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krustywhore · 4 years

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a language in itself // moreid

inspired by this doodle by @owlpip / @owlpipscribbles and i just had the cutest idea when i saw it so naturally i wrote this little one-shot<3 fig i hope you like it

Spencer, who was arguably not-so easily frazzled, was currently debating whether or not to lose his shit in front of all of his new coworkers. It was his first day at the BAU, for Christ’s sake, and he was seconds away from making a complete fool of himself in the middle of the bullpen.

With nearly a dozen books in his arms, the arm of his glasses held firmly between his teeth, and a to-go cup of black coffee balanced precariously on top of the stack, he was an accident waiting to happen. He passed interns and desk agents coming and going as he headed to where he was told to meet his new boss, but it was only a matter of time before his adamancy in taking only one trip from his car came back to bite him.

If he had known there was a thick bundle of computer cables wired under the carpeted bullpen floor, he would’ve made it to his new desk without a single problem, but his scuffed Chuck Taylor’s immediately caught the bump of wires and before he knew it books were tumbling to the ground and his full cup of coffee had emptied itself all over…a very attractive man.

Fuck.

His glasses were in his lap, thankfully unbroken, but he hastily put them on only for the blurry man above him to get somehow more handsome.

As if the situation couldn’t get any more humiliating, his face went bright red and he fumbled trying to collect everything off the floor.

“Hey, hey, slow down kid,” the man spoke, making Spencer freeze on his knees, looking back up. “You okay?”

He was certain his heart was seconds away from beating out of his chest.

“Me? I…I’m the one that just spilled hot coffee all over your shirt,” he laughed nervously, wanting to melt into the floor and disappear forever. “I’m so sorry-“

The man laughed and somehow even his teeth were perfect when he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it, pretty boy. One of the benefits of this job is carrying spare clothes around in case we end up skipping town,” the man smirked, picking up some of the scattered books and stacking them up on a nearby desk. “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Spencer shook his head, still blushing as he felt multiple sets of eyes on him from around the room. He just hoped none of them belonged to his new boss.

“Good, well, I’ll take these for you if you’ll show me where your desk is,” he offered, a dark coffee stain still clear as day in the middle of his navy blue shirt.

Spencer followed uncomfortably behind him before pointing to an empty desk in the corner of the bullpen opposite another desk with a fair spread of files and picture frames adorning it.

“No kidding,” the man chuckled, dropping the stack of books on the desk. “I guess we’re desk neighbors, pretty boy.”

Spencer choked, coughing until he regained his composure as his handsome apparent-coworker pounded on his back to help him.

“Thank you,” he choked out, his throat still groggy. “I…I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

The man’s casual smile dropped and he took on a serious look.

“What do you mean?”

Spencer fiddled with the buttons on his cuffs, thoroughly embarrassed enough for one lifetime.

“I mean that I just spilled coffee all over you and humiliated myself on my first day and…and I clearly don’t belong here if I can’t even make it an hour before causing a disaster, but you’re just so…so nice and historically, guys like you are never nice to guys like me, but you are! And…and I can’t possibly fit in here, I don’t know what Gideon was thinking-”

“Hold up, Jason Gideon? Holy shit, you’re the one he’s been telling us about!” He looked like he was completely gobsmacked, looking Spencer up and down multiple times to the point where the younger man was getting concerned.

“I guess so…?” He explained shyly. “Why, did he not tell you I was twenty-two?”

The other man rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down at his shoes.

“No, no it’s not that it’s...,” he paused, smiling as if he was nervous. “It’s just that I was going to ask you out before I knew we were would be working together.”

Spencer did a double-take and just…stared.

“You…w-what?”

His older counterpart smiled.

“I know it’s technically against the rules but…I would love to take you to get a replacement coffee sometime,” he smirked, leaning up against Spencer’s desk. “What do ya’ say, pretty boy?”

Reid definitely wasn’t any more prepared for the nickname than he was before, but somehow when it followed an invitation for a date, it felt more genuine.

Not that he had ever been asked out before, and especially not by anyone as attractive as the man in front of him.

“I-I don’t even know your name,” he mumbled, desperate for any excuse.

“Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan, at your service,” he grinned, reaching forward to grip the short length of necktie that poked out from underneath Spencer’s sweater vest. “And you are?”

His heart was beating so fast and his head was spinning so dizzyingly that he almost didn’t register the response until it hit him hard.

Derek Morgan.

Fuck, even his name was sexy.

He flushed bright red at the even closer contact and how closely their faces were. Surely Derek wouldn’t do anything in the middle of the office but…but something told him the other man didn’t much care.

“D-Dr. Spencer Reid,” he stumbled, barely getting the words out of his mouth in what was more of a breathy whisper. He nearly blocked out everyone else in the room as his eyes just latched onto Derek’s and refused to look away. “And…I would love to get coffee with you, but I’m paying. Since, you know, I probably just gave you at least a second-degree burn from the last one.”

The beautiful man—Derek, his brain supplied—laughed heartily, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he reluctantly let go of Spencer’s tie.

“You drive a hard bargain, Doc,” he teased, circling around to his desk only to pull out a small duffel bag from which he produced a light gray henley shirt. “How’s lunch today sound?”

Spencer smiled as the older man began walking backwards slowly, not looking away until he got his answer.

“You know where I’ll be,” he answered, pleasantly surprising himself with his own ability to be coy.

Derek shot him one last smirk before disappearing down the hallway and Spencer was left absolutely dumbfounded by the conversation he’d just had.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled under his breath, sliding off his satchel and depositing it on his desk chair before following the signs to where Agent Gideon’s office was located, as he had been instructed to stop by upon arrival.

His hands were shaking and his heart was still pounding and he was sure that Gideon was going to comment on how red he knew his face would still be, but he was practically floating on cloud nine as he sat down with his pseudo-mentor.

“Spencer, did something happen? You look…stressed,” the older profiler spoke as he stepped into the room. He shrugged in an attempt to be casual, not really wanting to discuss his romantic life with Gideon of all people. Especially when it involved someone they both worked with.

“No, nothing, I guess I’m just excited,” he lied through his teeth, hoping the man who studied behavior for a living and knew him like his own son couldn’t tell he was definitely blowing smoke.

“Right, well, if you’re ready now I can have JJ call the team in for the briefing and you can meet everyone,” Gideon explained and Spencer followed him out of the room and down the hall. He pulled out a chair around the large round table for the younger man to sit down and he moved to stand by a large screen to talk to a blonde woman who didn’t look too much older than he was. She smiled at him as she began pressing buttons on a remote and he gave a quick wave before the room filled with, what he assumed was the rest of the team. As he stood he immediately locked eyes with Derek again, who smirked and set down his files in front of the seat right beside Spencer’s.

“Alright, well as I told you all, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and he’ll be joining our team from now on. Spencer, this is Agent Hotchner, our unit chief, Elle Greenaway, Derek Morgan, our technical analyst Penelope Garcia, and our communications liaison Jennifer Jareau,” Gideon listed, despite the fact that they all could’ve introduced themselves, but he was met with a tight hug from Penelope before he could protest and awkwardly adjusted his clothing afterwards.

He smiled nonetheless and explained that he didn’t do handshakes to the rest of the team before they all filled up the seats around the table with Derek sitting so close that he couldn’t help but notice him in the corner of his eye.

“So, no handshakes?” The other man whispered in his ear as JJ passed around the folders of new case files to the team.

Spencer huffed a laugh under his breath.

“Well, I have a bit of an issue with germs. Did you know shaking hands can transfer over three thousand bacteria between parties? Scientifically speaking, it would be safer to kiss,” he rambled before freezing as he realized the implications of what he had just said.

“Oh, really? Strictly scientifically?” Derek teased, knocking their knees together under the table.

He knew Derek was looking at him but he felt a smirk creep onto his lips as he refused to give in and kept his eyes on the slides JJ was presenting.

“Strictly,” he smirked coyly.

As they all collected their things and took off on the jet, Spencer couldn’t help glancing up from his work every few minutes to sneak glances at Derek from across the plane. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Derek was almost always staring back. Seemingly none of the other team members noticed anything going on between them, or if they did, they graciously didn’t mention it.

It wasn’t long until they landed and made their way to the local police station, all expressing concern that the station’s coffee machine was broken until Derek spoke up before anyone could move on.

“Reid and I will go pick up some coffee and lunch for everyone, I think we passed a cafe just down the street. You go ahead and start here, we’ll be back in no time,” he offered, nudging Spencer with his elbow until the younger man followed him out the door and into one of the parked SUV’s. “So, does now work for you to take a quick coffee date?”

Spencer laughed, relaxing already as Derek pulled out of the parking lot.

“Now sounds perfect.”

#moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #shemar moore #my writing

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diyunho · 4 years

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The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

*************

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

**************

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker x reader #joker leto #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #joker jared leto #mister j #mr. j #dc #dcu

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shepherds-of-haven · 4 years

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College!Au of Shepherd members? What likely are they (i.e. jock, player in the soccer team, bad-boy, the clichès.)? definitely not thinking of writing an au, and im certainly not thinking of maybe making a small edit about it. nOt aT aLl cApTAiN

Hi there! Have you seen the college AU asks? This one is pretty detailed about what kind of students they are, and this one is more succinct with their majors/minors! But I’m always happy to go more in-depth about AUs! 😉

In my imagination, Blade, Trouble, and Chase were suite-mates freshman year and get an apartment together when they’re not living on campus. (Halek, Red, and Riel are also roommates and then Riel can’t stand living in a dorm anymore so he buys a townhome with his family’s money and allows Halek and Red to live there to give himself some semblance of a social life.)

Blade is the scion of a very wealthy family who’s expected to take over the family business one day. Instead he majors in Criminal Justice and--in my imagination--secretly aims to become either a detective or a prosecutor because he suspects his family is involved with criminal organizations. He’s generally quiet, solemn, broody, and troubled (just like in the game lol) and is only dragged out to do “normal” college things by Trouble and Chase’s persistence! He’s in the fencing club and also goes to a mixed martial arts gym off-campus, sometimes with Trouble, which also happens to be the one Briony goes to.

Trouble is in ROTC and majors in mechanical engineering, with dreams of joining the Air Force and becoming a pilot after graduation if he can keep his grades up. For some reason I have this idea that he got into this university on a soccer scholarship? He plays guitar and later gets a dog because fuck it, he’s always wanted one, and he’s rebuilding an old motorcycle in his spare time at this garage where his old school friends work. He definitely wears bomber jackets and letterman jackets like, a lot. He’s very popular and considered a “jock,” but a friendly one! He has an English class with Red and a math class with Riel, going to both of their study groups and then driving them crazy because he either doodles instead of studying or texts. Part-time, I feel like he delivers pizzas for some reason...

Chase is the third part of their trio and is more lax about his studies than the other two (which is a bad influence on Trouble). He does not talk at all about his family or home life and generally spends the holidays with either Blade or Trouble’s families. He’s an undeclared major and has no idea what he wants to do after college and is not worrying about it. He pays smart kids to do his homework for him, so he has an excellent GPA, much to the class president’s (Riel) fury. He’s part of a frat but doesn’t actually drink at parties, more concerned that everyone’s having a good time and making fun memories than he is about himself. He doesn’t allow any scummy behavior in the frat and secretly, on a whim, auditioned for a student play and is surprisingly very into it, to the point where he asks Briony and Trouble for help with his lines. After throwing a huge party where [x] happens, he starts a group chat with everybody involved in this story and it’s sort of how they all become friends, even though many of them already knew each other individually. Oh, and he’s very into Tinder, much to the chagrin of his other two roommates.

I think Briony, Ayla, and Lavinet are also roommates, and so are Shery, Tallys, and Mimir. Briony-Ayla-Lavinet’s place (BAL? Brionaylavi?) is Party Central, whereas Shery-Tallys-Mimir’s place (STM? Shallir?) is Quiet Coffee-Drinking Art Loft Sometimes Hipster Slam Poetry Book Clubs Central.

Briony is either a journalism student or a law student, I can’t really decide. She takes a lot of extracurriculars at their university as a way to blow off steam, including a painting class (which is where she met Shery) and a horseback riding class, because why not? She has been training at the same mixed martial arts gym since she was a teenager, and she starts bringing Ayla and Lavinet there so they can defend themselves when they’re not altogether. Despite her cheerful attitude and popularity around campus, she seems to be running from a past back in her hometown that she doesn’t talk to anyone about, not even her closest friends: an obsessive ex and a dark past are just some of the things she doesn’t want catching up to her. Sometimes she earns part-time money covering shifts at the cafe Shery works at.

Ayla is a journalism/communications student who will later switch majors to hospitality and hate it. She gives wilderness tours and white-water-rafting tours in the summers as a seasonal job and plays volleyball on the university team during the spring seasons and track and field during the fall. Her grades are abysmal and she goes to the tutoring center often for help, which is how she meets Red and Riel. She rides a Vespa around town and also attends the yoga class that Tallys teaches. Yes she wears leather jackets and occasionally beanies. She was too cheap to a buy a meal plan at the university cafeteria so she often skims from others or uses their extra meals before the week runs out. She is a lover of junk food and crams their apartment pantry with all manner of chips, soda, ramen, packaged mac and cheese, and etc! She also definitely games.

Lavinet is a wealthy socialite daughter of the CEO and founder of a huge conglomerate: think a Paris Hilton, but more grounded. She’s majoring in business and political science, being groomed to take over her father’s role, but she wants a taste of “normal” life before that happens. All of her rich friends from high school thinks she’s slumming it with the other kids, but Lavinet’s having the time of her life. She tries not to stand out too much, but she unconsciously does, anyway: wearing designer coats and sunglasses to class, driving a flashy convertible, and keeping her books in a high-end handbag, because backpacks are “schlubby.” She means well but can sometimes be a bit of a drama queen to her roommates. She also loves juicy gossip and eats it up! She has been known to take her roommates’ phones and flirt for them with potential dates. She has a popular vlog and Instagram account, which I imagine is how Briony’s dark past catches up to her. She loves to get coffee at the shop that Shery and sometimes Briony work at and always seems to have a latte in her hand. She can point at any given person and name what lipstick they would be if they were one. She’s fairly good at her studies and loves to be in charge of study groups and gets into a war with another girl who tries to ‘poach’ her study partners. She absolutely takes French and fashion design classes and heads all over campus turn when she walks past!

Red, Riel, and Halek live in what is known as the “Nerd House.” Red is pretty much always at coffee shops and libraries, studying and reading, so much so that he doesn’t notice multiple other students checking him out in his rolled-up sweater sleeves and messenger bag. He’s got a bit of an “Academic Hipster” vibe and definitely has hipster tastes in music and books. He goes to poetry readings at cafes (of which Mimir is a staple) and goes on a lot of first dates that don’t lead anywhere, giving him the reputation of either a really picky person or a playboy. Does he wear glasses? Absolutely. Is it because he needs them? Probably not. On some subconscious level he is probably aware that he looks smart and cute in them. Sometimes he plays pickup soccer with Trouble’s practice team (he played in high school) when he realizes he’s been sitting around too long reading and needs to get some blood pumping! He studies philosophy and history as a double-major.

Riel is the class president and later valedictorian of their class. He majors in math, business and finance, history, and psychology as one of the university’s only “quadruple majors”. He comes from an extremely wealthy family that has donated so much money to the school that many of the buildings have his last name on them. Occasionally he volunteers at the tutoring center, where his worst and most rebellious student is Ayla, who he vows to break. You can often find him in the music building, reserving one of the practice rooms to play beautiful classical piano, which he doesn’t like to play at home with his roommates around. He abhors eating or studying outside because, mysteriously, every time he walks through the quad, a frisbee hits him in the head. He is the head of a business fraternity that is constantly being pranked by Chase’s frat.

Halek initially attended their university as a Food Science major, but dropped out and now attends the culinary arts institute across the street. (His twin brother, Naolin, goes to a prestigious university across the country and is studying to become a doctor.) He works as a barista at the cafe where Shery and sometimes Briony work as servers: the one with sleepy eyes that you end up spilling your life story to when you sit at the counter to drink your frappe and study. Plays the drums in a band that performs at open-mic nights and owns a tank of fish. In class he was constantly falling asleep at his desk but has no trouble now. Definitely smokes weed in his room occasionally and has a litany of tattoos up and down his forearms and hands (and for that matter, Ayla does too).

Finally, the Art Loft trio, Tallys, Shery, and Mimir, who definitely have a garden on their roof and hang their clothes up to dry in the sun up there, which Lavinet for whatever reason refers to as their “solarium.”

Tallys is a plant biology major who aims to be recruited into the country’s top holistic/nature-based pharmaceutical company. She teaches yoga outside of class to make money (and Ayla and sometimes Lavinet attend her morning classes). For whatever reason I feel like she smokes and looks really freaking cool doing it but decides to quit after a relative has a cancer scare. She enjoys classical music and plays the violin when she can. She is shares cooking duties with Shery and picks her up from her job at the cafe so she doesn’t have to walk home at night, leading many to mistakenly assume they’re girlfriends. She constantly has AirPods/earphones in, listening to music, and rarely speaks to others outside of class. Strangely, she owns a flip phone and owns no social media.

Shery is a nursing student who loves to cook and bake as a hobby. She’s a natural introvert and prefers to stay in with her roommates, watching TV while she embroiders, or something, but one day she decides she wants to be more social and that’s how she befriends Halek and Briony. She owns a cat who rules the roost in their apartment as well as a hamster. She keeps detailed diaries and also writes poetry, but is too shy to share it with anyone, including Mimir, her roommate who’s an art major. She always wears pastels and very cute clothing and is a straight-A student. Her parents are pretty stingy so she works at a coffee shop, the Haven, as a way to earn money. She’s also helping with costume design for Chase’s play and rides a bike to campus and to work. She’s close with her professors and often visits them during office hours just to chat.

Mimir is an art student who’s making a big splash in the local scene, as she’s regarded as something of a young genius for her bizarre slam poetry and cryptic, surrealistic paintings. She often does readings at the Haven coffee shop during open-mic nights, and she constantly wears a hoodie, even to class. She paints her nails black and rocks that goth artist aesthetic, complete with dark eye makeup and black lipstick. She rarely speaks, but when she does, it’s usually to say something startlingly-insightful or incredibly mysterious. She feeds birds in the main quad on campus, to the point where they recognize her and will fly to her hand. She smells constantly of incense and can sometimes be seen rummaging around in trash cans on campus for her art installations. There is a mysterious cloaked figure on campus who rides a unicycle while blowing on bagpipes that also spew fire that everyone thinks is her, and she only smiles and fades away when anyone asks.

#aurynofhavens #Shepherds of Haven #AU #modern AU #college AU #college #university #all characters #long

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headoverhiddles · 5 years

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You and Me and The Devil Makes 3 - Marilyn Manson x Brian Warner x Reader [Smut] - Part II

Synopsis: Both you and Brian can’t get the substitute teacher off your mind. Thankfully, Brian needs some extra help before an upcoming exam, and your regular teacher still hasn’t come back.

Notes: Long ass title. Anyway, someone asked for a sequel, so here’s more filthy Mancest ft you! IT’S FILTHY! We could all use the porn.

Part One

You bring your lips to your boyfriend’s, lazily making out after an hour of stressing the springs in his mattress.

A KISS record plays in the corner of his room. The afternoon sun seeps in over the countless Judas Priest and Nine Inch Nails posters all over the walls through the blinds that you’ve kept unturned. Both of you like the thrill of knowing Brian’s Christian neighbors might see you and your “filthy sex acts” again. Barb, Brian’s mother, hadn’t been too pleased after receiving that phone call, but Brian’s dad Hugh found it quite funny.

His parents liked you, called you a sweet girl. They don’t know much about Brian, and they don’t make much of an effort to—they know he’s into some dark music and he has a band, but they don’t know he’s interested in guys too, and they don’t know how far he wants to take his musical persona.

You’re also anything but sweet, but Barb and Hugh are well meaning, and you love them to death, always appreciative of the cake Barb feeds you when you visit the house. You think the two of them have some kind of idea that since Brian is almost finished high school, he’d take you somewhere and settle down with you. Neither of you want to settle down, but as far as either of you have shared, you have no plans of breaking up after grad.

You move your kisses down to Brian’s neck, and he keens under the attention, before reaching up to pull you back to his lips.

“I want you again,” you whisper, and Brian stares up at you.

“We just went four times, you brat.”

“But I’m horny.”

“And I’m soft, roll offa me. Gonna have to… watch some porn or something to get hard again…”

“This is better than porn,” you grin, unhooking your bra, and he pauses in his act of drinking down his bedside water glass, smiling too.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he laughs, and smoothes his hands up your rib cage to cup your breasts and fondle them. You lean down to drag them against his bare chest, and his hands move down to once again get himself ready to fuck again.

“So. We gonna talk about what happened on Friday?”

Brian’s breath hitches as he jacks himself to hardness again. “Do you want to?”

“I certainly think it raises some new… things, that we’re both obviously into.” Brian flushes a little, and you grin, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Hey. You know you can be comfy with me.”

Brian nods, thrusting up into you finally with a hiss. “It was hot… the stuff he did.”

“I know,” you breathe, shuddering as you slide back down over him, “I just wanted the two of you to double team me forever.”

“So is this a thing, then?” Brian whispers, “Like, a third person?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, “We could explore a polyamorous relationship. But for now, I’m okay with secret threesomes involving hot teachers.”

“You think he’s still there?”

“I think before he left on Friday, he mentioned he’d be around for another week. Mrs. Nordman wasn’t just hungover, she had the flu or something. Why?”

“I mean… we’ve got that English exam coming up soon.”

You smile. “We could use the extra help, hm?” He groans at that, pushing up into you harder, and you tilt your head back, riding him into his bed.

---

At school on Monday, you meet Brian at the front doors. He’s standing with Daisy, waiting for his friend to finish smoking, and doodling something on his hand. You see it’s a bunch of needles and lollipops.

“You know, you should’ve been an artist,” you smile, taking his hand.

“I am an artist. Different kind.”

Pogo approaches, swinging himself up onto the railing. “Morning, you sad fucks. How’re the losers today?”

“Depressed,” Daisy answers.

“Good to hear. I myself am in a fucking marvelous mood, seeing as I banged not one, not two-- but THREE chicks this weekend at a college tit party. THE MAD CLOWN HITS HOME AGAIN!” He lets loose his usual flurry of crazy laughter, the sound that could tell anybody the bald student was coming from a mile away.

“How’d you manage that?” Brian mutters, amused.

“Sorry, Mr. Big Dick, some girls have refined taste, unlike (y/n) or Mr. Manson in there, don’t argue, I know you fucked him.” He pauses his manic rocking, leaning forward. “I also told them I was in a wildly successful rock band.”

“There’s the kicker,” you nod.

“I did not fuck Mr. Manson,” Brian protests. Everyone turns to look at him, and he smirks your way. “He fucked me.” Laughter erupts.

“No smoking on school property, you goth weirdos,” some kiss-ass cheerleader snaps as she walks past, and Pogo catapults Brian’s pen at her head.

“We’re gonna be late, hurry up.” Brian nudges Daisy.

“This is my last one, and I’m too broke to afford another pack until I get my next paycheck,” Daisy complains, savouring another drag.

“Here, lemme have a puff,” Pogo says, motioning for it. Daisy passes it over, and Pogo flicks it into the grass, pulling everyone inside. “Problem solved!”

You giggle as Daisy shakes his head, and all of you turn when you hear screaming. There’s Jeordie, running toward the school like an idiot.

“I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna make it!” he’s shouting, then the bell goes. He tosses his backpack to the ground, kicking it. “SHIT!”

---

It’s an uneventful Monday, until the last class. When you get in and sit down, Mr. Manson is at the front of the class already, writing the day’s class plan out. Today, he’s dressed in a black button up, with a black vest over top of black pants. His hair is brushed back in a fairly respectable style, and… he turns around. His lips today are a soft coral pink, with black and blue eyeshadow. Brian stares at him, in awe once again at the man’s swaggering confidence and style. Why is it that with bisexuality, it’s always a question of if he wanted to be the other guy, or be in the other guy? Or have the guy in him, as the case may be.

“Alright. Before we start, does anyone have any questions about today’s makeup?” Manson’s tone is playful, and a light titter of laughter comes from the students. He grins. “Alright. You sure?” More laughter. “Okay. Today, we’ll be covering a new chapter of literary theory, and applying it to the first act of Hamlet.”

His dark eyes sweep the classroom as he marks off attendance, and when they come to rest on you, he looks up. “Is there a reason why you and Miss (y/l/n) were late today, Mr. Warner?” Your entire friend group looks at the two of you. Your boyfriend just shrugs.

“Yeah, there was a reason.” You raise an eyebrow right back with a smirk, and Brian leaves it at that. You’re surprised when Manson accepts this without a cheeky little order to see him after class, but that’s fine. Brian has an excuse to see him anyway.

While Mr. Manson is talking, Brian writes out some lyrics for a new song he and the Spooky Kids have been working on. He nudges you, and taps the paper, which has a verse written out.

VCRs and Vaseline

TV fucked by plastic queens

Cash in hand and dick on screen

(who said god was ever clean)

He’s drawn a big question mark under it, so you give a little check mark on the paper, with the note:

Hot.

“I know this shit is boring, but pay attention,” Manson says from the front of the classroom, glaring daggers at you two.

“Imagine that lipstick all over my naked body,” you whisper in his ear. Brian glares at you.

“Stop trying to get me hard in class.”

“Why?” you tease.

“Cause it’s fucking working.”

“Do you one of you guys have an eraser?” Jeordie whispers (far too loudly) from behind you. You pass him back yours, and look at him sternly.

“Don’t pick it apart like you did all my other ones.”

“What did I just say?” Manson snaps from the front of the class.

“We were just—!” you try to protest.

“No talking. Last warning.”

You and Brian exchange looks. He’s in a mood today, and you can’t wait to see how the two of you can test him even more after class.

When the class is finished, you all wait until the rest of the students are gone. Pogo looks back at you two from the door, making obscene blow job gestures. Mr. Manson doesn’t look up from the desk.

“Did you need something, Mr. Bier?”

“Not me!” Pogo snickers, dashing off to go catch up with Daisy and Jeordie.

“Mr. Manson?” Brian asks, “I need a little bit of help with studying for the upcoming exam. I dedicate a lot of time to my band, and… don’t study as much as I should.”

“Mm. And (y/n)? You just gonna watch your boyfriend... ask for help?” Manson asks.

“I might learn a few things too, by sticking around,” you say, and lean forward against your desk. Manson’s eyes roam down to your cleavage, and he closes his book, getting up. He walks over to the door, locks it, and comes back over.

“The English exam. Yeah. As you know, I don’t know much about your curriculum, or really, about the exam itself.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t try to help us out,” you say. “Please sir? We really need help.” Mr. Manson looks at you, blue and black shadow making his hooded eyes seem supernatural.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brian walks over to his desk, chin jutted out in confidence that will be lost as soon as Manson looks him in the eye. Sure enough, when the substitute gives your boyfriend one of his looks up and down, sweeping his entire body as if he’s a meal about to be devoured, Brian shudders. But he’s not about to lose his cool.

“See… I don’t get the whole psychoanalytic theory,” Brian says, putting the book down in front of Mr. Manson, “I don’t see how it applies to Hamlet.”

“Of course you pick the Freudian thing.” He sighs. “Well first, you have to understand psychoanalysis.” Manson looks over to you pointedly. “I’m sure you know all about Freud and his phallic symbols. You two had a lot of fun drawing them on your notes last Friday.”

Brian laughs a little at that. Wrong move. Manson gets up, and in one quick stride, he has your boyfriend pushed down and bent over the desk, ass up.

“What the fuck?” Brian mutters, but you can hear the whine at the end of his protest. Your legs rub together as your finger grazes your lower lip… you want to see how this turns out.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Manson says slowly, “I’m gonna help you two, since you fuck around in class all the time and never pay attention.” He leans in close to Brian, and your boyfriend glares up at him for holding him in such a vulnerable position. Manson just smirks, and gets out a ruler from the desk. “Our angel over there is gonna answer some questions of mine, baby. Got it?”

“What do you—?” A sharp slap echoes, as Manson hits the desk with the ruler hard.

“You say yes sir, and no sir, or this desk will be that pretty little ass. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Brian breathes, laying his face down on the desk. You raise an eyebrow, spreading your legs just a bit.

“You really have enough confidence in me that I know these answers?” you grin.

“Nah. I’m counting on you not knowing a single one, baby girl,” Manson smiles, and traces the ruler up Brian’s back. “But try your best. He’s counting on you.” Manson gets the ruler ready again. "Tell me what the basis of psychoanalytic theory is."

"It's a theory that draws from psychoanalyzing the behavior of the characters in the... in the story," you say, eyes trained on Brian.

"Good start," Manson nods, rubbing his hand up Brian's back, "Saved you this time, sweetheart." Brian makes a noise, akin to a moan, and Manson looks at you again, expectantly, from the depths of that eyeshadow. "What are some examples?"

"There's... a response to modern day literature from a new and improved perspective."

"Wrong," Manson says, "That's postmodernism."

“Aw. Guess that must’ve slipped my mind.” You shift in your seat, reaching down to touch yourself. Manson sees this out of the corner of his eye, and lifts his chin.

"Mr. Warner?"

Brian obediently pulls down his leggings just enough. Not satisfied with this, Manson pulls them down to his knobby knees, and hits him hard with the ruler. Brian's hips rut against the desk, and your pussy clenches as you rub faster circles.

"Again, sir," Brian whimpers.

"You want another one?" Manson asks.

"Yes, sir."

"(y/n)... your boy here's a bit of a slut."

"I'd have to agree," you grin, head rolling back as a moan is drawn from your throat.

"I guess I should know that by now. Have you ever tried fucking him?"

Brian's breath hitches, and you think about this. "He's never asked."

"Imagine how that'd feel, hm?" the teacher whispers in Brian's ear, "Her fingers inside of you... filling you up. You like that?"

"Fuck, fuck," Brian groans, hips pushing forward against the desk. He's painfully hard.

"Gonna cum in your pants?” Manson rasps.

“No...” Brian clenches his jaw. “Ugh...”

“What if she fucked you with three fingers? Spreading this perfect ass wide open?" he continues to tease, snarling, "What if I did? You like the pain, don't you? It turns you on." Manson spanks him again, harder, and you can see the red imprint he’s left.

"Yeah..." Brian moans, his usual grumble raising in pitch. "I want you both to fuck me."

"First, you get to watch." Mr. Manson looks over to you, and beckons. You make a show of teasing back, mouthing 'me?' Before Manson has a chance to threaten, you stand, walking over to the teacher. He stands a full few feet taller than you, the height difference still as hot as it was in the washroom the other day. He takes you by the shoulders, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is sloppy and heated. You moan, sliding your hand down to cup his cock through his black slacks. You can feel the hefty erection respond to your touch, but you want to feel it inside you, fucking you. Brian watches, and reaches down to give himself some relief.

"Ah ah," you break away from the kiss to say, "Someone's being naughty." Brian shoots you a glare for ratting him out, and you blow your boyfriend a kiss as Manson turns to look at him.

"Do I have to tie you up, baby boy? Or can you stop those hands from wandering, hmm?" Hearing that in Manson's deep growl is such a turn on. You pull him back to you.

"Let him stay like that. If you spank him again, he's gonna cum all over the desk."

"Disgusting," Manson chastises, licking his lips, "Filthy filthy, Mr. Warner."

"At least I didn't take out my cock in class and start stroking it for you to see," Brian mouths off.

"I'm sure you would've loved to do that," you smirk, going back to stroking Mr. Manson through his pants.

"Mm. Yeah. Bet you would’ve loved to take it out, show everyone how hard you were. How ready you were for your girlfriend and your fucking teacher to take turns on you.”

"I..." Brian groans.

"Use your words, slut."

"Yeah," he breathes, "I might... I don't know, get embarrassed, but--"

"Sluts don't get embarrassed," Manson says sharply. "Besides, as a big rock and roll singer, I'd imagine that you do much worse onstage. Or am I wrong?”

“Tell him all the shit you've done onstage," you moan.

Brian shifts his hips, recalling everything he'd done during a show. Mr. Manson was right-- when he was onstage, it was as if he became a different person. A persona. Someone darker, maniacal even. Someone who's willing to do anything.

"I've fucked (y/n) onstage," he growls. "Fucked her til her tight little cunt couldn't take it anymore."

Mr. Manson takes his cock out of his pants, starts stroking it himself as you lay back on a desk in front of him. You watch his cockhead disappear in his fist with every stroke, licking your lips.

"What else?"

"I stripped her down naked in front of everyone... and ate her pussy."

"Oh god," you whine, picturing that night. You had both been so high you had forgotten there was even an audience.

"That must have felt good." Manson looks to you.

"It did. It did, and I love it," you murmur, glancing down to your exposed breasts, "Just like him. I wanna be filled by you, sir. Just like Brian fills me up."

Brian rolls his hips against the desk as Mr. Manson slots himself between your legs, dragging his cock between the folds of your pussy. "So fuckin' wet. It'll be so easy to get into you, baby girl."

"Please, Mr. Manson," you moan, “I need you.”

"Fuck her," Brian gasps out, "She's such a fucking cockslut, she needs it." You nod. Manson reaches his hand up to cup one of your breasts as he slides in, filling you to the hilt.

"Oh god," you manage out, hands grabbing at the edges of the small desk. Manson’s cock isn’t as long as Brian’s, but it’s thicker, so thick you can feel the pain of the stretch.

"Fuck," Brian whines, watching Manson pull out almost fully then pound back into you. He’s frustrated—he can’t touch himself, and his cock is heavy and weeping against the desk. He could cum from any little touch at this point.

"If you even think about touching your cock, the punishment will be unimaginable," Manson growls to your brat of a boyfriend. Brian groans in complaint, resting his head against the desk as he continues to rock his hips and watch. "Tell me more about how you fuck (y/n)," Manson says, thrusting in hard. The desk skids back a couple of inches, and you gasp. "Ah, nope. The principal could still walk by, baby girl. Don't want him to hear the three of us acting out our own little porno, do you?"

"No, sir."

"No. That's right. Mr. Warner? You were saying?"

"I fuck her all the time," Brian says, words tumbling out of his mouth as he loses his grip. "We fuck between classes, before class, after class. She always wants my dick.”

"Yeah?" Mr. Manson asks, humming low in his chest. "Seems like you just can't get satisfied baby, hm?"

"I get satisfied," you reply, grinding your hips down obscenely, "I just love his cock so much that I want it all the time. I love feeling full."

"Why don't we make good and sure you're nice and full then?" Manson beckons Brian over, not stopping his thrusts for a second. Brian’s surprised for a moment that he gets to move or do anything, but quickly complies. Manson’s belt jangles as he grunts, balls slapping your ass. "Give our baby girl a mouthful."

Your eyes light up, and Brian's lips quirk up. He loves watching you get used, and being a part of it is almost too much for him. He stands, and gets over top of your face, willing himself not to blow the minute he pushes between your pretty pink lips.

"Lemme see that nice cock, baby boy," Manson rasps. His breath hitches when Brian strokes his fist all the way up the length, over the head, and back down. "Mmm, perfect. Give her some, she looks thirsty."

"Take it, baby," Brian whispers, biting his lip as he smacks his cock against your lips, "C'mon, you know you want it."

"You know her safe word?" Manson mutters. Brian nods. You open wide for your boyfriend, and he slides his cock into your mouth, stopping before it hits the back of your throat. He raises his eyebrows down to you, and you nod again, feverishly. It's almost too much, the older man fucking you into the desk so hard and your boyfriend using your mouth to get off. But you love the thrill, and you're getting closer to your climax every second.

"You're doing so good," Mr. Manson says to you, stroking down your pelvic bone to caress your stomach, your clit, down to your inner thighs. Your hips buck. "Shhh. Taking us so good, sweetheart."

"Isn't it "so well?' You are an English teacher, right?" Brian asks, grinning. Mr. Manson shoots him a look daring to go any further with that. Brian knows his place, casting his eyes downward.

"You like to piss people off, don’t you?" Manson asks.

"Yeah. It's part of my, uh... my thing."

"Your thing right now is to quit being a smart ass, fuck your girlfriend's mouth, and do what your told."

Brian sucks his cheekbones in, biting his bottom lip hard as he feels his cock throb. "Yes, sir!" He gives a sarcastic mock salute with a big dumb grin, and that does it.

"Back over the desk."

"What?!" Brian's eyebrows furrow angrily.

"You heard me. Get back. Over. The desk. Now."

Brian whines, and removes himself from your mouth. As he's walking back over though, the fearless streak continues. He fondles Mr. Manson's bare ass as he walks by, clucking his tongue. "Damn, daddy. Great ass, for an old man."

You smirk, knowing it'll get a rise out of the teacher. But he just goes back to fucking you-- albeit much faster.

"Oh... oh yeah. Oh god," you hiss, trying still to keep it as quiet as possible. Mr. Manson's short black hair falls from his coiffed mohawk and into his eyes as he starts to get close. "I'm gonna fucking cum," you moan, tits bouncing in your bra. Manson pushes in one more time, and you cum hard on his cock, mouth falling open.

He pulls out of you when you're finished, and Brian comes over, kneeling down and taking Mr. Manson's cock into his mouth. He suckles for a few seconds, then takes him down all the way as the older man shudders, buries his fingers into your boyfriend's hair, and cums down his throat. Brian swallows, blinking up at the teacher, and Mr. Manson looks down at him, at the teenager’s painfully swollen cock resting on his thigh.

"You've been a good boy," he mumbles, “Helped daddy cum. I think you deserve something.” Brian's eyes flutter shut, and Manson strokes his cheek. With a gasp from the touch alone, Brian suddenly cums untouched all over his leg and the floor. You watch him convulse through every wave of his orgasm, then rest back on his hands when he finishes.

Manson sits on the edge of his desk, and you stand, helping Brian clean up. He runs a hand through his long black hair, and fiddles his tongue against his lip ring.

"You know... you should come check out the Spooky Kids in concert sometime."

Manson runs a hand through his hair, making sure he looks his best-- comfortably disheveled. "Your band?"

"Yeah. You were in a band yourself, weren't you?" Brian smirks.

“Yeah.”

"As long as you bring some good, uh... you know, nose candy-- gotta make the sacrificial offerings to the band-- then feel free to show up."

“He doesn’t do nose candy, bring some ring pops and lollipops and that’ll be more than sufficient,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“What makes you think I've got drugs on me anyway?" Manson deadpans. "I'm a fuckin' high school English teacher." Brian stares at the debauched man with lipstick smeared down his chin and hair standing up from all angles. Manson bursts into what can only be described as giggles. "Yeah. Well, I’m not about to give my drugs away to a group of 18 year old musicians. Then you’d turn out just like me.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Brian teases, tugging slightly at the silver skull brooch on Manson’s lapel. Manson strokes his knuckles.

“If I'm still in town, I'll see if I can make it to a show. You seem like you’d be good. Like you’ve got rock star in your blood.” It’s as if Brian’s whole body blushes—it’s freaking cute you think, as you fix your hair. “--But only if I get to come backstage with the rest of the groupies."

"Oh," you smile, approaching to fix Mr. Manson’s black tie, "We'll be waiting for you."

“Who else is in this band?” Manson asks out of curiosity. “Anyone else from this class?”

“Stephen, Scott, Jeordie. Another kid named Freddy, doesn’t go here.”

“Bier is crazy enough to be in a band, I’d believe that. Putesky, that’s interesting. He doesn’t seem the type. He seems like he’d be the type to yell at people like you to turn the music down.”

Brian nods, “Yeah, we tell him that all the time. He looks like someone’s grandpa. He shreds on the guitar, though, you’d be surprised. So does Jeordie.”

Manson huffs, getting his bag together, “Jeordie? That doesn’t surprise me as much.” The substitute teacher lets you two out of the classroom, and checks the time. 4 PM now. “Well. I hope you feel ready for the exam. I didn’t do shit to help you, but...”

“We got what we needed to,” you say, fixing your skirt with a small smile.

“Good. Cause I think you’ve got a pretty good idea of what’ll happen if you get a fuckin’ F.”

#marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #brian warner #brian hugh warner #brian warner x reader #reader x brian warner #spooky kids #spooky kids era #marilyn manson and the spooky kids #heaven upside down #heaven upside down era #mancest #by request #teacher student #teacher au

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omg-baeyoung-baeran · 4 years

Text

Maybe I Should Resign (Jumin/MC Oneshot)

youtube

Summary:

When your cringeworthy, cutesy cat-based post-its meant for your depressed friend are accidentally sent to your stone-hearted boss...take it as a sign to turn in your resignation letter.

o-o-o-o

It was mischievous and amusing, he admitted. The words written were always related to his current situation for some reason. Initially, it was odd and suspicious, but after it had given him comfort on several occasions, he had grown a little fond of the notes sent attached to his cup of coffee.

Unless it was something related to cats, he was never the type to waste time, energy, or even money on something that did not involve the family and the company’s benefit; therefore, he never bothered finding the person behind it. He figured it was another scheme from someone who wanted to get ahold of his affection, so it was in his best interest to leave things be. The interaction went on for months, and the unknown person did not seem to have missed a single day doing the same task.

Impressive.

This mysterious person had persistence he would applaud of if he or she were not using it on something insignificant.

“Make efforts for yourself too because you are worth it!” The sticky note was purple this time.

That day, he bought himself a cat mug and was delighted by it.

Is this what commoners mean by “reward yourself”?

The first time the note made him frown deeply was when his father was involved with another woman, though the message was not the reason why he had made such a face. He wondered once again who the person might be behind the notes. Is it a woman who has the same intentions like his father’s passing lovers? Is it a man who is sucking up for a promotion?

He had asked Jaehee before who had been preparing his coffee lately, since he had her retire from the task to handle more important matters at hand.

“It’s the chef’s son who prepares the coffee for the executives, Mr. Han.”

“He is not an employee.”

“Yes, but he volunteered to work without pay to help his father fulfill his duties without problems. I have offered to raise the concern to you, Mr. Han, but he refused.”

He hummed, raising his hand to his chin in thought. “Make him sign a contract and ensure his pay is more than sufficient to compensate for the days he did not get paid.”

Jaehee nodded and reconfirmed, “We will need to help him get a lawyer for the contract. The chef has mentioned before that his son is illiterate, so I will be contacting Mr. Joyou for recommendations.”

For a brief second, his eyes flashed in confusion. “Are you sure his son is illiterate?”

He received the third report the next day, proving that the chef’s son was indeed illiterate.

From mysterious messages, it went down south to suspicious messages.

Fortunately, nothing other than passing one-sided notes was happening. The messages were innocent and can sometimes be helpful, thus there was no need to be alarmed.

“Meow~ a kitty a day keeps the purrblem paway!”

It can sometimes be… cute… he begrudgingly confessed.

That was the first time it made him smile and his heart flutter.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

It was a huge mistake.

All this time, she was digging her own grave, and she had no idea she had dug deep enough to be a knock away from entering the gates of hell. She had been writing him notes to cheer him up and, perhaps, brighten up his troubled days. Pretending to be a maid to gather information unavailable online from a huge company seemed to be a huge hassle. He was tasked to do it for months too; hence, she made sure he wouldn’t get too lonely.

She wrote him notes—which she thought might help him smile—and stuck them on the cup of coffee he would serve for the employees. He never mentioned anything about it whenever they got the chance to chat. It was a bit disappointing, but her little help appeared to be working well. He seemed genuinely happy, and that was the only thing that mattered.

That was until she got a response in the form of a cat-shaped baby blue sticky note.

The coffee area was empty early in the morning. Most employees were yet to arrive, but the tray holding the cup where she usually stuck her messages already had a sticky note attached to it. Her lips touched the rim of the mug, her own sweetened coffee warming her cold lips.

Oh? A response? I wasn’t expecting that….

She took the note, flipping it around to inspect it.

Cat-shaped? Aw, so cute! Seven really loves cats.

Her eyes scanned the message written.

“Write something about cats today.”

Huh? Wait, hold on, something’s wrong here.

She felt the heavy feeling of dread fill her stomach as she analyzed the piece of paper in her hand. Her mother had always jokingly called her “stupid” when she was in her teens, but she never believed it was true until she actually gave evidences to such hypothesis. Her joke was probably not a half-meant joke but a prediction of what she would become in the near future.

One thing she was certain of….

This is totally not his penmanship.

She had known Seven for years and was one of his closest friends. He would even take her out at random times to get ice cream even when his schedule was loaded. They would write on receipts and draw doodles of whatever came into their imagination. His penmanship was not necessarily messy but it carried its own charm.

This, on the other hand, looked too elegant to be his.

“Umm… good morning, Ma’am,” greeted a young man with brown hair and light brown eyes.

She forced a smile, tucking the note into her skirt’s pocket. “Good morning! Are you gonna grab a coffee?”

“Oh! Umm… no… haha! I am more of a tea person, though I make coffee for the executives.” His laugh sounded awkward, but she thought he looked like a nice guy. “Please do excuse me,” he muttered before passing in front of her, grabbing the tray where the cup with the note was placed.

The coffee she drank nearly burst out of her nose when she choked.

“Miss?” the boy questioned in a low voice, albeit slightly alarmed, “Are you okay?”

Her laugh can sound as fake as it was, but her petrified mind was too horrified to function.

“Ohohoho! I am fine! Nothing to worry about!” she beamed between coughs.

Later that day, Jumin did not get his daily note.

He tried to deny it the best he could, but it was just too evident.

It was the first time it made him upset.

Just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

When a week came without a single note from the mysterious messenger, he started to feel unusual. It may be childish of him, but because he had learned to like it, it brought him disappointment to find a typical cup of coffee served in front of him. Perhaps it was from the fact that he forcefully abandoned his childhood before that his childhood spirit came back to bite him now.

Each morning, it got him curious of what secret message he would receive for the day. Will it be another joke? Another cat pun? He learned to find excitement in the short letters and “freebies” that came with it. Once, he got a stamp, and it caused him to raise a single brow.

“What is this?” he asked the chef’s son while he studied the white cat stamp between his fingers.

The chef’s son cocked his head to the side. “I do not have a clue, Mr. Han. I just found it on the tray next to your cup. I assumed it was something important and someone wanted to send it to you.”

It was nothing expensive, yet he kept it displayed on his table.

That was weeks ago… and he missed it.

Again, just a little bit.

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

The gossip which greeted her ears the moment she entered the office mortified her beyond belief. Apparently, the heir of the C&R International company had asked if anyone knew of someone who was courageous enough to leave “memos” on his cup of coffee. He worded it terribly, as though it was a violation of the company’s rules and regulation, so it was not a surprise people made a huge deal out of it.

I’m leaving this company. I will never rise from the ashes of my shame and humiliation. Surely, Mr. Trust Fund Kid will know immediately if he’s ever free to check the cctv footage.

With a silent battle cry, she filed her resignation a day later…

and just her luck, a secret agent had successfully stolen quite an important document from the CEO the very same day.

“You are relieved from your mission, Agent 707.”

0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0

“Are you sure you did not misplace it, Father?”

Three people stood inside the CCTV control room. They were surrounded by more than 20 monitors that were flashing previous clips from the past weeks.

“I am sure without a single doubt that I kept it hidden in drawer 7.”

Dark, calculating orbs scrutinized the video. It was the last clip they were reviewing, and it was where the chairman can be last seen holding the documents prior leaving it in drawer 7.

“How can it disappear when no one has entered Father’s room? Have you double checked the system if anything’s amiss?”

He patiently waited for a response while the control manager worked on the system check—his eyes drifting back to the multiple clips they were previously analyzing.

There was Yeonwa chatting with Jaehee...

Jaewoo bringing in three boxes of pizza...

Helena bumping into Chong—

He frowned.

“August 6, 2018” was coded on the top right corner of the screen. If he was not mistaken, the company suspended all works that day to celebrate their successful purchase of Grace Cup Store.

So why are there employees working?

“Mr. Han,” the male manager cut off, “I believe the entire footage was placed in a loop since March using videos back in 2016.”

“Since… March?” He racked his brain for any memory that happened back in March. There were international events, meetings, partnership requests….

“Surprises will start today~ I’ll make sure you’ll enjoy it.^^”

Now that he recalled, he was pretty sure the notes started back in March.

o-o-o-o

Soooo this is meant to be an open-ended oneshot, but we MAY post a second chapter (emphasis on “may”)

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger jumin #mystic messenger jumin x mc #mystic messenger oneshot #mystic messenger han jumin #jumin han #jumin #jumin x mc #mysme jumin #mc ya dun goofed

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ehenyeoongg · 4 years

Text

A CONTRACTUAL MARRIAGE

Pairing: CEO Lee Taeyong x Kang Jiyeon Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: She recently found out that she was pregnant with his child. But towards the end of the contracted marriage, she noticed he was acting more hostile towards her. After the contracted marriage, she decided to keep the baby a secret, until her best friend decided that her break up was not a good enough excuse to not attend the party she had organised for Jiyeon.

"Chaeyeon! Where did you get it?" I asked my best friend who held a beautiful strapless blue midnight gown up.

"I asked my mum about it. She said she would love to see you in it. Sister, your body is perfect for it. It's like she actually made the dress for you." She over exaggerated. I thanked her and changed into the dress. It was loose, and hid the small baby bump that had begun to form a month ago. She did my makeup and helped me choose my jewelry. When we were ready, we got into the white limousine waiting for us outside.

I scrolled through Instagram as we were on the way there and a post caught my eye.

[KIM MINHEE AND LEE TAEYONG SEEN TOGETHER. WHERE IS MRS. LEE?]

I switched my phone off and placed it in my bag. Soon, we arrived at the venue. I got out of the car and the cameras started flashing immediately. Reporters asked questions and I ignored them and continued walking as bodyguards helped control the crowd.

We walked into the room and I noticed people were staring at us. God, why is everyone looking at us? Is it the dress? The makeup? It must've been the posts.

I looked around and two people caught my eye. There he is, and with another woman. Why should I care? It's not like he ever loved me anyway. I looked away and excused myself to go to the washroom but Chaeyeon pulled me back.

"Hey beautiful, where are you going? I helped you with your makeup and dress, you better not mess this up." she walked off.

I turned around and noticed that he was gone from his place beside Minhee. I looked and saw him walking quickly towards me. I turned to walk away but he followed me and pulled me into an empty hallway.

"Why are you here?" He asked, his hand gripping my wrist tightly.

"It's my best friend's party and hasn't our contract ended already? You don't have to pretend to be a caring husband anymore. We're over, you said it yourself. You didn't want anything to do with me anymore." I snatched my hand away before walking off.

"Jiyeon!" he shouted after me.

"You're already with another woman, why care about me?" I heard his footsteps and quickened my pace as he caught up with me.

"Minhee? Jiyeon, No," He held me by my bare shoulders and turned me around to face him, "She told me you'd be here and I agreed to attend. I was looking for you all over Korea, but couldn't find you. Where were you?" I kept quiet.

"Kang, No. Lee Jiyeon. I care for you. I love you." his warm hands held mine.

"Love? The day we met, you-"

"The day we met. Yes, I followed you, but I wasn't stalking you. You were drunk, I just wanted to help you return home safely, but you refused to tell me where you lived and I had to bring you over to my place. Then you walked straight to my room and.. You know the rest." He took in a deep breath.

"Jiyeon, if anything you are the best wife in the world. I'm sorry if I hurt you and if I was cold toward you. I was just scared that someone would steal you away from me and use you as my weakness. I'm sorry I wasn't truly honest about my feelings towards you. Before you came into my life, I didn't know the meaning of joy, happiness or love. But during our entire relationship, all you did was open my eyes to everything. You turned my life so colorful even my hairstylists can't argue." he pointed to his red hair. It had been white when I met him, then blue. When I saw him with his red hair, I thought his head was bleeding.

"Jiyeon, I'm sorry." I wiped away the tears on his cheeks that fell as he spoke. He pulled me into a hug and I hugged back as he rested his head on my shoulder.

“I-”

“Marry me, Jiyeon. For real this time, no contract.” I looked up at him with tears in my eyes and nodded.

"Let's go, the party's starting." Mark appeared suddenly. Taeyong nodded, and I was about to follow the younger boy out, but he pulled me into his arms. He wiped my tears away and held my face as he looked into my eyes.

"Wait, promise me you won't ever leave me again?" I nodded.

"Promise." I kissed him and he gave me another kiss.

"And you'll put this back on?" there was a ring on his pinky finger. I threw it away into the river that day, where did he find it? I nodded and smiled at him as he took the ring off and put it on my ring finger. We walked back into the room, my arm linked through his.

Minhee looked surprised to see us.

"Hey, lovebirds." Chaeyeon invited us to a table. Doyoung sat beside her.

"Let the show begin." Taeyong gave a questioning look as the pair turned to face the stage where Mark was standing on.

"Good evening everybody. I hope you have all had an enjoyable time today and I am sad to say that this gathering has come to an end. Oh, but before we end, shall we watch a clip?"

The lights dimmed as a few people brought in a projector and screen up on stage and set it up. Two figures stood in a hallway. The smaller figure looked like a girl. Minhee? Her voice blasted through the speakers.

"I told you to ruin them. I even paid you. How much more do you need to get rid of her? I'll pay you everything. Just separate Lee Taeyong and Kang Jiyeon! Kill her if you have to!" She shouted at the person standing in front of her and the clip ended.

There were murmurs all over the room.

"As you all know, a few accidents have occurred over the past few days, which our dear Mrs. Lee has been involved in. So, after countless nights, my team and I have been searching for the culprit."

I turned in Minhee's direction as she stood up. The car accident, kidnapping.. Everything was all planned by her?

"No, that wasn't-I.. Taeyong.." she slowly walked closer to our table as a few detectives burst through the double doors and ran over to her. Taeyong's eyes burned with fury as he stood up from his seat glaring at her.

"Now, Ms Kim. What do you have to say to defend yourself?" Doyoung stood in front of Minhee. "You harmed two lives when you put Mrs Lee in danger. And remember, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." Wait, how did he know? I gave Chaeyeon a glare and caught Taeyong staring at me with an open mouth when I looked away from her.

"Two?" he asked.

"Surprise?" I said.

"You're pregnant!?"

"Yes, she is." Minhee hid a smirk. "But I don't think she will be any more," She broke free from the detectives holding her down and ran toward me with a knife in her hand. Taeyong pushed me out of the way and she stabbed him instead. I watched as her eyes widened and she pulled away.

"TAEYONG!" he fell to the floor as Minhee ran away with the detectives chasing her.

"GUARDS!" Mark shouted and some guards ran after her as I sat on the floor with Taeyong's head on my lap.

"Take care of the baby, I-"

"What are you saying!? You're not gonna die. The wound wasn't that deep. All you need is some stitches." Mark interrupted him.

"You ruined my one chance at acting heroic, Mark Lee. But it hurts like hell, help me get up."

THREE YEARS LATER

"Jagi! Not in front of the kids." I said and he pulled away from me before turning to face Taehyun and Chae Ah. He helped me out of the pool and shook his head. Water from his now green hair splashed all over me. We walked to the barbeque grill where Doyoung and Chaeyeon were grilling some meat.

"Taeyong, can I have some lettuce?" Doyoung pulled on Taeyong's hair.

"Ha ha. Very funny." Taeyong laughed sarcastically while passing the bowl of lettuce to him.

"Appa!" Taehyun ran over to us.

"Taehyun, don't run by the pool." he slowed down and I watched as he slowly toddled over to us.

"For you." he pasted a plaster over Taeyong's scar on his lower abdomen. The plaster had a doodle of a smiley on it.

"Thank you." he gave Taeyong a kiss on the cheek before running off to play with Chae Ah.

"Let's get this party started!" Mark and Johnny walked into the backyard with some more meat. Lucas cannonballed into the pool and the water splashed onto the two children.

"Ah! Leg cramp! Taehyun! Save me!" Taehyun jumped into the water to save Lucas. Chae Ah cried and Ten picked her up, giving her a lollipop. She stopped crying as soon as she put the lollipop in her mouth.

"A drama queen, just like her mother." Ten said.

"Yah! Since when was I a drama queen?" Chaeyeon scolded Ten and was about to run after him.

"Jagi, it's not good for the baby.." Doyoung pulled Chaeyeon back, his hand resting on her stomach. More boys came from the beach to help grill the food and play with the children.

"Weren't we supposed to surprise them together?" Chaeyeon whispered to me and I shrugged.

"Taehyun!" Lucas walked to her with Taehyun on his shoulders. She tiptoed and whispered into Taehyun's ears.

"It's a secret, okay.." He shrugged and bent down to whisper in Lucas' ear.

"WOOHOO! WE'RE GETTING A BABY SISTER!!" Taehyun and Lucas danced around excitedly.

Chae Ah cried again. "I don't want a baby sister.." her pout reminded me of her mother.

"You're not getting a baby sister, sweetheart. The baby in mummy's tummy is a boy!"

"I don't want a boy.. I want a puppy.." To console her and stop her crying, Ten pretended to be a puppy which made her face light up.

"Woohoo!" Someone suddenly lifted me up and jumped into the pool.

"Lee Taeyong!" I resurfaced above the water and someone cannonballed beside me.

"Lee Taehyun!" he swam to us and clung to Taeyong's arm.

"Who taught you to do that?" he pointed his finger at Lucas. They need to stop hanging around each other.

!image credits to owner!

#NCT #NCT Taeyong #Taeyong #NCT scenarios #NCT127 #nct u #lee taeyong

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marshmallow-phd · 5 years

Text

Lies Untold

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Supernatural, Wolf Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: For generations, your family has been the protectors of mankind. You were considered one of the best and due to that reputation, you were sent on what could be the most important mission for the organization. Going under cover in a college to sniff out a particularly large and threatening wolf pack seemed easy enough. But when you meet one of the members, everything you’ve known since birth will be overturned and your loyalty to your family and heritage will be tested.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I Final

You shouldn’t be doing this. You knew that you shouldn’t. And you couldn’t even say you knew it deep down because the anguish and fight was right there on the surface of your heart.

All week, you’d been trying to figure out a way to avoid this, to come up with another plan that didn’t involve anyone getting hurt, but you came up empty. So there you were, sitting up in that tree, your bow as heavy as lead in your hand.

From where you were perched, you could still see the rental that you had parked on the side of the road. After the deed was done, you’d need a quick getaway. You were also secretly hoping that they wouldn’t come this close to the edge of the forest.

An hour or so had gone by without any sign of them. While you were relieved, you were also anxious. Over and over, you told yourself that it was better that you did this rather than Johnny showing up. It was a lie, of course. This wasn’t any better, not really.

You felt like a fraud. Like there were two different versions of you walking around, inhabiting the same body. There was the one you’d always known, the one who was loyal to her family and the organization. And then there was the new you, the one who’d grown stronger after perhaps living deep inside you in the dark for so long. That version questioned everything she’d ever been taught, all for the sake of a wolf. You didn’t know which one was real and which one was fake.

Rebellion was not in your nature. You always stayed in line, obeyed every order without question, blindly trusting your leadership, who also happened to be your father. You’d never been secluded from the real world, but coming out here on your own, you felt like you were really seeing it for the first time. Or maybe just a different angle of it.

A rustling reached your eyes, pulling you from your internal monologue and making you face your immediate reality again. One last time, you inspected the arrowhead. You watched as the thick, molasses-like liquid slid down the metal edges. It was a special concoction, rarely ever used by the hunters due to its potency. Even humans were vulnerable to the poison living in it, a mix of wolfsbane and other toxins, if it ever reached the bloodstream. But it wasn’t a quick death, slow as it made its way through the body. You hoped that, since you put only the tiniest drops on the arrow, no one would come out seriously harmed after this. Especially if they got to the book in time.

The crunching of leaves and dirt grew louder. Docking the arrow, you brought the long-range scope up to your eye and searched the area in front of you. A small group of the wolves were running together, playfully snapping at each other and seemingly enjoying themselves a hundred yards or so away. Two of the wolves were pure white, one as black as coal, and another who sported a beige coat that felt a little ordinary when mixed in with the others.

Since the beige wolf stood a little apart from the others, you lined your sight up. You just wanted to graze him, not cause any permanent damage. Taking one last deep breath, you hesitated, just for a moment, before letting the arrow slip through your fingers.

You didn’t wait to see if you’d hit your target. You couldn’t.

Jumping from the tree, you landed hard on the soil, rolling so you didn’t cause yourself any damage. You ran for the street where the car door was open and ready for you take off. The engine was still rumbling and after throwing your bow in the back of the vehicle, you sped off down the road, careful to still remain within the speed limit in the rare case you came across a police officer.

Back within city limits, you parked the car several blocks away, emptying the inside of anything that might identify you, even wiping the steering wheel clean and using a lint roller over all the seats. Then you just left it there. Maybe in a day or so, you’d return it.

As soon as you closed the door of your apartment behind you, your bow clattered down to the wooden floor.

What the hell have you done?

The weight of your actions bore down on you. As much as you wish you could, you couldn’t take it back. Was that really the better option? Maybe you should have just turned yourself over to the pack, let them kill you since that was probably their plan with you anyway once you were discovered.

Storming into your bedroom, you ripped the board out from your closet, tearing the photographs and pieces of paper from their thumbnails keeping them to the cork. You threw the pieces everywhere. It was all you could do to take out your anger and frustration at the corner you were backed into. Surrounded by the hours of work and stalking you had done since arriving here, you collapsed down to your knees, bent over with only your palms on the carpet keeping you up. Luhan’s face haunted your mind, his smile, his laugh, the soft way he looked at you. Once he discovered what you’ve done, he would hate you. And that was the heaviest consequence of them all.

It had been a peaceful day, a calm morning. Almost everyone was out of the house, leaving Luhan alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t seen you since he left your apartment. Each time he went to work, he’d hoped that you would show up randomly with an answer, but each time he went home disappointed.

Eyes staring down at the table in the breakfast booth, he traced the outline of your tattoo over and over again on the shiny wood. Throughout the entire course of the night the two of you spent together, you never took off the thick leather cuff that covered up your mark. He considered just telling you that he knew what you were. Maybe that would help you. Or maybe it would just make things worse.

He’d promised to give you space, so he would. Even if it was torture to him.

“What are you drawing?”

Luhan nearly jumped out of his seat at the question. Sehun slid into the seat across from him, a curious frown pinching his face.

Wiping the table as if that would erase the nonexistent doodle, Luhan replied, “Just nonsense. Nothing, really.” He narrowed his eyes at the younger wolf. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Sehun smirked. “Canceled. Professor sent out an email this morning. Probably has a hangover or something.”

Laughing, Luhan shook his head. “Or more likely, he’s just sick. The cold’s going around.”

“No, not as interesting.” Sehun leaned back, sighing. “So, what are you up to today?”

“I don’t know,” Luhan replied with a shrug. “I don’t work tonight so there’s not much on my calendar.”

“Since when do you not work Friday nights?”

“I traded with Ron,” he explained. And he was a bit thankful for it. He was too distracted to be able to handle the crowd that was to be expected tonight. He wasn’t hurting for cash so he might as well give the shift to someone who had rent to pay.

Sehun had his thinking face on and that usually meant trouble. “Well, Tao’s busy, but Minseok and Kyungsoo are home – without their mates, for once. Why don’t we all go for a run?”

A run? Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

At Luhan’s nodded agreement, Sehun slapped the table and jumped up, running out of the kitchen excitedly. Releasing a sigh, Luhan headed out for the backyard, already pulling his shirt over his head. When the other three were outside and ready to go, they all took off, racing through the forest at high speed. None of them were focused on where they were headed, no real direction or destination in mind. They mostly just egged each other on, getting rowdier and more rambunctious as they went along. Luhan was enjoying himself, not acting like the oldest and just being loose. Kyungsoo stayed on the edge as he ran alongside them, keeping his distance but clearly laughing at their actions.

Wait! Minseok yelled, making them all slow down.

What is it? Luhan perked up his ears, searching for something the beige wolf might have heard.

We’re getting close to the edge, he explained. We should double back before someone accidentally sees us.

You’re ri- argh!

Sehun had taken the advantage of Luhan being distracted to pounce, getting a good nip at his neck. Momentarily ignoring the warning given by Minseok, Luhan turned to counterattack. Sehun was, unfortunately, a bit bigger than Luhan, giving him the slight advantage. The others just stood there and laughed at the two white wolves who were blurring into one.

A whistling sound flew the air, making them stop. But it was too late.

An arrow had sliced through Minseok’s back, making him howl in pain. All four of them shifted back into human form. For a moment, they were all too shocked to do anything besides stare at Minseok lying on the ground as he groaned from the pain, a long red streak oozing blood running diagonally across his back.

“Get him back to the house!” Kyungsoo yelled. Turning on his feet, he started running in the direction that the arrow came from.

Hauling Minseok up, Sehun carried him on his back as they headed back to the house as fast as their human forms could take them. From the way Sehun had to hold onto the older wolf, Minseok was too weak to stay on if they shifted back to wolves.

By a miracle, Yixing was standing in the kitchen and talking to Ming as he cooked a meal for the two of them.

“Oh my god!” Ming yelped as soon as they stumbled into the house.

“What happened?” Yixing ran to them to help Sehun lay Minseok face down on the kitchen table.

“I don’t know,” Sehun growled, his fist curling at his side. “The arrow came out of nowhere. Kyungsoo went to see if he could find the shooter. It had to be that hunter the other pack talked about.”

Yixing’s face scrunched into a fierce expression. “Ming-”

“Already on it!” his mate yelled from halfway up the stairs. She came back less than a minute later, first aid kit built especially for werewolves in hand.

“I’ll call Junmyeon and Kris,” Sehun offered thickly. He was shaking violently which explained why he went into the backyard after swiping his jeans from the back of the booth. His cellphone was in his pocket, but the last thing Yixing needed right now was for him to lose it and shift right there in the kitchen. Sehun cared deeply about all his brothers and seeing Minseok whimpering in pain there on the table was hard on them all.

“It’s festering,” Yixing whispered, harsh lines forming on his forehead. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Will he be okay?” Luhan asked desperately. He needed Minseok to be okay. His brother had to come out of this alright.

Yixing didn’t look at him as he sighed. “I don’t know.”

Sehun came back inside, phone in hand and dressed once again. He’d calmed down enough to stop shaking. He held the cell out to Yixing, telling him in a monotone voice, “Junmyeon wants to talk to you.”

Yixing nodded, taking the cell right away. “Yes, Junmyeon?”

If Luhan had been concentrating, he would have been able to hear both sides of the conversation. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus on Yixing’s words either. Because he knew the reason Minseok was in so much pain.

You.

Had he been wrong to protect you? Should he have told his pack the truth from the very beginning? Could this had been avoided if he was honest? With anyone?

Yixing hung up and handed the phone back to Sehun. “Junmyeon is picking up the book with Kris and then they’ll break the speed limit to get here. Until then, I’ll try to clean the wound as best as I can.”

The book. The book.

Luhan remembered seeing a few notes on your board regarding the museum and then there was the time he found you leaving the back rooms, barely catching you on the steps. It was all piecing together in his mind.

Is that what you were after this whole time?

Kyungsoo came back just then, his face blank as he stared at Minseok.

“Did you find them?” Sehun asked, eagerness in his voice. It was frightful tone, even putting Luhan on edge.

Kyungsoo shook his head. “No. They were long gone. But I brought this back.” He held up the arrow, red blood painting the head, covering up the silver metal underneath.

“That will help to figure out what’s in Minseok’s system once Junmyeon arrives with the book.” Yixing took the arrow, inspecting it closely.

Not saying a word to the others, Luhan grabbed his clothes and tore out of there, running out the front door and passed the garage. He didn’t even bother with his car, just pulling on his shorts and shirt as he headed for the woods. He had too much anger riling up inside. The car would be faster, but he couldn’t drive in this condition.

When he finally broke through the trees into city limits, he was coated in sweat and breathing heavily, but he still didn’t slow down. Luhan tried his best to avoid knocking people over on the sidewalk as he thought back to the way to your apartment from the bar. It was easy enough to find once he retraced his steps. He slammed his fist against the door hard, over and over again, not caring about your neighbors in the slightest.

You opened the door and Luhan shoved his way inside. Taking in your face, Luhan was able to calm down a few notches, at least enough to stop shaking and even out his breathing. Your eyes were red and tear stains were visible all over your cheeks. From where he stood, he could the disaster that was was your bedroom through the open door, paper strewn everywhere and the corkboard now broken in half.

Swallowing thickly, Luhan glared at you, feeling his own eyes prickling with growing tears. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

Unable to answer him verbally or even meet his eye, you nodded.

Luhan growled, low and elongated. “Why?”

“Because,” you whispered, your voice coming out unsteadily, “it was either that or let someone sadistic come and torture you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“We can take care of ourselves!” he roared. “How was hurting Minseok the only way to stop that?”

No longer meek or afraid, you yelled back, “I was ordered to! It was maim one of you or risk more hunters showing up here and killing you! I didn’t have any other choice!”

“Then just lie and say you did it!”

“My father would find out! He always does!” You were gritting your teeth, water pooling in your eyes once again. “He’d bring more people here and just eradicate the pack! I don’t want you to die!”

Unable to find a response, Luhan just let out a yell, grabbing whatever was light and nearest him, throwing it across the room. You didn’t even flinch as the candle crashed against the floor.

“You know what I hate the most?” Luhan mumbled. “I want to hate you. I want to so badly. But I can’t.”

“That’s okay,” you told him softly. “Because I hate myself enough for the both of us.” It was your turn to yell wordlessly. “Why do I feel this way about you? I’m a hunter! You’re a wolf! I shouldn’t be feeling this way towards you! So why!”

“Because you’re my mate!”

Saying it out loud for the first time felt good. And it shouldn’t have. Not when it was in this situation, under these circumstances. But the confirmation made him feel lighter just by the slightest fraction.

“You’re supposed to say that I’m simply crazy.”

A laugh - freaking laugh - actually escaped Luhan. “I think we’re both crazy.”

You shook your head. “How long have you known? That I was a hunter?”

“Since that first night in the bar,” he admitted. Pointing to your wrist, he explained, “I saw your tattoo.”

You cursed. “Ametuer move.” After a pause, you asked, “Does anyone else know?”

“No. They don’t know about you at all, save that you’re Hae In’s cousin.” And for that, Luhan was grateful. Curious, he asked, “Does she know? Hae In?”

“No. She has no clue.”

He looked up at you, fearful of what could come next. “Will Minseok die? From whatever you poisoned him with?”

“As long as they get the book, from what we think, the cure should be in there. He still has several days before it’s gets too bad. I put the smallest dose possible on the arrow. I only meant to scrape him. If that happened, then he should be okay.” Out of nowhere, you began to sob, crumpling into yourself as you covered your face with your hands. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Pulling you into his chest, he rocked you back and forth. He shushed you gently as he cradled the back of your head. Comforting you like this felt strange, yet oddly right. He meant it when he said he wanted to hate you. The image of Minseok withering in pain on that table was burned in his memory. But you said he would be okay, so Luhan would trust you.

Then again, he’d done that once before.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo werewolf!au #luhan x reader #luhan #lu han #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo series #exo supernatural au #Lies Untold #untamed wolf universe

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purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

772

What was the last thing you threw at someone? A piece of meat for my dog to run for. Well, walk and sniff around for. He’s an old guy and doesn’t run anymore unless we’re taking him out for a walk. Do you follow recipes? I always certainly have to, since I don’t have any one dish memorized. I’ll start off with a collection of recipes for sure, but I’m hopeful that I’ll be at least a decent cook over the next few years. Where's the last place you had an itch? The area behind my knee.

Do you look people in the eye when you talk to them? It’s always important to have eye contact to show you’re paying attention so yeah. But I know it can get uncomfortable for most people at some point – and me – so I’ll give my eyes a break and look at their forehead, their nose, the space between their eyes, etc. When you look into someone's eyes, can you see their pain? Uh no, I don’t look that intensely lmao. And even then, I’ve learned over the years that most people are very good in hiding or playing off their true emotions that even if I try to find something off, I’ll likely turn up with nothing.

When was the last time you sneezed? Midnight today. How do you act under pressure? It will depend on how much there is to do and how much time there is left. I don’t have one permanent behavior for every time I feel pressured, which is pretty often. Who did you last say "I love you" to? My dog. Do you ever call people just to hear the sound of their voice? Yes, back when everything was normal I’d sometimes call my girlfriend just to drop by and say hi, and also because our schools are a little far apart and I’ll miss her in the middle of the day. School usually stresses her out so I do that as a pick-me-up for her. When was the last time you used a glue stick? January maybe? Our profs always ask us to submit index cards with our contact details and a 1x1 photo at the start of the semester, so there’s a good chance I asked to borrow glue from someone to paste my photo onto the card. What was the last startling noise you heard? Some dipshit on my Twitter feed decided it was good fun to share a jumpscare disguised as an innocent, cute video at 3 AM. I was mad about it then and I’m still mad as hell about it now lol. Do you ever look back at your yearbooks? I did this a lot as a kid. Idk why, I found it interesting to get to know the people in my school and read their write-ups I guess. I stopped looking back on them precisely because I did it too much when I was younger. Do you ever want to be prom queen/king? No. I did not give a shit about prom at all. I really would’ve happily skipped out on it but my school is a complete killjoy and made both attendance and bringing a date mandatory for everyone. No stags, can you believe it? It’s like when Captain Holt from Brooklyn Nine Nine said “Have a good time, I specifically requested it” lol Are you tired? Tired of this quarantine, yes. But I took a nap not too long ago so I’m not feeling to sleepy in that sense. Have you ever ran from the police? I haven’t done anything for them to have to do run after me, so no. Are you afraid of clowns? Not really. I was never exposed to them much so I always just saw them as people in heavy makeup that do balloon animals and other funny tricks. Have you ever written on someone's face in your yearbook? HAHA yes. When my sister and I were kids we bickered a lot, and in one of our fights I thought it’d be funny to doodle on her kinder portrait. She didn’t think so and she started wailing - just in time, I heard my mom coming home and I had to think fast so my sister a) stopped crying and b) wouldn’t tell on me. So I did the stupidest thing and also doodled on my own prep portrait to make her feel better. She calmed down and my mom never found out. When was the last time you made dinner? I *helped* my dad make dinner a few months ago. I haven’t completed a meal myself. Do you have any special plans coming up? They’re gonna be mellowing down the lockdown rules in my province by the 15th and I’m really hoping to see Gabie soon. Realistically I doubt it would happen as I don’t think both our parents would agree to it, but it’s still nice to keep hoping. Did you just lose the game? Yep, but I really only found out about this game from Reddit a few months ago and I didn’t grow up having to play it, so I’m never all too pissed off or like emotionally invested in general whenever I lose it haha. What is a class at school you are interested in taking? There are global studies electives that I was unaware of until someone told me to take them after I enrolled for my last sem in collefge. There are courses on Turkish culture, global gastronomy, and they also had past courses on ‘Diversity on Perspectives on Peace and Conflict,’ ‘Cultures of Disasters,’ and ‘Cultures and their Global Entanglements.’ They all sound right up my alley and am disappointed no one told me sooner. Do you hold on to your dreams? Some of them, the ones I know I have a chance of attaining. Obviously I’ve had to let some go, like wanting to go to the moon or becoming a firefighter. Do you follow rules or break them? Follow. I don’t like getting into trouble. Is there someone you are dying to see? A lot of people. Who do you want to be buried next to? I’ve given this zero thoughts. Are you double-jointed? Nope. Did your dream last night involve blood? It didn’t. I’m not even sure what my dreams were anymore. Who was the last person to yell at you? My mom, probably. How do you feel about the new president? I wouldn’t call him new, he’s in the latter half of his term now. I hate him and I hope he dies soon. Do good things come to those who wait? Sure, it can happen. What is the last song you played on iTunes? I haven’t used that in a while. The last one I listened to on Spotify was Sudden Desire by Hayley Williams. Petals For Armor is still on loop, surprise. What is the last thing you looked up on youtube? I was showing my sister the hilarious Vine of Beyoncé where she thanks a talk show host who tells her “You are Beyoncé,” as if it was a compliment looooool, so I looked up “you are beyonce thank you.” When is the last time you went to the grocery store? March 9th. What is your favorite fish? Tuna or eel for raw fish, tilapia for cooked. What kind of calendar do you have? A digital one. Have you ever been two hours late for school? Oh hell no. I’ve been late before, but if it’s as dramatic as being an hour late I usually just cut class to save myself the embarassment of having to do the walk of shame entering the class. What is your favorite stuffed animal that you own? I don’t have any stuffed animals. Who did you hang out with yesterday? My family, as has been the case since March. Has anyone stolen your heart yet? Yes. Have you ever won a gold medal? No. I’ve won first place before, but they didn’t issue out gold medals. Do you have any trophies? Also no. Do you work out? I don’t. When you introduce yourself, do you give hand shakes? Sometimes, but tbh I just picked it up from Gabie who’s a big hand-shaker. I preferably wouldn’t cause it seems so formal to me. Is there a limit to how many best friends you have? Yeah, like I wouldn’t want to have a lot; I like keeping my immediate circle small. I’m more than content with my two best friends. When's the last time you went to a dance? 2016. What grade are you in? Soooooooooo unbelievably close to graduating college. Are you in a band? I’m not and haven’t been. Have you ever been in a talent show? No thanks. Have you ever won a contest? Competitions, yes. Contests, no. How do you feel about germs? I’m quite particular about them. I don’t like sharing clothes with people; I pick which friends get to eat off of my spoon or sip from my straw; I’m super iffy about touching someone else’s keyboard; I really don’t like having to touch other people’s hair and with that is also the fact that I never borrow or lend hair ties. Holy shit so I’m more germaphobic than I thought and all I had to do was list these things down......................... Do you like screamo music? Not really. What does your wallet look like? Pink and a lot thinner now that I haven’t been given an allowance since they stopped school. Do you have any hickeys on you? No. At this point, I really wish I did lmao Would you rather have money or love? Money. I love love, but I won’t deny that I also love being able to afford the lifestyle I want to live haha. Do you have any family pictures hanging on the wall? Not on the wall, but we have several frames lined up on the first few steps of our stairs. Which do you prefer: bath or shower? Bath after a long hard day. Shower most days. Do you have a lamp in your room? I used to, but I removed it after realizing the light just keeps me from falling asleep faster.

Do you have windows vista? No. Do you have the strength to say goodbye forever? I’ll deal with it if I had no choice, but I’ve never handled goodbyes well.

#survey #surveys

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benbarnesescape · 6 years

Text

You Do Something To Me

Billy Russo x Curvy Reader

A Billy Russo AU

Summary: You own a bakery in Brooklyn. He’s a private investigator that comes in to enjoy your baked goods. What happens when the stars shift and your paths intertwine? Will love be enough to handle the dangerous world that Billy’s life is?

Warnings: M for Mature (Language, Sexual Themes)

This story is created in celebration of Ben’s Birthday

Chapter 1 – Mad About the Boy

Private Investigator Russo was the kind of trouble your mother warned you about. He was all parts that 50’s black and white films stirred in you – dark and brooding and mysterious. Enigmatically charismatic but always kept that part of his personality hidden for the rest of the world, glimmers of it rising to the surface when he was around close friends and colleagues that he trusted. The sort of man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, that suppressed his intelligence under quick wit humor and was the kind of handsome that made you believe you were in a 1950’s Noir film. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all of this.

He was so wretchedly handsome that he should be illegal. Hickory eyes that felt predatory always twinkled with intellect and amusement. A shadowed beard that he always kept maintained, his stylish haircut that would look like a hipster on anyone else made him distinguished, his thick dark mane and buzz cut sides balancing his look in all the right ways. He had the kind of lips that you just wanted a taste – just a small one – and a lean muscular frame that you knew when he moved revealed his sculpted muscles, the strength contained by the seams of the button ups he wore. He reminded you of a panther. A dangerous, dark panther that you wanted to be hunted by.

But that was the fantasy. Because desire or not, that wasn’t your luck.

So you lied to yourself. It was a lot simpler to tell yourself that you didn’t care about Billy then to say it out loud. And it seemed to work. Your natural pride winning over the fact of your heart; that when Billy entered a room you felt like your tongue went twisted and your legs turned into melted butter. But better that then admitting out loud to yourself that you were so love struck after a man and not just any man, the handsome popular detective that most women this side of the island lusted after. Forget about it.

“I don’t know Y/N,” your best friend and co-owner of the restaurant you owned Valerie would say anytime the topic arose. “I think he might have a crush on you.” Oh the fanciful thoughts that spread through your mind after she would tell you that.

A Forbidden Taste was the name of the restaurant you both owned. In the mornings, it was a busy bakery, attracting a clientele of different New Yorkers that were either already living or willing to venture to Brooklyn for, and you were quoting a review from a magazine ‘The best chocolate croissants and coffee this side of the Hudson’. That was how you killed time between the hours of 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. Then it closed for five hours, before it was opened at 6 for dinner and any late night caps to amuse the people. Where they could sip wine and enjoy tapas or the pleasure of a full meal. When you and Valerie had saved up for the restaurant fresh out of college, promising each other that you would make it happen, you had thought it would become a lofty dream. That you would be lucky enough to work in a prominent restaurant anywhere in America that would make you happy.

But now you were thirty and though you slept less hours than you did even in college, had flour constantly in your hair and spent more time worrying over paying the mortgage versus your own rent, you had somehow done it. You owned a restaurant that fused both good evening dining with delicious breakfast tapestries and all it cost you was…your personal life. Sacrifice worth it.

Which was why the deep crush you had on one Billy Russo had taken you off guard.

It wasn’t that you didn’t date. You had, plenty of times throughout the years especially through the luxury of apps making it even simpler. It was nothing ever too serious – the men in your life didn’t like that you were so involved with your business, that you earned more than them and was more ambitious and, did they never forget to mention, how somehow a middle class thirty year old was able to own their company. It was fine, you could take affection where you could. Except Billy made you think more on the possibility.

It had been eight months ago. Frank Castle, his partner, had heard of your place through Curtis. Curtis, who had sold you insurance for your property and become one of your favorite people, had been the best marketing team you and Valerie could have ever wanted, and all it cost was an occasional box of his favorite peanut butter cookies or croissant or dinner on the house. Curtis was the kind of man this country had been founded on – a vet who knew the sacrifice of being a good man. He had told his best friend Frank, had been mentioning it to him for months and it had resulted in Castle and Russo coming in on a cool, autumn morning.

Valerie had noticed them easily, too handsome gentleman who walked with confidence and grace. They wore suits, the kind of suits that you saw on shows like Madmen and fedora hats to match, their hands stuffed in their pockets as they surveyed the menu. They had settled on something savory, you remembered because you had come out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of whatever it was and had looked into his eyes.

Deep, dark hickory pools that barreled into your soul and made you trip, barely dropping the fresh batch of whatever as you caught your breath as you mumbled your apologies to Valerie who had thrown you a side eye.

That had been the beginning.

At first, they would drop by every other day for coffee and the same sort of savory pastry – Monday through Friday. You spent most of your time in the kitchen, in the back supervising and baking so Valerie always had the delight of seeing them.

And then they changed their schedule.

For the days they wouldn’t come in the morning they would come in at night, typically around 9:30 or 10 and always for tapas and drinks. American Whiskey straight and the variety sampler of tapas. Sometimes Curtis would come with them. Other times Frank’s wife, Maria.

Billy always came alone.

You knew because in the evenings you were at the register, helping to wait tables and manage the front end and bartend, if needed. You always, somehow, ended up making small talk with Billy. Typically while refilling the tables glass with water or when he would check out or was too impatient to wait for a waitress to replenish his glass of whiskey.

The talks were always brief, insightful and made you pant for more.

This is what you’re thinking about Saturday night, the late night rush slowly dwindling down as you sit in a corner, a glass of chardonnay beside you as you looked over the menu for the upcoming week. Really you were glossing over the paper, sketching small designs delicately on the side of the ivory paper, your mind a million miles away.

The balcony was open and diners were enjoying the late evening breeze, how the humid wind mingled with the air conditioned restaurant as they spoke lowly, whispering to each other that it almost felt like secrets once the words hit your ears. You’re too focused on your writing, too enraptured by the couple you were sketching out that you almost don’t hear the clearing of his throat. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin as you move your hand from resting on your chin, startled eyes snapping up to meet the dark lobes that was watching you with mild interest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” his voice is like the expensive whiskey he always orders, smooth and husky as he clears his throat. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted company?”

He’s not wearing his normal attire, at least not completely. He still has on the suit pants, midnight black today, that is kept up with suspenders that stand out against his startling white shirt though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. . He’s holding his jacket, thrown over his shoulder that reveals his gun holster though currently it’s empty. His hair is still smoothed back in that stylish coif that makes you want to run your hands through it but somehow he looks less business like, more casual. There’s a glass of what you know to be whiskey in his other hand and his eyes look hopeful as they look down at you.

You find your breath and nod, motioning to the seat on the other side of your booth and he scoots in with finesse as he lays his jacket on the cool leather beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working. You’re always moving around when I come in.” his voice is amused and curious as he takes a sip and you chuckle as you fall back into your seat, hands still doodling at your drawing.

“I should be working,” you give a sigh and shrug. “But it’s been a long week. Valerie was out for most of the week, back to see her family so I’ve been working unforgiving doubles. Which had been fine but I guess it’s just caught up with me.”

He gives a small grin and nods before gesturing to the menu,

“You re-designing the menu? Didn’t knew you drew.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that. Just doodling. I’m not good or anything – it’s a hobby. But it’s fun to doodle, to spark my creativity in way that’s not intuitive for me.”

You motion toward his suit, grabbing your wine and asking,

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. What has been so important that you’re still working on a Saturday evening?”

He laughs, relaxing into his seat before shrugging.

“Observant are we,” he take a sip of his drink, “I was working a case and got what I needed a lot quicker than I thought. I was so close and….never really had the courage to drop by on a weekend I figured why not. A night cap would be refreshing.”

You nod as you take another sip, looking over him cautiously over the rim of your glass. You want to ask him more, want to ask why he never had the courage and what new case could he reveal some details to, like Valerie was always trying to pull out of him but that insecure part of you that always closed down the conversation stops you. It’s not the insecurity that you’re not good enough – you know that you’re beautiful and intelligent and smart. It’s that small piece of you that always stops you when you like someone more than you are willing to let on and you instead give him a small smile as you flicker your eyes beyond him.

You both fall into an easy silence, drinking in the sounds of the late evening before he clears his throat again, causing you to look back over at him.

“Soooo,” he asks, trying to break the silence. “Do you like music?”

You lift a curious eye brow. Of course you did. He knew that. One of your first conversations had been around the kind of music you liked, what you would play in the restaurant even if Valerie wasn’t a fan of it.

“Yea. Doesn’t everybody?” he chuckles again, nervously as he lifts a hand, rubbing it behind his neck.

“Ah yes, I guess they do. The thing is, I got these tickets to a ummm…..Herbie Hancock at the Concert Hall for next Saturday. And I know how much you like jazz and Herbie in particular so I figured if you wanted….I know you work a lot, you work hard but I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go. With me?”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he’s asking, to fight the urge to look behind you and not ask, “Who – do you mean me?” You play it cool instead, opting to instead taking another long sip, slightly tilting your head to the side as you drink him in. You’d never seen Billy so nervous – he was the kind of man that flirted with any women who gave him a second look or didn’t, the kind of man that spoke with confidence and surety. Now, he looked at you like any other man who was asking someone new out on a date and wasn’t sure what they were going to say. You knew the look – saw it every day in New York.

And he was being this vulnerable for you.

“You asking me out on a date Russo?”

His face heats up, tomato red and your stomach lunges as he smiles wider, his eyes avoiding you, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck even more furiously.

“Ahhhhh I guess I am. I mean, I am. I…would you want to? I’d treat you to dinner and everything.”

He has that New York accent that just drips with a confident SWAG, the kind of voice that always makes your heart lunge. His eyes flicker back to you cautiously and you smile as you get up, gathering your paper and throwing back your chardonnay. You walk a few meters before you stop, bending down and whispering,

“I’d love to. I’ll leave my cell with Kelly at the register. Shoot me a text and we can work out details, I need to start prepping for closure.”

And then you walk as quickly and coolly as you can back to your office because you’d be damned if you don’t text Valerie what just happened.

Tag List: @binbonsadoration @la-fille-en-aiguilles @delos-mio @just-nikkii, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @youveseen–thebutcher, @marauderskeeper, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @cutie-bug, @banditthewriter @presstocontinue @benbxrnes @hxbbit @padfootagain @fortisfiliae @benbarnesfanforever @lafemmedemon @giggleberts @barnes-ben @iheartbinbons @goblackhatwithme @geminimoonbeamx @that-bwitch

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo au #ben barnes birthday

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isensmith · 6 years

Text

Have a great holiday and we’ll see you next week.

So i just got back from the set where i did my gig as an extra. It was super fun and went even better than i hoped for!

Before Shooting: I had a brief freak-out when i tried to tame the epic frizz in my hair with some hair oil. I made the mistake of sleeping on it wet last night and it just didn’t look good. I’ve never used hair oil before and i definitely probably should have. i used too much and my hair got over greasy. I tried blow drying and using a flat iron, but it looked worse. so with an hour to go before i had to be on set i washed it again. I quickly did my makeup and blow dried it again (since it typically takes hours to dry). I had my bag packed with my changes of wardrobe from the night before so i ran out of the house and made it to set exactly at my 1pm call time.

At the office building location the suite number was 590 and guess what service required a keycard to work on weekends. that’s right, the elevator! so then i climbed 5 flights which was really NOT what i wanted to do before being on camera. When i finally got up there i found the tell-tail cables, sandbags, and c-stands out in the hall so i knew i’d found it. inside the suite was a long hall and lots of offices branching off and one conference room. There were sound people and a couple of lighting guys and a stressed out looking director. in the conference room were 4 other extras. We greeted each other and lamented the climb and talked about changes of clothes and what projects we’d done.

Shortly, the extras wrangler came in and asked me if i had a jacket or something similar that i could wear over the black blouse i already had on. I said i didnt’ have a jacket exactly, but i had a silk short sleeved loose top thing (i honestly dont know what to call it, it’s open and has no fastenings and it’s flowy and pretty and goes over another shirt). I showed it to her and she said that would probably work and they were wanting me to be an ‘executive’ rather than an ‘office worker’. So i put it on and showed it to her and the director and they said that it was good.

So then the makeup artist came in to do some touchups on the others and then they were all called away except for me. They began shooting something down the hall and walking all the way back up towards the conference room so i could see them but nothing else. Meanwhile the makeup artist came back to pay some special attention to me. He was a super sweet guy and when i told him that i was going to be an executive rather than an office worker he said “great well then you can afford to look nicer than them” lol. I had actually done some eyeshadow and eyeliner myself before i left, and and typically only do the liner, i have no idea how to do shadow. But i watched some youtube and had a go. He said it looked really good and didn’t do anything to them besides fill in my eyebrows a bit and apply some extra volume stuff to my eyelashes. He also put some peachy lip color on me which i would typically never choose, but looked really good so now i’m going to try to find some.

While he was working i asked if he was local or maybe came down from portland. i still was thinking this was a pretty small film. he said he actually was based in LA and had been working down there for 4 years. He’s worked on Terminator 5, and X-men Days of Future Past, and Guardians of the Galaxy 2 and we talked about the tattoos for Drax that he was really involved in. He was awesome and made me feel pretty :]

The other extras came back to change their clothes and then shoot the exact same hall walking sequence again. Then they were wrapped and told they could go and it was only 1:50. And then i was alone in the conference room and waited. Two other actors showed up, one of which i found out later was actually another extra like me, but he was wearing a suit so he’d clearly been tagged for the ‘exec’ extra already. We didn’t really chat much, once the actor (a tall handsome african-american man) found out i wasn’t playing any part he turned his attention to his sides and studied his lines. The other guy was staring at his phone so i assumed he was doing the same.

Then the actor left and there was more waiting. I began to doodle. For one thing my phone was nearly dead so i didn’t want to use it, and for another i didn’t want to get so distracted with other stuff that i wasn’t present. I filled a whole page with pen doodles.

During Shooting:

It was close to 2:40 when i heard the director down the hall say something about extras. So i poked my head out of the conference room (the other guy had been standing in the hall watching) and sure enough they needed us to walk by the office where they were shooting a scene. Which was simple enough and yet still made me a tiny bit nervous. it’s only when you need to “walk casual” that you suddenly forget how to fcking walk at all. I didn’t look in the room while i passed of course, so i barely saw what they were doing in there. But the lighting guy was sitting on a box just outside the room with the slate since he was on double duty. and the sound guy was sitting in front of his big sound boards rig in the office next door, and there were more cables and sandbags.

After that scene was done then they began to pick stuff up and move down the hall towards the conference room. The makeup artist said “time for your big scene” and i was a little surprised, i nearly thought that walking by might be it and i’d be all done. I waited at the other end of the hall with the makeup artist and the extras wrangler and ate some chocolates while the crew shifted the gear. Then i saw the actor had changed his suit and i thought “oh no, this is a different day. I brought a change of wardrobe but this is the nicest stuff i brought and the other stuff is more ‘office worker-y’”. So i showed my options to the extras wrangler, i had taken photos of the outfits last night to have them on my phone so it was easy for them to choose. She picked the outfit with a white collared shirt under a sky blue sweater with the sleeves pushed up.

I went all the way down the hall passed the conference room to find an alcove and quickly change my clothes. I could tell there wasn’t time at this point to find the bathrooms. Sure enough, as i was putting on a different necklace they were already calling for me.

In the conference room the actor guy was sitting at the head of the table, the main character actress was to his right and me and the other guy were on his left. Initially they put me between the two men, but as they were framing the shot from the far end of the table the other guy was too big and blocking me so they had us switch. which put me closer to the camera, (!!). At the far end was the director, the camera person, the boom mic operator who had brought in a ladder to get high enough, and the DP, a woman named jessica with hot pink hair. Just outside the door were the lighting guy, the makeup artist, and the extras wrangler watching.

While they were setting up the shot i turned to the actor guy and said “hey so i haven’t read the script, can you tell me what this scene is about?” He explained that pretty much we’d just hired the main character and were closing up our meeting and congratulating her. I also really felt like i needed something on the table in front of me so i quickly got up and grabbed the pad i’d been doodling on and the pen, i tore off the top couple pages so it was blank and quickly scribbled some fake notes. Most of it was not even real words, but one whole sentence i wrote was:

“Fifty five alligators formed a posse and it was the greatest.”

I felt much better with a prop in my hand than just sitting there.

So first we did a run-through without the camera rolling. The actor did one line and then we all sat there doing nothing since we didn’t know what else to do. And the director said “there’s more right? isn’t there” and they all consulted the script. Sure enough we were supposed to shake hands and congratulate her and there was a line of dialogue. The director said “a different executive should say that since you have a line right before” but he didn’t indicate who. There was some chatter among the sound guys and the DP and the line was read from the script “Have a great holiday and we’ll see you next week.” They asked him which person should say it and he said “i don’t know, one of them”. So i said “I’ll say it” and he looked at me and said “Ok fine.” he was clearly stressed already and it was only the first day of shooting lol.

So then they worked a bit on framing us when we stood up to shake hands, the DP asked me to take off my heels so i’d be a little shorter. and the actress asked me if i remembered and I quickly rattled off “Have a great holiday and we’ll see you next week” which pleased her a bit. When the actress and i shook hands over the table the DP said that she got caught by the light. So i asked if i should be the one to lean in more and she said “no then you’ll be caught by the light.” so i said how about we do more reach and less lean. So we tried it again and she said “that’s good that will work.”

Then it was time for a take. Someone called “rolling”, the camera person confirmed “speed”, the sound guy said “speak” which was a call i’m not familiar with, then the lighting guy did the slate and the director said “action”. The actor removed his glasses, said his line (which now i can’t remember) and then we all stood and each shook hands with her, i was last and as i shook her hand i said my line. It was great, i’ll win an oscar for sure.

We did 4 more takes of this, 5 total, each the same and i didn’t flub the line once. I felt remarkably calm doing it. The only thing that made me worry is how much of me is in frame in the shot. I’m still pretty heavy so i’m sure i’ll look pretty fluffy on screen. oh well. #large-female-executive-representation

When we were done with the last take the director said that was it for the extras so that meant i could leave. As i was packing my stuff the boom mic operator, a wiry fit older black man, approached me and said “you’ve acted before haven’t you”, i said “eh, not really”, “but you’ve been on set before” and i replied “yes i have.” he said “you had really good instincts in there, the choices you were making were really good and you had good ideas and you got your line.” i was so flattered i shook his hand and said “thank you so much!” he said “i’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you” and i said “i think that you will!”

As i was leaving i got a handshake from the main actor guy and a hug from the makeup artist. I also got a wave from the main actress and i told her “have fun!” then i made my way to the elevator, which apparently had no issues with going down. walked the long way to my car since i was really excited and enjoying walking in the fresh warm afternoon air. and now i’m home trying to decide where to go eat for celebratory dinner.

PS. i checked the box on the release form that i wanted to be listed in the film credits. If they also feel like it, they might make me an IMBD profile, which is something of a childhood dream of mine. we’ll see :]

#isensmith is doing stuff

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dansphlevels · 6 years

Text

The Subject Series

This fic was written for her @phandomreversebang with artist @corgi-lester. You can find the art here. This fic has been in the works for a long time but I really like it and I hope you will too!

Summary: Tensions have been rising in Phil’s hometown at the rise in gun violence and string of robberies. However, Phil has bigger things to worry about me, like his newest art assignment to paint a series of portraits showing the true character of a person you know. Phil has his subject, the only problem is, he doesn’t actually know Dan, though he’s more than willing to rememdy that.

Length: 8k

Highschool!phan au with artist!Phil and newkid!Dan, including the growth of a friendship, Phil being a little stalker-y, and Dan not understanding the concept of stranger danger. Was heavily inspired by my Drabble series ‘Artists’ and recent events involving gun violence.

“I want to do five paintings, all different sized canvases that link together.”

Mr. Hebbs shook his head. “Phil, this isn’t that complex an assignment. You only have to do three, and canvases aren’t required.”

“It’s fine, I get a discount on them at my job,” Phil insisted. “And I like to paint at home.”

“But Phil—” Mr. Hebbs saw the look Phil was giving him and changed direction. “You have other classes, I don’t want-”

“I really appreciate everything you do,” Phil reassured with his teacher-pleasing smile. “How about I let you know if it’s too much? Then I’ll go down to only painting three canvases.” Mr. Hebbs started saying something else, but Phil quickly cut him off with a “You’re the best! I’ll see you in class!”

Phil was already halfway out of the door when Mr. Hebbs called out, “But Phil! Who is going to be your subject!”

“I’ll figure it out!”

———

The beginning of the semester was not something to be excited about. You could be the best student in school, but you still wouldn’t cheer about it if someone held a gun up to your head.

Phil was right in the middle of the spectrum. He definitely didn’t hate school, but the end of winter break meant less free time for art and more brain power having to be spent on things like trigonometry and physiology.

He spent most of Trig staring at the other students in the class. For the art project, he had to find a subject to paint a few times, but no one in his classes stuck out to him.

As Mr. Goinstein lectured, Phil felt his hands fidget almost on their own merit, scribbling out a design on his travel-sized sketchbook. It ending up being the teacher, with his hairline receding almost as far back as in real life, his suit cheap looking but well pressed. Phil wondered if his hair had gotten greyer in the past few weeks.

Phil jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” a voice whispered, “do you have a pencil?”

Phil turned around to double check that he wasn’t hearing things— he sat at the back of the class for a reason, how dare someone move to be further back than him— except no one had moved. The boy sitting before him- or rather, behind him— wasn’t a regular face in the class.

Phil would know. He’d drawn every face in the class; or attempted to, at least.

The boy was looking at him expectantly, and his mind snapped back in to focus. “I don’t have a pencil,” Phil replied. The boy looked down to his hand, where he was holding a 2H pencil. “This is special. I can’t— I might have a pen?”

Phil wanted to frame the slightly wonderstruck expression the boy gave him. With his face a little warmer than it had been before, he dug through his backpack and found a pen, giving it to the new kid.

Phil looked back at his doodles. Would it be creepy if—. Before he could finish the thought, his pencil was back on paper, sketching out an oval with two lines intersecting it. He marked the eyes, then the nose, adjusted the chin, and added the hair. Before he knew it, he’d drawn the boy sitting behind him.

If the boy was a troll.

Phil flipped to the next page, trying again only this time with more space. The problem with drawing faces an inch high was that in real life, they were notably bigger, which meant that details were lost in the drawing. Sometimes the faces turned out fine. And sometimes they turned out looking like the person had just crawled out from underneath a bridge offering to grant your fondest wish in return for your first born child.

Phil scribbled out another face, this one closer to scale. It was more accurate. This time, the boy looked like he’d ran into a brick wall. He didn’t look ugly, per say, just… flat.

Phil turned to the next page, drew out another oval to act as his guide, and then turned around, looking at the boy while pretending to be looking at the clock. He was very convincing, too. However, there was no clock on the wall.

But the boy was new, he didn’t have to know that.

By the end of class, Phil had made four different drawings of him, all of them barely recognizable. The last one was more accurate, though it still wasn’t quite there.

Phil closed his notebook as the bell rang, sighing as someone taped his shoulder. “Here’s your pen back.”

Phil took it, and took the opportunity to look at the boys face again, trying to find where his features lines up with his guidelines. “You’re new, right?”

“Um, yeah.” When he smiled, little dimples formed on the sides of his cheeks. “I transferred from AHS. I’m Dan.”

“I’m Phil. Could I take a picture of you?”

“Um, what?”

“I’m in Photography,” Phil quickly lied, the muscles in his face hurting from the effort of smiling. “We just needed to take a picture of someone for a warm up.”

“Oh, I’m in Photography too!” Phil tried not to let his panic show through. “And sure, I guess. As long as it’s not for a big project or anything, I don’t really want to see my face framed in the middle of the hallway or anything.”

Phil smiled, grabbing his phone and clicking the video button. “Don’t worry about it.”

He kept the video recording for just long enough to catch Dan’s dimple on camera before turning off his phone and stuffing it in his bag.

———

Dan’s nose was practically perfect. It was very proportionate to his face. The problem Phil had been running into, Phil later found out, was his eyes. Dan’s eyes were more almond shaped, with discreet eyelids. Phil had been emphasizing his eyelids too much.

That night, in his room, Phil played the video over an over, screenshotting it at the best moments. Then he pulled out a piece of drawing paper and sketched out his face, this time with a reference picture, and kept erasing and adding to it until it was clear who the subject was.

The paper still felt too empty, so Phil sketched in some flowers around his head. He got his blending stump and darkened his cheeks, making it look like he was lightly blushing. “Yes, very kawaii,” Phil muttered.

That would be his project. And Dan would be his subject.

Though he’d have to get Dan to agree to it first. Because unlike Photography warm ups, this project would actually be hung up in the school hallway.

———

“Hey Dan!” Phil called out, jogging up next to Dan in the hallway. He turned around, smiling a little uncomfortably.

“Hey...”

“Phil,” Phil reminded him.

“Right, I knew that. Hey Phil.”

Phil would do one of the paintings with Dan laying in coffee beans. He would still do the flower one, but each painting would have a different background, Phil decided, all very soft, aesthetic things. Dan seemed very soft and aesthetic, even though he was wearing all black. Phil bet he ran a pastel tumblr blog.

Dan turned to head towards one of his classes, and Phil kept in tow with him, even though his class was on the other side of the school. “So, I was wondering. We have this project—”

“In Photography?” Dan finished. “The rule of thirds thing?”

“Um, no. In ADAPA-”

“What?”

“It’s, um, Advanced Art Design and Presentation but the letters are in the wrong order because AADP doesn’t roll of the tongue that easily. I’m doing this subject series, where I paint a person a few times. It’s very low key, and I was just wondering if I could paint you.”

Dan stopped in front of one of the English classes, giving Phil a weird look. “Why?”

“I dunno. Why not?”

Dan considered this. “Wouldn’t that be weird? You, just… painting like, two pictures of me?”

Phil didn’t correct him. “Nah, it’s pretty normal. Everyone in ADAPA is doing this project, so you won’t be the only subject or anything.”

Dan hesitated, squeezing the strap of his backpack.

“I’ll just need to take a few pictures of you. And I’ll pay you fifteen pounds,” he added.

Dan glanced into the classroom, still hesitating. “Only if you let me take a picture of you for the photography project,” he conceded, “and help me with the camera. They wouldn’t let me in the Beginning Photography class because I’m a senior, so I kinda lied about my skills. And since you’re in Photography too…” he trailed off, looking hopeful.

“Sure, no problem.” Phil hadn’t touched a camera since 6th grade. “Here, let me give you my phone number so we can set it up.”

“Great.” Dan’s cheeks were the same shade as they’d been in Phil’s drawing, only Phil’s drawing was in black and white. In real life, Dan was in full, vivid color.

———————-

“Are you okay?” Phil asked with a comforting smile, leading Dan up the stairs to his room. “You look kind of pale.”

Dan ran a hand through his curly mocha hair— it was mocha, Phil had decided— following him up the stairs. “I’m fine. I walked past the bakery on Main and it was closed. Do you think anything happened?”

Phil shrugged, leading him into his room. His dirty laundry was kicked into a corner by his bed, which was little more than a cheap box frame and small mattress. Most of the room was taken up by his art supplies, paint splattered tarp spread out underneath his desk and two easels. Notebooks and canvases sat in piles along the wall, some blank, others completely filled, mostly with paint.

“Wow,” Dan commented as he looked around. “You're a very convincing artist.”

Phil laughed. “What else would I be? Do I look like a sportsman to you?”

Dan looked him up and down, biting his lip. “No. But the tarps do suggest you may be a serial killer.”

“Well, I'm not. Unless you consider killing trees as being a serial killer. With all the supplies and paper I use, I'm probably one of the leading causes of deforestation.”

Dan snorted. “Nice.”

Phil found his phone, waving it triumphantly. “Got it. Let's go take some pictures?”

“Sure.”

“Come on. The basement has really good lighting.” Phil lead him downstairs, the silence getting awkward quickly. “What was that you were saying earlier? About… the cake shop on Main?”

“The bakery. It was closed. Do you think it could have been the same thing that happened with the funeral home?”

Phil sighed. “I hope not. I hated it enough the first time.”

“Right? I hope the police find whoever is doing it and lock them up for life. I don’t care if Mrs. Roes will recover, it’s not fucking okay.”

Phil glanced back at Dan who was following him tensely, his arms crossed. “You good?”

“‘M fine. It’s just frustrating, it’s like, what are we supposed to do about it, you know?”

Phil knew what he meant, he did. But he was more focused on the way Dan’s features curled when he was frustrated, the way his eyes changed with intensity. Dan looked angry and helpless at the same time and it was so contradictory, Phil had to do one of the paintings with this expression. He’d paint it so Dan was surrounded by blooming flowers and scowling like they did something to personally offend him.

———

Phil didn’t make a habit of lying, but he found himself lying to Dan almost as often as he told him the truth. Dan sat down on the couch and Phil adjusted his phone lense until it was just right, then pressed the record button.

“Let me know when you’re taking a picture,” Dan requested, squeezing his hands.

Phil nodded. “Three, two, one…” He twitched his thumb, pretending to touch the screen. Dan smiled falsely, holding it for a few moments then breaking it.

“So natural,” Phil commented from behind the camera. “Hey Dan, what do you call fake spaghetti?”

“I don’t know, what?”

“An im-pasta.”

Dan laughed, smiling widely enough for both of his cheek dimples to be on full display, and Phil knew he was going to be screenshotting that later.

“That’s horrible. Phil, what’s the difference between a snow-man and a snow-woman?” Dan waited a second for dramatic effect before answering: “Snowballs.”

It was Phil’s turn to crack up, the phone shaking in his grip.

“Hey, just take the pictures without telling me,” Dan decided. “Otherwise it’ll feel too fake.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. Why did the farmer win an award?” Pause. “Because he was outstanding in his field.”

———

“You certainly don’t waste your time,” Mr. Hebbs commented, peering over Phil’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“He’s a new student,” Phil replied without looking up from his work. He was just adding the final touches to Dan’s painted face, carefully adding a highlight. “He’s in one of your photography classes.”

“Oh. I suppose I’m just not used to seeing him with the flowers.” Mr. Hebbs scratched his jaw, thinking. “I would make sure to highlight the glabella,” he suggested after a moment.

“The… what?”

“The glabella. Right… here,” he said pointing to the space in between the painting’s eyebrows, careful not to touch it.

Phil dabbed his brush back in the paint, adding some of it to the area Mr. Hebbs had been referring to.

“How long are you planning on staying?”

Phil glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already 2:50 and school got out at 3. “How long are you going to be here? I won’t need too much more time.”

“I need to leave at the bell, but you can stay as long as you clean up, and turn off the lights and lock the door when your done. If anyone asks where I am—”

“—I’ll just say you’re in the bathroom,” Phil finished, smiling down at his painting. “As per usual.”

“Perfect.” The art teacher looked at the painting again, tilting his head to the side. “I’d add more lowlights to the hair too.”

“Can do.”

———

It happened again. Sometime that afternoon, a man had broken into the garden store a few blocks away from Phil’s neighborhood, brandishing a small handheld gun and demanding the cashier on duty give him everything in the till. The cashier went to get the code for the safe— apparently he wasn’t a very smart cashier— and the shooter opened fire. The gun only had a few rounds in it, but it was enough to shatter the front windows and stun the cashier.

Phil saw the destroyed storefront as he biked home from school, his completed painted sticking out of his book bag. The next morning, he listened as his mum read to him the article in their local paper describing the events.

“‘We recommend all small shops in the downtown area invest in panic buttons and try to have more than one person on staff whenever possible. And, until this situation is under control, we ask that all students avoid walking or biking through town on the way home from school.’ Sorry Philly, it sounds like you’re going to have to find a new way home.”

Phil slouched, cupping his cooling coffee in his hands. “Do I have to? We don’t know if they’re going to rob another shop.”

“They’ve got a gun,” Kath reminded him. “And there’s already been four incidents now.”

“They may not have all been the same person!” Phil argued, but it was futile. Kath shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but it’s just not safe.”

———

Phil was wheeling his bike out from the rack when a familiar voice called out his name. He looked up and was met with an even more familiar face- one he’d studied and recreated a few times over various types of papers and a canvas.

“Phil!” Dan called out again, jogging over, smiling widely.

“Hey!” Phil called back when Dan got closer. “What’s up?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Dan said easily, “Do you want to hang out? I’m biking home too.”

Phil smiled back. “Sure! I have work soon-ish, but I can hang out until then.”

“Nice.” Dan pulled out one of the bikes a few away from Phil, walking it around the rack. “Where do you work?”

“Hobby Lobby. It’s not very exciting, but I do get a pretty good discount on art stuff.”

“And you get money for art stuff,” Dan added. “I thought only professional artists used real canvases, aren’t they like, super expensive?”

“To someone getting paid minimum wage? Yes. But they’re not that bad.” Phil mounted his bicycle, buckling his helmet on under his chin. Dan got on his own bike, except was missing something vital.

“No helmet?”

“I’m not seven,” he teased. “No offense.”

“None taken. Because unlike you, I’m not going to crack my head open on the concrete and die before I can even graduate secondary school.”

An image flashed before Phil’s eyes of Dan laying on the pavement with a perfect stream of blood coming down from his temple. For a moment, he really wanted to paint it, before he realized that was probably not the appropriate reaction. He shook the thought away.

“Ooh, fighting words,” Dan teased as they carefully pedaled away from the school. “Do you wanna race?”

The image flashed before Phil’s eyes again, except this time Dan was smiling, his lip bloodied. Imagination-Dan winked at him.

“You’re on,” Phil responded to Real Life Dan, the one that had just challenged him to a race. “After this street, we race until we get to the park, deal?”

“Deal.”

As soon as they crossed the street, Dan took off, speeding down the way. Phil pushed harder, pounding at the pedals until he was almost in line with Dan. Dan glanced behind him, and upon seeing Phil, laughed, pushing to go even faster.

“Slow down! Let me— let me pass!”

Dan let his feet up from the pedals, the wheels still spinning at about 200 rotations a minute as he thundered down the street. Phil kept pushing until he was side by side with Dan, the park within view.

Then Dan’s feet hit the pedals again and it was all over.

———

Phil arranged the canvases in the way they’d be set up once he was done. They were all slightly different sizes and lined up perfectly with about two centimeters between each one, so they ended up as a large square shaped collage. Only one was done so far, the one with the flowers. It had Dan with his head slightly tilted, looking off to the side with his lips pressed closed. Dan’s skin ended up a little paler than it was in real life, with his cheeks and lips a little extra pink to complement the flowers. His hair was softer looking than real life, the individual hairs not emphasized. All in all, he looked more like a porcelain doll than Phil had intended, but he wasn’t one to complain.

Phil typed up the card for it:

Phil Lester Subject Series: Ethereal (adj): extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.

One down, four to go.

———

Phil waited for most of the students to leave the classroom, looking out for one in particular. But soon no one else really seemed to be leaving, so Phil shuffled over to the door, peeking in carefully like he was doing something he could get in trouble for. In reality, the only person he could actually get in trouble with was Mr. Hebbs, for leaving his independent study early to walk to the other side of the school. Except Mr. Hebbs didn’t care about things like that, so really, Phil’s caution was very unnecessary.

A few people remained in the class, putting away props or talking in small groups. Phil scanned it until he saw the familiar black shirt and brown hair. He hadn’t ever draw Dan from this perspective before- well actually, he’d really only drawn his portrait. Phil could do one where Dan’s arms were crossed in front and his back was bare. Backs were so cool to draw.

But that might look like Phil was looking for an excuse to draw Dan shirtless, which was not a normal friend thing to do, so he scrapped the idea.

(That was a lie. He actually put it in the ‘Work In Progress’ folder in his brain.)

The group Dan was talking to dispersed, and he looked down at his phone, completely oblivious to Phil creeping up behind him.

“Rah!”

Dan stumbled forwards, fumbling with his phone. When he met Phil’s gaze, his eyes were wide. “Phi-il!”

Phil stuck out his tongue as he laughed. “You voice just went up, like, two octaves!”

Dan brushed off his pants dramatically, not smiling, but not quite scowling either. “What do you want, pleb, now that you almost made me piss myself.”

Phil was still smiling. “You biking home? We could go together, you could come over if you want. It’s a lot more boring biking now that I have to go the long way around town.”

“I should shun you for scaring me like that. Alas, you still owe me fifteen pounds, so I shall wait until I’ve been paid to shun you.”

“Fifteen pounds?”

Dan smiled. “For modeling for you,” he said sweetly, pushing his curly fringe out of his face flirtatiously.

“So you’re not just doing that out of the goodness of your heart?” Phil joked.

“The goodness of my heart?” Dan scoffed. “Nonsense! I’ll have you know, Lester, that my heart is made out of pure coal.”

“Right. So, are you biking with me or not?”

“It depends. Do you have the money?”

“At home,” Phil promised, then cringed. “This feels dirty. Like you’re my drug dealer or something.”

“Daniel?” The teacher called out from behind her desk. “Are you leaving now?” A quick scan around confirmed that besides the teacher, they were the only ones left in the class.

“Oh, yes, sorry!” Dan rushed over to grab his backpack and he and Phil sped-walked out of the class. When Phil looked at Dan next, his cheeks were the same color as the tulips Kath liked to keep on their kitchen table, or #15 in his acrylic set. “Oops.”

———

They rode their bikes back to Phil’s house, then played video games there until Dan had to go home. He said a polite hello to Kath on his way out, and gave Phil a little wave goodbye.

“Who was that?” Kath asked after Dan had left.

Phil smiled casually. “That’s Dan, he’s a new student at school. I’m doing a painting project with him- well, of him.”

“Oh, what will it look like?”

“A few different pictures of him with different backgrounds that represent him. It’ll be mostly really soft pastel things.”

Kath looked back at the door even though Dan was long gone. “Huh. He didn’t really strike me as soft, especially with all that black.” Phil was about to argue when she cut him off. “But you’re the artist, do whatever you think would look best.”

———

Phil had set up his phone when Dan had left to go to the bathroom. The video was only four minutes long, but it had some good moments in it. Phil had stationed his phone under the tv so it filmed their faces straight on. He paused it a few times, screenshotting, until he got to the perfect point.

Phil stared at the image for a few moments. No. He couldn’t.

The picture was of Dan biting the video game controller, his competitiveness getting the best of him. Originally, he’d bitten the controller as a way to make fun of Phil’s habit of doing just that when the game got too stressful, but before long he was doing it without realizing it. The shot was very, very real, very candid, very original. It was also not pastel.

Oh well. Surely, Phil could put some sort of spin on it so it’d fit his theme. He wanted these painting to really represent Dan’s personality, that soft side he’d seen earlier in the day when the teacher embarrassed him. The real Dan.

He pulled out canvas number two and got ready to go to work.

———

Another store was broken into, though this time the criminal left without stealing anything. Phil didn’t bother reading the full article, scanning for the important parts. He’d have to continue taking the long way home, and the small store owners downtown would have to continue spending their money on security that shouldn’t be needed instead of more important things. The identity of the shooter remained unknown.

“I hate this,” Dan ranted, dumping out the dirty water with so much force that Phil almost felt the need to protect his canvas. “How dare they? I heard that it might be more than one person doing it, too.”

“Like, a gang?”

Dan scowled, shaking his head. “Worse. People saw one person doing it and getting away with it, plus getting a bunch of media coverage. It’s a low life’s dream.”

“I heard there’s going to be a protest later,” Phil recalled. “A bunch of the business owners are marching down to the police station and asking them why they aren’t doing more.”

“Meanwhile, people are in the hospital, and the government hasn’t even mentioned it.” Dan sighed, rubbing his hands on his pants. “I don’t hate the government or anything, but they’re completely pointless if they’re idle. There are people out there with guns, literally shooting people and causing chaos, and our leaders are silent.”

———

The second painting took longer to make. Phil wanted this one more realistic and it as harder to paint the way Dan was biting the controller.

When it was done, he typed up the description on the document with the other one:

Phil Lester Subject Series: Zealous (adj.): having great energy or enthusiasm in pursuit of a cause or an objective.

———

“We don’t think that there will be any attempted robberies on our store, armed or otherwise,” the balding manager explained. “However, it is important to go over procedures like these from time to time. If an armed robber enters the store and demands money, we ask that you are complacent. There is a panic button under each of the registers that you can press, which will alert the police station.”

“Will an alarm sound?”

The officer standing next to the manager adjusted her ponytail. “No. The panic button won’t set off any alarms or give you away.”

Someone directly behind Phil spoke up, startling him slightly. “Has a panic button ever worked?”

The officer smiled reassuringly. “They haven’t been used much in our city, but earlier this week one was pressed by mistake, so we are assured that they work just fine.”

Phil’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he slipped it out, checking the screen.

From: Dan Do you wanna hang out Saturday?

From: Phil I thought you had work?

From: Dan Lol I was fired

From: Phil Why???

From: Dan … They didn’t like the way I dusted We on for Saturday??

From: Phil Sure

———

“It’s perfect. Phil, can you help me get the camera ready? I want to take your picture under the cherry blossom tree.”

Phil made a face. It turned out Dan hadn’t just intended to make Phil pay him for his ‘modeling’, but planned to make Phil follow through with the entire deal. That meant Phil had to be the model for a change, so Dan could take pictures of him for his art project, in the advanced photography class Dan was underqualified for. And Phil had to help him use the camera, because, oh right, Phil had lied to him about being in a photography class too. Phil couldn’t even remember why he lied, but he did, and now he was eating his words.

They went up to the tree and Dan inspected it with a critical gaze. Phil did too, but for a different reason. “No way this is a cherry blossom tree. Do those even grow here?”

Dan shrugged, tilting his head to the side as he looked at the tree. “I don’t know what it is, but here it is. Can you stand by the trunk?”

Phil stood by the trunk and Dan handed him the camera expectantly. Phil fiddled with it, pretending that he knew what he was doing, though he probably wasn’t very convincing, as it took him about three minutes to realize the reason nothing was showing up on the screen was because the lense cap was still on.

After at least another ten minutes, they had the camera working and adjusted to the sunlight.

“What was the assignment again?” Phil asked, getting progressively more nervous the more Dan fiddled with the camera.

“Rule of thirds or something, idk. I’m pretty sure it’s just making sure you have three focal points, which I have. You, the tree trunk, and the flowers.”

Phil shuffled uncomfortably. He may not have held a camera since sixth grade, but the rule of thirds was not exclusive to Photography. “I think you’re thinking about something else. The rule of thirds is where the subject of the art only takes up one third of the space.”

Dan looked up from the camera, genuinely surprised. “Oh. I guess I’ll have to back up then.” He ducked under the drooping ribbons of pink flowers and Phil listened to his footsteps walks away, chewing on his lip nervously.

“Should I come out, or—?”

“No, that’s perfect! Move your feet together!”

Phil did as he was told. He stood so his feet were almost together, with both of his hands hanging limply by his side. He tried to make a normal face, though he wasn’t sure how Dan could see him through the thick flowers.

After a long minute, Dan exclaimed “Got it!”

Phil happily ducked under the flowery branches, meeting Dan on the other side where he showed him the viewfinder of the camera. Phil blinked. “It’s…”

“It’s cool, right? I feel so hipster and artsy.”

“It’s cool,” Phil agreed, still taking it in. The picture didn’t have his face- in fact, it hardly had his torso at all. The picture showed the entirety of the blossom tree, framed on either sky with an intense blue sky, darker than normal as the sun just barely began to set. Underneath trees flowers were Phil’s legs with his hands on either side. “Yeah. I like it a lot.”

Dan smiled widely, taking the camera back and flipping through the pictures. “Thanks! I’ll have to choose my favorite one and then edit it, which I don’t actually know how to do-”

“Hey Dan?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I see the camera for a second?”

Dan gave him a curious look but handed it over. Phil messed with it for a second before finding the off switch and putting it back in its case, carefully hiding in in his backpack he’d left on the grass.

“Phil-”

Phil looked up, giving Dan a small, almost sad smile. “Hey Dan?”

Dan swallowed. “Yeah?”

“You’re it!” Phil clumsily tapped Dan on the shoulder, sprinting past him.

Dan was so shocked it took him a moment to react. “What! Lester!”

Phil laughed, trying to run faster, but within moments Dan was gaining. “How are you so fast?! On a bike is one thing, but-” Phil cut himself off with an annoyed noise as Dan smacked him on the arm, turning and sprinting in the other direction. “Agh!”

Dan’s laugh echoed as he ran away, Phil in hot pursuit. “You’ll never catch me! I am the jolteon of humans!”

Phil cupped his hands around his mouth as he yelled “Nerd!”

Dan turned, running along the edge of a small grassy hill. “Slowpoke!”

Phil forced himself to run even faster, despite his aching lungs. He refused to lose to Dan again.

He swiped at Dan, mumbling in annoyance when he missed. Dan cackled, turning his head to look back at Phil. He turned back and immediately stumbled, tripping and rolling. Phil tried to stop so quickly he ended up stumbling over the same rock and found himself toppling down the hill, the entire world becoming a blur of grass and sky. He’d seen photos that people had taken as then rolled down grassy hills like this one, and for the first time in a long time, he found the urge to get into photography again.

He gave up trying to slow his descent and gave in, tucking his arms in to protect his face and letting his body speed up.

There was the blue and there was the green, the green that was the true definition of ‘grassy green’ and Phil had never thought it was that nice of a color but it really was. Then there was the slight dizziness, and the unmistakable sound of Dan laughing, and Phil found himself not minding the downhill lull anymore.

He slowed to a stop as the hill flattened out. One more half roll and he was face to face with Dan, laying on the soft ground with grass in his hair, trying to hide his wide smile with his hands.

Phil didn’t even try to hide his smile, rolling over a little and tapping Dan lightly. “You’re it.”

———

The painting showed Dan with grass in his hair, grinning from ear to ear as the bright blue sky blurred behind him.

Celeste (adj): belonging or relating to heaven.

———

Phil pushed the door open hesitantly, looking around. As soon as they heard the door open, a large woman hurried over to the sandwich counter. “Hi, how can I help you?”

Dan followed Phil in, both still looking around. “Um, hi, are you open?”

“We are. Though we haven’t been getting much traffic lately.”

“Since the shootings,” Dan translated grimly.

She nodded solemnly. “Unfortunately. But the sandwiches are as good as ever, what can I get for you?”

They ordered, paying individually then going to table to eat their sandwiches. “I’m getting closer to finishing the paintings,” Phil announced. “The theme I was going for was kind of lost, but I think it will still be fine. What’d… the Photography teacher say about the cherry blossom picture?”

Dan had just taken a huge bite of his sandwich right before Phil asked him, and he made a face, trying to swallow it but failing to. “She liked it,” he answered when he’d gotten most of it down. He wiped his mouth, swallowing again. “She wants to hang it in one of the hallways for the rest of the semester.”

Phil choked on his sandwich. “Actually?”

Dan smirked. “Literally all you can see of you is your legs and hands. And it’s a good picture, you shouldn’t be self conscious.”

“But still… I don’t know how I feel about my picture being in the hallway.”

Dan leaned on his elbow, smiling at Phil a little too sweetly. “Mr. Hebbs was setting up the folding panels to display your classes latest project on. Which I believe is the Subject Series, with my face in literally every single painting of yours.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine. You can hang up my pictures if I can hang up yours.”

“Deal.”

They talked for a little longer until they finished their sandwiches and brought the wrappers to the trash. The woman from earlier came over, wiping down the table. “Thanks,” Phil said. “The sandwiches were great.”

“I’m glad you liked them!”

“Do you mind if we hang out here for a while?” Dan asked, looking around. Besides the sandwich counter, there were a few rows of shelves with different fancy looking foods stacked on it.

“Go for it, I’ll just be cleaning up back here but if you need anything, let me know! My name’s Bertha.”

They looked around for a while. There was a shelf full of fancy olives that they looked at, making fun of the names and trying to make bad innuendos with some of them.

“Extra stuffed. Mmm.”

Phil shoved him gently, smiling. “What about this one? ‘Chopped red’.”

Dan shivered, “it sounds like a murder scene.”

“Did I show you that thing?” Phil wondered aloud.

“‘That thing?’”

“The… goose thing? Here, I’ll show you.” Phil pulled up the article on his phone, handing it over to Dan who began to read it quietly. It was so quiet that when the door opened, they both heard it clearly.

Loud footsteps and then the sound of something being dropped on the counter. “Anyone there?” A gruff male voice said.

“I’ll be right there!” Bertha replied, hurrying over. “What can I-” she stopped mid sentence.

Phil peered through the wire shelves, trying to see what was happening. There was another row of shelves between them and the other customer, making it difficult, and even when Phil managed to see through them, it took a moment to process. He’d seen guns on tv, and he’d seen bigger guns carried by police in other countries, but it was the first one he’d ever seen in England. It was so small, so unassuming, but still it made Bertha’s smile drop and the color from her face drain. He gestured towards his bag and she opened the cash register, slowly moving the money into his bag. There wasn’t much there.

Phil tapped Dan urgently, covering his mouth for a second when Dan opened it to say something. He pointed to what was happening, and watched as Dan went from confusion to shock to something else.

The man turned around, walking over to the shelves where they were hidden. Phil gestured for them to crouch. That was what you were always supposed to do, you were supposed to crouch, make yourself smaller, do your best to hide. Escape if you could, but if that wasn’t an option, then learn to breathe a little quieter.

And Dan, poor Dan. Poor pastel-souled, gentle Dan, with his soft curls and brushed pink cheeks. He stared at the man through the shelves intensely, not even blinking. He held his phone so tightly his knuckles were white.

The man was less than a meter from them. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, staying perfectly still as the steps got closer. A small gun and an even smaller bullet and just like that, it would all be over.

But the bullet didn’t come. Phil opened his eyes and immediately caught onto the dirty jeans on the other side of the shelf. He hadn’t seen them.

Dan nudged him, making intense eye contact and holding a finger in front of his own mouth, then he stood. Phil tried to pull him back down, but Dan just carefully stepped away, knowing Phil wouldn’t dare make a noise at a time like this.

“That’s all there is,” Bertha announced in a monotone. The man turned around quickly and for a moment Dan was frozen. Then he kept moving, walking slowly to the side of the shelves.

“You think I’m fucking stupid? Where’s the rest?”

“There isn’t any—”

The man pointed the gun straight through the shelf, right at her. “I know how these businesses work. There’s always a safe.”

Bertha was a statue. “There isn’t a safe. Or if there is, I don’t know where it is, I’m new—” the man cocked the gun and Bertha became more desperate. “Honest! I have money, I’ll get you that, but there isn’t—”

“Get me your money. All of it. Then we’ll take a look around and see if we can find the safe, and you’d better hope we can.” He brought the gun back down, but didn’t put it away.

Phil didn’t dare turn around, but he could feel Dan standing next to him, as still as a statue. The man turned around, picking something up off of the shelf, and that’s when Dan made his move.

He walked forwards quickly, raising his phone in his hand and slamming it down on the man’s head. He stumbled forwards, more annoyed than hurt, and Dan jumped on his back, wrapping an arm around his throat. Then it was all a blur- the man yelled out, Bertha was calling 999, the man lifted the gun, Phil stood up, Dan grabbed a can of extra stuffed and broke it over his head. The gun went off, another broken jar of olives to the man’s face, there was a fight and it didn’t seem anyone was winning and then they toppled into the first metal shelf and five dozen jars of fancy sandwich toppings rained down on them, followed by the shelf. They fell to the ground, crushed under the heavy shelf. Then Dan was free and the man was almost free, but Dan had an aluminum can of something in his shaking hands that he brought down on the man’s head with a “Fuck! You!”

Then there was the police and Dan was in handcuffs and the man was unconscious and Phil was still just standing there.

———

Phil had finished all five of the paintings.

They were completed, all with their printed out labels. The hallway was quiet as Phil carefully hung them on the folding platform, arranged just as he’d planned from the beginning. There was the Ethereal painting with soft, porcelain Dan; the zealous painting with Dan gnawing on the gaming control; and the celestial painting, with a smiling Dan laying at the bottom of that hill with grass in his mocha curls.

Then there were the two other paintings, the newer ones. The fourth painting was a side profile of Dan with shadows covering half of his face. The side of his face that could be see was deathly intense, a somber anger that Phil had failed to identify that day in the sub shop. That painting was tilted Undaunted (adj): not intimidated or discouraged by difficulty, danger, or disappointment.

The final painting was of Dan a week after the incident. They were walking along an empty school hallway after class had ended. Dan was wearing a black hoodie, his hands in his pockets. He stood tall with a confidence that Phil supposed was always there, but he’d never really noticed. The painting was from the front perspective, with Dan smiling that smile he only really gave to Phil, his head tilted to the side.

Dan had been walking beside him, maybe a little in front. He turned around, giving Phil that fond smile. “I feel like you have the wrong idea of me. Like, you think I’m this shy, timid person or something, or like I’m really innocent or soft or something.”

Dan hadn’t gotten in trouble for attacking the man with the gun. He’d been told he should’ve avoided confrontation if possible, but he didn’t get in trouble with anyone besides his mom, who’d given him a ‘stern talking to’.

Phil had wiped his hands on his shirt. “I don't think that,” he lied. Sometimes it seemed as though he only lied around Dan.

“Okay. Just checking.”

Phil adjusted the last canvas, the painting from that day.

Enigmatic (adj): difficult to interpret or understand.

He stepped back, admiring his work. It was the first time he’d seen them all together. Ethereal, zealous, celestial, undaunted, enigmatic. Soft, competitive, radiant, unyielding, mysterious.

Mr. Hebbs came up beside him, admiring the work with a quiet appreciation. Phil crossed his arms, feeling the exhaustion from the last few weeks finally set it.

“He looks so different in each one,” Mr. Hebbs commented quietly. “Which one is he really?”

Phil looked at each painting again, individually. Soft, competitive, radiant, unyielding, mysterious.

He sniffled. “I don’t know.”

The End.

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