#Wait why is it smudging... wait fuck these are water based sHIT

[dreamescapeswriting]

Under Pressure ~ HJS [Request]

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

GENRE:  Stressed reader, angst with a fluffy ending, establish-relationship, Sweet boyfriend Jisung

PAIRING: Jisung x Fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy this sweetie! @crispy-chan

The moment Jisung walked into the cafe he knew there was something wrong with you, normally you would rush over to him with a smile across your face ready to greet him and get him sat down but today you were nowhere to be seen. You worked in a small cafe just around the corner from the JYP building so whenever Jisung had a break or some free time he would dress up in a cap, glasses and mask to come and meet you, it had been that way since the start of your relationship. It wasn't often that you got to spend time alone together so you took every opportunity you could to get together.

"Take a seat, I'll be with you in just a moment," A new worker said as he took Jisung over to a booth, Jisung kept glancing around the cafe. It wasn't that large so there weren't that many places that you could have been hiding from him, you couldn't have been on your break since it was a rush time in the cafe. The time was busiest since everyone wanted to have something to eat before heading to their offices for the rest of the afternoon.

"If you're looking for Y/n, she's in the back." The manager said as she caught Jisung looking around, of course, she knew who he was since he came into the cafe frequently enough. 

"Go back and see her, she looks tired though." Jisung knew you'd been a little more stressed than usual lately because you had assignments and exam's coming up but you were smart there was nothing you couldn't handle. 

"Thanks," He mumbled heading through the kitchen door and towards the small office you were cramped inside of with books surrounding you.

"This is where they keep the princess?" He chuckled sitting down beside you on one of the chairs and staring at the books that were in front of you. You must have been so lost in the words as you hadn't even noticed someone sitting next to you until Jisung touched your cheek. 

"Shit!" You screamed out jumping back on the seat and looking at him, your eyes were wide with fear and Jisung laughed softly. 

"You didn't hear me?" You shook your head, greeting him with a quick peck on the cheek before looking back down at your book. There were five exam's you were crunching for this week and not one of them was going to leave you enough time to also finish four assessments that you had to write up. Everything felt as though it was piling up on top of you, Jisung reached his hand out and touched yours instantly making you feel calmer with the smallest of touches. 

"Relax, you're ready for these exams." He whispered encouragingly to you as he began to rub your knuckles softly, he knew how hard you were on yourself about things but he didn't want you to start beating yourself up over anything.

"When was the last time you got some sleep? I mean real sleep, not what you and Chan call sleep," He mumbled as he watched you, your eyes had bags underneath them so he knew you hadn't slept well for days. 

"I slept last night," You lied. He knew you were lying since you wouldn't look at him and you scratched the base of your neck it was your give-away sign. 

"Want me to come around tomorrow? I'll cook us something to eat and we can study together...I'll ask you questions," You smiled at the thought of him helping you study despite having no idea what you had to do for those exams. 

"That would be great...But can you get-" He kissed your lips to stop you from asking if he could get the time off, if it was for you he would do anything in his power.

"Consider me already there, no go home and get some real sleep." He begged you as he looked at you, cupping your face in his hands while he rubbed his thumb under your eyes. You snuggled into his touch enjoying the feeling of his skin on yours, 

"I have another shift, I only had a two-hour break to cram some studying into. I'll go home after," You promised as he got up from the chair to walk him out, Jisung knew from the wording of your sentence that you would go home but that didn't mean you would rest.

"Just promise me you'll get rest," You nodded at him, quickly kissing him before heading over to the till to help your manager take orders and serve the customers that were inside. 

Jisung sighed to himself as he watched you plaster on a fake energetic smile for people and he headed out of the cafe wondering what he was going to have to do to get you to sleep.

The next day Jisung had text you non-stop to find out what you wanted him to cook and what time you wanted him to come around to the apartment but there had been no responses from you for the last four hours. 

"Maybe she's asleep or doing some studying," Chan tried to calm down Jisung's racing thoughts but he'd been worried about you since leaving the cafe yesterday. After seeing the state you were in he couldn't help but be filled with worry that you were going to end up crashing or passing out from exhaustion. 

"Babe, I got the ingredients for your favourite meal and Felix made brownies for us to share," Jisung announced as he unlocked the door to your apartment with his spare key but there was no response. He knew you were home because your favourite pair of shoes were by the door and your lights were all on, 

"Babe?" He called out, taking off his shoes and heading into the kitchen where he saw a cold pot of tea sitting on the side with some tablets that were open. Paracetamol and ibuprofen were sitting there with a half-drunken glass of water, he hated the thought of you having a headache as much as he hated the fact that you were staying awake so much.

"Y/N?" He whispered as he walked further into the apartment in case you were asleep somewhere you shouldn't have been and that was when he saw you. Fast asleep with your head laying on top of your textbooks, highlight in hand as you snored softly. He sighed to himself as he walked over to you, you were out cold.

"What am I going to do with you?" He chuckled to himself as he got closer to you, spotting that you had a sticky note pressed against your face and a bright coloured highlighter marker on your cheek. 

"Cute," He whispered making sure to snap a photo of the moment before he attempted to move you to your bedroom.

"Here we go," He grunted as he laid you down in the bed, carefully taking off your jeans so you wouldn't have to sleep in the horrible fabric, he pulled the sheets over your body before leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

"Sleep well beautiful," He said before leaving the room to go and clean up your apartment. It was the least he could since it was in such a mess, you must not have had much time to clean between, work and studying and he didn't blame you. Beginning in the dining room where he had found you he started by collecting your notes together, sliding everything into the correct books before leaving to go and clean up the kitchen. 

Waking up to the smell of cooking you sat up in bed, holding your head as the headache still hadn't left yet.

"Fuck," You whispered to yourself as you kicked yourself out from the bed only to remember the last thing you had been doing was waiting for your tutor to call you on the laptop at the kitchen table and now you were in bed with no pants on.

"Shit!" You yelled out running into the hallway and into the kitchen to see Jisung standing over the over stirring something in a large pot, he jumped when he heard you running to your laptop that was now shut down and everything was cleared away. 

"Where are my notes?! Did my tutor call?! Why are you here?!" Your voice was hoarse as you panicked at Jisung but this only filled him with more worry as he thought you were getting sick. 

"I came in and you were asleep so I cleaned up for you, I figured it was no big deal-"

"No big deal?! Jisung I had a fucking meeting to be at! Did you not think about that when you moved me?!" You snapped as you began trying to load your laptop up as fast as you could,

 "No, I was too busy worrying my girlfriend had overworked himself," He answered snarkily as he poured some soup into a bowl and brought it over to the table for you but you didn't even thank him or glance away from your laptop. 

"Great! Just fucking great I missed my meeting and now I'm going to be behind on the studying!" As you yelled out in frustration you went to pull your legs into your chest, knocking the table ultimately knocking the soup over and spilling it over your books. 

"Fuck sake Jisung!" You screamed picking up the books and trying to clean them before the hot liquid ruined the notes and books that you desperately needed. 

"Y/n, calm down." Jisung tried to take the books from you to help but you let tears roll down your face as you saw everything that was inside was ruined, notes smudged over that was unreadable, pages were sticking together. Everything you had been working so hard on was gone within seconds. 

"This is your fault! Why should I calm down?! Why are you even here!?" You snapped once again, throwing the books down onto the table as you cried to yourself. The stress of your exams, working and your lack of sleep all finally hitting you at once as you broke down into a pool of tears, Jisung let out a breath as he saw you. He knew you weren't mad at him so he wasn't going to get upset over you yelling at him, 

"For this exact reason, you're too stressed...You haven't been sleeping Y/n...I came by to help," You shook your head as you stared at the ruined notes, 

"Everything is gone, I'm going to fail my exams." You whimpered as Jisung pulled you into his embrace and kissed the top of your head trying to remind you that it was going to be fine but you kept shaking your head and telling him that everything was gone. 

"You're so smart Y/n, you already know everything that was going to be in the exam." He whispered, kissing the top of your head as he tried to get you to calm down but nothing was going to work. The tiredness you were experiencing with the small cold you were getting was making you overreact to everything and right now it was the end of the world as you knew it.

"You don't get it because you never had to do this! Not all of us can just get out of school and just go on to be famous!" You snapped at him, trying to push him away as you sobbed into your hands but he wasn't going to let you go that easily.

When you woke up again you were curled up against Jisung in your bed, his arms were wrapped around you tightly as he snored and you whined feeling sweaty from being so close to him.

"You're finally awake?" You stared at Jisung confused as he questioned you, 

"What do you mean finally?" He sat you both up as he looked at you sighing, 

"You passed out after eating dinner with me and it's been a day since. You've been in and out of sleep since, waking up to pee and drink water." He looked at you with sad eyes, reaching up to feel how hot your skin was and smiling to himself as he realised you weren't as hot as you were the day before. 

"Your temperature's gone down so that's good." You looked at him with a frown and he kissed your forehead softly, 

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," You mumbled as you remember everything that had happened the day before, yelling at him for something you had done. 

"Don't worry about it. Your tutor called and I explained that you were sick, he's extending your assessments and allowing you to retake the exams when you're better." A wave of relief washed over you as you looked at Jisung, no idea how you were ever going to thank him for what he did. 

"I'll never stop thanking you," You snuggled into him, kissing his shoulder as he shook his head at you. 

"Just make sure you get enough rest, that's the only thanks I need." He told you as he held you closer to him.

Tagline: @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @acciocriativity​ @sw33tnight​ @that-anxious-bisexual​

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: exactly 7777 words how sexy is that || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, filmed sex, public sex/outdoor sex, oral (f receiving), jin being a little shit just because he can, vmin mxm scene, bath sex, unprotected sex, fingering/anal play, anal sex, creampie, the most tender smut scene in this whole fic goes to these fucking boys

ᴀ/ɴ: banner designed by @jamaisjoons​, thank you to my sfhs girls who help with brainstorming every week xx, i’m so sorry if this feels rushed or too short, i didn’t want to leave you hanging for three weeks : (

DAY NINE

One thing you learn the morning after, is that Hoseok is a deceptively bad cook.

Of course you’re grateful for the breakfast in bed he kindly prepared you and Jungkook - the latter still half-asleep and unable to go more than five seconds without yawning - but it’s hard to comprehend that the man in front of you now, eating cereal with a fork, is the same one that wrecked you so elegantly last night.

“Why is the toast chewy? Are we still being punished?” Jungkook moans sombrely around a mouthful, eyes dazed.

Hoseok sets his fork back in the bowl with a clatter, reaching out to poke Jungkook with a foot. “Be grateful, brat. I made that out of love.”

The younger man stares bleakly down at his plate. “I’d love to have a  pancake right now instead.”

You wince at Hoseok’s disappointed expression, taking a mouthful of the strangely floppy toast. “It’s… nice and warm,” you offer up, failing to find anything else to compliment.

Hoseok beams. “Thank you. While I was doing my cereal, it got a bit cold, so I heated it up in the microwave.”

Your heart sinks despairingly into your stomach, which roils at the prospect. “Ah,” you muse hollowly.

“Eat up!” the dom cheers. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Still smiling proudly, he digs his fork into the almost full bowl of cereal and begins chowing down.

Jungkook shares a silent stare with you, and you turn back to your plate. “Thanks for breakfast, Hoseok,” you sigh, and brace yourself for the meal ahead.

After breakfast, you get dressed in a pair of shorts and a comfy shirt, planning on spending the day inside relaxing. But the moment you see Jin and Taehyung running around on the gravel outside, a small darting form evading their flailing arms, you realise how foolish you were to expect that a day in the villa could be anything remote to uneventful.

Rushing out the front door still in your socks, you step down to the base of the concrete entryway, staring in shock at the two men.

Taehyung’s face is bright with a boxy grin, laughing maniacally as he rushes to and fro, still in his version of pyjamas - loose boxer shorts and a Celine Dion t-shirt. “Hyung, that way!” he hoots cheerily to Jin, feet crunching noisily on the gravel.

The other man, considerably less happy (or perhaps the frown was one of absolute concentration), huffs at the command. “It’s your fuckin’ dog, Tae, why isn’t it going to you?”

Between them, panting and grinning, is a small dog with short fur, nails clicking on the gravel. It can’t be taller than knee-height, with wide eyes and a small black nose. It probably is white or cream coloured, but the thick crusting of dirt all over makes it hard to tell.

“It’s not my dog, I just found him!” Taehyung insists, before crouching down, clicking his tongue. “Mango, c’mere boy! Come to daddy.”

Jin comes to a stop with a groan, chest heaving. “Well, now you’re just going to scar the poor thing.”

Taehyung glares, but doesn’t stop cooing at the dog, who’s now eying him up suspiciously. “Come on, boy, daddy just wants to help, he’ll give you a nice, warm bath and some treats. Sound nice, Mango? C’mere!”

With the cool disdain that you’ve never seen in a dog before, Mango lifts his chin and turns tail, gracefully trotting over to Jin, rubbing his face against the man’s shin.

Taehyung gasps in abject horror at the betrayal, sinking fully onto the rough gravel of the driveway, but Jin just grins and bends down, gently scratching the dog’s head.

You let out a disbelieving laugh at the scene, drawing their attention. “What is going on?”

Immediately, the two men point at each other accusingly, the dog - Mango - snuffling at Jin’s hand when he realises his petting has ceased.

Jin calmly resumes stroking the mutt with a mellow expression. “Taehyung kidnapped a dog.”

“I did not!” the younger man protests vehemently. “I found him wandering around all by himself and I put out some food for him.” Taehyung turns to you with desperate eyes. “Jin called him filthy!”

“I did,” the therapist admits easily, “‘cause he is.” Crouching down, he gets closer to eye-level and pouts. “All this mud and dirt on you, hm? Not nice, is it? Poor bo-” Jin cuts himself off as the dog rolls over on its back, wiggling against the gravel happily. The three of you stare in silence for a few moments at Mango, before Jin slowly pans up to stare at Taehyung. “You thought Mango was a boy this whole time?”

Taehyung scratches his head with a helpless shrug. “Well, I didn’t think to check his dick for confirmation! I mean, her dick. No dick. Uh…”

Jin’s ignoring him, however, in favour of giving Mango tummy rubs, grinning at the whipping of her tail as it wags. “Oh, Taehyungie is so mean to you, isn’t he? Poor girl. I wouldn’t trust him with a cactus,” he admits in a mock whisper.

“I resent that,” Taehyung shouts lowly, voice getting louder as he gets worked up, “Cactuses don’t even have dicks, so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Neither does Mango,” Jin quips sharply.

“Hey!” the younger boy yells, pouting at the sight of Mango snuggling up to Jin so willingly.

From behind, the sudden bang of a fist on glass makes you jump. Whirling around, you watch in bewilderment as Jimin rushes outside, eyes wide and mouth rounded at the sight.

“What the fuck is all the racket about?” he exclaims in bewilderment. “We’re trying to watch a movie but we can’t hear a thing over the sounds you’re- is that a dog?”

“Mango!” Taehyung chimes. “H- She’s my dog!”

“That wasn’t what you said earlier,” Jin begins, and Jimin tuts loudly to break off the bantering.

“Goodness, she’s a skinny little thing,” Jimin says with worry, passing you to go crouch beside Jin. He holds a hand out and smiles softly as Mango presses her nose into his palm. “Dirty, too. There’s a hose out back that does warm water, let’s clean her off and get her some food.”

Your heart warms at the same fond tone in his voice that you’d heard at Mrs. Park’s house. “I’ll go get some soap and towels,” you offer, “I need to go get my shoes on anyway.”

Jimin, already fully dressed in tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt - the most casual you’d seen him yet - turns around to nod at you. “Thank you,” he chirps, “we’ll be around back.”

By the time you get ready and come back with the supplies, Taehyung is already manning the hose, running his fingers through the stream to wait for it to warm up as he chats away with Jimin. Clearly a fan of the oldest, Mango is still happily hanging around Jin’s ankles, whole body wagging as she gets her ears scratched.

Jimin glances up when you round the corner, and rushes forward to take the items from your hands. “Thank you, let’s hope-” He pauses, staring down at the bottle. “Is this my hand-soap?”

You suppress a sheepish grin. “It says mild and unscented, I thought it would be better for Mango than body wash.”

“Fair enough,” Jimin allows, before turning back around to the other two. “Alright, let’s hope Mango likes water.”

As it turns out, Mango positively thrives with the water, panting happily as her fur is soaked with the warm water. Crouching to your side, you squirt some soap out onto her back, and you and Jimin begin massaging it in on either side of her while Jin holds up her head to keep it free from suds.

It takes a while, but Mango is patient, and you’re determined to make sure all the grit and dirt accumulated from a life of sleeping rough is washed away. Beneath the matted filth is beautiful white fur, the palest brown in places. With tiny feet and delicate ears, she may be a mutt but she’s a beautiful one, and out of the corner of your eye you can see Jin’s fond smile as he stares into her baleful eyes.

Taehyung rinses her down, the suds collecting on the back lawn, and before any of you even think to get away, Mango braces herself and shakes, spraying droplets all over the four of you.

Closest to her body, it’s you and Jimin that cop most of the downpour, and you hiss at the feeling of it soaking your shirt and running down your neck. Taehyung gasps and ditches the hose to chuck a towel over her wet body, but the damage has been done.

Across from you, on the other side of Mango, Jimin’s pink lips are rounded gracefully in a gasp, eyes clenched shut. You can’t help but grin as he slowly blinks away the water in his eyes with a low moan of disappointment, the delicately-applied makeup now smudging, a watery layer of mascara ringing his eyes. When he stretches up into a crouch, his pants are spotted with water though mostly okay, and it’s clear his shirt displays the majority of the water.

Clinging to him obscenely, the thin white cotton is made see-through with the effect of Mango’s shake-off. It exposes the harsh black lines of his tattoo, which winds around his ribcage, nevermind. You’d seen it laid bare twice before, but you’d been too wound up from his teasing to even really look. Now, though, you admire the way it stands out so starkly even behind a layer of fabric, the edges blurred but still strong and pure black.

As he huffs and wrings out the fabric, Taehyung cackles behind him, and Jimin’s face darkens. Without any time for the younger man to react, Jimin’s grabs the still-running hose and turns it onto Taehyung, drenching him with a triumphant yell.

“Hey!” Taehyung screeches, hair covering his eyes heavily as his pyjamas sag against his body. “No fair!”

You jump away as Taehyung begins to wrestle with Jimin for the hose, the two grinning like idiots even as they scrabble.

Jin, calmly patting down Mango, chooses to instead lift her into his arms bundled in the towel. He crooks his head at you. “Let’s go down to the pool and dry off a bit in the sun,” he suggests. “Save getting caught in the middle of this battle.”

You squint against the glare of the late morning sun that glints off the pool. You’ve never been there yourself or seen anyone swim in it, and its lack of use is clear by the uneven layer of leaves that floats across its surface. “If you dunk me in that dirty-ass pool, I’ll kill you.” Even with the venom in your words, you follow him over, the chaos of the two boys left behind growing quieter and quieter.

“Don’t worry,” Jin assures you sweetly, “I’ll clean it first.” With that, he steps up onto the concrete patio that surrounds the large rectangle and makes his way over to the three haphazard pool chairs beside the edge. “You and Mango can relax here.”

Eying him suspiciously, you sit on the gauzy canvas of one of the lounge chairs and lean back, letting out a sigh as the warm of the sun settles onto your skin like a blanket. “Fine,” you sigh out, too comfortable to protest, “just while Mango dries off.”

Jin works quietly, without haste. All you hear as you throw an arm over your eyes is the occasional tinkling of water and the snuffling of the dog Jin sat down beside you.

With the sun beating down on you, warming your soaked shirt, you let your mind wander lazily. You hadn’t really had a chance to properly think after the elimination. Or lack of, you suppose. All of Monday had you feeling a strange mix of relief and guilt, until Hoseok served your penance and allowed you to put your mind at ease again. Now, though, you take a chance to think over how the game has changed.

It was moments like earlier, when groups of you were together and laughing, that made you happy to be here. The thought that you were no longer evicting one contestant a week felt like a hundred-year burden finally being lifted off your shoulders.

Though of course, with all the good, came bad, too. The guys said they wouldn’t take you personally, and at least now everyone would know the decision was based on sex alone, but it didn’t take a psychic to see how bad things could turn if someone took it wrong. Already you can picture fights, sulking, resentment, and the thought scares you.  

And then the punishment for you touching them. It was something you hadn’t seen coming for a second, though all of Sejin’s twists had gotten you off-guard. The thought that the other guys would have control over what you wore if you ever slipped up gives you pause. You’re confident in your body, but they would be well within their rights to make you wear something humiliating. You bite down hard on your tongue. Just don’t fuck the outed members, you hiss at yourself. Easy as that.

Not so easy, perhaps, when the thought of every one of them made your heart ache and shift in your chest.

“You aren’t asleep, are you?”

You shoot up in fright at the sudden exclamation, startled out of your train of thought. “No, what?” your tongue fumbles, before you squint in front of you to the poolside and your mouth drops open.

As casual as ever, Jin stands on the far edge, leaning his weight on a long leaf skimmer, the net resting on the end of the pole, above his head. That isn’t what has your attention, though. As you raise a hand to block the sun, you feel your mouth water at the sight of him standing in nothing but a pair of dark grey boxers, hand on his hip casually like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“What the fuck are you doing?” is the only thing your mind can think to say.

Jin chuckles, the motion making his broad shoulders jump up and down. Your mouth drops wider open, eyes roaming his figure. Basking in the attention, he smiles broadly. “Cleaning your pool,” he answers easily, “Miss Y/n.”

Your brows knit together. “My po- Oh.” You take a moment to analyse the situation - single lady on the pool chair watching as a hot and scantily-clad young man cleans it for her. Pool boy. A bemused giggle bubbles up your throat as you remember Jin’s disbelieving reaction when he drew the card. “Really?”

Jin just shrugs. “I’m just here to do my job, Miss. Saving up money for college. But it’s so hot out here that-” Jin breaks off with a pout as you begin to crack up, curling over your own torso with the force of it. “Hey! Why are you laughing at me?”

You try to let your laughter die down enough to speak, still giggling wetly as your eyes tear up a bit from it. “Sa-saving up for college,” you make out before cracking up again. “You don’t have to pay to be a professor, Jinnie.”

His mouth drops open in offence at your quip, letting the leaf skimmer clatter onto the concrete dramatically. On the chair beside you, Mango wakes up with a start at the noise and flees, scampering off in the direction of the villa. Still offended, Jin turns and makes his way around the edge of the pool towards you with a huff. “The disrespect these days,” he declares, “I’m just a poor uni student trying to make a quick buck and all you’re doing is insulting me.”

You sit up, watching him keep your gaze step by step. The sun is beautiful on him, honeying his brown hair and bronzing the smooth skin of his chest, shoulders and arms. He’s beautiful, but of course he doesn’t need you telling him to know that. “You shouldn’t talk back to your employer, Jinnie,” you quip as he nears.

As intimidating as someone can be wearing nothing but underwear - you can spy his clothes haphazardly strewn on the concrete on the other side of the patio - Jin steps in front of the lounge chair, blotting out the sun with his broad back. “Luckily for you,” he answers smoothly, “I just finished. I’ll just collect the cash and get out of your hair.”

You stare up at him, eyes aching now that they’re not fighting against the glare of the sun. Even though you’ve never been in this situation before, and certainly don’t have much experience with role-play, the words come easy to you. “But I don’t have any money.”

His grin turns wolfish, like he’d been hoping you’d say that. Your stomach flips as he lifts one leg over the end of the lounge chair, straddling it. “I suppose I’ll just have to claim my payment in some other way.”

Your heart races as he sits down, boxers doing nothing to hide his straining erection. “Like what?” you ask weakly, breath hitching as his fingers stretch out to brush over the button of your shorts.

Jin’s eyes are hot on yours, twin points of heat everywhere they roam. First between your legs, then up to meet your gaze. “Will you let me taste you?” he asks, previous humour completely evaporated. He stares at you intensely, like nothing else is as important as this, and you find yourself nodding before you even process it.

“Wait,” you gasp as he slips open the button, zip sliding down smoothly, “out here? The others-”

“Have gone inside,” Jin cuts in easily, fingers dipping below the hem of your panties. Your breath hitches, hips lifting to help him slip them off your legs and onto the concrete beside, shoes and socks following. “We’re alone.”

The warmth of the chair’s fabric below you is strange on your skin, but Jin isn’t content with just your core being exposed. Tapping your arm, he guides you to raise them as he lifts your shirt, tossing it away in the same direction. Almost bare for him, the only thing that remains is your bra, and without hesitation his fingers find the clasp, leaning forward to capture your mouth with his suddenly as he slips the bra down your arm.

Naked beneath him, you whimper into his mouth as he presses his chest against you, arms caging you on either side. It’s been a long time since you’ve kissed him, and it feels just as heady as last time, his lips soft but so firm and thorough as they claim you.

Jin kisses with all his energy, like it’s his only purpose, and the intense way he works your mouth open and licks up into it, swirling his tongue dizzily over yours has you hooked on him, needing more even as he gives you more than you feel you can handle.

After a time, you feel him shift, and you groan past swollen lips as he slides down your body, trailing an unbroken line of kisses down your throat and chest until he’s cupping a breast in his hand, hot mouth descending on a stiff peak. You cry out, back arching with the delicious stimulation as he suckles on it needily.

“Still so sensitive,” he remarks with a chuckle, and any protest at his teasing tone is lost under the indulgent way he flicks his tongue over the bud, circling it deftly. It’s sinful, the way you watch him, watch his eyes close in bliss and your peak roll under the ministrations of his tongue, like a show of what’s to come.

Once he gives a final wet suck to bring it to its full stiffness, he moves across to the other one, thumbing the first lazily to keep those hot coals of pleasure burning inside you.

Sensing you can take it, he’s rougher with the second nipple, tugging at it with his teeth, sucking harshly and laving his tongue over it when you whimper at the sting. “Perfect for me,” his voice makes out in a gravelled tone, “you’re like a fucking four-course meal.”

You chuckle airily, though it’s cut off by a hitched whimper as he ventures lower yet again, letting his tongue and lips lead the way over the skin of your stomach, until you can feel the warmth of his breath where you need to feel him most. “Jinnie,” you breathe pleadingly, toes curling as he dips out his tongue to wet his lips.

“Will you be good while I taste you, hm?” Jin questions lowly, voice silken like his lips.

You nod with a swallow, but your throat has gone dry just watching him. The sight of his fingers digging in to the flesh of your thighs, his lips pursing, his eyes swirling with mischief and lust. “Need you, Jinnie,” you find yourself pleading again.

He hums in bemusement, and you unconsciously hold your breath as he finally dips his head down. The first contact isn’t his tongue at all, but his lips, pressed to the upper seam of your thigh. You gasp, core clenching, but he pays no mind, laying a delicate trail across your thigh, until he jumps over and begins the other side.

With a whine, you part your legs wider, bare feet grazing on the sunbaked concrete. The rough texture reminds you of the fact that you’re outside, bared to the world, and you whine again. “Jinnie, hurry.”

“Patience,” he chastises lowly, pinching the inner of your thigh between two fingers to make you jump. “I cleaned out the pool for you, the least you can do is let me enjoy you.”

You swallow down your needy moan, head falling back against the lounge chair. “Sorry,” you gasp out instead, hoping he appreciates your manners and takes mercy on you.

Instead, he just grins. “So polite,” the therapist muses, “I wonder how long that’ll last.” One at a time, slow like he’s drawing out your anticipation, he lifts your legs onto his broad shoulders, tilting your hips up to expose you to him better.

The moment he touches his tongue to your core, you know you’re fucked.

Languid, exploratory, he delves the muscle through your folds, swirling once around your sensitive clit before dipping back down again. You sigh out, enjoying every motion, but it’s far too slow, and he knows it.

As you glance down, his lips are stretched in a slick grin, which he makes no attempt to mask. Obscenely, he wraps his lips around one of yours and sucks, slurping at your juices without shame.

You sob, thighs tensing, but he holds you open calmly and gives the same ministration to the other side, collecting your arousal on his tongue like he’s savouring it. More and more leaks out of you at the feeling of him going down on your for his own pleasure, and he groans in approval.

In his grasp, you attempt to cant your hips down to angle your clit closer to his roving tongue, but he deftly ignores your attempt, devouring you at his own pace.

After the clouds pass, the sun pierces your eyes again, and you throw an arm over your face to block it out, body writhing under his slow stimulation. “Ji-Jinnie,” you hiccup, but he doesn’t even reply, fingers clutching tighter at your thighs and ass to latch you onto him firmer.

When a breeze picks up, it wafts over you, cooling the spit on your nipples and peaking them even more, and you shiver at the feeling. Hearing a distant swishing sound, you lift your arm up and glance towards the source, only to go stiff once you see.

About ten metres away, the outdoor dining area is not as empty as it was before, Yoongi pausing with two plates full of cooked meat and potatoes, eyes directly locked on you. With a flip of arousal and dread, you watch as more members of the house file out; Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok joining him and gawking when they see you and Jin.

Cheeks flushing violently, you push at Jin’s head. “They-they’re out here, Jin, you need to stop-” you break off as he pulls back and glances over, chin and lips shiny with your arousal.

“Lunchtime,” Yoongi calls out with a wry grin, and you groan as he continues to set the table outside, the younger ones following suit. Namjoon seems the most startled of the four, but not one of them has looked away. Jungkook’s eyes are so wide you can see them rounded from here, a hand pressing to the front of his crotch.

You make another effort to wriggle out of Jin’s grip, but without even looking at you he keeps you locked in, spread for him. “Thanks, but I’m already eating!” he quips proudly, and you sob in embarrassment at the pun, covering your hands and scrunching your eyes shut.

Unable to see, however, you’re taken off-guard when Jin suddenly descends on you like a man starved. You go stiff and shriek at the sudden strong suck on your clit, before clapping a palm over your mouth. The distant sounds of the guys having lunch just makes you drip more, and Jin doesn’t miss it.

“You like that, dirty girl?” You sob at the question, but he just chuckles lowly. “Acting all shy, all coy, but this pussy of yours just loves being watched. Shall we give them a show?”

You barely have time to muster a wordless cry in response before his tongue, lips and teeth are ravishing you with only one intent: to bring you to a screaming orgasm.

You writhe as much as his grip allows you, overtaken by the sudden onslaught of pleasure, but it’s inescapable. While you can muffle your moans with your fist, biting harshly on your knuckles, there’s no denying the four men dining outside can see the way you tremble and arch, and the thought just makes you cry out more.

Your high arrives quickly as you squeeze your eyes shut, not bearing to look towards the voyeurs or even Jin as his tongue delves deep into you, nose nudging your clit as he goes.

Risking a glance over to the dining area quickly, it’s the sight of all four men sitting down, eyes heavy on you as the food remains untouched that sends you over the edge.

You reach out desperately for Jin; one hand buried into his hair and the other clutching at his hand. He holds onto you tightly as he works you through your orgasm until your thighs are shaking and your chest is heaving with the force of it.

When the tremors finally subside, he presses one last kiss to your sensitive clit, and then lets your legs down. You pant quietly as he sits up and pats your pussy playfully with a grin. To your confusion, he then stands up and rubs at the red texture marks that the gauzy fabric of the lounge chair has imprinted, and begins to walk off towards the house.

You frown, sitting up with a still-racing heart. “Where are you going?” you question incredulously.

With a shit-eating grin, Jin sends you a wink, not even bothering to go collect his clothes or hide his straining erection. “Lunchtime.”

“Will Mango be okay?” Taehyung asks worriedly.

Jimin tsks, but his tone is warm as he levels a stare at the younger man. “She’ll be fine, Tae, she’s a big girl. Besides; Hoseok looked like he’d fallen in love. I bet she’s getting treated like a queen right now.”

Taehyung glances down the stairs morosely as they turn the corner. “Good,” he muses, “she is.”

Jimin doesn’t notice Taehyung following him until he steps into his room, only to see the masseuse still behind him. “Do you need something?”

Still in pyjamas soaked from the water fight, Taehyung looks nonetheless beautiful. Jimin takes a moment to look over the tanned boy, his lithe frame exposed by the clinging fabric and his hair hanging long with the weight of the water. His lips are delicately sculpted like from marble, and he can’t help himself from starting at the slight pout as Taehyung asks softly, “does your room have a bath? Jungkook said you did.”

Jimin blinks. “How would Jungko- Oh.” The already-faded memory of Jungkook barging in on his morning routine sharpens back into colour. Of course. “Anyway, yes, I do. Why’s that?”

“Just wondering.” Taehyung shifts, a ring of dark grey on the carpet around him from the water that drips off his body.

Jimin dares a glance at the cameras in the corners of the hallway. If the two of them soak the carpet much more, Sejin will have their heads. Sighing he steps further into his room, opening the door wider. “Do you want to use it?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Taehyung brightens up, grin so broad it exposes his back teeth. “Yes, please, hyung!”

Jimin takes a deep breath to stop himself from mirroring the smile, simply shutting the door behind them both as Taehyung rushes into the bathroom, skidding on the floor with his wet feet. “Careful,” Jimin scolds quickly, “you’ll fall.” Avoiding Taehyung’s imploring gaze, he steps past him to put in the plug and begin running water, shivering at the feeling of his wet clothes cold against his skin. “Do you like it hot?”

“Always,” Taehyung answers without hesitation. Though Jimin can’t see his face, the low timbre of the masseuse’s voice gives him pause. “Can we have bubbles?”

Like that, the moment of tension is broken, and Jimin straightens up with a laugh, turning to him. “We?”

Taehyung pouts again, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “You aren’t gonna shower while I have a bath, are you, hyung? That’s a waste of water.”

Jimin feels his eyebrows rise, but the motion catches his attention in the mirror. He gasps at his reflection behind Taehyung; with the liner and mascara around his eyes smudged like a racoon and his foundation patchy, he looks like a mess. “Goodness,” he sighs, “why didn’t you tell me I look like this?”

Taehyung’s eyes are wide with uncertainty as Jimin rushes to the vanity, hastily fishing in the drawers for an oil cleanser to remove the dregs of pigment on his face. “You still look beautiful, hyung,” Taehyung offers softly.

“I look like a teenage girl that just got dumped.” Jimin scoffs a laugh as he viciously rubs at his skin, rinsing it off in the sink with a sigh. Straightening up again, he winces at the reflection that greets him. Red nose and chin, cheeks round without the illusion of contour, eyes looking too small in his face. Every flaw makes him bite down on his tongue harsher, until he whirls himself around, unable to look longer. With his jaw tense, Jimin tugs off the silver rings that adorn his fingers. “Fuck it, I’ll have a bath.”

Instead of cheering like Jimin expects him to, wants him to, Taehyung just eyes him with quiet concern. Over the loudly gushing faucet, his voice is barely audible as he repeats, “you still look beautiful.”

“Do you want vanilla or peaches and cream?” Jimin offers instead. “For bubbles, I mean.” Busying himself with picking out the bottles from the shower, he misses the frown on Taehyung’s face.

“Peaches, please, hyung,” the younger man requests warmly, shivering at the strange tension in the air. “Peach is my favourite scent, you know?”

“Is it?” The thought brings a smile to Jimin’s lips, as he discards the other bottle and begins drizzling body wash over the stream, bubbles frothing immediately. The bright yet sweet scent begins to fill the room, and Jimin’s smile widens. “It suits you.”

Once the tub is aptly full, and bubbles cover the surface, Jimin caps the bottle and peels the fabric of his shirt off himself with soapy hands, sighing as the weight is removed. He spares a glance to Taehyung, who still stands motionless in the middle of the room in a puddle of water. “You can get in now,” he provides, “I don��t bite.”

The blatant lie tugs a grin from Taehyung’s lips as he obediently begins undressing. “You forget I’ve seen your videos,” he quips wryly.

“Oh, I certainly haven’t forgotten, Taehyungie.” It takes more effort to strip himself from his blue jeans, totally waterlogged, but Jimin kicks off his shoes and does it one leg at a time. Naked, he seeks out the warmth of the water, sighing as he steps in and sinks below the bubbles, glancing over to Taehyung, who avoids his gaze as he slips off his boxers, the fabric slapping wetly on the white tiles.

It’s the first time Jimin’s seen Taehyung fully naked, and he can’t help his eyes from roaming. Smooth chest leading to a narrow waist and soft stomach, Taehyung’s cock standing at half-mast like he’s still unsure whether he should be aroused or not. Hastily, he steps into the bath, facing Jimin on the other side, and Jimin watches those delicate, slender fingers flex on the side of the tub as he settles in. Those fingers that played Y/n like she was an instrument. Those fingers that relaxed Jimin more than he’d felt in years, without even needing a release.

“I did what you suggested, hyung,” Taehyung says lightly, knees poking out of the water as he sticks as far to his end of the tub as possible. He pokes his chin forward, running a finger over his jaw and lower cheek. “I’m growing it out.”

Jimin smiles at the younger man warmly, the warmth of the water relaxing his muscles and softening him more than he’d normally be. Or perhaps it was the earnest, non-judgmental air Taehyung always held. Either way, he finds himself leaning forward slightly to brush his fingertips over the bottom of Taehyung’s face. The slightly sharp texture of exposed hairs and beginnings of a dark shadow evidence that he hadn’t shaved since Monday morning. “It’s growing in fast,” he comments, eyes darting to see the way Taehyung’s pulse thrums visibly on his neck.

Taehyung swallows, eyes locked on Jimin. “That’s why I usually shave everyday,” he explains lightly. Perhaps unconsciously, the masseuse’s legs part slowly, water rushing in to fill the void.

Shifting closer again, up on his knees, Jimin continues to inspect the 5 o’clock shadow on Taehyung’s face. “It looks nice,” he says softly; “handsome.”

Taehyung’s eyes blink widely. As Jimin’s tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips, he wonders if, had there been no bubbles, he’d be able to see Taehyung’s cock stiffening to a full erection below the water. The thought sends blood rushing down to his own dick, and Jimin sighs.

Sensing the silence has extended long enough, Taehyung swallows. “Do you think she’ll like it, hyung? What if it’s too rough?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jimin points out, voice coming out breathier than expected, and his hand snakes around the back of Taehyung’s neck to drag him into a kiss.

The black-haired boy squeaks in surprise at the first contact, but quickly he’s melting, reaching up to grasp blindly at Jimin’s shoulders with a whimper. The reciprocation simultaneously relaxes Jimin and sends him into a frenzy, and he slides himself closer, between Taehyung’s parted legs to deepen the kiss.

If Jimin angles his head just right, his chin feels the slight prickle of Taehyung’s unshaven face, and he makes a noise of approval low in his throat, nipping at the lips that have swollen under his ministrations. Of course the idea wasn’t for kissing Y/n, but if Taehyung could kiss that good with his scruff, Jimin couldn’t imagine what a joyride Y/n was in for when she’d feel that between her thighs. Jimin grins into the kiss at the thought.

The air is thick with arousal and peaches, and the heady combination has Jimin needing more, tongue slipping out to lave over Taehyung’s lips. The younger man whimpers, and Jimin takes the opportunity of his open mouth to run his tongue along Tae’s, leaning further and further forward until their chests are pressed together.

With a needy gasp, Taehyung pulls away, turning his head just slightly to the side to suck in some air, eyes blown with lust. “Are- Jimin?” he stutters out incoherently, the sound of his panting rivalled only by the sloshing of the water that their movements have stirred up.

Jimin’s heart races; thrill on top of arousal on top of concern, his grin falling. “Do you not want to?”

Taehyung narrows his brows like he doesn’t comprehend, and glances around the room. “But there are no cameras?” he supplies, voice lilting at the end like a question.

“I know,” Jimin explains, feeling his own brain struggling to keep time, “I don’t want the cameras.”

“Then…” The lost look on Taehyung’s face breaks Jimin’s heart, and he resists the urge to press a kiss right between his brows, where a crease has formed.

Jimin wills his heart to slow, taking a deep breath. “I- I think for once, I want to have sex not because it’s my job, but because I want to get closer to someone. I know you watch my videos, but… Taehyung, would you want to have sex with me? Just… just me? Not Park Jimin?”

Taehyung tilts his head, a confused smile beginning to tug at his lips. “But you are Park Jimin-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin cuts him off, leaning back to get out of the tub. “It was stupid and I shouldn’t have-”

“Minnie.”

Jimin freezes, eyes finding Taehyung’s with a wide stare.

The younger boy’s gaze is soft behind black curls, imploring. “I like you, you know? It was never the videos or the persona. Just you. Whether we have sex or not, you should know that.”

The backs of Jimin’s eyes sting. He ignores it, instead settling back down into the now-lukewarm water. “I-” But it’s too much. He doesn’t know what to say, how to deal with the words he hasn’t heard for years and years. So instead, Jimin just cracks a shy smile, heart easing. “I do still kinda wanna have sex with you, though.”

Taehyung laughs, wide and squared, his eyes little crescent moons. “I want to have sex with you, too,” he assures. “Shall we continue?”

Jimin feels his lips stretch instinctively into a smile, before he’s leaning in and pressing them to Taehyung’s again.

Kissing Taehyung feels good; it’s more addictive and heady than he’s ever felt it in years, bar that night with Y/n. Letting his own want and desire take over instead of worrying about camera angles, lighting, viewers - is this why people like it so much?

Taehyung seems to enjoy it, too, gasping into Jimin’s mouth. The blue-haired man can feel the tickle of Taehyung’s lashes as his eyes flutter with every stroke of his tongue, and Jimin swallows a groan wondering what he’ll sound like later if he’s this responsive now.

Testing it out, he runs a hand up Taehyung’s side, seeking out a dusky brow nipple, wet with steam from the tub, and thumbs at it. Back arching suddenly, the masseuse moans into Jimin’s mouth, reaching both hands up to bury his fingers in Jimin’s hair to anchor him.

Jimin continues to circle and flick at it until Taehyung is positively squirming under his touch. Only then does he let his hand slide down again, this time delving beneath the warm embrace of the water, seeking out the hard length between Taehyung’s legs.

“Fuck,” Taehyung gasps out when he feels fingers wrapping around his cock, not stroking yet but with enough pressure to make him need more. “Want you inside me, Jimin.”

“Yeah?” Jimin confirms breathlessly with a grin. Fingers trailing lower, he easily locates the tight ring of muscle, making the younger man groan as he presses gently at the rim with a single fingertip. “Have you done this before?”

“Bottomed?” Taehyung questions. “Of course. I’m fine, hyung.”

Instead of responding, Jimin takes a moment to lift up one of Taehyung’s knees, unfolding it so that it rested over the edge of the tub. Wide-eyed, the masseuse lets Jimin give the same treatment to the other, until he’s spread open, ass no longer quite reaching the bottom as he floats in the water.

Though he can hear the spatter of water on the tile, dripping off Taehyung’s legs, Jimin ignores it and begins to work a finger past the boy’s rim, drinking in his groans as it sinks inside.

Water isn’t the best lubricant, so Jimin goes slowly, and it’s only once Taehyung grows restless with just one finger that Jimin starts to use two. It takes a moment, but as he crooks his fingers just right, Taehyung lets out a shaky cry, clenching down suddenly. “Just there?” Jimin questions with a wry smile.

Taehyung’s thighs tremble. “Right there, hyung, fuck.” The black-haired boy fusses so beautifully as Jimin continues to stretch him out, pads of his fingers focussing on that sensitive bud of tissue inside. “I-I’m ready, Minnie, I need you.”

Jimin’s heart hitches at the nickname again, and his cock throbs at the thought of finally being able to fuck him. “Are you sure?” he checks one last time, receiving a hasty nod.

The moment Jimin slowly bottoms out, hips flush against Taehyung’s ass, he knows he’s not going to last long. Luckily, Taehyung seems to share the sentiment, groaning obscenely and clutching at his own length, hissing at the contact.

“Fuck, Tae-tae, you feel so good,” Jimin sighs as he begins to set a languid but deep pace. It was natural for his tongue to run during sex; dirty talk was huge in his industry, and sometimes he felt like part of him ran on autopilot during his scenes. Slutty pussy this, dumb cock that; but this didn’t even feel like dirty talk to him. As he buried himself in Taehyung over and over, it felt closer to a confession.

“Ah, Minnie,” Taehyung whimpers, beginning to stroke himself in time, chest arching out of the water, “kiss me.”

His eyes are dark with lust but puppy-soft as he blinks up under his lashes at Jimin, and it’s impossible to resist. Not that he wants to, when Taehyung’s lips feel so perfect on his.

The younger boy whimpers delicately into Jimin’s mouth when they’re joined again, and Jimin feels his high creeping up on him. Embarrassingly fast, he’d think normally, but he doesn’t feel embarrassed now.

“I’m close,” he whispers quickly to Taehyung, picking up the pace so that the water sloshes loudly around them, bubbles dissolving.

Taehyung groans, wraps his free arm around Jimin’s shoulders to hold himself closer, and speeds up his hand. “Me too,” he confesses, “cum inside, Minnie.”

With a low curse, Jimin is spilling inside Taehyung, hips stuttering their pace. Taehyung chases his lips through his own orgasm, gasping so much that he can barely reciprocate. It feels dirty and exquisite; the way their lips and tongue join so messily together, shuddering in unison as pleasure wracks their bodies.

Once Jimin finally comes down from his high, he’s panting. Hair damp from the steam and face hot, for once he doesn’t worry about if his o-face was attractive or his voice gravelly enough. He feels beautiful.

---

Taehyung’s nowhere to be found by the time you and the other boys finish lunch, and so there’s nobody to protest when Jin suggests the two of you can look after Mango.

Although not trained, Mango is nonetheless polite, and it’s far past sunset by the time Jin and you finish up your photoshoots and online shopping, Jin happily spending a fortune on a dog bed, pedigree food and enough toys for a whole kennel. He insists it’s because Sejin would have his ass if he asked the producer to spend more of the show’s funds, but that doesn’t stop the therapist spamming Sejin’s personal cell with pictures and messages, determined to make a point.

The two of you are exhausted from a day well spent as you snuggle lazily in Jin’s bed, a laptop propped up on your lap as you yawn away to a documentary on squirrels.

“We can go to sleep if you want,” Jin reminds you as a deep baritoned narrator explains the child-rearing techniques of female squirrels. “It’s past midnight.”

“You’re past midnight,” you retort sleepily, before your brain catches up with you. “Ah. No. Maybe you’re right.”

With a teasing smile and kind eyes, Jin takes the laptop away, plugging it in on his desk before returning back. “I’m glad, you know,” he muses as he slips under the covers again, your arms and legs immediately latching onto his frame.

Once he settles, you place your head on his chest, the internal beating of his heart a soothing metronome. “Glad about what?”

“Glad that this week’s challenge was you sleeping in different beds. I never got to sleep beside you that first night.”

“You could’ve,” you point out.

“It was only the first night,” he allows, voice rumbling in his chest, “I didn’t want to cross any lines and you fell asleep before I could get an answer.”

You hum, snuggling closer even as your whole body is pressed against him. He’s just so warm, and he feels so safe when he wraps his arm under and around you, holding you there. “I was gonna seduce you,” you whine with a yawn. “Tonight, I mean. You didn’t fuck me before so I was gonna seduce you. But you smell so good. I just wanna sleep.”

Jin seems to share the sentiment, muffling the yawn he caught from you. “You can seduce me in the morning.”

“Promise?”

Jin laughs, wincing when it jostles you violently on his chest. “Fuck, sorry. But yes, I promise. Now go to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Your hand unconsciously finds the collar of his pyjama shirt, clutching at it. You feel the warmth of his hand wrapping around it, flipping it over to lace his fingers through yours. You think you could stay here forever, but perhaps tonight is a good place to start. “Goo’night,” you mumble.

Jin’s voice is barely audible, naught a whisper, but you feel it in his chest. “Night, sweetheart.”

[aitarose]

SEVEN AM (T. OIKAWA) ⤷ pairing: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

synopsis: between wrinkled bedsheets and lost undergarments, the evening of your dreams is one of a living nightmare—you, alone in a simple bed without its king. 

word count: 1.2k

genre: fuck boi!tooru, best friend!reader, one night stand, one-sided pining, angsty angst

warnings: extremely suggestive content, swearing, slight obsession, brief mentions of intercourse :( but not fully descriptive bc i’m a minor haha ok

24 hours collab masterpost

notes: for bby ly’s (@kyotarou) collab that i already forgot the name of oopsie brb OK it’s called the 24 hours collab aha aha there we go. also half of this takes place at like midnight umm chile anyways

It’d been a spur-of-the-moment decision, something that you’d relived over and over again within the constructs of your own mind—but never believed would actually come true. It was the very thing that you’d wished for most in all of your months by his side, never realizing that it was right within your grasp.

The dream being just beneath your skin, hands laced together through gentle movements and breathless moans, all occurring in one single night of ecstasy. 

A night that had been, of course, proceeded by your typical evening of celebration. The excited haze of energy that followed a perfect win on the court—victory for Club Athletico San Juan, which was led by none other than their esteemed setter—your best friend, Oikawa Tooru. 

You’d walked out of the bar together after eleven PM, hand-in-hand, him swinging your palms back and forth whilst you strolled down the spaced pavements—avoiding crazed traffic and wandering strangers—heading towards your quaint apartment which sat peacefully atop the local cafe. 

One after the other, the two of you stepped inside—locking the door behind you as you dropped your abandoned shoes on the mat, having taken them off hours earlier in the midst of dancing. His hand had never left the small of your back, guiding your steps towards the cozy kitchen with a dream-like cloud floating through the air. 

You’d offered him a mug of decaffeinated coffee, turning on the machine with the muscle memory of countless similar nights, not noticing the hardness of his gaze. There had been a glint in his eyes—an expression you’d never quite seen before displayed on his features as you turned to face him, the only sound being the soft grinds of the water heater. 

There wasn’t any verbal discussion, no command that had signaled him to rush over and take your jaw between his calloused fingers. Only a split second of eye contact, both of you having the same wish in that moment—to finally know the feeling of your lips on his in an ever-seizing kiss. 

And it really had been everything you’d dreamed of. Soft and passionate, perfection in terms of intimacy—a seemingly life-changing kiss between you and your best friend. The very person you’d been falling for for years on years now. The man that you imagined yourself meeting at the end of a rose covered aisle in beautiful designer attire. 

The path from the kitchen to your bedroom hadn’t taken long to conquer, strewn clothing across the floor, like scattered treats in the woods on the way to the witches hut. A desirable sight, but also one that would inevitably lead to pain and heartbreak—and unfortunately for you, those outcomes had never crossed your mind, not even once. 

But now, as you lay awake—facing the bedroom wall in an attempt to ignore the rising sunlight—there was a physical pain in your chest. The bonds of your being snapping into two as you heard him roll out of bed, groaning at the bright rays whilst his regretful actions cycled through his mind. 

“Shit.” You heard him mumble as you turned slightly to see him run a hand through his disheveled locks. He was biting his lip, tapping his foot against the hard wood floor with his eyes on the window, staring out into the incoming horizon with reddened irises. “Shit.”

Oikawa stood, abandoning the bodily indent in the comforter and scrambling to find his clothing. It seemed as if he were more focused on the location of his belt than the status of your relationship—all the more confirming that you were nothing but another one of his flings. Another one of his famous one night stands. 

“Tooru?” You called out, sitting up with your elbows as support, a fully serious gaze falling upon his eyes of fear as his attention snapped around. “Tooru, where are you going? Do you have an early practice?”

There was a part of you that wanted to believe that he did have an excuse for trying to leave you. That there was a valid reason as to why he hadn’t held you through the morning haze, why he hadn’t pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head in an attempt to wake you softly—why he hadn’t confessed any true feelings for you in the night turned dawn?

But all of your worries were confirmed at his reaction. His usually charming cheeks were replaced with ones devoid of commitment or love, his stance being awkward and weary rather than comfortable and content in your presence. He was practically a different person. 

You didn’t know this Oikawa Tooru, you hadn’t ever known the man before you now—but all the women at the bar, the fans in the stands, girls at the beach who’d whistle in his way and send him flirty glances had always been familiar with this feeling of longing. 

It was the tone of rejection and regrets, stolen kisses that had been thrown into the bin—taken away to the sea and lost in the landfill of broken hearts and mixed emotions. He didn’t need to come up with a response to your wonders, knowing that you were smarter than his empty promises and lies. All that was needed was a pained shake of the head and the stale wake of his absence. 

Tears rained down your make-up smudged skin at the sound of the front door closing, the realization of reality setting in—the reality that he would likely never take a walk with you on your path of life again. Your streets were at one for what you wanted to be forever—but forever doesn’t always last, does it?

No, because if it did you wouldn’t be driving down the boulevard of broken dreams with an open hand—an open hand that was, for some reason, still waiting for him to come back. Still hoping with every part of your soul that he would come rushing into your arms and fall back into a peaceful slumber. 

Perhaps you could find that slumber yourself, snuggled in the cold cotton sheets of your king sized bed—which was ironically missing its king of the court. 

If there was any chance that you could find rest, lucid dream the reality that you oh-so-wished you were currently living, you’d take that opportunity. After all, what is life without the one you love? What is life if not missed connections and broken signals? What is the point of trying so hard, only to be beat down after finally getting what you wanted?

Maybe you just weren’t meant for the type of mind-blowing love you saw in the movies or on television. The lifestyle of happiness just wasn’t in your book—the dream of dancing through a fairytale was a phony pretense, as you weren’t the princess in the story, but rather the abandoned love interest instead. 

Turning the next page wouldn’t be easy for you, it would take all the mental strength in your bones—but at the sight of the parting clouds and shining sun, you knew you’d be okay. The next chapter of your story would be a good one, you were going to make sure of it—with or without him.

dedicated to my silly little beautiful baka @gellysticks​. you’re such a silly goose you silly little goose you

aitarose do not copy, claim, or mimic my writing, works, themes, copy and paste my words, or headers and tags as your own. do not use my blog as a template for your own, or base your theme on mine.

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Tell Me Everything

Pairing: Chris Evans x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary:  Reader works as a costume designer in Marvel. She's currently working on Endgame, designing the costumes for each superhero (but especially her favorite one), when Chris stops by. Later, he tries it on. Mutal pining goodness and fluff all throughout :) Warnings: None :) A/N: It’s been a while. I’ve written for chris once only, and I already miss it. Here’s some fluff.

Earphones plugged in deep in her ears, blocking every other sound apart from her music. The side of her hand is dirty with pencil lead, leaving occasional smudges on the paper that she forgets to erase. It’s- there’s a lingering fatigue she can’t really shake off. She’s beyond exhausted, working so late in the night, still in her office, but doing this, right here, it feels so damn good. It doesn’t matter that she should be heading home, because all her repressed creativity is bleeding in the paper, flowing as if it’s pouring out of her veins . Finally, finally , doing the thing she’s great at, the thing she loves.

Her music is deep, dark, has a strong but slow beat to it, and she bobs her head along, uncaring of the strands of hair that are furiously escaping her ponytail. She gets lost in the design, vigorously making swooping lines and hard edges, scribbling to her heart’s content, erasing a line and coming back in. The tedious process of adding details makes her settle just a little.

These past few years have been incredible. Working for Marvel was a dream she didn’t even know she’d had, the opportunity of a lifetime, truly. During the time spent working with all these amazing people, she’s learned, she’s grown, she’d developed as an artist and as a person. She can say nothing less than she’s happy, truly happy here. She means, designing and creating costumes for this franchise has been a job she couldn’t have even dreamt of. It may get tiresome, sometimes boring and tedious, but right now, designing… she feels like she’s been born to do this and just this.

It’s been a while since she’d gotten so lost in a design. It may be the fact that this particular one, and the actor that’s supposed to wear it, is her favorite. She may be biased. But she’d had amazing ideas and she was so eager to just make them come to life.

She’s coloring the last of the star in the center of the chest, when fingers tap her shoulder. Having been so lost in her work and music, she feels like someone poured a bucket of water over her without warning, and she jumps, pulling her earbuds out by their wire and swiveling her chair to look at the intruder.

Chris smiles down at her, all teeth and soft eyes. His hands are in the air flamboyantly, It’s me!, dark grey, long sleeved Henley loose on his biceps, and dark wash jeans hugging his thighs tightly. His hair is grown longer, tucked behind his ears, his beard is… new , and very nicely trimmed. Her heart thumps a little louder at the sight of him. If anyone were to ask, she’d blame the jumpscare, but she knows better.

“Chris!” Excitedly getting off her seat and throwing her arms around his shoulders in a friendly hug. His own wrap around her tightly, squeeze her to him, if only for a second, and she exhales.

“Hey!” He tells her, just as excitedly, and she pulls back. “I’m sorry I scared you, I knocked and there was no answer.” She waves a hand to show him it’s okay and plops back on her seat unceremoniously.

“What are you even doing here?! I thought the cast was gonna show up next week, for the fittings?” A strand tucked behind her ear and she’s suddenly kind of self-conscious of her disheveled state. Chris leans his hip on her desk and crosses his arms over his chest casually, looking like one of those bad boys in 2000’s coming-of-age rom-coms. She tries not to stare, but it’s a struggle, and a funny thought crosses her mind. If she were looking at him for the first time, he’d be screaming trouble. He still does, but less because he’s scary and a heartbreaker, and more because she’s hopeless when it comes to being functional around him.

“I had some business up here in New York, and the Russo’s asked me to drop by. Something about paperwork.” He shrugs lightly and she ‘ah’s, accompanied by a nod and a brief eyebrow twitch to show her understanding.

“Well, I’m happy you dropped by. It’s been a hot minute, hasn’t it,” she smiles at him, and Chris nods, a bit of an apologetic, regretful almost, look in his eye.

“So,” he says and shifts his weight a little, “whatcha working on?”

“You, actually.” Lead-stained fingers pull the sketchbook under the light a little better, closer to him, and he gets off his hip, places his left hand on the back of her chair, leaning all his weight on his right, on the desk. His chest is suddenly so close to her face, her shoulder brushes his torso and she’s holding her breath , because he smells so good –cologne and aftershave?- she might fucking faint . She can feel her face heat up. She wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he knows at all. She watches his expression.

“Waddaya got?” It’s all interest in his voice, and he doesn’t seem to intend to move. Damn.

“Well,” she takes a shaky breath, “I figured, y’know-“ a mindless shrug, and his shirt is exceptionally soft and fairly thin, two layers between their bare skin, and- oh gosh, she's supposed to be explaining things. Focus! “Cap needs a new suit, and he’s a fugitive now, right? He doesn’t really care to get a new one tailored.” Chris exhales a chopped, amused breath and nods sideways, as if saying You have a point there . “So the old one would have to do.

“But it’s different now, because he can’t have the same exact one, completely untouched, and he’s a different man now anyways.” Scooting the chair closer to the desk on instinct- and fucking great , now she’s literally pressing into the bottom of his ribcage lightly with her shoulder. It’s getting harder to breathe. She can feel his exhales on her face, Jesus. “So basically,” a steadying, shaky breath, “I made it dirtier- that’s why the colors are darker. It’s supposed to be aging fabric. But it’s also more comfortable for you.

“The sleeves will end right here-” without giving it much thought, she traces a line under his right elbow, the one on which he’s leaning, and he follows the motion with his gaze intently, “and you’ll wear some fingerless gloves with buckles on them.” He nods, eyes still not off her design, occasionally flicking to glance at her. “But,” she begins.

“The detail I’m most excited for is this,” a tap on the star in the middle of the uniform- or rather lack thereof. The space where the plastic white thing once resided is now dark blue like the rest of the uniform. She grins up at him when his features twitch in interest. “I pitched this to Joe and he really loved it. Basically, my logic is that, as we said, Cap’s a fugitive, yeah?” Chris nods, attentive as ever. “He’s gone against every government official he knows, against a big chunk of his own team. The news have probably said awful things about him and painted him as a superhero gone rogue or something. So what does he do? He rips off the star.

“He no longer fits the Captain America title, in the sense that he doesn’t want to be associated with the government’s lap dog, their dancing monkey. Instead of faithfully following orders as a soldier, he’s his own self, still a Captain, but on his own terms. It’s symbolic! He’s carving his own  path, leading like he was always meant to, and he’s dramatic enough to have done this- ripped off the star I mean. The suit should feel more familiar to him now.”

She’s been rambling for a while, her mouth is drier, but she was so excited when the idea manifested in her head. A big sense of pride washed over her, she couldn’t wait to design and implement it in the costume.

And Chris, well… Chris is looking at her with this small little smile that grows the more he considers it. “I…” he shakes his head, a grin stretching his pretty lips, “I fucking love it,” he tells her, with so much genuine warmth in his tone. She’s never heard him this confident and proud , like a parent almost, glowing at her like she’s something brighter than a star. “That’s brilliant , Y/n, holy shit ! The fans will go nuts!” He leans close to inspect the design again with the new parameters in mind, shaking his hand as if disbelieving, smile remaining on his face. “You’re amazing .”

A hot, red blush spreads across her cheeks fiercely, and there’s a lingering urge to sit up straighter, to square her shoulders in pride and happiness, because she’s so happy he liked it¸ but she is now acutely aware of how close he is, still not having moved away from her since she pressed into him accidentally. She resorts to a one shouldered shrug. “Thank you,” her voice is meeker than she’d like it, but Chris doesn’t mention it. Instead, they share a smile.

=

“Ready?”

“I’m, unf, gimme a sec- I’m coming.” Some shuffling, and then the sound of the curtain being pulled back, and she puts her phone away, swiveling in her chair and- oh Christ.

“Chris… ” she says, eyes racking from the tops of his shoes, up his legs, his thighs, his belt. The way the comfortable material stretches over his fit stomach, up his curved chest, and extends up to the base of his neck- it’s, fuck, he looks so good. His veiny forearms are exposed to the warm lamp light in the room, and he’s not wearing the gloves, seeing as they’re sitting on her desk.

The dark blue of his suit makes his newly dyed hair look golden .

“How do I look?” He says with a grin, striking an exuberant pose just to make her smile, and she grins.

“I’ll give you like,” she pretends to think for a second, “a six out of ten.” A shrug and a bitten back smile, and his hand goes to his chest dramatically, thick eyebrows furrowing and blowing out a breath.

“Damn,” he tells her with a look in his eyes that she can’t really place, something teasing, but like they're sharing an inside joke of some kind. “Harsh critic,” it’s teasing and happy, and she chuckles, because yeah. This is quite  perfect. She grabs his gloves off her desk and gets off her chair, going up to him and holding them for him to squeeze his hands in. She tightens some buckles, smooths a hand over the leathery material, making non-existent creases disappear.

A step back, she inspects the way the material hugs his thighs so nicely, but is also still baggy, to give him some freedom of movement. His boots are almost knee high, and- it actually looks like it might be a bit tight in the neck. She steps closer to him, barely tests the two buckles in front of his shoulders, checking that there’s give for him to move in. “It’s good? Comfortable, I mean?” A finger dragged between the collar of his top and his neck, purely professionally she swears, it was a subconscious move to check how much space there is for him to breathe and move his neck. And that’s the moment stupid Chris chooses to hum and she feels it in the exhale hitting her face, the vibration of his throat.

God .

Her lips purse and she squints a little, pulling back her hand. I can make this better , she decides. “Don’t move,” she orders and heads to her desk, grabbing some needle and a thread that matches the color of his suit, along with a small blade. She walks back up to him again and, with a careful hand on his chest and the threaded needle carefully placed between her lips, she makes a few, strategically placed rips near the star with the blade.

“Don’t stab me,” he says, tone low for a reason she can’t understand but makes a shiver run through her.

“Don’t give me ideas,” she counters, and Chris’s stomach shakes a little with a short, contained laugh. Continuing, she distresses the fabric, and patches up the edges so they won’t tear further during filming, allowing a string or two to stick out.

She is absolutely, of course, not ignoring how she can feel every single one of his breaths, and how he’s so good and still, and his hands are only a handful of inches away from her waist, his face hellishly close to hers.

A released exhale and a nod to herself. “Perfect,” she says quietly. She wraps the threaded needle around the handle of the blade so as to not lose it and throws it back on her desk haphazardly, to put away later. Unmoving from her spot near him, she gazes at the rips and decides it was a good addition. For just a second, it seems she forgets exactly how close he is, and now she looks up to him for approval, finding that same intent stare, straight into her soul from only three inches away.

There’s a sudden urge to shrink and disintegrate, confidence gone. Clothes she can handle. Chris she really can’t.

Baby blue eyes are watching her, standing perfectly still for her to do her thing, but there’s a, dare she say , affection of sorts in his gaze, and she’s very much struck with it. “You look great, Cap’n,” breathy and quiet, because she can’t fucking sit in silence when he looks at her like that. Chris smiles.

“All thanks to you.” A grin at the praise, at the lowered tone of his voice, as if he doesn’t want to break the moment with loud words. She should step back, b- but she physically cannot. Her muscles are seriously unwilling to move. This is her being weird, right? She’s crossing a line by taking advantage of his proximity, right? Why- He’s not showing any signs of awkwardness or discomfort though.

She’d like to know how one stretches a moment to eternity, a piece of knowledge she'd most certainly use right now. His cologne is the same as last week, when he visited in her office, comforting and musky, and he’s- he’s just looking at her with his beautiful eyes boring into hers, his warmth just centimeters away.

“You’re very close to me,” what a stupid thing to say , she scolds herself, but she just- she doesn’t know what else to do. Is it normal to feel such heat radiate from his body, or is that her mind playing tricks? She wants to curl into him, into said warmth, bury her nose in his neck and nuzzle there. It’s an urge that hits her like a tidal wave, and it almost makes her stagger on her feet. Her heart beats faster, inflated and full, adrenaline coursing through her veins all of a sudden. Chris swallows a little and nods. “What are you gonna do about it?”

There’s almost no charm in his tone, he looks borderline nervous, but there’s still some confidence in his velvety voice for him to flirt with her, the bastard and- she’s not imagining this, right? She’s not dreaming or anything? Chris actually enjoys this proximity, this closeness, he’s not pulling away. He just- he just sort of gave her consent to do something, anything. The ball is in her court, a challenge, proving she actually can do something about this.

With a shaky hand, she presses her palm flat on his chest.

A mental barrier is broken by that  touch and Chris seems to curl closer, if possible. His gloved hand goes to her waist, holding her near him, his head dipping lower, and she’s standing on her tiptoes. Noses brushing together, a challenge, emphasized in the teasing curl of his lips, sharing the same air. Beard tickling her top lip as she inches closer. A small hand on his face, and she licks her lips instinctively, parts them a little- and closes the gap between them.

It’s soft and wet and everything she’s ever dreamt of really, and holy shit , she’s dreamt of this. It’s actually happening, right now. He’s in his dumb Captain America uniform, pulling her close so now their chests are pressed together, moving his lips against hers slowly, and his hands are in leather gloves with buckles on them. The thought makes her smile a little, to the point where now the kiss is all teeth, and he pulls back for a second, as if sensing her amusement.

“What?” he asks. Her forehead leans on his chest, a sad attempt to hide her grin. His arms, one wrapping around her waist, his other hand on her back.

“I’m kissing Captain America,” and Chris lets out a single, incredulous breath, eyes rolling to the back of his head as if to say, you’re unbelievable. She grins up at him, a challenging eyebrow raised. Am I wrong though?

Teeth trap her bottom lip and she worries it for a moment as they quiet again, lost in thought and looking at him absently. She wants to kiss him again. She likes how his hands are warm on her back, how his chest is lean under her. Leaning on her tiptoes again, she smiles softly and brushes her nose on his cheek affectionately, because it’s suddenly okay to do so, the hairs of his beard scratchy against her skin. Chris is not having it though, and he turns his head to capture her lips again.

It feels so good, she thinks, as she instinctively places gentle fingers on his jawline to keep him tilted to her. It’s like the world is blooming. Like her heart is bursting through the seams, chest far too small for it. She kisses him, and he holds her just this much closer.

She’s kissing Captain America. And it’s a damn good fucking kiss.

Tags: @thegetawaywriter​ 

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

A weird request but I'm shooting my shot: Kohga did such a good job of shapeshifting into Urbosa in AoC... any chance he'd try to do it again just to see what it's like to fuck in a female-presenting body? 😅

Oooooh this is a SPICY idea. You guys have such good ideas, it's impossible to get anything else done around here. Let me tell you how I'D think it'd go.

Kohga loved men. Big, burly men who could throw him across the room like a rag doll, fuck his ass into oblivion, and only call him back when they wanted another spin. Unfortunately, getting fucked was growing tiresome. Wild of HIM to say, he was aware. But as he sat there at a stable, drinking and being alone, he realized; there were so many men here, and while he could charm his way into their pants, he wanted to mix it up. Then it occurred to him. He could go for the straight boys. The cuties who'd give their boots up for a chance to talk to a girl. So.

Why not BE just that dream girl for a night? Finishing off his drink, he walked out of the stable, and stepped foot outside. He used the tranquil river water as a mirror, and sgape shifted into Urbosa. 

"Er...maybe not her. If she found out, not even Sooga could save me. Let's keep the base, change a few things here…"

Long, red hair, right up to the ass (Kohga was most saddened to see this go, but unfortunately Gerudo women could NOT handle that kinda power), held up in a simple ponytail. Nice, full nose, plush pink lips, and of course, those trademark gerudo hips. Couple that with a nice red skirt (long enough to cover, but not completely. Men loved some leg), and a nice top piece that BARELY pardoned itself from being a bra. He had to hand it to himself, he got CANS. A little bit of jewelry, some heels, and he looked BEGGING to get fucked.

"Alright….'Kiki', let's get you some dick. Kiki sounds right. Assuming they'll even remember me past these titties."

He walked back inside, casually, and holy SHIT did he get looks. Starved boys eager for a meal, and Kohga was SERVING. He fought the urge to grin, and put up a docile front. Gerudo women were strong, fierce, but not this one. At least, not yet. He wanted to draw these poor unfortunate souls in before he showed any of his true colors.

"Excuse me, I hate to bother you, but may I sit with the three of you? I hate to be all by my lonesome."

Watching them scatter to get him a chair was hilarious, he nearly busted up laughing. The cute one with white hair beat them to it though, and Kohga nodded in appreciation. 

"Thank you. That was terribly sweet of you."

A little scratch to the chin nearly sent the guy to the floor. How cute. One of the men tried not to sound too giddy, but he failed.

"So! What's your name? And how come you're here by yourself?"

"Kiki. And I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but...well. That was hours ago. I wanted to walk back home, but it's so cold, and it's so far...I didn't want to be alone."

Course that riled them up. A beautiful woman, heart broken and lonely? Straight guys ate that bullshit up like pigs to slop. 

"What?! No way, someone stood you up?"

"What an idiot!"

"And rude! Giving such a pretty lady a hard time!"

"Would I deserve a hard time if I wasn't beautiful?"

He watched as the red headed guy stammered, worried he fucked up, before Kohga tossed his head back and laughed, lightly swatting his hand. 

"Oh come on, I'm just giving you a hard time!"

The three of them chuckled in relief, and Kohga couldn’t believe he was just. SO charming, form be dammed. He folded one leg over the other, and noticed their eyes followed. No one could REALLY resist gerudo legs.

"So what are YOU three doing here on your own? Waiting on your lady friends?"

They all went silent on that question, and he faked surprise. No shit they were single. Only whores wanted these losers, cute as they were (he was the whore, case there was any confusion there).

"Sa'oten! You three absolute adorable voes? All alone? Well. Least that means no one will be upset with me if I do this."

He scanned over his pick of the litter, and decided on the one with long, brown ish hair. He was a bit thin from being a dream boat, but he was honestly pretty damn cute. He held onto that sharp chin, and pulled him into a nice, long kiss. He kept it slow, smooth, really putting on a show for the other two. How greedy their eyes were. He peeled away from him, not even trying to hide his massive grin. They gawked at him, completely stunned that some gerudo woman was suddenly all over them. He fixed his smudged makeup, before folding his arms over his chest, right under his massive rack.

"Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm rather parched. Which of you boys wants to buy me a drink?"

You've never seen three men raise their hands up so quickly in all your life.

"No please, I do believe I've had enough!"

'Kiki' laughed, swatting away another offer for a drink. He made these three send so many rupees on him. Drinks, flowers, and lots, and lots of food. He couldn’t help it. The way they threw themselves at her at any opportunity just made him absolutely giddy. Though he was happy he cut himself off, less he be too tired for the REAL main course of the night. After some pretty eyes (and a mourning wallet), Kohga got them to pay for a room, just for the four of them. Course, Kiki was far too tipsy to walk there on her own, so they had to help her into the large, plush bed. In reality he just wanted to be carried, but hey, he deserved the special treatment.

"Oh...Sarqso. You three made my night much less lonely."

He could tell these guys were lost. They didn't know if she was inviting them to join, so Kiki had to make it rather obvious. He un did the strap to the bra, before peeling it away, and letting it fall to the floor. God, he really did give himself a pair of double D's, even he had to take a quick second to admire them. He pointed to the one who hadn't gotten any affection all night (a cute stable hand with messy, messy hair), and gestured him forward.

"Please. Allow me to return the favor."

He hesitated, clearly nervous, before Kiki took his hands, and placed them right at her chest. Granted Kohga wasn't much of a chest guy, but it seemed unfair to NOT let them play with them. And play with them he did. He cupped and massaged at her chest, all while Kiki raked her fingers through his hair. Such a cute boy. She turned her glance to the other two, and she sighed, as if full of woe.

"I don't think he'll let me reach over to take off the rest of these pesky clothes. Would one of you be a dear and-"

The white haired man jabbed the other in the gut, beating him to the bed. It made Kiki laugh, and she helped him by lifting her legs. Off came the skirt, and the pretty little panties. A nice patch of red hair highlighted that fair, dark skin. Kohga just couldn’t stop being fine. She no longer felt the need to bark orders, and let the boys do as they pleased. For now. One kept playing with her tits, occasionally suckling on them, one kept rubbing his tongue over hers, and the last fellow was copping a good feel for her legs. She chuckled as she parted the kiss, gliding her hand across his scalp, before getting a handful of that nice, red hair.

"Hmmm...you boys are excited. I like that, really I do. Now, pants down, let me see my new toys."

She had no problems playing with her breasts as motivation, occasionally pinching and flicking at her own nipples. She wanted to drool. A cock with an upward curve, one that was straight, and one that seemed to curve downward. Fun variety. She ended up with the upwards curvy one, and the white haired man had no qualms rubbing it in their faces. He loomed over her, rubbing his hard cock against her clit, making Kiki jump a bit. That was...sensitive. He looked at her confused, before she giggled.

"Sorry, guys usually hit it from the back, so this is a first. Don't do me gentle though, I'm a real tough cookie."

He nodded, pushing his tip inside those wet pussy lips. It was enough for her to arch her back, biting her bottom lip. Oh, he was going to get fucked SO good. He started to move slowly, letting her get used to him, before she motioned for the other two.

"Come on, I still have a mouth and a hand for you boys~"

The red head and his little friend rose to the opportunity. Hell, bed head made it more fun by riding her pretty face. Not just shoving his whole cock down her throat, not JUST shoving those balls in her face, but letting him toy with her huge, perfect titties. Kiki used her free hand to stroke the other cock in her hand, and she was in heaven. Her lips sucked and slurped at cock, smearing lipstick and drool all over it, her hand pumped that cock in her hand, and her pussy seemed to welcome the steady thrusts of a nice, full cock.

"Come on boys, be a bit MEAN to me here!"

Kiki complained, pulling her face away from the nice, throbbing cock for a moment. She was about to talk so much more shit, before the boys started to take the hint. One started to slap and yank at her breasts, one rubbed her clit in fast, aggressive circles, and one wrapped his hands around her throat, forcing her to gag and slobber all over that cock. She could feel drool dribble down her face, feel her pussy juices soak onto the sheets, and she even found her titties slick with little dribbles of her own milk. You'd think, as a gay man, this would be super gross.

You'd be wrong. Getting throat fucked, getting a new hole absolutely RAMMED, not to mention huge, slick breasts that seemed irresistible to a good suckling, Kohga was in absolute heaven. So much so that when the man above her pulled away, letting her breathe, she was moaning like a total whore.

"Oh you boys are BAD. Come on, fuck me. Cover me in all that hot cum, shove it right inside of me too. I want to taste how hungry you boys are for me, I wanna feel your hot cream inside of me. So pull up your FUCKING girdles, and FUCK ME."

Kiki was a VERY demanding woman. And despite the submissive posture, she was VERY much in charge. They kept as she commanded, harder, faster, swears under their breaths, the room filled with the yummy sound of horny, lust filled men. Then they came. Oh they came. Kiki felt a load shoved in her throat, felt ribbons of cum land on her tits and her stomach, and finally, finally, cum right into her pussy. Kohga held his legs nice and high for that, crying out in relief. Oh, so much thick, delicious cum from those nice, juicy cocks. They sat there, throwing their seed at her, before they seemed to pull away. Kiki finally found her breath, and she couldn't help but chuckle.

"Oh...you boys needed that. All this tasty cum, just for me."

Kiki pushed them off of her, before getting on her hands and knees, shaking her butt from side to side.

"Now. I want one under me, one in the back, and one in the front."

There was no movement, and she slammed her fist into the wall beside her.

"Dicks. Now."

In both arousal and fear, they gave her what she wanted. One snaked underneath her, pushing his cock into her already stuffed hole, while one pushed himself right into her ass. Now THAT was an all too familiar sensation. She chuckled, massaging the balls in front of her.

"Oh, and spank me. Lots of spanking. I want it to-ooh!"

Kiki didn't wait long before an open palm struck her bare ass. She giggled, shoving her face against the cock in front of her.

"Ooh you are a MEAN boy. Do it again, mark my ass-oh shit!!~"

One thing Kohga and Kiki had in common; they both LOVED a good, hard spanking. That, and the notion of LOTS more cum. And neither were scared to work for it.

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

Kiki looked back at the slumbering pile of men next to her. Five rounds each, she pulled a nice fifteen loads from these horny lil puppies. Not too bad for Kiki, but for Kohga? Bit on the weak side. Kiki was just as cruel though; making them kiss each other for her, making them lick and slurp at her cum soaked pussy- they did everything she wanted. She fixed herself up a bit, lapping any cum she had left on her face (no wasting food here), and tossing her useless panties on the pile of slumbering men. Just for something for them to fight over later, before walking out of the stable. Sooga was there, just how he commanded.

"There you are! I'm ready to go home!"

Sooga looked her up and down, questionably.

"May I ask...why?"

"Can't I just look pretty? Besides, I'm finally your height now!"

Kiki wrapped her arms around him, stuffing his face in her bust. He groaned, raising a hand in objection.

"I MUCH prefer Master Kohga’s chest, if you don't mind."

Kohga giggled, leaping into his arms and turning back to his usual, perfect self.

"You want Kohga’s chest, eh? Come on, let's go home. I'm in the mood to indulge you a little, Soogy~"

Kohga was FAR from done for tonight.

[journalofimprobablethings]

a recipe for home

Author: journalofimprobablethings

Fandom: The Adventure Zone: Balance

Summary: 

Taako tries to cook for the first time since Glamour Springs. When things go awry, Lucretia is there to lend a hand.

Full fic under the cut, but this you can also find me on AO3!

Preview:

Living in the headquarters of the Bureau of Balance makes Taako nervous.

It’s not just the giant brainwashing jellyfish, or the weapons of mass destruction they're hunting, or the fact that it’s a literal moon base floating in the sky--that’s all weird, sure, but he’s Taako. He can deal with weird.

It’s the sense of deja vu he gets just walking around the place, the feeling that he’s been somewhere like this before. It’s the fact that so many things about it feel so damn familiar. The details of the place that feel right in a way he can’t explain. 

The deja vu is constant and sometimes overwhelming. He knows he's never lived anywhere like this--he’s pretty sure he would remember living in the sky--but he still can’t shake the feeling. If he tries to think about it too hard, his head buzzes like the beginning of a hangover and the thin needle of a headache starts to pierce his skull. So he doesn’t look at the feeling straight on. But he worries the edges of it sometimes, as he’s lying in his bunk listening to Magnus and Merle’s snores. 

He’s never had a place like this, never been part of a team like this. He’s always been alone. So why does this place--why do these people, Magnus and Merle and the Director and even, weirdly, Davenport--why do they feel so much like home?

-

The kitchen in the residential wing is the worst--or the best, depending on how you look at it. It’s small, just a tiny galley kitchen for the Bureau members to use if they don’t feel like going to the mess hall, and everything about it feels right. He’s never felt so immediately comfortable in a new kitchen before. He finds himself reaching for a spoon or a pan without thinking, and there it is, exactly where he expected. It’s as if somehow his body already has muscle memory for this place he’s never been. It’s the strangest thing.

Maybe that’s what makes him decide to actually try cooking again.

He hasn’t made anything more complicated than a peanut butter sandwich since Glamour Springs. Every time he thinks about trying, about cutting and assembling ingredients, about transmuting anything, his hands begin to shake, and the echo of forty people choking and gasping for breath sounds through his head. Before he came here, he’d barely set foot in a kitchen in six years.

But for some reason, this damn kitchen calms his fears, at least enough to pull out a pot and prepare himself a packet of instant ramen. Even he, he reasons, can’t mess up noodles and a flavor packet. He only ever cooks for himself, though, never for the others. He plays it off as selfishness-- get your own food, homie, I gave Garfield good elf hair for this shit --and hopes that Merle just thinks he’s an asshole for knocking the spoon out of his hand when he tries to steal a bite. Even he can’t mess up noodles and a flavor packet--but he had thought garlic chicken was a simple enough recipe, too.

--

Now, he’s standing at the stove, testing the waters in his mind. It’s late, Merle and Magnus long asleep, but after hours of lying in his bunk staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about all the questions this place raises in him, he’d given up on sleeping himself and made his way down to the kitchen. If he’s going to try, the middle of the night is a good time: no one around to disturb him, or ask for a taste.

Taako pulls a pot from the cabinet to the right of the stove, just where he thought it would be, and sets it on the burner. His heart is pounding in his ears, but his hands are steady, the ghosts of Glamour Springs so far silent.

Rice, he thinks. Rice is simple, easy. He’ll start with rice.

After a quick survey of the food stores he's found bacon in the fridge, pigeon peas and capers in the pantry, a container of cubes in the freezer labeled “sofrito” -- who in the Bureau cooks enough to make and freeze sofrito? he thinks. But he’s not complaining, because now he knows what he’s making: arroz con gandules, Tía Elsa’s recipe, a recipe engrained in his bones. There are enough spices in the cabinet to approximate sazón--no banana leaves to cover the pot, but Titi Elsa only did that half the time anyway, maybe if we had a banana tree in the front yard, mijo, but I’m not making a special trip just for leaves. Foil’s fine.

He assembles the ingredients on the tiny square of counter next to the stove, pulls out a cutting board and a knife. Takes a deep breath. 

And begins.

He heats the pot, cuts the bacon into thick dice and adds it in. The motions are easy, practiced, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as he falls into the familiar recipe. While the bacon crisps he turns his attention to the army of spice bottles he’s pulled from the rack. He starts mixing them in a small bowl, measuring them by eye in his hand. Garlic powder, onion powder, cumin, coriander. He’s missing annatto seeds, but there’s paprika, easy enough to transmute one to the other--

He stops, staring into the bowl, his hand smudged with red powder.

He did the magic without thinking, a simple shift in flavors, but now he’s staring at the bowl and the smudge on his hand and he’s thinking of elderberry and nightshade and the sound of a town choking to death on his mistakes--

“Taako?”

The voice is distant, he can barely hear it over the ghosts crowding his head.

“Taako, are you alright?”

A hand touches his shoulder, tentatively, and he flinches away from the touch but it pulls him into the present enough for him to open his eyes and see who's talking to him.

The Director is standing in front of him, a blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders and concern in her eyes.

Of all the people to find him like this, it had to be her.

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” he says, trying for nonchalance, but he can’t stop his voice from shaking. “No worries here, Taako’s good--”

He reaches out to steady himself on the counter, but he misses and catches the edge of the spice bowl, tipping it over the edge. It shatters at their feet, spilling its contents across the floor in an aromatic slash of orange and red and brown.

"Shit," Taako says. "Fucking shit."

He reaches down to clear up the mess, and the world tilts and he almost falls over. Then the Director’s hands are on his shoulders, no longer tentative, catching him before he can fall. She steers him to the table at one end of the narrow kitchen, and guides him, gently but firmly, into a chair.

“Sit.” 

He does, and the world tilts again.

“Breathe,” the Director says, and yes, that’s why the world is tilting, because he’s not breathing, but how does he do that? He leans forward and puts his head between his knees, and manages to suck in a shaky breath.

“That’s it,” she says, “Just breathe.” She’s somewhere nearby but now that he’s seated she’s no longer touching him. He can hear her breathing, though, slow and even, and he tries to focus on that, to match his breath to hers.

It takes a few minutes to even out his breathing, and another few to silence the ghosts whispering in his ears. But finally he lifts his head and looks up at the Director. She’s crouched next to him, a small furrow of concern between her brows, and Taako has the strange urge to reach up and smooth the furrow away. He clenches his hands into fists.

He should probably say thank you, but he's angry with himself and embarrassed that she's seen him this way and so what comes out instead is,

“What are you doing down here?”

It’s a rude question for an employee to ask their boss, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I was working late and came down to make some tea." She studies him. “You were cooking.” She says it so carefully, and not for the first time, Taako wonders just how much the Director knows about their pasts.

He’s afraid she’ll ask what set him off, ask if he wants to talk about it , and he doesn’t think he could handle that. He’s had enough of being vulnerable in front of her for the moment. So he straightens in his chair, pulls his nonchalance back over himself like armor.

“Yeah, you know, sometimes you just need something better than the crap we get in the dining hall.”

He waits for his words to provoke her, for her to stand and say something kind but brusque and leave. But she doesn’t. Instead she just sighs and looks back at the kitchen, surveys the ingredients on the counter, the spilled bowl of spices on the floor. "Gandules?" she asks, and Taako raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yeah."

She hesitates, and then says the most remarkable thing.

“Would you like some help?” 

He stares at her. Of all the things he might have expected her to say, that wasn’t on the list. She sounds different, somehow--less distant, less lofty. She sounds younger. 

“Listen, not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but don’t you have important Director-y things to do? Or you know, sleep to catch?”

She smiles thinly. “Sleep is a lost cause tonight, I think,” she says. “And even administrators have to eat sometimes.”

Maybe it's because of that change in her voice, or the fact that she didn’t try to make him talk about the spell he just had. Maybe it's because, against all odds, the Director's presence in this kitchen is strangely comforting. Whatever the reason, he doesn't push away her help the way he normally would. Instead he just shrugs and waves a hand.

"Sure. Knock yourself out."

The Director smiles, drapes her shawl over a chair out of the way, and gets to work. She clears up the spilled spices and shards of bowl, removes the now overly-crisped bacon from the pot, drops in cubes of sofrito to melt and fry in the drippings, and soon the kitchen is full of the mouthwatering smell of cooking onion and pepper and cilantro. It smells like Titi Elsa and home, and the band of anxiety around Taako’s chest begins to loosen.  

Taako watches the Director as she measures out the rice and adds it to the pot to toast, then mixes the spices in a new bowl, measuring them in her hand just as he had. She cooks slowly, like she’s having to remind herself of what comes next, but she goes through the steps of making the arroz exactly as he would.

Deja vu, he thinks.

“Where’d you learn to cook this?” he asks. “You spend some time in New Elfington or something?”

The Director doesn’t answer right away. Her hand pauses in its stirring, as though she’s considering what to say, and when she does answer her eyes are far away.

“My brother taught me,” she says quietly.

The answer surprises him. The Director is one of those people who is so private, so self-contained, that it’s hard to imagine her with a family, a life outside the Bureau. Taako tries to picture the Director younger, more carefree perhaps, standing side by side with her brother in the kitchen. But something about the image makes his head hurt, so he stops.

He wonders what her brother was like, and where he is now.

He thinks it must be nice, to have a sibling, someone to teach you to cook, to be at your side through good times and bad. Someone who would miss and mourn you if you were gone. The thought makes his chest ache with something like longing and something like grief.

So much of this place and these people make him feel this way, this confusing mix of longing and sorrow and comfort. He hates it, because he doesn't understand it, doesn’t know why it’s happening at all. These people mean nothing to him. He just met them. He doesn't care about them, he certainly doesn’t need them. He has never needed anyone.

This is what he tells himself, but as he leans back in his chair and watches the Director cook, he can't help but admit that it's the most at home he's felt in a long time.

---

Lucretia knows that this is a stupid risk.

She's supposed to be keeping her distance. She's supposed to be the Director: professional, dignified, distant . She's not supposed to let them catch her wandering to the kitchen late at night, and she's certainly not supposed to be in said kitchen cooking one of Taako's aunt's recipes for him--one of the ones that he absolutely forbade her to ever write down. (She'd watched him make it until she'd memorized the steps well enough to make it on her own. She's tried it a few times, since the redaction, and it has come out fine, but never as good as his.)

She's breaking all the rules she's set for herself, all the boundaries she's put up to keep her story in place, to keep them safe. She's putting everything at risk.

But when she came into the kitchen and saw Taako staring blankly at that bowl of spices, the smudge of paprika on his palm, helping him wasn’t even a question. She knows what happened at Glamour Springs, and she knows how hard cooking is for him now. She'd hoped the kitchen might help. It's modeled after the one on the Starblaster, laid out just the same, one of the places she couldn't bring herself to let go of.

And now it seems it's just made everything worse.

Maybe it's the guilt that makes her offer to finish the dish, so at least Taako can have a taste of home, even if it's not as good as his or his aunt's. Or maybe, she admits to herself, it's pure selfishness. Standing here in this kitchen with Taako, surrounded by the smells of his cooking, she can almost pretend that nothing has changed.

Until Taako speaks.

"Where'd you learn to cook this?" he asks, and her heart constricts in her chest.

She considers, and when she finally responds, it feels like the closest thing to truth she’s given him in weeks.

She remembers the first time she watched him make this dish, in that tiny galley kitchen on the Starblaster. They had lost Lup early that cycle, a venomous snakebite that acted too fast for Merle to be able to help. Taako retreated into himself the way he always did when Lup was gone, but when she offered to help out preparing the meals, he didn’t say no. He was prickly and short, and half the time he would take the knife out of her hand to finish chopping something himself if she was moving too slow. But he let her stay, and watch, and she soaked up everything he was doing as well as she could.

The last day of the cycle, she and Taako were in the kitchen early, and Taako made his aunt’s arroz con gandules, one of the dishes she had always made for Candlenights. He wouldn’t let Lucretia help at all. She stayed with him anyway, as the sky darkened with the coming Hunger and the light dimmed, and by the time Davenport flew them out of that plane and the threads of light pulled them apart, the pot sat covered and ready on the stove. Lup returned to a tackling hug from Taako, and a bowl of rice that tasted like home.

It was several cycles before he actually taught her how to make it, and several more before she cooked it on her own. Of all the things that he taught her to make, it was always one of her favorites, and she made it at the Bureau because it reminded her of that day, that feeling of reunion.

She only hopes they'll get there again, one day.

Gods, she misses him. She misses all of them. She hadn’t realized how peculiar a grief it was, to miss someone who is sitting right in front of you. To look in the eyes of someone who you’ve known for a century and see nothing but wariness and disinterest.

Every time she thinks she's become accustomed to it, something new appears; they do or say something that leaves her shattered.

Every time, it feels a little harder to put herself back together.

--

“Your rice is burning,” Taako says from the table.

Lucretia comes back to herself and realizes he’s right: the nutty smell of the toasting rice is now tinged with bitterness, and when she stirs there are dark flecks of the grains that have caught at the bottom of the pan.

She curses softly and grabs for the tomato sauce, which hisses and bubbles immediately as she adds it.

It’s been a long time since she let herself wander down those back paths of her memories. She’s avoided it for good reason: it hurts too much, and no good can come of it. For a moment, here, seduced by the familiarity, she allowed herself to drop her guard. 

And worse, she let Taako see.

The empty tomato sauce can clatters as she drops it too quickly onto the counter.

“You all right, there, Madam Director?”

She shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous, for him, for her, for the plan. She’s supposed to keep them at arm’s length so that they don’t ask questions, don’t try to follow her down those back paths to places their minds can’t go right now. She’d seen Taako wince when she’d mentioned her brother, because of course that would make him try to think of things that the voidfish has erased, and yet she'd continued on, losing herself in the comfort of the moment and ignoring the danger.

How could she have been so stupid?

She'll finish the dish, because she said she would. What comes next? Toast the rice, tomato sauce and then--what? She stares into the bubbling pot, trying to tamp down the panic clawing at her throat as it always does when she forgets something from the century. She knows this, it's--

"Here."

Taako's voice cuts into her thoughts. She blinks and he is standing next to her, holding the bowl of spices. She hadn't even noticed him get up.

He doesn't ask what's wrong, doesn't even tease her for forgetting what comes next. He just holds out the bowl to her. She takes it, and he doesn't comment on the fact that now it is her hands that are shaking.

"Thank you."

She pours the spices in, and by the time she's done he already has the next ingredient in hand.

They finish the rest of the recipe like that, together, Taako handing her each ingredient in turn. Then she adds just enough water to cover the rice up to her knuckle, and the heat is turned high to bring it to a boil. She and Taako tidy the kitchen without discussion while the water heats, and Lucretia wonders if Taako notices how easily they move around each other in this space, how familiar the dance of dishes and drying and putting away.

The water boils, and they reduce it to a simmer and cover the pot with foil, nesting the lid on top. And then it's done, nothing left to do but wait while the pot bubbles quietly away.

“I should go,” she says quietly. “It’s late.”

"I thought sleep was for the weak, or whatever," Taako says.

"There's always work to do," she replies. She picks up her shawl from the chair and surveys him. "Will you be alright?" 

He flashes a peace sign at her. "I think I know how to tell when rice is done. I'm golden."

"You know what I mean."

Their eyes meet, and for a moment there is a connection there, an understanding. It's not what they had before, of course, not even close. But it's not nothing, either.

"I'm good," he says.

She nods and turns to go, but his voice stops her before she gets to the door.

"Hey, Director?"

She turns. "Yes?"

He starts to say something, then stops, and his shoulders go up in a sort of helpless half-shrug. 

“Thanks.”

She smiles at that.

"You're welcome, Taako."

--

The next morning, Lucretia comes into her office to find a covered bowl sitting on her desk. Next to it is a note, and she recognizes the looping scrawl instantly.

Not bad, Madam D.

She smiles and uncovers the bowl. Even though it must have been hours since he placed it there, the rice is still steaming.

[5lazarus]

A random prompt for you: "It was a dark and stormy night"

I was at the party ranting about catabasis narratives, wine glass in hand, and somebody walked up to me and handed me a pomegranate. “Fuck you,” I said. But it did its job. I put down the wine glass, or handed it vaguely to someone, and headed to the kitchen. There I began abusing the pomegranate, to make it give up its secrets. “Nature’s treasure box,” I said happily. “Leave me to die in hell.”

Someone stirred: a man, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. I blinked. I was too drunk and not drunk enough to make small talk. “You okay?” he asked. I presented the pomegranate. “Ah, catabasis,” he said understandingly. “I’ll leave you to it.” A rush of love for humanity swept me as he left. The friend hosting the party was a recovered classicist and repentant Maoist. They had the most interesting friends. I took a handful of pomegranate seeds and stuffed them in my mouth. The juice ran red and a few missed my mouth, but still I chewed. Tangy-sweet: like all of life, all emotion is wrapped up in a mouthful of flavor. I knew that this didn't quite make sense but I was pleased with the wave of sentiment that swept me. “Catabasis,” I said, and wiped at my eyes. I surveyed the bloody juice staining the counter. “Iphigenia,” I pronounced, and left. Someone handed me a wad of clean toilet paper as I stumbled through the hallway towards another room; it clung to my hands. “Bruh, you’re super fucked up,” a kindly stranger said. “Drink this.” They pulled me into a circle, where a fervent discussion over the rights and wrongs of 1921 was being hashed out. “Iphigenia,” I added helpfully. “A sacrifice knowingly met.” I drank the water and passed the blunt and settled happily into the scene. Three members of the cadre sat around me. The kindly stranger had the classic bisexual haircut and the classic bisexual septum piercing, but was otherwise remarkable. They were the only one close to sober, and kept an eye on their phone. The others were arguing. One wore a moustache and goatee similar to Comrade Trotsky, and was dressed in all black--black t-shirt, black jeans, black Nikes. I wanted to ask where the rest of black bloc was, but only mumbles came out, which was good because the joke probably wouldn’t have gone over well. The other wore a green cap with a red star and was chewing the end of the blunt. “Tell me one example of an actually existing socialist government led by Trotskyists,” Red Star said. “Come on. I’ll wait.” “The USSR would not have survived World War Two without Trotsky heading up the Red Army,” Comrade said instead. Even I was aware this did not actually answer Red Star’s question. “You can say that any existing socialist government exists due to his contribution to the USSR--and with no thanks to fucking Stalin.” “Yooooooo,” I intoned. I was ignored. The Kindly Bisexual handed me a bowl of popcorn. I took a fistful and began to lap the popcorn up. They shifted away from me slightly. I really needed to sober up. “That doesn’t make any sense,” Red Star said. “So Trotsky made some military contributions--sure. We can’t deny that.” “Some?” Comrade said incredulously. “He fought a war on five fronts!” He put his hand in front of Red Star’s face. Clearly I was not the only one who needed to sober up. “One: the White Army. Two: the--” “Don’t you ever get tired of relitigating twentieth century debates?” Red Star asked. “And get your hand out of my fucking face.” “Comrades!” the Kindly Bisexual hurriedly interrupted. “Look, it’s raining!” We all turned to the window, and I smiled. I loved the rain, especially when I was crossfaded. Indeed, not only was it raining--it was pouring, beginning with a low rumble and rising into a lash against the glass. Lightning cracked suddenly across the sky, flashing us blue. Red Star jumped. “A dark and stormy night,” I exclaimed happily. I clasped my hands together joyously, crunching kernels between my palms. “Who even are you?” Comrade said. “Good fucking question,” I said. “I’m not sure.” I looked at the Kindly Bisexual, who I decided was responsible for my welfare tonight, because clearly they were the voice of reason in this room. “Let me ask my handler.” “Yo, what?” Red Star said. I giggled. “Nice try, FBI.” I made finger guns at them, pushed myself up to my feet unsteadily, and wandered off to the living room. The Catabasis Man was sitting on the couch, eating pomegranate seeds out of a bowl. A group of anonymous leftists sat at his feet, facing the television. They were watching The L Word. I slid next to him. “Out of the earth?” I asked. “I have been reborn,” he agreed. “You good?” “I don’t know who I am,” I said. “But the rain is a good sign.” “Right,” he said. “I think you should eat something.” He got up and headed towards the kitchen, leaving me morose. I wrapped my arms around my legs. “These are not my lesbians,” I said sadly. “Shut up,” said someone on the floor, so I did and walked off again, this time in search of more food. The pomegranates and the popcorn were sitting unsteadily in my stomach, and I needed a less buttery carb. I returned to the bedroom with the Kindly Bisexual and the twentieth-century Marxists. “Fuck you,” the Comrade was saying. “You think I’m a plant? This is clear revisionism.” “Yo,” the Kindly Bisexual said. “What?” Comrade pointed at Red Star. “This is clearly COINTELPRO tactics, with cheap talking points too. Try to sound a little less like an alt-right troll account, Comrade Stalin.” “I’m a Maoist,” Red Star snarled. Thunder rolled. I giggled nervously, and was ignored. “Fuck this shit, man! Stop this copjacketing bullshit.” Red Star turned to the Kindly Bisexual. “You see this shit? You see this shit? Callin’ me a plant? That’s cop shit.” “Uh,” the Kindly Bisexual said. “I think yall need to chill.” “Spiderman points at Spiderman,” I exclaimed happily. I could envision it so easily: just the Spiderman meme, but with one of them with a goatee photoshopped onto the mask, and the other wearing Mao’s red star. It was great. It was great to look at a real-life meme. Comrade crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, it’s not copjacketing when you’re actually a cop. How do we know you’re real? You probably got that hat off Amazon.” “There’s no ethical consumption under late capitalism,” Red Star growled. “Fuck off. You Trots are all the same. Trying to split the party--that’s the real reason why you crazies have never had a successful revolutionary front since 1917, you start the wild accusations and then there’s what! A cult of just two, handing out newspapers at Union Square. Then charging you a dollar when they shove it into your hand.” “Oof,” I said. “Yeah, yeah,” Comrade said. “How’s fundraising for the People’s War of Williamsburg going? I heard you got good turnout for your membership drive at the New School. Soon enough, you’ll have enough people to build yet another base in some swamp. And leave pig heads in front of libraries and some shit.” “We are not affiliated with Red Guard,” Red Star said testily. “And the pig head, well, things are different in Texas.” “Yeah yeah,” Comrade said. “We know all the pig heads were some cop shit. Like who else can end up that much of a parody of themselves?” “You grew the goatee on purpose?” Red Star asked. “Or just to fit in?” The Kindly Bisexual claimed their hands. “Right, okay. I think we’ve all demonstrated enough insider knowledge of the blessed disaster we call the US Left. No more calling each other cops, okay? Because yall are too fucked up, and when I told the SC that I’d be a community steward, this is not what I thought my first case would be.” I thought that sounded vaguely carceral, but at this point sobriety was creeping cold and clear, and kept my tongue fuzzily still. “Urgh,” I said instead. “Anyone got a cigarette?” We all went outside for a smoke. The rain stilled to a mild drizzle. Streetlights made the dirty pavements shine, and I scuffed my shoe against a patch of old gum that had probably been there since all these people moved to Brooklyn. The Kindly Bisexual had the cigarettes, but nobody else had a light, so I found an old lighter I had picked up the last time I was driving home to Tennessee, in a Waffle House outside Murfreesboro. I had forgotten it had a Confederate flag on it. “What the fuck,” the Kindly Bisexual said flatly. “No!” I protested. “Shit. No. I-I just, I’m from Tennessee. Stole it from some guy in a Waffle House.” I hadn’t, I had just swiped it from the counter after I paid, but they didn’t need to know that. “I ain’t--no. No.” “You’re faking that accent,” Comrade accused. Red Star nodded next to him. Was this truly how the New York Left would be united? I was vaguely proud of myself. “No, I just codeswitch around middle class leftists from the North,” I said, annoyed. Comrade made a considering face: fair point. “On account of yall think my accent means I’m stupid. But let me show you the truth. I stole this from a Waffle House, and now it shall be destroyed!” Everyone watched as I threw it on the pavement, hoping it would shatter. It bounced instead. Red Star started to laugh. “Nah, that’s just stupid. Smash it! Smash it!” I slammed my foot down and then howled, because I was wearing flipflops and that hurt. “Motherfucker!” I wept. “Shit.” “Aight, I’m gonna try,” Comrade said. He jumped on it and slipped on the slick pavement, busting his ass. We all howled with laughter, even the Kindly Bisexual, who wiped their eyes--carefully, so as not to smudge their eyeliner--before offering him a hand up. “We have to be strategic about this,” Red Star said. “Let’s use that tree branch.” She grabbed a sizeable bow that must have fallen in the storm. She wielded it, lamppost casting a mad glow to her eyes. “Solidarity, yall!” “Solidarity!” we all echoed. She smashed it down, and we screamed in drunken glee as the plastic went flying. Red Star brandished the branch, grinning. Then we heard the sirens. Up the block, we saw the cop car on the corner, whirling its sirens. Some pig said something incomprehensible but threatening over the loudspeaker. “Shit,” I said. “I’m out.” We ran for it, laughing but anxious, all the way to the train station. We split up after the turnstiles. The others all lived deeper in Brooklyn, but I needed to head to Queens. I climbed up the stairs to the platform and sat down on the wooden bench, pushing anxiety about bed bugs out of my head. I saw the three of them across the tracks and waved. They were all laughing. Red Star was mimicking how she had dealt the killing blow. I waved, and the Kindly Bisexual saw me and waved back. They all looked my way. Their train pulled in and I saw them, brilliantly fluorescent, pile into the Coney Island-bound train. Red Star and the Kindly Bisexual spread out on the empty seats; Comrade grabbed a pole. I waved again, feeling lonely now. Comrade glanced over his shoulder and saw me, and they all waved again. The train pulled away, leaving me in the deserted station, and I thought: well, shit. Back to catabasis again.

[unicyclehippo]

no.14 - “you’re never going to let that go, are you?” w the brjeaus? ily

‘hey.’

fjord looks up from his examination of the map, nods to beau. he doesn’t stop her when she takes a swig from his mug, just laughs when she gags.

‘dude—what the fuck is this?’

‘lemon water. helps with scurvy.’

‘you don’t have scurvy!’

‘habit.’

‘disgusting.’ she takes a second tentative swig, apparently just to test herself or maybe to look like she’s—what? badass?—before giving it back to him. ‘what are you doing?’

‘i’m—pretending i can read this map.’

‘cool. budge over.’ she takes a place at his side, points imperially at what fjord suspects is a smudge, not an island.

he nods. knocks his shoulder into hers.

‘something on your mind?’ he asks a little while later.

beau has bent over the map more intently by this point, and if the way her eyes scan back as forth mean anything—and they do, combined with the crease between her brows—she’s well on her way to figuring out where they are based on orly’s markers. she taps her fingers neatly over the printed dashes that make up the trade lines, skirting west from them toward the volcano. after a while, she speaks.

‘i have a problem.’

‘just one?’

‘get fucked,’ she suggests, voice mild. fjord snorts. ‘at least i’m not shoving melons into my stomach.’

‘first of all, they weren’t melons.’

‘what were they then?’

‘how the fuck am i supposed to know?’

‘nott thinks they’re eggs. or eyeballs.’

‘they’re not eggs,’ fjord grumbles.

beau smiles a quick, tight smile. ‘second?’

‘hmm?’

‘what’s second. you said, first they’re not melons, so,’

‘oh yeah. second, you ever gonna let that go?’

‘nah.’

he sighs. ‘okay. well, what’s your problem then?’

beau drums her fingers onto the volcano. for a moment, he thinks she somehow missed hearing his questions. and then she scowls. it isn’t directed at him, and fjord pities the person that scowl is for. he whistles, low and impressed.

‘someone’s got you fuming, huh?’

she finally looks up, a slash of a glance quick and sharp, before returning her attention to the map. ‘sort of.’

he waits a little longer. then, ‘can’t help you if i don’t know what it is.’ a thought occurs to him and his stomach turns. he’s never been seasick a day in his life but for the first time he feels as green as his skin. ‘beau...’

she lifts her eyes again, catches his look and blanches dramatically. ‘what? what’s wrong? fjord—‘

‘you—‘

‘i didn’t mean to, dude,’

‘mean to what?’

‘what?’ beau narrows her eyes. ‘what were you thinking?’

‘what were you thinking?’

‘i asked you first!’

‘that you’re trying to leave us again!’

beau ducks her head. her scowl returns. ‘no. not just yet.’

‘that’s not reassuring. but okay, okay,’ he lifts his hands in surrender. moves around the table to drag two stools across the floor. he sets one down for beau and she practically falls into it, rubs her hands over her face. ‘talk to me, first mate.’

for the first time, the title doesn’t bring a smile to her face.

‘beau?’

‘i think i’ve really fucked up, man.’ she drags in a breath. holds it for a second. ‘i—it’s, uh—emotions adjacent.’

‘uh oh.’

‘i fuckin’ know,’ she snaps. recoils, shame-faced. ‘i know,’ she says again, more quietly. ‘i’m no good with this shit. can you—will you - help me.’ she has to force the words out, stilted, but out they come.

fjord grins over at her. ‘sure.’

‘wait—really?’

‘yeah. of course.’

‘oh.’

‘you thought i’d say no?’

‘no. not exactly. i just thought you’d ask more questions first. like, what kind of emotions an’ who is it, or whatever.’

‘that comes now.’

‘oh.’ beau crumples on her seat. pulls her feet up to the bar on the base of the stool, folds her arms across her chest. ‘okay.’

‘so. what kind of emotions and who?’

she snorts. ‘uh. there’s. a couple. i guess—i probably need to—shit.’ her brow crumples now too into a heavy frown. ‘shit. i dunno if i should do this with you.’

‘what! we’re already almost there!’

‘yeah but—‘ beau visibly struggles, stares toward the door of the cabin. ‘if this goes bad, i don’t—want you to hate me,’ she says, all in a rush. it isn’t in her nature to be quiet, mostly, but she can say the words fast enough that fjord misses most of it in the jumble.

‘hate you?’

he doesn’t miss all of it.

‘why would i hate you?’

beau gnaws on the inside of her cheek. ‘because.’

‘because...?’

‘i—like someone,’ she admits, like it’s painful to set the words out. out in front of him, maybe. ‘and i came to you because you’re the best with...knowing how to act and stuff. but i didn’t think—‘

fjord sits with that admission for a second, turning it over. it doesn’t take too long to put the pieces together—with who she is and how she has been behaving, it doesn’t take long at all to figure it out but it hits like a sucker punch to his temple, dazes him for a moment, because how did he miss this?

‘oh.’

beau grimaces.

‘there’s not a lot of actual good advice for...liking someone, you know,’ he tells her tentatively. ‘you just. have to be yourself.’ beau scoffs. ‘i’m serious!’

‘you’re sabotaging me!’

‘would i do that?’

she throws a suspicious—and suspiciously shiny—look his way before begrudgingly admitting, ‘probably not. but that’s fucked, dude. i’m—‘ she unfolds her arms, flails messily. folds her arms once more and hunches unhappily.

‘what’s that supposed to mean? what’s all that?’

‘you know!’

‘no i don’t! because if you’re saying you’re anything less than a catch, i’m gonna kick your ass!’

‘you could try,’ she taunts.

fjord ignores her, and the knowledge that he could not, in fact, even catch her to try. she’s too fucking fast.

‘you’re smart,’

‘headband.’

‘brave.’

‘reckless.’

‘fucking hot.’

‘ew.’

‘not my type,’ he assures her, pulling a face, and beau grins back at him. ‘you catch arrows out of thin air and can run up walls and you punch like a fucking blur—what about you isn’t a catch, exactly?’ he demands.

beau doesn’t laugh, the way he hoped she might. she stares down at the salt-crusted boards—fjord makes a note to get someone to scrub in the cabin—and shakes her head.

‘beau. look at me.’

it breaks his heart to see her expression—so very cautious, so very contained—and the glint of tears.

‘i can’t tell you that it’s gonna work out. i don’t know if it will. but i can and will tell you that i don’t know a better person than you.’ she scoffs but fjord holds steady, holds her eyes with his own. ‘i love you, beau. and i want you—i need you to know that no matter what happens, even if everything goes colossally sideways, i love you and i’m never leaving you. y’hear me?’

she stares at him for a long, long time before she bends her head in the faintest nod.

‘i guess you can’t see it, but all of us feel the same.’

‘what about—how i feel?’ she asks. her lips twist like the idea of feeling is sour in her mouth.

‘what about it?’

‘you’re not gonna—talk me out of it?’

‘if it’s something you can be talked out of, i wouldn’t bother. is it?’

‘is it what?’

‘something you can be talked out of?’

beau smiles faintly. shakes her head no.

‘mm. didn’t think so.’

there isn’t much more to be said, so fjord stands. draws her into a hug—her cheek leaning against his chest, his hands solid on her shoulders. he drops a kiss to the top of her head, pats her shoulder.

[henrikvanderswoon]

Ransom of the Seven Ships Reactions

Alright, kiddos, strap on your uhhhhhhh PiRaTe BoOtS and sail with me on a perilous journey toward saving *looks at smudged writing on hand* Bees. Yes. I would like to save the bees.

Anyway, I have some coffee, I'm multitasking cause I'm also at work, and I'm ready to play this game that I only played once when it first came out and never picked up again. I remember basically nothing about it so this should be an experience and a half. 😂 I'm also probably going to be working on it in bits and pieces but I'll try to put it all into this one post, so let's see how this goes!

*

AH YES... IT BEGINS:

God I love this lil gnome guy sittin in the neighbor's yard. Normally, I'd give this game a 0/5 stars, but because of this gnome I will give it 0.5.

When you go to a place called Dread Isle and don't expect to get kidnapped... Pffftt. Also there's literally NO ONE in the island, and no one found that suspicious?? Bess and George better step up their game.

GOD. The fact that George wasnt just STANDING AT THE DOCK waiting for Nancy to arrive so she could ask the pilot for help is cracking me up. Like she's just deadass BOLTING and fails to say, I dunno, maybe: "NANCY. DON'T LET THE PILOT LEAVE, BESS IS MISSING!"

Poor George's mouth is the width of her head.

They found a graphic artist who only specializes in environments and the occasional animal and said: "You're hired! Now, design a human face."

What the fuck is this puzzle about the battery water levels in the golf cart? I must be an idiot cause nothing's working. Am I stupid??? Probably.

I'm shifting the little knobs and pressing the button and nothing happens... oh NO.

I'm not 15 minutes into the game and I'm now setting Nancy on fire for fun.

Ha HAAA. I am an idiot. I didn't know I could press the blue buttons on the little water tubes. Well, Squidward, what have we learned today? Don't be like me, kids.

Shit, I spilled coffee on my puzzle solving notebook. Is this what I get for making fun of the graphics and playing on the clock?

Dwayne...that accent is literally the most horrendous thing I've ever heard and I want to smack you in the head with your own metal detector.

What the fuck kind of accent is he even TRYING to imitate? Because that is NOT Jamaican (also...his white-ass couldn't pass for Jamaican even if his life depended on it).

Dwayne, this is why your acting career ended before it even began.

Also Nancy is an idiot for falling for it.

There's a behavioral center for monkeys here... but there are no people to take care of the place? Nancy why aren't you more suspicious of this???

The fact that the monkey reaches behind itself when you say, "I would like to play a game with you." Is so funny. Like the monkey just has the game at the ready like: "Oh, good, let's see what I have in my collection."

Coucou fuckin ANNIHILATED that guava, like it was spewing pieces that weren't even it's own color I'm crying.

If anyone's looking for me, check under my bed and you'll find me sobbing over this Krolmeister Bat Seeker battery puzzle.

I wrote this and then immediately solved the puzzle. Complaining; it pays off, folks.

If I complain enough about this digging puzzle, will I also finish it faster? Because the instructions make me want to pull my hair out 🙃

I'm slowly beginning to realize me playing this game is going to be nothing more than a series of complaints listed one right after the other. I'M SORRY.

I'm also beginning to realize why I never picked this game up again hhhhhhh

It's been three days. I haven't seen or heard from George since the last time I visited the resort. I am sunburned, my fingers have all but congealed themselves to the handle of this shovel. "Times two," I mutter. The sound of the sand shifting under my heavy footfalls no longer brings me any kind of solace. It's just me and the coconuts now. Somewhere in the distance I can still hear Dwayne's god-awful accent. I forgot what Bess looks like. Who's Ned?

Oh, wait, I figured out the digging puzzle 🤪

Okay, I will say though. I do have a fun time figuring out what the messages in the journal say based on the little coded symbols. I genuinely enjoy this.

Now... following the instructions the coded message gives me??? Not so much.

Nancy, you mean to tell me you just conveniently know how to throw a sail onto a fucking sailboat and just... do it correctly in less than one second?? Okay.

How the fuck did an ORCA WHALE jump up and hit my boat????

This whole "boating and driving" thing I already wasnt here for. This whole "boating and driving against wind and sand that will slow you down to a snail's pace" I'm here for even less.

I genuinely forgot I could play as George in this.

Nancy and George referring to Nancy as "Detective Drew" over the walkie really just... wow, that is... really somethin' 😂

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." I dont know what you're talking about, Coucou, but same.

Even though I've been doing work throughout this process, I'm this 👌🏻 close to begging my boss to send me something to work on hhhhhh.

Okay, I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I'm only just realizing that Coucou js repeating all the phrases she hears the resort guests saying..... which I think is a very cute addition to this game and maybe the single redeaming quality 😂

Alrighty I gotta have lunch and my boss wants to have meetings with us this afternoon so I gotta blast. But... just like Dwayne Powers, I WILL BE BACK.

[peterthepark]

born to die

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

summary: sometimes, it’s better to leave something broken than to fix it. after a two-year old breakup, billy finds her waiting tables, yet still as gorgeous as ever. he can only hope that the timing was never right for them, & that they can show each other how to live again. but hope... it’s a dangerous thing, especially for a man like billy.

warnings: angst, SADNESS, heartbreak, smoking, alcohol, instances of a toxic relationship, strong language, bad shit in the workplace, sensitive topics

A/N: based off of the song happiness is a butterfly by lana del rey & of course, born to die by her as well! this is a continuation to die for you. pls read that before you read this for the whole angsty experience, thanks! be aware this contains sensitive topics and i do not intend to glorify them.

The restaurant bustles noisily with the clatter of plates and cutlery. The air is warm, and you can instantly feel the sweat build up on your brow from the cheap air conditioning. Your body, however, stands frozen in the walkway between the tables. The yellow notepad trembles in your hand, and you stumble over your own words as you muster up the stability to speak again.

Meeting his blue eyes, it made you feel as if you were nineteen again - the same nineteen year old teenager, whose mind was clouded with lust and the need to be loved. Billy Hargrove never did, in fact, love you. Maybe that’s why you still had that aching need buried at the bottom of your heart. No chain and ball could ever pull down that feeling.

His gaze drops from your face to your shoes, taking in your frazzled state. Compared to him, you surely looked like a mess. At least your makeup was decent, unlike the stains on your uniform and apron. Billy couldn’t make it anymore obvious with how shocked he was, yet, the faint smile on his face was a giveaway of his lack of malice towards you.

But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And maybe you did lie - about him not loving you.

Maybe it wasn’t love in the first place. Maybe it was more.

Because he was still wearing the gold necklace you had given him on his eighteenth birthday.

It’s been two years. Get a fucking grip.

“So, just the pasta?” You clear your throat, scribbling off all the errors you had made on the notepad whilst taking his order. Stuffing the papers into your apron, you collect his menu, nearly knocking over the glass of water in front of him. “Sorry. My fault. Is that all?”

“Yeah, thank you.” His expression is fond. The words seem bitter on his tongue, almost as if he shouldn’t be speaking to you after all that guilt and shame that was placed upon him once you had left. “Y/N?”

Your heart flutters ever-so delicately, and you turn on your heels to look at him. His eye twitches before he bites down harshly on his bottom lip. “It’s good to see you again.”

There’s a small hitch in his gruff voice, and you internally wince at it before you head into the kitchen to compose yourself. You brush past the busy cooks and stressed waiters, shutting yourself inside the stock room as you attempt to even out your breathing. Bracing your forearms against the shelf, you rest your head against the cool metal, closing your eyes tightly as you mutter curses to yourself.

The door creaks open, causing light to seep through the crack by the doorframe. You raise a hand up, eyes still shut as you press your lips together. “If you could just leave me be right now, that would be great.”

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

“Billy, I - you aren’t allowed to be back here.” You finally look up, hair sticking to your cheeks while you wipe away the oiliness on your neck. You’re sure that your eyeliner has smudged with how much you’ve been touching your face.

You must’ve looked far from beautiful.

But Billy thought otherwise. Seeing you look like a broken mess was nothing foreign to him.

In fact, he was ultimately drawn to broken things.

Maybe two broken people are meant to piece themselves into a whole.

“Look, I’m... Y/N, I wanna apologize.” He steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. The only light that fills the room is the swinging red lamp above you, illuminating Billy’s sorrowful features.

“We can’t do this right now.”

“You need to hear me out.”

“Not here, please.” Your eyes glance down at his outstretched fingers.

You almost want to grab them and place his palm against your heart, to show him how fast it beats right now.

To show him that he still has that effect on you. To show him that maybe you do miss him. To show him that he could get a second chance.

But you shouldn’t.

You’ve killed yourself for him too many times.

Yet, the sound of his voice and the blue in his eyes is enough to bring you back to life.

“Y/N, I know I’m the last person who - who you’d want to see here. It’s just I... I’ve thought about what I did to you, and what I could’ve done so that I wouldn’t have lost you.” His eyes are soft, and his eyebrows furrow with every word he says. “I just wanna talk.”

“What even is there left to talk about, Billy?” He sighs at the mention of his name, and he struggles to keep his head lifted at the sound of it. You place your hands on top of your shoulders, arms crossing over your sternum defensively as you stare at him with a open mouth.

“Do you still feel the same?” He whispers breathily. “Do you still love me?”

A shaky exhale escapes from your lips, before they part and purse together; the words in your head are hesitant to leave through your throat, and a weak scoff comes out instead. The door clicks open, and you freeze when your boss walks into the stock room. His eyes bounce from you to Billy, and you curl into yourself under his degrading glare.

“Everything good, Y/L/N?” Freddie asks, adjusting the collar of his button up as you tug at Billy’s shirt for him to leave.

“M’fine, sir.” You mumble, straightening out your uniform as you step towards him.

Billy walks out first, and to his dismay, he quickly sees the disheartening interaction between you and Freddie. He doesn’t miss the way Freddie snatches your wrist, pulling you towards him while you struggle in his grasp. Billy catches your eye in the doorway, and you avert your gaze before Freddie finally lets you go. You stumble out of the back room, bumping shoulders with Billy as you hastily return to your job.

The expression on your face saddens him. It’s as if you had died over and over again in the last two years, constantly being thrown in the line of fire - only to pick yourself up everytime. Since when was it possible for it to become this bad?

With short breaths, you place Billy’s dish on the table, already knowing that he didn’t want any Parmesan on his pasta and that he would want a Coca-Cola to go with it. His lips curl up into a small smile, and a quiet thank you slips out. You nod courteously, stuffing your hands in your pockets while you ask him if he needs anything else.

“Can I see you after this?” Billy says as he twists his fork into his noodles.

You huff with a weak shrug. “I don’t - I don’t have time. Really.” He nods respectfully, and suddenly you feel a wave of regret wash over you. You pat the table with your hand, before you stride off to help your other customers. “Enjoy your meal, Hargrove.”

Closure.

It’s what you needed, right? Surely, closure would help mend the agonizing wound inside your chest. But maybe, the wound had gotten worse now that you’ve seen Billy once again - infected even.

Was it worth it?

Billy runs a limp hand down his face when another waitress hands him his check. He sorts through the receipts, digging out crumpled dollar bills from his wallet to pay off his food. His eyes skim over the numbers, until they land on a familiar set of blue handwritten words on the corner of his receipt.

We can meet at the motel down a few blocks. (The one where we stayed when your car broke down? Do you remember that?) Anyways, I‘m taking up room 20. Shift ends at 5.

He cranes his neck to look for you in the midst of the restaurant, but he doesn’t. Disappointed yet also relieved at your change of heart, he folds the note into his jacket, setting aside a generous twenty dollar-bill as his tip. With shaky legs, he stands, suddenly nervous at the thought of you confronting him about all that had happened - but he didn’t care anymore.

At least you’d be speaking to him.

Staring at the evergreen car freshener that hung from the mirror above the dashboard, Billy could feel his chest constrict as he thought of the things you’d say to him.

How pathetic he made you feel?

How he wasted your time?

How he struggled to show how much he truly loved you?

Billy plants his feet on the murky welcome mat in front of your room. Rapping his fist against the door, he bites down on the inside of his mouth as he listens to the lock click open. Your sunken face peers through the crack, and you slowly pull the door further to allow Billy into your room. He shuffles inside with heavy footsteps. The leather jacket rests heavy on his arms so he shrugs it off and hangs it on the wooden chair in the makeshift kitchen.

His eyes take in the state of your motel room. Clothes are scattered on the floor of the bathroom, while two suitcases hide behind the curtain of the closet. There’s an ashtray on the television stand, and a pack of unopened Marlboro cigarettes beside. The bedsheets of your queen mattress are messily pulled back, and it seems as if you had lacked the energy to clean up after yourself. After what seemed like forever, Billy finally pans over to you, eyebrows already furrowed with questions and mouth drawn in a straight line.

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

The question is enough to cause you to take a seat, otherwise, you’re sure that you wouldn’t have the strength to carry on. Not in a couple months has asked you that question. And in the two years you had gone without seeing Billy, you least expected him to be the first person who’d ask.

Visually, the answer is clear: you aren’t okay. But internally, inside your mind, beneath the mentality of pretending to be alright, you weren’t sure if there was anything left - besides the occasional pang of sadness or frustration, it felt as if your whole world had shifted into black and white.

It’s like the universe had died with you.

And so, you reply with the phrase that you’ve repeatedly rehearsed inside your head. “I’m not okay,” You swallow audibly, feeling your throat tighten. “But I will be.”

Billy, though sympathetic, is almost in worse shape as you are. However, he doesn’t let it show, not on the outside at least. Yet, he knows that you can tell something is wrong with him. There’s a slight frown on your face as you rest your arm on the back of the chair you‘re sitting on.

You raise your head to look up at him, “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He smiles sadly, twisting the ring around his finger. His eyebrows knit together as he glances at you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been better.”

“I know, I know.” Strands of hair from your loose ponytail frame your face, and you stressfully push them away from your view with a sigh. “We both could’ve done better.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” He kicks his heel against the refrigerator with disgruntlement, tugging on his curly hair. “I’ll never find anyone like you. I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I fucked everything up.” He begins to pace around the room, footsteps heavy on the dark carpet.

“Billy...”

“Y/N, I still love you. And I know - I know that what I did was... unspeakable. I messed with your head, I made you think twice, I made you doubtful and insecure and I - I understand no one would ever want that. But Y/N... I was seventeen when we first got together, I was nineteen when we broke up. And now, I’m twenty, and I still miss you.”

“Billy, as much as I... I would like to go back to being seventeen again, and hope that we would last then... it’s impossible.” You play with coaster on the table, twisting it between your fingers as a method of distracting yourself. Billy forces himself to sit, letting himself slide down the cool surface of the fridge with ease. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But... there are some days where I can’t stop thinking about you.” When you look at him, he meets your gaze through his lashes. “And other days, I wonder why I’m wasting my fucking time, B.”

B.

He thinks that’s your way of telling him that you still love him.

Is it though?

“Do you want me or do you not?” Billy questions you. His eyes are narrowed. The hurt is finally visible, and you shrivel under his hopeful stare with clammy palms.

“You were supposed to be my once in a lifetime.” You clench your jaw, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth. “I don’t know if I can handle a second chance.”

The air smells of death.

You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have let him reach out. You shouldn’t have let this happen.

Your body shifts into instinct, and your feet scuffle against the ground as you stand up. Your shadow falls against Billy’s face as you step closer towards him. His eyes follow you as you sit down onto your thighs in front of him. The skirt of your uniform rides up, baring the skin beneath it.

“But what’s the worst that could happen to someone who’s already hurt?” You whisper, breath fanning over your lips.

His face is inches away from yours, and his attention falls onto your smudged lipstick, hesitant to reach out and touch you. Sitting between his legs, the tip of your nose grazes against his, then your mouths hover over one another - so close yet so far. Momentarily, he locks eyes with you. And you see nineteen-year old Billy again. You hold back a sob as you let your forehead rest again his. Gently, your fingers come to toy with his necklace, engraved onto it is a butterfly, and you smile through tears.

“I love you, Y/N.” Billy swipes his thumb under your eye, catching your teardrop. “I love you.”

His lips slowly connect to yours, capturing you into a desperate and longing kiss. His hands become grabby, clutching at the fabric of your top and nape of your neck. When he pulls away, you both are gasping for air.

Kissing him had revived you.

But kissing him was also the thing killing you.

How can you stay away from something that you were once so addicted to?

-

“So what happened?” Billy pipes up in a raspy voice. He rubs your arm, drawing butterfly-like shapes with his pointer finger as you rest your head on his bare chest.

Ever since he had sat down and talked to you, he’d visit you every few weekends, trying his best to prove himself to you again.

To gain back your trust.

It was almost too easy.

“I, uh, moved out of home last year for college. Remember Chicago? Yeah, couldn’t afford that shit so I was forced to drop out. Then, my parents got on my ass about it and I feel too - too ashamed to even ask for their help. Which is how I got to waiting tables at Rascal’s.” You scoff, “It doesn’t pay much, but its enough for two nights at a motel and some grocery.”

Billy shakes his head. “Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“But I’ve saved up enough money... to leave.” You reluctantly glance up at Billy, burying your head against his collarbone. “You know?”

“Leave?”

“I’m going to California in a few weeks. That was my plan: to get up and go without telling anyone. Just - just disappear off the face of the earth. But now, you’re here. I’m here. And yet, I still want to leave this shithole.”

Billy looks over at the suitcases in the closet.

You were going to California.

What if he went too? After all, he’d die for you, right?.

You move to lean against the headboard, blinking at him expectantly.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you listen as he begins to ramble on. “Let me go with you to California.” Your jaw drops, and you start to shake your head while he frantically continues. “Y/N, there’s nothing for me here. This - I don’t have anyone or anything in this shithole.”

“You have Max.”

“She has her friends.”

“Billy,” You place your hand on his cheek, pulling him into your arms when he leans into your warm touch. “Wouldn’t that be a little too selfish?”

“Sweetheart,” He presses a kiss to your forearm and squeezes your hand. His eyes flicker up to you, and you blush deeply under his intense stare. “I’m always a little too selfish when it comes to you.”

The fact that he’d die for you was enough, right?

“So you’re coming with?” You chew on your bottom lip, tracing his tattoo with uncertainty.

“I’ll go anywhere you want me to go.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Y/N.”

Walking through the city streets

Is it by mistake or design?

I feel so alone on a Friday night

Can you make it feel like home if I tell you you're mine?

In a matter of weeks, Billy shows up to your motel room with two luggages in each hand. His hair is pulled back into a low curly ponytail, and he flashes you a charming smile as lightening booms in the sky behind him.

“When I said that we should runaway together at some point in our life...” You joke, hopping into the passenger seat of his Camaro with ease. Billy comes around to the driver’s seat after loading the trunk. “I didn’t think we’d be serious about it.”

“Well, there’s no backing out now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Keep making me laugh

Let's go get high

The road is long, we carry on

Try to have fun in the meantime

“Can we stopover? Please? I gotta piss.” Billy complains, scratching his head dramatically as he fidgets in the seat. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, finding amusement that he can’t stand the fact that you’re driving. “Y/N, I’m begging you.”

“The next stopover isn’t for like another hour. You’re an idiot. Should’ve went at the last one.”

“I di-“

“Fine! Fine. Alright, well, the closest thing to us is some random bar.” You chuckle, changing lanes. You turn up the stereo, tuning out Billy’s whining with Elvis instead.

Come take a walk on the wild side

Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain

You like your girls insane

The mattress is soft beneath you. Billy’s arm rests over your stomach, trapping you against his chest. The lamp beside you buzzes softly, and you take in the state of the apartment that Billy had managed to rent out within the month you had arrived in San Francisco.

Leaving Hawkins had left an unknown scar in your heart. You wanted this - California, having a life with Billy, a second chance at that. You felt euphoria once you had moved in with him; the feeling was fulfilling, and it made you feel complete.

Was there anything better than loving someone in a city far from home?

You blink sleepily as Billy stirs awake. He yawns into your shoulder, trailing kisses up your neck with exaggerated noises.

“Morning.”

“Hi.” You flip onto your other side to face him. The blanket tickles your nose as you cuddle into its warmth, locking eyes with Billy. The dark blue turquoise swirls with adoration and momentarily, you feel something.

He looked at you like you were his whole world.

You must be feeling love - love felt like this, right? It had to. What other feeling could it be?

Or are you just trying to convince yourself as you look into the eyes of the boy who had stabbed you in the heart too many times?

You wanted this, Y/N.

You wanted California.

But did you ever want Billy?

“Are you leaving for work soon?” He asks, rolling out of the bed. He slips on his sweatpants from last night, tying the drawstrings together.

“Yeah, I have about twenty to spare though.”

“Oh.” He huffs, arms limp by his side. “Well, you should’ve told me. Put on pants for nothing.”

You laugh heartily. But the grin fades instantly when he dips down to press a suggestive kiss to your lips.

Was it love? Will it ever be love?

Lost but now I am found

I can see but once I was blind

I was so confused as a little child

“Y/N, you want me to take table six?” Alex asks, holding a stack of menus in his hand. You push your hair back, nodding with a gracious gaze.

“Please? Thank you. You’re an angel.” You move to brush past him, but simultaneously, he tries to move past you as well. His taller frame hovers over you, and you unexpectedly blush when he touches your arm to scoot past the granite counter.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He chuckles shyly, scratching his head. A black curl of hair falls against his forehead, and you look at him fondly before he finally moves to accommodate the customers.

You catch the second glance he gives you.

And your belly bubbles with a cozy sensation.

It’s been forever since you’ve felt like this.

Tried to take what I could get

Scared that I couldn't find

All the answers, honey

“Okay, so you’re from Indiana? Tell me how it feels to grow up in a place like that.” Alex points at you with his spoon, chewing softly on his cereal. He glances up at you as he takes another spoonful of Cheerios. You shake your head in disagreement, staring down at your coffee bashfully. “No? So you’re from Illinois? Wait, Michigan?”

“No, no, I grew up here, silly. But... moved to Indiana for family reasons.” You shrug.

“Oh, alright, I see it now. You’re definitely a California girl.”

“What makes you say that?” He pauses, taking a couple minutes to study your face.

“You’re too beautiful for a small town, Y/N.”

You didn’t know that your own name could make you feel such emotions.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry

Sometimes love is not enough

And the road gets tough, I don't know why

“Where have you been?” Billy rushes towards you, reeking of a bar.

You exhale sharply, tossing your bag onto the stool by the front door. “Working. Why?”

You take off the cardigan of your uniform and hang it on the coat rack. Walking past a concerned Billy, you head straight into the bedroom, too exhausted and too conflicted to even acknowledge him following you. He leans against the wall, eyes wide with disbelief as you start to undress.

“Working? Y/N, it’s been hours since your shift ended!” He shouts, gesturing at the clock on the nightstand.

You gape at him, slipping into an old shirt. “Billy, I’m home. That’s all that matters.” You start to raise your voice in irritation. “Why are you being such an ass about it?”

“Because - because...”

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It escapes from my hands into moonlight

“Because you don’t trust me? Is that what this is?” Scoffing at him with narrowed eyes, you dump your waitress uniform into the laundry basket, disregarding how piled up it is.

“You’re putting words into my mouth.” He paces around the room, while you sit calmly on the edge of the bed.

“You’re making assumptions.”

“Then tell me where you’ve been all day!” He explodes, tugging at his hair.

“With Alex.” You answer truthfully, finding no harm no the words you had uttered.

“Alex?”

“Just a guy from the café.”

Billy’s face hardens. “You’ve been at this job for how long? Three months?”

“B, just drop it. I’m tired.” You bury your head into your hands.

“Three months and you haven’t told me a single thing about this - this Alex.” His voice falters, and for a second, you think that’s he done being an asshole - but the anger and jealousy in his eyes tell you the opposite. “You like spending time with Alex? Huh? You’ve been gone for five hours, is that how much you like being around Alex? I barely get to see you anymore, Y/N. What the fuck is this?”

“Alex is a friend!” You stand up abruptly, fed up with Billy’s behavior. “I can’t be friends with other guys? You’re fucking crazy.”

“We move back to California and suddenly you’re a whore again.”

You realize that he’s been slurring this whole time - his words still hurt, though, and the intent behind them are enough to sting.

But drunk people often tell the truth. You weren’t a stranger to that.

If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst

That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?

I'm already hurt

Your frustration shifts into shock, then pain as you process what he had said to you in a matter of seconds. The tears don’t hold back this time, and immediately, your vision is blurry as the room around you spins.

Billy wobbles on his feet as the shame comes over him. He mutters your name when he sees your watery eyes and your quivering lip. You make a beeline for the door, but you’re pulled back when your hand comes in contact with the knob. Billy tightly wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head against your back as he whimpers an apology. The cracks in his throat don’t faze you. The dampness of your shift doesn’t faze you. The sound of him whispering your name doesn’t faze you.

This isn’t love.

Your love died when you had died for him.

If he's as bad as they say, then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes, I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

“I don’t want this.” You say, shuddering as a sob racks through your body. “I don’t want you if you’re going to be like this.”

“Stay. Stay.” He cries. This is too familiar. This already happened. You can’t handle a second time. Not again. “I’ll change. I’m drunk. I’m drunk - just - this isn’t me, Y/N. You know me. This isn’t me.”

“I’m so fucking stupid.” You tremble, placing your hands on the door to hold yourself up as Billy embraces you even tighter.

You can’t breathe. He’s suffocating you.

“Y/N, I love you.”

“I’m sorry, B. I can’t.”

This isn’t love. No...

This is what it looks like when you’re lonely.

You pry his cold hands off of you, not once looking back as you slam the bedroom door behind you.

Billy doesn’t chase after you this time. He lets the tears roll down his cheeks. And he lets the emptiness eat him alive.

After all, people don’t come back from death.

I said, "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi.”

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

“I’m sorry, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” You sniffle, wiping away your runny nose with the sleeve of Billy’s crewneck. It hangs just above your knees, and you realize how disheveled you look.

Alex ushers you inside, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as you take a seat on his futon. The throw pillows smell of roses.

A funeral.

He doesn’t say a word. Rather, he sits beside you, rubbing your back comfortingly as your breathing becomes ragged. You try to speak, but all that comes out is a weak, pained moan.

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue

I just wanna dance with you

I just wanna dance with you

Alex pulls you up from the makeshift bed on his couch, shushing you as you start to worriedly ask questions. The record player by his dining table sings airily, and you feel light as Alex begins to waltz with you around the living room.

“I’m not in the mood for this...” You mumble grumpily. Alex blows air into your face, and you flinch from the sudden action. “Ow, what is wrong with you?”

“Just trying to dry your tears. If you keep crying, I’ll run out of oxygen soon from trying to keep you dry.” He quirks a brow at you, laughing as you accidentally step on his bare feet. “And maybe I have to teach you to dance better. I won’t have any feet after that either, considering you keep fucking stepping on them.”

You shake your head at him with a small smile.

The cozy feeling from before fills the dark pit in your stomach.

“Is the California girl smiling?” Alex pulls back to look at you properly, scrunching his nose up when he sees you smile even wider. “Would you look at that.” His eyes drop down to your lips, and you don’t miss the way that his tongue slips out to wet his own. Clearing his throat, he speaks up again. “I got you a little gift. Just - just to cheer you up. Uh, hopefully. I don’t know if you’ll like it, but...” He steps away, digging through his bookshelf. When he turns to you, he holds out a minuscule box.

You hesitantly take it into your hands, popping the lid open.

A necklace.

A butterfly necklace.

The same one as Billy’s.

What a tragedy, to want to forget someone, only for them to flutter into your life undecidedly, especially when you don’t want them anymore.

But people don’t get to decide when the Reaper comes to sow.

And death - death is inevitable.

You were born to die from the beginning.

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Fifteen

A/N hope you guys are staying sane out there 🥰

Saturday, November 30th, 2019

Florence couldn’t have felt worse. The midday sun burned through the open curtains and she covered her face with her hands to try and block it out. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking around the room she was in, blinking slowly. Daniel’s familiar blue bedsheets were pooled at her waist and she sat there alone. Frowning in confusion, she stretched her arms above her head before dropping them quickly to her lap and shuffled to the side of the bed, tossing her legs over. Daniel was asleep on the floor, curled up in a fetal position under a single blanket.

Florence couldn’t hold back her eye-roll at merely the sight of him, stepping over his sleeping figure.

The mirror leaning against the wall was where she went, taking in her smudged makeup and knotted hair. She wore a long black t-shirt and sweatpants with a NASA logo on the thigh which meant it was clearly Corbyn’s. Taking one last look at Daniel asleep on the floor, she tiptoed down the hallway. She didn’t know where Emilio was but thankfully her first guess was correct as she peeked into Jonah’s room to see him asleep. She smiled at the peaceful sight of him and crawled up next to him. Her shifting woke him.

“I feel like shit.” he mumbled, rolling onto his back and ran a hand through his tangled hair.

“Me too.” Florence sighed. “Where’s Jonah?”

“He went home with a girl.” Emilio said. “You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember anything from last night.” Florence chuckled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m just so sore.” 

The sound of dishes clanging came from downstairs and the two made their way down. Jonah was stood in the kitchen making coffee, and from left to right, Zach, Jack, and Aidan at the island with steaming mugs of coffee sat in front of them. Zach had his head buried in his arms on the counter top. The other two looked half dead, staring at the wall or the floor.

“Good morning.” Jonah smiled to the newly arrived two.

“You’re happy, considering.” Florence mumbled, walking over to the forming group. Emilio sat at the final stool and pulled Florence into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Already took medicine and had two cups of coffee on my way back here.” Jonah shrugged. “Figured I’d care for my little family of hungover idiots.”

Aidan raised his middle finger to him.

“You disappeared thirty minutes in.” Jack stated, eyeing Jonah with inquisitive brown eyes.

“I don’t kiss and tell if that’s what you’re asking.” Jonah smirked. “But there will be more of her around if things keep going the way I think they are.”

“I don’t care.” Zach whined into his arms. “Just shut up.”

“First hangover is always the worst.” Corbyn said, joining them downstairs, freshly showered. He set a hand on Zach’s shoulder at the far end of the island from Florence and Emilio.

“Drink your coffee.” Jonah encouraged.

“Coffee is shit.” Zach mumbled.

“It helps though.” Aidan added.

“Or I can make you a smoothie that we drink in Spain to cure hangovers.” Emilio piped up. “I would just need to go to the store to buy raw cows liver.”

The fear in Zach’s eyes made the mug instantly touch his lips and he took a long sip.

“Really?” Florence whispered to Emilio. The boy chuckled and shook his head.

“I wonder how Daniel is.” Corbyn said, thanking Jonah quietly as he was passed a mug. “Poor guy threw up everything in his entire body last night.”

“Yeah, and got us kicked out at fucking 12:30.” Jack rolled his eyes.

“Good thing.” Zach said into his mug. “If I drank anymore I might not have woken up.”

Florence leaned into Emilio and he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Corbyn let his glance linger on them longer than normal. They didn’t notice.

The stairs creaked as Daniel trudged his way to the main floor, rubbing his tired eyes with his fist. His hair was matted down under the hood of the sweater he wore and dark circles were formed under his puffy eyes, a very light scruff lined his jaw.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Jonah smiled.

Daniel merely groaned and slouched over the end of the island next to Corbyn, burying his head in his arms.

“Feeling any better?” Corbyn asked, rubbing his hand up and down his best friend’s back.

“Don’t.” Daniel whispered, his voice scratchy, pushing Corbyn away as he stood up. He bent backwards a little, his spine cracking. The room cringed. “I slept on the freaking floor last night.”

“Why?” Jack snorted. 

Florence’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily. Wouldn’t they know that she claimed his bed?

“I don’t know.” Daniel blurted out before quickly pressing a hand to his mouth.

“If you throw up on the floor, you’re cleaning it up yourself.” Aidan said. Daniel leaned his hands on the counter and hung his head, breathing slowly and deeply.

“You do not look good.” Zach stated.

Daniel shook his head without looking up.

“Coffee for your headache?” Jonah offered, pushing the mug into his line of vision.

One sniff sent Daniel running for the sink behind him. The group groaned in disgust as he threw up yet again.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Jonah mumbled.

“What the hell did you drink last night?” Jack asked him as Jonah shoved a cup of water into Daniel’s trembling hand.

“Zach made me take too many shots with him.” Daniel rasped, taking a sip of the cool water.

“Oh wow, okay.” Zach rolled his eyes. “You don’t see me puking my guts out.”

“People react differently to alcohol.” Corbyn said.

“Lightweight.” Jack coughed into his mug. Aidan chuckled from beside him. Daniel frowned at them over the rim of his cup.

Florence had been drawing lazy patterns on the granite countertop since Daniel had gotten downstairs, avoiding looking at him at all costs. Daniel was same in that sense, perfecting the art of pretending Florence simply didn’t exist. He blended into the background with his glass of water and wished himself to be far away from them.

“Woah, wait.”

Jonah’s hands on him made Daniel startle, his tired eyes opening. The neckline of his black t-shirt was pulled down, revealing a deep purple bruise on his neck. Emilio whistled.

“Oh, shit!” Jack laughed, smacking his hand to his mouth.

“When did that happen?!” Zach gaped.

“Well I never thought I would see this in my lifetime.” Aidan chuckled through a smirk.

Florence stared at the hickey on Daniel’s neck, a strange feeling erupting in her stomach. Jealousy? It couldn’t be. He was her best friend. Was. Was her best friend. That’s it. They were no less than strangers now and what Daniel did or didn’t do was none of her business.

“What?” Daniel frowned, smacking Jonah’s hand away and walked off to the bathroom to look at what they were yelling about. One look in the mirror and Daniel squeaked, pulling his shirt up higher to cover it. Most of the group laughed.

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Emilio asked, his arm draped around Florence’s shoulders.

“I-I don’t know-“ Daniel stammered. “I can’t remember anything from last night. Not after my fourth shot with Zach. It all gets...weird.” he pressed his hand to his head.

“All I remember from last night is...” Zach paused to think. “I can’t even remember. Nothing. I can’t remember anything either.”

“Well look how the world is coming together: Jonah has a girl who he seems actually serious about, Saint Daniel got at least to first base, baby Zach got lit, and we had a VIP room last night.” Aidan put his hands up in joy. “How fucking weird!”

“And Florence and Daniel are talking again!” Emilio added with an innocent smile.

The room fell into a tense silence. Daniel and Florence looked in opposite directions. Emilio’s smile faltered at the lack of response to his statement.

“What makes you say that?” Jonah whispered as if the subjects of the conversation weren’t standing right there.

“They were sitting in the room alone together yesterday. Obviously talking and being civil.” Emilio explained.

Florence and Daniel both frowned at this statement. Neither remembered ever being close to each other the night before. Corbyn cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the silence.

“We most definitely weren’t.” Daniel finally spoke, his rough voice shaking with emotion. He then turned to the stairs and ran up them. Corbyn followed him quickly.

“Fuck.” Florence sighed, running her hand through her hair.

“Sorry. I-I didn’t think it was a problem.” Emilio mumbled, more to Florence than anyone else.

“It’s fine. I just...I mean maybe we were talking or whatever last night but...I don’t remember it. Clearly he doesn’t either.” Florence shrugged. The group around her stayed quiet, looking at the ground. “Lets just drop it.” Florence said.

~~

Corbyn followed Daniel into his room, sticking his arm in the door before it could slam. Daniel plopped down on the side of his bed, holding his face in his hands. Corbyn closed the door quietly behind them and sat next to him.

“Why’d you have to invite her?” Daniel mumbled.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t do it to spite you.” Corbyn sighed. “She’s my friend too and I know that she needs some time to be a teenager herself. I thought I was just being nice.”

“She’s not your friend. She was my friend. Was. And now she’s still coming around here and you’re hugging her and being all playful and happy. You guys - you and Jack and Zach and Aidan and Jonah - are my friends and she doesn’t have the right anymore to come around here! I told her to go away.”

“You don’t mean that.” Corbyn spoke slowly.

“Yes I do!” Daniel said strongly, looking over to meet Corbyn’s concerned gaze.

“You love her, Daniel.”

“Maybe I did. I did but I can’t anymore. She has Emilio and he’s a freaking perfect Spanish prince.”

Corbyn didn’t laugh even when Daniel chuckled at his own ridiculousness.

“You may think that you are better to keep your distance but I don’t think that. I know that it’s only going to make things worse.”

“No it won’t. Emilio is really good for her. He can do things for her that I can’t.” Daniel assured more himself than anyone.

“Like what?” Corbyn continued before it could be answered, “You’ve been there for her more than anyone has. You’re the only one who can calm her down when she’s freaking out. You were there for her through her ex’s flaky and borderline abusive shit. You basically helped her birth her child.”

“I only went to the Lamaze classes.” Daniel mumbled. “I was in Vancouver for the birth.”

“I don’t give a shit, Dan!” Corbyn said strongly. “What kind of 18 year old boy would take his pregnant friend to a birthing class?! Multiple times?!”

Daniel sniffled, staring at the ground.

“Daniel, you two have this super weird and unique and unbreakable connection and no matter how much space you put between you, nothing changes.”

“It’s already changing.” Daniel whispered.

“It’s not.” Corbyn scoffed. “You don’t remember anything from last night but, holy shit, Daniel, I saw the way she way she kissed you.”

The words floated in the air between them, soaking in slowly to the disbelieving boy next to him. Daniel’s eyes widened and he looked over at his friend again.

“When she saw you behind her, it was like this...this visible weight was lifted from her shoulders. You can try to put distance between you all you want but you can’t say that you don’t have a connection anymore,” Corbyn pressed his finger lightly to the dark bruise on his neck, “because you clearly do.”

Daniel rested his hand against his neck, trying to process this information. “But Emilio said we were only-“

“I don’t know what he saw upstairs but I know what I saw on the dance floor: and there was no talking going on.” Corbyn chuckled.

Daniel sighed deeply, running both hands through his hair.

“And maybe this is just my opinion...but I don’t think you were coincidentally sleeping on the floor. You were in your bed when I left you there and these creaky floorboards are hard to miss. Mysterious footsteps don’t just come around for one night. Plus, there were other-” Corbyn said.

“What are you implying?” Daniel asked sharply, his voice in a whisper.

“I’m just saying. I think-“

“That I lost my damn virginity and don’t remember it?”

“Wait you’re-“

“Shut up.” Daniel’s cheeks went red and he looked to the carpet.

“I’m not laughing at you, Dan. I’m just worried about you.”

Daniel swore quietly under his breath and held his face in his hands, “This is a mess.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” Daniel said. “What can I do? She doesn’t remember it - hell, I don’t either. I don’t need things to be more complicated than they already are. Let’s just not bring it up again.”

“You can’t just let this go-“

“I have to.” Daniel said sharply. “I can’t just bring this up to her with no proof. No, it’s too far gone. It’s over and done with and there’s nothing else to do.”

Corbyn’s gaze lingered on his upset friend for a moment before he merely nodded. “Alright. If that’s what you want to do.”

“Yeah.” Daniel pressed his fingers to his temples. “All this is making my headache worse.”

“Why don’t you get into bed and I’ll bring you some Advil and you can rest?” Corbyn offered quietly. Daniel didn’t even need to nod as he gladly laid down on the side of his bed, his blue eyes staring at the wall across from him. Corbyn stood up and tucked the sheets around him before fetching the promised medicine and a glass of water. 

Without another word, Daniel was left alone, the only light in the room coming through the small crack in the curtains. In the near dark, Daniel stayed perfectly still, his mind reeling at the information he was just told. It made his brain hurt, as he tried his best to remember all he could from the night before. Exhausted and frustrated, he pulled the duvet over his head.

They smelt of her; her floral perfume she always wore but paired with a scent the overall innocent boy couldn’t place. It took a few seconds for the realization to set in and when it did, Daniel tossed the blankets off himself and sat up. It was like he could feel it again, his hands on her warm skin, how his heart beat fast in his chest, the sound of his name falling from her lips. Daniel shuttered at the whole idea, shame washing over him. He could still only remember broken pieces of their night but the fact that Florence didn’t remember any of it made guilt bubble up in his stomach. The guilt from the night before was futile as it wasn’t his fault that she didn’t remember anything but it was mixed dangerously with the guilt of ending their friendship; the action that made this situation so much more complicated.

Daniel quickly swallowed the Advil that was left on his night table before reaching over to set the water glass back down. His eyes caught on something between his bed frame and the small table and he reached to grab it. The black lace underwear that was held by his two fingers made him literally groan, disheartened. This was proof he didn’t need.

[a-wanderin-whirlybird]

First Sight: A Sole Ender Fic

Summary: Ryan tried hard to ensure he was never seen without a mask. And if that failed he always kept an extra eye patch on him. The recent stint with the FAHC had turned onto a permanent partnership and Ryan knew he would have to either tell the crew about his "condition" or they would find it themselves. Sadly it seemed that the latter would be the case as a stray bullet decided.

It was a simple job really. Go in, kill a man, steal some data for Gavin, then leave. They had planned and over planned to hell and back. It was an easy job.

But when was anything ever easy or going to plan with the FAHC? They lived and thrived on chaos and uncertainty. It was part of the reason Ryan even accepted the offer to join permanently.

As the Vagabond working alone, he made his own fun. But it always felt hollow, being alone felt hollow. Though it was all Ryan had known for a long long time. The experiments never left room for socializing not when it was only Ryan in a room with a bunch of Pricks.

Still it was nicer to hear others groan at bad puns or laugh at cheesy one liners while storming a bank or glaring down an enemy. It was, nice. Odd, and a learning process for sure but damn if it wasnt nice to have something like a family. Which was why he was extra careful.

Ryan knew that the experiments he survived left their mark. Black and purple veins or skin patches were easy enough to hide with make up. Avoiding water was disguised as a quirk, though for bathing Ryan made absolutely certain to run the shower while he wiped himself down with wet wipes. Not ideal but it got him clean enough. As for teleporting and staring well... he made sure if he did teleport no one saw, and the crew thought he was leaving his sparkles around to annoy Gavin. He was able to pass off his hatred and anger towards staring and eye contact as personal and the crew respected that.

But he could not hide the eye. His left eye had morphed into something else decades ago, right at the beginning of the experiments. His right eye was blue and looked perfectly normal. His left... it had no whites, just black ink and a large nearly matching purple pupil. It moved on it's own sometimes, something Ryan never fully figured out how to stop. And it watched everything. It showed the weakest points in objects, where Ryan could just pluck a cube from whatever it was. It showed veins and important artery locations in a potential victim. It was a culmination of everything the fucks back at the Program had wanted.

But Ryan hated it. Seeing the samn thing not only hurt, but infuriated him. Even decades later it made him feel weak and helpless. And worst of all, it was like a brand. Impossible to hide without heavy cloth or armor, its eerie black glow seeping through everything else. Ryan was only just starting to settle with the FAHC he was actually starting to enjoy himself. Like hell he was going to let something as stupid as an eye fuck that up!

But he knew, eventually he would have to tell the crew. It was either that or they would find out... It had been a simple fucking job and of course that would be where it all unraveled.

"Turn left! Left you Dolts!" Gavin's voice cracked over comms as Jeremy and Ryan sprinted through the corridors of the former safe house. A trail of bloody foot prints spread out behind them as they sprinted down and through the halls. The lights flashed red and an alarm blared loudly.

They hung a left, Jeremy skidding a little as he went.

"How the Fuck did we miss that camera? I thought the system was down!" Jeremy growled as the two rounded another corner. Ryan had pulled out a shotgun and held it close and ready as they raced for the exit.

"Bastards probably had a separate system. But that would mean they expected company." Ryan offered lowly so that the comms heard him but not those around him.

"Shit! Take cover!" Gavin shouted over comms as the battle Buddies finally reached the exit.

Jeremy dove down and Ryan jumped back into an open door as several shots fired past them. Jeremy crawled into the closet with Ryan, cocking a pistol.

"Fuck, how many Gav?" Jeremy asked.

Ryan popped his head out to return fire and popped back in as the sounds of bullet tearing flesh ripped through the blaring alarms as blood oozed out over the floor.

"I caught sight of 3 total. One is down so 2 left." Ryan supplied as Jeremy nodded and ducked out to shoot.

Ryan silently cursed, he could teleport, but he never teleported with someone, itd likely kill Jeremy if he did. But perhaps he could get behind the enemies...

There was a loud crash from the opposite end of the hall and a curse from Gavin.

"Hurry up! They have back up coming!" Well fuck. Ryan pulled a bewildered Jeremy into the Closet and shit off his comm.

"Stay here and please dont ask any questions." Ryan practically begged. Jeremy nodded quickly and gasped when, with a Vwoop! Ryan vanished leaving a small shower of sparkles.

Ryan appeared behind the first man, knife out and swinging. The blade dug into the back of his neck as a groan caught the other man's attention. As Ryan pulled the knife out he teleported again, letting the first fall limp and struck out at the other's neck as he pulled out of his teleport. A quickl slash and the throat was cut and the man fell.

Ryan only had time to barely catch his. Breath as sharp pain ripped through his left eye and the world went white for a moment. When the world partially swam into focus Jeremy had Ryan slung over his shoulder and was making a beeline out the exit. Tyan couldnt quite hear what he was saying and didnt get the chance to figure it out as he drifted into painful unconsciousness.

Jeremy had to say that he figured the Vagabond was weird. Tucker wore a mask for everything and the few times the media even got a glimpse of them without it they had a fucking eye patch and face paint! But then he joined the crew and it became apparent that the Vagabond was like the rest of the crew, weird, pissed, and chaotic as fuck. So sure, Jeremy expect quirks from Ryan.

Then the Motherfucker went and teleported in front of him! Jeremy still wasnt sure if that was what actually happened or if it was the adrenaline playing tricks on his eyes. Then a bullet struck Ryan in the eye and Jeremy didnt have time to think.

He ran out and grabbed his teleporting Battle Buddy and sprinted for the getaway vehicle. Jack was waiting outside and sped off the moment both boys were in the car.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gav fo we have anything back at base for Bullets in eyes?" Jeremy asked desperately over comms. Gavin scrambled on the other side muttering this and that.

"Well get the fucking bullet out first before we get there we might actually be able to do something then!" Jack called from the front as they sped out onto the highway.

"Fuck! You're serving all over the place you think I'm going to be able to dig a bullet out like this?" Jeremy snapped.

"Just fucking try!" Jack shouted, as they swerved around an eighteen wheeler.

Jeremy cursed and began to remove Ryan's mask and then his eye patch

"Sorry buddy." Jeremy whispered as he lifted the patch and frozen. "Oh what the shit?!"

"What? If he is missing an eye dont gawk!" Jack scolded.

"He's not missing an eye but its janky as dicks! Its black and purple and shit." Jeremy shouted as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to dig a bullet out of his friend's ... uh... eye.

"Thay sounds unhealthy." Jack deadpanned as the car pulled into the headquater's garage. Once stopped jack came around to the back. "Alright move the fuck over you useless-Holy fuck you weren't kidding!"

"Yeah! No shit!"

"Whatever move! I'm getting that bullet out." Jack said, Shoving Jeremy out the otherside of the car. Jeremy yelped as he hit the concrete and popped back up, his eyes catching a patch of black skin peeking through smudged make up.

"Got it!" Jeremy tore his eyes back to Jack who was holding up a bullet covered in a thick black liquid with swirls of red dripping within.

"Great, now help me get this fuck inside." Geoff said jogging up to Jack from behind Jeremy. Jeremy was still frozen as the two Gents carried Ryan up to his room. Gavin and Michael approaches Jeremy.

"The fuck has you spooked?" Michael asked. "He's a tough fucker. Ryan'll be fine."

"Dude did you see his fucking blood? Its black! His eye is purple and moving on it's own! He fucking teleported!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Either that all just happened or I'm fucking high as balls. Neither outcome is good."

Gavin shrugged. "Well, do drugs we all see that."

Gavin pointed to the car where a small pool of black and red flecked blood glistened in the lights. The three lads stared at the pool in silence until michael spoke.

"Well son of a bitch."

Ryan came to in a bed. His own at the penthouse. He blinked a few times feeling the sting of a healing wound in his left eye as he did so. Having super human healing paid off more than it didnt.

Ryan sat up hand raising up to his face, expecting a mask or eye patch... only to meet fresh bandages.

Panic hit Ryan like a truck.

"Shit." Ryan cursed loudly as he went to stand only to flop over the side of the bed. "Fucking healing fatigue. Fucking legs, fuck!"

"Well good to see you're awake." Geoff's smooth drawl was cracked with stress and exhaustion.

The man was slouched against the door frame a cup of tea in hand. His hair was a mess and his eyes had bags that looked like they were dripping down his face

Ryan turned his face from Geoff's feet down to the floor on which his gave rested. A grumble was released into the floorboards then Ryan slowly picked himself back up onto the bed, his left eye still covered. Geoff shot him a knowing look as he stepped in and closed the door.

"Gavin and the lads are with Jack in the Kitchen looking for an update on you. Figured I'd be the first to talk to you." Ryan huffed as Geoff spoke with more authority than Ryan liked. It sounded too familiar.

Like a Scientist trying to get answers.

"Alright no need to growl asshole Jesus fuck." Geoff held up his hands in mock surrender and Ryan felt his shoulders relaxing a little.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Ryan hissed. "But I'm not some specimen to interogate."

"Well that answers that." Geoff said and Ryan tensed again. "Fuck right look I'm pretty sure a glowing black and purple eye ball ain't natural and yes we saw it you had a bullet in your eye and we didnt know it would heal on it's own. Dont care about that if you want it to stay covered it can stay covered. I'm more curious about Jeremy saying you fucking teleport."

"I can only teleport myself. Itd kill anyone else." Ryan said sheepishly as a sigh of relief escaped his lungs. "I can also take cubes of shit out of anything."

"People to?" Geoff asked, Ryan nodded. "Holy fuck what the hell kind of experiment were you a part of?"

Ryan shook his head and Geoff nodded.

"Right later if ever. Moving on, you alright?"

"Just tired. Healing takes a lot of energy." Ryan explained and Geoff nodded.

"Need water or anything?" Geoff offered and Ryan shook his head again.

"Burns. I'll just go out myself..."

"You sure? I'm sure the guys all have a million fucking questions." Geoff said as Ryan slowly rose up.

"Better now than later." Gwoff laughed.

"Fucking true. Though I have one more question." Ryan sighed.

"Shoot."

"Those sparkles Gavin's been collecting, do you make those?" Ryan laughed.

"When I teleport, Yeah. Dont know how or from where. But I do know Gavin has been using them on his nail polish and and eye shadow." Geoff busted out laughing as the two walked out into the penthouse living room. The lads shot up with Jeremy racing up to Ryan with Gavin close behind. A million questions poured out. But it was good.

[breakyourhaloandley]

01: All I Need Is One More Broken Heart

I let out a shaky breath, smoke seeping out from between my lips. The small exhaust fan above me is buzzing, threatening to break any day now just like everything else in this apartment. Jake would kill me if he knew I was smoking inside, but I don’t see how it matters. This place is a glorified garbage heap so a little cigarette smoke isn’t going to make a difference. 

Lifting the bottle of white wine up to my lips I take a long drink before staring back at the person in the mirror. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I really care, but I’m sure it’s not the ‘proper’ time to be drinking, whatever that means. Black eyeliner is smudged under my eyes and my long black hair is in desperate need of brushing. I’ll get to it later, sometime when I’m not stuck in a fucking spiral of drunkenness, sadness and utter lack of care for my wellbeing. 

The front door clicks and I hear someone fumbling with keys, I guess Jake is back. I flick the rest of my cigarette into the toilet before flushing away the evidence. I stumble, almost losing my balance as I make my way up to the kitchen where he’s fixing himself a plate of questionable Chinese leftovers. 

His eyes dart up to me, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. I see it in his disappointed scowl. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon Andy,” he states, motioning towards the bottle in my hand. 

“And this is white wine, not liquor.” I retort, needing anything but a lecture from one of my bandmates. None of them have any room to talk. 

“You know we have band practice tonight, right? Tour starts in a week.”  “Don’t remind me” I groan, well aware of the ticking time bomb set to blow up in my face in a matter of days. 

I should be excited, it’s our first major tour. We’re headling the AP Tour this year along with my friend Matt’s band, D.R.U.G.S. I should be, but I’m anything but excited. A few months ago it would have been a totally foreign concept to me, the thought of not wanting to be on tour. Yet things change, people change and in what feels like the blink of an eye the things that used to fill you with joy become your worst fears. 

It’s not that I don’t love music anymore, it’s not that I don’t want to be in this band or that I don’t want to sing anymore. It’s that I don’t want to deal with the things that come with it. The screaming fans who think I’m some perfect fucking idol they should look up to, someone who can save them from themselves when little do they know I can’t even save myself. It’s the interviews, the time schedule, the sleepless nights in a bunk too small for my legs, it’s the loneliness despite being surrounded by people night and day, it’s the expectations. 

I wonder if the fans will notice, notice the new cracks on my perfect exterior where the flawed human being is threatening to breakthrough. I don’t know what happened, but something changed on the last tour. It was as if this darkness had consumed me. The funny thing is that I had actually made a vow to myself at the start of our first tour that I wouldn’t drink. I’d seen alcohol destroy too many of my childhood idols to ever want such evil in my life. 

Like most promises, this one wasn’t kept. It was our second tour and during the kick-off party, I had a fatal lapse in judgment. Someone handed me a drink, the stench of alcohol was potent but I drank it anyway. I can only compare the feeling to someone who is about to drown, and right before they open their mouth and let the water fill their lungs, they manage to resurface gasping for air. All the anxiety, the fear, the demons that have haunted me since childhood were suddenly quiet. I felt free, happy, confident and social. 

I no longer cared what people thought about me, like that life-saving breath of fresh air, I felt alive. 

I guess you could say I went overboard, I started drinking every night and that’s when the darkness started creeping back in. The shadow slowly wrapping its cold fingers around my throat and after the tour ended it spiraled out of control. Bad decisions, at least those that I can remember, haunt me yet I just keep making them. 

So now I have a week before the tour starts, a week to get my shit together.  “And are you fucking listening to me?” Jake snaps, pulling me out of my wine-induced haze. 

“Uh yeah-”  “I said you can’t pull the shit you’ve been pulling on tour. No more ending up on the stage floor crying and making a fool of us. John said that-”  “Thank you, Jake, I’ve seen the videos I don’t need a lecture.” I cut him off. 

---

The walls burst down the second I see him, like floodgates opening-up and memories that I thought were buried suddenly resurface like it was yesterday instead of a month ago. He’s standing there, silky black hair concealing his face. He’s too busy tuning his base to even notice that I’ve walked in. His tattooed fingers work the strings of the instrument and I’ve never been jealous of an inanimate object before now. 

My heart is racing in my chest and I swear to god he has to hear it. I feel a knot in my stomach and I’m not sure if it’s that or the hangover making me feel like I’m going to throw up. Ashley looks up, his caramel eyes fixating on my lanky frame. Eyes dart up and down and wait, was that a grimace? He sets his base down and his boots click as he walks towards me. 

“You okay Six?” he asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. 

“I’m fine Ash.”  “You’ve lost weight,” he comments, the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. 

I’ve been steadily dropping weight since our first tour, I don’t know where it got out of control but like most things in my life, it did. God, I want to be fucking wasted right now, anything but dealing with this. 

This dance we’re doing around each other is new, and I don’t know the steps to it. All I know him as is my best friend, the person who’s been there for me since the start, warmth in cold, oxygen to a drowning man. 

I can still feel his lips on mine, the night it all went to hell. It was the last week of the tour and after killing almost an entire bottle of whiskey we made a fatal error. The circumstances that led us to that error are blurry, blacked-out sentences in the story of my life. What I do remember has become my own personal hell that plays on a loop in my brain. 

The heavy motel door slams shut, the outside world ceases to exist as time stands still in some little town in Texas. Those tattooed fingers are dancing along the outline of my hip bones, my back pressed up against the cigarette stained wall. I’ve wanted this moment since we met, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me, to be the center of his attention and desires. And here we are, our lips inches apart, a hurricane about to make landfall. 

His hands glid up my bare skin, following the contours of my torso. A shiver goes down my spine and I feel my heart about to explode. “Kiss me” I whisper my breath catching in my throat. 

Our lips collide and I melt, surrendering myself completely over to him. I part my lips as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his nails digging into my pale flesh. There’s a roughness to it that drives me mad and I can taste the whiskey on his lips. 

He pulls me over towards the bed, falling on top of me as the bed creaks under our combined weight. His fingers lace in my hair before violently pulling it back. I let out a moan all the nerves in my body firing. He has complete control over me, I’m a puppet on strings. 

I tug at his belt, leaning up and whispering in his ear “I want to feel you inside me” I don’t care what the consequences are all that matters is this moment. 

He pushes me back, quickly standing up. My heart stops in my chest as he shakes his head, a disgusted look across his face. “Fuck” he breathes pushing his hair back. 

“W-What?”  “God, what are we doing? No... Andy, I’m not gay. I- fuck I’m drunk. Look we can’t do this, I’m not attracted to you and I’m sure as hell not gonna fuck you.” 

My heart shatters into a million pieces, this has to be a dream... no a nightmare and I will myself to wake up. Only I don’t wake up, “Ashley...” 

“Look I get it, you’re uh- you’re gay. I kind of always suspected that I guess. But I’m not and this isn’t going to happen. We’re bandmates, I’m your friend and we’re both just drunk.” I stopped listening to the words coming out of his mouth but the next thing I knew he was out the door, something about sleeping on the bus. 

We ended up doing the whole awkward day after ‘talk’. Let’s just forget about it, neither of us meant for it to go that far, we can just carry on as if it never happened. Bullshit. 

And now we’re here. It’s been a month since I’ve seen him, the longest we’ve ever gone since he joined the band two years ago. He stares at me, I guess expecting me to say something from this mutually agreed-upon script we’re supposed to be acting out now. Words fail me though, all I feel is the lump in my throat and it feels like it is suffocating me. 

“You’re taking care of yourself, right? You said you were going to get better about that. Cutting down on cigarettes and drinking, eating better.” I can’t tell if the concern in his voice is real or just for show. Did I even say that? Maybe I did, but I didn’t mean it. 

“I’m not going to drink this tour.”  “One out of three is better than nothing I guess.” he jokes, though I don’t think he believes me. 

“I uh- I’ll be back in a sec.” I manage to get out before brushing past him and away from the others. 

I barely make it into the bathroom of the studio before breaking down. Air is hard to find as I gasp for breath, the tightness in my chest getting so bad that I swear I’m going to pass out. I brace myself against the sink, my knuckles turning white from the death grip I have on it. Tears well up in my eyes before falling, mixing with the black shadow around my eyes into long black streaks down my face. 

There is no way I’m going to be able to do this tour sober, I don’t know why I’m fooling myself. I want nothing more than to be half a bottle deep in whiskey right now, all these fucking emotions shut off. Sliding down against the wall onto the tiled floor my head spins from the hangover and lack of oxygen which only increases the nauseous feeling in my stomach. I try to convince myself this is just another panic attack but the feeling of death is so real. I lean over the toilet, pushing two fingers back into my throat until I feel my gag reflex kick in. I throw up the little that’s in my stomach before leaning back against the wall. 

My hands shake and I’m unsteady on my feet as I push myself off the ground. I rinse my mouth out with water and try my best to wipe away the smeared makeup before walking back out to where the rest of my band is. They’re already practicing, the sounds of drums and electric guitars drowning out the sounds of my little breakdown. I try my best to force a smile and join in, but I feel disconnected from them, from the music, from life. 

We practice for hours, and I feel every second of it. While the rest of the guys talk about ideas for the tour I slip out the back. I light up the second I step outside, the nicotine calming my nerves instantly. I’ve smoked half the pack before I even realize it, but the health of my lungs doesn’t make my list of concerns. 

I listen to the sounds of the buzzing street on the other side of the building, closing my eyes as I try to find a moment of tranquility. 

“Andy we need to talk.” his cool voice says from behind me. Ashley walks over to face me, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from me. I watch as he places one between his pale pink lips, the flame flickering in between the cracks of his cupped hand. 

A dirty little secret about Ashley, he’s known to smoke a cigarette or two whenever he’s stressed. He loves to preach about hating them, how disgusting and dirty they are but compared to the things he used to use it’s nothing. The thing about being so close to someone is you know almost all of their secrets, you’ve met all of their skeletons and Ashley has more than his fair share of them. So I let his theft slide. 

He blows the smoke out in a white cloud before sighing. “I told John that on hotel nights I’ll room with one of the other guys. I think it’s best that way.” 

I scoff, laughing at his feeble attempt to act like we’re not completely fucked. “Is it?” 

“I figured it would be easier for you.”  “Wow you’re so considerate” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm. 

“Andy you said that we would just agree to forget about everything. Just be normal bandmates. I know you’re hurt but it’s just the way things are. Maybe it’s my fault, I let you believe there was something when there wasn’t.” 

Ashley was my lifeline when I moved here. A month of living in my car before meeting him and the others had taken its toll on me. I was on the verge of giving up and crawling back to Ohio with my tail between my legs. Then I met him and he showed me a warmth that kept me going. He was there the nights I broke down in tears, missing home and second-guessing myself. He was there when I needed advice, guidance, someone who I could trust. Even when I started drinking he was there, making sure I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, pulling me together the next morning... and now it’s over. 

“I’m sorry for fucking things up. I just... miss what we had, friendship, whatever you want to call it. I’m drowning Ash.”  “I’m still your friend Andy. Don’t be dramatic, you’re twenty now you don’t need someone babying you.” 

My heart aches, I tried to fight it for so long. I tried to tell myself that it was hopeless to have these emotions for someone who would never want me the way I wanted him. I tried to convince myself that the truth wasn’t the truth, that I wasn’t madly in love with the man in front of me. I am in love with him though, and for a few moments on that fateful night, I thought he loved me back. 

“When I asked you to kiss me, why did you?” I ask bluntly. 

He is clearly thrown by the question, and the calm facade he is so perfect at maintaining drops for a second. Just long enough that I can see he is human, not some robot immune to emotions. “I don’t know.. maybe there was a part of me that wanted to try it, maybe it was because you asked. Maybe it was the whiskey.” 

I close the gap between the two of us, the smoke from our cigarettes mixing in the air. He doesn’t move back, just stares at me, his face once again expressionless. “And you felt nothing?” I whisper. 

“Nothing Andy.” We stand there, motionless in the cool Hollywood air. Kiss me, punch me, insult me, push me up against the brick and fuck me, do something. “Then I guess I’ll just forget about it,” I reply. 

He places the cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Goodnight.” he simply says before walking away. 

[batfamily14]

The Final Days part one

Jason Todd x reader

AN: After a virus spreads through Gotham, the city is exposed to a zombie infestation leaving it in ruins. Y/N is the daughter of a colony leader, full of survivors. But what happens after she is caught by the opposing camp called Arkham, by a skilled bounty hunter?

Warning: language, mentions of murder and blood. Extreme situations.

My fingernails scratch the worn surface of the erupted bridge, trying to grab hold of the edge.

My feet kicking furiously as I struggle under my own weight. Pulling myself up , I settle along with the other members of my team. They’re spread out hutch over various discarded objects along the broken road way. Without stopping to catch my breath I crouch behind a flipped car gasping , the glass crackling underneath my foot. I clutch my chest forcing myself to ignore my screaming muscles. My eyes lock on to the distance storefront, our destination for supplies . “We should keep moving, we’ll run out of time the longer we wait.” Weaver, our group leader advises. Everyone silently agrees ducking from one place to another sneaking to the store. My feet and legs burn , aching in protest, but I keep moving quickly . We stop at the boarded up front doors. “The windows are blocked with sandbag?” A brown hair woman questions. Weaver nods. “ Someone placed the bags here to stop the store from being raided, which means it’s marked territory and the store is their supplier.”

“So, why raid it if it’s marked. We don’t actually have the ability to defend ourselves if we get caught .”

“Then don’t caught. Remember the drill only grab what we need. We’ll divide into two groups, one will handle water and gas, the other tools and canned food. Now, someone will need to help me move these sandbags out the way of windows so can enter.” Weaver says, he stocks forward dropping the heavy bag with a thud to the ground, It echoes through the lot. “Shit.” He murmurs under his breath. When nothing alarming happens , we all visible relax. “Alright people here we go!” He declares, turning back around to gather the bags again. Suddenly two shots fire in rapid succession, the sand bags bursts in a tan haze . “Sniper! Get down!” Corporal Weaver urges , before firing in retaliation. I dive over a concrete barrier, waiting for the next shot. “Throw a distraction y/n.” Weaver whispers. I reach into my pouch and pull a small rock from inside, I toss it near the store front. Five shots from different directions fire, sending up dust and gravel in the air. “Five shooters.” He counts. “Maybe more.” The brown haired girl speaks up from her hiding place behind a garbage pin. “What’s the plan?” She asks. “We need to split off.” A man insists . “Take them by surprise on both side.”

“We don’t know know where they are! That’s too risky !” The woman argues. “We should abort and come back another day.”

“Then we’ll have no supplies at camp and we’ll starve .” Weaver sighs. He pinches the bridge of nose in frustration.“Y/n!” He calls.

“Yeah?” I respond. Peeking over the barrier from my position to look at him. “I’m here”

“What do you think? Do we run or did we split?” He holds up his hand silencing the others then pointing to me.

I think for a moment of our situation and our chances of success. Five shots were fired , there are eight of us. We could still however be outnumbered by them. I have skilled and trained men among my members but not the best of the camp.

“Well?” Weaver asks ushering me to decide .

Here is the first choice , there’s consequences to each, i’ll alert each time there is one:

Split or Run? Decide.

If you picked “Split”:

If you picked “Run”:

“Run.” I finally answer, I hear a groan from the other man.

Weaver nods. “We will go in different directions back to camp to throw them off. I’ll give you all time.”

He ducks down moving to the next barrier, a shot pummels into the concrete , I cover my head kneeling down. “You’ll need to be fast!” he warns. “Go!” He shouts. He fires two rounds in retaliation. They disappear in the distance. He’s shot instantly after he reaches d to reload his gun. “Weaver!” I scream. No response. “Run y/n!” The woman yells. The sounds of the motorcycles heading towards us was enough to make us abandon the mission. I begin dashing out the neighborhood as a shot barely misses me slicing the left side on my stomach. “Ack!” I screech. I fall to my knees, my body burning and aching in pain. Shrieks echo in the atmosphere. I crawl into a ditch wrapping my shirt around my body to compress the wound , tears swelling in the corners of eyes. “It’s okay, we’ll be okay. We just gotta keep moving.” I reassure myself, trying to steady my rushed breathing . Grasping the dry grass and dirt of the ground I throw myself down the hill leading into the woods. I roll down knocking myself into a bush, trembling I stand up and begin to run again. My feet slipping on the wet summer leaves as I am swallowed deeper into the forest’s darkness. My pace increases as I round behind a tree, the cold air shocking my throat and lungs as I inhale deeply. My body is exhausted and my heart beats frantically, the drumming is all I hear against my ears. Until the familiar sound of gunfire shatters the bark from a tree behind me. The spitters grazing my skin again, cutting my face. I manage to calm myself before grabbing my revolver.

“Don’t.” I hear a raspy voice warn. I pull it from my waist anyway, aiming it in the voice’s direction. The man me towers over me . He stands nonchalant as he holds a gun pointed at me while his other hand rests on the belt holster. After a beat he slowly loweres his gun and holds his hands up as a surrender, waiting for my next move. I lower my gun off him and aim it to the ground. He reaches back and removes the mask covering his face, he’s handsome from his dark trousle of hair with a sharp white streak , to the depths of his eyes and roughness of his face. A certain intensity exerts from him, along with a strange sense of familiarity. He was dressed in a dark body suit with amour. On the center of his chest was a symbol painted red of a bat that bleed from the rain. The symbol of an Arkham bounty hunter clear on his sleeve.

For a single moment the only sound between us is the forest and the distance wails from walkers. This feeling of fear is suspending and I feel weightless from adrenaline. This is what I was trained for : defending myself and my camp no matter what. I could tell he was skilled and I was prepared to absorb the impact. A grin tugs my mouth as I try to maintain a composure of confidence. “Y/n. Daughter of General Elliott , housing the western district of Gotham. Your head is on my list for Ark’s most wanted.” His face was stern and unwavering, his lips form a thin line as he steps closer to me.” I stand from my crouching position, my wounds wincing. Squinting at the man I frown. “I don’t believe my camp or I myself have done anything to upset the Arks.” I pull my hair from my face where it had smeared itself on my forehead from the rain. The man’s face turning red as he raises his gun to me. “Your camp has been invading Arkham territory and has been committing crimes against my people over the past months.” He shouts more of his threats into the wind, his voice demanding and dripping in venomous hatred. “From what I recall.” I begin. “The Arks were outlaws hiding in my camp, they stored away our supplies and weapons until they had enough people to overrun us. We sheltered and guided the fallen from the infected , and the Ark became greedy and selfish! They destroyed the colony right underneath us. Enslaving hundreds till they kneeled to your will and command.” He knocks my gun from my hand In an attack of rage and instinctively i grab his leg trying to make him lose balance, he kicks me in my stomach. I fall kicking up leaves, my hand grabs a rock and I chuck it at him, he narrowly misses it. I bend over trying to retrieve my gun but he steps my wrist. “Fuck!” I yelp. His worn leather boots pressed down even harder. I look up at his eyes. He sneers at me In disgust. “ Your colony neglected the poor and turned away the “misguided”. Treating the innocent like savages, letting them die before you. You will answer to your actions and pay the price.” He leans down to my ear, pressing down again. Pain stings my arms and I grit my teeth “And if it were only up to my regime? I’d kill you right now.” He lets me go. I lift my head from the dirt, I dust wet leaves and smudges of mud from my clothes. “Why after all this time do the Arks want to respond? That I don’t understand.” I question . He drops chains to forest floor they clatter on the ground. “Put these on.” He orders. I suppress a smirk, “you expect me to chain myself.” He doesn’t answer and just stands there expectantly. “For your camp’s safety I expect you to be on your best behavior. So, yes I do.”

He says breaking the silence, waiting for me. I reluctantly pluck the cuffs from the ground and click them around my wrist and ankles. His gang suddenly emerges from the tress surrounding us in a huddle, their weapons drawn . His expression darkens, as he straps his mask back on. He looks towards them. “Grab her and let’s go back to base.”My eyes widened as they dart around in dark forest. I ball my hands to keep them from shaking and glare at him. From the tales , I’ve heard of the Arkham’s vicious crowd judgements, the stories of near death beatings and public humiliation. It only ends with you being consumed by fear toxin in a gas chamber for days till you loose sense of reality, eventually you’ll stop functioning die , and they’ll leave you to rot to an unrecognizable corpse. “I am not being tortured for your amusement.” I grimace. He looks at me quiet and emotionless. My eyes dodge him as I avoid his gaze. “ I know of your torments by Red Hood and Scarecrow, your celebrations of bloodshed. I am not your prize or a wild animal.” I felt the betrayal of a tear escaping down my cheek. “Do what you will with my body but I will never give you the benefit of me being alive so you will have to kill me first.” No one spoke. The faintness of movement underneath the creak besides us causes little waves to form, splashing the gravel like an ocean’s shore. My eyes scan the creek , water pools in one spot like a water droplet causing a ripple.

Coconda.

I look at the hunter , his gaze unbreaking from me until he registers the water shifting. “Shit!” An ark gulps . They aim their guns towards the water. As they are distracted , I scoot myself away from the creek wobbling to my feet, nearly sinking down into the mud but I manage to pull myself out. The Coconda rises from the creek , missing its nose and it's left ear had been bitten off, most likely how it got infected . One of its arm had been mangled and his right face was chewed exposing the white humerus. As he drew a shaky breath he made a low growling moan that chills my blood cold. He grabs an Ark’s leg dragging him underneath, it sinks him down drowning him before its teeth breaks into his skin . Another Coconda swims to the surface It’s rough long muddy scraped nails maules the gravel as it begins to slithers towards us. The bounty hunter raises his gun and fires rounds into the Coconda’s head, till his skull spatters back into the water. The Hunter grabs me by my shackles. “We need to leave before the rest come.” He tells the others. The creek water ripples rapidly as the horde of Cocondas swims to the surface. The hunter drags me to his bike hiding under the low hanging trees and he flings me over the back, before climbing on himself and taking off with the others following.

We reach the vacant road to the highway, the air was heavy with the smell of burnt flesh and ringing of groans from walkers.Smoke hung in a haze from a nearby attack or perhaps an ambush. Shots rang far from us. Toxins from spitters oozes around us melting away the pavement and gravel. Broken and taken apart cars swamp the streets, flipped over and tarred from burns. The towers are long overdue for rebuilding.

Gotham City.

It has been years since I’ve been in the heart of it again. Besides the apocalyptic warfare and infected infestation, it was still the same. The town from a distance looks mundane from my camp. Its caved in rooftops, rusted buildings and repulsive atmosphere. When the city still existed the main attraction were the heros and its chaos , it lasted years till the virus . Despite its strengths and weaknesses, Gotham was always headed towards a fatal future, but this was unpredictable.

We ride to the warehouses on the corner by the bridge connecting us to the rest of the world, maneuvering through cramp opening along the roadway . Guards stand at either side of the makeshift gates that surround the protected camp. “What’s this?” I ask. “Arkham .” The hunter huffs as if it were obvious. “ I thought your camp was in the outskirts out Gotham in the wooded area.” He looks over his shoulder. “It is, but this is our second base.” At the gate the guards step out the way and open the giant front doors made from discarded rusted steel. “How many are there?” He holds out three fingers in annoyance driving forward. The square is flooded with survivors, training, farming, or doing their daily labor. They come to a stop, at the sight of me, they gather around and begin spurring insults at me. They spit on me and scream curses. I lean behind the hunter trying to stay covered. There are handmade tents lining the inside. Arks followers walk after us until we stop at a wooden built deck I assume was a meeting place. He takes me by my cuffs off his bike as the crowd around us yanks and tugs at me. I step up before everyone on the stage , the wood creaking under me. Dried blood decorates the deck below us. “Is this where Red hood and Scarecrow decide my fate? Where are they ? Too afraid to show?” I remark. The man only laugh dryly in response. The hunter walks forward addressing the crowd. “Arks!” He shouts silencing everyone . “I have a gift to your unanswered prayers, to your unanswered suffering!” The crowd cheers . “Let it be known today is the sprout of change, the virus was not the end. It is the start of a new era, our time. And the first contribution to our abuse is…” he trails off looking to me. “The daughter of the West Felt !” The crowd goes into a frenzy. “What shall we do?” He asks them. They began to chant. “Hang her !Hang her !Hang her !”I close my eyes refusing to have a reaction, I will not die being rumored weak. “Well, I’d loved to..” he begins. “But...I have a better offer.” The crowd went quite with anticipation. “We can not oversee our value. This woman is not only our answer but our beginning. With the daughter from the leader of West Felt , they’ll come here to get her and when they do they’ll answer to us, they’ll fall to our regime. No survivors. The time is ours!” he looks to the crowd stretching his arms out. “The Arks time is now.” The crowd practically riots in response. I search the hunter over , his face unreadable. My eyes trail back beyond the onlookers. It’s this moment I realize that not even a virus could stop Gotham from its own self destruction, that the people were always it’s last say and from the sight of it, this was truly the beginning of the end.

[illfoandillfie]

Rough Day

*This was requested by @bellacardoza16 who asked for kitten play + coming home from a bad day at work (actress) and Roger cheers you up*

Pairing: Roger x Fem!Reader 

Summery: Roger cheers you up after a rough day at work

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Kitten Play (including ears + collar), drinking (roger + reader), smoking (roger), dom!roger, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, orgasm control, and 1 (bad) pun based on a brand of cat food

Words: 4352

A/N: This was fun!! I haven’t written any hurt/comfort fics before but I enjoyed trying to capture that and also make it naturally flow into smut. Also haven’t written kitten play before but I think I have a new kink lmao - I did some research, watched a few videos on youtube and read some articles that explained kitten play, to try and get a better understanding of it, so I hope I’ve done it justice! And I hope this was the sort of thing you were looking for when you requested it!

Tagslist: @idontbelievethiss

Fuck, no keys. “FUCK!” You screamed as you desperately felt around yourself, checking all your pockets and your bag for the third time, trying to find a key that was clearly not there. Praying that Roger was home you started pounding on the door, trying to knock loud enough to be heard over the rain. “Rog! Rog are you in there?!” You yelled as you furiously knocked, your knuckles starting to sting. It took a full minute before the lock clicked and the handle turned, bringing you face to face with your, very apologetic, boyfriend. “Sorry love, I was making tea and didn’t hear you.” he said as he pulled you through the door. The fresh mug steaming by the sofa confirmed his story. “‘S alright. I’m the idiot who left my key in my other bag.” you said, taking a deep breath to try and steady your emotions. Roger took one look at your trembling lip and scooped you into a hug. You buried your face into his shoulder, releasing the sob that had been building all day. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Roger asked, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as he held you. It took you a moment to stop the flow of tears, but once they were under control you took a step back, wiping the mascara from under your eyes as you replied. “I’ve had the worst fucking day. Nothing went right. I couldn’t do anything right.” Roger’s fingers replaced yours, wiping fresh tears from your face. He pressed his lips to your temple and resumed rubbing your back as you leaned back into his shoulder. “Oh love, it’s alright now, I’ve got ya.” He let you cry into his shirt, whispering comforting things into your hair, until you were ready to stop. “Sorry,” you pulled away from him, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from getting too far. He placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up till he was looking in your watery eyes. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Fuck, you’ve listened to me bitch about the band so many times I’ve lost count.” “I got mascara and snot all over your shirt,” “Okay, that’s one apology I’ll accept,” he said with a smile, “Why don’t you go wash your face and I’ll make you a cuppa.” You nodded and he laid another kiss to your temple before he let go of your wrist.

When you reached the bathroom you took a moment to examine your reflection in the mirror - eyes red and puffy, makeup smudged and running down your cheeks, lip still trembling a little. You ran a sink of cold water, dipped the corner of a flannel into it and began rinsing your face, trying to keep your breathing calm and steady. Finally, you felt okay enough to leave the bathroom, taking a box of tissues with you just in case. Roger was waiting for you in the lounge room, wearing a fresh shirt, and holding his mug of tea. Yours was on the coffee table, a swirl of steam rising into the air.

“You wanna talk about it?” Roger asked tentatively as you settled on the sofa next to him, back leaning against the arm of the chair, legs crossed under you, cradling your mug. Roger shifted so he was facing you, and brought his hand to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing over your skin. You tapped your nails anxiously along the mug as you blew on it before taking a sip. “It was just a really rough day is all Rog,” you finally said, playing for time by drinking more of your tea. Roger remained silent, waiting for you to continue. You let out a slow breath, your eyes focused on Roger’s thumb as you continued. “There must have been an accident or something this morning because the road was closed and I had to go round the long way which meant I was an hour late to set which meant Mike, the director, was pissed off at me all day cause I put us behind schedule. He kept picking apart everything I did, giving me passive aggressive notes on my acting, which I could’ve handled except then I overheard him badmouthing me to some people and it completely threw me. So much so that I kept forgetting lines and messing up for real. Tim tried to stick up for me. He was with me when I overheard Mike and he tried to call Mike out for being such a fucking arsehole. Mike, in front of everyone, told him not to bother defending a ‘talentless, brainless bimbo’ who was only hired because of the way ‘her tits bounce in a tight top’.”  

Your voice got quieter as you spoke but Roger’s grip on your knee got tighter. You choked out the last words, tears stinging your eyes again, and Roger stood up abruptly, fist clenched by his side as he began pacing.   “Rog,” You said quietly, wiping your eyes on a tissue.   “When I get my hands on him,” He was shaking with anger, his hand holding his mug so hard his knuckles were turning white. “Rog, please,” your voice cracked as another wave of tears hit you. He turned back to face you, looking ready to break something, but his demeanour softened when his eyes met yours. “Shit, love, ‘m sorry,” He said placing the mug on the table as he dropped to the carpet in front of you, grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to your knuckles, “what a fucking wanker. I hope Tim knocked his fucking teeth in.” “He would’ve if I hadn’t stopped him,” you said with a small, watery laugh. “Should’ve let him,” “I was tempted to, but Tim would’ve been fired and Mike isn’t worth that.” “Well I hope someone gives him a good hard kick up the arse.” “Wouldn’t be surprised. He’s been a wanker from day one.” Roger tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering on your cheek. “I’m sorry he said those things about you.” “It’s okay,” “No, it’s not. They aren’t true. You’re an incredible actress. I’ve watched you work and you are brilliant. Maybe I’m a little biased, but the way people were raving about your performance in Twelfth Night last year I don’t think it’s just me who thinks you’re talented. And you’re smart as a whip too! Y’know I only like smart girls, and I love you more than anyone. It’s one thing for Mike,” he spit the name like it was poison, “to be a knob, but he’s also just flat out wrong. Knowing that you have to deal with this shit at your job makes me want to break things.” “Thank you,” you said, leaning into Roger’s touch, “I know he’s wrong and he was in a filthy mood all day and I shouldn’t let him get to me. It’s not the first time he’s done something like this. A few weeks ago he made poor Annie cry when she messed up his coffee. Just wasn’t expecting it when I got up this morning y’know, having my biggest insecurities publicly attacked.” “God, I want to kill him for making you feel like this.” “Breath, Rog,” you said pressing your nose to his, “he’s a pathetic worm who gets off on making girls cry. Nothing to go to jail over.” Roger laughed, “There you go again, being smart. Proves you’re not a ‘brainless bimbo’, doesn’t it?” You nodded, giving Roger a small smile, “He was right about one thing though.” Roger looked at you, disbelief clouding his eyes as he waited for you to continue, “My tits do look good in a tight top”. Roger sighed with relief as you broke out into a laugh. He shook his head and pushed you playfully into the back of the couch. “Alright, you got me,” He said as he shifted off the floor, flopping down next to you, “good to know your sense of humour is still intact. You feel alright though?” You nodded. “I'm going to have to bake Tim a cake or something, to say thanks.” “Y/N, if you don’t then I will. I’m glad someone there has my girl’s back.” “Later though. When I don’t feel so drained.” “Why don’t you go have a warm bath and relax for a bit? I’ll bring you a glass of wine.” You shook your head, “Actually, I had something else in mind,” You looked down at Roger’s hand, reaching out to play with his fingers, not entirely sure why asking for this was making you so nervous, “Can I have my collar, please?” You bit your lip, waiting. “Your collar?” Roger repeated. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Yes.” Your eyes stayed glued to where your hands were connected, even as you tried to explain yourself, “Today was hard, Rog. I spent all day trying to stay in control. With traffic, with the director. I had to control Tim so he wouldn’t beat Mike to a pulp even though I wanted to throw a punch myself. I had to fight back my own emotions so I could finish the work, because there have been people counting on me and looking up to me all day. I need someone else to take control for a little while. I just want to be looked after for a night.” You raised your eyes as you finished speaking, watching as Roger absorbed your confession.   "Of course, love. Anything to make you feel better. Why don’t you go and get changed and then bring your collar out to me, okay?” “Thank you,” you said softly, leaving an equally soft kiss on his lips before you stood and headed to your bedroom.

Once you were in your room you began undressing, tugging your dress over your head and removing your bra before slipping into your black silk nightgown. You fingered the decorative lace around the low-cut neckline, it made you feel regal. You sighed, already feeling more relaxed than you had all day. You moved over to the mirror and began reapplying your eyeliner in an exaggerated wing, making the line thick and bold. You followed it with a generous brush of mascara and a quick swipe of dark red to your lips. You brushed your hair out until it was soft and free of tangles, and then slipped on a delicate black alice band with two pointy ears. Finally, you opened the draw on your bedside table and removed your collar – a black velvet choker – running your thumbs over the material. Roger had given you this choker as gift, but you didn’t start using it as a collar until later. You liked its subtlety. You’d lost count of the number of times you’d worn it to parties and events you were attending solo. It made you feel safe and loved and less anxious when Roger couldn’t be there. You took one last look in the mirror, smoothing out your nightgown, before leaving the room.

As your padded barefoot down the hall, you heard music growing louder with every step. Pausing for a moment in the doorway, you took in the scene – Roger standing with his back to you, flipping through a box of records, foot tapping ever so slightly as he kept time with the music. A glass was resting beside him, two fingers of whisky lining the bottom, and a scent of smoke tinged the air, a cigarette freshly stubbed out in an ashtray. You didn’t recognise the album he’d put on but it was soft and sweet, the kind of music you could easily slow dance to. “You should be crawling, kitten,” his voice interrupted your thoughts, a smile instantly forming on your face at the last word. Nothing else in the world made you feel the same way that hearing the word kitten roll off Roger’s tongue made you feel. “Sorry Roger,” you said as you quickly dropped to your hands and knees. You placed one side of the chain of the choker in your mouth and began crawling towards him, your nails gently clacking on the floorboards.  When you reached him, you settled on your knees, your bum resting on your heels and your hands in your lap. The choker dangled from your mouth, swinging slightly from the motion of your movement. Roger didn’t so much as look at you, his attention remaining on his records as he pulled one from the box, examined the back cover and then put it back. Your knees were starting to get a little sore from the hard floor but you remained, looking up at Roger from your position at his feet. His hand moved and your heart jumped but he only picked up the glass and took a sip before putting it back down. Finally, he looked down at you. “Alright kitten, you’ve been very patient,” He said as he bent down, holding his hand under your mouth. You let the choker drop onto his palm.   “Sit up nice and tall for me,” You pushed up onto your knees, keeping your back as straight as you could, as Roger walked behind you. He ran his fingers through your hair, gently pushing it over your shoulder before he looped the choker around your neck and fastened it at the back. His hand remained on your neck as he walked around to face you, thumb brushing over the soft velvet, sending a slight shiver down your spine, and a heat pooling in your stomach.   “Better?” “Much,” you nodded and released a breath it felt like you’d been holding all day. “Good,” He said, kissing the top of your head.  

Roger picked up his drink before seating himself on the couch, legs stretched out so his feet rested on the coffee table.   “Come here kitten,” he tapped the seat next to him and you eagerly crawled over to join him, climbing up onto the couch. He took another sip of his drink as you got comfortable next to him, the couch much softer on your knees than the floor had been. “Does kitten want a drink?” He asked tapping his finger against the glass. You nodded, eyeing the brown liquid. Roger held the glass out to you, tilting it so the whisky ran towards the brim. You stuck your tongue into the glass, lapping at the drink. You licked your lips, savouring the rich and faintly smoky flavour.   “Have a proper sip, love,” Roger laughed, offering you the glass once more. You gladly took him up on the offer, enjoying the burn of the alcohol in your throat. He took the glass back, downing the last of the drink before standing up to get a refill. You repositioned yourself, letting your body slip to the side, your legs folded up under you as you leaned into the back of the couch, watching Roger walk around the room. When he returned, he had a fresh drink in one hand, the ashtray and a pack of smokes in the other, and a magazine rolled up under his arm. He sat back down, feet flying straight back to the coffee table as he sat his items on the arm of the chair. “Does kitten wanna cuddle up here?” he asked, patting his thigh. You nodded and shuffled closer.

Lying, curled up on your side, with your head in Roger’s lap, you finally felt like you could put your day behind you. You watched Roger’s foot bounce along in time with the music, his fingers running through the hair around your scalp over and over, and purred at the sensation. Your breath was steady and deep as you relaxed into him. The occasional plume of smoke spreading slowly through the room indicated Roger had lit another cigarette and you could hear the pages of the magazine turning as you lay there, losing track of time. Every time you moved or swallowed you became aware of the choker, your collar, and felt a rush of gratitude and love in your chest.   “Rog?” You said softly from his lap. “What is it kitten? You okay?” “I love you,” “I love you too,” You relaxed into him again, settling back into your comfortable silence. Your mind remained on Roger as you stared out across the room, suddenly very aware of where your head was positioned. The heat you’d felt as he’d fastened your collar sparked to life and you bit your lip.

You shifted slightly, snuggling further into Roger’s lap, and felt him pause. After a moment his fingers resumed their movements on your head. You waited a little before doing it again. Once more Roger stilled. From your position on his lap you could feel him getting harder every time you moved. Your own desire was growing as you lay there, pressed into his lap. “What ya reading, Rog?”   He cleared his throat before he answered, "A magazine.” “What’s it about?” “Cars and stuff,” You rolled onto your back, knees in the air and feet flat on the couch, and looked up at him, “That what’s got you so excited?” “You noticed that, did you kitten?” “Kind of hard not to,”   “HA HA,” he said poking his tongue out at you, “just ignore it kitten, put your head here instead.” He tapped his stomach. You continued to look up at Roger, pouting slightly. “Y’know I’m not expecting anything like that. Tonight is all about making you feel happy and loved.” He smiled softly at you, playing with a strand of your hair. “I think sucking your dick would make me happy though,” you said playfully. “Well, can’t argue with that can I kitten?” Roger laughed as he leaned down, bringing his mouth to yours. He still held the strand of hair he’d been playing with, tugging on it slightly, as his other hand roamed up your leg. He pushed your knees apart as his hand moved steadily higher, slipping underneath the hem of your night gown and tickling your inner thigh. Small noises fell from your mouth to be swallowed by his as his fingers traced over your damp underwear. “My kitten’s feeling frisky, is she?” he asked as he toyed with the leg of your underpants. “Y’know that joke gets less funny every time you say it,” You jerked slightly as he pinched your bum, tutting at your response. “That was very cheeky, kitten.” “Sorry Roger,”  His fingers found their place over your underwear again, running up and down teasingly. “Who’s in control kitten?” “You are,” “Are you gonna be a good kitten and do what I say? Or are you gonna be cheeky?” He pinched your bum a second time. “A good kitten, I’ll be good,” you whimpered as he pushed your undies to the side and ran two fingers slowly up your slit, quickly becoming coated in your wetness.   “Good girl.” He removed his fingers from you, pushing them into your open mouth instead. He let you suck on them for a moment before he continued speaking, “Now I believe you said something about sucking me off. Best get started kitten.”

You rolled onto your hands and knees, as Roger moved to stub out his cigarette. You let your chest and arms drop to the couch, your bum pressing high into the air. You stayed like that for a moment, relishing the stretch in your back, until Roger’s voice interrupted you. “As cute as you look right now, I thought I gave you an instruction.” You raised yourself out of the stretch and positioned your head over his lap. His feet had dropped to the floor and his legs were spread slightly. Leaning down you began trailing kisses over the visible bulge in his pants, running your lips and tongue softly over his jeans. Roger laced his fingers into your hair and tugged, a clear message for you to get a move on. You took the hint, undoing his fly and tugging his jeans down until his hard cock sprang free. Looking up, you flashed him a quick smile before you took his tip into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around his head, delighted by the soft groan he made in response. Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock you withdrew your mouth to summon as much spit as you could muster. You let it fall from your lips in a long string before lowering yourself back down, taking more of him this time. You bobbed up and down, his tip hitting the roof of your mouth over and over, as you stroked and squeezed his base. You hand and mouth worked in tandem, picking up speed as Roger grunted above you. You were completely focused on drawing more noises from him, loving being able to please him like this. He had one hand tangled in your hair, tugging it every time you dragged your tongue along his length or paused to lick around his sensitive tip, his other hand was roaming over you, running up and down the back of your legs, occasionally squeezing your bum. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so-o good at this,” He gasped out as you hollowed your cheeks, “Th-that pretty little mouth was made to suck cock.” You moaned around him as spanked you suddenly, only encouraging him to do it again. “Oh, kitten – fuck – kitten likes that,” he growled as he continued to spank you. You sunk down, taking him further, pushing back into his hand, “you gonna be good and swallow for me?” You bobbed up and down faster, pulling more groans and grunts from Roger as his grip on your hair and thigh got tighter. “So eager for my cum, aren’t you kitten,” you moaned again, pulling back to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. That was enough to send him over the edge, filling your mouth with his sticky cum. You swallowed and licked your lips before licking Roger’s cock clean. When you were sure you’d gotten every last drop you leaned back, resting your bum, now stinging slightly, on your heels again.  

Roger had his eyes closed, leaning his head on the back of the couch, as his breathing returned to normal. You leaned your head next to his, watching him come down. He slowly blinked his eyes open, immediately meeting yours. “Fuck,” he breathed out softly and you giggled, “no, really. Fuck. You are ridiculously good at that.” He reached out for you, pulling you over his lap, one knee on either side of his legs. You melted at his praise, leaning into his shoulder and beaming. His hand once more found its way to your thigh, slipping under your night gown again and drifting steadily higher. “Well what d’ya know,” he said as his fingers slipped into your underwear again, “kitten likes sucking dick and being spanked. Makes her all wet.” He teased your entrance, pushing one finger in and drawing it out again slowly making you whine into his shoulder. “What d’ya want kitten?” “I want you to make me cum, please,” You whined as he continued to slowly work his finger in and out of you. “I’ll make you cum, but you wait till I say you can. Is that clear, kitten?” “Y-yes,” you moaned as he pushed a second finger into you, his thumb making small circles on your clit, building your desire. It didn’t take long before you were a desperate mess, dripping as he continued to finger you slowly, making you whine and moan with every movement. He added a third finger before he began to speed up his thusts, his thumb still rubbing your clit. “Please,” you whined as his fingers pumped into you. “Not yet kitten.” You bit down on his shoulder as his other hand laid another slap on your bum, making you jolt so his fingers hit you at a slightly different angle.   “Please, Roger please,” your eyes were screwed shut, tears leaking from them. “You’re not in control here, kitten, so stop begging. You cum when I say so.” You wailed into his shoulder as he continued to torment you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He was relentless, but you were determined to obey, doing everything you could to hold off your orgasm. Finally, you were rewarded.” “Alright, kitten, I’m gonna count down from five and when I get to zero you can cum okay?” You nodded, incapable of speaking for fear of falling apart. “Five.”   His thumb rubbed your clit faster and your legs began to tremble. “Four.”   You grabbed onto his shirt, balling it up in your fist. “Three.”   Fresh tears ran down your cheeks at the effort to hold off just a little longer. “Two.”   Your breath was coming in short gasps. “One.”   You clenched around his fingers, barely holding on. “Zero, cum for me kitten.”   You screamed into his shoulder as you were finally allowed to reached your peak, legs shaking as he continued pumping his fingers into you.   “Good girl, doing so well kitten,” Roger’s voice sounded far away as you rode out your orgasm for what felt like hours, twitching as you became over sensitive.

Roger wrapped his arms around you as you collapsed into him, whispering praise in between pressing kisses to your temple and forehead. You shook slightly as he held you, breathing hard. “Fuck,” you said as you blinked open your eyes. Roger chuckled against your hair. “No, really. Fuck.” Your hands shook slightly as you stopped clutching Roger’s shirt, pushing yourself up so you could slip off his lap. “Where do you think you’re going, kitten?” He grabbed your waist, holding you on his lap. One hand reached up to brush your damp hair behind your ear, “Pretty sure I’m still in control, so you’re going to stay here and cuddle for a while. Gotta make sure my girl feels happy and loved.” “I do, Rog,” you sighed contentedly, falling back against his chest and closing your eyes, “I really, truly do.”  

[zoey-wades]

Honeymoon (King Liam x MC)

Rating: M (Drug Use, Substance Abuse, Violence)

Characters: Dark!Liam Rys x Dark!Lyra Frasier (MC) 

Summary: Fresh out of school and trying to figure things out, Lyra Frasier spends her weekdays going to a job she hates and her weekends in a drug fueled haze. And then she meets golden boy Liam. Lyra soon realizes that the violent underbelly of New York City’s elite may be more than she can handle.  

Word Count: 2,155

Author’s Notes: This is sometimes a bit hard to write for, because you have to be in the right headspace for it. I'm finally getting around to it. This is the most I’ve written in a while, and I’m finishing at almost 1 am. 

-x-

O1. Bad Habits

Lyra couldn't, for the life of her, figure out how she ended up vomiting in the bathroom of some East Village hole-in-the-wall.

Actually, she understood the vomit. She tested her luck with the Jolly Rancher shots, and she paid the price. Her cell phone --which was covered in some unknown sticky substance-- told her that it was close to 4am. Which meant that there was a whole two or three hours that she couldn't account for. The last she could remember, she was going shot for shot with her dealer at a dive bar near Tribeca. She was feeling pretty good until...Oh.

The sound of the heavy bass beyond the stall door made her head throb, and she realized that she was laying in a heap on the dirty bathroom floor. She managed to mostly throw up in the toilet, and she still had her purse and cash to get home.

Lyra: 1. Life: 0.

The thudding of the bass quickened, and someone was shouting something about peeing. As the fogginess of the drugs cleared a little, she realized that the bass was someone knocking on the door.

Wiping the tiredness from her eyes, she winced when she realized that she smudged her makeup into her eye. Along with whatever was on the bathroom floor. At this point, she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd already pressed her face to it when she passed out. No use in being anal now. Pulling herself to her feet, she used toilet paper to wipe her mouth and eyes, and flushed every biohazard down the toilet.

New Message:

“Lyra...it’s me. I saw you at the bar with Maxwell. ... how you deal with shit, why can’t you just...? Call me back.”

New Message:

“...I swear to fucking God, if you don’t...in an hour I’m going to come get you. I can figure out where you are...”

New Message:

“...this is why I cheated. You just don’t know how to let shit go. I’m done.”

Lyra wanted to cry. In fact, she could feel herself trying to =will the tears forward. But, ultimately, she just felt tired and dehydrated, and very very confused. Sitting atop an overturned crate in the alleyway behind the bar, she listened to the last of the messages, which sounded weirdly distorted and slow to her ears. She dropped her heavy, clouded head in her hands. Seeing Justin that night was bad enough. Having him call to remind her of all the ways she was a fuckup was just the shit icing on the shit cake that was her life.

She knew that she wasn’t the greatest girlfriend. She had really terrible bouts of depression that took a while to get out of. And, sure, she could’ve been more attentive to his needs. But she was trying her best. Up until he broke up with her, she thought she was getting better. She was going to therapy, and taking her medication. She hadn’t gone out partying in months, and she came straight home after work.

Maybe she wasn’t making as much progress as she thought. That was obvious, based on where she was and how she ended up there. She chuckled humorlessly.

It was now 5 A.M.

The sky was a deep shade of purple, and every blink seemed to make the colors more vibrant. Her vision doubled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She realized that her shift was in three hours, and she had to sober up to the best of her ability before heading in. The scattered conversations of the exiting bar goers drifted away, and she considered calling an Uber when she heard harsh whispers further down the alleyway, away from the street. Suddenly, there was a loud crash as if someone was pushed into something, followed by the sickening sound of someone being punched. Drug-fueled curiosity crept into Lyra, and she considered looking to see what was going on and calling the police.

Then she remembered that she was Black and decided to mind her business. Steeling herself, she took a few deep breaths and rose to her feet... then fell on her ass on top of the crate again. She felt like she could feel the Earth spinning on its axis. She wondered if, maybe, she could run fast enough to match the speed of the spinning. Since, clearly, it was moving so fast that she was losing her balance.

Kind of like those spinning carnival rides. 

 Clumsily rising up from the crate she attempted to run in her heeled boots, then stumbled a few feet to the curb of the street  before being overcome with the severe dizziness she felt earlier in the night. Leaning up against the opposite brick wall, she vomited on the sidewalk, and collapsed on the ground in a puddle of dirty rain water.

                                              -x-Liam-x-

This wasn’t at all how he wanted to start his weekend. He got a call about a mole among his father’s ranks. And once again, he had to be the one to handle it. He could understand that his father was older now, and therefore less inclined to pay attention. But, Jesus Christ if Liam wasn’t tired of constantly picking up after him.

Drake found him first, pissing drunkenly in the alley outside the bar. Neither Liam nor his best friend were into the idea of fucking up someone in such a public place. It left a lot of questions, and it left the potential for witnesses. But both men were already annoyed with the fact that they had to follow this guy for hours, in the dead of night, before getting him alone. Earlier, they watched as he approached a young, dark skinned woman, clad in ripped denim jeans, a tank top, and a leather jacket. Her messy, dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she cocked her head to the side, curiously. She was clearly already far gone by the time Sebastian Clark approached her, but even she could sense the leery nature of dad’s associate. He was about twice her age, with a steely gaze and abrasive nature. He smiled strangely at her, rubbing her arm, and she swayed slowly, scrunching up her nose before walking away. 

Liam noticed him put something in her drink before she left. Which made him feel a little less badly about what he was about to do to him. 

Now, it was just the three of them facing each other in the alleyway, with Clark looking as if he’d just seen a ghost. 

“Damn, Seb,” Drake tutted, shaking his head and smirking, “What are you doing man? Stealing money, tipping the feds, and drugging girls? It doesn’t stop with you, huh?” 

The older man raised his hands in defense, and took a step back, tripping over his own feet, “I don’t know what you’re talking about man. I ain’t no snitch.”

Liam shoved his hands in his pockets and took three slow strides towards the man, “So you admit that you’ve been stealing and drugging girls. Or did I just imagine your account transfers, and you dropping a pill in that girl’s drink?”

“I-I didn’t...”

“Ah, so I’m delusional now, is that it?” Liam raised his brows, glancing at Drake, who kept his eyes trained on the bumbling man before them, “You hear that, Walker? Apparently, I imagined all of this shit.”  

“Interesting...” Drake shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, and produced a pair of brass knuckles, “Maybe he forgot. I think I needa jog his memory.” 

At this, Clark turned and tried to make a run for it. To where, Liam wasn’t altogether sure. The alley stopped at a dead end, and he knew Clark wasn’t a fighter. He was just making Liam even more frustrated with his cowardice. Pulling the knife from his sheath, he threw it, taking aim at his back. It pierced Clark’s skin with expert precision, and he fell into a couple of metal trash bins, toppling them over. 

As the two younger men approached, Clark groaned and began begging for his life, mumbling something about his loyalty and how long he’d been with the family. At this, Drake laughed and landed a lazy kick to the man’s side. 

“Shut the fuck up and take this beating like a man. You shoulda thought about that shit before you stole from us and tried to get us killed.”

Drake approached him, and he raised his hands again, “Wait, wait, what about Constantine?  I’m his oldest friend!”  

Liam felt the anger swell in his chest. He had the audacity to mention him after betraying his trust and stealing millions? Liam landed the first punch, squarely in the side of Clark’s head. 

“You’re dead to him,” Liam coolly replied. 

And with that, Drake took over, landing punch after punch until nothing was left but pulp and matter smeared on the concrete. 

“We can’t just leave her here, Man...Look at her. She’s shivering, ” Liam looked down at the passed out woman, drenched in dirty water, “Also, someone might ask questions, and the cleanup crew is on its way.”

Drake groaned and ran his bruised hands through his dark hair, “You’re such a fucking softie, I swear.” 

Removing his leather jacket, Liam placed it over her and lifted her up into his arms, carefully. It was the same woman that Clark drugged at the bar, and he felt a pang of remorse. Sure, he wasn’t directly involved. But Clark was a part of his circle, and he felt a sense of responsibility. Drake tapped away at his phone, then glanced over at the girl before raising his brows and shaking his head. 

“What?” Liam asked, leaning up against the wall for support. He didn’t realize how tired he was. 

“That’s Justin’s girl,” Drake casually remarked, “Or was. I think he ditched her for some Upper East Side chick.” 

“No shit?” Liam looked down at the girl in his arms, feeling a deep sense of sadness for her. She’d clearly had a rough couple of years, based on what he heard about Justin’s relationships with women. A sleek, black Lincoln van pulled up to the curb, and Liam placed the unconscious woman in the third row of the car, making sure to watch her head. He slid into the second row, and Drake followed. 

It was on the ride back to the suburbs that she woke up with a deep groan and a sharp wince. Liam watched as she took note of her surroundings, and she jumped when her wide brown eyes landed on him. 

“W-what?” Her hoarse voice croaked as she pressed her hand to the tinted window, “What the fuck is going on? Where am I? Who the fuck are you?” She squinted, “Did you fucking kidnap me?”

Liam raised his hands in defense, “Whoa! No! Jesus--!”

But she was on a rampage.

“I swear to God, I will jump right out of this fucking car. I’ve seen enough movies to know how to tuck and roll! Let me out, right now!” 

“We’re on the highway...”

“I don’t care if we’re on the fucking moon, let me out of this car! Now!” 

“I told you we shoulda left her there,” Drake mumbled, resting his chin on his fist.

Liam ignored his friend, choosing instead to try and calm the anxious young woman down, “Look, no one is kidnapping you. I’m Liam, this is Drake. You passed out on the street, and we found you. We wanted to make sure you were safe...that’s all. No harm done.” 

He hoped that she could read the sincerity in his voice. Because, from her perspective, this probably looked really bad. He didn’t take into consideration how this would appear, and that was a huge mistake on his part. 

“I’m sorry if we scared you,” he continued, calmly, “It’s just...it wouldn’t have been right to leave you there.” 

She eyed him warily and frowned, raising a shaking hand to her forehead, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“That’s because a cockroach named Sebastian drugged you at the bar before you left,” Drake stated matter-of-factly. For the first time, he turned to face her, and Liam noticed something flash behind his eyes before he trained his disposition again, “Instead of waking up in a dirty puddle, you woke up in a luxury car with a bottle of water and two handsome guys. So, you’re welcome for that.” 

She blinked slowly as if registering everything he said. Then she lay back down across the seat, pulling her knees to her chest,  “For you, handsome is a bit of a stretch, but thanks for the water, I guess. And also for not being terrible and leaving me in the street. ” 

She paused. 

“So where’s this Sebastian guy, anyway? Did the cops take him?”

Liam and Drake exchanged a look, and Drake turned away again.

“Sure,” he said.