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keanureevesisbae · 3 years

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Caught in a Blizzard - Part 4

Summary: Chris travels back to NYC to be with Luna.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Luna Hwang (Asian OFC)

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: Did 5 months pass when I last updated this story? Yes, it sure has. Do I have an epilogue planned after this? Yes, I do. Will I post that very soon (and not in five months)? Yes, i will. I’m really sorry for the wait, but thank you for your patience 🥰

Masterlist // Caught in a Blizzard Masterlist // Part 3 //

Chris Evans had been single for so long now and he thoroughly enjoyed it. Sure he had dreams about settling down with someone, but for now, he felt as if being single was for him the best option.

But then Luna Hwang swooped into his life and (whether it was intentionally or unintentionally) turned his whole life upside down. He figured that meeting her would be fun, but not as life changing as this. He knew all about her, sure, and about her new album and no, he didn’t lie on the Graham Norton Show: he did buy it immediately. He was also fully aware she used to be in Brave Elegance and that performance at the Golden Globes, is engraved in his brain and he thinks about it often.

Luna started that performance with a dance solo and he kept thinking about the way her body moved in that purple skirt and white crop top. Though she was in a group, she was the woman that demanded every single bit of attention you had.

But then she went solo and all eyes were on her. Her single “Inside” came out, he caught himself watching that music video over and over again. While he was a mature adult, he still turned into a giddy teenager when he watched that video. He doesn’t know when the last time was he had a celebrity crush… The sexy and edgy concept of her solo stuff, it was a vibe that matches with her.

It just clicked.

Chris nearly was in a state of shock when he listened to all the songs on her album. Her sexy voice made everything a billion times better. In Brave Elegance, Luna was known for a deep and raspy voice. Her singing voice has an even deeper tone, almost as if dark chocolate had a voice.

And that Luna, that confident woman was the same Luna Chris was falling for. Though those three days were filled with sex and other bed room activities, he also got to know her on a deeper level. He got to know about her struggles, her life pre Brave Elegance, her life in Brave Elegance and her life post Brave Elegance. Her being a foster child was something that he knew, but he didn’t know that she went to sixteen different families. That must’ve been tough for a young girl like her. He never thought about not having a family of his own, mostly because he went to school with other privileged kids with families.

After these days, it made him realize he doesn’t want to spend apart from her again. After she shared about her fears, how she felt like it was her fault Brave Elegance broke up and what the public will think of her, all he wanted to do was to stay with her forever. Not going back to LA. Just wanted to get to know her a bit better. He knew he was falling for her way too hard, but after spending more than seventy two hours with her, he knew she was simply the one he wanted.

And now this happens. These pictures got leaked and he saw the shit that was already poured over her. People say all those things about her, but not about him and that makes him furious.

Maybe she does need to write another diss track.

He stares at the pictures they made, not the paparazzi—he looked at those enough. He looks at her smile and her beautiful eyes, the tattoos on her arms. Her soft cheek against his, her lips against his temple and her eyebrows full of expressions, almost like they are living a life of their own. Chris never felt like this before, but the attraction between them, it is unparalleled in comparison to what he and any other woman he dated ever shared. He thinks about her, about kissing her, watching her fall apart underneath him. She is such a wonderful woman, in all she does.

The way she would curl up against him as they went to sleep. The way she would sit on his lap as they were eating. The way she would run her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with her nails as they were watching a movie together.

Three days were filled with domestic relationship kinds of things. The things couples do. Established couples. The things he would see his friends do with their girlfriends.

As they sat on the couch, he couldn’t help but look at her. She is so beautiful, so precious and he hoped that this blizzard would go on for infinite time. Three days was all he got, but he wants that to last.

Though it’s not ideal, he can’t wait for them to be reunited again. When he heard her on the phone, his cracks appeared in his heart and every sob he heard, made another shard fall off..

His flight is almost going to board and he types a quick message for her.

Chris: I’m at your place in a few hours. Just hang in there, okay?

Luna: I’ll try.

Chris: Beautiful, it’ll all be okay. I guarantee.

✘ ✘ ✘

Chris can’t seem to agree with the statement his agent and Luna’s agent made. The words “legal action”, “invasion of privacy” and “consensual sex between to adults” are phrases he doesn’t want to see together, especially not when his name and Luna’s are in that same paragraph.

Chris has been on a plane non stop and he looks and feels like absolute shit. Despite all that and his fatigue, he rushes up to the sixteenth floor of Luna’s apartment building and knocks on her door.

When Luna opens the door, his heart breaks even more than it’s already been doing. Her eyes are swollen and red, her cheeks are flushed and she looks so tired. Chris drops his bag and suitcase on the floor and he whispers: ‘Come here.’ He engulfs her petite frame in his arms for a tight hug. She buries her face in the nape of his neck, before she lets out a cry.

‘I’m here, Luna, I’m here for you.’

Her breathing starts to become rapid, way too fast. Her fists clutch his shirt and he feels her tense up in his embrace. ‘Oh no, sweetheart,’ he says in a soft voice, holding her upper arms. ‘Careful now. Breath with me.’ He takes a deep breath and watches her trying to copy it, but it comes out shake and way too short. He recognizes it right away. ‘Focus on me,’ he tells her. He places her tiny hands on his chest, hoping that when she can feel him breathing, it makes it easier for her to copy. ‘Good girl,’ he whispers as her breathing is normalized. He presses a long kiss on her forehead. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll get through this.’

‘That sounds like we’re a couple.’

‘Well,’ he says, ‘we’re in this mess together, you and I, so we have to figure this out together.’ He walks inside the apartment and he sees four pairs of eyes staring at him. He wraps his arm around Luna’s shoulders, before he introduces himself to her band members. He was already shocked to find out that they were all there, but that means they might’ve reconciled, right? They all have a loving smile as they look at Luna, almost as if their fall out never happened.

‘Okay, mister Captain America,’ Rosie says with a smile, ‘how about you and Luna go catch up a bit. We’ll take care of the rest.’

He nods, thankful that the members of Brave Elegance are giving them the privacy they need and want, before he pulls Luna with him, so the two of them can sit on the couch. ‘Tell me, sweetheart, what’s on your mind now. Don’t worry, you can tell me everything.’

‘I ruined your career,’ she tell him, her voice cracking mid sentence. ‘Like, you are you, a wonderful actor with a heart of gold and I am me, a singer who sings about sex and broke up her band. I’m a joke.’

He can’t believe she thinks that. ‘You are not a joke, sweetheart,’ he whispers., as he tangles his fingers through her hair, soothingly massaging her scalp. ‘And how on earth do you think you have ruined my career? What happened between us, Luna, you need two people for that. I’m an adult, you’re an adult and some pervert took pictures while we did what tons of people do.’

‘Chris,’ she whispers, but more than that doesn’t leave her lips. She starts to cry again and he pulls her on her lap. She curls up against his broad frame, while she shakes as the sobs leave her lips.

‘Remember,’ he whispers in her ear, hoping for her to calm down a bit, ‘that you are not a joke and you’ll never be one.’

‘How are you so sure?’

‘Because I’ve gotten to know you,’ he says. ‘You are kind, you are smart and you are a total bad ass for singing about certain topics. You’re quite the pioneer.’

She rolls her eyes, as she scoffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘I’m not and I never will,’ Chris says. ‘Come here.’ He carefully pulls her into a kiss, not wanting to scare her away, however, she instantly melts against his lips. ‘That this happened,’ he mumbles, ‘doesn’t change a thing how I feel about you.’

‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ Pixie says.

‘Don’t lie, you are totally not sorry,’ Faith says.

He looks up to see all the four other bandmates together. Luna places her temple against his and wraps her arms tightly around his shoulder.

‘What I wanted to say,’ Pixie continues, ‘was that maybe you guys shouldn’t release a statement after all.’

‘What?’ Chris and Luna ask in unison. ‘Why not?’

‘Maybe you should just let them talk, pretend like it didn’t happen.’ Pixie continues.

Luna rolls her eyes again. ‘But it did happen, Pixie,’ she scoffs. ‘People won’t just forget.’

‘I know,’ she says, ‘but what do you want them to know? You two had sex and bad paparazzi for making pictures? Your privacy was invaded?’ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe you two need to just ignore this all.’

Rosie nods. ‘And maybe you should write a killer diss track. You’re good at that.’

Daliah smiles. ‘Maybe as a big fuck you you two should post a picture together on both of your Instagrams.’

‘This is unbelievable,’ Luna chuckles and he is happy that she can laugh again. That she is still able to chuckle, to be cheerful. ‘What you are basically saying is that Chris and I, in the midst of a scandal that could possibly ruin both of our careers, should show the world pictures of us together. Oh you know what, we’ll go out on a date right now.’

Daliah nods with a giddy expression. ‘Remember what you did when the news of Rosie and Justin got out?’

Luna nods. ‘Yes, I do.’

Pixie notices the empty look in Chris’ eyes and fills in for him: ‘She forced us all to go out, sit in a cafe and when the paparazzi showed up, she told them what happened. Blaming it all on Justin.’

Faith crosses her arms. ‘In other words,’ she says, ‘why the fuck should you hide, when you can show the entire fucking world that you are the baddest bitch in town? I don’t understand what you two have, I really don’t, but this looks like it could work.’

Luna looks over at him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. ‘Well, Chris Evans, are you ready for a date?’

✘ ✘ ✘

Luna’s hand is securely engulfed in his and he holds it so tightly, it almost seems as if he is afraid of losing her. They are out and about for coffee, sitting in a secluded booth, but he notices people taking pictures of them and they are not being subtle. He is used to people taking pictures, but this is next level rude and invasive.

However, Chris is able to ignore it, since he only has eyes for Luna. They sit next to each other, his thumb slowly and softly caressing her fingers.

‘I see you made up with your band members,’ he says, taking a sip of his cappuccino.

Luna nods, as her smile reappears on her face. ‘Yeah, we did.’

‘Well, I told you there were going to be other band members, but turns out it were the old and familiar ones all along.’

She nods again. ‘Chris, I want to thank you.’

‘For what, sweetheart?’

‘For coming back. I mean, I love that my members are here again, but you were right. We should go through this together, almost like a couple.’ She starts to chuckle. ‘And I think I need to write a diss track to TMZ, don’t you think’

Chris cannot hide the smile on his face, because he is just too happy with her. ‘Well Luna, how about we spice things up a bit and make a whole music video together?’

She starts to chuckle. ‘Chris, are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious. I have a good feeling about you, about us and I’m not going to throw that away. Besides, we should just put it out there.’

‘We totally should.’ Luna leans over to him, as she kisses him on his bearded cheek. ‘Despite being severely jet-lagged, you look really handsome, Chris,’ she whispers, placing her hand on his thigh. It slowly slides down to his inner thigh, giving the muscles a good squeeze. ‘You drive me crazy.’

‘If you continue to do this,’ he whispers, his voice dropping a few tones, ‘you’re going to be in big trouble.’

She cocks an eyebrow. ‘You honestly think that that is going to stop me?’ She places a kiss on his lips. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

He quickly gulps down the last sip of his coffee, before they walk back outside and he wraps his arm around my shoulders. However, the paparazzo cannot be missed and Chris clears his throat. ‘Brace yourself, sweetheart,’ Chris says to hear, but he also tells himself this, because he is pretty nervous.

‘Chris, Luna, do you have anything to say about the pictures?’ the man asks, nearly shoving his camera into their faces.

‘Yeah,’ Luna mumbles, ‘this.’ She holds up her middle finger into the camera. ‘Leave us the fuck alone, will you?’

Chris can’t help but laugh and feel proud of the beautiful woman who has her arm wrapped around his waist, her body pressed closely against his. The man continues to bombard them with question. Whether or not they’ll take legal action of the photo’s are continued to be spread, if they’d known each other before the Graham Norton show and whether or not the two of them are dating.

‘Well,’ Chris says, ‘if you let us finish our first date now, you might know it in the future.’

✘ ✘ ✘

One month later

#chris evans #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x original female character #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x luna hwang #chris evans x luna #chris evans x asian ofc #asian ofc #Luna Hwang #caught in a blizzard

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cloudywriter · 4 years

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i never got to say i love you - 2

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A/N: heyy i wanted to update vanilla pudding cups but i’ve really kinda hit a block in that story so enjoy this while i move pass my stump with the other story. also i’m working on some masterlist so navigating stories will be easier!

masterlist & AO3

also here’s my other feysand au if you would like to check that out! -> vanilla pudding cups

~~~

As classes begin to start up Feyre finds herself adjusting well to her new schedule. Most days she has one or two classes in the morning and one or two in the afternoon. Alis almost always brings her some lunch or snacks as she spends every free moment she has in the studio. If it weren’t for Alis she’s convinced she might’ve accidentally starved to death by now.

Honestly, Feyre hadn’t made many friends besides Alis who she had grown pretty close with. She had brief conversations with Mor in the hallways and had eventually met her roommate, Viviane, but most of the time she saw Mor outside of the dorm building she was with that group of boys from the dining hall. Yes, the same group of boys Alis still managed to bring up every other day, especially when they’d first seen Mor walking with them very comfortably. Alis was convinced Mor would be their way in.

What Feyre had never told Alis was a week ago Mor had invited them to come play monopoly in her dorm one Friday night with said boys, Viviane, and her boyfriend, Kallias. Feyre had declined.

Mor is always extremely sweet and a constant ray of sunshine but so much so it unnerved Feyre a bit, she could easily turn into one of those girls Feyre avoided like the plague in high school. Viviane is similar, but a bit more subdued, however Mor was completely right about her being with her boyfriend more often than not.

At the moment Feyre was making her way back from her last class of the day to her dorm, mentally preparing herself to pull an all-nighter. She had an assignment due for her drawing class that she had been putting off for weeks until the due date had crept up on her. Therefore, Feyre now had approximately 12 hours to draw an entire portrait. Mostly she had procrastinated up until this point because she just had no idea who she wanted to draw and her options were already limited.

When she finally arrived at her dorm room, having stopped at the vending machine for snacks on the way, she pushed the door open, threw her bag on her bed, and slumped in her desk chair, letting out a loud sigh.

She was hunched over her sketchbook feeling utterly defeated only a few hours later. The sun was beginning to set which had her hopeful, usually she did her best work in the dead of night anyway. But her fingers ached from gripping her pencil so long and she wasn’t sure she could sit up straight without an immense pain flaring in her back, even her neck and shoulders felt stiff. Not to mention, her efforts only produced a half dozen crumpled balls in the trash and a mound of eraser shreds.

Luckily, Feyre started to get her rhythm back as the night progressed, it was dark out now the only lights coming from the city buildings surrounding the campus. Alis had yet to return which she found a little odd but it was safe to assume she was studying late in the library.

Unluckily though, the dorm next to her, Mor’s dorm, was getting increasingly noisy with the darkening sky. The constant sound of muffled voices, laughing, and music poured through the wall.

Feyre was about halfway done with her portrait which had turned into a drawing of Alis, it had started coming together nicely but the added distraction of all the commotion next door was throwing her off her game. She’d been debating with herself for half an hour now whether or not she should say something to Mor; she knew Mor would probably tone it down if she asked.

At last, nearly two hours later, Feyre was at her absolute breaking point. She hadn’t made much of a dent in the rest of her sketch throughout those hours due to the ever growing disruptions. How Mor had not gotten a noise complaint yet she did not know. The music was louder, the voices went back and forward between intense bickering and cheering, and even random slamming sounds could be heard every once in a while.

Feyre tried desperately to tune out her surroundings but just as she was finding success a loud banging on the wall followed by yelling brought her right back. She groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Before her mind even processed what her body was doing Feyre found herself outside of Mor’s door knocking with intent. She heard a frenzy of shushing and the music turned down a few notches.

The door then swung open.

“Hey, sorry - oh, you’re not the RA.”

A hulk of a man stood in the doorway dressed in a tight black t-shirt and batman pajama pants. The man flashed her a big shit-eating grin. Feyre thought there was something familiar about him.

“What brings you around here, sweetheart?” He added, leaning against the door.

That’s when the familiarity donned on Feyre. He was one of the boys from the dining hall, specifically the one who had half his hair up. She also then realized it was in fact Friday night, game night for them.

She had yet to respond to the boy but made herself look up to meet his gaze, making sure she had her best scowl on. He was quite tall.

“You look cute when you’re trying to look angry.” He smirked at her. His eyes dragged up and down her body slowly, intimately. Fuck, Feyre noticed too late she had really left her room with only a random cropped band t-shirt on, barely there baby blue shorts, mismatching socks, glasses, and her hair wrapped around itself in a ridiculously messy bun with only a chunky wool beige cardigan thrown over herself.

“I’m not cute.”

“I beg to differ, sweetheart.” He winked at her.

“Don’t call me that,” Feyre ground out.

“Sure, I can switch up pet names. What would you rather instead?” He raised his brows at her in question.

Before Feyre could stomp on his toes Mor came up from behind him, a red solo cup in hand. “Stop bothering Feyre with your incessant flirting, you brute.”

“Feyre, you say? I don’t believe we’ve met.” He spoke, not breaking eye contact with her.

“Right.” Mor opened the door wider causing the man to stumble and shoot her a glare, Mor only giggled. Now that Feyre could see inside she noticed the small foldable table set up in the center of the room and an array of uno cards scattered across the floor. “Okay, well you’ve kinda met Cassian, he’s an ass. But this is Azriel, Rhysand, and Amren,” she spoke, indicating to each person with her hand.

Azriel gave her a small, half smile while Amren gave her a disinterested wave of the hand.

Rhysand, however, studied her with an intense gaze that Feyre returned. She hadn’t seen the front of his face up close until now and she could not say she was disappointed whatsoever. Gods, he was like a greek god or something. He looked as if his face and body had been expertly sculpted out of the finest marble. He had black hair that was longer on top and adorably tousled, eyes that were such a specific shade of deep blue they might appear violet in some lights, and bronzed skin. Azriel and Cassian were definitely not bad on the eyes but Rhysand was just something else in her mind. It didn’t hurt he was also wearing the batman pajama bottoms.

Feyre might’ve thought he was having a similar inner monologue to her own but the harsh reality of what she was wearing right now, her bare face, and her hair’s state had her banishing that possibility. He too seemed as if he were in a bit of a daze, studying her.

“And this guys is Feyre. She lives next door,” Mor finished off.

Cassian gave Rhysand’s ribs a sharp jab. Rhysand looked a bit startled at first but recovered swiftly, giving Feyre a small tilt of his head in acknowledgment. “Well, it is lovely to finally meet you, Feyre,” Cassian smiled at her.

Feyre nodded her head, still a little distracted by Rhysand. “You too, sorry for interrupting.”

“No, no, you’re all good. I’m really sorry were we being too loud? Were you trying to sleep?” Mor asked so sweetly and genuinely Feyre almost felt bad for coming to ask her to quiet down in the first place.

“I-I no, um, it’s alright actually. Have a good night.” Feyre stammered, turning on her heel to end this embarrassing exchange.

She heard Mor reply with the same sentiment before disappearing back into her dorm. She closed the door and leaned her head against the solid wood.

That was not the smoothest interaction she’s ever had, that’s for sure.

She sat back down at her desk and stared at her work before picking up her pencil once more. It was substantially quieter now, Mor must’ve known what had bothered Feyre in the first place.

She tried to finish her sketch of Alis but her inspiration to do so had dissipated. With that, Feyre turned to the next page, letting her mind take over as her pencil flowed across the paper. She was somewhat aware of who she was now outlining but couldn’t find it in herself to stop. When she got an idea or saw something that intrigued her she had to draw it, like an itch that wouldn’t go away until it gets scratched.

In record time a completed portrait stared back at her, more specifically Rhysand’s stupid, perfect face stared back at her. Feyre groaned and put her head in her hands.

~~~

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shadow--writer · 3 years

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And I'm Gonna go There Free, Like the Fool I am and I'll Always be

How chaotic can one Shade with the ability to word get? just learned to do a fancy thing too look at me go

The answer is very. Will I make a series after this? Who knows it’s very tempting. God I should make a post about this au as well lol. I pounded this out in one sitting btw. (song btw).

--Maeve x Lucas (WITH some Amani x Zora in there too bitches look at me)--Modern au but not fight club lol my own kinda modern au-ish--4.2k words holy shit--

TW: none!

Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, tHEY ARE SO CUTE OMFG, Amani is a shithead, good lord I hope I got Zora’s character right, dancing, how much domestic fluff can I fit into one fic, FRIENDSHIP, dorks in love

In which dance lessons take a...different turn. Also Amani breaks into Maeve’s apartment and steals a barstool.

@mineshaft-birdie @dela-png

The day was a slow one. It was midafternoon and they had just finished up spring cleaning.

She swayed her hips, humming along to the music playing. Lucas watched her from his spot on the couch, his off tune hum making her smile. She arched her back, leaning back with another sway. Her fingertips brushed the floor before she brought herself back up to her feet.

He clapped making her giggle. “Amazing,” he said, a smile clear in just the tone of his voice.

“I can teach you, you know,” she said, looking back at him. He held out a hand for her to grab, leading her to sit down on his lap. She straddled his hips, tucking her feet under his thighs. “How to dance, I mean,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“You’ve seen me dance.”

“Exactly. You’ve seen me cook and yet you still try to help me. I want to do something for you in return.”

“Like teach me to dance?”

She leaned back, smiling. “Yeah! It’s fun. It’s great to let off steam, and it’s quite a workout. Besides I just...want to see you dance.”

“...I look like a dead fish a little kid is playing with.”

“Whoa that was specific.”

“...mmmmhm.”

She snorted, kissing the tip of his nose. She was not going to ask.

She pushed up off his lap, shrugging her jacket off. He let out a low whistle, making her laugh as she tossed the jacket aside.

“Didn’t know it would be this kind of dancing.”

“Oh hush.” She shot him a look over her shoulder, throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail. “Can you help me move our furniture? Unless you want to move to my studio?” Her aerial silks studio. Only reason she bought this apartment.

That and the nice view (along with walking distance to work but shush).

“...I might wreck your TV.”

“Studio it is then. If you want to get changed that’d be good too. Jeans aren’t uhh...the best to learn a dance in.”

He let out a low sigh before getting to his feet. “Studio?”

“Yeah I just need to clean it up a little.”

“...you’re not gonna back down from this, are you?”

“Nope! Now go change.” He ruffled her hair against her protests, steps heavy as he walked to their bedroom. “The shirt is optional!” she called after him.

He snorted, yelling back. “So is yours!”

She bit her lower lip to keep from grinning, fixing her ponytail. She grabbed her phone, going over into the studio to pin up her silks. On her way she picked up a little green box from the table in the hall. That same table Lucas kept bumping his legs against.

She giggled at the thought, feeling nerves and butterflies flutter in her stomach as she looked at the box. She told Amani about what she was planning to do and today felt...right.

Shoving it in her pocket she went to pin her silks up.

He walked into the studio by the time she was finishing pinning the last one. She knew he had walked in due to the laughter.

So yeah maybe she was on her tiptoes on a ladder.

Har de har har.

“You know if you needed help you could’ve just asked,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. She turned to look at him with a little huff, the ladder shaking under the abrupt movement.

“Well I’m sorry I was cursed with being short.”

“You sure you don’t need help?”

“I’m doing just fine thank you,” she sniffed, turning back around. She finished pinning the last silk, climbing down and putting the ladder back where it was. Smoothing down the front of her crop top she turned to look at him.

“Okay now. That’s done, we can get into it!”

“...hurray.”

“Oh come on a little more pep please.”

“...hurray?”

“....that’ll have to do for now. Now where do you want to start?”

“Something easy?”

“...hmm wanna try mambo?”

“Is it easy?”

“Well not easy easy but it’s not that complicated. We can start with some of the simple movements, like the forward back step. If you’re feeling up for it I can also teach you how to dip.”

“Dip?”

She pursed her lips, walking back over to him. He had shed his jacket and opted for sweatpants. She was a little disappointed he still had his shirt on but she could wave it off. They both were in socks, making mambo a little harder but she was up for the challenge.

“Here I can show you…” she said, grabbing his hands. He just watched her as she shifted one of his hands up on her shoulder, the other on her upper arm. She did her best to keep her hands on his upper back, leading him into a small side shuffle to lead into the dip.

Keeping her body straight she shifted her weight into dipping him. His hands gripped her arm and shoulder, eyes widening.

Good gravy was he heavy.

“The hell are they feeding you?” she breathed.

He blinked before laughing. “Ouch firefly, that stings.”

She rolled her eyes, lifting him back up. She let out a little huff of air as he kissed her softly. After pulling away he stood upright. “So that’s a dip. Think you’d be up for learning it?”

“It doesn’t seem super hard.”

She brightened. “It really isn’t! When you do dip me though, don’t lean close, it hurts my back.”

“Ah! Gotcha.”

“For now it’s forward backward mambo steps!” She grinned a little, adjusting the ribbon in her hair. He stared at it for a moment, the deep blue bringing out the darkness of her hair. She smiled, grabbing his hands again.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“Aislin bought it for me a while back. Haven’t had the chance to wear it.”

“It’s beautiful on you.”

“O-Oh,” she stuttered, her cheeks warming. She ducked her head a little, embarrassed. She still wasn’t used to his out of the blue compliments even after being with him for so long.

He coughed, squeezing her hands. “Dancing?”

“Yes! Right! Dancing!” she chirped, head snapping back up. Her brows were set with determination.

She was going to get him to dance well. She would or she’d die trying.

“So...where do we start?” he asked, just standing there awkwardly.

“Well first with foot movements. Then hand placements. Put it together. Forward and back are the easiest steps, but it gets harder with more complex hand movements and spins.”

He looked horrified, she quickly cut back in. “For now though, forward and back. After you learn to dip me maybe we can learn side to side.”

He nodded, a stubborn gleam sneaking into his eye.

“So first is how you move your feet.” She let go of his hands, moving to a spot in front of him. “We start on the second beat, and when we dance together we start on our right foot.”

She stepped forward on her right foot, brought it back to the middle with her left, back behind her, and finished by bringing it back to her left in the middle.

“Oh that...doesn’t seem all that bad.”

“When you move faster it gets a little tricky, but yeah! Not super complicated. When you add the hips in…” she repeated what she did, but swaying her hips side to side along with her arms. “Now you try it with me!”

His movements were a little jerky, and he kept overstepping the middle but…

“You’re doing great!” she said with a large grin, backing up to set up music on her phone. Soft riffs of a guitar played as she shuffled her playlist.

“Can we...try it together?” he asked, eyes lighting up at her praise. He held a hand out for her to take. She walked closer to him, his hand warm and all encompassing around hers.

“Sure. Arms.” He squeezed her hand once before letting it go and held his arms out. She lifted his left arm up, lacing their fingers together. She moved his other hand to the small of her back, resting her arm on top of his, not quite reaching his shoulders. One issue with a height difference was that dancing would be a pain.

“Like this?” he asked, fingers tapping on her back. She squirmed a little at the touch, making him smile.

“Yeah! But not as tense,” she said, starting them off. He fell into it pretty quickly, what she dubbed his ‘focused face’ coming back into play. She felt a dopey smile climb across her face as she looked at him.

When he got closer she shifted him back with a small glare. “Dance space, my love.” She let go of his arms to gesture. “This is mine.” She made a circle with her arms, he did the same. “That is yours.”

She grabbed his hands again. “No looking down,” she said with a giggle. “My eyes are up here. You can do this.”

They quickly fell into a rhythm, he was catching on quickly.

Then his arms got too loose. And he got very grabby, his hands traveling down south to her butt.

“Noodle arms!” she gasped, moving her arm from his shoulder to swat his hand. “No wandering hands!” He pretended to pout, falling back into the dance again.

He went in for a kiss, she moved her head so he got her chin and neck. His lips traveled down her neck as she squirmed, pushing at his chest with a laugh. “You are invading my dance space!”

She let go of him, pointing to her space again. “This is my dance space.” She pointed back to him. “That is yours. Let’s try it again.”

They went back to it for another moment, her eyes darting to her feet, before he tugged her closer, tilting her head up. “Don’t look down,” he said, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Look right at me.”

She snorted, stretching up on her toes to kiss his neck. “Hey now! Dance space!” he said with a laugh, pushing her back into position. His hair was escaping the little ponytail he had tied at the nape of his neck. She fought the urge to run her hands through it as it curled around his face in an adorable way.

After their laughter quelled they settled into the movements. His tongue peaked out from between his lips as he concentrated, brows furrowed. He was slowly getting the loose but structured part of the arms, them moving in sync.

Then ‘Toxic’ started blasting. She started humming along, lip syncing to it. He snorted, losing the rhythm a little as he watched her lose the mambo, moving her shoulders to the beat.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“Very much, but you’re still ridiculous.”

She arched her back away from his hands, spinning out of his grip, lip syncing but with passion. He laughed, moving back closer to her. She held and shook her head at ‘spinning round and round’ as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops of her pants.

“Do you feel me now?” she sang softly, smiling. He rolled his eyes once before kissing her. She giggled, swaying back and forth in his arms.

“What’s up bitches!” someone yelled from behind them. They jumped apart, Lucas yanking his hands out of her belt loops, her tripping over her own feet, face burning crimson. Toxic still merrily played behind them.

“Amani, you spooked them.”

“Good.”

Maeve spun to look at the intruders. Ah. Of course. Amani. Oh but Zora was with her. That was great. The only voice of reason in this fucking group had just broke into her house. Ah yes that bode well.

Maeve rubbed her temples before cracking an eye open. “How the fuck did you get into my- ...is that a barstool from my kitchen?”

“Yeah,” Amani replied with a shrug.

“...you just broke into my apartment, grabbed a stool from my kitchen, and brought it into the studio with you?”

“Well there’s no other fuckin places to sit in this studio besides the floor and I’m not an animal!”

“...yeah. Sure.”

“Maeve!” Amani gasped, offended.

“Well sweetheart, we did break into her apartment.”

“Not my fault she keeps the spare keys by her bed!”

“So that’s where they went!”

“...Zora I can’t believe you fed into this,” Lucas said once he got himself together from the embarrassment of being walked in on. “I thought you were the smart one.”

“Oh no I’m the one who acts smart but is the worst out of all of you.”

“WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!”

Amani had set the stool down and was sitting on it the way a man on the subway would sit.

Aka Legs spread and looking like she was going to melt right off of it. Maeve could feel a headache coming on.

“Was bored,” Amani offered.

“...so you decided to commit a crime?”

“Yeah.”

“Amani I’m gonna need a better answer than that for I am three seconds away from throwing you out a window.”

“Ouch Maevey that hurts.”

“One...two.”

“Got bored and decided to say hi. ‘Sides I brought the keys back.”

Maeve turned to look at Zora. Not the answer she wanted but it would do. “And you. What is your excuse?”

“Amani dragged me along. I was also bored.”

She turned to look at Lucas. “So these are the people we surround ourselves with?”

“Apparently.”

“Look without us you two would’ve been gettin it on in the studio. Woulda made a mess,” Amani cut it. Maeve felt her ears go red.

“We were not,” she sputtered. “I was teaching him to dance!”

“...uh huh.”

“That’s it!”

“It’s true! She’s teaching me mambo.”

“...can he actually dance it though?”

“Amani I’m hurt by that statement.”

“Well can he?”

“We’re learning forward backward steps Amani. He can’t mess those up.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Amani I thought we were friends!”

“Exactly.”

“Amani!”

Maeve snorted, looking over at Zora who was trying not to laugh. “Bored you say?”

“Well that and Amani just wanted to see you two.”

“...see us?” Lucas asked. “Why?”

“Uhh to congratulate the happy couple on their engagement, duh.”

“Amani!” Zora hissed, gesturing to both of their very empty ring fingers. Amani didn’t see her girlfriend’s increasingly panicked hand movements.

Maeve felt her heart stop and sink straight into her feet. All the colour drained from her and Lucas’s faces.

“...engagement?” Lucas peeped.

Amani watched their reactions, face growing more confused. “What? You did ask her, didn’t you?”

“...no.”

Amani’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Oh SHIT.”

Zora smacked her forehead. “Oy vey,” she muttered. “Amani, baby, I love you but-”

Maeve didn’t hear the rest of her sentence, she only turned to look at Lucas. He still looked broken, she swore she could hear dial up streaming from his ears.

“Darling?” she asked softly. He turned to look at her, cheeks reddening.

“I have something to tell you,” they both sputtered at the same time.

She blinked. “You first.” Again said at the same time.

“No you,” she said.

“No no, yours sounds important.”

The box in her pocket grew heavier with every heartbeat. God damnit Amani.

“Well I...um,” she looked away, fidgeting. She never really felt nervous like this but...it was a big moment.

She turned to shoot a low glare at Amani who only offered up a small nervous smile. God fucking damnit.

“Well I was planning on doing this while we were alone,” she huffed, looking back at Lucas. She shoved her hand in her pocket, trying to fight the stutter out of her voice. “But apparently we had two guests coming over.”

“Just get it over with- OW!”

She looked just in time to see Zora elbow Amani in the side. Amani muttered bitterly about how that ‘fuckin hurt’. Zora only shot Maeve a smile and a thumbs up.

While she appreciated the sentiment…

She looked back at her boyfriend, letting out a low sigh. “I love you.”

“...uh oh.”

“Oh hush you.” He chuckled. It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “Fuck, I love you,” she whispered. He blinked, almost shell shocked. “I want to marry you,” she blurted out.

“Yeah I love you- w-what?!”

She pursed her lips, letting out a little sigh. “Goddess I’m no good with words. Sometimes I wonder how I even got to date you. I’m blunt and mean and rude and vulgar but…” she dragged the box out of her pocket. “I managed to fall in love with a dumbass and a dork so it isn’t all that bad, right?”

“Maeve?”

“Holy fuck Lucas she’s asking you to spend the rest of your lives together!” Amani yelled from where she was sitting.

No yelp, in fact Zora was nodding. The look Maeve shot her said all she needed to know. “What? Ami isn’t wrong.”

“You two are the worst,” Maeve groused.

“You want to...marry me?” Lucas finally let out.

She opened the box she was holding, rolling her eyes with a little smile. “Well yeah. After I kill Amani.”

“HEY!”

The ring itself was simple. It was only an engagement ring after all. Her grandfather made it a while back when she brought up the whole ‘getting married’ thing (he talked her ear off too. Her phone bill spiked). It was a silver band with a deep green stripe running through the middle. The green shimmered into something lighter when she moved it.

“That’s funny,” he said, hand disappearing into the void that was his sweatpants’ pocket. He could shove both her and his hand in that thing. Of course she was jealous of it.

He pulled out a ring. Not just any ring but her mother’s wedding ring.

She felt tears well in her eyes. She had told him about it a while back when they first started dating. She didn’t know he remembered. The ring was a simple small silver band. It was braided into a celtic knot with a little turquoise at the top where the knots met.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” He shot her a lopsided grin, her heart skipped a beat. “I uhh...I’m also no good with words but I love you, firefly. Of course I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I fucking love you giant.”

“There she is. I was getting worried with all your sappy talk.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughed.

“But I didn’t get an answer.”

“Neither did I.”

“Well mine is ‘of fucking course’.”

“Hey you stole my answer!”

He chuckled as she slid the ring onto his hand. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. My answer is yes.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“You stole what I was gonna say.”

He laughed again, kissing her knuckles as he slipped the ring onto her finger. “You love me.”

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t.”

“FUCKIN FINALLY!”

“Amani you’re the one that almost ruined it.” “I DON’T CARE!”

A little sigh. “Sometimes I wonder why I love you so much.”

“For my stellar personality obviously.”

Zora giggled, Maeve turned in time to see her plant a kiss on Amani’s cheek. “That and just because I love you.”

“I cannot believe Amani almost ruined this,” Lucas muttered. She turned back to him, laughing as she got closer. She grabbed his left hand with hers, liking how their rings glittered when they moved. He ran his thumb along her knuckles, pausing at the jewelry.

She lifted her head up, him leaning down to kiss her.

Then Amani started screeching like an alarm. “THIS IS THE PURITY UNTIL YOUR WEDDING NIGHT ALARM. No handholding of any kind.”

Maeve giggled, joining in on the tomfoolery. Lucas sighed. “No need to worry, I am pure. We haven’t even shared a kiss.”

Oh yeah they all knew that was a fucking lie.

“Oh? Not one kiss?” Lucas asked, grinning.

“Nope. My lips are innocent. Saving them for my wedding.”

He bent down close, surprising her with an open mouth kiss. She let out a little squeak as his tongue tapped her teeth once before he pulled away. “That good enough for a first kiss?”

“Well it was supposed to be on my wedding night but…” she smiled, fiddling with the ring on her finger. “It’ll do.”

Amani let out a dramatic gag. “You two are disgusting.”

“Imagine what they’d be doing if we weren’t here,” Zora said, love clear in her tone.

Amani gasped. “You’re right! Defiling the name of marriage I say!”

“Oh like the two of you are any better,” Maeve shot back. “Do I have to recount the amount of times I’ve caught you two in the storage closet at the pub?”

Zora chuckled. “Well you and Lucas in the pantry aren’t any better.”

“Let’sjustcutitandsayifanyofuswerecaughtbyourbossatworkwe’dbefired,” Lucas sputtered out, face going red.

“Aww, but baby I thought you liked the thrill,” Maeve cooed.

He shot her a low glare. Amani cackled. “Degenerates!” she yelled.

“Amani, my love, my sweetness. Pot. Calling. Kettle. Black,” Zora said.

Amani gasped, melting completely off the stool. “My own girlfriend! Betraying me! Oh woe is me! The agony!”

They all giggled at Amani’s actions, she and Lucas scooting closer together. He wrapped his arms around her waist, swaying back and forth. The music and dancing lessons were long forgotten.

“How about we go out for dinner tonight,” Maeve offered.

“What? Like a double date?” Amani asked from her spot on the floor. Zora was laughing too hard to help her up.

“Hmm...no. More like a party!”

Amani’s eyes lit up. “HELL YEAH A PARTY! We gonna get smashed and cause chaos?”

“...well sure.”

“Fuck YEAH!”

“...you are making my life so much harder,” Zora sighed, smiling. She looked back at Maeve again. “Who knew a pip squeak like you could hold your liquor so well.”

“I am not that short!”

“I will beat you at one of those games Maevey!”

“Maeve, you are the shortest out of all of us. You look like a kid.”

Maeve pouted. “Yeah I can still drink you all under the table. Yes even you Amani Ms. ‘can’t-play-guitar-sober-but-somehow-can-drunk’.”

“OH SHUDDUP!”

Lucas laughed, squeezing Maeve’s hip before going over to squat by Amani.

Zora walked over to the now abandoned Maeve. “Well...how are you feeling?”

“Like I’m gonna wake up any second?”

“That’s fair.”

“You think you and Amani will do this?”

“What?”

“Get married.”

Zora’s eyes remained on Lucas now crying about how gravity was increasing on him. Amani let out a squeal as he fell on top of her.

“Well...maybe. I haven’t thought that far. I love Ami but who knows where our future lies.”

“A wedding with you two would be pretty chaotic.”

“Oh yes definitely. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“LUCAS GET OFF ‘O ME YA SEMI TRUCK!”

“Amani that hurts my feelings!”

“GET OFF!”

“For that comment? No!”

Maeve and Zora giggled. “I am happy for you and Lucas. Sorry Amani almost ruined it, don’t think she realized.”

“Oh no I’m more mad about the fact you two broke into my apartment again. You should just take the key.”

“...you sure about giving us the key?”

Maeve sighed. “You’re gonna take it anyways. I can just get another spare made.”

“Amani is gonna take that as an invitation to come over as often as she can.”

“Good to know. My room locks will be changed.”

Zora snorted. “Once again, congrats. Sorry you had to do that infront of us.”

“Remind me to strangle Amani later.”

“...mmm fine but don’t wreck her pretty face.”

“Noted.”

“When are we gonna go! I wanna party!” Amani whined from where she weaseled out from underneath Lucas.

“You do realize this is a celebration of mine and Maeve’s engagement right?”

“Yeah it’s also an excuse to tell embarrassing stories.”

“...oh no.”

Maeve perked up. “Oho? Stuff I don’t know? Let’s go.”

“First we’re gonna give you a makeover,” Amani said, walking over to drag Maeve out of the studio.

Zora untied her blue ribbon, handing it over to Lucas. “Milady’s token of her affection,” she said with a curtsy. Maeve’s protests went unheard.

He bowed, making Zora smile. “I thank you for the token of her affection. I will treasure it always.”

“You better be planning to give that back later,” Maeve groaned as Amani dragged her away.

“Depends. It is a token of my love’s favour.”

“Ugh I hate you.”

“But you’re still marrying me~”

She sighed. “Of course. How could I forget.” She looked back at Amani. “And the fuck are you doing?”

“Gods you need your ears checked. I am giving you a makeover for your engagement party.”

“What? Why?! I look fine!”

“Well the high waisted pants with your crop top is cute and all, I want to make you so fucking hot Lucas kneels over.”

“She does that every time I see her,” Lucas called from the doorframe.

Maeve glared at him. “Don’t encourage her.”

He only smiled, waving at them as they made their way to her room. Zora was making sure Maeve wouldn’t escape. To her short ass it was like two very tall amazon ladies were her escorts.

Or in this case prison guards.

“I’d like to see them try to make you even more gorgeous,” he said with a wink. “It’d be a fun challenge.”

“We have Zora on our side!” Amani grinned. “You get dolled up too and then we go cause a ruckus!”

Maeve sighed.

It was going to be a long, chaotic night.

7 notes · View notes

teawithkpop · 5 years

Text

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 4

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 8.5k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, ehhh lots of angst and fighting oh nooo, and mentions of sexual acts

the plot thickens and there’s no actual smut in this part i’m sorrryyyyyy but more smut is coming!! i pinky pwomise uwu

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"Morning, jagiya. Do you have a minute?"

You're practically vibrating with the effort of acting normal as you process Taehyung's question. What can you even say to that? Oh, sorry. Actually, can you guys come back later? I'm kind of in the middle of discovering a secret fucking society of PhysComs who are dating their clients, and I'm trying to see if there's a way I can get in on that sweet, sweet deal. Fuck no. That's not going to work. Anything other than agreeing will sound too suspicious, and you can’t let them know what you’ve discovered. At least, not yet.

"Of course." You paste on a smile as you reply, your mind still reeling as you pull the door open all the way. You’re still wearing only your robe, but it’s silly of you to shield your body when it’s theirs to ogle during work hours anyway.

“What can I do for you, masters?” You ask sweetly, slipping on your persona like a second skin to keep your thoughts safely hidden from view. Your clients should always be your first priority. Not rule breaking, and certainly not any unlikely fantasies of romance.

Something seems off about their body language. They look uncomfortable. You’re suddenly reminded of the weird tension in the air when you last saw them, and just how fragile your position is after everything that happened last night. You need to rid their minds of what they saw at dinner. They need to view you as their eager little toy again, not someone who broke or someone to be pitied.

You instantly thicken the illusion of obscenity, eager to convince them, and maybe yourself, that things are just the same as they’ve always been.

“So… what would you like from me? A blow job? Hand job?” You stretch your arm up and lean sensually against the door, your eyes half-lidded. “Do you both want to fuck my little holes and stretch me open?” You giggle cutely and start to untie the silky belt of your robe, forcing all thoughts of your ComGear out of your head so you can focus on your job, which is pleasuring your clients.

Jimin steps forward before you can pull the robe open, and stops your hand. He carefully ties your garment back together, though he avoids your eyes, his expression grim. “No… actually, we want to talk with you.”

Damn. You thought for sure that little ploy would at least fluster them a little, and maybe get them in the mood for something, but they both remain strangely sober.

“It’s about last night,” Taehyung supplies quietly, looking down to the floor.

Well, shit. What is there to talk about? You used your safe word and ruined everyone’s fun. Are they holding it against you or something? That's not really fair when the two of them are partially to blame for distracting you by playing mind games and messing with each other.

Then it dawns on you. Namjoon probably sent them up to apologize for their fighting. That must be why they’re acting so stiff. After all, he did say that the three of you should work things out together.

You feel a bit relieved and give them a fleeting smile of reassurance. “Masters, it’s okay. Let’s just move on from what happened last night, hm?” You want to take their hands, but you resist the urge. You really shouldn’t initiate contact unless it’s related to their pleasure. You settle for lacing your hands coyly behind your back, making your chest stand out rather provocatively. “I’ve forgotten all about it, really.”

They both still look dreadful. Worried. You finally notice that there's a hint of pity in their eyes and it makes your skin crawl with foreboding. You get the terrible sense that this is about something bigger than safe words, squabbles, and kisses.

“No, we all want to talk to you,” Taehyung explains with a slight clearing of his throat. “In the kitchen. Namjoon-hyung sent us to… come and get you.”

You can feel your heart start to race as your adrenaline spikes from a sudden shot of fear. What could they possibly want? What's changed between last night and today? Sure, logically, they could be calling a meeting for a variety of reasons, but only one scenario is circling through your mind, over and over… and it ends with you packing your bags.

“Do you want to, like... go now, or...?” Jimin mumbles, clearly uncomfortable about the situation.

You blink, feeling dizzy. Your playful aura has disintegrated in an instant and made way for something much more frigid and fearful. “Yeah… um, let me just get dressed first,” you murmur distractedly. “I’ll be down in a minute, masters.”

They nod and thankfully take the hint that you need a moment to collect yourself. The two of them head back downstairs and you shut the door behind them, your whole body numb. You hurry to your closet, trying to retain some semblance of routine despite the storm you feel approaching.

In the daily rotation of things, Friday - last night - was Seokjin’s day for him to do as he pleases with you, and that includes deciding what you wear. The apron you’d had on yesterday was one he had picked out for you beforehand. Your closet is sectioned off into clothes and costumes chosen by each boy for you to don beneath (or in some cases on top of) your utility belt on their chosen days. Some days they request a specific outfit, but most of the time it’s up to you to select from their options. Your favorite clothes to wear are probably either the oversized hoodies with cute panties and no bottoms that Jungkook chose for you, or the crop top and leggings variations that Hoseok loves to see you wear.

But Saturday is for Yoongi, and today’s outfits are what could be considered party clothes, full of strappy leather harnesses, deep jewel-toned mini dresses, and lots of high heels. Not exactly comfort clothing. You love it when they choose what you wear and dress you up like a little doll, it’s hot and everything, but sometimes you just want to wear sweatpants. Or a t-shirt and jeans.

Fuck. You grab a pair of black booty shorts and a busty sequined halter top, the closest thing to daywear out of Yoongi’s choices, and you also elect to go barefoot. If this meeting is as bad as you fear it’ll be, then you don’t know if you’ll be able to stand upright in six inch heels for very long. Sorry, Yoongi.

You blow a lock of hair out of your eyes after squeezing yourself into the tight attire. Credit to Min Yoongi where it’s due, the top does make your tits look amazing, but honestly that should be the least of your concerns right now. You almost laugh at such a trivial thought.

Once you reach your bed, you hastily grab your ComGear, hoping you have at least a few minutes to figure out something before you’re pulled away again. There’s a backlog of messages, but thankfully not too many, as you log back into the chat room.

[ PCsv02_svt ]: oh where did she go [ PCsv01_svt ]: probably got called away [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: probably havin.. sexy times B) [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: wink wink [ PCsv01_svt ]: … [ PCsv03_mtx ]: guys you shouldn’t encourage her about dating :/ [ PCsv03_mtx ]: bad things can happen too [ PCsv06_ast ]: yea sanha is always nice to me, but I know some clients can be... not so nice [ PCsv09_$px ]: yeah, thanks [ PCsv06_ast ]: oh... sorry :( [ PCsv02_svt ]: aww aashi didn’t mean it like that G [ PCsv02_svt ]: we’re all here for you, u know that right? [ PCsv09_$px ]: mm. thanks guys [ PCsv01_svt ]: speaking of which, how are things with you? [ PCsv09_$px ]: uh.. same as always. [ PCsv01_svt ]: has anything happened since last time? [ PCsv09_$px ]: no, but they’ve been out of the house a lot [ PCsv09_$px ]: they have a lot of schedules right now [ PCsv01_svt ]: I see… [ PCsv02_svt ]: oh she’s back!

You stare at the log in dismay. Well, crap. “Bad things” can happen...? What kind of bad things? Is dating clients a thing or not? You have too many questions and not enough answers, and you don’t have time to investigate any of it. The boys are waiting for you downstairs.

[ PCsv01_bts ]: so… my clients just called a meeting with me. I can’t really talk right now. [ PCsv01_svt ]: a meeting? [ PCsv02_svt ]: that’s okay hon! we’ll still be here when u get back ^^ [ PCsv01_bts ]: this is all…fuck sorry, it’s a lot to deal with right now

You rake a hand through your hair, your body and mind are just completely spent from everything that’s happened recently.

[ PCsv01_svt ]: it’s alright, we’re not going anywhere [ PCsv03_twc ]: take your time to understand everything ♡ [ PCsv03_twc ]: it took me a while haha [ PCsv06_ast ]: we’ve got your back! 150% hehe >u< [ PCsv02_svt ]: yeah! don’t sweat it hon~ be kind to yourself, especially when you need to figure things out ^^

All of their assurance pouring in nearly brings a smile to your face. You don’t know most of these people, and you can’t be sure that they aren’t all just really smart bots or spies sent by your network, but… they do seem like a supportive bunch.

[ PCsv01_bts ]: thanks [ PCsv01_bts ]: but what exactly did micha mean by “bad things can happen”? [ PCsv01_bts ]: is dating even safe? [ PCsv03_mtx ]: oh haha… [ PCsv04_blp ]: safe? Oh honey... [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: lolol [ PCsv03_mtx ]: well I just meant that some PhysComs have been… taken advantage of [ PCsv03_mtx ]: so you can’t just jump into it ^^; [ PCsv01_svt ]: i wouldn’t call anything in this line of work “safe” per se [ PCsv01_svt ]: it’s hard to advise anything when we don’t know what your clients are really like [ PCsv01_svt ]: but if you do manage to enter a relationship it can either make or break your employment [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: hell yeahhhhh B)) [ PCsv01_svt ]: for some people it’s a last ditch effort, offering intimacy to idols who are touch starved to begin with… oftentimes breaking those boundaries will changes the client’s perspective, and soon they see you as essential, regardless of any minor misconducts [ PCsv01_svt ]: while for others, the attachment forms naturally and appears to be a genuine connection, such as with sascha and joshua [ PCsv01_svt ]: but of course there’s no way to tell for sure if the client’s feelings are genuine or if they have ulterior motives, so it’s definitely a risk [ PCsv01_svt ]: if things were to turn sour in the relationship, it could lead to termination or worse… you know, hell hath no fury like a lover scorned and all that [ PCsv01_svt ]: people can be duplicitous [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: durr durrr antione smart smart [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: i’m taking notes on ur lecture sir uwu [ PCsv01_svt ]: blake [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: ^-^? [ PCsv01_svt ]: shut the hell your mouth [ PCsv01_gt7 ]: >:D

You sigh. Reading all these names and trying to keep everyone’s identities straight is making your head spin in your already addled state.

[ PCsv01_bts ]: is there a way to change the contact names in this chat? [ PCsv01_svt ]: nope [ PCsv02_svt ]: sorry boo, it’s for protection ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You groan in frustration. Nothing is making sense, you’ve found no answers, and you still aren’t sure you can even trust this chat room. On a whim, you tap on Sascha’s username, and a contact page pulls up for her within the chat app. It doesn’t give any information besides her username and a blank profile photo, but there is a call button.

Shit, what do you have to lose? If this is real and not some elaborate hoax, then Sascha should pick up… right? You could grill her, ask her questions only she would know to prove it’s really her.

A sudden buzz from your ComGear nearly scares you shitless, and you check to see that it’s just a message from Namjoon.

Sweetheart? Could you come down to the kitchen?

You take a deep breath to steel your nerves. Fuck. You can’t put this meeting off any longer. You slip your ComGear into your belt and head downstairs towards what you’re sure will be your inevitable doom.

-------

On your way down the long staircase, you take deep cleansing breaths to combat the growing knot in your stomach. You’re hoping half-heartedly, albeit rather foolishly, that maybe the boys just need your help with something harmless, like making breakfast. They do love your omelettes.

You slow down as you approach the kitchen door, and you can hear many muffled voices arguing on the other side. It sounds like they’re trying to stay quiet, but failing. You stop to listen, your curiosity getting the better of you.

“Just because you got to-” “-not fair-” “I don’t like this-” “-so why should she be punished for-” “I swear it wasn’t-”

Punished? You don’t like the sound of that at all, not one bit. Just as panic starts to swarm your mind, Namjoon’s voice rises above the clamor. You lean against the door to hear his calm cadence, much more gentle than the previous raucous of the others.

"Look! Guys, I know it'll be hard. Okay? I know we've all grown very attached to her, but I think... I think this will be for the best. For all of us."

Fuck his calm cadence.

They must be talking about you, they have to be. You’re the only “her” in this house. You feel like you’re drowning in regret and fear, spiraling as your worries returning tenfold, despite your best effort to keep them at bay.

You’re going to walk through that door and they’re going to fire you, you can feel it. Namjoon’s going to look you in the eyes, and where such tenderness had been last night, now there will only be a steely gaze. It’s just business. You slump against the polished wood and bite back a dry sob, burying your face in your hands. You don’t think you can do this.

“God, you make it sound like she’s dying.” There’s Yoongi’s voice, lilted and matter of fact. “She’s not going anywhere.”

You lift your head. Not going anywhere? As in, not being fired?

Oh, bless Min Yoongi and his slutty sequin tops. But then… if you’re not going anywhere, ergo not getting fired, then what the hell are they talking about?

“Yeah, but what if this thing doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t... want this from us?” Jungkook’s timid question draws silence from the room.

“Then things will go back to normal, right? We just… forget it ever happened.” Jin. He sounds bitter and forlorn, not at all like his usual self.

“How can things be normal after what happened last night?” Hoseok sounds even worse than Jin, his voice choked with emotion. “I don’t think I can even have her as a PhysCom anymore! Something has to change.”

This declaration is met with another bout of overlapping arguments, only to be silenced once again by Namjoon.

“No, Hobi-hyung is right.” Namjoon says, his voice decisive and final. “This is a fork in the road for all of us. At the end of the week, we’ll take another vote. If things don’t improve with her, then… we’ll do what has to be done. There are always other PhysComs who can fill the position.”

What... the fuck…?

Ice crawls up your back, as if someone just dumped you into a freezing pool of water. Numbness seeps through your limbs, into your heart.

Are you really that replaceable in their eyes?

You’ve invested all your time into building bonds with these boys specifically so this wouldn’t happen. How can they be so heartless? It hurts. There’s a wrenching pain in your chest at hearing them talk about you so… so pragmatically.

It hurts because it’s exactly the way that you would handle the situation. With pragmatism.

But you know what? Fuck this. Fuck them. They took a fucking vote on the fate of your livelihood? You owe them nothing.

You’re overwhelmed, and angry, and confused, and you just can’t take it anymore. You want this guessing game to end. If they’re going to fire you, or punish you, or whatever, then you should just go in there and get it over with already. It has to hurt less than hearing them talk about you so callously.

You wait for a break in the conversation, and then ease open the kitchen door, stepping inside and doing your best to keep your expression neutral.

“Oh, there she is! Just the woman we wanted to see.” Namjoon looks up at you with a practiced smile, even though he’d just been rubbing his forehead the way he does when he’s stressed.

“Not for long,” Yoongi mutters, clutching his coffee mug a little too tightly as he takes a sip.

Your gaze flickers to him as quiet, seething anger settles in the pit of your stomach, a burning ache that doesn’t go away. He has the balls to joke about this, when your career is on the line? You’d have thought Mr. Underground Rapper would understand how hard you’ve fought to get here. Does he really feel nothing, sipping his coffee while you face the guillotine?

Namjoon shoots Yoongi a weary look, then comes over to greet you. “Good morning, sweetheart. How are you feeling? Better?” He cups your cheek, his eyes full of gentle concern.

You nearly flinch away from his touch. How dare he act so kind to you when they were just conspiring about whether you’ll keep your job?

You take a step back, out of range to be touched by any of them.

“What’s going on?” You ask them firmly, deciding not to hide your misgivings. Their eyes all seem to wander elsewhere in the room, Jungkook is staring at the counter in front of him like it’s suddenly become very interesting. Taehyung is looking up at the ceiling as if counting the tiles. Seokjin’s gaze is trained straight ahead into nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Cowards, all of them.

Namjoon takes the initiative and clears his throat. It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s wearing Ryan the Bear pajamas, but you give him your rapt attention. “So, we’ve been discussing things, and after what happened last night… well, it really cemented this for us. It made the decision that much easier.”

Did it? Did it really make it easier for them to fire you after seeing you break down and cry from using your safe word? You half debate throwing a punch at that handsome jaw of his. Might as well go out swinging.

He seems uncomfortable from the severity of your glare. Good, let him be uncomfortable. God knows you’ve put yourself in some uncomfortable positions for them.

“You’ve worked very hard for us since you were hired, and since today marks your official six month anniversary, we think it’s only fitting to end these six months on a good note.”

Oh, how poetic. Come on, just get on with it. Flowery words, especially insincere ones, won’t help you find another job. They won’t help keep you off the street while you struggle to make a living for yourself.

You stare up at him determinedly, your lips pursed as you steel yourself for the blow. You will not cry.

“We want to extend your time off.”

Wait, what?

“Starting tomorrow. It would have been your second day off for this month, but we’d like to extend that to a week off instead.”

They’re not firing you? They’re… rewarding you with vacation time? Doesn’t make sense. Your mind is reeling, trying to figure out the catch.

“You can wear whatever you want, do whatever you’d like.” Namjoon rubs the back of his neck, seemingly thrown off by your wide eyed lack of response. “You’re not obligated to have sex with us…”

Oh. There it is. A sex ban.

Sure, they’ll give you a nice little vacation, free of worries and obligations. What, so they can all play with Secondaries, like Jin did?

Fuck, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Jin probably told them how good it felt to fuck another cunt and now this is their way of telling you that they want to ‘see other people’, isn’t it?

This is worse than firing you outright. They’re killing you slowly, stabbing you in the gut to watch you bleed out, like a wounded animal in the desert.

Your vision is red, rage stemming from fear and insecurity building up inside of you faster than you can comprehend.

“So you’re suspending me?” Your voice is surprisingly calm, even to your own ears.

“I… I guess you could put it like that.” Namjoon says hesitantly.

“We just want to give you a break, jagiya,” Taehyung interjects, and he does look genuinely torn up about the change. But feelings are of no use, not now that things have come to this. The only protection you have left is your own pragmatism to rival theirs.

You cross your arms in front of your chest, feeling much too exposed in your skimpy outfit. Damn Min Yoongi and his slutty sequin tops. You level your gaze at each of them in turn. “Don’t I get a say in this? I’m an independent contractor.”

Namjoon seems befuddled by your scorching glare, but he nods after a moment, seeming to come to his senses. He’s the one person here that’s best equipped to acquiesce to your sudden formalities. “Yes, of course. Uh… do you want to step into my office? We can work something out. Draw up a formal agreement, if you’d like.”

You see a flash in your mind of the last time you were in Namjoon’s office, not even a week ago, where you had him bent over his desk, cumming all over your fingers and dripping onto the ornate carpet.

You shake your head. They don’t want you to play with them for a week? Fine. You won’t give Namjoon the satisfaction of a home court advantage. “I’ll call my handler. We can discuss this in the lounge in an hour.” You don’t have a lawyer, but Yeji is the next best thing.

Namjoon seems a little surprised at your sudden switch to a cold and business-like demeanor, but he nods in agreement.

“Wonderful,” you look between the other boys, though most of them avoid your gaze. “I hope you all enjoy your breakfast.” You can’t resist hissing the words, and you hasten out of the room before your stone cold facade can crack.

You close the door behind you and lean heavily against it, trying to find your balance again after being thrown so off-kilter. What the fuck just happened?

“Well… that could have gone better.” You hear Yoongi sigh, and the others all break out into loud bickering again from behind the door. Honestly, they’re like children sometimes.

You scoff miserably at their immaturity and inability to see how seriously they just toyed with your life, and you wipe your eyes before the tears can fall, hurrying back to your room.

-------

That could’ve fucking gone better indeed.

You press your face into your hands, trying to stifle the fury and despair bubbling up inside your chest, threatening to suffocate you. Your hard work and years of dedication, all of your training, everything you’ve worked towards, becoming valuable and necessary so you’d never be cast away again, it’s all for nothing. You’ve still ended up in this position.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? Wait around for a week as they slowly lose interest in you? The very thought is agonizing. It tugs at all your buried fears and insecurities, watching them as they each slowly forget about you. Watching yourself become useless.

No. Stop it, you don’t have time to feel sorry for yourself when there’s work to be done. Time is ticking.

When you get overwhelmed in life, you’re supposed to ask for help. But you have very limited choices for who you can ask. You’re isolated and subjective in this case, so what you need right now are some outside opinions. Objective viewpoints and thoughts about the situation that aren’t stuck in the mire of emotional complications, and tainted by your own hellish visions of the worst possible outcome.

Yeji, your handler, would be your first person to consult. She’s probably the most professional woman you know, after yourself, and most importantly, she always has a plan for any situation. You pull out your ComGear and see that it’s still on Sachsa’s mysterious contact page. She could be a second opinion. That is, if it’s really Sachsa and not some network spy.

You shake away the thought. One thing at a time.

You send a brief message to Yeji, letting her know to come and see you as soon as possible. You tack on that it’s kind of an emergency, and could she pick up some ice cream for you on the way, double fudge ripple.

She replies that she’ll be over in fifteen minutes, which gives you just enough time to change clothes and rehearse how to explain what happened.

You shed Min Yoongi's sequined strip of fabric without an ounce of remorse and stare at your closet in dismay. None of their outfits are comfortable, let alone respectable for a meeting. Frankly, your pajamas would offer more coverage.

You feel close to tears at the simple matter of choosing an outfit. This is ridiculous.

No. They may have control over what you do, but you can still rebel, at least in this small aspect of your life. You grab one of Jungkook's hoodies and a pair of leggings from Hobi, combining the outfits into what could be considered loungewear.

Once changed, you feel a bit more like yourself, and wait anxiously for your handler to arrive.

-------

Choi Yeji is an intimidating woman. She possesses the subtlety and sting of a viper, and isn’t afraid to say what she means. She’s never shown you any great lengths of emotion, even under stressful circumstances. So it doesn’t surprise you to see her calm and collected as she walks into your room.

“What happened?” She asks while you shut the door behind her, and she sets down the shopping bag of ice cream.

Her composure helps ease your frazzled brain, and you quickly explain the events of the past twenty four hours. Well, the events she needs to know, anyway. You were stressed at dinner, used your safeword, and now they seemingly think you’re broken and need to rest, but you suspect it’s an excuse for them to distance themselves from you.

“You think you’ve fallen out of their favor?” Yeji inquires, resting the tip of her spoon in her mouth. She claims desserts are her only vice, and had joined you in the ice cream, but still kept a professional distance and had eaten hers seated on your desk chair while you remained flopped on your bed. “Why? They’ve never sent in a single complaint about your service.”

You sigh in frustration. You know, or you at least suspect, that it has something to do with the… feelings that have come to your attention recently.

But the thought of sharing your romantic dalliances with Yeji is just plain awkward. Your relationship with her has always been business focused, monitoring your diet and exercise, your needs and leisure requests. You've never called her over to talk about your love life, or anything too personal for that matter. It’s not really in her job description.

She’s your handler, not your therapist.

But you know that you can't get around telling her the reason why things have been so tense in the house, it's inevitably going to come up. If she's representing you and backing you up during this meeting with Namjoon, it's in your best interest for her to know all the facts.

That still doesn't make it any easier to talk about. “I... think I might know why.” You admit, laying on your back, covering your face with your arm as you prepare to talk about your affairs.

Yeji levels you with a knowing look. “Did the chat room help you figure it out?”

You sit bolt upright. How the hell did she find out?

Your brain struggles to provide an explanation in a vain attempt to cover your tracks, but Yeji eases you down from your silent panic with a wave of her hand.

“It’s alright,” she chuckles, a kind smile gracing her lips. “I was the only person alerted that you’d disconnected from the network and linked to a new one. I know all about the hidden network."

"You do?" You manage to utter, too astounded to say much else.

"Of course." Yeji inclines her head. "I used to work closely with Madame Guillaume, you know."

The tension dissipates from your body to make room for the curiosity that now overwhelms you. Guillaume? That was her last name? You only ever knew her as Madame.

Yeji seems amused at your dumbfounded expression. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

You don’t know what to say. Honestly at this point, so many shocking things have happened to you that a part of you isn’t even surprised anymore to hear that Yeji knows about the PhysCom dark web. Sure. Why not?

“So is it… real?” You ask, scooting closer towards the edge of the bed.

Yeji sets down her spoon along with the empty pint of ice cream. "Yes. It's most certainly real." She folds her hands in her lap, unaware of the chocolate that's gotten around her upper lip. "But that isn't to say it's not dangerous."

You can't help the snort of a laugh that comes out of you as she talks so seriously with chocolate on her face. She looks at you askance and you wordlessly hand a tissue to her, pointing at your own mouth. "You have something…"

She blinks rapidly. "Ah, apologies." She looks over to your vanity mirror and wipes off the smudges. There's a slight lilt to her voice when she speaks, a result of the fact that Yeji always uses English around you, despite Korean being her native tongue.

You’d mentioned once that it sometimes felt weird to see others’ lips move differently to what you were hearing them say, thanks to your auto-translation chip, and she’d apparently made a note of that. Yeji has used English with you ever since, despite your assurances. It amazes you that she always goes above and beyond to make sure you're comfortable, even when it comes to speaking

Your handler clears her throat to continue. "Anyway, as I was saying. The network does have security, but no measures are foolproof. Anything you send to them has a risk of being seen by other people."

You twist your lips to the side. “Like who?”

“Well, for one, their clients could easily catch a glimpse of the chat,” she notes. “Or the information could be leaked in a security breach. You know all the leading PhysCom networks have heard whispers about this dark web you’ve discovered, and many of them would be all too eager to dismantle it.”

You automatically shake your head. You don’t know why, but the idea of the people in that chat room getting discovered, or being punished for their little spark of camaraderie… it feels wrong. Totalitarian. “But they’re not harming anyone. It’s just a group chat.”

Yeji sighs. Her lips twitch as she considers her next words. “It may seem harmless, or indeed it may even be harmless,” she states calmly. “But the higher up that one is placed, the more scared one becomes of falling. People in the higher ranks of the industry may view the chat room as a threat. Like a… PhysCom mutiny.”

“What? But that’s ridiculous!” You huff out a laugh. “They can’t possibly think we could organize a union against them. We’re illegal workers. We have no rights in society, we can’t even physically see each other.”

Sure, the risk of rebellion would be understandable in companies that employ people in respectable positions. But sex workers? That’s like being worried that drug dealers will rebel against the crooked pharmacies that supply them.

PhysComs are nothing without networks to market them and provide for their basic needs. Your career is forever tied to your network, so each network only wants the best of the best. Your reputation reflects on them as a business. So, if you get fired by your clients… your network might let you go, too.

You sigh, trying to push away such troubling thoughts. “Besides, it’s not like the people in that chat room are the only people who can fill their positions.” Your face falls a little as you continue. “We’re replaceable.”

Yeji picks up on your change in tone. “You were telling me why you think things have changed?” She waits patiently for you to explain.

You hug your knees to your chest, your gaze falling to your comforter. “I think… some of my clients might have developed feelings for me.”

You wait in silence for a beat, not daring to look up.

“Is that all?” Yeji asks, as if you’d just informed her that the toilet paper had run out.

You scoff in bewilderment. “What do you mean ‘is that all’?” You demand, a little underwhelmed by her reaction. Does she just know everything? “That’s a huge deal! Feelings are not a part of my job.”

Yeji tilts her head to the side, her eyes cast upward as though looking for the right words. “Perhaps. You might consider it an… occupational hazard,” she says with a kind look towards you. “You may not be selling your heart to those boys, but you are selling your body, which protects your heart fiercely. After enough time, letting them touch your body… it’s inevitable they might slip through and touch your heart.” She shrugs, taking a sip of the coffee to-go cup she always seems to have on hand.

You feel exasperated, like you’ve been building up all this hot air only to have it slowly leak out of your proverbial balloon. “You don’t have to get all… philosophical about it,” you grouse half-heartedly. Yeji merely chortles.

“The insecure always cast stones at those who speak the truth,” she hums into another sip of coffee, looking over the references she’d brought with her on her phone. “Now that I’m aware of this huge deal of yours, you may want to fill in any details you, ah… forgot to mention?” She gives you a look, and you groan inwardly.

But you comply, spilling all the information of your romantic dalliances since the moment Taehyung kissed you. Yeji doesn’t hold any judgement in her face, she merely nods, taking a few notes for herself, and asking an occasional clarifying question. You also feel compelled to add in what you overheard the boys talking about before you came into the kitchen.

“They said something about a vote… and that they would hold another one at the end of the week ‘if things don’t improve’ with me. Can you believe that?” You inhale, trying to quell the anger in you before it can bubble up again.

Yeji clicks her tongue, a cold clarity in her eyes as she adjusts her glasses. “So you believe Kim Namjoon is the instigator in all of this? He would try to dismiss you, even after you confided in him?”

“He’s their leader,” you say quietly, unable to conceal the hurt in your voice. “His loyalties are to them.”

Yeji doesn’t look at you with pity, but with sympathy. You’re grateful for the distinction. Pity makes you feel worthless, but sympathy makes you feel… heard. Understood. Not something you’re used to experiencing, but it’s still a nice feeling to have.

“Well,” Yeji checks her phone, standing up to leave. “It looks like we’re just about out of time. We’d best be getting downstairs.”

You get up as well, tugging your clothes back into place. “So, you’ll help me change his mind?”

“I must remain impartial, in order to reach a satisfactory conclusion for both parties.” She gives you a look while organizing her papers and clipping them into her briefcase. “But I’ll do what I can to negotiate you out of this so-called vacation,” she says, her voice fueled with that same resolve that she’d shown you whenever she’d been fixated on getting you something that you requested.

“Yeji.” You hesitate, then walk over and take a hold of her arm. “Just please… don’t go easy on him.” You ask, giving her a meaningful look.

She pauses and looks at you for a moment, then finally lets out a sigh with a brief flutter of her eyes. Her job isn’t easy, but then again, neither is yours.

“Alright,” Her voice is reluctant, but resolute. She gives you a brief smile with a touch of fondness, and opens the door for you. “I’ll give him hell.”

-------

You wind and unwind the drawstring of your hoodie around your finger as Yeji organizes her paperwork. The tension in the air is palpable. Namjoon sits across from you both, now dressed for the day in business casual, a white t-shirt under a blazer and slacks. He must have an interview or a photoshoot today.

Your mind wanders briefly to what he usually does when he has a schedule, asks you for a quick blowjob before he leaves. You think of that warm smile he gives you after you swallow his cum, and the tenderness of his lips as he kisses your cheek before he heads out the door.

Lewd domesticity is how he phrased the kink during his interview.

“So, Mr. Kim Namjoon,” Yeji begins, snapping you out of your memories, her voice crisp in the otherwise silent room. She’s speaking in Korean again, to more clearly communicate with him. “You and my client are in a disagreement with regards to her services, is that correct?”

Namjoon frowns. “Not exactly. We just had a… simple misunderstanding this morning.”

Yeji gives him a thin smile. “Well, she called me here, which must mean that she feels the need for professional support concerning this issue,” she continues swiftly. “There are no laws governing Physical Companions, Mr. Kim, because they are not technically legal. A black market business. Therefore, I am the closest thing my client has to legal representation, and I wouldn’t call my lawyer about a ‘simple misunderstanding’, would you?”

Namjoon’s eyes flash with something almost like regret as he glances to you. His mouth opens and closes for a moment, then he briefly shakes his head, his gaze returning to Yeji. “No, I-I wouldn’t.”

“Right.” Yeji raps her collection of papers on the oak tabletop to align them, barely giving Namjoon a glance as she begins flicking through the stack. “Now, then. My client has told me that you wish to put her on suspension, is that correct?”

Namjoon winces. “I wouldn’t say that, uh, Ms. Choi,” he says, wringing his hands together. He looks nervous, his eyes flickering from you to Yeji, and back again. “Does our PhysCom need to be present for this meeting?” He asks her, flashing a smile that would be charming and amiable, if he didn’t look so tense.

Yeji meets his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes.”

“I… um, alright.” He purses his lips with a nod.

It’s weird. In all the time you’ve known him, Namjoon has always been unfazed and collected when it comes to business. You’ve never seen him look so flustered before. Since he’s putting you in this position, it’s satisfying, in a twisted sort of way, to see him uncomfortable.

He clears his throat. “In any case, myself and my members just wanted to give her a break. Simply extend her vacation time.”

Yeji looks to you, her expression almost bored. “Do you want a vacation?”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t.” You throw a glare at Namjoon before returning your gaze to the houseplant on your left, inspecting each leaf as you try to stay calm. You know if you look for too long at him, you’ll start getting worked up again. Your anger and resentment is still there, bubbling just below the surface. You hope he knows how much he hurt you.

Yeji turns back to him, inclining her head, her tone that of explaining something simple to someone who should know better. “It is against her will, so it’s considered a suspension, Mr. Kim.” She slips her glasses on, reading over the fine print on the paperwork. “My client is given two days off each month, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Namjoon says. “One day off, every two weeks.”

Yeji raises an eyebrow. “Yet, you wish to suspend her for an entire week. That’s over three months worth of her regular vacation time. I must say, this appears to be much more than a simple extension, as you put it. I wonder why that would be?” She flips a page, skimming the words casually. “It says here that she’s received nothing but glowing reviews from all of you since she was hired six months ago.”

Namjoon shifts uncomfortably. You can tell that he’s trying to keep up his shields, but Yeji is a formidable foe with which to spar, able to find the smallest opening in an opponent’s armor and pierce through with the speed of a rapier.

“No particular reason.” Namjoon seems to settle on the answer after calculating his words.

“No reason?” Yeji’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “Mr. Kim,” She sets her papers on the table, looking at him expectantly. “I’m afraid I can’t allow this discussion to go any further unless you have a good reason for putting my client, your Primary PhysCom I might add, on suspension for an entire week.” She shakes her head with a mild shrug of indifference.

Namjoon tugs at the cuffs of his jacket. "Well, I think we can-"

Yeji interrupts him, her words slow and purposeful. “I think… it would reflect very poorly on you as a leader to make such drastic decisions,” Here, she gives a very brief smile that could be mistaken for politeness, if there was any warmth left in her eyes. “... for ‘no particular reason’. Don’t you agree, Mr. Kim?”

Damn. Hit him where it hurts, Yeji.

Namjoon’s mouth grows slack, his expression dumbfounded. You bite back a smile, eternally grateful for being assigned such a kickass handler. You make a note to request a bonus for her next paycheck.

But now Namjoon’s face has grown dark. His fingers are tented together, and he seems lost in a silent debate within his own mind. “I didn’t want to do this…” he mutters so quietly, you almost can’t make out the words.

He inhales sharply and sits up a little straighter, his composure regained. “Ms. Choi,” he begins. “I must admit, we do have some concerns about her performance.”

Your heart drops like a stone.

“Oh?” Yeji doesn’t look up at him, but starts scribbling on one of her papers. “What might those be?”

“We believe that she’s overworked, since, as you pointed out, she is our only Primary,” he explains in almost a monotone. “Her behavior has been emotional and unpredictable lately.”

At this, your gaze snaps to him, shocked. Why the fuck would he say that?

He looks down to the floor, as though ashamed, as he continues. “She’s kissed two of our members since yesterday, which is not on her list of services. She broke down crying last night during dinner. When we went to use another PhysCom, she had a meltdown. Started screaming at us.”

Your body feels numb and on fire all at once.

"We're concerned about her professionalism."

That motherfucker.

You leap to your feet, your body moving before you can think. Yeji pulls you back from physically assaulting him, but you strain against her grip like a wild animal. “You bastard!” You spit out the insult, hair falling in your face and venom in your voice, still huffing out ragged breaths as Yeji patiently calms you back into your seat.

Your hands clench so hard you dig marks into your palms. You’re shaking with unbridled rage at his betrayal. You didn't think it was possible to be so angry. Of all people, Namjoon knows exactly how dedicated you are to your work, even when you’re exhausted, how closely you stick to your professional boundaries, even when it hurts, how tirelessly you work to please all seven of them, even if it means being used over and over again without a moment to breathe. You’ve always given everything to your job.

Now he wants to turn around and say that you’ve been fucking slacking?

“You see what I mean,” Namjoon states calmly, though there’s something wavering in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the rest of his confident demeanor. He tries to meet your gaze, tries to get you to look at him, but you refuse, twisting your head away from him before you get yourself charged with murder on top of everything else.

Maybe it would be best for you to get fired. You’d rather live on the streets than be treated like this. Tears prick at your eyes but you blink them away. You refuse to cry in front of him. You won’t give him any more ammunition to use against you.

Yeji looks between you and Namjoon, her lips forming a thin line. “Kim Namjoon,” she addresses him, her voice cold. “Do you wish for my client to remain in this house?”

Namjoon seems surprised at the question, his eyebrows lifting. “Yes, of course.”

“Then, I think a recess is in order.” She stands up and brushes off some invisible lint from her skirt.

You stand up to join her, but she holds out a hand. “No. You two need to talk this out,” she says to you, then looks to Namjoon, staring him down. “I suggest you remember why we’re here, Mr. Kim.” After a moment of silence, she walks to the door. “I’ll be back in ten.”

With that, Yeji exits, and the two of you are left alone.

You cross your arms protectively around yourself, adamantly refusing to look at him. The silence stretches between you.

“Sweetheart-” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethe. Proprieties be damned, you’ve had enough. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, you fucking asshole. I have given everything for you and your members, okay? Don’t you fucking dare sit there and tell lies about me, to my face!” You shout, trying to keep your voice from shaking. You know if you keep talking your rage will melt into tears, and you cannot afford to cry in front of him. You simply won’t allow it.

“I know, I know,” Namjoon’s assurance overlaps the end of your sentence. He sighs. Waits a beat.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah! You’d better be.” You still don’t meet his eyes, the betrayal and confusion is just too much. On top of all that, you’ve never lashed out in anger at any of them like this. You still don’t regret shouting at him, but your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest in fear of repercussions. Did you make the situation worse? Is that even possible at this point?

“Look.” His voice is tentative, a little afraid. “I really am sorry, I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Then why the fuck did you say it?” You counter sharply.

“Because!” Now it’s his turn to shout, though he seems to regain himself much more quickly than you. “Because... I don’t know if that woman can be trusted,” he reiterates quietly, as if afraid she might hear him through the door.

Wait, what?

“Yeji?” You squint in utter disbelief. “Of course she can be trusted, what the fuck are you-”

“Not with this.” He sighs again, rakes a hand through his hair. “Listen, you have to trust me.”

You bark a laugh. “Trust you?”

He shakes his head, stopping your objections before you can list them. “This is serious. This is… bigger than either of us.”

His voice is the only thing that gives you pause. Just for a moment. He sounds… desperate. Scared.

You slowly look over to him, and his expression confirms your suspicions. Namjoon is fearful about something, his eyes wide with worry, his hair mussed from being tugged between his fingers. He looks completely different from before, and it has you reluctantly curious.

“What do you mean?” You let him keep talking, though you’re still taking his words with a grain of salt.

“I was… working on something. A better arrangement,” He begins, his eyes reaching out to you, then darting nervously around the room, as if he’s letting you in on his greatest secrets. “But I stumbled onto something bigger. I just… I need you to take some time off for right now, and I need you to trust me that it’s for the best.”

You level your gaze at him, silently weighing your options. He’s being awfully vague.

“What does my time off have to do with anything?” You ask, your suspicion coloring your tone.

“It’s necessary to test my theory properly. If I’m right, then...” He trails off, and you garner that his success would bring about something monumental.

You stare at him. You want to take his words as truth, but he completely undermined you in front of your handler. You can’t let him off the hook so easily. “How can I believe anything you say anymore? You just blew any trust I had in you.”

“I know,” he says, hanging his head. He chews on his lip, then takes a deep breath. “That’s why I’m willing to offer some… collateral.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws something small and shiny. “This.” He holds out the object to you, dangling from a short metal chain. “It’s the key to my studio.” His gaze bores into yours as you tentatively reach forward to take it. “The only key,” he adds gravely.

You examine the silver peace offering, and your eyes widen at the implications of such a gesture. His whole life is in that studio. All of his art, his collections, not to mention his computer. His music. His career.

It’s all sitting in the palm of your hand.

He reaches across the table and closes your hand around the key. “You can keep it until I’ve earned your trust again. Okay?” He gives you a brief, dimpled smile, as if to assure you, though sadness and worry still swim behind his eyes.

“Now, sweetheart. Please. I beg of you.” He takes your hand in both of his own, his worried eyes imploring you to trust him. “Please, will you take this vacation?”

#bts #bts smut #bts x reader smut #bts ot7 smut #bts smut fic #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #bts fic rec #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #thank you all for enjoying physcom! <3

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neerasrealm · 4 years

Note

bRO jason or LJ would be great with the record scratch one imo HSHSH

WHEN I SAW JASON AS AN OPTION I LOST IT FHGSDHF. Anyway hi this story is basically Jason getting bullied by Kate the Chaser for 2000+ words. Enjoy.

*record scratch*

*freeze frame*

Yep, that’s me. No, not the vague figure you’re imagining now from the zero amount of information I’ve given you, and no, I’m not the heroic yet relatable main-character you’d expect either. I’m the one that’s currently, and quite poetically, hiding in the corner of a chicken coop. Yeah, that’s the one.

Hi, I'm Jason. I'm a toymaker. And also half- or maybe three quarters demon because I work for an immortal god of chaos and destruction. And for a little more context, I'm in a chicken coop because things went horribly, horribly wrong.

I was given one simple task. Spy on a woman named Kate. Okay, no problem. She's human, average height and weight. Nothing to be concerned about. The only foreseeable threat was the fact that she works for my boss's biggest rival. A man named Slender. I would say creature, but from what I've heard he's rather good at acting civilised, though I've also heard that it's all just an act to lower guards. Regardless, I had no fear of her.

No fear that is, until she happened to catch me watching her via my pet surveillance mouse, Licorice. She smacked the poor thing with a rake! A rake! My poor innocent little surveillance drone...Licorice wouldn't harm a fly…

Eh-hem. Anyway- after she found and assaulted Licorice I tried to make my escape- but she caught me. So I hid in the only place I could.

The chicken coop.

And that's where I am now. Curled up amongst feathers, grain and very upset birds. If I wasn't trying to be quiet, I would've killed them by now. Especially the one that’s pecking my leg. Rude bitch. I have half a mind to strangle you, you know that, chicken?

Wait.

Oh no.

I hear footsteps.

The door to the chicken coop is yanked open and suddenly I’m being glared at by an angry asian lady wearing black and white flannel.

‘’Get outta my coop, bitch boy.’’

Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, RUDE. third of all,

‘’No.’’

She glares at me.

‘’Alright, that’s it.’’

She climbs into the fucking chicken coop, grabs me by my EXPENSIVE knee high boots and YANKS me out of the coop with strength I didn’t expect from her. I scream and thrash about and kick at her until she lets me go. She stands over me, glaring. I glare right back. She puts her hands on her hips, channeling the energy of an angry texan grandma. If I wasn’t British I’d probably be terrified right now.

‘’Who gave you permission to go snoopin’ around my property?’’

‘’I don’t need permission to snoop anywhere,’’ I growl back. ‘’I do as I please.’’

"So you admit you WERE snoopin'!" She points an accusing finger at me.

"No, I was just saying I don't need permission to snoop." I cross my arms and give her a smug look. The word snoop sounds really weird now that we keep saying i- "AH!"

She yanks me by the collar of my rather EXPENSIVE shirt. Blue eyes glare into mine between strands of dark hair. ‘’Jason,’’ she growls. ‘’Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here before I crack your skull open like an over-ripe cantaloupe.’’

I glare at her. ‘’...Fine.’’ I sigh. ‘’I was asked to look into you since you’ve changed location. It was suspected that you were doing something, or perhaps Slender had changed his base of operat-’’ I’m interrupted by her letting go of my collar and rudely placing her muddy boot on my nice clean clothes. ‘’HEY!’’

‘’I fucking moved out, Jason. Jesus. Can Zalgo just calm his tits? Do I have to live in fear of the bastard for the rest of my life just because of Slender?’’

‘’Yes, you do.’’ I glare at her. ‘’Maybe you should have considered that before becoming his proxy.’’ She rolls her eyes and lifts her foot off of me. I brush dirt off myself but- that mud isn’t going to come off easily...these were expensive clothes too…

‘’Get up.’’

‘’I’m not taking orders from you!’’

‘’Then maybe I should tell Slender I found a creepy redhead sitting up a tree watching me!’’

"Hey! I am not creepy!"

Kate glares down at me, her hands on her hips again. After a few moments of stubborn silence, I stand up and brush dirt off myself. She folds her arms.

"I won't tell Slender about this if you do somethin' for me." She says. I squint.

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" I murmur. She nods.

"Yep. I have a fence that needs fixin', along with some stuff in the house and fields. If ya help me I won't tell Slenderman I found ya creepin' around my property."

What the hell does this woman take me for? I'm not going to let her blackmail me! I glare at her and cross my arms. "Absolutely not." I say before turning and walking away. Hah! That'll show her! I'm simply going to walk away from my problems!

"Aren't ya forgettin’ somethin'?" I turn and look at her and stare in horror. She's holding my beloved mouse from her tail, swinging her from side to side like she's a toy rather than a beloved pet!

"LICORICE!" I yelp and run towards her to grab back my poor pet. Kate moves out of the way with surprising speed. I suppose that's why her nickname is 'The Chaser'.

"Ah ah ah." She wags a finger at me, teasing me. "Not until you help me."

"What?!" Licorice is being held ransom now?! I stare at Kate in horror. She smirks. "...fine! Fine, I'll do it! Just- don't hurt licorice...please…"

"That's the spirit, jacey-boy!" She chirps. Dear god I hope she never calls me that again. She stuffs licorice back into her pocket and smiles smugly. "Now c'mon."

Begrudgingly, I follow her to her home. It’s a large country house, with a spacious wooden deck. Inside is just as cozy as you’d expect. This is actually a nice place- I wouldn’t mind living here myself if it wasn’t on a farm. I don’t like farms. They smell bad.

‘’Alright, here we go.’’ She leads me into the kitchen. There’s a toolbag on the kitchen table. She picks it up and holds it out to me. ‘’There’s some broken bannisters on the stairs. Think you can fix them up?’’

‘’I guess if there’s replacement bannisters.’’ I grunt.

‘’In the shed out back. And after you’re done that, you can fix some holes I found in the walls upstairs,’’ she shrugs at me. ‘’I think the past owner had a teenage son. Punched the shit outta the place.’’

‘’Of course he did…’’ I take the toolbag and sigh. ‘’Fine.’’

I march out the backdoor and find her shed. Walking inside, the bannisters I need are laying on a table. It smells of fresh paint in here- I actually quite like that smell...I grab the bannisters and march back inside. The bitch is making coffee instead of- you know, working like I am. I glare at her as I walk back into the hallway. Her stairs are completely missing several bannisters- six to be exact. With a sigh, I put down the bannisters and rummage through the bag for a drill. Why does she think I’m qualified to fix stairs anyway? Because I’m a toymaker?? I mean- yeah I know how to fix things like this- but still! My skills are more in carving and painting and sewing...ugh…

I pull out the drill I need and get to work. It’s a simple process. Drill a nail into the stairs, drill a matching hole into the bannister, then screw it on. Nothing too difficult- the only bad part is the sawdust that gets everywhere. Not my problem though- at least I hope it isn’t. If she makes me clean it up I’ll be mad.

‘’I finished.’’ I growl to Kate as I walk back into the kitchen. ‘’What next?’’

She’s eating fucking banana bread. Taunting me with the fact that I’m doing all of her work for her. Fuck you, Kate. Fuck you. If I was in a room with Slenderman and you and I had one bullet, I’d shoot Slender and beat you to death myself. Fuck you AND YOUR BANANA BRE-

‘’There’s plaster and newspaper upstairs. You can stuff the holes up and plaster over ‘em.’’ she smiles at me. Ah. I didn’t need to come in here at all. I could have avoided seeing the accursed banana bread…

I go upstairs like a good slave laborer. The bucket of plaster and stack of newspapers is sitting right next to the top of the stairs. How did I miss it? Ugh. Whatever- ripping up the papers to stuff up the holes in the walls is actually kind of fun. I haven't made anything with paper mache in a while...it’s kind of time consuming to make but still fun!

Thinking about paper mache makes the time go by much much faster. By the time I’ve patched up every single hole in the wall I’ve almost completely forgotten why I’m so angry! It’s nice- being productive always helps me calm down and forget why I’m so stressed…

‘’Hey, Jason!’’

Ah. I remember now. I look down the stairs at Kate. She smirks a bit. ‘’Ya done?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Good! Ya can help me with the fence then!’’

Ugh. With a huff I walk downstairs and follow her outside. She leads me to a wooden fence that’s broken down and barely standing. Next to it is a shovel, some timber and more tools. She picks the shovel up and starts digging around the fencepost. Together, the two of us remove the rotten wood from the bottom of the post, fill up the hole, and replace the rest of the rotten and broken wood. By the time we’re done I’m covered in dirt, and sweaty. I huff and take off my jacket, holding it under my arm. Kate does something similar, tying her flannel shirt around her waist. She stretches, cracking her back and grunting.

‘’Are we done yet?’’ I growl. Kate smirks.

‘’Almost. Just need ta water some crops.’’ she strides past me. ‘’C’mon Jacey. It won’t take long.’’

‘’Don’t call me Jacey.’’

She laughs and leads me over to the field I was watching her in. There's a short pipe with a hose attached to it just by the gate leading into it. She picks up the hose and hands it to me. ‘’Just sprinkle some water over ‘em, got it?’’

‘’I know how to water plants. I’m not dense.’’

Her lips curl up into a smile. ‘’Good. I’m gonna go check on Marigold.’’ she says before wandering away. I frown.

‘’Who’s Marigold?’’ I call after her.

‘’My cow!’’ she yells back. ‘’Now get to work before I feed your mouse to her!’’

Cows don’t even eat mice...stupid bitch. Hmph. begrudgingly, I walk along the small paths in between each line of crops, sprinkling each one with water. She has all sorts of things growing according to the small wooden signs stuck into the dirt. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes...being a farmer sounds like a hellish lifestyle, but having your own fresh ingredients for cooking does sound appealing...

‘’Jason!’’

Just as I’m watering the last of her plants she calls me. I glance over at her. She waves at me from the other end of the field. With a sigh, I walk all the way over to the gate where she’s standing.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’Ya wanna feed the chickens?’’

‘’No.’’

‘’Great!’’ she grins at me. Great, now I have to feed the bloody things. As if hiding amongst them earlier wasn’t degrading enough. I put the hose back where I found it and turn to her. She holds out a bucket filled with seeds, grain and berries. I take it and frown.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’Chicken feed. Duh.’’ she rolls her eyes. ‘’C’mon. This is the last thing, promise.’’ I follow her back to the accursed chicken coop. The chickens, there’s seven of them, are just wandering around, pecking aimlessly at the ground. Kate claps her hands and the demon birds all look up. Kate looks at me and gestures to the chickens. ‘’Well c’mon. They’re waitin’.’’

With a sigh I reach into the bucket, grab a handful of feed, and toss it to the ground. Immediately it’s swarmed by bloodthirsty- er- bloodhungry chickens who peck the ground aggressively. Out of fear for my safety I continue tossing feed at the birds. Admittedly it is fun seeing chickens rapidly look around in confusion when they’re hit on the head with their own food. This isn’t actually too bad. These chickens aren’t all that ba-

‘’Ow!’’

I TAKE IT BACK ONE OF THE FUCKERS JUST PECKED MY FOOT. I kick at the aggressive bird. It flutters back and I give it my best sneer. Kate clicks her tongue and I look up at her.

‘’Bad idea, Jacey.’’

Huh? Wha- ‘’OW-’’ I stumble back and away from the flock of chickens pecking at my good nice boots. I drop the bucket of feed, stumble on a rock, and fall straight into the muddy ground. I stare at the sky, eyes wide. What- what the fuck...since when are chickens so- aggressive?? I sit up slowly and stare at the demon hens in fear, then at Kate who is aggressively laughing. I glare at her, regain my lost dignity out of spite, and stand up.

‘’Can I go now?’’

‘’Mmm…’’ she rocks on her heels, smirking and considering it for a moment. ‘’Sure. I think ya’ve done everything I need.’’ she pulls her hands out from behind her back and holds out a tupperware container as I walk over to her. What- why is she-

Oh.

Oh if she put licorice in there-

‘’Licorice!’’ yep she did. Bitch. I pick up my beloved mouse and cradle her in my hands, dropping the container in the process. ‘’Oh there you are sweetie...I’m sorry- did the mean lady trap you in there? You poor thing.’’ Licorice squeaks in distress as I pet her gently and kiss the top of her little head. ‘’I know, I know- don’t worry Jason’s here, she isn’t going to hurt you anymore my sweet.’’

Licorice rolls up onto my shoulder and snuggles up against my collar. I pat her again and glare at Kate. She smiles sweetly at me.

‘’Get off my property.’’

‘’Gladly.’’

#ask #clowningking #request #writing #writing requests #jason the toymaker #kate the chaser #creepypasta #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #writing from jason's perspective is so fun fshdghjagfs

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nebulous-frog · 5 years

Text

Not-So-Straight Best Friends

Summary: Based off this post from @pseudophan. Basically, what if Dan and Phil really were queerbaiting us this whole time but suddenly they realized they were in love?

Word Count: 1832

Genre: Getting Together, AU, crack!fic (ish? idek man)

Warnings: Vague descriptions of queerbaiting, swearing, dumbassery, first kiss... honestly idek

Author’s Note: I literally just wrote this in like. An hour or something? Hour and a half? on my phone and then found my laptop to post it. Not entirely sure what this is, pretty sure I was possessed when I started writing, but now we’re here I guess lmao

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

When Dan and Phil first started talking, it was because Dan genuinely wanted editing tips from Phil.

They pretended they became friends after that from a shared interest in Muse, but it really wasn’t anything like that. Instead, their friendship formed from a shared love of sports. The first time they met each other in person, they went out for beers at a pub in Manchester and then kicked a football around at Phil’s place. They didn’t hug, they didn’t have an emotional moment. They did a manly handshake and carried on. That night, Dan slept on the floor, a respectful, definitely-straight, no-homo-possible distance from Phil.

Years down the line, they wouldn’t remember whose idea it was. Dan would suggest it was Phil’s, since Phil was the one who knew about publicity already, but Phil would suggest it was Dan’s, since he was so keen on being friends in the first place. Whoever started it, they had long ago decided to pretend to be in a relationship that they were intentionally hiding from their audiences.

They created imaginary stories and scenarios and sent them out to the public, watching as their fans ate up every last bit of the fake relationship.

It was all an elaborate ruse to keep fans invested and draw in a wider audience. They even made their personas intentionally nerdy to really grasp the attention of a specific demographic.

To really sell it, they went on a few holidays together and tweeted about each other all the time. Eventually, they moved in together, partly maintain the shady lie.

But it wasn’t all a lie. They really were best friends and did everything together, just as any other guy best friends would do. They knew each other’s favorite athletes, attended sporting events together, played wingman for each other (whenever possible, that is; they had to be careful so no fan would see them dating or flirting with someone else).

And so it went for years. Dan and Phil hid their true sports-loving lad personalities from the internet successfully, even going so far as to act differently around friends so they wouldn’t accidentally let it slip. They were content with this, too. It made them money and people looked up to them, respected them, loved them. It was everything they’d ever wanted.

Except it wasn’t.

Dan was totally straight, of course. Of course. But he couldn’t help but admire Phil’s physique. He’d stopped exercising quite so much a long time ago to help with the nerdy image, but his arms were toned in just the right way for a camera not to notice. Plus, it wasn’t like Phil ever took his shirt off on camera. His abs were killer. The only reason they made Dan feel weak was because he literally wasn’t as strong as Phil. Right? Right.

And then Phil started asking Dan to play wingman more often.

“Come on,” he’d whine. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages and you’re such a good wingman.”

And Dan would feel his jaw clench, his hands twitch. “No,” he’d say. “I don’t want to.”

“I’ll buy your drinks, though,” Phil would promise.

Dan would scoff and shake his head.

“Why are you being such a dick?” Phil would accuse with a glare.

And so it went, over and over until Dan finally agreed to just do it already so Phil would quit bothering him.

They went out to a higher-end bar to avoid fans. The lighting was dim and the music was loud to encourage closeness, but Dan just found it annoying. He wanted to go home.

Not long after they arrived and got their beers, Phil bumped Dan’s arm with his own.

“Look at her, over by the loo. Wavy brown hair.”

Rolling his eyes, Dan turned his head to find the girl in question. He could see why Phil had noticed her. Her crop top showed off a flat stomach and her short shorts showed off long legs stuffed into knee-high stiletto boots. Her pale skin shone through the darkness of the bar. Dan turned back to his drink.

“You gonna go talk to her or do I have to?” Dan asked, voice betraying no emotion as he raised his beer to his lips.

“Well, obviously you have to. You’re my wingman, remember? Go talk me up.”

Dan sighed through his nose, too quiet for Phil to hear, and downed the rest of his drink in one.

“Here goes,” he said with a nod at Phil. He crossed the room to stand in front of the girl Phil fancied, thoughts racing with every step. The closer he got, the more repulsed he was by this whole plan. All he had to do was talk to her but that was supposed to get Phil laid and Dan suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He didn’t like the idea of Phil sleeping with some strange girl. Come to think of it, he didn’t like the idea of Phil sleeping with anybody. Well. Anyone but one specific person…

Dan stopped a few feet from the girl, eyes wide. He didn’t want to do this. He wouldn’t do this, he couldn’t possibly. It would break his heart, right as he’d finally discovered how it beat. He sized the girl up once more, then turned to look at Phil, who was nonchalantly leaning up against the bar and pretending not to pay attention. Phil would be so pissed, but Dan couldn’t help it. He had to do what had to be done.

He crossed the last few steps towards the girl.

“Hey, that guy over there? Black hair, quiff?”

The girl looked disinterestedly over his shoulder at Phil. “Yeah, what about him?” she asked, clearly suspicious.

“He’s got…” Dan grasped for an excuse- “he’s got chlamydia.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “Sucks to be him, then.” Then she stalked away, boots clicking on the tiled floor as she walked out the door.

Moments later, Phil appeared at Dan’s elbow.

“The hell was that? You’re usually so good!” he asked, perplexed.

Dan fought the blush threatening to creep onto his cheeks at the compliment and scrambled for an explanation. “She- uh- she said she’s a lesbian.”

Phil frowned. “Oh. Guess it wasn’t meant to be, then.”

“Guess not,” Dan agreed with a pitying nod. “Alright, let’s go home, then. We’ll try another night.”

Phil’s brow scrunched up and Dan had to fight the desperate urge to rub away the wrinkles on his forehead.

“Give up after only one failure? No way, Howell, we’re not going home tonight until one of us gets fucked.”

Dan sighed again. He wasn’t really in the mood for getting fucked, at least, not by anyone who wasn’t Phil.

The realization hit him like a train again, but he had no time to recover as Phil grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the bar so they could scout their options once more.

Phil sent Dan out to try three more girls, and each time Dan purposefully botched the interactions.

Finally, a defeated Phil agreed to give up for the night.

Life continued on as normal for the two of them for a while as Dan desperately tied to figure out what to do with himself. His jealousy had awakened feelings inside himself that he’d never expected to feel and suddenly he wasn’t quite as straight as he thought he was and being around Phil was simultaneously too much and not enough.

He was in love with his best friend. His straight best friend, who he half-pretended to be in love with.

God, it was complicated.

Every little thing Phil did would send butterflies racing through Dan’s digestive system or blood rushing to places it ought not be rushing to and Dan was having a very hard time coping with his body doing all of that all at once and could Phil be a little less sexy for two minutes?

He was a goddamn mess, basically.

And then there came a day when he just couldn’t take it anymore.

They were playing FIFA together and nothing in particular caused it but Phil laughed at something Dan said and he looked so pretty and suddenly there it was.

“I love you.”

Dan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud to Phil, not ever, and here he had. Shit, what could he do? What should he do? Play it off as a joke? The thought of turning something so serious, so heartfelt, so real into a joke was almost too much to bear-

Phil snorted. “Yeah, of course, I love you, too.”

In a split second, Dan realized he couldn’t keep living like this. He had to come clean.

“No, really.” He paused the game, ignoring Phil’s protests but refusing to meet his eyes. “I love you but, like, not work-related.”

He was met with a deafening silence. The tension was killing him, so he forced himself to look up at Phil.

Shock, confusion, and something unnameable played in his expression, his jaw dropped open and eyes searching Dan’s face. Dan had expected anger, disgust, betrayal maybe, but this was very different. He thought he’d known every possible expression Phil could make after being friends and living together for so long, but this was something new and unexpected and frightening but the tiniest bit exciting, as well.

The seconds crawled by until finally Phil shut his mouth with a soft clop and his eyes stopped their searching, landing on Dan’s mouth. Time stopped then, and then suddenly Phil’s lips were on Dan’s and hands were grabbing and feeling and wandering and Dan felt dizzy with it all when Phil pulled back a few seconds later, eyes wide again and his hands still buried in Dan’s curls.

“I’ve never done that before,” he blurted. “Kissed a guy, I mean. I’ve never felt like this before, either, though, so I guess it makes sense that it would make me do things I’d never done. What the hell is wrong with me? This is insane-“

Dan’s heart sank. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I understand you don’t feel the same-“

Phil’s lips were on his again and Dan let out a squeak and then a moan as Phil took his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled.

“Sorry, you were getting the wrong idea,” Phil hurried to say when he properly pulled back, hands still in Dan’s curls and holding him in place so he couldn’t chase after Phil’s lips like he so desperately wanted to. “I love you, too, not work-related. Well, I mean, sort of work-related because that’s how I fell in love with you and why I thought this would never happen and wanted a distraction and-“

Now it was Dan’s turn to interrupt Phil.

“We’ve wasted enough time already, don’t you think?” Dan gasped when he broke the kiss.

“I guess you’re right,” Phil replied. “Carry on, then.”

And “carry on” they did.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #crackfic #fluff #getting together #food mention #first kiss #friends to lovers #my brain just yeeted this into existence i apologize lmao

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starlightandherpen · 4 years

Quote

the guy next door ch.1

the guy next door moved in about a week ago, I remember because I was sitting by the window in my lingerie with a cup of tea. I remember gawking so hard at him that I dropped just enough tea to feel chills all through my thigh into my spine. It was a warm day, reaching almost 90. I stepped outside with short shorts on and a lemon-lime crop top. No bra so you could see my nipples poke through my shirt. I didn’t care who saw me, in fact, I specifically wanted the neighbor to see me. He was tall, Eiffel tower tall, and had a chest so lean it popped out of his chest. He didn’t have a six-pack, he wasn’t cut out of a magazine and I liked that. it turned me the fuck on. I step outside to welcome him to the neighborhood with a tray of fresh chocolate chip cookies hoping he would return the tray. A woman answers the door, a woman with a pretty ring. There’s a dog too. I drop the cookies and leave. The disappointment, the embarrassment, I can’t fathom. of course, he’s taken, how is he not? with that body and those eyes.. of course, he is taken. That doesn't bother me though, it doesn't bother me at all. ive never been with a married man, even though ive always wanted too. the way i see it, they wouldnt cheat if they were happy in their marriage. so you're not really making anything worse.

Sunday morning, how i love sunday mornings. time is endless and there are so many opportunities for the day, but instead i opt for a day in. a day where i lounge in a bra and a thong all day and do nothing except for order pizza. Im watching a movie in the afternoon, and i hear the doorbell ring, my pizza is finally here. i quickly grab a oversized teeshirt and throw it on and open the door. its.. its.. its the. neighbor. as i look down i see my tray of cookies, except its spotless and clean. in the other hand, i see a bottle of wine. “Howdy neighbor, I wanted and stop by and thank you for the welcome treat. they sure were delicious, finger looking if you know what im talking about.” he says, but im not really paying much attention to because, well because his mouth. the way it moves is hypnotizing, the way it goes up and down and the way his tougne pops out just a little bit when he says “delicious.” i almsot cant stand it. he’s making me hot just by standing here. I invite him in thinking he would deny my blunt request, but to my surprise he says yes. “Did you bring that bottle of wine for me?” i say with a smile and a hair toss. Im feeling flirty, im doing it and im not even aware of it. “Yes, for you. Although I was hoping we could share a glass and I could get to know our new neighbor. and I’m sorry my wife couldn't be here to thank you with me, she had to work.” I make a face that he can’t see as I'm grabbing a corkscrew. im repulsed by him saying “my wife”

we’re both 2 glasses in and im feeling a buzz. i can tell he is too. “shall we open up another bottle?” I ask. “Sure, if you got it.” he responds. “I always do.” i say as i bite my thumb and smile. “you must love living alone, i can see pants are optional” Oh shit! my pants! or my lack thereof. “Im so sorry, i didn't even notice. i love living alone, pants are always off the second i come through that door.” i plead to him, hoping he’ll understand. “Haha, its okay. im enjoying the view. Its a great view.” He then drops the corkscrew in front of him, or it slips out of his hands, i cant tell. i slowly bend down in front of him, now knowing i have no pants and only a thong on. i wish i wasn't wearing anything. “Wow, if that's not the greatest ass I've ever seen” Better than your wifes? i ask him. “Much better, i mean, much much better.” i giggle and put my hand on my pussy. I should go put some pants on i tell him. “Dont you dare,” he says. “Try and stop me” I tell him as i start a slow run to my upstairs bedroom.

iN the room he drops his tie. “Pick it up for me” he says. “No, pick it up yourself.” I say. “I could. I could pick it up, but then how would I see your ass spread so beautifully i start to imagine what it taste like? and how would i see your tight pussy lips? I take my thong off and throw it over on the floor, i bend down perfectly making sure its slow so he can get a good look at my pussy lips. making sure he sees it all. as i bend down he pushes my back even further in a quick hard thrust, he bend to his knees and starts kissing the back of my things, till he reaches my pussy. he licks, sucks, and licks some more. he then thrust himself inside me.

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marvel-nerd-87 · 6 years

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Saved By The Bell(3/?)

Pairings: Bucky x Reader, Steve x Peggy, Natasha x Clint, Tony x Dr. Strange

Summary: (Y/N)’s mother decides to enroll her in a boarding school after being homeschooled her entire life. After being thrown in the deep end she decides maybe high school isn’t so bad.

Warnings: Language, high school and everything that come with, ex:bullying, harassment, etc.

Taglist/Requests:Open Masterlist

You walked into your class and were immediately swamped with eyes staring at you. You didn’t have any of your friends with you and suddenly you forgot how to function as a human being. You were buried under so much stress you didn’t feel some put a hand on both of your shoulders. You looked up to see Clint and Steve behind you. “Oh hey guys!”

“Hey (Y/N) we have an open seat next to us do you want to sit there?”

“Oh yeah sure!”

You followed them to the front of the room and put your bag down at your feet. You pulled your phone out and texted Loki.

‘I’m in class with Clint, what do I say if he ask us about the bet with Stark?’

‘Bullshit something. Or make sure it doesn’t come up. You’re one of us, you’ll figure it out. I promise.’

You locked your screen and listened in on Clint and Steve’s conversation.

“I get your captain of the football team and all but I’m telling you The Guardians are gonna win this game.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Call it wishful thinking but I’m about to be about 300 dollars and a cheese stick richer my friend.”

“Man. White people and there cheese.” You jumped at the voice behind you and turned around to see Sam. He moved to the desk in front of you and turned to face you and the other two.

“Are you excited for the game?” You leaned over to make yourself seem interested in what he had to say but in reality you were just trying to get as much information about the game tonight as you could. They angle you were sitting at gave him the perfect view of your cleavage. You had him hook line and sinker.

“Fuck yeah I am, sweet cheeks, we’re gonna crush it.”

“What’s so important about this game anyway? I’ve never been to high school so I don’t get it.” You were playing the innocent facade well. Maybe Loki was right.

“Well, the Guardians are our biggest competition so we have a lot riding on this.” He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Clint said he’d give me 150 to throw the game.”

“Are you gonna take it?” You let your mouth linger for a second after you finished your sentence.

“Not if you and Wanda are there tonight, I got show off for the ladies.”

“I’m sure we will be.”

The bell rang and you grabbed your stuff before booking it to your room. You threw open the door and saw Wanda in a black crop top, red leather jacket and shorts that showed the perfect amount of ass.

“I laid out clothes on your bed. I went through your closet and nothing was skimpy so you can borrow mine.”

You quickly threw on the high waisted miniskirt and what was basically a bikini top. You added your fishnets and jean jacket and left with Wanda to meet the others in Loki’s room. Wanda knocked on the door and Thor answered. “Hello Wanda, (Y/N), Loki and Barnes are waiting for you inside and I need to get to class so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Thank you Thor!”

Bucky wolf whistled at the way you two were dressed, “Damn Doll, you dirty up nice.”

“You two can flirt later, we have a job to do.”

You and Wanda were lazily hanging out behind the bleachers while Loki and Bucky hid out behind the field house. You were telling her about Sam when you noticed the other team’s bus pull in. A bunch of guys in blue jerseys walked off and Wanda spotted the one with ‘Quill’ written on the back. “Follow my lead.” She pulled a lollipop out of her purse and stuck it in her mouth. The way she was using her tongue on the damn thing was almost enough to get you to question your sexuality.

“Damn girl, what else does that tongue do?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” Quill and the rest of the team walked over.

“Shouldn’t you babes be in class?” You could tell by the look in his eyes he was imaging the things he could do to you and Wanda. You laid a hand on his chest, “Why would we go to class when we can stand here and admire the view.” You winked at him and bit your bottom lip. What you didn’t know was the way you were dressed coupled with the way you bit your lip was making Bucky picture pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

“Earth to Bucky.” Loki was waving his hand in front of Bucky’s face waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry what?”

“I said we’ve deflated the balls so we need to get the (Y/N) So she can tamper with the scoreboard.”

“Right.” Bucky sent you a text and told you to start phase two while Wanda had them distracted. You managed to slide out of the conversation and made your way to the scoreboard. Bucky boosted you up and you started messing with the wires until you were sure it wouldn’t read correctly. You were about to climb down when your foot slipped and you fell landing on top of Bucky. “Doll, you gotta stop fall for me.” He chuckled and helped you to your feet.

“Fuck You Barnes.” You stared at your feet knowing he noticed the blush painting your cheeks, “let’s get Wanda and get ready for the game.”

You Wanda Bucky and Loki made the long walk to the football stadium to watch the game. Sam spotted you and Wanda and approached.

“I see you two dressed for the occasion.” You didn’t realize it but you and Wanda had never changed and suddenly you felt very exposed.

“Of course, gotta make sure the game is played like it’s supposed to be.” You winked at him. You couldn’t wait until after the game was over and you could stop flirting with Sam.

“And damn Maximoff you killin’ it too.” Wanda rolled her eyes and sighed. Bucky elbowed her reminding her that we had a job to do.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself birdbrain.”

“Why don’t you two drop these losers and spend your night with a real man.” Sam was too close in your bubble for your liking.

“Sam is it? It looks like Rogers is trying to get your attention you should probably go see what he wants.”

“We can finish this conversation after the game.”

“Thanks Loki.”

“No problem, darling, you two are going to leave the game early so he can’t follow you.”

You and Wanda nod and the four of you sit down in the bleachers the game is going good until one of the Guardians kicks the ball at a weird angle and it hits you in the nose.

“Shit.” You cover your nose and blood begins to stream all over your hand and shirt. Wanda digs in her purse and hands you a tissue.

“I’m gonna walk her back to her room I’ll be back soon.” The walk to your room with Bucky was a long one he was helping you support yourself. You had never been faint around blood but this time you were starting to feel a bit queasy. Bucky helped you to your bed and got a wet rag from the bathroom wiping the blood off your chest.

“I’m gonna go back to the game. Get some sleep, Doll.”

“Goodnight Buck.”

You heard someone knocking on your door you figure it was just Wanda. You drowsily walked to the door and opened it. To see Quill standing in the door way. Your stomach dropped.

“Hey Quill, how can I help you?”

“All I was able to think about during the game was you and your roommate. I have to admit, it through me off my game a little. Probably why we’re losing.”

“I’m sorry to hear about that. I was actually going to bed. So bye.” You went to close the door but Quill shoved his foot to stop it, “god babe. The things I could do to you. We’re all alone. It’s halftime so I got Maybe 15 minuets it’ll be quick.” He pushed into the room you backed away but he kept getting closer.

“No thanks. I would very much enjoy it if you left.” You we’re physically pushing him towards the door but he was too strong.

“How about I just wait here for your roommate and we have some fu-“

“Hey asshole. I suggest you leave her alone if you know what’s good for you.” Bucky has Quill pinned to the wall by his collar.

“Hey man. You didn’t see the way she was acting earlier today.”

“Well That was earlier today. This is now and she said no.”

“Whatever. She’s a bitch anyways.”

“I suggest you go back to field before you get a career ending injury.”

Bucky put Peter down and he sulked back to the game.

“Thank you so much Bucky.”

“Don’t mention it Doll, are okay?”

“I’m a little shaken up but that’s fine. Why’d you come back?”

“Oh you forgot your purse and I figured you’d probably need it. I’m glad I came back in time to stop that asshole.”

“Where are Wanda and Loki?”

“Oh, Wanda wanted nachos so they went to get some but they’ll be back soon. I’m gonna wait until they get back. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You’re so sweet”

“No, I’m the bad boy you date to piss off your parents.”

“Oh yeah I’m sure my mom hates boys who fight fuckboys and clean my bloody nose up.”

“I’m sure she’d be proud of her daughter who just rigged the football game.”

“Well what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Bucky smiled and sat down on the bed. He patted the bed beside him and you laid your head in his lap. He was lazily braiding pieces of your hair.

“Hey Buck.”

“Hey (Y/N).”

“How did you end up in this school?”

“Oh Uh.. my dad was a heavy drinker. One night it got so bad he pulled the rifle of the wall shoved it in his mouth and squeezed the trigger. Mama wasn’t right after that. They put her in the hospital. I still visit her on the holidays. It was either here or the system so I figure this was the best option.”

“I’m sorry Buck.”

“Ah don’t worry about it. I’m okay I promise. That’s why I don’t like drinking, I’m afraid I’ll end up like him. But that’s enough about my parents. What about yours?”

“Well my dad was never around he left when my mom told him she was pregnant. My mom worked odd jobs to make ends meet but now she works for Tony’s dad and wouldn’t have time to do that and school me so she put me here.”

“I’m glad she put you here.” You and Bucky we’re both laying on your sides facing each other.

“Me too...” your face were so close and you could see his gaze shifting between your lips and your eyes. You both leaned in and Wanda kicked open the door with a large pizza, “WE WON!!” Suddenly you and Bucky were pulled back to reality. “Are you okay? We overheard Quill talking to some of his teammates after the game.”

“Oh yeah I’m fine thanks to Bucky.” You took a slice from the box and told them what happened between you and Quill before Bucky showed up.

“I’m glad he got to you in time. How’s your nose?”

“Just a little sore. Did Sam try anything?”

“He tried to follow me but Loki stopped him. So all fuckboys tonight have been avoided.”

You were all sitting and talking when there was a knock on the door. “Who is it this time?” You pushed off the floor and opened the door.

“Hey Stark how can we help you?”

“Seeing as we won the game I just wanted to say thanks for helping me out.”

“It’s no problem man.” Bucky said standing behind you.

“Here.” He held at 150 dollars, “I figure it’s the least I could do.”

“What about the chemistry homework?”

“Call this ‘assuring my future’ Whenever I need ne’er-do-wells to do my bidding you’re just the fuckers I’m gonna call. Welcome to the new Stark enterprise.”

“Rightttt... good night Tony.” Wanda closed the door, “Do you guys just wanna crash here?”

“Uh sure.” Bucky and Loki laid on the floor between your beds. Everyone said their goodnights and passed out.

Taglist: @the7intheimpala @mooniightbucky @wolfarrowepz @iris-suoh

#bucky x reader #peggy x steve #tony x stephen #clint x natasha #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfic #avengers #marvel #avengers high school #high school au #fanfiction

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peaches-of-1 · 6 years

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Demon AU: 666 So Fresh- Chapter 1

I have tried to tag everything I think should be tagged. If there’s something else that you’d like me to tag, anything, please let me know. If you want more warning tags here at the beginning as well, please let me know. The last thing I wanna do is trigger trauma for anyone.

Warnings: Attempted rape, attempted suicides (by a member), violent scene descriptions

Type: Angst, fluff, romance

Taehyung (V), Yoongi (Suga), OC Zula

Summary: College sophomore Zula is a demon. Yoongi is a Demon. Taehyung is a demon. Well, sort of. Two of them are half demon and have gotten into some deep trouble recently. This trouble helped them to find each other and more importantly, their freedom from human confines. What will they do with this freedom? Read and find out. Bonus points if you get the reference, aka the basis for this story.

Zula knew she should have just stayed home. This was her first time at a frat party, and everything sucked. If only her roommate wasn’t fucking in their dorm right now. She decided to sit on the porch in her short tennis skirt and a crop top with The Beatles on it to catch her breath.

“Want a sip?” A familiar voice asked her.

Zula looked up and it was one of the frat brothers who offered her a red solo cup filled with something strong in smell and blue in color.

“No thanks, Jungkook. I don’t like to drink. Dulls the senses too much.” She turned her attention back to the campus scenery.

He sat next to her, “Your loss.” He drank the liquid and then looked at her. “I see you around campus all the time, but you mostly keep to yourself, don’t you?”

Zula nodded in reply. “If I were a brand, I’d be the Anti Social Social Club.”

Jungkook laughed, “You’re such a girl next door, but like, with an edgelord twist. I like it.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled.

Jungkook was called away and some Frat Bro took his place talking to Zula. She wasn’t interested. He was a joke of a human. Laughable.

“What are you into?” He asked, drinking out of a green bottle.

She tapped her daggers-shaped earrings, “Knives. I think they’re cool.”

He started talking about his knife collection. “I live here at the house, so we can go up to my room if you wanna see them.”

Zula said she would go up to see the knives and nothing more. He put his arms up in mock surrender and promised it would only be for the knives.

Yoongi knew he shouldn’t have used his powers in public especially when his targets were also demons. He had just shown his horns for intimidation. Either way, it didn’t work and now he was being chased by humans and demons that looked like humans.

It was just his wallet this time. They were stronger Spawn than him, so he ran. He had to lose these guys. Yoongi bolted down the new pathway only to be blocked by a wall, so he turned around. They were already there. Fuck this shit.

Yoongi just laughed as an inhuman hand grabbed his collar and another punched him. Survival instincts kicked in, and his Demon form came out. The others couldn’t keep their human forms either and revealed their true selves in their scaled glory. The actual humans ran away screaming at the sight, hoping to blame it on the alcohol come morning.

“Run, run, fast as you can!” Yoongi giggled until he passed out from pain.

Taehyung’s fascination with death had always been. Not all death. His death. Ever since he was young, people always called him a sick freak because of all his attempts and now refused to help him. Maybe if they hadn’t written off his terrorizing of girls as liking them, he would have gotten help. He would have been normal now, not this laughable shell of a human.

He sighed. Welp, it was too late for that. Time for death. What would be today’s method? He looked at the options before him.

He’d suffocate by putting a plastic bag over his head. Yeah, that seemed cool. He used tape to secure it to his throat. This version of death felt so cool. This version of leaving this planet. And yet like every time before, it wouldn’t come. Taehyung was forced into this place that acted as a sort of in between, it was like–

Ripping the bag open, he returned to the world of the living. Well, another attempt failed. He sighed and used his dead mother’s lipstick to make a mark on the horizontal mirror on the wall. There were hundreds of marks in different shades of red and orange that had accumulated over the years.

“I’ll go for a walk.” He said to himself. Maybe if he got out, the world would finally crush him.

Frat Bro took the knives out of the closet, and she ran her fingers over their curves. Noted the colors. He placed his hands on her hips.

“So, is it sexual?” He pressed himself against her back. “Your knife thing. Does it get you off? If that’s what you’re into, we can do that.”

She furrowed her brows, “I’m not. No! Get off of me!” He caught her arms as she turned and tried to push him away. “I said I just came for the fucking knives, I’m not the type of girl you want.”

Her body twisted as she tried to get free. His hands slid over her sides.

A dirty smile on his lips, “I just have to have you, though.”

“I said, NO!” Her whole body felt ripped apart. She blacked out. The music covered the screams, so no one bothered to intrude.

Yoongi woke up alone and in pain around dusk. Had he spent the day passed out in an alleyway? Hell Spawn healed quickly, so a good stretch, and he was good to go.

He thought it’d be the usual routine. Sneaking into bars. Stealing stuff. Drinking. However, when he got to the bar, the devil in him got a bit too excited and wouldn’t be satisfied with a wallet or two.

Not tonight. He needed a ride. Which idiots left their keys out in the open? Two chicks at the bar, dressed up in sequins and smelling like an entire bath bomb. Bingo. He acted rowdy and threw both arms over them.

“Ey, pretty ladies, which one of you wants a good time with me?”

The two shoved him off, “We’re girlfriends, asshole!”

“Sorry, sorry, my bad. Cute couple!” He backed away after grabbing their keys and heading to the parking deck to see which ride they belonged to.

Zula woke up and looked at her throbbing and wet hands. Why were they red? Blood. The walls were covered with it. The floor was dyed with its hue. Oh fuck oh fuck. There’s no way she could have done all of this. Zula tried to clean up the mess. She wasn’t strong enough to do this on her own.

So, Zula grabbed one of his zip up hoodies, put it on, and ran. She always had a bunch of stamina, so she ran for a while. She had to get away, far away from this place. The more distance there was, the less they’d suspect it was her. Walking was better for thinking though, so she slowed her pace.

What happened? What would she tell the cops if she was found out? The truth: He tried to rape her. Lured her to his room with the promise of knives. Didn’t he deserve sex then for showing her something she liked? No, no, that’s not how it worked. People don’t deserve sex for being nice. Besides, she only went with him because he said he wouldn’t try anything.

Wait, where was she? Didn’t matter. Wherever she was, it was awful quiet for a Friday night. She was trembling so much that she couldn’t feel her legs.

She looked at herself in a shop window. Her eyes looked more reptilian, more gold than their regular hazel. Not possible. It was just Zula’s brain freaking out. She was just in shock. Obviously. That’s all it was.

The girl stopped in the middle of the road and looked at headlights. There was also a face. It wondered what the hell was she doing. It was the first human she had seen in a while.

The owner of the face opened the door and called out to her, “Are you gonna stand there all night, or ya gonna hop in?”

Nodding, Zula got in the car and the two drove off. She was waiting for his questions. He surely had to have a few. She was a mess, but he looked sort of messy too. Now she had questions, but no one said anything. He just handed her a beach towel that was left in the back seat.

After a quick glance, she took the towel and wiped her hands of the still wet blood. Why was he acting so ok about this? Zula was about to ask when a figure stepped in front of their car.

Taehyung wandered empty streets. Bright headlights caught the corner of his eye. A car. He’d never tried that before.

Tae smirked and stepped out in front of it. The gravel sharp against his skin as he tumbled across the road. Maybe a few broken bones if he was lucky. A new sensation. This was the most he’d felt in a while.

Someone grabbed the front of his shirt and was screaming something.

“What the hell was that, dude? What sort of demon just walks in the middle of the road in front of a car like that?” Yoongi yelled, pushing his face into the road.

Demon?

“Demon?” It seemed like the girl he was with was trying to hold him back, but he pushed her away.

“Yeah, Demon. You’re one. I’m one. He’s and idiot, but he’s a demon too.” He spoke as if it was obvious. “Why else would I have let a person looking like you in anywhere near me? You’re covered in blood, for Lucifer’s sake!”

“Demon’s don’t exist, you crack pipe!” She screamed.

A deep voice filled with glee spoke, “Am I really a demon? How would you even know if I was or not?”

Yoongi looked at the stranger in his grasp, “Your eyes are a dead give away. Not to mention you’re Hiding yourselves right now.”

Zula spoke. So it wasn’t just her mind playing tricks on her, “My...my eyes? What do you mean Hiding?”

He looked at her then back at the man who was smiling and bleeding, “Are...are you serious? You really, you guys really don’t know what you are?”

“Hopeless.” V chuckled.

“A sophomore in college who is way in over her head!” She paced in the middle of the street and put her hands on her face.

Yoongi stood and put his hands on his head, “Oh my Hell. Just get back in the car. We’re taking him with us. I can’t have two demons who don’t know they’re demons acting crazy and outing us like this.”

Zula did as told while the first stranger lifted the crazy stranger over his shoulder and put him in the back seat of the car. He was crazy attractive too. He didn’t say anything more, just sort of watched. Yoongi got back into the driver’s seat.

“What year where you guys born?”

“1995″ He said.

“1998″ She said.

Yoongi nodded, “That explains it. From ‘95 until 2000, there was a spike in Spawn who fraternized with humans. You guys are Demi-Spawn. Like Hell Spawn, aka Demons, but half.”

Neither believed what they were hearing. It explained so much about them. According to the strange man, going through times of high emotion would activate a Demi-Spawn’s powers which depended on where their parent came from.

Zula spoke up, “So, one of my parents came from Hell?”

“Right.”

“And I killed a guy using demon powers? My demon powers.”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind me asking, what was he doing that made you wanna kill him?”

She swallowed and folded her arms, “He tried to rape me.”

“Lust, thought so. The highly negative but sexual encounter awakened you.” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to the back seat. “As for you, your mom or pop is probably from Wrath.”

“And you?” Taehyung asked.

“Greed.”

V spoke up, scratching the lower part of his mullet, “So, should we tell each other our names or something?”

“No, no names. Once we get to the middle of nowhere, you're gone. I can't--”

“Please.” The husky voice said. “Let’s stay together. I’ve been searching for this all of my life. You can’t just drop us.”

Yoongi set his jaw, “We’ll see.”

They drove all night in silence. Yoongi looked at them. Unlike him, those two needed sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they stuck together.

Mstrlst | Next ->

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hoshivseight · 6 years

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Day7

The great thing about staggering this challenge is going back to add in narational edits. Case in point: the first bullet. Oh shit, maybe I should start putting summaries before the Read More.

Today I sewed something weird but beautiful, fell in love with a new type of clothing/accessory which I then waited 'til the end to analyze, and made some great progress with the bow.

Gotta remember to upload at least Day2. Maybe I’ll start uploading 2 days at a time…nah. The buffer should be…useful. At the very least, it’ll help remind me to do the shit I say I will in previous logs. Oh fuck. I forgot to do audio logs. Guess what’s gonna be a part of Day7! [[Note: it was not]]

Fucking randomly sewed a paper-plastic gift bag from at least a Christmas ago back together. It reminds me of Frankenstein, and I love it. [and yes, that’s the salmon-peach thread from before]

FYI, I keep the original document unedited, but I do end up editing the blog posts. They’re nicer, but occasionally [as you’ve seen] I have to hide some info.

Remember those leather buckle braclets? Well: now, thanks to crabbng’s fantasy au, I also like s h i r t l e s s - s l e e v e s.

Seriously they are my new religion and I will make some asap.

You may be wondering why I like them so much.

Well let me tell you.

Not only do they look marvelous.

But my torso is a fucking furnace

While my limbs feel like a corpse [I have been so told by many—also I can feel my hands getting colder and colder for no apparent reason, and frequently use them to cool down my neck or some shit. Even in the summer.]

So if any of you also have weird-ass circulation

Or just want to look cool

I hope you also appreciate the genius that is @crabbng for not only bringing them back, but gracing us with their beautiful art.

Fuuck I’m totally doing that bow today. Don’t fucking stop me. [[‘cause I’m having a good time, having a good time]]

Ah yes. Totally slipped my mind, but earlier I found a choker from a few Halloweens past…still perfect size, fits well, functioning Velcro…might iron it out before wearing it, but I like it! It’s got an amulet attachment, so hopefully I can hide it with the bow and use it to anchor the bow-tie itself!

Hilarious [[and by that he meant: so trying that he almost cried]] trial of trying to fit wings onto this relatively thin cardboardddd.

Holy fuck I was so worried the cardboard would completely bend. As it is they’re a bit warped. Now I need to make the centerpiece. Can’t waitttt. And then the stripes! And attaching…Most likely glue.

All parts have been cut. All that’s left is gluing and stripes. Might save for tomorrow.

I’m starting to see just how time-consuming applications can be…but I can’t really stop either of these. I just need to come up with a better system that has me more effective, while preventing burn-out. Finishing the bow is the fashion goal for tomorrow [especially considering how little time I’m about to have what with the holiday….which might affect my 100 days, but fuck it, I’ll try anyways.] [[he lie]]

Approximate work time: 6-8 hours

Approximate relax time: ~8 hours

Might want to edit these logs to be less vulgar…why don’t colleges like swearing? Maybe I’ll substitute ‘Fruit’ and stuff. [[I mean, should I really? Maybe for the next blog.............or maybe not, I have no idea. What do you think of my occasional potty mouth?]]

Was pretty productive today, all things considered…? I did a lot of things I’ve been meaning to do. Not all, but quite a bit—and as they were pretty important, I’m glad.

Oh shit I totally thought I had two days left. Turns out tomorrow’s the last day of this fashion challenge…

Just looked back to Day3′s log...how did I guess the rest of this challenge would end up being the bow, and that I’d really need to work to do the outfit. I guess I’ve found a true hobby.

I’m actually kind of sad that this is ending…it hasn’t been the easiest week, but it’s been kind of exciting. Well, sewing and improving has been. And being creative with the bow. Ahhh, I’d mourn this if I weren’t doing that next challenge…although I almost want to change it so I can include more sewing+fashion. Oh, did I analyze anything today? I just barely mentioned those shirtless sleeves, let’s go again.

It really went well with Bakugou’s overall look, I’m wondering how it would fit on a clothed person. Probably short sleeves, with small stripes of skin between the two. Short tight sleeves, in that case. Otherwise it could look like those double-shirts where the bottom shirt is long sleeve, top—short sleeve. Which would only work for a specific style. So technically it’s still an option. I prefer the short sleeve option, though. Would a crop top work? I’ll definitely try it some-time. A tank-top would work. A cami is iffy.

Okay. Hoshiv, off to greet the stars, considering the time. ‘Night.

#fashion week challenge #mini-challenge #challenge #fashion #fashion analysis #analysis #day7 #day 7 #log

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thran-duils · 7 years

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A Persistent Attraction

TITLE: A Persistent Attraction PAIRING: Reader/AU!Castiel SUMMARY: Your parents are having their 30th anniversary and you are visiting your hometown after years of being gone. After living in the city for so long, coming back to your small town is overwhelming and also brings about a lot of baggage. Including your intense high school romance with Castiel. WORDS: 1,859 AUTHOR’S NOTE: BTW, that “memory” is 105% from Broad City.

Part 2 || MASTERPOST || Fanfic masterpost

The house looked exactly the same. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Your parents kept up on the house on a regular basis and the only thing that could be considered new was the constant repainting and the porch they had replaced with new wood last year.

You were visiting for your parent’s 30th wedding anniversary. And naturally, basically the whole town was invited.

The door to the house opened as soon as you got out of the car. The driver moved around the back of the car to open the trunk and retrieve your bags for you.

Your mum and your best friend pulled you into tight hugs, giving you kisses. “You’re here!” Amanda squealed, practically bouncing.

“How was the plane?” your mother asked you as the driver placed your bags on the ground next to you.

“Fine. It was fine. And I’m glad to be here,” you addressed both of them. “Can we go inside though? It’s hotter than fuck out here.”

“Hey! Language!” your mother chastised you, causing you to snort because as if she had any room to talk about swearing.

You decided to flatter her, “I need some of your amazing sangria, mum.”

“I have a fresh batch!”

Yes, nothing had changed.

<> <> <>

“So, when we go to the bar tonight…” Amanda started as you unpacked essentials to put in the bathroom. She was sprawled across your childhood bed.

Of course she was already going there.

“Oh, you mean all the people I don’t want to see?” you teased, flashing her a smile.

Amanda rolled her eyes and retorted, “Exactly.” There was still a smile on her face. “But come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll be like a celebrity. One of the few who moved away. You can tell everyone about the big city!”

You snorted, “I’m sure everyone will be extremely excited to hear about me working and partying. Basically, the same as people do here. Just on a much larger scale.”

“Okay, but for example, what about that time you and your friend got locked out of your apartment and that creepy ass locksmith came and you lied and told them it was your neighbors apartment you lived in because he was asking where you slept?” This made you laugh and she said, “And you’ve told me a bunch more. Hell, I can even tell your stories for you and fill in the blanks!”

Giving her a mock sad look, you grabbed her hand. “I wish you would move there with me. It would be so much fun. And come on, the dating pool is way larger and has so many different kinds of options.”

Amanda wagged a finger at you, “That is very tempting. I am still visiting you this fall though, remember? Maybe I can snag someone while I’m there. Although, I highly doubt they’ll want to move here.”

“Which means you can move there!”

“Keep dreaming.”

“I will.”

<> <> <>

“You look high class,” Amanda teased you as the two of you walked from her car towards the local bar.

You couldn’t deny that there were butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You knew what she had said earlier was going to be true in a sense. Any type of disturbance in the normalcy here was going to cause a big scene. This is something you enjoyed about living in the city. You could go to the bar and be a complete new patron and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. Here, newcomers were stared at and prodded until they gave their life story about why they were there and how they came to be. Everyone knew who you were and why you would be there. But, they hadn’t heard from you in years. And you certainly had not been of legal drinking age to be in a bar with them. Drinking out in the back woods or at someone’s parent’s house did not have the same atmosphere as the bar.

Shooting her a look, you replied, “You’ve said that twice already.”

Amanda laughed, “I’m just saying. If you didn’t want to stand out, maybe you should have chosen a t shirt and some beat up tennis shoes to go with your shorts.”

“I don’t own ‘beat up tennis shoes’”, you told her. You had chosen a lace, black crop top and paired it with your brand-new leather jacket and short heeled, black boots.

“I know. How could you show your face anywhere in the city with those?” she teased as you started walking up the ramp towards the patio.

“At least I didn’t wear my four inch heels.”

Snorting, Amanda said, “Yeah, that would have been great on the gravel. I would have paid to see that. Why did you wear heels anyway?”

“We’re going out.”

“Right…” Amanda drug the word out as the two of you came up to the door. You had already seen a couple people from high school that you had purposely not made eye contact with on the patio. You stopped in front of the door hesitantly before Amanda gave you a nudge, “Come on. I’ve never known you to be nervous.” Her voice was quiet when she added, “And yes, he’s in there. I saw his truck out front.”

You shot her an annoyed look, “Thanks for that.”

“Just giving you a heads up.”

Forcing yourself forward, you walked into the loud bar. It wasn’t any lighter inside than it was outside, so your eyes didn’t need to adjust. It was a Friday night and the place was extremely busy. What else were they going to do on a Friday night besides the movies or going down to the river?

You made sure Amanda was behind you before you made your way towards the bar, wanting to ingest as much alcohol as you could before having to interact with people.

Your heart sank when you realized you recognized the bartender. It was one of the former guys on the baseball team that you had been friendly with. Bryce. Meaning… you had made out with him a few times behind the tool shed before he went to practice. He was still toned and looked great. No regrets there.

His eyes widened seeing you and then his face broke out into a wide smile. “Y/N!” he called over the music. “What the hell?”

You shrugged, acting more calm than you felt. And he pointed at you, “The 30th!”

“Yep!” you called back over the music.

He leaned over the bar and gave you a hug, best he could across the bar. “Shit, it’s good to see you. You look good! Amanda!” He greeted her, giving her a high five.

Amanda smirked and said, “Please, two doubles of whiskey!”

“You sure you don’t want a martini now?” Bryce teased you and you shot him a look. He laughed loudly and said, “Honestly, if you asked me to make that, I don’t know what I would do.”

“I think you would be surprised at how many people take shots and drink beer there, Bryce!” you retorted.

This drew another loud laugh out of him as he worked on getting you two well whiskey shots.

Amanda and you clanked the glasses and took the first shot. “God, please let this work fast.”

“Hey!” someone greeted Amanda and you turned to see who it was. Jackie. She was not bad and you were happy it was here and not someone else.

As soon as she saw you though, you wish it wasn’t her because her mouth fell open and she let out a squee, throwing herself at you, her arms wrapping around your neck. “Oh my GOD! You’re back!” She pulled away, still holding onto your arms and began asking you a questions a mile a minute. “Are you here for good? Or are you just here for your parent’s anniversary? Silly me, of course it’s just the anniversary. Who would move back here after moving away?”

“Yeah, the anniversary.”

She nodded excitedly, “That’s such good news! Your parents are such an amazing couple. You must feel so great having them as your parents. Do you keep in contact with them regularly?” You nodded and she looked touched. “That’s so nice. There’s some people who move away and just try to forget the place. I’m glad you have a good relationship with them!” She was always bubbly but she had obviously drank a bit. She was never this hands on. “Why don’t you guys come over towards the back? There’s a bunch of us back there hanging out!” She leaned in and said, “And Cas is back there, Y/N.”

Of course he was. This was going to happen eventually.

Amanda made to step in but you took care of it, “Maybe in a bit! Amanda and I have a few more drinks we wanna do up here. We will make the rounds.” You grasped her hand, trying to sound sincere. “Seriously, promise!”

Jackie threw her arms around your neck again and you forced a smile, uncomfortable with the closeness. She pulled away, “I’m so happy you’re here! I can’t wait to catch up! We will be getting you drunk tonight, trust me! Everyone is gonna be wanting to buy you drinks.”

You made to protest but Amanda chimed in, “Yeah, that’s what I was counting on!” You shot her a look and she smirked.

“Come to the back soon!” Jackie practically ordered you. “I’ll let everyone know you’re here!”

“Oh, you don’t have to…” you started to protest weakly but she was already moving back towards the crowd with her beers in both hands.

Amanda elbowed you, “You knew he was going to know sooner or later.”

“Let’s take this,” you muttered turning back to the bar and the both of you took the remaining shots. You caught Bryce’s attention and said, “Whiskey with diet. Two of them. Please. Doubles.”

“You’re gonna be slammed before you even visit!” Bryce laughed.

You teased, “You haven’t seen me drink in a long time, Bryce! My tolerance is still as great as ever.”

Turning your head, you peaked at the back of the bar where the pool tables were. Jackie, as she said, was excitedly telling everyone something. And you knew it was about you. Your eyes searched the group and you didn’t see him.

Until you did. His blue eyes cutting across the room, meeting yours. Christ, he looked good. He had obviously come here straight from work, looking sweaty. But that might also be the humidity. That was one thing you didn’t miss about this place. His baseball cap was the same he loved in school, just extremely beat up now.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you looked at the drinks in front of you. “Shit, I’m not ready for this.”

“What’s a bit of sex between an old boyfriend and girlfriend?” Amanda jested.

You glared at her, annoyed she was so convinced that’s where it was going to end up while you were here, and stated, “A lot. It means a lot.”

She tapped your glass and said, “Well, then make it good.”

~~~

CASTIEL TAGS: @prince-halfblood, @splendidcas, @klaineaholic, @letsthedogpackandthecats, @alexastacio, @winchesterforever12 @seirensou @tacos-and-trenchcoats @the-amaranthine @greenappleeyes

#castiel x reader #au castiel #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #my shit

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barelylivinblog · 6 years

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Forgive me Lord, for I am Female.

I think the worst part about being a woman is that the idea of being a woman is too confusing for even us women to understand.

For starters, the oh so famous talk of periods that will leave most men feeling uncomfortable. Get over yourselves. It happens. We bleed, it’s no secret. I’m a very open person, and often over share everything because I don’t really believe in the idea of "taboo”. I’m here on Earth to share my thoughts and feelings, and when you have a period once a month, sometimes those thoughts and feelings are about said topic. It’s happened too many times where I’ll say something about my period and the males of the room will get all weird about it. Like, you guys are allowed to talk about your shits and fucking girls but I can’t say “My period really sucks today.” without someone saying “TMI!”

Forgive me, for I have periods.

Another thing that we women have to hide the fact is that we have nipples. It’s like a public shaming if someone saw your nipple, just look at nip slips in the media, those stories go viral fast. News flash! Most of us have nipples. Lucky for females, ours actually have a use. I guess I’ve always just kind of tucked my tits away due to my parents teaching me to have modesty, but sometimes I wish I could be that girl that just has her nips rocking through her shirt because it’s just the human body. The only time it’s socially acceptable to show a nip is in the bedroom, but why? If I’m a mother and I need to feed my kid you best not think I’m about to save that for the bedroom. It’s the same body part, they don’t change as soon as we go out into public.

Forgive me, for I have tits.

I’ve heard it be said on multiple occasions that women are sensitive. Hell yes we are, but so is everyone. Women just know how to express it better most of the time. Not to shame my fellas, because I believe in equality, but come on. “Man up!” isn’t a good phrase, and neither is “stop acting like a girl!” I think this comes from the idea that women can snap into this mode where they put their heart into someone or something and full force put all their effort into it. So of course when things go south, we get upset. Who wouldn’t? How dare I cry about heart break or an animated movie, at least I have the balls to share that with someone other than myself. My friend and I have discussed how men are good at shutting away all their feelings, and I don’t think it’s their fault, I just think women are more open and have a different idea of closeness. Men close off their feelings because that’s what they’re expected to do. Seeing a man cry is the most heart breaking scene because it’s not typical to see. It feels like this secret you can’t tell anyone because it would be dreadful if anyone knew a man cried. It makes me feel bad, but then men are quick to call us out on caring and being crazy. Isn’t it crazy that your best friend will never know what upsets you? Forgive me, for I have emotions.

On a more physical sense, I find it annoying that I’m suppose to be modest but also sexy. Please choose one and stick with it because doing both is impossible. Better yet, just mind your own business about the length of my skirt or how much of my midrift you can see. It’s the human body, we all have one. It’s no secret. If I want to wear a cute crop top and high waisted skinny jeans with holes all through them, I’m going to shrug at the staring eyes and work it. This problem with clothing isn’t just a male vs. female thing, but a female vs. female thing. We girls will go against each other and judge one-another off our outfits. “Did you see that v-neck? Showing off the girls... such a whore.” You’ve heard the talk before. I used to be guilty of doing it as well. I think we’re so self conscious about what we’re wearing that it’s easier to judge everyone else. So please don’t tell me that I’m showing too much leg and that my crop top isn’t appropriate for said event. Forgive me, for I have short skirts.

Forgive me all together for being female, or for falling under the gender roles we’re given. I’m a strong believer in not really caring what you’re into as long as you aren’t killing people or causing harm to yourself/others. I don’t understand why men are suppose to be tough and dig in the dirt while girls are suppose to be polite and sit with dolls on the living room floor. I certainly didn’t grow up with one option, and you better believe I had a construction crew of Hot Wheels in the mud after it rained. Our stereotypes don’t define us, and yes, being a woman sucks, but I do love it. I love the elegance of my femininity, but also enjoy my rough-around-the-edges personality. You should also find the things you enjoy about yourself and embrace them, lace them into who you are physically, because the roles don’t matter in the end. It’s who you are on the inside that counts.

Forgive me Lord, for I am Me.

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oscillate-wilde-ly · 7 years

Text

Enough

Listen – listen! It’s not like Henry doesn’t know he has a problem, it’s just that it’s part of the whole gig, the whole folk-rock-singer-slash-drifter thing. You just don’t do that kind of thing without developing a drinking problem; it’s practically a pre-requisite to be at least halfway to drunk before attempting any Bob Dylan song in earnest. Even your basic college-aged indie youth with an acoustic knows that.

Waking up hung over with his head pounding on an unfamiliar couch, mouth as dry as the overflowing ash tray on the floor beside him – it’s just part of the look. Part of the lifestyle that justifies the early graying at his temples and the beaten shadows under his eyes, the way he shakes with sobs in his sleep a couple times a month, and the way he can’t remember what happened last night.

Last night. What happened last night.

The question echoes through him unanswered but full of pregnant possibility, and Henry knows better than to chase it any longer. Not here, anyway. Here with the Ikea couch and found-artisan rug and the who-rescued-who shelter cat sleeping square on his chest, all of which belong to the very nice couple who – this much Henry remembers – have just been beside themselves with sedated, bohemian excitement to put up local legend Henry “Hank” Darling for the night.

With a quiet groan he sits upright – or, as upright as the feline weight on his chest will allow. Soft gray light filtering in through the blinds on windows just above the couch tells him it’s just barely morning. It’s the kind of wake-up after the initial pass-out where he’s still a little tipsy, but sober enough to know he wants to be gone when his hosts wake up wanting to hear tales of the gig from the night before.

The night before.

It drops heavy like a cannon ball in a kiddie pool and in a second Henry’s up. The cat’s on the floor and so are his feet.

The best thing about being a folk-rock-singer-slash-drifter is that it’s real easy to pack up your stuff and go when everything you own fits in a guitar case and the pockets of your jacket. The best thing about staying with millennial-hipster-youth is they always put a glass of water out for you before going to bed when you pass out on their couch. He drinks it too fast but keeps it down – a trick of the trade that gets him out, out, out the door so that the little black rescue cat barely has time to sprint for the opening before it’s closed again.

Hangover sunglasses? On.

Guitar case? Secured.

Leering next door neighbor? Ignored.

Whenever the walk from the front door to the sidewalk takes longer than five seconds on account of the landscaping, you know you’re in a nice neighborhood. Whenever there’s someone outside before seven AM in matching jogging clothes or anything that buttons, you know you’re in a nice neighborhood. The aesthetic configuration of succulents and perennials dotting porches and hanging from verandas is utterly lost on Henry.

What matters now is the motion. Moving one foot after another, so that the little townhouse filled with rare vinyls and unchallenged monogamy and Swedish furniture is only getting smaller and smaller behind him all the time. It’s enough to get his blood going again so that the pain in his head is joined now by an ache in his back and one on his side, bruises fresh and festering. Little lines of red flecked across the fingers on his right hand, glowing pink cuts only a few hours old.

New.

Gained most likely in the past twelve hours judging by the blooming blue color on the ones he can see. The past twelve hours.

Out here in the newborn daylight, with the sounds of mechanical fits being had by lawn sprinklers and the occasional errant Labrador barking at his footsteps, Henry tries to remember.

…

It was like this: the open mic night part of the gig was open to anyone, but only he – Hank Darling – would be headlining, listed, and therefore, getting paid. At the best of times it was a “kitschy” hipster bar that had discreetly set up a stage in the back corner for local talent. In reality it was a dive of a place with a lone stool and a microphone older than the yellowing health-inspection paper forgotten on a wall (a wall plastered decoratively with cigarette-scented coasters and questionable stains).

It paid mostly in drink tickets and “exposure”, but that had never stopped Henry before.

And – listen! Henry would never judge anyone for the way they chose to live, or who they chose to fuck, or not fuck, okay? He wasn’t – isn’t – “-phobic” of any kind. That kind of shit could never stick to a kid too sad and scared to give a fuck, and it wasn’t apt to change just because the kid managed to survive long enough to make a career out of his drinking problem.

It was just that he didn’t – he didn’t expect to see him there, in the audience, bobbed black hair just perfectly curled under his ears, with eyelashes just too long to be natural and lips just too red to be naked and – what was he wearing? Henry had only just been a few beers back when he’d spotted the gender-bending boy who’d been babbling in his ear these past couple nights suddenly conjured before him in the audience like a spirit, all glitter and fish-nets and post-grunge-pop-crop-tops that flashed wildly when he talked (as if he ever stopped doing that).

The boy was like a siren who refused to even pretend that he wasn’t luring you to your doom in a shirt that said “SLUT” in big holographic letters and a mouth that said, “Come crash on my rocks, baby.”

His name was Alexander and only Alexander the way Henry’s name was Henry and only Henry. Hank was strictly the name he sang hopeful love songs under, or slow and sad covers of love songs someone else wrote, or long ballads of admiration and awe to nature that he shut up inside him when he shut up the guitar case every night.

Alexander had told him he didn’t go by Alex anymore, not since people assumed too fast it was a girl’s name, not since someone else’s assumptions meant someone else’s fist in his made-up face when they didn’t find the parts that they assumed matched the name under his skinny jeans or mini skirt or hot pants. (He told Henry this with a smile and a wink and a hand on Henry’s shoulder just barely touching).

From backstage (otherwise known as the corner behind the stage equipment) Alexander locked eyes with him long enough to curl that Cheshire cat smirk on his face before going back to making eyes at a stranger, like he was interested in whatever conversation he was having with whoever was buying his drink currently.

Fuck, maybe Alexander was interested in it. Not up to Henry to notice, to look, to care. One leg swung wantonly from the barstool Alexander was propped up on, too short to reach the ground even with platforms on.

He should have stuck out like a glittering thumb, looking like that in a shitty bar like this, even with the collection of riot grrls and nu-goths milling about. Alexander stuck out in the way that you were either looking At Alexander or Not At Alexander and never anything or anyone else. But the confidence Alexander exuded like a neon glow on some offensive sign dared you to want to fight him or fuck him; either option you chose said something about you, not him.

Either way it was your problem.

Either way he’d still be there.

It was only ever a question of how long it’d take Henry before he had to resign himself to approaching the bar to turn in a drink ticket for something to hold in both hands, just like it was only a question of how long after doing that before a newly familiar voice was in his ear, buzzing like a radio or maybe purring like a cat.

“This place is a shit hole.”

The best thing about being a folk-rock-singer-slash-drifter was most fans felt it was uncool to approach you before a gig. But Alexander was not a fan, and even if he was (was he?) nothing he did was uncool, anyway.

Henry leaned his front too hard against the bar for a second so that the sharp corner of the top bit sweetly into his stomach before he turned a lazy expression on Alexander. He replied first with a sip of his beer, then, “So you should feel right at home, then.”

The slightest tug at the corner of Henry’s lips when he spoke betrayed a whole lot more than his teasing intentions – not that he was noticing. Henry rubbed at the tip of his nose, sniffled, and settled on watching some kid with a laptop and a keyboard struggle to find enough plugs for her set-up behind the mic.

“Ha. Ha,” Alexander said the words in favor of actually laughing, but there was a grin on his face and in his too blue eyes that Henry refused to linger on. “Maybe I should have said something like: ‘Come here often?’ Would that have been better for you, Henry?” Alexander said it like the set up for a joke but the punch line never came.

Henry answered with a shrug and drink.

“Mm,” Alexander hummed undeterred by Henry’s silence, his back to the bar and his elbows on top so that his hands dangled off it with red-rubbed knuckles and bitten-down fingernails. “That’s my sister.” He nodded towards the woman on stage, then, after a beat he added: “You didn’t think I was here to see you, did you?”

Henry ignored the question (again).

She was a waifish thing with hair some impossible color of pink and she was wearing enough layers to suggest she had tried to walk out with the whole thrift shop on (if it was a thrift shop for very small drag queens). There was glitter under her eyes (they must share glitter, Henry figured) and when she opened her mouth to sing it sounded like what Henry imagined an especially innocent kitten might sound like if it knew how to work a Mac laptop and a synthesizer.

“I can see the resemblance,” Henry noted, and he plugged his mouth with a beer to keep from saying anything else.

Instantly Alexander’s face was in his as much as their height difference would allow, smug and sparkling, his lips saying: “Oh yeah? Is that because she’s so cute and I’m so cute? You can just say it, Henry. It’s okay. You can. Just. Say it.”

A groan. A grumble. Another beer to stop up his voice. It burned inside him alongside the alcohol, made his free hand ball into a fist now and then, choked him up into communicating with grunts and nods as Alexander carried on the conversation for him – both their parts and then some.

One or two dark-eyed boys stumbled on stage with their poetry journals in tow and left in the wake of scattered applause for bravery; now and then Alexander would put a hand on Henry’s shoulder when he talked, or on his arm. Chipped black nail polish winding around some loose threads of Henry’s jacket, winding and winding and Henry ignoring the way his muscles tense with every touch.

By the time Henry was meant to soundcheck, he had already moved on to hard liquor. Alexander’s voice was in his ears telling him, “Go get ‘em, Hank,” with that knowing self-satisfied smile that he seemed to always wear as if he always, always, always had something to be smug about.

Like just his existing in front of you was a triumph of rebellion.

It was an expression that had been searing itself into the back of Henry’s mind, which was arguably where he kept the majority of things that stuck with him for too long. A therapist had told him once in a stuffy counseling office in elementary school that trauma makes us compartmentalize differently, makes us wall things off and scale things back so that the focus is just on surviving today – right now – and everything else just gets pushed out of sight as a means to an end. Henry liked to think he was acutely aware of what was on the other side of his own mental walls, and that’s precisely why he kept them up.

His walls were translucent; hazy glass so he could squint and look at the monsters on the other side whenever he needed to, whenever he wanted to, and like a beta fish squaring up at his own reflection it made his colors brighter. By forcing himself to stare down his own monstrous self-destructive origins on a regular basis, Henry could justify his total inability to be anything to people other than an inevitable let-down. It made his music ache deeper. And it made every true emotion that managed to break through his haze of cigarette smoke and cheap whiskey drinks sear through him like a hot iron out of control.

It wasn’t something he would recommend, but it was one way to live.

With whiskey in one hand and his guitar in the other, Henry sat down at the rickety stool amongst casual whistles of approval and still out, over the little crowd that had gathered, was Alexander’s come-up-and-see-me-sometime smirk leering at him from the bar. Every passing sip made every coming strum of his guitar sound more and more and more like the mewling voice of indiscretion singing:

“Go get ‘em, Hank.”

…

After that, things get a little hazy.

A lot hazy.

The kind of hazy that makes his headache worse when he tries to push through it, and the way the sun keeps getting higher and brighter as Henry puts pavement behind him isn’t helping. There are some things that even hangover sunglasses can’t block out.

By now there are signs of life all around him as he walks; the front lawns have become invariably shorter and the picket fences have begun to morph into chain-link. Garages turn into rusted-out beaters haphazardly driven onto driveways and forgotten for eternity. The faces he passes aren’t glancing away at the last second when he comes close like they do in the nice neighborhoods – they never look at him in the first place.

The cuts on his knuckles sting in his pockets and shifting too much makes his bruises sing hymns of regret but walking with his head down is safe, it’s always safe.

Hands in his pockets, it’s only now that he’s dipped back into reality that he realizes what he’s been fiddling with in there. The little paper he’s been fondling idly, Henry discovers as he pulls it from his the pocket of his jacket, is a small napkin, partially shredded and particularly worn from his idle fingering.

In curling handwriting and black ink that seems too black and thick to be pen but otherwise unidentifiable to Henry, are the words:

5350 S Mryland ave #142

Beneath it, there’s the half-smudge of a too-red lipstick stain: a kiss mark done in haste.

Beneath that, Henry’s hands feel heavy and sluggish. There’s an itch in the back of his brain like something waiting to be overturned, some face about to come into focus – only if he starts looking for it, it might look back. So he crumples the thing, forgets he knows exactly where that address is, forgets that he’s trying to remember anything at all except how to put one foot in front of the other.

It’s the telltale crunching of glass under his feet that sends him back to the night before for the second time, this time against his will; broken glass from broken bottles that stick in his memory with edges jagged enough to cut through the blackout.

…

It was like being caught in an undertow: wave after wave crashing over him in slow, agonizing succession. Or it was like a prizefight with Henry Darling in both corners. The memory of his actual show was gone almost completely aside from picking up on those blue blues occasionally glancing at him from the back of the bar – occasionally! – with lazy disinterest and maybe one finger drawing circles on the bar top.

That image was clear as blue skies, but then – nothing.

Henry’s typical post-gig ritual was like this: find a table near the back and make his drink tickets and pocket change take his liver as far as they could. He kept his sunglasses on, mostly to discourage the average bar patron from making the mistake of thinking he was looking for company – if they happened to do anything to hide his own expression, or where his eyes were, that was purely coincidental.

The level of excitement that this tradition involved tended to vary from town to town, depending widely on the company he was keeping at the time, or lack thereof as the case may be. If anyone visited for very long that night, Henry’s blackout consolidator had efficiently wiped them from the scene.

The only thing that had stuck was, predictably, Alexander.

Alexander not coming over to sit with him the way he had the night before, or the one before that. Alexander not wheedling whatever words he could out of Henry with teasing back-handed compliments and fleeting touches.

(“So are you always this grumpy or is it just because you like me so much?” / “I bet all the girls think the gray in your hair makes you look like a sexy professor or something.” / “Henry. Henry! Say something nice to me and I’ll share my cigarette.”)

Instead it was Alexander and his sister trading cigarettes and mixed drinks. Alexander always just in his line of sight giving lingering looks and touches to some pair of fair-trade sneakers with a trendy haircut and always, always, always with that smile on his had-to-be-painted lips.

It figured, Henry argued to himself from the other side of the bottom of his glass on the other side of the room. It figured that Alexander would eventually lose interest, would eventually move on to someone who didn’t shut up tight like a vice any time things got too comfortable or close. He couldn’t tell you why Alexander had followed him around for a while up until now in the first place, but it didn’t come as any surprise that he’d figured out it wasn’t the best use of his time. The best thing about being a folk-rock-singer-slash-drifter was nothing surprised you about people, anymore.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to be pissed about it, though.

Pissed! Not jealous. Pissed.

Pissed that some wet-eared college drop-out with a sob story of student loans had replaced him as the object of Alexander’s chosen attentions as if the Henry was interchangeable with that kind of mediocrity.

From his table in the back of the bar, Henry considered just how forgettable the kid was, how utterly unimpressive. It took him a good full ten minutes of whiskey-fueled brooding to even recall that the face that Alexander was mooning at had also come up on “stage” at some point during the open mic before Henry’s gig, reciting some hack-job poetry that tried to force you to feel something in the name of art or ego or circumstance.

Comedy acts were better live, because you went with a purpose – with the intent to laugh. Same thing with shitty poetry: it just sounded better with a brick wall behind you and the lights down low. Going with the intent to feel. What a fucking joke.

So: a bottle, a broken bottle, the sound that pulled from the abyss the remains of images that he was moving towards closer and closer in his mind – it was louder than anything, louder even than the sound of performative laughter at unfunny jokes and the longer that Henry sat in the memory of watching and drinking and watching and drinking the louder it got.

There was the distinct feeling of burning anger in his stomach, brewing and bubbling like poison threatening to unleash itself from his lips. It was the sort of drunken anger that settled on him like increased gravity: made it hard to get up or do anything else except watch and drink (and watch and drink).

It was the napkin that finally made Henry snap.

The worst thing about being a folk-rock-singer-slash drifter was how you didn’t get to pick and choose what stuck and what the alcohol washed away. Some things you always lost to the liquor, like when he’d got a beer bottle in his hand or what he’d said when he crossed the room in a tempest two seconds later. All that had stuck was the feeling of fire in his chest, the way the bottle felt smooth and tense in his hand like it was about to pop.

Through the drunken lens of memory Henry saw himself snatching the napkin from Alexander’s fingers as he’d finished writing on it, just as Alexander was sliding it across the top of the bar over to whatever no-name emotional plagiarist he’d been oozing all over.

Henry couldn’t remember reading it at the time, or even trying to; the content didn’t matter to that version of Henry who had been marinating in a potent combination of alcohol, self-loathing, and a new kind of repression he hadn’t before thought possible for himself. Slow-cooked at a cool seventy-eight degrees on a mid-summer night, shaken, stirred, and ready to blow.

“Alexander!“ Henry heard his voice say it like it was someone else talking, but he felt the words rumble up from inside him as he wheeled on Alexander so he knew it was himself talking. He watched as he wedged himself between Alexander and this boy, this Not-Henry, like he was watching a movie.

A biopic.

Starring: Alexander’s blue-blue eyes sparkling like the glitter on his cheeks and six shades too dark from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, staring up at Henry with a fixation to suggest he was watching a car crash, a train wreck, a forest fire. The bar buzzed around them, the dim lights swimming and glowing like fireflies.

There was no one else.

Then that sound – that sound of glass shattering, and it was only neck-deep in his own inebriated flashback that Henry could now place the origin of the little bright cuts on his hand. The beer bottle was broken before he could think twice about it; smashing it on the bar was a knee-jerk reaction to the sounds of protest coming from the boy he’d cut out when he’d inserted himself in the situation like an expletive.

There was no one else because Henry had made sure of it.

Shattering the bottle on the top of the bar took less than a second. “Enough,” Henry uttered the word more like a prayer than a command and then as if in answer the bar went quiet. He couldn’t be sure for how long because now with bits of glass on his knuckles and his mouth dry from all that he’d shut up inside of it, the seconds stretched on with impossible slowness.

It could have been an eternity that he stood there and Henry wouldn’t have noticed, for all Alexander’s expression had caught in that moment rooted somewhere between animal fear and sheer incredulous excitement.

And there it was: that little smirk tugging at the corners of his ruby lips, pulling just up through his cheeks and then finally flooding into his eyes so that he was practically beaming at Henry from where he sat on the barstool, legs still swinging, glitter still flashing and blinking on his cheeks like pinball lights.

Like a slot-machine jackpot – and Henry was going to get his cherry.

There was no denying that Henry was the one who kissed Alexander first, desperate and more than a little frustrated against Alexander’s still-smirking mouth. Henry would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of kissing that smirk off his face once or twice before, but lying was half of surviving most days. This was more than surviving.

Alexander tasted like sugar-flavored vodka and clove cigarettes. He was warm and pouring all over Henry like water, flowing into him and flooding his senses with soft skin and a softer tongue. At some point Henry must have put his hands in Alexander’s face hair because it was between his fingers in an instant, threaded through them like the glittering siren might slip away through them.

The last thing that was clear to Henry was the feeling of hands in his pockets, and the upcoming rush of sound of a bar responding to some drunken asshole breaking a beer bottle coming to crash over him.

…

Then it goes blank: just the couch, the daylight, the cat.

By now he’s walked enough blocks to feel as at home as a homeless drifter can; the shouts of children and the errant smell of burning cigarettes feel more like home than manicured lawns or minimalist-modern-brownstones.

There’s a moment where Henry has to decide on a street corner: right or left. He can look up, catch the street signs and consider one or the other as though it might make a difference but he knows better. His feet know better.

A simple turn around the corner and he’s there: “5350 S Mryland ave”. He folds and unfolds the napkin in his hand, not looking at it – just holding it.

Number one hundred forty-two is visible from the sidewalk. It’s always been visible, each of the countless times he’s walked past it during each of the countless times he’s drifted through this city. Now, through the haze of a summer mid-morning, it looks different somehow. Henry has never before noticed the little Dollar Store paper lanterns dangling from the overhang, partially shredded from weather and age, but they seem appropriate now. The string of fairy lights wrapped around support beams peeling with paint look even more so.

Whether or not he meant to end up here, and why his feet took him here, are two questions that Henry kills with his fist against the door – knock knock – one for each. Seconds pass where Henry is just some guy with a hangover, waiting on a doorstep of an apartment he’s never really seen before, and then it opens to the petite pink-haired pixie whom Alexander has identified as his sister. She’s either half-dressed or whole-dressed in half-clothes, and her face goes from casual annoyance to screwed-up distaste in record time when their eyes meet.

“What the fuck do you want?” She demands, her voice going up and down on “fuck” and “you” and she’s looking him up and down like he’s made of garbage and oozing something worse.

It’s not the least hospitable greeting Henry’s had – not even the worst he’s had in this city – maybe the worst on this block.

She’s got her hands and arms crossed over her chest and they’re covered in various bracelets and rings and tattoos that are small and black and simple. Henry can see over her shoulder and into the tiny apartment (which is particularly easy, given that she’s even shorter than her brother by Henry’s judgment) to where Alexander has flung himself on a couch that’s ragged and may have once been a nice shade of green. He’s laying there like a ragdoll of Daisy Buchanan or Dorian Gray, cheeks rosy from the oncoming summer heat or something else entirely.

“Just thought I’d drop by,” are the words out of Henry’s mouth, though his eyes are still over the sister’s shoulder.

She observes: “How fucking considerate,” and from inside in a perpetual whine Alexander calls out without lifting his head and with mock fascination,

“Is that Hank Darling? Artemis! Don’t be rude.”

The pastel-pink princess who is apparently Artemis offers him a very un-nymph-like scowl to make it clear she isn’t moving out of his way with anything short of reluctance. Henry understands, as his reflection prompts a similar scowl on his own face most days, and he moves inside careful not to brush past her too close.

The apartment is what nice people would describe as cozy, more accurately an explosion of books, clothes, posters, ash trays, lighters, and throw pillows strewn across so many second-hand surfaces, all of which contributed through color and the apparent possession of a Bedazzler to an overall aesthetic kicking somewhere between Lisa Frank and heroin-chic. If one looked closely, it might be noted that none of the wall adornments have been hung in such a way as to leave any structural marks on the apartment itself. For how littered the place is, it’s small enough that the two of them could pack it into so many boxes and disappear without leaving so much as a fleck of pink hair dye to mark their history there.

Alexander pulls his legs up from where he’s lying on the couch, tucks them under him presumably to make room for Henry who doesn’t need to look to see the pleased smile on Alexander’s face. He sits. Alexander stretches his legs out across Henry’s lap and makes a kissy face at him and the loud sounds of smooching to match.

For her part, Artemis affords them both a healthy scowl before disappearing behind one of two closed doors in the place (the one with strands of star-shaped lights carefully balanced on the top of the doorframe and handing down on either side as opposed to the other one which is similarly decorated only by some repurposed bar signage now used, Henry assumes, to mark the bathroom, as it reads “The Boom-Boom Room”).

The morning-turned-afternoon light makes the place feel warm and for a little while it causes the yellowing pink bong on the coffee table to throw rosy colors across the room as sunshine filters through it. Alexander’s toenails are painted some old shade of lavender and he’s on his back watching Henry, his arms thrown casually over his head to dangle off the side of the couch like someone tossed him here and then just walked away.

“How’s your hand?” Alexander asks with a knowing look, and he has to press his lips together to keep from grinning about it. Henry opens the fist he doesn’t realize he’s been making, and for a moment he examines the tiny cuts on his knuckles born from beer bottle glass.

“Fine.” Henry answers with the faintest hint of a laugh. He takes his sunglasses off, and the little bit of stomach peeking out from under Alexander’s shirt and the sun-bleached green of the couch all get six shades lighter. Six shades brighter.

Suddenly Alexander is moving, upright and shifting closer to him. “I wasn’t sure you’d get my note,” Alexander declares like he’s singing a victory song. He’s on his knees crawling towards Henry, and he reaches across into Henry’s jacket pocket and pulls out the napkin like a prize.

Alexander asks: “How much did you drink last night?”

“Enough.”

Alexander puts his head on Henry’s shoulder, looking away from him, into the sunlight coming in through the blinds and, again, asks: “How much do you remember?”

With a smile just audible in his voice, Henry answers:

“Enough.”

#short story #henry #alexander #enough #original content #oc

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