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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 4 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters

A/N: hi! here's a new chapter and I'm planting the crygi seed for the future *wink wink* I hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading it <3

-4-

“Good morning!” Jan greeted Nicky outside the café with a smile on her face.

“Hey! You woke up earlier today; I didn’t catch you on your way out the dorms.” The blonde noticed.

She was wearing a fuzzy cardigan sweater she had seen on Jaida before, light blue jeans, and white sneakers. Her hair was still wet which made Jan think she might have spent the night with her girlfriend before meeting her.

“Yeah, I had to return some books to the library so I left when Rosé went to class.”

They walked in and were welcomed by the familiar warmness of the interior of the coffee shop. Almost a month had passed but Jan was always comforted by the charm of the place. It was a crowded morning but they were able to squish at one little table near the entrance. They had just sat down when a fuming Jackie crossed the door, at first she didn’t see them but as soon as Jan waved at her she shuffled toward their direction and plopped herself in the empty chair.

She was wearing brown flare pants along with a white shirt and a yellow batwing cardigan with a floral pattern. Her brown hair had been violently ruffled by a gust of wind, the loose locks fell all over her face completing a look that matched her current mood.

“What are you doing here?” Nicky asked.

Jan was wondering the same; all of Jackie’s classes took place in the morning, it was early for her to be out.

She grunted a few words while holding a scrunchie between her teeth as she attempted to untangle her hair.

“What?” The girls asked at the same time.

Jackie tied her hair into a ponytail and sighed. “I got kicked out of class.”

Jan looked at her with disbelief. “What?” She repeated.

“Remember that professor that hates me for making –according to him- «snarky comments»? Well, he finally found a reason to express his dislike for me and asked me to leave.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “I wasn’t going to stay quiet when –in addition, to invisibilize women in art- he also tried to erase the queerness of the artists. No, not on my watch.”

“What a pig.” Nicky shook her head. “I can’t believe he had the nerve to kick you out because you called him out.”

“Oh, trust me, this isn’t the end of it. I’m filing a complaint and leaving that class. I’m done.”

“I’m sorry, Jackie. I know you liked the subject, too bad the professor is a jerk.” Jan tapped her shoulder softly.

The brunette got stiff by the sudden touch. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Anyway… it sucks because I need the credit and it’s the only class that fits into my schedule.”

“Maybe there’s a way to fix it, talk with the administration or something.” Jan did what she did best, being undeniably positive.

“Yeah… maybe. But enough of that, I need a cup of coffee.”

As if she had read Jackie’s mind, a waitress approached and it wasn’t any other than…

“Hello, girls!”

“Crystal? You work here?” Jan asked.

The girl nodded. “I started yesterday.” She smiled brightly.

She had a blue apron with the café’s name on it over her clothes and Jan swore her hair –covered in colorful hair clips- was different than last time she saw her not even two days ago.

“Congratulations! That’s great!”

“Thank you. I had to drop one of my classes but I needed the job.”

Jackie grunted. “Please let’s not talk about dropping classes.” She began massaging her temples.

“Right! I’m here to take your order.” She pulled out a tiny notebook covered in glitter from her pocket and a unicorn gel pen. “I’m ready.”

“I think you have to say «what can I get you?»” Nicky commented.

“Oh, you’re right… Let me try again. What can I get you?” She repeated in an extremely polite voice.

“I’ll have a hot chocolate please.” Jan pointed at the menu.

“And I’d like a hazelnut latte.” Jackie followed.

“For me, a caramel macchiato.” The blonde finished the order.

“Perfect… so hot chocolate, hazelnut latte, and caramel macchiato.” Crystal checked her notes. “Right away.”

“Thank you.” They said and with that, the ginger left and then turned around.

Jan watched her go.

“I should get a job too.” She pouted. “I don’t want to ask for extra money from my parents, they are helping with the other half the scholarship and they are paying for my brother’s tuition too.”

“I work at the mall near here and there’s always something to do there. You could come with me later and ask around.” Nicky mentioned.

“I didn’t know that, what do you do?”

“I’m on the cosmetics section. I do people’s makeup during the weekends and convince them to buy products.”

“Of course you do…”

“What would you like to do?” Jackie inquired in the meantime she rearranged the sweeteners of the table.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I’ve had part-time jobs before. I used to work at an ice cream parlor. That was fun not to mention I had free ice cream. Then I worked at the post office, that wasn’t as much fun, it involved a lot of boxes… and during my senior year, I was the secretary of a dental office that… well, definitely wasn’t fun but I got to meet the same customers that were regulars on the ice cream parlor.”

Jackie and Nicky burst into laughter.

“You’ll do well…” The blonde assured.

“We can write your resume later and print it in the copy room.” Jackie suggested.

“That’s a great idea. Yeah, let’s do it.”

At that moment, Crystal returned with their drinks.

“Well, let’s see… I’ll put these over here, here and… here.” She placed the cups carefully and sighed with relief when everything stayed in place. “Great… Let me know if you need me.” She hummed.

“Thank you, Crystal!” Jan was going to leave a good tip for her friend.

When she turned around, they all exchanged misplaced cups in the blink of an eye.

“She’ll get better… hopefully.” Jackie added some sugar and took a sip of her coffee.

Jan drank some of her chocolate; the whipped cream created a mustache above her cupid’s bow and got the brunette looking fondly at her before taking a napkin and cleaning the corner of her mouth. Nicky raised an eyebrow but before she could say something, someone else showed up.

It was a girl that most definitely looked like a supermodel with her matching glen check pattern outfit consisting of a cropped jacket and a mini skirt with accents of yellow fabric and a belt with chains hanging from it along with a pair of black thigh-high boots. Her blonde hair framed her face and was tied on the back on a half up half down hairstyle.

“Hey, Nicky, did you finish the assignment for today’s class? And if you did, did you have any difficulty submitting it?” She looked upset, stressed.

“Uh… no. Maybe it’s because that paper is due tomorrow and the submission time starts… tomorrow?”

“Oh, thank God.” She sat on the only left empty chair with no need of an invitation and sighed letting all the air out of her lungs.

Their little table couldn’t accommodate more people so they squished even more.

Nicky turned to Jackie and Jan. “This is Gigi, she’s a classmate of mine and she actually lives in the same dorms as us. Gigi, do you remember my friend Jackie? And this is Jan, resident of the C dorm.”

The other blonde girl waved. “Hi, sorry… that was rude. I was freaking out due to that assignment.” She took a deep breath. “Hi, Jackie… I do remember you and Jan, we’re neighbors.”

“That’s great!” Jan smiled at her. “So you’re a fashion major too?”

She nodded. “I’m a sophomore as well but I’m a year younger than everyone else because of technicalities and my mom sending me to kindergarten one year earlier.”

“We’re the same age then. That’s cool.”

Gigi smiled, she was beautiful.

“How are you adapting to-” She was going to ask Jan something when she lowered her head in an attempt to hide behind Jackie. “Oh shit.”

“Gigi, what is it?” Nicky whispered.

“She’s here.” Gigi tried to descend even more.

“Uhm… who’s here?” Jackie looked around.

“She! She’s here right now… Oh God…” The girl seemed nervous and her cheeks were tinted in soft pink. “So, uh… there’s this girl who lives in our dorm I guess and I’ve bumped into her a couple of times before but… I don’t know, she’s like…” She blushed harder.

“Gigi Goode... The Gigi Goode is possibly… intimidated by someone?” Nicky gasped.

“Shhh… shut up… no… yeah… maybe. I don’t know. I’m gay and single, leave me alone.”

“Wait but how does she look like?” Jan also tried to find her among the crowd. They all were whispering.

“Oh my God… she’s coming… she’s walking in this direction, why is she walking in this direction? Never mind she has an apron.”

But it was Crystal who appeared next to Jan. “Hey guys, everything’s okay over here? Do you need something else?” She inquired, completely clueless.

The three remaining girls looked at Crystal, then at Gigi, and then at Crystal again as if it was a ping pong game.

“Oh, hey! I hadn’t seen you there, would you like me to bring something for you?” She asked Gigi while pulling out her Crystalcore things.

The blonde girl nodded and recovered the posture a little. “Uh… matcha… that’s the green thing… yeah… latte. Green tea?”

“Matcha tea latte?”

She nodded mechanically again.

“Alright, anything else?” The other girls shook their heads. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” Gigi’s voice sounded high-pitched.

Once Crystal left, all eyes were on the blonde once again.

“Oh my… I fucked up, didn’t I?”

Nicky’s jaw had dropped to the floor. “Wait, hold on a minute… you like her?”

“Shhh… God, Nicky, she could hear you or something.” Gigi pressed her hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating fast. “I didn’t know she worked here.”

Jan was trying to contain a smile, her lips turned into a thin line, meanwhile, Jackie stirred her lukewarm coffee.

“Uh… You know that’s my roommate, right?” Nicky smirked.

At that moment, Gigi almost fainted. Her face went from reddish to pale in a second and her eyes were full of terror as if she had seen a ghost.

“Excuse me, she’s your what?!”

“My roommate? Crystal? The girl with orange hair? I’ve told you about her. The one that put stickers on the notes she leaves me? She forgot her key three times in the span of a day? The one that –allegedly- accidentally shot a confetti cannon in our room and since then it feels like the place coughs confetti here and there? Rings your bell?”

That had been a good day, Jan recalled.

“Wait- That’s your Crystal? Your Crystal is my Crystal?” She covered her mouth after saying those words.

Jackie and Jan exchanged an amused look.

“Your Crystal?” Nicky tilted her head.

“I mean… that’s not what I mean…” She cleared her throat. “please don’t tell her I have a crush on her this is already too embarrassing for me… I could die like a Sim… of embarrassment, it’s a real thing, you know?”

“Relax, I won’t say a word and I’m sure the girls won’t either, right?” Jan and Jackie nodded.

Gigi seemed relieved. “Thank you… I can’t believe she’s your roommate.” She buried her face in her hands.

“I can’t believe you feel intimidated by her, she has a One Direction poster in our room.”

“There are so many things clicking in my head right now please leave your message after the tone. Beep.”

Jackie moved her hand in front of her eyes without getting a response. “I think you broke her, Nicky.”

“She’ll be fine. Plus, Crystal is bringing her tea right now.”

“Fuck…” She said as if was a reset command.

“Here you have.” The ginger placed the smoky cup in front of her. “I hope you enjoy it.” She smiled and winked before leaving.

Gigi gulped.

“Uh, Gigi, I’m not an expert but judging by the color of the beverage, that’s not what you ordered.” Jackie pointed out.

But the blonde wasn’t even looking at her. “I don’t care; this is the most delicious drink existing in the entire universe right now.”

“What’s that though?” Nicky tried to touch the cup but Gigi slapped her hand.

“No touching.” She glared at her classmate.

“Yeah, I feel like we’re going to be good friends.” Jan thought about it aloud.

“Alright, all set.”

Jackie let a big sigh out of her chest when she left the administration office; Jan had been waiting for her outside. They had gone there straight after leaving the café when Nicky and Gigi left for their class. On their way to the building, she had tried to cheer Jackie up by telling the entire confetti cannon anecdote in full detail but even afterward laughing at loud the brunette still seemed afflicted.

“I’ve submitted my complaint and the head administrator told me that the board will look into it. Until then, they said that most classes are already full so they’ll have to look for a different solution and they’ll contact me via e-mail or I’ll have to drop by next week.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? They’ll tell you what the next step is. It can only get better from here.”

“I hope so.” She shrugged. She didn’t sound fully convinced, though.

Jan checked the time on her phone. “Hey, we still have some time before your shift starts, we can hang out or something…”

Jackie bit her inner cheek. “I don’t know…”

Jan touched her shoulder gently. “Jackie, I hate you seen you like this. There has to be something that makes you feel at least one percent better.”

She looked at her with her big puppy eyes and Jackie couldn’t say no to her.

“Okay… there’s something that always makes me feel better.” She gave in.

“I’m listening.”

Jackie’s eyes sparked.

“No way…” Jan looked around. “This is awesome!”

They had gone upstairs –climbing several stairs-, to a place that wasn’t on the maps of the campus. Jackie had led the way without revealing a single detail –even when Jan asked many, many questions on their way there- she had said it was a surprise and that she didn’t want to spoil it. Finally, as they were climbing those endless stairs, her mood got a bit better.

They reached a single green metal door, it was locked but the brunette pulled a key from her set and opened it. The door led to a little hidden rooftop garden with a few hanging plants and flowers in terracotta pots, there was also a set of recycled wood chairs and an unvarnished coffee table rough around the edges. But without any doubt the most stunning part of that small place was the view, it was the perfect spot to contemplate most of the green areas of the campus including some of the park across the street nearby the café. It was almost noon and the sun hit the opposite side but in a few hours, it would be probably the best viewpoint of the sunset.

“What is this place?” The younger kept inspecting everything.

Jackie closed the door behind them. “It used to be a project made for a group of students to raise awareness about the use of recycling materials but since they all graduated no one really knows it exists. I accidentally discovered it last year when I took a photography class and spotted it with my camera from that crossroad.” She pointed with her index finger. “I did some research and the janitor gave me the key after asking… when I was done with the assignment, she let me keep it with the promise I would do some maintenance once in a while and keep the plants alive. And since then, I come here when I need to be alone or when I’m upset… like today.”

Jan stared at her. “I’m sorry that you had to drop that class.”

“I didn’t want to quit, you know? I thought I was going to be able to handle it, by giving up I feel like I let him win…”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t have to stand that mistreatment.” She looked the brunette in the eye. “I’m glad you did it; don’t let it be a defeat, it doesn’t have to be one.”

“Thank you.” A weak smile appeared on her face.

“I’m gonna hug right now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“No, you don’t have to…”

“But I want to. C’mon, come here.” She extended her arms widely. “If you don’t let me hug you I’m going to hug myself and it’s going to be lame and I’m going to be sad.”

Jackie chuckled. “Okay, I guess…”

“Yay!” Jan jumped directly to her and wrapped her arms around her.

Jan’s shampoo smelled like almonds and honey. Her embrace made Jackie feel warm inside. Clouds could’ve been made of cotton and the sky was the bluest she had ever seen.

“You see? This is nice.” The younger still held her.

“Yeah, nice…” Jackie closed her eyes and for a moment, it was all right.

They stayed there for a little while. Jackie would have to go to the copy room soon and Jan had her class after lunch. During the time they were there, Jan played some music on her phone and they talked about what had happened earlier in the café. They agreed that it was sweet that Gigi had a crush on Crystal; Jackie watered the plants and told her the story of how she had met the blonde through Nicky. Later on, she sat on one of the chairs while Jan played hopscotch with the cracks in the concrete; she sang softly the song that was playing Hey There Delilah.

“You have a good singing voice,” Jackie mentioned.

“Huh? Me? Oh… I didn’t… I just sing for fun sometimes.” She suddenly felt coy.

“I mean it. It sounded lovely.”

“You’re just being nice. You haven’t heard Rosé or Lagoona, they are amazing.”

“They could tell you. I’m sure they’d agree with me.”

“I could never sing in front of them.” She looked mortified.

“You’d do well.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I don’t know…” Jan shrugged.

The music stopped and the alarm she had set went off.

“We have to go.” The younger announced. “I’ll walk with you to the copy room and then I’ll grab something to eat.”

“Okay. Let me close the door.”

She waited until the brunette was done and they started walking downstairs.

“I wish I could work with you, wouldn’t that be fun?” Jan casually mentioned.

“Well, you’re there all the time anyway.”

“Does it bother you?”

Jackie shook her head and smiled. “No, not at all.”

“I don’t understand it.” Jan lied on the table of the study room. “I have applied for every job available at the mall and still, no response and no results.”

“Ow, baby,” Rosé ruffled her hair. “I’m sure you’re going to find something soon.”

Lagoona lifted her gaze from the textbook. “I wish I could help but the restaurant where I work is full.”

“I thought you hated that place?” Jan turned toward her.

“I do, but the tips are good.” She highlighted a sentence with her pastel marker.

She was already studying for an upcoming presentation. Rosé was memorizing the lines of a play and she got Jan there to read the other part. Now they were on a break. The pink-haired girl was drinking peach soda from a can in the meantime Jan whined for her failed job search. Lagoona –whose blue hair was beginning to fade a little- googled some job offers in the area and read them at loud.

“There are a few that sound pretty disgusting if you ask me. I didn’t know the classified ads could be this kinky.” She frowned and put her phone down.

“Hey, what about that place?” Rosé snapped her fingers. “Goona, do you remember? The diner that’s a couple of blocks from here? We used to go there all the time during our freshman year.”

“Oh, yes. That was a nice place, didn’t we stop going there because your ex-roommate worked there?”

Rosé’s expression turned sour. “Yeah… but she got fired or quit, I don’t know. The point is, they were always hiring people, maybe you could ask there?”

“And you’ve waited this long to tell me?” Jan cried. “It’s been three agonizing days.”

“They are open now so you could-”

“Bye, guys! See you later.” She grabbed her things, threw them into her backpack, and dashed out just to return a couple of seconds later. “Yeah, so I don’t know where it is.”

Jan held her breath before walking past the door.

The diner was decorated in a retro style. It had black and white floor tiles, a long bar, red stools, chairs and booths, round tables, neon signs, vinyl albums and posters of classic Hollywood stars on the walls, lamps hanging from the ceiling, and even a functional jukebox. A few people were sitting at the bar, it was still early for dinner so almost everyone was having a milkshake or some ice cream.

Jan was welcomed by a girl with dark wavy hair in a striped red and white dress with a little white apron on. The name «Denali» was written on her tag.

“Welcome to Lucky’s, would you like a table or a seat on the bar?” She smiled and a pair of dimples appeared on her face.

“Hi, I was wondering if you have a job application for me or… if you were hiring right now?”

“Oh,” She lowered her notebook. “You wanna work here? Okay, just give me a second. You can sit over there.” Denali pointed at one empty table.

“Sure.” Jan held her backpack close to her body and moved to the booth.

Denali returned shortly after with a pen and a paper sheet in her hands.

“In normal circumstances, you’d have an interview with the manager but since he’s God knows where and I’m in charge in the meantime, I’m going to let you complete this form and then ask you some questions…”

“Alright, yeah.”

“I’ll be back in a moment.”

Jan filled the form with basic information, her full name, birth date, age, address, phone number, e-mail, etc. When she was done, she observed Denali serving customers, she moved like her feet weren’t touching the floor, with a full tray on her hands as if it weighed nothing, all with a giant smile on her face. She made it look easy.

“Everything alright?” She asked before sitting in front of Jan.

“Yes, I’m done.” She returned the paper sheet.

Denali scanned it, collecting information. “Janice? Okay, you’re a college student.”

“Jan is fine. Yes, I’m a freshman.”

“Aw,” She tilted her head. “I’m going to write my notes in front of you if that’s okay.” Jan nodded. “You haven’t worked as a waitress before, right?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner and I believe I compensate my lack of experience with enthusiasm, I’ve been told.”

She wrote something “Next, uhm… Why do you want to work here?”

“I need a job to pay for my things. As I said, this is my first year of college; I have a partial scholarship and my parents are supporting me from home but I don’t want to become a burden for them.”

“Do you mind if I ask about your scholarship?”

“No, not at all. It’s for baseball.”

“Work!” She nodded. “The last one, you wrote here your potential time schedules and, according to the rules, if you only work have twice per week you’ll have to take two Saturdays per month. Are you fine with that?”

“Sure, I can take any shift that day.”

“Well, Jan, the good news is that I sense we’re going to be besties, so I wrote «overqualified», «fast learner» and «tight schedules but willing to take Saturday’s shifts» which always is a plus.” She smiled at Jan. “I believe you’re going to get a call very soon.”

“Oh my God! Thank you.” Jan grinned. “I really appreciate that.”

“No worries. You’re lucky -no pun intended-, a girl just quit but being completely honest, she was a real bitch. You can’t be worse than her.”

“I’ve heard that before and… I’m okay with that.”

“Alright. I hope I see you soon.” She winked and returned to serve tables.

Jan left the diner with the biggest smile on Earth.

#rpdr fanfiction #jan sport #jackie cox #jankie #crygi #college au #lesbian au #slow burn #pretty in pearls #plastiquedoll #concrit welcome

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halitophobia · 4 years

Text

Blind Eye - Four

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank's Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank's Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Ha...so let’s just pretend that I haven’t been gone since...dude I don’t even know...September? Yeesh...well, I haven’t forgotten about this story that I started and have not lost interest...I’ve just lost motivation. For ten months. Anyways, here’s part 4 and I hope you enjoy it. I appreciate everything and if you’re here, having read the past parts, welcome back! Long time no see...Alright without further ado, please enjoy :)

Much love.

Disclaimer ⟶ over the century I’ve been gone, I have not established ownership over DBH characters

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3228

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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NOV 6th, 2038

AM 10:53:11

The sweet, comforting sound of middle-aged men arguing about an empty milk carton wakes you from your beautifully sound slumber.

With one eye open, you tenderly lift your arm to flip over your phone. The blue light screams at you so invasively, you almost forget to check the time. As it renders in your brai-

Shit.

You hurl the covers over and yank yourself out of bed. You have exactly seven minutes to get out this motel before they charge you another night. You hiss as the unnecessarily freezing floor hits your soles, then drop down beside your suitcase. Toiletries and clothes are strewn somewhat near, quickly finding their way into a miscalculated arrangement. You collapse onto the case flap for strategic compression, swearing as you catch your hair in the zipper. Once the suitcase is successfully shut, you stand triumphantly...and realize you are definitely not wearing pants. Comedically, you stare at the wall ahead of you, truly contemplating whether it's worth scavenging the depths of your now clumpy suitcase to find your sweatpants, or to run out in the bite of winter...

With legs spread out around your luggage, you dig through, trying to cause the least amount of disturbance. However you forget the whole point of searching gently once you feel the familiar fabric and jerk them out not so gently, creating a volcanic explosion.

No, no thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance to further fuck up my belongings...

As you seal the case shut with great difficulty, you quite literally launch it toward the door. You check the bathroom to make sure you're not missing anything, then race to your bag. With a cute jig, you shove your shoes on while fumbling with the door handle. As you slam the door behind you, you pause, seeing a completely calm and silent hallway.

Ba-da bing, ba-da boom...

Fixing a few strands of hair, you give your room a lock and sign out of the motel.

----

PM 1:10:45

"I'm home!" you holler, expertly chucking your keys towards a bowl on the kitchen counter. You watch as they collide with it and thrash the contents inside, bringing everything to the tile floor. Nice...

You move through the kitchen (which functions as a hallway), into the living room - corner as you like to call it. To your left sits an aged leather couch, pillows deformed and flat. Across that is the ancient one; the almighty TV3000, surely made three thousand years ago...A rickety window directly in front of you allows natural light to flood a small area of wall below the completely meaningless picture Ben insisted on hanging. Speaking of, there he lays limbs strewn out, trickling down the couch. His jaw, fallen down, reveals a gaping hole which projects a discomforting grumble and snort. You study his breathing pattern, then let your eyes wander to his hands; one lazily rested atop his stomach, and the other hanging off the couch with the neck of a bottle between his thumb and index. You scoff.

"Ben," you test, with a nudge to the couch. "Ben." you repeat.

You sigh, moving beside him and crouching down to his level. "Wake up."

He grumbles in response, swiping his lips with his tongue.

"Ben, you've got a shift in twenty. Get up, shower, and go."

"Shhhhhhh..." he starts, "too loud."

You swallow, lowering your gaze to the cracked hardwood floor. "How much did you drink last night?"

Your eyes narrow as he shakes his head, adjusting his position. You stand, leaving to your shared bedroom. Ignoring the much disturbed bed and clothes dotting the floor. You dig around the closet, clutch a certain bundle, then return. You drop the clothes with a hint of 'you're a shit' energy, then watch as he frustratingly awakes.

"What the fuck?" he snarls.

"Get up, shower, and go." you repeat, accenting select words.

"Fuck you." he mumbles, sitting upright.

He groans, letting his head still from the commotion, and with his eyes closed, he reaches for your thigh. He rests his head against it and sighs.

"How was the shift?"

"Good. Got a good bite that'll last us a couple days or so." you answer, involuntarily playing with his hair. He doesn't need to know how it really went and how you practically begged to be paid. Let's be honest, what did you contribute last night?

He yawns, "Then I don't have to go in for work."

You frown, pulling away. "Yes you do. Aaron said you're done unless you clean up your act."

"Yeah, yeah. Take a joke, will you?"

He uses your thigh to stand, draping an arm around your shoulders. He places a lazy kiss to your forehead and grins. It's scratchy and rough due to his ignorance for lip balm.

"You're great, Y/N." he states, wandering to the bedroom.

Your eyes close as you hear the shower running. Letting yourself fall back on the couch, you run a hand through your hair. It's been like this forever. You can't remember life before simply because you can't imagine this one being nearly as lively. You can't remember having to crunch out bills like this. You can't remember a floor that doesn't wail at you. You can't remember feeling so full that you need to un-button your jeans, or a silent neighbourhood with that one family that invites you over every Friday.

That life you lived before seems so un-reachable, so beautiful, that it's become imaginary. You love Ben. You do. He makes you smile. He makes you laugh when times are tough. He holds you through bits of the night and tells you he loves you. Though he's changed. When you touched his lips, young and naive, he knew excitement. Hunger. Want. When alcohol touched his lips, plentiful and cool, he knew ease. Numbing. Solitude. You weren't a stranger to this behaviour, you'd seen- you see it with your father. You know how to handle it.

He doesn't mean that.

He's got other things that are worrying him.

He's just stressed.

He's just tired.

He loves you.

He does.

"We need more shampoo."

Your eyes open, and are met with his, looking much younger and fresh. You nod, "I'll add it to the list."

"When uh, when does my shift end?" he asks, touching up his hair.

"Six-thirty."

His nose scrunches, and with a sniff, he turns to you. Instantly knowing, you stand, meeting him at the counter. He offers a small smile, acknowledging the tired in your eyes. He looks good; showers always fix the bags. Maybe last night had a lighter mood...

"You get some sleep, yeah? I cleaned the bedroom a bit."

You nod, returning his smile. He juts out his chin, looking down at you through his lashes. You lift, keeping you arms by your sides as you meet him for a kiss. He places his hand on your crown, pressing his lips on your hairline.

"See ya at nine."

"Nine? You get off at six-thirty."

"Stopping by Jordy's." he states, grabbing his keys that are on the floor with yours and a pack of gum. "Love you."

You frown, the door nearly secure in its frame-

"Pick up dinner, okay? I didn't get anything while you were out."

Now it's secure.

A scoff leaves your lips as you look to the crack embedded into the doorframe. You've convinced yourself it grows deeper and longer, his eager 'goodbyes' being the cause. Succumbing to yet another pause, your eyelids flutter shut once again; though not for long. Now that Ben's gone, you have duties.

Number one. Count empty bottles. Six and a half. Number two. Search for anything out of the order. A slightly bloodied rag partnered with a slightly bloodied countertop. Seems like someone was eager to open a bottle... And finally, get rid of his secret stash.

Thankfully, he didn't stock up much. Maybe just enough for the weekend or a 'stop by Jordy's'. With a small exhale, you clutch two packs of beers, heading for the door three to the right.

"Ben?"

"Huh? Oh, I-what are you doing with those?"

"What are you doing with that?"

His eyes follow yours, the expedition ending at his first two fingers. Between them burns a cigarette, merely used if not freshly lit. He left ten minutes ago...is this not his first?...Your eyes slender as the layers of thin paper slowly recede. The air is thick; squeezing both of you tight and still. The start of a lecture bubbles from your stomach while a story fabricates in his. The creases buried beneath the stillness of your face emerge, your lips quivering to expel words.

Though, yesterday's events rattled you enough.

"If you leave now, you'll arrive only minutes late."

A low sigh seeps from your body as you step forward. You gingerly press your palm upon his lower side and your other on his fist. Nimbly, you dance your fingertips along his knuckles and with your eyes on his, you swipe the cigarette from his hand. It falls and you listen for the minuscule bump it'll make as it collides with the concrete.

He thought that was the end of your show, but the respite was only an intermission. You tighten your hold on his abdomen, then crush the embers beneath you, a quick twist or two becomes music to your ears. His jaw tightens and his throat bobs. If only you knew how many more have touched his lips; blackened his lungs.

"Put those back."

His voice slices the silence, but your hardened stare adds more. This is the first time he's caught you, but if only he knew how many more bottles have been sold to the neighbours; dropped by their door.

He's relieved. You have yet another tear in your perfect image. He's usually one to slip up, this moment adding to his endless list of mistakes, but now, he concludes, you've got a growing list of your own.

A change of emotion from your face doesn't come, and you turn around toward the door. Your fingers curl on its handle and you send him a side glance, entering the apartment. With that, he stares where you once were, swears and threats swelling his tongue; he could storm back in there and he will.

But he needs this pay check. He needs this money. You don't need to know why.

----

PM 3:08:30

BZZZzzz...BZZZzzz...

Your eyes snap open, a brief gasp travelling your throat. A quiet curse entangles with an exhale as you reach for your phone. Whoever's on the other end won't be receiving a cutesy 'hello'...you were napping so peacefully.

"Yes?" you offer, rolling onto your back.

You're on your side of the bed; the clean side of the room, dragging your gaze over the popcorn-styled ceiling. As the caller begins to speak, a headache begins to form. Captain Fowler.

"Detective Anderson..." he pauses and you simply close your eyes, "I'm surprised you actually answered." he chuckles lightly, though you hear a more pressing undertone, indicating he has business to express.

"With all due respect, Captain...get to the point."

He replies with a grumble, and you hear his chair squeak through the phone. It's a discomforting pause for him, but a moment to rest for you.

"I have a new shift an-" he starts.

"I'll save you the time. No."

"Y/N..."

"No."

"Look, you need to get back out there. Your position here is wavering. I have been easy on you for too fucking long and that desk can be filled quickly..."

His voice is firm; comforting to you since it's all you've known. You smile softly. He's trying to threaten you.

"Fill it." you jest.

"You're willing to let that go, eh? Even to an android?"

The curve of your lips flatten and suddenly you're upright. That's fucking cold.

"Fowler you-"

"Hank was chatting it up an' everything. They have a common ground for dogs."

"Shut up."

"The thing was wigglin' in your chair, leaning back in it,"

"Shut up."

This isn't fun anymore. This is getting too close to home. You're seething. The anger in you reaches your ears, pink from your sleep, now red from your wrath. You storm with rage, huff hot, heavy air...though this time, there's more to it. Not only are you raving...you're hurt.

It's that easy? That easy for you to be replaced? You never thought your skirmishing would come to this. Androids have taken everything from you. From both of you...and he does this?

"Y/N."

Leashed and choked, you're brought back to your senses.

"If I do this, will you discard of it?"

"Of...what? Th-oh. The android."

Your jaw clenches, the skin around it bulging while you wait for his answer. You snicker. Hank's traded you for a piece of plastic. A rancid, putrid, self-centered-

"Get out of your head and listen to me,"

None of those thoughts left your lips; you wouldn't let that spill. He can't know you're hurt. Because you're not. No. You don't care.

"Take the job."

"If you trash it, I will."

You won't budge. It's you or it.

There's silence. A sigh, nearly a growl. Then a crackle through the line signifying a shift in his position.

"I'll see to it."

It's an accomplishment. Hank's a downright fuckhead and he'll be the one to apologize. To make amends. In the meantime, you'll climb that tower and set his work ablaze. You'll fight against him. Make him pay for everything he's done. He'll watch, clutching onto his beloved robot as you succeed like he once did.

"Well?"

Right, Fowler's still on the line. You aren't surprised he's hanging on. He's a soft spot for you ever since the incident; you and Hank, but you're more personable. You take advantage of him though. His calls, offering work. Shifts that you and Ben survive on. You'd be rubble without the cold Captain, surely. You don't deserve any of it, but on the other hand, the pride clouding your head traps the gratitude. Or maybe you can't find the words. The second sounds kinder, but you're not sure if you yourself even believe it.

"I don't have money for the trip." you bite.

'Thank you...'

"Your pay check will cover it."

'You're welcome...’

To your surprise, a smile finds it way to your lips. He can't see it. You don't want him to. For the first time through this treacherous hike, there's rope for you to hold. It's frayed at the ends and secure to nothing but twigs, but it's presented itself and you take your chances.

"So when do I start?"

"Leave now. A Lieutenant plans to head out to a case and I direct you to join." he takes a moment, "This situation is critical and it requires you to be local."

You nod. You know what he means. You'll need a place to stay. The first place that comes to mind is the motel you left earlier today...but even after getting this temporary job, it's expensive. Too expensive...

The Captain acknowledges your hesitance, predicting your setback.

"You know there's someone here with a home. And a dog..."

"Where do I meet the Lieutenant?"

Fowler stops his pushing, but only this time. He speaks as you begin to pack while scribbling the address down. You sit on the suitcase an- oh...I should probably...

'Can't talk now. Leave a message.'

"Ben, I..uh...Fowler's offered me a job," subconsciously, you start to fiddle with the zipper on the case, "Well, temporarily...but it's still good money. So...I'm leaving now and uh...well I have to stay there for a couple days. I don't know how long um," you take a breath, suffocating your bag and the grudge you held, "look I'm sorry for today, I'll put some cash on the counter for dinner and...I'll give you updates. Um...see ya."

A groan escapes your lips and you head for the door. Leaving this place doesn't tug or heavy your steps. You do this all the time. You're not attached to any places anymore...always sleeping in different rooms, organizing clothes into different compartments, dragging your luggage onto busses. It helps, in a way, knowing you don't have strong ties to one place other than...Ben. He helps too. Lets you know there's a sense of being somewhere. It's with him. You think.

The doors of the bus slide open and you step in with ease. This is routine. You know this. The bus accelerates pulling you back, but it feels different, like this time, you might regret leaving. This time, you'll come back changed. Or you won't...come back.

----

PM 3:52:10

The elevator ride is intruding. Clicking, clunking, rattling...hell you can't even think. You can't prepare yourself; put your mind at rest and focus on the case. Then, like bird shit slapping the top of your head, you realize...you have no idea what you're going in to. You don't know who this Lieutenant is, nor what the case is about. Is it in your area of knowledge? It has to be. Fowler wouldn't put you on foreign grounds. He is an ass though...he could do it to make a point.

Your damned anxiety dances over you like a sugar plum fairy. Can this elevator go any faster? Your right leg starts to shake. It's a habit. Just get it over with. Just get it done. Just let it go. The words you feed yourself are no use. You're just regurgitating them back. It's pathetic, really. You've seen the worst of the worst, yet you shrivel at the thought of working with a stranger on an investigation you have no idea about. Cute.

The ding invades your mind and you bite the inside of your cheek. Hard.

Fuck it. Right? Fuck it!...

A loud scrape sounds before the doors even budge. They part and you're face-to-face with a poorly papered wall. To the left, you look, is another wall, and to your righ-

"Mmph!"

Adrenaline crashes over you while a person crashes into you. A heavy person. Before you can process, your chin's scaping the chipped floor and your arms are pinned from behind. Legs tighten around your hips while a hand presses your cheek. There's a halt in movement allowing you to assess the position and its gaps. Your eyes slam shut; you have to think and think quickly. You recognize a space between the legs and yank your top knee through, driving theirs to the wall. After creating an opening, you heave yourself out, bucking your shoes into their chest. Scrambling to stand, your ankle's caught in an excruciating hold and a growl from you is the first verbal sound. The skin on your left cheek burns again as it’s raked on the ground. You're being hauled back. You feel legs return to your torso and hands tearing yours apart to each ear. With your back flush on the floor, you finally look at your attacker.

What. the. fu-

"Connor! Hold them tig-Y/N?"

You glance back and forth at the two.

"Oh for fuck's sake."

----

#connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #detroit connor x reader #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh x reader #dbh connor #detroit become human #connor #rk800 #hank anderson #hank x connor #Hank's daughter #Bryan Dechart

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deliberatelyvague · 4 years

Text

Please Eat (diavolo x fem!reader)

Started: April 4, 2020 at 10:10pm

Ended: April 5, 2020 at 12:19am

Word Count: 3,669

Ships: [Diavolo x fem!reader]

Trigger Warning(s): depression, eating disorders, self harm (cutting), stressful events

Author’s Note: Uh okay first thing: I’m sorry this is so long, it just keeps going. Second: I’m not sure if doing something this deep so quickly on my page is a good idea, but I’m going to do it anyway. Requests are open and appreciated!

—————

If anyone ever tries to tell you that RAD tests were easy to study for, the best thing for you to do is to either laugh in their face or ask them to tutor you. It might be because the tests in general are much harder than the ones administered on Earth, or maybe it was because you’re a human who hasn’t had any background to any of these topics other than the background taught in class.

And you paid attention, you took notes (when you weren’t distracted by Mammon, that is) to the best of your ability, and you asked for help when you needed it. You even stayed up almost all night the first time you had a test studying and revising your notes, rewriting them and even finding videos to watch on that subject. You had walked into the classroom the next morning, hyped up from (caffeinated beverage) and ready to kick this test in its butt.

The downfall of this attitude came when you looked at the first page of the test to not recognize almost any of the material, only a few things scattered here and there. You say in your chair, staring at the paper and trying to work your way through the questions, making the most sense out of them that you could, but it wasn’t helping all that much.

You weren’t surprised when your test came back with a barely passable grade, but Lucifer was. Oh, Lucifer laid into you for a good two hours, talking about how you were going to ruin Diavolo’s program, and that you should study harder next time and ask more questions. You assured him that you would, and he didn’t seem all too believing in your answer, but he let you be.

His speech stuck something into you, however. Something that you felt all too well in the human world: inadequacy. You felt terrible, you had tried your best, you had studied, but it still didn’t help anything. That night at dinner you heard all the brothers talking about the test, and even though you hadn’t done the worse (that medal went to Mammon, who even though he didn’t study or even pay attention in that class, still managed to only get a few point worse than you) you by far hadn’t done the best. Lucifer and Satan tied for that position. Asmo, Beel, and Belphie got somewhere worse than those two but better than you.

You picked at your food, not all too interested in it, your stomach filled with your old friend. You could feel Beel’s eyes on you, and then once you looked at him you noticed his eyes were actually just on your food. You took your napkin from your lap and placed it on the table next to your food.

“You can have the rest of my food if you want it, Beel. I’m not that hungry,” you say, and leave the dining hall, no one bothered by your exit. There was a sting of pain, but you quickly ignored it. You didn’t need to be their priority 24/7, that’s just ridiculous.

You went immediately to your room, sitting at your desk and looking over your test and then at your notes and textbook, to see where you went wrong. Turns out there was an entire section you had forgotten about, which was what almost the entire test was over. You made revisions on your test and slid them into a file to save for the final over that class, and started to read the next chapter in the textbook.

You idiot, you really didn’t double check that you studied everything? You don’t deserve to be here, you’ll tarnish Diavolo’s name. Worthless, they should’ve picked someone else.

You gripped the edges of your textbook, trying to shake the words from your head. You knew they weren’t true, but deep inside you, you couldn’t help but feel like they were true.

You tried to come up with excuses as to why you had just forgotten about that section, but you couldn’t. You had locked everyone out of your room except for Diavolo and Lucifer, of course, so that you could study. You didn’t have anything distracting you, no demon or phone (which you had hidden away in a drawer by the bed).

So you really just forgot about it? You should be punished for that. You know how to do it, so why not administer them yourself?

But you hadn’t self harmed in so long. You had been clean for multiple years now, and you hated the thought of ruining that for a measly test.

But it’s not just the test, is it? You have possibly tarnished the name of your beloved boyfriend, you broke the respect you’ve gone through so many lengths to build with Lucifer also. You don’t deserve to have either of them, or to be in this program. Just do it, they won’t notice. You need to be punished.

Silently you went over and got the razor out of one of the new pencils sharpeners you had bought a few days ago because you thought they were pretty, and they were having a sale. Moving over to your bathroom, you shut the door and locked it, bringing the blade to your wrist and slashing it a few times. You let out a small breath, an almost instantaneous relief washing over your body.

The dopamine that you had been drastically craving for so long flooded into you again, and you almost didn’t notice the knock on your room’s door. You quickly applied bandages to your wrists after you cleaned them, slipping the razor into the folded towels under your sink and pulling down the sleeves of your turtleneck. You were still wearing your school uniform, just without the jacket on top of it.

After being grilled for two hours and then having to finish homework before dinner you just hadn’t had the time to change. You stepped out of your bathroom to find Diavolo standing by your desk, his back turned toward you and one of his hands placed on something, looking it over.

You felt your stomach drop and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in your closet with a nest of blankets and pillows and just wallow in the darkness, but your boyfriend turned to face you, his hand now gripping the paper, a mask of confusion covering his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I know that grade isn’t acceptable, I thought I studied hard enough I just-”

“[Y/N], I know you studied hard for this test. You didn’t let me talk to you for a good three hours. What happened?”

Tears welled up in your eyes and he came over, wrapping his arms around you, one of his hands stroking the top of your head.

“I forgot an entire section from the chapter. I’m sorry,” You sobbed, and he shushed you.

“You don’t need to apologize, Princess. Sometimes that happens. It’s happened to me, it’s happened to Lucifer. Sometimes we just forgot.”

“But ‘Volo, I can’t forget. My mistakes look bad on the both of us, not just me. Imagine if that grade was worse, how tarnished this exchange program would be?”

His eyebrows laced together.

“Princess, your grades can always come back. One bad test doesn’t harm much, considering your grade in that class, it shouldn’t affect you much.”

You stayed quiet, biting on your bottom lip.

Don’t listen to him. He’s lying to you. That’s all demons do, lie. Are you really going to believe him over me, something you’ve known for so long?

You wrapped your arms around him, heat radiating off of his body. You didn’t believe him, he didn’t discredit that your grades could tarnish the program, so you would just have to make sure to study more. You could stand to skip a few meals, anyway. Then you could study and still manage to keep up your social life.

“‘Volo, no offense, but why did you come to my room anyway?” You ask him after you calm down a bit.

“I’m supposed to take you dress shopping for the ball coming up, remember?”

Suddenly the conversation the two of you had a few days ago came back. He wanted to instill some human school things, and you mentioned dances to him, and he was more than thrilled. He scheduled one for a few weeks from now as soon as he could gather the student council.

“Oh, yeah. I’m not changed or anything, just give me a few minutes, please. He nodded and walked over to your bookcase, filled with books from the human realm that you enjoyed, though some spots were vacant due to Satan.

You chuckled at him, going to your closet and picking out a long sleeved shirt and some skinny jeans, tucking in the shirt and making sure the sleeves covered your bandages.

“Alright, I’m good,” he turned and smiled at you.

“Beautiful, you know I love that color on you.” You blush and nod, taking his hand as he drags you to dress stores to find a base dress because “Barbatos can add anything you want to it.”

You felt bad, but then thought that Barbatos might enjoy something else to work on other than Diavolo’s issues.

You both decided on a simple long-sleeved crimson a-line dress, asking Barbatos to add whatever he felt would look nice. You had enough trust in him, and you’re sure that Diavolo will pitch in some ideas, too.

————

Your plan of skipping meals had worked well enough, you steered away from the brother’s questioning by grabbing a granola bar from the supply you kept in your room and showing it to them before you left for school each day. You packed a few grapes and other soft fruits for your lunch so when you were in the library you wouldn’t disturb anyone.

You had been studying enough that you felt confident in your next few tests in any classes, and your efforts paid off when you passed all of them. Lucifer seemed pleased, and so did Diavolo when you showed him.

You still ate dinner with the brothers when Diavolo didn’t invite you out, but slowly you started to lose your appetite. You didn’t want to eat. You’ve noticed how much trimmer your waist was, and how much clearer your skin was. You knew it wasn’t healthy in the slightest, but you felt better about yourself. And if you could improve your grades and lose a few pounds, it couldn’t hurt to do this for a few more weeks, right?

That night was a try-on for the dress for the dance, to make sure it fit you correctly with the shoes you planned on wearing and the add-ons didn’t take away from any place or attract eyes to any place you didn’t want them to.

You were met by Barbatos at the foyer, and he led you to the dress’s room. You gasped when you saw it. Underneath a light and on a mannequin stood your dress in all its glory: the red dress had black tulle added underneath to add a bit of volume to the skirt, and red flowers were embroidered to the chest area and the sleeves.

“Barbatos, this looks beautiful!” You exclaim, walking over it to feel the fabric.

“I told you she’d say that,” you hear your boyfriend’s voice, and you look over at him and smile, quickly looking back at the dress. “Are you going to try it on, or are you going to let the mannequin model it?”

You squeal and nod, Barbatos unzipping the back and leading you and the dress over to a division. You quickly undress and step into the dress and he zips you up.

You look in the mirror and frown slightly. It doesn’t sit on you like it did, and you expected that because you were losing weight, but you didn’t expect this much. It had only been a few weeks- maybe two or three- it shouldn’t fit you like this.

“Is something wrong, Miss?” You quickly look at Barbatos and shake your head.

“No, no it’s amazing,” you run your hands over the gap in the waist and the shoulders before stepping out from behind the curtains.

Diavolo’s face flashed confusion for the quickest of seconds before returning to adoration.

“Ah, that looks stunning on you, Princess.”

You feel blood rush to your ears and cheeks before Barbatos comes at you with pins, pinning it where it needed altered. He fit it so that it laid against your body like it had in the dressing room at the shop.

You thanked Barbatos when he was finished, and he brushed off the thanks, saying that it was his duty.

You walked with Diavolo back to your dorm, and he offered to buy ice cream. The thought of ice cream made your stomach rumble, but then the thoughts of how many calories filled it also came and you told him you were hungry.

“[Y/N], I asked Lucifer and he said you hadn’t eaten dinner for the past few days. I also find it hard to believe that a granola bar and handful of fruit can keep you filled at all. Why aren’t you eating?”

He had stopped and grabbed your wrist directly over where the scars were healed, but the skin still felt slightly tender. You winced slightly and pulled away.

“Princess, please. Talk to me. I won’t judge you,” he comforts after you stayed quiet.

Don’t tell him. You’re perfectly fine. You know you are. Why is it his place to tell you what’s best for your body?

You felt a sudden wave of anger so strong you wonder if there was a lesser demon of wrath around impeding your judgement.

“Why does it matter?” You snap at him. “I’m thriving right now, I’ve never done better in school and I’m managing to lose a few pounds. I’m doing good.”

He’s just jealous. He’s trying to hold you back.

“Why are you trying to hold me back? I thought you would be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you Princess, but you can’t sacrifice your health to make me proud. Please, Princess I’m worried.”

You roll your eyes and look at anywhere but him.

“Can you just take me home, please.”

His mouth opens like he wants to say something else, but instead just closes his mouth and nods.

“Of course, Princess,” he comes over to you and laces his fingers with yours, and you walk in tension.

He kisses you when you reach the gate of the House of Lamentation, and you part ways.

—————

You didn’t have another issue until the next night, when you were setting up a small nest of pillows in your closet. You had put a light in there and made it a perfect place to study, other than your desk.

“Hey, Normie, Lucifer says you have to come to dinner tonight,” you hear Levi’s voice call to you through the door.

You huff and call back that you weren’t hungry and you could practically hear Levi’s eye roll through the door.

“He said if you said that to send Mammon so he could pester you, so I think I’ll just save you the agony of that and just tell you to come now.”

You scoff and pull on a flannel, buttoning it up over your sports bra you had been wearing.

You open the door and walk with him to the dining room, sitting at your place. You could feel all of the brother’s eyes on you, and you could hear Asmo whimper slightly.

“[Y/N], what have you done to yourself?” You hear him whisper, and you choose to ignore him. You hadn’t seen any of them but Lucifer for at least 5 days and that’s what he chose to start whatever conversation they planned on having with you?

You look at the plate in front of you, it was spaghetti and a side salad with garlic bread. Coincidentally, one of your favorite meals on Earth.

You pick up the fork to the side of your plate and place the napkin on your lap, stabbing a tomato from the salad and putting it in your mouth. You could still feel the eyes of the brothers on you.

“Why are you all staring at me? Please stop,” you ask them, and they almost immediately diverted their gaze to their food where they started to eat.

You finished the salad and took a bite of the garlic bread, almost gagging immediately. Not because of the taste, you noted. So why had you gagged? You placed the garlic bread down before taking your napkin off of your lap and setting it beside your plate.

“You think you’re done?” You hear Lucifer ask. You frown and look over at him, your heartbeat picking up in your chest.

“Yes? I’m not hungry. I wasn’t planning on coming to dinner but you made me anyway,” you told him, and pushed away from the seat.

“No, sit back down. You’re not done eating,”

“Yes I am, Lucifer,” you shot back, but you didn’t move from your seat.

Suddenly you were overloaded with all of the brother’s pleas that tried to make you eat. You felt the room start to spin as you look at the plate of food. You could only imagine the embarrassment of trying on that dress and it not fitting correctly, of you looking like a laughing stock next to Diavolo in an ill-fitting dress.

“[Y/N], please, you have to eat.” You heard a brother say, and to be honest you couldn’t remember or discern which one it was. All of their voices were melding together.

“No! I don’t have to do anything! I’m not fucking eating okay? You’ll have to deal with it. I can’t. I can’t eat this food, I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

You stand up from the table, rushing out of the room and to your room, fastening the lock on your door that even Lucifer couldn’t get through with his powers, only Diavolo. You went directly into your closet after grabbing the blade from the towels and shut the door. You were in almost pitch black other than the little sliver underneath the door, but you didn’t bother turning on the light before you cut into your wrist. But you didn’t feel the dopamine this time, so you made another one.

Your movements were in such hysterics at this point that you didn’t notice how many you had made and how bloody it had gotten before you heard your door open and a bunch of feet come running in.

“Princess,” you hear Diavolo’s voice.

“Please, make them leave. Please,” you whimper out, loud enough for them to hear. You hear a few pairs of feet leave and a door close before Diavolo opens the door, looking at your wrists.

“Princess-” he started, and you sobbed.

“I’m sorry, ‘Volo, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“It’s going to be alright Princess,” he soothes you, and thankfully the cuts weren’t that deep, they had already stopped bleeding when he rinsed them in the sink.

He brings you to your bed after he puts ointment on the cuts and bandages them.

He sits leaning against the headboard and brings you to his lap and leaning against his chest.

“Princess, I don’t expect for you to talk to me unless you want to, I’ll wait here as long as you need me to.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, no! Of course not. I’m more disappointed than anything. Princess, you know you can tell me anything, and I’m saddened that you thought that the only resort you had to take whatever you were feeling out was on yourself.”

“I didn’t want to burden you. You have so many duties.”

His hand came up to rest on your hair, stroking it and rocking you slightly.

“All of my duties can be waived. I can always deal with my duties at another time, but how would I be able to console you if you are dead? How am I supposed to help you, Princess? I don’t want to lose you. I’m watching you waste away to nothing right in front of me and I don’t know why, I don’t know anything!”

“I just feel a lot of pressure from school, I guess. It’s a lot of changes at once, and I was never very good at changes. Then I started studying more in place of meals, and I started losing weight, and I liked the results. But now I can’t eat more than a few bites of anything substantial at mealtimes, because I’m scared I’ll look like an oaf standing next to you in my dress if I gain any amount of weight.”

“Princess, you shouldn’t treat yourself like an object. You aren’t just any ‘exchange program member’, you’re my girlfriend. You’re the one I want to marry, the one that will carry our children eventually. You aren’t an object to make me look better, you are your own self. You shouldn’t base your value or how you treat yourself off of other people’s perception of you or how you think they perceive you.”

You stayed quiet for a good while, thinking about what he said. You leaned back away from him, looking into his beautiful golden eyes, bringing one of your hands up to rub your thumb on his cheek bone.

“Can you help me, please? I need help. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Of course I’ll help, Princess. Everyone will help. Lucifer, Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie, and I’m sure even Mammon and Barbatos will help in their own ways.”

You smiled slightly.

“I love you,” you tell him before laying back on his chest.

“I love you too, Princess.”

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

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aquaminwrites · 5 years

Text

Skin Deep: 09

Pairing: Yoongi x Tattoo Artist!Reader (M/F) Genre: Friends to lovers, slow burn. Smut. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dirty talk, unprotected sex (stay safe!) Word Count: 9K

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 (links removed due to tumblr issue)

A/N: SMUT, FINALLY! The next chapter is the end. Thank you for your patience with this one, it took longer to write than I expected. Let me know what you think! Also, pardon any mistakes, I tried by best while editing. Enjoy!

“This can only end badly.”

“Yoongi, I trust you.”

“Are you sure? Because this seems like a not-so-great idea.”

“Yoongi. I trust you.”

“What if I fuck it up? And then it’s on you forever? How am I supposed to forgive myself if I—”

“Yoongi.”

His eyes finally fall on you, wide with panic. You slip your arms around your boyfriend’s waist, palms gently rubbing against the bare skin of his lower back under his shirt. You’re smiling that insolent grin as you look up at him, a slight shake to your head as you chuckle.

“Baby, I trust you. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t. Besides, you told me the other day that you wanted to try tattooing.”

Yoongi huffs, arms circling you out of habit. “Yeah, but I meant like…on a grapefruit. Or synthetic skin. When you said I could try, I didn’t think you meant on you.”

You shake your head with a laugh, unlatching yourself from his body and dragging him towards your station. Tonight was supposed to be yours and Yoongi’s date night—the original plan was to go out to dinner, nothing too fancy, and maybe go see a movie. But your appointment today had gone late, and so the plans had to change.

Yoongi shakes his head, wondering how it is that you can be so flippant about marking up your skin, especially on a whim by someone who isn’t even a professional. But then again, that’s part of the reason he likes you so much. You’re his opposite, in a lot of ways. More outspoken, more outgoing, better looking—even though you vehemently disagree, if only to get him to blush.

He also finds, over dating you for the last month and a half, that he can’t say no to you. And so he doesn’t.

He has to admit that he’s been pretty excited about the idea of trying out tattooing, even if it’s just once. He knows he doesn’t have the skill set or the hand-eye coordination to be any good, but he can’t help but be fascinated by it, especially when you start to speak so passionately on the subject.

Yoongi remembers how he was all those months ago, how disgusted he had been when Jungkook told him that he’d made a tattoo appointment with an artist he’d never heard of before. And now he can’t picture himself without you beside him, especially now that the two of you have officially started dating.

Yoongi has been true to his word, allowing you the time and space you needed and trying not to rush you into anything you weren’t ready for. The two of you have kissed, and have come dangerously close on more than one occasion to stepping over that line and just getting lost in one another, but it hasn’t happened just yet.

Not that either of you don’t want to. Yoongi can see it in the way your gaze lingers just a touch too long—especially recently. The tension grows thicker and thicker every day, to the point where just being able to touch you or hold you has the blood stirring between Yoongi’s legs. He has to try extra hard to keep himself calm, which is no easy feat when he catches you staring at him and biting your lip.

Your station is already fully set up and ready to go, the small stencil of a music note—an eighth note, to be exact—prepped on the countertop. You take a seat in the client’s chair, placing your wrist on the flat armrest that is wrapped with plastic and a medical bib. You point at the box of black latex gloves and beam at him.

“Go on. You remember how to stencil, right?”

Yoongi lets out a whine, but sits down in the artist’s chair anyway. He snaps on the gloves and then makes sure to follow all the steps as you guide him through the process—wipe the skin with alcohol first to disinfect, apply a thin layer of the stencil gel, and then place the stencil very, very carefully.

You decide to get a music note at the base of your wrist because Yoongi is a musician and you find his passion for his art inspiring and definitely something to emulate. When you’d told Yoongi about the tattoo you wanted him to do for you, he’d sputtered in protest.

“Isn’t it bad luck to get a tattoo for your significant other? And isn’t that like…the one thing that everyone says not to do when getting tattooed?”

You shrug, obviously nonplussed. “I have a full sleeve, neck piece, and an unfinished back all done by my ex-fiancé. I clearly do not care.” Your smile turns coy, and you scoot closer to Yoongi on the couch, walking your fingers up his chest as you press light, teasing kisses to his jawline. “Besides…what if I want you to mark me up, baby?”

Yoongi wonders if he should keep a tally of how many cold showers he’s had to take in the last month.

Peeling away the now-damp stencil paper, thanks to the wetness of the gel, Yoongi puts it aside and looks up at you with apprehensive eyes as you examine the placement.

“Is it okay?”

You reward him with a kiss on the forehead. “It’s perfect.”

“Perfect,” Yoongi repeats, sounding somewhat sarcastic as he eyes your hot pink rotary as if it’s grown a set of horns and rows upon rows of sharp, blade-like teeth. You’ve set everything up for him, so all he needs to do is pick up the machine and give it the old college try.

Yoongi flexes his fingers slightly before he goes to pick the damn thing up, and he’s suddenly reminded of the first time he’d ever had sex.

“Why do I feel like a virgin all over again?” He grumbles, wetting a piece of paper towel with a mixture of soap and water.

You can’t help but laugh at that, reaching up to brush some of the fringe away from his eyes. “Because you’re doing something nerve-wracking for the first time. Don’t worry, you’re gonna do great.”

Yoongi huffs out a breath, and tries to get himself into the zone. He grips the machine and dips the tip of the needle into the ink cap, making sure to check if the stencil is dry before going in. He feels you watching him intently, making sure he does everything right and in the proper order as his foot hits the pedal to run the machine. The familiar buzzing fills his ears and he tries to control the way his hand shakes as he goes in for the first line.

The tattoo itself is tiny, barely larger than one square centimetre. But to Yoongi, it might as well be the size of an entire bodysuit with how nervous he is and with how much sweat is gathering at his brow. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you scrunch up your nose in a wince, and he immediately moves the needle away.

“Oh my god, are you okay? Did I fuck up? Are you hurt? Jesus, I—”

“Yoongi!” You’re laughing now, and you use your free hand to pull him in for a quick kiss. “It’s a tattoo. It’s meant to hurt. And the wrist is never a fun spot to get tattooed anyway, all the muscles and tendons and stuff. I’m fine, I promise. Plus, you’re almost done, you just need to fill in that little part there, on the tail of the note. There you go, now give it a wipe and see if any spots need touching up…”

Yoongi diligently wipes the excess ink off your skin and you take your wrist back, holding it close to your face with a scrutinizing brow to check for any major fuck-ups. His face is still tense as you move it away, but finally relaxes when he sees you smiling from ear to ear. You reach out and cup his face, kissing both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then his mouth.

“It’s perfect,” you grin against his lips. “Thank you.”

He helps you bandage up the tattoo, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline. You show him this new product you got in the mail as a sample, a clear adhesive bandage called Second Skin that you place over top of the tattoo. Reading off the instructions on the back, you gather that it’s meant to maintain a wet heal rather than a regular dry heal like you normally do—the benefit being that you don’t have to worry about the traditional healing process. You figure that since the piece is small, it’ll be a good way to test out the product before selling it to your clients.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Yoongi notices, checking his phone once everything has been torn down and properly sanitized. You’re both standing in the lobby of the studio, leaning against the front desk. “Did you still want to grab dinner somewhere?”

You’re checking your phone as well, frowning slightly as you browse through the restaurants in the area. “Hmm. Why don’t you just come over to my place for dinner? I think I have some stuff in the fridge, I can cook something.”

Yoongi can’t help but raise an eyebrow. In the time that you two have officially been dating, he still hasn’t been over to your apartment. It seems almost monumental, like you’re taking the next step forward in your relationship. He tries to sound casual, though he probably fails, as he replies, “Yeah, sure. You know, uh, I can cook too, if you need any help with anything.”

“And you cook?” You tease, arms looping around his middle. “My boyfriend is such a catch.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “You know, we would get a lot more done if you just stopped flirting with me all the time.”

You detach yourself from him, shooting him a wink from over your shoulder as you gather your things, knowing full well that Min Yoongi requires you to flirt with him at least once a day or he’ll die. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and sighs fondly, shrugging on his leather jacket over his oversized zip-up hoodie. “You’re going to be the death of me, babe.”

—

The bus ride to your apartment is thick with a tension that Yoongi doesn’t want to name. He looks over at you, staring contentedly out the window, your fingers interlaced with his. He can’t help but smile at the sight, and when you catch him staring, you simply give his hand a squeeze and adjust to lean your head against his shoulder.

When you unlock the main door and Yoongi steps over the threshold, he realizes that this is the first time he’s ever set foot into your building. You lead him silently to the elevator, and press the number for the 8th floor. By the time you actually reach your apartment, Yoongi is sure he’s scratched a bald spot behind his ear out of anxiety.

You lead him inside, and can’t help but giggle at the sight of him taking everything in.

“Wow,” he manages, eyes roaming everywhere as you flick on all the lights. “Your apartment is way nicer than mine.”

“Hey,” you protest. “I like your apartment.”

“But we could have spent so much time hanging out here,” Yoongi pretends to whine, spinning in a circle with his arms outstretched as you roll your eyes and wander into the kitchen.

Your apartment is much more modern, being in a newer building than Yoongi’s. The front door opens to an open concept living room and kitchen, with a marble-top island opposite the sink for more counter space. A modern looking couch faces a large television on the other end of the room, and also serves to further separate the two areas.

The living room itself is cozy and can only be described as an extension of your shop. The walls are painted a dark wine berry, and white Christmas lights have been hung all around the perimeter of the room. It brings out the warmth in the colour of the paint, and immediately has Yoongi feeling nostalgic. For what, he can’t quite place.

Framed art lines the walls—some odd vintage posters of palm readings and human anatomy, as well as art prints signed by names that Yoongi identifies as tattoo artists that you admire. He’s just dodging around the coffee table to look at your shelf of oddities when you call to him from the kitchen.

“Want some wine? I have a pinot noir. Not that I know what that means, but it’s red.”

Yoongi can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes. “Yeah. Sure.”

He hears you pouring two glasses as he goes back to examining your things. You appear behind him and offer him the wine, which he swirls around for a second before taking a long, drawn out sip. He pretends not to notice as your eyes trail down to his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I never asked you where you find these things,” Yoongi mentions, gesturing to the animal skull taxidermy. “Do you just buy them online, or…?”

You chuckle, sipping at your own glass. Your cheeks are already beginning to go red, something that Yoongi has discovered only happens when you drink wine. “At tattoo conventions, actually. One of the vendors is a good friend of mine, and all his stuff is ethically sourced. He’s reliable, and I wouldn’t buy from anyone else.”

Yoongi nods and returns to looking at all the little gadgets and odds and ends that you’ve collected over the years. There’s a vintage book on tattooing, a few very old looking Polaroid cameras, a pocket watch, quartz crystals, and a few framed photos.

One is of you with your parents, looking like it’s from a birthday a few years ago, judging by the fact that your tattoos are incomplete and your hair is a lot shorter. Another one is of you and Junghyun, dressed in your graduation robes, both of you smiling from ear to ear with your degrees in hand.

The last photo that you have framed on your shelf is one that Yoongi isn’t expecting to see. It’s of the two of you. The photo is black and white and a little grainy, and he can instantly tell from the style of the photograph that it was taken by Taehyung. It’s from your first date, that night the two of you ran into Jimin and Taehyung at the carnival. You’re sitting at the picnic bench, looking bashfully down at your lap as Yoongi leans into you, a smile reaching all the way up to his eyes as he regards you as if you created every galaxy in the universe.

You steal Yoongi’s empty wine glass and place it, along with your own, onto the coffee table. He feels you wrap your arms around his middle from behind, noticing when you place a kiss to the back of his shoulder.

His hands come to cover your own. “I didn’t know Tae had this film developed yet.”

You rise onto your tip toes and place your chin on his shoulder. “I asked him if he could show me before he shows you.”

Yoongi snorts. “Traitor.” After a pause, he adds, “Kind of surprised you don’t still have a photo of Namjoon up or something.”

You frown, dropping your arms from around his waist to hold his hand properly. You rub your free palm along his forearm in gentle, comforting circles. You and Namjoon had decided to rekindle your friendship, and things are going surprisingly well. He still gives you some distance, which you appreciate, but you can tell that Yoongi is still a little jealous when you meet up with him for coffee or to catch up. You reassure him every time that there’s nothing there between you and your ex, but you also know that he can’t help but worry.

“Why would I have photos of Joon up in my apartment?” You ask him with a quiet melancholy. You hate seeing Yoongi even a little bit upset, and you can tell right now that he’s got a whole mess of emotions swimming around in his head right now. “He doesn’t make me happy. You do. You’re the one that makes my heart race, and you’re the one that makes me smile every day. It’s you, Yoongi. And you’re all I need.”

Maybe it’s your words. Maybe it’s the wine. But when Yoongi turns to look at you, and it’s not like he’s seeing you for the first time—it’s like he can’t imagine his life before you. It’s just as you said all those months ago. His eyes roam over your face, taking everything in that has become so familiar to him, memorizing every detail that he already knows by heart: the slope of your nose, the way your eyelashes fan across your cheek every time you blink up at him full of wonder, the way your lips gently part as you inch closer and closer…

Yoongi loves you. He loves you.

He doesn’t remember exactly when he knew, but seeing you now, looking up at him like he’s the only truth you’ve ever known, it overwhelms him and grips his heart so strongly that he fears it might burst forth from his chest. He finds himself pulled into your orbit, every thought in his brain circling on you, you, you, until he grows dizzy with want.

His warm palm comes to caress the side of your face, his thumb gently running across the smoothness of your cheek bone. He has so much he wants to say, three little words dancing on the tip of his tongue. But instead, his other hand presses against your lower back and draws you to him, your tiny intake of breath causing him to quirk up his lips in the tiniest grin. And when his lips meet yours, the universe slots back into place.

This kiss is pure fire—nothing but heat and an overwhelming sensation that threatens to consume you both in your entirety. Yoongi’s tongue slips into your mouth and he moans as you open up for him, fingers tangling in his hair, your body staying flush against him.

“Yoongi,” you gasp as his lips trail down to your neck, biting and sucking a path as he goes. “I want you so bad. Please.”

“Oh?” He can’t help but tease, grinding his hips into yours as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “What do you want me to do to you, kitten?”

You suck in the tiniest breath at the mention of the pet name, your eyes searching his. After a beat, you rise up, bringing him back in for a kiss. You tug on his lower lip just a little with your teeth as you pull away, batting your eyelashes up at him.

“I want you inside of me. Please Yoongi, please…”

Yoongi stares down at you with hungry eyes, and then suddenly you’re yelping as he’s hoisting you up. Your legs are around his waist as he moves faster than you’ve ever seen him in the direction of your room. You swear you hear him mutter, “Well, twist my arm,” as he practically kicks down your bedroom door.

You giggle into his shoulder, nipping at the pale skin at the base of his neck. You feel him swallow against your lips, and then suddenly your back is bouncing against your mattress, and Yoongi’s body is covering yours.

His hands are everywhere, tugging your shirt overhead and attacking zipper on your jeans. You’re no better. You push his hoodie off his shoulders, sliding your palms under his shirt and along his back. You lift it off, bringing him back down for a kiss, and Yoongi groans as you part your thighs for him, clad only in your bra and panties. His mouth is on yours again in a second, and he takes in a sharp inhale as you arch your back to grind against his growing bulge from below.

“You still have your pants on,” you whine, your hands wandering down to his fly. The amount of wiggling has Yoongi’s pants growing even tighter and he lifts himself off of you, standing up so that he can shuck off his jeans as quickly as possible.

He swears he only looks away for a second as the denim bunches around his ankles, but when he looks up, you’re sitting up on your heels, gazing at him as he stands in only his tented boxers with heated cheeks and a look that he can only describe as wonder. He offers you a small smile, knowing that he’s got the exact same expression on his face.

It’s then that Yoongi notices the tattoo that decorates your sternum and part of your stomach, just below the line of your bra. It’s a mandala done in dot work, framing the curve of your breasts and coming down to a point a few inches above your navel. Yoongi can’t help but stare, never having seen you without a shirt on before, before returning to your eyes. He watches as you take in a deep, shaky breath, and then your hands move to your back to unhook your bra. You let it fall away, and Yoongi can’t help the curse that escapes.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, crawling back over you and kissing you deeply.

He uses one arm to prop himself up at the elbow, his free hand running up along the side of your body until he’s cupping your breast. His thumb flicks over your hardened nipple, tongues dancing together as you moan into his mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” Yoongi pants as he moves his thumb to hook the lacy band of your panties. “Please, Y/N, let me taste you.”

He can’t help but think of how cute you are as your eyes widen slightly, biting at your lower lip. You can only give him a tiny nod, and he kisses you once, twice, three times before trailing south. Yoongi takes his time with you, pulling dark bruises with his lips and teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck and chest, stopping along the way to lavish attention onto your breasts and nipples.

Your fingers thread through his hair and he welcomes the way your nails drag along his scalp. He especially loves the tiny tugs when his mouth encloses on your nipple and he starts to suck—your back arches off the bed and he slides his hands underneath you so that he can press you more firmly against him. He moves to the other one, making sure to tease you with his teeth and you gasp, tugging at his roots desperately.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Patience, sweetheart,” he growls lightly, his tongue dipping in the valley between your breasts, the tip trailing down to trace along the patterns inked into your skin. The kisses he places along your sternum and your stomach are wet, messy, and loud, causing the tiny hairs on your arms to stand up straight. Your thighs are practically flat against the bed, that’s how open and ready you are for him.

It takes what feels like an eternity before Yoongi finally makes it to your clothed centre, and he can see plain as day how soaked you are.

Yoongi runs his tongue along your clothed slit, and you yelp, your thighs snapping halfway shut at the sensation. Your hands fly up to cover your face, and Yoongi can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“You’re shy,” he goads, kissing along your inner thighs as he presses them back down against the bed. “I can’t believe that you, Y/N, someone who lives her life out loud and always has something to say, is getting shy in bed.”

Your hands don’t shift from your face as you mumble, “You make me nervous.”

Yoongi immediately rises and crawls back up to meet your eyes, softly grasping your wrists to get them to move. When he finally gets you to look at him with gentle prodding, he tells you, “We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. It’s okay.”

“It’s not that,” you promise, cupping his face with your hands. “I just…can’t believe this is finally happening, that’s all. I haven’t been with anyone in over a year so I’m just…it’s been a while.”

Yoongi winks and begins to scoot back down between your thighs. “Guess I’ll just have to ease you back into it then, huh?”

You bite your lip in anticipation, and watch as he slides your panties down your legs and discards them on the floor. “Please do.”

Yoongi’s thumbs massage small circles against your inner thighs as he takes in the sight of you bare before him. Your pussy is glistening with wetness, and Yoongi can’t help himself.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he praises before dives in, tongue lapping at your folds as your fingers tangle themselves into his hair again. His large, warm palms flatten your thighs to the bed, pinning you down so you’re unable to move. You cry out as his tongue enters you, the wet, messy sounds coming from his sinful mouth spurring you closer to the edge already.

Yoongi can already feel you starting to clench, so he moves to circle your clit with the tip of his tongue, one of his fingers slowly pushing its way into you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls. You learn very, very quickly that Yoongi has a filthy mouth. And you fucking love it—especially when it latches itself to your most sensitive areas. “I want you to come, baby. Want you to come all over my face and on my fingers,” he says as he adds a second finger, allowing them both to curl against the roof of your pussy.

His fingers massage along your walls in search of something, and you feel Yoongi smiling against your mons as he finds it; that rough patch of skin that brings you such deep pleasure. You let out a cry that somewhat resembles his name as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of you at a fast, rough pace. His mouth latches onto your clit as he switches between quick, light flicks of his tongue and harder sucks, whatever it takes to get you to writhe beneath him.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself teetering close to the edge, your fingers gripping his hair, and his free arm thrown over your hips to keep you from bucking too hard. Yoongi can feel the fluttering sensation as it starts, and he grins up at you with insolent eyes.

“You gonna come, baby? You gonna be a good girl and come for me while I finger fuck you?”

“Y-yes,” you gasp, trying your best to keep your eyes on him. “Yoongi, I’m gonna come, ‘m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he breathes against your wetness, pumping his fingers even faster. “Come now.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, Yoongi sucks on your clit, hard. You scream and feel the flood gates burst open, your back arching clear off the bed. You swear you must have ripped a chunk of hair from Yoongi’s scalp, but he’s too preoccupied with prolonging your pleasure for as long as he possibly can. His fingers still work you through your orgasm, and Yoongi delightedly laps up all of your juices until the sensation of his mouth against your sex borders on overstimulation.

He rises from your dripping cunt and makes a show of licking his fingers clean, taking extra time to clean the web between his fingers with his long, agile tongue as he maintains eye contact with you the entire time. His lips and chin glisten with your come, and you can’t say that you mind when he draws you close and kisses you, the taste of your orgasm still tinting the flavour of his mouth.

“Baby,” you say between kisses, breathless and barely sated. “Take off your boxers. Please. I need you inside of me.”

“Okay, let me just go grab a condom from my wallet—”

Yoongi moves to lift himself off of you when you place your hands on his shoulders, his gaze returning to yours. “Are you clean?”

His mouth gapes at the question, at the implication of your words, and once he’s processed the question, he nods furiously. “I got tested when we started dating. I’m clean.”

You blush. “Yeah. I did too, clean as well. So…if it’s okay with you…are we good?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, we’re good. We’re so fucking good.”

It takes Yoongi about 0.02 seconds after that to basically rip off his boxers, his cock standing hard and proud as he moves once more between your thighs.

You hum quietly as you reach down to take him in your hand, pumping his shaft steadily. “Not gonna let me return the favour?”

“Later,” he chokes out, eyes squeezing shut for a second at just the feeling of your hand stroking him. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

Yoongi positions himself on top of you, keeping his body completely flush against yours. The tips of your noses are touching and he can feel your heartbeat against his chest as the underside of his cock glides against your clit. It causes you to shiver, palms against his lower back. He reaches down and positions himself at your entrance, the head of his girth pushing just past the lips of your pussy.

“F-fuck,” he pants, adding more pressure. He watches your face intently, making sure to stop every time you wince, assuring you that you’re amazing and that you’re taking him so well. He continues to push until he’s fully sheathed inside. a low groan escaping his throat as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. The two of you fit together so perfectly, like you were made for each other. “Full disclosure,” he admits, sounding a little ashamed. “I’m definitely not going to last.”

“Me neither,” you agree, turning to press a kiss to the shell of his ear. “We have forever to beat tonight’s record, though.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh against your skin before pulling nearly all the way out and then sensually rolling his hips until they smack against yours. He fucks you slow but hard, each thrust carrying the weight of an untold confessions that he’s barely keeping at bay. Your body is just too warm, too tight, too perfect, and the sounds you’re making are enough to drive him mad.

You raise your hips slightly to meet him for every thrust, his pace starting to quicken. The bed frame creaks, the headboard starting to smack against the wall as Yoongi pounds you into the mattress.

He can’t believe this is really happening. The way you squeak out his name as he makes love to you is the only thing truly keeping him grounded. Yoongi is convinced he’s dreaming, because there’s no way he’s inside of you right now, no way he’s in your room, in your bed, kissing your lips, drawing these lewd whimpers from your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so tight and wet, how are you real?” Yoongi asks himself more than you, clinging to the last shreds of his sanity as you moan and keen beneath him.

“Yoongi,” you gasp after a particularly hard thrust. You cup his face with your hands so that he’s looking at you, his ministrations turning shallow as you demand all of his attention. You’re smiling up at him, face and chest flushed and coated in a thin sheen of sweat, hair mussed and tangled, but Yoongi can’t help but think you’ve never looked more beautiful. It’s as this thought loops in his head that your thumb brushes along the curve of his cheekbone and you say, “Yoongi, I love you.”

Yoongi freezes, eyes wide, heart pounding in his ears. How long had he been dreaming that you would say those words to him? How many times did he have those same words loaded up at the tip of his tongue?

He can’t tear his gaze from yours. “Say it again.”

You smile up at him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Min Yoongi.”

His hips start to move again, and you suck in a shallow breath as the head of his cock drags along your g-spot. “Again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, voice light and dripping with need as he braces his knees against the mattress and starts fucking you with purpose.

Yoongi can feel himself getting close. Your cunt is just too good, too tight, and every time he’s buried deep inside of you, it feels like home. He wants nothing more than to lose himself in you, to stay joined with you like this until every star in the universe burns itself out. He feels your nails scratching along his back as your moans get louder and louder, your walls clenching around his cock like a vice.

“I’m close,” Yoongi warns, kissing and sucking the most sensitive spot on your neck. “Want you to come with me.” He reaches between the two of you and you almost jump when you feel the rough pads of his fingers rubbing against your clit.

“Yoongi, oh my god,” you cry as the combination of his cock stretching you to your limit and the insistent stimulation on your sensitive nub has you hurtling towards another orgasm. You’re right there, you’re so close, so close, as you feel your walls starting to flutter more intensely.

“‘M gonna come,” Yoongi grunts, his voice deep and hoarse with lust. He kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. “Where do you want it?”

“Come in me,” you whisper against his lips. “I’m on the pill, it’s okay. Please, fill me, I need all of you.”

Yoongi lets out an audible groan and then he’s kissing you, his tongue taking control easily as he fucks you deep and hard while adding more speed and pressure to your clit. You come with a muffled scream, harder than you ever have before, whimpering and keening at the aftershocks. Yoongi chokes out your name before delivering three punishing thrusts, stapling you to the mattress as he comes with a roar, filling you to the brim.

The room is quiet except for the sound of the two of you panting, the room smelling of sweat and sex. It is perfection.

Yoongi collects you in his arms, his softening cock slipping out of you. His come dribbles out of your abused pussy and trickles down your inner thighs, but you can’t find it in you to care. He rolls over onto his side and tugs you flush against him, and you find that the two of you slot together perfectly—like two pieces of a puzzle.

He cradles your face in one of his hands, brushing the stray hairs out of your eyes. You’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment, cheeks red from exertion, lips kiss-swollen and your eyes so full of love, love for him. Yoongi can’t wipe the smile off his face as he draws you in, and against your lips, finally says what he’s been keeping at bay since the two of you met up at that coffee shop months ago.

“I love you too.”

When he pulls away, he’s a little shocked to see tears welling up in your eyes. He starts to think that maybe he’s done something wrong when you lift your hand to cover his. “Really?”

Yoongi relaxes and kisses away the stray tear that rolls onto the bridge of your nose.

“Of course I do, Y/N. I love you. So fucking much.”

You sniffle loudly and throw your arms around him in a hug, and Yoongi just holds you as your breath hitches in your chest.

“I’m glad you got to experience it at last, Yoongi,” you murmur, and Yoongi is immediately reminded of the conversation the two of you had in the coffee shop. “And…selfishly, I’m glad that it’s with me.”

“There’s only you,” he promises, rubbing comforting circles against your spine as the two of you lie there together. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He feels you press a soft, barely-there kiss to the underside of his jaw, the simple gesture making his heart race all over again. Without hesitation, you reply, “You too.”

—

The two of you remain like that for what seems like forever, the afterglow too precious to disrupt. It’s only when your stomach growls loudly that the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, breaking apart and sitting up. You can’t help but laugh at the damage your questing fingers did to Yoongi’s hair. It’s sticking up at odd angles, some parts completely erect while others stick out at the sides. You try your best to fix it as he pouts at you before you grab his hoodie off the floor and zip it up high enough to cover your breasts, keeping it low enough to tempt Yoongi just a little bit.

“We never got to make dinner,” you muse as you amble over to your dresser to find a new set of panties. You purposely choose a dark red lace number and make a show of putting it on. You stand at your full height and look at Yoongi over your shoulder. His mouth is wide open and his expression looks as if Nessie had emerged from Loch Ness, fist-bumped him, and then asked for a selfie.

You wander to the bathroom to get cleaned up while Yoongi manages to roll himself out of bed once his tongue is back inside his mouth, collecting his boxers and t-shirt off the floor. Yoongi can’t remember the last time he got laid, but he knows it’s never been that good before. He flops back down onto the bed and basks in the feeling of being worn out from a good fuck when he hears the bathroom door open again.

The hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie—falls just below your ass, exposing the length of your bare legs as you make your way into the kitchen. You let out a squeal when you hear the sound of footsteps rushing after you, followed by a pair of strong, lanky arms tugging you backwards. Yoongi buries his face in the crook of your neck as he holds your back to his chest, rocking you gently from side to side.

“I just want you to know,” Yoongi begins, and you feel the movement of his lips against your skin. “I’m not very good at expressing myself, and emotional stuff can be difficult for me. But I really do love you, even if I’m not great at showing it sometimes.”

You turn in his grasp and gingerly place your hands on his chest, toying with the collar of his shirt. “In all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never doubted that you care about me, Yoongi. Give yourself a little more credit. Your love language isn’t through spoken words, and that’s okay.”

Yoongi’s grip on your waist tightens. “You don’t mind?”

“If it bothers you, it’s something we can work on,” you promise. “But I don’t always need verbal affirmation. You take time out of your day to come see me while I’m working, you always ask to make sure I’ve eaten and have been drinking water, and you’re not afraid to hold my hand in public. I would never want that part of you to change.”

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours and closes his eyes. “How did I get so lucky?”

You rise up to your tip toes to deliver a peck to his lips before lowering yourself back down. “I ask myself that question every day. Now, come on, let’s see what I’ve got in the fridge.”

You meander over to the fridge and Yoongi follows close behind, peeking over your shoulder to see what you’ve got in terms of groceries. You hum a tune that he immediately recognizes as one of his own songs, and drops a kiss to the back of your head. You don’t turn, but you lean your body against his as you survey your ingredients.

“We could do fried rice,” you offer. “Or noodles. I mostly have random vegetables and some chicken, and I’m not that creative of a cook. What do you feel like having?”

Yoongi shrugs, hands placed on your hips. “I’m not a picky eater, whatever you want, we can have.”

You grab the food from the fridge and Yoongi lets you go as you place the ingredients on the island counter. “Fried rice it is, then.”

You peter off to fetch your rice cooker from one of your cabinets as Yoongi gets to work on washing the vegetables and chopping them up into smaller pieces. The two of you move around so easily together in the kitchen, not really speaking, but just enjoying one another’s presence. It’s all so domestic, and you can’t help but feel as if Yoongi’s always just existed beside you, an extension of yourself. You love him so much that it’s overwhelming, and Yoongi places down his knife when he catches you staring.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the outer corners as he flashes his gummy smile at you.

You pad over to him and kiss his cheek, giving his arm a light squeeze. “It’s nothing. Thank you for helping.”

Yoongi can’t help the blush that dusts his cheeks at your casual affection. “If I keep helping, do I get more kisses?”

You bite your lip and eye him up and down. You notice when Yoongi shivers under the heat of your gaze. “After dinner.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “Let’s get to cooking, then.”

It doesn’t take long, once the rice is done cooking, to get the rest of the meal prepared. Not without distractions, however—there are kisses stolen, lingering touches, and at one point Yoongi crowds you against the counter and almost convinces you to abandon cooking for other extracurriculars. You’re just about to give in when both of your stomachs growl in protest, and the two of you decide that maybe eating something is a good idea.

Yoongi ends up taking over for you, throwing seemingly random spices and seasonings into the wok as he combines all the ingredients. He’s unlike you in that when you cook, you need to measure out all your ingredients, refer to recipes, make lists. But Yoongi just seems to inherently know what spices go well together, what flavours complement the dish, and he just goes off of instinct.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t find him cooking up a storm in your kitchen really, really fucking sexy.

The smell is absolutely delicious, exceedingly so for such a simple dish, and you usher Yoongi to put on a movie as you grab bowls and utensils for the food. Yoongi complies, fetching the bottle of wine you’d opened earlier and bringing it over to the couch with him.

You’re carrying two full bowls of homemade fried rice when you walk over to the couch to see Yoongi scrutinizing the abandoned wine glasses from earlier. When you shoot him a questioning look, he lifts them both up to show you.

“Do you remember which one is yours?”

You can’t help but snort at that, placing the bowls on the coffee table. “Yoongi, you came inside of me like, half an hour ago. I don’t think it matters which glass is whose.”

Yoongi shuts his eyes, exhales hard through his nostrils, and purses his lips as if he’s trying to hold in a laugh at your remark. Once he’s convinced he’s gained control of himself, he pours the wine, indiscriminately hands you a glass and remarks, “You’re really something else.”

The movie he chooses is Ocean’s 8, muttering something about Cate Blanchett in suits, as you both settle into the sofa. You lean your head against Yoongi’s shoulder as you chew absentmindedly, alternating between complimenting your boyfriend on his culinary skills and making silly quips at the television.

Once you’re both done eating, you stack the bowls and leave them on the other end of the coffee table to deal with later. Yoongi opens up his arms for you and you slide into his lap, his arms circling you as the two of you watch the movie in relative silence, just enjoying one another’s company. The wine is long gone by now, warming both of you from the inside, and offers Yoongi enough boldness to ask a question he’s had on his mind for a little while now.

“Would you ever tattoo me?”

You look up at your boyfriend, startled. “What?”

Yoongi’s arm stiffens around you slightly, almost like he’s embarrassed. “If I ever asked, would you tattoo me?”

“Yoongi,” you sigh, sitting up and brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “You don’t even like tattoos.”

His eyes wander to the lines of the peony adorning your neck, one of his hands coming to rest on your bare thigh. “I like yours.”

“You like me,” you tease. “We both know you’re not a tattoo person, Yoongi. And that’s okay. I would never want you to make such a permanent decision just because you’re dating me now, or because you think it’s what I would prefer. If you really want one, and you’re positive that you would have wanted it even if we weren’t together, then sure. But if you’re thinking about getting one to make me happy, then no.”

Yoongi is quiet for a second before exhaling softly through parted lips. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You tweak his nose with an insolent grin. “I’m always right.”

He growls and grabs your waist, moving you so that you’re straddling his lap. Your hands find his shoulders for balance and when he looks up at you with his catlike stare, you can seen that his pupils are blown wide. He raises his hips just a touch, enough for this hardening member to graze against your core. You gasp in a breath at the sudden shift and bite your lip as one of Yoongi’s hands comes to tug at the zipper of your hoodie.

“Guess I’ll just have to fuck the sass out of you, huh?”

You grin as Yoongi works the sweater open, allowing the material to fall down to your elbows. You palm his erection through his boxers and lean in to whisper into his ear.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi lets out a laugh that dies on his tongue as you pull him free and stroke him, his cock stiffening in your grasp.

“Mmm, babe,” he smirks, and you feel yourself getting even wetter at the sight. He leans back, hands resting on your thighs. “You’re gonna have to try.” He sits up suddenly, pulling you flush to his chest as his mouth latches onto one of your nipples. You mewl as he toys with it between his teeth, biting and pulling before switching to the other. Your breathing is coming in a staccato rhythm, and your heart nearly stops when Yoongi moves away from your breasts and just says, “Ride me.”

His eyes are twinkling with mirth as you feel your panties getting damper and damper. You move to stand, but Yoongi has other ideas. He grips your waist and keeps you on his lap, and you look at him questioningly.

Yoongi responds by running the pad of his thumb along the front of your mound, lightly grazing over your clit, causing you to shiver. He shifts his hand so that it’s cupping your pussy entirely, and you let out a tiny whimper as you feel to of his fingers pressing against your entrance through your soaked lace underwear.

“So wet,” he murmurs, hooking his fingers along the edge of your panties and slicking them to the side. You take his cock in your hand and decide not to waste any more time, positioning the swollen head between your legs. You sink down onto him slowly, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he fills you inch by inch.

He feels even bigger like this, hitting every spot inside of you that makes you sing. When your cunt touches the base of his cock, you lean down to kiss him, hands cupping his face. Yoongi’s hands wander up your back, underneath your half-off sweater, holding you close, encouraging you to move.

“C’mon, baby,” he breathes against your mouth. “Work for it. Fuck me.”

You can’t help the moan that escapes at his words, and your hands grip the back of the couch with white knuckles as you begin to roll your hips. Yoongi lets his head loll back so that he can watch your face as you ride him, taking in the fluttering of your eyelids as your pussy takes him deep. He lets out a string of curses as you start to lift yourself off and slam yourself back down at a faster rhythm, both of you unable to mask your sounds of pleasure as you get lost in one another’s bodies.

You grasp at Yoongi’s t-shirt and wrench it off him, much to his amusement. But he’s not one to complain, especially when your breasts press against the naked planes of his chest, relishing in the feeling of you on him and around him.

“Tell me how I feel,” Yoongi grunts as he starts to meet you for every thrust, bucking up into you from below. “Tell me, baby. Wanna know how your pretty little pussy feels when it takes all of my cock.”

You bite back a cry. “Big,” you gasp. “And full.”

“Fucking love you so much,” he rasps as his hips start to pick up speed. His firm grip on your waist holds you in place as he fucks you hard, his balls slapping against your skin as he spears you with every thrust. “Fucking love your tight wet pussy, love how well you take me. Can’t believe you’re mine, can’t believe we waited so long to do this. Want to be inside of you forever.”

You feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten, especially with Yoongi’s deep, husky voice spouting simultaneously the filthiest and most romantic shit you have ever heard in your entire life. He can tell by the way you throw your head back in ecstasy that you’re almost there, rapidly approaching the edge and just waiting to teeter off the side.

“Yoongi, come with me,” you beg as your fingers move over your clit, rubbing furiously. Yoongi chokes out a moan as your walls immediately start to squeeze down on his shaft. “Please, baby, I need you, need you so bad.”

“You already have me,” he promises, pulling you in for a kiss just as the dam breaks for both of you. Your keens are muffled by his lips and tongue, and you roll your hips to ride out both of your orgasms for as long as possible. You feel it when he explodes inside of your dripping cunt, as his cock twitches and pulses through the remainder of his euphoria.

You stay there on his lap, forehead resting against his, as the two of you try to steady your breathing as well as your heart rates. Your forehead is dotted with sweat, and his bangs are damp and matted to his own. You lean back slightly and comb his hair away from his face with your fingers, wanting to see all of him.

Yoongi’s catlike eyes are searching yours, open and honest, like they always are when he’s with you. His lips are parted slightly, still taking in deep inhales of oxygen as his heart finally begins to calm. With the rosiness in his cheeks and the way he’s looking at you full of wonder, you think to yourself that he’s never looked more amazing or ethereal than in this moment.

“I’m so in love with you,” you can’t help but whisper, and it’s so quiet that you aren’t even sure if he heard you.

But by the way his hands soothe over your back and your waist, paired with the soft adoration that filters into his eyes, you know that he did.

“I’m so in love with you, too,” he promises, drawing you in for another kiss. When you part, he can’t stop the yawn that escapes his lips. “Shower, and then bed?”

You nod, also suddenly exhausted. You move to stand and nearly stumble. You would have fallen if Yoongi hadn’t immediately risen to catch you, his arms holding you tightly as the two of you make your way to the bathroom.

“It’s official. No shower sex. If we were to try, I think we would both get hurt.”

Yoongi pouts. “None? At all?”

“Yoongi,” you scold, though your voice lacks malice. “No.”

As it turns out, you have a really, really hard time saying no to Yoongi. So as a compromise, you go down on him under the steaming spray of the faucet, and he carries you back to your bed to return the favour one more time before bed.

And as you find yourself wrapped up in his arms, bare skin pressed against bare skin, you can’t help but smile. It’s been a long road to happiness. But lying here, with him, you can’t help but think of how lucky you are to know Min Yoongi, to love him, and to have him love you in return. So you drift off to sleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat and dream of him.

And from beside you, with his lips pressed to your crown, Yoongi does the same.

398 notes · View notes

turtle-steverogers · 5 years

Text

petrified

hmmmm

warnings: guns, gunshot wounds, mediocre planning as far as the story went

editing: nein, es tut mir leid

ship: platonic spralbert

Spot kicked open the door of the warehouse, the resistance sending a jolt through his knee. He hissed in pain, taking a moment to shake out his leg before hoisting his gun more securely under his armpit. He ran up the stairs, his partner, Race, on his heels. They weren’t entirely sure where they were headed, but Spot’s gut willed him to keep running.

Eventually, they reached the top floor, stopping in the dimly lit hallway to catch their breath as they strained their ears, searching for any signs of movement.

A gun cocked behind them and both men were facing its owner in an instant, their own guns yielded and ready to shoot.

Spot heard Race gasp next to him as they took in the person standing in front of them. Cold fear and shock ran down his spine and he lowered his gun a fraction of an inch in surprise.

No one said anything as the three men stared at each other, two dumbfounded gazes meeting a pair of vacantly challenging eyes.

Race was the first to break the silence, his voice a near whisper as he managed, “Al?”

Three Months Earlier

“Yo, yo, yo here’s your stupid bean juice,” Albert handed Race a venti Starbucks cup as they entered the tall agency building, taking a sip from his own to-go cup as he did so.

Race scoffed, “Like your fucking leaf water is any better.”

“Excuse me,” Albert rolled his eyes, sticking his pinky out dramatically as he slurped his tea loudly, “It’s au naturel.”

“So’s coffee,” Race pointed out as they made their way to their offices, which were located adjacent to each other on the fourth floor.

Things had been generally quiet in the agency lately, their biggest cases being low brow robberies and various hit and runs. But Race and Albert’s other partner, Spot Conlon, had called them in a little early that day, claiming that he’d gotten wind of a new criminal reigning terror over the city.

He hadn’t given many details besides the basics. Older man, responsible for several brutal murders around the city, notorious for his ability to kidnap and convert people to his ideals. A regular nightmare, but nothing the agency hadn’t handled before.

Granted, the three of them in particular hadn’t taken on such a big job yet, but they’d seen it be done and Spot seemed pretty confident that they would succeed.

“Dasilva, Higgins, y’all in here already?” Spot’s voice rang outside Race’s cubicle and he poked his head out, grinning when Albert did the same.

Spot stared at them, eyebrows twitching slightly before he chuckled, “You guys are weirdly in sync, like, all the time and I hate it.”

Albert winked, “Sorry, Spottie-”

“Don’t fucking call me that, how many times-”

“Anyway,” Race interjected, “Spot, you had a case for us?”

“Yeah,” Spot held up a file unceremoniously, “He calls himself ‘The Warden’,” he paused, glancing around, “Hang on, let’s go to my office and I’ll explain.”

They crossed into the office diagonal from Race and Albert’s and sat themselves around Spot’s little desk. Albert made himself comfortable, shifting so that he was sitting sideways in his chair with his legs dangling haphazardly over one of the armrests.

He sipped his tea expectantly, fixing Spot with a pointed look, “So, what’s the tea, sisters?”

“I swear you’ve been watching too much James Charles,” Race muttered, taking a long drink out of his cup.

Spot laughed as Albert squawked indignantly, “Hey! His content is funky and fresh,” he shrugged a bit, “You guys should take notes.”

“Okay, buddy,” Spot chuckled, gesturing to the papers he’d laid out in front of them, detailing the various incidents involving this so called ‘Warden’, “Anyway, so this guy’s real name is Snyder. Real douche it seems,” he stuck his tongue between his teeth as he rifled through the papers, snapping his fingers triumphantly as he pulled a yellow sheet out with a flourish, “Aha, yeah, so he’s apparently been around on the downlow for a while; started out as a successful drug dealer, but started to snap-”

“Sister snap?”

“Albert.”

“Sorry, continue.”

Spot rolled his eyes, but plowed on, “His first major recorded felony was the kidnapping and murder of a little girl after her mother apparently didn’t pay her dues for some hard shit. After that, he seemed to take a liking to killing people. Led a few shootouts, took a few more people for his growing gang presence, the works. But, recently, he’s been messing up. Was almost caught by local police a few times. Finally got enough of a lead from the local station to start a proper investigation and that, boys,” Spot leaned back in his seat proudly, pushing the file towards Race and Albert, who hovered over it excitedly, “Is where we come in.”

Race and Albert took a moment to read through the details. Anticipation, followed almost immediately by eagerness blossomed in Race’s chest and he exchanged an apprehensive look with Albert.

“Let’s get started.”

Two and a Half Months Ago

Race was abruptly pulled from his sleep by the sound of his phone ringing next to his ear. He took a moment to wake himself up, becoming acutely aware that he had fallen asleep in his street clothes. He cracked his neck, pulling himself into a sitting position as he answered his phone, not bothering to check the caller ID.

“Race?” Spot’s frantic tone bled through the speaker and Race frowned, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

“Spot?” Race rubbed his eyes with his knuckle, glancing across the room to his alarm clock, “What’s wrong? It’s, like, 4:00 am.”

“Uh,” Spot sounded slightly breathless and Race stood up, already leaving his bedroom to put on his shoes. Something was very wrong.

“Spot, talk to me,” Race demanded, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder as he fastened his holster to his belt, “What’s wrong?”

“I went over to Albert’s apartment just now, because he sent out an emergency alert through his phone,” Race sucked in a breath, dreading the rest of the sentence, “He’s not here, Racer. His shoes are. His phone is. Hell, his wallet’s even here still, but he’s gone.”

“Shit,” Race cursed, hand frozen on his doorknob as he processed the information, “Do you think that…” He trailed off, hoping that Spot could fill in what he hadn’t said.

“Yeah,” Spot said, sounding slightly breathless, “I think Snyder’s got him.”

Race closed his eyes, forcing the panic that had seized his chest to disperse, “Okay,” he said, his tone shifting into the authoritative voice he used while on duty, “I’m on my way.”

When Race arrived at Albert’s apartment, he wasn’t surprised to find the door locked. He texted Spot to let him know he was there and waited for him to let him in. The apartment itself was eerily untouched. There weren’t any clear signs of a breaking and entering and it didn’t seem as if Albert had struggled too greatly as he was taken.

“I thought it was weird, too,” Spot muttered and Race looked at him in silent question, “Everything’s the same as usual,” Spot clarified, waving his hand around the apartment, “Albert didn’t fight it.”

“Or he didn’t have a chance to,” Race said, stepping beside the couch and kneeling down. A few small drops of liquid were scattered there, almost invisible against the wooden floor.

Spot noticed, too and crouched beside Race, dipping his pinky tentatively into the substance and holding it a short distance under his nose. His face scrunched up and his head moved abruptly away from his finger. He stood quickly and crossed to the kitchen. A moment later, Race heard the sink turn on.

“Chloroform?” He called, voicing his suspicions.

Spot walked back into the living room, rubbing a paper towel tensely over his hands, “Yup.”

“Damnit,” Race hissed, rocking back on his heels as he thought, “Fuck, shit, we shoulda known that Snyder’d be onto us.”

Spot shook his head, leaning his hip against the back of the couch and pinching the bridge of his nose, “No ones fault but ours. We shoulda been more careful after that run in by Jacobi’s.”

“Yeah,” Race set his jaw, eyes fixed on the leftover chloroform, “We’ll getcha back, Albie,” he murmured to no one in particular.

One Month Ago

It had been six long weeks since Albert’s kidnapping and Spot and Race were running out of leads. They’d been to every abandoned building and vacant underground in the city, only to come up with nothing.

Spot was beginning to lose hope. The surmise that Albert was beyond finding became more and more likely each day. Race had withdrawn from his normal, charismatic demeanor. It seemed as if the absence of his partner in chaos had drained him in a way he couldn’t entirely explain. Nothing seemed right.

Even as Spot stayed for hours with him to work on the case, Race didn’t seem in high hopes. It was like he already gave up. Like Albert was already gone.

“Holy shit,” Spot looked up at Race’s stunned voice. It was early on a Friday morning and both men had already been working for close to three hours on the Snyder case. Even through searching seemed ruthless, they plugged on.

“What?” Spot asked, abandoning his own file to leaned over the back of Race’s chair, peering at the computer screen over his shoulder.

“I think I found something,” Race scooted forward in his chair and Spot could see his hands shaking with overwhelming hope.

“What is it, though,” Spot squinted at the screen, where an advertisement for an old auto body warehouse was magnified.

“‘Snyder’s Auto Body’,” Race said, eyes flashing as he clicked to another page, which contained the growing portfolio for Snyder that Spot and him were creating, “Located out in Newark.”

“Is it owned by him?” Spot asked, pulling his chair up so he could sit.

Race shook his head, “No, it was his dad’s, but it’s abandoned.”

“Do you think…” Spot glanced at him, fear intermixing with hope in his gut.

“Yeah,” Race breathed, “I think that’s where he’s at.”

“So that’s where….”

“Yep,” Race took off his glasses, scrubbing a hand down his face, “If Al is alive, that’s where he’ll be.”

“Okay, wow,” Spot heaved a deep breath, a new ambitious flame igniting in him, “We’ve got some planning to do.”

Two Weeks Ago

“There’s been another murder,” Spot entered Race’s cubicle in a frenzy, slamming a new case report down onto his desk, “Snyder’s back out there, but get this, the killer was someone new, take a look.”

Race picked up the provided photograph, eyes widening as he recognized the familiar shock of red hair that belonged to the person holding a gun, rounding a corner from the crime scene.

“Oh my fucking...that’s not-” He looked up at Spot, pleading for him to tell him that it was fake. A joke. A cruel, stupid, sick joke.

“It is,” Spot grimaced, taking the picture back.

Race let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “But, he wouldn’t do that...he-”

“I know he wouldn’t,” Spot sighed, gently pulling Race’s hand away from his bicep, where he’d been gripping tightly enough to leave marks, “I don’t think he’s himself right now. Not while he’s in Snyder’s hands.”

Race bit his lip, completely lost for words, “well,” he muttered, “at least we know he’s alive.”

One Day Ago

“Are you ready?” Race asked, entering Spot’s cubicle and passing him a cup of coffee. Spot sighed, pushing himself away from his computer and rubbing at his stinging eyes. God, he’d been there too long.

“Define ready,” He said, lifting the coffee to his lips and allowing the hot liquid to replenish his energy.

Race scoffed, nodding in agreement as he took a sip from his own cup. They sat in silence, both men contemplating what might be to come of the next few days. They were hopefully going to find Albert, but at what cost?

It was evident that they both had given thought to what condition Albert might be in, but they were too scared to venture into the possibilities out loud.

“Are you scared?” Race’s voice was small, young, and Spot couldn’t help but be brought back to their first mission together, when he’d ended up in the hospital with the prospect of losing an arm. The same lost look lingered behind his eyes and Spot softened.

“Yeah,” Spot admitted, “terrified.”

“Of what?”

“Him,” saying it felt like ripping off a bandaid, “I want Al back, but I have a feeling Al won’t want us back.”

Race swallowed and looked down and Spot’s stomach sank as he realized he was holding in tears.

“Yeah,” Race sniffed, “Me too.”

Present

“Al?”

The flash of recognition that passed through Albert’s cold, brown eyes was gone almost as soon as it had appeared.

“Boss ain’t gonna like that we have visitors,” Albert snarled, the grip on his gun tightening as he took a step closer to Race and Spot.

Spot saw Race cast him a worried glance in his peripheral vision, but he refused to look away from Albert’s eyes. He knew from experience that it was ten times harder to kill a man while you were staring straight at them.

“Snyder’s here then?” Spot asked, matching Albert’s dangerous tone as he, too, stepped forward, pressing his chest to the barrel of Albert’s gun. Albert’s gaze flicked down for a moment, peering at the place where his gun met Spot’s shirt and Spot could see him swallow. Some part of him was nervous. He wasn’t completely gone.

Albert looked back up, setting his jaw, “Yeah, and he’s been pretty bored lately. Might like to have fun with some newbies.”

“Newbies? Al, you know us,” Race blurted out before he could stop himself. Spot cursed mentally as Albert turned his gun on Race instead, who took a millimeter of a step backwards. Spot couldn’t blame him. It was jarring being threatened so lifelessly by the man you used to call your brother.

“Don’t mean I’m fond of ya,” Albert quipped, hitting away Race’s gun with his own and shoving the barrel under his chin. Race flinched, eyebrows scrunching up as an involuntary whimper forced its way out of his throat.

“Yeah,” Albert laughed cruelly, “You always were the jumpy one.”

“Oh, Albert, you brought guests,” Albert’s cocky facade dropped as a new voice rang down the hallway and he winced, backing away from Race as his shoulders flew up to his ears. Spot’s stomach clenched as the first signs to Albert’s trauma became evident.

“Actually, they brought themselves, sir,” Albert mumbled as he stepped back to allow Snyder to approach them. He was an older man, pushing his late fifties with a neatly chopped mustache and side-parted grey hair.

Spot wasn’t too worried. Race and him had enlisted Jack and Davey, two other agents in their field, as well as a team of SWAT officers to wait on standby in case they found Snyder there. Microphones were implanted under their clothes, and at the first sign of trouble, backup would be at their fingertips.

“Even better,” Snyder grinned wickedly, “How can I help you boys?”

Race glared at him, nose twitching as he made a decision, “Oh, we won’t be needing the help, sir.”

Then, the world around them exploded. Race shot his gun aimlessly at the ceiling, providing a distraction as he lunged forward to tackle Snyder. Albert jumped backwards, shooting his gun defensively several times as a flood of SWAT officers swarmed the room behind them, immediately moving to help Race detain Snyder.

Spot made to assist them, but stopped when he saw Albert, frozen in fear, eyes fixed somewhere on the side of Spot’s head. Spot frowned, changing course to move toward him, but stopping when a nauseating pain consumed his entire being. He sluggishly reached up, fingers skimming his temple and his stomach lurched when they came away bloody.

He had a split second to be thankful that there wasn’t a literal bullet lodged in his head before the floor rushed up to meet him, the world going black.

One Week Later

“Welcome back, Spottie,” Race leaned on the doorframe to Spot’s office, smirking when Spot groaned and rolled his chair away from his computer, happily accepting Race’s offered coffee, “How you feeling?”

“How’s one supposed to feel when a fuckin bullet grazed their head and took off some of the fucking skin?”

Race shrugged, “Fair point,” he sat down opposite of Spot, “I’m proud of us.”

“Me too,” Spot agreed, “We took down Snyder, got Al back in one piece, got ourselves back in mostly one piece.”

Race’s smirk seeped off his face, “I wouldn’t necessarily say Al’s back in one piece. Guy’s pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Spot said with a resigned sigh. He’d been confined to the hospital for the days following Albert’s rescue, so he hadn’t had a chance to talk to his friend one on one. He had a feeling that even if he did, it wouldn’t blow over too well, “Is he even talking?”

Race nodded, “He’s mostly snapped out of his, uh, trance, but he’s so on edge. Poor guy’s had more panic attacks in the past week than all of us have had in the past three years combined.”

Spot whistled, “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Race leaned back in his chair, “Won’t let nobody touch him. Figure it’ll be like that for a while, though.”

Spot frowned, “Not even you?”

“‘Specially not me,” Race said, “I think he feels guilty or whatever.”

“Then he definitely won’t wanna see me,” Spot muttered, unconsciously rubbing at the bandage on his head.

“He didn’t mean to shoot you,” Race said, a certain seriousity consuming his tone.

“Oh, I know that,” Spot shakes his head, “But does he?”

“Fair point.”

Race propped his head on his hand, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “Think we’ll ever get our partner back?”

“I hope so.”

A Month and a Half After the Rescue

“Spot, Racer,” Mush, the resident therapist at the agency, peeks his head into Race’s office, where the two men are pouring over a new file.

“‘Sup, Mush?” Race asked, eyes not leaving the paper he’s reading through.

“It’s, uh,” He scratched at his head, stepping further into the room, “Albert’s asking for you guys.”

Spot perked up as Race immediately abandoned his chair, already hurrying to follow Mush to where Albert has been staying.

As predicted, Albert hadn’t been able to be in the same room as Spot and Race for weeks following the incident. Any time one of them would get near him, he’d either freak out or dissociate and it would take hours to bring him down. Eventually, Race and Spot had resigned to allowing him to ask for them, not wanting to setback his healing process any further. He’d gone through something more traumatic than any of them could have imagined and it took time to move past that.

Albert was sitting criss-cross in the armchair of Mush’s office, a mug of tea cradled between his legs. He was staring at the ground, eyes slightly glazed over as if he’d been crying. His fingers were fiddling with the string to his tea bag, which Spot could smell was sleepytime, and he didn’t look up when they entered.

“I’ll be right outside the room,” Mush whispered, backing carefully back out of his office once Spot and Race were situated in chairs in front of Albert. They didn’t sit too near to him so as to give him the chance to get up and leave if he wanted.

“Uhm,” Race cleared his throat and Albert’s eyes flicked up to him for a moment before returning to the ground, “How are you holding up?”

Spot contained his laughter at the pathetic question, “Ignore him, he’s still an idiot.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Albert’s face, “Yeah,” his voice was impossibly quiet, “I know.”

Race let out an audible sigh of relief at Albert’s words, “Hey, buddy,” he murmured.

Albert looked up for the first time and Spot counted it as a win when he didn’t flinch, “Hi, guys,” he paused, swallowing and looking to the side, “Sorry it took so long for me to reach out.”

Spot rushed to assure him, “Man, it’s totally okay. What you went through,” he shook his head, “Damn, I’d need even longer than just a few weeks. I’m just glad you feel like you can reach out now.”

“Thanks.”

“You know that we’re here for you, right?” Race asked, his voice softening.

Albert met his concerned gaze, lip trembling as tears tried to force their way out of the corners of his eyes, “I missed you guys, I’m sorry.”

Race looked to Spot, helpless, and Spot jumped in, “You don’t have a thing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong.”

“I almost killed you, Spot,” Albert choked out, breaths heaving as he tried to keep them somewhat even, “I don’t know what I woulda done if-”

“But, you didn’t,” Spot scooted his chair forward, moving his hand slowly to hover over Albert’s knee. Albert nodded and Spot rested his hand softly on his leg, giving him the chance to shake him off, “Everyone’s out and alive and so are you. I know you went through hell in there, but it’s over now and we’re all okay.”

Albert nodded, hiccuping, “Yeah, I know,” he reached out a hand to Race, who eagerly scooted forward and took it, squeezing it reassuringly, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, no one’s mad,” Race said, kindly.

“I miss work,” Albert admitted once his cries had slowed, “But I dunno when I’ll be able to come back.”

“Take your time, man,” Spot said, smiling, “We’ll be here waiting.”

“Thanks,” Albert said, taking a sip of his tea.

Race scrunched his nose playfully, “I see that you still like leaf water, though.”

Albert glared, “Shut up, sister.”

Things were far from okay and it would be awhile before everything returned to normal. But Albert was safe, alive, and on the road to doing well and for that they were eternally thankful.

oof yea

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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@tongue-blep-tommy

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#Newsies #newsies fic #racetrack higgins #ralbert #spralbert #spot conlon #albert dasilva #this is kinda trash im sorry #oof #skjafl;dkjf #dakjsd;l #yell at me #its late

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myalmostmidlifecrisis · 3 years

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E1: To Botox or Not to Botox?

Transcript from Episode 1: To Botox or not to Botox?

Well, hello there! Welcome to the first episode of My Almost Midlife Crisis. I’m your host Jennifer Mathis and thank you for taking the time to join the conversation today. We’re going to be dipping our toes into the shallow end and we’re going to be talking about what it’s like to be expected to keep looking young, no matter what your age is.

So, I was reading this article the other day and I came across a couple fun facts. If you know me, you know I love me some fun facts so I’m going to share them with you. Did you know that the US represents one of the most valuable beauty and personal care markets in the world, especially when we’re talking about anti-aging.

In fact, in 2020, Americans spent an estimated $14.2 Billion (with a B) in anti-aging products. Now I’d love to see that comparison vs. what we spent in toilet paper in 2020, but still a big number. To put that into perspective, that’s 27% of the global market, with only 4% of the population.

At first, I was like wow! That seems like a lot, we’re way over indexing there. But then I started thinking about it more and I don’t know, it kinda makes sense to me. We get pressure every day to keep ourselves looking young. I mean, men get pressure too, but I’m not a man and I can’t fully understand that. This podcast is more about the woman’s perspective so we’re going to leave that to someone else. I’m not saying men don’t get pressure so get off my back.

I’m saying that women get so much pressure to look young. We get mixed messages. Dress your age. You’re too old to shop at Forever 21, but that outfit makes you look matronly. Go au natural, let your hair grow out but girl you better take care of those wrinkles!

It keeps me thinking, are we just wasting our time trying to turn back the clock? Is it just wishful thinking because it’s a losing battle? Also, it’s expensive! When I look back, I probably started using Anti-aging products about 10 years ago. When I think about all that money I probably have spent, did it work? Who knows! Would I have just looked the way I do now without them? Could I have gone on a couple more trips instead?

In today’s episode, we’ll focus on three areas. There’s plenty more we can talk about but today we’ll bring it down to three because we don’t have all day. Going grey, the ever-increasing skincare regime and finally the question I’ve been pondering for at least the last year To Botox, or not to Botox?

First let’s talk about going grey. For years I’ve seen a strand pop up here or there. Of course, they’re never in the back of your head where you don’t have to look at it or notice it and unless you’re doing a weird selfie of the back of your head (which why would you do that?) you would never even notice it.

Oh no no no. It’s right up front. It’s in the hair that frames your face so every time you look in the mirror, it’s a gentle reminder that your youth is slowly slipping away strand by strand.

During facetime with my friends, they’ll console me and say “Girl, it just looks like a blonde streak, don’t even worry about it. You can’t even tell.” Uh, thanks. But you’re a lying b*tch.

I appreciate it, that’s what friends are for, to build you up. Sometimes I like to believe, maybe they’re right! Maybe I’m just too hard on myself, wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe if I keep telling myself it looks like blonde, I’ll actually believe it. But then I took another selfie today for this podcast and I’m going to be posting it later and I’m kidding myself. It’s grey.

The hypocrisy that men are considered “silver foxes” and women have to “learn to love the transition”. I saw that written the other day. I know you can’t see me, but there were some aggressive air quotes happening there. I keep seeing these articles profiling women that were “brave to embrace their grey”. Brave? Is that what it takes to go grey? Am I the only one that finds the word grey almost insulting to be described as something as simple as going grey? Brave is something like when you go into battle as a soldier or when you’re protesting human rights. It’s not reserved for things like getting grey hair.

But on the flip side, I see some women that are rocking the grey. I mean, big shout out to Diane Keaton. She is adorable! If I can look anything like her at that age, I would be so happy!

It’s not just the women I look up to that are serving up some serious chicness as I’m now labeling them “grey-haired divas”. No no no. It’s now GenZers. Or as I like to call them “the kids” or “the youngens”. I’m sorry if you’re a GenZer and that offends you but as an older Millennial, that’s how it feels. GenZers are purposefully dying their hair grey. Oh no, I wish I was kidding but I’m not.

For those of you that don’t know me, I should digress slightly, I swear it will be quick, to talk about the two new obsessions 2020 has given me. Some are healthy like Peloton.

I was actually having a conversation with one of my Peloton friends the other day, and yes I know how lame that sounds, and it reminds me of every conversation you have around your favorite shows on an OTT platform. Oh hey girl, you should check out Bridgeton, yeah that was really good did you see My Queens Gambit, oh yeah did you see The Outsider on HBO? That circular conversation is the exact same conversation if you have a Peloton except replace shows with workouts and instructors. I’m sure for those people that don’t have Peloton, it’s the most annoying conversation to listen to, but whateves. Anyway...

That’s a healthy obsession, maybe a less healthy obsession (not going to say unhealthy) would be TikTok. I can spend hours on that app. I am totally one of those people that will also text you TikToks. And you know what? Side note: If I text you a TikTok it’s because I watched a video and it made me think of you and I think you would enjoy this. I’m sending this a gift of 15-20 seconds of enjoyment that I thought you would like. So you’re welcome. and maybe you should watch the TikToks that I sent you because I thought of you for it and you can see why I thought of you. And this note is specifically for my fiancé because I know for a fact that he doesn’t watch the TikToks I send him. But I’m going to keep doing it.

So it’s pretty much where I learn about new music and I’m keeping up with the trends. I’m hanging with the youngens and I kinda get what’s going on. While I know that sounds SUPER lame, it’s the truth. So while I can probably do a whole episode on TikTok vs. when I was that age, we’re gonna stick to the grey-haired one for now and maybe I’ll make another episode of that later.

I’ve noticed a trend where they are choosing to dye their hair grey. As an older Millennial I cannot imagine choosing to be grey in my early 20′s! I don’t even want to be grey now, let alone choosing to be at 22? Are you crazy? Grey hair when I was that age was a signal of old age. My Grandma had grey hair but there was no way in hell my mom would have kept her grey hair. I don’t even know if she has grey hair, she’s been dying her hair for as long as I can remember. Who knows what color her hair is at this point? But I can tell you one thing, if there was grey, no way would it be showing.

To actually want to have your hair grey seems insane to me. But at the same time, just to play devil’s advocate, maybe we should be (dare I say it) thanking them. In a way, aren’t they just taking away the power grey hair holds on us? If a 22yo female can have grey hair, then who gives a sh*t if a 40 or 50yo has grey hair? Doesn’t it just become mainstream at that point?

Net/Net, my take on grey hair - turning grey feels weird to me. It’s almost this physical signal that I’m slowly transitioning to a new chapter in my life and honestly? I don’t know how I feel about that. In a way, I could be optimistic. I could be one of those people that say “I’m older and wiser now. These grey streaks are a signal that I’ve learned some sh*t and I should wear it with pride.” Yeah I guess. But let’s be honest, I’m also saying NO! I’d like to think I could pull off a chic grey, but wrinkles? That’s a whole other story. Those a**holes keep creeping up and I am NOT OK with it. But I’m actually really struggling with what is the right approach.

That leads me to the next topic. Skincare and the daily war against wrinkles. If you’re like me, the spending on your anti-aging regimen and my time spent getting ready for bed or in the morning increase. I am constantly googling ways to stop the clock and reading articles about recommended products or natural remedies, which...

You have to laugh when we talk about anti-aging natural remedies. That phrase shouldn’t even be allowed to be written. It is the opposite of natural to try to reverse what nature is doing. That is the opposite. You know what a natural remedy is? A time machine. And good luck getting one of those because Costco has been sold out for years.

As a marketer, I’m an easy target. I’m the target where when my clients ask “how do we find the right target?”, well if you have an anti-aging product, we’re super obvious. We just hold these massive red flags because our digital footprints are screaming that we are desperate to find solutions. Please sell something to me and I have money to spend. Currently, I am an avid sunscreen user, thanks to a couple of years ago. If I had to guess why I got a little bit of skin cancer, maybe it was partially due to the free tanning bed that was in my apartment complex when I was in college in Florida. Yeah, just to recap that, there was a free tanning bed in the Sunshine State because you can’t just get the natural, free sun and tan that God created, we have to go into a machine and just speed up the process of cancer. So I took total advantage of that and then here I am, 20 years later, having issues with skin cancer. So thanks for that.

My current regimen is sunscreen, a sh*t-ton of moisturizer, I currently use skin oil from Scratch Goods which if you haven’t tried it, it’s a local company and they make amazing all natural products. Oh, look at that! There’s a natural remedy! Actually thinking about it, it’s funny I use face oil now, I remember when I was a kid and just starting to needing to wash my face so I don’t get zits. I used to use Neutrogena cleanser – no, not Neutrogena, Noxzema! Noxzema where it tears through your skin so that basically nothing could live, and then I follow that up with Oil of Olay. Remember when it used to be called Oil of Olay? Yougens if you’re listening to this show you probably don’t know what I’m talking about because it’s just called Olay now. The got rid of the oil. I’m sure there’s some consumer insight that said women don’t want to put oil on their face. Well ironic, maybe you should now change the name back because putting oil on your face is back in style.

So I use that, I use anti-aging cream, haven’t tried a serum yet and I have a prescription for Retinol so I can use the hard-core stuff (maybe going back to my Noxzema days) and I put collagen in my coffee every morning. I mean, Jesus Christ. Even just naming all of that is just…kind of ridiculous.

I think I look pretty good for my age, this is me based on I see others online or on TV and I think they’re 35? They look like they’re almost 50! Then of course I get the slight panic moment of wait, do I look like that? Do I think I look young but actually I don’t? Is this like when I was in college and I was under 21 and I was using that fake ID for some 26yo and I was like “I could totally pass for her” which as I got older I’m like, oh girl, you were not passing for that, they just didn’t care and they let you in.

Another fabulous gift from 2020, more fine lines around my eyes. So I’ve been looking at – should I be upping my game? Is what I’m doing currently not enough? I feel like I’m the only one of my friends that has not had a single pinch of Botox in my face. I don’t know, it scares me. Botox seriously scares me. One, it’s this signal or symbol that the over-the-counter stuff is no longer working and you’re starting to lose the battle. Your turning a corner. But also, I hate needles. I can’t even look at needles; I have to look the other way when they’re taking blood. And you’re putting poison into your face, like actual poison. But listen I’m not totally against it.

A lot of my friends look great. It’s clearly working for them. But it scares me because once you start it, you can’t stop. That’s it. You’ve now turned this corner. You’ve made this decision and you have to live with it. Now you’re on that path. It kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and I really wanted to shave my legs because I had long, hairy legs. I had a little bit of an older friend, Tricia if you’re listening, I will never forget, we had a sleepover one night, we shaved our legs and our parents noticed and we were in massive trouble. But my mom was right, you shave your legs and that’s it! Moving forward you have to continue so if that is what Botox is, am I ready to start that journey right now?

Also when I look around, while my friends look great, I’ve seen some real, scary, warning stories. And by real, scary, warning stories, I mean reality TV. I mean, where I find the time to watch as much reality TV as I do should be considered the eighth wonder of the world. I’m not a lazy person. I don’t just sit around and watch TV all day. Even in quarantine, I’m working out, I’m trying to write an outline of a book, I’m actually working and doing my job and now I’m apparently starting a podcast. I’m not like a lazy person. But somehow, I’m able to, very efficiently, watch a lot of reality TV and one of my favorite franchises is The Real Housewives.

Most of these women have been surgically altered, let’s not even lie to ourselves. Very little of them, if any of them at this point, are au natural. And some pull it off real well like Dorit from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills? I mean, she’s clearly had work done but I’m sorry, she’s hot. If I was into women, I mean she’s gorgeous. Cheers to you. This next statement has nothing to do with you. You’re doing a great job. Whoever your doctor is, keep going and maybe send him my way.

But others scare the sh*t outta me. I’m not going to name names because at the end of the dday these are real people and we have to remember that. I truly believe you are an a**hole if you call out people and talk sh*t about their appearance in public. That is public bullying someone. I know they’re on reality TV. I know you think you can say whatever you want. But keep your snarky comments to your living room, they don’t need to be out there in public. But watching the transformations from season to season are honestly worrisome as I look forward to is this my new reality. I really hope they get some kind of compensation for the damage their doctor has done because Girl, you better go get your refund. There is a fine line between looking younger and taking it too far and starting to look deformed.

Basically, when it comes to looking younger, to wrap up today’s conversation, and dealing with the pressure from outside sources, I just really think you gotta do you. I think the older I get, the more I realize as long as you are ok with yourself, who the f*ck cares what others think. Usually people’s opinions of you have way more to do with themselves and their sh*t they gotta work through. What makes you feel sexy? What makes you feel beautiful? If you can answer that, you’ll give yourself less wrinkles from stressing out about it and you’re going to save yourself some cash. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Your choice. You do you.

Well sadly that ends our time for today. I just want to say I know your time is valuable and I really appreciate you listening to this podcast. I had so much fun recording it. I can’t believe episode one is done already! I wish I could just pop open a bottle of champagne but of course I’m doing dry January (which I feel like is a really bad decision). But it’s been so much fun! I’m new to this. This is literally the second recording I have ever made so your feedback is also appreciated. I’m a big girl, I can handle constructive criticism. Don’t be a jerk, but if you have any comments or thoughts please send them over. And if you have any topics you’d like me to discuss as well, send those over! I would love to hear them! You can read the transcript on Tumblr under My Almost Midlife Crisis, you can find me on Instagram at explorelikeagirl or on Twitter @AlmostMidlife.

Thanks again and until next time!

#botox #skin #grey #grey hair #realitytv #diane keaton #skincare

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hamilficsfordays · 7 years

Text

A Significant Change in Dynamic (Lin/Reader)

Prompt: @hamwriters Write-A-Thon Day 4! Write a fic that happens where you live or somewhere close. Celebrate your culture and where you are!

Author’s Note: So I live in NYC. As you can imagine, today’s prompt wasn’t much of a challenge. To combat that, I wrote a piece in which the reader was really vulnerable which made me feel really vulnerable. Posting this is scary, I won’t lie.

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda/Reader

Summary: You’ve been given feedback on your writing by your best friend Lin: he thinks your more provocative scenes could use some work. He’s willing to help, but taking up his offer changes things.

Rating: M, for swearing and… well honestly this is just smut with a long setup. so smut.

Warnings: Making out, blowjobs, swearing, p in v intercourse, sexual tension. And yes, this is an AU where Lin is married to Vanessa and has Sebastian as a son.

Words: 3180 (save me)

Askbox / Masterlist / What I Write / This Week’s Works

It was 1:07 in the afternoon when you got off the train at 181st. It was a short walk to Lin’s place that you’d come to know very well over the last year.

When you arrived at this building, you greeted the doorman’s familiar face and took the elevator upstairs to his floor.

As soon as you knocked on the apartment door, you heard him shout “It’s open!” from the inside, prompting you to let yourself in.

“Hey Y/N,” he greeted you from the living room. “Did you meet your deadline? This our last one before I move to London.”

“Check your email.” you confirmed.

You’d sent him the document on the train ride there, a piece of writing you had been hard at work on for a week for him to give advice on. Lin had insisted you set deadlines for yourself, which he was happy to keep track of.

“What about you?” you prompted, sitting on the couch beside him in the living room. The TV was on across the room, at a low volume. Lin was in a t-shirt and jeans, sat on the couch as he pulled up your email on his MacBook.

“I sent it to you an hour ago,” he prompted, teasing. “Keep up.”

Sure enough, you checked your own email, seeing something from him that had arrived nearly an hour beforehand. You opened the document, starting to read his as he did the same to yours.

“Are you not with child?” you glanced around, looking for Sebastian.

“I just put him down for a nap,” he confirmed. “V is at work, so it’s just you and me.”

It had been this way since you first met, exchanging writing ideas or works in progress to receive feedback. You had to admit, knowing another writer like Lin was extremely helpful. If anything, you were more productive now than you had ever been.

He was due to move to London next week to start work on Mary Poppins 2, which meant this would be the last in-person writing session that you had until he returned home for the holidays in late December.

It took a while to get through all of his, which made you slightly self-conscious of your own. You were short on words this week, on account of work being especially overwhelming.

“Are you done?” he finally asked when you put your phone down.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I thought it was great. Your execution was strong. Your antagonist has solid characterization, as per usual. It was lit.”

“Thanks.” he nodded. “I’m only about a quarter of the way through, but it’s progressing.”

“What about mine?” you asked, gesturing toward the computer in his lap.

“Uh…” he paused.

“Wow, that bad, huh?”

“Not bad.” he insisted. “I just think you could do better. I’ve seen you write stuff way better than this. Your ability is far beyond this work,” he closed the document. “And your makeout scene was weak.”

You frowned, pretending to be more offended than you actually were. “I’m sorry, I haven’t made out with someone since college, and I wasn’t exactly taking notes then.”

“It’s not just that,” he pointed out. “Every romantic scene you write has been moderately unsatisfying lately. I showed V your blowjob scene from last week, and even she was disappointed.”

You sighed, groaning as you pulled the hood of your jacket down over your eyes. “Not all of us are married and can make out and give blowjobs for reference whenever they want, you know.”

“You don’t have to be married to make out with someone or give a blowjob.” he reminded you. “You’re choosing not to get out there and get that experience to make your writing better.”

“I doubt I could hook up with a stranger and asked them to stop midway through to take notes. Who else am I going to make out with, you?” you prompted, joking. “Or maybe Vanessa, since you’re the only two friends I have right now that I don’t work with… and I would never hook up with any of the assholes at my job.”

“It would help, at least.” He shrugged.

“What would?” You hoped you didn’t understand what he was actually suggesting.

“Us making out.” he ran a hand through his short hair, glancing at the TV for a moment before looking back at you. “Who else in this city could you make out with while taking reference notes?”

“Maybe someone who isn’t married?” you suggested, shifting uncomfortably. “I mean she and I are friends, but I’m pretty sure if Vanessa ever found out that she’d hang me by my ankles, slit my throat and watch me bleed out slowly.” you shuddered at the thought.

“Are we talking about the same Vanessa who casually suggested we have a threesome that one time?”

You shook your head. “That doesn’t count. She was drunk.”

“No, she wasn’t. It was like noon.” he chuckled at your defensiveness. “Are you scared?”

“Of your wife? Absolutely.”

“What if I called her and asked?” he offered, pulling out his phone.

“I’d be willing to bet a Hamilton that she reaches through the phone and slaps you.”

He pulled out his wallet then, taking out a ten dollar bill and placing it on the couch between you. “I bet she says it’s okay.”

You shook your head as he started to call her. “You’re gonna regret this so much.”

He put her on speaker so both of you could hear.

“Hey boo,” she started.

“Hey V, are you at the office?”

“I’m in a cab heading back from a meeting with a client. Why what’s up?”

Lin glanced at you briefly. You shook your head, reminding him one last time that it was a poor decision.

“Do you remember Y/N’s blowjob piece from last week?”

“The really bad unsatisfying one?” she recalled almost immediately. “Of course.”

You frowned.

“I got another piece of work from her that had a make out scene that was just as bad.”

“Really? That’s a shame. She used to be such a good writer.”

You tossed a pillow from your side of the couch at him. “This isn’t even constructive criticism anymore. This is just mean.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “I suggested she go out and do some field research to improve her work, but I think she’s right in assuming that not many people would be okay with her stopping to take notes.”

“You would,” Vanessa pointed out. “Why don’t you do it?”

Your eyes went wide suddenly, hearing her words.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” Lin whispered to you before focusing his attention back to Vanessa.

“Would you be okay with that?” he prompted.

“I’m sick of unsatisfactory fellatio scenes. If this will help, then do it. I trust you two not to run off with each other.”

“This…” your voice trailed off, still in shock. “This has to be a joke, right? Is this a joke?”

“Am I on speaker?” Vanessa asked, hearing your skepticism. “Y/N, do it. Seriously, you need the experience if you want your work to get any better. I don’t care what you have to do, cover all bases. Just make sure you get everything that you need now; I’m not giving out any more free passes.”

“Thanks, V,” Lin hung up, looking back at you. “I believe someone owes me ten dollars.”

You pulled out your wallet, handing him two fives. “Are you guys okay? Is your marriage really in such bad shape that she needs to give you permission to sleep with other women to keep you satisfied?”

“You’re not “other women”, you’re our friend.” he pointed out. “On the contrary, our marriage is great because we communicate about everything. If you needed more experience with same sex stuff, she would ask me and I’d say yes.” he paused. “I’d also probably ask to watch.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up. “Whatever works for you guys, I guess.”

“Where are you going?”

“To your office to get a pen and paper. You know, to take notes.” you reminded him. “The reason we’re doing this in the first place.”

He smirked as you headed down the hallway, into his office to retrieve a notepad and a pen.

When you returned, he’d turned the TV off, patiently waiting for you.

“Are you all set?” he asked.

“I’m a little skeptical about making out with my best friend,” you weren’t afraid of expressing your hesitation. “But I guess it’s better than making out with a stranger.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Jasmine and I are friends and we had to do a lot on stage every night in Hamilton. It was weird at first, but you kind of just have to get over that awkward hump.”

You fought back a sigh. “You really had to pick right now to say the word hump?”

He laughed.

There was a pause, as neither of you was sure how to proceed.

You bit your lip ever so slightly, meeting eyes with him before taking a breath and pressing your lips against his. You melted at the sensation, feeling him kiss back.

“You taste like coffee,” you paused for a moment to tell him, though he was quick to pull you back into another kiss.

Things got heated fast. You were on top of him on the couch, his hands on the small of your back as you kept at it. It became easier with time, and you pressed on.

He attempted to turn you over, only partially aware of the fact that there was no room left on the couch. You fell off the couch, onto the rug with him landing on top of you.

His lips move to your jawline, kissing along the edge down to your neck. Your breathing was much heavier.

“Wait, stop,” you managed, though the last thing you wanted was for him to pull away.

You sat up, now level with the table, to start writing.

“Coffee…” you mumbled, speaking aloud. “Kissing the jaw line…”

As you continued to write, Lin pushed your hair aside, his lips moving back to your neck.

You could feel a bruise no doubt forming as he pressed on, but you enjoyed it too much to move away. You gasped for a moment, rushing through the end of the note before turning back to kiss him again.

Things seemed to be going well, you figured, until you felt his hand sliding up your thigh. When he reached the hem of your skirt, you stopped him and pulled away.

“What are you doing?” you asked, slightly out of breath. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you head, remember?”

He shrugged. “Vanessa said to cover all bases.”

“I’d much rather we didn’t.” you insisted. “I’m fine with giving you head but that’s…” you looked down, searching for a good word to use. “Personal.”

“If you say so.”

There was another pause.

“So I guess… take your pants off.” you finally said.

Lin turned a shade of red.

“Oh come on, don’t act like I didn’t totally see it that one time I walked in on you pleasuring yourself.”

Though you were right, he still hesitated.

You finally rolled your eyes, reaching over to unzip his jeans for him.

“I have to do everything myself.”

When you freed him from his briefs, he was already semi-erect. Something you’d felt pressing against you when you were making out just a few moments ago.

You leaned your head down, moving closer to him before stopping just shy of the tip.

“Can you just… warn me before it happens? I don’t want to be surprised.”

He nodded slowly, watching you carefully as you took him in your hands, your tongue grazing his tip a few times.

You heard him gasp, but didn’t look up. Instead, you took him in one inch at a time, moving tantalizingly slowly until you reached the base.

“Fuck,” he moaned, breathless. You kept the tortuous slow pace if only to taunt him further.

His hands intertwined in your hair. “Y/N, you are killing me. Please go faster.”

You sat up then, turning back to the table. “Hold on, I just need to write something down.”

He groaned, clearly frustrated, leaning back against the couch.

You wrote slowly this time, taking down every specific detail of what was happening, forcing him to wait for you.

Your eyes met as you sunk down again, watching his reactions as you carefully moved the tip of your tongue up and down his length.

Your actions were clearly progressive as he tensed up, telling you he was close. You pulled away, writing more down.

“How do you want to finish?” you asked.

“Honestly?” he hesitated for a moment but pressed on anyway. “I think we should do it together.”

The look on your face must’ve been one of shock because he continued to explain himself.

“We already made it this far.” he pointed out. “You could always do it with a stranger, but I’m not sure that you want to. Besides, you can’t just write about pleasuring other people. At one point or another, you’re going to have to talk about what it’s like to be pleasured.”

You didn’t respond.

“I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I’m just saying, if you’re up for it, it might be really helpful to you.”

You couldn’t exactly argue. It made a lot of sense. To be honest, you weren’t opposed to doing it with Lin. If anything, he was arguably the most attractive person you’d gotten this far with. With Vanessa giving her permission, it made sense to take advantage.

You finally stood up, reaching under your skirt to pull your underwear off. The small black panties landed around your ankles without a sound. Still on the floor, Lin smirked up at you.

You offered a hand to pull him up before lying across the couch.

“I should go get a condom—” he started.

You shook your head. “I’m on birth control.”

There were a few minutes of foreplay necessary to make sure you were ready. When the time came, Lin seemed incredibly nervous. You felt the same.

You helped lead him to the right place, gasping as you adjusted to the feeling of fullness.

Like you, he was slow to start. You tried to encourage him to move faster; moaning in his ear, meeting his thrusts, scratching his back with your nails. He seemed to get more comfortable over time, quickening his pace and kissing every part of your body that his mouth could reach.

“Time out,” you insisted, causing him to stop. He pulled back, letting you sit up and lean over the coffee table to write down more observations.

“We should switch positions.” you offered once you’d finished.

“To what?”

“Let me be on top.”

You watched as Lin carefully lied back on the couch just as you had before. You climbed over him, straddling his lap as you slowly slid down onto his length. He cursed at the sensation, grabbing your hips as you started to ride him slowly.

Your hands fell to his chest. You started at a normal pace with your eyes locked on his.

Leaning forward felt good against your clit, so it wasn’t long before you were close. Feeling you tense up, Lin quickly reached up and covered your mouth as you came. You moaned as you finally came, though it was dulled by his hand so as not to disturb his son in the other room. Feeling him tighten around you, it wasn’t long before he came as well. His back arched off of the couch as he stifled a groan.

For a while, you were silent. You pulled your underwear back on as he did the same to his own. You couldn’t think of anything to say once you’d finished writing, only sitting beside him in silence on the couch.

It was so quiet that you could hear Sebastian from the other room, awake from his nap.

Lin left to take him out of his crib, change his diaper, and bring him back into the living room.

Your demeanor changed when Sebastian was in the room. You greeted him with a huge smile, taking him into your arms for a moment to say hello.

“I should probably go.” you finally said, handing Sebastian back to him.

“What? No, stay for dinner.” he insisted. “Vanessa will be back around six—”

“You know what, I need to compile all of these notes into something useable.” You picked up the pages from the table, stuffing them into your purse. “I think I should just go home and get started now.”

He started to protest but ultimately refused, seeing you clearly wanted to leave.

“We can hang out before you leave, though,” you offered. “I’m sure we’ll find some time.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sure. I’ll text you.”

When you were out of the building and headed down the road, you could feel your heart pounding. You were finally forced to accept the fact that you had feelings for Lin.

You’d been able to repress them in the past, but after today they were hard to ignore. You knew you could never attempt anything—you had way too much respect for him or Vanessa to fuck with their marriage—but you couldn’t deny that the dynamics of you friendship had changed significantly.

Now there were risks.

Now it was scary.

All of this as he was about to leave the country for several months.

You pulled the papers and the pen out again, scribbling ‘A SIGNIFICANT CHANGE IN DYNAMIC’ at the bottom of the last page.

Lin had attempted to make plans to hang out with you several times before he left that you made excuses not to do. You thought it best not to be around him alone for fear of what might happen.

They moved to London six days later. For a while, the lack of pressure from not having him in the city felt good. That didn’t last long, as you started to miss him too much. You were still friends, after all.

You decided to stay in touch with him regularly as you always would; texting, emailing work, pretending as if that day hadn’t happened for the sake of your friendship. It was all you could do to force your feelings to remain repressed.

No matter how hard you tried, though, nothing would ever be the same.

#lin x reader #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel miranda x reader #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #hamilton imagines #hamilcast imagines #imagines blog #x reader #hamilton au #lin x reader au #hamwriters #write a thon

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jasonbehrs · 3 years

Photo

i wanna read every word

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you’ve never met?” “Uh, do you mean like we’ve-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I’ve-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?” “Ummm, more like I’ve-read-their-poems-and-sure-they’re-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile.” “... That’s oddly specific.”

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: eunhyuk, ryeowook; guest appearances by the rest of sj-m and yesung ship: eunwook genre: romantic comedy themes: alternate endings, strangers to lovers, handwriting, identity reveal setting: college chapter: 1/4 word count: 3.7k

read it below or on ffnet, aff, wattpad

chapter 1: the beginning

A/N (5.31.2021): Back with another Super Junior fanfic! Rom-coms aren't really my thing, so this was such a challenge yet so fun to write. I was inspired by Ryeowook's One and Only music video, the fact that he hand-wrote letters to ELF every single month he was enlisted, the fact that he keeps every letter he’s ever been given even after antis used it as a means of sending him targeted hate. 🥺 He clearly cherishes handwritten things, and he just seems like the kind of person that would find meaning in people's handwriting. Thus this fic was born!

Rating for mild language and suggestive instances. Title comes from You Wrote the Book on Love by the Backstreet Boys. Cover art by me. If you recognise anything, that means I don't own it. This story will have two alternate endings. Updates on Sundays. Many thanks to Amy for being my beta!

~~~

Henry cancels their lunch plans at the last minute, which is just fine by him. Ryeowook is in no position to turn down an impromptu opportunity to study, not with a quiz tomorrow for which he is woefully underprepared. He just grabs a to-go wrap from the dining hall and heads for his next class's building. If he recalled correctly, the room that held his noon lecture should be empty right now.

He's right. He happily climbs up to the rear right quadrant of the lecture hall, beelining for what he considers his seat. He is, after all, a devout practitioner of the same seats code of conduct.

He pushes aside the loosely crumpled up piece of paper right on the desk, probably left there by the previous student, and lets himself get lost in his notes from two Evolution of Diet lectures ago.

It isn't until someone takes their seat a few chairs down from him that Ryeowook realised just how much time passed by. He checks his watch then eyes the crumbled pieces of paper around his notebook, casualties from previous attempts to create a study guide. The professor is due to start the class at any minute, so he hurriedly stuffs the paper into his backpack for later recycling.

Unfortunately, Ryeowook does that a lot.

Later, he finds himself sat by his apartment's recycling bin, opening up the backlog of miscellaneous papers one by one to ensure there's nothing he needs from them before throwing them out. They're just the standard class handouts, old notes, whatever.

That is, until he unfolds a page to be greeted with words that are not his own in handwriting that is definitely not his.

I'm thinking of you more today I wonder how tomorrow morning will be Will I miss you more than I do today?

Um, what?!

Ryeowook frantically looks through the remaining pieces of paper in his bag, trying to find anything else like it, but he comes up with nothing.

His mind goes into overdrive, trying to think of a logical explanation for why such a romantic note is in his bookbag, but his traitorously hopeless mind keeps coming back to one conclusion: he has a secret admirer.

"What'cha got there?" his flatmate, Mi, asks when he comes out of his room to find Ryeowook intensely staring at a wrinkled piece of paper while sitting on his haunches by the recycling bin.

Ryeowook falls back on his butt in surprise. "N-Nothing!"

Mi, the pleasant-to-a-fault person he is, gives a winsome smile despite the obvious lie—"If you say so."—before continuing to the kitchen to make a snack.

Ryeowook hastily stuffs the note into his pocket and zips up his backpack. He'll resume this ritual next time his bag is stuffed to the brim. For now, he has other things to focus on. His study guide for tomorrow's quiz is still only half-finished, after all.

Unfortunately, the allure of a secret admirer only lasts for two more days.

When he shows up for his next noon lecture, he sees another crumpled up note by his seat, and he distantly remembers how he found one just like it the last time he had this class. In a valiant attempt to listen to his professor, he manages to ignore it for all of seven minutes before he couldn't fight his curiosity anymore.

It is with bittersweet disappointment that he recognises the handwriting before him.

Take your beautiful smile with you Don't leave it here You saw me with tears in my eyes

The words written on the page thoroughly crush the idea that the poem he memorised before was intended for him—what kind of secret admirer writes a break-up poem for the person they admire to find?—but he lets it go as quickly as the idea originally came to him.

Without the thrill of secrecy overpowering his judgement, Ryeowook has only fondness. Whoever this person is, their work is good, and they've got endearing handwriting to boot.

He feels a little bit shady when he slips the paper into his binder so that he can unite it with its distant cousin back home, but he firmly squashes that feeling down. Whoever left this behind won't be missing it.

When he does it again five days later, and again the next time after that, and keeps doing it every time he sees the tell-tale crumpled paper on his desk, he just accepts that he has suspicious tendencies and maybe a crush.

~If I ain't got you, my kiss is just needless extravagance.~

When Yesung finally arrives at the cafeteria, he's bickering with someone Ryeowook has never met. He watches curiously as the pair approaches where he is sitting. Yesung looks really annoyed, but the new person has a gummy smile painted wide across his face.

"Can you leave now? I'm meeting up with my friends for lunch." Yesung gestures impatiently towards Ryeowook, but the newcomer seats himself. "Cool, what are we having?"

"Who are you?" Ryeowook asks plainly and without formality, having no problem helping his hyung get rid of someone that's clearly bothering him.

The stranger merely offers a charming grin and a friendly hand in response. "Nice to meet you, my name is Hyukjae. Frankly, I'm a rap genius," he introduces with absolutely no shame.

Yesung facepalms.

Ryeowook laughs in his face, high and bright, thoroughly unimpressed with the newcomer's boldness. Hyukjae smoothly retracts his hand, but the grin doesn't waver.

Neither does his determination to stay.

"Who's the new guy," Kyuhyun asks without interest as he seats himself at the table with his food. Mi and Henry are not far behind.

"A nuisance," Yesung complains as he rubs his fingers into his temples.

"Oooohh! We have a new friend?" Mi asks excitedly.

"I'm guessing Yesung brought him?" Henry asks as he bites into his food.

"He followed me like a stray, and now he's at this table begging for scraps."

"Hey, I resent that analogy," Hyukjae speaks up for the first time since the whole friend group gathered. "I thought our friendship was a little more symbiotic than that. You're the whale, and I'm the little fish that's suctioned onto you for dear life."

"I gain nothing from this friendship," Yesung maintains.

"Did you know those fish don't hang on by their mouths but by a separate suction cup organ on their stomachs?" Henry says to the blank, weirded-out, or surprised faces of his friends. "Like, you think it would be their mouths, but no it's a whole other special thing."

"Oh, so that's what you're doing when you're too busy to text back?" Ryeowook snarks. "Watching marine biology documentaries?"

Henry shrugs. "It's just something I know."

"Speaking of, how do you guys know each other?" Mi directs the conversation back to Hyukjae and Yesung.

"He TA'ed for my Vocal Performance class last year—ah, I'm a dance major, but I'm gonna declare a performing arts minor," Hyukjae adds as an aside, "Anyway, he was the only one who held office hours when I was free, so we saw a lot of each other back then. We've been best friends ever since." Hyukjae ends with an arm slung around Yesung's shoulder and a cheesy grin.

"I thought I'm your best friend," Kyuhyun whines.

Yesung shrugs Hyukjae's arm off. "We crossed paths on my way here, then he just invited himself along after I told him I had plans. We're barely friends," he clarifies with a glare at Hyukjae. The other pouts exaggeratedly, and Yesung rolls his eyes before turning his glare onto Kyuhyun. "And if anyone at this table would be my best friend, it would be Wookie."

"If I had a best friend at this table, it would also be Wookie," Henry adds just to annoy Kyuhyun.

"I guess you're the person to know, huh?" Hyukjae directs to Ryeowook with a grin. "Good thing I'm already on his good side," he comments offhandedly as he takes a sip of his drink.

Ryeowook snorts. "Since when were you on my good side?"

"I made him laugh earlier before you guys all got here," Hyukjae explains to the rest of the table. Mi gives him an encouraging thumbs up.

"I was laughing at you."

"The ego perceives no difference," Hyukjae assures.

Ryeowook stares at him incredulously, but he can feel the amused smile that pulls at his lips without his command. Hyukjae shoots him finger guns in response, and Ryeowook just shakes his head and takes a bite of his food.

"So now that we've established a hierarchy, what are y'all's names?" Hyukjae asks brightly.

~Out of the plain people who will be forgotten in a matter of seconds, I know you're different.~

Between Mi's hospitality mode that he can't ever seem to shut off and Ryeowook's nutrition courses that totally upped his cooking game, their apartment is the de facto hangout spot for their friend circle.

Just because they're together doesn't mean they're doing the same thing, however, another de facto manifestation of their friendship. They're all eating the meal that Ryeowook prepared for dinner, but Yesung, Mi, and Henry are watching a movie (well, Henry's on his phone, but he's on the couch with them and sometimes glances up, which is basically the same thing) while Kyuhyun and Ryeowook are doing homework at the kitchen table.

At least, Kyuhyun is. "What are you even working on?" he asks after observing Ryeowook 'work' for the past few minutes.

Ryeowook hastily shuts his notebook shut. "Nothing!"

"It's probably not nothing," Henry remarks without looking up from his phone.

"It's probably related to why he was reading homework next to the recycling bin last week," Mi offers in a vastly misguided attempt to be helpful.

"What does that even mean," Yesung deadpans.

Ryeowook is too busy trying to fend off Kyuhyun's annoyingly persistent hands from getting access to his notebook to respond to the conversation at the other end of the apartment. "Why are you so long!" he wails.

Mi sighs and gets up from the couch, easily swiping the notebook from Ryeowook's grip but refusing to hand it to Kyuhyun.

"But Ryeowook-hyung is keeping secrets!" Kyuhyun complains.

"Ryeowook is allowed to keep secrets," Mi explains like an underpaid teacher.

"Not in this friend group, he isn't." Yesung paused the movie when Mi got up from the couch, and now he's figuratively and physically siding with Kyuhyun.

Finding the antics of his friends more interesting than whatever was on his phone, Henry gets up to join them. "Might as well tell us now," he says to Ryeowook while leaning an elbow on the older's shoulder which Ryeowook promptly shrugs off.

He looks around to his friends looking at him with various levels of interest and expectation, and he sighs in defeat. "Have you ever fallen in love with someone you've never met?"

"Uh, do you mean like we've-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I've-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?" Henry clarifies.

"Ummm, more like I've-read-their-poems-and-sure-they're-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile."

"... That's oddly specific," Kyuhyun breaks the silence.

Ryeowook flounders for a second, debating with himself if he's ready to go this far, then decides screw it and hurries into his room and back out to his friends with a book. "See for yourself," he says as he lays the book on the table.

"They just kept appearing, so I kept reading them, then I started saving them, and now I'm, sorta, crushing on whoever this person is," he narrates as the others flip through what turns out to be a scrapbook—a literal scrapbook for the scraps of paper he finds, with dates and a little passage next to each paper entry of his first impressions of the work.

"The words themselves can be so romantic or witty or silly, but there's just something about the handwriting," he effuses. "I look at the way the words slant and how the letters bleed into each other, and… I don't know. It makes me feel like I know this person, whoever they are."

"I don't know which is more pathetic: the fact that you managed to fall in love with handwriting or the fact that you're interpreting actual Korean out of this chicken scratch."

Mi ignores Henry's comment. "And this notebook is…?" He holds up the book he had pilfered from Ryeowook. The latter looks up, to the side, to the TV, anywhere to avoid looking at his friends when he confesses, "My attempts at answering them back through poetry."

Yesung snorts. "What do you know about poetry?"

"Nothing," Ryeowook pouts as he stomps, "which is why I would like my notebook back, please, before meaner eyes than yours look through it." He directs the last half of his thought to Mi, who nods understandingly and returns the book to him. Ryeowook clutches the book to his chest protectively.

"What if the writer turned out to be a guy?" Henry asks when he looks up from perusing the scrapbook. Ryeowook shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. "That wouldn't necessarily be a problem." Henry raises his eyebrows in interest. "Noted."

"What if the writer turned out to have a significant other already?" Mi points out. Ryeowook twists his mouth in a moue as he thinks. "That would suck," he says at last, "but I could at the very least tell him his work is good. If the scraps are his throwaways like I suspect they are, then what would the stuff he was actually proud of look like, you know? And if we meet, maybe we might even become friends."

"So what I'm hearing is that you're hoping it's a guy," Kyuhyun observes as he reaches for the communal bowl of shrimp congee that Ryeowook cooked for dinner, having lost interest in the whole ordeal once Ryeowook willingly offered them information.

In retaliation, Ryeowook stomps over and swipes it away before carefully pouring the last of it in Henry's bowl, steadfastly ignoring Kyuhyun's protests and the blush on his own cheeks.

~You'll be able to befriend scary things after all. I'll show off how I can blow away the loneliness.~

Ryeowook's literally minding his own business in the student union when Yesung and Hyukjae stroll up to his table. "Stored any more love notes, Wookie?" Yesung asks apropos of nothing when he sits himself down.

"Hit a B5 yet, Yesung?" Ryeowook fires back. Yesung moves to hit him, but Ryeowook's too fast and Yesung loves him too much.

"What's this about love notes?"

Ryeowook glares at Yesung, who snickers and leaves him to fend for himself. "They're not love notes," he eventually explains to Hyukjae. "They're poems, mostly about love and most likely aimed at a different person."

"And then he projects and makes believe the person is him," Yesung pipes up.

"Why did you wake up today and decide that it's my turn to get bullied?"

Hyukjae lays a hand on Ryeowook's shoulder and sends him a conspiratorial wink when the other looks his way. "Nothing wrong with being a romantic. What's the point of art if you don't draw from it what you can?"

Ryeowook considers him. "I like that. I'm stealing that."

"For what, your 'poetry'?" Yesung snorts, but the others ignore him. For his part, Hyukjae just frowns and sighs. "I'm glad someone at this school thinks I'm creative. My prof completely slammed my latest free prose assignment."

Ryeowook exaggeratedly pouts. "Poor baby."

Hyukjae looks at him, betrayed. "I thought, out of everyone at this table, you'd be the one to show me some sympathy."

"Blame Yesung. He put me in a bad mood, and misery loves company."

~Those disgusted eyes at this scale are not enough to enrage me. As long as there is silence, you will fight amongst yourselves.~

To the surprise of no one, Kyuhyun is the one to figure out a plan first.

"If Ryeowook's class is at noon, and there's no class immediately before his, it's gotta be the 8am class, right? So to find Poem Person, we just have to figure out what class meets in…" He looks to Ryeowook. "Bomnal 235," Ryeowook supplies. "Bomnal 235 on Mondays and Thursdays at 8am, and then—"

"Songwriting?" a new voice says.

"Don't you have other friends?!" complains Yesung as Hyukjae settles into their booth at the pizza parlour.

"He doesn't mean it. We like having you around," Mi assures Hyukjae as he passes him a menu.

"Speak for yourself," Yesung grumbles.

"Can we get back on track here?" Ryeowook cuts above the chatter. "Kyuhyun was about to solve the greatest mystery of my young adult life!"

"And what does the junior songwriting class have to do with that?" Hyukjae interjects.

"What do you mean?" Henry asks.

"Uh, you guys were talking about Bomnal 235 on Mondays and Thursdays at 8am? That's the junior songwriting class."

Ryeowook sits up straighter in his seat. Those aren't poems he's been finding. They're song lyrics.

"Okay so step 1 is down, what's step 2?" Henry asks Kyuhyun.

"Step 2 for what?"

"To stop Ryeowook from pining pathetically after someone he doesn't know," Yesung says.

"I know plenty about him!" Ryeowook defends.

"The gender is actually not confirmed," Mi offers to Hyukjae as an aside.

"And notice how Ryeowook doesn't dispute the 'pathetically pining' part," Kyuhyun adds on.

"Oh my god, stop talking," Ryeowook cuts in. "Let me explain," he offers to Hyukjae.

"Please."

"It's not even that big of a deal. I just have a bit of a crush on someone in the class."

"Because of the love notes," Hyukjae recalls from the conversation several days ago.

"They're poems!" Ryeowook defends on instinct. He stops and reconsiders. "Well, based on what you said, they're probably song lyrics, but yes."

Hyukjae nods. "So Step 2 was going to be…" He looks to Kyuhyun.

"Well, we'd probably have to procure a roster somehow, then we'd spend the rest of the semester staging elaborate situations to get Ryeowook to interact with these people, and hopefully Ryeowook would hate all of them enough to give up on this useless pining and give us back our hang-out times to talk about real things like my gaming tournament at the end of the month."

Henry howls with laughter, and Ryeowook gawks. "That was your plan?!" Kyuhyun puts his arms out in a what-do-you-want-from-me gesture.

"I think I have a better one," Hyukjae pipes up.

"You have a plan?" Yesung asks, a strong note of skepticism in his voice.

Hyukjae slowly meets the eyes of everyone at the table, letting the tension build just a little bit, then drops the bomb. "I'm in that class. I probably know whoever leaves you the notes."

He loves the quick and scattered intakes of breath, but the slowly growing hope on Ryeowook's face is what makes him smile. He makes a come-on gesture with his hands. "Tell me what you know."

The others groan or roll their eyes, having heard some or all of the upcoming discussion over the past few weeks. Even Mi has to politely direct his attention to his phone to avoid letting his tiredness show on his face.

Ryeowook ignores them all. "He's very detail-oriented, but he's usually focused on the next thing to work on or whatever's lingering in the future. He's so friendly—he feels all of his emotions intensely, really—and he's ruled by that more than he probably wants to be. He can be impulsive at times, but his heart is always in the right place." He ends with his chin in his palm and a sigh.

Hyukjae allows himself a moment to fully take in Ryeowook's passionate yet ultimately meaningless description. "Um, that's great, but… don't you know his name? Or appearance? Something a little more tangible for me to work with."

"The gender is still unconfirmed," Mi reminds him.

"I would recognise—" Ryewook cuts his eyes at Mi, who shrugs, "their handwriting anywhere, but something tells me that'll be as unhelpful as anything else I've said tonight."

"'I know plenty about him,'" Yesung mocks as he plays with his pizza.

Hyukjae whistles low and shakes his head. "That makes my job a little harder," he admits.

"You don't have a job," Ryeowook hurries to assure. "You don't have to help me."

"Aish, let him help you," Kyuhyun gripes. "The sooner you meet this guy, the faster you can get over him."

"The gender—" "If you say, 'The gender is unconfirmed' one more time, I'm gonna make your gender unconfirmed."

Mi blinks then just smiles at Henry, who throws himself back into his chair in exasperation.

Hyukjae slowly turns his attention away from the pair and back to Ryeowook. "I'll find a way to help, no problem," he confirms with a smile.

It's not the brightest Ryeowook has seen from the other, but it's genuine and directed at him. For now, he returns the smile with a slight blush on his cheeks and immediately prompts Kyuhyun to talk about his impending tournament.

Later, when he'll think of Hyukjae, the sight of him framed by the unflattering pizzeria decor and selflessly agreeing to a favour will be the image his brain supplies for reference.

~Sometimes what cannot be seen gives birth to unspoken understanding.~

#super junior #super junior fanfiction #eunwook #eunhyuk #ryeowook #jaso*#iwrew

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