#if he ever starts including green more in his black and white wardrobe it would be the cause of my untimely death

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

when you are a whore but your father turns out to be a bigger whore than you

#he rarely wears green but when he does it's for ME #if he ever starts including green more in his black and white wardrobe it would be the cause of my untimely death #jawan #srk #bollywood #shah rukh khan #shahrukh khan

[jotunn-loki]

may i feel?

FANDOM: mcu/marvel PAIRING: loki/reader RATING: explicit, NS// FW!! WC: 5,900 WARNINGS/K¡NKS: fem!reader, virginity k!nk, oral, food, social anxiety, voice k!nk, soft!loki, light angst, fluff, servant/prince

SUMMARY: You are a servant of the royal family of Asgard. After an embarrassing incident at one of Thor's revels, Prince Loki finds a way to make it up to you.

A/N: This was originally posted on ao3 a couple months ago under my username MavenMorozova (not linking it because tumblr will mess it up--), but support it there if you’d like:)

You were spread out on the large, plush bed, dark green sheets billowing with the slight breeze around you. Well, really, it was less of a bed and more of an outdoor sofa, or maybe something in-between the two, with a dark wood canopy from which hung slightly sheer curtains the same color as the sheets you lay upon. There were pillows, too, blue and black and gold, that contrasted the green quite nicely. It was a pleasant design, and that made it all the more relaxing.

Loki had always had an eye for design and the aesthetics of a space. You could tell, as you were sure everyone could, the way that he dressed was impeccable, and his wardrobe stuck to a theme that looked rather good on him. Green. It was clear too that his chambers in the Asgardian royal palace were decorated in a similar fashion. It suited him, really.

Losing your focus on the moment in the thoughts swirling in your head about design and coloring and everything else, you let your neck muscles relax and sank your head into the pillow under it. Loki would be here soon, you reminded yourself, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. You knew what would occur when he arrived, for he had whispered the idea into your ear during the revelries today.

As usual, Thor had basked in his glory, shouting and pounding on the table and shaking his fists in the air as he roared. Loki had been his typical self as well, smiling at his brother from the corner of the room as he happily drank from his goblet. And you’d been there, too, a mere serving-girl, indulgently filling all their chalices as the warriors ceremoniously tossed them on the floor with a shout. It was one of the few moments that you felt relaxed, even though you were technically just doing your job, and that was because you were amidst all the joy and excitement of the best and brightest of all of Asgard. They were the sun, and you were the moon that clung to its stubborn orbit.

Out of nowhere, Loki had locked eyes with you. His gaze had been surprisingly intense, tracking you as you moved quickly over to him with your refilling bottle. But when you had lifted it, a question in your gaze, he had simply smirked and shaken his head. “You don’t wish for more wine, Your Highness?” you had asked.

Loki shook his head again. “I just wanted to get a good look at you,” he admitted, voice soft. “You are beautiful, as you must know.”

At his words, you blushed and looked down, lowering the bottle of dark wine slightly. “Your compliment is most appreciated, Your Highness, but—”

Loki shushed you, placing a finger to his lips, still smiling. You wondered if he was slightly tipsy, but then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was, rather more so if he was not. “Please accept my gift to you, my dear.”

Your brows furrowed. “Gift, Your Highness?”

“My compliment,” he replied with a snicker. His eyes roved up and down your body once ever so slowly, and you couldn’t help flushing again. The back of your collar was suddenly quite hot, and you adjusted your neck slightly to give it air.

Then, suddenly, he was closer, and somehow it was now you with your back pressed against the wall instead of him, gasping as he took your hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Your hands are rather smooth for a servant, young one,” Loki whispered.

A chill skittered across your shoulders and you swallowed tightly. “I-I’m new, Your Highness.” You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of apprehension as you said it. The feeling he was eliciting from you now was pleasing, to say the least, and you certainly desired more, but you couldn’t risk losing your position within the royal palace. You were nothing but a servant, and he was a prince, a god. No consequences would be inflicted upon him, and you were sure that you would receive the brunt of it. So taking in a short breath, you scooted away from him along the wall, wine bottle still in your hand. “I apologize, but I cannot, my prince.”

Loki’s lips thinned, but he said nothing else. As you walked away, you were sure that would be the last of him, but you hadn’t even made it two steps before a familiar voice called, “Wait!” and a long-fingered hand closed itself around your wrist, jerking you back around to face him. You stumbled and tripped and suddenly, with a great lurch of dismay, the wine bottle in your free hand tipped and fell, spilling over your uniform and splashing on Loki’s armor.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, mouth slightly agape. This was...not the way you had planned for the night to go. You were meant to secondhandedly enjoy the revelries, then retreat to your own quarters and catch up on some much-needed sleep, for the Asgardian warriors had been feasting and partying for days now, and you had been there each night, dutiful as always.

It was not meant to be like this. Not like the slick embarrassment that felt like cold oil being poured over your face and down your skin. Not your uniform ruined and all of Asgard’s greatest warriors, including the crown prince himself, the mighty Thor, staring at you, right at you. You gulped, feeling the familiar feeling of anxiety creeping through your chest. You couldn’t breathe, much less think. All you could see were the faces of gods and warriors before you, so polished and powerful and— You were, you were…

“Carry on,” called a low voice beside you, and with a start, you looked over to see that Loki had addressed his peers with a raised eyebrow. You saw him exchange a glance with Thor, and with a nod, the God of Thunder broke into a large smile, banging his goblet on the table. “So who wants to hear how I defeated the rogue Jötunn on Vanaheim?”

Around him, his mates cheered, and you felt yourself audibly sigh with relief when their attentions turned away from you. But there was still one person leftover.

“I’m…so sorry,” Loki said from beside you. He did look truly regretful; his forehead was knit together in a series of frustrated lines, he was still, and for once, unsmiling, and you could see that his teeth gently bit his upper lip. But you didn’t know how to respond, so you simply leaned down to pick up the wine bottle that had fallen, averting your gaze from his.

“I can make it up to you, perhaps?” Loki said slyly, his voice nearly a question, and you shot up again, knuckles turning white around the bottle’s neck. The implications of his words lingered in your brain, but hadn’t that same weakness been what had gotten you into this situation in the first place? “Prince Loki, I cannot, as you know,” you said to him softly, not wanting to anger him. “I cannot lose my position. It is...unprofessional of me to indulge you in this way.”

Loki’s lips thinned, though there was a hint of amusement still dancing within his blue eyes. “What if I could persuade you otherwise?”

You swallowed. He was very close to you now, hand drifting from your wrist around to the small of your back. The sensation of his hands was intoxicating, and you couldn’t deny that you’d had fantasies about lying with the God of Mischief before. It was just...could you, in all actuality, fulfill it?

Loki sighed when he saw your persistent hesitation. “My dear, what is your name?”

You told him quietly, embarrassed that he even wanted to know, that he even cared.

He repeated it softly to himself, letting the delightful syllables roll around his silver tongue. “You will not get into trouble, I promise,” he then said, pulling you closer. The back of your neck was hot again, and you could feel the touch of his hand acutely where it lay, fingers pressing into your skin.

Slowly, you looked up at him, meeting his eyes again. You had never been so close to one of the designated “gods” of Asgard before, and you couldn’t help but worry that you were going to stumble again and mess it all up. “Alright,” you finally said, so quietly that you could barely hear yourself speak.

“What’s that?” Loki asked, a teasing smirk on his mouth.

“I will allow you to, um—”

Loki leaned into you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Fuck you? Ravish you until you beg for me to come inside of you?” he whispered in a low, needy voice. At the sound of it, you released the tiniest of moans, and Loki chuckled into your ear. “You want this more than you are letting on, don’t you?” he asked wickedly, and you nodded despite your so-called honorable intentions.

Loki pulled away, his face blank like the exchange between the two of you had not just happened. “My chambers need cleaning, servant,” he said authoritatively, chin rising in the air as he eyed you from an angle, gauging your reaction. You narrowed your eyes at him, but you could feel a smile creeping onto your lips. “Of course, Your Highness.”

You turned to go, but Loki nearly spun you into his arms again as he grabbed you, whispering one last thing into your ear before you could go. “There will be a private maid there to assist you,” he said, and though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant, you nodded.

“Go,” he ordered, and you did, still clutching the empty wine bottle, with its contents all over your uniform’s dress. Loki would join you in his chambers, then, after he had excused himself from the party and shaken off the loud braggings of his brother.

So you had wandered your way to the most coveted part of the castle, the place where all the servants whispered of. The royal chambers of the Allfather, Queen Frigga, and the two heartstopping princes, Thor and Loki. The Gods of Thunder and Mischief. It was all quite daunting, especially since you’d heard anecdotes from a few of your peers, bragging of their sexual encounters with one of the princes or the other. Thor took more lovers than Loki ever did, or so it was said, but the ones who came back from Loki’s chambers always seemed to have a different type of aura surrounding them than those from Thor’s chambers. It was said that Thor was demanding and rough, but that Loki was passionate and gentle, even sometimes imperious, but in a different sort of way than Thor was. You had always laughed at that, wondering how a person could be all three, and in such different varieties. But then again, you were a virgin, and who were you to assume how sex worked?

So really, you were ready for anything as you made your way to Loki’s chambers.

When you reached the great double doors of polished oak that led the way into his drawing-room, you paused and knocked, quietly first, and then louder when your first knock brought no results. Almost immediately, a woman opened the doors, her petite figure dressed in Loki’s signature shade of green, and her eyes crinkled with age. “Welcome, my dear. Prince Loki did mention you would arrive.”

Your mouth fell open slightly. “What—he—?”

She held up her wrist, where a golden communication device caught the light of the candles that lit the room. Candles. They weren’t necessary; they hadn’t been needed for thousands of years. But they were something else— romantic. Loki was doing this for you.

“Do you need help with those clothes?” the servant asked, breaking you from your thoughts, and you nodded thankfully, setting down the wine bottle that you still were holding on the foot table that sat between two opposite-facing sofas.

“What is your name, my lady?” you asked her as she helped you removed your red-soaked uniform and place it into a laundry basket. She hummed for a moment, but then you saw her smile. “Estrid,” she said quietly, as if her name was a spell instead of just something to call her. You could sense that there was something about her that was more than she seemed, but it wasn’t really your place to pry.

“Well, thank you, Estrid,” you said to her, and you meant it with all the sincerity in your heart. You had been so mortified earlier, and feeling this older woman’s hands on your shoulders and around you like the embrace of a kindly mother was ever so comforting. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course, darling,” she said in reply with a twinkle in her eye, and as you stood naked before her, you suddenly remembered the purpose of your visit. Yet again, you felt that familiar heat flush your face and neck. “I, um—do you have—”

“Something to wear?” Estrid finished with a smile curling her lips. She left the room and emerged again with a long, silky green robe and simple black undergarments. You felt your face flush at the intimacy of the way they looked, even more so when you realized the intricacy of the designs on the bralette and underwear. There was lightly perceptible golden embroidery on the hems and on the lace that spanned the back of them. It was sexy, unlike anything you were used to. You had never owned anything this luxurious.

Estrid seemed unphased, though that only served to elevate your apprehension. So you addressed her. “Does the prince...often do this? Provide this luxury to low-level servants and promise them mind-numbing sex?” You were a little afraid to hear the answer.

Estrid paused from where she was unfolding the green robe, thinking for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shrugged and motioned for you to turn around so she could lace your arms through the robe’s sleeves. “Yes and no,” Estrid said evasively as she did so. “Loki takes lovers, yes, though not often. He is good at it, too.” She sighed. “I hope this doesn’t upset you, darling. I mean...this is something everyone knows.”

“I know,” you said a little too quickly. “I have friends who have slept with him. I’ve heard the stories.” It was said that though Loki was passive in Asgardian politics and deferred to his brother in general, the same could not be said for his actions in bed.

“Then you must also know that it is essential for him to sleep with someone at least once a moon,” Estrid said tentatively.

You stared at her. “What?” you asked. It wasn’t that it was a lot, quite the contrary, in fact, but just the fact that it was a “necessity” at all.

“He is the God of Mischief, love,” Estrid replied with a smirk. You could suddenly see now why Loki had chosen her to be his personal servant. She was just as charming as he was, if in a slightly different way. You didn’t feel the same enigmatic pull to her that you felt to Loki, but she was clever, and she was smart. You admired that about her already. “You do see where I’m heading, do you not?”

You nodded slowly. Mischief. Sex. It made sense that he’d need the latter to enhance his title and position. “I understand it,” you said to her after a moment. “I suppose it was just nice to feel special for a moment, before realizing that this is as common as it is.” You swallowed, biting back what you wanted to add on, that you had wanted your first time to be with someone who loved you, not just needed someone to fuck.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t be sure it is quite as you’re thinking, darling,” Estrid said with a smile, noticing your discomfort. “Loki has taken lovers, yes, but rarely has he provided any with...all of this.” She gestured at the lingerie you were now wearing and swept her arm around. You noticed that suddenly, a lavish amount of food had appeared, mostly desserts, and lots of chocolate, which was your favorite. How had he known? Well—it was a common trait, really, but still, you had no idea how all of this food could appear at once. It simply wasn’t possible.

“An illusion, dear,” Estrid explained, stepping up beside you and taking a chocolate-covered strawberry in her fingers. She popped it into her mouth and sighed with delight. “You will love these.”

“Thank you,” you said again, overwhelmed, but this time in a good sort of way.

Estrid wrapped her arms around you and gave you a quick squeeze. “You can talk to me anytime at all, do you understand?” she said sternly, and you were reminded again of how many years she was your senior. You laughed and nodded, and only when you wandered out onto the terrace did she finally slip from Loki’s chambers, disappearing into the hallway.

So that is where you were now, lying on the soft silky dark green sheets of the outdoor sofa-bed, enjoying the cool breeze that rushed over your mostly bare skin. No, this had not been the night you had planned at all. But you were sure that it would be a delightful one nonetheless.

***

Loki arrived not soon after you had laid down, creaking his chamber doors open quietly and striding through the length of the drawing-room out to the terrace, which is where he was sure you would be. When he saw you stretched out on the chaise for him, legs spread just a little apart, and barely wearing anything as you stared up at the night sky, he felt himself become aroused. You were so beautiful, all laid out for him like the illusionary feast he had prepared for you in his chambers. He wanted to take you and yet savor you at the same time.

From where you lay, you saw Loki approach you, saw the hunger in his gaze. He was just as needy as Estrid had warned, so you knew that you would need to speak to him before things slipped out of hand.

“Your Highness?” you asked tentatively as he crawled over you on the chaise, playing with the soft bits of your hair. “I must tell you—”

“Loki,” he interrupted, and for a moment you were confused, but then he was kissing you on your forehead, and then, his meaning was perfectly clear. “I want you to call me Loki,” he said, nearly growling. “Please.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “But it is important that you know...I’ve never—this is—” You broke off, unsure of how to confess to him, but Loki seemed to understand immediately. “This is your first time,” he said, his words in a firm statement like he already knew. You nodded warily, but Loki’s grin only widened. “I will make this worth it for you, darling,” he murmured into your ear, before nipping it slightly. You let out an unseemly moan at the little bit of contact he had just made, and Loki laughed as you did. “Yet again, you surprise me, little one,” he said, “just as you did at the revel.”

Your eyelashes fluttered and you looked up at him, mouth parted slightly. Was this really happening. Were you really about to be fucked by the prince, the God of Mischief? Loki Odinson?

“I sense doubt within you, young one,” Loki said, frowning.

“This is new to me,” you admitted, and with a breath, told him of the same worry that you had expressed to Estrid what seemed like just a moment ago. “Are you going to just leave me, discarded?” you finally asked him.

Loki seemed rather offended at the suggestion, his already-thin cheeks thinning further as he sucked in a breath and lay down at your side. He was silent for a long moment, and for just a second, you wondered if he was actually asleep. But when you turned to look at him, you could see that his eyes were staring up to the numerous stars and he almost looked scared. Hesitantly, you asked, “What is it?”

Loki turned his head to look at you, and when the breeze blew across his face, a few strands of his long black locks fell into across his cheeks, such a stark contrast to his pale skin. He was beautiful, and it took your breath away. “I want to keep all of you,” he said softly, and the breeze almost snatched it away from you, but you grasped onto the words nevertheless, desperate to hear them. You needed to know. You needed him to want you fully.

“All of me?” you asked.

“Every single one of you,” Loki whispered, and you could have sworn that his voice broke. “I never have wanted to use any of you in the way I have. But I cannot do that.” When he saw the beginnings of protest bubbling in your eyes, he shushed you, placing a finger to your lips. Where his skin touched them, a tingling feeling remained, craving more of him. “It’s hard to explain, darling.”

Reluctantly, you nodded.

“I want you to know that this will not mean nothing to me,” Loki continued in a whisper, bringing a hand to caress your cheek. It was surprisingly cool, and in the warmth of the night, you felt yourself leaning into it gently. “And I want to apologize for what happened earlier.”

Your cheeks warmed again in the memory of the wine incident at Thor’s feast and revel. You didn’t want to think about it. “Then do what you promised,” you told him, surprising yourself with your assertiveness. Loki, fortunately, did not seem to mind, instead smirking and shifting himself so that he was on top of you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear as he had done before. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Ravenous,” you replied, voice almost a moan. You remembered the chocolate-covered strawberry that Estrid had shown you, and felt a sudden craving for it now.

Loki smiled as he remembered his little trick, and climbed off of you to summon his illusionary food. It came to you all at once, hovering in the air around you so that you could choose.

It was lovely, then. Loki fed you each strawberry one by one, and you moaned as each tiny fruit disappeared into your mouth. Estrid had been right; they were divine indeed.

“You have such a pretty mouth,” Loki murmured as you ate the final strawberry. He leaned forward and brushed the pad of his thumb over your lip, gathering a stray chocolate stain and sucking it off his finger...slowly, seductively. You swallowed. You wanted those fingers in your mouth, or even better, in your pussy.

“Not so fast, my dear,” Loki said then, as if he had sensed your thoughts. You flushed, and as he licked the last bit of chocolate from his finger, he pressed his lips to yours. Sighing against him, you allowed your mouth to open for his tongue, and with a small bit of amusement, you realized that you could still taste the chocolate in his mouth.

“You taste heavenly,” Loki mumbled into your mouth, and that made you groan, hands fisting in his long hair. You had never truly kissed someone this way before, and it was even better than you had imagined.

“Are you ready to move to the bed?” Loki asked after a moment, his voice gentle. Slowly, you nodded.

“Inside or outside?” he asked.

You thought for a moment. “Outside, right here on this chaise,” you told him, gesturing to the bed-like sofa that you had been lying on. “Please.”

Loki’s lips turned upward and he scooped you into his arms, carrying you over to the chaise in a few steps and laying you down with the utmost gentleness. He then stood over you, eyes lingering on all your generous parts: the swell of each of your lovely breasts and the soft, pillowy plane that was your stomach. Even the way that the curve of your ass was on full display, as you lay slightly on your side. Seeing his eyes lingering there, you stuck out your ass even further, lip jutting into a pout.

At that, Loki’s eyes filled black with lust, and he had to try hard not to fuck you right there, the little virginous whore that you were for him. Taking a deep breath, he latched a finger around the hem of your black lacy panties and ran the tip of it along the inside. You moaned at his proximity, and Loki felt his cock twitch in recognition of the sound. “Like that, young one?” he asked, voice low.

Quickly, you nodded. You did need him, just as he needed you.

Smirking mischievously, Loki shucked off his layers of gold-and-green armor, leaving it in a pile at his feet. Now he was only in a dark sweater-like material and tight leggings that left nothing to the imagination. You could see the tent his cock had formed in his pants, and you sucked in a breath at the sight of it. This was real. This was actually real.

“Lay back, sweetheart,” Loki whispered as he kissed your forehead again. “Relax, now.” His lips slowly moved to yours, and you moaned into the passionate kiss he gave you. It was a hungry kiss, a kiss that begged for more, and you wanted it all. His hands swept along your back, and even through the green robe you wore, you could feel the coolness there. It was almost unnatural, that chill, but you didn’t mind; it only made the God of Mischief all the more enticing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Loki edged the strap of lace that held up your bralette off of your shoulder, and you let him kiss your clavicle there. His lips were soft on your skin, and you shivered. “Loki…”

“Yes, darling?”

You really didn’t know what to say. You just wanted...more. Faster. There was a fire building in the pit of your belly and you wanted to toss it a log, but Loki was insistent on layering the kindling. When you didn’t respond, he smiled at you, eyes narrowed with knowing, and whispered your name softly. “Patience, patience…”

You nodded reluctantly, and your eyes fluttered shut as his lips slowly moved across your collarbones and his hands pulled the green robe from your shoulders and arms. All of it was so light; you had not expected this at all. Loki was a prince and a god, and you had expected someone like him to be more...out of control? No, that was not it. But certainly not as gentle as he was currently holding you.

A minute later, your bralette was removed from your chest, and your breasts shone on full display for him in the moonlight. “ Beautiful,” Loki whispered, and you blushed. Loki raised an eyebrow. “You will have to get used to that particular word, my dear.”

Then his lips were back on your body, more insistent this time as he sucked at the skin around each of your breasts. You moaned as his tongue slowly encircled your areola and flicked at your nipple. As he did so, he gave your other breast a squeeze and you yelped.

“Too much?” Loki asked, but you shook your head fervently. “Keep going,” you whispered, pushing your body to him. “Please, Loki.”

“As you wish, darling,” he murmured in reply, returning to his task. You could feel yourself trembling with want, with need, as he stimulated your hardened nipples. And then— oh.

His hand had moved to that sensitive spot between your legs, and through the thin fabric of your panties, you could feel acutely every movement that he made. “Loki,” you moaned, causing him to grin amidst the ministrations of his delightful tongue. He pulled away from your breast and stared up at you, at the building ecstasy in your eyes. “You are already so wet, little one.” Smirking, he held up his hand. Sure enough, it was coated with the juices of your pussy, and that only made you moan further. “Loki, please—”

Loki gave a few scolding clicks of his tongue, but otherwise seemed unphased, his hand reaching into your underwear and fingers pressing to your clit. You gasped as they began to work in little circles, bucking into his hand. “Loki!” you shouted, clutching at his shoulders for stability. It wasn’t that you were new to the feeling, for you had pleased yourself in this way on many occasions, but when someone else was doing it—the fucking God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard —it was a wholly different experience.

“So wet for me,” Loki mumbled into your tit, pulling at your hard nipple with his teeth. You whined at the heady feeling of it, for combined with the finger that was now slipping into your cunt, this was nearly Valhalla itself.

“Please,” you moaned, not even sure what you were crying out for. “Please, Loki, ahh—”

But he suddenly stopped, hanging you over the precipice of something, something lovely and powerful and why had he stopped?

“Loki!” you screamed, nails raking through his black hair, but he only snickered at your frustration. “The best is yet to come, my dear.”

Then his hand was skimming your ass, touching your skin through the thin lace. You ground yourself into it, but Loki only laughed further. He suddenly yanked the scrap of fabric from you in one quick movement, and for the first time, you began to see the hunger truly rise within him, deep and powerful and full of passion.

You were interrupted from your thoughts by a wave of feeling that washed over you in an instant: Loki had just dragged his tongue down your torso and had his mouth clamped over the tightly wound bud of your sex, kissing it furiously. Your eyes rolled back; you were caught in his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Furiously you scratched your hands into his shirt, pulling the fabric upwards. “Loki!” you cried, panting. “Oh, Loki, please—”

But he pulled away again, and you let out a whine. The smirk unfolding across Loki’s face was unbearable, made even more arousing by the fact that his mouth was coated in your wetness.

He slowly stood, eyes staying on yours the entire time. His cock was undeniably hard now, and from the wetness that could be seen soaking through his leggings, you could tell that he’d been stroking himself as he administered to your needs. Narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin at you, Loki pulled off his shirt, revealing a slightly-toned abdomen, and stepped out of his pants, his cock springing free, long, pulsing, and tinged with an odd sort of color. Blue? Your mouth watered at the sight of it, but Loki had other plans for you tonight.

“This is going to hurt,” he told you, petting your hair gently, “but I promise to be gentle.”

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded. “I’m ready,” you told him firmly.

With a twinkle in his eye, Loki delivered a quick kiss to your lips, and you could taste yourself on him, but it didn’t last long, for he was then pulling away again, lining his dick up to your cunt. Slowly he pushed into you, groaning, and you were struck by how much more painful it was than you had imagined. “Fuck,” you cursed, clutching Loki’s arms.

He kissed you gently, pulling at your lip just a little as he sunk in deeper, then pausing to allow you to adjust to the foreign feeling. “Shall I continue?”

“Please,” you said, your voice coming out as little more than a squeak, and Loki lowered himself further, stopping when he reached his base. He sighed as he lay on top of you, hand coming to your face to wipe away the few tears that had sprung to your eyes. “It’s alright, darling. You just let me know when you are ready to move forward.”

You nodded, sniffing, and Loki pressed his lips to your ear. You shivered; you were starting to love the way he did that. “You are so tight, young one,” he hissed, sending a spark of arousal down to your core. “So fucking tight for me. New and untouched and—” He broke off into a grunt as you clenched around his hard length, both a painful and delightful experience. You were a little more used to the feeling now, and the pressure was beginning to build within you again.

Seeing the sensation manifesting on your face, Loki grinned. “May I move?” he asked, ever so quietly, voice like a song.

You nodded, lips curling into a smile despite yourself.

Carefully, Loki began to shift his weight upwards again, hands pressing against yours into the chaise below your back. It was an odd sensation to feel him pulling out again, but when he pushed back inside of you, it was better than anything in the world. It still hurt, of course, but along with that was pleasure, too, especially as Loki let one of your hands go to finger at your clit.

You moaned, beginning to match his rhythm. “Not too fast,” you warned him as he sped up slightly, and Loki nodded, gaze never leaving yours. You could tell it was hard for him not to let himself go, and in an odd sort of way, you were proud of him for his discipline. But then again, he’d had much practice.

Closer and closer the both of you came, until you were begging and writhing below him, staring into his enticing blue-green eyes that shone like the sea. “Loki, oh, Loki —my prince!” you cried, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, I’m so close—help me—don’t stop—”

“Come,” he said simply, and you did, coming undone in the slow fucking of his cock and the vibrations of his fingers. White blanked out your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut, lost in the beauty of the moment.

Loki came a few seconds later, screaming your name as he spilled into you, hot liquid filling your cunt. You groaned at the feeling, and Loki fell on top of you, panting heavily.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, pressing a kiss to the hollowness below his cheekbone. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything,” he murmured in reply, capturing your lips in his again. “ You are divine, my dear. I—thank you,” he said, and though you had no idea what he meant, you sighed into him, humming as his hands caressed your face.

Next to him, you slowly fell asleep, for he was a cooling presence against the warm night, and the breeze sweeping across your bare skin seemed to come from Valhalla itself. Although you supposed that you were in Valhalla right now, and he was your loving god. Your God of Mischief.

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut, his lean arms wrapping around you tightly. “Sleep well, darling,” he whispered, and that night, right then, you did.

* * * * * *

A/N: This is one of those one shots that has the vibe of a multichapter...it almost was, lol. Anyways, reblogs/comments/reviews are always appreciated! LMK if you want me to make a taglist!!

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #loki smut #loki x female reader #loki #marvel reader insert #mcu reader insert #marvel #mcu #loki laufeyson smut #mine #fanfic by maven #loki odinson #loki friggason #ns/fw #one shot #loki one shot #loki x ofc #loki x oc #loki/reader #loki laufeyson/reader

[uwu-bxtch]

Peony Admist Roses

✩...part one...✩

✩...masterlist :: next...✩

✩...a/n...✩ ahhhh omg yall I'm so excited for this series. this is around 2k words which is the longest thing I've ever written omfg. I would like to thank @escapenightmare and @birds-have-teeth for helping me out with this story and listening to me ramble abt my ideas. I hope yall enjoy <3 also Ranchi is Lunch Rush

The golden rays of sun peeked through your curtains, causing you to stir out of your sleep. Slowly, you get up out of your bed, looking around your room to collect your thoughts. The room isn't much, but you should be grateful though; her highness was kind enough to give you a bedroom at all.

Getting up, you walk to your wardrobe. It isn't much, just some plain white and beige shirts and black bottoms. You quickly get dressed, put your shoes on, and walk out of your room and into the corridor. The ceiling has a skylight so you bask in the sunlight for a little while before rushing to the kitchen.

"Good morning, (Y/n)."

"Morning Ranchi*!"

He pats you on the head before handing you a tray with food. Before leaving you, not so sneakily, steal a piece of meat from the pan.

"I saw that!"

You waved him off before walking up the stairs, careful not to drop the food. At the top of the steps were two bedrooms, one for the queen and one for the prince. You go right, toward the prince's room, and knock on the door. No answer. You rolled your eyes, knowing that the prince is still asleep. You gently open the door and, unsurprisingly, you spot the young man sound asleep at his desk. His messy green mop is somehow even messier than when he's awake.

"Prince Izuku, I brought your breakfast. "

As if trying to tune you out, his snores grow louder. Placing the tray in front of him, you gently shake him awake. He groans before lifting his head, turning towards you. You can't help but feel flustered, after all, it's not every day you get to be this close to him. You're one of the lucky few to know what he looks like.

"Good...morning?"

"Yes, it's morning. Good morning to you too, my prince."

There were a couple of moments of silence. You were at his wardrobe, picking his outfit for today while he ate his breakfast.

"The allied kingdoms are coming today, are you excited to see your friends? "

"Uh, a little. I honestly prefer your company more."

Shocked at his confession, you stopped going through his shirts to look at him. He quickly went back to his food, a flustered look on his face.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did."

You give a small chuckle to lessen the awkwardness.

"I get it, the brute demons are...well, brutes."

You both giggled at the statement, then there was a knock. You stopped what you were doing and bowed your head as the door opened. In came the queen in all her elegance. She shut the door and walked past you, gently caressing the top of your head.

"At ease sweetheart."

"Thank you milady."

You had already finished with his clothing so you decided to tidy up his room, starting with making his bed.

"Hello dear."

"Hello, mother."

"I assume you heard about the meeting today."

"Hopefully I’ll be able to attend this time?"

Inko closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. She looked over to you with a gentle smile.

"I think his room is clean enough dear, why don't you go and see if any of the servants need help tidying up for our guests."

You nod before bowing and quickly scurrying away. Gently, you closed the door and sped down the stairs. You already knew what would happen, they’d argue until Izuku eventually stops pressing the issue. It’s sad to see the prince not be included in the duties that he’d soon take part in. He works hard to prove himself as a good future king and the one who is supposed to support him the most, keeps him from doing so.

Lost in thought, you run into something hard. Fearfully, you look up at the “thing” you bumped into.

“Woah there, little lady.”

Your face immediately brightened at the redheaded knight in training.

"Eijirou!”

You guys share a hug before three other knights appear.

“Guys! Long time no see.”

“You get prettier every year.”

“Stop flirting, Denki!”

You blush at the blonde before slightly bowing your head. The four knights in training groan.

“I know you guys hate it, but it’s just courtesy.”

“Whatever the royals aren’t around!”

You chuckle at the pink-haired knight’s comment before the realization hits you. Oh shit. The Brute’s knights are here, which means the Brutes are here early. You sprint away and back up the stairs.

“We’ll catch up later, I have to let the queen know you’re here.”

Onc you're make it to the door, you gently place your ear to it, making sure you wouldn't be interrupting anything. You knock on the prince’s door before entering.

“The Brutes are here early, my queen.”

Inko sighs before adjusting her dress while walking toward the door.

“Thank you, dear, and Izuku?”

Izuku looks at his mother with a solemn expression.

“We’ll talk later. Come with me to welcome the guests.”

Sighing, the prince nods and walks beside his mother, you following behind. The walk is silent until you make it to the front door. Izuku stops, you and Inko proceed to walk out.

You guys are greeted with the intimidating glares of Queen Mitsuki and Prince Katsuki, along with the kind smile of King Masaru.

“Mitsuki, early as usual, huh?”

Inko walks up to the brute demon and hugs her. The other queen lets out a powerful laugh before leaving the hug.

“You’re either early or late in my kingdom.”

“Right. Shall we go inside?”

Inko led the group inside of the palace. You notice the anxious expression on Izuku's face as they entered. He have the family a small bow as a greeting.

“Izuku, do as you may with your friend.”

Prince Katsuki was about to protest, a deep frown on his face, but his mother firmly gripped his ear and pulled him close.

“This is not our kingdom, you will not argue or embarrass this family here. Do you understand me?”

Pulling away from his mother, he grumbled a quiet “okay”. As the adults walked towards the Great Hall, Katsuki walked the opposite way, purposely bumping into Izuku.

“You’re not my friend, loser.”

“K-Kachan!”

With that, Izuku followed him and you were alone in the main hall. You decide to catch up with your friends while you wait for orders. You end up in the garden when you spot the four knights in training with their prince. Not wanting to bother the easily tempered prince, you try to hide behind the bushes.

“That’s a poor attempt at being sneaky.”

You jumped at the prince’s harsh voice. You forgot he had sharp senses. You reveal yourself and wave, shrinking under his glare.

“Hey, lighten up, you’re gonna scare the poor thing.”

Eijirou pats the blonde on the back, a goofy grin on his face while the prince showed a murderous glare.

Before the two could start to wrestle, Hanta pushed passed them and smiled.

“Hi (Y/n)!”

“Hi Hants.”

You can still feel Katsuki’s eyes burning a hole into your soul.

“You guys are actually friends with this extra?”

You shrink again, regretting even thinking about coming this way. He was always like this, he is a brute demon after all. Harsh words and icy glares, especially to those he views as below him.

“How can you be so mean to such a cute face?”

Denki appears behind you and squishes your cheeks. Katsuki only huffs before turning away. Suddenly, Izuku comes running, face red and out of breath.

“Satan! Stop following me!”

You could practically see a vein popping out of the brute’s temple.

“You’re my guest! I have to follow you!”

As the two bickered, Eijirou pulled you away from the two. The five of you walk in silence for a bit, the only sound is their armor clinking.

“So, how’s your guys’ training going? I hear that next year, the trainees will become knights.”

“Oh! It’s so great! We’ll get to train in actual armor for the rest of the training!”

The redhead puts both of his fists together in excitement. Sero laughs and gives a smug look.

“That is if pinky and blondie can pass this week’s evaluation.”

The two mentioned punched him in the back of the head, earning groan from him.

“I’m so happy for you guys! You guys will be amazing knights.”

The four of them bashfully smiled as they gave their thanks. You guys end up at the on the other side of the garden, where you’re met by one of your palace knights. As you approached, you bowed while the other four saluted.

“Hello everyone. (Y/n), you’re needed in the kitchen.”

You nod before separating yourself from the group.

“Well, see you guys later.”

You waved before skipping inside the castle. On your way to the kitchen, you, again, bump into someone. You look up at the person, getting ready to apologize, but they got on one knee before.

“Oh, I’m so s-”

“Please forgive me, I wasn’t paying attention.”

You raise your eyebrow in confusion, why are they bowing to you? Then you noticed the hair. Half and half…

“Prince Shoto! Why are you bowing to me?!”

You get on your knees also, panicking at the situation. If his father saw this, he'd lose his mind.

“Is this not how you apologize?”

“Well, yes, but you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“That isn’t very polite though.”

“I-”

“Where is your prince?”

“The garden, would you like me to show you?”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

With that, you watch as walks away until he turns the corner. You make your way into the kitchen and a tray is handed to you as soon as you open the door.

“Hurry, the meeting has started and the Royals haven’t had their drinks yet.”

You’re pushed out of the kitchen and the door is slammed, followed by the clanking of pots and pans. You walk through the halls, careful not to drop the contents on the tray. As you make it to the door, you hear muffled shouting. Slowly and quietly, you slip into the room. No one seemed to notice, so you stayed quiet in a corner.

"It was your husband's idiocy that got us into this mess and you expect us to just sit down and wait for a solution?"

"Enji, listen; I know you're upset but if you could pl-"

The king slammed his fist onto the table, the loud noise causing you to jump out of your skin. You look around the room, though everyone seemed calm, the tension was suffocating.

"No Inko! It's been 1,000 years since Hisashi eradicated the Lilith race and you've been locked in this castle coddling your sad excuse of a son. We-"

"Don’t you dare speak about my son like that! You don’t even deserve your children, you piece of shit!”

The queen stood up in a fit of anger, aiming an icy glare at the king. Enji just sat there, initiating some sort of dominance battle. It felt like forever before Masaru cleared his throat, causing everyone to look at him.

“If I may?”

The silence was loud, causing him to shrink into himself.

“Well, it’s obvious that we’re going nowhere with arguing and the Blood Moon is coming soon. I suggest we ask for help from the Ce-”

“Don’t finish that suggestion, Masaru. You know we can’t go to the Celestial Realm for help,” Mitsuki states, obvious disgust shown on her face as she speaks.

"Well, what else is there to do? Without the Lilith Demons, we'll cease to exist and, I'm sorry Inko but, you backed us into a corner."

Inko looked down as if in deep thought. You looked around the room once more, all the attention on your queen. You're not even sure if you're supposed to be hearing this, what even is a Lilith Demon? Why did the king kill them all? What did he mean by we will cease to exist?

All your thoughts were swarming through your head until Inko spoke up.

"I….I may have a solution. I've been hiding something ever since my husband died."

"This ought to be good."

"Enji shut up for once."

The two men glared at each other for a quick second before they continued to look at Inko.

"The young servant girl…(Y/n). She..."

Inko takes a deep breathbefore picking her head up to look at the other royals.

"She's the last living Lilith Demon."

The sound of glass shattering caused everyone to whip their head toward you, finally recognizing your presence. You had dropped the tray in shock, eyes wide as saucers. Only then did the royals realize that you were the one Inko was talking about.

✩...taglist...✩

n/a

#dee.fics #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha x reader #izuku midoria x reader #midoriya x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha demon au #bnha royal au

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Come As You Are

Summary: Dean takes Y/n dress shopping for a hunt, both of them blissfully unaware of where it will lead. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 3.9K+

Warnings: Language, self-esteem and body image struggles, public intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it)

Author’s Note: This was written for an anonymous request, 

“Hey babe I don’t know if your taking requests but I had a groovy idea dean x shy plus reader where they have to get the reader nice sexy clothes but she feels really uncomfortable in them and refuses to leave the dressing room and dean confess how he feels and they have sex in the dressing room ? Fluff and smut” 

I truly enjoyed writing it so I hope it lives up to your expectations anon. Remember, feedback is like crack to writers, and we always love to hear what you thought xoxo Alex

Consider checking out a book from Alexandra’s Library!

A frown etched itself on her face as she ran her hand over the fabrics hanging from the racks. All of it felt foreign underneath her fingertips. Satin, chiffon, and everything else that was far more expensive than she was used to. Y/n’s wardrobe mostly consisted of denim and polyester blends that tended to fray after two washes. It was all that a hunter could afford, after all. 

“How in the hell are we gonna afford any of this crap?” She whispered to Dean, who was eyeing the rack behind her, the gowns in front of him all a deep shade of red. 

“Charlie’s miracle card, remember? There is no limit,” Dean raised his brow at her, a grin etched across his perfect face. 

“Fine,” she groaned. “I still don’t see why I even need to go dress shopping, I’m sure I could find something in my closet.” 

“I’ve seen your closet, and none of it is right for this case. You’ve got to distract the coroner for the night and you can’t do that in baggy jeans and flannel.” Dean huffed as he picked a dress off the rack. Y/n’s eyes went wide as she took it in, the hem was short for anyone’s standards, then add in the plunging neckline and this dress left nothing to the imagination. 

“That is so not happening,” Y/n pointed at the offensive garment, her stomach fluttering at the simple idea of even trying to slip into it. Every spot on her body that she hated would be on full display in that thing. Her thick thighs, the roll that sat on her bra just under her arms, and don’t get her started on her abdomen. 

“Come on, just try it. You never know ‘till you try it on.” 

“Ugh,” Y/n snatched the dress from his hand before stalking off to look at more dresses. There were a couple more options that she grabbed to try on that were closer to her comfortability level. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be caught dead in any of the items in her arms. But Dean had this way about him, always able to convince her to do anything without question. Maybe it was the way his skin crinkled around his eyes or the brightness that always seemed to live behind those deliciously green eyes? Who was she kidding, it was all of that and then some. The huntress had fallen hard for him from that first meeting. Sometimes she wondered why she chose to torture herself. 

Dean Winchester was the cream of the crop when it came to hunters, as was his baby brother, Sam. The whole world knew who they were, including heaven and hell, so how could she be expected to resist him when he smiled at her the way he does. Or even when he made her coffee in the mornings just how she liked it and picked up chocolate and pain killers for her when he knew it was that time of the month. He was exceedingly attentive to her, something that she was sure he only directed at Sam. It was just another thing that surprised her about the legend of a man. 

Yeah, like an idiot she fell for the eldest Winchester. There was no stopping it even though she was certain that her feelings would never be reciprocated. Y/n wasn’t like the other woman that Dean went for when he was on the prowl at bars. It’s not that she was ugly, it was that she was plain at best. People didn’t turn their heads when she walked in the room, men’s gazes didn’t linger on her from across the bar, no, Y/n was merely average. That’s how she knew that Dean would never see her as more than a friend because he had never looked at her in any form of want. 

“Are you ready to try those on?” A sales woman’s voice broke her out of her unrelenting train of thought. Dean answered for her before she could process the woman’s words. 

“Yes, please.” He smiled brightly and Y/n watched as the woman’s face flushed under his gaze. Y/n almost felt bad for the woman who was now just another victim to his charm. The saleswoman at least would be able to relish in his attention, wondering about what could have been had Y/n not been there with him. Y/n on the other hand already knew her fate. But mostly, if she was being honest, she was jealous. 

Dean put his hands on her shoulders and guided her along behind the boutique worker who took them into the back of the store where the dressing rooms were located. The area was mostly quiet, just the music from the speakers could be heard in the space. Three large mirrors sat in front of a stage on the far wall, the rooms spaning out on either side of it. In the center of the room were three plush chairs for those waiting for others to sit in. 

The worker unlocked a door for her as Dean plopped down in one of the chairs. Y/n slipped behind the door, letting out a deep breath as it closed behind her. If there was one thing she hated it was trying on clothes. Nothing ever seemed to fit her right or look anything like what it did on the hanger. It made the task a constant battle with her self-consciousness. 

Y/n had always carried extra weight on her body. It wasn’t that she didn’t live an active lifestyle, she was a hunter, after all, it was the diet that hunters were accustomed to. It was fast food and dives in every small town in America. Not many mom and pop places tended to offer an egg white omelet, and it wasn’t her inclination to eat them either. So, she had always been bigger than most, and if she was being honest she had grown used to that. Maybe she used it as a shield to protect herself. Making connections with people as a hunter only tended to end in heartbreak, so this was easier. 

The hunter hid the scary red thing Dean had selected behind all the rest of her haul, hoping she would find something before she ever even got to the thing. Y/n stripped from her flannel and jeans tossing them on the bench in the corner. She also added her bra to the pile, knowing all of these garments necessitated that she did not wear one. That left her in her favorite pair of panties. They weren’t anything special, but they made her butt looked its best.

The first dress in the line up was a straight black dress that hit just above her knee. The neckline wasn’t anything too crazy but the sleeves rolled off the shoulders a strip of fabric wrapping around her bust. Y/n was able to slip it on and tug up the zipper on the side. With a slide of her hands against the fabric, she frowned at her reflection. Not that it would flatter any figure, in her opinion. 

“What’s taking so long in there?” Dean called out from his spot in front of the mirrors.

“I’m not coming out in this thing,” she called back as she began to take the dress back off. 

“Oh, come on sweetheart,” 

“Nope, next,” Y/n heard him huff even through the door and she imagined he rolled his eyes as well. 

The next dress was a deep blue color. It had a wrap and pencil skirt, with an asymmetrical shape between the hem and the neckline. She supposed it was pretty but it also kind of looked like she had wrapped herself in a towel. Mostly, she felt like the point in the neckline was going to stab her in the throat, and she was not sure how to be sexy when she was trying not to die. It was another pass for her. 

There was only one dress left, and at that moment she was wishing to whoever was listening that she had picked out a few more choices. Dean was whistling now, some Zeppelin tune she couldn’t exactly identify and she knew he was getting impatient. Y/n swapped the fabrics on her body, pulling the thin straps of the red satin piece up onto her shoulders. The dress clung to her skin, the fabric lightweight. 

“Y/n/n,” Dean’s voice was just outside the door, the new proximity of it startling her. “Come on, you have to show me at least one. I know you and you’ll just try vetoing them all.” Y/n swore under her breath because he was right and it pissed her off that he knew her that well. The zipper was out of her reach on her back and she supposed she wouldn’t be able to truly see what it looked like on her unless she zipped it up. 

“Fine, I need help with this zipper anyway,” she sighed and held the fabric against her naked chest while opening the door with her other. Dean was beaming when he came into view on the other side of the door. He snuck inside faster than a flea, the slamming of the door startling her again. 

Get it together woman, you kill monsters for a living, Y/n cursed herself. 

“Turn,” Dean instructed her with his fingers, and the woman obliged as she faced the mirror. Dean brushed her hair off her shoulder with his fingertips, the action barely distinguishable but it sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. With one hand holding the bottom stop, he used the other to tug on the pull tab, sliding together the teeth in one fluid motion. 

“Thanks,” Y/n’s words were soft as she made eye contact with the green-eyed hunter in the mirror. He ran his tongue of his bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh between his teeth as his eyes wandered over her exposed skin. 

Y/n visibly cringed as she looked at herself. Unfortunately, this was her favorite out of the three, but that didn’t mean she felt like she could venture anywhere in public in the thing. “Sweetheart, if that coroner hadn’t already been eyeing you up today, he would not know where to start when he sees you in this.” 

“Shut up,” Y/n scrunched her nose as she spun around to whack Dean’s shoulder. “You are so full of it.”

“Am not,” Dean scoffed, his eye softening before he continued. “Y/n, why don’t you see how beautiful you are?”

Y/n whipped around to stare at him, her arms crossing over her chest, not believing that those words come out of his mouth. Surely, he was playing with her…

“Have you looked at me, Dean?” Y/n slapped her hands against her thighs, emphasizing their jiggle upon impact. “I’m nothing special.” 

“I have looked at you,” His gaze traveled down her body again, his breath hitching slightly as he did so. “I’ve been looking at you for a while now.” The drop in Dean’s voice sent heat rushing through her body, the gravel undertone making her shiver. 

“Dean--” words escaped her as the hunter stepped into her personal space, pushing her back against the mirror. Dean’s left hand came to rest against the reflective surface just beside her head as he chewed on his lip. 

“I don’t think you know how hard it is for me to keep my eyes off of you,” he leaned into her, his nose brushing alongside hers. “And now, seeing you in this dress, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.” 

A rush of confidence coursed through her blood as his hot breath fanned over her face and Y/n slipped her hands behind his neck, pulling his lips down to meet hers. The movement was anything but smooth, though the action sent both of the hunters into action. Dean growled as he nipped her lower lip and she opened up to him, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth. 

A moan involuntarily came from her as his hands moved to her hips, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin material where his finger pressed into her flesh. He stepped back, pulling her after him as he backed up and dropped to sit on the plush bench. Dean bunched up the material to her hips as he urged her to straddle his lap. Y/n used her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, the new bulge in his pants a surprise to her as she settled in his lap. 

“Yeah, and you thought I was kidding,” Dean took in the slight rise in her brow, leaning forward to run his lips across her jaw, taking note of the places that made her shiver. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she allowed Dean to explore her body and let herself just feel him. Dean raked his teeth along with the shell of her ear, causing her to buck her hips and both of them to groan.  

“Fuck,” her words were a breath on her lips as she repeated the action, the roughness of his jeans just enough friction on her aching sex. 

“That’s it, beautiful, take what you need,” Dean sat back and used his hands to keep her body moving against his own, watching the way her brows scrunched together in the center of her forehead. With a shift of his hips, he had her pushed back and straddling his left thigh, his hands still in their place on her hips. “Can you come like this, sweetheart?”

“I don’t--” a jolt of electricity had her halting her denial, instead she chose to just nod and place her hands against his chest to balance her movement. She could feel Dean’s heart hammering in his chest under her palm and the quick rise and fall of his breath. Even at this moment, she was disbelieving that he was that turned on watching her get herself off on his thigh, but she had the proof hammering under her fingertips. Y/n was biting her lip to keep quiet in the small room. “Dean, I’m so close.” 

“I’ve got you, come for me, Y/n,” he husked as his grip tightened, though she wasn’t sure how that was even possible, seeing as there was already gonna be bruises there later, that she was sure of. The sound of his voice reverberating in her head had the coil snapping inside of her, heat flooding her body as every nerve sparked and faded out. A rush of air left her lungs, her body slumping as her muscles relaxed post-orgasm. 

“Oh my god.” As her arousal ebbed from her body and the reality of what just happened came to her sense, Y/n clammed up and she tried to climb from his lap. Blood rushed to her face and her hands flew to her cheeks to hide the heat settling there.

“Woah, where are you going?” Dean stopped her from making a hasty exit, his eyes searching hers in question. 

“Dean, what the hell just happened?” 

A smirk replaced the confusion on his face as he leaned forward and nuzzled his face in her neck, tracing his tongue up her pulse. “You just got yourself off on my thigh while I tried not to cream my jeans,” he breathed in her ear. It was like he already knew every button to push on her body, his dirty talk doing everything she needed it to for her body to already be aching for him again. 

“I--”

“Shh, sweetheart. That was hot as fuck, and all I want now is to be buried deep inside that pretty pussy of yours.” 

“Jesus,” her eyes shifted to his, taking in the mischievous glint shining behind his iris. “You aren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ at the end of his word and Y/n nodded as she climbed off him. She turned her back to him so he could undo the zipper, and it took a second for Dean to catch on to her silent action. He jumped to the edge of the bench and tugged down the zipper before sliding the material down her shoulders. Dean hooked his fingers into the edge of her panties, placing a kiss on the dip in her lower back before pulling the soaked material to pool at her feet along with the dress. He stood then as she turned back to him and pushed his jacket and flannel down his arms, adding it to the pile of discarded clothes in the room. 

“Come, on we don’t have a lot of time before someone gets suspicious.” There was a quiver in her voice as she lifted the hem of his tee and tugged open his belt. It was taking everything in her to quell the shaking in her hands. Dean’s fingers came down to wrap around her wrists, halting her movement and she looked up at him. 

“Y/n we don’t have to,” he was trying to read her mind as he examined her face. The trepidation was seeping through her pores, but not because she didn’t want this. Hell, the painful ache between her legs told her how much she wanted this, but her brain couldn’t help to race through the million thoughts about what it all meant. 

“No, I-- God do I want this,” Y/n began chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tried to come up with the words to explain to him what she was thinking. But the longer the time passed the more nervous she grew, standing there stark naked and he’s still basically fully dressed. “I think I’ve wanted this for a long time now, but I’m just scared.”

“Of?” He urged her to continue.

“That this doesn’t mean the same thing to you,” Y/n cast her glance down, her eyes fixated on the way the fluorescent light glinted in the metal of his belt. 

“You think that this is about getting my dick wet for me.” It wasn’t a question, because she had all but spelled it out for him. “Y/n,” He put his fingers under her chin and turned her head back up to his, brushing his lips against hers, the action soft and unhurried. “I told you, I’ve been watching you for a while now, trying to learn everything I could about you. I would have done this the first night I met you if I hadn’t thought about what it would do to you. But I’m done being scared because I think I fell for you a long time ago and no amount of whiskey or other women could make me forget that. So I’m done fighting it.” 

“Yeah?” Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears now, and Dean answered her with another kiss, pulling her body flush against his own as he invaded her mouth. The pair only pulled apart when they could no longer fight the need for air. “Dean--”

“Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his grip on her to finish what she started with his belt. Y/n watched his movements, her breath getting caught in her throat as she watched him pull his length from its cotton confines. Dean signaled for her to turn with one hand as he stroked himself with the other. She obliged, of course, and Dean pushed her gently between her shoulder blades until her hands were pressed against the mirror. He nudged her legs to open a tad wider, meeting her gaze in the mirror. 

“Do we--” 

“I’m good if you’re good,” she told him, knowing where he was going with his question. He nodded to her before lining himself up with her entrance. Dean held her gaze as he entered her from behind, both of them sighing together as he became fully seated. Y/n closed her eyes as she tried to compose herself, her head falling between her arms. 

“Fuck, open your eyes, look at yourself,” Dean was biting his tongue as he swatted her ass to get her to lift her head again. She indulged him, looking at herself in the mirror before turning her eyes back to his in the mirror. “There you go,” he praised her, the words like music to her ears as he pulled back out and slammed into her hips. 

Dean set up a steady rhythm, careful to not shake the walls of the dressing too much with his movement. The couple kept their eyes on each other in the mirror, the moment the most erotic thing she could ever remember doing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t be bothered by it. Even from her vantage point, she could see how blown his pupils were, the black of his iris’ all but drowning out the green that she loved so much. To be honest, she wasn’t sure which she liked more now. All she did know was the feeling of him moving inside her and the way her muscles were shaking. 

A small knock had Dean stilling his movements, and Y/n stood up, pressing her back against his chest. He slipped an arm around her chest as she signaled for him to be silent. “You doing alright in there?” 

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and let out a breath, “Yeah,” she called back, afraid her voice would be too wrecked if she said anything else. 

“Is there anything else I can get you? Maybe some different sizes?” The saleswoman tried again. 

“Nope, I’m all set, thank you.” 

“Okay, just let me know.” The sound of her footsteps could be heard retreating from the dressing room, and Dean pressed his face into her neck, the pair of them chuckling. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he adjusted their position, resuming the movement of his hips as he snaked his free hand down to rub against her clit. Y/n jolted in his arms at the contact, this time closing her eyes as he built her back up. “I’m right behind you. Can you come for me again?” Y/n nodded against him, her hands flying to his forearm as she felt herself jumping over the cliff, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her knees buckled and Dean had to adjust himself to keep her from falling, still fucking her from behind as her fluttering walls milked him to his own orgasm. He bit into her shoulder to keep himself from groaning out loud. 

“Sweet Jesus,” her body went limp in his arms as the pair of them caught their breath in the now muggy space. 

“Yeah, you are so not going out with that coroner tonight. We will find a different way.” Dean admitted as he pulled his now softening cock from her. Y/n flinched at the feeling and the subsequent rush of his release inside her. 

“What?” She turned to him as he began righting himself, not understanding why he didn’t want her to do her job.

“‘Cause you are all mine now,” Dean tugged her into his chest, his fingers around one of her biceps. “And I want to spend all night making sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed as she blinked at him, clearly lost for any sort of coherent answer to what he just told her. 

“Get dressed so we can get out of here and kick Sammy out of our motel room.” Dean tapped her ass again and she pushed him away from her, a stupid grin on both of their faces.

Forevers: @22sarah08​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @flamencodiva​​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @katehuntington​ @lyarr24​ @malfoysqueen14​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @superfanficnatural​ @supraveng​ @talesmaniac89​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x plus size reader #dean winchester x plus sized reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfic #spn fic #spn #supernatural #mine #alex writes #come as you are

[luna-spacedoodles]

Spoiler: Rules Were Broken

A Dream Smp x Ever After High AU

Word count: 1,599

Chapter 1 A Royal Tale

Tommy hauled his wagon full of luggage up to the school as Tubbo

walked alongside him with his hands in his pockets.

Tommy grunted to a stop, “Dude why, why can’t you like, help me? Where even is your stuff?”

“All in here, boss man.” Tubbo tipped his comically tiny top hat and Tommy heard a small quack come from inside.

“I- okay can you help me then please?” Tubbo grabbed the handle alongside him and they pulled it together all the way to their dorm.

Tommy bust open the doors and threw a suitcase on his bed quickly following it and flopping in defeat. Tubbo didn’t even make it to his bed before Tommy heard a thud behind him. He didn’t know how long they’d stayed like that until he heard Tubbo placing down his things. Tommy lifted his head to see all his furniture was already there, that was one thing he didn’t have to set up at least.

Tommy opened up his suitcase and started messily throwing the clothes inside to his right, not all of them made it on the bed. Most of them fell onto the floor or got caught on the banister.

“Oh stop dude you’re making a mess.” Tubbo told him after he got a face full of shirt.

“Shut up man, you’re wrong you’re so wrong, I’m being so neat and tidy and shit!” Tommy retaliated only to throw another shirt.

“You literally just missed the bed so far.” Tubbo let out a small laugh at the end and kicked some shorts off his hammock.

Tommy groaned and went to pick up his failed attempts, “Well don’t just sit there if you’re going to groan about it, come help me man!”

“You don’t need my help, you're just shit. Besides I already finished setting up my stuff so that just makes you look even more shit at this.”

“But that’s not fair you got here earlier than me! And it’s not even true, there’s still a whole other half of the room and you’ve just invaded into my space!”

Just as he finished the two boys heard the door open and someone step inside, they both turned to look at someone Tommy had never seen before. He was quite tall and looked funny, his skin was black and white split down the middle of his face, same with his hair but flipped around. He had wide open red and green eyes that seemed fake, like they were made of glass, open far too wide and he didn’t seem to ever blink, yet it seemed the boy was doing everything he could to avoid making eye contact with either of them. Maybe that was a good thing, they didn’t seem like eyes that’d be pleasant to stare at. He had tall horns atop his head and two tails as well, one black and the other white.

“What the fuck??” Tommy shouted raspily in confusion over the unexpected guest.

“Uhm, hi.” The boy managed to spit out as he tightened his grip on his luggage.

“I think you have the wrong room.” Tommy crossed his arms and lent against the bed, he slipped a bit trying to balance himself.

“No he’s got the right room.” Tubbo butted in, he adjusted himself to sit on the edge of the hammock so his feet dangled over the floor.

“What?” The boy and Tommy asked in unison.

“Yeah, something about a student miscalculation or whatever, not enough dorms so we all have to share.”

Tommy looked at the new guy, this wasn’t what he wanted or planned for but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

—

Tommy woke up to a sudden heavy weight on his stomach. Tommy lifted his head and rubbed his eyes to see a blond raccoon with a red handkerchief tied around its neck laid out flat on his stomach, it’s little arms and legs stretched out.

“Oh, hello!” Tommy cooed at the raccoon, giving it some scratches and pats as it chuckled and rolled around in delight. He looked out the window, it was still dark out but he could spot the sun’s light barely reaching over the horizon. Tommy wondered if it was too early to sneak out his dorm and go walk in the forest before breakfast, wasn’t much to do and he didn’t really feel like going back to sleep so taking a quick walk wouldn’t be that bad.

He got dressed and slipped on a white cloak and a small brown backpack as well. Tommy quietly snuck out the window and climbed down the vines on the side of the wall, before he could lift his head up the raccoon had already jumped and landed flat on his face.

“Clementine, I told you to wait.” Tommy groaned muffled under Clementine, she only replied with some chittering that sounded close to laughter as Tommy pulled her off his face. He looked at her and couldn’t bring himself to scold her anymore than that, how could he stay mad at that face. He let her scuttle over him and sit in the open backpack as they walked off into the forest.

On their walk they saw many different creatures and plants, they even stopped by the pond on their way back. By the time they’d gotten back into the dorm the sun was rising and Tommy’s pockets were full of small flowers, pebbles and anything else he could fit inside, even Clementine had a large hoard of berries she’d picked for her breakfast.

Before Ranboo or Tubbo had the chance to wake up Tommy and Clementine were already out the door and on their way to the castleteria, leaving the cloak and bag stuffed back inside the wardrobe. Dashing down the stairs and through the halls he skidded to a stop in front of the castleteria doors, rocking and bouncing back and forth waiting for the doors to open. A bell chimed, the doors opened and Tommy ran up to get his breakfast.

The lunch lady gave him a stack of pancakes with a side of eggs and sausage, he ran off with his tray and sped towards a lone table tucked in a corner. Despite running here full of energy he ate surprisingly slow, Clementine stuffed her face into her berry pile next to him. Students soon flooded into the castleteria including Tubbo and their new roommate, they walked up the stairs to his table and sat down with him.

“Hey Tommy!” Tubbo set down his tray and immediately started eating.

“Hi Tubbo,” Tommy looked up from his food and started at Ranboo, “…Hi Ranboo…”

“Hi.” The boy replied awkwardly, he didn’t seem like he wanted to make any conversation but Tommy didn’t want to talk to him anyway.

Clementine stopped her feasting and hissed in at Ranboo, running onto Tommy’s back and peaking at the stranger over his shoulder. Or maybe it was the gross looking fish soup she was eyeing, Ranboo slid the small bowl over as an offering and Clementine jumped for it, adding it to her stash. Tommy made a funny look at the soup before he went back to his own breakfast.

“ATTENTION STUDENTS!” The castleteria fell silent as everyone turned to look at Headmaster Grimm standing on the balcony, “As Legacy Day is coming very soon, today we’ll be practicing for it! During one of your classes you’ll be led out to practice pledging to follow your destiny and signing the Storybook of Legends! Thank you for your time, please continue your breakfast.”

—

Tommy walked out with the rest of the class to the stage, the place was white and regal, two large staircases either side of the stage and a pedestal at the front. They all lined up in alphabetical order of their last name and took turns practicing.

“Next!” Grimm called Ranboo up. Tommy watched him take the key and walk up to the pedestal.

“Uhm. I, Ranboo Queen, pledge to follow my destiny to be the next Evil… Queen? King?” Ranboo turned to look at Grimm, “Did I do that right?”

“It’s uh, it’ll do.” Grimm replied, taking back the key.

Tommy zoned out for a bit — That was Ranboo Queen? That’s the guy that was gonna poison him? He’d heard lots of mean things about how his destiny goes. He stared at the ground reconsidering how he felt about this guy.

“Next!” Grimm yelled, Tommy looked up and realized he was calling him up. He walked up to him and silently took the key.

“I! Uhm..” Tommy turned around to Grimm, “I have a question?”

“Yes?” Grimm sighed.

“It’s just, what if I don’t want to follow my destiny? Like, what if I want to do my own thing?” Everyone gasped loudly, Grimm looked shocked and angry, he strode over to him and Tommy backed up against the pedestal.

“Now listen here, if you don’t sign that book, your story will go poof. You will go poof.” Grimm stepped back and Tommy inhaled deeply only now realizing he’d been holding his breath, “Now I recommend we move on and continue.”

Tommy turned around and looked out on the crowd, everyone was staring at him judgingly, he looked down at the key in his hand. He threw it harshly onto the ground and started running as fast as he could from there, Clementine jumped off a chair she’d been watching from and scampered after him. Tommy grabbed his cloak from the dorm and ran into a place he knew no one would find him.

#luna.writing #dream smp au #tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #luna.au #eah au #food mention #tw food #v excited 2 post this :] #haven’t ever posted a chapter fic b4 so this’ll b interesting #my only experience posting fics(n just writing them in general) was that wilbur revival one-shot from back in janurary #it was alr but I rlly like this #please lmk what u thought of it!

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 10

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: None, wow 😂

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

I make my livin' off the evenin' news

Just give me somethin', somethin' I can use

People love it when you lose

They love dirty laundry

~ Don Henley - Dirty Laundry ~

Ethan’s plan to raise Equinox’s standing within the record company was very clear. While their nights were spent performing on stage, Ethan had made sure their days were filled with a tight schedule of PR appointments.

Where they’d had plenty of time to relax, socialise and explore on their previous tours, every day was now jam-packed with meet & greets, photoshoots and interviews. Even when they were off duty, Ethan was constantly reminding them to take pictures and film stories to publish on social media.

“People aren’t following you because they like your music,” he never got tired of saying. “They want to see who’s behind their favourite rockstars. Give them a look at your private life and you’ll be everybody’s darlings in no time once again.”

Some of them were more reluctant to put themselves out there than the others. While Lizzie and Skye didn’t mind the odd goofy backstage clip, Lizzie noticed Merula and especially Orion were increasingly drawing back into themselves.

Lizzie and Orion made a point to avoid talking about band business when they were spending their nights together; not that they were talking much at all. But the concerned crease that she could see more often than not on Orion’s forehead these days wasn’t lost on her either.

The worst part of Ethan’s strategy, however, were without a doubt the countless press appointments. All in the spirit of keeping the enemy close, Lizzie had lost track of how many interviews they had given since their U.K. tour had started. The publications they were working with ranged from reputable magazines and newspapers to the trashiest of tabloids. At least, most of the stories those were coming up with were just too hilarious to be actually believable; Lizzie shuddered to think what dirt they could uncover if they’d ever decide to dig for real.

Like on so many days before, Equinox were scheduled for another interview before one of their rare days off. It was for a feature story with a magazine well respected in the industry, all with an accompanying photo shoot and the whole conundrum. It wouldn’t have sounded so bad, had it not been for the journalist who had been chosen to conduct the interview.

Lizzie had met a number of reporters over the course of her career, but none who ground her nerves as Rita Skeeter did.

Beloved by her readers and dreaded by the subjects of her stories, Rita Skeeter was one of the most sharp-tongued critics British journalism had to offer. She had a singular gift - although some called it a curse - to wiggle even the slightest of juicy information out of her unheeding interview partner. Many a career had taken a dive after an unfortunate encounter with her.

If you wanted utmost attention, Rita Skeeter was the right woman for the job; but you had better get your guard up.

The blonde woman was currently watching Andre preparing them for the interview and the shoot afterwards; usually the magazines brought their own stylists, but Ethan liked to keep as many things under control as he could. Having Andre in charge of their looks guaranteed they would give off just the impression Ethan wanted.

Andre was in the process of applying Lizzie’s make up, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth while he concentrated. She winced as her eyes started tearing up from the wand of the mascara.

“I don’t get why this much makeup is necessary,” she complained, drawing away from Andre to blink her tears away. “I get it with Merula, she’s singing and in focus, but I’m behind the drums, no one’s paying attention to me. Give her the spotlight and leave me in peace,” she added glumly as she saw Andre approach with a curling wand.

Andre tutted as he opened her ponytail and loosened her hair with practised hands. “Stop arguing, you know it’s useless. And besides,” he added with a wink that showed off his glittery eyeliner, “loads of people are paying attention to you; you’re just not looking.”

“I have to agree with Mr. Egwu,” Rita suddenly said. She had been leaning against one of the dressing tables on the set and watched them being dolled up. Andre usually held their wardrobe in dark colours, black and white, so Rita’s bilious green dress stood out like a flare in comparison. She pursed her bright red lips as she looked Lizzie up and down over the rim of her half-glasses.

“You’re a favourite with my readers, Miss Jameson… Lizzie, I may call you Lizzie, right?”

Without waiting for Lizzie’s answer, she continued. “You have a bright personality and some decent looks; you are the little sunshine of this group and everyone likes themselves a good ‘girl next door in the big wide world’ trope.”

She raised her hands at Lizzie’s sceptical look and laughed; it sounded incredibly put on. “I’m not a fan of putting people into drawers either, but it’s what the people want to see.” She tapped her finger against her temple. “It’s how my readers think.”

Skye snorted in the background; she was already done with her styling and sat on one of the tables, legs dangling in the air. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Rita giggled. “Of course the rebel of the group would say that, I expected nothing else; after all, there’s true rockstar blood running through your veins, Skye Parkin.”

Not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, Skye fell silent.

When everyone was ready, they moved over to where two comfortable looking sofas and an armchair were set up for them. Lizzie sighed inwardly as she took her place between Skye and Everett. Rita Skeeter was known to make her interview questions up on the spot; Lizzie just hoped they wouldn’t be too off the rails.

Rita leaned back into her armchair facing them and placed a dictating machine onto the small wooden table next to her. It was no secret that the infamous reporter liked to keep her own notes, kept apart from the material belonging to her magazine; she usually kept the dictating device running long after the cameras had turned off.

“So,” she began speaking to an invisible audience with a sickly sweet voice, “I’m honoured to be talking to England’s hottest export when it comes to rock ‘n’ roll - and I mean that in more ways than one.”

She turned her attention towards them. “It’s so good to have you here today, how are you all?”

They all muttered some noncommittal phrases before Rita started with her first question. Like always in the beginning, it was more of a general palaver as both parties were taking the other’s measure.

If the questions weren’t directed at anyone in particular, it was usually Everett answering them. He loved the attention he got from Rita and contrary to the rest of them, he almost seemed to feel comfortable around her. The pictures Lizzie had seen of him and Rita in Skye’s tabloid came to her mind again, and she wondered if that might be the reason for Everett’s talkativeness.

As the interview continued, Rita’s questions were gradually becoming more detailed, focused on several aspects that she deemed sell-worthy. She watched every one of them closely as they answered, and they picked their words carefully.

“One thing I noticed about this last part of your tour is your very increased availability,” Rita said. “I don’t remember seeing you do so much fan service and public appearances before. What’s the reason behind this?”

It was Orion who answered her question. “The most important thing to us is to make sure our fans are having a good time. Without them, we wouldn’t be where we are now; it’s not a lot, but this is our way of thanking them.”

“Is this the reason for your upcoming special show tomorrow? Reserved for the indigent foster care children?”

Her eyes flicked between Merula and Orion. “It’s no secret you two have a history with the system. One orphaned at such a young age, the other the daughter of convicted criminals, bound to be raised in the shadows of her parents’ deeds. Two unlikely siblings, not bound by blood but by trauma - how does it feel to risk a look into your own past?”

“It’s a show like any other,” Merula replied bluntly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She scowled at the blonde reporter. “No need to make a big deal out of this.”

Orion inclined his head in Merula’s direction. “What Merula wants to say is, we make no difference in what good cause we are supporting, as long as we can put a smile on the faces of those who need it, even if only for a little while. We do have our past in the care system, that is common knowledge, but as Merula pointed out already, this is in the past. If you want to continue on your path, it is no good walking with your gaze turned backwards. We live in the here and now, so it’s what’s in front of us that matters.”

The slight twitch around the corners of Rita’s mouth was almost too quick to catch, but Lizzie had seen it nonetheless. Apparently, Orion had given her the exact bridge to her next question she had hoped for.

“If you want to speak about the here and now, I’ll be too happy to fulfill your wish,” she cooed. “Now that we’re speaking on a more personal level anyway, I just have to ask. You guys are living everyone’s wildest dreams, a life all of us mere mortals can only imagine.” Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. “It’s only us here, you can trust me; what about the juicy stories? Any tales of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll you want to share with the world?”

Lizzie subconsciously bit the inside of her cheek, hoping Rita hadn’t noticed before she got herself under control again; this woman was a bloodhound when it came to scandals. If she ever found out what was going on between Orion and her, Lizzie might just as well bury herself alive.

Luckily, Orion wasn’t fazed by her question. “The only passion we share is the love for our music,” he smiled noncommittally. “As professional musicians we try to keep our public and private lives separated.”

Rita’s eyes gleamed as she leaned forward. “You try to keep them separated?”

Before Lizzie couldn’t help it, her eyes flickered to Orion again.

“We have been friends for years, of course our lives intervene in places. The friendship between us we show to the world is genuine and not for show.”

“Friendship, huh?” Rita’s nostrils flared as her eyes swept the round. “Come on, we’re all adults here. So many gorgeous young people spending their time together all day, everyday? Don’t tell me you’re all staying up drinking apple juice and playing board games.”

Her attention shifted so suddenly that Lizzie was taken by surprise. “What about you, Lizzie? Any stories to tell?” She looked her up and down critically. “If you ask me, you and Jason would make quite the pair. The golden girl and the bad boy? People live for stories like that.”

Everett sighed wistfully. “Just call me Ev, Rita, everyone does. But yeah, that’s what I’ve been telling her for years now, but so far to no avail. Perhaps she’ll listen to you.”

Lizzie was relieved when he immediately started laughing his words off. “I’m joking of course; Orion is right. The band is our job and our management wants us to keep things professional. There’s other ways to live the rockstar lifestyle,” he finished with a wink.

Rita pursed her lips in a knowing smile. “That I believe in a heartbeat. Fill me in guys, between us, how is it with the ladies? The bad guy with an angel’s voice and the soulful songwriter and his magic hands… you must be spoiled for choice.”

Everett grinned and leaned back against the sofa. “I can’t complain, is all I’m saying.”

“How about you Orion? Dark eyes, messy hair, all those tattoos - your fans must love this,” she winked with a sly smile, “At least I know where I would try to go after a show if I was a little younger.”

Lizzie tried very much not to roll her eyes.

“Even if they do, I wouldn’t know of it,” Orion answered serenely. “While I love all our fans dearly, my relationship with them ends when our show does.”

“So no stories behind your many tattoos? No tales of long lost love?”

“I didn’t say there are no stories,” Orion replied, “only that they have nothing to do with any fans of ours.”

Trying to steer the conversation to a less dangerous topic, he started explaining the stories behind some of the less meaningful tattoos on his wrists and arms. Lizzie knew each and every one of them by heart, the pictures as familiar to her as Orion’s smile when she ran her fingers over his painted skin.

What he didn’t mention was the biggest of his tattoos and her favourite one; the giant dreamcatcher running along the whole length of his back. Thinking about the intricate lines made a little smile appear on her face.

She didn’t even notice Rita asking her way through the rest of her friends until the reporter’s attention turned to her.

“All of your friends seem to be quite the fans of body art; what about you, Lizzie? Do you have any tattoos as well?”

Lizzie flashed Rita the brilliant but noncommittal smile reserved for the people she just couldn’t stand. “I do have one, yes.”

Rita raised an eyebrow when she didn’t continue. “And where might that be?”

Lizzie chuckled in response. “That will stay my little secret.”

Her gaze was fixed on Rita, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Orion fighting hard to suppress a grin. Of course, he knew exactly where it was.

Rita blinked, clearly irritated by her answer, the same empty smile that was on Lizzie’s face never leaving her red lips.

“Very well, keep your secret - for now. I’ll find out eventually.”

Her smile broadened, a dangerous glint shining in her eyes. “All secrets have their way of ending up with me, one way or another.”

Rita stood up from her armchair to get herself something to drink. When she turned her back on them, Lizzie slowly breathed out, relieved to have the blonde’s prying eyes taken off her.

As the others got up to leave the set as well, Orion and Lizzie’s eyes met for a moment. A smile was playing around his lips as they dropped to where her tattoo was hidden from everybody else’s sight.

She felt her lips curve into a smile of her own and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, her hand resting over the small spot on her ribcage where the words that resonated with her so much were inked into her skin. Seeing what she was doing, Orion couldn’t contain his grin any longer. Judging by the twinkle in his eyes, the memory of when he had first seen them was playing just as vividly in his mind as it did in hers.

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #merula snye #skye parkin #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate

[newobsessioneveryweek]

LU Server Prompt Challenge: 'In with the new'

Wind glanced around the group thoughtfully as the nine heroes sat down to eat beside the fire. He had been gnawing on a question for quite a while but didn’t think it was important enough to ask, but now that the group had a nice conversational mood going he allowed his curiosity to guide his tongue. “Why do you all wear the same outfit every day?” Seconds after he said it, though, he wondered if he had used a poor choice of words as everyone’s heads turned to him at the question, wearing varying expressions of offense and surprise.

“That’s um-” Wild seemed to actually be considering the question, if his furrowed brow and steepled fingers were anything to go by. “That’s actually a good question, Wind.” After a while, he just shrugged. “I have no idea, to be honest. I have an entire wardrobe of armour with me. I just never thought to change since the Champion's Tunic is just so comfortable to travel in and with this killjoy here,” he said, glancing pointedy at Twilight who uttered an indignant 'hey!' , "I can't just warp to shrines to get around my Hyrule... Huh, guess I answers my own question. But still, it wouldn't hurt to try something new."

That was Wild's opinion, but everyone still looked genuinely contemplative.

“Why did it never occur to me to change my clothes?" Legend exclaimed. "I mean- none of us even had the chance to take a bath in like two weeks,” Legend was incredulous, for some reason. He pointed an accusing finger at the general crowd, “you all smell terrible.”

There was a stunned pause at the veteran's outburst. Time coughed, “well it’s not too late. I think it’s high time we all put on some clean clothes anyway.”

“I am always fresh and clean,” Warrior defended. He took a sniff of the air and his face twisted into a slight grimace. “Though I suppose it couldn't hurt to change things up a bit,” he concluded.

Everyone made their way over to their respective possessions to rummage for a new set of clothes, having decided that it was finally time for an outfit change.

“Hope that answered your question.” Four said to Wind who had been watching the whole interaction from his place at the fire.

“What? Oh, yeah. Sure.” He’d completely forgotten he’d asked the question that sparked the group’s eagerness to get out of their dirty clothes.

The only people who seemed perfectly content with what they were wearing were Hyrule, Sky, Four, and himself. He was a pirate after all. He had endured worse conditions and after spending days on a little boat in the ocean clean clothes were no longer a priority or even a concern. Not so for the others.

Surprisingly, Wild was very invested in his collection. As he scrolled through his slate he started picking articles of clothing from it, holding it up and tossing it aside in favour of looking for something else. After a while, he had a sizable pile of clothes next to him that looked more like a scrap pile than a wardrobe and it only continued to grow.

Jeez, how much clothes does he have?

Legend’s pile was also quite large and sported silk, lace and furs of all kinds scattered across the floor of the clearing. There were a number of random extravagant pieces on the surface that Wind could see. They didn’t look like armour though. In fact, they were more akin to costumes and disguises than actual casual outfits. A few well-tailored dresses were also among the bulk of cloth.

Time had already changed. He donned his classic green heroes tunic but wore a red cap instead of the matching green. His boots, oh Hylia, his boots were made of the same rough leather as the other pair, but now had detachable iron soles.

"Time, what on Earth are you wearing? " asked Wind, who was starting to regret decision of letting his curiosity get the better of him.

"What?" Time questioned. "They're detachable."

"Yes, but why are they attached? You're wearing half your body weight on your feet!"

"You underestimate me, Sailor. Watch this." And then he did a backflip wearing iron fucking boots.

"...Fair enough," Wind conceded, baffled but appeased.

Twilight was in the process of changing into the most ostentatious set of armour Wind had ever seen. Though Twilight smiled as he put it on, the gear was most certainly not the most comfortable choice.

Warrior was wearing… what was he wearing?

“Bah! Choices are a curse!” Wild shouted after ten minutes of nitpicking.

“Oh come on, just pick something. Be practical.” Twilight said though he was the last person to talk wearing armour he could barely walk in. Seriously though, the breastplate and pauldrons looked like they were made of solid gold, as well as the boots. The thing even came with a matching crown thingy. It was a mystery how he could even stand upright without being crushed by the sheer weight of all that heavy metal. Time may be able to execute a perfect backflip wearing heavy metal on his feel, but if Twilight could prove to take just one step while wearing that trashy armour, Wind would never recover from the shock.

Wild groaned. Beside him, Legend groaned too. The veteran had also been struggling with choices.

“You know what? Fuck it. Wild you choose my outfit and I’ll choose yours. Deal?”

Wild considered the offer, then shrugged, ready to give up on his hunt too. “Sure.”

The pair swapped places and looked over their options. With a smirk, Wild had selected a skirt, top, and hair bow in a very indiscreet hot pink. He had also picked out some golden slippers that looked far too dainty for Legend's big feet. Legend chose… a skull...type...thing? He also picked out a pair of mechanical looking greaves and a suit of metal armor that looked like the sleeves’ were made of repurposed accordions.

“Ok lads. We’ve waited long enough. Models present your outfits!” Wind announced. If they were going to treat picking outfits like fashion show preparation, might as well make an event out of it.

“Is this really necessary?” Sky piped up before being hushed by Four and Wind.

“Hush now!” Time repeated.

Legend came out first, sporting a very short skirt with his signature No Pants™ rule blessedly ignored in favour of including a pair of cute white shorts. A big hot pink bow topped the outfit that nearly matched the pink in his hair. He looked confident and energetic as he jogged his way out from behind a tree.

He trotted all the way out, chanting some obscure cheer that the heroes obliged to clap to.

“This wasn’t exactly what I meant by practical," He admitted, "but I guess it’s not very restrictive-” Overall, Legend looked rather content with his outfit.

Wild came out next looking like a mixture of savage cave hermit, ancient warrior, and immobile tin man.

“-That on the other hand.”

“You really have no fashion sense, do you?” Wild asked Legend, who tried to hide his snicker behind his matching pink pom-poms.

The group had a good laugh at the poorly dressed hero's expense after that.

Warrior appeared after the laughter died down. The party had forgotten about him, too caught up in the mess with Wild and Legend to notice what he was wearing.

“Oh Hylia,” Twilight said. He stared mouth agape, at Warrior who wore little to nothing in the colour white. A pair of tight white shorts that hugged his thighs like an overexcited redead, an equally tight midriff top, and a red cap with a black rim. He also had a sign attached to his back for some reason. The shock was palpable within the crowd of Links.

“What?" Warrior pouted. "It’s practical.”

#linkeduniverse #fanfic #linked universe #fanfiction #a fashion show of sort reboot #enjoy! #linked universe discord

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

*SHORT SERIES

Part 2: Frustrated

Member: j u y e o n 

Genre: fluff/romance/LIGHT smut/drama with chaebol/lawyer juyeon, maybe abit of grunge aesthetic feels

Links to other parts:

I Never Wanna See You Again

Frustrated (light smut) 

~

Play With Fire (smut) 

you had both your hands pressed into the sides of your face, trying your best to ignore chanhee. he was doing nothing besides shake the backrest of your chair, jerking you and himself along with the movement.

“yah--” you grab a soft file and roll it up, turning your chair around and swinging it at him. he ducks in, arm in the air as self-defense. “i find it difficult to believe that you’re two years older than me.”

chanhee sulks, shoulders drooping and his eyes turning into those large doe eyes that do nothing but beg. “you said you’ll tell me but it’s been two days and you haven’t.”

“that’s ‘cause i fucking can’t man,” you hiss quietly, trying not to get the attention of the other people in the office. the only other person who’s probably got a good guess of what happened in the last week was sitting right next to you, and he hasn’t said a word since you turned up at work today. 

“at least tell me what you were doing at his place ‘till so late?” chanhee tries to whisper, but you grit your teeth tightly and scrunch up all your facial features when you notice lee jaehyun react to his words. 

chanhee’s hands fly up to his face and covers his mouth as lee jaehyun turns around in his own chair, scanning chanhee’s look of shock. you were afraid to look at lee jaehyun, but you do it anyway. 

you had no clue if your ceo, or lee juyeon, or whatever you were supposed to call him now, had told anybody else about what happened. you spent one night with your ceo, and after he made sure you reached home safely, he hasn’t contacted you since.

but it was alright. he never said ‘i love you’ or asked you to be his girlfriend anyway. 

you were just lucky you left his place with all the information you needed to close the case and that he didn’t fire you for acting like a child in his house or cursing like a billion times in his face. 

lee jaehyun was scanning you from head to toe, and he gives you a smile that confuses chanhee even more. 

oh, god. he knows. 

you wince in agony the moment you understood lee jaehyun’s proud fatherly smile, and you quickly clasp your hands together, silently begging him not to say anything. 

“yah!” chanhee grabs and pen and hurls it at you. “you have to tell me what happened!” 

your vision spans past chanhee’s desk cubicle, and in the distance you see sunwoo and eric’s head pop up from their desks through the transparent parts of the cubicle walls. 

“can you shut the fuck up before sunwoo and eric come over?!” you duck your head and aggressively pull on chanhee’s blazer along with you. 

“i’ll shut up when you tell me what happened!” chanhee hisses back at you, both of you awkwardly ducking in full view of lee jaehyun. 

“isn’t it obvious what happened though?” 

you shut your eyes tightly and groaned, mentally beating yourself up over this entire mess you found yourself in. chanhee processes lee jaehyun’s words, then stares at you with the widest eyes you’ve ever seen on him. 

“DID YOU TWO S--”

“SHHHHHHH!” your hands fly across the space and cover chanhee’s mouth. it takes you a moment to realise that you had pulled chanhee into a headlock, your leg was carelessly swung over his right leg and you looked like you were about to throw him off his own own chair. 

lee jaehyun watches the both of you, entertained. your limbs were tangled up in each other as chanhee struggles to break free from your head lock. 

“chanhee! please, i’m begging you, not another word--”

“about what?”

your eyes look up to see lee jaehyun looking past you at the person standing behind you. he struggles immensely to stifle a wide grin, but you could see it under his reddening ears. 

chanhee breaks free from your hold once your grip loosens at the familiar voice, and he stands up immediately, giving a quick bow to lee juy-- your boss...?

“’not another word’ about what?” he asks again. you stay frozen while looking at jaehyun, whose eyes fluttered between you, chanhee and lee juyeon. you hear chanhee’s hand find the backrest of your chair and he turns you around. you find yourself staring awkwardly at a pair of shoes that you remember seeing in someone’s walk-in wardrobe.

“am i going to need to ask again?” 

sunwoo and eric were already craning their necks to study the commotion when you look around, reluctant to look at your boss. 

how did you get yourself into this mess? are you going to ask him about it? what if he pretends it never happened? he didn’t call you or text you or anything anyway, what if you were just a rant session for him?

“uh--” chanhee tries to kick your chair subtly, but fails. 

“thaaaat...” you open your mouth, begging your mind to cook up some believable excuse. 

“that she watched porn the entire weekend.”

if you could combust into a billion pieces, you would’ve. 

you hear sunwoo and eric burst into soft snickers upon lee jaehyun’s dumb excuse for you. you hide your face in your hands, knowing that there was absolutely no way for you to fix this. 

of all excuses... porn?

“oh,” lee juyeon offers a small laugh. “and here i was expecting something else.”

you sigh heavily, still looking at his shoes. chanhee was trying his best to process the situation, but he obviously doesn’t because he remained silent. 

“anyway, i’d like you,” he points to lee jaehyun. “to come meet me in my office now. and then i’ll see you,” he points to chanhee. “and you.”

you look up at the sudden instruction, taking note of his finger in your face. 

“after he’s done. the two of you can come together.”

you get a good look at him after two days of hearing nothing from him, and you note that he’s in a white button up top and a black blazer. the blue in his hair faded and was slowly turning into a dark, almost-black shade. 

he turns on his heels and walks around eric and sunwoo’s desks, heading for his office. your manager gets the door of his office open just as lee juyeon strides past, and the look on lee sangyeon’s face tells you that he didn’t know his cousin would be coming today.

you watch as he says a few words to lee sangyeon, and he looks back at lee jaehyun, telling him to come over. the familiar silence of the office deafens you as lee juyeon gets the door of his large office open, allowing lee jaehyun and lee sangyeon to enter first.

“oh, and i ordered everyone salad and chicken for lunch today, so someone get the food from the delivery man later at around 12pm in case lee sang yeon or i isn’t available to do so, thanks.”

you rub your temples with your fingers, listening to the door of his office click shut and everybody in the office freaks out in silence. eric and sunwoo rush over to you and chanhee, and they looked like they just won the soccer championships. 

“what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck?” sunwoo pushes past chanhee, who was still standing from before, and sits in his chair. eric leans on the wall of the cubicle, hand over his mouth and wide eyes staring at you. the other employees in the office were also whispering to each other, and you couldn’t help but imagine all the horrible things they could’ve been saying.

you were in their shoes just about three weeks ago anyway.

“you better make sure i don’t get fired,” chanhee turns to you and pokes your shin with his shoe. you made a noise of complaint, brushing away the little stain that his shoe left on your stockings. 

“you’re not gonna get fired.”

“how do you know he’s not gonna get fired? how do you know you’re not gonna get fired?” sunwoo blurts out, and chanhee waits for you to respond.

because i slept with him, god damn it.

“i just know,” you stand and pull off your coat, straightening the pastel green button down shirt that was tucked into your office skirt. “trust me for once, will you? when has anything gone wrong if i’m the one handling it?” 

you glare at the three boys, arms folded across your chest. the heels you were wearing boosts you up a few inches, so you were easily at eric’s eye level. 

“she’s got a point,” eric points out, raising a brow at chanhee. 

you shoo the two boys away, leaving chanhee to return to his desk and you to yours. you pull out all the case files, including the sheets with the workings he gave you, and you start compiling the case into your laptop and the system. you always had a knack for switching gears whenever you needed to. 

work was work and personal life was to be kept in separate world. 

it was what gave you the leverage of clearing so many cases. 

you wouldn’t have noticed that your boss’ meeting with lee sangyeon and lee jaehyun had concluded if lee jaehyun didn’t laugh like a maniac on the way out of the office. 

“i’m going to kyoto next week!”

you turn at the announcement, and you watch your manager whack him across the back of his head. 

“is he just giving away holidays now?” you listen to chanhee say. you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or he was just speaking his thoughts. “are we going to get one too?”

probably not. 

lee jaehyun returns to his cubicle, face bright as ever and a few other employees in the office start talking to him over the walls of the cubicles. you turn and watch as eric and sunwoo struggle to grasp a hold of the situation: the office has not been this noisy or lively since the four of you started working here. 

chanhee whirls around on his chair, and he looks like he just met a ghost. 

“stop it,” you spit, getting to your feet and pulling him up. “you’ll be fine, i promise.”

gently knocking on the door, you watch the vague shadow shift around in the office. you turn to chanhee, still looking like he just met the nun from the conjuring. 

“come in.”

you push the door open, and pull chanhee along with you. 

lee juyeon was carefully rearranging some items on the desk that you were sure weren’t there previously. 

was he decorating his office now?

“oh, sit. the both of you,” he gestures to the two chairs opposite his, striding to his seat while you continue to drag chanhee along to mirror your movements. he was about to speak when he notices chanhee’s white complexion, and a small, embarrassed smile appears on his lips. “chanhee, are you okay?”

“am i getting fired--”

you hear chanhee hiccup as he asks the question, and you wince at the second-hand embarrassment. lee juyeon laughs and leans back in his seat, waving his hand at chanhee. 

“no, you’re not getting fired,” he props himself up while leaning on one of the arm rests of the chair. “but i am here to be honest with you, and to ask of you a favour. i would totally say ‘as your boss’, but i don’t want play the authority game.”

your eyes widen at his words, and you squint them at lee juyeon. 

are you crazy?!

chanhee slowly nods after a few moments of awkward stillness, and he glances at you in the corners of his eyes. 

“the reason why everybody outside is acting like they are at a party right now is because lee jaehyun has won a bet with me. a bet that if one of you figures out that i’m a lawyer, and i lost.”

you angle your head just enough to check chanhee’s face, and you wish you had your phone with you. it would’ve been such a worthy meme shot if you weren’t the reason why you were stuck in this informal meeting. 

“and judging by the conversation the both of you had with lee jaehyun this morning, i’m sure you must have questions about last week when you called her,” he points to you with a pen. “and i picked up.”

you gulp, wondering why your heart won’t stop pounding. 

“i’m not going to lie, it was a bad time.”

you groan and sigh loudly, burying your face into your hands with your elbows on the desk. you hear chanhee’s breathing stop for a moment, and it urges you to look at him again. 

“so... the both of you--”

“slept together, yes. lee jaehyun guessed it even before i told him just now, and that’s why he was spitting all that nonsense about her watching porn. he was just trying to tease me, i hope you weren’t too uncomfortable.”

what in the world is he doing...

“oh, no, i’m not uncomfortable,” you hear a tinge of mischief in chanhee’s voice and you snap your head to glare at him. “i’m just surprised about how honest you are with... this.”

your forehead was now flat against the desk, and your eyes were sealed tight.

what the hell is even happening now...

“well, i’m not planning on telling anybody else. you’re here because i hope you can do me the favour of keeping it yourself. you caught us red-handed, so i thought it’ll better if i was honest with you. i don’t want my employees to harbour any distrust against me, especially after they caught me doing something i’m not really supposed to be doing.”

you gently ram your forehead into the table twice.

“i understand. your secret is safe with me, mr...?”

“just call me juyeon. we’re the same age and i want us to be comfortable. i don’t bother too much about being the ceo, so work with me, not for me.”

chanhee reaches out and shakes his hand. 

“now, the office can’t know who was the newbie who found out i’m a lawyer, and i’m pretty sure your two friends have already found out about the bet given the noisy situation outside. if they find out it’s her, then her reputation might be at stake. so if anybody asks you why you were called into my office, just inform them that it’s about the case you dropped for me and her to work on together. lee jaehyun and lee sangyeon have been told to keep their mouths sealed about her and last friday, so you only need to worry about not telling anybody which newbie was the one who found out.”

the day happens as he said it would. your senior colleagues were digging their way through the newbies, trying to find out which one figured it out and caused the ceo, the lead lawyer, to lose to lee jaehyun in a bet. 

sunwoo and eric lacked too much information to understand anything, so their genuine confusion was consistently called bluff by your colleagues. 

when lunch was here, everybody was brought into a separate conference room that strangely reminded you of the dining room in his house. he sits on the opposite end near the other employees and catches up with them, while lee jaehyun and lee sangyeon join you and the three boys. 

“if you don’t mind me asking,” lee jaehyun picks at the chicken cubes in his box. 

wait-- eric and sunwoo don’t know.

chanhee’s eyes widen, his hand hurriedly stretching out, in need of stopping lee jaehyun before he says anything--

“how was he?”

you choke on your salad, and chanhee starts to laugh-cry. your manager takes a a napkin and hurls it at lee jaehyun. sunwoo and eric had frowns and looks of confusion on their faces as they turn to you.

lee jaehyun notices that he fucked up, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

“oh, no. i’m sorry. i didn’t know they don’t kno--”

eric grabs your arm and yanks you towards them, their eyeballs threatening to fall out of their sockets as they nearly spit on you when they connect the dots themselves.

“ʸᵒᵘ ˢˡᵉᵖᵗ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᶜᵉᵒˀᵎ” 

chanhee pulls them back and slaps their hands to release you, nodding at them aggressively before telling them to shut up. 

you spend the rest of lunch desperately trying to hide your embarrassment, not only from your own friends, but your senior colleague and your own manager. 

besides lunch being a whole obstacle course, the day went on as usual. it took you and your friends awhile to get used to the true, lively spirit of the office, now that the bet was done with and the ceo (who turned out to be friends with everybody else in office) was back.

lee juyeon was the first to leave, and he was already making calls even as he was leaving his office. it doesn’t surprise you, now knowing that he probably had other business at hand to take care of. 

eric, sunwoo and chanhee leave the office, initially wanting to drag you along with them to bowl. you decline the offer, the determination to finish up on the case stronger than the temptation to run off to watch them do something stupid.

lee sangyeon and lee jaehyun leave the office last, leaving you behind. they can’t help but to tease you a little before leaving, calling you their “sister-in-law” as they left. 

sister-in-law my ass.

he hasn’t even spoken to me in a one-to-one conversation since he screwed my brains out on his sofa. 

nonetheless, you wave to them as they leave, and you lean your head against the backrest of the chair. your eyes naturally close after a whole day of staring at the same case. you pondered about the fact that you and chanhee would’ve been drowning by now if lee juyeon hadn’t taken up the case...

you jerk awake, as you normally do, when you feel someone’s touch on your cheek. your eyes adjust to the light from your desk, the only source of illumination, before you process your ceo standing next to you in your chair. 

he had been changed out and he was now wearing a cap, a comfortable pullover with the letters ‘LV’ printed on the front and jeans. 

“uh--” you stammer, hurriedly sitting up and brushing your hair aside. 

“why didn’t you leave with chanhee and the others? it’s late and your last meal was the salad and chicken from lunch.”

you comb your hair with your fingers, clearing your throat and reaching for the sheets of paper strewn about on your desk. your heart was racing and you couldn’t feel your toes despite your heels being carelessly thrown aside under the table. 

he senses your discomfort and awkwardness, remaining silent while he looks around at your work space.

“come on, you’re done for today. i got mrs jung to prepare a simple meal before she left... i guessed you’d be staying till late working on the case,” you feel him pulling your chair backwards. he squats down before you, and for the first time, you were literally looking down at him. 

the shadow that the cap casts on his face prevents you from seeing his eyes, so your first instinct was to reach out and remove it.

unfortunately, he stops you, and disappointment rushes through your veins at the assumption that he no longer wanted to be so intimately connected with you. 

“i’m sorry, i--”

you were cut off when he abruptly pulls your chair forward, kissing you gently. 

you didn’t even know you missed the taste of him until it happened. you lose all your bearings and let yourself melt into his warmth, his fingers finding your chin and it was like the kiss could last forever.

you feel him pull away, but your eyes take some time to open because it truly felt like a dream. 

“i wanted to apologise for disappearing over the weekend. i wanted to invite you over the next day, but something cropped up with my family and the other businesses they have and i was needed,” he stands up and helps clear your table, keeping all your case files into your suitcase. “and i didn’t want to be seen talking to you one-to-one today. it’s a small office, so once word gets around, i could drag you down and you’d suffer more than i would.”

he picks up your suitcase and pulls your coat off the chair, holding it out for you. 

it’s almost like every time he fools you into thinking he’s just messing with you, he turns up with some heartbreaking reason that you couldn’t be mad with him about. 

you take the coat with a small smile and slip on your heels. you were afraid to even hold his hand or maintain physical contact, but he interlocks his fingers with yours without even looking back at you while he shuts off all the electricity in the office. 

he pulls you out of the gantry, obviously excited that he finally gets to spend time with you. the night shift security guard calls out to him, and you were pleasantly surprised at the exchange between him and the guard.

“juyeon-sshi! is that your girlfriend?!” 

“ne~ isn’t she pretty?”

you look back at him in shock, unable to stop a wide grin from appearing on your lips. 

“gorgeous!” the guard responds. “goodnight, juyeon-sshi!”

“goodnight! see you tomorrow and don’t tell anybody else about my girlfriend!” juyeon gets the door of the building open and lets you out first, giving the guard one last wave before getting himself out as well. 

you get into the same Porsche you were in last friday while he leaves your suitcase in the backseat. you try your best to wipe the smile off your face, but he just called you pretty and his girlfriend in like, 5 seconds. 

then it hits you.

he hasn’t even formally asked you. 

he gets into the drivers’ seat, and you watch as his hands wrap around the steering wheel, amused that his fingers exceed the complete circumference of the equipment. 

“you good to go?” he looks at you, finally removing his cap and tossing it into the backseat. 

you nod, giving him a small smile. 

by the time you were at the dining table, you were short of losing your last strand of reality when he was busy serving you. 

he got you the same slippers you wore the last time you were here, he gets you settled at the table and he runs off to prepare the food the mrs jung prepared, and he runs off again to find another bottle of wine to open.

this man...

he doesn’t stop there though. after the meal, he runs a bath for you in his ridiculously over-sized bathtub that, believe it or not, had the glass panel windows beyond the tub. 

there was a soft jazz tune playing somewhere in the house, and accompanied with the sloshing of the water in the tub, it was difficult to believe that any of this was real. 

he catches you looking down below your feet at the city lights, careful not to press your face into the glass. you feel his arms snake around your waist over the robe he provided you before you changed out of your office wear, and he rests the side of his face on your temple.

he pecks your temple and turns you around, eyes continuously admiring your face and he doesn’t resist the need to kiss you on the lips again.

“i don’t need to remind you that you need to say something if you’re uncomfortable with any of this, right?” he pulls away and looks down at you through his hair.

you shake your head, taking the initiative to untie the knot around his waist, providing yourself the gorgeous view of his collarbones and chest and everything else. 

you catch a glimpse of his shyness and it makes you laugh a little. by undoing your own robe, you offer him comfort by kissing him again, this time making them a little rougher and needier. you completely forget that the glass panels behind you would’ve exposed your ass to the world, but you could only guess why it was on the highest level where there were nearly no other buildings that came up as high. 

the water smelled like lavender, and you were leaning back against his chest while he plants kisses on your ear, neck and shoulder. your hands were interlocked with his under the water, and it didn’t matter if your fingers were pruning because of the duration you’ve been in it. 

all that mattered was that this felt real, and you were so scared none of it was.

“juyeon,” you call out quietly, hand caressing the surface of the water. 

“mm?” he hums, removing his lips from your skin and pushing the little strands of hair to your other shoulder. 

“did you mean it when you called me your girlfriend back at the office?”

you feel his movements stop completely, and you turn your head to look at him. panic arises in your chest and you worry if you’ve just said something wrong. he looks at you, hair stuck to his forehead and he pushes it back, exposing his forehead. 

you try with much difficulty not to swoon at how good he looks, but you remind yourself that you might’ve just fucked up whatever was going on between the two of you. 

“juye--”

“i meant it.”

his eyes travel from staring at the water to yours. 

“i’ve been wanting to ask you the entire time since i saw you at the office, and i had this grand plan to ask you formally... but i messed up when i announced it to the security guard... and i don’t know why i lost the courage to say anything before getting into the tub with you.”

again with that heartbreaking speech.

a giggle escapes your lips as you turn away, knowing that you laughing would most likely hurt his pride as a ceo and as your boss. 

“ah... can you not laugh at a time like this? i know i’m a wuss, alright? no need to laugh and rub it in my face.”

you hear him whine, and the tone was so unfamiliar, it takes you awhile to absorb it. you make a decision in your heart, suddenly so sure that you wanted him for yourself, so sure that despite not knowing the bare minimum about him, that this was real. 

no mind games, but something true.

was it too fast? maybe. 

but the level of comfort between the two of you was just astronomical. 

it was difficult to ignore.

you swish around the tub, awkwardly lifting your legs so they were on both sides of his hips and you were now facing him. the water barely covers your chest, so you lean forward a little and he looks at you with uncertainty.

“ask me now then.”

“what? no! it’s so lame and un-classy and--”

“i might say no if you don’t ask me now,” you tilt your head to the side, like a puppy. he laughs in disbelief, tongue swiping across his teeth as he looks away for a moment. 

you suck your lips between your teeth, trying to hide a smile at his reaction. 

he looks at you with his signature corner-of-the-eye look, and you see the very moment he realises that he’s been completely bought over by you. 

“okay,” he pulls you closer to him, and he pulls your legs around his waist so that you were sitting on his (bare) lap. 

“y/n, would you do me the honour of being mine?”

there was absolutely no way you could’ve hidden the happiness that swamped you whole, and you pull his face towards yours. hair stuck to your shoulders and his arms around your waist, you bury your lips between his. 

“if i didn’t know better, i’d say you sounded like you just proposed.” you pull away, gently wiping the droplets of water from his cheek and chin. 

“i totally would, but you’re not ready for that yet.”

you sense the mischief and... provocation in his voice.

“not ready for what, may i ask?” your arms were around his neck as you lean back a little. 

“well,” he shoots you a dirty look, hands travelling up your back and pushing you forwards. “that’s up to your own interpretation.”

Part 4: Play With Fire 

#timetohajima #timetohajima playlist feels #juyeon smut #i fucking died writing this #i dont think ive written anything REMOTELY as soft/suggestive as this #i cried #i teared up i swear #the boyz #the boyz fanfic #juyeon fanfic #lee juyeon #juyeon

[unsettlingshortstories]

Terra Incognita

Vladimir Nabokov (1931)

The sound of the waterfall grew more and more muffled, until it finally dissolved altogether, and we moved on through the wildwood of a hitherto unexplored region. We walked, and had been walking, for a long time already—in front, Gregson and I; our eight native porters behind, one after the other; last of all, whining and protesting at every step, came Cook. I knew that Gregson had recruited him on the advice of a local hunter. Cook had insisted that he was ready to do anything to get out of Zonraki, where they pass half the year brewing their von-gho and the other half drinking it. It remained unclear, however—or else I was already beginning to forget many things, as we walked on and on—exactly who this Cook was (a runaway sailor, perhaps?).

Gregson strode on beside me, sinewy, lanky, with bare, bony knees. He held a long-handled green butterfly net like a banner. The porters, big, glossy-brown Badonians with thick manes of hair and cobalt arabesques between their eyes, whom we had also engaged in Zonraki, walked with a strong, even step. Behind them straggled Cook, bloated, red-haired, with a drooping underlip, hands in pockets and carrying nothing. I recalled vaguely that at the outset of the expedition he had chattered a lot and made obscure jokes, in a manner he had, a mixture of insolence and servility, reminiscent of a Shakespearean clown; but soon his spirits fell and he grew glum and began to neglect his duties, which included interpreting, since Gregson’s understanding of the Badonian dialect was still poor.

There was something languorous and velvety about the heat. A stifling fragrance came from the inflorescences of Vallieria mirifica, mother-of-pearl in color and resembling clusters of soap bubbles, that arched across the narrow, dry streambed along which we proceeded. The branches of porphyroferous trees intertwined with those of the black-leafed limia to form a tunnel, penetrated here and there by a ray of hazy light. Above, in the thick mass of vegetation, among brilliant pendulous racemes and strange dark tangles of some kind, hoary monkeys snapped and chattered, while a cometlike bird flashed like Bengal light, crying out in its small, shrill voice. I kept telling myself that my head was heavy from the long march, the heat, the medley of colors, and the forest din, but secretly I knew that I was ill. I surmised it to be the local fever. I had resolved, however, to conceal my condition from Gregson, and had assumed a cheerful, even merry air, when disaster struck.

“It’s my fault,” said Gregson. “I should never have got involved with him.”

We were now alone. Cook and all eight of the natives, with tent, folding boat, supplies, and collections, had deserted us and vanished noiselessly while we busied ourselves in the thick bush, chasing fascinating insects. I think we tried to catch up with the fugitives—I do not recall clearly, but, in any case, we failed. We had to decide whether to return to Zonraki or continue our projected itinerary, across as yet unknown country, toward the Gurano Hills. The unknown won out. We moved on. I was already shivering all over and deafened by quinine, but still went on collecting nameless plants, while Gregson, though fully realizing the danger of our situation, continued catching butterflies and diptera as avidly as ever.

We had scarcely walked half a mile when suddenly Cook overtook us. His shirt was torn—apparently by himself, deliberately—and he was panting and gasping. Without a word Gregson drew his revolver and prepared to shoot the scoundrel, but he threw himself at Gregson’s feet and, shielding his head with both arms, began to swear that the natives had led him away by force and had wanted to eat him (which was a lie, for the Badonians are not cannibals). I suspect that he had easily incited them, stupid and timorous as they were, to abandon the dubious journey, but had not taken into account that he could not keep up with their powerful stride and, having fallen hopelessly behind, had returned to us. Because of him invaluable collections were lost. He had to die. But Gregson put away the revolver and we moved on, with Cook wheezing and stumbling behind.

The woods were gradually thinning. I was tormented by strange hallucinations. I gazed at the weird tree trunks, around some of which were coiled thick, flesh-colored snakes; suddenly I thought I saw, between the trunks, as though through my fingers, the mirror of a half-open wardrobe with dim reflections, but then I took hold of myself, looked more carefully, and found that it was only the deceptive glimmer of an acreana bush (a curly plant with large berries resembling plump prunes). After a while the trees parted altogether and the sky rose before us like a solid wall of blue. We were at the top of a steep incline. Below shimmered and steamed an enormous marsh, and, far beyond, one distinguished the tremulous silhouette of a mauve-colored range of hills.

“I swear to God we must turn back,” said Cook in a sobbing voice. “I swear to God we’ll perish in these swamps—I’ve got seven daughters and a dog at home. Let’s turn back—we know the way.…”

He wrung his hands, and the sweat rolled from his fat, red-browed face. “Home, home,” he kept repeating. “You’ve caught enough bugs. Let’s go home!”

Gregson and I began to descend the stony slope. At first Cook remained standing above, a small white figure against the monstrously green background of forest; but suddenly he threw up his hands, uttered a cry, and started to slither down after us.

The slope narrowed, forming a rocky crest that reached out like a long promontory into the marshes; they sparkled through the steamy haze. The noonday sky, now freed of its leafy veils, hung oppressively over us with its blinding darkness—yes, its blinding darkness, for there is no other way to describe it. I tried not to look up; but in this sky, at the very verge of my field of vision, there floated, always keeping up with me, whitish phantoms of plaster, stucco curlicues and rosettes, like those used to adorn European ceilings; however, I had only to look directly at them and they would vanish, and again the tropical sky would boom, as it were, with even, dense blueness. We were still walking along the rocky promontory, but it kept tapering and betraying us. Around it grew golden marsh reeds, like a million bared swords gleaming in the sun. Here and there flashed elongated pools, and over them hung dark swarms of midges. A large swamp flower, presumably an orchid, stretched toward me its drooping, downy lip, which seemed smeared with egg yolk. Gregson swung his net—and sank to his hips in the brocaded ooze as a gigantic swallowtail, with a flap of its satin wing, sailed away from him over the reeds, toward the shimmer of pale emanations where the indistinct folds of a window curtain seemed to hang. I must not, I said to myself, I must not.… I shifted my gaze and walked on beside Gregson, now over rock, now across hissing and lip-smacking soil. I felt chills, in spite of the greenhouse heat. I foresaw that in a moment I would collapse altogether, that the contours and convexities of delirium, showing through the sky and through the golden reeds, would gain complete control of my consciousness. At times Gregson and Cook seemed to grow transparent, and I thought I saw, through them, wallpaper with an endlessly repeated design of reeds. I took hold of myself, strained to keep my eyes open, and moved on. Cook by now was crawling on all fours, yelling, and snatching at Gregson’s legs, but the latter would shake him off and keep walking. I looked at Gregson, at his stubborn profile, and felt, to my horror, that I was forgetting who Gregson was, and why I was with him.

Meanwhile we kept sinking into the ooze more and more frequently, deeper and deeper; the insatiable mire would suck at us; and, wriggling, we would slip free. Cook kept falling down and crawling, covered with insect bites, all swollen and soaked, and, dear God, how he would squeal when disgusting bevies of minute, bright-green hydrotic snakes, attracted by our sweat, would take off in pursuit of us, tensing and uncoiling to sail two yards and then another two. I, however, was much more frightened by something else: now and then, on my left (always, for some reason, on my left), listing among the repetitious reeds, what seemed a large armchair but was actually a strange, cumbersome gray amphibian, whose name Gregson refused to tell me, would rise out of the swamp.

“A break,” said Gregson abruptly, “let’s take a break.”

By a stroke of luck we managed to scramble onto an islet of rock, surrounded by the swamp vegetation. Gregson took off his knapsack and issued us some native patties, smelling of ipecacuanha, and a dozen acreana fruit. How thirsty I was, and how little help was the scanty, astringent juice of the acreana.…

“Look, how odd,” Gregson said to me, not in English, but in some other language, so that Cook would not understand. “We must get through to the hills, but look, how odd—could the hills have been a mirage?—they are no longer visible.”

I raised myself up from my pillow and leaned my elbow on the resilient surface of the rock.… Yes, it was true that the hills were no longer visible; there was only the quivering vapor hanging over the marsh. Once again everything around me assumed an ambiguous transparency. I leaned back and said softly to Gregson, “You probably can’t see, but something keeps trying to come through.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Gregson.

I realized that what I was saying was nonsense and stopped. My head was spinning and there was a humming in my ears; Gregson, down on one knee, rummaged through his knapsack, but found no medicine there, and my supply was exhausted. Cook sat in silence, morosely picking at a rock. Through a rent in his shirtsleeve there showed a strange tattoo on his arm: a crystal tumbler with a teaspoon, very well executed.

“Vallière is sick—haven’t you got some tablets?” Gregson said to him. I did not hear the exact words, but I could guess the general sense of their talk, which would grow absurd and somehow spherical when I tried to listen more closely.

Cook turned slowly and the glassy tattoo slid off his skin to one side, remaining suspended in midair; then it floated off, floated off, and I pursued it with my frightened gaze, but, as I turned away, it lost itself in the vapor of the swamp, with a last faint gleam.

“Serves you right,” muttered Cook. “It’s just too bad. The same will happen to you and me. Just too bad.…”

In the course of the last few minutes—that is, ever since we had stopped to rest on the rocky islet—he seemed to have grown larger, had swelled, and there was now something mocking and dangerous about him. Gregson took off his sun helmet and, pulling out a dirty handkerchief, wiped his forehead, which was orange over the brows, and white above that. Then he put on his helmet again, leaned over to me, and said, “Pull yourself together, please” (or words to that effect). “We shall try to move on. The vapor is hiding the hills, but they are there. I am certain we have covered about half the swamp.” (This is all very approximate.)

“Murderer,” said Cook under his breath. The tattoo was now again on his forearm; not the entire glass, though, but one side of it—there was not quite enough room for the remainder, which quivered in space, casting reflections. “Murderer,” Cook repeated with satisfaction, raising his inflamed eyes. “I told you we would get stuck here. Black dogs eat too much carrion. Mi, re, fa, sol.”

“He’s a clown,” I softly informed Gregson, “a Shakespearean clown.”

“Clow, clow, clow,” Gregson answered, “clow, clow—clo, clo, clo.… Do you hear,” he went on, shouting in my ear. “You must get up. We have to move on.”

The rock was as white and as soft as a bed. I raised myself a little, but promptly fell back on the pillow.

“We shall have to carry him,” said Gregson’s faraway voice. “Give me a hand.”

“Fiddlesticks,” replied Cook (or so it sounded to me). “I suggest we enjoy some fresh meat before he dries up. Fa, sol, mi, re.”

“He’s sick, he’s sick too,” I cried to Gregson. “You’re here with two lunatics. Go ahead alone. You’ll make it.… Go.”

“Fat chance we’ll let him go,” said Cook.

Meanwhile delirious visions, taking advantage of the general confusion, were quietly and firmly finding their places. The lines of a dim ceiling stretched and crossed in the sky. A large armchair rose, as if supported from below, out of the swamp. Glossy birds flew through the haze of the marsh and, as they settled, one turned into the wooden knob of a bedpost, another into a decanter. Gathering all my willpower, I focused my gaze and drove off this dangerous trash. Above the reeds flew real birds with long flame-colored tails. The air buzzed with insects. Gregson was waving away a varicolored fly, and at the same time trying to determine its species. Finally he could contain himself no longer and caught it in his net. His motions underwent curious changes, as if someone kept reshuffling them. I saw him in different poses simultaneously; he was divesting himself of himself, as if he were made of many glass Gregsons whose outlines did not coincide. Then he condensed again, and stood up firmly. He was shaking Cook by the shoulder.

“You are going to help me carry him,” Gregson was saying distinctly. “If you were not a traitor, we would not be in this mess.”

Cook remained silent, but slowly flushed purple.

“See here, Cook, you’ll regret this,” said Gregson. “I’m telling you for the last time—”

At this point occurred what had been ripening for a long time. Cook drove his head like a bull into Gregson’s stomach. They both fell; Gregson had time to get his revolver out, but Cook managed to knock it out of his hand. Then they clutched each other and started rolling in their embrace, panting deafeningly. I looked at them, helpless. Cook’s broad back would grow tense and the vertebrae would show through his shirt; but suddenly, instead of his back, a leg, also his, would appear, covered with coppery hairs, and with a blue vein running up the skin, and Gregson was rolling on top of him. Gregson’s helmet flew off and wobbled away, like half of an enormous cardboard egg. From somewhere in the labyrinth of their bodies Cook’s fingers wriggled out, clenching a rusty but sharp knife; the knife entered Gregson’s back as if it were clay, but Gregson only gave a grunt, and they both rolled over several times; when I next saw my friend’s back the handle and top half of the blade protruded, while his hands had locked around Cook’s thick neck, which crunched as he squeezed, and Cook’s legs were twitching. They made one last full revolution, and now only a quarter of the blade was visible—no, a fifth—no, now not even that much showed: it had entered completely. Gregson grew still after having piled on top of Cook, who had also become motionless.

I watched, and it seemed to me (fogged as my senses were by fever) that this was all a harmless game, that in a moment they would get up and, when they had caught their breath, would peacefully carry me off across the swamp toward the cool blue hills, to some shady place with babbling water. But suddenly, at this last stage of my mortal illness—for I knew that in a few minutes I would die—in these final minutes everything grew completely lucid: I realized that all that was taking place around me was not the trick of an inflamed imagination, not the veil of delirium, through which unwelcome glimpses of my supposedly real existence in a distant European city (the wallpaper, the armchair, the glass of lemonade) were trying to show. I realized that the obtrusive room was fictitious, since everything beyond death is, at best, fictitious: an imitation of life hastily knocked together, the furnished rooms of nonexistence. I realized that reality was here, here beneath that wonderful, frightening tropical sky, among those gleaming swordlike reeds, in that vapor hanging over them, and in the thick-lipped flowers clinging to the flat islet, where, beside me, lay two clinched corpses. And, having realized this, I found within me the strength to crawl over to them and pull the knife from the back of Gregson, my leader, my dear friend. He was dead, quite dead, and all the little bottles in his pockets were broken and crushed. Cook, too, was dead, and his ink-black tongue protruded from his mouth. I pried open Gregson’s fingers and turned his body over. His lips were half-open and bloody; his face, which already seemed hardened, appeared badly shaven; the bluish whites of his eyes showed between the lids. For the last time I saw all this distinctly, consciously, with the seal of authenticity on everything—their skinned knees, the bright flies circling over them, the females of those flies already seeking a spot for oviposition. Fumbling with my enfeebled hands, I took a thick notebook out of my shirt pocket, but here I was overcome by weakness; I sat down and my head drooped. And yet I conquered this impatient fog of death and looked around. Blue air, heat, solitude.… And how sorry I felt for Gregson, who would never return home—I even remembered his wife and the old cook, and his parrots, and many other things. Then I thought about our discoveries, our precious finds, the rare, still undescribed plants and animals that now would never be named by us. I was alone. Hazier flashed the reeds, dimmer flamed the sky. My eyes followed an exquisite beetle that was crawling across a stone, but I had no strength left to catch it. Everything around me was fading, leaving bare the scenery of death—a few pieces of realistic furniture and four walls. My last motion was to open the book, which was damp with my sweat, for I absolutely had to make a note of something; but, alas, it slipped out of my hand. I groped all along the blanket, but it was no longer there.

[texastheband]

Texas V Wu-Tang Clan

Interview by Steven Daly Photography by Peter Robathan Taken from The Face - December 1997

It’s the pop story of ’97, the most unlikely end to a weird year: TEXAS collaborating with the WU-TANG CLAN. First, a Scottish rock band on the verge of slip-sliding away into a tasteful obscurity was reborn via a slew of hit singles and a glut of stylish imagery. Now, in New York, their Brit-cool meets hip hop in a mutually beneficial deal. For everyone concerned, it’s all they need to get on…

Sharleen Spiteri took the call in her front hall. "Yo, Peach," growled a strange voice over transatlantic wires. The gentleman caller was none other than Ol’ Dirty Bastard, court jester of New York hip hop dynasty the Wu-Tang Clan. Apparently Mr Bastard fancied working with Spiteri and her band, Texas. It all started in August, with one of Texas’ managers discussing Land Rovers with someone called Power in New York, who turned out to be the manager of the Clan. A video of Texas’ "Say What You Want" was dispatched, and prodigiously gifted Wu-Tang chieftain RZA signed on to do a re-recording of the single for a prospective single project. Original rapper OI’ Dirty Bastard was replaced by Method Man, the next Clan member with a solo album scheduled.

The hook-up with the Wu-Tang Clan is the perfect climax to a year that’s seen Texas rise from a tumbleweed-strewn grave to grab the pole position in British Pop. A year in which Glasgow’s Sharleen Spiteri has stared out, defiantly remade and remodelled, from every magazine cover and TV show. From a media point-of-view, Texas’ – Spiteri’s – reconfiguring of music and fashion has been the year’s dream ticket. Ever since Bryan Ferry took the innovative step of getting Anthony Proce in to design Roxy Music’s wardrobe in the early seventies, successive phases of pop’s history have thrown up performers who use the fashion photographers, stylists and designers du jour to present The Package. It is these performers who most often capture the youthful mood of their time: that’s why you can see the vulgar glamour of the Seventies in the cut of Ferry’s sleazy lounge-lizard jib; the naive aspiration of the early Eighties in the box-suited and pixie-booted "style" of Spandau Ballet; and the onset of the late-Eighties mixing and matching of different cultures in Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance. When we look back at 1997 we will see in Texas’ sound and vision a new mix, all to do with living the high life but keeping it real. Catwalk and street, the designer and the understated, Prada and Nike; the slick and the cred. Ten years’ gone Scottish guitar outfit and this season’s bright young labels (in both senses). The setting too, has helped. Fashion, again, is big cultural business. Clever pop stars (Goldie! Liam!) want to be seen by the runway and hanging out at fashion parties; young designers yearn to be visible on the stage or the podium (viz. Antonio Berardi’s autumn London show at Brixton Academy). Factor in a paucity of self-motivating, button-pressing, songwriting, photogenic women in British music, and you have a ready-made media phenomenon.

Sharleen Spiteri is holding court at a New York restaurant with a gang of Calvin Klein employees who’ve just accompanied her to the VH-1 Fashion Awards. The annual ceremony is a mutually convenient arrangement, a TV cluster-fuck where the music and fashion industries exchange credibility and cachet. Texas are contemplating just such an exchange themselves, having recently been given the OK by CK. (Tommy Hilfiger has also made overtures.) Spiteri is to have an audience with Klein himself; she’s already been bribed with a trunkful of CK merch, including the streaked black dress – "inspired by [the artist] Brice Marden" – she’s wearing tonight.

Someone suggests that Texas would be perfect for Fashionably Loud, an MTV special where models strut on stage as the hot bands of the moment rock out. "Forget it," quips Spiteri. "there’s only room for one star up where we play." If Spiteri were to join Kate Moss and Christy Turlington on the Calvin Klein payroll it would not, as she sees it, detract from Texas’ music. "Fashion and music have always been connected, and now more than ever," says the singer. "You couldn’t have one without the other. If there’s shit music at a runway show it just doesn’t work."

Meanwhile, there’s the songs. With "White On Blonde", Texas’ fourth album, the music takes care of itself. Radio-friendly unit-shifters abound, helped on their way by producers Mike hedges (manic Street Preachers) and Manchester’s Grand Central. The singles have been, in sequence, nu-soul fresh ("Say What You Want"), springy pop ("Halo"), Motown-sunny ("Black Eyed Boy") and winter warming ("Put Your Arms Around Me"). The B-side remixers have covered all bases in these dance-savvy late Nineties, ranging from of-the-moment talents like the Ballistic Brothers and Trailerman to old stand-bys like Andy Weatherall and 808 State. Texas, patently, lost their dancefloor cherry by cherry-picking the brightest and the best.

Of course, while the singles have all enjoyed heavy airplay and gone top ten, and while "White on Blonde" has sold two million copies (more than its two predecessors put together), the remixes haven’t necessarily helped those sales. As the go-faster stripes of credibility on the solid saloon car, though, they’ve still been essential to The Package; all part of the thoroughly modern mix.

So now, the Wu-Tang Clan. To many, though, this latest development could smack of opportunism. One group are renegade roughnecks who mythologise themselves in epic hip hop anthems; the others are fastidiously tasteful Scots with an eye for perfectly modern consensus-pop. The Wu-Tang Clan are certainly among the aesthetically correct names that Texas always drop in interviews, but can there possibly be a legitimate connection between the two? "A lot of the Wu-Tang backing tracks have the feel of soundtracks, and we’ve always gone for a cinematic sound," says Johnny McElhone, Spiteri’s genial songwriting partner and bass player. "And I’ve always liked Al Green, and they use a lot of Willie Mitchell, Al Green, that whole Hi Records sound, and make it modern. And Marvin Gaye: Method Man, in that duet with Mary J. Blige, used ‘You’re All I Need To Get By."

Having dominated the charts in Europe this year, Texas are now, logically, turning their attention to America: the country that has always inspired them, whether it’s the dusty, pseudo-roots sound of their first three albums, or the iconic-soul and post-soul sounds of Memphis and Staten Island that they give props to now; the place where success has always eluded them. Yet given the commercial momentum of "White on Blonde", their approach to the Wu-Tang Clan is surely not driven by desperation. They are, then, viewing the collaboration with a combination of fan-like wonder and disbelief.

"Method Man is just a wicked, wicked rapper," enthuses Spiteri. "I can’t wait to hear the combination of my vocals and his – I‘m really excited about it. I have a kind of sweet, virginal thing going on, and he’s got this dirty sex vibe. It could be the perfect marriage."

It’s a Saturday night in Manhattan, and ten storeys above Times Square, Sharleen Spiteri sits on the floor of a recording studio, tinkering with her latest high-tech gadget, a Philips computer about the size of a TV remote. Across the street, three ten-foot high electronic ticker-tapes provide testimony to Monday’s stockmarket crash. No matter how much Spiteri plays with her new toy, there’s still that nagging worry: what if the Wu-Tang Clan won’t show? They’re supposed to be on a tour bus returning from a gig in Washington, DC today, but these, after all, are the original masters of disaster. The crew whose normal modus operandi seems to be chaos. The band that recently quit a national tour because only five of the nine members could be relied upon to turn up.

The studio has been booked since six, so Spiteri and McElhone breathe signs of relief when RZA and his posse finally roll in around ten. Among the dozen-strong throng, they’re surprised to see Wu-Tang member Reakwon, a stout fellow with a Mercedes cap and a Fort Knox of gold dental work. Several cigars are hollowed out, their contents replaced with weed; bottles of Cristal champagne and Hennessy are passed around as the air grows thick with smoke.

Half an hour later, method Man makes his entrance. Stooped over, he looks deceptively short – maybe only six-four in his Hilfiger fleece hoodie. "I’m John-John," he tells Sharleen, referring to his alias, Johnny Blaze. Pulling out the big blunt from behind his ear, Method Man considers the job at hand. "She got a nice voice," drawls the laconic giant. "This band not exactly my type of listening material, but they going in the right direction, if you ask me, by fucking with us. I’m waiting for RZA to put down a beat, hear how the vocals sound melded with the track before I come with ideas. I’m one of those guys."

As his friends get on with the serious business of partying, RZA goes to work, feeding a succession of sample-laden discs into a sampler. He has a diffident, genius-at-work charisma about him as he sits with his back to the room, keyboard at side. With a flick of his prodigiously ringed hand he reaches out and conjures up a brutal bassline. The speakers pulse violently. RZA takes a sip of Hennessy. "Record this, right here!" he tells the bewildered-looking engineer.

RZA has decided to dispense with the original master tapes, shipped over from Britain. He wants a completely new version, recorded rough-and-ready without the standard safety net of a time-code. This convention-trashing, wildstyle approach to recording elicits some consternation from the studio’s engineer, a central-casting white guy who warns RZA: "You won’t be able to synch to this, you know." RZA waves him away and turns to Johnny McElhone. "This riff is in E," McElhone tells RZA. "Maybe we should try it in the original key, D." "What are you saying? I understand no keys," says RZA. "You want me to sing the whole song straight through?" asks Spiteri, trying to divine RZA’s intentions. He orders the lights turned down, and offers Sharleen some herbal inspiration. She politely declines and walks to the vocal booth. "What’s her name? Sheree?" asks RZA as Spiteri warms up. The engineer wants to know if he should maybe start recording. "Always record everything!" exclaims RZA. "Ready, get set, go! Play and record, play and record!" Spiteri rattles of a perfect new version of ‘Say What You Want’, grooving along by herself and passionately acting out every word, even the ones borrowed from Marvin Gaye’s ‘Sexual Healing". Now it’s time for Method Man, who at this point is so herbally inspired that he can hardly open his eyes. He jumps up and lopes around the main room, running off his newly written rhymes and clutching a bottle of Crystal. Method walks up to the mic and opens his mouth, and that treacly baritone sets a typically morbid scene: "Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest…" The Texas duo just look at each other, shaking their heads in awe.

The hours and the rhymes pass. Around 6am, things are starting to get a little weird. As Method Man snoozes on the sofa, RZA bounces off the walls, dancing like a dervish. "These are the new rhythms," he yells. "These are the new dances from Africa. I learned them when I was there last week!" McElhone and Spiteri crack up. The engineer probably wishes he were in Africa right now; he further draws RZA’s ire by making a mistake as he runs off some rough cassettes. As everyone says goodbye, RZA decides that he’s taking the studio’s sampler – he already has two of the $3,500 items, but at this point it’s all about the wind-up. The engineer, though, having last seen the end of his tether a good few hours ago, has had enough. By the commencement of office hours that morning, the rest of the session will have been cancelled and the band and Clan banned from this studio.

After a few frantic phone calls later that morning, a studio is found that is prepared to let the Wu-Tang Clan through the door. With one precondition: only two of them are allowed in the studio. Now it’s midnight, and four-fifths of Texas watch a trio of RZA-hired session men go through their paces. They shift effortlessly through a handful of soul and funk styles, and the Scots mutter approval. These are the kind of players that are so good they can get away with wearing questionable knitwear.

Soon, another couple of Wus pop in. Then another couple. In the control room RZA orders up a bottle of Hennessy and talks about hearing "Say What You Want" for the first time. "I didn’t fully understand the sound of it," admits the soft-spoken maestro. "It was obviously a popular song, a radio song, and my sound is the total opposite. But I thought that the artist had something, so I thought: "Let’s take her and rock her to my beat."

"Sweet soul, that’s what her stuff sounded like to me. Smooth. It reminded me of the Seventies: in those days, they did songs that would fit anywhere. If you went to a club getting high it would fit; if you was cleaning up your house it would fit. That’s when you’ve got a real great song right there." Whether or not "Say What You Want" is a great song, it’s not quite coming together tonight. Despite the best offers of the studio management, a full complement of Wu posse members ended up in the house. As the night drags on the trio of musicians don’t get with the track, and by eight the following morning there is little in the way of usable material. But everyone stays upbeat. Texas will work on the track in Glasgow, and send it back to RZA to finish, along with a new song based around one of his samples. After vowing to stay in touch, everyone stumbles out into the Manhattan morning light together, the Scots with an American name, and the Clan without a tartan.

From a distance the collaboration will continue. But it’s only a different kind of distance. Culturally, creatively, the gap between the Wu-Tang Clan and the old twang clan is considerable. Yet so it goes, this cross-cultural exchange programme. Whether it’s The Stones copping blues movies, Bowie digging the Philadelphia Sound, Lisa Stansfield getting soulful with Barry White, Sting getting doleful with Puff Daddy… Whether it’s Todd Terry reviving Everything But The Girl or Armand Van Helden making Sneaker Pimps the unwitting jumpstarters of speed garage, naked opportunism and risk-taking innovation have always been confused. Now, with genres blurred and tricknology proceeding apace, anything is possible and everything is permitted. Perhaps it is this, the sheer unlikeliness, that makes the Texas-Wu experiment the most illuminating collaboration of the year. Whether it works or not.

"If you play her stuff in a club, everybody be dancing, but it’s a clear room and you can see everybody’s face," RZA reflects on the departing Sharleen Spiteri. "But if you play mine, the room is smoky." And perhaps it is here, among the clouds and the clarity, between the smoke and the mirrors, where a new sound and vision lies.

Text originally posted on texasindemand.com

#article #whiteonblonde #wob #the face #the faculty #wutangclan #wu-tang clan #saywhatyouwant #texas #texasband #texas band #texastheband #texas the band #sharleenspiteri #sharleen spiteri

[acesophiewalten]

Feral Children Steal A Car And Need A Hug

Hello, everyone! So, this takes place in the wonderful @nightxpining‘s Feral Omens AU, directly after the events of their mini-fic, Come To Me, which I’ll let you read on your own. I would recommend it heavily, as the writing isn’t just good, so is the art. 

Word Count: 2,684 

CW for some angst near the end, hotwiring cars, and references to killing/hurting people and demons.

I hope you like it!

“We have to rescue a fallen angel,” said Adam Young. 

Adam took a small sip of his Mint Tea. It was good, he thought, not as hot as last time. His dog, Dog, laid pleasantly by his feet, gnawing on a bone Adam had willed for him. The Tea Room at the Ritz Hotel was unusually empty today, and he found relief in this. Adam liked loud noises in principle, but in practice he found them entirely overwhelming.

Adam Young was eleven years old. He had thick, dark blond hair, and his eyes were the color of dirty sink-water. He had dark brown freckles all over his face. He often looked down at Dog to give him a pat on the head or a small order not to nip at the staff passing by. He was also the antichrist. 

“We have to do what?” asked Pippin Galadriel Moonchild. “Of all the things to stop the end of the world, we have to do that? We can’t, say, just kill Satan, so he can’t make you do anything? Or go to a church service?” 

Pippin Galadriel Moonchild had a stubborn brown face, stubborn brown eyes, and stubborn brown hair pulled up into a stubborn high ponytail. She was eleven, and the only girl sitting at the table. She wore bright red rainboots, striped leggings, and a yellow shirt. Hanging off her chair was a red slicker that she wore always, especially when it wasn’t raining out. She had a half-eaten sandwich on her plate. Nobody called her Pippin Galadriel Moonchild, unless it was her mother, and Pippin Galadriel Moonchild hadn’t cleaned her room before going outside. Pip, Pepper, and Pep were her favorite nicknames, though Mooney had crossed some mouthes. 

“No, Pepper, we can’t just kill Satan,” said Wensleydale. “Why is it that we have to keep reminding you that you can’t just kill people?” 

“Satan isn’t a person,” said Brian. “Besides, if Pepper wants to kill a demon, let her. She can fend one off.” 

Pepper smiled. 

Brian and Wedsleydale were very similar in size and shape. Wensleydale had blond hair, light blue eyes, and comically large glasses. His face was blotchy and he was filled with a stuck-up smartness that left him inches from being kicked out of the gang. Brian’s hair was black and dead-straight, his eyes were light brown, and his wardrobe seemed to only include blacks, greys, and the occasional red or green. He, as many young boys did, had pure luck going for him, and was sure he’d make his way to an accidental fortune.

Adam then said, “We can’t just go to church and beg. God wouldn't take us seriously if we did that.” 

“Can’t you make Her take us seriously? With your powers and things?” 

Adam closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them again. Maybe he should’ve kept it to himself and brought in his parents, even if they wouldn’t believe him, or simply gone down to Hell with Dog. 

“You think I haven’t tried? If I could reverse it, I would’ve.” 

Adam could say one good thing about being the antichrist, and that was that the job came with powers. He’d been born with the ability to simply will things into existence, to make things happen with no drawbacks or other explanations. He could get his friends anywhere by only thinking about it, get good grades by saying that he did, and cover his tracks extremely well. Adam Young had never told a lie in his life, simply because his powers didn’t allow him to. He called it willing, simply because there was no better word to call it. 

He was still limited, of course. Nothing otherworldly could really happen, for a while. He couldn’t raise Atlantis out of the sea or make aliens land on Earth, but the weather where he lived remained perfect, and his school life was good, and he was generally seen as a sweet, if not secretive young boy. 

When Adam turned nine, Dog came running out of Hell and into the area behind the bushes of the Young’s garden. He was still a Hellhound, then, and had been listening to Adam describing the perfect dog. Adam’s idea of a perfect dog was, of course, the exact opposite of what Dog had once been. Adam wanted a small dog, a brilliantly intelligent, independent dog, with one ear turned inside out. A proper mongrel, Adam had said. 

Dog conformed. A smaller version of him, one more intelligent, more loving, and more brilliant ran out of the bushes and into Adam’s willing arms. 

With Dog came more and more power. Adam could now, indeed, lift Atlantis out of the sea, and make aliens land on Earth, and transport all of his friends to the Ritz Tearoom without any of their parents noticing. One night, he, Pepper, Wedsleydale, Brian, and Dog genuinely flew around a grassy plain near Tadfield, and had one of the best nights in his life. 

But with all of this power, of course, came a time limit. He had done research about his parentage all his life, and it slowly started to dawn on him that as long as he used his powers, he was set to destroy the world before his thirteenth birthday. Then, he would die, probably gruesomely, and God would see to it that his friends would be killed. 

Adam was fully aware of what would happen if he failed getting the fallen angel back. All he ever wanted was to have fun, have no eyes on him, be popular and smart but not especially striking. He didn’t want the world to end, ideally, it would be around for ages and ages and ages before humans destroyed the world themselves.

Pepper nodded, solemnly, “So, what does this ‘fallen angel’ look like?” 

Adam began, “He’s short. White hair. Blue eyes. Should have black wings. This might be subjective, of course, since he could look completely different as a demon. Heaven’s trying to do an analysis, but Hell isn’t going to cooperate that easily.” 

“Great,” said Wedsleydale. “Does he have a name?” “Aziraphale,” said Adam. “We’ll apparently know him by his wings. They’ll be pitch-black.” 

“Who told you all of this?” asked Brian. 

“Metatron. He’s the voice of God. Speaks for Her and things. He visited me in a dream, once I summoned him.” 

“Why did God make a man speak for Her?” asked Pepper.

Nobody had an answer to that.

“What does a fallen angel have to do with the apocalypse?” asked Wensleydale. 

“Look, I don’t know. Metatron just said that I needed to save a fallen angel. That’s it. Even with me willing him to, he wouldn’t give me something else.” 

“Bummer,” said Brian. 

“So,” said Pepper, “what do we need? I think I can get my mum to lend me her crossbow.” 

Adam smiled. If there was one thing he could count on in any situation, it was Pepper offering to help with whatever weapon came to her mind first, and the rest of the group quickly jumping to add on their own thoughts. Adam was the leader of the gang, sure, but all of them had a significant foothold, and in a way it was not one gang but four one-person gangs that had decided to team up.

“I have a slingshot,” said Wedsleydale, “Maybe I can go with my mum to church this evening and get us some knives” 

Brian said, “I’ll bring dumb luck. And a couple bottles of holy water.”

“But we need something to go down there with,” said Adam. “A sturdy car. A good-looking one, too, something that’ll make us look serious. My dad’s car can barely drive in the rain.” 

“Not mine, or Wedsleydale’s,” said Pepper, “our cars are so broken we can’t make it a mile.”

Everyone looked to Brian, and Brian shrugged. “I honestly don’t think we have a car.”

“You know,” said Wedsleydale, tentatively, “there’s a black Bentley parked right across from here. Sturdy thing. Looks to be from the 1920s, 1930s, maybe. We could steal it and drive it into Hell.” 

“Isn’t that car Creepy Ritz Guy’s?” 

Creepy Ritz Guy was the name given to the man that would show up at the Ritz Tearoom while Adam, Pepper, Wedsleydale, and Brian were either entering or leaving. He was tall, thin, with red hair and a sour, downturned mouth. He wore dark sunglasses and never opened his mouth when he spoke. Originally they simply called him The Ritz Guy, but after an incident where Adam swore that his eyes were bright yellow, Creepy was added on. 

Adam, Pepper, Wedsleydale, and Brian had many theories about Creepy Ritz Guy. Pepper had suggested that he was a secret agent, Brian had posited that he was a writer looking for material without anyone noticing who he was, and Adam secretly thought he was a demon. He was not truly creepy, to them or to anyone, but he had that slithering, sly smile, the movement of someone with many things to hide. So Creepy Ritz Guy he was. 

Pepper sighed, “So? Adam can start it, with his will. We’ll be out in seconds.” 

Adam nodded. “She’s right. He won’t even have to know, and besides, nobody’ll suspect us. We’re children, after all.” 

“I’m convinced,” Brian said. 

“So,” said Adam, “how about this. We’ll steal the car after we leave here. I can start it up with my will, and we’ll park it a block away from my house. We’ll pack up tonight, meet at the Bentley, and then we’ll drive off. How does that sound?” 

“Fantastic!” said Pepper. 

“Wonderful!” said Wedsleydale. 

“Wicked!” said Brian. 

Adam smiled, and lifted Dog up onto his lap. “What about you, Dog? Do you want to come?” 

Dog barked, and Adam smiled wider. 

They left The Ritz Tearoom all together, walking as if they were an impenetrable wall. Just like they hoped, and knew, the Bentley was parked on the opposite side of the street, looking clean and well-made up. All of them wondered how Creepy Ritz Guy could keep such a wonderful-looking car. 

They rushed to the other side of the street, and Adam stood in front of the passenger side doors. 

Adam, with Dog standing right next to him, said, “Open.” 

The door clicked, and Pepper ran in. 

Adam ran around the other side, murmured, “Open!” and the door clicked again. Adam crawled in, Dog followed, and Adam soon opened the door for Brian and Wedsleydale to sit in the backseat. 

Adam finally understood the obsession with cars many other boys had. This car was unlike anything he’d seen before, with full-leather seats, one long backseat, and a drop-down cabinet filled with sunglasses. There was a bottom cabinet that Pepper popped open, and found cassette tape upon cassette tape of Queen. It was a good car, finely built and nicely clean. 

Adam placed his hands on the wheel, and said, “Turn on!” 

The entire world seemed to wait in anticipation. Dog, now comfortable on Adam’s lap, tilted his head. 

The car did not start. In fact, it stagnated. 

Adam took a breath in. “Turn on!” he said, a little louder. 

The car made a sputtering noise. For a minute, the doors looked, then unlocked again. Adam looked around. 

“The will isn’t working.”

“What do you mean it’s not working?” Asked Pepper.

“I mean, it’s not turning on. This car, it must be,” Adam paused. “A demon or an angel owns this car. That’s the only explanation. Interfereing with it would mean interfereing indirectly with god, which...”

“So Creepy Ritz Guy isnt human then? What should we call him?” Asked Brian.

There was a silence.

Wensleydale piped, “I think I know how to start this thing up.”

After some questioning, Wensleydale pulled a flatheads screwdriver out of his pocket and began to explain, “We can break the locks on the ignition by hammering this against the keyhole and turning it over. We should then be able to remove the steering column and tamper with the wires, which will allow the car to start.” 

Wedsleydale proceeded to do this with disturbing accuracy. Wedsleydale was a boy of knowledge, of the world, someone who had absorbed everything and kept it in the vast library of his mind. Nobody would expect him to, after all, he looked nothing more than a slightly-awkward person who would grow out of it soon enough, but people with library minds will never really develop that way. Inside their heads are the ways of the world, and what it needed, and in this case the world needed a hotwired Bentley. 

After a couple tries, careful stripping of the wires, and a few sparks, the car revved. The engine started whirring, and all of them found themselves happily relived. 

“Wensleydale, would you like to drive?” asked Adam. 

Wedsleydale shook his head. “No. In fact, I’d like to sit in the backseat, with a seatbelt on.” 

Adam nodded. Dog got up off Adam’s lap, and sat next to Wedsleydale. Dog knew what was good for him, no matter how much he adored Adam. 

Adam, with his feet barely touching the pedals, pressed on the gas. The car sped down, swerved, ran past two stop signs, and nearly crushed a bird under its wheel before Adam thought to will himself the knowledge of driving cars. No pedestrians or many cars either, just in case. 

Adam didn’t like driving, even if he liked the car. Pepper seemed to like it, if you could call leaning your head against the window and looking out dreamily liking something, while Wedsleydale, Brian, and Dog sat in the back hoping Adam’s will didn’t fail him. Adam felt as if there was too much pressure on him, like the car was trying to swerve and fight against him. 

Was this why he didn’t want to end the world, he thought to himself, not because he was good, because he couldn’t stand the pressure? Because he would be on edge if a car he’d never driven before worked differently? He couldn’t think of it. 

The car ride home was long, and awfully quiet. Halfway through the drive Pepper put in a cassette of Best of Queen, which really did nothing. They were simply quiet while drums bursted in their ears and a man sang about love. 

Adam parked the car in the driveway of The Jasmine Cottage. The sun was setting, and the sky gleamed in yellow, orange, and red, and the gang dispersed. 

Pepper came home to her house to find her grandmother had cooked her favorite dinner, macaroni with extra cheese and a glass of sweet pomegranate tea, and ate heartily while petting her cat and thinking vaguely of midnight. She had to start packing up soon, she figured. 

Wedsleydale’s parents weren’t home yet. He sat himself on the couch with a bag of crisps for about five minutes, then got up and started packing. He figured that being early couldn’t be a crime, not in a situation like this. 

Brian read a comic magazine while his parents watched television in the other room. He was used to eating late, and figured that today was like no other. After all, despite the stealing of the car, mentions of the chaotic acts and having tea at The Ritz was normal. 

Adam walked into his house holding Dog. He set Dog down, poured him some dog food, and walked into his room. He packed his backpack quickly, trying to stuff as much as he could. He felt like the universe was counting on him, which it was, and it would be for a very long time. He wanted to be rid of the powers, suddenly, all of the antichrist business, the angel could stay in Hell! 

No, he told himself, no. You have to keep going, you have to save this angel, or else the world will end. Or else everyone will die, and you will die too. 

Adam Young didn’t eat dinner that night. His backpack, filled to the brim with knives, apples, water bottles, various books, and a once-flaming sword, was left by his bed, and he slept fitfully with Dog underneath his arm. 

He had to help, somehow. He was sure about it. He just hoped that what he could do was enough, or if God would hold up on Her promise. 

Midnight came. Adam rolled out of his bed, woke up Dog, and felt as if he was about to cry.

#jean.writes #jean.posts #hey night can i call you my friend in posts and things?? #you're pretty cool #y'all this was supposed to be a drabble #good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #adam young #brian good omens #wedsleydale good omens #pepper good omens #pepper #brian #wedsleydale #my fic #writing

[starlightsearches]

A New Life Pt. 2

I liked the Kylo Ren soulmate AU so much and I got so much love on it that I decided to write a second part! I hope you guys like it! (Here’s the first part if you missed it)

Requests are still open ✨

Kylo Ren X female reader soulmate! AU Pt. 2 

AN: Mentions sex. 

It’s only been a few days since you’ve boarded the Finalizer, but you’ve certainly made yourself at home. So far, Ren has provided you many items that you requested, including an impressive collection of art supplies, a veritable rainbow of a wardrobe, and most eclectically, a maintenance jumpsuit, which you’re wearing right now, the top half tied around your waist over a sleeveless white shirt. 

It had been sweet, and strange to him at the time, when you asked for it, walking through the hangar as Ren took you on a tour of the ship. You had been wide-eyed, admiring the sleek, black organization of the Order, so different from the simple and slow life you had known. You watched the workers at their duties, and a few radar technicians had scurried by, trying to avoid Ren’s attention while still getting a good look at you; the ship was full of talk about his new “guest,” but that had been the first time you’d left his room, and everyone wanted to see.

“What are they wearing?” You had been asking questions non-stop, and Ren tried to answer as many as he could to the best of his abilities. He liked to watch as you listened, processing the information with the slightest of scowls while you internalized it.

“Jumpsuits,” he was grateful it was a question he could answer easily; the more difficult the question was to answer, the more focused you looked, and the more distracted he became by the shape of your brow and the set of your eyes, “standard issue.” Your gaze had followed behind the techs, the look becoming familiar to Ren already. He liked that he was learning to read you without using the force, that your subtle gestures were becoming windows for him to peek through even when no one else could.

“Could I have one?” You had asked, still so polite, despite the fact that he had never said no to one of your requests before. That didn’t mean he wasn’t confused.

“Why?” Compared to the other clothes you had requested, the jumpsuit was plain, and the green-gray color incredibly ugly. You had looked at him, lashes framing your pleading eyes, the corners of your mouth turned up into the slightest of smiles.

“Please?” That was all it took. Ren would give you anything you wanted. Asking something of you, though, was not something he felt prepared for.

“They want us to do what?” you say, sitting curled up on the couch with your sketchbook on your lap. Ren sits across from you, very careful not to move. You had already scolded him a few times for fidgeting too much, and he doesn’t want to ruin your drawing.

“Um, a wedding?” Ren says. He wasn’t sure how to explain, had been putting it off for the last few days, but the longer he waited, the more impatient the general became.

“But why?” You laugh when you say it, and Ren adds your laugh to the mental list he’s compiling of his favorite things about you. “Aren’t weddings between soulmates kind of, I don’t know, silly?”

“Well, actually,” he clears his throat, and you go back to sketching, staring at him for a moment before adding another line on the flimsi and blending it out with your finger, “no one really knows-” he swallows before continuing, “that we’re soulmates.” You pause in your drawing. 

“Why not?” You look up, confused, and then disappointed, leaking sadness out of the corners of your mouth, and it reminds Ren why he didn’t want to have this conversation in the first place.

“The First Order frowns upon connections that could put the organization at risk. Soulmates are seen as a hazard.” You nod solemnly, dropping the sketchbook into your lap and looking pensive. “Some people know, obviously, but it was decided that it would be better if we kept the true nature of our relationship secret.” He watches closely, taking in your microexpressions with a careful eye. You hum through your lips, deep in thought, and Ren waits anxiously to know what you’ll say next.

“So what will everyone else be told?” 

“We’ll keep the details private. Our marriage will be seen as a political alliance . . . would that be alright with you?”

“Of course,” you say, after a short pause, “it doesn’t really matter to me, whether there’s a wedding or not.” Ren relaxes, and you start another sketch, slower this time, more detailed.

“You never wanted a wedding?” he asks, watching your hand glide across the flimsi; your hands go on the list as well.

“I don’t think there’s been a wedding in my village . . . ever.” You look up into the distance, trying to remember. “When you live somewhere as remote as I did, most people meet their soulmates at a very young age. By the time they’re old enough for something like a wedding, they’ve usually been bonded for years. The additional ceremony is pointless.”

“What about people without soulmates?” Ren wonders out loud. It’s pretty common for people in the Order to marry without finding a soulmate, for political alliances or companionship, but your life is so different from his. Despite the difference, it’s easy for him to talk to you. He never feels like you’re judging him. Being around you is like being someone else and himself wrapped up into a person who makes sense.

“They stay in the village, help raise the children and take care of the cattle and whatever else is needed. We support them when they are too old to work. In a way, we become their soulmates when we care for them.” You smile fondly at the memories, and he watches the faces of old friends flash by in your head.

“Seems sad.”

“Not forever,” you say, and then pause before adding, “I thought I was one of them. The sadness doesn’t last.” You set your drawings to the side and stand from the couch, stretching for a moment.

“Are you glad,” he asks, even though it scares him to hear your answer, “that you’re not . . .  one of them?” You go to him, sitting at his side and curling yourself up next to him. The couch is already too small for him alone, but he can’t be uncomfortable when you show him affection like this.

“Yes,” you smile, and he places one hand in your hair, always trying to gauge the invisible boundary between not enough and too much. Will he ever be too much for you? The thought haunts him.

“What about after the wedding?” You ask quietly, your face buried in the fabric of his shirt.

“What do you mean?”

“Isn’t it traditional for the couple to . . . go somewhere? Like, a honeymoon?” Oh. Ren’s heart races, he’s suddenly highly aware that he can feel you everywhere on him, the press of your body against his a little terrifying now. All your contact up until this point had been initiated by you, never more than an innocent resting of your head on his shoulder when you sleep or the brush of your fingers against his arm when you’re walking side by side down the corridor. He hadn’t wanted to pressure you, to make you uncomfortable, but it was difficult to maintain control, his eyes always managing to catch the gleam of a zipper at the back of your dress, or the shape of your hips underneath the fabric of your jumpsuit. And now you're inviting more, and it frightens him how much he wants it.

“I- I don’t think I could leave,” he says with some difficulty, purposely avoiding the true nature of your question, “I need to stay on the ship.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply. You’re looking at him now, your chin resting on his sternum, and your eyes examine him mischievously; you recognize the effect that you’re having on him, and you like it. It calms him a little, knowing how easily you accept him as he is. “I guess we’ll have to have a honeymoon here.” You roll off of the couch without warning, and run your fingers down the length of his arm. The gesture makes him shiver, and he can’t look at you when he feels this way.

“I’ll tell the general to schedule the wedding as soon as possible,” Ren says, focusing all his energy on keeping his voice steady. You bend down to eye level where he lies, and place a lingering kiss on his temple before whispering in his ear.

“I can’t wait.”

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren au #soulmate au #my writing

[devyousdichotomy]

Sanders Sides Human AU Headcanons

Gender and sexuality

Roman: cisgender male, pansexual (he/him)

Patton: agender, asexual, gay (they/them)

Logan: cassgender, bisexual (he/they)

Virgil: genderfluid, homoflexible (he/they/she)

Janus: transgender male, heteroflexible (he/him)

Remus: polygender, polysexual, polygamy (oh look, i'm the trash boi) (he/they/she)

Jobs

Roman: actor

Patton: babysitter (+ petsitter)

Logan: college professor

Virgil: starbucks employees (also has a shop with a bunch of shitpost shirts he and Remus came up with)

Janus: lawyer

Remus: shock horror writer

Social Media

Roman: uses Tumblr as a kind of diary to post about auditions. Uses Instagram to show his art and videos of him singing either disney or musical music (sometimes drags along the other sides, Patton is always excited, he can't post any with Remus without it being flagged, Logan, Virgil and Janus are usually reluctant). (and of course selfies)

Patton: has an Instagram to follow Roman. Has a Tumblr to follow Roman and Logan (Virgil refuses to give the name of his). Also has Facebook to follow his family, friends and parents of kids who he babysits

Logan: has a Tumblr to post what he teaches in his classes because he believes you shouldn't have to pay to get a half decent job you might be able to live off- also has Linkedin. Roman forced him to make an Instagram account and he follows: Roman, the college he teaches at, NASA

Virgil: has a semi-popular Tumblr page (he promotes his shop there) and two sude blogs he also puts in the description (one for educating people on anxiety, homophobia, transphobia and other things he experiences and the other for things like racism and sexism and other important issues he doesn't experience). Also has Spotify where he displays his anxiety driven music and Youtube where he makes videos about how to handle anxiety. Still maintains his MySpace page, it'll bounce back. (Roman also forced him to get Instagram but he deleted his account)

Janus: Has Instagram and Twitter to promote himself and post political stuff (most of it is a lie but he does have a certain ironic tone)

Remus: has an Instagram to send weird shit to his brother and a Twitter and Tumblr to stalk the other sides. (also to promote and post his stories and smutty fanfic). Has AO3 and Wattpad to post even more smut. also totally doesn't post pictures of janus' snakes because he really likes them and may steal them-

Pets

Roman: has a cat, he takes it everywhere and features in almost all of his Instagram videos. May or may not have another account dedicated to her (he definitely does). His biggest fear is his cat (and maybe hia friends...) dying

Patton: has at least one dog but no one is truly sure because he always has a house full of animals

Logan: doesn't own any pets (except those three birds he bought for his birthday and the cat he saved but apart from that he has n o p e t s)

Virgil: has a whole room dedicated to spiders and lizards and other animals most people would find creepy but he finds strangely calming

Janus: owns two snakes, he lets them roam around the house. Has noticed Remus try to steal them on numerous occasions

Remus: has a cat he stole from the alley behind his apartment and a snake Janus gave him in hope that he would stop trying to steal (he has not)

Other

Roman: sings constantly. Won't stop. Ever. Also has a movie night everynight and invites at least one friend round to join him. Wardrobe is mainly very formal clothes but has a couple hoodies (one of which may be stolen from Virgil-) t-shirts (again, totally not stolen) sweatpants and trainers for bad days when he doesn't feel too creavtive or energetic. Most of his clothes are red or/and white. Huge extrovert- doesn't know how Virgil can go days without human contact

Patton: keeps trying to pet Roman's cat and Roman has to keep stopping him. Never ending dad jokes, says everyone is his child, no arguments. Also his wardrobe is comprised of polo shirts, khaki trousers, hoodies, socks and sandals. Lots if his clothes are light blue or grey. Extrovert/ambivert

Logan: volunteers at the library to read and teach because he really enjoys it (plus the little kids smiles make him so happy buy don't tell anyone). Wardrobe is all shirts, ties and jeans (look, it's canon that he wears jeans and who am i to argue) lots of blue and black. Ambivert but prefers to be with his friends and not with a bunch of people he barely knows (unlike a certain prince)

Virgil: has boxes of Anxiety Objects. Such as, sketchbooks, origami, guitar, headphones, textbooks, fidget toys and a bunch of pillows and chargers (usually brings pets in with him). Wardrobe has a single suit and lots of comfy clothes (including some tops and hoodies from his online shop) almost everything is purple or black. Absolute introvert but he does like hanging out with his friends, no matter how tired he is afterwards

Janus: likes to lie to people online and will often get into arguments over his invented opinions. Wardrobe has a fair mix of formal and informal clothes but they all follow a yellow/black colour scheme. Ambivert but hates a lot of people so usually hangs with Remus but slowly becoming friends with the rest

Remus: horrible habits, barely showers, prides himself of being a Trash Boi, likes to annoy his friends and brother, likes the surprised and shocked reviews on his stories and fanfic. Is starting to write a book to scar even more people. Wardrobe is a bunch of stuff from Virgil (and his) shop, NSFW clothes, formal suits and a bunch of Halloween costumes, all mainly green or black . Extrovert except in a very bad way that ends hanging out with Janus

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