#have i ever told you that i have thought of a band adjacent au before. have i ever. mentioned that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

primatechnosynthpop · 1 year

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Ok ok you know the nkotr roleswap au that Kris came up with and then I thought about it like 10× as much as she ever did because I'm fucking insane. If you don't know about it this should roughly inform you. Anyway uhhh here's the roleswap verse romantic comedy episode

--New Roles on the Swap: Romantic Irony--

They were supposed to meet at a hipster bar downtown. Max had been there before, but only to hang around outside it and beat people up. Those stupid hipsters always had so much money to spend on cold brew and overpriced donuts--they made easy targets. But you wouldn't catch him actually eating at a sissy place like that.

Well. Not until tonight, apparently. Because the stupid studio told him to. Hopefully the guy he was meeting would at least be cute.

"Well now, Maximilian!" Mitch had proclaimed a few hours prior upon reading their latest message from the studio. "It seems the studio has decided that even a mongrel like you should get a chance at love. They want us to film a romantic comedy webisode where you get to go on a date..."

"Date?" Daxter Flaxter had immediately balked at the prospect. "Nuh-uh! No girlz allowed!"

Mitch cut him off with a tut-tut noise and a wag of his finger: "...With a boy."

A sitcom ooh! sound effect played in the background. Daxter's reaction didn't change, though. He made a face and mimed spitting up something gross; Max laughed at the comedic display, the surrounding circumstance immediately forgotten.

"Nah, you two have fun, but I'm not taking part in this," Daxter said with a shake of his head as he headed for the door. "No romance for Daxter! I'm out!"

Now, standing outside the restaurant scuffing the stupid stuffy shoes Mitch had forced him into against the dirty pavement, Max wished he'd opted out of this one too. Yeah, the studio asked him to do it and all, but couldn't they have found somebody else? This whole thing stunk, and he hadn't even met his date yet.

He caught a snippet of conversation from a young couple strolling past with their arms linked and smarmy grins on their faces. Max grimaced and stuck his tongue out at them. Then the guy pulled out a ring, and the sour expression flipped to an eager sneer. Boy, talk about easy targets! Max was just about to march over and threaten them into handing the ring over when an unfamiliar hand tapped his shoulder. Max turned, instinctively baring his teeth, to see a guy around his age with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses wearing a baseball cap and a short-sleeved suit.

"So," the strange guy greeted him in a disinterested tone, "Are you my quote- 'date'- unquote?"

"Nah, I'm just here to make a movie for plymouth rock studios." Then Max remembered what kind of movie they were making, and he snapped his fingers. "Hey, wait a second... maybe I am your date. Are you Spencer?"

But this couldn't be him, right? Spencer was supposed to be cute, not some four-eyes. To his disappointment, the guy nodded.

"Ch'yeah, bro." Spencer stuck his hands in his pockets and gestured vaguely toward the restaurant. "So, you wanna go inside, or should we do more of an avante-garde, experimental date where we just, like, exist adjacent to each other or whatever?"

"Nahh, that sounds like a waste of time," Max decided. "Let's eat. But you're paying."

***

It was pretty dark in the bar, with a few tacky neon signs being the only sources of light. That made it a little easier to sit across from Spencer, but it didn't make listening to him talk any better. Max rolled his eyes and squirmed in discomfort while his date babbled on about whatever his dumb hipster job was and all the stupid bands he'd seen. He only tuned back in when Spencer snapped his fingers in his face several times in quick succession.

"Uh, hello?" Spencer huffed. "I was asking what kind of music you listen to."

Max stared blankly at Spencer for several seconds, jaw dangling partway open. Then he blinked, and suddenly remembered the communicator wristwatch he was wearing. Yeah, that's right, Mitch had promised to help him out with this stuff...

He raised his arm to talk into the watch, only to remember that his friend had stuffed him into a dumb frilly suit beforehand and it covered his wrist. Suddenly flustered, Max scrambled off the barstool he was perched on, knocking it over with a loud clatter in the process. Everyone else in the hipster bar turned to stare at him. His face flushed and he scowled at the onlookers, but Spencer was quick to make a dismissive gesture at the crowd.

"Chillax, broskis, he's with me." Then, lowering his voice and turning back to Max: "What's the deal? You're not, like, ditching me, right?"

"Nah, I just gotta take a piss. Be right back."

With that he scrambled off to the bathroom, where he whipped out the communicator watch. An image of Mitch flickered onto the screen. It looked like he was in a warehouse somewhere exploiting a bunch of factory workers, but Max didn't care about that.

"Hey, Dollarton, I need your help. What kind of music do I listen to?"

"You? You don't listen to anything besides that dreadful rap and heavy metal," Mitch sniffed. "But don't tell your date that, or he'll think you're a degenerate. Tell him you listen to opera or something with a modicum of sophistication."

"Opera? What, you want him to think I'm gay or something?"

Mitch's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but one of the workers he was exploiting spoke up in the background just then and he cut himself off with a sigh. "Oh, never mind. Just tell him whatever you think he wants to hear. That's how I win over all my boyfriends."

So, when Max re-seated himself across from Spencer, the first thing he said was "Yeah, I don't really listen to anything. I've got better things to do."

Spencer raised his eyebrows, and though his eyes remained half-lidded, he sounded impressed. "No music? Woah, that's like uber-niche. Here I was worried you'd listen to, like, mainstream pop or something," he added, slumping back in his seat in clear relief.

"Naww, pop music blows," Max said, making a face. "All that perky autotuned junk about love and partying... I just wanna stuff all those singers in a locker and keep 'em there until they starve. That'd show 'em."

Spencer laughed out loud at that, though he quickly buried it in a fake cough and adopted a more detached amusement. Max's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Hey, when this guy smiled suddenly he looked a lot cuter, what was up with that?

"That is literally so true." Spencer rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a you know gesture. "And then these quote- 'alternative'- unquote artists will cross over into the mainstream, and it's like, ugh, I can't believe I ever thought they were cool."

Max couldn't relate to that, but he nodded his head and snickered along anyway. Spencer looked a lot more relaxed now, and... yeah. That was good. If they did a good job on this date they'd probably get paid more by the studio.

He recalled a tip Mitch gave him a couple hours ago, when he was helping him get ready. "Believe it or not, I do have some amount of faith in you," Mitch had said as he ran a comb through Max's tangled and matted hair. "You hardly have to be a gentleman to act like one, and you do have a sort of brutish charm, in the animalistic sense."

"Heh, yep." It was only a few seconds later that Max had cocked his head with a scowl as his friend's words sunk in. "Wait, animalistic?"

Without bothering to follow up on that comment, Mitch had straightened Max's collar for him and, looking him dead in the eyes, added sternly: "Oh, and Maximilian, do try to compliment him. Men like that, you know."

Now, looking his date up and down in the dingy lighting, Max struggled to dredge up a compliment. What could he say that would make a guy like him?

"Hey, Spencer... nice suit." Encouraged by the way Spencer glanced up at him, looking almost startled by the words, Max sneered and went on: "Did your mom buy it for you?"

An odd look passed over Spencer's face, and he hesitantly shook his head. "Nah, bro. This isn't even a real suit, 'cause I figured that'd be too conformist." He tugged at his collar, and for the first time Max realized that his date was actually wearing a t-shirt designed to look like a suit and tie. "It's ironic, natch."

"Ironic? What's that supposed to mean?" Max demanded, narrowing his eyes. The word felt funny in his mouth, like some foreign language something. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna shove you in a locker."

He realized his mistake when Spencer, already no longer smiling, lowered his head with a sigh and gave him a reproachful look. Max gulped, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Ah, crud. This wasn't going well. At this rate the studio wasn't even gonna pay him, and they promised they'd pay him next time he did good on a webisode!

Muttering an excuse under his breath, Max pushed himself away from the table, only to tip precariously backward on the wobbly barstool. He windmilled his arms with a yelp. Just before he could fall, Spencer darted forward and grabbed the stool, holding it in place. Doing so put his hand right between Max's legs; the two stared at each other for a few seconds, thick with awkward tension, until Max jumped down and made his second hasty getaway of the night.

This time there was a dull rabble in the background of Mitch's setting when he answered his communicator, and it looked like some of the workers in the warehouse were sharpening weapons. Mitch, too, seemed a little more on edge.

"Yes? What is it this time?"

"He doesn't like me," Max whined, trying to keep his voice low as he crouched in the dingy bathroom stall. "What do I do?"

"Ah, what indeed. Of course you can't just bribe him into more dates the way I would." Mitch paused, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Perhaps you can win him over with your traditional masculinity--your knack for beating people up, for one. That's one skill that myself and Daxter are rather lacking in."

"Yeahhh, good point. I'll try that."

When he got back to the table, Spencer was texting on one of those little internet gadgets dweebs used. While he was looking down at the device, Max flicked his fingers against Spencer's nose. Spencer jerked back, hands flying up to clutch his nose with an indignant yelp. Max snickered as he took his seat.

"Hah. Got you."

"Bro, that was so not..." Spencer trailed off, eyes widening, as his gaze swept over the hand responsible for knocking his dumb nerd glasses askew (he was kinda cute with them crooked like that, not that Max even noticed or cared!) "Wait, are those real missing fingers?"

"Huh? Yeah." Remembering what Mitch had said about his masculinity, Max held up both hands to show off the bandaged stumps where a few of his digits used to be. "Lost 'em in a fight. Cool, huh?"

Spencer grimaced. "Nah, bro, physical fights are totally lame. I only fight with people on Myspace and Tumblr."

Max, unsure of what to say to that, opened his mouth and pointed to the gaps inside. "I got some teeth knocked out, too."

They were saved from any further conversation by a waiter showing up with their food. Max wasted no time grabbing a handful of bacon and stuffing it into his mouth, while Spencer stopped to snap some photos of his kale sriracha salad before he even popped open the lid of the mason jar it was served in. Heh, you snooze you lose, Max thought as he reached across the table to swipe some onion rings off Spencer's plate while he was too busy taking pictures to guard his meal.

Spencer raised his head to give him a cold glare. Just like that, the hot and juicy food turned to ash between Max's teeth. Crap. He doesn't like that. With the slow methodical movements of someone disarming a bomb, Max stretched his jaw open and reached inside to pull out the half-chewed mess of fried onion and place it back atop Spencer's plate. This did not improve things.

Ah, man, this sucked. He needed Mitch's help again. Ducking under the table to hide from Spencer's reproachful glare, Max pulled his communicator watch out and tried to call Mitch again. This time he got a busy signal--no response. Yeah, typical Dollarton, always betraying him.

(Unbeknownst to Max, at about that time Mitch was crouched under a desk in the warehouse as his peasants revolted, trying desperately and failing to get ahold of Daxter for help. Daxter, meanwhile, ignored his own communicator going off and carried on whistling a bluesy melody from a video game while he fed spoonfuls of gatorade to his most prized anime figurine.)

"Hey, that wristwatch is bitchin'," Spencer interjected. "Is that, like, an underground brand or what?"

"Eh-heh-heh-heh, yup." Max smirked and puffed out his chest in self-satisfaction. "Me and Daxter Flaxter and Mitch Dollarton are the only ones who've got 'em."

Spencer recoiled with a cringe when he mentioned Mitch. "Pssh, bro, the Dollartons are like the richest family in Massachusetts. They're all total posers. Why are you hanging out with one of them?"

"Eh, well, it's not like I like him or anything..." That was kind of a lie--he did like Mitch, though he wasn't sure why--but man, he sure could be annoying sometimes. "It's cause we make movies together. You ever hear about, uh, New Kids on the Rock?"

Spencer nodded, eyes lighting up in recognition. "Oh yeah, natch. A bunch of my mutuals are into it, and they've been telling me to check it out, but I wasn't sure because it kinda has the vibe of something that might get big. I mean, I can always say I liked it before it was cool, but that only does so much for my cred since posers lie about liking stuff before it was cool all the time..." He trailed off from his rambling with a shrug, but Max noted with satisfaction that he was smiling again in that barely-managing-to-be-disaffected way. "But web shows are the new television anyway, so I guess I'll check it out."

They lapsed into silence for a while, eating their food. When the evening was winding down, Max reached over and tugged on Spencer's arm.

"C'mon, we better bust this joint before they try and take our money."

"Nah, bro, it's chill," Spencer assured him with a dismissive wave. "The people here know me; they always give me a discount."

Max squirmed, shooting a glance over his hunched shoulder at a waiter walking nearby. "Are you sure? Mitch says he's not lending me money anymore after last time..."

"For realsies, I've got it." Spencer shot him a smirk as he pulled out a wallet. "But hey, if you wanna pay me back so bad, how about you walk me home?"

***

Spencer, it turned out, lived in an old colonial-style house just down the block from the fabled Plymouth Rock (which, of course, was constructed to honour the film studio of the same name). While Max was leading him up the driveway, their arms proudly linked, Spencer suddenly stopped. Max shot his date a puzzled glance. What, he wasn't pissed at him again, was he? Yeesh, at this rate the studio was never gonna give Max his paycheck!

But rather than glowering, Spencer was blushing. He moved his hand down from the crook of Max's arm to slide their hands together.

"Hey, listen, about your fingers... it's sick, bro."

Max tilted his head. He couldn't be sure, but the way he said it sounded like a compliment. Sure enough, Spencer went on:

"I guess I was just weirded out because I'm, like, not really into the punk scene? But if you think about it, it's actually a really radical statement against mainstream expectations. I mean, why should the man tell us how many teeth or fingers we should have, or whatever?" Spencer picked at the frayed bandages on Max's hand as he said this, sending a thrilling shudder down Max's spine. "And body modification is already a thing, so maybe getting fingers removed will be the next big trend in, like, 20XX or whenever. And if that happens then you'll be a total legend for doing it before it was cool."

"Heh, yeah," Max agreed, even though he didn't really get what Spencer was going on about. Then, grabbing Spencer's hand and holding it up to his mouth: "Hey, if you wanna lose a finger, I can bite it off for you right now. Maybe we can even sew it onto my hand, like a keepsake. Eh-heh-heh-heh."

Spencer's face grew bright pink and he rapidly shook his head. "N-nah, bro, that... it's cool. Another time, y'know?"

"Yeahhh," Max said, a grin slowly spreading over his face as he let his date's hand go. "Another time, 'cause we're gonna go on more dates. Nice."

With that, they said goodbye at the door, and Spencer went inside. Max let out a cry of victory the second the door closed behind him.

"YES! Take that, Mitch, and Daxter, and the studio! You bozos didn't think I could go on a date, but I did it, and now you hafta gimme a paycheck!"

***

So yeah last nite was fun, I mean he's totes cray & kinda ugly but if u think abt it that actually makes dating him better bc it's, like, going against normie standards or whatevs <3

Lounging on his bed that morning with his vape pen dangling halfway out of his mouth, Spencer scrolled through his camera roll for a photo to append to his latest blog post. He'd taken a couple during the date without Max noticing, but they weren't really from flattering angles... he finally selected one of Max with his head cocked like a stray dog, with a little piece of bacon sticking out from between his lips. Spencer chuckled lightly at the detail, but catching it led to him staring at those lips for a few seconds longer than necessary, and... oh man. His heart pounded in his chest like the predictable beat of the pop songs he and Max had bonded over hating. He, like, liked this guy. Unironically.

No sooner had he finished making the post than his dad barged into his room, unannounced as always. Spencer sat up with a beleaguered sigh and took his headphones off to address John Smith.

"Um, knock much?"

"I did knock, you foolish boy, you just didn't hear me over your music," the old pilgrim said with an accusatory finger jab. "Now tell me, who dares trespass in our driveway?"

"Geez, Dad, chillax. It's probably just a..." He trailed off, mind and heart alike racing when he realized. "Oh, dip, that'd be Max!"

John Smith's sunken eyes narrowed. "...Max?"

"Uh, ch'yeah. He's like my new boyfriend, or whatever," Spencer said with a deflective shrug as he slid off the bed and moved toward the door.

But to his annoyance, his father moved to block his exit, hand darting down to hover over the hilt of his sword.

"A new boyfriend? You'll have no such thing! I've told you before, Spencer Smith, it falls upon you to find a wife and carry on the pilgrim lineage before we go extinct!"

"But Da-ad, I--!"

His father silenced him with a flash of his blade. The ancient but still deadly strip of metal came to hover inches from Spencer's throat. Spencer gulped and took a step back. He always used to think John Smith was rad for having a sword, because pilgrims with muskets were so conformist, but the way his dad acted about Spencer's relationships was totally wack. And the decapitated look totally wasn't in right now, so he could only stand back and watch as his father slammed the door behind him and stormed off, no doubt to scare away the realest human connection Spencer had felt in months.

***

The small bouquet Max had stolen off a grandma's windowsill on the way over was pretty much squashed into mulch from how much he'd worried the flowers between his sweat-slicked palms. It felt like something similar was happening to his heart. Like some kinda giant had stuck its big ugly hand in his chest and was squeezing his heart to mush. Man, was that sappy or what?

He paused halfway up the driveway and cast a nervous glance over his shoulder to the decorative rock on the Smiths' front lawn. Mitch and Daxter peered out from behind it to give him a thumbs-up, although Mitch--who was already back in his usual stuffy clothes after getting bailed out from prison earlier that morning--looked a little less excited. Max tried to return his friends' encouraging gesture, but out of habit his hand accidentally raised in a middle-finger position instead.

The second he knocked on the door, it swung open with a bang. Max jumped back with a startled shout and ducked to avoid a sword being thrust in his direction by an older guy in weird pilgrim clothes.

"Get off my property, you miscreant," the guy holding the sword hissed. "You're not welcome here!"

"Suck it, geezer," Max sneered. "I ain't here for you. Where's Spencer?"

"Spencer? Why..." The pilgrim paused, visibly searching for words, until he broke into a wicked grin. "...Spencer's been dead for ten years!"

"Huh?" Max narrowed his eyes. "That's bull. I just went on a date with him last night."

He tried to shoulder past the pilgrim to get inside, but a slash of the sword against his cheek made him think better of it. He flinched, hand flying up to brush away a thin line of blood that sprung up in the sword's wake. The pilgrim lunged forward, hissing, to strike him again. Max let out a shout of startled indignation and backed off the porch in a haphazard stagger.

Once he was off the steps and out of range of that crazy guy's sword, he grabbed the nearest heavy object--the communicator watch on his wrist; fat lot of good that whole gimmick did for him--and chucked it as hard as he could at the pilgrim's stupid hat. Then he turned tail and bolted.

His friends intercepted him at the bottom of the driveway. Daxter gave him a good-natured smack on the back, grinning again now that the disruptive field of romance had been dispelled.

"Too bad!" he proclaimed cheerfully. "Looks like you won't be getting any action!"

"Don't be too downtrodden now, Maximilian," Mitch added, laying a hand on Max's arm when he hung his head. "Going on a date with a dead man? People have made fortunes off less remarkable stories."

"Yeah, but..."

Max trailed off, casting a forlorn glance back at the house. The pilgrim still lingered in the doorway, sword at the ready. Above him, the curtain of a second-story window rustled and pulled back for a moment. Max looked away again a second too soon to see the very much still living object of his interest waving at him.

He wouldn't be caught dead saying any mushy stuff out loud, but as Mitch and Daxter ushered him off back to their clubhouse to get the latest webisode edited and uploaded, Max made a silent promise to never forget the previous night.

***

Spencer was lying on his bed with his face buried halfway in the pillow, listening to a tragic indie song about doomed lovers dying together in an overly niche workplace accident, when his dad came back in. He turned his music down without taking his earbuds out and rolled over onto his side without getting up or fully meeting John Smith's gaze. He didn't want to see whatever look of self-satisfaction his father must have had just then.

"So is he, like, gonezo?"

It was a rhetorical question. Spencer had watched through the window as the three figures receded down the road until they vanished into the distance. But hey, may as well ask anyway, right? Rhetorical questions were like the new irony, or whatever. What-fucking-ever.

"Yes, he's gone."

"Great," Spencer muttered bitterly. "Quote- 'thanks'- unquote, Dad. And BTW, I'm using those quotes ironically to indicate sarcasm," he added in case the old geezer didn't get it.

"He even tried to defile me with this unsightly piece of modern technology," John Smith went on. "Bah! Away with it!"

He flung something towards Spencer, who sat up and caught it with instincts well-honed from countless close calls of dropping his phone. Then he turned and slammed the door with a huff, leaving Spencer once again alone in his melancholy.

Or maybe... not 100% alone. Turning the device over in his hands, Spencer's heart fluttered when he realized it was the very same totally bitchin' communicator Max had worn during the date. He experimentally punched in a combination of numbers on the keypad, and the device beeped out a chipper little ringtone. Moments later, a shaky image flickered onto the screen--not Max, but another guy with a backwards baseball cap.

"Woah, looks like you've got mail!" the strange guy on the screen remarked. "Well, I don't wanna talk to this guy, so heeere you go."

There were some fabric shuffling noises as the device was handed off, and then Max's face filled the screen. He immediately lit up upon seeing Spencer.

"Heyyy, you're not dead after all! I shoulda known."

"Ch'yeah, my dad is just stuck in colonial times. He's always trying to screw me over." Spencer paused, drumming his fingers on the watch's sturdy black plastic casing. He tried his best to seem casual as he said, "So, do you still wanna go out again sometime?"

Max grinned, and Spencer barely even shuddered at all the gaps in his teeth. "You're on. But next time Mitch is paying."

--End--

#this is one of the silliest things i've written in a while and i had a lot of fun with it #hope you guys like it :3 #hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

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The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn <3 I hope you like it!

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

--->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

--->--->--->--->--->

This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->--->

Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->--->

Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->

This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #smut #my writing #wc: 5k+

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prettywordsyouleft · 3 years

Text

The Cowboy - Part 6

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) — suggestive content awaits in this part.

Word count: 2344

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what now?” you asked when you answered the front door the following morning, your gaze travelling to the two horses tied up near the house. You laughed nervously and shook your head. “No, no. Just because we had a friendly excursion together yesterday doesn’t mean I’m quite ready for this.”

“It’s not that scary, I promise.”

“Tell that to someone who wanted to ride a pony as a kid. I didn’t. I was an inside only and play with dolls, type of girl.”

“You don’t need to have a love affair with ponies as a child to learn how to ride now. Stop giving me excuses and get out here, would you?!”

Heaving in a deep breath, you eyed the creatures warily before reaching for the keys to the front door. Jaehyun waved you off. “You don’t need to lock up.”

“Someone could easily walk onto this property.”

“Walk?” Jaehyun mused, and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Drive up the road and find it. Call it a habit, if you will,” you told him as you slotted the key into the door and locked it. You smiled over at him. “I’ll feel more at ease knowing it’s locked up. And I have a pocket for them, so don’t worry.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Miss City.”

“Back to that?”

“Well, you’re about to learn how to ride from a cowboy. It seems fitting,” Jaehyun replied, and you grinned. “Come on. Old Roger here is half-blind and safe as houses.”

“I don’t think blind and safe work together like that,” you murmured, following him over to the brown horse. You gave him another look. “And who names a horse Roger?!”

“You’re so talkative when you’re nervous.”

“Just hurry up before I back out entirely,” you confessed, and Jaehyun let the stirrups down from laying over the seat of the western saddle.

He then pointed to something sticking off the front of it. “That’s what we call the horn. Take a hold of that and stick your foot in the stirrup there.”

You reached up for the horn and then attempted to get your foot into the stirrup. Not quite making it, you turned to look at Jaehyun. “Oh dear, I’m not able to do this. Well, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Not so fast,” he said as his arms slipped around your waist and pulled you back to his side. You glanced up at him, and Jaehyun blinked a couple of times before grinning lopsidedly. “So eager to get away from me, huh?”

“So eager to hold me,” you pointed out, and his hands dropped to his sides momentarily before guiding your hand up to the horn again.

“This time, hold the horn, and I’ll give you a leg up,” he offered, moving effectively to cup your foot and pushed up. Without realising it, you threw your leg over the opposite side of the saddle and sat down. Jaehyun laughed at your stupor. “Look at you. We’ll make a rider out of you in no time.”

You smiled proudly down at him, and Jaehyun patted Roger before handing you the reins. He sorted your fingers around them before stepping away. “Wait!”

“What?”

“You can’t just put me up on a horse and then walk away from me. Shouldn’t you lead me around first or something? Take care of me!”

Jaehyun chuckled. “Thought you weren’t a pony ride type of girl?”

“Not funny! He might walk off with me! What do I do then?!”

Jaehyun evaluated the snoozing animal you sat aboard and then swiftly mounted his own stead. He looked over at you. “Oh no, what are you going to do now, Y/N? He’s going to start walking as soon as Blaze here does.”

“That’s not funny!” you exclaimed, gripping the horn of the saddle when Jaehyun clucked at his horse, and it walked off. Roger stepped off in time as the other horse, and your eyes bulged out of your head.

Jaehyun glanced back at you. “Relax. I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. Trust in me.”

Jaehyun’s words resonated with you, and you took in a deep breath and tried to relax. Roger fell in step with Blaze, and you glanced over at Jaehyun nervously.

“Do I just hold the horn?”

“If you want to. Roger won’t do anything Blaze doesn’t. But try to relax your grip at least. Those reins lead to a bit in his mouth. You don’t want to tug too hard on that.”

You unclenched your hands immediately, barely holding onto the reins. You decided to keep one hand on the horn though, just in case. Jaehyun nodded. “There you go, now you’re riding.”

“I’m riding,” you repeated, looking forward along the track you were on. For fifteen minutes or so, you just enjoyed the feeling. It was freeing, even if you had been frightened at first, to be up on a horse with all this land around you. The morning sun wasn’t too hot, yet it felt nice upon your back. You could see yourself growing accustomed to this view. From the back of a horse, everything seemed more magical with the way the light hit it.

And then Jaehyun had to go and ruin your peace. “We’ll try a jog now.”

“A what? No, thank you, walking is fine.”

“I want to show you a place, but it’ll take us all day if we amble up there,” Jaehyun persisted. “Just hold onto the horn, okay?”

“Jaehyun, I-!”

He asked Blaze up a gait, and like clockwork, Roger followed along. You squealed with the change, trying to balance yourself with the fast and bumpier speed. Glaring at Jaehyun, you gripped the horn tightly, focusing on keeping in the seat of the saddle. The longer you jogged, the easier it became, but you were still grateful when both horses slowed back to a walk.

“You’re a jerk!” you exclaimed as Jaehyun laughed at you.

“That I am, but you survived, didn’t you?”

“Wherever we’re going better be worth it!” you told him adamantly and recklessly leaned over and shunted him.

Whilst Jaehyun was okay, you forgot for a second that you were on top of a horse. Unlike him, you hadn’t ever ridden before, and your balance wasn’t as secure. You gripped onto his t-shirt in hopes to find leverage.

Jaehyun leaned in towards you. “Trying to touch me, are we?”

“Don’t! I was just--” Jaehyun helped you back upright, and you shakily drew in another breath.

He grinned. “Hold onto that horn unless you plan on riding double with me, won’t you?”

“So this is it?” you asked when the horses came to a halt, and Jaehyun nodded. “It’s another field, Jaehyun.”

“We can’t use this field for grazing our herd on. It’s too far away from the house to travel to daily and becomes a waste of time when we already have enough to do. It’s hard as rocks during summer and bogs with mud in winter.”

“Sounds cursed.”

Jaehyun glanced at you. “It’s also the closest field we have to the mountain ranges.”

“Huh, so it is.” You surveyed the area, deciphering where you were on the internal map inside your mind. You gasped. “This was the spot I was trying to find access to!”

“Only way in currently is upon horseback,” he mentioned cautiously, readjusting his hat on his head. “My Dad would kill me if he found us out here right now.”

“You’re helping me. Why?”

“You seem genuine,” he answered honestly, gauging your reaction intently. “You’re not here to make big bucks for the company and rob the small people in the process. After yesterday, and with how many came up to us at the market to say hi, I can tell you care about Blayne already.”

“Well, its early days but I do want what’s best for everyone.”

“If we sold this land and then our neighbours gave over the adjacent property, we could build a road and put in more housing, in the very least.”

“You don’t want the resort, do you?”

“Would you? Who needs one when we have enough activities to fill the day?”

You smiled. “My first goal would be housing too. Blayne needs more workers. Workers tend to bring their family along with them. We’d need to change the town model a little to accommodate all of this.”

“The farmers here won’t accept strangers to work their lands. When Avery left, it was really hard for me to manage the herd we have. Caleb is helpful, but he’s slow from a limp to his leg. Dad wants to increase production over the next two years. It’s a joke if he thinks the four of us can manage both our property and my Uncle’s.”

“They’ll need to swallow their pride and let workers in then. I can help with that. I’m sure if we band together, we can help those living here first.”

“Things like these take more than months to execute, Y/N,” Jaehyun mentioned, turning Blaze back towards where you had travelled from. “You talk as if you will be here to change it all. It was just an idea to show you the land.”

“I’m deeply appreciative. Believe me. And whilst things might take time out here, I’m from the city. Rome might not have been built in a day, but we have construction workers by the hundreds. Progress can happen quickly.”

Jaehyun nodded softly right when the morning sun disappeared. He stared up at the skies just as you did, squinting when a raindrop fell upon your cheek. He laughed. “Looks like the weather is showing us how quickly it can change too. Ready to jog again?”

“As long as you don’t bring up this loping you talked of earlier, I’m ready!”

It took thirty minutes of trotting, and by the time you arrived back at your home, you were both soaked through. Jaehyun dismounted first before coming over to your side and gesturing to get down. You landed at his side and laughed, both of you bringing the horses into the barn and out of the weather. Jaehyun took off their gear and popped them in the two end stalls, gesturing for you to go over to the house.

“You’re going to catch a chill if you don’t get out of those clothes,” he mentioned, and you placed your hands on your hips.

“Trying to get me out of my clothes now.”

“Easy on there, Y/N. I’m being a gentleman right now,” he commented with a bite to his lips thereafter, and you shook your head with continued laughter, stepping up onto the veranda and reaching into your pocket for the keys.

Smile fading, you dug your hand in deeper. Your search came up empty. “Jaehyun.”

“Mm?”

“I’ve lost the keys,” you announced, and Jaehyun eyes widened.

“You did?”

“Yeah, they must have fallen out as we rode,” you surmised, slapping your forehead in despair. “Oh! Maybe they fell out when I dismounted before.”

You went to dash back out into the rain that was now coming down sideways, but Jaehyun stopped you, grabbing your arm and shaking his head. “Don’t go back out there.”

“We’ll both get sick if we stay out here like this, though!”

“I know a way in.”

Taking your hand properly, Jaehyun led you around the veranda to a window on the side. He let go of you then, his palms pressing against the wooden window frame. It dislodged from its shut position, and Jaehyun pushed it up into the top window, offering enough space for you both to clamber through it. He awkwardly managed to do so first, holding it open for you to follow suit.

You stumbled when you landed, and he caught you, his hands taking purchase on your hips. You grinned up at him. “How did you know to do that?”

“I was once a teenager,” he pointed out, and you laughed. “What? Don’t tell me you were a goodie two shoes.”

“What did you have here to sneak out to?”

His smile faded as he took in your close proximity. “Not you.”

The temperature in the room grew hotter the longer you stared back at one another. You were acutely aware of where your hands rested on his chest, and where his were on your hips. Slowly, you slipped them up and hooked them around his neck, eliciting flames of hunger to rise within his eyes.

“I’m here now, though.”

“You’ve only been here for a few weeks. Are you going to be here today and gone tomorrow?”

You shook your head. “I have no plans on leaving anytime soon.”

That was enough for Jaehyun to capture your lips in a fevered kiss, his body pressing into yours. You gripped onto his shoulders, and he hoisted you up, your legs curling around his waist as you continued to release all the tension that had built between you. You gasped for air, and his tongue dove in to meet yours, both blindly moving around the study towards the door.

Pulling away breathlessly, Jaehyun stared at you again. “I didn’t think we’d be doing this so soon.”

“Feels like we’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse for longer than three weeks.”

“We should stop. If we keep going on like this, something’s bound to happen.”

“Like a shower and then you taking me to bed?” you offered demurely, the man holding you breathing out a curse. You smirked. “You could stop if you want to slow things down, Cowboy.”

“I hold the fastest score at barrel racing in these regions I’ll have you know.”

You giggled with delight as Jaehyun started to ascend upstairs. “I hope that’s not the same speed that you go at during other things, Jaehyun.”

Kissing you passionately again, Jaehyun didn’t answer with words when he placed you down on your feet once you reached your first destination, simply tugging his t-shirt over his head before kicking the bathroom door shut behind you both.

_________________

Part 7

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 11

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: As always, the lovely KC (only in mention) belongs to the beautiful @kc-and-oc . Thank you for everyone holding my blushing little hand through this and listening to me whine about it. Also thank you for all the ones providing me with research information 👀. You know who you are! 💛

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Langague, depiction of alcohol consumption, depiction of drug abuse, graphic depiction of explicit NSFW content - do NOT read if under the age of 18!

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

And we were trying different things

We were smoking funny things

Making love out by the lake to our favorite song

Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow

Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long

~ Kid Rock - All Summer Long ~

~ 10 months prior ~

It had been an unusually hot day, even for the middle of August. The heat hazes over the scalding hot streets were omnipresent, and people everywhere were trying to find some relief from the burning sun.

Lizzie loved every second of it.

She didn’t mind the high temperatures at all and relished the warmth on her skin as she stepped outside the old house in Kensington. It belonged to Ethan Parkin and Equinox had been keeping their rehearsal rooms in his converted cellar ever since Lizzie could remember.

They had just finished a long day of putting together the last details for their upcoming European tour. It had taken them all day until everyone had been satisfied with the results. Finally outside again, Lizzie intended to make the most out of the remaining hours of daylight.

It had suited her just fine when Orion had mentioned the poetry slam happening just around the corner of where he was living. He had invited all of them to come, but all except Lizzie had already made plans for the evening. Skye had wanted to come as well, but after receiving a text, she had abruptly changed her mind again.

So now it was only the two of them riding on the West Kensington tube station towards Gloucester Road. Orion was casually carrying a huge bag containing one of his guitars over his shoulder.

“Why are you taking that with you?” Lizzie asked him curiously. “You usually keep them in the rehearsal room.”

“Everything has its time, may it be little or large. The time of the strings on this guitar are almost over; I need to replace them,” Orion said. “I don’t have any suitable ones at the rehearsal room though. I’ll just drop the guitar off at home and we’ll be on our way again.”

They had just hopped onto the Circle Line that would take them to Notting Hill; Orion watched her from across his seat. “Why do you look so surprised?”

Lizzie tilted her head to one side. “In all these years, none of us has ever been at your place before. Except for Merula, of course,” she added matter-of-factly.

They were about to reach Notting Hill Gate and Orion motioned for her to get up. “Then it’s about time.”

They had to walk a bit from the tube station to the house where Orion was living. Although it took them about fifteen minutes to get there, Lizzie didn’t even notice. They passed through bustling streets, several of them lined with market stalls selling food and curious little trinkets. The colourful terraces and fronts that made Nottinghill so famous brightened Lizzie’s mood even further.

She and Orion were talking about all kinds of things, the band, the tour, the fact that Lizzie had never been to a poetry slam before; something, Orion told her, they would definitely need to change.

When they arrived at their destination, Lizzie dipped her head back and looked up at the brightly painted front of the old house. It was bigger than the ones surrounding it and Lizzie presumed it was made up of several flats.

“Are you coming?” Orion called over to her; he was waiting in the doorway, holding the door open for her.

Lizzie smiled as she followed him into the cool darkness of the stairwell. “I just thought this place fits you.”

He laughed softly as he climbed the stairs behind her. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s a mix of so many different things,” Lizzie explained, “traditional, but also free-spirited and unconventional, old-fashioned and modern at the same time; just like you.”

She heard Orion laugh again. “Well, if you think so.”

They walked right to the top floor, where two dark blue doors branched off the landing. Orion unlocked the one on the left and stepped aside to let her enter his flat first.

Lizzie found herself standing in one huge, sun-filled room; her eyes were immediately drawn to the big skylights in the bare brick walls through which the light was filtering in. It was a lot tidier than she would have expected from someone with as much creative energy as Orion. But even though the furniture was pretty minimalistic, the room seemed to breathe Orion’s energy.

Everywhere she looked Lizzie could see something that was so inherently him; a half-finished travel book on India, a bowl full of colourful crystals, a small dreamcatcher hanging over his bed in the far corner of the room. Almost every free surface was occupied by plants of all forms and sizes; they added a pleasant pop of colour to the otherwise neutral toned place.

Everything Orion needed on a daily basis seemed to be in the room Lizzie was standing in right now; the only thing she was surprised to notice was the total lack of anything to do with music. While she kept her main drum kit at their rehearsal room when they weren’t on tour, she had a smaller one over at her own place, as well as some other percussion and a guitar for when she felt like a change.

Her unasked question was answered when Orion walked past her into an adjacent room Lizzie hadn’t noticed before, his guitar still strung over his shoulder. Curious, she followed behind and had to chuckle when she saw the reason why there were no traces of Orion’s love for music in the main room.

The whole second room of his flat had been turned into some kind of home studio. All of their awards and golden records were hung on the walls, alternating with several old guitars. All of them seemed to be in pristine condition.

On Lizzie’s left side was a huge table that was littered with notebooks, plectrums and a simple switchboard she assumed Orion used for recordings. What piqued her interest was located on the other side of the room, however; all the instruments featured in their band were set up there, including a worn looking, blue drum kit, almost similar to the one she had at home for practising.

Lizzie smiled and stepped closer to it as Orion deposited his guitar on the worktable. She ran her hand over the floor tom, one of the horizontally mounted drums. Something about it felt oddly familiar.

“Do you remember it?”

Lizzie looked up from the drums and saw Orion leaning against the doorframe, watching her. “You should, it’s the one you used on our first tour. The label let me have it for practically nothing.”

The memory made her smile and she tapped her fingers against the slightly worn drum head in a quick, alternating rhythm. “Why am I not surprised at all that you’re using half of your place for making music?”

He mirrored her smile. “Passion is like a living thing, it needs room to breathe and be free if it wants to thrive. Did you think I made up all the instrument parts for our songs only in my head?”

Lizzie picked up one of the drumsticks and flipped it, laughing as she caught it again. “And your neighbours are okay with you running your one-man band up here?”

“So far, no one has complained,” Orion grinned before pushing himself off the wall. He motioned to her to follow him. “Come on, the studio’s great but I want to show you the best part of this place.”

She followed him back into the other room, where he led her to one of the huge skylights. Lizzie noticed the steep, rickety looking steps beneath it. Orion reached up and undid the latch before quickly climbing upwards and vanishing through the window.

When she didn’t follow immediately, his head popped back into view. “What’s wrong?”

Lizzie eyed the steps sceptically. “These don't look really trustworthy.”

Orion laughed and extended his hand to her. “Don’t you trust me?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Or are you scared?”

“As if,” Lizzie snorted indignantly and climbed up after him, completely ignoring his offer for help.

Her momentary flare of stubborness died as quickly as it had come when she stepped past Orion and out onto a beautiful terrace, set back into the roof of the building. It wasn’t a particularly large space, but it was more than enough for a sunchair, a set of lounge chairs and a table. A huge parasol protected the area from the sun, but even so it was burning hot up here. The ground was laid with wooden floorboards and several chains of fairy lights and small lampions were fixed to the walls or wound about the railing of the sunshade.

Not one to be intimidated by the heat, Lizzie walked over to the wrought iron railing and leaned over it, admiring the breathtaking view stretching out in front of her. The skyline of London was glittering in the sunlight and she could make out the sea of green that was Kensington Gardens.

“Wow,” she breathed, “the view is fantastic.”

She heard Orion chuckle from somewhere behind her. “It is.”

Lizzie’s eyes fell to the many plant pots lining the length of the terrace. Like the plants inside, they added something peaceful to the atmosphere; she had never known Orion was so into gardening.

She ran her finger over the leaves of one of them. “Who’s taking care of these when we’re on tour?”

“My neighbour,” Orion answered, “she knows her way around plants. She is teaching botany at Queen Mary University.”

Lizzie had spotted a very familiar looking specimen with distinctly pinnate leaves. She turned to Orion with a grin. “And your professor neighbour is alright with watering this illegal little fellow here?”

Orion laughed. “She’s very liberal on the matter, really. Where do you think I got it from?”

“All for scientific reasons, I presume.”

“It does open the mind to a new level of creativity,” Orion shrugged, making Lizzie laugh out loud.

“That sounds so much like you. No wonder I don’t get the lyrics half the time.”

Lizzie stepped back from the railing and wandered over to the sunchair. The heated surface bit into the bare skin of her legs as she lounged into it, but she enjoyed the warmth as soon as the initial pain subsided.

“I can definitely see why this is your favourite place,” she sighed, “I could just stay here all day.”

“The poetry slam doesn’t start for another hour,” Orion said, “and it’s not far from here, so we don’t have to go just yet. Do you want a drink or something?”

Lizzie turned her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I like the sound of that.”

***

One glass of ice cold white wine turned into two, and then turned into a number Lizzie couldn’t possibly remember anymore. The sun had long gone down and the poetry slam had started ages ago, but they were still sitting on Orion’s rooftop terrace with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.

With the sun gone, the air had grown cooler; the floor and walls were heated by the day’s sun, but Lizzie had found herself hugging her bare knees, shivering just a little. Orion had gone back inside to bring her something to keep her warm; he had come back with a plain black hoodie that she had gratefully accepted. Orion was much taller than Lizzie was, however and so the sweater hung loose around her shoulders and went down past beneath her hips. Lizzie had to roll up the sleeves several times until her hands were free again, but she was glad for the extra warmth it provided.

It didn’t surprise her that Orion didn’t grow the weed plant out of sheer botanical interest; accompanying the wine, they were sharing a joint with a mixture he had created himself. Lizzie couldn’t tell if she was primarily drunk or high at this point, the only thing she knew was that she had never in her life seen anything so fascinating as the fairy lights reflected in her wine glass.

“Like teeny tiny fireflies,” she giggled as she twirled the glass between her fingers, delighted by the way the light sparkled in the cold drink.

“I think you’ve caught a bit too much,” Orion chuckled but handed her the joint back anyway. Although he had been wearing a very detached grin on his face for the last half an hour or so, he wasn’t nearly as giddy as Lizzie; but then again, he was probably much more used to smoking than she was.

“And besides,” he continued, holding his own glass up against the lights, “they’re clearly little stars; how can you not see that?” His face grew pensive. “A whole, tiny wine glass galaxy.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Lizzie declared firmly. She lounged deeper into her armchair and took a deep drag. She dipped her head back and slowly blew the smoke into the air; the way it made the lights hazy was really pretty. “And it’s called a teacup galaxy.”

“Aren’t we all galaxies in our own teacups, in one way or another?”

Lizzie hummed in response. “In that case, I’d actually prefer the wine glass.”

She closed her eyes and let the sensation of the cushions in her back envelope her for a moment. From somewhere in the neighbourhood music was drifting up to them; from what she could hear, it sounded tropical, Caribbean maybe. Her thoughts being deliciously hazy, Lizzie could just imagine not being on a rooftop in London, but on a beautiful beach somewhere far, far away.

She smiled to herself; there could be worse company on a tropical island than Orion. The smile turned into a smirk as she thought about the many different tattoos she knew were decorating his well-toned upper body; she could most definitely imagine having worse company.

Indulging the idea of lounging in the warm sand with a drink and the rushing of the waves in the air a few moments longer, a sudden thought struck her and she sat upright.

“I just had the most brilliant idea.”

Surprised by her unexpected outburst of energy, Orion almost dropped his glass. “I told you smoking broadens the mind,” he said after regaining his composure. “What is it?”

“We should so change our tour display. It’s boring.”

A mixture of intrigue and scepticism showing on his features, Orion tilted his head. “So your suggestion would be?”

Excited by her flash of genius, Lizzie placed her now empty glass on the table between them and leaned forward. “Two words: steel drums.”

Orion didn’t say anything for a moment, a crease forming on his forehead. Then, he broke into a dazzling smile. “That must be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I know, right? But it gets even better.”

“How could it get better than steel drums? More steel drums?”

Lizzie contemplated that possibility for a moment but discarded it quickly. “No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes lit up as she thought about her idea. “But you and Ev could totally play ukulele.”

Orion sighed. “Totally.”

A thought seemed to cross his mind. “But I’m not sure Ev can play the ukulele.”

Lizzie was dismayed by this. “I thought if you can play the guitar you can automatically play the ukulele.”

“If you want to call what Ev does playing.”

She had to snort with laughter at Orion’s dry tone. “We’ll just replace him with KC, she’s the prettier one anyway.” The thought of KC performing a hula dance on stage had her laugh even harder.

“There’s a problem though,” Orion broke her out of her entertaining thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“You can’t play the steel drums.”

“Who says that I can’t?”

“Well, can you?”

“I can learn,” Lizzie replied stubbornly. “How hard can that be? You only have one steel drum and I have... “ She frowned as she was trying and failing to envision her drum kit in her head. “How many drums do I have? I can’t remember.”

“More than one, in any case,” Orion laughed and extended his hand towards her empty glass. “You go think about that, and I’ll get you a refill.”

Lizzie was quicker though, snatching the glass out of his reach and getting up. “Don’t worry, I can go myself.”

She walked towards the skylight leading back into the flat but had underestimated the effect of both the drugs and the alcohol on her body. Shaking her head a little, Lizzie took a moment to steady herself.

Just when she thought she had found her balance again, her foot caught in the wire of one of the fairy lights. She stumbled forward with a jolt, ripping the plug right out of its socket and plunging a good portion of the rooftop into darkness.

Luckily for her, Orion didn’t feel the effects of their smoke as much as she did. His reaction time was still quick enough to catch her before she could hit the ground. She could hear the breath leaving his lungs as she collided with his chest; at least he was softer than the floorboards would have been.

He laughed as she straightened up again. “Careful, drummer girl, that was close.”

Lizzie tilted her head as she looked up at him curiously. “You’re close.”

Only now realising their position, Orion mumbled an apology and started to move away from her but Lizzie was quicker. She had already scrambled up onto the seat next to him, still feeling a little dizzy. Her feet were resting on the arm of the lounge chair, her legs lying draped across Orion’s thighs.

“No, it’s alright,” she giggled and leaned against him, “you’re more comfortable than my chair anyway.”

Leaning towards the table to retrieve Orion’s glass, Lizzie’ head started spinning again and she had to grip his shoulder for support. She was glad when she felt Orion’s arm come around her back for added support.

“And besides,” she held the glass up triumphantly before bringing it to her lips, “that way, it’s easier to share this.”

They were sitting like that for a while, Lizzie leaning against Orion’s chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, while he had his arms around her. The music she had been hearing earlier was still playing, faintly carrying up towards them. Lizzie had her eyes closed, alternating between listening to the upbeat melody and the calm rhythm of Orion’s heartbeat.

Now that she was relaxing, she became increasingly aware of the combined effects of the many glasses of wine and the spliff they had relit again. She felt as if she was floating through a haze on the soft sound of the steel drums, as if she could fly right into the night sky until she was surrounded by a glittering sea of stars.

The only thing anchoring her was Orion, the steady rising and falling of his chest, the ends of his hair brushing against her cheek when he moved, the touch of his fingers against hers when he handed her back the wine they were sharing.

Her head was spinning and she hooked her finger underneath one of Orion’s woven bracelets, as if the physical holding on to him could prevent the rooftop from revolving around her. The breathy sigh leaving her lips turned into a giggle.

“I don’t know what you’ve put in that stuff but, damn, it packs a punch.”

Orion chuckled, the hand around her back playing with a strand of her ponytail; she had to laugh as he tickled her neck with the ends of it. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary in there.”

She leaned a little away from him so as to better see his face. “So, what is it? Spill it!”

His smile turned into a smirk. “Who am I to tell you all my secrets? A little mystery only adds to the fun.”

Intrigued by his evasiveness, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

A curious expression flickered over Orion’s face for a moment. “Maybe.”

“Whatever it is, it’s thoroughly wrecking me,” Lizzie declared; that didn’t stop her from taking another sip of wine, however.

She could hear the laughter ringing in Orion’s voice. “That’s got less to do with the grass and more with all that wine. And the fact that you’re really, really small.”

“I’m not really, really small!” Lizzie replied indignantly.

“Of course you are, look at you; you’re basically a midget.”

Lizzie shoved him playfully, trying to keep a straight face but failing. “I’m not a midget and I’m not small!”

Orion caught her hand without so much as an effort. “Just look at you, you could wear my sweater as a dress.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the perfect size.”

There it was again, that curious expression Lizzie had seen just a moment before. A crooked smile appeared on Orion’s face as his eyes flickered from her face over the rest of her body.

“I can hardly argue with that.”

Lizzie regarded him for a moment, trying to take his measure. The mood had shifted from the relaxed cuddle they’d shared into something entirely different. There was a sudden tension hanging in the air that made Lizzie’s skin tingle and she was sure that it had nothing to do with either the grass or the alcohol.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Is that so?”

She leaned forward again to put the wine glass away, using the momentum to shift her position. Turning slightly, she straddled Orion’s thighs, one arm resting lightly on his shoulder.

His dark eyes followed her every movement as she plucked the joint from his lips, gave it one slow, deliberate drag before putting it out against the wall, never breaking their eye contact. Holding the smoke inside her mouth for one long moment, she dipped her head back and blew it against the night sky. When she looked back at Orion again, his eyes on her were intense, making a shiver run down her spine. His hands were holding her hips, waiting on what she would do. Her lips curved into a smirk as she leaned in, her lips close to his ear.

“Only one way to find out.”

There was nothing hesitant about the way their lips found each other for the first time. Lizzie could taste the same fruity sweetness of the wine on his lips that was still hanging on hers.

Orion’s grip on her waist intensified and she could feel the rough skin of his hands as they found their way underneath her shirt, his fingers feeling deliciously cool against her heated skin. Her breath accelerated as their kiss deepend, her lips parting willingly as Orion’s tongue brushed against her lower lip.

She buried her hands in his long hair, as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as closely as their position would allow. A low moan left Orion’s lips as she softly pulled at his hair, the movement of his head following her lead as he dipped it back into his neck.

Breaking their kiss, Lizzie’s lips started moving over his cheek to his jawline, her breath ghosting over his bare neck. She could see the goosebumps on his skin and feel his fingers dig into her waist as she teasingly ran her tongue over his collarbone. He sucked in his breath in surprise as her teeth nipped the sensitive skin and Lizzie couldn’t help but grin as her lips travelled upwards again.

Capturing his lips in another searing kiss, Lizzie’s breath hitched as his hands were sliding down from her waist over her hips. They came to rest on her bum, squeezing it tightly for a moment. She could feel his jeans becoming tighter as she ran her hand over him, coaxing another moan from his mouth. The sound made the heat spread from her stomach through her chest and into the rest of her body; she wanted to hear more of that.

Her fingers started working to undo his belt when he suddenly stopped her, gently pulling her hand away. Her eyes flew towards his face, a crease appearing on her brow.

“You not okay with this?”

Orion’s eyes were sparkling as he pulled her in for another kiss that took her breath away. When he pulled back, Lizzie’s head was spinning.

“Let’s take this inside,” he muttered into her ear. His voice sounded a lot deeper than what she was used to and she shuddered in anticipation.

Lizzie reluctantly climbed off him to let him get up. Orion couldn’t resist kissing her again, as he walked past her. Taking her hand, he pulled her towards the skylight that led down into the darkness of his flat. He climbed down the steps without a moment of hesitation; Lizzie, however, had to channel her concentration on something different than the burning need to feel Orion’s hands on her skin before tackling the unfamiliar steps.

And sure enough, two steps down, she misplaced her foot and felt herself falling for a moment. But for the second time that evening Orion was there, his hands providing her with something to hold onto.

Standing on the steps, Lizzie was a little taller than him. She gave in to the urge to pull him towards her and steal another kiss from him. His hands ran over her exposed thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Lizzie’s muscles tensed when he lifted her off the stairs, her legs wrapping around his midsection as he carried her over to his bed with a few short steps.

He lowered her down onto it and got rid of his shirt. There was no light in the room except for what was falling through the windows from the streetlights outside, but it was enough for Lizzie to see all of the countless tattoos decorating his skin, all the thoughtful quotes and intricate patterns.

She propped herself up on her elbows, locking eyes with him as he joined her on the bed. Reaching for his belt again, this time Orion let her undo it without objection. The deep moan she drew from him as she ran her hand over him a second time made her breathing speed up as well.

Much to her surprise, now that they’d changed location, their roles had reversed themselves. Where Lizzie had been in charge up on the rooftop, it was all she could do to keep her wits together as Orion let his hands roam her body.

The sweater she had still been wearing went almost instantly, quickly followed by her shirt and her shorts. Lizzie closed her eyes and held her breath as Orion worked his way from her lips over her neck, trailing kisses down between her breasts, lingering there for a sweet moment before moving on even lower. His soft lips combined with the bite of his beard almost drove her insane, but Lizzie just so managed to pull herself together.

Pushing him off her, she used his moment of confusion to flip him over, straddling him again. She shuddered at the feeling of him through her pants but pushed the thought aside; not just yet.

“Did you really think I was going to make this so easy for you?” she purred as she twirled his necklace around her finger. She smirked as she slightly repositioned herself on top of him, creating a delicious friction between them that had not only Orion exhale very slowly.

Lizzie pulled her hair tie out, enjoying the tickle as her light brown curls fell down beneath her shoulder blades. She bent forward to kiss Orion again, but he was simply staring at her.

“What?” she asked with a slight chuckle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing her hair that had fallen over her shoulder and was almost reaching his bare chest out of her face. Lizzie enjoyed the light pull as he raked his fingers through her mane. “So damn fucking beautiful.”

Lizzie felt a smile form on her lips before she kissed him, teasingly biting his lip. She could feel Orion’s hand wandering up her bare back to where her bra was still hooked. With a practised movement that didn’t surprise her in the least, he undid the clasp and Lizzie shrugged it off. The cool air coming in from the still open skylight hit her bare breasts and made her shiver from more than cold.

Orion’s hands danced over her thighs and up her sides until they found her breasts. Lizzie shuddered as his fingers grazed her sensitive spot at their base, her eyes closed to enjoy the sensation fully, when he suddenly stopped.

Opening her eyes again, she saw a curious look forming on his face as he turned her slightly so the light would better shine on her. Lizzie chuckled to herself; she knew exactly what he was so surprised to see.

“I never knew you had a tattoo,” Orion said, his eyes wandering over the black writing.

He traced his fingers over the inked words sneaking over her ribcage to the base of her breasts; the touch of his calloused fingertips made her sigh.

“You recognise the words?” she whispered with a smile, running her hand over one of Orion’s own tattoos on his chest.

“Unbounded like water, burning like wildfire,” he smiled, “of course I do; I wrote them after all. I had no idea you had them inked.”

She smiled back at him; the quote was taken out of one of her favourite songs Orion had ever written. “They’ve pulled at something in me ever since I heard them for the first time. I wanted to carry them with me wherever I go.”

A series of different emotions flickered over Orion’s face, much too quick for Lizzie to distinguish in the half-light of the room. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her close. He kissed her with a passion that took her breath away.

“I want you,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and husky in his throat, making Lizzie draw a shivering breath as she leaned her forehead against his.

“Then come and take me.”

It was all Orion needed to hear. He let himself fall back onto the bed, drawing her down with him. Their lips met in a passionate kiss before he flipped them around, so he was on top of her.

His head dipped against her shoulder as Lizzie reached down, tracing the edge of his boxers before her fingers disappeared beneath it. She ran them up and down his length, noting how his breath hitched, his arms tensing around her as she worked against him.

He stopped her after a few more strokes and moved away from her hand. Repaying her in kind, he ran his fingers over her pants, so very slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as she moaned at his touch. Hooking his fingers underneath the fabric, he pulled them off, leaving her fully exposed to him, but there wasn’t a single moment Lizzie felt vulnerable at all.

She gasped as Orion began to touch her properly; the touch of his rough fingertips was surprisingly soft, and combined with the trail of kisses he left on her hot skin, he made her feel like she was on fire. Her breathing strained, she managed to rasp out his name just before she would lose it completely.

Never stopping the movement of his hand, Orion looked up at her with a wicked grin on his lips.

“Anything the matter?”

All she wanted was to feel him by now but her words died on her lips as Orion slightly twisted his hand, making her inhale sharply.

With a low chuckle he withdrew his hand, making her miss his touch immediately. That short moment of regret was instantly forgotten when she felt Orion position himself before slowly pushing inside her.

For a fraction of a second, the reality that she was sleeping with one of her best friends hovered on the border of Lizzie’s mind, threatening to hit her; but when Orion started moving against her, their bodies instantly found a common rhythm. They were in tune with each other from the very first moment, all thoughts forgotten.

Their ragged breaths, her sweet sighs and his deep moans were a music of their own. Lizzie had her legs wrapped around Orion, her nails digging into his forearms; she could feel his muscles working underneath her fingers as he supported his weight with his arms. Even through the haze of her drunk and drugged mind, she was impressed with how flawlessly they were working together; his body against hers was feeling so incredibly natural, like they were meant to be that way.

She had no idea how, but just like before, Orion managed to hit all the right spots at the same time. Lizzie had trouble focusing on anything but the fire building inside her. She couldn’t form a coherent thought anymore, wasn’t able to think any further than the next breath, the next shock of pleasure Orion sent through her body as they moved.

Feeling she was almost there, her hold on him tightened as he picked up the pace, shifting slightly to take a little strain off his arms. Taken by surprise at the suddenly different angle, digging her fingers into Orion’s shoulders was all Lizzie could do as her high crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her body shook as she buried her face against Orion’s chest, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Hearing his name fall from her lips in a broken moan with her nails biting into his back, Orion couldn’t last much longer either. Their rhythm became an off-beat one, his movements more erratic than before. Lizzie could feel the muscles in his back tremble as he rode out his own high. His head dipped into the crook of her neck as both their breathings were starting to slow.

Orion stayed on top of her for a moment longer and kissed her one last time before pushing himself off of her. Lizzie breathed in deeply, running her hand over her tangled hair.

“Huh,” she chuckled, “who would’ve thought.”

“Who indeed,” Orion smirked.

The sizzling tension between them from before was gone and it just felt like it had always done between them; relaxed, familiar and completely natural.

They looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into laughter, nothing more than friends again, the sound carrying through the dark, out of the window and into the black night sky.

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #lizion #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate #so much for me saying I'll never write smut for my ocs

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littlebarchie07 · 4 years

Text

(and by surprise) you take me as I am

I have so many Barchie WIP but this one came out of nowhere. It’s complete AU. not even in the realm of Riverdale or the comics, I am just borrowing the characters because I love them.

Summary: Archie is a douchebag jock and makes a stupid bet at a house party involving little miss perfect girl next door.

The night starts out as most of their house parties do. It’s a Thursday. They are sitting in a circle, sipping lukewarm beer from red plastic cups that Fangs scored from his dad’s garage, and the rest of the alcohol is from Cheryl’s parents basement. Reggie and Moose are playing a dumb card game and Cheryl is texting Toni nonstop. Veronica is draped over his legs, and he doesn’t have the heart to shove her off, partly because she’s tracing her nails along the back of his neck and he really fucking loves that. Truth be told, he’s a little bored of her. She’s a good fuck, but she’s a little needy. Lately, there’s been something off about him as well and he can’t quite put his finger on it.

It started a few weeks ago. He’d been doing a few reps in his bedroom and when he stood up, his gaze drifted to the house next door as it often did, and like usual, they found Betty Cooper. She was sitting in the bay window, adjacent to his own. Her lips puckered and a confused frown etched into her brow. She looked pretty damn dorky but Archie couldn’t help but grin. She looked up and caught his eye and Archie like a dumbass just continued to stare at her. She fluttered her eyes at him and looked even more confused.

She gave him a tentative wave and Archie surprised himself, by waving back.

See him and Betty didn’t talk much anymore. They hadn’t since like 8th grade. He fell into the ‘cool’ crowd, with the people he now deemed his friends, the monkeys spread out around him laughing and joking at band geeks, nerds like Betty and weirdos like Jughead

It seemed so long ago that he, Betty and Jug would be climbing the treehouse in his backyard, playing stupid games with conkers and having sleepovers in his basement. It had only been four years, but it seemed like an eternity.

He missed those days and more so lately, he actually missed spending time with Betty. There was no judgement with her, no need to prove himself. He could simply just be Archie.

“Holy Fuck.” Reggie hollars which breaks Archie from his thoughts and catches his attention. He pushes Veronica’s legs aside and rolls his eyes as she huffs in disappointment.

He smacks Reggie. “What up Dawg?” He asks, eyes wandering the crowded scene in the direction Reggie is looking. There is a haze of smoke, roars of laughter but then his eyes settle on her. Blonde hair, ocean green eyes. If he had taken a sip of his beer, he’d definitely have choked on it. Standing metres away was none other than the perfect girl next door.

A slow lazy smirk grows on his face. “Oh hello.” Archie whispers, Reggie catches his eye.

“Nah man, I saw her first, dibs.”

Veronica scoffs. “You’re disgusting Reg. She's a class A nerd. No way would you even have a chance.” She pulls Archie to face her. “I’m going to get a refill, do you want anything Archiekins?” Her hand travels up his sleeve, clearly annoyed with the fact his focus is no longer on her. To be honest, it hadn’t been on her for awhile. He brushes her hand away, shaking his head and turning back to Reggie.

“You cannot call dibs. I wonder what the fuck she’s even doing here.” He muses to himself more than the group.

“I don’t care, I’m going to find out. I’d love to add Polly’s lil sister to my bed count.” Reggie smirks, downing his drink and attempting to stand. Archie grabs the back of his t-shirt, pulling him backwards a little more forcefully than intended. Something didn’t sit right with him at the way Reggie had said that.

The amount of alcohol Reggie had consumed, as well as the force of the pull caused him to stumble and topple over, the rest of the group roar with laughter as he seesaws backward. Archie’s eyes drift back over to the blonde who is now wide eyed and looking over at them. She’s still alone, but is now nursing one of Reggie’s cocktail punches. He wonders who she’s with.

He looks down to Reggie, and musters a fake enthused smile. “No you don’t mate. I got this one.”

Reggie groans, lying flat on his back. He blinks up at Archie. “Alright Andrews, but I wanna wager a bet here pal.”

Archie arches his brow. “A bet?”

Veronica hasn’t left her perch on the sofa yet, and Cheryl, Fangs and Moose are more involved in the conversation now. Moose oooh’s and Cheryl rubs her hands together.

“This sounds juicy.” She licks her ruby red lips.

“Yeah, I bet you $150 that you cannot get that square to kiss you tonight.” Reggie nods toward Betty, sitting up.

Archie lets out a laugh “Please. I bet you $250 I can get that girl to sleep with me.”

The minute the words are out of his mouth, Archie wants to take them back. He’s not this fucking guy. He doesn’t do this shit. So why on Earth had he said that?

Reggie wolf whistles. “Oh go on then, mate. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He holds his hand out, waiting for Archie to pull him up and shake on it.

Grabbing him, Archie hauls Reggie up and pats him on the back. A voice in the back of his mind screams at him to stop.

“Deal.”

When Archie turns back around, Betty is no longer standing by the table at the back of the room. His first challenge of the evening is to find her.

He makes his way to the punch table, scanning the crowd. He shoves a few chips into his mouth, still focused on finding where Betty would have scurried off to. He can just talk to her tonight. That’ll be enough to entertain the crowd. He ladles some of the fruit punch mixture into an empty red cup, and grabs an open bottle of vodka to top it up. Taking a sip, he lets his eyes roam around the room. He’s not entirely sure what the perfect girl next door is doing here, but he’s intrigued to find out.

“Where would you be, Little Miss Cooper?” Archie whispers, tapping his cup against his chin.

A light laugh catches his attention, and his eyes draw behind him. She’s sitting with her knees tightly pressed together, a black and white checkered skirt riding up her thighs. Archie’s eyes travel up her, and he wonders when her legs got so long. His eyes settle on her face; her eyes bright and a real smile is pulling against her cheeks. He brushes the warmth spreading through him off, and tugs at his shirt before his gaze shifts to her company, who is none other than Kevin Keller.

Archie low key rolls his eyes. Kevin is obviously here for Fangs. It’s clear those two are shagging. Archie wishes Fangs would just come out and admit it, rather than dragging this poor kid to these parties and having to pretend they’re not hooking up in the closet every 20 minutes. But tonight, Archie is grateful because Kevin has bought the most unlikely company.

Betty laughs again and the sound causes Archie’s stomach to knot. It’s a delicate sound and something Archie wouldn’t mind hearing again and again. He straightens up, pouring more vodka into his red cup before pushing himself through a few bodies. He flops down onto the couch, on the right side of Betty. She looks surprised and her face pales slightly as she shifts closer to Kevin.

“Sup?” He nods at Kevin before his eyes trail over Betty. He swears she flushes, and he watches her swallow nervously before looking wildly to Kevin who just smiles dumbly.

‘Oh fucking perfect.’ Archie thinks to himself as he spreads his legs a little and reaches his arm behind Betty on the back of the couch.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these parties before, aye neighbour?” Archie smiles warmly, his eyes boring into her ocean green. She is absolutely not interested. “Hey Keller, Fangs was looking for you earlier.” Archie says, taking a quick glance towards Kev whose entire face lights up. Betty’s eyes widen and she shakes her head a bit at Kevin, silently warning him not to leave her.

“I’ll be right back Betty, Promise.” He gets up and leaves. Archie almost laughs as Betty shifts more to the left, her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“You know he’s shagging Fangs right?” Archie says, raising his plastic cup to his lips. He watches as her gaze traces the path of the drink to his lips. “You want some?”

Betty shakes her head. “No thanks.”

Archie nods. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Betty shrugs. Her hair is down for once, and it looks nice, she brushes it over one shoulder. “Kevin said it would be fun to mingle. I asked him to define the word fun, because this to me looks like a hoe fest.”

Archie laughs. “Ain’t that the truth.” He watches as a small smile tugs at her lips and a light pink flushes her cheeks. He shifts closer. “You look really pretty with your hair down, Betts.” He says slowly, his finger picking up one of the soft curls. The Betts slips out and he can’t help but smile as she swallows

“Um, thanks?” She whispers meekly. Archie drops the curl from his fingers and smiles again.

“Come on, let me get you a drink. These parties aren’t fun until you’ve had at least a few punches.”

He watches as her brow furrows, he can see her weighing up the pros and cons, and he’s just about ready to try his next tactic but she surprises him.

“Okay, just one.”

Of course, the one turns into a few, and Archie decides he likes Betty Cooper more with her guard down. She is no longer uptight, and is babbling a mile a minute, laughing at every single joke he tells her, and to make it better, she’s pretty fucking handsy. Not in the way that Veronica is, but she keeps touching his arm when she laughs, and nudging his shoulder, or playfully kicking him. It’s cute. Almost as cute as the way her eyes darken and her cheeks flush as his hand lingers on the top of her thigh as he whispers something in her ear.

She hiccups a giggle, and Archie finally catches up with the voice that has been screaming at him all evening. This is not a good idea. That stupid bet weighs heavy on his mind. Betty is so close to him, and he can smell her floral shampoo and the sweet perfume she’s wearing. If she twisted her face, it would be so easy for him to kiss her, but he can’t. He’s not one to take advantage of a girl who has had at least 3 cocktail punches.

Betty isn’t trashed by any means, he knows that, she’s just loosened up a bit, so he wouldn’t exactly feel bad about kissing her because she knows exactly what she’s doing and the chances are, she would probably push him away and storm out. But being this close to her, something inside him snaps. He’s not going to do this tonight. He’ll lose the $250. He isn’t the type of guy to make bets on who he can get to sleep with him. Betty would actually flip her lid if she knew.

He actually likes Betty, so much so that he doesn’t wanna drag her into this game with the boys.

With that, Archie pulls back, and watches as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You want me to walk you home?” Archie whispers, his hand still on her thigh.

She looks up at him with big saucer eyes, before she licks her lips, her eyes darkening again.

Fuck. She’s actually really hot. Archie’s mind engages and he pulls his hand away from her.

“Sure.” She nods, staring at him with a curious look on her face. She seems a little disappointed after he removed his hand from her.

She’s probably never been touched before. Archie’s mind wanders, as he stands up and holds out his hands to help her up. She grins, slapping her palms in his as he hauls her upward, but she slips and falls backwards and grabs onto his hands for support, and she ends up pulling him down too. She’s laughing and his head is buried in the crook of her neck so her breath is hot in his ear and good god this is what dreams are made of.

He pulls back, eyes wide as he stares at her. The laughter dies in her throat, and he just knows she is waiting for him to kiss her, but he can’t. He’s not doing that here, not now. Not like this.

But for the second time this evening, she surprises him because before he can pull himself upright, her hands are on either side of his face and she’s pulling him towards her. Her lips smack his in a bruising kiss.

Her lips are full and soft and warm and oh yeah she’s thrusting her tongue into his mouth and that’s all Archie can think about. Her hands are hot on his face, and she moves quickly, snaking her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It takes him a good few seconds to realise that he’s kissing Betty Cooper, good, clean, perfect girl next door, on a grubby coach in Fangs living room, in a room full of people.

He pulls back slightly, dazed and a little confused. The rush of blood pulsing in his ears is drowning out the music and the people around him.

“Erm.” He tries to speak, but no words come out.

She looks at him with a bright smile, her eyes shining. “Walk me home?” She takes her bottom lip between her teeth again and she looks nervous underneath him. He steadies himself, putting both hands beside her, staring at her intensely.

“Yeah.” He speaks, but it sounds hoarse. He clears his throat, standing upright as she leans forward, pulling her skirt down a little, she stands. She picks up her clutch from beside her.

He’s blaming it on that fruity punch, because as she starts to move forward, he finds himself reaching for her hand. She interlocks her fingers with his, and he lets her drag him through the crowd of people.

As she’s grabbing her coat from the front door, Archie stands idly, wondering what the fuck is going on. He spots Reggie whose hands are on Veronica’s hips, Veronica’s lips against his neck. Archie laughs.

“Are you sure you don’t mind walking me?” Betty’s voice floats around him, and Archie snaps back and focuses on her.

“Of course not. I’m over this party anyway.” He smiles as her eyelashes flutter. He opens the door for her, and the chill air of November hits them.

She takes a hesitant step out the door, and Archie’s hand slips into hers again. It’s so easy, so natural.

The walk home takes him back to when he and Betty used to home from school together, she’s talking as if no time has passed between them, as if they’ve always been friends. They haven’t spoken about the kiss, and something inside him turns sour, and he stops abruptly as they reach her door. She turns to him.

“Arch?” She breathes, and the nickname causes his heart to break.

He pulls her into him. “Betty, I’m such an asshole. I’m so sorry we stopped talking.”

She reaches out tentatively and brushes her fingers against his skin. “Oh Archie, it’s okay. We grew up, went in different directions.”

“That’s no excuse. Just because we’ve got different friends doesn’t mean WE can’t be friends.”

She laughs. “That is true.”

“About tonight…”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay Arch. I know what happened. I knew you wouldn’t do that bet.”

He looks taken aback. “Wait, you knew?”

She nods. “Yeah, Fangs warned Kevin. Kevin told me about it before you came over. But even though we’re not as close anymore Arch, I still trust you.”

Archie feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. She’s so forgiving, so quick to trust him.

“Okay now I feel like even more of an asshole.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, I kissed you didn’t I? Let’s move on. This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“You wanna be friends with a dick who makes bets for fun?”

“No, I want to be friends with you, Archie. You’re not like that, I know that.”

He swallows, thinking about what she’s saying. She’s still in his arms and he wants to kiss her so bad but he knows that he’s not good for her. He doesn’t deserve her.

“I don’t think I want to be friends though.” He kicks himself as he watches the hurr flash across her face, it is quickly replaced with an angry stare.

He reels her back in trying to find the words. “No, wait, I mean, you kissed me.”

Her features soften a little and her anger quickly turns to embarrassment. “You kissed me back.” She says with defiance.

He lets out a chuckle. “Well yeah I fucking did. That was a damn good kiss.”

She flushes. “Yeah?”

Archie takes a step. “It caught me off guard though, and of course, I really want to do that again. But this time…” His breath fans against her cheeks and he smells like strawberry vodka. His warm hands cup her face and in slow motion, he dips his head. His lips touch hers, softly. It’s gentle and sweet, and he feels her smile into him. She pulls back, a flush to her cheeks.

“Okay, that was nice.”

“Nice is how a first kiss should be, but you know what Cooper, you can ambush me with kisses like our first one, any time.”

She shakes her head, her hands coming up over her face. She lets out a squeal. “Shut up. It was the fruit punch.”

A light illuminates the path ahead of them, and Betty shifts on her feet as she realises the sensory light on the porch has been set off.

“I should go in before my mom comes out, she’ll have a fit if she knows I’ve been drinking, and I’m pretty sure it’s past my curfew.” She makes a face.

“Okay, but to be continued?” He asks, his fingers lingering against her side.

She nods, touching her lips. “Walk me to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah?”

Betty slips away from him, but presses her lips to his cheek. “Yeah, goodnight Arch.” She breathes, and then she’s inside, the porch light flickering off.

Archie waits on the sidewalk until he sees the light switch on in her bedroom. His lips still tingle, his cheek still warm, and as he turns to walk up to his own steps, it dawns on him that for the first time in a long time, he’s actually really excited for school the next day.

#barchie #betty x archie #AU fic #betty and archie #betty x archie fic #oneshot #bettyarchie #riverdaleau #OOC #betty cooper #archie andrews #dick!archie

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matrixaffiliate · 4 years

Text

Re-blog Tag

The fabulous @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world tagged me to re-blog a fic I’m proud of. Thank you so much darling <3

If anyone wants to play consider yourself tagged. I’ll tag @gryffindorhealer @thisismegz @petals-to-fish @pansexualsnuffles

Glimpsing Happiness

FFN and AO3

I wrote this wonderful piece with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon and it’s still one of my favorite ones to go back and read. I’ll post just the first two chapters here, but if you follow the links above they’ll take you to the full 34K word story. I hope you enjoy this WWII Blackinnon AU!

Chapter 1

Marlene straightened her veil and smoothed the creases out of her white apron before grabbing her gray woolen coat. She chuckled bitterly at the lies she and Mary had told themselves when the war began. September seemed like a dream not just over half a year ago.

When she'd interviewed for the QAIMNS to be a military nurse she'd been a bit startled at being asked to wait afterward. The officer had returned to the waiting room ten minutes later and handed her a packet. Open only in the event of war was printed across the front. He thanked her and sent her on her way. When Mary had the same packet after her interview, Marlene at least knew it wasn't a ploy. Marlene still remembered the chill she felt when England declared war. She and Mary opened their packets together in Marlene's room. The fact that they'd been assigned to the same place was a miracle within itself. War had a habit of pulling everyone apart. But they thought Netley would be an adventure back then. They thought they would be by the sea and have beautiful scenery to live in and that this was how they'd make a difference. Though if she was honest, Marlene would have preferred being handed a rifle and marching orders. But she had to take what she could get.

“Ready Marls?” Mary came out of the loo and walked to the small bed adjacent to the one Marlene sat upon. Her Majesty's nurses were being put up in qualified dwellings, but Marlene knew the stories from The Great War and she refused to become attached to this small flat as home.

Home was London. Home was the bustling streets where she would run to school with her brother and sister. Home was making fun of her older brother for pinning after the shop girl. Home was her younger sister playing their grandmother's violin because she had the gift. Home was her mum's Sunday dinners and her seamstress work all over the sitting room. Home was the smell of her dad's pipe tobacco wafting through their small house and his hugs that made her feel understood. Home was when everyone thought that the world had seen it's worst war. This, well this was anything but home.

Marlene sighed and grabbed her gloves, “Let's get this wretched walk over with.”

Mary tutted, “Just think of it as a pleasant stroll near the seaside.”

Marlene playfully pulled one of Mary’s black curls from under her veil, “I can always count on you to be a bright ball of sunshine can't I?”

Mary reached up and grabbed one of Marlene's blonde ringlets. Marlene flinched as the lock of hair caught on Mary's wedding band, “Your fault for wearing the sun on your head, Sister.”

The women began their trek up to Netley Hospital. The cold spring air whipped against them and Marlene nearly lost her veil twice. It was biting cold and their fingers and toes ached as they climbed the hill. There's a reason that it took two steam engines for the trains to reach the hospital station, Marlene mused as she braced herself against the wind that threatened to knock her back down the hill.

When they finally made it to the hospital doors, Marlene groaned. The entry to the hospital was most peculiar and if she was being honest, downright disturbing. This grand entry served as some sort of deranged circus. All the skulled momentos of animals that had been collected across the British Empire. Beasts really, she shuddered and practically dragged Mary past it all as quickly as possible. Marlene didn't think she'd ever become accustomed to it.

“They really aren't all that bad, Sister Marlene,” Mary smirked and stopped to admire what was labeled as an elephant skull.

“Sister Mary, we're going to be late if we don't step to it and the Matron won't thank us for it.”

Mary sighed and removed her coat before adjusting her scarlet tippet, “Well then off we go.”

They walked to their Matron’s office, nodding politely and grabbed their assignments off the wall covered in file folders.

“Bollocks,” Marlene muttered as they walked out and she opened her folder.

Mary peered over her shoulder, “Oh dear.”

“I was supposed to be done this week!” Marlene groaned. “Private Fenwick will be cleared and on his way to the station by now and I was supposed to be done with Quarantine because we'd have no more patients. But no! We had to get a typhoid fever patient!”

“But we sent vaccines over to France. He should have been vaccinated, it was mandated, David told me so.” Mary’s husband had been sent over to France with the British Expeditionary Force.

“The vaccine isn't a guarantee, Sister. He's probably one of the lucky ones.” Marlene huffed and snapped her folder shut.

“Yes,” Mary rolled her eyes, “very lucky, indeed.”

“Enjoy surgical recovery,” Marlene tipped her head as they reached Mary's ward.

“Enjoy your walk,” Mary blew her a kiss before walking into the first room of her ward.

Marlene started her near quarter-mile trek to the far side of Netley Hospital. She'd gone home last night looking forward to a new assignment, to being done with the Quarantine patient. Not that Private Fenwick was a bad sort, but Marlene was tired of being sequestered off with the shy little ward maid, Arabella Figg. She was a sweet enough lady, but she always insisted on talking about the cats she bread and Marlene wasn't particularly fond of cats, she was more of a dog person actually, so their conversations fizzled out quickly.

“Sister Marlene,” Arabella smiled kindly at her as she pulled the sheets off of Private Fenwick's cot. “I told them to put your new patient by the window. Not much of a view, but I thought a bit of sun would do the poor officer good.”

“Thank you, Arabella,” Marlene nodded and walked to the far end of the room where a man lay unconscious under his blankets. Opening the chart, Marlene sighed, “Welcome home, Captain Black.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

It started out like just a common cold. Sirius did his best to ignore the blaring headache and aches in his muscles. He was fighting in a bloody war; he had more important things to focus on than the damned sniffles.

But within a few weeks, it was high fevers to the point of full-on delirium. No amount of Iron-will stubbornness could have kept him on the field after that. He was lucky someone had dragged him off to sick bay before his vision gave out.

Losing his sight was quite jarring, even to a mind that was preoccupied with the fact it was boiling. Was he dying? Where was he? What was happening?

He woke up, and by virtue of doing so, he was fairly sure he wasn’t dead. He didn’t quite have a gage on how long he was unconscious, but when he woke he was absolutely sure he’d been moved.

The smell.

This was some sort of infirmary or hospital. It smelled like sickness. Death and dying. Was he next? What sort of soldier dies of the sniffles? Uncle Alphard would be ashamed.

Or he would have been...He was gone now. Sirius winced. The news of his favorite Uncle’s passing was fresh. The letter had only come a week before the nosebleeds began.

Uncle Alphard had been his hero. The only person he could really look up to in that whole god-forsaken family. He was also just about the only blood relation that Sirius had who hadn’t been ashamed of him.

To be fair, the shame went both ways. Having grown up in a house with his 1st cousin, Bellatrix Black, who kissed the ground that Herr Hitler walked on, was not something that Sirius was particularly proud of. Leaving aside the constant rumors that she was intimately close to the Führer and may or may not be pregnant with his horrible Nazi hellspawn. Sirius didn’t even believe that last bit, but he felt sure that Bella wished it were true. She’d had these awful framed photos of him up in her bedroom when they were children. She was living her dream… It disgusted him and he didn’t bring it up if he could help it.

Instead, he attempted to shake off any hints of German in his speech and mannerisms. This was a monumental task for someone who spoke German from the nursery. In truth, he was a quarter British, if that. His mother’s mother was a Granddaughter of Queen Victoria herself. But they’d married Germans, as the British nobility had been wont to do, and consequently, his Mother’s noble house of Black, was about as German as anyone in Europe.

His father was bitter that he never got to wear the crown he had lived his life thinking that he deserved. He’d never fully adjusted. It was a far fall from His Royal Highness Orion, Crown Prince of Saxony, to an untitled exile, taking his wife’s name and live off her relatives' generosity.

Things were always tense at Uncle Cygnus’s generosity and his estate in Berkshire. Sirius and Cygnus’s middle daughter, Andromeda, clung to each other, and their uncle Alphard, in the midst of all these disgruntled Germans. The three of them were all that was left, well before England declared war. The others contended that Herr Hitler had the right idea about the Herrenmenschen. Transparently desperate to be superior to someone after losing their titles, they made their choice.

Sirius felt that he had to make choices of his own, despite being only 15 at the time. He’d opted to stay behind with his best mate from Eton, James Potter, and Uncle Alphard. This decision, and his iron-will refusal to do as he was told, did not go over well.

His mother berated him for his choices, saying he was a traitor to his blood. He said they were traitors to his country. This was the country that had educated him and taught him to be a man more than she ever could. So his parents and younger brother went on their way to support the Fürher and Sirius Black did his damnedest to be an English Gentleman through and through. That was that.

Apparently, being an English Gentleman did nothing to fend off typhoid fever. So he was to convalesce at the rather unpleasant smelling Netley Hospital for the time being.

Those were amongst the words of the commanding baritone voice, was it a doctor? A medic? How was Sirius supposed to know? He couldn’t bloody see. How did people manage to live like this?

This was going to get old very quickly, if, like the voice informed him, he was going to live through it. Six weeks as a blind invalid?

Bollocks…

“Welcome home, Captain Black” the sound of his name startled him out of his half unconscious state.

“Did you say home? Are you sure about that? I think perhaps I died and went to Hell. Are you Hell’s secretary?”

“I beg your pardon! I’m Sister Marlene McKinnon. I’m charged with taking care of you while you recover here at Netley. So I recommend you be a bit nicer to me. You just asked the woman who’ll handle all your meals and medication for the next… ooooh six weeks is it… if she was Hell’s secretary.”

“And I’m still not convinced that you’re not. Sister Marlene. Are you a nun? I’m afraid I find myself dreadfully blind at the moment. You’ll have to tell me; are you wearing one of those nun head what’s-its?”

“Well, this is going to be an eventful six weeks… No, Captain Black, I’m not a nun. Sister is a rank. Sister is my rank in Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service.”

“Ah yes. Great Aunt Alix. That was the funeral of the season when I was six.” He remarked casually.

“Captain, I don’t care if her Majesty herself was your aunt. You still have to be polite.”

“Do I? Is there a law? ‘Here in Hell, we must be polite’? I must say, that’s unexpected. Here I was thinking the Devil would be lax with the rules. Shows what I know.”

Sirius was pretty sure he heard the woman, Sister Marlene, groan.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Captain Black. Perhaps by then you’ll have reconsidered your attitude.” Her clipped footsteps faded towards what must have been the door.

#blackinnon #blackinnon au #sirius x marlene #sirius black x marlene mckinnon #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #blackinnon fanfiction #WWII au #world war two au #enemies to lovers #fluff #historical fiction #historical fic #period romance #romance #harry potter fanfiction #jily #blinded by love

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capmackie · 5 years

Text

throwing stones at a glass moon

sambucky week day vii : free for all @sambuckyevents

science teacher au

“Look alive team”, Bucky announces in a terrible attempt at a ‘teacher voice’ — shrill and unnecessarily chipper, nothing how he sounds on a regular day, “welcome to Marion University!”

The bus grinds to a halt on the college grounds, stopping completely as the institution comes to full view. As far as the eye can see, Gothic structures and immaculately tamed green expanses are in abundance — it’s an oasis adjacent to the city, rich in splendor and architecture.

Centered in the middle of the yard, sits Main Hall, housing the university’s sizable auditorium and this year’s Science and Engineering Fair. The stone and brick edifice boasts a tower, arched ceilings, drawing on elements right out of the fairytales Bucky once read when he was younger, a time when he believed in things like Prince Charming’s and happily ever afters.

Deboarding with his students, ignoring Peter’s jabs about his, ahem “fake ass teacher voice”, Bucky tightens his overnight bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to bask in the beauty of the university before turning to his third-period science class. They’re a ragtag group of kids, made up of different backgrounds and ethnicities, some introverts, some extroverts, and whatever the hell MJ is.

While all quite different, what they do have in common is snark, something Bucky — Mr. Barnes, is usually on the receiving end of.

Oh, and they’re all smart. Smart as fuck actually.

Which brings them to Marion University for the preliminary round of the New York Science and Engineering Fair. After six different project ideas, countless hours of drafting and redrafting their proposal, a “complete lack of social life” — Steve’s words not his own — Brooklyn High was back in the big leagues, ready to compete.

“Bring it in team”, Bucky says, thankfully opting to forgo the teacher's voice, placing his hand in the middle of the quasi-circle they’re in. The group follows suit until all nine students have their hands on top of Bucky’s.

“Take us home MJ!”

With a blink and you miss it smile, MJ, team captain, starts the chant — some pop culture reference Bucky’s too old to know.

On the count of three, they’re breaking and heading to the Hall.

——

After checking-in to both the hotel and the fair, Bucky lets the group split up with promises to meet back later.

While here to compete, to redeem themselves from coming up just short in last year’s competition, Bucky wants the kids to just be kids for a moment. To be tourists in their own city, let them explore what New York has to offer outside of their borough.

They deserve it.

The project’s in, the theory has been submitted, the last item on the agenda is to present their findings. A piece of cake. His team has worked their asses off and nothing can take that away from them.

With that, Bucky wants the group to enjoy themselves, knows they won’t get in too much trouble, and by extension, he wants to enjoy himself a bit too.

He’s seated at the hotel bar, nursing something dark and strong, absentmindedly watching whatever’s games playing, when someone clamps a hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention.

It’s Sam fuckin’ Wilson.

“Bunky!”, Sam greets, intentionally fucking up Bucky’s name, as if his sole purpose in life is to bother the man.

“It’s Bucky actually”, he replies coolly, “James to you.”

Sam feigns hurt, removing his hand from Bucky’s shoulder to clutch at his own chest dramatically.

“I thought we were friends Bucky”, Sam continues, eyes alight with joy as he sees the other teacher clench his jaw at the use of the nickname. “Why so formal?”

“My friends call me Bucky, and you are not my friend.”

“I’m hurt Buck”, Sam retorts, turning to the barkeep, ordering a drink for himself. “Honestly and truly hurt, however can I go on?”

With Sam placing his drink order, Bucky gets a chance to really take the other man in. He’s still every bit of annoying as he’s always been, every bit of handsome as well. The gray button-down doing wonders for his build, the navy slacks accentuating his ass perfectly as well.

Sam looks good and he knows it too, apparently knows Bucky thinks so too if the suggestive smile he gives the other teacher is any indication, wearing confidence and cockiness equally.

On anyone else, it would come across as braggadocio but on Sam, it’s charming.

But Bucky would never admit that.

Bucky’s pretty self-aware, he’d like to think. Knows the reason Sam gets so deep under skin is because he has a dormant crush on the guy. Knows the banter between them frustrates him in more ways than one.

For as long as Bucky knew of Mr. Wilson, the science teacher over at Visions Academy, he’s disliked him for just as long. Any scientific competition that took place in the city, Sam and his team of preppies were there and usually coming out of it victorious.

Next to Bucky, stood the sole reason why his team didn’t take the number one spot in the fair last year, the reason why they worked so damn hard this year.

“Glad to see you back here man”, Sam starts, closing his tab and sitting next to Bucky. “Didn’t think you’d show your face after last year’s defeat.”

And that is exactly why those feelings of his will stay dormant — Sam’s an asshole.

Giving the barkeep his room number to charge the drink to his room, Bucky makes way to leave and find his students, ignoring Sam’s attempts to call out to him.

—

“Change of plans team”, Bucky says, clapping his hands together. “I know I told you guys to just go out there and give it your best but that’s not going to work anymore.”

“I need you to go out and kick some ass.”

—

The preliminary rounds go by quickly, Brooklyn High impressing the judges at every turn.

Bucky’s in a great mood, his group, all so unique, banding together, pulling off amazing presentation after amazing presentation. He’s all so proud of them and he almost would be content if they didn’t win, just the fact that they’ve made it so far and did so well and —

And apparently, Vision Academy is doing just as well, having been announced as the first group to make it to the final round. There’s whoops and hollers coming from the team and in the middle of it, Bucky can see Sam, smiling and enjoying the revelry with his students.

There’s a piece of him that wants to be upset that once again, Sam and his team are going to the championship round, that they’re still every bit as good as last year — maybe even better, a sobering thought. The idea that the road to victory still must go through Visions, must go through his rival should make him hunger for defeating Sam more.

But strangely, Bucky hungers for something else.

He hungers to see Sam smile like this, wide and open and bright more, hungers to be the reason that smile is on Sam’s face at all. Bucky hungers for Sam to direct that smile to him, lay it — with all of its intensity — on him, wants to bask in the warmth it emits.

Before he can try to get a grasp on these new feelings, he’s being jostled by Peter. So deep in his own fantasy, Bucky hadn’t even heard that his team qualified for the final spot in the championship round.

—

The night before the final presentation, Bucky’s with his students giving his best and most rousing speech, ensuring them that despite whatever happens tomorrow, they’re still winners in his eyes.

“So not actual winners then?”

...

Damn it Peter.

—

Turns out, Visions Academy is indeed a stronger team than what they were last year.

And while Brooklyn High brought their best, it still wasn’t enough to win it all.

Morose in a way he hadn’t even been after the accident that took his left arm, Bucky’s finding it hard to motivate his team when he, himself is feeling so damn defeated.

He knows it would be in the best interest to say something, anything to lift morale but time heals all wounds and a moment to decompress might have a greater effect than whatever clichés he could think to spout.

Rallying around his team, watching as they rally around each other, comforting one another in this dark moment lifts his spirits though. Over the past year, he’s watched them learn to work together as a team and he’s proud to see them lose together as one too.

“We always have next year,” MJ says, hopeful and determined, a steel resolve to her words that leaves no room for arguments.

Brooklyn High will indeed be back to compete next year.

—

There’s a knock at his door following his departure from his students and a quick stop to the hotel bar again.

Convinced it’s someone from his group, Bucky shucks the door open and is unpleasantly surprised to see Sam Wilson instead.

“If you’re here to rub your victory in, let me save you the trouble.”

What Bucky expects is to see the cocky smirk he’s grown accustomed to seeing on the other’s man face. Expects to see some kind of smugness at crushing Brooklyn High two consecutive years.

What he actually gets surprises him.

In a moment, shock and confusion flit across Sam’s face, before settling into a frown. It’s a foreign look on the man’s face, strange and out of place.

“No man, of course not”, Sam sputters out. “Why would I do something as dickish as that?”

“Maybe because you’re a dick?”

“If that’s what you think of me, maybe I should just leave.”

Before he can stop himself, Bucky’s reaching out and grabbing Sam’s arm, effectively stopping him from making his exit.

“That’s not what I think of you, I’m sorry.”

He follows Sam’s line of sight, watches as Sam looks to his arm which Bucky still has a hold of, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the smooth skin.

Bucky removes his hand, dropping it back at his side, missing the contact almost immediately.

“Look, I just want to say your team did a helluva job up there”, Sam says, a small smile on his face.

“If there was anyone I’d rather lose to, it would’ve been you.”

Maybe it’s the way Sam says it, forward but earnest. It could be the way he looks when he says it, softly, with the barest hint of a blush creeping through. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Sam is right here, as vulnerable as Bucky’s ever seen him that makes the older man pull him into a searing kiss.

He doesn’t know why he kissed the other teacher, but once Sam parts his lips, letting Bucky deepen the kiss and pull him closer, Bucky knows that this is the only thing he wants for the rest of his days.

Just this embrace, just the man in front of him.

Losing the competition is still fresh in mind but the hurt lessens now that he’s won something greater.

#sbweek19 #day seven: free for all #whew guys i did it!#also you'll see exactly where i started to rush through this fic to meet the deadline #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #buckysam #the falcon and the winter soldier #my writing

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miss-noo-na · 5 years

Text

Vos Anima Mea (Chapter 9)

Title: Vos Anima Mea

Genre: Vampire AU

Rating: PG-13

* See Masterlist for additional chapters

Note: Good news! I guess? This isn’t the last chapter. I intended it to be, but it ran a little long so this is the second to last chapter. Thank you for sticking with me <3

Kihyun’s words echoed in your head day and night. It penetrated your dreams, sometimes as a cozy reverie filled with images of a life together, dedicating all your time to your art, helping out at the club, sleeping beside one another. Other times you had hellish nightmares about his father appearing like a phantom in the night to rip you apart.

You had one particularly bothersome recurring dream about Kihyun being tortured before your eyes by unseen dark forces, the enemies you would no doubt create if you decided to stay with him

Staying with him also meant changing everything about who you were, what you did, and who you were going to be. You’d be immortal, you wouldn’t get sick, you would be young forever. But also you would abandon everyone you knew in your human life, and take on a completely new one.

It was a big commitment, but the more you thought it over the more it enticed you. You hadn’t been that satisfied with human life anyway. Your job was just okay, your friendships weren’t that deep, and you weren’t very close to your family. The entire reason you sought out a place like the club was because of how empty you felt in your life. Now, you felt full. Your cup runneth over with love and purpose.

If everything went according the plan, and that was a big if, you could have everything you had ever wanted and more. But you knew you were going to have to fight for it.

You spent days thinking about it, all while helping Kihyun form his plan against his father. He didn’t press the issue with you, he knew you had a lot to think about, but sometimes he would hint at it, say things about a future together. It would slip out and he would correct himself, but that only made you feel more confident about it. He already thought of you as his.

For today, you didn’t have time to think about that. Today you were going to Victoria’s house, and your stomach was in knots. The last time you saw her she was dismissive of you, and seemed as if she might still have feelings for Kihyun. Worse than that, she seemed to have been sent by his father, your sworn enemy. However, Kihyun had assured you the two of them had spoken since then and he had filled her in on everything that was going on, and she was to be an ally to them in this time.

Victoria’s house was as you imagined it, not as big as Kihyun’s father’s but sizeable and secluded. The drive way was long and dark, shrouded in trees, and you wondered if there was even a house to find out here in the thicket. However, after some time, you came upon it sitting by itself, next to a small pond and a band of woods.

Stepping inside was like stepping into a Victorian fever dream. According to Kihyun she hadn’t even been alive during that time period, but she favored it due to her old-fashioned parents. Everything was dark wood, low light, and cluttered. Bookshelves, paintings, statues of Roman Gods and Goddesses, pillar candles, taxidermy animals, the scent of musk. Honestly, you adored it.

You were brought into a parlor by a stuffy older man, and invited to sit on a lounging couch. Tea was already set on a silver platter with dainty cups atop saucers. You both waited patiently and silently, and Kihyun rested his hand on your leg, knowing you were nervous.

“Sorry for the delay,” Victoria’s voice rang into the room before you saw her. She looked as immaculate as the first time, her dark hair pulled back high and regal, falling over her shoulders in waves. She wore clothing that looked modernly chic with hints of 18th century trims and ruffles. If she hadn’t been Kihyun’s ex-fiancee and in cohorts with his father, you might have wanted to be her best friend.

She took a seat adjacent to you in an antique chair, and the old man began to serve the tea. Your cup clattered against the saucer in your unsteady hands, and Kihyun gave you a supportive glance.

“It seems we have a lot to discuss.” Victoria said, giving you both a careful look as she put down her teacup.

“Where do I begin?” Kihyun asked, almost to himself, staring down into the amber liquid of his tea.

“We’ll run down the basics.” Victoria started. “Your father is insistent you take the throne, to the point of kidnapping your painter. By the way, my condolences for the treatment by the old man. I had no idea he would go so far.” She ended by giving you a gentle nod, and though her hoity-toity way of speaking made her seem insincere, you could tell by her tone and her eyes that she meant it. Although, you still didn’t like being referred to as simply ‘the painter’.

“And now you,” She continued, looking back to Kihyun. “Are saying you’ve come around to the idea, but not if he’s involved.”

“I’d like to have him exiled.”

Victoria’s eyes went wide and she sat back . “Exiled? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

You could see Kihyun’s grip on his saucer tightening as well as his jaw. Without thinking, you reached over and placed a gentle hand on his forearm, and he instantly relaxed. Victoria didn’t miss this exchange, her eyes shooting down to where you touched him, but quickly back to Kihyun’s face.

“I know my father has been charming you for awhile now, and because of this you don’t seem to understand what he’s fully capable of.”

Victoria let out a sigh. “You are right, he is persuasive, and I feel like a fool for having gone along with it for so long. I did notice a change in him recently, how much more determined he was to get you back, and the way he pushed me so.”

“He fully expects you to birth a child for me.”

She blinked, her face going tight. “Oh does he now?”

“You were a pawn as much as I am. He didn’t care if it killed us both, as long as the kingdom still belonged to his name for as long as he’s alive.”

A wave of understanding seemed to overcome Victoria, as if years of grooming and manipulation had been exposed to her in an instant. You were glad she seemed to be seeing the light.

“I don’t think I can admit it here and now, but,” She hesitated, then looked between the two of you again, and seemed to decide it was now or never. “I will be frank. He used my affection for you as a bargaining chip. He stoked those fires, making me believe you would come back to us both.”

You felt incredibly uncomfortable hearing those words. It wasn’t even jealousy, it was being privy to someone’s very private and deep emotions. This was clearly between the two of them, something only they understood, and you felt intrusive for even hearing it.

Kihyun pursed his lips, and nodded with a sigh. From the way he spoke of their relationship, he had cared for her, but maybe not as deeply as she cared for him. Despite this, his soft heart wouldn’t let him feel guilt for leaving her like he did.

“I think you two should be alone.” You said, going to stand. Kihyun reached out for you but you gave him an encouraging smile, letting him know it was okay.

“There’s a garden out back, if you’d like to take a walk.” Victoria offered, and you thanked her. They had a lot of unfinished business that you need not be apart of.

It was dark, naturally, but the garden was lit by whimsical fairy lights from above along a predestined stone path. It was gorgeous, with tall hedges, water fountains, and unique flowers. She seemed to pick ones that would bloom at night, and you admired her attention to detail. As you walked, you felt a tug inside, wondering what they were discussing. You worried that Kihyun might actually want to go back to Victoria, but another part of you told you it was silly. He could have gone back any time before he met you. If he truly loved her, he would have brought her out with him.

After what felt like a sufficient amount of time, you started making your way back. You could hear them still conversing when you returned, and crept carefully as not to interrupt. Just outside the room, you paused when Victoria’s voice caught your attention.

“You love her, then?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling bad for eavesdropping but also desperate to know the answer.

“I do. Very much.”

You placed a hand on the wall to steady yourself, letting out a held breath.

“And you believe she will stay with you? Become one of us?”

“I do not know for certain.”

Victoria laughed.

“You’ve always been so foolish, Kihyun.” She said in a lighthearted way. “Whatever will you do if she says no?”

“It’s her choice, and I respect whatever it may be.”

“You’re too good for this wretched world. I think we need a king like you.”

He hummed.

You chose that moment to enter, trying to act as if you have just arrived.

“Victoria, your garden is beautiful.” You said as you sat down, and she half-smiled at you.

“Thank you, you have good taste.Which reminds me to compliment your masterpiece.”

“You saw it?”

“Kihyun sent me a photo. He’s really in awe of it, and I can see why. It’s exceptional.”

You felt your cheeks get hot as you stared down at your feet. Victoria was nothing if not honest, and you appreciated that.

“Maybe she can paint your portrait someday” Kihyun offered, and you gave him a look, but he only smiled.

“That would be lovely, I do need a nice portrait for my mantel.”

You really didn’t know how their conversation had went, but apparently it went well. They were now talking like old friends, and none of the three of you had any feelings of animosity or spite in your speech.

“Now, as far as my father goes,” Kihyun started then, ready to tackle the real issue now that personal matters had been set aside.

“I don’t know a whole lot about his business ventures, but I do know there were some shady goings-on. He was involved with some local crime syndicates, vampire and mortal alike.” Victoria said as she went for a sip of her tea, speaking of such matters in a graceful, unaffected way.

“Do you have any proof?”

Victoria shrugged. “I have access to the files, I’m sure there is something of use in there.”

Kihyun’s eyes went wide. “You have to get us everything you can, anything relevant to his time in charge that can be used against him.”

“No offense, my dear,” Victoria placed her cup down. “But I have a lot to lose here. What guarantees do I have if this all goes to plan?”

Kihyun shrugged. “What do you need?”

She looked to be considering it for a moment.

“I’d still like to hold a position, I was doing quite well as a records keeper and treasurer.”

“Very well, you can remain there.”

“And my portrait, of course.”

Kihyun glanced at you and you smiled and nodded.

“Done.”

“I also want to be the Maid of Honor at your wedding.”

Kihyun had been raising his teacup to his lips when she said that, and he clanked it back down on the saucer and spluttered for a moment. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh, and Victoria winked at you. Okay, you really liked her.

“Well that’s, I dont kn-” Kihyun was practically falling all over himself and Victoria giggled.

“I’m kidding, dearest. The job and the portrait will be just fine.”

Kihyun put down his cup and cleared his throat, choosing to ignore the little joke. “Let me know when you’ve got the documents in order.”

You all stood and Victoria saw you out, and on the way home you discussed your plan of action.

You had become acquainted with Kihyun’s home, even more comfortable here than your own. Your schedule was completely shifted to his, waking at sunset and either spending the night painting or going to the club so he could work and you could mingle with Samantha. He ordered you dinner every night from one fancy restaurant or the other. Sometimes he even took you out, and sipped his wine while you ate. When you got home, he’d feed from you and you spent the rest of the pre-dawn in a happy daze, cuddled up beside him or making love.

That was when the nights were good, of course. It wasn’t all roses. Some nights he was frustrated that he wasn’t making any headway in coming up against his father. Sometimes informants would cancel, leads would fall through, or a promising piece of evidence turned out to be bunk. He’d pour over crates of documents that Victoria had sent over, throwing them into piles from ‘of interest’ to ‘totally worthless’. On more than one occasion he cursed and slammed objects around, but was quick to calm himself and apologize. You helped whenever you could, but it never felt like it was enough.

This night was one of those nights. His usually crisp shirt sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to his elbows, with stacks of papers in various piles on the coffee table and the floor. He shuffled through them loudly, and you tried not to get in the way. You put on some music, and went over to your easel to work on something calming.

“Fuck.” He slammed a stack of papers down and you were taken aback. You’d never heard him curse before.

He pushed a hand through his hair and looked up at you, and you gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Come here.” He said, siting up from his hunched over position. You got up from your stool and walked over, and before you could sit next to him he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. It had been awhile since you started being physical with him, but when he did things like this it still took you off guard and made you blush furiously. He was always so put-together and controlled, that when he let his emotions unravel and passions spill out, you turned to liquid inside.

You reached up and stroked his hair at the back of his head. “It’s okay.”

He sighed, relaxing under your touch. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

You pulled back and looked down at him. “Of course you can, you just have to be patient and thorough.”

“Every time I feel like I’m getting somewhere I hit another brick wall. No one wants to talk to me, and everything we get is hearsay. We’ll never convince the high courts without solid proof.”

He sounded so downtrodden that it broke your heart.

“What do you have so far?”

He glanced over at the stacks and reached over you to pick a piece of paper off one of them.

“We have his spending habits, and some evidence he’s invested outside of public interests, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Didn’t Victoria say he had connections to crime syndicates? Mortal ones?”

He nodded.

“Why haven’t you talked to any of them?”

He let out a humorless laugh. “You really think a bunch of mobsters are going to talk to me? What am I supposed to do, call them up for tea?”

“Kihyun, you’re a vampire.” You said, shaking his shoulders.

“And?”

“And you’re super strong? And super fast? And you do that scary thing with your eyes and the fangs. Come on!”

Kihyun wasn’t one for flexing his powers, he was very subtle about it and the only time you’d seen him exercise it was against his father or when he was angry.

“You want me to shake down gangsters for information?” He asked.

“We’re desperate, aren’t we? You don’t have to hurt them, I’m sure a little scare will do the trick.”

He looked up at you and a smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “You’re crazy, you know that? Absolutely insane.”

“So they tell me.”

#kihyun scenarios #monsta x scenarios #monsta x #yoo kihyun #kpop scenarios #vampire au #kpop fanfiction

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

Heartbeat

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: T Setting: Modern AU

Prompt: EreMika; Eren listening to Mikasa's heartbeat

I had another idea which i ended up scraping in favor of this one, but then my beta said that he really liked the first one. ... So, I'll edit the draft into something readable this evening (prolly) and you can expect a different take on the prompt tomorrow. Gonna be a really short one, I don't want to expand it too much. It's kinda angsty. ;(

Car tires screeched as Eren took the first exit, speeding up onto a highway, leaving the airport behind. Scanning the traffic, he picked a good timing and squeezed between two trucks, successfully entering the high-speed zone. Great, because he really wanted to step on it now. In the end, it was rather worthless, because it wasn’t like she would just let him drive in peace.

“Eren, why are you acting like this?”, Mikasa asked from the adjacent seat, reading his expression, or trying to at least, since he did his best to avert his face from hers.

“Like what?”, he half-growled, tightening his grip on the wheel. Just a tiny bit.

“We haven’t seen each other for months, and all you can do is “Hi”? Seriously?”

“Eh, I just don’t feel like talking.”

But she was already shaking her head.

“No, I know you. You’re pissed off about something. Tell me.”

“No…”

“Tell me!”

There it was, the steel in her voice to match her eyes. But Eren didn’t feel like caving in, so he ignored her, focusing on the driving for a change. After all, it was dangerous to lose your cool on the road, they can argue later.

“Eren, please.”, Mikasa’s voice softened, and he could feel her hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing, “I’ve been on this tour for months, I’m tired of it all. Performing, travelling, I just want to go home with you and rest.”

“Well what’s stopping you?”

“You! Acting like this! Best I could see was your face on the computer screen for this long, and when I come back then you won’t even hug me?”

There was pain her voice, hurt and confusion, and no matter how hard he tried, Eren couldn’t hold back anymore. He was never bad at saying no to her, not since childhood.

“I just…. Missed you, and then I saw the videos you guys did… and just some talk.”, he sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“The videos? You mean the music ones?”

“You know that there’s exactly fifteen different angles on your ass in the latest thing? And the outfits you and the girls wore… Revealing.”

He did try his best not to be bitter about it. Eren knew what Mikasa’s job was. She was in a band, they were idols, this is what they did. Yet it was hard to see it in the rational light, when the body of the woman you loved was the subject of talk in the celebrity magazines for the last months.

“Sex sells, Eren, you know that. We are new in the business, and need all the attention we can get, in any way we can acquire it. Those videos, that’s the easy way to get it, that’s how we sell our records, that’s how we got the tour. To make it big we must do them. Jean says…”

“Jean?”, he interrupted her, frowning, “Who’s that?”

“Our new agent.”

“So, he’s the one responsible for that visage, huh? I can see why he would do that.”

“I don’t like what you are implying.”

“Oh really? Well, maybe you’ll remember me, when next time he doesn’t ask you to throw your top away during the performance but meet him afterhours to “discuss” your future with the band and he’s going to require some oral persuasion.”

“You really think I’d ever do that?”, Mikasa was angry now, and it showed in the both her tone and the volume of her voice, “What do you think I am? A whore?”

“Yea well…”, Eren scoffed, still refusing to meet her eyes, “If I judged only from those music vids, I’d say that would be a pretty accurate description.”

“Eren…”

“It’s not very pleasant,”, finally he turned, matching her outraged gaze with his own, fingers gripping the wheel hard, “ to go for a beer after work and listen to another of those fucking conversation next table, where the patrons are watching you shake your ass on the fucking TV and discuss between themselves how much they’d love to run a train on that thing.”

“I…”, her eyes were glistening, and Eren was almost feeling sorry for his outburst, but then they snapped over his shoulder and widened not in reaction to his words, but to something else entirely.

“Watch out!”

There was a loud horn sound, squealing of tires, and a crash, the impact of the truck from the side sent the car flying. Metal creaked, and when the roof met solid ground, Eren’s vision went black.

Shouting woke him, a man’s voice, and soon two strong hands helped him, pulling him out of the wreckage and onto the grass.

“Jesus man, you okay?”, a tall male silhouette asked that, in a shaky voice that suggested he wasn’t really okay either, “You ran right into my path, I had no time react! Fuck!”

The trucker ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth, but blinking his eyes open, Eren noticed one way more important thing. He was alone, Mikasa nowhere in sight.

“Where’s…”, he coughed, lungs and throat hurting, “Where’s she?”

The man stopped in his steps, looking down at him.

“There was someone else in the car with you?”

Ignoring his own body, Eren rolled over, staring through the mangled mass of metal and plastic that used to be his car, searching for the familiar flash of pale skin or black hair. There, still strapped to the seat, Mikasa’s head was hanging at an odd angle, a massive scratch on one cheek, eyes closed, and she was completely unresponsive, not reacting to his shouts in any way.

“Call an ambulance!”, he screamed at the trucker, who quickly nodded and pulled out his phone, punching in the number with trembling fingers. Turning his attention back at the car, Eren crawled back in, ignoring the danger it presented to himself, and undid the belt buckle, pulling Mikasa’s limp body out. She was still unconscious, even when he slapped her lightly, hoping to wake her up, and when Eren pressed his ear right above her heart, he was shocked by what he heard.

Nothing. She had no pulse.

Instincts kicking in, even through the shock, he began giving her CPR, hands steady in their movements, much unlike how the thoughts raced inside his head.

Compressions. Open her mouth. Breathe in. Listen.

Nothing.

Clenching his teeth, he continued, not ready, not able to accept this. Mikasa couldn’t die, not here, on a side of a fucking road, just because he was being an asshole to her and didn’t watch where he was driving.

Compressions. Breathe in. Listen.

Nothing.

“C’mon Miki, you can’t leave me here. I don’t want to go on without you. Please…”

Compressions. Breathe in. Listen.

Nothing.

“She’s gone man.”, the trucker appeared next to him, clapping him on the shoulder, trying to show support. “I’m sorry for your loss, but…”

“Shut the fuck up.”, shaking the touch away, Eren continued his efforts, ignoring whatever the man said. With a sigh, the trucker took a few steps back, leaving him to his grief. Or so he thought.

“Please, I love you, so fucking much.”, Compressions. Breathe in. “Don’t do this to me.”

Listen.

There! With a joy he never felt before in his life, Eren could hear it, the soft fluttering of a pulse, unsteady, but there. She was back, she didn’t leave him. Sitting back on his heels, Eren closed his eyes, tears flowing down his cheeks, while the sounds of sirens

grew steadily closer. Soon after there were voices all around, medics left and right, picking up Mikasa’s body and putting it on a stretcher and up in the ambulance, giving her the immediate first care.

“Sir?”, another touch on his shoulder, this time from the medic, prompting Eren to look up. The man gestured towards Eren’s leg. “Your wound…”

Following his gaze, Eren saw that there was a big piece of metal, piercing right through his thigh, blood leaking everywhere. In his rush to save Mikasa, he didn’t even feel the pain, but now it began manifesting, white-hot needles of agony.

“Oh…”, was all Eren managed to say, watching the redness gush out.

Then he fainted.

He shouldn’t even be up yet, as the nurses told him, he got beaten up pretty bad, and his leg was still hurting, but once he heard that Mikasa woke up, nothing could keep Eren in the hospital bed. Hobbling with the help of a cane, he found her room, managing to cross the short distance to the chair next to her bed without falling once. Her eyes were on him from the moment Eren entered the room, but Mikasa didn’t say anything, until he managed to sit down, cursing under his breath when his leg protested the motion. Then, he could finally look up and take in her visage, noticing all the pain he caused by being a total asshole. The cut on her cheek was bandaged, and she had multiple dark spots on her face, standing out against the pale skin. From what Eren heard, or rather managed to squeeze out of the nurses and doctors, Mikasa got out with severe bruising and rattled bones, but nothing was broken. The worst was the shock to her system, making her heart stop, but Eren’s on-site CPR managed to kick it back on, saving her life.

“Hi.”, she finally breached the silence, managing a half-smile before the sting in her cheek made her stop.

“Hey.”, he shot back, redirecting his gaze back on her face. “You look great.”

“They say I’ll have a nasty scar.”

“I bet it will look great on you.”

“Yeah right.”, she giggled, “Jean will have a stroke when he sees me.”

The mention of her manager did bring back the memories of the crash, and the conversation that led to it. The stupid argument that was totally Eren’s fault, and almost killed them both.

“Miki, I…”, clearing his throat, he reached out, taking her hand between his, squeezing. “I…”

But the words just died inside his throat, over and over, because seeing her in the white bed, with the machinery around her, the reality of just how close to losing her forever seemed to finally hit him, making everything he could say feel hollow. Because how could words ever make up for this? How could he ever express the terrible feeling of loss and hopelessness he felt, in those cursed seconds when she was lying dead in his hands. Back then, it was like the universe just stopped existing, time and space felt meaningless, because without her, what was the point of going on with his life? Eren took a shuddering breath, hoping to fill the hole that seemed to appear in the middle of his heart with oxygen, yet it hardly helped.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

And the angel, the saint she was, Mikasa reached out, wiping the tears Eren didn’t even realize he was shedding from the corners of his eyes, the tiny smile she had shining more radiantly than any sun.

“It’s all right, I forgive you.”

But it wasn’t all right, not until she gently pulled him closer, allowing him to rest his head on her chest, right above her heart, to listen to the steady rhythm, soothing as nothing else to Eren’s ears. Because she was still here, alive, she didn’t leave him all alone in this cruel world. Mikasa didn’t say anything when his tears began anew, drenching her gown, she just dragged her fingers through his hair, whispering that it’s okay. And the heartbeat, that was more beautiful than any music Eren ever heard in his life.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #prompt fill

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artisticflutter · 5 years

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AU Yeah August Day One - Bed Sharing

Hey hey, did you guys hear? It’s @auyeahaugust time! By the way, here’s the prompt list. Follow along!

Rating: T/M Genre: General, Angst Pairing(s): Oswald x Gwendolyn Summary: They’re on their ‘honeymoon’ in a suite booked with only one bed. The implication is clear though her new husband has other ideas. Warning: No beta! Modern day AU and standard warnings of emotional abuse/manipulation apply because Odin…

Most girls probably dreamed of their perfect wedding before.

Gwendolyn remembered herself being maybe eight or nine, drawing all day with her sister Griselda while they were home alone. It was always something big and beautiful; outside instead of inside a church, preferably on a clear spring day, and there would be so many flowers and birds. At the time, she had no idea what kind of dress she would wear, but she wouldn’t mind something like their mother’s. In all of the photos Gwendolyn had seen of her, their mom had looked so much like a princess – so happy and beautiful, beaming radiantly in the captured moment.

But it was only a dream.

And dreams couldn’t always be reality.

By age ten, her father controlled many aspects of her life. Anything outside of this – anything generally not to his expectations – did nothing to impress her to him. Or, the reality more likely was nothing she could do for him would ever be enough. All she could do was obey…

That’s what brought her to a small ceremony at the courthouse, holding hands with a man she’d only met once – Oswald was his name. Despite how brief it was, she couldn’t forget how intense his red eyes were, his platinum blonde hair, or just how overall stern he came across. She focused on the gold ring resting on her finger, a matching one adorning his, and just allowed the cold feeling to continue to sink in, everything else around her changing in an unfocused haze.

Before she realized, she had been escorted to a honeymoon suite. Sitting on the only king-sized bed in the room, she clasped her hands together, not knowing where her new husband had gone.

Why was she married again?

It had something to do with a subsidiary to her father’s rival company and Oswald retaining the rights to them. Her father had always been a business traditionalist – as such, marriages were for business and gains, not anything else. He’d funded the wedding and gotten them the suite, and she was sure that meant he was expecting something out of her.

She clasped and twisted her index finger, a cold sweat breaking on her face.

She felt dizzy suddenly, unable to breathe, but continued staring at the gold band on her ring finger.

It only made sense; what else was a wedded couple to do on their honeymoon night?

A door opening nearby had her head snapping up and immediately attempting to compose herself. Oswald caught her eye, but she felt her heart sink upon realizing he’d dressed down from his suit earlier to a loose button-up shirt and pants. Her insides were freezing as he approached, but she didn’t dare break his gaze, knowing what was coming. However, when his hand did reach for her face, she shut her eyes.

The weight of the veil left her head.

Her hair, pulling into an intricate bun, was being undone, each hairpin carefully being removed, and slowly, she felt her hair begin cascade down her back.

She thought about opening her eyes, but she didn’t want to see what would come next.

And as she began to hear the zipper of her dress being undone, she waited for it to start. She expected to be pushed down, for him to take her dress off, and…

The shadow that had fallen over her was gone though, the cologne or aftershave that he was wearing fading when it did. When it didn’t return in the next few minutes as anticipated, Gwendolyn dared to open her eyes.

Oswald wasn’t before her or even by the bed. In fact, when she turned her head to check, she noticed a pillow and the blanket draped over the end of the bed were gone. Hearing shifting coming more from the adjacent living room, she brought her attention back around and noticed he was laying down on the couch. Rising from the bed, hands holding the front of her dress, she stared at him, tilting her head in confusion.

That was… not what she thought would happen.

“… Why are you… on the couch?”

… Maybe she didn’t speak loud enough? He didn’t move for the longest time, but he did eventually speak up.

“You’re clearly uncomfortable and I can understand why. You were left in the dark regarding the negotiations with your father… We were only to be wed; there doesn’t need to be anything more.”

“But…” She was confused. What did he mean? “We’re supposed to – expected to share the same bed. We have to… I’m expected to…”

It’s what her father wanted.

“… Are you ready to do that?”

Gwendolyn’s eyes grew and her words stopped. Oswald was sitting up enough to look back at her, his eyes… softer? He seemed troubled – even confused. Why would that be? But he did seem to be waiting for an answer.

“I… I’m not… but…”

He shook his head.

“You’re not ready, and that’s all that needs to be said. If anyone ‘expects’ anything, it’s none of our concern now.” Steady gaze still on her, he seemed to be thinking. He looked away though before he asked. “Will you be able to undress yourself? I didn’t miss any hidden buttons or hooks?”

“Ah… no. It was only the zipper…”

Keeping his eyes away, he nodded once. “Try getting some rest then… Good night, Gwendolyn.”

Shifting back to his previous prose position before, she continued to stand there, silent. After a few moments, she picked up on light breathing. This was far from what she expected this evening – honestly, she hadn’t known what Oswald would’ve done either, but Griselda had told her stories since she reached marriageable age; marriages of convenience and unhappy wives trapped by their husbands. The business world could be cruel, but Oswald was not meeting those expectations.

Was that a good thing? Bad? Gwendolyn couldn’t be sure, but so far, ‘different’ was not negative.

Taking two steps towards the bathroom, she looked back towards the couch to see if Oswald moved. He hadn’t so much as shifted a muscle, light breaths continuing. A few more steps, another look back his way, and she finally managed to slip into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

This was nothing like she’d ever dreamed, but so far, she was glad it wasn’t a nightmare.

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goldenscript · 7 years

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33. progression

↳ prompt: the night we shared when i helped you → gang au + jeon jungkook

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader genre: gang au / fluff word count: 2,322

He was hurt.

In a heap of stiff limbs and ragged breaths, there laid a boy covered in a multitude of multicolor bruises and every-so-often a scrape and gash permeated what looked like smooth, almost fair skin though it appeared quite washed out in the dim illumination emitting from the street lights. Dark locks were splayed haphazardly atop of his head, and tufts of it clung to his forehead from sweat and smeared blood. Even his features albeit unclear appeared contorted in pain- scrunched together and wincing. The circumstances weren’t known. Nor did it particularly matter.

Jesus, what happened? The thought erupted as you approached the scene. No one seemed to notice the poor guy, but that was expected from how late it was. Not many prowlers were out besides workers and thugs, even (obviously) the occasional victim of the latter. You approached the injured person, and asked, “Hey, can you stand? How much pain are you in?”

At a closer glance, you noticed he was probably around your age. His contorted facial features were relaxing at the sound of your question but the only response you received was, “No hospital… I can’t,” he rasped. “No hospital… please.”

Of course, you were hesitant to acquiesce to such a risky request but a part of you understood the possible circumstance. Not many people from this area could actually afford to go to the hospital, and evidently, it was actually a good distance away, which made transportation costs an expensive cost next to the estimated hundreds of a brief hospital appointment.

You were pretty frugal, so naturally even you stayed away from going there as much as you could. It wasn’t the wisest decision, but most injuries you sustained only required self-treatment, and even though he looked badly injured, you accessed that he hadn’t broken any bones. If anything, he may have staved off further injury by fighting back. That helped you decide that you could help him. He looked trustworthy enough, and honestly, if he was going to attack he would’ve done it by now.

“Alright, c’mere.” You pulled his right arm around your shoulders and instructed him to, “rest your weight on my shoulders, and walk as lightly and slowly as you can.”

You didn’t necessarily trust this guy at your home, but you knew a place you could always go back to. Your work place wasn’t far off, and you were often the opener and closer of the small café your close friend owned whenever she was out of town or busy with plans. More often than not, first-aid supplies were at the employee workroom, so it helped that you knew basic procedures when it came to mild injuries like these ones.

Thankfully, the young man listened to you. He was even easing into your side while still trying to made the load easier by willingly walking at your pace despite his long legs probably used to taking much longer strides at a faster pace.

No words had been exchanged in the fifteen minutes it had taken to walk to Nana’s Café. The very sight of it stood out among the grey surrounding buildings. Everywhere else felt corporal and boring, while this pastel blue place stood out by the multicolored mural or brilliant blues, reds, yellows, and oranges that decorated the wall right where the huge front window stood across from. The street light illuminated it just right, and even when it was daylight, the sun’s iridescent rays had an uncanny ability of bringing attention to the mural and usual life that lived within its fine walls.

Inside was just as distinctive with several different bench-like tables aligned against the wall adjacent to the mural. It still managed to be an eye catcher; your patient had his dark brown irises locked on its intricacy, admiration and actual adoration had flashed across them before you continued leading him into the break room. Even as you entered the cozy shop, taking an immediate right, dodging past the bookshelves and the love seat at the far right side, you entered the door before switching on the light and sat him at the couch.

The entire workroom was decked out for comfort and individualism. Choices made by In-Na, but recommendations taken from her employees when it came to the design of the walls and purchasing of the furniture. Many of it had been a varied bunch that had a quality that still tied it altogether. From the bean bag chairs to the minimalistic table set to the side. A nice fridge was set at the upper right corner, which wasn’t a far distance from the leather couch, where your patient awaited your return from the storage closet at the left.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you decided to ask him after finding the first-aid kit from the endless shelving system In-Na had instated on the organization of storing miscellaneous items. You returned to kneel in front of him.

He seemed quiet at first, even turning away to look at the wood panelling of the walls that were colored a nice sky blue. It had been decorated with nice little balloons of the employee’s favorite colors, each written with their names inside.

You sighed as you opened the box before pointing out the most outstanding color and said, “That’s mine.” The color was brilliant in hue caught between rose quartz and serenity and it somehow defined you in being extraordinary, at least according to Nana. Even your name was written nicely, and well, it suited you in your opinion. Despite not paying attention as you prepped your necessary tools, he was studying your balloon.

You felt awkward in silence, though it was kind of nice to speak about random tidbits just to fill the air. That kind of silence you received wasn’t as bad, so you continued to talk about your day and what you liked about Nana’s since it was actually your favorite place to be in. He watched you talk when you weren’t paying attention, but you noticed how his lashes fluttered as he looked away.

Taking rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, you instructed him to turn his head to face you. He complied, and you told him you were going to disinfect the gashes and cuts first. And luckily, there was just a gash on his cheek and just a cut on his forehead that needed focus. Anywhere else was on his discretion to tell you.

“This’ll sting,” you warned before applying the pad with enough pressure to help without hurting him too much. He winced but at least he wouldn’t get tetanus or gangrene.

To take his mind off of the pain, you chatted about your favorite novel that you had read recently from the shop as well. Taking him through the heroine’s adventures, inserting your own opinion every now and then. One point you made about your favorite quote by Robyn Schneider (“Oscar Wilde once said that to live is the rarest thing in the world, because most people just exist, and that’s all. I don’t know if he’s right, but I do know that I spend a long time existing, and now, I intend to live.”) was how you intended to live by that same doctrine like the protagonist of your story.

That whole point was actually enough to grab his attention and really meet your eyes with respect.

You realized how he was definitely handsome by then. From the lighting and the proper eye contact, you were able to see him properly and really take his features into detail: smooth skin (aside from the minor injuries), a straight nose, slightly high cheekbones, and an adorable little mole that resided beneath his bottom lip. Despite his locks probably residing about his forehead, they still suited his face as you swept them aside. And as you guessed, he really did look around your age. Definitely long and almost lanky, yet muscular as he removed his black coat to reveal another injury on his right well-defined bicep that was taut with slight muscle and dried blood and a major scrape on his left oblique area where you could’ve sworn you caught a flash of some ink.

After you applied a band-aid onto his cut and a gauze pad onto his gash, you set work to his arm and his side. “My name is Jungkook,” he said, averting his gaze to somewhere else when you looked up to him.

You smiled a little and commented, “Now he speaks…” You sounded like you were musing aloud, but you didn’t care as much. You were a rather self-assured person who held little regrets so you didn’t care when you had asked him what happened to him, though you did say that he didn’t have to tell you if he didn’t want to. After all, it wasn’t your business- you were just curious.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he muttered in response. Clipped and dismissively, so you noted not to inquire further whether he was telling you the whole truth or only part of it. His voice had a natural airiness to it, making it softer and almost musical to you. It just seemed a lot more melancholic and raspier in this late hour, but then again, he had just recovered from a major assault.

You nodded with some understanding since the neighborhood wasn’t the most pleasant in the wee hours of the night. It was hostile on certain nights though it changed neither yours or Nana’s mind to relocate. This known fact was just making you much more hyperaware of what was going on between the violence and trades that correlated with the ever corrupted government becoming more and more obvious. Not only so but there was a new syndicate rising among the ranks referred to as Bangtan that had only crossed your mind as news development grew more and more with each passing day.

Soon enough, you were wrapping up on his bandaging before you rose to gesture him to follow you.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head at you.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing onto his large palm and said, “c’mon,” before dragging the taller boy with you toward the main part of the café. You sat him at the nearest bench, then made your way behind the counter and concocted two piping cups of hot chocolates for the both of you to enjoy. You even snagged him a pastry and sandwich from the fridge, placing the items before him once they were actually heated.

“Eat,” you commanded, sipping your hot chocolate once it was at an optimal drinking temperature. You were simply waiting for him to take a bite.

He did so, and rather hungrily after the first bite. But he seemed to make sure to enjoy the items, actually savoring it instead of wolfing it down like he probably would’ve had he been at home or if one of his friends presented him with such goods.

After pausing a three-quarters of the way from his sandwich, he inquired, “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

You shook your head, stating you weren’t hungry. The way the light illuminated his figure was nice. It created a bit of a halo behind him, which casted more emphasis on his eyes and every-so-often, you caught sight of a slight dimple on each of his cheeks. His dark grey sweater was ripped on the parts where he obtained his injuries, but luckily the heater was on so the cold air wasn’t reaching either of them.

“Thank you,” he said with a genuine smile. The way his eyes crinkled and moved with his grin made you smile in return, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Of course, Jungkook,” you said, carefully as you said his name. “I’m glad you’re okay now, and you didn’t rob me.”

He rolled his eyes at you, shaking his head. “I’m no robber.”

Though you didn’t ask him what he was exactly because someone like him didn’t just stroll the neighborhood at night. The tattoo you saw struck your interest, the possibilities that he was perhaps involved in a gang or even just petty crimes struck your mind, considering those sorts of things were rare for civilians as those caught with them were automatically deemed criminals or were just plain criminals in general.

He had long finished his food after some time, and it left the two of you to sit and enjoy the stillness and comfort that the café itself had to offer. You played some soft music to fill the air, humming along to the beat as you cleaned up the plates and the table.

He suddenly asked you, “How can I repay you?” His expression was as genuine as the smile he had on his face earlier- curiosity and determination were easily read on his smooth features. Even if you denied him, he probably would’ve pushed and pressed on to find out. Or just try his damn hardest to make up for taking up much of your night after you were obviously exhausted from your everlasting workshift.

You stared at him wistfully upon taking your seat across from him. You tapped your chin before you rested your head atop of your hands and answered simply, “Tell me about yourself.”

Into the night, you listened to him retell events in his life that he found worth telling you about. Of course, you obtained basic information. His name: Jeon Jungkook. 19-years-old. A lover of music and actually performing. Artistic as hell. Supportive friends willing to kick his ass to hell and back, especially for the night he had probably put them through after the last few hours. Passionate. God, he was so passionate about life--he didn’t just want to exist, he wanted to live too. A fighter even if he went down just for a moment. Kind. Sweet. Funny.

Easy to miss.

Gone in a flash.

You probably should’ve guessed he was enigmatic from start to finish.

#btswriters #bangtan bookclub #bts writing squad #gguknet #ot7network #bdcnetwork #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook drabbles #bts scenarios #bts au #jungkook gang au #bts fanfic #emswriting #(i gotta say that my old writing wasn’t that bad either.)#this is probably considered cheating since this have been in my drafts since like last year but i figured why the hell not and use it!#lots of editing turned the original 1.9k draft into this 2.3k mess rip

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weneverlearn · 7 years

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R.I.P. Grant Hart

When some kind of celebrity death occurs -- and that “celebrity” can be Prince or Paul Hamann -- there’s often a genuinely heartfelt and/or morbid need to reach out and tell someone. Add the internet into that instinct, and this human action takes on more strange, conflicted, even narcissistic layers.

I woke up yesterday to a text about Grant Hart having passed away. I told myself my girlfriend was awake, and gently tapped her on the shoulder to tell her. She has been working a lot lately, and it was probably best to let her sleep and talk about this later. Telling her, telling anyone wasn’t going to bring Grant Hart back. Basically I just confused her, though she sweetly said “Sorry,” and went back to sleep, somehow.

The emotions were flooding through me, and it was one of numerous deaths that have occurred in my sphere of late, so the usual sinking heart feeling sunk as low as it’s been in awhile (and that’s saying something in this Trump era). One song popped in my head, “Think It Over Now,” from Hart’s excellent 1999 solo album, Good News for Modern Man. In a sea of great Grant Hart songs, it’s Ronettes-meets-rainstorm ramble makes it one of my favorites of his, and it’s positive message helped instantly assuage some sadness. I posted it on Facebook for whatever fucking reason, and went to work, unable to think about much else the rest of the day, into today, and I don’t know, maybe from now on.

It feels awkward to make a celebrity death personal with some tossed-out Facebook post. But I am at that point now in my life where the passing of such monumental artistic figures starts to occur closer to you, more frequently, and it’s inevitable that it spurs you to seek comfort from just telling others why this death is monumental. I mean, in my early 20s, if I had heard the bassist in the Johnny Burnette Trio died, oh, that’s sad. But had that bassist been close to my age, had I seen that bassist play live, got to hang out with him a bit, cranked his records through headphones throughout my teens, well...

It was early summer, 1985, I was 17, about butt-deep into a growing pile of records, increasingly punk records, and my au currant desire was to “get into hardcore.” I mean it was all over college radio, Cleveland had a decent scene of it (although in that odd Ohio-y, weather-beaten way), and I just thought, well, that’s what a guy like me should be doing right now. So I went to my local rack jobber and asked him for a great new hardcore album, and he hands me New Day Rising.

I took it home and played it, but I was a bit nonplussed. This wasn’t the bald-head dude screaming in a circle pit shit I thought I was searching for. It was loud and fast for sure, but not the polka-beat, the government and your parents suck spiel. Instead, as I noticed while I self-surprisingly kept playing the record over and over for the next week, was an instantly recognizable melancholy, damp atmosphere, and intense energy I’d already loved from midwest acts. Husker Du just felt like me and lots of strangers I was starting to get to know at Cleveland punk shows -- already a bit beaten by long winters, mall jobs, and terrible sports teams we didn’t care about, but you live in Cleveland, so you’re going to hear about the fucking Browns whether you like it or not. My image was the three Huskers sitting in their dank basement, from about the first week of October until the first week of March, with a space heater sparking in the corner, complaining about fucking jocks, drinking the cheapest local beer, excited only about the tunes they were coming up with, grasping for hopes maybe winter will end early this year (the last week of February), but knowing for sure it’s just gonna come around again anyway, so whatever, let’s go through that new one again.

I already knew enough about the California-based SST Records to know a shlubby band from Minneapolis with cutoff shorts and an almost sobbing seriousness to their loud fast rules, featuring lyrics about folklore and summer ending, was not that label’s raison d’etre. No doubt most of their bands had shitty lives, crappy parents, drug problems, and whatever. But to me, nothing I’d heard on that label (save some Black Flag), had this depth of pathos and seething spirit. I mean come on, it’s California. You don’t spend your teens hanging out on beaches and seeing pretty girls all the time all year and think, “Damn, remember those good times we had? Fuck! Where’s my copy of Being and Nothingness?!” (Well, maybe the Minutemen did.)

Indeed, from what I understood through the grape, er, hops-vine of the time, many diehard SST fans didn’t dig Husker Du. (Someone did, because I think Husker Du was the best selling act on SST, but you record scholars can correct me on that.) To me they were a sudden, jarring connection between the jangle of ‘60s folk and garage rock -- meaning they were contemporaries more with R.E.M. than Saccharine Trust or what have you -- and a huge leap into some fuzzed-out new world of extreme emotional and sonic confessional. Even moreso than the, truth be told, kind of cute Replacements, Husker Du were the gnarled heart pumping to where punk could grasp towards, to survive not just the winters but encroaching adulthood abyss. Even their name, from an old board game (fun!) that translated to “Do You Remember?” (sad), was reflective. They were 20-year olds and already nostalgic, wistful. But their own apocalyptic Reagan-era shakes were vibrating them out of that basement. They toured like fucking crazy, rust belt work ethic and all; and with hooks that finally put a relevant nail in skinny tie power pop’s coffin.

New Day Rising has mostly remained my favorite Husker Du album since, the opening title tune being my favorite opener on any album (save maybe “I’m Stranded” by the Saints). But their whole catalog is worth churning through. And it wasn’t just Grant Hart’s massively manic drum pounds that hit you hard, but his and Bob Mould’s strained, splitting-at-the-edges voices. Like their Minneapolis contemporaries (Replacements, Soul Asylum, Magnolias), they sounded like they were incredibly pissed off and ready to fight, to the point of tears. Not to belabor the midwest/California dichotomy, but the Offspring never struck me as tearful guys.

Of course soon enough I gathered, via unexplainable gut impressions and gossipy fanzine articles, that there were gay men in Husker Du. And there’s no doubt that the usual animosity towards jocks for this punk band left larger scars.

The scar I personally got from their records was a band. When I first met New Bomb Turks’s guitarist Jim Weber at our college dorm, one of the earliest conversations centered on how Jim couldn’t get to the Warehouse tour stop in Cleveland, and hence never got to see Husker Du. I’d seen them twice, regaled Jim with some details, and made tapes of the Husker Du albums he didn’t have. You can ask him, but I think Bob Mould was his biggest early guitar inspiration. And further discussions involved the gender identity of the band, though being early-20s guys in the late ‘80s, we probably didn’t talk about “gender identity” as much as how/when we were called the ol’ “f”word in high school, and how the Huskers must have dealt with tons of awful shit from the more unseemly sides of the hardcore scene.

Husker Du was a favorite band, but also our introduction to really thinking about these issues that were still pretty swept under the turkey at the family Thanksgiving meal back then. We were both raised Catholic, so...

So, Grant Hart. After the Warehouse show at the Phantasy Theater in Cleveland in summer 1987 (they would break up soon after the end of that tour), I made my way to the adjacent upstairs bar, whose backroom was being used as a backstage. I saw Grant and said, “Great show!” He looked at me a little cockeyed, then turned around, asking, “Does anyone have any heroin around here?” So, that was that.

I loved his 2541 EP from 1988, the first post-Husker Du release. By then I was best friends with the first friend to ever come out to me; and that happening right around the release of that EP, well, one should always appreciate life’s teachable serendipity.

Then, the first time I ever went to New York City and first time I went to CBGB in 1989 with said out pal, the first band I saw there was Hart’s Nova Mob. (Well, technically Run Westy Run opened up.) They were pretty good, and I was glad to see Hart still going at it, but it seemed soon enough that he wasn’t. Didn’t hear much except sporadic solo stuff after Nova Mob split up, and given the usual rumors, figured he was done. But then my band was pretty busy those years, and I was soaking up tons of new bands, so who knows.

Then, in mid-summer 1999, I get a request from an editor at the Cleveland Free Times to write a preview for Grant Hart’s solo show in Cleveland, and found out he’d be playing Columbus a couple days before. So we hooked up a meeting, which is a whole other story for another post, or if I had the power, a movie. It was a strange couple of days, involving breaking into the trunk of the early ‘80s Cadillac he was touring in (”Got it from Rent-a-Wreck, seriously”), the club, Bernie’s, not paying him what they promised, Hart rightly taking a monitor as payment (probably not worth the $250 he was guaranteed), and me getting a call from him at 3 a.m. asking to be a character witness in court on Monday. Nice dinner with him in there too.

After relative (college) radio silence for a few years, I didn’t know what to expect of the show, and without going into details, let’s just say this seemed like a “rent tour.” Hart was fairly disheveled, but super nice. He’d recently become close with Patti Smith, and I guess she told him her parents last names were Grant and Hart, and that once she heard of him, she took that as a sign from the stars to work with him. Anyway, standing in Berne’s with like 10 other people watching him, I was utterly floored once again. His voice was just teeming with the weight of all those slushy winters. I just kept thinking, this is unbelievable how intense he is, and how good these songs are, and how no one even in my circle of music heps even knew this show was happening, in the middle of summer no less, when campus is pretty dead anyway. Unfortunately, a horrible flu had also floored me, a 102 temperature, and I could only stay about four songs of his set before heading home to sweat in bed. “Ah, I’ll see him again.” That was the last time I saw him play.

R.I.P. Grant Hart.

#grant hart #husker du #newbombturks #granthart

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fahye · 7 years

Text

CP bachelor AU: part 13

***

Laurent bends his legs, pulling his ankles out of direct sunlight and back into the shade of the poolside umbrella. He's had sunburned feet once in his life, and never plans to repeat it. He throws an annoyed glance at Damen, who is stretched out on the adjacent lounge chair. Damen has spent the last three days turning steadily browner while being very lax about sunscreen.

The villa they've rented on the west coast of Santorini has its own pool as well as its own tiny courtyard complete with mosaic floor and fountain. Sunshine off white stone and white paint makes it feel overbright and otherworldly during the day, shimmering with heat and light. Laurent tried for an hour this morning to go over his notes on the Theran eruption and the formation of the caldera, but the heat snuck into his brain, and he can't make himself mind. He feels looser, and happier, than he ever imagined he could.

The ratings for the show's finale were unprecedented. With the story of Erasmus and Kallias under their belts, the finale was marketed as an even more shocking twist, and Laurent and Damen have become the new faces of unexpected romance. They've been asked to present at the Logies, and to appear on every morning show in the country.

Laurent has never been a celebrity in his own right, nor wanted to. He's... adjusting.

The most obvious benefit is that Damen's stock in the eyes of his PR department has shot way, way up, and his father has--after a long talk with both Damen and Laurent, which left Laurent feeling like he'd run a marathon--agreed that Damen will assume control of the company as planned. Theomedes looked like a man who'd already planned the first three years of his luxury retirement and had one impatient foot out the door; he was ready to throw Damen the reins immediately.

Damen promptly turned around and declared that he was leaving the company in the care of his brother Kastor for six months, extending the leave of absence he'd taken to come on the show.

"To do what?" Theomedes demanded.

"This and that," said Damen, eyes dancing at Laurent. "Expand my horizons. Travel."

Laurent has only met Kastor once. He has a feeling that Damen's decision will come back to bite them later, but right now he can't bring himself to care too much if it means that Damen is here, with him, holding his hand in airports and telling him stories over lunches of bread and olive oil and fava and sun-wilted tomatoes, and kissing Laurent in the night breezes that sweep gladly through the open doors of the villa.

Tomorrow, filming begins in Fira for Laurent's new show.

Two of Laurent's major potential investors pulled out, after the season went to air. They cited various vague reasons but Laurent knew what they meant: that Laurent's uncle had managed to leverage the finale against Laurent, frame it as his unfortunate, inexperienced nephew being selfish; impetuous; unstable and untrustworthy.

Laurent's new network, however, looked at the ratings. They agreed to take the chance on his show.

And Laurent has another investor, now, even though he's been arguing about this with the investor in question for at least six months. And also for the last twenty minutes that they have been lounging here, poolside.

"I should make you take all the money back," he says now.

"What," Damen says, "I can't invest in my own fiancé's company?"

"Don't call me that," Laurent says, automatic.

Damen lifts his hand, and looks pointedly at Laurent's. The ring that had been donated to the show was some enormous, hideous diamond, which Laurent wore for publicity photos and promptly returned to the sponsor. Instead, he wears a plain gold band, and Damen has a matching one. They look like wedding bands, but for the hand they wear them on.

"Trappings," Laurent says, blithely insincere. "We're not engaged. You can't get engaged before you start dating, that's absurd."

"I seem to remember that's what I told someone when they approached me about being on a reality show."

Laurent throws a towel, with precision, at Damen's face.

Damen sets the towel aside and climbs off his lounge chair. He says, grinning, "Let's call it business. I expect a good return on my investment."

"Is that so," says Laurent.

"I'll settle for dividends, in the meantime."

Damen bends down over Laurent and kisses him with sun-chapped lips. Laurent hooks a finger in Damen's shirt and tries to drag him down further, but Damen pulls away and takes off his shirt, instead, ready to dive into the pool.

Laurent waits until Damen is down to just a clinging pair of board shorts, and then snaps a picture on his phone. After a moment's thought he sends the picture to Jokaste.

just sharing the wealth, he adds.

Her answer comes almost at once. just showing off, you mean.

It's late evening in Sydney. Jokaste is probably out somewhere, being sharp and sparkling. She's already been approached to do Dancing with the Stars, has booked a small part on a new TV drama, and appears near-weekly in gossip magazines, paired with various radio personalities and football players.

Three dots resolve themselves into another message.

btw I had coffee with kashel yesterday. do you know who she's seeing??

yes, laurent says.

you're bluffing.

he IS damen's best friend, Laurent points out.

stop being a smug asshole and go peel your bf out of those shorts.

Damen is in the pool by now, swimming aimless half-laps. Laurent watches him, feeling a pleasant heat of anticipation at the thought. Damen swims up to the edge and rests his elbows there; water gleams on the muscles of his arms and plasters his hair to his neck in thick strands. He sweeps a palm through the water, making waves, in an obvious threat.

"I will fucking destroy you," Laurent says. He picks up his phone, to serve as a shield of sorts--their phones are sacred and not to be endangered--then blinks as it starts to vibrate in his hand.

"What is it?" Damen says.

Laurent leans forward and holds out the phone so that Damen can see the name on the screen.

Damen mimes throwing it into the pool, and Laurent smiles. He leans back in his lounge chair. The phone keeps buzzing in his hands. After a moment, he picks up.

"Hello, uncle," he says.

"Laurent," his uncle says. "I'm pleasantly surprised. I thought you'd be buried in work, not taking calls from family."

"I can always make time for you," Laurent says.

"Producing a new format from scratch is a lot more work than taking over an existing show. You must be feeling stretched."

"It's kind of you to worry," Laurent says, "but there's really no need. After all, I learned from the best."

Since Laurent was seventeen, he and his uncle have spoken in code; everything they say aloud to one another, every email or text, is benign and deniable. Everything happens beneath the surface. Laurent imagines how pleased his uncle would be to report to his friends in the industry that he'd spoken to Laurent and the poor boy had sounded so stressed, and admitted to being in over his head.

He'll probably report it anyway. At least it he’ll know it to be a lie.

"I have to say it is a little disappointing, Laurent, that you were so desperate for capital you felt the need to attach yourself to the nearest bank account on legs. It doesn't look good, you must see that. I'm concerned that people won't take this little show of yours seriously."

Laurent lets himself smile. He enjoys arguing this topic with Damen himself, but he won't let anyone else question it. And if his uncle's skirting around calling Laurent a whore, he must be running low on inspiration.

He could come back with the obvious answer that it's hardly any better than everyone thinking he's no more than his uncle's pet project. But it's too obvious to bother saying aloud.

"I think I'll let the finished product speak for itself," he says. "Besides, there are some benefits. Now that everyone knows I'm off the market, there are far fewer people trying to wrangle an AD job by making indecent offers. I know how people gossip in this industry. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I make my personnel decisions in bed."

That is met with silence. Laurent meets Damen's eyes and makes a small face, and Damen starts to laugh.

Nicaise will be having lunch with Aimeric this week. An olive branch, of sorts, and perhaps an offer. Nicaise is far too untrusting to let Aimeric get away with anything; if they can avoid strangling one another in a Potts Point restaurant, Laurent's told Nicaise to extend the hand anyway. Responsibility ends where Laurent decides it ends.

"I'll be following your project with great interest," his uncle says, finally.

Laurent has friends, money, and manpower. He's not struggling just to maintain his footholds any more. This year, they're going on the offensive; if you're going to fight, you might as well do it from a position of strength. He and Damen have two companies between them, and all the influence that comes with a narrative that's grown bigger than them both. Damen is made for it, born to it, expanding and inhabiting the largeness of his life. And Laurent… well, Damen was right. Laurent enjoys a challenge, if he gets to set the terms.

"I'm sure you will," he says pleasantly, and hangs up.

He puts his phone on the table and pulls off his own shirt. Damen sends an inviting splash in his direction, droplets prickling coolly at his ankles.

Laurent dives in to join Damen, and the water folds over him like a second skin.

#captive prince #THAT'S ALL THERE IS #THERE ISN'T ANY MORE #and yes it will be on ao3 #when I have collated it #let it rest for a week #attacked it for an edit #etc.#thank you so much to everyone #for your messages #and replies #and tag spirals #ALL APPRECIATED

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oztrailblog-blog · 7 years

Photo

Forbes

Forbes. This was the town we were headed to and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with Forbes list. I had heard quite a bit about this place and that there had been a lot of floods here due to the extreme wet weather This was my maiden voyage with this car. I had bought two thirds of it and had to get it signed in my name within 21 days. I thought I’d worry about this later. We hit the camping site I had called at around midnight and we weren’t sure if we were aloud to just pitch our tent, so I called and asked if that would be okay. The woman really didn’t care.. 😂 righto. By the time the tent was pitched for the first time and everything was set up it was about 2am. Friday morning we woke up at around 8am to get to the orchard where we started thinning some peaches. I Thought we would be working on weekends as well but that was the last day of the weekend, so had a really hard earned weekend coming up. 🌴🌞 I really wanted to go on some cool road trips and spend the time on the weekends wisely instead of just “hanging around” but little did I know, there was a maccas there so free WiFi! Had a lot of stuff to do anyway. Peter had told us about this big interesting winery called “Casella” and that you can earn a lot of money there. So we prepared applications and called there etc. on that weekend I still suggested we do something cool so we drove to “Utes on the paddock”. It was a display of Utes which had been artistically modified. Found me Bundy and Vegemite there! 😎 The weekdays were basically made up of working hours, shopping, eating and having a chill. At the orchard I had to take moderate amounts of fruit (peaches, plums and nectarines) off of the trees to let the ones left in the branches to grow big and succulent. The people working there were mainly Aussies which was cool. I like my Aussies! 🇦🇺❤️ How ever there were these two Brits or pommies as they call them here, their names were Joe and Joe the said they like to “keep things simple”. Funny chaps, one of them had even heard of SLF, my dads favourite band which wasn’t really the most famous.. Guess the world really is itsy bitsy, not like the spiders here, hahahaha! The flies are a proper pest here, there were a lot at the Randalls too but they never got in the way there. I swallowed around five on one day once, it saved me taking lunch down with me, every penny counts, guys. (Lunch was always great: sandwiches, chips, fruit and a coke!) Don’t get me started on the Aussie Mozzies, blood had been spilt in Forbes. There were some ants biting my hands as well which made some fruit a bit harder to get at. On the weekend I recommended to my travel mate we just go for a blind drive to check out the area like up north of NSW. I really am into landscapes and I’ve been dying to do so for months and months, but she had some strop and started shouting at me.. Where the hell did that come from.. Oh well, not my problem. I was going to something on the weekend though like go for a drive around Forbes to see what was going on. I ended up driving to a national park because everything else “wasn’t good enough” …. 🤔 what an unappreciative thing to say. The landscapes were gorgeous around there.. However the park nice even though I mainly went to this hill adjacent to it and almost got bogged there myself. On the way back I had discovered this big creek and I couldn’t not check it out! It was huge, there were lots of tree roots on the sides and amazing water flows. What a place to watch the sun set. 🌄 Another Week flew by. Over the time at the camping spot I had met some really nice people! The owners were really friendly and open to conversation. She was telling me about some cool places I should check out like Mildura, Broken Hill and Echuca. She was just worries that we as backpackers would end up dying in the Out Back, very thoughtful of her though. She also gave us some Aloe Vera to sooth our Mosquito wounds, lovely lady 🙏🏼🙏🏼 There was this one other guy called Mickey. One day he just suddenly started talking to me. Once you start talking to him the conversation will last a fair bit which is good because he was a very funny man and rather typical Aussie! He would always joke around and throw words like “cunt”, “bastard” and bugger around 😂😂 Micky.. I would always go to him if my mate was grinding on my nerves. This one time he called us over because he had bought a piece of pork which was “too big”. So he invited us to eat a ginormous Roast dinner at his caravan. Some people out there really are amazingly generous. He was tying to support me and my dreams like recommending how I could get a sponsorship and what I should do if I wanted work on a building site or if I reeeaally really did want to study marine biology here. He along with Peter and Jamie were like a dad to me. So awesome, I am very very greatful. I even cried of joy this one time. These guys from Queensland, (“banana benders” as Mickey would call them 😂😂😂) just came up to us and gave us heeeaaps of food like soup and milk etc.. I was in awe and didn’t know what was going on. So friendly. Turned out Mickey was talking to them about us, and they all reckoned we would need support due to our “backpackers budget” 😭 Here is an empty paragraph because I cannot explain how amazed I am by this:

At this point of my journey I really started considering staying here in Australia for a long time. I have never in my life enjoyed my self more, dispite “you know who”’s behaviour sometimes. The music on triple J this month (November) was just to perfect as well, it would be, it’s Aus-music-month. Songs like “hanging by a thread” just brightened up my days This one weekend my travel companion and myself decided to go to a pub and meet up with the joes, that was a bit tricky as they were already gone by the time I had finished drinking my goon bag, lol. I met some funny Blokes and girls at this wedding there, was quite full capacity. If got weird afterwards though, I got into this dodgy conversation with some Mexican drug smugglers 😂😂 fuck that was scary. I don’t know why but I asked them if I could see their coke (I would never touch the shit) and why they were doing this. They answered “biiiiig money money” and gave me big luminous eyes. Afterwards they got suspicious and thought I was a cop so they ran away and then so did I because I didn’t want drug lord daddy to kill me. This farmer and I got into a convo though, about his tan line around his arm from his watch, he told me that that white line is like a scar and would never be like Te rest of his “cooked” arm. That again confirmed the power of the sun for me as I had previously been burned on my belly. On the sprint back to the camping site I saw this drunk guy lying in the middle of the road with his mate standing next to him laughing his pants off. I love Australia, we all got a cab together. Turned out that that man was the nephew of my boss at the orchard.. I have non-stop giggles here…. On the next day I had a goon flavoured hangover, it was terrible. During my suffering this car pulled up near ours, I went to talk with these people and ask if everything was alright. They just wanted to hose something off of their engine. They seemed very friendly they were in fact. We started talking for a while and we really got along with eachother. Their names were Jordan and Ally and they were staying there because of a birthday party the night before. After talking for like an hour they invited me and my mate to go to the cinema with them. I was delighted to do so, so we said we would meet up later! They even invited me to go fishing with them too, but I had something to do unfortunately. I told my Mummy about these guys and she freaked out and told me to be cafeful. That was spooky, I was terrified of going out with these guys as well, I was so happy 5 minutes before hand 🙈 but then my Mum calmed down.. I bet she’s watched too many backpacker slashers. 😂 Nah, these guys were genuinely awesome. My mate didn’t want to come though as sehr wanted to be able to wake up the next day. Jordan came up to me late at night my pulse was over 120 because of what my mum said, buro got over it. It turned out he messed something up. The cinema he was on about was in California in the US 😂 so we had a laugh and just watched a DVD (bad granddad) at the owners of the camping spot. We had so much fun. We exchanged numbers, would be cool too meet up with them again sometime 😊.. Great weekend!

After we were told there wasn’t much left to do at the orchard on the next Friday we started gathering our stuff together to head towards the Randalls for a quick revisit (told you it wouldn’t be the last time 😏) I bought a PNAU and Flume CD for the car as there is no AUX. Screw my straya playlist I guess. This one other elderly man that once gave us some burger patties said he wanted to say good bye to us properly, we gave him some chocolates as a token of respect. Saying good bye to everybody was emotional once again. These were some of the best people I have ever met. We got the owners some chocolates too and I gave Mickey a bottle of red wine. He told me he likes to drink a nice glass of cold red wine, bet he liked that, great man. After saying C ya l8er m8 we drove off. But everyone looked at me with a weird look. I got a call from Mickey saying I still had my boots on the roof and that the boot was still open… What’s wrong with me? 🙈

Off to Murrami! 🚗💨🌌

#Forbes #hanging by a thread again #T S I E R #friendship #hustling

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