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lustastarte · 1 year

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♠of love and sex | giomis♠

genre: smut

mista convinces don giorno to take a vacation

published: 2020

written by request

Knock knock.

"Yes?" The blonde received no answer. "Come i-"

"Mr. Giovanna~," a sculpted man sang, suddenly behind Giorno.

"Mista. For the last fucking time. I can and will put a bullet between your eyes if you don't stop doing that every time you feel the need to talk to me."

The brunette mocked him. "No you won't. I'm the only one that runs your errands without mistakes."

Giorno sighed, rubbing his thumb and index finger just above his brow, moving them apart, extending his hand before rubbing it over his forehead and loosely tied up hair. "What do you even want?"

"I feel like you could use a break," the older began massaging his counterpart's shoulders.

The blonde scoffed, taking a long sip of his hot, dark beverage. "A break? I run the mafia, Guido. If I take a break, this whole thing crumbles. Besides, I can't go anywhere without my body guard, and I don't want to overwork anyone."

Mista tilted his head, a puzzled look spreading across his face and shining out of his eyes. "Giorno. I am a 24/7 body guard. I live with you as your full time body guard."

"... You live with me because we're engaged, you absolute deadshit."

Mista giggled, running his hand through Giorno's hair. He strolled over, thick wooden soles clicking on the pristine marble floor and sat down on the younger man's desk.

"Come onnn," the older whined. "You need a break... Please? Just for like three days."

Giorno stayed silent, thinking about the problems that would arise from him leaving for just a few hours, not to mention days.

"Fine," he answered defeatedly after a full five minutes of sitting silently, ignoring Mista's eyes.

Giorno's golden blonde hair whipped behind him as he basked in the sunlight and cool breeze generated by the speed of Mista's stolen convertible. Taking a deep breath, he surveyed his surroundings. The beach seemed to go on for miles, salty waves kissing the sand, driftwood and seaweed docked just above the tide as decoration. Directly across the highway stood a rickety, wooden, top-heavy dock house, a weather-beaten, mini cabin of pure, disintegrating mid-eighteenth century raised up on bowed, waterlogged, rotting supports for the purpose of enabling elderly ladies in tea dresses and floppy hats with ribbons to sit out on good afternoons to watch the sailboats tutting along the horizon at their work - a setting rendered completely imagined and unreal by the thick, suffocating saline air surrounding the coast. Waves repetitively crashed over the warm, sunbaked sand, spreading it's webbed foam like the edge of a nightgown. The costal wind blew in bitter gusts, temporarily sending chills down the blonde's neck. The salty, fishy air lay heavily on his tongue and aggressively filled his nostrils. A golden comforter outlining the shimmering, tropical teal sea, creating a picture perfect image. The large, blazing sun was perched high in the sky, shining like Elijah's fiery chariot to heaven. The sun beat down on the calm ocean as another, chilly gust of wind forced itself past Giorno. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the faint taste of salt on the breeze that was complimented by the godly, ambrosial aroma of the flowers growing around the rolling dunes of sand.

The seaside cottage has mortar walls like cold set oatmeal, painted canary yellow with window frames of birch and shutters of grey. Inside is the gentle whirr of the overhead ceiling fan, chairs relaxed in the sunlight outside. The old windows are mullioned, overlooking the garden of flowers and towering palm trees. The rickety little building hunkered low on the coastal moor like a child in a heated round of hide-and-seek trying to keep from being caught. The cottage looked as if it was straight out of a fairytale with a happy ending or a picture book for little kids. It was rusty, old, and quite dusty from the outside, but rather welcoming inside. The whole house was made of birch and mortar. A tiny stove, two small wooden chairs, a circular table, a full sized bed, and that was it. Quaint and calming. Succulents, tropical flowers, and so much more flora. A wrought iron gate with paint chipping and flaking off was the door to the property, leading onto a narrow sandy path with small shells and pebbles. There was a tiny tide pool with barnacles, starfish, urchins, sand crabs, tropical fish, anemone, algae, seagrass, and a few seagulls. The dune grass was green and yellow, scorched and toasted by the sun in the balmy Italian summers.

"See? Are you happy you took this break now?" Mista opened the door to the cottage, breathing in a briny mix of cypress, blood lily, hibiscus, and African violet. He dropped their luggage on the creaky birch floor, sending a cloud of sand into the air.

"Not yet. It's pretty, but I kind of have a really important job to do."

"Awww, Gio-Gio, come on," Mista whined, pulling the other man into his chest. "You know you like it here~"

The blonde's face began to heat up, but he tried to keep a poker face. Mista connected their lips softly, smirking as he ran his hands down Giorno's sides. Giorno shuttered, leaning into Mista's chest. What was this feeling? He felt as though he needed to throw up, but instead of stomach acid, he wanted to throw up his entire heart. Heat pooled in his abdomen.

He was all logic, feigned, cool detachment until Mista touched his skin. Then, something primitive, something carnal not only stirred in him, but completely took over his thinking. The rest of the dull, drab world became an unimportant blur that was quickly banished into the far, compartmentalized recesses of his subconscious mind. The only thing that mattered to him was being touched even more by Mista, kissing his slightly chapped lips, surrounded by scratchy stubble, feeling his large, warm hands on his stomach, trailing to his legs. Mista tried to be gentle with Giorno's clothing, not having the slightest desire to replace a $10,000 suit, but it was so hard. Giorno tried to keep his breathing steady, but soon began panting, not quite sure if out of nervousness or arousal.

With the front door closed and locked, every former falsification falls. The façade the mob boss and his guard show the world instantaneously melts away and all Mista wants is to fuck every drop of life out of Giorno. Every kiss he gives has a raw intensity as he glides his tongue down the blonde's body - Giorno's breathing fast, but his heart rate's much faster. Before they know how it happened, the two are naked, skin moving softly and desperately together, like the finest of Mulberry silk. Giorno groans as he feels Mista's hand enter from below, one finger moving against his most sensitive parts, their tongues entwined in an aggressively passionate kiss. Then Mista has three fingers inside, changing Giorno's heavy, desperate breathing with every thrust, taking pleasure in hearing his moans, which were so perfectly timed to his body. All at once, he stops and kisses from Giorno's neck to his stomach, his greedy hands light; then, he's licking and using his fingers all at once, watching the blonde's reaction, feeling and laughing at how his spindly legs move, watching his body writhe with each brush against the deepest parts of him.

"I'm gonna make you beg for this, you know that?"

Giorno whined in response, unable to form anything intelligible.

In seconds, he's on Giorno again, fucking him hard, just long enough to intoxicate his mind before stopping completely.

"Please- Please- Guido, I-"

"You what?" Mista smirked at the blonde, tugging on his hair as he pushes just his head in. Giorno cried out in misery, needing to feel his fiancé inside him. "Hmm?"

"I need you! I need you to- to fuck me sen-senseless! Please," he wailed, never before having this feeling.

That was all it took for Mista to give in, holding nothing back as he slammed into the blonde. Mista's hands pinned Giorno to the bed, hair coming undone and toes curled. He left every part of the younger man untouched and as quick as the two started screaming, crying out for one another in the heat of the moment, it was over. Giorno arched his back, almost drooling out of pure pleasure, and Mista pounded into him, biting his neck and squeezing the headboard with one hand. The blonde screamed out, digging his short, manicured nails into the older man's tan back. Mista's thrusts slowed and he gently kissed Giorno's soft lips.

"Oh- Oh my god..."

"Was that a good first time?"

"I- Honestly, I think it's the best," Giorno giggled, panting and still shaking from pleasure.

"Happy you took the vacation now?"

"Oh, definitely."

#giomis #giorno x mista #jjba #jjba fanfic #fanfiction #smut

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tateratots · 3 years

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yo reminder that I have a ko-fi! I just moved and could use a little boost :'')

if you put a request w your tip i'll doodle you a little something!

#my rickety old desk chair ended up breaking on me :')#so ive been using a dining chair and tbh im sick of it #if not a new chair i'll probably have any tips i get go towards kitty litter or a new pair of shoes #or heck a bed frame #my mattress is currently on a busted up futon that's leaking plastic pellets #and the futon isn't even wide enough to cover the whole thing so it's sagging over the sides lmao #my current main pair of shoes are cheap as hell and practically smooth on the bottom #which is uh #a disaster waiting to happen #adult life is annoying and everything breaks and is expensive to replace :''')

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softyoongiionly · 3 years

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Moonlight

Just a night at the studio with Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut (18+ only plz) I love yoongi so much omg

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This can be read as a stand alone or as an extension of the FnD series. I am so in love with yoongi it’s insane and, I’ve missed him so much my goodness. I wrote this in like two hours so I really hope you like it ok bye :D

Warnings: explicit smut

“You look good.” You note simply from the pull-out couch in Yoongi’s studio, growing disinterested with the pile of work sitting on the table in front of you

Yoongi looks as though you’ve just shook his hand with a prank buzzer, his body subtly jolting in his desk chair.

“Me? Why?”

His response makes you laugh as you prop your elbow on the arm of the couch, “You just do. I like watching you work, you look cool.”

Yoongi is unable to help the new color present on his cheeks nor is able to help the flutter of desire in his gut.

But all he does his smirk, glancing towards you and then back at his computer screen whilst his long fingers card through his black hair.

“Thanks.” He mutters but there is a renewed sense of light in his eyes as he hits enter on the keyboard.

The sound pulls you towards his fingers, which you have an unnatural obsession with.

They look graceful settled on the black keys and yet agitated all at the same time.

They are unsure of exactly where to go, unflexing and flexing against the plastic before Yoongi drags them slowly back to the surface of the desk.

You’ve been here for hours.

He asked you to accompany him this morning and you eagerly obliged, wanting nothing more than to spend the day with him, even if you weren’t interacting.

The blue light emanating from your phone lets you know what time it is and you have to admit, you’re a little shocked.

12:07am.

You hadn’t even remembered seeing 9 o’clock, how did time pass so quickly?

As if on cue, you yawn, quickly covering your mouth with your hand to avoid alerting Yoongi.

You’re too late.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye and immediately takes out one of his headphones, his eyes holding a bit of regret.

“Yah, I’ve kept you here for so long haven’t I?” His voice is tender and warm, seeping in through the fabric of your hoodie and down into your skin, “I should take you home...I’m sorry jagi. I didn’t even realize how late it was.”

“No no-” You cut in, shaking your head, “You don’t have to be sorry at all- you've been working your ass off. I’m just happy you ask me to come, I’ve never gotten to see you work before.”

Yoongi’s heart skips a bit a little at how genuine you sound. He can’t understand why you’d want to just sit here with while he produces but, he’s touched regardless.

“You’ve been working hard too though.” He points out, nodding his head to the mountain of paper on the table, “I don’t want to keep you up all night.”

“I like staying up late.” You insist, crossing your legs and tucking them up on the futon, “Besides,” The tone of your voice lowers a bit as you feel quite shy about what you’re going to say next, “I don’t like sleeping without you...”

Yoongi is almost certain he made out what you said because the grin on his lips is involuntary. However, he decides to mess with you anyway.

“What was that last part?” He asks, brows raised playfully.

He spins slightly in his desk chair with his legs spread out in a way that shouldn’t be attractive.

But it absolutely is.

With a roll of your eyes, you slump against the futon, shoving your hands into your lap, “I said I don’t like sleeping without you.”

His grin widens, his pretty teeth practically blinding you as he does.

“That shit is cute...” He chuckles more to himself than to you, his teeth securing themselves to his bottom lip, “You wanna stay with me then?”

Yoongi calling you cute makes you want to squeal like a schoolgirl but thankfully, you’re able to refrain.

With an assured nod, you return his grin, “Yes please.” Your reply is delivered musically which causes him to chuckle again.

He shakes his head, practically exploding with fondness before using his fingers to gesture to the screen in front of him.

“I shouldn’t be too much longer, maybe like an hour or so, then we can go to bed.”

With that, your plans for the remainder of the evening are set in place and you decide that you’re going to put away your work for the night and scroll on your phone.

You can only work on something for so long before your brain is fried.

Another hour or so passes and you find yourself growing sleepier and sleepier.

However, your brain quickly finds itself attaching to the only thing in this room that could distract you from the heaviness in your lids:

Yoongi.

He’s dressed head to toe in black: black hair, black sweats, black hoodie and black vans.

The only thing that stands out in terms of color are the many silver earrings adorning his ears.

The way he hunches over the desk, transfixed on the screen shouldn’t be sexy.

The way he manspreads in the chair shouldn’t be sexy.

The way he chews on the tip of his thumb shouldn’t be sexy.

But it is.

Because he is.

You find yourself growing uneasy with the lack of attention.

Not in an emotional way but, in another way entirely.

You can’t help but stare at him and wonder how the hell you got so lucky.

It would be incredibly easy to stare at him all night, marveling at all of the little things that make him beautiful.

However, he doesn’t allow you to because his heighten sense of awareness has finally caught onto the fact that you’re staring at him.

Turning towards you, he smirks and shakes his head playfully, “Yah- “ He jerks his chin at you, “What are you looking at?”

Shamelessly, you giggle and prop your chin up on the palm of your hand, “My insanely hot boyfriend...”

He waves you off, wrinkling his face in mock disgust, “Aish, stop all of that.”

“Why don’t you ever let me compliment you?” You protest, your voice heightening slightly, “If I want to say you’re hot, I’m going to say it- whether you like it or not.”

The apples of his cheeks turn a dusty rose color, his teeth finding purchase on his bottom lip as he forces his eyes to stay put on the screen, “I never said I didn’t like it...”

He smirks at the end of his confession, tapping his index finger against the space bar, letting the beat fill the room for the 1000th time.

It sounds good so you honestly didn’t mind.

Getting to hear Yoongi’s music as it was being made was a privilege you did not take for granted so, you certainly didn’t mind if you had to hear it 1000 more times.

A few more moments pass as the two of you settle back comfortable silence. You don’t refrain from stealing more glances of your boyfriend but, you decide to stop pestering him until his ready to call it a night.

Then it’s fair game.

During a stolen glance however, you notice him wincing a bit as he adjusts himself in his chair. Yoongi has a bad back that he frequently sees a chiropractor for but, it doesn’t stop him from hunching over for hours on end anyway.

“Is your back hurting?” You murmur, trying to keep the concern in your voice at a minimum.

He hates when you worry about him and, you expect him to tell you no but instead he brings a hand around his shoulder to rub at the likely tense muscles.

“Yeah- it’s really sore. I need to get with a posture coach or something because, I’m sure sitting in this chair for hours on end only makes it worse.” He winces again, trying to straighten up in the rickety old desk chair.

You make a mental note of looking into buying him a new chair for Christmas; maybe one of those fancy gamer chairs with all the padding.

“Do you want me to rub it for you?”

Keeping your tone casual is easy enough but it doesn’t stop the excitement from brewing in the pit of your stomach. You and Yoongi often indulge in physical affection (and by often, you mean OFTEN) but it’s been a busy few weeks which has unfortunately lessened the amount of time you were able to spend wrapped up in one another. This has been starting to get to you of course but, the reasonable side of your brain tells you that it’s perfectly normal/healthy to go without sex for a few weeks. However, the less-logical (ie the ridiculously in love) part of your brain tends a signal to the entirety of your nervous system that makes you literally ache for your boyfriend.

The way he’s been acting this evening is only worsening that ache.

Besides, you don’t like the fact that he’s hurting so really massaging him would be a win/win scenario.

A small smirk forms on his lips, as he putters around on his keyboard. He still doesn’t look at you but, the glint in his eyes tells you he likes the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind that - I just need like 15 more minutes.” He murmurs, straightening his back once more, his eyes showing a bit of discomfort.

“You don’t have to stop...” You offer, keeping your voice nice and sweet, “I can just sit behind you while you work.”

He licks his lips, shifting in his chair before finally glancing over at you, the smirk still lingering on his lips, “Is it my birthday or something? Why are you trying to spoil me?”

This makes you roll your eyes, “Because I’m in love with you and I want to make sure you feel good, is that alright? Why are you being so difficult?” You gripe, quite matter of factly.

Yoongi breaks out in a fit of rickety laughter, amused by your annoyance.

The softie in him wants to love on you 24 hours a day but, the brat in him secretly gets a kick out of riling you up.

Plus, annoying you sometimes comes with an added bonus that fuels the less orthodox side of Yoongi’s desires.

“Come here then-” He says in the midst of his laughter, “My aching back needs you...”

You push yourself off of the futon, grumbling to yourself, “This is why I always say you’re like a cat because, I’m trying to love you and you’re asking me if I permit or something...”

Yoongi laughs again, shaking his head and before you can sit down, he’s turning in his chair and grabbing your hand. Despite you pretending to wiggle your hand out of his grip, he interlocks his fingers with yours and places a kiss to the back of your hand.

“I love you.”

These words have been spoken a thousand times but it doesn’t stop your soul from ascending to the tippy top of heaven anyway.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of him being soft for you.

“Whatever.” You pout, pretending to jerk your hand away once more which causes him to flash that brilliant gummy smile of his. “Just make your stupid, beautiful music, pretend I’m not even here...”

He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, “That’s literally impossible but I’ll try.”

His words may be sarcastic and subtle but you know very well that they have 100 different meanings.

That’s kind of your favorite thing about him.

It’s the fact that he can say so much whilst using his words sparingly. Yoongi has a way of letting you know how he feels without pouring his heart out. Although, there are plenty of times when he does that too and, you love it all the same. But, he’s the type of person to love in secret and, it’s not because he’s ashamed or emotionally unavailable; it’s because he understands how precious love really is and you’re the only one he wants to be vulnerable with.

You bite your lip to avoid smiling and as you try to move away, Yoongi jerks your hand towards his body gently, his pretty chestnut eyes widening a bit.

“Say it back.” He insists, his voice softening to a specific tone that seems to rot your resolve from the inside out.

You can’t tell if he knows what he’s doing or if he is unaware he’s using the same voice he uses when he begs for you but either way: you give him what he wants.

“I love you too.”

This satisfies him beyond belief, his grin returning whilst he tugs you down to his level, his sweet lips awaiting yours.

Despite what he wants to do, Yoongi just pecks at your mouth a few times before releasing your hand.

He knows if he kisses you the way he wants to, it will be game over so, thankfully he manages to control himself.

“This track is called Moonlight right?” You inquire gently, as you take your seat behind him, doing your best to find the right position that won’t limit his movement.

He grins to himself, delighting in the fact that you remembered something he’s only told you once.

“Yeah.” He clicks over his keyboard, trying to prepare himself for your touch. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering a bit when he feels your palms smooth over his aching back.

He knows it might sound excessive but it really isn’t his fault.

The way you touch him has devasting effects on his ability to think clearly. He knows being in love intensifies things yes but, it’s the way you seem to know his body, the way you seem to treasure him and the way you seem to seek out the areas of his skin that are the most sensitive that drives him up the wall.

Yoongi has a feeling that you’d be able to touch anyone this way but, he counts every single lucky star in the sky that he’s the one you want to touch.

“Do you like it so far?” You lower your voice to the precipice of a whisper, not wanting to disturb him too much.

As he readies his reply, you begin gently massaging the parts of his back that you know bother him the most: his shoulder blade, the center of his spine and base of his neck. The close proximity allows you to take in the way your boyfriend smells: like clean laundry and the summer berries. You resist the urge to take a bite out of him as he replies.

“I do but it needs a lot of work still.” He realizes how quick he is to downplay his progress and he amends his response in order to give himself some credit, “I got a lot done today though and I’m excited to see where this track goes.”

His answer makes you happy as it’s not often Yoongi outwardly expresses excitement towards his current projects.

“Do you like it?” He asks you, keeping his tone casual as he turns down the volume slightly, wanting to hear you clearly.

With a kiss to the back of his neck, you smile, “Honestly? I’m already in love with it. It has such a cool vibe. It’s very old school but also very modern at the same time, the lo-fi elements are sending me. I can’t wait to hear the vocals when you’re done with the lyrics.”

Yoongi grins, his features swimming with pride at your compliments. He is addicted to your praise in normal situations but hearing you compliment what he is most passionate about sends him into another world.

“Thank you.” He mumbles warmly, relaxing further into your touch, “I should be starting on vocals tomorrow I think. I don’t have the second verse done yet, but I think once I have everything recorded, it will give me more inspiration.”

You’re working at the tenderness surrounding his shoulder, not pressing too hard but insuring that your fingers are gently working all of the knots that have formed within his muscles. You wonder if it’s helping him at all but the way he sighs and presses against your hands tells you all you need to know. Before you’re able to continue the conversation, your boyfriend chuckles in front of you, almost in disbelief.

“What?” You prod, smiling at the sound of his laughter.

“Nothing it’s just-” He leans back against his chair fully causing you to remove your hands from him for moment, “if you had told 15 year old me that one day I would be working on my music, in a real studio, while the most beautiful girl in the world rubs my back for me, I would have told you to fuck off and stop messing with me.”

Your smile broadens as you lean forward, draping your arms around the back of the chair and resting them on your boyfriend’s chest. You place a kiss on his temple which makes him smile, his hands coming up to rest on top of yours.

“I wish 15 year old you didn’t have to endure so much but,” You kiss his cheek now, your heart filling with joy as his gums once again make an appearance, “I’m glad you’ve let me prove him wrong.”

He turns slightly, his lips brushing against your whilst he does and rather than say anything, he just places a soft kiss onto your mouth.

Despite the awkward angle, you reciprocate, allowing your lips to melt against his, kissing him slowly but deliberately. He tucks his lips between yours, nibbling gently at your bottom lip, a shaky breath escaping his nose. The hands he placed over yours intertwining messily with your fingers, squeezing softly whilst he cranes his neck to continue kissing you. Freeing one of your hands, you trail your fingers up the side of his throat, eliciting a shiver from your boyfriend as you cup his cheek.

It’s not an ideal angle to start making out but something about his throat and chest being exposed to you, makes it 10 times hotter. The beat of his song is still playing softly in the background until his hand suddenly moves from yours to hit the space bar. He doesn’t stop kissing you all the while, only seeking to deepen the motions between your lips. You allow your fingers to run up the side of his neck again as they tuck themselves into his hair, scratching tenderly at his scalp. Yoongi seems to sigh hopelessly into your mouth, unable to resist how weak you make him.

You want to feel his tongue but just as you trace yours against the inside of his lips, he pulls away, a bit of shared saliva still connecting the two of you.

“Let’s go to bed...” He whispers shakily and you know very well what he means by that.

Seconds later, your back is pressed against the sheets covering the futon, your boyfriend quickly descending over you, his lips eagerly seeking yours again.

He resumes his earlier motions with slightly more enthusiasm, sucking and licking into your mouth, his hips pressing down against yours. You can feel how hard he’s gotten, his erection straining painfully against the denim of his jeans. He doesn’t seem to mind though, his focus is on kissing you right now.

You allow your hands to travel to the hem of his t-shirt, slipping your fingers beneath the material to explore the velvety texture of his skin. Yoongi’s hips and stomach are extremely sensitive, he’s told you before that touching him there is almost immediately going to get him hard. Given the fact that he’s already hard, he has no choice but to twitch around in his jeans while you touch him.

In order to distract himself from the possibility of cumming in his pants, he pulls away from your lips momentarily to sit back on his knees. He stares down at you with an intensity he only reserves for performing and fucking, which to Yoongi, they are often one in the same. He pulls his t-shirt off hastily, throwing it behind him and revealing the beautiful expanse of his body to you. The sight of him makes you reach up with grabby hands, wanting nothing more than to feel his weight on you again. Instead of coming back down however, he merely smirks and shakes his head.

“Uh uh, it’s your turn...” He murmurs, his voice deep with the heavy arousal weighing on his tongue.

You pout but otherwise oblige, pulling off the hoodie you’re wearing to reveal the black sports bra you had thrown on before coming to meet him here.

Its nothing fancy or intentionally erotic but it gets Yoongi going anyway, merely because it’s your body.

He makes a small grunt in the back of his throat as he rushes back with his lips. He begins kissing over the swell of your breasts, biting and sucking as he does, his eyes shutting.

“How are you so fucking beautiful hm? Did they make you in a lab or something?” He accuses in his raspy voice, grinning when he hears you giggle.

“Yes actually they did- I've been meaning to tell you for awhile now but, I wasn’t sure how you’d react...”

He bites down harder on you playfully, sucking the skin between his teeth. The delicious sting causes a sharp intake of breath on your part and the sound makes Yoongi even harder. Licking over the purple mark he made, he pulls back to admire his work. With wet lips and dark eyes he looks up at you, a smirk on his mouth,

“I can see why you like giving me these so much...” He raps, his tongue poking out to lick at his bottom lip, “I want you covered in me now.”

His proclamation makes you sick with lust and you’re quick to pull him back over your completely, capturing his lips in a kiss once more.

Yoongi is eager to reciprocate, his technique a lot sloppier now as the need to be inside of you slowly over takes him.

With one hand, he finds the button of his jeans and pops it open, sighing in relief as his dick is allowed the room it needs. Your hand is quick to cover his, searching for his swollen length mindlessly, desperate to touch him.

“Can I fuck you?” He whispers, nudging his nose on the tip of yours, “Please?”

You nod, kissing at his lips still, your breath uneven, “Yes please.”

The giggle that leaves your mouth shouldn’t spur him on but it does and after finally riding. both you and him of the rest of your clothes, Yoongi is lining himself at your entrance.

He pushes inside of you, letting another shaky sigh out of his mouth before covering your body with his once more.

It’s a slow but powerful fuck, leaving no room for the outside world.

He kisses your face, your neck, your chest, your breasts and tells you how much he loves you.

He rubs on your clit when you tell him how close you are, encouraging you to let go.

“Ah there it is- is that good jagi? Is it good? Are you gonna cum for me?” He whispers, his face tensing up with pleasure as you contract around him, “You’re squeezing me so tight, you’re doing so good. Just cum baby, I’ll cum too...I just wanna watch you.”

With choppy breath, you arch your back, your hands clawing at his free arm desperately, clining onto him as your orgasm begins crashing over you.

“Yoongi, I’m gonna cum- fu-fuck, fuck I’m gonna cum...I’m gonna cum, oh god...please don’t stop.” You moan softly and the sweetness in your voice drives Yoongi crazy, his pace against your clit increasing. He stares at you, a small but fucked out smile on his lips,

“Oh I’ll never stop sweetheart, not until you cum those pretty brains out...”

His words send you over the edge, your toes curling against the mattress as you whisper his name once again.

The sight of you cumming is too much for him and although he normally cums inside of you, your post-orgasm haze has a different plan.

“Cum in my mouth.” You plead, tugging at his hips.

Yoongi swallows thickly, nearly blowing his load right then and there, “Really?”

“Yes.” You urge, tugging his hips again, “Please? I want to taste you. Remember you said you wanted me covered in you- cover me. Cover my face please.”

Yoongi’s brain literally short-circuits as he tries his best to process how fucking hot you’re being, his dick twitching inside of you.

“Anything you want remember baby? I’ll give you anything you want...” He grunts, his black hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he pulls out of you, both of you pained by the loss of contact. He is quick to scoot up the bed until his soaking dick is positioned near your mouth, “I’m going to cum so fucking hard for you- are you gonna swallow it all?”

You nod, wrapping your hand around the length of him, licking at the slit, tasting the mixture of you and him together.

“Until my stomach is full of you.” You promise before sucking him into your mouth

Yoongi finally breaks, whimpering for you as he usually does, his body jerking as the pleasure overtakes him,

“Holy fucking shit-” He whimpers again, his eyes rolling back as he gives you rope after rope of his release.

It’s a lot but you don’t care, you want every last drop of him. Your hand coaxes out the rest of his cum, your mind high off the taste of your boyfriend; there really is nothing better than this.

Yoongi tucks his fingers into your hair tenderly, grounding himself but also because he wants to touch you.

“Oh my god look at you ah- that's my fucking girl isn't it? You’re so pretty down there you know that? Made me cum so good.”

His voice is pitchy and fucked out and his praise makes you wet all over again, despite your need for a break.

Immediately Yoongi leans down, kissing you with everything he has, licking at your mouth as if he wants a taste of himself.

The kissing lasts for another minute or so before Yoongi lays down beside you, pulling you onto his chest.

You burrow into him, soothing yourself with his unsteady heartbeat as he holds you.

Yoongi smiles down at you, despite the fact that you aren’t looking at him, taking a moment to thank all of his lucky stars once again.

You place a kiss to his chest before turning to look at him, rubbing a thumb over his reddened cheek, “I love you.”

He kisses your thumb, “I love you too.”

789 notes · View notes

djmarinizelablog · 3 years

Text

Ultimate Bonding Experience

Summary:

Hange and Moblit follow Levi and Petra on a date. It's a disaster.

Tags:

one-shot, fluff and humor, nonbinary Hange, they/them pronouns for Hange, officemates, best friends forever, friends to lovers, jealous Hange

Notes:

This is for the Levihan Filo Week Day 4 Prompt, Tourist Destinations, featuring Greenbelt, Makati (Yes, the audacity of me.)

—

"You're going out on a date with Petra?” Hange stood up too quickly, knocking down the pen holder on their office desk in process. “As in… Petra Rall? From the Marketing Department? As in, sweet-as-candy, honey-bunny, gorgeous glam girl Petra?”

Levi swiveled his computer chair to face his best friend. "She asked me out."

"Hmm. And you didn't say no?" Hange was absentmindedly tapping the end of the pencil against their lower lip.

He gave a half-shrug. "Wanted to try something new for a change."

This was really new. Hange was incredulous. Levi never went on dates. Levi went on food trips and grocery shopping and karaoke nights (mainly due to Hange’s persistent nagging), but he never agreed to a date. There were always other people around whenever they hung out. The two of them had been best friends since college, and now as colleagues, Hange could tell from the numerous awkward and sort-of romantic encounters with Levi that Petra wasn't exactly his type.

"Is this a joke? Is this for a dare?" Hange kept prodding. They would bombard him with questions nonstop until he gave in. “Did you hit your head somewhere? Are you dying?”

"No, I just told you, Four-Eyes, I wanted to try something new.” Levi returned to his work and continued typing on his computer. “She said she already has planned something for tomorrow."

"This isn't you, Levi. You don't like itineraries," Hange said, sitting down to compose themself, gripping the pencil in their hand and holding it too tightly against the notepad.

"Maybe it's about time I do."

“So you’re choosing her over me?” Hange was already upset. Their hand was already shaking at this point, the tip of their pencil threatening to break. Levi would usually hang out with them to binge-watch a show or series on Saturdays over pizza and cheap beer, which reminded her, “What about our UBE?”

“Our—what?” He looked over his shoulder, confused.

Hange gave him a hopeful smile, hand still resting on the paper. “Our Ultimate Bonding... Experience?”

Levi glued his eyes to his computer screen once more. “You can Netflix and chill on your own for one night.”

The pencil snapped in half.

—

It was only 6 pm and Hange had already downed half a bucket of beers this Friday evening. Tomorrow morning, Levi would meet up with Petra somewhere for their date, maybe have lunch, a movie, some hand-holding and kissing, and then the two would possibly end it up with a bang. Something was really boiling deep inside Hange as these imagined scenes flashed through their mind.

And Erwin had to bear with them for tonight.

"I just don't understand, 'Win," Hange started, "Why would he do this? Why would he trade our pizza night for a girl he can't even relate to?"

Erwin was Hange and Levi's colleague in the same department before he got promoted to an executive position in corporate. Times like this, he would lend an ear to his friends' complaints and act as some sort of a part-time counselor, part-time therapist, and full-time drinking buddy.

Hange should be thankful Erwin had never charged them for these sessions before, but now with all of their whining, he was probably regretting that he gave them for free.

"Last I checked, you guys are just best buddies," Erwin commented. "Have you ever told him how much he means to you?"

Hange pouted.

"I'll take that as a no," Erwin said.

Their friend had a point.

"I can imagine it already, " Hange mused, eyes already watery, "I can imagine him walking down the aisle with pretty-face Petra and making babies with her, while I end up becoming that unknown relative who sends them presents for Christmas every year."

"Ah, I can imagine all the regrets you'll be having for the rest of your life."

Hange grabbed a fistful of hair in both hands. "What do I do now? I want Levi to be happy, I really do. I want to see him be happy, even if it's not with me. But why am I getting all riled up about this?"

"Then follow him," Erwin simply said as he wiped the beer of his mouth with his sleeve. "Follow him to the ends of the earth. Maybe you'll see for yourself."

Erwin had meant it as a figurative speech. When he said follow, he meant Hange supporting Levi all the way through. He never meant Hange stalking their best friend on his date.

Obviously, Hange had gotten it all wrong, because now they just blinked once, twice, a grin forming on their face. As if an epiphany had appeared before them. "Hmm. You're right."

Follow him.

This could be the greatest thing that Erwin Smith had ever come up with. Brilliant idea. Superb, even. One-of-a-kind strategy by none other than the genius Erwin Smith—oh, yes, yes, yes.

Erwin was still finishing up his beer when Hange tackled him into a hug out of gratitude, their smile wider than before. "You really are the best of the best, you know that?" They told him. This could work, Hange thought.

The plan was to follow Levi, literally.

—

"Boss, why did you pay me a hundred bucks to follow them?"

Hange was wringing their hands together. "We’re doing this together, Moblit! I wanna see how Levi acts around this girl."

"That's it?" Poor Moblit couldn't believe what he's hearing.

"I just wanna make sure he's making a good impression!"

They’re both sitting in a cafe right across Levi’s apartment. He and Hange were dressed up in plain clothes with matching sunglasses and baseball caps. Moblit had no choice; Hange was going to strangle his neck if he declined.

Moblit rested his head against his palm. "Aren't you jealous?"

"Pffft, me? Jealous?" The sour look on Hange's face was enough to tell Moblit that they weren't fooling anybody. It was just Levi’s attitude towards the entire ordeal that was tearing Hange apart. “I’m sure I’m not being rude.”

Moblit scratched his head and sighed. Hange as a boss could be really demanding at times, but the two of them were also friends in real life, which is why he agreed to this. "I thought Petra was head over heels for Oluo?"

"I thought so, too."

"He's dense, though," Moblit said. "Maybe this was just a ruse to get Oluo to confess?"

But Hange was already distracted by the sight of Levi coming out of the building.

"Ooh, he's leaving." Hange pointed towards the familiar figure. They then put their shades on as part of their undercover mission. "Let's go."

The two of them hid behind the fast food mascot of the big fat stupid ugly bee. Levi really knew how to dress up, Hange had noticed. He was wearing a plain button-up with dark pants, his hair neatly trimmed and his face cleanly shaven. He never dressed up like this whenever they hung out. It hurt Hange to see him this handsome. Levi then headed straight for the nearest station and waited for the next train to arrive. Hange and Moblit then took the same train but stayed on the other rail cart, catching a glimpse of Levi every now and then to make sure that he hadn't alighted by then.

“What would you do if they do end up together, Boss?” Moblit had to ask.

“I'd sign my life away as a single person for the rest of my years. Be an old cat person, maybe.”

The skyscrapers of Makati were passing them by, huge billboards left and right of commercial ads and government campaigns looming over them. If they looked far enough, they could see shanties and informal settlers nested in small alleys here and there. Hange had been seeing this for the past few years of their lives; Metro Manila could be daunting, but they wished they could spend away from the noisiness and busyness of the capital.

“He's getting out at Ayala Station, Boss!" Moblit pointed out. "They’re probably meeting somewhere in Greenbelt.”

“Ah, fancy-schmancy. Who could have known?”

Makati was the place only for the very rich, or for the very poor. There was no in between. Nobody dared to bat an eyelash at the rickety houses behind the skyscrapers. The shopping district and the high-end restaurants where affluent people would gather: celebrities, business executives, expatriates, anyone who could call themselves rich, rich, rich. Hange was none of those. Levi wasn't either, but he could easily pass off as one if he wanted to.

When they got off at the station, Hange and Moblit crouched behind the dumpster, craning their necks enough to get a glimpse of Levi coming up to Petra who stood waiting in front of the fountain.

“Ah, I’m so glad you’re here,” Petra said, her smile warm and happy as Levi walked alongside her. “Shall we?”

Petra was effortlessly gorgeous. She had her hair clipped into place, her slender figure matching the nice summer dress that she wore. She had also put on some light makeup, but even without it, Hange could tell that Petra would still be as breathtaking.

There really wasn't anything that Hange could hate about Petra Rall. Petra was attractive and alluring, sweet and shy, probably the ultimate dream girl of every person in their office. Hange would date Petra if she were even into them, provided the two of them had a spark.

But Hange's attention was all for Levi. Always had been. Always will be.

"Shall we, Boss?" Moblit interrupted Hange's train of thought.

"Right."

Tonight they felt that they had to accept the possibility of Levi ending up with someone else. Regardless of how this would end, Hange had decided they'd be there for him.

—

They didn't really blend in with this fancy-schmancy place. This was one of the most expensive fashion malls in the area; the price tags made broke people cry, and the restaurants were considered artisan for their taste. People were dressed up in crisp polos and cocktail dresses, the faint smell of perfume wafting here and there. The gardens had a beautiful landscape, stoned paths paving the way, and the lights were carefully draped on the trees around them, glowing like stars. It was a romantic setup for lovers.

Petra was pointing out all the different sights around the area, holding onto Levi's arm. Levi remained stiff all throughout their date, not even shedding a single ounce of emotion when Petra popped a joke. It ended up being a lousy one, though, since Levi didn't even scoff. Hange felt smug after that; their own jokes were terrible as well, but at least Levi would call them out for that.

"I think it's going well, don't you, Boss?" Hange's assistant teased.

“Oh, yeah, perfect, I can see how compatible they are.” Hange was being sarcastic.

Petra had chosen a place called People's Palace. It had a five-star rating on the internet, and even the cheapest item on the menu could break a whole in someone's wallet. There was no way they could eat there. Levi didn't even protest, though. He must have been saving up for this all along. Thankfully, the restaurant's walls were a solid transparent glass, and Hange could see the two of them from afar without having to go in.

Petra was saying something in a hushed tone when Levi came over to her side. He then put a hand on her face, tenderly brushing her cheek, as if he were about to go in for a kiss.

The moment Levi held Petra that close, Hange had to stifle their gasp which ended up like a strangled cry.

The sound made Levi look over his shoulder. Moblit had to cup his hand over Hange's mouth to shush them up, pulling them down behind the huge pots of plants.

"You alright?" Petra asked him, craning her neck towards the source of the sound as well. "What was that?"

Levi clicked his tongue. "Probably some lost bird. Well, more like a dying one."

The two went back to their meals and didn't bother to check if they were being followed. Moblit then let go of Hange and sighed in relief. They were safe, for now.

Everyone in the restaurant looked classy and elegant, soft lights all over the room. After Levi had paid for the meal (he didn't look too happy when he saw the check), he and Petra stood up and exited through the other door on the farthest end. Hange had forgotten about that. The People's Palace had an entryway connecting to the indoor gardens. They would have to enter the premise in order to follow Levi and Petra.

Without any further thought, Hange immediately stood up to barge into the restaurant, urging their assistant to follow. "They're probably confessing to each other in the gardens!" Hange was already right through the entrance. "Moblit, hurry up, I need to—"

"Boss, watch out!"

The warning came in too late. Hange had already knocked down a drink from the waiter's tray right behind them, the liquid spilling all onto the customer sitting nearest to where they were. The huge beefy man was furious, the steam already coming out of his reddened ears.

"Why, you, son-of-a-gun—"

Hange held up both hands in front of their face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

"Do you even belong here, you prick?" The stranger grabbed the front of Hange's oversized shirt. There were gasps from other customers, and one of the servers left to call the manager.

"Please, don't!"

The man started shaking Hange. "Filthy, pathetic, piece of—"

Somebody grabbed his wrist before he could even do anything else. "Let go."

It was Levi.

"And who the fuck are you?"

He was small, but his presence was intimidating, firm. "My friend already apologized. Isn't that enough?"

The stranger released his hold of Hange and held out the stained fabric. "Fucking pay for this shirt, asshole!"

Hange was mouthing 'sorry, sorry, sorry,' to him, their eyes filled with apology. Levi didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, he quickly took out twenty bucks from his wallet and shoved it into the huge man's hand. He then grabbed his friend by the elbow. "Hange, come on."

"Hey, this isn't enough, shortstack," the stranger grumbled, crumpling the bill. He gestured once more to his stained shirt. "Do you know how much I bought this for?"

"You could buy a similar one from one of the thrift stores downtown for less than half the price. I doubt anybody would notice." He tugged at Hange again and headed for the exit.

"What did you say, you little—"

They were out of the restaurant before the man could even finish. The manager had kept the customer in his seat, trying to console him with a discounted coupon.

Outside was a breath of fresh air, the coolness of it enough to clear their minds.

“You alright?”

Hange was still trembling. Their lips quivered, too. They had never been roughly-held like that before. Levi calmed them down by rubbing their back, urging them to take slow, steady breaths.

"Levi?" Petra called after the two of them. "Are we still heading to the movie?"

Hange had feared this all along. They didn't want to ruin his date with Petra; they merely wanted to see Levi, and now they had done it. Hange held their own face in both hands. Levi saw it and knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry, Petra, but we should probably call it off at this point.”

"Should we re-sched?"

Levi paused before responding. "I had a good time tonight, Petra. But I think... once is enough.

“Oh. Okay.” Petra stood still for a moment, disappointed. They expected her to cause a scene, to thrash at him or at Hange, and then complain about her evening. But to Petra's credit, she merely broke into a smile and said, "Thanks for giving me a chance, Levi. I had a good time, too. You guys enjoy the rest of the night."

The huge beefy man suddenly burst out of the glass door, the restaurant manager no longer able to hold him back. "You fucking punks, I'm going to call the police—"

Hange hid behind Levi out of instinct, which didn't make any sense, considering that he was a couple inches shorter than them. "What now?" Their hand was still in his.

"Go ahead, Petra's safe with me," Moblit assured them. "I'll text you guys once we get home safely."

Levi nodded and took off with Hange.

They ran past the gardens, past the expensive shops, past the fountains and the bright lights. Everything seemed like a blur. Hange's senses had overloaded their brain at this point, especially since Levi's hand was still holding on to theirs. It was warm. They never expected any of these to happen. Levi would look over his shoulder once in a while to see if Hange could still keep up. They ran as fast as their legs could carry them, and with every tug of their hand, Hange felt like they were living in a dream. The two of them had already reached the station, heavily panting as they clutched their chest.

"So much for trailing me all this time, Four-Eyes," Levi heaved. He knew.

Hange was beyond apologetic. "I'm sorry, okay! I just wanted to see how you'd act around someone while on a date."

Levi made another scoffing sound. For a minute, Hange thought he was mad. But the intensity in his eyes was full of longing, like somehow, he did want Hange to follow him. And then Levi sighed. "Erwin told me you might be spying; my suspicions were confirmed when I saw you hiding behind the plants."

“Oh.” Hange had nothing else to say. “Well, then, I, uhm, I should probably head home. Sorry for ruining your date."

They were about to leave when Levi held their hand once again, stopping Hange in their tracks. "Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"You already ruined my date, so you might as well hang out with me for the rest of the night."

Hange couldn't believe what they were hearing. It was almost too good to be true. But the reality dawned upon them; they were still in Makati, and they couldn’t really afford any of these places. "Uh… well, I don't really have any money, and I'm not really sure I want to dine here…"

"It's fine,” Levi said. “I know a place to go."

-------

Part 2 coming up soon!

#levihan #aot #snk #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi attack on titan #hange zoe #hanji zoe #fanfic #fanfiction #greenbelt makati #mine #writing #djmarinizela

107 notes · View notes

janekfan · 4 years

Note

hi mom! quick update: i had a panic attack at work the other day. luckily my coworker/manager knew what it was and helped me out but i still had to do the rest of my shift but at least i got the next day off. hours are still bad but everyone around me is talking about how proud they are of me... i just barely managed to scrape up a 50 cent raise... im one of three people on my shift... i cant take time off. i know you already did one for me but... i dont have much else to bring comfort

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072691

My darling child! <3 <3 <3 This is inadequate! And I shall do better soon! But I love you and hope this offers a little comfort!

When asked later if he’d known, Tim lied. Of course not. He hadn’t realized just how sick Jon had been, certainly didn’t know how long it’d been. After all, no one really saw him most days, skulking as he did around the archives, a flickering, limping shadow among the stacks. Jon didn’t have use for them and Tim didn’t have use for him. Not until they enacted their plan of attack and finished things once and for all.

So no. When he’d dropped by to toss Martin’s research at him he ignored the pallor, the beads of sweat dotted along his forehead and matting his curls. He paid no mind to the dark flush high in his face, the glazed distance in his eyes, the shortness of his breath as he fought to form one coherent thought. A plea veiled in a request and it gave Tim all the excuse he needed to conveniently forget to fetch Martin for him.

“T’Tim...could, could you ask Martin to, to.” Jon could barely finish a thought. Exhausted, he’d been under so much stress, running himself ragged on adrenaline and awful, terrible statements, and he just wanted to see someone kind. Someone who might help him instead of hate him. Someone who maybe didn’t want to hurt him or kill him. Or worse. “I’d like t’to speak with him? P’please?”

“Sure, Boss.”

Martin wasn’t coming.

Martin wasn’t coming and Jon was miserable. But he didn’t blame Martin for staying away. It was alright. He was probably upset with him or angry or had a hundred other reasons to avoid seeing him and it was fine.

Jon let his cheek collide with the tea-stained blotter and slow tears slipped down to join the other watermarks, the rust traces of his blood. With a thin, trembling finger he connected the scars etched into the surface like constellations, each one tied to a memory; some he remembered, some he’d forgotten, some he wished he could forget. Why the old desk even had this second skin he would never know; it was already damaged and scratched and why bother protecting it when it could never go back to the way it was before? Heaving a shaky breath that didn’t give him near enough air to sustain him, Jon closed his eyes. It would be a lovely thing if sleep restored anything or made him feel anything other than relief for the blissful span of unmeasured time he spent not feeling. Floating, dizzy and suspended here in the dark, so tired it seemed like the room was expanding around him with every hard won exhale, shrinking to crush him with every inhale.

It didn’t seem worth it.

Like he wasn’t worth it.

When Jon was asleep, he drifted along unfamiliar currents, memories that didn’t belong to him or anyone that he knew from hundreds of years ago, from mere months ago. From far underwater he listened to the sounds of the office fade away through a closed door that may as well have been a kilometer away for all the strength he had left. Everyone was leaving for the weekend and he wasn’t able to stand. Everyone was leaving and he wasn’t able to call out, snared in these fathomless depths and sinking fast.

Silence.

Thick. Blanketing. Suffocating.

He was drowning in it. Struggling to breach the surface only seconds at a time to snatch at sips of air and seawater.

The safety lights cast shadows that slipped along the floor like oil, into the cracks, up the walls Jon clung to, casting just enough light to see by and aggravating his head. He wanted to sleep. He needed water and it was how he found himself in the dingy break room leaning heavily on the sink, holding on for dear life as he weathered the salt swells, the tilting of the room and the vertigo swirling up, up, up. The first glass met its end on the floor when it slipped from Jon’s grip and he could have sobbed from the loss, from how hard he’d worked for it only to let it go. The next he cradled close in both hands, sitting at the rickety table and gulping down close to half before coming up to breathe. Cool rivulets trickled down his throat, soaked into the neck of his borrowed tee and he shivered. It was always cool down here. For the documents. Only now he was freezing, longing to fall into the cot, just rest, but it was too far away. He’d never make it as he was. He drank the rest of the water and went through the trouble of a second glass. There were no bottles in the fridge, none in the cupboards. He’d never be able to carry it back to his office. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Why was this so hard? Laying his head on folded arms, Jon let the frustration come, shoulders shaking, and when he woke again he forced more water on himself and limped to the doorway.

Which way?

This time, a cough bubbling up in his lungs jerked him out of the deep. It was harsh, painful, and he lost the remaining water in his stomach from the force of it, tasted iron behind his tongue. Groaning, clutching at his aching chest, Jon realized he was on the floor in the hallway. Not even halfway to his goal and he didn’t remember collapsing. His limbs were lead, movement sluggish because of it, and he only managed to drag himself another meter before the spiraling of the corridor forced him to close his eyes. The fever was relentless, sapping him of everything, throbbing in his bones and boiling in his blood. Jon coughed again. The hot, tight tangle in the center of him drew tighter, a noose, instead of giving way and the black lurking at the edges of his vision swallowed the rest of it.

Martin adjusted the blanket in his arms, thinking again that it would have been easier to have put it in his bag for the walk from the train. He didn’t regret his choice though. He remembered how cold it could get down in the archives and Jon looked like he could do with a bit of comfort these days. Maybe being wrapped up in this monster would do it. Shouldering it, he took the narrow stairs, surprised that no one else was here yet. But considering none of them really wanted to do much actual work these days it made sense. Martin got his things situated at his desk, leaving the comforter overflowing in his chair before heading off to start the tea kettle warming. Glass crunched under his shoes and when Martin turned on the light it was clear Jon had dropped it. What was confusing was that he had left it. He wasn’t the most fastidious about his appearance or his surroundings but even he wouldn’t leave broken glass just lying around. WIth a crease in his brow, Martin swept it up, dumping it in the bin before turning off the squealing kettle. He prepared two mugs as usual and the only reason he didn’t drop them upon seeing Jon crumpled up in the hall was because he froze stock still.

“J’Jon?” He abandoned the tea on a desk, skidding on his knees to a stop at his side. “Jon! Oh, no, no. Jon, wake up.” Ashen, burning up under Martin’s fluttering hands, chest stuttering with half breaths. Had he been like this all weekend? Had he been like this before they all left? How did, why didn’t he check on him? Only when Martin slid his arms beneath his body did Jon stir at all, a pitiful sound of pain pulled from between his lips when he was lifted. A halfhearted cough ending in a moan. “It’s alright, Jon. You’re alright. I’ve got you.” He should call 999. That’s what he should do but with all that had been happening, was that the right choice?

“Mmar’in…” He toed open the door to document storage and laid him down, brushed back his curls and took up the cold hand Jon was reaching with. “Ma--” His grip was barely there when the deep, damp coughing jag stole the air right out of him, so strong Martin levered him forward, worried he would choke. Days. Days alone like this. He swept the tears away with careful fingers, traced the shadows like bruises beneath his eyes.

“It’s alright.” He propped him up against the corner, wishing there were more pillows to make him comfortable and pulled away, heart twisting up when Jon whimpered at the loss. “Hush, now. I’ll be back, I won’t leave you.” Quick as he could Martin gathered supplies, medicine for the raging fever, the blanket he’d brought along, a thermos of tea, checking on Jon in his fitful sleep with each trip. He sounded bad, he was having too much trouble breathing and the crackling wheeze was terrifying. The next time he came back it was with a basin of hot water and a towel. He placed it in Jon’s lap, sliding behind him to steady both him and the bowl, gentling him when he startled. “Just breathe, Jon. This, this should help.” The steam rose, bathing his face with humidity and it was probably wishful thinking but Martin thought each breath came a little easier. When Jon coughed Martin pressed a handful of tissue against his mouth, tossing the mess into the bin and letting him curl up against him for just a few moments. He was so warm. Too warm and Martin plied him with paracetamol and tea, as much as he would take before letting him fall back to sleep, smoothing a damp flannel over his forehead and leaving him to rest.

Soft, cool hands, kind, reassuring words. Jon drank them in like a desert after the rain, let them flood him, take away all the fear and loneliness he was holding onto. Martin was here. Martin was helping. Martin was holding him, saying things he didn’t quite understand in a steady voice. He wanted to cry from the relief of it, of having someone, of not being alone and he thought he might have but there was no teasing or threatening. Nothing he did made him hurt more. Everything he did made him hurt less. There was tea and pillows and blankets, warmth to replace the memory of lying on a cold floor and drifting in and out.

But he was gone now. He’d left him alone and Jon wanted him here. Struggling to his trembling legs he gave himself time to steady, limping out of the room and following the familiar voices and latching onto Martin’s. He sounded upset and Jon wondered if it was because of him. Most people were upset with him these days. He heard Basira and Melanie and Tim and he didn’t want to see them but Martin was with them and he wanted to see Martin. Martin with his kindness he didn’t deserve. He was cold. He was shaking.

Tim was yelling.

It made something in him afraid.

It made his chest hurt. It made it harder to breathe. It made him want to hide. And when he became even louder, Jon shrank into himself. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t.

“And speak of the devil!” Tim’s mocking tone rang in his head like a bell. “He shall appear.”

“Tim!”

“I’m. M’Martin? I.”

“What, Boss? What else could you possibly take that you haven’t already?”

“J’just--” Still human enough to want, too much a monster that he wasn’t allowed to have. Tim took a threatening step forward, and Jon forgot what he was going to say in favor of stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and knocking the air out of himself. He clawed at his neck, suddenly completely unable to breathe when Tim stood over him, towering and tall and seconds later Martin was taking up the whole of his horizon. Just Martin.

“It’s alright, Jon. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

“W’will you stay?” He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, the sniggering coming from behind the larger man confirming what he already knew. Martin had already helped him. He had no right to ask for more. But again Martin carried him to document storage and again he placed him on the cot and this time, he stayed with him, wrapping him up warm and safe and tucking his head beneath his chin. Jon shuddered, the aftershocks of his panic and embarrassment still rocketing through him. “Martin...don’t. Don’t feel well…”

“I know.” Martin pet his head slowly and Jon relished it, pressing his ear against his broad chest and listening to the rhythm of his beating heart. He probably wouldn’t remember this anyway, not with a fever like this already making everything so fuzzy, and he wanted, just for a little while, to feel safe. “I’m sorry.” It was nice to hear even though Martin had nothing to apologize for. It was still nice that someone would say sorry to him. Exhausted all over again, the space between blinks stretched longer and longer. “You can sleep, Jon.” But what if he left? He didn’t want him to leave, the thought of it wetting his face and just like before Martin wiped the tears away. “It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #but just enough to cause problems #sickfic #pneumonia #fever #caretaking #sleep #jon just wants hugs #each word of this was painstakingly pulled out of my brain with pliers #i am not loving this one :/

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probably-eating-poptarts · 4 years

Text

New Blood | Chapter 2

Tensions rise and plans are made

Universe: Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt x OC

Word count: 1,980

| Chapter 1 |

A/N: This chapter was honestly so hard to write considering the fact that, like… nothing interesting happens 😂 But I felt it ended where it needed to end, and I have ideas already set for where I want this story to go, so stay tuned! (@tentacles-and-coffee, would you like sum tag? 👀)

Chapter song: Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival

✧༝┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉༝✧

That night was chaos at the Hewitt house.

“What the hell were you thinkin’, Ma? That bitch should be on Tommy’s choppin’ block, not off runnin’ your damn errands!”

“Now Charlie, you oughta know by now we can’t just kill off every single person that comes through; someone’s gonna catch on eventually–”

“It’s Hoyt, goddammit! Hoyt!”

A bony, long-fingered fist slammed into the worn butcher block table with enough force to topple one of the cloudy old mason jars spaced around at each place setting, and spittle flew from pooched, cracked lips. Luda Mae threw her hands up in exasperation before stomping into the kitchen, fed up with her son’s tantrums.

She returned a moment later, setting down a casserole dish fresh out of the stove. “That was a good girl, I just know it. She was just passin’ through and there wasn’t no reason at all to do away with her! Besides, her granddaddy is old John Elwood and you know he and his kin would come snoopin’ around if she up and disappeared!”

Hoyt spat carelessly onto the scuffed hardwood and curled his lip in a mockery of a smile. “You just jealous, Mama?” he wheedled. “Sad that you ain’t had no little bitch to gussy up, huh? Is that it?”

“That’s enough, now!” She snapped, her tone booking no room for further argument. “You won’t lay a single finger on that girl if I have anything to say about it, so just hush up and eat your supper.”

The old woman sat herself in her chair with a sense of finality, staring down her eldest child as if daring him to open his mouth again. Luda Mae had given her boy a lot of slack after his return from the war, and she loved him dearly despite the attitude he liked to give her these days, but at some point a mother just has to put her foot down.

The two locked eyes for several tense moments before Hoyt sucked sourly at his teeth and called over his shoulder, “C’mon in here, Tommy, and let’s eat.”

From the shadows of the hallway a looming shape moved; dim light from the dining room spilling over the burly, hulking form of the youngest Hewitt as he ducked under the doorway to enter the room. He had been patiently awaiting his adopted brother’s permission to join the rest of the family as always, but he found his thoughts distracted from his meal tonight with the topic of their discussion. Who was this girl, and why was Mama so taken up with her? Would she just end up like everyone else who found themselves on the receiving end of the infamous Hewitt hospitality?

He could tell that Mama was none at all happy with that prospect, and he found himself struggling with the uncomfortable possibility of having to choose between the wishes of his mother and the demands of his sibling. Cross as he could be sometimes, Charlie (Hoyt, Tommy reminded himself) had always been the one to give Thomas direction in his days following the collapse of the slaughterhouse; who to kill, who to detain, who to hobble for his… ‘personal enjoyment’.

But if his brother commanded him to kill this stranger, and then Mama told him not to… What would he do?

Shaking off the unanswerable conundrum for now, Thomas tucked into his meal with his usual gusto and decided he would just cross that bridge if or when he ever came to it. For now, supper was hot and the evening was still young yet…

“Thanks again, Bobby. I’ll tell Opa you said hello!”

Addie waved farewell to the bearded man and folded the small stack of paperwork he’d just finished filling out neatly as she made her way back towards her truck and now-empty trailer, hauling herself into the driver’s seat before cranking the engine and pulling out of the livestock pavilion.

Just a ways down the road - right where Luda Mae said it would be - a tiny little tea shop sat tucked away on the downtown strip between a record store and a newly refurbished post office. Addie had to drive almost half a mile more to find parking that accommodated the size of her rig, but she enjoyed the walk nonetheless as she made her way back past quaint storefronts and other folks out for a morning stroll.

The shop itself was cozy, if not slightly disorganized on the inside, but the rather eccentric older woman behind the desk knew exactly where everything was when Addie explained what she was after. When she finally left the store nearly a half hour later - the small silver bells above the door tinkling a merry goodbye over her head - she had two boxes of green tea and a little novelty tea strainer she’d been… somewhat coerced into buying all tucked away in a little paper bag under her arm.

From there it was just one quick stop by Luda Mae’s place, and then she’d be on her way home. The trek out always took much longer since she made extra stops at other farms to pick up livestock, but if she played her cards right, she’d probably make it back to Elwood Dairy by suppertime.

Someone at the pavilion had even managed to fix her radio, so with the windows cranked down and CCR blasting over the speakers, it was only just before noon when she found the little turnoff and rolled into the diner’s parking lot.

Roiling thunderclouds were gathering as Addie made her way across the asphalt towards the rickety front steps, and she paused for just a moment to study the looming darkness reaching out across the restless treetops in the distance.

“Looks like we’ll be in for a pretty nasty summer storm,” came Luda Mae’s voice from just behind the porch door. She pushed the screen open with her elbow and waved Addie inside, ushering her towards one of the antique tables where a porcelain teapot and mismatched teacups sat waiting.

The two women chatted amicably for a while as the tea Addie had acquired steeped; watching the broiling noon sun slowly and mercifully fade away beneath the creeping shadows of the oncoming storm cell.

“So do you stay with Old John up there at the dairy?” Luda inquired.

“Yes ma’am,” Addie replied, “Ever since I was a kid.”

“What about your folks? Do y’all all live on the property together?”

The younger girl pursed her lips and looked down into her cup, swirling the dark contents within.

“M’not really sure where my biological father is,” she finally confessed. “And my mom signed over custody to my grandparents when I was about six, so I’ve been with them almost my whole life. She comes around now and again, but we don’t really see her all that often.”

Her shoulders lifted and fell in a quick, nonchalant shrug. “Besides, growing up on the farm was really nice; and with Oma being sick lately, I came back from college to help out more.”

Luda Mae perked up. Sweet, well-spoken, and educated? “What were you schoolin’ for, then?”

“Well I finished my degree a couple years ago, actually.” The hint of pride in her tone was hard to hide. “I was really just taking extra courses during the fall before I left campus.”

Before she could elaborate the screen flew open with a sharp thwack, accompanied by a growling roll of thunder. Well-worn snakeskin boots thumped heavily against the dusty hardwood floor, announcing the arrival of the scowling sheriff Addie had seen briefly during her previous visit.

“Mama,” he nodded in greeting to the older woman, his sharp, beady gaze boring into Addie so coarsely that an instinctive shiver of apprehension tumbled down her spine.

“Hoyt! Come on in, honey; let me get you something to drink and introduce you to Miss Adeline Elwood, old John’s grandbaby.” As she spoke, Luda Mae tottered up from the table and pulled out a glass coke bottle from the old cooler by the register, popping the cap off on the attached bottle jack before passing it to her son.

The seemingly permanent frown he sported turned a fraction more sour, just for a moment, before breaking into a fractured grin - as if he had forgotten the art of smiling properly. “Pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

Both Hewitts joined Addie at the table, chair legs scraping as bodies settled into comfortable positions.

“So you mean to tell me ain’t nobody out here drivin’ that rig of yours?” Hoyt asked her with an air of haughty surprise. “We ain’t used to seein’ decent womenfolk around these parts all by themselves, y’know.”

Addie hid her clenched teeth behind a sociable smile. “Yep, it’s just me. Been hauling cattle by myself for a few years now since my Opa is staying home more often.”

The sheriff whistled low and reclined comfortably against the back of his chair. “Yeah, word spread fast when miz Rosie got sick. How’s she been holding up these days, hm?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Addie replied with a cock of her left shoulder. “We’re all just taking things one day at a time.”

He nodded sagely and took a swig of his drink, still watching her every move like a hawk zeroing in on an unsuspecting mouse.

“Now, you never got around to tellin’ me what you were upstate studying,” Luda Mae interjected with a gentle pat on the younger woman’s arm. “Such a bright young thing, aren’t ya dear?”

Clearing her throat, Addie fiddled with the excess of her ponytail before taking a brief sip of tea long since gone tepid. The wiry old coot was starting to make her rather tense. “I got my degree in animal science over at TAMU two years ago, and I’d been taking some agricultural classes right before I came back home to help around the farm.”

“Sciences, huh?” Hoyt sucked on the dip between his teeth. “Awful high aspirations for such, ah… lovely young lady such as yerself, dontcha think?”

Addie leveled him with a rather icy stare.

“Well that may be so, but since veterinary options tend to be rather limited around these parts, I figured I may as well learn how to do it myself.” She hit him then with her coyest, most femininely charming smile. “Sometimes a lady’s gotta help herself if there’s no man around to do it for her.”

With a sly wink to seal the deal, she pushed off from the table and tipped her head to both Hewitts in turn. “The tea was lovely Miss Mae, but I really ought to be headed on home, now.”

“Oh please, sweetheart, don’t go botherin’ with all that ‘Miss’ stuff.” The older woman began to gather their empty china. “Luda Mae will do just fine now.”

Nodding her understanding, Addie swapped final goodbyes and stepped back into the oppressive Texas heat, barely deterred by the flagging breeze pulling the surging storm cell ever closer.

“You drive careful now, y’hear?” Luda Mae called from beyond the screen. Hoyt stood at her shoulder - an ominous figure looming within his mother’s shadow - and he crooked his fingers at her in a little wave as he smiled that rusted out grin around the wad of tobacco always present within the rotting crease of his lips.

Ingrained southern manners had the young woman returning that broken-doll gesture with the barest tilt of her head in acknowledgment, and she clambered quickly into the confines of her truck cab where she felt a modicum of safety behind thick glass and sturdy American steel. She wasn’t going to outrun this beast of a downpour, but she was ready to get as much of a headstart as she could.

Things were looking to get nasty very quickly.

#the texas chainsaw massacre #TCM #Tommy Hewitt x OC #uh ohhh #that's what we call FORESHADOWING ppl #dun dun duuuuun #also i'm BACK #bay-BEE #Thomas Hewitt #New Blood #NB TCM

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Oblivion-Ch. 20

Chapter 20

Dean plopped down on the sofa, kicking his boots off and propping his feet up on the table. Roman kissed the side of my head as he moved by with my suitcases. The apartment was warm as I toed off my shoes and padded over to stretch out next to Dean. He stuffed a pillow beneath the back of my head and his thigh and grinned down at me.

“This is going to be interesting,” I said, tucking my toes beneath the pillows. “The four of us here together. Isn’t it going to be weird for Seth?”

“Nah,” Dean said softly. “He’s going back to Iowa to see his family for Christmas. He flew out this morning. It’s just you and us.”

I felt my brows lift. “Oh, goodness…” I said sweetly. “Whatever shall I do?”

Roman appeared in my vision, a grin curling his lips. “I’m pretty sure we can think of a few things.”

I sat up as if someone had punched me in the gut. It was one thing to date them in theory… even in practice… but I hadn’t once thought about what might happen with the other aspects of a relationship between the three of us. Heat burned across my face, and I was sure that I was blushing as bright as a beet.

“Baby girl? You okay?” Roman asked, sitting on the edge of the table.

My ears were ringing as I thought about how to put into words what I felt. I knew that I needed to say it, but I didn’t know how. For a second, I thought I was going to pass out. I thought I was going to be sick.

“Hey,” Dean said, reaching out to take my hands in his. “What’s wrong?”

“What…” I replied, taking a deep breath. “What do you guys expect from me?”

It was quiet for a moment as they looked at each other and then back at me. “We don’t… Addy… we don’t expect anything from you. We just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

I gasped in a breath. “We’re… I thought…” I gestured around me at the apartment, at the fact that it was the three of us alone together.

Dean slid his arm around my back and kissed the side of my head. “Princess, if all you ever want to do is eat pizza, watch movies, and sleep—alone—all break, that’s fine with us. We’ll set you up in Seth’s room.”

“You don’t even have to hang out with us if you don’t want to,” Roman added, his taking my free hand in his. He brushed his thumb along the back of my fingers. “Just having you here is enough for us.”

I suddenly felt as if a weight had fallen from my chest. The two of them watched me carefully, their faces open and honest. They looked at me as if the world turned around where we three sat together. Dean’s forehead settled against my hair, his warm breath skimming along my throat. Roman caressed my skin as if I was made of porcelain and velvet.

“I thought you guys would want more from me now that we’re… you know,” I said as I glanced between the two of them.

Dean chuckled mischievously against my ear. “Well, I’m not going to deny that I’ve thought about it.” His wide hand skimmed up the line of my spine. “But it’s all on you, princess. It’s whatever you want. Whatever, whenever.”

“Why are you guys doing this?” I asked quietly. “Most guys in your position would take advantage of it.”

Warmth slipped through my limbs as Roman chuckled. “Trust me, baby girl, I know I’ve thought about every which way to take advantage of this position,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows. “But why are doing this? Because we love you, Addy. And there’s nothing that we wouldn’t do for you.”

I breathed deeply. “So if I were to say I was… interested…”

“All you have to do is ask,” Roman promised. “One. Both. What you want. That’s it.”

“You won’t be upset with me, with each other, if I wanted to… stay with one of you rather than both of you at night?”

“Princess,” Dean said, his fingers curling against my chin and tilting my face to meet his gaze. “I don’t care if you sleep in Roman’s bed and fuck him every night you’re here. As long as you get up in the morning and smile at me, as long as you kiss me and tell me you love me… nothing else matters.”

Roman sank onto the sofa next to me. “If you want to sleep by yourself in Seth’s room and not see either one of us at night, that’s fine with us.”

***

We had Chinese takeout for dinner. The three of us sat around the rickety table in mismatched chairs sharing General Tso’s, fried rice, and egg rolls. The TV played low in the background and drew Dean’s attention every now and then. He’d found a show about restoring classic cars.

After dinner, Dean collapsed on the sofa, the hood of his sweatshirt up over his gingery-brown hair. Roman packed away the leftovers into the fridge while I went to drop my stuff in Seth’s room. The walls were plastered with record covers and tour posters of a myriad of rock bands—most of them of the alternative punk and emo persuasion. The full bed was made up with a black comforter and slate grey sheets. It was clean and organized. The desk had a stack of CDs on the shelf and a few worn paperbacks beneath the lamp.

I pushed my suitcase into the corner and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath as I let myself settle into the understanding that this was my life now. While Seth’s room looked comfortable, I didn’t like the idea of sleeping alone. I just couldn’t figure out how to maneuver the sleeping arrangements for the night.

To take my mind off the conundrum, I grabbed my toiletries and headed to the bathroom to take a shower. It took me a moment to figure out how the shower worked, but when I finally did the water came out wonderfully warm. I slipped beneath the spray and let it run over my face and hair. After a while, all that mattered was the way the steam relaxed my senses and drew the worry from my limbs.

I took my time drying my hair before wrapping in a towel to head back to Seth’s room to get dressed. I opened the door and took two steps into the hallway before I ran smack into Roman’s broad chest. When I looked up, he was grinning down at me, his dark eyes burning bright.

“Feel better, baby girl?” he asked, stroking his fingertips along my cheek and down my neck.

“Yes,” I replied, nipping the inside of my bottom lip. “I had some time to think.”

He watched, waiting patiently, letting me take my time. I settled my palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

“Are you okay with me sleeping with… sleeping in Dean’s room tonight?” The words came out more hesitant than I intended. My shower self had been desperately certain of her decision.

Roman tucked his knuckle beneath my chin and lifted my head. His lips curled into a smile. “I’m fine with it, Addy. I promise. As long as you still love me, as long as you’re honest with me… I’m fine with it.”

I stood up on my toes and pressed my lips to his, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you, Ro,” I said, smiling against his mouth.

He curled his arms around my back and lifted me from the floor. He squeezed me until I could hardly breathe, but I didn’t care. “I love you, too, baby girl.”

***

It was near midnight when they started winding down. I sat on the sofa, curled into Roman’s side, and wrapped in a blanket. There was an old B-rated horror movie on the television that barely held my attention. I was more preoccupied with figuring out how to tell Dean my plans for the night.

Roman nuzzled his nose against my hair and kissed my temple. His mouth settled against my ear. “Just follow him when he gets up,” he whispered as if he knew what I was thinking. “It’ll make him happy.”

I threaded my fingers with his as we waited in the quiet. My heart started to pound against my ribs. I squirmed, nerves settling in my chest.

Almost half an hour later, Dean unfolded himself from the armchair and stretched, pushing the hood back of his hair. “Night, Ro. Night, princess.”

He leaned over and dropped a kiss on the top of my head before padding toward the hallway. I glanced up at Roman, calmed by his steady smile, and kissed him goodnight. Then I slipped off the sofa and trailed behind Dean. He turned toward the bathroom, so I went straight into his room.

It was so different from Seth’s and Roman’s. Where Roman’s was utilitarian and Seth’s was orderly, Dean’s was a verifiable disaster. Clothes were piled in heaps in his desk chair and on the floor. His bag was thrown in the corner, books and supplies spilling out of it. Magazines were stacked in haphazard towers. I grabbed one from the top of the nearest one and plopped down on the end of Dean’s bed, unsurprised to find the magazine was dedicated to classic cars.

Dean slipped through the doorway, kicking the door shut with his foot as he tugged his hoodie over his head. I flipped the magazine closed and tossed it back onto the stack. He jumped and turned around, denim blue eyes going wide when he saw me. I couldn’t stop my gaze from walking up the length of his torso. I bit down the faint sigh of surprise as I drank in the way his broad shoulders tapered down over a toned chest to a ridiculously narrow waist, a deep V disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

I bit my lip and looked up at him, feeling boldness spill into my veins. “I’m cashing in my twenty-nine.”

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @vebner37 @lilred91

#welcome to oblivion #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #polyamory #polyamorous relationship #wwe #wwe fanfiction #mutli-chapter #real person fanfiction #ofc #oc #college!au #college!shield

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Not Nineteen Forever (12) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex)- Ortega

a/n: hey friends! here’s chapter 12 of Not Nineteen Forever, i’m sorry it’s so late but i want to thank everyone who waited patiently and was so polite and encouraging while waiting. it really made me smile! remember i always love and am so grateful for sweet comments either on AQ, through reblog, or on my blog, so keep them coming bc they motivate me no end!! hope u all enjoy this chapter (p.s. finally accepted the ninex in this fic is not in any way background any more xo) xxxxxxx

trigger warning: alcohol n naughty texts xo

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Monet and Nina continued to be adorable, Yvie and Scarlet continued to be cute, but Brooke wasn’t sure if she wanted the same for her and Vanessa.

this chapter: there’s library woes, a flat party, a lilac-haired, tattooed bombshell, and Yvie confides in Scarlet.

***

Scarlet let a long puff of air out of her cheeks and blinked at her laptop, bored. She’d been so eager for Uni to start back again, so excited to get back to the city and see her friends that she slightly forgot about the whole academic aspect of everything. Lectures had started that week and in between trying to force four different modules’ worth of information into her head she had caught up with Vanjie, chatting before, after and in between lectures when they could. It was interesting, Scarlet thought. Before Christmas she could never get her to shut up about Brooke and how things were going with her but ever since the holidays it seemed as if Brooke was a subject to be avoided. Scarlet knew something must have changed but she didn’t want to push Vanjie for information if she wasn’t ready to share it. They still seemed to be together, anyway, even if things seemed a little strained.

At least she could say that wasn’t the case for her and Yvie. After many long evening Skype sessions during the holidays, the pair of them had decided that they couldn’t bear to be apart a moment longer and so Scarlet had taken the six hour train to go and stay with her girlfriend at her family home for a few days. She had been a bag of nerves at the thought of meeting Yvie’s family, but her Mum had been lovely (and seemingly just relieved that her daughter had settled down), her Dad had been welcoming, if a little quiet (“He’s under strict instructions not to speak because every time he opens his mouth he embarrasses me”), and the brothers and sisters that were still at home and not out somewhere or back to uni themselves were kind and friendly. In the three days they spent together, Scarlet and Yvie went for cold, crisp walks along the beach, curled up on Yvie’s old battered leather sofa the family had had since she was small and watched Disney films, gone ice skating, and looked out over Yvie’s city on a rickety ferris wheel that had looked as if it would take one good sneeze to knock it down.

But all that movie-screen romance was behind her now, as the most romantic Scarlet had been with Yvie in the week since they’d been back at uni was a Tesco Finest £10 meal deal cooked in Yvie’s flat and then watched in front of the TV as a perfect accompaniment to Coronation Street. They were both busy and waiting for their academic life to slow down a little again. The same could be said for their whole friendship group, really. The whole gang hadn’t done anything all together since their Christmas dinner, and Scarlet was itching for a night out where she could get absolutely off her face and forget that she was working towards the degree that would define the rest of her life. Sighing again and feeling the words on her laptop merge into a big blur, Scarlet looked up at the big clock on the wall. Five o'clock. She turned to Akeria who was sat at the desk beside her. She and Silky had come to join her mid-study, the latter having been dragged into the library by her flatmate because she still hadn’t handed in an essay that had been due since before Christmas and Akeria was quite frankly concerned.

“Akeria,” Scarlet whispered, the other girl quickly finishing a sentence she was working on, turning away from her laptop towards Scarlet and pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I want a night out. This is shit.”

“This is what we signed up for, baby,” Akeria gave a small laugh and shrugged, turning back to her laptop. Akeria’s dissertation wasn’t due until May but she had already started writing it, which struck the fear of God into the majority of their friendship group and made them all feel like slackers. “This is uni. This is our fuckin’ degree, girl.”

“You’re really making me feel better,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, Akeria giving another laugh under her breath.

“Hey,” Silky said from her position at the desk across from them, her voice entirely at speaking-pitch and causing a few heads to turn their way. “What’re you hoes talkin’ about? I want in.”

“We’re bitching about you,” Akeria deadpanned, tapping away at her keyboard.

“Fuck off, Kiki.”

“I want a night out,” Scarlet hissed over to her as quietly as she could. “But Little Miss Law Degree wants to stay in the library from dusk til dawn every evening until she graduates.”

Scarlet’s face lit up as Silky bellowed a laugh so loud it caused the girl beside her to put a set of earphones in. Looking at Akeria and hoping she hadn’t been offended, she was relieved to see the other girl giving her a wry smile.

“This bitch can be so savage when she wants to be, Jesus. Ouch. No, I’m just sayin’! This was what we chose to do, so quit complaining,” Akeria rolled her eyes, leaned back in her chair and stretched. “That being said…I do think I’ve earned a night out.”

“Well me fuckin’ too, bitch!” Silky exclaimed incredulously, Scarlet laughing in spite of herself.

“How much have you written, Silk?” she asked, the girl opposite looking down at her laptop, clicking a few times, then looking back up to the girls in front of her.

“You know what…it don’t matter how many words I’ve done, it’s the level of mental energy I have needed to use in order to-”

“Silky, how many words,” Akeria demanded, fixing her with a stare that looked as if it could slice her in half.

“Ninety-four.”

“Jesus Christ on a crystal meth binge,” Akeria sighed, Scarlet letting out a splutter beside her. Silky looked at them both pleadingly.

“Hey, now don’t make me feel bad! We only been in here-”

“An hour and a quarter,” Akeria stared at her.

Silky threw her hands up. “Well I been doing readings an’ shit! Do you know how hard it is to get any articles that have the exact quote ‘Boris Johnston is a piece of dog shit’? Fuckin’ hard!”

“Why the hell are you looking for that?” Akeria blurted out, unable to keep herself from laughing. Scarlet was laughing so hard she thought she would pass out.

“Because, bitch! I want to use that exact wording in my essay but I need some academic shit to back me up.”

“Fuck me.”

“To be fair, that is the worst,” Scarlet shrugged, not wanting Silky to feel too demoralised. “Searching for three hours to find one reference that can back up one of your points. Like, why can’t you just make the point because you want to? You know? Why is your opinion only valid if it’s been previously thought up by a white man in a suit?"

"Very profound,” Silky nodded emphatically. “Anyway, this bitch needs to get her drink on. I’m going to ask the girls."

As she watched Silky pick up her phone, Scarlet was reminded to check her own. She’d deliberately sat on it and put it on flight mode in an attempt to force herself to do work. Now, she felt as if she could excuse a small break. Turning off flight mode, she watched as a small flood of notifications came through. There had been fifteen new group chat messages, Nina had tagged them all in a meme, and she had two messages from Yvie. She checked the latter first, wondering if she would ever get tired of the feeling of her heart soaring like a balloon every time she saw, heard or spoke Yvie’s name.

Y: if i told u i was considering buying a set of faux-leather underwear would that be weird or a turn-on

Y: also that lasagne is even better on the second day u need to have some of it when ur round

S: Sorry this took me so long!!!!!! I turned my phone on flight mode in an attempt to get some work done

S: No such luck

S: Leather look underwear is a yes from me but i’m inclined to ask for pics first xoxoxoxoxo

S: Also yes i want lasagne

S: That’s not a euphemism btw i actually really do want some lasagne

Y: 😈

As Scarlet gave a soft laugh to herself, she checked what had been going on on the group chat since she’d been studying. She wondered what exciting plans could have been made, or what drama could have happened, or if anyone had any exciting or interesting news.

Okay Then: oh my god

Kim Kardashian-West: ??????

Okay Then: has anyone seen the state of Simon Cowell’s face

Scarlet gave a colossal roll of her eyes. She should have known that, at times, the groupchat could become one massive shitpost.

Kim Kardashian-West: No??? What’s he done to it?? Has he been in a crash?

Okay Then: he might as fucking well have been

What followed was a picture of what seemed to be a man whose face had been partially melted with a blowtorch, until Scarlet looked closer and realised that it was indeed the TV talent show judge.

mose: Jesus Fucking Christ what’s he done to himself

Scarlet’s bitch: that’s frightening

Okay Then: RIGHT???

Scarlet’s bitch: that’s what i see in the corner of my room when i have sleep paralysis

Kim Kardashian-West: That is TRULY the stuff of nightmares!!!!

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Fucking hell Plastique don’t fucking frighten us like that!!!

mose: He must surely see that he looks like shit? Like how could you not?

Okay Then: how can he see anything when his eyebrows are now entirely obscuring his eyes

Kim Kardashian-West: I am actually quite frightened guys

At this point, Scarlet caught up to the current conversation.

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: AS TERRIFYING AS SIMON COWELL’S FACE IS

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: CAN WE TALK BUSINESS FOR A SECOND?

Kim Kardashian-West: Of course!

mose: I’m all business

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Sure you are baby xxxxxxx

Scarlet’s Bitch: that is fucking vile keep that shit off the groupchat u big gays

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YA FAV BITCHES ARE IN THE LIBRARY AND WE ARE GAGGING FOR A NIGHT OUT

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: WE AIN’T HAD ONE IN AGES

Okay Then: yaaaaaaaaaas bitches let’s do it

Okay Then: thursday night fever

Kim Kardashian-West: Well Monet invited me to this flat party she’s hosting tonight

Kim Kardashian-West: I could ask her if you guys could come too?

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: Omg yes I’m down!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YES BITCH FLAT PARTY!!!!

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: AND IF SHE SAYS NO JUST SAY SHE AIN’T GETTIN ANY PUSS FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE

Kim Kardashian-West: SILKY!!!!!!!! THAT IS DISGUSTING!!!

Yvie’s Bitch: We were all thinking it xoxo

Brooke’s Ford Transit Vanjie: AHAHAHAHAHA SILK

Okay Then: YES Scarlet

Kim Kardashian-West: You’re all horrible. And uninvited.

mose: Ninaaaaaa

Okay Then: Nina pls

Scarlet’s Bitch: fuck i’m not even sure i can do tonight ladies

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: YVIE DONT YOU DARE

Scarlet’s Bitch: i’ve got a 9am tomorrow and i want to get that first u know

mose: Yvieeee the last time we were all together was literally over a month ago

Scarlet pouted to herself, disappointed at the thought of Yvie being the only one not out. Suddenly, an idea began to form in her head. Biting back a smile, she took to her chat with Yvie.

S: Yvieeeee

Y: Scarleeeeet

S: Please come to the flat party :(((((((

S: I’ll do anything you want

Y: anything i want?

S: Yesssss

Y: that sounds like a challenge princess

Scarlet crossed her legs and felt herself squeezing her thighs together. Looking around at the rows of silent people, she turned her phone brightness down to make extra sure nobody could see her messages, just in case the conversation turned the way Scarlet thought it was about to.

S: Well it depends on what you want me to do x

Y: wellllll

Y: i’ve been wondering if u can take a strap like a good girl

Scarlet felt briefly as if she’d been shocked by a defibrillator. Yvie always seemed to go from 0 to 100 real fucking quick, and Scarlet couldn’t help but love it.

S: You know I could baby

Y: i know you could, you’re such a good girl

Y: so how about if i come to this party i get to watch u bounce on my dick until u cum all over it

Scarlet could feel her face growing red. She and Yvie had messaged like this before, when they had been at home and miles away from each other and alone and very much not-in-a-public-place, but this was so fucking different.

S: Christ Yves I’m in the library!!!!

Y: shut up u started all this!!

S: Yeah I kinda did

Y: deliberately getting me to tell u what i want to do to u later when ur sitting in public in a fucking silent building

Y: jesus fucking christ Scarlet that’s so hot

Scarlet felt an urgent pulse of heat between her legs and she squirmed in her seat.

S: Where are you just now?

Y: i’m in bed

Y: touching myself at the thought of u sitting absolutely soaking wet and being able to do fuck all about it

S: So you’re coming to the party baby?

Y: how about

Y: if u can get to the flat before i cum i’ll fuck u into the mattress and i’ll come to this party or whatever

Scarlet nearly jammed her fingers in her laptop in her haste to get it shut, wrenched her charger out of its socket so hard it almost broke, and muttered a near-breathless goodbye to a confused Akeria and Silky all in the space of about twenty seconds as she struggled into her coat and sped out into the stairwell.

Five hours later Scarlet had managed to fit a lot in. She’d hurried round to Yvie’s to find her in bed in the black lace underwear she knew drove Scarlet crazy, and they’d fucked twice (fast, rough and passionate then sweet, tender and gentle) before Scarlet had reluctantly dragged herself out of Yvie’s bed to head back to her own flat and get ready for the party. Nobody seemed to know what the dress code was, least of all Nina who had sent about nine different outfit options to the group chat for opinions, so Scarlet settled on a tight black bandage dress that stopped at her calves, with trainers to dress it down a bit. She’d hurriedly munched down a bowl of pasta a la whatever-was-left-in-the-fridge, then set off across town to meet the girls at the edge of the park, where they had decided they would all meet then walk together to Monet’s flat.

Scarlet heard her friends before she saw them, Vanjie’s distinctive laugh ricocheting off trees and mixing with Yvie’s Bond-villan one letting Scarlet know she was heading in the right direction. Finally reaching the group, Scarlet gave them all a hug in turn and took in each of their outfits. It was still icy and cold, so most of them had opted for trainers over heels- save for Plastique, who always wore them for any night out and Vanjie, who was wearing chunky heeled boots. Much of their clothes clashed with the weather, though. Plastique and Akeria were in tight dresses, Brooke and Silky were in short skirts and tops. Vanjie had chosen some loose-fitting ripped denim jeans and a tiny bodysuit which left little to the imagination. Nina had gone for a light blue t-shirt dress and a chunky pair of trainers, her nerves palpable even in the group dynamic. Scarlet thought Yvie looked the best though in her burnt orange velvet skirt and tight black long-sleeved bodysuit, her unruly hair tamed and brushed into two huge bunches.

"You look nice, Nina!” Scarlet complimented her in an attempt to calm her down.

“Aww, Scarlet! Do I actually?” Nina smiled brightly, then cringed at herself. “Fuck! Why can’t I just take a fucking compliment like a goddamn normal person? I do this with Monet all the time!”

“Because you got a big-ass crush,” Silky shrugged. “It’s almost as big as Akeria’s ass. Not quite, though.”

“Shut up,” Akeria rolled her eyes and shoved her friend.

“Does it even count as a crush if you’re seeing the person in question?” Scarlet wondered out loud. Plastique shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Don’t know. Ask Brooke or Vanjie.”

The group exploded into laughter, something about it not quite meeting Brooke or Vanessa’s eyes. They were both standing close together, hands entwined, but Scarlet didn’t know. There seemed as if there was something off. Forced, even.

“Okay, let’s go, motherfuckers. I’m freezing my vagina off,” Vanjie said decisively, Nina moving first and making to lead the way.

“Right, a few things before we arrive,” Nina began speaking at a mile a minute before Scarlet could even compliment Yvie on her outfit. “Monet has somehow got it into her head that you guys are cool enough to be invited to this party. She doesn’t know the truth yet, so just try to act like a group of normal fucking human beings?”

“The truth? What the hell is that meant to mean?!” Brooke let out a laugh.

“That you’re all fucking weirdos! And she, for some reason, still likes me, so I am not having you all put that in jeopardy, capiche?” Nina snapped back, only half-joking.

“Jeez, thanks,” Akeria rolled her eyes, Nina instantly protesting.

“I’m joking! I’m joking. But not really. Like Silk, please try not to overdo it tonight?”

Silky raised her eyebrows and sucked her cheeks in. “I’m making no promises, girl.”

“Akeria, please don’t accidentally make out with anyone’s boyfriends?”

“Oh my God Nina! That happened ONCE!” Akeria cried out incredulously.

“And Vanjie, don’t-”

“Nina. We’re not going to embarrass you. Chill the fuck out,” Yvie rolled her eyes and squeezed the shoulder of the girl in front of her.

The girls all finally reached Monet’s old, red-brick building and her front door, and Nina pressed the buzzer nervously. There came a crackly screech of mayhem through the intercom which contained unintelligible speech, and then the girls were all quickly buzzed in. Scarlet looked to Yvie questioningly as she wondered if she’d heard any words, but she also appeared to be as clueless as she was. It didn’t seem to faze any of the other girls though, as Vanjie was already bounding up the stairs with Akeria as fast as her chunky heels could carry her. They didn’t have to walk far, as Monet’s flat was on the first floor. Vanjie moved to open the door first when it was suddenly wrenched open from the other side to reveal a tiny, skinny blonde girl with her hair curled and loose on her shoulders. Her pink dress was as tiny as she was, but regardless of her size she looked ready to fight.

“Who the fuck are you?” she addressed Akeria, barely acknowledging the others. “You here to sell us girl scout cookies, or an Avon catalogue, check our meter readings maybe?"

Just as Akeria looked as if she would instigate a full-scale fight, Nina poked her head out from behind Brooke’s tall frame. "Cracker, don’t be a dick!”

The girl’s face immediately relaxed into a wide, shameless smile. “Nina! Oh my God, you bitch, I never saw you! Come in, God!”

Akeria still bristling and Vanjie not too dissimilar, the girls all trooped into the flat which immediately struck Scarlet as something out of an American teen Netflix special. The hall was dark with the occasional string of fairy lights, and was packed full of people. Scarlet instinctively reached for Yvie’s hand in the crowd and got a squeeze back without even having to look at her. Nina and the girl, Cracker apparently, led them through to a huge bedroom which had obviously once been a living room but had been repurposed by a money-hungry landlord. The room was quieter but still had its fair share of people dotted about in amongst the Morrocan market wall-coverings, tiny elephant incense stick holders, and swathes of printed photos and posters that covered the walls like tiles. A huge bed sat to one side where Monet sat sprawled out with her shoes kicked off, chatting to a black girl with a huge afro that otherwise looked so identical to her Scarlet assumed they must be sisters. Cracker flung herself down on top of the mattress and joined them, gesturing vaguely to the girls.

“Neens!!” Monet suddenly squealed as she looked up, throwing her arms out as Nina launched herself half on the bed and half on top of her. Monet continued, muffled, as the rest of the girls awkwardly lingered. “I’m so happy you came, oh my God, this is so amazing!”

“I brought everyone too. Is that still okay? They can leave if not,” Nina instantly reeled off, Brooke bellowing out a laugh. Monet’s face lit up.

“Oh my God of course not! Brooke! Scarlet! Yvie!! Oh my God, come and hug me,” Monet beamed, her intoxication showing ever so slightly as Brooke graciously leaned down and hugged the other girl them got instantly pulled onto the bed. Monet gestured for everyone to come closer. “Guys! It’s so good to see you all, thanks so much for coming! There’s, like. Endless booze in the kitchen. Feel free to just drink us out of house and home.”

Silky’s face lit up and she immediately grabbed Akeria and Plastique, making to drag them through. “Vanj, you comin’?”

“Get me something? I'mma stay here with my girl,” Vanessa shouted back, giving a smile back to Brooke but finding the other girl looking down at her phone instead. Scarlet frowned involuntarily and then was suddenly distracted by a squeeze of her hand from Yvie (who still hadn’t let go).

“I’m going to go make sure Silky doesn’t give herself alcohol poisoning. You want me to bring you back a drink?” she offered, Scarlet unable to help the smile that spread across her face.

“You’re a sweetheart. Surprise me.”

“A pint glass of tequila it is,” Yvie deadpanned as she walked away, too quick for Scarlet’s hand that swatted at her in response. Scarlet tuned into the conversation that the girls were all having on the bed. It was big, but it was still a bed in a student flat, and so Brooke had her elbows resting on the mattress and her lower body on the floor and Scarlet had had to squeeze up to make room for Vanjie to sit beside her.

“She was guarding the place like fort fuckin’ knox,” Vanessa was saying, a playful side eye being cast to the blonde girl, who let out a laugh.

“You’re an animal,” Monet’s potential sister rolled her eyes. “A living guard dog. We should put a collar on you. One of those ones with spikes.”

“Nah. That’s only reserved for people who want to fuck me. Do you want to fuck me, Bob?” the girl asked easily, before taking a swig of the cider bottle she was holding. Monet hooted a laugh and the other girl didn’t even break her expression.

“I wouldn’t eat your pussy if it was made of chocolate fuckin’ fudge cake. Get the fuck out,” she retorted, Nina looking up at them all from her position on Monet’s tummy.

“Is that not that Lana Del Ray lyric? My pussy tastes like chocolate fudge cake…”

Scarlet let out a laugh that was more like a scream, the others on the bed doing much the same thing. Monet wiped her eyes and took in a deep breath.

“Oh my God, okay. For those of you that haven’t met before- this is Cracker and Bob. Two out of the three girls I have the blessing or curse of living with, I haven’t figured out yet,” she gestured to the two girls in turn and then turned to Scarlet. “And this is Scarlet, Vanjie and Brooke Lynn. They’re Nina’s friends, so they’re obviously amazing.”

“Nina could throw up on your bed and you’d say it was amazing,” Cracker looked pointedly at Monet. Monet shrugged and threw her arms around Nina.

“And what?"

"Nice to meet you guys. Are you two sisters?” Scarlet asked, curiosity getting the better of her as she pointed between Bob and Monet. Monet laughed and Bob rolled her eyes.

“Are you saying that all black people look the same?” Bob asked her with a piercing stare, Scarlet’s entire stomach dropping at the thought of having offended her.

“Oh my God, no! No no no, I just thought-”

“She’s kidding, Scarlet. Being a dick, as usual,” Monet cut off Scarlet’s frantic protests and immediately calming her down. “No, we’re not related. We just look spookily alike.”

“You fuckin’ wish you looked even a tenth as good as me. Hey, where the fuck is Monique?” Bob asked suddenly, both Cracker and Monet shrugging.

“Flatmate number four,” Monet quickly cut in to explain.

“Away making some chaotic cocktail, probably,” Cracker shrugged. Bob gave another roll of her eyes, then turned and smiled at Brooke, Scarlet and Vanessa.

“Nice to meet you anyway. Are you all flatmates too?” Bob asked politely, ignoring the position of the slit on her long skirt as she crossed her legs.

“Not us three exactly. Brooke lives with Nina and Yvie, that’s my girlfriend,” Scarlet explained, her stomach full of fizzy fireworks at being able to say that for real. “Vanj lives with Silky and Akeria over on Antigua Road.”

“They’re the best hoes in the world. They’re through in the other room getting drunk, but you’d love them,” Vanjie cut in. Cracker let out a laugh.

“Oh yeah, shit. Sorry I was so mean to you.”

Vanessa smiled easily, the free alcohol that the flatmates were providing clearly making up for any perceived slight. “Don’ worry about it, girl. We’d probably do the same if some hoes we didn’t know turned up at our party.”

“What about you, Scarlet?” Bob asked politely, instantly seeming far less intimidating.

“I’m over on the South Side. Kinda far out. I found this girl on SpareRooms to live with, but she’s a bit of a dick,” Scarlet explained awkwardly. Cracker leaned in, her eyes shining excitedly.

“What’s her name?”

“Fuck, I don’t want to say in case any of you are friends with her!” Scarlet laughed, but no protestations came. She lowered her voice as she continued. “It’s Ra'Jah? Ra'Jah O'Hara?”

“Oh, FUCK!” Bob cried out, holding onto Cracker for support as she almost fell off the bed. “I know who that is! She’s in my Econ tutorials! Oh my God, she’s an actual fucking moron. I had a group project with her once and she did literally nothing but talk about drugs and bitch about people on our course.”

As Scarlet was about to launch into how horrifically messy a flatmate she was, Yvie came back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer and a tall black girl with a shock of lilac hair swept up into a ponytail and a matching straight fringe. She was wearing a black pair of jeans and a tiny black cropped t shirt which showed off her many tattoos, and in her hand looked to be an elaborate mojito-style concoction.

“I made a friend!” she cried, before slumping herself down beside Vanjie, Scarlet growing ever more squashed up against the bedpost.

“Oh, the wanderer returns,” Cracker deadpanned. “What did you make?”

“Margarita mojito,” the girl shrugged, sipping her drink to punctuate her sentence. “It’s basically a mojito with a big-ass shot of tequila in it. Guys, this is Yvie! She’s Nina’s friend!”

“Oh, you’re Scarlet’s girlfriend!” Bob smiled at her in recognition, Yvie clambering into a tiny space on the middle of the bed, handing one of the beers to Scarlet, and casting her a look through narrowed eyes.

“What have you been saying about me, bitch?” Yvie smiled playfully, the look she was fixing her causing a sudden flash of heat to strike between Scarlet’s legs.

“All good things, baby,” Scarlet smiled innocently, Yvie relaxing and leaning back against Scarlet’s chest.

“This is Bob and Cracker. They’re my other flatmates. You’ve already met Monique, then?” Monet introduced the girls to Yvie.

“Yeah, we bonded over watching Akeria flirt with people. The bitch is a fucking mastermind. She walked into the kitchen and had a guy talking to her within, like, one minute.”

“Introduce me, introduce me!” Monique bounced on the mattress excitedly. Vanjie came dangerously close to falling off the bed and Monique quickly noticed, reaching a hand out to her and pulling her up with it. “Shit, sorry girl!”

Scarlet watched as Vanessa swept some hair out of her face and cast a quick appreciative glance to Monique’s toned arm. “Holy mother of Jesus, I gotta start goin’ to the gym.”

Monique let out a bark of a laugh. Cracker caught her other arm and held it steady, the tequila/rum combo threatening to fly out of its glass.

“Brooke, Scarlet and Vanjie, meet Monique.

Monique, this is Brooke, Scarlet and Vanjie,” Cracker pointed to each of them in turn, finishing with Vanjie who still seemed to be casting her eyes over Monique.

“Well, Vanessa. But these girls call me Vanjie. Or Vanj. You choose, really,” Vanjie explained to Monique, the girl’s ponytail swishing as she cocked her head.

“You ever get called baby?” she asked, feigning innocence. Scarlet couldn’t help her eyes shooting wide and her brain almost went into meltdown trying to register everyone’s expressions at once. Vanjie was laughing, but her face had flushed pink, clearly flattered. Cracker was screeching a laugh, Bob looked long-suffering. Nina and Monet were looking at each other urgently, and Brooke was properly looking at Vanessa with interest for the first time since they all sat down on the bed. Scarlet couldn’t see Yvie’s face, but she’d felt her tense up, and she couldn’t blame her.

“Yeah. By Brooke Lynn over there,” Vanessa finally said through her laughter, Monique not seeming fazed as she cast a glance to Brooke, who was smiling patiently but inwardly seething if the red tips of her ears were anything to go by.

“Oh, sorry girl! I didn’t know she was taken,” Monique laughed pleasantly.

“Yeah, we’re a thing,” Brooke opened her mouth, breaking her silence. Vanessa was smiling at her from across the bed, and Brooke met her eyes and smiled back.

“A thing?” Monique let out a short laugh, spilling a little of her drink. “A thing is, like, a noun. Not a relationship.”

“Technically a girlfriend is a noun too. Thing, place, person,” Nina piped up, presumably in an attempt to diffuse the increasingly awkward vibe.

“Are you a primary teacher, Nina?!” Cracker asked, clutching her chest in faux-surprise. Nina sighed.

“If I could reach a pillow, I’d thump you."

"Monet, you hearing this? Your girlfriend is practically chatting me up,” Cracker laughed, then stopped suddenly as her face became a mix of horrified and regretful, Bob giving her a not-so-subtle thump on the arm. In lieu of gauging Monet and Nina’s facial expressions, Scarlet whispered her thoughts to Yvie.

“When the hell are they actually going to become official? It’s been ages!” she hissed into her ear, Yvie craning her head round to reply.

“Nina would have to be on a cocktail mixer of cocaine, Es and alcohol to gain even half the confidence it would take her to ask Monet, so she’s waiting on Monet to do it for her. The thing is, I think Monet’s not as confident as we all like to think either. Maybe sometimes Nina’s panic can present itself as disinterest.”

“So Monet’s maybe waiting until she knows where she stands with her?” Scarlet nodded in realisation.

Yvie sipped her drink and took Scarlet’s hand, tracing round her fingers absent-mindedly. “I think so. I mean, we all know Nina’s absolutely ass-over-tit in love with her because we’re her friends, but she’s not going to let that show to Monet until she’s ready.”

Scarlet watched as Yvie played with a large turquoise ring on her finger. Her brow was furrowed as she thought about the situation, and Scarlet’s heart felt like an enormous water balloon- incredibly fragile and full and feeling as if it was about to burst. She thought back to Yvie’s words on Christmas dinner night, the ones she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since she’d said them.

Suddenly, she was pulled out of her thoughts by a screech from Vanjie, who was looking at Monique with enrapture as she told a story. Admittedly, most of the other girls were looking at her too, but Scarlet didn’t miss the sparkle in Vanjie’s eyes as she listened.

“And there it was, I swear by almighty God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit…a whole baggie of weed, in the bin, covered in Cracker’s vomit.”

It was an odd moment for Scarlet to tune into the story but judging by the roar the girls on the bed gave, it seemed to be over. Vanjie had doubled over laughing and was clinging to Monique’s arm for support, the girl in question smiling down at her as if her reaction was the only one that mattered. Scarlet frowned and leaned into Yvie once more.

“Hey. What the hell is the deal with Brooke and Vanjie?” she whispered, making sure to keep her voice extra low. She instantly felt Yvie tense up in her lap.

“What do you mean? They seem fine to me?” Yvie murmured back. Luckily for Scarlet, she knew that Yvie lied so rarely that it was easy to spot when she was telling one.

“You know something. What is it?” Scarlet hissed urgently in Yvie’s ear. Hearing her give a big sigh, Yvie shifted and then rose on the bed.

“Me and Scarlet are just getting another drink, save our seats,” Yvie announced to the circle, receiving a cheer from Nina.

“Enjoy your sex!” she cried after them, and Scarlet, confused, simply followed Yvie to another room. The hall was quieter now, but the same could not be said of the kitchen, where as they walked in they saw Silky, Akeria and Plastique ringleading a game of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. Ignoring their friends, Yvie turned to Scarlet urgently, concern covering her face.

“Okay, Brooke told me this in confidence but you’re my girlfriend so I kind of can’t really keep anything from you, right?” she began, Scarlet nodding quickly and desperate to hear what Yvie knew. “But you CAN’T tell anyone about this, babe. Honestly, it needs to stay between us. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Scarlet said instantly, her mind in overdrive. Yvie pulled a pained face for a moment, seemingly incredibly conflicted, and then looked to the floor.

“Brooke is having second thoughts about being with Vanjie.”

Scarlet’s face dropped. “What?!”

“Brooke told me that she felt everything was getting too intense, and that Vanj wanted more than Brooke felt she could give her. She’s sticking it out to see if it’s just a blip, but…yeah. Now you know why they’ve both been so weird,” Yvie explained, biting her lip and looking at Scarlet with concern.

Scarlet didn’t know what to think. It all made so much sense, the oddly distant vibes between them both, the strained atmosphere, Vanjie flirting with Monique. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Scarlet. “Does Vanessa know?”

Yvie rolled her eyes. “Yes absolutely, Scarlet, Vanjie is very happy staying with someone who isn’t even sure if she wants things to go further with her, Brooke’s told her everything!"

Scarlet’s mind seemed to fuse. "She needs to know.”

Yvie’s expression dropped. “Oh my fucking Christ, you literally just promised not to tell anyone.”

“Well I didn’t know what it was you were going to tell me! I mean shit, Yvie, imagine that was me and you and I was having second thoughts! Would you want to be kept in the dark?”

Yvie bit her lip and looked to the floor. Scarlet gave a snort. “Exactly, bitch. I’m going to go find her right now-”

“Scarlet, please,” Yvie stopped her quickly, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “Brooke would be fuckin’ raging at me. I told you this shit in confidence. I know it’s hard because you’re close with Vanjie, but can you please…I mean hold off at least. If she asks you about it then, fine. You can tell her. But don’t run through there just now.”

Scarlet’s head felt as if it was a mess. She tapped her foot against the linoleum floor. “Who’s she told?”

“Just me,” Yvie said sincerely, looking into Scarlet’s eyes. “Nina doesn’t know. It’s just us.”

Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m pinning all the fucking blame on you if she finds out I know, you know that?”

Yvie nodded understandingly. Scarlet let out a big sigh. The silence between them hung heavy in the air, at odds with the party happening around them. Suddenly, Plastique tottered into their line of vision, her eyes glazed and drunk.

“Oh my God guys! I haven’t seen you like all night! Selfie!!” she cried, sticking her phone in the air. Scarlet felt herself smile weakly but luckily the photo seemed to be too blurry for anyone to notice. Plastique immediately walked off again.

“Okay bye, nice seeing you,” Yvie deadpanned after her. Scarlet pressed her lips together to stop a laugh escaping them. Yvie caught her eye and snorted, and Scarlet couldn’t help but let out the laugh she’d been holding in. The tension had been diffused by a drunk Plastique, and Scarlet was relieved. She ran her hand down Yvie’s arm and squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just kept the fucking secret,” Yvie sighed, lacing her fingers through Scarlet’s own. She smiled at Scarlet, showing the little gap in her teeth, and Scarlet felt her heart jump. “Hey, I kind of want to go get chips, cheese and gravy and then head back to the flat and watch the Scooby Doo movie. You down?”

Scarlet smiled. She was kind of over the party. She’d been so eager for a night out, but all she wanted right now was a night in with her girlfriend. “Sounds amazing. Let’s go.”

The two headed back through to the bedroom to grab their jackets and say goodbye to the rest of the girls. Notably absent from the room were Brooke and Vanessa, and Scarlet was about to mention this to Yvie when they walked back out into the hall and spotted a tall, blonde girl and a small brunette kissing furiously in a darker, quieter corner. As Yvie opened the front door, she turned to Scarlet.

“I feel like they won’t be far behind us. Brooke must have sorted her shit out, then.”

As Scarlet grabbed one last look at the two girls against the wall, she desperately hoped Yvie was right.

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barnes-belle · 5 years

Text

Beauty and the Barnes (2)

A Modern Retelling Of Beauty and The Beast.

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - Bucky X Reader

WARNINGS - Lots of Smut, Light Hints of Non/Dub-Con, Prostitution, Swearing, Dark Bucky.

When your father falls deathly ill you fall into a lifestyle you would have could have never predicted for yourself. Selling your body as a high-class escort isn’t ideal but it’s the only way to find the money you need to help your father, until your first client offers you another way.

Bucky’s mean, coarse and gets a kick out of watching you squirm but he is willing to help your father. All you have to do is sign yourself over to The Winter Soldier, body and soul.

Trapped in The Avengers compound, serving as a PA to a man who’s an absolute beast you find yourself wondering if there’s such a thing as a happy ending?

Chapter Two

You kicked the front door open with your foot as you juggled the keys and the bags of groceries.

“Dad?” You called out, looking around the open for him.

“Oh sweetheart, there you are. Could you *cough* pass me the *cough*…” He said, peering at you from behind a canvas.

“The cornflower blue?” You asked, smiling sadly and passing him the paint.

He nodded happily, choosing to save his voice.

Once upon a time your father had been an incredible painter. He never sought riches or fame, just enough to get by and make sure you had all you needed. Beyond that, he just wanted to bring a little beauty and joy into people’s lives. These days, he painted for himself. He was to weak, too shaky to give his art the same level of detail as before and it had become a private hobby.

“Dad, why isn’t the fireplace lit? We have a top floor apartment so you can use the chimney.” You scolded, dropping the groceries onto the countertop and hurrying over to the fireplace.

“It dries out the paint.” He wheezed.

“It also helps your lungs. Cold air, bad!” You said for the billionth time as you stuffed newspapers under the logs.

He devolved into a violent coughing fit behind you and you sighed, knowing there was nothing you could do to ease it.

“I’ll put the groceries away.” You told him and he waved you off, picking up his paintbrush again.

You slowly put all the healthy foods into the fridge, contemplating the life changing decision you’d been given last night, pretending to ponder over it. It was your father’s health, his life you were talking about here though and you knew that ultimately, you were going to sign yourself over to Bucky Barnes. You pulled out your phone and sent a text to Mrs Pamela, telling her it just wasn’t the right lifestyle for you and promptly blocked her number. That was when you noticed the new email notification.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I think this will satisfy your father’s needs.

You clicked open the email and nearly dropped the phone in shock at the online brochure it led you to. The out of state clinic was one of the best in the country, specialising in lung disorders. The pictures showed a sleek, clean, homely looking facility that boasted the best doctors. It was the sort of place that you couldn’t even have dreamt of sending your father.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“I have a Job interview with Stark Industries today, if I get it my medical insurance will cover your treatments. Better, you’ll get really good care.” You said, fudging the truth.

“Yes but *cough* do you want this job? Will you like working *cough* there?” You father asked in concern.

“I would love to get this job!” You lied through your teeth.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

You smoothed your hands over the skirt of your dress nervously as you got out of your beat up old rickety pick-up truck and stepped inside the building, slipping the lanyard that had been given to you at the front gate over your neck. There was a reception desk, but it was unmanned and you looked around nervously.

“Hello, is anyone there?” You called quietly.

“Hello Miss Belle.” A woman’s voice said from nowhere and you yelped and spun round looking for the owner of the mysterious voice.

“Hello…. Ghost?” You answered.

“My name is Friday; I am an Artificial Intelligence system. Sergeant Barnes is expecting you, if you’ll step into the elevator, I will send you to the correct floor.” Friday said.

“Oh, why thank you very much Friday.” You said kindly as an elevator door slid open on the other side of the room and you hurried towards it.

As the elevator carried you up, you wondered if it would be rude of you to correct an AI about your name. You decided against it, you didn’t want to offend or embarrass her.

“Sergeant Barnes is waiting for you in his suite. Turn left, then right and it’s the second door on the right.” Friday instructed.

“Thankyou Friday!” You called, hurrying out of the elevator with your head down, hoping you didn’t run into anybody.

You made your way to the correct door and raised your hand to knock but before you did it swung open and Bucky Barnes looked down at you with an unimpressed, almost bored expression.

“You made the right choice. Sign these.” He said, tossing a pile of papers at you.

“Can I read them?” You asked, catching them awkwardly as you crossed the threshold.

“The point of reading a contract is to make sure you’re not signing your soul away. You are signing your soul over to me, and your body with it. Besides, those are just the standard NDA’s and privacy clauses all Stark employee’s sign.” He said, sitting down and watching you.

“Right…” you said, looking through your bag for a pen.

He held one up in your line of vison and you took it.

“Does it use Ink or Blood?” You joked.

“Why, do you have a bloodplay kink you want me to indulge?” He asked and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

“Nope. My only kink is being completely owned and controlled by handsome 100-year-old assassins?” You offered and there was a flash of something in his eyes.

You took a deep breath and screwed your eyes closed so you didn’t have to watch yourself sign your life away. As soon as you were done he snatched the papers away and handed you a single sheet of paper.

“Now sign this.” He instructed.

“This contract gives you uninhabited access to my body, whenever, wherever and however you chose. In return, you will pay for my father’s admission and stay at The Clinic and all treatments needed. That’s literally all it says.” You spluttered.

“That’s all it needs to say.”

“I…” You began but he was right. What more was there to be said?

“Is it even legally binding?” You asked.

“The law is the least of your worries if you break a contract with me. But yes. Friday serves as a witness.” He informed you.

“What about if you break the contract?” You asked.

“I won’t.” He stated.

“But what if…”

“I’m not going to.”

“But how do I know that?”

“I WONT!” He roared; patience spent.

You had to believe him. It was your dads’ best chance. So nodded and scribbled your signature onto the paper. For such a monumental moment in your life, it was rather anti-climactic, and you pulled back to regard the paper with a puzzled frown.

“What now?” He snapped.

“I don’t know… I was expecting it to burst into flames or something.” You admitted.

“How… why… never mind.” He sighed, looking at you like you were an idiot and grabbing your elbow and dragging you over to a door on the far side of the room.

“This is your room. Mine is that one.” He said, pointing to the opposite side of the room.

“So, you don’t live in Brooklyn? Wait. MY room?” You yelped.

“Yes, your room. I want you fully moved in by tomorrow night at the latest. It’s in the contracts you just signed. The clinic is coming for your father, in about… 25 minutes.” He told you.

“What? But… but I didn’t even get to say goodbye! I’ll never make it home on time!”

“Not my problem. I promised to get him help, I have. You’re being given a tour of the compound and getting your security clearance by one of the on-site PA’s in a few minutes, so we don’t have a lot of time.” He said callously, pushing you into the living area.

“But…” You objected.

“Listen, you belong to me now. You agreed to it, so stop fucking being annoying about it and do as I damn well say.”

You snapped your mouth closed and tried to brush aside the thought you’d made a terrible mistake and the worry for your father and nodded to him. Your new master.

“Turn around.” He instructed.

When you did, he quickly unzipped your dress and slipped the straps over your shoulders, pushing the dress to the floor.

“We don't have a lot of time, but I don't want you walking around the building meeting all these superheroes without remembering who you belong too.” He told you.

He spun you around so you were facing him and sat down in the chair. You stood there unsure exactly of what you're supposed to do until he unzipped himself and pulled his fully hard cock free. You stifled a gasp, somehow in your mind you'd managed to downplay how big it was but seeing again now you remembered how difficult it had been to fit that thing inside of you.

“Well don't just stand there Belle, this is your job now.” He reprimanded.

You stepped forward and began to sink to your knees but he tutted at you and you sighed and leant over him instead, wrapping your hand around his cock. You couldn’t fit your fingers all the way around him as you tentatively and experimentally pumped your hand up and down his shaft.

“Hmm. Put a little effort into it.” He said coldly.

So you did. Your back started to burn from the awkward hunched over position quickly and your arm started to ache from the continues pumping. It was so… mundane. This was the man who ordered prostitutes to get off, not the cruel, sadistic and almost cheekily charming man who’d made you ride him.

You strangely missed that man, at least he’d had a shade of life in him. So, you did something potentially stupid and leaned over to lick the bead of pre-cum leaking from his tip. He cocked his head curiously at you but didn’t reprimand you, so you slowly closed your lips over the very tip of him and almost teasingly sucked as you pumped your hand along his shaft, twisting your wrist and squeezing him.

“There’s my Belle.” He praised.

He stood up, forcing you to stand upright as he did, and you continued to jerk him off as he pulled your underwear down over your hips, leaving them about midway down your thigh. He leant forward so the head of his cock was jutting over the edge of your panties and you figured out was he was doing. He was going to make you carry a reminder of who you belonged to with you for the rest of the day and you swallowed thickly.

His fingers hooked under your chin and forced you to look up at him. He gazed at your face with a look you couldn’t quite place for a few moments before you felt him twitch in your hand and you glanced down to watch as he spurted roped of white cum into your panties, some of it splashing off of your pussy. He groaned and you pumped him until he was done and he quickly pulled your panties back up, further than they needed to be until it was almost painful.

You could feel his sticky, warm seed press against your most intimate parts and you shuddered at the sensation. Especially when it oozed out of your underwear and trickled down your leg. He zipped himself back up and tossed your dress at you and walked towards the door, sighing and stopping without turning when he didn’t hear you move.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I don’t want to move yet?” You said timidly.

“Why?”

“Because… It’ll…. You know? It’ll squelch.” You explained.

His shoulders shook and for a brief second you thought he might be laughing until he turned around and glared at you.

“You’ll suffer a lot worse than wet panties while you’re here. Trust me. Fucking move.” He snarled and you hurriedly pulled your dress back on, twisting around to pull the zipper up.

He unceremoniously pushed you out of the door and smacked you ass before the door slammed in your face.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go!” You shouted.

No response.

“Bucky?”

Nothing.

“Friday?” You said hopefully.

“Yes Miss Belle, I’m here. If you head back towards the elevator, the common room is opposite, and your escort is waiting there for you.” Friday said helpfully.

“Thankyouu.” You whispered, walking awkwardly towards the common room.

There was indeed squelching and though you would never, ever admit it out loud, having Bucky’s cum soaking through your underwear and coating your pussy was actually not an entirely unpleasant feeling. You gradually straightened up, getting used to the feeling.

You wandered into the common room, looking around for your ‘escort’.

“Who’s that?”

“Is that her? Are you the girl?

“I think it is. Are you Belle?”

You stood in the doorway, dumbstruck. The two men, the two very famous men looked over you curiously, bordering on concern when you didn’t move.

You really hoped neither Captain America nor The Falcon was your tour guide because you were not making a good impression.

“Yes! I’m Belle.” You said without thinking.

It was really starting to look like you were stuck with the name.

A/N - I'm still not 100% sure about this fic so this is the decider chapter for me. I tried to make Bucky beastly but still Bucky and I wanted Belle to be sweet and innocent but still have a sassy streak.In case you would like to know...

Lumiere - Steve Cogsworth - Sam Mrs Potts - Tony Chip - Peter Parker

@spnqueen02 @nogardsoahk @chipilerendi @jessieray98 @nochampagnesocialist @scarlettswxtch @dropthepizza346

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

A/N: 3.2k words. Warning for sexually explicit content. It’s vanilla af but it’s there. Sorry for the long wait, but this chapter is reaaally important, you don’t want to miss it! Let me know if this changes any of your theories ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Synposis: Your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, has gone missing. After acting erratic for a few weeks, spending all his time locked away in his studio, he suddenly vanishes into thin air, leaving only an unreleased album behind. Zodiac.

Chapter Six – you’re a shark and i’m swimming

“Jimin, we shouldn’t be doing this, we’re in deep shit enough as it is.”

Detective Park locks the door behind you and watches you as you sit down warily. “It’s too late. We have to be honest; I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

“Do what?” You’re stiff in that stupid rickety chair and you glare at the both of them as they return to the positions you last saw them in, only this time Jimin’s in his own chair and it’s Jungkook who, instead of leaning on the desk, is circling you slowly like a bird of prey. “I’m so sick of the lies. I feel like I’m going insane; you need to tell me what’s going on. Please.”

Jeon glares at detective Park one last time before turning his full attention to you. “Look, we’re fully aware that Min Yoongi isn’t the guilty party here. You know it, we know it, he obviously knows it. And when we first got the case from Kim Taehyung, we had full intentions of going about it the right way. We’re not incompetent as much as you’d like to think so.”

“…I don’t see where this is going,” you admit.

Park sighs. “Y/n, you have to understand how hard it is for younger detectives like us to make a name for ourselves. Ever since I started here, ever since Jungkook got assigned as my partner, we’ve been given the unsolvable. It’s a rite of passage to keep the head honchos looking like geniuses, and us looking like idiots. Newbies get cases that the police feel won’t get a decent resolution and give all the clear-cut ones to those they want to make look good. What I’m saying is, the moment we read the details of Kim Namjoon’s disappearance, we knew we didn’t have a fucking chance of actually solving it. There’s no leads, no information, nothing. There’s not a whole lot we can do when someone doesn’t want to be found.”

Jeon picks up where Park trails off. “I know you think we’ve done fuck-all since getting the case. That’s not true. This whole time, we’ve been chasing dead ends. There’s not a single trace of your boyfriend anywhere in the city, or the ways out. Whether he acted alone or was taken or killed, we don’t even know that for sure.” He sighs and rubs the space between his eyebrows, rolling his shoulders. “Anyway, that’s where we were at, when we found a lead. Jung Hoseok. We found several noise complaints filed against his studio, all of them lining up with security footage of Namjoon going in and out. Last one is on the Thursday; the last anyone saw him. We acquired the records from Hoseok’s mobile phone. Several threats were placed against you, in relation to Namjoon’s career. The two were speaking about Namjoon wanting to spend less time on his music career and focus on his relationship with you, and Hoseok did not respond well.”

“What?” Your head feels dizzy with the new information that’s being thrown at you. “Joon never once mentioned to me that he wanted to slow down on producing. He didn’t mention any of this, in fact. I want to see the texts,” you insist, crossing your arms.

“We deleted them,” Jeon replies simply.

“You what?”

Park runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, you didn’t have to be so blunt, Jungkook. Y/n, we went over to Hoseok’s house with a search warrant and found nothing, but when we questioned Hoseok, he…” He breaks off and sighs. “You have to trust me, I never would’ve done it if I had the chance to go back.”

“What did you two do? I don’t understand.”

Jeon makes his way over to his desk and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and tucking a deep inhale. “Basically, Hoseok offered us an out. We didn’t have enough evidence to convict him, or anyone else for that matter, but if we deleted the security footage and destroyed the text exchange records, he’d testify in court that Min Yoongi was the guilty party.”

“Jung Hoseok bribed you?” you cry incredulously.

“It was our only chance to close the case, Y/n,” Park insists desperately, “and we thought maybe if we could just get a false confession from Min, then you and his other loved ones would have a sense of closure.”

You stand up abruptly. “But that closure would be based on lies,” you point out. “I… I appreciate you finally telling me, I guess, but fuck you both. You’re no better than all those other corrupt police officers taking money for getting off guilty parties. I don’t know how you can fucking sleep at night.”

You make your way to the door and mess with the lock angrily, shaking it until it clicks open. Park calls out your name, and you turn around reluctantly. “Please don’t tell anyone about this, Y/n. I know that’s a tall order, and we don’t deserve it, but… Fuck, we… You can’t hate us any more than I hate my fucking self. I’m so sorry.”

Jeon bites his lip, and the hint of vulnerability in his eyes is something you haven’t seen from him before. When he speaks, it’s softer than his usual biting tone. “Look, there’s nothing more we can do to fix this. The records have already been deleted, it’s too late. But if you should choose to approach Hoseok yourself and try and get answers, let’s just say we would be willing to let a little breaking and entering slide. Just be safe. There wasn’t a single thread of actual evidence at his studio or his private residence, but you still need to keep your wits about you, alright?”

You nod shakily, not trusting your voice, and leave without a further word.

When you return home, you can hear the clicking of laptop keys coming from Jin’s upstairs study, and suddenly all you want is someone near you who you can trust. You don’t have the energy to go back to Hobi right now. You don’t even know what you could possibly say. Did you kill my boyfriend? Why did you kill my boyfriend if you were threatening me?

Jin looks up with a soft smile when you hover in the doorway, and the warmth in his eyes is the last straw.

You break down into a fit of overwhelmed tears, clutching desperately onto the doorjamb as your shoulders shake.

“Woah, hey, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Come here, I’ve got you.”

Like all workaholics, he’s got a small couch in his study, and he gently detaches your grip off of the wood and herds you towards it, letting you latch on to him like a heartbroken koala. He sits down, you on his lap with your legs on one side, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, rubbing soothingly at your back. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. It’s okay. Cry as much as you need, alright? You can talk when you’re ready.”

And so you do exactly as he says, and spend what could be minutes or hours sobbing inconsolably into his chest, soaking the expensive fabric of his shirt, not that he seems to mind. When you finally begin to settle, feeling unbelievably drained, your temples ache and your jaw is tight.

You wipe your drenched face and look up at him, propping yourself up on his chest a little to be at his eye-level. “I’m sorry,” you whisper unevenly.

“No, don’t be,” he soothes, “I’m here for you, you can tell me anything.” He reaches out and wipes away the tears that stubbornly continue to fall, giving you his best supportive smile.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit. “All of this is too much. I just…I need someone.” You’d forgotten how special and wonderful and intimate a decent long hug felt. Jin’s warm embrace and even warmer expression has you melting, and maybe it’s the fact that you are beginning to accept for the first time that your boyfriend really is gone, or maybe you’re just too lonely to think any better, but you lean down and kiss Kim Seokjin with all the heartbreak and pain that has built up the past few days.

He goes lax under you in shock, but after a moment, the hand that previously wiped away your tears now rests on your cheek, palm warm against your damp skin.

You sigh out through the kiss, deepening it as he begins to respond, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. In the back of your mind, you think you hear a thud in the house, but your mind is consumed by the rush of emotions you’re feeling, and you forget about it almost as soon as you hear it. Jin seems to enjoy the kiss as much as you, but just when you part your lips to flick your tongue lightly over his, he’s pulling away and shaking his head.

“We can’t,” he says with a rough voice.

“Oh, I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” he breaks in hastily, “I want to. I want you, Y/n, but we can’t do this here.”

You blink slowly, still drunk on the feeling of his lips on yours. “You mean in your office?”

He glances around with a pained look on his face. “I don’t think…” He breaks off and sighs, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly on your cheekbones. “I was thinking, maybe if you’re having a hard time, it might help you to go and spend a few nights at your old place. You know, get some familiarity back.”

You sit up fully on his lap and shake your head. “I don’t want to be alone, Jin.”

“I could come with you. Let’s go tonight, yeah? We can get some takeaways and drive over to your place and maybe watch some movies, de-stress a little bit. It’d do you some good.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding slowly, “yeah, I think that would be really nice. Do you want to go right now?”

He shrugs, smiling up at you. “Might as well. I’ve just got this last email to finish up and then I’m all yours. Sound good?”

Your heart jumps a little at the turn of phrase. “Yeah, sounds good.”

It’s a strange feeling, being back at your apartment. In some ways, you’re happy to be back in your own environment, but it’s freezing from lying empty for several days, and the sun has already gone down because of the cold season, and somehow the dark spaces feel more ominous.

So, you stick to Jin’s side, eating the Chinese takeaways he ordered quickly, wanting nothing more than for him to just throw away the dishes and kiss you like he had before. In the end, you’ve already showered and changed into pajamas, letting him borrow some of Namjoon’s, before he comes into the bathroom as you finish cleaning your teeth and, without words, backs you up against the bench, takes your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you with twice as much passion as he did before.

You let yourself relax in his strong hold, eyes fluttering shut, and it takes only a few moments of slow, open-mouthed kisses before he’s sighing sweetly and tugging on your sleeve, pulling you, without breaking the kiss, to your bedroom.

You chuckle against his lips when the first door he opens is to the garage instead of a bedroom and jerks in shock against the wave of cold air, letting you lead him into your room.

He lays you on the bed like you’re made of glass, warm fingertips brushing on the skin of your stomach as he slowly lifts up your top, leaving the smallest of kisses on every inch of skin on the way up, until you’re lifting your arms and he’s pulling the fabric over your head and to the side.

You shiver, bare nipples immediately hardening in the cold air. You haven’t yet gone into your bedroom, so the air is still cool, and goosebumps erupt over your arms. Jin sits up a little and marvels at the sight, eyes languidly tracing the curves and planes of your body. “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles reverently, bending down to take a hardened peak in his hot mouth, suckling at it and nibbling on the surrounding skin.

You sigh out blissfully, torn between letting your eyes fall shut again and wanting to watch his ministrations. In the end, you tip your head back and close your eyes but reach up a hand to run your fingers through his silky hair. “Oh, Jin, it feels so good.”

He hums and pulls away from your nipple with a wet pop, moving over to give the same treatment to the other, but you tug on the roots of his hair lightly, pulling him away. “What is it, baby?”

“Jin, I need you.”

“Fuck, okay.” He straddles you and sits up to remove his own shirt. When it ruffles and disturbs the air, wafts of Namjoon’s cologne still in the fabric waft down to you, and you can’t help but cringe at the untimely reminder.

Still, your attention is soon recaptured by Jin as you feel him get up off of you and tuck his fingers under your waistband, sliding down your pants and underwear in one go. Instead of returning to hover above you, he gets down on his knees at the foot of the bed, tugging your ankles slightly to pull you lower.

His eyes flicker up to yours, lidded with desire. “Can I…” He licks his lips. “I want to touch you. I want to taste you.”

Your stomach jumps in excitement and you nod shakily, determined to watch this time. He brings his mouth down on you, massaging your inner thighs with his flat palms to keep them open for him. Your core is already hot, but the first swipe of his tongue feels like fire as he licks up your abundant arousal. He sits back a little and lets his eyes fall shut as he savors it. You think you hear him mumble something, but when you make a noise of question in your throat, he just shakes his head and dives back in, ripping a surprised moan from your throat.

It’s clear he’s not doing it to get you to cum but doing it for his own pleasure as he takes his time plundering you with his tongue, worshipping your pussy languidly but deeply.

After a minute or two of watching his blissed-out face as he eats you out, you feel the fingers of one hand tip-toe along your sensitive skin and dip into you shallowly.

You suck in a shaky breath and tilt your hips up, wanting to take him deeper, but he seems completely invested in going at his own pace.

Eventually he begins to sink them in ever so slowly, until he’s down to the base knuckle. Skipping straight to two fingers gives you a delightful stretch which you’re thankful for seeing as it seems like you’re not getting much else, but you must admit that this kind of oral definitely has its perks.

You’re not rushing towards an orgasm at any rate, but it still feels satisfying and unbelievably relaxing, like slipping into a spa pool, and you feel yourself becoming boneless on the mattress.

He slowly rocks his fingers back in forth inside you, deep and purposeful rather than fast and intense, and maintains a dutiful tempo with his tongue on your clit.

When he finally comes up for air and slips his fingers out of you, you moan hopelessly, unable to put the energy into your muscles to move. You hear him sigh happily as he shucks his pants and boxers and uses the lubrication of his precum to pump his cock a few times.

“Shuffle back for me, baby,” he whispers sweetly, helping you navigate your way further up the bed until your legs are no longer hanging off the edge.

He gets on and holds himself on top of you, leaning in for another slow kiss. As you feel his tongue, tangy with your juices, slide over yours, you realize that you’ve never had sex that felt so much like ‘making love’ rather than fucking before.

One of his hands, the one that isn’t slicked up from your pussy, is playing with your hair and tugging on it softly, setting off bursts of pleasure inside you, and the one that is wet is using that natural lubricant to pay attention to the nipple you made him neglect earlier, like he’s taking his chance to give it the same treatment it missed out on before.

“Please, Jin,” you moan as he moves down and begins sucking and nibbling your pulse point on your neck, “I need you inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”

He swears quietly with lust and shuffles himself on top of you, sitting between your now-widely spread legs instead of on either side of them, and uses one hand to guide himself to your entrance.

He mutters under his breath again when he sinks in, but the words are drowned out by your heady moan of satisfaction as he buries himself to the hilt in one stroke. His eyes wander searchingly over your face for any signs of discomfort, but when he finds only pleasure, he pulls out until just his tip reminds snugly inside, then snaps his hips down again, feeling you clench around him.

The only sounds in the room are your pants and moans as he begins to thrust into you in rocking motions, so that each movement pushes his cock against your upper wall, firing up the nerves behind your pubic bone in a way that has you breathless, even as he maintains a steady pace. “Oh, Jin, yes, oh, right there,” you have no control over your mouth anymore, content to just let whatever praises spill from your mouth come, and he doesn’t complain.

You’d quite happily stay like this forever, in his embrace as he mouths at your neck and rocks into you, but when his breath begins to catch and he becomes louder, he brings a hand down to press at your clit, and the extra stimulation brings you to the edge just as he gets close himself.

His lips move down lower and to the side, to your shoulder, and he bites down lightly in an effort to not be so loud, fingers speeding up as they play with your sensitive bud, and without realizing you were on the brink, you fall into a toe-curling orgasm that is drawn out. The way you clench rhythmically around him sends him over the edge too, and the pressure of his teeth increases just below the point of serious pain as his muffled screams pair with the feeling of something hot shooting up inside you.

The two of you stay connected like that for a while, Jin releasing your shoulder and lapping apologetically at the tooth marks but making no move to slip out of you. In the end, he manages to maneuver himself to lie on his side, one leg thrown over you, and falls asleep still inside you.

As his breathing slows and forms a steady cycle, you feel the blissful blackness of sleep take you too.

TAGLIST Message me or send in an ask if you wish to be added to the taglist. You’ll receive a notification every time I update ZODIAC.

@itishebihime-samaforyou || @hoodiebangtan || @sunnysideupsmile|| @emilypkuzu || @youngmsfts || @sugarrimajins || @samisderp

#bts x reader #bts fic #bts smut #jin smut #jin x reader

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calleo-bricriu · 4 years

Note

now I have to know what completely embarrassing thing you did that got your mom, dad, and boss all agreeing that you were acting like a brat because it sounds like it'd be HILARIOUS.

(( This is something that happened off Tumblr about a week ago and is what Calleo was talking about in this post.

TL;DR All of Calleo's other relationships are with people who either don't particularly want someone close to them on a regular basis as they find it stifling or people who do enjoy that but aslo have their own partnership so if Calleo dips in and out of contact on a regular basis for work, they don't mind (and are more than used to it). @absintheabsence does not fall under either of those categories but also has very little concept of what good treatment looks like, partially because he probably treated other people like afterthoughts (if he thought about them at all) and/or was often treated as one himself along with that 'oh, well, I mean, it's not like I'm a person so it's fine' mindset he gets into now and again. ))

Words, spoken or unspoken can make all the difference in the world.

Early on, when Gellert was almost frantic about touch, Calleo immediately fell into what turned out to be a short-lived response. The frantic had a always been met with calm verbal reassurances that he was genuinely and deeply loved. When Calleo had to leave, he’d always make sure the last thing Gellert would hear before the disapparation was some variant of, “I love you.”

Any conversation during the day ended the same.

When he’d return, Calleo’s greetings included a great deal on how he had missed Gellert while he was away, usually followed by sitting or laying somewhere to talk about their respective days.

Nights continued much the same, with Calleo making certain to end the conversation before sleep by reminding Gellert that he would never have to worry about being abandoned and that he was, of course, loved.

And, because he was Calleo, once he started focusing the majority of his time on both Ministry work and side projects, it was forgotten. Rarely at first, but rarely became occasionally, occasionally turned into often, and often fell into the territory of Calleo simply taking it for granted and as something that didn’t need reinforcement or frequent repetitions. To him—or at least how he justified it to himself—it was a given as he was still present. Calleo was never annoyed or irritated when Gellert would ask or do things to get his attention, but it was more than fair to say that he didn’t understand the need, and that often came across as him going through the motions long enough to get Gellert to calm down again.

He’d mentioned it in passing to his parents during one of their almost daily lunch time visits to his office; the silence in the air, confusion tinged from Calleo, nearly incredulous from his father, and something as close to the realm of disappointment that he’d ever seen from his mother. She had moved to speak first, but stopped as her husband gave her the sort of subtle head shake indicating he’d at least decided to give Calleo a few more seconds to possibly come to the correct conclusion.

When that didn’t happen, all Calleo got as a response was, “And do you think I make your mother nearly beg for my time and attention, or that she makes me beg for hers?”

The answer to that was, of course, no, but Calleo being Calleo started to protest beyond that answer and found himself interrupted by his mother—something he could scarcely recall ever happening.The undercurrent in her tone was something he couldn’t quite place. Despite that, whatever it was, it was startling enough that he instinctively knew better than to argue with or interrupt her.

“You cannot, cannot treat this as though it were one of your more casual associations. I don’t doubt that you care about those people just as deeply, and I doubt your father does either, but they have their lives separate from yours and you have yours separate from theirs. Those partnerships are fundamentally different at their cores than this one; you need to stop viewing it as if it were not.”

Calleo stayed silent, still not daring to even accidentally interrupt her.

“And wipe that look off of your face. I’m your mother, I know better than anyone when you’ve already begun deciding what you’re being told is incorrect.”

Calleo blinked. He hadn’t even been aware he’d had any particular look on.

“Whether you entered into what you entered into purposely or accidentally doesn’t matter at this point because you stubbornly chose, against everyone’s advice, including his, to voluntarily remain bound to that pact despite clearly not fully understanding what it meant or how deeply it ran. Why do you think everyone around you tried to get you to take the offer to break it?”

Rhetorical. There was no need to answer.

“It wasn’t because it was him, at least not from our end. You didn’t have any idea what you’d done and agreed to then, and it’s beyond evident that you still think it’s some frivolous curiosity that holds no deeper meaning beyond a few communication tricks and a shiny trinket that’s no different from the shelves full of shiny things that briefly catch your attention.”

“You bound yourself through Blood Magic to another person! Not only that, you allowed someone else to remain bound to you despite their misgivings,” now she sounded—not exactly angry, more a little cross and a whole lot of exasperated. She stepped forward and cupped Calleo’s face in her hands; it wasn’t enough of a grip that he couldn’t have pulled away, just enough of one to let him know doing that would not be the best of ideas.

“You are my only child, and I love you above all else, but you are acting like a spoiled brat that we did not raise. You will either be an adult and treat this situation you have put yourself in with the time, attention, and priority that it calls for and deserves, or you will cut him loose. There is not a third option.” With that said, she pulled Calleo’s head down a bit to kiss his forehead (leaving a lipstick print of course) and left his office without a further word.

Calleo glanced at his father while wiping away the pinkish-red mark on his forehead. Mum had never spoken to him like that before in his entire life! What he received in return was a half of a shrug and a, “Listen to your mother,” as he left the office as well.

On some level, Calleo half expected Director Yandle to have heard the conversation through the walls and come in to cuff him upside the head as his contribution. Instead, all he did was appear a few minutes later to silently drop a large stack of Divination work that needed filing onto his desk.

When Calleo returned to Nurmengard later in the evening it was quiet and subdued, without the usual possibly remembering so say hello mid-way through launching into an immediate rant about some thing that had happened at work.

He didn’t say anything at all, not verbally at least; he did, however walk over to that awful, rickety old chair on which Gellert always seemed to use, despite it being wobbly and solid wood. Taking a quick note of the page an open book that had, until a moment ago, been being read, Calleo closed it and picked it up. With his free hand, he took one of Gellert’s, pulled him the few steps to the sofa, and down onto it with him.

Once that had been all settled, the book hovered itself at proper reading distance in front of Gellert, re-opening to the correct page. Calleo kept one arm around Gellert and the other he shifted enough to gently run his fingers through silver hair.

#happy now?#hp rp #stories #relationships

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spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years

Text

Thirteen-One, part 5

Amy’s hands trembled like leaves in the wind. Even when she tried to suppress it, tried to focus, and tried to calm herself down—the coffee mug in her hand shook, and the liquid inside of it threatened to slosh over the edge after taking a sip.

She set it down and stared at the nondescript disc that sat on the surface of her desk. Seth had given it to her. In her heart of hearts, she knew it contained another strange video. And that she would not be able to unsee whatever it would show her. What it would show her about herself.

Amy dreaded to watch that video. A single tear dropped onto the transparent jewel case.

She switched her computer on and inserted the disc. Waiting for the system to boot up took way too long. Her heart raced. Her fingers tapped on the edge of the desk.

Finally she opened it up, double-clicked, and started viewing the video.

The image was black. Something rustled. The camera automatically focused on a face. Contrary to what she expected—to see her own face in the picture like the last time she had watched one of these bizarre videos—she beheld Seth’s face instead. He sighed and slumped into a chair in front of the running camera.

It was the same dingy room that she had seen herself in, on the previous recording that these psychopaths had given her. This too, showed her something she could not remember.

“Thirteen-One is here, and Scott is—he is dead. My rage with Sara was not as much as a drawback as he initially thought,” Seth spoke into the camera. His eyes glistened with tears and he croaked out some of the words.

“By the way—I hate that Amy doesn’t accept what she really is,” he continued. His voice shook with what could only have been sadness or rage. “Twenty-Four-Five and Twelve-Twelve have accepted it. I accepted it.”

He trembled as he screamed, the sudden outburst blending into his next words, “Why doesn’t she?”

Seth breathed, his chest heaved, he took what felt like an eternity to settle back down in this rickety old wooden chair. Watching the unsettling scene unfold, Amy hugged herself. She sat on the edge of her seat, absorbed by Seth’s monologue in this video.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seth sighed. “Now it’s just about—we gotta end the game, complete the pentagram, perfect the circle. I’m certain now—Thirteen-One is to blame for Amy’s fever-like states and dreams. Can’t expect any useful contributions from her, now.”

He looked away from the camera and stared into the distance. Almost as if he had heard someone or something. When his gaze returned to fixate on the camera’s lens, he said, “If you ask her what happened to Scott, she says he moved to France. I guess that means she’s suppressing the truth, or something. Like she doesn’t know what happened. So I’m beginning to wonder—is Amy the right one for Thirteen-One? Is Thirteen-One the right one for Amy?”

Seth set his jaw during the silence that followed. Outside Amy’s house, the rain set it—first tapping against the shuttered windows and roof with a subtle pitter-patter, then transitioning into a drumming downpour.

She refused to believe what she was hearing Seth say in the video. Scott was not dead. He was in France.

Seth and the other jerks from this weird cult had to be gaslighting her.

Right?

“We’re waiting for answers, but I’m sick and fuckin’ tired of waiting,” Seth said, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna scour the tomes, and see if I can’t get some damned answers myself.”

Before Amy’s consciousness could fully absorb Seth’s video, he got up and reached towards the camera. The video turned to a static of black and white, and the audio died.

Amy’s hand rested on the computer mouse, pale as a corpse once more, then moved the input device with the intention of closing the video and clicking everything away. But before she could close the player, the static ceased to display and made way for something else. A dark picture, a close-up of someone’s mouth.

Screaming. The video had no audio, but judging by the cracked lips and the way the mouth moved, it had to be screams of agony.

It looked like Scott’s mouth, which she knew intimately from all the times they had kissed in the past. Amy stared at the video, expecting to see something else, hoping to see something that would prove her instincts wrong, praying silently for this to stop on its own or someone to jump out of hiding and tell her she was being punked.

None of that.

Just more screams. Although no audio escaped her computer’s speakers while the mouth’s teeth gritted in pain before gnashing and then stretching wide open to scream yet more, she heard dark whispers in the back of her head. The whispers were not really there—she was not going crazy, at least not yet—but she felt like they should have been there. Like she could have heard the whispers in the background, chanting, while this poor person—not-Scott, she wished, over and over again—screamed.

Amy closed the player before the video ended. It had only a few seconds left, anyway.

She refused to believe.

She removed the disc from her computer’s drive with an almost eerie calm about her. Then she snapped it in half and, without looking, tossed it at the trash bin nearby. She missed and the plastic parts clattered onto the floor.

Blood dripped from her bandaged hand, soiling the wooden floorboards underneath her desk chair.

Walking through the fog and the rain, the world passed by Amy in a trance. A familiar yet distorted voice responded to her at the building’s intercom after she rang the bell to Seth’s apartment, but it was not Seth on the other end. It was the one she expected to answer, for some reason. Like this strange world she lived in was beginning to make sense, like everybody was falling into place within a strange, dysfunctional order.

Inside the apartment, she sat on the couch once more, the water dripping from her leather jacket, the fabric of the sofa soaking it all up in dark spots. She sat across from Adam, and had buried her face in her hands. She had told Adam everything she had experienced in the past few days.

“I don’t know what you could’ve done,” Adam told her. Unlike in their last conversation, he sat up straight. Did not distract himself with booze or smoking. “Don’t know if the cops could—or would—do anything right about this.”

“They know where I live,” Amy said. “They know what I’m thinking. They know what I’m afraid of. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but why the hell did you come here, of all places? To Seth’s apartment?”

Amy looked up at him and shook her head, replying, “I don’t know. Maybe this is the last place they’ll look for me. Maybe I need to warn you, too. Maybe you’re in danger, too.”

Adam shrugged, but the contortion of his face betrayed the uneasiness that had claimed his heart.

“Eh, I have nothing to do with anything. Seth hasn’t been here in all this time, ever since the last little shindig here. Also, I’m not really part of the gang you all had together, back then, so, eh, y'know. Screw it.”

Adam scratched his head, first lightly, and then with more fervor and irritation. No itch made him do that, only confusion.

And fear.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, I feel like,” Adam said. His words and thoughts trailed off.

“I—I can't—I can’t really say,” Amy stammered.

“Go find Steve, okay? Tell him. Go take him somewhere, outside of this garbage town. Better yet, go to the big city together, or to his parents and spend some time there. Just take some vacation.”

“But—”

“No, I know I’m full of bad habits and worse advice, but this time, you should listen to me.”

A silence draped itself over them. It dragged on while Amy pondered his suggestions.

Adam asked, “Okay?”

More silence followed.

He asked again, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Amy sighed.

The doorbell rang. Not the doorbell to Seth’s apartment, but the one to Steve’s. Elsewhere. He approached the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

Amy stood there, greeted him wordlessly. Her eyes spoke volumes of desperation. They fell into each other’s arms, then they kissed. Amy’s passion suffered and Steve must have sensed her dwindling energy and broken confidence. He responded with all his affection.

She wanted to say something, but he placed his index finger upon her lips to shush her.

Amy spoke anyway, “I need to leave for a while. A few days. Maybe a week.”

Steve took his finger away and his brow arched.

“What? Where to?”

Amy slipped out of the embrace, but held his hands in hers.

“It’s gonna sound weird, but—just—away from here. Away from everything here.”

Normally, a confident sense of humor rode on every single line Steve uttered, but now he sounded like the words she said had wounded him when he asked, “Even away from me?”

Amy fought back the tears and her chin crinkled.

“There are people in my life. Here—I just—I just need some distance. It’ll just be for a little while?”

“Wait, is this some sort of break-up thing?”

“Please—this isn’t. No, this has got nothing to do with you.”

Steve shook his head, defied that, “What the hell? Of course it’s got something to do with me. I hear you talking. You’re telling me how you feel. Or are some sort of fairies talking through your mouth now?”

He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Alright, I guess I understand. I’m not gonna ask any more questions if you don’t wanna answer. Just, like, promise me you’ll explain everything when you get back? Or this all blows over? Whatever this is.”

Amy did not reply to that with words, only with a feeble smile. Heartfelt, but as feeble as Seth and the cult had rendered her now.

“So, when are you leaving?”

“I think right now. That would be best.”

Steve leaned left and then right, looking at her from different angles in a playful fashion.

“Gonna miss me?”

A feeble giggle escaped her, fitting the feeble smile that he had provoked from her. He returned a wide warm smile. He dragged her inside—she let him. He kicked the door shut behind them and they wound up on the couch in a loving embrace. Hands glided underneath shirts. Warm lips connected. Fingers interlocked.

Then the memories of Scott welled up. Amy started seeing Scott there instead of Steve. Instead of kissing Steve, she kissed Scott. The texture of their hands felt different, rougher, callused.

She felt like throwing up.

Steve pushed her up and away from himself. He stared at her in disbelief, sensing the distance and her growing discomfort.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Amy said. “Well, fuck, I don’t know. Too many fairies around, I guess.”

“Fuck those fairies.”

She snuggled up to him again and nuzzled his neck. Steve wrapped his arms around her and they lied there for a long and quiet minute.

“I’ll always be there for you. I just wish—I hope I can stop being afraid,” she said.

Steve stared her in the eyes and said, “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here for you, too.”

“But I’m afraid of myself, babe. This fear—I’m the only one who can take it away.”

Lost in each other’s gazes, lost in a sea of timelessness, they both spoke at the same time when they next whispered to one another, “I love you.”

Meanwhile, figures dressed in black opened the front door and walked into Steve’s apartment. Hooded and masked to conceal their features, the faceless intruders each carried something different with them—a metal baseball bat, a bike chain, a metal pipe, and a knife. The couple did not notice these four men sneaking up on them.

Until it was too late.

—Submitted by Wratts

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e350tb · 5 years

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Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Twenty

(by gum that was fast.)

(thanks to @real-fakedoors for proofreading!)

Captain Roger Franks sat at a table in the Diamonds’ Lament on New Earth, bent over a jug of what was ‘fondly’ known as New Earth Coffee - a drink made from coffee beans grown under a sunlamp in Vidalia’s attic, water and milk from an animal the captain cared not to think about. It tasted horrible, but coffee was coffee, and he rather needed it right now. He was in discussion with another human resistance officer, a tall, red-haired late-middle-aged woman named Commander Lewis, about their next strategy.

He closed his eyes and made to take a sip of his coffee.

“You!”

A fist slammed into the back of his head and he spat out his drink, just barely missing Lewis and spraying it all over a lime-green Pearl at the next table. She shot him a very dark look, but he was already turning around to face his assailant.

“You left us to die!” thundered Amethyst.

Franks blinked.

“You’re alive?” he asked, which really didn’t help his case.

“Yeah, no thanks to you!” snapped Peridot, who was standing behind Amethyst, “What happened to working together, you clod?”

“I… I had to preserve my crew!” replied Franks, “We’d already lost the Maine, I had to preserve the rest of my ships! Besides, how were we supposed to know…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to those pebbles, Captain.”

Lewis stood up, crossing her arms. Her voice, tinted with a hint of a Liverpudlian accent, was filled with rancor.

“Commander, don’t,” snapped Franks, “They are our allies.”

“Are they?” replied Lewis, “I don’t believe allies normally blow up each other’s planets.”

“You wanna say that again, you piece of…” Amethyst began, lunging forward.

“Commander Lewis,” ordered Franks, “From now on, you do not speak in this conversation without my express permission. Understood?”

Lewis didn’t reply, her lips thin.

Franks rolled his eyes. “Permission to speak.”

“Yes, sir,” spat Lewis.

She turned and walked away.

Franks shook his head.

“My duty is to my men,” he reiterated, “I will do what I can to help you, but I am not taking on a Diamond warship until I am one hundred percent prepared.”

“Well, we do what we have to,” sniffed Amethyst, “And sometimes that means taking down a Diamond ship on our own.”

“Yeah, sometimes we-”

Franks caught on his words, just about choking, as a gasp filled the tavern.

“You took it down?!” spluttered Franks.

Amethyst crossed her arms, smirking.

“Gather round!” she declared, “And I’ll tell you all the tale of how Stevonnie, Lapis Lazuli and the crew of the Crystal Avenger took down Blue Diamond’s personal ship - without the Human Resistance’s help…”

In a dark corner of the tavern, Commander Lewis watched bitterly as humans and gems gathered around the pirate captain, eager to hear her amazing story. She furrowed her brow, lip curling in disgust, and walked away.

Blue Pearl sat on a ragged old sofa in Peedee’s apartment, which was basically a set of old gem containers roughly rebuilt into a series of small rooms. She sat very still and said nothing at all. To her left, in his own chair, sat the mayor of New Earth.

Jeff had seen better days, just as everyone had - a long scar ran over his left eye, which was faded and milky in colour, but his demeanor remained cheerful. He wore a stained dress shirt and a green tie over khakis that ran just past his knees. A silver ring sat prominently on his finger - an identical one could be found on Peedee. He was, after all, no longer Jeff Brooks - he was Mayor Jeff Fryman.

On the other side of the room, Stevonnie paced nervously from wall to wall, while Lapis leaned against the corner. This left Peedee next to the old, rickety desk, scratching his beard as he looked over the light-blue gem.

“So she hasn’t said anything since you rescued her?” asked Peedee.

“No,” replied Stevonnie, “I think she’s in shock. I… should I have asked her if she wanted to come? I… maybe she wants to go back? I…”

“No.”

The voice was quiet, and accompanied with no change in expression, but Blue Pearl’s single word spoke volumes. There was an undercurrent of pain and torment that sent a shiver down Stevonnie’s spine.

“You want to stay?” they asked softly.

Slowly, Blue Pearl nodded.

“Do you want to come back to the barn with us or stay on New Earth,” asked Stevonnie, wanting to be very clear moving forward.

“I…”

Her voice was so quiet that Stevonnie had to strain to hear it.

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Peedee and Jeff glanced at each other, and Jeff nodded.

“You could stay here,” he suggested, “There’s plenty of room on New Earth. You could stay with someone if you wanted, so you’d always have someone around - I mean, heck, we’ve got room here…”

“We do?” asked Peedee.

Jeff glared at him.

“I mean yeah, we do, I guess!” said Peedee.

“I… I don’t know,” replied Blue Pearl, “I…”

Her voice broke.

“...forgive me, I don’t know… I…”

She buried her head in her hands as she broke down, her heavy sobs filling the room.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why… I’m sorry…”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” soothed Stevonnie, sitting down next to her and putting an arm over her shoulder, “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s… I… I don’t understand!” Blue Pearl spoke the words, bitter and broken, perhaps not unlike herself. “I should be happy, I…”

“Sometimes people cry when they’re happy,” said Jeff, “Maybe you are happy? Or maybe… you’re afraid, because you don’t know what’s gonna happen next. Or maybe…”

“Guys.”

Peedee held up his hands.

“I think she just needs to let it all out,” he said softly.

“But I’ve already cried so often!” sobbed Blue Pearl, “Blue Diamond’s made me…”

“Yeah,” nodded Peedee, “But this…”

He put his hand on hers.

“...this is for you.”

The warp pad glowed brilliantly as Lapis and Stevonnie arrived back on their island. Immediately, they felt rain - the wet season was well underway, and the downpour lashed at the beach. Stevonnie’s hairs stood on end at the sudden adjustment to the cold, and they involuntarily shivered.

“Oh yeah,” they said out loud, “I forgot it’d be raining.”

They walked quickly down the beach and back up to the barn, although Lapis didn’t really mind the rain. She liked the feel of the individual droplets of water dance down and over her skin; it had a strange, calming effect to her. Still, she certainly couldn’t wait to be home.

Once they were back in the barn, the pair found themselves sitting by the door, watching the rain fall. Stevonnie had made themself a concoction of warm water and local leaves that, apparently, didn’t taste too bad (Lapis took their word for it), and sipped quietly from an old mug.

“So,” they said at last, “That was some mission, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Lapis glanced over to her friend, a worried expression on her face.

“So, do you think Blue Pearl’s gonna be okay with Peevee and John?” she asked.

“Peedee and Jeff,” corrected Stevonnie, gently, “And trust me, they’ll look after her. They’re good people - some of the best.”

They took another sip of their drink.

“Thanks, by the way.”

Lapis raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“For being there,” replied Stevonnie, “I… I don’t we could’ve done it without you. And you kept your head so well…”

“I kept my head?” quizzed Lapis, “Stevonnie, I was terrified! The only reason I didn’t break down was because you were there!”

“Yeah, but… but you were…”

Stevonnie shook their head and chuckled.

“We make a great team,” they said.

“So what next?” asked Lapis.

Stevonnie shrugged.

“Depends,” they replied, “I guess Amethyst’ll let us know if anything else comes up, so… we keep doing missions. We help people on New Earth. And when we’re not doing that, we…”

“We live here,” said Lapis.

Stevonnie smiled.

“Yeah,” they said, “We live here.”

They raised their mug.

“Here’s to us, barnmate.”

Lapis gazed at the mug, wondering how to respond. Was she supposed to put her own thing to her friend’s mug? If so, what? She had to do something, she couldn’t leave them hanging…

She made a thumbs up and gently bumped the mug.

“Here’s to us!”

Stevonnie laughed - it was a wonderful sound, and soon it had infected her. They sat there, by the door, almost rolling in spontaneous mirth, drowning out the sound of the rain on the roof. It was one of those brief, perfect moments that Lapis wished would never end.

Some time later, Lapis lay in her hammock, Stevonnie dozing on the mattress beside her. Her suspended bed swayed gently in the light breeze, as she listened contentedly to the monsoon outside. She stretched, sighed and stole a brief glance at her barnmate - they looked so peaceful.

I wonder what our fusion would be like.

Lapis shook her head and rolled over, trying to force the thought from her head. She shut her eyes and mentally ordered herself to sleep. No sense making this weird, she thought - she didn’t know how she felt, not really, so why would she think Stevonnie… no, it was silly. Sleep, Lapis, sleep.

Eventually, she drifted off, and the barn fell silent, save for soft snoring.

That night, Stevonnie found themself dreaming about fusion.

#steven universe #marooned together #stevonnie #lapis lazuli #amethyst #peridot #peedee fryman #jeff #blue pearl #jeffdee #amedot

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lickstynine · 6 years

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Zhao and Vodka: Origins

The glorious BrOTP is back! After writing a little modern-day drabble, and an overarcing summary of their relationship, G and I whipped out our proper storywriting gloves and wrote about the very first meeting of Ghost and Vody! It’s just plot, no whump, but I really liked writing it.

(also remember, this is 1985, so the money amounts are a little less than half of what they’d be today)

Enjoy, and feel free to send any questions you may have.

Vody sat on the curb, head in his hands. Painful bruises coloured his ribs, but nothing hurt worse than the sinking feelings of regret making him want to melt into the pavement. How did he end up here? He’d been an Olympian - a winner, even! People had cheered for him, gushed over him, showered him in praises and prizes. And now, not even a month later, he was poorer than ever, with death threats hovering over his head. How could he have been so stupid?

Part of him knew it wasn’t totally his fault - he’d never had money in his life, much less anyone to teach him how to manage it. In theory, poker had been a great idea. He was a sharp guy, with a steely face. He could’ve multiplied his winnings, been set for life… if the game hadn’t been rigged to hell and back.

He hadn’t expected underground gambling to be fair, but he also hadn’t expected to get fucked over that hard. Now he wasn’t even safe in his own country, and he’d had to dig up all the money left to his name to buy a one-way ticket to California before he got a one-way trip to the graveyard. What a fucking idiot he’d been.

The sun was starting to peek over the horizon, sparkling on the frosty roads. Vody’s hand rested on his single duffle bag, and he slung it over his shoulder, climbing to his feet and trudging down the street towards the airport. He couldn’t tell if the ache in his chest was from the bruises, or the already-growing homesickness that made him want to turn back with every step.

Lera’s words hung in his head. “We know you don’t want to leave. If it’s what has to happen, it has to happen. We want what is best for you; being safe is obviously the best. Take care of yourself, man.”

Though he was only a train ride away from home so far, everyone already felt so distant, and Vody knew it was only going to get worse. His eyes stung with tears that threatened to freeze on the spot, and he brushed them away with one gloved hand. Going through the airport barely felt real. The voices around him sounded miles away, and he shuffled through the lines like an awkward robot.

He hadn’t expected to fit well in an airplane seat, but the cramped space was almost insufferable. His knees had to touch his chest to keep from busting through the seat in front of him, and his head practically hit the ceiling. The flight was going to take the better part of a day, and he knew he wouldn’t be comfortable enough to sleep for any of it. He rested his chin on his knees, constantly glancing up at his duffel bag, which seemed worryingly insecure in the overhead storage.

The flight went quite smoothly, but Vody almost wished something had happened, just because he was so painfully bored. He hated being so alone, with nothing to do or think about. It left him far too much time to get lost in his thoughts, to beat himself up for being such an idiot, to miss his family, to panic about how lost he would be when he got to the states. By the time the plane finally landed, it felt like his blood pressure had tripled.

Walking into the airport was already a culture shock. Everything seemed so much more lively and colourful, and the people were so diverse. He was getting a lot of strange looks, but that wasn’t new - even back home, giants with face scars weren’t exactly normal. The restaurants around him smelled amazing, if strange, and Vody’s stomach growled as he eyed the iconic golden arches of the fabled McDonald’s.

As good as everything looked, he just shook his head and kept walking. He didn’t have any money for food; he’d barely managed to scrape up enough for a plane ticket. His only chance at eating tonight were the handful of trinkets in his suitcase - his mother had given him what few heirlooms she had left, in hopes that he could maybe sell them for a bit of money to get back on his feet. He tugged his duffel bag closer to his body, not that he really expected anyone to attempt to rob him of all people.

Stepping out into the chaos of San Francisco was perhaps the most surreal experience of Vody’s life. He felt like Dorothy walking out of her grey Kansas farmhouse and into the technicolour Oz. The more he heard the people around him talking, the more painfully aware he was of how little he understood. Sure, the ones who spoke loudly or slowly or clearly were somewhat intelligible, but overall, he really couldn’t make out much.

Luckily, Vody at least knew the phrase ‘Pawn Shop,’ and he didn’t have to scan the streets for too long before he found what he was looking for. Sadly, no one was looking for what he offered: some first-edition Russian books, a handful of old copper rubles from nearly 200 years ago, and a set of beautifully painted Matryoshka dolls that had belonged to his grandmother.

One guy suggested taking them to a museum, but the word seemed lost on Vody, who eventually just sighed and walked away. He’d trudged all across town, his hat, coat, and gloves shed and tucked into his bag. The California heat was strange and exhausting, but he couldn’t give up. If he couldn’t sell these for something, he wasn’t eating tonight, and Lord, was he hungry.

After the fifteenth pawn shop, Vody was starting to get hopeless, and his energy was fading with his enthusiasm. He had made his way to a part of the city the locals called ‘Chinatown,’ and it wasn’t hard to tell where it got the name. It made him a little excited - maybe someone with a different cultural background would see more value in what he was selling.

Sadly, the pawn shop there was no more interested in Vody’s trinkets than the American-run stores. However, they had directed him to someone who might want to look at his items: a store around the corner that sold ‘very weird things, very weird’ as the pawn shop owner had put it.

As he came up on the shop he’d been directed to, Vody couldn’t help but be intrigued. There were strange animal skulls and weird trinkets in the window, and it had an almost supernatural air about it. He had to duck severely to even attempt to fit in the door, but it didn’t hinder him from going in. The walls inside were completely obscured by floor to ceiling shelves and cabinets of all different sizes, makes, and colors. The whole place seemed to be bursting at the seams with various knick-knacks, as well as some strange furniture and a cluttered table and shelves in the middle. Some of the trinkets looked to be junk, and yet others appeared quite valuable, tucked carefully away inside the glass-paned cupboards. The inside of the store was dimly lit, and a little spooky-- Vody swore there were eyes staring at him from inside many of the cabinets-- and he could only hope he wasn’t about to get murdered.

“Um… excuse?” He ventured, peering into the shop. He could see a figure shuffling around in the back room, and raised his voice. “Hello?”

An older man, probably mid-forties, appeared from behind a shelving unit toward the back of the little shop, beaming brightly, arms extended in welcome.

“Hello, my large friend, and welcome to the shop!” the man said. “You’ve got trash? I’ve got cash. You’ve got cash? I’ve got treasures!” He strode right up to the larger man and ushered him further into the store. They passed what appeared to be half a car that had been converted into a shelf, while the other half had been turned into a sofa. Vody peered around curiously.

“So, I hear you buy strange thing? I have thing, but pawn shop tell me to do the fucking off…” Vody held up his bag hopefully.

“You heard right!” the man declared. “Only the strangest things here.” He pushed an odd slanted stool toward Vody for him to sit at the desk, but thought better of it and pulled it back away. It was rickety and wooden, and Vody might just break it if he was as heavy as he looked. He looked around for something else, holding a finger up that told Vody to just hold on a minute. After much scraping and shuffling, he returned pushing a slightly worn sofa chair with dogs printed on it, and patted the cushion for Vody to take a seat.

“Alright, let’s see what you got,” he said, going behind the desk and sitting down himself.

Vody was hesitant as he sat down; though it creaked a little, the sofa chair was sturdy, and he sat down properly. He held the bag in his lap, unzipping it and pulling out items one at a time.

“First I have, uh… books. They very old, bout… eighty, hundred years, I think? First… er… oh, what is word? First kind? First one?” He sighed in frustration.

“Oh, a first edition!!” the man said, taking the book and carefully turning it over in his hands. He puffed, blowing his long hair out of his eyes so he could see better. “Very nice,” he concluded after rifling through the pages.

Vody nodded, looking very pleased. “You like?” he asked, properly hopeful for the first time all day.

“I like,” he replied with a smirk. “How’s twenty sound?”

Vody seemed surprised. The other shopkeepers had told him he’d be lucky to get a few bucks for the ‘crap’ he was hauling around. “Twenty? For just book?”

“Just book? Just book?” he exclaimed with a chuckle. “These are multiple first editions! Of I don’t even know what, but I like them!”

Vody was so relieved, he nearly deflated, sinking into the chair. “I have… other thing. You want to see?”

“Naturally,” he said, placing the books on the shelf behind him.

Digging in a small pocket of the bag, Vody pulled out a handful of coins. He had diligently polished them before he left, and they were glossy copper. “These are rubles. Russian coin. But old one. From seventeen… fiftyish, I think? Mother did not know for sure. Just know we had very long time.”

“These are beautiful! And very collectable to people who are into that kinda thing,” the shopkeeper said. “How are they in such good condition?” He pulled a pair of magnifying lense glasses out of a drawer behind the desk, and flicked two of the lenses down in front of his eyes. They made his eyes appear to take up the entire lens, and they darted about comically as he looked from Vody to the coins and back.

“Family keep them very safe, in little lock box. Before I bring, I wipe off all dust and smudge. Want them to be nice.” Vody explained, sort of miming as he spoke to make sure he was understood.

“Ya done good, kid,” he said, flipping one deftly through his fingers. “Fifteen for the lot?”

Vody nodded eagerly, his face lighting up again. “Da! Ah… yes! Yes, please!”

The man pulled a few bills out of his register drawer.

“Got anything else in that magic sack of yours before I pay you?”

Vody practically jumped out of his seat. “Da! Save best for last.” He pulled out a cloth bundle that looked tiny in his massive hands, unwrapping it as gently as possible to reveal smooth, glossy paint on a little wooden figure. “Is Matryoshka. Think you say… nesting doll? Was grandmother’s… one of first sets made.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and he took the doll gently.

“Are these hand-painted?” he asked, a note of awe in his voice.

Vody nodded. “Da. Think they were… wedding present.”

The man nodded, opening the first doll carefully to reveal another similarly painted one nestled inside.

“They’re beautiful,” he breathed, twisting the second doll open. The smaller one was just as immaculate, and the tiny one in the center was so glossy it was almost as if it had never seen the light of day before.

Vody watched the man with bated breath. He’d already been offered nearly ten times the money he had dared to expect; if the dolls were worth enough, he could even afford a place to stay for the night. After a long moment of silence, he dared to ask, “You… you like?”

“Like? I love!” he said. “Thirty!” he declared heartily, rummaging around in his register drawer and pulling out more bills.

Vody looked like he might actually have a heart attack. “Thirty? Just for doll?”

“Not just for doll. For handmade, handpainted, early set of genuine Russian nesting dolls,” he said, passing the small wad of bills to Vody. “And what can I say? I like them, and you seem like a good kid.”

Vody took the money, tucking it into his pocket and grabbing the man’s hand to shake. “Thank you! Very much thank!”

“Very much welcome,” the man said with a laugh, reassembling the dolls once he had been released from the ardent handshake and placing them on the shelf behind him as well. “If you ever happen to come across some other buyable things, you know where to find me,” he said. “The name’s Zhao, by the way. My army buddies called me Ghost.”

Vody looked surprised, but pleased by this information. “You in army?” He asked.

“Marines, technically. Or at least, I used to be,” he said. “Vietnam.” He pulled his dog-tags out of his shirt and jingled them bit before tucking them back in, safe against his chest.

“Really? You not look old enough for Vietnam…” Vody remarked, earning him a loud laugh from Zhao. “I was in army… couple years ago now. Afghan war. You… America… against us. But, America been against Russia long time now.” He shrugged.

“True enough,” he agreed. “Unfortunate thing, really. War. World, Cold, “police action”, or any other names they might come up with for ‘em.”

Vody nodded solemnly. “War no good. I go because I have to. Wished I could stay with family. Wish I could stay with family now.” He sighed.

“They’re, what, back in Russia?” he asked.

“Da. I… had to leave. My fault.” Vody huffed, scowling down at his worn boots.

“Damn,” Zhao murmured sympathetically. “You got anyone over here?”

Vody laughed bitterly. “No. I not even have money for dinner til I come here.”

“Double damn, kid,” he said, falling deep into thought for a second. After a moment’s silence, he slapped the top of his desk, startling Vody a bit. “Tell ya what. My wife is trying her hand at frying some chicken tonight. Never done it before. If you want, you can come up and suffer through it with me and my girls, provided you give me something to introduce you with other than “kid”, and maybe help me move some shit around the shop. You look like you could push these shelves around easy as you could me,” he said with a snort.

Vody paused, partly to process everything Zhao had said, and partly to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. “You… give food? And… work?” He asked.

“Yeah, why not. It’s just me and the missus running this place, and she’s got her hands full with the girls and her other job,” he said with a shrug. “Could use an abnormally large and strangely gracefully Russian man around.”

Vody laughed. He would’ve bowed, but there wasn’t really room for him to do so without knocking over. “Will do my best.” He paused for a moment before adding. “Oh! Almost forgot. Name. Am Vodyanov Romanovich. Friends just say Vody.” He held out a massive paw to shake again.

“Alright then, Vody.” He gave the proffered hand a firm shake. “How about you come upstairs and get yourself set up?”

“Okay.” Vody closed his duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder and smiling. “Lead way.”

#oc fic #plot #story #zhao and vodka #vody #romanovich #ghost #zhao #collab #sickandvomiting

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niallsstainedcoffeecup · 6 years

Text

The Muses

The bus traveled across town, humming down the street. Harry silently drew on a recently bought sketchbook. People filtered in and out of the rickety bus. Men and women trudged down the aisle, passing the quiet man. Harry once hid behind his long, chocolate brown curly locks, but during his winter break, he decided to chop off his curls. Harry lifted his head, eyeing the nearing campus. The heavy clouds hung above the town, mimicking Harry’s inner turmoil. Harry’s passion was art. Harry enjoyed the art courses, but he despised the whispers around him. Classmates created hurtful jabs toward Harry’s silence, mocking his shy exterior. Harry survived until Christmas break. Harry traveled home, coming back to life with his family. Harry wasn’t always quiet, but in most social situations, Harry chose to sit and watch rather than partake in conversations. Harry slinked down the bus stairs, stepping foot on the harsh campus concrete. Harry breathed in, prepping himself for the long day. Harry shuffled across campus, keeping his eyes locked on his boots. Harry opened the heavy glass door, shivering in the rush of cold air that met him. The art building constantly felt like a tundra. Harry cursed, wishing he brought the sweater his mom bought him for Christmas. Harry climbed the stairs toward his first class. Harry chose a seat in the first row since most college students avoided the first two rows of desks. Harry opened his worn leather satchel, tugging out his sketchbook. Students dragged themselves through the door, hissing at the bright fluorescent lights. Harry chuckled, tracing another outline of a bluebird he saw on his windowsill this morning. The professor strolled in, sipping a large cup of coffee. He faced the board, huffing as he scribbled his name across the chalkboard. “Good morning, my name is Dr. Reed. I will not answer to anything but Dr. Reed. You are currently in painting 2301. If you are not supposed to be in this room, then I suggest you leave now.” The man smirked as two young students ran out of the room. Dr. Reed passed out the largest syllabus that Harry had ever seen. Harry flipped through the pages, regretting his choice of professors. “This class will focus on many artistic elements. I found a student willing to model for certain pieces we will paint. If you are not good at drawing people, then I suggest you start practicing.” Harry gulped, glancing down at his bird. Harry focused on the abstract rather than drawing humans and detailed objects. Harry’s sweaty palms gripped his pencil, wondering if it was too early to drop the class. Professor Reed stopped at Harry’s desk, smiling evilly at the nervous student. “The model should be here any minute. I asked her to meet the class before we draw her. Some of you may know the model since she is a student on campus,” Professor Reed continued his spiel, waiting impatiently for the model. A loud, abrupt knock on the wooden door jolted the entire class. Dr. Reed grumbled, stomping toward the door. The door swung open, revealing the most beautiful woman that Harry had ever seen. Her wide eyes shined like stars, her blushed cheeks were like soft rose petals, and her hair cascaded down in soft waves like a goddess. Harry held his breath, watching the woman follow Dr. Reed toward the front of the classroom. “I asked that you be here fifteen minutes earlier,” Dr. Reed complained. She blushed, fidgeting with nerves and embarrassment, “I understand. My car broke down, and I had to run across campus. It will never happen again.” Dr. Reed nodded, “Class, this is our model.” “My name is Y/N. I am a biology major. I am excited to be the class model,” She stated, cracking the widest smile. Harry grinned, admiring the inviting warmth that Y/N carried with her. Her eyes landed on Harry, causing his eyes to widen like saucers. Y/N giggled, watching Harry’s cheeks burn under her gaze. Harry would have assumed that she laughed at his shyness, but Harry knew that wasn’t the case. Harry knew that Y/N was not the type to laugh at someone’s differences. Dr. Reed allowed the class to end early. Harry packed his sketchbook in his satchel, waiting until everyone left the room. Harry stood up, stretching his sore muscles. Who built classroom chairs, and why did they use the hardest plastic? “I liked your bird,” Y/N spoke up, scaring Harry. Harry thought everyone left the room, but Y/N’s small figure proved Harry wrong. Harry flipped around, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you. I’m Harry,” Harry held out a shaking hand. Y/N grinned, shaking Harry’s sweaty hand, “I’m Y/N. You already know that though. I’m sorry if I seem like a creep. I couldn’t help but notice the bird when I walked in the room. You are talented. I wish I could draw like that.” Harry shrugged, “I’m sure you could.” Y/N snorted, “I draw like a five-year-old.” Harry chuckled, shifting awkwardly on his feet, “Well, I look forward to seeing you in class.” Y/N smiled warmly, “Me too. I’m glad that I made a friend. I worried that people wouldn’t talk to me, but now I have you.” Harry’s stomach flipped at her words, but Harry rolled his eyes at his eager heart. Why would a beautiful girl find an awkward guy attractive? Harry’s phone beeped with a reminder about his next class. Harry groaned, realizing his conversation with Y/N had to end. “Well, I have class. I’ll see you around.” Y/N waved, “I’ll see you, Harry.” Harry waved, tripping over his large feet. Y/N covered her laugh with a cough, acting as if she hadn’t seen Harry nearly fall. Harry blushed, leaving the room before he embarrassed himself even more. Harry’s heart fluttered at the thought of Y/N. Perhaps Harry found his muse.

Three weeks passed without seeing Y/N. Dr. Reed lectured about style and accurate supplies. Dr. Reed started off easy, presenting the class with a bowl of fruit. The weeks progressed, but still no model. Harry’s daydreams included Y/N. Her eyes imprinted on Harry’s mind. Harry practiced drawing people around campus. A tired, young student in line at the coffee shop. An overweight, angry professor, yelling at a class. A bright-eyed student, strumming her guitar at the quad. Harry’s portrayal of people became better with practice, but there was something off. Harry ached to draw Y/N’s eyes; however, Harry felt strange drawing a woman’s eyes after meeting her only once. Would that classify Harry as a creep? Harry walked down the dingy hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards. The stained metal door read Dr. Reed’s office, sending chills down Harry’s spine. Harry breathed in, knocking quietly on Dr. Reed’s door. “Come in,” The older man grumbled. Harry twisted the knob slowly, opening the door to hell. Dr. Reed’s office contained multiple paintings to cover the boring beige walls, overflowing boxes of past student’s failings, and one silk, red chair. Harry stood near the door, waiting for the perfect time to escape. Dr. Reed faked a smile, pushing his lunch to the side. “What can I do for you?” Harry cleared his throat, “Dr. Reed, I have practiced drawing people. Could you look over my art? I feel like something is missing.” Dr. Reed nodded, dropping the smile. Harry passed his beloved sketchbook to the grumpy man. Dr. Reed flipped through the pages, humming and sighing with disapproval. Dr. Reed shut the book, eyeing Harry’s fidgety figure. “Harry, you are talented. I have seen your other work, and you are right. Something is missing. You lack the passion. I see the passion in your abstract work, but when it comes to people, you only draw them for a grade. I do not pass people who do not create art with passion. Find someone or something that sparks that passion for you.” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, “Thank you.” Dr. Reed nodded, waving Harry out of his office. Harry shut the door, wiping a tear that slipped down his cheek. How could Dr. Reed accuse Harry of not having a passion for art? All Harry wanted was to be the best artist he could be. Was Harry meant to be an artist? Was all of his art terrible? Harry sighed, controlling his emotions. Where would Harry find inspiration?

Harry walked into a diner, cringing at the loud clang that sounded when he released the door. Harry shuffled past elderly couples eating an early dinner. Harry chose a barstool, eyeing the mint colored menu. Harry squinted his eyes, reading over the items. Harry’s stomach growled once he read onion rings. Harry decided a side of onion rings and a chocolate milkshake would settle his cravings for something greasy. Harry pulled his satchel onto his lap, yanking his sketchbook out and onto the counter. Harry grabbed his colored pencils, flipping to his favorite piece. Yesterday, Harry attended a local poetry reading. Harry chose a messy red table, sitting alone in the crowded bookstore. Harry enjoyed poetry, spending his summers reading poets like Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, and W.B. Yeats. Harry scrolled through random apps, waiting until some brave soul took the stage. His head shot up upon hearing Y/N’s honey-sweet voice. She sat a few tables ahead with a group of girls. She sipped on the mug, causing Harry to wonder what coffee she drank. Did she order extra drizzles and sugar? Maybe she only drank black coffee. Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by her melodic giggle that forced Harry’s stomach to flip. Harry cursed to himself, finding it ridiculous that he was crushing on this woman this badly. Harry noticed her long locks were pinned up with a shiny blue clip. Harry’s hands ached to draw out her beautiful features. Was it weird to draw someone that Harry found attractive? No, he was simply people watching. Y/N silently watched each performer, wiping away tears after one sorrowful poem. Her friends tugged on her arms, begging her to read something. Harry raised his eyebrows in amazement. What couldn’t she do? What poetry did she write? Did it rhyme? Was it slam poetry? Was it about heartbreak? Harry raced home after the reading, focusing on his art. Now, Harry waited for a waitress to take his order. Harry tapped his feet to the beat of an older song that happened to be popular during the fifties. Harry switched between pastel pencils, filling in the details on her hair. Instead of drawing Y/N’s normal complexion and hair, Harry decided to keep an abstract element with this portrait. Harry’s mint green pencil pressed lightly onto the paper, digging deeper when the older woman popped up in front of Harry. Her hot pink dress burned Harry’s eyes. Her short gray hair spiked up in every direction. “Good evening sugar, how may I help you?” The woman asked, voice scratchy from years of smoking. Harry smiled, “Hello Josie, I’ll take one chocolate milkshake and a small order of onion rings.” Josie nodded, scribbling Harry’s order down on a pad. Josie darted toward the kitchen, leaving Harry to fix his mistake. Harry hummed along with the music, erasing the darker mark of pastel green. “Y/N, how are you?” An older man spoke up, causing Harry’s heart rate to increase. Harry spun around, catching sight of Y/N adorned in a similar hot pink dress that Josie wore. Her wide smile lit up the room. The elderly couple acted as if they had known Y/N forever. “I’m doing well, Mike. How were the grandkids?” She asked, placing their order on the white table. The older woman next to Mike giggled, “They were amazing. Little Mikey learned how to ride his bike.” “That’s great. I still have not learned how to ride a bike,” Y/N laughed, crossing her arms. Mike chuckled, “That’s fine. How is the boyfriend?” Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, “I don’t have time for a boyfriend. Between school, this job, and my second job, no one is willing to date me.” Harry gasped, how could no one want to date her? Harry dreamed of spoiling her with gifts that he bought with his art money. Mike scoffed, looking over at his wife. "There are plenty of handsome men around you, waiting for their chance with you. There's a handsome man behind you," The older lady pointed at Harry. Harry’s eyes widened the minute Y/N turned to find Harry watching the conversation. Harry’s face burned red like a rose. Y/N’s pale cheeks pinkened with embarrassment. She assumed that Harry only caught the end of that conversation, which made her want to run and hide. Y/N found Harry very attractive, but why would someone with his level of god-like looks want to date her? Last night, she swallowed down the rising panic attack she nearly had when she saw Harry at the poetry reading. She wrote a poem about finding a new love, and planned to read it that night but decided against it in case she fainted in front of Harry. Now he sat in the diner she worked at, drawing a beautiful girl. She wondered if the girl happened to be his girlfriend. “Harry, hey, I’m sorry about Lucy and Mike. They constantly try to set me up,” Y/N rushed out. Harry smiled sheepishly, “It’s fine. How are you?” Y/N smiled, “I’m well. How are you?” Harry nodded, “I’m well. The class has been rough. When will you model for us?” She giggled, “I think I’m set to go in next week. Why? Do you miss me?” Harry’s blush darkened, as he choked out an awkward laugh. Y/N cursed in her mind, noting Harry’s tense reaction. Had she pushed it too far? Of course, he wouldn’t miss her, he barely knew her. “I better get back to work. I love the art. She is stunning,” Y/N grinned, racing toward the kitchen. Harry leaned forward, opening his mouth to speak, but sighed whenever she disappeared before his eyes. “It’s you,” Harry mumbled. Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands. Harry wondered when he became so pathetic.

Harry carried the canvas across campus. The large blank canvas attracted more attention than Harry desired. Students stared him down, searching for an answer as to why he had such a large canvas. People on the bus ride over complained about the size. Harry entered the classroom, choosing an easel closer to the stool where Y/N would pose. Harry practiced drawing her face, covering page after page with different interpretations of her beauty. Harry decided to use watercolors for his portrait since the delicate paint would fit her personality. Students piled into the classroom, some running back to the bookstore to purchase a canvas. Dr. Reed arrived five minutes early, discussing the recent news with a student. Harry’s heartbeat quickened, his palms gathered sweat, and his cheeks felt warm with the idea of seeing Y/N. The clock ticked down until Harry heard an exasperated sigh fill the room. Harry turned to find Y/N jogging through the door. She apologized to a glaring Dr. Reed, avoiding eye contact with Harry. Harry’s heart fluttered at her outfit choice. Her long hair sat neatly in a bun atop her head, a baby blue short sleeve dress covered her fit figure, and a pair of eggshell white flats sat on her feet. Dr. Reed positioned her on the stool, advising her not to move. Y/N nodded, taking one last deep breath. She glanced at Harry, smiling at him. Harry grinned back, but not without somehow tangling his teeth and lips together. Y/N giggled, blushing whenever Dr. Reed yelled at her laughter. Y/N winced, but her smile never fell from her face. Everyone began drawing the beautiful model. Harry focused on every detail, taking his time with the portrait. Harry barely finished whenever Dr. Reed dismissed everyone. Harry packed his supplies in his satchel, ignoring the students that awed over his work. “Harry, hey, how did I do?” Y/N’s nervous voice broke out against the rest. Harry spun around, nearly knocking over his easel. Y/N squealed, helping Harry catch the easel. Harry blushed while Y/N chuckled lightly. “You did very well. You are one beautiful model,” Harry stuttered out. Y/N blushed, “Thank you. Can I see what you painted?” Harry froze up. What if she recognized the resemblance between this portrait and the one at the diner? Would she call him a freak? Would she even know it was her? Harry couldn’t say no the beautiful girl batting her eyelashes at him. “Sure,” Harry mumbled. Y/N cheered, scooting closer to Harry. Her eyes widened once she saw the painting. Tears pricked her eyes as she noticed the extra detail that Harry put into the portrait. Harry painted her as if she were a goddess. “Harry, I’m beautiful. Thank you, this is the nicest thing that anyone has ever created for me,” Y/N gushed. Harry blushed, smiling as she bounced with joy, “Thank you. I am terrible with portraits, but ever since you showed up…you made it easier for me to draw people.” Y/N giggled, “I guess you can say I am your muse.” Harry laughed, “I guess you could say that. That portrait you saw in the diner was you. I hope that isn’t creepy.” She shook her head, “No, why would it be? I thought it was your girlfriend. I am flattered.” Harry blushed, toeing at the ground, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” “Well, whenever you find one, she’ll be lucky.” Harry breathed in, “What if I asked you on a date?” Y/N’s eyes widened because she didn’t expect Harry to ask her out. She figured that Harry was out of her league. “I would say yes,” Y/N grinned. Harry nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, what are you doing Friday night?” Y/N hummed, “I think I am free. Would you like to grab dinner? Or we can watch a movie. Everyone is talking about the new Chris Pratt movie.” Harry chuckled, “I would love to grab dinner and movie.” Y/N blushed, “I can’t wait.” Harry walked out of the room with Y/N. Harry might not talk a lot, but it was okay. Y/N tripped into Harry’s life and changed it for the better.

#mine #writing #story #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles imagine #one direction #one direction imagine #1d #1d imagine

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