#i always think it’s wild how he just smokes indoors
Note
Hi love!! I just took a look at the prompt lists u have linked and the prompt “you said what to your teacher?” sounds like it could be absolutely hilarious if u wanna write something for that!! <33333
Notes: OMFG HIYA DAN BABEYYYY!!!! Thank you SO SO much you absolute angel face!!! This was the first thing I tried writing and actually enjoyed and just wrote it all at once in the middle of the night dlkfsajlkgjasdofiewghklsdgj THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU!!!!
.-
You Said What To Your Teacher? | Send Me A Prompt💜
.-
“Do you remember when we were nine and I gave you my last sparkler because Regulus was crying that he wanted your purple smoke bomb and I was left with only my shitty poppers to throw when the ball dropped on New Year’s.”
Sub half way to his mouth and mobile lodged between his shoulder and ear, Sirius gently sets down his sandwich and dabs off the splatter of mayonnaise on his cupids bow as he tries to parse out what in bloody hell his best friend is blabbering on about.
“Oh, hi, Jem. Yeah I’m doing well, mate, thanks for asking. Works the typical grind but I think Minnie is about to give me that promotion any day now.”
“It’s a simple yes, or no answer, arse.” James retorts haughtily, sounding somehow frenzied and buoyant all at once.
“Pardon me, I thought we would just have a normal conversation like typical blokes,” Sirius sniffs, tilting back on his chair and clicking around on his desktop to look at the revised dimensions of a new building his firm was employed to begin constructing in south London. “Now remind me, my sweet. Was this the same New Year’s that you stuffed that stink bomb in the back of my shirt after stomping on it so it’d explode on me?”
“That is neither here, nor there.”
“I still feel the debris on my poor back on especially rough days.”
“You’re a twat.”
“And you’re acting dodgy.”
“I need a favor, and I thought a transactional proposition would be the sort of thing that you corporate types would appreciate.” James jabs, laughter in his words. Sirius just hopes he could picture the middle finger he’s emulating through the line.
“Just because you’ve completed residency doesn’t make you a special snowflake, you do realize this, correct?” Sirius tells him, already shooting a message to Minerva and his team that he’ll be jetting off a bit earlier so he could do whatever it is that James needs.
“Slander! It makes me the most special snowflake, Black. And it eats you up inside.” James retorts, moving away from the receiver to yell something towards one of his interns about a patient or the other.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, gorgeous. Now are you going to ever tell me what it is you need from me, or keep trying to get in my trousers, because listen either option is aces on my end. I’ll just add it to the document I send Lily every week about how I’m so obviously your dream partner.”
“It always just comes back to your burning jealousy that I chose her over you, doesn’t it?” James pretends to sigh forlornly. “Listen, my love. It’s not my fault that some birds are just born prettier than others.”
“Psha, I’m the prettiest fucker you know, Potter.”
“It’s the attitude for me, just absolutely no decorum about you.”
“Is this about that snag with me teaching Haz how to properly curse at a United fan?” Sirius asks, moving to collect his satchel and jacket. “Because I stand by that. We’re a fucking Arsenal family, damn it.”
“We were at brunch when he called that poor woman a weasel faced toad, Sirius.”
“Good man,” Sirius insists, waving goodbye to the secretary who always gives him the most devoted heart eyes.
“Well, speaking of the sprog. I’m stuck here with a new bout of paperwork to get someone transported to us from a hospital in the states, and Lily’s stuck in the maternity ward till at least nine.”
“Ooo, a bit of God father/God son time then??”
“With great power, comes great responsibility,” James says gravely.
“What have I told you about your shitty nerd references and how they give me a rash.”
“Spider-man isn’t simply for nerds you absolute pleb! There’s been three bloody franchisements for him in the past two decades!”
“Imma let Harry eat ice cream for dessert, I reckon.”
“Then you’ll have Lily to answer to,” James warns, still seething from the jibe. “And if you’re taking the bike, can you at least park a block away. This new school we’ve enrolled him into this year is well and proper, and I’d not want them to think that our son’s God father is some sort of ne’er-do-well.”
“You put respect on Rosco’s name, or so help me!”
“Right, right, the only constant love in your life.”
“She’s the only one who understands me.”
“ Whatever, just try and behave decently, will you?”
“Hah, and why wouldn’t I?” Sirius asks as he tosses his helmet into the air, patting Rosco in apology for James’s impertinence.
“Hmm, we’ll see, won’t we.” James says in an irritatingly ominous tone before clicking off the line.
.-
There are a lot of reasons why Sirius could hate James. He could hate him for forcing Sirius to join him on his morning runs, or hate him for his intensely perky attitude about every sodding thing. Hell he could probably hate him for his complete disregard of the mad sport that is American football. But all that withstanding, Sirius reasons that for today he’ll hate him for his cryptic fucking warning and how he knew this would happen and is probably cackling over it as he fills out a new set of discharge papers.
That absolute, unceasing, weasel faced, toad.
The ‘this’ that Sirius is referring to of course is the fact that Sirius is left dumbstruck and gawping as he strolls leisurely into Harry’s third year class, eyes roaming over the small cluster of children who had stayed after hours for extra tutoring and who are now just lounging around, waiting for a guardian to come and pick them up. But instead of first spotting the dark head that belongs to his God son, Sirius’s gaze focusses on a man… A very fit, very golden, very beautiful man. A man that’s all lithe limbs and honey eyes, and a small, quietly encouraging smile as he kneels down to chat with a blonde girl who’s got on a blue tutu and rainbow poncho.
“Fuck you James Potter,” Sirius hisses lowly to himself as he tries to collect his wits about him, and remind himself that flirting with his God son’s actual, fucking professor is not a thing that is approved of.
“Uncle Pads!”
Sirius starts, feeling suddenly grounded as Harry bounds towards him and hugs his torso with a tight squeeze. “Hiya Prongslet,” he says, grinning indulgently as he ruffles a hand through Harry’s wild mop of curls.
“Am I coming to yours then?”
“If you’ll have me,” Sirius winks, tapping the bridge of his specs fondly.
“Brilliant! I’ll just tell Professor Lupin.”
Oh, that’s a very sexy name if Sirius does say so himself, though he tries not to marinate on the fact as he waits patiently while Harry leads that absolutely delicious looking man towards him. And God, the way he’s tipping back his head only slightly to meet Sirius’s gaze— It’s lewd.
“You’re Harry’s God father, yes?” Is the first thing Professor Lupin says to him, stretching out a hand that’s all long fingers stained by ink, and knobby knuckles that Sirius suddenly has the insane craving to nip at.
Jesus, he needs to get himself the fuck together.
“Ahem, yes, yes. I’m that. I’m Sirius I mean— Oh, my name, and erm— I’m also serious that I am his God father, that is a thing.” Sirius rambles, feeling like a complete idiot as he takes hold of Remus’s slender hand into his own, and shakes it with two, awkward pumps— holding onto it for a beat too long.
Sirius repeats, fuck James Potter.
“Right,” Professor Lupin says with something akin to amused. “Well he’s only got his maths to finish tonight, and a bit more reading for history.”
“Oh, good. I’ll definitely help with that. I’m great with numbers.”
“Wonderful,” Professor Lupin nods at him before peering down at Harry and grinning widely. “You did great today, just keep up with your novel for Professor Meadows and you’re splendid. Yeah?”
“Thank you Professor Lupin,” Harry preens, chest puffed out not unlike how James had used to do back in their school days every time they won a footie match.
“Nice meeting you Mr— ah?”
“Black!” Sirius quickly offers, straightening up immediately like a rose bud stretching towards the sun. “Sirius Black.”
The corner of Professor Lupin’s mouth twitches up, and Sirius is struck with the searing need to see the full force of his smile directed towards him— and also to snog it right off. “Remus Lupin, just to make things even.”
And fuck.
Sirius swears— hand on his chest and face to God— that it was a flirtatious inflection that Professor Lupin— Remus— used right then, but before he can even have the chance to toy around with the development, a mother in yoga pants and Starbucks strolls in and Remus walks over to greet her hello, and before Sirius knows it, Harry’s tugging on his hand and dragging him out the room.
Damn it.
.-
Despite his total and complete fail of a first meeting with Harry’s sickeningly attractive professor, the rest of the night turns out to go as perfectly as planned. Otherwise known as them stuffing themselves with greasy pizza, and heaps of ice cream, and staying up an hour past Harry’s typical bed time to play Far Cry instead. And if Sirius contemplates asking him more about this elusive Remus Lupin, he bites down the urge and concentrates on sticking his spoon onto his nose before Harry could beat him in their match.
It’s totally fine.
That is until it’s six o’clock in the ruddy morning and he’s woken up by the loud knocking of his front door, only to be met by the grossly chipper faces of Lily and James— that sort of glow is only a thing that happens after a good shag, and Sirius knows that for fact.
“We brought pasties,” Lily tells him as she sashays indoors, red main of hair billowing in the late autumnal breeze and her voice ringing out like she’s some sort of radio show host.
“How was last night?” James asks him as he toes off his boots and follows Lily to the kitchen.
“Fine,” Sirius gripes, still pissy from James’s cruel joke. “Haz is always great.”
“Mmm, I hope Remus didn’t give you any trouble picking him up, you’re on the paperwork and everything but it’s the first time he ever met you and all.” Lily says, faux lightly as she picks out the plates and turns on the electric kettle.
“You knew!” Sirius accuses emphatically, pointing a heated finger her way and then directing it towards James.
“Knew that he is exactly your type?”
“And that you’d look like a tosser talking to him for the first time,” Lily tacks on, giggling.
“Fuck you, and fuck your weird, married telepathy!”
“Nah, not telepathy mate,” James assures, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re just incredibly predictable.”
“We’d have to be thick not to know that you’d be a total idiot around him— You’re the worst whenever you have to talk to pretty people who you actually want to do more than just screw.”
Sirius feels himself go scarlet. “That is an attack on my person, Evans!”
“Yes, dear. I know.” Lily croons, patting him on the cheek like a doting grandmother. “But does it help that I think you should totally go for it.”
“Lily! He’s our son’s teacher!”
“Only for this year,” Lily shrugs, sitting on a stool that lines the island. “Besides, I really like Remus. We have the same cycling class and he taught me how to make my face into an emoji like I’m a Kardashian.”
“You guys talk about’m like he’s the second coming of Christ,” James harrumphs, doling out their mugs with a scowl.
“He’s just so pretty,” Sirius sighs, beyond dejected. “Did you see that little birthmark on his cheek that looks like a butterfly! And Jesus, his eyes are like a third of his face!”
“Don’t forget how well he fills out those trousers for such a skinny bloke,” Lily adds, mixing the honey into the tea that James had just poured her.
“I alas did not get a chance to give his ass the appraisal it warrants,” Sirius bemoans.
“I very much do not like the idea that my best friend and wife are thirsting over the same bloke.” James sniffs.
“Jealous, lover,” Lily leers, laughing at how James wrinkles his nose at them and kisses his cheek in reassurance. But Sirius doesn’t pay them any of his attention, is too distracted by painting the picture of Remus in his mind’s eye, and how he really does need a second look if he loves himself at all.
“He’s like those caramel lollypops from when we were kids,” he tells them unceremoniously. “But instead of that tart middle, he’s just sweetness through the center.”
“You want to lick him, huh?” Lily asks, smirking at him with a lecherous air.
“I want to lick him until he goes mad and begs me to just flip’m over and—“
“Enough!” James quickly cuts in with a smack of the hand against the countertop. “This man is Harry’s professor, I can’t have these sort of images of him while I go to pick him up after class.”
Sirius jerks forwards, beyond excited. “Then let me pick up Haz from school today, yeah? It’ll give me a chance to speak with Remus!”
“Why do you want to talk to Mr Lupin?”
The three adults turn around at once, met by the image of Harry in the spare uniform he keeps at Sirius’s house— hair sleep rumpled and specs askew.
“Hallo my beautiful boy,” Lily grins, her and James each kissing his cheek and giving his shoulders a squeeze as he sits between them.
“Why do you want to talk to Professor Lupin, Uncle Sirius.” Harry asks again, earnestly as he tares apart his cheese and veggie pasty. “Do you like him?”
“Oh, erm—“ Sirius feels his insides squirm, not sure where to step, afraid that his God son might not appreciate the fact that Sirius’s already planning out a reception party for his impending nuptials with Remus.
“I think it’d be cool if you did.”
And in an instant, Sirius feels his shoulders loosen and his smile go elastic. God he loves this kid. “yeah?”
“Mhmm,” Harry nods, taking a sip of his water to clear his throat. “Ron told me that Professor Lupin use to be married to his Uncle Fabs and then they broke up last year, so I bet he’s sad now. And you’re the best person on the planet and you always have fun! You should make him happy again.”
Sirius’s heart seizes, suddenly needing to be the person to help Remus with anything he could ever need.
“You’re a diamond kiddo, you know that?” Sirius says, standing up to lift his eight year old God son into the air and blowing a raspberry to his cheek. “Shove it to your dad, you’ll be my best man at the wedding, yeah?”
“Imma need to start smoking if he’s gonna be this much of a prat all the time now,” James mutters lowly, making it so Lily crows with laughter.
.-
That afternoon finds Sirius parked back outside Harry’s school, straightening the collar of his jacket and combing a hand through his hair. Though once he steps into the nearly emptied classroom, he’s still slack jawed when Remus looks over his shoulder towards the door and grins at him in such a glimmering sort of way, that it punches Sirius in the fucking solar plexus!
“Mr Black, twice in one week?”
“Hah— Yeah.” Sirius hopes his smile comes out more gentle than a grimace. “It’s not far from my work, actually. So I guess I’ll be around more often.” In fact, the drive is a good twenty minutes from his office, but Sirius doesn’t think that’s really relevant.
“Lucky us.” Remus retorts, looking up and down his frame with a slow, languid sort of gaze that makes Sirius feel filleted right open. “Well I can’t wait to get to know you better.”
“You can know whatever you want,” Sirius practically sputters, wonders if he should try and act cool, especially now that Harry’s wandered over towards them.
“Is that an open offer?” Remus asks, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and lying back leisurely against his desk.
“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
Remus’s beautiful face goes absolutely incandescent right then. “Good.”
“Good,” Sirius repeats, completely devout.
“Oh, before you go,” Remus says, pointer finger raised to freeze them while his other hand fishes into a drawer of his desk. “It’s not a caramel pop, but at least the Tutsi ones are sweet all the way through.”
Sirius feels his jaw completely drop while Remus gently places the stick of the treat into his open hand, tossing him a quick wink before walking off to chat with a new parent who had wandered in.
“Harry— You said what to your teacher.”
“That you said he looked like a caramel pop,” Harry answers, totally owlish and unconcerned.
Sirius contemplates drowning into the lake, but then decides that this is a game he will not lose against Remus.
“All right, Prongslet. Let’s grab us some chocolate eggs and you can tell me everything you know about your dear Professor.”
“Okay, Uncle Pads,” Harry beams.
.-
~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist💜
#WOLFSTAR#REMUS LUPIN#SIRIUS BLACK#WOLFSTAR FLUFF#SIRIUSXREMUS#REMUSXSIRIUS#THE HARRY POTTER SERIES#MARAUDERS#HARRY POTTER SERIES#spilt ink
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
My experience on Apex Legends Mains:
This is just my experience, I can't speak for everyone since people have different experiences and opinions towards certain mains. This is for laughs and fun. Nothing serious and just stupid thoughts. Will go by alphabetical order!
Bangalore:
Really aggressive and quick to run in. Pretty good aim and for some reason the first one to be shot at. I hear her voice saying she's been hit at multiple times before anyone else. Sometimes can't wait for the team to catch up and end up being downed fairly quickly. Uses smokes for the rez but they do it at the wrong place. Forget that they are in the open when rezzing. Pretty slippery to kill due to their passive. Uses their Ultimate anywhere... even when the enemy team can easily go indoors... Overall, they're pretty solid teammates.
Bloodhound:
These feral people I swear to god-. A wild card when teamed up with. Unpredictable and most of the time exceed expectations. Will use Beast of the Hunt when the fight starts but the fight lasts 20s. *HEAVY BREATHING*. Uses scan on places that are empty just in case but then alerts people nearby. Wants to land in densely populated areas. I enjoy their company and they're pretty good at what they work with.
Caustic:
The one teammate who will block entrances with their gas traps. Hell breaks loose when there's 2 in a fight. Teammates are annoyed at them when in an enclosed space. Second most often to rage quit. Will stick traps onto the trident as the one driving will have to cross their fingers that no one shoots them. Will miss their ultimate, no where close to the enemies. Satisfying to play as and a piece of shit to play against. Ironically the most serious legend has the most hilarious moments.
Crypto:
This bad boy... is covered in traps or punched by teammates to a new location for laughs. Underrated. Super helpful but no one notices him. Teammates flock around him and t-bag until he gets back. Will most likely be around Mirage mains for the banter. Will hide behind a rock instead of being inside a building. Hearing the "wrrrrr" of his drone induces anxiety. They know this and try to mess with you. Shooting the drone and failing always gives them the ">:3". Please give these mains the attention they deserve.
Gibraltar:
I love them. They can slam my back and I'd thank them. That being said... they need to be more aware of their surroundings. They have really awful timing when it comes to rezzing. Sometimes forget that his shield is not as invincible and can be passed through. Dies while rezzing. The most protective and supportive teammate. Also really friendly. Praise them because they will die for you. *small smooch to the cheek for gibby mains*
Horizon:
"We can all use a pick me up" heard 99.999% of the match. Love to be on the high ground. Really pleasant to listen to her voice. Seen most often in teams now. Experimenting new strategies. People are still getting used to her so not much to say at the moment. Sweet people with the will to help teammates.
Lifeline:
Tries their best to be helpful but their kit is used poorly. Uses the shield from D.O.C. to fight instead of finding cover to help rez. Speaking of rez, the one being rezzed will be downed again and again until the enemy finally puts down their misery. Will lose the fight when the rez isn't finished and the person gets killed. Most likely to get pissed when another teammate rezzes downed players. Healing during a fight will result in being found and getting blasted with bullets. Will complain when they don't get the loot. Asks for the loot you have so they can later die with it.
Loba:
Queen of getting away. Bracelet is loud enough to attract enemies and they're not aware of this sometimes. Once the black market open you gotta look all areas just in case an enemy team sees or hears the outline. Will open black market 90% of the match no matter where they are. Never deactivates their black market. I have never ever seen it happen. Revenant and Bangalore mains will most likely be teamed up with her. Really helpful teammates and generous when it comes to loot.
Mirage:
These people absolutely adore his humor and banter with everyone. Will use the riding skydive emote the most. Bamboozles actually trick you and you realize how dumb you can be. Makes people waste their bullets and revel in this fact. Rezzing is very nice.... until you hear footsteps then it's extreme anxiety. Has meme potential in anything. Will try to use their ultimate to escape but will eventually be shot at. Half of the fakes run into walls or objects which will have the enemy team look directly at the real one. Goofy and fun to be around but anxiety goes straight up when they're trying to rez.
Octane:
Speedy bois. Hella hard to hit and never stop running. Try their hardest to get teammate banners. Cheer on these devil babies, they do so much. Slurps and throw up loot all in one go. *90's racing music in the background*. Unfortunately abandons their team behind when 1 person is downed. Can't stay indoors for long and keeps moving destinations. Cannot drive the titan for their life and crash land near edges of maps. Makes me grip the mouse and keyboard when they're driving.
Pathfinder:
Will use their grappling hook and either fly over their initial stop or be stuck under the building. I'm the one stuck under the buildings. Hella good at snipers and aerial shots. Is that one main who'd swing into action all cool but will crash face first into a building. Zip lines to fights and gets downed first. Gets impatient when groups don't show up and quit. 2nd most salty people in voice chat. Pretty good for rezzing and retreats. It's over when they have high ground.
Rampart:
Ballistic players who don't know how to chill. Gets the most attention with Shiela but also has their shields at all angles when a fight happens. Prepared for a gun fight at all times. Pair up with trap mains and create so much chaos. Will likely get pissed if teammates don't stay behind shield and get downed. Also underrated af. Shield get left all over the map and turns the fight around if the enemy uses it. Honestly need more Rampart in my life.
Revenant:
Guilty of playing him for his voice. I'm calling myself out here but I'll be damned if I don't drag the rest of the fandom down with me. Will keep climbing up to impossible heights until they get in the perfect spot. Crawly bois, sneaky af. Will forget to use their totem before a fight. This also is the case with their tactical. Throws themselves in the most populated areas as jump master. Pings loot for teammates. Ironic that the character is awful to other people but the mains are really nice people. Love to annoy Lobas and piss off everyone else if their teammates are trash.
Wattson:
Do not be fooled by their cute personalities and awesome skins. They are the most devilish mains. Will do the 90's anime laugh in your face as you get electrocuted. Anger them and the last thing you'll see is a finisher. Will put their Tesla in an open field and get it destroyed in seconds. FENCES EVERYWHERE. You'll try to protect them until you see that they've already won a 1v2-3 fight. Will kill in cold blood if you destroy a fence. Disposes your body by finishing you. Actually scary. The personification of ":)".
Wraith:
2 opposite spectrums. Either a noob or a 1000+ veteran. 1000+ veterans think they are privileged to own the best loot. Will voice chat just to complain and diss on your playstyle. Barely a team player and go off on their own just to die and get angry that "you're trash at the game". Very rarely will be cooperative to win a game. Noobs will have no clue and will follow you around like a lost child. T-bag moments. Will have you be the initiator of everything because the other teammate will just follow along too. Average Wraith players are the most chill players and don't say much but do a lot with their actions.
If I fucked up anyone's expectations then I'm sorry. This list is pretty stupid but if anyone else related to this or has anything else to add then put it in tags or messages!
Thanks for reading my opinions and please stay hydrated, unclench your jaw, don't send hate comments, and get some rest!
#apex legends#apex horizon#apex wattson#apex revenant#apex bangalore#apex wraith#apex pathfinder#apex mirage#apex rampart#apex gibraltar#apex caustic#apex octane#apex lifeline#apex crypto#apex loba
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
I live in the wilds of Pennsylvania, surrounded by trees, birds singing and fresh breezes, and a lake that extends for miles through the wilderness. I love to walk the paths and roadways that surround the lake and hike through the hills and valleys. I love to explore the grounds in search of little caverns or caves, I love rocks and unusual natural things. I collect the native herbs and cut fresh flowers. I live with my husband in a cottage that is near the lake. We don't see many people out this way and since the town is on the other side of the lake we a lot of times take our boat and head to town that way instead of driving the way around. If there are any other people up here they are, summer people, and only stay in the area till around Labor Day and then the land clears of any other people. We have wild animals that come around. Deer, rabbit, and even bear. We have learned to leave them be when they are near and just stay inside until they are gone. We keep all of our rubbish indoors so that we aren't feeding them and they don't come around too often.
But, it is not winter and I was wanting to pack a lunch and head out for a few hours exploring. I was walking down the roadway and enjoying the sunshine on my face and the sound of nature when about a mile from home I noticed an unknown vehicle parked. Everyone that camps up here for the summer has closed down their cabins and has gone for the summer. So I headed over to it and saw a shirtless young man sitting in the back of his van. I walked around to see if he needed any help and he was completely naked. Taking me by surprise, I said, "oh, excuse me". He was built like a brick shit house and handsome at the same time. I looked him over really good and noticed he was also quite hung.
He noticed me staring at him and a smile appeared on his face. I blushed and smiled back. "I'm sorry", I said. He said, "No worries". I went to leave and he asked if I had lived nearby and had a working phone. I said that I did and that he was welcome to use it. He was washing off and then getting dressed when I came across him and he said that he didn't realize that anyone was still up here and that he was happy that there was. His van broke down and he stayed the night in it, I could smell the smoke of a fire that had been wet down to be put out. He told me that he was going to hike around and see if he could either find someone or get to the town on the other side of the lake.
As he dressed, I noticed that he was just as hot clothed, as he was naked and was happy to escort such a good-looking man back to my place. I'll admit, the dirty thoughts were there.
My husband and I have an open relationship and always welcome a third party if that can be the case. We don't get out much because the city is so far away but we do have visitors come to stay with us. Another couple. We switch partners and just have a weekend of sex, drinking, and more sex. We have fires and have sex. We go swimming and have sex. I am a bottom, so I get to get under the other top all weekend long and it is nice to have someone else with my husband's permission. And I definitely want to get under this guy if I can.
We reached our cabin and I let my husband know who this man is and what the situation was and he led him to the phone. We told him who to call and the earliest that the tow man would be able to get out this way was 2 days from today and that he was the only mechanic in town and depending on what was needed for the van, it could take up to a week total for him to get it fixed. In the meantime, we had talked and had decided that I could have sex with him all that I wanted to if the young man was up for that kind of fucking. He was definitely straight but I have a way of getting men into bed that my husband just loves because it is always advantageous to us both.
We invited the young man to stay with us and he agreed since there were no hotels open now either. He didn't seem too concerned about our marriage and he was quite comfortable with himself. I love a confident man and he was really turning me on. He seemed to take a liking to both us and especially to me. I was in the kitchen cooking and he sat down at the table after I had told him to make himself at home. He asked if that meant to me as well. I turned and looked at him surprised and then told him, "yes". Again I blushed and he said it was cool and that he didn't have a girlfriend and could use a few good blowjobs if I were really interested. He knew that I was and I didn't have to say a word more.
We had dinner, all three of us, and then my husband retired to bed. I lit a fire in the fireplace and offered him a glass of wine or a beer. "I have liquor too if you prefer?" He said no because it gives him whiskey dick and he wanted to be hard for the occasion. I blushed again and giggled a little bit too. The excitement was rising up in me as it was rising in pants as he was thinking about having his dick sucked finally. He said it had been a while for him. I thought to myself how can such a great looking stud go without any sex? Then he proceeded to tell me as though he were reading my mind. He told me that he could see it on my face. I had to laugh this time.
"If you would like to get comfortable, please do", I told him. He told me that he is naked a lot when he is home and I assured him that would be no problem at all. He took his clothes off and folded them up neatly and put them on the sofa. I motioned for him to come to lay down on the floor and rest his body on the pillows. He did and as he walked, his manhood bounced freely back and forth as I watched and licked my lips. My mouth was watering like a flood. He noticed and commented that he appreciated the hungry looks from me. It made him feel good. He hadn't had anyone look at him like that for a long time.
We were instantly comfortable with each other. He rested himself upon the pillows and I looked at his thick cock and low hanging balls. I asked if I could taste him and instead, he motioned for me to come up to him and said, "I may be the man in this but I do have respect for you." He looked at me then moved in to kiss me. He kissed me for a long time and I rubbed his cock till it was hard as stone. It grew to a beautiful nine inches long and was thick. I looked down at and he asked if I liked it and I, of course, said "yes". He teased and said that if I played my cards right that he would also fuck me if I wanted. Like I'm going to tell him no.
We kissed a little more then I made my way down his freshly showered neck, to his stomach, his happy trail, then I took him in my mouth. He was softly moaning and exhaling as I did so. I laid my head down on his muscular, inner thigh and teased the head of his cock with my tongue. My lips went around and sucked on it and then down the shaft I went. I could hear him breathing hard and with excitement. I would go all the way down his shaft to his big, low-hanging balls, then make my way back up to the head. I wanted to take my time and enjoy this beautiful stranger. I also wanted to swallow a nice big load.
He motioned for me to move my body up close to his. All I had on was a bathrobe. He noticed that I was naked underneath and said that he thought that was hot. He reached under to grab my ass cheek in his hand and told me that he was going to fuck that for me. I loved his forthright and confidence. He was never with another guy before but he knew how to handle a hungry fuck hole.
As I stroked his cock and gave him head, he was getting more and more excited and moving his hips to meet my face as I went down on him. He stuck his fingertip in his mouth and was rubbing my asshole with it saying how he can't wait to sink himself in a nice warm pussy. It was cool of him to call it that. He let out a moan, shoved my head down on his throbbing cock, and fed me the biggest load of cum. OMG was it tasty too. I kept sucking his dick gently after he erupted. He was ready for another beer and then motioned for us to go up to his room. We climbed the stairs to his room and he shut the door behind us. Our room is on the first floor and he was on the second floor on the other side of the house. This is the room that the other top and I use when the couple comes to visit.
He dropped my robe around my ankles. I was a little shy because I am a little bigger around the waist. He told me that he loves thick chicks and that I was perfect. He teased and said that he likes a little more titty but....He instantly subdued my insecurities when he picked me up, kissed me, then laid me on the bed, spreading my knees and laying on top of me. He continued to make out with me until he was fully erect again and told me that I was in a lot of trouble because I already made him cum and that it takes him a lot longer to cum the second time around. Yeah, like I would have a problem with that, I told him and he giggled and slid himself deep inside my cock hungry hole.
He stayed that whole week and he fucked me every night.
He would visit often until he met a nice young lady and then the visits dwindled down. I'll always remember that first day we met.
by Marshall Bosley
(I do not own the rights to the pic)
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dr. Chilton Hates Camping [NSFW]
K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Blowjobs
For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo!
Because for some reason this picture always makes me think Frederick is packing to go camping, and he would look exactly this miserable if he was.
1,671 words
Feathery tops of pine trees swayed blue-green in a gentle northern breeze off the lake, the late summer air buzzing with a chorus of insects and birds. Golden light cast a hazy glow over your backcountry campsite as the sun began to sink in the sky. It was beautiful and serene. Perfect, even.
For the number of fancy galas and boring dinners Dr. Chilton dragged you to, it seemed only fair that he tolerate going camping.
“Gah! Die, you blood-sucking fiend!” Chilton shrieked, and a smacking sound echoed off the lake. He grunted. Heavy, annoyed footfalls paced across the camp.
That was your first mistake—thinking Dr. Frederick Chilton shared your notion of “fairness” or the ability to tolerate things with fewer than five stars. All day since backpacking to the primitive campsite he complained there were rocks in his shoes. He was tired. His bag was too heavy.
A small fire crackled in the center of a bare clearing in the trees near the lake shore. You dropped a larger log onto the tinder as the flames grew hungry enough to bear it, and excitedly rifled through a stuff sack for the makings of s'mores you’d packed.
There was a hissing noise behind you, and you choked on the bitter chemical air, covering your mouth as Chilton’s nuclear cloud of bug spray wafted over to you.
“Can you not spray that upwind of me, please?” you coughed.
He glared at you miserably and swatted another mosquito.
“This is not a fair trade. The things I bring us to are enjoyable. They are civilized, and... indoors!” Swat! “It is freezing, and—and damp, and these damned bugs want to drain me like a phlebotomist in training!” Swat!
“Sit by the fire,” you suggested. “It’s warm and dry, and the smoke repels bugs.”
“It does a better job repelling my lungs.” He stood taller and temperamentally fussed with the buttons of his wool peacoat (because why would he have worn sensible technical gear when he could look stylish). “If you need me... I shall be inside! Waiting until tomorrow when we can leave!” He turned on his heel and stormed into the small, orange tent, and gave his best effort at slamming the nylon zip-up door.
You speared a fat marshmallow onto the end of a stick and sat by the fire, making a s’more while grumbling to yourself about what a baby he was being. This could have been a nice trip if he wasn’t so—ugh!
By the time you finished the crunchy melty treat, you felt much better. It got your blood sugar up, anyway. Sighing, you followed him into the tent.
Chilton had his reading glasses on and was squinting at the glowing screen of his phone as he held it in the air trying to get service… which clearly was not working. You were way off the grid.
The tent flat unzipping caught his attention, and he gave you such a pathetic look as you ducked inside. His always-perfect hair was droopy where it usually stuck up and fluffed up where it was usually slicked down.
“It is damp and cold in here too,” he whined. “And the floor! The floor is lumpy. How will I sleep?”
Your heart softened at the sight of him. He was just so adorable it made your cheeks burn. Crawling onto the sleeping bag he was sitting on, you reached out and gingerly plucked a twig from his hair.
His eyes widened in mortification, and he quickly patted down his head for any other horrible bits of nature that might have latched onto him. “This is not my idea of fun,” he said.
“Well, I’m happy that you tried it for me. Really, I’m impressed you actually came.”
His eyes darted down to your lips, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting, and one cheek twitched briefly into almost a smile. “You wanted to do this,” he said gently. Of course he was going to come.
You leaned forward to close the distance and kissed him. His eyes shut and he moaned softly into your mouth, his frazzled, exhausted, itchy body locking onto you as source of comfort like a heat-seeking missile.
“You taste like chocolate,” he murmured, lips breaking away just far enough to breathe your air, his forehead pressed against yours.
“Have you ever had s’mores?”
“Of course I have,” he answered, a little offended at the implication. He was not so sheltered and elitist to have never roasted a marshmallow. “Not since I was a child…”
“I can make you one. Or if you come out, we can sit by the fire and make them together.”
He thought about it. You had straddled onto his lap, and your body heat was all the more enticing against the annoyingly wet air and cold floor. He was feeling a little less awful about the whole situation.
“But first…” you purred, hand running down the front of his shirt, continuing lower, “I was wondering how I could thank you. Since you’re doing this for me… maybe I can do something for you?”
He inhaled sharply, Adam's apple bobbing as your hand reached the front of his pants, searching between his legs. His eyes, as blue-green as the pines, fixated onto yours, but then rapidly blinked and darted around his surroundings.
“You want to do that outdoors?”
“We’re inside a tent.”
And yet he could hear squirrels chittering as if they were right inside the tent with them. The thin nylon was hardly a barrier at all, and it all felt a bit shockingly exhibitionist. But then, no one was around for miles apart from birds and squirrels who could see or hear you. The devilish idea stirred him that he could fuck you right out in the open if he wanted, like two wild animals rutting in the woods.
Exhaling a deep, breathy growl, he grabbed your face and pulled you back into a burning, fiery kiss. You grinned as he broke it, eyes still burning into you as he pushed you down to his belt.
He leaned back on his elbows, taking the passive role and letting you unbuckle his pants and slip his cock out of his underwear. He drew a sharp, quick breath in through his teeth as your tongue made contact with the tip of his head, and let it out long and easy and shuddering as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfed him. You nursed his semi-soft cock, enjoying being able to hold all of him in your mouth at once so easily, sucking and teasing it, feeling his arousal grow—his pulse getting stronger, throbbing under your tongue as his cock lengthened.
When he finally reached his full, exquisite hardness, he was too big to take in his entirety without choking. You pumped his shaft with your hand, bobbing in his lap as he let out helpless little whimpers, stroking your hair tenderly. He was always vocal in bed, but especially when he was feeling needy. He really needed to be comforted now, and you relished every shiver and moan of pleasure that told you you were doing a good job.
His fingers spasmed reflexively, pulling your hair as you took him deeper, opening your throat until you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes watered with the effort, but it turned you on feeling how much he loved it. You wanted to please Frederick so much he’d remember this trip fondly for a long time. You worked him with everything you had, twisting your hand around his shaft as you pumped it, flicking your tongue over the underside of his cock, stroking his balls, and hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him into oblivion, listening to his gasps of pleasure grow louder as he came completely undone.
His eyes squeezed closed and he threw his head back. You felt his abdominal muscles tense and twitch, and at last he could not hold his hips still and passive, and they began to jerk up into your mouth, pulsing at a rapid and shallow pace. You matched his tempo, bobbing faster on his cock, and within three shallow thrusts he shook and came with a forceful whimpering cry of your name. His hips kept pulsing and twitching as hot, salty cum flooded your tongue.
He fell back on the sleeping bag, panting. You held him in your mouth until you were sure you had licked him clean, then buttoned him back up.
He watched you lick your swollen, shiny lips with satisfaction, admiring your beauty and your skill at making him feel… amazing. It still surprised him sometimes when he stopped to think about it—that you had chosen him. Out of anyone in the world, he was the one lucky enough to have you. It really was incredible.
“I begin to understand how my primitive ancestors got by,” he hummed.
You laid yourself next to him and he happily made room for you to curl up under his arm, wriggling as you settled beside him. He was so warm, like a furnace. Funny and charming. Overdressed. Wickedly smart. God, you loved him. The woods were the last place he should be, you laughed to yourself at your own foolishness in dragging him there. He was not at all the masculine adventure type. There was no hidden rugged side deep down waiting to spring out. But it made you want to take care of him all the more. Your stuffy, helpless, whiny, suit-wearing, scotch-sipping Frederick, who braved the wilderness just to please you.
You kissed him again, warm and tender in his arms. He smiled, and your heart skipped a beat.
“Come on,” you sat up and crawled to the front of the tent, beckoning him. “Douse yourself in bug spray, and lets sit by the fire, stuff ourselves with s’mores, and watch the sun set over the mountains.”
“I suppose...” he considered it, eyes narrowed cautiously, “it does not sound that horrible.”
#Frederick Chilton#Frederick Chilton x reader#Raúl Esparza#Kinktober#Hannibal#smut#smutfic#my writing#I WROTE NON-BURNED CHILTON FOR ONCE!! YAAAY!#I've been on a bit of an angsty post-canon kick lately eh?#I ALSO!!!#WROTE!!!#A ONE SHOT!!!!#FLAWLESS VICTORY#(not really edited forgive me)#thatesqcrush kink bingo
92 notes
·
View notes
Text
Impression
“So, they don’t know they’re brother and sister yet?”
Billy rolled his head a little from Steve’s shoulder to look up at his face, chocolate drop eyes concentrating on the Harrington family television. This was the third time they were going to watch through all the Star Wars movies because Steve, stupidly brilliant pretty boy baby face Steve Harrington, still didn’t quite get it, but wanted to so he wouldn’t be teased by his pack of almost teenage dweebs anymore.
Billy understood the movies. It wasn’t that hard. And really any excuse to spend another Friday night in Steve’s arms, on his stupidly huge couch with one too many decorative cushions was more than okay. They were just a tangle of limbs, snacks and drinks on the coffee table in preparation so neither would have to move more than to just change the video tape over or use the bathroom.
There were far worse ways to spend a Friday night than trying to get your secret boyfriend to understand the plot of Star Wars.
“No, not in this one. That happens in the third one.”
“Oh! The one with the little bears?” Steve’s eyes sparkled a little when he remembered something. It was a cute little trait Billy had picked up. It happened over a lot of things, mostly small and inconsequential, but it was nice to see it so close up.
“Well, they’re Ewoks, not bears but yeah, that one.” Billy sat up a little to light a cigarette. Usually he wouldn’t smoke indoors, but Steve’s mansion was always empty and he didn’t seem to mind. Plus it was winter outside.
Fuck Indiana winters.
“But then why do they look like bears if they’re not bears?”
Steve's hand was warm on Billy’s lower back, as he inhaled and chuckled on the exhale. “Because it’s space? Shit can be called anything if it’s not real.”
The blank blink Billy received made him chuckle all over again, want to pinch Steve’s soft cheeks and call him an idiot between kisses to that natural pout and confused forehead. “But they’re bears though…”
“One movie at a time doll face. You’re missing the plot of this one.”
Billy settled back down and there was no more talk of bears. There weren’t many questions at all really. During the first viewing Steve had been a barrage of whys and who’s that and why is that important and why does that guy in the black cape get his own music, trying to walk before he could run in understanding what the plot was and trying to guess where it was going. Now he was quiet, just watching, sharing Billy’s cigarette for as long as it lasted. It was nice, homely. Something Billy wasn’t quite used to yet. But the movie played and he was happy. It was getting easier to be happy around Steve. Just be himself.
The phone rang during Han Solo’s big scene. It ruined the emersion a little bit. Billy would never admit out loud he had a crush on Han Solo, because he wasn’t stupid, but he felt that everyone had a little bit of a flutter for him. Surely? Right?
Steve reached back to where the phone was sitting on a side table. It was still so weird to Billy that his house had more than one, but the perks of being rich. More than one phone, a massive television and a personal VCR player. A whole bathroom for just downstairs. Billy sat up again, reached for an open soda and paused the movie as Steve answered, tucking the dark green rectangle under his chin.
“Harrington residence…. Oh, hi Mr Hargrove…”
Billy froze dead on the spot for just a second, his blood running cold, eyes probably wide and frantic as he grabbed Steve’s wrist to check the time on his watch. Curfew had been half an hour ago. He’d been so wrapped up in the movie and Steve and just being content and happy for once he’d completely forgotten to keep an eye on the time. And now he was going to get it for sure. The only reason he’d been allowed over anyway, to spend time with another boy, was because of the Harrington name. It held a lot of prestige in this dumb hick town. And Neil was a stone cold sucker for keeping up appearances.
Billy went to move, to get up and find his boots he’d kicked off hours ago and drive back as fast as he fucking could, but Steve put a hand on his leg, gave him the eyes, pushed down slight but firm. Stay.
“Yeah he’s here… We’re just working on a school project Mr Hargrove I-...”
Steve’s regular phone voice was equal parts butter wouldn’t melt innocent and boardroom professional. It was a wild mix. Billy stayed frozen to the spot, giving eyes he wasn’t sure weren’t completely insane. The longer he stayed, the more trouble Billy would be in, they both knew this, and yet Steve just rubbed his thigh like it was no big deal. Like he wasn’t on the phone to someone who had broken Billy’s wrist in the past for breaking curfew when he was thirteen.
That had been by half an hour too. And because Billy had been at another boy's house.
“Oh, you want to speak to my father? Sure. I’ll just pass you over, hang on...”
Billy just sat back and watched, now in total fascination and complete confusion as Steve tossed the handset back and forth to himself like he was passing a basketball in warm up drills, as he swung his long legs off the couch and stamped his sock covered feet on the floor, rocked and rolled in place to make the couch springs squeak in certain ways, talk muffed things that weren’t even real words into the back of his arm, before tucking the phone on his shoulder again on the opposite side.
“Yes?” The voice that came out was a whole octave deeper. It still sounded like Steve, but it didn’t. Each letter was far too pronounced to be how Steve would say it. He grinned at Billy, listening to Neil talk through the handset. “I apologise for that, but the boys have been working very hard all evening, I don’t think they’ll be done anytime soon. Maybe it would be best for their educations if William were to come home tomorrow?”
The smirk Steve shot across the couch was something wicked. It was so clear he’d done this many times before. Billy had never heard Harrington Sr, had only seen him in that one photo in the hall, but the voice Steve was using matched the figure pretty perfectly. He even molded his body to fit more in an upright posture, arms and legs straight, face more square somehow. Morphed into what Billy assumed was a perfect characterisation of his father. Even scratched his top lip all pretentious like Harrington Sr looked like he would do.
“I understand your concerns Mr Hargrove but I assure you this is for their best interests. There’s quite the setup on my dining room table, and heaven knows my son needs all the help he can get.”
Billy finally started to relax again, sinking back properly into the cushions, when Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, mimicked Neil yammering on with his free hand. Neil was a totally different person when he spoke to people he respected, tried to always get on their good sides no matter what town they moved too. It was a show of course but no one really knew that.
"I assume the reason he didn't call is because it wasn't planned Mr Hargrove, boys will be boys after all. William is perfectly fine here. More than welcome to stay, he's a good influence on my Steven."
Steve reached out to the coffee table for the half empty pack of Billy's Marlboros and his lighter, hitting one out as he balanced the phone on his shoulder.
"Now if you don't mind, I do have some important work to get back too. Please refrain from calling unless it's an emergency. We will do you the same courtesy. Goodbye."
With that, Steve stretched his body back to hang the phone back on his receiver and light up the cigarette, laughing at Billy’s expression which must have been a weird mix of everything but mostly, what the hell was that?!
“What?” He chuckled around the puff of smoke. “You think I’ve never pretended to be my dad on the phone before. Gotta keep the school off my back somehow.”
Billy snatched the cigarette without malice, just for a calming inhale, just to let it sink in that stupidly brilliant pretty boy doll face secret boyfriend Steve Harrington was actually something of a genius. Just to let it sink in that Billy was free for the night. Without a second question asked. All because of a voice and a name.
God, small towns were weird with their hierarchies.
He passed the cigarette back and settled back into his previous spot on Steve’s shoulder, felt lean arms come back around before one of them started the movie again.
“Your old man’s a fucking dork by the way,” Steve muttered, stubbing out the filter in an ashtray after a few minutes. It made Billy laugh and squeeze Steve’s thigh, just where his hand was.
“I know man, I know.”
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
Each Eye (4/8)
Kylo was the most feared boss in the entirety of New York City. They said that the crime families were no more, that they had disappeared with the end of an era. You knew it wasn’t true, you saw first hand. The families didn’t disappear, they simply went underground, adapted.
Lucky for you, your man, and your family, no one could ever get rid of crime. Not really.
Mob Boss!Kylo x Reader
Word count: 8.5k Warnings: N*FW, mentions of violence/murder
Also available on AO3!
--------------
It was true, what they said. About Kylo, about him being a monster. He was ruthless, focused, merciless. He had some wild thing living in his veins, simmering just underneath his skin, some evil harrowing thing with sharp teeth and curled claws and venom dripping from both sets of razors.
You hadn’t tamed the beast, not by any means, but you certainly did a good job of keeping him occupied, you thought to yourself when the two of you had finished, your sore body littered with bruises and bites, sweet soft blooms in the wake of hard hands and grips too tight.
To your own credit, Kylo’s body didn’t fare much better; scratched to high heavens from your nails, bleeding in some parts from the force of it, dark splotches and marks all across his chest. But from his spot on the bed, whole frame shoved up against you, his fingers trailing in lazy patterns on your stomach as he kissed your cheek rosy from exertion in the afternoon sunlight, he didn’t seem to mind.
You took in a deep breath, let it out with a thoughtful hum, rolled off the bed and pulled him by the hand into the bathroom.
Another shower would be excessive, but a wipe-down was absolutely necessary, and he sat on the edge of the bathtub, beckoned you forward so you could stand between his legs.
“Good?” You asked, settled between his knees as he turned the faucet of the tub on, dunked a soft cloth underneath the spray when the water ran warm enough.
“You’re always good.” He said with intense concentration as he began dutifully wiping you down.
“I meant you, my perfect darling. Are you good?” You asked, making his hand still for a moment from the praise as he turned those eyes up towards you, always looking up at you. He quirked the barest hint of a smile, just the flash of a dimple, and you knew he was preening, blushing from your words.
“I’m breaking out into song and dance.” He replied, deadpan humor of his making you laugh brightly, which in turn made him blush even more, blushing that he could make you laugh.
You couldn’t help but grin, card your fingers through his messy locks. They were clean from being washed only that morning, but the waves had tangled up in the process of him fucking the life out of you. Or maybe into you? Who knew, only time would tell.
“What are you wearing tonight?” You asked, partly because he seemed to be in a chatty mood, giving more than a one-word response. You liked when he was talkative, when he was smiling the way he was. It showed off those dimples you loved so dearly.
“I have a new velvet suit, was thinking about breaking that in.” He shrugged, big brown eyes filled with soul as he searched your face for your response.
You appraised him for a moment, how handsome he was. The way you could see the damage from the scar, how it had just very nearly missed his eyeball, how it had just very nearly avoided blinding him there. You leaned down slightly to kiss the high point of his cheekbone, where the split marred the flesh, as he carefully, adoringly, smoothed the cloth down the backs of your thighs, your calves.
“Velvet.” You finally said, pleased with his choice. “You know I love velvet. I’ll wear it too.” You decided, and he perked up, looking altogether too young, painfully young, in that way he sometimes did when he was excited.
“The red dress?” He licked his lips and you laughed just a little at his eagerness.
“No, I was thinking the purple.” You were sorry to say, tugged on his ear just a little and Kylo rolled his eyes fondly. He continued his ministrations while you hummed in thought, chewed on the inside of your cheek. Something had really been bothering you, from the moment you had regained the ability to form coherent thoughts, “I wonder what murder it was.”
“Hm?” Kylo asked, too occupied with pressing his thumbs into the red marks he left on your hips, occupied with cleaning your stomach.
“Pigs said there was a murder. I wonder who did it.” You specified, and he shrugged.
“It wasn’t any of our people, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” He said, and you chuckled, leaned down for a kiss one more.
“Do you think it could be the same person involved with sending those guys to rough up Larry?” You asked, as his hands dropped the cloth and he pulled you closer closer closer, until you were in danger of knocking him backwards into the tub, in danger of making him lose his balance as his lips were seemingly magnetized to your own.
“Yeah.” Kylo said, eyes slipping closed as you met him halfway and made out with him for a little bit before he pulled away with a low growl in the back of his throat, stopping himself from getting hard all over again. “And it probably is. I don’t entirely believe that it’s not Hux. No one else has the nerve to fuck around with us like that. Maybe we can talk more about it after dinner, I can call some guys and see what’s up, they can get back to me after we eat.” Kylo continued, and your eyebrows nearly shot up at such a speech.
You stepped back, gave him enough room to stand up, and it never failed to amuse you just how tall he was.
So tall and yet he bent – physically and metaphorically – to your will, to meet you.
You turned around to face the mirror, the long clean mirror that covered the wall of the bathroom, and smiled at the reflection of your naked bodies. Kylo stood behind you, and yet he was still so wide that you could see his sides poking out from behind you, watched as his hands slid around your stomach to hold you.
“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You asked, and he kissed your cheek.
“No.” He gave your lower stomach a little smack, before walking away in search of underwear, the chill of the room finally starting to settle in after being so hot from sex.
“But I want to know.” You complained playfully, laughing when a clean pair of your own underwear was chucked at your head.
“Tough shit.” He said, and though he didn’t smile, his eyes shimmered with a lightheartedness of his own.
You snatched them before the cotton could hit you in the face, and stepped into them while he watched with his own approving glare.
“Who d’ya think you are? Talkin’ to me like that?” You folded your arms in front of your chest, stalking towards him in manner that had him backing up out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
“Love you.” He said and you just snapped your teeth at him, making him snatch you around the waist and circle you around and around, to music that wasn’t there, dip you low so he could kiss your laughing mouth.
You eventually got dizzy, and pushed at his chest lightly with a big smile.
“Yeah yeah.” You rolled your eyes, pinched his ass when he set you right, “Go wrap yourself in velvet why don’t you?”
--------------
Being that it was Sunday, Dopheld was available to drive you both to the restaurant. You and Kylo were snuggled up in the backseat of the car, you in your fur coat and matching hat, and he in his suit, his hand on your knee, possessive and hot.
You had to admit, you were anticipating something overly expensive and exclusive, like Le Bernardin, or Eleven Madison Park, so when Dopheld pulled the Bentley up to a rustic looking jazz club, you were both very excited and amused.
Kylo looked to you, gauging your approval for the place, and you nodded simply.
“Thank you, Dopheld.” Kylo said, before promptly getting out of the car and holding the door open for you.
Your driver only gave a bright smile in response, before driving away to do goodness knows what. Kylo offered you his arm and you took it easily, your heels careful of the ice that had started to form on the pavement.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ren! What an absolute pleasure it is to have you celebrate your special night with us.” The hostess at the door of the restaurant said when the two of you walked in, “Please allow me to take your coat, shall I escort you to our private room?”
Once again, Kylo surprised you by shaking his head as you shimmied out of your furs, handed them over with care.
“No, no thank you.” He replied, voice measured, deep. “We’d like our table to be right with everyone else.”
The hostess was undoubtedly surprised as well, but she was at least decent enough to not be so flustered. You felt bad, the poor woman had probably arranged for something special that would now go to waste. Kylo didn’t care, and stood there expectantly, waiting for the host to finish speaking with a waiter or two, to rearrange the seating.
“Right this way.” The woman said eventually, and Kylo gestured for you to go first, him trailing behind.
It wasn’t until you gave a habitual passing glance out the door, that you realized Kylo had asked Knuckles and Slip to keep watch over the evening. You smiled in their direction, knowing they could see it, before going deeper into the restaurant.
It was dark outside now that the sun had gone down, but you were sure it’d be black as night in this place no matter the time of day. It was a true and proper lounge, with a fully stocked bar encased in dark wood, small round tables covered in a white cloth and decorated with a tea-light candle and bouquet of flowers were arranged so that patrons and waiters alike could weave through the paths with ease. It was smoky, one of the last lounges that allowed smoking indoors you were impressed, and the lights were all dimmed low and golden, except for the lights which illuminated a stage. The thick red curtain was closed for now, but Kylo was checking his watch, so you knew something must be starting soon.
The host brought you to your table, a prime spot in view of the stage. Not too close that you’d be craning your neck all evening, but not too far away that many heads could get in your way. It was even close to the open dance floor, which would no doubt be filled with sentimental couples. You were already planning on being a sentimental couple yourself, as Kylo pulled your chair out for you.
“Who’s preforming tonight?” You asked the hostess, who glanced at the stage and then at her own watch.
“We’ve received a special request for the evening, it’s just our house band but they’re doing covers of Sinatra songs.” She replied, and you couldn’t help but suck in a breath.
“You’re so good, you know that?” You turned to Kylo, grasped his hand in an adoring squeeze as he shifted his chair to sit next to you as opposed to across from you.
You pressed your side right up against his as the host left, clearly wanting to give you space.
“Oh I’m even better, just wait.” He said in a rare display of cheeky confidence.
When the food arrived, it was a smorgasbord of all your favorites. It felt like the courses were never-ending, between the appetizers and the soup and the main dish with all its sides. Every bite was somehow more delicious than the last, and you wanted to know how Kylo had found such a place, such a hole-in-the-wall.
You wondered if it was in his jurisdiction, or if the owners just knew of him, like over at John’s.
Almost as soon as the food arrived, did the band get up on stage. Dressed like they were from the 1940s, transporting you back in time. Not in that hokey way of poorly made wigs and generic fedora hats, but in a considerate way, a thoughtful way, attention to detail in the history of the fashion, respecting the times.
You hummed and tapped your foot along to the music as you and Kylo stared into one another’s eyes, being obnoxiously in love without a care in the world. He fed you, lifted your fork up to your lips, and you carefully avoided smudging your lipstick.
You’re both relatively quiet while you eat, too wrapped up in each other’s gaze and more than happy to simply enjoy the music. The singer did a wonderful job imitating the songs, putting his own spin on some of the intonation every now and again in a way you appreciated. But eventually, the last course was taken away, and you had the urge to dance.
One look towards the dance floor had Kylo rising from his seat and offering you his hand, which you gladly took, and he walked you to the middle of the floor. You weren’t the only couple there, not by any means – it felt like half the tables were empty of people instead swaying back and forth.
When the big band orchestra played up Always, you couldn’t help but grin and blush, duck your head just a little, just enough for Kylo to tip your chin back up to meet his gaze through lidded eyes. His arm slid around your waist, his other moving to grasp your hand as he turned you round and around on the dance floor.
And people always said you were the sentimental one, you couldn’t help but think as the singer up on the stage crooned out your wedding song. Kylo himself was starry-eyed, chewing on his lip, and you didn’t deny him a kiss, didn’t deny either of you a soft, romantic kiss.
The lounge was hazy and smooth, and though you’re surrounded by other couples in diamonds and pearls, you feel like the luckiest woman on earth, the only woman on earth.
“How come you wanted us in the middle of everyone?” You asked softly, a small smile on your lips as the two of you waltzed slowly to the music.
“I saw some familiar faces when we walked in. Figured they wouldn’t cause a scene if we were out in the open.” Kylo said, and your brow creases slightly.
“Where?” You asked, and Kylo’s jaw clenched, he rotated you both around so that you’re facing the opposite direction.
“Just past the big pillar.” He said, low in your ear, as his lips brushed against the back of your cheek, pressed a chaste kiss to your skin. You hummed and let him keep kissing as you searched for who might be there to bother you, when your eyes landed on them.
The brother sister duo of Roisin and Connor were chatting near the great marble pillar which supports the ceiling of the ritzy lounge, and you held your eye contact when they took notice of you noticing them. They looked good, you had to admit. The deep green satin dress complimented Roisin’s ginger hair and freckled complexion beautifully, and you couldn’t ever recall a time where you didn’t see Connor in a suit. His wasn’t velvet like Kylo’s, but it was still tailored well enough and had big enough shoulder pads to broaden him out a bit.
“Fuck.” You breathed when they decided you’ve been staring too long, “They’re Irish. And they’re coming over.”
Kylo seemingly didn’t mind too much, not in the moment anyway, and just kept dancing with you as they made their way across the floor, joining in and dancing with one another to not seem so conspicuous.
You and Kylo did your best not to look suspicious, not to look alert, not even when they wound up dancing right next to you. Seemingly nothing but two couples, strangers in this great big world, happening to steal a piece of the beauty of the moment.
That is until the song ended, and there’s polite applause for a song well sung, until they turned to face you as the man took a big swig of water and shared a small anecdote that has the crowd chuckling in amusement while the band set up for the next song.
“Kylo, (Y/N).” Connor kept his voice low, at least had the decency to nod his head in respect, “Fancy meeting you here.”
“What do you want?” Kylo cut right to the chase, and Roisin laughed in that quiet, elevated way people of high society laugh.
“A dance.” She said, and you’re prepared to claim your man right in front of her, when she surprised you by looking right at you and specifying, “With (Y/N).”
“No.” Kylo said immediately, grip around your waist tightening. But something in Roisin’s appraising gaze is calculating enough to interest you.
“One dance.” You said, that gaze a challenge. You’ve never been known to back down from a challenge.
Kylo and Connor both exchanged glances, and Kylo’s jaw worked and worked and worked to keep his mouth shut, as he nodded, as they both walked to the sidelines.
He’s not happy about it, not happy one fucking bit, but you wanted to know what’s going on. Roisin’s skin was soft where her dress wasn’t covering her, thin spaghetti straps showing off her toned arms. She assumed the leading position, which you found you didn’t mind.
“Roisin, is everything okay?” You asked, brushing a strand of curled hair off of her shoulder.
“No, they’re not. We’re here to serve as a warning.” Roisin said with a bit of a sigh, and you nodded.
Warnings were messy, they always were. You didn’t have a gun on you, didn’t think you’d need it, but you knew Kylo had three on him right now, he could intervene if he needed to. You may not have had a gun, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t kill her right then, right there.
And you would, but you wanted answers first.
“Just tell me something first, is it Hux?” You asked, as she twirled you slowly, dipped you down down down, stomach fluttering from it as she raises you back up, all too similar to how Kylo had in the bathroom.
“Is what Hux?” She asked, and you didn’t really appreciate that, playing dumb.
“The person committing all the murders, sending guys to harass our business owners?” You spelled it out, gave her that much leeway.
Except.
She faltered the dance for a moment as she frowned, her pale brows knitting as she regarded you for a moment. In your peripheral, you saw Kylo and Connor tense, incredibly tense, as they watched the two of you on the dance floor.
“Wait – we thought you were the ones committing the murders and sending guys to harass our people.” She said quietly, her hands reclaiming your waist and palm, resuming the dance once more.
It wouldn’t do to draw attention, not now.
“We haven’t sent anyone anywhere.” You shook your head, now thoroughly unhappy with the proceedings of this Midtown disaster. “Shit, you’ve got people dying too?” You asked, and she groans in the back of her throat, nods.
“Yeah, fuck. Well this makes it awkward.” She sighed, careful to avoid stepping on your toes as she spun you around, and ahh there it is.
“Makes what awkward?” You prompted, just to get it out of the way.
“I’m supposed to kill you. Hux thinks Kylo’s crossed a line, one of his favorite suppliers was found carved up last night.” She explained, and you hummed thoughtfully, because really by all accounts his reaction makes sense given his perspective.
Too bad it’s the wrong one.
“If you’d like you can give it your best try.” You offered Roisin, who looked at you like you’ve got three heads.
“You’re going to let me murder you?” She asked, and you laughed brightly, shook your head.
“I’m going to let you try.” You specified, making her grin.
Many people have tried.
Roisin reached in between her cleavage and pulled out the smallest little gun you’ve ever seen, one that probably could only hold three or four bullets, one that she pressed against your hip, leaned in close, her perfectly applied lipstick very close to your cheek. The metal was cold, cold enough that you could feel it through the velvet of your dress, and she hummed, her lashes tickling your skin.
Before she can cock the trigger and plant her literal kiss of death, you reached into your hair and pulled out the long needle that you’ve used as a decorative pin to hold your locks up, and swiftly pushed it between her ribs, penetrating that pretty green satin. The needle slid into her flesh like she’s made of butter, and you couldn’t help but smile just a little as you turned your face to press a kiss to her own cheek, leaving the pretty imprint of your deep red lips.
“Damn.” She chuckled with a wince, as your hand was now pressed right against her skin, as you let go of the needle. It remained deep inside her, puncturing one of her major arteries. She tensed up immediately from the pain, “You really are fast.”
��Don’t beat yourself up about it.” You whispered, “You can keep that.” You tap the pretty handle of the needle, encrusted with jewels that you’ll be sad to miss.
But if you pulled it out of her right now, then she’d die practically on the spot, and that would cause a scene. You very well couldn’t have that.
Not on your anniversary.
“I suggest you leave.” You said, as the song ended, her one dance up. You turned to the singer and applauded along with everyone else, as Roisin started to cough. You didn’t bother looking at her again while saying, “And if you make it long enough, when you’re out of the hospital tell Hux we didn’t send anyone to do anything. This was in self-defense.”
“Fair enough.” Roisin groaned.
“Actually,” You said, stopping her before she could get too far, “I do really want to keep this, if you don’t mind.”
With wide eyes she was unable to stop you from reaching out and pulling the needle out of her stomach. Connor rushed over, as she immediately doubled down onto herself, clutching at the rapidly growing dark splotch in her dress.
He hurried the two of them out of the lounge, with only a minor commotion. The way Roisin was hunched over herself made it look more like she was suffering from food poisoning than a stabbing.
“Do you mind if I borrow this?” You asked a near-by table for their napkin as Kylo wove through the crowd like a shark.
You gave the man seated at the table the most dazzling charming smile you could, and he didn’t think twice about handing over his black cloth napkin. You gratefully took it right when Kylo showed up, slid his arm around your waist and shot the meanest glare he was able. You only kissed Kylo’s cheek, and having now procured the napkin, returned to the dance floor with him, leaving the man in the dust.
You wiped the needle off on the cloth and were about to twist your hair back up when Kylo lightly stopped your wrist.
“Keep it down.” He said, and you smiled, slipped the needle inside his jacket pocket. He began to dance with you again, as you both surveyed the floor – it was clear of blood, which was good. Didn’t need the pigs snooping around more than necessary. Still, Kylo had been out of earshot, so he was curious when he asked, “What happened?”
“She’ll be dead by the time they get to the car.” You mused, but he wasn’t smiling.
“Yeah but why?” He asked again, and you chewed your lip in thought.
“Hux thinks we’re the one fucking up all over the place. It’s really not him, Kylo.” You said, and his jaw clenched tight again.
“Someone is trying to pit our families against each other.” He made the obvious statement just to make it, just to try and make sense of it, “But I don’t know why.”
“There’s a lot of sick sons of bitches out there, but there’s even more stupidity. Ask the KoR to feel around just like you said, there’s got to be some evidence of this mystery person.”
“Okay.” Kylo nodded, already reaching in to take out his phone. “Also, I want to go, tomorrow. I think we should.”
You gave him a questioning glance for a moment, his decision surprising you for a moment longer, before you huffed a small laugh and plucked the cell phone right out of his palm, and he rolled his eyes. He worked too much, you thought.
“It can wait until we’re on our way home.” You puckered your lips, and Kylo, the man so in love as he was, swooped down to plant a loud smack right to your lips.
--------------
It took less than thirty seconds after the front door closed for Kylo to be all over you, hands all over you, lips all over you.
You let him, in the dark of your foyer, you let him.
“You were so good today.” You breathed, allowing yourself to simply feel adored, to let Kylo give whatever he wanted, take as much as he gave.
“Was I?” He asked, licked his lips, eyes wide, bright in the moonlight.
There was something there, something eager and filled with anticipation – but a hunger as well. That same hunger he had shown you earlier in the day, that same hunger he always seemed to have, stomach of the beast rumbling for you.
“Yes, very good. Tonight was so wonderful.” You whispered, cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed him too sweetly, licked gently into his mouth in the way that made him keen and whine, desperate.
You let your hand fall to his crotch, shoved it down his trousers and found his cock already hard, already so full for you. You gave it a few good, even, steady strokes, ones that had his huge frame twitching, curling in towards you, shoulders rounding in and making himself small, making himself try and swallow you whole.
“I-I’m glad.” He moaned, and you smiled, kissed the corner of his open mouth as you sped up your hand a little more, used the pre-come that was slowly oozing out of his cock as lube to wet your hand more and more.
“I think someone deserves something sweet.” You pulled away, leaving him frustrated in the most delicious way.
“Let me eat your pussy?” He asked, so quick, like he had been hoping for this, had been planning for it.
“Get me naked first.” You ordered, and he was eager, desperate to do so.
So desperate in fact, that he didn’t even make it to the bedroom. He walked you to the living room, and splayed you out on the couch, shedding your layers on the way.
You had surprised him, by not wearing any underwear. This was both of your night, after all. You winked at him when he kneeled between your legs, fully dressed while you were now naked. He groaned into your skin just from the sheer lust he felt for you, buried his face between your knees in a way that made you laugh.
He thunked his forehead against your thigh and kissed the spot there before pulling your hips to the edge of the couch.
You were growing impatient yourself, and you helped the process along by propping your bare foot up against the shiny coffee table that would no doubt be smudged with your oils and sweat in a few moments, after he had had a taste of you.
You propping your foot up gave him a little nook between your legs that he could live in, and live there he did. He closed his eyes and breathed you in, breathed in the smell of your cunt, running his hands up and down your calves, the backs of your thighs, just breathing, until his mouth was literally watering so much he had to swallow hard, and then he dove in.
“Yes!” You gasped when he finally did breach you.
His tongue felt so good against you, the way it wriggled deep inside you, the way it dragged against the walls of your pussy, and you moaned loud, unashamed. His hands gripped your hips as he pushed his face as close to your cunt as possible, his nose rubbing against your clit, prodding it there as he spread your folds with his tongue and lips, sucked them into his mouth, swallowed down all the slick that your pussy gave him.
“Oh,” You gasped, chest heaving as you tangled your hand in his hair, the other gripping the cushion of the couch, “Fuck it’s so good, you’re so good.”
He moaned into you, and fuck that was a feeling you could cry from, the devastatingly deep baritone of his voice radiating through your body, right into your very core. He pulled away though and you complained, verbally protesting with a disappointed groan, which had him pleading with those eyes, kissing the inside of your knee.
“What -- ?” You asked. You could see your juices all over his goatee, in his beard and there was something sick and delicious about the way he licked it off his moustache.
“I have to fuck you.” He explained, shucking off his four-thousand-dollar suit like it was made of paper. “I have to, get inside this tight cunt.” He begged, and you nodded, frantic.
“Take me, come on, take what you want, make me come.” You were just as eager, just as desperate, and you made room for him on the couch, shimmied up it and laid horizontally across the cushions so he could settle himself between your legs.
He slid in easily, smeared his body against yours.
“Oh shit.” He groaned, sinking deeper and deeper into your hot pussy, breathing hard against your throat where he had buried his face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, made for me, just for me.”
“Kylo!” You whined his name, threw your head back when he began to thrust.
“I’m going to make you scream my name, I want you to scream for me, I want all of Manhattan to hear you crying on my dick.” He promised, and you could see it, could feel it, the way the monster was peeking through, the way his eyes had glazed over, so in love with you.
He built up a rhythm that had you shouting in no time, breath hot in his ear as he bit down on the spot where your neck and shoulder met. His hips rolled against yours, ground into yours, and your knees dropped open from the pleasure of it, legs turning to jelly and jam, melting under his touch.
“Oh please,” It was your turn now, your turn to beg, as tears welled up in your eyes under his ministrations, as he fucked fucked fucked you, touched you.
And oh did he touch you everywhere, every linger of his fingers a reverence, a declaration. He fucked you, hard and rough, skin slapping on skin, with one foot planted on the floor to give him the amount of leverage he needed, to let him really slam his hips so hard against yours that it felt like he was fucking your throat -- but he did it with nothing short of wonder in his face, that he could have this, that he could have you.
Three years you’d been married, a lifetime of love before that, and still despite it all, he always considered himself so lucky to get to take you apart like this.
He lifted one of your legs where it had gone limp, lifted it up and over his shoulder so he could plow into you faster, harder, punching the air out of you, the high shouts and moans and gasps out of you. All of it was music to his ears, all of it was praise, and all of it only made him want to work harder, only made him crave you more deeply.
He growled, angry suddenly, angry that he couldn’t just do this all the time, couldn’t just live in your pussy like he wanted, and nearly snapped you in half as he manhandled you instead onto your hands and knees. He draped himself across your back, kissed your spine, the nape of your neck where he pushed all your hair away.
His body was a cage around yours as his hips shoved his cock deeper into you, a better angle, a better and more filling feeling, having him fuck you from behind. His arms were strong and the muscles there worked effortlessly to hold himself up as he ground into you, as his cock knocked up against your cervix in a way that was nearly painful.
He let one hand slide against your abdomen, let his hot and sweaty hand feel you. He swore he could feel your heartbeat in your pussy, right there for him, beating wildly and erratically just the way he was for you. He bit down on you hard, drank in the sound of your cries as that hand moved lower and lower, until he was toying with your clit, zig-zagging across it in a way that had your shoulder-blades pinching inwards as your arms gave out under you, your upper half collapsing down onto the cushions.
He wasn’t done with you, not even while you came, still pushing into you. He was hot, dripping sweat all over your back, his goatee scratching up your skin as he mouthed and sucked at you.
You could feel it, eventually, when he did come, when his hips finally pressed up against yours for the last time for the evening, when he crushed you into the couch with his weight.
“Honey?” You asked, voice muffled from where you were smushed into the couch.
“Uh huh?” Kylo panted, eyes shut tight, still coming inside you.
“Maybe don’t kill me on our anniversary.” You laughed, huffed a little, and he huffed out too, kissing the spot between your shoulders and rolling you both over.
He mis-calculated though, and you both rolled onto the floor with a yelp.
At least you landed on top of him, and laughed.
He looked up at you, always looking up at you, with such love in his eyes that you simply had to kiss him, you had to, so you did.
And if the two of you stayed there on the floor, on top of the plush rug of the living room, covered in sweat that was cooling to only a light itch, the great expanse of the city just outside your window, the Chrysler building all lit up, well, who could blame you?
--------------
The next day, you both found yourselves in Long Island.
Standing outside Leia’s door.
You held a casserole dish in your hands, one that was covered with tin foil, and Kylo was doing his very best not to bolt back to the car where Dopheld had parked it in the driveway.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” You asked, standing out front on the doorstep. “It’s not too late to turn back now, if you want.”
“No.” Kylo grit out, and your heart broke a little.
Before you could press him on the manner, he lifted his hand to ring the doorbell. He didn’t even get as far as making contact with the little button before the door swung open, revealing a very short, and very angry woman on the other side.
“Well!” Leia scoffed, “Look who actually decided to show up for lunch today.”
You winced, shutting your eyes so you wouldn’t bear witness to it, to the suffering you knew was going to come with this visit.
Leia hosted lunch every Monday. And just about every Monday, you and Kylo avoided it like the plague. It was supposed to be an attempt at bringing the family together, at reconnecting and healing old wounds, but it became clear after too many screaming matches and physical blows between family members, than it would be best if Kylo just…didn’t show up.
So he never did. You were always the one to call her, to let her know that oh, no, we’re so sorry but something’s come up. Every week without fail, she called and every week you were the one to answer. It had been nearly three months since Kylo had actually spoken aloud to his mother.
Which of course brought in a whole separate argument, one that Leia was gearing up to starting right now, right there on the front porch.
“Hi mom.” Kylo said, although he didn’t sound particularly thrilled. He didn’t even make an effort to attempt to smile.
“I’m shocked and surprised and honestly? A little disappointed.” Leia said in that way of hers that was supposed to cut deep, supposed to hit too close to home.
You wondered when that line was no longer drawn to even be able to be crossed any longer.
“Good to see you too mom.” Kylo kept it dry and to the point, because really, he wasn’t here to see Leia.
She threw her hands up in exasperation before taking the casserole from you.
The inside of the house was normal. Leia never liked the lavish lifestyle, not even when she was still running things with Han. Before Han, well. You tried not to think about that.
But it was a very normal, regular, suburban house. You couldn’t imagine living in it.
You directed your attention away from the furnishings and back to your husband, who was doing his absolute best not to explode. You held his hand and gave it a tight squeeze, you just knew his other one was balled into a fist where it was shoved in his trousers’ pocket.
You and Kylo were the first ones to show up to the lunch; Lando, Chewie, Luke, Wedge, and Rey all presumably on their way.
“No phone call, no visits – ” Leia starts, although she’s cut off by the arrival of Kylo’s Uncle.
Like Lando, Chewie wasn’t really related to Kylo in any way, but he had been Han’s best and most close companion, so he had more or less been indoctrinated into the family.
Things were the most tense between Chewie and Kylo though, so Kylo remained in his corner, silently glaring at the clock on the wall, as you made up for his rudeness with overly politeness on his behalf.
“Hey Uncle Chewie.” You said, leaning in to exchange greeting cheek kisses.
“It’s good to see you, (Y/N), been too long, eh?” Chewie smiled, his teeth unnervingly sharp.
“You just drop in whenever it’s convenient to you, not caring about your poor mother.” Chewie’s comment sparked Leia’s whole spiel again.
“Mom, you’re many things but you’re not poor.” Kylo finally snapped, before exhaling deeply out of his nose and asking, “Where’s Rey?”
“I’m doing great, thanks for asking. My back is fine, thanks for asking.” Leia spit back at him, purposefully being difficult.
“How’s your back?” Kylo asked dryly, a hard stare on his face.
“It’s fine.” Leia sarcastically replied.
“And you wonder why I don’t come.” Kylo muttered under his breath, shook his head and you spared him a glance.
This was a mistake, of course it was a mistake, and you were upset with yourself for not fighting Kylo on the subject further. He was literally backed into a corner, had situated himself in a corner of the kitchen where the two counter-tops converged, and he was starting to lose his patience to a point where you worried about how close he was to the knife block.
“You’re lucky I don’t hand you over to the police right now.” Leia sneered, but Kylo only scoffed.
“Go ahead.” He dared, voice even and deep, eyes hard, knowing that even if she did, even if she called her precious pig Poe, they’d not find a single damn thing on him, on any of you.
“Mrs. Organa, will Rey be coming today?” You asked lightly but firmly, wanting to respect her in her home but also stand up for your husband, and to get an answer. If Rey wouldn’t be there, you’d yank him out and take him back to Manhattan in a heartbeat.
“Of course she’s coming – unlike one of my children, Rey has respect for tradition and family.” Leia replied, passive-aggressive.
“We’re taking Midtown from her.” Kylo said, making both her, and Chewie – who had been rifling through the fridge this whole time to try and find a beer – freeze.
“You’re doing what?” Chewie asked, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Midtown. We’re taking it away from her.” You nodded, answered for Kylo who had officially moved away from the knife block and had come to stand behind you, arms taking their place around your middle.
It was quiet for a long while, as Leia and Chewie looked at one another for a moment.
“I hope you’re prepared for an argument.” She said, for once not entirely venomous.
“I’m always prepared for an argument with you people.” Kylo muttered again, distracting himself with kissing your neck slightly.
“What Kylo means,” You interpreted, as Kylo nosed at the exposed skin from where your blouse’s neckline revealed, “Is that we know it’s going to upset her, that’s why we wanted to announce it here, where she could be comfortable. We didn’t want to show up at her house like last time to tell her.”
“Tell who what?” A voice asked from the living room, followed by the sound of the closing of the front door.
Kylo took a deep breath – but Leia beat him to the punch, leaving the kitchen to go greet her daughter.
“They’re taking away Midtown from you.” She told Rey before anyone else could even do so much as blink, as she hugged Rey, who had gone stiff as a board.
“Mom!” Kylo snapped --
“You’re what?” Rey shouted at the same time.
Kylo hid firmly behind you as Rey stalked, lethal into the kitchen with her teeth bared. She was so feral when she was angry – they all were, but for some reason she reminded you more of Anakin than anyone else.
“Listen kid, that part of the city is a fucking mess and is only getting worse ever since we let you handle it.” Kylo said it, plain and simple, but Rey didn’t agree.
“No it hasn’t!” She protested, storming more and more into the kitchen.
You remained unflinching, a literal barrier between them.
“We heard from some of the KoR this morning, there’s been three break-ins and four murders in the last 5 days. The thing with Lenny isn’t an isolated incident. The police are starting to call it a crisis and they’ve got cars patrolling the area now. Word on the street is people are saying Hell’s Kitchen is going back to how it was when Brendol was running it, and we just can’t have that.” You said, trying to explain it to her the most calm and collected way you could.
Kylo was growing more and more riled, more and more irritated in a way that was nothing but danger.
“Some of our associates are calling me, saying there’s no way to get a hold of you, you don’t return anyone’s calls, you’re never in the fucking office.” He said, running a hand through his hair so he didn’t punch his sister in the face, “I’m sorry Rey but we can’t risk anything more over there. We’re pulling you from Midtown.”
Rey wasn’t happy.
“You can’t do that.” She shook her head, fuming, “I won’t let you do that. I’ve got too much going on right now for this shit.”
“What? What’s going on? You can tell us Rey we want to make sure there’s no trouble.” Leia asked, put herself into this mix.
“No I can’t fucking tell you.” Rey groaned as she scrubbed a hand down her face.
“Is it Gwen?” Leia asked again, not dropping it, “I thought things were going well between you.”
“It’s not – listen my sex life has nothing to do with this.” Rey shouted, and there we go, you thought, let the shouting begin.
“Rey.” Kylo suddenly went dead still, his hand frozen from where it had been tensing against your stomach, “Are you running business behind my fucking back?”
Everyone, including yourself raised their brows at that, at that assumption, that conclusion, that question. You searched his face for where the hell he had come up with that, but Rey lunged at Kylo’s throat before you could even question him about it.
You were caught in the cross-fire for all of two seconds, before Kylo quickly stepped in front of you so you wouldn’t get hurt, as the siblings literally wrestled to the fucking floor.
“Should we stop them?” Chewie asked, but you shook your head.
“No, not yet.” Leia agreed, “Not until she get’s in a good swing at least.”
That made you roll your eyes, made you want to throw a fist of your own, but you restrained yourself. This really wasn’t supposed to have been a brawl, but Rey and Kylo were now punching the shit out of one another, fighting dirty, using all the tricks in the book and shouting at each other in the process.
They had knives drawn, little switch-blades hidden in boots and coat pockets, and were doing a real number on trying to cut the other’s tongue out, trying to slice throats, trying to gouge out eyes.
“No, I’m not running any fucking business behind your back!” Rey slapped Kylo hard across the cheek, and in response he wrestled her around and slammed the back of her head against the hard tile floor.
The sharp crack made everyone wince.
“Then what the fuck is up?” Kylo demanded, deranged, the both of them crazy, practically frothing at the mouth with hate for one another.
“I’m going to school!” Rey screamed in his face, making everyone let out a sound of confusion.
“…What?” Kylo asked, dumbfounded, panting, as he held his blade up to her throat.
“I started school, you fucking jackass. I’m getting my degree.” Rey explained, “The reason I’m gone all the time is because I have classes and exams, god you’re so selfish, not everything revolves around you, Boss.”
“Rey that’s wonderful! Why didn’t you tell us?” Leia asked, clasping her hands in front of her like her two children were not currently trying to actively murder one another with weapons they were far too trained to use.
You walked over calmly and placed a hand on Kylo’s shoulder, a silent order for him to get up, and he did. He stuck his blade back in his pocket, and you saw a flash of the guns he had in his holster as he did so. You were lucky it hadn’t come to that.
“I didn’t want to be cross-examined for every single fucking choice I make, let alone by this one.” Rey sighed, before standing up and brushing the struggle off of her clothes, saying again, “I’m going to school.”
But...
Something…was off, from the way she said it.
Something in the way she avoided eye contact, the way her voice raised in register slightly, the way there was a minor tremor in her tone.
You chalked it up to just having fought with Kylo but…that sounded like a lie.
And as if she had telepathic powers, Rey met your eyes, and you could see there was worry there, anxiety.
Why would she lie?
“Listen Rey, we’re sorry that it all came out like this, but maybe this is for the better.” You said, not really paying attention to the words you were saying, much more interested in reading her face, scouring her gaze for any hint, any offering, any clue as to what was going on in her head. Your mouth was on autopilot while you scanned her, took in everything to account, from her posture to her breathing, “Now you can focus on your coursework and not worry about running forty-blocks worth of the city.”
“(Y/N), if you didn’t scare the shit out of me so much, I’d really hate you right now.” Rey said.
That at the very least was truthful.
“I know.” You replied, not smiling, not even giving a fake one. Kylo looked at you hard, and he could tell that you knew something was up. “You can hate me all you’d like, but we’re still pulling you from Midtown.” You said.
“I think we’d better leave.” Kylo interjected, before anyone had a chance to say anything else.
You nodded in agreement, and smoothed your hair down. It had been a roller-coaster of twenty-four fucking hours, that was for sure.
You took Kylo’s hand and simply walked out of the kitchen, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone.
“Oh so you’re not even going to stay for lunch? After all that?” Leia was incredulous, following the two of you out into the parking lot.
What timing, you thought, as Luke was just parking his car next to yours.
“No, I don’t really think that’s a very good idea.” You said, giving her a falsely apologetic glare that she saw right through. “You guys enjoy, we’ll see you soon.” You lied, only nodding in passing to Luke who was visibly confused as to the presence of you and Kylo – or rather, more like your departure.
Dopheld must have had a sixth sense, because he had already started up the car and warmed the seats, ready for you and Kylo to sit comfortably in the back.
When the house and the neighborhood were firmly far enough away for Kylo to release a breath, you tried to lighten up the mood.
“Well that went about as well as it was going to.” You gave a sad smile, heart breaking for him, for how his relationship with his family was so damaged, had only grown more and more damaged over the years.
“It could have been worse.” He shrugged, jaw set, even as he lit up a cigarette and sucked down the nicotine anxiously, opened the window just a crack so that he could blow the smoke away.
“How?” You asked, and he swiped his thumb across his face, wiping away a trickle of blood that had oozed out from a sliver thin slice Rey had managed to nick into his cheek.
“She could have cut my face up again.” He said, making you both smile.
--------------
Tagging some mob loving pals! As always, if you’d like to be on the list or taken off, please just let me know <3 @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos @kylo-renne @callmehopeless @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @the-wayward-rose @taylovren-types magikevalynn tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov romancedeldiablo @elfieboxcat (I’m sorry my dear it won’t let me tag you!)
#reader insert#kylo ren x reader#kylo x reader#kylo ren/reader#kylo/reader#mob boss#mob au#each eye#my writing#kylo ren au#modern au
348 notes
·
View notes
Text
london calling (yes, i was there, too)
For Day 1 of Wondertrev Loveweek!
Fandom: Wonder Woman
Pairing: Diana/Steve
Prompt: London
Word Count: 2154
Rating: T (for ~innuendo~ probably)
Summary: A view of London, past and present, from Diana's point of view.
Read it here on [AO3] or below the cut.
***
present
*
London has become a glittering, sprawling city in the years since Diana first arrived at its docks. Some would go so far as to call it the greatest city in the world.
Diana still dislikes it.
She never warmed to London. She loves Lisbon, adores Amman, visits Xi'an every chance she gets, calls Paris home for now. But London remains something of a frustration for her, a necessary evil for business trips from time to time.
There are things she doesn't mind, she supposes.
The red telephone boxes, for one. They're a bit cliché, but iconic. (She remembers when those were first put in.) They're less common now, but every time she passes one, she snaps a photo and texts it to Clark, with the caption thinking of you, because one time in a pinch, he used one to change into his Superman suit but in his haste accidentally broke one of the panes of glass, and she's never going to let him forget it.
Then there's Hampstead Heath. It's a bit outside the bustle of the city proper, sure, but it's a breath of fresh air (literally), and it has lovely views of the city. She's enjoyed her walks there, even fondly recalls a picnic or two on the grassy hill as she gazes at the skyline, stuck in the city between one meeting and the next.
Indeed, the city itself has largely been cleaned up. There are still stately aging buildings and parks, but less of the pervasive grime. Still, there's something about London that she can't quite put her finger on that makes her feel unsettled.
It's totally irrational.
*
1918
*
"It's hideous."
"Yeah, it's not for everyone."
*
Diana hates it here. The air is bleak and grey and thick. It's like the air on Themyscira on the winter solstice, when it's choked by smoke from their celebratory bonfires, only worse, because this isn't fragrant, woody smoke. It's a thick miasma of coal and smog, utterly pungent, with an acrid odor layering it that Diana will soon find out is what the aftermath of bombings smell like.
The streets, too, are filthy, full of trash and grey with coal dust, and she's never seen anything so utterly uncivilized in her whole life.
And it's loud, an ugly cacophony of sounds like she's never encountered: people shouting—a language that she understands, to be sure, but one that is just a little dissonant all the same because it isn't hers —and bells chiming and the creaks and groans of the bridge as it raises, and hissing of the engines in the automobiles.
Truly, she doesn't know why anyone would live here, but it's all right, because soon they'll be headed off to the War. Battlefields are not good, but she is sure they are something that she at least understands.
*
Her first day in London has been a whirlwind: the clothing shop, the fight in the alley, Parliament and the horribly rude generals, and finally, assembling the team at the pub. She's not ashamed to admit that she's looking forward to a bit of rest before she goes to confront Ares.
After leaving the pub, Steve leads her to a quiet side street, and directs her up three flights of stairs into a cramped set of rooms.
"It's not much, but when I'm in London, it's home."
The apartment is largely impersonal—it's clear that Steve doesn't spend much time here, away on missions more often than not—but it still feels warm. To that end, Steve ushers her into the little kitchen and hands her a cup of tea.
It's pleasantly warm despite being bitter, and she manages to finish it as Steve gets up and starts rearranging the cushions on the sofa.
"What are you doing?"
"Um. Making up the couch?" It sounds like more of a question than her own, honestly.
"Yes, I have eyes," she says impatiently. "Why are you making up the couch?"
"I...don't have an answer you'll approve of."
She huffs. "I do not understand your society in the slightest. Did we not sleep together on the boat, just last night, and all the ones before it?"
"Er. Yeah."
"And tonight is different how?"
"Um," says Steve, clearly looking uncomfortable. "There's a bed?"
Diana levels him with a very unimpressed look. "You sat alone at the kitchen table with me while we drank tea."
"Well, I—huh? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Well, what on earth do they teach you about the pleasures of the flesh that makes you think a bed or even a horizontal position is a requirement?"
Steve chokes on air and starts coughing. "Diana—"
"I'm just saying you get very flustered about very peculiar things. The bed, for example, but not the kitchen table, which looks very sturdy, by the way—"
"Okay, okay! You've made your point! I'll sleep with you."
"Finally," she huffs.
"It's—"
"—not polite to assume, yes, you have said, but it is hardly an assumption on your part if I have clearly stated my feelings."
"Right, well, we'll just. Um. Go to bed, then."
Steve, anticipating Diana's lack of concern over modesty, offers her an oversized flannel shirt to sleep in.
"If it will make you feel better," she says, and puts it on over her undergarments.
"Goodnight," she says, once he's extinguished the light.
"Night."
She's not awake long enough to see him fall asleep, falling into a slumber almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.
*
Diana wakes up to warmth, an intangible yet visceral feeling of safety, and a comfortable weight around her waist. It's clearly morning, weak light dappling the side of the room, the view out the window in front of her proving it's a cloudy day. She shifts slightly and realizes that in the night, Steve has rolled her way and thrown his arm around her.
They're meant to get an early start, but Diana is used to waking up so early for training every morning that it can't possibly be time to get up yet. She's willing to lay in bed just a few moments longer, but her shifting appears to have woken up Steve, who tugs her a little closer and then seems to realize where he is.
He lets go of her like her skin is aflame and jerks backward so hard that he nearly falls off the edge of the bed.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
She catches his hand in the middle of a wild gesticulation. "If I thought you were being disrespectful, you would no longer have the arm in question."
"Right. Neat. I'll just, uh, go make some tea."
Sameer and Charlie knock on the door not long after, and then they're out of London, off to the War.
*
London, upon return, is even worse than London before. Even amidst the celebrations, it seems so much bleaker, so much colder.
Etta, dear lovely Etta, helps with all the arrangements to make it appear as though she existed before last week. Documents, a day job—and a place to stay.
"I've arranged it all so that it's yours. Young ladies, they usually have to stay in boarding rooms, but I think this is what he would've wanted."
Etta makes time to take her to the apartment, under the guise of ensuring that it has everything she needs.
It's a grey day, the kind that doesn't really let much light make its way indoors. The small apartment is dim, and it feels so desolate, so empty.
Diana turns in a circle as Etta rummages through the drawers, making a list of the few things she finds to be lacking. She was just here a few days ago; how can a place feel so intrinsically different?
"Well, luv, it appears to be mostly in order. If you don't mind, I'll come 'round tomorrow with a new spatula and a bit of sugar, and you'll be all set."
"Yes, of course," Diana says distantly, and then Etta's gone, out the door.
An apartment so small and cluttered shouldn't be so capable of feeling empty, but it does.
Diana, who's always run hot, feels vaguely cold.
*
She tries, she really does. She does her job and goes on missions and tries to make friends, invites people over for dinner or tea, does her best to make London home.
She makes it a whole month before it drives her mad, being in that little apartment. London itself doesn't hold Steve's ghost, but this apartment does.
After a month, she can no longer stand it, even though she's hardly ever there anyways. In a fit of impulsiveness, she turns the keys over the Etta, and moves to Paris, a place she's been several times already, on missions with Sameer, and once, Napi.
She moves frequently, after that, from place to place, city to city, country to country, but doesn't call London home again.
*
present
*
So it's irrational, but every time Diana thinks of London, all she can think of are the grey skies and the colorless light in that apartment, like the world was slowly being sapped of color. Each time she thinks of London, she can't help but associate it with sorrow. With each emotion she felt in the aftermath of Steve's death, all of the complicated ways her victory felt like anything but.
No, she never takes to London, even as the years pass and the city changes. She arrives only as absolutely necessary, and leaves as soon as whatever work is done.
Today, for example, she's here for a conference on artifact preservation. She knows the man from the British Museum who's presenting the seminar—and frankly he has no business giving this talk—and as soon as it's over she'll be on the Eurostar back to Paris.
*
Her next meeting in London is with the director of the British Museum itself. She and a small team from the Louvre are meeting with a team from the British Museum to hammer out a loans agreement for a couple of highly-coveted pieces. It's the most important meeting outside of the Justice League that she'll have all year, and she's the lead negotiator.
The day before she's expected to leave for the week-long trip, Steve shows up, alive again after a century and change.
She already wasn't looking forward to the trip—this just makes it worse. She's in emotional crisis, and has no desire to leave Steve for any period of time, but this is literally the one meeting of the year that she cannot miss. (After all, if there's one attitude regarding museums and artifact "ownership" that she hates more than France's, it's Britain's. She's not going to miss this meeting and let them get away with anything.)
"I could...come with?" asks Steve, uncertainly. They're both still trying to figure things out.
"Would you?"
"It's hardly the worst place I've ever followed you," he says weakly, trying for a joke, and it's met with a wet laugh. "Look, I know London. Knew London, anyways. I could walk around somewhere familiar while you were in meetings and then after…" he trails off.
"And then after, there is no one I would rather spend time with," Diana declares.
"Neat, so—I'm coming."
Diana wastes no time booking the second ticket.
*
"It's hideous," says Steve when he sees the ultra-modern skyline for the first time.
"Well, London isn't for everyone," replies Diana with a smirk.
"It's just—strange. London was sort of home for so long, and now I don't even recognize it."
"You get used to it, after a while," she says softly, and Steve has the distinct impression that she's not just talking about London.
They've arrived the evening before the meetings are set to start, so they wander around a little before getting dinner and checking into the hotel. (Diana has accumulated properties in plenty of places, but London was never one of them; instead, they're staying downtown, near several excellent take-away spots that Diana was already planning on taking advantage of.)
"How many shades of red would you turn if I offered to take the couch right now?" Steve jokes, surveying the hotel room upon arrival.
"Objectively? Fewer than if you joined me in the bed."
Steve flushes almost as many shades as he had in mind, still a little startled by her bluntness.
"Oh? And now who's assuming?" he says as evenly as he can.
"I don't know what you mean," she says, far too innocently, "I run hot when I sleep."
"Right."
She can't help but laugh at that. She feels so—content, for the first time in so long. It's coloring her view of everything: the business trip suddenly doesn't feel so unmanageable, London doesn't feel so soul-less, even the sterile hotel room feels cheerful.
It's true that Diana never warmed up to London, but it has a fighting chance now.
***
Final Note: Please pardon any negative depictions of London; it's not my favorite city but it mostly comes from Diana's emotional relationship with the place.
***
#wondertrevweek2020#wondertrev#diana x steve#steve x diana#wonder woman#diana prince#steve trevor#wondertrev fanfiction#lenci writes
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
totally stealing @honeybabydichotomy‘s meme-adaptation concept re: i have a handful of things that could be described WIPs and nearly all of them i already can’t shut my mouth about, but here is a trip through the GOOGLE DOCS GRAVEYARD of abandoned fandoms past (mcu, trc, something too embarrassing to list above the cut so you’ll just have to CLICK and find out)
first up, the last fic i never actually wrote for, lmao, american idol season 8 RPF fandom, back in 2010... this was going to be a bigbang fic but in keeping with my terrible track record re: challenges etc. i did not finish it, although in my defense that had at least something to do with spilling coffee all over my laptop right around the time i started a very hours-intensive job with a huge commute. when i look at this now i’m like, this sure was me writing ten years ago, but i still love the emotional architecture of any story in which one deliberately shut-off and long-repressed individual is uncomfortably thawed by the miracle of someone else’s open-hearted joie de vivre; it’s the oldest story here but arguably the closest to an actual WIP in that the ghost of that idea is the seed for the divorced quentin AU i harbor hopes of one day writing; you can definitely see the Relevant Vibes in this exchange, i think, although i feel the need to clarify that adam lambert enjoying twilight is a thing he said on national television, i wouldn’t do that to someone on my own:
Veselka is crowded, but despite the bitter February cold, Kris doesn't mind waiting outside for twenty minutes, leaning against the glass display case of the expensive toy store next door, separated from Adam by little more than an inch. "So - okay, this is kind of terrible. Like, worse than the Twilight thing. But I feel like you should know who you're dealing with, so."
"It can't be that bad."
Adam just smiles knowingly. "Oh, can't it?"
"Hit me with your best shot," Kris says. Something twitches in his stomach as Adam raises his eyebrow to that.
Adam leans down to whisper in Kris's ear, sending inexplicable sparks down Kris's neck. "Sometimes, when I'm standing in the street or on the subway or something, I like to watch people go by and try to guess what they're like in bed."
Kris blushes. "Very mature," he says with a nervous laugh, embarrassed about his own embarrassment.
Adam holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey. We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars," he intones. "Oscar Wilde."
"Do you think that's true?"
"I think it is. At least - " Adam tilts his chin up, a mischievous glint in his eyes " - I identify with it."
Kris searches for something to say that won't make him seem hopelessly square. "What's the view like from down there?"
Adam gazes at the night sky, where Manhattan's perpetual glow blots out all but the brightest lights. "I like it. You see more of them this way."
Kris thinks he's spent six years priding himself himself on keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, avoiding the pull of the horizon or the distraction of the sun. "So. Mr. Gutter." He points to a thirty-something man getting out of a parked Ford across the street. "What's he like?"
next up: an unpublished MCU snippet! this was a peggy character study set at howard’s funeral, also an excuse for me to have feelings about tony stark; idiotically, i actually have a complete draft of this, and got a really brilliant beta job from @nimmieamee, but then never went back and revised it and also could not bring myself to post it when despite being passable as done i could tell in my bones it was simply Not Working, even though parts of it i really liked:
Howard had not taken to aging with grace. It, too, offended him: the body betraying the dream of perfectibility. Dodging it had taken up an increasing percentage of his time. He took up jogging, early among the public, too late in his life: a few months in and a busted knee earned him doctor's orders to abandon that pursuit. His bones were already too brittle to benefit. Howard himself had become brittle long ago. You could blame the war; but that was what happened to people with no give to them. They were like the driest branches waiting for a storm, only unlike branches they recognized on some level the precariousness of their structure, and consequently dedicated themselves to forgetting it.
Howard was undeterred. (Being deterred also went against his every principle.) He had swimming pools installed, outdoors in Los Angeles, adorned with artificial rocks arranged just so to give the impression of a hot spring, and indoors in West Hampton, heated, lit underwater with a yellow-green glow throwing tendrils of light on smooth white walls. Fitness gurus and nutrition consultants were put on retainer, a bicoastal platoon to prevent malfunctions; physical therapists were brought in to recalibrate around malfunctions. They quit with increasing frequency, as his temper frayed along with his body. He gave up, in sequence, smoking, alcohol, red meat, all meat, alcohol, sugar, processed grains, alcohol, salt, and direct sunlight--although by the time of this last pronouncement, it produced little noticeable effect.
Lately he had become obsessed with the idea of cryogenic freezing: the fantasy of going to sleep and waking up in a time when his intellectual heirs had figured out how to repair and replace his rusted pieces. Skin firmed and thickened; knees stitched back to mint condition; a whole new heart, perhaps, grown in a jar or assembled from compounds yet to be constructed. "Wouldn't you take the chance, if you had it?" he had murmured, eyes going dreamy as they did when he talked of his latest missiles.
Peggy pictured Steve in the Arctic, his hyperactive cells stilled by the indifferent cold. She shivered, like a child hearing a ghost story, and said no, she wouldn't.
finally, two stories from a fandom i actually never published any stories with, or engaged with in any meaningful way: the fuckin raven cycle. the dumbest books on god’s green earth. the first was a ronan story where gansey actually dies and stays the fuck dead, and ronan handles it by being a huge asshole, and then, unlike in these hideous godforsaken books, actually decides on purpose to be a better person.... i’m realizing revisiting this now that some of the itch of this story i’ve finally gotten out of my system via damage control, but the GENIUS IDEA of ronan giving matthew an actual soul by giving up the dream power and thus becoming an actual human, sadly, does not really transfer, even though it’s the best concept i’ve ever thought of in my life. anyway, whatever, i have a type:
He opened the door. Adam and Blue were looking at him with expressions he couldn't decipher. Noah was looking at the floor.
"Are you—" Adam started. Ronan watched the word okay die of its own irrelevance in Adam's mouth.
"None of you were invited," Ronan said.
Blue started, "We just—"
"Sorry," he said, loud enough to drown her out. "But this is a very exclusive party. That means no rednecks"—he pointed at Adam—"no bitches"—Blue—"and no pussies"—Noah. "So I'm going to need you all to leave."
He focused his eyes on Blue. She looked like she wanted to slap him. This was familiar. He wanted to go back to the time when his only interactions with Blue Sergeant involved saying something and watching her look at him like she wanted to slap him. Things had gotten complicated after that. Then Gansey had died. Ronan couldn't articulate the connection, but he felt strongly that it was there.
"Maybe I wasn't clear," he said. "What I mean is: get the fuck out of my house."
and last but not least, another TRC story, motivated initially by dreaminess and then sporadically continued after TRK came out (seriously like ever 18 months i dig this one out and write another 500 words and give up again) out of spite - a story where, because fuck stief, adam parrish gets a cell phone, ronan lynch gets a job, and no one assumes that finally having sex means you’re basically married forever without even talking about if you’re boyfriends. this one is like, so close to being “done” in that it almost goes beginning to end and has a lot of individual lines i actually like, but has always been very difficult to pull together because of the reality that maggie stiefvater wrote a series such that ronan lynch acting like a decent boyfriend or experiencing character growth or talking about his emotions is literally out of character, which makes it hard to write a dreamy summer hook-up story; i was actually thinking earlier this year of picking it back up YET AGAIN, but then damage control ate my brain... one day, perhaps, for the satisfaction of having finished... or i might just listen to “cruel summer” by taylor swift while meditating on it for a couple million more hours:
“Did you call me over just to give me the fucking silent treatment in person?” Ronan said. It sounded less vicious than it should have. Like he had been aiming for a growl and somehow landed on a mumble.
I didn’t call you over, Adam wanted to say, but it wasn’t actually true. He had. That seemed wrong, though. Ronan Lynch wasn’t someone to be called over. He was too wild and spiteful for that. Even Gansey couldn’t manage it. The rest of Ronan’s world had given up trying long ago.
But when Adam had called, Ronan had come.
He felt like he might throw up.
“I’m not giving you the silent treatment,” he said instead. “I’m just—“ But he didn’t know what he was doing. So he switched tacks. “You just—“ But he didn’t know that, either. And asking Ronan what the fuck are you doing had never yielded helpful results.
So Adam stuck to the truest thing, what he had worked his whole life to make true. “I’m leaving in three months.”
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” Ronan spat. This time he was closer to the expected intensity, but there was still something strange under his voice. Maybe not. Maybe Adam was just having a nervous breakdown.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Israel Battles Hamas
Gaza militants, children among 24 dead as Israel Battles Hamas
GAZA CITY, Gaza Strip (AP) — Israel unleashed new airstrikes on Gaza early Tuesday, hitting the high-rise home of a Hamas field commander and two border tunnels dug by militants, as Hamas and other armed groups fired dozens of rockets toward Israel. The escalation in the conflict was sparked by weeks of tensions in contested Jerusalem.
Since sundown Monday when the cross-border attacks began, 24 Palestinians — including nine children — were killed in Gaza, most by airstrikes, Gaza health officials said. The Israeli military said 15 of the dead were militants. During the same period, Gaza militants fired more than 250 rockets toward Israel, injuring six Israeli civilians in a direct hit on an apartment building.
In a further sign of rising tensions, Israel signaled it is widening its military campaign. The military said it is sending troop reinforcements to the Gaza border and the defense minister ordered the mobilization of 5,000 reserve soldiers.
AP
Things are heating up (again) in Israel. Every time this happens, I believe it's the beginning of WWIII. Thankfully, I've always been wrong.
“It was a librul hoax.”
Yesterday, I wrote about how Russian hackers infiltrated the largest fuel pipeline on the East Coast. A dummy argued with me about it.
Gas stations along the U.S. East Coast are starting to run out of fuel as North America’s biggest petroleum pipeline fights to recover froma cyberattack that has paralyzed it for days.
From Virginia to Florida and Alabama, fuel stations are reporting that they’ve sold out of gasoline as supplies in the region dwindle and panic buying sets in. The White House said it was aware of shortages in the Southeast of the country and was trying to alleviate the problem.
Four days into the crisis, Colonial Pipeline Co. has only managed to manually operate a small segment of the pipeline — as a stopgap measure — and doesn’t expect to be able to substantially restore service before the weekend. The risk is that by that point drivers or airlines may already be suffering severe fuel shortages, while refineries on the Gulf coast could be forced to idle operations because they have nowhere to put their product.
U.S. average retail gasoline prices have risen to their highest since late 2014 due to the disruption, almost touching $3 per gallon. That could add to broader inflationary pressures as commodity prices from timber to copper also surge.
Bloomberg
It must suck to think everything is a liberal Deep State conspiracy.
14-year-old charged with murder after death of 13-year-old Florida girl
Authorities in Florida arrested and charged a 14-year-old boy with murder a day after the disappearance and death of a 13-year-old girl.
The parents of Tristyn Bailey, a student and cheerleader at Patriot Oaks Academy in St. Johns, Florida, reported their daughter missing Sunday morning after she failed to return home the night before.
Bailey was last seen at 1:15 a.m. Sunday near the Durbin Amenity Center, according to post announcing the missing person from the St Johns County Sheriff's Office.
Throughout Sunday, members of the community, classmates and Bailey's cheer squad searched for her, NBC News affiliate WTLV reported.
But shortly before sundown, St Johns County Sheriff Rob Hardwick announced that Bailey's body had been found in a wooded area.
NBC News
How horrifying. Keep your babies safe, people. There are evil bastards among us.
Russian spy unit suspected of directed-energy attacks on U.S. personnel
U.S. officials suspect that a notorious Russian spy agency may be behind alleged attacks that are causing mysterious health issues among U.S. government personnel across the world, according to three current and former officials with direct knowledge of the discussions.
Officials do not have a smoking gun linking Russia’s military intelligence unit, the GRU, to the suspected directed-energy incidents, said the people, who were not authorized to speak publicly. The intelligence community has not reached a consensus or made a formal determination. However, officials have told lawmakers that they have intensified their investigation in recent weeks to include all 18 federal intelligence agencies, and that it is focused on the GRU’s potential involvement, according to a congressional official briefed on the matter.
Politico
Fuckin' Russians.
I know, the quote above says US officials suspect…Russians. It's not proven yet. There is no consensus.
But it's the Russians.
Bill Gates known for ‘womanizing,’ naked pool parties, biographer says
Behind his image as a straight-laced tech mogul, Bill Gates was notorious for throwing naked pool parties with strippers and being a “womanizer” — even after meeting future wife Melinda, according to a biography.
The Microsoft co-founder’s wild lifestyle was well known among his inner circle — but newspapers like the New York Times hid the unflattering reports to continue getting “spoon-fed stories,” James Wallace wrote in the 1997 biography, “Overdrive: Bill Gates and the Race to Control Cyberspace.”
They “didn’t report on the wild bachelor parties that Microsoft’s boyish chairman would throw in his Seattle home, for which Gates would visit one of Seattle’s all-nude nightclubs and hire dancers to come to his home and swim naked with his friends in his indoor pool,” Wallace wrote.
NY Post
A. Gross
B. Heroes never just die. They leave a legacy of shittiness behind them.
Man with Tiger Evade Police (Texas, of course)
Victor Hugo Cuevas, 26, was taken into custody Monday night and charged with evading arrest, but the whereabouts of the tiger were still unknown, the Houston Police Department said on Twitter.
“Anyone with information on the tiger is urged to contact HPD Major Offenders,” the police said in a tweet.
Eyewitness videos taken Sunday show the tiger sprawled on the lawn of a home on Ivy Wall Drive in West Houston.
The tiger, which is classified as an endangered species, then got up and roamed into the street as onlookers took videos of it from a distance, and one off-duty sheriff’s deputy who lives in the neighbourhood drew a handgun.
Cuevas, who officials said was the tiger’s owner and who had been leasing the home, emerged from the residence to corral the tiger. He kissed it as he led it away, a video shows. A lawyer for Cuevas said Monday that he was not the tiger’s owner.
When the police arrived, Cuevas was in a Jeep Cherokee with the tiger, according to the authorities, who said the driver got away after a brief pursuit.
Obviously, if you see a Cherokee with a big tiger in it, it would be good to call us,” Ronald Borza, a commander with the Houston Police Department, said at a news conference Monday afternoon before Cuevas was taken into custody.
bdnews24
Oh, and the man, Cuevas, was wanted for murder. I know, minor detail.
An arrest warrant shows that Cuevas is charged with murder in a July 2017 fatal shooting of a man in the parking lot of a sushi restaurant in Richmond, Texas.
Cuevas, of Richmond, was released on $125,000 bond last December pending trial, according to court records.
The article was originally published here!
Israel Battles Hamas
1 note
·
View note
Photo
The Winter Wolves (1)
Eirik and Eija Sturmborn are twins, born to a long local tradition in northernmost Minnesota, of winter wolves and pack wars and family bonds as deep as they are destructive. Things are changing as of late, and worse, not changing at all - they’re adults now, and they have yet to shift into the wolf-skin their wild-bred parents should have passed on to them long ago. Wholly human they remain, albeit strong and hardy and ready to die fighting back the howling rival packs threaded throughout their family’s Gray woods as rumors spread that the Sturmborn twins are never going to make the final change and now is the time to strike, to wipe out the Sturmborn pack entirely so that their dwindling bloodline will finally cease to be a threat in the inevitable statewide pack war that has been simmering for years.
There’s also the death of their lost brother Sven, years ago, killed in an alpha fight during a wolf run with their parents when the twins were children - as the story goes, anyway. Details are emerging, cults are stirring, and the twins can’t stop dreaming of ravens and death. The Danish Larsen witches to the south who claim Eija’s dearest friend and heart’s desire Sara have no idea that she’s been using her magic to aid the twins in uncovering what really happened to Sven and holding off the Karlsen and Jorgunsson packs for as long as possible. Meanwhile Eirik’s continued clumsy attempts to woo the elegant violinist, the newcomer to Angle Inlet Julian Hassan, are not going well at all. The brutal tragedy and burgeoning madness stirring in their land and their blood are nothing compared to the battlefield of human longing, a truth more evident every day.
“All religion is only ever a desperate search for the freedom and relief of not being held accountable for your own life, your own future, your own actions,” Eirik told his sister once, huffing the words into a cloud of sawdust as he’d hunched over his current project - a kitchen table for upstairs. “The trick is finding the right god to apply to your personal aesthetic, the right doctrine to inspire your vanity and ego. You have to find the god that’s willing to tell you what you want to hear, who looks the way you think god should look. Once you do, of course you’ll die for them. The mass appeal of Christianity lies in how malleable and forgiving it is, and churches and cults alike all feed on growth. That’s why the Buddhists are so welcoming to any ignorant white college student with a “namaste” bath rug, they’ve figured it out. It’s the same reason romance novels with empty, undefined characters always sell the best. People like to see themselves in things, I revere the old gods as much as anyone, but I’m not stupid. We are nothing if not our own egos. It’s the invite-only religions that you ought to keep an eye on.”
Eija had laughed, the inhalation of a lungful of sawdust of no concern to her. They were woodworkers and potters by trade, the Sturmborns. Her own palm was slowly working out a thick pine splinter from a week ago. “So now my brother is a philosopher,” she’d observed, stealing his iron beer stein for a healthy gulp. At eighteen apiece - twins, they - technically the state laws of Minnesota frowned upon such indulgences. But the town of Angle Inlet was also acutely aware of the elective and social power of its enormously Scandinavian population, who poured beer and honey wine out at winter gatherings for everyone present, including their young. Such was their culture, and they’d been raised into responsible sorts. The ale of tonight was a heady, oaky blend with a thick head of caramel foam, heavily scented of smoked apples.
“Hardly, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about.” Eirik lapsed into a comfortable silence without further elaboration, another habit to which they were prone. She eventually retrieved some homework from under their longest work bench, history tonight, and settled cross-legged on the basement’s gritty stone floor while her brother worked. He was sanding the chair smooth by the time she looked up again, rising to his considerable height - both of them quite tall and sturdy like their parents - to tap her on the top of her head. Her nearly-buzzed snow-blonde hair scraped his fingertips like velcro, and she lifted her head without comment. His own was much longer, down just past his shoulders in thick wheat-blond waves. “It’s getting late.” He handed her the last of the beer stein to finish, which she did, bringing it upstairs to wash later.
The house was quiet, still. They hadn’t seen their parents in weeks, which was not unusual. The wolves had come calling in September, as they were wont to do, and Kaspar and Emma Sturmborn had bolted from the house one night at last, howling and wild and tearing at their clothes. They’d returned once or twice before the autumn chill had cracked the damp haze of summer, naked and soaked in blood, flesh scored raw with gore and gashes that healed in a day or two. On the last night of September though, their mother had been snappish and restless at dinner. Their father’s profoundly sexual longing for her had oozed through his attempts at polite conversation, the occasional baring of teeth suggesting that marital relations weren’t the only carnal craving he was experiencing just then. The blood moon had come.
The howling, the clicking of claws on their porch, the soft whuffing and whimpering of the pack had kept the twins up that night, and in the morning their parents had been gone, lost to the woods with the front door swinging open in the slight breeze. Every year the pack came, and every year they stayed away a little longer. But Eija and Eirik knew hunting, knew canning, fermenting, cooking and cleaning. They knew how to make and repair furniture, ceramics, clothes. They knew how to maintain embers in the wood stove to keep the house warm, and they knew how to play chess to keep each other entertained. Every year they were fine whenever their parents returned, and this bred a sense of confident abandonment in Kaspar and Emma. No questions were ever asked, no details ever offered.
The matter of Sven though, was troubling.
Sven had been their brother, once. He’d been tall and thick like them, pale and blond with a strong jaw and ice-colored eyes so light and glittering they were nearly colorless mirrors. He’d turned with their parents early, tumbling around the woods as a pup and laughing at the way his body had shifted so fluidly from yipping gray wolf to boy and back again. Sven had never stopped laughing, in fact - he’d been funny, loud and bright. He hid Eija’s shoes and teased Eirik into putting his hand into a box full of shaving cream to find out the “secret.” His hugs had always been warm and tight, and one day he’d bounded out the door with his parents and the pack to chase the blood moon and he’d never come back.
There had been a hunt, their parents had explained. A fight, an accident, Sven’s blood splashed dark across the trees and snow. He’d never come back from the woods, and they’d never spoken of him again. Eija though, she kept his sweaters at the back of her closet and would occasionally put one on, for bad nights. She still had Eirik at least, who was steady and intelligent without any of Sven’s lively humor but all of his sturdy support and dependability. Their parents would not speak his name, as if to acknowledge that he had once been would invoke some darkness, violate some pact. Still, on the night of the Friggablot every May, after honoring their mother with dinner and gifts, the twins would slip into the wolf-woods to light a sacred fire for their lost Sven. He never found it, no matter where they camped.
Eirik’s nighttime routine was a quiet one, as was Eija’s. They shared a dinner of beef stew and bread, and Eirik brewed them warm root tea as the sun sank. Wordlessly, they washed the dishes side by side with Eija scrubbing and her brother drying, and he pressed his lips to her temple before they separated for the night. “Drom sott,” were his only words, and she smiled faintly, squeezed his hand. Hausblot had already passed and the nights were going brisk and chilly, but their northern blood was ready and she didn’t bother leaving the woodstove lit. Instead, she waited for Eirik to finish his bath before taking command of the upstairs bathroom herself, the scent of his wood-and-mint soap lingering soothingly.
She’d cleaned and laid out the old furs for her bed the month before, in preparation for northern Minnesota’s half-year deep freeze, but even snuggling down under at least ten pounds of fur and fabric couldn’t lull her to sleep. Normally this was not an issue for her, but a buzz filled her brain that wouldn’t be silenced even as the night wore on. It was around midnight that she finally abandoned all pretense and let her mind find Eirik, who was not in his bed. He was in fact, directly over her head.
The roof of their log home was flat to the east side and angled to the south, with a lip of log rising up around the perimeter that acted as a sufficient barrier to prevent one from rolling off in their sleep. This had led to some years of the twins sleeping on the roof when there was no rain predicted, and she found him up there several minutes later via the ladder hooked to her bedroom window that only asked for a little swinging and dexterity to get there. The air was sharp and cool, the sky swirling dark, the milk-dense moon casting the world in a pearl glow. An icy, pine-sharp breeze bit through her soft pajamas, and she shivered, tiptoeing across weathered roofing to him.
He’d laid out all of his own thick bedding, his pillow, and in his flannel pajama pants and long-sleeved black henley he looked as comfortable as anything indoors. Eija tossed her own pillow, managing to land it just beside his head so that he didn’t stir, but when she crawled into their now-shared nest of furs and blankets he silently slid an arm around her shoulders to draw her close. His heartbeat steadied under her cheek when she rested her head on his chest, the cool air sweeping out toward the woods unable to cut into the warmth of them, and finally she slept.
A cold, gray-soft dawn had broken when she next opened her eyes, the loss of Eirik’s soothing heat abruptly jarring. He was sitting upright beside her, leaning forward a little and peering out toward the woods. She opened her mouth, but before a breath escaped her he silenced her with a raised hand and pointed. “Look.” His voice was a whisper, strange considering that they were at least ten miles from their closest neighbor. The word floated away from his lips on a cloud of steam as it met the frigid air, his breath dissipating even as she obeyed.
The tree line of the woods surrounding their house began after roughly half an acre of wild growth that served as something of a kitchen garden - their parents had taught them how to grow potatoes, carrots, turnips and herbs to sustain them when trips into town became a snow-packed luxury in the winter months. Eirik’s pale eyes were fixed upon the space now, and after a moment of bleary adjustment, Eija came to understand why. A small collection of people were emerging into the burgeoning light, spilling out from the woods like a tiny swarm of rolling bugs out from under a lifted rock. They were all in dark hooded robes obscuring their faces, but their heights suggested men, women, maybe even children.
“What were they doing in our woods?” Eirik’s hand tightened around her forearm, where it had fallen moments before, and he shook his head to silence her. No one had noticed them yet, they were likely too far away. There were at least ten of them, and the way they moved together felt familiar. A rival pack then, maybe the ones who had challenged their father for his alpha position and killed Sven - laughing Sven -years ago. Eija’s teeth bared themselves and she tensed all over, but Eirik was only alert, watching. The group slowly broke apart, crossing their land on silent feet in the earliest possible morning, several heading west toward the Lost River, others east into town. It wasn’t until the last of them was no longer visible that Eirik seemed to exhale, lifting his hand from Eija’s arm.
Something about what they’d seen felt profoundly wrong, despite the robed figures having done nothing particularly threatening. “It wasn’t a blot,” Eirik said quietly. “Hausblot’s done, they’re quite late if they’re observing out there at this point.”
“Erik the Red’s day?”
“Couple of days too early. Maybe. I don’t know.”
They rolled their bedding in silence and carried the piles back into the house through her bedroom window, where Eirik laid them neatly back across their beds. He slept below Eija’s attic room, down the hall from their parents’ empty bedroom. She realized as she was inhaling deeply of the cold forest scents still clinging to her furs that part of her had hoped their parents would be among the strange hooded figures, on their way home from a few months with the pack. But none had crossed the kitchen garden to enter their house, and some natural instinct had held her back from calling out to the group to ask for them.
#vikings#nordic#fiction#modern fantasy#lgbt#gay#original writing#writing#writeblr#guys i'm actually close to finishing a novel here#please be kind i was so anxious to post this first part#are y'all feeling this? should i keep posting more?#let me know
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
wild valley pt7 | chanyeol
.summary. Park Chanyeol; sweat rolling down a naked back mixed with motor oil, you; white sugar sticking to your gums at sunset– ice cream flavored. Drugs, booze, money. He’s everything you’re not, the question is – for how long?
.word count. 7k
.mechanic!au | gang!au | car shop!au.
.pairing. chanyeol x reader
.genre. smut, fluff, romance
.warnings. mature language, sexual content, thigh riding, public fingering
.author’s note. i’m posting the next chapter soon after this one, too (hopefully tomorrow). though the next chapter is the real deal, this one has it’s fair share of smut, so if you’re uncomfortable with that, i’m sorry. these two chapters won’t be for you
♫ let me set the mood ♫
teaser. part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5. part 6. part 7. (m) part 8. (m)
Red lights beam on the side of the jukebox, flashing in time with the beat of the music that plays through the speakers. Tiled floors, blue, faux leather seats and the smell of cooled coffee drinks. The place seems pulled right from 40s, and yet, it’s still his favorite place in the entire city. Besides the garage, maybe. The diner is never full, leaning more towards bankruptcy on most days with the lack of customers and yet, he comes here like it’s an unchangeable routine.
The lady behind the counter, Samantha, is a graying woman in her fifties, and she hates him smoking indoors. Normally he doesn’t care, since no one else does. But for once, it seems, he decides to be civil. The tall woman plops down the tray with a smile, though her eyebrows are stewed together. His diet seems to consist only of hamburgers and alcohol, but that’s just what’s easiest. He doesn’t have time to order in food, let alone do something healthy for his body like cook actual food.
“What is up with you today? Did you receive some bad news, or something? I’ve never once had to not tell you to put out your cigarette in my fine establishment.” She purses her red, painted lips out as her arms cross over her chest.
“What fine establishment, Sam? This place is just about as dead as your romantic life,” he sighs, grabbing his coke to take a large gulp. The older woman dramatically smacks him with the menu, before rolling her eyes.
“That’s rich coming from you, young man. At least I’ve had a romantic life before, my prince charming just slipped through my fingers. I don’t know what your excuse is. If you don’t soon start seeing someone, you’ll end up just like me, and worse.” She fans herself with the menu, blowing her artificial vanilla perfume his way. Without hesitation, he takes a big bite out of the hamburger, eyes flicking up at her as she talks. “Men can’t handle a life alone, you know. They get emotionally constipated.”
He snorts at that, and hums while chewing. She’s actually right, if he’s being honest. Sam is doing just fine alone, he can’t really say the same for himself though. “Well,” she sighs, cleaning off the wet side of the table for him, before straightening, “just get on it. You’ll be forty and alone sooner than you think, you’re already nearing your thirties.” With that she tosses her rag over her shoulder, and walks away. “Enjoy your meal now, young man.”
He’d find her advice bothersome, if he didn’t know what a genuine person the older woman was. It’s not easy to put up with him sometimes, he knows this too. As he eats, he looks out the darkened windows to the street, watching the light as it slips through the clouds and plays on the house fronts with a twinkling joy. Summer’s coming to an end soon, already indicated by the cooler winds that blow through. It’s strange. Even though he’s evidently slowed down compared to months before, so much more seems to have happened.
This time last year, he was pumping every bit of energy he had into the garage. Every fiber of his being belonged to that place, without second thought, without stopping. He needed something to tune his problems into, needed to distract himself from the real world by sinking into his work and while it worked back then, it’s noticeably different from how he deals with things now. He doesn’t know how much of that started when you jumped into his life head first.
As he eats in silence, sharing the diner only with one other patron, who seems too invested in the newspaper to notice anything around it, the familiar ring of the bell sounds. Soft steps make their way through the hall and into sight, making Chanyeol pause mid-bite. The woman who walks in is quite a bit taller than you, but shares a striking resemblance with you. As she walks towards the bar and closer to him though, he can make out some differences between you two. This girl is a bit older, eyes lined with black wings and hair dyed a soft honey color.
She waves at the woman behind the counter, and clears her throat. “Hello, neighbor.”
“Hiya, young lady,” Sam responds, wide smile on her face. “Don’t you look lovely today? You going somewhere, Yuna?” Chanyeol doesn’t mean to listen in on the conversation, but the diner is so abandoned that he can’t help but tune in.
The woman, who he can only guess is your sister, shakes her head as she leans on the bar with both elbows. “Not really, but thank you. I just wanted to hop in to ask if you’ve seen Y/N, by any chance? She was supposed to come into work today, but the shop is closed and I can’t reach her.” Yuna brushes her bangs out of her face with a frustrated sigh, hands continuing to play with the edge of her shirt. “Has she been here at all, today?”
At that Sam lifts her brows, and reaches over to offer her a glass of water. “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help, dear. I haven’t seen her today, but I’ve been cooped up in here since the morning, too.” Yuna gratefully takes the glass of water in both hands, nodding. “You don’t think something happened to her, do you?” Sam asks.
“No, she’s probably just out with her friends,” Yuna sighs, “it wouldn’t be the first time that she doesn’t let me know where she’s going. But you know, she’s a really responsible girl, normally. After our parents divorced, she basically took all of the household chores on her shoulders, got good grades in school, even though she had to carry the weight of three people on her shoulders. It’s why I had no doubts, handing her the reigns of the store, but—” with that she pauses, and leans forward a little more, “I’m worried about the friend’s she’s made.”
“How come?”
“Dew’s a nice girl. She’s not much of a party goer, and when she does, she lets everyone know so that we don’t worry. At least, that’s how she was growing up. Now she’s spending every day and night with those boys, I just… I don’t know. There’s things that go on in this city that I don’t want her to come into contact with.” Though Samantha nods in agreement, she places a hand on the other’s shoulder, and sighs.
“You’re not going to be able to protect her from everything. It’s good that you’re concerned about her. But I think, in cases like these, where friends are involved, she’s going to have to make that decision for her own.” Chanyeol sighs as he stands from his booth, brows furrowed. It makes both women look over at him, as if only now remembering that there’s other people in the diner, but they don’t say anything. Chanyeol gives a small nod as he passes by them two, waving casually.
“You can put it on my tab, Sam.” The older woman hums in reply, and goes back to her business. As he rounds the corner, he can see her pulling your sister into a warm hug, patting her back comfortingly. As he opens the door, the sound of the bell rings again. When the door falls shut behind him, all the music disappears. The street is void, for lack of a better word. It might just be because of the conversation, but it’s startling. When he looks to his right, a cold feeling comes over his skin.
The ice cream shop is closed, indeed. He hadn’t really paid attention to it when he came. The normally bright colors of the interior are tucked away behind the ugly, metal shutters, and the soft instrumental music that plays from the boxes is disconnected, leaving behind the occasional sound of static. The place looks and feels cold. And he’s seen those same shutters about a million times before, but this was never a thought that crossed his mind before you came. It only serves to remind him again, that something needs to be done.
And that something might just have to be him, if no one else does anything about it. For once, Chanyeol’s determination seems like the right choice. As he crosses the street, he jams his hand in his pocket to pull out the ever familiar red and white box, and places a smoke between his lips. If he gets the chance, he tells himself, he’s going to get over his brooding and talk to you. Help you out. It’s all that he can do, but for the first time in months— he’s hopeful that he stands a chance. A chance at doing the right thing.
It’s funny. If nothing else, Chanyeol just wants Sehun to shut up right now. Baekhyun too, and if possible the entire room, for a while. As always, he’s left wondering why the hell he came out tonight, and drowning his unpleasant thoughts in scotch that definitely shouldn’t have been opened. Too bad. It’s stupidly hot in this house, leaving his clothes glued to his shape, and his thoughts brewing in the background. A girl he’s forgotten the name of sits on his lap, thighs warming his own and her soft whispers thumping on his eardrums.
His chest is tight and hands are heavy, and so when the girl takes his hands he doesn’t pull back, though he feels like doing so. Kyungsoo, despite all odds, seems to be enjoying his time for once, settled politely in the couch next to Yuta’s ex. His friend is normally too in his head about everything, to join in on the fun, too calculated to let loose like the others. But even though Kyungsoo says he doesn’t like the woman, Chanyeol would bet money on an eventual hook-up. If two attractive people spend a load of time together, it’s inevitable. When the shorter man sends his a questioning look, Chanyeol looks away, leaning back in the couch.
The room is a burnt amber because of the obnoxious lights draping down the walls like a curtain, and the floor sticks to the soles of his shoes when he moves them. And though a band plays in the other room, it’s not a good one. But despite all of the reasons that could possibly irk him, they aren’t the cause of the thoughts prodding at his brain. Sehun seems blatantly unaware as ever, though Chanyeol’s not sure if he’s doing it on purpose right now or if his friend is really that stupidly lacking in tact.
“I’m just saying— if you go for it, y’ should go for it,” Sehun slurs, tongue thick with some strong liquor that is starting to sound insanely appealing right now. “I— no, if you wanna go for it, you should— ‘s what I mean. Before that cherry wannabe or his bleached bimbo friend hop on the choo choo pussy train and leave you moping for the rest of your sad, sad life.” Jongdae, who looks none the wiser on the conversation he’s suddenly tuned into, just giggles brightly and shrugs at the older.
Without fail, Baekhyun turns to his friend, and leans forward to pat Chanyeol’s shoulder with a grin, moving the girl to the side to get a clear view of his face. “Yeah, Park. Go for it.” He smiles knowingly across to Sehun as he takes the last gulp of his bottle, before tossing it into the cooling bucket with the unopened beers. “I’m dying for another Beauty and the Beast remake,” he adds, laughing at his own joke with full force. His eyes turn into thin moons with the satisfaction he gets out of it, and for once Chanyeol’s not sure weather to punch his friend or join him.
It seems appropriate, doesn’t it? He’s the one who told you to stay away from him, yet here he is, glancing to the side every few minutes to make sure you haven’t left yet. He’s jittery like a young school girl, any time he catches your eyes. Staring, only to look away when you glance back with a smile that seems permanently glued to your lips. You’re particularly beaming today, radiating a pink, velvet aura that reminds him of cotton candy. Your hair pulled in a high ponytail that reveals the tattoo that you got on your neck not too long ago. Jongdae warned him, but clearly not enough, because the effect it has on him is weighted.
“She’s looking over this way,” Baekhyun grins again when he faces the other, his lips jutting out. “You know, for a grown man the size of a tree, you really can be a big bitch sometimes.” Without hesitating, he jams a cold beer in his friend’s hand, ignoring lap-girl when she sends him a glare at being interrupted for a second time. Such a small sized human, but such a blabbering mouth. The brunet leans back himself then, running his fingers through his hair. “And don’t even start to me about Dara. Yes, she fucked you up, and yes, she was a horrible, soul-eating piece of shit, but that’s not what’s holding you back here. Man up, Chanyeol.”
Though it’s obvious taunting, Chanyeol clenches his jaw, his shoulders tensing in the process. Several beats pass, before he’s turning over his shoulder for the nth time tonight. This time, you’re already looking at him. Your lips are curled at the ends, lashes dark but eyes playing with a daring glint, and for the first time in maybe— ever— does he allow himself to admit that you look undeniably attractive. He’d blame it on the alcohol, but you both seem to know better. Your lips move and though he can’t make out the sound of your voice above the music, the sentiment doesn’t pass him completely. His frown must be visible even from afar though, because you giggle. ‘What are you drinking?’ you mouth again, cocking your head at his hand this time to drive the point home.
It’s a subtle thing, but he swears your lips go from a grin to a genuine smile when he opens his mouth in understanding. It’s adorable, for one. But it’s also very you, and maybe that’s what warms his insides more. “Guinness,” he responds, making sure to face you as well as he can from across the room. You smile yet again, and hold out an ‘okay’ sign with your hand, before moving to stand up, presumably to get said drink. None of your friends follow, only his gaze following behind as your black skirt wraps around the curve of your ass.
And fuck it, if it isn’t the chance he’s been waiting for. He moves lap-girl into the side of the guy next to him, and stands from the warm sofa to make his way out of the little nook his friends have claimed as their own for the night, under the loud holler of Jongdae. Who, despite being the most sober, still can’t keep quiet at the best of times. Though lap-girl seems slightly upset, the guy who’s lap she is thrust into seems more than happy to make up the difference, and so Chanyeol quickly pushes past the couple blocking him.
The room sways just slightly as he moves through the sticky lump of people, long legs doing more damage than good in this tight a space. Of course, for all the teasing they can do, and all the jabs they might give, his friends are right. Even now, when he has a reason to talk to you and now he has a question to ask, do his nerves go flying at the single first chance they get. But with all of Baekhyun’s nagging, he can’t possibly let the night go on unresolved. He can just see you move through the crowd a bit ahead, swaying more than a bit yourself. Maybe tonight isn’t a good night, and maybe he’ll regret it in the morning, but for the first time in a long while does he feel like he has a goal outside of his own bubble. He’s not about to let it slip past.
You unknowingly lead him through the hall and into the next room of the house, before the people finally clear out enough to allow him a quicker pace. For how much shorter your legs are than his, you’re surprisingly fast. Your hair bounces with every one of your steps, swaying softly to alter between hiding your tattoo and not. He bites his bottom lip, and takes another two steps, before reaching down to grab you by your shirt. You veer back like a spring because of his grip on you, as his other hand comes to keep you from falling, hoping to avoid the typical clumsiness that that usually causes. In your attempt to turn, you stumble backwards, resulting in an equally suggestive pose.
You stare up at him for several seconds from your place squeezed against the wall, his body surrounding you on all other sides. With a little frown, Chanyeol lets go of your shirt, though the hand on your other side doesn’t have any intention of leaving. Before he can say anything, you let out a slight giggle, and press your hands against your chest. “You scared my goddamn brain out of me, Chanyeol, geez.” There’s a slight fog in your eyes indeed, the result of some kind of alcohol no doubt, and your lips are unnaturally red, which is probably a sign of Baron. But he doesn’t care, because you look intoxicating in the best way.
“Finally, here you are,” he just sighs, doing his best to keep the stubborn frown from crawling back to his brows. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for the entire evening.” For a second, he wonders if this is out of line. Just a split second, where it seems like it’s not his place to intervene, and another where he has to wonder if you’re bothered by his unending indecisiveness. But as if on clue, you laugh. Full, and genuine, with every fiber of your being you laugh, leaning your head to his chest in the process and with that he couldn’t give any less of a shit, even if it was his place to say jack shit. Because he wants to, anyway.
When you take a deep breath in, you look at him from under your lashes and smile. “Oh, ‘s that so?” Your mouth curves prettily in the shine of the purple spotlights. “Good. I was staring to think you’d gone completely mental, with the amount of times I caught you staring at me from across the room.” A mortified warmth spreads on his cheeks at that, though it doesn’t seem to bother you. “I’m glad you’ve finally caught me, then.” Your hand wraps around his larger, fingers cold against his warm skin.
With a deep breath through his nose, Chanyeol looks away from you to survey the room, at a sudden loss for words. The room is much more quiet than the main one, lacking in people too. It’s significantly colder here, which seems to make the warmth of your body more noticeable. Your eyes are on him as he moves back to face you, softly regarding him. “Listen,” he starts, “I wanted to— have a word with you without your friends, without everyone staring at me like I’m crazy. I might be, but I don’t need everyone pointing it out.”
Though you don’t change your expression, he can tell your brain is turning it’s gears, lips softly opening. “If you’re gonna listen, that is. Because I won’t spend my time trying to explain something if you don’t wanna hear it.” The last part slips out before he can stop it, an explanation ready to flow from his mouth at all times. You nod though, wide eyed, as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips again. You must be thirsty still.
“Is it true?” you suddenly ask, leaning a little more towards him. Your finger softly taps the side of his hand, though he doesn’t know if it’s a comforting move or a concerned one. Though your fingers are noticeably colder than his, your touch is soft, like velveteen. Your words slowly filter in above the music.
His dark eyes bore into yours for an extended second, before the tenseness of his shoulders drops. “Is what true?” His eyes glide to your lips when you lick them, clearly holding something you want to say back. But gentle as ever, you just move back to press your weight into the wall, tilting your head to the side as you shake it.
“Nothing,” you mumble, barely audible over the cascading sound of the band across the house, “continue, please. You were explaining that you don’t like having pointed out that you’re crazy, I think. Not sure though, you weren’t making any sense.” Chanyeol’s laugh is one of surprise, slipping out like it’s been aching to do so for a long time and you also look surprised, if your raised eyebrows are anything to go by. It doesn’t last nearly as long as it should, but you seem to bloom at the sound, even joining with it after a bit. His laugh makes you flutter, and that almost sends him spiraling. Because it’s his laugh that is making you smile like that.
“I’m not crazy,” he brings out, forcing down the corners of his lips. Your own follow suit, your best attempt at being serious. “Look, Y/N. I know that I’m probably the last person you want to take advice from,” Chanyeol’s hand moves from your side to glide through his white strands, soothing his nerves, “but— I uh… I worry about you. Definitely lately.” His dark eyes find yours with more fevor this time, flicking over your face as you listen. Though you’ve done your very best to conceal them, there’s grooves under your eyes that weren’t there when you first talked to him, and even with your ever-lasting smile, your face has a tiredness that refuses to stand down.
“I’m not gonna tell you who to be friends with. Hell, I couldn't give less of a shit even if they were the shittiest people on earth, because you’re old enough to take care of that yourself. But I will tell you that this— whatever it is you’re doing— isn’t gonna last. And one day you’re gonna wake up and wonder how the fuck everything went so wrong.” His voice is deep when he talks, though this can’t be the only reason that you lean into his touch more, eyes moving from him to the floor multiple times. He sighs, and squeezes your fingers a little more in his own. “Believe me.”
It stays silent for a long minute, one where Chanyeol can see every breath you take. Eventually you bite your bottom lip. “That’s easy for you to say.” Though you smile, you look over to the bar with distant eyes. “Park Chanyeol,” you grin, mouthing it eagerly as if his name is something grand. Something to be proud of. “Chanyeol, with his white hair and tattoos.” Your lips look like pink candy floss as you speak. It’s distracting. “Stupidly hot. Like, it’s-insane-that-someone-looks-like-that hot. Infuriatingly fucking hot. You’ve had every pretty girl in this city, and if you haven’t, you could easily.”
When you really catch his eyes again, you pout. You’re a grown, cotton candy baby, pouting his heart into the next gear and he feels like leaning closer to you just so he can hold himself up on the wall. He almost feels like making fun at himself for how badly it renders him. Instead he chooses to take a step back, looking anywhere but your face. That’s why he notices your hands are fisted into your shirt, exposing a sliver of skin of your waist unintentionally. God, you look like you taste so sweet. This tiny piece of exposed skin makes his tongue heavy and belly drop. He looks away. “You- you think I’m hot?” he settles on saying, jaw clenching.
You huff out a small laugh, and place your hands on his chest, the pressure of your nails poking through his shirt. “I think you’re ridiculous,” you smile, eyes glinting with a playfulness as you glance at him from under your lashes, “that you even have to ask. I’ve had to keep myself in check since the first time I saw you.” The smile on your face drops when you realize what you just said, embarrassment coloring your cheeks for the first time tonight. Chanyeol revels in the shade that dusts your cheeks though.
Before you can bring out an attempt to cover up your confession, he leans closer, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. He would think it too forward, even for him, if you weren’t looking at him with the most blown out expression. Before he can think about it, his hand finds your chin, tilting it up towards him so that you can look at him, and oh— are you looking. He can almost see the pitter patter of your heart on your face, longing marking every inch of skin. With a firm hold on your jaw, he leans down to hover in your space, faces so close that he can feel your breath meeting his own. “You’re been wanting me for months, huh?” His words are confident, overly so. It would be presumptuous, if your breathing didn’t stutter as it did.
When you give the tiniest motion of agreement, he takes a step closer, the length of his body finally finding yours for what must have been an eternity of want. Your lips open to let out a small noise, so soft that it immediately gets swallowed by the room. But Chanyeol smiles at it, moving his thumb over the soft expanse of your cheek. “I could ruin you without trying, sugar.” Again, you nod at the words that he forms, warm and dark in the thick tension of the room. Within only two minutes, he’s got you in between his arms, and though he didn’t start the night with this in mind, maybe he’s wanted this for longer than he dares admit. Maybe he’s wanted you from the first time he saw you, as well. Marking your baby-blue clad body with blood-red hickeys. The tightness of his pants seems to prove so.
“You could,” you bring out feebly, fingers tangling in his black shirt to keep a hold on reality, “and I’d probably let you.” His free hand moves to grab your thigh, pulling you flush against him now, as the other goes to rest on the small of your back. Your eyes are dark like smoke now, and though he can’t check to see, he knows his are much the same. And then you move one of your hands to grab at the hair at the back of his head, willingly tilting your face upwards so that your lips almost brush his, and every string in his body is ready to snap. Every piece of clothing on his body seems to much, too warm. The friction is irritating. “Do you want to kiss me, Chanyeol?” you breathe.
Yes. Before the world can even continue spinning, are his lips on yours. Instinctive, like he’d snap if he didn’t. Mouth on yours. Hands on your skin and in your shirt and traveling up your back. It happens in an instant, so sudden that he might topple over, if he wasn’t already pressing you into the wall. Your lips are scalding, red hot like smoldering coals and maybe you could send him up in flames if you tried. Your hands grab him harder, closer, as if the non-space is still too much and he’d be inclined to agree. And his lips move harshly on yours, tongue meeting your own.
The kiss is hard and messy, fire surging from your body to his. He bends down more to tuck you entirely in his hold, while his hand grabs a handful of ass. When he squeezes hard, you squeak into his mouth, dissolving in a twirl of smiles and something more desperate. But you don’t ever stop kissing him, and in that moment he’s sure you two could keep going forever. Where your fingers were cold before, now they seem to trail sparks over his skin. You pull away for a second to take a breath, before kissing him again, his bottom lip, his jaw, under his ear. Your one hand moves to hold his cheek, while the other grabs desperately at his shoulder.
But he’s only just gotten a taste of you, so Chanyeol catches your lips with his again, sucking sharply on your bottom lip. It makes you melt into his hold, trying desperately to stay upright. The hand that is glued to the soft expanse of your back moves to grab another handful of ass, your hips pulled to his. Your tongue tastes like some candy flavored drink, melting with the barren taste of his scotch from earlier. He leans you into the wall completely, feeling your chest brushing against his own with every breath. Every part of you is piping hot, sweet and sour and holy fuck— his dick is so hard. Never once has a make out turned him on this much. As in retaliation for the interruption of your kisses, you pull his lip between your teeth, and bite it, hard. The sting only serves as a temporary line down to earth.
Mouths and tongues a blur as they melt together. Again, his hands are moving, as if automatic. His fingers tangle in the bottom of your hair, most definitely messing up your ponytail. You pull back to rest your head on the wall, allowing him a breath, before you blatantly moan at the feeling of his hands on you. When he opens his eyes, yours stay closed. Your breath is heavy, lips bright red and blurred at the edges. You look fucking heavenly, and the thought that it’s all for him to take makes every fiber in him shake. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you mouth, blindly grabbing at his neck to pull his face back to yours, “please.”
Your bottom lip seems to shake with how badly you mean it. “Have me, your way.” Your whisper is faint, bringing a small smile to his lips. You don’t see it, but it’s okay. He too, is overwhelmed with the undying urge to fade from the world. He kisses you as a response, softly this time, with a small hum to join. When his lips break from yours, you do open your eyes, looking just as smitten as he feels. “Ruin me, Chanyeol,” you beg, clenching your jaw. He stares at you for just a moment longer, before leaning even closer, and nodding mindlessly. Dragging his mouth over your jaw. Down your neck, hard, open mouth kisses pressed everywhere. And as soon as he adds teeth, you curl into his body, clinging desperately to his back. You moan, your noises sweet like honey.
The thought of fucking you over the bar crosses his mind briefly, but as fast as it comes, he knows that won’t sate him. He needs you on a bed, spread out for him once, or twice. As he works, the heat between your bodies seems to come to a boil, sweat dripping down his neck and chest and joining the ruined floor of the party. Your nails in his back, hands shaking. The tightness of his pants is almost painful, but the idea of taking his time with you is much too appealing. Every time he brands his mark on your skin, you whimper, tilting your hips to rub over him. It pulls a small laugh out of him, brushing over your shoulder. “Eager, baby?” he asks, though he’s not expecting an answer. Instead, he just digs his fingers into the soft skin of your ass again, and continues the trail of hickies, to which you mumble some incoherent words.
Finally, when the heat becomes too much to bare, and your whines turn into noises of clear impatience, he pulls back to check his work. Your shirt is pulled all the way forward, almost slipping off your one shoulder, and your mouth is open, one lip pulled harshly between your teeth. The hickies blooming on your skin only make you look more wrecked. He thought he was done, but fuck. Yet again, he has to lean down to grab your face in both of his large hands, and to pull your lips to his. You just whimper, and let him claim your mouth as his, looking too fucked out to make any understandable thoughts. And he hasn’t even used his hands on you yet.
Your glowing body presses to his again, in an attempt to move things forward maybe, fuck if he knows. At this point, he’d do anything if you just asked. But you’re letting him lead, so he’ll do his very best to ruin you like you need to be ruined. When he lets you drop back, his knee lifts to sit tightly in between your thighs, and you full-on moan at the small act. “You’re such a sweet, little thing,” he breathes, mouth at the nape of your neck to bite down there sharply, as your hips stutter to drag over his thick thigh. It sends an unbearable amount of pressure to his center, enough to make him pause. You don’t let him though, squeezing and grabbing at any skin you can get your hands on, as you successfully roll your hips on his thigh. A high pitched noise trembles from your tongue. “Aren’t you a desperate, little girl? Look at you rubbing yourself all over my thigh.”
You just nod harshly, opening your eyes to look at the white haired man with a black-dripping need. “Ch- Chanyeol,” you whisper, digging your nails into his bicep as he pushes his leg harder into your center, “fuck, holy fuck, please.” It’s the first coherent words you’ve spoken since earlier, and part of him longs to give in just at the effort. But your gorgeous expression right now is priceless.
“You’re soaking through your panties, aren’t you?” His one hand moves to slip under your shirt, under your bra, to grab your breast without shame. Your eyes shut with a sharp breath in. “Aren’t you, sugar?” he repeats, dark tone pressed to the softness of your cheek. You breathe a faint ‘yes’, probably, but Chanyeol’s not sure. He manoeuvres your chin sideways to access the untouched side of your neck, and sucks down there with a feverous breath of his own. He didn’t start the night with this in mind, but fucking shit, he wishes he’d done this three times over already. You leave him starstruck. As your hips move over his thigh in a punishing rhythm, Chanyeol squeezes hard at your soft skin, and rolls your sensitive bud between his thumb and index finger. It all seems too much for you, because you suddenly pull his head away from your neck, and quiver in his hold.
“I— I’m,” his free hand moves to wrap your one thigh around him, not bothered by the interruption in the slightest, “I need to…” You don’t finish your sentence when he ruts his hips to your core, making the both of you moan. God, he wants nothing more than to have you right here, have everyone see who you belong to. But you both seem to know he’s too selfish to do so. You try again, looking at him from under hooded eyes to jut out your bottom lip. “Chanyeol, please, fuck— I’m close.” The words alone make his dick even harder, if that’s possible. It might not be long or he bursts, with how tight his pants are wrapped around him.
The smile he gives you is a genuine one. “You wanna come? You wanna cum all over me, have everyone see how good I can make you feel?” You nod your head desperately, and wrap your hand around his forearm for support. The desperate roll of your hips to his clothed dick would be answer enough for him though. With a devilish smirk that fights it’s way to his face, he trails his fingers down the valley of your breasts and even lower, not letting your hips still on his thigh. His free hand dips smoothly under your skirt, and past your ruined panties. “God, you are soaked, baby.” Your wetness is sure to stain a dark patch on his jeans.
“Ah,” you whimper, “please,” at this point, you don’t even seem to know what you’re begging for. The leg that is pressed in between your legs parts them wider, giving him the space needed to slip his fingers under you to trail them between your lips, first one, then two. As he does so, you tilt your head back, allowing him the perfect opportunity to latch his mouth back on your neck. If anyone were to see him here, they might easily know where his hand is going, but most people are luckily too entranced by the alcohol to notice. And if they are not, he’s too entranced by you to give a shit. You’re effectively dripping, allowing his thick finger to slide in without any resistance. He doesn’t hesitate to add a second, enjoying your soft noises of pleasure above him as his lips suck a hickey at the top of your breast.
“Do my fingers feel good, sugar?” He thrusts them inside hard to accompany his words, sending you forward into a blubbering mess. The only thing he can make out is the word ‘yes’, that you chant a million times. You’re so responsive, it’s adorably attractive. His fingers move smoothly in and out of you with a come hither motion every time inside, allowing you the first feeling of stretch. But he doesn’t stay this kind for long, needy in his touches as much as you are. He pulls back to watch you squirm on his hand and lock your thigh around his body, fingers thrusting in and out with obscene noises and deliver a slap to your clit every time skin connects to skin.
You’re pinned to the wall under his sharp movements, arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close and breathing hot and heavy against his skin. And every time he jams them into your tight hole, thumb rolling over the sensitive bud with ease, you seem to clench harder around his hand. He adds a third finger, smiling at the adorable sound you make, and curls his fingers as much as possible, until the rhythm becomes too much to bear. Your body bends entirely under his will, as you whimper. “God— fucking shit, I’m gonna come.” A soft whine, before your face tilts towards him with two shaky breaths. “Kiss me, Chanyeol, please— oh, please, don’t stop.”
He wouldn’t stop even if someone paid him to do so. He gives in, moving his free hand to your jaw to grab it tight, and pushes his lips back on yours harshly. His thick fingers spreading you thin as you clench around him, and his thumb setting an unrelenting pace. It doesn’t take long until you’re coming all over his hand and thigh, moaning into his mouth with an iron grip on his shoulders. You dissolve in his arms as he doesn’t let up on your clit until you’re effectively shaking, body jerking with aftershocks. His hand stills in you for a moment as you come down from your high, mouth hung open.
And then you open your eyes at him, and send him the world’s sweetest smile, and he’s totally lost for you. For tonight, he’ll be yours, and just yours. He’ll make it worth the wait. “Good?” he whispers into your ear, covering your body with his as much as possible when he pulls his fingers out of you, and unwraps your thigh from his body. Your cum and arousal drips down your both thighs as you nod your head, still holding onto him for support. He nods in agreement once, before pressing a kiss to your cheek and pulling away from you. He slides his fingers into his own mouth to clean them off one by one, enjoying the shell-shocked look on your face as he does so.
“I can’t believe I did that in public,” you suddenly seem to realize, which makes him chuckle. Not so much in public, as in a place that could become public, really. You are backed into the corner of the room for his viewing pleasure for a reason.
“I can,” he says, “and you did perfectly.” He reaches down in between your thighs once more to swipe up the trails of your cum, and reaches up to hover them over your lips, to which you respond by eagerly taking his fingers in yours, and cleaning those off with your soft tongue too. The visual only reminds him of how hard his cock is, and how badly he needs you. You finish off with a soft pop, before looking down at the floor with coloring cheeks. “Good girl.”
He looks around for a moment to catch his bearings, before looking back over at you where you’re flusteredly fixing your skirt back over your body. “I have a room here upstairs, if you want.” Your big eyes find his with a dark burning desire, still. “Not to be overly direct, but you looked gorgeous coming around my fingers, and I can only imagine how you’d look around my cock. That, and there’s a private bathroom so if you want to clean up afterwards, you can do that too.”
This makes a smile play at your lips, as you nod at him. “That sounds good.” Your smaller hand links in his, as you cock your head towards the hall. Smile wide. “Lead the way, Park Chanyeol.”
next part is going to secure me a spot in hell, but let’s be honest. I’d be in my element there anyway. I really hope you liked this chapter, and that it sates some of the frustration you must all be feeling about our two idiots. Thank you so much for reading! I read all replies, comments and asks, and I have to bow down to you all for the continues support you’ve all shown me with this series.
tag list: not taking anymore tags for right now ^^ thank you for all the love! Please remember to read everyone else’s stories as well, they’ve spent so much time and hard work crafting the rest of this universe!! All my lovelies: @ninibears-erigom @suhoerections @kimjongdaely @kyungseokie @kpop—scenarios @yeoldontknow @baekwell–tart @skjdln
@strongpowerhope @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @brie02 @baby-hands-x-x-blr @baek-byunies @shxrl4747 @lucymheng @byunfirstlady @chanyeolol @snowflakesandkisses @you-know-bts @puppykangie @kkpoptrashhh @im-a-special-bebe @joolsreads @i-dont-wanna-kokostop @yoongnysus @itsjustyvie
#exowritersnet#exosnet#exowriting#exo#exo au#gang au#racer au#car racer au#mechanic au#garage au#chanyeol#park chanyeol#pcy#chanyeol au#chanyeol series#chanyeol fanfic#chanyeol fic#ff#chanyeol ff#pcy ff#fic#fanfic#exo fanfic#exo fic#exo ff#exo collab#chanyeol car au#chanyeol car#car au#exo gang au
203 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Oasis: Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Jon woke to the now-familiar torment of Daenerys curled into the curve of his body. Predictably, his morning erection ached against the small of her back. Fuck, he was ruined for sex without her now. That wicked combination of sincerity and shyness, hunger and trust made for a potent cocktail. He was hooked. Strung out on it. Just thinking about it made him want her again.
“Dany,” he whispered, floundering through her thick curtain of hair. Dany shifted in his arms, rolling over to look at him.
“What time is it?” she asked around a yawn. Jon groped for the square burner phone on the nightstand.
“Shit. We slept in. It’s ten after ten,” he said.
“Mmm, I never sleep this late. Only when I’m with you. I can’t seem to want to get out of bed,” she said with a shy smile. Gods, he was truly fucked. Head over ass in love with her.
“Me neither. I can’t stop wanting this,” Jon said, leaning close to kiss her. It started as a simple brush of lips, meant to be sweet and playful. Also, predictably, the passion caught, and soon they were kissing madly. Daenerys rolled on top of him, her mouth hot and greedy on his. Jon hummed against the seal of her mouth, hands kneading her back. His stomach gave a long embarrassing growl. Daenerys stopped all manner of delicious grinding and kissing, to his dismay. The sight of her flushed and smiling above him, violet eyes almost glowing in the half-dark, made his heart stutter in his chest.
“Maybe we need breakfast before we start up again,” she said. Jon pulled her down for another lingering kiss. He nibbled on the plush softness of her lower lip.
“Later,” he said, his voice sleep-rough and husky.
Daenerys hummed in agreement, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Jon slid his hands over the sweet lines of her body. The ticklish caress of her hair, the bumps of her vertebrae, the soft plumpness of her arse. He spread her cheeks, settling her on his hips. His cock throbbed, trapped against his belly. Daenerys broke the kiss, moving to suck along his jawline, down his throat. Half-smothered by her hair, Jon shivered at the delicate scrape of her teeth.
“Dany,” he gasped. She arched her hips in sinuous little circles, lubing him up. Jon thumped his head back on the pillow. If she kept that up, he might come before he was even inside her. The sawing of his breath rang in his ears. Breathe it down, breathe it down, idiot! He sucked in air, breathing in the lavender tang of her shampoo, the sweat and musk of sex. Jon’s hands gripped her hips, trying to urge her up, to take him inside.
“Hmm-mm, not yet,” Daenerys breathed in his ear, bending to suckle his nipple. Pleasure was a sharp-sweet burn. Sweat broke out on his face and chest.
“Please,” he whispered, reaching between them to fist his cock. Fuck, her pussy was so slick and hot against the backs of his fingers.
Daenerys rose above him, batting away his hand. Grinning wickedly, she moved above him, rubbing her clit against the weeping head of his cock. Glancing touches. Not enough. Jon uttered a sound caught between a whine and a groan. At last, she took pity on him. A breathless slide down. A slow, rocking rhythm. Yesss. Jon gasped, shuddering. Gods, she was so hot and wet around him. A silken heaven made just for him. Despite all she’s been through, Daenerys was so sweet and open with him. His eyes fogged up. Fuck! Jon clenched his eyes shut, feeling a tear leak out.
“Jon?” Daenerys said, soft with concern. Jon hid his face in his hands.
“I’m ok,” he bit the words out. Hated the thick, hoarse tone. A hot knot of emotion choked him. How fucking embarrassing! Getting all weepy during sex. Daenerys peppered his hands with kisses.
“Come here,” she whispered. Jon let her peel away his hands and sought her mouth. That was better. The hot magic of their kisses. Jon fisted handfuls of her silky silver hair, holding her head as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Panting, she peeled back. She was so beautiful. Eyes dark with pleasure, a sheen of tears making them shine. Oh Dany, I love you. Be with me. The words rested on his tongue. He swallowed them.
“Dany, fuck me,” he said instead. Daenerys bit her lip, nodding. Straightening above him, hands braced on his chest, Dany did her level best to fuck him into the mattress. Hard, heavy strokes. Her breasts jiggled gloriously with each thrust. Through the wild veil of her hair, her lip curled into a snarl.
“Uhh, you feel so good inside me. I love having your cock in me,” she said. Jon groaned, his arousal skyrocketing up toward madness. Yesyesyes he wanted to drink her in, drown in her juice, fuck her until he couldn’t remember what it was to be without her. The madness of passion was easier than surrendering his own soul to her. The bed squeaked beneath them. He felt the tension building, heard it in her grunting little cries. He braced his heels on the bed, guiding her down, kneading her clit with his pelvis.
“Jon!” she cried as she came. Slick inner muscle fluttered around his cock, milking him. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t so much as whimper as he came. Hot pulses of come filling her. Behind his eyes was a red-black nothing, shot through with gold. A warm, sweet emptiness where there was only him and Dany. When he could marshal his vocal cords, he hissed her name. The intensity never slackened. Nope, it was world-ending orgasms along with soul-deep intimacy. A dangerous combination. How was it this good, every time? He'd been in love before, years ago with Ygritte, and it had been that sweet consuming passion of first love. Even that paled in comparison to what he felt now.
An idle passing thought remarked on the glut of unprotected sex. Going at it every chance he got since nearly the day he met her. He always wore a condom. Always. Jon couldn’t bear the thought of getting a woman pregnant. Like father, like son. Ned Stark was a great man in many ways, and Jon adored him, but Jon could never forgive him for the circumstances of his birth. And yet . . . when he thought about Dany pregnant with his child, there was none of the ubiquitous self-loathing he usually felt whenever the thought crossed his mind. No. It terrified and delighted him in equal measure. Maybe she would marry him if she got pregnant. Maybe she would feel trapped in a relationship with him.
"Fuck," he whispered as the thunder of his heartbeat began to slow. He shoved that train of thought down deep. It didn’t matter. She was on birth control. And they had bigger problems at the moment. Daenerys gave a soft laugh.
"Eloquent as always," she said, resting her chin on his chest. Thank the gods, he could grope his way back to playful lightness. No declarations of undying love, no vows of willing sexual slavery, no blurting out worries about babies. Jon grunted, giving her ripe arse a light smack. Dany squeaked, squirming in his grip. After some playful back and forth, she nestled into his side with a sigh. The silver tumble of her hair tickled his nose but he couldn't stir himself enough to care.
Outside, he could hear the musical din of rain on the roof, and a distant grumble of thunder in counterpoint. Perfect day to laze around indoors. Or better yet, in bed.
"I love rainy days. Especially when you don't have to work. I wonder how long we can stay. It's . . . nice being here with you," he said. Wan, weak words but true nonetheless. He hoped she wouldn’t bring up his earlier weepiness.
"We could stay here a thousand years and no one would ever find us," she whispered. Fuck me. Humor, sweetness, and a deep romantic streak. In seconds, he was right back in that emotional loop. Jon's throat closed at the sentiment.
"W--We'd be very old," he croaked finally. Daenerys snorted, leveling a narrow violet look.
"Yes, well come on. I'm hungry."
Daenerys, true to form as a high-strung intellectual, was hopeless in the kitchen. The steak from the fridge was in the oven, warming in a puddle of butter and thyme. Jon set her to the task of scrambling the eggs. Salt, pepper, and a touch of milk.
"Don't rush it, Dany," Jon said, covering her hand with his on the spatula and moderating her stirring.
"It looks good enough to me," she said. The yellow puddle of egg began to congeal in the pan. A suggestive wiggle of her hips teased his groin. Jon hummed, his free hand splayed on her hip. Gods, breathing her in, teasing and touching together doing something as mundane as cooking breakfast. It made him feel giddy. Or worse, lovestruck.
"If we do it my way, it'll be edible," Jon whispered the words, punctuating them with a nibble on the curve of her ear. Her silver hair lay piled in a messy bun on top of her head, smelling of lavender shampoo and the faint tang of sweat. Hmm, she was certainly edible.
"Such exacting standards, Chef Snow," Daenerys said in a breathy tone. Jon let her stir, his hands dipping low to find the sash of her robe. Underneath, she wore a purple bra and matching panties, a shiny satin kind. Jon slipped his hand in the cup of her bra, teasing her nipple with his thumb. Couldn't keep his hands off her. Drinking in the neat shape of her, the warm energy humming on her skin.
An acrid smell curled in his nose. The roasted rosemary potatoes smoked on the island burner. Jon cursed as Dany laughed. Jon lunged and snagged the skillet. A bit over-brown on the bottom.
"Looks like I'm not the only one who's distracted," she said. Jon pulled a face in her direction while trying to salvage the potatoes.
The eggs were perfect. Fluffy and hot. The steak miraculously didn't overcook, but stayed a tender medium. Jon usually preferred his steak a bit rarer, but not bad for reheating. They both tucked in. He loved her tidy table manners, even sitting cross-legged with her robe half undone. The silence was companionable as they ate.
From the kitchen nook, the two of them could look out at the expense of the lake reflecting the deep stormy grey of the sky. Jon watched the evergreen trees sway and the rain ripple like curtains in the wind. All the terror and noise of the past couple days melted away.
"Mm, the potatoes are delicious. A bit of a smoky flavor," she said with a wink. Jon's heart stopped. In that moment, across the breakfast table after a teasing joke, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy. Some of the humor bled from her expression as he stared, trying to jumpstart his short-circuiting brain.
"I'm sorry. I--"
"I--It's not my fault my kitchen assistant drives me distraction," he said at last.
Daenerys rolled her eyes, but the wattage of her smile returned. Jon scooped a bite of egg onto his jellied toast. Get it together. Eat your fucking breakfast.
"Yuck," Daenerys said, pointing to his toast with the prongs of her fork. Grateful for the distraction, he mustered a smile as he chewed.
"You think this is bad? Robb likes mustard on his eggs," Jon said. Daenerys wrinkled her nose.
"Mustard? The only good thing on eggs is hot sauce," she said, around a bite of steak.
"Objection, Counselor," Jon said in his best lawyer voice. Daenerys straightened in her chair, like a queen on her throne.
"Overruled. Hot sauce makes everything better. Let the record show that my opposing counsel is agreeing with me," she said. Jon chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of tea from his mug. Delicious. The tea was a bold variety from here in the North, softened with a bit of honey. It tasted like home.
“I’m stuffed,” he said. Daenerys murmured in agreement, snagging one last bite of egg off his plate. Casually, she took his hand. A comfortable silence fell between them as they sipped their tea and watched the rain.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you and your family once all this is over. How about an island? I can buy you an island in the Summer Isles.”
Jon uttered a startled laugh even as he winced inwardly. The chasm between them yawned wide. A billionaire lawyer and a two-crown construction worker? A Targaryen princess and a bastard-born black sheep? In the grand scheme of things, the money didn't matter. He was proud of what Dany had achieved, at such great personal cost. Kicking ass and spitting fire, he liked her best that way. Still . . . his pride smarted a little.
"Aim smaller," he said, occupying his hands with his mostly empty tea cup. Daenerys nibbled on her lower lip in a way that was deeply distracting.
"You're right. Individualized gifts are better. Vis has a bunch of old Targaryen memorabilia. Bran might like that. A new sloop for Rickon, a trip to the Arbor for-" Jon stoppered the sweet words with his mouth. Daenerys' lips moved, sliding against his. Pleasure was a slow, building throb.
Fuck. He was stuck right back in the thick of it. Words of undying devotion bubbled up and stuck in the back of his throat. Jon wanted to sweep the dishes off the table and ravish her right there. Just listening to her talk about gifts for his family made the future so achingly tangible. Instead, Jon kissed her, stretched awkwardly over the table (and he was pretty sure his elbow was in the butter). It didn't matter. The world fell away when Daenerys Targaryen kissed him. Jon tugged her arms and she obeyed, climbing into his lap. Tangled together. Making out like teenagers.
"What was that for?" She asked when they broke away to breathe. Violet eyes dark as twilight, Dany was just as affected as he. Jon nuzzled her cheek with his nose, pecking soft kisses on chin, her jaw, her throat. Mmm, he loved that little shiver when he found a sensitive spot.
"You're just so . . . so . . . good," he said, cringing at the inane wording. He wasn't a bleeding poet. Daenerys watched him flail with a gentle smile.
"You've worked hard to get where you are, but you still care about the little guy. It's a noble thing." The smile faded.
"Don't build me up into some shining paragon. I'm not perfect. Rising Dragon has so many arms in so many areas, I can't manage them all. And look at what my good intentions have done. A trail of bodies littered behind me." Jon playfully pinched her arse, earning a squeak.
"Fuck that. You're not responsible for the decisions others make."
Daenerys heaved a sigh.
"Yeah. Hero complex. I can't help it," she said. Her gaze wandered to the rainy day outside.
"Let's take a walk."
"In this?" Jon said with an incredulous look, “I seem to remember a certain someone hating the rain.” Daenerys squinted at him.
"I was unprepared. I seem to recall I was in spike suede heels and a silk shirt at the time. Under normal circumstances I love walking in the rain. Before Mother got sick, we would walk all over Dragonstone in the rain," she said softly. The words stirred an ancient grief for his own mother. Jon coughed.
“Let’s go, then,” he said.
They chatted as they cleaned up their breakfast dishes and dressed. Robb had left him some of the clothes left at Winterfell, supplemented by a few of Margaery’s purchases. He chose old denim jeans and a black t-shirt. Daenerys joined him downstairs in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, her hair in a single braid down her back. Jon opened the door to a gust of cold, rain-scented air swirled around them.
~
The rain was a cold, heavy pounding on her head and shoulders, soaking her to the skin within minutes. Cold! A gust of wind blew in from the lake, buffeting the two of them. Daenerys heard Jon curse and she uttered a shaky laugh. Northern thunderstorms were much colder than she was used to. Daenerys breathed deep of the cold, crisp air. Gods, she loved this. The peace of nature and solitude washed over her soul. Jon’s hand was warm in hers. She couldn’t look at him very long. Sustained eye contact meant she’d tumble into those dark eyes and get lost. After yet another devastatingly erotic and emotional sexual encounter this morning, Daenerys couldn’t deny it another second. Somewhere amidst the craziness of the past five days, she’d fallen in love with Jon Snow.
The ground squelched underneath their feet as they walked. Daenerys kicked water from a few puddles.
“Are you sure about this? We might catch pneumonia.”
“Where is your northern stoutness? We’ll walk to the pier and back. Besides, part of the fun is the getting clean and warm after. That tub in the bathroom looks nice,” she said. Jon’s slow, sultry smile stole her breath.
“Or the hot tub?”
“There’s a hot tub?” Daenerys asked, nudging his hip with hers playfully, “Jon Snow, you’ve been holding out on me.”
On the pier, surrounded by the din of the rain, Jon tugged her close. Their breath mingled in a thin white cloud. His face filled her vision, brooding and soulful and so overwhelmingly handsome. The kiss tasted like rain and home. Jon pressed her hand over his heart.
“It’s all yours,” he said.
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
So.
Streamed witcher 3 for about three hours.
I am not certain it’s a game for me.
I mean, part of it is just realllllly clunky? Like, why do I have to press the left stick twice to call my horse, when pressing it once doesn’t do anything? Why is witcher vision not toggleable? Why doesn’t it tell you which things will make people mad at you if you loot them? Why is the loot button the same as the sprint button, ensuring in indoor areas you’ll accidentally loot things? Why is the combat so clunky? Who thought it was a good idea to have the abilities assigned to the triggers and not the buttons? Why does ‘climb’ and ‘sprint’ have to be two different buttons? Who sprints towards a wall without wanting to climb it?
Look, I’m sure the game is amazing or something, but on some level I can see how most games were vastly improved to this one.
Then again, AC2 came out like, years before, and that was less clunky than this somehow.
It also doesn’t help that I’m not sure I’m feeling the characters or the setting. Like, it makes no sense everyone hates witchers? Like, yeah, hate the guys killing the monsters. you know, the things that are everywhere. In a world where undead monstrosities are there to brutally kill and eat you, it makes no sense to hate the people whose sole purpose is to kill these things. Things that normal people seem incapable of taking care of. ‘I hate you, guy who killed the things that killed and ate my parents’ is a weird cultural belief.
Also, I thought at first that Geralt’s raspy voice was part of him becoming a witcher. But no, there’s another guy who talks fine. So Geralt just sounds like he’s been smoking 20 unfiltered cigs a day for 20 years for some reason. Also, he has a mind control power, no mana cost, and he doesn’t just use this 100% of the time. In fact, the first time the game offers to let you use it, the guy next to him is like ‘oh no! He’s using his powers’ and I was like, okay why don;t you use those powers on him to solve this problem too? Like, there’s no downside.
You can’t be like ‘this thing has no emotions.’ and then have him care about things like civility and feelings. If he’s meant to be the borg, then he needs to act like it. And solving problems with mind control is the most direct and simple way to do it.
Instead, I spend my time using it to ensnare wild deer and sheep so I can kill them for meat, while I run around picking herbs because I’m broke af and always out of money.
Also, the game apparently doesn’t want you to grind, because it is very stingy with experience points. Like, it takes a comically long time to level up. If this was D&D, you’d think the dm was fucking you somehow.
The setting really kind of gets to me though. It’s like the people living in the setting think they’re living in a different setting. But monsters have been living in the world for fifteen hundred years. They’re not new. And yet everyone is acting like the monsters aren’t a problem, when monsters literally attack everyone and everything everywhere with impunity. ‘witchers and magic are bad!’ and it’s like ‘do you want to get eaten by monsters?’ ‘well no’ ‘then witchers and magic is good, or you’re going to be eaten by ghouls.’ Like, in a world where this shit is everywhere, where every body of water is infested with blue humanoid creatures trying to murder you, you would think that the people who can’t defend themselves would be like ‘yes finally something to save us!’ but no they’re like ‘idk, maybe the drowners aren’t that bad, they only kill some of us most of the time!’
seems like this entire world is kinda dumb is all i’m saying.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
DYNAURA!!: PILOT PART 2
A documentary by Ciro Spirale and Tapes, the Recordobot.
Rex apologized for yesterday and obliged our request to follow him, encouraging a team-up. Nothing permanent: Rex was soured on full-time groups. But he did still enjoy meeting up with friends and allies from time-to-time. Which is why we found ourselves by the docks.
“Yeah just wait, two other super heroes are over here.”
After a moment, we caught sight of a figure dressed in black, with a pointy domino mask and short scarf. Jet black hair and outfit, with purple trim, looking off into the distance. She did not address us until someone else arrived from the sea, and more openly so.
“Hiii~!”
There was another: Resembling a golden brown-skinned Samoan woman, with a heavyset build. She was currently climbing the edge to stand on dry land with the rest of us, and she held up a small toy porpoise.
“Hey Taria. Where’d ya get that?”
“I was cleaning up some junk on the beach when someone offered me money for all the cans I collected. So I bought this from a boardwalk gift shop. I love it SO much!”
“…” the shadow warrior between the three leaned over slightly. Up close her form was rather gangly and awkward. She spoke in a low voice: “… ‘s cute.”
“I’m Taria, a warrior-mage from a community descended from Atlantis!” the aquatic woman introduced herself in a very bubbly manner. “Did you wanna hold the porpoise? Her name is Neptunia Petunia.”
Taria held up Neptunia Petunia. I studied the toy porpoise for a time—just about right for a gift shop item, or some carnival prize. When Tapes held the toy, he held it high and even gave it an affectionate stroke along its back before returning it. Taria seemed to like the moxie.
“Me and Rex have been friends as loooong as I can remember.” Said Taria, extending her arms out wide, almost as if for a hug. “But I was so busy looking out for my undersea home and studying hydro-magic we never got to play very long. But now we’re both super heroes and we can do anything!”
“Has he always been this depressed?”
“No, he used to be really vibrant. That’s why we got along! Did something happen again?”
“Ah, it’s fine. We were just worried.”
“Me too. I hope we can help answer your questions!”
Tapes and I looked to the ninja woman. She looked over at Taria and Rex, as if miffed that they put her on the spot like this. It was a few minutes of dead air before she finally spoke up.
“Hello. I am the Curious Kunoichi. No, you may not know my secret identity so please… respect that.”
“That’s—that’s okay, we’re actually here to ask about your hero work and nothing else. How did you get started? Did you lose someone and become this… brooding vigilante? Dedicated yourself to training and put on a mask, standing against those with awesome powers anyway? Do you come from a ninja clan?”
“Well I did become a brooding vigilante, but it was more like… I was really hyped to work with nonprofit organizations, government aid agencies... But growing up, some things did slip through the cracks: How these programs weren’t always doing as much as they could. Being undermined and embezzled. And as far as I know I don’t come from a ninja clan, I just like being stealthy so I trained in that. Now I fight street level baddies and corruption. And every now and then I help out with bigger problems. And then Taria and Rex help me out with the street stuff too. It’s really supportive and like, nice.”
“That’s fair. Do you find your field of expertise is in high demand, or?”
“For the most part. But some days it can be slow.”
We eventually found ourselves outside a café. Not at a table, but the three super heroes were squatting outside of the building like delinquents, poring over their phones. Looking for trouble to tackle, places and people to help. As well as googling dictionary definitions of words, plus twitter feeds. And there Tapes and I were, taking this photo in time of three casual do-gooders who weren’t really in the limelight. Waiting for various flavors of coffee and doughnuts, all fresh. That is, after they managed to pull together exact change. They wanted to save their larger bills just in case they’d need them later.
“Later tonight we might just hang out at my place or Kunoichi’s.” explained Rex, with a mouthful of chocolate doughnut, and sipping a fruity flavored milk tea after. “Usually we just sit inside a restaurant booth, but we’re not feeling it this time. Meanwhile if you’re like one of the… the Enforcers, you can go hang out in a skyscraper penthouse or a mansion. And not just here in Multiplex City, they got ‘em by Hollywood too. So… I guess, $ Cha-ching~? $”
The three finished off their breakfast before running into an explosion: Rex and Taria kicked forward. Rex quick to crack open some fire hydrants so Taria could get at the water. She naturally had an affinity for the element, and her mystical training reinforced it with magical power and her own life force alike. After that, Rex focused on blasting debris and carrying people to a safe zone. The two zigzagged across the street, through the air and bounced off of buildings in their attempts to reach every flame.
That left us with the Curious Kunoichi. She had us stay close: Her job was to try and find the source of all this, or at the very least some clue. Our journey took us indoors. Tapes had to stand close to shield me just to be safe. All the while Kunoichi mostly redirected people out of the buildings and away from the danger. But there was one straggler that didn’t run right away: A little girl, bawling her eyes out.
Kunoichi approached. The little girl backed up, before Kunoichi knelt down to meet her at eye level. Appear less imposing.
“It’s okay.” said Kunoichi. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Scary.” The child sobbed. More at Tapes and I than addressing Kunoichi. The little girl couldn’t have been older than six or seven years old.
“Only to bad people.” promised Kunoichi. “Someone must be looking for you.”
“Can’t find my nana.” the child finally sniffled. “Wanted to buy cookies and ran away again. Now everything’s bad and it’s all my fault. What if Nana’s gone forever? That happened to mommy and daddy.”
The white lenses of Kunoichi’s mask seemed to widen a little, before narrowing.
“No, that’s not true. You didn’t cause anything that happened outside. And your Nana is fine, we’ll find her.”
“I don’t wanna find out!”
I wanted to try and say something too. But Tapes put a hand on my shoulder, and whispered:
“PERCEPTIFY.”
Kunoichi glanced out the window to see that the danger was still raging outside. The source was clearly elsewhere. But she could leave it to her friends. There was something here she had to do.
“Some people I know—people that I cared about, disappeared too.”
“… And it hurts a lot.”
“Of course. But do you know what you can do about it?”
The little girl nodded her head no.
“Even if our favorite people disappear, they--” Kunoichi’s voice cracked a moment, as she searched for the words. “… They want us to keep playing and learning and all of that. And we can do that together: Be there for the people that are still around. And then nobody has to be afraid anymore.”
“Are you scared too?”
“Little bit.”
The kid gave Kunoichi a hug and didn’t let go.
“I’ll help you get outta here.” said the little girl.
Smoke in my eyes for a second. Tapes broke down a door and got us outside. Kunoichi was swift in her movements, leading us just outside where the fire department had begun setting up. We were there about ten minutes before the little girl’s grandmother was reunited with her. Tapes and I could hear them:
“Terry! Oh pumpkin, I’ve missed you!”
“Me too Nana! Don’t be scared anymore.”
“But how did you get here? Did one of those firefighters help you?”
“No, it was this nice shadow lady. She’s right here.”
But when they turned to see, there was a wisp from a fresh smoke bomb. The Curious Kunoichi had left as quickly as she’d arrived. We found Taria, who was helping to put out the flames.
“We spotted a giant monster up ahead!” Taria exclaimed. “Rex went ahead to slow it down. C’mon!”
Taria splashed ahead on a tidal wave she conjured. But as she did, police sirens and the heavy tread of tanks were ahead of us. And the firepower they laid down wasn’t far off either. But what was most astonishing was the fact that the kaiju ahead of us was scuttling away. And there was Rex, stumbling—and then diving forward to lash out at the armed force attacking.
We could hear commanding officers barking out orders, and a damning dialogue:
“ALL UNITS, OPEN FIRE ON THE ALIEN FREAK!”
Their machine guns had fifty caliber rounds. Tougher to brace against than a .45 handgun like before. And their explosive ordinance meant a hail of grenades and missiles. Just one soldier after another pouring on a storm of hammering violence. And still yet, they were assembling weapons I’d never even seen up close, including one that appeared to be a large truck carrying a long mechanical arm that extended outwards a satellite dish.
“THEY ARE EQUIPPING A MASER CANNON.”
As Tapes had informed me, Masers were for zapping giant monsters. The ordinance was beyond excessive. And instead of going after the monster, Rex was busy attacking the army, who seemed all too familiar with him. Tapes and Taria pulled me along. After the kaiju.
“Poor thing.” Taria muttered, looking up at the monster.
“But it set that street ablaze.” I pointed out. Taria actually frowned for once.
“Ciro, that’s not some size-changing supervillain. Many kaiju are just wild beasts. This one might be lost and confused. Maybe some have to be fought off, but that should only be if there’s no alternative.”
“And there is one now?”
“I think so… There’s no reason why we can’t help it and the people around here. C’mon!”
Taria moved ahead, dragging me and Tapes along. Careful to avoid antagonizing the giant monster as we tried to search for… whatever it was looking for. But we eventually did, because there were still a mass of people still within a bakery.
“What’s happening here? Don’t you know to evacuate?” I asked.
“I think you should see for yourself.” someone said. We three entered, found a pile of debris. And under it, at about the size of a motorcycle, was a creature. It resembled the one outside, albeit smaller and less developed. It cried out to its parent, while the people around it struggled to remove debris. Taria gestured for everyone to run while she dug out the baby kaiju.
“It wandered in, whimpering so I let it eat some cakes.” explained the baker who owned the place. “The big one—it showed up just after. A tank round or a missile-- grazed part of my building and trapped it. For crying out loud, it was just lost and hungry!”
“WE UNDERSTAND. WE CANNOT DO MUCH TO REPAIR YOUR BUSINESS, BUT MY HUMAN COMPANION IS CREATING A DOCUMENTARY AT THE MOMENT. WE WOULD GLADLY FEATURE YOU AND YOUR STORE—YOUR STORY, IF YOU WILL ALLOW US.”
“Of course. Thank you for the publicity—and people need to know what happened here. Will the baby be okay?”
“I BELIEVE SO. TARIA HAS BEEN VERY GENTLE ABOUT THE SITUATION THUS FAR.”
It was not long after that Taria was able to convince the kaiju to stop attacking. Tapes and I watched from a distance, but not far enough that we couldn’t see the baby kaiju ecstatic to have found its parent. The parent kaiju brought the child in close at the sound of nearby explosions, intending to shield it from further harm. The parent and child followed Taria’s path out towards the sea, wading away. The parent licking at the wounds of its young before becoming distant shapes and eventually disappearing.
We reunited with Rex after he served as a shield against one last silo of missiles. The barrage ended, the present military forces retreating for the time being. Rex was still on both feet. But Rex was leaning over, with his hands on his knees as he huffed fiercely. Out of a mix of tremendous anger and exhaustion alike.
“Have you often fought the army?” I asked, after Rex had begun clearing some debris before he’d leave again.
“Plenty. They got it out for me, worst of it was after my secret identity got out.”
“Why is that? They don’t want to work with you?”
“They don’t wanna work with anybody or anything they can’t control. Least of all an alien who might potentially be an invasion scout or something.”
“But you’re not here to invade.”
“No, but that’s the lie that got spread around after I was unmasked.”
Before we could get in more questions, Rex just rocketed off towards the skies. Tapes informed me that once Rex was over the city he’d broken the sound barrier and was currently climbing in speed until he’d cleared orbit and was on the surface of the moon.
“Why would he go up to the moon like that?” I found myself asking Taria. She and Kunoichi’s efforts to clean up were concluded and the city sanctioned services would have to pick up the rest.
“Favorite place to go when he needs to think, or he’s feeling down.” said Taria. “Sits on the edge of a crater. Sometimes Tugboat joins him.”
“Did he… go up there after his secret identity was outed too? After he was branded an invader in disguise?”
“Probably yeah. And for the longest time. But I don’t know much about that period… You should ask Kunoichi.”
“She knew him then? Were they on the same team?”
“Suffering south seas, no! Those guys were jerks.”
“I was something of a jerk myself.” said Kunoichi when we’d caught up to her and Taria had left to do other things. “I mean, I say I’m a brooding vigilante now but back then. I still shudder at all the dorky, and sometimes downright cynical stuff I used to do. Like, I may try to be a lone wolf now but back then I didn’t even want to be near anybody. Just wanted to stamp out corruption and focus on that so I wouldn’t have to think about anything else.”
“And how did you know Rex back then?”
“We’d actually had to team-up even if we didn’t want to. Well, I didn’t want to. He was really excited back then. Naïve, but… welcoming. It wasn’t just about saving people, he wanted them to see the best parts of themselves. Come together to make the world a better place and all that. It was hard for me to believe in then, but I didn’t want to shoot it down either. Not like his old team did.”
“Tell me about them?”
Kunoichi must have been rolling her eyes under the mask.
“Those greasy clowns? They made me look like a sunny day by comparison. Violent, impulsive, manipulative. But they also just hung out? Like: They played video games, watched TV, just hung out. When you’re a teen who doesn’t have many friends, you might jump at the chance to be part of something. Part of a group. That’s what made it so easy for them to control their underlings.”
“But they still struck Rex down.”
“They did. Rex was too idealistic to fully give in. Maybe they could pressure him into doing things or keeping his mouth shut, push him around. But eventually enough was enough and Rex tried to stop them. Of course they outnumbered him, and weren’t afraid to play dirty. That’s why he’s regarded so poorly. And why I wish I’d done something more back then.”
“SHE HAS GROWN FROM HER EXPERIENCE.” noted Tapes.
“What?” I asked, my train of thought briefly derailed.
“He’s right.” said the Curious Kunoichi, after a moment to process Tapes’s evaluation of herself. “Ever since then I’ve been trying to make my mission more than just wasting scumbags and breaking up racketeering rings. Rex and Taria, friends like them and more that I’ve gotten to know now. They helped me realize we should be ready to stand up and fight for the right thing. But also, there has to be something after the battle worth looking forward to. Something nice.”
And she vanished before our very eyes. It was a while before we received a phone call. And not one from Rex or his friends thus far. We didn’t even know if they’d met up to hang out tonight like they planned. And after we heard the message, were wishing it was just some late night prank call.
“Hello. I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Quark, owner and CEO of Quark Industries, AKA Shootsuit, head of the Enforcers. He’s heard about your work and would like to extend an invitation to join some of his Enforcers for a firsthand interview.”
“Oh. Well, I’m not really sure—”
“Both sides of the story, Spirale. See you tomorrow morning. I’ll text you the address and hour.”
Tapes and I looked over the text. We were slated to continue our documentary with members of the Enforcers, America’s premiere superhero team. Led by the celebrity’s celebrity, industrialist Tommy Quark. But what could he or any of his people have to offer us themselves? As intriguing as this was getting, there was a terrible feeling in my gut.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fear
Summary: When Bucky is out, someone comes for him in the home you share and you must defend yourself. Problem is, you’re no hero and you don’t know if you can morally compartmentalize like one.
Warnings: A decent amount of violence, fairly graphic about it. I just read horror for book club, I’m sorry.
Word Count: 2345
Author’s Note: I shit you not this was a headcanon request (Overcoming A Fear) from TWO Christmases ago. I am such a request slug. I’m sorry it took me so long but it truly did give me a little inspiration jolt so I stashed it away to write a whole thing.
Your hands trembled around the cold steel and your muscles had begun to burn with the weight of your outstretched arms
While your heart raced and your eyes darted frantic paths over the stranger sauntering slowly across the living room, he seemed… at ease; this intruder in your home.
He fixed the barrel of his own handgun in your direction with practiced stability and smiled at the steady dip yours had taken. Your inexperience screamed your vulnerability with every move.
“You can put that down now,” he purred. His gaze dropped for one measured moment to the gun in your hands.
In the same instant you corrected your drooping aim. It wouldn’t be long before the barrel dipped again. That inexperience was now a burning ache in your shoulders.
“Think I'll hold onto it,” you spat back anyway.
“It won't help. I know who you are.”
“I'm nobody,” you answered honestly. There was nothing you could offer him, no information, no skill, nothing worth saving. Why wouldn’t he just leave?
“Exactly. It’s too late. You missed your chance.” That smile would haunt you for months. You knew it would. But you couldn't stop the trembling or the sick lurching in your gut each time he stepped closer. You couldn't pull the damn trigger.
You were fear personified, in all her pitiful, self-sabotaging agony.
“You're just some nurse,” he nearly laughed, stepping ever closer as your back pressed against the bookcase. “Some fool who can't hold a gun properly. A shivering fraud who's never made a real threat much less followed through on one. No matter how often he makes you practice holding that SIG.”
Whoever he was, he’d read you like a book.
Bucky didn’t like surprises. And very little could surprise him.
There was absolutely nothing in his life now that he didn’t prepare for. It was more than careful, more than training. Some might call it a compulsion, but that wasn’t quite it. His need for control grounded him in more ways than one. It allowed him to operate again in a world that had, over decades, stripped him of all autonomy.
When the two of you finally decided you’d get a place together, it happened slowly. Small, cautious, calculated steps. Prepared.
It had started with the most thorough apartment search in real estate history. Eventually, when he was good and ready, the search ended with more precautions.
To you, the security system was a comfort. But the escape plans were a nuisance. And you’d thoroughly rolled your eyes when he first took you to the indoor shooting range, just to show you how to handle some of the weapons he kept around the house. You’d questioned if this was really necessary?
But it gave him some peace and goddamn if he didn’t deserve a little.
So you did as he asked. You learned how to hold and load and fire and clean each weapon. Not with any measure of precision or with the level of care he committed to the task. But it was enough, he’d hoped. It would be enough to keep you safe until help arrived if anything happened. Until he could get there or until someone heard gunfire and called the police.
He had you practice often. You were careful and you tried, for his sake. But you weren’t Bucky or Natasha, or anyone else he worked with.
Not everyone is accustomed to death. Most people haven’t seen war up close, and even fewer have seen it like Bucky had.
Of course, he’d prepared you the best he could.
“When you pull a gun on someone, you’re escalating the situation to the absolute brink,” he warned. “You’d better be prepared to pull that trigger.”
Even then, in the safety of a secure shooting range with the heavy steel laid out on the table between you and someone you trusted and loved, you’d wondered if you’d ever truly be prepared to carry that burden.
“Get out of my flat.” You tried to sound firm, direct. The words didn’t give you as much strength as you’d hoped.
“Can’t.” The intruder shrugged. “I always complete my assignments. And this one,” he paused and gestured widely at the room. The sharp hiss of his ripstop nylon jacket cut through the room like a knife. “…well, Sergeant Barnes, is due home any minute. Isn’t he?”
He glanced at his watch with all the casual disregard of a man completely in control. It seemed almost carless, but you knew better. This man who made every step look effortless would make a shot through your skull with equal ease. Not one glance was careless.
You also knew you should have taken your shot. The most frustrating part wasn’t the threat. It was that he was right. You wanted nothing more than to wipe that bored look from his face, but he was right. You were a nurse. Not an action hero. Not a match for him. Not even a wild card.
He owned the room because you couldn’t take the damn shot.
Hurting others wasn’t in your nature. Killing someone was inconceivable, even in defense.
You were a nurse for gods sake. You’d made a career out of getting your hands dirty to help and to heal. Now, here in the face of such violence, such fear, you felt powerless. Beholden to your damn bleeding heart.
It was one thing to promise Bucky that your safety came first. It was one thing to know how; to know in your head what to do. Actually doing it, was a whole different beast.
After you shot him, you pondered whether your triage instincts would kick in. Would you press your hands to the wound and try to save the man you’d killed? Become drenched in the blood you yourself had drawn?
Your hands trembled with the fear of it; with the weight of your indecision. Every passing second wound the tension in your chest ever tighter.
You held the gun aloft, never breaking your quivering aim. All the while knowing…
There was no way you would take the shot.
“He’ll kill you.” You hated how soft your voice sounded now. How dry, how thin. How scared.
“I don’t think so.” This stranger laughed. Perfect teeth baring white, far too close now. His eyes gleamed with something like… Like that excited glint children have when they first lay eyes on their birthday cake carried out on a platter. “I have you.”
Every muscle in your body thrummed in fear. He was far too close. How could you let him corner you like this? If you pried your aching fingers from Bucky’s handgun and stretch them out, you could touch him. Your fingertips would brush this stranger’s chest. This man who made threats with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice.
He shouldn’t be so close.
“In wh-what way?” you demanded, forcing more voice than air with the second attempt at the word. “I have a gun to your chest.”
There was no stopping the fear now as its icy fingers gripped at the base of your neck and sent a shiver down your spine. He’d closed the distance at your lightest of threats. The words, he knew, were hollow.
The tip of your handgun now pressed into his chest and he wrapped careful, practiced hands around the barrel, steadying your ever reluctant aim. His grin never faltered. He never second guessed a single step. Prepared.
Your eyelids fluttered closed for a fraction of a second, overwhelmed with the weight of your fear and of your failure to just pull the goddamn trigger. Even in the face of your own death and an all-consuming fear, you couldn’t compartmentalize your morals like this. All you could do was remind yourself to keep breathing. Just… keep breathing.
With that one swift step he’d made the truth clear. That gun might as well be a water pistol.
“For shock value, honey,” he whispered.
In one rapid sweep, he shoved the barrel of the gun down toward the floor at his side and stepped too close for you to even try to raise I between you. The hand not on your gun had snapped up behind your head and yanked at a fistful of hair.
You cried out in pain and surprise. Your body reacted immediately.
Reactions are without thought, without predication or care. No preparation.
Bucky hated reactions.
Not one second of this followed the safety protocol he’d laid out for you when you bought this place together.
At the pain burning across your scalp your body curled inward; contracted in every way. The fear gave way and your knees buckled. Your body drew itself close and you crouched low, trying to escape the pain. Your hands flew to the source of the pain, and clenched. Helpless, reactionary.
Without meaning to, your finger eased back on that damn trigger.
There was a thundering pop and a flash of light. The stinging burn of gunpowder and smoke filled your nostrils in an instant and there was… relief.
The pain on your head was gone and something wet trickled down the back of your neck.
In different circumstances you might’ve have guessed it was a bug on your skin. But no, the steady drip moved in a clear path. It was warm.
The ringing in your ears from the gun in your hand had ensured you didn’t hear the heavy thud or the rasp of the ripstop nylon as the stranger’s body crumpled to the floor beside you.
The wall was awash in a spray of deep red.
Your gaze flashed to the gun in your hands, still hot from the explosion it had channeled half a second earlier.
The back door boomed as it burst open and slammed against the wall and you flinched with a scream. Bucky barreled inside until he slid on his knees in front of you.
The primal fear began to subside and build into something bigger. A tidal wave of horror and regret crashed through you. It screamed that you had failed; that this would happen again and you would not survive.
Carefully, Bucky curled his hands around your shoulders and looked over you with quick, searching eyes. Always cautious. Always prepared. He assessed for injuries and found none.
“It’s okay,” he repeated over and over, “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
He did, however, find the fear swelling in your eyes, trembling in your hands as you shoved the gun into his lap.
“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, “I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t do it, and I… and I--! I didn’t mean to--” Your hands frantically shoved at the weapon with open palms like it was poison, stinging your flesh with each contact until he lifted the revolver and set it behind him.
“Hey,” he soothed when you dropped your face to his shoulder, tears soaking his shirt. “You did nothing wrong, you hear me?”
“But everything you told me to do… I couldn’t…” It all came out in muffled incoherent cries. Disorganized and soggy. Your brain seemed to be operating in the same chaos; drenched in adrenaline.
“It’s alright,” he shushed you. “Those are tools to buy you time, darlin’. And they did. I don’t expect you to take down the world. That’s my job.”
Your sobs eased to a heavy sniffle as you tipped your head up to look at his worried face. His hands smoothed over your hair. You always complained when he did that, but just now… it was the most comforting feeling in the world. And the small hook of a smile banished the noise raging in your head.
“Did you have to hit my bonsai, though?” his sharp concerned eyes glinted with the prospect of a chuckle from you. “I know you don’t think it goes with the rest of the house but, damn.”
“What?” you asked, brows knit together as you leaned your head to peer around his shoulder at the spot his carefully pruned bonsai always occupied.
He worked on that plant when he needed to focus on something outside himself; something that required dexterity and attention. It was growth and life that he could have a part of cultivating, not a mission, not destructive, not pain.
Now the shrub’s main shoot had splintered and cracked. The poor plant lay bent and ruined over the end table by the window.
“But I thought I--?”
His grin broke into a soft chuckle. You felt it beneath your palms, still wrapped tightly around his ribs. Your eyes still remained glued to the hole your bullet had ruptured in the plaster behind the plant.
“I couldn’t do that again if I tried,” you mumbled.
As the adrenaline faded and realization began to settle, you turned down to the man… the body beside you.
Before your scattered gaze made it to the mess he’d made, Bucky’s hand closed around your chin and gently turned your face the opposite direction, to the back window. The one by the door he’d burst through, and the hole in the glass. It was about an inch wide and the glass splintered and cracked around it.
He’d fired a shot of his own but unlike yours, it was no accident. And Bucky never missed.
“I told you, I’ve got you.”
Turns out, Bucky knew exactly the type of person he had. He’d recognized that you were unaccustomed to violence and he craved that normalcy. He could see that you were a healer, and embraced the safety of your trust on the days when he woke up wounded. You valued life over fear, and it had given him hope when, once, the world had felt dark and hostile.
Bucky had been a warrior for as long as he could remember. Even in the times he couldn’t remember, he’d been a warrior. Now over 100 years old, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes had had more than enough of soldiers, of people who do what it takes without fear or regret.
He loved you for many reasons, not least of which was because you would always be afraid to pull the trigger.
Will reblog with tags.
#bucky x reader#bucky x reader angst#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky imagine#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Dear Evan Hansen Gift Exchange!
This is my gift for the @sincerely-us DEH Gift Exchange for @thatfriendlyanon! Hey @thatfriendlyanon, hope you enjoy :D This is a bit of an amalgam of prompts that you offered but it’s mostly centered on Evan and Zoe a year later. Just for ease of timing/pop culture references it’s set in 2019/2020. Happy 2020! (here’s an ao3 link if you prefer)
Her first night back home, Zoe slips out the back door and just sits on the porch. It’s cold outside, like it always is in December, and it seeps through the old dollar store flip-flops she’d shoved her feet into on the way out the door. She shivers as a chilly gust of air bites through her purple and white sweatpants and old, graduating-class t-shirt. She’s like a collage of new and old school spirit, and some part of her hates it while the rest of her loves it. Sinking into one of the wicker chairs, she takes a breath for what feels like the first time since she stepped off the train in town, letting the hum of the cicadas drown out her other thoughts. She’s almost forgotten the different noise in the suburbs, the noises she was so used to in her first eighteen years of life. It feels disarming to be back in those noises after so long away.
Finally, once she’s sat in the feeling of the cold outdoors, her eyes drift up towards the sky. A smile picks at her lips, drawn by the faint points of light in the sky. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registers names of a few, although had she tried to remember them consciously, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to say them.
(Maybe it’s two memories, ripe with different kinds of nostalgia, that stop her from truly remembering. Maybe it’s the memory of two different hands in hers under the night sky. The memory of childhood, of wild giggles spilling from her lips, of another protective little hand in hers and speaking in what they thought were whispers but were more like normal volumes, sharing those names with her for the first time. And later, a later memory, of grass underneath her and a once-still hand in hers and warm lips pressed just right of her ear whispering the names he knew and asking her the ones he didn’t.)
She...likes school. She really does. It‘s felt like a fresh start in so many ways, with new people and new scenery and an easier way to breathe. Fewer shadows to haunt her from the corners of her eyes, drowned out by the constant lights of the city.
She just wishes she could see the stars there, that’s all.
Not that the stars at home are bright, exactly. They’re still dulled and hard to see, but they’re a world away from how they look at school. They are visible even if they’re not the strongest.
So Zoe smiles and looks at them, ignoring the lights that spill out from inside the house and the two figures they reveal inside.
After some time, she stands quietly, moving through the air as though it is nothing more than smoke and revelling in how silent she can be just before opening the door to the indoors.
“Everything alright?
Zoe’s head snaps up, locking onto where Larry is seated just beyond the kitchen and into the living room. She shakes her head at her own jumpiness, freeing her feet from the flip-flops. “Yeah, just catching some fresh air.”
Already, that almost-suffocating feeling is back. She can breath, but the air doesn’t seem to quite reach her lungs.
“Yeah, I just wanted some fresh air.” Her eyes scan the rooms. “Where’s mom?”
Larry’s lip quirks at the corner, but it doesn’t really seem happy. “She wanted to stay up to talk with you, but she was pretty tired so she turned in early.”
“Oh,” Zoe says, and for some reason it makes her feel kind of small. She crosses the house, letting her feet acclimate to the warmer temperature through her socks. She studies her father; he has dark circles of his own, and his hand seems to shake slightly where it holds the day’s newspaper. “I’m probably just gonna go to bed anyway, unless you…?”
“No, that’s fine, sweetheart,” he says, and for some reason Zoe’s heart feels heavy. Larry hasn’t called her sweetheart for a long time, and something in the word makes her feel like a little kid again. “I’m sure you’re tired.”
She nods and grabs her phone off of the small coffee table, turning towards the stairs. The light is already off upstairs, she can tell. “Well, ‘night.”
A sound that’s suspiciously like a yawn, and then a “‘night” back.
On the second step, her father’s voice stops her. “Zoe? We’re really glad you’re home.”
She ducks her head back down, forces a smile in his direction, and then continues to her room without looking up from her feet.
*
Evan’s still working at Pottery Barn.
He told himself, time and time again after senior year, that he’d be out of Pottery Barn in a year. Off to college full-time, maybe commuting or maybe even living on campus. But it’s six months past that year-long deadline, and here he is, on the first night of Hanukkah only just finishing the common app for next fall. Or trying to, rather, around his Pottery Barn shifts and his general fear of opening up to other people.
On one of his shifts, he scrolls through Instagram during a quiet spell, having accepted the fact that his application would not be worked on during work hours long ago. Just his average feed, a few former high school classmates posting holiday pictures (Alana Beck, unsurprisingly, has color-coordinated with her dads, sister, and grandma effortlessly for Christmas photos) and some of those Central Park nature shoots the pretentious photographers he follows are always posting. He’s about to click onto his Explore page when a recommended account catches his eye. His heart sinks as he recognizes the profile picture and the name, simply titled “zo + ev” in place of full names. And there she is, Zoe Murphy, smiling so wide that some of her freckles disappear behind the others and her eyes are smaller than usual. Another girl sits just behind her, her lips angled so her face comes across as more “funny” than “happy,” but that’s on purpose, he thinks. Before he can convince himself not to, he clicks into their account, and it’s revealed that the other girl in the picture must be ‘Ev,’ or Eva, if her main account’s handle is trustworthy. His pulse slowing slightly, his eyes skim their profile.
@stargirlzo_m and @evamillthegreat_ / NYU ‘23 / covers + general goofery / dm to req a song!
From a glance, it appears that they’re roommates. Not that he’s like, actively trying to figure that out, no, it’s just that all of the videos seem to be filmed in the same place, and the previews of the comments have a couple messages like “that’s our fav down the hall neighbors!” and such. Evan’s not even surprised to see that they have a couple hundred followers, since when one of their videos begins to auto play, they definitely sound really good. Zoe’s playing guitar, and something in the familiar curve of her fingers on the strings almost makes him turn his phone off and shove it away to get rid of the deep swell of emotion he feels just seeing her like that.
After...everything, he never really saw her play guitar again. While they were together, it was almost constant, because their coexistence was almost constant. But he couldn’t bring himself to go to the jazz band concerts for the rest of his senior year, and he certainly wasn’t hanging around her house while she figured out a new tune. Hearing her play is bittersweet and nostalgic and he feels...off. But he listens anyway.
Her roommate has a really great voice, and it’s clear that in their few months of knowing each other they’ve played together a lot. He keeps scrolling. Eva, or Ev, has a few videos up of her singing a cappella, or with a background, some kind of...TikTok riff challenge, maybe? Zoe, too, has a few where she strums some jazzy numbers by herself, that familiar old smile on her face in a whole new light. But then he finds one of her alone in a denim jacket and a flower-patterned dress, and she opens her mouth and begins to sing, and Evan swears he could cry. She always claimed she couldn’t sing, but of course he disagreed. He still does, and as she softly sings Dodie Clark and her fingers pluck at the strings in some complicated pattern, he could never disagree more. He hurriedly keeps scrolling, since if he were to continue listening he’s not sure if he’d be able to make it through his shift without crying.
She and her roommate are playing Crush by Tessa Violet, then, and it’s a little easier to hear.
A customer comes into his line of sight and he quickly shoves the phone under the counter before he can hear Zoe come in to harmonize in the background.
*
Sometime after Cynthia accepted the fact that Zoe wasn’t going to share every detail of her college life with her, she set her the task of going through her closet and cleaning up. She’d already done it before leaving in the fall, but Zoe agrees, mostly just to have something to do rather than thinking about the bedroom across from hers. She still hasn’t really breathed properly, but it’s a little easier when she’s alone.
When her trash garbage bag is already partially filled with old tops from high school, old Harry Potter and Brie Larson posters, and some guitar sheet music she doesn’t remember buying, she catches sight of an old plastic storage bin. Her hand brushes the unmistakable feel of dusty plastic, and her fingers search for purchase so she can drag the container out. It’s heavier than it looks, and the most she can do is drag it out. She falls back onto her heels as she does, eventually crossing her legs criss-cross under her. She pushes her hair away from her face and lets her eyes roam over the container. It looks like it’s filled with paper, and as she opens the lid there’s an overwhelming scent of school glue and cheap acrylic paint. There are old star stickers coming off everywhere.
“Oh, boy,” she mutters under her breath.
She considers just chucking it into the trash for a moment, but thinks the better of it. Tentatively, she plunges one hand into the pile of papers and promptly sneezes. Fucking dust allergies.
A few old math tests from elementary school are in the top pile, for some reason. She wastes no time in setting those into the garbage bag. She’ll sort the recycling out later, but for now she just wants to get the dust into one area. There’s an old, dried-up glue stick under the old tests and a couple of purple and blue markers with no caps. The faded yellow folder beneath them has clearly suffered for it, with big splotches of color on the thin paper. After tossing the markers in her normal trash, she picks the folder up. Immediately upon opening it, she’s hit by an image of herself as a little kid, her hand scribbling some crayon against printer paper with Connor at her side scribbling on the same paper. She lets out a sharp hiss of breath for nothing in particular. It turns out the folder is just full of old drawings, nothing special. Crayon stars on superhero capes, just about her and Connor’s combined interests. Seeing them on the same page feels like less of a gut punch after remembering them drawing together, but it still hurts all the same.
She knows her mom would want to keep the drawings, but she dumps them into the garbage bag before she can think to do otherwise.
The construction paper is surprisingly rough under her fingertips, but she smiles at the glue galaxies she’d created on the page, the letters of each star’s name written painstakingly next to them. She wonders where her good handwriting went and sets the page aside, figuring a little nostalgia won’t hurt.
There are several pages that just seem to be covered in glitter and star stickers, which immediately find themselves in the unforgiving cell that is her garbage bag. Some old book reports reach the same fate, as does a small journal that seems to be dedicated entirely to her writing with her left hand. If some of the handwriting looks like Connor’s, she chooses to ignore it.
“It’s weird,” Zoe says. “Who else writes with their left hand?”
Connor sniffs, looking indignant as he holds his pencil aloft in his hand. It’s held so gently and delicately in his artist’s hand, all long and thin fingers. “I think it’s cool. Right hand writing isn’t special.”
“And you smudge everything you write,” Zoe mutters under her breath. That didn’t stop her from trying to write like him, though. If he saw her, he ignored it.
It’s better to be rid of it, anyway.
The next item appears to be crudely bound by some old thread. It’s several sheets of printer paper bound together, and with a sinking heart Zoe sees the same crayon stars and superhero capes on the page. Monsieur Lumière. One of Connor’s pretentious French phases as a child, probably, fueled by the old English-French dictionary he found in his room.
She’d completely forgotten about the fake superhero they’d created, probably while huddled under one of their beds as their parents fought. A man to take away all their fear and sadness, who would bring the light of the stars wherever he was. Just a silly invention they’d dreamt up. A lot of good it did them.
This hurts more, this creation of their shared crayons on one page. There were probably hours spent on this, and she can’t even bring herself to open it and read a page.
She drops it suddenly as though the very touch of the paper to her fingers scalds her. She pushes it across the floor, away from her. She may leave it on some counter for her mother to find, rather than bringing herself to throw it away. She wants to get rid of it, but she can’t bring herself to pick it up again, not yet.
It’s only as she picks up the next glitter-coated paper that she realizes it gave her a paper cut.
*
“-right here—oh, isn’t this lovely?” Heidi says, her head turning back in Evan’s direction. She drops down onto the blanket she’s just finished spreading over the grass, crossing her legs under her.
Evan smiles. “It is, yeah, definitely.”
And maybe he’s just a little surprised by how much he means it. Because this is the first year in a very long time, too long a time, where January 6th has felt like something other than a slightly sadder mirror of every other day. When he woke up today, he didn’t feel that same hollow dissatisfaction on this birthday. He felt...excited.
It’s a nice feeling. Unusual, but nice.
He’d probably be excited even if he hadn’t woken up like that, however. Heidi had insisted she take the day off, and she herself was so excited to be off and to be with him that he couldn’t help but pick up on it. His mother was always like that - if she was excited, he was excited.
And she was definitely excited, given the honest-to-God picnic basket she’d packed for them and the new watch she’d given Evan just that morning “so he’d know when to look away from his inbox” (to which he’d feebly protested that it’s never too early to keep an eye out for forward movement, which she’d dismissed with a kiss on the cheek). As Evan carefully chooses a spot on the blanket where he is protected from the sun by the shade the tree branches above them throw, Heidi gets set unpacking everything, from small cans of sparkling water to grilled cheeses to bakery cookies to a bunch of grapes that looked like they’d had a fight with an anemic mouse and lost. Evan smiles as each item gets pulled out.
Almost automatically, his eyes start scanning over the park. It feels like it’s been a while since he’s been here, too, or at least since he’s taken a moment to sit back and observe the park in its entirety. In the time it takes Heidi to finish setting up, he’s not sure he’s discovered the source of the uneasiness deep in his stomach.
But Heidi is happy, and so he is, too. He turns back to her.
“I picked up this cheese from Shaw’s, it’s supposedly super sharp which I know you love, so it should turn out better than the Kraft Singles grilled cheese last week.”
Evan represses a shudder. “Oh, good.”
Heidi lies back slightly, smiling at him. “Here.” She holds out a plate full of food she’d just pulled out.
“Thanks,” Evan says, and when he smiles at her it's more genuine than most of the smiles he'd given her when he was younger.
She reached over and pats his cheek. “I like seeing you happy, you know that?”
“Yeah, I think I got that from the whole motherly affection thing.”
Heidi shakes her head. “I’d tell you to lay off the sass, but this is the one day I can’t, huh?”
“Oh, you love it.”
“Yeah,” Heidi says, picking up an apple and taking a bite out of it. “Yeah, I do.” She leans over, and with her free hand, she ruffles Evan’s hair.
“Hey!” He protests. “What was that for?” The action makes him feel like he’s a little kid again.
Heidi smiles at him again. He can’t remember the last time she smiled this much. “My little boy is all grown up. Twenty. Can you believe it?”
He shakes his head, looking up toward the trees. He really can’t believe it. Three years ago, he’d never have believed it. Seventeen was a bad year. But here he is, sitting in Ellison Park three years later, where he’d felt so helpless before. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t an edge of that now, but it’s nowhere close to the wide expanse it had once been. He’s made it to twenty, and he knows he’ll make it longer. He smiles back at her. “Not really,” he says.
They eat in silence for a moment. Normally the presence of other people in the park besides them would make him anxious, but not today. He’s just another person, enjoying the afternoon sun with his mother. He blends in with everyone else. He feels like them. He wants to cork it up along with the feeling of the sun on his cheeks and the grass below him. With a start, he realizes his ache a little from the constant pull upwards his lips are engaged in. He’s smiling so much his cheeks hurt.
“I think you’re freckling again,” his mother mentions offhandedly. “I think you’re just about the only person who can’t freckle in the summer but can freckle just fine in January.”
“Maybe I am,” he says. “Like a superpower. Although it’s kind of a dumb superpower.”
“I don’t think so at all, sweetheart.” Heidi says.
He shakes his head, and as his mind fills with the image of someone else’s freckled cheeks, he may be inclined to agree.
*
“So you play a lot with Eva?”
Zoe looks up from her laptop, her brain unable to really understand the question. “What?”
Cynthia sits at the other end of the couch, and Zoe automatically tilts her screen in towards herself. “Aunt Christie mentioned it. She said that Sarah was talking about your...music Instagram at Christmas?”
Her cousin had ended up cornering her about her instagram account between dinner and desert. She was actually kind of happy to talk about it, since she and Eva do get along better than most roommates and it’s pretty cool to play with other people. She couldn’t really care about their followers, but they certainly had them, that’s for certain. Besides, it was a welcome reprieve from the dreaded “do you have a boyfriend?” questions, since she couldn’t exactly say no, i don’t have a boyfriend, since I’m still caught up on Evan, you know, the guy from junior year who lied about being friends with Connor and completely but accidentally fucked over the family in the public eye? But they didn’t know the half of that story, and she didn’t like to admit to herself how much she still cared for Evan, so the significant other area was a no-go and anything else was boring.
“Yeah, we have an account,” she says, shrugging. “It’s just a habit we’ve gotten into, playing together. It’s kind of fun to share it.”
“Ah,” Cynthia said, in that ‘I’m trying to understand but honestly have no idea what she’s talking about” tone of voice. “I’m glad, Zo’.”
Zoe smiles.
“But are you sure that’s the...best thing?”
The corners of her lips turn down, and she can feel her voice hardening a little. She doesn’t want to be defensive, but she is. “What?”
“Well, after everything that happened with your brother...with the Connor Project.” When she realized that wasn’t a sentence, she continued. “Are you sure the public eye is the best thing?”
She bristles. “It’s hardly the public eye, it’s just an Instagram account, and my full name isn’t on it. And honestly, mom, it couldn't get worse. No one cares anymore. It’s been years. Most of that was taken down. And I can take care of myself.”
“I know, Zoe,” her mother said, and maybe she’s just being placating, but the hand she reaches over and lays on her arm really does lessen her defenses. “I know. But you can’t control those people, and I just want you to be happy and safe.”
“I know,” Zoe says. “I know you do.”
She’s sure they both remember the endless days of calls, coming in a time of confusion and new grief she doesn’t know if they’ve really moved past, yet. Zoe knows that, if she tries, she can probably remember the exact words they said, the exact tone they said them in. It was only worse when she believed them.
Cynthia sits back again. They sit in silence for a little while.
“I’d love to hear some, though,” she says, in that classic mom voice.
“Why don’t you ask Sarah for a link?” Zoe says, sure to make her voice sarcastic.
“Why have a lousy link when I’ve got the rockstar right in front of me?”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Sure, let me just summon my roommate. She’s not in Buffalo at all, she’s actually been tiny sized and in my suitcase this whole time, just waiting for my mother to ask about my music so she can belt her tiny heart out.”
“Ha, ha,” Cynthia says. “Good thing you can sing, missy. I know this is where you’re going with all of your university sarcasm.”
“I can’t, mom.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“What would you prefer I give you?”
“An accurate assessment of your talents.”
“Sure, I know I’ve got one in my coat pocket somewhere, right with my sky-high self esteem and my 4.0 GPA.”
“Your GPA is more than fine and if you keep talking like that I’m going to worry. Why don’t you go pick it up from your room along with your guitar? Then I can hear the famous musician’s liquid silver voice while she plucks away with the speed of a god at her strings.”
Zoe cringes. “Always so poetic.”
“It’s a gift,” Cynthia says airily, and the two smile at each other. “Go on. I’ll get your father.”
“I'm not a child at a recital.”
“Why couldn’t you be? We just want to hear you play, sweetheart. We barely see you now, and next time it’ll be Carnegie Hall.”
Somehow, Zoe ends up retrieving her guitar. True to her mother’s word, Larry was there when she came back downstairs. She’d never expected to actually play for them, but this is the first time Cynthia has really pushed her on something in a long time. It’s nice, quite honestly, that she feels that strongly about hearing her play guitar.
“I really normally don’t sing,” she protests mildly.
“Nonsense,” Larry says, and Zoe smiles. She shifts the guitar in her lap.
“Eva absolutely loves singing this,” she begins, her fingers seeking out the beginning chords to Crush, because quite honestly she can’t think of anything else to play. Her parents’ eyes on her make her feel nervous. “She’s made me play it a million times. She’d probably be mad if she knew I was singing it without her.”
It’s...nice to play for them. They smile and clap as she plays song after song for them. She can feel their happiness at something she’s accomplished, for the first time in her life. But for the first time since she’s been home, she thinks she can feel the weight of a third gaze on her. She knows it’s just in her mind, but all the same, she hoped she’d left that lurking guilt from Connor far away, in the orchard, at the end of senior year. She doesn’t know how she feels now that it’s back.
He always used to listen to her play. Maybe this is what she gets instead of him, now.
*
“Zoe?” Evan says.
She looks...small, is the first word that crosses his mind. Which is funny, because although Zoe Murphy isn’t the tallest person you’ll ever meet, she’s certainly got the confidence and gravitas to make up for it. Stage presence, as his mother would say.
Maybe he’s caught her between the first and second act, then.
She looks up at him, her hands practically drowning in her chunky-knit yellow sweater. It comes up to her chin, half-tucked into a denim skirt at her waist, and where the skirt ends a pair of high riding boots begin. Some part of his brain recognizes that she looks impeccable just as she always does, even when the look on her face is so unguarded and shaken that he’s half surprised she’s still standing. Something passes over her face, and in a second it rearranges into something a little happier than before. It’s not happy or okay, not by a long shot, but if he didn’t know her better he may think it was. Barely giving himself a moment to marvel at just how cool it is she does that, concern overrides every alarm bell going off in his brain about being around her and talking to her and hurting her again (not again, not again), because the most important thing is making sure she’s okay, the most important thing is her comfort. “What-” he breaks off, shakes his head. What does he want to say? What are you doing? What are you feeling? What do you need?
What could he possibly say?
(He knows it doesn’t matter what he wants, in the end. It doesn’t matter.)
“What’s...up?” he finishes a second later, cringing internally.
Zoe’s mouth twists and her nose scrunches, and for a second he thinks she’s going to cry, but a moment later she settles on a half smile, and she looks so much like Connor did that day in the computer lab that he feels winded, winded by an image he couldn’t have conjured consciously. At once the weight of where he is hits him squarely in the chest, and Zoe must sense it, because when she speaks it’s gentle, almost, even though every fiber of her being feels like it’s been shifted on its axis. “Well, uh. You know. Not a lot. And a lot, also, I guess.”
Evan nods, and for a second he feels seventeen again, fighting against a torrent of words, because Zoe never talked like that. She always selected every word carefully, and if she can’t, there’s no hope for Evan. “Yeah, no I, I definitely get it. That makes, that makes sense. You’re um, I guess you’re home for break? Winter break?”
Zoe nods once, and for once he detects a hint of ice in the gesture. “Yeah. And you’re…”
“Still home,” he supplements quickly. “I’m, uh, applying, actually, but, you know…”
“Yeah,” she says, and Evan privately thinks that this may be the most painful conversation they’ve had. There’s still a look in Zoe’s eyes, something a little unhinged and a lot hurt, and he wants more than anything to get rid of it. He knows that it’s not his job, but God, he wants to. He wants to grab her hand and press a kiss to her temple just like he used to, to slide his hand along the side of her jaw like he did whenever she was upset. He wants to remind her to breathe just like she used to remind him to do, wants to trace the freckles on her cheeks until she’s giggling and her eyes are dry.
“Are you here to see Connor?” she spits out, as though surprising herself, and Evan finds himself nodding, because oh yeah, they’re at a cemetery. He absolutely could not tell you why he chose to go down to the cemetery, rather than literally any other place. He just...felt like he had to. For some reason, he felt like he needed to go to Connor’s grave to say sorry and maybe thank you for something he couldn’t quite understand. He hadn’t planned on running into Zoe, though.
“You are too? I can...I can go,” he offers, and he’s surprised at how quickly Zoe shakes her head.
“No, I’d...I’d like someone else there.”
“Really?” he says, his voice soft.
“Yeah,” she says, offering him a quick ghost of a smile before steeling herself and turning.
He follows her in silence, choosing to focus on the sound of her shoes on the concrete and examining the back of her head and the trees lining the rows of graves and new clouds that have crossed the sun. They must reach Connor’s plot eventually, as Zoe turns sharply and leads him through the maze of stones until they stand in front of one that is simpler than its neighbors. Classic, he supposes, although he doesn’t know if that’s actually a thing, a ‘classic’ grave. Connor Murphy is cut into the stone, followed by a birth and death date and a short epitaph of beloved son, brother, and friend. He squashes down an unkind thought before it can really grow at all.
Zoe’s sat down on the grass, denim skirt and all. After hesitating, he follows.
“Would you like me to-”
“No,” Zoe says, but her eyes are focused on the grave, and Evan has the feeling she’s a million worlds away from him and it wouldn’t matter what he said. “You’re fine.”
So he sits quietly, and tries to think of something he’d like to say to Connor in the peace of his own head. What would he say, if given the chance? He doesn’t know if it would be worth anything. For him, he grew to learn that he was not who he thought he was on his worst days, no matter how many there were. But he doesn’t know if that’s worth saying to Connor. It wasn’t even really Connor who taught him that, in the end. He forced that message into his own brain, with the help of Dr. Sherman and his mother and even Zoe and the Murphy’s, in some roundabout way. He’s learned he can keep going.
Maybe Zoe still needs to learn that, he thinks, with a glance in her direction. She seems to be deteriorating, her hand absently twisting grass at her side, her face falling just a little more. She’s biting her lip and her brow is furrowing deeper. Or maybe this is just one of her bad days.
She stands up and sways on her feet. Evan clambers up after her, a hand reaching out to steady her almost unconsciously. “I’m sorry,” she says, and it’s only then that he notices the near-silent sobs coming from her, although there are not yet any tears. She just looks...sad. He hasn’t seen her look that sad in a while. Her non-grassy hand reaches up to her face. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Evan says, and he aches to reach out and touch her, to comfort her in some way, but he holds himself back. He attempts a joke. “You apologize too much.”
He sees tears on her cheeks, and one indents where he’s sure she’s biting the inside of her mouth.
“Please,” he says, and it’s only then that she seems further away than she was before. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”
She’s in no state to refuse, but she looks like she might anyway. He cuts her off with another ”please, let me do this” and she relents. She looks ready to collapse at any moment, and he’s terrified she will, so he keeps one hand hovering nervously hovering between her shoulder and back their whole walk as though he’s swatting invisible bugs away. He considers opening the door for her, but thinks the better of it and leaves her to fend for herself in that particular field. They’re silent as he gets into the car and shifts the key in the ignition, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot. They stay silent for a few minutes on the road as well, while Evan drives in the vague direction of her house.
“You’re driving,” Zoe says suddenly, and through the thickness of tears Evan thinks he can detect a hint of pride.
“Yeah, that I am,” he replies, shaking his head slightly.
He thinks Zoe may say something like “wow” under her breath, but a moment later she’s sniffling again and that’s all he can think about. “I have some tissues in the glove compartment.”
“Thanks,” she says softly, almost getting drowned out in the sound of tires on pavement, and the sound of her soft consonants breaks his heart. “I’m sorry,” she tries again, but Evan stops her.
“Don’t, Zoe. Don’t ever apologize. Really.” His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Believe me. You have nothing to apologize for.”
There’s another silence. It seems like Zoe has stopped crying, although she still seems unsteady, albeit less all over the place than when he first saw her.
“I swear I’m doing better than this,” she says. “I really am. I don’t, I really don’t know why that happened. I wish I could explain to you why. Why it’s still happening now, honestly. I’m doing better. I am.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations, Zoe.”
“I know. I mean, I don’t, but. I want to give you one, anyway.”
He nods. “Where to?” He finally says, the words stiffer than he wanted them to be.
Her voice is small, almost fragile. “Could you...maybe go to the orchard?”
He nods again, feeling a bit like a bobble head. “Yeah, of course.” He doesn’t add the anything, anything at all for you, but he thinks she might hear it anyway.
*
Sitting in the orchard with Evan again, it’s almost...surreal.
Zoe hasn’t been back since she met him a week before graduation. Being in the orchard brings all kinds of feelings of melancholy for her, a tangle of guilt and longing and maybe a little bit of hope, too.
Because when she looks across from her, Evan is there, and her own emotions are reflected on his face. They’re both sitting in the grass under one of the trees. They’re no longer saplings, which in itself is weird. The year has brought a lot of growth for them. Looking at Evan, she can’t help but think that they’re not the only ones.
He’s so much more...something than he was before. Is it happy? Confident? Whatever it is, it fills him from the inside. Even in the orchard, where his brow is furrowed and his eyes are focused on some faraway point in the distance, he’s sitting taller and fidgeting less than before. He’s doing better.
And she meant what she said to him, how she’s doing better too. Getting out and away to the city had really done wonders for her, finally being away from all of the shit that happened in high school.
She pushes her foot out, nudging against his thigh. He angles his head to her, and suddenly she gets the same urge to cry again. Her vertigo has lessened significantly since arriving at the orchard and stumbling to sit, but she still feels unsteady even while sitting. The corner of his lip perks up a bit as his eyes meet hers.
“It’s been almost a year,” she says.
“I know.”
There’s a pause; she lets herself listen to the rustle of the no-longer-saplings.
“Do you ever wish you could go back?” she says, surprising herself.
He takes a moment to respond. “To when?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. Her eyes burn and she’s not quite sure why. “Last time we were here? Last year? The very first time we really talked? This morning?”
Evan shakes his head. “That’s, that’s a lot of times.”
“I know.”
“Maybe I’d go back to this morning,” he said. “So I could...prepare myself for this. So I’d be ready to see you.”
She snorts. “I’d like preparation to deal with me, too.”
“That’s not what I meant, Zoe.”
“Oh?” She doesn’t know where this challenge has come from in her tone. “What did you mean?”
“I meant—I meant that it’s...different seeing you now. Because of...everything. And I don’t want to hurt you more.”
At once, all the fight leaves her. She passes a hand over her face. “God, Evan. I don’t think that’s possible.”
If she had meant to hurt him-and she honestly doesn’t know herself if she did-she certainly succeeded. Evan seems to curl in on himself a bit.
“That’s not what I meant,” she adds belatedly. “I just-you make things difficult, you know? Because this entire—” and here she gestures emphatically to the orchard, “thing is so fucked, and I want to leave it all behind, since it makes me feel fucked. But then I see you, and it’s like…” she lets out a puff of air. “It’s like I’m back to being sixteen again. Which is terrible on so many levels but is really, really great on one.”
He doesn’t say anything.
Her hand picks at the hem of her skirt. “I had you, Evan. And that made everything else okay.” She blinks rapidly against her blurring vision. “And as much as I want to leave everything else behind, I don’t-I can’t leave you. And that.”
“I understand,” Evan says softly.
She doesn’t say the other part that keeps her from leaving, the total guilt that fills her mind every once in a while when she thinks about Connor. She had a feeling he may already know that part.
“And the stars are here, too. I can’t leave them.”
She can hear the smile in Evan’s voice. “No, I bet you can’t.”
She shakes her head, tears slipping from her eyes. As he leans over and swipes them away with his thumb, she represses a choking sob from somewhere deep inside her chest. “I couldn’t either,” he says, his smile morphing into something sadder and smaller. His fingertips brush against her cheeks one last time, and belatedly she remembers those nights spread out on the grass where he traced the stars from the sky on her freckles. His fingers feel just like they did then, almost reverent against her cheek, his feather-light touch sending shivers from where it lands. Her eyes close, and without the hard ground beneath her and the sunlight that’s bright on her eyelids, she can almost pretend no time has passed at all, that she can have this entirely and wholly and painlessly. But Evan’s hand, and then his whole being, moves away from her, and she is left with only the phantom of his touch and the quiet noise of the leaves behind her. She lets her eyes drift open again, once the tears have receded slightly.
Evan stands, maybe sensing that she needs to get away or maybe just wanting out himself. “C’mon,” he says, holding a hand out to her. “I’ll drive you home.”
She smiles, albeit a watery smile, and takes his hand, ignoring just how familiar and easy it feels to slip her hand into his. His palm is warm, and he hoists her up with only a little difficulty. She smiles as she rights herself, and he steps back quickly once he’s sure she won’t fall. The faint blush that steals across his cheeks only makes her vertigo worse, but she manages to walk anyways, the blurriness fading from her eyes.
Just before they get in the car, Zoe reaches out a grabs his sleeve, the fabric of it rough under her calloused fingertips. Time slows down for the barest second, and her world narrowed to the faint, warm brown of his eyes. But the moment passes, and she tugs him in closer to her, wrapping her other arm around his shoulder. She means to say thank you, but the words never pass her lips. Instead she pushes herself up until her mouth is right next to his ear. Zoe breathes, “Watch the stars for me, Evan. Please.”
She feels him nod against her shoulder, and finally his grip around her lower back feels like more than just dead weight. “I will, Zo.”
In a moment, she’ll reach for the car door and step away from him. In a moment he’ll do the same, and they’ll sit in an almost-comfortable silence for the ride home. In a while they will be at her house, and they will say goodbye, and Zoe will go back to NYU the next day and Evan will go to his shift at Pottery Barn. In a moment, this may be the last time they just exist like this with each other, or it may not be.
Either way, she holds him close in this moment and savors the feeling of his heart beating in tandem with hers.
#dear evan hansen#dear evan hansen fanfic#dear evan hansen fanfiction#dear Evan Hansen gift exchange#thatfriendlyanon#bandtrees#deh#deh angst#deh fanfic#evan hansen#zoe murphy#zoevan
27 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
cleepowell
Our Rockabilly world
iamhunter91
Untitled
jdypvy
anything for our moony
allan-rice
Allan Rice Fotografía
lawangxian
animes & bts