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bvidzsoo · 1 year ago

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Love Me Like A Rockstar (9)

ー☆ Chapter 9: You (Show Me Where My Days Went)

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing ー☆ Word count: 9.8k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hi, lovelies!! LMLAR is BACK!! I am sooo happy I could finally update and just write, y'all have no idea! I am so sorry for making you wait so long for this update, but finishing my thesis was super important! I still have to study and such this month, but I promise next update won't take as long as this one did! (I'm writing other stories too while writing this one, so that kinda backfires sometimes lol) I am forever grateful that you are patient and stick around for the new chapters, this story is so dear to me you wouldn't even believe it. I am also super grateful and happy whenever you leave feedback, so please, keep on doing just that!<3 This chapter only exists because I was randomly inspired, and I'd like to apologize if it's a little rusty, I always have to get in "character" when I write this story lol. I am soo excited for next chapter, I think it's going to surprise you hehe. PLS PLS imagine that airport look from Mingi when reading this chapter, the pics from the moodboard, you'll see during which part! I also have a very small surprise at the end of this chapter hehe. I hope the time jumps aren't too confusing:(( Please, listen to the song called You before or while reading! Enough yapping, I hope you enjoy and leave feedback! (Taglist is always open for those interested! ^^)

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf @hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

Later that day

I hate him: hey…just checking in that I got home safely what are u up to?

I blinked, fingers tightening around my phone before I locked it, leaving the message on unread. My mother’s shuffling outside my door caught my attention, bringing a smile onto my lips as I watched her struggle while bringing all the dirty laundry to the bathroom. Then, I got off my bed to go help her.

Friday (11:30 am)

I hate him: i see u still haven’t checked my message… nothing too worrisome u certainly know how to make a man yearn for you lol that was a joke…dont freak out on me pls (lowkey true tho)

Friday (12:50 pm)

I hate him: lol, wooyoung has been bitching about seulgi’s professor for half an hour now mr. kwon u know him? i mean…i suppose he also teaches u i should take a sneaky video for u…wooyoung looks like a clown hanging upside down my bed and pouting like a damn child too (dont say im also one, thanks)

Friday (15:26 pm)

I hate him: well…ik my messages are going through so uh… why tf are u ignoring me???! *cries and dies in loneliness* entertain me dollll!!! im so bored pls oh…u said u had an important assignment…i bet u’re busy with that sorry for spamming u (text back tho when u’re done, im dying here…wooyoung is with seulgi and so is seonghwa with hongjoong…the single life sucks, bestie…lets be single and depressed together<3)

My jaw clenched as I heaved a long sigh, falling back on my bed as the sun shone brightly through my open window, the light breeze making me shiver as I only wore a t-shirt and sweats. Autumn was slowly turning into winter; the weather wasn’t so warm anymore. I threw another look at my phone, unlocked it, and stared at the received messages from Mingi for a second before finally deciding to delete them from my notification center, rolling over in bed to muffle a frustrated scream into my soft, and purple, pillow.

Saturday (9:09 am)

I hate him: i had the weirdest dream and im not even sure i want to tell u about it LOL but uh…a grisly was chasing me??? and then u appeared on a fucking white horse like a prince LOL and threatened to like…slay it if it didnt leave me alone??? honestly…what a slay, bestie good morning, btw, doll hope u had a better night’s sleep than me (and dreamed of me ehehehe)

Saturday (17:40 pm)

I hate him: i cant believe i allowed myself to be fooled like this back in highschool yuyu and i used to play baseball for shits and giggles and hongjoong (that rich prick) rented a whole ass baseball field for us for the afternoon and let us play with some of his (rich af) friends and uh… i think i wont be able to walk straight for another week with how much running i did… hongjoong kept scoring homeruns…i wish yuyu was here to kick his loser ass (dont tell hwa or hong i said that PLS) yo doll…everything’s alright with u? uh u…really havent answered me since… yk…i stayed over and waited for the rain to stop… have i done something wrong?

I sighed and put my phone on ‘do not disturb’, suddenly having lost all of my appetite as I forced the rest of the lettuce down my throat. My mother was sipping her kiwi and apple smoothie, eyes narrowed as she muttered to herself while trying to memorize the recipe of a dessert for later. Desserts were never her forte, unfortunately.

“Is it Seulgi?” She asked absentmindedly as I took a large gulp of my own smoothie, staring down at my salad, steak pushed to the side in my plate.

“Huh?” I asked distracted, eyes still glued to the dark screen of my phone.

“Texting you, your phone keeps buzzing, my starlight.” I rolled my eyes at the nickname, but didn’t bother to comment on it. I took a peek at my mother and her eyes were narrowed at me already, video on YouTube paused. Fuck, I had to answer her now or else she’d pester me all day long. And that would be a nightmare.

“Yeah, it’s Seulgi.” I lied, trying to make my voice sound convincing.

“Well, answer her then, don’t be rude.” My mother chastised me, pressing play on her video again, pursing her lips as she shook her head at whatever the man baking was saying.

“Later.” I whispered, biting my lower lip as my eyes remained glued to my phone, stomach clenching and heart dropping.

But I couldn’t.

Sunday (1:01 am)

I hate him: …you’re ignoring me, arent u? im sorry, y/n, i dont know what i did wrong, but we can talk about it we’re friends, after all…right?

『When you came along, I knew what was wrong

If you want to know exactly what I've missed』

Monday (present time)

It truly would have been a missed opportunity if Seulgi and I wouldn’t have grabbed coffee and went to sit in our usual spot in the back garden. The campus of our University was huge and that was perfect, because it meant people migrated and didn’t stay in one spot for long—at least long enough to irritate me to no end. Last week deemed to be rather rough, and I still didn’t feel like completely myself. To be honest, I thought about staying home today—and for the rest of the week—but I couldn’t afford missing any of my classes as exam period was slowly nearing, and so, I had to force my ass out of the house this morning before my mother could come and nag me about my weirdly unusual broody mood that has been going on for the past few days.

I hummed as I took a sip of my sweet coffee, enjoying the taste of warm caramel as Seulgi sighed loudly next to me, both hands cupped around her own coffee cup. The scent of cinnamon wafted from her cup and I scrunched up my nose, not too fond of the ingredient’s smell. Our classes started early in the morning today and we’d be here for at least four more hours, caffeine seemed like our only hope to stay awake and aware at this point. Given the fact that my baffling thoughts kept me up all night yesterday, I felt grateful that I was still on my feet at two o’clock at noon. As Seulgi fidgeted again, I chuckled and finally turned my head to look at her. She had a sheepish look on her face, and I tried not to laugh as I knew she was bursting to tell me all about her date with Wooyoung on Saturday.

“Well,” I started as I took a sip of my coffee, prolonging the suspense for her, “how did your date go?”

“It was amazing!” I had barely finished asking as Seulgi exclaimed, her cheeks turning rosy—and it wasn’t due to the cold air, “Wooyoung is—everything I thought he would be. He’s sweet and up for anything, he makes me laugh until I feel like passing out, and there’s just never a dull moment with him, you know?”

“One would expect that from him.” I muttered against my cup, laughing as Seulgi nudged my side, not looking too happy with my comment, “Oh, come on, it would be hard for Wooyoung to be different than the way he mostly presents himself; don’t you think?”

Seulgi grumbled something against her cup as she lightly bit into the carton, shooting me a pointed stare, “Well, yes, but…he makes me happy. Treats me well and all that, you know, he’s the perfect embodiment of what a boyfriend should be like.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” I teased with a smirk, wriggling my eyebrows at my best friend as her cheeks flushed an even darker color as she bit her lower lip, trying to mask the huge grin expanding on her lips. But as soon as I started giggling, Seulgi also broke out in a fit of giggles, hiding herself behind her wavy hair, pressing her cup of coffee against her face.

“God, I’m so down bad for him, Y/N, I don’t think you’d understand.” She mused, voice airy as she threw her head back, leaning back against the back of the bench. I chuckled and took another sip of my drink.

“Maybe I’d do.” I muttered, memories of my relationship with Yunho resurfacing. Thankfully, however, I managed to repress them as quickly as they came. They didn’t feel so gut-wrenching anymore, and to my surprise, didn’t leave a bitter taste in its wake either. What has changed? Certainly—certainly getting closer to his best friend didn’t influence the way I feel about Yunho, right? Right.

“So,” I glanced at Seulgi from the corner of my eyes as she swung her legs, looking down at her feet in the process, “how are you?”

“Fine, why?” I asked confused, angling my body to face Seulgi better.

“You’ve been…distant the whole weekend. I could barely reach you.” Seulgi’s voice sounded small and I gulped, feeling bad for making her worry about me, “You know…the last time you pulled away and disappeared, it was bad.”

“I promise you I am doing completely fine, Seulgi, you’d be the first person to know if I was in a bad headspace again, alright?” I reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Seulgi sighed and then raised her head to look at me, lips pulled into a thin line.

“Promise?”

“Of course, I promise.” I smiled at her warmly and she hummed in contentment, squeezing my hand back as she took a sip of her coffee. I followed suit before removing my hand from hers to fiddle with my half empty cup, “I’m just dealing with some things right now. I think I’m confused.”

“About what?” Seulgi asked curiously, leaning closer as I continued to avoid eye contact with her.

“I’ll tell you once I have my thoughts sorted about it.” I chuckled, making Seulgi roll her eyes in displeasure.

“You know, I tell you absolutely everything about myself and how I fell, and you always shut me out and tell me how you felt about a situation when it’s been over for years.” Seulgi pouted, narrowing her eyes at me, “How’s that fair, Y/N?”

“Hey, we work differently, don’t try to guilt trip me now.” I chuckled and took a sip of my coffee, making Seulgi roll her eyes, “Anyways, what did you do on your date with Wooyoung?”

“We went to the cinema,” Seulgi’s face lit up once again, grinning from ear to ear, “He bought me roses, a big bouquet. And after the movie we went for a walk and ended up stargazing in his cabriolet. It was really romantic.”

I smiled, feeling happy for my friend, she deserved someone like Wooyoung, “That actually sounds really amazing…and romantic.”

“Oh, my God, are you really Y/N? Where is my friend that hates anything that has to do with romance, cute stuff, and love?!” Seulgi’s shocked face was mocking and I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I leaned back against the back of the bench.

“I don’t hate it, I’m just not a huge fan of all of those things, okay?!” I shrugged, letting my arms fall from my chest as I pushed them inside my coat’s pockets.

“Who’s the culprit?” When I raised my eyebrows at Seulgi, a sign that I didn’t understand her question, she chuckled and leaned closer, “Who’s the man that’s changing your views on life, huh?”

“Man?” I asked with a scoff, giving Seulgi a deadpanned expression, “Does it always have to be about a man? Can’t it be just the fact that I had a change of mind?”

“Sure, because of someone.” Seulgi had a smug look on her face, acting as if she won the argument. But there was no argument here and she had no idea what she was talking about.

“Whatever—” But I got cut off as her phone dinged loudly. Seulgi, very comically, scrambled to reach for her phone and as she opened it up, a wide grin stretched onto her lips. It didn’t take two braincells to realize who had texted her, and thus, I chuckled and turned my head. I sipped my coffee, taking in my environment while Seulgi answered her boyfriend, giggling quietly every now and then.

The campus was finally silent and not as busy as it usually was in the early morning hours. The cold weather also helped in keeping the garden a little quieter as most people preferred to stay inside the warm corridors and classrooms. But the chilly air was good, it soothed my nerves and erased thoughts that weren’t productive. Similar to that, were the emotions that I didn’t want to deal with again, like the guilt that’s never left me ever since Mingi walked out of my house wearing Yunho’s old clothes. It felt wrong letting him take them without knowing the truth about them, but I didn’t feel ready to tell him yet about the truth. I was scared, surprisingly, of what he’d think of me once he found out about Yunho and I. I was scared that—he’d walk away, like Yunho had once done. And that was a very frightening thought. But when had I become so attached to Mingi? When has Mingi managed to infiltrate himself so thoroughly in my life, that the thought of completely losing him became scary? And why was I taking the past few days so badly? It’s not like we were as close as Seulgi and I, or him and Seonghwa and Wooyoung, yet, ignoring him felt like the wrong move to do. However, the reasoning I always circled back to was the fact that I needed space. I had to clear my mind, to find the purpose of this whole friendship that’s been blooming between us, and to make sense of everything. I had to figure out first why Yunho barely scraped my thoughts now, and why was it was Mingi who I found myself thinking of so often. In case you were wondering, no, I still haven’t found the reason, and it was becoming frustrating quite quickly. That near kiss was a—mistake. Yet, it could have been so much worse—it could have been a real kiss. And a real kiss would have ruined everything. I didn’t want to open up to anyone just yet, not when the memories of Yunho still haunted me in my dreams and drawings. Drawings that now more often than not consisted of Song Mingi.

And to my horror, the flipping of paper sheets is what alerted me back to my surroundings as I had been lost in my thoughts, oblivious to Seulgi putting her phone down and grabbing my sketchbook that lay between the two of us on the bench. As I turned my head, my eyes widened as Seulgi’s expression held surprise but amusement as well. She chuckled as she looked up, making eye contact with me. I lunged forward in an instant, trying to take my sketchbook out of her hands, but she leaned back and away, putting it behind herself.

“Bitch, I’m not the only one who’s down bad for a man.” She said with a laugh, making me groan as I gave up trying to snatch my sketchbook back from her.

“I’m not down bad for a man, Seulgi, stop this non-sense.” I hissed, cheeks burning in embarrassment as she kept flipping through my drawings.

“Please,” She scoffed, turning my sketchbook around and making me grimace as I came face to face with an exact replica of Mingi, sitting in his chair, at his studio that one time he invited me inside, “Who the fuck draws so many drawings of one single person if they aren’t in love with them—”

“I’m not in love with Mingi, stop it!” I exclaimed, heart beating fast as Seulgi raised her eyebrows at me, looking unimpressed, “Don’t ever again say that, Seulgi.”

“Okay, calm down, whatever. You’re not in love with Mingi.” She chuckled, closing my sketchbook but she didn’t hand it back yet, “But let’s face it, Y/N, you have a thing for Mingi. It’s super freaking obvious even without the drawings.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I hissed and finally snatched the sketchbook out of her hands, clutching it to my chest. I knew bringing this along today would turn out to be a mistake, and here I was, facing the repercussions of my actions.

“There’s this glint in your eyes whenever you look at him—”

“Yeah, it’s called dislike.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“And I see how you struggle to refrain yourself from smiling when you’re around him—”

“Bitch, be for real, Mingi and I aren’t even often together around you for you to notice that.” I scoffed, completely appealed by whatever absurd claims my best friend was making.

“So you’re not denying it—would it really be so bad if you liked Mingi?” But Seulgi ignored all my interruption as she raised her eyebrows at me, smiling softly, “He’s a nice guy. Very well-mannered and with a big, and good heart. Wooyoung loves him a lot and is always worrying about him. He says Mingi hasn’t been the same ever since his best friend moved away for college—”

“Mingi is Yunho’s best friend!” I blurted out before I could stop myself, finally feeling like a stone was taken off my chest as I bit my lower lip, averting my eyes from Seulgi’s shocked expression, “Mingi is the best friend Yunho had always talked so much about while we were together. I—do you understand why it would be so bad if I ended up liking Mingi?”

“Y/N,” Seulgi whispered, eyebrows furrowed, “for how long have you know?”

“Long enough.” I muttered before clearing my throat, “So please understand that I’m not ready for whatever the hell me drawing all those sketches of Mingi could mean. A month ago I was close to bursting out crying even at the thought of Yunho, and now I fail to remember his existence on my best days.”

When I dared take a peek at Seulgi, she was smiling softly, almost proudly, “Fine, I’ll pester you about this later on, when you’ve figured things out, but until then—you can’t deny Mingi isn’t hot—”

“Can we stop talking about Min—”

“Hi, girls!” I jumped in fright at the overly excited and shrill greeting as both Seulgi and I turned our heads to be met with…Wooyoung and Mingi. Speak of the devil. Suddenly, there was a lump in my throat, and my heart started beating just a little bit faster as my eyes fell on Mingi’s tall form. It didn’t help that underneath his coat he was wearing Yunho’s sweater—the one I had given him.

“Hi.” Seulgi giggled as Wooyoung leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek, the two looking sickly in love. It was actually endearing, but I’d never admit it out loud for my own sake as I knew I’d get teased about it by Seulgi. I averted my eyes from Wooyoung and Seulgi as they were muttering things to each other, and so, had no choice but to look up at Mingi, who looked—expressionless. Something in my stomach dropped at his cold demeanor, and it was worse that I wanted to assume it was my fault that he looked like that. But just as I was about to look away, he cracked the tiniest smile ever, and I exhaled, licking my lips.

“Hi.” My voice was small as I gulped, eyes trans-fixated on the tall man as his smile became just a little wider. I don’t think I had the power to ignore him anymore, not when he was standing right in front of me, looking like he wished to be anywhere but here.

“Hi, Y/N.” Having not heard his voice in days, it sounded even deeper and raspier than usually, making butterflies erupt in my stomach as my grip tightened around my sketchbook. I felt a little awkward, perhaps even tense, as Mingi didn’t say anything else, just continued gazing down at me with his sharp dark brown eyes boring into my own. I had so many things that I could’ve said to him, but I felt tongue tied. I didn’t know what would be the right way to approach him after I ignored him for so many days. Would he understand? Is he mad at me now? Does he hate me now? Will he forgive me—

“Okay,” Wooyoung chuckled, syllable drawn out and sounding amused, “I feel like I’m interrupting something here, yet they are basically just staring at each other.”

“You’re right.” Seulgi giggled, and I finally looked away from Mingi, throwing a glare at my best friend as she had leaned into Wooyoung’s side, who stood next to the bench and her.

“Shush, you two.” Mingi beat me to telling the two love-birds off, and I couldn’t help but smile, “Don’t poke your nose where it doesn’t belong to.”

“Look who’s lecturing me about poking my nose where it doesn’t belong to—”

“Wooyoung.” Mingi’s tone held a warning, and it made Wooyoung giggle as he leaned down and pressed a fat kiss against Seulgi’s cheek—again—making her push him away playfully.

“We’re headed to class, are you coming over later?” Wooyoung smiled down at his girlfriend, playing with a strand of her hair.

“Maybe, if I get to finish my project.” Seulgi said with a pout and Wooyoung hummed, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips this time around. I averted my eyes, not a fan of seeing couples kiss, only to catch Mingi already looking at me. He was expressionless once again, but he was fidgeting with his fingers, looking almost nervous. And as Wooyoung stood up straight and ruffled Seulgi’s hair affectionately, Mingi took a deep breath.

“Will you come to Outlaw this Friday?” He asked in a rush, sounding almost reluctant as his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he chewed on his lower lip. To my horror, I found my eyes fixated on his plush mouth and I gulped before I quickly averted my eyes, praying that nobody caught it.

“Yes.” I answered before Seulgi could, and nodded, smiling a little bit, “I won’t miss it.”

A beautiful smile spread on Mingi’s lips and he nodded once, looking too happy for something so little. I don’t think I’ll understand anytime soon why he gets so excited and happy when I listen to his songs or watch him perform. I’m no expert when it comes to music, my feedback is merely amateur and I’m not even a fan of his band yet.

“Cool, see you then.” And Mingi didn’t wait for Wooyoung as he turned around and walked away, steps hurried. I didn’t miss the confused glance Wooyoung and Seulgi shared before Wooyoung was off, chasing after his best friend. And maybe I would be soon able to make sense of my thoughts and feelings around Mingi, figure out what they meant and why they felt so real at times.

Monday (16:58 pm)

I hate him: hi Me: hi I hate him: would it be a lot if i asked to meet u tomorrow? Me: no, im free in the afternoon I hate him: cool, me too so uh…we can hang out in my studio? Me: or we can go to that new café with pottery I hate him: really? Me: u did say u wanted us to go… I hate him: i certainly said so i’ll pick u up around 4 Me: u don’t have to i’ll meet you there I hate him: come on, y/n…let me drive u Me: u’ve driven me around too many times by now i’ll meet u there and that’s final. I hate him: okay, boss, see ya there Me: :))

Getting here before four o’clock and having to wait in front of the cute café had no business being this nerve-wrecking. Yeah, Mingi hasn’t shown up yet—but perhaps that’s because there were still ten minutes until it’d be four—and I knew I had no reason to think he’d bail on me, but we hadn’t spoken since yesterday, when he had asked me if we could hang out. And so, waiting for him shouldn’t have had me breaking out in a sweat despite the cold weather, making me bite my lower lip harshly as I tried to smooth down the wool, green, brown, and beige patterned coat I was wearing. First of all, why the hell would I be so nervous about meeting up with Mingi alone at this cute café? He probably wanted to talk about that near kiss, and once we had that cleared, things would go back to normal—right?!

And maybe that was the reason which made me want to vomit on the sidewalk, the thought that I knew Mingi would demand answers—answers that I wasn’t yet ready to hand out. Why did I even agree to this? Because I missed him? I should have just stayed at home and done the project I’ve been procrastinating on—again. But when I heard the rumble of Mingi’s old Honda’s engine, I knew there was no turning back, catching the bus and running home to hide underneath my blanket.

As Mingi took his time to parallel park, I took a deep breath and gripped onto the strap of my tote bag harder, looking down at myself. My apricot orange sneakers matched the color of my blouse, the top two buttons out of five undone, but not showing too much skin. My blouse was tucked inside my washed out high waisted mom jeans, the black belt matching the color of my tote bag—I know black isn’t a color, I’m an arts major after all. My hair was pulled in a low ponytail just to prevent the wind from blowing it in my face, and I was thankful that I chose my wool coat as it kept me warm enough. I have opted to wear quite a few rings today, and because my neck felt too exposed, I decorated it with three necklaces of different length. I gulped hard one last time as Mingi got out of his car and took a few seconds until he managed to lock it. However, those few seconds were exactly what I needed to prepare myself to not pass out at the full sight of him.

Mingi, in true fashion to him, wore all black, except for his jeans that were a very dark shade of blue, almost black too. His turtleneck was tucked inside his jeans, a black coat with a hood keeping him warm from the cold late autumn weather. It almost made me smile upon seeing his own tote bag, black, and funnily matching mine. Except that his was plain, while mine had Claude Monet’s Water-Lily Pond painting painted on it, done by none other than yours truly, me. Mingi’s eyes were concealed by black sunglasses, and I snorted as he almost splashed himself up by stepping a little too enthusiastically into a big puddle. Two necklaces hung around his neck, reaching down his chest. A very obvious and sturdy silver cross necklace, and another longer chain that had pearls scarcely strung on it. And in true Song Mingi fashion, his rings weren’t missing, only two of his nails painted black on each hand, almost as if he didn’t have time to finish doing them. My heart racing in my chest so fast just at the mere sight of him, certainly wasn’t healthy, right?

“Hi!” I squeaked out and wished to burry myself instantly as Mingi chuckled, a very charming smile spreading onto his lips. It was a little annoying that I couldn’t see his eyes, forced to stare at his plush lips instead—let’s be real, nobody forced me, I did it because I couldn’t help myself, “The sun is quite blinding today, isn’t it?”

And of course, in good old fashion, my mouth worked before my brain would agree to saying something out loud, and my cheeks were burning as I knew Mingi saw me look at his lips. I had to divert the attention somehow, and teasing him was my best method, actually. It always worked.

“I’m trying to make a fashion statement,” Mingi grinned as he gripped the sunglasses and took them off in a very unnaturally hot way, “but hello to you too.”

“No need for a fashion statement when it’s just the two of us,” I narrowed my eyes, finding Mingi’s hair very soft and fluffy looking, almost as if he had recently washed it, and it wasn’t completely dry, “I’m not one of your fans.”

“Pity,” Mingi hummed, stepping slightly closer to me, “I thought I might just finally wove you.”

I scoffed, and as I was about to tell him off, he grabbed my tote bag and pulled me after himself, headed for the entrance of the café, “Did you have to wait long for me? Traffic was busier today, I had to take a few detours to get here in time.”

“Don’t worry,” I smiled as he opened the door for me and let me walk inside first, “I only waited half an hour for you to arrive, runway princess.”

“Runway princess?!” Mingi’s eyes bulged for a second before he started laughing loudly, making a few customers glance our way as we made it inside the café. I elbowed him in the stomach gently, not too keen of having people glare at us as he disturbed their peace.

“Don’t like the nickname?” I asked with a raised brow as we neared the front desk. The cashier had a friendly smile on her face while she greeted us as Mingi and I looked up at the menu, trying to decide what we’d like to have.

“Never said that,” Mingi answered with a chuckle as he threw me a quick glance, “it’s just surprising coming from you.”

“Why, can’t I call you a princess?” I chuckled, turning to face the cashier as I have made up my mind about what I’d like to have.

“Up until now you seemed to prefer the term ‘bro’, but I’m fine with whatever you decide on calling me, doll.” The look the cashier gave us made my cheeks flame up and I cleared my throat loudly, shooting Mingi a look that told him to shut up.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered embarrassed, smiling at the cashier, “can I get a strawberry cheesecake?”

“Sure, right away, and you, sir?” Her attention was on Mingi now, cheeks flushing the longer she looked at him. Okay, I could totally understand why. Mingi looked quite good right now, it was hard not to ogle him.

“A mint-chocolate cheesecake and a cappuccino?” Mingi hummed, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he looked down at the cashier.

“Plain cappuccino or with vanilla?” The cashier typed in our orders as she asked Mingi, averting her eyes shyly once he looked at her, pursing his lips.

“Plain,” He decided at last, turning to look at me, “are you not getting anything to drink?”

“An orange fresh will be alright.” I said as I reached inside my bag to fish around for my wallet.

“And would you also like to paint some pottery?” The cashier asked, pointing behind herself at all the displayed options. Mingi and I shared a look and I smiled as I nodded at him, making him grin from ear to ear.

“Yeah, we’ll paint some pottery too. Can I have a cup?” He asked, pointing at one on the higher shelf. It was a smaller cup, specifically made for drinking coffee. The cashier nodded and then looked at me expectantly.

“Uh, a mug will do for me.” I said and thanked her once she handed us the pottery and the paint that was used for painting these. Then, she tapped a few more on her tablet and told us the total. I opened my wallet to pay for my purchase, but Mingi had a card in his hands, the cashier already typing in the total sum for him to pay.

“Mingi,” I hissed quietly, looking at him with a frown, “what are you doing?”

“It was my idea to come here—”

“No, it wasn’t.” I cut him off, fingers curling into the scratchy fabric of his coat as I reached out to hold it, “I suggested we come here instead of going to your studio.”

Mingi sighed and pocketed his card, already having paid, then turned his body to face mine. I didn’t let go of his coat just yet, “Yeah, but when I drove you home during that downpour I asked you if you’d come here with me. So technically, it was my idea. Initially, anyways, it really was.”

“Mingi—” I started, but soon swallowed my words as he stepped closer, invading my personal space. My fingers tightened more into his coat and I gulped, suddenly feeling nervous due to our proximity. He faintly smelled of vanilla, it was a fragrance I didn’t except to smell on him.

“Can you not fight me on this one, please?” Mingi’s eyebrows slightly furrowed and his eyes softened up and I—struggled to breathe for a second as I stared up in his pleading eyes, mouth going dry. He looked—adorable like this, and I did not like the way I felt myself getting lost in his soft gaze.

“Let’s find a table.” I muttered, forcing myself out of the trance he placed on me, and grabbed my mug and the painting supplies. Mingi followed suit as he took his own cup and followed after me closely. We walked further inside the café and found a smaller table in the next room, closer towards the window. The walls were painted a faint orange and were decorated by white stripes that created abstract shapes. The chandeliers were white and hung low, the place well-lit for those who wished to paint pottery.

I placed the things in my hands on the table carefully, and then discarded my coat on the back of my chair and my tote bag by the leg of the table, pulling my chair out for myself. Mingi followed suit, however, he managed to almost send his cup tumbling to the floor when he took his seat. His eyes were wide as he just barely caught the cup, and I giggled as I watched him while opening the box that held all the paint. Thankfully, the table was spacious enough to harbor both our pottery and paints as the cashier brought out our delicacies. She threw Mingi a lasting look before she hurried back to the front desk, glancing our way at times.

“This is going to be a tough one.” Mingi said before scooping up a bit of his cheesecake with his little spoon.

“Why?” I asked with a chuckle, choosing a thin brush to start painting some flowers on my mug. My cheesecake could wait.

“Because I’m literally sat at a table with an arts major, having to decorate some cup by painting.” Mingi sounded stressed and I chuckled as I looked up at him, amused by his expression. His hair fell in his eyes a bit, and I found myself absentmindedly reaching over the table to brush it to the side. Almost as if realizing at the same time what I had done, we both froze. It felt like time stilled around us as I watched Mingi with a gaping mouth, slowly but surely, my cheeks becoming the color of a fire hydrant. But Mingi wasn’t better off as he bit his bottom lip, averting his eyes shyly as his cheeks turned the faint color of pink. Clearing my throat and accidentally choking as I hastily pulled my hand back, I averted my eyes and fought for my life to not choke. Thank God the orange juice was right there, I quickly took three large gulps.

“Th—thanks.” Mingi stuttered, staring at the table as he licked his lips, “Uh, it’s gotten long, my hair, I mean, I have to cut it when I get the time.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, grabbing my mug and chewing on my bottom lip in embarrassment—God, could the Earth swallow me up right now? Why the hell did I do that?! “Yeah.”

“Do you think I should change it up a little?” I paused as I had dipped my brush in red paint, and slowly looked up at Mingi, “Do something fun with it—like going blonde?”

“I hate blonde hair.” I blurted out before I could stop myself. Nice one, idiot. Yunho was blonde while we were together, and thus, yeah, I’ve hated blondes ever since. And to be fair—and this is not me shitting on my ex—but that hair color did not suit Yunho at all.

“Oh, noted.” Mingi whispered, pouting a little. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, hating myself for the weird atmosphere I have created.

“Mingi, you can do whatever you want with your hair.” I spoke up, leaning down to try and look him in the eyes as he was busy staring at the table, “My opinion shouldn’t matter. It’s your hair. Go crazy with it, have fun, try out something new. Really.”

“But do you think it would suit me?” Mingi was still pouting as he finally looked up at me, looking quite crestfallen. My eyebrows furrowed and I tried to imagine him with blonde hair. He was quite blessed with his skin complex as most colors looked good on him, but perhaps I preferred Mingi with dark hair—black hair, more specifically. Like he had it right now. He looked—good. Handsome, even. Completely gorgeous. Fuck.

“I think it would suit you.” I settled on saying that. He didn’t have to know my train of thought, like at all. Mingi hummed in appreciation, and I watched as he reached inside his tote bag, pulling out a case that held his glasses. He took it out of the case and put it on, pushing it up on the bridge of his nose. He grinned when he looked at me and I chuckled, shaking my head as I looked down at my mug, finally starting to decorate it.

“There goes the cool, mysterious, hot celebrity act.” I teased under my breath, not expecting Mingi to hear me. But he did, and he started laughing, giving me a cheeky grin.

“Not quite a celebrity yet, but at least you admit I am hot.” Of course he was smirking as I gave him a deadpanned look, about to argue him on his statement, but he didn’t let me as he continued talking, “By the way, let’s exchange our cups when we are done. The mug will be mine and the cup will be yours.”

I tried to fight the smile off my lips, “So that you get the artwork of a talented artist for free to sell for an outrageous price later on when I’m famous?”

“I fear you have misjudged my character, doll.” Mingi’s eyes narrowed playfully, but there was truth to his words. I might just have misjudged his character.

“I still think you’re arrogant and selfish.”

“Of course you do, didn’t except anything less from you.” Mingi winked and then looked down, his cheesecake forgotten as he started decorating his cup, tongue just barely sticking out as he concentrated hard on whatever he had in mind to paint onto the cup. I chuckled and shook my head before focusing on my own mug, the silence that’s settle around us comfortable, as always.

Mingi and I were the quietest table in the café as we worked in silence diligently in, painting our own pottery. Mingi, at times, would hum along quietly to the songs that were played on the radio. Despite his cup being smaller and easier to paint, I finished painting mine before him, and so, I took the time to savor my cheesecake even if it had gotten warm and a little too soft. Mingi was hunched over in his seat, glasses low on the bridge of his long nose, with his full lips either pursed or with the bottom one bitten as his eyebrows would furrow every time he almost made a mistake. It was a funny sight, and I grabbed my phone without thinking much, and snapped a few pictures of him, leaning lower and even closer to his face to get the funny angles, all while Mingi remained oblivious to it. I chuckled as I looked at the pictures I had taken of him, looking at him when I felt eyes on me.

“What’s so funny?” He asked curiously, eyeing my phone for a second.

“You.” I chuckled and stuck my tongue out as Mingi rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he heaved a long sigh.

“I’m finally done.” He grinned and I looked down at his cup, taking in the yellow chicks he had painted quite—clumsily. Well, not all of us had the skills of a painter—not that it was an issue or anything—it’s just that it’s been long since I had seen someone have the skills of a—kindergartner, “It’s pretty sick, huh?”

I bit my lower lip to stop myself from giggling and nodded with my eyebrows furrowed, “I’d give it a seventy out of a hundred mark.”

“Hey! That’s too low!” Mingi said, looking offended. I chuckled before shrugging.

“You’ll have to work on your skills for a higher mark.”

“Fine, next time you come to the studio, I’ll make you sing.” Mingi raised his eyebrows, making me narrow my eyes at him playfully.

“Oh, I didn’t know we are in a competition.”

“We weren’t, until now.” He winked and then stood, grabbing my mug and his own cup carefully as he took it to the front desk for drying. I gathered the items we had used to paint the pottery with to place them back in the box, and couldn’t help it but sneak a glance at Mingi. He was leaned up against the front counter, grinning widely at the cashier as she spoke to him, using her hands for big gestures as she was probably explaining something. My eyes narrowed as Mingi leaned slightly closer to her, only to detach himself from the front desk and walk back towards our table. I looked away and busied myself with my glass of orange juice.

“So, we’ll get them delivered to our houses once they are dry and all.” He said with a smile, sitting down, “I hope you don’t mind I gave her your address too.”

“I don’t.” I muttered, chewing on the straw for a second, “I didn’t think you’d know my address.”

“Well,” Mingi flattened his hands on the surface of the table, “I’ve been to your house twice now. I think it’s only right I remember your address, doll.”

“Right,” I muttered, “you’ve been to my house.”

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and I figured he didn’t like the tone of my voice. But before I could correct myself and explain that I had nothing against that, he spoke up, “Y/N, I—I didn’t mean to scare you or—I don’t know—make you think that I want anything from you. I mean—we are friends, and I respect you as a woman and as a friend, and I know we almost—kissed. But I—I don’t want you to think that I’m playing some sort of game with you to get—to get in your pants. I’m your friend. And even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t do that to you.”

Hearing him say all that felt wrong. I didn’t deserve any explanation from him. I was the one that’s overreacted that day, and Mingi was the one that deserved an explanation and apology from me for the way I have acted. I knew I couldn’t completely open up to him right now, that some parts of the truth had to be omitted today, but he also deserved to know why I had pulled back. And I wanted him to understand that it wasn’t his fault for the way I reacted to everything.

“Mingi,” I offered him a small smile and gripped my empty glass for some support, “If you think you are the reason why I ignored you, please, stop thinking that. It’s—we both leaned in, okay? We were both about to kiss each other, it’s not like you initiated it or forced me to do something I didn’t want to. And nothing even happened, for God’s sake. I reacted that way because I—”

When I paused, Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned over the table, gently poking my hand with his ring clad fore-finger, “You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable sharing it, Y/N.”

“But I want you to know this, Mingi.” I averted my eyes and took a deep breath, embracing myself for what I was about to tell him, “I had a boyfriend back in high-school who completely broke my heart, shattered it into pieces. And I know that happened a long time ago, and yes, I am over him, but I—I am scared people will treat me like he had treated me. I’m scared that if I let you close, you’ll just—leave. Like he did. And I know ignoring you for days was very shitty of me and I shouldn’t have done that—because quite frankly, Mingi, you deserve better—I just didn’t know what to do. I needed a few days to myself, to figure things out. It’s a bad excuse, but it’s the truth, and I think you deserve to know it. Since we are friends.”

Mingi’s face conveyed no emotion for a few seconds and I gulped, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Did he figure it out now? That I was talking about Yunho? That maybe I have started feeling something for him too, for Mingi? Would he stand up and leave? But to my surprise, a wide smile stretched onto his lips and he hummed, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

“Thank you for trusting me, it means a lot that you told me all that.” I bit my bottom lip, looking down at the table abashedly, “And I was never mad at you for ignoring me. I completely understand you, Y/N, and for the record, I have zero intentions of leaving you. And your ex is a fucking asshole for breaking your heart like that, tell me who he is and I’ll beat him up when I cross paths with him.”

There was nothing funny about what Mingi had said, especially since he was talking about his best friend, but the comically tough look on his face made me snort loudly as I shielded my mouth with my hand, trying to stop myself from laughing too loudly. Mingi started grinning like an idiot, his giggles deep, and making something coil in my stomach. When has Song Mingi become adorable instead of annoying?

“I doubt you’d want to kick his ass once you find out who he is…” I grimaced once that was out of my mouth, regretting it instantly. What was it about today that I couldn’t keep my thoughts and mouth in check? It was turning really frustrating.

“So, you plan on telling me one day?” Mingi wriggled his eyebrows, making me snort, “Like real besties gossiping and shit.”

“You never fail to make me cringe when you call us besties, Mingi.” I shook my head, taking a glance at my wrist watch. Oh, the time had flown away, it was well past five now, and the sun was going down. I’d probably have to head home soon to have dinner with my mother. I was becoming hungry too.

“Well, that’s what we are so…” He cleared his throat before slowly standing up, making me look up at him, “Did you know today we’re celebrating the Festival of Light?”

“Nope, I had no idea.” I shook my head, standing up too as Mingi wore his coat, “I don’t follow the events our city organizes.”

“Pity, it’s really pretty.” Mingi pouted, waiting for me as I grabbed my tote bag and pocketed my phone, “Should we check it out?”

“I mean…maybe?” I shrugged and Mingi beckoned me over as he crossed his arm with mine, making me chuckle as I looked up at him. He wasn’t much taller than me, but his sneakers had a thick sole and they made him even taller, “Where is this festival held at?”

“Just down the street, at the Citadel.” Mingi smiled as he led the way out of the café, waving at the barista as she blushed again, making me chuckle as I subconsciously nuzzled up against Mingi’s side, the air chilly as the sun had set by now.

“That barista totally has a crush on you.” I found myself saying as we walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid crashing into the people that came towards us. Yeah, there certainly was an event on-going in the city, otherwise you wouldn’t see so many people out and about around this time. Everyone preferred staying inside after the sun had set, not keen of the cold nights.

“You think so?” Mingi mused, bottom lip jutting out as he narrowly avoided a child that was running around, “I didn’t notice.”

“You must be really dense then.” I snorted, eyebrows furrowing as I looked up at him, “She was constantly blushing, and she was totally looking at you with hearts in her eyes.”

“How do you know when someone is looking at you with heart eyes?” Mingi’s question threw me off, and I detached myself from his side, clearing my throat as I looked ahead, pushing my hands in my pockets. He was warm, it made me realize as the cold bit at my skin now that I wasn’t nuzzled up by his side anymore.

“Well, they have this look in their eyes, you know? It’s warm, and soft, and it lasts.” I explained, feelings my cheeks heat up, “And their eyes always linger on you when you aren’t watching them. It’s like…puppy eyes, I suppose? I wouldn’t actually know, Mingi, nobody’s ever looked at me like that.”

When there was no response, I looked back to find Mingi looking at me intensely. My eyebrows furrowed as we have arrived to the Citadel, the gates open for the visitors of the festival. The place was packed, this wouldn’t be so fun anymore. I would’ve turned around and walked back home if I didn’t see how excited Mingi was when I agreed to come check it out.

“There’s lots of people here.” Mingi muttered, and then walked closer to me as I led the way inside, a little baffled by his reaction to my answer. I just merely gave an answer based on my beliefs. It was him that was acting weird now. But as I looked at him, I could see it in his eyes that he didn’t want to talk about this topic anymore, that he wanted us to drop the subject. His last comment was a way to veer the conversation in a different direction. What was it about us today making everything weird? I sighed and just walked further inside, trying to avoid the big crowd which seemed almost impossible as it stretched on and on. The Citadel, however, was beautiful as it was coated in darkness, only the little paper lamps and fairy lights illuminating the place. It had a certain aura to it, almost romantic, and I soon found myself smiling as we walked down the cobblestone path, still trying to avoid people and stick close to each other’s sides. The air was chilly but the walls of the Citadel did a great job at keeping the breeze out, and the crowd certainly kept the place warmer than it was outside the stone walls.

I found myself admiring the décor in wonder, my mouth hanging open as I took in all the little lamps placed down on the ground, following the cobblestone paths, illuminating our way. It was truly beautiful, it almost felt like the scene was taken out of a fairytale. I found myself filled with excitement and happiness as I turned to grin at Mingi.

“This is so beautiful!” I giggled, absentmindedly grabbing the sleeve of his coat and dragging him away from the path and into the dying grass as there was a panel covered with paper, and people were writing on it. Mingi remained silent, but as I searched around for a pen or pencil, I felt him watching me, “What, do you not want to write something?”

“If you manage to find a marker or pen, I will, sure.” He said with a shrug, adjusting the strap of his tote bag before he pushed his hands deep in his pockets. I chuckled and looked around for a marker, but it was hard to see it in the darkness whether they were laying around in the grass or not. To my surprise, a little girl standing next to me looked up at me with a small smile on her lips, and offered me her purple-coloured marker, saying she was done with her drawing. I thanked her with a chuckle and turned to face Mingi with a grin.

“I found one!” Mingi chuckled and took the marker from my hands, being able to reach high up where the paper was still empty, due to his height. The panel was illuminated from the inside so you could actually see what was written on the paper. I watched him as he wrote on the paper, hesitating for a second, before he stepped back and handed me the marker. I raised up on my tip toes curiously, and craned my neck to see what he’s written. ‘The moon is beautiful tonight.’

I felt a smile spread onto my lips as I looked back at Mingi, who’s expression was serious and almost sad-looking as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his tall nose. I craned my neck back once more to gaze at the dark sky, at the moon, and indeed, there she was, beautiful and shining brightly. It was a new moon. Taking a swift glance at Mingi, I raised back on my tip toes and stood close to the panel, reaching up, just underneath Mingi’s writing. Thankfully, I could reach just bellow it, and I grinned as I quickly drew a new moon, adding a little shading to it and dents as well, creating the illusion of a real moon. Mingi remained silent as I took a step back, admiring our work. I handed the marker to another child as I fished my phone out of my pocket and snapped a picture quickly of our artwork.

“The moon turned out beautifully.” Mingi commented once we had stepped away from the panel to let others draw too, headed back onto the cobblestone path.

“Still, it’s not as beautiful as the real one, but I tried my best.” I chuckled as I crossed my arms in front of my chest for a second, avoiding a man as he wasn’t looking in front of himself as he raced down the path. Mingi threw him a displeased look before looking down at me.

“Your drawings and paintings are always beautiful, Y/N.” Mingi said and I found myself blushing, thankful that it was so dark he wouldn’t be able to see it. I uncrossed my arms and turned my body a little to face him. There was music coming from one path, the one which led to the southern part of the Citadel.

“Are you nervous about Friday?” I found myself asking him as Mingi veered us towards where the music was coming from. He looked at me for a second, and then shook his head.

“I’m rarely nervous when we have to perform.” He said nonchalantly, the back of his hand brushing lightly against mine. My heart did a somersault against my ribcage, but I ignored it.

“Oh, you’re such a cool guy.” I teased him with narrowed eyes, making Mingi chuckle.

“I rarely get nervous, to be honest, even less when it comes to performing.” He hummed, looking up at the dark sky for a second, “I trust myself and my bandmates that everything will go well, so, there’s no actual reason to feel nervous.”

“But I’ll be there on Friday, that still doesn’t make you feel nervous?” My question was meant to be teasing, part of our playful banter, but the way Mingi gulped and quickly averted his eyes told me that perhaps I hit the nail spot-on. Well, now I have turned things awkward again. I sighed loudly, chewing on my bottom lip as Mingi remained silent, the two of us walking down the narrow path as the music became louder as we were nearing the stage. Jazz music was playing, the lady who was singing had a powerful and smooth voice that carried over the crowd neatly. There were a few people dancing in the crowd.

“Perhaps having you there will make me nervous.” Mingi’s voice was barely above a whisper and I tensed when I felt his pinkie brush against my own, making me clench my hand into a fist. But a very quiet voice inside my head demanded me to accept Mingi’s subtle request, and willing my heart to stop hammering so hard in my chest, I relaxed my hand and slowly slipped it into Mingi’s. If he stopped walking for a milli-second, I didn’t say anything about it, and he also ignored it. His grip turned firm as he intertwined our fingers together, gently pulling me closer into his side as he smiled at a mother who apologised for his son almost running into us.

I gulped and kept my eyes ahead of me, too nervous to look at Mingi. Holding his hand like this meant nothing in particular, but it was a nice feeling. It made my cheeks warms and heart race. And I didn’t have to look at Mingi to know he was smiling like crazy, his cheeks just as red as mine as we came to a stop behind the dancing people.

Have I started falling for Song Mingi?

『It's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

I'm just saying it's you, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

You, ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

You're what I've been chasing

Show me where my days went』

❱❱ Next chapter

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❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

so...the festival of light scene was totally inspired by me and my bestie attending it in our city lol; it was sooo beautiful and the pictures in the moodboard were actually taken by us; also, her and I kept laughing about the romantic vibes we were getting, all in all, we had a nice time...and OFC we make everything about Ateez so :))

I wrote that LOL I'm like Mingi, tall enough to reach the top where people haven't scribbled onto yet lol

also, this is what y/n's outfit looks like for anyone wondering, except for the colors as they are the way I have described them in the scene ^^

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mrsfrederickchilton · 6 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 5

Dear Readers,

Unfortunately, English is not my native language. Therefore, I apologize very much for possible mistakes and inaccuracies. I use my knowledge and two different online translators. I will be grateful if you point out possible mistakes to me, do not hesitate to do so. I am very grateful to you for reading. If you leave any comments, I will be very happy. There is nothing better for an author than feedback from readers.

When you arrived, Dr. Chilton was in a bad mood, and you knew why.

Several websites had published a quote from your love (he occasionally gave brief written comments in response to requests from journalists, whom Chilton did not allow in, but who continued to seek any information) calling Dr. Chilton "a nonentity of the medical world with ambitions that have no basis."

You are not helping me at all, dear.

Although...

"Oh, sometimes he can be quite rude," you said, hoping that Dr. Chilton would hear in these words what he wanted.

He chuckled.

Rudeness will not help him to escape from my abode. And nothing will.

"Have you thought about our conversation yesterday?" you asked.

"I have thought about it.

Dr. Chilton smiled and placed his well-groomed hands on a large notebook with a dark blue leather cover. Something in his tone gave you hope.

"You really should talk it out."

You waited for the continuation, the part that interested you most. And you got it.

"But without visits. I think that will only harm you. You should stop clinging to this idea," he added, still smiling.

No, no, no. Damn it.

You felt how quickly your heart began to beat. The bird, ready to break free, was back in the cage, and Dr. Chilton slammed it shut.

Get a grip on yourself.

Locked it with a key and threw it away.

Don't give up.

He was smiling like he was doing you a favor.

Find the key.

You sighed, summoning all your composure, and said sadly:

"Good. If you think it will be better for me."

Doctor Chilton seemed genuinely happy:

"You see! You understand everything yourself. It's just that sometimes it's hard to admit something to yourself. Outside help is needed."

"Yes, I guess so," you agreed obediently, not noticing that you were tugging at the zipper on your bag.

"Don't worry, everything is fine," but Doctor Chilton noticed it, moreover, he got up from his chair and sat down in the second one that was next to yours. Closer to you.

You tensed up, but stopped pulling the zipper. Keep your distance, Doctor.

“Do you have friends?” he asked suddenly.

Unexpectedly.

“Well…” you frantically thought about what to answer.

“Do you have someone to go to? Someone to talk to, not a doctor, I mean? Someone to spend time with?”

You started tugging at the zipper of your bag again.

“Yes, but you won’t let me see him.”

“It's not about me,” Doctor Chilton said.

You realized that you said the last sentence out loud. What an idiot.

“This isn’t a relationship, even though you think so. This is an addiction. Your world has become focused on one person, cutting off everything and everyone around you. It’s not normal."

Actually, that’s what love is, you idiot.

“Do you have friends?” you couldn’t help but ask, because you were sure he has not.

“You see: you change the subject when it becomes inconvenient. Let me ask you just one question, but promise me you'll think, think hard, before you answer."

I imagine.

"Okay," you nodded and moved the bag from your lap to the floor, because otherwise you would have torn off the damn zipper.

He paused, as if giving you a chance to concentrate. You heard the watch on his wrist ticking. Bulky, pretentious. Ugly.

"Why did you stay with him all this time?" It seemed that Dr. Chilton honestly didn't understand.

Some people just don’t know what it means to love.

You closed your eyes. Considered the options. Paused. Regretted that the bag was so far away now.

"Because…" you stopped, afraid to continue.

To lie about it would mean to betray your love.

Dr. Chilton leaned closer, looking trusting, as if encouraging you to continue. Showing that he was listening. That you could tell him. That you could trust him. As if you ever could.

God, he is disgusting. A bloodhound on a trail. A fucking do-gooder.

Lying about it would be taking a step toward your goal.

You gripped the soft leather armrests, smelling Dr. Chilton`s pungent perfume. Close. Too close. You couldn't stand this clowning. You weren't that good an actress. He wasn't that inexperienced a viewer.

But you had a chance, and you had to take it.

“Because I was scared,” you squeezed out what he so longed to hear.

And it was easier than you thought. Because you really were scared.

Scared when you discovered he was a murderer. Scared when you realized he would kill you too to keep his secret. When he didn’t. When you didn’t go to the police. When you realized you couldn’t live without him. You were never scared of him, but you were scared.

“We can work with that,” Dr. Chilton said with deep satisfaction, leaning back in his chair, and you couldn’t believe your ears.

Of course, he was pleased to hear what he wanted. But what did he mean?

"I think we could schedule four or five sessions a week, what do you say?"

I'll say that I'll never come here again.

"I'm not..."

"Take your time. Think about it," Dr. Chilton interrupted you, getting up from his chair, but he looked like he knew for sure that you would come, and more than once.

"But I don't need sessions," you said. "I'm fine."

"Oh, no, not after everything you've been through," he put his hand on your shoulder, making you flinch. His palm was large and heavy. "You definitely need to talk to someone about this."

And someone definitely needs to write all this down in their fucking notebook.

"I don't think I can," you told the honest truth.

You won't be able to stand another "session" like this. Besides, it didn't bring you any closer to your goal, it only threw you back. And that crazy idea that flashed through your head on that ill-fated cold evening will definitely never come true.

“Are you still afraid of him? Even when he's here?” Dr. Chilton asked seriously, and you wondered what the right answer would be.

He is giving me a hint himself. The desire to get what he wants is written all too clearly on his face.

“No,” you answered, but in a way that made it clear it was a lie. “No, it’s okay.”

“People in situations like yours often lie to themselves,” Dr. Chilton turned off and closed his laptop. “But it’s a dead end.” He put the notebook away in the closet and looked at you. “You have to get out of it.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated, getting up from the chair. “I don’t need to get out of nowhere.”

The meaning of my life needs to get out.

“I’d like to check something, if you’ll allow me,” Dr. Chilton stopped you.

“What?”

He pulled a visitor’s pass on a blue lanyard from the desk drawer and handed it to you.

What… is this?

Your mouth went dry.

"Come on, be brave," Dr. Chilton encouraged. "You wanted it so desperately."

"But you..."

"I changed my mind. After our conversation. And I would like to observe your reaction."

Both of you.

You hesitantly reached out, touched the badge, not believing your eyes.

"You said you weren't afraid", Dr. Chilton challenged you, seeing your hesitation. "But if you're not ready, if you still..."

"No." You literally snatched the badge from his hand. "I'm ready."

Ready. Ready.

You were jubilant. It was easier than you thought!

"Okay," Dr. Chilton nodded, looking at you carefully.

You just need to figure out how to act when you meet him. You can't get rid of Dr. Chilton, so you need to pretend. He's probably waiting for you to confirm your words.

Or he's just testing your lie. How far you can go with it.

"Then let's go."

You decided that you would try to feign fear, hoping that he would understand that you were just pretending.

But you didn't have to pretend.

Dr. Chilton led you down the hall, up the stairs, and you swiped your badges at the reader several times. You tried to remember everything, just in case, but the labyrinth of the mental hospital just wouldn't fit in your head — you were too nervous. More than two months had passed. Since you met, you had never been apart for so long, never been without any contact. Despite the circumstances, your heart was fluttering.

Until it broke from pain.

They cut his hair. He had lost a lot of weight. It was obvious even through the baggy hospital clothes they had dressed him in. Snow-white. Sterile. Everything was like that here. A lonely lab mouse in a big glass box.

Double death. First the death of the spirit, then the physical.

No matter how strong you tried to appear before him, your body did not support your intentions. Your legs refused to support such a weight, you had to — really had to — grab onto Dr. Chilton to keep from falling to your knees. You grabbed the sleeve of his jacket so hard that the fabric cracked somewhere.

He looked at you with tender sadness, resigned that he would not see you again, glad that you had come after all, wounded by your reaction and your pain.

Dr. Chilton saw the horror on your face, and this horror was genuine. But he interpreted it incorrectly. At least, far from the truth.

Your heart had been drained of color. Locked in empty sterility, ringing hopelessness, frozen nothingness. Two lifeless months behind and a hundred more to come. It's impossible to bear. This should never have happened.

“Oh, God,” you said in a colorless voice.

You didn’t hear yourself or what Dr. Chilton was saying. The sounds suddenly became liquid, flowing down the thick glass, behind which was your crippled soul, looking straight into your eyes. You realized that you were about to faint. Or die. This meeting was not at all what you had been waiting for.

You didn't want to look away, trying not to miss a single second of his presence, but everything began to become fuzzy, cottony, elusive. You felt his hands on your back and lower back, as if he could reach you through the glass that protected him, through the veil that surrounded you, from his world into yours, as always and as you wanted.

No, the hands were not his. The hands were alien, unpleasant, unwanted.

They picked you up and threw you into the darkness.

When you opened your eyes, they were blinded by the bright overhead lights. You squeezed them shut, but the white spots still raged on your retinas. Dr. Chilton patted your hand lightly and poured you a glass of water.

"Welcome back," he said. "It looks like you fainted."

I can't believe it.

You were lying on a small couch in an unfamiliar room. White tables, a kitchen... It looked like a staff canteen. Obviously the closest room where you could be laid to recover.

Dr. Chilton carried me in his arms?

And he... saw that?

You sat up, clasping your hands in your lap. Dr. Chilton looked at you with a little pity.

"I think you still need the sessions."

You took a sip. The water was too cold.

"So you don't shake so much when you meet your ex-lover," he added.

I will always shake when I meet him. And he is not an ex.

"I'm afraid it will always be like this," you almost voiced your thoughts.

"You just don't know what therapy is," Dr. Chilton smiled. "I assure you, next time you will be much calmer."

What?

"You asked for visits so much — you will get them. But not because you need them. But so that you understand that you don't."

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

"No, no," you shook your head, finishing the ice water in one gulp and slamming the glass down on the white table. "I won't come again." Lie. "This is a terrible place." Truth.

"This is the best hospital of its kind," Dr. Chilton was offended.

But he immediately softened:

"There is nothing to be afraid of here, you will not be harmed. We will act solely in your interests."

Lie.

"These last two months have not been easy, but now I think we will get along," he added.

Truth.

Next chapter (Chapter 6)

Masterlist

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redrocketpanda · 2 years ago

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Today is my 1 year anniversary of fic writing! I wanted to do something to celebrate but couldn't think of anything, so here's a little reflective ramble post about writing instead

For well over a decade (tbh closer to 15 years) I struggled with severe writing anxiety and, with the exception of one thing I posted in 2014, my anxiety became so bad that I completely disengaged from writing altogether. Whenever I sat down to write I would be filled with such powerful negative thoughts that I would become paralysed by them. I tried so many things to help combat this including writing workshops + classes, nanowrimo, mentoring, journaling, and reading tonnes of self-help advice, but nothing seemed to work. I grew increasingly despondent, afraid that nothing would "fix" me, which was incredibly depressing because when I was younger I loved writing. I wanted to get back to that space of creativity and joy that writing brought but instead felt like I was being pushed further and further away from it.

Then, in November 2022, I was talking to one of my best friends - @parad0xymoron - about how distressing I was finding S6 of My Hero Academia, to the point where I was struggling to watch it. Socket's suggestion? Write fic! If something is happening that I don't like or is upsetting me, then I can write a different version of events. And thus the first chapter of Just Watch Me - my Kirishima/Bakugou fic - was born.

And once I'd started, I found I couldn't stop.

Suddenly, all of the characters, and scenarios, and plots I was imagining in my head came spilling out onto the page. Between November - April, I not only posted all 4 chapters of Just Watch Me but I also wrote and published 7 other one-shots as well. This isn't to say that writing "suddenly" became easy. Of course it didn't. It was - and is - still stressful for me. There were times when I felt that all too familiar sense of paralysis creeping up on me, but I drew on all the tools I had learned over a decade to deal with it.

I stopped. Took a deep breath. Looked inside to see what was going on: What was I scared or anxious of? Then I addressed the issue myself, or spoke to friends who helped me process. And then I kept going. I didn't let the fear or the anxiety or the obsessive need for perfection to stop me.

In exactly 1 year (27th November 2022 - 27th November 2023) I went from 0 words to:

I repeat: In exactly 1 year I went from 0 words in (almost) 10 years to 87, 852 words across 12 published fics for 5 different fandoms. And that's not even including the thousands of words I have from my wips.

During this time, I didn't just write though. I spent time devouring other people's fics and learning from their writing. I spoke to a whole bunch of wonderful fic writers who gave me tonnes of useful feedback, ideas, reassurance, and validation. I began analysing media I enjoy to begin breaking down the parts of them that I loved so that I could learn from it. I joined a bunch of bang events (which, honestly, has been incredible). And I made friends with some of the most wonderful people + writers who are now very dear to my heart.

Perhaps ironically, I cannot even put into words how life changing writing fic and participating in fandom has been for me. It has given me back what no workshops or classes or professionals has ever been able to give me - my ability to write, and to enjoy writing.

So let me just be a sap for a minute and say a very tearful thank you to any of you who have been part of my journey - whether that's been in leaving kudos or comments on my fics, or talking through ideas with me, or beta-reading my fics, or gifting me your valuable writing advice, or sharing your own writing journeys with me, or being someone who I've made friends with.

I'm literally so grateful to every single experience I've had over the past year, and it makes me very excited to see what the next year brings. I still have far to go and much to learn, but damn am I revelling in the fucking joy of being able to write. I'm so excited to keep writing, keep creating, and keep sharing with you all <3

#writing #writing anxiety #writing advice #writing fic #fandom #mha #hq #jjk #bllk #bg3 #fic writing

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hisunshiine · 3 years ago

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—ship happens! a nauti-cal tale of (light) betrayal & romance

My embarkation ticket to The Seven Seas Collab hosted by @ressjeon

☸︎ posted: september 6, 2022 @ 10 PM

☸︎ pairing: PianoPlaying!Yoongi X Performer!YN

☸︎ wc: 7,710 words

☸︎ genres/au’s: coworkers2lovers, cruise ship au, light angst, smluff, 18+

☸︎ warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, explicit smut: fingering, oral (m&f), protected sex, multiple orgasms, post-sex cuddling

☸︎ an: please note this will have at least one more part, and while this part doesn’t have angst, the next part will. Thank you to the amazing @zachari for his help brainstorming realistic issues for people to face on a cruise, despite neither of us having been on one yet. Thank you to @peachiilovesot7 for being the best beta reader to ever exist. To @whippedbywonho1, @vintagesunnies-blog, @yoongiobsessed, I am so grateful for your feedback, it really made sure nothing was left out and motivated me to continue to write Yoongi this way, in all his sexy, caretaking glory. whew. there will be a part 2! please let me know what you think!

☸︎ summary: You pick up a new entertainment job on a cruise ship, hoping that performing will get you the big break you’ve always wanted. You didn’t expect to meet Yoongi, who you mesh well with for performances, but after a betrayal of nauti-cal proportions, trouble arises in paradise.

Part 2 | The Seven Seas Event Masterlist | masterlist

Your roommate covers her ears as you let out the loudest scream in excitement. You’ve just opened your email that evening and are reading through the good news when she throws a pillow at you for scaring her cat under the coffee table.

“Dear YN LN,

Thank you for applying for the entertainment position. We are happy to offer you the main stage performance for dinner shows on our Sweet Night Cruise Liner. Your starting date to report to the port for employee boarding is…”

You press the side button to lock your phone, deciding you’ll come back to read the rest of the email once you’re alone and feeling a bit calmer from the news. Jumping onto your couch, you bounce on the old cushion and springs, your roommate rolling her eyes at your immature behavior.

“What’s got you acting like a damn rugrat, YN?”

“I got the job!”

“What? Why didn’t you say that?!”

“I did! Just now!”

“I mean, why didn’t you use your words instead of that shrill ‘scream queen’ scream you let out?”

“I was excited!” you laugh, and with one last bounce, you allow yourself to fall onto the cushion.

“So what’s the plan then? I mean…how long will you have to be gone for?”

“I think the contract was for seven months, with a month off in the middle...”

You unlock your iPad and pass Minji the device. She clicks the email icon so that she can pull up the email you squealed over. Her eyes scan over the information and checklist provided in an attached PDF.

“Damn, that’s pretty demanding.”

“But it’s a step closer to everything I’ve ever wanted, Minji. Performing for people is my dream and this way—”

“Well it looks like they're pretty explicit about performing original songs, YN. It appears like you’ll have to stick to the catchier things or like…covers of well-known songs.”

“I know, but it’s about the connections that I can make. If a bigwig gets on the ship, the crew will definitely talk. Several famous people have been discovered working on cruise ships or got the practice to perform on the big stage from cruise ship gigs.” You can envision it now: the CEO of a music company approaching you after one of your sets and offering you his card.

Minji’s voice pops the idea bubble before it can fully form.

“Okay, but that’s IF a bigwig gets on during your seven to eight months on board.”

You shoot her a glare, then flop back onto the couch cushion.

“I know, but here’s to hoping, right? And if not, at least I get to do what I love: perform!”

Minji sets the iPad down and grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen. The two glasses in her other hand clink together harmoniously as she sets them down on the coffee table.

“Yes, darling, here’s to hoping!”

☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎

Saying goodbye to Minji and her cat was hard, but the excitement of this next step for you spurred you on, step after step as you boarded the Sweet Night Cruise Ship. Your flight to Spain wasn’t too bad, and the trip to Venus Beach where you and all of the crew will be boarding was a pretty, scenic route.

Working on a cruise ship isn’t a job most people aspire to, but as a performer, this is something you’ve dreamed of. You get to perform nightly for guests, you have free room and board, get to travel to some beautiful places, and your free time is spent honing your craft. Writing songs, learning new dances, everything about this opportunity is beneficial thanks to the resources provided by the ship.

As a performer looking to find a way into the entertainment industry, this is your way to gain experience and make connections within the industry while making good money. A check-in agent sits at a table for all employees to review their checklists before gaining the keycards to their cabin. As a main performer, you get a cabin to yourself, but it isn’t as big as a guest cabin.

You’re okay with this though, as you plan to spend your time rehearsing and working on music. You take the elevator behind the check-in table marked as a staff-only one and as you walk along the cream colored walls, you stop at room number 325; this is your home for the next few months while you sail the big ocean blue. Your cabin is located on the third floor, making it easy to avoid the guests when taking the staff elevator at the end of performances.

You admire the way the owner of the cruise line decorated the room; as you look to your right, you see a full size bed with a cream-colored wrapping headboard tucked into the space, and a mounted TV above a tiny desk in a cut-out hutch in the wall. There’s closet space on either side of the TV hutch, opening above where the mattress ends and a small vanity with a sink straight across from the door you just opened.

Continuing along the wall, you see a built-in shelf unit and the clear glass of the standing shower. Across from the shower is a door you’re pretty sure leads to the enclosed toilet, and lights that trail along both the floor and ceiling edges. It might be small, but the way that everything is laid out provides plenty of space for a single person to be able to live.

It doesn’t take you long to unpack your suitcase and put away all of your belongings. You look at the small, cellophane bag that holds flyers and information for you to review, including a folding map of the ship and amenities you can access as a crew member. Flipping through, you can see that on the other half of the third floor houses the crew-only accessible locations, like the crew management office, mess hall, and a recreation area for when you aren’t working. Grabbing your small cross body satchel, you decide to explore for a couple of hours before you need to meet your work group.

Your tour of the third floor reveals the recreation area has comfy sitting areas, a mini library with various books, board and table games on a shelf with DVDs, and a few TV’s spread out with gaming consoles. Several other crew members are also walking around getting acquainted with the ship, and you say hi to a few of them, trying to be friendly. Glancing at your phone, you see that you still have an hour until you need to report to the second floor, so you take the elevator back up to the deck to enjoy the Spanish weather and kill time.

With a large grand staircase leading up to it, the first level of the ship houses several different venues for people to enjoy music and alcohol. The staircase opens up to a main stage and dance floor, with small black tables and two large, circular bars that can hold around fifteen people each. This is the only venue that is open to the entire area where diners can enjoy the performances. You eye the 1950’s theme of the equipment and blue lights around the stage before turning right. Walking along the carpeted corridor, your fingers trail delicately over the carved, walnut colored banister that keeps you from falling down into the second floor where you can see some seating for the restaurants and dining areas. Each of the enclosed venues following the open stage have various names and you’re pretty sure they match the genres that will be played in them. Dark & Wild had a rock/grunge look to it, while Persona seems to have a pop feel with shades of pinks and whites decorating the entrance. Contrastingly, Wings is filled with a lot of colored lights and what looks like a revolving stage with a DJ booth in the middle, so you are sure that is for EDM/rave music, all while Youth appears to be a kid/teen friendly club atmosphere. The last club is called Proof and holds black furniture inside, with a white stage and DJ booth and you love the way the wall shimmers around the room.

You walk back down the hallway to the main stage across from the staircase and walk further into the area. Sitting at one of the black bar stools closest to the stage is a handsome man with blond hair, his long fingers pressed against one another in a steeple as his elbows rest on the empty bar. You slide into a seat next to him, startling him from his deep thoughts.

“Hi, I’m YN, singer.”

“Min Yoongi, pianist.”

He gives you a half-smile at his response, but before you can spark up anymore conversation, two others walk over and sit next to each of you. A girl playfully rocks Min Yoongi on the black pleather seat, a smile lighting up her pretty, youthful face. He rolls his eyes at her, but you miss their exchange of words as you turn your attention to the man sitting next to you. He greets you, offering his hand for you to shake, and once it's quiet you can hear the banter between the pair across from you.

“Is she your performer?”

“I think so, one of them at least. Are you supposed to be here? I thought you already had your meeting.”

“I should have, dearest brother, but Kim Taehyung pushed our meeting back so I came to bother you.”

Yoongi looks like he’s about to use his shoulder to shove his sister, but at that moment, a voice pulls everyone’s attention.

“Welcome! We are so glad to have you here on Sweet Night Cruise Liner.” The woman is in an official cruise employee polo shirt with a name tag that says ‘Areum’ with the words ‘stage coordinator’ underneath it in smaller caps. She leads a small group of others behind her, and glances at the clipboard in her hand.

“I’m only missing Min Yoongi, YN, and Choi Soobin…” Areum glances between you and Yoongi’s sister, trying to figure out which of you is the spare while the others she already checked in sit down at the spare stools around the bar.

“I’ll just get out of here then. I have my own meet and greet soon,” she says as she slides out of the seat gracefully and gives a small wave to her brother. “Toodles!”

Once she’s disappeared, Areum begins the meeting by doing a quick introduction of herself and her role. She explains that she is one of several stage managers, but she is essentially the stage manager for the two groups gathered here, and will be who you report to for all things related to your performances. If you’re sick and can’t make it, need a costume repair, set list change, etc., she is your person.

“We’re stage groups C and D, so if you take a look at these calendars,” Areum hands out several calendars to Yoongi, who takes one and passes them down to you, “you can see I’ve highlighted when group C and D performances are. We’ll figure out how to split everyone into the two groups during this pre-boarding week. Practices are typed in red, so please be sure you are on time for those. Any time between practices you are free to roam the ship or go ashore as long as it is outside of the performance window. If you requested specific days off during the trip, please see me so we can make sure everything is covered during your absence.”

You look over the calendar, noting that you will have a good amount of rest days sprinkled in during the trip. Basically, there is a lunch performance and a dinner performance, and with what appears to be four groups alternating on the main stage, you will work a dinner one night, lunch the next day and then have the next two days before it repeats. Practices seem to line up well, happening the morning before dinner performances and the evening after lunch performances.

“Please take a look at the calendars while I explain the practices a bit. Take for example group C: morning practice will be for the show coming up that evening, then they perform in the evening and the next day at lunch. Practice that evening will be for the new performance. Two days of rest, though we highly recommend you practice in your down time together, and then the morning practice is the final dress rehearsal. Does that make sense to everyone?”

You nod along with the others, noting that Yoongi takes notes on his calendars and you wish you had brought a pencil along, too.

“This week we will be practicing everyday to figure out who will perform and practice when, so make sure that you are on time.”

Areum hands each of you a purple folder that is unassuming, with nothing written on the large white label on the front cover.

“This folder reviews the themes for each night and includes the list of the songs that we can choose from for the performances. Please go through each decade's packet of songs, and take this time to circle all of the songs you can do so we can coordinate costumes and pair my performers with musicians. Put a star next to your top five song choices for each decade, and I’ll take your completed forms once you finish.”

You look over the first list, seeing several of your favorite songs. You take a pen from Areum, starring The Flamingos’ “I Only Have Eyes For You”, The Everly Brothers’ “All I Have to Do is Dream”, Marilyn Monroe’s “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend”, The Platters’ “Only You”, and Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers’ “Why Do Fools Fall In Love”.

You circle a lot of other songs, but there are still quite a few you don’t recognize by name alone, and you hope that the other singers didn’t choose too many of the same songs as you. Flipping through the other decades, you get excited as you see the songs from the 60’s, 70’s and beyond, and once you’ve finished identifying the songs you can perform, you sit back, excited about this new venture. This is everything you’ve ever wanted.

After your first official day of practice you’re paired with Min Yoongi. At the start of the day, Areum explained that you had each starred most of the same five songs from each decade the day prior, and she wanted to see how well you worked together. By the end of practice, she can’t bear to split the two of you up, despite having you both practice with other artists.

“I know some of these songs aren’t just piano-based, but Diamonds is just Marilyn and a piano, and I think that the two of you will absolutely shine on stage together. The way you flirt with the piano, your performance with Yoongi is just perfect!” she gushes, and you can’t help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks.

Yoongi is very handsome and while you don’t mind the compliments you receive for your performance, hearing Areum point out the chemistry she sees between you and Yoongi is a little embarrassing. You barely know the guy.

“Thanks Areum, he’s a great pianist and picks up on my cues really well, so it’s easy to work with him.”

Yoongi brushes his hair down on the sides, hiding the red growing on his ears as he hears your kind words. He knows he is talented and good at what you said, but hearing a pretty girl like you say it makes him feel shy. And now you’re going to be his set partner for the next eight or nine weeks at least, depending on how long you signed on for.

Areum has a couple monthly calendars printed out, and she has the two of you sit down with her.

“I know we talked a lot about the 1950’s, but I’m actually assigning you two as group D. You’ll perform one 1950’s song for the opening performances the first two nights, Saturday and Sunday, as we’re going to showcase all of the groups for the VIP guests, and then group C will perform the 1950’s Monday dinner and Tuesday lunch. You’ll officially start with the 1960’s for Tuesday dinner and Wednesday lunch.”

She goes through the days for the first leg of the trip, identifying which decades will be represented each day and allowing you to make note of your specific performances and decades. Thankfully, you have secured a pretty big stage, and while you practice and perform a lot, you also have a great schedule to be able to enjoy the cruise destinations as well. The ship will dock for five or so days at each city during the first month, so even with practices and the performance window rule, you have at least part of a day available to leave and explore each city.

Yoongi lays in his bed, scrolling through old pictures on his phone. So many of his photos show him and DaSom smiling at the camera, but he knows that most of these photos have plenty of negative memories attached to them. Like the beach day where DaSom admitted that she had slept with his best friend early on in their relationship. Or the movie night when she yelled at him and cried until he allowed her to go through his phone to make sure he wasn’t cheating on her.

Or the time she tried to make Yoongi feel bad because she decided to take the chance to study abroad in Italy, and broke up with him because she didn’t think he could be faithful with her being so far away, despite him never cheating on her. Through these negative experiences with her, Yoongi learned that people have a way of projecting their own wrongdoings onto others.

Setting aside his phone, he rolls over and gets comfortable on the polyester sheets. He loves the way his room is laid out and is happy that he was able to secure a solo room as one of the main performers for the stage. This opportunity to play for hundreds of people for several months came to him at just the right time.

He was three months into nursing his broken heart from DaSom when his coworker at the music store showed him the audition flyer posted on the window. A month later he received the email and now here he is, embarking on a new venture, and he actually doesn’t miss DaSom as much as he used to. Especially when the last thing he thinks about before drifting off to sleep with the soft ocean waves in the port are your eyes.

One week of practicing and you’re finally confident in your sets for the first shows you’ll have, where you’ll perform one song from the 1950’s and then full sets of tunes from the 1960’s. Practices ran ten to twelve hours, with plenty of hydration breaks and a decent lunch break, but most of the entertainers, including you, enjoyed continuing on with practice. Especially having someone like Yoongi to practice with; he’s sarcastic, funny, hardworking, and you can’t help but get lost as you watch his hands fly across the keys.

Areum makes frequent runs off the ship into town to pick up items for the shows, working with the tailors on the ship to get your costumes ready. This allows for you to have some breaks spent standing still while the tailor fit a costume to you, or trying on various outfits for different decades to see which went best with your song choice. You and Yoongi often take trips to the wardrobe room together, making sure your outfits match each other.

It’s a nice break from the grueling practices, and you often get to see a more playful side of Yoongi when he models the various outfits, and you can’t help but start to grow fond of him. Since he’s your main pair for shows, all of your time-off lines up together, so it’s not uncommon for people to find the two of you catching dinner together after practice, hanging out in the staff recreation room talking, or watching a reality show that other crew members have put on.

After putting in all the hard work for your shows, it is quite a nice surprise to be able to relax at the end of the week with the crew party to celebrate take off from the port. VIP check-in is happening at the same time, allowing the VIP guests to explore the ship and enjoy the festivities with the crewmates. You walk around the deck in your bathing suit, though you’re wearing shorts that are unbuttoned so as not to come across as indecent—not that any of the others seemed to care much about that.

Several others were in scantily clad bikinis, and the men were also in tight, short boardshorts, much shorter than what you would see at the local pool back home. Everyone seems to be excited to let loose before the ship sets sail, and you decide to join them.

With a drink in your hand, you dance with a few girls you’ve made friends with when a series of throwbacks come on, and let them introduce you to another group of crew members who work in culinary. You spend most of the sunny day meeting new faces, dancing until you want to drop, and taking a quick dip in the pool to cool off.

Wanting to make sure you drink enough water before you start work tomorrow, you pass by the refreshment table, spotting a familiar head of hair leaning over the railing, scrolling through his phone.

“Yoongi! Why’re you hiding out over here?”

Yoongi turns away from his phone, locking it and sliding it into his pocket as he greets you.

“Not hiding out, just relaxing. It’s nice over here.”

You nod as you sip your drink, agreeing with a hum. You eye the setting sun, magnificent rays of pink, purple, and orange lighting up the horizon.

“It is. Spain’s weather has been amazing, it’s a pity that we can’t enjoy it more.”

“Yeah, but we finally get to start performing once we take off.”

The smile on your face can’t hide. Performing is everything you’ve been waiting on!

“Ahh, I know! I’m so excited, I don't know how I will be able to sleep tonight…probably why I’m drinking a little bit.”

“You know alcohol will mess with your vocal chords, YN.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t drink that much! And I’m strictly on water from now on.”

“Technically,” Yoongi grins as he gestures to the sea, “you’ve been on water for several days now.”

Throwing your head back, you laugh at his joke, accidentally bumping your body into his. He’s warm, and you’re still a little tipsy, so you don’t step away from his heat. Yoongi doesn’t back away either.

“I’m really excited that we’re paired together, Yoongi. You’re honestly the best musician on the whole ship.”

In the drawing darkness, you can’t see the way Yoongi’s ears turn red at your compliment.

“I’m alright…you have the real talent. Performing all of those songs, you get up on stage and give the audience a whole show. I just sit at the piano and play.”

Shaking your head, you look up into Yoongi’s eyes, not realizing how close the two of you actually are as you respond.

“I wouldn’t be able to give them a show without you.”

Yoongi’s throat bobs as he takes a hard swallow, the two of you staring silently at each other. The sounds of the party happening behind you fade as you feel yourself leaning closer into him.

“YN! Get over here, there’s some more people you gotta meet!” One of the girls from the group earlier, Julie, screeches across the deck to get your attention. You and Yoongi take a step back from each other, and you miss the warmth his body provided already.

“I should go over there before she keeps drunkenly yelling at me…don’t need her causing a scene,” you chuckle as you take slow steps backwards away from Yoongi.

He puts his back to the railing, hands holding onto it as he stretches, and the wind takes his white tee and ripples it along his lithe frame. You wish to tame his blond tresses as they flutter. In the moonlight with the gentle waves in the background, you wish you could capture him like this.

“Definitely wouldn’t want a scene with the VIP guests here,” he says with his eyes full of mirth despite his calm demeanor and tone.

“See ya tomorrow, Yoongs.”

He chuckles to himself at the nickname as you saunter off over to the group of girls he had seen you with earlier. He had wanted to spend time with you at the crew party, but it wasn’t so much his scene. The girls you were with are loud and after a few drinks, a little too obnoxious to be around.

Yoongi prefers to be lowkey at parties, chilling with a drink and having good conversation with friends. It’s been a long time since he’d gone to a party anyways, what with DaSom and her jealousy. He didn’t really know how to be like the group you were with, and he didn’t want to slow down their fun. He was happy you came over and spent some time with him, though now he’s going to spend the entire night thinking about what might have happened if Julie and her big mouth hadn’t interrupted.

Spain goes by in a flash. Your performance of Marilyn Monroe’s “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend” was a hit amongst staff and guests, with several VIP guests leaving great reviews. Your decades during the Spain stops were the 1950’s and 60’s, though with the 90’s coming up, most of your time is spent practicing with Yoongi and hanging out with the group of girls you met at the crew party. The girls all swoon over the hot men on the boat, including the owner's son who is always seen around the place socializing. It’s not so surprising to you when one day at lunch, Julie brings up Yoongi.

“He’s quiet, stays to himself a lot, but he’s a total babe.”

“Yeah, the only time I ever see him come out of his shell is when he’s with YN.”

Everyone’s eyes turn to you, and you have to duck your chin to hide the smile growing on your face.

“He totally talks to others too,” you murmur as you take a bite of your sandwich.

“Oh, we know he talks to other people, but his eyes light up when he’s talking to you.”

You wave your hand to dismiss the comment, though over her shoulder, you see Yoongi in line to grab his lunch, his eyes brightening when he catches yours.

Of course you think Yoongi is hot. He’s got that quiet, effortlessly cool vibe about him, and you can’t help but be drawn to him. It doesn’t help that he’s talented, always sings your praises when you practice, and has been frustratingly…flirty, yet distant. He never accepts your invites to watch a movie with the others, and he has yet to spend any time outside of the practice room or practice hours with you.

The morning that you dock in St. Tropez, a coastal town in the south of France, the weather is amazing. You can’t believe your luck, except that today, you have to stay on the ship. Part of the rules for performers is that you must remain on the ship from the moment the clock hits 18 hours before you have to step on stage. It sucks, but it is for the best. You had heard horror stories from Areum and other performers about past crew members who were left behind and messed up important shows due to leaving the ship too close to show time. Some even left the ship with what would seem like plenty of time, but thanks to alcohol and hot foreigners, sometimes time slips by and performances have to be canceled.

Despite being confined to the ship, you still make time to sneak up to the deck for a bit to enjoy the sun's rays. You’ll have tomorrow off, and you come up with a plan to make the most of your time in such a beautiful city.

Your performance goes off without a hitch.

At breakfast, when you run into Yoongi, you casually invite him to come with you off the ship for a day trip around the city.

“Ahh, I would, but I promised Areum that I would meet her in the practice room to review some stuff for tomorrow,” Yoongi’s brows furrow as he rubs the back of his neck, clearly upset that he can’t go with you.

This gives you the confidence to invite him out the next day off you have. The way he so clearly seemed sad to reject your offer didn’t go unmissed, so, on your last day in St. Tropez, you invite Yoongi off the ship. The weather has held out for all five days that you’ve been docked, but the weather wasn’t planned to stay this well. You didn’t have anything much that you wanted to see in particular, you just wanted to spend some one-on-one time with Yoongi outside of work.

“Actually, I’d like to go,” Yoongi responds, much to your surprise, “but, would you mind if we stopped at the store? My phone charger broke and I’d like to get a new one in town. I’m sure it’s cheaper than the gift shop on the ship and it might be nice to feel solid ground for a few hours.” Yoongi agrees easier than you expected, despite hoping this would be the result, and you smile at him as you respond.

“Of course, I’d love the company! And I think it’s supposed to rain later, so it’s a good idea to enjoy the weather while it lasts,” you surmise, linking arms with Yoongi as you drag him from the breakfast bar towards the elevators to the deck.

St. Tropez teems with good eats, and Yoongi, the ever knowledgeable man you find out, has some places he wants to go to try the local cuisine.

“I hear that the Bouillabaisse is delicious this time of year, and you have to eat it in a special order, first the broth, then the fish, then the croutons and rouille. Do you like seafood?”

You nod, excited to try local specialities.

“Actually, I do, and I’ve always wondered about Bouillabaisse ever since I read about it in Harry Potter.”

“Nerd.” Yoongi gives you a playful shove with shoulder, and you clutch your heart as if hurt by his words.

“Hermione shaped my childhood, thank you very much. I can’t wait to try this!”

Yoongi gives you a soft smile that you miss as you look at your phone to translate the chalkboard outside one of the restaurants, and he puts up no resistance as you take his hand and pull him inside.

Spending the day with Yoongi was more fun than you expected, in more ways than one. You had hoped he would accept your invitation, so you had dressed that morning in a sleeveless, slightly cropped blouse and form-fitted cotton skirt, finishing the look with a cute hairstyle to camouflage the reaction to the humidity. He knew a lot about France and their culture, especially when it came to their food and their architecture. You couldn’t help but follow along with every word that fell from his glorious mouth, adoring the way his passion for the rich culture shone through when he spoke about it. You felt enamored like a princess in a fairytale, or how you imagine a princess might feel when being courted by her prince.

Yoongi is your own personal tour guide as you check out Musée de la Gendarmerie et du Cinéma; a gallery full of pictures, cars, props, dioramas, and the movie posters for each film depicted. The two of you venture forth to the ground floor to check out the souvenir shop before heading to La Maison des Papillons, a small, quaint museum dedicated to butterflies.

“Yoongi, these are absolutely beautiful!” your voice is full of happiness, eyes dancing as you take in the art work and the butterflies mounted in cases on the walls.

“I thought you might like this place.”

“What gave it away? The butterfly tattoo on my wrist?”

“Mmm, I decided we should come here instead of visiting the Citadel of St. Tropez. Figured you would enjoy this a bit more.”

You smile softly over at him, knowing he knew all about your love for butterflies from talking earlier at lunch. You didn’t realize he changed the plan for your trip based on what he learned about you, but your stomach felt like it was full of the winged beings on the walls—a happy, floating feeling that he would do something like that just for you and your happiness.

You step outside once the two of you are done in the small museum. You didn’t expect the rise of heat in the atmosphere, but one glance at the sky and you realize the cause.

“Yoongi, should we head back to the ship? It looks like rain, and the heat outside feels like rain.”

He nods, familiar with the signs of a forming storm.

“Probably for the best, and it’s getting late, too. We can grab dinner on the boat.”

Absentmindedly, he takes your hand and the two of you wind down the cobblestone paths back towards the dock.

☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎☸︎

“Stop hogging the covers!”

“It’s scary, I need to hold onto something!”

“I mean, I am right here, you can hold onto me if you’re scared.”

“Okay, but when I squeeze you too tightly, I don’t want to hear you complain!”

Yoongi just chuckles as you maneuver your body to get more comfortable with him. You both agreed a movie was a good continuation of your “date” once returning from the ship’s dining hall. You teased during the walk back to the ship that it felt like a date, to which Yoongi replied with a quirk of his eyebrow “isn’t it?” This is how you find yourself currently lying on his bed, blankets over your bodies as The Train to Busan plays on the flatscreen.

Your body is cocooned by Yoongi’s and his arms wrap under your own to circle your waist. His hands are clasped above the hoodie you wear, the one he had so kindly supplied from his own closet after you complained about being cold, with his fingers intertwined above your waist in a polite way, as to not encroach on any territory of your body that would be...unseemly.

Not that you would mind. You had spent the better half of dinner watching the way he held his utensils, the grasp he had on his scotch glass, the way his fingers pulled apart his dinner roll with gentle, yet firm movements. A part of you wants his hands to wander, wants to feel his strong fingers purposefully travel your body, playing you like he plays the piano to pull beautiful melodies from your mouth. A loud clap of thunder rattles the room, and you can feel the boat sway from the storm outside.

“Yah, pay attention,'' he chides you quietly, breath hitting your ear and causing your body to shiver against his.

“Are you still cold?”

“No, it’s the storm—scared me” you lie, and Yoongi pulls you in a little closer to his chest. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart hammers inside your chest.

“Are you comfortable, Yoongi?”

“Yeah, you’re fine.” His hands unclasp, and he smoothes down some unruly strands that you assume blocks his view of the zombies attacking people. “Still kind of cold though.”

His hands boldly push under the hoodie he had given you earlier, cold fingers pressing into the softness of your exposed tummy as he seeks the warmth of your skin. You jolt from the cool temperature of his firm skin against yours, and he giggles, lightly tickling you so you're forced to buck in his hold, your ass pushing against his pelvis. It’s not until it turns into a full-fledged tickle fight with Yoongi straddling you as he pins you beneath him, both of you panting with chests touching, that you feel the bulge against your center, which is already leaking into your panties.

“Y/N…”

Yoongi’s eyes are dark, but in the flashing light of the forgotten movie, you can see how glossy they are as he looks at you, reflecting back the mutual pining.

“I want you, Yoongi,” your breathless voice is full of need, and Yoongi responds to it, crashing his lips down into yours. His kiss tastes of the scotch he drank with his dinner, and you feel like you could get drunk off of his kisses. His hands trail down to your waist, grasping the edges of the hoodie and lifting it off over your head, breaking the kiss for a few moments before he begins to kiss your lips and then trail his lips down towards your neck.

Your body reacts, and you can’t stop from moaning his name once his teeth graze that sensitive spot under your ear. He reads you well, continuing to kiss and suckle that spot while his hands dive lower, sliding up your thighs where your skirt has ridden up, one hand pulling aside your panties so that he can use his fingers on his other hand to trace the sticky essence around your throbbing clit, giving you the attention you’ve been wanting there. You feel when he adjusts the positioning of his fingers, pushing two inside your pulsing walls as his thumb continues to circle your nub.

Your hips roll, allowing you to ride his fingers, meeting them with every plunge so you can fuck yourself to his rhythm. He releases your panties, freeing up his other hand so that it can bunch up your shirt over your chest. He pops your breasts free from your bra, and his lips move from your neck to your pert nipple, tongue swirling around it before he flicks it several times, eyes looking up at your face where you’ve thrown your head back into the pillow.

The sounds you make are pure honey; Yoongi can’t take his eyes off the way you move. You’re the most amazing instrument he’s ever played.

“Yoongi…I, I need more,” you pant, hoping he understands. He does.

You feel him pull back from you, a whine leaving your lips from the loss of contact. Your eyes open to search for him, and you’re greeted with the sight of Yoongi sticking his fingers in his mouth, glossy with your cum as he sucks them clean with a lewd smack of his lips.

Lust clouds your vision as he grabs the back of his shirt with one hand and pulls it over his head, leaving his hair disheveled. You quickly join him in shedding your clothes. He shucks his jeans off, boxers disappearing over the edge of the bed along with your now ruined panties, and you position yourself in the middle of his bed as he leans across your body to the nightstand. You pluck the condom that he pulls from the drawer from his fingers, wanting to feel him in your hands as you eye his hard length, flushed with his need, a pearlescent drop leaking from the tip.

Sitting back up, you shift your body so you can grasp him, tongue flicking out to taste him as he groans from your touch. You give him a few moments of pleasure as your mouth encapsulates the head and sucks, twirling your tongue before you release him with a pop of your lips to carefully tear the top of the wrapper open. Pinching the top of the condom, you roll it over his length, making sure there’s space for him to release into.

He shivers at the feeling of your hands caressing him, moving much too slowly for his liking. Once you have him sheathed, he pulls your face to his with both hands, allowing you both to taste yourselves mixed with each other. His hands move to your waist, pulling you where he wants you, and you expect him to hover over your body and finally fill you. He instead moves lower, body slipping between your thighs as he brings his face to the apex of your thighs.

Yoongi licks a long stripe along your slit, causing you to grasp at the bedsheets, lifting your hips to desperately chase his tongue. You don’t have to wait long, as he throws one of your legs over his shoulder and puts his hand on the opposite thigh to hold you open as he begins to devour you.

It’s lewd, the sounds his lips and tongue make as he flutters his tongue against your clit and fucks your hole with his fingers. Your hands pull at his blond strands, the melody of your whines and mewls filling the room. Soon your legs begin to shake, and with a loud cry of his name, you release. He laps it all up until you pull at his hair in overstimulation.

“Please, Yoongi, pl-please…”

“Okay, baby, since you’ve been so good for me.”

His face, with slick covering his lips and chin, comes into your sight as you blink up at him in the flickering light of the movie. He kisses you feverishly, tongue pushing into your mouth to intertwine with yours as he brings a leg up to his shoulder. He aligns his cock with your entrance, feeling you clench around the very tip of him as he rests against your leaking hole, before he pushes himself into you.

You take a deep breath as he enters, trying to relax your muscles as his girthy length stretches you open, splitting you in such a delightful way. He pulls away from the kiss, his hand grabbing your face so he can tug your chin down to meet your eyes. His gaze is piercing, but you can’t look away as he rocks his hips and presses deeper into you still. You gasp out, a small cry for more as he gives you what you ask for.

“That’s it, baby, you can take all of me.”

You rock with him, hands gripping his pert ass, letting him see how much you can take as you pull him into you. He bottoms out, the two of you grunting at the feeling of fullness he provides you with.

“You’re so deep,” you gasp out, and he drops his face into the crook of your neck as he responds.

“And you’re so tight, I thought I prepped you well, but fuck, baby…” he trails off, breathing heavily as your walls pull at him.

“Please, Yoongi, move, I need you to m-move,” you beg, and he does, pulling back and slamming his hips into you, unable to control himself with how good you feel wrapped around him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so perfect,” Yoongi’s lips speak against your skin before he bites your neck, unable to contain himself from how you grip him. You tangle your fingers with the blond hair at the nape of his neck, tugging with every dip he takes inside of you, whiny breaths escaping as you get closer and closer to climax.

He continues to chase his own high, his hand on your breast as his fingers tweak at your nipple.

“Cum for me, Yoongi, I want you to feel good,” you plead. You feel him lean back, placing his hand on the leg he has bent up by your ear, and he goes impossibly harder. You can’t hold back and your walls begin to pulsate around him, causing him to burst. Yoongi fills the condom as he slows his strokes down, laying his head down on your chest, breathless as he lowers your leg gently back to the mattress. His head nuzzles between your round breasts, and you gently drag your nails along his back and across his scalp as he hums in contentment.

“You’re amazing, YN.”

You giggle, watching him sit up to tie off the condom and dispose of it in the bathroom. You swap places with him, taking time to pee before you throw his abandoned hoodie back on and join him in his bed. He’s put back on his boxers, and he opens the covers to let you in so he can pull you close once again.

“Do you want to restart the movie? We missed a lot of it.” You yawn, sleep creeping in as your post-orgasm high begs for a nap to replenish your energy.

“Nah, I’m not really interested in watching it anymore.” Yoongi turns off the TV, plunging the both of you into darkness. His fingers smooth down your hair as he gets comfortable. He saw the way your face cutely crinkled as you yawned, and knows you’re tired. He is too, so he figures it’s best to settle in for the night, zombies be damned. “I’m more interested in you, YN. So let’s pick up where we left off at dinner.”

As you sleepily talk a bit more about your hopes and dreams, Yoongi laces his fingers with yours, focusing solely on you, but as your words turn to quiet murmurs and you begin to drift off into dreamland, he can’t help the way his thoughts morph. He knows he enjoyed everything about spending today with you, and has been enjoying practices and shows, and he really wants to do this again with you—little dates in the city by day and satisfying sex in his cabin at night…but in his heart he knows there’s something he needs to talk to you about before it can go any further.

thank you for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated, it lets me know how fast to put out part 2, and what i can do to make part 2 even better for you! please let me know what you think! :)

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thatbanditqueen · 2 years ago

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Here to leave my review on the long awaited Chapter 3 (its okay we forgive you) -

FIRST OF ALL, Ida and Saul are my spirit animals and favorite characters seriously. They so help in keeping the story light hearted and comedic even when Elvis is making me wanna slap him on behalf of Becky! It was relatable and hilarious when Saul was the last one to find out who Elvis was the men in my family are exactly the same. Ida is Captain of the Becky Butt x Elvis ship please she was all for her niece getting some under her roof, we love a supportive queen. And Elvis is a ridiculously charming man - but ridiculous nonetheless. Poor Jerry having to drive them down there, look for a nonexistent lost ring and then give up his comfort all so Elvis could get some. And Becky Butt, baby, my heart is breaking for you already because yes I want them to be happy but I can only imagine how much heartache is to come before Elvis opens his damn eyes!!! That man can be so stubborn. Also, the conversation they had, the way Elvis is always trying to deflect and distract and go on the offensive it gave me Anita phone call vibes 101 I lived for it. Elvis winning over Ruth so quickly, why am I not surprised? The man is a child himself. But with time I know he’s gonna be the best step daddy. Ruth picking up the Becky Butt moniker - LMAO. That names gonna stick and I’m 100% for it. Becky’s such a good mom, always putting her daughter first and making sure she’s comfortable/okay. She’s got a child streak in her that I think pulls Elvis in because he does as well but she has a maturity he never mastered in my opinion due to everyone in his life bending to his every whim. And can I please tell you how grateful that I am that you really lean in to the gorgeous physicality that was Big Daddy. Talking about his stomach, about his largeness, all of it, so many fics hardly allude to it meanwhile I want to suffocate underneath that man. Becky is living my dream. Thanks for updating, what a delightful read it was 💗

Dear Bri,

Thanks for taking the time to write this, it is so very reaffirming to hear what you think! Ida and Saul are so fun to write, I can hear their voices in my head, they are sort of a composite of different family members/friends i grew up with. For some reason, a lot of older women in my life, including my grandmother, were absolute sex instigators. My granny once told me, with all seriousness, that all i needed to do to solve a relationship issue with my partner at the time was just to have sex and forget about the whole fight.... hahaha. SO, yes, Becky may have gotten knocked up young, but she has never been as carefree or in tune with her sensuality as Ida, and Ida wants to really make that happen for her :) I don't know, I could just see Elvis pulling something like this with Jerry, I see it as part of his ego/inferiority duality, like he's somewhat drunk the koolaid that he's some sort of really cool rock star, but also, if he was really confident, he'd just tell people what was really going on, ughh, he was such a cute, clueless dork/ total dick in so many delectable ways, I really enjoy playing with him and writing this fic. And I love love LOVE BDE's physicality, though I will be the first to admit that @eliseinmemphis's posts about worshiping big daddy elvis were fundamental to my own burgeoning fixation with this era Elvis. I need him to crush me. I need to play with his tummy and the waddle under his jowls. Becky is all of us.... and I think her earthy, latent sensual earth mother nature finds BDE attractive and is drawn to him both as a lover, and as wounded boy she wants to nurture.... or will be moreso when/if he gets his head out of his ass and gets over himself enough.

Thanks again for taking the time to give me this feedback!!!! I know it was hard to wait for this chapter, although, in my defense, the wait between ch 1 and ch 2 was a lot longer, life is a little more settled and i think it shouldn't be more than two weeks or so until I post ch 4. I already have somewhat of an outline/set of ideas. But I hate giving a date, because I always seem to miss any deadline I set for myself, and then I publish as soon as I finish, when I really should let things sit and do a proper proofreading job. But don't be afraid to give me a nudge, I've finished chapters because someone asked for it and it motivates me.

all my love,

norAHHHH

v me seeing your message :)

#no one walks out on big daddy #elvis presley smut #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #big daddy elvis fanfiction #elvis x OC #elvis presley X OC #banditqueenasks

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astralaffairs · 5 years ago

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concept: first lady mc reads of fotp!tjeff’s speeches and edits them for all the things she thinks are stupid or unethical. and he’s like “sweetheart, my party isn’t ready for universal healthcare. i can’t be pissing people off within the first month of my presidency.” but she couldn’t give a fuck and continues marking up his speeches with a red pen all while insisting he gets a new speech writer.

y'all need 2 STOP hitting me w concepts i like this much i have 0 self control and WILL write every damn one of them. there are like 4 sitting in my inbox rn smh.

(by which i mean pls keep sending me concepts like this i love writing fotp drabbles)

---

"What're you still doin' up?"

Y/N's eyebrows shot up as she looked up; a small, tired smile graced her lips as Thomas entered their bedroom, shaking his blazer off as the door fell shut behind him. "Hey. I'm glad you're back," she said softly. "I've just been tying up a few final loose ends with what I've been working on before I go to sleep."

"Can it wait until the morning?" he asked. He laid his blazer on the back of a chair at the side of the room before immediately starting to loosen his tie. "It's gettin' late. And I miss spendin' time with you. You work too much."

She scoffed, but her smile was only growing at his words. "Did you, the President of the United States, just tell me that I work too much?" He rolled his eyes as she spoke, just discarding his tie on the floor beside their bed. "That really is rich coming from you."

"Yeah, yeah, make fun all you want," he said, crossing the room to join her on their couch, "but you always overwork yourself, and you know it. You've been doin' it for as long as I've known you."

"Alright, I'll come to bed in a few minutes." He took a seat behind her, and when he rested his hand on her inner thigh, it sent shivers rippling across her skin. She looked up. "You go get some sleep. I'll finish this quickly. I promise."

"What're you workin' on, anyway?" She didn't protest when he withdrew the paper from her lap, glancing over it, and the corners of his lips quirked up. "Is this the address I'm givin' on Friday?"

"The very same."

"You shouldn't be losin' sleep over this," he said matter-of-factly, turning his head back toward her as he squeezed the top of her thigh lightly. "Either lose sleep spendin' time with your dear, sweet husband who's fucking sick of thinkin' about legislation, or just come to bed, hm?"

He passed her back the paper, instead looping an arm around her waist as he kicked his legs up onto their coffee table, and when he pulled her in to rest against his shoulder, she put up no protest.

"Just five more minutes. I promise." The barely-concealed yawn in her voice made Thomas look down at her skeptically.

"Alright, but I'm holdin' you to that. If you're still working in five minutes, I'll carry you to bed myself."

"No complaints here." She turned her head to kiss the corner of his mouth gently before she turned back to her paper, fidgeting with her red pen as she reached the last page of the document. Thomas's eyes had fallen shut; he was more than content to just sit there with her until she finished, as he had no desire whatsoever to think anymore about pushing his healthcare bill through Congress.

He opened his eyes when Y/N scoffed. Her pen ran down the page in a long slash, and she was pursing her lips as she jotted notes in the margins, but it made Thomas furrow his brow.

"Hey, now, what was so wrong with that paragraph?"

"Seriously?" She raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing back at him. "You keep treating healthcare like it's some privilege that poor people should have to grovel at the feet of the rich to have access to. It can't be conditional like this."

"I'm not actin' like that," he defended. "I'm just sayin', hiking up taxes threefold isn't a sustainable way to fund this. It'd be an overreach from Congress. We've gotta use money efficiently."

"You fucking libertarian," she muttered. "The part of the bill about work requirements is gonna get killed in Congress. There's no way the House Democrats will vote to pass it unless you get rid of that."

"What's that got to do with my speech?"

"You're misrepresenting the legislation if you keep that paragraph," she said, proceeding to scribble out a sentence in the paragraph after. "And get rid of this. If you're trying to implement a public option, focusing on the private sector will get you nowhere. You're just gonna make people angry."

"I'm not 'misrepresenting' anything." He scowled. "Both those things are important for the bill."

"But this isn't a bill, Thomas; it's a speech," she huffed. "Anyway, the legislation needs to be universalized, or you can't 'mitigate poverty' how you claim to. Do you have any idea how many of the people who can't meet the work requirements on healthcare are going to end up in poverty because they can't afford the care they need?"

"I hear you," he started, "but this is the best way to make it more affordable without tankin' the economy."

"Have you even considered capital gains taxes?"

"That's gonna kill entrepreneurship."

"You're so full of it sometimes," Y/N scoffed. "'Entrepreneurs' won't be affected. It only affects, like, Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg, and they have so many assets that it literally doesn't matter."

"I'm not gonna sit here and argue with you about this. I'm not sayin' you're wrong, but I am sayin' this bill needs to be somethin' I can convince the Senate to pass," he said, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Then write a new bill that doesn't mean the people who are the worst off don't get coverage," she said, jotting that down on the side of the paper, "because this doesn't resolve the issue."

"I'll bring it up when I get the chance," he assured her, and she glanced back at him with a grateful smile. "Can I ask why this is so important to you?"

"Because I'm an empathetic person, and I care about people?" she replied, tone scathing, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Woah, there. That wasn't an attack, sweetheart," he said. "What's got you worked up?"

"I'm not 'worked up,'” she bit back, but when he gave her an apologetic look, gaze soft, her annoyance began to subside. “This is just a sore subject for me." Y/N finally lowered the paper in her lap, turning her head toward Thomas. "I know I've told you about how long my parents spent in the hospital before they passed."

"Yeah. Yeah, you have," he said softly. He turned, orienting himself in Y/N's direction so he could pull her into his lap, and while she sighed, she laid back against his chest.

"When they died, I was left with most of their healthcare debt," she continued. "I was living far below the poverty line for almost a decade because of it."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, and she laced her fingers into his with his arms around her waist.

"It was a long time ago," she replied. "I just don't want anyone else to end up in anything like the situation I was in. Nobody deserves that."

"No, they don't. I'll see what I can get past Congress." He kissed the side of her neck, and she hummed contentedly, squeezing his hands. "But I've still gotta discuss my plan for healthcare on Friday, so stop demolishing my speech."

"You asked me to look over it," she said frankly, and though her eyes had fallen shut when she laid against him, she cracked one open to glance at him skeptically. "These are my edits. Change the bill."

"That's an awful weighty edit, sweetheart."

"Hey, I also improved your phrasing," she went on, holding his paper up where they could both see it. "I'm making your speech better, don't complain about it."

"You cut my section about deductibles?"

"No one wants to talk about deductibles, babe." She tapped the paper with the back of her pen. "They want to know whether they'll be insured or not. They won't listen to the nuances of your bill in your public address. You're going to need a press release for that."

"And the part about family values?"

"It was useless." She shrugged. "I know you're just pandering to your party and all, but it sounded stupid in the context of the speech."

"Harsh," Thomas said, and the offense in his voice was mostly dramatized. Y/N pursed her lips. "But I can't be breachin' party lines in this speech. I'm not gonna get anything done if I turn the Senate Republicans against me."

"Listen, I'm not a political strategist, so that's your prerogative," she said matter-of-factly. "But if you don't like my feedback on your speeches, then hire a damn speechwriter, Thomas."

He hummed reluctantly. "But havin' you review my speeches gives me an excuse to spend more time with you. I don't have a whole lotta interest in having even longer meetings with White House staffers."

"Then take my edits to heart." She pursed her lips. "You know very well that I'm the only reason you have bipartisan support. If I didn't pick fights with you once a week about green energy, all the Democrats would still oppose all your stances on it."

"I'll look back over the speech in the mornin', then," he decided, and she shifted on the couch to face him, legs still draped over his lap. "I trust you."

"Good," she replied, and she looped her arms around his neck as she pulled herself up to kiss him. "But stop exploiting my degree in journalism."

"I'm not exploitin' it."

"Then what do you consider asking your wife to edit your speeches pro-bono to be?"

"A nice li'l side effect of managin' to convince someone so smart to marry me." She laughed as he pulled her back in to kiss him, but she gasped when he bit her lip teasingly, and his mouth drifted down her neck. "I love you," he murmured against her skin.

"I love you, too."

With that, Thomas hooked his arm up under her legs, and his smile widened against her neck when she yelped as he picked her up. "Now, I seem to remember sayin' something about carryin' you to bed if you were workin' for more than five minutes, so you don't get to negotiate anymore."

She squirmed in his grasp, but any of her efforts to get out of his arms weren't in earnest. She huffed. "So much for respecting personal liberty. Just wait until your voting bloc finds out all that rhetoric was just a lie."

"Oh, hush, let's not pretend you mind," he said as he tossed her down onto their bed, and she bounced when her back hit the mattress. He didn't hesitate to climb on after her. Though she tried to pull herself up to rest on the throw pillows, Thomas was on his hands and knees above her; she didn't have much of a range of movement when he dipped down to kiss her. "If you did, you wouldn't have married me."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Jefferson," she grumbled, despite wrapping her arms around his neck. "Talk all you want, but I dunno how smug you're gonna be when I up and leave you one of these days."

He grinned. "You know I don't buy that for a second." She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched upward when he kissed her forehead. "You love me too much."

Despite everything, Y/N could feel herself flush. "Just go put on some pajamas so we can go to sleep."

"Alright, if you insist," he huffed, rolling off of her. "Be right back."

"You'd better hurry, or I might run off with Dolley and elope," she called after him, and Thomas laughed.

"'S cute, but we both know you aren't goin' anywhere."

"And why not?"

He raised a confident brow. "I'll tie you down if that's what it takes to keep you here, sweetheart."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she mumbled, turning to discard the throw pillows from the bed onto the floor.

When she looked back at him, his grin was still wide, smug, but the look in his eyes was soft. She pursed her lips as her own smile broadened. "Now go change. I'm not going to sleep without you."

"Fine. You need some rest.”

“Yeah. So do you.”

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deepperplexity · 5 years ago

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Readers, what do a writer have to do..?

So, as most of you probably know by now I write and adore the written language. Dream? Become a fulltime writer and possible change/impact/affect people with my words - if its as simple as giving someone a joyous time or perhaps make someone feel better about a situation they are in doesn’t really matter as long as someone finds something positive with my writing. Silly perhaps, but there you go. *shrug*

But, now I need to ask you, yes you, a question. I have written plenty of fics and I have encountered the same problem with every single one of them... I spend, on average, 5 hours on a one shot fic with writing, proofreading, editing and posting. It’s, well, time consuming to say the least for no material gain - just my need to be creative, my love for writing and my will to produce something that gives something to the world.

I love to write and I love to give joy to others through my words. So, even if it takes me 5 hours or even longer to create a fic for you it may only take you 15-30 minutes to read (depending on how fast you read). You give a like, maybe reblog - that’s frikkin awesome, but... What do a writer have to do to get interaction from you in the form of words? Yes, specifically you. What does a write need to do to get interaction on their writing they spend hours on end to create - and lets be honest here, that they create for free with no monetary or material gain - just for your enjoyment?

As I said, I’ve written quite a few and I have some lovely readers who comment over and over again, you know who you are dearies :*, and I am so grateful. But, dear reader, do you know your words have an impact on the writer? Did you know that that one comment you made about how you adore the way they describe settings made them focus even more on that and gave you even more of what you liked in the next fic/chapter? Did you know that that one comment you made about how you wished there were more fics of a particular ship they had just written about made that writer create even more stories, for you!, with that ship? All because you said something. Did you know that that one little comment about how you enjoyed their fic made the writer continue writing?

In the big bad world that more often than not is so damn cruel and suffocating for creators your words, be it perhaps only one or two, made a significant change in someone's life. Made them keep on writing because out there, someone took the time to type a word to comment on the thousands of words that writer had written. We are generally starved for comments and feedback - not just writers but generally people who create content and aren’t super famous (they started out somewhere too though).

Interaction, feedback and emotions - what does a writer have to do to earn enough of your time and effort to achieve interaction? We try over and over and over to create enjoyable content for you. Content that gives us joy to write and that we think will give joy to you while reading. Effort, time, energy, thought and emotions are poured from a writer all over the page to create that one story. And, we are insane, as we do it over and over and over - no matter what - just for that one little interaction that pushed us forward. Pushed us to not give up the thing we love.

Over and over and over we bleed all over the page and then hesitate to publish. Despite having given it our all. Wondering what you will think, what you will feel, if it’s good enough, if it’s interesting and has what it takes to be part of the world. Wondering if it’s enough to get at least one comment, if it’s good enough to elicit enough emotions for you, yes you, to tell us that we have affected you in some way.

So, readers, what does a write have to do..?

Please, tell us, so we have a chance to survive the void we enter as we publish our works and bare ourselves for all to see. Those words you read came from somewhere, were typed by someone, stringed together and edited by someone. Someone out there did that, for you. Maybe, you could take a minute to tell them you appreciate their efforts?

#writing #what does a writer have to do #readers #interaction is so damn important #I love all my readers and i am so grateful for every interaction but especially comments #I am so tired of not knowing #is my writing not good enough?#Is my writing not captivating enough?#what do I need to change to make it good enough for you to give me a few words in return #may be overthinking this whole thing #i have no clue anymore but it keeps me up at night not knowing #rambling #jupp totally rambling now #my head is a mess when i think of this kind of stuff

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mistytpednaem · 5 years ago

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So, what’s up with Another Me?

Honestly, I tried to draft this post, but the mental block made me decide to just go for it stream-of-consciousness style. Which I hope doesn’t bode poorly or anything. But here goes!

The Past and the Present

As you may know, I’ve been at this for a while now! Since 2014, in fact. In that time, I’ve gotten through the prologue and... most of chapter one (fun fact: I do have the entirety of this story mapped out! We are transitioning into what should be the final scene of this chapter. Originally, I wanted to make this post - or something along these lines - once I finished the chapter, but I figured since the year was about to end I’d be better off doing it now).

Now, let’s not mince words: that is a long time. I have six chapters total (not counting the prologue) mapped out for this comic, and there is more I’d like to do beyond it (what I like to call Arc 2, or, as you may or may not know: The Part Where My Pet Character Marco Evangelisti Actually Shows Up). If I keep going at the current pace, I will probably not be done within my lifetime. So, if I’m aware of this, what gives?

... I mean, damn. There’s a lot I could point to; I was finishing my degree until 2016, and I suppose that takes something out of you. I have unreasonably high expectations for myself, as the people closest to me know. “2020 was a bad year for everyone,” I tell myself, before I also go on to say, “but even though updates slowed down even more this year, it’s not like they’ve been particularly speedy for the past couple of years, and I haven’t had that bad of a year anyway, so that’s a shoddy excuse.” And then some semblance of reasonable thought comes over me and reminds me my grandfather had a stroke in March of last year and passed away in early June of this year, and I’m like “I mean, okay, I guess I’ve been through SOME things.”

But lighthearted reflections aside, there are more actionable problems I have identified - such as, in an overarching sense, my attitude. My friends made me realise this some time late last year, and while I’ve been trying to work on it, I have to admit I’ve made very little progress: at some point, I developed a seriously unhealthy relationship with my art. Here is how my workflow has tended to go:

Start scripting update. I have a small readership, but that’s okay; I am grateful for every suggestion, I can work with this, and I AM building towards something that excites me.

Script done, regardless of insecurities. It’s time to start working on the actual panels. This sketch didn’t come out exactly the way I intended, but hopefully it still works (alternatively: this sketch looks promising! I am excited about this sketch. Sometimes, I do feel happy with my sketches).

Oh dear. I was hoping the lineart would help a little (alternatively: oh dear. the lineart completely ruined this perfectly fine sketch). Maybe it’ll still look alright with colour?

Oh no. I hate it, actually. I suppose I’m too sloppy; I should be more careful next time.

(Repeat for however many panels i have planned for an update, typically with mounting guilt the longer I take on each one, because I keep taking longer and longer and, to my eyes, there is no improvement.)

Well, as my friends keep reminding me, done is better than perfect. Let’s post it!

The update is posted to a small readership and a quiet response, which, again, is okay, but leaves me wanting for feedback that I cannot get because I am reluctant to spread the word for several reasons, one of them being that I’ve convinced myself my work isn’t good enough.

Rinse and repeat, with the process continuing to be slow - if not turning exponentially slower - because apparently when things make you feel bad your brain starts wanting to protect you from them.

Apologies if this is a little harsh, but it is genuinely the most sincere breakdown of The Whole Deal that I can produce.

The good news is there are things I can do about this! Not easy things, granted, as they tie deeply into a lot of the recurring neuroses in my life, but in theory, the more I embrace imperfection, and the less I worry, the faster I should be able to work, and I should start getting some serotonin out of the whole thing again. In theory. This is not the only issue, however, and I have good and bad news about the other issue I’ve identified:

I don’t think the forum adventure format is working in its current shape.

It’s not about the suggestions - I love working with suggestions! Reader interaction is fun, it’s already shaped a good number of things and I hope it continues to do so. It’s more of a matter of visibility. Tragically, forums are not the most In Vogue things these days, and that reflects itself in, well, poor visibility. I’ve tried to remedy this by allowing suggestions through MSPFA, Tumblr and Twitter as well, but honestly, it hasn’t helped much. I think I’ve only gotten one or two suggestions through MSPFA? And don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this is in great part because of my passive role in getting the word out! But it’s all contributing towards this strange, shrinking spiral of a feedback loop.

The good news is that, since I have identified this problem, there should be an actionable solution. The bad news is I’m not quite sure what form that solution should take just yet.

The Future

Whew, that was a lot. So, what’s in store for 2021 and beyond?

Well, er, like I’ve implied, I’m a little unsure. But that’s my default state of existence, so let’s go over what I think.

When I finish chapter one, I would like to find a proper hosting place for AM. As I said, I don’t think the forum thing is quite working out, and MSPFA is a wonderful website, but I feel AM has little to do with most of the content on it beyond the second-person narration and the script-style dialogues. Whether that means a change in format is needed along with the change in hosting, I’m not sure; I would like to keep the whole “one panel per page with text underneath it” deal, which... should be doable on most places, but in this current year, I’m frankly not sure how it would come across, haha.

(I’m also not sure what this hosting place should be, mind you; potentially a wordpress blog with a layout tailored for comics, but drawing isn’t actually my day job, so I’m not sure how viable paying for a domain name might be. Or hosting, for that matter, should I need it - but imgur has been friendly enough of an image host so far.)

What I do know is that I want to keep the suggestions, even though I’m not entirely sure how well that will work without a forum structure. Comments on a post, perhaps? Maybe. But we can’t forget that this doesn’t solve one of the other big issues, which is my reluctance to advertise. And there’s still, you know, my unhealthy, unreasonably high standards affecting my entire workflow.

... But that all kind of comes back to one thing, doesn’t it? The fear of taking the plunge? That’s what I need to overcome. Plans are a good first step, but they mean nothing if I don’t act on them. Which is part of the reason I’m talking about all this - so people can hold me to my plans.

(Plus, like, offer feedback and opinions. That’s very valuable too.)

This whole Future section is a whole lot more uncertain than, I think, even I hoped for when I started writing this post. But I hope what I’m trying to say comes across in some kind of way - not just in the sense of this being elucidating (which, don’t get me wrong, hopefully it is!), but also as far as conveying my feelings to my friends and readers is concerned.

I’m going to keep trying, and I know I’m a little lacking in the Doing department, but now you all know what’s been on my mind. Thank you all for the support, stay safe in These Trying Times, and hopefully we can all keep growing together.

#another me

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

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sabotage {Machine Gun Kelly}

Summary: MGK has a Lot of tattoos, and Tommy Lee does not, at least not for most of when The Dirt is set. It’s no small task covering them all, but being assistant to the man who does cover them means you’re spending a good deal of time with the actor himself, and he’s not what you’re expecting... that is, if you actually knew what to expect.

A/N: 6477 words. alright so i went to im-fucking-db for Accuracy; shout out to: Christine Wada (costume designer), Corey Castellano (makeup department head), and Jorie Malan (key makeup artist). i reference these people in the fic, and i’ll be sure to explain who they are in the fic, but just in case you need a reminder, they’re also here. requested by my dear @luciana-galvez. under a read more because it’s a Monster of a fic. Please give me feedback, and also let me know if you want a part 2??

“You want me to order how much foundation?” It’s nine in the morning and you’ve barely stepped foot into the production meeting when Corey, the head of the makeup department, is tasking you with buying far more foundation than any one production should reasonably need. There’s overestimating and then there’s... this. “What shade?” It’s with an air of defeat that you accept the company credit card and open your laptop.

“Not now; the cast have a fitting at midday, we’ll get shade match them then.” Corey assures, but you keep your laptop open anyways to make notes during the meeting. It passes by fairly uneventfully, at least for you, and by the time you break, it’s already eleven and you’re starving. The corner store a few blocks away serves as a good a place to get lunch as any, and when you turn up to the fitting, half an hour early, you sit yourself in a corner to wait, and start on your sandwich of questionable quality.

You’re pricing bulk order foundation on your phone, still marvelling at the estimate you’d been given for how much you’d need, when the cast starts to filter in, well, the leads. Aside from being one of the makeup artists, you were also Corey’s assistant, which essentially just made you a glorified errand girl for the rest of the makeup team.

Half the costume department was already here, buzzing and agitated like wasps whose nest had been disturbed, and you’re careful to stay out of their way lest you get stung, or smacked for touching the wrong thing. So you’re grateful when the key makeup artist, Jorie, bursts in with ten minutes to spare, and gives a sigh of relief when she sees you. She’s holding a makeup kit in her hands, and when she begins to set up by a mirror out of the way of the costume department, you can see it’s mostly different shades of foundation, a few tubes of lipstick, more smokey eyeshadow-quad pallets than you can shake a stick at, some eyeliner, and a few face paint sticks.

She’s sticking photos to the mirror of the original band in full makeup, and that’s when you start to accept the fact that it’s going to be a very long day.

“You’re late.” The costume department is not about to fuck around, and despite the fact that there’s still five minutes to midday, the costume designer is already reprimanding the newcomer. “And you can’t smoke in here.”

“It’s not midday-” whoever’s walked in is already arguing back, though as you look up, you see him - god he’s so tall, all limbs - backtracking to stub his cigarette out on the screen door frame outside, you think you recognise him. Well, recognise him beyond the fact that you know he’s playing Tommy; you’d seen his bleach blonde head shot with the drummer’s name beneath it on the document Corey had sent out a few months ago, not that you’d given it a detailed look over. You just did what you were told, you could get to know the actors in the process. But as you’re looking at him, something about him does seem... familiar.

“On time is late; five minutes early is cutting it too close,” Christine, the costume designer was fierce, fiercer than any of the actors had expected, though the rest were already trying to hold back their snickers as he got reprimanded before they’d even started, “ten minutes early is on time; gives us all time to get ready.” She finishes, and disappears into another room to start collecting costumes.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and running a hand through his hair, as the tension dropped the moment she had left. The others were grinning, poking fun at him for getting in trouble before they’d even gotten on set.

“’Stina,” Jorie shouts to the costume designer, “who can we start with?” There’s a long pause, and much shuffling and clicking of coat hangers from the costume department.

“The tall one,” Christine shouts back, and reemerges with an arm full of outfits, “Mister Booth, you first.” And the guy playing Nikki Sixx is lead to a dressing room. After a moment, an assistant carrying another set of outfits makes her way towards you and Jorie, but stops short, gesturing for the guy who had just been getting yelled at to step towards you.

“She meant you, Mister - uh, Kelly?” The nervous assistant doesn’t stay long, and scurries off to collect the two remaining actors, leading them through to the costume room as ‘the tall one’ gives a thin smile as he makes his way towards you.

“Not a fan of being called Mister Kelly?” Jorie asks with a knowing smile, and the tension breaks as he sits in the chair in front of the mirror, half smiling, “what about the tall one?” And he actually laughs at that.

“Fuck no, just Colson’s fine,” he relaxes into the chair, gaze meeting yours where you’re scrutinising him in the mirror, partially because, damn, he really is familiar and you can’t put your finger on why, and partially because you’re trying to figure out what foundation he’d use.

“Where do I know you from?”

“Y/N tell me you’re kidding,” Jorie mutters to you, looking up from where she’s leafing through a stack of photos of Tommy, “did you not read the brief-”

“Dude,” you hissed at her, ducking your head and bobbing down to rifle through the makeup box, “I read it months ago, sorry I don’t remember every actor whose name and headshot I see once.”

“You’re so clueless sometimes; you’re meant to be the young one. Hip to the jive, etcetera?” Jorie’s laughing at her own phrasing, not that you can blame her. When you resurface, holding a makeup sponge and five little bottles of foundation all roughly the same shade with slight variations, she’s looking expectantly at you, one eyebrow raised, hand out and gesturing to the blonde in the makeup chair. “It’s- what is it? - Machine Gun Kelly?” She says it like it’s meant to mean something.

“Gesundheit.”

“It’s his name,” she sighed deeply, pulling out a black stick of facepaint.

“Oh. Your parents hippies?” You ask, kneeling beside his chair and gently taking his arm so you could begin swatching the foundations on the back of his hand. After a beat you reconsider before he can get a word in edgewise, “I guess not if machine gun is in there.”

“Stage name,” he explains, but there’s a smile you can hear in his words, amused, and it doesn’t leave his face as he watches you work in the mirror as Jorie is applying the face paint in two stripes on both his cheeks.

“Hence, Colson?” You ask, not looking up, feeling a little foolish, though the stage name is starting to sound familiar to you.

“Yeah, hence, Colson.”

“Stage name for what?” You ask, but the thought is quickly taken over by the next and words spill from you before he can response, “were you all over Twitter a few months ago? I know I know you from somewhere.”

He’s quick to clarify; he’s a rapper, sort of an actor, yes he was ‘all over twitter’ a few months ago because of a ‘thing with Eminem’, his words not yours.

“So you’re kind of famous, huh,” you muse, which makes him chuckle, “well sorry for my terrible introduction; I’m Y/N, by the way.” And you hold out your hand to shake his free one.

“Flirt on your own time, Y/N, did you get a colour match?” Jorie snaps, advancing on him with an eyeshadow brush held threateningly before her. He closes his eyes, but not before seeing you fluster at the accusation. “You’re the one with all the tattoos, aren’t you?” Jorie’s voice is quieter as she focuses on her work, and Colson tells her he is. The makeup artist steps back for a moment, her gaze appraising as she looks him over. “Could we get you to take your shirt off so Y/N can make sure she’s got the right colour foundation for your chest?”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was shaking his damn hand, this isn’t the forties.” You fire back playfully, sitting back on your heels as Colson pulls off his sweater.

“The forties? How old do you think I am?” Jorie squawks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“For your sake, I’m not going to answer,” you say sweetly, accepting it as the makeup artist cuffs you gently on the back of the head, though both she and Colson are laughing at the exchange.

As you look to him, it all starts to finally make sense, recognition dawning on your face as you take in the tattoos painting their way across his skin. All of it would need to be covered for certain scenes in the movie, which would require a lot of foundation.

“You mind if I-” you awkwardly gesture to his chest with the sponge in your hand, and he sits back in the chair.

“Go for it,” and he closes his eyes again as Jorie comes in with the eyeshadow once more. As you apply the foundation near his collar, where there was a patch of uninked skin large enough to get a good comparison from, from the corner of your eye you see his lips twitch into a grimace for the barest moment.

“Sorry it’s cold,” you murmur, and he gives a smile, shrugging it off easily. You find a colour match easily, and it doesn’t take long, so you hand him a makeup wipe as Jorie starts talking at you, about how Corey himself would be handling the tattoo covering but that he wanted you there to help out. Of course you knew you’d need to be there, you’re his assistant after all, and after you note the shade required, you stand back and watch Jorie do her work.

“I wish we had one of the wigs,” she muses, finally stepping away after she’d finished touching up his eyebrows, and you join her where she moves to stand behind his chair, all three of you looking at him in the mirror.

“You did good though,” you nod approvingly, leaning in a little to compare Colson’s reflection to the picture of Tommy taped to the mirror.

“‘Stina,” Jorie calls, “do we have hair coming in later today?”

“At three,” Christine calls back, and finally you look to where she’s standing by the changing room, putting pins into a leather harness that Douglas was wearing; it looked equal parts uncomfortable and sexy, though you know the second part was on purpose the first part would probably be helped by being surrounded by everyone in their own eighties, bordering-on-fetish costumes. You give him a thumbs up, expression pensive as you look him over, and look back to the photo of Nikki by the mirror. It does not seem to ease his discomfort.

“Alright, sounds good, are you ready to send the next one over to us?” Jorie calls back, and after Christine tells Douglas to get changed out of his costume, you send Colson over to her.

“Don’t wipe that off, we can touch it up but we wanna see it with the wig,” you instruct, and he gives a mock salute and a grin, and you feel yourself smiling back. He was a lot... less than his stage name lead you to believe; he had a lot of energy just under the surface, that much you could tell, which meant he had great potential for his role as the over the top drummer, but he had an easy confidence, a level of professionalism that you’re grateful for, and a tattoo of a spider over his nipple, which you’re not sure of the significance of but it amuses you.

And, not to be shallow, though in this industry sometimes you can let yourself be, he’s hot. Though maybe you just had a thing for guys in eyeliner.

Stop.

You were going to be getting up close and personal with him for the next few months as you would probably be helping Corey cover all his tattoos; thirsting over him in eyeliner is the last thing you’re allowed to think about doing. Above all else, you had to stay professional.

And, as the weeks went on, you were successful in that.

Mostly.

“What’s that one about?” You ask, poking at the tattoo of a London bus on his side. He jumped a little at the prod, giving you an amused but rather tired grin as Corey said your name like a warning. It was almost eight in the morning and he was trying to airbrush an even base coat of darker makeup across Colson’s back that you could apply foundation on top of. It was one of the days where he’d be filming shirtless, and ‘even’ was hard to achieve if he kept moving.

“I got hit by a bus.”

“No you didn’t; shut up!” Your eyes shine bright with amusement as you give him a disbelieving grin. He smiles back, sharp, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Did you think I got it immortalised on my fuckin’ body for fun? It hit me full force; I cracked the windshield,” and he sounds almost proud of it, and maybe he is, but you don’t seem to notice how his smile gets a little wider when he hears you laugh.

“And what about this one?” You poke at the spider over his nipple and he squirms a little. Corey says your name, more insistent this time, and you mutter out a half-assed apology, moreso waiting for Colson’s reply.

“That one’s just cool.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you spend three hours with him a day at least, being weirdly close, which is par for the course when you’re applying foundation to his whole chest and sometimes his legs, but you’re becoming fast friends. Corey’s adamant that you don’t need to come in for the full three hours every day, but you’re there with a smile; rain, hail, or shine, just proclaiming that you enjoy your job when Colson asks about it. He calls you dedicated, and he’s mostly right; though if you’re being honest, part of you just enjoys spending time with him.

“Do you listen to any rap?” He asks, curious one day; Corey’s finished the airbrushing stage and has stepped out to grab a coffee from craft services, leaving you to start on the foundation.

“You mean, do I listen to you?” You smirked, not looking away from where you’re dabbing the foundation down his arm.

“I know you don’t listen to me; you didn’t even know who I was ‘first time we met,” he snickered, and you considered for a moment, humming as you turn his arm over gently and start working on his forearm.

“Well, okay, you’ve got me there, it’s just not my style, you know?”

“That wasn’t really the question,” he’s smiling a little, and you huff out a laugh, conceding.

“I mean, I don’t hate it; if you’re really twisting my arm I’d say I sometimes listen to some of The Beastie Boys earlier stuff; Slow Ride, Posse in Effect, Paul Revere? That I can jam out to.” And you look at him, guaging his reaction, biting back a laugh at his exaggerated wince.

“Not even Sabotage; so you really don’t listen to anything from this century?” He’s teasing you now, and you have to chuckle at that.

“Sabotage is okay.” You roll your eyes, looking back at your work. “When you guys stopped using a brass section as accompaniment, that’s when you lost me; it just adds a certain...” you hum thoughtfully for a moment, taping your chin as if in deep thought. He actually laughs at that, and when you look up, you think your heart might skip a beat at the sight of his smile, “gravitas? Je ne sais quoi?”

“So what do you listen to? What modern music has that,” and he puts on a terrible french accent to gently mock your earlier words, “je ne sais quoi?” You shove him lightly, though there’s no malice in the move, or in your grin as you’re moving to stand in front of him. You start dabbing makeup across his chest and collar. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your thoughts professional when you’re so damn close to him, and he won’t stop smiling at you like that.

Listing off a few bands from this decade seems to placate his curiosity enough, even if he rolls his eyes at some of your choices. Pausing for a moment, you tip your head side to side, considering.

“And classic rock, of course; not just the music, like the people behind it are fascinating, you know?”

Surprisingly, he’s quiet for a long moment.

“You must be enjoying this then,” he muses, though you can hear the suggestiveness in his tone and you swallow hard, refusing to take your eyes off your work.

“This production?” You deliberately refuse to read into his tone, though he was making it difficult when you could hear his smirk in his words, “yeah it’s been pretty great. Get to listen to a bunch of Crue all day? There’s definitely worse jobs in the world.” Snickering, you chance a look at him, though he’s not meeting your gaze, he’s still smiling as watches you work in the reflection of the mirror.

“What about you? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s a challenge at times, but it’s a good one, you know? And I’m getting up at six every morning which is kind of a drag,” he grins though as you mutter out a quiet apology, “nah, don’t worry about it, ‘just part of the job. It’s good, it’s one-hundred.” And he’s looking at you, gaze a little unreadable where you’ve gone quiet as you work, focusing.

It becomes a routine that you fall easily into; wake up at some ungodly hour, smash a coffee or an energy drink before spending three hours covering Colson’s tattoos with Corey, spend an extra hour and a half helping paint on Tommy’s tattoos if the scenes calls for it. Once he’s done, you tell Corey you’re going to get breakfast but you actually take a nap before you’re woken up by one of the production assistants telling you that you have twenty minutes before you need to be on set, so you race to the corner store and grab something cheap and eat it in a distracted haze as you head back to Corey’s trailer to pick up your makeup bag, before heading to set to be on standby for if any of the boys need touch-ups as filming starts. You’re there longer than most of the cast, staying back after filming’s wrapped for the day to help Colson take off his makeup and get the workspace prepped for the following day, crashing into bed almost immediately after getting home to rinse and repeat all over again. It was fun to begin with, but it was wearing you down quickly.

“Dude, you look dead on your feet.” Colson frowns as you yawn loudly, haphazardly blotting foundation onto his back.

“Y/N, it’s looking patchy, I need you to focus,” Corey’s frowning, but for a different reason as he looks over from where he’s made a start on the actor’s shoulder. You wave Corey off with a mumbled apology, rubbing at your eyes before recentering yourself and getting back to work. You meet Colson’s gaze in the mirror for a beat; he actually looks concerned, but you’re too tired to really care.

And okay, maybe, just maybe, seeing pretty girls drape themselves over the cast, over Colson, over all your hard work, it got irritating. Not that you begrudged those beautiful girls their job, it’s just that sometimes the oil or body glitter they’re covered in to play strippers would end up exposing some of Colson’s tattoos as they were all over him in certain scenes. Next to them, you were the one wearing jeans and a sweater, carrying a tote bag and looking like a child when you had to touch up his makeup. Everyone was always kind to you, of course, and you to them, but you think it’s more pity on their part; it’s common knowledge within the first week of filming how early you had to arrive, and how late you stayed back.

Some of the girls were incredibly talented actors. Probably. They were wasted in this film, reduced to eye candy and sex dolls, pretty beyond belief but not with any real substance. More than a few of them were dismissive of you, mean and sharp, because you weren’t the one responsible for their makeup, so you didn’t matter, and yeah, they were in intense, physically demanding scenes at times, but some of them seemed to just be catty for the sake of being catty. You tried not to let it get to you.

You really fucking tried.

Some of the extras had formed a sort of clique against you, which you found absolutely ridiculous, but they seemed to resent the fact that you and Colson got along. It had been a few weeks, starting with just snide comments in your general vicinity, but by now it had moved on to straight-up bullying. It was never around anyone important, least of all Colson, and when you’d told Corey about it, he’d just advised you to ignore it, as if it would help.

So you were tired, both physically and mentally, and this actor had the gall to come up to you and call you desperate. For doing your job.

“Hey, can you kindly fuck off?” You snapped, fury blazing in your eyes as you fought to keep your tone level, “I’m trying to do my fucking job, it’s not my damn fault the director won’t give you any screentime-”

“Wow, harsh.” Colson’s voice comes from somewhere to the left of you, and he doesn’t sound impressed. Of course he has to come in at the worst possible moment, just when you sound like a villain. It feels like you’re on the verge of tears, exhausted and stunned, and the extra’s expression flickers to something smug for the barest moment before looking almost painfully innocent.

“I’m really sorry,” she sighs softly, hanging her head; it’s an act, and not a very good one, but she’s pretty, “I just know you work in makeup and I thought you could help me find someone in costume to talk to; it’s okay, I’m sure I could find someone else.” It’s painfully scripted, and she plucks at the string of the bikini she was wearing nervously for effect, turning and heading away.

“Take a break or something, you’re acting like a tool,” Colson says, and doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise, going after the girl, whose ruse had manipulated him just as she’d wanted. He’s introducing himself and you feel like death standing; you hear a snicker from behind you, and when you turn there’s one of the extra’s friends, another from the clique, smiling triumphant.

When you get back to Corey’s trailer, he pauses where he’s eating a sandwich from Craft Services, and raises an eyebrow at you. You bite back your bitterness and pull your sweater from your bag, balling it up and using it as a pillow as you resigned yourself to napping beneath the row of makeup mirrors. Corey goes back to his lunch.

“You wanna talk about whatever this is?” Corey asks. You’re struggling to untangle your earphones after pulling them from your pockets.

“Unless you can do something about the asshole actors on set, no, I don’t want to talk about it.” You sigh, resigned and resolute. Corey nods, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“Fuckin’ actors.” He muses.

“Fuckin’ actors.” You agree. It’s not an honest statement regarding your feelings towards actors as a whole, but sometimes a few bad apples really did spoil the bunch, even if it was only for a moment.

You get to nap, heart aching where you’re pretty sure Colson thinks you’re some work-obsessed asshole who thinks you’re better than the actors you work with. Which you obviously don’t, but daily bullying can wear down the nerves. It only takes a moment, one careless comment that came out too harsh for the likes of onlookers, and any good will you’d been building up seems to evaporate. Not to mention the lies you know the extra had probably been feeding him since the moment you left.

When Colson comes in to get his makeup removed for the day, the tension is so thick that to you it felt solid. You’re sitting in one of the makeup chairs, spinning idly, scrolling through your phone when the door opens; his gaze finds yours the moment he steps in, but he gives you a look, scrutinising, almost disbelieving, and he looks away.

“Do you need my help?” You asked Corey pointedly, your gaze shallow and tired. Colson was tying his wig into a bun already, a look you quietly adored, though he was refusing to look at you. God, the clique really had managed to slander you in only a few hours.

“No dear, go home and rest, you need it,” Corey smiles at you, and you’re already moving around, pulling on your sweater and collecting your things. You want to say something, say anything to the man who’s now regarding you icily, but soon enough some of the other members of the makeup team are here, like always to help speed up the removal process, and your voice gets caught in your throat.

“Hey,” by the door, you finally stop, “I don’t-” but your breath catches on a sigh, “I don’t have the energy for this; I’m not the asshole.” And you sound so defeated, but he doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and keeps scrubbing at the foundation on his skin.

The moment you step into the trailer the next morning, same time as always, at the crack of dawn, you can already feel exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Take the day off,” Corey frowns at you, “Colson told me what those assholes told him; I’m gonna have a word with him about it this morning.”

“No, dude, I’ve gotta explain myself, if I take the day off it looks like I’m running away; I’m an adult, I don’t need you stepping in for me.” It takes you a moment, and you sigh, defeated, “listen, Corey, I actually really like Colson, okay? And I don’t want him to think less of me, so if that means I have to be up at too-fucking-early-o’clock convincing him I’m not a complete bitch, then so be it.” Corey can’t help the pitying look he gives you, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject.

You’ve worked in this industry for years, it’s not the first time something like this has happened; while working in close proximity to talented, famous individuals, outsiders sometimes get jealous. It’s easy to be told to try and ignore it, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when someone you thought you were getting along well with completely ices you out because someone who’s jealous twists their opinion of you.

It takes a full hour, the silence thick and heavily as Colson stood patiently as the makeup was applied, before you can work up the courage to say something.

“What did she say to you?” It takes him a few moments to register what you’d said, but he frowns a little in confusion. “What did she say to you about me?” You reiterate, voice calm and level, focusing on your work as you speak, and his mouth opens as he goes to tentatively respond, but you don’t give him the chance, “because I can promise you she’s lying.” His mouth closes again, frown deepening. Corey is silent too.

“Well, I was told that you treat her like shit and don’t take her seriously just because she’s an actor, which is pretty fucked,” he admits with surprising candor. You have to take a moment to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“It would be fucked if it was true.”

“But you don’t take her seriously. Apparently you ignore her when she comes to you for help.” And it hurts to hear him spout the slanderous rhetoric the extra had poisoned him with.

“It’s not Y/N’s job to help her,” Corey cuts in, much to both Colson’s and your own surprise, “and I’m sure if she had a real question, she would point her in the direction of someone who could help her. ” His tone doesn’t leave room for arguments, though Colson doesn’t exactly seem convinced; perhaps he assumed that you really were some heinous bitch who had turned the makeup department head to your side.

“I do take actors seriously, obviously,” you gesture to him, and he makes an expression that’s a little unreadable, “but if you have to know, she and a group of other extras have been harassing me for weeks now, so yeah, I tend to ignore her.”

Your hands are shaking. When did that start? God, when did you start caring so much about what he thought of you? When did the idea of him thinking badly of you start making your chest hurt. When did schoolyard bullying start getting to you so much? Things are moving in a blur, and you think you mumble something about getting a coffee before you leave the trailer.

Corey finds you half an hour later at the corner store, staring blankly at the coffee machine, cup of undrunk, now cold coffee in hand.

“Go home. Please.”

You look at him, but his words aren’t really registering; he realises he may have interrupted a micronap. It appears you need rest far more badly than he realised. He sends you home for the rest of the week, and it’s a Wednesday. You want to protest, but you cut yourself off with a yawn and he calls an Uber for you without letting you get a word in edgewise.

It’s practically radio silence for almost five days.

You watch Netflix and eat junk and take baths and claim self care when really you’re wallowing, dreading going back to work. Sometimes you catch yourself just staring at your phone; you and Colson have each other’s numbers ‘in case of emergency’, though what would constitute a makeup related emergency you’re not sure, it was his suggestion. Emergencies turned out to be him asking about call times, sending selfies from on-set where his face makeup was running from how much he was sweating, he’s grinning and bright and Douglas or Iwan or Daniel are pulling a face in the background, blurry photos of you on set that you hadn’t realised he’d been taking at the time.

There’s one you stop at when you’re looking back through them, it’s another selfie, he’s squinting, having just woken up, and half cut out of the shot where he’s focused the camera on a smudge of foundation and a bit of eyeliner on his white pillowcase where he hadn’t managed to get all of the makeup off the night before. It’s surprisingly intimate, despite the fact that he’s followed it up with [💀😢].

You wanted to send something, to say something, but you weren’t sure what you had left to say. You weren’t in the wrong. You didn’t need to apologise.

Sometimes you thought you saw the typing bubble appear, but it would disappear just as quickly.

You’re refreshed by the time you step back into the trailer on Monday morning, feeling almost chirpy, that is until you see that Colson’s arrived before you, and Corey’s nowhere around.

It’s not the same as last time, there’s no anger, no hostility in the way he’s regarding you, just a surprising pensiveness. He’s lounging in his makeup chair, watching as you put down your things and start rifling through the collection of makeup on the counter.

“Where’s Corey?” You ask, carefully neutral.

“Said he’s getting coffee.”

“That’s kind of him.”

There’s a long pause that follow, and when you finally look at him, Colson seems to be considering you seriously.

“Do you have to be here?” Despite the words that are said, they don’t feel like an attack, instead they feel like a genuine question, bordering on concerned.

“It’s my job,” you start, but he smiles a little, and something in your heart eases.

“Yeah, no, I know, but you don’t always have to arrive this early, do you? I wouldn’t if I had the choice,” he snickers, and you sit back on one of the other chairs scattered about the edge of the room, waiting for Corey to get back, playing with a makeup sponge.

“Well you don’t, and neither does Corey, and...” hesitating a little, you fidget, avoiding his gaze, “it didn’t seem fair.” You shrug, laughing a little awkwardly, “leaving you here with him all that time.” Though you’re trying to clarify by means of a joke, he sees through it clearly, expression quickly morphing into a grin.

“So he was right.”

“About what?” You ask, looking at him with surprise and confusion written all over your face; this wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.

“Corey’s pretty convinced you just like spending time with me,” you can feel yourself getting flustered, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

“He’s such a snitch.” You mutter, and Colson actually laughs, and though you feel your anxiety holding tight in your chest, you force your next words from your mouth; “yes, okay, if we’re going full middle-school about this, I enjoy your company. A lot.” You pause for a moment. “Are we good?”

“Yeah, of course; I’m sorry I was a dick last week,” he actually gets serious for a moment, tone surprisingly humble as he speaks, “I just- there’s like this long history of people shitting on me and not taking me seriously, so it touched a nerve, but I should know you better than that, right? Like we’ve spent enough time together that I should know you’re not some entitled dick.”

It’s enough to make you smile.

“Corey gave you a talking to, didn’t he?” You teased, and Colson rolled his eyes.

“Practically the moment you left; turns out those girls have had a few complaints from HR, situations like yours,” he sighs, before grinning a little, “but yeah, we’re good.”

It’s as if a sudden elation comes over you, and you have to work to not let it show on your face, else you’re pretty sure you’re going to embarrass yourself at how happy that makes you.

“And of course I take you seriously,” you hear yourself saying as you turn to rearrange the makeup on the counter, though you both know he can still see your pleased grin in the mirror, “I take all actors seriously, and you’re wonderful to work with-”

“Oh, so I’m wonderful now?” He snickers, though it’s not unkind, and you accidentally knock over a bottle in your embarrassment.

“Wonderful to work with,” you clarify, but he still takes the win, just as Corey finally walks in with three mugs of corner store coffee in hand.

“You were right, and she thinks I’m wonderful.” Colson practically preens, and Corey makes a face, before turning that face on you.

“I take it back; you’re the worst client I’ve had.” You deadpan, and Colson can’t help but laugh.

“No way, you’re not living this down,” he muses, smiling fondly at you. “I’m gonna tell everyone-”

“Christ, tell me you’ve at least asked her out,” Corey sighs, putting down the coffees, and that shuts Colson up quickly, “or do I need to go on another twenty minute coffee run to give you two some space?” He doesn’t even wait for an answer, just heads towards the door, announcing that he’s going to get a spare airbrush head from the other makeup trailer and that you have ten minutes.

“Sorry about him.” You say into the silence that follows in the wake of Corey’s departure. Colson’s surprisingly tight-lipped, avoiding looking at you. “He makes a lot of assumptions.” You add, getting to your feet and crossing to where the coffees sat in their little, cardboard carry-tray. Each cup has a name, and you take both yours and Colson’s, heading over to him with an expression that you hope is something akin to a friendly smile, and not a grimace of embarrassment.

“He’s right though,” Colson reaches out for his coffee when you offer it; his fingers brush your as he meets your gaze and it feels like a moment. “You wanna grab dinner or something after today?”

Mind whirling, part of you thinks he’s made a mistake, that he hadn’t meant to say it, another part worries about what the rest of the cast and crew will think, and part of you is worried it’s a joke. But you’re so sick of doubt.

“Yeah, actually I’d love to.”

The morning passes in a breeze, passes much more easily than it’s seemed to for the past month, and there’s butterflies in your stomach the entire time. There’s an electricity in the air during filming, though you’re pretty sure you’re the only one who can feel it. He’s wearing the wig with the undercut, sitting behind the drums up on the risers for most of the day, wearing only a pair of underwear, boots, and suspenders; it’s quiet a look. Somehow he’s still managed to sneak his phone up there because you’re zoning out at the side of the set, and he takes a photo of you, sending it to you; your eyes are glassy by you’re grinning to yourself, and once you get it, you look to him, and he’s grinning as if he’s waiting for your reaction. You roll your eyes at him, but you’re still smiling; you’ve missed this.

“You’re actually kind of sweet, aren’t you?” After filming wraps for the day, you’re crammed into a booth of the only restaurant open in town past ten. You’ve just ordered, and he’s leaning back, regarding you with amusement.

“I don’t know why that surprises people, most of my asshole act is just, you know, an act, for show or whatever,” he shrugs a little, smirking, “most of it; sometimes I am just an asshole.”

“I don’t know your asshole act,” you remind, smiling a little; there’s butterflies in your stomach but they’re excited rather than nervous, relishing in the way he’s smiling at you, “but I guess I should have know you better anyways; after all, we’ve spent enough time together, haven’t we?”

#mgk #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk imagine #colson baker #colson baker x reader #colson baker imagine #the dirt #the dirt cast #the dirt imagine #the dirt cast imagine

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wonderfulworldofwinchester · 5 years ago

Text

Hold Me Til Morning

Prompt: “Shh, You’re safe. I won’t let you go.

Jack x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nightmares, Language

A/N: This is my first Jack fic! Also I recently hit 1.7k followers, and I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful i am for each and every one of you! I am doing a giveaway to celebrate! All the info can be found at the link below :)

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Being stuck around the bunker kinda sucks, but I guess that’s the price you pay for being reckless. Damn shapeshifter. At least, the crutches are gone. No more hopping all over the place. You had begged Sam and Dean to let you go with them, even if you just had to sit in the motel room and see no action other than research. Yea, That went over well. About as well as a lead balloon. “Hell no!”

“Why?” You protested, crossing your arms over your chest. Dean stuck his hand out and pushed against your shoulder causing you to step back to regain your balance. Sharp pain shot to your knee as you foot came down, “ah shit!”

He raised his brows and pointed, “That’s why!”. You swore your eyes would bore a hole right through him if you glared any harder. “Look, it sucks. I get it. You’ll be back out there in no time, but it’s just too big a risk right now. Let it heal.”

Sam gave a sympathetic look over his brother’s shoulder, “He’s right. You need to heal up.”

“Ugh. Fine.” You threw yourself down in the chair by the table. “I’ll be here to answer your every beckon like a freaking secretary.”

“Y/N-”

“I know. I know.” You waved them off, “Research is every bit important. Sometimes more important,” Your tone was nothing less than mockery as you sneered out every word. “It saves lives. You’re still on the team.”

A week later, the phone rang for the millionth time, “What now? So help me god, Sam Winchester, if you woke me up to ask some stupid ass question again…”

You could hear Dean’s laughter in the background as well as the bitch face Sam was wearing when he spoke, “Actually, we’re headed home. Be there about noon tomorrow.” He paused for a moment, “And we have someone with us.”

“What? Who?!” You demanded answers, but were met with none.

“We’ll explain when we get there.” The phone called ended with a click, and only added to your racing train of thought.

When the door opened the next day, you damn near competed in the Olympics to get over there to see who the hell they had with them. He was just a boy. Huh? He looked around the room with a child-like wonder. So curious about every little detail, wanting to understand it all, but without any context. His smile was wide and warm when his eyes landed on you, “you must be Y/N!”

Cutting your eyes at the boys you gave a small nod, “Yea. Who are you?”

His voice again carried an innocence to it like a child that almost made it eerie, “I’m Jack.”

Sam stepped forward with what you can only assume was supposed to be a reassuring smile, “Y/N, this is Jack Kline-”

Your head popped back and your eyes went wide, “Certainly, not Kline as in Kelly Kline. As in the Devil’s mistress, and mother of the freaking spawn of Satan.”

“I know right.” Dean chimed in, “That’s what I said.”

Cue the bitch face from Sam, “Look he’s not like his father, and he needs us. Plus, you know, keep ‘em closer and all.”

“Fine, but it’s your ass Winchester. I want it noted, I was not a part of this!”

A small giggle slipped from Jack’s lips as he watched you scold Sam, “You’re funny, “Y/N.”

That was three months ago. It didn’t take long for him to grow on you. For some reason you quickly became his favorite person. He followed you pretty much everywhere, and that’s when Dean had to tell him that bathroom breaks were not a group activity. Which you had to admit was a pretty funny conversation to watch take place.

The first couple weeks, Sam and Dean were somewhat grateful to have him taken off their hands so they could get some work done. Oh how that was turned on them. You and Jack were just like kids running through the bunker after that. Inseparable. He was quite adorable, and just oh so easy to mold. You taught him everything. Well, all the fun stuff.

He was your own personal apprentice, ready and willing to help you prank the boys. He did have some questions to begin with. “Wait, won’t this make Dean mad?”

“Oh, Jack, that’s the point, my dear.” You patted his shoulder gently, “It’s how you show love, Winchester style.” He shrugged and followed you into the elder hunters room trying to stifle a laugh when you attempted to somersault in like a ninja.

Although he was practically joined at the hip with you, there were still some things that you managed to keep hidden. Mostly the scars years of hunting had etched into you. Not the kind that peppered your skin. No, these scars cut deep. The kind that sit and fester in your mind. The ones that either keep you awake at night, or haunt your dreams.

You never let Jack see that side of you. You didn’t let him see the broken pieces that threaten to tear you apart. He needed stability. He needed someone to help him cope with who he was. He certainly didn’t need to be scared off by the crap rolling through your head at night, so you locked your door, and hoped to God that he never heard your cries.

For months that worked, until one night it didn’t. You’d had one hell of a nightmare that left screams ripping from your lungs as you desperately tried to get a grip on reality and drag yourself from the horrors of the dream. Jack heard them from down the hall. Terrified that someone was hurting you, he bolted towards your room. “Y/N!” When he found the door locked, he busted it off the hinges, his eyes glowing a bright golden hue. His eyes fell on your body curled up on the floor by your bed, knees hugged tightly to your chest. “Y/N, Y/N. Are you alright?” You flinched when his hand made contact with your thigh, “Did something hurt you?”

You finally managed to calm your breathing and answer him, “Yes. A long time ago.”

“What do you mean?” He was so adorable with the way his head tilted and brows furrowed when he was confused.

Sitting up , you placed your hand on his cheek, “Jack, I just had a nightmare. It’s okay.” He looked so hurt as his eyes looked over your form, still trying to make sure that you were in fact okay. “I promise, it’s okay.”

“Do you have them often? He asked.

Your eyes fell, to the small space in between you. You decided that honesty is important in this relationship. You owed him that much. “Most nights.”

Jack looked like a puppy that had just been kicked, “I hate seeing you like this!” He was almost borderline angry at this point, “How do I fix it?”

Oh precious lamb. “You don’t, Jack. It’s a part of a hunter’s life. With what we see they don’t go away just because you don’t like them.”

He stayed silent for a while as he processed all this. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please don’t shut me out.”

“What?” You placed a hand under his chin, causing his eyes to meet yours. “I never wanted to keep you out. I just didn’t want you to see this side of me. The side that falls apart.”

“No more locked doors.” He held out his pinky waiting on you to promise him. You had jokingly told him that pinky promises were the highest form of deals.

You linked your finger with his, “Okay, but I don’t think I could if I wanted to”, You said looking over at the remnants of your door scattered around the entryway. His eyes apologised for him as they met yours, “It’s okay, Jack. Trust me, it’s not the first or last thing to be broken around here.”

Two nights later, the nightmares were back. This time however, there were no barriers stopping Jack from racing to your side. He was quickly by your side, wiping tears from your cheeks, “Y/N, Y/N, it’s okay.”

Your eyes opened to worry etched on his face as he tried to console you. Without a word, you shifted over in the bed. He slid in next to you, and you rested your head against his chest. Your body was still shaking with the aftershocks of the nightmare. Jack hesitantly placed his arms around you as fresh tears began to fall. The nightmare had been about him. You’d lost him. When he felt his shirt start to dampen, his grip got tighter, “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

You stayed like that for the rest of the night. It was the best sleep you’d gotten in years. And Jack. Jack was content to just hold you and watch over you. He heard you when you said he couldn’t stop them, but he was determined he was damn sure gonna try. Nothing was gonna hurt his Y/N if he had any say in it.

When you didn’t come out for breakfast, Dean wandered down the hall looking for you. It was unusual for you not to be up and about by then. He stopped just outside your room and looked through the open doorway to find you still asleep, curled up into Jack’s side with him stroking your hair. Dean wanted to fight it, but he couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips. Even if he wouldn’t approve, he was glad to see you so peaceful.

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mightyfineblog · 6 years ago

Text

Mob!AU Bohemian Rhapsody fan fiction

(Joe, Gwilym, Rami and Ben x Reader)

Summary:You’re just a simple girl, who happens to be in the wrong place in the wrong time. Your life gets a complete turnaround when you are sucked into the mob world of guns, violence, death and no mercy. You have to learn their ways if you want to stay alive, but will that help when you meet the Don? The boss of all mob bosses?

Words: 7k+ Warnings: lots of strong language, mature themes, graphic violence, graphic death, weapons, contraband ; Smut and kinks; some slowburn moments.

Who’s who:

Ben - The Gun

Joe - Mad Joe

Gwilym - The Brains

Rami - Nitro

Manchini - rival gang leader

and you (the reader) of course!

A/n: Please, leave me any kind of feedback if you liked the story. I am grateful for criticism, recommendations, ideas, everything. So you if got something you want to say, or just stop by and say hi. I’m always here for you. <3

Now, to the fanfic, here is one bloody long fanfiction. Enjoy:

“I’m going to need somebody to cover the delivery tonight. Make sure everything runs smooth. Can’t trust ‘em Manchini’s.” Ben took a puff and tapped his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray.

“I’ll take it, boss. In a need of some distraction anyway. One Manchini down could do me some good.” Joe stood up energetically from the table.

“Mad Joe.” Ben’s was voice warningly stern.

“Accidental explosions happen...” Joe lifted his arms in the air playfully.

“Just make sure, the shipment is in line.” Ben quirked his left eyebrow.

“Toodles” Joe waved his hand over the shoulder leaving the room.

The rest of the men stood there in silence until they finished their smokes.

“It’s just a lot on his head right now.” Gwilym spoke first.

“He’s doing pretty damn well, considering… well everything.” Rami shook his head.

“Yeah.” Ben nodded with his lips pressed together. “He better get through this sooner than later.”

“It’s been less than a month. Give him some more time. Go easy on him.” Gwilym tried to convince Ben.

“Can’t you see than I am?” Ben muttered through gritted teeth. “Just. Go after him. Make sure he won’t shoot somebody for whatever reason.” Ben exhaled deeply rubbing his eyebrows.

“Alright.” Gwilym agreed and left the room as quickly as possible.

“You look like you need a drink boss.” Rami taped Ben on the shoulder. He nodded in response.

“I’ll meet you down at the club. Need to take care of something first.” Ben lit another cigarette.

Rami left the room, leaving Ben alone on the round table. He sat there staring into the nothing until his smoke was halfway finished. Exhaling a heavy breath he took a few slow steps to the old cabinet.

“That should do it.” He stated, as if he was debating with himself.

Ben took a bottle of a 12 year old MacAllan. He looked at it. But then put it back.

Disposing of another smoke, he took his leather jacket and swiftly put it on. Making his way through the car park, he sat in his car and started the engine.

“We’re all getting revenge for her. Don’t you worry, Joe.” he muttered with his knuckles white on the steering wheel. As he was passing by THE place where less than a month ago they all lost a beloved one to the hand of a rival.

“Took ya long enough.” Rami gave Ben a cheeky smile, as he found himself on the bar with two girls hanging around his neck “The party’s started.”

“I see you’ve been” Ben quirked a brow and checked out the two hot chicks in Rami’s arms “Quite occupied.” he gave him a half smirk.

“This is Cindy and this is Mindy.” Rami pointed one and then the other girl. “So?”

“‘I’m going to get a drink.” Ben tapped his hands on the bar.

“Boss.” Rami slid off the girls and came closer to Ben, who gave him half look without turning his head his direction.

“You alright, boss?” rami put his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Come on.” he prompted him.

Ben ticked his tongue and shook his head.

“Come on man. Loosen up a bit. When was the last time you got laid?” Rami’s tipsy figure was far less entertaining than he thought.

“Since when do keep Me in check?” Ben gritted his teeth annoyingly.

“Was just tryna lighten you up. You know. You keep saying Joe is doing bad, but it’s you man. It’s you.” rami waved his finger in the air and left to join the girls.

“Pff.” Ben huffed and took a sip of the whiskey in front of him.

“Guess the old fella gots a point here. Might need to tap something tonight. To get it out of my system.” Ben said to himself. He turned and looked around. The bar was full. Full of pretty women.

Maybe Ben was trying too hard to stay afloat, to keep his tough leader presence, but deep down he knew the accident affected him. It affected him in ways he didn’t want him to.

The urge to avenge his sister’s death was great. It was like a never ending fire burning him from the inside, and every past day was only fueling that fire.

There was nothing else on the back of his mind, in fact he realised it really has been all that time. So unlikely. Ben usually tapped the hottest chicks, and he barely ever repeats them, but one. A dancer in the club, named Gracie. All the other girls were always jealous, because she casually is called up to the boss’s penthouse above the club, which Ben owns as well. In fact, the club is just a masquerade, to cover for his mob work. Everybody knew that. And everybody always kept a close eye on how long she has been to the penthouse. “Don’t be jealous, ladies.” Ben would wink to the rest of the women, when he would return shortly after to the bar.

He finished his drink and snapped his fingers to the bartender, pointing where Gracie was dancing tonight. He nodded as Ben turned around at pressed his lips together, overlooking at her, as she hungrily made her way to him.

“Boss.” she giggled, tracing the collar of his shirt.

“What have I told you about such behaviour in public?!” he grabbed her wrist.

“But, don’t you want me anymore?” She pouted her lips like a slut.

“I do. You’re coming upstairs.” Ben dragged her with him to the elevator.

Less than an hour later Gracie went back to her usual spot, but Ben didn’t follow. Instead, he opted for the balcony. He observed the night sky and the glimmering skyline from the top. The large apartment suddenly seemed so empty and vast. Ben felt so lonely and in this particular moment, not even his usual fuck couldn’t help it. Instead of closing in even more, Ben decided to check on Gwil and Joe and their task.

“Hey boss.”

“Don’t you hey me, how the divelry going on? Any men down?”

“Pff, no. Everything’s under control now.”

“That doesn’t sound much in control. Is that a woman's screams I’m hearing?”

“What? Noo. Yes.”

“Cant fucking trust neither of you. Comin over.”

Ben shut the phone down. It was exactly what he needed. An actual distraction. Work.

He threw on a shirt and headed straight to the underground parking, skipping the bar on the way.

When he got to the docks, Ben was less than surprised to find Joe and Gwilym behind a huge crate.

“What kind of weird, twisted game are you two playin? Why the hell you have a woman, tied up and gagged?” Ben rubbed his temple.

“We can explain it all. Let’s just take her and leave this place, asap. I hear cops.” Joe was frantically in a rush.

“Why the cops are coming? What about the shipment? Did it go through?” Ben muttered.

“It did, everything happened almost according to plan. We gotta get the fuck out.” Gwilym explained. Joe tossed youl over his shoulder and the three men vanished in thin air, as the police sirens were approaching.

“Keep her in the warehouse, you two have some explaining to do.” Ben ordered.

Once they arrived at the warehouse, Joe was quick to shove the girl inside and put her in one of the rooms.

“Looking so hot like this.” He bit his lip, as he examined Gwilym’s handiwork on tying you up with whatever kind of rope was available.

“Let me go!” you spat at his face “At once!” “Sorry dear, but whoever you are, you are now part of something serious. Only boss can decide your faith.” Joe put a strand of hair behind your ear, but you took the change to try biting him.

Joe turned around and locked the room behind him. “Feisty”he thought.

“Listening.” Ben crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“She saw it all.” Gwilym rubbed his forehead.

“Saw what exactly?” Ben rolled his eyes.

“Everything. We saw her when we were covering our tracks.” Joe looked like he admitted defeat.

“We obviously cannot let her go, just like that. She’s going straight to the cops.” Ben put his arms on the table.

“I’ll decide what to do with her tomorrow. Keep her on lockdown for now.” Ben lit a smoke and left.

“Great.” Gwilym waved his hands ironically in the air.

“Oh no man. I ain’t stayin all night watching over some girl. You do.” Joe warningly moved past Gwilym.

“Oh no no. That is on you. You’re staying!.” Gwilym nodded his head.

“You’re the smart one, you think of something. I’m done here for today.” Joe stated.

‘Okay, go. I’ll keep an eye.” Gwilym shooed him out of the room.

For the rest of the night you stayed in that room, tied up and scared. You couldn’t show that of course, because, well you knew exactly what these men were. Gangsters, you realised. You’ve only heard of those in movies. But, you knowledge wasn’t enough for you to know how to get away alive.

First thing the next morning, Gwilym, Rami and Joe were at the round table. They were all looking at each other. The tension could be felt even outside the room.

“Why Is there a woman in my lockdown? Let’s start with that!” Ben barged in and hit the table with his wrist.

“How about you calm down first, okay?” Rami felt irritated by Ben’s tone.

“Don’t you tell me. You were getting laid while all this happened.” Ben pointed at Rami, who uncomfortably shrug in his seat.

“Aight aight.” He crosses his arms and pressed his lips together.

“What is done is done, she’s always seen enough to sell us to the cops.” Joe stood up.

“You know the options, boss.” Gwilym looked up to Ben and slowly shook his head from side to side.

“There’s two way she is leaving this warehouse.” Joe’s voice went low.

“With a fun, or in a coffin.” Ben sighed. “I’ll go talk to her and then I’m putting her down.” He made a quick exist.

“He’s not himself.” Rami put his hands down on the table.

“We all need time, Nitro.” Joe huffed and left too.

“I’m going for a drink.” Gwil quickly left too.

Ben walked into the room where you were locked. You had finally falling asleep from all the exhaustion, so you didn’t hear anybody coming in. Ben walked over the bed and sat on the chair. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and took a minute to gather his thoughts. He looked you up and down from head to toe. “Looks so innocent.” he muttered quietly He cocked his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. He flicked his tongue over his lips and exhaled. The corner of his lip almost curled into a half smile at the look of your casual short floral dress. It was yellow. It reminded Ben of his sister. She used to wear those all the time.

“Hey. Hey. Wake up.” he reached for your shoulder, making you jump all of a sudden. “Calm down. Gonna need you yo talk.” Ben stood off the chair.

You gulped and rose as much as you could. Your hands were still tied. Ben look from your face to your wrists and back and untied them.

“Aaagh.” you rubbed your wrists together.

“Who are you and what you were doing at the docks last night?” Ben brought his chair closer to you.

“I.I dont know anything. I swear!” You looked at the man’s feet. He was dressed more elegant than the others you already met.

“What did you see?” his voice remained calm.

“N-nothing. I swear to god.” You felt your eyes water at the thought of what they are going to do to you.

“Why don’t you start by, why you were there?” Ben was starting to get irritated.

“Was just, having a walk.”

“Now, tell me, really, why you were there.” Ben crossed his arms in front of his chest, again.

“My boyfriend left me.” you rolled your eyes and looked down.

“Hey.” Ben lifted your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye. This was the first time, you looked at his face. It looked almost angelic, but tough at the same time. His green eyes, were like the devil. Beautiful, but dangerous. His lips were small but plump and they were bright raspberry color, so inviting, yet so rough.

“Were you abused?” Ben broke the silence.

You shook your head “It wasn’t like that. I ran away…” your eyes fell to the floor once again.

“I see.” Ben stood up and made a few steps around the small room. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair.

“The thing is. I cannot let you go. Under no circumstance, you are leaving here, free.”

“I won’t tell anybody, I won’t tell no cops, nobody. Please, just let me leave.” you pleaded.

“You either join my gang, or stay locked in forever.” Ben pointed his index finger in the air.

“You have until tomorrow to decide.” He stated and locked the door behind him.

“We got nothing to loose.” Rami looked optimistic.

“Nitro’s right. With the Manchini situation, this could be a sign. A good sign.” Gwilym was enthusiastic.

“Aye from me.” Joe raised his hand.

“So it’s decided. She might prove useful after all.” Ben agreed.

“And I know just exactly how.” Gwilym waved his finger in the air.

“Listenin’ Brains.” Joe shifted in his seat, adjusting the table.

“I got intel, that Paolo Manchini is going to be at the Rossario this Thursday night, aaand he likes the company of attractive women.” Gwilym’s face formed a wide grin.

“And, I prefer not to risk any of my women with the task, they’re far too valuable to loose in such a pathetic way.” Ben nodded.

“We get her all dressed up, wire her up, and she can do the rest. Easy peasy!” Rami exclaimed.

“Whoa, not so fast, Nitro. Mad Joe, whatcha thinkin?” Ben looked at Joe.

“All in for the idea. We got nothing to loose. She gets shot, not problemo; she does what she’s told and doesn’t get shot, all perfetto.” Joe stated.

“Good. Brains, get the tech ready. Mad Joe, I want to see numbers, and Nitro, make sure she’s not in there, when we blow the place up. I will take care of the rest.” Ben stood from the table.

“Been waiting for this, for god knows how many months now.” Joe cracked his knuckles, while papers were coming out of the printer. “Hello offshore bank accounts.”

“Somebody might even think you have gone mad.” Rain laughed as he passed by Joe.

“Damn right. Look at this baby.” joe handed him one of the papers.

“Sexy.” Rami ticked his tongue.

“Pretty marvellous, isn’t she?” Joe smirked.

“And what are we going to do with this and the rest of your smuggled accounts?” Rami ran his finger over the pile of folders.

“Precaution, of course. It’s all legal.” Joe lifted his arm.

“Why so much this time?” Rami suspiciously lifted one eyebrow.

“Boss wants to make sure.” Joe nodded, obviously he wasn’t allowed to say.

“Alright. Toodles for now.” Rami turned on his heel.

“Bye.” Joe buried himself in his desk again.

“And Joe, don’t got batshit crazy.” Rami knocked on the doorframe before leaving.

“Can’t promise that, mate.” Joe shouted from behind the fortress of paperwork.

“Hey.” Ben entered your room “You ready to talk? Made your choice.”

“Yes.” You seemed to have gained some confidence in the last couple of days being held hostage there, only, nobody was looking for you. Which, kind of made you a permanent hostage.

“Listen, girl. I don’t have all day. Talk.” Ben commanded, almost hurrying to leave.

“You need me, so I heard.” You perked your nose up.

“Huh.” Ben huffed and licked his lips.

“I will help you, but with a few conditions.” You stated.

“Not like you got a choice.” Ben grabbed your wrist, vanishing all confidence from your body.

“You belong to this gang now. You are our hostage. You belong to my men. You...” Ben came extremely close to your face “Belong to me now.”

His bright green eyes were full of darkness and power, lust you might even say. You didn’t know if you were scared or almost aroused by his stern actions.

“Ouch. Let go of me.” You wriggled, trying to free your wrist from his grip. You had to break the, is he going hurt you or kiss you, kind of moment, because the tension was electrical. The seconds between him letting go of you felt like a million years.

“You know why they call me The Gun?” Ben gritted his teeth.

You gulped, but couldn’t dare to speak.

“Because I resolve issues with it. And you seem like quite the trouble right now.” Ben licked his bottom lip and cocked his head to the side.

You batted your eyelashes and pressed your lips together, because you weren’t in the position to object. If you wanted to stay alive of course.

“You’ll be given instructions tonight on what to do during your mission.” Ben turned around and shut

the door behind his back.

“Damn it.” You muttered under your nose.

“She’s trouble, boss.” Gwilym scathed his beard.

“No shit Sherlock!” Ben faked a surprised face.

”No need for that Ben.” Joe walked in.

“What do we need then?” Ben huffed.

“Give her good training, that will break her and I think she may be useful more than once.” Rami suggested.

“Agree with Nitro.” Gwilym chimed in.

“I’ll see what she’s capable of, as soon as tonight.” Ben concluded.

“Uh-uh” Rami squinted his eyes and have Ben a smirk. “Somebody wants a bite of the new snack.” His smirk grew even bigger.

“Fuck up, Nitro.” Ben lifted a brow.

Rami lifted a brow to him as well, as they spoke without words. Real bros in life and crime. They understand each other telepathically. Pfhahaha*Author’s comment*

Later that night, Ben felt restless. He had finished all work for the day, everything was going according to plan. Everybody knew exactly what they were doing, except for. Well, you, who were still in the unknown of your future. Ben walked over to his bedroom balcony, with a glass of scotch in his hand and a smoke in the other.

He looked at the magnificent view from his tower. Then looked closely, he could see everybody in the club downstairs. All those people, who only care about 3 things in life: sex, alcohol and drugs. Oh and money to spend on those three of course, so that makes 4. “How pathetic” he huffed, taking a sip. He then thought of what he has said to the rest of the lads. About testing your capabilities. Since he felt restless, he changed into sweats and shirt and took off to the warehouse, where you were held.

“Hey, hey. You awake?” You heard a soft voice in the dark, coming from the door.

“Who’s there?” You tried to see, but the light from the corridor was blinding the man.

“Guess, I never introduced myself properly. I’m Ben.” He walked over your bed, as you rubbed your adjusting to the light eyes.

“Hi Ben.” you yawned.

“How should I call you?” his voice sounded oddly friendly.

“Don’t matter, you were gonna kill me anyway.” you looked straight into his eyes.

“If you want to stay live, you’d need a nickname anyway. Will figure it out on the move..” Ben blinked at you, which left you quite puzzled.

“Let’s get up. We got so much work to do.” he patted your knee.

“So this is how you hold the gun.” Ben was carefully focused on keeping your hands steady.

“When do I shoot?” You pouted your lips.

“Whoa, take it easy. You got quite the fantasy.” Ben chuckled and it made you blush. Given the distance and position he was in, you could inhale nothing but his scent. So manly and bad, but with hidden caring underneath, which you couldn’t quite figure, yet.

“Focus.” He whispered in your ear.

“I. I am. “ you fixed your position, straightening up your body.

“Your finger goes into the hole. And keep it steady, okay?” He softly spoke. You could swear he was nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“And I pull.” you confidently finished his sentence.

“That’s right.” he held his breath. “Do it. Pull the trigger.”

You moved your focus on the target, aiming for the center and pulled the trigger with force. The power kicked you a step back, but Ben never left your side, so he already was there, expecting you. Waiting to catch you before you fall.

“You can open your eyes now.” He chuckled.

“Phew.” You breathed out “how bad was it?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He took the gun from your shaky hands.

“So I did extremely bad.” Your head fell down.

“Said not to worry. Let’s try again. Here.” He handed you the gun.

You carefully took it. Ben extended his arm over yours and held your hands with his. It felt so unreal , you forgot you were in the devil’s lair.

“Now shoot.” You felt Ben’s lips over your ear, his hot breath gliding over your neck, you felt that electricity once again and gained the confidence to pull the trigger. This time it sounded louder and you jumped back, curling straight into Ben’s arms.

“Whose arms are you going to run into when you have to shoot tomorrow?” Ben chuckled, brushing your arm.

“Huh?” You looked up.

“I won’t be behind you the next time.” He put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I. I have to manage. Somehow.” You licked your lips, staring at his.

Before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours.

“Sorry.” He stepped back.

“No, I’m sorry, it just- ”

“No, completely, I shouldn’t have.” He shook his head.

“This is so wrong.” your palm aligned with his.

“Very, very wrong.” He muttered before pulling you in for a kiss again.

His hands grabbed your wait and pulled you in his brace, as you stepped up on your toes to reach for him. Your hands wrapped around his neck, as if they were always meant to be, and you kissed him back. His lips felt plump and tasty like cherries, you just wanna bite. He hungrily swiped his tongue between your lips and it was all you needed to let him in. Your tongue glided with his, savouring each other, passionately dancing. You knew this nervous feeling in your stomach was true all this time. It was lust and immediate passion. That’s why you always felt so intimidated by him, at unease. Every contact with him made you nervous, and now it felt like, it all made sense.

“You should be more than ready for the mission tomorrow.” he pulled away from you and grabbed your hand. Bringing you to the room you were locked in, he pushed you in. This time he didn’t lock the door or chain you up or anything. You were practically given a green light to plan an escape.

“Gather your strength for the rest of the night, you gon need it tomorrow.” Ben disappeared, just as fast as he appeared.

“I’ll be damned.” Ben muttered to himself as he poured himself a glass of bourbon from the top shelf in the meeting room.

“Can’t sleep boss?” Gwilym appeared on the doorstep “It’s the girl, isn’t it?” he cocked his head to the side.

“Do you absolutely always have to know everything?” Ben lit a smoke.

“So it is her. Look, I aint no life advisor or expert, but a good bang might you some good. Tap that, you have it.” Gwilym lit a cigarette as well, taking a seat next to Ben.

“No wonder, they call you The Brains.” Ben lift an eyebrow at Gwilym.

“You know the rules, she’s at your disposal to do as you please, but don’t get distracted. Women turn men’s heads into marshmallow. Look at Joe.” Gwil ticked his tongue.

“Sometimes I feel more sorry for him, than I do for me, you know?” Ben took another big gulp “Besides the fact he was screwing my sister, love did fuck him up. And look now, he’s gone completely mad.” he shook his head.

“But you need to get your shit together and avenge her. Love brought men no good.” Gwilym took a long puff and put the smoke away. “Mark my words, boss. Fuck all the women you want, but don’t fall in love. Been down this hoe before, not getting in there again.” Gwilym patted Ben on the shoulder and left.

“You know what are you doing?” Joe fixed a gun on your ribcage, underneath your shirt.

“Hey, easy!.” you pushed his arm away.

“Don’t get handsy” Ben passed by, tapping Joe on the shoulder.

“All set up, you can go to Gwil now.” Joe finished installing all the armor on your body.

You tried to walk normally, adjusting to all the pieces hanging underneath your clothes over the Brains.

“Just to make sure you remember the plan, and nothing goes wrong, we’ll go over it now.” Gwilym put on his eyeglasses and had you sat on a table at the corner of the room.

It was their warehouse, the place where they keep all the machinery, the place where the real business happens. On one corner you could see Joe and his desk full of papers, ashtrays and guns. To the other side was Rami’s corner. His side was the cleanest. He had carefully ordered cabinets with explosives, which looked like trophies. You turned your head to your left and saw Ben. The kiss that happened was bugging you to hell and back, but you had to concentrate on the plan now, if you wanted to stay alive after tonight.

“Fantasia. Fantasia! FANTASIA!” you heard Ben marching towards you.

“That will be your code name now.” Ben looked around to make sure the guys heard him right.

“Fantasia it is.” Gwil shook his head.

“Oh, okay I guess…” you didn’t quite know how to react to that.

The rest of the time you spend observing these men and their work. After all this time you spent there, they didn’t seem to look like they did when you first met them. They were not as scary as before, and you were becoming something more than a hostage. You were becoming part of their gang. “Am i mobster now?” ask yourself, and giggled at the thought of it.

“It’s time.” Ben took your hand in his.

“So soon?” You almost whined.

“You can do this.” Ben looked straight into your eyes and suddenly all hesitation and fear was gone.

“We’ll be right here. We can hear everything, and if things start endangering, you know the signal.” Ben helf your palm in his “Just make sure, you get the information, you are there to collect, and that Manchini has a taste for women.” he gulped at the last word.

“Okay, yes. I’m a woman, I can be a woman, seductive, even… I mean, look at me.” you gestued your body. “All glammed and armed up. Nothing will go wrong.” You nodded your head. “Right?”

“Of course. No go and don’t get killed.” The men assured you.

You walked inside the fancy restaurant and looked around, but could not recognise the man from the pictues.

“He’s not here.” you whispered.

“He’ll come soon. Wait at the bar. Order a dry martini.”

You did exactly as you were told, making your way towards the bar. For split moment, you felt awesome in your high heels, smokey makeup, long silky dress and the gun underneath it. But soon the moment was gone, when you noticed the man entering. As if he knew you, he took a seat next to you.

“Your class is empty senorita. The next drink is on me.” He waved to the bartender.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” You slowly turned to him, uncrossing and then crossing your legs again.

“You can call me however you want, senorita.” he was grinning.

“Ew, that was low, even for him.” you heard Ben in your earpiece.

“What do you do?” You pretended you didn’t hear that.

“I’m a businessman.” He swirled his mustache with his fingers.

“What kind of business is that you do?” you tried your best look less disgusted.

“None of it concerns your pretty head.” he smirked.

You cleared your throat and smiled to the man, continuing the small talk. It didn’t take more than 20 minutes, before he was persuading you go with him. You started to panic, because it never was in the plan to go anywhere with him, and you certainly could not fire a gun at him in the middle of the restaurant with all his men surrounding.

“This is going nowhere. He is taking her to the back room, Gwil.” Ben stared into the security cameras in the van.

“Okay, okay, relax. She’s got guns n everything.” Rami tried to convince him.

“Damn right she does. I’m going in.” Ben was ready to crash the whole thing.

“Hey, hey, hold on. You will not go in!” Joe pushed him back in his seat “You go in now, we blow the whole thing. She gets shot and you too.”

“Fuckign hell.” Ben kracked the knuckles of his hands.

“She has to get any information, but he. Fuck! He knows.” Gwil shout.

“See? Are we going in now?” Ben lifted his arms in the air.

“He hasn’t slipped a word, and they’re walking towards the back entrance! Go.Go.Go.!” Joe pushed everybody out the doors.

Meanwhile, you were about to faint, because the moment was coming. Either you shoot Manchini, or you get shot. He opened the backdoor for you and gestured you to step outside.

“There goes my life.” you murmured under your nose and took a hesitant step outside. You quickly realised there was nobody visible, you it looked like the perfect timing to draw your gun out and point it at Manchini. You didn’t get any information, but according to Gwil’s plan, if things turned south, you had to shoot him. You tried to be as quick as possible, but the gun got stuck and he was already staring at you when you lifted your eyes.

He laughed and then laughed again. You primary instincts told you step back and to run, but you drew the gun out anyways. Pointing it at Manchini, your hands were shaking.

“LAY DOWN!” you heard a scream followed by gunshots. You dropped to the ground and crawled behind a tank nearby.

It all happened so fast. All these shouting men and gunfire around you. You just closed your eyes and hoped it would all end. But it didn’t. It all became muted and shaky, your vision blurred out.

“This. Is for my sister!” Ben hit Manchini on the face with his fist.

“And this is for Joe!” he hit him in the other side.

Manchini spit his blood in Ben’s face “Her pussy smelled nice.”

“I”LL FUCKIN KILL YOUU!!” Joe came over Manchini and pushed Ben to the side. He started hitting him and punching him with all his force. The lust for vengeance had taken over both men, so they kept beating the shit outta him, before Ben took his gun and shot straight at his head.

“She shall rest in peace now.” Joe whispered, as a few burning tears streamed down his cheeks.

“I love you, little sister.” Ben muttered and tapped Joe on his arm.

“Let’s go.” Joe and Ben turned around and made their way to the van.

“Finally!” Gwil sarcastically remarked.

“Now that we’re all avenged and done with Manchini, we have this little problem.” Rami pointed at your unconscious body.

“Is she alive?” Ben lifted a brow, while brushing blood off his face.

“She’s just passed out. Will wake up soon.” Gwil concluded.

“Forgot, you were the doctor.” Rami made a sarcastic remark.

“A plastic surgeon, yes Nitro.” Gwilym calmly answered back.

“Poor thing.” Bet sat on the seat next to you and started examining your state.

Your dress was all dirty and ripped, your face had a few scratches and your hair was messed.

“Still pretty.” Ben muttered.

“You said something, boss?” Rami lifted a brow at Ben.

“Keep driving.” Ben answered.

“We all gotta get cleaned up, and prepare. Manchini’s men won’t hesitate to attack back at us for killing their leader.” Joe stated.

“At least she did help.” Ben looked quite bemused.

“Okay, boss?” Joe patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’m more than fine, Joe. we did it. We avenged her.” Ben almost sobbed.

“Boss, you and Joe, deserve to take rest of the night off. We can take care of it.” Rami chimed in.

“Intend to.” Ben rubbed his eyes.

“Been forever, since a shower felt as nice.” Ben rested his head against the tiles on the wall. Closing his eyes he let it all pass though his body. Memories started bursting in, from the moment his sister fell dead in his arms, to her funeral. To Joe, his second hand and best friend. Ben felt sad about Joe, he wasn’t always like this. He was always the calm one, the mathematical one. Now he was something more of a monster than human. Ben then remembered when they brought you in. The corner of his mouth curved into half smile. He remembered how idiotically Joe and Gwilym brought you in. He then thought of you. You actually turned braver and tougher to get killed than he thought. “Impressed.” he muttered.

“Impressed by what?” Ben hear a voice, which startled him in place.

“Goddamnit, haven’t you heard of knockin?” Ben angrily turned around “How did you even get in here?”

“The boys let me in.” Gracie started taking her mini dress off.

“Go home.” he shooed her out.

“I can help.” She stepped closer to the shower.

“No need. Not tonight.” Ben passed her and wrapped a towel around his waist. He barged out of the bathroom, passed along his penthouse and went straight into the warehouse. Gracie ran after him. Just on the corridor, she saw you looking at Ben passing by and then at her.

You had just woken up a few moments ago and were looking for Ben and his men. Somehow the whole scene hit you. It hit you hard. You didn’t even know why you felt so intimidated. Was it his wet naked muscular body, or was it the fact that a woman ran after him? You had so many questions. Nothing had happened between you two, you just shared a moment, a kiss. “This meant nothing” you muttered to yourself, while returning back to the room you woke up.

It all felt so strange, you couldn't quote figure were you angry, jealous, or it was just the adrenaline from earlier that night.

“Explanation. NOW!” Ben hit his fist on the table.

“Easy tiger.” Rami spoke first.

“I don’t need no babysitting. Understood? And I certainly don’t need any of you to tell me when I need sex!” He stormed off the room and returned to his flat upstairs.

On the terrace he saw you.

“Needed to get away from everything for a moment. I’ll leave right away. Wouldn’t bother you and your girlfriend.” your turned around and passed by Ben.

“Wait.” he stopped you, grabbing your arm “She’s not my girlfriend.” his words were stone cold.

“Whatever she is, is something to you. And I’m not, so I’ll leave you now.” You tried to pull your arm away from him, but instead he pulled you in.

With one swift move you you were wrapped around his arms, your noses barely touching. You both closed your eyes and felt each other’s heartbeat for a moment, before you lifted yourself on your toes and pressed your lips against his. They felt warm, hot even, like a thousand butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.

“I only want you.” Ben muttered against your lips and pulled away to look in your eyes. You looked back at him. All fear and darkness was gone. His green eyes were vibrant, almost watery. You nodded and kissed him again. This time he kissed you more passionately than before and wrapped his arm around your chest, lifting you easily. Your hands flew to his neck buried in his hair, you tucked on it, when you hear him silently moan against your lips.

Your breathing got heavier when he ran his tongue over your bottom lip, asking for permission. You gladly opened your mouth and let his tongue devour you. Your tongue played in synchronised rhythm with his, like you always knew exactly how to kiss each other. His palm was cupping your chin and cheek, while the other held you tight by your lower back.

Both of you walked backwards until hitting the dining table. Ben flipped you over and pressed you against it. His forehead resting against yours, you both needed to catch a breath.

“I need to have you.” he spoke through his teeth, as if he was restraining himself.

“You’ve got me.” You placed your hand over his cheek and kissed him passionately once again. He didn’t waste much time to hop you on the table and spread your legs apart. Situating himself between your thighs, he kept kissing you. His hands were roaming your back, before sliding one between your bodies. He rubbed your stomach before sliding it up under your shirt to your breasts. His hand rubbed your nipple and grabbed your breast. Meanwhile, his lips moved to the soft skin underneath your chin. His tongue traced your collarbone and licked small kisses on your sternum.

“Ben…” you moaned quietly, letting your head fall back, as both of his hands were now playing with your breasts.

“Where you’ve been all this time…” he murmured pepping kisses all over your chest and in the valley between your breasts.

You let another moan, pushing yourself up in his brace, while one arm kept you stable, and the other tugging on his hair.

“Call me SirBen groaned pushing your skirt up and pressing two fingers against your clit.

“Sir…” You whined, pushing yourself firmer against his fingers just to get more friction where you needed it the most.

He hissed and licked his lips, lowering his head to your neck, he sucked on your sensitive skin, while his fingers were agonsiligly rubbing your core through your knickers.

“P-please, sir.” You whined.

“What do you want?” He dunked his teeth into your neck, but then quickly swiped his tongue over the area.

“Need you.” You breathed out.

“Need me what? You gotta talk to me, Fantasia.” Ben kept the same agonisingly slow movements over your soaking underwear.

“I want you to fuck me. Fuck me hard.” You sank your nails into his scalp.

He growled and pulled away from you. With one swift move, the towel around his waist fell to the floor. You couldn’t help but stare at his hard cock and wonder how big it is, that you involuntary were biting your lip.

He stepped between your legs and spread then further again. Cupping your cheeks with his large hands, he kissed you, like the first time.

Your hands automatically slid down between your bodies and reached his rock hard cock. Wrapping gently your finger around the tip, your thumb smeared all the leaking pre cum around. He grunted at your touch and his head onto your shoulder. You slowly dragged your hand along his length, while your other hand kept his head on your shoulder, where his lips were sucking a hickey.

“This is so good.” he grunted against your neck “But you gotta stop of I’ll cum before I can feel you.” he grabbed your hand from his cock and brought it to the side.

“Let’s keep those nice and open.” he made sure your legs were wide apart.

Ben slipped his hand south of your belly and ran his finger between your wet lips.

“You’re glistenin” he softly chuckled, before closing the distance between your bodies with a kiss. His finger rubbed gentle circles on your sensitive clit, until you were trembling for more.

He then put two fingers inside you, instantly curing them upwards, hitting the perfect spot right away.

“Fuck.” you moaned “right there…”

“Hmm.” he grinned widely, before abruptly removing his fingers and situating his cock on your entrance “Ready for me?”

“Yes. Yes!” you eagerly nodded.

Ben pushed all the way in, with one swift move, as you both grunted at the friction, you both were anticipating.

“Fuck. You’re tight.” Ben groaned.

“I think, you’re just too big.” You almost laughed “Fuck me, Sir!” you whined.

“As you wish baby.” he licked his lips and held your legs. Getting a more comfortable, position, he was able to thrust in and out of you with ease.

You were both a grunting, growling mess after a few mintues, you couldn’t take it any more.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum. Please Sir, let me come.” you begged.

“Because you asked so nicely and because you were such a good girl, you can come.” he spoke between each breath.

Ben leaned in closer and whispered in your ear “I want you come on my cock, and i want you to squeeze that tight pussy for me.”

It was all you needed to hear to let go. And you did come hard, with a screaming orgasm. Your body quivering, shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. Your cunt kept pulsating, even after the waves of hot and cold washed down.

“My turn.” Ben leaned in, extending his arm over your shoulder to keep himself above you, and cupped your chin with the other. He kissed you passionately while chasing his own orgasm until he released.

“Fuck.” he growled, as he kept thursting, passionately ramming in you, like the world was about to end.

“Fuck, fuck!” you cried out, as a second orgasm rushed in without warning. You squivered and shaked, while he was still kissing you.

After a few more moments he pulled away, as you both were trying to catch your breath.

“Oh my god.” you panted.

“You are amazing. Do you even know the pleasure you gave me?” Ben helped you get off the table.

“Not bad yourself.” you chuckled.

“Come here.” he pulled you in his lap. He brushed your hair behind your ear, as you sat across his thighs. Your arms wrapped around his neck, as you let your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Can we go to bed now?” you chuckled “I’m pretty drained.”

“Oh you definitely are staying with me tonight, and the coming nights as well.”

Ben held you in his arms and carried you to the bedroom. Placing like fine glass on the black satin sheets, he observed you.

“Whaat?” you felt shy.

“You are fantastic. My Fantasia.” Ben crawled over and cuddled you in his brace. “You did amazing today. And I don’t just mean the sex. I mean all of it.” he kissed your neck.

“I did?” you softly spoke.

“You were so brave during the mission. And it was your first job as a rightful member of my gang. ”

“Wait. I am in? As in…?” you turned around to look at his face, because you were pretty sure was joking.

“You earned your vote on the table.” he poked gently your nose. “And it wasn’t your sex skills that brought you the promotion.” he sarcastically stated.

“Hey.” you pouted your lips.

“Though it certainly helped.” he kissed your lips.

“Let’s sleep now. We got important things to take care of in the morning.” he snuggled you closer, which was all you needed to drift off to a well deserved sleep.

________

A/n: Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate any kind of feedback, so please feel free to like, comment, reblog, as much as your heart desires.

Also, make sure you check out the posters for the fic in my blog.

#staylovely

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

Text

You Send Me: Chapter Six

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe

10 hour road trip with the boys time! New Haven to Detroit, if I have my locations correct (and god I hope I do, I spent a lot of time trying to make sure I had the most accurate tour listing from ‘78 lol.) No time to yourselves, but you and Freddie can make it work regardless, right? We get NSFW again in this bit, just a warning!

Also, Scrabble! (The reason you’re all really reading this, I’m sure lol.)

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

At least until you got on the van. Then, it was ‘hurry up and wait.’

“Makes sense,” John muttered as you all loaded up into the van, after a quick shower and retrieving your things from the hotel. “We had some extra time for once, so now the rest of the tour we’ll constantly be nearly late.”

“We’ll catch up,” Roger said patiently, staring down the Scrabble board. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying, I”m just saying,” John protested. “No sense in pretending it isn’t true.”

“Which is not what I’m doing,” Roger said, glaring down his letters as if that would magically make them change. “What I am doing is beating our dear Mr. Mercury here at Scrabble.”

“You have to actually play another word for the game to progress, and for you to do that, Rog,” Freddie smirked. “In case you’ve forgotten how to play.”

“Oh I know, and I’m playing,” Roger said, then proceeded to not put down a word, but frown again at the board.

“You want help?” Brian offered, and Roger and Freddie both hissed. “Jesus, sorry. Be careful, Y/N. They’re like angry cats when they get into it.”

“And you aren’t?” Freddie asked.

“No, I am too, but I’m not playing right now, so I’m not the concern,” Brian replied. “And there’s literally a spot, right there, Roger, come on!”

“I don’t see it yet, just give me a minute!”

“This is unbearable,” Brian muttered.

“Oh shut it,” Roger spat. “Or I’ll make you play against me next, and I’ll beat you too.”

“Anything but that,” Brian said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I could beat you in my sleep.”

“Is that so?”

“Lord help us,” John muttered and shot you a look as if to say ‘I’m so sorry for all this.’

But you were oddly loving it. It was something most people didn’t get to see, the brotherly spats and all that. And that was exactly what this struck you as, a bunch of brothers stuck on a road trip, already getting on each other’s nerves while barely a mile from home.

“I could play whoever wins,” you murmured. “Granted, I’ve only ever managed to beat my family members at Scrabble which isn’t saying much, but if you want a wild card...”

All four of them looked up at you and smiled.

“I like it,” Roger said. “Though I’ll apologize in advance for winning over both Freddie and you.”

“Might be a little premature, don’t you think?” you asked, and they cackled.

“He’s called your bluff!” Freddie crowed. “Come on, put something down, we’ve only got nine hours in this tin can.”

“It isn’t that bad,” John fussed, and you couldn’t blame him. As Queen’s main financial officer, he had helped the crew pick out the van for this tour, and was understandably miffed whenever anyone made a comment about it.

“No, it isn’t,” Freddie admitted. “Just a long drive, and that would be hell in anything. No harm meant, John.”

John nodded, and stood to peek at Roger’s letters. “Oh, there’s no way he can win. You’ve got this.”

“Would you stop making it harder for me to concentrate?” Roger gasped. “Jesus, all a man is trying to do is play Scrabble, and the ruddy peanut gallery can’t keep it down...”

“Give it your all, Rog,” Crystal called from where he was laying down on some of the seats.

“Thank you! Finally, someone believes in me,” Roger said. “That said...I don’t think I can find anything, these letters are absolute shit.”

Everyone hit the roof at that, laughter echoing throughout the van.

“All that talk,” Freddie shook his head. “You’ll get me next time.”

“Yes, yes, I will,” Roger agreed. “Besides, this is more fun for me now. We get to watch you play your new boyfriend.”

“That is a hell of a test on a relationship,” Brian said. “You sure about this, Y/N?”

You nodded, and traded seats with Roger as Freddie cleared the board and let John take over handing out the letter tiles. “I don’t think I’ll win anyway, and this one had better not let me.”

“I would never,” Freddie teased. “Only honorable victories and losses in this van.”

“Good,” you smiled, and tossed down the first word you saw in your letters.

“For fuck’s sake,” Brian laughed. “Is that the theme of this match?”

“Not the strongest first word,” John remarked as he took down your score from the C, O, C, and K you had laid down. “But not terrible either. I’d be interested to see if you could keep this match on theme too.”

Freddie smirked, then grinned at the shared laughter over his word.

“Freddie, honestly,” Roger shook his head. “Cunt is almost too short a word, you two will never finish this game in ten hours if you keep up like that.”

“Let them play,” John hushed him.

You set down TITS and watched as they broke into laughter again.

“What?” you asked. “Smaller than the ones I used to have, that isn’t anything ridiculous.”

Freddie shook his head. “You’re really going to keep it on theme, aren’t you?”

“If you will, then I will,” you replied with a smile.

It was an odd turn on, Scrabble, and you fully realized it maybe wasn’t the game itself so much as just flexing intellectually with Freddie that was doing it, but it made it hard to sit still, to focus on the game.

You figured Freddie was in a similar boat as he kept trying to tangle one of his legs with yours under the table, and you had a feeling you would have been in his lap had the table not been in the way, the Scrabble board tossed aside.

“Get out, stretch your legs,” Brian said as you finally stopped at what appeared to be a completely abandoned truck stop, your game with Freddie only half over. “We’ll get back on the road in half an hour. Long enough to try and get food out of these vending machines, use the bathroom, and feel less like sardines in a can.”

“Hey!” John cried, and you listened to him and Brian mutter on about the van as Freddie took your hand and led you into the truck stop.

It was nicer than you’d expected from a truck stop, with individual, walled off showering sections with locking doors. You had just a moment to admire them as Freddie pulled you into one, locked the door behind you, and damn near tackled you with a kiss.

“God that was unbearable,” Freddie muttered in between kisses. “I was praying we’d finally stop.”

You wanted to tell him ‘me too’ but instead nipped at his neck gently, making him gasp and whine.

“What if they come in here?” you managed after a moment, as Freddie’s hand undid the button and zipper on your jeans and slipped into your underwear.

“Then we tell them to either enjoy the show or get out,” Freddie replied with a smirk, before doing his magic again with his fingers. One inside of you, while his thumb gently worked at your clit, grown bigger from the testosterone. Maybe it was just that it was him, or that his fingers were wonderfully long and talented in general, but the combination left you struggling to stand upright against the wall of the shower.

Being quiet while he worked was also nearly impossible, and you pressed your mouth against his shoulder so you could moan and be relatively unheard, at least in theory. He seemed to like that even more, rutting his hard cock, still trapped in his trousers, against your hip, moving in time with how he moved his hand against you and inside.

You could feel all that lithe muscle you’d admired before working to hold you up as you came and your knees buckled underneath you. You tried to keep yourself upright, only to finally let yourself fall, grateful he’d already slipped his hand back out of your underwear.

“No, what are you doing, get up,” he whispered, hands reaching to help you up.

You shook your head, and popped open your mouth instead, tongue stuck out, and waited to see if he’d get the message.

“That is absolutely obscene,” he breathed softly. “Are you sure, I mean, you don’t have to-”

You nodded, and reached for the zipper of his trousers. “I want to. I mean, I’ve never actually done this before, so forgive me any mistakes, and give me feedback; I at least know you don’t use teeth-”

He interrupted you with a barely cut off laugh as he covered his mouth. “Christ. Not that you haven’t done it before, that’s not why I’m laughing. The teeth bit, that was it, but at the same time, I’m glad you know that.”

You giggled despite your nerves, and started to reach for his underwear, only for him to stop your hand.

“We should be doing this somewhere nicer. For your first time, I mean,” he said. “With more time. I don’t want you to have to rush and hate doing this as a result or something, I mean your first time sets the standard.”

He pulled you to your feet, then pulled you close to him by your hips, and kissed you softly.

“Well, we’re not leaving here if you don’t get to come too,” you murmured in between his kisses. “What a concert hold up announcement that would be.”

He only smiled, and didn’t stop you as your hand moved to his cock, stroking him gently through his underwear.

“Is that okay?” you asked. “For here, at least. For now.”

He nodded, letting his head drop onto your shoulder, his hips rutting up to meet your hand as you palmed his cock, your thumb moving over the head slowly.

You could hear Brian shouting something outside, and realized you were running out of time, if you weren’t out completely already.

“If this is too much, or bad or whatever, just say, and I’ll stop,” you whispered into Freddie’s ear, stroking more vigorously, letting your own hips move against his. His last reaction to your teeth at his neck had been good, and this one was even better, as you nipped just hard enough to make him hiss in your ear at the sensation.

Before you could nip again, you felt his cock pulse, and it was your turn to hold him up as he came, groaning into your neck as he did.

“For fuck’s sake, wherever you two are, hurry up! We can’t leave you behind, but we can threaten to!” Brian’s voice echoed into the showers.

Freddie raised his head, only for the two of you to break into giggles.

“We’re in trouble,” he laughed.

“I think we are,” you agreed. “We pissed off Dad. Two kids, out running around, making out in public-”

“Little bit more than that,” Freddie interrupted with a smile and a kiss.

“True,” you said. “Are you okay to go back out there? I mean, we didn’t really think this through in terms of your trousers.”

“It’s dark,” he said. “It’ll be fine. And even if they do see...they probably guessed where we were, what we were up to. So let them see, because they won’t give a fuck, so why should we?”

If anyone did give a fuck, they didn’t say it as you and Freddie joined them back in the van, settling onto one of the back seats, lounging against each other, content and tired.

The Scrabble game had been forgotten, but you didn’t mind. There were plenty of cities yet, and more than enough time to start another. In the meantime, you were happy to lay in Freddie’s lap, watching with him as Brian and Roger swore at each other over a match.

There were still at least six hours, and you hoped there might be another truck stop along the way.

#text post #LeeH writes #Queen band fic #freddie mercury x reader #freddie mercury x male reader

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brianandthemays · 5 years ago

Text

Love is a Polaroid Part 17 (Roger Taylor x reader)

A/N After many months, I am finally updating. Let’s be honest i got busy then I got sick then I got busy. But here I am, posting again! I really hope y’all enjoy. I’ve already started Part 18 so let’s see if we can get this post to 100 notes!

PLEASE REBLOG, COMMENT, SEND AN ASK, OR LIKE! FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!!!

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, Angst, lots of angst, manipulation

Word Count: 2.8k

_______________________________

You slammed the door behind you as you rushed into your house. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the loud buzzing in your head. Roger, Roger, Roger. That’s all you could hear or say. His face, his eyes, the broken sadness locked in them. That sadness placed on you. You stared into the empty living room. Roger.

You set off to your room, to the book sitting on your bedside table. You opened it to that picture. The picture you should have thrown away a long time ago. You stared at it a moment longer before standing again. You walked into the kitchen and yanked open one of drawers, grabbing a pair of scissors. You held them up to the picture, staring at him. The relationship you had with him was fake. Idyllic. It hadn’t been real. But even if that were true, he made you feel warm and you never felt warm with Richard. He made you nervous. Like you were constantly treading on glass around him.

And you couldn’t. You couldn’t cut the picture. You couldn’t throw away the last time you had been truly happy. With shaky hands you set the picture on the counter. You couldn’t because no matter how much you wanted to deny it. No matter how much you wanted to pretend it wasn’t true. You had fallen back into his grasp. You took the picture back to it’s spot in your book, tracing over his features. Eyebrows scrunched, lips parted. He was so young.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “I have to go back.”

“Go back where.”

You flinched and looked over to the doorway, where Richard had appeared. You slammed the book shut and placed it back on the table, standing quickly.

“Back to the studio,” you explained cautiously. “I-uh-left my notebook.”

He locked his jaw and stalked towards you. “I’ll go get it.”

“Richard-”

“No, not a discussion. You’ll stay here, make dinner, and forget about that job.”

“Richard, that’s not your choice.”

He looked down at you. “I never should have agreed to let you have it in the first place. Can’t trust that bastard.”

“Stop!” you snapped. “Okay? It was my fault not his, now please.” You wetted your lips feeling the nerves edge their way back into your body. “ You can get my notebook. But I’m going back tomorrow.”

Richard was quiet. Looking at you, thinking. He reminded you of a hawk circling it’s dinner.

“Fine.”

You let out a breath. Then he continued. “But I want you to remember something. I was there for you when he wasn’t. He was off making money and fucking beautiful women and forgetting all about you. And I was there. You should be damn grateful for me. Understand?” You nodded. “Now go make dinner.”

And he left. Storming out the front door with a bang.

You slouched onto the bed, put your head in your hands. You were so fucked.

_____________________________________________________________

Roger’s POV

Roger sat, let tapping furiously, cigarette between his lips. Ever since your fight he had been in a mood. Brian, Freddie, and John were wary of him, staying away from him while he brooded. He glanced down at your notebook, laying on the table. He reached forward and picked it up. Your initials were pressed into the cover, his rough fingers tracing each one.

“You should take it to her,” Fred suggested sitting next to him.

“I doubt she wants to see me,” Roger responded.

“Oh trust me,” Freddie chuckled. “She definitely does.”

Roger just shook his head, bringing his cigarette back to his mouth. Then the door opened and Richard rushed in. The room froze. Roger narrowed his eyes as Richard slunk into the room.

“Boys,” he greeted. No one replied. John, who was in the booth, shook his head and unplugged his bass. “(Y/N)’s forgotten her notebook.”

Roger glanced down at the book in his hand and back up at Richard. If looks could kill, Roger would be dead 10 times by now.

“Here it is, mate.” Roger stood and took a few steps towards Richard. “Is she okay?”

Richard raised his eyebrows.

“She’s fine. She’s always been fine.” Then he added. “She doesn’t need you.”

Roger laughed. “No she doesn’t. But she doesn’t need you either.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Richard snapped back. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Freddie burst out a laugh before quickly covering his mouth. Richard glared over at him before grabbing the book out of Roger’s hand.

“I would warn you,” Richard growled, pointing his finger into Roger’s chest. “To stay away from her.”

“You do realize she’s a human. With feelings? She’s not a prize,” Roger shot back, hitting his hand away. Richard just shook his head.

“I’m not going to say it again,” Richard sneered. Then he left.

The room was quiet as they processed what just happened. Roger’s whole body was tense. His arms with flexed, his fists were clenched. Then he snapped. He threw his fist into a nearby wall, then immediately followed by a groan of pain.

“Roger, you twat,” Brian shouted coming over to pull Roger away from the wall. Roger brought his fist to his mouth and grimaced. He cursed and made his way back to the couch, kicking the table on his way.

“Well,” Freddie huffed. “That was eventful.”

_______________________________________________

(Y/N)’s POV

Richard came back later that night. He dropped your book on the table and walked into your room slamming the door behind him. You’d made dinner per his request but ended up sitting alone at the table, eating slowly. You picked at a stain on your placemat, staring aimlessly at the table trying to remember why you were there in the first place.

This was Roger’s fault. It had to be. Everything was fine until you saw him again. Right? Richard loved you. He had the right to be mad right now. He’ll get over it. He always gets over it. Then you thought back to the picture and the feeling you had earlier when playing the drums on Roger’s lap. You knew it was a bad idea and yet you did it anyways. You knew why. Really you did. But you were so used to your life. Your nice stable life. What would happen if you left it? When you dated before, your relationship was something out of a fairy tale. That was only because you never brought up your fears; you let them brood until they turned into their own being. And you were the one who left him.

Your finger stilled over the stain. You left him. And now you wanted him back. You wanted him back more than anything. But there was Richard, you owed him so much. How could you just leave him? And there was the ever present fear that was always there with Roger. The drugs, the alcohol, the groupies. Did you match up? Did you ever match up? You glanced over at Richard’s dinner, now cold. Even at your worst, you doubt Roger would have ever left you alone at the table.

But tomorrow was another day. And you’d have to go back and see him and pretend that everytime he looked at you, you didn’t feel the need to scream and cry and kiss him madly. You knew better than to pester Richard so you crawled up on the couch, pulling a light blanket over your body as you stared up into the ceiling. Tomorrow was another day.

You and Richard made up in the morning. Richard always did. He came and shook you awake and kissed your forehead, telling you how sorry he was for leaving you alone all night and for yelling. He promised to be better. He always did. By the time you got back to the studio, you were more relieved to be away from him than ever.

After you parked, you stayed in your car for a second, breathing in and out slowly. Then you opened the door and stepped out of the car. The only person in the room was Freddie for which you were relieved.

“Hey Freddie,” you sighed, walking in to sit next to him on the couch.

He smirked at you, scooting over a tad to let you in. “You have caused quite the rukus since coming back, my dear.”

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, pulling out you notebook. “Did Roger say something? To Richard when he came and got my notebook?”

“You could say that,” Freddie humphed. “Nearly ripped his head off.”

You groaned and put your head in your hands. “Ugh, I really wish he wouldn’t.”

Freddie just scooted closer to you, taking your hand off your head and holding it with both of his. The simple gesture took you by surprise but warmed your heart nonetheless. He looked at you with his brown eyes that held so much emotion and told you everything you needed to know. Then he was reaching up his hand to brush away a tear you hadn’t known had fallen. You pressed a hand to your cheek and swiped under your eyes, trying to ward off other tears.

“I think you wish he would,” Freddie replied softly. “I think there are certain parts of your life you need to release in order to be yourself again.” You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out, so he continued. “There’s something pulling on you, pulling you away from who you are. But you’re here again. With people who love you.” He rubbed your hand, smoothing over the skin. “You can let go, it’ll be okay.”

You felt like your world was crushing in on you. You could feel the pull he was talking about, and you knew where it was pulling you from. Then at that exact moment, Roger walked in the door. You looked up and locked eyes with him. He made a motion to leave but you stood up quickly. His eyes widened and he glanced down at Freddie who was conveniently looking away.

“Roger…” You began. There was a lot you wanted to say. But now was not the time or the place. So maybe this was a good place to begin. “I just wanted to apologize... For yesterday.”

He shook his head, shrugging. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

You brought your gaze down to the floor. Then you saw his hand. It was in a bandage.

“Roger, what did you do?” You walked over to him and grabbed his hand.

“Excuse me.” Freddie shoved past you. “Must use the loo.”

Roger glared at Freddie as he walked away. But you just pulled him inside the room, rubbing your fingers over his wrapped knuckles.

“‘s nothing,” he insisted, pulling his hand away but you grabbed it again.

You looked up at him beginning to tug the wrapping off but looking for permission. He just nodded. So you tugged the wrapping off to see the bruised and swollen knuckles that were there. You gasped softly, bringing your hand to your mouth.

“Roger…”

“I punched the wall,” he admitted.

You snapped your head up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Why on earth would you do that.”

“I was angry…” he continued.

You shook your head, not understanding.

“Because…” He swallowed thickly, not taking his gaze off of you. “You’re here. And you’re so amazing. And… and I can’t have you.”

Your breathing hitched. This could not be happening. It was too early in the morning for this. But for some reason, part of you was ignoring that. And you let go. You pressed your lips to his, feeling as he gasped but eagerly reciprocated. He pulled his hand away from you and wrapped it around your neck. You slide your hands up to his chest, wanting to be closer to him. It was amazing. You could feel his love for you seeping into your body as his hand wrapped around your waist. Things were clicking and you forgot everything but the feeling of his lips on yours. But nothing lasts forever. And the pull came back. Pulling you away from him. You flung yourself away from him.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, realizing what just happened.

“(Y/N)--”

“No, this… this didn’t happen.”

“(Y/N), I can’t keep pretending!” He shouted. You flinched at his shout and he took a breath, not wanting to upset you. “And obviously you don’t want to either.”

“I don’t know what I want… but I can’t do this right now. Richard is already angry with me enough and if he found out about this…” You shuddered. The chains pulling you away into the storm in your heart. Back into the shade and the rain and everything dark in your head. All the negative voices drawing you down again.

Roger shook his head, trying to remain calm. “You can’t seriously want to stay with him. After everything he’s done to you.”

“What? Help me off my ass? Be there for me for 4 years?” you retorted.

“Treated you like shit. Make you feel like you owe him anything,” Roger spat back. Your breathing picked up and you began to panic. Richard didn’t treat you like shit… he loved you… he told you he loved you. He only got mad when you messed up… right? You felt yourself backing up into the corner, feeling your lungs collapse within you. He loved you. He had to love you.

“Hey, hey, hey”

Roger was there, in front of you. His hands held yours. “It’s okay, everything is okay. Just breath.”

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. So many things were happening in your head. You needed to shut off. But you couldn’t storm out again, that was making things too dramatic. So, you just pulled your hands away from him, shaking your head.

“Not now, Roger… not now.” You slid out from in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed, turning around to watch you sit back down on the couch. You went back into the shell you had abandoned moments earlier. He had been so close to getting you back. Freddie reentered the room finding you and Roger further apart than before and frowned. Roger just shook his head and walked out, muttering something about needing a cigarette.

There wasn’t an incident for the rest of the day. Richard stopped by at lunch to give you food but he didn’t come inside and Roger didn’t confront you about it. But his lips lingered on yours. Even as you avoided him for the rest of the day. Never staying in the room alone with him. As luck would have it, they finished early. And you left before any of them could ask you to come to drinks with them, or have to face Roger in the parking lot. You were tired. You were ready to just go home and wait for Richard.

You smiled to yourself, thinking of the dinner you could make for him. Surprise him with a nice dinner and wine and apologize for this whole week. You pulled into your driveway and hopped out of the car. When you walked into the house, you immediately noticed the pair of shoes by the door. They were a pair of nice heels. You didn’t own them. Maybe Richard had bought them for you. You continued into the house and put your keys down. Then you heard it, a creaking noise in your bedroom.

“Richard?” you called out, feeling slightly afraid of an intruder.

You went reached over the counter and into the drawer, grabbing a pair of scissors to defend yourself with. The creaking only got more intense and soon there was moaning. You gripped the scissors tightly. You made your way to your room. The door was slightly propped open but as you stood outside you didn’t need to go any further. You heard moans and gasping, along with a hard-thumping noise. Against your better judgement, you pressed open the door.

____________________________________________

@sweet-ladyy @queen-irl-af @zodiacal-dust-and-curls @leah-halliwell92 @angiefangirlworld-2 @dove-turned-destroyer @16wiishes @queenismyrealdad @blondecarfucker @chlobo6 @wolverinesbeer @onevisionliz @catnissprior-blog @thewinchesterchronicles @brianmays-badgers @aninthitha @youngpastafanmug @tensecondvacation

#Queen #Queen Imagines #Queen x reader #Bohemian Rhapsody #Bohemian Rhapsody x reader #Bohemian Rhapsody imagines #Roger Taylor x reader #Roger Taylor imagines #Roger Taylor

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lapishasproblems · 6 years ago

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“You two can’t be serious.” (Post-reveal love square fic)

[READ FROM THE BEGINNING]

(Original idea right here by @livanarose , ps, I never told you how grateful I am for letting me use your idea so thank you, thank you so much :)))

My self-esteem is so goddamn low, I thought the notes were going to drastically dip right after the first one. BUt NoPE. So thank you to everyone who are still reading. Believe it or not, I still read the comments every damn time. It brightens up my entire day, yall. You’re the reason I’m even still writing.

One person mentioned that there are not many people who write fics about the aftermath of the reveal back in the previous part. Well, for that, you might want to thank the person who gave me the inspiration for this fic ;))

Alright, enough with the babbling. Please enjoy this next part (I wrote partially at the movies. I regret nothing)

~~~

“MODEL ADRIEN AGRESTE’S GIRLFRIEND FINALLY REVEALED.”

“YES! YES! I WIN! MARINETTE STYLE, BOO-YAH!”

Plagg took it as a chance to mock him. “Come on, Adrien. You’re not letting this girl beat you again, right?”

“That’s rude,” Tikki mentioned.

“I know.”

“No, I mean to Marinette. She has a name, you know.”

Adrien groaned. Pushing back the pink chair he was sitting on. Sure, he was sick of losing to Marinette all the time, but he could never hold back the smile that starts to blossom everytime the girl beats him. Whether it was a video game, or an akuma attack, or anything, really. The fact: Adrien likes getting his ass beaten by this girl, in whichever form she’s in.

“Alright, Agreste, ready for round two?” Marinette turned.

Adrien smirked, ready to test his luck again. “Absolu—“

“Marinette?”

The girl turned just in time to spot her mother pop her head through the trapdoor, a plate of croissants in her hand. The two kwamis that were lounging on the table moved to hide behind Adrien’s back.

“Your croissants are ready.”

Marinette put down her controller and went over to get the plate from her mother’s hands, giving the woman a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks a lot, Mom.”

Sabine smiled back at her daughter and turned to the blonde boy still sitting with a controller in his hand. “Adrien, will you be staying for dinner?”

Will you be staying forever? Marinette thought briefly before shaking herself awake from it.

The boy nodded. “Of course, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is,” Sabine nodded, turning to Marinette. “Come down for dinner soon, dear.”

“We will, Mom.”

The baker’s wife nodded before disappearing through the trapdoor again, closing it on her way down.

Marinette straightened from her crouching position before waking over with a plate of croissants in her hand. The two kwamis who were hiding earlier came out from behind Adrien’s back and zoomed away to the direction of the pink chaise lounge nearby.

Marinette and Adrien have been dating for a couple of weeks now. So were Ladybug and Chat Noir. This far, the plan worked perfectly, no flaws. Sure, Marinette wasn’t a really good actor and Adrien constantly recieved death glares from the girl when he nearly let the truth slip, but nobody suspected a thing. Everyone was oblivious.

It didn’t take long for the media to find out about Adrien’s girlfriend. What took forever was for them to find just who this girl is, exactly as planned. Adrien (and Marinette) were in the news today. As the boy expected, the headline, in bold.

The plan aside, Marinette was beyond glad that everything worked out. Adrien often stayed at her place for dinner, finally feeling love and acceptance since the last dinner he had with his mother. Marinette of the other hand received advices and feedbacks on her designs from Gabriel Agreste. Video games, holding hands, kissing, movies together, and little cuddle sessions were the other little things she loved.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were pretty much the same, just with a little more cat puns and flirting and a little less ice cream dates and talking at school. Akuma attacks were no longer excuses for Chat to see the lady of his dreams. What for? They meet each other everyday at school. But those times they spend in battle with each other were also reminders of how strong their bond was.

“Did you make these?”

The question brought Marinette back to the present as she placed the baked good-filled plate on her table before sitting on the empty chair next to Adrien.

“Yeah. I just asked Mom to watch over them while they bake,” she shrugged, picking one warm pastry. “How did you know that, though?”

Adrien smiled, picking one croissant. ��By now I know that everytime I come over, you bake stuff for me.”

Marinette stiffened, her cheeks suddenly burning. The girl suddenly found her pink shoes interesting, not wanting to meet the pair of green eyes that were staring at her intently. She picked at the warm, fresh pasty in her hands, unable to function properly.

Finally, the girl eyed the croissant in Adrien’s hand.

“Uhm, well...is it good?”

Adrien nodded.

“Y-you haven’t even good it yet, how do you know it’s eaten?” she blurted before realizing her mistake, correcting it quickly. “I-I mean, you haven’t even eaten it yet, how do you know it’s good?”

Adrien chuckled. I wish it could be like this forever.

“I don’t need to eat it to know it’s good, Bugaboo. Everything you make seems to be good, whether it’s your baking or your design.”

Marinette was sure her face looked like a big tomato now. She didn’t even bother eating the croissant anymore. She simply covered her face with her free hand and shut her eyes, facing the other way, too embarrassed to even look at the blonde.

Adrien on the other hand, wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to coax her to start playing again before Sabine calls the both of them downstairs for dinner. He eyed Marinette’s chaise lounge, finding Tikki and Plagg there, giggling uncontrollably. Well, Tikki actually looked like she wanted to help the flustered girl, but Plagg was holding her back, the two giggling all the while.

The model leaned forward, taking Marinette’s hands. “Hey.”

“Adrien, don’t—“

“Uh, sorry to interrupt this beautiful interaction.”

The third voice brought both Marinette and Adrien to their senses, turning to the chaise lounge where the cat kwami was eagerly trying to catch their attention, which he succeeded in doing. The ladybug kwami had flown over to the window, looking at whatever is out there, if not the Parisian landscape.

Tikki finally turned to the two.

“It seems that Paris needs you both right now.”

~~~

Ladybug leapt to a rooftop, studying the akumatized victim not far from the Eiffel Tower, as if looking for something, her back facing the red clad superhero. The victim was a teenage girl around her age, with a black bodysuit and platinum blonde hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She had something like a staff in her hands.

“What do we have here, Bugaboo?”

The girl turned, finding her partner standing casually behind her.

“Let’s get closer, see what we’re working with here.”

Chat Noir nodded and the two heroes leaped from rooftop to rooftop, looking at the damage the victim caused around the Parisian streets. Ladybug swore she caught sight of people in other black bodysuits running like ninjas around the streets, as if looking for something while she threw her yo-yo for another momentum.

“She’s turning people into these spy-looking things, My Lady,” Chat blurted, still using his baton to leap around.

“Clearly.”

The duo stopped close enough to inspect and listen to the akuma victim better, but not too close that she would immediately spot them and pounce.

“Yes...yes! My minions, find Adrien Agreste and bring him to me!”

Ladybug eyed her partner. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

The woman with the black bodysuit and platinum hair turned around, finding the red clad superhero about to leave her hiding place and strike, looking like a deer in headlights.

Ladybug froze. Not because she just missed her chance for a stealth attack, but because the victim had these ugly pair of sunglasses on her face. As a designer, the blue-haired girl took her time to flinch.

“Ladybug! How nice of you to join us!” The woman sighed in delight. “I’m the Paparazzi and I have a special mission for you.”

“Yeah?” The girl spinned her yo-yo as a shield. “Do tell me.”

“Go and find Adrien Agreste’s girlfriend for me. What was her name again? Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Ladybug scoffed, tensing up all the while. “And why would I do that?”

“Because you have no right to decide.”

“Wha—“

“LOOK OUT!”

Ladybug was ready for an attack, deflecting it with her yo-yo, but before she realized anything happened, she was up in the air, catching a swift black shape beforehand, taking her for a leap. Once they landed on a different rooftop, she turned to look at her savior.

“Thanks, kitty.”

“No problem,” he shrugged, pulling out his baton. “Mind telling me what you did that angered this akuma victim?”

“Wasn’t this your fault? She was looking for you!”

“You too.”

“Doesn’t matter—“

“AHA! THERE YOU ARE!” the Paparazzi turned and spotted the two on a rooftop, not far from where she was standing. “And with Chat Noir too. I shall make the both of you my minions.”

The akuma victim raised her sunglasses and Chat Noir quickly looked away, closing his partner’s eyes with his free hand.

“Don’t look at her eyes, she’ll turn you into one of her ninjas,” Chat warned, grabbing her cheek and urging her to look away with him.

“Where’s the akuma?”

“Purr-haps the sunglasses,” Chat Noir shrugged.

“Great, I’ll try to distract her while you use your cataclysm,” she replied, ignoring the pun.

“As you wish, My Lady,” Chat Nor replied before leaving her on the rooftop, leaping to another building using his baton.

Left alone, the red clad superhero racked her brain, trying to find a plan.

“LADYBUG!”

Without looking at where the voice was coming from, she groaned, extending her yo-yo to get as far away from the Paparazzi as possible. Just as she was ready to swing herself away from the rooftop she was standing on, a pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders, pinning her down and holding her wrists.

The blue-haired closed her eyes shut, knowing that she’d be unable to fight if she opened them and looked at her opponent’s.

“Come on Ladybug, join my army,” the akuma victim said. “All you have to do is look for that girl for me. I’d even accept her alive or dead.”

Ladybug turned her head to the left, not wanting to be face-to-face with the Paparazzi, despite the fact that her eyes were still shut tightly.

“Or, I can just take these—“

The heroine felt a hand on her right earlobe.

“NO!”

“—and you don’t even have to be one of my minions.”

Her opponent’s hand took the earring on her right ear, making Ladybug thrash and squirm within her grip, her transformation slowly dropping.

“Mind if I join in?”

The Paparazzi looked around, trying to find the source of the third voice. But before she could even pinpoint the person she’s looking for, a black-gloved hand reached for her sunglasses from behind, immediately turning it to dust. The akuma victim quickly found her attacker, facing the other way, letting Ladybug finally open her eyes safely.

Despite the fact that her vision was still blurry, she should’ve been able to see the akuma anywhere, but she couldn’t find it.

“Wrong target, My Lady,” someone shouted from behind the opponent that was still pinning her down. “It’s not the sunglasses.”

Ladybug took the chance while her opponent was distracted with Chat Noir and grabbed her earring from the Paparazzi’s hand, putting it back on her right ear. The red clad superhero was sure that the platinum-haired villain was going to go back and focus on her, but she was wrong. Paparazzi stood up and charged at Chat Noir, who was still looking away.

“CHAT NOIR!”

And everything seemed to go slowly when the Paparazzi whacked Chat Noir with her staff, so strong that the force was enough to drive Chat to the edge of the rooftop.

“NO!”

And Ladybug saw as Chat lost his balance and fell.

~~~

I was honestly expecting a lot of diabetes-worth fluff but this turned out to be a somewhat angst. I just let the ideas float, man. This wasn’t planned.

Bruh, the plan was just to create phase three but here we are.

Again, thank you for the love you all have shown for this fic. The previous parts recieved lots of notes and there is nobody else I can thank but you all. You guys keep me alive and writing.

But honestly, I suck at writing fights. I had to rack my brain to come up with this certain akuma victim with those certain powers. I also had to think intensively to come up with those fighting scenes.

Okay so I’d like to apologize for taking two (one and a half?) days before I continue. I’m watching the Promised Neverland (thanks to the person who recommended it to me in the other post, ps, I LOVE IT SO FAR!) and I’ve been so distracted. Do forgive me.

I’ve also been thinking to start mentioning people who want to keep up with the fic. So give me a “:))” if you’d like to be mentioned for the next parts.

Alright, that was part three for all of you! Thanks for keeping up with the story! Anyone up for part four? Don’t forget to leave your thoughts, advices, and feedbacks down there! I’d love to hear from everyone :))

#mlb #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladynoir #adrienette #ladrien #marichat #post reveal ladynoir #post reveal adrienette #post reveal ladrien #post reveal marichat #you two cant be serious

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godknowsqueen · 6 years ago

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punch you, love you ; ben hardy x reader

Summary: Recently, you and Ben get on each other’s nerves like there is no tomorrow, but there’s a little something hidden underneath all that bitterness.

Warnings: Swear words, angst, flufffffffff. I also have zero knowledge in makeup so pls forgive me.

Word Count: 2,293 words.

A/N: This is my second attempt at writing a Ben Hardy x Reader oneshot. Do let me know if you have any comments or feedback in mind! Hope you enjoy this :’)

Being the makeup artist on the Bohemian Rhapsody movie set was like a dream come true to you. Queen has been your all-time favorite band, so getting to have a job were you see Brian May and Roger Taylor on almost a daily basis was like a blessing. What made it even better is that you get to transform four amazing actors into that brilliant band with the power of your makeup tools.

There was only one problem: one of them has been lately irritating the hell out of you. Ben Hardy.

It was another day at work, and you were prepping the boys for their “I Want to Break Free” scene.

“Oh, look at those eyelashes, darling. They make my eye colour truly pop!” Rami said in a bit of a high-pitched voice.

“Rami, you are turning to Freddie,” you chuckled as you carefully put the finishing touches on the left eyelashes.

“That is the plan,” he gave you a wink, attempting to show off his new eyelashes.

“Now, Bri- I mean Gwilym, I’ll just apply some spray to keep that makeup in place, so keep your eyes closed,” you dictated, shaking a bottle of spray.

“Do I really look that much like Brian? I feel like I look more like Aunt Petunia from Harry Potter at the moment,” Gwilym said, squeezing his eyes shut, and making you laugh with his horrifyingly accurate statement.

“Lord, you made me laugh and some of that nasty spray got in my mouth, Gwilym!” your face scrunched up in disgust, but you managed to keep laughing. “Or should I say Aunt Petunia?”

With that, you scurried away to where Joe was sitting, trying to escape the wrath of Gwilym trying to hit you with a towel.

“Well, hello grandma Joe,” you took a little brush and dipped it in a brown powder. “I’ll just adjust some of your wrinkles and you are free to go,” you started slowly brushing along the corners of Joe’s eyes and lips.

“Thank you, young lady! Maybe after this scene you can give me some anti-aging creams to get rid of them?” Joe tried to pull off his best grandma voice, and you tried your best to not laugh and mess up the makeup you have previously spent nearly 2 hours on.

“Grandma Joe, stop being a jerk by trying to make me laugh.”

“Oh, now dear that is not a way to talk to your elders! Where are the manners of these kids nowadays!?” he raised his voice and rolled his eyes to Gwilym, who shook his head in agreement.

“Shut it, you two,” you removed your brush-handling hand off of Joe’s face, proceeding to lightly punch the two guys on their arms. They started snickering like little boys as they got off their seats.

“Kids, you need to calm down,” Rami chimed in as he wore his pink earrings, channeling his inner Mercury yet again. A few seconds later, he walked over to where you stood, and gave your arm a light squeeze, “Thank you, (Y/N), you did a wonderful job with our makeup for that scene!”

“Yeah, you rock, even when you make fun of us,” Joe muttered in a joking tone.

“And even when we give you a hard time,” Gwilym agreed, twirling around a little in his nightgown.

You heart warmed at their sudden gratefulness, and a genuine smile formed on your lips, “You guys! Thank you so much, it makes me happy to be working with you. Now, enough with the cheesiness and go shoot your scene!” you hurried them off, but you felt like you were forgetting something.

“Um, speaking of giving me a hard time, actually, where the hell is Ben?” you place your knuckles on your hips, an apparent angry look taking over your features.

“I’m literally right here,” a cold, deep voice arose behind you. You took a deep breath, trying to contain your anger before turning around to look at him. With that, the three other guys awkwardly left the room. They knew it wasn’t going to go well.

There he was, Ben Hardy, with his lipstick faded and one side of his cheek lacking the proper amount of foundation. The sight of the makeup you worked hard on being smudged got on your nerves. Or maybe because it was the sight of Ben that made you angry.

“What happened to the makeup?”

“I went out for a quick smoke,” Ben avoided your gaze, feeling a little bit guilty.

“Okay, the lipstick fading from the cigarette I understand, but what about the foundation?” you turned around, preparing again the tools you’ll use to fix this.

“One of the girls cast as the groupies gave me a kiss on the cheek and I had to rub her lipstick off of my face,” he squared his arm, “anymore questions, officer?”

You closed your eyes, placing a brush a little bit too strongly on the counter. You felt super irritated, but what made you angrier was that tug at your heart when he said that one of the girls kissed him on the cheek.

(Y/N), he is an asshole. You are NOT jealous. Just get this over and done with. It is your job, after all.

Turning back to him, you point the swivel chair in his direction, and you motion for him to take a seat. His eyes, which were previously avoiding you, were now lingering on you as he strutted to the chair in his little black Rogerina skirt. You started working on his face, fixing every mishap that messed up the makeup.

What if he wasn’t just smoking? What if he was hooking up with that girl? Whatever, I don’t care.

You both sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Ben starts speaking again, “So, it’s either you interrogate me or you’re awfully silent? Is there no in-between?”

At that moment, you were perfecting a bit of his eyeliner, and you summoned all of the power within you to stop yourself from poking his eyes out. If only they weren’t so damn beautiful.

“Ben, if I were you, I would be scared of pissing off someone who is working so closely to my face.”

“What can you even do?”

“Oh, I don’t know, punch you in the goddamn face? But instead I’m here trying to be a good person and do my job correctly,” you replied rather harshly, his cold tone irritating you with every word he spoke. “And I’m also not going around kissing guys on the cheek and ruining their makeup,” you said in a very low voice as you turned away from him, grabbing the makeup setting spray.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“I heard that, don’t act stupid, (Y/N).”

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve calling me stupid.”

Ben was now out of his chair, standing firmly right in front of you with his arms squared. Although he was trying to be intimidating, his current outfit, wig, and makeup were not helping him.

You stood there, raising your eyebrows at him, your hands placed on your sides. You were silently thanking God that no one was in the room to witness this fight.

“I didn’t call you stupid, I was precisely saying do not act stupid. There is a difference.”

“Oh, wow, there is?” you replied sarcastically.

“Yes, and it looks like you need to learn it,” he snapped back.

“And you need to learn to be nicer!” you started shouting a little.

“I am nice, it’s not my fault that you don’t see it! You only notice how funny Joe, Gwilym, and Rami are. But no, I’M the asshole,” Ben’s deep voice was getting louder.

“What? You know that I’ve always loved you all equally. You are the one who started getting weird and annoying a couple of months back. You’re off, you’re cold, and just plain annoying. You are always nitpicking at anything I do, and it definitely takes its toll on me. So don’t be fucking surprised when I’m being bitchy all of a sudden because of the way YOU have been acting, Benjamin,” you ended your rant, calling him Benjamin for the first time in the entirety of the past year you have worked on set.

Ben looked a bit taken aback, his eyes widened at the sudden anger that has erupted from you. You were usually a person that kept her peace, so this was so new for him to witness.

And just like word vomit, Ben uttered, “You are so hot when you are mad.”

The look on your faces made it evident that even he can’t believe that he actually just said that.

“W-what?” you felt yourself blushing, but a puzzled look remained on your face as you took a little step back away from him.

My heart is beating so fast, what the hell is this?

“S-sorry, forget I said anything, it’s been a tiring day. Just-”

Word vomit, again. This time, it’s you: “Just shut up and kiss me.”

With the swiftest move possible, Ben’s hands cup either sides of your face as his lips crash onto yours. His right hand slowly lets go of your cheek only to embrace your waist, pulling your body closer to his. Your hands were resting on his hard chest. As your lips move in sync with each other, you start tugging at his pink and yellow tie, deepening the kiss. For people that irritated each other 99% of the time, it felt like you guys have been kissing each other for years.

Ben breaks the kiss for a few seconds, opening his eyes to take a good look at your pretty ones. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and he utters a few words, “you also look so hot with your cheeks firing up like that, too.” His thick accent manages to turn your insides into mush, making you uncontrollably smile despite trying to keep your calm poise.

“And you look very fine with that skirt, I must say,” you let out a small giggle, gathering up the courage to plant a sweet kiss on his pink lips. As soon as you break it, Ben sends another small kiss, making you feel like he just couldn’t get enough of you.

His hands leave the side of your face and waist to tuck a stranded lock of hair behind your ears.

“So, why was all of that affection buried behind this bitterness?” you asked, holding one of his hands as you innocently looked at the floor under your feet.

“I was confused as hell, (Y/N). I promised myself that I will give my all to this movie, and that I wouldn’t let any kind of emotions or relationships distract me,” his serious voice suddenly gave out a chuckle, “but then you came into our lives and I had to deal with you every day. In the beginning, it was easy to handle, but as the days went by, I couldn’t help but admit to myself the feelings I have been denying for months. These feelings just kept on growing like crazy.”

“And not knowing what do with these feelings, you decided that the best thing you could do is self-preserve by being distant and acting completely opposite to the way you felt, yeah?” you completed, earning a startled look from him.

“Exactly! How did you know?” Ben questioned, his hands softly squeezing yours.

“Been there,” you laughed and carried on, “with you. Funny enough, I had the same mindset you had. I guess that’s why we were so extra with our bitterness, we didn’t know that we were fighting the same battle,” you ended your words with a shrug. A couple of seconds later, you noticed Ben’s eyes giving you a very tender look.

“What?” you spoke softly, admiring the features of his face.

“I really like you, (Y/N),” Ben uttered, a little color rising on his cheeks despite the foundation covering it.

“I really like you, too, Ben,” you shyly said, “but I think I really like Rogerina, too, so I don’t know where my feelings are exactly,” you teased him, your fingers ruffling the hem of his skirt.

“Oh, shut it, love,” he gave you a cheeky grin, his hands moving to tickle your waist a little.

“Why is Ben’s makeup taking forever? We need him on set right now, (Y/N)!” you heard the director shout from outside.

“Shit, your makeup is ruined again because of the kiss!” you squeezed the bridge of your nose with one hand, pushing Ben with the other onto the chair again.

“He’ll be ready in five!” you shouted back, scurrying to fix the mess you’ve made. Ben kept cheekily chuckling at your worried state, his eyes lingering on your every move.

“Do you think they killed each other?” you heard Joe whisper as he, Gwilym, and Rami walked into the room.

“Hey guys, is everything alright?” Gwilym worryingly stated, the other two guys appearing next to him.

Both you and Ben quickly turned to look at them and spoke in unison, “Everything's fine!”

Rami’s lips twisted into a sneaky smirk, “Judging by the absolutely messed up lipstick on Ben’s lips and the smudges of, coincidentally, pink lipstick on (Y/N)’s lips, I think they were far, far from killing each other.”

You and Ben froze as the three other guys burst out laughing at your expressions. Although they were shocked at how things turned out to be between the two of you, they still couldn’t stop their laughter.

"So, you guys are a thing now?” Rami continued, standing smugly in his high heels.

“God knows!” Ben winked at you, earning a smile from you that made his heart skip a beat.

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