“Well, who else is going to tell you that you’re changing? No one knows you as well as I do, admit it.”

“Alright.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Keep praising me.”

Edward laughed. “Shut up or I’ll never give you a compliment ever again.”

“How sad.”

Just then there came a loud knocking from Y/N’s door, and then Tiana shouting her name. Looking back on the screen at Edward who seemed a little taken aback by the sudden commotion, Y/N cocked her head to the side.

“I’ll call you in a bit? Just need to know what Tiana’s on about.”

“Sound.” Edward nodded. “Bye, Goose.”

“Bye, Maverick.”

Hanging up, Y/N put her phone away on her desk before she rose and opened the door for Tiana who took a hold of her wrist. She dragged her to her room and over to her laptop, Annie sitting on Tiana’s bed and Teresa on FaceTime on her MacBook. On the screen was an e-mail, and judging by the tight grip Tiana had of Y/N’s wrist, it was quite an important one.

“’Dear Tiana’,” said person read out loud. “’I am happy to inform you the landlord of the four-bedroom property 9 Alfriston Road, Clapham has accepted your application. You are now ready to make your admin fees and part deposit payments’.”

Y/N looked over at Tiana with wide eyes and a mouth agape. Her friend was only nodding back, bouncing back and forth on her feet with a squeal bubbling up from somewhere far down her throat. Y/N looked back, reading through the entire e-mail as all her other future flatmates were watching her. She smiled, looking at Teresa on the screen who was smiling, then Annie on the bed doing the same, and at Tiana who was clapping.

“We have a house for next year!”

“Oh, my God.” Y/N said, looking at the e-mail. “We have a house.”

“We just need to sign a contract, pay, and then show them some identification, then we’re ready to move in next year!”

“I can’t believe we got a house.” Y/N said. “And right by Clapham Common as well!”

“I know!” Tiana beamed. “It was the last one we looked at last week, remember? The one with three bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs?”

“The one with the small back garden and a bath?”

“Yes, bitch!” Tiana took the MacBook up from her desk, motioning for Y/N and Annie to get up. “Group hug!”

And with laughter in the air and arms slung around the others, all the girls felt an immense relief. Finally, they had someplace to live next year. Finally, they didn’t have to wonder what would happen if they didn’t find somewhere. Finally, they could stop worrying and start looking forward to a new year living together. The first thing Y/N told Edward when they FaceTimed again later was that her and the rest of her new flat had found somewhere to live next year, and once her father heard that, he broke down crying.

“Cannot believe my little poppet is moving into an actual house and has got to pay actual bills.” He sniffled. “Beyond happy for you.”

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Harry What’re you up to today?

Y/N smiled.

Y/N Rehearsing some violin on campus. Why?

Harry Oh. Was just wondering if you wanted to chill or do summat, but don’t want to interrupt you rehearsing. Rain check?

For some reason, the fact that Harry so easily gave up made Y/N’s heart sink a little. She didn’t want him to just give in, she wanted to spend time with him, and if that meant less rehearsing and more Harry then so be it. So, Y/N did something she hadn’t really done before: took the initiative.

Y/N You could come chill in the room with me if you want.

Harry Really? Wouldn’t be a bad distraction?

Y/N I’m inviting you, am I not?

Harry Wicked.

Y/N smiled, looking at her violin in its case.

Harry Wait, where are you on campus?

Some days earlier, Y/N had reserved a study room for herself. Music students had specialised study room, soundproof ones that Y/N had never tried before. Though she had been a bit nervous about not finding it or using the wrong one, she had finally reached her study room, and planned on staying there for two hours. She had only been there for 30 minutes when Harry sent that text message, and though she knew she wouldn’t get much done with Harry there, she told him which number study room she was in and where to walk in the Antonin Artaud Building to get there.

While waiting for him, Y/N played Beauty and the Beast, one of the songs her and Teresa would be performing together. Closing her eyes, Y/N drifted off somewhere as she played, imagining Teresa’s voice flowing along with her notes and the magic they would create together. It didn’t take long for a knock to sound at the door, and when Y/N opened the door, Harry stood there with wide eyes.

“Hi.” He said, an instant smile on his face. “Alright?”

Y/N stepped aside and Harry walked inside, taking his coat off and putting it on the sofa. He was wearing his dark red turtleneck again, tucked into a pair of grey trousers. Right away, Y/N noticed how he wasn’t wearing his glasses. She loved it when he wore his glasses. He sat down in the sofa, letting go of a huge sigh as he settled himself in.

“Pretend like I’m not here.” He said, taking his phone out of his coat pocket. “Not about to ruin your rehearsing.”

Y/N giggled, walking over to the table where she had put her notes and her violin.

“But one question.” Harry said, sitting forth and resting his elbows on his knees as he looked up at her. Y/N glanced over her shoulder. Harry smiled. “How’s your day been?”

Y/N smiled, blushing slightly. “Decent, yours?”

“Decent.” Harry watched as Y/N got the violin out of the case. “Bloody majestic.”

Y/N knew that if she even dared look at Harry then, she would melt, because the mere way those two words left his lips – like warm breath meeting her freezing cheeks on a cold winter’s day – made her entire body tingle.

“You said you wouldn’t distract me.” She knew that if she answered him, he would say something back, and then they would be having a conversation. And she needed to rehearse. And not get distracted.

“Right.” He sat back, smiling a little as he turned his phone on. “Won’t say another word. Promise.”

“Doubt that.”

Harry glanced up at her again. “Oi, what you mean about that?”

“Just that you’re talkative.”

Harry huffed. “And that’s a bad trait? Quite like that part of my personality, thank you.”

“No talking!”

“Fine!”

The two laughed, and Y/N looked down at her music stand, reading the notes before placing her violin on her shoulder and raising the bow. Taking one glance at Harry to make sure he was actually keeping to himself and not watching her, Y/N started playing. The Elvis song she had found the notes to online floated into the air around her, and her entire body felt light. Creating music felt empowering, like being part of something bigger than oneself. It wasn’t words; it wasn’t a pronouncement; it wasn’t human. It was feelings; putting a sound to a feeling, to an emotion and way of being. It was magic in a sense. Because it was impossible to put words to everything, but with music you didn’t have to. Hearing a melody made you feel more than thousands of words ever could; a melody could hold more emotion than a single human could feel in an entire lifetime. As Y/N made a world of her own, a world where only herself and the music she was making was of existence, time and space evaporated from all around. A sky drifted across the blue morning sky and around the globe until it was no more, and that was how Y/N felt when playing her violin. She was floating, flying over the globe and the humans that inhabited it.

“Is that Suspicious Minds?”

Y/N stopped playing, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Shit, didn’t mean to interrupt you. Sorry.” Harry motioned zipping his lips shut and throwing the key away, going back to looking down at his phone.

“Yea.” Y/N nodded. “Elvis fan?”

He glanced at her again, eyebrows raised as he was a little shocked she wanted to talk and not rehearse. “Yea.” Harry said. “Favourite artist of all time.”

“What’s your favourite song?”

“By Elvis?”

Y/N smiled. “Of all time.”

“All the Way by Frank Sinatra.”

Y/N sat down in the office chair, tuning her violin as she nodded. “You like-“

“-No, wait.” Harry turned his phone off. “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by The Platters. Fucking tune.”

“I’ve never heard that one.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“You’ll have to listen to it one time then.” Harry said, smiling as he watched her. “It’s magical.”

Y/N smiled, looking at her notes.

“How do you…” Harry glanced at the violin. “How do you play the violin?”

She looked over at him, feeling like someone squeezed her heart in the best way possible when she caught him actually looking intrigued by the instrument of her dreams. Biting her lip, she got her bow, and rolled her chair over to the sofa where Harry sat. He watched her, trying not to smile as widely as he seemed to want to. Y/N placed it on her shoulder and watched as Harry studied her every move, his gaze hot against her skin.

“Is it hard?”

“What?”

“Playing the violin.” Harry was almost whispering, as if talking to loudly in close proximity to the instrument would tarnish it in some way.

“Want to hold her?”

Their eyes met. “Her?”

“Yea. I call my violin a her. She’s my baby.”

Harry let out a single chuckle as Y/N removed her instrument from her shoulder.

“Want to?”

“Hold her?”

“Only if you trust me enough to.” Harry said, face turning serious. “I don’t want to hold her if you don’t like anyone else doing so, or something of the sort.”

“I trust you not to throw her across the room and ruin her.” Y/N said and Harry laughed. She motioned for him to hold his hands out so she could place the violin in his hands. Once he did, and their hands met for a single second, she felt just how cold his were. He had just walked here after all, but no matter how cold his hands were, his skin meeting hers still felt like hot electricity started flowing from the exact spot they had made contact.

Y/N cleared her throat, touching Harry making her a little dizzy. “Ehm, there’s… there’s no set way to hold the violin.” She looked up into his eyes, his already intent and on her. “This is just my way of doing it. Holding a violin is much like driving a car; there’s no exact way of doing it, just the general rules, but everyone has their own way of driving a car, just like everyone has their own way of holding their violin.”

Harry nodded, his green eyes wide with interest.

“You want to place it on our shoulder like this.” Y/N guided it down to his shoulder. “And rest your chin on the chin rest, as that’s what it’s there for.”

Harry leaned his jaw on the chin rest.

Y/N shook her head. Gently, she took a grip of the other side of his jaw, tilting his head till his chin was on the chin rest. “Want to be looking at the violin a you’re playing. The music stand and sheet will be there in that direction.”

“Hmm.” Harry mumbled, eyes closing for a long second, vibrating through Y/N’s finger still resting on his jaw. His skin was very soft there, Y/N realised, and he didn’t have that slight stubble he would sometimes have. He must’ve recently shaved. She drew her hand back, not allowing herself to let her mind wander.

“And that’s how you hold the violin. Of course, you’ll have different positions and all that, but you hold the neck very lightly as you need to change notes and stuff.”

Harry was eerily quiet as he sat holding the violin.

Y/N cleared her throat, deciding not to think too much into it. “Then the bow.” She held it out for him, and he took it with his right hand. “The wood of the bow is this,” Y/N pointed to the part Harry was holding carefully, sitting forward in her chair as he was holding it up to his face. She let her finger trace the wood, avoiding Harry’s fingers. “And underneath you’ve got the hair. Try not to touch the hair at all, because all the dirt, grease, and oils you have on your hands can easily be transferred to the hair and it can stop the hair absorbing the rosin we put on the bow, which helps the bow grip onto the strings-“

Right over the bow, Harry’s eyes were staring at Y/N with so much concentration and intrigue that it made her gasp a little. They sat there like that for a little while, just staring at the other. The bow hanging in the air between them and the quietness of the room deafening. Slowly Harry removed the bow from where it was, carefully putting it down on his coat before he looked back at Y/N. It took Y/N a bit off guard when his free hand reached for her face, thumb stroking down her cheek delicately as if she would break if he didn’t treat her with care. They were so close, the air hot with electricity around them. As Harry’s hand travelled down her neck and to the back of it, taking a light grip and guiding her forward to him, Y/N put wasn’t able to take her eyes off him. Neither of them closed their eyes until their lips met. Neither of them took a breath until their lips met. Neither of them could believe it had taken them this long to finally kiss. Because oh my God, Y/N thought, did it feel good kissing Harry. Every cell in her body was dancing, her heart was flying wildly inside her chest, and all blood rushed through her veins.

She was leaning forward to the point of almost falling out of her chair, so she let her hands rest on his thigh, to which Harry drew in a sharp breath. Their lips detached, only for Harry to tip his head a little to the side, gaining better access. This time, he was gentle as he slipped his tongue in ever so slightly, not wanting to overwhelm her in the slightest. Y/N only breathed heavily in response, and Harry squeezed the back of her neck. In return, she squeezed his thighs and Harry trembled a little, kissing her harder.

“Wait.” He mumbled into her mouth.

He got up, making Y/N draw back. Taking the bow, Harry walked over to the violin case and put the violin and bow neatly into their places before he came back.

“Come sit in my lap, darling.”

Y/N got up, and as she put both of her knees on either side of his hips, hands landing on his shoulders, she was reminded of the bathroom stall at The Grand. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he smiled as he kissed her again, hands resting at her knees. As their tongues tangled and lips locked and detached, Harry’s hands travelled up her thighs. Slowly he made his way up to her bum, where he let them rest for only a few seconds before placing both his hands on her hips to hold her. It was intoxicating to have Harry touch her like this, as if she had been drinking a whole bottle of wine, but she had only tasted his tongue and the moment they were sharing right now. She let her hands trail down his front, loving it when Harry slid his tongue over her bottom lip quickly before he kissed her again. Her hands stopped as she reached his navel, fingertips resting there as Harry whimpered under her. A low moan entered her mouth, and she was sure nothing she had ever tasted before could compare to it.

“Jesus.” Harry said, breathing heavily. “Know how to get a bloke at your complete surrender, don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“Well,” Harry chuckled. “I’m at yours, Y/N Picot. I’ve quite literally surrendered myself to you. Completely.”

Y/N couldn’t help her smile.

“Love to taste that,” Harry whispered, rubbing his nose once against hers. “Your happiness.”

Y/N smiled even wider, feeling herself giggle against his lips.

“Kiss me.” Harry breathed. “Always kiss me. And never stop.”

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

The sky overhead was a light orange, outlined with a pretty purple that made the darkening evening sky look like the creation of a marble. Y/N walked in the decent temperature with a dungaree Y/Net, hands in its pockets and her head raised high. Even London seemed to be relaxed, the bustling of people and cars that used to be along the Albert Bridge Road, Battersea Park, and Battersea University, weren’t as overwhelming as they usually were. Y/N made her way across the street, looking down on her phone at the text from Archie Poole.

Archie Meet you outside Gaskell Building. Xxxx

Y/N had been to the LGBTQ+ Society meetings before – maybe two – and each time she was looking more and more forward to going. The whole gang was so nice, welcoming her with open arms whenever she decided to show up. She found herself rather at home with the lot, there was a peace about them that felt like closing her eyes and drifting off into a deep and harmonious slumber. They held a security she had never before experienced with anyone. Before each meeting she had met with Archie beforehand so they could walk inside together. He was the only one she knew by name yet, though she was slowly but surely getting to know all of them. It was good distraction from uni, because as Y/N entered that room Y/N knew she was amongst people who wouldn’t judge her about anything. She was amongst people who knew her biggest secret; the part of herself she had yet to fully accept and tell the world about. And because of this, it felt incredibly good walking to campus that afternoon, knowing she’d meet with these people again.

As she crossed the street, walking up to the gravel walkway leading down to the university, Y/N heard voices further down the street. Thinking nothing of it as there were always loads of people out and about at all hours in London, she continued on her way, humming along to the piece she was learning for her and Teresa’s first set. Rounding the corner, on her way down the path to uni, she was suddenly stopped.

“Y/N!”

She looked over her shoulder, heart racing a bit. There was Becky, waving at her and giving her one of those smiles Y/N could never decide was fake or genuine. With her was El, Blessing and a group of other people Y/N didn’t know the name of. She assumed they were from Becky’s course, or someone El and Blessing knew. Regardless, they were walking in her direction. Her eyes flicked to the Gaskell Building where she saw Archie already waiting, looking down on his phone.

“Hi!” Becky said, still smiling.

“Hi.” Y/N did a once over of all her friends, giving them a small smile before meeting Becky’s eyes again.

“What’re you doing at uni this late?” Becky asked. Y/N noticed how her flatmate’s smile grew wider.

“Heading to the library.” She said. For some reason Y/N felt her heart racing, a small panic rising in her chest as if something was about to go very wrong.

Becky looked at Y/N’s shoulder real quick. “You don’t have your rucksack with you.”

That feeling of something about to head south intensified, because as Becky’s eyes went from Y/N’s shoulders and to her eyes again, she saw something in her eyes that made her stomach turn. “No, I-I’m getting a book.” Y/N said, shoving her hands into her Y/Net pockets. The whole group behind Becky was studying her, taking in her outfit and the careful way she held herself. They must’ve noticed along with Becky that something was off; that Y/N was lying.

Becky cocked her head a little to the side, the frown on her face a fake type of concerned. “And you’re just going to carry it back to the flat? Why not bring something to put it in?”

Y/N felt like throwing up. Becky knew what Y/N was doing there. There was no way Y/N was going to the library wearing normal wear, as it would just be stupid to get dressed up to go loan a book. The only event going on at uni right then was the one Y/N was actually going to. And no one but Y/N and the LGBTQ+ Society knew.

“Y/N!”

She looked over at the Gaskell Building where Archie stood, walking over now. Becky glanced at him, taking him in and quickly recognising him. Archie had stood by the booth at the Freshers Fayre, talking about the LGBTQ+ Society, and Becky had no doubt walked by and caught his face and cause. As he approached, Becky gave him that smile again before looking at Y/N.

“I’ll see you at the flat once you’ve loaned that book, yea?” Becky walked off with that, talking with her friends as she went.

Immediately, Y/N walked in Archie’s direction. Her heart was in her throat, panic prickling along every inch of her skin, tickling her. She felt like scratching all layers off herself till she was no more, till the only thing that was left was her bones. Her bones where she couldn’t hurt in any other way than physical; where she didn’t feel panic; where she didn’t feel the overwhelming need to run far away from Battersea and Becky and everything that made her feet yearn to escape.

“You alright?” Archie asked as they met, voice as feathery light as it always was. “What’re you running for, darl?”

Y/N looked at Becky and her friends who had disappeared from view, when she stared back at Archie, she didn’t know how to properly form words anymore. She was scared, shaken up, and unable to tell him that she wanted to go back home to Hawkley where nothing and no one could find her if she hid away in her boat by the lake.

“What’s up?”

Y/N inhaled sharply. “I…”

Archie nodded, urging her on.

“I’m…” Y/N swallowed, wrapping her Y/Net around herself. “I don’t want them to know.”

Archie knew what Y/N was saying, and his expression softened.

“I’m not ready for them… for her… to know.”

“They don’t.” Archie reassured her. “It’s okay, Y/N. They don’t know unless you want them to.”

But Y/N knew that wasn’t true. She bit her lip, feeling like her world was about to fall into a million tiny pieces she would have a very hard time finding and properly put back together.

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