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backtothestart02 · 2 years

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CEO Iris West - 2/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Chapter 2, here we go! Dramaaaa

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Chapter 2 -

Present Day

Iris shifted in her sleep five minutes before her alarm went off. Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a few times as the view of her bedroom came into focus. She thought about reaching for her phone to turn off the alarm, but her body still felt heavy, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Plus, there was an arm wrapped around her waist that had tightened and would probably continue to do so if she tried to move.

Eddie Thawne.

She sighed inwardly, wondering how wise it had been that she get involved with an employee. In her defense, she hadn’t even known he was in the running for one of their positions until HR dropped his resume on her lap two weeks earlier. They’d been seeing each other on and off for about a month before that, and she’d been irritated he hadn’t mentioned anything.

“Oh, come on, Baby, we’ll get to see each other more. It’ll be great,” he’d soothed when she brought it up post-interview when she said she’d ‘let him know’ her decision, even though he had all the credentials necessary for the job, better than any of the other candidates.

“I’m not your co-worker, Eddie,” she’d countered. “I’m CEO of the company. It’s against the rules.”

“You’re CEO, Babe. You can break those rules if you want.”

“And what kind of example does that set for the rest of my employees?”

But they’d been in bed at the time of the argument, and he’d whisked away her worries with sweet nothings and soft caresses, kisses and…well, fucking, inevitably. The conversation hadn’t come up again after that, even though her worries continued.

It turned out she was right to worry. Eddie had started out as a strong employee at first, increasing sales and turning a thick profit. But over the last week, he’d started slacking off, and every time she pulled him into her office to discuss it, he seduced her. Or tried to. And he made empty promises that never delivered.

The night before while going through files after hours, she’d found that someone in accounting had been embezzling, and their righthand man had been none other than Eddie Thawne. It was worse than she could have possibly dreamed, but despite everything she chose to have one more night with him – or rather, he was at her door when she got home, and she was too tired to shoo him away.

She’d been able to turn down sex, because even he could see she was tired, but the feel of his arm around her now made her cringe, made her feel sick inside. She didn’t know how much longer she could last before breaking the news to him. She wouldn’t do it outside the office though, especially not while they were in bed together. If that got out…

“You’re tense, Baby,” he murmured against her neck, which made her flinch. He lifted his head and started to massage her shoulders. “Really tense. Everything, alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, putting on the poker face her father had taught her so well. “Just had a bad dream. You know how unsettling those can be.”

“Of course.” He waited a beat, then, “Maybe I ca-”

She reached for her phone and turned off the alarm seconds before it went off.

“I should start getting ready. I’ll be fast in the shower if you want to take one too.”

“We could take one together,” he suggested, reaching for her, but she was out of his reach just in time, already getting up and reaching for her sheer robe.

“Not today,” she said, then turned to him. “I have a lot to get to in the office, and when we shower together we get…distracted.”

He smirked and scooted over to her side of the bed.

“I thought you liked when we get distracted.” He winked.

She fought to swallow the bile rising in her throat. Every part of him disgusted her now, but she couldn’t give herself away. Not yet. So, she bravely walked over to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“Sometimes, but not today. Okay?”

He looked at her suspiciously, as if he could tell something was off, but then brushed it aside.

“Sure. I’ll make breakfast. Then I’ll shower when you get out, and you can eat.”

She smiled.

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks.”

She turned away to grab some clothes and a towel and headed into the bathroom. After she got inside, she closed and locked the door. Then she turned on the water, waited for it to turn hot and pulled her phone out that she’d hidden inside the towel.

With shaking fingers, she dialed the only person she knew she could trust with the bombshell she was holding over her head, who wouldn’t judge – hopefully. And who wasn’t Cisco. Cisco would be so disappointed in her. She’d have to tell him eventually, she knew, but she could wait until she’d dealt with the culprits. Right now she needed support before everything fell apart.

“Iris?” her friend asked groggily from the other end.

Iris breathed a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Linda, yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s up?” she asked, and Iris could hear her fighting to wake herself up. When she got calls from her this early, it usually meant it was important.

Iris sighed and ran her hand through her hair. Once she pulled it free, she saw her fingers were trembling.

“Uh-oh,” Linda immediately detected trouble and promptly came to. “What’s wrong?”

“Last night…I discovered one of my employees has been embezzling the company.”

“Oh, shit. Iris, I’m so sorry. Do you know who?”

“Yes. Someone in accounting. I’ll be firing him later today. But there’s something else.”

“Yeah…?”

“Someone in sales has been helping him…as an accomplice. And if it was anyone else, I would’ve seen it sooner, but-”

“Don’t tell me it’s Eddie.”

Iris swallowed.

“Oh, Iris, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“He’s here right now. He was here when I got home last night, and I was too tired to get rid of him. But, Lin, I feel…sick…being around him right now. I’ll have to fire him too, but if he reveals our relationship to anyone before I have a chance to, it could mean the end of Ramon Industries.”

“Iris, are you sure? I mean, it would be bad, but…”

“My reputation would be at stake, and the reputation of the company, that I let myself get involved with an employee who was helping tank everything that Cisco and I worked so hard to build… I’ve already had to consider taking away bonuses for the year to compensate, but people might just straight out quit, especially if I don’t quit. And-”

“Okay, okay. Deep breaths. What do you need me to do?”

“I’m about to go in the shower. Can you be here in 15 and…pretend you have something serious that you need to talk to me alone about, so he’ll feel like he has to leave? I just need some space before I let him go. I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Of course. I’ll be there. And Iris, no matter what happens, I’m with you.”

“Thanks,” she said, shakily, clenching her fingers until they stopped making her a nervous wreck. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon.”

…

Right on the dot, fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Iris had just stepped out of the bathroom, her hair in a towel and wrapped in a fluffy robe halfway to the kitchen. She put a finger to her lips to silence Eddie in case it was someone who shouldn’t know about them.

“Who is it?” she asked, almost to the door.

Linda sniffled on the other side, blubbering a “It’s me” in response.

Iris mouthed her name to Eddie, and he relaxed. But then she whispered, “Maybe you should go,” and his shoulders slumped, but he nodded, and got his things together.

Iris opened the door and let her friend in.

“Linda, honey, what’s the matter?”

Linda responded incoherently, her voice going up a few decibels when she saw Eddie and presumably felt embarrassed. He waved on his way out, and Iris did her best to give him a sympathetic look as he closed the door behind him.

Once the two heard his car start up and drive down the road, Linda came to, swiping away her fake tears.

“How’d I do?”

Iris snorted.

“You should’ve been an actress.”

Linda smiled prettily.

“Now, how are you? Really?”

“Like I have no appetite. Breakfast?” She gestured to the eggs and bacon Eddie had cooked up.

“Eddie’s doing?”

“If nothing else, he’s a good cook.” Linda wrinkled her nose. “It’ll go to waste if you don’t eat it, Lin.”

She sighed dramatically and sat on a stool at the island table.

“Very well. Feed me.”

…

About an hour later, Eddie waltzed through Ramon Industries on his way to Iris’ office. He hoped she was there by now, because he wanted to make up for lost time. Iris was worried about something, he knew that much. And whatever Linda was going through, he knew she’d want to get off her chest too. He was a good boyfriend like that, even if he’d become a shitty employee.

He brushed that aside though. She had no idea about his side scheme with John in Accounting, and he was planning on keeping it that way. They’d only been taking small amounts since his time at the company, and he knew they could continue to do it for a while. In six months’ time or a year maybe, Iris might decide to make him her partner, and that was when they could really cash in.

He felt a little bad about it, given how smoking Iris West was, but he’d dated hotter chicks for less, and he’d find someone new after her. It was her own fault for getting involved with an employee she barely knew just because he was charming.

He saw a light streaming under her door in her corner office and knocked lightly.

“Iris? It’s me.”

“Come in.”

He turned the knob and pushed the door open, and saw she looked very grave and serious.

“Oh, no. What’s wrong? Is it about Linda?”

“No. Sit down.”

He frowned and took a seat across from her.

“You’ve got your ‘strictly professional’ voice on,” he joked. “What’s up? You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

“Eddie…” She sighed, leaning back in her seat.

“Iris, come on now, we have a good thing here. And nobody knows. Not even John, who you know I adore.” He chuckled.

“Interesting you should mention him,” she said, then pulled out his file and turned it around so Eddie could see. “Do you notice anything? Where I’ve circled in red?”

Eddie, a bit on edge now, looked down at the file.

“I don’t know what I’ve supposed to be…”

“He’s been embezzling from the company for the last two weeks.”

“Wow, that’s…are you sure?” He looked up at her.

Her lips thinned.

“As sure as I am that you’ve been helping him.”

“What? How can you possibly-”

She spun her computer monitor around to show him the company statistics and e-mails she’d traced back to the two men in question.

“Your code to each other is quite dumb, as is your choice to use your work e-mails to communicate.”

She turned the screen back around.

“You’re fired, Eddie.”

“Iris…”

“And don’t go far. You two may not have embezzled much yet, but I’ve already talked to my lawyer about taking both of you to court. It’s still possible you might be due for some jail time.”

He gawked.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Get out of my office, Eddie. I’ll see you in court.”

Roughly, he stood up and stalked to the door, pausing for just a moment.

“You’ll regret this.”

Iris didn’t say a word, and he stormed out, roughly pushing past a young man entering the building at the exact time he was heading out. The young man stumbled a bit but then managed to get inside the room just fine.

Straightening, he made his way down the hall to his cubicle. It was dark, but as more employees started to filter in, the lights flickered and stayed on.

His heart hammered away as he noticed the door to his boss’s office cracked open. As beautiful as she was intelligent, she’d stolen his heart from their very first meeting. He was always too nervous to start a conversation with her unless it was work-related, but with his desk so close to her office, and her office door open a tiny crack now, maybe…

“Hey, Allen!” a voice bounded from behind him.

Barry turned to look and then heard the door to his boss’s office close suddenly. He frowned.

So much for that.

“Allen, look at this.”

David Singh, his equal, though much older than him, thrust a flyer in his face. Barry scanned it and saw what appeared to be an employee thank you announcement. CEO Iris West was going to give each of her employees a banana as a thank you later in the day.

“Wow, this is great!”

David’s brows narrowed.

“Did you not read it? She’s thanking us with bananas.”

“I saw.” Barry frowned. “I think that’s very nice of her. Do you think she’ll give them out in person?”

David shook his head.

“It’d be nice if she gave out a salary increase instead, don’t you think? Or can’t you afford your groceries?”

Barry scowled.

The corner office door opened.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Good morning, Ms. West,” Barry said professionally. David curtly nodded and excused himself. “I saw that you’re giving us bananas today!” Barry continued enthusiastically. “That’s very nice of you.”

Iris was dumbfounded and blinked as she gathered her thoughts.

“Uh…you’re welcome, Barry. They’ll be in the break room this afternoon.”

“You mean you won’t be giving them out to us?” He frowned again.

She smiled sympathetically at him, her troubles momentarily forgotten.

“I’m afraid not. It would take a long time to deliver one to every single one of my employees.”

Barry’s frown deepened.

“Well, how will you know if someone has taken more than one then?”

Iris got suddenly more subdued.

“I suppose I just have to trust my employees.” His lips parted to say something, but she interrupted whatever it might have been. “Excuse me.”

Barry watched as she walked down the hallway in the opposite way he’d been intending to go to put away his lunch. He replayed the scene in his head as he traveled to the break room and thought he recalled a glimmer of tears in his boss’s eyes.

That couldn’t be right, could it? She hadn’t sounded sad. Not particularly. Though that last comment…

He shook it off, distracted once more by the large empty box on the table in the break room. Above it was a sign indicating that was where the bananas would be placed. A smile stretched across his face.

His boss was so thoughtful.

“Oh, hey, Barry!” a familiar voice gushed behind him, brushing past his figure on her way to put her own lunch in the fridge.

“Hey, Patty,” he said. “Look what we get today!” he declared.

She looked over his shoulder and saw the sign.

“Oh, yeah… yesterday we got oranges, I think. She must like fruit.”

He frowned. “Did we get oranges? I’m sorry I missed that.”

“You had a dentist appointment, right?”

“Yeah… well, I like bananas better anyway. Potassium is good for you.”

She smiled at his dorkiness and gestured towards the doorway.

“Walk back with me?”

“Oh. Uh, sure.”

Their cubicles were right next to each other, so it wasn’t as if he was going out of his way. He saw the light under his boss’s door again when they returned though and wondered if she was inside, and if she was alright.

He soon would find out. They all would.

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #ceo iris west #chapter 2

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

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Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me.

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it.

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost.

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl?

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own.

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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#wlw #sapphic #found family #urban fantasy #writeblr #magical realism #fantasy stories #short story #writing #lesbian romance #patreon late release #femslash #f/f #8k #my work #long post #long post cw

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serpenteve · 3 years

Note

I'm having the horrible realization that Aleksander never actually did any serious wooing of Alina in the books. It's all just Alina her self being horny attracted to him. But this is supposedly???? His grand scheme???? Of manipulation???? Implications! It seems like the girls in these books wasn't the only one slut shamed. I'm- ☠

Leigh wrote a man sexy and captivating and said "it's his fault, actually, that Alina got a crush on him. He shouldn't of.... uh.." Flips through papers. "Ah, had such pretty eyes."

Okay! 👀Yes, we are finally doing this!

I'm flipping through my copy of Shadow & Bone and noting down all the interactions between the Darkling and Alina which I've put in chronological order beneath the cut.

First of all, the Darkling and Alina are only alone together in about a handful of scenes. Most of the time, the are surrounded by other Grisha or Baghra or are in a public place. A lot of the Darkling's actions and words are clouded by Alina's own insecurities. She constantly voices how she feels like she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough and he takes it in stride and gently encourages and placates her. There are a few lies he does tell her (that the Black Heretic was his ancestor, that he wants to destroy the Fold, and he doesn't know what Baghra's power is, etc) but if we extrapolate the trajectory of her ill-fated romance arc, I think even book!Darkling would have told Alina about his real plans if she seemed like she'd accept them.

A lot of speculation has been made about the Darkling's seduction of Alina and honestly???? Aleksander literally just exists and Alina is thirsting for him because she's desperately looking for validation and re-assurance. I initially head-canoned his first kiss by the lake as being pure calculation and the kiss at the Winter Fete being 100% accidental (because Dark Lord Sasha played himself lmao) but on this re-read, I don't even know anymore. He already came close to almost kissing her after they have a tender moment, catches himself and then immediately leaves before he can catch feelings. Then when they share another tender moment at the lake, he kisses her and then is surprised by it and before he can really process it, Ivan comes by to cockblock.

Like, even Leigh (as much as she has shit on this ship) said at one point that the Darkling has strong feelings for Alina, even if he may not necessarily quantify them as love. So looking back, I don't read anything the Darkling did as manipulative seduction. He obviously lied about some stuff and wasn't transparent about his real plans for the Fold, but as a military commander who sees Alina as an opportunity for a coup, it makes sense that he'd play that a little close to the chest---especially when Alina has proved to be wary of his powers and has a very black-and-white sense of morality. If anything, this is less "the Darkling seduced Alina to manipulate her into being used!!11" and more "local dark lord tried to encourage his protege and accidentally caught feelings and it was a mASSIVE FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO HIS EVIL PLANS"

But you know who does slut-shame Alina a lot? Baghra. Seriously, Baghra makes Alina feel like shit for her crush on the Darkling numerous times. She has all these lines:

"You want to be [his pet]...Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him."

"Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince?"

"Foolish girl." (After Alina shamefully admits the Darkling might come to her that night)

At one point Baghra creeps on Alina and the Darkling's interactions and even though literally nothing happens between them and when the Darkling leaves, Alina catches Baghra giving her a snooty look. ("For no reason at all, I blushed")

She is determined to shame Alina for her feelings and make her feel like a lovesick idiot for daring to crush on him and this is in addition to all the slut-shaming Mal does. The narrative revealing the Darkling is the bad guy all along while leaving Alina no compelling arc to discover this on her own feels very much like Leigh hitting us all with Baghra's stick, like "Foolish girls! You thought he cared about Alina just because he has a sexy jawline??? HAHA HE LIED YOU SLUTS"

Scenes with Alina and the Darkling in Book 1

Their first scene together is in the Grisha tent. Based on Alina's description of him, she already thinks he's hot as barely any other character in this godforsaken series gets so many descriptions of their grey/smoke/slate/quartz eyes as Aleksander does 😏

The next time they're together he saves her life. Alina is traumatized from seeing a man sliced in half and the Darkling instructs her to keep her eyes on him instead. She is disturbed that he killed the person about to murder her and this aversion seems incredibly contrived and arbitrary on behalf of the author. It's almost like she wants Alina to be vindicated and shamed for not trusting her initial bigotry against him or something 🤔The Darkling admits even he can make mistakes and then he touches the back of Alina's neck (with some secret Heartrender/Healer abilities?) and she falls asleep riding on his horse.

They spend the next few days traveling. Alina notes that the Darkling hasn't spoken to her (probably because he's focused on getting her to the Little Palace without any more assassination attempts) but Alina is a paranoid she's offended him somehow. Again, this is just Alina's insecurity painting a narrative that simply doesn't exist based on what actually happened so far.

They exchange a few words by the stream and Alina fishes for pity points by saying she's ugly and can't possibly be Grisha. Aleksander appears 100% done with her stupidity and says she doesn't understand but he's not in the mood to explain at the moment and walks off ☠️

Alina joins the Darkling and his men for a meal. She notes that the grouse they've killed is meager shared meal but that the Darkling doesn't want to put his men in danger by sending them out to hunt in the forest at night 😌He also sits on the floor to eat like they do and he doesn't take more than the regular portion than they do 😌. Sorry, how is this man the most ~evil~ wizard on the planet? He is obviously a good and fair commander and beloved by the Grisha.

Alina has been checking Aleksander out the entire time so when he catches her, he walks over to talk. He fishes around for information on what Alina has heard about him. He seems sad when Alina mentions she has heard that Darklings are born without souls, though not surprised. He then spins the story about the Black Heretic being his ancestor and how the Fold was a mistake and how every Darkling since then has tried to undo it and how Alina is "the first glimmer of hope" he's had in a long time.

Because Alina is still on that "Grisha are unnatural monsters" agenda, she asks him about the Cut and he explains it but she's still distrubed. He asks her if it would have been better if he used a sword and she replies: "I don't know". The Darkling gets offended and leaves. Alina tries to convince herself she can't have possibly hurt his feelings (because Darklings don't have souls or feelings?) and then feels paranoid that she's failed some secret test. Yeah, the test you failed is called "empathy", Alina 🙄

Two days later, they arrive at Os Alta. Aleksander roasts the Grand Palace as the ugliest effing building he's ever seen. He leaves immediately after dumping Alina at the Little Palace and Alina actually seethes that he isn't paying more attention to her? I understand that it's overwhelming to go to a brand new place, but Alina expecting him to constantly hold her hand and explain everything to her after she basically insulted him is a bit strange.

The next time Alina sees the Darkling, they are scheduled to appear before the King and Queen. The demonstration is a surprise for Alina and Aleksander's lack of transparency of what's expected of her means she's forced to rely on him and trust his instincts. This might be his underhanded way of getting Alina to see that she can trust him; that he will not make her look like a failure or humiliate her; that they are in this together and it will only work if she trusts him.

After the demonstration, Genya and the Darkling trash the monarchy for a bit (Alina is horrified) and then the Darkling orders Genya to get a black kefta for Alina, to which Alina infamously wants a blue one. The Darkling doesn't really put up much of a fight, merely wanting to know why. Alina decides he doesn't approve of her choosing blue and wonders to Genya if he's angry.

After Alina's first day, the Darkling calls her to his quarters to ask her how her day was. Alina is surprised that this is all he wanted to know because she was paranoid he was going to torture her??? She says: "Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?...You can cut people in half. I think it's fair to be a little intimidated." If the Darkling is offended or angry about this, he doesn't show it and merely indulges her. He notes that she has a habit of running her hand across a scar on her palm and asks her about it, tracing the scar himself. Alina gets distracted by his touch but manages to answer his questions: she got the scar at Keramzin, Mal is also an orphan, he is good at tracking. He shows her a secret passage back to her rooms to avoid the main hall.

Alina starts her training and at one point laments that the Darkling is rarely at the Little Palace and when he is, he never speaks to her or barely looks her way and she is convinced it's because she's a failure and can't summon light on her own. It could also be because, you know, he's the commander of the Second Army and is usually seen in talks with other military advisors and the fact that Alina kinda lowkey insulted him with her wariness about his powers???

The next time they are together, Alina interrupts him and Baghra arguing. He politely asks her how she is. Baghra antagonizes her. The Darkling defends her. They talk about amplifiers and because Baghra is being a snarky little shit about it, they take their conversation outside.

Aleksander complains about how annoying his mom is and then asks Alina what stories she's heard about Morozova's herd. At one point he laughs for the first time and Alina practically creams her pants at the sound. Alina expresses her concerns that she can't summon any light and the Darkling says he's not worried and it will happen when it happens and worse case scenario, it will happen once she has the stag. They have a quiet intimate moment, gazing softly into each other's eyes and then suddenly Aleksander realizes he's catching feelings and steps back suddenly like "GoodLuckWithYourLessonsOKayBYE". Baghra watches this interaction from her hut and gives Alina a slut-shaming look.

Alina eventually does learn to summon light on her own. Baghra gives her grief about how it's not enough. The Darkling shows up during one of these lessons and says as much. Alina says she's useless. The Darkling corrects her (“I don't think you're useless, Alina....No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me”) and then he apologizes for letting her down ("I've asked you to trust me and I haven't delivered"). He wonders if his mother is right and he's crazy to hunt the stag. They have a nice bonding moment, Aleksander lies about Baghra's power, and then he asks if Alina would think him crazy for still wanting to find the stag. She asks why he cares what she thinks, he seems genuinely surprised himself that he cares. Then he kisses her. He seems not to have meant to kiss her because then Ivan shows up for his 5 o'clock shift of cockblocking and the Darkling immediately pretends like nothing happened and walks away with him. Like dude is acting like a fucking dork who's allergic to feelings at this point. I should note here that Alina practically has an orgasm from how giddy she is about this moment. She can barely think of anything else.

The next time they're together, it's at the Winter Fete. They do their demonstration and Alina accidentally reveals her insecurities about how he had kissed her and then disappeared. He responds, "Did you really think I was done with you?" and then they enjoy some steamy kisses and thigh grabbing in an empty room before a random round of Grisha show up for their 6 o'clock shift of cockblocking. Aleksander is annoyed at his own attraction to Alina. He asks if he can come to her that night but Alina doesn't get a chance to respond.

and then the Darklina romance arc falls off a giant cliff and dies a terrible death 😭😭😭

#viv answers #god this ended up being so long WOW #i had a lot of feelings i guess #cw: purity culture #sab meta #grisha discourse #darklina #viv metas

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Note

okay but here me out: you're a prostitute hired by laurie bc she found out that andy is cheating on her and needs proof for a divorce. when you see him, the payment is merely a bonus

wait i love this but i wanna modify it slighty: you’re a private investigator hired by laurie to seduce andy to prove he’s cheating!

this got so nasty so fast omg watch out for really dominating andy, with lots of dirty talk and a little bit of manipulation if you wanna read into it

“you don’t have to go through with it, obviously,” she explained, “you just need to get him to admit he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. on tape, with this.”

she set the audio recorder down in front of you, and you smiled sympathetically.

“don’t worry, ma’am, this isn’t my first time with a case like this. I have my own equipment that’s less conspicuous and more reliable. I could even catch him on film if you wanted.”

“you can do that?”

“yep, I have cameras that look like pens, buttons, rings, earrings, glasses...”

“well, video footage would be even better,” she explained, excited yet somber. “I mean, it would make a better case in the divorce. it would kill me to have to watch it, though...” she trailed off, scratching the back of her neck.

“is there any doubt in your mind he’s cheating on you?”

“only because I don’t want to believe it. but it’s become to obvious to ignore,” she shook her head.

“I understand. it’s hard to stomach that the people we care about most would hurt us like that. but sadly it is all too common. let’s just say that as a private investigator, this is a huge portion of what I do... and I get very steady work. you’re not alone, laurie.”

“thank you,” she smiled weakly. “can you do it tonight? I want this over with.”

“um, as long as it’s pretty late, I have other tasks this evening.”

“oh, late shouldn’t be a problem, he’s out until 4 or 5 in the morning these days. this is the address of his work--” she set a piece of paper in front of you-- “just follow him to whatever bar he goes to from there and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

she’d shown you a photo, so you knew what to expect. you had to come straight from your last assignment following somebody else around the city, so you weren’t dressed for the occasion at all. to follow someone, you needed to dress plain and forgettable; to seduce someone, especially someone like andy barber, you needed to be extremely memorable.

you brought a change of clothes in your car, which you hastily slipped into in your back seat-- it required some acrobats to put tights on in the back of a small car like yours, but you managed to get through.

not just tights, but lingerie and garters. sky high heels, a skintight dress that made you feel like your whole body was on display. a motorcycle jacket and dark lipstick to give the whole look some edge. basically, you’d tried to look as different from his wife as possible. married men who were fucking around on the side always wanted something different, something fresh. you knew how to do that.

plus, the jacket had the hidden camera attached to the lapel, nearly invisible among the snaps and buttons.

the echo of your heels on the concrete floor of the bar made every head turn. it was quiet, and apparently a pretty slow night with only a few men scattered here and there-- the only other woman was the waitress.

andy was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer, and he gave you a quick glance before doing a double take. you tried not to smile visibly. gotcha.

you sauntered up to the bar, leaning forward and making sure to arch your back just so, showing off your ass. “vodka cranberry?” you requested, smiling when the bartender nodded and started pouring grey goose into a glass.

you took a seat decently far away from andy, “adjusting” your jacket to turn the camera on. you wanted to make sure you caught him coming up to you, starting the conversation, flirting first. he looked over at you a few times but never said anything, making you start to get a little impatient, before finally the bartender arrived with a second drink.

“from the gentleman at the end of the bar,” he explained as he handed it to you.

“oh!” you smiled, “that’s so sweet! you can tell him to come say hi if he wants.”

and it was just a few minutes before andy got up and leaned against the bar beside you, looking down at you with dark, half-lidded eyes.

“thanks for the drink,” you grinned coyly, letting your gaze drift a bit. he was really good looking, honestly, and he looked all kinds of right in that suit, too. if it weren’t a job, this might be the kind of guy you would actually flirt with of your own accord. then again, you knew better than to go for a guy who had a tan line on his ring finger-- you hoped the camera was able to see that he’d taken his wedding band off.

“I’m here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m from out of town,” you explained.

“business or pleasure?” he asked with a little smirk.

“I guess we’ll find out,” you winked.

it didn’t take much more flirting and a few more rounds of drinks for him to ask if you wanted to ‘get outta here,’ and with a giggle and a nod you let him guide you to his car with a hand on the small of your back.

of course, you thought he was going to drive the both of you somewhere. you didn’t expect him to push you up against it and kiss you roughly.

it was so sudden, and you knew you should stop him, but you somehow couldnt bring yourself to push him back, not when the way he was breathing heavily against you made your head spin, not when you could feel his beard and it was so hot for no good reason at all, not when his thick hands were grabbing you at your waist just tight enough to make you breathless.

“get in the back,” he instructed when he pulled back, making you blink up at him in shock. you knew you had enough, you knew you should make an excuse and leave, get this footage uploaded from your mini cam and onto your laptop so you could get laurie what she needed...

but instead you found yourself biting your lip and nodding, letting him open the door for you and hopping in before he climbed on top of you, shutting and locking the door.

“we can go back to my place,” you offered as he started to suck on your neck, pulling you closer.

“cant wait that long,” he mumbled quickly before helping you push your jacket off.

and you could tell that the way he tossed it onto the floor made the camera perfectly angled to see what he was doing to you. maybe it was the perfect evidence for laurie’s case. maybe it was about to tape you in your most intimate state with no way for you to stop it.

certainly there was no way you could stop when he manhandled you onto your hands and knees, pushing your dress up to find your black lace panties, and the garters holding up your tights.

“fuck, look at you... that’s why you came out tonight, then? to get fucked?”

you nodded a little, gasping when he slapped your ass.

“little whore.”

you didn’t think you’d like being talked to like that, but it made your pussy throb beneath the lingerie that barely covered it.

just when you thought he was going to give it some attention, he flipped you around again and pulled you into his lap.

“get on the floor, on your knees, and suck my cock.”

how was he so comfortable telling you what to do? better yet, why were you doing it?

you slipped down, barely finding enough room with your massive heels in the way, and started to palm at his cock through his suit trousers, moaning absent-mindedly when you felt the thick, hard, hot length hidden beneath. your mouth was already watering.

you started on his belt, looking up at him occasionally to find him watching you with a cold, unyielding stare. when you reached inside his boxers and pulled it out, he smiled at your little gasp.

“bigger than you expected?” he taunted. you were speechless, only able to nod in response before he put a hand on your hair-- not exactly forcing you forward, but definitely encouraging you to go ahead and put it in your mouth.

“fuuuck,” he groaned with you licked the head and finally closed your lips around it, suckling gently as your eyes fluttered shut. “no no,” he correctly instantly, “look up at me with those pretty eyes, sweetheart. take it deeper.”

you moaned around him but obeyed, using your hand to stroke the portion you couldn’t fit in your mouth (which was more than half). you started to back away when you choked a little, but he pushed you back down and moaned a little louder, “I like it when you gag,” he explained gruffly, smiling when you looked up at him again, your eyes watering this time. “god, you look so good like this.”

he pulled you off by your hair while you took in a gasping breath, gripping his cock at the base and slapping you lightly on the face with it a few times. when you put your chin by his balls, the head hit you on the forehead... it made your gut burn as you tried to imagine how that would possibly fit in you without breaking something important.

when he pulled you back onto him, bucking up into your throat as you choked and gasped for air, you felt need tingling up your spine from seeing him like this. he was completely in control and yet looked totally wrecked as he fucked your face. it made you so wet you couldn't stand it.

just when you thought he might come, he stopped suddenly and lifted you up onto his lap, pulling your dress down to admire your completely impractical bra.

he grinned when he saw your nipples were already hard, reaching up to tweak them gently until your hips rocked on top of him of their own accord.

“you like having your tits played with, sweetheart?”

“I like when you do it,” you blurted out.

“sweet young thing like you, you’ve probably never even been with somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

it’s not like you hadn’t had some adept partners in the past, but none of them were like this. nobody had ever made you this desperate.

“please fuck me, andy,” you whimpered.

“not yet,” he growled, ripping your bra and tossing it aside.

“that was expens--” you started to protest, but it fell into a moan as he latched his lips onto an exposed nipple, sucking and licking eagerly.

“f-fuck!” you stammered, gripping his jacket tightly as you tried to stop yourself from humping his leg out of desperation

but he wanted you to-- he grabbed your hips and pulled you down, guiding you to rub yourself on his thigh.

“go ahead, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it.”

you were pretty confident that even through your panties, you were going to leave a stain on his trousers.

you could even feel his cock on the inside of your thigh, hot and still slick with your spit, so hard you wondered why he wouldn't just put it in you already.

“please please please, need it so bad,” you whined, “I'm so wet for you, baby, I'm so fucking ready....”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you closer to put his lips right beside your ear. “I know, baby, I can feel it. I can smell it. you smell so fuckin sweet...”

you whimpered and your head fell back, pleasure shooting up through your body in jolts as you rubbed your swollen clit on his thick thigh.

“want me to fuck you? I’ll fuck you, babydoll. hard and rough just how you need it.”

“yes,” you sobbed.

“I’ll give it to you so good you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, won’t be able to sit right cause I tore that pretty little pussy up.”

you gasped but you wanted it, god you wanted it so fucking bad you couldn’t even remember that this was supposed to be a job, not a hook-up. but you didn’t care.

“please baby, I’ll do anything just fuck me, please--” you cried, cut off by him grabbing you and pushing you onto your knees again, slapping your ass one more time before pulling your panties aside.

“god, you’re soaked,” he chuckled condescendingly. “you’re so sensitive, honey. I bet you’ll go crazy if I touch you here,” he proposed, rubbing his thumb over your clit and making you jolt forward from the intensity of it.

he leaned down to wrap his body over yours, holding you close with one arm around your neck as he whispered in your ear, turning your face slightly with a hand on your jaw.

“look into the camera while I put it in you, baby...”

you weren’t sure if it was realizing you’d been caught, or the feeling of him pushing into you that made your eyes water, but a tear fell down your cheek as he buried himself into you with a groan. it was just the right type of pain; with how wet you were, even a cock as massive as his slid into you easily. but it felt like you’d never been stretched so wide and you didn’t even know what to do with yourself as he pulled back and slammed into you.

“I never told you my name,” he reminded you, “but you knew it anyways. and with what I do for a living, I can smell a p.i. from a mile away. you’re not as slick as you think, sweetheart-- well, proverbially slick... cause literally, this pussy is so fucking wet for me.”

you could only gasp and sigh as he pumped into you faster and deeper, reaching parts of you that had never been touched before, let alone ravaged like this. you could feel his smile against your ear as he started to fuck you faster, his free hand palming at your breasts before reaching back to hold your hips steady.

“god, you’re so fucking tight... anybody ever fucked you this good, honey? anybody ever taken you like the needy little slut you are?”

he bit down on your ear and you realized he wanted an answer.

“n-no,” you replied, “never. nobody’s ever fucked me like this, andy.”

“anybody ever fucked you on camera before?”

you swallowed dryly. “no.”

“was it all an act, then? all part of the job? I don’t buy it. I think this is who you really are, a desperate little slut who needs to be stuffed full of cock by somebody who can give you everything you need.”

his filthy monologue fell on deaf ears as you tried with all your might to look away from the camera on your jacket, knowing that you had totally blown your case as well as presumably destroying your reputation. fucking a married man is one thing, fucking a married man whose wife is your client who hired to prove he was cheating? maybe you could spin it as doing your job a little too well?

“I can tell you’re close, sweetheart, go ahead and come for me. I wanna feel this pretty pussy squeeze me, milk my fuckin cock when you come.”

mainly you were just trying not to get too loud, afraid that the car wouldn’t be enough to muffle your noises in case somebody walked through the mostly empty parking lot.

“andy!” you yelped when you reached your peak, not really meaning to but it came out anyways, he chuckled a little, the sound morphing into a growl as you clenched down around him with each wave of pleasure washing over you.

“fuck, don’t fuckin stop, this pussy feels so good I think I’m gonna come inside...”

you were too out of it to protest; you would’ve gone limp and fallen down onto your chest if he hadn’t held you up, his cock flexing against your overstimulated walls as he painted your insides with his come.

he grinned as he stilled his movements, catching his breath for a moment before sitting up and pulling out, slipping your panties back on to keep his come inside for a bit longer.

it was all a blur as he helped you half-redress before he all but shoved you out of the car, stuffing his cock back into his pants before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“tell my wife I said ‘hi’,” he winked at you as he drove off, leaving you with wobbly legs balancing on your heels while his come leaking down your thighs.

#andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #Anonymous

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bonniebird · 4 years

Text

If you asked nicely

Reader x Mikaelsons

Requested by Anon

When you had fallen asleep Elijah had been neatly sat in one of the chairs in the corner of your room. He was softly reading some old book you’d never heard of. He had come in the angry wake of Klaus.

To his credit Klaus had tried for a day to coax you out of bed, soothing and fussing. He wouldn’t listen when you exclaimed you just want to be left alone for a day. To sleep until you roused only from your body being incapable of sleeping any longer. He had relented when he realised nothing he did would get you up. Not daring to move lest you catch the attention of one of your predatory protectors you stayed still. Hoping for more sleep. You just felt more tired now.

Something twitched the edge of your duvet and before you could decide between snapping your eyes shut and feigning sleep or glaring down whoever dared to disturb you and a new face peaked at you. “Hello Darling!” Kol said cheerfully. He smiled, shoving himself partly under the duvet and looked around as if he was appraising your docile cave. “I thought it sounded like you were awake. Elijah said not to disturb you. Apparently you gave Klaus quite the hard time.”

Amusement played with his face as he watched you. He received a frown. Not one of anger but more one you’d get if you suddenly roused someone with something delightful. You sighed, frowned and turned your head so you wouldn't have to look at him but by the time you’d done it, he’d rounded the bed and tucked his head under the duvet on the other side.

“Come on now love, don’t be like this! You’re no fun when you’re sleepy.” Kol teased before raising his eyebrows and adding. “I suppose it’s best you got Elijah helping you sleep last night, when Klaus helps you sleep… it’s a pain.” He smiled and rubbed his chest, wincing. You tried not to laugh knowing he was joking about the daggers. When he got a snicker out of you he beamed with delight.

“Kol! Brother are you pestering (Y/N)?” Elijah called from somewhere. Fake panic took over Kol’s face as he froze and leant up. Tugging the duvet up with him, letting a fresh breeze brush at your skin.

“How could you say such a thing brother! I do not pester… I seduce and intrigue, some think I’m a delight!” As he spoke he playfully wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. His eyes lit up as he heard the bubble of laughter you’d been holding onto escaped, bursting past your lips in peels of laughter that had you tearfully rolling in your bed in a fit of giggles.

“Yes! I did it!” Kol cheered, throwing his hands up victoriously. He cheered to himself, your duvet helplessly flopped across the room, making a last ditch attempt to cling to you as it defeatedly slipped to the floor.

“You didn't do anything!” You said through giggles the laughter ebbing away.

“Hey if you didn’t get out from under that blanket they were going to send in Rebekah.

“She would have just joined me and said it was a girl thing.” You pointed out knowingly. Kol gave you an agreeing nod as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“So what now, you’re free of that.” He said cast a gesture to your piled duvet on the floor. “Elijah is making enough food to kill a man. Honestly there isn’t any space in the kitchen. Klaus has been painting pictures for you since yesterday and Rebekah was gathering supplies so you two could take to the bed in an appropriately aesthetic manner.” He mimicked Rebekah’s voice for the last few words and you giggled again.

“Food sounds nice. I should probably shower though.” You said as you sighed.

He hopped up and your eyes widened when he started to undress. “Right let's get in the shower.” He said until he caught your eyes. He flashed you a smile and paused.

“I need a shower… not you!” You said quickly, finally sitting up and trying to tame your hair a little. “I might need a shower! You don’t know where I’ve been!”

“I suppose that’s true.” You mused. He watched your brow furrow as if you were mulling over where he could have been that day. Your attention was snatched back when you moved in a blur. You were whizzed past Elijah who dropped his plate he’d brought up for you. Though you were sure Kol had knocked it out of his hand on purpose.

“Brother!” He snapped sharply.

“Brother?” Kol answered in a tone that would definitely rile Elijah. Kol focused on fixing the water in the shower which made Elijah rap on the door several times.

He gestured for you to get into the water but you frowned at him. “Aren’t you going to leave?” You asked and he shrugged.

“If you’d like. I thought I’d help you wash your hair.” He paused and rolled his eyes. “It was something that was done as… a show of affection. Elijah’s still right there and I’ll keep my underwear on!” He gestured to his boxers and then to the door. “Elijah?”

“Yes Kol.” Elijah said in an unamused tone. You tried to hold back another laugh at the sound of his voice.

“See, a perfectly friendly shower.” Kol said giving you his best innocent look that gave a more dubious expression.

“What’ll I wear?” you pointed out and he shrugged.

“I won’t look at you if you like. But I’m a thousand or so. I’ve seen a lot.” he said as he stuck his hand under the running water, satisfied it was a good enough temperature he stepped in.

“You’ve seen a lot or you’ve seen a lot of naked people?” You asked curiously as you decided to undress. It would be nice to have someone do your hair for a change.

“Both?” Kol said as he, to his word, closed his eyes until you’d gotten in. “Women did find me rather irresistible back in the day.” He said as he brushed his fingers through your hair until it was damp enough to add the shampoo.

“Back in the day?”

“Well, I got a bit out of swing when I spent a few hundred years in a box, not much room for seduction in a coffin.”

He chuckled when you spluttered out a laugh as if his comment had caught you off guard. Kol’s fingers were soft and gentle. More gentle than you’d thought a vampire capable of. If you weren’t quite so intimidated by his near nudity you would have been lulled into relaxation, so much so that you could have leant against him and closed your eyes.

The shampoo smelled different and glancing at the bottle Kol had set on the shower shelf you realised it was a brand new bottle, an expensive looking brand that you hadn’t heard off before. You assumed it would have either been from Elijah or sent over by Rebekah.

For a while there was silence as Kol massaged the suds into your roots and rinsed it out, continuing to massage your scalp and neck. “You know. Affection really is wasted on modern humans.” Kol said thoughtfully as he reached for a second bottle. “The fun that could be had if you all let go just a little.”

“If every human let go we’d all be like Elena. Vampire lovers on rotation.” You said quietly. His hands stilled for a moment as he raised his eyebrows. When you glanced over your shoulder at him he chuckled.

“Careful darling. Glass houses and all that.” He said playfully as he rinsed the final suds out of your hair. “You could have four Mikaelson if you asked nicely.”

He grinned when you elbowed him gently and spluttered a little. With the gentlest brush of a kiss to your shoulder he got out of the shower, leaving to finish your shower as he deliberately dripped as much water on the floor as he could. He cracked the door open and snatched the towels that Elijah was holding out for him. He could see Klaus lurking behind Elijah and grinned. He didn’t envy Elijah for having to deal with Klaus’ grumpy mood.

“Come on then darling, you must be starved.” Kol hummed out as he unfolded teh warm, fluffy towel. It was definitely one from the Mikaelson's home. It was massive enough for you to step into it and have it wrapped around you at least twice.

When Elijah saw the state of the bathroom he sighed and glared at a gleeful Kol who bowed mockingly. Klaus bickered with Kol as you were escorted to your bedroom which had been tidied and your bed made with fresh sheets. Rebekah was sprawled over them with a pile of new pajamas beside her. “Off you go now!” She insisted once Kol was near the doorway. Both he and Klaus found the door slammed in their faces as she took a turn at fussing you. She fixed your hair and produced so many creams and powders and moisturisers your small desk was almost completely covered in little bottles. Once she was satisfied she’d fussed you enough you were relinquished into Elijah’s care to be escorted to your kitchen. You noticed everywhere was a lot cleaner and suddenly all the odd jobs that needed doing were done.

“You didn’t all have to make a fuss.” You said quietly to Elijah who smiled.

“Nonsense.” He muttered back with an endeared affection.

Kol hadn’t been kidding about the amount of food in your kitchen. Even if you invited the gang round there would be too much for you all to eat. You gave Elijah a grateful smile as he pulled out your chair and helped you sit. He must have been worried to cook so much. You hadn’t meant to worry them. You’d just felt so exhausted by everything going on in Mystic falls.

As you sat you noticed sweet paintings of plants and flowers adorned your kitchen walls. Klaus’ touch there was no doubt and you smiled as you looked at them. “Rebekah said renovating the kitchen was a bit much. So I settled for decorating.” Klaus said as he took a seat beside you. He admired the way you appreciated his work.

“Thank you. All of you. I feel much better.” you said with a smile. The stress of the chaos going on had ebbed enough for you to feel energized again. The Mikaelsons had gathered in the kitchen and all smiled as you beamed for them.

“Well, I have to apologise. If I had known looking at my beautiful face would be the thing to get you out of bed after a few days. I would have arrived earlier.” Kol said. You shared a daring look together as Rebekah groaned and helped herself to some food. Elijah rolled his eyes and tutted while Klaus growled quietly from beside you. Trying to hide a laugh you opted to stuff your mouth full with the food that had been carefully set before you.

#kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #bonniebird #rebekah mikaelson x reader #the originals

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kalee60 · 3 years

Note

i wish you would write a fic where jock!bucky seduces twink!steve, maybe he hits steve with that pec flex guys do that is both dick-ish and insanely hot at the same time?

Oh Manda - you absolute gorgeous gem! I very much like what you're asking me to create here 😘 I also love, love, love that you sent me a prompt!

I immediately think of sun, summer, ice cream, boys at the beach playing frisbee and our gorgeous Smol!Steve and Jock!Bucky as friends mutually pining (Ha - it's me, it was never going to be anything but this story!)

Once again, my quick little drabble (that I wrote today when I woke up {thanks to my sprinting buddies in discord}) turned into a 4k fic... But I mean - I think that's okay (more stucky for us - right?)

I hope you like where I took this, maybe in a slightly different direction than intended - it's also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to check them out and read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - Beach and rated M for mild sexual content 😉

If you'd like a fic - here's the post - I wish you'd write a fic... (It might take me a little bit to write - but I will get there!)

Steve was in hell, literally. It was hot, he was sweaty and he was being tortured. Honestly, Steve really loved summer, but at the same time he loathed it. And most of that had to do with the fact he had to sit around in his large group of friends and watch Bucky fucking Barnes sans top and wearing only a small pair of running shorts frolic over the sand at the beach.

Life was unfair.

How could somebody like Bucky actually exist in real time? He was a complete jock for starters, his looks and size perfect for being naturally great at sports, earning him a football scholarship of his choice (of course). And Steve, well Steve Rogers was as far from a jock as anyone could get. Not that he was horrible in the fitness and muscular department, but he was too little and his asthma still played up to join rugged contact sports. Being 5’4 also didn’t particularly endear him to any of the coaches at college who were scouting for star players. Plus studying to be a high school teacher probably wasn’t sporty enough, and he was leaning towards a specialist English role, not Gym.

So Steve joined the campus gym instead of a sporting team, did weights and classes and enjoyed it immensely. It was where he met Natasha, and that fateful meeting brought him to Bucky and his dickish jock ways and friends.

Though if Steve was to be fair (of which he was - usually) not all jocks were dicks, even if Steve had preconceived notions from high school what college boys would be like. He'd been pleasantly surprised to find that the captain of the football team was not only gorgeous, cocky and a bit of a douche, but also very smart, kind and had a smile that could make Steve’s legs turn to jelly with only a small half tilt.

But it was as he sat on a towel under the shade of a large umbrella that Carol had stolen from her parent’s garden shed, that Steve really felt the heat, and it had nothing to do with the blazing sun above him and the burning sand beneath his feet.

It was all Bucky Barnes and his chest, his slim waist, his tanned olive skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his sinewed and muscled thighs that tapered down to calves that bunched up as he jumped and landed to grab the frisbee aimed at him.

Steve sighed heavily as his gaze lingered on the brunette. Bucky Barnes was every mans wet dream, every girls perfect prince, and Steve pulled his dark sunnies over his eyes again, ignoring the pounding in his chest, the throbbing in his groin as he watched Bucky behind dark lenses spring up and prance over the sand, laughing with a wide mouth that could do sinful things to Steve’s body. The worst part was that Bucky was doing all of this with no knowledge that Steve harboured the biggest crush of his life.

It really was unfair.

Sitting back to lean on his hands, stretching his legs out, he saw Bucky glance over at him, and gave a smile. Bucky grinned back and then grappled Sam to the sand to yank the frisbee from his grip. Life wasn’t unfair because Bucky didn’t date guys, he did, very much so, and girls too from what Steve had seen, it was just the guys Bucky dated were typically more like… jocks.

Steve hunched over, trying to not stare too long and inadvertently get turned on, finding it an impossibility as his eyes wouldn’t tear away from Bucky’s frame as he bounded effortlessly over the soft sand, something Steve couldn’t do. He’d almost lost a lung from the trek over to their secluded spot earlier that day. Soft sand was the enemy - that was fact.

“Heads up.”

Startled from his thoughts by Bucky’s deep voice urgently calling out his way, Steve looked up only to see the frisbee coming straight for him. With a reaction that even surprised himself, Steve raised his hand and caught the flying disc with nary a blink of an eye.

Bucky was skidding to a halt on his knees before him a second later.

“Shit, Steve. That was epic, you sure you don’t want to play? You can be on my team - my secret frisbee weapon.”

Steve’s mouth went dry as he tried to listen to the words leaving Bucky, because the delectable man was less than two feet away and the smell of sunscreen, sweat and something virile and uniquely Bucky entered his senses. Steve knew that if sitting next to Bucky in the dining hall was torture when Bucky was wearing his spicy cologne, he’d keel over being enveloped in his sweaty beach scent for longer than a minute.

God he wanted Bucky to fill him, everywhere. Make him forget his name, take him over and over.

He realised that he still hadn’t answered and heat crept into his cheeks, managing to blurt out, “I’m good for now. Nat’s grabbing ice creams and I don’t want to get a stitch.”

Steve then gave Bucky what he hoped was a soft and cheeky winning grin, but the way Bucky faltered, swallowed tightly, face impassive made Steve wonder if he’d missed the mark on trying to be flirty.

He really was as hopeless as Darcy continually told him.

Steve’s eyes trailed down to Bucky’s broad and lightly haired chest, finding himself breathing quicker, wondering if he’d remembered to pack his inhaler. No, he was sure it was in the pocket of his backpack. Thank god, he might need it in the face of Bucky’s glorious muscles moving in his vision all day.

“If you’re sure,” Bucky finally said in a deep steady voice.

“Maybe later,” Steve stammered, holding up the frisbee with a shaky hand. He had to get a grip.

“Alright, later then, I’m holding you to that.” And Bucky took the disc from Steve’s grip and was off bounding towards Sam, Carol, Thor and Maria.

While Steve recalibrated his thoughts, Nat came back holding only one ice cream cone, licking it slowly with a sparkle in her eye as Clint trailed behind, wearing Nat’s beach bag and carrying the rest of the ice creams, and Steve worried she’d overestimated his balancing skills. But if Nat asked, Clint would do - it was kind of amazing the power she had over him without even trying. Although they weren’t dating (yet), Nat was never cruel, she was playing the long game and really liked Clint, but had been hurt before by some Russian asshole, and Steve knew that Clint, when Nat finally agreed to go out with him would never be the same man again. He’d be lost in deep shock and joy. They were perfect for each other.

A pang went through his gut as Steve watched them, taking a cone from Clint, wishing he had someone that wanted him as much as they wanted each other.

“Vanilla,” Nat commented with a scrunch of her nose at Steve’s choice as he took a lick of the creamy goodness, the chill on his tongue welcome under the heat of the day. “You’re so very basic, Rogers.”

“Hey there is nothing wrong with that. I happen to love vanilla.” A rich voice said from right in front of Steve as Bucky flopped down on the sand, kicking up little grains that stuck on Bucky’s thighs where he was sweating. Steve shut his eyes against the picture before him, once again pleading to any God or Goddess that would listen that it wasn’t fair, that they had to find him someone one day. He just hoped it would be soon, else his dick drop off from Bucky unwittingly giving him blue balls.

“You’re one to talk, you didn’t even want ice cream, just a soda. And a club soda at that.”

Bucky looked over to Nat, flashing her a wide grin, and Steve immediately started to lick his ice cream just to do anything but stare at the crinkling in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, or to watch his lips as they wrapped around the bottle tip. He only half listened to their banter as they kept teasing each other, Nat and Bucky having been best friends from childhood, the reason how Steve inadvertently fell into the group of jocks, for a lack of a better term to encompass all the fit people he was now surrounded with.

Nat had introduced him to everyone after they’d hit it off at the gym in first semester, and Steve had waited for the inevitable teasing to commence about his small stature, but it never came. He was always included, never mocked (unless it was called for, because he was a facts man and couldn’t help correcting people when they were clearly in the wrong) and it was such a novel experience, so how could he not fall immediately in lust with the football captain? One who had smokey blue-grey eyes, sinfully full lips made for kissing among other fun activities and a personality that you could fall into and live inside forever.

“Err, Steve… your ice cream, it’s ummm, dripping.”

“What?” Steve asked, realising that he’d been swirling his tongue over the top of the soft confectionary and that his fingers were now completely sticky as the ice cream dripped over them on to his thigh. “Oh shit.”

Steve immediately switched hands and started to lap at his fingers, tongue darting between them to catch all the creaminess, sucking them into his mouth one by one, only looking up when he heard a muted groan. Bucky was moving before him, squirming in the sand, and as his eyes landed on Bucky, he startled, surprised to find Bucky’s hooded gaze directly on Steve. But his eyes hadn’t landed just anywhere, they were trained to Steve’s mouth, and as Steve swiped his finger through the sweetness that had dribbled on his thigh, Bucky’s gaze followed that finger's movements. Steve without thought, heart thumping hard, confusion and awe flowing through his veins, stuck the digit in his mouth, licking off the stickiness.

Thankfully, Steve had his sunglasses on, hiding his expression, but he knew his face was burning red at the brash and overt display. Bucky was watching him intently, the rise and fall of his gloriously thick chest heaved, and Bucky’s skin flushed from the exercise or maybe the sun. Steve wasn’t sure.

But it was as Steve licked around the base of the cone again, the ice cream melting quicker in the heat than he could swallow, Bucky’s pecs twitched.

Steve stopped all movement, caught at the tick of flesh, the way it bounced taut, watching with abject lust and desire as Bucky did it again - knowing exactly where Steve’s eyes were trained.

It was such a fucking dick move, a power move to get attention and Steve hated jocks who flexed like that, but on Bucky… on Bucky it was god damn mesmerizing. And it was after the third time Bucky’s pecs jumped, Bucky stood up abruptly and fled saying in a higher pitch than usual that he was jumping in the water, that Steve realised he might not have been doing it on purpose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky was dead, he was going to die from being hard for... how long had he known Steve Rogers, six months maybe? Well, that was how long he’d survived with a non-stop boner for the blonde man. And he was at the end of his tether.

Steve was everything Bucky ever wanted in a partner, smart, strong, intense, funny, handsome and a person that he could fall into, spend time with - love.

So it didn't help his little issue to be at the beach that day, watching Steve sit under the huge umbrella on brightly coloured towels in his swim trunks and a loose tank with arm holes so big he could see all the way through to his muscular chest and pink nipples. It was driving him fucking insane.

Sure he’d seen Steve wearing an array of items at the gym, but he’d never witnessed him so carefree as he was at the beach. He was smiling more, relaxed, joking while big sunglasses hid those gorgeous eyes that would give the ocean a run for its money as to what was bluer.

But what killed Bucky that particular day over every other day he lusted after Steve, what made him clench and twitch all over was watching Steve lick up his ice cream. It was downright obscene, Steve shouldn’t be allowed to do that in public, or at least he should have a warning sticker on his person.

Steve had a mouth made for sucking cock, and Bucky wanted, no, he needed to know what having those lips wrapped around him felt like. Christ, he wanted to know what it felt like to be buried in Steve, maybe even have Steve press into him. Fuck.

There was only one thing for it.

He had to seduce Steve, and he had to do it soon.

But that begged the question - how?

How did Bucky capture the attention of the smartest, funniest, quick witted and grumpiest man on campus? Not only that, but to have Steve take him seriously? Bucky was aware that people thought he was only a dumb jock, that all he had to offer the world was to play ball and shit talk other teams and work out in the gym. Which, yeah of course he did all of those things - but he really was so much more. He was studying economics, was thinking about trying to specialise and work as an international trade specialist after college, and although Bucky really loved playing ball - it wasn’t his whole life. He’d never go pro - well, not without a hell of a lot of luck and persistence, and he wasn't sure he really wanted to take something he enjoyed and make it a living in that way. He’d seen how broken some sports stars bodies were after a career, and he still wanted to be able to walk at forty without having had three knee reconstructions.

But Steve, Steve saw through all of that, he spoke to Bucky like an intellect, like he had something worthy to say, to add to the conversation. Even at the gym after Nat had introduced them (Bucky begging to know who the gorgeous guy she was chatting to on the rowing machines was) Steve and he worked out together, had fun catcalling each other for being weak and helped each other with their forms - something Bucky largely did just to get hands on Steve even though Steve’s form was perfect.

Bucky had been taken with the slight man from the first moment he’d seen him, always under the impression that Steve was too smart to even think about dating a meathead like him, even if he truly wasn't what his physique made him. So he stuck with friendship, but now he wanted more. Was going to ask for more.

“Whatcha thinking?” Nat asked as she swam out to float in the water next to him.

“Nothing much,” He replied, ignoring her knowing hum. He hated that they’d been friends forever and she knew all his tells.

The much needed cold water had soothed his itching skin, and from his vantage point he could look back at their rag tag group of friends, able to stare unabashadly at Steve as he laughed with Clint and Thor about something, staring up at Thor as he... as he fucking flexed in front of Steve.

“Easy boy,” Natasha grabbed his bicep that was taut from clenching his fists, “Thor’s with Jane remember? Steve’s not interested in someone like Thor anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes swung to her immediately. “What do you mean? Because he's a jock?”

Nat let out an exasperated sigh. “No you idiot. Because he’s interest lies elsewhere.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s chest squeezed tight, wondering who had Steve’s undivided attention. And he couldn’t help but watch Steve as Carol held out a hand to pull him to his feet, and suddenly Bucky forgot his disappointment when Steve pulled his tank off, revealing a gorgeous toned body in all its glory. Bucky’s dick stirred. Thank fuck he was hidden in the water.

“You are a colossal idiot. You know that right?” Nat deadpanned.

“I have to ask Steve out,” he blurted. “I need to… I need to be with him.”

“I know,” Nat said with a smirk, and Bucky looked at her gratefully, if she helped he would be fine. “But that really sounds like a you problem. Have fun with that.”

“You horrible cow,” Bucky sniped back, ready to splash her, but she was already under the water stealthily swimming up behind Clint, only to dunk the unsuspecting man.

Bucky’s attention suddenly caught on movement on the shoreline as Steve stood knee deep, testing the water and with no further hesitation, dove in, coming up for air not far from where Bucky floated. Bucky watched mesmerized as the sun glinted off Steve’s wet eyelashes, before he wiped the droplets from them, smiling at Bucky.

“Oh god, this water feels amazing.”

“So would you,” Bucky whispered.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

For a long moment, Bucky stared at Steve, realising that sound carried over water differently and Steve most likely caught what he said. Seducing someone was hard, even though he hadn’t even tried yet.

Instead of answering, Bucky ducked his head so his mouth went underwater and swam towards Steve like a shark, deciding that he just had to ask him point blank, no messing around with seduction. Slipping up out of the water at the last moment he put on his most predatory smile, Steve’s eyes widening and he looked around, face flushed and Bucky hoped he wasn’t looking for an escape.

He quickly darted behind Steve, wrapping his arms tight around his lithe body, trying not to linger too much as Steve was the perfect fit, felt so good against him; and when he heard the small gasp from Steve’s throat he launched him into the air. Flinging Steve into the water a few feet away.

“You fucker,” Steve exclaimed laughing as he came up for air, and Bucky smirked.

Suddenly with a smirk of his own that made Bucky inhale sharply, Steve disappeared under the water, Bucky feeling him come up underneath his body and with a strength that belied Steve’s small stature, completely turning Bucky on more than it should, he was pushed up out of the water, throwing him completely under as well.

“Jesus, Steve. You should join the team.” Bucky spluttered when he came up for air.

Steve grinned back, pushing wet hair out of his eyes and Bucky stared, lost in how stunning Steve looked in the sunlight, that he was there before him alone in the ocean full of people, “I mean they already have you and Sam as Captains. Wouldn’t want to put either of you out of a job.”

Bucky laughed, “I don’t doubt you’d do it too, Stevie.”

And when Steve stopped smiling, Bucky realised what he’d said.

“Shit, sorry - you don’t like that? Nicknames?”

“No I... I do…” Steve answered softly, and Bucky became lost in a blue that matched the water they were treading.

“Would you get out with me?” Bucky blurted.

“Sorry? Get out of the water?”

Bucky internally facepalmed himself. “No, I mean go out.”

“Out. With you?”

Bucky nodded.

“Err, why me?” Steve asked in a small voice lost on a gust of wind.

Looking at Steve, who stared back at him with questions in his eyes, Bucky wanted to explain how much he’d desired it for months, to tell Steve all the ways he wanted to make him happy, and as a multitude of words sat on his tongue, Bucky suddenly understood Steve might not listen to his reasoning, might not believe him. So he decided to show his intent instead, and swam closer. Steve’s eyes were wide, guileless, Bucky seeing a small spark of something more, and hoping he wasn’t triple jumping over a line, he swam up behind Steve. He felt Steve tense up, anticipating to be flung into the water again, but instead, Bucky pulled him closer so that Steve’s back slotted against his front and leaned in, mouth only an inch away from Steve’s ear.

“Why you? Oh Stevie, you have no idea how gorgeous you are. How much I want you.” Bucky pressed his nose against the back of Steve’s ear and inhaled deeply, sunscreen, salt and Steve’s shampoo filled his senses and he lost his head for a moment, especially when Steve let out a high pitched groan and wriggled back into Bucky. “I want to spread you out beneath me, I want to lick all the sweat off your body, sweat that I'm going to cause from working you hard, making you work extra hard for my dick, because Stevie - I want you, I want you bad, and I think you might want me back just as much.”

Bucky hoped he wasn’t completely off base with his desires, that Steve really was just as interested, and when Steve ground back against him, skin sliding against Bucky’s, letting out another moan at the friction when he felt Bucky hardening up underneath him, Bucky knew it was going to be ok.

“Yes…” Steve whimpered as his shorts caught against Bucky’s dick, pushing backwards.

“You want that baby?”

“Fuck. Yes, I do.”

“How much?”

Steve spluttered, and Bucky couldn’t help chuckle at the noise. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you want it?” Bucky knew he was being a prick, making his pec’s tense against Steve’s back, pulling him onto his lap as they floated in the water, before wrapping a leg around one of Steve’s pulling it to the side, making Steve gasp gorgeously.

“A normal amount,” Steve husked back.

“Oh, you want me a normal amount - is that all?” Bucky smirked before licking a sloppy stripe up Steve’s neck at the same time as he snuck a hand down the front of Steve’s swim trunks, gripping his dick tightly, feeling the impressive length and girth for the first time. Fuck, he was definietly not taking switching of the table. But not anytime soon. First, he wanted to take Steve apart in every way conceivable.

Steve meanwhile, was liquid in his arms, going slack as Bucky took his time to explore while they floated in circles not far from the shore, but far enough out they wouldn’t get in trouble. He hoped.

The moans tearing from Steve’s throat were getting louder though, Bucky loving every noise punched out of Steve as he stroked harder under the water, the friction and pressure of the water making him slower and more languid than usual. And Bucky wanted to make Steve call out with no thought or boundaries, nothing to stifle his pleasure, he needed Steve coming in his arms, again and again.

“I think you might just want me a little more than that.” Bucky rasped against Steve’s neck, sucking a bruise onto his pink skin, giving Steve’s dick another sharp tug and before he knew what was happening, Steve was shaking in his arms, whimpering out a release and Bucky was speechless. Utterly speechless as he continued to stroke Steve slowly, carefully as he jerked in his hand.

“Holy fuck, you’re stunning, gorgeous, the absolute best,” Bucky rambled into Steve’s neck, nipping kisses and pressing his lips against him in absolute awe at what had just occured.

Suddenly Steve moved, spinning himself around to straddle Bucky and he went under for a moment as their weights shifted and came back up spluttering, only for Steve to launch himself so his lips pushed against his. Steve took over, devouring his mouth, and although Bucky was the one in control, holding them both up, he’d never felt so out of control as Steve writhed and ground down as best he could in the water. Shit, Steve was going to be a handful and Bucky was there for it.

As he kissed back, grabbing the back of Steve’s head, holding him still as he pressed his tongue in deeply, a huge beach ball smacked into the side of his face. They jumped apart with a gasp.

“Don’t make me go get the hose!” Nat yelled out as she and Clint swam around nearby. “It’s about time you dolts wised up, but this is a public beach with you know - families.”

Bucky watched as Steve’s face flushed a perfect shade of red, and he couldn’t help but grab him again, giving him a quick intense kiss, claiming Steve until he struggled for breath, to show Bucky’s intent was clear and true. It was pure perfection.

“We’ll pick this up again later.” Bucky promised.

“Later.” Steve replied breathlessly.

Suddenly Steve pushed himself away from Bucky, grabbing and throwing the beach ball, hitting Clint dead on the nose. The surprised yelp from both Clint and Natasha made Bucky laugh.

“Oh it’s so on, James,” Nat yelled out.

Steve piped up from his side, “you wish, Romanoff - we’re gonna take you down!”

Bucky beamed.

“Yeah!” he called over to them, dodging the ball that came directly for him as Nat and Clint shit-talked. And as he and Steve swam out to retrieve the ball floating behind them, Bucky turned to Steve and gave him an overtly salacious wink. “And once we take them down, I’m going to take you home and show you what going down is all about.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Really? That was incredibly lame, especially for a savvy sex-crazed jock.”

“You’re not interested in my proposal then?”

“Oh I’m interested,” Steve grinned, licking his lips and Bucky caught his breath. “But if you’re going to use dad jokes on the regular - I might have to start calling you something else in the bedroom.”

Steve then threw the ball, Nat ducking at the last minute, and Bucky didn’t even feel when the returning pitch slammed into his head; Steve’s words creating a delicious cacophony of images and filthy thoughts in his mind instead.

Bucky had always known that Stevie Rogers was going to be both the life and death of him, and as he rubbed his head, grasping the ball in one hand, ready to throw it, he couldn’t wait to see where their adventure would take them.

But first - Clint had to pay.

#stucky #mywriting #friends to lovers #college #bottom Steve #implied switch #beach and fun #melting ice creams are a real issue for libidos #gift for Manda - the best and brightest of them all #prompt game #kalee answers

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cassiaa · 3 years

Text

Metanoia BTTB3

Warnings: smut; fingering, aftercare; mentions of rough night; yandere actions, plotting manipulation, mentions of abductions; mafia mentions vaguely. don’t interact if younger than 18

this chapter switches a bit between POV's. I'm sorry, I just wanted to get it all out in one part. Next chapter won't be like this one.

With his little lover worn out and passed out in his arms, Namjoon had time to think. She had asked for this assuming it was a one time thing. But hopefully Namjoon had been thorough enough that his sweet girl would be begging for him to return. After weeks of not having any real contact with her, having her in his arms like this was euphoric. He wasn't ready to give this up. He was ready and willing to seduce her or even just take her back home with him.

How could he convince her to leave with him? With the way his world worked, he could just steal her and hide her away. But knowing her father had deep connections, he was hesitant to start trouble here when he was working so hard to establish his name on this side of the ocean. And so he started to work her father into his plans, the man would be a useful pawn in Namjoon's game. Maybe an arranged marriage? Namjoon didn't have long term plans to keep the man in his life but he was willing to let the man dwell in the corner (where he could be watched) if it meant he had his sweet angel, he grinned, placing a kiss to her forehead. Maybe some kind of a business deal or even an alliance could be made. It was an option but Namjoon knew it was only the beginning of possibilities for a solution to his dilemma.

Namjoon couldn't help the anger that surged through his veins at the thought of how simple it was to get to her. She couldn't defend herself, had no one to protect her. Namjoon was already taking initiative to remedy that as well.

There were only a few people he would trust with her safety, and once they were done with their current missions or recovered enough from the last someone would be on their way to keep track of her personally. Yoongi would be done first, Namjoon would call him to sit in for awhile, just until he could figure out a more permanent plan. He didn't like pulling Yoongi away, with the man being so good at what he did, but for his jagi, he wanted the best. In his arms, his sleeping beauty pushed away from him and the blankets, still too hot and exhausted from their tango. Not wanting her to get too far, he helped loose the blanket from her body, pulling her into his side comfortably and letting her head rest on the deep blue silk pillow case rather than his arm, his freed arm going under his head. An arm still around her small body, fingertips tracing unseeable patterns over her smooth, sun kissed skin. This was something he absolutely wanted to get used to.

Glancing at the clock, it read close to four a.m, he'd have to leave soon. He had a meeting at 8, and it probably wouldn't be the best idea to show up in the same clothes he wore the day prior. He wanted to be here for when she woke up, he knew she'd be tired and sore and would need the help becoming human after all he put her through. Not to mention, being here when she woke would leave a better lasting impression. And would create a bond stronger than an embarrassing one night stand. Namjoon considered sleeping for an hour or so but he didn't want to waste any time sleeping here. He did plan to take advantage of her unconscious state to add some security to the house. Plan already formulated and decided on, he carefully unraveled himself and freed his legs from the tangle she had made getting comfortable in her sleep and placed a lingering kiss to her plump pink lips. She huffed a shuttered sigh between her lips, her eyebrows creasing before he placed a kiss there as well, soothing her back into rest as he snuck out of the bed. He figured the house could burn down and she wouldn't wake up. He'd kill anyone who tried to light a match here but the sentiment stood true as he grabbed his bottoms and pulled them on.

He dialed Taehyung, the man was close by, no doubt and might even be busy with his own one night stand but he could come when he was done to set up a system and stick a few wire taps and cameras here and there. Maybe even her phone and purse. Taehyung and Yoongi would know best when it came to those devices and where they best fit, but Yoongi wasn't near. And Taehyung was. Maybe he'd leave Taehyung on watch until Yoongi could come... but maybe the bugs would be fine until the trap was adequately set. Decisions, decisions. Namjoon hummed and got to work.

Ava’s POV

Waking up was a chore on good days. Even after she had drank too much those few times in her life the hangover had nothing on the pounding in her head at the moment. And her body..... she groaned, pressing her face as deeply into the pillow as she could. Sore didn’t describe it adequately and she didn’t even know where to begin to assess. The ache between her legs was probably the worst, her lower back came in second, her arms and legs felt like jello and she could feel the multitude of bruises and hickies coating her entire body. She didn’t know what she was getting into with the random foreign man from the diner. From the diner she regularly visited, she must be an idiot. If her throat wasn’t so dry and cracked she’d groan again, but she could feel a coughing fit coming on any second. But that man... Namjoon.. her legs clenched together as a spike of pleasure went through her body from just thinking about him. He was thorough. And obviously heavily experienced. She couldn’t tell if she was lucky or not to have him be her first or not. On one hand maybe he just ruined all her future experiences and on the other maybe since her father was forcing her to settle down, and she’d be stuck with someone awful, this was a god send. Like at least she got to experience this one time. She wasn’t expecting to be so pleased with the encounter. None of her friends stories and of their first had been this exceptional. Maybe they downplayed it, but Ava highly doubted it. All her friends liked to show off, flaunt their stuff, and boast about what they have.

The next thing she wasn’t expecting was for an arm to tighten around her back and pull her close. Her heart stopped. With eyes wide she craned her neck up from where she was lying face down to meet his gaze. And immediately gulped. He still had a bit of fire in his gaze. Ava glanced away, biting her lip and pulling her hand up to rub her face.

“Good morning.”

Namjoon already had a deep voice, she knew that from the talk before this- encounter.. and it got even deeper during their... intercourse - she cringed just thinking about how awkward this was getting - when he was giving low commands, but his raspy morning voice was sexy and it was doing something to her insides that she wasn’t prepared for.

She cleared her throat, still not brave enough to meet his gaze, “good morning...” what was she even supposed to do? She didn’t have the experience here, all her friends did the walk of shame or pretended to sleep while their partners did and yet here he was laying in her bed and grinning rather smugly, looking at her like he was ready to do it all again. Her legs clenched again at the thought. Why did she bring him here? She’s rich. He’s obviously rich. They could’ve gotten a hotel room somewhere, and not done this in her home- in her bed. She didn’t realize how low his hand was drifting until he softly stroked between her legs, and she was moaning rather shamelessly.

Ava had thought she couldn’t handle any more, but the way his fingers were moving slowly and feather light, her mind was shutting down and her body relaxing under his touch.

“Does this feel good jagi?” Namjoon’s lips are pressed against her temple. “Is it too much?”

Ava couldn’t process his words properly, but at the thought of him stopping she shook her head quickly, messily flinging her hair everywhere.

“Please.”

He applied slightest bit of pressure, carefully checking to see if she was wet and was satisfied to feel her dripping. He inserted one finger, curling it and pressing his thumb to the bundle of nerves at the same time. Her gasp was followed immediately by a high pitched moan.

“More.”

Namjoon grinned, adding a finger but continuing his slow, sensual speed. He didn’t want to break her after the night they had. He watched as her breathing got more and kore shallow and labored, she tilted more onto her side then her front and gripped his arm tightly. Her face scrunched up in pleasure, and her body moving on instinct with his fingers. Namjoon leaned down to connect his lips to hers, matching his tongue with his fingers movements and had her breathless in seconds. He moved his lips to her jaw, adding another beautiful mark, one much more visible than the others he had left and mumbling against her throat, “let go jagi,” she whimpered, clinging tighter to him. “I’ve got you.” And that was all it took for her to come undone against him.

The sounds she made were embarrassing in her mind, to say the least but she truly couldn’t help it as she rode out and came down from her high. Collapsing back in a heap, she cried out, flinching and body tightening as he removed his fingers.

He placed soft kisses all over her face, grinning as he did so. “Let me help you.” Was all he said before sliding his hands underneath her body and lifting her effortlessly.

Had it not been for the orgasm he had just given her, this would’ve been so much more awkward and embarrassing. However, her mind wasn’t all there, the pounding had subsided a bit with the pleasure coursing through her, and she was blisses out and did nothing more than lean her head against his shoulder as he found the bathroom. He set her on the toilet, softly telling her not to love before he went to the tub. Figuring it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing she’d done in front of the man, she tried to pee. Which felt much worse than she thought it would, all the muscles in her lower body were screaming at her and in between her legs weren’t much better off.

With the bath going he came back for her and eased them both into the warm water. She wasn’t too sure what happened then because she was in and out of it. But she remembers plenty of soft kisses and sweet murmurs against her skin as he helped her wash and dry and get dressed before tucking her into bed.

“Do you work today?” He asked, one knee on the bed where he just set her in and covered her snugly. She muttered and shook her head, bleary eyes barely seeing him, but feeling his fingers caress her cheek. “Then rest.” Such sweet words, her body and mind immediately agreed and started shutting down the rest of the way. “I’ll see you soon.” He promised with a kiss to her lips. No reply and she was out.

#kim namjoon #namjoon #yandere kim namjoon #mafia kim namjoon #mafia bts #kim seokjin #kim taehyung #jung hobi #jung hosoek #jeon jungkook #min yoongi #smut #bts smut #park jimin #bts mafia

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ti-bae-rius · 3 years

Text

Following on from @imherongraystairstrash’s amazing Thomas and Kit fic (which is here: https://imherongraystairstrash.tumblr.com/post/654901507028828161/i-know-you-write-about-relationships-in-tlh-and) here’s my addition to this lil fanfic universe, in which Thomas and Christopher discuss love and what love means.

Some period-specific discussion around sexual and romantic orientation but pretty darn positive!

Christopher dropped his carpet bag down on the bed in the room opposite Thomas’s with a sigh.

“Mam went to visit Uncle Henry, and he said that we should be able to go back to the house tomorrow by tea time. Mam and Dad have taken Alex to Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will’s. I haven’t a clue where Anna went. Mam asked if she’d somewhere to go and Anna said ‘I’ll find someone’ and Mam said ‘you mean somewhere?’ and Anna said ‘If you like’ and that caused an almighty row, so I’ve come here.”

Thomas glanced up from where he’d been filling the basin for Christopher, and grinned at him in the looking glass hanging above it.

“What a palaver.”

“Not half. And then Mam made me get rid of all the clothes I was wearing when the experiment went awry, so that’s another shirt gone to buggery. Anna’s inherited wardrobe is waning by the second.”

“I can’t imagine Anna would be seen dead in your old clobber, Kit.”

“Not anymore, but she used nab it all. I’m sure she thought I didn’t notice, but I did.”

“You never asked her about it?” Thomas asked. A knock at the door made him pause before he got an answer, accepting the plate offered by one of the maids. He handed Christopher the tea cake, pooling with melting butter, and stretched out on the rug as his cousin ate.

“Well none of it mattered a jot to me. They were just clothes. They meant something to Anna.” He set down his tea cake in indignation. “Oh, and I was pretending to sleep in the carriage here, but I heard Mam and Dad talking about Anna. Apparently the Clave are kicking up a fuss again about her, saying she could be muddling foolish shadowhunter girls. But Anna in spats and a waistcoat is still Anna. I hardly think a pair of trousers is going to baffle ladies out of their heads, and if they think girls are so easily duped, then it’s not the girls who are the foolish ones.”

Christopher understood Anna so well, Thomas thought, watching as - now serene after his outburst - Christopher happily tucked into his tea cake, fingers slick with runny butter. He understood Anna, so he’d understand Thomas. At least, Thomas thought, he hoped that was the case.

“I’ve something I want to tell you,” Thomas said, and his voice trembled a little with the nerves as he said it. He picked up his teacup but the saucer clattered against the base as his hands shook.

“Mind, you’ll drop that,” Christopher said, and Thomas put the cup back down. “Well whatever it is, it sounds frightfully serious.”

“It’s not all that serious,” Thomas insisted. “I don’t suppose it is anyway. Unless you find it serious. You might do.” He forced a breath between clenched teeth and reminded himself why he wanted to tell Kit. Because he’d understand. Because he was Anna’s brother. Because he was Thomas’s best friend.

“I...don’t fancy women. I fancy...other boys. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

Christopher’s violet eyes widened behind his spectacles, brows shooting up towards his hairline.

“Are you surprised?” Thomas hazarded nervously.

“Hugely.”

“You didn’t guess then?”

“About you...I didn’t give it a fig. I mean, I’m surprised you told me first. No one ever tells me anything first.”

“Well, you’re my best friend.”

If possible, Christopher’s eyes widened further, huge saucer-like circles of shock.

“I’m your best friend?”

Thomas almost laughed. “Of course you are. ‘Course, Kit. Besides, you can’t possibly be more surprised by that than...than the other part.”

“Well that is interesting news,” Christopher nodded. “Certainly interesting. Lots of recent scientific papers have been published on the subject. I tried to show Anna but she asked if they had any advice for seducing women, and then when I said it wasn’t a how-to guide she said it sounded dull.”

“Well I’m not to be experimented on,” Thomas said, and Christopher glanced across, wounded.

“Of course not. I didn’t mean...It’s just how I explain things I...” He patted Thomas’s shoulder helplessly. “It’s all alright with me, old boy. Any of it. Because I’m your...best friend.” He said these last two words with such earnest, such pleasure, that it set Thomas’s heart alight.

“You won’t tell the rest of the lads, will you?” he asked nervously and Christopher shook his head so firmly his spectacles shifted down his nose.

“Of course I shan’t,” he said, pushing them back up with a finger. “I’ll probably forget by supper tomorrow.”

They both knew that wasn’t true, but Thomas ruffled Kit’s hair in thanks anyway, muttering some gruff comment about that being about right. Nevertheless, he could see Christopher grinning.

“Thomas? Are you up?”

Setting down his book, Thomas padded over and opened his bedroom door, admitting a Christopher who was squinting without his spectacles. Thomas pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them. The candle he was reading by was starting to burn low, so he activated his witchlight lantern and set it on the bedside table. Christopher peered at the book and then back at Thomas.

“Couldn’t you sleep either?”

“You look like a mole when you don’t have your eyeglasses on,” Thomas replied instead, evading the question. His heart still felt as if it was leaping out of his chest, like he’d been infected with demon poison. He felt lighter and heavier all at once. His secret didn’t feel quite so suffocating now he’d told Kit, but speaking it had made it somehow more real. There was no hiding from it now.

“I had a question for you,” Christopher went on, tucking his knees up into his nightgown. Thomas, in a pair of striped pyjamas his mother had bought him, didn’t know how his cousin didn’t freeze to death.

“Which was?” Thomas prompted.

“When did you know that you liked other lads, not girls?”

Thomas tried to swallow the shock of the question. When did he know? How did he know? Didn’t everyone just somehow know? “I suppose...I’ve always felt it. But it became impossible to ignore when I was about 11 or so.”

Christopher seemed to heave a sigh of relief, though Thomas was half-inclined to believe he’d imagined it. Was his cousin wondering whether he was out of the woods to fall victim to Thomas’s own proclivities?

“I suppose it’s the same as you knowing you fancied girls.”

Christopher didn’t say anything for a while, and Thomas presumed that was all, when Christopher suddenly spoke again into the silence, voice dropped to a hush.

“Well, you see, that’s sort of it. I’m not sure I do know that. I don’t really know that I’m fond of...anyone in that way, girls or boys.” Though the light was low, Thomas could sense Christopher wrinkling his nose the way he did when he was puzzled. “I suppose that makes me awfully peculiar,” he said quietly.

“Not peculiar, at least not any more so than me,” Thomas told him. “Besides, you’re only 14. Perhaps you’re just a late bloomer. You’re ever so studious, you’re probably just too busy for courting. You have plenty of time to court girls.”

“I just...” Christopher cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m fond of lots of people. I’m fond of you, and Jamie and Matthew. I’m fond of my family - even Alex and his relentless grizzling. I’m fond of lots of people. But...I don’t think I can really imagine wanting to kiss anyone - and I definitely can’t imagine wanting to do anything in a marriage bed.”

“Well,” Thomas began, not really sure where his answer was going to lead him. “Like I say, you have plenty of time. But, even if you didn’t ever want something like that, you’d still be Christopher. It wouldn’t change anything for us, all of us who know you.”

“You don’t think that would be a tremendously odd life? Never being in love?”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to comment on what’s odd or not, especially not in matters of love,” Thomas pointed out, smiling. “But...I don’t see why it should be. Like you said, you’re fond of so many people, and they’re all so fond of you. It wouldn’t be as if your life was without love. By the angel, you’d be lucky to even escape it for a day with so much family around you who dote on you. Just because you wouldn’t want to take a wife...that shouldn’t mean you would have a life without love. Not when we all love you so.”

“And even if you were in love with some lad, we’d still be friends, wouldn’t we?”

“‘Course we would, Kit. You’ve seen what Aunt Tessa and my mother are like; Shadowhunters stay friends for life, especially when they’re family. We’ll always be best friends.”

“Well then, I don’t suppose the rest of it matters,” Christopher said, and Thomas’s heart wriggled free of the iron grip of anxiety, just a little, because Kit still loved him. And, Thomas agreed, the rest of it didn’t matter.

#thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #tlh #the last hours #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #anna lightwood #fanfic #fanfiction

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esmealux · 3 years

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How Chloe Decker Ruined The Greatest Slut of The Universe

Part: 1 / 1

Setting: Post s5, maybe post s6?

Word count: 2.2K

Rating: T

Summary: Lucifer’s thoughts on monogamy have changed over time. Or, how Chloe Decker ruined the Greatest Slut of the Universe.

Author’s note: Thanks for the help on this one! If I’m still a little off canon in some places, I apologise. I tried my best. If it bugs you too much that it doesn’t 100% match what’s implied on the show, you can always consider it an AU.

Lucifer had never seen the point of monogamy. Why limit yourself to one sexual partner when you could have a thousand?

It wasn’t a matter of quantity over quality—Dad no. It was simply a matter of diversity. Variety. No matter how delectable the taste, you wouldn’t stick to one meal for the rest of your life. No matter how sweet the melody, you wouldn’t listen to one song and one song only. Even the most magnificently scored piece of music would eventually tire your ears if it were all you ever heard. So why on Earth would you tie yourself to one person?

He might have understood it if humans were designed to mate for life, like beavers and seahorses, but they weren’t. They were polygamous creatures. And yet so many of them spent every living second obsessing over finding the one. It was untrue to their nature—deviant, really. The saddest part was that once they thought they’d encountered this ‘other half’, they’d chain themselves to the person, restrain themselves. Suppress their innate desires.

Why, oh, why?

The question had struck his mind so many times, most often amid a particularly sinful orgy. Why would you ever abstain from the abundance of pleasure several lovers could give you in return for sporadic and ever-worsening missionary sex with the same person until your dying day?

It had made absolutely no sense to him.

But then he’d met her.

Not that he’d turned monogamist by the mere sight of her (he wasn’t that weak). But it was her acquaintance, all the light and the dark that ensued, which ultimately had made him abandon his philandering. He’d wish he could say it was a conscious choice. It wasn’t. After she’d kissed him that first time (and probably even before that) he just simply hadn’t had the desire to engage in casual sex with strangers. Not that he hadn’t felt desire in any form—had practically been set ablaze with it the moment their lips had touched—but he’d burned for her, and no one else.

And then, before he could even act on this newfound, completely overshadowing, giddying want, the all-destructive revelation had been thrust in his face. That she was nothing but another pawn in his Father’s vexatious game. That she hadn’t kissed him of her own free will. That they weren’t real.

It had felt as if he’d crashed against the sulphurous ground of Hell once again. And his carnal desires had been pushed even further back. If he couldn’t have her—and he couldn’t, because she deserved a choice—he didn’t want anyone. Not even when he’d fled from reality to Sin City had he been tempted to pick up a bed mate or two. Nor had he felt the need to seduce Candy as he’d pretend-married her. No, that little arrangement had primarily, almost solely been to protect Chloe. To give her a choice.

And he’d done just that, as they’d gone back to being friends. Just friends. (For some reason, it had not relieved the ache in his chest, but he’d tried not to dwell on that). And yet, despite their now defined platonic relationship, he still hadn’t resumed his libertine habits. Mainly because he’d been busy sending his mother into another universe, being abducted, cursing his reattached wings, and learning that the new lieutenant was Cain(!). It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to get back to his carefree debauchery. The feathery traitors on his back had just kept getting in the way and ruined the mood.

That, and he hadn’t had quite the same appetite as before. Or perhaps his sexscapades had just become less filling. Either way, the hunger roused by their kiss had still burned inside him—a hunger that couldn’t be sated by one-night stands and sex parties. Because, as reluctant as he’d been to admit it back then, all he’d wanted, all he’d desired, was her.

But she had been forbidden fruit, and for once, he’d refused to bite. For once, something—someone had mattered more to him than his own wants and needs. And so, after a couple of (by his standards) unsatisfying shags, and for the first time in history, he’d had sex with no one but himself. Only accompanied by the ever-fading memory of her mouth on his, and bittersweet fantasies of what could have been.

It’d been rather depressing.

At some point, she had, for some inexplicable reason, started dating Lieutenant Pierce, aka. the world’s first murderer. Consequently, Lucifer had put all his energy into proving to her just how much better than the Murderous Man Ham he was. In addition to providing her with her favourite snacks, buying her a car, and other small acts of kindness, he’d continued to stay abstinent, solo sessions aside. Sleeping around with half of LA didn’t exactly say ‘loyal and devoted’—not to Chloe, at least—and he hadn’t wanted to lose her over meaningless sex. Eventually, he had (with a little help from a friend) realised that it would take more than expensive gifts, decadent dinners, and celibacy to win her over. That he’d have to tell her how he felt about her, instead of telling her how to feel about Pierce. With hope dangerously blooming in his chest, he had gone to finally confess the feelings he’d tried to suppress for so long—only to have an inadequate diamond ring and a quite unexpected ‘yes’ get in the way.

In the throes of jealousy and heartbreak and so many other painful emotions he couldn’t name, he’d started bringing people into his bed again. He’d thought it would help him get over Chloe, or at least keep his mind off her and bring him in a better mood—none of which had been the case, of course. Because all he could think of, as he would lie there, thrusting with as much passion he could muster into his amour d’un jour, was that it wasn’t her. That she’d chosen Pierce—chosen Cain. That he’d had and would have her in ways Lucifer could only dream of.

(And oh, did he dream. To a pathetic degree.)

In spite of the sulky thoughts that had invaded his mind every time he’d been entertaining someone for the night, he had, as always, managed to make all participating parties, himself included, reach their climax—often more than twice. But while they had left his place smiling and satisfied like never before, he’d lied motionless in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling as empty and as starved as he had pre-sex. If not more.

He probably should have realised then that his days as a serial lover were over. Should probably have realised it long before that, actually—say, when an innocent kiss had changed something fundamental inside him. But he hadn’t realised anything. Not then. Not when rekindling his relationship Eve had made him feel oddly guilty. Not when their weekend-long orgies had done nothing to fill the void inside him. Not when he’d found himself alone in the shower, getting off to sappy daydreams rather than the luscious woman waiting in his bed. Not when he’d finally broken up with said woman, and his excessive need for polyphonic stimulation had vanished altogether.

Nor had he realised it any of the times he’d looked at Chloe—when the stars in her eyes and the purity of her soul had taken his breath away. Not when she so openly and without fright had accepted him in his true form. Not when she’d made him see that it wasn’t his true form after all. Not during any of their most tender moments—moments he could only have shared with her. Not when she had felt like home, more than Heaven, Hell or Earth ever had.

Maybe he had started realising it when she between sobs and pleas had declared her love for him. (It was, after all, in that moment he’d realised he loved her in return, and more than he could even begin to understand). But it wasn’t then, and it wasn’t there, it had finally dawned upon him—that Detective Chloe Decker had ruined the First and Greatest Slut of the Universe.

No, the ultimate epiphany had come to him far, far away from her soft lips and her warm heart. Had first come to him when he’d let himself fall and sat in the throne he’d never wanted. Tortured by her absence for millennia on end. For it was there, amongst ashes and demons and scum, in the blackness of the abyss, deprived of her light, that he’d felt it. An all-encompassing desire, a scorching, excruciating longing to be with her. And only her.

It had been the single saddest case of Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

And fonder it had grown. For each day he spent in Hell without her, each year, each century, it only became all the more clear—crystalline, eventually, glowing brightly in the black smog: He loved her. Exclusively, absolutely, and unconditionally.

Still does.

And even more so now. Now that he knows the feeling of her skin against his, and that she always vacuum-cleans to Spice Girls. Knows just how loud she snores, and what her naked body looks like in the sunlight. Now that he knows she kisses (far) better than she cooks, but that she’s no stranger to fixing a leaking pipe. Knows that it takes four tequila shots to get her horny and two glasses of red wine to have her falling asleep on the couch. Knows how she’ll toss and turn in bed when there’s a killer on the loose, and the peace on her face when they’ve put one behind bars. Now that he knows what makes her gasp in pleasure and what makes her cry with laughter. What makes her roll her eyes, and what makes her stomp out of the room. Knows the sound of her ‘good morning, baby’, and her ‘sleep well, honey’. The sound of her ‘I love you’ murmured against his lips.

Now that he knows her—truly knows her—he can do nothing but love her more with each passing hour.

And the best part is, she seems to feel the same way about him.

What a lucky bastard that makes him.

Because it was luck that brought them together. Not Dad’s will. He knows that now. Yes, she would never have existed had it not been for his Father’s divine intervention, but He didn’t create her from his ribs or code her to love him. As opposed to what Lucifer had thought for so long, they’re not made for each other, not like that. The fact that she met Lucifer? Definitely Dad’s plan. But that she let him into her life? Into her heart? Now, that she can only blame herself for.

Lucifer blames her too—has questioned her judgement many times over the years, but always with an impossible amount of gratitude. Despite… everything, she chose him. They chose each other.

He still doesn’t understand the whole soulmate-thing humans are so keen on (why praise your free will only to romanticise the idea of a predetermined partner?), but he can’t deny that he sees it now, the point of monogamy. It’s not that you can’t live without the person, or that you feel obliged to be with them until death do you part. It’s not about containing desires.

No, it’s about not wanting to live without this someone.

And, much to his surprise, sex has very little to do with it. If he ever had to choose between having the best sex of his life every day or always being in Chloe’s company but never getting laid, his balls would be bluer than all smurfs combined. And he’d still be the happiest Devil alive.

Fortunately, he gets both her company and the best sex of his life. But it’s not the incredible orgasms that keep him higher than any party drug ever did. It’s merely being near her. The closeness. The trust. The love.

He wouldn’t trade that— wouldn’t trade her for anything. (Not even a ménage à trois with Aphrodite and Marilyn.)

Once he realised that, it had only taken him two years to act on it. First, he’d sat down and had a short but heartfelt conversation with Beatrice. When that went well, he’d visited his old sparkly friends in the sky, for the first time since he formed them, and carefully picked the tiniest bit off the Brightest of them all.

And now, he’s finally making his way up the coast to the beach—the beach—as a fragment of his dearest star twinkles brighter than ever inside the gold ring nestled against his fluttering heart.

For years, his innermost desire has been to spend every day with her and do his absolute best to make her happy. He not only knows but feels that there is no one else for him. That they are, in the most beautiful and incredible way possible, stuck with each other; they might as well make it official.

If she says yes, that is.

Edit: I have come to realise that I probably should have given @thewollfgang some credit for the idea about the ring. I am truly in love with their ‘Ring’-fic, and I’m not sure I would have gotten the idea of Lucifer putting a star in Chloe’s ring if I hadn’t read their fic. And now that I just read it again, I realise that the ring being in Lucifer’s breast pocket also is heavily inspired by the same fic. So, lots of credit to the absolutely amazing @thewollfgang on this one.

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #fluff #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer x chloe #lucifer on netflix #proposal #monogamist!lucifer #reflections #post 5a #established

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

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Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

Here’s a free preview:

Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

🌸Check out my Patreon for the full story! 🌸

#wlw #urban fantasy #writing #found family #sapphic #short story #femslash #writers on tumblr #writeblr #magical realism #patreon #my work #long post #long post cw

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electricbluebutterflies · 3 years

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Hi!! Saw that promp list you reblogged, so I'm shooting my shot for Nina + Matthias with this one: 'Learning what the other person likes sexually' thank you 😊

(Also...idk if you'd accept 1 or 2 more requests for this otp? Loved the prompts but I dont wanna spam your inbox. 😜)

I kinda love them... obvious smut ahead and also on ao3.

She’s broken him. He’s not sure how much he minds.

Look, objectively the fact that he is stuck in the frozen middle of nowhere and owes his continued survival to a witch who will not shut up and seduced him more out of boredom than anything that seems like actual desire on her part is… almost all of his worst nightmares come true. But all of that established and ignored, Nina is not the worst possible person to be stuck with. She’s beautiful, occasionally funny in a way that breaks the cultural barriers between them, knows what she wants…

They’ve stopped for the night, no closer to civilization than they were when they woke up but not going around in circles yet – and he’s left subtle markings at each fishing hut they’ve temporarily occupied, he would know – and he knows what happens next, and this time he wants to do better.

Nina is, he has learned over the past few days, a very particular combination of insatiable and bossy. When she decides she wants, and apparently physical activities are how she deals with her everything, she makes herself very clear and pins him to whatever passes for a bed wherever they are. (Or, very briefly yesterday, a wall.) And while Matthias is a willing enough participant in his own corruption, he can’t push away the feeling that the power dynamic is the truly wrong thing here. A man is not supposed to be passive, even when faced with… all of that. But as it is, he’s not sure he’ll get the chance to change it up.

And sure enough, after an improvised meal of probably-undercooked fish, she reaches out. Puts her mouth on his and starts taking kisses, and he’s so powerless and so into it and-

“Stop,” he breathes, unsure if the word even comes out.

To his great surprise, she freezes. She’s still clinging to him, but not actively doing anything more. “You okay? Did I do something-“

“You need to rest,” he murmurs, adding a little endearment in his native language. Yep, she’s definitely corrupted him. “If you want, let me give.”

Nina rolls her eyes. “Are you sure?!”

“I need to learn how to do this… properly.”

The look on her face is the most amused horror he’s ever seen and oh he almost loves her for it. “I am not passive. You do realize that, right?”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t know… tell me what to do.”

She takes a step back. “Alright. How detailed instructions do you want?”

“Tell me how to make you happy.”

Nina takes another step back and shifts her body into an open position. “Alright. Undress me. You’ve seen how all of this works…”

He has, and he steps forward and tries. The buttons of her vest are so tiny, and of course she’d done up all of them, and it takes a frighteningly long time for his fingers to get them all undone. Then her shirt, also made challenging with the laces done up too tight and oh the sight of her curves underneath it is distracting and unfair and-

Somehow, he figures out all the knots and gets it off her, gets rewarded with the sight of her soft skin and pointy breasts. Even this would be enough, and he-

“Put your mouth… somewhere.”

If nothing else, Matthias is good at following orders. Even if they are given by a… no, at this point he doesn’t think she’s a witch. Not like he was taught to believe. Definitely not normal, but far more human than he expected.

Not that it matters, he reminds himself as he leans down and tries to kiss her breasts. She’s even paler there than she is elsewhere, and her body is warm and unfair. She squirms a little, but the noises she makes are happy enough and she hasn’t yelled at him so he’s hopefully not screwing this up too badly and-

On instinct, he puts his mouth around one of her nipples and licks, and her noises turn closer to what she apparently sounds like in bliss. He’s still learning how that works, but if this helps get her there…

“Okay, I was just going to have you straight-up fuck me but nevermind you’re actually good with your mouth,” she says, yanking on his hair to pull him up and off. “This still…?”

“Yes. Keep showing me.”

“I’m not showing you, I’m trying to un-repress you,” she laughs. “Undo my skirt and get me on the bed.”

He does, and without being told he knows what she wants next. Well, this may be the strangest experience yet with her, but…

The space between her thighs is beautiful, swollen pink instead of ivory, already shiny with her warmth. He pokes around with his fingers – this, at least, she has let him do before – and makes a plan. If he’s wrong then he’s wrong and he still expects she’ll get mad at him at some point during this, but until then he-

“Head. Down. Now.” From this angle she looks magnificent, and he can see her desperation in a different way. “Keep going unless I grab your ear, no matter what else I do.”

In the recent past, in the time before she happened to him, all of this was foreign to him. It was, and remains, improper for a man of his status to know too much about the sacred beauty of women before marrying one. In that way he is ruined now, and he cannot imagine any of this being so good with some equally innocent creature. This one is so much better. This one is-

She kicks his shoulder, more out of annoyance than wanting to hurt. “I know I’m cute but get on with it.”

He complies, pressing his mouth to her outer petals. He is well aware he has too much scruff right now, and that might hurt where she’s sensitive… no, might hurt some lesser woman, won’t make this one bat an eyelash. Nina is different and Nina is herself. And she is perfect, he thinks as instinct takes over and he starts to lick. Beautiful wet nightmare.

This is a first attempt, not perfection. His desire to make her happy counts for something, he hopes as he tries different things, because that’s about the only part of this in his favor. This act she’s suggested is so new, something he’s surprised she even wants, and to have his world reduced to her womanly parts is… perfect for him, honestly. He is aware of his own body responding to it, but she hasn’t asked for that yet and maybe she won’t tonight and-

As he is learning is normal for her, Nina falls apart with a few breathless noises. Apparently this also includes clenching her thighs tight enough his head hurts and more of her sweet warmth dripping onto his tongue. For a moment he’s not sure he can breathe either, and-

The pressure lessens and instead of grabbing his ear like she said, she pulls him up to her level by the shoulders.

“Did I… please you?”

She rolls over to cover his face in wet kisses. “You need to have more faith in your abilities. That was nice.”

“What… what now?”

“Do you still want to have me?” she asks, putting her hand between his legs.

As if that’s a question. Matthias has been able to ignore his own body until now, but the slightest touch makes him squirm and he’s still fully dressed and she is unfair and-

“Always,” he breathes. Might as well admit it. “Is that alright? You already…”

“Great thing about having the parts I do is I can fall apart multiple times,” she shrugs like that should be too obvious. “I am perfectly fine with it if you are.”

“Please.”

“Good. Undress for me and… I wanna see what you do.”

It no longer feels awkward to feel her eyes on him as he sheds his layers. Her expression is appreciative, and he’s never thought too much about what his body might look like to other people but clearly the only person who matters right now is into it. Years after her, he thinks, if there is an after her, he will always remember this as he looks at his skin. Impossible perfect woman almost making him happy.

And sure enough, as he’d both hoped and feared, his prick is in full form. And to think he’d expected it would hurt her the first time she wanted him. There’s no fear of that now, but a near-inevitability he won’t last long enough to give her what she wants and-

He looks at her, spread out for him and waiting, and he knows whatever he does will be enough.

Soft beautiful his, he repeats as he maneuvers his body over her. Perfect woman, as he lines up his prick. More than he had ever dreamed of, as he covers her.

She feels perfect around him, and he rolls his hips against hers and tries to find a pattern the way she does when she covers him and he is so sure he’s doing it wrong but she keeps taking kisses anyways so maybe not. Perfect, and he feels himself tense up and no too soon he hasn’t given her everything he hasn’t-

He falls apart anyways, best intentions be damned, boneless on top of her even as their bodies separate.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I look like I’m complaining?”

No, he thinks as he maneuvers his body so most of his weight is off of her, no she does not. If anything, Nina looks the happiest he’s seen her, pink and glowing and content. “You look beautiful,” he says before he talks himself out of it.

“Good.” She shakes her head, her hair flying everywhere. “Are you… was all of that okay?”

She gets under his skin like no one else ever has, and he almost loves her for it and he is undone. “I don’t know if I did it right.”

“There is no right. Not with this. There’s only… what I like may be different from what some other person likes, and each time you’re with someone new you get to figure it all out again.”

“That’s not what I-“

“You made me feel good. As long as you felt good too… that’s the important part.”

And he did, he lets himself feel as they maneuver themselves into a comfortable position for sleep. Dangerous woman. He is ruined for anyone else now, and… maybe that’s alright.

#ebf talks to anons #helnik #ebf writes fic

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Teenage Dream - All I want for Christmas is You. (Part 1)

Summary: Gang-tae gives Mun-yeong the Christmas she deserves.

Author Note: Wow. Writing IOTNBO again feels surreal honestly. This is for anyone who was waiting for me to write them again, hi I hope you like part 1 but this is my Christmas gift to @truccieeboo who regularly tells me that I am awesome and that I can write whenever I want to and I owe no one anything. I already know that of course but it’s so nice to hear that thought echoed by someone else. I’m happy to be back, hi guys!! It has been a busy week but I tried my best to get something out for you to read, there is so much more that I have planned and so I will be breaking it up into parts.

He hadn't realized it but every moment of their miraculous relationship- he'd been holding his breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Mun Yeong to realize that she was dating a complete and utter nerd. But instead he's consistently greeted by a warm smile and her slight body being flung into his arms.

She doesn't get tired of him and months fly by, the happiest months of his life and suddenly it's Christmas week and he's smiling down at her beautiful face as she hangs off him like a limpet, convinced she's his ultimate gift. They should both be in class but he'd went to the bathroom only to run into her in the hallway, she'd walked over immediately her strut filled with confidence and purpose before redirecting him.

He'd almost tripped over his own feet as she bodily shoved him into a closet he'd never noticed in the hall before.

"Woah where are we going?" He asked over his shoulder as she rolled her eyes and shushed him, pinching his butt and then smirking at his affronted squeal.

"I've been walking around forever trying to accidentally run into you. I'm going to take advantage of this." Her eyes twinkle as he stares with a gaped mouth, it has been a while since their last makeout session and he's just as frustrated as Mun Yeong is. Christmas is always busy for his family with his mother decorating every inch of their humble home, not taking no for an answer.

Sang-tae always swindled his way out of working by complaining about fatigue from work while poking out a tongue when their mom wasn't looking. Leaving most of the heavy lifting to Gang-tae himself, literally their box of ornaments and lights made his arms strain.

He reaches out to gently palm Mun Yeong's face, looking deeply into her eyes.

"I missed you." He breathes out, heart growing three times larger as she smiles until her eyes disappear into perfect crescents. He's only ever seen that particular smile directed at him.

"You're such a sap." She snuggles in closer to him, actions contradicting her words. He holds her tighter, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her shampoo.

She gently sways in his arms, fingers swirling aimlessly on his broadening back. She's told him many times how he makes her feel small, contrarily she makes him feel huge. Like he's important and worth her time.

Again those words are on the tip of his tongue. He can feel them right there, bursting to come out. But fear cripples him and he pushes them back down into an abyss, locking them away with a key.

Next time.

"Okay. We've been nice, can we be naughty now?"

"Wha--"

His reply is interrupted by her tongue in his mouth, latching on to his shoulder she tugs him down slanting her head to delve deeper into his mouth. Fire sears through his skin as she twists her fingers into his thick hair, scratching achingly at his scalp. Driven solely by primal desire he snatches her up, his hands cupping the meat under her ass dragging her up the length of his body.

Without preamble she wraps her legs around his waist, her heat sweltering through the thin material of their uniform. When he slides his hands under her skirt he almost drops her when he meets nothing but bare skin. Bare smooth skin.

Ripping their lips apart he stares at her with blown out pupils.

"Where is....what- I. Mun Yeong."

She only smiles at his whine. Dragging his hand back under her skirt.

"I've been a naughty girl huh? What are you going to do about it?" Heat washes over him at her purposeful words, he'd come unexpectedly at her calling herself a bad girl once and that had been it, she was relentless finding every possible way to milk his kink -her words- and torture him.

He surges at her, sliding his tongue into her simultaneously as his fingers sink into her velvety wet heat. He's forced to swallow her loud gasps as she seductively squirms in his arms.

"Gang-tae, more." She demands.

She's already so wet it's obscenely easy to sink another finger alongside the first, stretching her tight walls.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that she's trying to speak to him, twisting away from his lips. Finally he lets her go, panting into her neck as he thrusts into her over and over and over again. Wet noises ringing in his ears and tightening his pants until his cock is painfully pressing into his zipper.

"Gang-tae, I want you to fuck me."

Those inflammatory words engulf him in an inferno of arousal and hormones, his dick hardening so fast that all the remaining blood in his brain rushes to his groin and he sways unsteadily on his feet. He has to tighten his grip as to not drop her and the feline grin she shoots his way coyly informs him that she knows exactly the reaction those words had on him.

“Do you want to, hmm? Right here in the closet? You’ll probably have to cover my mouth I’ll probably scream because it’ll feel so go--”

His hand slams into her mouth cutting off her ability to render him anymore useless. He glares weakly at her, blaming himself for letting himself be caught off guard this way.

“I’m not going to....do that with you in a closet.” He blushes at her raised eyebrow at his hesitance to use the same vulgar words that she did. She giggles at him, rubbing his cheeks like he’s a much younger child. He balks at the treatment, his penis thoroughly confused.

“You can curse Gang-tae, I won’t tell anyone. You won’t fuck me in a closet? What if I want it though? What if I beg you to turn me around and fuck me so hard that my teeth rattle?”

His dick jumps painfully onboard with every word of filth dripping from her mouth and she snatches his hand bringing it back under her skirt pressing his index finger against her sopping wet core and he tenses as his finger slides in and then he hears the worst thing possible, a voice right outside and a familiar one to boot.

“Where the hell did he go now and why did I have to look for him? I’m not his keeper.” Jae-su grumbles sounding far too close to them for his liking and he whips his head to tell Mun-yeong they need to be extremely quiet, to not be caught. Before he can get a word out she lifts herself up and grinds back onto his finger, a loud whimper falling from her bitten lips and echoing in the small room. He holds his breath hoping his meddlesome friend missed that but he hears the grumbling stop and the footsteps lurk back to their hidden location and he waits with bated breath.

A second passes by, Mun-yeong tries the move again but he is holding her hip with an ironclad grip placing her back on her feet much to her disappointment.

He almost releases a sigh of relief.

But then Jae-su calls out, “Moon Gang-tae? Are you in there, what are you doing?”

He has no planning of answering, has no feasible way of explaining his circumstance to his best friend right now. He’d been seduced completely, losing his wit and control, if Jae-su had not appeared there’s no telling what he would be doing.

Fucking Mun-yeong until her teeth rattle, his brain supplies.

He silences the voice.

Despite their lack of response Jae-su does not leave, instead the doorknob begins to rattle and then twist and too little too late he tries to stop the metal from being turned.

Suddenly he’s face to face with his friend of ten years, Jae-su’s eye bulging as he takes in the scene, a glance over to the temptress reveals that she is as calm and cool as a cucumber smiling serenely at being caught red-handed per se.

Jae-su speaks first, “What are.....why are you two in here?”

“I was trying to get Gang-tae to fuc--”

“Mun-yeong!”

He shouts her name looking at her in disbelief, her forwardness is one of the things he lo-likes about her but this level of honesty is not necessary right now. But when he looks over at his best friend the fiery rouge on his cheeks reveals this interruption did very little to conceal what they were doing in the closet. He shrinks in embarrassment his own cheeks pinking in commiseration.

“I don’t wanna know! I’m leaving don’t say anything more, you’re both such perverts!” Jae-su runs away from them looking comically horrified, stopping once down the hallway to glare at them before disappearing completely.

“Well...want to continue where we left off?” Mun-yeong drawls easily, rubbing circles into his arms.

He stares credulously at her, only for her to shrug and reply, “What? I’m horny and we were just getting to the good part.”

He shakes his head in decline, staring at her deep in her eyes.

“I already told you, I’m not doing that with you here. You deserve way more than a quick....fuck in a closet. When we have sex I want to remember everything, I want to take my time and enjoy every second.”

This time she is the only whose eyes glaze over, breath hitching as color explodes across her gorgeous face. He almost ravishes her right then and there, her palpable arousal calling to him like a siren’s call.

“You promise?”

She sticks her little pinky out, wiggling it at him and he wraps his larger pinky around her own weaving their promise.

“Now let’s seal it.” She commands, already tugging him into a kiss. Their lips slap together, the sound of their mooch ringing in his ears.

As she draws away, he halts her with a hand on her hip.

“You only seal promises like that with me right?”

She tilts her head in question first before comprehension washes over her features and a devilish glint flashes in her eyes.

Winking at him and twisting out of his hold, she dances away.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She teases. He hopes she’s teasing. Jealousy sears in his body and it must show on his face because she practically cackles at him and runs away now, laughing all the way.

“See you later Gang-tae, think about me.” She demands, waving at him with her fingers as she disappears around the corner.

As if he has a choice, he stares down at his erection sending a mental apology to it as he actually goes to the bathroom. Today is turning out to be an exhausting day.

There are more heated makeout sessions in various parts of the school, he can no longer look much of the student body in the eyes but when he has Mun-yeong squirming and panting in his arms. all rationale goes out the window. His mother demands that he leave his bedroom door ajar after the last time she caught them “studying”, in his defense he did invite Mun-yeong over to study. Who knows how they ended up lip tangled on the bed with hands in provocative places, claiming possession didn’t seem to win his any favors with his seething mother. Now whenever his girlfriend is over, his mother finds any reason to check on them, even going as far as to send Sang-tae in to supervise them, it is beyond infantilizing.

Sang-tae commonly barges in, exclaiming, “Hey! I’m here to make sure you babies don’t make any new babies.” With a shit-eating grin on his lips as he obnoxiously sits in between them, beaming smile splattered on his face.

So it goes without saying that he too is horny beyond belief.

Which is how he finds himself searching for Mun-yeong in the halls, but to no avail and no replies to his messages.

He hasn’t heard from her all day, he realizes and worry overrides his desire as he pulls out his phone sending her another message.

Are you in school?

He looks at the screen awaiting her response but nothing comes, the message is marked delivered but not yet read.

He sends another message, Are you okay? Just like the first message, his second is felt unread and unanswered and he walks the all too familiar route to her locker, not sure what he is hoping to find.

Unfortunately his missing girlfriend does not magically appear however he finds the next best thing, her closest friend.

Seung-Jae is leaning against the locker in question, concern etched across her expressive face that is mostly eyes. She has her phone pressed to her ears and he can hear the tiny ringing through the phone as the operator recites that the person she is dialing is unable to get to the phone.

She sighs, head falling towards the ground. He clears his throat finally garnering her attention. Her head snaps up and instantly a smile breaks across her face.

“You!” She all but screams and he steps back taken off guard by her intensity.

He blinks owlishly, “Me?”

“Mun-yeong is absent today. She will be absent tomorrow too if we don’t stop her.”

This grabs his attention, he has no intention of not seeing his girlfriend for that long, his heart can’t take it.

“Why? Is she sick, is something wrong with her?” He replies, checking his phone once more and grunting when there is still no reply.

“She’s not going to reply. You have to go see her. Today. She’s going to try to lock you out but you need to be persistent okay? Don’t be your usual nice polite self unless you’ll never get in.”

His head is swimming from the information and her words do nothing to untangle the web of confusion but before he can prod her for more answers she is already ambling off, with a wave over her shoulder.

“I’m counting on you Moon. Don’t mess this up.”

He stands in shock, rubbing the back of his neck. He can’t walk home with Jae-su today.

Getting up to Mun-yeong’s lavish apartment is simple enough with security seeing him enough to register that he is with her. He still has to sign in but the whole ordeal is far less intimidating than it was all those months ago. He almost feels like he belongs. The marble walls of the elevator do a pretty decent job of swatting that feeling down.

The ease of his entrance is squandered by Mun-yeong’s refusal to let him in her apartment.

“Mun-yeong? It’s me Gang-tae”

No response.

“Mun-yeong I know you’re there. I can see the lights, please let me in.” At his evidence of her presence the lights are suddenly shut off.

“Well now I know for a fact that you’re home. Open the door. Mun-yeong, open the door.”

“”It’s that time of the year. It’s impossible to get to her, just leave her alone and she will come out when she wants to. She always like this around Christmas.” He jumps at the sudden voice behind him, whipping around to the sunken face of Mun-yeong’s driver and adoptive father, Sang-in.

“Why? Why does she hate Christmas?”

“Why do you like it?”

Immediately he thinks of his mother and his brother and freshly baked cookies and decorations and then it clicks for him.

Mun-yeong doesn’t have any of that, she’s all alone in her beautiful prison.

“Exactly. Her parents never come, they hire people to decorate and Mun-yeong hides away for a few days until she’s ready to face the world again.”

It shatters his heart that this is her normal. So much so that everyone seems to know about this occurrence, Sang-in explaining it to him as if he’s reading the weather report.

“I can drive you to your house. Don’t worry, I will keep her company. I know how to handle her.”

Gang-tae feels his skin bristle at those words, no one can handle his Mun-yeong. He stands taller, making his decision.

“Call my phone.”

Sang-in looks puzzled at his sudden request looking at him, as if he’s lost his mind and hell, maybe he has but there’s no way he’s leaving Mun-yeong to wallow in her sadness, not alone. She has him now, she never has to be alone ever again.

“Call my phone.” He repeats harder, and finally the man sighs pulling out his phone and following directions.

The all too familiar jingle of his phone rings out loudly and Gang-tae answers it just as loudly, “Oh Ju-ri? You want me to meet you where? What time?

He has to jump back to avoid being hit by the door that bursts open, a seething Mun-yeong on the other side. She snatches the phone from his hand finger set to hang up before she sees the name on the screen, Mun-yeong and a little symbol of a car.

He smiles innocently at the sharp glare she sends first his way and then to her driver who sputters out some nonsense about parking illegally and needing to move his car. Neither one of them acknowledge his departure.

“Go away. I don’t want company right now.”

“That’s too bad. I miss you.” He answers as he pushes his way past her, she attempts to stop him but it is futile and he closes the door behind him.

It takes a second for his sight to adjust to the darkness of her apartment but when it does he sees the destruction that lays around them, broken glasses and tinsel and Christmas decorations littering the floor. It looks like Christmas threw up on the floor.

He ignores that all and takes her hand. She doesn’t fight him, just stares back blankly at him. Looking as small and lost as she did on her birthday, the first time he saw her like this.

“Mun-yeong. Let’s go.”

Then she reacts, “No. I don’t want to go with you. Just leave. This is what I deserve.”

He squeezes her hand tighter, refusing to let those words settle in the air. “No you don’t , you deserve to be loved. You deserve everything Mun-yeong. Don’t shut me out, please.”

She rips her hand viciously from his grip, hissing like a viper.

“No! I let you confuse you, this is what I deserve. I don’t get to be happy, I should be alone. I don’t need anyone. I’ve been alone my whole life. I was an idiot to think that this would work. You’ll never understand me with your perfect family, why would you want to be with someone as broken as me?

Tears pool in his eyes as he listens to her berate herself, the pain is transparent on her face. The wound from her parent’s abandonment raw and throbbing.

“I hate them! I hate them! Why do they hire decorators? Why remind me that it’s Christmas when I’ll spend it alone,? Why give birth to me if they knew that I would be a burden?!” She is a tempest now, rushing to the perfectly decorated tree in the corner by large gleaming glass windows and he watches with tears streaming down his face as she shoves the tree to the ground, the delicate glass bulbs shattering with the impact.

Then she sinks to the ground as well, shoulders shaking up and down rapidly.

It’s not how he planned it but as he watches her fall apart, all his fears and hesitations fall out the window, there are more important things right now.

“I love you.”

She turns to look at him like he has two heads, her eyes large and wet. Tears aching to fall.

“What?”

“I love you Mun-yeong.”

“....And you realized that right now?” She eyes all disaster all around her.

Now she is crying and he can’t decipher her feelings at all. She is glaring at him as she hiccups on the ground.

“I don’t like you. Why can’t you ever do as you’re told?”

He moves closer to her, bending at the knee until they’re eye level.

“Spend Christmas with me?” He pleads and she simply looks at him before collapsing into his chest. She sniffles into his collar, gripping at the lapels of his uniform before whispering her reply, “I’m scared. Gang-tae I’m scared.”

He has never cared for Christmas, it’s a chance to spend time with his family but nothing too serious, nothing he has ever made plans for. He has always been happy to follow his mother’s lead on everything, but as he stares down at Mun-yeong shaking in his arms, the most precious thing that he has ever had. He makes a silent promise that he will make this year different, this will be a Christmas that she never forgets.

I want to make her happy.

#It's okay to not be okay #psycho but it's okay #moon gang tae #ko mun yeong #they're back with the angst and the smut #tried to just write smut but feelings got in the way #cue family christmas montage #I really should have given MY better parents in this #I'm the worst #It's fine they can share GTs family #and make their own family

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rourkeoriain · 2 years

Text

obsession

She only looked at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice and she never met his eyes. It was sort of strange, wanting a woman that wanted seemingly nothing to do with him when he had a pick of nearly any other. She was older than he was. If not in years, then for sure in heart. She had the kind of sadness about her that sat in her bones. It made her shoulders heavy and her face fall when she thought no one was looking.

There were so many things Seamus O’Riain enjoyed about working for the Boss. But somehow, on the strangely wonderful upside down world that was Australia, he’d found the greatest treasure of all. He thought of her more often than he didn’t, ever since their first meeting - the last time she’d let herself hold his sparkling eyes.

Thankfully, Skye and Kiosho - who happened to be cool as fuck with a flawless kickflip - were increasingly intertwined, meaning her brother Ryan spent more and more time carting them back and forth across the seas from one family home to the other. The upside was that Seamus always got to drag along. And Mason’s sister Kate had stolen his heart.

Seamus stopped moving and tried to inconspicuously busy his hands when he saw his redheaded boss glaring at him from the mirror’s reflection.

“Why are you preening?” She asked suspiciously, eyeing the subordinate with her dagger gaze.

Seamus shifted uncomfortably and Kio burst into laughter. Skye shifted to throw an incredulous, questioning glare to her lover who had to catch his breath before he could speak. “He’s trying to fuck my aunt,” he finally managed, though half on a chuckle.

Skye’s expression twisted before she shook her head. “And with that I’ll leave you to it.” She patted Kiosho’s knee as she started to get up but he scooped her back into his lap, grabbing possessively at her thighs as he kissed her. He kissed her nose before he let her up and Seamus had to look away from the sudden feeling that he was intruding. Certainly no one outside the room, excluding her brother, had seen Skye smile that way.

But as Skye strutted toward the front of the massive private jet, Seamus wondered why his mind went back to Kate. He didn’t know her that well. He’d only gathered what he’d seen and what he’d heard but he liked her demeanor. She had no idea how beautiful she was and somehow that made it grow. He found himself dreaming of her hands, then her eyes, then her smile, then her kiss, and over the months his nighttime longing had grown into something inescapable.

The thought of sleeping in the same town as the woman who already owned him - despite the slightly inconvenient fact that she would barely look at him - thrilled him to his core. Seamus was nothing if not a hopeful optimist and he would continue to wish for the best.

“If you ask me for advice on seducing my aunt, I will hit you,” Kiosho warned, half-joking, half-serious. The sentiment brought Seamus out of his haze.

“I’m not trying to seduce her.” His brows knit together as he considered. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in her carnally but he was also interested in what made her who she is. He wanted to know why she wouldn’t look at him more than anything. He wanted to hold her until she forgot what anyone else’s arms could feel like and kiss her pretty tears off her lips. Fuck.

The thought of lips brought him back to the family photo he’d stumbled on in Skye’s office at the Castle. He almost didn’t recognize Kate behind her dark sunglasses with the bright smile she didn’t normally wear. He prayed a silent prayer that day for the pink frosted drink in her hand and the family around her that made her smile. That smile was burned on his heart now and it gave him new life every single day. Gods, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

“Good.” Kiosho snorted as he tossed a spare controller to Seamus. “Because that’s weird as fuck.”

Seamus sighed. Kiosho was probably right. It was weird.

He plopped down into the opposite lounge chair and tapped a combination of buttons to navigate the character selection screen. “I guess I have time to beat your ass.”

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nikanndros · 3 years

Note

I just want you to know that I think about From Eden at least once a week and I've lost count of how many times I've reread it. If you ever wanna share what comes next amd what other ideas you had for that universe i'm here to listen op 👀

Thank you, I love you! When I first wrote that fic, I had two other parts (at least) that I wanted to go with it, and since they’re partially written I’m happy to share those bits with you:

From Eden Part 2

“It’s just unfair, you know,” the girl said. Her words were slightly slurred. To be fair, they were in a nightclub after midnight. Everyone was slurring. “I was there for him, and I paid his bills while he went through college and now! He has a real job and he dumped me for his secretary.” She started sobbing.

Damen, who was six foot three, strongly built, and also carrying a loaded weapon, took her hands and made a sympathetic noise. “Lykaios,” he said, because he --unlike Laurent-- had actually listened when she’d introduced herself. “I think the best thing for you now is to forget about him. He didn’t deserve you.”

Lykaios sniffled. “You think so?”

“Of course I do,” Damen said. “I’ve only known you for a few minutes and I already can see that you’re incredible. Right, babe?”

“Right,” Laurent deadpanned. He glanced at his watch. “It’s quarter to.”

Damen nodded. Still holding Lykaios’ hands, he turned to Laurent. “Security?”

“Just the two.”

“Great.” He looked back to Lykaois. “Listen, doll, we’ve got to get down to business, but I want you to remember what I said, okay? You’re worth a lot more than that guy gave you. And your mascara is running a little. Maybe you should go fix it up in the bathroom and wipe your tears?”

“Okay,” Lykaois sniffed. “Thank you.” She left.

Damen gave Laurent a grin, the crooked, teeth-baring one that appeared whenever they were about to do a job. “Ready?”

“You never call me doll.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Try it sometime and see.”

Damen yanked him in by the jacket and kissed him, slowly and bordering on indecent. “Alright,” he said, after he pulled back. “Show time.”

As Damen disappeared into the crowd, Laurent grasped his --still full-- drink, turned, and threw its contents at the roughest looking guy in the place.

“Hey, what the hell?” The guy squared his shoulders; he was intimidating even covered in lemonade.

“Fuck you,” Laurent replied.

At this point, three months of travelling and stealing and, most importantly, Damen, Laurent had become pretty efficient at inciting fights. He didn’t need to see the punch coming to know that it was, he just sidestepped and let the man stumble into the back of another patron. It took less than thirty seconds before half the clientele were involved in an all out brawl.

The two security guards rushed in, and were immediately overwhelmed enough that the only bartender -- a youngish lad with a crooked nose -- had to join in to get everything under control. Laurent punched him.

Eventually, the fight got calmed down enough for fingers to point to Laurent and the lemonade clad man as the inciters, and guards hauled them both out into the parking lot.

“Let me go!” Lemonade guy yelled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

“You can try,” Laurent said, a lot more willing to be subdued by the guard that had him by the arms.

“Don’t make us call the police, man,” his guard complained. “The both of you can go your separate ways, come on.”

The door behind them opened.

“Sweetheart,” Damen said, chidingly. “I step away for two minutes and you get yourself into trouble.”

---

They go back to a motel after this and Damen reveals the money he stole from the tills while Laurent was being a distraction. Sexy times ensue. Damen eventually falls asleep and Laurent stays awake with the tv on. The news comes on and an interview is shown with Lykaios being interviewed about the robbery at the bar -- she gives a completely inaccurate description of what Damen looked like, and Laurent reflects on how easy it is for Damen to charm people to taking his side.

From Eden Part 3

Their most recent car was a much older model. The aircon was busted and they had to wind down the windows themselves, but at least the radio worked. It was hot, despite it being a couple of hours past sunset.

Damen was singing with the radio. He wasn’t going to win any awards, but his voice was deep and he had a nice enough sense of the music. He grinned at Laurent. He was always happy. It was part of what made him so magnetic.

Laurent smiled back. After two years with Damen, the expression felt natural.

Except for them, the road was empty. Damen reached over and took Laurent’s hand in his.

“Watch the road,” Laurent said.

Damen laughed. “But you’re my favourite view.”

“I won’t be happy if you kill us in a car wreck.”

Obediently, Damen looked back to the road. And then, because it was Damen, the car sped up.

Laurent’s hair flew about chaotically, longer than it had ever been when his uncle had been keeping a hand of Laurent’s appearance. It needed a trim, but as much as Laurent trusted Damen, he didn’t trust him to do that. Damen had offered to take him to a salon, somewhere quiet where there was no chance he’d be recognised, but Laurent wasn’t fond of the idea of being trapped in a chair like that. He was too used to freedom by now.

“Left here,” Laurent instructed.

They’d had to slow down once the got near the town. It was best to avoid anyone’s attention for as long as possible. (An admittedly difficult feat when traveling with someone like Damen).

They drove a little way past the house, until they found an obscure little dirt road to park down. It wouldn’t do for someone to see the car. They grabbed their things, and looped back to the house on foot.

Quietly, Damen was still singing.

“Stop it,” Laurent said.

“You love it,” he replied. “This is your birthday present, baby, at least look like you’re having fun.”

“This is literally the worst place we could get caught.”

“No it isn’t,” Damen replied. “I checked out the police station last time I was here. Breaking out of the cells would be too easy.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“There were no lights on when we drove by. No one is home.”

That was true. And they’d timed it perfectly, assuming schedules hadn’t changed in the last two years. The house was silent when they got to it, not a light in sight as promised.

Laurent took a deep breath.

“Chin up,” Damen said. “Let’s go rob your uncle.”

The spare key wasn’t where uncle used to keep it, so they went around the back and Damen fucked with the lock until it opened. It was almost hard to walk into the house, full of so many bad memories, except it had never truly been Laurent’s home and he could just tell himself this was another job.

“The study,” Laurent said, leading the way.

They crept up the stairs together, torches on their lowest settings.

The study was a formidable room with the big, mahogany desk, and the shelves of books that existed solely to make visitors feel stupid. “Look at this,” Laurent said, pulling out one of the books. “War and Peace in Russian. He doesn’t even know Russian.”

Damen reached past him, and nonchalantly, tipped a stack of books off the shelf. They clattered noisily onto the floor. “Oops,” Damen said. He turned away. “Where’s the safe?”

“Under the desk,” Laurent replied. He was busy searching through the books, finding any early editions to pilfer. They’d probably be able to sell them to an antique store for a bit of quick cash.

Damen worked away at the safe for a bit, guessing potential codes Laurent had told him about. “None of these are working, sweetheart.” The safe made a beeping noise. “Oh, wait. Got it. Wow, he really deserves to be robbed.”

“I’m sure he thought I’d never come back here.”

Damen made a vaguely angry noise. He didn’t like reminders of what had happened to Laurent in this house. He’d even tried to convince Laurent that they could just murder his uncle while they were here. Laurent wasn’t sure he wanted to add cold-blooded murder to their repertoire just yet though. However tempting.

Damen stood up, suddenly. Hands full of Laurent’s uncle’s emergency cash. He grinned.

“Happy birthday - to - you,” he crooned.

Laurent couldn’t help it. He laughed. “I love you, you beautiful fucking bastard.”

Abandoning the books, Laurent moved in and kissed him. Carefully, Damen put the money down on the desk so that he could cup Laurent’s face in his hands. It was always intoxicating to kiss Damen. There was something about him that made Laurent forget himself until there was only the press of their lips.

“I love you too,” Damen whispered, pulling back a little. He’d stopped smiling; it was a moment of complete genuine emotion. He did that sometimes, always out of the blue, and it always made Laurent want to clutch him tighter and maybe cry.

“Let’s finish up here,” Laurent said, “and then we can go find somewhere nice and fuck under the stars.”

“You always know just what to say to seduce me,” Damen said.

They bagged the money, and the books Laurent had picked, and then they made their way down the stairs again.

“Wait,” Damen said.

“What?”

“I’m hungry.” He turned into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Oh hey, chocolate.”

Actually, that was an idea. Laurent followed him into the kitchen and went straight for the pretentious temperature controlled wine fridge. “Pinot noir or Shiraz?”

“Whatever is more expensive,” Damen replied. He was adding strawberries and oranges to the bag as well. Cream?”

“It’ll go warm too fast.”

“I feel like we should unplug the fridge before we go, at least,” Damen added. “If you’re still against me putting bleach in the milk.”

“Wouldn’t that make it curdle?”

Damen shrugged. “I don’t know. I had a cement mixer in a bar once but that was lime juice.”

“You can unplug the fridge. If he dies from food poisoning, that’s on him.”

Damen started to look for the cord to the fridge.

“Wait,” Laurent whispered. “Did you hear that?”

They froze, listening.

There it was. The soft sound of the stairs creaking. Fuck. Silently, Laurent gestured towards the back door. Damen nodded. He was carefully reaching over to the knife stand.

“Renaud?” came a small voice.

A young boy, no more than thirteen, stepped into the kitchen. He was wiping at one eye sleepily in a childlike gesture. Less childlike were the bruises on his arms. Laurent knew he and Damen had matching expressions of horror.

The boy’s eyes widened as he took them in. “Who are you?” he said.

Damen’s expression was one of barely concealed fury. He looked at Laurent. “I’m not leaving until that man is in a shallow grave.”

“Don’t scare the boy,” Laurent admonished. He turned to the child and tried to look as non-intimidating as a late-night home invader could possibly look. “What’s your name?”

“Are you Renaud’s friends?” The boy asked.

“No,” Laurent said. “Definitely not. I’m Laurent.”

The boy was frowning. “You used to live here.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” he straightened up, suddenly hostile. “You’re not allowed to come back. He doesn’t want you anymore; I’m better.”

“Where are your parents?” Damen asked.

“We’re not giving him back to parents who-”

“They’re dead,” the boy said. He didn’t sound upset.

The boy is obviously Nicaise. They hear a car in the driveway and Laurent locks Nicaise in the pantry. Laurent’s protective instinct rears up and he insists they kill the uncle now. Damen is fully down for it. Murder ensues. They let Nicaise out and keep him away from finding out that the uncle is dead in the next room. They tell Nicaise to pack a back and discuss what to do with him. Damen suggests dropping him off at a hospital or somewhere like that where someone can get help for him (since they can’t exactly go to the cops).

Nicaise overhears and says that he doesn’t want to have a new foster parent; at least his current one has a big house. Laurent hearing that feels too wary to risk Nicaise getting another bad household. Damen is like, well I guess we can keep him if you want??? Laurent agrees. They go get in the car and drive away.

Anyway this AU was directly inspired by the film clip for Hozier’s ‘From Eden’, you should watch it bc that’s the story I intended to write

#captive prince #the criminals au #my writing #dancyon

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thatsamericano · 3 years

Text

I Know My Love Should Be Celebrated, But You Tolerate It

Pairing: America/Romano, human AU

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, mild angst and some homophobia from human OCs.

Word Count: 2100

Summary: Alfred needs to tell his mother he’s engaged, but he knows she won’t be happy for him the way Matthew was when he got the news.

Alfred was sitting on the couch with his hand clasped in Savino’s, staring at the cell phone that was resting on the coffee table. Part of him didn’t want to pick it up to tell his mother that he was engaged now, because he knew she wouldn’t have the reaction he was hoping for.

Last night, he’d called Mattie only a few minutes after Savino had proposed. Matthew said congratulations, told Alfred he was happy for him, and most importantly, sounded completely sincere and not just like he was saying what he was supposed to. He listened while Alfred gushed about the proposal and possible wedding plans and chuckled quietly at some of Alfred’s more outlandish ideas. He was just as amused as he would’ve been if they’d been there in person and he’d been able to see Savino curled up into his side, blushing and with that fond, disbelieving grin only Alfred could put on his face. They talked for an hour and a half until Savino pointed out that it was past midnight, and Matthew might need to end the call so he could get enough sleep before he had to go into work the next day.

Alfred knew that his mother wouldn’t react like that. The first time he’d brought Vinny home to meet his family, his father shook his head and walked out of the room while muttering under his breath. Alfred had heard the car starting up outside as his mom gave them an extremely fake smile and asked them if they’d like something to drink. Later, she’d pulled Alfred aside to scold him for not “warning” his parents ahead of time that Savino was his boyfriend, not just his friend. She asked about his sexuality, and he hadn’t been able to answer to her satisfaction, because to him it wasn’t a question of men vs. women. It was a question of Savino vs. every other human being on the planet. If he couldn’t be with Vinny, he’d rather be with no one at all.

It had been two years since then, but Alfred could still vividly remember the look his mom gave him, which was identical to the look she’d give Baxter when he was a puppy and peed on the carpet. Like she loved him, because Alfred was her son and she had no other choice, but was deeply, deeply disappointed in him.

Alfred stared at the phone and jiggled his leg nervously. Savino squeezed his hand.

“You’ll have to pick up the phone eventually, tesoro.”

Alfred heaved out a sigh. “I know. It’s not like I don’t wanna tell her. I wanna tell everybody. Last night, when you asked me to marry you, was the happiest moment of my life. But I know if I tell her, she’s gonna try to make me change my mind.”

Savino smiled weakly. “But she’s not going to be able to, is she?”

Alfred shook his head and glanced back at his cell phone. “No. Nothing could ever make me change my mind.”

Vinny rubbed his hand over the back of Alfred’s hand. “I’ll be here when you call her. You won’t have to do this alone.”

He could do it. With Vinny holding his hand, he could swallow down his anxiety and tell his parents. Alfred picked up his cell phone, went to his contacts, and called his mom.

The phone rang twice before his mom answered. “Hello, Alfred.”

“Hey, Mom. I’ve got some big news to share with you.” He figured it was best to tell her right away. He glanced over at his fiancé, who was nodding in approval.

“Is it good news?”

“The best news. I’m engaged. Vinny asked me to marry him last night.” Alfred grinned, because it felt amazing to say that out loud. Some part of Alfred still couldn’t believe it was real. He was gonna marry Vinny, who was smirking because he knew it was taking every ounce of Alfred’s self-control to avoid squealing or screaming down the phone line like he had when he called Mattie the night before. Savino was adorable 24/7, but especially when he smirked like that, like he was the lucky one in this relationship. Alfred would’ve kissed him if he wasn’t waiting to hear his mom’s reaction.

He waited. And he waited. As he waited, the grin gradually fell away from his face. Alfred hadn’t been expecting anything different, but the way she couldn’t even feign a congratulations hurt.

“Oh,” she finally said. “I suppose you won’t be holding the, uh, ceremony, in a church, will you?”

“I don’t know. Vinny and I haven’t talked about that yet.” He knew they couldn’t get married in the church Alfred had been raised in, and that they couldn’t have a Catholic wedding either. Alfred noticed how she had avoided the word wedding but pretended everything was still fine.

“Will there be a gift registry?”

Alfred frowned. “Like I said, I don’t know. We just got engaged last night.”

“Then why did you call me?” His mom sounded irritated, like she had when he was five and wanted to show her a drawing he did in kindergarten and ran in while she was in the middle of doing work in her home office. That dismissal had hurt at the time, but not as much as telling his mom he was engaged and getting the same kind of reaction as a little kid clamoring for attention while their parent had something more important to focus on.

Alfred shrunk down mentally to that same age. “I just wanted to tell you because you’re my mom. I’m happy, so I thought maybe you’d be happy for me, even if you can’t be proud of me.” Tears were pricking at his eyes, and Alfred bit his lip so his mother couldn’t hear how upset he was. Savino scooted closer, so that he was pressed up against Alfred’s side. He couldn’t be closer without crawling onto Alfred’s lap.

His mother sighed, and she sounded so tired. Tired of him more than anything else. “Alfred, your father and I have been patient about this. We’ve been as tolerant as we can be.”

Alfred laughed miserably. “Sure. Dad won’t even acknowledge Vinny exists, and you tell all your snooty friends that Vinny is my roommate instead of my boyfriend. But you haven’t disowned me yet, so I’m supposed to be grateful, right?”

“There’s no need for you to get so hostile.”

Right. Because it wasn’t hostile for his parents to treat his fiancé like shit and to act like him being in love and happy was something horrible they had to tolerate and be patient about. Alfred bit his tongue to keep those nasty thoughts inside his head, and Savino nuzzled into his neck.

“I’m so sorry she’s doing this to you, caro,” Vinny murmured. Alfred silently kissed the top of his head and listened as his mother started lecturing him again.

“You’re so young. I remember being that age. You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“I’m older than you were when you married Dad.”

His mother ignored what he said, just like he’d known she would. “I love you, Alfie. And it’s because I love you that I’m trying to help you avoid making a mistake you’ll end up regretting someday.”

Tears were leaking out of his eyes, but Alfred was so angry that his words came out as a growl rather than pathetic blubbering. Vinny deserved better than this bullshit. “Savino is the only person I’ve ever wanted to be with. I told you that two goddamn years ago. He’s been nothing but respectful to you and dad, but you guys never even gave him a chance. He isn’t a mistake, and I don’t regret anything about being with him. The only thing I regret is listening to you put him down for so fucking long.”

“Alfred, that’s—”

“I’m done. Call me when you can at least pretend to love me for who I am, instead of who you want me to be.” Alfred hung up the phone before his mother could say anything else, and Vinny immediately shifted onto his lap and started wiping away the tears from his cheeks.

Alfred sobbed harder at Savino’s kindness. “I hate her. I hate her so much for trying to talk me out of marrying you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and the only reason she can’t see it is because you’re a guy.”

Savino kissed his face and made soothing noises. “I love you so much. I wanted to rip her to shreds the second she made you cry.”

Alfred laughed wetly. “You sound so hot when you say stuff like that.”

Savino rolled his eyes and blushed at the compliment, like he blushed every single time Alfred tried to seduce him, no matter how cheesy his attempt was. “Idiota.”

Alfred surged up to kiss his fiancé, and Savino made a muffled sound of confusion but reciprocated a second later. Vinny was being too adorable and perfect for Alfred to not kiss him, but that wasn’t the only reason. He needed to feel something real, something lasting that wasn’t the rejection of the woman who brought him into this world. Savino’s hands planted on his shoulders, the warm weight of his body on top of him, and the soft pressure of their lips pressed together made Alfred feel safe and loved in a way nothing else could.

By the time they separated, Alfred was no longer crying. He felt significantly calmer as he petted Savino’s hair. “I don’t think I want my parents at the wedding.” It wasn’t a decision he would ever feel completely okay about. In an ideal world, his parents would be there in the front row, crying nostalgic tears as they watched him get married because they were so proud of him. But Alfred didn’t live in an ideal world, and he couldn’t keep pretending that he did.

Savino pressed a tiny kiss to his temple. “If you don’t want them there, then we won’t invite them. We should invite people who can celebrate with us. Unless your parents have a miraculous change of heart, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

Alfred scoffed. “If they decided to come, they’d probably act like they were going to my funeral instead of my wedding. Or they’d try to convince me I shouldn’t marry you, and I’d lose it on them a lot worse than I did today.” Alfred had been putting up with his mother’s bullshit for far too long, and he probably would’ve continued to put up with it if she had only been insulting him and not his fiancé. Alfred could take his parents’ disapproval, but he wouldn’t listen to anyone implying that Vinny wasn’t good enough for him.

Savino hummed in consideration. “We shouldn’t tell them until after the fact. Send them a postcard when we’re on our honeymoon and it’s too late for them to do anything about it.”

Alfred chuckled. “That sounds devious. I like it.” He grinned and rubbed his hands up and down Vinny’s thighs. “You should make evil plans more often. It’s sexy as hell.”

Savino snorted in disbelief, but he was grinning in the flattered, flustered way Alfred was so familiar with as he fiddled with the top button of Alfred’s shirt. “Amore, you’re hopeless. You think the way I breathe is sexy.”

“Anyone with working eyes or ears would. Which makes me a pretty lucky guy.” Alfred winked up at him, which he’d learned early on was a good way to flirt with Vinny. He wasn’t really good at this whole flirting thing, since Vinny was the only person he’d ever wanted to flirt with. All he’d ever been able to do was be a little too honest, recite lines from TV or movies, wink, and carry heavy stuff to show off his muscles. Miraculously, his clumsy attempts had actually worked.

They were working pretty well now, obviously, because Savino was leaning in less than an inch away from his mouth. “We’re both lucky, Fredo. Ti amo.”

Hearing that made Alfred weak-kneed even though he was sitting down. When Savino leaned in the rest of the way to kiss him, a shiver swept through him, even though he wasn’t cold. He grabbed at the back of Vinny’s neck and moaned when Vinny licked his way into his mouth. His mother’s reaction to his engagement, along with any other problems he had, ceased to exist as long as his fiancé was kissing him.

#hetalia #romerica #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fanfiction #hws fanfic #hws fanfiction #aph fanfic #aph fanfiction #my writing #original post #tw homophobia

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