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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

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ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

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cosmerelists · 1 month

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My Dream/Nightmare Blunt Rotation From Various Cosmere Series

Dream/Nightmare blunt rotation list requested by @waywardtoxotes

1. Stormlight Archive

Dream Rotation: Eshonai, Adolin, Rock, Shallan

Eshonai for delight and wonder, Adolin for good vibes and a sense of safety, Rock for excellent food and joviality, and Shallan for puns and good conversation.

Nightmare Rotation: Amaram, Nale, Lezian, Gavilar

Amaram is simply the worst, of course. Nale is the worst and ALSO a cop, so no one is having fun with him there. Lezian is an unstable murderer, so that's probably self-explanatory. Gavilar is like the Elon Musk of the Cosmere, thinking that he's cool and that his ideas are fire when neither of those things are true, and I do not want to hang out with him.

2. Elantris

Dream Rotation: Sarene, Raoden, and Kiin

I think Sarene & Raoden would be fun to smoke with, but I need someone else there so I don't feel like an awkward third wheel. Kiin would be jolly I think--and like with Rock, the snacks will be good.

Nightmare Rotation: Dilaf.

Doesn't matter who else is there. If Dilaf is there, the vibes are rancid.

3. Mistborn: Era 1

Dream Rotation: Vin, Allrianne, Tindwyl

Listen I just want to smoke weed with the ladies of Mistborn Era 1 and I will not apologize for it.

Nightmare Rotation: Elend's Philosophy Circle

I'm so sorry to this man, but I feel like they would just talk endlessly about politics and the Ideal State and I personally would find it annoying and insufferable. I still love you, Elend!

4. Mistborn: Era 2

Dream Rotation: Wayne, MeLaan, Marasi

Wayne & MeLaan: lots of ridiculous fun. They definitely know their drugs and want the vibe to be good. Marasi is there to make sure that Wayne & MeLaan don't take anything too far and/or don't just spend the whole time making out. I know Marasi is also a cop but I like her vibe with Wayne.

Nightmare Rotation: Wax, Telsin, Edwarn

Wax is not the problem here. But I just got chills imagining somehow being in a blunt rotation with Wax and his immediate family. It's all of the icy, rancid vibes of an awkward holiday dinner only everyone is smoking and it is not helping anyone relax.

5. Warbreaker

Dream Rotation: Lightsong, Blushweaver, Siri, Susebron

It's a Cosmere setting, so it will probably not turn into a weird orgy. But seriously, everyone of these characters would be fun to hang out with on their own, and all together it is a party.

Nightmare Rotation: Vasher, Vivenna, Parlin

Listen, Warbreaker Vivenna would be largely insufferable and would be determined to prove that she is not being affected by the weed even though she definitely is. That could maybe be okay on its own, but add Vasher for doom & gloom and Parlin for sitting quietly while Vivenna is vaguely mean to him, and you got a bad time.

6. Tress of the Emerald Sea

Dream Rotation: The whole damn ship (after Crow leaves; sorry Crow)

Give me a ship-wide party where everyone has just had dinner and now they're kicking back and passing around hopefully more than one blunt because there are a lot of Dougs.

Nightmare Rotation: The whole damn ship (but Crow is there)

Nothing destroys a party like the presence of that one person (who is actively trying to turn you into a murderer in order to control you; you know how it is)

7. Yumi and the Nightmare Painter

Dream Rotation: The Akane Squad

Akane, Tojin, Masaka, and Izzy? Lots of fun to smoke with, I have to imagine. Yumi will hopefully be there as well, and Nikaro can come post-reconciliation. Wait...let's have Design come too because she would LOVE experiencing weed. Hoid is there too but in coatrack form. I guess I just want to hang out with ALL of the Yumi characters!

Nightmare Rotation: Liyun.

Except Liyun. Fuck Liyun.

#this post was so hard for me to write I hope I did okay ha ha #Cosmere #cosmerelists #Stormlight Archive #Mistborn #Yumi and the Nightmare Painter #Tress of the Emerald Sea #Warbreaker

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circle-with-me · 4 months

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You Move Like I Want To

Pairing: Vinny Mauro x Female Reader

Content Warning: 18+ MDNI!!! Porn without plot, smut, teasing, soft dom!Vinny, reader is kind of a brat, vaginal fingering, male masturbation, mutual masturbation, phone sex, facetime sex.

Word Count: 3k

Tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @malice-ov-mercy @popppylove @tearfallpixie @synthetic-wasp-570 @nerdraging4point0 @valiantroeagleangel @lacktoesandtoddlerants @cookiesupplier @beaker1636 @meekahy

If you would like to be added to my tag list for Vinny or any of my other works, please sign up here.

Author’s Note: All of this started from my daily Vinny post and out of pocket tag by @ovhellfire 😂 Now here is… this filthy piece of work. That’s all I have to say for myself. This was not beta’d so I apologize in advance. Enjoy 😉

Getting your boyfriend worked up was your favorite thing to do, especially when he was away on tour. The longer he was away combined with the tension from your teasing made for incredible homecoming sex. You felt yourself getting wet just thinking about it.

You had been teasing Vinny all day, the poor thing. Sending him selfies with your breasts spilling out more than usual. Showing him the slinky little dresses you were trying on at the department store, making sure to pick out ones with the highest slit possible. He loved your hips and thighs and you wanted to make sure the dresses accentuated them perfectly.

Of course, you had no intention of actually buying them. This was all a game meant purely for your own satisfaction.

Later in the evening you thought you’d share your bubble bath with him. The photos were tame enough in the beginning. The standard bath selfie with nothing showing. It took him a while to respond and you got bored, so you decided to heat things up a bit. You roll over onto your stomach, resting on your left arm and stick your butt out of the water a bit. With your free hand you snap a selfie, making sure to flash your most mischievous smile in the process. Send.

A few minutes later, your phone pings.

Vin 💕 loved an image

“Are you kidding me?” You say aloud to an empty room.

Y/N: I think my ass deserves a better response than that, Vincenzo.

Vin 💕: Sorry, baby. We’re on the bus right now and the guys are right next to me playing video games.

Y/N: You know you have a bunk, right? ;)

Vin 💕: They’ll get suspicious if I go back there this early. You know how Ricky is. He’ll have a camera in my face the second I walk back there.

You groan. Fucking Ricky. Always cockblocking the two of you with his damn updates.

Vin 💕: I’m really sorry baby. Maybe later?

Never one to be deterred, you sit up and lean back against the bathtub. You collect what was left of the bubbles and cover your exposed breasts with them. You angle your phone the way you want it and raise your hips slightly so your pussy is barely visible beneath the water.

“Let’s see how he responds to this one.” You snicker.

The photo had barely shown as “delivered” and he had already responded.

Vin 💕: You better watch it, princess.

You shiver at the term of endearment. He only called you princess when he was especially worked up. The last time you got him to call you princess was not long before he left for tour. You had been bratty all day in front of his friends. He whispered a warning in your ear, much similar to the one he just sent you, but you continued.

The second the door closed and his friends had left, he had you pinned against it fucking you so hard your vision went white and you drenched his cock and your hardwood floors. You couldn’t sit right for days after. He smiled like an idiot knowing it was because of him.

You whimper loudly, the memory sending a shockwave of arousal through your core. Fuck, you were aching for him. Unfortunately for you, he was thousands of miles away and wasn’t offering any assistance.

Well, if he won’t help. You’ll just have to take care of things yourself and show him what he’s missing. Who cares if the guys were next to him and potentially saw the photos? Your cheeks heat up at the thought. Just the idea of them seeing you spread open for Vinny had your brain malfunctioning.

Your pussy is throbbing now and you can’t take it anymore. You get out of the bathtub and dry off. Slipping into your bedroom, you lay down on your bed and make yourself comfortable. Opening your legs you dip your fingers into your folds, spreading your arousal and moaning at the feeling.

You become so lost in your own pleasure that you almost forget about your mission. You blindly grab for your phone and take a photo, your fingers still deep in your cunt. You tilt your head back against the pillow and arch your back so he has the perfect view of your tits.

You press the button to send it and sit your phone back down. You must have lost track of time again because you’re suddenly jolted back to reality by the sound of Vinny’s ringtone. You scramble for the phone and look at the screen.

Vin 💕 wants to Facetime..

Your belly does backflips seeing his contact photo pop up. You could answer it immediately. As wet and needy as you are right now, you should answer it immediately, but where’s the fun in that? So, you let it go to voicemail.

He calls back immediately.

This time, you let it ring twice and then you hit the decline button. You’ve barely removed your finger from the screen and he’s already calling again. You can’t ignore him a third time, you think to yourself.

But you do. You giggle and sink further into the pillows. He was going to be so mad and you’re dripping at the thought.

Vinny calls a fourth time, and you let it ring a few times before you pick up. His face appears on screen, and you were right, he is mad.

“Princess…” he says sternly, the rasp in his voice shoots straight to your pussy. He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk with his arms propped up on his knees, hunched over. His red streaked curls were falling in his face, green eyes boring into you as he impatiently waited on a response.

“Hi baby!” You smile sweetly. Like you hadn’t just ignored his calls three times in a row. He huffs a laugh at your response. You adjust yourself and the camera so your breasts come into view and Vinny’s eyes immediately wander down to them. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you silently wish it was your clit he was licking instead.

“You’ve been very bad today, baby. Getting me all worked up when you knew I was busy. Ricky almost saw that last photo you sent me. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to leave your mouth.

Vinny raises his eyebrows, a hint of jealousy and intrigue on his face.

“We’ll discuss that another time, but right now I think you owe me an apology.”

You stick your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “But baby, I just wanted you to see my outfit today..”

Vinny chuckles, “And what about all of those short dresses you were trying on?”

You shrug and look down, tracing the line leading down to your breasts. “I thought you might wanna pick out a dress for our first date when you get back…” You look back up at him seductively and flutter your lashes at him. A hum of amusement escapes Vinny. He wasn’t buying your excuses, but that wasn’t the point.

Vinny smirks at you and scoots back against the wall of his bunk. He rests his phone against the bottom of his stomach, right above his crotch, and the angle has you drooling. It was the same view from when you suck him off and you once again were cursing the distance between you.

“I suppose the bubble bath photos were just to prove you got clean today then, huh?”

Giggling, you nod. Raising the phone you give him the complete view of your naked body. “See? All clean, baby.”

Vinny’s eyes darken at the new angle. His right hand goes out of view and by the way his breath hitches you know he’s touching himself. You wiggle and arch your body, needing some form of movement to release the tension. As you move your legs fall open and Vinny sees your slick glistening in the light of your bedroom. He groans loudly and brings his fist up to his mouth to stifle it.

“Sending naughty photos. Playing with that pretty little pussy without me. What am I going to do with you, princess?”

Traveling down your body, your hand reaches your core. You gasp softly and spread your folds, bringing the phone a little closer so that he can see.

“Talk to me baby. Make me cum. Wanna see you cum, too.”

Vinny could have cum untouched from that sentence alone, not to mention the view. He palms his cock that is straining painfully hard against his jeans. He could do it. Make you cum with his voice and instructions, reach his own climax, and call it a night. It would be the easy option since he was out of town and not exactly alone.

He wouldn’t go with the easy option at home, why would he go with it now? His princess was naked and spread open for him, craving him and dying to cum.

Too bad you had been a fucking brat. You’d have to earn it. You had teased him all day. It was time for him to do a little teasing.

Vinny smirks. “Don’t worry baby, I'll make you cum.”

You sigh and lightly rub your clit. “Thank you so much, baby.”

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

“B-but..” you stammer, confused. “You said you’d make me cum.”

“I’ll make you cum when I think you’ve earned it, princess. Now be a good girl, and listen to me, okay?”

“Yes sir” You mewl.

“Put the phone closer to your face, baby.”

You do as you're told, placing the phone in front of your face so he can see you better. Vinny’s eyes land on your mouth.

“Open up.”

Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out instinctively.

“Mmm, good girl. You already knew what I wanted.” You glow at his praise.

“Do you miss my cock, baby?” You nod and an “uh-huh” escapes from your throat.

“Show me. Use your fingers and show me how much you miss my cock.”

You bring your index and middle finger to your mouth and slowly drag your tongue from the base to your fingertips. Swirling your tongue around your fingertips, you suck them into your mouth. Vinny tries to hold the eye contact you’re making but is too mesmerized by the sound of you gagging as you shove your fingers further in your mouth.

Vinny would love to get his cock out and pretend it’s him you’re gagging on but the two of you have other areas to explore. He’s going to hold out as long as he can.

“Mmm… Wanna see how wet you got ‘em, honey” he hums.

Slowly pulling your fingers out you release them with a pop. Vinny’s eyes dilate as he watches the saliva drip down your hands and onto your wrists. Despite him not giving you permission, you stick out your tongue and lick up your arm collecting the saliva as you go. He shivers and you hold back a smile.

“Baby… let me see those gorgeous tits. Want you to play with them for me.”

You bring your saliva slicked fingers to your nipples and gasp softly. Tracing circles around your nipple slowly your free hand massages your other breast. Vinny licks his lips while you pinch and roll the buds between your index finger and thumb.

“Honey, can you get up for me? I have another idea.”

Nodding, you sit up and scoot towards the edge of the bed waiting for further instruction.

“Sit down at the foot of the bed. On the floor.”

You do as you're told. You had no idea what he was planning but you wanted to cum so you weren’t going to question it.

“Good girl. Now, prop the phone against the mirror in front of you so I can see you. I want to see all of you.”

Placing the phone against the mirror, you reposition yourself against the bed. You bend your knees and spread your legs, making sure to give Vinny a view of everything.

“God, If I wasn’t across the fucking country right now…”

You giggle and play with your breasts some more, sliding your other hand down your stomach and to your thigh. You make a show out of rubbing your breasts and inner thighs, softly moaning and rotating your hips. You were throbbing and if he didn’t let you touch yourself soon, you were going to explode.

“Rub your thighs for me, baby. That’s it… fuck…” Vinny palms his aching cock and the closer your hand gets to your pussy the more he wants to touch himself but not yet.

You couldn’t take it anymore though.

“Vinny, baby. Please. Please let me see your cock. I want to see you touch yourself. I’ll be so good for you, my sweet boy, please.”

Every ounce of self-restraint he had in that moment melted away in an instant. His mouth was so dry he was barely able to croak out an “okay”. Vinny was so flustered he couldn’t get his belt off quick enough and was muttering expletives as he fought with it. You giggle and he shoots you a glare before relaxing into a smile.

Vinny finally conquers his belt and pushes his jeans and boxers down, his cock springing free and slapping against his belly. The tip was bright red and leaking. You grip your thigh and flex your hips upwards, silently and futilely begging for him to press inside you.

He watches you intently, placing his hand around his cock. Vinny whines, throwing his head back. He gives into the feeling and slowly thrusts into his fist. His face is twisted in pleasure and he’s already starting to sweat. Your eyes follow the curve of his jaw, down his Adam's apple. You’ve never wanted to sink your teeth into the flesh of his neck so badly before.

As much as you were enjoying the show, you were being selfish and feeling severely neglected. You shove your fingers back in your mouth and whine to get his attention. He doesn’t move his head, just looks down at you and smirks.

“Enjoying the view?”

You whine again, pouting around your fingers.

Vinny chuckles. “Aww, is my princess feeling neglected?”

You nod, still pouting.

He adjusts himself against the back of his bunk, hand never leaving his cock.

“You’ve been so good, honey. Why don’t you put those fingers to better use? Touch that pretty pussy for me”

Your hand flies to your mound massaging your swollen bud. All of the teasing and anticipation had built up so much tension that you felt dizzy from the pleasure. You apply more pressure and you see stars, your legs involuntarily shutting at the feeling.

“Uh-uh. Open your legs. Now.” Vinny says firmly.

With a whimper you open your legs, lazily drawing circles around your clit. You were so worked up and desperate for more you couldn’t keep still, your other hand keeping you upright as you squirmed against the carpet.

“I’ll let you play but you have to keep your legs open for me. You’ve gotta let me see. Understand?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do it again and you don't get to cum. I’ll make you wait until I get home.”

A shiver runs through you at the thought. He wouldn’t be home for nearly three weeks. You couldn’t wait that long and he knew you would obey him if he told you not to touch yourself.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and keep your legs open?”

“Yes sir.” You nod enthusiastically, opening your legs wide for him.

He sighs in satisfaction. “Princess. I want to see how gorgeous you are when you finger your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open, a shocked squeak following. Wasting no time, you plunge two fingers into your drenched hole. You pump them in and out slowly, taking your time because you know Vinny wants to see every move you make.

The slow movements weren’t enough to satisfy the ache but you were happy to get any kind of relief at this point. You open your eyes to see Vinny fisting his cock, his eyes fixed on your cunt. Moaning loudly, you grind down hard against your fingers, the ache for him growing even stronger. You could feel the tightening in your belly and knew you weren’t going to last long.

Vinny sees your pussy clench around your fingers and knows you're close. His fist tightens around his cock but he wants to wait. He has to wait until you’re done.

The soft sighs that are falling from your lips. Your whines. The moans. The way your body is arching. How beautiful you look with your fingers in your soaked pussy. Vinny is completely enamored by every single part of you and he cannot stop staring. He tries so hard to wait on you but that all goes to hell as soon as you call out his name.

“Vinny… please…” He could listen to you beg for him until the end of time. “Cum with me, baby.” and that’s all he needs. Vinny cums with a choked sob. His stomach tenses and his legs shake. Warm cum spills over his hand, dripping down and around the rings he’s wearing. When he comes down you’re still shaking and crying out for him and he wishes like hell he had another in him because he swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. Doing so good for me.” He coaxes you through your orgasm until you’re out of breath.

Once you catch your breath you crawl towards the phone and grab it. You lay back down on your bed and focus on him. He had placed his phone against the wall and was removing his rings, cleaning his hands with a dirty t-shirt that was nearby.

“Ya know, if I was there I would clean up all of that for you. Rings and all.” You giggle, licking your lips.

Vinny’s head whips in your direction.

“You better watch it, princess.”

#vinny mauro #chenzo mauro #motionless in white #miw #miw band #vinny mauro x reader #chenzo mauro x reader #vinny mauro x female reader #vinny mauro fanfiction #vinny mauro fic #vinny mauro fanfic #vinny mauro rpf #vinny mauro smut #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white fanfic #motionless in white fic #motionless in white smut #vinnymauro #vinny

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suddencolds · 5 months

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Small Price to Pay | [1/1]

you know all those posts about making out with someone with a cold and the associated consequences? This is that in fic form, ~8.8k words. I'm embarrassing myself typing this, so here it is.

This is an OC fic ft. Vincent and Yves - you can read more of these two here! :)

Summary:

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest. Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

Yves has a birthday party to attend and a fake relationship to prove. Vincent is nothing if not adaptable. (ft. fake dating, an argument, contagion)

—

Here’s the problem:

Francesca throws a party.

It’s a birthday party, strictly speaking, but functionally it’s more of a college reunion—Francesca invites everyone from their year who rowed crew, which means that one: Yves will be surrounded by some of his best friends from college, and two: Erika will be there.

He thinks up an entire contingency plan—if Vincent can’t make it that weekend, for one reason or another, Yves will show up, hand Francesca his gift, spend the rest of the hour avoiding Erika and Brendon, and leave early, citing some excuse or other. It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle talking to Erika—it’s just seeing her feels like reopening a wound. A part of him is scared that he’ll see her, and feel the loss intensely all over again—or, worse, he’ll get ideas about forgiving her, about letting her into his life again, about accepting her explanations.

And Brendon, too—seeing Erika means seeing Brendon, most likely, and Yves doesn’t want to justify himself to him any more than he already has.

The point is: the less of the both of them that he has to deal with, the better.

When he asks Vincent a week before the event, though, Vincent’s response is immediate.

V: You can fill me in on the details later. I’ll be there.

It’s a little strange, he thinks, that Vincent always agrees so readily. Vincent isn’t a fan of parties—he’d been clear about that. He doesn’t seem interested in talking much about himself, either—he’s just the kind of person, Yves is realizing, who likes to keep his personal details close unless they offer some sort of utility.

Perhaps there’s something else that Vincent is getting out of this, then.

But when Yves asks, he’s met with the same cryptic answer:

“I don’t mind it,” Vincent says. “And you have something you want to prove to your ex. Ultimately, it’s a net positive.”

“While that’s technically true,” Yves says, “this seems like an unfair arrangement. I mean, you’re only doing this because I dragged you into it.”

“If I didn’t want to be dragged into it,” Vincent says, “I would say so.” as if it’s really that simple.

It can’t be that simple, Yves thinks—there must be more to his reasoning that he’s omitting—but he doesn’t press. Vincent is right. Vincent is the kind of person who knows precisely what he wants. If he really had a problem with this arrangement, he would’ve said so.

And, besides—a little selfishly, perhaps—Yves has started looking forward to their outings as of late.

—

Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about the party again until the Friday before it, when Vincent shows up at his desk.

“Do you have a moment?” he says.

“Yes,” Yves says, saving the spreadsheet he’s been working on and shutting his laptop. “What’s up?”

When he looks up, Vincent looks a little tired, though that’s not unusual—it’s been a long week, and busy season always means long hours and little sleep.

“We can talk later if you’re busy,” Vincent says.

“I’m very free,” Yves says. He’s decisively not—and he’s sure that Vincent knows this, too, so whatever Vincent is approaching him with now must be important.

“Regarding Francesca’s party tomorrow,” Vincent starts. He looks a little sheepish—as if he doesn’t quite want to be the deliverer of bad news. “I can still go. But I’m…”

“If something came up,” Yves says immediately, “you don’t have to come.” “It’s not that,” Vincent says.

“Or even if nothing’s come up,” Yves backtracks, “and you’re just not feeling it anymore? Also totally fine. Seriously. I can always just go by myself.”

Vincent seems to consider this. Yves is starting to get worried that something might actually be very wrong—something that Vincent is hesitant to even bring up—when Vincent takes a generous step backwards, raising his elbow to his face as his eyes squeeze shut.

“hhih’nGKTsHuhh-!”

The sneeze sounds harsh, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve; it tears through him with little warning, loud enough to echo slightly in the confines of the office space.

That’s when it all clicks into place: the tiredness. The slight off-ness to his complexion, the tension to the way he’s holding himself, the fact that Yves hasn’t caught him in the break room at all over the past couple days. The fact that he’s currently standing so far away from Yves’s desk.

“You’re ill,” Yves says, comprehending.

“Yes,” Vincent says. His voice sounds a little off, too, now that Yves knows what to look for; it has that quality it often takes on after a long day of discussions with clients—not quite hoarse, but getting there. “I’m positive it’s just a cold. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry about it at all, seriously,” Yves says. He feels guilty, suddenly—here he is, asking Vincent to spend his already-limited free time at a party, when Vincent probably has a high volume of important clients—and a burgeoning head cold—to deal with. “If you want to take a rain check, you should. I’m sure this week has already been rough for you as it is.”

“When is the next time you’ll be going to an event where Erika’s going to be there?”

That question makes him pause. “I don’t know. In another month, or so, if I had to guess?”

“So this event is important,” Vincent says, sniffling. It’s the kind of light, liquid sniffle that implies that whatever he’s caught, he’s just at the start of it. “In that case, I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Yves says. “That’s not what I—your health is more important than any event. You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“I feel fine,” Vincent says. “No headache, no fever. It’s just a slight cold. I will be fine tomorrow if I make it a point to sleep early.” he sniffles again, his expression growing hazy for a brief moment before he blinks, rubbing his nose on one knuckle. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine with it.”

“I am completely fine with it,” Yves says, reaching for the box of tissues that’s perched on his desk. He holds it out. “I just feel bad about making you go if you’re sick.”

Vincent takes a handful of tissues out of the box, brings them up to cover his nose, just in time for—

“hh- hH’nGKT-! snf-! hH-Hhih… hh’hiHhh’iiZSCHHh-uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis, pushing the entire tissue box towards him. “Times two. Seriously. I think you could use the weekend off—you know, to catch up on sleep.”

“Assuming that things haven’t changed from the event details you forwarded me, the party will be in the evening,” Vincent says, taking the tissue box from him, a little hesitantly, and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep in.”

Yves opens his mouth to protest.

Vincent says, “I’m fine. I’ll call a rain check if I wake up with a fever.” He turns on his heels. “Otherwise, see you tomorrow.”

—

Vincent, as Yves is coming to realize, is very good at appearing presentable, even when he’s under the weather.

“You made it,” he says. This time, they’d driven here separately. Yves had thought, initially, that it’d be easier to just drive Vincent places, so that the only thing he’d had to account for was his actual presence—but Francesca lives between them. I don’t mind driving, Vincent had said. You’d be going out of your way to pick me up, but he’d coordinated a spot a couple blocks down to meet up, so that it would look like they’d come together.

It’s cold outside still—it’s the sort of indecisive weather that seems to periodically hint at spring: a cold front, then a few warm days when all the ice thaws, a few flowers lining the grass along the road where the snow’s melted, and then another snowstorm. It’s easy enough, then, to chalk up the slight redness of his cheeks, the redness at the tip of his nose, as another effect of the not-quite-spring weather.

Yves is carrying his present for Francesca under one arm—a hardcover book—a sequel to one she’d read last year and gushed to him about liking; a couple fridge magnets, which she likes to collect; film for the polaroid camera her sister got her last year; and a letter, all wrapped up in a brown paper parcel.

It’s nice to have an excuse to see everyone again, especially some of the members from crew whom he’s not close enough to invite to parties personally, that he knows Francesca was closer to.

“It was a pain to find parking,” Vincent says. He’s wearing a red scarf today, and a white overcoat with black buttons and a sharply cut collar. Personally, Yves thinks it’s unfair that someone can be down with an irritating head cold and still look so good.

“No kidding,” Yves says. “You would’ve thought there’d be more than one tiny parking lot for all those shops.”

Yves asks how he is (fine, Vincent says—perfectly capable of spending a few hours at a party. Yves says, I feel like you would say that even if you were like, dead on your feet with a high fever, to which Vincent laughs, but doesn’t explicitly deny.)

Yves supposes he isn’t one to talk—he’d showed up to a crew event, near the end of the season, with the flu, just because it had been their then-captain’s last big event, and he’d been planning to give him a farewell speech. The speech had gone fine—and so had the first few hours—but then all his symptoms had hit at once—fever chills, exhaustion, a pounding headache, the likes—and Francesca and Erika had practically had to drag him home.

But that had been an important event—a once in a lifetime thing—and he’d drafted that speech for two weeks. This is so much less high-stakes.

“I prombise I’m fine,” Vincent tells him, lifting up the side of his scarf to muffle a cough into it. “It’s just all the - hHIh-! all the annoyidg symptoms. I dod’t - snf-! - feel any worse than I did yesterday.” “Any worse?” Yves says. “Does that mean you were already feeling pretty badly off yesterday?”

“I barely even feel udwell at all,” Vincent says. “It’s just— I keep havidg to— hHih-! hihH’IIITshHHh-uuH!”

He sniffles, raising a sleeve to his face to cover the next, resounding,

“hHih’iITTSshh’Uhh! snf-!” He buries his face deeper into his sleeve, his shoulders trembling with another gasp. “Hhih…. HIih’nNGKT—SHhuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says, laughing. “Okay. Point taken.”

Vincent lowers his arm slowly with a curt sniffle. “Are Erika and Francesca close?”

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I think they still keep in touch pretty frequently.” it’s one of the reasons why he hasn’t told Francesca—or anyone else in the friend group—about the specifics of their breakup.

It feels wrong, somehow, to paint her in a bad light, to give people reason to take sides, when it’s always been all of them together as a group. 5am practice was a hell of a bonding experience, she was part of all of that, too. He has no right to take that from her.

“How about Brendon?”

“Brendon’s sort of an odd one out,” Yves says. “I don’t think most of us had met him until he started dating Erika during our senior year. He usually hangs out with a different crowd, so he’s only really around when Erika is.”

Perhaps that’s better, too—more merciful—that when Erika had left him for someone new, it hadn’t been one of the people he knew and deeply trusted. If Brendon had been there too, at all those 5am practices, at all those oddly timed meetings—if Yves had had that much time to look back on, to wonder when Erika’s feelings for Brendon had materialized, to watch her fall for him firsthand, to look back and know that he was losing her…

It’s better, this way, he thinks, that at least he can look back on his time rowing crew as he’d always wanted to—not like the way he feels when he looks at Erika: heartbroken, and a little betrayed.

“I guess I’m in that positiod now,” Vincent says.

“In the sense that you didn’t meet everyone through crew?”

“In the sedse that I’m an outsider.”

Yves considers this. “My friends really like you, though,” he says. “I don’t think they think of you that way.” It’s a short walk to Francesca’s doorstep. Vincent really does seem to be okay, Yves notes—aside from the frequent sniffling, and the sneezes he turns away to direct into his sleeve, he isn’t shivering under his coat, and he doesn’t look more tired than usual.

Despite everything, Yves finds himself feeling cautiously hopeful. Something about Vincent’s presence has that effect on him. Vincent is always so sure of himself, even in situations Yves thinks he can’t possibly be certain will go well.

It makes Yves want to have faith in this too. Yves will see Francesca and his friends from crew, and he won’t have to say anything to Erika and Brendon, his friends will like Vincent very much, and everything will be just fine.

“Wait,” Vincent says, right after Francesca’s let them in through the apartment buzzer. “We should look like we actually like each other.” He holds his hand out, expectant.

“Good point.” Yves takes it. Vincent’s hand is warm, and a little calloused—when Yves tugs his hand a little closer, Vincent’s fingers interlace nicely with his.

“For the record, I do like you,” he adds.

Vincent laughs. “You kdow what I meant.”

—

It’s almost a relief, seeing everyone again. Yves used to feel a little apprehensive about reunions—around the possibility for the people that he’d known and loved to have changed past recognition, to have internalized everything some way but to come back and see that everyone’s moved on in their own ways, grown a little more into themselves—and a little further from him—than he remembers them to be.

But when he sees Francesca, she still greets him with the same hug — one arm looped around his shoulders, for a firm squeeze. He hands her her gift, and wishes her a happy birthday, and she laughs and says the only good part about getting old is having an excuse to have everyone back in her living room.

“And Vincent’s here too,” Francesca says, turning to Vincent, who—after looking caught off guard for a second—smiles back at her. “I’m so glad you were able to come!”

“It’s good to see you agaid,” Vincent says. “And happy birthday. You look great, by the way.”

“Thank you!” she says, beaming. She’s wearing a cocktail party dress which slips elegantly over her still-bare shoulders. “I needed to pick something out for the occasion. I swear, these days, half my closet is just business formal attire. It’s depressing.”

“If that mbeans that the other half of your closet is filled out with idteresting clothes,” Vincent says, with a quiet sniffle, “you’re doing a lot better than I am.”

Francesca laughs. “It’s just for my sanity,” she says. “Can’t let the clients dictate everything I wear.”

“It’s ndice that you’re celebrating your birthday, though,” Vincent says. He lifts a hand to rub his slightly-reddening nose with one knuckle. “My coworkers are always sayidg that they’re too old to want to ackdowledge it anymore.”

“It definitely feels that way sometimes,” Francesca says. “But it’s a good excuse to have everyone here, while we still can. Speaking of which—Yves is the worst at planning things for himself, which is ironic, because he’s always the one planning things for everyone else.”

“That is not true,” Yves says.

Francesca gives him a pointed look. “Last year, you were practically banking on having everyone forget your birthday.”

That is an exaggeration. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t let that happen, even if I wanted it to,” Yves says.

“You’re damn right.”

“The ndext time you’re planning a birthday for him,” Vincent says, clearing his throat with a quiet cough, “I’ll pitch in.”

Francesca brightens, at this. “Finally another soldier on the right side of the war,” she says. “You can definitely be part of the secret planning council.”

“Thadk god,” Vincent says, playing along. “I was starting to thidk I was going to have to do it all alone.”

“It’s not a secret if I’m right here,” Yves says. Francesca ignores him in favor of having Vincent type his number into her phone.

—

Halfway through the evening, Vincent disappears into the kitchen for a moment. When he comes back, it’s with two drinks in hand—canned cocktails, Yves realizes, judging by the cans. He hands one over to Yves.

“I actually don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” Yves says to him. “Even at happy hours.”

“I don’t drink very often,” Vincent says.

“Does this mean that I get to see you tipsy? I’m sure our coworkers will be jealous.”

“If you’re expecting my personality to change,” Vincent says, “you will be disappointed.” he says it with such certainty that Yves pays closer attention to him after that.

Vincent does hold his alcohol well, as it turns out, with the exception of the slight flush to his cheeks a few drinks later—though even then, Yves can’t be entirely sure it can’t be entirely attributed to his cold. He listens intently as Yves talks to Diane—who’s a couple years younger than Yves—about how Crew has been ever since Yves graduated (mostly the same; the new underclassmen are good at showing up to practices on time, but that’s partially because their captain this year is a little intimidating). He gives several of the crew members a candid summary of his relationship with Yves, when asked. He tells Marin how they first met and he tells Kenneth what it’s like keeping their relationship secret at work and he laughs—a little sheepishly—when Sasha says they make a cute couple. If lying so openly is difficult for him, it doesn’t show.

If there’s anything that’s off, it’s subtle. It takes some time for Yves to notice—

The next time Vincent sneezes, his breath hitches with a sharp, desperate, — “hHhiH—!” Then he turns away, craning his neck over his shoulder for an uncovered, “HIiiIKTshH-uh-!”

He blinks in the wake of it, as if a little dazed, before he seems to straighten, lifting a hand to wipe his nose on one knuckle. It’s not stifled, as it usually is, nor is it neatly pinched off into his fingers, which is unexpected.

It’s as if the sneeze has fully caught him off guard—as if all the systems he has in place to sneeze as quietly and as unobtrusively as possible are just slightly impaired by the alcohol. Not that it matters much—Francesca has put some music on, and it sits in the background now, a low thrum, all but the percussive elements muted by the chatter of conversation.

“Bless you,” Yves says, leaning over to grab a cocktail napkin from one of the neighboring tables. He hands it to Vincent, who blows his nose and emerges with a small cough. “How’s the cold?”

“Fide,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “Ndo worse than before.”

“Are you just saying that to get me to drop the subject?”

“I’m sayidg it because I actually mean it. It’s a very tolerable cold.”

Yves laughs, and reaches for his drink. He’s about to take a sip when he feels Vincent’s fingers close around his wrist

It’s only a brief moment of contact, but the warmth it leaves around his wrist stays, even when Vincent lets go.

“Sorry,” Vincent says, a little panicked. He withdraws his hand. “That’s mine.”

“What?”

“The cocktail.”

“Oh.” Yves looks down to the can in his hands. He supposes Vincent might be right—they’ve both had a few drinks, so he’d lost track awhile ago. A lot of the canned cocktails taste roughly the same to him, anyways. “Is it? I can get you another one if you want.”

“No,” Vincent says. “I drank from it.” As if that explains everything. And then—a little quieter, as if he’s embarrassed to say it: “I don’t wadt you to catch this.”

Truthfully, the possibility hadn’t crossed his mind until Vincent mentioned it. It seems a little endearing that Vincent would be worried about it in the first place—Yves has certainly shared food and drinks with friends who were worse off. “I’m not worried about that,” he says. “It’s just a cold. Didn’t you say it was very tolerable?”

“It’s still…” Vincent trails off, averting his glance with a sniffle. “...an annoyance.”

He looks like he’s about to say more when his expression goes distant, his eyebrows furrowing.

“HHih’IIIzSCH-uhh!” It sounds so thoroughly unsatisfying, half-shielded by a hand raised a few moments too late. “hh-HIh-! Hh…” He pauses, his eyes watering, his breath still wavering, and—after a few seconds of nothing—sniffles; a forceful, liquid sniffle that practically emanates frustration. “hIiIIh’kSHhhhh! snf-!”

“Bless you!”

Vincent emerges, teary-eyed, still sniffling. “Case in point,” he says.

—

He doesn’t see Erika when she gets there. It isn’t until she passes him in the living room, halfway in a conversation, that she makes her presence known to him.

“Hi Yves,” she says, and he looks up. Today she’s wearing a pink dress which cuts off at her knees—a strapless dress, save for a pink rose over her left shoulder which blooms into a sleeve. She is every inch as beautiful as she always is.

He smiles at her, cordial, tight-lipped. “You made it,” he says. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to say more, and he realizes—with a flash of panic—that he doesn’t know what more to say to her. He hasn’t kept up with her over the past few months. He knows that she’s working as a quantitative analyst, at a company she’d been hired at a couple months after they’d broken up, but he doesn’t know if she likes her work, if she likes her coworkers, if it’s been busy as of late. If she works long hours, if she’s taken up any new projects. “Glad you found time. I assume work’s been keeping you busy,” he says,

“Are you kidding? It’s Francesca,” Erika says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

And there it is—that decisiveness. That same resolve that, back then, made everything with her seem so easy. Erika and Francesca have always been close—through college, back when they met during crew, and even after, when all of them had been still settling into their jobs or going off to grad school or moving halfway across the country; when seeing each other no longer meant just a fifteen minute walk across campus.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “I know.”

They don’t speak, after that. Yves thinks it’s probably for the best—he doesn’t have anything to say to Erika right now. Back then, he could talk to her about anything, even if it was pointless or insignificant or of no real importance, and she’d make the conversation fun.

These days, he only tells her things on a strict need-to-know basis, and—given that the only times he sees her these days is at events like this—there’s not really all that much to talk about.

It had been difficult, at first. He’d wanted to share everything with her, still, back when his work schedule had settled enough for him to take long walks downtown, to start to go to concerts and bars again; when he’d redecorated his apartment, when he’d gotten someone to mentor at work, when he’d gotten back into cooking. For some time after the breakup, it still felt instinctual to turn to her, to text her about something interesting that’d happened, to ask her to try out something new that he’d found.

But he hadn’t. Something about feigning normalcy seemed worse, even then, than accepting that she was really gone.

Perhaps her avoidance of him tonight is merciful. It’s easier, when he’s not thinking about her, to slip into the familiarity of talking to everyone, to enjoy all of it just as himself.

It’s only when he excuses himself to get another drink that he runs into Brendon.

Yves has always been civil with Brendon.

Brendon is—well, to say that Brendon isn’t someone he considers a friend is a vast understatement. The less of Brendon Yves sees, the better. Yves avoids him when he can, but he is good at holding up small talk, when it’s necessary, and on most days, Brendon has enough good sense to not start a fight.

Today, it seems, is not one of those days.

“So,” Brendon says. “You’re still dating him.” Something about the way he inflects the word still makes something sour in Yves’s chest.

Yves frowns at him. “Is that supposed to be surprising?”

“I guess I’m surprised,” Brendon says. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting it to last.”

“Well, I’m happy to have exceeded your expectations,” Yves says. “Though it doesn’t sound like they were very high.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Brendon says, waving a hand. “It’s just—new relationships can be fairly unreliable. Especially when you’re dating around.”

“Maybe in your experience, that’s the case,” Yves says. “But personally, I tend to date people I can see myself with long term.”

“That’s the thing,” Brendon says. “I’m surprised you can see yourself with him.”

Yves sets the drink he’s holding down and turns to face him properly. “I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

Brendon scoffs. “It doesn’t take a genius to see that you two are very different people.”

“So people can only date their clones,” Yves says flatly. He’s already tired of this conversation. “My bad. I must’ve missed that rule somewhere in dating 101.”

“Obviously, I don’t mean it to that extent. You’re blowing it out of proportion. I just mean that you can only be so different from someone before you’re incompatible. ”

“I agree,” Yves says. “And I don’t think we’re incompatible.”

“Are you sure?” Brendon crosses his arms. “This isn’t his scene, is it? Cocktail parties? I mean, he’s practically married to his work. Does he even like parties?”

Vincent doesn’t like parties—Brendon is right about that point. But hadn’t Vincent been the one who’d agreed to come here in the first place? To imply that he’s only here because Yves has dragged him along seems somewhat disingenuous.

Yves says, “If Vincent didn’t want to be here, he wouldn’t be here.”

“Sure, but from what I’ve heard from Erika—” Yves doesn’t like this implication that Brendon and Erika talk about them behind their back, but he supposes it’s to be expected. “—he’s not exactly the type of person you’ve tended to go for in the past.”

That sounds awfully like an accusation.

“What exactly are you getting at, here?”

“I’m saying that it sort of looks like you just picked the most convenient rebound you could find,” Brendon says, quiet. “But usually people are honest with themselves when that’s the case.”

That startles a short, indignant laugh out of Yves. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Do you really not think that’s the case? Wouldn’t you say you’d usually go for someone more personable?”

“Personable?” Yves repeats. “Personable? Don’t make me laugh. Do you know how many clients I’ve seen Vincent talk down to a pleasant resolution because he’s so good at negotiating? Do you know how many conferences I’ve been in where Vincent is the one people come to after to privately compliment, because he’s so good at knowing how to talk to people?” he thinks to Joel’s housewarming party—to how compellingly Vincent had lied for him, then; to how good he had been at conjuring up a sense of history between them, of warmth. “His ability to answer difficult questions on the spot, with virtually no preparation at all, is something I can’t even begin to comprehend.”

He’s not sure why the accusation from Brendon makes him so upset, only that it does. Only that he wants to do nothing but tell Brendon just how wrong he is. “If you’re trying to imply that I’m settling for him, don’t patronize me,” he says. “Vincent is one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I know. Do you seriously believe I’d be dissatisfied with someone who holds himself to such a high standard?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in months,” he says, resolute. “Because of him.”

Through the adrenaline, Yves realizes, faintly, that he hasn’t lied about any of it. He certainly could have—after all, Brendon would be none the wiser—but everything he’s said about Vincent is something he really, genuinely believes.

“Ah,” Brendon says, knowingly, as if he has it all figured out. “I got it wrong. This whole time I thought you were the one that felt lukewarm about him. But it’s the other way around, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so sure he’s the one that you’re willing to overlook all of your obvious differences,” Brendon says. “Have you ever stopped to consider whether he feels the same way?”

“Presumably, he does,” Yves says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in a relationship.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Brendon says, as if Yves should already know this from past experience, which—if Yves is being really honest—makes him want to punch him.

Instead, he takes in a deep breath, schools his expression into a smile. “Usually, people in relationships aren’t still looking for other options.”

“Yes,” Brendon says. “Unless they’re unhappy.”

“Yves!”

When Yves turns to look, Vincent is standing in the doorway. How long has he been here? Just how much of the conversation has he overheard?

“Sorry for the wait,” Yves says sheepishly. “I was getting us drinks.” Evidently, he’s been away long enough for Vincent to come check up on him, so he’s already spent unreasonably long getting drinks, and now he doesn’t even have the drinks to show for it. “Or, I guess I got a little sidetracked, but I swear that drinks are on the w—”

Vincent leans in, unprompted, and kisses him.

Yves’s brain grinds to a complete halt.

It’s only a moment later that Vincent pulls away, but the decisiveness with which he’s carried it out, the broad confidence on his face as he smiles, unwavering, is—

Fuck.

“Oh,” Yves all but stammers. His face is most certainly red right now, and he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Um. Did you need anything?”

“No,” Vincent says. There’s something telling to his expression, some sort of quiet acknowledgement. “Just wanted to see what was takidg you so long.”

Suddenly, it makes sense.

Vincent must have heard. Everything Brendon said—or at least, the last part of it; the implication that Vincent isn’t as invested in this relationship as Yves is; the implication that their attraction towards each other is somehow one-sided. Vincent is doing this to cover for him, because he wants to make it excruciatingly obvious that Brendon is wrong.

The fact that he would go to such lengths to make a point makes something settle in Yves’s chest.

“It’s actually good that you showed up,” he says, playing along. “I don’t know what kind of drink you want. I was just going to get you something generic.”

He heads over to the ice box on the other side of the kitchen, and Vincent follows.

They’re far enough that they’re separated from Brendon by the granite island—and, beyond that, the cushioned high stools lined up next to it, but not so far that Brendon can’t still see them.

So he certainly can see, Yves thinks, this:

Yves leans in, reaching up a hand to cup Vincent’s jaw, and closes the distance between them.

It’s nothing like the kiss at the New Year’s party.

That one had been all nerves—brief, impulsive, all adrenaline. This kiss is much more involved—Yves presses in closer, so close that he can feel the heat radiating from Vincent’s skin, so close that he can smell the faint, not unpleasant smell of laundry detergent on Vincent’s shirt collar. So close that he can feel the breath that Vincent exhales, warm on his cheek; can feel the softness of Vincent’s hair as he shifts. He feels Vincent’s hand settle on his chest, feels his fingers curl inwards to rest on the fabric of his shirt, and—

On the other side of the kitchen, Brendon is watching, and Vincent is here—here, present, in the flesh, looking as put together as always, looking like someone out of a goddamn magazine—so Yves kisses him like he’s used to kissing—greedily, as if he’s been wanting this for ages. It’s been awhile since he’s kissed someone like this. Back then, there was university—the people at parties who he’d met and kissed out of momentary attraction, or out of alcohol-induced courage—though of course back then, neither party had harbored any delusions about how impermanent that connection was, or how little it meant. And then there was Erika, who, for the longest time, he thought was going to be the last person he’d ever kiss like this.

For months after they’d broken up, he hadn’t looked for anything. It felt wrong to subject others—even strangers, to which he had no allegiance—to the messy remnants of his feelings, to attempt to get into something he knew could only be half-hearted, at best, when there was a person in his mind who lingered so sharply.

But Vincent crowds up every corner of his mind, as if to say, pay attention, and Yves finds that for once, he’s not thinking about Erika at all.

When he feels the small hitch in Vincent’s breath, he thinks nothing of it.

Except, then—abruptly, and with barely any warning—Vincent is wrenching away, craning his head over Yves’s shoulder to let out a sudden, uncovered—

“hh-hIIIH’hH-IIKTshHuh!”

Their proximity to each other means he feels the way Vincent’s body jerks forward under his hands, his chest tensing. For a moment after, the rigidness of his posture doesn’t dissipate, tension still strung through the line of his shoulders.

“Bless you,” Yves says, surprised.

Then Vincent curses under his breath, drawing away with a sniffle. “I’mb sorry,” he says, sounding really, honestly panicked—a reaction which Yves finds both disproportionate to the situation and a little endearing. “That was— sorry, I should’ve—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yves says, with a laugh; “I honestly couldn’t care less.” Impulsively—and maybe to prove just how little it bothers him—he leans back in.

Vincent is less hesitant, this time around, when it seems to register to him that Yves really doesn’t mind. He’s a surprisingly good kisser—Yves probably isn’t the first person he’s kissed, and he probably won’t be the last, but the second Vincent’s mouth works around his, Yves feels himself nearly go weak in the knees.

Fuck. Yves can’t say he expected to spend this evening making out with his very attractive coworker-slash-fake-boyfriend, but at the same time, he isn’t complaining. Yves thinks he could do this for hours, given the chance. He kisses Vincent as if to say, thank you—for the New Year’s party, for going along with this, for lying on my behalf—and Vincent kisses him back as if he wants this just as much.

It registers to him, faintly—as Vincent pulls away with a sharp gasp before he pitches forward, smothering another abrupt, wrenching sneeze into the palm of his hand—that he’s probably dooming himself to Vincent’s cold ten times over. But it occurs to him, too, that if he were really dating Vincent—if, after the party, they’d head back to Vincent’s place together; if they were really close enough to share car rides and food and drinks on the regular, to see each other frequently both in the office and outside of it—he would’ve almost certainly caught this anyways.

Something about the intimacy of it, the false closeness it seems to imply, is a little intoxicating.

When he finally pulls away, Vincent is breathing a little heavily, his glasses askew, his hair slightly unkempt from where Yves had—mid-kiss—run his fingers through it. Yves looks over his shoulder to see that Brendon has, at some point over the last few minutes, slipped off. Presumably, he’s gotten the point, then.

It’s a relief. Yves is glad to not have to talk with him for any longer than he has to.

“God,” Yves says, with a laugh. “Where did you learn to kiss like that, anyways?”

Vincent smiles. “I’ve had some practice,” he says, which Yves thinks must be a massive understatement. “Do you think it was convincidg?”

“I don’t know what kinds of standards Brendon has,” Yves says, lowering his voice so that he’s certain no one outside of the kitchen will be able to hear. “But I’d definitely be convinced.”

“He seems strangely idvested in our relationship,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “I think he was just trying to make trouble. How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Just the tail end of it,” Vincent says. “I—”

His gaze goes distant, which is the only warning Yves gets before he’s turning away, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a forceful:

“hH-! hhH-hH’iiKTsSHH-uhh! Hh-! Hih… HIIh’IzsSCCHh’hhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent is quiet for a moment, his expression still hazy, the irritation evident on his features, before he’s ducking away again.

“hIiih’GKTTSHh-uhHh!”

The sneeze is loud enough to scrape against his throat. It leaves him coughing a little, his eyes watering.

“Bless you,” Yves says, with emphasis. He takes a small stack of napkins off of the kitchen counter and hands it over to Vincent, who eyes it for a moment. There’s a slight flush to his complexion—whether it’s from the alcohol, or from embarrassment, or from slight fever, Yves can’t tell.

“I hope you dod’t regret this in a few days,” Vincent says, carefully extricating one napkin from the stack to blow his nose softly into it. “You—” His breath hitches, sharply, and then he’s pitching forward into the handful of napkins with a muffled, “hiiHh’IZSSCHh-uhh!”

He emerges, sniffling, looking a little apologetic. “You’ll almost certaidly catch this.”

Yves laughs. “It’s fine. I know what I signed up for. Besides, I’m glad you stepped in.” He kneels down, at last, to procure two drinks from the long-neglected icebox. “A cold was a small price to pay for getting out of that conversation.”

He hands Vincent a drink. “Can I have a sip of yours? Now that I’ve doomed myself to it already, I suppose you don’t have to try so hard to keep me from catching it.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Vincent says, but he lets Yves try some, nonetheless.

Brendon is suspiciously quiet for the rest of the evening. Neither he nor Erika so much as look Yves’s way, which Yves thinks is better than another confrontation. Vincent looks happy—a little tired, a little tipsy, but happy. At some point into the evening he resorts to crossing his arms as a means to keep warm (“Is it too cold in here?” Francesca asks, passing him from where he’s sitting on the couch, to which Vincent shakes his head quickly, his face flushing red. “I’mb just slightly under the weather,” he says. “The temperature’s perfect.” to this, Francesca brings over a quilt from one of the closets and drapes it over his shoulders. “Your friends are very nice,” Vincent says, pinning the quilt in place with one hand, and Yves laughs).

At some point, Francesca brings out a cake (“earl gray with buttercream,” she says, “Erika and I made a smaller one as a test run last week, and it was a little too dense, so we’ll have to see how this one turned out.” which Yves thinks is very impressive—he’s certainly better than average at cooking, but that expertise does not transfer well to baking—truly, he’s not sure he’d be confident in his ability to pipe frosting in a straight line. When he tells Vincent this, Vincent laughs and says, “I’m sure people would forgive you as long as it tasted good,” to which Yves says, “I think you’re underestimating how bad I am at decorating.”) She’s piped small blue flowers around the periphery of it, and leaves that curl around the edges of the cake. Diane says, “this is way too pretty to eat,” and “are you sure you want us to destroy it,” while Kenneth—their year’s Crew captain—helps Francesca with setting up the candles around the periphery of the cake and lighting them one by one.

Francesca laughs when Erika tells a story about a series of errors pertaining to their last grocery store run and tears up when Marin gives a speech about how Francesca is the main reason she stayed in Crew. After that, everyone sings—for a brief moment, the clamor in the living room becomes strictly unified. Then she blows out all the candles in one go, and everyone claps.

All in all, it’s a good evening.

—

It’s really not a surprise when Yves wakes up a few days later with a sore throat.

It’s not a surprise, either, when his nose starts running shortly after, or when—a couple hours later—a harsh, wrenching sneeze catches him off guard at work.

It’s as if that first sneeze has opened the floodgates. After that, he finds himself muffling sneezes into his elbow, scrambling for tissues from the rapidly depleting stash—a travel sized tissue pack that he keeps in his briefcase, just in case. The persistent tickle that settles in his nose seems impossible to appease, no matter how many times he sneezes, or how diligently he tries to ignore it. Worse, the sneezes are forceful enough to leave his throat feeling tender and painful, and violent enough that he finds himself coughing a little after.

Vincent was right. The cold isn’t particularly miserable—aside from the sore throat, he’s a little tired, but he doesn’t feel strictly worse than usual. It is irritating, though, to deal with—and irritating, too, to be at the office as it settles in.

It’s probably not worth taking a sick day for. It’s more an annoyance than a tangible inconvenience. Besides, he has only a couple days left of work before it’s the weekend, when he can catch up on sleep.

He’s scheduled himself for a morning’s worth of back to back meetings—two meetings with clients, one with a coworker he’s been working with to go over her findings, another status update meeting to review the work they’ve all done over the past few weeks.

Yves is prone to losing his voice when he’s ill. It’s one of his most embarrassing tells—it’d certainly garnered more attention than he’d wanted in college whenever he was under the weather—but in a work setting where his participation in meetings is non-negotiable, with every meeting he takes, he can feel his voice get closer and closer to unusable.

His second meeting ends a few minutes early, which is a relief. But when he heads to the break room to make himself a cup of much-needed tea, he finds that the hot water machine is out of order.

Just his luck.

He pours himself a cup of cold water and looks through some of the storage cabinets for tissues, though he has no luck with that, either.

The office is always turned a notch too cool—air conditioned to keep everyone awake in the afternoons—but today, it feels brutally, unnecessarily cold. He really should’ve dressed warmer. Yves heads to the conference room his next meeting is booked in, speaks on the material he’s prepared, and tries his best not to shiver too visibly. His meeting before lunch runs over, too, which is not uncommon, but today it just feels like insult to injury.

All in all, he’s exhausted. He eats a quick lunch in the cafeteria, downs two glasses of water, and goes through an embarrassing number of cafeteria napkins.

“Coming down with something?” Stanley, one of his coworkers, asks him.

Yves smiles at him sheepishly. “I wish it wasd’t so obvious,” he says.

“It’s just the season for it, I think. Vincent was just sick last week.”

“Oh, was he?” Yves says, feigning ignorance. His cold is definitely, most certainly not related to Vincent’s. “I was just goidg to grab a bottle of hand saditizer to keep at my desk,” he says, with a small cough. “I thidk there’s somethidg going around.”

Thankfully, the afternoon is—for the most part—just occupied with work. Still, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to focus on the financial statements in front of him, the slew of emails he has pulled up.

His nose is running fiercely, the trash can at the foot of his desk is close to overflowing, and the stack of napkins he’d taken from the cafeteria—certainly not an ideal solution, but it’s the best one he can come up with at the moment—is almost entirely gone.

He grabs one off the top of the stack—he’s only able to unfold it partially before he’s jerking forward with a wet, spraying, “hhEHh’iiiZZSCHh’EW!”

Fuck. The napkins, while infinitely better than nothing, are not as soft as tissues would have been. Given the frequency with which he’s been using him, he’s almost positive that his nose is redder than usual.

The next sneeze nearly catches him off guard. He barely has time to lift the napkin up to his face again before his breath hitches again, sharply.

“Hhehh… HEHh—’IIDDSCHhiew! hEHH’iITSSHh’Yyew!”

His nose is still running fiercely, and worse, the sneezes are loud enough to scrape against his throat. He thinks his voice is never going to recover if he keeps this up.

From behind him, he hears someone clear their throat.

Yves freezes. His first thought is that he’s probably being disruptive. His second thought is that even if he isn’t, whoever’s behind him must have been waiting to speak to him for some time—he’d just been too caught up with sneezing to realize, which is a little embarrassing.

His third thought is—whoever it is, he wants to face them looking at least marginally presentable. He’s almost certain that right now, he doesn’t.

He blows his nose into the napkins he’s holding, runs a hand through his hair, and pivots around in his office chair with a smile that is admittedly a little forced. “What’s up?”

He expects to see Cara, who he’s been working more with, or perhaps Laurent, who he’s been shadowing. But standing there, looking every inch as formal and as put together as he always does, is Vincent.

For a moment, Vincent just stares at him, as if he’s cataloging Yves’s appearance in silence.

Yves tries not to fidget under his scrutiny. “Did you ndeed anythidg?”

In lieu of responding, Vincent steps past him to set a box of tissues down at the edge of his desk.

“I figured you’d want this back,” Vincent says.

It’s the same tissue box he’d handed off to Vincent last week, he realizes, when Vincent was the one who had a use for it. Vincent has taken care to set it down at the same spot where it was initially: at the right edge, next to his monitor.

“Thadk you,” Yves says. “I’ll treasure it.”

“This, too,” Vincent says, setting a mug down in front of him. Whatever’s in there is hot enough to be steaming.

Yves muffles a cough into his hand. “What?”

“Tea,” Vincent says, as if that explains everything. “Chamomile, if it matters. I didn’t know if caffeine would keep you up.”

“Oh.” Yves stares at it. “You got the hot water machide workidg. It was broken this morning. Or maybe I’mb just really bad at using it.”

“Actually, no,” Vincent says. “I got this from the third floor.”

“You walked all the way up here from the third floor?” Yves says, a little surprised. He’s about to say more, but then—in a progression that he should probably be used to by now—he finds himself succumbing, with little warning, to another sneeze, which he muffles into a perhaps-too-generous handful of tissues. At this rate, he might run out of them, even given Vincent’s generous contribution.

“It was just two flights of stairs,” Vincent says.

“Still,” Yves says, lowering the tissues from his face so he can take a sip. The thought of Vincent precariously taking the tea up two flights of stairs, careful to not let it spill, just to get it to his desk is so endearing that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you.”

Vincent blinks at him, as if he wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I don’t think it will keep you from losing your voice,” he says, at last. “But it might help with your sore throat.”

Yves doesn’t remember mentioning that. “How did you kdow I had a sore throat?”

“How do you think?” Vincent says. “I had the same cold a week ago.”

Even so, the idea that Vincent already probably knows, and knows intimately, how he’s feeling right now, even though Yves hasn’t said anything about it, feels a little incriminating. Yves is under no illusion that his current affliction is subtle, by any means, but at the very least he’d thought that the less visible parts of it—his sore throat, the growing exhaustion, the pressure he feels building at his temples—were things that no one else would have to think about.

“Was it this bad for you?” he says. “I’d feel terrible if I mbade you talk to all my friends if your throat was already— Hh- heHh-! hHEH-heHh’iSSSchh-Iiew!”

It’s a good thing, Yves thinks, hazily, that he’s still holding onto the tissues from earlier. His nose is running again, and the tissues feel traitorously soft as compared to the napkins he’s been using all day.

“No,” Vincent says, frowning. “I think you just wore your voice out at work.”

“That mbight be the case,” Yves says. “I had a lot of meetidgs this morning. Ndow it’s pretty much just heads-down work, thankfully.” He muffles a yawn into one hand. Vincent is probably here for a reason—but Vincent is usually very conscientious about the work he passes onto others, so whatever he needs Yves to do for him, Yves doesn’t expect it should take too long. “Did you ndeed me to look over somethidg?” “I just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Vincent says, which is not the answer Yves expects.

Yves blinks at him. “How did you find out I was sick?”

“I heard from Cara.”

“Ah.” He probably owes Cara an apology—he’s sure that she’d probably prefer to work somewhere quiet, and his cold is certainly making that difficult. “Yeah, she would kdow. I’ve been like this all day—well, sidce this mording, I guess.”

“It came on quickly for me, too,” Vincent says. “Can I get you anything?”

“It’s just a cold,” Yves says with a laugh. “I’ll mbanage.” He means for it to be reassuring, but Vincent just frowns, looking off to the side.

He looks… strangely upset, Yves realizes.

“It’s ndot really all that bad,” Yves insists, backtracking. “And the weekend’s coming up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep when I get the chance.” Now is a really inopportune time to have to cough. He raises an elbow to his face to cough as quietly as he can, though the effort only seems to prolong the coughing fit—it leaves him slightly breathless, blinking away the tears that surface in his vision. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry,” Vincent says, quiet.

“For what?”

“For giving you my cold.”

“I dod’t think you can even take credit for that,” Yves says. “I was the one who kissed you.”

Vincent does smile, at that—a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Even so.”

Yves wants to tell him that he would do it again, if he had the chance to. He wants to tell Vincent how easy it had felt to kiss him, how right.

How it felt to forget about Erika, and Brendon, and all of it—even if just for a moment—to feel so perfectly grounded in someone other than himself. To let himself experience the sort of closeness he’s been scared of seeking out, after the breakup, after Erika, in fear that no one would ever fit quite the same. To lean into the warmth of someone who still, even now, continues to be kind to him for reasons he can’t quite rationalize.

How long has it been since he’s been able to place his trust into someone, blindly, in the way he trusts Vincent to keep up this act of theirs, to lie on his behalf? Vincent is nothing if not competent, but Yves hadn’t expected that competence to extend to this arrangement of theirs. How long has it been since Yves has been able to lean on someone the way he’s leaned on Vincent, to trust someone to meet him where he is?

“For the record, I dod’t regret it,” Yves says. He finds that he really means it.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #snz kink #sneeze kink #parts of this are very self indulgent and familiar but also #this took me 3 weeks of writing every day after i came home from work to finish T.T #the number of hours i sat there just deleting and rewriting a few sentences #but it's done! at last! (and i will not look at it for the next 24 hrs)#thank you to everyone who read foreign home and left their thoughts on it!!#reading your tags makes me really happy 🥹 thank you #my fic #me writing vincent's part: just a slight cold :) not miserable at all #me writing yves's part: ...okay. maybe a little miserable #yvverse

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beaker1636 · 4 months

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Baby It's Cold Outside - Vinny Mauro College AU Smut

A/N: So I know I said no requests posted until Fridays and Saturdays but I am so excited about this one, I absolutely love it. It may be my best smut story to date at almost 6,000 words! So I decided to post it early because I am too excited and can't wait to share it! The request was literally just Vinny Christmas Smut, and while this doesn't touch a lot on Christmas it is where my mind went. Hope you enjoy!!

God damnit, you groan in your head as you trudge through the cold weather towards the house of your classmate. Of course Vinny would skip one of the final classes before winter break, making your teacher ask you to take the assignment to him… meaning you had to walk out in the cold, and had to do it this morning before the storm hit.

Truthfully you could have done it last night but you just didn’t want to, preferring to return to your dorm room so that you could sulk about the task you are currently doing in your head. You’re hoping that the rest of the guys he lives with are gone already, so you only have to deal with him, but who knows. You honestly were shocked when you found out he hasn’t left to go home for the holiday yet, he is extremely close to his family. Yet another reason for you to be jealous of him, but you would never admit that.

You finally walk up the sidewalk to the house, knocking on the door. You don’t expect him to answer right away given it is only 10 in the morning, and any usual college student would still be sleeping in at this point in the day on a day of no classes. So when the door opens almost immediately you are almost caught off guard, to be met with Vinny standing there, tousled hair from sleep and a smile on his face.

“Hi, I was sent to give you the homework you missed. Because Prof decided you needed to be miserable over Christmas break.”

Apparently you shouldn’t have said that, because Vinny immediately laughs, his bright grin on his face while you try to dampen the emotions in your chest that it made you feel, reminding yourself that he doesn’t like you in that way. Bringing yourself back down to earth not focusing on how attractive he looks right now.

“Thank you, why don’t you come in for a moment before you get too cold. Have a cup of coffee in thanks for bringing this all the way here for me,” he offers, stepping aside so that you could step inside the house around him, his voice still rough from sleep.

You slowly step inside, taking in the warmth that your body was craving and letting your eyes wander around the empty and clean house that he shares with his band that they’ve formed. Last time you were here was for a party where a window was broken by Ryan while playing a dumb game and people were everywhere, a moment that had you too close to Vinny that you are praying he was too drunk to remember.

“Where is everyone else?” You ask curiously, not taking off your coat or boots to give the wrong impression that you were going to get comfortable.

“They all left already for the holidays, I was the last one to get a flight that leaves in a few days unfortunately.”

Oh, so it was just the two of you alone. You tried your best to look normal, unfazed by this revelation despite the fact that you are currently nervous being in such close proximity, worried that your crush that you have been hiding for years is going to break through. Though you had to admit it was painful, the fact you have waited for years hoping that he would notice you but he never did. You were still boring old y/n from highschool, despite the fact you are now in college together. You have always just been friends, and you accepted that years ago unfortunately. Nothing has changed through the years except he somehow got hotter than is fair, more than any other guys your age, but that is besides the point.

With you lost in your mind it gave Vin a chance to watch you, trying to figure out what he did wrong. Ever since that party a few weeks ago things have been different between both of you, you giving him the cold shoulder most of the time, and he can’t even remember what he did. He noticed you looked stiff, but didn’t want to ask what you we’re thinking about and scaring you off like he has always been good at.

“Come on, let's get coffee,” he offered, moving to lead you towards the kitchen but noticing that you hadn’t moved.

Truthfully, you are trying to figure out what your excuse to leave can be, wanting to head out the door and never come back, not able to ignore the clear edge in his voice. He didn’t seem upset though, in fact something a bit more was in his gaze, even if he seemed friendly, not on guard.

“I’m serious, you have to be freezing, it is damn near below zero and windy because of the storm moving in. You’re still shivering and have your coat on. I can even loan you a cup to take it in if you want to leave that bad but I would rather you at least come in and warm up some,” he says, giving you a warm smile. Hoping to coax you into staying for at least a little bit, so he can pick your brain, figure out what he did to upset you so much.

Damn him, now you can’t leave without looking like a jerk, he is being so friendly it would look bad if you said no. And truthfully as cold as you are coffee does sound nice right about now.

“Sure,” you say. “I could use some heat, but I want to get out of here and to my dorm before this storm officially hits.”

The tension in the air disappears as you follow him into the kitchen. You watch as Vinny pours you a cup when suddenly you hear the wind pick up, the lights flickering in the house and you panic. This was not good at all. The weatherman said the snow storm wasn’t going to be here until tomorrow and now it is hitting early, you never would have left your house if you knew it would hit early.

“Should we be worried?” You ask, you hate storms of any kind and the lights flickering makes you anxious, worried that the lights will go out and that you will be stuck here, you don’t want that.

“The house doesn’t always like wind and storms, especially as windy as it is getting. Cream and Sugar for your coffee, correct?” He says, deflecting your question, trying to distract you because he remembers how much you hate storms.

“Yes please, so anyways should we be worried?” You ask again, watching him pull some creamer out and pour it into your cup and adding a little sugar before handing it back to you with a smile, hoping that it was correct. Watching your expression when you take the first sip, hoping that you enjoy it.

“Good?”

“It is good, thank you,” you say with a smile, taking another sip as you close your eyes to take in the warmth from the cup before you glance at him with a stern look. “Okay now stop distracting me please, I want you to answer my question.

You meet his eyes, watching his reaction closely as he goes to answer, but as he does the house goes dark, like something has been pulled over the windows as the power goes out. You glance out the windows and notice that it is dumping snow, suddenly anxious at the weather change.

“Fuck, that actually just happened. Thank god you got here before it suddenly hit,” he says, giving you a nervous look before helping you to the couch and pulling his phone out of his pocket to pull the weather up. “They’re talking about downed wires and power outages, that we need to stay inside. Guess you are stuck with me for now. Thank god we have the fireplace and a lot of wood in here, I will get that going.”

Vinny says before scurrying off, getting started at lighting the fireplace so that the two of you have some heat, even if it isn’t a lot it will be enough for you both as you watch him, your nerves growing as you listen to the wind howl.

He gets it going and then walks off, before returning with a thick blanket for you, laying it over your lap before starting to light some candles that he found, bringing a little more light to the room around you. “I’m going to grab some blankets to insulate the house as much as I can, fill the gaps under the door and windows. Want to help?” He asks.

You get up and help him do that, to help prevent the cold air from making its way into the house that is already getting cooler, both of you somewhat miserable in the rest of the house and letting out a sigh when you sit on the couch, pulling the blanket over both of you.

It is now that it hits you that you are stuck here with Vinny, sitting closely to him on the couch. You try to ignore the fact your stomach is in knots, you aren’t sure if it is nerves because of the storm or because you are so close to him right now… or maybe it is both.

“Hey, I know storms freak you out. How are you feeling?” His voice startled you, but you quickly relaxed into the warmth of the blanket.

“Uhh a little cold, but alright I think. At least I am not stuck weathering the storm alone in the dorm,” you say softly, trying not to let out just how cold or freaked out you actually are at the moment.

“Shit, you are cold,” he says the second his hand rests on yours to comfort you, able to tell it is bothering you more than you are letting on. “Stand up for a second, I will move the couch closer to the fireplace.”

You do as he asks, watching as he moves it closer to the fireplace before both of you settle on it again. This time he sits a lot closer to you, pulling you into his side without a word, you know you are blushing at this.

“This will help keep you warm, if you are okay with this,” he says sheepishly, realizing that he probably shouldn’t have just done that, hoping that you aren’t mad.

You nod, not responding as you sigh contently, curling up next to him and taking advantage of his body heat. Truthfully, he only did this so he could be close to you, wanting to feel your touch, but he wouldn’t admit that out loud. He adjusted to pull you onto his lap, letting you soak in his body heat that he is sharing while your face is pressed into his neck.

“Thank you, this is…. Nice,” you say shyly, glad he can’t see the look on your face as you are probably blushing again. You are gladly going to take advantage of this, it’ll haunt your dreams for months to come. You move, your hands resting on his arms, making him jump.

“Fuck, you are freezing. Why are you like this,” he says, shivering slightly at your cold touch, making you giggle.

“I don’t know, I just always have cold hands. I’m sorry,” you say softly, moving to pull them away but his hands rest on yours, holding them to him.

Neither of you say much for awhile, just basking in the warmth from the fireplace while curled up together under the blankets. Eventually a hand is in your hair, gently stroking it, letting it run between his fingers for several moments, making you sigh and lean into him more, enjoying the gentle touches. He hears your quiet sigh in his ear and continues, enjoying the fact that he can tell just how sensitive you are to his touch.

“You’re sensitive there… Where else?” He asks you, you are almost able to hear the smile in voice as you try not to answer, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. You also are not wanting to admit this to him in fear that he will stop touching you, and you are enjoying it, even if it is only your hair too much to let him stop.

He takes your silence as his permission to keep going and slowly slides his hand down the side of your neck before settling close to your collarbone, gently stroking it while trying to gauge your reaction. Satisfied when you let out a soft moan, letting him know that you are enjoying his touch right now, more than you probably should when he is barely touching you.

“You are a mess huh,” he says lowly, continuing to lightly run his fingers along your collarbone, teasing you, wanting to draw more sounds out of you. “I can keep touching you if you want, doesn’t have to be anything naughty, just this.”

You want to be alarmed, want to say no and fight him off when his hands move down, roving your covered hips and thighs briefly before returning to rub circles along your neck, happy that you are now leaning into his touch. He is pretty sure he knows your answer even if you won’t say it out loud.

“I- I mean I guess. It was… it felt good. But won’t this change things between us?” You ask, embarrassed at everything that is currently taking place. To be admitting that the man is barely touching you and you are already thoroughly enjoying it.

“I think things changed at the party, don’t you? Can I ask you a question about that night?” he asks you, hands leaving soothing circles against your lower back. Trying to keep you relaxed enough that you won’t try to run when he asks what he wants to ask.

You nod, him feeling the movement against his neck where you still have your face nestled, glad he couldn’t see how much you were blushing.

“Would you have actually slept with me that night if Rick didn’t walk into the room?” He asks, his hands moving to your hair again as his nails lightly move across your scalp, the feeling almost distracting you from his question, you trying to think of the best answer you could come up with. When you don’t answer him in the time frame he feels like waiting he lightly pulls on your hair, making you gasp.

“I asked you a question y/n, don’t be rude and ignore it.”

“I-I don’t know, maybe?” You mumble, embarrassed that he is asking you this. That he is bringing up that night again. That you are being forced to think about the night you shamelessly kissed him while drunk and it led to more between the two of you… and the fact that you fled the second you got the chance when Rick accidentally walked in on both of you.

“You don’t have to be so shy, you can admit that you would have. It’s only us here and I think you are just as into me as I have been into you for years at this point,” he says cockily, knowing that you are getting anxious and will want to end this conversation.

He distracts you by moving his hands down the back of your neck, trailing along the soft skin with light pressure, trying to work the tension out of your body as his hands slowly work on it. Wanting to relax you, to make you comfortable with him.

“Okay, so I do have a crush on you. But I can’t say yes for sure because I-well I’ve never done that before so I don’t know if I would have agreed or not that night,” you admit, somehow feeling safe and comfortable in his arms, with him, to admit to him that you are a virgin despite being in college now and aren’t sure what you want or wanted that night.

“Okay, now it is my turn to be caught off guard. I didn’t expect that to be what was holding you back. I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry,” he says softly, worried that he embarrassed you too much and made you uncomfortable, if he made you admit to a secret that you weren’t ready to share with anyone.

Neither one of you speaks as he continues to lightly rub your neck, something that you feel like you should not be enjoying but you are. You are enjoying his hands on you much more than you probably should, and the way he gets you to shift every so often on his lap is making him a little harder than he feels like he should be right now. Worried you will notice it and it will bother you that he is.

“Is this okay,” he asks, reaching for the zipper of your hoodie that you have on, hoping that you will let him remove it. When it hit you what you were asking you said sure, pulling away from him a little so that he could do so, letting him slide it off your shoulders.

He slips his hands under your thighs for a moment so he can move you, your back now against his chest as you lean into him, into his touch and warmth as he settles his hands against your now exposed collarbone, running his hand over it gently as he continues to lightly touch you. His goal now is to make you enjoy his touch, make you crave it and possibly allow him to touch you elsewhere, get you to recognize that you enjoy it.

His fingers brush over your throat as he moves to your other collarbone, making you quite aware of where his hand is. You breathe in, and hope that he can’t feel it, that you are aware that if he barely moved he would be able to choke you, something that you don’t feel should be such an arousing thought to you but it is. But he does realize what the barely there touch just did to you and settles his hand at the base of your throat, not applying any pressure but rather lightly stroking it with his thumb as he feels you take a couple shaky breaths. Praying that he can’t see the more than likely flushed look on your face, the half closed aroused look on your face because you don’t want him to know what he is doing to you right now.

“You still good?” He asks, checking in on you with a low chuckle. He knows that you are, can tell by how you are shifting and breathing but he wants to hear you say it.

“Great,” you say softly, regretting the word choice that you just used. You don’t want to come across desperate despite the fact that is how you feel at the moment.

“I’m glad, tell me if you want me to stop.”

His hands start to slide down, lightly gliding over your breasts, making you gasp slightly but his hands keep going, settling on your stomach while he lets out a chuckle.

“It’s just us, you don’t have to hold anything in. Please don’t, let me hear what I am doing to you,” he whispers in your ear, his hands settling on your hips.

His fingers lightly digging into the soft flesh there, rubbing circles just barely under your shirt as you continue to try and hide how you are feeling, not wanting him to stop but also still not willing to show just how much you are enjoying this, enjoying him. When the hell had you gotten so warm, maybe it was a bad idea to let him move the couch up closer to the fireplace.

Before too long his hands settle on your lower back, between the two of you. Firming massaging your tight muscles there, trying to work out all your anxiety you are holding, because again, he wants you relaxed, enjoying this. He wants to enjoy having his hands on you, getting to worship your body as much as you will allow him because he doesn’t know if you will ever give him this chance again, and even if you will he now knows that this is your first time doing anything like this and wants you to enjoy it, not feel used at all.

His hands slowly work there way up as he feels you continue to slowly unwind under his touch, now much closer to your ribcage when they slide back to your front, teasing you right under where your bra sits, trying to gauge if he is allowed to keep going or not. Judging on how you sighed into his touch and leaned into him he is pretty sure that you are allowing this.

You stiffen slightly when you lean back into him, you are able to feel how hard he is against you, but quickly relax again, and shift yourself against him slightly because while you haven’t done much you have read plenty and are confident that he will hopefully enjoy it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, slightly embarrassed that you noticed, worried that it will make you retreat back into yourself, but it doesn’t.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you say softly, playing dumb. And while you know that he isn’t stupid and that he knows that you know why he’s apologizing, you felt that would be easier. To ignore it and pretend that you aren’t aware of what is happening with him, because honestly you are too far gone at this point, he could do just about anything he wants to with you and you would let him.

The tension between the two of you finally snapped, him urging you to turn back towards him and the second you do his lips are on yours. Moving against your own urgently, wanting nothing more than to feel you closer to him as you now straddle his lap, your own arms around his neck as you lightly move your hips against his own.

One of his hands is still under your shirt as he slowly slips it off of you, his hand starting to slowly ease the cup of your bra out of his way before he gives up and unhooks it with his other hand, giving himself more room to touch you. To lightly squeeze and palm your breast underneath the cup of your bra, holding back his own groan when he hears you lightly moan against his lips. His fingers move so that they can lightly rub over our nipple, feeling it harden almost immediately from his touch. He hesitantly slides the straps off his arms, going slowly so that you have time to stop him if you want to, but you don’t.

He pulls his lips away from yours, looking at your face as he continues to toy with your nipple between his fingers, trying to read your face, loving the flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes that he sees.

“You’re so sensitive. Has anyone ever touched you like this?” He asks, face moving to your neck as he begins to lightly kiss and suck on the sensitive skin there while he moves his hand to your other breast, giving it the same attention as you continue to move your hips, now seeking that friction between both of you.

“N-no,” you whimper, trying hard to keep your composure and failing, it is so hard to focus with his lips in such a sensitive place and his hands teasing you so much. You never expected to enjoy any of this so much and now that you are, well it’s making it hard to think, all your reservations now slowly slipping.

His hands slowly move, now slipping down your torso towards your waist, leaving more teasing and light touches right above the waistband of your jeans, dipping barely under it before slipping back out while his lips find yours again.

“Can I take your jeans off?” He asks you in between kisses as he slowly moves, laying your back down against the couch while he leans over the top of you, aching to touch you, to feel how wet he has made you.

You tense at his words and he immediately notices, pulling his hand away to settle on your cheek, stroking your jaw lightly as he pulls his lips away from yours, making you look at him.

“We don’t have to keep going, again, this is whatever you are comfortable with.” He says gently, eyes meeting yours as he tries to give you a reassuring smile, one that slightly worked.

“Jeans can come off, but I- I don’t think I am ready to go all the way, so panties are staying on please,” you answer, hoping that he won’t be upset with you.

“I can work with that,” he says gently, moving so that he can slip his own off, kicking them off his foot while you slowly slip out of your own.

You watch as he removes his own shirt too before he settles back over you, bringing his lips to yours again, much softer than before, as if he was trying to reassure you that everything is going to be alright, that he isn’t upset that you aren’t willing to completely go there yet.

His hand slowly slips down between both of you while you held your breath, unsure what to think, embarrassed because you know that you are soaked and he is going to feel it, know just how much of an effect his hands are having on you.

His eyes go wide when he finally settles his fingers over your covered slit, moving lightly against it, able to feel how damp your panties are under his touch, incredibly turned on by the fact he has made you this way. He slowly moves them to the side so that he can actually touch you, feeling your arousal on his skin as he lightly moves his fingers between your folds, coating them before using one to circle your clit, making you suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he groans softly, pulling away so that he can look at your face, taking note of how you seem to be a permanent shade of red at this point, and enjoying that you are.

His attention returns to his hand where it is down below, now really starting to work his fingers against your clit, giving you more pleasure than you have thought imaginable. This is definitely much better than when you get yourself off in your bed at night, it feels so much better. You don’t try to hide your moan when it slips out of your lips, encouraging him more.

Your hands winding into his hair as you pull his lips to your own again, you honestly don’t think you can get enough of them at this point. Of his lips on yours, swallowing all your sounds as he drags you closer and closer to the edge, making you question why you never let him do this sooner.

When he finally pulls you over the edge your whole body tenses for a moment, your back arching and pressing your chest into his as you come undone at the hands of someone else for the first time. He pulls his lips away from yours again so he can watch you as you do, the sight more arousing than any of the porn he has ever watched, than any of the other women he has been with before.

When you relax under his touch he leaves a couple gentle kisses on your lips, wanting you to feel comfortable and able to tell that he cares about how you are doing as you both smile at each other as your chest heaves from your heavy breaths as you come back down.

You don’t say a word as you push on his shoulder, urging him off of you before you glance at him, shy but determined. Feeling a new sort of confidence as you want to return the favor, want to make him enjoy himself too.

“Lay down Vin, please,” you ask him shyly, hoping that he listens and allows you to do this without questioning you. He looks at you for a second, reading your face before speaking.

“You don’t have to touch me you know,” he says softly, wanting to make sure you don’t feel forced into anything. While you appreciate this, and find it incredibly sweet you still want to return the favor.

“I know, but please?” you ask again, watching as he processes your question and lays back, his back against the cushions of the couch as he listens.

You slowly move the band of his boxers down, watching as his length springs free from its confines before you hesitantly wrap your hand around it, barely gripping it as you move your hand up and down, stroking him gently. You’re assuming that you are doing this right based on the groan that leaves his lips as he watches you, egging you on to continue your touch.

His hand wraps around yours, encouraging you to grip him tighter before letting it go, letting you continue on your own as he throws his head back for a moment, almost unbelieving that this is happening right now, but it is.

He moves to watch you again, seeing you gain confidence as he grows closer and closer from your touch, before he finally finishes his cum decorating your pretty hand while you watch his face for a moment, looking away the second his eyes meet yours, embarrassed.

“Hey, don’t be shy with me now. Let me go grab something to clean your hand up, yeah?” He asks, sitting up and giving you a soft kiss before walking away, returning with a towel and a shirt for you to slip on after you are both cleaned up as you both sit in the awkward silence for a moment, watching the fire. You can tell he is thinking something, but you aren’t sure what.

“What’s wrong,” you ask him quietly, turning to look at him.

“Don’t worry about it, it is nothing bad, promise,” he says softly. “Just stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid if it is bothering you Vin,” you respond, reaching out to lightly rub his arm, wanting him to be open with you as you just were with him.

“I’m worried I fucked up by doing this, because I gladly would do it again but would you? I feel like I pressured you into it,” he admits, refusing to meet your gaze as he continues watching the fire.

“You asked more than once if I wanted you to stop, and I didn’t. And you were right, things changed at the party a few weeks ago between us and no matter how much I want to deny that I can’t. You were sweet, making sure that I was alright the entire time, and even if I wanted to I can’t deny I’ve wanted more between us for a while,” you respond, somehow having a new found confidence after everything. Maybe it is just because you have seeing him unhappy, unsure of himself but you felt the need to reassure him, to let him know just how you feel about him even if you are risking him feeling the same.

“It has always been you y/n, since we were stupid kids in highschool until now. I guess mauve I should have told you sooner but it’s true,” he says, now turning towards you. Hoping you can tell that he is telling you the truth, that you are happy with the truth.

“Really?” you ask with a slight smile, unable to help yourself when it spreads across your face.

“Yes, now if you don’t mind I want to kiss you until you ask me to stop, until this blizzard stops and we can’t anymore,” he says with a smile. “How long was this even supposed to go on?”

“A couple days, so we may wind up stuck here for Christmas unfortunately,” you respond softly, a little disappointed that you might not be home for the holiday, it didn’t hit you until just now when you two started talking about the storm again.

“Well, good thing we have enough wood for a few days, and we just may wind up having our first Christmas together in the process. And that gives me plenty of time to enjoy this” he says, pulling you into him so that he could kiss you again, making you giggle.

“I guess so.”

#motionless in white #fanfiction #vinny mauro #bree sucks at fanfiction #motionless in white imagine #vinny mauro x reader smut #vinny mauro x reader #vinny mauro fanfiction #vinny mauro fic #vinny mauro imagine #vinny mauro smut #vinny mauro fluff #vinny x reader #vinny mauro fanfic #Vinny

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bunnikida · 8 months

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Thank you for the tag @irritable123 , sorry the long chain in the original post was stressing me out decided to make a separate one

3 ships: shukake, soukoku, kavetham

First ship ever: uhh I think Zero and Vin from invisible network of kids - might also have been prideshipping(seto kaiba x atem)

Last song: Get on the Floor by Fling Posse, I'm listening to my hypmic playlist :))

Last movie: it's been so long since I've watched a movie so I genuinely have no idea

Currently Reading: countless scientific articles about electron microscopy to get my god damn paper done that I've been working on for an entire month 🙃 but I did buy Flowers of Buffoonery by Dazai Osamu to read once I'm done with this soul sucking thing

Currently watching: Bungou Stray Dogs season 5 (nothing else hsjdjdjn)

Currently consuming: nothing. But when I first saw this post I was drinking a hibiscus iced tea lemonade which basically just tasted like lemon

Currently craving: the hash greens that my mom is cooking right now, they smell amazing

Tagging: @daz4i, @sowlmates, @enigma-the-anomaly, @the-gayest-sky-kid, @ice-devourer

No pressure of course :)

#tag game

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sloshed-cinema · 1 month

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Mission: Impossible (1996)

Living in a post Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning, Part 1 world, it is absolutely wild how even with a helicopter chase through the Chunnel just how quaint this film is by comparison to where the franchise catapulted itself. Even by several films later Ethan Hunt was climbing the Burj Khalifa or clinging to the side of an airplane to appease Tom Cruise’s ever stronger death wish. To that end, it’s amusing just how far this has diverged in comparison to a fellow franchise that has managed to put out even more films in a relatively shorter period of time, The Fast and the Furious. Both have exploded in terms of budgets and scope of action. They both trot the globe more, exploring exotic locales because it makes for interesting variety. Both feature a growing cast of lovable repertory players and plenty of Ladies Getting It Done. And the stakes of what is at hand should our heroes fail have become nothing short of apocalyptic: IMF must stop a devastating AI in Dead Reckoning, and in X Dom must… well, I don’t really remember, but it’s about family and Jason Momoa being crazy. But while they’ve been on a similar trajectory in terms of scale, Mission: Impossible has elevated itself to the pinnacle of prestige blockbuster territory whereas The Fast and the Furious is pure action schlock. Both franchises serve to fuel the egos of their respective frontmen, showing that they’re the Coolest Dude Ever. But Tom Cruise simply runs circles around Vin Diesel in terms of the overall impact of the film.

Here at the beginning of it all (aside of course from the TV series which inspired it), Brian De Palma takes an elegant approach to his set pieces. Everything for the plan is laid out immaculately in brief beforehand, informing the viewer of the stakes and planting seeds as to what could go wrong. What are the weak points, the things left to chance? While the opening embassy job is fraught with tense beats and allows for perhaps the most graphic moment in the franchise—Jack Harmon’s elevator death is quite shocking—it’s obviously the Langley NOC list heist which is the film’s pièce de résistance. Conducted in more or less perfect silence, each moment layers on a new moment for everything to fail. Will the rat cause Franz to drop Ethan? What about that sweat droplet clinging to Ethan’s glasses? Will the CIA technician overcome his nausea too quickly? Hell, will the technician even look up when Ethan is dangling just feet over his head, or notice him in the reflective surface of the floor? It’s all a house of cards balancing on the edge of a knife, and all the more satisfying to see it pulled off (even if they leave that knife behind). Sure, the final Chunnel chase is pretty cheesy and shows its age. But it lays track for higher highs to come.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says 'NOC List' or 'operation'.

Cut to surveillance camera.

Tom Cruise starts RUNNING.

Max is name-dropped.

BIG DRINK

Someone pulls off a disguise mask.

We travel to a new location.

#drinking games #mission: impossible #brian de palma #tom cruise #action #action & adventure #crime #thriller #lalo schifrin

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akslz · 7 months

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"You must be an angel"

---- Hello!! this is my first post here so apoligies if its not formatted well. Regardless; here is a mediocre ( orignally written on a03 by me, linked here) story I wrote on a whim, about a broken family put back together once they move to Nockfell after an incident with Knives (our main character) and her mother. She and her brother meet the gang and silliness ensues. AKA a shitty modern day SF fanfic because head full, this is a self-insert character so sorry no y/n. she is loosely based off of me so blah blah ok here backstory time & yes there is homestuck refences and NO I do not care ☹ let me do what I do #autism !! English is a poor language for me so apologies for mistakes!! None of the fanart/ images used are mine, credits to owners!-----

CHAPER 1:

End of the Beginning

what seem like decades ago, Knives lived with her semi put together family in the ever so urban Houston Texas. With her twin brother Vinnie (or Vin) and her eldest brother Silas everything was just peachy. That was until their father had died of heart complications when Knives was just 11.

After that sad excuse of a day the widowed Miki became a pathetic shell of a mother. She lived by her ever empty bottle of wine or shitty canned beer. To the point where she became more of a roommate than a mother. Knives had to do something about this.

She wasn’t going to sit back and watch as her older brother work his senior year of high school away at some mediocre grocery store just so Miki could blow most of his minimal paycheck on alcohol. On April 14th, just days away from knives & Vins’ birthdays, knives decided to confront her mother. Here’s how the interaction went down. (First person pov)

“You crazy bitch who do you think you are?!” you mother slurred as she quickly tried to grab the bottle of wine that you started to pour down the drain.

“Me? Crazy? Please.” You said in a monotone voice as you finished dumping out the bottle and swiftly moved out of the way of your monstrous mothers’ grasp. Your brothers used to go onto the roof when things were easier, they taught you how to fight, or ‘strife’ they called it. You had gotten well at defending yourself over those couple of months. even being able to use your newfound skills against a creep at the mall.

“Please don’t do this, I just want to help you momma I promise!” you said grabbing her hands and looking up into her glazed eyes.

“Let go of me! You brat! I’m an adult and I can do as I want! Do not tell ME what I can and can’t do!” she said as she pushed you forward; causing your smaller body to hit the counter behind you.

As brush your long hair out of your face and you steady yourself you look back to your mother to see her lunge at you. You could never hurt your mother. Not ever. She’s just a little girl who’s distraught over her husband and best friend of 16 years dying. You couldn’t punish her for lashing out. She’s just scared.

You feel warm now, you have a stinging spot on your head so instinctually you went to scratch it. Then comes the pain, it’s almost everywhere; you groggily open your eyes to look at your hand as it feels wet, blood. It was blood. You jolt up, now realizing you’re on the dining room floor. Your full vision slowly comes back, and you’re horrified at the sight. Chunks of your beautiful hair is sprawled around you.

Your hair that held the last memory of your father. You used to crawl into bed with him and your mother in the mornings that you woke up before them. He used to always tuck your hair behind you bejeweled ears and hum you back into a light sleep. You grasp a chunk of the mangled hair and spread it between your fingers. Slowly beginning to cry. The pain on your extremities was nothing compared to this. You just slowly lowered yourself back onto the fake hardwood floor and cried, cried because you didn’t know what else to do.

You wanted nothing but for everything to go back to the way it was. You starred at the entrance to your apartment, watching the very minimal light from the peep hole shine in, casting light on the dust particles in the air. It felt like the world was spinning in slow motion. You were dreading the time Silas and Vin come back from the music store. You cried for what felt like hours. You eventually sat up and noticed the keys to one of the two cars your family had owned was missing. You weakly stood up and hobbled to your mothers’ room, seeing drawers strewn over the already messy room.

“Great. Pansy ass bitch.” You said as your voice cracked. Crying again as you realized your mother had fled.

You didn’t care though as you heard your brothers obnoxiously loud keys jiggle the lock open. You shuffled into the dining room, quickly observing the scene left behind. A broken wine bottle, small spots of blood with of course your white hair scattering the room. You dropped to your knees and touched your head for the first time since you woke up. You began sobbing again. The rest was a haze. You vaguely remember your older brother cupping your head; asking what happened. The only thing you could mutter was ‘’ Momma”. That’s all he needed to hear.

After that it’s a blur. Due to your mothers fleeing and your brother being freshly 19, he gains custody of you and your twin.

CHAPTER 2:

Beginning of the End

~Time skip: 3 years after incident, age:15~

You innocently lean against your bed, plucking mindlessly at your well-loved bass. The vibrations running through your fingers.

“yo“ Vinnie says as he comes into your shared room, pushing up the shades he always adorned and swooping his platinum hair out of his face. You found it funny, you rarely see him without the sunglasses.

“Hey man, did Bro mention anything about what school we’ll be goin’ to after we move?’’ you questioned as you shut off your amplifier and faced him fully. He sat down at his desk and kicked his feet up on the nearby bedpost.

“Yeah, actually he did, it’s near the shithole surprisingly, so we could probably skate to & from the hellhole instead of riding in the bus” He referred to the apartments we planned to live in as the ‘shithole’ because in all honesty, it wasn’t lavish. On the website it looked quite old, but it’ll do for the three of you. The real name of your new crib was ‘Addison Apartments’.

You set your bass down as you glanced at your mostly packed room. The stacks of cardboard boxes occupying most of the free space.

‘’I can’t believe this our last weekend in Texas...” Vinnie sighed and got up to stand next to you as you turned to glance out the window of your Highrise apartment. You’re not going to miss the hustle and bustle of urban Texas; the constant traffic and shouting kept you up frequently. You leaned onto your brother as he comfortingly wrapped an arm around you and sighing.

“I know, it’ll be a nice change though, Nockfell looks chill.” He said rubbing circles onto your arm.

Later on you go into the bathroom to take off your makeup, when your mother defaced you she gladly didn’t do as much damage as you initially thought. Your long hair now was medium length with layers. You honestly loved the change of appearance. You also decided to dye the tips of your hair a dusty rose because you’ve always liked the idea of a colorful head of hair, even if its just a little.

“Finally, I finished packing the moving van with my and my brothers’ shit’’, you thought, never understood why they needed so many electronics, turntables, keypads, electric pianos, they had it all. They sure did love their pop music. You, Knives, on the other hand liked all music types, but you really loved heavy metal. The way that Sanity’s Falls bass shook your head every time you listened to it just make your love for metal grow. You laughed at how ironic it was that your name was Knives, AND you liked heavy music, how metal is a name like that?

Vin stumbled out of the entrance to the apartment building, his headphones sitting heavily on his shoulders as he chucks his skateboard and your roller skates in the back of bros’ pickup. You had all finished getting ready for the drive, you and your twin glances at each other and then to your guardian.

Bro wiped sweat from his forehead and adjusted his pointy shades “Alright y’all let’s get this show on the road, its a long drive so let’s get started. I wanna make it at least halfway by tonight.”

You and Vin were going to drive the pickup while Bro drove the chunky U-Haul. Although you both couldn't legally drive, your brother decided on a whim to teach the both of you a couple months ago so you had a general idea of what you were doing. You were nervous to make the lengthy drive because you had a fear that if you got pulled over that you and your brother would both be sent to juvey.

Regardless, you made the drive. The 48 hour journey was taxing but when you stepped out of the car in Nockfell you realized that this place was way different than Texas and you had no clue what was to come.

After reconnecting with your eldest brother after the long drive you made your way into the lobby as your brothers unlocked the moving van. You realize that there was no receptionist desk only a small mail cubby area. you remembered that Bro mentioned you would be staying in unit 403. So you made your way over to that cubby and you realized that you needed a key to unlock. \

You did not know where to obtain such key so being the genius you are you stuck your smallest fingers' nail into the key slot and tugged & wiggled out a little bit to see if it was unlocked and thankfully it was! you grabbed the few pieces of junk mail that had already gathered and threw them away, then picked up the thin envelope that contained the apartment keys and gently opening it and removing the keys

you made your way to the elevator and hit the button for your floor you jogged quickly to your apartment and unlocked it. You push open the door to see a glum looking room with a green-gray carpet that held a few stains.

You scrunch your nose due to you smelling heavy cleaner and bleach, but at least it was clean, you quickly set down the keys and make your way out leaving the door open so you and your siblings can easily go in and out without having to worry about the door.

After you brought up all the boxes with your name on it and set them in your room you put your hands on your hips, sighing, and glancing around the room. You were excited to finally have your own room away from your brother, but it would be a change because you had been bunking with him since you two were little. Reminiscing about all the times you had spent together was making you feel nostalgic.

Vin and Bro had made a quick run to the grocery store so they could stock up on some essentials for the fridge. You sat down and sliced open one of the cardboard boxes that was labeled “CDs” you were rummaging through it when you heard some mumbling coming from outside your room and heavy footsteps. You were surprised because you thought it would take your brothers a longer time to arrive back home, so you brushed yourself off and pushed the door open.

Your eyes widened in shock when you realize that the two people you heard in your apartment were in fact not your brothers but two strangers. One being a tall male with tanned skin and long brown hair having deep set eyes that carried bags heavier than anything. This person wore a cannibal corpse shirt with a beat-up flannel and gray jeans. The other person that you couldn't assume the gender of had electric blue pigtails hanging from each side of their head & wore red ripped jeans with fishnets underneath, combat boots along with a black crew neck, you also noticed that this person wearing what looked like a mask, you didn't think twice though because a lot of people these days were very expressive. It looks quite cool.

“uh…. hi...” you said sweetly but quietly, slightly hiding behind the door frame because you didn't know if these people were a threat or not. Just in case you reached over to your desk and put your hidden hand on it to feel for the box cutter you had laying on it.

“Oh! Hey man” the tall one with long hair said as he lifted his ringed hand and waved “sorry to intrude like this dude just wanted to give an introduction because we were told that a new tenant would be moving in, I’m Larry, Larry Johnson.” He took a step closer to you holding out his dominant hand for to shake.

“Hi... I’m Knives, yeah me and my brothers just moved here, nice to meet you” you reluctantly grabbed his hand your long nails accidentally brushing against him.

“Knives? Like the utensil? That's a cool ass nickname!” He said smiling noticing the gap in between his two front teeth. It kind of made him look like a Bunny.

“Thank you! But that's my real name.” You said awkwardly smiling leaning your head fully against the door frame of your room.

“Oh, and uh this is my friend Sal, but you can just call him Sally face! It's kind of like his nickname.” Larry said elbowing his shorter friend getting a low toned laugh out of Sal.

So, the mystery person is a guy, good to know. You could tell that you and Ben would get along well with them both.

“So, you said you had brothers, right? Where are they?” The bluenette questioned while stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“They went to the store I think but they should be back soon. How old are you guys?” you questioned. Quickly stuffing the box cutter into the backside waistband of your shorts and quickly tucking your Motley-Crue band shirt over it. You swiftly moved away from the door frame and took a step right outside the door and leaned against the wall, kicking one of your ankles over the other while withholding eye contact with Sal.

"we're both fifteen, how about you?" Larry questioned eyeing you

"same. My twin is fifteen too, His name is Vin, I think you two would get along well. He likes cannibal corpse." you lied straight through your teeth, not knowing why. Vinnie never really liked metal. Hopefully he'll lie as well to cover your white lie. You were never good with people.... safe to say you're nervous for what's to come.

CHAPTER 3:

Every story starts somewhere

Hi hi I somehow forgot to mention that this story is NOT following canon events, i.e. no cult, just some vague paranormal activity !All original characters belong to me, none of the canon characters mentioned are mine and do not have the rights to them!

You had spoken with the two for about 15 minutes before they saw themselves out. After they’d left you had mentally slapped yourself for being so socially inept, Vin and Silas would definitely make fun of you for this one.

“Hey hey Knives! We’re back with some food!” Silas said as he loudly slammed the door with his foot.

“And we bought apple juice! So come get some before I finish it all.” Vinnie barked as you made your way out of your now unpacked room.

“Thanks bro!” you said smiling widely at your older brother as he messed up your hair

The three of you lingered in the kitchen as you unloaded the groceries and unpacked the kitchen essentials.

“Something really weird happened earlier-“you said turning to face them both, you were met with darkened plastic sunglasses awaiting you to continue speaking

“These two guys from the apartments came to introduce themselves, Larry and Sal, surprisingly they were very chill. I kinda lied about you liking cannibal corpse to Larry though vin...” you said sheepishly smiling and covering your face with your hands.

“ Man what the hell why? I don’t dig metal that much” Your twin asked jokingly.

“They were just so… intriguing! I got embarrassed and it just slipped out!”

“Chillax sis its alright, don’t sweat it. So, these guys are what? Hardcore church burners?” Vin said making the demon horn motion with both of his hands.

You and Silas laughed as he obnoxiously headbanged.

“No not really, at least not from what I could tell. They were very nice. I’m pretty sure they go to our school since we’re all the same age. “Vin nodded for you to continue.

“Larry is a tall dude with what I have to say is the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen on a man” you said throwing your hands up in defeat. Both of your brothers scoffing sarcastically.

“Then there’s Sal- “you began to remember the sight of the boy, something about him captivated you. Whether it was his unique hair, His killer style, the tone of his voice…...or the way his hands looked with all those rings on them… and the way you thought they’d look on you…

Girl, what the hell are you thinking?! You just met him? Stop being weird. You seriously needed to stop letting your hormones take control of you like this.

You’d realized your brother was looking at you strangely.

“Hellooooo? Anyone in there?” Vin said waving a hand in front of your face.

“Is she having another episode?” Silas asked, setting down the box he was moving and walking over to you.

“What? Oh sorry, No I’m fine, I just got lost in thought you guys don’t worry” you nervously laughed as they back away from you, relaxing their attention.

“Shit man you really worried me for a second…Anyways continue with what you were telling me about this Sal girl” Vinnie sighed now sitting on the counter across from you.

“Sal is a guy- “you said rolling your eyes “– but anyways. He’s sweet, he has this bright blue hair that’s really dope. He also wears this mask? I’m not sure what its about but it fits him, he has the same style of Larry he’s just a liiitttlllleee short…” you said making a “small” motion with your index and thumb.

“Hey, it’s not like the little guy can control it!” Vinnie said getting off the counter and poking at you.

You and he laughed as you made your way to his room to help him unpack his belongings.

The next day was Saturday. You were making your way down to the lobby with your brother to explore the area when on your way out of the dingy elevator you bumped into someone, accidently knocking something out of their hands.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” you apologized quickly kneeling to pick up papers and a purple school folder off the ground.

“It’s okay! I should’ve been looking where I was going” the feminine voice said giggling.

You handed the girl what you assumed was her schoolwork.

“Hey…are you new around here? I’ve never seen you before? And I think I’d remember someone this pretty” the girl said.

This girl was also quite pretty. With long brown hair and piercing green eyes, she wore a long purple shirtdress with purposely torn black tights. Along with a chunky black choker and heavier makeup, you started to really like this girl already.

“Thank you so much! You’re pretty too, and uhm yeah! Me and my brother just moved here recently, My names Knives. This is my brother Vinnie.” You said gesturing to Vinnie who threw up a weak wave to her as he seemed in awe.

“Knives?! That’s so awesome! My name’s Ashley but everyone just calls me Ash. Do you have insta or anything like that? You seem realllyyyy cool and I’d love to get to know you-“she said as she pulled out a lavender iPhone from her sleeve “- but I’m supposed to be tutoring with my friends right now and I’m already late, I’m afraid they’ll think I’m dead if I’m any more late” she said holding her phone out to you.

“Yeah, I do! Also, no problem I understand, you seem pretty chill as well!” you said slightly smiling as you typed your username into the search bar and then clicked on your profile as it came up. You handed Ash her phone back, she waved goodbye and jogged into the elevator.

“she seems nice, It seems like everyone here has awesome hair…” you said looking to Vinnie

“DID SHE FOLLOW YOU YET? LET ME SEE YOUR PHONE NOW, GIVE IT GIVE IT GIVE IT” he said reaching for your phone which was in your hand.

“Jesus man here fine, have a look god!” You laughed handing it to him. Vinnie snatched it out of your hand and flying to Ash’s’ profile.

You looked over his shoulder as he looked through her pictures, she had about 15 posts. Most were landscape but there were some of her and her friends. She was friends with Sal and Larry! That’s convenient! Vinnie swiped through the post of her and the guys on the 4th of July, there was also a pair of boys you hadn’t recognized yet. Safe to say you were excited to meet them both as well.

“Yo are these the guys you were talking about yesterday?” Vinnie said clicking on the profile mention on the picture, pulling up Sals’ account.

“Yeah! That’s cool that they’re friends. Makes me excited to hangout with them.”

Your brother finally handed your phone back after sending Ashley’s account to himself, you internally laughed at how eager he was to swoop this girl off her feet. You somehow made your way back to those pictures of Sal and everyone else on the 4th. You admired Sal, eventually tapping onto his profile, your thumb hovered over the ‘Follow’ button and you hesitated.

What if he thinks I’m a stalker? He didn’t even mention his socials so what if he thinks negatively of me just following him out of the blue? What if-

Then your eyes glance up at the notification you’d just received,

“New follower: @TheOG_SF – Sal Fisher”

CHAPTER 5 (4 was an update on the story):

Why is everything different now?

Heyyyy, finally got this damn story updated, my apologies, im learning more English now so they should be more frequent!

Holy shit, you thought, quickly swiping up the notification to dismiss it.

Were you hallucinating? You truly hoped you weren’t.

“ Yo are you alive?” you glanced up to Vinnie with a wide eyed expression

“ah yeah sorry…don’t know what washed over me, lets go” you said walking past him to the main doors to exit

You and your brother had eventually made your way into a nearby resale/music store. The both of you going to see if you could replace some of the CDs you’d had before you moved.

Unfortunately for you and him some of the discs were snapped or scratched up during transit from Houston to Nockfell. The two of you slowly made it outside; you rummage through your cluttered tote to get the keys to the truck. You eventually find them and toss them to vin.

Once we pulled into the parking lot of the music store vin took the keys out of the ignition and glanced to you. You were chewing on your fingernails again, that’s something you did when you were nervous. Or in deeeeeepppppp thought.

You just kept starring at the follower request, not knowing what to do. You’ve combed through all of ash’s’ friends’ profiles except sals. You were just…too nervous. You were never this nervous.

“Dude just follow him back, it’s been like 20 minutes.” Vin said leaning over to watch your phone. “Absolutely not! What if he thinks I’m weird? Or what if he just did it on accident, or what if-“ you kept talking as your brother slothed his arm over and gingerly accepted the follow request. You sat silently in shock as he shrugged. “Well alright... ill just leave my phone in the car I think” you said hooking your purse over your shoulder. Overthinking everything that could happen if he didn’t accept your request.

You rummaged through CDs, you only had a couple stuffed in your hands; Bring Me The Horizons’ “Suicide Season”, Pierce The Veils “Misadventures”, Madonna’s ‘’like a virgin’’, and finally Dark Thrones “Transvilaian Hunger”. Quite opposites if you ask me, you thought to yourself as you maneuvered through the thin isles of the shop. As your sifting through discounted vinyl’s you hear the chime of the electric doorbell, the one that annoyingly chimes every time someone enters or exits. You decide to ignore it and continue looking.

“Speak of the devil” Vinnie breathed out quietly and smirked as he gestured to who entered the store; Of course, it was Ash and her group of friends. One of those friends being Sal. You swiftly turn back to the vinyl bin. Pretending to be interested in its contents to seem busy.

“Oh hey! Look who it is” you heard the deep grungy voice of who you assumed was Larry. You still didn’t look up, frozen from anxiety. You never really felt like this… you didn’t understand why everything was changing so suddenly. You reluctantly turned around and smiled. “Hey knives! Looks like you discovered our best kept secret” you heard ash giggle as she threw her hands up in defeat.

“yeah” Sal laughed “This record store is one of the only good things in Nockfell” he continued. “Oh yeah? Well, I’d have to say its awesome, glad I found out yall’s ‘little secret’ “you said making air quotations.

“Believe me, we have better secrets than this.” Said an unfamiliar voice. “Well its nice to finally meet you, only today had they mentioned meeting you and trust me, they were all eager for me to meet you, I’m Todd” A shorter ginger boy with rounded glasses appeared from behind the other three. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Todd” you smiled; “Also, this is my partner, Neil” Another guy emerged, the same height as Todd. He waved sweetly and grinned.

“You having a party without me? Unbelievable.” Your brother jokingly scoffed as he finally came to take some of the spotlight off you. “Yo, nice to see you guys in person, I’m Vinnie, but I just go by vin.” He said as he shoved his rap CDs into your arms to go fist bump your new friends. “Nice to meet you man! I heard you liked cannibal corpse, right?” Larry said enthusiastically as he looked at vin.

“Yeah man...I love them…!” Vin said side eyeing you through his shades. Making you giggle

“Oh word? That’s sick, I love them too.” You heard Sal say to your twin. You caught yourself starring at Sally. He was just a lot to look at to be fair, not in a bad way. In a way you’d look at a renaissance painting, just taking in the intricacy. The guys were all conversating about what-not, you noticed how Sal spoke with his hands a lot. That’s funny, you do that too….

“Knives? You alright?” Ashley said waving a hand in front of your face, Todd furrowing his eyebrows confused while waiting for your response. “Huh? Oh yeah sorry I was just starring off into space.” You said as your eyes widened. You catch Todd exchanging a look to Ashley, and she returned that look; you had no clue what language they were speaking with their eyes.

You and your group checked out with your minimal items, you and Vinnie ended up leaving with the group. The five of them somehow walked to the record store? They must really like this place. The six of you have to somehow fit into Silas’s truck. Vinnie and Larry in the front seats, Ashley, Todd, and Neil in the back seats… Where were you going to sit? Where was Sal going to sit?! They definitely did this on purpose.

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Chapter 6 coming soon, thank you!!!

#sally face #sally fisher #sal fisher #larry johnson #fanfic #homestuck #shitty post #sal fisher x reader #self insert #original character #modern day au #twin flame #slow burn

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takecareluv · 2 years

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write an imagine where the reader is dating Vinnie and is super positive and nice to everyone, but people tend to take advantage of her so Vinnie and her friends get protective of her when people try to take advantage of her kindness. My friends are really protective of me and thought that would be so cute! Thank you so much!! 💕

a.n. hi!! i’m sorry this took me so long to get out. i had started this before i left for vacation but never had the chance to finish it. i hope you like what i came up with! i loved this concept, thank you for sending it in <3 this is something i relate to so much, so writing it and having someone like vinnie be so protective over the reader is just 🥺🥺 i want that, please universe. i’m begging

sweetheart || vinnie hacker x reader

it was a known fact that you were an extremely positive person, and nine times out of ten, the kindest person in the room.

vinnie and the rest of your friends absolutely adored you for it. you were the sunshine they needed when times were tough. aiding them with a shoulder to cry on when need be, and the best advice anyone could ever give.

vinnie always swore you were an angel sent from heaven above.

while your friends never took your love and kindness for granted, there were a lot of others that did. people could clock your sweetness from a mile away, and in a place like l.a., they became greedy using you for it.

you didn't notice it as much, always wanting to see the best in people. but those closest to you, especially vinnie for that matter, would immediately detect when someone was taking advantage of your kindhearted ways and get super protective.

being in the influencer space, everyone and their mothers was searching for the next best clickbait to use on their upcoming posts. whether it was a person, scandal, or simply just a trendy product, nothing was off the table. you watched a lot of people lose their morals when given an ounce of fame.

with you and vinnie deemed the internet’s favorite couple, you had been receiving quite a bit of attention that other creators either envied, or saw as money signs. everyone knew a glimpse of you in their newest tiktok or vlog would gain them millions of views and a few extra bucks.

you didn’t like filming with those outside of your inner circle because of how shy and overwhelmed you got around new faces. but, being the people pleaser you were, you couldn’t say no when more and more creators coincidentally started asking you to collab.

you didn’t mind at first, it actually wasn’t as scary as you thought it would be and the people were nice enough.

you didn’t take notice to how much of a toll these collabs were taking on your mental health, thinking you were just tired due to the long filming hours you weren’t well acquainted with. but vinnie noticed. he saw how mentally drained you were each and every night coming home from filming with yet another “friend”. he clocked how little energy you had to do anything other than sleep. he had never seen you so unlike yourself, and he knew the exact reason behind it.

* ࣪. ⋆ ✧ ﾟ: * ♡ * : ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪ ♡ ࣪.* ࣪ ⋆ ✧ ﾟ: * ♡ * : ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.*

the following morning, he heard you moving around the room earlier than ever before. the sun was barely up, where could you possibly have to go? he thought to himself.

“baby, what are you doing up so early? come back to bed.” he grumbled, making grabby hands towards you.

“i can’t vin. i have to go meet (influencer name). she has a bunch of stuff to do today so this was the only time she could film.”

ah of course, yet another person making you form to their schedule, not even bothering to ask how that worked for you. not that it mattered, you were to sweet to ever mutter the word “no” to anyone.

he could hear the grogginess in your voice, you were exhausted. not to mention the bags under your eyes that not even layers of concealer could hide. he hated what you were doing to yourself. no, he hated what your so called friends were making you do this to yourself, clearly taking advantage of your kindness, although you would never see it that way.

he made his way out of your shared bed, quickly throwing on a pair of pants and a hoodie that had been previously discarded on the floor the night before.

you watched him confused. “vin what are you doing? go back to sleep, it’s early and you look tired.”

he dismissed your request, grabbing his keys and wallet from the bedside table before heading towards the door. “i’m coming with you.”

“what? vin you don’t have to do that. it’ll be boring,” you paused before continuing, “i mean don’t get me wrong, i would love for you to come but you should stay here and sleep. i don’t want you to be tired for stream later.” you attempted to counter, but vinnie already had his mind made up and nothing you could say would change that.

“it’s fine, baby. if i go, i can help anywhere you need and then we can come home sooner and both get some rest.” plus he could stand up for you against whatever entitled youtuber you would be filming beside today, but he of course wouldn’t admit that part out loud.

* ࣪. ⋆ ✧ ﾟ: * ♡ * : ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪ ♡ ࣪.* ࣪ ⋆ ✧ ﾟ: * ♡ * : ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.*

an hour later vinnie was sat quietly fuming while he watched you be bossed around by a girl he didn’t even bother to remember’s name.

“ugh, i forgot to grab the mic. can you go get it for me y/n? it’s in the other room.”

“i think the camera is too close. can you move it back for me?” “…a little closer than that.”

“wait this isn’t my good side, switch with me?”

the demands went on and on, you obliging to every last one of them.

vinnie was trying hard to hold back from screaming at this girl for taking advantage of you. he knew the cameras were rolling and the last thing he needed was for this girl to edit the footage, making vinnie look like the bad guy and ultimately getting more clickbait and money off the couple, just like she was desperate for.

so he remained quiet, hoping things would cool off once you began filming. however, that ended up being far from the truth.

every last question the girl asked you for the video was about your relationship with vinnie, some of which were very much intruding and personal. vinnie could tell you were growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

he knew how insecure you felt about people only ever caring about you for your relationship and connection to tiktok’s favorite boy, never bothering to ask about you or your own career.

he couldn’t watch this any longer.

abruptly standing up, which caught the attention of both you and the bitch girl sitting next to you, he grabbed your hand, pulling you up and out of the room to leave immediately.

“what the hell? where are you going?” the girl yelled.

vinnie switched the camera off before responding. “i’ve been sitting here all morning watching you boss around my girlfriend like you don’t have perfectly capable arms and legs to do shit for yourself if you just got off your lazy ass for once. and i’m sorry but i am not going to let that fly. y/n doesn’t owe you anything. in fact she did this as a favor to you considering you were the one begging for a collab. so i don’t know who you think you are treating her like she’s your fucking slave or something. and if you had any decency, you would realize everything you were asking her was clearly making her uncomfortable. you do know she is her own person right? there is so much more to her than our relationship. and if you can’t realize that, then you don’t get to use her for your own “clout” or whatever it is your after.”

the silence following vinnie’s rant was so loud, you could hear a pin drop.

the girl in front of you looked shocked, almost like she was on the verge of tears. clearly she was used to always getting her way and no one ever speaking to her in such a tone, no matter how many times she probably deserved it.

you stared at vinnie in awe. deep down you knew everything he said was true and you appreciated how he instantly came to your defense, saying everything you were too nice to even think, not caring who’s feelings he hurt as long as his girl was protected.

you could tell his mind was running a million miles per minute so you hastily dragged him out of there before he absolutely lost his shit on the girl, knowing it was soon coming.

once you made it out of the apartment and to vinnie’s car, you paused, pulling him to stand in front of you, seeing the anger still present on his face.

you tilted your head up to face him, moving your hands to stroke his cheeks, feeling him visibly relax at your touch. “breathe, baby, i need you to breathe for me. everything’s okay. i’m okay, i promise. i just need you to relax.” you spoke softly, trying to further calm him.

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “i’m sorry i yelled, i know how much you hate that. it’s just, it made me so angry seeing the way she was treating you, baby. you don’t deserve that. is this how it always is when you film with these people?” he questioned, worried that this was something you had to go through on the daily and he was only just now doing something about it.

you only nodded in response, tears flooding from your eyes, embarrassed that you constantly let everyone walk all over you. ashamed that you could never speak up for yourself, and most likely never would have if vinnie didn’t do it for you.

“fuck. i’m so sorry, baby. you shouldn’t of had to go through all that. i saw how drained you were, i should have been there sooner, said something sooner.”

“it’s not your fault, vin. you have no reason to apologize. i should have spoken up for myself. i don’t know why i can’t do it, i had ever reason to say something, but every time i would get too scared. like i would hurt their feelings, but instead i just let them hurt mine. i’m embarrassed that you even had to see that. god, i’m such a wimp.”

“hey, hey, hey. don’t get down on yourself for that. it only means that your a better, kinder person than they could ever be, okay? you are by far the sweetest person i have ever met and that is one of the reasons i love you. don’t ever think of that as a fault. the fact that you can stay this sweet amongst all the evil of this city and this industry is an amazing thing. never forget that, darling.” vinnie reassured you.

he looked down at you with so much love in his eyes, you knew everything he was saying was honest. and you fell deeper in love with him for it.

“thank you, vin. i love you so much.”

“not as much as i love you, sweetheart.”

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