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#watch skip get drunk of one shot lmao
macfrog · 4 months
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wish you were here | one shot
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thank you lovely anon for this gorgeous request which felt like a huge mug of hot chocolate and a pair of socks fresh from the dryer to write. i hope you enjoy.
pairing: joel miller x fem!reader
summary: you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time. (not that kind you filthy animals it’s the HOLIDAYS)
warnings: fluff lmao, thirty-year age gap and u can stay mad, set around the holidays but no mention of christmas etc, nothing but love and two hints of sex. that's all. oh and no guitars were harmed in the making of this - joel canonically goes and gets the guitar after the fic ends. dw.
word count: 1.9k 
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Jackson is alive with a thrumming heartbeat. Pulsing through the air, bumping gently against the quick-lying snow and filling the otherwise silent night. A steady, rhythmic heartbeat.  
A heartbeat which sounds a lot like Blue Monday, but a heartbeat nonetheless.
The holiday party is in full swing down in the Tipsy Bison. Seven o’clock ‘til late! on flyers plastered all over the commune for the last month. Tommy had tried relentlessly to convince Joel this morning on patrol – It’ll be a good night; You oughta come along, show face at least. At the same time, Maria was on your back about it in the stables.
Y’all hardly come to anything fun, she’d argued.
We come to stuff.
When’s the last time you came to anythin’?
We were – we were at Mike’s birthday dinner.
What – five months ago?
We like alone time.
Alone time? You’re never apart from one another.
Alone time – together.
Neither attempt had been successful. Tommy and Maria had exchanged a disheartened glance as the two brothers passed their horses to you on their return. Joel clipped your cheek, took his gloves off and fixed them onto your frozen hands before making off for home, a proud grin on his face. You’d held your own as well as he had: you two had a clear evening ahead.
He had lit and nurtured a fire, had made himself a coffee and heaped half a damn bag of tiny marshmallows into a hot chocolate for you, but when he’d come through to take his place on the couch, you were already stood out front.
It’s bitter out – a soft breeze, but a thick chill on its wings. The sky a washed gray, heavy clouds overhead. He slips outside, setting the mugs down on the table, and slings a blanket over your shoulders. Kisses the curve of your neck, scruff of his beard tickling your skin.
‘s freezing, pretty bird.
Then keep me warm, you whisper, turning into his arms. He steps back, settling into his chair, flicking his fingers for you to fall down into his wide lap.
You curl up against his torso, your head hooked beneath his jaw. Wonder how drunk Tommy is by now. What is it – nine?
His wrist lifts, moonlight gleaming in the reflection of his broken watch face. Just gone ten. I bet he’s on his ass already.
You giggle into his shirt, breathing in the scent of the pine trees, the smoke from stoking the fire inside, the bite of hot coffee. The echo of voices swelling in merry song turns your attention down the street – two figures hooked onto one another, stumbling through the powdered snow. Some slurred rendition of September melting into All Night Long before the smaller of the two tugs their partner off into a darkened house.
Joel laughs to himself, the bristle of his beard catching on your hair as he shakes his head.
You ask him softly, Will you play me something?
His breath soars, a cloud hot and pale white, past your temple and up into the pastel sky. Gets swallowed somewhere overhead by the wash of warmth from the porch light. He turns his mug until the owl faces the street, the bottom gnawing against the wooden armrest of his chair.
I’m serious.
What do you wanna hear?
That one you’re always practicin’. The plucking one.
Another rumble between your shoulder blades. His chest jolts with a solid laugh. The pluckin’ one.
You know the one.
I know the one.
Will you play it, if I go get the guitar?
Baby, his lungs nudge on your back as they fill, it’s late. We’ll wake the neighbors.
Everyone’s at the dance. C’mon.
And he can’t argue with that. The entire street lies dark, vacant. Yours is the only house with soft-glowing eyes, the muted orange of the fire flickering behind closed blinds. Two figures, tangled in a chair on the dim front porch; a hunting jacket around his shoulders, and his body around yours.
You tug on the blanket, wrapping it around your elbows as you stand. Just once. Play me it once.
Joel’s looking up at you, setting his mug down on the table. Play you it as many times as you want, pretty bird. Just – quietly.
There’s a spring in your step that drags another chuckle from Joel’s lips: the kind that drips like honey down your throat and warms the pit of your stomach – a sweet, comforting thing, a sound you swear was made purposefully for you. Divine and deliberate.
Like – all of him. Like the shape of your name in his mouth, the curl of his tongue as the sound surfs over it. Like the curve of his hand and the way yours so neatly molds into it.
The way it did the day he found you, crouched in the gray backroom of some butchers deep in the city, and took you all the way back to Jackson. Let you cling to him on the back of his horse; your weak arms around his waist, anchored by the heavy jacket he’d thrown over your back. Your ear between his shoulder blades. And that was that.
Fifty-six. One brown-turned-silver hair away from thirty years your senior. He still remembers before. Talks about movies, talks about computers. Talks about Sarah, when the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and he reckons he could see her standing right there, the soft shadow of her hair dark against the golden wall. When you make a joke and he laughs a ghostly sort of laugh, like he’s hearing the echo of her voice make the same quip three decades ago. He always says she would’ve loved you; you like to think he’s right.
He found you: a lonely little broken heart, and he pulled you to your feet with a rough palm against your own. Hands calloused only from years spent carving wood and pressing the hard strings of his guitar into the fretboard, and nothing else. No violence and no bloodshed; no survival or threat. Music, and patience, and kindness.
And maybe you found him, too, in the same sort of way: roughened up, awkward and messy stitches holding him together. Maybe the two of you nursed one another back to life; each brush of your hands in the dining hall and each meaningful glance while out on patrol sewing those wounds up a little tighter, a little safer.
He sits forward when you hold the instrument out, sweeping a broad palm down the slope of the body. Pinches the pegs one by one, twisting them while his thumb taps on each string.
Come here, he says, beckoning you forward with a flick of his chin. He taps on the seam of his jeans, widens his legs for you to curl up between them at his feet – the way you always do.
Your elbows hook over his thigh, ear pressed against the inside of his knee. Staring up, blinking slowly, eyes glazed with the cold and with the light and with love.
He plucks gently, slow at first. Letting the strings snap with a twang, vibrating enough that you feel the small rattle in your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, head rocking with the light tap of his heel on the porch. When you peer at him through your lashes, he’s watching the skilled movements of his fingers intently; as if he’s as much a spectator as you are – his body doing all of the thinking and working for him.
 So, he sings, and your stomach melts to a puddle, so you think you can tell –
Your eyes close again, the low rumble of his voice crisp in your ears. Like thunder, like the promise of something great and mighty. Something moving, something rolling and changing the landscape of your body, your mind and your soul. The lines between living and dying begin to blur, the seam tearing between this plain and the next.
Did they get you to trade – your lips parting to whisper the words with him – your heroes for ghosts?
His thumbnail dragging down the strings, his strong fingers flitting between chords. Like he was made to sit here, in the dead of night, and carve a space in the world for himself and his voice and for you – lain in the safe scope of his body, protected by his breadth and brawn and lulled by his sweet song.
His breadth and brawn – the parts of him which have kept him standing here. His skeleton, his muscle. But the thing that keeps you warm at night, buried side by side under a threadbare woolen sheet together, the thing that you link your arms around as he leads you home from the nights you dare to visit the Tipsy Bison: are his heart, his flesh, the gray-singed hair which falls in a featherlight wave over his forehead. The hair you sweep from his eyes when he’s on top of you, his hips cradled in yours, that all-encompassing feeling of every part of him filling every part of you.
It all feels that way. The warmth of him, the feeling of being wrapped around him. Hooked around his body, bones intertwined. Absorbing one another, his words breathing life into yours, slowly growing louder and braver with each pluck and strum of music.
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.
Your makeups entangling, ribcages locking together, flesh meeting flesh and hair twisting until one day, Tommy will come looking for his brother and find the two of you here on your porch, your arms still draped over Joel’s thigh and his fingers still mid-song. Stuck, alone, together.
What have we found? Joel looks down to you as though asking the question – his eyebrows raised – and you reply, a dumb smile across your lips, The same old fears, and then, together –
Wish you were here.
He plays until his fingers must start to hurt, the way he clenches and loosens his fist. Setting the guitar against your chair, hands hooking under your arms to pull you back up to him.
That one your favorite? he asks, the cold tip of his nose circling yours.
You nod. Only when you sing it.
I like the way we sound together.
You smile, shrinking into his chest again, your fingers surfing back and forth on the worn shirt. I like the way we do a lot of things together.
His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, massaging your waist. He dots a trail of light, damp kisses along your forehead, dipping to your temple, the angle of your cheek until your jaw lifts and his lips are against yours, his tongue parting to lick purposefully at yours.
I love you, pretty bird, he whispers, the words falling sweet and fair on your tongue.
You take a moment to let them seep into your skin. ‘s the first time you’ve ever said that, you tell him.
Joel smiles. He knows. But you knew it already, he counters.
You know, too. Mhm.
Alright, he groans, slipping his hands under your thighs and hoisting you up to his height, bedtime.
It’s only ten, you complain, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he carries you inside. It’s too early to sleep – Joel.
Didn’t say we were goin’ to sleep, he mumbles, kicking the door shut.
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sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 months
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The idler wheel is wiser than the driver of the screw.
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Quick summary: After one too many drinks, you find yourself unable to think of anything but a certain smart-mouth detective who is in desperate need of a release.
Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)
Warnings: This is basically just SMUTT with a lil feelings (if you squint) sprinkled in there; kind of angsty at points (mentions of canon-typical death and violence (hellooo they're homicide detectives); gets a bit existential at points, watch out; pretentious.
A/N: YAY! I had this obsession with True Detective S1 all throughout October (watched it at my nan's house lmao), so enjoy the lovechild of that. This is just for fun, so, please, nobody be angry at me if they don't agree with Rust's characterisation, or any of the weird philosophical chat, lalallalal, OKAY ENJOY!!
***
The night air is sluggish and humid with the remnants of a warm summer’s rain, pressing down thickly, close, clogging, simmering just below the surface.
A few times, I’ve interviewed people who live in these sorts of places: motel-types, the “in-between”, where folks stay when they’ve either got no money, no choice or nobody. Other residents include passers-by who’re looking to save money on accommodation, skipping on the fancier places. Not that Louisiana really has any “fancier places”. Places without the paint peeling off walls like dead skin, I guess. A bed and breakfast in the nicer suburbia, with a view overlooking a subpar daydream of a ghost town centre. 
I’ve leaned up against the crooked, metal railing, felt the influence of my weight almost sending it and myself crashing down onto the faded parking lot beneath. I’ve leaned up there—after knocking—and waited, waited for a grey face to peer through a crack in the cracked door. I’ve smiled and remarked about how the beat-up, brass numbers up there are hanging by a thread. Sometimes, people are real stingy – they slink out and close the door behind them, or they remain in that little slit, just an eye visible, or they plain shut it in my face. Most let me in right away, maybe a little intimidated by the shiny badge clipped up in my jacket – I’ve sat across from ‘em, felt that mud in the room’s air seep into my pores, inviting me under its still swamp. 
Seems like the sort of place for him.
Too many a fuckin’ time, Marty’s come grumbling and muttering into the office kitchen, rolling his eyes, scoffing, huffing, the whole lot. And when I ask him why the strop?—“Ancient fuckin’ philosopher fuckin’ Rust Cohle on it again. Birthday’s comin’ up: get me earplugs and a generous bit o’ duct tape for my dear partner over there, would you?” 
Or somethin’ along those lines. 
For all his apparent talk about us silly, little “biological puppets”, this seems like Rust’s sort of place. Temporary existence, temporary living. Purgatory?
Whatever.
If you ask me, Rust Cohle’s head is so far up his own ass that it’s no wonder his outlook on life is so dark. 
If I was more sober, maybe I’d be thinking about it—about him—less—but this night out has had me so drunk I was maybe even hallucinating at some point. Rust?—sure, he’s been in the back of my mind for some part of the last few months – I have to see him most days I go to work, don’t I? – but, sometime in the space between my third and fourth shot of straight vodka, he was suddenly at the very front of it. I’d seen a guy who smoked like him: cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, a simple, deep drag. I’d thought it was him, but then I realised his face was shrouded in the smoke that he’d exhaled, and I recalled that Rust never seems to do that. Never seems to exhale. All the tar and shit stays in. 
With a twist of my keys, the engine rumbles off into more-or-less silence. Fuck, it’s a bad idea, yes, just being here. If he likes to keep his distance, well—he’s entitled to that choice. 
I glance over my shoulder, out the window, out at the complex which is all yellow and shining, illuminated by buzzing halogen light bars and, of course, the occasional bug zapper. It’s clean enough. The lines of this parking space were white enough. Apartment 11A, said Marty. Second floor. 
“Are you drunk?” he’d asked – Marty, not Rust.
I’d replied, “No,” pressing closer to the phone box in attempts to remove myself from the swarm and bustle of the ladies’ bathroom. And it was an honest reply. Sort of. Despite his scepticism, by that time, I’d long stopped drinking, and all that remained from it was a sort of numb tingle in my fingertips—as far as I was concerned. 
I don’t think I’d be in this parking lot, stepping out of my car, if I wasn’t still a little bit gone. 
Marty’s sigh had crackled through the receiver. “Don’t bring any o’ tha’ party-this-party-that attitude to ‘im, alright? He’ll hate it.” I’d told him okay, my stomach spiking up with excitement. “Fact is, I don’t think you should go at all. ‘f you do, should be a work matter. This a work matter, detective?”
I’d lied, said yes, perhaps with a slur to my voice. 
He clicked his tongue. “Okay, buck, whatever you say.” Then, he’d hung up. 
There was something disapproving in the manner of the conversation. I got the feeling that he was talking to me in the same voice he used to lecture his daughters. The only reason I’d called him was to get something from him, sure, so that I could basically get something from Rust, his partner. I could see how that sort of thing might’ve upset someone. Not that Marty Hart should have any right to judge, not when he’s coming into work in the same clothes as the day before, stinking of sweat and God knows what. The unsaid agreement of everyone in the office is to turn a blind eye. I’ve met his wife. Someone should cut off his damn dick. 
Quiet, now. Hell, who am I to talk? Marty’s fun to chat with, makes a slow day at the office a little brighter. ‘Course, there’s rarely a slow day at the office.
And I’m at the top of the stairs, now. And I knock—one, two, three—on the pilling, forest-green door. Dulled down 11A. Blinds are determinedly shut, slats flat. For a second, I think maybe I’ll be waking him.
Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep. 
A grey face appears as the door swings just a little ways open, grave and sunken-tired. His expression isn’t so pissed-off as it is just his usual expression. 
“Rusty,” I say to him with a small nod, words scraping out dryly. 
He doesn’t respond right away – ‘stead, he leans his body out partway, eyes absent like he’s searching for some hooligan criminal in the night.
“Marty told you my address?” he asks lowly. It’s more a statement than anything, but I amuse him with a nod anyways. There’s a cigarette flaring up between his fingers. His hand twitches a little like he’s wanting to take a drag, but his eyes are fixed on my shoes, now, like he’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m a foreign body in his domain. 
My toes curl up tight in my shoes – there’s that prick of anticipation again. Ice-cold, you could easily mistake it as dread. 
Rust doesn’t exactly subject me to an imploring look—not really his style—but he bows his head down just slightly – that’s sign enough for me. He wants to know why I’m here, and he no doubt wants to know the quickest way to be rid of me. 
I sigh. I ask him.
My body trembles, and he notices it, records it, stores it away for later reference, for some other time he’ll find that it and me will contribute to his purpose. 
Rust has a face of stone. I get to know it well as I search for a sign there that might let me know what lies beneath. But, of course, a statue is solid through and through. Sharp angles and smooth planes carved hollow. If he’s cold to the touch, I’d like to reach out and be sure. Is he cold where a man ought to be warm? Christ, it makes my pulse jump just to think about it. 
There is no greater purpose or cruel intention underlying my words, as far as I’m concerned. Rust, however, lingers there, with his arm up on the door, barricading the entrance, while he peels back and flits over every layer of possible meaning, his attention fixed absently on my left ear.
He then looks at me—briefly—in the eyes, with a sort of paralysing intensity. Even the tingling in my fingers ceases to be. 
It takes a moment, pregnant with the chorus of cicadas, crickets and other night-creatures, before he steps back neatly to allow me in.
The door clicks softly behind me as I enter into a room that’s bare as bare can be.  
Rust grunts, coming up around me and into the kitchen area. “Want anything?” he mumbles around his cigarette, other hand shoved in his pocket. He’s still half-dressed in his work clothes, his tie strewn on the counter, his blazer slumped over a rickety picnic chair perched up in front of a wall of crime scenes and dead bodies. My eyes linger there—how can they not?
“A beer,” I tell him, still looking at those photographs, then at the stacks upon stacks of books. Philosophy, ethics, religion. Names I’d expect only those with PhDs to know.  
“Don’t think you’ve had ‘nuff to drink already?”  
I shoot him a look. “I think I can handle it, Rust.” He straightens up, raises his brow. I snort, reasoning, “I’ll only have one.”
“One,” he agrees, opening up the fridge and having a rummage around.  
White walls and all of them empty, like some sort of psych ward. Half-sure Rust actually did do some time in that type of care, though, so—shouldn’t make any quips about that. I don’t want him thinking I think he’s crazy – he gets enough of that, I’m sure.   
Back at my place, though, I’ve got posters or drawings or paintings up around every corner. My niece’s drawing of a mermaid sits on my dresser, and photographs of my family are displayed in the hallway. One up by the TV, I painted myself when I was in high school. About two years after I graduated, they asked if I wanted my portfolio back, and I’d obviously said yes. And I love my stuff! Some ‘cause it’s pretty, others because of memories and whatnot. Guess some people don’t have that creative trait, or they lose it. Or maybe they detest the sentiments, those strings that have been, are and will be attached to things. When my cousin broke up with her boyfriend, she cut her hair and burned his clothes. “I just want to forget him,” she’d snarled. I’d sputtered a laugh into my tea.
Rust plants a Corona down on the counter, already cracked open.
There’s no mirror in here either – I can’t check whether I look as desperate as I feel. When I focus back on him, Rust is taking a swig from his own beer, turning to glance at the crucifix pinned above the messy mattress on the floor. Huh. Didn’t peg him as a Christian.
His honey-blond hair doesn’t look cold to the touch, that’s for sure ‘n’ certain. Wonder if he just wakes up like that or what. Once, Marty had been teasing him at work, even cracking a smile out of the old guy. “Ain’t them just the prettiest curls y’ever seen, buck?” he’d remarked, nudging into me, cooing at him. Silently, in my head, even then, I’d agreed: prettiest curls I’d ever seen. Rust hadn’t looked up to chart my reaction, but, if he had, he’d maybe have seen my fidgeting fingers or hitch of breath. Or maybe he felt it, heard it. 
“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” I offer pathetically through a nervous smile. 
He blinks, takes another swig, leaning over the counter that separates us. “No, y’aint.”
Jesus, I have to turn my head and shut my eyes for a second. I don’t particularly believe in God, but I ask Him to please give me the strength to resist my urges and act like a normal damn person for at least a few more minutes. And then I apologise for only praying out of convenience. In the face of temptation. This is why people shouldn’t drink – still, doesn’t stop me from downing a good part of my beer.
I turn to the wall and try to turn myself off a little bit. It’s not hard – Rust still has Dora Lange (rest her soul) pinned up on his wall, naked, blue, stiff. I don’t want to know why, so I don’t ask him. 
His eyes are adamant on the side of my head. Funny how he never seems to look at me at the same time I’m looking at him. Pisses me off a lot of the time – not just him, but in general. A lot of people share this same fear of not being heard, not being listened to and not being cared about. Men in particular, I’ve noticed, have a tendency to raise their voice over others’, to yell or shout or hit things or push ‘n’ shove. Marty’s that way – a lot of men at the precinct are, too. Women who are raised to be the listeners sometimes act out in the same way, frustrated at all the things they have to care about that men don’t, burdened with manners and politeness. I used to hate having to listen, to wait for the man who interrupted me to finish speaking. Rust always lets people finish their point, for better and for worse. Pisses me off in a different type of way. I can feel his judgement seeping out of him, so potent that’s it’s tangible, lapping at my feet.
He doesn’t push and shove – he’s a listener, too. Of course, he has that male privilege where his silence has a gravity, a magnetic pull, where mine is simply as is. At least he pays attention. Sure, on the surface, it might look like he doesn’t care at all, hunched over a case file at his desk, back turned to me and the rest of the lot, but proximity has its power – assigned workspaces put with his personality, and he knows what’s like and unlike me better than my sister. He’s reading into my refusal to talk, to face him – unlike me.
“So, you’ve given this some thought, then,” Rust says matter-of-factly, and my tummy bubbles up.
I snicker nervously, heart racing. God, I’d expected surprise, disbelief, outright refusal, maybe even a little disgust, but, when I manage to turn around and look at his face again, it just seems to me like a calmness. Stoicism found in the affirmation, maybe, of his expectations. It’s like I’m walking right into one of those little theories of his: a proved hypothesis.
I take another sip from my beer, feeling too shy for my liking. “Well, yeah,” I drawl, slumping over the kitchen counter and propping my chin up to look right back at him in a surge of liquid confidence. “I always think ‘fore I do anything that’s anything, Rust.”
Almost immediately, he retreats, standing up straight and resting the small of his back against the lip of the sink behind him. He hums, glances away. “We both know that’s a lie,” he combats, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tilted up, eyes down. A mouthful of beer numbs the sting of rejection. “What you mean is you think you can justify all your decisions. You think you can justify why you knocked on my door and said what you said—” he elaborates quietly, eliciting a snort from me, “—but, at the end o’ the day, all your decisions boil down to what you feel is right, not what is right.”
“‘n' you think you ‘n’ you alone know what’s right?”
Slate-grey eyes flit up and down my face, like I’m a specimen on a slide.
“I think that the girl who’s stumbled up on a fella’s door asking him to fuck her is less inclined to know, without bias, what’s right, yes.”
I swallow thickly, sucking the remaining flavour of beer off of my tongue before going in for another swig.
Christ.
Not a single bat of his eyes. Not a quiver of his mouth, not a twitch to his nose, not a morsel of natural, human hesitation. Does he have to be so crass? I did the courtesy of making it palatable, at least to my own ears, with a euphemism. But when have I ever known Rust Cohle to water anything down? No drink I’ve ever consumed will match his body’s preference of alcohol content. He’s nursing his beer close to his chest, but who knows what poisons lay dormant in these cabinets?
“Rusty,” I say lowly, maybe asking for a break – I close my eyes for just a second, part because I couldn’t bear it if I caught some sort of disapproval on his face, and part because it’s just past two o’clock in the morning.
Late nights have consumed my life recently, what with that sicko rapist connected to a Christian fertility cult. Children of God – “go forth and multiply”. His confession had turned my blood cold. Johansson had offered to sit in the box instead, but I did it anyway. I went home and cried over it, then came into work the next day to talk to some press and then receive my new assignment.
He hums, taking a drag from his cigarette, swallowing the smoke down. Rust knows how it is. To be honest, I’m probably the one who doesn’t know the half of it. One night at the office, he’d casually confessed to his insomnia, like he was just commenting on the state of the weather ‘n’ nothin’ else. So, I guess I won’t pretend to get it.
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Are you into that whole abstinence thing?”
The weak light above flickers gently as he pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Anyone else would’ve surely laughed.
“I believe that man is susceptible to desire, yes—but he can resist it and its consequences should his willpower be stronger than the false promises posed by that temptation.
I snort again, because, now, I really am tipsy, and I can’t hold in my attitude any longer. It’s not that I think he’s lost it or whatever. It’s just—he’s so—objectively—absurd. Well—“objectively”. He’s got points, but those points lose all meaning in the spiralling darkness of overthought and deep contemplation wherein he’ll explain that everything really means nothing—and he’ll be right about that, sure, but also unintentionally prove a point about himself. I’d ask him what it means when, in a world where everything means nothing, a child will give their friend a flower found on the way to school, but I feel like his answer would be too morbid for my liking. Does that make me an unreliable source? The fact that I want to live?
He's absurd. He’s also a little bit awry in the head. Don’t know what he’s lost or what he’s lookin’ for, but it’s not a good look on him. He’s honest, yes – that’s a good trait. But honesty without kindness is cruelty. And he is kind – underneath, he’s kind, and I know that because of how hard he works to weed out evil people in this world, most times at his own risk. That’s kindness, albeit unconventional, whether he realises it or not.
The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.
“So, what?” I challenge under the guise of a teasing grin. “You can go mouthin’ off for hours on end about how up themselves religious people and all’at are, but you can’t draw the similarities between their philosophy and your philosophy? How does that work, Rust?”
While I was working that Children of God nightmare of a case, he just couldn’t seem to restrain himself – every bullshit word that left him revealed to me his hubris. Now, I’m not angry, and he’s not stupid – we’re not arguing. In fact, he seems intrigued, lean body shifted toward me. He sets his beer down on the counter, crosses his arms over his chest after securing his cigarette between his lips, and lowers his head as if to listen to me better.
I sigh, continue. “D’you know what I think? I think you oversimplify humanity. You’re a great detective—‘nd I guess you know it—and, within the confines of your job, it serves you well, makes you good in the box. But your assumptions are too general. People are who they are, sure, but they also decide to be those people. By their environment and those who surround ‘em, people make the decisions that define ‘em. A lot of the time, their circumstances ain’t fair. People born into badness are trapped by the badness—either physically, or up in their heads—and they have a tough time escapin’ it.”
Rust inhales the smoke again, the only evidence of it happening being the soft whisp that curls away from his nose. I wonder to myself how his lungs are still standing.
“‘s that how you explain that—homicide case you’re workin’ on?” Three-year-old boy died of neglect, his siblings found locked in cabinets, one in a dog cage, by their mother and stepfather. Rust’s eyes flash silver. “Killer had a tough time?”
Asshole.
I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Don’t be mean, Rusty,” I scold, and he blinks in concession. “I think evil exists. I think it’s complicated. I think you summarise things that ought not to be summarised.”
He’s silent for a heartbeat. Then, his hand comes up to pinch away his cigarette, and he waves it in a small flourish, explaining, “When I say “people”, I mean society. Human culture.”
“Last I checked, Rust, you don’t know everybody on the planet. You don’t know their “culture”, or experiences.” That seems to shut him up. My eyes wander to his broad shoulders, trail along the meat of his arms beneath the cheap, polyester shirt that hugs close to the muscle, and they linger there like the quiet that settles between us.
He nods slowly, once. “Our decisions define us?”
I bob my head, unabashedly staring at the elegant column of his throat, his neck, and the stretch of tan skin that is settled beneath the white undershirt revealed by the first one, two, three buttons which have recently been undone.
He’s quieter when he asks me, “Well, how does this decision define you, then?” There’s nothing malicious about the way he says it, or even lustful – just a calm curiosity.
“Ain’t it obvious?” I grin again, laugh a little, blush hotly. “I’m horny!” I hide my face in my shoulder, trying to compose the hiccups of laughter in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I snicker, wiping my palm over my brow, my eyes. “This probably isn’t very attractive to you.”
“You’re a very pretty girl,” he replies. He mutters my name solemnly, like we’re in a formal meeting or something.
I glance up, check whether he’ll offer me eye contact again, but he doesn’t – he’s staring at the wall, lost.
I scoff. “You’re a very pretty guy, Rust.”
God willing, none of the boys at the precinct will ever find out about this. If Marty lets it slip that I even asked for Rust’s address, then I’ll never hear the end of it. Worse, everyone’ll think I’m dead-gone over him. Guess I don’t really fit the standards expected of women around here: “wife”, or “whore”. Or “dead”. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously going about pretending I’m not interested in sex at all. Once sex comes into the equation, I’ll be reduced to that and nothing else. 
Anxious, I start flicking up under my fingernails. Is Rust already starting to think those things, too? I’m a great detective, but that’s the only capacity in which he’s really known me. 
I wring the neck of my bottle. “I should explain—”
He holds his hand up, stating, “I don’t need you to. Do you feel the need to?” 
Curious, wary, I watch his face, a blank slate. Still waters run deep. My eyes drift down, to where his hands are together in front of him, one relaxed beside him the other curled around his wrist with two fingers resting on the pulse.
“No,” I reply. 
“You thought it over,” he says, eyes tilting up at the ceiling, aloof, bored, maybe. His words are sort of monotone, like he’s reciting a passage from a book that he’s just recently read: “You chose me because you know me. You haven’t been sleeping well. You’re stressed, you’re scared, you’re frustrated.” He blinks. “You’re attracted to me due to some—unfortunate trigger beyond your control in the reptilian part of your brain.” Brief as the flicker of a candle in a still room, he looks over me, brow raised slightly as if daring me to tell him that he’s wrong. He pauses again, takes a short puff. “It makes you think I can take care o’ your needs.”
Look at the state of him: sallow and wilting on the inside. Reducing me down to a sentence or two, and being right about it.
“Well, can you?” I ask weakly, feeling small. He looks over me, blinks blankly. “How do you take care of your needs?” No reply. “You do have needs, don’t you?” I remark, tapping the rim of my bottle to my warm temple. “Programming ‘n’ whatnot.” 
He tilts his head away in dismissal. 
I smile, more to myself than to him. “Beat off in the shower, is it?”
For a second, Rust is still. My eyes grow heavy, admiring the strong profile of his nose. He then nods helplessly, like there’s no point in trying to lie.
I hum, a soft, self-satisfied smirk edging its way onto my face. “Must feel like a sin,” I snicker.  
He squints slightly, like he disagrees with my logic, but does not interrupt to protest. 
“I remember takin’ baths as a teenager and double-checkin’, triple-checkin’ I locked the door,” I confess. “Couldn’t take my time. ‘S that how it is for you, Rust?” I probe, tilting my head to the side, losing his eyes as quickly as I catch them. “You ever let yourself enjoy it? Let yourself want it—?”
“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.
“But your programmin’ says you do, right?” I point out, scrambling to hold onto the flaw in his argument. I search his face, my own bright, eager.
He quirks up a miraculous smile, and I myself burst into a wide grin. Still smiling—though, you’d have to admit, it’s such a strange sight, sort of gratifying, almost patronising—he shifts his weight between his feet, scratches at his nose with his pinkie, sniffs, takes a long drag of his dying cigarette. I know he must feel disjointed, though he doesn’t show it: he’s misstepped, and I’ve caught him. And how often does Rust Cohle misstep? I should’ve checked the news for a blue moon tonight. 
Interested, now, is he? Breathing quietly, rolling his jaw – he’s entertaining the competition I have goin’ up in my head. From the looks of the gentle smirk on his face, he’s enjoying it, too. 
“No,” he corrects with a dry husk to his voice. “No, I know what I want, and, when I think those things are necessary or useful, I know how to get them.”
In this type of context, I’d like to see him try. Though, he is an undeniably attractive man. Thick, solid all the way through, like a rich wood. But he’s got these brittle eyes: fraying.
He continues: “Most of the time, though, what we want is born out of dangerous feelings, like rage or lust. Ruminating on the consequences of those potential actions seems to me the more sensible thing to do than to just leave it and find out.” I sniff. “Desire is inescapable for most, including the sexual kind. I feel it—“ he eyes how I wriggle beneath my skin, “—you feel it. But it can be resisted. You’re lettin’ it dictate what you do ‘n’ say. If I do to you what you want me to, have you thought about how it might affect things down the line? Tomorrow, next week, next month—?”
“Yes,” I hiss, a little too emotionally, such that a gleam of satisfaction crosses his grey eyes at the strain and stretch of my voice. Christ. Desperate much?
I take several seconds to think before allowing myself to speak again, all while staring at him straight on and refusing to look away: I’d just die if I let him catch me out. “Well, how can you be sure of the fallout? How do you know the good won’t outweigh the bad? Not “you” specifically, but, also, yeah, “you” specifically. I can think about something morally ambiguous, and I can evaluate the potential consequences, and, just as you are satisfied to observe, I will decide to follow through with this somethin’ and deal with what I gotta deal.”
He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?” 
I tuck my hair tight behind my ears. “Yes.”
And he hums – that beautiful noise resonates in my stomach before sinking down there, low, its weight a comfort. “I agree with you in that respect,” he admits. 
A laugh erupts out of me like the sputter of an engine. Luckily, I’m easy to laughter – it’s like me, as is my genuine grin. “Rust Cohle’s agreein’ with me on somethin’?—Call the police!” 
“We are the police,” he replies smartly, watching me snort and smile and grow flushed in the face. I feel very grateful to that beer – at least my giddiness can be blamed on the effects of alcohol and save me from embarrassment.  
As I simmer down, he looks away, adds, “I agree to an extent. People all think that they’re one-of-a-kind. That they make these—amazing decisions. They speak and do and walk and play and work and fuck and eventually die – all of ‘em.”
“You’re part of the people,” I argue.  
He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”
“If a person acts due to their instinct, whether it’s succumbing to it or fighting against it, then isn’t man simply his programming?” He lowers his head. “You can be aware of it, and you can be a part of it, too. Who are you to deny yourself the good parts?”  
He fiddles with his cigarette, svelte fingers nimble and acute. I cross my legs, flex my hips; he notices. 
“Because of the consequences,” he replies, a soft whisper.  
I thought that everything meant fuck-all?
For someone who sees no meaning in life, he sure seems to spend a lot of time contemplating it. Here, I thought I’d have hot hands sliding all over me, gripping, spreading, pushing, but instead find myself defence in an unprecedented debate. 
Rust is breathing slower, deeper, almost unable, now, to look me in the eyes, even look at me in general, whereas, before, it had been a choice, whether that choice be conscious or unconscious. His cigarette burns weakly in his fingers, forgotten. The muscle in his jaw flexes, his expression hollow. 
My body buzzes with want, leaves me scrambling for breath like I’ve just run a race. I want. I want, I want, I want. The rough pads of his fingertips, the surest and most confident I’ll have ever known. Sharp tongue, quick and precise. Something about how he smells. All my compliments to pheromones – even in the heavy musk of the bar, I’d smelled him, ashy, warm, alive, and now it’s wreathing all around. Or maybe that’s just me – it’s like when you try to take someone’s pulse with your thumb, and all you’re feeling is your own heartbeat.
I want – my breath trembles with it.
“Rust,” I say softly. He shakes his head a little, looking away still, vulnerable like a wild animal. I sigh, gnawing at my lip. “I really want it. I—I’ve—it’s not just a rash decision,” I explain. “I’ve wanted it for a while, now.”
He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”
I huff out a sheepish laugh, fix my eyes on my restless hands. “You won’t remember it—”
“I will.”
His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up. 
“A year back,” I tell him. “You were working at the office—late, in the dark. You called me, and I asked you why, and you said—it was because you were tired and thinkin’.” I glance up to check if he’s maybe looking, but he’s not – he’s turned his head even further away. The soft, gentle curls of his hair tempt me. 
Blindly reaching for the bottle, securing it almost immediately, he finishes the rest of his beer, then sets it back down. 
“I—” he begins, scratching his nose, “—I was—tired.” He pauses to re-thicken his voice. “And—thinking—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the both of us know what he said that night: Of you. Thinking of you—of me .  
My stomach flips, leaving me almost nauseous, just like it did when I first heard those words. At first, I thought I’d misheard, that I was so tired my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, I thought he was being cruel, or maybe he was drunk. Those two instances weren’t—aren’t—unlike him, but he never, ever calls to be mean or to be stupid. He’d been quiet and warm through the phone after that, a presence so thick I could’ve sworn he had his arms around me right then. I hadn’t slept well for a time, then, of course, and that made it all the more vivid. His voice had made me shiver all the way through as he told me he had to get back to work. 
When I saw him the next morning, I couldn’t look at him. It was the first time I couldn’t, not wouldn’t. It was also the first time I felt him paying attention to me.  
I shift, ask the question I’d wondered since that call: “Why?”
A pause. 
Then: “You brought me coffee that morning,” he explains softly, speaking to the wall opposite. “I was—looking at the mug on my desk – it was yours. Green one you like to use.” He sniffs. “And…” He teeters on the precipice of that word but does not finish the thought. 
Hmm. That’s something to think about. Rust Cohle thinking about me and not picking apart why and why he shouldn’t be. It had been a mindless enough gesture – it’s not unheard of me to be makin’ coffee for other people in the office, not because I have to but because I like to. For the people I can stand, that is: Johansson always, and him for me; Cathleen;   Marty, when I’m not pissed off at him; and Rust, from time to time. Everybody knows that green mug is mine, though – nobody touches it, not even the boss. Rust reads far too much into things. Most of the time, he’s dead-on. I should’ve known from the moment I placed that coffee on his desk, from the sharpening of his eyes (that did not spare me a glance) that lingered on my lingering hand on his table, that he knew. Figured out something I hadn’t even quite figured out myself. Not until later that night. 
I wonder if he’s ever thought of me when fucking his own hand. I wonder if he thinks about me sometimes, when he can’t sleep, in between horror stories and brutal blows and uncovering the secret truths of the universe. I do, sometimes. 
When I push myself back to my feet, stand up, Rust’s attention springs back, and he watches me, looks at me.
Quietly, I relish in the satisfaction of his stare, crossing on light feet to toss my empty beer bottle in the bin. He steps aside to let me open the cupboard under the sink, his hand curled in a loose fist by his side. I’m not trying to tease him – I grant him the space he so clearly needs, retreating about five paces back, leaning slightly myself against the counter. 
I could say anything right now, no matter how insane, and he’d treat it with total and utter respect. I could reveal to him the reaction my body has to seeing his fingers fiddle like that with his cigarette, and he’d manage to identify the cogs and wheels in what, when you step back, actually turns out to be a hidden machine. Christ, I could probably remove all of my clothes, stand naked in front of him, and he’d look on as one would look on at a piece of evidence at work. Going over the details, once, twice, scribbling it all down in that big, leather ledger. 
Here’s what I think: he needs it. For all his talk about how unoriginal, how predictable mammals are at the end of things, he probably knows that himself. The tension in his jaw, the perpetual tightness of breath. That clipped way of talking he has, wound so tight around himself, like a compressed spring fighting its natural urge to let go.  
I could make him let go. Maybe. I wish he’d let me try. It’s nothing possessive, really: wanting to be the one to unravel his tightly coiled body. Just—the release of seeing him be. No thinking in particular – just being.
He is still, however, uncommonly mute, avoiding my eyes.
I sigh. I ask him tentatively, “You think I ought’a be ashamed o’ myself?” biting down on the fleshy inside of my cheek.  
“No,” he contradicts.
“But—you think I should be findin’ my fun elsewhere, with—some other guy?”  
He sort of pins his hands behind his back, pressing his weight against them there at the edge of the sink. He looks a lot taller from this angle. “I think there’s a lotta fellas stumblin’ over themselves to be with a girl like you.”
“Maybe,” I scoff, “but my reptilian brain don’t want none of ‘em.“ I blush warmly when I glance up and he’s there watching me, though there’s no bashfulness at all on his side of it. 
I expect him to maybe dart his eyes away again, like he does, and then walk me to the door, maybe even to the car if I haven’t offended him too badly, and then call it a night. I could stuff it in; I can compartmentalise. Monday would carry on as it always does, except now without the wondering and the yearning and the delusion. Did he have to be so good-looking? His cheap, wrinkled shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows—like they are now—and those lean forearms braced up on the table, caging in the neatly set-out notes scrawled up in his ledger, like they have mind to escape. And he’s—beautiful. He’s tall. Out-of-place sort of tall, where he has this bend to his neck, sometimes, as to not draw attention to himself. Other times, though, he stands to full height, regal, elegant, authoritative, like when he comes out o’ the box.
He sees into people. He feels it all so deeply.  
And he’s looking at me, seeing into me, deeply. His eyes are brittle like china pieced back together with store-bought glue. The low light casts long shadows down his neck and harsh face. 
“Come here to me, Rust,” I say to him, beckoning him over with a tilt of my head. To my surprise, he does. He does immediately, peeling himself off the counter, eyes drifting somewhere just behind me as if disinterested.
He stubs his cigarette out on an old plate, abandons it there officially, before stepping slowly towards me, feet never dragging, dodging my searching eyes like the plague.
Hmm. Maybe I made a good argument “for” to his “against”. Or maybe he was never “against” to begin with. I’ll watch him carefully tomorrow and see if there was anything I missed.
I reach up and touch his face gently. I used to do this with my husband before he passed, and he’d close his eyes and whisper my name and lean into the touch, tender, loving – my fingers shake slightly with the memory. Rust Cohle does none of that, because he is nothing like my husband. He’s perfectly rigid against my fingertips; his stare flits briefly up right into my soul, his mouth pressed in a hard line. Everything about him is so sharp. The ridge of his cheekbones, the defiant slant of his nose. The lean muscle of his arms and shoulders, slightly sinewy just beneath the skin. 
But when I brush my thumbs up along his eyebrows, easing the sharp line between them, he sighs and closes his eyes, neck bowing down, still as stiff as before, just—different. A small gap, an opening, to that locked room of his upstairs.  
“Rust,” I whisper, nose brushing his. He hums again, lowly, eyes shut. “What do you think of us havin’ sex?”
“Sex,“ he replies softly, “is the illusion of connection constituted by the release of a mess of happy hormones, simply by touching all the right places—and nothin’ more.”
I hum and watch the look on his face grow brittle as our breaths mingle closely. God, he’s so near to me that my head swings in a bout of lightheadedness, heady, vision centring in on him and only him, such that I wouldn’t know if this place was burning down all around, even if the flames started eating us alive.  
“I think you’re full o’ shit, Rusty. Know how I know that?”
He sighs shakily. “How?” It’s like the word is dragged right from the pit of his chest, barely a breath to show for the effort of it.
“I can feel you against my leg.” 
He swallows thickly, but he does not blush, and he does not open his eyes. And, contrary to what he might seem, Rust is not cold like stone. When my fingers grow more confident, when they trace and drag lightly along the line of his cheeks, he is warm there. His pulse, when I find it, exists and is hot and slightly erratic, a fact that leaves my mouth dry and open. I can feel the inflexion of his throat as he swallows again, the shift of the skin and the rhythm of his heartbeat, the gentle influence of his breathing. 
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So, I ask him, “Can I kiss you?” ever so gently. 
Softer still, he replies, “Yes,” with that slight Southern whistle of his, barely moving. 
Give me strength. Give me strength. 
That look on his face is filling me with a delicious, vibrating power. As I stretch my neck up to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, my eyes are open and watching him, charting him: Rust breathes strongly out of his nose, eyes still determinedly shut, like he’s absent and meditating. He is not tough as stone – parts of him are soft. He barely returns the kiss, but, as far as my brain processes, his lips are soft. Hesitant, maybe. 
Then, these soft lips part, and he is sucking in a hot, shuddering breath, capturing me in a deep kiss, as if to breathe all of me in, a strong hand threading through my hair. It hurts a little at first – a small noise escapes my throat at the slight shoots of pain tugging at the roots – but Rust doesn’t seem to notice. Not at first. No, he’s still breathing me in. His lips are dry, rough, a push and tug, a twist, and he’s kissing like a punch, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Whatever oxygen I manage to hold onto is sucked out of me promptly. 
I whine, my body going all slack and tired as he smooths the hair out of my face, palms dragging clean back across my cheeks. Those hands cradle the back of my head, making it impossible to keep my eyes open.
Content, I sigh, eyes succumbing to the sensation and falling shut. The last thing I see is his own eyes slipping open to look at my face.
Boy, he’s a good kisser. Must be that lizard brain he has such a distaste for.
My fingers blindly reach and fumble at his belt, hooking into the waist, pulling him flush against me. Rust must forget what he’s doing for a moment, and he pauses where he is, in limbo, eyes far away. When I begin to unthread his belt from its quietly clinking buckle, he goes stiff again, blinks rapidly before perceiving me. 
Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.
His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite committed to the contact. 
He’s seeing me—really seeing me—as I unzip his trousers and spit crudely into my palm and curl around the length of him, warm, tight. I begin to understand the gentle throb and strain he feels, a delightful thrill running rapid all through my insides. He feels deliciously alive. 
But then he turns his head away, neck straining up, breath choked back in his throat. His hands come away, raised, it looks like, as if trying to seem non-confrontational, trying to come away unscathed from a bad situation. 
My stomach burns with desire. “Let yourself like it, Rust,” I mumble against his cheek. “Are you here with me?” 
I can feel him swallow.
“Yes,” he responds. I guide his face to me, stroking his cock confidently once, twice, as encouragement, maybe. Temptation. Whatever you want to call it. My mouth waters, my head goes airy, when I feel his sex twitch in my embrace. 
“Kiss me again, then.” 
And he does. Brows furrowed as if in pain, he does, with the tip of his nose dragging and pressing into my cheek. He kisses me sweetly once, then again, and then pants down hotly into my mouth, hovering there before sliding his tongue deep inside, close, smooth. 
I let myself love it. I let myself let go with every kiss he blesses me with, growing looser and easier and lighter each second. 
The weight of him in my hand inspires a beautiful urge to have him lay down and let me feel every part of his body. Even though his hips stutter, he doesn’t buck up into my fist, doesn’t whine, doesn’t moan, doesn’t curse. Not yet. He just breathes and breathes, and kisses me and kisses me, like it’s all he was set on Earth to do. All he’s allowing himself to do.
Desperate, perhaps, my thighs are pressed against his, feeling unnaturally weak and warm. The throb between my legs coincides with my heart rushing in my ears, a steady ache, impatient. Part of me wants to drag this out as long as possible, because what if this never happens again?—and another part wants to push him inside me already, have him fill me up, fuck me stupid. 
This thought stuffs me up to the brim, like cotton punched down into a pillowcase. I whine shallowly and try to slot his thigh between my own. 
A switch in his brain must flick on. 
It’s like he’s inside my head, like he’s in on my desperation, like he can see and feel every sinful image and thought circulating my alighted brain. He knows it all so well, such that he uses his hips to press us firmly against the counter, spreads my legs with the nudge of his foot between mine, and immediately pushes the rough pads of his fingers right where I need it, through the fabric of my skirt, letting me grind myself against him, hips and all. He circles there generously. I can feel my need dripping from me. He can too, no doubt. 
I sigh, he breathes. I gasp, he breathes. My eyes flutter open and shut, but he looks on, eyes half-lidded but stare immovable. 
He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt. 
“That feels good, don’t it?” he says gently, rocking me over his knee up and down, back and forth, fingers digging into the soft skin of my hips.
My legs widen. When I gasp out weakly, he raises his brow and scans my face, like he had predicted the shaky, wordless nod that I offer to him too late in return. 
“Did you want it like this, girl?” His voice is low, intimate, a hit of something just shy of addictive. “Or did you want somethin’ else, too?” 
He kisses the hollow of my neck. 
His other hand grips at my ass, up my skirt, kneading the flesh there, manipulating it, and his fingers ghost my slit, spreading me around his knee. He fucks up into my hand. I slide my fingers through his hair, which is soft and warm like butter. 
Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid, pretty curls. I’ve proved my point: regardless of whatever act he may try to put on afterwards, we’ll both know that Rust isn’t as numb as he wants to be, that I made him feel good, that I made him want me, and that he’s hot-blooded and thrumming with life. I can feel how alive he is . I hope he thinks of this again some time, whether by himself or surrounded by people. I hope it drives him a bit mad, remembering this. 
A hot, sharp breath fans out across my cheek, his mouth slotting back over mine, open, daring me. 
I rut against his knee, my fingers teasing the wet head of his cock. I look down between us, at my hand on him, with half a mind to drop onto my knees and make him cum down my throat.
Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.  
Then, he gently grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, leaving me dazed and confused. With nimble fingers, he unzips my skirt, pushing it over my hips and dragging his hands over my bare skin. He asks me, “You want the bed?”
I step out of the pool of fabric around my feet, slide my shoes off. “‘s not a bed.” 
I slide my fingers beneath his sweaty, white undershirt, feeling the taut muscle there, feeling the steady breaths that contradict his racing pulse. He holds my eyes, dipping slightly when I dip, tilting when I tilt. “Seems like one to me.”
How unlike him. 
A smile spreads over my face, and his pupils blow wide, dark, imploring. “You wait ‘n’ see what happens when the dust-mites turn up.” 
His eyes on me alone are enough to leave me breathless, chest caving in on itself. Of course, when he kisses me softly, it only makes things worse – his long fingers curl around the base of my throat, watching me watching him, and his other hand slides up under the hem of my blouse, palm spread over my bellybutton. 
I sigh, try not to squirm. 
“You want the bed?” he repeats, heavy, rough. I bite back a needy whine that sits at the back of my mouth. His fingertips press down slightly into my pulse, tightening my breathing. 
I nod. “Yeah.” 
Think of all the times I’ve sulked over his lack of eye contact with me. Was I annoying? Uninteresting? That, obviously, was an immature way of looking at things, definitely not improved by my distinct femininity undergoing some kind of unspoken disapproval by most I met on the job. This is the most present he has ever been in a moment with me around.
As he pulls himself away, steps back, his eyes are darting over my face, less like he’s judging me and more like he’s trying to find and memorise every detail. I do that, sometimes: if I pay well enough attention, it feels like I’m re-living the moment when remembering. 
His hands slot sensibly into his pockets as if his cock isn’t blushing and poking out of his fly right now, belt undone, hanging low about his narrow hips. 
Legs don’t fail me now. I slink out of the glowing kitchen and carry on to where the mattress lies in a dim, blue corner, the strange crucifix watching over, a long shadow cast over the empty wall upon which it hangs. He follows shortly behind me, his warmth radiating out onto my back. 
I pause and look out onto the darkness revealed behind the half-open slats of the floor-to-ceiling blinds that shield the room from the window to the outside world. 
Rust’s presence is intoxicating behind me. He smells like cigarette smoke, still, enticing. I’m trying to quit, but he makes it damn hard. His nose is just shy of my hair, his body so close to enveloping me into him – the prospect of it makes me shiver in delight. I must hallucinate his fingertips along my spine. 
I unbutton my blouse with slow fingers, then slide it off and undo my bra. 
His breathing is level and grounding by my ear as he comes close, sliding his strong, wide hand up my stomach, along my ribs, and cups under my soft breast. He rubs over my nipple in gentle circles before squeezing over me warmly. He then comes around to pinch the creamy tissue gentle between his fingers and thumb, closing his hot mouth over, drawing along his feverish tongue. I sigh, stroke his hair, let him press soft pecks and kisses to the curve of the soft flesh and to my sternum.
My fingers, cupped around the nape of his neck, dip under the collar, cool. This touch, for some reason, causes him to make some sort of breathless, pathetic noise against me. His eyes are half-shut. 
“Anything else philosophical y’wanna get out before we fuck?” I quip smartly (though, not feeling so smart altogether), hand placed innocently on his hip. 
He lifts his head, removes his hands from my body – he looks so tragically beautiful in this light. “You want me inside you?” he asks genuinely, seemingly aloof to the fact I’m naked in front of him, open and wanton and pressing my thighs together, his eyes never drifting from mine.
“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper. 
He seems to really think about it – he’s always thinking. Briefly, his eyes flit down to my mouth. Then, he looks away, scratches at his forehead. 
After a moment longer, he swallows thickly and tips his head down over to the bed, tells me, “Lie down on the mattress,” in a gentle, decisive tone. He’s so soft-spoken – it makes my toes curl. 
I do as told, transfixed by the dark shadow in his eyes, and sink down to sit and then recline back on his coarse mattress, coarse bedsheets, with my weight on my forearms and chin tilted up towards him. He watches me, tucking his thick cock back into his underwear.
Still fully dressed in his work attire, he takes a step forward, looming over me, powerful, assertive. Saliva pools in my mouth—again—as I play with the thought of him sitting heavy on my tongue with his stomach tight, shaking, hands in my hair, fucking down my throat. I would let him. Hell, I’d probably let him do anything he wanted to me at this point. 
Does he know that? Maybe. I don’t know.
As he reaches his hand out too smooth the hair out of my face, I try to figure it out, but I can’t – he seems too wrapped up in his own desire to be thinking anything at the moment. I feel a flicker of satisfaction jump up in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe that’s something else. 
“Lie back, girl,” he tells me. 
My cunt flexes. 
I thump onto my back, breathless. “Take off your shirt, Rust.” 
Without replying, he sinks down to his knees in front of me, my thighs. Instinctively, I prop myself up and watch him unbutton that wrinkled shirt all the way down, shrug it over his broad shoulders. I could fuck myself silly just over the thought of those shoulders, I remark inwardly. He tugs the wifebeater over his head, lean muscles catching the low light, strong, study, solid, and tosses the thing to the side thoughtlessly. My hands reach out to touch him, to feel him and know him. When my fingers press into his skin, glide up his neck and down over his chest, he sighs deeply. He then carefully removes my hands, urging me to sprawl down under him.
“Said lie back, didn’t I?” 
Rust doesn’t say another word before placing his large hands on my knees and easing them apart, lowering himself to press pecks and slow, open-mouthed kisses to my thighs, closer, closer, stroking my sensitive skin gently. I almost flinch at his every touch, like it burns. His face is awful serious, like he’s concentrating. I wriggle in anticipation, eager. 
“Rust,” I whisper purposelessly. He looks up, hums, searches my face for anything the matter. 
I watch on desperately, on the brink of feral distress. A sob clogs my throat as he kisses my fluttering stomach, ducking his head down and curling his forearms, his hands, around my thighs. The dark stamp of his bone-bird tattoo curls over his arm. I realise he is waiting for my attention to return to him, his eyes patient but glazed over with something cardinal. Hungry.
“Can—?”
“Yes.” 
He hums. And then he breathes hotly over my underwear before pressing his nose right there into the damp fabric, inhaling my scent there. I whimper at the pressure he applies with the strong bridge of his nose, at the wetness of his open mouth against me. He breathes heavily into me, groaning slightly beneath it all – I can’t tell past the thrumming of my heart in my ears.  
“Rust,” I whisper again, my shoulder straining with the task of keeping me up and looking down at the sight of his sweet head buried between my glistening thighs.   
“Lie back.”  
He kisses me through my underwear, dutifully kneading the flesh of my hips, my inner thighs.
I thump back against the mattress, helpless, keening into his touch as this grey man roughly tugs my underwear down, down, all the way down, until they’re clean off my body, long gone, and then returns his nose to the cleft of my pussy, unseaming me with his tongue, opening me up, breathing me in. It’s enough to draw a shallow, hoarse cry from me. He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t say anything, biting down on my white knuckles.
Rust licks warm over my clit, sucking gently on the bud of nerves (then not so gently), before sliding down, down through my very centre.
Whining breathily, the twist in my stomach tightens and spasms as he presses my hips and thighs right down against the mattress, slow, strong, giving me time to notice it, realise it, give into it, deny the natural instinct to curl my limbs tight all over his face, his neck, his mouth. 
Holy fuck. Rust Cohle has his face buried between my legs right now. I have Rust Cohle’s tongue pushing deep into my cunt – he sighs softly, a sound with its own powerful gravity a black hole to envelop me in, and grinds his hips against the edge of the mattress for a split second, just once. My mind pulses with the thought of making him cum. I wonder if he feels the same hunger. 
Then, he’s sinking his long, elegant fingers into me, one, then two, and just the knowledge that those fingers belong to him makes my thighs quiver and shake, makes me sigh again. Thick, confident, they curl inside, slow like an experiment, right up to the knuckle. When he taps up against me, when I squeal and crimp up into his hold, he returns himself to mouth dutifully over my clit.  My hand threads itself into his hair, holding him steady – I offer a breathless moan when his grip across my hips loosen, an invitation to begin rolling myself up over his pretty face. He pulls his fingers out of me, wet and hot, and encourages my thighs upon his beautiful shoulders, clinging onto them urgently. He shudders a little, I think, when I lock them firmly around his head and grind myself shamelessly against his mouth, his nose. He moves his jaw, his face, in tandem.
I cum after a while like that, because how can I not? The searing buzz reaches a roiling static.
I go loose, moaning softly, melted down flat, and stroke fuzzy fingers through Rust’s pretty hair as he sucks my clit still, as he inhales again and sighs again, reduced to something primitive and needy.
Thick, my heartbeat throbs and echoes like a drum in my skull, threatening. I feel so full that I could mistake the beat of pleasure for nausea pressing in my throat. It was silly to think that this could all be satisfied just from one time. My eyes closed, Rust’s light touch over my abdomen, up to my throat, is acute and heightened, like a million tiny, individual sparks. His fingers fumble over my jaw, then press lightly over my pulse. 
He retreats just as I’m playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, coming to stand to full height above me, unthreading his belt from his trousers with quiet, precise hands. I press my shaking thighs together, watching him breathe strongly through his nose, trying to remain somewhat respectable in the presence of the darkening look in his eyes that is locked down on my body.
He pauses, wipes some shine from his nose. Before he can continue with whatever, I find myself sitting up on my knees, grabbing his hips hard enough to bruise all pretty and purple, shoving the trousers down to his knees, and palming him through his boxers. 
We don’t have to say anything. He just watches me passively, pushing my hair back again, behind my ears, my shoulders, rolling my earlobe softly between his fingertips.
I remove his underwear, take him into my mouth, thick and long and wanting; he sighs, holds my head with two steady hands.
When was the last time someone helped him like this? I honestly couldn’t have told you, even given a loose theory, prior to this moment: Rust is simultaneously the hottest and most non-sexual being I’ve ever come across in my life. He just happens to be beautiful; he just happens to inspire these sort of feelings choking up inside me. No overarching intention that he’ll ever admit to, no vanity, no preening. So strict to himself, so tight, like a piston, something that fights and pushes and hurts.
So, as I hold him firmly and suck at the head of his blushing cock, kissing him, I watch his face, savour the tart taste of him, and press my thighs together: he’s becoming warmer, looser.
Still, as much as I want him, I know he’s wanted me. However vague he tells it, he’s wanted me. Good Lord, he looks even more stressed now, somehow, than when we had just been talkin’. Hands gently cradling my skull, he tilts his head away, watches the cross on the wall, as he succumbs to it, maybe, and begins to gently, languidly fuck my face. I tuck a hand between my thighs, and I love him, my other with the fingers digging into his hip, his ass. If I’m lucky, maybe it’ll leave some sort of mark, just to remind him I was here, so that, when he’s being all indifferent again, with his eyes lowered to the floor as he shares a report with me at my prim, little desk, we’ll both know that we were once in this room together, here like this.
Rust breathes and breathes, almost mechanically, and slides his cock further into my mouth. The weight of him in there drives me half-insane. If I could consume him, envelop him, and we could be one and the same, I’d readily allow it. When he sinks deeper still down my throat, I sigh around him, rub myself the way I like.
His eyes are determinedly shut, like some part of him refuses to be here. 
Before I can make him cum, he shakes his head and tugs my hair back a little bit, mumbling for me to stop and sit away. 
For all his mouthiness just a half hour ago, would you look at him now?—Rust Cohle, plundered by the human sensation of speechlessness. I’ve never seen him out of his element before. When he comes down and cages me with his body, hot skin flush against hot skin, I don’t mean that in a bad sense. Shit, he’s far from it. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing of note, nothing to pick apart, no deeper meaning, no theory. Just an itch that has to be scratched. He wants, he is, and it’s heaven to see. 
In the dark, he sinks in to me as he is, eliciting from me a soft moan that curls over the shell of his ear. I have to bite down on his shoulder when comes the push, the stretch, the sink, the comfort of him inside. I curl my legs around his waist and grab at his ass, willing him deeper still. He shudders silently over me, thick ripples of pleasure rolling through his lean body.
I curse, but I’m sure it barely registers with him. 
His head lifts and his eyes clamp shut as he braces an arm against the wall, lifting one of my legs up over his hip and fucking into me deeper, slipping out and in, and again, and again. I know what I’d see if I took a look down, saw his cock pumping into me, but I can hardly do anything but buck my hips up to meet his effort, my stomach stuttering with that building pressure, hands gripping desperately around his neck and shoulders. 
Though, I’m not even sure it is effort that’s driving him. 
I mumble into his shoulder, dumb, focussing on the feel and press of him in my belly. I doubt he’s really aware of anything more than the sensation of it, evident from the small grunt that passes his lips as he fucks deep in me. His stomach presses heavier down onto mine, crushing a delicious pressure there, teasing out a long, breathy whimper. He snakes an arm around my hips, pushes his free hand to the back of my knee, tilting my legs back a little more, and then pulls me wider. Tight, he moves me how he wants me, my flesh dipping and carving, fucking himself raw with me, with my hot cunt. His mouth moves over mine, not kissing me, not speaking, just there, present, hot, panting. He doesn’t open his eyes, so I close mine, and I breathe.
Rust stutters and cums and spills over into me with a grunt. He pants sharply, harshly, rhythmically into my mouth, tense again, and then he collapses over my body, and he lays there. I lay there too, burning on the far inside. 
I think he only really remembers I’m there when I shift under him.
His eyelashes brush against my cheek. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but the sound of his voice scrapes directly against my brain with the shock of a flesh-wound. 
I assume he’s referring to the thick cum that I can feel leaking out of me now. He shifts his hips, adjusting himself in the grip of my cunt. My fingers wrap around his arms, squeeze as I feel him easing out. 
“It’s okay,” I reply. 
He glances down between us and guides himself out with a lewd noise, swallowing hard. I shiver. 
Quiet, sedated, he shrugs his trousers, his underwear, off of his ankles, slipping the bedsheet over both our naked selves. His hand spreads and flattens warm over my abdomen, feeling the gentle swell and sink of the breaths I take and release.
363 notes · View notes
pilotofstorm · 3 years
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"Hmm, one drink is fine, yeah? Yeah! I'll jus' have a drink mixed with some soda." Huh, moonshine? It'll probably be fine with the soda.
2 notes · View notes
heyitsyn · 4 years
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Manager!Seijoh
a/n: im a seijoh stan and theyre my little plant babies
for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!
this is so long oml i hate myself
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theyre an actual boy band istg
lets be honest, they probably thought you were just another oikawa fangirl
they thought you just wanted to be closer to their captain bc you were another delusional girl who wanted to live out her fantasies
lmao im not trying to be salty
but when you just stared blankly at oikawa tooru after he called you a beautiful flower,
stageplay hinata calling you a mugwort
the team just about threw themselves on your feet
tbh you werent really there to get a boyfriend or for oikawa
you just needed an after school club and the other teams already had managers
the only sport that didnt was the boys volleyball team
imagine why
you were actually a little wary, since you knew of oikawa, being a first year yourself, and you were aware of his psycho fangirls who could probably kill you
but you needed a club that would last you for the next 3 years to graduate
it was kunimi who actually recommended being a manager
you were in his class and you noticed him sleeping in the morning so you gave him your energy bar
‘thanks’
you shrugged and smiled
thats why he tolerated you more than others
you were nice and you were the only one who noticed his tiredness, even the teacher left him alone, and did something about it
sometimes, you even gave him an energy drink
‘can you tell me why youve been so tired lately? i dont think ive seen you wake up until lunch’
he opened the snack and started munching while replying
‘early morning practice for volleyball is still a big adjustment. our captain demands us to be there 6 in the morning sharp and if we’re even a minute late, we’d have to run laps. like for every minute youre late, you have to run those amount’
oh my why is kunimi talking so much
but i love kunimi and first year seijoh boys rights in this household is valid
you furrowed your eyebrows
‘but yall are still growing and you need all your sleep. if i were there, id yell at your captain’
he grinned slightly, imagining your short height beating up their captain
‘meh. you want to be our manager? i saw you looking at the clubs board yesterday and we dont have one so you could take the opportunity and beat him up then’
ofc you agreed bc kunimi was best boi and you just wanted him to have enough sleep for once
after class, he waited for you to finish packing up and when you finished, yall left the classroom
until another guy with a spiky hairstyle joined you and you noticed him as the guy who sometimes came over to eat lunch with kunimi
‘oh, hello l/n-san’
you smiled gently
‘drop the formalities, kindaichi-kun. its only fair.’
he nodded before walking beside kunimi
‘kindaichi, l/n might be our new manager’
the onion head excitedly looked at you
‘really?! yes! so we dont have to fill our bottles ourselves anymore!’
kunimi glared at him and slapped his stomach
‘shes our manager, not our maid’
you laughed but placed an arm on him
‘its okay. i was a manager for my middle school volleyball team so i know a little bit about being one’
the two shared a look
god, they really hit the jackpot
as yall walked closer to the gym, you noticed the big pile of girls huddling at the corner
kunimi sighed
‘l/n, ill warn you ahead of time of our captain. hes kinda,,,, too much’
but you flashed him a smile
‘hes not the first one ive handled’
oml player-chan!!!
so when you opened the door and entered the gym and oikawa hit you with his normal antics, you just stared at him
‘okay and?’
hanamaki and mattsun howled before rushing to you and grabbing you in a hug
‘girls like her really exist!!’
you gave kunimi and kindaichi a signal of help and they nodded before gently prying the senpais off of you
‘senpai, please’
you gave kunimi a grateful nod
coach irihata went up to you bc wow, kunimi has a friend with of another gender?
‘how can we help you, miss?’
‘im l/n y/n, first year, and id like to apply as the manager’
internally, the coach sighed bc you werent the first one to apply
the reason they havent had a manager for years was bc of oikawa’s fangirls hiding themselves under that false facade
but he saw you brush off that comment oikawa make with no hint of fluster or blush on your face so he decides to give you a trial run, in guise of seeing if you could handle these chaotic boys
‘do you have any experience as manager? or do we need to teach you the ropes?’
‘i was a manager for 3 years in my middle school volleyball’
he nodded
‘ill give you one month. a trial run of a month to test the waters’
you agreed and your trial run began
kunimi mentioned that morning practice starts at 6 am sharp so you set your alarm for 5 to get ready and get to school on time before the boys
you remembered how to set up the nets so you quickly put them out (using a step stool bc we short) and ran to get the basket of balls
their water bottles were filled and you were in the middle of lugging the big basket of towels when the third years entered
the 4 of them usually came earlier than the rest so they saw you dragging the basket of fresh towels and wipe your sweat before smiling at the work youve done
iwa was so happy bc it was usually him who did this stuff and now that he had someone do it for him, it was like a god-send
oikawa’s eyes shone and he waved at you
‘yohoo, y/n-chan!’
you cringed at the loud voice of the famous oikawa tooru
‘hello, oikawa-san’
he chuckled at your politeness before hugging you
‘you did all this for us? youre so cute, y/n-chan!’
instead of the normal blush and love-struck eyes, you were actually very uncomfortable of the sudden skinship and you quickly ran to the side when iwa hit him at the head
‘shittykawa! leave her alone!’
‘iwa-chan!’
makki and mattsun stood next to you as the boys did their usual fight
‘is this all an act or are you really not attracted to oikawa?’
mattsun shot him a surprised look bc why was he so straightforward
but you just shrugged
‘hes cute, i admit. but ive seen much cuter and the boys in my middle school team was basically full of him so,,, and i hate guys who think theyre all that just bc theyre blessed w a pretty face. if anything, ill probably go for iwaizumi-san’
pop off S I S T E R!!!
you just won the heart of these two
slowly but surely, they all came to accept you and iwa straight out loves you bc you maintained this routine for the whole month of your trial run
and you still remained indifferent of oikawa’s advances and he was even impressed and slightly agitated that you werent paying attention to him
‘y/n-chan, one date! just one!’
you huffed before looking up from your clipboard
‘i like men, oikawa-san. not boys’
that comment made the guys shriek
‘y/n-chan! youre just a first year! you dont need a man!’
‘youre not a man, oikawa!’
you left oikawa to be tormented by his teammates and went to go and hand over the report to the coach
he was impressed by the notes you made bc they were ones he even missed
like the split-second of hesitation that kindaichi usually has that goes unnoticed but you immediately saw
or the wince oikawa has whenever he so much as jumps an inch
you could even tell the difference between iwa’s spike and if he was being easy or he was going full-out
this added on to the fact that the boys loved you and irihata actually saw kunimi try more 
but he thinks its only to earn your praises
‘y/n, youre officially the team manager’
yall celebrated at the normal hang-out spot which was the ramen shop and it truly shocked you at how much these boys ate
granted, this was the first time you ate together but you didnt expect them to eat nearly 5 bowls each
you could only finish 2 and you already feel like throwing up
‘honestly, how do you guys not gain weight after this?’
the table you sat at, iwa, kindaichi, mattsun, and kunimi, looked at you and shrugged
‘i work out’
‘i run’
‘i fast’
‘i poop it out’
lmao im sorry i cackled too hard at this
you stared blankly at mattsun’s answer who said it so seriously that you snorted a laugh
they watched you and your laughter bc you havent really expressed yourself as much 
so they made it their goal to see you laugh more
‘y/n-chan! you need to eat more!’
oikawa shouted, clearly food drunk, but you shook your head aggressively
‘i only planned to eat one bowl but he just had to shove another down my throat’
‘but you need to grow, y/n-chan!’
‘i want to grow taller! not wider!!’
As a manager:
oh boy
you basically grew into kinda their mom
‘oikawa-san! you need to rest your knee or youre going to hurt yourself! i will drag you home myself!’
‘kunimi, if you try to get this one more spike, i’ll buy you a bag of those caramel bites you like’
‘iwa-san! if you hit oikawa-san too much, youll destroy the little braincells he has!’
‘yahaba-san, nice dump!’
‘is your knee okay, watari-san?’
yall really forget that watari and yahaba exist sometimes smh
it was part of the work
keeping up with seijoh
so to keep them encouraged, you gave them praises that they always demand for and they always turn to you whenever they did something good
mattsun gives you a look whenever he blocks iwa’s spikes and you give kindaichi a head pat whenever he blocks some too
bc of how you are with them, sometimes, they forget that you are actually just a first year
they get shocked whenever you walk in with kunimi and kindaichi and talk about the current homework bc it slips their mind that their hard-working manager was actually just a 15-year-old girl
so, they try to ease the burden whenever they can
like iwa offering to help you whenever you have to take their jerseys to the laundrymat
or offering to help you with your assignments since theyve only been through it once
more like watari, yahaba, and iwa bc the matsuhana are clueless and acts like they completely skipped that grade
also
!!!!
oikawa’s fangirls ltr dont leave you alone!!!
now, its known that youre the manager of the volleyball team bc oikawa has boasted about your efforts and such
this obvs ticked off a bunch of girls bc they were jealous that you got to spend more time in a single practice with their precious oikawa-senpai than they have their entire lives
more than once theyve cornered you to threaten you to stay away from their senpai or youll have something coming for you
you never take them seriously bc you can fight too and you just give them a look and push them away
but this one time
TRIGGER WARNING-START
okay tea
the self-proclaimed president of the oikawa tooru fanclub, kenta miyo, cornered you at the bathroom with her other minions
you were just washing your hands and drying them off when she marched up to you and grabbed your hair before tugging it back
obviously you were surprised and shouted
‘oi! what the hell?!’
‘you slut! you need to stay away from my tooru, got it?!’
ehm what
you hissed and wrenched her arm from your hair and pushed her away
your hair was now a mess and you were fuming, already sick and tired of the torture these girls put you through
‘he belongs to himself, not you! so stop being delusional and leave me alone already!’
she signalled for the girls to hold on to you which you slapped away but they forcefully grabbed your arm while you kicked at them and struggle to get out of their hold
jesus what do these girls eat
miyo watches you struggle with a smile and cackles
‘oh? no fight anymore, little kouhai?’
you glared at her
‘i dont want to beat yall up bc id get yelled at by tooru so you need to let me go or regret it’
at the mention of his first name, her eyes widened and her face twisted and she slapped you
‘oi! respect your senpai, you brat! dont you ever say oikawa’s first name!’
your lips curled
‘oh? thats funny, because he actually told me to call him that since he wants his cute little manager to be very comfortable with him’
you achieved a feat that she has been working to get her entire high school life and miyo was not happy
‘ive been with him for 3 years and you just suddenly show up out of nowhere and call him that?! i dont think so!’
she had her hands around your neck and you gripped her arms, making her wince
but you laughed at that comment
‘heh, thats pathetic, isn’t it? here you are, my senpai, who has been vying for his attention for 3 years only to be ignored yet a mere first year, who shows up out of nowhere, has been asked to a date nearly a million times every day. that must be tough’
she shrieked at that comment and threw you on the floor, making you accidentally hit your head at the edge of the sink
yall im actually so bothered by this scene and im wincing as im typing
you bit your lip to prevent any sound of pain to escape bc you knew thats what she wanted to hear from you
but you werent going to give her the satisfaction
instead, you looked up at her, hatred swirling in your eyes
‘youre freaking psycho, you know that? once tooru and hajime knows about this, theyre going to give you hell. they wont ever let this go bc im the manager of their prized team and their little baby sister. so go ahead, do what you want with me. bc i paid too much for these nails to be tainted by dirt like you’
saiyo, a girl you noticed to be watari’s classmate when you went and visited him, nervously tugged on miyo’s jacket
‘miyo, we should go-’
‘SHES BLUFFING. AND HERE, SINCE YOUR SOCCERFIELD FOREHEAD IS BLEEDING, LET ME HELP WASH IT OUT’
and she poured over a carton of banana milk over you, making you wince at the sticky and cold liquid
the tough facade was crumbling and you were now screaming for help in your head, hoping that stupid theory from yahaba about team telepathy to work
but it didnt
TRIGGER WARNING-END
when miyo and her girls left, you sat on the floor, soaked and sticky and bleeding
then you begin to cry angry tears
you were angry that you were being treated like this just bc you were a manager
you were angry that you let them do that to you
you were angry that you prized your nails more than punching her square in the nose
you were just angry
periodt
staggering on your own feet, you stood up and leaned on the sink, eyes widening at the dripping red liquid from the gash on your forehead, staining the porcelain sink
you were stupid and unconsciously touched it making you wince 
‘shit, that hurts’
you whined quietly
there was little you can do with toilet paper and water to clean yourself up but you managed to at least stop the bleeding
you knew you had to be put on concussion protocol just in case bc you that hit was quite hard but at the moment, that wasnt your concern
practice has already started and this was the first time you werent present for daily practice
this was confirmed at the constant buzzing of your phone in your skirt pocket which you didnt listen to and instead, started thinking of ways to go to your locker and get your stuff and fake being sick but at the same time, not be seen and relayed to the team
time was ticking and you had to come up with a plan fast before oikawa will send the team to come looking around the building for you
once you looked at your reflection and smiled big, you decided it was enough to not show the pain you were in right now
girl im hurting for you
you peeked out of the bathroom door and saw the coast was clear so you quickly ran to your classroom, which was thankfully empty, and quickly grabbed your things
but as you were packing up, the tears just kept falling
it didnt stop as you bolted down the stairs, using your cardigan to hide your face from the public
once you were safely out of school grounds, you finally took out your phone and reviewed through all the worried and concerned texts from the team group chat
but you just replied, ‘im fine but i just feel really sick right now. girl stuff’
you smirked, knowing that would keep the boys away
but oikawa had to go and ask you to call him
‘y/n-chan! do you want oikawa-senpai to come over with chocolates and ice cream?! wings or no wings?!’
your jaw dropped at the question and clearly scandalized by the question
the team was too as shouting began and you could faintly hear iwa scream, ‘oh my god, shittykawa!’
‘im seriously okay, oikawa-san. i just need to be alone right now and ill try and get some sleep. good bye’
then you hung up
there was no way you could tell them
they were in their last year anyways so doing something about it wouldnt matter
and you were strong 
but apparently not strong enough to fight them off though
you would cover the wound with concealer and continue on with practice tomorrow as if everything was normal
but there was only so much you could take
just yesterday, they trashed your locker and a week ago, they took your bento and threw it away
you even got into a fight with this one girl but she scampered away, too scared to do anything alone
so you were actually just tired and want everyone to leave you alone
believe me, youve thought of quitting sometimes
but youve actually created a bond with these boys
like when you take hanamaki to get cream puffs whenever he loses against iwa in arm wrestling
or when yahaba calls you at ungodly hours to express his worries for next year and to fill oikawa’s shoes
it was simple moments that you shared with each player that kept you from not leaving
soon, you found yourself crying again and the looks pedestrians were giving you was starting to make you uncomfortable
a girl, with her gross hair in a bun, puffy eyes with a bleeding wound and walking down the street
that was a sight
so you cut a corner to an alley by your house to escape from the judging eyes and you were too busy wiping your eyes to see a boy who was crouched down on the floor and ended up walking over him
omg my baby kyoken hello luv!!!!
you gasped and you were surprised and quickly apologized
kyotani was originally about to yell at you, no matter what, but he saw the state you were in and concluded you were either from a fight or was beaten up
he recognized that and decided to just glare at you and go back to feeding the stray dogs and cats
you breathed a sigh in relief when he didnt yell at you bc that wouldve been the last thing you needed today
‘sir, im sorry for hitting you. if there is something i could do for you, dont hesitate’
he ignored you and you focused on him paying attention to the strays
going into your backpack, you had a milk carton and a sausage stick from earlier
you used your thermos lid to serve as the milk bowl for the cats while you peeled open the meat and used your scissors to cut chunks of it for the dogs to have some
kyotani watched as you went into action to feeding the animals that people usually ignored
he knew you
well, he recognized you
when he watched from the top of the gym, he saw you as their manager who ran around and helped everyone
sure, he still didnt trust you 
but he watched you grin and smile as the animals started to eat
‘im in a hurry right now so i have to go but ill feed you again tomorrow, okay? you too, stranger-san. ill bring food for you too’
then you stood up and ran away, probably in a hurry to fix that wound
he wouldve offered to treat it for you but he remained silent, watching the cats mewl at the now empty lid
the next day, oikawa was worried for you and when he saw you at early morning practice, he practically glomped to your side
‘y/n-chan! you okay?! oikawa-senpai was so worried for you!’
you cringed but nodded
‘im okay, oikawa-san’
‘senpai, y/n-chan! call me senpai!’
‘im not going to feed into your kink, oikawa-san’
*cue everyone busting a lung*
to this day, no one still knew what happened to you
you kept it quiet and you were sure you got everything handled
except for one person
kyotani was smart and for some reason he knew you got beat up by the fangirls and the perpetrators were easily found bc he saw them huddled around your locker, probably trashing it again, and lets just say, 
no one is def going to mess w you now
back to manager moments!!
during practice matches, the boys rally around you to prevent other teams from sweet-talking you
they make sure no one gets past them and always have excuses to get your attention
you knew what they were doing but you pretended not to, heart warming at their protectiveness and hunger for your attention
even though you have your own jacket, the team gives you theirs all the time like oikawa has his special team jacket w his name at the back and when he feels threatened by schools like johzenji, he makes you wear it
‘youre mine, y/n-chan and i want that blondie to know’
‘ehm, no, oikawa-san. im iwaizumi-san’s’
oikawa screamed
lmao training camps w them is CHAOTIC
YOU WANT TO CRYYYYYY
OIKAWA IS CRYING BC IWAIZUMI IS BEATING HIM UP, MATSUHANA ARE FREAKING OUT THE FIRST YEARS ABOUT THE GHOSTS IN THE WOODS AND NOW KINDAICHI REFUSES TO LET GO OF YOU, WATARI GOT LOST GOING TO THE BATHROOM AND YAHABA IS SCREAMING ABOUT THE WEATHER MESSING UP HIS HAIR AND MAKING IT FRIZZY
reminder: threaten to quit everytime they get too much
your hugs are the best!!!!
you have a special hug for every player
oikawa gets his favorite which was the normal arm around the waist with your arms around his neck while he snuggles in your neck
iwa gets flustered easily so you hug him from behind so you cant see his flustered look
mattsun actually likes the jumping in the air so he catches you type of hug
makki is more tame and has his arms around your shoulder with his chin on your head
yahaba is the twirly kind where he just picks you up and swings you around
watari also gets flustered easily so he likes the one-arm hugs
kindaichi gets blushy at the slightest touch from you but he gives you a hug from behind you himself where he can bury his face in your hair while you caress his arms
kunimi, now he likes it when you squeeze him extremely tight bc it makes him feel loved and feel alive
kyo doesnt even talk to you what makes you think you can give him a hug
their lost for shiratorizawa really broke them though
you made them their own bentos for nearly a week to keep them encouraged and gave oikawa extra attention to keep him from sulking or practicing late
‘oikawa-senpai, lets go watch that new movie later’
‘S-S-SENPAI?!’
then the arrival of our baby kyoken
yahaba was moody the whole practice and you were currently trying to keep him from spiking a ball to someone
‘even just today, he’s late’
‘who?’
‘that stupid dog’
he just keeps mumbling and grunting
and then the said dog arrived
you peaked out from behind iwaizumi, who protectively went in front of you
shock ran through you and you pointed at him
‘puppy-kun!’
lmao puppy what
youve called him that since he refused to tell you his name, but you call him that bc he paid special attention to this one baby beagle
he raised a hand in greeting and you gave him a smile
‘youre a player here, too?!’
he ‘glared’ at you but nodded stiffly
the team really thought that he would lash out at you but he is surprisingly tolerant
the power of the manager
he still hasnt talked to you but he does respond to you and even helps you with chores, still not talking ofc
hes so tsun tsun and he deserves my heart yall
however, youve heard him talk to iwaizumi, and iwaizumi only, so youve heard his voice before
ngl, you were flustered by how gruff and deep it was
then their loss to karasuno
bruh, it was KARASUNO
the entire team fell apart and after the match, each of them ran away from you to stop lashing out
you were also on the verge of crying, seeing the broken look on your third years
your precious third years
you decided to give them their own space but you heard a loud banging sound from the bathroom
yahaba and watari were outside, clearly trying to talk to someone in there on coming out but it got louder
okay you were lowkey like, ‘hm, i should not be here’
but you recognized that voice
you knocked at the boys door to be respectful
‘kyo-san? its me, y/n’
he was silent but he did unlock it
you took this as a sign to enter and you gave yahaba and watari a smile
‘i’ll be fine. go to kindaichi and kunimi. they need your comfort right now’
tbh, you were surprised the bathroom was still intact but you saw the stall door at the very end being rattled and shaken
you remained by the door but you wanted to go to him
‘kyo-san, please come out so i can treat your injuries’
he expected you to say those words like ‘its okay’ or ‘theres always next year’ but you didnt
instead, you knew he was hurt and wanted to help him
he continued to give a few punches to the wall and the door before emerging
you wordlessly treated the wounds and offered your hand
‘im here, kyo-san. dont worry, im right here’
at the ramen shop, you told them to eat as much as they want and wordlessly gave them your card, slightly crying inside bc you know this was going to be like over a hundred dollars
but you were treating the boys bc they deserved it
you sat beside kindaichi, who was just sobbing and apologizing, so you were wiping his tears and holding his hand under the table
this precious babie
bruh i was sobbing when i watched this part like uuggghhhh
after dinner, you walked with the other third years, knowing they would go to the gym, so you gave everyone else your special hugs before sending them home
‘text me when you arrive safely, okay?’
‘yes, mom’
‘KINDAICHI WHAT’
oikawa’s speech made you cry bc despite only knowing them for not even a year, you already feel like a family
you didnt want your family to be broken but you knew they would all go their separate ways eventually
there was a big hug pile of third years on the side where you took a picture and sent it to the group chat
you had to eventually go home after helping them clean up and when you checked your phone, a fresh batch of tears rolled down
each from every person on the team but with the same sentence and same words
‘we love you, l/n y/n. thanks for everything.’
ngl i dont think this was that good and its like 8 in the morning and im extremely tired
i want to do karasuno, nekoma, and fukurodani but im so exhausted i cannot right now
2K notes · View notes
fanmoose12 · 3 years
Text
Nifa Strikes Back
Levi hates St. Valentine’s Day with burning passion. The only thing that makes this holiday somewhat bearable to him is a little tradition he shares with his best friend Hange. But after hearing the news that Hange is going to skip the years-long ritual to go on a date with someone else, Levi is faced with conflicting and severely confusing feelings. 
thanks @innocent-ghost-demon for the idea! (i’m sorry it took me so long to actually write it lmao)
In Levi's personal opinion, St. Valentine's Day was the worst holiday of them all. It was meaningless and explorative and it served no other purpose than to fill the pockets of flowers and chocolate sellers. Levi hated it with burning passion, getting groceries in the weeks leading to the forsaken holiday was the cruelest torture, as he was immensely annoyed by big pink hearts and cute figurines with naked babies on display. It was almost impossible for him not to gag.
The only thing that quelled his hatred towards this day was a small tradition he shared with his best friend Hange. It had started years ago, when they were still in college. Hange's boyfriend had dumped her - she was heartbroken and upset, while Levi was furious and ready to go, find that bastard and beat the shit out of him for making Hange cry. Naturally, as college students, they knew only one way to deal with that kind of complicated feelings - get absolutely wasted at the local bar. Next morning they woke up with the worst hangovers of their lives and vowed to never repeat the same mistake.
But next year, Hange was rejected by a girl she wanted to ask on a date, and, like a good friend he was, Levi once again offered his shoulder for Hange to cry on. And once again they've found themselves clinging to each other as they shakily stumbled towards their dorm.
They got drunk that year again. And that's what they've been doing every year after that.
It was the only thing that got Levi through the awful holiday. Because of that, he was actually looking forward to it.
***
"Hey, four-eyes," Levi looked over the wall that separated their cubicles, throwing a small piece of paper to get Hange's attention. "Is your place as messy as usual? Or have you cleaned it for the occasion?"
"Huh?" Hange raised her eyes from a screen, pushing the glasses up her nose. "What do you mean?"
Another paper was thrown at Hange. This one landed on her lap.
"The shitty holiday, Hange. It's this weekend. So are we going to your place of mine?"
"Oh," Hange raised her hand, rubbing her neck. "About that..."
Levi frowned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Did he hear a twinge of hesitation in Hange's voice? That was unusual. What could it mean?
"I can't go this year."
His frown turned into a scowl. "Why the fuck not?"
"I have a date."
Levi blinked. Hange's words... surprised him. And more than that, his own reaction surprised him. He felt displeased, but not just that. He was angry, he was disappointed. He was sad?
"You're going on a date?" he asked, cursing the weakness that colored his voice. What was going on with him?
"Yeah, sorry," Hange gave him an apologetic smile. "With all this work, I forgot to tell you about it."
"That's fine," he answered, even though it wasn't fine. Hange was going on a date, and Levi wasn't fine with it. Why wasn't he? Hange was his best friend, he was supposed to feel happy for her, right? Did it mean that he was a bad friend?
No, Levi decided. He wasn't a bad friend, he was a good one. He was worried about Hange, he had seen her get hurt by someone else, and he simply didn't wish to repeat the experience.
"Who is your date?"
Was it someone from the office, he wondered. If it was their co-worker, that'd be good, Levi could keep an eye on them then. But what if they start dating? Would Hange stop spending her lunch-breaks with him? Would she go and bother someone else if she's bored? Would she pay less attention to him?
Levi shot that train of thought as quickly as it appeared. He didn’t like thinking about it. It made him feel weird. It made him upset.
"It's Nifa's cousin, she set us up. I don't know the guy yet," Hange shrugged. "But if he's at least half as cute as Nifa, then it's worth a shot, eh?"
She looked at him then, tilting her head and smiling. It was Levi's cue to congratulate her and wish her luck. Or express his pity towards the guy. Instead there was an unpleasant, ugly feeling inside him. Hange broke their years-long tradition. To go on a date. With someone else.
And it pissed him off.
"Levi?" Hange reached out to him, grasping the sleeve of his jacket with her fingers. "Are you alright? You look a bit weird. Are you upset that we won't be hanging out this year? I'm sorry about that, I'll make it up to you."
"You don't have to," he grunted, shaking Hange's hand off. He turned around, feeling the acute need to leave. The concern on Hange’s face was annoying him. "Have fun on your date and don't worry about me. I wasn't looking forward to our get-together anyway."
*** It took Levi two days to admit his own weakness.
He promised to himself to ignore Hange. To forget about her stupid date and stupid feelings it had provoked in him.
But then he saw Nifa alone in the hallway and he just had to ask.
He approached the girl, stopping just behind her shoulder. "Your cousin," his rough, low voice made Nifa jump. She didn't hear him walk up to her. "Is he a good man?"
Despite a scare Levi just gave her, Nifa's lips lifted into a smug smirk. She looked at Levi, observing him closely. His face was as blank as always, but his shoulders were uncharacteristically tight and his eyes showed even more annoyance than usual.
Her plan was working.
"Cousin Greg?" Nifa twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "He's great! I think Hange would get along with him!"
Cousin Greg wasn't that great actually. In fact, he was quite boring and very annoying. But Nifa wanted to help her superiors admit their feelings for each other and Greg owed her a favor after that time when she had covered for him during the grannies' birthday. Hange didn't have to like him. In fact, if she starts liking him, it'd destroy all of Nifa's plans.
Hange didn't have to like Greg. And Levi didn't have to like the fact that Hange was going on a date with him.
Evidently, the most important part of her plan already proved to be a success.
"He won't hurt four-eyes, right?" Levi asked, a shadow of worry passing through his eyes.
"He won't," Nifa promised with a serious face. Inside, however, she could barely contain herself. Levi was so concerned! It was so cute! Nifa needed to share these news with someone, and quick.
"Alright," Levi pressed his lips together and nodded. "Thanks." He added before walking away, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.
As she watched him go, Nifa's heart constricted painfully. Levi looked so miserable, just like a kicked puppy. She actually felt bad for him.
It was for his own good, she had to remind herself. She was doing him a favor. Levi, no, Hange too - both of them - will later thank her for this. She was doing a right thing.
Nifa repeated these words a couple of times and then rushed over to the break room, where she knew she would most surely find Moblit. Her best friend would be thrilled to hear about her success. 
*** He wasn't brooding, he told himself as he threw another disgustingly sweet candy in his mouth.
He wasn't sulking, Levi thought, as he put the glass of wine to his lips. It was awful. He had been drinking this brand of wine for years, but he never noticed how mawkish it was. Hange’s taste in wine was as horrible as her taste in romantic partners.
He didn't care about Hange and her stupid date, Levi tried to convince himself, paying only half of his attention to the movie.
On his TV screen Harry ran away from Sally after their first night together, and Levi scoffed at his stupidity. It was obvious they're in love with each other, why couldn’t they just admit it? They were both idiots and this movie was stupid, Levi decided. Why Hange liked it so much was beyond him.
***
Harry and Sally started arguing at the wedding, when Levi's phone started ringing. He made no move to get up and pick it. It couldn't be Hange calling, because she was on a date. And if that was Erwin, informing him of some emergency at work, he could kindly go and fuck himself. It was Levi's day-off and he was allowed to be as miserable as he wanted in the coziness of his apartment.
After a few seconds his phone fell silent, but before Levi could sigh with relief and continue watching the movie, he heard a few pings that announced that he had received a couple of messages. Erwin wasn't one for texting, and that got Levi wondering who was trying to get into contact with him.
Was it Petra, inviting him to a bar with others from their office?
Or, maybe, that was Yeager or any of his friends, wishing him a happy holiday?
Either way, Levi decided to ignore the messages too. If it was Petra, she'd understand his desire to be left alone. And if the messages were from any of their interns, then Levi most certainly didn't want to deal with that. It was bad enough they'd given him chocolate at work. It made him feel like he was a high school teacher, not a partner of the law firm.
He shouldn’t support this kind of behavior, Levi decided and returned his attention to the movie. 
*** Levi was halfway through a bottle of wine and Harry was ready to confess to Sally.
Fucking finally, he thought, pouring himself more wine. What kind of idiots waste twelve years denying the feelings they have for each other? Just when Harry was going to say those three little words, someone knocked on Levi's front door. With glass of wine still lifted to his lips, Levi paused the movie and stared at the door, wondering who could be fearless enough to visit him at ten pm.
As he continued to sit and ponder on it, the initially soft knocks turned into vicious bangs.
Cursing at the impatient idiot, Levi put the glass down and got to his feet, marching to the door with a glare on his face.
He threw the door open and— froze, blinking in surprise.
Hange stood on a threshold, holding a bottle of wine in her hands and wearing a wide grin on her lips.
"Will you be my Valentine?"
Levi bit his cheek to keep himself from blurting out 'yes'.
"What happened to your other one?" he asked instead, putting on a mask of cold indifference.
"Ah," she ruffled her hair. "He was actually boring as hell. Not even half as cute as Nifa," she shrugged. "I guess she's the sole owner of all adorable genes in their family."
Levi scoffed, plucking his lips. He would not give Hange the satisfaction of laughing at her lame joke. "Your date turned out to be a moron, so what? You've decided to come and bother me?"
"Yeah? Would you let me in or not?"
Levi knew he could put up a fight. He could tell Hange how annoying and inconsiderate she was. But he also knew that it would result in absolutely nothing. Hange would still get what she wants. He would still let her get what she wants. Because in all the years of their friendship he hadn't learned how to say no to her.
So with an irritated tsk and a shake of his head, Levi took a step back, allowing Hange to come inside.
"Did you bring something, except wine?" he asked while Hange was busy taking off her shoes.
"Yes!" Hange passed him her handbag.
Levi opened, finding chocolate inside. Lots of chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.
"Four-eyes. Did you rob the candy shop?" he inquired dryly.
"No!" Hange snickered. "These are gifts."
Levi had received chocolate too. His collection wasn't quite as vast as Hange's, though.
"Are all of these from brats?"
"Some are from my team. Where's your chocolate, by the way? If I received so many, I can't even imagine how much you got."
"It seems like this year you're more popular than me," Levi pointed at only a couple of box of chocolates on his coffee table.
Hange's face fell after his words. She even opened her mouth, probably with the intent to apologize or, god forbid, comfort him. Levi scowled, silently telling Hange the misplaced pity to herself. He didn't really care about such trivial matters.
And he was more than happy to find out how well-loved Hange was. She deserved nothing less than that after all.
"Don't just stand there," he snapped, when Hange continued to stare at him without saying anything or even moving.
Hange lifted the corners of her lips and hurried after Levi to the living room.
"Oh!" as soon as she saw what was on the TV screen, she clasped her hands in delight. "When Harry Meets Sally! I love this movie!"
I know, Levi almost said.
"And it's one of my favorite scenes!" Hange continued to gash. She plopped down on Levi's sofa with a wide grin.
However, as she took a closer look on a coffee table, her excitement diminished considerably.
"Two glasses?" she mumbled, frowning in confusion. "Are you waiting for someone?"
"No, it's just..."
A habit, Levi realized. He put two glasses simply out of habit. He was so used to drinking with Hange that he had taken two glasses without even thinking.
"It's nothing," he finished awkwardly. "Let's watch the movie."
Hange stared him for a second, her eyes wary. But then she snapped out of it and a smile returned to her lips. She waited until Levi took his place on a sofa and then put her head on his thigh.
"Must you always do it?" Levi complained without making a single move to change their position. "I'm not a piece of furniture, you know."
"Just put on a movie, Levi," Hange mumbled, too used to his constant bitching to have any kind of reaction to it.
"So bossy," he huffed, but took the remote in his hands and resumed the movie.
On a screen, Harry was confessing to Sally.
"It's kinda bizarre, don't you think?" Hange asked. "They knew each other for so long and yet they've realized their true feelings only years after."
"It's a movie, Hange."
"So you think it's unrealistic?" she lifted her head to stare at him. "That two people can be close friends for years and continue to be blind, refusing to see how much they need each other?"
"I think you have to be unbelievably dense to not realize that you're in love with your best friend."
Hange giggled, and the quiet sound was like music to Levi's ears. "Yeah, maybe, you're right. They're really dense."
"Idiots," Levi agreed, laying a hand on her shoulder and pulling her closer.
198 notes · View notes
satnin-darling · 3 years
Text
Drabble | Drunk | Kim Taehyung, 2.2k
Pairing: Taehyung x Reader
Summary: When you and Taehyung weren’t doing it, you were talking over alcohol. That’s what friends tend to do after all :]
Warnings/Tags: RATED G: for drunken conversations lmao; idol!AU - friends with benefits to lovers.
=====
Starting point for the series: 4:23 AM :]
These conversations took place throughout the series and the ending scene is, of course, about the infamous painting in 2:43AM 😜
=====
-
It was late and you were re-adjusting yourself on the floor. You were only wearing an oversized shirt and Taehyung was wearing sweatpants, slung low on his hips. Taehyung was on his phone and the TV told you that there was going to be torrential rain for the next week. You sighed, sipping the last of your wine in your mug, which was unavoidable since your wine glasses were hidden somewhere you couldn’t remember.
Taehyung’s hand had wandered over to a nearby shelf, tugging it open and revealing an old photo album. As he flicked through it, you saw pictures of you, though upside down. He chuckled as he stopped at a photograph of you with your friends at graduation. It was raining and despite your gowns soaked through, you all had beaming faces.
“This was graduation, right?” He asked, looking at you.
“Yup,” you said, shuffling towards him so you could sit side by side. He looked at the photograph again, tracing your face over the plastic film. As you tried to flick through he had kept his palm over the middle, then he shot you a look, and you backed off, half laughing. On the same page, there were various photographs of you at the front gates of your university, some were group photos during the first week. Realising that you hadn’t looked at them in a while, you joined Taehyung in looking at them more closely, remembering the memories attached to them.
“What’s this?” He asked, pointing to a picture of you holding up a net that contained some river reeds. Your expression was half confused and horrified. Laughing, you brought your hand to your face as you recalled how you were meant to catch frogs and small fish. Taehyung joined you, nudging his elbow against yours.
“It was a trip I went on ‘cause I took an elective course on river geography. Which was totally unrelated to my actual course, but hey, I was very extra and I took it way too seriously,” you explained. The water was so cold and you ended up wading for nothing.
Taehyung made a noise that suggested he understood and then pointed to another picture. Here, you were in front of a booth during societies fair, next to Jung-Jae. You met since you were both interested in baking, though both of you were just really there to get free samples of the cookies. But by your second year, you had been elected as the vice-president and Jung-Jae was the Secretary. Again, you laughed since the Baking Society didn’t really need those roles given that you all just baked and watched movies. There was no need for an official committee. Looking at the image again, you realised that it was you and Jung-Jae’s slot to promote to the freshmen.
“I was the vice-president of the Baking Society,” you offered, and Taehyung laughed.
“You liked baking?” He asked, squinting at the image so he could make out the cookies you baked for the free samples.
“Uh, initially, I was just there for the free samples, then I somehow climbed the ranks,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. You reached over so you could re-fill his mug with the remnants of the wine, and he tipped it your direction.
“Are those bags of groceries?” He asked, pointing to another picture of you heaving the said bags. Gulping down your wine, you nodded, looking at how you were scowling whilst walking uphill.
“God, I remember not wanting to pay for a taxi. Jung-Jae was such an asshole, he was just taking pictures of me whilst I struggled,” you grumbled. Taehyung laughed at that.
“So how often did you have to get groceries?” He asked, and you cocked your head, trying to recall the frequency of those uphill climbs.
“Depends on how much you eat. Usually, I tried to stretch it out for like two and a half weeks, but honestly, I ended up just buying as I went. Like adding on when I could see space on the fridge or the shelves. Oh! And toilet paper, those were so cheap in the student area, god I miss that,” you said, remembering the price you paid for the twelve pack you paid for just last week.
“Ah, I forgot that part of university,” he murmured. Then he skipped a couple of pages and settled at the back, where you were finally collecting your diploma. This time, you were completely dry.
“Woah, look at how many of you were graduating,” he said, covering his mouth with his palm. You rolled your eyes and nudged his arm with your elbow.
“I’m serious, is that how many of you graduate?” He asked again.
“Yeah, with my university, there were other departments who graduated at the same time,” you replied, seeing the droves of students lined up behind you.
Taehyung hummed in agreement, flicking through from the beginning again. Then you grew quiet, letting him do so instead of asking why he would do that all over again. You watched him trace the images, his bracelets moving up and down, and in your hazy, drunken consciousness, you realised that Taehyung was somewhat removed from that experience. Though you knew that he had enrolled into university, it wasn’t the same since it coincided with his schedule and various other commitments. Adjusting yourself once more so you could reached for the other stack of albums nearby, you also reached for your phone since you had some photographs backed up. Taehyung had leant back to give you space.
“That album’s just a selected few of what I got up to in university and I’ve got some more, so…” you began, pursing your lips as you heaved a bigger one out. He smiled as you opened it up. But it fell on a page where it was you wearing a red wig with bright yellow, oversized glasses, in a karaoke room. Slapping your hand over it, you nearly knocked the mug over nearby if it wasn’t for Taehyung catching it.
“I saw that,” He chuckled, his hair falling over his eyes.
-
“I don’t think we should be doing this drunk,” you cautioned. Taehyung stumbled slightly as he retrieved the flat, griddle pan from a cupboard.
“This is the best time to do it,” he replied, and laid it out on the counter, near the plug. Once he had unravelled the wire and plugged it in, he switched it on. Trying to help, you opened the rice cooker and dug out some rice, though you weren’t really in the best condition since you were scooping the bottom at some point. Taehyung started to giggle when he took over, flattening the rice with a spatula over the heated surface.
“Isn’t this more for breakfast?” You asked, handing him the sugar.
“It is - it’s like early morning,” he informed you.
Glancing at the clock, it was 3:11AM. Nodding, purely because you were on the irretrievable side of drunk, you sprinkled some more sugar. As Taehyung continued to flatten the rice, he worked with a quiet concentration. Giving up on helping, you leaned on the counter, watching with amusement as the rice fell apart as he tried to flip them.
“Can you singe mine more? I like the crunch,” you said, pinching his side since he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Taehyung hissed and bit his bottom lip whilst shooting you a look. But you smiled as he pressed the spatula even more so that the rice had more time to get golden brown.
When you were both sat on the floor, chewing through the food, Taehyung had brought out a spare notepad. Using a pen, you guessed that he was drawing characters. They weren’t discernible to you since he had propped the pad on his knees. Also, it was probably because you were drunk and trying to settle the feeling with food.
“Do you believe in aliens?” He asked, between mouthfuls. You nodded, but since his eyes were concentrated on his drawing, you realised that you had to speak.
“I do,” you replied, getting a gel pen and taking some paper for yourself. You began to draw a rocket.
“What you do think they look like?” He asked, getting really into his drawing, making elaborate movements with his hand. Curious, you thought about the answer. Taking the final piece of rice, you ate it and enjoyed how the sugar had pressed itself in between.
“Really sexy,” you concluded. Taehyung laughed and promptly showed you what he was drawing.
“Is that Jimin?”
And he laughed harder, nodding. On the page, you saw what was recognisably Jimin. He had drawn his distinctly pillowy lips and eyes that he had exaggerated and elongated. Yet it was Jimin through and through. Then, as it just was his face, you reached forward and drew a stick-man’s body right below the bottom lip. And you ended up laughing way harder than you should.
-
“I’m telling you, Sang-Hoon likes you,” Taehyung said suddenly. You sighed for the umpteenth time, blaming yourself for even bringing it up.
“He’s just being nice,” you replied, handing him another can of beer. The TV was switched off and you reached for the remote.
“No one goes out of their way to buy someone coffee every morning like that. It’s like the equivalent of a food truck. He definitely likes you,” Taehyung said, cracking the can open. Ignoring him for the moment, you turned your attention to the news as said that it was going to rain again. You mentally reminded yourself to bring your umbrella.
“He’s just being nice, as a colleague,” you repeated, with more insistence this time. Taehyung raised his eyebrows. Though you were aware of Sang-Hoon’s crush and did somewhat agree with Taehyung’s observation, you wanted to keep such thoughts well away.
“Okay, what’s wrong with him?” He asked. You paused, blinking at the question. You found yourself thinking that while Sang-Hoon was a decent person, he seemed to assert himself everywhere, to the point of being overbearing.
“I don’t know, he’s just… okay, he’s annoying, he hovers,” you replied, remembering how he was stood by your desk even after your conversation had transpired. He has since resigned himself to bringing you the coffee personally as opposed to leaving it at your desk before you arrived.
“Ah, I get it, he’s one of those,” he said, finding it in himself to smile. You scoffed at his amusement but after a while, you let it go, leaning your head back to chug more beer.
“Yeah, I know, he’s just keeps coming out of no where, I can’t exactly call him out,” you complied. Taehyung suddenly smirked.
“What?”
“You probably just want free coffee forever, right?”
Rolling your eyes, you gave no comment.
-
Wandering around Taehyung’s apartment, you were waiting for him to open a new bottle of wine. As you reached the top of the corridor, you noticed something leaning against the wall. Coming closer, you saw that it was the exposed back of the stretched canvas, the wooden frame was a light wood.
“There you are,” Taehyung said, placing a wine glass in your hand. Tipping it to the bottle, you held it carefully as he poured the wine.
“Did you get something at auction?” You asked, turning to him as he poured himself a glass.
Taehyung drank some before answering you. Shaking his head, you watched as his brown flyaway curls moved lightly. Stepping aside, you watched as he manoeuvred the canvas so it could face you. Pressing your lips into a thin line, you realised that it was the ‘art’ that you two created. You felt the wine go straight to your head as you leaned your shoulder onto the wall.
“So you’re really going to put that on display?” You asked, though it was in a quiet voice, you ended up sounding incredulous.
“Yup,” he beamed, his cheeks becoming fuller. Unable to say anything, you leaned forward to examine the paint strokes, immediately recognising the position you were when it occurred. The green, blue, white, and gold all mixed together in a strange, nebulous motif. But you could clearly see that there were finger prints, dragging down like painted claws. There was a vague imprint of your tits too, if one knew where to look. Taehyung came forward and traced the raised surface of the paint.
“Remember when you were on your -”
“Yup,” you replied quickly, your face flooding with heat as you recalled the memories.
The shower was a colourful mess afterwards and the paint had actually rubbed off. But you and Taehyung stayed in there a longer since you both carried on where you left off. More specifically, you on your knees.
“And how in the shower we -”
“Mmhm,” you interjected, sipping more of your wine. Gulping it down, you felt tipsy then as Taehyung chuckled next to you, skimming his finger on the corners of the stretched canvas.
“Where are you planning to hang it?” You asked, swirling the remaining wine in the glass as you gripped the stem. Taehyung hadn’t said anything immediately so you took another sip only to choke straight after.
“Here of course, right near the front door,” he replied simply. Then he rubbed your back casually as you doubled over, your chest heaving as you recovered from his answer.
“Taehyung, isn’t the other room more appropriate?” You replied, clearing your throat.
“It’s the best piece in my collection - it should be shown off,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
masterlist.
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Text
A BIG collection of my favourite randomly generated incorrect quotes with the top 5 (+ edgejeanist unsurprisingly - I think I got pretty lucky for that part) :
@ohpleaseiwillendyou idk I just thought you might enjoy these 🥰
———————
Tsunagu: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?
Shinya: ...Have you never taken a shower before?
———————
Enji: You remind me of the ocean.
Shinya: Because I'm deep and mysterious?
Enji: No, because you're full of salt and you scare people.
———————
Tsunagu: Where the devil is Shinya?
Rumi: Well, it is raining outside... Maybe he melted?
Keigo : Shall I look outside for a pointy hat?
———————
Keigo : Make no mistake. Not only am I party rocking, but I am also in the house tonight.
Tsunagu: But are you shuffling?
Keigo : Everyday.
Shinya: What language are you two speaking??
———————
Tsunagu: So, what are we doing?
Shinya: Wasting our lives.
Tsunagu: I meant for lunch...
———————
Keigo: Words ending in 'ie' just sound so adorable. Like cutie, sweetie, cookie-
Rumi: Eyy, homie!
Shinya: But then there's cootie...
Tsunagu: Die.
———————
Enji: What does “take out” mean?
Keigo: Food.
Rumi: Dating.
Tsunagu: Murder.
Shinya: It can be all three if you’re brave enough.
———————
*Comments under an image of a really hot knife cutting bread*
Rumi: Imagine stabbing someone with this knife.
Enji: It would instantly cauterize the wound, so the person wouldn't bleed, so it's not very useful.
Tsunagu: if you want information it is
Keigo : why would you STAB a person when you can have TOAST?
———————
*playing twister*
Rumi: Right hand red.
Shinya: *ends up on top of Tsunagu*
Tsunagu: You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?
Rumi: I stopped spinning like 15 minutes ago. Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't notice.
———————
Shinya: What do we think of Tsunagu?
*pause*
Keigo : *sighs* Nice pal.
Enji: I think he’s gay.
———————
Keigo : What do rainbows mean to you?
Tsunagu: Gay rights.
Shinya: There's money.
Rumi: The sign of God's promise to never destroy the whole Earth with a flood.
Enji: It is an optical phenomenon that separates sunlight into its continuous spectrum when the sun shines on raindrops.
———————
Tsunagu: Unfortunately, due to several experiences in my youth, I cannot just 'walk up and join a circle of people talking', but it does sound lovely, thank you.
———————
Keigo : If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be?
Rumi: Maybe a bit tipsy?
Enji: Drunk.
Shinya: Wasted.
Tsunagu: Dead.
———————
Enji: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel.
Keigo : An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel.
Shinya: A realist sees a freight train.
Tsunagu: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.
———————
Rumi: Is this your plan B?
Shinya: Technically, this is plan P.
Rumi: Plan P? Is there a plan M?
Shinya: Yes, but I marry Tsunagu in plan M.
Tsunagu: I like plan M.
———————
Kidnapper: We have your child
Enji: I don’t have a child?
Kidnapper: Then who just asked for warm milk and made us cut the crusts off their sandwich?
Enji: Oh god, you have Keigo
(I kinda wanted to change this particular one to Tsunagu, but I think it’s funnier if Enji says this one - especially with the ‘I don’t have a child’ lmao)
———————
Tsunagu: Time for plan G.
Enji: Don’t you mean plan B?
Tsunagu: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.
Keigo : What about plan D?
Tsunagu: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.
Rumi: What about plan E?
Tsunagu: I’m hoping not to use it. Shinya dies in plan E.
Shinya: I like plan E.
———————
Shinya: Guys, I’ve been meaning to tell you… Tsunagu and I are dating.
Tsunagu, Rumi, Keigo , and Enji: *gasp*
Shinya: Tsunagu, why are you surprised?!
————————
Uh oh I’m getting carried away there’s so much more:
——��—————
Enji: For self defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely.
Keigo, Tsunagu , & Rumi: Okay.
Enji: If you don't want to die, give me all your money.
Keigo: Bold of you to assume I have money.
Tsunagu : Bold of you to assume I don't want to die.
Rumi: Bold of you to assume I can die.
———————
Keigo : Five little monkeys jumping on the bed. One fell off and…
Enji: Was diagnosed with mesothelioma.
Keigo : Mamma called the doctor and the doctor said…
Tsunagu: You might be entitled to financial compensation if he or a loved one dies.
———————
Shinya: Can we go out to get icecream?
Tsunagu: Did you ask Rumi?
Shinya: She said no.
Tsunagu: Then why did you ask me?
Shinya: She’s not the boss of you.
Tsunagu, internally: It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap.
———————
Keigo : Where's Shinya?
Rumi: Don't worry, I'll find him.
Rumi, shouting: Tsunagu sucks!
Shinya, distantly: Tsunagu is the best person ever! F*ck you!
Rumi: Found him.
(I am genuinely surprised with how lucky I got with these ones, they make me so happy wow)
———————
Shinya, watching Enji & Tsunagu panic : What's going on?
Keigo : Enji is having a midlife crisis and Tsunagu is just having a crisis.
———————
Rumi: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?
Keigo : Several traffic violations.
Shinya: Three counts of resisting arrest.
Tsunagu: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.
Enji: Also, that’s not our car.
——————
Shinya: I don't need to go to bed. I'm not tired, I'll be fine.
Tsunagu: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. Come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.
Shinya: O-oh. Well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns??
Tsunagu: Is it working?
(Again, was not expecting this one to be randomly generated but hey I’m definitely not complaining lmao plus he’d totally do this)
——————
Tsunagu: Rumi, what do you have?
Rumi: A KNIFE!
Tsunagu: Okay, have fu-
Shinya: NO!
———————
Police: You’re under arrest for trying to carry three people on a single motorcycle.
Shinya, with Enji and Keigo behind them: Wait, what do you mean THREE?!
Police: Yes…three.
Shinya: Oh, my God—
Police: Wha-
Shinya: Tsunagu FELL OFF!
———————
Enji: You know you can die from that, right?
Keigo: *smoking a cigarette* That’s the point.
Shinya: *drinking alcohol* We’re trying to speed this up.
Tsunagu: *Eating raw cookie dough and nodding*
———————
Shinya, trying to convince Enji to join the group: You know... I thought it'd be good to have someone come along who's really... strong!
Keigo: And loud!
Tsunagu: And grumpy!
Rumi: And oblivious to reality!
Enji:
———————
*The gang responding to being stabbed by a sword*
Shinya: Rude.
Tsunagu: That's fair.
Enji: Not again.
Rumi: Are you gonna want this back or can I keep it?
———————
Keigo: Shinya-
Shinya: *sighs* Tsunagu used to call me Shinya...
Keigo: ...Because it's your f*cking name.
———————
Rumi: Do you cook?
Tsunagu: I made a cake once.
Shinya: Yeah, it was good.
Tsunagu: Really?
Shinya: Don’t make me lie twice, Tsunagu.
———————
Enji: And now for a gay update with Shinya and Tsunagu.
Tsunagu: Getting gayer.
Enji: Thank you, Tsunagu.
(Of course of course)
———————
Tsunagu: Do you want to play 20 Questions?
Shinya: Sure!
Shinya: Whats your favorite color?
Tsunagu, laser focused: Triangle. Do you like men?
(This is accurate. Why is this accurate ahaha)
—————————
Tsunagu: I have one foot in the grave but in a kind of fun flirty way, the way one might slip on a fishnet stocking.
———————
Ahaha okay I think that’s enough it’s late now- I have way more but hey, that’ll have to be later
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outofcoffee24 · 3 years
Text
Zephyr Lovin’ - Heath Ledger FanFic
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Summary: The infamous Zephyr party scene in which Skip seemingly has a horrible night seeing the boys get offers to leave. That is until a certain OC reminds Skip he isn’t a lost cause after all. Basically porn with little plot in beginning for context (OC character notes with Sid, again it’s for plot). It breaks my heart seeing our baby Skip sad at the party scene in the film, so I decided to write a dirty smut fic to make it up for him ;)
Warnings: Explicit sexual situations, smut, oral (male/fem receiving), deepthroating, various sex positions, mentions of alcoholism, slightly angst, dominant Skip, virgin OC, loss of virginity, barely legal/older pairing (I probably overshot his age a bit but it felt right lol) I’m also awful at writing so?? there’s that warning lmao
.....
The alcohol burned his esophagus more than usual that night.
Normally the sinful liquid hardly affected him, serving as an escape from his unhappy reality. But as he stood pouring himself another drink and watched that prick Topper Burks practically steal away his group of protégés with promises of fortune he couldn’t begin to offer them himself, Skip felt more sober than he had in years.
Downing another glass, Skip savored the temporary feeling of bliss as the alcohol ran through his bloodstream. The buzz muted his emotions, but he knew he was only one wrong move from losing his shit. He gave those little maggots free boards, skates, and lessons. They used to fawn over the ground he walked on, and for what?
Now they were going bigger places than he ever had, with absolutely no thanks to him. They wouldn’t even be getting these offers without his guidance, and here they were, ready to throw away him and his shop all together.
 Skip shook his head, taking another swing from his bottle. Guess you can’t expect loyalty from anyone, especially not those little rug-rats—he thought bitterly.
 Popping a cigarette in his mouth, he inhaled the toxic smoke as it filled his lungs. Feeling sorry for himself wasn’t a normality for Skip, but he couldn’t shake the melancholy. As he glanced again at the Z boys, Tony shot him a cocky grin and raised his arms in mock indignation. Skip’s blood boiled, and in a drunken haze of anger he swaggered over to the group.
Swaying to the music, he all but threw himself towards Tony only to be pushed away by his pathetic security guards. Leave it to Mr Fancy Pants to hire some stiff to fight his battle for him. Hardly a pirate thing to do.
Skip weighed his options: he could either keep trying to confront Tony and ultimately be forced to fight his security guard, or he could say a big fuck you to everyone who had the nerve to embarrass him in his own god damn shop!
In a drunken haze, he grabbed a surfboard and headed to the rooftop. Option 2 it is!
 “Come on!” he yelled, “Who wants a free surfboard?!” He roared, throwing the board onto the cement below. Skip watched in a mix of rage and regret as the beautifully carved wood snapped against the ground.
“Billy you want me to give away the shop man, well here’s your share of the profits, man!” Skip chucked another board across the road, the buzz hardly noticeable anymore.
“I’m out of here! You don’t see this crap on the North shore!”
“Yeah well this one’s for your mommy!” Skip retorted in a blind rage, lunging another board across the road.
“Zephyrs parties are great!” Skip heard Topper’s irritating voice gloat below as their posse strode out his shop. Anger surged through his veins as he became painfully aware Topper not only most likely stole his team but also had the satisfaction of watching Skip destroy his own shop.
“Free surfboards, yeah!!” Skip screamed, throwing a leg over the ledge. Taking another swing of alcohol, he momentarily lost himself in the temporary fix. He laid his back against the railing, adrenaline pumping as he lay so close to the edge. The bottle slipped from his grasp, shattering against the sidewalk below.
 Skip was about to lose his only shot at keeping the shop, and as usual his poor coping skills weren’t helping.
 “You’re the guy my brother wouldn’t shut up about?” A soft, feminine voice quirked up a few feet away. Skip would have dismissed it as part of the buzz if it didn’t sound so...annoyed and concerned.
“Yeah well those maggots are all talk, no spunk,” Skip grumbled, no looking at the stranger. He hoped she’d leave so he could wallow in peace.
“Well you’re one to talk,” she chided back, teasing and accusatory all at once.
 Who did she think she was? Skip hauled himself up, pulling both legs over to face the bold girl.
 Well...damn, Skip thought as he eyed her up. Even in his intoxicated state, he could clearly see she was gorgeous. Long hair framed her face, as she stood arms crossed glaring at him in a mix of disgust and...pity? Skip didn’t dwell on it, his attention occupied with her figure that was clad in a black long sleeve top that showed just the perfect amount of cleavage, paired with a denim mini skirt that revealed her creamy legs. He noted the cute nike sneakers on her feet, a sign she most likely didn’t come for the party. Although sexy as hell in his book, she wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
 Her outfit wasn’t even that revealing, but that didn’t stop Skip from drinking in her appearance. Usually he could block out most women, fully aware that his alcoholism and lack of a successful career meant a headache and waste of time. But for some reason the brunette in front of him made him feel a buzz the alcohol or joint he smoked earlier that day couldn’t. Any chance of having a confrontational conversation with him was unfortunately going to be a little difficult.
 Mila eyed Skip in annoyance as she observed his blatant eye-fucking. Typical, she thought with a grimace, but yet she found herself blushing at his lustful stare. She had come up here fully prepared to yell at the man who dragged her brother out of his studies and away from a paying job, but she wasn’t expecting Skip to be so handsome.
 “And...how exactly would you know who I am to comment something like that?” Skip asked thickly, noticing these way her cheeks flushed from his gaze. He grinned at her shyness, tilting his head as he observed her mannerisms. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t pinpoint who.
 “Unfortunately I know a lot more about you than I’d like to. You have a way with worming yourself into my brothers head,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Sid”, she clarified after seeing his raised eyebrows.
Ah, he knew that innocent glint in her face was familiar. She was sure a better looker then her brother though, and much less naïve.
She was probably only a year or two older than that little squirt—undoubtedly still too young for Skip. For his own peace of mind, he hoped she was at least of legal age. He may be a drunk with a pathetic excuse of a career, but he had some morals.
“Now there’s no way you’re blood-related”, he muttered, standing up to get a closer look at her features. “Sid never mentioned he had such a beautiful sister”. 
She scoffed, shaking her head. “Despite the fact my brother likes to act like I don’t exist, we are.”
 Skip quirked his eyebrows at her statement, noting the way her shoulders slumped in sadness. He felt a sudden pang of remorse for her, and anger directed at that little rut Sid. Leaving his group or not, Skip was going to have a word with that brat about manners and respecting his sister!
 Where did that come from? He thought in confusion. Maybe the alcohol really was affecting him.
 Before he could comment, she shook her head. “Listen, I’m here to ask you to let Sid have some free time at least. I know I can’t force him to stop this surf or skater thing—whatever it is you guys do—but he needs a balance. I can’t keep supporting him if he puts in no effort.”
 Skip licked his lips, almost impressed by her assertive tone. “Hmm...is that so? Wasn’t aware little Sid had such a feisty kitten to vouch for him.”
Mila swallowed at the seductive growl in his voice, becoming acutely aware of his increased proximity. Her nostrils filled with his scent, a mix of alcohol and cologne, which she was surprised to find made her mouth water.
This is not good! She had come here to finally straighten things out for her parents and give Sid a chance at becoming more responsible. Instead Mila was finding herself having a difficult time focusing on his face and not staring at his toned abs.
Why couldn’t he wear a shirt?? She had seen plenty of boys her age shirtless, they lived next to a beach after all. But this wasn’t one of Sid’s friends that she could easily dismiss. Skip was built and solid, his form radiated a masculine dominance that made her toes curl.
 “Yeah well I wasn’t aware the man my brother practically built a shrine for was a drunk”, she retorted, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left her mouth. She had spent so much time hating this man, after all—he won Sid’s affection while taking advantage of him. Constantly insulting or borderline bullying him, and all the while her brother just...accepted it. Sid wouldn’t even hold a conversation with her, constantly dismissing her concern for him as “annoying just like mom and dad”.
“Guess we’re both surprised.”
Mila shivered at the intensity of his tone. If Skip was angry at her comment he didn’t show it. Instead he inhaled his cigarette, turning his head to avoid blowing smoke in her face.
“Yeah well, I’m not asking. I care about my brother, and he has a bright future ahead of him,” Mila said, standing her ground. She wasn’t exactly certain about the last part, but Sid not making money for himself wasn’t exactly going to help with it.
 Cute, Skip thought smirking as he regarded her refusal to back down.
 The reality of tonight’s situation began to creep onto him, and he crinkled his nose in disgust.
“No need to worry, babe. After tonight, it’s clear my boys will be leaving this shop behind for better opportunities,” he spat, unsure if he sounded depressed or frustrated. Probably both.
 Mila furrowed her brows in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Skip sighed, maybe they are related. “What I’m saying babe, is that your rug-rat and his friends are calling it quits. Better offers elsewhere. Scouts love young blood, and I can’t even pay them half of what they’re offering. They won’t be hanging around here anymore. Like you said, no real money here anyway.”
“Oh,” was all Mila could manage.
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Skip echoed, bitterness overwhelming evident in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Mila apologized after an awkward silence. “I didn’t know.”
Skip inhaled his cig again, wondering briefly if the toxic smoke would finally put him out of his misery. “Yeah well, now you know, sweetheart.”
 Mila’s inflamed cheeks were almost burning from his nicknames, along with minor embarrassment.
 “You know...if it makes you feel better, I’m replaceable for Sid too. And I’m related to him,” she said suddenly, not looking at Skip.
“All of the guys are too immature and reckless. I used to think it was your fault,” she admitted, glancing quickly at the beautiful blonde in front of her. “I used to hate you for stealing my brother away. You got him to idolize you and he can’t even stand me. But I was wrong about you and I’m sorry. Sometimes I just wish he respected me the same way he looks up to you.”
Skip didn’t bother to hide the shock at her declaration. “I always knew that little maggot was slow, but Sid’s dumber than I thought. If I had someone like you in my life, trust me you’d know how much I appreciate you.”
That kid had someone who was willing to look out for him no matter what he did, and he still treated her poorly? Skip shook his head in disgust.
“Oh, thanks,” Mila said, flushing, and smiled genuinely. “You know, you’re not so bad yourself. The guys do still see you as their hero, you did earn that title with your skills as I’ve heard. But don’t expect me to worship you like everyone else.”
Skip's signature smirk returned at her teasing comment. “Trust me sweetheart, I want you to worship me in a completely different way,” he winked.
 A shiver ran down Mila’s spine, and she couldn’t help but glance down at his exposed torso. Any witty retort she had was halted with her mind becoming fully occupied by his sculpted abs. She licked her lips in a daze, biting the soft flesh to stifle the unsolicited thoughts.
 “See something you like?” Skip breathed across her face. They were only inches apart now, and he found himself inhaling her sweet rose scent. He normally wasn’t a huge fan of girly perfume but this one wasn’t too fragrant or sickly sweet. Delicious, he thought.
 “Do you?” She retorted, a cute contrast between her unlabored breathing.
Skip wasn’t used to most people, especially strangers, being so direct with him. He absolutely loved it from women.
Which reminded him, he did need to make sure he wasn’t about to put himself in legal trouble.
“I think we both know the answer to that, but before I can confirm….I need to ask one question,” he popped the cig out of mouth, eyeing her with predatory eyes. “How old are you?”
 He didn’t think he could handle it if she told him younger than Sid. She looked far too...developed to for that to be the case, but knowing his shitty luck it was an unfortunate possibility.
 “What, are you that much of an old man you feel the need to ask?” She teased, boldly plucking the cig from his grasp and placing it between her lips.
Skip swallowed thickly as he watched her inhale the smoke. He had an overwhelming urge to taste her mouth, and the familiar tightness in his pants was becoming unbearable.
 Focus! Can’t do anything if she’s jailbait.
 “Listen you little cocktease,” he growled, invading her personal space as he grasped her shoulders and pulled her against his chest. He grinned as her breath hitched at the contact. “I’m trying really hard here to maintain my conscience, so let me know if what I’m doing right now could potentially get me thrown in jail.”
Mila’s knees buckled from the warmth radiating off his skin, and the dominant growl in his voice almost made her collapse. She wanted to answer, but she found herself all too aware of a very hard appendage in his pants pressing into her stomach.
 “What? Hmm? Cat got your tongue, kitten?” Skip found himself enjoying the way her chest heaved at his ministrations. She was so responsive, and yet he was barely touching her.
“I’m not underage,” Mila said shakily. “I’m 19.”
That was still a good 7 years younger than him, but Skip couldn’t find it in him to care. He was too grateful he wasn’t a complete pervert.
“I’ll be honest, I’ve never been with a girl younger than me more than a couple years. So if you want to back out now, we can both pretend this never happened,” he found himself saying, all traces of teasing gone from his voice.
 For her sake, Skip wasn’t sure if he wanted her to run while she could or let him have his way with her.
 Mila didn’t respond right away, but she pressed herself more firmly against his bare chest. She gripped the top of his jacket in an attempt to balance herself, which resulted in her pulling him closer. She found herself getting lost in his hazel orbs, the cig in her hand long forgotten as it fell to the ground.
“I don’t want to stop,” she said, or must have because within seconds Skip pressed his mouth to hers.
His lips were soft and warm. They tasted like vodka and spearmint gum, a surprisingly intoxicating combination. She felt his tongue trace her lips, pressing urgently for entrance into her mouth. She obliged and moaned as his tongue attacked hers. Strong hands grasped at her form, one hand on her hip and the other tangling in her hair. Her head was spinning and she wondered briefly if it was possible to get drunk off someone else lips.
Skip groaned as he devoured her mouth. She was so sweet, he couldn’t get enough. He urged her closer, forcing himself to stay in control and not just fuck her raw against the pavement of the rooftop. If that was going to happen, he wanted her to beg for it on her own accord.
 Mila’s hands move from his jacket to hair, pulling him closer against her. She briefly remembered when a boy in her class, Robin, had kissed her in a game of spin the bottle a couple years ago. It was nothing compared to this.
Skip nipped at her lips with his teeth as he felt her soft hands begin to explore his chest. Her touch was curious, and despite the obvious inexperience, he found himself enjoying the fact he would be the first man she ever touched like this.
 Only man after the good time I’ll show her tonight. Skip ignored the irrationally possessive thought.
 He pulled back from her mouth and began to trace his lips against the curve of her throat. “Go ahead sweetheart, let yourself feel a real man. Bet those little brat friends of your brother’s can’t give it to you like this, huh?”
Mila gasped as he assaulted her neck, eyes rolling back as Skip sucked on the sensitive flesh. She muffled a moan in response, tilting her head back to grant him more access.
“No…”, she managed a weak moan. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”
Skip’s ego soared with pride at her confirmation. His mouth continued his pursuit along her throat, marking the sensitive flesh. He wanted her to remember this, he wanted everyone to see he claimed her.
Skip was never a possessive lover, but something in the way she responded to him made him want to keep her here with him.
 Yep, definitely the alcohol brain, he thought.
 Soft hands ran along his abdomen, grasping onto his hips as he lightly bit into the skin between her neck and collar bone. His hands filled with the soft denim covering her ass, and he squeezed her tighter against him.
“Skip-p!” her soft voice whined, serving as music to his ears. Her hands were now tangled in his hair, and he couldn’t help but enjoy the way she tugged at his scalp.
“Mmm...what do you want, princess?” he cooed against her neck. He dipped his mouth lower, meeting the skin above her breasts with his tongue teasingly.
 “Oh!” Mila moaned. “We need—we’re in public. We should go somewhere private.”
 Oh, fuck. Skip realized they were out in the open and anyone could easily get up to the rooftop and see them.
Not that he particularly cared, but he had a feeling his little innocent minx would.
Pulling back to assert her disheveled state, Skip nearly groaned at the sight of her flushed skin, plumped lips from his assault on her mouth, and heaving breasts.
 Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all, he smirked to himself.
 “What’s your name?” He asked suddenly, remembering he never got a name to place on the pretty face before him.
“Mila.”
“Mm...pretty name for a pretty girl. I like it,” he grinned. “Don’t worry Mila, I have the perfect spot for us.”
 He grabbed her hand and led her to the first floor of the shop. As expected, majority of the partygoers had already left, with a few lingering drunks and pot-heads too intoxicated to notice them. There was a backroom that no one had access to, meant for office space but Skip kept it to himself whenever he decided to crash at the shop. Unlocking the door, he pulled Mila inside and turned on the light.
 Mila scanned the room in surprise. It wasn’t large, but it had a king sized bed, desk, and TV. She was grateful at the cleanliness of the space, with only two empty bottles of beer on the bedside table that indicated anyone had occupied it.
 Suddenly she became very self-conscious. It was starting to hit her that alongside her lack of sexual experiences, she was alone with the surf and skate legend himself.
 Skip must have seen her nervousness because he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her against him once again.
“You know girlie, you can stop this whenever you want. I’m only in this if you are,” he said seriously, gazing into her dilated eyes.
Mila shook her head, nerves soothed by his declaration she had a choice to leave if she wanted to.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I’ve just never done this before,” she said, turning a bright shade of red. “I’m worried you’ll be disappointed.”
 Skip chuckled, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Now, now babe. No need to get nervous around big ole Skip. I’m more than happy to teach you whatever you want to know.”
His lips ghosted over her own, making her moan and lean against the contact. He smirked, maintaining control and not granting her full access to his mouth.
 “But I need to know you’ll be a good listener. Let me have control of you and I’ll promise I’ll make sure you enjoy every second,” he growled. “You gonna do that for me?”
Mila’s lungs starved of oxygen at the proposition. Swallowing away her nerves, she agreed. “Yes.”
 She found herself pressed against the door, with Skip’s hungry mouth scorching hers as he began his delicious assault. Rough hands grasped at her waist, traveling up her backside and into her hair. Groaning, Skip gently pulled at the thick strands, tilting her head for better access.
“You’re more addicting than that bottle of gin I nursed all evening,” he groaned against her lips. Mila moaned in response, returning the kiss with an equally ravenous force. Her hands searched for his jacket, blindly pushing away the material in a desperate surge to get closer.
Skip smirked against her mouth, fueled by her eagerness. He pulled back slightly, placing lazy kisses against her cheek.
“Easy there, girlie. Don’t want to make me lose control here,” he grunted hotly against her ear.
Instead of responding, Mila tilted her head forward and began to mimic his earlier ministrations against her neck. She shyly placed a soft kiss against his jugular, feeling the heat in navel ignite as he groaned above her. A curious tongue tasted his skin, and Mila found herself getting into an easy rhythm of licking and sucking the flesh of his throat.
“Maybe I want you to lose control,” she whispered, lips brushing his neck as she did.
An animalistic growl sent shivers down her spine, and Mila found herself being lifted against his torso. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried them over to the bed. Mila felt the mattress hit her back and soon Skip’s body towered over hers.
“Then you’re in for a rough ride, sweetheart”, his sensual voice breathed above her. Piercing brown eyes bore into hers as he pinned her onto the sheets, enjoying the way she submitted to him.
 His jacket was long discarded, and Mila couldn’t help but drool at the sight of his fully exposed chest. She reached a hesitant hand to trace along the front of his torso, her stomach twisting in excitement as his breath hitched beneath her fingertips.
 “You said you’d teach me,” she began shyly. “What’s my first lesson?”
Fucking little minx, Skip groaned inwardly. So many dirty thoughts flashed across his mind at all the possibilities. First and foremost, he wanted to make sure she experienced her first orgasm and multiple times.
“I’m gonna need you to lose most of the clothes, babe,” he pulled back, giving her room to sit-up and pull her shirt over head. Next came her denim skirt, and Skip outwardly moaned at the sight of her smooth skin laid in nothing but a black bra and panties to match willingly across his bed.
 Fuck the Z-boys, he was in heaven.
 “Now this first lesson,” Skip brushed his lips across her neck, traveling down her chest. “Is gonna be all about you, sweetheart.”
 Mila barley registered his words, too lost in the bliss of his mouth on her skin. Before she could react, Skip pulled down her bra strap, exposing a perked nipple. Mila found herself stifling a wanton moan as his tongue traced the appendage. Chuckling against her, Skip eagerly began to suck on the soft flesh and groaned at the taste of her milky skin. Her small hands weaved themselves through his wild hair, as her hips jerked upward slightly in desire.
“Ahah!” Mila whimpered. Skip grunted hotly above her, moving his mouth to pay equal attention to her other breast. “Fuck that feels good!”
 “Oh trust me, babe. It only gets better from here.”
 Skip was on cloud nine. He enjoyed making his previous flings and temporary lovers squirm in bliss beneath him before, but this was different. Mila was so accepting and willing for his touch, all without the influence of alcohol or other drugs, and it took all of Skip’s self restraint not to fuck her senseless. He wanted to make this special for her—well as much as he could.
Mila trembled beneath his hot mouth, and gasped as she felt the wetness between her thighs pool. Her cheeks were inflamed from Skip’s assault, but she felt suddenly self-conscious that she was most likely staining his sheets.
 Before she could protest her concerns, Skip flickered his tongue along the sensitive flesh of her breasts and Mila found herself reduced to only moans.
Skip moved his kisses down her waist, stopping nip at her navel and resting at the top of her panties.
“Now this is your first lesson. There’s only one rule: let me hear you. Even if that means you screaming my name,” Skip grinned, peering up at her flushed face. “And trust me, babe, you’re gonna be screaming.”
 Mila didn’t have time to fully register the situation before his nose pressed against the center of her panties. She jerked in shock and ecstasy, whimpering as his hot breath filled her dropping entrance.
“Oooohh! W—wait, I’ve never—umm—I don’t want to gross you out!“ Mila tried to protest, but his lips pressed open mouthed kisses against the lace covering her cunt and she suddenly found it hard to breathe.
“Shhh”, Skip soothed against her core. “Trust me, girlie. There’s nothing gross about this” he reassured huskily. Without warning, he pulled her panties off of her body, and repositioned his face back at her entrance.
“You’re perfect”, he groaned, before giving a long, sensual lick to her pussy. Mila screamed as her eyes lulled back.
Skip felt himself drool at the mouthwatering taste of her. Grabbing her thighs, he placed them over his shoulders and began devouring her with his tongue.
“Oh god,” Mila groaned, her hands gripping his blonde locks.
Skip smirked, pulling away slightly to nip at the appendix of her thighs. He wanted to make sure she had marks there too. “Not quite, but close enough, babe.”
Placing his mouth over her drenched core, he continued tongue fucking into the mattress. He groaned as her hips bucked against his face, enjoying the way she lost herself in his touch.
“Skip!” Mila moaned his name like a mantra over and over, unable to formulate any other coherent response.
 A calloused finger joined his mouth, causing Mila to scream nonsensical praise beneath him. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he added a second digit, growling against her cunt at the tightness. He began a rhythm of alternating between shoving his tongue and fingers out of her leaking pussy. She was so wet for him, he groaned to himself. The denim jeans were suffocating against his hard cock, but Skip didn’t care. He wanted her to know how much pleasure he could bring her.
 Mila couldn’t restrain herself as she jerked against his face and fingers. She should have felt self-conscious, fully aware she was acting like a whore and not a virgin. But she couldn’t bring herself to mind, too focused on the bliss Skip was delivering her.
 An unknown heat was coiling beneath her navel, causing her chest to tighten in anticipation. Mila didn’t know what this feeling was, but she knew it was more than she ever experienced on her own.
 “Fuck! Skip! Oh god—I think I’m—“ Mila couldn’t finish her sentence, screaming his name blindly as stars clouded her vision.
Skip groaned, his erection throbbing in excitement knowing he was able to give her such an intense organism.
Pulling back, he licked his lips and smirked surveying her erratic state.
“So, how was your first lesson?” He teased, placing a lazy kiss against her thigh. He could lay between her legs all night if she wanted.
“Amazing,” Mila managed, still trying to regulate her breathing. Amazing was an understatement, she never knew anyone could make her feel so good.
 Noticing his rigid form, Mila became aware that he probably wanted a similar experience.
Skip noticed the way she glanced at his crotch, and jumped in reassurance, “You don’t owe me anything for that, babe. Like I said, whatever you want.”
He would never turn it down if she offered, but he also didn’t want a blowjob out of obligation. That wasn’t his style.
 Mila shook her head, cheeks inflamed she worried if they’d stay that way. “No, I want to make you feel good too.”
 Skip nearly moaned at his luck. She wanted to return the favor. Like hell he was going to just let her go after all of this.
 Mila licked her lips in nervousness, sitting up slightly. “I’ve never done this before.”
Skip nodded in understanding, fully aware she most likely hadn’t—also choosing to ignore the possessive pride he felt knowing she never did this for anyone else.
“You can try whatever you want,” he decided. “I’m yours to take advantage of,” he taunted, placing a soft kiss against her honey mouth. He stood up, planning to lay down on the bed to make this easier for her, but stopped when Mila dropped on her knees in front of him.
Maybe it was because she was still reeling from the orgasmic bliss, but Mila wanted to make sure he felt the same ecstasy she had. Running a hand over the large bulge in his pants, she looked up at his surprised stare.
“Teach me how to worship you then,” she said, eager for her next lesson.
Skip growled, grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her closer against his clothed crotch. Mila gasped, moaning at his sudden roughness in shocked pleasure.
“Don’t think you’re ready for that yet, babe.” Skip grit out.
Mila took initiative to unbuckle his belt, and pulled down his jeans. Black boxers revealed a strained erection, which appeared much bigger than she thought.
Running her tongue across the protruding tip, she whimpered as she felt Skip growl above her.
Brown eyes gazed up to meet his piercing stare, and Mila groaned as she began to suck on clothed erection. She had no idea what she was doing, but he did say she could try whatever she wanted.
 “Try me,” she shot back, hooking her thumbs over the top of his underwear.
Skip was finding it almost impossible not to shove his boxers down and force his length down her throat. All of this teasing was driving him crazy and he loved every second of it.
 Pulling down his boxers, she was nearly hit in the face by his thick, long member springing free. Mila never thought she would look at a dick and want to drool, but any previous inhibitions she had over giving oral were suddenly dismissed.
He was admittedly huge, larger than she expected a cock to be, and Mila wondered he was supposed to fit. Anywhere.
Feeling bold, she grasped his throbbing erection, enjoying the velvety softness of it in her palm. Skip hissed above her, massaging his fingers through her hair in anticipation.
Mila darted her tongue along hot skin, running her lips along base to tip a couple times to examine his reaction. She heard another moan above her, giving her the confidence to continue her exploration of his cock.
 She placed a teasing lick over the tip before sliding his erection in her mouth. Mila was happy to note he tasted pleasant and clean, it was almost mouthwatering. She took him in as far she could before she gagged slightly.
“Oh that’s it, good girl,” Skip praised in a deep voice above her.
Mila felt fueled by the verbal praise, eager for more. I’ll show you a good girl, she thought.
The familiar surge of excitement flared in her core, and Mila found she was enjoying giving him pleasure. The sounds she was able to elicit out of him made her feel appreciated and in control.
She took more of him in her mouth, making sure to use her hand to show attention to the portion of his length she couldn’t fit.
“God babe, you’re such a good little cocksucker,” Skip moaned.
Mila couldn’t help but moan back, sucking more eagerly over his throbbing length. Soon she felt the grip in her hair tighten, and Skip began to slowly jerk his hips deeper into her mouth.
“You want to know how to worship me, darlin’?” His husky voice demanded above her.
Mila whimpered, nodding as his cock slipped from her lips. “Yes. Please, I want more.”
Skip growled, pushing his erection back into her awaiting mouth. His thrusts became more dominant, forcing more of his length down her throat. Mila gagged at the sudden intrusion, but found the wetness in her core dropped down her legs.
Fuck he’s so hot when he’s like this.
Mila moved her hands to grip at his thighs to steady herself, allowing him to fuck her throat.
 Skip should have had better self control, knowing this was her first experience and he was being rougher than needed. But as he watched her offer herself to him so willingly, so eager to please him—he couldn’t help it.
 Her thighs clenched around his leg, brushing her dripping cunt across him as she humped his leg. Skip fucked her mouth harder at the realization she was trying to get off while pleasing him.
“Who knew Sid’s sister was such a cockslut for me?” He growled blissfully. “You want to cum while I fuck your face?”
Mila gave a strangled moan around his dick, feeling more turned on than ashamed.
Skip groaned, removing his cock from between her swollen lips. “I want an answer, babe. Tell me what you want.”
“Yes, please make me cum. I want you to keep fucking my mouth. I want to taste you.”
Mila flushed at the naughtiness of her words, unable to rationalize why she was so untamed with him.
Skip leaned down to catch her lips in a hungry kiss, pleased by her response.
“Such a good girl,” he groaned against her lips. “You want to try a new position?” He asked, cradling her cheek.
 Mila nodded, unsure of what he meant but excited to find out. Without another word, Skip hauled her up, and laid himself down onto the bed.
“Sit on my face beautiful. We’re gonna 69,” he commanded, winking.
Feeling slightly unsure but eager, Mila obliged and climbed over him. Positioning her crotch over his face, she yelped as his hot tongue continued his previous assault. She moaned, rocking her hips over his mouth in ecstasy. Skip groaned, pulling the back of her thighs closer over his face.
Leaning forward, Mila licked along the throbbing cock in front of her. Her eyes rolled in her head at the realization this was much more exciting than just one at a time pleasure. Taking his erection into her mouth, Mila opened her throat as she felt Skip begin to jerk his hips up. She groaned as he hit the back of her throat, but kept her mouth on him. She ground her hips more urgently onto his face, while opening her lips to allow Skip more access.
The first orgasm he had given her seemed impossible to match, but Mila was certain she was going to cum harder this time. Skip’s tongue flickered over her clit, while he pumped his fingers in and out of her dripping pussy. He moaned against her, seemingly enjoying her thrusting her hips against his face.
Skip couldn’t believe how his luck turned around. Not only was this beautiful creature so willing to have him touch her, but she was enjoying everything he offered her. For the first time in a long time, Skip felt truly worshipped and he sure as hell was going to return the favor.
He jerked deeper into her mouth, groaning as her tongue traced his member. His eyes rolled back in bliss knowing she was still trying to suck him while getting throat fucked. She was so good to him, and the nagging voice in the back of his head told him he didn’t deserve this. The voice was effectively blocked out by the beautiful moans above him.
 Close, he was so fucking close.
 Remembering he should warn her, he groaned, “Fuck babe, I’m about to—“
Mila sucked harder, aware her own release was only seconds away. A muffled moan escaped her as she felt her own orgasm take over. She whimpered as a hot liquid filled her mouth, and swallowed as much as she could.
 Well that was a great lesson, Skip thought. Mila rolled off his body as they both regained their breathing. He grabbed her shaken form and pulled her close to his chest.
Mila felt gentle kisses placed over her face along with his sweet vocal praise. “You’re so good to me, girlie. You did so good.”
She hummed in content response, enjoying his affectionate touch. She wasn’t sure what was next, but was grateful to catch her breath.
 “What number lesson are we on now?”
Skip smirked as he watched her eyes flutter closed against his gentle rubbing. Such a cute little thing, he decided.
“Hmmm…” he began in mock thought. “I’d say that was 3 lessons so far. Are you ready for more or do you want to tap out?”
 Mila was surprised to find her body curled again in eagerness at his words. It was like Skip had found a hidden switch in her sexual pleasure.
Leaning up she pressed her lips against his, kissing him deeply. “More, I want more.”
Skip groaned, grateful that despite all the years of excess alcohol consumption he still had good stamina. He felt his member begin to stir as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Mila felt herself being pulled over his frame, allowing strong hands to position her on top of him. Her thighs were placed on either side of his hips, granting her control of the situation.
She whimpered as his warm cock slid between her folds, and she found herself grinding blissfully against his erection.
 “So, do you give these kind of lessons out to the boys too?” She teased.
Skip growled, frustrated and painfully turned on by her burst of confidence.
“Nope, I only reserve these lessons for cute little brunettes that yell at me while I’m drunk,” he retorted playfully.
 Suddenly a thought popped into her head. “Will you teach me how to surf one day?” She asked without thinking.
Skip moaned at the feeling of her slick pussy rubbing over his length. “Fuck, babe I’ll teach you whatever you want. Promise,” he vowed, secretly happy this meant she’d want to see him again after this.
Mila smirked, grinding herself harder against him. “Good, cause I was thinking we could try this out on a surfboard one day too.”
Unsure if he was dreaming, Skip grabbed her waist and bucked his hips to meet her teasing thrusts.
“You sure know the way to my heart, girlie.”
 The brunette moaned, losing herself in his controlled grip. “Skip please—“
Her unfinished sentence was understood, and Mila felt the handsome blonde reposition core omg the tip of his cock.
“What, princess? Tell ole Skip here what you want.” his brass voice cooed against her. Taking this opportunity to gain full control again, he took one of her breasts into his mouth, sucking at the soft skin. “Beg for it and I’ll be happy to give you whatever you want.”
Mila whimpered, her abdominal muscles tightening from his dominant demeanor. He had been right, none of Sid’s friends could ever make her feel like this. No boy her age could.
 “Please Skip—oohhh!” She moaned unabashed. “Please fuck me, I want you!”
That was all the prompting he needed, and Skip began to slowly push her body down onto his length. He stopped when he felt a barrier of resistance, peering up at her glazed expression.
“Shh, baby,” he groaned softly, pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I’m gonna take care of you, I promise.”
Mila nodded, her nerves soothed slightly and allowed Skip to enter her fully. Unfortunately due to his large size, pain was inevitable. Tears pricked her eyes slightly at the burning sensation, and she was worried she was bleeding.
His lips gently caressed her skin, placing feather kisses along her jaw. “It’s okay, princess the pain will go away.”
She gasped as he moved slowly inside of her. The pain didn’t subside completely, but the discomfort was beginning to merge with pleasure.
Skip was careful to take his time, and allow her to adjust. There wouldn’t be much enjoyment for him if she wasn’t just as willing as before. Slowly Mila began to experimentally buck her hips down along his cock, eliciting a loud moan from both of them.
“That’s it, babe. Just like that,” Skip groaned.
Throwing her head back, Mila found herself begin to bounce along his cock in an awkward rhythm. The pain was finally subsiding and she wanted more of that heavenly feeling from earlier. Grasping his large hands into her own, she guided them to her hips.
“Fuck me,” she moaned.
Skip began to increase his pace, making sure he wasn’t going too fast for her. He watched with hooded eyes as she whimpered his name over and over. It was a beautiful sight, seeing her bounce along his length in pleasure.
 Take that you little prick, Skip thought remembering that bastard Sid. But this wasn’t about his anger over the Z-boys. No, she was the only thing that showed him he didn’t need them.
 Pulling her mouth to his, Skip hungrily attacked her tongue with his while thrusting harder into her wet core. Mila moaned above him, grasping at his blonde locks in pleasure.
“Harder,” she whimpered against his lips.
Suddenly she found herself being rolled into her back. Skip began to jerk himself deeper into her, having full control in this new position. She was so beautiful, he thought watching her flushed face. His name from her lips sounded like music to his ears as he surged deeper into her.
“Is anyone else gonna fuck you like this?” He growled against her neck.
Mila gasped beneath him, completely at his mercy. “Noo” she moaned.
Skip smirked, biting gently along her skin. There were already bruises marks forming along her neck and his ego inflated tenfold.
“Is anyone else gonna make you feel this good?” His husky voice added to the friction between them, and Mila was once again reduced to moans.
A large hand grasped her throat, not suffocating but enough to hold her in place. 
“Answer me, girlie,” he demanded, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder to penetrate her deeper.
Mila began to scream in uncontrolled pleasure. Her hands wildly gripped at his muscled back, holding onto him for dear life.
“Noo! No one—-just you!”
“Mmm...good girl,” he groaned hotly against her.
Skip reveled at her attempts to keep his brutal pace, gazing down to glance at her eager hip thrusts.
 He felt the familiar feeling of his balls tightening and pulled away suddenly. He was going to ride this out as long as possible, literally.
“Congratulations babe, you’ve got yourself a magic pussy,” he announced, trying to catch his breath.
Mila whimpered, clearly not catching the implication behind his words, and reached to pull him back again.
“Ah, ah princess. You promised me full control remember?” Skip teased, tracing his thumb along her neck.
The brunette huffed adorably beneath him, catching him off guard when she urged her hips against his erection.
“You also promised me whatever I wanted,” she retorted in what was probably meant to be an assertive manner but came off more as a pout.
So damn cute, he groaned to himself.
 Grinning, he leaned down to kiss her swollen mouth. “And I will, babe. But in order for me to do that I can’t exactly end our fun so soon by busting a nut inside that sweet cunts of yours now can I?”
Mila shivered from the bluntness of his words. In desire or innocence she wasn’t sure.
He pulled himself back, savoring the way the beautiful brunette panted beneath him.
 “Get up and get on all fours, facing away from me.”
 Shaking in eagerness and uncertainty, Mila obeyed the command. A low whistle met her ears, and without warning she felt one of his large hands slap her ass cheek.
Mila yelled in surprise, whimpering as a warm hand rubbed the stinging skin.
“Consider this your next lesson,” Skip’s deep voice spoke behind her, breath tickling her ear as he leaned over her.
A warm hand reached her core, dipping a finger into her wet entrance.
“Ohh,” Mila gasped, jerking against his hand. Bright lights clouded her vision as she felt a callous thumb run across her clit.
“That’s it, babe. Ride it out, just like a wave,” Skip groaned. Another hand grasped her throat, cradling her back against him.
“Skip” she moaned, pressing her ass back against his slick cock. “Please, more!”
“What is it with the youth today and being so damn needy?” He teased, increasing the pace of his fingers. “Nothings ever enough, tsk tsk.”
 Mila groaned again, unable to handle his games. “Just fuck me already!” She growled, bucking her hips back in an attempt to shove his cock inside of her.
Fuck, kitten’s hot when her claws are out, Skip moaned to himself.
 “Whatever you want, baby.”
And with that, Skip slid inside of her dripping core from behind. A large hand moved from her neck down to grasp her breast. Mila’s eyes rolled back as she felt him pinch the sensitive flesh.
 The ferocity of their new position took over, and Skip lost all restraint as he began to violently pound inside of her. The brunette was a mess, assaulted from his throbbing cock and fingers all at once. She lay submissive to his thrusts, eager to take all he would give.
“Such,” thrust, “ a good,” he jerked her on knees, back right against him, “girl for me.”
The possessive praise was what sent her over the edge, and Mila couldn’t help but scream his name mindlessly as came undone once again.
Seeing the young brunette unravel in arms triggered his own release. With a loud roar of her name, Skip just barely managed to pull out from her heat and came over his sheets.
 Mila wasn’t sure how long they laid there, but eventually she felt his warm hands rub along her sore backside.
 “How was that?” Skip asked huskily, a genuine question hanging from his lips.
Unable to formulate a response, Mila turned slightly to kiss his sinful mouth.
Skip smiled against her lips. “No regrets?” He needed to make sure. It almost scared him how unsure he felt. He didn’t know how he’d take it if said she didn’t enjoy it or wished it never happened.
Mila shook her head, a small smile playing on her mouth. “No I’ll never regret that.”
 For an unprecedented amount of time, they lay there staring at each other in blissful content. The afterglow of sex looks good on her, Skip thought. He hoped to see more of it.
 “Are you feeling better? I know you weren’t exactly having a great time at the party,” Mila asked, unsure if she was overstepping. She wanted to make sure he wasn’t still upset enough to do something stupid like hang over the ledge of the building again.
Her concern caused an unfamiliar ache in his chest, and he pulled her closer into his arms.
“Nah, darlin’. You don’t need to worry about that. You really turned my shitty night around,” he said in a deep voice, meaning it.
Mila smiled back, kissing his nose.
 “So...I know I’m not Z-boy material but are you looking for a new Z-girl?” She asked flirtatiously.
 Skip grinned back. “Trust me, girlie. You’re worth more than those knuckle heads anyway.”
 ….
 Authors note: that’s it! I hope my disgustingly horny mind wasn’t too much for y’all lol. Please lmk what you think, and I know Sid’s character was slightly (kinda lot) OC but I hope you enjoyed the random plot line!
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opheliasbrokenmind · 4 years
Note
can you write hc about tommy and the reader getting drunks together?
of course!! uhm before reading this, let me tell you alcohol is not your friend and it can cause unwanted situations (i wish i wasn’t talking from experience lmao) and i hope you like it<3
‘arthur and i realised something’ john blurted out during a family celebration and tommy raised his eyebrows, waiting what random thing his brother was about to say
‘yes we did, indeed’ arthur finished his whiskey and motioned to refill the glass
you smiled and looked at tommy, then turned to john, ‘what’s it, you drunkards?’ the man on your right pressed his lips firmly to stop the laugh escaping from his lips 
‘well, we’ve never seen you drunk’
‘me or tommy?’ you asked innocently, knowing john meant exactly you
‘i think you know the answer, love. we’ve seen drunk tommy a few times but you? you always look like you haven’t even finished a glass’ 
‘maybe it’s because i know when to stop, unlike you?’ you joked but they weren’t going to let you go
‘oh i saw y/n drunk’ ada commented and he got all of his brothers’ attention, ‘so did polly. not a scene you’d like to witness if you ask me’ she winked at you and you rolled your eyes, ‘that happened only once’
‘now i’m more than curious’ arthur said and you sighed, ‘what do you want?’
‘get drunk tonight, just for once y/n’ you opened your mouth to protest arthur but john was quick to stop you, ‘don’t be a pussy, y/n. we’re no strangers’
‘we are family, y/n. that’s a family celebration’ tommy’s voice came behind your hear and you gave up, ‘only if i get to see you drunk, too’
‘no way, i have meetings tomorrow’ 
you arched an eyebrow and leaned in to reach his ear, ‘come on, tom. it’s just a celebration between the family’ but something in your voice didn’t sound like you were family to him
‘get us whiskey’ you shook your head immediately, ‘there’s no way i’m getting drunk on whiskey again’
‘the usual then’ john muttered under his breath but you didn’t see the smile he was performing
the other shelby brother looked at you once arthur and john left to grab the drinks, ‘scared, are we?’ 
‘should i be?’ you teased back and he didn’t hide his smile this time, ‘i’m excited to see you drunk, darling’
‘oh, don’t get used to it’ 
you waited for a response but the brothers interrupted you, ‘there we are, ey?’ you glanced over the drinks and laughed, ‘beer and red wine? are you serious?’
‘i wouldn’t laugh if i were you, y/n. this little guy here,’ arthur stopped to point his finger at the wine bottle, ‘it can look harmless from outside but let me tell ya, it’s the devil’
then you clinked your beer bottles with tommy and started to drink. when they were empty, john grinned widely
‘here’s our special mixture. red wine and apple juice. you need to drink as fast as you can’ he pushed the glasses to the two of you and you nodded, ‘mind if i take a sip from the wine?’
‘here, help yourself, love’ john handed you the bottle and your face went sour after the taste, ‘if a dog tasted this accidentally, he’d go blind’ you commented and the brothers laughed together
‘i asked for the cheapest one for you two’ arthur said and you turned to tommy with your glass, ‘shall we?’
he brought his glass, too and you sloshed down your drinks together, the strange taste burning your throat as you swallowed it
‘for your information lads, i don’t feel drunk’ john smiled and filled your glasses with wine and apple juice again, ‘drink up’
you put the empty glass on the table and leaned back on your chair, realising you started to feel a bit sleepy
‘now it’s time for beers’ arthur gave you the bottles and you smiled, ‘i can’t believe you dragged me into this’ 
‘oi y/n, are you chickening out?’
‘just fill the glasses, john’ you said and continued to drink your beer, eyeing tommy and hoping he wouldn’t notice
‘i’m as sober as a judge’ he said eventually and you swear to yourself, regretting your action. ‘we’ll see’
then you went for another round of john’s secret recipe as they watched you curiously, filling the glasses as quick as possible
after two wine shots and your third beer, you felt like the room was starting to move around you slowly. you pressed your feet firmly and tried to stay still but then a hand on your knee made you freeze
‘you’re doing alright?’ tommy asked as you stared at his hand, the soft skin of his palm was the most distracting thing in your life
you wondered if his beautiful hand was really resting on your knee or were you just imagining? then he applied a little pressure and you knew it was real
‘yeah, i’m alright’ you managed to say and took the glass that was waiting for you on the table, ‘cheers, tom’
‘you finished the fucking bottle but i still can’t get what kind of drunk you are’ john said and you giggled, ‘is that why you wanted to get me drunk?’
‘i thought that was obvious’ 
‘you could’ve just asked me or ada, y’know?’ arthur shook his head, ‘it wouldn’t be that funny, y/n’
‘i’m the emotional type i guess’ john laughed, ‘oh, poor y/n’
‘i would say a mix of emotional and philosophical’ ada corrected you and everyone smiled with that, including tommy
‘i don’t think so’ you murmured but polly heard you, ‘what’s the meaning of life? what if god has abandoned us?’ she quoted you and you gave a deep sigh, burying your face inside your hands
‘i might question a few things, yeah’
‘hmm, let’s ask you a few questions then’ john suggested and asked the first question, ‘how do you feel now love?’
‘like i’m about to throw up on my own shoes’ you said and rolled your eyes playfully at him, proud of yourself for speaking without falling asleep
‘are you still seeing that guy from the factory?’ ada sent a threatening look to his brother but arthur simply shrugged and waited for your answer
‘well, he said he wants to move to the countryside and raise children but you know, not my cup of tea’ 
‘does it scare you, the idea of settling down?’
‘no, john. the idea of being misunderstood scares me. i’d like to feel in peace for once in my life but it’s just... he isn’t the one for me’ there was a silence for a moment but you broke it, ‘i thought you were going to make tommy and me drunk, why’s he not getting any questions?’
‘what do you want to know?’ tommy asked and you bit your bottom lip nervously, but the amount of alcohol inside your body blurred your mind
‘the new girl, was it grace? so, she’s the one?’ you forced a smile not to look as miserable as you thought you were and looked at him
‘no’ he answered simply and you could swear your heart skipped a beat inside your ribcage. john grinned, ‘christ, tom. that was a fucking long explanation, i couldn’t even catch most of your words’
‘there isn’t much to explain. i prefer someone who i see as my equal’ tommy stared at you while speaking but you were too busy studying the pattern of the carpet under your shoes
‘guys, listen. i’ll tell you something but you’ve gotta believe me’ you announced and when you got their attention, you pointed at the carpet, ‘look, it’s moving. the pattern is moving. i guess it’s making some kind of dance’
john and arthur burst into laugh immediately but tommy stared at the carpet, ‘y/n’ 
‘yes, tom?’
‘i see it too, i think it’s waltzing’ with that, ada and polly joined to the laughing brothers while you looked at the floor with full attention
then a sob escaped your lips and he turned his gaze to you, ‘what happened?’
‘nothing, it’s just... i saw danny’s wife today and she looked... she didn’t look well and it pains me. i used to know danny, i looked after their children and now, everything’s so different. i hate the war, i hate it so much. i hate how it changed all of you and i couldn’t help anyone. i should’ve gone to the nursing school when it all started’
the family didn’t know what to say as tears continued to fall down your cheeks, they stayed silent until polly suggested to go home
‘spend the night here’ ada said and you accepted, you didn’t feel good
as time passed, you found yourself sneaking to tommy’s room, ‘tom? it’s me’ you whispered and he lit the oil lamp
‘i... couldn’t sleep’ you said and he patted the empty place on his bed, ready to welcome you inside his arms
‘i’m sorry for bringing up the war’ you whispered once you were laying together and he shook his head, ‘don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault’
‘i question a lot of things since then. the world, the people, the god... what kind of god lets something like this happen?’
‘maybe he’s just done with us people?’
‘but there are still good things in life, at least i believe that. there are horses, some good people, children, nature and then there is... you’
‘me? you think i’m good?’ you smiled and watched him, ‘i think you are beautiful and i know you’re good, tom’
‘i hope so’
‘now you know what kind of drunk i am but i have no idea about you’ you let your thoughts out and he smiled, ‘it depends actually. i’m mostly a sad drunk but a silent one’
‘but what kind of drunk are you right now?’
he licked his lips before staring into your eyes, ‘the kind of drunk that wants to kiss you so much’
‘oh, i thought i was family’ you looked at him innocently but he noticed the teasing in your voice, ‘you know, there’s another way to be a family’
‘stop there, shelby. you can’t propose me before i know if you can kiss me properly’ he smiled and moved on the bed, resting on top of you, ‘i’ll kiss you now, y/n. and one day i’m going to propose you’
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littlelittlebear · 3 years
Text
Two Drifters | 3/3 Jeronica Secret Santa
@fangstomysweetpea oh my god.... its finally time!!! 
The moment i’ve been aching for is finally here and i am HYPE
Happy Christmas my dear Tumblr-friend, I hope you enjoy this jeronica playlist/au/riverdale rewrite.
A couple things first, the descriptions on each song are just an outline as to whats happening in that moment/what the song calls for. Also, this is like a story, so its not really something you can play on shuffle lol. I’m confident you didn’t really need these “instructions” lmao, just want you to have a bomb-ass jeronica experience XDD
Also, you don’t have to “follow” the descriptions when you think them out, you can completely take the reigns too if you’d like!
So.... here ya go!!
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1MflcKtyBDRjnP0giX03X4?si=ZcsD0GfxR0KevhgDpTZVKQ
And here are the descriptions-
Oxford Comma-
Locking eyes for the first time… wow. Just- everything is in slow motion.
Baby Doll-
Slow dancing in Pop’s after the dance. (V goes to Pop’s instead of Archie)
Can I call you tonight?-
Jughead and Veronica’s moments of glee when they finally set up a date with each other. Veronica squeals and jumps up and down, Jughead punches the air, they both fall down on the bed with blissful looks on their faces. Two cinnamon rolls.
“So, I’ll call you tonight?”
“Yes! *Too enthusiastic- calm down Veronica* Yes. Call me tonight.”
*Que music*
Just Like a Movie-
Jughead calls this their theme song one day when they’re just hanging out in the student lounge as a joke.
Scrawny-
Veronica calls this Jughead’s theme song in response, they have a good laugh and Jughead rolls his eyes at the lyrics A LOT.
Space Girl-
Jughead calls this Veronica’s theme song- because she’s “oUt oF tHiS worLD!”.
She smacks his arm for being so cheesy.
Good Morning-
The morning after they do the “horizontal tango” with each other for the first time, they dance in Veronica’s kitchen, knowing all the words- only to be interrupted by an amused Hermione Lodge.
Unforgettable-
Their first Christmas together, spent snowed in at The Pembrooke. But honestly, they don’t mind.
Shake it out-
Jughead and Veronica cry together after her parents blackmail them/force them to break up. #parentssuck.
Your star-
Coping with the breakup, newsflash- they aren’t, or when they are... they don’t go the healthiest route. So. Much. Angst.
Rare-
Veronica changes up her style a little bit, which really is just lower cut tops, just trying to forget about Jughead- does a lil sexy performance singing to this at a pep rally.
Out the door-
Jughead never leaving the depressional stage of grief.                                
+ Exchanging broken looks that just scream “I’m not over you.”
I can’t get you off my mind-
Drunkenly hooking up at a party because their tension recently had just been… w o w
Drugs-
Sneaking around- sexy times ;)
Why Do You Love Me-
Having a screaming match, then a very angry/hot makeup session, then very angry sex XD
The Wind-
After some hOrIzOnTaL TaNGo at Sweetwater River, they admit that they can’t keep away from each other, saying that they love each other for the first time- followed by Veronica crying tears of joy cuz she’s never done that before- and that they’re going to work everything out, together. They just hold each other after that.
“I love you, Princess.”
Veronica props herself on her elbow to face him (they were laying down before)
Jughead sees her widened eyes. “Y-you don’t have to say it back, I know its ha-“
“I love you too, Jug”
You and I-
Montage of working at Pop’s for summer, ending with a jam sesh in Jughead’s trailer- Veronica just in his shirt and Jughead just in his sweats. FP comes in, surprised to see Veronica, but welcomes her easily. FP and Veronica bond, and he embarrasses Jug with some baby photos. While Jug’s probably beet-red, he can’t help but completely oggle at Veronica- happy that they don’t have to hide from his dad anymore.
Start a Riot-
Jeronica send a little message to Hiram through security cameras (they just make out lmao), showing that he can’t keep them apart. They then proceed to trash Hiram’s jingle jangle lab. :)
Moon River-
Slow dancing after having been crowned homecoming King and Queen. And of course, because Veronica is 1/2 of this relationship- this becomes their song.
“That’s us.”
“What do you mean?” Veronica asks, confused.
“The two drifters in the song. ‘Two drifters, off to see the world.’ That’s us”
Veronica’s eyes start to gloss.
“I absolutely love that. And you.”
Teenagers-
Being the badass power couple they are, being 100% team Serpent against the Bulldogs during the riots. Its all one long shot too- no cuts :))
A Sunday Kind of Love-
Looking at each other in slow motion (wow- I really love putting stuff in slow motion) when Veronica is officially named Serpent queen, they’re absolutely smitten with each other. Cut to them dancing in the Wyrm to the song, discussing how they’re going to make their big debut as Riverdale’s resident power couple… second to Choni of course.
“So… now that I’m your queen, I was thinking had a debut of sorts. Just to educate the public of this new order.” Veronica jabs, only kind of joking.
Jughead laughs, but it sounds more of a huff.
“Could you settle for a hand-in-hand entrance at school? Or would you be more comfortable with a red carpet event?”
Glory-
Veronica and Jughead walking into school as Serpent Royalty with matching Serpent jackets- no special colours thank you very much. You can bet your ass its in slow motion.
Worlds Apart-
Veronica crying at Jughead’s bed-side after the Ghoulies fuck him up.
Boss Bitch-
Veronica gets revenge on the Ghoulies and Penny Peabody with the help of the female Serpents, the River vixens, Hermione, Betty, and Alice.
Le Symbolique-
Veronica and Jughead reunite from his state of unconsciousness, this whole sequence is in slow motion, with a lot of white lighting/glare. Jughead almost died and just that thought alone KILLED Veronica.
“Jug I was so scared-“
“Shush Ronnie, let me look at you.” His teary eyes trace over Veronica’s face with a beaming smile, before he brings his girlfriend closer and kisses the top of her forehead.
Harmony Hall- 
Some core four bliss before it gets chaotic again, with a side of Jeronica and Barchie cuddles.
Not Your Barbie Girl-
A River vixen performance, Jughead is so fricken in love with Ronnie right now cuz she’s just RADIATING empowerment.
Therefore I Am- 
Jeronica sends Hiram to jail again after a bomb ass one liner from Veronica:
“Mija, you have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Only one thing’s false in that sentence Hiram, I’m not your Mija anymore.”
(HELP ME I CAN’T WRITE)
*Proud Jughead smirk*
This Life-
Veronica meeting JB and Gladys, them getting along great- just a wholesome Lodge/Jones get-together.
Don’t Call Me Angel-
Veronica changes her name to Luna, fully emancipating herself from Hiram, and this gets Jughead really turned on XD
Sway With Me-
La Bonne Nuit’s first successful night, Josie, Veronica, Toni, and Cheryl perform. Veronica somehow convinces Jughead to dance with her in public. Think Moulin Rouge’s Diamond Dogs type editing.
My Oh My- 
Getting screwed over my Hiram, Veronica is in a TON of debt and needs some “stress relief” with Jughead. He obliges. Happily.
HIP-
Veronica and Cheryl start their rum business, Jughead helps and oml he’s so proud of her. Btw, Cheronica are HUGE badasses right now.
Bury a friend-
Surviving Eversgreen Forest and Penelope Blossom…
Youth-
The core four are free from the forest, successfully escaping Penelope Blossom. Jughead and Veronica share a tearful but happy kiss, laying down on the back of a truck.
Don’t Take The Money-
The core four hang out at pops and promise to have fun this senior year, Jughead steals Veronica’s cherry from her milkshake, but being so vulnerable to Midget’s (He calls her Midget. Yup.) puppy dog eyes, he makes it up to her by sharing his fries. 
“And for a brief, shining moment, we were kids again.” all that good shiz
The Four Seasons: “Winter”-
Jeronica hangs with the Stonewall psychos.
(Online Love)-
Veronica and Jughead FaceTime and Veronica has this vibe like she’s the montage of the hero’s dead girlfriend in a movie. Like her hair is all splayed out on her pillow and she’s all smiley-
“You look like an angel right now- with your hair like a halo and how much you’re smiling.”
Veronica laughs
“Well it’s your fault I’m smiling you idiot.” Her voice softens towards the end of the sentence.
“I love you too, Ron.”
El Tejano-
Party at Stonewall, Jeronica are absolutely WASTED. Fun fact- Jughead get’s really into PDA when he’s drunk
Burned Out- 
Oh shit… I guess Jughead is dead now. (dw, Betty’s still the one who “kills him”)
Claire de Lune-
Just kidding, he’s alive, and he and Veronica have a really cute moment in the bunker. Veronica starts reading his novel, per his request, and he just starts playing this on the record player and she smiles but her eyes are still on the book. He just kind of watches her, and when she starts beaming at the book he can’t help but kiss her right there. Then they just cuddle and little bit, Veronica on Jug’s lap, reading the book some more.
Girls Like GIrls-
Veronica has to prove Jughead is dead, so she and Betty kinda sorta… make out. Like, a lot. Betty is dating Archie at this point, and he’s the one who gets “mad”. But basically Betty and Veronica end up making out again cuz they spot Donna watching them. Veronica is a bi con, and Betty might be too but everyones in denial so *shrugs*.
Dream Lover-
(Time skip, because I’m lazy) Jughead’s alive again, sadly, his spot at NYU was taken by well, Veronica. Luckily, after pulling some strings, she surprises Jug with a full-ride acceptance letter from NYU starting second semester.
Magic Moments-
Yay! Prom! Barchie gets crowned king and queen (Beronica was kind of forgotten about, but thats fine, because we’re here for Jeronica first). While Betty and Archie are totally lost in each other, Jughead and Veronica are just kind of joking around on the side. While it’s Barchie’s moment, Jeronica is still looking pretty damn cute rn. Also, this becomes Barchie’s song!!
Oxford comma-
The song comes through the speaker at prom, Jughead invites Veronica to dance. As they sway, they gaze at one another like they’re seeing one another for the first time, to the song that started it all. 
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
And thats it! Thats Jeronica’s story from season one to season four, I hope you have a very merry Christmas and I hope you liked your presents! Also, if anyone feels like adding on to the dialogue or using any of the points in a fic or even making a whole ass fanfiction- please do!! I didn’t do this justice with my mediocre quotes so it would actually be preferred XD.
And again, happy Christmas :))
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hmsjiara · 4 years
Text
‘cause you’re amazing (just the way you are) jj + kie
request by @love-life-always​: We never really hear anything about Kiara's kook year, so I was wondering if you could write a story where Kiara had an eating disorder during her kook year, while trying to fit in and stuff but she managed to recover when she became friends with the pogues again, but then for whatever reason it starts to affect her again and jj/the other pogues notice.
this turned into one big angsty mess real quick lol. but protective!jj is my kink, so... here you go lmao. thank you so much for the request, i hope you like it :)
read it here on ao3.
disclaimer: i understand that eating disorders are a serious/complex issue and am NOT trying to romanticize them in any way. and while i did some research before writing this, i am in no way an expert nor have i ever experienced something like this. so, if any part of this is inaccurate or ignorant i apologize. if this triggers you in anyway, please do what’s best for your mental/emotional health.
trigger warnings: eating disorders, panic attacks, brief mentions of abuse.
                                      •••
It was an unspoken rule among the Pogues that they didn’t talk about Kiara’s Kook Year.
It hadn’t always been that way. When Kiara had returned to the Chateau with a years worth of apologies and a case of Miller Lite, John B and Pope had forgiven her almost instantly, but not JJ. Weeks of veiled insults and sharp glares had followed, and despite John B and Pope’s efforts to sway him, JJ seemed determined to hate her forever.
But eventually, even he managed to forgive her for abandoning them. Kiara assumed that it was a combination of her constant presence, and the boobs and curves she’d developed during her Kook Year. She couldn’t really blame them for noticing, since they were horny teenage boys and she spent the majority of her time in a bikini.
So, things went back to normal, and the Pogues caught on to the fact that Kiara didn’t want to discuss her absence, or her exile from the Kook Academy. It was easier this way, she told herself. Talking about Sarah still hurt too much, and as for everything else... well, it wasn’t important.
So, she doesn’t talk about Sarah, about how they got drunk and watched movies and saved baby sea turtles together, how her heart aches when she thinks about her. She doesn’t talk about the girls at the Kook Academy who spread rumors behind her back, who shove her in the hallways and on one occasion dump a smoothie on her head in the cafeteria. She deletes the mean comments under her Instagram posts before the Pogues can see, because she doesn’t need them to defend her, and the last thing she wants is to explain why everyone hates her so much.
Because she just got her friends back, and Kiara isn’t going to burden them with her problems, not when they have it so much worse.
                                        •••
The words eating disorder cause a certain kind of alarm to go off in Kiara’s brain.
Because yes, there’d been those months at the Kook Academy where she’d gone from diet to diet, weighed herself after every meal, looked at the girls in her grade with their flat stomachs and thin, long legs and hated her curves and muscle-toned limbs. She’d followed all the trends— juice cleanses and swearing off anything over a hundred calories. She even stopped surfing, switched to running, wondering if it would make a difference.
Her mother’s comments hadn’t helped. Once Kiara was going to parties and sleepovers with Sarah, her mom started buying her clothes that were two sizes too small, handing her grapefruit halves in the morning when Kiara asked for eggs and bacon, shot pointed glares at the half-eaten box of cookies on her dresser.
So, she started just... not eating. It was almost too easy to do. All she had to do was say that she was running late for school and skipping breakfast, snack on celery sticks for lunch, tell her parents she had homework to avoid coming to dinner. And it had worked: she’d gotten thinner, and her mother smiled when she started wearing the clothes she’d bought her, so Kiara assumed it was fine.
It was a visit to her doctor that made Kiara realize that what she was doing to herself was wrong. There’d been no official diagnosis, just a few pointed questions about her daily food intake, a suggestion to incorporate more protein into her diet. But Kiara had read between the lines, and she’d gotten over it, moved on, recognized that what she was doing wasn’t how she wanted to live her life. And she hadn’t told anyone, especially not the Pogues, because it was her business and they didn’t need to know.
The problem is that sometimes Kiara forgets to catch herself.
Like when she spends a little too long looking at her stomach in the mirror, or when JJ offers her the rest of his fries at the Wreck and she wrinkles her nose and says too many carbs.
He frowns, presses a hand to her forehead, as if checking for a temperature. “Too many carbs? Who are you, and what have you done with Kiara Carrera?”
She laughs, shoves him away from her, goes to get another beer from the fridge, but JJ is still watching her when she gets back. “I didn’t know you cared about that sort of stuff.”
“What do you mean?” She asks, avoiding his gaze as she knocked John B’s feet off of the counter.
“Calories and shit,” he said with a shrug, and it was a perfectly reasonable remark, but Kiara didn’t like the direction their conversation was going in. “Is this something you picked up from the Kooks? You turning into one of those soccer moms who meal plan and don’t let her kids eat sugar?”
It hits a little too close to home, so Kiara snatches a fry from his basket and makes sure that he sees her eat it.
“There,” she said, chewing somewhat obnoxiously. “Happy now?”
JJ rolled his eyes, turned to listen to whatever Pope was saying about his internship, but Kiara couldn’t help but feel like she’d dodged a bullet.
JJ couldn’t find out. Not now, not ever.
                                       •••
Being forced to attend Midsummers is the last thing Kiara needs or wants, but her mother doesn’t care.
She thinks it’s how she copes. Kiara can hang with whoever she likes, as long as her mother can put her in a pretty dress and show her off to the Kooks.
The subtle, pointed comments start again.
Take it in a bit on the hem, Silvia. I’m not used to this, you know. I never had Kiara’s curves when I was younger.
I know that your friends don’t have to worry about this, Kiara, but you have a figure to maintain. Eating at the Wreck every night just isn’t going to fly.
Maybe a side salad instead, sweetheart. I’m paying the seamstress by the hour.
Kiara’s not proud of it, but she does go along with her mother, because she’s tired of fighting with her, and the idea of her daughter going to Midsummers with all the Sarah Cameron’s of the world has made her happier than Kiara has ever seen her.
She tells herself it’s only for a couple of weeks, that she can get through it, but it’s getting harder to ignore the comments, to resist the urge to weigh herself after a bag of popcorn or a sandwich from the Wreck.
Before, when she was friends with Sarah, it was easier to hide. Sarah didn’t really notice other people— it wasn’t her fault, just how she’d been raised.
The Pogues are different.
At first, they buy all the usual excuses. She’s not hungry, she already ate. But then John B asks her to split a burger with him at the Wreck, or Pope roasts her a s’more and she refuses, and they start to notice.
One time, Kiara buys a new kind of green tea ice cream from the grocery store, and she eats it all in one sitting, calories be damned.
JJ laughs, nudges John B. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Damn, Kie.”
It’s a joke, a passing comment, but Kiara flinches, feels a sudden surge of regret. Shit. Her mother was going to kill her.
JJ sees it, because of course he does, and then his teasing grin disappears and he gives Pope and John B a knowing look.
Pope looks instantly uncomfortable as John B clears his throat, and Kiara doesn’t like it one bit. She feels cornered, suddenly on edge, as John B opens his mouth and says, “Kie, is everything okay? With you, I mean?”
“Of course,” she says, shrugging, the deflection easy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Well, it’s just—“
“You’re not fucking eating.”
Kiara flinches for real this time at JJ’s harsh, blatant tone, her stomach hollowing out as John B hisses JJ’s name and says this isn’t what we talked about.
Oh, so they’re talking about her now. Wonderful.
“Fuck this,” she says, springing to her feet, the empty ice cream cartoon and metal spoon clattering to the floor. She feels sick just looking at it. “Y’all are— y’all are delusional, okay? I’m out.”
“Kie, it’s okay,” Pope says, his eyes on the floor. “Millions of people have, uh, stuff like this, you know, it’s not—“
“I do not have a eating disorder,” Kiara growls at him, ignoring Pope’s own flinch, how he curls in on himself at her words. “Your statistics don’t apply to me, okay, Pope? You have no idea what’s going on.”
“Kie, we’re just trying to help—“
“Fuck you, John B,” she says, turning to leave, not able to stand the pity on his face.
“No,” JJ snarls, rising from his chair, clutching the neck of his beer bottle so hard she thinks it might shatter. “I’ve had enough. Do you know that’s the most I’ve seen you eat in weeks? Something’s wrong, Kie, we’re not idiots, okay? So just tell us—“
“I don’t have to tell you shit, Maybank,” she snaps, the pit in her stomach filling itself with something cold and bitter. “This is my business, just like whatever the fuck is happening with your dad is yours. So leave me alone.”
She regrets the words as soon as she says them, but it’s too late, because JJ’s beer bottle shatters and John B yells as alcohol and shards of glass scatter across the floor, and Kiara is out the door before any of them can make her stay.
They’re just worried, she knows that, but it’s fine. She has it handled.
                                      •••
In reality, it’s the opposite of fine.
Kiara avoids the Pogues in the week leading up to Midsummers, ignores the texts they send her asking her to meet, actually hides when John B comes to find her at the Wreck.
She tells herself she just has to get through Midsummers, and then it’ll all work itself out.
The stress makes it worse, she thinks, and in between her anxiety over the Pogues and her mother’s pre-Midsummers prep, Kiara doesn’t realize that she can’t remember the last time she ate until she’s pulling up to the club with her parents.
It’s kind of like a wake up call, the shakiness in her limbs and the empty feeling in her stomach, and the next thing she knows, she’s hyperventilating over the sink in the girls bathroom.
It’s hard to breathe, and the heavily perfumed air definitely isn’t helping, and her mother is going to kill her, and Kiara doesn’t even know how it got this bad again. She doesn’t look too thin in the mirror, at least not to her, but what do other people see?
She’s not quite sure how, but she manages to find her phone in her clutch, to fumble through typing in her password and locating Pope’s contact.  
He answers on the first ring.
“Kie? Is everything okay? Where are you?”
He’s obviously concerned, and she feels like such an idiot, because she spent the past week pushing him and everyone else away when all they wanted to do was help her.
“Bathroom,” she manages to say, fighting to speak past the tightness in her throat. “In— Inside. Pope, I can’t breathe, I can’t—“
“Okay, Kie, it’s okay,” he murmured, sounding surprisingly calm. “Fuck, I’m working, I can’t leave. But I’m gonna help you, okay? Just breathe. Give me one second—”
The call ended, and Kiara tried not to panic anymore than she already was, but it was a relief when Pope’s name appeared on her phone screen again.
“Pope?” She asks, his name more of a sob than anything.
“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, Kie, you’re gonna be fine. You’re not hurt, right?”
She shakes her head, then remembers that he can’t see her, and confirms that she’s fine (physically, at least) through the phone. Pope keeps doing that, asking her questions in a low, level voice, until she hears a knock on the bathroom door.
“Pope, is that you at the door?” She asks, clutching her phone tighter in her hand, any sense of control she’d managed to regain vanishing.
“No, it’s—“
“Kie? Kie, are you in there?“
She doesn’t know why, but the sound of JJ’s voice makes her crumble. She can still hear Pope talking to her through the phone, hear JJ on the other side of the door, but it’s like it’s all coming from very far away. Her breathing picks up again, and she barely registers JJ’s fuck it, I’m coming in.
His knock on the stall door jerks her back into reality. “Kie? It’s JJ, can you open the door?”
With shaking hands, she grapples with the lock, automatically shrinking away when light floods the stall and she sees JJ staring down at her.
She must look like a mess— sitting on the floor of the bathroom in her dress, mascara running, like some girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend at a party. But she can’t really bring herself to care about that, because she still can’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.
“JJ,” she whimpers, because he’s just standing there like he doesn’t know what to do, some raw emotion in his eyes she can’t bring herself to decipher right now.
“Hey, hey it’s okay,” JJ says, snapping out of whatever trance he’d fallen into at the sight of her, his movements slow as he crouches down beside her, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Take it easy, okay, Kie? Just breathe.”
He takes the phone from her, has a brief conversation with Pope, then hangs up and pockets it. Kiara doesn’t object, staring at her hands and trying to stop herself from shaking.
“Can I?” JJ asks, and she realizes he’s asking to hold her hands.
She nods, and then his warm, calloused fingers are brushing against her skin as he rubs soothing circles into the back of her palms. Her heart rate isn’t slowing, though, her breaths coming quick and fast again, but then JJ’s arms are around her and he’s pulling her back against his chest and murmuring reassurances into the top of her head.  
He tells her to copy his breathing, and she does, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder, the fact that his hands are still holding hers.
Eventually, her breathing returns to normal, and her anxiety is replaced by exhaustion. She sags against JJ, closes her eyes, relaxes into his warmth.
The next thing she remembers is JJ guiding her into the passenger seat of the van and bucking her seatbelt. It’s easy to trust him, to let her eyes slip closed and listen to the steady, familiar hum of the engine.
Kiara doesn’t ask where they’re going, and she must fall asleep at some point, because then she’s waking up in the driveway at the Chateau. She ignores JJ’s offered hand and stumbles out of the van, tugging off her heels the moment she gets inside and collapsing onto the pullout couch.
She doesn’t want to move ever again, content to fall asleep right there, exhaustion heavy in her bones, but JJ takes one look at her and pulls her to her feet. He takes her to the bathroom, turns the shower on and places a hand on her back to guide her inside. He asks if she wants him to stay. She says no, because JJ’s already looking at her like she’s a wounded animal, and she doesn’t want him to think that she can’t do anything by herself.
Even if she almost has another panic attack once he leaves, has to remind herself to breathe as she undresses and steps into the shower. The hot water helps, and she loses track of time standing in the spray. She never hears the door open, but when she gets out there’s a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt on the counter.
She puts them on, drys her hair with a towel but leaves it down, too exhausted to do anything else. The sweatshirt smells like JJ, and she breathes it in. She doesn’t want to think about what it means. She can have a pass tonight, she figures.
When she opens the door, the hallway smells like cooking oil and burnt toast. She wrinkles her nose, pads into the living room on silent feet, and she thinks JJ might be right to treat her like a skittish animal, because when she walks into the kitchen and sees the plate of eggs and toast on the table, she wants to run back inside the bathroom.
JJ seems to recognize her urge to flee, because he pats the seat across from him and gives her a pointed look. “Sit down, Kie.”
She complies, because she kind of owes him, and JJ actually managed to cook something without burning the house down, so that’s a miracle in it itself.
“It’s no five-star Kiara Carrera creation, but it’ll have to do,” he tells her, smiling at her as she sits down. “I only know how to cook breakfast— sorry.”
He seems almost embarrassed, but Kiara doesn’t see why. “No, I love it,” she tells him, and he just stares at her, as if he thinks she’s lying. “Really, I do.”
He grins at her then, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the Chateau, and then JJ’s digging into his own food like a starving stray dog who hasn’t had a real meal in weeks.
It smells great, even though the toast is a little burnt, and Kiara is starving, but she still hesitates before picking up her knife.
JJ notices it, because of course he does. “Eat, Kiara,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “You need it. Please.”
It’s the please that gets her. She takes a cautious bite of toast, which is burnt on one side by covered in butter. It settles in her stomach, warm and filling, and before she realizes it, she’s scraping her plate clean.
JJ doesn’t say anything, but there’s a gleam or triumph in his eyes when he takes her empty plate from her and places it in the sink.
She was exhausted before, but the food’s made her drowsy, and Kiara stumbles into John B’s room while JJ is washing the dishes. He’s not home, but she decides to wait until tomorrow to worry about it, if she has to. As well as a bunch of other things— like what the hell her mother is going to do with her.
Kiara’s muscles feel like they’re made out of lead as she collapses onto the bed. She’s exhausted, but her thoughts aren’t stopping, and it’s a relief when JJ appears in the doorway.
“You good?” He asks, and she hums into her pillow, not opening her eyes.
But then the floorboards creak as he turns to leave, and she doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she calls his name.
“Yeah?” JJ says, and she opens her eyes this time, studying his silhouette in the doorway, all soft lines and tousled blond curls.
“Will you stay?” She asks, before she can consider what it means, how he’ll interpret it. “I just... I don’t want to be alone right now.”
But JJ just nods, moving to the other side of the bed and lying a respectable distance away from her. He closes his eyes immediately, but Kiara can’t seem to relax. They’ve slept in the same bed before, but this feels different. Heavier.
“JJ?” She murmurs into the silence, and he hums to show that he’s listening. “Thank you. For tonight, I mean.”
“S’ no problem, Kie,” he says, his words slurred by exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he turned to look at her. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, picking at her nail polish to avoid meeting his gaze. “I know. It’s just... it’s hard, ya know? I didn’t want to bother any of you, God knows you have enough shit to deal with without me piling my own on top of it, and it wasn’t that big of a deal, I swear—”
“Kie, your shit is my shit,” JJ said, his voice firm as he reached out to take her hand. She brushed her fingers over his knuckles, comforted by the familiar pattern of the cracks and scars that had stayed there even after his cuts had healed. “I’m not going anywhere. And this... whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. All of us— John B and Pope too.”
Kiara nodded, and it was silent for a while, but then she said, “I’m sorry. About what I said, about your dad. I was out of line, and I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” JJ said, shrugging, his fingers squeezing hers in reassurance. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, but... it’s just scary, Kie. It was like I was watching you slip away right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”
Kiara didn’t know what to say to that, so she just tucked herself into his side, pressing her face into his shoulder as JJ wrapped an arm around her. Their fingers were still intertwined, resting on his chest.
“Kie,” he said after a while, when she was on the brink of sleep. “I shouldn’t have to say it, but... you know you’re fucking beautiful, right? Just the way you are. You don’t have to—
“Thanks, JJ,” Kiara whispered before he could finish, her voice catching. She told herself not to cry, but a few tears escaped anyway. JJ wiped them from her cheeks, wove his fingers into her hair, running them through her wet curls.
“No, I’m serious, you’re like really hot, I—“
Kiara laughed, swatting at his arm, even though there was no real force behind it. There was a certain warmth rising in her chest, as she breathed in JJ’s scent and fell asleep in his arms. She didn’t quite know what it was, but it was new, and she liked it.
Far more than she should have.
                                      •••
It’s better after that. Not perfect, not right away, but better.
She explains everything to the Pogues eventually, and they take it all in stride, as if she’d just told them that she had decided to take up knitting as a pastime.
John B is always there, offering to drive her to get dinner, insisting he hasn���t eaten in days. He insists that Kie teach him how to cook fish the way they do at the Wreck, makes her taste-test each batch and critique them.
Pope does research, because that’s how he copes with this sort of thing, and after a while he starts bringing it up with her. JJ glares at him at first, asks Kiara if she wants him to stop, but she likes it. She likes knowing she’s not alone, that this is normal.
JJ’s approach is more subtle. He’s always making her food (he still can’t make toast without burning it, but she eats it anyway). Honestly, when JJ pouts and bats his eyelashes and flashes that devilish smirk of his, it’s hard to say no to anything he offers her. He makes it easy though, and that’s what she loves. It’s not awkward or forced, just them sharing a basket of fries at the Wreck, or visiting a local food truck festival in town.
She doesn’t know why she thought telling the Pogues would be a bad thing, because it’s nice not having to hide this from them, to know they’ll be there if she needs them.
Kiara doesn’t need perfect, she decides. She just needs her boys— if she has them, she’ll be fine.
No matter what happens.
127 notes · View notes
hypnoswrites · 4 years
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Hello my beloved and talented writer. Will you be writing more of the Shalnark College AU? What do I have to give you or do to get you to write it? I have two kidneys and little money, but I'm willing to make a compromise. I've gobbled all of them up and I am completely enamoured. 😍 Please continue to write them! These posts are life affirming for me. 💖👌
for only 9,95 a month you can pretend to be traumatized with my self insert lmao.
It is advised to read the first 3 parts of this! They can be found under Shalnark College AU in my master list.
Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898287
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“Eyyo, are you ready?” Miria said excitedly, blue hair peeking around the doorway into the bedroom. “Just make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, we’ll figure the rest out along the way.”
From the moment you had opened the door, the blue-haired woman had bounced around the house, acting as comfortable as a guest could get. You didn’t mind it, but having never really been a hostess in the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband made the entire ordeal a bit more stressful.
The wedding was in two days.
Shal had asked you only a few weeks ago, a sudden request you couldn’t deny. He’d handed you a beautiful ring and pressed it around your finger, the gold an eyesore to you any time you looked in the mirror.
He hadn’t been patient with it as well, not even waiting till your graduation. You didn’t really tell anyone at school, but even then you could feel the judgment, even if they didn’t even know. You could feel their stares glaring through you, judging the ring around your finger.
It was only a title, but it was something you’d hoped to be able to share with someone you loved more than anyone.
Not someone who scared you more than anyone.
He’d planned most of it, or he’d hired some planner, you didn’t really know. The only thing you had influence over was the dress, which you had chosen while accompanied by Miria. The afternoon had been pretty fun, though the sight of the dress made you choke up every time. Miria understood pretty well, and did her best to calm you, even if she didn’t really know-how.
From info both she and Shalnark had shared with you, she was the girlfriend of someone else from Shalnarks ‘group’ and had apparently volunteered to help you when he’d shared the news.
The first few meetings between you had been awkward, as you didn’t really know how to make friends anymore, but she’d been good enough at it that a light form of friendship had started to form.
Your fiancée also clearly encouraged your friendship, both with subtle and not-so-subtle comments. Apparently one of his ‘friends’ had convinced him that totally isolating you was probably not that healthy for you, and while the patronizing tone was infuriating, you could quite nearly kiss that member for giving Shalnark the idea.
You didn’t know why he considered this ‘girlfriend’ to be such a ‘safe’ companion for you, but it was pretty clear after the first meeting.
It was obvious her situation wasn’t a whole lot different from yours, the subtle flinches and disassociating moments too familiar to not be.
You had been ready for a while and had used a change in outfit as an excuse to get some more time before the inevitable, though you hadn’t even opened your wardrobe. You had just sat down with an impending sense of doom.
Your bachelorette party.
Miria’s head still peeked around the corner.
“Aw, you didn’t even change. Realize the first outfit was amazing after all?” Miria said teasingly. It was clear she knew what was happening, but it seemed her only response to difficult situations was to try and lighten it up with humour. “Don’t blame you, you look really nice!”
“Thanks.” You said, standing up from the bed. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”
A blinding smile flashed on the girls face. “No! Of course not!”
Sighing but with a smile, you grabbed your bag and moved behind Miria, who immediately grabbed her keys and quite nearly skipped to the front door. You locked it behind you and turned to her car.
Her car was absolutely ridiculous, an absolutely enormous and expensive car, with a back littered in ridiculous stickers she had planted on there. It had apparently been a gift for her birthday, but she’d been quite clear with her distaste. ‘They’re just stolen goods to shut you up.’ She’d said. ‘Never forget that, it’s never genuine.’
Nevertheless, the sight of the beast of a car immediately cleared your mood. The car rides were the only place where you and her talked openly about everything, though it was clearly hard for you both.
And so as soon as you both sat down in the car, you noticed her easy-going expression gain a bit of an edge. “You okay, y/n?”
“I am. It’s just…” You trailed off, though you were unsure of what you had even wanted to say. It’s just what? You felt trapped, isolated, like every step was on shards of glass. This entire wedding enterprise was just one more step into Shalnarks arms, and it wouldn’t be long before you wouldn’t even be able to remember a time without him, if there had ever been such a time.
“I know, I know.” She mumbled under her breath. “Do you want to know why I really wanted to have this party thingie? It’s not the bachelorette part, trust me, though I do wanna get drunk with you.”
“I don’t know.” You fumbled with the buttons on the side of your door, watching the window go up and down a bit. “A bit of fresh air before I’m locked in some cellar?”
Miria’s tone grew hard, none of the earlier bubbliness present. “Your exact phrasing is part of why. I forgot to say something very important last time we met, and I needed to make sure you understood something.”
You stopped fumbling, turning your attention to Miria. “What did you need to say?”
“The way that we talk, what we talk about, and all that shit. There will be other women at the wedding, and I personally know some of them are going to help with some thing or another. At the very least they will try to talk to you.” She stated, her voice even and pronounced. “Don’t talk to them like you do with me. They are not your friends.”
“I-I kind of figured something like that.” You mumbled.
“Short answers only and don’t respond to any provocation.” Miria forcefully added on. “I need to be a hundred percent sure you’ll keep calm because if you say anything about our conversations, we’re both dead. Well not dead, but in serious fucking trouble.”
You nodded, sinking away in the seat. “I won’t say anything, you have my word.”
“Okay.” Miria nodded, calming herself down, her hands drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel. She mostly listened to you, never talking about her own situation, but moments like these didn’t make you envy her position. “I’m sorry for shouting, I just-“
“No, I get it.” You interrupted. “You don’t have to apologize to me about stuff like that, I get it.”
“I don’t mean to ignore…. your own experiences. I heard you grew up in the same town as them, which must’ve been utter bullshit. I just have my own experiences with the ‘troupe’ and wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” Suddenly a guilt-ridden look crossed her face. “Shit, I’m really sorry. I really didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay. Really.”  
It was silent for a few moments, before she regained herself and nodded.
“If you say so. Okay.” She clicked her lips and started the car. Within mere seconds, she produced a fake, yet enthusiastic smile on her face, and you nearly forgot that she’d been yelling at you only a few seconds ago. “Let’s go get drunk. We deserve it.”
The car accelerated and before you knew it, the house was fully out of sight, only present yet in the back of your mind.
You snorted. “That we do.”
~~~
Later in the night, when drinks had been pouring heavily and you had been dancing your feet off, the two of you found yourself in the ladies rooms, surrounded by people who had either one drink too many or were just waiting in line.
“I’m not going to be there.” Miria suddenly said, looking a bit guilt-ridden into the dirty mirror. “Your wedding, I mean.”
“What do you mean? You have to be there!” You stated, raising your voice. “You’re literally the only person I want there, including the groom.”
Miria smiled, though it lacked any feeling. “He’s not going to be there, so I am also not going to be there.” The words were spoken with ample bitterness, a near mocking ring to them. The loud dance music reverberated through the restroom, a few women dancing in the doorway, but you could still hear the blue-haired woman clearly. “Something came in between apparently.”
There was a short silence, as you struggled to respond without bursting into tears. In complete silence you washed your hands, occasionally making eye-contact through the mirror. Leaving the restroom, the two of you walked toward the bar and ordered something without speaking another word on the topic. The drinks arrived, but you couldn’t take the silence anymore, the tension becoming too high.
You had to ask.
“Will you be back after?”
“Who knows.” She threw back a shot after the words passed her lips.
~~~
“And? Did you have fun?” His fingers tangled through your hair, stroking it absentmindedly as you woke up, your back to his chest. You nodded and leaned into the affection. “Was this your first time getting drunk? I don’t think we’ve ever gone out.”
Your hands rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. “I went out a few times back at my aunt. She didn’t like me coming home late, though, so it was only a few times.”
“Oh?” His hand halted for a second, before resuming the calming and quite nice feeling movements in your hair. He let out a short laugh. “I honestly didn’t know that. Who did you go with?”
“See? You don’t know everything.” You smiled and really felt quite victorious for a few seconds, only to completely lose the sense as he removed his hand from your hair. You reached out behind you and grabbed his hair to pull it back, which he allowed with mild laughter. “I think with some colleagues from the restaurant? I have no idea, actually.”
“Not that memorable then.” He replied, awfully pleased with himself.
“I guess not.” You relented.
It was in moments like these that you could quite nearly forget everything and relax. It was hard to stay mad all the time, especially when it was a nice morning and he wasn’t mean or aggressive or overbearing but just warm. You barely had a hangover and as the sun was streaming through the window in such gentle and warm beams, you felt all stress just wash away from your body. “It was fun yesterday though.”
“That’s nice.”
After about a half-hour more of soft chatter and comfortable silences, you finally felt the need to get out, if only to get some food and visit the bathroom. You thanked every single deity that you had decided to shower as soon as you got home, drunk and all, as you didn’t feel nearly as disgusting as you could’ve. With a dissatisfied yet harmless grumble from Shal, you removed his hand from your hair and sat up straight.
He mirrored you, his eyes languidly following you as you stood up and grabbed some comfy clothes
“Only one more day. Are you looking forward to it?” Even the impending doom of your walk down the aisle didn’t sour your morning, though it did etch away the slight fairy tale calm you had been feeling until then. “I sure am.”
You hummed as an answer, not really intent on lying this early in the morning.
~~~
Despite the utter nausea you felt looking at yourself in the mirror, you had to admit the dress you had chosen was beautiful.
It was a small reprieve, but still.
It had long lace sleeves, was traditionally white and flew out from your waist in a soft silky fabric. The back was fastened with a corset, and despite your insistence on no veil, as soon as you entered the dressing room, there had been a headdress with a short veil ready. You hadn’t picked it out, but you didn’t need to guess who did.
There were some other women and acquaintances of Shalnark who roamed the ‘bride’s’ side of the endeavour, though you heeded Miria’s warning and steered clear of anything more than niceties and simple conversation.
With lidded eyes and calm voices, they helped you get dressed and ready you for the ceremony. Shizuku, a black-haired woman helped you put on the dress and a tall blonde women named Pakunoda had said little more than hello, doing your make-up in complete silence.
“Stay still.”
“Y-yeah sure.”
When she was done you looked absolutely stunning, which you had to grant her some credits for, but it did nothing to lessen the ache in your chest. You didn’t want her to do this. You didn’t even want her to be here. You wanted your fucking family next to you and to not be here and to not have to marry someone who had made your entire life a living hell-
By pinching your thumb, you calmed yourself down, smiling at Pakunoda and Shizuku as they left the room.
You had always imagined your parents to be present on this day, at least to walk you to the aisle, but you hadn’t had any contact with them for the past few months, not even informing them of the wedding itself. There were not going to be many people here you knew anyway.
Now you were sitting in the dressing room by yourself, staring in the mirror.
When Shal had asked if you wanted anyone to replace your father, you’d been adamant in stating you’d walk the aisle by yourself. There was little you were adamant about in this entire wedding endeavour, but being walked down the aisle by someone you didn’t know felt like an insult to your father.
All the ideas or dreams you’d ever had surrounding marriage had been skewed from the start, having never strayed away from the blonde for too long, but you’d held expectations, such as being walked down the aisle by your father.
It hurt to see all dreams you had of marriage fall apart right in front of your eyes, but you forced yourself not to think about it too long.
You played with the lace hem of your dress as the minutes ticked by.
The hour drew near, and with a short knock on the door, you knew you had to go. Walking through the corridor, you could feel your heartbeat in your neck with each step toward the hall. Holding a bouquet of colourful flowers, you tried to focus on not tripping, which you succeeded in, though the dress didn’t make it easy.
There was a man at the door who worked at the building, who shot you a pitying smile, which you returned whole-heartedly. It wasn’t hard to see why he pitied you, a lone bride walking unaccompanied to her wedding, not even a friend or family member there to encourage you. He opened the door with studied grace nonetheless, revealing you to a sight you’d been dreading for ages.
The pews were largely empty, a few familiar faces turning around as you entered the hall. A black-haired man that sat in the front pew smiled softly as you looked up from the bouquet, and though you couldn’t recall his name, something about him seemed quite familiar.
(The group surrounding you laughed as they pushed your head underwater, only pulling you up when their leader lifted his hand. Some bellowed with laughter as you came up, gasping for breath and struggling to get away.
“Is she talking yet?” The soft voice of heir black-haired leader interrupted, the rest of the group quieting down when he spoke. “What do you say when Shalnark asks you to play with him?”)
Your gaze flew over the interior, appreciating it. The entire hall was decorated very tastefully, and you noted with slightly approving eyes that while your groom hadn’t at all involved you in the process, he’d taken your taste somewhat into account. Several decorations were in your favourite colour, which was something.
Even if all else was horrifying and miserable, at least he seemed to know you quite well.
(He turned to you, your favourite stuffed toy in hand. “You don’t mind if I take this, right?”)
His guests all sat in the same area on his side, your side completely empty. This wasn’t unexpected, as you had invited no one. Inviting family was out of the question with the other guests present, and it wasn’t like you had any real friends you could invite anyway.
(“Did you hear what y/n did? I heard she did it with three guys behind the bleachers.”)
It still hurt to see.
Finally, your gaze fell to the man of the hour, who beamed at you from the ‘altar’, though there was nothing religious to be seen in the entirety of the hall. Shalnark looked absolutely perfect, wearing a well-fitting black suit, a corsage on his chest and the most radiant smile you’d seen in a while. 
Your submissive and lamenting posture contrasted heavily with the excitement you saw him exude from his place up front, and to somewhat lessen the heavy feeling, you smiled softly back at him.
He seemed so excited.
(“You can’t know, ahh, how much I love you..” He said, his voice laced with such ardent want that it scared you more than anything else. “I don’t love anyone but you.”)
Walking closer and refusing to make eye-contact with anyone but your fiancé, you reached the altar by yourself and took the extended hand Shalnark held out. He squeezed comfortingly in your hand, and the gesture could nearly allow you to pretend like this wasn’t all as horrifying as it felt to you.
You could quite nearly hear your family behind you, cheering you on, wishing you the best. Your parents softly sniffling in the front pews, wondering where the time had gone, yet elated at your obvious happiness.
You could imagine the friends, the ones you could have made during high school and college, all wearing their prettiest clothes and oh so excited for you. Friends who would have been there for you through your life, as you would have been there for them. Lazy afternoons hanging out, prom nights and trips to the mall or the park or wherever the fuck groups of friends went.
You could even imagine someone else standing next to you, someone that loved you without having to resort to any of this. Someone who hadn’t monopolized your entire life. Someone who hadn’t made your entire youth miserable and stolen everything you had ever wanted.
How you longed back to those days before college where you had pretended and believed to be capable of being anywhere else.
Anywhere else than by his side.
The ceremony was rather short, and there were no long vows to one another, only that which was necessary to be legally binding. There would also be no party after this, though you knew Shalnark was planning to take you somewhere on a honeymoon. Where, you didn’t know. 
The priest, or whatever the hell he was, finished his speech and came to the most important part, the part you’d been dreading most.
Shalnark gave his ‘I do’ with the excitement of someone who’d been waiting a long time for this, nearly interrupting the priest mid-sentence, even making some of his guests snicker in the pews with his eagerness. 
He didn’t seem to care, his smile widening as the moment for you to say it came closer, his eyes so loving as they were focused on you. Once again he squeezed your hand.
“And will you, y/n l/n, take Shalnark Ryusei as your lawfully wedded husband?”
(Your nails dug into your shirt. “I love you, Shalnark.”)
You smiled and squeezed his hand back.
“I do.”
298 notes · View notes
poptod · 4 years
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hey there! hope i’m not bothering u. maybe a snafu x reader after the war where he tries to impress them at a bar with war stories but y/n was an air force pilot and it turns into a debate of who was more badass during the war? sweet at the end maybe? i’m addicted to ur writing lmao. thanks again for always answering my requests!
notes: not a problem at all :) unfortunately the power has been out at my house for a day or two so this is a tad late, but youve got fun ideas so i dont mind writing them at all. hope you like this one too
It had to be past midnight – somehow despite that fact, you were still wide awake. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't taken your sleeping pills, or the pounding loud shouts of the bar's drunken patrons, but you did not lag behind your friend. She'd dragged you there, saying something about getting free drinks since she was banging the bartender. Before either of you knew it, she was off flirting with another man (which the bartender did not like), and you were ordering your third drink. Not the most you'd drunk in one night, not even close, but it was enough to give you a pleasant buzz, allowing you to relax against the bar counter and look out across the crowd.
Within the next several hours most of the crowd had filed out, making way for a new wave of soldiers, ones that had just arrived home and were celebrating their life still belonging to themselves. You were once part of that menagerie; the only difference was you had become a marine before the war ever started, and while you were there for the beginnings of the war, your contract with the marine corps ended soon after. It left you feeling apart from both citizens and soldiers – someone who didn't know the horrors of war, but who was traumatized enough that society didn't care to love them anymore.
Unlike many returning soldiers, you did not turn to alcohol to fix your issues. For the most part you distracted yourself with work, working and working till there was nothing in your head but work – there was little else in your life besides work now, the one exception being your friend, Penny. She made sure you ate, made sure you got outside and had human contact. For that you will always be grateful.
Your attention wavers from her only when one of the returning soldiers stands right beside you at the bar, ordering a bottle of beer before noticing you, his posture suddenly changing as he does so. His back straightens out a little, his hips a little more forward, elbows on the bar behind him so as to show off toned forearms and a skinny waist. He stares for a little while – you pay him no mind. When he gets his drink, that's when he actually speaks to you.
"What's a doll like you doin' here?" He says, and you almost roll your eyes. What a typical start.
"Keepin' a friend company," you answer him quietly, taking a swig of your own drink. It's not entirely a lie, although you feel you're keeping less and less of her company the more she drifts off to the side, caught up in the stare of a rather handsome man with a fair amount of scruff.
"Really? You come here often? I'm - jus' curious. I've never been here before," he says, clarifying that he isn't that stupid so as to use that specific line, a clarification you appreciate.
"This is my first time. My friend though, she comes here often, says she likes the atmosphere," you tell him, nodding in the direction of Penny, who is currently in a corner with the stranger. "You're a soldier, right?"
"Yessir," he says with a proud nod, "just returnin', actually."
You nod absently, looking out across the general crowd before you at last meet his eye. In the neon red lights you can barely see him, the shape of his face against the black mass of people, the color of his eyes against long eyelashes that flutter when he scans you up and down. All you can tell about him is his voice – rough and deep, drawling his words and humming his thoughts.
"You meet many marines?" He asks, and you can already tell he's gearing up to tell you some horrid stories of the war. Unfortunately, you don't know him well enough yet to know if he's going to tell you the truth, and a small part of you hopes he doesn't tell the truth. The truth is gorey and dangerous and heartbreaking, and you're not ready to live out such memories and tales again. Not yet.
"I've met a few," you say vaguely, watching the way a grin cracks across his face as he chuckles smooth and low.
"All I gotta say is you're lucky I ain't no army kid, those assholes are weak as all hell," he says, something you fully agree with, and something that has a sweet giggle coming involuntarily out of you. He smiles even bigger when he watches the way you laugh.
"My father was a marine," you say, coming down from your high. "He said the same thing."
"He's right, y' know... me n' my troop, we was out on that godforsaken island in the Pacific, hot as hell every day – humid, too. We saw hell n' back, shootin' at Japs n' gettin' shot at, sitting in all those damn trenches, up to ya knees in mud, and there go the fuckin' army soldiers, prancing around like goddamn deer. Funniest shit I ever seen, though to be fair, I don't think any a' us had much to eat that day," he recalls fondly, but you can tell he's suppressing the worse memories. You don't ask on that – it'd be rude, and it's not a subject you want to talk about. Nonetheless, he continues. "An you know, you're sittin' in mud all day n' night, you're gonna get pretty dirty, right?"
You nod attentively. If there's one thing you're still good at after your time in the marine corps, it's listening well.
"So we're all covered in mud, and they come by in a neat row, with their freshly washed hair and white as all hell skin – I made a bet with this one fella, Burgie, a' said they'd get so sunburnt after a week on that island, they'd be cryin'. I was right, of course," he says, motioning with his hands as he told the story. At the end he rubs his nose and turns back to you, watching for your reaction, and loving the way you still manage to enjoy his story.
"So you're tellin' war stories now?" You ask, leaning in closer and smirking imperceptibly when his breath catches in his throat. "What's your best story, then?"
He doesn't skip a beat, another one of those sweetly impure smiles coming across him as he starts.
"Hell, there's a lot to choose from. I do remember though," his hand comes up to his shirt collar, unconsciously toying with it, "this one Jap snuck into our camp, still don't know how, but he was one a' those damn kamikaze soldiers, the radical ones. He shouted somethin', don't remember what, but everyone went for their guns – I did too, an' we all pointed at his chest, cause it's easier to aim that way, y'know? But the bombs were tied to his chest, so a' aimed at the head. Shot him dead center between his eyes," he tells you with an air of pride and a hint of disgust. You don't blame him.
"That's a good story," you say with a small smile.
Anticipation creeps up on you as you wait till he's done prattling off little details, just waiting till you can watch the light die in his eyes as you tell him your own war story.
"I think my best marine story would have to be when I was flyin' over this active war field, there's fighter pilots everywhere in the sky, and sometimes it's hard to tell which jet belongs to which side in the moment. Everythin' goes by fast, but I saw this Jap flagged plane drop a bomb the size of a whole person. Immediate reaction was to shoot at the bomb, and I got pretty lucky – it blew up midair, and I was far enough it didn't hurt me," you say, unable to stop a grin from coming to you when the man slowly realizes that he's talking to another marine.
"Oh, you're a marine too, ain't you?" He says, but it's not a question – no, it sounds more like a challenge, and one you're completely willing to participate in. "Where you stationed?"
"I was in Hawaii at first," you say quietly, and he immediately gets the implication. Although you both now know what you saw, and the topic is in your heads, neither of you explore that further. "Later got stationed at some place in the Pacific. Like you. Though, I was on the ocean, not an island."
"What's your kill count?" He asks, and he leans forward just a little bit, drawing closer to you.
"Does it really matter?" You ask in return.
"'Course it does. You gonna be out here tellin' me you didn't count?"
"I didn't," you say truthfully. "A bit hard to see how many y' kill from a thousand feet in the air."
"Y'ever do parachute drops?"
"Once," you say. "Did you?"
"Nah, parachute drops ain't nothin' compared to the shit I did," he says, dismissing the notion as if it wasn't important. Now he's trying to impress you – again.
"Really?" You ask, almost sarcastic, but you manage to hold that part back. "What is it that you did then that was so much more terrifying and dangerous than freefalling through the atmosphere?"
"Try carryin' mortars on ya back in searing heat, n' all the while you n' ya company's out takin' a little hike 'cross a whole island filled with Japs," he says cockily, angling his chin upwards in a motion that accentuates his already sharp-as-hell jawline.
"Wow, a whole island," you say sarcastically, but he sees the humor behind it.
"Hey, Japan's an island too an' they big enough that they got the whole nation in uproar," he points out.
"Whatever makes you feel better," you say, taking a sip of your drink.
"What's your rank anyway?" He asks as he puts his drink on the counter, crossing his arms.
"I'm a major," you say, and once again the light dies in his eyes. You almost want to spare him the embarrassment of telling you his own rank, but you are curious, and it's just too fun to let him off. "What's your rank?"
"... corporal," he answers quietly, and you have to hold back a laugh. You try really hard, you really do, just so hard not to laugh, but you end up snorting anyway, and you can't even begin to work on your smile.
"Alright, corporal," you say, still trying not to laugh. Placing your own drink down on one of the bar coasters you turn to him, curling his loose tie around one of your hands and pulling him forward, practically devouring his nervous delight. "Y' really wanna play this game?"
"I'm the one who started it, ain't I?" He says, and you admire his tenacity to talk back to a superior officer.
"What's your full name and title, Corporal?"
"Corporal Merriel Shelton," he answers softly, his eyes suddenly stuck on the words that form on your blushing lips. "Ma' friends jus' call me Snafu, though."
"Mmm," you hum, looking him up and down much like he'd done to you earlier, "the hell you do to earn that kind a' name?"
"Oh, I'm just reckless, baby," he says with a smirk, gaining the confidence needed to lean into your touch more. You can feel his hips almost pressed against yours, the feeling doing nothing but making you pull his tie even more, a smile beginning to tug at the edges of your lips.
"Mind showin' me?"
"Not at all," he says in the impossibly low voice of his, and with that you're his, if only for the evening.
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Survey #354
“swimming through the void, we hear the word  /  we lose ourselves, but we find it all”
The last time you washed your hair, did you use conditioner? I never do. My hair is naturally pretty oily, and conditioner just adds oil to it. Do you prefer light or dark jeans? Dark. I never liked light-hued jeans. When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? I almost always just listen. Do you have any of your exes as friends on Facebook? Yes. Who was your first love? Do you ever miss that person? My first "real" boyfriend. I always do to varying degrees. How many cars are parked at your house right now? Just one. Do you have any Italian ancestry? No. Do you prefer water to be ice cold or at room temperature? The colder, the absolute better. I can barely stomach drinking water that isn't cold, like literally. Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak? No. Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found? I don't think so, anyway. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? A certain hot sauce on the wings I used to get at Buffalo Wild Wings. It was close to the top of their little heat rating thing. It made me feel awful, and yet I enjoyed it still?? I think it was an adrenaline thing. I only get medium sauce now; I'm more interested in enjoying my food than feeling like I'm eating fire. Do you need to talk to someone? I'm ready for my therapy appointment honestly, but it's not 'til the start of June. Mom and I both don't want to go through the process of finding a new one, so I've chosen to just suck it up and wait. Is something confusing you at the moment? I'm always confused with myself and my feelings. When was the last time you had a real deep chat? Real deep, I'm sure that would've been during PHP. Who did you last see on webcam? My former group therapist. I miss him a lot and really wish he could treat me outside of the program, but he doesn't do that. :/ What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? Doris, Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Buster, Beesly, Winter, and I believe only one of the fish is named: Raisha. Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? No. Who’s your favorite Disney character? Dory, probably. Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk? What the fuck, no. When was the last time you used a pay phone and who were you calling? I've never used one. Do you like being kissed on the neck? Whoa now buddy, we better be kind of serious by then for you to do that because it doesn't end "well" lmao. Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t dating (but had feelings for) in the hopes that they would ask you out later? I almost deleted this question because I didn't want to answer it, but I try to leave more unique ones in, so... whatever. I haven't. But I would for "somebody." What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra? Ugh, my relationship with bras is a hellish one because NONE FUCKING FIT ME CORRECTLY. Mom's tried so, so many places, so many different stores online and in-person, and even if the bra fits in the front, it won't go around my back comfortably. I guess my body is shaped weird, I don't fucking know, because I have literally ZERO bras that don't aggravate me. At some point, I'm going to some woman Mom knows who can size me properly and therefore buy some that don't piss me off. All that to say I'd actually pay more than the usual, but not a ridiculous price. Do you have any of your teachers’ personal cell phone numbers saved in your contacts list? My old Physical Science teacher, who is actually now a very close family friend and our landlord, is in my phone. Do you ever stalk peoples’ personal blogs, even if you don’t know them very well? No. What’s one thing about today’s generation that you just can’t stand? How ungrateful they can be. Be honest: how do you feel about abortion? I am pro-choice. Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to? There's a lot of people, actually. Old friends I miss. What is your favorite piece of art you own? It... sounds cocky, but it's probably the drawing I did in high school of Pyramid Head and the Halo of the Sun intertwined. I worked my fucking ass off and I'm extremely proud of it. What’s the one thing you apologized for this month? Hm. Probably just something minor, like bumping into Mom or something when passing her. My favorite color is ______? Pink, specifically pastel pink. I wish I had _____? A job. What did you buy today? Nothing. What has challenged your morals? Life, my dude. Live and learn. What made you pick up the last book you started reading? It's the sequel to the last book I read. What about your life concerns you the most? Concerns me, my physical health, especially just how weak my legs are. I'm terrified of them continuing to deteriorate. What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend? I cannot fucking stand the misuse of the word "retarded." Like just keep your damn mouth sewn shut if you have the audacity to say things like "hurr hurr this driver is retarded." ANY mental illness/condition is NOT to be mocked. Onto the next question, I'd say I'm more towards difficult to offend. It really depends on the topic. What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another? I re-watched Fullmetal Alchemist w/ Sara. We're working on Avatar: The Last Airbender too, but I won't resume watching it again until we can do it together. What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same? Well, I weigh a lot more. .-. I gained back almost all the weight I shed since quarantine started, and I'm forever fucking furious about it. I'm the same in most other ways. If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take? Uhhhhh meerkat behavior? Idk. Name a song you’ve listened to today? I've got Halocene, Lauren Babic, and Violet Orlandi's cover of "Aerials" by System of a Down on loop right now. It's fucking gorgeous and so mesmerizing. When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? We had a small playhouse with swings and a slide. Is your mall nice? GOD no. You better accept the possibility of getting shot before you walk in there. There's nothing that cool at all there. Do you have a Sonic near you? If so, what’s your favorite drink from there? Yeah. I love the strawberry slushy, and the Reese's Blast thing if KILLER. Will you be voting in the presidential elections next time around? Yes. How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries? GOOD. STUFF. Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? I think so. Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with? No, he's my closest guy friend. To whom did you last give the finger? Probably some idiot that ran a red light. I'm sure it happened in the car, whenever it happened What was the last musical instrument played in your presence? I've got no clue. Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? No, I hate the texture difference. And just sprinkles in general. Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before? No. Do you know how to do the moon walk? No. Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? Yeah, but I beg to differ. Onion rings or french fries? French fries. I'm not a big fan of the other. Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? Nope. Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast? When I'm excited, yes, it happens sometimes. Who is the best cook that you know? Uhhhhh idk. Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most? I don't really skip meals. What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? I can’t juggle at all. What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? Swings. I'd dash to those at recess to try to actually get one. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? All I know is six pounds, no clue on the ounces. Which aspect of your daily routine takes the most time? What do you do? Sitting my ass at the computer, really... I don't exactly do much. Do you enjoy buying gifts for others, or could you do without this? It feels sucky of me considering whenever I do get someone a gift, it's because Mom is letting me use her money with me being without an income, BUT I still do LOVE the process of thinking of something meaningful for those important to me and hopefully seeing them love whatever I got them. I cannot wait until I actually can do that regularly. What is one thing you are expected to do, if anything? Take care of my pets. How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining? I hate driving because you're in a speeding box of death, man. I do really want to start working towards my license though; I've long since reached the "enough is enough" point. But first I need new glasses so I can actually see five feet in front of me. Do you enjoy talking about music with others? Yeah! Is acting something you enjoy? No. I'm too awkward about it. When do you feel most accomplished? When I finish a big art pierce. Do you think Manwich is amazing or completely gross? I like 'em. Just messy, which I'm not a fan of. How many best friends do you have? One. Are you a smoker, drinker, pothead or none of the above? None of the above. If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced? I don't remember exactly, but I was a kid. Do you own any exercise machines? No. I wish. On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? Nah, but I used to do that. Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? Painted, but only because it was a school assignment. Who was your last voicemail from? I don't get voicemails because mine isn't even set up. Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? No. Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? No. When was the last time you spoke to someone in a different language? Not since I was taking a test in high school for my German course. My teacher was a Germany native, so she was a total pro and fun to learn from. Have you ever received an anonymous gift? No. Have you ever camped out somewhere for an event the next day? No. That's always sounded miserable to me. When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was fucking miserable. Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? I don't know if it's abusive, but it's toxic and dysfunctional as HELL. I don't know WHY she keeps going back to him, I feel awful for the woman. I'm definitely not, 'cuz I wouldn't tolerate that shit for half a second. If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? They've both moved out by now. Have you ever gotten searched by the cops? Yes, as a safety protocol with mental illness stuff. Do you like fried rice? Yes. What was the last thing you drank? Would you believe me if I told you I have water right now?
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purplesurveys · 3 years
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1105
surveys by seachaange
What do you do when someone is talking to you about something you don't care about? I listen and try to ask questions or add my own input so that they can see that even though I personally don’t care about the thing they’re talking about, I’m invested in them.
What is the best pizza place in your neighbourhood? Erm, we don’t really have a lot of independent pizza joints, actually. Most of the ones I see are chain restaurants like Pizza Hut and Domino’s. The best pizza I’ve had is from Vu’s at Marco Polo, but it’s been a whileeeee since I’ve had their food. Mama Lou’s pizza is also good.
Do you have Photoshop installed on your computer? I do but I only had it installed for school. I have no personal interest to learn it.
Are there any teachers you have that you are close with? I wouldn’t say that. I’m kinda chummy with one of my English teachers from high school - like he knew about me and Gab and supported us, I show my support for his art, we greet each other every now and then, etc - but we’re not ‘close.’
Do you have friends that play field hockey? No.
What about soccer? Not friends but I do know a number people who play football, yeah.
Do you think homosexuals are leading a bad lifestyle? This question aged like milk, didn’t it...
What do you think of the iPad? I remember when it blew up like crazy. It was such a revolutionary thing back when it was new, so much so that my dad even felt the need to buy one. It was fun when the hype lasted; but nowadays I don’t know people who would still seek out an iPad other than artists and law/med students, lmfao.
Do you put lotion on after you get out of the shower? I don’t.
Do you have any concerts on dvd? A lot, but they’re of concerts from a time when DVDs were still a thing. I haven’t had a new DVD in around 7-8 years.
Do you still have a VHS player? I think my parents have thrown theirs out already.
Has anyone ever given you a promise ring? No.
Do you send postcards to people when you go on vacation? I don’t. But aw, this made me remember when Jo did a summer exchange program in London and she sent postcards to Aya in the few months that she had been away. I thought that was sweet.
What do you think is the most comfortable shoe? Out of the pairs I have, my Onitsuka Tiger shoes for sure.
Have you seen Lady Gaga's music video for Telephone? That was suuuuuuch a big deal when it came out. Yes, I definitely have and I must’ve watched it a thousand times. Also rude, Beyoncé was in there too lol
If so, what do you think of it? It was so creative and a lot of fun to watch, especially for 2009 when artists weren’t exactly daring with music video concepts yet. I can’t believe they never collaborated again since.
What do you think of the septum piercing? It’s great.
Do you frequently skip class? Depends on my interest in the class/the professor, OR how tired I am that week. I skipped my psychology elective a lot because I didn’t think the instructor was all that great; and as much as I loved every single one of my history classes, there were a few sessions I voluntarily had to skip because I wasn’t doing mentally well. It really depends.
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When you're really thirsty, what do you enjoy drinking most? Water. Anything else wouldn’t be able to quench my thirst as well.
What do you find inspirational in the world? I think it differs based on what I need to see at a given time, I guess. At this point in my life, I like hearing from people who have risen from their trust and abandonment issues, because it’s what I’ve been going through as well. I probably never would’ve found something like that inspirational, say, 6 months ago, so it really depends.
When hanging out with your bf or gf, what do you like doing most? I’m a very ‘let’s spend time in silence’ type of person. I cherished it the most when my ex and I would go to a coffee shop and work for hours, in complete and comfortable silence; or when I would be driving and no words would be exchanged for nearly the entire ride. Even though I stay quiet, in those moments I’m actually very happy. Of course new experiences are great too, but I personally enjoy the conventional ‘boring’ stuff the most when with a partner.
What do/did you think of your high school? Teeming with homophobia, bigotry, and just your typical Catholic gatekeepy judgmental environment. I look back at high school fondly because of the friends I made, not because of the toxic environment they nurtured in there.
What is the dirtiest rap song you have ever heard? I don’t listen to a lot of rap. But as an 11 year old listening to Nicki Minaj’s Itty Bitty Piggy, I was immediately traumatized lmao. I still can’t listen to that song.
What about a dirty song in any other genre? Uhhhhhhhhh probably Drunk in Love?? Lmaoooo I’d die for Beyoncé a million times but I always skip that song. My asexual ass just can’t deal.
What is a genre of music you simply can't stand? One of them is techno.
What is, in your opinion, the best way of dealing with a break up? Being kind to yourself.
What flavour of Doritos do you like best? I’ve only ever tried the nacho cheese flavor, but I love that one.
Where do you do your grocery shopping? I don’t do the grocery shopping in the family but my parents usually do it at SM or at this local store we have nearby.
Would you ever go to a comedy club? Yes, with a friend so I’d be more comfortable.
Do you think Victoria's Secret is overpriced? I haven’t been in one of their stores in a while, so I can’t really say.
Do you still have a VHS player? Again, I don’t think so.
Do you have a tumblr? :))))))
Why is it that photography is becoming a trend? So this survey was made in 2010 and I can definitely confirm it was a crazy huge trend lol. Even I got into it and asked my parents to get me a DSLR back then. Anyway, I think it was because during this time, DSLRs had been slowly becoming a thing? and they were kiiiiiiiinda cheap - at least cheap enough to be accessible to a large amount of people - so it allowed people to play with different styles that were very unfamiliar at the time, like light painting, fisheye, close-ups, etc. And then at one point everyone had DSLRs and it just wasn’t as enjoyable anymore because everyone was doing the same kinds of trendy shots lol.
What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? I’m gonna go with The Proposal - Sandra Bullock was gold in that movie.
Did you watch American Idol this past season? No. Do they still air new seasons of that?? I stopped watching when the same guitar-playing, country-singing white men kept winning.
If so, how did you feel about the winner? It’s been more than a decade since I last cared for the show.
Don't you hate it when one of your earbuds stops working? Sure.
Do you have a normal landline, or do you use MagicJack? Holy shit I have not heard of MagicJack in a goddamn WHILE lmao, what a throwback. We had one, I’m pretty sure...but I never knew what it was for.
Do you even use a house phone anymore? Landlines are still common in the Philippines. Are they not in other countries? Hahahaha.
Would you ever consider dating someone who lived across the country? If I loved, trusted, and was committed to them enough, yes.
What was the most expensive restaurant you've ever eaten at? I wasn’t able to track the name but I’m pretty sure it was the fine dining restaurant in our cruise trip that my parents treated me to for my birthday.
Do/did you take foods classes in high school? My school didn’t offer such a class, but we had home economics and we were occasionally taught how to cook and bake certain dishes.
Do you have a tattoo? No, not yet.
If you do, describe the pain you went thru when getting it done. Eugh this is what I’m scared of :((((
Do you enjoy making hemp necklaces and bracelets? I’ve never tried.
Have you ever watched the show Strangers With Candy? I’ve never even heard of it before, I’m sure.
What is your favourite bookstore? Fully Booked, because their collection is expansive, always complete, and they let you take a book of the shelves and read it if you’d like.
Have you ever used torrents? Mostly throughout high school. I did use a torrent to download Midsommar recently, though.
How can we tell if you are in a bad mood? I go quiet.
How are you when you're in a really good mood? Complete opposite - I will be bubbly and chatty, especially in instances when I’m not really expected to be.
Are you nice to everyone, even people you don't like? Yes.
When you're bored in class, what do you do? I seldom found myself bored in class because I’m constantly furiously taking notes. But if the prof themselves are very boring and there’s nothing to take notes about, I go ahead and check my social media either from my phone or laptop.
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Would you rather go to Lollapalooza, Warped Tour, or Bonnaroo? As a teenager, I had always wanted to go to Warped Tour. As I’ve gotten older, though, the lineups for Lollapalooza have appealed to me more. Plus it’s in Chicago, soooooo a million more brownie points for that.
Do you have anything that is autographed? By who? Yeah, I have an autographed poster of AJ Lee. It was my most prized possession and I even placed it on a big picture frame and had it up on my wall for yearsssssssss, and then my mom had to take it down because of course it’s my mom and of course she had to do it.
Can you sleep when it's really hot? Welcome to summer months in the Philippines.
Do you know anyone who works at McDonald's? I think Carley does, but idk if that’s changed in the last few months. I don’t stay updated about her life, haven’t been for years.
Do you have a debit card? Yes.
What bank do you (or your family) use? I am not sharing that lol.
Would you ever hitchhike? I think I’m mostly open to it, though I will say I’ve read enough stories about murders that involve hitchhiking that make me a little scared of the idea, hahah.
Have you ever been kayaking? We did a boat thing in Palawan a few years ago but I’m not sure if that was kayaking or canoeing. Anywho, the experience was breathtaking.
Do you have a problem with swimming in a pond or lake? In the context of my country, yeah, because our natural bodies of water aren’t exactly...the cleanest, lmao. I’d feel much more comfortable swimming in a private beach.
Does anyone in your family go hunting or fishing? Nope. But maybe some of my relatives living in the US do?? Idk for sure.
What do/did you do when someone you barely knew asks you to sign their yearbook? We don’t really practice that. Only the really expensive, bougie, international schools here that have foreign students to begin with do that, I think.
In high school are you/were you in the plays and musicals? No.
Do you have a birdbath in your yard? No, we don’t.
Is the house you live in old or new? It’s fairly new; we had it first built in 2005 and we officially moved in 2008.
Where do you go when you need a new pair of sneakers? Depends on what brand I’m in the mood to buy.
Do you make New Year's Resolutions, or do you not even bother? I typically don’t.
Most annoying commercial? Haven’t been paying attention to them lately.
What does your favourite bathing suit look like? It’s just a simple black bikini but its overall shape and design is super cute and chic.
Do you like Silly Bandz? No.
If you do, how many do you have and what are your favourite shapes?
What do you think of My Super Sweet 16? I never watched it because I feel like I’d only get stressed if I did.
Do you have mini-blinds in your house? I have pull-down window shades in my room, not blinds.
Do you rent your home or do you own it? My parents own it.
What is your favourite song right now? Trigger by Hayley Williams.
Do you use Firefox? Nope.
Do you have a pool in your backyard? We don’t.
Do you have a gym membership? No.
Favourite field trip you've ever been on? Freshman year of high school when we went to two museums :)
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cristophynn · 4 years
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the coffee shop — chapter two
summary: it all started out when satan decided to take on a part-time job in a café near his place. by how things played out, he thought that maybe the two of you weren't meant to be and that you were just a dumb high school crush everyone has. fate had other plans, though, and he was sure as hell that it wasn't a dumb crush anymore.
pairing: satan/reader
warnings/tags: underage drinking, implied/referenced child abuse, family drama, mutual pining, ANGST
author's note: i honestly don’t know if this would be considered as angst lmao i’m so horrible at writing asdjhsabvsdjs. aaaaaaaaaa. by the way, this is an au where everyone is human and reader has they/them pronouns. <3
ao3 work: the coffee shop.
"Whatever, I'm walking home." Satan laughed as he stood up from his seat, swiftly dodging one of his drunk classmates who was trudging towards one of the food tables. Bidding his goodbyes for the last time, the blonde teen picked up his beige coat that was on his chair and slipped it on. He was barely able to avoid the drunk people dancing around, and he was tired and tipsy, too. After graduating from senior high school yesterday and partying for the whole day today, he really was worn out, and he just wanted to flop on his bed and sleep. He was supposed to be picked up today, but he figured that he didn't want to wait any longer and decided to walk himself home.
The whole graduating thing was sad to him, really, since he really did gain better friends. Ever since he worked in that cafe, his social skills did become better. He was able to start fresh when he finished junior high school, becoming friendlier and smiled a lot more. He became a science major in the academic senior high school just a few blocks away from his previous school, and there weren't really a lot who had veterinary medicine as their choice of course. Nonetheless, he still gained acquaintances and friends (and admirers too, if he were to boast) that he could count on, and he really matured a lot compared to when he was back then. He passed his college entrance exam and was ecstatic to finally be able to study veterinary medicine. He really didn't want to deal with people or their gross habits of living, and he definitely tolerated other species of animals even more compared to his own kind.
Satan was afraid that if he were to disobey his father's orders, the same thing from that night would happen to people watching over him. Ever since he left the café, his drinking habits got worse over time, which made him unable to sleep well at night without downing a glass or two of wine. He's been riding to school and back home in one of his father's cars, with one of their drivers and Azazel assisting him. There was a dash cam, so again, he really couldn't escape. He wasn't allowed to go out on weekends either, unless he was taken to school, and he was given a curfew, too. 
Walking home alone right now reminded him of when he was in junior high school, rushing to get to the café for his shifts. It reminded him of his childish antics (which he sorta grew out of, by the way) and his childish heart. It reminded him of how excited he always was whenever he went to the café, because he knew he would be seeing the familiar face of his crush that worked alongside him by the counter and making drinks for customers. He would be lying if he said his heart stopped skipping a beat whenever he would look at your pictures— because even if he deleted your number, he would never delete your pictures. He would be lying if he said that he found someone who could make him feel the same way whenever he was talking to you, or listening to you.
That's why when Satan saw from a distance the familiar café where he spent his happiest moments of his life so far, he felt the familiar excitement come back to him again like when he was in his last year in junior high. It was just as he remembered and how he first saw it, except now there was only snow on it. He could feel the familiar tugging of his heartstrings once more, the warmth in his chest, the blood rushing to his cheeks, and the memories of his times spent there flooding in his mind. He remembered how he took orders and how he was taught to make the easiest drinks so far. He remembered the old gift you gave him (that he never threw out— just inside his desk's drawer and was left untouched). Because of how much he was staring at the still-open coffee shop, he accidentally cursed as he bumped into a person and instantly tumbled to the ground right in front of the entrance. He was tipsy and tired, and it would be much enough of a reason for him to accidentally fall to the ground.
"How old are you, even?" A voice laughed as he picked himself up, and he clicked his tongue. He didn't bother looking for the source of the voice. He stood up from the ground, dusting himself and his clothes off. As he gave the stranger's amused question a reply, he began adjusting his dark green scarf that almost fell off when he fell.
"I'm eighteen, for your information. I'm just tipsy and tired."
"And yet, you still didn't change at all. Just like I remembered."
That response made him turn his head to where the source of the voice was, and he once again could feel his sixteen-year-old self's giddy emotions spring to life at the sight in front of him. His tiredness was long gone, and he felt himself sober up and go back to being his usual self. The short figure, the pastel green hoodie, the voice he loved hearing, and the sight he longed to see once more — it was all there in front of him, you were there standing in front of him.
You were smiling brightly by the entrance at the sight of him and his shocked face. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were as wide as saucers. The light pink color that was dusted on his fair-colored cheeks reminded you of how it was easy to fluster him and how quick it was for him to feel cold. It was as if time stopped for a moment as you two stared at each other's eyes, light snowflakes still falling around the two of you. He swallowed the lump in his throat after what seemed like forever as he ran up to you with open arms, and you could see the pool of tears brimming in his eyes for a moment. It wasn't long before you felt him holding you against his body and embracing you tightly, the familiar feeling of his warmth and the scent you missed so much overwhelming you. His slender arms were around your torso, his head was rested on your shoulder, and you were sure that you heard him letting out shaky sobs that were muffled.
With a soft chuckle, your arms came up to hug him back and pulled him closer to you. "You're still a drunk, aren't you? I honestly thought you were a teetotaler now, but what just happened earlier told me otherwise." You hummed before pulling away. You watched as he stood up straight to wipe away the stray tears falling from his eyes. "You haven't changed a bit. You're still taller than me, and you still hate the cold. Your shoulders look broader, though. You worked out over the years?" You chuckled, and you could see a dark blush creep up his face as his hand went over to his nape, sheepishly rubbing it. "It's nice to see an old friend after quite a while. Let's go in and drink the night away!"
Old friend. That stung him much more than it should have. He brushed back the sudden ache that he felt in his chest and he let out a soft laugh, nodding. Right, he forgot about the fact that you didn't like him back at all. He liked you so much and remembered all his happy moments with you too much that it never crossed his mind that you were someone who didn't like him back. Even if you never told him straightforward about your feelings, he was certain that you didn't like him back. How could you? You're you, and he's him. There's no way someone like you would be able to return his feelings.
Stepping inside the café after two, almost three, years of being at his lowest point, he felt like he was at home. Everything was still the same. It was all just as he remembered. The two air conditioners that were placed on two corners of the café, the comforting warmth of the heater, the minimalist paintings that were hung on on the walls, and the smell of coffee wavering through the air. If he sniffed even more, he could even smell the familiar scent of the last loaf of garlic bread he ate just a few hours before quitting the job. It was nostalgic, and dear god did he miss it. He just wanted to turn back time and play out his cards properly just to avoid getting caught— and maybe, just maybe, he would still be working here with you up to this day. Maybe, he would have gotten to know you better or even met more of your relatives. He might have gotten closer to your niece and nephew that he babysat with you. He could remember the days that the whole crew would gather around and eat dinner on the long center table in the kitchen soon after closing hours, and then he would ride home with a stomach full of happiness.
He remembered how the both of you would make any little thing an inside joke, laughing like idiots at literally anything they find funny. He felt like it was about to start happening all over again— the conversations, the laughter, the inside jokes, the warm feelings, and light-hearted talks. He felt like his feelings for you would bloom all over again and blossom from a small bud to a bigger flower. Seeing you come out from the kitchen holding two bottles of shochu and two shot glasses reminded him of when you would bring over a large bottle of certain beverages and stacked cups for the whole crew. It made his heart skip a bit once again when he realized that the two of you were at a table and sharing a drink after three long years of waiting. Laughter and jokes were shared between the two of you the whole night, and time passed by quickly without even realizing, leading you to where both of you were right now— tipsy and being all talkative than usual.
"So, do you want to start working in the café again? Help out the family, you know?" You smiled as you took another shot of the rice wine, taking the bottle that was placed on the middle and pouring yourself another cup to fill to the brim. As you were refilling the cup, the blonde in front of you let out a soft chuckle before taking the shot glass in front of him, chugging the liquor down then setting the glass back on the wooden table. "You don't have to do it, but—"
"Passing down a chance to hang out with my best friend and catch up?" Couldn't be me, you know." Satan laughed as he watched you refill his own glass again before placing it back on the center of the table. "It's been almost three years, and I'm sure both of us changed a lot. We could catch up."
Hearing the words come out of his lips made your heart ache as you purse your lips, and you frowned as you let out a soft sigh. A moment or two passed before you gave him a sad smile with your bottom lip trembling. "I don't think we can catch up and continue this friendship…" You trailed off, your voice evidently cracking. You cleared your throat and watched as Satan's grin fell from his lips. It only made you feel worse, but you figured that it would be better than leaving without a word to him. "I'm going back to my hometown to where my parents and siblings live. I'm going to college there. I just asked because I'm worried about how Simeon would handle the café while I'm gone. He can't bake and take orders at the same time, so…"
Just as when Satan had his whole world in front of him and got his hopes up, the reality just came crashing back to him all over again but harder. Satan could feel his throat forming a lump and his chest getting heavy at the thought of him losing you again. He listened to the sound of your voice cracking before he took a deep breath and forced himself to laugh out loud. "College? I see." You could see him force a smile, and you could only take the shot glass in front of you to distract yourself. As you raised your glass and brought it up to your lips, you heard him speak up to continue his statement. "I can't really stop you from achieving your dreams, so I suppose I have no other choice but to support that, don't I?"
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Satan found himself lying down on your bed that night and staring up at the ceiling, his phone by his ear as he waited for the other line to pick up. He was wide awake despite that fact that it was in the middle of the night, but he couldn't really sleep that well at the thought of you leaving him at the next morning and he wouldn't be there to bid you goodbye. It wasn't like he never done this before, either. He was used to it— choosing to stay awake like an idiot despite being drunk and then waking up to go to school the next day. He did it too much that he didn't even have a problem doing it anymore and that he could function well enough despite the intense hangover he was feeling. He was listening to your steady breaths, hoping to himself that you were fast asleep already and that Azazel was still awake. When the other line finally picked up, Satan could hear Azazel's voice answering with an alarmed tone.
"Where are you? It's already midnight. Shouldn't the party be over by now? What will I te—"
"Azazel, calm down. I'm fine, okay? The party is done, and I decided to crash over at my friend's place since it was closer to the school. Tell that to father, and in case he threatens to slap you, I want you to blame it all on me, and I'll resolve this with father."
"You should at least tell me where you're sleeping over! Also, there's no way I'm doing that! I don't want you taking all the blame for yourself! Satan, I really think—"
"I don't want you taking all the blame for yourself either. You didn't even do anything wrong, so you should at least learn how to defend yourself when father is doing something wrong to you."
Before the other man on the line could even think about answering back, Satan ended the call and turned off his phone so Azazel wouldn't butt in. A thing or two that both of them had in common was that they were both too stubborn and protective of each other. They stuck to each other whenever it was possible despite their large age gap and they always have to step in to protect each other. Satan could remember when Azazel was slapped for letting five-year-old Satan run around the park and trip on a rock. Satan could remember when his father forced Azazel to his knees and kicked him just because eleven-year-old Satan got a question wrong in his final exam. Satan could remember when he kept crying to his butler about how stupid it was of him to take the blame for something Azazel didn't even do. The least that Satan could do now that he was old enough to protect himself was to take the blame for his actions and to defend Azazel in anyway he can. It was stupid and cliché of him, but he loved Azazel more than his father, anyways.
He didn't even realize how deep in thought he was until you spoke up from the futon set on the floor, catching him off guard and startling him completely. "When you first talked about your butler, I really expected that you would think he was just like a dog to you. But, you know, I think it's really sweet that you would even tell him to blame yourself when your father gets angry. Not everyone is like that to their own butler, you know. I think he genuinely adores you by how he spoke so fondly of you." You smiled softly as you sat up from the large futon that was set beside your bed, turning your head to look at Satan.
You felt bad for letting him get home drunk and leaving him after being together for only an hour or two, so you just decided to let him stay for the night and let him drop you off the airport. At first, he was hesitant about it knowing that the guest bedroom was where you slept, but you assured him that it wouldn't be a problem at all. Of course, since the Japanese side of you reminded yourself that he was a guest, you of course let him take the bed and decided to sleep on the futon.
From his current position, which was lying straight on his back, he turned to the side so he could face you and scoffed a bit. "Of course I would do that for Azazel. He has been more like a father to me than my biological father ever was. If I could, I would move out and choose to live with him instead. Also, the only ones who do that anyways are spoiled brats and weren't raised properly. Our mom was kind enough to teach us about manners and whatnot." He answered back before letting out a snort in the end.
Now being more wide awake than ever, you let out a chuckle and nodded in understanding. "I'm surprised that all of you have different career choices though. Shouldn't all of you be working hard right now since all of you are supposed to inherit your father's business?" You asked as you tilted your head, a brow raised.
Satan shook his head in response before answering. "No, not really. It's not always that way, especially for a family as big as us. Besides, it is always the eldest who inherits the family business. I feel bad for Lucifer, really. He wanted to be a prosecutor but he became a lawyer instead because he needed to inherit the chairman position. He has it the worst out of all of us since he's expected to be as excellent as father." He let out a soft sigh as soon as he finished his statement, frowning. You watched as he sat up on your bed and took a look around the room. After a few moments of silence, a low hum came from him and he spoke up with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Anyways, you look like you're all packed up, huh?"
The smile on your face fell and you once again felt a pang hit your chest, causing you to let out an awkward chuckle. The air started to feel heavy, too. "I'm sorry." You apologized. Your guilt washed over you and made you feel completely horrible about leaving your old friend in just a few hours.
Satan breathed out before grinning, shaking his head and the smile on his face crawling back up on his face. "It's your dream, right? To study culinary arts?" He hummed as he placed a hand on your head and gently ran his thumb across your scalp, as if he was patting a newborn kitten. He knew it would be horrible if you stopped studying for your dream just to have you all to himself, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the guilt of doing that for his own selfish ideas. The last thing he wants to be like is his own father. "Don't be sorry for dreaming. If I found out you stayed here for me, I would be hating myself for being the reason to stop you."
And finally, after three long years of pining over him, you felt your heart skip a bit once again at his touch and at his words.
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Crowded.
That was one way to describe the airport despite it being too early in the morning. It was crowded, and Satan was shocked at how it was so noisy already at 6 in the morning.. There were couples and families walking inside with a large suitcase, probably going for a vacation. There were young adults who were ready to work abroad for higher income. There were parents dropping off their kids for them to study in their dream college. And, there was you, being dropped off by none other than the crew and Satan. Holding a large backpack and two suitcases, you were just standing in front of them as you fought back the tears. It reminded you of the time when the whole Dreamland crew had happier and livelier vibes. Of course, the whole vibe of the group changed — solemn and so… glum. It made your whole goodbye, of course, heartbreaking, but you wanted to keep your chin up for them. At least, until they were out of sight and that they can no longer see you cry.
"You guys… Can't you at least smile for me before I leave?" You forced a smile on your lips as you tried to make the atmosphere lighter. When you were met by no response other than huffs or wider frowns, you couldn't help but sigh and pretend to be frustrated. "Oh, come on, it's not like I'm dying. I'm just moving. I'll be back sooner or later, I promise."
"Well, all of you know she has a point." Simeon was the first to speak up after a few seconds, throwing everyone his ever-so cheerful grin and trying to lighten the mood along with you. "We should be glad that she's going for her dream. Besides, you know what they say. People don't like goodbyes, so let's all just say our 'see you soon' to her and smile, okay?"
Of course, Simeon. The optimistic and calm cousin, often called an angel. He would never fail to lighten up moods or make everything better. His words were like miracles that people would instantly feel better from him. He brings a sense of comfort and genuinely enjoys making people happy. It was incredible at how he fixed moods in a jiffy. Soon, the whole crew was nodding in agreement and smiling wide, including that handsome hunk of a blonde that you called Satan.
When your eyes trailed over to his smiling face, you couldn't stop your heartstrings tugging at your chest in such a way that you didn't know if you were supposed to smile or cry. You knew how he already made it clear that you should be doing things for your own, to which you weren't used to doing after being so selfless all your life and serving people for three whole years. Graduating at sixteen was something else, indeed, but you knew you had to go to college once you were around eighteen or nineteen. You and your parents had an agreement about that. Everyone took turns saying their goodbyes, with Satan choosing straight off the bat that he would be the last. The moment they finished saying their goodbyes, they went back in the van to probably cry their eyes out until the last of your family was finally inside. You watched as Satan nodded and urged them to just leave him behind, saying that he'll be picked up by Azazel later.
You would definitely be lying if you said that you didn't want to just drop your bags and stay here for someone, particularly the blonde. Which is why when it was finally his turn to bid you a 'see you soon', you had the urge to completely give up on your dreams until you realized that Satan would beat himself up when that happens. He called your name with his voice that evidently got lower over the years, making your breath hitch as you swallowed a forming lump in your throat.
"I'm surprised that you used to put up with my shit all the time back when we were sixteen, you know?" He laughed softly as you only looked up at him, realizing how he also got taller compared to the last time you met him. "I couldn't really prove or show it to you, but I really did become a better person."
You nodded as you let out a soft laugh at the memories when he would come back from school with a few bruises, to which you would always patch him up and teach him how to cover up with makeup. It resulted in him wearing a face mask soon when it was time for his shift to hide his scars. You remembered how he would always grumble out an explanation to why he came beaten and bruised. As you thought back to these memories, you realized how slowly he would start coming to the café with a fresh face as the days passed by, until a month had completely passed without him getting into fights. His character development was genuinely interesting to see and witness, and you were glad that you were there to witness it. Azazel must have been happy when he stopped getting into fights and chose to study his ass off.
"I know you became a better person, Satan. Maybe tone down the drinking to avoid losing a liver?" You smiled softly before playfully hitting him on the shoulder. Satan couldn't help but let out another laugh and give you a nod in response. "Well, see you soon. Wait for me, okay? When I come back, you'll be the first person I'm hanging out with."
Satan took a deep breath as he laid a gentle hand on your head, ruffling and completely messing up your hair. You didn't mind, though, since you knew it would mess up either way during the flight. It took you a few moments to decide on how to end the goodbyes with him, seeing as that you two were completely silent during after that. None of your relatives were here, either, so you chose to stand on your toes and, without hesitating, press a soft kiss on his lips. When you pulled back after a few seconds, you saw that his turquoise eyes were wide open and his pale skin was painted with a deep red blush. You then started to litter his soft face with kisses, occasionally tilting your head a bit to reach some parts, before finally ending them with a light peck on his lips. "I'm sorry I had to leave you like this."
Satan just watched, flabbergasted and devastated, as you trudged away while tugging your luggages behind you. The coward and meek side of him chose to stand still and watch you disappear in the crowd despite wanting to go after you and give you one last kiss. When he could no longer see you and when it was clear that you won't be walking back to see him again, his chest started to feel heavy and his eyes started to water. Taking out his phone, he dialed the pink-haired man's number and waited for him to pick up.
"Azazel, pick me up in the airport. Let's have a drink."
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"We're home!!" Azazel huffed out as he kicked the doors open, carrying the drunk and half-asleep blonde with all his might. Despite Satan's thin and short frame, he was heavier than expected— hence his butler's struggling. When they happened to enter the house, the whole family was just in the middle of having their dinner. You could imagine the shocked looks on their faces when they saw Satan slurring and crying on Azazel's back when said butler struggled to naturally enter the dining room to get medicine from one of the cabinets. He was literally on the verge of collapsing to the floor. God save Azazel.
Of course, Lucifer was the first to react. The eldest stood up and pulled Satan off the poor butler, visibly cringing when the scent of whiskey was all over him. Azazel literally gasped for air and sighed in relief, letting out a few coughs soon after.
Of course, Lucifer was the first to react. The eldest stood up and pulled Satan off the poor butler, visibly cringing when the scent of whiskey was all over him. Azazel literally gasped for air and sighed in relief, letting out a few coughs soon after.
"The hell happened ta him?" Mammon asked as he helped his older brother carry the youngest to his usual seat beside Lilith, concern visible in his eyes. Sure, they were used to a drunk Satan coming home, especially late at night, but him being a crying mess is a different story.
Azazel cleared his throat. "Uh—"
"Dismissed. You can rest up. You must be tired." Lucifer cut Azazel off, deciding to hear it from Satan himself instead. Of course, the only one who knew his siblings the best was him (and their mum, but she was already long gone and that they never wanted to speak of it). Before anyone could even blink an eye, Azazel was already dashing out the kitchen to run to his room. When Lucifer turned his head to look at his youngest brother, Satan was already downing Asmo's glass of wine.
Lilith let out an awkward laugh and cheekily grinned. "I tried to stop him, but he just reached out and took it, you know?" She explained as she motioned over to the blonde, who was now reaching over to take Lilith's glass of wine, only for Belphegor to move it farther from him. Satan's loud whine was heard throughout the kitchen, and everything was an actual mess. It was all cut short, though, when the head of the family ended all the fun by banging on the table.
"Shut your traps!" Their father yelled, catching everyone's attention and making the eight siblings fall silent— excluding the youngest who was still crying on the table. He had his eyebrows furrowed and fists in a clench. "It's stupid how all of you care about this good for nothing brother of yours. You know how much he causes trouble and how he completely ruins the family's image up until that age, and yet, every one of you are taking care of this incompetent and sorry ass. Stop treating him like a child!"
Lucifer frowned as he shook his head in frustration. Just as when he was about to step in and defend the youngest child, a sob was heard from where Satan sat. All attention was turned back to the blonde, and even their father's face went soft when he saw how heartbroken the blonde looked. "Hey," The blonde said before letting out a shaky laugh, not even trying to stop the tears falling from his eyes anymore. "What if someone you really like kissed you before getting on their plane?" He asked softly, voice a bit hoarse and shaky due to his current condition. Nobody tried to answer back, and nobody made a move. It was just silent, and all of them didn't dare to speak up. "Should I have chased them? Or maybe begged them to stay? What would happen if I did that?" He looked up and immediately laid his eyes on his father, before standing up straight (too straight for a drunk man) and turning his attention on him. "You did that to mom too, didn't you? You chased after her and just straight up proposed to her just so she wouldn't leave you? Do you think I could do that?"
No response.
It just egged Satan on to finish up his statement. A low chuckle was heard.
"Do you think that they would accept my proposal? Or, do you think they would start hating me for trying to stop them from getting their dreams?"
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