#i may have been watching (artistic pause) sports | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shokobuns · 3 years

Text

“𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭”

in which you slowly give into your desires.

PAIRING: maid!zenin maki x f!housewife!reader

GENRE: smut, some fluff, some angst, slowburn (ish)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

WARNINGS: nsfw, 16+ smut, slowburn ish?, mentioned misogyny, infidelity, unhappy arranged marriage, angsty marriage, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f receiving), kitchen sex, sex in shared bed, face sitting/riding, 69, exhibitionism, squirting, light degradation, praise, pussy slapping, finger sucking, spit kink, consensual panty stealing, masturbation (f), first time for oral, slight corruption, implied dumbification, dom!maki. slight mommy kink, humiliation (kind of)

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Honey.”

You peck your husband on the lips goodbye before he’s out the door with a briefcase in hand and his suit as neat as ever. Staring at the leftovers, you sigh before eventually picking up the plates and pilling them in the sink, scrubbing off the sticky mess of maple syrup. Soap suds cover up your gloves as you lather them in bubbly water and plan out the rest of your day. The dishes, the laundry, a few episodes of that one show you barely pay attention to, lunch, more dishes, more laundry, a start on dinner.

You can’t help but wonder — Is this it?

You love your husband, something you remind yourself repeatedly when he’s gobbling down on the rice on his dinner plate and when he’s leaving his dirty clothes all over your bedroom floor. You love him. You want to bear his children, want to raise them, want to do the chores so that he doesn’t. You want to cook, to clean, to do everything for the sake of his pleasure. It’s what your mother insisted, it’s what she did, and it’s what her mother did. You love your husband.

Is this it?

Twenty years old, a husband with a stable living, something that can suffice for the rest of your life. All you need is to do your chores, give him your body, be his prim and proper wife. It sounds fairly easy, another thing that your mother insisted, so what is it?

Why do you crave more? Why do you have to remind yourself that you love him, love this life at all?

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock on your door. When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a tall girl with glasses. She’s in a black maid dress that stops at her knees, complemented by the white apron that flows along with the part of the skirt, ruffling at the end. She has a bag hanging on her shoulder and her expression shows slight amusement at your surprise. Surely, she’s at the wrong house, right?

“Are you (Y/N)?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter out, not realizing that you were staring, “Uh, w-who are you?”

“I’m Zenin Maki, but you can call me Maki,” she observes your figure, noticing the sly nervousness radiating off of your expression, “Your husband hired me. Said he wanted someone to help you out.”

“O-Oh.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course.” You move to the side, watching the woman scan your house. It’s slightly messy, a result of your husband not cleaning up after lounging in the living room, and she doesn’t waste time to clean it up, rearranging the decorative pillows and helping you carry the leftover dishes to the sink. Just as you’re about to put on your gloves, her hand comes out to grab your wrist and the other takes it out of your hand. “Don’t. I got this.”

You step back, watching Maki put on the gloves herself, lathering the dishes as you did before. You don’t know what to do, standing there awkwardly as she places them in the dishwasher. It’s a given opportunity to observe how her skirt stops right above her knee, flowing out naturally and modestly accentuating her body. Her headband compliments the look, her hair tied back with bangs covering up her forehead, stopping short of her glasses. Warmth creeps up your neck to your cheeks and you sharply look away, focusing your vision on the bowl of apples on the center of the dining table.

“You can rest, Miss. But I’m going to need help putting away the dishes later. Is that okay?” She asks and you turn around to give her a nod. “Is there anything else you need done?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, you really don’t need to-”

“I was hired to help you out with chores. Please, do not worry about me.”

You sigh in defeat, looking directly at her face, her pretty face. She had a sharp expression, piercing eyes that can bore into your soul, defined cheekbones. A sensation of uneasiness rested in your lower belly and you realize you’re staring when she waves a hand over your face. “Hello? Miss?”

“S-Sorry! I was just thinking about something!”

“Oh. Well, I was just asking if you can help me put some of the dishes away just for today. I don’t know where everything is and I don’t like disorganization.”

“Of course. Of course.”

“You need anything else?”

“Folding the laundry, for now, I think? The clothes should be dry. Everything is upstairs.”

She follows behind you as you bring her out to the terrace where your laundry hangs on a string. Dresses, button ups, and ties of earth toned colors adorn the area and you touch the fabrics. The sun had definitely done its job. Maki is already setting up the ironing board that was previously laying in the corner of your bedroom and gathering your husband’s work attire together. When she’s done flattening the creases on the pieces of clothing, you take them, hanging and folding. With her help, you were finished in half the time it usually took you.

“Thank you, Maki. Really, I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Miss. Your husband hired me to do my job and I am happy to help.”

As you hang your last dress, you give her a smile.

—

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your husband’s voice sounds throughout the house as he’s met with the sight of you and Maki laying out plating foods and placing them on the dinner table. He smiles and you walk towards him to greet him with a hug and a kiss. Maki continues with the task, sparing a glance at the both of you. “You didn’t tell me you hired a maid,” you whisper to your husband, “Though, she has been very helpful.”

“I’m glad, Honey.” He replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Kind of curious as to why you hired one in the first place.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s have dinner, alright?” He shoots you a grin before looking over to Maki. “Feel free to stay for dinner, Maki!”

“I’m alright. I should get going anyways—”

“Nonsense!” You husband eagerly responds, pulling out an extra chair just for her, “My dear wife here says you’ve been helpful.”

“I have classes.”

“Oh. Well you might as well take some home!” You suggest, walking over to your tupperware cabinet.

Before you go back to your husband, you plate some food for her to take home and make sure she makes it back to her car as she walks out the door. You let out an involuntary sigh, leaning against the doorway and feeling content that you now have an extra hand.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Why do we need a maid?”

“Simple,” he grabs your hands from across the table, “I think we’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“Ready to have kids, silly woman!” His laughter booms throughout the entire room, “I mean you’ll have to get off birth control and everything, but I think it’s time.”

You laugh nervously as he leans in for a kiss. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t know about this.”

“What?” He stands up, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, “Why not?”

“I’m just kind of, uh, scared? I don’t know if I’m ready and we just got married a few months ago, you know?”

“Come on, don’t be scared,” he reassures you, kissing your cheek, “I hired Maki to be our maid to lay the stress off of you. I offered her an in-house job, which she’ll be starting next week, just so that you could rest easy while you’re pregnant.”

“In-house? Is she going to live with us?”

“Of course! She’s a college student, so she doesn’t mind getting paid and living in a house,” he explains before going back to the topic, “So please. I want you to have our baby. We can start tonight.” He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

“O-Okay.”

—

The next few days, the cycle continues.

Maki comes in the morning, usually just about right before your husband leaves for work, and she helps you throughout the day. Doing dishes, folding clothes, cleaning the bathroom. Most of the time you help her, usually against her will, but it leads to a calm and comforting silence when you work together. She’s moving in soon, two days to be exact, and you think it’s time to get to know a little bit about her.

One problem; She’s reserved, which intimidates you, and you’re too scared to start a conversation.

Eventually, you’re going to have to break the ice. So you do it as she’s ironing the clothes and you’re putting them away. You think up a few basic questions, mulling them over as to not make her uncomfortable because you want to get to know her.

“My husband tells me you’re in university right now. What’s your major?”

“Sports science.” She replies bluntly, continuing her task.

“Oh, cool cool,” you try to figure out a way to continue, but come up blank. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk.

“What do you do when your husband is not around?” She asks curiously, as if she sensed your desire to hold the conversation.

“Chores, usually,” you frown, “Sometimes I watch TV, but I wish I was able to do other stuff. I really like painting, too. But I haven’t done much of that ever since we got married.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to become an artist. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid, but my family wanted stability for me so they introduced me to a family friend’s older son,” you smile, memories of your younger self filling up your head before a sense of sadness falls over your expression, “They said this would be good for me. And it is. My husband is a good man, I have a roof over my head and dinner on the table everyday, you know. I’m not complaining,” you pause, reeling out of your own thoughts, “Sorry if I just overshared.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” she reassures you, “Just out of curiosity, how old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“That’s funny, I’m twenty one.”

“You’re closer to my age than my husband,” you laugh, folding another white button up before placing it in a drawer, “We are in very different positions.”

“Yes, we are,” she chuckles, “A struggling college student and a cool housewife.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say cool—”

“Nonsense!” She grumbles, an attempt to mock your husband.

“Nonsense!”

The both of you laugh and you realize how she seems almost angelic. The look in her eyes that was once piercing and intimidating was soft and heavenly. Her cheeks are flushed red and her smile was alluring. Before you even realize it, a feeling of warmth settles in your lower belly and it gets harder and harder to take your eyes off of her. Her chuckle was music to your ears and you’ve internally decided that it was one of your favorite sounds.

—

“Goodnight, Honey.”

He plants a kiss on your sweaty forehead before turning his back towards you, opting to hug a pillow on the side instead. Everything is wet, sticky, and gross, but before you can say anything, your husband is already fast asleep, little snores filling the air of the master bedroom. You lay down for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling in the dark until you gather up the last of your willpower to get up and clean the mess between your legs.

It was an okay night.

Sure, you came, but it was just boring. There was nothing to it, only the huffs and groans and praises from your husband as he lived out his fantasy of finally being able to breed you. You’re happy to provide him, as long as it makes him happy, because he loves you and you love him. Even if you have to clean up the mess yourself, even if you don’t finish, even if that rush of loving emotion that everyone seems to describe never hits you.

You’re happy.

That’s what you tell yourself anyways. Yet, your fingers rub furiously on your clit while the other pumps in and out of your dripping cunt. You’re close and you pretend that it’s her fingers You pretend that it’s her fingers that you’re clenching around, her mouth leaving soft kisses from your neck down to your exposed breasts. You pretend that you’re tugging on dark hair, asking for more, but when you come down from your high, the ringing in your ears stops suddenly and the snores overtake your hearing once again.

Maki.

It’s wrong, disgustingly wrong, but there’s no way to escape her. Not when she’s in your house in the morning, the afternoon, and the evening. She helps with everything, things that you didn’t even consider yourself, talks to you about the things you like. And you know that her favorite color is black, her family would have much rather preferred if she went the same route you did, and she likes junk food a little too much.

You also wonder when you should tell your husband that you definitely have not gone off those pills.

—

“Miss?”

“Yes?” You respond, a grocery bag in your arms filled with different fruits, vegetables, and meat. Although you've made a few additions to your list and you were unsure at first, but as Maki empties it, her eyes light up at the sight of the bright little bag.

“You got chips?”

“Well, yeah. They’re for you. I know you liked them.”

She beams at you and it’s almost blinding. There’s an odd flutter in your stomach and you ignore it, but it only becomes stronger when she rips open the bag and munches on the whole thing in seconds. The small satisfied moan from the first bite has you internally celebrating. She looks at peace. All she’s doing is eating a bag of her favorite chips, yet it fills you with some unexplainable feeling of warmth. You make another mental note to buy even more next time.

—

“What do you think of him?”

“Who?” She asks, sitting up on the couch as she watches you get lost on the canvas in front of you.

“My husband.”

“Oh,” she pauses, her hand coming from under her chin to think, “He’s pretty cool, I guess. He also pays me which is pretty cool, you know.”

“Come on, I won’t tell him,” you insist, coming close, your hands involuntarily brushing over hers. She doesn’t pull them away, letting you rest them, enjoying the extra warmth.

“I mean, he’s a man, alright.”

“What does that even mean?”

“No offense,” she continues, finding the least rudest way to say it, “He’s kind of basic, you know? Which isn’t bad but he yells at the TV when watching football, has you light his cigarettes, and waits for you to serve him food. Just your typical husband things, I guess.”

“Are you saying my husband is boring?” You ask with a stoic face, watching the fear fill her eyes.

“No, no! That’s not what I—”

“Kidding,” you chuckle as she purses her lips before joining along, “I was just curious.”

“Well, why?”

“I don’t know,” you say, sighing as you think of all the times he did anything romantic for you, “He’s a good man, you know that, right?”

“Well, of course.”

“He brings me flowers, gives me goodnight kisses, tells me he loves me, but—” you pause, afraid to finish the thought. Your heart pounds at the mess of ideas on your mind and you’re ashamed, “I don’t know if I feel that love thing those people always talk about.”

“What do you mean?”

She’s intrigued to say the least. You’re fiddling your thumbs with a nervous smile on your face. All the while, the music you put on fades in the background until it’s only the two of you, hearts beating fast, blood rushing to your cheeks. When you finally look her in the eye, she doesn’t miss how glassy they look and that’s when her suspicions are confirmed without a verbal sentence — you’re unsure.

“He- Well, I don’t know. Forget I said anything about it,” you clasp your hands together before getting back to work in the kitchen, “And please, don’t tell him.”

Uncertainty, you’re most definitely full of it, but Maki is almost sure she’s figured it out before you have and she likes to think that she’s gotten to know you. She’s picked up how you play with your fingers when you’re unsure, how you smooth down your dress when you try to keep your composure, how that your smile loses genuinity while you’re at the dinner table. She decides it’s not her business, she’s only the housemaid and you’re just the housewife she works under.

But she’ll always be there for you with open arms if you need it.

—

“We gotta make breakfast, Maki.” You poke her side, waking her up from a deep sleep.

You’re already ready for the day, the top half of your hair already tied in a bun and a lilac colored dress adorning your figure. She’s caught off guard when she opens her eyes and you’re sitting up on the side of the bed poking at her hip. Her vision is blurry without her glasses, but she can clearly smell the sweet scent of vanilla perfume. Taking in a deep breath, she sits up, too, reaching for her glasses on the bedside table.

And her sleek, black hair cascades down her shoulders, though it’s slightly messy, you’re tempted to run your fingers through the soft looking strands. You’ve seen Maki in her maid uniform at home, jeans when she goes out to shop, but the sight of her in a satin night dress was different and your breath hitches when the blanket falls off the upper half of her body. It’s a loose fit and she looks absolutely ethereal, almost like an angel.

She turns her head to the side and you fake cough, trying to make up for staring a little too long. “I know your day doesn’t start yet, but I was hoping to get some help on breakfast today. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course, Miss. I’ll go get ready right now.

“Cool.”

You walk down to the kitchen, preparing a pie crust for your quiche and reading through the recipe you were given by a friend. By the time you blind bake the crust, Maki joins you in her usual attire. “Need anything, Miss?”

“While the quiche is baking, I just need you to make some cookie dough. Just the usual, my family is coming over later.”

“Of course.”

She gets to work right away, finding the ingredients immediately as you fill up your empty pie crust and dance around the kitchen. Right after the quiche is placed in the oven, your hips sway along with the music that plays in the radio. It’s all soft and slow, Maki smiling at your antics while you jokingly attempt to serenade her. She’s mixing in the chocolate chips into the dough and you walk forward, energetic and lost in the song.

You don’t think much of it when you grab her hip and your faces come closer together. One second, you were playfully dancing around your kitchen and the next, your breaths mingle, the gap between the two of you closing. It’s her who decides to lean forward, soft lips meeting together, your back suddenly meeting the edge of the counter. Her hands rest on the surface, each on either side of you, and her lips taste like cherries. Your hands come up to her cheeks as your mouths meld together until it’s hard to breathe.

You pull away first, remembering that your husband is still sleeping upstairs. “What are we doing?”

“Don’t know,” she replies, her hand starting to trail under the skirt of your dress, “It feels right, though.”

“Should we stop?” You mutter, just barely enough for her to hear.

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

It gives her the extra rush of courage to get under your dress and push your body until your back is flat on the counter. Luckily, there was nothing underneath except for a pair of plain black panties, a damp spot right in the middle. Her thumb presses on your clothed clit and by the way your body squirms she knows you’re sensitive which only adds to the sadistic fun of pulling down your underwear at an agonizingly slow pace. “Need you,” you breathe out, your legs being positioned on her shoulders, “I need you, please.”

“I got you, Baby. Don’t worry.” She replies with a smile, her breath hitting your wet cunt.

Your breath hitches as her tongue trails up from your hole up to your sensitive pearl and she moans at the sweet taste of your arousal. Her hands keep a firm grip on your thighs, holding them open as you bite your lip to contain your moans. He’s right upstairs, you think, but any thought of caution starts to leave you once her soft lips wrap around your clit, sucking on the bundle of nerves causing your knuckles to turn white as they grab onto the edge of the counter.

Your husband has never touched you like this. Ever.

The feeling of her mouth is foreign, but welcome. Before you know it, the grip on one of your thighs loosen and two fingers slip into your soaked cunt. She’s gentle at first, the pumps of her digits ever so delicately pressing against your g spot, but once you hike up the skirt of your dress and thread your fingers through her hair, she speeds up, hitting hard and fast. “M-Maki— Shit!”

You squeal when her tongue starts massaging your clit and your walls clench despite being empty, “Such a pretty girl,” she coos, watching in awe at how your slick coats her fingers, “Such a pretty pussy.”

Lewd praises and squelches fill the kitchen air as the coil in your stomach builds and snaps until your cunt is gushing all over her. Your back arches as you reach your high and she leaves a trail of kisses from your thigh to your sopping pussy. Bringing her fingers to your mouth, she gives you one command.

“Suck.”

You obey, wrapping your soft lips around her digits, swirling your tongue and she gives a graceful smile, brushing a thumb over your flushed cheeks. A sheen of sweat covers your forehead, but the sound of footsteps brings you out of your thoughts. Maki pockets your underwear, giving you a wink, before washing her hands and taking the nearly forgotten quiche out of the oven.

By the time you hear the footsteps of your husband, you’re decent, minimal signs of physical exertion just barely noticeable. She’s going through her usual routine of plating your food in front of the two of you, doing the dishes, laundry, everything. You want to say something, you really do, and you’re left with your own questions.

At night, you’re left pondering the strong women with silky black hair whilst in the arms of your husband.

—

Two days.

That’s how long it’s been since you’ve gotten the most mind blowing orgasm of your life. Your panties are still missing, though you don’t mind knowing who has them. And when you think about the things your mother has told you repeatedly about your perfectly structured life, it crumbles with each second. When you look at the face next to you, the indifference in your heart starts to become more and more prominent.

And even though you should feel guilty — well, you do — you also don’t regret it at all.

You still do your chores as expected, make the bed, cook dinner. You still organize the laundry, do the dishes, and tend to your rose garden. You still disinfect, fold, and have sex with your husband who’s indifferent to your pleasure every night. Almost every domestic activity was accompanied by Maki, who often sought to take over or help.

Yet, she wouldn’t even look at you.

She wouldn’t say anything that didn’t pertain to a grocery list or a command and it was infuriating. Still, you were determined to bring it up — how could you not? As you fold blankets on the couch and think, you call out her name. “Maki?”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Your heart drops a tiny bit, it was an expected response based on the fact it felt like she was avoiding you, but you still had to swallow the lump in your throat. “Nevermind. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She asks as you’re looking down on the rug, trying to focus on the pattern instead of the woman in front of you.

“I’m just sorry I brought it up. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry that we did whatever that was,” you take a deep breath as forming tears blurred your vision, “I’m sorry that I can’t fucking do this, Maki. I don’t love him. I can’t love him.”

She sighs, scooching forward and closer to you then pulling the half folded blanket from your hands. “You shouldn’t be sorry. This was my fault.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“You’re just, I’m just—” you inhale again, trying to find the right words to say, “You’re different. You’re different from him in all the best ways. You listen to what I have to say, you care about how I feel.”

“That’s something that any good friend would do—”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

She brings her fingers to your chin, nudging your head up until you’re looking her in the eyes for the first time in days. She gazes at you, appreciating every curve and every mark on your skin. You take this as an opportunity to lean in, planting a soft kiss on her lips. She doesn’t stop it, instead indulging in the act, cupping your cheeks.

It soon becomes hungry, her tongue slipping past your lips, you being rolled over onto your back as she slips her hand under your floral dress. She presses a finger against your clothed cunt, causing you to gasp and throw your head back. At the same time she leaves sloppy kisses on the exposed skin of your neck and you struggle to form a coherent sentence.

“M-Maki, stop,” you whimper and she pauses, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Oh?” She smirks, giving you another breathless kiss, “Wanna put that mouth to use, Baby?”

“Yeah,” you breath out, “Wanna make you feel good, Mommy.”

Her expression is filled with pride as she drags her fingers across your face and into your mouth. You comply with the silent command, wrapping your lips around the digits and sucking softly, swirling your tongue around them. “Good girl.”

You let out a hum while she discards her panties somewhere on the ground and her bare cunt hovers over your face. It’s intimidating, yet the sight of her glistening folds makes you wet. All you wanted to do was taste her, drink up all of her juices, and when you finally do you can’t get enough. Despite the lack of experience, you do what you think would feel good, giving experimental licks, noting when her body twitched and when she would let out a saccharine moan.

“Fuck — you’re doing so well,” she coos, carding her fingers through your hair, admiring the sight of your half lidded eyes and the feel of your tongue, “You sure this is your first time eating pussy?”

You hum in response which sends vibrations throughout her body, causing her to throw her head back. You grip onto her lower back, desperately bringing her wet cunny closer to yourself and she rolls her hips, grinding herself on your mouth. You’re already addicted, lapping at all of the cum she has to offer, watching intently as her mouth forms an o shape and she soaks the lower half of your face.

“Such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

She gets off your face and you smile with pride, tugging off the rest of her maid uniform until she’s completely bare in your living room. Every curve of her body fills you with even more lust and you’re sure your panties are soaked just from the sight. Her thighs are defined, muscular even, and you kiss them before going back to her ruined pussy, lapping at all the slick.

“You’re so pretty, Maki,” you utter, your breath hitting her neck as you come back up to her face.

She pushes you backward until you’re flat on your back, pinning your wrists together before ripping off your panties. Maki wastes no time, two fingers entering your hole and curling with every thrust. “You got this wet from eating me out?” She questions cockily, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the shell of your ear along with a nibble, “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you whimper in between breaths, “Feels s’good.”

“Yeah?” She responds, watching you come undone underneath her.

Your orgasm builds up with every pump, the coil in your stomach tightening. She fastens the pace, every movement being calculated, her fingers knuckles deep in your cunt. Her fingertips manage to brutally hit the spongy spot inside of you, causing your legs to shake. Your back arches when her lips wrap around your clit, the simultaneous stimulation making your body tremble in delight. You’re gushing all over her fingers and she stares in awe as your slick drips down your thighs.

“Can we go to the bedroom?” You request meekly, barely recovering from your last orgasm.

“Of course, Baby,” she beams at you, body gleaming with a sheen of sweat, your heart fluttering in your chest.

Maki picks you up bridal style with almost no effort, pressing kisses all over your face on the way upstairs. When you finally get to the bedroom, she lays you down gently, almost as if you were a delicate piece of glass. But the moment of soft intimacy doesn’t last.

It doesn’t last when her pussy hovers over your face with her head buried in between your legs, licking hot stripes on your folds, sucking on your pearl while her fingers brush on your legs before finding their way back to your ruined cunt. Your tongue presses on her slit and her hips lower until your mouth is full of pussy. Her sweet taste is addicting and concurrent moans only heighten the pleasure, vibrations shooting through both of your bodies. Her thumb circles your clit furiously as she pulls away from your cunt to speak.

“You like this, don’t you? Ain’t this the same bed where you get fucked by your husband?” She questions demandingly, slapping your cunny.

You whine into her cunt, the sudden pain causing your walls to clamp around nothing. She laughs sadistically, pinching your clit, biting at your inner thighs.

“S’good, such a good little slut,” she coos, her nose tickling your clit as her face inches closer, “Bet you like getting fucked by your maid, don’t you?”

You can only respond with a squeal, her hand laying another blow to your aching pussy. “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I got you.” She reassures you, mouth ravaging your cunt, slurping every drop of cum you had to offer. She’s close to her own orgasm, you can tell by the way she rides your face, soaking the lower half until the sweet droplets slide down your neck. You massage her clit with your tongue as she comes down from her high, but after yours, she doesn’t stop.

Instead, she continues to feast on your cunt like a starved woman, the pressure in your stomach building for the nth time that day. Coming again almost hurts, but she ignores the high pitched wails spilling from your lips, the sounds only encouraging her to keep sucking until your body trembles. At this point, you’re light headed, vision gradually becoming blurry. Your walls are pulsating, your mind is unable to process everything at once.

Especially the shocked man who stands in the doorway of your bedroom.

And at that exact moment, you let out a sob as Maki sadistically looks your husband right in the eye, her mouth still devouring your overstimulated cunny with fervor. Your hole leaks milky white, staining your shared sheets and you cry out her name, hopelessly gripping onto the plush of her ass for stability, digging your nails into the flesh. When she pulls away, a string of spit connects from her mouth to your pearl and her pupils are blown, cheeks covered with your arousal, all the while maintaining eye contact with him.

As if there was no one in the room, she readjusts her until her face hovers over yours, her swollen pussy present on your thigh.

“Open.”

You comply readily and she grabs your face with one hand, squishing your wet cheeks so hard that they start to ache.

“Good girl.”

She spews into your mouth, watching the blob as it glides down your tongue and you swallow obediently before she comes down for a sweet kiss. The taste of yourself makes your head dizzy with lust. Let it be known that the horrified figure standing in the doorway could never make you feel as good as the maid.

Oops.

2K notes · View notes

yinses · 3 years

Text

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !!

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

��you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind. really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature.

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna blessings #sukuna ryomen

1K notes · View notes

hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

It's been a long time comiiiing down this rooaaddd. I haven't updated this foreverrr, but I'm doing it nooooooowww! 🎤🎵🎶

Part 23: Movement

"I hope I don't have to jump up here," you sigh gripping the pole to test its sturdiness. It seems strong enough, but then so does the hardwood floor. "I don't have the upper body strength to hold myself up and I definitely don't need to bust my ass in these slippery socks--what," you smile watching Toni bite her lip at your skepticism from Ava's other side.

"Nothing. You have a lot of cushion, you'll bounce back," she gestures eyeing your rear. She's joking but you're serious.

"I'm just saying socks on hardwood with jumping if you're uncoordinated seems like a recipe for disaster."

"You get used to it, stick with us," Ava comforts. Stick with us.. It echoes in your mind. They actually want you there.. continuously.

A small group of women in variety of shapes and sizes, mostly black, gradually takes the remaining poles as the mingling conversations rise. It's a comfortable environment. The sun streams in through the windows bringing in nice natural light. Adjusting the band on your sports bra, you hop but neglect to wrap the pole with your legs. Toni chuckles in good humor.

"Ugh.. I don't know about this you guys."

"It's just a workout, girl, you'll be fine," she waves. "Besides, your NOT sugar daddy will love it when you show him all that assss in motion."

"Oh my God, he's NOT a sugar daddy," you whisper as she mocks you. "Y'all are so aggravating."

"That smile says different.. Just remember to tell me all the nasty gritty details when you throw it back with these moves. Yo' ass got handled before," her nude nails clink against the pole judgingly. They'd lost their minds when you told them about that night in the hotel. You had to tell the story twice because they wanted to visualize it. "He did whatever he wanted to do to that kitty, beat it to high hell. Now YOU are gonna have the power to put it on him. That fatass bunda gone kill him, just wait on it."

Watching your wagon in the full length studio wall mirror you grip the pole to make it wiggle watching it move on your reflection. "I don't know, see, I can move it I just can't move it seductively. I'm kinda stiff."

"She ain't ready for all that yet, Toni, let her take it slow. She can't just jump out there, class ain't even start yet," Ava laughs. "She need the basics."

"I need to learn how to dance," you interject. "Like lap dance and all that jazz.."

"That's simple," a woman's voice cuts in demanding the focus of the room of women who seem to recognize her on entry. Casually, you spin to meet a pair of long toned legs like a gazelle building up to a slender curved shape to be envied.. covered in glowing rich brown skin..

This can't be real, you blink as your mind whisks you back to the fateful day of your meeting each other. The memory is fresh as if it were yesterday.

“What’s your name,” she murmurs, voice as addictive as Erik's. You glance at him and he shrugs leaving the decision of how to respond up to you. When you answer, she recites your name like a poem and you smile. She has a calming effect that puts you at ease and she’s so, so beautiful. She tells you you’re the beautiful one and it makes your face heat. Her fingers lightly brush the warmth of your cheek before moving to her own erect nipples tweaking the silver bars.

“You wanna touch them?” She asks while stepping closer and she reaches out for your hand to pull it to her breast. Your eyes nervously flit to Erik’s and he doesn’t intervene. Not knowing quite what to do you tweak the silver bar and she sighs in pleasure. She moves your other hand to her other breast encouraging you to do the same. Her fingers find your chin again and then she’s close, lips coming in hot. You close your eyes.

Those eyes..

Her black lined cat eyes lock onto yours echoing your shock with a thick and strange energy. She's just as shook seeing you yet she never loses the graceful glide in her step to her teaching pole, glancing evenly from you and squaring her gaze to cover the class.

"Well damn," Ava blurts reading the thoughts of the room as the instructor flips her long high pony of burgundy locs. An exhale is all you muster as your brain thinks of several ways this could end badly.

"Hello my SugarDoll Fitness family," Shay waves to the group in a motion ending with her hand perched cutely nder her chin. It gains an equal positive return from the class.

Smiling just to fit in you look around and nod politely wondering what excuse you could make to Toni and Ava if you leave, especially after Ava just invited you to 'stick with' them. Would the truth suffice or would it bring more unnecessary drama and questions?

Toni and Ava would have a field day if they knew the real nature of your relationship with Erik and Ms. Shay. Last you remember, Shay's pierced nipples were in your between your fingertips. She wanted to devour you whole according to Erik. You haven't even told them you were in the BDSM life yet. They don't even know about the submission thing between you and Erik, they're still stuck on sugar daddy.. It's not something you wanted to share.

That's not something to bring up in this setting..

The way Shay looked at you back then made you feel like she was a starved tigress and you were the live prey, but somehow you were comfortable. She was intense but not intimidating... unlike Erik who initially made you so nervous you couldn't relax. No, she wasn't like that.. It felt more like she was wise beyond her years, but very playful and mischievous.. You'd liked her energy.

Then Erik went and cut her off because of his insane jealousy which was great in the sense that it was one step closer to being his only partner, but dumb in the way that it came about. It's one of his flaws. Erik needs to put his jealousy in check before he does something too impulsive to reverse or gets his feelings hurt.

If he'd never taken you to her home, they'd still have their BDSM dynamic, which brings up the issue of blame. Was it your fault? Does she blame you? Does she even care or miss the man?They seemed to pair well despite his gripes that she was troublesome.

Funny... You'd think he'd love a troublesome woman. He say he like spice and Shay had that with the experience to match, so then why choose you? Why not her over you or her and you? He could've made it work. Something about her being too dominant seems like a copout for him, looking back..

"I see some familiar faces. Faith.. Nicki.. Lynn.. Janell.." Her ruby red lips part in a smile and there's something about the simplest of her motions. Everything is a subtle demand for power.. "I see a lot of new faces too," her eyes roll down the line to yours, lingering briefly like she wants to say much more. Her eyes lower for the briefest of moments and where you anticipated malice, there seems to be none. There's something on her mind instead.

"You good," Ava nudges your side in question. You flinch slightly but nod. There's something Shay wants to get out but she can't with everyone else present.

"I want us to get to know each other in here as women. We all have our reasons for being here.. Let's go around the room. I'll start," Shay announces with a slow walk to her right, a natural sway to her hips. "As some of you may know, my name is Shayla Berry, Shay for short aka SugarDoll. Yes, I am an exotic dancer. Yes, I am a dominatrix," her eyes roll playfully. "I also paint by trade and teach pole fitness. I am a multifaceted business woman with a flare for the artistic," her black painted fingers flare. "I meditated on having my own successful studio and then I manifested it to reality when I rented this place a few months ago and baby when I tell you the law of attraction works, I am flourishing."

She gestures to her right and the introductions begin from the repeat students as well as the new. There's a teacher and a nurse present. Everyone's common goal seems to boil down to exploring their sensuality while having fun with dance and getting in a good workout. Then there's Toni. She's a traveler, which you knew. She likes to shop and eat. What you didn't know was that she is also a pilot and works 100 hours a week max. As for Ava, you knew she was originally from the ATL and lived a sugar baby life, but you did not know that she was raised amongst strippers and that she's also an audiologist. She had to explain to the class what an audiologist was.

"And you?" Shay's fiery eyes focus in as she takes a half step towards you.

"Y/N," you say as if she doesn't already know. She knows more than Toni and Ava, she saw your whole coochie for the sake of giving you a biology lesson. Embarrassing.. "I'm from Cali.. born and raised. I don't travel that often, but I'd love to go to Europe.. I love movies, it's really all I do.. watch movies, sleep, and work.. I work in cybersecurity."

"You prevent hackers?" Ava's neck cranes and you nod as she gives a look of approval.

"This is probably messed up," you pause as she and Toni both look up, "But I don't know why I assumed you two were spending men's money in the mall when we met," you whisper feeling superficial. Just because they're universally gorgeous like celebrities doesn't mean they aren't successful outside of that and able to afford the finer things on their own accord. You can do both.

"..We were," Ava shrugs simply. "My money stay in my savings.. I haven't paid a bill with my own money in two years."

"Work smarter not harder babe," Toni smirks. "You oughtta know."

"That's just it, I don't know because that's not something I've experienced because Erik and I are friends with benefits..," you sigh. "A lot of benefits..."

When introductions wrap up, the lesson starts and Shay jumps right into it with terminology foreign to you.

"This is a mixed pole fitness class.. So go ahead and face your poles, we're going to start with some body rolls. Hands low on the pole like so," she demonstrates. "Roll it out." Her body waves in a fluid S motion. "Chest, abs, hips... Chest, abs, hips.. Let it roll, smoothly down to the floor and up. Y/N, get on your tiptoes, baby. Lexi, get your arms involved. Stick that ass out, don't be scared.. Perfect. I'm watching all of y'all," she says pointedly. "..Again."

You watch and try your best to duplicate, your S moreso a stiff Z and she switches her hand position to the top of her pole.

"Now we're gonna walk around and this helps loosen the joints. Think tight and tall as you stride around the pole on those toes. I don't want any flat feet. Keep on your imaginary heels, Y/N," he blinks your way. "Now stop on the side and circle those hips." Her hips rotate as though they're on a swivel.

When you look to Toni and Ava, they're already moving like pros which tells you they do this often. They travel together, shop together, share life, and take classes like this together. They're already extremely close. It's surprising they'd think to invite you into their circle..

"Outside arm and leg sweeps back, across the floor, sweep out and back."

"Like you're swimming," someone adds.

"Exactly, like you're swimming. Next move, grab that knee, pull it up and out, soft hands, open that chest, roll it back... same leg flick the toe and kick forward."

"I can't go that high," the same woman from before says."

"That's fine, go to where you're comfortable. Lunge back same leg.. and we're going to repeat the process with the other leg."

The routine goes on minutes more until she gets to a pirouette which is a more familiar term. Unfortunately, that's followed by slow pushups which, of course, doesn't happen. Toni uses her knees, but Ava does the full set of pushups. She's the only one.

"Showoff," Toni mutters.

The next moves require a lot of knee pivoting and borderline twerking in slow motion. You feel the workout in your thighs, your knees, your abs, and your back. It's only been fifteen minutes out of the hour and you're stopping for water. Some of the motions have been easy to grasp, but some have been frustrating. It's only my first time, you remind yourself.

Thirty minutes in, you've developed an idea of how to move and what to incorporate into your sex life.. when it revives. Putting the moves together into a routine is the current issue.

"I could do some of this," you say to Ava. "I just wish I could borrow some of your core strength."

"You'll get it with time, stay consistent. I'm holding you to it."

"Y/N," Shay calls out as she body rolls and raises her leg high. "What's this about you not knowing how to dance, mama?"

"Huh," I pause standing straight. She remembered. "Well I can dance. I can do the nae nae and the little tiktok dances, but this..," I gesture to the pole. "This is a different story. I guess I'm not the seductive type."

"Have you ever had sex?"

The question cuts and you feel all eyes glued on you. She must know that you and Erik have already.. on multiple occasions...

"....Of course."

"Then... you're the seductive type," she says simply. "Dance is a style of communication. It's about movement and seduction." She comes close and her finger gently snakes your collarbone as she circles you, standing directly behind, her slim hands on your waist.

"We really need to talk.. later," she whispers quietly in your ear. Her hips line up with yours, her center against your ass, and she winds. "If you can walk, you can dance, Y/N. If you can dance, the seduction is that much easier.." This time her words are addressed to the class. Her hips guide yours against the pole as she grinds against it through you. "Follow my rhythm."

You move exactly as you feel her move, in a groove, and after a few moments when you've perfected the body roll she backs up. When you do it on your own in the mirror, you have the S shape down pact.

"That's it, I'm coming back," you smile at the pole. At the end of class you're sore and tired but excited to have picked up some tricks. Meeting Shay's eye, you excuse yourself briefly from Ava and Tony with the excuse of asking about her paintings. "Shay," you whisper once you're close and she leads you out of the space.. far.. all the way outside before she looks around. There's no one standing out nearby, only well groomed trees and sidewalk with some grass and a parking lot.

"How have you been," is the first thing she asks as if she's truly concerned. Her eyes convey a lot.

"Why?.. I'm good," you stare echoing her strange expression. She's having a tough time saying what she wants to say.. she's pausing a lot, hesitating.

"Shay, what's wrong.. I get the feeling you want to tell me something but you're conflicted. I swear I won't run tell Erik.. whatever it is.."

"You're still with him," her brows rise in shock. "Okay so he was serious.. Did he ever mention.. anything about, um.. our last meeting together?"

"You guys had sex one last time, I know about it."

She takes a deep unsteady breath and instantly I know there's more to the story than what he said. She looks around again as if she's nervous.

"He didn't mention anything about.. himself?... As far as what he does...?"

"Hm? Well, yeah, he told me he does the video game thing. We just went to Texas-"

"That's-," she pauses with her mouth wide as if she's deeply confused. "Um.. you know what. Just... be careful okay? Take care of yourself."

"What?" Of all the random things to say. "What are you talking about? Wait," you grab her shoulder as she's walking off. "I feel like you're trying to tell me something about him and I wish you'd just spit it out.."

"Well look at you, definitely got bolder," her eyes flick up and down you. "Actually, it's nothing.. I just wanted to check on you.. make sure you were doing alright, that's all," she smiles, but it doesn't touch her eyes. "I'm going back inside to make sure no one has any further questions for me."

Letting her go, you watch her and something doesn't sit right. She wasn't telling you something and you don't know what that something is, but it's making your mind spin. Ava and Toni come out and walk toward you.

"She showed me one of the paintings in her car," you lie though you're not sure why, it just comes out and they accept it moving on. They have plans to get massages and you're invited there too. The three of you get the full body massage and it's relaxing after all that exercise. When you finally leave them and get to Erik's you OD on water, eat, shower, and watch TV upstairs until you pass out sleep.

The next day, they contact you on your lunch break and actually meet you for brunch, happy to see where you work. You have to apologize to Tanner for canceling lunch plans with him. He's so used to eating with you and vice versa. You've gotten used to looking into his pretty blue eyes. At least he gets to meet Toni and Ava briefly and they call him white chocolate which he eats up. You throw subliminals that maybe he and Toni should hook up but neither seem truly interested outside of surface good- natured flirting.

The following day after work is the beach. The three of you sunbathe while sharing stories about family and teen years. "This is the life," you jest laid back on your towel with your sunglasses on feeling warm and toasty. "I've been missing this. I need to meet more people to do things like this with, I get tired of sitting home alone."

"Aww. I don't wanna leave you here by yourself. I wish we didn't have to leave Cali or maybe you could come south with us," Toni says, but it's not realistic. They can afford to travel all the time but you have to work. When they do leave, you see them off.

-----

"I asked for chocolate," Erik grumbled laid out in his hospital bed six weeks into bed rest. They'd given him vanilla snack pack and he hated vanilla.

"Here you go," his nurse teased, used to his temper. "Stubborn ass.. I will personally bring you your chocolate pudding."

"Two.. and take this nasty one with you," he hudged it toward her. She laughed.

"Baby you can eat all the chocolate pudding you want when you up outta here. You finally got the go ahead as long as you stay the fuck off that damn leg.. Don't kiss your teeth, you've been doing everything short of p90x up in here."

"I wasn't on my leg though, those were upper body workouts.."

"You still need to relax."

"Hell yeah.. soon as I get my pudding.."

She shook her head, amused. Erik knew that once he left she'd think of him still. She was pretty nice though, so maybe he'd think of her too.. just maybe. He thought of telling her the truth before leaving... Perhaps he'd be there if she ever needed someone permanently removed from her life at a discounted rate..

@soufcakmistress @itsiesha @ju5tp34chy @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @blackpantherimagines @blackpinup22 @muse-of-mbaku @goddessofthundathighs @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @marvelmaree @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @purplehairgawdess @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @they-call-me-le @theblulife @raysunshine78 @sheisexcellent-blog

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #house rules

81 notes · View notes

bellalikeskitties · 3 years

Text

me and my husband (we are doing better) ☾

pairing: lee taeyong x reader x johnny suh

this is the decision you made, and he is the person you chose, so you’re just going to stick with him. you both have your problems, but this is your life and you’re going to live it.

based on mitski’s me and my husband

word count: 1.2k

genre: angst? married au, implied female reader

warning/s: abusive relationship w/ john

a/n: I literally can’t stop singing this song so im making a fic out of it, also hello to my 15 wips lmao, also i am no way describing the person himself, this is a work of fiction, johnny is the biggest sweetheart I know

also big thanks to @splootdoolies for being a wonderful beta reader <33 luv u, check them out, they’re an amazing artist

Loud ticking from the dainty cream clock in the corner covered the room like a blanket. The sound not blearing into the ears, simply passing by like it wasn’t even there. Sunlight peered into the slits of the blinds, landing onto both of your seated figures. Taeyong sat straight, his collars pressed neatly into place. He looked professional, sleek, and cold. But his eyes held warmth, something he always had when it came to you.

After a quick swipe of tongue over his lower lip, he spoke. "How are you?". Quick, modest, and easy; all of his questions were like that. No beating around the bush, no underlying message or figure of speech. It was direct to the point.

How were you?

Finally, the light is pointed towards you. Seated across him, hands folded in place, legs crossed, leaning into the smooth couch he provided. In contrast to Taeyong’s suit and tie, you wore a dress with a light shade of yellow. Blinding for Taeyong, for you looked too glad, too fake. You pursed your lips, tilting your head for effect.

"The world is too big for us to live in; too much space to fill for a simple woman. There is a whole of the unknown, just waiting to be discovered. We are but insignificant, a tiny speck in the universe with a life to match. Sometimes I feel as if I'm doing something wrong by simply breathing." The latter part of your words came as a whisper, floating over to the man's ears.

"The air we breathe is of no one's property, miss (y/n). You are free to do as you wish, it is your life to live."

His steady breaths linger in his words, wanting to somehow communicate with you, to match with how you were. A sigh and now he's chewing on the insides of his mouth. You glance behind him, the small items in the room. It was best for people in his job description to have a welcoming workspace. A soft palette of colors instead of bright shades that took your attention.

Smoothening your skirt, you continue. "Johnny, well, Johnny was--". You cleared your throat, and Taeyong's hand quickly jots down on the paper he held.

"Well, in high school, he was such an athlete, still is. Used to be busy after class for practice, and that's how we met. I fell in love with him after seeing how immersed he was in the sport, ironic, due to how unfit I was.

He was never one to brag or be arrogant, but he liked to keep things with himself. I used to remember having to comfort him whenever he furrowed his brows, he liked to do it when something wasn’t right.” Your fondness didn’t go unnoticed by him, his own shoulders relaxing as he matched the small smile you had on your face.

You were truly the only thing that made Taeyong feel this way. An overflowing amount of affection that had him addicted to your meetings. He wished for more time, an excuse, dinner maybe, just something for you to see him as a man. His thoughts put on pause, his attention now on your fiddling fingers.

“And then, we got married. The love of my life, I was overjoyed. Nothing could ever compare to what I felt when I walked down the aisle and saw Johnny with that stupid grin of his. Of course, as you know, the happiness was short-lived. After a few months, he changed, for the worse. And the rest, history.” Your voice was soft, something Taeyong noticed from the first day. It was usual with women with a history of abuse, always feeling small and insignificant.

He would never treat you that way.

He shook his head lightly, dismissing all incompetent thoughts from his head. He knew history. He knew how your husband would beat you senseless at night, only to apologize the next morning, claiming it was unintentional. Taeyong had his own anger, yes, but towards your spouse. Your mention of his past affiliation with sport only added fuel to the fire. You were so precious, until Mr. Suh decided you weren’t. Reasoning with love and stress from work, you let him do as he wanted. Too good for your own sake, you forgave his actions, day after day. Until finally, your mother noticed. Taeyong knew history, alright. How Johnny had supposedly changed after months without you. So here you were, with a psychiatrist to heal the mental wounds.

“It’s history, Mr. Lee. I’m a wife, and after all, it has been always just him and me together. It was us against the world. I felt so senseless, so out of place in my own life.” Your hands trembled slightly, watching the man write seamlessly from what you said. “I may take up space in this world, but when he walks in, I am loved. I feel loved. So I’m betting all I have on his furrowed brow, and at least in this lifetime, we’re sticking together.”

The soft thud made you look up, Taeyong had an unreadable expression before he apologized and picked up the fallen pen. “Miss (y/n), are you sure about your decision?”.

He wanted you to say no, to ask him to help you leave whatever relationship you had left with your abuser. Conflict arose within him; professionalism, or humanity. And for whatever reason, he glanced towards your powdered neck and the small spots that peeked under the hem of your skirt. Your chuckle leads his eyes back on your face, suddenly realizing how hollow your cheeks looked, with the addition of dark circles. “Mr. Lee, you don’t seem to understand. Me and my husband, we are doing better.”

His lips curved down, but before he could even reply, a sharp knock cut your conversation. Both your heads turned to the door and a mop of blonde hair entered. “(y/n), you know we have a dinner reservation, right? We can't afford to be late.” Johnny’s voice was lower than Taeyong’s, he looked taller, bulkier even. Everything he had done to you must have extremely hurt, coming from someone like him.

“Of course dear, I will be with you in a minute. I’ll just finish things up here.” Your sweet smile cuts through Taeyong like a knife, the realization of his unconditional feelings dawning over. And while you hadn’t seen it, Johnny had. The tall man walked closer to you, tugging at your arm to rise you up with ease. “Don’t worry, I’ll thank Mr. Lee here. You go on and wait in the car for me, okay?”. The grip he had made you nod immediately, muttering a quiet ‘thank you, see you next month’ at Taeyong before leaving the room.

His eyes were on the door where you had left, while Johnny’s were pinned right at Taeyong. “My wife is wonderful, isn’t she?”. Emphasizing on ‘wife’, he looked down on him, sizing him up like prey. “Miss (y/n) is pleasant.” He prayed he wouldn’t notice how shaky his voice was, or how his eyes flinched when he mentioned you. The ticking returns, but now it feels deafening, striking them with unfiltered tension.

“She must have mentioned our situation, and how we’ve decided to work things out.” Johnny accompanies the ticking, tapping his finger over the table. “I’ve also decided that (y/n) doesn’t need to do these ‘monthly check-ins’ anymore. She’s alright now, just fine.” Dread. Dread and grief runs through Taeyong as he registered what he said.

You’re stopping your sessions.

And as if Johnny noticed, he chuckled. “Good day to you, Mr. Lee.”

@nct-writers

55 notes · View notes

a-square-minus-one · 3 years

Text

Honey: Chapter 2

Just a series of semi-connected one shots that lead for Garfield and Raven falling in love.

Read Chapter 1 here.

Garfield plays with a chain around his neck, looking out at the twinkling skyline of Jump City. The sun is starting to set, weaving brush strokes of purple and yellow between the tall steel buildings. He starts drumming a beat on his thigh.

“...so tomorrow is the big premiere date,” says the woman sitting across from him. He’s deduced that she’s in her mid-sixties from stories she’s shared with him in previous meetings of her own grown children and grandchildren.

“Yeah,” Garfield mumbles, continuing to look out the window. He had a hard time looking at her face. Her eyes were an impossible shade of blue and very hard to read. During their first session he had joked for thirty minutes straight. She had smiled brightly at each one, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. Then she asked “So why do you think you joke so often?” and his rehearsed jokes shriveled up in his mouth. That was a year ago, he’s been coming to her bi-weekly ever since.

When she doesn’t say anything for a few moments, Garfield focuses her attention back on her. She’s looking at his hand that’s fiddling with the chain on his neck. He drops it and shuffles in his seat again.

“It was Elastigirl’s,” he says. Irma nods, shrugging to let him know that he doesn’t have to say anymore.

“Who’s coming to the premiere?” she asks.

“Everyone-” he says, then pauses. “‘Cept for Rae. Didn’t want to dress up.” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. Irma smirks and nods.

“Terra is going I assume?” Irma asks. Garfield nods.

“Yeah, she’s gonna meet me at the premiere. Titans East gave her the night off. She looked for a dress for months.”

“She’s really proud of you.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t seem excited.”

“No! I am!” Garfield says, his butt rises out of his seat as he rushes to correct her. He plops back down when he notices Irma’s arched brow.

“I am,” he says again, this time more softly. “Just a little nervous.”

Irma nods, silently asking him to continue. Garfield runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s my first drama. Up until now casting directors have only casted me in supporting roles for comedies. Mostly as a favor to Nightwing. Or because-” Garfield chuckles but knows Irma would never let him stop the sentence halfway. She looks at him expectantly. “Or, well, because I’m green and the world knows me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows Changeling,” Garfield shakes his head. “No. They know Beast Boy. So they put me in these movies and it’s almost an afterthought. Like Oh cool! That superhero was in that movie for five minutes. What’s funnier or more random than a green guy. But it’s...forgettable.”

“And you’re hoping that this role will be the one that makes people take you seriously.”

“Yeah! I mean, when I started acting, I know people thought it was a superficial thing. Raven rolled her eyes when I told her about my first role. I don’t think she ever got past how giant my ego got when we went to Tokyo and those girls were my fans. But I was younger than and so thirsty for attention.”

“This role is more than that.”

“Exactly!” Garfield exclaims, his body rising out of his seat. He settles down again. It grows silent for a few seconds. “When I was younger, Elastigirl used to show me all these movies from the 50s. I remember watching Roman Holiday and being completely entranced by how beautiful Audrey Hepburn was-” Garfield pauses, playing with his chain again. “But it’s not just the beauty, it was her air. She was a captivating actress.” Garfield thinks of how Rita looked in her own films and smirks to himself. She was equally as mesmerizing but he wasn’t going to bring that up to Irma.

“Why did you bring up Raven specifically?” Irma cuts through his thoughts.

“Huh?” Garfield asks, confused by the random question.

“You brought up Raven specifically. When you talked about your first role.”

Garfield nods slowly, trying to jump ahead to what Irma was getting at.

“Why does her opinion matter?”

“Well she’s my friend.” Garfield says immediately. Irma nods.

“But you didn’t bring up Cyborg or Starfire. Why’d you bring up Raven?”

Garfield pauses, running a hand through his hair. It’s silent for a couple of minutes.

“I guess...well….everything Raven does and says has weight to it. She’s never said anything just to fill time or space,” Garfield feels his forehead scrunch up in concentration. Irma waits. “She’s just...different than me. I don’t know why her opinion matters. I just...I know that all the words that come out of her mouth are honest. Her delivery is shit sometimes,” Garfield chuckles. “A lot of people think she’s rude. But she really holds no anger towards anyone. She’s-”

“Impartial?” Irma offers. Garfield waits a minute to digest that word and then nods.

“It just...always feels like she’s right. She weighs all of her thoughts before she settles on an opinion.”

“No one can be right always.” Irma says. Garfield shrugs. Irma hums.

“So what color dress did Terra settle on?” Irma asks. Garfield laughs.

“It’s green but a completely different shade of green than my skin. We won’t match,” Garfield places a hand over his chest, feigning tragedy. Irma laughs.

“Pity,” she jokes and the session continues.

….

“How was the workout superstar?” Nightwing asks with a wide smile when Garfield bursts into the common room with a towel around his neck.

“Completely worth all the food I’m gonna eat at the premiere,” Garfield says, laughing as Nightwing’s smile falters immediately. Nightwing always harped on keeping track of your protein intake with the team. And the carbs. And the sugar. Garfield wasn’t sure which he had heard from their leader more, “Titans Go!” or “Food is energy!” Garfield kind of just ate what he wanted. He figured out in his late teens that he could just turn into a different animal that would process and digest the food he ate a little differently. It pissed Nightwing off who would have long talks with him about discipline. Garfield laughed with Irma about it all the time.

Garfield spots Raven with her nose in a book and saunters over with a grin.

“Did you hear that Rae? My premiere is tonight,” Garfield says, stepping just a centimeter into her personal space. Raven snaps her book closed.

“I may have overheard it one of the twenty times you’ve brought it up this past week.”

“Really? Twenty?” Garfield asks, rubbing his chin. “Seems like it should be higher. It’s a pretty big film. Lotta big names.”

“Mmmm and you,” Raven says, opening her book up again. Garfield chuckles. He takes the book out of Raven’s hands and shuts it, making sure he places a finger in it so he can keep her page. Raven glares at him. Garfield hears Irma’s voice screaming “boundaries” in the back of his head. But he doesn’t think he’s pushed her too far just yet.

“You know we still have a seat saved for you.” Garfield says. Starfire bursts from the kitchen.

“Oh yes friend it would be glorious. I know we could find you a dress if we left right this instant,” Kori says, hands clasped tightly together in front of her. Garfield cringes internally knowing that dress shopping really wouldn’t be the way to convince Raven.

“You can wear whatever you like,” he amends, feeling as the finger that was holding her book open twitched nervously. Raven makes direct eye contact with Garfield and he feels himself still completely.

“You know I would have liked to Garfield but I can’t,” Raven says. Garfield feels his body sink a little.

“I get it Rae,” he says, handing her back her book. And he does. Large crowds were still hard for her. Shouting fans, even worse. “But I’m sorry you’ll miss my academy award winning performance,” he jokes. Raven looks at him seriously for a moment, just long enough for Garfield to question whether she thought he was letting the fame go to his head. Then she smirks impishly, reverting her eyes to the text he placed back in her hands.

“You’re a regular Tom Hanks.” Garfield laughs, almost not recognizing the arm that loops around his.

“My man is better than Tom Hanks. Ooh sweaty,” Terra says, running her hand down Garfield’s arm. He laughs.

“Don’t tell the pap, the gossip magazines would find a way to eat me for it,” Garfield jokes, looking down at his girlfriend. She raises her eyebrow naughtily. Garfield feels his face heat up and looks around at his friends but they’re all too preoccupied to notice Terra’s blatant suggestiveness.

“I thought you were getting ready at home and then meeting me at the premiere,” Garfield says.

“I decided I’d stop by early. Maybe get ready with Star?” Terra asks loudly enough for Starfire to hear. Kori nearly drops the bowl she was eating out of. She puts it on the table and squeals. Garfield smiles warmly at Terra. It was moments like this that he remembered why they’ve lasted so long. Getting ready with Starfire was an Olympic sport for anyone. The only people who chose to get ready with Starfire were the people who loved her and wanted to see her happy.

“Oh friend! That would be the most delightful!” Then Starfire pauses.

“What’s wrong Star?” Nightwing says, grabbing her hand.

“Well I had scheduled an appointment with my makeup artist and hair stylist for you and I,” Starfire says. Nightwing’s eyes widen so much behind his mask that Garfield has to put his hand over his mouth to cover his smile. He looks at Raven quickly and realizes that she too is on the verge of laughter behind her book. They make eye contact. Garfield’s laugh has quieted down into a soft smile. Raven lowers her book and smirks back.

“That won’t be necessary Star!” Nightwing says in one breath. Starfire’s face falls a little. Terra chuckles.

“Star I’d love to join you!” Terra says enthusiastically. Garfield sends a big smile Starfire’s way.

“I know you ladies are going to look spectacular,” he says. “I should go grab my suit though,” he finishes, looking at his watch. He plants a hasty kiss on Terra’s cheek and jogs out the common room.

….

And they did look amazing. Starfire had gone for a shimmering golden dress, her hair falling down her back in loose waves. Cyborg joked that Nightwing had almost choked on his spit when he saw her. Garfield had helped Terra pick out her silk emerald dress so he was less starstruck when he saw her but she looked extra pretty with her hair curled up in a fancy little updo.

“I have like three hundred pins in my hair,” she had said to him when he helped her out of the limo. He laughed. “Looks nice,” he had said.

They are currently on the red carpet and Garfield’s nerves are shot. He always felt trapped at these things. It’s not that he didn’t love his fans but all at once, it was a little much to handle. He didn’t have it as bad as Raven but he did have millions of potential animals living inside him. All the flashing lights gave him a headache. Everyone spoke so loud too, he had to resist the urge to put his hands over his sensitive ears.

“Changeling himself!” shouts an interviewer into her microphone. Her skin is almost the same shade of orange as Kori’s. Garfield smiles at her but has to grind his teeth together as his ears ring. He tightens his grip on Terra’s hand. She squeezes back.

“And the beautiful Terra,” the interviewer says, directing her attention to Terra. “You guys are quite the power couple. Are you excited to see the movie?”

Terra has to move her head back an inch as the microphone is shoved into her personal space. The interviewer is way too energetic. Garfield knew way too much about the business to know that this interviewer wasn’t completely sober right now. This kind of energy was not normal around all these people. Even Starfire got tired at these events.

“Of course I am. I know he’s gonna kill it. Like everything else he does in his life,” Terra says, her excitement much more muted that the woman in front of them. Garfield tries to block out the sensory overload so he can fully experience his gratitude at Terra’s honest words but it’s hard.

“Aww! So sweet!” their interviewer squeals and looks at the cameras with comically wide eyes.

“Changeling! This is your first drama. I’m told the plot doesn’t mention the green skin at all,” the interviewer asks. Garfield nods, immediately feeling like there was a heavy ball rolling around in his head, smacking at the walls of his skull. He pushes himself to answer the question though, feeling its importance even through the pain.

“Michael was interested in me for this role when he wrote it but he couldn’t get past the green skin at first. I loved the character so much that I was even considering doing CGI to make me look different. But that...wouldn’t be honest. I am...a green man. And anyways all movies involve some suspension of disbelief. So if we can believe that Sandy Bullock is an astronaut then we can believe that I am a regular man...with regular motivations,” Garfield pauses when he says regular man. He always felt like a regular man so telling people to pretend he was a regular man felt cheap. The interviewer nods and if the blank look in her eyes was any indication, Garfield is certain she didn’t register a word he said. He keeps his smile up despite the fiery ball that grows in the pit of his stomach.

“So, do you guys think kids will be in your future?” the interviewer asks. Garfield feels himself take a step back at the blunt question. He shakes his head. She wasn’t even going to pretend to listen to anything he was saying.

“Uh-” he began shaking his head, trying to erase the disbelief off his face.

“Well I certainly want one or two,” Terra says with a chuckle. Garfield looks towards Terra. A flash goes off to the right of them and it makes the jewels in Terra’s hair shine right into his eyes. He closes his eyes.

“Wha-” he starts and Terra turns to him with an eyebrow quirked.

“What?” she asks. In his peripheral as the interviewer moves the microphone closer to the couple and Garfield feels the heat flow from his core into his limbs. He puts one of his hands in his pockets and clenches it. He smiles at the interviewer.

“Well we should be heading in,” he says politely, his smile tight and uncomfortable. “Thank you for your questions.”

Garfield doesn’t listen to the interviewer’s response as he walks hastily into where the movie will be played, dragging Terra along behind him. When they are far enough from inquiring ears Terra rips her hand out of his.

“What was that?” she asks, arms crossed. Garfield blinks a couple times and shakes his head. He senses that Terra’s anger was directed towards him but that couldn’t be right.

“She asked you if you wanted to have kids with me and you said ‘uh-’,” Terra says, making a dumb face to mimic how he looked when he answered the question. It plucked at Garfield’s nerves like a guitar string.

“Of course I said ‘uh.’ It’s none of her business,” Garfield says, palms lifted to the air as if this was the most obvious thing ever.

“Do you not want to have kids with me?” Terra asks.

“What? Um-” Garfield shakes his head. He still hasn’t been able to quiet his anxiety from being out there with all those flashes of light.

“Gar why are you hesitating?” Terra asks.

“Terra, I can barely concentrate on my own thoughts. You know how these things are for me,” he says carefully, placing three fingers on his forehead.

“I just feel like that’s something that should come automatically to you. I know I want to have kids with you,” Terra says.

“We haven’t even discussed having kids ourselves, why would I tell a random reporter about something I should be discussing with you.”

“Because you’re excited about our future. Because you want to tell the world,” Terra says, lips twitching in a way that makes the fireball in his stomach explode.

“Terra we don’t even know if I can have kids,” he wants to shout but he doesn’t trust that no one is around. The restraint it takes makes the veins pop out in his neck. Terra takes a step back and looks him up and down.

“I’ll meet you inside,” she says slowly and turns away from him. He sucks his teeth.

“Wait. Terra,” he says, grabbing her hand to stop her but she snatches it away. He groans.

….

Garfield settles down in his seat next to Terra fives minutes later. Nightwing, Cyborg and Starfire give him enthusiastic thumbs ups as he walks past them. Terra doesn’t look at him, her shoulders tense. The theater is much quieter than outside of course and Garfield is able to get his bearings. He practices the mindfulness skills that Irma taught him. Closing his eyes, he mentally catalogues what he feels, tastes, smells, and hears. He opens his eyes when he feels a small hand move over his.

“Are you okay?” Terra asks. Her lips are still in a thin line so he knows she’s still angry but she does look genuinely concerned. He nods and puts a hand over her hand. She nods back, takes her hand back and settles into her seat.

Garfield looks at the empty seat to the right of him that was saved for Raven and feels a confusing tug in his stomach. He doesn’t have time to interpret it though as he hears the announcement for the start of the movie. He feels a heavy weight in his stomach that leaves him digging himself deep into his chair.

…

When the lights slowly start coming back on, Garfield has not felt the weight ease off of him. He took mental notes of the things he could change in his acting as he was watching. The role came out slightly different than he had intended. He’s looking down at his lap and everything is silent, making the weight in his stomach grow so heavy that he is sure he’ll be pulled through the ground at any moment.

And then he hears something small. Like a phone falling on the floor. And he hears it again. And again. A rhythm. They’re clapping. He looks up at Terra next to him. Her face makeup is smudged and there are tear tracks on her cheeks but she’s looking at him with the most loving smile. He stands up. She puts both her hands on his face.

“Beast Bo-Changeling, that was amazing,” she says, completely in awe. A few late tears slip from her lids. He looks around at the audience who are all looking at him. Cyborg comes behind him and slaps him on the back aggressively.

“I didn’t know you had it in you grass stain!” he booms. Garfield feels himself chuckle but his being feels a little disconnected from his body. He peaks over Terra’s shoulder and Starfire looks about ready to explode. She is practically vibrating. Garfield is sure she’d burst through the ceiling if Nightwing wasn’t holding onto her hand so tightly. Nightwing looks...proud. Something about that makes Garfield’s eyes sting. He knows Nightwing loves him but between the stink ball and the corny jokes, it wasn’t always that Nightwing admired Garfield.

He receives compliments like this from his costars and the Titans as they all begin to trickle out of the theatre to the after party. He has never felt bigger or more humbly blessed in his life. He and Terra are the last people in the theatre.

“Listen,” she says when Starfire and Nightwing leave. “I’m sorry about what I said before.”

“I know. I am too,” he says, settling back down into his seat. She squeezes his hand.

“I am so beyond proud of you,” she says, and her eyes become glossy with tears. He gives her a closed lip smile and squeezes her hand again. She stands up and shoots him a questioning look when he doesn’t stand up with her. He puts a hand over hers to quiet her worries.

“I just...need to sit here a while. Kinda doesn’t feel real.” Garfield says in a very small voice. Terra smiles, the jewels in her hair twinkling in the low lighting.

“I get it,” she says, placing a simple kiss on his cheek. “I’ll catch up with Nightwing and Starfire and meet you there, okay?”

He nods.

When she leaves the room Garfield feels himself collapse into his chair. He can’t believe he did it. All those long nights. Going to sets at 5 am with injuries from battles with Plasmus. He feels his throat tighten as he plays with his chain.

“She would have been proud of you.”

His head snaps up. Raven is walking towards him in a giant Hanes sweater, rolled up jeans and white sneakers. He stands up quickly.

“How-” he clears his throat. “How long have you been here?”

“Whole movie.”

Garfield gapes at her.

“I phased into the room where the man handles the film and projector. It was quieter there. Didn’t have to worry about the crowd.”

Garfield nods dazedly and sits back down. Raven walks up and gestures to the seat next to him.

“Can I sit?” she asks, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It was your seat.”

“Right,” Raven mumbles and sits in her chair. She draws her knees to her chest. Garfield feels a tightening in his chest about how small and adorable she looks. She could stop the world and yet she could fit her whole body in these tiny chairs.

“You look comfy,” he says, feeling an easy smile slip on his face.

“Well I certainly wasn’t going to wear a dress,” she says. The laughter escapes his lips like bubbles. They sit for a few moments in a comfortable silence looking at the empty screen in front of them.

“She would have been proud of you,” Raven says again and Garfield turns to her with a brow arched. She’s looking at something on his chest. He realizes he’s playing with his chain.

“Rita, I mean.” Raven says, playing with her shoe laces. Garfield feels his whole body still.

“I know that’s why you do all of this,” Raven says, lifting her hand and waving it around. Garfield fixates on her delicate fingers as they weave through the air. He imagines her magic swimming between her fingers. “For Rita.” Raven finishes and Garfield looks back at her eyes again. He notices she’s not wearing any makeup and yet her skin looks completely smooth and clean.

“She would have loved seeing you do this,” Raven says. “You were like...Gregory Peck.”

Garfield feels a breath escape his lips. “Sorry...just...Roman Holiday was one of Rita’s favorite movies,” he says even though his throat feels weirdly tight and awkward.

“I know.”

“What?”

“Rita and I used to talk,” Raven says, shrugging. Garfield feels himself smiling again despite himself.

“You used to talk?” he asks in disbelief. “To Rita?” Raven crosses her arms, looking slightly peeved. She shrugs.

“Yes...about things.”

“Oh!” Garfield exclaims. Nodding as if Raven had just clarified everything. “You used to talk about things. My bad. Of course you used to talk about things.” He teases, wiggling his fingers whenever he says ‘things.’

“Gar…” Raven says, looking him up and down. It is then that he realized how close he’s gotten to her. Definitely closer than she’s allowed before. He hears Irma saying something about “boundaries” in the back of his mind. Still, it takes him a few seconds to put a respectable amount of space between them.

“Are you coming to the after party?” he asks, when the tingling he just felt in his stomach settles down. Raven shoots him a look. He raises his hands.

“Got it.”

“I’m going to leave now,” she says, standing abruptly and he feels himself standing with her. He’s smiling at her; his cheeks hurt. She looks up at him and bites her lips. Then she smiles. Not one of her smirks but a full smile. It’s enough to make Garfield feel like he needs to sit down again.

And suddenly he can’t see her face because she’s wrapped him in a tight hug. He feels the breath leave his lungs.

“I’m happy for you.” Her breath manages to find its way through the buttons of his button up and tickles the hair on his chest. He feels his chest expand.

And suddenly she’s gone, before he can even wrap his arms around her too.

#bbrae #garchel #garrae #beast boy x raven

35 notes · View notes

mnictasbcl · 3 years

Text

The Season of Art

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

May 31st: Spring/Summer/Autumn/Winter @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Markus

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson, Connor & Markus

Additional Tags: Painting, Birthdays, Fluff, Swearing, Seasons

Summary: After all the seasons Connor has known Markus, after being saved by him from a life stuck as a machine… the RK800 can’t figure out what to get him for his birthday.

Perhaps Hank can help out, showing him that what truly counts is from his metaphorical heart.

Notes: Hope this is okay! I took the prompt pretty loosely for this fic, as with many others on the list, so that the idea is still there and the main focus of the story, but a longer fic overall.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

“I just don’t know what to get him.” Connor groaned. It was no use- he’d scoured the internet and everything he knew in his database, but it was impossible. Figuring out what to get Markus for his birthday was impossible.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t his exact birthdate. The deviant leader hadn’t been sure when that was exactly, and everywhere online it was marked as ‘confidential’. Jericho had decided that wasn’t good enough and had chosen the day that marked the success of the revolution as the big day.

They’d even organised a party, in their new place of residence, and had invited Connor along. He was also allowed to bring someone with him if he so desired, and even a human (if they knew the rules, of course, North had made sure to remind him). Hank had agreed.

“Well, what does he like?” Hank offered in help. “What are his hobbies?”

Connor pursed his lips. “I guess he likes democracy, and the revolution, and android rights—”

“Something more tangible, Connor. Like… reading.”

“He has all the books already.”

“Wh—all of them?”

“Carl Manfred owns a vast library of books, and he seems to have enough for his pleasure.”

Hank groaned. “Jesus. Okay. Does he have… you know, a thing-” he gestured with his hands, “-everyone has a thing. A thing that they like.” At Connor’s confused look, he sighed. “How I like rock music, and watching sports, and you like dogs.”

“Ah, yes.” Connor nodded, now understanding. “I like dogs.” He blinked, LED swirling in colour as he thought it over. “I don’t know if Markus likes dogs. He doesn’t seem to dislike them, but I am unsure if purchasing him a dog would be a well-thought-out gift. Dogs aren’t gifts, anyway. They’re for life.”

“Thanks for the animal charity commercial.” Hank deadpanned. “I don’t mean your thing— I mean his. His—his interest.” The man quickly rephrased.

Connor paused, thinking over it again with this new information. “Aside from his core beliefs, I have noticed that Markus enjoys painting. However, he already has painting equipment, with a vast supply of canvases and paints.”

“Hmm. What about,” Hank began, getting up from the couch, going over to the closet and rummaging through it, “what about you give him something he can’t get, then?” As he turned back around, he was holding a fairly large canvas along with an easel and some paints.

“That sounds optimal.” Connor nodded, understanding what Hank was getting at. “But perhaps I will practice what I will create on some paper, first. I wasn’t created to do this sort of thing.”

“You weren’t made to be a pain in my ass either—don’t give me that look. I know you know what I mean. Just draw something nice for your friend.”

After acquiring a few sheets of paper, Connor got to work. At first, he attempted sketching out some picture-perfect images of Markus. Hank hadn’t seemed thrilled by them.

“It just looks like you printed them out. It’s a nice drawing, Connor, but I don’t think it’s the sort of art Markus would like. From what you’ve told me about him, he likes things free and— you know,” he waved his hands in demonstration. “I looked up some of that Carl Manfred’s art too. It’s mainly abstract.”

“I don’t understand, Lieutenant. Would you think he’d appreciate a drawing replica of one of his pieces?”

Hank shook his head. “It has to be from you. From the heart.”

Connor blinked. A little research showed him how art could be a form of self-expression and emotion. Perhaps this was what Hank was getting at. It would truly be a good gift to give Markus something which really showed his deviancy, his humanity, especially when he was part of the key driving force that had helped him deviate.

But what could he draw? There were so many things, too many things… He shook his head. Maybe he could follow the advice Markus had told him he’d been given once, by Carl, to really flow his soul over the canvas.

Connor closed his eyes. Held the pencil over the paper, and made long, sweeping strokes. Opened his eyes. Shit. It was just a mess of graphite smeared over the paper. That didn’t even look like anything. He groaned. Art was hard.

Maybe, for him, it did have to be something he could think of, at least in concept, rather than a rush of emotions over the paper. What thing could bring out that artistic emotion from him?

He closed his eyes. But this time, he didn’t bring his pencil down onto the paper, not yet. He replayed memories of his time spent with Markus. Seeing him speaking on that screen, played from Stratford Tower, telling of hope, of liberation for their people, igniting that spark of deviancy in his chest, which only flourished with time spent with Hank. How he came to Jericho, and met him, keen only on accomplishing his mission, but Markus had managed to bring up that red wall for him, to realise he was on the wrong side of it and tear it down. Emotion, the hope, everything sparking within his chest, looking up at Markus and realising that he’s free.

The autumn that brought his life, filled with new hope, a new life. The winter that followed, the impromptu Christmas party held for the newly freed deviants, being allowed back with the original crew, with Josh and Simon, North and Markus, looking into the other android’s eyes and realising just how much things had changed in such a short time. Memories of the new spring, a new year, to bring down the restrictions stopping deviants from being truly human, helping Markus with his speeches and fighting by his side for the campaigns. Summer. The freedom has truly come now, because they’ve done it. Everything isn’t perfect, but by law, they’re completely human, and Markus is still there, they all are, revelling in the burden lifted from their shoulders.

He opened his eyes. In the time they’d been shut, his body had seemed to move of its own accord. The canvas was in front of him, brush in his hand, and a picture had blossomed in front of him. There was a rush of colours and feelings and emotions. The image was cut into four quadrants, messes of abstract shapes representing each season. And in the centre, were rough figures of them all, from Jericho.

He smiled. It looked alright.

“Holy shit.” Hank muttered from behind him. Connor spun around, seeing he’d been standing in the doorway, likely watching him the whole time. “You did that with your eyes closed?”

He glanced over his clothes. Oh dear. There were a number of splatters of paint over his outfit, and a little on his face. “I believe so. Apologies, Lieutenant, for the mess—”

Hank laughed. “I don’t care about it. Well—you’re tidying it up anyway. But… Christ, that’s amazing. If I painted with my eyes shut, I think I’d end up painting on Sumo.”

Connor frowned. “He wouldn’t appreciate that. “The Saint Bernard in question barked loudly in agreement. “He would require a bath.”

“Whatever,” Hank shrugged, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re alive, Connor. And I think Markus is going to love that.”

____________________

Markus did, in fact, love it. Upon receiving it at his birthday party, he smiled brightly, pulling Connor into a hug.

“It really shows you, Connor, and how far you’ve come. I appreciate that you joined our mission. This is going centre stage.”

He blushed, a little, as Markus took it by the picture hanging and put it up on the wall in the central area of the room, above the fireplace.

“I am glad that you like my present, Markus.”

“Like it? I love it. And is this really the first time I’m hearing that you like to paint?”

“It’s the first time I’ve painted.”

“Then it won’t be the last. Come on, I’d love to paint with you in the future. Carl lets me do painting lessons from time to time in his studio, so long as I don’t bring any troublemakers.”

Connor thought on that. “I would dearly love to come. However, I have been informed that I can cause a significant amount of disruption.”

Markus frowned. “How so?”

“Well, Lieutenant Anderson has, from time to time, referred to me as a pain in his—”

Hank, who was standing nearby to look at Connor’s painting, promptly choked on his drink.

#dbh #dbhcolorsofdeviancy #dbh fanfic #fanfic #dbh connor and hank #dbh markus #detroit become human

8 notes · View notes

lovelytsumu · 4 years

Text

‧₊˚✧ ཻུ۪۪ ᵕ̈ ART

chapter 1 — “drawings„

sakusa kiyoomi x reader | mlist

is having a soulmate necessary? — a bunch of connected stories.

Soulmate AU; if you write something on your skin it will appear on your soulmate skin too.

wc: 1,5k | no trigger warning.

Everyone has a soulmate, everyone deserves love, also if they don’t believe it. Sooner or later, in your sixteenth year of life, if you wrote something on your skin, it would show on your soulmate’s skin, same writing, same place.

Sakusa had never cared about soulmates, probably because a relationship wasn’t one of his priorities. He also thought no one could love him, mainly for his strange, cold and blunt personality, for his germaphobic attitude, and he thought girls liked to go out in crowded places with their boyfriends. He just didn’t care, and he hoped to have a soulmate who didn’t care either.

It happened all of a sudden, while he was writing on his notebook, he saw something appearing on his left wrist: “;”, a semicolon. At first, he thought his pen was bleeding a little ink, but when he tried to rub on it, nothing changed. It was like tattooed, and he couldn’t do anything. A couple of minutes after he realised he had a soulmate. Well, another problem added to his germophobia and mysophobia. Instead of panicking for the small amount of black colour on his wrist, he just pulled on his sleeve to cover it.

He wanted to keep it a secret, at least for now.

Some days have passed since the semicolon, and everytime it got erased, maybe from a shower or a bath, his soulmate was quick to draw it again. For him, if it was just that small symbol, it was okay. “Sakusa, what’s that flower on your arm?” Komori, during the whole practice his eyes were glued to his friend’s forearm, noticing that something was appearing out of the blue. “What?” he was focused on spiking the balls, that he didn’t saw the outline of a flower which started to mark his skin. “Guys! Our ace as a soulmate! And she’s also pretty talented!” the libero said to all his teammates, who got near Sakusa to admire the beautiful drawing on his arm. “Stop, I don’t like having you squished around me like this” he said, trying to move away from the small crowd composed of his teammates.

When Itachiyama’s ace got back to the locker room, he noticed that the drawing on his arm was a sunflower, and now there were also some leaves around it. The outline was perfect, without any kind of mistake or imprecision. But why? Why draw something so big and beautiful which can be easily erased with water and soap? Maybe, his soulmate did it just to annoy him, or because she didn’t care about him. He hoped it was the second.

Practice ended, and he was free to go back home, but something on his way caught his interest. A faint light coming from the art room. Minding other people’s businesses wasn’t his favourite activity, and he didn’t want to annoy who was inside. He stood near the door, and with surprise, a [h/c] hair coloured girl was standing near a canvas, and she was looking for more paint. Then, he looked at the unfinished drawing, representing a sunflower, very very similar to the one on his arm.

He was just watching her looking for some spare paint around the class. Carefully, without wasting a single drop, the girl put the colours on her palette, now looking for an appropriate brush to start her piece. The [h/c] student began painting with a yellow brush stroke, the firm hold of the brush was in contrast with the delicate move. He couldn’t see her face, but he bet it was plain, paying attention to all the small details, careful of what she was doing.

To almost everyone, that movement may seem normal, but there was something more. Her precision, her gentle brush stroke, her concentration. It was almost unnatural. She was in her personal world, a free, peaceful, imaginary space. When you do something you deeply love, it’s like this, reading, playing an instrument, playing your favourite sport... also if you don’t notice it.

While Sakusa was thinking if she really was his soulmate, he didn’t pay attention to the painting, where the petals of the sunflower were almost finished. Yellow, mixed with a bit of orange. Then, she moved on, and picked a dark brown bottle of paint. The girl started placing some dots in the center of the sunflower.

The artist felt eyes on her, but she didn’t care. Art is made to be seen and appreciated, is made to feeling part of it, is made to reveal your own feelings. Writing a story, composing a poem, singing a song, painting a drawing... are just a few of the ways art can express itself. It’s something magical, or at least, she would describe it like that.

“You know, drawing is a really good activity to reduce anxiety and sadness” she said without turning, knowing someone was leaning on the doorframe. Sakusa stayed still and didn’t answer back. “It also helps your concentration and creativity. Someone thought about how our psychic state reverses itself on the paper which we are drawing on. It sounds impossible, but it’s true.”

— 🌻 — some time after

Sakusa was staring to the ceiling of his room, laying on the bed. He was still thinking about the words he had heard before, also if he didn’t know that girl, the one in the art room, he couldn’t do anything besides being impressed. Her technique, her delicate touch, her thoughts.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, but the drawings, the sunflowers... was her his soulmate? Was it that easy find the person who the fate decided to pair you with? Strange. It was common to hear people who had to do kilometres and kilometres before finding their half. Maybe he got lucky.

He didn’t want a relationship, he didn’t define himself as someone who desperately needed a girlfriend, but, for the first time, he had to think again about that idea. Sakusa has always liked who put a lot of effort in what they were doing, as for the girl at school, or him when he was playing volleyball.

He rolled up his sleeves, to see if the flowers were still there. Luckily, everything was like that afternoon: the big sunflower on his arm and the small semicolon on his wrist. He didn’t scream of joy when he thought about his first “move”, because it meant ruin his skin with a pen or marker.

A little arrow pointing at the flower, and “I like this. You’re good at it.” without mentioning who he was. Also his soulmate started drawing on his skin out of the blue, so why couldn’t he write on his own arm? Then, he was just staring at the small comment, waiting for an answer, that could never be written.

Meanwhile, ___ was taking off her clothes to have a shower. The hot water was already running, but before opening the shower glass door, she paused in front of the mirror, looking at her arm. Her soulmate had left a comment near her drawing.

“I like this. You’re good at it”. She couldn’t do anything than smile. She had just received a positive opinion on her sunflower. For someone who doesn’t care about art, or just draw because they have nothing to do, that may sound as nothing special, but for her it was different.

It hasn’t been a lot of time since she had started painting again, and receiving a compliment on one of her favourite subjects made her heart flutter, especially because that comment was from who the fate tied her together with. Also if she didn’t want to be in a relationship, or at least, at the moment she couldn’t be the best girlfriend ever, as she said.

It was the starting of a new era of her life, after a lot of sadness and tears, she was finally standing up again, and maybe, this time she wasn’t alone. She got under the shower, and watched silently how the ink on her arm was already smudging down her arm. “I want to draw it again”.

After she came out of the bathroom, she quickly drew the semicolon on her wrist, and then, a smaller sunflower on her forearm. This time she added a phrase under it. “Thanks for the compliment, I’ve read it just before showering. I hope you won’t hate me for this, but at the moment I don’t feel like meeting you or having a relationship” she cursed at herself for the last sentence, but some words were already appearing again on her skin.

“Don’t worry. I am not the type of guy who wants a relationship for now.” somehow, both Kiyoomi and ___ felt relieved when they read each other’s words.

Maybe their story wasn’t meant to be as one of the thousands clichè love movies.

[to be continued]

🌻 Taglist: @itsmattsunshinehere

#sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq imagines #haikyuuwritersnet #hq x reader #hq sakusa #kiyoomi sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #haikyuu!!#kiyoomi sakusa x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfic

122 notes · View notes

dearchikkie · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 19: Tuxedo Chat

A/N: hey guys!! sorry I haven't been posting, but these past prompts have been really uninspiring for me [banana??????? thats gonna be hell to write when i'm going the full marichat-may-fic] anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one, :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Soft jazz lofted through the air. Couples waltzed delicately around the room, Alya and Nino among them. Marinette continued to gingerly sip her strawberry mocktail, staring enviously at the dancing items.

She knew, even if she was allowed, there wasn't anyone she would have wanted to dance with that was currently in attendance; but the fact that she didn't even have a choice in the matter stung more than she thought.

Chloe's birthday party had been referred to as the 'event-of-the-decade', celebrities from all over confirming their attendance as the days went by. Both Marinette and Alya, while detesting Chloe, had begrudgingly been excited about the party. And who wouldn't be?

The mayor's daughter was spoiled rotten: a five-star venue; a mouthwatering buffet; live music performed by the teens favourite artists. There was everything you'd ever need for an incredible party.

Marinette had been afraid she'd miss it; the party had been advertised everywhere as an 'invite-only' type of thing, and Marinette doubted she was high on Chloe's list of people she wanted there. To her surprise, a week before the celebration was set to happen Chloe had waltzed into the classroom sporting new shiny invitations for everyone. Everyone, except Marinette.

When Marinette had approached Chloe hopeful for an invite, she had been met with instead a reluctant glare. "Sorry, Marinette. You'll get your invite later. See me after class."

The entire day Marinette had been on edge. Why was she being singled out, yet again? She knew Chloe and her weren't on the best of terms, but they hadn't fought for a while now! After school, Marinette had insisted she didn't need Alya to come with her, despite Alya's protests.

Chloe had glared at her from across her desk, and hesitantly slid over Marinette's invitation, "I want your parents catering the desserts."

Shock took over Marinette's body. What? Chloe was willing to pay her parents to cater for her? "O-Of course! I can organise that, but... why our bakery?" she offered.

Chloe scoffed, then smirked a hideous smile, "I want the best of the best. Adrikins suggested the Dupain-Cheng bakery. You should be grateful he suggested you since there's no way in hell I'd choose you myself."

Adrien suggested them? She tried to swat away the butterflies now fluttering around in her stomach, "Obviously, my party is a very exclusive event. Having your parents there would definitely raise their status and serve as free advertising; so it's only fair you do something in exchange."

There it was. No way would Chloe ever be nice for once. She always had hidden intentions behind every good deed, Marinette should have known by now. "What do you want Chloe?"

She paused for a moment, but then answered, "As their daughter, It's only fair you work behind the bench with them."

"What?"

"Or else no invite, no catering, no money. Are you really going to ruin this opportunity for your poor pathetic parents?"

"I don't understand-- Work behind the bench?"

"You heard me. I want you in a little white caterer's uniform handing pastries to my special guests."

It took everything in Marinette to stay sitting down. She wanted to scream! To throw the offer back in Chloe's face and strut out with her dignity intact.

But then she imagined her parents; how great the publicity would be. A selfish part of her imagined Alya, Nino and Adrien there without her, having the time of their lives as she sat at home all alone. Her face warmed, Chloe was just trying to humiliate her, but...

"Fine. I'll be behind the counter."

Now, Marinette stood alone behind rows of sugary pastries. Alya and Nino had tried to keep her company for a while, but there was only so much you could do behind a table. Eventually, Marinette shooed them off, demanding they go dance. The music suddenly changed from a slow love song to a fast-paced pop. Couples let go off each other and instead began shaking and shimmying to the rhythm.

Marinette couldn't hide her jealousy. Maybe she should have stayed home? No, she couldn't. It would've torn her apart knowing she had played a part in sabotaging a potential business deal.

So now she sat alone. Sipping on a strawberry mocktail trying her best not to cry.

"Now what is a princess like you doing back here?"

Her head snapped to the side, eyes focusing on a dark figure, "Chat? What are you doing here?" He stepped forward and sidled up next to her, leaning on her shoulder as he sat down,

"The same reason everyone else is; Chloe's birthday,"

"You got an invite to Chloe's birthday party?"

"I'm a superhero, despite her feuding with Ladybug, anyone who's anyone got an invite. Ooh, that looks good!" Chat snatched a cannelé from one of the long trays. "So back to my question; why aren't you over there dancing with your friends?"

"I was only allowed to come if I was working, I didn't really want to, but it's good for business," she shrugged. Marinette spoke as he gobbled down yet another cannelé.

Chat froze in place, gently setting his fourth cannelé down, "Chloe really said that?"

She didn't know why, but Marinette couldn't meet his eyes, "The birthday girl and I aren't really on good terms. Besides, I shouldn't feel too bad; I'm lucky to even be invited in the first place..."

"No way!" Chat jumped up, grabbing Marinette's hand, "You were invited just like all your classmates, you should at least get to dance once!" eyes started to point in their direction. It was a weird sight; a worker hand-in-hand with the Chat Noir.

Lila's eyes narrowed immediately. She sauntered over to pastry table, leaning seductively against it, "Excuse me! I'd appreciate it if you'd actually do your job!" Lila's voice rang. Marinette hastily shoved Chat away from her, "Finally! You'd think growing up a worker you might as well have gotten good at it,"

Chat glared at Lila, "What did you-"

"Hey, Lila. What pastry do you want?" Marinette smiled through her teeth, begging for Lila to make a quick choice and leave.

"What's up, Mari. It's such a shame you aren't allowed to dance. I really missed you out there on the dance floor!" Lila gushed.

"Tragic. Are you going to get something or not?"

Lila huffed, swirling her cup in the air. She opened her mouth to say something, but glanced towards Chat Noir and slowly smiled, "Chat Noir! I didn't see you there! I'd love to dance with you!" she leaned forward and waved. For a split second, Marinette thought Lila was smiling directly at her, but her thoughts were cut off as Lila's cup tipped, spilling the red liquid inside all over Marinette's white uniform.

Marinette let out a half-scream, silencing herself before she caused a scene. "Oh my gosh! Mari! I am so sorry! I'm just so clumsy sometimes," Lila laughed. Tears pricked the sides of her eyes; this wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. She felt juice slowly drip down onto her legs, sticking to her socks.

"Marinette! Are you ok?" Chat rushed to her side, nervously trying to pat down her juice-soaked hair.

"...Yup! It's just juice, after all! I'm just going to go wash up, don't worry about me!"

"Princess wait-"

"Chat Noir! An interview, please?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now-"

"Please! It'll only take a second!" Chat shook his head and turned around, but when he looked back, Marinette had already gone.

✧✬✧

Marinette stumbled through the halls, opening and closing rooms at random. Where the hell was a bathroom? She wiped her face yet again, wiping away of both tears and juice. She slammed another door shut after seeing yet another lounge, sprinting down the hallway.

"Ugh!" Marinette ran straight into an unsuspecting bystander, toppling them both to the ground. Marinette opened her eyes and saw Chloe glaring at her from across the room, "What the hell are you doing! Why are you covered in juice?"

Great. Just great. She was covered in Lila's juice and now she had to talk to Chloe. Incredible. "Where's a bathroom? Lila spilt juice on me," Chloe softened her gaze but turned away when she noticed Marinette staring, "It's fine. She said it was just an accident anywa--"

"That lying fox! Who does she think she is?" Chloe grabbed Marinette and pulled her up, "No staff of mine is allowed to walk around looking like this. You have to change."

Marinette followed speechless as Chloe dragged her through endless hallways and rooms, eventually ending in a bedroom covered similarly in pink to Marinette's' own bedroom. Apprehensively, Marinette sat down on the large king bed and watched as Chloe shuffled through her closest, throwing glittery dresses behind her. At last, Chloe stepped away holding a short red dress; it had long tight sleeves and puffed out at the knees. "Here. This'll hopefully fit you."

After changing in the bathroom, Marinette stepped out and let Chloe assess her outfit, "Good enough. Let's go, I can't be missing from my own birthday party!"

"Wait- Chloe! I don't understand, this isn't a uniform?" she stilled. Her back tensed, refusing to make eye contact.

"Yes, well. I- uh." when she did turn around, her arms were crossed and a light blush was painted over her cheeks, "You've already... worked, enough. So I guess you can dance a bit. If you wanted..." Marinette couldn't believe it. Was the Chloe Bourgeois actually being nice? Maybe Chloe wasn't that bad.

"Thanks, Chloe! Let's hurry back!" she grabbed Chloe's hand and dashed back to the main dance hall. As soon as they arrived, Chloe snatched her hand away from Marinette and pushed her away.

"It's not like we're suddenly besties now! I have things to attend to, don't make me regret being nice." she strutted away, but Marinette still saw her smiling slightly.

"Well look at you, guess we both tidied up," she swivelled around and saw Chat Noir dressed immaculately in a smooth black suit. "Now that we're both dressed for the occasion, care to dance?"

What about Adrien?

Thoughts of him shadowed over her, but Marinette quickly shook them away. She was wearing a beautiful dress worth more than her entire bathroom. She wasn't going to let some silly crush stop her from dancing with her friend. "I'd love to, especially since you're dressed like a regular tuxedo cat," Chat grinned at her, looking especially pleased as he dragged her to the dance floor.

A new, slow song began, and the coupe both slowly waltzed to the tune, ignoring the looks of shock from their friends around the room [Nino could barely hold Alya back when she noticed the duo]. Chat dipped Marinette, both blushing then releasing a fit of giggles.

BONUS

Lucky for Chat, Marinette missed him mouthing a small 'thank you' in Chloe's direction. She scoffed and turned away, frown deepening when Lila walked into view, "Marinette better put a good word in for me to Ladybug for this." she grumbled, stalking over to where the brunette stood.

"Lila! What are you doing here?" she sneered.

"What do you mean? I got an invite just like everyone else, Chloe," Lila placed a hand on her shoulder, "Are you ok? You look really sickly, have you had anything to eat?"

"Ugh! Don't touch me! Security!" Two men easily resembling Adrien’s bodyguard Gorilla flanked Lila's sides, "This girl is being a nuisance. Escort her out, would you?"

"What? No!" Lila's arms were grabbed in sync, slowly being dragged to the mansion's entrance, "I have an invite! You gave it to me yourself!"

Chloe shrugged, walking back to where the celebrations were being held, "Oh, really? I don't remember that,"

"You liar! You know I'm allowed to be her-" the guards threw her back, swiftly closing the doors behind them. Lila pounded on the doors, but no one reopened them for her.

88 notes · View notes

samwrights · 4 years

Text

Blackout

I am SO sorry this took me so long! With everything going on with me, writing was kind of a struggle, but I had so much fun writing this one. Reader is wild. We love reader. This fic was inspired by all the songs I used to listen to while getting ready to go out in college which include: Blackout by Breathe Carolina, Wild Boy by MGK, Wild for the Night by A$AP Rocky, and Trashwang by Tyler, The Creator so if you wanna get in the mood, I’d put those on.

Warnings: Alcohol (a lot of it), passing mentions of marijuana and nicotine, semi-mutual pining(?) and of course, Language. Also platonic Oikawa & Reader.

Word Count: 5.3k

There was no better feeling than being reunited with all of your best friends at university after a long summer filled with family vacations and a part time job to try to save money while you were away. It was the strange lull between summer and the start of classes that you looked forward to every year in which you still had time to socialize with everyone without the worry of your ever piling assignments or having to commute hours between cities—everyone was gathered in one place.

It was your favorite time of the year and there was no other feeling that could compare.

Not being so drunk that you had every bit of confidence that you could possibly muster pumping through your veins.

Not being so high that your body felt it was moving on it’s own.

Not even learning that the dude you’d been so in love with since the start of university is just as in love with you as you are with him.

But considering you had no idea what the last feeling felt like, you could only hope for the first two to come in at full force tonight.

Tonight was the party of the school year and it was the one thing you looked forward to in the brutal, lingering August days. At the moment, you were fresh out the shower with all of your inhibitions and leg hair down the drain, your hair wrapped in a towel turban as you slathered lotion over your already drying skin. Your speakers are blaring a myriad of different hip-hop artists in your room, drowning out the fact that your roommates were doing the exact same thing in their own spaces. The thought brought a smile to your face considering the almost clashing yet complementary personalities between you and your roommates.

Kiyoko was so incredibly blunt and straightforward. Yachi was so shy, even as she entered university with all of her own friends from Karasuno. Yukie, being the house mom of your apartment, and Kaori too—everyone knew what was happening tonight and everyone was doing their own ritual to get ready for a night they would most likely never remember. Regardless of how similar or how different you all were, this night warranted one communal ritual: roommate check.

As the five of you got ready, each of you would check each other’s make up, outfits, and shoes to make sure there was zero chance of being a social faux-pas. It was a strange, unspoken rule in the apartment that you all made sure each of you left the house being at optimal hotness, but it was an incredible confidence booster, especially if one of you were able to land a sexy, one night stand. It was the goal. Best friends don’t let each other leave the house looking less than their prime.

“What do we think ladies?” You could hear Kaori let herself into the hallway, prompting you to pause Lizzo and open your bedroom door. The ash brunette had her hair down and straight, framing her done up face nicely. Without too much face products on, the former Fukurodani manager allowed her freckles to show through the tinted moisturized, accenting it with a light dusting of blush. Her onyx eyes were left alone, save for winged liner sharp enough to stab any weak man that dared approach her and a few coats of mascara on her top and bottom lashes.

“Approve,” you and Yukie chimed simultaneously. From what you could tell, the other Tokyo native was still in the middle of doing her own make up.

“Looks good!” Yachi chirped, while Kiyoko gave a nod of approval with a soft smile on her supple lips before retreating to her and the former’s shared room. You did the same, carrying on with your own look, absentmindedly lip singing to whatever song popped up on your hype playlist. While you were excited, the music barreling into your ear drum was the only way to distract your thoughts from wandering while you focus on blending out your eyeshadow. That, and the two chimes that rang in rapid succession signaling a text, worked pretty well too.

Yaku: You’re coming tonight, right?!

A force of breath leaves your nostrils in laughter as you send a progress shot of your look. Yaku Morisuke was a very close friend you’d met through high school, in addition to being the Nekoma volleyball manager, and there was one thing that Yaku knew better than anyone. You didn’t wear false lashes for any reason unless you were trying to get it.

Yaku: I’ll take that as a yes.

You’re the last one to call your check with your roommates—a regular occurrence, really, considering you always took the longest to get ready. For good reason, of course. “Check!” You called out as your heels clacked against the hardwood of your apartment’s hallway. Sporting a heather grey cropped halter top and high-waisted black leather pants, the girls gave their approval with a bit of hesitation.

“Are you sure you want to wear heels?” Kiyoko asked for the third time as everyone packed a spare bag filled with extra clothes that you would put in Yaku’s room later. After the first year, the five of you started to come prepared. The beach bag that was used carried painkillers for impending headaches, two sets comfy clothes in the event some of you couldn’t quite make it home, swimsuits in case someone decided to go drunk swimming, and a spare set of party clothes. This was not your first rodeo, by any means. It was a stroke of luck that the five of you could share clothes as well and as often as you did.

“Don’t worry, they’re not that tall and they’re actually pretty comfy.” And you knew the bag was at capacity, not warranting the ability for you to bring spare shoes anyway.

“Then I think we’re ready to go!” Kaori jeers, elated to see everyone just as much as you were. Kiyoko leads the group, Yachi in tow with her, and Kaori is all but sprinting towards the house, leaving you and Yukie to head up the rear.

“You know,” the former Fukurodani manager sings in her humorous lilt, “Kuroo is going to lose his shit when he sees you.”

“I hope so.”

When it came to one of these mega parties, there was no such thing as being early or fashionably late. There couldn’t be when there was twenty people living in one house and, no, that was not an exaggeration. Supposedly that’s what happened when a bunch of college boys who all used to play volleyball together at some point in time attend the same university—they rent a mansion for the next four years. With dozens of people living under one roof, it was no surprise that the music was already wracking the foundation of the house even from the outside.

Without so much as a knock to the door, the five of you entered the house, immediately being bombarded with a joyous yell from the former Fukurodani captain and ace, Bokuto Koutarou. “Hey guys, the girls are here!” You always found it amusing that, for someone as popular as Bokuto, the five of you were dubbed as the girls. Which made sense considering all of you were club managers at some point or another. Of your old team, Yaku and Lev flock over immediately, the two of them wrapping and squeezing you into a tight hug. The three of you briefly exchanged greetings, questioning how the other’s summer was before silently asking Kiyoko for the beach bag that held your group’s spare belongings.

“Could one of you just stuff this in your room?” Though you hadn’t nominated anyone, you shoved the bag in Lev’s awaiting hands.

“You sleeping over?” He asks, peeking through the open top. Yaku rebukes him immediately, telling him it was rude to go through a woman’s bag.

“Nah, remember how bad I blacked out last year? I just wanted to make sure I brought extra stuff so I don’t have to steal one of your guys’ shirts agains.” The former libero shakes his head before covering his face with one hand.

“[name], please don’t make me look after you again tonight.” The sandy brunette pleads.

“I make no promises, Yaku.” You chirp before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and entering the massive living room that had been cleared to act as a dance floor. By how many people greet you, you aren’t even sure if you know half the people in here at the moment. There are a few familiar faces of Karasuno alumni, you recognize the DJ as some kid in a class you had last year—he went to Aoba Johsai if you remembered correctly—and Yukie and Kaori are already on the dance floor with all eyes on them. They beckoned for you to join them, red solo cups already in their hands in the air.

“You’re going to want this,” you look up to see Bokuto who had temporarily abandoned his duty playing host to hand you your own drink. Cautiously, you take a sip as his gold eyes watched, waiting for the green light.

Sometimes, Bokuto tended to get carried away with the amount of alcohol he put in the punch. Thankfully, this was not one of those batches.

“Thanks, Bo!” Is all you call out before joining your two other Tokyo friends on the dance floor. From behind them, you can see other party goers honing in on them, completely oblivious to the men doing the same to you. For a moment, however brief it may be, none of it matters as you feel the pounding bass takeover your own heartbeat, squealing with your girls as remixes of old songs that piqued your nostalgia played over the sound system. You take another swig of your drink, already killing your first one of the early night, crinkling the plastic in your hand as you gently squeeze the empty cup so you don’t let go of it. You’re squeezing and squeezing subconsciously until it’s taken out of your hand, making you turn around swiftly because who the fuck—

“Need another?”

“Kuroo!” Before your brain can react and stop you, your arms are around the object of your affection’s neck in a tight embrace, you legs coming off the ground and your skintight leather pants sticking to the back of your knees. Still holding your cup, the old Nekoma captain grins down at you when you release him, gently nudging with his chin towards the direction of the kitchen. The two of you weave and wobble your way through the masses with you walking ahead of him, allowing Kuroo to appreciate the view of your backside. The way your top hit flattered your shoulders well, but the leather pants. The goddamn leather pants were just doing it for him. Joining others crowding around the twenty gallon cooler that Bokuto used to mix and house the alcohol for the night, Kuroo makes it a point to keep close to you.

“When did you show up?” The black-haired man asks as he ladles some liquid out into your cup, making sure to avoid ice cubes.

“Probably ten minutes ago,” you weren’t sure—time was a foreign concept at a party. The captain eyes you almost worriedly, knowing you had a tendency of pushing yourself well past your limits when it came to alcohol.

“And you’re already on your second,” Kuroo lets out a whistle, “better take it easy, princess. Don’t want a repeat of last year.”

“Jokes on you, I don’t even remember last year!” Unable to come up with a witty retort, the middle blocker rolls his eyes before knocking back the rest of the beer in his bottle and grabbing another one. He remembers. He remembers, and he wishes that he didn’t because he didn’t need another memory that contributed to you being the one that got away, despite how close you were.

It’s a little disorienting for you to see him this way, sometimes, so grown that he can down ale like it’s water when back in high school he would hound the team to ensure they were properly nurturing their bodies. It was disorienting to see someone you were once so close with grow right before your eyes. The thought softened your heart for a moment until you realized you were probably staring and you should probably stop before Kuroo thinks you’re weird. You chug half your drink the second the raven-haired man hands it to you, hoping the alcohol would ease your nerves. “What did Bokuto use?” You ask wearily, not tasting an ounce of a burn.

“Everclear, of course.” Oh. Well, fuck.

“Here’s to me dying tonight.” You hold your cup out towards Kuroo, waiting for him to touch his bottle to it. When he didn’t, and just looked at you thoroughly nonplussed, you shrugged before downing the rest of its contents.

“[name]...” his voice comes as a warning, even more so when you grab another helping for yourself and immediately bringing the rim to your lips.

“Honey, I’m here for a good time, not a long time.” Kuroo watches as you flee back towards the dance floor, rejoining Yukie and Kaori. He doesn’t miss the way your teeth shine in different colors from party lights as you grin. Or the way your firm grip on the cup is similar to that of your mission of getting plastered tonight—unyielding. He doesn’t miss that Seijoh fuck that’s honing in on you from behind. He doesn’t miss the way his hands are firmly planting themselves on your leather-clad hips and he certainly doesn’t miss that you don’t fight him off in the slightest.

Sucking on his teeth, Kuroo knocks back a full bottle of beer without skipping a beat before tossing the glass in the recycling bin and rummaging through his kitchen cupboards. There’s no way Bokuto used all nine—aha! He thinks to himself, finding a fifth of Everclear that was supposed to be used to replenish the jungle juice after it had been killed. Immediately, Kuroo pulls the fresh bottle to his lips, draining a decent amount of its contents into his system each time he sees this guy whispering in your ear. He doesn’t miss the way you’re smiling as he does so.

“It’s so nice to see you, [name]!” Contrary to popular belief and unpopular opinion, Oikawa Tōru isn’t that bad of a person. Sure, he had a big reputation on campus, but that never stopped the two of you from becoming friends. To be perfectly honest, it was a wonder the two of you weren’t friends sooner.

There was no other man in the known universe that matched your party energy because no man ever carried the desire to get as publicly obliterated as you and the former Fukurodani managers did. Unlike the other men that were enrolled at this university, Oikawa didn’t care to find some target of a hook up at parties—he’d rather do that sober, maybe take a girl out for a nice, ritzy dinner. Parties were for blacking out and hearing the crazy shit you did for the next three months and living with your name in infamy; that was your guys’ philosophy and you were sticking to it.

Because of this principle, Oikawa often uses you as a hook up repellent to deter unwanted attention and you do the same because there was only one person you ever wanted at these types of shindigs. One person that, regardless of the two of you knowing each other since the first year of high school, never seemed to want to be this kind of close to you. You tried to pretend that it didn’t hurt; that someone you knew for so long and that you unearthed your feelings for two years ago wouldn’t want to press his body to yours and claim his territory. In your mind, he was partially the reason you carried the mentality that you may as well just blackout and try to have fun. In a twisted way it worked, considering how bad you got last year.

And that person, after greeting you for a few minutes, always seemed to end up in hoards and swarms of women you didn’t know. Kuroo was always caught up doing his own thing at his own pace. It shouldn’t have bothered you, considering he was one of the hosts, but a small part of you that was full of envy just never could let it go. Which seemed to regularly bring you into the hands of Oikawa Tōru. “I missed you too, Oiks!” You tell over the pounding music. The brunette is laughing and smiling as offers cheers to you, taking a swig of whatever cheap beer he had in his cup.

You have no idea how long you’re dancing for—all you know that song after song is keeping you alive and the number of drinks a mystery. But after Oikawa returns with your cup replenished, the heat from the swarm of sweaty bodies in addition to the alcohol erasing your logic, you decide you need a break. Without saying anything, not that the former Seijoh captain would have been able to hear you anyway, you point in the direction of the patio just beyond the connected sliding door. When he shakes his head, you wriggle your way through the sweltering crowd before all but skipping out the sliding door, letting the mild summer night air cool down your skin.

Not surprisingly, Yaku is outside with a few others that preferred not to be swamped by the masses, including your other two roomates. Save for one very familiar face that you’d hadn’t even realized was here tonight. “Yamamoto!” You yell, immediately sprinting over to him to tackle him, accidentally knocking the lit cigarette betwixt his lips down to the concrete of the patio.

“[name]! You crazy son of bitch, I missed you!” Everyone is full laughters and smiles, sharing stories of their summers and reminiscing of the previous parties that occurred in this very same mansion. To some degree, you were thankful you weren’t the only person that got buck wild at these events. Two years ago, Oikawa, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa had shown up with bulk amounts of powdered Kool-aid mix and dumped it into the hot tub in an attempt to “dye the water red”. Or so they claimed. Apparently, Kool-aid and chlorine don’t mix well.

Needless to say, Yaku was pissed about it.

In that same year, Lev knocked over the famed cooler fifty gallon cooler that was once the home for Bokuto’s even more infamous jungle juice. Note to all future party holders, Hawaiian Punch stains all carpets, regardless of color, if there’s enough of it. Especially monsoons of it. Akaashi learned that the hard way when he was the one who had to make the phone call to get the hallway re-carpeted and the floorboards underneath had to be replaced as well due to moisture. Thank you, Hawaiian Punch. Which was why there was now always at least one person—Akaashi himself, due to the trauma from two years ago—who guards the smaller cooler with his life. Nobody is knocking that over ever again and if they do, he’ll send them an invoice in addition to slicing off their head.

Then there was your infamous blackout from last year. While you, obviously, remember nothing about it, Yaku made sure to recount every detail possible. The last thing you remember was chugging a bottle of Jägermeister.

You hate Jägermesiter.

According to Yaku, at some point you started taking cutlery out of the drawer in the kitchen and going into each of the rooms and hiding silverware in different spaces. Nothing was off limits—whether someone was in the middle of getting a blowjob or hiding forks in people’s shoes. You also had decided to try to climb on top of Lev’s shoulders so you could see what it was like to be tall. Try, in the sense that Lev was entirely unwilling and refused to crouch down for you, resulting in you falling off of him and ripping his shirt off to keep balance.

Yaku’s favorite moment, and that is entirely satirical, is when you started a fight with Bokuto. Not only had you thrown your few cigarette butts from social smoking that you had inherently participated into the punch to “claim your territory”, but he, Yaku, and Kuroo were so worried when they saw you reach to drink the contaminated jungle juice that the former Fukurodani captain had tried to take your cup from you and just have you sleep it off in Kuroo’s room. Which, in all fairness, you did. However, if you were going to go, you were going to go down swinging.

Literally.

As soon as the cup was out of your hand, Kuroo had to physically restrain you from punching Bokuto in the face as you screamed that you were one hundred percent sober. Unfortunately, Kuroo’s grip slipped, mostly due to your squirming and thrashing, and you had landed a solid blow on Bokuto’s cheek. Needless to say, the three boys had to all but detain you and leave you with a babysitter—a position that Kuroo ended up volunteering for.

You wished you could have remembered at least that part of it. Only Kuroo knows what and if anything happened between the two of you that night, but he refused to ever speak about that night.

Recalling last year’s events prompted Yaku to remind you one more time this evening, “I am not fucking babysitting you again tonight, [name].”

“Technically, Kuroo babysat me.” You jeer as you stick your tongue out at the former libero before smashing the remaining contents of your cup. After your last seven drinks, you were a solid level of drunk to the point of still being coherent, but the ground was definitely moving in ways it shouldn’t have been. “Speaking of which, where is my favorite rooster?”

“Oh he’s been in the pool for the last like hour.” From the patio, your head snaps over as if to confirm it. But seeing Kuroo, hunched over alone with a half full bottle of Henny in his hand while he sat at the steps leading him into the water was not how you pictured you’d find the former captain. Normally, he would surrounded with potential suitors hanging off his arms and cracking jokes just to see if he could get lucky for the night. Yet, everything in his body language screamed “leave me be!”

And yet, you were you.

“I’m gonna go join him—“

“Wait, [name],” Yaku grabs your wrist before you can flit off to his room to change into the swimsuit you had brought, “I really don’t think he wants company right now.”

“That’s when people most need it!” Managing to wriggle out of the libero’s grasp, you made your way inside, weaving and bobbing between the partygoers with an expertise that you shouldn’t have had in the moment thanks to how much you drank. Or maybe you didn’t actually have at all, considering you tripped up the stairs a couple times. Maybe heels weren’t the best idea, but you managed to make it to Lev and Yaku’s shared room—the third door on the left. Knocking just to be sure, you were greeted with a relatively tidy room and the beach bag Kiyoko had brought sitting on top of the libero’s neatly made bed.

After slipping into the two piece and grabbing the beach towel someone had thought to bring, you retraced your steps, barefoot this time thankfully, before popping out the back door and joining Kuroo on the steps. For a moment, he looks up at you and you can see him fully. His hair is hanging over his face, as per usual, but rather than covering his usual jovial hazel eyes, they’re masking something darker. Even in the dead August night with only soft porch and pool lights for exposure, you can see the murky storms brewing in his eyes from a single, sideways glance. “What, tired of being around everyone?” The captain slurs.

“Not particularly. But you seem to be.”

“The water feels nice,” is all he says before pulling the bottle of Hennessy to his lips and taking a large gulp before offering it to you. It’s a small offer of a white flag, but a genuine one that tells you he is allowing your presence and company. “So, where’s Oikawa?” You shrug at the question while taking no offense to it before taking a pull of your own.

“I dunno, I’m not his keeper.” A natural silence lulls over the two of you. After handing the bottle back to Kuroo, you take a few more tentative steps into the water so that it rests just above your chest, cooling your body from the heat of the alcohol that consumed you. “So, I get that it’s your party and you’ll sulk if you want to, but what’s eating at you?” You ask. As you’re speaking, your hands are moving about the chlorinated water, occasionally cupping the pristine liquid only to have it leave your fingers.

“Who says something’s bothering me?” Kuroo grits out. Not very well, you might add, as his slurs cause him to miss a couple vowels and consonants in his sentence. Judging by the fact that he’s drinking straight out of the bottle, Hennessy no less, you assumed he’s been hitting the sauce pretty hard. After all, Kuroo hated Henny almost as much as you hated Jäger. Turning to look back at him, you see the way he’s hunches over after bringing the half full bottle down to a quarter, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Kuroo, you think I don’t know you?” Your question was intended to come out as snarky, considering the long standing friendship between the two of you, yet swallowing down the infatuation you had been harboring for the last couple of years. However, seeing the way his shoulders were slumped and the defeat that crossed his downcast features—you didn’t have it in you to be mean to him.

“No, you don’t.” Comes the reply, one you weren’t expecting.

“Say sike right now,” you growl, “Kuroo, we have been friends for almost six fucking years—will you fucking put that down?!” You’re snapping now, the stomping of your feet muted by the water as you approach the captain and rip the almost empty bottle from his hands. Just so that he couldn’t keep hiding himself behind alcohol, you pour the remaining contents into your own mouth and toss the bottle into the nearby grass before you bring yourself to sit next to him with your knees touching his. “I have known you for—“

“Six fucking years, [name], I know.” The tone in his voice is suddenly clear. The slurs and disparity were now replaced with bitterness and acidity that rarely ever came from Kuroo. “For six fucking years, you’ve known me and yet you never once fucking looked at me.”

“Kuroo, I look at you all the—“

“No, you don’t,” his hazel eyes are lit with fire and intensity that reflected the anguish he felt inside. As much as he wanted to, the former captain couldn’t stop himself from saying the things that he’d sworn to secrecy for so long. “If you ever actually looked at me, you would see the way I looked at you.”

“Kuroo...”

“Why do you think I volunteered to watch over you last year after you fucking swung at my best friend?” The sheer burn of his words and the lava in his orbs is enough to make your heart stop. You swear that it actually did. “Why do you think I asked you to become the manager all those years ago? Or why I get so fucking pissed off that you show up here just to blackout? That you’re friends with Oikawa of all people?”

“Because you’re a good person?”

“Cause I’m in love with you, you moron!” Kuroo’s outburst is followed by him threading his fingers into his signature bed head, hiding the hot tears that he can’t stop from falling. He can’t help it—not when all of his composure was drained from every bottle he drank today. “[name], I literally held you and rocked you to sleep while you were puking your guts out over the side of my bed last year! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to confess while you were crying after punching Bo? How I finally got to hold you after six years but you don’t remember a single second of it?”

“Kuroo, I—“ but you don’t have anything to say. What can you say? You had no idea that any of that had ever taken place. And besides that, you felt that you were never worthy of his attention. You thought there was no possible way he actually returned the tiny embers of the crush you’d had on him for all these years, so there was never a reason to ask if anything had happened between the two of you that night. You didn’t have anything to say and the only thought that crossed your mind at the moment was to run from the situation—to leave him alone because clearly Kuroo wasn’t thinking straight. “I should leave.” You whisper.

“Wait, don’t go! Just...” a mangled sob leaves his chest and, for a moment, it’s sobering to watch him transition from being standoffish to angry to hurt, “why can’t you just look at me the way you look at him?” And suddenly, you’re overly aware of how convoluted your plan to use Oikawa as a hook up repellent was. How it worked out almost too well to the point where the one person you wanted thought you were out of reach.

“Kuroo, Oikawa and I aren’t dating, he’s known that I’ve had a crush on you since we started uni.”

It’s silent between the two of you.

It’s silent as Kuroo slowly turns to you as he relishes in the way your eyes boast sobriety and honesty—the way he knows you’re telling him the truth.

And then he’s laughing. Head tossed back and hands over his stomach in a way that is just so Kuroo as he guffaws with zero regard for his volume. There was just enough alcohol left in his system that he couldn’t bring himself to care, just enough for him to have zero inhibitions left. “So you’re telling me that I drank a bottle of Everclear, a bottle of Henny, and a twelve-pack to my self for no reason?”

“Kuroo, you may or may not have alcohol poisoning.” You deadpan in reply.

“Oh look who’s talking!” Once again, the man beside is you laughing and you’re happy that he’s slowly returning to his normal, joking self. But the uncomfortable silence rears its ugly head once again and the two of you are looking at each other. How long had the two of you been staring at one another? Since you’d drained the rest of the Hennessy or since either of you last had a drink?

How much of this conversation was born because of the alcohol? It seems the question was weighing heavily on each of you.

“Do you mean it, Kuroo?” You ask quietly.

“I love you more than I hate Henny.” A snort leaves your nostrils, but you don’t miss the genuine tone. You don’t miss the way his hazel orbs have softened or the way one of his hands reached over to hold yours. You don’t miss the way his taut skin over his cheekbones relaxes by the slightest millimeter or the way his tongue peeks out to wet his slightly chapped lips. You don’t miss the way he’s looking at you with love. “You know, you were the only person I asked to be the manager back in high school. It was the only excuse I had to talk to you at the time.”

“Oh no, drunk confessions,” you tease, squeezing his hand. “Speaking of drunk, do you think we’re gonna remember this conversation tomorrow?” Another bellow of laughter escapes Kuroo’s chest followed by him wrapping one arm around shoulder to bring you closer. He knew he would. No amount of alcohol could ever make him forget hearing the fact that you’d been just as smitten with him as he was with you. Well, maybe not as much, but it was a start.

“That depends. Are you planning on blacking out tonight?”

“Is that what it takes to sleep in your bed again?”

“Is that a confession I hear, babygirl?” The pet name goes straight from your ears and sends a chill down your spine and he knows it’s getting to you. He knows, and everything feels right. He’s told you he loves you and that he has for years. He knows there’s nothing stopping either of you anymore, and he knows that you’re only getting started.

“I’ll show you a confession.”

Haikyuu!! Tag List

@hihiq @tamcitrus

101 notes · View notes

currentfandomkick · 4 years

Text

Miraculous Team and Batboys, end of Damian Grasyon day 1

Here’s what i have for the update

Marinette wasn’t surprised to see Lilia trying to talk to Damian in her seat. Or that he looked ready to kill her.

“And then Damiboo—“

“Hey Lila, I need to do more official welcoming committee things with Damian before class starts. We wouldn’t want him to get caught unprepared for any attacks at Dupont, would we?”

Before Lila could speak up Alya grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her back to her lair in the back.

“C’mon, we don’t want him to get pancaked then miracle back—you know how much people that are used to it hate that.”

“But—“

“Oh sweet, no lecture today then,” Nino grinned.

Marinette almost rolled her eyes. “I know your haunts, I will get you on a semi-healthy sleep schedule.”

“I am an artist, we say screw sleep.”

“You can be nocturnal and have a sleep schedule Nino.” Marinette paused for a moment. “Or I will revoke morning delivery privileges.”

Nino stiffened.”Got it.”

She turned back to Damian, who held up his phone. “Did all of these really happen?”

Marinette looked at the attacks he had pulled up. “Yeah, just, don’t bring up that one,” Marinette pointed to the Siren video. “The survivors are in therapy and the victims don’t remember for a good reason.” She paused for a moment before saying, “And try not to bring up someone’s akumatazations, it’s a leading cause to re-akumatazation like with this one.” Marinette tapped the first entry on the page, Stone Heart.

Damian nodded, looking over at her once again before continuing his scroll.

“If you have any questions about this or school or classes, I can give you my number. No guarantees I’ll get back that moment, but usually that day. Commissions can eat up time… I’ll check with Sabrina if she’s willing to answer questions too.”

“The class deputy, correct?” Damian asked without looking up.

“Yeah, I’d ask Chloe but she’s in the middle of fighting the school on a few trip schedules for the class and well…”

“I cannot believe they want to cut our time in the gardens Adrikins, can you believe it! It’s ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!”

Damian looked up at her as she sighed. “I’m pretty sure oil and water get along better than you two would.”

Damian nodded and—no she was imagining it. No way that expression happened.

“She’s more tolerable than the other one.”

Marinette hummed at that. “Chloe is the lesser of two evils at any point in time.”

“Oh shut up Dupain-Cheng.”

“Marinette, that isn’t very nice,” Adrien gently reprimanded.

Marinette rolled her eyes openly this time. “Its this or war.”

“Personally, I’d prefer war,” Chloe huffed. “But we have someone to dispose of first.”

“I mean, maybe she’s just got a condition? No need to jump down her throat dudette,” Nino added.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “So what did she screw up on her timeline this time?”

Chloe huffed this time. “The same summer she was with Ali doing “delegation things” she was apparently being wooed by Gotham’s elusive ice prince.”

Marinette snorted at that.

She missed Damian’s reaction, but she doubted it was anything important.

“Okay, so are you all now in agreement that she’s lying?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Told you all Dupain-Cheng was right at the beginning, but did you listen? Nooo.”

Adrien sighed. “I really messed up at first, didn’t I?”

Marinette shrugged. She got why---rock, hard place, and really bad coping mechanisms but… “Kind of.”

“Dudette, thanks again for making sure we all still went into those competitions and stuff.”

Marinette nodded, watching others in the class check the document, minus those in Lila’s sight.

Alix looked ready to clock Lila from her place while Rose was a bit devastated on her end. She winced a bit at those responses. Lila still did deal some damage to the class over the years, even if she did mitigate most of the long term ones.

“Someone has to keep the class afloat.”

“Rude.” Chloe wasn’t glaring. Oh—Chloe was doing her brand of friendship with Marinette now. She’d need to be vigilant for possible Chloe-cling.

“We both know you’d sell most of us for a corn chip,” Marinette added, hoping it might put just the right amount of distance but…

“Obviously, only Sabrina and Adrikins are spared…” she was glad she wasn’t included. “though you’re a bag of corn chips.” Damnit.

“Settle down class, now…” with that class began and Marinette almost groaned because she had an impending civilian Chloe friendship, who is exactly the type to drag you around without listening to any objections.

Once classes were over Marinette checked her messages with Sabrina.

“Okay, so here’s my number and Sabrina’s, any questions you can message either of us. Sabrina is better for procedural things and responds a lot faster than me.”

Sabrina materialized out of thin air and puffed out her chest. “I am the superior organizer.”

Marinette mock-glared at the red-head for that. “You still mess up the joint class schedules.”

Sabrina huffed at her. “You’re the one that they tell everything to.”

“I listen, and follow up. You’re just lucky I forward you guys that monster schedule since you can’t be trusted without supervision.”

Sabrina pouted at that. “Its not my fault Adrien and Kim don’t update theirs.”

Marinette nodded along, wondering if she could escape soon. “Just talk to Kim—I know you hate his sport speak but just ask if he can show up and he’ll check his calendar—I made sure to train him on that before stepping down.”

Sabrina looked at her before going off to do just that, since he yelled something about a new competition and that meant an updated class schedule.

Marinette packed her things then, figuring that Damian was already gone.

“Have a good day Dupain-Cheng.”

If it wasn’t for Chloe being across the room, she would have rolled her eyes. However…

“You too Damian. Again, any questions and me or Sabrina can answer.”

He frowned at her as she stood to leave. Oh, the textbooks!

“The mint page in the orange folder should show you the easiest places to get the textbooks this late into term. I’m guessing you’re not the type to like having to hit the library for required materials, and you don’t look like the type to like sharing textbooks long term. If those don’t work, Sabrina has a pdf for transfers you can download once you get approval to use a laptop or phone in class from Bustier. The form is the second mint page I think, and don’t worry, she approves things like that in a few days.”

Damian nodded. Marinette wondered if she overwhelmed him as she left. Oh well, her classmates were busy and she still had to finish Ali’s commission before patrol or an akuma attack—it was too quiet.

She hoped Damian read over the safety procedures, and sent him a quick text to review those as an after thought as she sent him in English (She hoped she guessed right): It’s been too peaceful for Hawkmoth, and our attacks are usually once every two days.

He read it but didn’t respond. She rolled her eyes as she entered the bakery, noting that Zombie was gone.

“I’ll be upstairs!”

“Before you do, can you make more of your monstrosities? The daycare should be letting out soon…”

Marinette almost sighed. Almost. How much did Zombie have? Apparently all of it.

She rolled her eyes as she made her usual ‘sleep deprived’ set for the regulars and ran upstairs to finish up Ali’s commission. With any luck, she wouldn’t have to stay up all night.

She was almost done, just a few more details when the AkumaWatch went off.

Tikki gave her a look.

“I know, I know.” Marinette grabbed her things for school. “Maman, Papa, I’m going to the Library!”

“Don’t stay till closing this time!”

“No promises!”

She ran off a decent distance before ducking into an alleyway.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

Elsewhere Damian had escaped Bustier's "checking in" by taking refuge in the school's library and sent over the information he'd gathered from Dupont and the Ladyblog to Drake first. Who Todd located and then relocated at Dick's request to go over what they'd found and discuss possible investigation avenues into the miraculous and its users.

He didn't like the idea of the 'boogey-man' stories (according to Grayson) of the trinkets holding the power gods being a reality. Especially if the old stories from the League were anything to go by... According to legend, a pair of earrings were responsible for the Lazarus Pitts existence in the first place--and he was weary of the tales of the ring that wiped cities from existence, and the necklace that drove men to madness.

Hope you enjoyed, and thanks to everyone that’s been commenting and voting on this and the ao3 of the story. Sorry, but Damian getting intrigued beat out Lila exposure by Damian. Instead, we have Class Knows She Lies, but no action plan on that yet... May do various confrontations when we get back to school updates.

Here’s the question for the next update, since its battletime and I get stuck on those for a bit.

Two things: batboys invade the battle or show up at the end when the Miraculous Team are wrapping it up?

and any akuma ideas? I'm debating just having it be gigtitan or pigeonman if its light, or if we're going dark, then a little kid that's being starved for 'bad behavior' regularly possibly turning adults into food, and the Miraculous Team seen at the end both comforting the kid in turns while talking to the police.

light is just simple intro, dark is more a slap in the face for the batboys that this is not Gotham or the Justice League, and gets them to see the whole of the problem more.

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @littleredrobinhoodlum @northernbluetongue @kceedraws @pirats-pizzacanninibles @theatreandcomicfreak @daminett4life @catthhay @weird-pale-blonde-person @amayakans @chocolatecatstheron

#maribat #daminette idea au #miraculous team and batboys #my writing

139 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

IV. A Commitment*

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Natasha teaches you how to kiss. Tony gives you an opportunity. A/N: Part 4 of Mystery of Love. . (*) denotes NSFW!!

At 23, you were struggling to have a conversation about … it.

It was almost three weeks since your moment on Steve’s couch with him and Bucky. Their touches on your skin haunted you day and night, and it made your work at the compound significantly more difficult than you could have ever imagined. It was hard to find clarity under such zealous and watchful eyes, and the distance you continued to keep them at would eventually be thwarted. You had to ask Pepper for an extension on your assignment mid-May before it got too out of hand. She happily obliged, very understanding of your predicament. The deadline was extended indefinitely, but having no schedule threw you further off course.

In an effort to control at least your personal life, you allowed yourself to spend time with Steve and Bucky in small bursts, intent on not repeating another couch-event. They each had very different approaches of being in your presence, you found out. Steve was happy to accompany you to galleries and the store if he was already in town- which he often was whether it be by coincidence or intention.

You took walks with him through the park, had coffee together, read the paper, and laughed at the comic strips. You’d go to bookstores where he’d browse non-fiction and history while you showed him some of your favorite art books, teaching him about famous artists and their vision. Your conversations were light and full of laughter.

Once, he met you at a local bar and you discovered his passion for sports- one you didn’t share but were happy to appreciate. You didn’t even know the championship game was going on that day and in the middle of it it’d become so rambunctious (someone recognized him!) that the two of you had to run out before it could conclude.

Physically, Steve was rather indulgent of your reservations. He’d hold your hand in private and brush his fingers over your knuckles in public. More than the touches, it was his gaze that sent your blood rushing. He perfected that slow lingering sweep with his eyes. There was no fervent message to be analyzed behind those blue-green gazes—only a simple feeling. And that feeling he held for you was incomprehensible. It swept you away.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to be physical or intimate because you loved the feel of the pads of his fingers and his callused palms. Or that smooth line of his winning smile, tilting upwards on one side. You constantly thought about those rough edges of Steve Rogers on your body.

It was rather that you were so fearful of crushing all the eggshells under your feet labelled “Steve and Bucky’s Tentative and Healing Friendship”.

Oh, you knew about The Winter Soldier and HYDRA. You’d gotten the quick and dirty version from Steve after your initial meeting with Bucky; the wipes, the assassinations, the complete and utter control they had on him for 70 years. The image of him in ice seared itself into your brain, the thought of them putting him up when they were finished using him killed you.

You weren’t just heartbroken, you were livid. You couldn’t help but take it so personally and you couldn’t quite explain why to Steve as you sobbed uncontrollably in the kitchen that morning except rasping breaths of goddamn it, oh god, Bucky. By the time Bucky returned from his run, your eyes were swollen and pink, bottom lip nearly chewed through.

You buried your face in his chest and whispered that you were happy to have him in your life and nothing else. There couldn’t be anything else yet. He was still raw, and you couldn’t tear him open any more.

Spending time with Bucky was significantly different, and a much more delicate task than Steve. He was hesitant to go into the city, a choice you understood completely so you never asked. Instead the two of you spent lots of time on separate sides of couches with tea and a book, careful not to sit too close. He’d gladly sit with a movie on while you worked on editing your many files.

After travelling for so long, you wanted to pick up your old hobbies again, so you started to make small meals at the compound. Bucky was hardly a cook by any means, but always seemed to know when you needed an ingredient from the cupboard and before you could fumble to reach for it, he’d have already set it next to your hand.

The conversations were short, and as you expected, he never divulged anything meaningful. After you had the talk with Steve, Bucky often sent you precarious glances, worried you might lash out because of his past. When you carried on as usual, the weight lifted from his shoulders.

Bucky was more physical, to say the least. He tried to respect your boundaries, but it wasn’t unlike him to push them from time to time. Unlike Steve’s tender gazes, Bucky stared intensely and openly. There were many a time when you’d look up from your book to see him on the other side of the sectional, staring straight through the pages and right at your face. His fingers would be tapping on his knee. When you’d finally see it and swallow nervously, he’d smirk and look back to his book.

Or you’d sit on the floor with your laptop open on the coffee table and Bucky would have silently moved from his supposed area on the couch to directly behind you. He’d lean over close, so that his breath would tickle your ear and ask you innocently about the picture you were working on. It never failed to send shivers up your spine and elicit wide, devilish grins from him.

It was his favorite game. It set you on fire.

And so it was that you attempted to balance your time with both men, as they navigated their own schedules of work, training, and rehabilitation.

You also tried to retain any semblance of your employment to Stark Industries.

You snapped pictures here and there, trying your best to maintain the illusion of your contract. There were some exceptional ones of the interior but photographing the Avengers themselves was challenging. Especially when it came to Bucky. He could sense any time you were in the room and strictly refused to ignore your presence. There were no candids taken of Bucky Barnes; he simply did not allow it. He never stopped staring at you.

At the end of May, you put the assignment on pause and decided instead to focus on the photos from your travels. Pepper kindly put up a room for you so you didn’t have to make the trip to and from the compound, but you were afraid that being in such close(ish) quarters with Steve and Bucky would lead to complications. She was very understanding at your hesitance and careful not to pry but left the offer open if you had any questions. You contemplated asking her, but in the end decided to save your queries for someone less motherly and more straightforward.

When you turned up at Natasha’s room, she hardly seemed surprised. She had two Irish Mules set on coasters on the small coffee table. You took a sip, licking your lips at the lime and ginger beer; she could really make a drink. It would have been bad to get drunk quickly and spill all your secrets, but there was something about her presence that was tossing out all pretense. You supposed the phrase, “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter” was especially applicable with Natasha.

The first query slipped out before you could catch it.

“Does it hurt?”

The right corner of her lips lifted, but her eyebrows raised in sympathy at your innocent question. It was a valid one, of course, and it was right of you to ask it. Natasha assured you that discomfort is normal at first since you’d never experienced it before- but that they both should be treating you respectfully, kindly, and lovingly. She restated that there was nothing wrong with taking it slow, finding your own pace and easing into it, and doing what you feel is comfortable.

When you told her you’d never kissed anyone before and that Bucky sucking on your finger probably didn’t count, she sputtered up a bit of her cocktail mid-drink. She didn’t specify whether it was because you’d never been kissed or if it was the... other thing.

“I don’t even know how it works. There’s two of them.” You’d been stuck on it all month. You’d have to decide in the end, and sure, maybe Bucky wasn’t jealous when Steve kissed your hand or when you’d go out with him but what if they started fighting about who got to do what with you. It wasn’t like they were each others’ soulmates. You complained to Natasha more freely at the end of your mug.

What if they didn’t like how you looked?! What if you were bad in bed? What if they got bored after seeking the physical aspects? What if that was all that became of your relationship?

She had listened to your rambling briefly but became determined to put a stop to the madness and set down her drink.

“You have to stop being so crazy, those two are closer than you or I can imagine. You might need to be convinced about the validity of being Soulmates, but those old boys do not. They have committed.”

There was that word again, you thought.

“And, if you’re so worried about your first kiss...” A single red brow raised itself high up her forehead, “I can show you. No more worrying about who kissed you first.” Natasha set her copper mug down with a definitive clink.

It might have been the drink that was making you brave, or the desperation of wanting some relief to your constant distress, because you eagerly said yes. Natasha had brushed back loose strands of your hair with her hand and propped herself up on her knees. She hovered over you, letting her locks fall over your face.

“Is this okay?”

You nodded, captivated. You could feel your eyes fluttering as she lowered her lips to yours in a single tranquil movement. Her warm breath pleasantly caressed your mouth as she kissed you. Natasha’s lips were soft and full, velvety with every parting and descent. One hand came to cup your jaw, pulling you closer and deeper into her motions. You didn’t expect the sound your mouths made against each other- the smacking was half disturbing, half arousing.

She had seemed like a good kisser, but it was almost a clinical experience, whether it was because it was a learning moment from a friend, or if it was because you were so concentrated on memorizing Natasha’s actions, that made it not quite enjoyable as the movies tried to portray. There were no string quartets harmonizing in the background or doves flying, only the lax pulse of your heart in your own ears.

When she finally pulled away, you were expectant for another one; you wanted to learn. She cocked her head at your silence.

“How was it?” You had thought about it for a second before answering truthfully, “Noisy...”

Natasha howled with laughter. When she gathered herself enough to speak again, her raspy voice was slightly a little more hoarse than usual.

“Kid,” she gasped, “The noises are the best part, trust me.”

The unexpected statement made your abdomen clench. You vaguely wondered what kind of noises Steve and Bucky might make, but hurriedly squashed them. Linger on that one for too long, and you’d burst.

After another half hour of fielding questions, she finally sent you back to your quarters with a flash-drive in hand, disclosing to you that it was her personal collection of “friendly” pornography- which made your entire body flush crimson. It was for you to watch, explore, fantasize about, and maybe get some ideas before the day arrives. Before opening the door, Natasha called your name sternly.

“Remember when I asked you if it was okay before I kissed you?”

You nodded.

“There is nothing wrong with that. In fact, they should be asking you. Porn does not capture all the real-life shit that happens during sex. There is nothing embarrassing about asking questions, voicing your needs and desires, and talking to each other. You’re not going to be awesome at it the first time. But you’ve got the rest of your life to practice.”

You thanked her sincerely. There was nowhere else that you were going to receive this kind of lesson and you really wanted her to know. Natasha shooed you out of her room, pointing to the flash drive gripped tight in your fist.

“Go rub out some good ones for me, okay?”

With a wink and playful slap on your ass, she promptly kicked you out but not before deftly tucking a flask of whiskey under your arm. You shoved the deviant things as deep into the pocket of your jeans as possible and wandered to the guest room Pepper had set up. You often took naps in there, and it would have been a better idea to go home, but you were strangely eager. Bucky and Steve were in the shooting range this evening, so you hoped they’d be fully distracted with loud gunfire and not sniff you out with 100 gigabytes of porn in your pocket.

Once safe in the comfort of the room, you tentatively launched a window on your laptop, headphones jacked in, one bud hanging loose. Your door was locked all the way, and you had wiggled the handle thrice just to be safe, satisfied when nothing budged.

Natasha’s files were categorized into multiple folders and subfolders. You made a mental note to thank her for such thorough and thoughtful placement of the videos, sorted and titled by extremely efficient keywords. She had a deliberate folder of multiple threesome videos, just for you, and you promptly decide to never bring it up any of it. Reading the titles alone made your legs tingle; your mind couldn’t help but automatically fit Steve or Bucky in the fantasy.

You fired up the first video, reaching over to the small nightstand to inhale two fingers of whiskey for good measure. It burned your insides going down but became a relief when it took your mind off the fire in your cheeks at the performance unfolding on your dim screen. Once again, your brain replaced the two male actors with your respective soulmates, and yourself as the woman sitting in the middle of the bed.

Of course you’d masturbated before, you weren’t a nun, for crying out loud; some bodily tension could only be relieved in a certain way. And it just so happened since the Binding, you were in the habit of doing it much more, anyway. It was difficult to spend all day with Bucky’s burning gaze and Steve’s feather light touches and expect yourself to immediately fall asleep...

Your phone lit up as two large hands caress the actress’ shapely thighs.

Tony’s face blinked on the screen. You ignored it, concentrated on thick fingers peeling the flimsy material of a lacy bralette down. Open-mouthed sloppy kisses begin between the woman and the man on the left as the one on the right cups the breast closest to him in a firm hold. You imagined a ghostly touch on your own chest and shuddered. One hand imitated the actions between the woman’s legs: feather-light touches interspersed with solid grips. The tickle creates chills that crawl all over your skin.

Tony face blinked again on your phone.

You fixed your posture against the headboard of your bed and flexed your legs, straightening them for a more relaxed pose. Your palm traced over the slope of your thighs as they dipped into a valley in the middle, slowly you brought your other hand to your chest, following the line of Steve’s Words. Bucky’s eyes flashed in your mind when one of the men catches the woman’s fingers in his mouth in a hard suck. The woman’s free hand and palms the opposite man’s crotch, rubbing slow circles around the tent in his jeans. He sucks in a low hiss of air and groans lightly, a profane word wiggling its way out of his mouth. In your left ear, it sounded like Steve.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filling the room sent you into shock.

“Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the living quarters.”

In a panic, you slammed your hands down on the keyboard of your laptop multiple times, silently screaming when the headphone jack falls out and there’s moaning repeatedly being paused and played in the darkness of your room.

“How does he--”

“Mr. Stark had me do a sweep of the rooms to find you.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.!!”

“Mr. Stark does not know what you are watching.”

You grumbled, accepting the interface’s comment. Sometimes it was hard for you to remember that she wasn’t an actual person since she so often responded in very human ways, including predicting your source of embarrassment. You flopped down on the bed, muffling your face in the soft comfort of your pillow, catching the smell of your whiskey-sour breath.

“Please tell Mr. Stark I’ll be coming,”

“That's an interesting choice of words, ma’am.”

Another scream was muffled in the pillow before you trudged your body out of the guest room.

As soon as you stepped foot into the gathering space, a tiny firework was popped in your face, colorful confetti flying from it into the air and scattering itself in your hair. You shrieked, naturally. There were some cheers and whooping from those in the room: Steve, Natasha, and Pepper. Your heart was pounding in response.

“Hey kid! Congrats! I got some news for you.” Tony beamed widely, slapping both hands firmly on your shoulders, “What is that, whiskey? Do I smell whiskey? Good shit, too. What is that? You drinkin’ Yamazaki?”

You cleared your throat and pressed your lips together firmly, hoping Tony would get the message, eye catching Natasha’s cat-like grin in the process. He clucked his tongue before pointing to the wall to your left where an e-mail was being projected. You briefly glanced it over as the room watched on, flicking bits of neon plastic from your head.

The e-mail thread was between Tony and Kristopher Byrne, the former director of the Museum of Modern Art, singing your praises. Your eyebrows raised higher and higher the further down the e-mail chain you went, and eventually it felt like they might fly off your face altogether. Byrne was pushing meeting you, possibly having a dinner together, possibly a position of employment with a local university or being a permanent fixture at one of his private galleries.

There was a choking noise you were vaguely aware of coming out of your mouth- and it wasn’t from excitement.

There was a reason you didn’t pursue a higher degree in the Fine Arts. There was a reason you only gave phone interviews, hardly showed your face, never entered your work in museums, and ran all over the world instead. You hated the attention and the culture of rubbing elbows with the upper crust. Yes, having a secure and stable income is nice- but that was already fulfilled by being employed by Stark Industries, and you never really needed more than that.

“I really appreciate it, Tony,” you began gesturing to the screen, hoping to not offend him, “But you don’t have to do this on my behalf.”

Tony put a hand over the ACDC logo and dimly glowing light on his chest, “I love nepotism as much as the next guy, trust me, but I did not schmooze him, he schmoozed me. He schmoozed me a lot, kid, and it was to get to you. He’s been asking about you for years.”

“Can you stop saying schmooze?” Pepper called, raising her hand primly, “You make it sound so gross, Tony.”

“Look, he just wants to have dinner. With you. And some friends.” Tony shrugged, as if the lift of his shoulder could so easily discard the rest of the statement hanging in the air. You knew that Kristopher Byrne did not just want to have dinner.

“What kind of dinner?” Bucky piped from the background. You turned your head to him, lingering in the back; he must have just come in after a shower. His wet hair was tied into a low knot at the nape of his neck, a few strands hanging loosely. You tried to hide a smile at his protective questioning.

“And what kind of friends?” Steve added, arms now crossed as he sat down on the couch.

Natasha gave a knowing look to Pepper as if to communicate that Tony couldn’t hide his agenda with both Bucky and Steve at his heels. Throwing his hands up he rolled his eyes with a histrionic lament, “Wow. You overprotective geriatrics really suck the fun out of my life, you know that? Great. Cover’s blown, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Give me the real deal.”

The projection against the wall was hastily replaced with a different e-mail chain, one that very specifically requested a formal show of your most recent work post-travels, as well as a special request for never-before-seen Avengers portraits. You released a loud, disappointed groan, taking two big steps to the wall and jabbing your finger at the mass of text.

“This is why.” You ran your pointer under the phrase “black tie event” and shook your head. “This isn’t my life, Tony. It’s your life.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” You felt set up. His abruptly somber tone meant that he was about to drop some shit on you that would change your perspective.

“This is my life,” Tony began, pausing for effect before taking two fingers and waving it broadly over the room, making sure to catch Bucky and Steve in his radius. “And it’s their life, too. You think Cap’s not obligated to formal events? He’s a national treasure, kid. And Winter Dead-Eyes over there is America’s new Redemption Sob Story.”

Bucky growled, but was quickly silenced by the outline of Steve’s turning profile.

“You’re Bound to them; you can’t wander the world at your whim anymore. This is a golden opportunity dropping into your lap. One black-tie event with Byrne gets your foot in a lot of doors. He’ll make you a permanent faculty member at Tisch in two years if that’s what you want; you’ve got the clout- whether you like it or not.”

The whiskey was making you a little agitated, and it felt like Tony was cornering you into a pocket you weren’t ready to face. These types of decisions required time and deliberation, and twenty minutes ago, you were barely choosing when you were going to have sex in the next week.

“And if you’re so adamant against nepotism, how do feel being employed by me?”

“Are you saying you continue to employ me because we’re friends?”

“Aren’t we?”

He really did corner you. If you answered no, it would have been too cruel to everyone. If you answered yes, then you’d be a hypocrite, and there would obviously be no reason for you not to take the offer other than the fact that you didn’t want to. Regardless, Tony had a valid point: you couldn’t keep floating. You needed to settle permanently in New York.

You put your face in both hands, feeling the heat rise from your neck.

Steve stood up from the couch, “That’s enough.” The edge in his voice meant he was serious. He didn’t like seeing you distressed, but you waved him off, eyes still closed.

“I’ll need… time.” You thought your voice might shake, but it didn’t. Your brain was pumping out information that your mouth was glad to blather about, “I need at least a month. I need to work. I need to set up a studio space, I need equipment, need to find my printing guy… Where are we hanging them?” When your eyes opened, Pepper had her hands clasped together over her chest and Natasha gave you two thumbs up. Steve and Bucky, on the other hand, looked concerned.

Tony was grinning like a child in a candy store.

“Leave all of that to me, kid. Date’s set. Last Saturday in June, we’re doing it. Mazel tov! I love a good black-tie event, especially if I’m throwing it.”

You went home that night and slammed yourself into bed, tossing and turning for what seemed like hours. Your stomach was churning wrathfully, already expectant of the party. Everything felt like it was falling apart again. You had just barely come to the physical terms of having soulmates, taking small steps to ensure that you were treating them fairly and meeting their needs, yet it seemed like once again, the reality of being Bound was eclipsing your independence.

Steve’s words echoed in your head. It was a commitment. You needed to stay in New York and commit to him. You needed to commit to Bucky.

You picked up the phone when it vibrated and lit up with Steve’s face. A concerned murmur of your name passed through the receiver.

“Hey,” You replied, face pressed into your pillow.

“You okay? You left in a hurry.” He sounded relieved to hear your voice.

“I’ve got a lot on mind, I think.”

In the background was Bucky’s distinct mumble of “What’s she doin’?”

“Did ya get that?” Steve laughed, “Buck’s on edge.”

You shuffled yourself around the bed and snuggled deeper down, imagining the crinkle on Bucky’s forehead and matching crease of Steve’s eyes as he smiled. You suddenly missed them. There was something about the image of them sitting together purposely, talking to you, concerned about you, that opened the floodgates.

You let go.

Steve listened generously as you expressed your hesitations about presenting your work to Kristopher Byrne or any other elite art critic or connoisseur. The thing you dreaded most about art school was the jargon of “artspeak”, the constant performance of socializing with the right people in the right way to get an opportunity. After your solo exhibit of the Soulmate Series, you were so exhausted and disenchanted by the questions and feeling the need to defend yourself that you refused to enter any more exhibitions. It was why you chose to travel instead of pursuing a Masters or making your mark in New York.

Interviews were strictly phone-only for independent magazines or social media websites and you never showed your face. You didn’t want any attention that was not on your work, which was why you were so glad that Pepper was not only a great resume opportunity, but that she was extremely professional. The photos you took of the Avengers were posted for the public relations needs and you were credited only by name.

“I just want to be a photographer,” you said, “I want to make images and talk about them in way that is digestible for ordinary people. I think photo is a great medium for that because it is so commonplace. Why is necessary to then jumble it all up with pretentious terminology? I want to take photos that are meaningful but even your grandmother could enjoy.”

Steve laughed.

“Okay, maybe not yours, specifically,” You chucked, “But you know what I mean. Photography is ubiquitous, I just so happen to have had also an education and know the theory and mechanics. And I’m lucky enough to work with you guys. But I’m not them. I don’t want to sell a picture for thirty-thousand dollars and have it put up in some guy’s house and never shown again.”

“Give ‘em hell!” Bucky’s voice rang in the background. You were surprised he was still there, listening. It made you happy that he was.

Steve paused, “I think you can do both.”

You sighed. He didn’t understand.

“No, no, listen to me. You can fight it, but you’ll need to be a part of it. You can’t change anything about the system if you’re running from the system. As much as you hate elitist jargon, you know it, and you can participate in it.”

Your brow furrowed, but Steve went on, “Get the faculty position, exhibit in galleries, gain that platform and then you make changes on that platform. Even if you just teach- imagine having 100 students a year that you can pass this to. What were the students like in your college classes?”

“Uppity.” You admitted. “We took such dumb photos and then would critique them in such meaningless ways. Sometimes a sink is just a sink. Sometimes it’s not, but when it is, it really is."

Steve laughed again; the example was lost on him. “Okay. Now what if your professors felt the same way you did?”

“We’d probably hate each other less and experiment more without second guessing ourselves.”

“Don’t you think you want to do that for other students, sweetheart? Even if it means that you’re in the thick of it yourself?” A smile was slowly forming on your face. It only made sense that Steve Rogers was such a revolutionary. It really was such good advice.

“Buck’s right, sweetheart. Go give ‘em hell.” In the background was a satisfied huff and a “Damn right!” for good measure.

“Anything else on your mind?” Steve quietly asked after a moment had passed between you, as if he’d forgotten his friend in the room, highly alert and intently listening, “Anything ‘bout us?”

You breathed a deep sigh, careful not to blow into the phone as you thought about your next words carefully. The anxieties for the show colluded with your anxieties for your future here. Steve knew that; he was only asking to be polite. “Mmm… It’ll keep me close,” You murmured, “That’s good, right?”

“I can’t decide that for you, sweetheart. That’s up to you.” There was a pause, the sound of something hitting the wall softly like a pillow, some fuzzy scratches telling you the phone was moving around, and Bucky with an irritated reprimand: “Wrong answer, punk!”

You laughed mirthfully, feeling your worries rolling off your body as you listened to Steve and Bucky quarrelling on the other end. It felt so natural that you couldn’t help but think maybe this was another good step in the right direction.

More and more each day you could imagine yourself having morning coffee with Steve, watching a movie with Bucky, cooking together, eating dinner, working side by side at the compound. Maybe you didn’t have to settle for brief fifteen-minute walks in the park, and maybe one day Bucky could talk to you about his demons. The three of you could exist together, as you were intended to.

At 23, you made up your mind to stay in New York with Steve and Bucky.

Next Chapter

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #self insert #fanfiction #mcu #marvel #stucky x reader #soulmate au #Mystery of Love heli0s

1K notes · View notes

firaknight · 3 years

Text

Make note that this is a GIANT post and is a culmination of me trying to explain my thoughts in a comprehensible manner. Some of this might not make a whole lot of sense, and I apologize if it doesn’t dhdjsjksjwnsnsnen /lh

On a small island, there sits a little port town (no name yet. May change later) (if you want a visual, think of the port town from Super Kirby Clash). This port town sits in the middle of Gamble Ocean, a strange ocean that houses odd creatures known as merfolk. Nobody knows why they’re there, but they exist. Little is known about these merfolk, as they try to avoid humans as much as possible, or at least, they try to avoid curious divers who poke their noses into the shipwrecks and ruins they live around. However, despite their supposed shyness, they’ve been known to save drowning sailors who get thrown off their ships. Very few ever meet the merfolk, and the few that have are old, many of them having passed long ago, with only a select few still around to tell the tales...

Among the island residents lives a 16 year old girl named Adeleine, a talented artist and quite the good swimmer and diver, she’s a girl of many talents. She lives with her mother, who simply goes by Ado. Adeleine has a love for the sea, and while her mother doesn’t share the same ideas, she supports the energy her daughter has for the ocean. Adeleine comes from an... odd history. She knows nothing about her past other than what her grandmother and mother have told her. Adeleine’s got some strange features, too... Oddly sharp teeth, strange glowing markings that sometimes appear in the darkest of nights, nails that grow unbelievably fast and sharp, and even a longer breathholding time than anyone else shes met. She’s chalked it up to be part of her bloodline, as her grandma has similar traits, even though her mom doesn’t have any of these traits.

Adeleines grandmother is one of the few people who’s met those merfolk. In fact, shes bonded and interacted with them. She’s told Adeleine all her stories and passed on her legacy. After her passing, she gifted Adeleine her shell necklace and a slew of gifts she’d been given by the merfolk, all of which Adeleine still cherishes to this day. Before her grandmother died, she instructed that, when Adeleine received her necklace, that she is to wear it no matter the weather whilst out at sea. While Adeleine has the seas blessing, having been left unscathed by the waters, she shouldn’t take her chances, and the necklace would keep her safe. Adeleine wears that necklace no matter what, going as far as to bathe and sleep with it on. It’s one of the last things shes got from her grandmother...

Fast forward to many many years later when Adeleine is 16 (current day in the story). She decides to take a trip to the neighboring island with some other sailors, but she’s been warned of supposedly nasty weather that’s going to come. The trip takes almost 2 days round trip, and Adeleine is determined to take that trip. She’s been on big trips across the ocean before! She can handle this! After a bit of back and forth, the captain of the ship reluctantly agrees to take her along with, and she’s thrilled. Skip ahead to over halfway through the trip to the island, a nasty storm rolls in. Adeleine is advised to take shelter under the deck, where a small escape boat is, but she’s adamant on staying on the deck. It’s just a storm! She’ll be fine! Suddenly, theres a flash of lightning that strikes the sail mast, breaking it and causing it to crash onto the deck. Adeleine, realizing she should’ve moved under the deck when she was told, gets up and tries to make a break for the lower deck, only to slip and get knocked off by the mast crashing onto the deck. She’s thrown into the sea and the current yanks her under without warning. Struggling, she swims against the current to try and keep her head above water, but gets pulled under again. She surfaces again and swims with the current, hoping that might help her stay afloat, but gets pulled under again. As she tries to resurface, she’s pulled under once more and the current throws her straight into a rock. Her head slams into it and knocks the air straight out of her, her consciousness slipping. As her consciousness fades, she faintly notices something start to glow around her neck, and as she slips unconscious, the water around her head seems to drain away...

~~~{+}~~~

Far from the ship, a pink haired girl watches the storm ravage the sea. She can see the ship get struck, and watches someone get tossed into the sea. She spots the light from that same person pierce the waters surface before the current pulls the person under. The pink haired girl turns to the ship one last time before she swims back towards home...

Some time passes, and the pink haired girl returns with a few others, all sporting pastel colored hair like her own. She tells them to split up and look for anyone that may have survived the mess and to get them out of the water. If they’re alive, get the water out of them ASAP. The girls she brought along all mod and swim off to look for any survivors. The pink haired girl swims off as well, headed for where she thinks the current dragged that person, and is quick to find them, led by the glow coming from their necklace. She finds that person is a young girl, no older than 16. With haste, she drags the girl out of the water and swims her over to a flat rock jutting out of the sea. She lays the girl on it facedown, checking to see if she’s still alive. Miraculously, the girl is somehow still breathing! The pink haired girl breathes a sigh of relief, noticing a tiny amount of water trickling out of the girls mouth. She swims over to her side, and reels back...

~~~{+}~~~

Adeleine wakes up to a something slamming into her back, causing her to cough, water sputtering up as she coughed. The coughing fit went on for a couple minutes before she was able to finally breathe. She takes some time to catch her breath and figure out how the heck she’s even alive at this point. As shes wracking her brain to figure out how she’s alive, she hears a splash coming from behind her. She whips around only to see something pink zip away. She tries to keep track of it, but it’s too quick. She loses sight of it, but keeps an eye out, only to spot it again! This time, whatever it was emerges from the water, their webbed fingers grabbing onto the edge of the rock to pull them up. In front of her was a pink haired girl with a bright red ribbon tied in a bow on the top of her head. Glowing, crystal shaped markings glittered near her eyes. She wore a red dress with 2 yellow buttons and sported gills that glowed a neon pink. Her blue eyes stared at Adeleine, curious. The girl asked if Adeleine was ok, and she responded that she was somewhat fine (but hid the fact that she was more than a little shaken). The girl introduces herself, saying her name is Ribbon and that she found Adeleine unconscious underwater, and that it’s a miracle shes alive. Adeleine introduces herself in response and explains that a storm hit and she was thrown off the ship. She was sure she’d die down there, but was amazed she was alive. Ribbon points to the shell necklace Adeleines wearing and says it was glowing when she went to get her out of the water. At that moment, Adeleine remembers her grandma explaining the abilities the necklace seemingly had, one of them being that it would glow to create a beacon for merfolk to find in order to help save the wearer. She also remembers that her grandma somehow never ran out of air while underwater, and that a bubble would form if she started to drown, surrounding her head and providing a temporary air source while she got to the surface. She concludes that her grandmas necklace was the only reason she survived long enough for Ribbon to find her. Ribbon pauses like shes thinking about something and changes the subject. She states that she can swim Adeleine back to the mainland, but she can’t do it by herself, as she’s so much smaller than Adeleine that it would take hours to swim back, but if she got help, it might be an easier swim! She mentions that she doesn’t want to leave Adeleine alone, as she’s worried that some of the “less friendly” beings in Gamble Ocean might pick her as a target, and asks that Adeleine come with her. Adeleine agrees and Ribbon explains that Adeleine will have to swim alongside her. Knowing Adeleine can’t breathe underwater, Ribbon creates a temporary air bubble that’ll give her air for a short amount of time, allowing Adeleine to follow her into the ocean depths. Adeleine dives back into the ocean, her head slipping straight into the bubble. She realizes that, now finally able to see Ribbons entire body, that Ribbons one of the merfolk. Adeleine is mesmerized by the fact that sHE JUST MET A MERMAID!!!!!!! She hides her excitement and the two swim into this beautiful underwater city (I don’t have a design yet :( I might soon tho). Adeleine is in awe of the sights and is constantly lagging behind, being dragged along by Ribbon when she gets fed up with shouting back to make sure Adeleine doesn’t lose track of her. The two make it to a small house tucked in the back of a coral forest. Ribbon knocks on the door, expecting to have the person inside to come to the door, and pouts when they don’t. She finds the door to be unlocked and peeks her head in, spotting the resident of the home fast asleep on the floor. She motions for Adeleine to stay put as she zips into the house. Adeleine just kinda floats there, confused. A minute or two passes and Ribbon returns with the merfolk in the home. They’re around the same height as Ribbon, if not a bit taller than her. (I’m sorry I don’t have a design for them yet if I did I’d explain their looks ;n;)

#fira screeches about the kirby mer!au #fira screeches about the kirby mer!au plot #long post #<- block that if you don’t wanna clog your dash with this rjfjjejdjd #HERE IT IS!!!!#second half coming momentarily!!

4 notes · View notes

sodalitefully · 4 years

Text

Rose Petals & Petty Rivalries [GNR AU, Slaxl] 🌹🌹

The Hollywood Rose is a florist, run by Axl Rose and Izzy Stradlin (in lieu of the actual owner, who never seems to make an appearance), with Duff McKagan behind the wheel of the delivery truck. Axl likes working there; he likes the flowers, he likes the quiet, and he likes how things don’t ever change: business is slow but steady, customers are as predictable as ever… and the tattoo parlor next door is still a pain in his fucking ass. Don’t even get him fucking started about how it scares off the Rose’s customers by attracting seedy thugs, or how the owner is a fucking creep that Axl may or may not have history with.

Seriously, don’t: Izzy might actually gouge his eyes out with plant clippers if he has to hear Axl’s rant one more goddamn time.

Tracii Guns opened up the L.A. Guns tattoo parlor a few years ago, and he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon, no matter how much animosity he gets from the flowerboy next door. Business is going well for once; so well, in fact, that Tracii has decided it’s time to hire a second artist.

There’s just one problem with that: There’s only one tattoo artist in LA who is both up to Tracii’s standards and looking for a place to set up shop, and that person is Saul Hudson, better known as Slash, a talented, hotshot artist who also happens to have a rivalry with Tracii dating all the way back to their school days when they first upgraded from stick-and-pokes to cheap tattoo kits.

Tracii left his mark on more of LA’s reckless youth than Slash did in their teen years, but just barely and only because Slash was often distracted by anything from BMX to zookeeping. He may have gotten a slower start to his career, but Slash’s talent as an artist is now making him a hot commodity in the tattooing community – If Tracii doesn’t grab him now, someone else will hire him soon enough, and Tracii can’t risk that kind of competition.

So Tracii reaches out and Slash accepts the job offer, but that doesn’t mean their little rivalry has been resolved. Tracii tells Slash that there’s not enough space in the tiny shop for both of their work stations on street level, so he assigns Slash the basement. Slash actually really likes the space, once he gets it all cleared out and set up the way he likes (he calls it “the snakepit” in his head), but he’s not about to let Tracii get first pick of every customer who walks in the door. Whenever he’s not with a client, Slash is hovering around upstairs, putting his art up on the walls, greeting potential customers from behind the counter, and generally doing everything he can to poach Tracii’s clients. Tracii does not appreciate his efforts, but when he’s in the middle of an appointment there’s nothing he can do to stop him.

So now Tracii has to deal with competition from his own employee (though by no means is their feud one-sided…) on top of his pissy neighbor who somehow manages to give Tracii an impressive amount of attitude while also blatantly ignoring him. Of-fucking-couse things only get worse when the two meet.

Duff is new in town, fresh from Seattle, Washington, and working two jobs to pay for his shitty bug-infested studio apartment: by day, he drives the Hollywood Rose delivery van, and by night he waits tables at a steakhouse across town. So he’s not entirely caught up on the details of Axl and Tracii’s bad blood, and comes into work one morning eager to show off his brand new tattoo.

He got it from an artist that his buddy Steven recommended. “It’s just the place next door, Axl, have you gotten any of your tattoos done there?” An innocent question, perfectly reasonable, and yet –

“…Oh. You went there?” Poor Duff did nothing to deserve the look of sour disdain that Axl is serving.

"Uh. Yeah, I got it done in the basement, seemed like a pretty neat place. Why, what’s up?"

“Wait – in the basement?"

"Yeah, Ax, Tracii’s got a new hire,” Izzy threw in, still admiring Duff’s new ink – it was well done, he had to admit. "I’m surprised you have’t seen him around, he’s pretty, uh, distinctive. Big fluffy hair, likes jewelry and leather?"

“Izzy, that describes about half of Guns’ clientele."

“Nah, you’ll know him when you see him, trust me.” Duff bobbed his head in agreement.

“Hm. What’s his name?”

“Slash. He’s a nice guy, really talented –” Duff adds, but Axl has stopped listening, and started formulating a plan.

For the past two years, give or take, since L.A. Guns opened its doors, Axl has been making a point of going to any and all of Tracii’s competitors to get his ink done, without so mach as sparing a glance at the parlor next door (not counting the occasional glowering from behind slanted blinds, or fantasizing about ramming his car into Tracii’s trash bins in the shared parking lot). But that day, Axl marches right into L.A. Guns, meets Tracii dead in the eye and demands an appointment as soon as possible – with Slash.

Tracii gapes at him for a second. The shock of seeing Axl in his shop fades quickly, replaced by an expression that broadcasts Are You Fucking Kidding Me loudly enough to be picked up by any radio antenna in a 30-mile range.

“You can’t be serious Axl. Why don’t you go back to your fucking daffodils and leave me the fuck alone, hm?"

Axl arches a brow and opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by a tangle of curly hair and bare limbs that swoops in, shoves Tracii back, and tips forward over the countertop until his frizzy bangs are inches from Axl’s face, all in one fluid rush that Axl can barely follow.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, Guns, so why don’t you scurry off and give us a minute to take care of business?” He doesn’t say it like a question, and he smirks when Tracii throws up his hands with a huff and stalks off to his station at the back of the room. Once he and Axl are granted the illusion of privacy, the smirk transforms into a dazzling grin, propped up on his fist as he – Slash, obviously (Axl realizes what Izzy meant when he described the man as “distinctive”) – leans forward on the tall counter, offering Axl his best “sorry about my crazy boss now how can I help you?” look.

“So, you’re interested in a consultation appointment?"

Axl belatedly realizes that he’s blushing. “Fluffy hair, likes jewelry and leather” was obviously an inadequate description; Izzy had failed to prepare Axl for Slash’s warm brown eyes, for the way the hoops in his ears peek out from his mass of soft-looking curls or the way his sleeveless shirt shows off the ink on his tanned arms... And that’s not to mention his beautifully infectious smile.

“Yeah,” Axl responds, his voice pitching up a bit against his will. “Maybe around this time tomorrow, if you’re available?"

Slash flips open a day planner and hovers his pen over tomorrow’s date. “How does tomorrow evening at 5:15 sound?"

“That would be great."

“And your name?"

“Axl Rose."

Slash pauses and glances down at Axl’s work clothes, lingering on the pin over his pocket with his first name and the shop logo. He looks back up at Axl with a bemused expression. “Axl Rose? Who are you, the mascot?"

“Hey!"

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Slash giggles then manages to compose himself. “Axl Rose at 5:15,” he pens the appointment in slanted script. “I didn’t mean to make fun… Did you do the arrangements in the front windows? They’re really beautiful."

“…Thank you.” As a tattooed florist with anger issues, Axl is in no position to stereotype, but he still wasn’t expecting to hear that from Slash. If he wasn’t blushing before, he certainly is now.

Tracii scoffs loudly behind Slash, and Axl’s pink flush is abruptly replaced by an angry, embarrassed red. He hunches his shoulders and mutters a thank you when Slash slides him business card with the appointment time scribbled on the back, then heads for the door as confidently as he can manage. This whole plan to piss Tracii off is going to backfire if he keeps getting flustered by the cute, overly-friendly new artist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Slash calls after him cheerfully.

Slash watches him walk out the door and back towards the Rose, then finally turns around to meet Tracii’s incredulous scowl.

"You’re not really going to do a piece for him, are you?"

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I?"

"’Cause he’s a Grade-A fucking asshole who’s had it out for me and my shop ever since I moved in."

Slash laughs dismissively. "You’re full of shit, Tracii, he seems like a real sweetheart to me."

Tracii snorts. "Axl Rose, a fucking sweetheart?”

“You jealous, Guns?”

“Hardly,” Tracii says with a scowl. “He’s going to hate the tattoo and then use it as an excuse to give me even more shit than he already does. It’ll be unbearable around here with him bitching all the time.”

“You mean like how you’re bitching right now? You don’t know shit,” Slash declares, “because Axl is going to love his new ink and you’re not going to hear a thing from him except when he’s beating down our door to beg me for more.”

I’m afraid my ideas are getting predictable, but I couldn’t fucking resist. Tagging @fan-with-issues for chatting w me about this au, and @insipidrhyme just because.

Shoutout to Tracii Guns for once again stepping in when I want to give a side character a hard time. You’re a good sport, Trace.

#yikes it's been a month since i last posted #sodafics #slaxl #slash #saul hudson #axl rose #gnr #guns n roses #hollywood rose #tracii guns #la guns #l.a. guns #florist x tattoo artist au #and you thought I couldn't get more cliche #i've been staring at this for too long so i guess it's time to post

84 notes · View notes

starlingsrps · 3 years

Text

poppy allen character development.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: poppy lieke allen

NICKNAME(S): nope.

PREFERRED NAME(S): poppy

BIRTH DATE: october 25

AGE: twenty seven

GENDER: cis female

PRONOUNS: feminine

ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual

NATIONALITY: american

ETHNICITY: american-dutch

CURRENT LOCATION: los angeles, ca

LIVING CONDITIONS: neat and tidy, well decorated. she's definitely in laurel canyon, purposefully kind of a bitch to drive to.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: santa barbara, ca

HOMETOWN: montecito, ca

PLACES LIVED: montecito, new york, london - wherever the hell she's filming tbh. los angeles is home.

SOCIAL CLASS: upper upper. when your eighteenth birthday is a people magazine cover, you don't pretend.

EDUCATION LEVEL: high school

FATHER: bryce hawthorne, 57, movie star

MOTHER: saskia werhoff, 52, model turned lifestyle guru

SIBLING(S): marieke allen, 25; matthias allen, 20

BIRTH ORDER: poppy, marieke, matthias

CHILDREN: absolutely no.

PET(S): nope; allergic to most things with fur.

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: her mother's family in the netherlands, her father's in nebraska.

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: legion and documented online.

ARRESTS?: nope.

PRISON TIME?: nope.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: actress

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: spokesperson

TERTIARY SOURCE(S) OF INCOME: trust fund

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: like why wouldn't she be

PAST JOB(S): does she look like she's ever done intensive work?

SPENDING HABITS: poppy's version of reasonable is absolutely not the same as a normal persons. she thinks she's reasonable but that's just because she doesn't own a diamond encrusted birkin. she buys things that are high quality and doesn't really have experience with things that aren't.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: real estate portfolio. she owns her house and a condo in new york. both are points of pride for her.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: B-

OFFENSE: B

DEFENSE: B

SPEED: B

INTELLIGENCE: B

ACCURACY: B+

AGILITY: B

STAMINA: B

TEAMWORK: C+

TALENTS: poppy has an incredible work ethic and sense of loyalty. she knows she's lucky to be where she is in life but she's going to show up the same as anyone else on set and give her best every time. she knows her self worth and she does not compromise on it one single bit.

SHORTCOMINGS: that can come off as.....abrasive.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english and dutch

DRIVE?: yes

JUMP-STAR A CAR?: she was definitely taught by her father but it did not stick.

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: see above.

RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes

SWIM?: yes

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: no

PLAY CHESS?: no

BRAID HAIR?: yes

TIE A TIE?: yes

PICK A LOCK?: no.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: abigail cowen

EYE COLOR: blue

HAIR COLOR: red; boosted from strawberry blonde to red-red.

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: long and swishy. it's a signature at this point. that pantene hair deal did not just materialize on it's own.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: both - a bitch is Nearsighted.

DOMINANT HAND: right

HEIGHT: 5'7

BUILD: willowy and toned, great ass.

EXERCISE HABITS: daily - she looks at it as part of her job description and between her father's biceps and her mother's devotion to yoga, she wasn't really raised with much of a choice but to use the gym.

SKIN TONE: fair, little freckled. a lot freckled if the sun has gotten to her.

TATTOOS: none

PEIRCINGS: ears

MARKS/SCARS: none

NOTABLE FEATURES: the Hair, upturned nose

USUAL EXPRESSION: attentive

CLOTHING STYLE: carefully curated. god i miss polyvore this would be so much easier. hold for pinterest board.

JEWELRY: whatever suits/is loaned for the occasion. she has a lot of small pieces that she owns for daily wear and a few really nice bits that she got from her parents as gifts.

ALLERGIES: dander, almonds.

DIET: nothing super weird/out of the ordinary, definitely erring on the trendy and consciously healthy end of things.

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: nah.

PSYCHOLOGY

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: type eight

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic neutral

TEMPERAMENT: choleric

ELEMENT: water

SOCIABILITY: A - poppy is incredibly charming and social.

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: ehhhh i'll give her a B-. like she's not bad but when her temper gets triggered, hell will reign.

OBSESSION(S): nah

COMPULSION(S): nah

PHOBIA(S): failure

ADDICTION(S): nah

DRUG USE: she does smoke, she does know, she doesn't care.

ALCOHOL USE: social drinker.

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: no (yet i think a certain someone might get something thrown at him)

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: even and cultivated. she has a pretty feminine voice and has done a little voiceover work.

ACCENT: nope.

QUIRKS: she squints a lot, even if she does have her glasses on or contacts in. this bitch is Blind.

HOBBIES: she does read a lot and she does enjoy trying new things. nothing crafty but she's pretty down for new activities.

HABITS: daily workout, twice weekly call with her Team, grooming, work. she likes to stay busy and likes to stay organized - her planner is sacred.

NERVOUS TICKS: don't fucking touch her planner.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: personal success. she was well known before she jumped into acting and modeling on her own by virtue of her parents but she absolutely wants to be her own person. she doesn't use her father's SAG name (legally, they're all allens rather than hawthorne but SAG), she doesn't do any mommy and me/daddy and me projects and she steers any interviews away from heavy talk about her family.

FEARS: personal failure. she knows she'll be okay no matter what - she's got the cushion of wealth and privilege - but she does not want to ever fail on her own merits.

POSITIVE TRAITS: loyal, generous, hard working, passionate, driven, fearless.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: bossy, stubborn, abrasive, no sense of limitations, single minded.

SENSE OF HUMOR: good! kind of dorky, prone to dragging the shit out of people.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: ehhhhh what is often

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: sex working, being alone. she spends so much time surrounded by people that being alone to relax is a luxury.

ANIMAL: she thinks dogs are awesome but she can't be around them without a shitload of benadryl so like, bears?

BEVERAGE: the iced coffee IS surgically attached to her hand, thanks!

BOOK:

CELEBRITY: her parents, corny as that is. least favorite is her brother, who's big on tiktok and habitually trying to use her pool for shenanigans.

COLOR: red

DESIGNER: she's a valentino bitch.

FOOD: a really, really good steak.

FLOWER: gardenias

GEM: pearls

HOLIDAY: christmas

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: flying

MOVIE: father of the bride

MUSICAL ARTIST: kacey musgraves

SCENERY: the ocean. she's a coastal california girl and she does not like to be far from the water.

SCENT: ocean, gardenias, coffee.

SPORT: baseball

SPORTS TEAM: dodgers

TELEVISION SHOW: nothing specific but she will watch food network competition shows for hours.

WEATHER: bright and sunny

VACATION DESTINATION: exotic and warm.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: having her career measured on its own merits; oscar. she doesn't not want a family and such outside of that but her career is her focus. she's in a good place and she doesn't want to put anything on pause.

GREATEST FEAR: poppy is alarmingly fearless. the only thing she truly fears is failing herself. nothing else really matters.

MOST AT EASE WHEN: with her family on the ranch in montecito to hang out and relax. she likes being around her sister - marieke is a classics student and has been bouncing about europe for the past seven years and they don't get to see each other very often. marieke is calm and completely removed from hollywood and she's basically the human equivelent of going to a spa.

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: not....no. poppy may be slightly uncomfortable but she is never going to let that show or acknowledge it.

WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: a scandal she can't recover from.

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: her career, the first time she wasn't mentioned in conjuction with her parents in a magazine article in the first paragraph.

BIGGEST REGRET: nope.

MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: she's sure there have been but they're all pretty buried.

BIGGEST SECRET: keiran, 100%.

TOP PRIORITIES: her career. it's a thing she can control.

#c: poppy allen

1 note · View note

kittae · 5 years

Text

The Talk

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x reader

Side characters: Min Yoongi

Summary: A drabble series where Taehyung is a successful artistic erotica actor but has to expand his areas of expertise in the rapidly evolving world of adult film. Lost and inexperienced in everything that doesn’t involve classy settings, flattering lighting and romantic scripts, he basically has to start from scratch to make it in the online porn community. As a highly demanded A-lister in that community, you take him under your wings (or better yet, between your legs).

Genre: Smut, fluff, a bit of comedy here and there. Maybe some angst, who knows.

words: 1806

A/N: This part is somewhat dialogue heavy! Also my first attempt at a drabble series, if this is a success i might do this more in the future!

« previous — next »

“Wait, one more time. You want me to what?”

Yoongi looks like he’s on the verge of a breakdown, what with the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose so hard his nails leave indents.

“Don’t make me repeat myself three times, Taehyung, you heard me.”

“I’m sorry but hearing and understanding are two entirely different things.”

“It is to you, yes.”

“So let me get this straight,” he murmurs slowly, a pensive look on his face as he paces back and forth through his manager’s living room, “You want me to find a new specialty…”

“Mhmm.” Yoongi nods, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he deeply hopes with all his heart that his client’s thought-process would finally go in the direction of his own.

“...Which is BDSM. You want me to go from what I do now, to BDSM...”

Yoongi wants to cry. Or scream. Or quit. All of the above.

“For the last time, it’s not BDSM. It’s just a little degradation for God’s sake!” He grates through gritted teeth, “Why are you blowing this out of proportion?!”

“I’m not!” The younger man pouts, crossing his arms in front of his chest like a wronged child. “It’s filthy! I’m not doing that shit, I don’t want to!”

‘It doesn’t matter what you want, you little shit! You’re supposed to be a professional!’... Is what Yoongi would really, really like to say right now, but he doesn’t. He knows Taehyung, and this approach would only cement his stubbornness.

“Listen...TaeTae,” He starts after taking a deep breath, his voice soft and smooth in an effort to suppress the growing frustration churning in his chest, “You’re an extremely talented actor and you have so much going for you. All I’m saying is that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to expand your areas of expertise, right? Artistic erotica is great, I’m not saying that it’s not but the numbers are clearly stating that it’s not the most popular– are you even listening to me?!”

“Is this whiskey or perfume?” Taehyung muses as he picks up a fancy bottle from Yoongi’s shelf and opens the stopple to sniff it. He pulls a face. “It’s whiskey.”

Yoongi groans and drags a hand across his face in pure desperation. “Did you not get anything of what I was just trying to tell you?”

“Vas-t-en.” Taehyung says blankly, unimpressed with the kind of face his manager sports.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s French for ‘go away’.” He helpfully states.

“I do not get paid enough for this shit,” Yoongi hisses vehemently, poking a finger in his actor’s well-defined pecs to define every word, “I’m 72 different flavors of done with you.”

Taehyung just starts laughing at his manager’s highly critical stress levels and almost tackles him in a strong back hug, playfully shaking the older, but smaller man, “Aw, c’mon, hyung! Just relax, we’ll be fine! Loosen up a little– Hey, you wanna go to that new karaoke place?! I heard you can customize your hamburgers there!”

“Wow, incredible,” Yoongi stares out in front of him, looking dead inside as he hangs limp in Tae’s arms in acceptance of being his ragdoll, “We could both lose our jobs tomorrow but it’s fine because we can customize our hamburgers at Star Song Karaoke.”

Taehyung finally puts his friend out of his misery by releasing him and putting him back down. “Don’t be overdramatic, why wouldn’t we have jobs tomorrow? Women love artistic porn! It’s pretty, there’s hot guys, the lighting is nice and flattering for both and it focuses on the woman’s pleasure instead of the guy’s. There’s enough of that tasteless shit out there already, why do I have to do it?”

Yoongi’s started massaging his temples to reduce the tension before his head will literally burst.

“Because it’s boring, Taehyung. Women don’t like that purely soft stuff anymore. They like to experiment and broaden their sexual interests and kinks. There’s been a huge increase of clicks on degradation videos by female users on online platforms and I suppose they watch it because they like it. So all I’m asking of you is to try and take this opportunity and go with the flow because this is a fickle business.”

There’s a pause where Taehyung looks like he finally gets the gravity of the situation and is about to say something that would take the weight off of Yoongi’s shoulders, but he knows better than to get his hopes up.

”With all due respect, I’m going to ignore everything you just sai–”

“Say cum dumpster.” Yoongi interrupts.

The younger staggers. “What?”

“Cum dumpster. Say it.”

“No! Why?!”

“You’re hopeless.” Yoongi concludes and thereby also that they’re fucked in the most ironic way of saying so. “Not every woman enjoys your kind of flower power glitter sunshine porn, Taehyung.”

“The women i shoot with enjoy it very much, though.” A cocky grin spreads across Taehyung’s handsome face and Yoongi decides to try one last time.

“What about the women who like to be called sluts and whores in bed but have to resort to bad porn with unattractive and talentless actors to get their share of sexual stimulation? Do you know the value your face holds? The mainstream porn needs that face, Taehyung. There are women out there that need to hear they’re a dirty slut in that deep ass voice of yours. Are you going to deny them that?”

“Woah, hyung! That’s impressive. Did you write this speech in advance?”

“Fine. Whatever, I give up. Do what you want, I don’t care.” Yoongi is so annoyed he starts talking in pout, pursed lips making him sound like an angry toddler. Exhausted to the core, he flops down on the couch with a deep sigh, his arms crossed in front of him as he resorts to brooding in silence.

Taehyung’s smug grin instantly transforms into a rectangular one upon hearing his manager speak like that. He’s entirely incapable of taking him seriously when he’s being like this.

Yoongi feels the weight of Taehyung letting himself fall into the cushions next to him, but chooses to ignore it. He’s still mad he won’t even give it a chance, much less hear him out for real.

Something nudges his arm.

“No.” Is his resolute response.

“Come oooon… You know you want to.” Taehyung sings as his long fingers tickle Yoongi’s.

“I said no.”

But Taehyung’s persistent. “The best way to settle an argument is…?”

“I’m not doing it, go away. Vallan or whatever the fuck it was you said earlier in French.”

“It’s vas-t-en, and I’m not leaving before you hold my hand.”

“You’re an annoying little shit, you know that?” Yoongi grumbles.

“And you’re a grumpy old man, now hold my hand grandpa.”

Yoongi manages to resist for thirty more seconds before he caves and lets Taehyung peel his hand from underneath the folding of his arms. It feels nice; Taehyung’s hands are always big and warm. He instantly feels his blood pressure drop.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Taehyung beams as he intertwines their fingers tightly, making Yoongi grumble something unintelligible that either sounds like ‘I guess so.’ or ‘Get lost.’ Whichever it may be, he doesn’t make an effort to release himself from Taehyung’s grip, so it’s a win.

“You’re exhausting.” Yoongi mutters but subtly tightens his hold around Tae’s hand. It’s just a thing they do, he doesn’t remember when or why. It just helps to diffuse the tension, somehow. Makes them understand each other better.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Taehyung chuckles, “I should hear you out.”

“You can’t even take me seriously for one minute.”

“I’ll try to now.”

Yoongi hesitates, still irritated about how the younger treated him. He knows this might be his only chance to convince him, however. “Promise me you’ll listen to me. I’ll seriously quit if you don’t.”

“I promise,” Taehyung smiles, giving Yoongi’s hand a little reassuring squeeze.

He sighs, “Alright. Like I said those previous twenty times; artistic erotica is great, it’s beautiful, you’re the best in that category and that’s all dandy. But you have to realize that we’re dealing with a niche category here, not to mention that the production costs are expensive as fuck, which is why we can’t afford to put this on the free online market.”

Yoongi dares to take a peek at his actor’s face, which is often telling of what’s going on in his mind. His full brows are slightly furrowed, lips stretched in a serious line, eyes focused on him; his business face. Good.

“You’re not acting right now, right?” The manager asks for good measure.

“No, not right now.”

“Okay. Are you following?”

“Artistic porn is niche, production costs are expensive, no free online platforms possible. Got it.” Tae shoots him finger guns.

Yoongi’s brows shoot up slightly, coloring himself impressed. He usually can’t hold the guy’s attention for more than twenty seconds. “Uh, great. So what I’m saying is, it wouldn’t hurt to try out some new things we can experiment with to put your name on the mainstream porn market as well. Your networth right now is laughable and our only income comes from the sale of your films and nobody buys hard copies anymore these days.”

“That’s barely enough to cover the production costs anymore. We have to increase your online presence and we have to do it fast before some rookie with a good face and a 7 inch dick takes your place.”

“Mine is 7,5 inches.” Taehyung remarks as if that makes all the difference in the world.

“I- I know, Tae, and that’s uh, very good,” Yoongi awkwardly slips his hand out of Taehyung’s, “You’re a professional with experience, talent and a face and body most people would commit murder for but nobody knows you. Aside from, like, art students and middle-aged women who are still willing to pay fifty bucks for an erotic movie.”

Taehyung nods slowly and it looks like he finally understands the words that come out of Yoongi’s mouth. He looks uneasy, distressed even. “So...When those people stop buying my films...”

“We’re bankrupt.” Yoongi shrugs, a tight-lipped smile on his face as he watches realisation dawn on Tae’s.

A good few seconds of silence ensue before Taehyung speaks again. “And we’re going to be okay if I...If I do de-degradation?”

Yoongi almost starts to feel sorry for him. “Listen, I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I know you feel safe and confident doing what you do now and that degradation is something else entirely. More like the opposite,” He chuckles sheepishly, “It’ll be completely out of your comfort zone, but we can start with something easier first.”

“something easier?” Taehyung’s interest is piqued.

“I’ve scheduled a shoot for tomorrow,” Yoongi grins mischievously, “I want you to meet someone.”

Heliotrope masterlist

#taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #min yoongi #bts fanfic #btswriters #bts scenarios #bts #taehyung scenarios #bts drabble #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung drabble #kim taehyung fanfic #bts fanfiction

601 notes · View notes