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ya-pucking-nerd · 3 years

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sabre and doodle - o. power

This fic is a part of @antoineroussel ’s winter 2k22 fic exchange.

Hello @bords !!! I am your mystery fic-writer ;) I am so excited to be your writer. I’ve had this idea in my head for a long time now, and I’m so excited that I was able to use it! I’ve decided to write this story from two different perspectives - Y/N’s and Owen’s. I think it gives the story more depth. Writing for Owen was never really an option for me before simply because I never payed him much attention, so thank you for inspiring me to broaden my horizons! Also, I have discovered that I am older than Owen Power by 12 days and I feel old :/

Disclaimer! I do not know anything about University of Michigan. I only googled the name of the library lol

One last thing, I decided to break this fic up into two parts. The deadline for the fic is creeping its way closer and I want to only give you my best. I have a whole plan for the rest of this fic, but I don’t want to give you a rushed ending - you don’t deserve that.

Word count: 4094 words

Warnings: I’m pretty sure it’s race-neutral (is that even a term? idk) so like I didn’t put any descriptive words about Y/N except that she uses she/her pronouns, some swear words but nothing hard core

Enjoy!

“Hey there! At long last, you’ve found the sticky note I placed here on 9/4/2021! Hopefully this book helps you out more than it did for me. This idea is sounding lamer and lamer, so I’m gonna leave it at that. If you want, you can leave your reply in this book :) ”

It was a folded little yellow sticky note sticking out of a book called Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman. You had to snicker a little. The note was recent – today was 9/7/2021. Apparently, you and the mystery sticky note person had awful time management skills in common. Truth be told, you weren’t looking specifically at time management books. You were just exploring Shapiro Library because you had never been inside of it. Well, there was that “mini-golf through Shapiro Library” thing during freshman orientation, but you didn’t exactly pay attention, opting instead to finish as quickly as possible to get to the pizza on the top floor.

You dug through your bag, searching for any stray piece of paper you had. You found a pink index card and a blue pen. That’ll have to do.

“Hello mystery sticky-note leaver. I’m Y/F/N. I’m sorry the time management book didn’t help you. So... what year are you? What’s your major? Put your reply in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith – it’s one of my favorites :)”

You smiled to yourself, satisfied with your note. You hoped the mystery note person would find it. Maybe it was just a little game to them. They put the note in as a joke, thinking it would stay there forever, or at the very least for more than three days. Regardless, you folded it up, tucked it safely between pages 1 and 2, took the original note with you, and walked away.

3 days prior...

“This is stupid,” Owen thought to himself. He was sitting in a study room on the third floor, math homework on his left side and an empty Google doc on his right for his economics class paper. He had hockey practice in an hour and a half and a night class after that. College was much more stressful than he thought it would be. He felt like he was never going to be able to get this all done. At this point, he was getting kind of desperate, so he decided to look for a time management book. Maybe they would give tips like a daily planner (which he already had) or perhaps something in the Reminders app on his phone.

Then, Owen realized he didn’t know anything about the library and where books were other than the author’s names were in alphabetical order. So, he went to the library aide. She directed him to the non-fiction floor and to look for books with the number 650.11 on the side. See, telling him to look for books with 650.11 on the side was easier said than done. He did eventually find it. Tucked in a corner with a window facing the stadium (ironic) were the books labeled 648-661. There were a few thick books that Owen didn’t really want to waste his time on. Then, he saw a small book by Oliver Burkeman that looked like it might be helpful.

The book proved not helpful. But by that point, Owen didn’t really feel like doing work. He had 13 minutes until he needed to leave the library, head back to his dorm room, grab his hockey gear, and head to practice. “Might as well use these,” he thought as he looked at the yellow sticky notes that he was going to use to write important notes down for his economics paper.

“Hey there! ...”

Back to the present...

You figured maybe the mystery sticky note person would never return your message. Or someone random who hadn’t written the first message would find your index card and throw it in the trash. What you didn’t expect was to see another yellow sticky note in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn the next time you went into the library.

The classes you were taking this semester hadn’t piled on the work yet, so you decided to browse through the library. You found yourself in the classics section a lot, finding comfort in the words of the greats like Mark Twain, Harper Lee, and John Steinbeck. This time, you came upon your favorite book from your high school English class and found a sticky note peeking out of the pages.

“Hey Y/N, you have really nice handwriting! My mom would be very impressed. You can call me Sabre. Kinda makes me feel like an international spy with a codename, which is the most fun I’ve had since getting here. And I’m a sophomore sports management major. What’s your major? Post your reply in one of my favorite books, The Giver by Lois Lowry. Signed, Sabre”

Sabre. Interesting. Why didn’t they want to give you their real name? You also wondered if a sabre could symbolize something in their life. Sabre like a saber-toothed tiger? Maybe they liked cats. Or it could be a saber, like a Star Wars lightsaber. They could be a Star Wars fan. But why spell it sabre instead of saber. There had to be a significance to that. You were a little confused at their choice of codename, but you played along. You dug out another index card and your blue pen, mind racing as you thought about what to write back. You weren’t sure what to expect with this... friendship? This guy... girl? was a sophomore. And a completely different major. You didn’t have anything in common with them – except poor time management skills. You would just have to wait and see. Upon finishing the note, you got up and strolled through the library, quickly finding the fiction section. As thankful as you were that Shapiro Library was this big and had this many resources, your feet were starting to hurt, and you hoped you found the book soon.

3 days later...

Owen was genuinely excited. His first year with the UMich hockey team went really well, to say the least. Despite it being the year of COVID, he managed to scrape together a damn nice resumé. He made the Big Ten All-Freshman Team, the second All-Big Ten Team, Rookie of the Year, Big Ten Freshman of the Year Finalist, and he led his team in blocked shots. But this time around, he had expectations to live up to. He was the “first draft of the 2021 NHL draft” guy. The very first one. Top selection. All of his achievements and the NHL draft meant that he was clearly a phenomenal hockey player. His coaches expected him to up his game. Umich hockey and Buffalo Sabres fans were expecting to see something spectacular out of him, and he was deathly afraid of disappointing them.

And, as guilty as he felt, it was nice to talk to someone who had no idea who he was. There were no expectations. Even if he would have told you just his first name, he could still be just Owen, but he didn’t want to live that dangerously. He didn’t bring up hockey with purpose, and he strongly doubted you would bring it up. His codename still kind of gave his identity away, but only to the extreme hockey fan. Maybe you would get confused with a Star Wars lightsaber or something like that (he was a Star Wars fan, anyway).

None of his teammates spent much time in the library. They all thought about playing Junior hockey, and some of the guys were drafted into the NHL, too. They partied hard, had their fun with girls, and did not put in a lot of work in terms of the academic side of college, but Owen knew that all it took was one bad hit on the ice, and his NHL career would be over before it even started. So, he took his studies pretty seriously.

Since leaving his last sticky note, Owen had been hanging around the library a little more than he’d like to admit. Meeting ... well, talking to you had been one of the few times that Owen felt he could ultimately be himself since entering college. Not the number one NHL draftee, not the Big Ten Rookie of the Year, not Big Dawg, just Owen. It was like a breath of fresh air, a glass of cold water, all the metaphors for feeling peaceful and relaxed.

Today, he genuinely had work to get done. Calculus was kicking his ass, and he absolutely could not afford to fail, especially with his hockey scholarship on the line. But first, he had to check the Lois Lowry book. At this point, he was getting a little scared that you had answered his sticky note out of pity and then completely forgotten about the whole thing. He wouldn’t be mad, exactly, but he’d be a little disappointed.

Strolling through the fiction section, he found the L’s. La. Le. Li. Lo. Loa. Lof. Lou. Low! The library had three copies of The Giver, and Owen was praying he found a pink index card inside one of them. In the first book, Owen didn’t find anything. He found an old bookmark in the second book, but nothing was written on it. The third book, he found it. He snatched it, returned the books to their proper place on the shelf, and rushed back to the study cubicle he reserved.

“Sabre? Well, in that case, call me Doodle. I’m a freshman business major. I’m taking the classes because I want to own a bakery one day. Why did you pick Sabre as a codename? Are you going to the football game next Saturday? Leave your reply in The Giver, too. I can’t think of another book. Signed, Doodle”

So, you decided to go along with the code names. Owen had never met someone so... God, what was the word. Open? Fun? All the girls who have ever approached Owen at a party or at the rink only wanted to talk to him because they heard he was slightly famous and a future NHLer. You still didn’t know about his future career, and he was certainly nervous if the day where you find out his identity would come, but for now, he liked just being Sabre and Doodle. The second thing Owen noticed was that you asked about the football game. So, his codename hadn’t given him away. Maybe you were an all-American girl who only cared about football and didn’t know the first thing about the NHL. Or maybe you only asked him because he told you he was a sports management major. Either way, it also showed an attempt to connect with him, meaning maybe you were enjoying this strange connection as much as he was. He dug out his pen, crafting his response to you.

6 days later...

The first person to find out about Sabre was your roommate, Carly. Unfortunately for you, the UMich rooms were set up so that your desks were next to each other, so Carly could easily see the sticky notes you collected. She confronted you as you got back from your art elective class.

“Sabre, huh? Who’s that?”

“Oh... Um... It’s a... It’s a friend, I guess,” you stammered back, caught off-guard. “How does one explain this one?” you thought.

“And have you ever met this ‘Sabre’?” she persisted.

“No, we’ve just been writing notes back and forth. Clearly, you read them; they’re harmless. Sabre is harmless.” you replied back, now getting upset that she read your notes. Yes, they may have been sitting out on your conjoined desks, but that didn’t give her any right to just read your stuff. You didn’t read through her bullet journal.

Carly crossed her arms across her chest and sighed. She brought her left hand to the bridge of her nose, sighing once again.

“Y/N, don’t you get it? What if it’s a creepy perv trying to lure you in and then kidnap you? Or what if....” At that point, you stopped listening. Carly could talk for hours if you let her. She was a journalism major and political science minor, so she absolutely loved to talk. You figured she would stop for air eventually. Besides, you didn’t really care about her opinion, especially considering you met her less than a month ago.

Finally, after being fed up with Carly’s nonsense about your “psychopath stalker library sticky note guy,” you picked up your bag, grabbed a textbook and your laptop, and walked out the door. And yes, maybe slammed the door to make a point.

At first, you thought about grabbing a slice of pizza from the North Quad and studying there. And, truth be told, it was nice, but no place was as beautiful as the library. So, you grabbed a slice of pizza to go and started walking towards the library, eating your pizza along the way.

It was probably a horrible idea to go to the library. If you found another sticky note, Carly would get super mad. But you trusted Sabre. They hadn’t given you a whole lot to go off, but it just seemed safe. You knew that if you ever found anything to be a little suspicious, you would snuff it out quickly. Carly’s doubts and warnings were starting to get into your head.

At first, you couldn’t remember the location of The Giver. Shapiro Library was so huge. Then, you remembered the staircase, so you thought upstairs might be your best bet. You hopelessly asked the library aide, who smiled sweetly and pointed to the next floor up and to the far right corner. You thanked her and rushed up. At this point, you weren’t sure if finding a note would make you feel better or worse, but you checked anyway.

You found the sticky note tucked between pages 34 and 35. Did the number 34 or 35 mean something to Sabre? Or, did they carelessly place it between the first two pages their fingers found? It was things like this that continued to intrigue you about Sabre. How much did they care? Were they leaving you subtle clues to their identity? Or were you just overthinking this like you tended to do?

You took the sticky note out and plopped yourself onto the ground right next to the shelf.

“Dear Doodle, Sabre? Lightsaber? Star Wars? Come on... And yes, I went to the football game with some of the guys on my team. And also, if you want to own a bakery one day, I definitely want to stay friends with you. Chocolate chunk cookies are my weakness (and definitely not on my diet). And, since I am a sports management major, leave your reply in The Mamba Mentality by Kobe Bryant. Signed, Sabre”

And here he is, leaving you with more questions than answers.

So, Sabre was a guy. And, you were right about the Star Wars thing, but still confused about why he chose to spell it Sabre. And second, he had a team? What type of team? He could be fooling you and be on the football team. It technically wouldn’t be a lie because if he was on the team, he did technically go to the game with guys on his team.

You didn’t know him well, but he didn’t seem like the type of guy to fool you like that. He could be on the basketball team since he mentioned Kobe Bryant. But that would be too obvious – if he was trying to conceal his identity, he wasn’t doing a good job of it. Here you were overthinking again.

He even called you friends. And he wants you to bake him cookies. It’s a shame the communal kitchen in your dorm is disgusting, but you’d be more than willing to bake him chocolate chunk cookies once you get into a proper kitchen.

You were nervous to reply. What do you even say?

That very same day...

Owen was not having a great time. The hockey season was picking up, and midterms were about a week away. In the last game, Owen barely had ice time. And when he did, it just seemed like he couldn’t do anything right. He messed up easy passes, took way more hits than he was used to, and he broke a stick on a slapshot.

The only thing he was looking forward to at this point was going to the library and searching for a pink index card. He wasn’t even sure if the library had The Mamba Mentality. On the way in, he bumped into a girl, furiously texting on her phone.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry. I was texting my roommate and wasn’t looking!” She bent down to pick up her phone and the water bottle that miraculously hadn’t spilled. When she bent, Owen could have sworn he saw a yellow sticky note at the top of her bag, but he dismissed the idea, knowing that sticky notes were common among college kids.

“No problem, take it easy,” he replied.

The sports biographies and autobiographies were always Owen’s favorite part of the library. He knew where to look. The library didn’t have The Mamba Mentality, but a flash of pink caught his eyes in the place where it should’ve been.

“Sabre, Ok, so I was right about the Star Wars thing! I went to the football game with my roommate, but we got shitty seats because we were late. So, what sport do you play? I don’t play sports, really. I played volleyball for my high school, but I hated it. My parents made my play because my sister did. And I’ll totally get you those chocolate chunk cookies. Let me know where to leave them. Leave you answer in I am Malala by Malala. Doodle”

What if you were one of those crazy girls that look up the roster and then are investigative enough to figure him out. That’s a lot of ifs, but Owen wasn’t sure if he was prepared to take that risk. He liked the anonymity of the sticky notes in the safety of the library.

He thought carefully. He obviously didn’t want to dismiss the question entirely because you would probably just ask him again. He also didn’t want to answer. This was tricky.

Two of his teammates found him on his way from the library to practice. He would’ve preferred to be left alone, but he couldn’t tell his teammates without them asking him what was wrong. They would probably tell him he was being ridiculous. They didn’t really get it, and Owen wouldn’t have expected them to.

The boys walked to practice, fooling around and hitting each other with random leaves and twigs that littered the Quad on their way to the rink. Owen, however, had Airpods in both ears, with the volume turned to maximum. He knew he loved the sport of hockey and would never give it up, but at this moment, all he could think about was Y/N.

4 days later...

Carly was still giving you grief about the “situation” (as she called it). So, you did the most non- sensical thing possible and told your other friend, Gia. Gia was the type of friend who would do anything for you. Gia was the friend you would call if you found a dead body in a creepy alley and needed support as you called the police to report it.

“... So that’s basically everything. You don’t think I’m crazy, right?” you asked after explaining the whole thing to Gia. She just stared at you, mouth open like they do in cartoons.

“Y/N,” she said gently. “Have you considered that this guy may be acting so sweet just to, well, you know. Screw you over?”

Carly raised her arms above her head, shouting. “That’s what I said!”

You looked behind you at Carly and rolled your eyes. Why couldn’t your friends just be supportive of this friendship? Making real friends on a college campus with more than 44,000 students was so incredibly hard. Yes, finding that sticky note was a twist of fate, but continuing the conversation was intentional. You responded with enthusiasm, and it seemed that Sabre was, too.

Gia was looking at you as you were thinking things over.

“G,” you sighed. “It just doesn’t seem like that. I mean, you guys have both read those notes. It just seems so real. So natural. At this point, you hadn’t checked the library in a while. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head. “Guys, come one! We’re going to the library.” Your two friends looked at each other with the “she’s crazy, but I guess we’re responsible for her” look.

The three of you made your way into the library. When you opened the door to Shapiro Library, you did a quick scan to see if there were any people in the library. It was the Saturday after midterms, so you didn’t expect too many people. You only spotted three guys studying in the back left corner. Well, one was studying. You could see the second one hiding his phone behind his laptop screen while on a Zoom call, and the other was playing 2048.

The book you told Sabre to leave his next note in was actually on the shelf right behind the guys. You tiptoed your way back, and with every careful step you took, the old hardwood floors creaked louder and louder. They say silence is loud, but you would argue that attempting to tiptoe on old creaky hardwood floors was louder.

You picked up the book, found the sticky note, then put the book back. You missed the smirk on boy #2’s face as he watched you take the sticky note and sit down with your friends in a study cubicle.

“Doodle,

Well, football isn’t really my thing. We got shitty seats, too, but I’m not a huge football guy. And I’m not gonna tell you my sport, how about you guess? Besides, me telling you my identity kind of ruins the point of me having a codename ;) And if you leave chocolate chunk cookies outside of the window with the TikTok lights on the west side of Weller Hall, I will literally love you forever. Leave your answer in I am Malala.

Sabre”

It wasn’t much, but he did give you a little more. So, he didn’t play football. And he was smart. He knew you would try to figure it out on your own. Also, he lives on campus. And while that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, it means you had a slightly smaller pool of people to investigate. You let all your friends read the note after you. While they read it and analyzed it, you found your pen and notecard.

On the other side of the library...

Owen watched the group of girls enter the library, and a small part of him wondered if you were one of them. He was a little anxious, wondering who you were. He obviously knew your name because you gave it to him before deciding to use codenames. Owen also had to exercise extreme self-control to not look you up on all forms of social media.

Then, he watched you walk up to the shelf that he had just put his sticky note in about 5 minutes ago. At the time, his friends laughed at him. Now, they were staring at Owen in shock.

“Bro, she’s real?”

“I thought you had like an imaginary friend, or some ass gave you a fake name.”

“Thanks for the support, guys.” Owen had grumbled.

But now, he watched you read the note, brows furrowed as you concentrated. Then, you passed it off to your friends, and they read it more intensely than you did if that was possible. Your friends giggled, pointed to a bit, and then whispered some more about it. You were busy writing furiously, barely listening to your friends, let alone looking to the corner of the library.

It was incredible to Owen how close he was, yet how far away. He could practically smell your perfume, but he couldn’t go up and say “hello”. At least not without scaring you. He wasn’t quite sure what to do. He just wanted to watch you leave the note and read it ASAP. And if you noticed him reading the index card, that was fine with him.

@bords I hope you enjoy it :)

#emma writes #owen power #owen power fic #umich hockey fic

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

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Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do.

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into?

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure.

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her.

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed.

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots.

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it.

I’m going after her.

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster.

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back.

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone.

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her.

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!”

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house.

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack.

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull.

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again.

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt.

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it.

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground.

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her.

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes.

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I?

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes.

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there.

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here.

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own.

Come downstairs.

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question.

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something.

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it.

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me.

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there.

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man.

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own.

And then nothing.

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry.

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part.

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless.

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs.

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour.

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief.

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms.

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first.

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him.

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules.

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face.

Because he said that almost like an accusation.

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone.

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.

Instead I ask, “Why?”

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important.

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this.

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone.

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask.

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.”

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair.

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge.

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words.

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth.

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me.

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all.

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you.

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to.

It doesn’t work.

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true.

But it doesn’t, because they are true.

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear.

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself.

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for.

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream.

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment.

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth.

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general.

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting.

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit.

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow.

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me.

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me.

And then he says something that changes everything.

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done.

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me.

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison.

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away.

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing.

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs.

He tsks, feigning disappointment.

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice.

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly.

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elaine irwin #azriel #elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elain x azriel fanfiction

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ike-sol · 5 years

Text

Red Wine - Scarlet Moonlit Night - Saint Germain x MC

Was anyone else lowkey disappointed with the Scarlet Moonlit Night event we had in IkeVamp a while back? The ideas were cool but imo it was poorly executed. I really liked that they took a more horror-y spin on it though! I dunno about you guys, but I wish we had more classic horror in this vampire dating game. Anyway, I took my favourite story (Comte's!) and did a rewrite to add more background + suspense, please enjoy and be mindful of the content warnings!

And go ahead and listen to "Transylvanian Lullaby" by Erutan while you read to give it that great ambiance!

Pairing: Le Comte x Reader (lowkey) Genre: horror, slight romance. But this really isn't supposed to be a romantic story. Also, AU without all the minor vampires, just Comte. Content warnings: implied non-consensual biting, implied stalking/kidnapping, gaslighting, implied vampiric mind control, non-consensual blood consumption Reader pronouns: she/her Word count: 2,202

Your name: submit What is this?

(psst! read this story on a browser (not the app!) to insert your own name!)

Y/N woke up in an unfamiliar bed, light-headed and groggy and incredibly thirsty. A surge of panic - but as she sat up and realised she was still dressed in her gown, a little disheveled perhaps, but with nothing out of place, she relaxed.

Still, how had she gotten here? The room, extravagant as it was, was completely foreign, and a strange sense of unease began to eat at the periphery of her soul.

It was the middle of the night, it seemed. She’d been asleep. The curtains were drawn, though a sliver of moonlight sneaked through a little opening. A fraction of the room awash in an eerie silver glow, and the rest - consumed by darkness.

Y/N stood, but the moment she got to her feet, her head spun and spots of black appeared before her eyes, a darkness completely unlike the natural one of the night. One, two, three, she counted in her mind as she tried to steady herself, leaning against the bedpost for support, and the illness slowly disappeared and she could breathe once again.

Had a fainting spell brought her here in the first place? One stronger than this one?

But she was fine now, even if a little groggy and light-headed. Her neck itched, for some reason, and she reached up to absentmindedly scratch the little bug bites at her pulse.

Y/N was a little surprised, and wholly relieved to find the door wasn’t locked, and opened with ease. She stepped out into the grand hallway, dark and quiet. There were no candles burning, and with the windows facing away from the moon, there was absolutely nothing to light her way. Still, her eyes were well accustomed to the dark at this point.

In the quiet of the manor, she was certain she could leave and find her way back home.

The mansion seemed to go on forever, turns and corners in every hallway, and dozens of doors lining each wall that surely must lead somewhere. Whatever this place, who could possibly have use for so many rooms?

When she turned the next corner, she saw a lone figure at the end of the hallway, and she froze. Friend or captor? Did she dare go up to him for help? The soft sound of his footsteps as he came her way kept her rooted in place - a figure of gold in the otherwise silver darkness.

His eyes widened with surprise, but then he smiled warmly at her. “Are you alright, ma chérie?”

There was something about his eyes that made it hard for her to tear her gaze away. A golden pool of honey, sticky and sweet. A smile so gentle, so warm and endearing, that it melted the fear that froze her to the ground. He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. And as she sighed in relief, the tension left her body, and suddenly the horror and confusion she’d felt seemed like nothing more than a distant dream.

“Um, I woke up in a bedroom, I’m not sure how I got here… I’m looking for a way out.”

“I see. Then, you don’t remember what happened?”

“Um…”

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember the events that brought her here, but try as she may, nothing came back. Yesterday… hadn’t it been a normal day? She’d run some errands in the morning, and ate lunch with her family… and then what?

“Don’t fret. Lapses in memory occasionally accompany fainting spells. Why don’t we get something to drink, and I’ll fill you in.”

She licked her lips - her throat was dry, painfully so, and a drink would surely ease the ever growing discomfort. Now that he’d mentioned it, the urge grew ever stronger, and she could hardly think of anything else.

“That sounds good.” Y/N agreed.

There was something about him that made her trust him, and when he, a perfect gentleman, offered her his arm, she took it with no hesitation and followed him down the array of halls.

“It’s dark,” he explained, “So please be careful, Y/N. You might still be feeling a little unwell after yesterday…”

“Oh, thank you.”

As he led her through the manor, he spoke in voice made of the night itself, calm and gentle. “I am le Comte de Saint-Germain, the master of this manor. I held a ball last night, and you were in attendance. Do you remember?”

“I’m sorry…” She shook her head, abashed. How had she forgotten that? To be invited to a ball, much less one at as an impressive manor as this! It must have been grand, and more importantly, a once in a lifetime opportunity for someone as common as Y/N. Whereas balls were an everyday occurence for the aristocrats, she’d never attended one before. And now she feared she might never experience it again...

“It’s alright. You felt unwell quite early into the night, and fainted after one of the dances. So I brought you up to a bedroom in which you could rest.”

“I… I see. Thank you.”

That was simple enough, an explanation with which Y/N was happy. There was an itch somewhere deep inside of her, a whisper that she’d never met this man before, that she’d never told him her name, but le Comte’s sense of calm quieted down those thoughts. It was just a memory lapse. Besides, she trusted him, and she trusted his word.

Finally, he brought her down to the dining room, illuminated by candlelight. “Take a seat. I’ll bring you something to drink from the kitchen, but you needn’t tire yourself further.”

She nodded and sat down at one end of the table, watching the man until he disappeared through another door out of sight. She was alone once again. Selfishly, she prayed he’d return soon, with something - anything - to quench the awful thirst.

Idly, Y/N looked around. The dining hall was large, certainly fit for grand parties and beautiful guests. Already she could imagine women in extravagant gowns of all colors, their skirts billowing as they danced with handsome men in suits. Chatter, laughter, appetizers… She could imagine it all, save for herself in that scene. At least, the dining hall brought back no memories of yesterday.

The room, and every other part of the manor she’d seen, was spotless to the point of perfection. The servants must have cleaned the house immediately after the ball, because there was no sign of a party having taken place here at all.

Several portraits hung on the wall, each depicting a gorgeous individual. Intrigued, Y/N stood and came over to them to take a closer look. A beautiful woman in an extravagant hat, a man smoking a cigar with a lazy smile… Oh! There was one of le Comte, too!

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

His silken voice took her by surprise, but she smiled and turned back at him, only a little sheepishly, feeling almost as though she were a child caught snooping.

“It’s really captured your likeness. It’s a very handsome portrait.”

“You flatter me.” He smiled, and handed her one of the wine glasses he was holding. “Here, drink. You’ll feel stronger.”

“Thank you.” She took the glass from him gratefully, admiring the deep red of the wine. Like rubies. Darker.

Their fingers brushed against each other when she received the glass, and she noted, for the first time, just how cold she felt. His fingers were even colder. The only warmth in the room, it seemed, came from the candlelight, dancing like figures to an unheard waltz. Still, it did not reach her bones, and Y/N shivered.

She drank from the glass and all but sighed at its taste. It coated her tongue and soothed her parched throat and filled her with a warmth she could not name. But there it finally was - warmth. Never before had she tasted a wine so delicious. Perhaps it was just a placebo, but already her mind began to clear and her head stopped throbbing. She felt stronger. More awake.

She realised that, in her thirst, she’d drank most of her wine already while le Comte was still politely sipping at his. A little embarrassed, she turned her interest back to the portraits, not wishing for him to see the blush growing on her cheeks. She needed her strength, she told herself, and surely le Comte did not mind.

“Are these your family?”

They were beautiful, really. Each face handsomely sculpted, with pale skin and gleaming eyes. Jewellery and expensive attire. The background dark, but seemingly illuminated by the same glow of candlelight in which they now stood. Flickering, almost.

“Friends.” He explained. “I haven’t seen them in a long time, though. Admittedly, it’s been terribly lonely, living in this huge manor all on my own...”

She looked at the paintings over once again, admiring le Comte’s gentle smile in the portrait, so like the one she’d grown to admire in person. The whisper of a wave in his hair, his golden eyes…

And the date. The date written so neatly in the bottom right corner of the painting. One number that made her blood run cold.

August 19, 1712

Dated over a century back. She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. Shakily, she raised her glass to ease the feeling of cotton in her throat, and noticed, for the first time, its consistency. Like honey. Or not quite. It coated the walls of the glass and oozed down slowly, almost unaffected by gravity. More black than red, really. And far, far too thick to be wine.

She raised her hand to her neck, to the subtle itch at her pulse.

“So, you’ve realised.”

It was not a question.

Y/N couldn’t tear her gaze away from the glass. It was still a quarter full, and the aching thirst deep within her was not yet sated. But now, it was accompanied by a bubbling disgust that burned in her stomach and scorched her throat.

How… how could she have swallowed it? Drank so much of it, too? She was human! What disgust! She wanted to recoil, to scream, to throw the glass at the wall and cut whatever threaded her to it. To go back. To erase the mistake.

The glass dropped from her hands and shattered at her feet. A red stain amongst the glittering shards. Defiance.

And yet - Y/N mourned. What a waste! Her throat cursed her, begged her to get down on all fours and lick it clean off the floor. Not let a single drop go to waste, or she would starve.

But she was frozen in place. Le Comte raised a hand to her cheek, and gently turned her head towards him.

“That’s alright. Be careful not to step on the glass- I’ll have it cleaned up later. Here.” A hand on her waist, he guided her gently, one, two, three steps away from the broken glass.

He was still wearing that smile of his, gentle and, even if tainted with a drop of sadness, not at all apologetic. His honey-like eyes drew her in. Sweet. Dangerous. He was a spider, and she was stuck too tightly to his web. She could not move. She could not scream. She could do nothing but watch as he drew closer, until his lips brushed against her ear and he spoke in voice as sweet as his eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, I’ll take care of you. We’re the same, now. I’ve been so lonely, but now you’re here.”

His lips pressed gently against her neck, a kiss at the same place where he’d bitten her mere hours ago. An apology, perhaps. Or a promise of what was to come.

A plea: don’t be afraid of me.

He pulled away and smiled at her. Raised his glass to his lips in an elegant sip. The blood coated the curve of his lips and the sudden shock of red somehow… matched. It smudged at the corner of his mouth, and he raised a finger to wipe it off and licked it clean.

His glass was still half full. He brought it up to Y/N’s lips and held it there.

“Drink,” he whispered. “You’ll feel better.”

She could not find it in her to refuse. Her lips parted as if on their own, though she tried to fight it. The disgust shrank and then faded and then disappeared entirely the more she drank. If she didn’t think too hard… she could pretend it really was wine.

He took the glass from her when the last drop was gone, and set it aside on the table. He cupped her cheek once more, and as she looked into his golden eyes, the fear she felt faded away like the morning fog. And she placed her hand atop of his, still at her cheek, and leaned into his touch.

Her mind was finally quiet. The hunger and thirst gone, and with it - her fear. She sighed out and relaxed into his touch, finding a strange sense of acceptance with the count. It was not just calm, but - euphoric, even.

She was sated.

For now.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikemen vampire comte #le comte de saint germain #ikevamp #im reposting this bc the first one didn't show up in the tags ugh #also to reiterate #i dont condone this behaviour #this is supposed to be a creepy fic #gothic horror romance

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tenroseforeverandever · 4 years

Text

Optimal Distance

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Tentoo x Rose

Tags: lemons; lemons on video chat; mutual self-applied lemons; basically loads of lemons!; and the usual fluff, hurt/comfort, humour stuff

Summary: Rose has been feeling sad, lonely, and a little bit envious, left to endure the dreary London winter, while the Doctor has been posted on assignment in Rio, setting up a new Torchwood branch. But a comment the Doctor makes about a strangely bare desk in his otherwise cluttered study inspires Rose to find a way to bring them closer together, even though they are half a world apart.

Notes: This fic is one of many that had been lingering, stagnating in my collection of unfinished fics, just waiting for inspiration to strike.

Many thanks as always to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. You are absolutely brilliant, and I have no idea what I would do without you. And thanks to @aintfraidanoghosts who is always a voice of inspiration and encouragement (especially if she hears lemons on the menu!) I love you all!

I made quite a few tweaks and edits since they saw it, so as always, any mistakes are mine.I hope you like it!

Also read on AO3 and Teaspoon

OPTIMAL DISTANCE

“Done! You should be getting it any second now!” Rose crowed into her mobile with a rather disproportionate sense of triumph. All she had accomplished was to send the Doctor an email, albeit one with a very important file attached; a file she’d had to navigate his shambolic cataloguing system to find, and that only after she’d excavated his laptop from beneath heaps of books, papers, and crumpled sticky notes on the floor beside his desk.

“Got it!” he cheered. “You are brilliant, you are! A real lifesaver, Rose Tyler! See? My lucky pants, near or far. It’s a good thing you couldn’t come with me, after all. Where would I be now, eh? Without you holding down the fort?”

“Yeah, right,” Rose muttered with a sulky huff, her victorious mood evaporating as she plopped down in the desk chair. She fought against the prickle of tears. She refused to cry about it anymore. It was her own fault she was restricted to paper-pushing for another six weeks. To be specific, she was tasked with reviewing and classifying field reports, a chore that only served to rub in the fact that she wasn’t out in the field, herself, defending the Earth from both alien and earth-born threats. Instead she had to read about it second-hand.

She knew she deserved every bit of punishment she’d received, from her brutal dressing-down from Pete and her subsequent demotion, to her month-long stint inventorying the Small Parts Department (literally the “nuts and bolts” of Torchwood, and ten times as dull as it sounded.) She had been careless and impulsive on a mission, showing off for the sake of a dare, and had nearly gotten herself killed.

The worst part had been the look on the Doctor’s face as he’d rushed into the Torchwood infirmary, not knowing what her condition was, thinking he might have lost her. The guilt she’d felt over worrying him would have been enough (a kazillion times over) to curb any future reckless, thoughtless acts. After everything they had been through, with only a single, human lifetime each, pledged to be spent together, she had nearly thrown it all away in one rash moment.

As it was, she had been lucky to have come away with only deep laser burns to her left shoulder.

She and the Doctor had clung to each other all that night, desperately making love until they were too exhausted to move.

That had been weeks ago now, and Rose was chafing at her restrictions, especially since Pete seemed to be intentionally sending the Doctor to conferences in the most wonderful, exotic locations around the world, places Rose was dying to explore with him. But Pete resolutely refused to allow her to join him.

On this current trip, the Doctor was helping establish a new Torchwood base in Rio de Janeiro, addressing the fledgling team on the importance of employing diplomacy and mediation in First Contact situations. Rio, for God’s sake! And here she was, stuck in the middle of the damp, chilly London winter. She huffed again over the phone.

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t having fun?” the Doctor asked over the upbeat sounds of Samba and boisterous voices in the background. She could just picture the scantily clad, feather-adorned (female) dancers.

“Yes…” Rose picked at the worn piping on the leather arm of the desk chair.

“Oh…”

“Sure doesn’t sound like anyone’s ready to listen to your First Contact presentation. Don’t know what the rush was…”

“Weeell, lunch is almost over, and we’ll be heading right back in. Then, I’ll be cracking the whip! But, blimey, the Brazilians know how to party! As you can probably hear, they’d arranged for some entertainment over lunch: live band, dancers, the lot! Didn’t want to seem churlish.”

She’d been right about the dancers, then… “Don’t worry, Doctor. I’m just feelin’ sorry for myself. I should be gettin’ to bed, yeah. Loads of field reports to review, tomorrow. You have fun.”

“Right… weeell…” Rose could picture him scrubbing the back of his head with his right hand. “Thanks again. And for the record, I do wish you were here, love. It’s just not the same without you.”

“It’s a bit lonely here too.” She looked around his study, filled with reminders of his presence: it was cluttered with books and papers; an assortment of swivel-chairs, beanbags, and exercise balls; and seemingly arbitrary writing surfaces at various heights and orientations. The traditional desk, where she was currently sat, was essentially an afterthought, a horizontal surface suitable for a computer or a place to deposit bits and bobs, books, and papers. Except it was completely clear of clutter and serving no purpose. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, but she couldn’t imagine the Doctor ever using a desk like that.

“We should redecorate your study when you get home, Doctor,” she mused.

“What? Why?”

“Well, for one, this desk is taking up a lot of valuable space. We really should get rid of it. It’s nice. I bet we could sell–”

“No!” he cut her off. “I love that desk!” There was an overtone of panic in his voice.

“But you don’t use it for… well… for anything.”

“I’d rather hoped to use it someday… erm…” His voice trailed off, but quickly returned with his classic exuberance. “It’s nice and sturdy, Rose, and just the right height.”

“What the hell for? The right height for what?” Honestly, she was afraid to ask, but it was just lovely to talk to him and listen to him prattle on about nonsensical things. She missed this when he was abroad.

“Weeeell…” he stage-whispered into the phone, enthusiastic, but clearly not wanting anyone else to hear, “the height is exactly the optimal distance to take advantage of the length of your legs…”

“Wha? My legs…?”

“Blimey, Rose! This is not a good time. I’m not able to control this stupid body the way I… erm… weeell…” His tone became clipped, irritable. “I need to be focussed for this presentation.”

“Oh, never mind.” Though Rose’s curiosity had been piqued by his cryptic comments and the urgency in his voice, she knew he was on a tight schedule. “You better go give that presentation. Go on, then. Love you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you, too.”

It was only once she was in her bed, half asleep, with her thoughts restless and drifting, that she realized exactly what the Doctor wanted that desk for… She was suddenly wide awake, the whispers of a plan forming in her mind.

--ooOoo--

Rose had spent the better part of the night ordering the things she needed to set her plan in motion. The online shop guaranteed next-day delivery and she hoped everything would be there when she arrived home from work. If she managed to slip away for the afternoon (without Pete finding out) as she’d planned, she would be able to message the Doctor just before his lunch… perfect!

She was relieved to have been able to escape the confines of her office with no one noticing, except Donna, the administrative assistant who, being every bit as brilliant as her Prime Universe counterpart, noticed everything. But she had just winked at Rose and signalled with a swipe of her thumb and pointer finger that her lips were sealed.

Rose’s excitement grew when she arrived home to find several large packages waiting for her in the hallway by the door of her flat, kindly left there by the landlady. Rose beamed, her heart pounding as she bustled into the flat, hurrying to get everything set in motion before she chickened out. She had never done anything quite as bold as this before – at least in terms of trying to seduce someone – and she rather hoped the Doctor would be… receptive. Considering he had seemingly procured the desk for a very specific (erotic) purpose, she figured he would be.

An hour later, she was turning up the heating against the chill of the wintery air. Her new outfit was not exactly intended to keep her warm. To be honest, she didn’t think she’d ever worn anything so barely-there (and glittery) before. She flushed, looking at herself in the mirror. It was a bit generous calling it an outfit at all. It was really just strategically placed jewelry.

It was a Samba ensemble, made of thin strips of pink, yellow, and clear crystals. The bra was a halter design, with clusters of gems dripping in simple floral patterns from her throat to just above her breasts. A single, large sparkling clear crystal shone between her breasts, supporting a band of smaller clear crystals that curved below them. Her nipples were (only just) covered with bright pink and yellow crystal flowers. She turned around to look at herself from the back. Her bum was essentially bare, the lower part of her outfit, a thong, impossibly skimpier than the bra and crafted of more of the glittery crystals. Matching wrist and shin cuffs adorned her limbs. Not for the first time that afternoon, she thanked the stars for her Torchwood training and active lifestyle for keeping her fit and trim.

After applying her most alluring make-up, she was ready for the final piece of the puzzle. With shaking hands, she positioned the headdress over her hair. It was heavy, heavier than she’d expected, encrusted with crystals over her forehead and in a band around her head. A pink and yellow fountain of ridiculous, great, feathery plumes erupted from the top.

Rose laughed at her image in the mirror. Ridiculous didn’t begin to cover it: it was completely daft. But the Doctor would love it… or so she hoped.

She made her way to his study where she had set up cameras to take photos of herself using a remote control. Her first pose had her facing the camera, one stilettoed foot hitched up on the desk, and her opposite hand touching her sex through the thin fabric of her bejewelled knickers. She made a point of allowing her tongue to poke out at the corner of her smile. That always drove the Doctor mental.

For her next pose she leaned over the desk, her bare bum inviting the Doctor to take her from behind, as she looked suggestively over her shoulder at the camera. She elected to forgo the third pose she had planned. She’d had to stop her headdress from toppling off several times during the second pose and was feeling rather hot and bothered… and not in a sexy way.

Regardless of the headdress mishaps, she was able to select an image she liked from both sets of photos and upload them to her mobile.

So, you like Samba, do ya? she texted the Doctor, along with the two photos. Meet me for lunch… video chat. I’ll show you my moves.

If she’d worked out the timing right, he should be receiving the messages about ten minutes before he usually stopped for lunch. She intended to make sure there would only ever be one Samba dancer in his future. Her.

She giggled nervously. She really hoped he would take the bait.

She didn’t have to wait long. Her phone vibrated on the desk. She laughed at the Doctor’s message: Blimey! Don’t move! I’ll be there in five minutes. Meeting adjourned!

He’d taken the bait all right – hook, line, and sinker!

Now for the really challenging part: video phone sex. She’d never done anything like that before. She hoped she could pull it off.

Rose scrambled to set up her mobile on the apparatus she’d purchased, just for this purpose, at the same time as she’d bought her Samba costume. She took a few quick test shots of herself, perched on the edge of the desk with her leg hitched up the way it had been for the first of the photos she had sent the Doctor a few minutes earlier. It took a few rushed and panicked adjustments, but she eventually got the angles just right to ensure the Doctor would get an eyeful!

She was just situating herself on the desk with her leg up again when her phone pinged with the Doctor’s incoming call on video chat. Her tummy was in knots with equal parts anticipation and mortification. Her fingers shaking, she depressed the button on the remote control she’d programmed to her phone and accepted his call.

The Doctor’s eager, bewildered face filled the entire screen, his eyebrows rising into his hairline at the image before him. “Fuuuuuuck…”

He was swearing, a sure sign she’d gotten his attention in the best possible way. There was only one time he ever swore (well, mostly) and that was during sex. Rose smirked as he reflexively licked his lips, boosting her confidence even more. Her voice still trembled, though. “Like what you see, Doctor?”

His hand ruffled his hair. (Rose was jealous of that hand.) “Weeell, I mean… yes! Of course, I do! Blimey! What’s not to love?” Two hands ran through his hair this time.

“B-better… better than the Samba dancers from lunchtime yesterday?” Rose pressed her lips together, and dropped her leg from it’s provocative pose, and she slid off the desk, suddenly uncertain again and feeling vulnerable, both craving and dreading his response.

The dazed shock on his face softened, full of sincerity and love. “The only person I’ll ever want to dance with, Rose Tyler, is you.”

“I feel so… stupid… doing this.”

“NO! No, no, no, no! This is perfect. Brilliant!”

“I don’t know what I’m doin’…”

For several anxious moments, they watched each other in silence. Then, suddenly, the Doctor spoke, his voice husky and low: “Oh, Rose, I wish I could touch you. I wish I could lean you over that desk, take you from behind, and fuck you senseless.”

Rose released a tense breath. He seemed to be taking the lead, putting that unstoppable gob of his to good use.

“But first, first I’d love to have you like this, facing me. I’d spread your legs and–”

“Like this?” Now that she was relaxing, Rose found herself quite eager to play her part. Holding her headdress in place, she hopped up on the edge of the desk again, leaning back on her hands, her legs splayed.

“Yes, just like that! Beautiful! You’re fucking gorgeous!”

Rose bit her lip, her breath hitching as a flood of warmth pooled low in her abdomen. Blimey, she loved when he talked dirty.

“I’d kneel down before you, goddess that you are, and pull aside those skimpy knickers and bury my face between your thighs.”

“Like this?” she repeated, drawing the soaking strip of fabric to one side, exposing her dripping core to the Doctor.

“Oh, you’re so wet, Rose. I just want to taste you.”

“Guuuuuuuhhh… yeah! Love your mouth on me.”

“Oh, yes! I’d dip my tongue inside you, savour the taste of you (you taste so good, Rose!), and lick you all the way up to your clit. Fuck, you’re perfect,” he blurted as Rose used her finger to simulate the actions he described.

She sighed at the sensation, closing her eyes, wishing it was his tongue lapping along her aching slit, twirling around her clit.

“Oh Rose, my Rose… I’d stroke that lovely clit of yours with my tongue, up and around, up and around…”

Rose groaned out her pleasure, her fingers dancing over her damp sex. “God, Doctor, I love it when you fuck me with your tongue. Please,” she begged, looking him in the eyes, “I want to see you. I want to touch you too. I want my hands on your gorgeous, thick cock.”

“Fuuuuck, Rose! Wait! Just give me a moment.” His face disappeared from the phone. “Keep going!” his voice called from the background. “I’m still here, licking you, sucking you.” There was a loud clattering noise, and the image on the screen spun around. And then Doctor appeared again, from further away wearing only an oxford. His cock, long and hard, bobbed up against the fabric, leaving a wet stain on the front of the shirt. “There. I’ve propped my mobile up. Can you see me, love?”

“Yeah. ‘S good. So good!”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah.” Rose’s eyes rolled back as she pressed down on her clit.

“So I see,” he moaned. “Oh, love…”

“I want you inside me, Doctor. I want to feel you fill me.”

Rose watched with a hooded gaze as he wrapped his hand around his cock. “Oh, I want that too. I want to feel you so hot and tight around me. Nothing feels better than that.” His hand stroked down, then up, with a twist at the top. “You’re so soft and wet…” down again, “and so fucking…” up and twist, “tight!”

At the same time, Rose plunged two fingers inside herself, finding that oh-so sensitive sweet spot, as she continued to work her clit with her thumb. She moved her fingers in and out, matching the rhythm of his stroking hand, the jewels around her breasts chafing her nipples with delicious friction as she moved. She added a third finger, stretching herself wide. “Oh, you’re so thick and hard… I love how you fill me. You feel so good!”

“Fuck, Rose… so do you. You look so fucking sexy.” His hand began to stroke faster. Rose watched, mesmerized, as the dark, throbbing tip of his cock disappeared and reappeared from the circle of his fist. “Are you getting close?” His voice was tight, strained.

Rose continued to work herself, thighs trembling, slick, wet sounds accompanying her lusty groans. “So close…” she whimpered, feeling the familiar heat burning in her core, the pressure building. Her head lolled back… and suddenly she yelped as her headdress tumbled to the floor behind the desk. “Oh no! No!” Her hand stopped moving as despair welled up inside her.

“Rose! Don’t stop. Keep going.”

She wailed, “It’s no use.”

“You’re so beautiful, my precious girl. Oh, let me touch you more. Let me feel how warm and wet you are… I want to fuck you forever and never stop.”

Rose watched him on the small screen of her phone looking so wonderfully earnest, his cock in his hand, still hard, glistening with pre-come. He was bloody hot, and he was hers. The shock of losing her headdress was forgotten in a fresh rush of desire, and another flood of arousal, warm and slick, coated her fingers. “Touch me, Doctor,” she breathed, her thumb renewing its caresses over her clit.

“Oh, yes love… I want to run my fingers over your body; run my hands up your thighs and deep inside you. I love the sounds you make when I stroke you…”

“Please,” she whimpered, arching into the pressure of her thumb on her responsive skin.

“Let me fill you again…”

“Yes!” She watched, in awe, as his hand slowly resumed its motions – up, down, twist – over his long, hard member, and her fingers began their pumping motions again, curling and rubbing against her sweet spot rebuilding her sense of urgency with every stroke.

They were soon lost in their passion, both keening and groaning in a haze of lust and need. The fire within Rose burned hot again, deep in her sex, as she rolled her body over her fingers. The Doctor’s hand increased its speed once more. He was getting close, she could tell, he looked so wonderful and dishevelled, and his cock pulsed with every stroke of his hand. “Doctor!” she cried out. “I’m… I’m… gonna…”

“Hnnnngghhh…” he groaned. “Come for me. Let me see you come!”

Rose’s body vibrated with the need for release, her hand frantically pumping, her thumb pressing down, circling her clit, the heat and pressure building within her… and then, the Doctor shouted. Mesmerized, she watched as his seed spurted in ribbons from him, coating the front of his shirt, drizzling over his hand. The look of ecstasy on his face was enough to bring her over too. Her sex throbbed, grasping around her pumping fingers as she arched off the desk, the burning pressure in her core suddenly exploding outward, engulfing her.

--ooOoo--

“Well, I need to get out of this ridiculous get-up,” Rose chuckled, pushing herself up to a sitting position. She had made her way back to the bedroom and lain down on the bed, while the Doctor lay on the bed in his hotel room. They had stayed that way for many wonderful minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking quietly as they came down from the high of their orgasms.

The Doctor pouted. “And I suppose I need to get back to my meeting. They’ll all have finished their lunches.”

“Oh my God! You didn’t get to eat! Sorry. I guess I should have timed this better…”

“What? NO! This was perfect! A brilliant surprise. I feel perfectly satisfied.” He winked and flashed her an impudent grin. “I just can’t wait to take you over that desk in person, and peel that ‘ridiculous get-up’ off you, myself!”

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be there?” Rose bit her lip, clutching her mobile and regarding the Doctor’s image with imploring eyes. Training new teams of Torchwood personnel and operatives could be a time-consuming business and was an open-ended job. She and the Doctor could potentially be separated for several more weeks or…

“Just a few more days.”

“Really? You’re not jus’ sayin’ that?”

“Rose, (mostly) Time Lord here! If there’s one thing I know about, it’s time. Have you ever known me to misjudge…?”

Rose gave him a pointed look.

“Nah, don’t answer that. But honestly, love, we’ve only just started getting this lot familiarized with all the tech, today, but they seem to be a quick study, and a few of their key people will be returning to London with us for a tour and more in-depth, hands-on experience. Then Pete’s going to be relocating some of our more capable people to Rio for a few months to get things up and running properly. So, at most, another week.”

“A week?”

“At most… I promise. Now, as much as I would prefer to spend the day here with you, I have to act the responsible adult (complete rubbish, that!) and get back to my meeting. I’ll see you later, love.”

“Not if I see you first.” She blew him a kiss and offered him a little wave of her fingers before disconnecting their call.

--ooOoo--

Five days later, she stood, poised sexily (she hoped) in the doorway of the Doctor’s study, wearing the Samba outfit, minus the ridiculous headdress (it would just get in the way), and watching as the Doctor pushed his way through the door of their flat. Her heart thrummed at the sight of him.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called out cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Right here… erm… Sugarbear,” she droned, her voice as sultry as she could make it through her giggles.

“Sugarbear? Really, Rose,” the Doctor closed the door behind him, “of all the names you could…” As he turned and took a step into the flat, his gaze locked onto her, eyes darkening as they roved over her bejewelled body. “Blimey… now this, this is a proper welcome home!” He dropped his bags and coat, leaving them behind, forgotten, as he strode toward her across the room, loosening his belt along the way.

Rose shuddered at the sight. Bloody hell, he was fucking gorgeous. And he was here. Home. With her. Her Doctor.

“You. Inside. Now,” he commanded, his hands settling over the bare skin of her waist, guiding her backwards into his study with firm pressure. Rose’s core ached in anticipation, a yearning heat coursing through her. His lips crashed against hers as they staggered further into the room, the kiss equal parts demanding and desperate, and Rose was sure she had never felt so desired, so loved.

When her bum hit the desk, she gasped, and suddenly, all the emotion she had been suppressing over the last few months surged to the surface: guilt and remorse, loneliness and jealousy, all whirling together in a maelstrom of unfettered passion, love, and vulnerability brought on by the Doctor’s assertive touch. The tears she had been holding back gushed over her cheeks.

“Rose? Love?” The Doctor broke the kiss, looking down at her with concerned eyes. “What’s wrong? Is this not all right? Was I too… weeell, enthusiastic?”

“No, oh my God, no,” she wept. “It’s… it’s perfect… Better than. I jus’… I jus’… I missed you… I didn’t realize jus’ how much…”.

In one swift movement, he swept his hands behind her legs and lifted her to perch on the edge of the desk. Then, spreading her thighs, he stepped between them and tipped her chin up for another marvelous snog, still passionate, but this time it was a sweet and tender, unhurried sort of passion. Rose melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, drawing him against her body and breathing in the comfort of his scent. They eventually drew away from the kiss with gentle pecks and nibbles.

They pressed their foreheads together, and panting softly, Rose spoke into the space between them, “Sorry, I’ve gone and ruined all this,” she gestured to the desk.

“Nah, don’t be silly.” He dabbed the tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Besides, I have a bit of news too. Might as well get it over with.” He sighed dramatically and pulled slightly away from her to fish in his jacket pocket. He pulled out an official-looking Torchwood envelope that he tossed down on the desk beside her.

“W’at’s this?”

“My new marching orders, I’m afraid. I leave in two days.”

“Two days,” she sobbed. “But you jus’ got home and–”.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she dragged a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her face. “God, I sound so needy and selfish… but I just missed you.”

“And I suppose, the fact that I was in Rio,” he smirked at her, his left eyebrow arched, “had nothing to do with it?”

“Oh, that just made me miss you even more, but I admit, I was a bit… envious.” She chuckled, leaning back to look him in the eye. “But you know that stuff doesn’t really matter, yeah, all the travelling? Never did. Just that we’re together. That’s what’s important.”

“Oh, I know,” he reassured her with a kiss on the forehead. “And you know I feel the same... don’t you?”

She nodded, placing her palm over his single, human heart. “Yeah, ‘course I do.”

“And that’s why, Rose Tyler,” his deadpan expression transformed into a brilliant smile, “I’m happy to announce that your assignment is in that envelope too. This time, you’re coming with me.” He beamed at her, waggling his eyebrows and looking very pleased with himself.

She gawped. “But… wait. What?”

“That is, if you think you can be ready to go on such short notice.”

“You wanker!” She swatted his shoulder. “Of course, I’ll be ready!”

He giggled. “But, really, I mean… if it’s too much trouble, I could always just go back to Rio on my own, I suppose.”

There was a long silence as Rose processed what he had said. When she finally found her voice, the words tumbled from her mouth: “Shut up! No way! Rio? RIO?”

“Yu-p!” He grinned. “We’re the experts Pete’s going to send over for a couple of months to make sure everything’s up and running properly. He said he only wants to send the best, and weeeell… I mean look at us. The choice is obvious.”

“I don’t believe it. There must be a catch.”

“No-pe!” He popped his “p” again. “He wants to make sure the Brazilians get everything exactly right. And the best part is, we’ll be there for Carnival. It’s just a few weeks off.”

“What? Carnival? Really?”

“Yes-siree, Rose Tyler! You can even wear this outfit again, in an official capacity this time, of course, complete with headdress. And ooooh, we’ll bring the baby TARDIS along, too. She’ll love a change of scenery!”

“I still don’t believe Pete would just… Nah, you must ‘ave said somethin’ to ‘im, yeah? Not that I’m complainin’. It’s just he’s been so… lecture-y lately.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s been a right misery. And now this sudden change of heart…?”

“Weeell, I admit,” he pulled on his right ear, “I was all ready to go in today, guns-a-blazing, to try to convince him that enough was enough, but believe it or not, he had already made up his mind. He gave me the news during my debriefing this afternoon. By the way, you’re to meet with him tomorrow–”

“Urrrghh, that’ll be fun…”

“–to go over… erm some… stipulations, but essentially, it’s all set. Said he thought your diplomatic skills would be hugely beneficial over there. Personally,” he flashed her a cheeky grin, “I think he was just getting sick of your constant moaning.”

“Oi, Mister!” She feigned offence. “Is that so? Watch out! I’ll give you constant moaning!” She grabbed his tie and dragged him toward her for another impassioned kiss, then reached between them to fondle him through the fabric of his trousers. As she sucked and nibbled along his jawline, tracing her fingers up and down his growing length, a strangled sound tore from his throat.

She smirked. “Now, there’s the moaning…”

“Stop!” He grabbed her hand, his eyes blazing into hers, and she quivered in response, the hot rush of renewed arousal pooling between her legs. “No more teasing. Brilliant as the video-chat sex was, I’ve had enough of foreplay and imagining over the last few days to last me a lifetime. I am going to take you right here, right now, against this desk, and fuck you so hard you see stars.” He scrabbled at his trousers and boxers, pushing them down over his slim hips. Looking utterly debauched, with his suit jacket, oxford, and tie dishevelled but still in place, he took his thick, throbbing member in hand and gave it a few hard pumps. “You ready?”

“Am I ready? Fuck! I’ve been ready for days. Could hardly think of anything else.” She licked her lips as she took in the sight of his impressive length. “My fingers are no substitute for that.”

With an impatient growl, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her off the desk. Then he spun her around and pressed in behind her, rutting against her bum. “This all right?”

“God, yes!” she sputtered, the ache of desire burgeoning inside her as he encouraged her to lean forward over the desk, applying a steady pressure to her back, until her breasts pressed against the surface, making the jewels of her outfit rasp over her taught nipples.

With a nudge from his foot, he prompted her to spread her legs, opening her to him. “Oh, yes,” he groaned, “the optimal distance, indeed!” Rose shuddered as his slender finger stroked over the sodden strip of fabric covering her sex and she arched into the contact with wanton abandon.

No further invitation required, he yanked the fabric aside and plunged into her welcoming depths.

She saw not only the stars he’d promised: entire constellations burst before her eyes.

#tentoo x rose #ficandchips #lemons #hurt/comfort #humour #fluff #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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petitrenard · 4 years

Text

5:07 p.m.

“I’m having a torrid sexual affair with you in my mind.” Amelia clutched the Gustavson file against her chest and continued, much louder than she had anticipated, “Today’s my last day and having spent weeks debating, last night I decided I was going to go for it. So I’m going for it.” She reaches into her pocket, pulls out her cell phone and fumbles to open her notes app.

Mr. B, standing behind his desk, is stunned. “Felipe, I’m going to have to call you and the team back.” He hangs up, nods his head with interest and sits down slowly.

Amelia is still fumbling, now visibly embarrassed, “I’ve written something down in my notes app, but I didn’t update my software and my phone won’t let me into the app without the update. It won’t run the update without my phone being connected to a charger.” She eyes his charger at his desk. He follows her gaze and smirks.

“May I borrow your charger?” Without waiting for an answer, Amelia grabs it and plugs in her phone, then promptly knocks it to the ground. “I don’t necessarily need the document to tell you what I want to tell you, but I felt that a precise collection of my thoughts would help them to be more impactful. I tend to ramble when I’m off book. I should come back.” She reaches for her phone again to unplug it and Mr. B gently grabs her wrist and stops her.

“Why don’t you give it a go...you know, off book.”

Amelia, who had an air of mania up to this point, takes a sharp inhale and in one fell swoop, drops her phone again and sits down on the floor. As if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind during the millions of iterations of this scenario she had run in her head. For a writer like Amelia, whose process involved notecards, bulletin boards, Pintrest boards, vision boards...a lot more boards than she’d realized now that she’s thinking about it, but for a writer like Amelia winging it came with a sizable risk of embarrassment. The process was messy, the presentation precise.

So lost in her mind that she didn’t notice that she had reached into her purse for a cigarette that was now dangling off her lower lip. The flame from Mr. B’s lit match reached over the desk and pulled her out of her daze. She inched her mouth closer to his hands and lit her cigarette, blushing at the intimacy.

“...give it a go.” His voice was even and quiet and it took Amelia by surprise. His fingertips caressed her face as she took a deep and thoughtful drag.

She looked him straight in the eye - “I dream of you kissing my wet pussy. It’s wet right now. It’s so wet I’ve soaked through my panties.” Mr. B glances down towards her skirt. Keeping his fingertips on her face as Amelia lowers her eyes, leans forward and kisses his palm. She can’t look at him, so she speaks into the palm of his hand. “I hope you use this hand when you jerk off later.”

There was a long silence. Mr. B takes his hand from around her face, stands up and walks to the door. It is already locked.

“Amelia, I’m married.”

“I am too and I want to stay that way. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop masturbating about you.”

Mr. B walks back towards where she’s sitting on the floor and puts his hand on her head as he walks by her. “You should quit smoking, it’s horrible for you.”

“I should also stop hitting on my married boss, but something’s gotta give today and cigarettes ain’t it.”

He leans on the edge of the desk and chuckles, “Fair enough.”

Amelia’s mind races. I’ve said it, he didn’t say anything, now I’ve got to get up, grab my things and get the fuck out of his office...and I need to fucking ash this cigarette and I can’t do it on the carpet. She scans the room for an ashtray - which she spots on the bookcase behind his desk. As she goes to get up, he stops her.

She is on her knees in front of him. He grabs the cigarette out of her mouth, takes a long drag and then ashes it out on his desk.

“Amelia, I’m going to need to see your wet panties.” She is frozen in disbelief. Mr. B puts his hand in her hair and gently guides her up off her knees until she is standing, then he pulls her against his body.

With one hand in her hair, he takes his other hand, pushes up her skirt and slides into her panties. His two fingers find her wet pussy lips easily. Not only are her panties soaked, she is dripping. As he strokes her, she begins to inch her legs apart, aching for penetration. Her face is buried in his neck. All she can smell is him.

He pauses momentarily, causing her to groan, and slowly pulls his fingers from her pussy. He brings them up to her mouth and places them on her bottom lip. “Look me in the eyes and clean me up.” She looks up at him and he slides his fingers into her mouth. As Amelia begins to clean them, Mr. B’s other hand is undoing her blouse and pulling her on top of him.

Her pale pink nipples are hard and his mouth is eager to suck on them. As he leans forward, Amelia gently bites down on his fingers, which causes him to look at her inquisitively.

“Mr. B, I believe you had wanted to see my wet panties and I wouldn’t be a very good assistant - even on my last day - if I didn’t keep you on task.”

“You’re right, thank you Amelia.” With that she pushes him back on his desk and begins crawling up his body towards his face. When her pussy reaches his mouth she pauses. “Je vous présente.” Amelia pulls her panties aside revealing her bare pussy. Mr. B inhales deeply and smiles.

“I’m not going to lick your pussy because I have to kiss my wife when I get home tonight.” he groans.

“Don’t you think that’s precisely the reason to lick my pussy?” she asks as she lowers her lips towards his.

Mr. B nods his head, Amelia smiles and gently sits on his waiting face. His tongue slides just as easily along her pussy lips as his fingertips did.

“Lick it with a soft tongue and spread it apart gently.” He did as she said. “Suck on my clit while you squeeze and pull my lips.” He did as she said then he did as he pleased. Amelia absolutely ached to have him inside of her.

“I can’t stay on top of you because my legs are going to give out.” As soon as the sentence is out of her mouth, Mr. B helps move her off of him and lays her back on his desk - directly on top of his laptop. Led Zeppelin’s, “That’s the Way” starts playing.

It startles her for a moment, but then she looks back at him and knows that this is one of those moments. One of those moments that would always live in a secret well inside of her and she would always have it just for her.

She unhooks her bra as he undoes his pants and wordlessly he is inside of her. She has an instant explosion of warmth over his cock as she wraps her legs around him. He grabs her and begins sucking on her nipples and grabbing her ass as he pumps into her.

They are pulling into each other with the desperate intensity that happens when two people know that this exact moment is all that they may ever have.

Amelia kisses him so deeply and wholly that she barely hears him moan, “You’re dripping down my legs.”

She pulls herself off of his cock enough to see that he is a sticky wet mess of her cum...and she was indeed dripping down his legs. Without thinking, Amelia takes her two fingers, wipes her cum off of his legs. She brings them up to his mouth and places them on his bottom lip.

“Look me in the eyes and clean me up.” She slides her fingers into his mouth. He did as she said. He sucks on her fingers and the rhythmic pumping becomes more intense and more basic. Mr. B grabs the back of Amelia’s hair as they both begin to cum. It was the best orgasm she had ever had because it was exactly what she wanted.

They are both quiet again as they begin to clean themselves up. Amelia moves her panties so they cover her pussy again and as quickly as they had been naked, they were cleaned up and clothed again.

Mr. B is straightening his desk as Amelia is gathering her things. She picks up her phone and remarks, “It updated!” He smirks at her and says, “Did you want to give it a go then? Now that you’ve got your notes?”

She smiles, grabs her things and nods. Looking down at her phone, she opens the notes app, clears her throat and then freezes. She reads over the entire thing silently and then looks up at Mr. B - who is now sitting at his desk.

“Actually, I know I was better off book. Thank you though.” She smiles at him sweetly as he nods his head. “It was great working with you.”

#eroticaforwomen forwomen eroticstories affair consensual office edging

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heartofsnark · 5 years

Text

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter One): Down The Rabbit Hole

Notes: This has been a long time coming, I never shut up about my oc and this idea. But, I’m finally posting this damn thing. This is gonna be pretty episodic and not have a lot of overarching plots, I’m gonna be stealing canon stories and adding my own spin to them as well as adding my own stories. It’s a shitshow and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Special thanks to @catoinette, @otomemonogatari , @d-om , @enchantedbythebidders , @voltage-fanfictions , and @piplup235 for not only reading through and giving me feedback but also being the incentive I needed to actually write and post this. Without you all, this would still be rotting on my computer.

Summary: Almost a year ago Tsuneko managed to destroy her entire life and she’s been stuck ever since. She works as a maid at the Tres Spades in Tokyo; it’s not her dream job, but it pays the bills and puts a roof over her head. Her days are spent peacefully enough cleaning hotel rooms, that is until she stumbles into Wonderland and discovers the secrets lurking within the hotel. Will this turning point be exactly what she needed or a tragedy in the making?

Word Count: 10196

Warnings: Some blood and violence, people being bought and sold (it’s kbtbb my dudes)

The colors of the sky outside her window are just beginning to shift, soft pinks and purple coming in as the sun starts to set. Tsuneko lets out a sigh and checks her phone again, still no response from Shinobu. While not surprising, disappointment settle in her chest. It’s stupid to be upset, she shouldn’t be so emotional. She scolds herself, setting her phone down a little harder than necessary. Her desk chair creaks as she leans back and lets out another heavy sigh.

Kiyohito is curled up on her bed in a position that doesn’t look comfortable. The dark sable ferret is in a dead sleep with his tongue peeking out, any hope of him being a distraction are dashed. It’s her day off from work and she’s desperate to keep herself preoccupied. Her thoughts wandering is always a danger when she has down time, more dangerous when she’s left to ruminate on the shit show that is her life at the moment.

It’s been almost a year since her life officially went to shit and she started working at the Tres Spades hotel. It’s a glitzy place, the first legal casino in Japan. She’s a maid, spending all of her days cleaning up after people richer and more important than her. And that’s the highlight of her days, besides Kiyo, because otherwise she’s in her apartment just trying to distract herself.

The job itself is fine, given her situation, she’s damn lucky to have it. Good pay, plenty of hours, employee housing, her coworkers are mostly nice, and she even has lots of chances for overtime. But, she can’t say this is what she wanted her life to be. Being a maid isn’t exactly what she dreamed of for herself. Disappointment seems to be the theme of the day and her life.

She’s done her best to be a busy bee throughout the day; her dorm is cleaned, she’s baked, done her laundry, played with Kiyo until he passed out, messed with every entertaining app on her phone, watched any video on Youtube that caught her interest, and messaged Shinobu. Maybe she could try getting in contact with Runa? Not that she thinks it will do her a lot of good, but even getting told to fuck off is more fun than staring out the window.

Tsuneko stands up from her chair, stretching her joints as she meanders into her kitchenette area. The dorms are nice, like one bedroom apartments essentially. Given how much she likes baking and cooking, a bigger kitchen area would do her some good, but beggars can’t be choosers. She grabs one of the cookies she baked and crams it into her mouth as she begins looking through her fridge. The sweet vanilla calms her nerves, if only marginally. But, she knows what will relax her most.

She groans, she’s out of booze. Of course. Her rum supply ran out last week and she downed her last bit of vodka yesterday. Looks like she’s gotta put on real clothes and stock up. A walk through the city might be nice to clear her mind anyway.

Her work ringtone echoes through the room just as she’s tucked Kiyo into his cage. She scrambles over to desk, stumbling over her own feet to do so.

“Tomori speaking,” she answers, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder so she can pick out a change of clothes.

“Yes, this is Kenzaki, I’m sorry to bother you on your day off. But, we’re short staffed for this evening, between the I.V.C and some people calling off sick. Is there anyway you could come in? You’d be given over time pay, of course.”

“I can be there shortly.” She throws on a tee and shorts, sliding on her shoes.

“Please report to Matsuda when you come in, she’ll give you a work schedule.” She rolls her eyes at the mention of Erika, the head maid has always had an issue with her, what that issue is remains a mystery. There’s still a huge pile of cookies on the counter, her coworkers might appreciate a snack, especially with such a busy day. And eating all of the cookies herself is kind of sad, something she’s done before, but still sad.

She says her goodbyes to Kenzaki as she starts packing the treats away into tupperware, stuffing one more in her mouth. Tsuneko picks out a sticky note, jotting down what’s in them in case of any allergies or dietary issues. Content, she grabs them and heads out the door, double checking her dorm is locked before she leaves.

Working during the I.V.C is like a double edged sword. On one hand, she’s extremely busy which she likes. She loves being able to bustle around and always having something to do. The International V.I.P Convention is a huge ordeal for the Tres Spades, a giant party held at seemingly random intervals where the rich and famous gather to stroke each other’s egos. Tsuneko has the lowest seniority of the maids, so she doesn’t have to deal with the V.I.P’s directly. But, it stretches the entire hotel staff thinner and the worse part is dealing with the V.I.P’s in passing. It may seem minor, but those kind of people seem to take even the smallest opportunity to be a pain in her ass. The last time she worked some man in a suit worth more money than she’s ever seen flagged her down to ask a question, then mocked her for her dialect, acting like she was stupid. And that was after some snooty woman grabbed her in the lobby to scream about the toilet paper in her suite. Looking back, that might have been the only time Erika was nice to her.

The evening air is cool on her skin as she leaves the dormitories, the Tres Spades looming just a short walk away. It stands out even in Tokyo among all the other huge buildings. She remembers seeing it when she first visited Tokyo, thinking how over the top it was with its giant impractical spade shaped cut out. Her feelings haven’t really changed, it’s just more relevant to her life now, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the day.

Her nose wrinkles, the acrid stink of smoke hitting her nose as she nears the back entrance. An older schlubby man is lighting a cigarette near the dumpsters. There are stomped out cigarette butts around his feet; has he been out here chain smoking all day? The stench of smoke seems to drift off of him in waves, like the man sweats nicotine. Who even is he? He’s definitely not a worker and guests at the hotel generally don’t come by the back entrance. And, as judgemental a thought as it may be, he doesn’t look like the kind of person who’d stay at the Tres Spades.

He starts to look up from his cigarette and Tsuneko ducks her head down to make a beeline for the door, just avoiding eye contact with the stranger. If he caught her staring, he’s kind enough not to say anything as she darts through the door.

She drops the cookies off in a thankfully empty staff room, she doesn’t wanna deal with any hassles or questions. She’ll just have to pick up her tupperware at the end of her shift, hopefully no one tries to take it, the cute Pokemon designs makes it a favorite of hers. .

The employee locker room is just as empty, so no one will question why the stink of cigarette smoke is now clinging to her clothes. She’s never been so happy to change into her uniform. Just a touch of perfume for extra measure then she ties her hair up in the neatest ponytail she can manage. She makes sure she has everything she needs for the work day on her, before taking a deep breath and venturing into the hotel lobby.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, the lobby is packed tight with people. Tailored suits and slinky gowns as far as the eye can see. The V.I.P’s bustle around and chatter, their words all blending into a cacophony of unintelligible noise. A select few members of the press are allowed in to snap photos and get quotes about the event. The party should be getting ready to move down to the ballroom, so with any luck this should be her only encounter with the V.I.P’s. Erika should be around here somewhere, given her seniority, plus she never misses an opportunity to kiss ass.

Tsuneko searches through the crowd for the familiar head of maroon hair. She carefully moves around people, muttering ‘excuse me’s as she goes, not letting her customer service smile and tone falter. Where the hell is Erika? She always seems to pop up when Tsuneko messes up, it figures, she’s nowhere to be found when she’s actually wanted.

Something warm and solid slams into her side, she’s knocked to the ground with a thud. A man looms over her with a scowl, she can feel the contempt emanating off of him. He’d be attractive, if he didn’t look like such an asshole. He’s tall, especially from her current vantage point, with layered oak brown hair and hazel eyes. Silence falls over the lobby, like the world’s been stopped. Everyone’s eyes focus on them, expressions of abject horror. Hushed whispers start to fill the eerie quiet, something about ‘the king’, but she can’t make out anything more. This guy is important; she’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize that. Thankfully, she’s only one of the three.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she apologizes, customer service smile in place as she get back up to her feet. This doesn’t seem to appease him, he glares at her like she’s garbage. Which while not inaccurate, is still rude.

“Get out of my way,” he demands with a sneer and brushes off the front of his suit, like he’s come into contact with something vile. Tsuneko takes a tentative step to the side and the man storms past her up the stairs. What a bitch. This is why she hates rich people.

A few people stare at the man’s retreating back, but once he’s out of sight, it’s like the whole thing never happened. The world starts spinning again and the lobby returns to its former state. She shakes her head, it’s not worth another thought, she doubts she’ll ever see him again.

“Are you okay?” A familiar kind voice asks, it’s Chisato, another maid at the hotel. She’s always been nice to Tsuneko and is among her favorite coworkers.

“I’m fine, that guy was just a dick.” Tsuneko says with a shrug, the crowd is loud enough she can get away with talking shit.

”Uh,” Chisato sucks in a deep breath, brown eyes soft with worry, “do you know who that was?”

“Should I?” Tsuneko doesn’t really pay attention to celebrities or the elite types, it’s all nonsense to her.

“Just what were you thinking making an idiot out of yourself!?” Erika’s harpy screech rises above every noise in the lobby. Her hands are on her hips and her glare is trained on Tsuneko.

“What were you thinking?” The twins, Rina and Kana, chime in from behind Erika with similar expressions, contributing nothing to the conversation.

“It was an accident,” she answers honestly, she was so focused on finding Erika she forgot to keep an eye out for where she was going. These things happen, all she can do is apologize and move on.

“It was your fault, you should pay attention to where you’re going!”

”I apologized, unless you have a time machine, there’s not much else I can do.”

”You have no business even being around V.I.P’s, especially if you’re gonna get in their way!”

”Oh, cause I’m sure your banshee screeches just make them feel oh so special.” Tsuneko and Erika glare at each other, she may be the head maid, but Tsuneko has never been one to bite her tongue.

“Go drop off all the special boxes in the basement storage room for the guests staying for the spa package, everyone else is too busy.” Her sharp gaze drifts over to Chisato at the last part, making it clear she shouldn’t offer any help. The task isn’t particularly difficult, just tedious and will take the rest of the day.

“Of course,” Tsuneko forces a bright smile and makes her voice sugary sweet, “maybe we should offer them some complementary ear plugs, as well.”

She scurries off before Erika can say another word, the head maid can screech into the void for all she cares, she got her work for the evening and that’s all that matters. It’s a couple flights of stairs to make it to the basement, so the elevator is best, whoever decided maids should wear heels is an asshole.

“I can’t take it anymore! It’s over, you cheater!” A woman screams as Tsuneko rounds the corner. A couple is standing outside the elevator, the woman throws a small mask at a man in a tacky red suit and storms off past Tsuneko.

The mask bounces off his face and onto the ground, it’s small and silver with intricate details. Judging by the man’s suit and the woman’s gown, they’re here for the I.V.C, which she doesn’t recall being masquerade theme. The man picks up the mask and tucks it into his jacket with a heavy sigh.

“Now I don’t have a date,” he murmurs then looks up, his gaze meeting Tsuneko’s.

“Excuse me, sir, I needed the elevator.” She points over his shoulder.

“You just saw the whole thing, didn’t you?”

“Ah, uh, yes. Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just take the stairs actually.” She turns around, content to evade the awkward situation, then a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her back. He’s pulling her towards the elevator, she instinctively tries to get out of his grip, but he’s stronger than her.

“Aw, c’mon, no reason to run away. I’ll explain everything when we get there.” He continues pulling her away, he doesn’t seem to notice or care about her trying to evade him. A part of her wants to deck him, but that will get her fired in a heartbeat.

‘Sir, leave me alone.” She keep her tone even and stern, hoping something will make it through his thick skull. One more strong pull and he yanks her right into the elevator, making her yelp. She’s met with the sight of broad back, blocking the elevator doors and button panel. He jabs a button, the doors slide close, what the hell is this guy’s problem?

“Whew, I’m lucky I found another date. There’s no way I could go to the party without a beautiful woman on my arm.” He turns to face her, entirely too close, with a smile that would be charming in another situation. He’s trying to take her to the I.V.C, the ballroom is on the basement level, so that’s not that big of a deal. She just needs to get away from him once the elevator stops.

“Sir, I am not your date, I suggest you find someone else to accompany you.” She maintains her cool, taking a step back as the weirdo inches closer. He’s acting like a desperate romantic, though he seems a little old for that kind of thing.

“What are you talking about? I was so lucky to meet a pretty girl like you.” Her back hits the wall of the elevator, he’s closed in on her completely. His hand cups her face, his breath fansn across her skin. Her cheeks feel warm, whether from anger or embarrassment she’s not sure. He’s not unattractive, an older man with shoulder length light maple brown hair. But, regardless of looks, he’s being completely inappropriate.

“Sir, I’m working, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Her words don’t seem to have any impact, caramel brown eyes busy taking in every detail of her face.

“Yeah, you’re just my type. This is fate.”

”I’d would hope fate wouldn’t be so cruel to me, sir.”

The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open behind him with a ding.

“Let’s go, princess!” His hand is back around her wrist and he pulls her out before she has a chance to fight. She tries to step back and pull, or twist her wrist out of his grip, but she can’t manage. Punching him still might get her fired, but they can’t expect her to just let a guest do whatever he wants. Why the hell is he so strong?!

“Let go of me, now!”

The noise of the ballroom drowns out her demand. She’s never been in the ballroom. She’s definitely never been in the midst of the I.V.C like this. The carpeting is a plush red, the walls have gold etchings, and white marble pillars are throughout the room. Everyone is dressed beautifully, perfectly tailored suits and designer gowns. They talk and sip from champagne flutes as they all bustle around. Spread of gourmet food are laid out, servers intermingle with the crowd, never letting a glass go empty for too long. An aquarium at the back of the room catches her eye, colorful fish swimming through crystal clear water, a dolphin passes through. The hotel owns a dolphin? She would have liked to know that. If the whole ordeal wasn’t a pretentious rich nightmare, she’d be into it. If only for the booze, food, and dolphin.

“Micchy!” A woman yells out and Tsuneko nearly slams into Stranger Danger’s back when he stops.. He lets go of her wrist and goes off towards the woman. All of this hullabaloo just to run off, he seems more like a hormone driven teenager than a grown man.

“Hey, do you have any champagne?” A voice asks just by her ear, their breath tickles and makes Tsuneko jolt. Her face feels hot as she turns to find the source; a man around her age with strawberry blonde hair and amber eyes. She’s clearly wearing a maid uniform, not a server’s.

“I do not.”

“You do work here, right? You’re looking around like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, he’s cute, but something is off about him.

“I’m going to level with you, sir. I’m not suppose to be here right now, sorry.”

“That’s fine, hope you make it out of Wonderland, Alice.” His fake smile turns into a genuine smirk right as he leaves. Yeah, he’s definitely off. Still, cute though. She decides to shake it off and starts on her way out of the ballroom. It’s gonna take her forever to deliver those packages at this rate.

A sweaty hand grabs her wrist, bringing her to a halt, what the fuck now? The world is truly testing her today. It’s a stocky man in a garish green suit, he leers and looks her up and down, her stomach churns.

“Mhmm, I love girls like you. You wanna come with me to give me some special room service? I’ll make sure to tip you for the extra work."

“Gross.”

“What was that?”

“This is a hotel, not a brothel, sir." She’s able to break away from him much easier and starts towards the door again, he’s not deterred.

“You’re pretty lucky you met me. My net worth is 500 million,” he tells her, reaching out to touch her, she dodges him.

“Not enough for my dignity, sir." Her blood boils, at least Stranger Danger had the decency not to treat her like a prostitute. Does he really think her and the rest of the girls here are so beneath him and desperate for cash?Her hands clench into tight fists, she’s not allowed to punch guests. An unfortunate fact at the moment.

“C'mon, everyone has a price.” His hand presses against her hips, fuck this guy. She spins to face him, she needs to stop this, if she doesn't he's just going to hound every other female employee, until he finds someone he can bully into it. She’s not letting that happen.

“Look here, sir! I don't have the time, energy, or desire to deal with you disrespecting me and the hotel. I assure you, there’s not enough money in the world to convince anyone here to touch your pathetic excuse for a dick. Now, get your disgusting grubby hands off of me!” The color drains from the man’s face, when did the ballroom get so quiet? Just a few whispers, it’s like when she bumped into-

“This party is getting trashy,” a deep and sadly familiar voice rings out over her shoulder, making her jump. The asshole from the lobby was behind her, a group of women cling to and hover around him. They glare at Tsuneko, but asshole is glaring at the pervert. The look he gave her in the lobby seems downright kind in comparison.

“Uh, I'm so sorry Mr. Ichinomiya,” the pervert apologizes and runs off. Ichinomiya, that sounds familiar, but she can't place it. She rattles her brain for a moment, but she can’t seem to find it. The headache she has coming on isn’t helping. His eyes find hers, now that the pervert’s gone, the contempt has waned. It feels more like he’s looking at a fly under a microscope, like he’s trying to dissect and understand her.

“You again.”

“You again,” she mimics without thinking, her patience with the day is gone. His expression grows angrier, same for his groupies. She bites her lip to hold back laughter, normally she’d be more polite, but she just called a guest’s dick pathetic, so she might as well mock Ichinomiya, whoever he is.

“Get out of my way.” This seems to be his favorite phrase.

”Happily.”

“I hate when people don't know there place,” one of the women says as they move past Tsuneko. She forces a smile, but rolls her eyes once they’re gone and starts another attempt to leave this god forsaken party.

Her shoulder knocks into someone, making them both stumble.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures her before going on about his business, as small as the exchange is, a friendly normal person feels like a breath of fresh air. Something on the ground catches her eye, a small good luck talisman. The cloth it’s in is a bit worn, black with small white rabbits. He must have dropped it when she bumped into him.

She tucks the charm into her pocket and finds his back in the crowd, she jogs after him. Calling after him does nothing, he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t realize he’s who she means by ‘Sir’. His long legs take him further away quicker than her stubbier ones and she sees him go out door towards the back of the room. She manages to get through the door a few moments after.

The hall that greets her is absolutely empty, her heart sinks, he’s nowhere to be seen. Doors line the hallway, did he go into one of those rooms? She’d hate it if she wasn’t able to get it back to him. It’s clear he’s had it for a while, it must mean a lot to him. If push comes to shove, she may just have to put it in lost and found, but then there’s no way of knowing if he gets it back. She walks down the hallway, the dead silence is eerie after being surrounded by so much noise.

A few moments pass and she hears soft murmurs, they seem louder in the quiet hallway. There’s a door ajar, maybe that’s where he is, there’s a bounce in her step as she nears it. She peeks into the room; gunmetal glints in the low-light of the room. Suitcases filled with cash and guns are strewn across a table. Men in suits are standing around, speaking in a language she doesn’t understand. This is illegal, this is definitely illegal. Her breath catches in her throat, she’s seriously watching an arms deal right now.

The world goes out from under her feet and she’s spun around, her back slams against the wall. She’s at least a foot off of the ground, large hands pin her in place and sharp blue gray eyes glare at her. Her heart hammers in her chest, like it’s trying to escape her rib cage.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is harsh and demanding. A part of her wants to fight, but if he’s involved with what she just saw…. There’s no guarantee he’s not armed. She’s not keen on being murdered.

“I got lost looking for someone, sorry sir.” She doesn’t let her voice break and maintains eye contact. Showing her fear won’t help anything. He lets go of her and she falls to the ground, not too gracefully.

“You have five seconds to get out of here and forget everything you saw. Otherwise, you’ll be wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Understood.” She walks away, ignoring the impulse to run. Muscle memory leads her through the floor, the storage room shouldn’t be far away.

She steps inside, closing the heavy door behind her before she sits down on the floor. Her breath is shaky and she clutches her head in her hands, nails digging into the skin of her temples. What the hell is she suppose to do now?

She’s been threatened and there’s apparently gun deals going on in the hotel. People are getting hurt, there’s no way they aren’t if guns are involved. She can’t be certain how serious that man was about killing her. But, she doesn’t wanna test it and he didn’t seem like the kind of person to speak lightly.

Reporting it isn’t really an option; she has no evidence and there’s the whole being killed thing. Even if she is believed, if the hotel gets shut down, her and all her coworkers would be left without a job or home. Is the hotel even aware of this? Does Kenzaki or the owner know what’s going on here? Who even owns the hotel again? Some sort of CEO who’s head of a conglomerate group. What was it called again? Ugh, she can’t think straight.

She jolts to her feet, she needs to focus and get her shit together. Freaking out isn’t going to help anything. She needs to deliver those packages and go on with her work day, then she’ll drop the charm off in the lost and found. Work now, panic attacks later.

Tsuneko starts stacking up packages in her arms, her movements frantic and she nearly drops a few.. Her brain is a scrambled mess, she needs a dolly, she should have brought one over before stacking them in her arms. She’ll just carry the packages to the dolley, wherever the damn thing is. She can’t even see over the pile of boxes, she tries to look around them as she moves.

Something slams into her and knocks her back, the packages fall to the ground. A heavy thud rings out through the room, the sound of shattering follows. Her ass hurts and she can already feel the bruises forming. She’s spent the majority of this day on her ass.

“Fucking hell!” There are two men, they’re frenetic as they try to pry the lid off of a crate that’s fallen. She doesn’t recognize them, they’re not in any sort of Tres Spades uniform. Maybe they’re just here to move stuff?

The lid hits the floor with a clatter and she peeks inside, it’s filled with shards of what looks like broken glass. She can tell how high quality whatever the original object was from the quality of the material. It’s pristine and the light it catches reflects back iridescent.

“The statue's been smashed to pieces!” One of the men yells, his face turning red with rage.

“I’m sorry,” she struggles to keep her tone even, “I’ll talk to the manager, we’ll get it figured out.”

This entire day has been a mess, but if the worse thing to come out of it is having her pay docked for a decoration, she’ll be okay. It may be high quality, but she doubts a statue is worth too much. It’s just nice glass.

“This was the showcase piece for the auction! How are you going to pay for it!?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” she says again, but what do they mean by an auction? The men glare at her and creep closer, she takes a step back as chills run up her spine.

“You think an apology is going to cut it? You owe us?”

One of the men makes a grab at her and she throws a punch. Her fist connects with his nose in a spray of blood. The man staggers back and she makes a run for the door. His cohort gets in the way and pushes her back, knocking her flat on her ass.

“You really think you’re gonna get out of here that easy,” he taunts, standing over her.

The crate brushes against her as she scrambles away, she grabs a large shard of glass from it and buries it deep into the man’s thigh. He screams out and a gush of blood spurts out as she twists the shard out of his flesh. She clambers back up on her feet and makes another run for the door.

A weight slams into her back, her face smashes into the ground, her scream muffled. He presses his knee down on her back, his nails dig into the cuts on her hand as he rips the glass out of her grasp. One hand keeps her wrist pinned behind her, the other searches her pockets. She writhes and twists, trying to get out from under him, but it does nothing. He tugs her phone from her pocket and throws it across the room.

“I got an idea of how we can make our money back,” the other man says.

Wheels roll across the floor, stopping in front of her. She can’t wrench her neck up enough to see anything else. The man yanks her up on her feet and her heart sinks. A large golden bird cage glimmers on top of a dolly. Her throat tightens and her stomach churns.

“Do you just have this shit on stand by!?”

“Shut up.” The man in front of her opens the cage door, the other pushes her forward. She jerks back; kicks and stomps at the man’s feet. He digs his fingers into her hand again, pain jolts through her and her scream reverberate through the room. Taking advantage, he shoves her forward into the cage. Her hand sting as she catches herself, her head nearly smacking into the bars. They lock the door behind her, tears sting at the back of her eyes.

“She’s a little damaged, but she should still be worth something.” The men share a laugh at her expense, they can’t be serious. They can’t sell her, that’s ridiculous. She can’t get a deep enough breath, her lungs burn. She can hear the pounding of her heart, feel the thump of it against her ribs.

They roll her out of the room, slowly taking her through the halls of the hotel. It’s mostly empty at first, but slowly more people start to appear, moving random things. From art to what looks like a baby leopard, it’s a mishmash of things being carried through the halls. But, no one seems to care about her. It’s like this is just a normal everyday occurrence. She shakes the bars of the cage, they don’t budge at all, she yells out for help. Nothing. No one bats an eye.

“Hey, where’s the final item?!” A young man yells from beside a pair of double doors, inside it seems to be a backstage area. Her kidnappers start explaining that there’s been a change in item.

She pries a bobby pin out of her hair, it’s mostly lose already, her ponytail coming undone in the entire struggle. Taking advantage of her kidnappers distraction, she snaps the pin into two pieces and starts trying to pick at the lock. Her hand stings with every movement and she can’t clearly see the lock, but she’s desperate. If she can get it undone, she can make a break for it.

“What the hell-” His words are drowned out by Tsuneko’s howls of pain, his blunt nails dig into her open cuts pressing into tender skin and making more blood flow. The two broken pieces fall to the ground, he lets go after what feels like hours and she yanks her hand back, holding it close to her as she presses against the other side of the cage.

Her eyes sting, a few tears stream down her face. The men only laugh at her pain, she focuses on their injuries, the man’s broken nose and the steadily bleeding wound on the others thigh. It’s a small comfort to know at the very least, she gave as good as she got.

She’s rolled through the double door and her suspicions are confirmed, it’s definitely backstage of this auction, she presumes. As pointless as it is, a part of her is still hoping that’s a joke. It seems so unbelievable, like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare. She’s tries to steady her breathing, to calm down even a little bit. But, it’s all in vain. Her heart beat is frantic, she struggles to breath, her throat feels tight, and she struggles to keep more tears from falling.

The backstage is a bustle of activity as she’s taken to just beside the stage, still concealed from the audience, but she can look out and see what’s taking place. It’s a huge crowd of people, they watch the stage with rapt attention, faces concealed by masquerade masks. A man on stage talks and moves dramatically, dressed in what appears to be a mad hatter costume. His face painted a stark white and his eyes an unnaturally electric shade of blue.

A small clang catches her attention, she looks up and one of the men attaches a hanging chain to the top of the cage. Someone starts pulling somewhere and the chain starts to lift the cage off the dolly. Tsuneko yelps, if she’s suspended, her chances of escape become slimmer. It ascends higher and higher, until she knows that even if she could manage to shake the bars lose or bust the cage open, she’d fall and break something or bust her head open. The latter doesn’t seem like a bad option at the moment, at least it might kill her.

Slowly her cage is pulled to the side, taking her to center stage. Bright lights and eyes all trained on her. She’s really being auctioned off, someone is going to buy her.

“I present to you, our showcase item of the evening! A healthy young Japanese woman. Yes, that’s you!” The hatter gestures towards her with a flourish and bile rises in the back of her throat.

“Yeah, I caught that,” she screams back at him, kicking the cage. The bars still don’t budge, the gilded cage is firm and shows no sign of busting open.

“I’ll start the bidding at one million!”

Even if she managed to escape the cage and managed not to hurt herself in the fall, she’s surrounded by the crowd. There’s no way she can avoid being grabbed.

“Keep her as your slave, keep her as a toy! Do whatever you please with her, it’s truly up to you!” The hatter continues, not caring about her distress. She kicks and shakes the bars, at this point more an explosion of anger than a genuine attempt to escape, she screams in frustration. Tears prick at the back of her eyes and she doesn’t care enough to stop them anymore.

In the front row of the audience is a stocky man in a garish green suit, the masquerade mask does nothing to hide the pervert from the I.V.C. He grins and bids on her. She looks behind her and sees a screen just above her cage, a number on it rising more and more. More money than she’s ever seen. Her stomach churns and she kicks the cage again, no budging. The most she can do is make the cage sway back and forth, nothing shows any signs of breaking.

“She is a feisty one, all the more fun to break her,” the auctioneer taunts, all his actions colored with the flamboyance of a true showman.

“If I could reach you, I’d wring your fucking neck,” she screams, her throat raw from the force of it.

“Going once, going twice, sold to seat one hundred for twenty-million!” The hatter says as a bell dings, the number on the screen behind her has stopped. She can’t make out what seats are what numbers past the first couple rows. It’s not the pervert, he’s seat number five. But that doesn’t mean it’s anyone better.

The hatter closes out the auction; the lights die down and the curtains close. Tsuneko sits and pulls her knees to her chest, her cage lowers down. It’s settles back down on the stage with a small sound, it makes her feel just a tiny bit better, slightly less helpless than she was before. Someone is still staring at her, she can feel it, even while she’s curled up against herself. Peeking up, it’s the hatter. His harlequin style hatter costume is slightly unnerving, his unnaturally blue eyes are trained on her, his expressions seemingly curious. There’s something child like to it. Someone yells out and he jolts, like being woken up from a trance and goes scurrying off.

Her owner, her stomach churns at the the word, should be coming to collect her. Maybe, this will be a chance to escape. She’s not in the best state to fight, but maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to take them down. She kicks again, a dull ache pulsing in her toes. She wipes away at tears, holding back sobs.

Footsteps echo out, growing closer and closer. Two men make their way to her cage, the small silver masks do nothing to hide their identities. At this point she has to wonder if they truly serve a purpose beyond aesthetic. She can tell right away it’s Stranger Danger in his bright red suit and the cute but off guy from the party. If it was just the latter, she’d be able to take him. He doesn’t seem particularly strong, shorter and thinner than Stranger Danger. But, she knows that the taller of the two was able to drag her around like a rag doll.

“This way.” Stranger Danger unlocks the cage door. She gives them wary glares as she stands on shaky legs and steps out of the cage. Tsuneko hides her injured hand in her pocket, not wanting to give them an easy target if they decide to hurt her.

The men stay quiet as they lead her to an elevator, the only one that goes to the penthouse. Sure enough, once they’ve stepped inside Stranger Danger pulls the penthouse elevator key from his pocket. The doors close and the carriage lurches into movement. She knew they were V.I.P’s, but not very many people have access to the penthouse. Sakiko has mentioned some people who stay their. An artist, who’s name escapes her, and the owner of the hotel. Who the hell owns this hotel again? She’s trying to rack her brain for that name again, Ishi, something? Her brain is fuzzy from everything going on. But, if she’s being taken to the penthouse, surely the owner is aware of what’s going on. It would be hard to hide the auctions, especially at that scale, from the person who owns the damn place.

It’s a silent tense elevator ride, Tsuneko racking her brain for an escape strategy. She already knows she can’t fight Stranger Danger, but maybe she could make a run for it when the elevator opens, go for the stairs. But, if the owner is involved, she wouldn’t get far. She doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go other than the employee dorms. Waiting for a better chance might be the best idea.

The elevator dings and stops, doors sliding open. She’s never seen the penthouse suites before. They step into the hallway, red carpeting and doors along the walls. A huge pair of double doors standing out among them. The only employee she knows of that has access here is Kenzaki, even Erika isn’t allowed in the penthouse.

The pair push open the double doors and Tsuneko follows, it’s a lounge. Lavish, with plush chairs and couches. A large set of of red carpeted stairs lead up to another level, a large window covers almost the entire expanse of a wall, showing a view of the Tokyo Bay. There’s an extravagant high tech television mounted on one of the walls. Two men are in the center of the lounge; both of which she recognizes. And there appears to be man passed out on one of the couches, he could be dead, she can’t be sure. The man who threatened to wipe her off the face of the earth and the asshole from the lobby, Ichinomiya, are in the center.

Ichinomiya. He’s the owner of the hotel. It hits her as hard as she hit the floor earlier. She sassed her boss. Prior to this auction nonsense, she’d be panicking, but the fear of upsetting her boss pales in comparison to the terror of being sold.

“We’ve brought her,” the cute but off guy announces, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. She’d like to punch him.

Ichinomiya sits on the red couch at the center of the lounge, crossing his legs as he looks her over. Him and the man who pinned her to the wall have intense stares, but she meets their gaze with the same ferocity. She’s not backing down.

“We bought you,” Ichinomiya states.

“I noticed.” Her response seems to amuse him, a smirk plays on his lips. She’s just happy her voice didn’t crack.

“So, we ended up catching you after all,” the tall man who pinned her comments, his dark hair is slicked back and his eyes are sharp. Even without him having her against a wall, he’s kind of intimidating, or perhaps it’s just the situation making him seem that way.

“You know this woman, Soryu?” Ichinomiya asks.

“You could say that.”

“He threatened to kill me.”

“Yeah, sounds like Sor,” Stranger Danger says with a laugh, pulling off his mask and adjusting his fedora. Cute but off guy pulls off his mask as well, both completely nonchalant..

“Look, you can’t actually buy me, this is stupid,” she decides to keep talking, maybe the more she talks the more it will all make sense and she’ll be able to get out of this.

“Anything and everything’s for sale at the auctions. If there’s someone out there to buy it, you can sell it. There are no rules,” Stranger Danger boasts, no one here seems to care about the abject horror she’s been through.

“Yep, you can get stolen art, secret information about politicians, even hire a hitman,” Cute but off guy adds.

“This is actually the first time a person’s ever been auctioned off, though,” Stranger Danger’s eyes seem to soften a bit as he looks over at her, a shred of empathy seeming to make its way through.

“You must have done something pretty bad, huh?” Followed by the apathetic question of cute but off guy.

“I accidentally broke some statue, that was apparently expensive, or whatever.”

“The statue of Venus. If it’s worth anything, it’s here,” Ichinomiya states with confidence.

“You’re reckless as always. This woman isn’t worth anything,” Soryu tells him.

“I agree, let me go home.”

“But, it’ll be fun thinking up ways to use her.” Cute but off guy is smirking, he’s a shit head it seems.

“No, it will not.”

“Who gave you permission to speak? Don’t open your mouth unless I say so,” Ichinomiya demands; she bites her lip and keeps her glare. She wants to strangle him, she wants to actually murder her boss. This fuckwit puts her through hell and doesn’t even wanna let her talk.

“If you got a problem with it, would you rather go back to number five?” Soryu asks with a smirk, at least none of them seem keen on violating her in that way, but she just glares at him. She needs to stay calm, as difficult as that is.

“C’mon now, Boss…Sor. You should be nice to girls,” Stranger Danger talks again, he’s calling Ichinomiya boss, too. He’s really the one she needs to get convince to let her go.

“Listen,” she starts, no one stops her, “there no reason to keep me. My existence does not benefit any of you in any way, shape, or form.”

“You’re just trying to lower your value,” cute but off dude chimes in, he’s getting less cute and more gremliny with every annoying word.

“Besides, a cute girl has plenty of benefits.” Any brownie points Stranger Danger earned have vanished, his comment and wink makes her grimace.

“I sincerely hope you aren’t desperate enough to waste twenty-million on getting your dick wet.” She levels a glare at him.

“Looks like she already has you figured out, Baba,” Gremlin, as he’s now being dubbed, says through a laugh.

“You wound me, princess.” Stranger Danger, Baba apparently, responds with a dramatic sorrowful expression.

“You know about the auctions,” Soryu takes back control of the conversation, “we can’t have you running off and telling someone.”

“No worries, I haven’t suffered recent brain damage.” Though her face feels significantly bruised after being slammed against the floor, Soryu raises an eyebrow at her, “Worst case scenario, you kill me and best case scenario I end up unemployed and homeless. I have no proof, police wouldn’t believe me and you’d kill me for talking. Even if they did, if the owner of the hotel goes to jail then the hotel goes under and I’m out of my job and housing. I’m not stupid enough to bite the hand that feeds me.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Ichinomiya smirks “you didn’t seem too friendly earlier.”

“To be fair, I didn’t know who you were, so,” his glare harshens, but she’s not done talking, “look, I don’t even have a phone to call the police. I’ll sign an NDA, confidentiality agreement or whatever, I’ll give you the legal right to screw me over if I even think about telling people about the auctions. There’s no reason to keep me, I’m not worth twenty-million, I assure you.”

Soryu looks to Ichinomiya, he almost seems to be on board with her idea. Maybe he’s not that awful, if he supports getting her out of here.

“Boring!” Gremlin complains, she could wring his fucking neck, but she keeps her eyes focused on Ichinomiya. He makes the decisions here, that’s painfully clear.

“No,” Ichinomiya says as he gets up from the couch, “I determine your worth.”

“What!?” Her voice breaks more than she’d like it to, indignancy ruining her composure.

“We bought you, you belong to us. End of story. You’ll be staying in Soryu’s suite for the night, he’ll assure you don’t go running off.” He’s still smirking, despite the fact that Soryu looks absolutely pained. Ichinomiya leaves up the twisted staircase, pulling out his phone as he does so.

“Man, Soryu gets to play with Koro first, not fair,” Gremlin pretends to whine, but he’s smirking; who the fuck is Koro?

“Time for introductions,” Baba winks at her, “what’s your name princess?”

“.…Tomori Tsuneko,” she murmurs, she feels completed defeated, there has to be a way out of this mess.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Baba Mitsunari. I’m a thief, 35, single and ready to mingle. You can call me Micchan, Micchy, whatever you want.”

“Baba it is.”

“Pfftt, rejected. I’m Kisaki Ota, people call me the angelic artist,” Gremlin introduces himself.

“You already know Boss, so it’s Sor and Mamo’s turn,” Baba says, looking at the far less enthusiastic men.

“Kishi Mamoru,” The apparently not dead guy finally sits up and lights a cigarette.

“He’s a cop or unemployed, who knows?” Baba grins, “And the tall quiet guy is Oh Soryu, leader of the Ice Dragons.” Soryu looks so pained, you’d think he was the one who was just bought.

“Ice Dragons…?”

“Mafia,” Kisaki explains, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Enough of this,” Oh says curtly, “follow me, since I’m stuck babysitting you.” He strides out of the lounge without giving her another look.

“Sor’s kinda shy. You better go after him before he locks the door on you,” Baba tells her and she scurries off after Oh, who leads her down the halls towards one of the suites. She has to speed walk to keep up with his pace.

He’s stiff and rude, but if she’s being entirely honest, he’s pretty low of her current shit list. At the very least, he seems just as keen on getting her out of here as she is. His biggest concern seems to be keeping the auctions secret; she already told them she wouldn’t blab, but she gets the feeling if she steps out of line he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. And the fact he still seems like one of the lesser evils here despite that, really says something.

She’s follows him into his suite, it’s easily five times the size of her dorm. They step into the living room, more than likely where she’ll be sleeping. The couch looks comfy, she’ll manage for the night. Oh starts pulling off his jacket, then unbuttoning his shirt. She catches a glimpse of bare muscles before she turns around, offering him something resembling privacy. It might seem naive, but she doesn’t think he gonna try anything, he seems pained by her presence let alone trying to touch her. Footsteps ring out, Oh walking past her shirtless. He’s in really good shape.

“Don’t get any weird ideas.” He steps into another room, a moment passes and then running water. Sounds like a shower, couldn’t he have started stripping down in the bathroom? She doesn’t really understand the point of the peepshow, she decides not to ponder on it too long and instead lets out a heavy breath.

She slumps onto the couch, exhaustion settling in to take the place of her anxiety. Running away isn’t an option, despite how tempting it is, the Ichinomiya Group has the power and money to find her anywhere. She’s not sure how far reaching the mafia is and she doesn’t want to find out. Even so, she has no intention of giving up. She’s got to convince Ichinomiya to let her leave. Though, clearly it isn’t happening tonight.

Tsuneko looks at her hand, surveying the damage done by the glass. It’s starting to throb and ache more. The largest mark is a nasty gash across her palm, then smaller cuts around her fingers. It hurts more when she bends or flexes them, but the slash across her palm is more concerning. She doesn’t think it needs stitches, but she isn’t a doctor, so who knows.

Something glints and catches her eye, from under the chair. She leans over to get a closer peek and her blood runs cold, it’s a gun. It’s not shocking, he was the one who threatened her after she saw the gun deal. But, she still can’t help being afraid. The potential of him killing her seems even more viable.

The water stops, doesn’t seem like a long shower, a minute or two tops. She tucks her hand back in her pocket and presses her back closer against the couch as the bathroom door opens. His hair is no longer slicked back, soft around his face, but it doesn’t look wet.

“You didn’t try to run away.” He was just testing her.

“I’m not stupid.” She can’t help the vitriol in her tone.

“That remains to be seen,” that earns him a glare, “As long as you keep behaving, I won’t do anything bad to you.”

“Got it.”

He walks around the couch to stand in front of her, she presses further into the back of the couch, he’s in her space. Oh cages her in, arms on each side of her head and hands on the top of the couch, he leans in until they’re almost nose to nose. She bites her lip and meets his glare, her face feels hot.

“I have no idea what Eisuke’s thinking, but let's make this clear. You better not tell anyone what you saw today. No matter what. Telling anyone else is the same as signing your own death warrant. Yours, your friend’s, and your family’s.”

“Got it.”

“You can use the living room and bathroom, just don’t come near my bedroom,” he tells her as he pulls away, gathering his discarded shirt and jacket.

”Understood. What about work? If I’m not there tomorrow people will get suspicious.” She’s not sure if they actually would, if any of them would care enough to notice, but any excuse to leave in the morning sounds good.

“You work as a maid here, right?”

“Yes.”

“As long as you remember to keep your mouth shut and don’t go running off, it’ll be fine. Understood?”

She nods as Oh leaves into another room, she assumes the bedroom. Tsuneko pulls off her shoes, her feet ache just a bit. He told her she could use the bathroom and a shower sounds nice, but she doesn’t have anything to change into. Plus showering in an unfamiliar place doesn’t sound too pleasant. There’s a shower in the employee locker room, she’ll wait til morning.

She curls up on the couch, carefully finding a position that won’t hurt her hand. A yawn escapes her, she needs to think of ways to get out of this, but she’s too exhausted to think straight. The whole ordeal has drained every last bit of energy she has. She closes her eyes and slowly drifts off to sleep.

#kbtbb #kissed by the baddest bidder #eisuke ichinomiya #Soryu Oh #mamoru kishi #mitsunari baba #ota kisaki #kbtbb eisuke #kbtbb soryu #kbtbb mamoru #kbtbb baba #kbtbb ota #black market wonderland

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zen-garden-gnome · 5 years

Text

Understanding Soil Basics

Some recent, introductory horticulture projects have brought my attention to the regenerative nature of ecosystems. One of the most basic and important aspects of plant cultivation is the health of the soil. Good soil is alive, an ecosystem unto itself. Industrial agriculture (and plenty of horticulture) functions with a narrow and exploitative understanding/prioritization of the soil ecosystem--a holdover of colonialism, now built into capitalism, excused out of desperation. Our reliance on synthetic fertilizers, destructive tilling practices, excessive pesticides/herbicides/fungicides, monoculture “efficiency,” and deforestation (for more monocultures!) has resulted in abysmal global soil quantity and fertility levels, largely related to loss of biodiversity in and around the soil ecosystem. Now climate and agriculture experts predict our soils can produce approximately 60 more harvests. Speaking of which, check this out:

So I’m learning about soil. Not just because I’ll need to in order to help a community enjoy food security, but also because... I dunno, I just really like it. Putting my fingers in some dirt feels good and right. Currently I’m reading The Ultimate Guide to Soil by Anna Hes, and I’m summarizing important content as I go back and review sections (especially stuff I know I’ll want to reference later). Rewriting it helps me remember it, so I’ll be dumping that stuff here. along with any extra research I wind up doing in the process. As I work my way through the sections of the book, I’ll make more posts!

First up: Understanding Soil Basics...

Healthy soil is dark with humus. Humus is stable organic matter that’s decomposed into a mix of waxes and lignins, held together by microbial gums and starches, and loaded with nitrogen. Humus bonds readily to heavy metals and excess elements/nutrients, too, thus improving food safety. Organic decomposition into humus even increases carbon dioxide near the soil’s surface, which stimulates plant growth.

“Wild” plant growth can reveal aspects of soil health. Since weeds often thrive in low-nutrient soils and are less susceptible to diseases and pests (since they grew based on what was appropriate for the soil/area), observing them may make it easier to filter out non soil-related variables in overall garden health/output. Of course, these correlations tend to be region-specific and don’t indicate much by themselves. Regular tending is the best prevention, but some general weed-to-soil conditions are as follows:

Nitrogen-fixing plants thrive in low-fertility soil (legumes, dandelions, nettles, comfrey, horsetails, watercress, parsley, plantains, chamomile, chickweed, autumn olives, alders, temperate list here).

Sedges (Cyperaseae grass-like flowering plants with triangular cross-stems) and rushes (Juncaceae grass-like erect stems with tufted tops) thrive in wet, waterlogged soil.

Mosses thrive in damp, shady, compacted, low-fertility/nutrient, and/or acidic soil (pH < 7).

Pfeiffer (found reliable) claims acidic soils (pH < 7) are often linked to poor drainage and tend to grow sorrels, docks, fingerleaf weeds, lady’s thumb, horsetail, hawkweed, and knapweed.

Pfeiffer claims crusted or hardpan soils tend to grow field mustard, horse nettle, penny cress, morning glory, quackgrass, chamomile, and pineapple weed.

Pfeiffer claims overcultivated soils with excess nitrogen tend to grow lamb’s quarter, plantain, chickweed, buttercup, dandelion, nettle, prostrate knotweed, prickly lettuce, field speedwell, rough pigweed, common horeground, celandine, mallow, carpetweed, and thistles.

Soil order relates to the origins of a region’s soil:

*It seems notable that the author focuses on a soil region’s “agricultural” use. A soil’s agricultural value doesn’t necessarily relate to its cultivation prospects. On the contrary, if Oxisols in Hawai’i and Puerto Rico can support indigenous cultures and hosts of wildlife with lush year-round vegetation, then perhaps agriculture isn’t the most reasonable, sustainable, or appropriate means of obtaining food from the land.

Note, regional soil is more than just regional bedrock. It also contains naturally and unnaturally imported soils, like sand used for human developments sand or windblown silt (loess).

Dominant soil order map (as seen below)

Soil order images (as seen below)

All USDA soil data/maps

Soil texture relates to the various sizes and types of particles in a soil sample. The three soil particle types are clay (smallest), silt (mid-size), and sand (largest).

Sandy soils can be useful for early growth and for root veggies that excel at pushing through tough earth, but water flushes through too quickly to maintain hydration, and big dry pores make it easy for microbes to churn too quickly through organic matter additives, leaving no time for humus to form. Try no-till gardening in sandy soils and add heavy mulches and bio-char. In areas with droughted, sandy soil, try sunken pit gardens.

Clay soils have small particles and therefore small pores, causing a tendency to drain poorly and clump up when worked too wet or too dry. However, the small particles bond readily to nutrients better than do sand or silt. Clay gardens can be quite productive, albeit damp and heavy. Adding organic matter helps create larger aggregates and therefore more pore variety, thus improving air and water circulation. Try raised beds.

Silt soils can appear similar to clay soils on the microscopic level, and their medium particle size has its benefits. However, silt soils aren’t sticky like clay, so erosion is often an issue. Utilize cover crops and/or mulch.

Loamy soils are the ideal texture because they contain relatively balanced quantities of the three particle types. Adding compost, mulch, and cover crops to sandy, clayey, or silty soils improves diversity of particle, aggregate, and pore sizes; increases overall water retention while providing balanced aeration; creates balanced microbial activity; and provides nutrients. Simply blending the 3 soils textures together does not yield the same results and is a resource-intensive process.

(Check out comparisons here.)

Moistening and manipulating the soil makes it easier to identify. In the ribbon test outlined below by the Australian Department of Primary Industries, if a ribbon is unable to form then soil contents are sand or loamy sand. If the ribbon is less than an inch, its contents are loam, silt, silt loam, or sandy loam. If the ribbon is 1 to 2 inches, it’s sandy clay loam, silty clay loam, or clay loam. If the ribbon makes it up to 2 or more, it’s made of sandy clay, silty clay, or clay.

To perform a jar test, pour one-part soil and two-parts water in a clear jar. Separate aggregates by lidding and shaking vigorously, before allowing the particles to settle at the bottom for at least 24hrs. The largest, heaviest particles are sand and will sink to the bottom. Small, light clay particles remain at the top, while silt rests in the middle.

Measure the thickness of each layer and calculate the percentage of sand, silt, and clay using a soil triangle (or enter calculations here).

Online soil surveys like https://websoilsurvey.sc.egov.usda.gov/App/HomePage.htm are also available.

Soil aggregates clump together as soil particles (waxes, minerals, lignins) interact with the weather, organisms, and each other. Soil aggregates vary in size depending on their circumstances. A sandy texture of mostly uniform aggregates suggests the soil sample consists primarily of its original mineral particles. It lacks organic content, including vegetal, fungal, insect, and microbial activity. Without this variety of shapes, sizes, pores, or biological activity, the particles don’t hold moisture and provide no avenues for soakage. Meanwhile, a chunky texture with large aggregates, hard clods, and/or a thick crust suggest soil compaction, again resulting in a loss of bio-pores. These issues are often man-made, resulting from excessive tilling, or from tilling/harvesting/planting in wet/dry soil, all of which break down natural soil aggregates. A healthy soil texture contains a variety of aggregate sizes, thus supporting a variety of pores. Ideally, good soil texture no longer requires tilling for the purposes of artificial pores. The best solutions are to increase organic matter, especially compost; introduce cover crops to create pores, attract biological activity, hold moisture, and prevent leaching/erosion; and reduce tilling.

Soil color reveals clues about soil health, too. Heavy rainfall soaks through paling topsoil and pulls clay and nutrients into the darkening subsoil. This separation of soils may call for a season of deep-rooted cover crops to bring nutrients back to the surface, hold soils together, and add organic matter. Grey or whitish soil (gley) in waterlogged areas indicates soils high in iron. The loss of oxygen leaves iron colorless and soil color visible. Patchwork grey and brown suggests waterlogging during part of the year which has now drained and regained some color. (Note, anaerobic activity releases hydrogen sulfide for a tell-tale swampy odor. Mounding up soil can help in waterlogged areas. Try a percolation test, first.)

While loamy soils are dark with humus, soil color is also heavily affected by mineral content:

Know your minerals. Iron oxides, sodium, and calcium can disrupt soil structure or kill plants outright.

Professional soil tests may be necessary if learning about and adapting to your soil doesn’t seem to increase fertility. All testing centers have their own requirements for collecting and sending samples, and not all labs offer the same types of tests. Unfortunately, most soil tests don’t look for heavy metals like arsenic, cadmium, copper, lead, nickel, selenium, or zinc. But this one does!

Soil pH describes a measure of potential (/power/percentage) concentration of hydrogen ions in a sample. The higher the number on a scale of 0.0 to 14.0, the fewer number of hydrogen ions available in the soil. Soils with a pH under 7.0 are have more hydrogen ions, making them acidic or “sour.” Soils with a pH over 7.0 have fewer hydrogen ions, making them alkaline, “basic,” or “sweet.” (Note, while a soil pH of 7.0 is considered neutral, a slightly acidic range from 6.0 to 7.0 is considered ideal for most garden soils.) Hydrogen concentration affects the mobility and availability of nutrients to plants and the structure of the soil itself due to the interactions between mostly negatively charged soil particles (anions) and mostly positively charged nutrient particles (cations). (Note, not all soil ions are anions and not all nutrient ions are cations, but many of the most important nutrients like calcium, magnesium, potassium, and hydrogen are cations.)

Cation-exchange capacity (CEC) is the amount of positive charge (most major nutrients) that can be exchanged per mass of soil. Specifically, the CEC of a soil sample measures how many nutrients can be retained on soil particle surfaces. CEC levels are higher in soils rich in organic matter and clay because these negatively charged particles have more surface area to attract positively charged nutrients. Therefore, CEC levels also indicate the soil’s quantity of negatively charged ions. Soils with a low CEC are low in organic matter and clay, and therefore nutrients won’t readily magnetize to the soil particles, leaving them to leach away from plant roots whenever water passes through. Furthermore, different nutrients have different quantities of protons and electrons and thus different bond strengths. With its neutral charge, hydrogen has the lowest cation, and so it tends to bond with soils only if there aren’t enough other cations available. Higher hydrogen bonds means there aren’t enough other cations bonding with the soil anions, resulting in lower pH and higher acidity. Ideally, hydrogen only fills “excess” bonds and otherwise moves freely in the water. For example, adding lime (calcium carbonate) to soil introduces more calcium, which has a stronger charge and thus can knock hydrogen ions loose from soil particles. Loosed hydrogen bonds with the carbon in the lime, producing H2O and CO2, which washes readily out of the soil and leaves it more alkaline than before.

Organic matter is a vital part of healthy, fertile soil. Diseases, fungi, poor water retention, and even pests are less likely to cause problems in healthy, living soils rich in decomposing organic matter. While small/weak plants can often be attributed to low nitrogen or improper pH, both issues tend to be caused by a paucity of organic matter. Nitrogen gets used up/washed away in the dirt quickly, but decomposing matter releases nitrogen constantly, slowly and steadily feeding plants and microbes alike. Soils need only be composed of around 5% organic matter to produce around 100lbs of available nitrogen per acre, per year. Perfect for veggie gardens.

Organic matter breaks down faster in hot, sandy soils, so it’s harder to sustain healthy levels and may require more. Organic matter is so active in cooler climates that the slower decomposition produces less nitrogen, and so faster-acting nitrogen amendments (diluted urine, compost tea, etc) may be necessary.

While soil’s cation exchange capacity only concerns positively-charged nutrient ions, the organic matter used to increase these nutrients will also improve soil’s ability to attain and hold onto negatively charged nutrient particles, too. Good soils have a CEC of at least 11 mEq/100 g. A milliequivalent is 1/1000th an equivalent, which is the measurement of the number of ions needed to total a specific quantity of electrical charges in another substance (100 grams of soil). These CEC levels may be difficult to attain, as they’re affected by ratios of passive, slow, and active organic matter:

Passive organic matter is very stable and takes a long time to decompose, sometimes hundreds or thousands of years. This includes the “browns” in compost, like the cellulose, lignin, and even charcoal of woody debris. Fungi and bacteria convert these into the humic substances in humus. Lingering passive organic matter affects texture and helps the soil water nutrients and prevent nutrient leaching, making it vital for maintaining CEC levels. Tough-stemmed cover crops are helpful.

Slow organic matter includes finely divided plant tissues high in lignin and other materials that take decades to decompose. These provide “slow-release” nitrogen and other nutrients, and feed the soil microbes that affect the breakdown of active organic matter.

Active organic matter breaks down readily into nitrogen and other nutrients. This includes the “greens” in compost, which provide sugar, starches, and proteins. They have high carbon-to-nitrogen ratios and break down within a few months to a few years. Decomposition of active organic matter also feeds the microbes that help determine aggregate variability and therefore soil texture. AOM includes living biomass, detritus, most of the polysaccharides, non-humic substances, and the more readily decomposed fulvic acid.

Sustainable soil amendments of organic matter (especially nitrogen) essentially run in two phases: development and maintenance. Development consists of adding large quantities of slow-acting organic matter, including burying logs and other organic debris; extensive cover cropping for the added biology, interactivity, and green compost; and at least an inch of compost before every planting. Depending on soil conditions at the outset, it can take anywhere from 2 to 10 years to reach the maintenance stage. At this point, maintaining around 5% organic matter in the soil just requires adding enough to replace whatever’s lost to decomposition each year—that is, approximately 2,000lbs (one cubic yard) per acre. A well-planned garden can eliminate wasteful amendments around low feeders (beans, peas) and ensure greater quantities for heavy feeders (squashes, tomatoes, garlic, bananas). Whew! This post may be updated as I amend relevant info for my own records.

#soil #reference #agriculture #horticulture #gardening #permaculture #zgg

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snuggietuan · 6 years

Text

JINYOUNG GIRLFRIEND SERIES // HOW YOU MEET

Word Count: 982

Your professor assigned you a novel to write a paper about, so you had no choice but to make your way to the library. You got into a decent looking outfit and searched your dorm for your library card. You absolutely needed to be able to do this assignment. You found it in one of your pant pockets and started heading out to your rusty old car.

You pulled your keys out of the ignition and found the email on your phone with your professor's instructions. As usual, you saw all the students at your school studying or looking for books. You actually hated coming here more than anything, cause you sucked at finding books.

You went to one of the computers to look up the book you were looking for. The library site showed you the bar label and where you could find it. You got a sticky note and wrote down the label and logged out of the computer. You grabbed your bag and headed to the section of books that you dreaded.

There was shelf after shelf, but you were gonna find the book, whatever it took and you were not failing that class. You skimmed one row after the next. Maybe you were in the wrong part of the library, but you were a mess and didn’t want to ask for help. That’s when you heard a male’s voice behind you. It startled you as you swung around.

“Do you need help miss?” He asked.

You jumped a bit and sighed.

“Actually, yeah I do” You answered.

He approached you and you handed him the sticky note. He studied it and started walking in a completely different direction than you were searching in. You followed him and watched as he used his finger to skim the bar labels.

“Ah!” He exclaimed as he pulled out the book that you were desperately looking for.

“Oh my god, I’m so stupid thank you!” You brought your hands together and smiled. “That is serious talent.” You added

“It just takes a lot of practice” He smirked and handed you the book.

“What are you reading that book for?” He asked you.

“I have to write a paper for a class” You held the book to your chest. “Have you read it before?”

“Yeah, your professor must be lame if he’s making you read that.” He started. “I’m Jinyoung by the way”

“I’m Y/N, and I suck at looking for books. That’s probably why I hate this place” You introduced yourself.

He smiled and chuckled. He had some pretty good teeth and cheeks.

“You seem pretty cool. Do you want to go somewhere and get to know each other? Somewhere we can actually speak in a regular voice” Jinyoung asked as he whispered the last sentence to make fun of the quiet atmosphere. You giggled and nodded. Honestly why not? You needed someone chill to hang out with before you glue your face to the pages of the book in your hands.

You told him to meet you at the cafe hangout down the street, while you check out this damn book. You got the library card out of your bag and made your way to the front desk where the librarian scanned your book and your card. You whispered the words thank you and quickly made your way out of the library or the librarian might kick your ass.

You got into your car and drove down the street and pulled into the parking lot. You brought your phone and put it on silent. You opened the door and went up to the register to order a drink. While you were waiting, you scanned the cafe to find Jinyoung. You probably wouldn’t have spotted him if he didn’t start waving his arms in the air at you.

The barista called your name and you walked to the table Jinyoung was sitting at.

“Can you believe we met because of my stupidity?” You chuckled, taking a sip of your hot drink, almost burning your tongue.

“You’re not stupid, everyone has trouble with it” He starts “I just like books”

“You like to read?” You asked.

“For fun. Not for school”

“Me too. I used to read a lot but college kinda fucked with me so.”

He nodded and explained how he tries to make time for himself apart from classes. Jinyoung also went on to talk about his studies and what he wanted to be. You were really fascinated by him. As he talked and talked, you admired his face.

“But yeah that’s me” He finally shut up his pretty mouth.

“At least you’re more interesting than me” You joked. Your joke made him smile and his eyes crinkled, which you found attractive.

“Damn look at the time.” He checked his phone “I gotta run, but I’ll give you my cell if you ever need help with that paper”

He was really offering his help... and number to you. You didn’t realize he was motioning for you to him your phone. You grabbed it out of your bag and quickly found the contact app and gave it to him.

“it was nice meeting you! And thank you for the help” You thanked him for the millionth time.

“It’s no problem” He rose from his chair and waved, throwing his empty drink in the trash and exiting through the doors. You looked at the number that was just entered in your phone, and his name was Park Jinyoung. You downed your drink and tossed it in the trash and walked out to your car, driving back to your dorm.

You grabbed the book you borrowed and went inside to start drowning yourself in work. That was until you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket and saw a text notification.

Park Jinyoung: So do you need book recommendations or paper help :)

i’m sorry this was so cliche i tried

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etudaire · 7 years

Text

A big bang of “how to” stuff

There I was again tonight forcing laughter faking smiles so I made up this long ass post for y'all!

So you a potato. Me a potato. World conquered by we potatoes. But potato need survival tips. So your brotato (get it? Bro potato?) help you out. Yay potato. Go go potato.

Study related stuff :

1. Get good grades

Catch concepts, not chapters. Your portion is most likely gonna be super vast, so it’s helpful to know a little something from every chapter rather than knowing just 50% of your syllabus.

Figure out which concepts are important and master them.

Keep all assignments completed at least 1 day before submission date. This isn’t always possible but trust me if you do this you’re guaranteeing marks for proper submission. Job done early? Proof check and add touches to enhance that essay!

Let the teachers know that you’re working hard. I actually passed math because my math teacher knew I was working super hard on my math skills. Participate in the class, gather a bunch of doubts and then dump them on your teacher when the chapter ends.

Try not to miss lectures because chances are you’ll remember that silly mnemonic your friend made up in class and get the answer correct.

Analysis of your exam type is super important. Want me to make a long ass post about it?

2. Be more productive

Having a stuydjo/bujo by your side helps hella lot.

Plan plan plan. Lists, organise lists and colour code them. Basically become Monica Geller Bing and you’re set for life.

Motivational quotes from pinterest almost make me guilty for not being productive and force me to do something.

Before starting your study session, dance around to upbeat music for like 5 minutes. You’ll see the difference I promise.

Seek out inspiration from your smart friends /tumblr friends /people you look up to by constantly reminding yourself about them. I always think of hermione granger because even randomly picturing her with books in my mind ignites that badass boss feeling complying me to study tf up.

3. Manage your time

Studyjo/bujo saves your life.

Wear a watch all the damn time, it will remind you of how much time you’re spending doing nothing. You’ll end up saving several extra minutes!

List out what you’re gonna do every hour of the day on a sticky note and refer to it when you feel lazy.

Get a super nice friend /parent /sibling who will constantly remind you to utilise your time.

Think of time as currency and pretend that it’s all a game where you need to save up as much money as you can to become a billionaire. Save up your time and become rich af.

4. Avoid procrastinating

Stduyjo/bujo again. You know the drill now.

A little bit of exercise before starting work generally works you up and sets the correct mood.

Knowing how ahead your friends are from you often makes you wanna catch up so try getting that motivation.

Set goals + rewards that actually matter to you. Maybe a face care spa day isn’t your thing but munching on a snickers bar is. Treat yo self.

Tell someone a detailed plan of what you are going to accomplish the next day. Now whenever you see that person you’ll want to prove to them that you’re doing what you promised. Or the guilt may drive you too.

Appearance related stuff :

1. Look more put together

Try the lipstick trick. There are days when you do not have the time /want to put on makeup, so just put on a lipstick that matches your outfit and you’ll automatically create an illusion of being more put together, boss af and fabulous.

Try out cheap (potato can’t afford sorry) but elegant accessories. If it’s a necklace try tucking it under the collar of your shirt and see the magic. Stick to one staple accessory that’s gonna be your trademark.

Tame that mane potato. Your hair isn’t gonna detangle itself. You gotta do it. I mean, don’t you love your hair?

Minimalistic colours rock. Some outfits never go old like flannels or white shirts or black dresses.

2. Feel beautiful

The lipstick does the trick for me.

Putting my hair in a sky high ponytail makes me feel like I’m a queen or something.

Save little compliments for yourself as reminders and when you get them you’ll feel 10x more beautiful than before.

Mind related stuff :

1. Deal with burnout/slump

Try to accomplish super tiny stuff. Break down every task into micromolecular basics.

Give yourself a ted talk. It works.

Sometimes the best way of dealing with burnout is by detoxing from the thing that caused burnout. Stay away form books and after some time you’ll actually want to study.

2. Study with slumps/mental illness

Step one is to finish homework /assignments. If you can concentrate on them, you’re good to go.

Do not take up a lot of load, just skimming through textbooks, reviewing notes, going over flashcards should do the trick.

If you desperately need to get shit done, just ignore the fact that you do not want to do it. It’s harsh on your mind but desperate times require desperate measures.

Avoid forcing yourself to study because you’ll not retain info like that.

Take it easy. But consistently. Maybe just one topic a day. But do not miss a day. A steady everyday practice goes long way in the future.

3. Strengthen self control

There are several apps that can help you with this, like forest. My top pick is the Tide app which has a gorgeous interface and super aesthetic timers with new pictures everyday. I shit you not every time I quit my pomodoro I feel the guilt of having killed 1000 puppies its worse and I avoid doing that at all costs.

If you study in your room, keep your phone in the kitchen for some time. Your lazy ass is less likely to get up and use the phone.

Switching the phone off before starting a study session works because I care for my phone like a baby and it feels horrible to switch it on and off and on and off.

Practice 30 minutes of digital detox everyday. You don’t have to study at that time, just stay away from everything that is technology. Read and book, eat a fruit, make a sandwich, paint, sing, dance, exercise. Study if you want. Just no gadgets.

4. Deal with stress

Yoga works. Potato body ain’t that flexible so just breathing exercises for a start is also enough.

Highly recommended : brain dump every night before sleeping can ensure that you’ll not stay up too late pondering over the meaning of your existence and world politics.

Having a hearty talk with someone you trust will also lift weight off your chest.

Pin point the cause of your stress and annihilate the problem. Slay it.

Life related stuff :

1. Drink more water

Carry a cool ass bottle of water with you every frigging where.

Make it a rule to have a drink everytime you go to the loo or you take a bath /shower.

Replace one of your daily caffeines /sugars with water. You don’t have to get rid of coffee because that’s just non potato ish, but maybe that third cup could be replaced with water.

Try a game thingy. Maybe everytime the word ‘procrastination’ pops in your mind take a drink. Wow, I’m so creative *sighs for eternities*.

2. Be more healthy

5 minute stretches right after getting up works you up.

Try one of those YouTube videos of 15 minute workouts. You can have 3 such workouts through the day and call yourself a fit potato.

Replacing one packet of junk food with nuts/fruits also works.

Everytime you hear someone say something related to money, have a banana. Random much? Nope, bananas are known to increase hormones that make you happy in your body, meaning you’ll feel full and happy. Maybe offer the person a banana too.

3. Be more happy

Eat bananas!

Take pictures of things you love, not things your followers love.

Puppies are a source of eternal joy.

Reading goofy/cheesy/romance books make you giggle and feel good in general.

Watching cheesy films or good ass romcoms works just well.

Friends was created for a reason.

Writing down what you accomplished today gives a sense of pride and satisfaction. Take that shit.

Tumblr has shitposts made basically to make you happy.

4. Find your true calling /figuring tf out what you wanna do with your life

Lists lists lists. Subjects you love, you hate, you’re good at, you suck at.

Consulting your teachers, family etc and find out what they think you’re good at. Sometimes other people can see traits of yours better than you.

Career tests rock.

You’ll figure it out in the end somehow.

And that’s about it for now folks, hope this helps. See y'all laterz~

Etudaire ♥

#study #studyblr #stud tips #masterpost #life #mental health #studyspo #studysthetics #productivity #motivation #inspiration #exams #grades #i'm procrastinating #mind #water #van studies

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hoefortomhoelland · 6 years

Text

God of London | Mob!Tom Fanfiction

Introduction Part 1

Mob!Reader x Mob!Tom

Warnings: Swearing, Gore, Guns, Death

Summary: The reader is the most dangerous mobster in London. Every week she’s given a new person to kill. One night, she gets a card with the name ‘Tom Holland’ printed on it.

The heels of her ankle boots clicked against the pavement of the backstreet which led her to the oh-so-familiar nightclub she usually goes to. Tucking a stray hair from her ponytail behind her ear, she approached the doors of the nightclub and the bouncer immediately let her in, already knowing who she is.

The club was lively like usual. Strippers danced on the poles at each table, men smoked their cigars and people drunk from their glasses. Nothing new.

“Miss Romano, what can I get you today?” The bartender, Lewis, asked her.

“A tequila sunrise margarita, please.” Her thick, British accent barely noticeable.

“You’ve always got to be so extra about your drinks.” He raises a brow, chuckling. She smiled back at him as she tapped her dark red acrylics on the sticky counter. A few moments later, a round edged glass was slided in front of her as well as a small card under the glass. She nodded a thank you, took a sip from the rim of the glass, and flipped the card over.

Thomas Holland

Licking her already wet lips, she flipped it back over and looked at Lewis. “Thomas Holland? I think I’ve heard of him before.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that he’s one of the most dangerous mobsters in London.”

Scoffing, she took another sip of the drink. “Yeah, right after me.”

“Of course.” His Brooklyn accent was apparent since it was much thicker. “You have a meeting upstairs in the VIP lounge in five minutes. Table four, like usual.”

“Christ.” She groaned, reaching into her pocket to get a five pound note. She checked the time on her phone before tucking it away again. 21:30 “Alright, I’ll catch you later. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

The lounge was quiet and dimly lit, opposite to downstairs which had loud music and bright lights. Upstairs, there were no strippers since important business is usually discussed. She took a seat at table four and crossed her legs, tapping her nails again.

“Miss Romano, would you like a drink?” One of the waitresses asked her.

“Whiskey would be great, thanks.” She flashed her teeth as she smiled and the waitress nodded before disappearing to make her the requested order. 21:34. If they arrive a minute after thirty-five past, she would have their heads. Sucking on her bottom lip, she watched the waitress arrive with the glass on a black tray.

“Here you go. Is there anything else you need?” Yeah, for these fucking people to turn up so she can leave.

“No, no. That’ll do thank you.” The waitress nodded and walked away, leaving her alone again. 21:35.

“Y/N Romano?” Y/N looked up and smiled slightly as she looked up. One man held a black briefcase in his right hand.

“That’ll be me.” She gestured to the other spaces in the booth. “Please, take a seat.” Sipping her whiskey, she glanced at each man who seemed to be dressed similar to each other. “So, introduce yourselves then..”

“My name is Alex Grainger.” He seemed to be the boss out of the three of them. “He’s Antonio.” Alex pointed to the man sat to the right of him. “And this is Daniel.”

“Nice to meet you all. So tell me boys, how can I help?” She leaned forward on her elbows.

“We will give you thirty thousand Great British pounds if you assassinate this man.” Antonio pulled out a picture of a man from his brown jacket pocket. Leaning back on her chair, she nibbled on her middle finger acrylic nail, cautious not to break it or chip it.

“Make it forty thousand.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

“Deal.” Alex yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “His name is Robert. He’s downstairs at the moment making a deal with some of my men which I don’t want happening. I need you to maybe seduce him and then kill him.”

“Seduce? Oh please, I’m more classy than that.”

“Right, well use whatever technique you want but just get his attention.” Alex provided her with more information about what he’s done, keeping Y/N in line with what she needs to do.

“Show me proof of the money.” Y/N leaned back in her chair, swirling around the whiskey in the crystal glass. Daniel reached under the table and pulled out the black briefcase that she noticed earlier, slamming it onto the table. He unlatched the hinges and opened the lid, turning it around so she could see evidence of the cash.

“We only have thirty thousand with us, but I’ll transact the remaining amount into your bank account.” Alex smiled slightly. Y/N finished her drink and placed it onto the table, sighing.

“Alright. I won’t be long.” Her hand reached into the inside pocket of her jacket to check if her gun was still there.

“He’s sat at table twenty three.”

“Got it.” She cracked her knuckles and neck and stood up.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N asked the ‘stranger’ at table twenty three innocently. “I have a couple questions I would like to ask you.” Her voice was higher than usual. Robert raised a brow and chuckled.

“I’m in the middle of something.” He turned away from her. Rolling her eyes, she then proceeded to slide a hand down his arm seductively.

“Pretty please? I’ll make it up to you.” She batted her lashes.

“Alright, poppet. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“No! Of course not.” She giggles obnoxiously loud. Grabbing his wrist, she lead him to a random janitors closet she noticed in the corner of her eye earlier. Opening the door, she snuck them in and turned the light on. She rested her hands on his chest and pulled on his tie as she bit her lip.

“You’re a desperate one.” He smirked. Y/N forced another stupidly loud giggle before locking the door and whipping her gun out.

“I’m not here to play games.” Her voice changed back to her usual tone as she cocked the gun, pressing it against his forehead.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, raising his hands.

“You’re making a deal with a mob which their boss doesn’t approve of. You also owe three million dollars to that mob which you’ve been avoiding constantly. Clearly you aren’t going to repay them at any point.”

“N-No! I will... at some point.” He stuttered, fiddling with a button sewn onto his jacket.

“Bullshit.” She said through gritted teeth, slamming the gun against his forehead again. “You have ten seconds to send the money to his account or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

“That’s not enough time.”

“Ten.” His fingers fumbled in his pocket as he searched for his mobile. “Nine.” His thumb presses against the home button in a panic. “Eight.” He tapped on the app and his bank account was on screen. “Seven.” Robert’s hands shook as he scrolled through the app. “Six.” He eventually found the store money. “Five.” Panic pulsed through his body whereas Y/N stood there calmly with a gun to a man’s head. “Four.” The screen loaded slowly.

“Come on, come on.” He repeated as he tapped his foot on the floor.

“Three.”

“Shit.” He cursed as he tapped a way a few more times.

“Two.” The screen read pending. “One.” Transaction complete. Robert let out a sigh of relief. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Can I leave now?” Y/N’s finger pulled the trigger and his body instantly dropped to the ground, blood splattering on the wall behind him.

“Whoops, my finger slipped.” She giggled, opening the door and slipping. Walking over to table twenty-three, she grabbed the dead man’s glass and finished the drink. “He won’t be bothering you anymore.” Y/N smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The three men from earlier appeared in front of her and Daniel handed her the briefcase.

“Is it done?”

“You tell me.” She wiped the blood splatters off of her face with her thumb. “I’ll see you around.” Y/N smiled, patting Alex’s shoulder. “Oh, and check your bank account.” He smiled and thanked her before walking out of the club.

She grabbed her drink from earlier and took a few more gulps, finishing it. “Clean-up on aisle four.” She grinned. Lewis groaned and placed the glass, which he was cleaning, down on the table.

“Seriously? This happens every week. Janitor Steve is not happy about the bullet holes in the wall.”

“You know how it is with me.” She picked up the briefcase and slammed it on the counter. “I did get some good money though.” Opening the lid, stacks and stacks of money was revealed to him. For a second, she thought she saw his eyes glimmer.

“Fucking hell. Try not to spend it instantly.”

“I might buy another car.” She shrugged, pulling the case off of the counter.

“You should buy me a car. I work my ass off for you, cleaning up that damn closet, giving you free drinks sometimes.” Lewis nodded to the room where the body remained.

“Sometimes.”

“Whatever.” He scoffed, grabbing a bucket and towel from under the sink. “I’d better go and fix your situation before someone walks in, thinking it’s a bathroom.” He smiles at her and walks off with the towel over his shoulder. She couldn’t help but chuckle as she shook her head. Sliding the glass off of the card, she picked it up and read the name again.

Thomas Holland

Clicking her tongue, she slipped the small piece of card into her jacket pocket and made her way outside. Y/N walked down the alleyway to where she parked her motorbike earlier. Slipping the black helmet over her head, she flicked the shield over her eyes, climbed onto the bike, and started the engine.

The name wouldn’t leave her head as she drove back home.

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lillianofliterature · 2 years

Text

personal rant :|

i’m like—depressed. ish. more. again. like obviously it’s an up and down thing but I thought I was okayish? i was on this high of wanting to write and get things up and do all the things and then this last week or two just everything has lost its appeal. everything. now i can spend all day in bed and still not want to get up or do anything, which y’know, thats obviously not too good, lmao. i’m just so tired. but is it adhd tired or chronic illness/disability fatigue? it’s so hard to know what’s mental health and what’s my body asking for rest.

i’ve been trying to sit down and finish three different fics because they’re requests and I want to be punctual and efficient. but my inner self, like my brain or my executive function or whatever, is literally immobilized. the constant battle with my brain is exhausting.

I know I’m not alone in that, but it just really isolates a person. especially when I know that productivity makes me feel better emotionally, but I physically and mentally cannot achieve the goal i’m wanting so desperately to accomplish. then there’s the feeling of such inadequacy when I don’t do as much as I think I should/could be doing. (not looking for pity, this is just a personal rant.)

i seem to find myself back here after a few weeks or every couple moths in a cycle—even though I don’t post every week or update all the time, I am actively writing ideas, excerpts, and rough drafts CONSTANTLY. On sticky-pads, notebooks, notes apps, tumblr drafts, you name it. It never ends. And somehow I guess I burnout from that? But I don’t count that as productivity in my head because it isn’t a final product that is posted. obviously these are things i’ll telling my therapist this week lol. but for some reason I feel guilt for rants like this or even polite writing updates because they seem to always translate in my head as excuses for laziness, when in fact I’m just trying to juggle projects between inevitable burnout of the adhd-chronically-disabled-person cycle.

like I genuinely want to know how the eff I made it through grade school and high school? I know it was hell and I know I was working 24/7 days on assignments and spent all my time catching up to my peers (and had no social life apart from family lol)—but where did that urgency to do things go? the ability to get things done on a timeline with a somewhat solid routine? am I just in an Ultra Burnout™️ after going through school undiagnosed for both adhd AND chronic illness? hello brain? couLD YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING AGAIN? MAKE SOME NOISE? LET ME KNOW YOU’RE STILL UP THERE?

anyway, stay tuned for this next week on ‘lillian lives by the seat of her pants and also whatever gives her immediate serotonin’. thank u for your patience, good day

#adhd #adhd writer #writing #i cant even cry about it #because apparently i cant cry anymore lmao #PLS BRAIN JUST DO SOMETHING #A FLIP #A COOL SOUND #MAYBE SOME SHADOW PUPPETS #ANYTHING #pls #RANT #personal rant #adhd rant

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sunyoonandstars · 7 years

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BTS Scenario 1.3.: Them being too busy with work to make time for you (while you are having a hard time)

I know, I’m probably a little late to this. But I just stumbled upon the whole ‘Kick J-Hope out’-issue that arose back in 2014 and couldn’t believe what I read. The hateful comments so-called fans left, including a hashtag demanding of BTS to kick out J-Hope (among other members such as Jin and Jimin) for being ‘fat’, ‘ugly’, ‘lacking talent’ and whatnot literally made me cry. Not only because I couldn’t stand the thought of our sunshine being hurt and discouraged like that, but because I was once again shocked that actual humans could do something like that to one another, bullying an innocent person they don’t even know, cowardly hiding behind their laptop screens, having no idea how big of an impact their cruel words could and would have on the other persons mind and life …

Things like that have to stop!!!

And - at least I believe that to be true - Hoseok is deep down a very insecure person, who is always trying to do his best, to improve for the sake of himself, the fans and the members, and always be the hope and the bright sunshine, everyone needs him to be, sometimes probably putting on an act and forcing himself to smile even though he is having a hard time himself. And I know from experience that the tough / sunshine act can be incredibly strenuous, so I deeply respect him for his strength and attitude. J-Hope doesn’t deserve such hatred. Nobody does.

So, to give our sunshine and his stans the love they so much deserve, here comes a scenario for you! Enjoy! Fighting!

(By the way, I previously posted a similar scenario for Jin and Suga, check them out if you like!)

The Scenario

They’re busy with work, and don’t seem to be able to make time for you, so you keep dropping by. Because you also have a very demanding schedule and only ever get a few days off a week / month, so you desperately want to spend your valuable free time spend with your love …

angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

3. J-Hope / Hoseok

Officially starting to date and commit to Hoseok was the best decision of your life. Or so you thought at first. Of course, he was one of the most caring, endearing, positive, sweet and strong people you knew, and he tried his best to shower you in affection and make you smile whenever he got the chance. But lately, those chances seemed to make themselves scarce, and increasingly so. Hoseok had received thousands upon thousands of mean and hurtful comments on social media throughout the last months after falling on stage at a performance on live TV and practically ruining the show, at least in the eyes of countless so-called ‚fans‘. Though the members had handled the situation with grace and tried to shrug it off jokingly later on in an interview, Hoseok took the criticism and hate he received pretty hard and has been practicing relentlessly ever since. You couldn’t take them anymore, those disrespectful people trampling about on his heart, the hundreds mean comments and memes roaming around the worldwide web, solely created in order to make fun of your love, calling him a a club-footed horse, to name only one of the offending nicknames heartless haters had assigned to him. They had no idea what they were doing to him, and it broke your heart to see your hopeful sunshine so distraught and discouraged. You tried your best to support him in any way possible, but couldn’t help but feel helpless, watching him dance to exhaustion each and every day. Whenever he thought you or the members didn’t look, you could witness his precious smile fade and fall. Something you could under no circumstances allow to happen, just standing idly by. So you dropped by the studio every day after university without exception, even if you were sick or tired, bringing by healthy snacks and bandages for Hoseoks maltreated limbs, trying to get him to eat and take a short break now and then. He mostly refused. „No, thanks, honey. I know you mean well, but I have to get this right, I have to improve, to become the dancer and artist my fans deserve. And that won’t happen by taking breaks.“ You knew, disagreeing with him on this wouldn’t lead anywhere, so you merely ruffled his sweaty hair, giving him an encouraging smile. „Alright. Fighting!“, you cheered him on, making a cute gesture, actually managing to educe a loving smile from him before he turned the music back on and concentrating on practicing the choreography again, you watching him all the while, seated in one corner of the dance room, amazed at his beautiful body and what it was capable of. Hours went by and you finally decided to turn in for the night, almost having fallen asleep on the studio floor. Hoseok didn’t even notice you leaving, still completely absorbed by his dancing, even though it was already long past midnight. Already at the door, you looked back at him one last time, tears starting to fill up your eyes, desperately hoping he would at least get some sleep tonight. You left the food you had brought on the threshold, a sticky note attached to it, saying:

I love you, Hobi! Don’t overwork yourself! Your life & body are very precious to me! Remember to EAT & SLEEP! Your body needs fuel! You won’t make any of your fans happy by dying of exhaustion… -.- - Much love, your biggest fan! Don’t ever forget how amazing you are

You had ended it with a number of hearts you had quickly scribbled onto the pastel pink paper. As you turned to go you wished your little message would make Hoseok smile before going to a hopefully peaceful sleep. On your way home you fell asleep in the bus, incredibly tired after a long and strenuous day at the university and library, having spent your last remaining energy on supporting Hoseok. The bus driver woke you politely when you had reached the final stop, informing you that there would be no more buses departing from this stop tonight. Confused and still half asleep you blinked against the bright streetlights, now out in the cold, some place you’d never been before, not being able to recognize anything in your surroundings, having no idea how you would get home from here. You tried to make out a close by street sign in order to pinpoint your location, however it was far too dark and you weren’t able to spot one, so you decided to wander around the deserted streets. You took out your phone, planning on using a navigation app to find your way home somehow, only to discover that your battery was running dangerously low. „Shit!“, you cursed, your voice echoing unnaturally loud in the dark of the night. You felt a shiver run down your spine, not only because of the cold but rather because you can’t help but picture horrible scenarios of danger and violence, a mysterious stranger creeping up to you in the darkness, not a soul around to come to your rescue, however loud you would scream for help. No, this was not some thriller. You were just an ordinary girl, walking through an ordinary street on an ordinary Friday night. Nothing would happen to you, of that you were sure. You just had to keep on walking at your regular hurried pace, not letting strangers see how desperately lost you really were, fighting back the tears of anger, fear and fatigue. Angry. Yes, you were angry. At yourself, for being so stupid. How could you have fallen asleep in a freaking night bus!? You were better than that! Stronger than that! After all, your strength and positivity were two of the things Hoseok loved most about you, and you had to stay strong, no matter what, not only for yourself but for him, too, in his time of hardship. Only now you realized how big a toll Hoseoks situation had taken on you, as well, to which extent you had neglected your own health and happiness over the last few months to be there for him, and how much energy it had cost you. And suddenly, you just couldn’t carry on anymore. Couldn’t be strong anymore. Having wandered around this strange and desolated part of town for over an hour already, you ultimately broke down, plummeting to the pavement, grateful for the stinging pain in your knees, which finally allowed your tears to fall. For countless minutes you just sat there in the middle of the street, weeping freely, shaking in the cold breeze. Only your phone vibrating in the pocket of your sheer jacket brought you back to your senses. When you took it out, the screen showed Hoseoks face, flashing the sweet smile you loved so much, brightly gleaming in the darkness. He was calling you, at half past two in the morning. You quickly looked up to the starless night sky, praying that nothing bad had happened to him. You cleared your throat, swallowing the remaining tears, so he wouldn’t hear them in your voice, before you eventually answered the call. „Y/n, where on earth are you?“ He sounded decidedly worried, his voice growing into a high pitch as he kept on speaking. „I came by your place after practice, hoping you were still awake, because I felt so bad about letting you leave like that. I found your note, so sweet, honey! But when I let myself in your flat was empty. It looked like you hadn’t been home tonight. Where are you?“ „Hobi, I’m lost! I fell asleep in the bus, they threw me out at the final stop and I don’t know where I am! I’ve never been to this part of town, and it’s so dark and cold. I have no idea how to get home!“ You couldn’t help it, contrary to your intention bursting into tears again at the sound of Hoseoks soft and familiar voice. „Please, honey, don’t cry! It’s gonna be okay!“ „I’m really scared, Hobi …“, you reluctantly admitted. „Of course, you are! Wandering around in the middle of the night all by yourself is incredibly dangerous! I can’t — My heart can’t take this! I don’t even dare to imagine what could happen to you!“ You could hear him inhaling deeply over the phone. „Now, do you have no idea at all where you are? What line was the bus you took?“ You closed your eyes, trying hard to remember. „It was definitely the blue line, that’s all I can recall…“ „Okay, y/n, just stay were you are and try to keep out of harms way! Avoid strangers and dark alleys! I’m coming for you! Do you hear me? I’m coming for you!“ „No, Hobi, you must be so tired. You have to get rest! You have a concert in a few days!“ Your phone beeped repeatedly, reminding you of its low state of battery charge. „What is that sound, honey?“ „It’s the battery. My phone is about to die. I —“ „Don’t worry, honey. Let’s just end the call now to save some battery. I’ll locate you through the app, try to keep your phone running for as long as possible! Disable any applications you don’t need at the moment. And remember, y/n, it’s gonna be okay. I’m coming for you, okay? I promise! I’m coming your you! See you soon!“ He hung up before you even got a chance to reply, and you instantly missed the sound of his voice, having allowed you to forget about the lonely cold and the frightening darkness for a few precious moments. You couldn’t help but feel proud of Hoseok for handling such a terrifying situation comparatively calmly, overcoming his fearful nature to venture into the night in order to come to your rescue, not even thinking for one second about himself. Promptly, you felt an intense warmth growing around your heart, being reminded of his love for you and the reason both of you kept fighting so hard for this relationship to work. After a few more minutes, your phone eventually died, leaving you cut off from Hoseok and the rest of the world. But knowing that he was coming for you and not doubting him for a second, you stood your ground with certainty, shivering in the cold, embracing yourself to preserve as much body heat as possible. Hobi is coming for me, you kept reminding yourself, having trouble staying awake by now. Hobi is coming for me, I just have to hold out for a few more minutes. A jolt went through your limbs, shaking you out of your sleep, as you felt your body being lifted up from the cold ground. „Shh, it’s okay, honey, I’m here now“, you heard an all too familiar voice whispering into your hair, leaving no time for you to panic. „Hobi“, you murmured, weak and still half asleep, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. „You really came.“ „Of course, I came, y/n. I promised, don’t you remember?“ You could feel something heavy on your shoulders, and figured that he had wrapped you in his coat before he’d lifted you up to carry you in his slender but strong arms. But he must be so tired, you kept thinking to yourself, trying to free yourself from his embrace and get back to your feet. However, he didn’t let you, holding on to you tightly. „Hobi, please, put me down. I’m awake now, I can walk by myself. You must be exhausted after practicing yourself half to death, not having eaten all day. I can’t even bear the thought of robbing you of your last strength. I’m fine, really. Put me down.“ He paused, holding you away from his body in order to sneak a look at your face, smiling one of his bright, hopeful smiles. You couldn’t believe he still had the energy left to pull off one of those. This man was a marvel. „Y/n, I would do anything for you, you know that, right? And I realized that I didn’t appreciate the efforts you made over the past few months. I was so focused on my work, I didn’t even realize that you were the only thing that kept me going. Your smiles and your daily visits gave me the strength to go on. So, now, please let me repay you, hmm? Or I’ll tickle you senseless right here and now.“ You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. Yes, his tickles were indeed powerful. „Okay, if it makes you happy“, you agreed reluctantly, smiling up at him. „But don’t overdo it.“ „Don’t worry, the taxi is parked right around the corner.“ So you leaned back into him, burying your face in his chest, soaking up his comforting scent, until you put you in the back seat of the taxi, seating himself next to you, gesturing you to lean against him. Gladly you rested your head on his shoulder, gradually going back to sleep. You woke up in your shared bed to Hoseok kissing your cheek repeatedly. „Good morning, sleeping beauty“, he greeted you, as you slowly opened your eyes, extending one hand to ruffle his fuzzy bed hair, at which he smiled, turning his head to quickly for you to react, placing a soft kiss in the palm of your hand. „I tried to make breakfast“, he announced with pride, smiling widely. „However, I failed miserably. So I cheated and called Jin over to help me out.“ You couldn’t help but laugh at that, still sleepy, Hoseok joining you immediately. „So, come on, wakey wakey!“ You pulled a pillow over your head, not yet ready to leave the warm comfort of bed. „Don’t be a party pooper, y/n! Get up! It’s PANCAKE TIME!“, he declared, beginning to tickle you until you finally burst into laughter and fought back, the two of you now involved in a raging tickle war, until you rolled out of bed, falling to the ground and onto each other, laughing even harder. „Okay, okay! I give up! Bring on the pancakes!“, you sighed, still out of bed, raising your hands in playful resignation. Hoseok got up first and extended a helpful hand to you, effortlessly tasing you to your feet, capturing you in a tight hug. Suddenly, he let go of you, bringing some distance between the two of you so he could meet your gaze. The look in his eyes was caring and warm, his soft features caught in an affectionate smile. „What is it?“, you asked, feeling your cheeks blush. „I just love you so much, for everything you are and do for me. You can’t even imagine how much you mean to me. I have never met someone as warm and caring as you.“ „I have“, you replied. „You.“ „Aww, you’re too sweet to handle“, he giggles, blushing himself now. „But now, let’s have those pancakes. I even asked Jin to put in some chocolate chips.“ „Chocolate chip pancakes? They’re my favorite!“ „I know“, he replied, grinning happily, lifting you up on his hips to give you a piggyback ride to the kitchen, repeatedly spinning around on you way there, letting butterflies dance in your stomach and making you laugh out loud in excitement. When you reached your destination he carefully put you down, placing a breathless kiss on your lips. „This is so much fun, y/n. Everything is with you, really. I can’t believe I missed out on this, on you, because of some idiotic fan rant. I’m so glad and crazy grateful you went through this with me and never left my side. I won’t ever forget that. I love you, my hope.“

*************************

Hope you liked it and it did out Hope justice!

Thanks for reading! Take care! 💜

Here you can find my Masterlist if you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction!

All GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

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