#look at his commitment to that fruity little dance

[adore-laur]

RENDEZVOUS

— a steamy flashback from the dadrry universe about harry as your fiancé 💍

——

After another shot of vodka went down the hatch, you still didn't qualify yourself as drunk. Tipsy was the more accurate feeling since every shot you had taken in the last ten minutes hadn't quite affected your bloodstream yet. The fifth one was being poured already. Or maybe the sixth. It didn't really matter since letting loose was what bachelorette parties were made for.

The event was being held in a small theatre in downtown San Francisco, occupied by you and your friends to celebrate the last few weeks before you officially became a married woman. A drag show was the extravaganza for the evening, and it was currently the intermission, so everyone was out of their seats drinking and catching up with each other.

You and Harry had needed a getaway amid the final phase of wedding planning. The both of you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton for the weekend, and it was nice to take a breather from the stress of the big day coming up. In the weeks leading up to the mini vacation, you had decided it would be perfect to have your bachelorette party in the scenic city. Most of your friends lived in surrounding areas, so you had sent the invites out and hoped everything worked out. It clearly did because everyone was buzzed and having the time of their life. 

Your throat hurt from loudly cheering on the drag queens who had just performed. The tiara on your head with a tiny veil attached was slipping off, and the bride-to-be sash across your body was getting wrinkled, but you couldn't care less. Happiness and love exuded from your friends who had come to carouse with you.

Harry had proposed a little over a year ago after he cooked a fancy New Year's Eve dinner and led you to the backyard at midnight to get down on one knee, popping the question with shaky hands and watery eyes. You were incredibly thankful it hadn't been a grand display in public. It had been just you and him at home under the string lights, butterflies breaking loose in your stomach.

In planning the wedding, you had vowed to him that you wouldn't be a bridezilla. You'd allow him to have equal insight and let him completely take the reins regarding the food that will be served since it was his forte. Overall, the process hadn't been too draining. You worked well as a team, and he was always open to suggestions and last-minute changes of plans. The final touches would be put together once you came home from the trip. Then, it would finally be time to marry him.

"Did you leave Harry alone in the hotel room?" asked your friend, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'll find something to do," you said. "He can never sit still for too long."

She carefully fixed your tiara. "When's his bachelor party?"

"Next weekend. He's having it at the restaurant he works at."

"Not at the strip club?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laughed. "He's mature enough to understand that I find it suspicious when guys go there for their bachelor party. Some call it their last night of freedom. How weird is that?"

You had nothing against strippers, but you thought it was reasonable that you'd rather have Harry spend his night somewhere else to celebrate his, you know, commitment to you.

"You're marrying such a gentleman. It makes me jealous," she said with a playful nudge. She wasn't wrong, so you just shrugged smugly and sipped your fruity cocktail.

Gasps and excited clapping suddenly stole your attention. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the stage, watching the red velvet curtains draw back once again. Shuffling to your table, you smoothed down the back of your dress and sat.

The lights dimmed as people who worked at the venue began rolling a black piano onto the stage. You wondered what it would be used for since the drag queens earlier had strictly danced and lip-synced to music booming from the speakers. Other instruments were also being brought out — guitars, drums, and even a saxophone.

Growing more confused by the second, you turned around and stared at your friends around the room to see if they knew what was happening. All you received was mischievous smiles.

Before you could ask questions, you were abruptly pulled out of your seat and led to the front of the stage as people situated themselves by their respective instruments. You leaned into your friend and asked, "What's going on? This doesn't look like a drag show is about to happen."

She smirked and shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. Let's find out."

You didn't reply because the band started playing jazzy music as the stage lights turned on, revealing quite a modern setup for what you knew was definitely not a drag performance. A spotlight shone, and it began to move toward the left wings, where a silhouette of someone was waiting.

"Please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!" introduced the saxophonist.

You just about choked on your Mai Tai.

Your vision finally focused on Harry as he strutted out wearing yellow trousers and a button-up under a suit jacket. A small mic was clipped to his collar, and you couldn't even begin to guess what he had planned tonight. He gave you no inclination that he'd be here. No subtle hints had been dropped in conversations with him, and no sneaky clues had been given by your friends. It was actually shocking, considering he was usually awful at keeping secrets.

Everyone cheered for him, whistles and encouraging hollers thrown his way as he held his arms out and walked toward center stage. You were too taken aback to join in as you watched him cut the band off with a gesture before facing the room with his hands behind his back.

Was his hair parted down the middle?

"Thank you, thank you," Harry greeted with a bow, his deep voice echoing throughout the theatre. "It is so great to be here hosting a bachelorette party for the first time."

Wow. He had jokes up his sleeve, apparently. Was he about to do a stand-up routine?

The applauding and praise continued as you shook your head in disbelief, letting a huge smile take over your face at the unexpected surprise.

"This is new territory for me," he said. I'm very excited to step back from my chef duties and do some comedy tonight."

There was no way he was going to do a comedy bit. You couldn't believe he crashed your party with a fancy suit and a routine ready to go. He was talking to your friend group in the audience like he was giving a Saturday Night Live monologue. You were going to lose it if he started playing the piano.

"You see, my fiancée and I go way back. We met about three years ago at a bar." He finally looked at you. "I ordered a lemon drop martini, and she ordered a strawberry margarita."

A stagehand brought out a clear martini and set it on the piano, and another one came down the stairs and placed a pink-colored margarita on your table. Your face heated at the simple yet thoughtful act.

"We talked for hours until I drunkenly asked her on a date. You know what she told me?" A plethora of whats were screamed from the crowd. "She said: Ask me when again you're sober!"

Everyone laughed, and you hid your face in your hands. That wasn't even a joke; you had genuinely said that to him. You were blown away he remembered such a tiny detail.

"Ultimately, I'm a very serious partner," Harry continued as he began sauntering toward the piano, "and nothing says serious partner like learning how to play the piano to impress my fiancée."

Taking a sip of your margarita, you glanced behind you. Some of your friends were recording him with their phones, and you were glad this could be something you could watch repeatedly.

Harry sat on the bench and exhaled. "Ooh, that feels good."

You had to wave one of the fans the drag queens gave out to cool down. He looked unfairly handsome, he was playing the goddamn piano, and he kept giving you secret looks that made you sweat.

"Now... I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not a boyfriend anymore." He stared straight at you. "I'm a fiancé now." Whistles from your friends caused him to proudly smile. "I'm also going to be dad," he casually blurted. "We're going to have a baby."

The entire room gasped, and you gaped at him with wide eyes. "We're not," Harry added after a short pause. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were, though?" Your friends were now shaking you and battering you with questions. Harry smiled before his face dropped comically. "We're not."

He teasingly raised eyebrows and smirked at you as if to signify that you actually were pregnant, albeit you were drinking alcohol. Hopefully, everyone knew that you'd never be that stupid. 

The girls were gawking at you, but Harry rolled his lips in and shook his head to remove the confusion. He continued playing the piano, and your cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He was doing such a great job, and you were genuinely trying to figure out how he had pulled all of this off.

"I love my fiancée; she's my best friend," he said smoothly. "She's hilarious, honest, caring, fuckin' beautiful" — he trailed off and furrowed his eyebrows — "and, uh... good in bed." You rolled your eyes as he puckered his lips at you, more cheers filling the room.

"Yeah, that's right." He blew out a relieved breath. "I'm so grateful she doesn't live with her mother anymore."

"Oh my God, Harry!" you yelled with a surprised laugh.

It was a more private joke that no one understood fully, but it was funny nonetheless. You had used to live with your mother when you started dating Harry, and you always had to be quiet when he'd come over because his early twenties testosterone needed to be having sex with you at the most inconvenient of times.

He winked at you before resuming. "However, for me, it's not about how my fiancée is in bed, even though I'd consider myself very lucky in that department. It's about her soul and her heart. And in all seriousness," he added as the laughter died, "I truly believe her soul is my love language."

Coos and squeals echoed at his statement, and you shyly smiled. You were the one who had taught him about all the different love languages; he had told you once that he thought your entire soul was what his was.

"Maybe some of you aren't convinced I'm a serious partner. You may be asking yourself: Did he really take secret piano lessons to do this? Well, if in doubt, just ask the maid of honor."

Your head whipped toward your maid of honor, sitting several tables behind you. She waved with a proud smile, and you gasped when you realized he must've done piano lessons with her since you knew she had played the instrument for several years.

Harry hummed loudly while closing his eyes, bringing your attention back to him. "I love being here in San Francisco. So much history."

The band behind him cheered as Harry dramatically sipped his martini. You'd never seen him so in his element with something besides his job. The confidence in the delivery of his jokes, the comedic timing, the professional stage setup — it was something you'd never forget.

"I've learned so much this week. Here's a few secrets about the hotel we're staying at," he said gaily. "Did you know they gave us the haunted room because of how pale I am?" He shook his head with a boyish smile. "That is funny."

You chuckled at the awful joke because he actually was paler than usual. It was the end of January, and he hadn't gone outside much since it'd been cold and gloomy by the coast where both of you lived.

"The bed in there is so creaky that it sounded like that one night in Mexico!" 

Shocked gasps and bursts of laughter rippled throughout your friends in the audience. It was a harmless joke about how you had all gone on a couples trip a while ago, and your friends had heard you and Harry getting down with it in the hotel room. It'd been terribly embarrassing.

Harry laughed. "Everybody thinks we're a couple that has a lot of sex. We don't; that's why she sleeps in a different bed than me at home."

Okay, now that wasn't true.

"Except tonight!" he shouted cheekily while pointing at you. "I mean, I think I'm just about ready to take her home with how she looks right now."

The girls at your table nudged you, and you began to get flustered. He was giving you that look again.

Harry cleared his throat and stopped playing the piano. "All jokes aside, thank you so much to everyone for celebrating with her tonight. You've all been wonderful friends over the years, and I can't wait to see you all at the wedding. It'll be terrifying, but I'm so ready. Also, thank you for bearing with my terrible jokes. Have a good rest of the night!"

You applauded along with your friends, some of them throwing leftover confetti from the drag performance earlier toward him. He brought his hands together and bowed politely as the band played a closing song.

Harry's cheeks were as pink as your strawberry margarita when he walked down the stairs with one hand behind his back and the other adjusting his suit jacket. He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile. Everyone stood from their seats to greet him, and the band came down holding bouquets of white iris flowers, passing them out to each of your friends.

You met Harry halfway and instantly wrapped your arms around his waist as he tilted your head up for a messy kiss on the lips. He coaxed and smacked kiss after kiss out of you until your friends started making fake gagging noises from behind. He eventually pulled away and removed his hand behind his back to hold out a bountiful bouquet of red roses that matched the color of your dress.

"For my lovely fiancée." He gave you the bouquet and then turned your head so his mouth was by your ear. "I've got a taxi picking you up after this is done."

You nodded and ran your fingers across his stomach. "Sounds perfect. That was so incredible, Harry. And the piano? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't too much?" he asked, shyly rubbing a knuckle under his eyebrow. "Didn't know if you'd appreciate me crashing your girls night."

"Are you kidding? That was the best thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you."

Harry blushed, and you lovingly pinched his cheek. "Thanks. I was nervous because your friends always make fun of my jokes. I thought they wouldn't laugh."

"We were cracking up. You did so good," you complimented. "How did you keep it a secret from me? I had no idea."

"I'll never tell," he said with a cute shrug.

You lightly slapped his chest. "I'll get it out of you one day. Are you staying for the rest of the show?"

"It's your night, baby. Go enjoy it with your friends," he said. "I'll be waiting in the hotel room. You should stop by for a little rendezvous."

Your tipsy mind missed his attempt at a joke entirely. "We're staying in the same room, though."

"Bloody hell," he said with a laugh. "How much alcohol have you had?"

"Excuse me, not even a lot. Mind your business. I'm having a great time."

"I'm glad you're having fun. That makes me happy." Harry adjusted your tiara and then softly pecked the corner of your mouth three times. "I'll see you back in the room, okay?"

"For our rendezvous?"

"Our top secret rendezvous," he murmured against your temple. "Don't go around telling anyone, all right?"

"Sure thing," you replied while squeezing his sides. "You can go now."

An offended scoff escaped him, and he cradled the back of your head and leaned in. "Watch your mouth. I expect you to behave when you get back."

You puckered your lips and hummed contemplatively. "But it's my special day; you said so yourself. I can say whatever I—"

Harry cut you off by pressing his lips to your bottom one, biting it with his teeth before pulling back. "I love you so much, but that attitude isn't going to fly with me tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, dad."

"I'm leaving before this gets weird," he said with a smile. "Be safe, have fun, and call me if you need anything."

"Now you literally sound like a dad."

"Shush," he said. "I love you. I'll see you soon."

You pecked his lips one last time, tasting the sour lemon residue from his martini. "Love you."

"Have fun, ladies," he called out to your friends. "Take care of her, yeah?"

They all nodded, and Harry hugged you before heading to the stage to shake hands with the band. Soon after he was gone, the lights in the theatre dimmed again, and the curtains opened for the final portion of the show. You headed back to your seat feeling exceptionally giddy.

The rest of the party went by in a flash. Wigs, pop songs, and glitter invaded your brain, and now you were ready to return to the hotel. The tone he'd used earlier had made a shiver run down your spine. Low, insinuative, and almost impatient.

It was a tone that suggested you were in for a treat when you got back.

——

The key card swiftly slid into the slot. Two chirp-like beeps sounded, indicating that it was unlocked. Opening the heavy door, you stumbled inside the hotel room on the black heels you had already started to unclasp in the back of the taxi. There was confetti stuck to the bottom of them, and it nearly made you slip on the hardwood floors. That, and there was also a trail of rose petals and tea light candles weaving throughout the presidential suite that you didn't remember seeing when you had left earlier. 

You giggled to yourself as you followed the trail to the bedroom. Oh, Harry. You had almost forgotten he was here.

When you walked through the doorway, the king-size bed came into view. So did your fiancé. Harry was sitting pretty on the silk sheets with a flute of champagne in his left hand as he looked out the window at the San Francisco skyline. He was wearing the same outfit from his surprise act not too long ago, but his hair had become messier, and his eyes were glassy from the bubbly liquid you noticed was already half gone from the bottle on the nightstand.

You crawled toward him on the bed, setting your bouquet down. "Hi. I'm back."

His gaze focused on you. He granted no response as his lips took a sip of the pale and fizzy drink he held so delicately, the gold engagement band on his ring finger gleaming from the moonlight illuminating the room. A low groan escaped his mouth when you straddled his thighs and applied pressure to his already hard cock. He wasn't saying anything, but you knew exactly what would get him to speak.

"What's got you so hard, baby?" you asked softly, tutting. "Were you thinking about me?"

His lips twitched as he finished the champagne and set it on the ground beside the bed. "Like you don't fuckin' know. Look at yourself, darling. It's honestly a shock that I wasn't on my knees for you at the theatre."

Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs. "I had a feeling you'd like this little number."

It had been a struggle to get through the door to leave since his touch had been all over you the second you put on the red satin slip dress.

"What about me? Do you like my outfit?"

Such a narcissist, you thought to yourself. You ground against him, and he let out a breathy moan. "I do. Apparently, no boxers are part of the get-up."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked. "I might have no boxers on, but there's something else you might find. Went and did some quick shopping while you were gone."

Your slowed thoughts tried to catch up to what he could have been hinting at. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?"

His large hands kneaded your ass. "Take a look."

He leaned forward and guided your hand to the button of his trousers. You quickly flicked it undone as he removed his suit jacket and began undoing the button-up. His body lifted on the bed so you could slide the garment off easier, and he hissed when it brushed past his cock.

Slowly but surely, his legs underneath were revealed, and your face heated to a thousand degrees.

Fishnet tights.

His leg hair and tiger tattoo peeked out from under the crosshatch material stretched tight against his skin. The redness of his cock looked painful from its restraint under them.

"I might've bought a little something too," you admitted as you scratched his skin through the thin fabric.

"Yeah?" He jerked his hips when your fingers grazed the head of his cock. "Show me, then. Go on."

You sat on your knees and lifted your dress to reveal the baby pink garter around your upper thigh. "It's your favorite color."

Harry licked his lips as his fingers delicately rubbed the lace. "I see that, sweetheart. Anyone particular on your mind when you bought it?"

"Was there anyone on your mind" — you snapped the waistband of his fishnets — "when you bought these?"

He bit his lip. "You're the only one I think of. The only one I would wear these for. I would crawl on my knees to you wearing them if that's what you wanted."

"Is that so? Quite the visual."

"I'll do it if you want me to." He paused, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "We can practice the garter toss for our wedding."

You made a noise of protest. "We are absolutely not doing that in front of our families. It'll be so humiliating."

"Don't have to because we can do it right now," he suggested. A nip was given to your neck before he climbed off the bed and grabbed a chair.

Your eyebrows arched. "What are you doing?"

"We're doing this the traditional way," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "Have to go under your dress and take it off."

"Will you be nice, or will you tease me?"

"Which do you prefer?"

You swung your legs over the bed and sat in the chair. "I prefer the way that gets you inside me as soon as possible."

"Well, I'll let you know once I'm between your thighs," he said, kneeling on the carpeted floor and gesturing his hands for you to spread open for him.

"No tickling, or I'm staying in another room," you warned as you slid off your heels and parted your legs.

Harry started crawling toward you with his tousled hair and day-old stubble, only wearing his fishnets and unbuttoned dress shirt. He never broke eye contact with you until he reached where you sat.

Your satin dress was then lifted over his head. You could instantly feel his hot breath against your legs, his lips grazing every patch of skin he could find. He left an open-mouthed kiss over your underwear that was already damp, and you moaned when his facial hair rubbed against your inner thigh.

You suddenly felt his teeth grab the garter as he pulled it down to your ankle. He took it off the rest of the way with his hand, bringing it over your shoe and moving out from under your dress. He stuck it between his teeth again and removed his button-up. Green eyes stared at you, and you clenched your legs under his intense stare. His tattooed torso was on full display. He was so, so beautiful.

Harry grabbed the garter and slid it on his bicep before saying, "Stand up."

You got up and switched spots with him, standing in front of him while he sat in the chair. He crossed his legs, thighs thickening even more under the fishnets. You walked over and parted them so you could straddle him. The chair was thankfully wide enough to where both of your knees fit on either side of him. You could almost feel his cock throb as you started desperately grinding against him to offer relief.

"Baby, slow down— shit, slow down," he said quickly, hands gripping your waist. "I need to last. You'll make me come right now if you keep doing that."

Slowing down, you took your time with each grind on his thigh. The pressure of the muscle felt like heaven as your core clenched around nothing. "Is that better?" you asked, raising your dress to see how his body reacted underneath you.

"Yes," he choked out, his neck straining. "Need to be inside you so bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad. I'm fuckin' throbbing for you. Please get on the bed."

You squeezed one of his balls through the fishnets, his hips bucking. "Where does it ache? Tell me how to make it better."

"Get on the bed," he gritted. "I'm not gonna ask again."

There was the dominance you wanted. You nipped his earlobe and crawled off his legs. He immediately stood, hissing as he palmed himself through his tights. You helped him take them off.

"Top or bottom?" he asked while closing the curtains. "My fiancée's choice."

"Neither. I want it from behind."

"Say less." He turned around, gripping his cock and squeezing it once. "On the bed. Now."

You quickly slipped your dress and underwear off and knelt on the bed, facing the headboard. Harry got in position behind you, his cock resting on your lower back. He moved your hair to one side and whispered, "On all fours."

You placed your forearms on the bed and arched your back so he had a good angle. "Open your mouth," he commanded. You tilted your head up and to the side as he leaned in to spit in your awaiting mouth. His saliva pooled on your tongue, and you swallowed it down willingly. "Good girl."

Harry then reached his arm out to hold onto the headboard. The engagement ring on his finger caught your eyes, as did his veiny hand that tightly gripped the burgundy wood.

The first thrust was divine. Searing pressure filled your walls, and Harry whimpered into your neck at your instant clench around his cock. He continued deeply thrusting into you as he took the garter off his arm and put it around your wrists so that they were restrained in front of you. Your hips burned. Harry's other hand squeezed your breast.

"Go faster," you said as his hand trailed down to your stomach, his long middle finger lightly grazing your clit.

He pounded harder, skin slapping as the headboard l creaked from the force. He was hitting all the deep spots, his pelvis meeting your ass each time. Your hands gripped the sheets when he glided his fingers up and down your dripping core. His head was nestled in your neck, muffled groans and pants leaving him when you pushed up your hips with each new thrust.

He removed his fingers that were coated with your arousal and spread his palm on your lower stomach. "Can you feel me there?"

You nodded fervently, crying out when a deep trust had you literally feeling him in your stomach. "Holy shit, Harry. I feel you. Please don't stop."

He pressed down and rubbed your stomach, the knot from your orgasm growing and bubbling up quickly. In one swift movement, he brought you to a sitting position as his cock continued stretching your wet walls. His thighs were touching yours, and you could feel them tense and tremble as you got closer, clenching hard around him.

"I'm gonna get your name tattooed on my thigh right here," he said, taking the garter off your wrists and moving one of your hands to touch his right thigh. 

You were too submerged in ecstasy to reply to his random confession. A couple more thrusts had you blindly reaching back to grab his hand so you could come. He held it tightly as you unraveled, arching against him from the pleasure leaving you.

"That's my girl," he praised in your ear. "My love, my love, my love. So gorgeous, coming for me like this."

Your ears were ringing, and Harry eventually spilled inside you while you still clenched from your remaining orgasm. You felt his warm release shoot inside you, his hand still holding yours and his body falling on top of you as he groaned hotly against your cheek. Heavy breathing was coming from both of you. Harry finished coming but kept his cock inside you, throbs and twitches happening every so often.

"If we weren't engaged already," he started, "I'd propose to you right now because that... that was the best I've ever felt. Wow. My body feels all tingly."

You groaned, his dead weight on top of you making it hard to breathe. "Get off me. You're sweaty."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. The dim light illuminating the room and the perspiration glistening on his skin accentuated the carved outline of his abs, and you couldn't help but trace them with your fingertips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He got up and carried you toward the bathroom. Everything in there was white marble, and the brightness hurt your eyes. The shower was small but comfortable enough to fit both of you. You already had taken one in the morning, but it would feel nice after a long, eventful night. It would also help you sober up as much as possible so you don't suffer through a terrible hangover tomorrow.

After laying down a towel and setting you atop the sink, Harry turned on the shower. He took off both of your engagement rings and then stood in front of the mirror. He inspected his stubble while he waited for the water to heat up.

"Should I shave?"

"Why?" you asked with a sharp tone that had him immediately raising his hands in surrender.

"All right," he mumbled with a teasing smile. "Blimey, woman. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you even saying?" you asked languidly. "I hate it when you speak old-timey British to me."

"Are you cheesed off at me now?"

"You're literally speaking gibberish." You hopped off the counter. "I'm getting in the shower. Goodbye."

Harry followed you and ducked under the hot water, trapping you in a hug from behind. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" The soft skin of his stomach against your back had you melting into him.

"I don't want you to divorce me before we get married," he explained, kissing your jaw. "I'm just playing it safe."

"Harry, you're the only person who can annoy me and make me endeared at the same time."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," you replied, picking up the shampoo bottle you brought and handing it to him. "It makes me want to marry you right now."

He spurted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into your scalp with gentle and soothing motions. "I can't wait to marry you, either. Gonna treat you like a gentleman."

You lulled your head back, resting it on his collarbone. "You already do."

"I'll do it even more when I'm your husband, though. Make dinner for you every night and take you out on the town." He gravitated one hand to your stomach. "Give you so many babies."

"Not so fast," you interjected with a dreamlike smile. "No babies anytime soon."

Harry filled the shower cup with water and poured it over your sudsy hair. "I hear you. Just know that I'm ready whenever you are."

"Let's get married first. I want you all to myself for a while."

"You always have me. That'll never change."

You turned him around so you could wash his hair next, opting for the same shampoo since he liked to steal it for himself anyway. After a prolonged yet comfortable silence, you asked, "Were you serious about tattooing my name on your thigh?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied. "I might even do it at my bachelor party. I work with a guy who's coming, and he does tattoos in his free time."

"But why on your thigh? Seems like a risqué place for it."

Harry turned his head and gave you a blank stare. "Would you rather me get it in a corny place like over my heart?"

You laughed, lathering shampoo in his curly hair. "No, not really. I guess you're right. It's kind of a secret spot for only us to know."

"Not unless I wear shorts all the time."

"Yeah, but thankfully, you wear pants every day at work. I don't want your coworkers to see that."

"Why not? I can't show you off anymore?" he teased, reaching back to pinch your side. "Wow, you propose to a woman, and suddenly she wants to be anonymous."

"Shut up," you muttered through a smile. "I honestly don't care. Just please don't get it inked in an ugly font."

Harry moved under the shower head, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back. "Well, it's a good thing I was going to ask if you'd write it out for me."

"Seriously?"

"No," he said in a deadpan manner, spitting out some water that had got in his mouth. "I'm thinking Comic Sans."

Poking the soft skin under his belly button, you said, "You think you're so funny now because you did a five-minute comedy routine."

He didn't provide a retort, but you saw him grin as he washed the rest of the shampoo from his hair. His nose was scrunched while he scratched his scalp and cleaned the foamy residue off his face.

After a peaceful moment of nothing but the sound of the shower water beating down, Harry opened his arms and brought you in for a hug. "I love you. You know that?"

You kissed his collarbone. "Where did that come from?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cradled your head with his hands. "It hit me that we're getting married in a month."

It had been hitting you as well. You'd been waiting so patiently for the special day to arrive. "I love you," you said quietly. Thank you for tonight and every night. You make life worth living."

"Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

It fell silent as you stared longingly at each other with growing smiles. Harry slowly started getting closer to your face, his dimples carving deeper until his eyes crossed from how near he was. His forehead dropped against yours, and you rolled your lips in when he attempted to steal a kiss from you.

"How about another rendezvous, but this time we get in bed and fall asleep?" you suggested, reaching around him and shutting the shower off. Sporadic drips and exiting warmth greeted you.

He pouted. "Only if you kiss me."

"We've done enough of that today."

"You're really not gonna kiss your fiancé after I just told you I'd give you babies? That's dire."

You laughed and admired a water droplet cascade from his pointed nose. "If you blow dry my hair for me, I'll reconsider."

Flinging the shower curtain open, Harry yanked a fluffy towel from the hook on the wall, then gently wrapped it around your body before grabbing one for himself and tying it low on his hips. The blow dryer next to the mirror didn't have a long cord, so you sat on the counter for easier access and squeezed any remaining wetness from your hair into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry covered the top of his head with a towel. He looked like the Virgin Mary.

You gave him a comb, and he took the blow dryer with his other hand, turning it on and gesturing at you to ensure it wasn't too hot on your skin. For the next ten minutes, the sound of the loud dryer filled the space. It would have been a stressful sound in any other situation — trying to dry soaking wet hair from the pool before dinner reservations or untangling knots from yesterday's sleep. This time, it was relaxing. Domestic. A moment in time.

The soothing scratches Harry gave to your head as he combed through every citrus-scented strand could have put you to sleep. The hotel room's air conditioner was cold and crisp, but occasionally, he'd lower the dryer so it blew warm air on your arms.

Before you knew it, the dryer clicked off, and peaceful quietness surrounded you. Harry's hair dried much quicker than yours, so he took off the towel on his head and tied some of his damp curls up in a ponytail for the night.

His hands planted themselves on either side of your legs. "Kiss time," he whispered, his arms taut.

You slid off the counter, finding yourself trapped by his body—not that you minded. Grabbing his left hand, you raised it to your lips to kiss his ring finger, then put his gold engagement band back on.

"My mouth is up here."

You grinned. "And? What about it?" Harry annoyingly pushed his forehead into your cheek, grumbling something incoherently. You pushed it away and asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," he repeated dramatically.

"What kind of kiss do you want?"

He once told you that he had favorites for different situations: a nip, tug, peck, tongue, or the type where you both smile so big that the kisses become messy and mixed with giggles. The latter was your personal favorite.

He hummed, his nose wrinkling as he pondered. "The one where you do all the work."

You laughed softly. It wasn't necessarily a joke he was making; he genuinely enjoyed it when your lips moved against his. Sometimes, he just wanted to be kissed silly. It was never awkward, nor did it feel like a chore. He was the most kissable person to roam the earth, so resisting was hard.

"Okay," you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Only for a little bit, though. I'm exhausted."

Harry nodded and lifted you, setting you on the counter again. Your legs circled around his hips. "I'll return the favor tomorrow," he said.

The towel on his waist was hanging on for dear life. His eyelids were lazily drooping from tiredness, and his skin was flushed from the steam. How could someone look so pretty in hotel bathroom lighting?

Your hand on his cheek gently guided him to your mouth. His lips were damp and plush from the shower, parting naturally with each of your doting kisses. With his nose nudged against yours, pleased hums came from his throat as you alternated between his top and bottom lip. Kissing him never got old. It could be soft or rough, long or short, brought about by love or annoyance. It was a cure all the same.

After a slow and innocent onslaught of kisses, you pulled away before you ended up making out with him until morning. Bruised, aching lips could wait.

Harry whined in protest. "That was only, like, five seconds."

"Guess what?" You trailed your fingertips along his neck. "You have the rest of your life to kiss me."

He yawned while shaking his head. "That's not enough time. Give me forever."

"I'll try," you said fondly, sliding your engagement ring back on.

You would until children of your own were born and required you to share that love. Until your children's children withdrew even more of it. Yet, despite that, Harry would always be the first person you had given your heart to completely. He had never taken advantage of it. He had never made you doubt his love for you. It was the kind of love that was immortal. It would never die out and would remain the greatest feeling you'd ever felt in this life and the next.

If evermore was attainable, you liked to believe it was made possible by loving him.

——

[viridianvisions]

Prompted by @neon-green-eyes ' First Kiss post, have an entirely indulgent description of how I'm convinced Bruno would be.

My headcannon is that he can be surprisingly romantic and bold when acting as some other character or form of himself - but the moment his true self is exposed, he can't seem to fathom the idea of being liked for who he really is. Reader is determined to convince him otherwise. 😳

(For context, the characters Bruno and reader play as are inspired by the Spanish version of "The Little Prince", an originally French novel that I have never read but probably should.)

Enjoy! 😉

~*~

I am stirred awake by the sound of a textured and familiar voice caressing my earlobe, a soft and peremptory pressure against my cheek interrupting what wayward worries were crowding my mind but a moment ago.

"Dèjame besarte, amorcito," he whispers in fruity tones against my ear, and a cascade of tremulous impulses dances along my spine from where his lips hover tentatively over my skin.

Let me kiss you.

"Príncipe..." I breathe, falling into his embrace as he pulls me against his quietly heaving chest. We stay here for a long while, the ebb and flow of our lungs expanding in sync, warm puffs of his sweet breath fanning across my nape as his arms gently tighten around my waist, securing me closer than I dare thought possible. If only I could bottle this feeling and sip on it forever, drinking in his still warmth and earthy scent that engulfs my senses in naive and heady bliss... Like petrichor after a storm, though the tumultuous thundering of my heart has yet to cease. And at this rate, as Bruno sways us gently to and fro, his chin resting in the curve of my neck, I suspect it never will.

After an interminable moment he tossles the still night air with a sigh and pulls back, his long fingers curling against the side of my face and tracing the underside of my jaw.

"Mi perfecto rosa," he croons, his languid gaze boring into me as endlessly deep pools of midnight green. "The stars are in your eyes, cariño."

My heartbeat hiccups, stumbling in blind euphoria as it trips over itself. I know that he doesn't realise just how little acting is required on my part to appear enamoured (the only real effort being that of trying not to collapse from the impossibility of it all), but he is steadily tearing away the tissue-thin layers of defensive distance I had put between myself and the mere idea of him in this way. His own performance has been beyond unexpected, bold, even daring to venture into sultriness - and, for but a measure in time, painfully convincing.

The scene is not yet over, and I resolve to play into my role with what little resourcefulness I have left. If I have but this single, fleeting chance to reveal my true feelings to the fictitious Madrigal Prince before me, never to be spoken of again, then I have already committed to plunging headfirst with baited breath.

"I'm beginning to think you've done this before," I tease, prodding the prolonged silence, and he chuckles. "I might start calling you Romeo instead."

"Maybe I have, Señorita Rosa," He says with a viscous wink that sends my pulse fluttering like a dandelion on the breeze. "Once, in my dreams."

An almost wistful smile darts across his lips, his gaze drifting into the distance behind me as if in recollection of something special. Then it is gone and the theatrical Prince has returned again.

"But Romeo just won't do, mi flor. I'm afraid it's been taken already, by someone a lot more effective with his words."

I feign distress and throw my head back, one hand draped over my forehead.

"Oh, how ever am I to choose a suitable name for mi Principito?" It is all I can do to suppress a giggle. "Let me see... Crespo?"

His playful disapproval is just as dramatic. "Do you see me only for my luscious locks, oh Señorita Rosa?"

"Hmm you're right, Senor Guapo."

"Guapo, ey? Am I not more than just my dashing good looks?"

I am drifting closer to him again, in stop-frame motion, as if being reeled in on a string.

"Of course- y-you are so much more," I say, the bass drum that is pounding against my sternum surely audible above the din of my irrational thoughts. "T-to me, you've always been..."

I can see his breath hitch, as if he finally realises that this is no longer an act. That it's never been an act for me, not from the moment I first came to know him. But just as quickly as it broke, the careful masquerade of his braver persona seals over the cracks once more.

"Ah, I see," he says with a mock-bow and a twirling of his wrist. "On account of my princely chivalry, you may call me-"

"Bruno."

My voice can be threaded through the eye of a needle, small and thin as I call his only true name. The real Prince Madrigal, who stole my heart and never returned it. "I would call you Bruno. My- my Prince."

There is a wildfire flaring up across my face, hot and untamable, and I know that there is no hiding this any longer. His ever-so-slightly confused smile shifts as he ponders my expression, his entire countenance computing the fact that I have wrenched away the curtain covers once and for all, revealing every sincere longing that I have had since the very beginning.

His eyes are drawing incrementally nearer again, those dream-laden wells that always seem to be reading me over and over, inside-out and back-to-front like a reel of worn typing paper. I need to be immersed in them, now more than ever before - unwavering portals to his soul speaking the words that have yet to be uttered aloud, or desires that long to be reflected in the vulnerable words of unhindered confession.

"Y-you'll always be my diente de leon," he finally says, a sudden and intense flush prickling along his cheekbones like a sprig of grass catching alight as he swallows nervously.

There he is.

The very first time he had nicknamed me, we were sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, sprawling out the script of the weekly stage show that we'd come to look forward to putting on for the kids of the Encanto. We had been growing in popularity amongst the little ones, and took it upon ourselves to come up with a grand new plot each week. Eventually "El Principito and Señorita Rosa" became something of a "fan favourite" pair. The Madrigals would routinely join in on the crowd too; in hindsight, it was difficult to miss the amused glances of the more astute and perceptive family members - usually Julieta, and often Dolores, who would give me a cosy smile and a little shrug of her shoulders as she scurried past.

I recall that day well, as we sat reciting our lines, just he and I in the inviting warmth of the lazy midday sun - I kept repeating the wrong words, and with that he had dubbed me the "forgetful dandelion".

"Y' know, like 'poof!' Gone on the wind." He had chortled a little too hard, and I had promptly whacked him over the head with my wad of papers, an encroaching fondness blooming in my chest that I dismissed as friendly admiration at the time.

It still confounds me how this fumbling, foot-shifting, stammering man before me can possibly be the same one that was, mere minutes ago, reciting sweet nothings as easily as if he were conversing about the weather, and holding me as if to never relinquish me to the cold space of reality surrounding us. But this is the Bruno I slipped and fell for, rolling down the mountainside with no intention of landing - and everyone but him seems to know it.

"I promised to stick around for a b-" he says, his voice catching as he realises how little space currently exists between us. He clears his throat. "For a bit. Well, more than a bit if- if you wanted me to, a-and it's been great - seriously, a-amazing - getting to be your friend..."

"Is this what friends do, Bruno?" I whisper, my face now dangerously close to his and he gulps, blinking furiously. And then he is leaning in closer, and closer still, until the last thing I see is the diamond facets of his emerald irises, absolutely incandescent in the light of the moon.

"K-kiss me Bruno..." I push out between erratic breaths, and he pauses for a microsecond - perhaps to give himself internal permission - before his eyelashes flutter shut and his mouth swoops in to cradle mine between the feathery pillow of his lips.

My hands find their way beneath the textile landscape of his ruana without conscious instruction; gliding along the cords in his arms, up and over his collarbones, palms splaying out across his shoulder blades as if they've always known how to traverse this foreign topography. His own run slowly down my sides and across the small of my back, his hum reverberating through the auditorium of my chest as his lips stroke mine carefully, almost unsure, but with an unbearable tenderness. I tilt against the pressure of his mouth with a small gasp, fingers sliding up the back of his neck and raking through mussed silvery curls, tugging gently.

We finally break apart for air, flushed and brightly burning with delight as we take in the sight of each other without the theatre masks - raw and giddy and uncertain and beautiful, oh so beautiful in its imperfection.

"Bruno..."

He laughs softly and rests his forehead against mine, the tip of his nose brushing my own and the corkscrew strands of his flyaway hair tickling my cheekbones as they fall across his furrowed brow.

"Wh-what's so funny?" I ask with a small smile, still in the space between absolute disbelief and dazed pleasure.

"Nothing, I - it's just that - you keep using my name. My - my real name." His fingers are tangling slowly with mine, palms fitting together as if magnetised.

"Hmm... Yes, Bruno..."

I cling to his shirt collar with my free hand and dab my lips to his, over and over, unable to keep away for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Say it again," he murmurs against my mouth, and my heart arrests.

"Bruno."

"Again..."

I can barely breathe now, the air rasping though my throat as an almost imperceptible squeak. This is all too much for me to handle.

"Bru-"

And before I can finish, I am halted by the overwhelming sensation of rising static prickling across the surface of my skin, like a bolt of electric ecstacy, as his supple, parted lips press into my neck like a branding iron. He follows a tediously long course down the curve of my forearm, across my clavicle and along the side of my jaw, lingering at each point for what seems like a burning eternity until I can take it no longer.

My hands are riding up into his hair again and he groans softly, our lips plastered together in fervour. He might just be a Romeo afterall.

How long we remain like this, I do not know. But what I do know is that this telenovela is getting an entirely different ending to what we both expected. The Prince and the Pauperess, walking hand-in-hand into the fading sunset as the stage curtain drops behind us, a new door opening with a wave of its hinges as we step with shy excitement into the new and unknown.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*

[bratkook]

not yet. jjk

not yet, almost, right now pairing. jungkook x reader genre. fluff, some angst, pg-13 word count. 4.1k warnings. mentions of infidelity, some feelings come to light, unrequited pining, spur of the moment kissing, light grinding on the dance floor, jungkook pops a boner and wants to cry</3 summary. jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship note. this is based off a request sent a while back for numbers #43 and #67 from this prompt list! (i think this might turn into a small drabble series...mayhaps)

Jungkook can spot your discomfort easily, the occasional colorful light bouncing off your face showing him the flash of anger in your eyes. The only reason he’s not currently running for the hills, knowing very well how mean you can get when angry, is because your glare isn’t being sent at him. Not yet at least. 

Because of this, he allows himself to enjoy the cute way your nose scrunches up, lips twisting in displeasure as you stare at the crowd of people, eyes locked onto an unlucky bystander. Honestly, he wishes he could hear your thoughts, wanting to know exactly what has your panties in a bunch, ruining your mood instead of letting you enjoy the expensive fruity drink he had just bought you as payment for allowing him to drag you out of the house. Jungkook isn’t a mind reader though, so he decides on his next best option. 

“Who’s got you looking all sour?” he sighs, resting his elbow on the counter of the bar as he inches closer to you, head at your level in an attempt to match your line of sight. 

“Him,” you seethe, brows pinching together, showing those light wrinkles in between them, a product of how expressive you were and definitely something Jungkook always teases you about. 

Jungkook can only hum in question, eyes squinting in the low light as he attempts to find the him you’re talking about. With a slight turn of your head, you’re inches from Jungkook’s cheek, the obvious look of confusion etched onto his soft features letting you know he was absolutely lost. With a soft huff your fingers are gripping his cheeks and moving his face in the right direction, free hand pointing as discreetly as you could to the man in question. 

You know he spots him, you can feel his jaw tense underneath your grip. What you don’t feel is the sudden guilt that fills him up, sloshing in his stomach and mixing with the liquor he just drank until he feels a little queasy. Jungkook instantly regrets coaxing you out of your little dungeon with the promise of cheering you up. If he had known the spawn of satan–dubbed your ex boyfriend and also the reason why you were in a downward spiral–would be here, he would have just let you rot in your bed like you originally wanted. 

“Do you wanna go?” he mutters out, cheeks still squished by your slowly tightening grip, and he begins to accept the fact that you might just break his jaw right now. It’s fine, he thinks, he deserves it. 

“No,” you grunt stubbornly, fingers finally releasing him as you turn back around and choose to face the endless amount of bottles behind the bar. He may be the reason you were currently on a never ending cycle of watching sad, heartbreaking chick-flicks from the early 2000’s, dumping you with the lame excuse that you two were on different paths and he just wasn’t ready for commitment. It’s something you accepted, albeit jaw tense and eye twitching as you did so, but you figured you would eventually find your way back to each other. 

Your mind was warped, believing you were meant to be, that this was just a mere bump in the road that you would laugh at together in the future. 

That is, until he blocked you on all social media, and you had to hear from your best friend that he had moved on days later and was now with some blonde-haired, fresh faced, supermodel-esque woman that you could not get yourself to hate. Instead you took to endlessly scrolling through her instagram while you stuffed your face with milk chocolate and questioned why you had ever convinced yourself that you had a future with him. 

“Good, he’s a dick and you shouldn’t let him ruin your night.” Jungkook grumbles, slinging his arm around you as you hold your forgotten drink by your lips. He had seen your relationship with Hajoon play out from the very beginning, knowing slightly more intimate details than he would like considering you were next door neighbors and happened to share a wall between your bedrooms. 

The friendship you had with Jungkook blossomed right after you moved in four years ago, friendly neighborly talks morphing into actual conversations, and eventually inviting each other into your apartments where you would attempt to beat him at any game you had in your Nintendo switch. It was a great dynamic, providing the two of you with a sense of relief after your busy days at work. 

Unfortunately, the second you got with Hajoon was the end of any of those playful matches, your ex’s jealousy making you distance yourself in an attempt to keep your relationship at bay. 

Jungkook can’t say he didn’t see it coming, having heard the way you’d cry anytime you had an argument and your ex would leave, slamming the door behind him so hard Jungkook’s walls would rattle. It had become such a common occurence it was a shock he hadn’t marched out of his house, met Hajoon in the hall, and gave him a clean right hook in your honor. 

He was secretly hoping you’d break up with the jerk for your own good–and maybe for his own personal reasons too. Your ex was right in being wary of Jungkook, knowing the way a boy's mind worked, sensing Jungkook’s feelings for you in a way you were too blind to see. Jungkook wasn’t a dick though, he could tell you wanted your relationship to work so he kept his distance. 

When weeks went by without the sight of him he began to think you finally did it, a call for celebration that made him want to go over to your place to challenge you for a friendly match of Mario Kart like you used to. 

Until he ran into you in the hall and took note of what a mess you were, his smile falling from his face when he saw how defeated you looked. 

Your shameful confirmation that you had been royally dumped made his heart twist for you, his selfless tendencies urging him to help you feel better in any way he could. You were thankful for it, grateful that he was keeping you company while you moped around, providing you with just the right amount of distraction to allow you to breathe and slowly heal. 

Honestly, today would have been just another day if it wasn’t what was supposed to be your two year anniversary. The second Jungkook heard the telltale sounds of The Notebook starting up in your bedroom—something he hadn’t heard through the drywall separating your rooms in weeks—is when he knew something was up. 

Jump to: now. 

With Jungkook looking sheepish and wishing he had chosen another bar, and you gripping the cup so hard it was a shock it hadn’t shattered in your grasp. 

“He’s with her,” you whisper out harshly, head downcast, swirling the liquid around in your glass as you force yourself not to look back at them. The vision of them coddled up in the corner, her arms wrapped around his while she laughed at whatever he whispered in her ear had stung enough the first time, you weren’t jealous but the pain still lingered inside of you.. 

“Just try to ignore him. Don’t let it bother you,” he attempts to reassure you, the bass of the music muffling the way you try to deny the fact that you’re clearly upset, his attention now elsewhere. 

Jungkook takes a chance and looks back once more, eyes narrowed as he searches for Hajoon in the crowd. He spots him with more ease the second time, seeing the way he lazily drinks from his glass while the blonde rests her head on his shoulder, lips moving as she tells him something that makes him smile. 

“Oh shit,” Jungkook chokes, eyes widening slightly in shock when Hajoon meets his gaze. He’s been caught, too late for him to avert his eyes and pretend he wasn’t blatantly staring. He can only give him a tight-lipped smile that he hopes doesn’t come across as an invitation to come say hello. 

“What?” you question, turning to stare at Jungkook and seeing the look on his face, doe eyes swirling with a mix of emotions. 

“He saw me,” he speaks through clenched teeth, lips barely moving as he does so, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

“What?” you repeat harshly, setting the drink back down as your palms grow clammy, finger tugging at your shirt’s neckline when the air becomes thick and stuffy. 

“Oh fuck, he’s coming.” Jungkook throws back the remainder of his drink, grimacing at the burn lingering in the back of his throat before placing the cup down. “Just follow along,” he whispers into your ear, standing tall as Hajoon approaches the two of you. 

He’s ballsy, Jungkook will give him that, more so when he completely ignores Jungkook in favor of calling out your name. 

“Y/N, oh my god is that you?”

Jungkook can’t stop the way he glares at the bastard, not even the small jab to his side that you deliver with your elbow is enough to wipe the look off his face. Still, you pause to breathe, shutting your eyes briefly before plastering a look of surprise on your features as you turn around to face him. 

“Hajoon, what are you doing here?” Your voice has risen a few octaves, pitch surpassing the normal customer service voice and entering unhinged and borderline crazed territory. Hajoon doesn’t notice though, and neither does the girl strapped to his side, the two of them smiling at you and not giving Jungkook a glance. 

“Oh, we’re just celebrating our four month anniversary.” The girl finally speaks up, giving Hajoon a kiss to the cheek and completely missing the way your face instantly falls. Her innocent statement has you coming to the sudden realization that this son of a bitch had been cheating on you for the last two months of your relationship. 

Jungkoon spots it easily though, can sense the way your body tenses up beside him, no doubt will the rage flare up in the form of hot tears spilling over and onto your cheeks soon. One look at Hajoon’s pleased face is enough to not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the way he affects you. 

“Young love,” Jungkook sighs, long arm pulling you into his side obnoxiously, seeing the way Hajoon eyes the two of you carefully. “I can relate. We’ve been together for...what is it again babe, five months?”

Hajoon doesn’t even attempt to be discreet, eyes bulging out and fist curling at his side. He had hated Jungkook the second he met him, intimidated by his physique and the way he made you laugh with ease, threatened by him in every sense. It was the reason he told you to cut ties with him, his fragile ego not trusting your neighbor, fully convinced all Jungkook would have to do was beckon you over for you to leave him. 

Any man would feel threatened by him, just looking at him now with his long hair framing his face, the challenging glimmer in his eyes as he gauges the other’s reaction. Hajoon follows Jungkook’s arm, seeing how it snakes around your body and settles with his palms curling around your waist, fingers gently squeezing your skin. 

Jungkook chuckles when Hajoon meets his gaze once more, free hand adjusting the yellow tinted sunglasses perched on his head—something that should make him look like an A class douchebag, because who the hell brings shades to a fucking club. But like all things, Jungkook makes it work. 

All of this tied in with that small, white lie, makes Hajoon’s head spin in a jealous whirlwind. It was fine and dandy if he cheated on you but how dare you give him the same treatment, with your neighbor of all people. 

“Five months?” He bites first, eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of you. 

The insecurity is written all over his face, it almost makes him shrink in size and for some reason it fills you with confidence. You stand taller now, sliding your own arm around Jungkook’s side as you nuzzle into him. 

“Almost six.” Those two words are the nails into his coffin of insecurity, probably increasing his trust issues for years to come, but considering it was no longer your problem, you don’t care. 

“Wow, almost half a year. That’s so cute, isn’t it?” His girlfriend coos, perfectly manicured hand placed over her chest, totally missing the way Hajoon looks like a kicked puppy. 

Now that he doesn’t have the one up, he’s no longer interested in sticking around, the gross green monster perched on his shoulder laughing at his misfortune. 

“Adorable,” he grunts out. “We should get back to our table. It was nice seeing you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, his girlfriend giving you a small wave before following behind him. The growing distance between you makes your muscles relax, sagging in relief as you release Jungkook’s side and hunch over the sticky bar. 

“I think I'm gonna puke,” you groan out, eyes going crossed when you feel Jungkook rest two fingers against your lips, sending him a questionable stare. 

“Please don’t, that drink was expensive. You’re only allowed to hurl as the grand finale of the night, and we’re just getting started.”

Jungkook smiles when you shut your eyes and groan, your mood was already down in the dumps, and despite the small rush you got from putting Hajoon in his place, you were still craving the comfort of your bed. “Can we go?”

The bartender proceeds to place a glass of water in front of you, assuming your slumped state was due to intoxication and not the gross remnants of running into an ex-boyfriend. You grab the glass regardless, taking a big gulp of the cool liquid and sighing when it helps calm you down. 

“If you really want to go we can, but at least try to loosen up.” His smile is genuine, cheeks pushed out as he looks down at you with kind eyes. “We’ll stay on the opposite side, and if you’d still rather watch the Notebook for the millionth time, we can do that.”

With a half-hearted groan you nod, allowing Jungkook to order another round of drinks for you to enjoy before eventually dragging you out onto the dance floor. He knows how to keep the atmosphere up, goofy smile on his lips as he bobs his head along to the loud beat, hands clasped with yours and wiggling in time to the music. 

“You love this song,” he manages to say through the noise, pulling you closer as he settles into a spot on the decently packed floor. You couldn’t even deny it, he heard just how often you played it through the paper thin walls. That playlist full of hit 2000’s songs was your guilty pleasure, and it was the main reason he had decided to bring you to this club on their themed night. 

Jungkook was attentive, he knew so much about you and played it off casually, always listening to things you say you enjoy, storing them into a folder labeled under your name and shoved into a very important part of his brain. 

You knew he was trying his best to get you to enjoy yourself, so you give in, beginning to sing along to the lyrics of an old song that brought back a flood of memories that made you smile back at him. Jungkook feels the first burst of success bloom inside him, joining in with your singing, raising up your clasped hands as you begin dancing. 

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he stares down at you, the few drinks you’ve had loosening you up and allowing you to push the earlier thoughts away. He feels mesmerized, eyes locked onto you, the flash of colors painting your skin, illuminating you in alternating shades of purple and blue. His heart does that annoying thing where it skips and stutters in his chest, mouth drying up as you drop your head back and sway your hips, slowly loosening the grip in your hands and turning around until your back is dangerously close to his chest.

Jungkook’s hands hover in the air for a moment, panic over taking his brain as he tries to remain calm. He could do this—he has done this before—the two of you would go clubbing before you got with your ex, and dancing definitely played a big part of it. So why was his brain short circuiting?

Sure your ass was brushing up against his crotch with each sway of your hips, but you were dancing, so his mind and his dick could fuck right off. He shakes his head to clear any dirty thoughts as his hands loosely grip your hips, testing the water, and when you smile and look back at him he feels less wary and sways his hips in time with yours. 

You can feel his chest brush against your back, breath fanning along your skin from his close proximity, only getting closer when you lift an arm back and hold his shoulder to pull him tighter against you. The heat sticks to your skin, thin shirt dampening with sweat from the warmth of the bodies around you, everyone in their own state of drunkenness as the bass flowed through their chests. 

Going out like this had been something you missed, used to frequenting the bars and clubs by your apartment with your friends and Jungkook, something that came to a halt because your ex claimed he hated that kind of scene. Something that was clearly a lie considering he was here now, enjoying himself as him and his new girlfriend danced along. 

You didn’t realize when he made his way onto the dance floor, enough distance separating you, but now that you had spotted him you feel like he’s way too close for comfort. In a similar position to you and Jungkook, Hajoon is free to look around while his girlfriend dances on him, eyes locked onto you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl. 

Jungkook is too lost in the music to notice where your attention has gone, earlier effects of the alcohol settling into his bloodstream, warming him up in that familiar way he welcomes. When the song changes, flowing into the next bass heavy anthem, you turn around in his grasp, giving him a brief glance before your hands are gripping his cheeks and bringing him down into a messy kiss. 

This is definitely something he’s never done with you before.

A muffled sound of confusion is swallowed by you as he quickly falls into the motion, large palms gripping your hips, slowly sliding up your back before lightly tangling into your hair to deepen the kiss. Jungkook can taste the liquor on your tongue, mixing with his own as your tongue slips between his lips. He has no idea what came over you but his racing heart and buried crush don’t let him question it, soft lips smacking with yours, not heard between the thrumming music. 

Your fingers feel the warmth of his cheeks, how he blushes into the kiss but you attribute it to the alcohol pumping through him. Harsh breaths fan across your face as he groans, lightly pulling back for a gasp of air but you don’t allow it. “No, don’t pull away. Not yet.”

And who is he to argue with that, blindly letting you bring your lips back together in a messy kiss. Your small pleas for him to continue has all the blood rushing to his cock, the ache felt in his jeans when it starts to harden, pressing into the denim uncomfortably and only getting worse when you gently bite down onto his lip before inching back. 

“Is he still looking?” you question, breath jagged as you peer up at Jungkook’s dazed expression. 

“What?” he dumbly replies, lips swollen and shiny, eyes still focused on your own as he makes an attempt to reconnect your lips. But then your question dawns on him, like a bucket of ice cold water, it sobers him up instantly. Is he still looking?

This was all for show. 

“He’s on the far right.” You motion your head in the direction and observe his face when his eyes move over to check if Hajoon was in fact still there. He does spot him heading out in a hurry though, girlfriend trailing behind him as he exits the club entirely

“No, just saw him leave.” Jungkook clears his throat, fingers slipping out of your hair and settling down over your back just like before. He hopes his solemn expression isn’t amplified by the lights flashing across his face, trying his best to act unaffected, as if he didn’t just pop a boner on the dance floor over a revenge make-out session. 

Luckily you don’t spot his fallen expression, a wide smile spreading across your face in victory, happy that you had successfully put him in his place. 

“I’m so sorry for kissing you.” You gasp in realization, unknowingly pouring salt in the wound when you act as if kissing him was something you would never do if it wasn’t in an attempt to piss off your ex. 

“No, it’s okay,” he waves off and smiles, eyes glancing over to the bar once more. Jungkook needed a drink, maybe five—actually he wouldn’t mind going home and watching The Notebook now, that would surely give him a reason to cry with no questions asked. 

He starts to walk back to the bar with you by his side, the sad look you had earlier entirely gone, replaced with a giddy smile and a pep in your step, so he can’t say he's too upset. 

“God, you should’ve seen how mad he looked when he saw us dancing together,” you giggle, standing inches from him as he orders another drink. Before he can respond, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him in for a hug. 

A hug, really?

Still, Jungkook sighs and wraps his own arms around your waist, a defeated smile on his face that he hides as he lets his chin rest over your head. The dip in his head makes the yellow tinted frames fall over his eyes and when he pulls back you snort at the visual, finger gently poking the bridge of them. 

“You look good in those.”

His drink gets placed in front of him then, giving him a good excuse to avoid stumbling over his words from your compliment, choosing to take a gulp of the hard liquor, wincing when it burns his throat. “Thank you,” he rasps out, grimacing at the taste and it just makes you giggle. 

“I should be thanking you. You need to be my fake boyfriend more often.”

Even more salt poured into his wound, topped with a dash of lemon juice in the form of your playful smile and nudge to his ribs, it stings. His heart ache in his chest, more so when he realizes his stupid boner was still going strong. Thankfully the dark lights prevent you from seeing it, the last thing he needed was further embarrassment. 

The yellow frames are placed back over his head as he takes another sip, nodding along to your statement with what he hopes comes across as a genuine smile on his lips once he sets his cup down. “Anytime you want Y/N.”

“I know this night didn’t end with the grand finale of me puking, but do you wanna go home and watch movies? No sappy romance ones, I'm not in the mood for crying anymore.”

He finishes his drink with ease, quickly closing his tab as he agrees. “Yeah, just let me go to the bathroom real quick.” 

You might not be in the mood for crying but he definitely was; he also needed to handle the situation in his jeans, and what better night to stoop this low than tonight. His own version of a grand finale coming in the form of jerking off in the dirty bar bathroom while maybe shedding a tear or two. 

“Okay! I’ll call an uber,” you announce cheerfully, allowing him to walk away as you settle onto one of the sticky bar stools. 

Jungkook’s chest feels heavy as he walks to the bathroom, slipping into the small room and locking the door behind him. His forehead rests against the dirty door, eyes falling shut with a groan. He wishes he had the guts to confess to his crush, needing to push the fear of ruining the friendship away from his mind, wanting to gather possible clues that could indicate that you might feel the same. 

One day, but not yet. 

[buckybarnesdiaries]

gravity

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

helping Bucky to feel better after a nightmare.

word count: 958 words.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: i wrote this fic listening to gravity by anthony lazaro. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

You felt cold under the sheets, still sleepy, turning around to hide your face against Bucky’s chest. But the bed was emptied. Bit by bit, you opened your eyes, giving them enough time to adjust to the gloom inside your room. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. It was quarter to four. You knew instantly that he had another nightmare and he didn’t want to wake you up, since he was aware of the long day working in the hospital. Tossing the sheets away from your bare body, you stuck out an arm over the edge of the mattress to grab his black t-shirt, still thrown on the floor.

You rubbed your eyelids on your way to the living room where the TV was on but the sound was muted. The lights were off. Bucky was sprawled on the sofa with the remote control resting on his lips. He wasn’t paying attention to the old black and white movie playing, having his eyes lost in somewhere through the large window behind the TV. He didn’t notice your presence until you sunk a hand in his scalp, running your fingers thru them. Bucky couldn’t help but purr from the deepest place of his chest, guiding his orbs to above his head. He looked deadly tired and that broke your heart in one thousand pieces.

James gently grabbed your hand to bring it to his lips and place fond kisses on your knuckles, a second before you urged him to get up from the sofa. In complete silence, you unlocked your phone to play a song you discovered the last day, tossing it after on the sofa. Placing your hands on the back of his neck, Bucky rested his forehead on your shoulder while wrapping your hips with both arms.

Very slowly, you two started to dance around the living room with short steps, enjoying the quiet and romantic melody, as you continued caressing his short strands of black hair. The only thing you wanted was for him to relax, to push away all those memories from a person who wasn’t him. It was his body, but not his mind. It wasn’t fair how much he was still suffering because of his past, not being capable of giving himself a single second of break.

“They forced you to commit all those crimes”. You whisper into his ear, feeling his metal arm embracing you tighter. “You’re a good man, James. And I’m so lucky for having you in my life”.

Bucky sniffed against your neck, burying there his face to contain the tears. Your voice was so sweet, it was unbelievable for him that you’d still choose him every day, even after opening himself and telling you about the lives he took off with his own hands. Bucky told you about the war, about Siberia, about the Winter Soldier’s missions, and everything he could remember. He told you about how scared he was, although Shuri erased any Hydra’s command from his head, they could use them against him again.

“I know one day people will see you as I do”.

Your words could be barely inaudible for anyone around because the soft melody was a little louder, but enough for him to hear them. You felt him sobbing, stopping his moves, and just standing focused on your caresses. You held his cheeks onto your hands, cleaning the few tears falling with your thumbs. Leaning on your tiptoes, you kissed his forehead, pressing your lips on his warm skin with so much tenderness. Bucky was trembling under your touch, shortening the less distance between your bodies.

“Can you smile for me?” You pouted at him, showing your boyfriend your best puppy eyes. “Please…”

How couldn’t he say no? He curved his lips half-hearted, discovering those two little bunny incisors in the center of his tooth. But as soon as your boyfriend heard you chuckling, crinkling your nose, his smile grown from ear-to-ear. You knew to perfection how to cheer him up, even if mostly you used to do it practically unconsciously.

Bucky licked his lower lip while raising both of his hands to the sides of your neck, bowing his face enough to kiss you. He had been craving it since he woke up less than an hour ago, finding you clung to his body and your nose sunk close to the huge scar on his shoulder. Sometimes, completely asleep, you used to place fondly smoochies on it. Waking him up a couple of seconds, enough to ask himself how your love for him could be so pure and embrace you as close as he could. He usually used to take a deep breath from your sweet fruity smell, before dozing off again.

“One day… y'know, when the Government is sure ‘m not going to…” Bucky intoned stroking the tip of your nose with his, still softly sniffing, not finishing the sentence. “I… I will marry you. And take care of you for the rest of my life. I promise”.

In silence as his blue eyes got fixed on your orbs, he begged you to believe him. Bucky was desperate for showing you the things you made him feel.

“I know, Buck”.

His smile appeared again, pecking your lips whilst squatting briefly to raise you onto his arms. He was so much better after dancing with you, after your words of encouragement, after practically saying yes to get older together and everything that went with it.

James brought you to your shared bed, removing his t-shirt you were wearing to tuck you under the sheets, between his arms and well-covered by the warmth emanating from his chest. A long time ago, the word home stopped having a material meaning. Home was wherever you were.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

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[manias-wordcount]

Angel’s Neck (Dabi)

Kinktober 2021 Day Eleven: Choking

𝗟𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗢𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲: 𝗼𝗻𝗲 || 𝘁𝘄𝗼 || 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 || 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

You spent your whole life hitting the books. With a healing quirk like yours, there was no doubt in everyone’s mind that you needed to go into the medical field. Not only could you heal major physical wounds and get rid of bodies of certain harmful chemicals and sicknesses, but you could also dull down the pain that you or someone is feeling significantly. Quirks like yours were rare and completely invaluable. But that meant spending all your free time as a child all the way into young adulthood practicing your quick and studying to have a public quirk usage license. You missed out on a lot of partying, guys, and the world with a nose permanently buried behind textbooks. 

 Now, you’re a nurse. You did it. You made it to the top but really, what was the cause? You were strong, and you were doing what you needed to do. How could you want anything more than that? Well, your friends answered that for you. A man.

You met him at a club your friends dragged you to. 

 Drinks were half off if you came in costume. A little weird considering there was nothing going on that day and it would make bar-hopping virtually impossible without stares yet you couldn’t seem to say no. Not having enough time to think of something elaborate, you picked the easiest thing from the party store down the road. Angel wings and a halo. Paired that with a cute white top and a white miniskirt and suddenly you were the picture of innocence. 

 Except for that choker around your neck, of course. 

 Still, getting all dolled up didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t your scene. You spent the first half-hour at the bar, sipping on fruity cocktails and watching your friends dance on guys they probably would never see again. Every time they came over to hype you up and to invite you to dance, you just grabbed your drink and insisted that you finish it first. And when they weren’t looking, you’d get a refill and repeat the process all over again. You felt bad, but you honestly just couldn’t. 

 It looked like fun. But it just didn’t look like you. 

 Sometime after the third time, one of your friends had come over, a guy slides onto the barstool next to yours. Tall, dark, handsome, and with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. And when he noticed your wandering eyes, he introduced himself as Dabi. And when he made a sarcastic comment about your “basic-ass angel get-up”, halfway to drunk you couldn’t help but quip back at his costume. You had guessed Frankstein’s Monster, eyes spending an extra long time gazing at the dark marks that ran all the way up to his veiny, muscular- ahem, arms. He had said otherwise.

 “No dice, doll face. It’s not a costume.” Dabi drawled, eyes half-lidded and dangerous. You can just sort of tell with the way he carries himself that he’s bad news. That he’s a bad guy. He might be the type to hurt people- the very people you have to heal. Or maybe he’s the type to commit all types of crimes. And as someone who’s on the right side of the law, those are the types of people you tended to ignore. “I’m just ugly.”

 It should have turned you off. The scars, the staples, the marks on his skin. You know your friends would turn that down in a heartbeat. And yet, you let him buy you a drink. Something stronger than what you’re used to, but you gulped that down if it meant still talking to this handsome stranger. And another. And suddenly, he’s pulling you out of the club, and dragging you into an alleyway while you shove your hand down his pants and he sticks his tongue down your throat. 

 You’re squealing as he slams you up against the wall, his hand protecting the back of your head as if he’s some type of gentleman. Your torn-off fake wings in a puddle a couple of feet away are a testament to that. One look at his face, and you can tell he’s almost as equally drunk as you. You’re not one for drunk sex or casual hookups with strangers, but when you eyed the condom in his pocket at the bar, you couldn’t help but ask who it was for. And when he said it was for you, you couldn’t help but find his confidence attractive. Really attractive. 

 It’s not your fault you haven’t gotten anything in a while, alright?

 “Dabi!” You whine, feeling heat spread across your skin as you watch him use his quirk to burn your panties off your body. At first, you were in awe- such destructive quirk, and yet he had so much control over it. Then you just felt annoyed. “Those were my favorites.”

  His lips twitch up at your pout, using his hand to slide two fingers into your pussy while stroking himself with the other. 

 “I’ll buy you a new pair.” He promises like a liar, grin still on his face. You’re drunk, and so is he. You’re not getting anything from him except for some good dick at best. Still, it’s hard to keep up your frown when his fingers and so thick and hitting so deep inside of you. 

 You mewl at the feeling, eyes glazed over and more focused on the little peeks of stapled and scarred skin you can see from beneath his clothes. Specifically, his hands. Part of your mind- your rational mind for some reason starts to think about how if you met him under different circumstances, you would be fretting over his body, insisting that you attempt to heal him. You always had a harder time getting rid of scars and burns to but to see some many made your heartache. 

 Now the pent-up part of your brain had different agenda.

 “Choke me?” You ask, not even realizing that you said the words out loud until Dabi chokes up and falters for a moment. You meet his blue eyes, surprised yet more focused on your neck now that the suggestion is out there. 

 “I don’ know doll face,” He speaks lowly, his voice raspy with the smallest slur from the alcohol. His eyes narrow into a playful slit and meet yours as if he’s sure you don’t know what you’re asking for him. “I can be rough.”

 “I like rough.” You find yourself saying, which may or may not even be true considering you’ve never had and can’t really feel it rough. Not really with a quick like yours. Still, you’re nodding with a dumb look on your face, your hand rising up to touch your choker as if only now remembering it’s still there. “Please? I can take it.”

 “You can take it?” He echoes the amused look on his face growing and growing more by the second. You suppose you look like some horny girl just desperate to get laid and to jump anyone’s bones. And in some ways, you are. But you’ve never met anyone who looks like him. Anyone who looks like as much trouble as him. And the way he pulls his fingers away from your pussy leaves you aching in a way you’ve never thought possible. “I don’t know princess-”

 “Please? You can be as rough as you want, I can take it!” You beg again, gliding your hands down your figure as sensually as possible. Your moves are a little sloppy- even you can tell. So you opt to grabbing the hem of your skirt and flipping it up to expose your cunt while two fingers on your other hand reach down and spread your lips for his viewing pleasure. You take pride in the way his breath hitches at your incredibly lewd act and ask him again. “Pretty please~?”

  His hand is around your neck in an instant and his dick is slamming its way inside your pussy before your mind can even process it. His other hand is wrapped in a tight fist placed against you the wall right next to your head. He’s pressing down on your neck- hard, and it’s both expected and unexpected. It’s a tighter feeling than you thought it was going to be. You could feel his fingers twitch and flex against your neck, squeezing just enough to give you a hard time catching your breath and breathing deeply. 

 Your hands quickly move away from where you previously had them, moving to grip the wrist the hand wrapped around your neck. You don’t try to pull him off- no. The feeling of being choked is a weird sensation to you. It’s that same feeling of suffocation that you used to get with school and pressure. But somehow, it’s better? Maybe it’s the fact that the guy’s who doing it knows how to work his dick in all the right ways. Maybe it’s because you can control the amount of pain you feel from it. 

 And let’s just say, you like feeling it. A lot.

 “Mmmm, fuck Dabi!” You whine out. It definitely wasn’t the preparation job for his dick- you know that much as a nurse. But you’re liking the way he’s practically fucking you out in public. You’re liking the way the alley wall digs into your skin. You’re liking the way he’s practically stirring up your insides with fast, rough snaps of his hips that just never seem to slow down. And you’re loving the way his hands are starting to make your head feel light and floaty right now. 

 “Hmm just like that doll, just like that.” He says to you in that low voice that you just love. He adjusts his grip on your neck, squeezing tighter and pulling you closer. The new angle of your body allows for him to hit brush up against your g-spot every now and then, and you’re left crying out. “Let me see how far you can go. Let me see that quirk in action.”

 What?

 Maybe if you weren’t so innocent. Maybe if you weren’t so tipsy when you met him, you might have recognized the man shamelessly flirting with you. It didn’t matter how many times you kept saying his name, the alarm bells ringing in your head just went ignored. After all, he was so just so hot and different. Your friends brought you out for a good time, right? And you’re having a good time, right? Honestly, how were you supposed to know this was the same guy who had been trailing you for months now, studying your habits, your quirk, your life? But he’s fucking you now, so it’s okay right? It’s not, and you should have known this. 

 After all, nothing good can come from a devil with his hands around an angel's neck.

[let-them-read-fics]

Blackpink HC / One Shots: Enemies to Lovers, College AU (2/2)

Requested: Yes

Warnings / Misc. -- Bickering, Rivalry, Fluff

A/N: Hey everyone! This is the second half of the request, featuring Rosé and Lisa. If you want to see the first part, with Jisoo and Jennie, click the link below. I hope you enjoy!

Click for Jisoo and Jennie

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Rosé

Park Chaeyoung: The girl who hung with the wrong crowd.

Your problem lied more so with the people she associated with than her herself. You couldn't wrap your head around why such a kind person like her would spend time with the class clowns and bullies, and to make matters worse, she would stick up for them as well.

She spent most of her days in either the art or music room, creating the masterpieces that her brain came up with.

But as soon as school was over, she'd be hanging out with them again and getting into trouble. For instance, because of her talents, they would invite her to go with them and graffiti various hot spots around town. She never vandalized any monuments or landmarks of importance -- she typically stuck to bridges or abandoned buildings -- but after getting caught with them multiple times, it was inevitable for her to be held accountable.

She was given a week's detention to make up for her actions

You, coincidentally, had a teacher that absolutely loathed you for no reason at all. No matter how good of a student you were for him, he didn't care; he had a vendetta against you for some reason, and he patiently waited for the opportunity to ruin your day.

You came in literally 10 seconds after the bell rang, putting the breakfast sandwich you stopped to get on the way into your mouth so you could open the door. He was standing at the front with a smug grin on his face, and you already knew what was coming.

You were also given an ungodly sentence of a week's detention.

Turning Point

"If I see you on your phones, I'm taking them." The monitor informs before sitting at the desk, reclining in the chair and putting his feet up soon after. You sigh and lean back in your seat, attempting to find a way to pass the next two hours without getting in trouble. Your eyes scan across the room, eventually landing on Rosé, where she sits a couple rows away from you. Sunlight is streaming in through the window next to her, its golden rays peeking through the breaks in the clouds above to shine on her. She looks gorgeous as she doodles away in her notebook, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear when it falls in front of her face.

After waiting on the monitor to fall asleep and sending one last glance to double check, you quietly stand from your seat and go sit next to her.

You barely know each other, but she's your only hope of remaining sane and occupied.

"Hi," you greet, looking into her eyes.

"Hi," she copies, a tiny smile forming on her lips when she notices your impressed expression upon gazing down at her paper. You have to hand it to her -- she's really talented.

"You're really good," you compliment, still admiring the artistry. Seeing as how you're looking down, you fail to notice the blush that works its way to her cheeks. Coming from you, the simple remark meant a lot to her.

You spend the rest of the day making small talk and getting used to one another, leaving detention later with the hopes of sitting together again.

----

The Next Day

"Hi again," you whisper, glancing over your shoulder to ensure that the coast is clear. The monitor is out like a light, with his mouth hanging open and an obnoxiously loud snore coming out.

"Hi," she giggles, watching as you dive into the floor for cover when the man shifts in his sleep. You thought he was waking up, and if he finds out you moved seats, he'll definitely have something to say about it.

"The coast is clear, cadet," she nods like a soldier, assuring you that it's okay to move back after a minute.

"That was close," you breathe out in relief, glad to live to see another day.

You share a laugh, though it has to be hidden behind your hands and kept a minimum. It's cute though -- like a little secret between the two of you, only for you to know.

"What're you drawing today?" You ask later, laying your chin in your palm as you gaze down at her work. Her reply comes out stuttered at first when she feels your leg innocently brush against hers under the table.

"D-dalgom. My friend's dog." She manages out, mentally smacking herself for looking like a fool.

You smile, thinking she's adorable. "I bet it'll be great," you encourage. She grins back as her eyes scan over your face, committing the memory of you to heart. She's always had a thing for you, ever since the time you were paired up in Biology last semester, so she's been enjoying detention more than she thought she would. Seeing you makes the time go by faster, though ironically, she wishes it would slow down a bit.

You make her feel appreciated for more than just what she's capable of producing, and the divide between you and her friend group is blaringly obvious. They like her because of the rush she can help them achieve; you like her because of her.

That thought persists in her mind for the rest of detention, and before she knows it, the monitor is releasing you again. She bends down to put her notebook in her bag when a thought pops into her mind: she wants to ask if you want to go to the park with her. When she's done zipping her bag up, she looks back up at you, only to find you on your phone, talking to someone.

"Yeah, mom. I'll stop by on the way home. So milk, cereal, ramen, and paper towels, right?"

She watches as you wait for a reply, tucking the phone into the crook of your neck as you move to write the list down on a spare piece of paper.

"Alright, love you, too. See you later." You hang up before looking back at Rosie. She looks a little down, and you have no idea why.

You pause for a moment, silently psyching yourself up for what you're about to ask. "This is gonna sound really strange, but do you want to come with me to the store?"

Her heart's pace increases at that, happy to know that you want to spend more time with her, just as she does with you.

"Actually, yeah. That sounds like fun."

You grin at her before spinning around and doing a little celebratory dance, which wins you a strange look from the monitor. You stick your tongue out at him before grabbing her hand and rushing out of the room, hearing his disapproval shouted after you.

--

"Milk?"

"Check."

"Ramen?"

"Check."

"Cereal?"

"Nope."

You nod at her words, now reminded of what you were forgetting. You push the buggy towards the aisle of cereals, gazing around in wonder at the huge selection. Rosé is just the same, eyeing all of the options like a kid in a candy store. After grabbing your mom's favorite kind, you decide on one for yourself and bring it back to the cart. Rosie scoots her leg over, making room for them beside where she sits, reclined in the cart.

You grin when you see her eyeing a box of fruit loops. Huh; fruity. Go figure.

You wordlessly grab the box and hand it to her, feeling your heart melt when she looks up at you like you hold the key to the universe.

"Thank you, Y/N."

"No problem, Rosie." You say, putting your hands on the bar as you begin pushing the buggy again. "Now, I say we see how long it takes to get to the paper towel aisle. My last record was 30 seconds."

She looks at you, clearly impressed, with her eyebrows raised. Without question, she pulls her phone out and gets the stop watch feature ready to go.

"3...2...1... GO!" She shouts, commanding your legs to start pumping as you race down the long strip of store before you. A couple kids dart out of the way just before getting smacked into, quickly turning around and cheering you on as you charge forward.

Her giggles fill the air as you drift around a corner, shouting apologies to the lady you almost bumped into.

"Sorry ma'am!"

A few seconds later, chest heaving and legs sore, you come to a stop in the aisle, dramatically collapsing in a heap next to the buggy. Rosé checks her phone as she reaches down to poke you.

"22.18 seconds, champ," she declares victoriously, smiling when you magically regain enough energy to stand up and celebrate.

"Woohoo! Team Y/S/N (Your Ship Name) for the win!"

She laughs along at that, joining in on your celebration, but she's blushing like crazy on the inside.

-----

The Last Day Of Detention

Ever since your trip to the store, you and Rosé have grown closer and closer. You traded numbers and text occasionally, though nothing beats having her all to yourself for 2 hours straight with no distractions. She feels the same; when she's in class, she can't wait for the bell to ring and signal your reunion. Part of her wants to get in trouble again, just to see you more often.

So, as you'd expect, it's really no surprise that you're sat right in front of her again, telling jokes and asking about her day. You've grown a bit more bold with every step closer you've taken towards her heart, and now you reach down to intertwine your fingers with hers.

She happily accepts, even bringing your hand up to her lips to press a kiss to the back of it. She smiles against your skin after it, making butterflies take flight in your stomach. She's got you wrapped around her finger, and you don't even try to fight it anymore.

The sound of the classroom door opening alerts you, making her lower your hand. She doesn't let go of you, though, and that fact warms your heart for some reason. The squeaky hinges groan out again as the door opens wider, revealing about 4 or 5 people from the friend group that she hangs out with. They motion for her to sneak out with them, but she just shakes her head.

"Come on, Rosé!" They whisper-scream, offering her a way to freedom. Little do they know that she'd take this imprisonment over freedom any day, so long as you're by her side.

"No! Get out before he wakes up!" She whisper-shouts back, eventually convincing them to leave.

"Why didn't you go?" You ask once they're gone, toying with her fingers as your hands rest on the desk.

"Because I like spending time with you." She admits, letting her defenses down.

"I was hoping you'd say that," you smile, letting her know that you feel the same.

The Fallout

After detention, the two of you walked out of the school, hand in hand

"Would you maybe, I don't know... wanna go to the park with me?" She asks nervously, glancing up at you.

"You read my mind, Rosie." You smile at each other and head towards the parking lot.

You started hanging out more, and she distanced herself from her old crowd

You encouraged her to enroll in your school's art program and show her work that way

"You're really talented; it deserves to be seen."

Your support meant the world to her, and she never failed to let you know

"Thank you, Y/N. Having you behind me means the world to me."

At one of her art shows, where she was tasked with unveiling a new piece that she'd been working on for months, you got the biggest surprise of your life.

She created a mural of you, all decked out with every color of the rainbow, utterly gorgeous

She lit up when she saw your reaction

"This piece is titled 'Mine', which I hope the girl in it will soon be." She says into the microphone, looking at you with hope shining in her eyes.

You nod your head with a smile and walk up to her, pressing your lips to hers in a kiss that was long-overdue. She wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you in closer with her sweater-padded hands and kissing you again and again.

The crowd claps for you, happy to see such an ending.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lisa

I couldn't choose between these two gifs so enjoy both for the price of one ^^^

Lisa Manoban: Cocky, smug, and self-assured. The dancer knew she was hot shit, and she wasn't afraid to show off.

You're all for people being confident and happy with themselves, especially when they're talented, but something about Lisa always seemed to rub you the wrong way.

Whether it be her lack of a filter or the arrogant swagger that she naturally exuded, you weren't sure. People wanted to either be her or be with her, but you fell into neither of those categories.

She always left you frustrated in one way or another, whether it be from her teasing or her witty comebacks

The teachers loved her, as did the students. She was the class clown, so her position was pretty sacred in the grand scheme of things

You, on the other hand, irritated her for other reasons. You were the only person she couldn't get to crack; you never gave into her charms, and it infuriated her to no end. She wasn't used to not getting what she wanted (as childish as that may seem) and having you, one of the most attractive girls at school, turn her down? Well that was a massive blow to her ego.

You weren't afraid to say your piece, and that both pleasantly surprised and upset her.

She constantly tried to flirt with you in class, but you knew it was all for the attention. She just wanted to make her friends laugh, which they always did.

"Y/N, come here babe. There's an empty seat next to me," she coos, batting her eyelashes as you walk in the door. It's a free day, so everyone is sitting with their friends, wherever they like.

"I'm good," you decline, deciding to sit against the wall beneath the large window of the classroom.

"Oooo, denied," Lisa's friends laugh at her this time, chuckling harder when she sticks her middle finger up at them.

"Yah, shut up," she says, nursing her bruised ego as she turns around and opens her phone.

You smile as you continue working on the homework you cracked open, scribbling an answer down onto the notebook paper in front of you. Your fingers glide over your textbook in search of the definition of the term you're on, and Lisa secretly watches from afar. Without realizing it, she grins when you light up upon spotting the answer.

Sometimes her flirting does work, though, and you turn into a blushing mess

*whistle* "Damn, Y/N. You're looking fine today," she exclaims, fanning herself. You worry that she doesn't really mean it, but when her eyes remain on you a second too long to just be friendly, you blush. She's taking in all of you, looking impressed all the while.

"Right back at you, Manoban." You wink, sitting down in your seat across the room. She lightly blushes back, though she does a good job of concealing it.

Considering you share a couple classes and the class sizes are relatively small, it was pretty likely that you'd end up paired together eventually

You weren't happy about it, especially not after the way she had acted that week. Her cockiness had been at an all time high as of late, leaving you frustrated and upset. She was so full of herself; all you wanted to do was wipe that stupid smirk off her face.

"Y/N, you'll be paired with Lisa," your photography teacher informs, pushing her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose.

"But Mrs. Ta--"

"Pairings are final," she cocks her head at you, persuading you to give in. With a sigh, you respond, "Yes ma'am," and attempt to ignore the sound of Lisa's friends high fiving each other in celebration.

The Turning Point

"My parents are gone for the rest of the week..." she says, holding the door open for you as you carry in your equipment. A hint of suggestiveness lies in it; she's alluding to exactly what you think she is, and you push her shoulder upon realizing it.

"Knock it off, Manoban."

"Okay, okay," she chuckles, listening to you for once. The surprise is clear on your face.

She leads you towards the backyard, where you set up one of your highest power cameras and turn it on. You have to create a gallery of different photos, all under the same theme. You both agreed to do a time-lapse of the sunset, and take pictures of the stars after.

Once she makes sure that the timer is set correctly and that the auto shut-off feature is enabled, she motions for you to follow her back into the house. You do, and she leads you into the kitchen.

"Do you want a snack?"

"Sure, do you have any ramen?"

She nods, quickly busying herself by bending down and searching through the cabinets. After she finds it, exclaiming a pleased, "Aha!", she tells you to go get comfortable in the living room.

Three minutes later, from your place on the couch, you begin to smell something burning. You scramble up and rush to the kitchen, only to find Lisa running around like a headless chicken, attempting to put out the small fire she started.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU MANAGE TO BURN RAMEN?" You shout, though your tone isn't angry. You're just very shocked, and loud about it. You push her away from the pot, albeit gently, and get the flames to go down relatively quickly. You turn the burners off and put the pot in the sink, leaning against the counter to recover from the adrenaline rush.

"Oops?" She asks more so that says, with a growing smile evident in her voice.

You shake your head and chuckle despite yourself, turning around to face her. "You can order a pizza now to make up for that." You point a finger at her, grinning stupidly when she presses the tip of hers to it.

"Your wish is my command, princess."

Thankfully you're already walking away as she says that, so she doesn't get the satisfaction of seeing you blush.

---

"Lisa, I can't keep going." You groan out, sweat dripping down your face. The pizza you ate earlier is giving you a stomache ache, paired with the physical activity you're doing.

"Y/N, just a little longer, we're almost there," she huffs out, keeping her movements steady somehow. You're a mess by now, so you don't understand how she's still going.

A couple minutes later, the TV in front of you lights up, saying, "Awesome moves! You win!" as you collapse to the ground in a heap.

Why you agreed to play Just Dance with her after eating is beyond you.

"Good job," she compliments, grabbing your hand to high five herself with it.

"Yeah, yeah," you roll over, catching your breath.

She lays down beside you as you recover, telling jokes to hear that laugh that she loves so much. She prefers yours over anyone elses, so it's always such a reward when she gets you to crack up.

"We should probably head up now," she notes, realizing that the stars will be coming out soon. You agree, and she carefully helps you up.

"Here, I'll carry you," she turns, bending down so you can get on her back.

"Lisa, you can't carry me," you brush off, feeling insecurity bubble up again like it always does when you're offered a piggyback ride.

"Y/N, I promise that I can. Trust me," she reassures, looking into your eyes sincerely.

"Alright," you sigh, standing onto the couch to get on easier.

"See?" She asks, sliding her warm hands up your thighs to keep you secured against her. "I've got you, babe."

You tuck your head into the space between her shoulder and neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume.

"I'm gonna punch you if you drop me," you whisper, feeling her laugh against you.

"Fair enough."

-----

Later, On The Rooftop

"Careful," she instructs, outstretching a hand to help you climb out the window. Her camera hangs around her neck, and she takes the cap off of the lense once you're both safely sitting on the roof.

"Wow," you sigh, gazing up at the sky in wonder. Her house is far enough away from the city that you're rewarded with a gorgeous view of the stars, unburdened by the industrial fog that hangs over the cosmopolis.

"It's beautiful out here," you say, looking back at her. You tense up a bit, not expecting her to already be looking at you.

"Sorry," she laughs at herself, looking away once she gets caught admiring you.

"It's okay," you reach down and gently squeeze her hand, making her blush lightly.

"Let's get started," you conclude, pointing at the camera. She nods, knowing that she'd never get the assignment done if you didn't step in to tell her to (considering she'd rather admire you), and she points the device to the sky.

After snapping a few pictures, she lays back in order to get a better vantage point of one of the star systems. She hands it to you after she's satisfied with her work, and you take your turn with it.

She notices that you keep brushing your hair out of the way when it falls in your face, so she decides to help you.

"Here," she says, saddling up behind you. She gathers your hair up, running her fingers through it to neatly pull it up for you. Thankfully she always keeps a spare tie on her wrist.

"Thanks," you smile, snapping another picture. The simple act warms your heart; she's being selfless for once, and helping you without even being asked. It's a refreshing change of pace.

"You're welcome." She chirps, sitting back down beside you.

-----

Later, In Her Bedroom

"Oh, I really like that one!" She says excitedly, pointing at the TV. Her phone, which is connected via Bluetooth and automatically receives pictures of her choosing from the camera, is displaying some of your best shots.

"Yeah, you did really well with that. I think we might beat everyone else if we use that as our cover piece."

Your compliment makes her momentarily shy, and she quickly realizes how much she loves your praise.

The two of you continue like that, reviewing the different pictures and choosing your favorites. She always finds ways to compliment yours, noting your technique or the filter you used, and it always makes you smile. She's different than you're used to, and it's throwing you for a loop, pleasantly surprising.

---

Lisa steps out of the room to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, leaving her phone connected to the TV. A ding sounds out across the space, pulling your attention away from the stack of notes laid out before you. Your eyes dart up to the screen, reading the text message that appeared at the top of it.

Austin ⛓: "Dude, did you get into her pants yet? We're literally betting over here 😂"

You blink a few times as their words sink in, making your chest hurt. You were really beginning to believe that you had been wrong about Lisa; clearly, though, your instincts were right.

Feeling betrayed, you shove your folders back into your bag and stand from the chair, willing yourself not to cry. The sound of the sink turning on lets you know that she's almost done, so you hurry your movements and make your way towards the door. She steps out into the hall just as you exit her room, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Woah, woah, woah, what's going on?" She asks with furrowed brows, approaching you. One of her hands lands on your arm, and you shrug it off as you brush past her without another word.

"Y/N, did I do something wrong?" She asks from the top of her staircase, watching as you walk towards her foyer.

"Why don't you ask Austin?" You bitterly call over your shoulder as you turn the knob, slipping out the front door. She hangs her head upon registering your words, realizing what must've happened. She makes a mental note to give him hell when she sees him again.

Tears sting your eyes as you exit the house, wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself. You should've known something like this would happen. The chilly night air bites at your skin, stealing more of its warmth away with every step you take. The temperature doesn't change your mind, though; you're upset, and you'd rather freeze out here than be face to face with her right now.

"Y/N, wait!" She calls after you, blasting out the front foor. Her footfalls sound off behind you, announcing her rapid approach, but you don't turn around. Realizing this, she darts in front of you, keeping you from walking any further.

"Please, don't go. He's an idiot, Y/N."

"He might he an idiot, but that doesn't take away what he said," you scowl, clenching your jaw. "Betting? Really, Lisa?" You ask quietly, hurt evident in your voice.

"It was a stupid thing they tried to convince me to do. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop them from talking once you and I were paired up. That's not what I want, though. I'm not just in it for that."

"How am I supposed to believe that? This is your M.O., Lisa."

"It's different with you, I don't know why." That's a lie; she knows exactly why you're different than anyone else she's flirted with in the past.

You stand there before her, silently weighing your options. After seeing the pleading look in her eye, her dark orbs full of sincerity, you relent. "Just take me home. We'll work on it another day," you compromise, allowing her in just enough to take you home, but not enough to stay at her place any longer. You're still weary after a text like that, and you will be for a while.

"Thank you," she breaths a sigh of relief, clasping her hands behind herself as you begin walking back to her house. She notices you shiver on the way, and she slips her jacket off without hesitation to cover you. Neither of you have to say anything; one glance from you is enough for her, and she's content knowing you're warm.

The Fallout

From there on out she was always honest with you and actually spoke out when her friends tried to do something stupid

She still remained the charming class clown that she naturally is, just getting rid of the not-so-nice parts of herself

You slowly let her regain your trust, little by little

She did nice things for you on the daily, whether it be holding the door, carrying your books, or offering to buy you some lunch

"Morning, Y/N. Wanna grab some breakfast?" She asks, moving her head to the side towards the café at the center of campus.

"Sure," you smile, laughing when she celebrates.

She invites you to her dance perfomances

When she goes to championships, you're always first on her list of invites

"I want you there." She declares, handing you the flyer.

"You've got it," you decide, knowing there's no where you'd rather be. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

At said championship, she won the highest title and claimed victory for your school

You joined the rest of the team on the stage to celebrate, congratulating the solo dancer on her achievement.

"I'm so proud of you, Lis--"

She suddenly kisses you, clearly high off her win. She pulls back when she realizes what she just did, a worried look on her face.

"Shit, I'm sorry." She looks between your eyes, attempting to gauge your reaction.

"Get your ass back here," you order, feeling butterflies take flight when she eagerly presses her lips to yours again, wrapping her arms around you to spin you.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" She mumbles against your lips.

You squint, pretending to think about it. "Maybe... or maybe not."

Her subsequent gasp is quickly muffled by your kiss, which she can't seem to get enough of.

[pepsicup]

Chaotic Commentary: We Have Always Lived In The Castle

Welcome to my thought process when I watch movies! 

The arrival of a cousin with ulterior motives threatens the claustrophobic and isolated world of two sisters and their uncle. (Oooof, bitch. I already know Sebastian is gonna look damn fine in this movie.)

Watched: April 22nd, 2021

Opening

Alrighty, right off the bat, the opening music giving me very much throwing it back at summer solstice 1531. Might fuck around and show some ankle, who knows

Um miss girl, first off all, i know damn well you aren't wearing a stark white shirt and capris shorts after labour day. And secondly, you gotta work on your self care babygirl, you are looking rough

Okay, so noted; there is clearly something off about this girl because i know when i personally rummage through family keepsakes, i don't have a hannibal look on my face

I don't know if you guys know this but your house...it needs a little 5 minute crafts, diy, extreme makeover: home edition treatment

Ohhhh baddie alert, baddie alert, baddie alert. That chick’s silhouette already got me acting up. Yes sink low to the ground girl, drop it down for me

Short monologue before being cut in half by that creepy ass stare, gotcha. I literally needed more nightmare fuel, thanks bestie

‘A change is coming, and nobody knows it’ how much more change can you get, your house is literally in shambles girl one battle at a time

First Act

Ah, here we are, title screen. Very cottagecore.

Timeskip: What did happen last tuesday, I must know...the suspense is suffocating

I’m not one to judge, but that record doesn’t sound like a life-coaching audio. 

Oh heyyy there's a kitty!

Yes hun, that is a working tap, your telekinesis is redundant. Eleven from stranger things eat your heart out.

Alexandra! Babyyy Daddario! Step on my face or domesticate me into a housewife, i beg of you. The uncle tho, he isn't it.

Chill out Mary, you’re just running errands. Why is she walking in a slow-mo naruto run like that. She is giving me a schizophrenic Napoleon Dynamite vibes.

Wait...is her name Meerkat?

Oh, its Merricat...nah i like mine better lmaooo.

Her inner monologue is making cackle because it sounds like a Gabbie Hanna original piece 💀

Okay what i got from the coffee shop scene was Stella is also a grade A baddie, I want to commit double homicide on those two douches, and i want to invite miss meerkat to my lunch table because awwww. She's just different leave her alone.

Wow, the village folk really know how to talk shit huh? Well, I can eat rats like all of them for every meal of the day, plus snackie snacks. Go fuck yourselves, thoroughly.

God that family needs to smoke some weed or something. Why do I feel like the sisters are about to kiss...and the uncle sounds like he means risky business. Very bad vibes here, back to you in the studio.

Ooooh, miss daddy really knows how to roll her tongue huh? Again, very much cottagecore ‘history says they were just really good friends’ aesthetic. And so many bops in this movie, kinda feel the need to throw it back or do the renegade.

Why do I feel like this next scene is just a posh episode of gossip gorl. Sipping tea and spewing nonsense. Rum cake? No thanks, babygirl. Oh but here comes uncle wanky, whisking away Lucille with his talk of arsenic.

Yes. Speak 8 course meal to me daddy...fuck, now I’m hungry. Okay the uncle isn’t so bad I guess, very poetic and philosophical. Yes, very nice. Sucks that he was roofied and turned to a professor X cosplay for solace, though.

Timeskip: Last Thursday huh? We are in for a rollercoaster folks.

*she glares in rhubarb pie and possibly shelved jam*

OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING, I SAW THE SIDE/BACK OF HIS HEAD AND MY HEART STOPPED. He has a very nice shaped head, yes, pleasing to the eye.

Hi sirrrr, I have a pocket full of horses, trojan and some of them used. Pls let me ride you in the little red corvette. Pick me, Charles, choose me, love me.

Real talk, I feel so bad for Mary Katherine (I literally almost typed Gallagher at the end lmaooo thanks molly shannon) she is obviously struggling with something and Constance looks like she is very traumatized. 

But I still think there’s something not right about Mary. Miss girl no one walks like that (thats a lie, it would probably be me after a night with Bucky barnes) and I love me a little witchy goodness. But not enough to start locking up my bedroom like it’s Area 51 and having secret rituals at my super exclusive, diy bohemian temple in the middle of the woods.

OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE SPARE ME FROM THE FEELING I JUST FELT IN THIS ROOM ON THIS VERY DAY IN APRIL, MAMA FUCKING MIA

when he stood up—bitch I’m gone, I’m his whore now. Sorry, I am owned by this man. Bye I was literally launched off earth for a moment there, kinda chillin’ in dead space, standby.

Okay I took a break for a moment. I’m cool, I’m collected, play button is a go. NOPE, GIRL MY MOUTH IS FOREVER OPEN, AND I DUNNO IF I WAS MY BODY TELLING ME TO KNEEL IN FRONT OF HIM OR WHAT—SOMEONE HOLD ME

Current state: I am hugging my knees and wasting away under my blankets. I paused and played and paused and played because I cant go more than 2 seconds of looking at him.

Okay, I’m all good.

All I keep saying is no...no ...NO, louder and louder every time he opens his mouth, ‘got a hug for your cousin?’ um not a cousin but yes, right bitch for that job present for attendance. Here ✋🏻

Girl I’d run like the wind, too, this kitty isn’t gonna dry itself, nyuuuooom, double time! Fall in, Rogers. Gotta keep up. 🏃🏻‍♀️

Timeskip: Last Friday night, yeah we dance on table tops and we took too many shots, I think I gave Charles a blo-oh-job, whoops—

Ah, see I knew there was something fruity about Charles, hopefully he kisses a boy in this. Would love to see that. 

Uh oh, the way he just pops that fruit into his mouth...I fine, I’m totally fine. Mentally I am... the way he chews if making my oral fixation quake

‘now that’s a handsome cat’ sir if you don’t—he wonders why he is such a fucking meme, this is why Sebastian. 

‘Jonassss’ which one of the brothers, tho? 

Ah yes, the best of friends; Meerkat, Frankie Jonas and a middle-aged Carter Baizen. Ugh mega sad that this is the closest I will get to see Charles pet a puthycat though.

Why don’t you slap my ass like a flapjack pancake, Charles. You won’t.

OMG so quirky 🤪when you steal his shirts 🥺🤪🥰

Who the is venice, Charles? Who, who, what are you, a fucking owl? WHO’S VENICE AND WHY IS SHE YOUR FAVOURITE?! sorry i had to get that out of my system, iconic cinema shall not be overlooked. 

all this commentary is fresh from my chicken breast brain by the way

All i heard out of that little inspirational, facebook-esque speech at the dinner table was was shoes. Also peep Frédéric Chopin banging in the background noise, a little Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 to keep party goin’

Charles...that is your cousin.

It isn't a PHASE, Charles. Let him be emo over his dead brother and great tragedy of losing his legs then gaining the likeness of sir patrick stewart. Therefore, he will not forget.

Oh...i’ll sit down i guess. 

I COULD LITERALLY—...I could literally watch him eat for the rest of my life pls sir have murthy

Grocery boy...hmmm reminds me of a yee ole jingle i heard in my youth. What can i say, I’m a connoisseur of the classics my friends.

Sidenote: I’m getting vietnam flashbacks to singing ‘carol of the bells’ at the elementary christmas concert. I am overstimulated. And not in a good way.

Charles...do not add that newspaper clipping of your cousin to your personal spank bank, pls.

Timeskip: Last weekend, alright. What did we do; brewski’s with the boys? Hockey night in canada? one legged race? I’m dying to know...

Very nice form charles, you’ve almost dug right through the wood. A real mans-man here if we are being honest. I’ve never in whole life seen a construction crew do better than Charles Blackwood.

I could watch him do this all day.

Pearl necklace huh? Me too, girl.

‘I’m beginning to think, that my spells no longer work’ 8-year-old me, sitting in a bath full of salt and a charm bracelet of rock candy dissolving in the water after my fifth attempt to transform into a mermaid

Aw, but i would sit out there and eat a sandwich with Meerkat. Hell yeah, we can go halfsies on a BLT no problem 😢

oh...

oh no...Charles.

Here is my first sexual grievance, the way he carried that sack over his shoulder, mmm yes i have been fed most wonderful nutrients. BUT NEXT?! THE TWO FINGERS LINE AND THE FUCKING MOTION HE DID AND SAYING SHE WASN’T GOING DEEP ENOUGH PLS

what is with this man and gold...alright debutante Lance Tucker simmer down.

And the ‘hot’ thing, ‘needing a bath’? miss daddy is working it in for her cousin real hard, sweet home alabama all summer long

HEY LET'S ALL GO SWIMMING IN MY POOOL, AND BY POOL I MEAN BATHTUB, AND BY SWIMMING I MEAN SEXXXX--

Oh, so there’s this ominous whistling, nice, a blade kink, cool, and Charles serving body audi audi audi audi all the damn day. Hi sirrrrr. God i just love his chest, man. Its just so buff. He looks this good for what? And in front of his cousin...ew? um child, anyways so

the way my stomach clenched in the most uncomfortable way just shows that my body doesn't care about my comfort when it comes to thirsting and simping. He didnt have to look at her like that or fucking back her out

oh to be a chair...

esteemed audience member sac is a little tired of hearing cousin charles and cousin mary call each other cousin charles and cousin mary

Charles, eat your fruit and shut the fuck up. But also, hi sirrr.

I see you, Constance, I see you...tig ol’ bitties 👀

Timeskip: It’s Monday without the benefit of a sebastian stan, full frontal nude scene...smh

baby, just give up on the step and go fondle some plants please, i’m begging, stop at once. or, i spoke too soon?

If i have to hear sebastian say constance one more time i am going suck down all the arsenic i can find...he just says it so weird lmaoooo i hate it

Climax (make it happen, Charles 🙄)

Aw i love fruity, coffee shop, car men AU’s

that shot of him looking over his shoulder single handedly sent to into a spiral...what the fuck are you doing to me, Charles.

uh oh...one of the car men is madddd

OH OKAY WELL, WELL, FUCK ME, WELL

why dont you just come up behind her and literally growl in her ear what the fuck, Charles. I swear sebastian plays his characters just to make women go feral sometimes.

Sir! Sir! This IS A WENDY’S, SIR, THAT’S YOUR COUSIN--

NOT THE MILK CARTON

PLEASE I’M LITERALLY KILLING MYSELF LAUGHING, WHY IS HE DRINKING IT LIKE THATTTTT 

that little ‘aahh’ at the end when he drank it all got me, oh my fucking jesus. Hold on i need a minute, my stomach hurts from laughing my guts out.

Oooof but the eye-contact and the expressions are computing mega well to my chicken breast brain so fanfics will be written and sin will be committed so help me lord jesus on the cross almighty, amen (sorry i’m ex-catholic, its just my go-to)

pfffft that is so iconic, Mary is literally gathering sticks in the pitch black woods while Charles basically puts down his own wood for her sister to pick up on fjgrebgnuierijiojfd, i’m dying

why does he have to pull that poetic, sensitive stud act...just give us the goods charles, slap someone i’m begging you

This is like star wars all over again, they served head-on into on-coming incest traffic 

*holds up finger guns* sir, ma’am i’m gonna need you to put your hands behind your heads and get down on your knees exactly 8.92 feet apart, this is a citizen’s arrest 

but, i too would like to slow dance and make plans with him. Maybe we’ll go deep in the garden with two fingers on top of the rhubarb, maybe we will commit arson, who knows...

Meerkat continues to be my every mood, she really said:

Timeskip: Oh shit, its tuesday ya’ll, grab your party hats it’s about to get funky

Charles, if you don’t shut the fuck up and stop yelling out her name i will suffocate you between my thighs, electrocute your arm until it falls limp and shoot you with a grenade launcher, don’t make me do it

And yes, am i currently squirming in my seat because of the way he is smoking the pipe and hollowing his cheeks, what about it?

Second Act 

Yes baby girl! you trash that room like ozzy osbourne and tommy lee did to that motel on tour in 1982. Go, Meerkat, go!

Charles holding those sticks in both hands is the equivalent to a 1-year-old holding those little cocktail weenies, it has the same energy and i’m dying over it

Try to tell me it's not the same picture:

You can't.

Oh shit, its getting heated now. Mary’s in trouble.

Everything isn’t making sense at the same time its all coming together, i am confused, frightened, a little bit horny, but mostly just entirly overwhelmed. Mom...can you come pick me up, i’m scared.

Oh my god! knew it! i knew i knew the actor that plays the uncle, he's the creepy thin man from charlie's angels! Wowza, what a world.

Oh no...i’m flashing back to vietnam again, the fucking bells dude i’m tellin’ ya. There is so much going on, i feel everything but nothing at the same time, help...

NOOOO HER ARTSY BOHEMIAN WITCH COTTAGECORE JARS! THE OUTRAGE! SHE CANT CAST SPELLS ANYMORE, HER POWERS ARE LOST!

a CURSH! NOT A CURSH!

What in the criss angel mindfreak is going on in here on this day? Who are they? And why is the broad such a bitch...oh is she the mom? My bad. Pops seems nice though. Yes, indeed.

Awh, hiii frankie jonasss. 🥰

Oh here we go with the eating again. If i have to see him flex his jaw one more time i’m gonna go feral. And on the usual, loud and obnoxious noises like the ones he is making when he takes a bite, or chew or swallow food/a drink like the who fucking milk debacle. But he just makes it okay? Maybe its just my eating disorder bias coming into play but how can someone be sexy while eating, or smug? Like huh???

‘Why dont you like me?’ WHY DO YOU CARE CHARLES, GODDAMN IT

Is he playing the sad boi card reallyyy? You want someone to say thank you? Put yourself to good use then. I can think of a lot of ways you can use that mouth better than going on these strange mini-monolgues like some tortured writer with a kink for control...and breatheee

And she’s back with the Eleven telekinesis, sweet kat that is a meer you have running water! Pfft she is actually dressed like eleven too, like what. Oh wait did i just uncover the plot?

Breaking News: Eleven holds a whole town hostage.

Jesus with Charles eating, Mary getting the sudden urge commit arson, miss daddy looking so fucking fine that i would literally throw myself in front of a bus just to get her attention, and uncle X with his weird theatre act: my blood pressure must be through the roof

Wow hes got a temper, but poor connie, shes a hot mess lmaooo

Oh god...oh god okay this is happening, oh wow, you didn't even get through dinner first charles jesus. Listen, i never give choking up on the first date but if i had the chance...i don't want any sausages other than his, i said what i said

and it keeps going?? ummmmmm i ummmmmm, i don’t have words. I was not warned of this savagery and i don’t know if i’m going to be able to write for anyone other than Charles for a whillllleeee, hun, apologies

Good to know he also uses his super soldier senses in another universe to sense a fire deep in his loins like the dramatic king he is

Now he is driving away and laying on the horn, nice

Oh ho ho, yessssss my coffee shop baddie, my black coffee queeeeeennn Stelllaaaaa. She said, Superhero mode real quick.

ummmm uncle x with the sick mustache...thats certain death? I mean if you are into that sort of thing, have at it.

Okay still driving, people are crying over the bed burning into dust, the heavily disable man is still smoking the good stuff...got it.

Big red truck go Honk, Honk.

Oh here come all the old, white men. Lovely.

‘oh-hooo yeah, thats a fireeeee’ as far as old white men go, that was pretty fucking funny to me

Yeah its gonna be in the arms of the angels real soon if you girls dont get the fuck out????

‘We’re firemen’ and i’m a homo, you want a gingerbread cookie or something? put out the damn fire PLEASE 💀

Ummm you’re too late, i was already wet before you got that camera spray shot, dawg, oh but that poor camera guy lol

AND WEI’RE GOONA LETIT BÜRN BÜRN BÜRN BÜRN, everybody its a singalong

hi, yeah...fuck off, jim

NO YOU DUMB ASSHOLES YOU KNOCKED OVER STELLA MY COFFEE MAMA

charles, you greedy bastard i dont know if should be ashamed when i say that i would still let him top me quite violently even still

Wow this rave got out of hand really fast, i blame marilyn manson

another day, another professor X 😪🔫💀☠️🔥🔪 𝚛𝚒𝚙, 𝕗𝕝𝕪 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡

i swear to go if anything happens to either my coffee mama or baby miss daddy i will reign hellfire.

Oh so it takes a gunshot for Charles to do a 360 running man but not a jay gatsby meets canadian, hockey riot, emo rave. Gotcha. Hes a man with a code.

That’s what you get for hoeing after your cousin, constance. This is all your fault!

Ending

Timeskip: Ooohhh, yesturrrrdayyyy all my troubles seems so far away--

hunny that ain’t the moon, thats your super secret boho alter

Noooo the kitchennnn, that was my favourite room, other than the bathroom for obvious reasons, I hope the milk cartons are okay...👀

I guess meerkat isn't getting her num-nums, and charles is just going to have to live with charred fruit if he decides to come back

FRANKIE JONAS! THANK GOD!

Oohhere'ss the tea, it's about damn time! I called it! I knew ms variant mongoose was the one who did the fucky things! But i was shocked to find out that Mary was the favourite child over connie, hmm very much bad parenting

ooooh, knock knock, is it charlie-boy? oh, thats disappointing, its just that gossip chick and her husband, boooooo

Never again...never. We get it baby daddy. 

oh? another knock? HAHAHAHAHA ITS THE FIRE GUY LMAOOO, what a king. He reminds me of stan lee!

What aare these people doing, they aren't goddess you give offerings to so that your crops will be plentiful, fuck off man. ANOTHER KNOCK..

and i opp-- herreeeees charlie!

‘friends’ sir you were halfway in her pantaloons, stop trying to act all innocent, the fuck. Wow hes really going for it huh? 

did he just rip the chain off? Oh charles relax, its door, you don't need to moan like that.

Uhm, i love connie, so fuck you charles you twisted, manipulative burnt cornstalk of a human being. Oh yeah throw a hissy fit, that's real attractive, keep going, she’ll totally say yes.

Oh wait NO DON'T DO THAT, NO THAT'S A DOOR. And another door? NO GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BABY DADDY ALEXANDRA, SHES MINE. 

YOU LITTLE BITCH BOY, GET OFF! WTF!

:O 

*standing ovation* give it up for meer-to-the-kat, bravo kid! OH NO HES DEAd, YOU CAN STOP NOW

hahahaha guess whos deep in the garden now, Charles.

Ooh and we are back to start, nice. Children, she's a seasoned murder, might wanna chill on the whole bit you got going on.

Good, smile andddd scene!

Final Thoughts

Okie Dokie, I actually liked this movie a lot.

The acting was absolutely phenomenal, especially on Alexandra’s Daddario and Taissa Farmiga’s part, the characters were so well played. They focused in on so different points of view in this story that it captured the chaos that they were living individually and as a group under one roof. It constantly kept you on edge with the strange nuances in their dialogue, unnerving pauses and the progression of the condition of each character. 

It was great. The aesthetic was there, the small but necessary breaks with dark humour really kept the story flowing and most of all, the fervour. It was everywhere, in their emotions or outbursts like Charles at the dinner table and on the stairs, or the way the townspeople kept adding fuel to their own personal hell. And I must admit, it's hard to make characters like Jim the firefighter relevant, but every person that this story involves has a distinct purpose and significance to the plot.

The only negative thing I could think of was I just wish there was more, I wanted it to be longer so that the small gaps in the movie could have been powerful. Okay, what else. Yes, Charles Blackwood, despite all of...that, will make a great character for me to touch on and has a lot of interesting qualities that I will be sure to tap into. Oh! And the only reason why no one else is getting the stan award was that my coffee mama was the only character who wasn't off the rails or just a terrible waste of human life! We stan!

Hoped you enjoyed this and my questionable thought process, I’m gonna go now...bye lol

Overall Score: 8.5/10

🏆  Honorary Stan Award: Stella Ella Ola, Clap Clap Clap. Periodt.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 9

pictured: me crawling out of the rubble after yet another set of wisdom tooth extractions

STILL ALIVE, SOMEHOW

anyway, enjoy this update! things have been a bit slow going between this and another project that i haven't started posting yet (along with a brainworm for a different fandom entirely orz), but i'm committed to seeing these stories to the end, don't worry 💙🎶💖

she’s… gone? CBG is gone?

wait hold up, we’re going on a pre-other-job adventure. if you could even call it an adventure.

No, it’s no mistake. Marinette’s not the one standing at the counter this morning. In fact—judging from how much he can see from peering through the window in a totally-not-creepy way—she’s nowhere to be found. Mr. Dupain is there, as faithful to the shop as his apron and his hands are covered in flour. But this time it’s Mrs. Cheng at the register, kissing the top of her husband’s head when he bends it to her and inviting Luka in with a single gesture when she meets his eyes.

Well, now he has to go in.

He tries with every fiber in him to mask his disappointment while he locks up his bike and slips into the bakery-patisserie, and he hangs by the door until she’s finished with a customer and beckons him closer. “Good morning, Luka!” she chirps, and it’s in that moment that he sees all the traces of her daughter in her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Can I get you the usual?”

Luka gives her a mute smile and a nod, and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess it has.” Three weeks? Has it really been three weeks? “I heard you went out of the country? How was it?”

“It was nice,” Mrs. Cheng says with her usual warm smile. She’s already busy with a small pastry box and a pair of metal tongs. “Just what I needed for a while, but only for a while. You always have to come back home, after all.”

He nods, despite the fact that his home could be… literally anywhere. Could go literally anywhere. Maybe it’s for that reason alone that he’s had the distinct feeling that home is made up of people and not places.

Mrs. Cheng slides the box toward him, trades it for his card, but she doesn’t let him go just yet. She disappears into the back, and returns with a thick paper cup cradled in both hands, its contents so piping hot that there’s steam rising from the little hole in the lid. “You look like you could use a good cup of tea,” she says, kind as ever—and then, as he takes out his card once more, “It’s on the house, chou. Your constant patronage is payment enough.”

“Wow, that’s…” Luka’s speechless for a moment. “That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

She smiles at him, and he didn’t really realize how much he’s missed seeing it until now. Maybe it’s not so bad that she came back. (Of course it’s not so bad; what is he thinking?) “The leaves are fresh,” is all she says. Probably because she doesn’t think it’s something she needs to be thanked for. “Think of it as a souvenir.”

Before Luka lets himself out, he stops by the door and tosses a glance back. “Hey, Mrs. Cheng?”

“What is it, Luka?” She had to pause humming as she wiped down the counter and the tongs, but she doesn’t seem disturbed by it. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her disturbed by… anything, really.

His hands are too full to do anything fidgety with them, so he has to settle for scuffing the floor with his heel. “They took real good care of the shop while you were gone. Don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Mrs. Cheng’s expression goes soft. “That’s good,” is all she says, and it’s like she knows what he’s really trying to say—and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she did. She’s a mother. She’s Marinette’s mother. Surely there have been plenty of boys, maybe even girls, who’ve spent their fair share of time here, fawning and pining. He wouldn’t be offended if he were just a drop in the bucket.

He doesn’t know why he hasn’t considered, until now as he’s hip-checking the door, the fact that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, with the ocean name and the ocean eyes, might already be taken.

Yeah, he has to tie down the pastry box to the back of his bike, and yeah, he has to walk his bike part of the way to the Champ de Mars and ignore the buzz of every notification in his back pocket. But it’s worth taking the extra time to enjoy the tea; he doesn’t know much about all the intricacies of the stuff the way Mrs. Cheng probably does, but it’s fruity and it smells kind of like flowers and it warms his insides, the way he thinks most tea is supposed to. And it perks him right up. He knows he’s going to need that today.

Not to mention there is, admittedly, a part of him that keeps looking around the city as he walks, and then bikes. A part of him that keeps wondering if he might catch Marinette lingering around the city. Living in it the way he does—forgetting, perhaps for a while, that other people exist. It’s the sort of thing that seeps in at the edges of his mind instead of plaguing his every waking moment. It comes to him the same way he might look at some old sheet music and remember his sister, or the way he might find an unattended mess and think, ah, that’s Ma.

At least that makes him feel… a little less like a creep.

When he gets to the park, he has to pick his spot strategically. Getting time off deliveries hardly ever means it’s time to rest; it’s either time to practice, or compose, or—his favorite—busk in parks, or metro stations, or the Trocadero plaza if he’s feeling particularly fancy. It’s not so lucrative that he can quit his other job and focus just on music, even if that would be the ultimate dream. But it gets some extra cash in his pocket, and he’d be either deaf or stupid if he ever tried to claim that his ma never taught him the value of a euro.

He decides on a bench nearby, where there are plenty of people scattered across the grass, picnicking and laughing and reading under the early summer sun. Sometimes he wonders what it might be like to belong to one of those groups, instead of half-being part of them online, but all it takes is the pop of his case and his fingers on the strings and knobs to remind him that everything he has is right here.

Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take a moment or two after he’s eaten, with his permit clipped to the belt loop of his pants and his guitar in his lap, to fish his phone out of his pocket and scroll through his notifications one last time. It’s funny; when he started up this account, it was mostly to have a corner of the internet to himself, where he could share a few unbridled thoughts and a few more composed ones, maybe throw in a Kitty Section promotion or a clip of his latest project. Now, with a handful of new followers and likes and reposts in the double digits, he kind of has to wonder if this is his brand. Awkward musician mini-posts about a girl he’s not so scared to talk to but can’t get up the nerve to Talk To, just because it’s “wholesome.” Complete with that emoji that looks kind of like the pair of puppy dog eyes Juleka gives him when she tries to paint his nails a color that isn’t black.

And then he has to wonder, yet again, why so many people would be so invested in something like that. Why they’re so bent on following a saga about his…

Well, it’s not really a crush…

Is it a crush?

Oh, Jesus, no. Of course not. It’s not as though he spends every waking hour what it might be like to hold her hand, touch it beyond the occasional brush when they exchange boxes and cards. What it might be like not to have to apologize for bumping into her, or holding her attention for too long. It’s not as though he’s constantly imagined an evening moment that belongs to just the two of them, his guitar soothing her away from the pendulum swing of utter chaos and mind-numbing boredom that lives behind the register. And it’s not as though he’s felt the phantom bumps of her knees against his, or the quiet but intentional stroke of her fingers over his knuckles, or the solid feeling of their heads pressed together just before she tilts her own.

…Well. Not all the time.

Luka stuffs his phone in his pocket before he can think any more about what this is and what this isn’t and what he feels and what he doesn’t. He plucks out a few scales and takes a deep breath or two—sometimes he needs to do that to remind himself that he’s a performer, a musician, he’s doing his job and he can claim this space as much as he likes. And then he starts to play.

That’s all it takes. A few bars is all it ever takes for anyone to get as closee as they can to knowing him.

Within seconds, his fingers are dancing along the fretboard of his guitar, playing fanned-out tunes, drippy arpeggios pinpricks that demand to be heard among the background echo of notes gone by. Every chord with its own texture. Every song with its own color, following the ebb and flow of choked strings. He barely realizes he’s swaying and tapping his heel to his own craft, mouthing the lyrics to songs everyone here must know, until the first person approaches and drops a bill in his case. The patrons trickle in after that: some pass by and pause to spare him the courtesy of a removed earbud; some look up from their books and start to dig around in their pockets or their bags. One girl even kicks off her shoes and pulls her boyfriend up to dance with her, and maybe that doesn’t put food in his belly, but it’s something he can carry with him like the blessed photo of his sister that he kept in his worn-out wallet.

He doesn’t look up or open his eyes often—only to nod in thanks to those who are kind enough to pay him. The one time he looks up of his own volition, he lands on a boy and two girls, seated on a pink plaid picnic blanket and chatting excitedly. One of the girls, who has dark hair in a braid and her back turned to him, suddenly swells and sits up on her knees, all animated gestures as she gets to her feet and rounds her friends, evidently to demonstrate something.

His body remembers to keep playing, but the rest of him stops.

Marinette.

The other girl clicks for him then—the reddish hair and the glasses from his delivery to the bakery—just in time for her to make eye contact with him and for a sly smile to spread across her face. She looks up toward Marinette, says something he’s grateful he can’t make out, and when Marinette looks his way with a dove’s eyes and a deer’s stance, he only winks at her and goes back to his playing and swaying.

GOD, he screams to himself. WHY DID HE DO THAT?

He doesn’t dare look up again at least until the end of the song, and it’s a miracle that he plays even better than before he noticed her. When he does, Marinette is still watching him—has she been the whole time? Eventually, and out of the corner of her eye she kneels to gather up her friends’ trash, and she tosses them into the bin nearby. Very, very nearby. And then she kneels down again—very, very down— and drops a couple of bills into his case. It takes the rest of his bravery to lift his gaze toward her.

“First you ‘tip’ me,” he says, one hand on the guitar and the other making air quotes. “Now this?”

“Oh, come on,” she shoots back, smoothing out her skirt as she sits beside him, in spite of how her friend ribs the boy and nods their way. “This doesn’t even come close to how you’ve basically helped keep my parents’ business in the black. Besides…” She nods toward his case. “Now you can’t say you didn’t work for it.”

“Trust me.” Luka pats the body of his guitar, biting back a told you so and the urge to wonder why he feels so sure of himself. What witchcraft the guitar is working to make him feel this way, or if it’s the guitar at all, or whether all it does is make him look like a total douchebag. “I’ve been working.”

“So you can play.” Marinette crosses her legs and her arms, which accentuates the new jade pendant resting in the hollow of her throat. Probably a souvenir from Mrs. Cheng, or a gift from family she’s never met. “That’s not the same as being in a band.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still in one. I’ll prove it to you, if you want me to so badly.”

She grins, and it makes every hair stand on end under the heat of the sun. “Oh, yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“Come on—a musician never reveals his secrets.”

“That’s a magician, Luka.”

This time it’s his turn to smile, just as he fights back the flare of adrenaline. “Who says I don’t make magic?”

Yeah. It’s definitely the guitar.

“So,” Marinette says. She gives a passerby an admiring look when they stop to drop a few coins in his case, and Luka can’t tell if she’s doing it to thank his patrons or lure them in. “Do you take requests?”

“What’s the matter?” Luka strums a chord, wiggles the fingers that aren’t pinching his pick. “Don’t like my take on popular songs?”

“It’s not that.” She sits back on the bench like she really intends to stay awhile. Like she doesn’t have two friends who are staring at her so intently, either because they’re waiting for her to come back or because all they’re missing is a bucket of popcorn to split. “I guess you just always gave off the vibe that you had some kind of… angle, you know? Like, you’re the type of guy who hears colors, so people can give you a color and…” She shrugs. “You could play it.”

Luka tilts his head. “I can hear colors.” And moods. And hearts. And I’ve been stuck on yours, exactly how you think I mean it, for days. “I just never thought of it as an angle. Just an inspiration.”

Marinette blinks a couple of times in surprise, the sort that only says she wasn’t expecting his answer and thankfully not the sort that might imply that she knows what he’s thinking. “Oh. Well. Um. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You have something in mind?” He nods toward his case; might as well spare her the awkwardness he knows too well. “You know. So I can work for it.”

She takes a moment to think, seemingly grateful to be relieved of an apology, and she sits up straight only when she meets eyes with her best friend. “Something blue,” she murmurs after a while. “I wouldn’t mind hearing that.”

She says it, and Luka thinks of her without having to look at her. He smiles to himself, adjusting his guitar in his lap and pressing his fingers to the fretboard in the almost-right way. “There’s a saying about that, where my family’s from,” he replies, just loud enough for her to hear, and he begins to play as close to her eyes as he can manage. Pulls her into his world, this place between thoughts where he can get most things just right without having to say anything, where he’s the only person that anything makes sense to—him, and anyone willing to listen.

It feels like Marinette’s willing to listen.

The notes trail off once he reaches the part he hasn’t quite figured out, the sparkle in her eyes he hasn’t , and he’s felt her gaze on him long before he cuts the music and looks her way. “Something like that?” he says. It’s only then that he notices the extra money in his case, and judging from the look on Marinette’s face, she wasn’t the one who put it all there.

But she smiles at him all the same, gets to her feet and dusts off her skirt. “Something like that,” she replies. And then, before she returns to her friends. “I guess this is where I can find you now, huh?”

Like that’s supposed to mean something.

Is it supposed to mean something?

“I mean,” he says. “You could order something again.”

“I mean,” Marinette says back, “I could pick up a couple more shifts at the bakery.”

Luka doesn’t bother with his phone, or any technology, until he gets home—long after he’s settled below deck. It’s only then—because of course it’s right then—that inspiration sparks like a match. Only then that he scrambles for cables and plugs and the laptop he and Juleka used to share until they gifted her a new one for university.

song update. better quality than my phone, even. hit that play button, pals. and thanks for the likes.

[randomliven]

Im addicted

Episode 5 : rewatch play back

All the spoils

*Opening scene: hello Hillary

Ruby freaks

Throws on williams robe

Issa like a bad dream

Runs into the boy

Cops QUICK

Ruby puts her hands up

* cops auto think the boy has done something

*protects the white woman

Did you molest her

No one even intervenes everybody saw but no one spoke up

*Ruby realizes she HAS A VOICE

*lets get you somewhere safe

Willtina didn't mean for ruby to run off especially knowing the potion would wear off.

How did Ruby end up on the Southside as Hillary and her robe and slippers

Willtina just scoops up hillary

Cutting her out. On tarp because its messy

Metamorphoses is not death

The locust:

Shed their skin. develop their wings. after 7 days they will reach full sexual maturity. Destin to devour everything in their path

*6:13 when William stabs inside Hillarys mouth you see Rubys eye

*tic burst in. Blood on his hands

Leti you naive like that

All those years of getteg his ass whooped& whooping Tic Montrose ate that

*15face punches

*leti got the bat

* a butterfly lives a full life before it dies

A caterpillar emerges from the same cells

I wanted to apply this metamorphosis to the human

But ( my) research is all theoretical ( as in William cuz tina said she perfected it)

I met a disgraced professor. Beyond his reach so he created doorways (truth)

Magic and science

Wonder what spell William is saying..???

William disappointed face

"I kno your awake"

**The spell they says is the Regeneration spell which brings the butterflies to life

( they wanted Ruby to see em)

*The potion you just mimics metamorphosis

*They weren't scared of me (willtinas eyes flashes)

They were scared for me

They all treated me like ..."a human being" willtina

*It wasn't pain it was like being unmade

*there won't be a next time

*am i free to go

* you are free to do whatever you please

Leaves potion and money

*For Colored Girls who committed suicide when the rainbow wasn't enough...

Plays as Ruby struts as Hillary

Unsure at 1st

Get a cone of ice cream in a white establishment

Reads the paper at a park

Confidence girl

*Leti brings the negatives

* I don't think that violence was in me until the war

Please don't be scared of me.

They for real 1st time

Ruby had a Divine day

Willtina watching her

*I don't believe I'm special enough

*why Not You

*SPONGE BATH

* first time I laid eyes on you, was the first time I felt magic when there wasn't any.

( the first time , Willtina went to that bar knowing Ruby would be there(date) which meant they had been there before

*i will need a favor for a woman friend

(Ruby shows jealously, willtina suprised) is that a problem?

Depends?

Do as you please.

go as you please

*In WHATEVER SKIN you like.

( doesn't sound like Christina is encouraging Ruby to be white)(but Ruby chooses to be Hillary for the job she's always wanted

* the only currency I needed was whiteness

* I don't know what's more difficult being colored or being a woman

* the real keeps interrupting

*MONEY Cardi

*RUBY IN RED

* Ruby resume is loaded

The best way to lie is to tell the truth slightly

Having to correct her story

What if she's Qualified and Hardworking I don't see the problem offering her the same opportunities.

(Even as Hillary Ruby would have said the same thing, she believes it)

Ruby needing the potion. Drops it

So she rips out of the skin inside the elevator

*Montrose Needing pity on himself

Taxi Driver be my shrink for an hour plays

No I still can't get over that loogie

* this is literally as raw as raw can get. Sammie taking that shi

Sammie tries for a kiss. Rose instead sucks him off

* Ruby senses the manager's a little touchy

You're not in any trouble

She looks uncomfortable

7th grade education

No accounting courses

Ashy hands

White woman are mean to each other

Get to try on leather stilettos

Paul is attracted to the "blackness inside Hillary"

Tuttie fruity ol rudy

She's ready for the colored version

*well that's help their more qualified

Then she has to swallow her tongue

*It'll be like a safari

* were you scared to be around all those ... (People

* the white American man

*side cheeked

Can't just be showing up

I didn't embarrass you how was your first day of the white woman at your dream job

* better than being someone's charwoman ( maid)

* you don't want me to kiss you as Hillary?

* I want to kiss whatever you want me to kiss

Lol speaking of that favor

Can you be a charwoman

*the way William grabs Hillary

The nose touch

Wish they showed wills expressing

* where the fuck is this bitch?

(This is her introduction to Christina herself)

* Ruby sizes Christina up. Softens her tone

You were supposed to be here an hour ago

* William does like a demanding woman

*the way Christina grabs Ruby

( something familiar, something she dosent snatch away from)

* do you care for him at all beyond the opportunity he provides you (ruby snatches away

(Confidence check)

* William is a rightful heir...

(When really its Christina speaking of herself. She's her father only child)

*shot him in the back

( William has no bullet room in his back because its Christina)

And dumped his body in the river but he was a piece of trash..

(Soooo Emmitt you wanted to connect)

William survived with my help ( through me)(words shaky)

& with your help he will have his revenge

Tic dreams of Hannah in his suite

Initials are engraved in the ring

Decipher for the protection simple how did he not recognize it to be the same one that Christina showed him

Keeping her against her will with no better than Titus

He starts to defend his father

Is not inherently evil is what you do with it

Look at what your fathers did to protect you

All the flowers in the office.

Ruby being nosey as how she got stuck

Wonder what happened to his entire torso that he needed a new one

Dude stole some money so they cut out his tongue

Your best isn't good enough

you have to be better than mediocre

Them white folks are more fucked up than 'we' think they are

got to be exponentially better than them

Everything is fine

Ruby sucks for mentioning the south side

Sammie girl

Yall finally together

Haven't even kissed yet

The locust migration dance

*Ruby & tam both drinking

Regret (gulp)

*Denies the vial. Changes on purpose

This time she is learning how to crawl out of the white skin stronger in the transformation

*Over hears the manger harassing tam

Watches as he composes himself

She knew it

Him. Her. Spirit

Montrose watches Sammie be free

Engages in freedom

Ruby wasnt expecting Christina to walk out of Williams basement.

Looks as if Christina didn't expect Ruby to be sitting there

*Looks like Ruby got interrupted again

* he told you that (feeling dumb)

No reply cuz it was her all along

You cant relate

We want to be you and you want to be us

*Invitation to do whatever the fuck you wanted to do

[thots4daze]

Right? [Hanamaki Angst pt 2]

PART 2 WHOOOP

this right here was the OG post for the second part ... there was an alt ending to kinda push it further down the angst hole - but since it was a spur of the moment kinda alt bit; i dont have it ಥ‿ಥ  oof

Word Count: 2,865 Warnings: alcohol, language

It had been about a month since that night when Mattsun picked you up from the front of the apartment that you shared with Makki. Since that time you had made sure that you avoided him in the halls and lectures anytime you were on campus. Making sure to pop back into the apartment when you knew he wasn't going to be there; thanks to Mattsun taking him out and keeping him busy. Just long enough for you to grab what you needed.

It was a Saturday night, chilly with an overcast sky that looked like it was going to open up at any moment. However, you couldn’t be bothered, deciding to celebrate mid-terms coming to a close with some of your girlfriends from class. Donning on your sexiest little black dress and heels, hair and makeup complete you were looking like a dime and feeling like an eleven.

The last couple of weeks slowly filtering out of your mind as you danced among the sweating bodies, music pulsing through your veins and shot glasses being slammed back in rapid succession. There was no way that this night was going to go south, you thought.

How wrong could someone be?

A song change. A temperature drop every now and then due to the club's doors opening and letting people pass through the threshold. You were dragged to the bar for your next round of shots and maybe a glass of water. Something to help you keep up the pace for the rest of the night.

"What can I make you?" the bartender called out to you, leaning up against the bar top, clearly eyeing you in that skin tight dress. If you noticed, you didn’t mention it clearly too occupied with getting a drink and calming down from the last dance.

"Gimme six Star Fuckers," when your friends looked at you, you simply shrugged, "Two a piece," was your only reasoning. They seemed to go along with it.

When you went to pass the guy your card to leave up at the bar he shook his head, pointing down to the end of the bar top, "Someone's already covered you, babe."

Taking one of the shot glasses, filled to the brim, you tipped it towards the anonymous donor. It was then that you locked eyes. You and this stranger. Well, not a stranger. Someone you knew quite well. Surrounded by others you knew just as well.

The pinkish hued liquor kept catching the lights over head making it shine in it's glass container. With a huff and slight glare you slammed the shot back, the burn and fruitiness warming your body from the inside out. The shot glass slide slightly across the well polished bar top before you were turning to leave the now crowded area.

Not being able to get very far however, because as soon as his gaze caught you leaving he jumped into action, making a move to push through the other patrons to get to you. He was quick and nimble enough, and sober enough - more so than you at least - to catch your delicate wrist in his large hands. Calloused from years of volleyball. Just one of the many things he couldn't give up in order to spend more time with you.

Turning around harshly, gazes met, breathing hitched. You couldn’t tell if it was due to the alcohol or if it was because you were finally feeling his burning touch after this extended absence. Either way, you subconsciously leaned into it. Hanamaki must have noticed too because he allowed a small smile to grace his features.

With that the feeling was gone and you steeled him with a hard glare, "What are you doing Makki?" He physically flinched at the nickname that fell from your lips. You yourself hadn't meant for it to come out harsh, but there was no going back now.

"Y/N, please, can we just talk," his voice raised an octave to try and be heard over the new song that began to play. Harsh bass pulsing from the speakers around them. Warm, sweaty bodies moving around them, trying to move around them to continue with their dancing. Grinding up against one another in an attempt to release pent up stress and other frustrations.

If you had to be honest, you wouldn't have minded being one of those patrons, grinding up against Makki at the moment. And it only took you a split second to grab his other hand and lead him further onto the dance floor. Mind having already been made up.

...

It had been so long since that night you walked out of the shared apartment. He took another swig from the bottle, it's neck held loosely in his grasp. His posture was almost nonexistent as he slouched there on the couch, upper body hunched over his spread knees, head in his hands. Dried streaks painted his cheeks, having at one point raced one another to his chin and beyond. A harsh knock broke through the silence of his apartment - his. He darkly chuckled at the word. Without moving from his spot he called out that the door was open and within the span of a few seconds Mattsun was there leaning on the back of the couch.

"Love what you've done with the place-"

"Shut up!" Makki snapped, frustration seeping out of every pore.

Mattsun knew he was hurting, but he also knew how you were feeling - he couldn't play favorites. Not at this point in the game. Heaving out a large and loud sigh Mattsun made his way to the other side of the couch, plucking the semi emptied bottle and plopping himself down.

Makki's confused expression was cracked only due to the slight glare he sent his best friend. He knew that Mattsun was still in contact with you. Hell, he didn't blame him. He had tried every day since to get a hold of you. To beg and plead and ask you of your forgiveness and to come back home. But, as expected you had ignored every single one of them. Mattsun was his only reprieve to know how you were doing - aside from the occasional social media stalking he conducted.

Mattsun must have felt his friend's gaze burning a hole into the side of his face, "She's alright…" he spoke slowly, not knowing exactly how the information was going to be processed. Makki nodded slightly as if asking for more, but that was all he was going to get. At least for now.

A small clap to the light haired male's knee jolted him a bit, "C'mon."

"Hmm?"

"We're going out. When was the last time you left the apartment?"

"I just had class-,"

"Besides from school?" Mattsun raised a thick, pierced brow at his friend, who just pouted in response. With much convincing and prodding, Mattsun was able to get Makki to shower and clean up before calling Oikawa and Iwaizumi to meet them outside of their usual club hot spot. Operation Shit-face was officially a GO.

So when they all made their way past the bouncer out front and through the throng of people moving to the beat on the dance floor and the bodies pressed against one another at the bar, and they noticed your presence, they were a little more than apprehensive. At least, the majority of the party was. Makki was entranced with the sight of you. Sweat glistening off of your skin under the pulsing lights, the way your hair fell around your rosy cheeks - it was like the first time he saw you all over again.

Before he could move in your direction the others were jerking him back to the bar, encouraging him to wait. Just a moment. Makki frowned at them before turning his attention back to you - he didn’t want to admit it but they were right and so that was how he found himself sitting up at the bar with the gang. Ever the watchful gaze on you throughout the night.

...

Silently he followed. Though the resolve he feels about wanting to talk to you about everything, only hardens. He tries to make that clear to you as you come to a stop somewhere near the center of the crowd. Others having no problem making room for the two of you.

"Y/N, I'm serious. I want to talk-," his words get cut off as you bring your fingers of your free hand to his lips. He notices how warm they are and he leans into your touch without realizing it. Peeking through half lidded eyes he takes note of how pink they are under the light, parting his lips just enough to have the tips of your fingers graze against the inside of his mouth.

Your own gaze growing hazy at the sensual motion taking place, and instead of jerking your hand away from him you slowly slide them down his body. Making sure to go harder and slower when both hands come to meet on his upper chest. It was always a favorite of yours on him. Makki always worked so hard to keep that part of his body up to code, knowing exactly what it did to you. Almost as if he were there in your mind he couldn’t help himself smirking at your lingering touches.

Makki pushes his luck when he brings his hands to your waist, making sure to leave light little squeezes every now and then. The way your eyes close tells him all he needs to know. You're enjoying it. Even if it's just a bit.

He dragged his hands across every dip and curve your body had to offer. Slowly, as if he were committing the feeling to memory. Not that he needed to. Makki had memorized every portion of your body since the beginning. Having always wanted to be this close and intimate with you. There wasn't anything that could get you off his mind - then, or now. Nothing about that had changed.

He didn’t realize that his ministrations had halted until he felt your hips swing beneath his palms. It was then that his attention was focused where you two came together, watching as you moved along to the music that pulsed around the two of you. Charging the air around you.

"Don't be shy, Taka~" your words came out hoarse and wanting. Warm breath tingling the shell of his ear. He couldn't help the shiver that ran through his body and the pressure applied to your waist was proof enough of what just your words could do to the man.

Taking his hands in yours, you forced him to move them along the curvature of your body as you continued to sway beneath his grazes. Eventually letting go and raising your hands to card through his hair. Taking notice that it's grown a bit longer than the last time you were together. As that memory flashed through your mind you couldn’t help but to tug on his strands, earning a satisfied groan in response.

Rolling your entire body up against his you could practically hear him swallowing thickly. Eyes finding yours in an instant. You weren't entirely sure what it was that came over you. All you knew was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Again, you rolled your hips with his, catching the hiss that fell from Makki's lips. And it drove you wild.

Makki groaned aloud, surprised that it didn't come up louder than the music around them. But you heard it all the same. You had to keep from rubbing your thighs together at just the sight of him and now to hear him; you released a shaky breath continuing to grind against him. The only thing truly keeping him grounded to this dance floor, to this moment was the ever growing erection in his pants and the friction of your body brushing against him every now and then.

He literally has to shake his head to steel himself. It doesn’t take very long for him to pull you off of the dance floor before he’s leading the both of you outside and into the crisp night air. Makki continues walking a bit further from the entrance and it was all you could do to not rip your wrist out of his grasp, "Taka, wait!" He stops abruptly, blush feint on his cheeks. Or was it due to the temperature? You weren't entirely sure.

"What's going on?"

"Y/N, we need to talk…"

You stood there, arms crossed over your chest making it a harder target to avoid in Makki's opinion. But he pushed through. It was silent. Hanamaki couldn’t handle the look that occupied your eyes. It's why he tried to focus on anything other than your face, but he couldn't do it. The same eyes that made his knees buckle under him. The same that made his heart burst in the best possible way. The same eyes that he had made go red from all the crying you did for weeks because he was an ass. Because he forgot an anniversary. Because he couldn't take the relationship aspect seriously enough.

If time travel existed, Hanamaki would jump on that and fix everything that he could. He fucked up. Royally. He knows that now. And a little part of him realized it then too. He just didn't want to admit to it. Not really. But this is something he has had to deal with for the past couple of weeks. Not a day went by where he didn't mull over different scenarios of how it would have all turned out. How could he have prevented you walking out of that apartment door on that night.

When his gaze finally traveled back towards you his breath caught in his throat. Tears were silently falling from your lashes, body shaking ever so slightly in a way that you would have played off as the chill from the cold had anyone asked. All Makki wanted to do was close the gap between the two of you. To wrap his arms around you and pull you close into his chest.

"Why?" It was a valid question. One you deserved an answer to, he knew that. He knew you deserved to know. There was just the problem of what to tell you when he didn't quite know himself.

A beat passed, a sharp intake of breath and he was speaking, "I don’t know… honestly…" the look that crossed over your features hurt him. "Y/N, listen to me,"

"You don’t know?! What is that suppose to mean, Takahiro?!" Another sigh left his lips that you couldn’t fight off glancing at before looking back to his eyes. Focusing on one then the other and back again. Something to keep yourself rooted before snapping at him and leaving like you did so many long ago. You enjoyed being in his company. You loved being with him. And you have missed him so. This was your only chance, who knows when another opportunity was going to come your way.

Hanamaki took a step closer, trying to ignore the fluttering in his chest at the sound of his name falling from your lips. Regardless of context. He ran a hand through his hair, "I'm a fuck up, alright? I know that I fucked up. I didn’t take the relationship as seriously as I should have…"

"But why?" You pleaded with him, taking your own step closer.

"I guess I just didn’t want it to all end. I-if I joked around then it wouldn't be as scary…" you gave him a look, not quite understanding him. He grew frustrated and slammed his fist into the siding of the club building. Knuckles bloodied and bruising.

"Taka!" rushing forward you gripped his hand and wrist, turning it over in your own smaller hand. Making sure to be gentle, "I didn't want everything to get so real and have it crumble away from me." It was barely a whisper but you were still able to catch it, looking up into his face.

Taking his hand out of your grasp he brought both hands to cup your face, running his good hand through your hair and pulling you closer, foreheads touching ever so slightly. His grip on the back of your head applying welcomed pressure. "I couldn't stand the thought of losing you. I can't lose you… not again…" he breathed out, eyes never leaving yours.

A soft smile graced your lips as you leaned further into him, bracing your hands on his chest. Taking comfort in his warmth and scent. Something you had been missing for the past couple of months. "I will do whatever it takes to keep you here with me. To keep you from getting away…" another breathy, raspy whisper. Warmth flooding your face, both from his words and his breath hitting your already flushed skin.

"Taka…" you whispered, closing your eyes, enjoying his touch like fire on your skin. The way his thumb caressed your skin and the dried tear streaks that lingered. "Prove it."

[turtle-steverogers]

Code: WTF (1/3)

hey, so here’s a little three part fun fic involving fbi agents and russian spies! (with just a little angst) enjoy!

warnings: a small depiction of death, but it’s not super bad

ship: platonic ralbert, platonic spalbert, soon to be sprace

word count: 1927

editing: ofc not

-

Making decisions, Albert has come to realize, is not his forte.  Granted, he’s generally good at helping others make decisions- he’s got that sort of innate way of looking at the whole picture, which is good when you’re trying to help someone sort through different situations.  But he can never seem to apply this strong suit to himself.  

Like when he was thinking of career paths and he’d spend hours at night staring at his ceiling and wondering whether or not he wanted to commit himself to a world of chance and danger and join the FBI.  Because, wow, had that been a dream of his ever since he watched his first James Bond movie at nine years old.  There was something thrilling about watching that action- seeing how he could use his sharp problem solving skills for something bigger than himself.  He wasn’t sure if he was ready to pledge himself to something that seemed almost like a life sentence, but he also was never one to run from a challenge.  So...after a couple years of college and a bachelor’s degree in engineering, he started studying for his Phase I assessment.  

It was grueling.  The entrance exam was no easy task and it only got harder from there with the ‘Meet and Greet’ and Phase II written assessment.  Not surprisingly, though, he had made it through and soon he was off to Quantico, where he was tested against his own willpower for upwards of 21 weeks.  It was tough, but he made it through with flying colors.  

Shortly after his 28th birthday, on a sunny and almost too hot July morning, he’d been trying not to let a giddy smile spread across his face embarrassingly as Director Larkin swore in his class- awarding them with their badges and credentials.  The smile did break through however when Larkin had looked directly at him while speaking of “Those most fit and impressively accomplished” and winked.  But he was proud of himself.  Sue him.

After the ceremony, Race- his roommate during Quantico whom he’d grown particularly close to- had handed over some suspicious looking store brand lemonade in a shitty, plastic cup and bumped their shoulders together, smiling as he raised his glass.  Albert mirrored his grin and clinked their glasses together.

“To the dream.” Race had said, taking a sip.

Albert drank too, and echoed, “To the dream.” 

Now, three years later, he’s finding that his bad decision making skills are still very present as he stares at the shelves of brightly colored cereal boxes, trying to decide what he wants this week’s breakfast to be.

As a Senior Special Agent, it’s very serious reconnaissance work.

Just as he’s reaching for a box of Dark Chocolate Crunch Cheerios, Race materializes next to him, looking a little tight around the eyes as he places a couple cans of Progresso soup into their basket.  

His movements are calculatedly casual, but Albert knows him well enough to know his stress tells.  The way his shoulders are just slightly raised, ready to launch into motion at the first sign of trouble.  The tense of his jaw and the slight scrunch of his nose- as if he’s smelling something off.  Bad.

“Hey, Al,” Race says, straightening.  Even his voice is that sort of forced casual it gets when he’s inwardly freaking out about something, “Do you remember our trip to Morocco?”

A shiver runs down Albert’s spine and he gives himself credit for only hesitating for a moment before recovering.  Morocco is their personal code for ‘hey, someone is definitely following us, so we either need to dip or do something about it.’

“The first or second trip?” Albert asks, his words just as rehearsed.  

And that’s their follow up code.  The first trip means it’s an unknown party; the second trip means it’s someone affiliated with whatever operation they’re currently assigned to.

Really, it’s counterintuitive to even ask, because they haven’t been on any major assignments in nearly a month now.  Director Larkin had given them both time off from the big stuff after their last operation had gone decidedly south when they lost a couple of the DEA guys they’d been teamed up with in a surprise shoot-out against the drug corporation they were tasked with bringing down.  

It was jarring to say the least, and neither him nor Race complained too much when Larkin had suggested laying low for a while.  It was the first time they’d ever lost their own men on a mission and in such a gruesome way.  Some arterial blood had sprayed Albert in the face, getting on his tongue and clogging up his nose.  He doesn’t remember much after that.  Race says he dissociated big time.  Albert doesn’t really care.  He just knows that he still can’t eat tomato sauce on his pasta, because the red of it still looks too much like--

Yeah, no.  Alfredo sauce is a new favorite in the Dasilva-Higgins apartment.

“First trip.” Race says, watching as Albert carefully puts the Cheerios box in the basket.

The sudden feeling of being watched pricks at Albert’s neck and he resists the urge to look behind him.  

“When’d you first notice?” Albert asks, dropping his voice lower and motioning for Race to follow him as he moves down the aisle, still trying to look nonchalant as he grabs a random box of Fruity Pebbles.  The gun that’s tucked into the waistband of his jeans becomes a noticeable weight against his lower back.  It’s a comforting weight, if not a little disconcerting.  But that’s basically in their job description.

“On the way here,” Race says, following Albert’s lead and plucking a box of shitty granola bars off a shelf behind them.  As long as they look busy, they look normal, “Noticed him walking behind us around the time we passed Suffolk.  Was wary, but didn’t think too much of it until I saw him lurking by the bananas while I was getting some apples.”

“Didya get a look at him?  Any discernible features?”

Race shrugs, eyes darting over Albert’s shoulder, then to the side, “Not really.  Short, I’d stick him around 5’4”?  Dark hair and eyes.  He’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket, kept his hood up.”

Albert hums, “And you last saw him by produce?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Albert says, “Come on.”

They forgo the rest of their shopping list and hurry to check out, trying to maintain a sort of ostensibly relaxed appearance.  Just as they’re leaving the market, turning the opposite way from which they came, Albert’s neck prickles harder.  His stomach swoops a little and he hesitates, waiting for the right moment to turn around and grab the collar of the offending party, pulling him into a nearby alley and pushing him against the bricks.

He hears Race curse, but doesn’t look at his field partner as the guy against the wall’s hood falls away.  For a moment, Albert’s stunned, instinct falling short as his gaze sweeps over the guys face.  

And as shocking as it is, it’s comforting in a way.  Because even after eleven years, Albert would know those brown eyes and sharp features anywhere.  

His grip on the guy’s collar slackens and he feels his shoulders slump a little, “Spot?”

Spot grins, “Heya, Al.”

XXX

“Wait, so you know our stalker?”

It’s probably the millionth time Race has asked that since they’d dragged Spot back to their apartment on 14th street, taking a few cautionary side roads just in case.  Now, they’re gathered in the kitchen, each of them settled in with a beer even though it’s arguably too early to drink.  

Whatever, Albert thinks, It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

Besides, what else are you supposed to do when the guy you’d been best friends with until he allegedly fell off the face of the earth, shows up in your life again by stalking you while you’re grocery shopping.

Yeah, Albert deserves a drink.  And he’s technically not on the job right now-- ok, he and Race are always ‘on the job’, but he’ll digress.

“Yup,” Spot answers for Albert, taking a swig of his beer, “best buds since Lindsay Hartman splashed punch on him during ninth grade homecoming, then pushed him into the refreshments table where I was getting a sandwich.”

Race shoots Albert a bewildered look and Albert shrugs, “I was kind of a dick back then and I was going through a gay panic, so I brought her to the dance and then accidentally blurted out that I thought her brother was hotter than her during the slow song and...well, ninth grade wasn’t the best year for me.”

“Clearly,” Race sounds amused, but he’s obviously still too shook up by Spot’s existence to jab Albert too hard.  

Albert can’t blame him, either.  It’s inherently bizarre to have your current and past best friends standing in the same room after thinking you’d never see one of them again.  

“Albert never mentioned you,” Race says, looking at Spot.  He’s got his ‘agent face’ on- studiously taking in all of Spot’s mannerisms, while not wavering his gaze from his eyes.

“Wouldn’t expect him to,” Spot says, unbothered, “We lost touch after high school.”

“More like you disappeared unexpectedly and never answered my phone calls or texts and I thought you died, but I couldn’t find anything on you since you were off the fucking grid.” And yeah, maybe Albert’s a little bitter, because he and Spot had been closer than close, but during their second year of college, Spot transferred to some school somewhere in Europe and never spoke to him again. 

Spot looks a little guilty now, but he still manages to be the dick Albert always knew him to be and says, “Tomato, tomahto.”

Albert rolls his eyes, “What even happened to you, man?”

“That’s actually what I’m here about,” Spot says.  A shadow passes over his face and he suddenly looks sharper- rougher, “I- uh, there’s, uh, some...trouble regarding...things...”

Race and Albert exchange a look and Albert can see the words, well, that’s vague, bouncing around in Race’s head.

“What kind of trouble?” Race asks.

“So,” Spot starts, then stops, shaking his head, “This is a bit of a crazy story, but anyway.  I moved right?  Overseas?  And I ended up, um, getting into a bit of a...situation.”

Wary now, Albert places down his beer and crosses his arms, “What kind of situation?”

“I kind of got recruited by the FSB?”

The shocked silence is almost palpable.

Race recovers first, “The Russian intelligence agency?”

A pause, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Albert can’t handle this.  This is too much.  Too weird. 

He scrubs a hand over his face, “You do know what I, what we-” he gestures between himself and Race, “-do, right?”

He knows Spot knows.  He needs to ask, anyway.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re telling a couple of FBI guys that you’re part of the FSB?” It sounds weird to Albert’s own ears.  He laughs a little, because really, he has to.

“Well...yes.”

“This is fucking weird,” Race states, pointing out the obvious, “Anyway, is there more to your so-called ‘trouble’? Or are you just now realizing the moral wrongness of being an American in the Russian spy network and want some sort of atonement?”

Spot seems to have an internal battle with himself before he mutters something that sounds like ‘fuck it’, “Albert, you’re my next mission.  I’m supposed to kill you.”

“Oh,” Albert says, frowning down at his crossed arms.  Then, Spot’s words process, “Wait, what!?”

-

hehehe we love an russian fbi drama

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[itsmonkeypajamas]

Five Times Kurt Weller Wanted To Kiss Jane Doe (and the one time he finally did)

I’m going to assume the title is pretty self evident for what this fic is about. 

i.

               He’d come too close to losing her again today. He couldn’t fight that fear that kept rising in his chest whenever he thought about it. His job meant that he put his life on the line every day. But Jane – Jane was a victim. She was Taylor. He had to protect her, he’d failed her enough already.

               Kurt couldn’t forget the look in Carter’s eyes at the cemetery; that cold, heartless glare as he negotiated with Mayfair, treating Jane and Dodi as pieces in a chess match. Except that Kurt knew that whoever went with the CIA wouldn’t ever come back. And that was what scared him the most – they may have won today, but Carter wasn’t the type to give up.

               He offered to drive Jane back to her safe house himself. He couldn’t let her go, not just yet. He knew that she could protect herself, probably better than he ever could. But, at the same time, he couldn’t shake that feeling whenever he left her alone. She had faced too much in too short a time, it wouldn’t hurt just to make sure she got home safely, not after a day like this.

               “It’s more for you than me,” he said honestly. “I just wanna check out the new place. Make sure it’s okay. Make sure you’re okay.” He turned to face her for the first time since they walked in.

               “I’m fine, I... I was just a little… I’ll be fine,” she settled on. “I’m sorry I lost it today.”

               “It’s okay. It happens.” After all that she’d been through, she had every right. He started towards the door, not ready to leave, but not able to think of a reason to stay. “You’ve been through so much. And if I’m making this harder for you, then just tell me. ‘Cause that’s the last thing I want. All these expectations…I should have never put you in that situation.”

               He stepped closer, and suddenly he wasn’t talking about today anymore. “I should have never let them take you. I’m… I’m sorry.” All the pain and guilt for the past twenty five years started coming to the surface. He’d never grieved Taylor – after it happened, his fight turned inward, holding in the hatred and anger for years. But now, for the first time, the tears were threatening to flow as he stared into her eyes.

               When Jane said that it wasn’t his fault, he wanted to ignore it, same as he always had. But then she stepped closer, repeating it, and it was as if he was hearing it for the first time, and the weight started lifting. He was staring into her eyes and there was nothing else in the world.

               “You told me Taylor was my starting point. I think you’re wrong.”

               Her hand was warm and soft. As she laid his hand on her chest, he couldn’t remember ever feeling this close to anyone before.

               “You… you’re my starting point.”

               The words washed over him, and her eyes were staring up at him, looking longingly at him, and when they flickered, he knew that she felt it also – the connection. All he wanted was to lean down, to close that gap, and bring his lips to hers.

               All it took was a second, not even that, for the moment to end. He had to pull away. She was a victim, an asset. No matter what he felt, he couldn’t act on it. It wasn’t appropriate, especially not on a day like today. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he turned, unable to look at her heartbroken expression for any longer.

               She was safe. That’s all that matters.

ii.

              He would have gone alone. Before, that was exactly what would have happened. He would have taken the tracker, and Reade and Zapata would have dealt with Guerrero. That would give them the best change to get Guerrero out alive, no matter what the cost. There wouldn’t have even been a question.

              But Jane changed things.

              The second Jane offered – pleaded – to go with him, Kurt froze. The tracker made him – and whoever was with him – a target. That’s why he said he would be the one to take it in the first place. Kurt knew that Jane could handle herself in the field, that was exactly what he told Mayfair just days earlier. But this was different; it wasn’t like getting caught in a gunfight while pursuing a lead. There were two options – the dangerous one, and the safe one. He wouldn’t put any of his team in danger, and certainly not Jane.

              He tried not to care as the flash of disappointment crossed her face. He wanted to explain, but at the same time, he couldn’t. What would he say even? She’s got stronger instincts than half the agents out of Quantico, and had saved his life more often than he did hers. The excuses were weak, but that didn’t matter.

              Zapata noticed, of course she did. In the few days that Jane had been around, their dynamic had shifted so much that it would be impossible not to. Kurt had made it clear that Jane was a part of their team, and rarely left her behind. He hadn’t expected her to call him out on it though.

              Jane was just an asset. No matter what Zapata tried to hint at. Sure, he might have known Taylor twenty five years ago, but he would protect any civilian. And Zapata had more training. Jane had the best instincts of anyone he knew, but she was a wild card. Just yesterday she had her holster in the wrong position. If that happened today, out here, that split second could mean the difference between life and death.

              She was just an asset.

              It wasn’t until they got back to the air field and got Guerrero into custody that he had another moment to think about it. He was finishing the paperwork on Guerrero and Jane was hanging around, looking back at him as she walking towards the plane. Kurt remembered how she looked this morning, how scared she had been on the plane. There was none of that in the field, not even when she was piloting a helicopter.

              He scribbled the rest of the information, shoving the paperwork into the field agent’s hands. “Hey, Jane,” he called, rushing to catch up to her. This morning, Mayfair’s warning still fresh in his mind, he’d walked right past her, sitting next to Reade, going over the case details. He wouldn’t do that this time.

              “We’re in this together.”

              He couldn’t help but smile as he reached out for her hands. They may never know what happened to her in the past, but he couldn’t help but smile at the woman she had become.

              He scooted close to her after that, showing her pictures on his phone, telling stories about Sawyer’s baseball game and when he first moved to the city. As long as he was talking, she was relaxed, the light turbulence barely noticeable. So he kept talking, pulling up memories and stories he had long forgotten about.

              They were nearly back to the city when her head started dropping. “Uh… sorry,” he started mumbling, suddenly embarrassed. But Jane didn’t acknowledge him, her eyes already flickering sleepily. Before Kurt could even think about what to do next, he felt her head leaning against his shoulder. He froze. He couldn’t wake her up – she must have been so tired. Besides, they would be landing in less than 30 minutes, might as well let her get some sleep while she could, right?

              As he watched her sleeping, he couldn’t stop thinking about that time a few days ago, when he almost kissed her in the safe house. He stopped himself then, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t replayed that moment in his head. He was painfully aware how close she was now, that he wouldn’t even have to really move, just twist a little bit, and he would be kissing her. Just a gentle one, on top of her head.

              GRKZZZTZZZTZ

              The pilot’s radio cracked to life, preparing them for descent, and Jane’s head shot up before she remembered where she was. She turned to Kurt, offering an apologetic smile as she straightened in her seat.

              Kurt smiled for a moment then stopped as Zapata’s words echoed in his head.

              She was just an asset, right?

iii.

               It was pure jealousy that caused him to push the security guy. Kurt tried to pass it off as playing the part (although if they weren’t on a case, he knew there would be no stopping him – that sleazy guard would have gotten a lot worse than just a push), but he knew it was jealousy. He was supposed to be the husband, and that guy had touched Jane more intimately than he ever had.  

               Once they were inside, it was almost too easy to forget they were on a mission. She was inches away from him, and all he could think was how perfectly her body fit into his arms. Kurt had never been one for dancing – in fact the last time he could remember dancing at all was at a wedding years ago. His girlfriend at the time had dragged him on to the dance floor a few times, each time more reluctantly than the last.

               But with Jane, it was different. Not only had he been the one to convince her to dance, but it was instinctual between them. There were no awkward steps as they tried to find the rhythm, no crushed toes when they stepped on each other’s feet, it was as if their bodies’ met and instantly knew how to move as one.

              It was more intimate than he could have prepared himself for – seeing her just inches from him, their bodies moving rhythmically to the music. It was almost too easy to forget that they were on a mission.

               Kurt noticed things he hadn’t allowed himself to notice before. He’d always pictured her eyes as green, but they were really hazel. Every time he looked into those eyes, he felt as if he would get lost in them, they were so deep and full of emotion. Her skin was smooth, and he found himself gently moving his fingers over her hand just because he could. Her hair had a slightly fruity smell, one he tried to commit to memory, in case he never was able to get this close again.

               Talking to her was easy, so easy that he almost laughed when he remembered what had happened with Allie. He’d cared for Allie, and he was glad to see her again. But compared to Jane – well, there was no comparison. They hadn’t been the best at communicating that much was for sure. She was always trying to get him to open up, to talk and share his emotions. It never felt right with Allie. But with Jane, he wanted to talk to her. Maybe it was because so much of it was her history too, but he never felt any hesitation.

               So when she admitted that she thought that she was engaged before, there was a pause as he tried to process what that meant. He knew she must have a past, somewhere she had been those 25 years. It wasn’t unexpected that she would have fallen in love during that time. As an agent, he knew that could be a lead – another person who knew her, who could help solve the mystery of what happened. But as a man, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of – jealousy? that someone loved her and was planning on sharing his life with her.

               “It all seems so far away from where I am now.”

               Kurt searched her eyes, getting lost in them once again. She was so beautiful, and he found himself leaning even closer to her. He wanted to – no he needed to – kiss her, to prove she was really here with him now. There might have been others in the past, but this was now and they were together.

               “He’s ready for you.”

               The moment broken, Kurt pulled away. They were there on a case. First and foremost, he was an FBI agent, and there was a job to be done.

iv.

               Kurt took a deep breath. He knew what he had to do. If the plane kept climbing, those rockets would launch. And a lot more people would die. It was as simple as that.

              Kurt never regretted his choice to be an FBI agent. And he knew that even if he wasn’t an agent, if he was somehow in this same position, he wouldn’t even hesitate. Sacrificing his life to save the millions at risk wasn’t just his duty, it was who he was.

               He only wished Jane wasn’t on board also. He wished there was some way to protect her, as well as everyone else. He’d seen her panicked expression as she looked at him for a solution. Jane hadn’t wanted to come. She’d never hesitated before today – the opposite, in fact. But now that David had died, Jane had learned the real cost of their job, the unescapable dangers of it. Through it all, though, Jane had counted on him to protect her, and no wonder. Kurt had promised it, that very first day. He told her that she would be okay, that they would find answers. She’d saved his life, and now he was ending hers.

               “We’ve gotta do something.”

               Kurt couldn’t even look at her when he replied. “One shot in the fuel tank. That’ll cause an explosion big enough to bring this plane down.” He grabbed her hand, afraid to let her go now that he’d spoken it out loud. “Jane, I’m sorry that I brought you here, alright? I chose this life, you didn’t.” He paused, staring into her eyes, the sadness evident in his voice. “You never had a choice.”

               “Yes, I did. Kurt – ” she was staring at him with such utter conviction and certainty – and trust.

              He hated that. Kurt almost wished she’d fight him. If she said “no,” he wouldn’t do it. He knew the greater good was what mattered – that two civilian losses were far better than untold causalities on the ground. But in that moment, he knew all that mattered was Jane. If she protested, even just for a moment, he didn’t think he would be able to pull that trigger, no matter what the cost.

              But Jane wasn’t like that. She knew as well as him what would happen if the plane reached 60,000 feet. And she was willing to sacrifice herself, even though she was as much a victim as anyone else.

              Kurt knew what he had to do. “I’m sorry,” his voice was barely above a whisper. He had made the choice, but they both would live with the consequences. In that moment, he knew that wasn’t going to let her go, not now, not when they only had moments left. He’d hold her hand; pull her close, anything to let her know she wasn’t alone. He leaned forward, determined to kiss her one last time. They hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk about what happened, but he knew he couldn’t fire the shot without it. One last kiss, before they had to end it all.

              “PA 921, this is Special Agent Patterson from the FBI New York Office, do you copy?”

v.

              It felt so comfortable with her again. That was what he missed the most, he realized. How easy it was with her. He liked Allie, of course, but still, some times it felt like work. He wasn’t trying enough, or he was trying too hard, or he said the wrong thing, or a million other things that just made it feel harder than he should.

              Kurt had never cared before, or never really noticed this. Certainly not the last time they had gone out, or with any previous girlfriends. It was only since Jane he could tell the difference. Everything had just been so… easy with her. Since the beginning, he’d felt a connection; at first he assumed it was because of Taylor, but no, it was because she was Jane. It just felt right with her in a way that it never had with anyone else.

              The two hour drive to Borden’s cabin gave them plenty of alone time. It felt like just the two of them, and he felt closer to her than he had in weeks. The conversation just flowed, first they talked books (Kurt had accidentally left an audiobook in the CD player, which Jane instantly started teasing him about), music (Patterson had been trying to expand Jane’s musical knowledge), and even nature (Kurt made a mental note to take Jane to Central Park, she was so enamored with the trees she saw along the road).

              By the time they talked about kids, it felt like a natural flow of the conversation. Kurt had never seriously thought about having kids. His relationships never really lasted long enough to get to that point, and even the ones that did, it never came up. He liked hanging out with Sawyer, and although he gave his sister a hard time, he never really minded having babysitting duty. Kurt would take him to the park for a game of catch, telling jokes, stopping for ice cream on the way home. Sawyer’s dad was across the country, and Kurt didn’t want him to have the same crappy childhood he had.

              But actually having kids himself, Kurt had never really given it serious thought. It just didn’t seem like it was in the cards, and Kurt had made peace with it.

              Or so he thought.

              “I think you’d make a great dad. For what it’s worth.”

              Kurt suddenly thought it was possible. Not just possible, he found he wanted it. The house, the yard, everything. He could even see the kids – playing catch, running around, being chased by a dog. They were happy, laughing, and it was more than he could have imagined. Then he noticed Jane – Jane was in his dream, ticking the little boy with her hazel eyes and his brown hair.

              It felt more right than Kurt could have ever imagined.

              He looked over at Jane, who was staring out the window again. He thought about what it would be like, if they were together. He imagined being able to grab her hand, holding it between the two of them as he drove. Maybe even pulling it closer, kissing it before dropping it back to the center console. He could almost hear their kids in the back – probably squabbling like him and Sarah used to do – but it still felt so full of love, it didn’t bother him. Maybe he’d tell them the same stories about how him and Jane used to go out camping, teasing Jane about she liked to play with the fire.

              Kurt glanced down at Jane’s left hand, resting next to her as she looked ahead. How easy it would be, to just reach out and take it, intertwining their fingers together, just for this short time.

              “Oh, turn here!” Jane’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “We’ve gotta be getting close, Borden said it was only a few hours away, and we’ve been on the road for a while now.”

              “Oh yeah,” Kurt mumbled, shaking the daydream from his head. “I think Borden said it was at the end of this road,” he said as he turned. With one last glance over at Jane, he reminded himself they were on a case. This was no time for daydreams.

vi.

              Kurt was exhausted by the end of the day. And what a day it had been – between his dad, Mayfair, Pellington, the case, and Jane…. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to losing her. When he saw her lying on the floor, his heart nearly stopped. His mind raced as instinct kicked in and started CPR. He couldn’t focus on anything except for her, and he prayed that somehow she would be alright. As she came back with the first gasping breaths, he nearly collapsed in relief.

              He heard her in the locker room as he shut his locker. He’d come to recognize her – she moved differently than the other agents. Her steps… lighter, the hesitation as she gathered things from her locker. Kurt knew this would be the last time. Pellington had made that clear. Jane was already sent to security as soon as they came back from the facility.

              Kurt didn’t know which was worse – losing Mayfair, or losing Jane. Mayfair had been his mentor for years. The fact that he would now be sitting in her office was inconceivable to him. But losing Jane – not seeing her smile in the morning, not seeing her determined face as they tracked down killers, or hearing her laugh, or a million other things he realized he had taken for granted.

              It had only been a few months since Jane had come into his life, and already he didn’t know how he was going to survive even one day without her.

              “What am I supposed to do now?” she looked so lost. The same way she had those first days. “I mean, ever since I came out of that bag, I’ve woken up with a purpose. I come here. We save the world.” Jane let out a halfhearted laugh. “Then I go home. But what do I do when I wake up tomorrow?”

              Kurt chuckled. Little did she know he was thinking the exact same thing. “Whatever you want.” He paused, realizing something. “Speaking of which… Now that we’re not working together, that sort of means I can do this.”

              There was no hesitation when he stepped forward. He’d thought about this far too long, faced too many close calls, too many interruptions to let anything ruin this moment.

              The taste of her lips nearly drove him mad. Her hand was on his neck, pulling her closer, urging him not to stop. As if he could have even thought about stopping. They had come so far, and he wasn’t going to let anything change that. Even after they pulled apart to catch their breath, he couldn’t resist kissing her forehead one last time.

                 Kurt couldn’t stop smiling. No longer exhausted, he felt elated. Maybe he didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but, at least with Jane, he knew it would be alright.

[blossattic]

Practice 🎈

✦ Noctis Lucis Caelum x Honey Naturae & Prompto Argentum . : Word count: 1565 . : Warnings: SFW. Fluff. Kissing. Original Character. (Brotherhood timeline)

Summary: Being a teenager, fantasies and dreams are bound to steal your thoughts once in a while. Noctis lacks confidence and experience over a specific thing and the opportunity to try presents itself then- Friends have his back.

“So.. H-hm…”

How did they end in a situation like that? Noctis asked himself. The idea was to hang out in his apartment to study for an upcoming test and do homework, but the conversation changed from academic topics to other very personal ones. His tongue just slipped his inexperience on one matter and that started it all.

Prompto only stared at him. Honey blinked a few times, her hair bun bouncing a little as she tilted her head to the side.

“Are you saving them for Lady Luna?”

She had said it so calmly and with a hint of wonder… but it wasn’t that far from the truth. It wasn’t a stray thought imagining the moment: Luna and him, sitting somewhere, comfortably chatting before his eyes drifted lower to admire the pink cushions of her lips, leaning in to her and-

How would it be? How would it feel?

But never in his wildest dreams did he phantom the idea that he’ll have the chance to try out his idea but, well… Not every dream was perfect. Luna wasn’t there-

“Do you want to do it then, Prom?”

Sometimes Noctis worried about how easily his friends came up with solutions to tricky problems. Honey and Prompto were discussing the whole idea of being them his practice partner, all to avoid any scandalous headlines if he decided to try it with someone else. Noct briefly wondered if they had his best interest in mind, always thinking he wouldn’t be doing stuff with people he didn’t trust.

“Guys-”

“I can do it, Noct. If you want to. No pressure.”, Honey commented, her palm all over Prom’s whining face.

It was all the more embarrassing when Honey was so focused on searching inside her makeup pouch for a different lip balm that the usual one she used. Another one but the usual one she used to kiss Prompto... Because she was going to kiss him now. For practice.

He prayed to all the gods Gladio forgot how a clock worked and didn’t worry showing up early, because if he caught them in the act— A shiver ran down his spine.

Prompto was zealously playing with the yellow ball of the Lemon Drop balm he favored the most as he gave Noct a generous combo of frown with a pout. The whole situation wasn’t so easy for him to swallow, the fact that his best friend was going to kiss his girlfriend. In. Front. Of. Him! All claps issued.

“I have Apple, Orange Cream and Sweet Mint… and-”, Honey commented, rummaging through tubes and balm balls as they caught her eye. Yet Noct was more worried about other things.

“Whi-whichever is fine!”

“Ah? That’s not true! You have to choose!”, as Honey pouted, Noctis groaned in defeat.

Noctis imagined Luna had the softest lips with a subtle but very much appealing sheen that made them so delectable. They were probably refreshing like a drink of water. Yet the idea of them being so pink and cute, probably sweet like the ripest berry... His mind could only think of-

“Berries is fine then.”

Noctis did his best to omit the Ta-da! that came with Honey showing him the hot pink orb she proceeded to unscrew to apply on her lips in a nice coat. The act on itself had Prompto biting his lips, probably regretting agreeing to all that when he could have those lips for himself.

“I’m not gonna end up beheaded, ri-right? For doing this with the royal heir and all- I’ll accuse Prom too.”

“WHA-?!”, Prompto gasped.

“Heeey, we’ll go down together!”

Noct almost didn’t catch the joking tone on Honey’s voice, suddenly aware that there was a possibility of punishment, of a livid Ignis coming to them with blazing eyes and a scowl, ready to deliver the longest and hardest lecture ever heard. But all train of thought came to a halt when he felt Honey’s hand on top of his. It was now or never. He couldn’t chicken out now.

He felt his heart pounding against his breast bone, making it slightly painful and nerve wrecking as Honey moved to kneel closer to him. It reminded him of the tense but respectful moment two opponents engaged in as they faced each other. Noct nodded ever so slightly and Honey’s hand gently and softly cradled his cheek before eyelids closed halfway over brown eyes.

“Whenever you are ready, Noct.”

Noctis’ hands were shaking by the time one of them decided it was probably best to get some sort of leverage somewhere, like her hip. Cautiously, Noct looked over Prompto, who was grumbling something while shielding his eyes to give them privacy. That only made his pulse quicken. He had a girl in front of him, about to do something he never would have asked out of pride and shyness. But there was the hazy temptation of that fruity fragrance that appealed to him so much, tickling his nostrils, dancing on his senses and transporting him to another place. The breeze so gentle, the sun so candid, her presence so clear. The image went center and forward, the doubts all going to the back of his mind when Honey took the initiative, gently rubbing her nose on his, as if to help him relax before her lips ever so softly caressed his like velvety rose petals.

All time stopped and resumed with a loud and hard bang of his heart inside his chest. Blood rushing to his ears, Noct felt the adrenaline pumping in his veins, nerves growing and growing and surely being plain obvious for Honey to notice. But her lips applied no pressure so far, more focused on only a subtle reconnaissance so Noct could get used to the feeling of having someone so intimately close to his face. Her thumb resumed a slow rub over his cheek as to calm him down.

“Close your eyes, it’s okay.”, came out as a whisper and Noct swallowed the lump in his throat.

He could do it. It was just like training: he had to master his body, control his nerves and face the challenge head on. Honey wasn’t going to mock him but help him gain confidence. He only had to wrap his mind over a different tactic, imagine her hair was straight and framing her face, eyes a nice pristine blue, the school uniform a pale dress. Honey was already doing her part, trying to imitate the grace and gentleness of her movements. 

Noctis’ hand squeezed her waist and the previous sensations that enraptured him only by the fragrance alone came to take him again, and only once Honey deemed him ready did she maneuvered their heads to tilt a little as lips pressed onto his, her tiny noise meeting his clipped groan. That was unexpected, but Honey was gentle with him and kept it nice and slow for him to adjust, even giving him some space before trying again.

Prompto couldn’t stop himself from sneaking peeks over their exchange and while he was still a tiny bit jealous, he was aware of Honey’s efforts to keep it friendly and respectful. If Noct was too overwhelmed, she would stop and go back to simple bunny kisses. If Noct was too eager, she could be bold enough to pinch at his cheek to put the brakes on him. By the time Prompto was fully on witnessing it all, Honey pulled back to put an end on it, her thumb rubbing lines on Noctis’ rosy cheek.

Noct was positively panting, chest heaving slowly as he leaned back into the couch’s bottom. He did it. He could still feel the motions on his lips, even when Honey had moved back to give him so space. Far from imagining his friend, his mind called the image of Luna smiling at him, blushing pink as he probably was right then, both marveling on the flavors lingering on their lips. The tingling of the touch, the pleasant sweetness that wasn’t to overpowering, the nice moisturizing sensation it left behind…

…That was when Prompto caught Noct licking at his lips, sucking at his bottom lip as to commit the flavor to his mind.

“Enoughhhh, Hon… He'll take you back again!”

Noctis’ snapped out of his daydream with Honey’s quiet giggles and soft scolding directed to Prompto. Now what he zealously had between his arms was her body all pressed snug to his chest, yet it was more like he was all wrapped around her like an oversized koala, periwinkle eyes shooting pitiful glares his way as Honey poked at his inflated cheeks.

All the tension that lingered around had lessened, thankfully, after Honey soothed Prom with a merciless round of smooches all over his face. It was enough to buy him time to collect himself and his thoughts, saving the dream for later and allowing himself to face reality once more. It all went back to normal after that, all jokes and shenanigans distracting them from the scenes that had transpired a few minutes earlier. All sobered up, they decided to resume their school work.

As Prompto sulked about homework and sneaked glances over the exercises already done in the book, Noct could only look at Honey and wait before nodding, a wordless thank you shaping on his lips. Honey smiled and made a zipper motion over her lips.

His secret was safe.

* :· ✧ ·: * * :· ✧ ·: * * :· ✧ ·: * * :· ✧ ·: * * :· ✧ ·: *

[itsme690]

Thirty, Flirty and Thriving

"Are you ready to go?" I asked my best friend, Kelly. We were going to the club to celebrate her birthday. She didn't know that I had set up our other friends and Brad, the guy she had been dating to meet us there as a surprise. We both got all dressed up in knee length flowy dresses. Hers was blue and strapless while mine was a purple halter, both hugging our curves at the top. We had spent the day at the spa getting out nails and make up done. I left my hair down in loose waves, and she had a cute updo.

"Phone, wallet, keys. Yep I'm good to go!" She said, checking her brown crossbody purse. "I'm so excited, thank you for taking me out. I know you usually like the quieter settings but, I only turn 30 once! We can do whatever you want when your birthday comes!" She was right, I did typically like to stay in or go to a quiet dinner versus the club.

"I haven't been out in so long, maybe I'll enjoy myself." I shrugged.

"Yes! Think positive! And who knows, maybe you'll find a new love interest.." She teased as we headed toward the Uber. "Hannah, Its time to forget old whats his name and move on! He was a loser, we're women now and you need to find a real man! Who cares if you're saving yourself for Mr. right? He should have respected you." I agreed with her although I had only left my ex just a few short months ago. I wasn't sure I was ready but I would find that out tonight!

We arrived at the club a little earlier than planned. I had been texting with Brad to make sure everyone was there and ready for us. He told me we could find them in the side corner on the black couches near the smoking balcony. We climbed the metal stairs and handed our IDs to the bouncer who greeted us at the top. He wrapped a bright pink paper wristband around our right wrists that said Over 21 around it. I payed for the both of us to get in seeing as it was her birthday. The club was dark, everything was black..the carpet, the walls, the dance floor, even the couches were a black leather. Thin colorful bright lights moved around the dance floor, along with a giant strobe light.

"Drinks!" Kelly yelled over the loud thumping dance music, pulling me towards the bar. "I'll order, what do you want?"

"Something fruity." I hated the taste of most alcohol, so whatever I was having needed to have some flavor.

"I'll have a Blue Hawiian, and my friend will have a Sex On The Beach please!" I handed the bartender some cash and left a tip on the bar. A guy came up next to me and leaned his arms over the edge of the bar waiting for one of the bartenders to take his order.

"Hi.." he said looking at me before the other bartender interrupted our stare. Kelly nudged me on the other side, she must have noticed that I was checking him out. A few moments later the bartender returned with a bright blue drink and a peach colored drink and handed them to us.

"Thank you!" We took a step back from the bar when she whispered "now he was cute.." in my ear.

"Ew no! Maybe you're into the dirty, grungy look, but I am certainly not!" I said, shaking my head and taking a sip of my drink. "This is good! What is it?"

"Not the bartender! Mr. Mystery man that came up next to you." She was right, Mystery Man was cute! He had dark short curly hair, with the sides shaved. His eyes were deep, a blue-green color. He wore nice black pants with shiny dress shoes, and a dark green button down shirt.

"Oh him? I mean I don't know..I guess he was. Really what is this I'm drinking?" I tried to change the subject.

"Don't you act like you didn't notice him. He was so looking you up and down! It's a sex on the Beach." She said, gesturing to the dance floor.

"A sex on the what? You know what, never mind. Follow me!" I blushed, and grabbed her hand and headed toward the balcony door.

"Surprise!!" All our friends yelled, and she nudged my side again. "Happy Birthday!!"

"Aww guys!! Thank you!! This was the best surprise!!" She said excitedly, going over to hug Brad. "Now who's up for some dancing!?" She had her drink in one hand and pulled me out to the dance floor with the other.

After dancing for five or so songs it was getting really hot inside. "Lets go get some air!" I suggested. Kelly downed the rest of her now second cocktail and placed the empty glass on a random table.

"Mirror check first?" Kelly asked. "I'm sweating so much I want to make sure my make up isn't running!" I reassured her that it wasn't but she still insisted on going to look for herself. "I guess I might as well pee while I'm in here." She went in the stall as I studied myself in the full length mirror. "You know Mr. Mystery man was watching you out there. In fact I don't think I saw him take his eyes off of you for a second."

"Really?" I asked, as she came out to wash her hands. She smirked and nodded at me. I tried to hide my smile.. "I might as well go too.." going into the stall.

"You should totally go for him. He looks really into you!"

"Kell, really..no! I'm here for you tonight!" I came out and washed my hands. Mr. Mystery was really cute, but I still don't know if I'm ready to put myself back out there yet. We weaved back through all the people to the balcony. "Ahh so much cooler out here! I'm pretty sure if I didn't get out here soon I would have passed out!" Kelly nudged me and nodded her head toward the side corner by the benches.

"Don't look now.." Kelly began to say but I was already commited to turning around to see what she was talking about. I turned around completely and my eyes instantly met his as he took a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled through hes nose and smiled toward me. I quickly turned back to Kelly. "I told you not to look!" She teased. He was leaning his shoulders against the metal fence that enclosed the balcony surrounded by a few other guys.

"Oh my god, why would you do that to me?" I buried my face in my hands. "He's going to think I'm into him!"

"Well, if you aren't, you should be. He's hot Aria.." Kelly said, shaking her head at me. Mr. Mystery and his buddies put out their cigarettes in the ash trays and walked toward the door to go back inside. As he walked behind me I felt him brush up against my backside, knowing there was plenty of room that he didn't have to touch me. I turned my head to the left involuntarily and eyed him up and down. He turned back at me and with puckered lips he winked at me. He wasn't paying any attention to where he was walking when he turned around and walked right into the closed glass door. A swarm of younger girls ran to him to ask his he was alright. His face turned red as he lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead. Opening the door, he went back inside without turning back to me again.

"Oh my god, Kelly did you just see that? I feel so bad! Should I go find him and make sure hes okay? He hit that door pretty hard!" I finally finished my first drink, leaving my empty glass on the ground by the wall with a bunch of other empty glasses.

"You probably should, want me to go with you?" She asked, leading the way back inside. "I love this song! Come dance first!"

"I need another drink, I'll be right be back. Meet you on the dance floor! What was that drink again?"

"Sex on the beach!" She yelled back over the loud music. I made my way though the people to the horseshoe shaped bar this time. I leaned my elbows on the bar and grabbed some cash out of my wallet. The bartenders were running around making drinks for other impatient customers. Alcohol splashing on the floor as they poured each new drink. I patiently waited, scanning the bar for other drink ideas. Thats when my eyes met Mr. Mystery mans eyes, he was perched up in a stool at one of the high tables in the back secluded. He looked back and quickly looked away, almost embarrassed. I left my spot at the bar and walked over to his table.

"Hey are you alright? That was a pretty hard hit!" I hoisted myself up onto the stool next to him. He looked at me confusingly.

"Um, do I know you?" He asked, sounding completely serious.

"I'm, well, no, but.." I started to say but he cut me off.

"My head hurts real bad. I don't really know whats happening." He said slowly, putting his head down on the table.

"You walked into a door pretty hard, do you need me to go find you some help?" Now I was starting to get really concerned. Was it the alcohol he was drinking or did he hit the door much harder than I had thought?

"Everything is spinning.." he lifted his head off the table and began swaying side to side, circling his head until he landed on my shoulder. His eyelids fluttering shut.

"Oh my god! Someone help! Please!" I began trying to yell over the loud music to get someones attention but it didn't seem to work." No one was close enough to hear me. He sat up quick and looked at me.

"Gotcha! I'm fine!!" He teased, patting my back. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"You scared me half to death!" I flicked my wrist hitting him in the stomach.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist." He chuckled. "The names Rami, and yours?" I narrowed my eyes towards him not sure if I wanted to tell him.

"I need another drink." I finally said after a few moments. I jumped down off of the stool I had been sitting on.

"Hmm, so thats how you're going to be.." he started to say when I heard Kelly near the bar.

"I found her Brad!" She yelled back behind her as she walked up to us. "There you are! I was getting worried! But it looks like you're in good hands."

"Rami, this is Kelly, my best friend. We're here for her 30th birthday." He stood up, stretching his arm out to shake her hand.

"You can tell me her name but not your own? I see how it is.." he smirked. "Its nice to meet you Kelly, Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you.." Kelly shook his hand while giving me a puzzled look.

"Yeah, well maybe if you hadn't led me on that you were about to pass out I would have told ya." I linked arms wth Kelly "Come on, I really need another drink!"

"You like him.." Kelly said as we walked back towards the bar. Shr turned around to look back at him. "He's totally watching you walk away from him."

"Maybe? I mean I don't know. He's got a sense of humor thats for sure." We leaned up against the horseshoe shaped bar again. "I don't know if I'm ready for this."

"Take things as it comes. Don't be afraid to tell him things you aren't ready for. Be honest with him." Kelly reassured me that not all guys are jerks like my ex was.

"Sex on the beach please" I said to the bartender  "You want another drink?" I asked Kelly.

"Nah not right now. I will take a water though."

"Thank you!" I grabbed my drink and we headed back to the dance floor.

"Hey wait up!" Rami yelled from his table. "Kelly can I ask you something?" He looked at me waiting until I walked away from them.

"I guess I'll go dance with Brad and the others.." I rolled my eyes and walked toward the our friends and waited until Kelly came back. "What was that about?" I asked her.

"He asked if I had a cigarette that I could give him." I furrowed my eyebrows at her knowing that wasn't the truth as he had just walked out the balcony door alone taking one out of his pocket.

A few songs later I felt a body come up close behind me. Kelly smiled at me and mouthed 'just go with it.' A pair of strong yet gentle hands grabbed my hips as he moved up closer to me. He pressed his hips up to me and he began swaying to match my dancing. I felt his warm breath behind my ear.

"I've been waiting all night for this chance, Aria." The sound of his deep raspy voice made me shiver. I looked back at Kelly, narrowing my eyes. He didnt ask her for a cigarette, he was asking for my name. Kelly shrugged and smirked, knowing I knew the truth now. I placed my empty hand on his to steady our rhythm. His hands were cool to the touch after he had just come back inside. The smell of his last cigarette in his breath. I liked the feeling of him right up against me. The song ended and he excused himself to the bar. "I'll be right back." he assured.

"You go Aria!" Kelly exclaimed once Rami was no where near to hear. I bit my lip and walked my empty glass to a table. I returned a second later and Kelly grabbed my hand to dance. She stumbled a little, twirling me around her body to dance close behind her. I grabbed her left side and pulled her in close, mimicing Ramis sways when he was the one behind me. Thats when Rami returned with a beer and a cocktail in his hands. I looked at him, biting my lip as I teasingly grinded with Kelly.

"Do they always dance like this?" He nudged Brad, eyeing me. "Its hot!"

"Oh yeah, dude. Sometimes I get a bit jealous." Brad teased, taking Kelly back to dance with him.  

"Here, I noticed you were running low.." Rami said, handing me another drink. I don't know if I can handle a third drink. This is the first time I've been out drinking in the longest time.

"Thank you." I took a small sip and began swaying my hips to the beat of the music again. "Ooh I think I need a minute." I handed my drink to Kelly and held my head, telling her I needed some water. Rami took my hand and walked me outside and sat me on a bench. He took a cigarette out of his pack and lit it.

"You okay?" He was concerned, rubbing my shoulder.

"I just need a minute." I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. He rubbed his thumb on the back of my shoulder. A few moments past when Kelly came out with a plastic cup of ice water.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I will be. Just need some water thats all. Don't worry about me Kel, go back in and enjoy your birthday, we'll be in soon." I reassured her. She looked at Rami and he gave her a nod letting her know he will keep an eye on me. "I'm sorry Rami, its just I haven't been out drinking in so long, I might have over done it. But I am starting to feel a bit better." He turned to face me.

"Don't you dare appologize. I shouldn't have gotten you that drink."

"It was a kind gesture. I appreciate it I do." I explained. "I'm good, lets go dance?" He put out his cigarette and took my hand, leading me back to the dance floor. It was last call, so that meant we only had a few songs left to dance. Before I know it hes pressing his hips back up to me and I was loving it.

"It was nice meeting you Aria." He winked and we exchanged numbers on our way out of the club. "Hope you enjoyed your birthday Kelly!"

______________________

[petty-and-pearlescent]

Blue Drinks

CONTENT WARNING: alcohol, infidelity

I was cold, wet, and on my way to my first college party. While the night sky had been clear when I left campus, by the time I’d walked 4 blocks I was soaked to the bone. My sneakers were so steeped from my walk across town that I could feel the rain squish in between my toes. The unkept sidewalks riddled with hidden holes only added to the problem, spraying my pant leg with every misplaced footfall. 

Lena, a girl from my calculus class, had invited me to a party across town and against my better judgment I agreed to go. The short blonde seemed ditzy, but the way she talked made it impossible to get a word in edgewise. She was so insistent that I had accepted the Facebook invite before I really knew what I had committed to. The theme was “Freshmen Disorientation”, which made no sense. The Facebook event page was full videos of people chugging beer and dancing on counters. I knew I was getting in over my head, but if I got there and it was too much I could always leave right?

Once I turned onto Porter Street it was obvious which house the party was at. The bass was audible from the corner, and the pulsating light from the windows reflected off the rain as it fell. I could see the silhouettes of writhing bodies outlined against the closed curtains bathed in pastel blues and purples. As I got closer, the black puddles became glistening mirrors as they caught the strobes from inside. Cars lined the street on both sides, and as I watched, a group of half-drunk idiots climbed the front steps and opened the door. Music briefly mixed with the chaos of the late night storm before the group pushed their way inside and closed the door again behind them. 

I took a deep breath and allowed the cold, damp air to loosen the knot in my gut as I walked down the street. I checked the invite on my phone again just to be sure. It was definitely the right house. With each step, the cold air did less and less to help my nerves. The house itself was actually really beautiful. It was a large two story with white trim, an attached garage and cobblestone steps leading up to a mahogany door with an ornate brass knob. If college students lived here, they were definitely living off of Daddy’s money. I swallowed the lump in my throat, turned the knob with my clammy hand, and stepped inside.

The first thing that hit me was the musk. The dusty air of the old house met with rain and sweat to lend an unpleasant earthy taste to the air. A mosaic of muddy footprints covered what little hardwood floor was visible underneath the throng of bodies. The living room seemed to be where the music and dancing were originating from, with the hallways and other rooms being more low-key. Throughout the crowd, I could see several red plastic cups in people’s hands. I was unsure of where to stand, but the sound of the door opening again behind me was my cue to figure it out. As I moved away from the door, the scent profile of the house changed a little: weed, vodka, and body odor began to overpower the more natural scents from outside.

After squeezing through the gaps between other college students I found myself in the kitchen. The counter was covered in beer cans, hard ciders, and bottles of various kinds of liquor. They looked out of place contrasted against the granite and dark wood of the antique kitchen. I watched as a frat boy got on one knee and began chugging a bottle of red wine surrounded by a ring of people egging him on at the top of their lungs. Once he had successfully consumed the massive amount of alcohol, his buddies helped him up, upon which he promptly got sick all over the kitchen floor. Instinctually, I grabbed the paper towels off the counter and bent down to help clean up the chunky burgundy mess.

As I swept my hand swaddled in paper towels across the floor it grazed someone else’s. I looked up and saw that across from me was one of the vomitee’s friends. He was very classically handsome, his strong jaw and face shape reminiscent of a younger version of the guys that star in movies my mom likes. The sleeves of his red flannel were rolled up past his elbows with his hair pulled up in a bun out of his face. He stopped wiping for a beat while we made eye contact, then he flashed me a smile and a nod before continuing to scoop sopping pink paper into the nearby trash can. I paused for a minute before shaking off the awkwardness and doing the same. After the floor was clean (more or less) I stood up and brushed off my knees. I’ve been here 20 minutes and all I’ve done is wipe vomit off the floor, I thought, great. As I washed my hands in the kitchen sink I debated if it was too early to leave. The walk home is about a half hour, but maybe if I call a—

“Thanks for helping with that by the way.” I turned around and there was the awkward-hand-touch guy holding out a red cup of a blue mystery substance. He had taken off his flannel to reveal a fitted black shirt underneath, highlighting the black linework tattoos criss-crossing his biceps. 

“Oh, no problem. Is he doing okay?” I said, trying not to let my eyes veer too far from his. I wiped my hand on my pants before taking the offered cup.

“Derrick? Yeah, probably. He likes to show off but he always gets a little… messy,” he said, punctuating it with another smile. “Do you wanna maybe talk somewhere quieter?” he added, gesturing towards the stairs leading to the upper level of the house.

I nodded, because what was the harm in that? In response, he grabbed my hand to lead me through the crowd of people. I jumped a little, not expecting direct physical contact despite being surrounded on all sides. As I was dragged through the old house I took a sip of the drink he’d given me. Immediately I was hit with what I assumed was strong alcohol poorly masked by something vaguely fruity and sour. It wasn’t bad, but it was definitely created to be barely drinkable. I kept sipping to calm my nerves and felt a warmth slowly begin to spread through my arms and legs. 

Once we were upstairs the smell of damp bodies and rain gave way to dust and old wood. There was a hallway with doors on one side and a banister on the other that overlooked the party below. There were still a couple of people up here standing, talking, and drinking, but it definitely felt more intimate. He led me to the door at the end of the hall, opened it, and pulled me inside. His bedroom. That was unexpected. The only light in the room was a bedside lamp that cast long, dark shadows over the band posters on the wall and gave the space an uneasy warmth. The room itself was very clean: no laundry on the floor, bed made, and most personal effects were hidden away with the exception of a few photos on the dresser. He set down his cup on the nightstand and turned around.

“Sorry, things got a little out of hand down there.” He laid down on the bed with his legs hanging off the side, groaning as he stretched his back before sitting back up. “What’s your story?”

“W-what do you mean?” I stammered. I was at a party, drinking alcohol, and now I was in a boy’s room. It was so many firsts at once I wasn’t entirely sure of what to do.

“You can sit down if you want,” he motioned to the space on the bed next to him, his smile seemed warm and inviting. Not wanting to seem rude, I took off my drenched rain jacket and muddy shoes before joining him. “Where are you from, what’s your major, that kind of thing,” he elaborated. 

“I’m from San Diego, and I’m majoring in Cinema Studies.” There was something about the way he talked that seemed to calm me down. His voice had a warm, smooth quality to it, almost like hot chocolate. 

“Damn, SoCal huh? This must be a whole different world than this shit.” He nodded towards the window, sheets of water flowing down the pane as the storm continued.

“Yeah, just about.” Those three words seemed to hang in the air before falling into silence. We sat there together, the roar of the storm outside letting us almost forget about the vibration of the party coming up from the floor. We were alone together, separate from everyone and everything else.

He re-adjusted himself on the bed and closed the distance between us again. We sat there for a second, inches apart. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but his eyes were clear and lucid. Despite the near poison I drank, I could feel a chill run down my spine as his hand grabbed my cheek and pulled me in for a kiss.

I guess I can’t say I wasn’t expecting that to happen: he had brought me to his bedroom, after all. The kiss was aggressive, almost possessive. As his hands traveled up my back, I could taste mint on his lips along with the bitterness of his mixed drink. His mouth traveled away from mine to kiss my neck, and that's when I saw it: a photo on his nightstand of him and Lena staring into each other's eyes. At first, I was confused. Then the realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. 

“I should go,” I said, nearly jumping out of his arms as if they’d burned me. I got off the bed and scooped up my coat and sneakers before racing out of the room and down the hallway. As I rounded the banister to take the stairs, I could see him coming down the hallway after me. I put my head down and made a beeline down to the front door. Shoulders bumped shoulders. Disgruntled yells following me downstairs. As my feet hit the ground floor, I could see the door at the end of the hall. I felt someone’s drink cover my shirt as I accidentally jostled their cup. I was almost there. Twenty feet, fifteen, ten, five.

And then I was on the floor. My vision was covered in fuzzy black spots as I tried to catch my breath. When it cleared, I realized someone had turned the music off. Standing above me was Lena with her brow furrowed in concern. She leaned down and pulled me to my feet.

“Sorry I’m late, are you okay? I saw you slip on the hardwood. Why the hell aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“Lena?” I heard some say from behind me before I could reply. I propped myself up on my elbows and turned around. There he was. The bodies that were in the hallway were now packed into the adjoining rooms, leaving only the three of us between the door and the stairs. Lena looked at him confused, then back at me, trying to put all the pieces together. 

In the silence I scrambled for the door, almost slipping for a second time. Lena grabbed my shoulder to steady me and I shrank away from her touch. I didn’t have to turn to know all eyes were on me. I don’t even remember having closed the door behind me after leaving. I began to run home in the dark, socked feet splashing into puddles before I saw them. I could hear people begin to leave the house, likely not wanting to be around for the mess that was sure to follow. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?! Answer me, Kyle!!” Lena’s screaming echoed down the street as people began to turn over their engines. 

I was running as fast as I could, my bangs plastered against my face in the rain as I tried to cover as much distance as possible. After a couple blocks I slowed down and collapsed against the streetlamp I was next to, my feet numb from the cold and my lungs demanded a break. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out. Lena. I declined the call but she called me again, and again, and again. I slide down the pole until I was sitting on the ground with my head in my hands. The tears started, and as they mixed with the rain running down my face I prayed the storm would wash his fingerprints away.

[dovabunny]

Nobody Would Want to Dance with a Magic Ox

Click link above to read on Ao3 or read below under the cut.

Relationship: Adaar/Krem

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Rating: Teen

Characters: Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi; Female Adaar; Female Inquisitor; The Iron Bull; Josephine Montilyet; Leliana; Dorian Pavus; Cullen Rutherford            

Tags: fictober18; cremquisitor;

Chapter: 1/1

Series: FicTober Ficlets

Summary: Adaar had always thought nobody would ever look at her and see beauty and strength in equal measure, that nobody could ever love her as she is. She always thought nobody would ever want to dance with her, especially not more than once. Maker, she has never been more happy to be right.

FicTober prompt ( from @barbex ): “I thought you would forget

Dragon Age Inktober prompt (from Dankou): Halamshiral

The result: this hot garbage.

Adaar shifted uncomfortably in the constricting fruity outfit they made her wear. For someone used to wearing Arishok armour while twirling a staff around at lightning speed, feeling like a stuffed nug in a frilly sock was...demeaning and embarrassing.

But they meant well, her advisors. Josie had practically bounced on her toes when first she saw Adaar in the Inquisition formal attire, calling her both ‘striking’ and ‘resplendent’. Whatever the fade that means. Leliana has smirked in that creepy I-can-murder-you-in-your-sleep-but-chose-not-to-you’re-welcome way of hers, speculating that the Inquisitor would be flooded with hopeful suitors. Cullen was the only one who grumbled along with her as they tugged and frowned at their outfits.

But standing here, on the balcony of the queen of Orlais’ home or whatever (Maker, Josie will kill her if she heard those thoughts), there was no sweeping compliments, no swooning suitors, and no friendly faces. There were masks and gossip, thinly-veiled insults and condescending giggles. No one cared that she had saved Briala’s ex-girlfriend and thereby saving the whole damn country from a bloody civil war. Oh no, they’d rather keep their distance from the 7ft grey giant with swooping black horns adorned in gold, long white hair braided to her butt, and the tell-tale scars around her red lips of where she had once been silenced.

Too big, too opposing, too ugly, too grey, too non-human, too...horny.

She allowed herself a stupid little giggle at that last bit.

Truth be told, very few things made her smile these days. Before Haven fell she had been a simple woman that found happiness in simple things - good food, a good fight, good ale, and good company was enough to have her grinning ear to ear with a flush on her cheeks. Being with Bull’s Chargers gave her that long lost sense of belonging. Around that lot of misfits she felt safe to be herself and let her guard down, they never judged only teased, and never talked in circles.

And then...there was Krem.

The first time she had seen the lieutenant, swinging a gigantic warhammer like it was a turkey leg, looking like the hero from one of Varric’s fantastic romance stories - she’d felt something strange twist in her stomach. It had taken her a long time to realise that twist was her having a ginormous crush on the man. But instead of being a decent adult about it, instead she blushed like a virgin maid about to get her V card stamped by Zevran Arainai, and running to hide whenever she saw him in fear that instead of words only garbled sounds would escape her. That actually did happen, three times, where she would drink that strong shit Iron Bull said could make you damn-near breath fire and grow a tail, until she felt brave enough to approach the handsome, strapping warrior standing on his chair like he was the king of the tavern….

...not knowing he was the king of her heart.

...holy fuck, did she really just think that? That’s good shit! She needs to give Varric some tips on writing romance, seems she’s a natural. But only in theory.

Each time she opened her mouth to say something smart or witty, to compliment that way he sweeps his warhammer low to knock enemies off their feet before spinning it up to slam back down crushing the skull of a Venatori. Or maybe she would compliment his choice of haircut? How he could burp words in Qunlat? It made no difference what she ‘planned’ on saying, because all that came out was “so-Ima-fyo-imean-notwha-hnggk…” right before she turned and all but fled the Tavern to go hide under the hay in the stables. If Blackwall saw her he never said a word. Good man that, seems honest and reliable.

Because of such profoundly mature and sophisticated behaviour one might come to expect of a person of her status and office - she had started to avoid Krem, the Tavern, and the Chargers. Heck, she even avoided being in Skyhold if she could. There would barely be a ‘welcome back, Inquisitor’ before there was a ‘let’s go get something to drink’ and then of course a ‘Boss! The chargers and I haven’t seen you in a while, ain’t that right, Kerem de-la Creme?’ and she’d be ‘I NEED TO GO TO THE HISSING WASTES’ -ing out of Skyhold before anyone could say ‘Dorian your mustache is looking marvelous for someone who had just arrived back at civilisation not ten minutes ago from the Fallow Mire’.

It was the last night before the Inquisition left Skyhold for Halamshiral that she decided to cave and go wallow in self-pity at Herald’s Rest, her forehead planted on the table she claimed for herself in the corner. She typically gave off quite a ‘keep your distance I am big and scary’ aura, even without the glowing arm, but tonight she was giving off plain old ‘fuck off’ vibes. Of course ‘vibes’ never meant shit if you’re the Iron Bull.

“Bummed about the upcoming party?” he cheerfully said in that warm gravelly voice of his. “It’s not that bad, boss. We’ll go, save the empress, scare some humans, have them kiss our asses, and then get our bellies full of fancy food and wine.” At her barely scoffed response, his voice went a little softer. “What’s this really about? You got a weak stomach for Orlesian Ham? Dorian claims it tastes of despair. Scared of masks? Can’t dance in red velvet?”

“Bull, if you don’t shut up and let me drink I’ll send that redhead in the kitchens to Redcliffe and there’ll be no more ‘strawberry shortcake’ for you. And yes I meant it like that.” Adaar snorted mirthlessly. “Besides, I’m a giant grey ox mage with fade power gifted by Andraste herself and more scars than they have hair. Nobody would want to dance with me…” She had said the words softly, whispering it to the wood on the table, not intending it to fall on any ears.

Especially not the beautiful ears of a handsome Tevinter warrior who looked at her with slight confusion and concern when she finally lifted her head.  

The inquisitor tugged at the tight collar, ripping a few seams so she could breathe. With not much else to do, she amused herself by watching the gardens below. The balcony was secluded enough to not draw the attention of other guests looking to step into the cool air but still wanting to bask in the festivities. And those seeking seclusion for ‘other’ reasons, well, she could see them behind various shrubbery and hedges from where she stood. She’ll commend them for their commitment, that’s for sure, for soldiering through removing so many layers of cloth and frill and belts and skirts before they get to smoosh the parts together they want to smoosh together. Maybe she should go call Cassandra...

As it were, she was so distracted that she completely missed the doors behind her open and close, as well as the steps towards her, till a not-so-subtle throat clearing had her whirl around, her long white braid whipping her in the face as she started with “I wasn’t looking at anything!” only to freeze.

“Inquisitor,” Krem greeted with a polite nod of the head. His hair neatly styled to the side (she suspected Dorian had a hand in that, literally), his uniform showing off his broad shoulders, strong arms, and soldier’s posture.

But that wasn’t what caused her breath to catch.

Stuck to his chest was a little scrap of paper with the word ‘Nobody’ written on it.

Krem smirked when he saw her stare at it. “I may have overhead you say ‘nobody’ would want to dance with you.”

Her eyes went wide as he took a step closer, his arms behind his back, all cool confidence and determination. “I… I thought you’d forgotten,” she said dumbly. But HEY at least it was words!

Krem’s smirk turned into a smile as he stopped in front of her and offered her his hand. “It would be very hard for me to forget you, my Inquisitor.” He extended one sinfully strong leg and gave a bow. “Now, would you be willing to dance with a nobody? Because nobody very much wants to dance with you.”

They couldn’t dance, neither of them, but heck if those kids didn’t care. Even as she towered over him, Adaar seemed to look up at Krem with stars in her eyes as he leads her in a swaying twirl around the balcony. They laughed and teased and danced, and her heart felt full.

Adaar had always thought nobody would ever look at her and see beauty and strength in equal measure, that nobody could ever love her as she is. She always thought nobody would ever want to dance with her, especially not more than once.  

Maker, she has never been more happy to be right.