#AC HAS BEEN FIXED !!! KITTIES ARE COMING HOME !!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

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Love talk - Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 10k words

Genre: fluff, smut

Rating: 18+

Hello bunnies! I know you’ve been streaming Dynamite (I’m doing so as I revise and edit). I decided to postpone publishing the piece, so that we can focus on streaming and then as soon as the 24h are over and you’re well-rested you’re hopefully all ready for this 😏

Basically, I’ll do a quick recap of Yoongi and Kitten’s sliver of backstory. They’ve been dating for a couple months on again off again (he’s quite busy with schedule) and have been on several dates, however the situation escalates when the two start playing a steamy late-night after-date 20 questions game.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol. Swearing. This is smutty, especially in the end. This is intended for an adult public. Some of the themes are only discussed by the characters. Strong language, alcohol consumption, masturbation both male and female receiving, same for oral (feat. face riding). Mild voyeurism/exhibitionism, quite detailed description of sexual positions and fantasies, discussion on STDs, mentions of previous relationships and past traumas (abusive boyfriend and one very sorry fuck). Choking, breast worship, mentions of restrictions, sensation play and switch Yoongi. This should be all. Also, watch Kitten thirst for Yoongi’s hands (and tongue. and lips. and all the rest of Yoongi) for 10k words. (On a second note, watch Yoongi drool -- only metaphorically, much to his dismay -- over Kitten’s tits).

Yeah, it’s date 10 and these two haven’t kissed yet, I somehow think that Yoongi is the kind of guy who would wait till he’s dying and then just pounce. Also these two just want to jump each other’s bones and I can’t wait for you to see them in Illicit Affairs (definitely my 2nd favourite couple -- ‘cause Joon will be A Lot™)

Wordcount is around 10k.

Since I need to start planning next scenarios, I need you to help me choose the theme, you can vote at the link in my bio!

Here is my masterlist, enjoy 💜

“God, what’s with the weather tonight?”

“Man, this is a nightmare, get in quick.” The arm around your shoulder loosened a little as he let you move quickly from under his umbrella to the passenger seat of his car. As you got comfortable and tried to fix your hair and makeup a little, he walked around the car, opening the driver’s door, sliding in quickly and, with a sleight of hand, shaking the umbrella, closing it and smashing the door shut as fast as possible.

“Damn it.” He moved the soaked object at the foot of the backseat, stretching in the process with a groan.

You set with your hands pressed together, shoved innocently between your thighs.

This was your tenth date with Yoongi and you were smitten over him. Also, horny, but that’s for another moment. You’d been dating without commitment for about two months, the timing absolutely awful – he was in the middle of promotion with the group – but he had been too hung up on you to wait. He had wanted to do things properly, but after two weeks of stalking your profiles on social networks and making a fool of himself anytime you accidentally met, he decided he needed to act, and quickly so.

You went for a coffee once, then he brought you lunch, then you started with your sneaky dates at the cinema, walks at Han river late at night and dark and discreet bars dominating the rooftops of Seoul.

But the cinema was your most recurrent. You were just back from one of your dates at your go-to theatre, at two a.m, the late night show allowing him enough privacy to sneak around and protect you from any prying eyes.

He started the car and asked if you needed the AC on. “You have goosebumps on your arms.” He commented.

He is attentive. And caring. Which really makes you want to jump him. But again, digressing.

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” You replied kindly.

“Okay.” Moving out of the parking lot he started driving to your house, stopping at a couple traffic lights, looking at you as he waited. You looked back at him, smiling affectionately. He took your hand, holding it and warming it up in between his.

“Who would believe it’s September, it feels at least November out there.” You commented, feeling extremely dumb in discussing the weather, but too afraid of letting your mind delve in more mature or appropriate topics.

“Sure you’re okay?” He asked, as he placed your hand back, the lights turning green.

“Yeah.” You risked evaporation, looking at his focused expression as he drove. Could you believe he hadn’t kissed you yet? No. Could you imagine why he hadn’t done that yet? Hell, no. You had squeezed your brains trying to imagine why he hadn’t kissed you while at the same time keeping on asking you out, date after date.

The night lights reflected beautifully on his delicate features, on his cute nose and his round and soft cheekbones, on his pouty, blatantly soft, deliriously pink, wildly wanted lips, on his flashy silver watch, on his sparkly, delicate necklace, on his small and sober earrings. You wanted him. Your heart skipped a beat at the way your body and mind aligned in that statement. The pressure you felt within you was a living, beating, ravenous thing, enlarging its size like a bird puffing its feathers.

His hands on the wheel were extraordinarily pale and sturdy, skeletrical but also undoubtedly strong. You wanted them on you, grabbing and groping your flesh. And the way he seemed to chew on his lower lip, opening and closing his mouth in that gesture which is so his, as if he were tasting wine or coffee.

You didn’t even realise you had arrived at your place, since you were so caught in staring at him. “A picture will last longer, Kitten.” He teased.

You blushed, turning quickly to look out your window.

“Oh, you’re shy now...” He smirked. “Go figure, I had a proposition for you.” He commented, almost with disinterest, his mouth speaking through a fake pout, the corners of it turned downward.

“I’m curious.” You said, turning to him.

“I don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He admitted, catching your hand again. “I’ll be away for ten days. With the guys. We’re leaving tomorrow evening.” He explained. “Tonight is my last available moment with you and I know it’s two in the morning and all the rest, but I want to spend more time with you.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. “Do you mean…?” You hoped he had somehow sensed your longing. He seemed to have a direct line to your brain, reading you in a way that scared you too often.

He grinned. “I mean, whatever comes from this. Just talking. Just watching you as we talk. It’s not the same over the phone.” He said with a frown.

You nodded. “Do you wanna talk here? Would you like to come upstairs?” You asked, trying to feel the mood.

He bit his lip and laced his fingers together, placing them between his knees and hunching his back. “You see, I kinda wanted to take this to my place. But I promise you I won’t make a move. It’s really just talking.”

Please, do make a move. You silently begged – although you were too shy to actually speak.

“Yeah, nice. Okay.” You replied with a happy smile.

“It’s okay if you want to stay here. Or go upstairs. It’s just that I really wanted to see you at home.”

The tenderness of his domesticity killed that hunger rumbling in your insides and made your head float up high, with cute pink clouds and angels singing and stars glimmering.

This is a crush.

“Show me your crib, kitty cat.” You joked. He laughed adorably at that. He looked radiant.

As he started driving to his place you got back to your thirsting over him, this time openly oogling at his confident charm, at the way he looked so used to all of this. The way he lead you out of the car in the underground parking lot of the residence, the way he locked the car and punched in his passcode to the apartment.

“Here’s the crib, kitty cat.” He taunted right back.

The place looked immaculate. Spot on. Tidy. Neat. A bit cold but his. And it smelled so good. Like cinnamon and fir. Like a cosy, winter cabin. You wanted a blanket and a hot chocolate and a Christmas tree. You wanted him in an ugly turtleneck jumper and flannel sweats and furry slippers.

You wanted home.

“It feels very nice in here, Yoongi.” You couldn’t stop looking around, drinking in every small detail. You understood why he had wanted you here. He wanted to see if you could fit here.

He noticed you did.

“I got these, for you.” He said, offering you a pair of slippers, gesturing for you to take off your shoes as he did the same. He didn’t need to ask twice.

He led you through a quick tour of the house, moving quickly away from his most private places – the bedroom and the studio. You understood his reserve on those, giving his hand a quick squeeze in understanding.

“Finally, the living room.” He explained as he switched on the lights illuminating a large space with a thick cream carpet covering the cold white marble, the room completely dominated by a black leather couch. It looked very traditional and “grandpa”. It really resembled him. “Might as well settle in, we’re gonna be here for a while. Want to drink something?” He asked.

You. “What do you have in mind?” You asked, shutting up your inner slut.

“Well, I was thinking I wanted to do that ‘get-to-know-each-other’ kind of thing.” He said, opening a cabinet in the console under the gigantic tv. In the meantime ha started a slow rap playlist from his phone. “I know this will sound like usual fuckboy who’s trying to make a move, but I have no intention of getting you drunk. I’ll drink, and I promise I’ll be perfectly responsible for my actions, but you don’t have to drink or do anything you don’t want to.” He said, putting some whisky on the coffee table together with two tumblers.

However, you opened the bottle and poured some alcohol first in his glass and then in yours. “Now it’s me the one with a proposition, mr. Min.” You cocked your head playfully. “We play twenty questions. In turns we will ask twenty questions to each other. If you don’t want to answer you pass and drink.” You explained quickly.

“Okay. Let’s get it, Kitten.” He said with a smirk, as both of you sat down at the two sides of the L-shaped sofa, near the corner. “You start, ____.”

“Warm up round, yeah?” You asked.

“Play your advantage carefully.” He suggested.

You nodded, quickly leaving aside dumb and obvious questions, but still going for an innocent one. “How many exes do you have?”

“Okay, nice. Well. I’ve “officially” had three girlfriends and two flings. All the relationships ended because of my job and lifestyle.” He offered you a free piece of information. He didn’t mind anyway. “My turn?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m satisfied.” You replied. “For now.”

He grinned devilishly. “What about your exes?”

You nodded as if expecting the question. “Officially one. It was a long, painful relationship. I’ve had flings though. Maybe eight or nine occasional partners.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. I really didn’t expect that but it’s cool to me.” He said. He really didn’t mind. You’re a woman in her midtwenties, and you have the freedom to do what you want with your body. “Next.”

You looked down and toyed with your fingers, then looked up with a curious smile and gleaming mischief in your eyes. “I’ve gotta ask. When was your first time?”

He smiled. “I was nineteen. I had been dating this girl for a few months. We did it on my birthday. She was two years older than me, showed me the ropes. But even if I really liked her, it all got to hell when we debuted. She was only in it for the fact that I was an idol, she wanted an in, I think. Changed her mind when she realised I was sort of a loser.”

“Well, look at that loser now.” You said, looking him up and down and licking your lip.

He laughed embarrassed.

“I won’t do that mistake.” You promised, this time with a serious expression.

“We’ll see.” He commented, looking you up and down himself. God, he was getting flirty. A pleasured shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the cold. “My turn. When did you do it for the first time?”

Again you nodded. “I was with a childhood friend. It wasn’t a relationship. Just, we thought it was a good idea to do that together, because we knew each other and we trusted each other. It was nice. It felt nice. It was the summer after our senior year in high school. He moved out for university afterwards and we lost each other. But it’s a good memory, I must say.” You reminisced fondly. “No unrequited feelings, though.” You clarified, afraid that he would misunderstand.

“Okay. I’m glad it’s a good memory. I was afraid that the painful ex had been your first.” He commented, leaning towards you slightly.

“No, thank fuck.” You muttered. “Let’s move on, yeah?”

He nodded.

“I kinda have to ask this one, out of curiosity and for personal reasons. Have you ever been tested for STDs?”

He blinked and crossed his legs. “I have. It’s part of my medical check-ins. Of course the tests are more for... completeness, so to say, rather than actual need. My sex life is not that active, and when it is, I always use protection. I’m quite obsessed with it, to be honest.” He explained, his defensive stance opening up. He answered thoroughly, not even thinking of how much he was offering freely. “Do you mind me asking the same question?”

“Not at all. I also got tested. After my relationship I had to. My ex wasn’t very faithful.” You replied, blushing. “During all my flings I’ve always used protection except once. I was a bit dumb back then.” You admitted, wincing painfully. “And after my last one I got tested. He didn’t make me feel like a condom was safe enough. Thank God, everything is absolutely fine and I’m clean.”

“Oh, yeah, same here.” He offered back, with a shy laugh. “Ready for question three?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to ask one last question, for my peace of mind. Do you expect monogamy from me?” You asked.

“Do you?” He deflected.

You smiled “I asked you, Yoongi. Do you want me to date you exclusively?”

“Well I do. Do you? Want to date just me? I mean.” He asked.

“Yes, I will date you exclusively if you’re dating me exclusively.” You replied, matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Of course I’m dating only you.” He murmured with a pout. “Why would I be seeing someone else?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“Well, I’m strictly monogamous, ____. I’m giving you my undivided attention and all my spare time. Don’t you ever doubt my commitment. I don’t cheat.” He seemed almost too serious for a moment.

“I needed to know.”

“It’s okay. But just because you got burned once, that doesn’t mean that everyone wants to burn you, okay? That’s a bastard’s move. I promise you I won’t.” He said. And for the first time you felt like believing in it.

You took a deep breath, then smiled. “Well, anyway, you already asked your question. So it’s my turn again.” You said, cheekily.

He huffed, offended, but let you go on.

“Time to start drinking, Yoongles.” You chanted in a sing-song voice.

He laughed silently. “We’ll see.”

“What’s your favourite position in bed?” You asked, trying to peek into his private life.

“Should I drink? At this? You have to seriously one-up your game, kitten.” He stared at you intently. He was desperately trying to keep a poker face to hide how much he wanted to climb over your body and hide in the crook of your neck, inhale your sweet scent, which was enhanced by the rain that had hit you earlier.

“I’m quite traditional. I like anything that allows me to see the face of my partner. So missionary, cowgirl and lotus. When I’m a bit angsty I go for doggy. Spoons is another one I like – and also an awfully underrated one. My past lovers all said that the angle is amazing. It’s very rewarding.” Again, he gave you more than what you asked for. He wanted you to know these random things about him. He was telling you everything he wanted you to know. Who cares about vulnerability and offering too much? His aim was to earn your trust. And for you to repay his prodigality in kind. He wanted you to open up and overshare things about yourself. He wanted to know what to imagine when he thought about kissing you. When he thought of you while touching himself. He wanted to understand what he could ask, what you could possibly like, what scared you, what you needed comfort in.

At this point you were imagining him behind you, a hand at your waist, the other on your breast, his low moans caressing your ear, eyes closed, lost in bliss. Snap out of it, slut. “Wide choice.” You commented with an awkward chuckle, still trying to get back from your fantasy.

“It really depends on my partner, though. Whatever works for them.” He shrugged, his arms leaning forward, palms up. “My turn, right?” He waited for your confirmation.

“Off you go.”

“What’s your most frequent fantasy?” He muttered, shy but also sultry, his voice a low rumble.

You inhaled deeply, noticing how close he had got to what you were thinking a few seconds ago. “Dammit, I might drink.” You looked at the glass, almost lunging for it. But it was a feint. ”Actually lately I’ve been thinking a lot about having sex in the kitchen.”

Fuck. He was out. He licked his lip. He almost thought you were done with your confession, but you went on.

“Being pushed up against the counter and bent over. Or being lifted up and sat on the counter. Having someone tease me while I’m spread on the table. Or having to keep a straight face while someone is toying with me underneath the table.” You scratched your cheek, “You pick.” You whispered slightly embarrassed, laying your hands on your cheekbones in an attempt to calm down your blush.

He lifted the glass. He needed to calm down.

When you noticed his gesture you sucked your lips in, trying to hide a smug grin.

“Are you proud of getting under my skin, Kitten?” He asked.

“Yes, of course.” You replied immediately.

“Well done, ____.” The way he almost moaned your name made your blood soar to your ear. “Your turn, kitty.”

“Are you more on the dominant or submissive side?” You asked. You honestly couldn’t figure this out. He showed small signs leaning towards both sides. He was traditionally courteous, giving you attention and taking care of you, paying for food and using his body language to show you were taken, that you weren’t hanging out with a friend or a relative, but a possible love interest. At the same time, he never initiated openly intimate contact, rather he waited for you to initiate. And he had never kissed you, nor shown any interest in doing so.

“I’m leaning dom. But it’s a slight preference. It has a lot to do with my partner’s preferences. I’ve both dommed and subbed in the past. I like the protective, possessive side of domming, but I also like the receiving, caring side of subbing. Still I enjoy the control that comes from being more dominant. I would say it’s 65 to 35 for domming.”

You nodded. That sounded good. “That’s nice. I’m also a bit in the middle. Leaning sub, though.” It felt natural replying. It felt like he should know.

“Thank you for giving that up.” He smiled, warming up to you, trying to associate a positive outcome to your sharing personal information about yourself. “Now, about my question.” He fumbled a bit in his head, trying to go for something intimate, but not openly sexual. “Okay, if you could kiss any part of your significant other but their face, what would it be?”

You smiled at the cute question. Because you honestly didn’t think of the sexual side of it. “Well, you said no face. Let me think... I think I really like giving hand kisses. They’re old school, but also so meaningful. They’re apparently platonic and innocent, but they have that side of worship and adoration that just makes me weak.” You hugged yourself, growing smitten at the thought.

He cocked his head to the side, looking at you with a curious and endeared expression.

“I also like kissing on the chest, like the breastbone, like the very center of the chest. Another not openly sexual spot, but I think it’s so tender. There’s the heart there, so it’s an especially fond spot. It sort of implies that the other person is hugging you, and that you’re laying your head on their chest.” You gushed, turning absolutely tender at the thought.

“What about the face?” He asked. He wanted your hand kisses. He wanted his fingers in your mouth, but that was not the point of the question at all and you were there smitten and cute and he should stop sexualising your cuteness outburst.

“Isn’t that another question?” You smirked, brow creasing.

“I should have asked for ‘anywhere but mouth’. Dumb me.” He huffed out and sulked.

“Then, forehead kisses. Underrated. Affectionate. Platonic but so tender. They go to a whole other level of intimacy.” You murmured, anything to stop his sulking, which was making your heart twist in your chest.

He grinned “Thank you.” He said, sinking his head between his shoulders.

“Well, pay up for it with question six. Thoughts on being vocal during sexy time?” You asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate one second. “Tendentially I’m not very verbal, and I try to keep it quiet. After such a long time with roommates, that’s kind of ingrained in me. Since I moved out, I kinda got more vocal, still not very verbal, but don’t expect pornographic feats.” He laughed, trying to relax the mood. “For my partner, any sound is a nice sound, as long as it’s not fake porn screaming. Subtle moaning and heavy breathing get me going quickly. Sensitive ears and stuff.” He scratched his neck. He was getting worked up again. Deep breath, boy. He scolded himself. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks. Come on, shoot it.”

“It’s my number six?”

“Yes, champ. Go get it.” You teased cheekily.

He took in a big breath, licking his lips.

God, any more lip game and you’d throw yourself at him.

“Quick reminder: you have your drink there, just in case.” He offered. “Have you ever had a sex dream?”

Yes, about you and your dirty mouth and naughty hands. Wait, do dirty daydreams count?

He misunderstood your pause for a sign of reluctance. “Your drink is there, ____, waiting for you.” He reminded you.

You took your glass.

He nodded with little movements of his head, his expression neutral. That’s how much is too much, he though.

“I’ve dreamt of a classmate performing oral on me, once during that relationship I mentioned.” You admitted after taking a sip. Indeed, liquid courage. “I felt awful when I woke up. But it was an epiphany of sorts. It really made me understand how fucked up it all was. I don’t usually have those dreams.” You admitted. “Although I have dreamt random stuff about being naked and sexual feelings related to non-sexual contexts. Like once I dreamt I was canoeing on a rough river and I had this complicated torso bondage thing going on.” You laughed awkwardly.

Breast bondage. He was salivating. Maybe he was overthinking it but his mind had reserved a special spot for your breasts and maybe you didn’t even like nipple play that much and he was just making it up in his head. He closed his eyes to avoid checking your chest. He knew it would kill him. He was already dealing with a semi, elbows propped on his knees to hide it, hoping that the angle and the dim lights would help him. In a part of his brain he started building a folder about your previous relationship, saving there all the useful information. He sort of assumed, because of the dream you had recollected, that oral was some sort of hot topic during that time.

“Thank you, Kitten. I was afraid I had gone too far.”

“It’s okay. It’s just… I do wanna open up to you, but there’s hurtful stuff in the process.” You admitted. “I’m a bit fucked up.”

“We all are, sweetheart.” He reassured you, wanting nothing but to hold your hand, bring it to his heart, to his face, to his lips.

“My turn!” You smiled excitedly. “Sleeping habits: pjs, underwear or naked?”

“My sleeping habits or my preferences for my significant other?” He asked, trying to understand the answer you expected.

“Well, since you asked, both? For the kisses question earlier.” You reminded him.

“Nice, okay. I often sleep in pjs, especially when it gets colder. Naked feels nice too, I guess. Usually in the summer. When I’m on vacation.” He thought about the other one. How would he want you to sleep next to him? “I think I like my partner in very loose clothing. Oversized t-shirt and panties.” No bra, of course. He wants his hands to move there freely. “Naked sounds nice, but I don’t expect it. Some people feel vulnerable like that. My ex did.” He explained.

You understood, people are different, et cetera, but at the same time you asked yourself who wouldn’t want to sleep naked next to him. Feel him waking up, his warm skin enveloping you, his hands and mouth having free access to anything he craved, being completely laid bare for his whims and wants.

He noticed you were distracted and asked you his question right away.

When you noticed him staring you moved your head forward, waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve already asked, but maybe you were distracted, Kitten. How would you rate your sex drive from one to ten?” He asked. “To understand your needs, you see.”

You settled back against the back of the sofa, smiling and thinking. “I’d say around seven? Maybe eight? Like, usually I fool around about two or three times a week. Maybe four if I’m feeling very spoiled and needy.” You explained, fumbling around with the words. Yeah, you have toys and use them. Yeah, you masturbate and have an healthy sex life. Getting laid helps you deal with stress and mood swings, and endorphins help you keep your mood up, what’s wrong with that?

“Reasonable.” He didn’t comment on your fooling around. He might as well try to figure that out with the next question.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Is that your question, Kitten?” He waited for your confirmation. At your lively nod, he smiled. “I think I’m also around seven. As you said, I fool around about three to four times a week, when I’m quite relaxed. Sometimes I might get too tired and just avoid it entirely. Sometimes I’m tired but nervous and just do it more often but take shorter sessions. My question now.” He wanted to speed things up a little. It was around three now and he was afraid you wanted to bail on him.

“Go.” You said, already expecting this one to be bad.

“Do you use any sex toys?”

You laughed. “Yes. I do.”

“That’s it?” He asked, impatient to know more.

“When did this conversation become so explicit?” You asked.

“It was you who started it. But since I’m interested in knowing what you like and what you need, I realised I could use it to my advantage. I want to build intimacy with you before I start actually messing with you. I want our first time to feel right. I want to be able to laugh it out, were things to get messy. I want to know how to make you lose your mind beforehand.”

“If you say so…” You smiled suspicious but also curious. “I have a vibrator. A simple, practical one. Very old school, a bullet number. I also have a double density dildo. Expensive ordeal, but most definitely worth the money. And nipple suction cups. They’re still new. It’s a gift from myself I did a few months ago after a tough time at work.”

Fuck, he wanted to shove his head in a frozen lake. Could you? For real? He dragged his hands down his face.

“I wish I could see what’s going on in your head right now.” You wondered, faking aloofness. You were most likely ready to spread yourself on the coffee table and ask him to feast on you. “Now, about my question.” You followed your intuition. “What’s the body part that turns you on the most?”

He took a sip.

Don’t leave me hanging, Yoongi, please. “I like eye contact. Makes me understand the mood of my partner. It really turns me on when my partner maintains eye contact during sex. And I’m a breasts man. A hopeless one at that.” Again he shrugged in an “I can’t help it” kind of way.

You laid your head back against the sofa, looking at him with a knowing glance from under your lashes. “Interesting.” How long would it take to convince him to rip your shirt, slip the cups of your bra under your tits and suck your nipples until you orgasmed a couple times and fell asleep?

He took another sip. He was blushing. You liked your nipples sucked. And he liked sucking them. How convenient. “What’s a blatantly nonsexual thing that turns you on?” He asked, putting down the glass.

You did consider drinking. Could you handle him knowing such a sensitive piece of information? To hell with reason. “If you cup my face I’ll go smitten. Pair that up with a term of endearment or a little praise and I’m ready to drop to my knees.” You admitted.

“Praise kink?” He asked.

“No. I just get soft when someone cups my cheek. It makes me want to please them.” You admit.

“You know I’ll use this against you the moment you allow me to, right?” He states openly.

“Yes. I don’t mind.”

“Ask your question. It’s number ten baby.” He looked at his watch. “It’s late. Tell me when you want to go. I’ll understand.”

“I want to keep going.” You said. In more ways than one. “What’s something you want to try in bed?”

He stared off in the distance. “Oh. Let me think.” He started bouncing his leg. “Specifically in bed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sensitive. Maybe I would try something with blindfolds and restraints and sensation play? Like a feather or silk or something along that line.” He blushed and his his eyes in his hands.

“That sounds interesting. You want to try that on someone else or on yourself?” You asked for clarification.

“Myself. But I’m not opposed to doing that to someone else. Okay, let’s go on, I’m suffering here.” Inhale. Exhale. “Do you want to take it down a notch or keep going?”

“Keep going.” You murmured, afraid of what would come next, but also excited.

“Kitten, what makes you wet in seconds?” He whispered.

“You want to use this against me too?” You suspected.

“Only in your best interests.”

“Do you mean sexual things that turn me on innocent ones?” You pushed your head behind your ear.

“Do your thing, kitten.”

“On a more innocent level, I’m really sensitive to voices. I must say that yours unsettles me a little.” You confessed on a small note, with a tiny voice. “On a sexual level, I’m a mess for anything around my chest and neck. It makes me weak at the knees, it really drives me wild.”

“Touching, kissing, biting, sucking, licking…?” He suggested, fixing his posture.

“Yes to all.” You whispered, stretching to get the glass.

“Yeah.” He took a sip himself.

You gulped and put down the tumbler. “Do you ever willingly deepen your voice?”

“Yes. I did it for you, when we met. I saw you shiver when I did it accidentally, the first time we met at the office. So I did it again. I wanted you to notice me, I wanted to get you flustered.” He admitted shyly.

You sucked you lip. “You did. I was squeezing my legs so bad. You know when you stood up and said goodbye?”

“You were holding the edge of the table.” He remembered, nodding.

“My knees were wobbly. I don’t think my legs could hold me up.” You confessed, shaking your head timidly.

“Poor Kitten.” He said, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Can I ask you a tricky question, sweetheart?”

As you nodded he huffed out a question, scared to ask. “Oral: giving or receiving.”

“Giving. Receiving is a difficult matter. My ex didn’t really… enjoy that.” You spoke vaguely.

He did a double take. “He didn’t eat you out?”

You shook your head gingerly.

“He was shit.” He muttered, pouring himself another shot. You were eleven questions in and he’d drunk only sips. And it was not because he didn’t answer but rather because he needed to calm his nerves before he jumped you.

“I guess so.” You giggled embarrassedly.

“Never?” he asked again, shocked. “Never in 3 years?”

“Never.” You confirmed. “He said the taste made him gross.”

“Gross… And he wanted you to suck him, quite obviously.”

“I didn’t mind. I like the view”. You admitted with a playful gleam in your eyes.

He saved that for later, but at the moment he was too busy handling the matter of your ex. “Fucker.” He replied and took a sip. “But are you opposed to it?” Yoongi asked, curious and honestly worried. He would give anything to convince you to let him change your mind.

You blushed. “I’ve done it a couple times with a few flings, but just like you and noise-making, my mind is kind of set on giving rather than receiving. Still, I think I could give it a try.” You announced.

“I’m glad you’re not letting that fucker take that from you.” He admitted, keeping the glass in his hand and holding onto it like it were his sanity.

“If I’m being honest, after that time we went to the park– you remember the ice cream right?”

Yeah, he remembered. Most importantly he remembered the huge boner he’d got as he watched you eating it, his body losing it like a teenager. He nodded.

“I think I’ve started to think about… Your head. There.” You were getting loose-lipped.

You were going to make him sin. He swore under his breath, downing the shot. Again you laughed, enjoying how you were affecting him. “Gonna show you how good it is.” He teased.

“Hope you’ll show me many, many things.” You joked cheekily.

“Trust me, I’m keeping a list, sweetheart.” And the final smirk made you want to rip your own panties and offer yourself to his pink, wet tongue. “Are you okay, Kitten?” He asked, reaching for your knee.

If he touches me, I’ll fucking explode. And there was his hand. On your knee. “Have you ever had sexual fantasies about a man?” The words left your mouth quickly.

He let his fingertips caress your clothed skin. He wished you were wearing a skirt. “I consider myself attracted to people regardless of their gender identity. I had a very brief fling with a man once, but nothing truly ever happened. We just kissed a couple times, but we weren’t right for each other, emotionally. He was too reserved for me. And he was incredibly untrusting.”

“So trust is the dealbraker? Trust?” You asked, immediately interested in something that had changed his relationship so dramatically.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“Moving on. What are your thoughts on the last time you had sex?” He kept spurring you on, going deeper and deeper under your skin, getting closer and closer to your soul, trying to discover the very heart of you, and most importantly if he had any chance to settle there.

“Oh God.” You laughed. “It was almost eight months ago. It was traumatic.” Again you laughed.

“Is that an exasperated laugh?” He asked, worried but also interested in your ironic reaction.

“I’m laughing to hold back tears. Last time I had sex, the dude had a dick too big for his own good and didn’t know how to use it. I definitely faked the second one because he kept poking me with his fingers. I asked to change positions so I could touch myself and cum. It was awful.” You laughed some more. “When I went back home I just had to take care of myself.”

“Promise you won’t fake with me.” He almost begged. “Promise me you won’t go home and take care of yourself.”

“I can promise you the first.” You bit your lip. And drank. Don’t ask me the second, please don’t. Please.

“I’ll need the other one too, you know.” He said, pressing you in the matter.

You have no idea, Yoongi. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He murmured, frowning.

Because I did that so many times already coming home from dates with you, every time silently begging you to kiss me, to touch me, to ruin me. “I’ll try to from now on.”

“I’m sorry if I sent you home frustrated before. But I honestly needed to take my time.” He shoved his hands in his hair, combing it back. “I tend to rush. Once I let go.” He confessed exhaling loudly. He looked at you with a lustful glance. “But I promise I’ll take care of you. Completely.” He was getting flirtier.

“Quickies or long session?”

“Is that your question, kitten? Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Answer me, Yoongi.” You laid back, opening your legs just lightly. Anything to lessen the discomfort lodged in your crotch.

He looked amused. “I can do both. But long sessions for the win. The devil’s in the details and the sex is in the foreplay.” He also leaned back and parted his legs, mirroring you perfectly. “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“A guy I was dating on-again-off-again, before I met my ex. I was twenty. I let him go because I was starting to fall for my ex. He showed me half the stuff I like. The other half I picked up myself.”

He wanted to know more. He wanted to know what you liked, what he owed some horny teenager and what you had discovered yourself. How you had discovered it. Most importantly, he wanted to excel in everything you liked. He wanted to please you again and again, till you were drunk in bliss and his taste, your skin glistening in a gross and divine mixture of his sweat and drool and your own perspiration. He wanted messy and loud and obliterating.

He wanted…

“Have you ever touched yourself while thinking of me?” You asked, bold, spitting the question out of your tongue like ripping off a band aid.

He threw his head back, groaning in something that looked like pain. It wasn’t arousal. You were quite sure.

He was burgundy with shame and effort. He grabbed the glass and downed the alcohol in one go. “Yes.”

You rolled your neck and exhaled, moaning.

“Almost every day.” He went on. “I can’t get you out of my head and I need it to stop for just. One. Second.”

You gulped, then took a big breath through you mouth. “I have too. Thought of you, that is.”

“I assumed so.” He whispered. “I’ve thought of things I’m not proud of, Kitten. I’m a grown, respectful man, but you’ve made such a sorry mess of me.”

“I am so sorry, Yoongi.” No, you’re not.

“You’re truly sadistic, aren’t you?” He asks.

“Is that your question?”

“No.” He pauses. “What’s your favourite body part on yourself and on me?”

Your heartbeat felt like a joke. You closed your legs. No need to try and play it cool. You were drenched, and you were afraid that by now it was actually starting to show. “I think I like my hands? Or maybe… I don’t really know. I think my hands are nice.”

“They are beautiful, ____, really.” So were your tits, but it didn’t feel quite right to point that out in that precise moments.

“Thank you.” You took a long break, biting your lip before going on with your answer. “On you... I’ve been thinking about those hands a lot”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You deadpanned. The background music shifted to something sultry and so slow you felt like desire was spiraling in your loins with that cool, rich drawl.

“What about them?” He continued.

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him from under your lashes. “Around my throat.”

Yoongi sat back, undoing one button of his shirt. “Keep going.”

“One around my throat, the other in my hair as you kiss me, drawing me in. Keeping me still.”

“Keep going.” He said, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders.

“Maybe I’ve been thinking of your hand on my chest. Your fingers pinching my nipples.”

“God bless you, Kitten. What else did my naughty hands do in those dreams of yours.”

Your voice got breathy and shy. “Maybe… Just maybe they got between my legs.”

“And how did that make you feel.” He was going to lose it.

“Horny.”

His heavy breathing stopped for a second. “Did you touch yourself?” His eyes opened to look at your reaction.

You nodded slowly, trying to get some saliva in your awfully dry mouth. The whisky helped. “I needed it.”

“Good girl.” He praised your honesty, again trying to work on that association between your openness and a positive outcome. He thought it was over. Your confession.

“But to be honest what really made me cum was thinking of your pretty pout on my breasts, licking my tits and biting into the soft skin there.”

He growled, pushing the balls of his hands against his eyes. “Kitten, I think I just came in my pants.”

You laughed wildly at his honesty, rolling your head back and teasing him, showing the expanse of your neck and chest.

“Cruel, ain’t you?”

“I’m also sweet.”

“I don’t care, I’ll lick you up anyway.” He teased downing his glass. His second.

You both did a refill. You were tipsy and his eyes had a gleam that wasn’t there at the beginning of the evening.

“You won’t be able to drive me home.” You murmured.

“Do you really want me to?” He asked.

“No.” You answered.

“Remember, I promised not to fuck you tonight, Kitten.” He reminded you.

“Not even foreplay?” You pouted. “Not even making out? A small peck on the lips?”

“I’m hungry for you. That shit just ain’t it.” He growled. You knew he had deepened his voice for you.

You crossed your legs. “Do you like massage?”

“What number is that?” He asked, referring to how many questions you’ve gone through.

“Fifteen. Do you?” You pressed him, trying to get him to talk.

“I mentioned being sensitive. I do like that when I’m in a stressed mood. I like it after a warm bath, with warm lotion or massage oil. It really makes me weak. An ex introduced me to it and I think I got a bit addicted to it, whenever I feel like I need to be taken care of.”

“It sounds nice.” It felt like a nice pause from the kinkfest that had been going on until five minutes ago.

“Have you ever cried while you were in bed with someone?” He asked, his voice delicate as he reached for another intimate, although innocent side of you.

“The first time I hooked up after my ex. It was so liberating I cried. The guy beside me freaked out a little, but he understood. He was kind, just very emotionally dumb, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that. It sounds like he scarred you so much.” Yoongi commented, his boiling desire subduing at your vulnerable, tender side. A silly, egotistic part of him wanted to heal you. Try as hard as he might.

“It’s cool.” Your mouth quirked to the side. “Let’s move on to brighter themes, yeah? What’s your favourite thing to do, sexually speaking?”

He looked at you with doubt in his eyes. You knew the past scars conversation wasn’t over. Still, he smiled bright and replied. “I want to suck your nipples. Bite your soft, round tits, leave hickies all over them.” He leaned over, feeling bold as he let his hand catch yours. He scooted closer to you, his voice so deep he sounded like Hades, god of the Underworld. “That’s one of my favourite things in bed. And not just there, honestly.”

Could a person die from arousal? Because you felt your heart burst at that moment, explode like a match and light up your bonfire body. “Yoongi.” You murmured as he let the back of his fingers travel along the outer side of your thigh in a phantom touch.

“You wanna know what else I really, really like doing in bed? Another fantasy of mine?” He asked, his tone patronising but his posture all the opposite, respectful and tender, like a man talking to his woman. He leaned down, close to your ear. “I want you to sit on my face, Kitten. I wanna lick you up like you’re dripping in cream. I want my face covered in jour taste. I want to choke between your legs. Will you give me that?” He asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Will you give me that, Kitten?”

You had gone completely still, afraid that even your smallest move could break the spell. “Take it now, please, Yoongi.” You begged. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m so wet. I’m so tired of needing you all the time!” You whined, grabbing his hand and placing it between your clothed thighs, where your wetness had started to diffuse.

“I can’t, Kitten. You know our promises. But what about my question, uh? Have you ever had a threesome, sweetheart?”

“Once. After leaving my ex I had some wild times. A couple of university friends asked me to join them. I sort of liked it.” You admitted, as your hips tried to grind against his barely-there fingers.

“Liked doing it with a girl?” He asked, gripping your thigh and pressing you down, stopping your attempt at release.

“I liked eating her out.”

“Kitty girl likes using her tongue. Good for her.” He murmured, trying to stop the image of you doing that. He needed to try. Needed to see. Fuck monogamy, he could try this before you became too his to share.

By now he was sitting at your side and you were doing everything, everything in your power to stop yourself from straddling his lap and shoving his head between your breasts. You took your glass and took a sip, his nose drawing a thin line following the outline of your throat while swallowing. You almost choked. “What’s your favorite part of sex?”

“Foreplay. But it was already clear, wasn’t it?” He taunted. “You need to focus, Kitten. Ask the right questions. Mirror sex?” He queried.

“Yes.” You replied. Alcohol spurred you on. “Honestly, I want to try giving a man a hand job while stading behind him, in front of a mirror. I’d like to feel the power of that.” You shrugged.

“That sounds nice.” He played it cool, the erection in his trousers now too blatant to even bother covering.

You almost wanted to ask him if he had a full-length mirror nearby so you could get started right there and then. But you didn’t like how cool and unaffected he seemed. You wanted him to get flustered and drink and undo another button. You wanted him to throw his head back so you could lick a stripe up his neck. “And I would whisper dirty stuff in your ear. Don’t think I didn’t notice how flustered you were during our gallery visit.”

“Darling, that was an exercise in restraint. I almost smashed you against the closest painting at least three times.”

“Only three times?” You lifted your eyebrows dramatically.

“I’m almost offended, Min Yoongi.”

“Careful there, Kitten.” He warned.

“Unless?” You provoked him.

“I’ve promised I won’t fuck you tonight.” He murmured.

“Such a coquettish tease you are.” You huffed, looking away.

“I want you to ruin me, Kitten. We can’t do that until promotion is over and you can leave marks all over me as much as you want.” His deepened voice made you squirm on your seat, legs crossing in desperate need to ease the pulsing under your panties.

“It’s almost four a.m. Are you sure you want to finish this?”

I want you to finish me. “Question...”

“Eighteen, babe.”

“Mh, nice. If your partner ever caught you touching yourself, would you keep going?”

“Depends, but yeah, I think so.” Pause. “I would put up a nice show for you.” He palmed his erection through the fabric, trying to get more comfortable.

Yes, you noticed. No, you did not comment. Self combustion is not your current goal, after all. “That’s all you’re gonna offer me?” You asked piqued, dragging your fingernail from his knee to his hipbone slowly. He didn’t manage to hold back a shiver.

You chuckled lowly. “Sensitive little thing.”

“My turn, little devil. What of masturbating while dirty talking?” He asked, his arm moving behind your back and climbing up, snaking around your shoulder, his hand grabbing your chin to shift your gaze from his lap to his face.

“Want to know a secret, baby?” You lured him in, carefully.

“Everything.”

“I’ve touched myself while listening to you.” You whispered at his ear, goosebumps raising everywhere, his whole body growing too sensitive as your hand moved to his inner thigh.

“Really?” Yoongi asks, trying to push his crotch in your palm.

You retreated your hand, offering only the tip of your index finger, which started lazily tracing the outline of his hard on. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

He winced. He would really come in his pants like a teenager. Was your question about your hand or about using his voice to get yourself off? He didn’t mind, both. “I’m perfectly good with it, Kitten. I’m just surprised. What was I talking about.” His voice was neutral, but his eyes were closing, mouth hanging open.

You neared your mouth to his ear and started explaining. “It was a voice note. You were discussing a beat, describing the vibe of the piece you had just finished, murmuring stuff about the bass and not being sure of the tempo, maybe slowing it down.”

“And you came to that?” He asked, opening his eyes and meeting yours.

You were stroking him through his clothes and you hadn’t even kissed him yet. I told you. A slut. That’s what you are. You reprimanded yourself. “I came to the sound of your voice. The pattern of stresses. It was so relaxing. The way your voice resonated.” You kissed his jaw, taking courage.

He smiled. “Next time I’ll send you something more... stimulating, then.” He cocked his head to the side, showing you the soft skin below his chin.

You kissed there too. “I’ll look forward to it.” Another kiss. “Final question.” Another. “if you could do anything to me right now, what would you do?” You placed another kiss on his neck as he moaned, his hips moving shamelessly.

You offered him your palm.

He groaned when he started answering. “Tear your clothes off. Suck your panties clean ‘cause they must be soaked.”

You squeezed your hand around his shape. He was rock hard, the curve following the waistband of his pants. He didn’t feel excessively big, but still his thickness felt nice on your palm. You just wished you could see him naked. He emitted a low whine, his hand dropping from your chin and hitting your chest. “Keep going, Yoongi.” You encouraged him, needing to know what he wanted to do to you.

“I would lick you clean. Fuck you on the sofa, you on top of me. Riding me while I suck on those gorgeous tits.” His hand reached lower, holding your breast and rolling it expertly in his gentle grip. “I’d cum in your cunt while I’m balls deep inside you. And when we’re done I would fuck my cum back inside with my tongue.” He growled like a vicious beast and you just couldn’t help it, you needed your hand between your thighs. You obeyed to your need.

“You’re a filthy, greedy boy, Yoongi, aren’t you?” You asked, giving him more, rewarding for the glorious image he’d just gifted you.

“It’s with you. Just you.” He called out, his voice broken, his mouth desperate. “My final question. Why haven’t you kissed my lips yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” You murmured, bringing your lips upwards, against his throat. He was completely immobilised as you lingered a hairsbreadth from his plush pout. “Yes?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

That’s when you lowered yourself on him, once hopeless, starved and now finally hopeful and nourished.

He feeded you milk and honey, his assault sweet and rich, a balm to your tarnished soul. His lips latched onto your lower lip, sucking and sucking in a way that made you want to offer him every inch of your body. Yes, you would still wait for this. You would keep waiting. For this moment to come back, for this feeling to bloom and fill you over and over again, anytime he kissed you, from now to the rest of eternity. You murmured his name on his mouth and he spoke yours, with alarm over his features.

“Too much, too much, Kitten, please.” He whispered, pressing harder against your hand. “Want you. Please. Touch yourself. I wanna cum with you.”

He was lost and desperate, grinding against you like a fool.

You undid your zipper and put your hands on your sodden folds. You delivered a peck on his lips. “How close?” You asked.

“Very.” He replied, wetting your lips with the tip of his tongue, making you open your mouth and licking you up, flirting with your own tongue.

You pulled away to bite his jaw gently. “I’ve never been this wet, Yoongi. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Gimme...” You studied the geography of his lap, finding his tip and focusing there. “Yes.” He murmured, before intensifying his pushes. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Please, ____, let me hear you.”

You let out an embarrassed, tentative whine, then, trying to properly assist him, you started getting carried away, losing your damper, clenching your inner muscles and whispering his name. “Yoongi, I’m close.” You murmured. “Need you to…”

“Yes, Kitten, baby, please… I–” With a groan, he hid his head in the crook of your neck, biting on the skin, not too harshly.

It was all it took. “Yoongi!” You screamed, pushing into your own hand and collapsing against the back of the couch, dragging him with you.

When you regained conscience, he was already out of his high, looking flustered and sleepy and glowing. Beautiful.

“Can I?” He uttered quietly.

You nodded, barely coherent.

He helped your hand out of your waistband, careful not to stain your clothes. And granting you a fine view, he brought your hands to his mouth and licked them clean.

His tongue delved into every angle and plane, making sure he got every drop. Licking his lips, he stared into your soul and murmured deeply. “The fucking sweetest.”

And then he held you close. “There’s a spare bathroom, at the end of the hall. It has everything you need.” He explained. “I’ll get cleaned myself. Will you sleep in my bed?” He asked, his voice so vulnerable it shattered your heart.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

#bangtan sonyeondan #bts smut #bangtan smut #min yoongi #min yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi one shot #yoongi reaction

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years ago

Text

My Strength - Risotto Nero

I was sitting cosily cuddled up in my blanket, enjoying a warm cup of hot chocolate and a good detective-lawyer book by Steve Cavanagh, while listening to Guns’n’Roses in the background, when a loud bang comes from downstairs, and next thing I know, I see my younger sister dressed in my clothes, which was rather unusual, with a huuuuuge grin on her face.

“Whatever it is, the answer is NO.” I say sternly, turning back to my book. “But KAAAAAAAAAAT! There’s this rock pub that just opened and it’s very close to home! Come on, I wanna party! I haven’t partied in SO long! And you know I only trust you to take me home when drunk!” she begged, making me roll my eyes. “No wonder you stole my clothes without even asking me. The answer is still no. You know very well I’m not a party person.” I answer, flipping the page. “But siiiiiiiisssssss!!! It’s rock music! You like that kind of stuff! I promise we won’t stay long! J-Just an hour! Please, just get me out of the house, I’m going insane! Pleaseeeee!!” she got on her knees at the foot of my bed, and I could only sigh in aggravation, hitting my head with my book, before carefully placing it on the nightstand and getting up. “You owe me big time...” I mutter, going to get ready, as I could hear her loud cheer.

I put on an AC/DC Tshirt, with black jeans, black combat boots, a jeans chain, a necklace and do basic make up with a cute eyeliner and purple lipstick, before exiting and raking my fingers through my long, red hair, fixing my fringe out of habit, then put on my black scarf and a black cardigan, get motion for her to lead the way to the place she mentioned.

As soon as we got in, we could hear Guns’n’Roses’ November Rain, and thankfully enough, we found a single table for two, the only one available anymore... But it was next to a big round table where 9 very intimidating looking people stood and chatted, while drinking.

“Uhm...Maybe we should go back home.” I mutter, putting my hand on Christine’s shoulder. “What?! No way! Besides, they look so cool! They’re so hot! Think I can get laid tonight?” she smirked, dragging me to the table. “They look dangerous. I’d rather go home.” I sigh, covering my face with my scarf, feeling anxious. “All the hot people have this refined and mysterious vibe around them, otherwise they’d just be super dull! Liven up a little! Ah, look the song changed! It’s Ozzy Osburne, isn’t it?” she smirked at me with much pride, but I only dragged my hand down my face in desperation. “IT’S MARILYN MANSON, DAMN IT!” I growled a bit louder than I wished for, earning a few glances from the scary table, which made me hide my face even more. “Ah, whatever, who cares, same guy. I’ll go get drink.” she got up, but I quickly grabbed her wrist. “Get me a Pepsi, but make sure he doesn’t take the cap off.” I ordered sternly, as she shrugged off my hand, rolling her eyes.

Thankfully enough, she came back with the bottle just as I told her, and using my key, I easily take the cap off, and use a straw to drink the soda, before I hear one of the guys kept asking for a lighter, just then, I could see Christine’s eyes light up with lust, as she jumped to her feet in excitement.

“You still have that lighter with you, right?! You always play with it don’t you? Come on, give him a fire for his cig!” she grabbed me roughly, until he shoved me to the shaved man who looked like a hobo, who smirked up at me. “Ehhhh? What’s this, a bella ragazza wanting to enjoy my company?” he spoke, eyeing me creepily. “Don’t flatter yourself...She forced me to give you a light.” I mumbled, as I turn on the lighter and light his cigarette. “Why, thank you, gorgeous. Wouldn’t you like to stay with us?” he spoke in a slurry voice, putting one of his hands on my waist. “Paws off, or I burn you.” I threatened lowly. “Awww, little kitty has claws, how cute!” he spoke, but before he could finish the conversation, I turn the fire volume to the highest for a few seconds, which burnt his face...Or his big nose, rather, before turning it off back again. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR, BITCH?!” he shot up to his feet, towering and glaring over me. “I warned you not to be a jerk. You play with fire, you get burnt.” I say in a low voice, raising my scarf slightly. “WHAT THE HELL, KAT?! WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! APOLOGISE RIGHT NOW!” Christine shook me slightly, which made me slap her hands away. “No. I’m going home, bye. Have fun with your little group of hot shots.” I shrugged, turning to leave, before she grabbed me again. “No! You can’t leave! Mum doesn’t let me alone by myself at night! She’ll punish you!” she shrieked desperately. “I live alone. I don’t care what she does, but she can’t ground me anymore.” I rolled my eyes, turning around, before the purple haired man got up. “Hey, Risotto, these 2 are pretty fun. What do you say we let them stay with us? There’s plenty of space around, right?” he smirked, which only made me more uncomfortable. “Don’t bother, I’m out. Ciao.” I shrugged, making a few steps towards the exit, before my sister started shouting after me. “Mum and Dad are gonna disown you if you leave me here all alone, y’know? You don’t want that, do you?!” I could literally feel her smirk, which made me whip around, glaring at her. “You’re lucky I care about our mess of a so-called family, otherwise I’d have been out of here faster than the speed of light.” I sneered at her, as I sat down on the seat brought by one of them, between the purple haired and the silver haired men. “Di molto, this is fabulous! Such a bella donna with a fiery attitude and a heart of gold, my, you’re perfect!” the purple haired man started grinning and gushing about me, which made me hide my face in my scarf feeling very uncomfortable. “Melone, stop that, you’re making her feel uncomfortable.” the silver haired man spoke up. “But Risotto, she’s so pretty! You can’t deny that! And you know what they say about fire-kissed girls~!” Melone smirked, which made me blush and bite my lip. “I don’t know, Melone, she’s pretty, alright. Pretty rude!” the guy whose nose I burnt grumbled. “I’m not rude, I’m just shy.” I mumbled, leaning back on my chair, still holding my scarf to my face. “Awwww, she’s so cute! That’s it, I’m adopting you! Formaggio, if you say one more bad thing about her, I’m killing you!” Melone growled at the shaved man, while putting his arms around me and pulling me to his chest. “Whatevs, her sister’s much better. Como ti chiami, bella signorina?” he flirted with her, and she was already gleaming, head over heels with glee. “Oh, brother...” I facepalmed, completely done with life. “This is gonna be a long night...” I rolled my eyes, getting out of Melone’s grasp. “Yeah, for me and Christine over here, sure will.” Formaggio’s sleezy smirked pissed me off, so I used a little power of my Stand to deduce where to throw my lighter, so it would bounce off the table, into his forehead, and then back to the table and perfectly in my hand. “I don’t really care what you do, as long as you aren’t disgusting enough to talk out loud like that. Nobody cares.” I say, throwing the lighter and easily catching it back in my hand. “HOW DID YOU DO THAT, PUTTANA?! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!” he shouted, shooting up to his feet, but the man on his right easily stopped him, shoving him to his seat. “Stop being such a nuisance, you’re gonna get us thrown out of this place, and Capo’s gonna be very pissed.” the dark haired man with hair hair tied in multiple places glared at him. “Capo...Huh. What a surprise.” I let out an amused breath. “Capo? Who is Capo? And what kind of name is that?” Christine asked dumbly. “Oddio santo...How are we related...” I sighed in exasperation. “Actually, never mind. Capo is a...Uhm...A nickname for one of this guys. Y’know, all groups of friends have that one person who’s more of a leader? Capo’s kinda like that. Nothing important, so don’t fret over it.” I shrugged, waving my hand dismissively. “Oh, woaw, that’s pretty lame. How come you’re not Capo, Formaggio? You’re so cool and strooong~!” she kept touching his biceps, as he flexed. “Kill me.” I facepalmed, utterly disgusted. “May I speak to you outside for a moment?” Risotto got up, extending me his hand. “Sure.” I mutter, getting up without taking his hand. “Huh...The music can still be heard from outside too. That’s pretty neat.” I said softly, leaning back on the wall. “You know.” he stepped in front of me, looking at me with stern eyes. “Of course I know, I’m not stupid. I’ve known since I first saw you. I just wasn’t sure what you were exactly.” I shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Why aren’t you running away?” his voice was obviously an interrogation one. “If you’re the Mafia, I can guess you’re Passione...We used to live in a different city, where Buccellati’s gang was protecting the city, and trust me when I say this, but regular criminals wouldn’t teach a guy a lesson for beating up his elderly mother, nor would they try to keep themselves in peace with the whole city like that. I sort of...Owe a favour to Passione because of that...And honestly, you think I can just pick that idiot up and get her out of here that easily? Look at me and my noodle arms and realise that I sometimes struggle to open water bottle caps, okay?” I looked away in embarrassment, hearing a low, amused chuckle coming from him. “Melone was right, you’re pretty fun. What sort of favour do you owe Passione?” he asked simply. “Now, then, don’t you think you’re getting a bit too curious? What happened is between me and Capo Buccellati...Then again...You DO kill, don’t you?” I shifted my gaze to him, smirking slightly. “What makes you think that?” he answered my question with another question. “Buccellati’s gang had a much more protective and gentle aura surrounding them. You and your people are much more threatening and menacing. Especially you...Capo.” I spoke in a softer voice, not sure how to react. “You do realise I’d have to kill you now that you know our secret, correct?” he asked rhetorically, yet his actions betrayed no malice. “It’s your partner’s fault he let that slip, not mine. Besides, it’s not like I could do you any damage, correct? I’m just a frail little girl who is studying to become a Vet. A girl who’s half your height isn’t too threatening, is she?” I chuckled breathlessly, as the song changed to Metallica’s Unforgiven and I unconsciously started humming the chorus. “You’re spared, however, you will have to keep this secret all your life. In addition, to protect our secret, you will have to join our organisation. Medicine is still Medicine, humans are mammals, so if we need help, you won’t be a burden. On a side note, next month is a Metallica concert, if you want to go.” his words had a paralytic effect on my nervous system, so much that I could only stare at him with wide eyes, much like a fawn meeting her hunter. “Katrinaaaaaaaa! Let’s go home with these guys~!!!” all of a sudden, the pub’s door was slammed open, which made me jump and squeal in fright, only to realise it was my sister, dragging Formaggio away. “Wh-What...?!” I could only stare at them with my jaw agape, many question marks appearing above my head. “Come on, have some fun! You can fuck Risotto and Melone all you want too, don’t be so shy!” she giggled, obviously, but despite that, my face became redder than a rose and I had to hide my face in my scarf. “Katrina, huh? What a nice name. Let’s go.” he guided me to the car, and getting in, I glued myself to the door, not wanting to touch anyone by mistake.

---

It sure has been a while since we met, I thought to myself as I snuggled closer to Riz’s chest. I’m still very shocked how our relationship developed so easily and so fast, while my relationship with my sister only went down the hill, just as fast. Not that it was any surprise, to say the least. The only reason why I still answer calls and go to family gatherings is because I have a very conflicted moral and ethical compass, unfortunately, and I’m too afraid to sever the ties that keep be caged.

A year already passed since I was ultimately forced to join La Squadra Esecuzioni, and to be fair, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be, considering they are a bunch of killers. Being the only girl around, and being such a shy trainwreck, it sort of made them try to make me feel comfortable around them...And by that, I mean mostly Melone, Risotto and Prosciutto. The others were more passive...While Formaggio was still a jerk, most likely because I tarnished his pride twice with a simple lighter, and Ghiaccio was...Always in a weird mood. I was mostly allowed to stay at home, no problem, continue my Vet education, while in very rare occasions, I was called over to heal anyone that needed it, or told to go on a mission with someone, but nothing too bad, nor that put me in any danger.

Now, I should emphasise the word ‘ME’ since it wasn’t ME who got in grave danger, but Risotto, in a mission, about 6 months after I joined the Gang.

Pesci and Illusio put Risotto on the bed while I got by his side and to examine how grave his injuries are, and as soon as I realise the hemorrhage and I told everyone to get out as I ripped off his blouse and took out my Stand, and put her hands over his injury, using my healing water to stop the bleeding and stitch back the flesh.

---

It took quite a while, but after hours of tending to him, his injuries were completely healed, and yet, he was still unconscious.

After making sure that he’s comfortable in bed, I go to the kitchen, make something fast to eat, get a bottle of water and get back to Riz’s room, and thankfully enough, he was still asleep. I put the tray on the nightstand and sit on the side of the bed, holding his hand in both of mine, gently stroking it and kissing his knuckles, waiting for him to wake up.

“Kat...?” I hear a groggy voice call out my name, and snap my head up, only to see Risotto’s eyes fluttering open. “Yes, I’m here, Riz. You’re alright, you’re home. Don’t worry about a thing.” I lean towards him, brushing his fringe away. “The mission...” he mumbled, still exhausted. “It’s okay, the others took care of it. I healed all your injuries, but you should still rest for a while. Take it easy.” I smile softly at him, still stroking his hand. “You did well, Katrina. Thank you.” he said, slowly getting up into a sitting position. “Here, you should eat and drink to regain your strength.” I explain, putting the tray in his lap. “I’ll let you rest.” I was about to get up, but I was stopped by him grabbing my wrist gingerly. “Will you stay?” Risotto asked, which made me smile softly, sitting back down next to him. “If you want me to.” I said, looking down slightly. “Are you scared of me, Katrina?” he asks, making me snap my gaze to him. “What? Where did you get that idea from?” I asked, blinking in surprise. “You always avoid eye contact. You always look away. Why?” he asked in a serious tone. “...Uhm...I don’t know, I guess I’m just shy. I’ve never been able to hold eye contact with anyone.” I mutter, scratching at my neck, a habit I have to combat anxiety. “I remember, I know that. It’s a pity.” he took my hand in his, while I was still confused. “What do you mean? It’s no big deal...It’s not like I really have friends to annoy with that or anything.” I shrugged simply. “It’s a pity that someone as nice as you lets others take advantage of her.” he says, which made me bite my lip and frown. “Why does it matter so much? I’m just your subordinate, you call me when you need my help.” I raise my eyebrow in confusion. “You’re not just a subordinate, Kat. You were forced into this. You shouldn’t be involved with the Mafia, you’re a kind soul. You’re so kind that you let your sister make you miserable.” he pointed out, which made me get up, looking at him awkwardly. “I don’t get why you’re so interested in this all of a sudden. I’ll let you rest, good night.” I say, but the instant I turn around, I hear a commotion from behind me, and I see Risotto getting up. “Wait, no, don’t get up, you haven’t rested yet!” I instinctively rush to his side, putting my hands on his shoulders to put him back in bed. “A subordinate wouldn’t behave like this. You saved my life, so I owe you a favour. Ask anything of me, and I will give it to you.” he said, which made me tsk at him. “You let me and my sister live, when you could have killed me. Consider me saving your life a debt paid, so we’re even. Now please leave this be and stop pretending to care.” I looked away, ready to leave. “And if I do? Am I not allowed to?” he spoke with as much firmness as usual. “Why would you, anyway? It’s not like I’m anything special. Why do you insist so much on this?” I sighed, looking at him with a deadpan expression. “Because you are special, and if you had someone to support you properly, you would know that. Kat, let me be your strength and stand up to those that are being toxic to you, even if those people are your family.” he stepped in front of me, gently brushing the back of his hands against my cheeks, before he raised up my face slightly. “I...I can’t do that...I can’t...I...” I stuttered, feeling my eyes starting to water. “Why can’t you, Kat? What are you so afraid of?” he asked, stroking my hair. “I asked Buccellati to get revenge on my ex for what he did to me. My family’s no different...But family is family, I can’t do anything about that except listen and do what they say.” I explain with a sigh “Nothing like that will ever happen to you, I can vow for that. Just let me be your strength, the same way that you and your kindness are the reason why I don’t forget my humanity.” he confessed genuinely, which made my bottom lip quiver. “Is that really...Okay...?” I spoke, barely audible, to which he smiled softly. “I don’t see why not, dear.” Riz leaned in, brushing his lips against mine so softly and tenderly, almost as if afraid that I’d break, which wasn’t far from the truth.

---

That night was free for the both of us, so we thought it would be nice to go for a walk by the beach, look at the twilight as the Sun set and the sky was painted in all the most beautiful colours. We walked with our feet in the water, my arm loosely wrapped around his waist, while his was pulling me into his side by my shoulder. Everything was chill and calm, and yet, my nerves were on the edge, even now.

I guided him to the little pontoon bridge and let our feet dangle, touching the sheen of the water.

“Go on, cara mia, I know you want to tell me something.” Riz pulled me closer to him, kissing my head. “Risotto, darling...You know that I hate social interactions, right? Well, mostly because I’m very bad with them.” I ask, speaking in a soft voice. “You’re not rude, just shy, was it?” he chuckled lightly, looking up at the now starry sky. “Yeah, something like that, I guess. I forgot I even said that when we first met.” I shrugged with a smile. “Remember my sister?” I ask again. “Ah, yes, the one who tried to fuck the whole Squadra, but only managed to get Formaggio, right?” he let out an amused breath. “The one and only.” I smiled slightly, before it faltered. “My cousin is getting married and she invited both of us. I...I don’t know what to do. I really don’t wanna go...But...” I trailed off with a sigh. “Family is Family, huh? You’re still going on with that.” he asked rhetorically, looking at me as I could only nod. “Want me to come with you?” “You’re my only friend, Riz. Having you there would make things much easier to cope with...But...I also wouldn’t want to subject you to such torture.” I mutter with a sadness. “How bad could it be?” he smirked, which made me snap my head to him, frowning. “I wouldn’t wish it to anyone. Not even my worst enemies.” I speak in a clear, firm voice, to get my point across. “I’ve been through almost dying quite a few times because of our Boss. I’m sure I could survive it.” he ruffled my hair playfully. “Are you sure you’re willing to go through that kind of emotional torture just for someone like me?” I tilt my head up to look at him. “I’d go to the end of the world for you, pick up the stars and put them in your hair.” he declared, which made me hide my face in his chest, hugging him as tightly as I could, no longer able to hold back my tears. “I don’t deserve someone like you, Riz. I’m not even worthy of standing around you. You’re an angel. I want to be selfish, I want you to never leave me, but honestly, I don’t deserve you and your kindness.” my voice trembled, just like my body, and then, I could feel his embrace loosening slightly, as he put his hands on my face, lifting my face up to plant a kiss on my forehead. “I know you can’t see how special you are to me, but even so, I’m not going to let go of you. Ever.” he stroked my hair, letting me calm down.

---

Of course, Melone was sweet enough to come with me to help me choose the right dress, and then helped me with my make up and hair, saying that his cute little sister should have an amazing date and feel beautiful.

“Oh, I feel so, so awkward...Dresses aren’t my thing. Get me out of here.” I tugged at my wavy hair, curled for the first time, no longer as untamable as usual. “I don’t know about that, I think you’re beautiful.” he stepped closer to me, rolling up the sleeves of his blazer to show off his tattoos. “Me? Beautiful? Look at you, Riz! You’re perfect!” I frowned, pouting as I poked his chest with my finger. “Let’s go inside, it’s getting chilly. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” he chuckled, putting his arm around me, guiding me inside the restaurant.

I gripped Risotto’s sleeve tightly, wrinkling it in the process. We were met by my cousin, who was with my sister and our mother, who looked at us with a fake smile and obvious disgust in their eyes.

“Oh, so you made it. With a hook up, nonetheless. Bailed him out of jail?” mother sneered at us. “Uhm...N-Nothing of the sort. Uhm...Congrats on getting married, Anne. I’m happy for you.” I smiled anxiously, not able to look up at them. “Well, at least one of us. You’ve no chance, anyway. Who’d want someone who can’t even speak, hold eye contact or touch someone?” the bride laughed, while the other 2 women joined in, even louder. “Yeah, I know. Where are our seats?” I asked, sighing. “Oh, right, they are at the family table. I’m so glad you’re here, everyone’s gonna have so much fun, just like at all family gatherings!” she smirked, pointing at the round table in the center of the room. “Thanks.” I muttered, dragging Riz to the table, taking a deep breath to calm myself. “I see what you meant now by torture. How are you related to them? You’re nothing like them.” Riz scoled in annoyance. “I wanna go home...” I bit my lip, not daring to look up at him. “God, give me patience, because if you give me strength, I’ll burn everyone alive.” I pouted, feeling done with life. “I can set Metallica on them all, if you want.” he touched my cheek with the back of his hand. “Let’s go home after one hour. I can’t do this too long. I’ve barely been able to get myself back together since I’ve met you...And now...” I intertwined my hand with his, dangling it down between our chairs, as everyone sat down.

Of course, seeing me there only made them exclaim in surprise as I usually never leave the house, go to social events or anything of the sort. There’s always that family member that everyone must mock, tease and taunt, and I was the one luck enough to draw the short end of the stick.

“Oh my, how come you found someone willing to touch you with all that fat?” “I wonder which of you is more desperate to stay with the other!” “I’m surprised someone could stay around a boring nerd like you who’s afraid of men.”

These, and many more, were the things I kept hearing from everyone, until the groom finally arrived at the table...A man older than even my father.

“Oh, great, she has a Sugar Daddy. No wonder everyone’s kissing her ass like that.” Riz grunted next to me. “It’s fine...Calm down, it’s okay. We can leave soon.” I squeeze his hand under the table. “Wow, Katrina, I didn’t think you were this bold! Giving your hook up a handjob under the table! My opinion on you changed, you’re actually a freaky nympho!” my sister laughed in a pitched voice, which made me squee in shock and go red like a strawberry. “That’s it, I’ve had enough of this fucked up and disfunctional family. Even Passione is saner than them, and that says a lot. Come on, Kat, we’re leaving before I kill them all.” Risotto glared at them with his piercing red eyes as he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of there. “Hold up, I’m calling Melone to get us home.” he grumbled, talking on the phone. “I’m really, really, really sorry, Risotto. I shouldn’t have asked you to come in the first place. Now I made you feel bad and that’s not cool at all.” I pouted, looking down at my feet. “I don’t want to hear it.” he spoke in a stern voice, hanging up and looking straight into my eyes. “Don’t apologise. I come with you because I knew you’d need someone to support you. But I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad. Now I can understand you better...Katrina, will you let me be your family?” he asked, so suddenly, which made me gasp in shock and confusion. “Wh-What are you saying, Riz...? I don’t quite follow...” I stammered, not sure how to react. “I love you too much to watch such a gentle and kind person like you get eaten alive by her own family. I know you’re too soft to allow yourself to sever any ties with people, but if you let me, as your boyfriend, be your sword and shield, I promise to take care of you and make sure nothing bad ever happens to you ever again. The Squadra already sees you as a family and as disfunctional as they are, they’d be a much better family than your blood one.” he explained, as he opened the car door and helped me in. “I can be your sis, if you want. I’d love to do your hair, nails and make up more often!” Melone smirked in the driver’s seat, which made me blush slightly. “See? It’s all gonna be much better if you stay with us. As family, not as a subordinate or anything of the sort.” Riz gave me the ghost of a smile. “Is it really okay for someone like me to join you, guys? I’m pretty useless...I can’t even stand up for myself. I’ll only be a burden.” I bit my lip, looking away. “Mi Tesoro, you are the embodiment of sunshine. These guys need someone like you around, and with your healing ability that you Stand has, just like how you saved me that day, you can help the others as well. Strength doesn’t have to be only physical, it can be mental, emotional and supporting, and Kat, you can be that Strength for us.” Riz stroked my hair gently, kissing my forehead. “I’m sure Prosciutto will be grateful to have you around more often, since you’re one of the only normal people he can have a sane conversation with. Gelato and Sorbet will be super excited to have someone to gossip and go shopping or get dating and fashion advice. Hell, maybe you’ll be able to solve the others’ behavious problems too. Kat, listen to Capo, he knows how to use everyone’s strengths.” Melone explained. “Eyes on the road, Melone.” Riz smirked, pointing out his lack of focus, to which the purple haired man grinned sheepishly, snapping back to watch the road. “Okay...Okay, Riz, I trust you. So...Please, take care of me.” I smiled shyly at him, holding his hands. “That’s the smile that lights up my days and warms up my heart. Keep it on, you’re my reason to keep on going.” Risotto kissed my lips gently, putting his forehead to mise. “Okay, Riz, I’ll be your strength, and you’ll be mine. Ti amo, amore mio. Thank you for putting up with me.” I grinned widely, feeling my heart beating faster. “Ti amo anch’io, fiore mio. One day, when we’ll be able to live a more normal and peaceful life, I promise I’ll marry you. You’ll be the most beautiful bride in the world, you’ll shine even brighter than the Sun. I want to make you the happiest woman and make sure this gorgeous smile of your will remain forever this way.” he hummed, putting a strand of hair behind my ear, before kissing me even more tenderly than before. “Ahhh, young love, you guys are so adorable. Can I be the Maid of Honour?” Melone looked at us through mirror. “Well, I will need one, so definitely!” I giggled softly. “It sure as hell ain’t gonna be her sister. Actually, never mind, none of your family is invited, unless you let me use Metallica on them.” Riz grumbled slightly, which made me chuckle louder. “Honestly, I don’t even care, do what you want. Have fun.” I grinned carelessly, which made him smirk. “That’s what I like to hear, babe.” he kissed my nose softly.

Soon enough, we arrived at home, and we thanked Melone for going through all the trouble of driving back to my home, before we changed in our sleepingwear, which for him was a pair of long PJ pants, and for me, one of his old band Tshirts and short, and we got in bed, cuddling the whole night.

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lilyandersonn · 4 years ago

Text

All Too Well // D.W

Chapter One // Series Masterlist here

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Bailey Walker (OFC)

Series summary: (Supernatural AU) Bailey Walker has spent the last year picking up the pieces of her failed relationship. Just when she thinks she is almost whole again, the rug is pulled from underneath her yet again. Her life is a mess, she's a mess, and yet throughout it all, she finds herself growing close to somebody she's spent eight years pushing away. Bailey can feel Dean worming his way back into her life and consequently her heart, but she's been burned before, can she find it in herself to trust him again?

Chapter warnings: maybe a little angst?

Words: 2949

AN: This is an AU. Pretty much everybody is alive and just living their best apple pie lives. Hunting isn’t a thing, they’re all just normal people. I don’t have a beta reader, so I do apologise for any mistakes that I didn’t pick up on when editing :)

Chapter One

“Jess, can you please stop that?”

The infuriating sound of paper flapping, which had Bailey’s clenching her hands so tightly that her fingernails were leaving crescent shaped indentations on her palm, immediately ceased. The pain was only a minor inconvenience in comparison to the unbearable, choking humidity that had turned her tiny apartment into a temporary sauna.

“I can’t help it,” Jess said with a whine, unable to resist the temptation of fanning herself and picking the newspaper back up, “maybe if you fixed your AC, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bailey, in a fit of pure frustration, pulled her sweat soaked shirt over her head in a futile attempt at cooling herself down. The heat plaguing her apartment had Bailey willing to do just about anything to escape it, and that didn’t exclude stripping off in-front of her best friend.

“I already told you, my AC doesn’t need fixing.” Bailey quipped, the sticky heat making her more irritable than usual as she dragged herself into the kitchen in search of something, anything, that would cool her down.

Unfazed at her best friend’s state of undress, Jess rolled her eyes at Bailey’s ongoing determination that her AC was in fact not broken; even though it had all the effect of an old asthmatic man standing in the corner breathing on them. It was beyond her that somebody who hated the heat so vehemently, would be so opposed to the idea of fixing the one thing that would cool her apartment down.

“You could just ask Dean—”

Bailey, who had found a bottle of water shoved at the very back of the fridge and had been just about to down it, whipped around so fast that she was worried she may get whiplash.

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” Jess said exasperatedly, hands on her hips, “he isn’t that bad. And he’ll probably do it for free.”

“Yes, Jess, he is that bad. I’d rather pay somebody than have that man in my apartment.”

Jess grinned, “Ah, so you admit you need somebody to fix it.”

Scowling in her best friend’s direction, Bailey opened the bottle and chugged half of the icy cold liquid in one go, instead of coming up with a sarcastic retort like she wanted to.

“So, I need to tell you something,” Jess said slowly, hesitating as she watched in amusement whilst Bailey chugged the water and simultaneously shimmied her sweaty denim shorts down her legs, “Bails, if you were gonna strip for me, you could have at least worn matching underwear.”

If it were anybody else, that comment would have her cheeks burning read and stuttering. But Jess had seen Bailey in much worse states, and vice versa, to the point where they would have to do something really scandalous for either of them to bat an eyelid.

“You would be lucky to have me strip for you, Hello Kitty briefs and all."

Choosing to put an end to the exchange, Jess cleared her throat and continued with what she had been waiting – no, dreading – to say, “So, there’s no easy way to say this and I’m just going to come right out and say it. Sam invited Chris to the wedding, and well, he’s RSVP’d.”

The revelation came with a grimace, as though she’d just ignited an explosive and was waiting for the big show.

“And?” Bailey asked, as though waiting for another part to the story.

Jess raised an eyebrow, perplexed by her seemingly blasé attitude towards the news. "And you're okay with that?"

Bailey faltered at that; she knew in her mind she wasn’t okay. She hadn’t been okay in a very long time, but it had always been so easy to pretend otherwise when everybody around her were so terrified of even mentioning her ex-boyfriend’s name.

Almost a year had passed since their three-year relationship had come to an end, but Bailey was still stuck in the same cycle of going to work, faking wholesome smiles and conversation with customers, pretending that she didn’t feel like her whole life was crumbling around her, and then coming home to an empty apartment to mourn a life she almost had.

One day Bailey would look back and feel nothing but embarrassed at the thought of all the time she’d spent grieving a relationship that was long since over. But that day didn’t seem to be on the near horizon.

Forcing her lips to curve up into something that resembled more of a grimace than a smile, Bailey finally spoke, “Yeah, I’m okay with it. It’s just one day, and besides, it’s your guys’ day, not mine. You deserve to have whoever you want there.”

In the back of her mind, Bailey knew she couldn’t have expected Sam not to invite Chris. They’d been best friends at one point, maybe not so much anymore but they were still friends, and so it was no shock that he would be invited.

Despite noticing the way Bailey’s hazel eyes looked slightly glassy and the hesitation before she responded, Jess chose not to push the subject. She’d witnessed first-hand what she had gone through when Chris left, and for her best friend’s sake, she didn’t want to cause the kind of breakdowns that she’d spent six months coaxing Bailey out of.

Jess had spent far too many hours watching Bailey sob, barely able to breathe through the tears because of what Chris had done to her, and she refused to be the person who brought those memories back up.

“Hey, how about you put on some new clothes and we go get a beer at the Roadhouse?”

And with that, normalcy was injected back into the room.

***

“There’s my girls.”

Bailey and Jess were both grinning from ear to ear as they approached the bar, squeezing their way through the people crowded around the pool table, where Ellen was already preparing their drinks. A bottle of beer and a tequila shot each were waiting for them when they finally made it to their favourite bartender.

Without hesitation, Bailey down the gold liquid, barely flinching as it burned its way down her throat. The concerned look Jess shot her didn’t go unnoticed as they both took their seats, but she chose to ignore it in favour of greeting Ellen.

“Bad day?” Ellen asked, watching with a glint in her eye as Bailey chugged half of her beer in one go.

Heaving out a heavy sigh as she placed the bottle back down onto the bar, “You could say that,” she said, letting her eyes glance around the room, grinning as she spotted Jo at the pool table, clearly beating her flustered looking opponent.

Although there was a three-year age gap between them, Bailey and Jo had always been close friends, all but growing up together. Circumstance had brought them together, their parents were all good friends and Bailey had been coming to the Roadhouse for as long as she could remember, but their friendship had stood the test of time.

And then came along Jess, who just slid so easily in with them, that it felt like they’d all always been friends.

Catching her eye, Bailey sent a wink to Jo, who shot one straight back at her, before focusing back up on her game.

“Is Sam swinging by, too?” Ellen casually asked Jess, as she absentmindedly wiped at the bar with a rag.

“Probably,” Jess said, taking a sip of her beer, “if Dean has anything to say about it.”

Bailey couldn’t help the involuntary eye roll that came from the mention of Dean. It was an understatement to say that she wasn’t his biggest fan, but the words that she had to describe her feelings towards him were very unsavoury.

Along with Jo, Bailey had grown up with Sam. Dean being four years older than them, she never really saw him as anything other than an annoying older brother, who enjoyed teasing the hell out of all three of them whenever he got the chance.

But that had all changed during the summer after she and Sam had graduated high school. Something shifted between Bailey and Dean – Dean no longer seeing her as just his brother’s irritating best friend, and Bailey spurred on by raging teenage hormones. Neither of them had seen the mutual attraction coming, but there was nothing stopping it.

They fell into what could be best described as a summer fling, because by the time September came and Bailey was off to college, it all came crumbling down. By then, she had developed some real feelings for him – beyond just wanting to jump his bones every time he walked through the door – but in classic Dean fashion, ever afraid of making genuine connections with women, he blew her off with a text message. And that was that.

Eight years later, Bailey still held a grudge on the older Winchester.

“Speak of the devils.”

Draining the last of her bottle, Bailey couldn’t help the eyebrows that pinched into a frown as she turned to see the two brothers walking through the front door, laughing loudly at something. Sam was still dressed in his office suit, but Dean had changed out of his usual work navy overalls, into a pair of blue jeans and a red flannel shirt.

He looked good.

Bailey immediately mentally cursed herself as soon as the thought entered her head. It frustrated her to no end that even though all she felt for the older brother was revulsion, she couldn’t deny the glaringly obvious fact – Dean Winchester was a sight to behold.

Whilst Jess got up to greet her fiancé, Bailey turned back to the bar and ordered another beer and a few more shots of tequila. She would need them if she were going to get through an evening with him.

As Ellen placed the shots of tequila onto the bar, a hand reached over from behind Bailey and took one. She didn’t need to look to know who it was – there was only one person on the planet who would have the nerve.

“For me? You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”

“You’re an ass.” Bailey said, though lacking in her usual conviction, too fed up to entertain the little feud they had going. She took another shot without looking at him, hoping he would take the hint to leave her alone

Much to her chagrin, Dean sat down next to her, signature smirk as he looked over at her, before turning his attention to Ellen.

“Two beers and a whiskey, please.”

“Coming up, doll.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but whatever inevitably provoking words he was going to say died on his tongue as Sam and Jess finally joined them; Sam hugging Bailey from behind, swiftly pressing a kiss to her temple, a quiet sorry whispered into her auburn hair before pulling away.

Bailey sent him a look that said he had nothing to be sorry for, but she knew that no matter what she said or did, Sam was going to feel guilty for inviting Chris. It did make her think why invite him if he felt so bad about it, but she had no urge to question it.

The three of them began chattering around Bailey, but she wasn’t listening. She could barely focus on the sound of the Led Zeppelin song blaring through the stereo, let alone whatever her friends and Dean were talking about.

Although she’d put on a brave face, the mention of Chris earlier had really floored her. It had been a year since he walked out of her life, eyes set on bigger and better things – things Bailey apparently couldn’t offer him – and yet one mention of his name and she felt like she was back to square one.

It occurred to her on many occasions that Chris was as good as it got for her. Although not her first love, the infuriating lady-killer knocking whiskey back beside her frustratingly held that title, she really thought that he was going to be it. She saw a life with him, a good life, that she couldn’t picture ever having with anybody else.

So, was that it? Was she destined to a life of loneliness and forever picking up the pieces of a life she never got to have? Those kinds of questions often kept Bailey awake at night – more often than she’d care to admit.

Her uncharacteristically quietness didn’t go undetected by any of them – even Dean was eyeing her with an expression that could be described as mild concern. Normally she’d be at the centre of the conversation, cracking jokes, ribbing on Sam for wearing his monkey suit at the bar.

“Hey, Bails, up for a game of pool?” Sam asked, pulling her out of whatever daydream she had been caught up in.

Almost as though she was suddenly remembering where she was, Bailey blinked a few times before turning to him with a mischievous smile, “Only if you’re looking to get your ass kicked.”

The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and there wasn’t the usual skip in her step as she and Sam walked over to the vacant pool table – Jo now helping her mother behind the bar as the usual Friday evening crowd began filling up the building.

“Bails,” Sam started once they reached the table, away from prying ears, “you know I didn’t want to upset you, right?”

Picking up her pool cue and starting to chalk the end of it, she nodded, trying to look as unfazed as possible. When Sam had asked her for a game, she knew he just wanted to get her away from the other two so that he could say his piece.

“I’m not upset, Sam,” she said with a sigh, “you have every right to invite whoever you want to your wedding, okay? Please, can we just leave it there for now?”

“Right, yeah, sorry.”

“So, you ready to get your ass kicked?” Bailey taunted with a grin, the tension immediately dissipating into nothing.

“Bring it.”

Ten short minutes later, Bailey had her cue above her head, yelling out in triumph at her win. Sam, though shaking his head at her less than subtle display of victory, grinned along with her. He was simply happy that she was acting more like herself, but for how long he didn’t know.

“Another?” she asked, setting the balls back into the rack in the middle of the table.

Sam huffed out a laugh. “Sure, you set up, I’ll go get us another drink.”

By now, Bailey was feeling buzzed, the two beers and however many shots of tequila had started to kick in. She could handle her alcohol reasonably well and it would take a lot more for her to be truly drunk, but she was getting that warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach and she swayed slightly as she walked around the table.

Maybe it wasn’t the best way to cope, but the numbing effects of alcohol seemed to be working well to take her mind away from Chris.

A somewhat pleasant mood had begun to settle over Bailey, and only improved throughout the night. Being around her friends – Jess, Sam, Jo, even Charlie had made an appearance – was all the therapy she needed.

She had beaten Sam at another few games of pool before they decided to call it quits, settling instead in their usual booth at the far corner of the bar, away from the noisy patrons. The rest of their friends had slowly joined them, bringing over more drinks that only served to get Bailey increasingly buzzed.

Bailey and Charlie were clinking their shot glasses together, before knocking them back, when Dean approached the table. Before that, he’d been chatting up a pretty little blonde at the bar – as per usual, searching for somebody to take home. It wasn’t a night at the Roadhouse if Dean didn’t leave with a girl hanging off his arm.

But there he was, squeezing himself into the booth, directly next to a disgruntled looking Bailey.

“Luck out?” she asked, eyebrows pinching together when he slings his arm across the seat behind her. He was too close for comfort, his jean covered thigh pressing up against her bare leg.

He shrugged, taking a long pull of his beer. “She has a boyfriend.”

“I’m surprised that stopped you.”

“I do have morals, sweetheart.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Not taken aback in the slightest by her comment, Dean grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement – unlike Bailey, he enjoyed their banter. “You say the sweetest things to me.”

Choosing to ignore the green-eyed man next to her, Bailey tuned back into the conversation. Charlie, Jo, and Jess were chatting about the bachelorette party planned for the following weekend, whilst Sam was completely zoned out, scrolling on his phone.

“Are we still starting at Bailey’s?” Charlie asked, looking over at the girl in question.

“Only if she gets her AC fixed.” Jess replied, grinning smugly over at her.

“I am not having this conversation again, Jessica.”

Dean, who had surprisingly been listening to the conversation, piped in. “I could take a look at it for you.”

Grinding her teeth and clenching her fists, Bailey knew she had been cornered. There was no reasonable excuse to say no to Dean, who was so generously offering his services in front of everybody. Looking over at Jess, who was still wearing the smug grin, she knew her best friend had planned this.

“I’m sure you have plenty of other things to do, I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense,” Dean said, starting to catch onto Bailey’s hesitation, “I’ll swing by tomorrow afternoon and take a look.”

“Great.”

#supernatural au #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester/ofc #dean winchester angst #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester au #sam winchester au #jessica moore

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redroseinsanity · 5 years ago

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Don’t Be A Hero - IwaOi Day 2020

Part 1 of the IwaOi hero/villain series, Meet me in the grey area

This is my spin on this wonderful hero/villain prompt from @one-lonely-whumperfly (I hope you don’t mind what I did with it) for IwaOi Day!

For once I am not late can you believe it? Pulled myself from the clutches of MDZS to get this out because my heart will always belong to Haikyuu~

---

Hajime doesn't know how he got here. And no, by here, he doesn't mean his living room. Here, meaning sponging his enemy's forehead and trying his best to ignore the teeny voice inside that wonders why his nemesis would hide such a lovely face behind a mask.

To say that he's having a slight crisis would not be a stretch.

Let's start from the beginning.

Contrary to popular belief, The Ace of Seijoh city is a very normal person. Anyone would say he's the picture of a regular guy; works a nine to five in a small cubicle, doesn't talk much, is overall a decent person and can be relied on to help fix the photocopying machine when it's down, that sort of thing.

Iwaizumi Hajime is a man of routine; he wakes up at an ungodly hour every morning for his workout before breakfast and then work, after which, it's home to his one-eyed cat and a quiet dinner before sleeping. Rinse and repeat.

The only thing that breaks his routine is any, and every, form of emergency the city of Seijoh can contrive to suffer from. For Seijoh, Hajime has taken bullets, single-handedly unseated corrupt politicians, taken on murderers and saved the mayor at least three times. But most of the time, he's busy thwarting the nefarious Grand King whose schemes keep him on his toes but tend to be more annoying than colossally damaging unlike some other villains he's gone up against.

It's not easy being The Ace of Seijoh, but Hajime knows his powers give him the chance to protect people and so, protect people he does.

Iwaizumi Hajime is having a Very Normal evening. He's had an extremely ordinary dinner of homemade pasta and is watching a popular show on Netflix in his very normal pyjamas.

Yup, totally normal. In fact, the last time he jumped out of a burning building while holding a child was oh, about a week ago.

His Very Normal evening is abruptly cut short when three uneven knocks sound on his door. Slowly, warily, Hajime approaches the door, placing a weapon within reach from where he stands. Hajime doesn't have friends, relatives or anyone who is likely to visit and certainly not at this hour.

Squinting at the visitor screen, Hajime frowns when he recognises the glitzy get up, the aqua trimmings on white, and frowns even more when he sees rips on the suit, blood and scuff marks marring the usually pristine appearance.

It can't be, he's got to be mistaken but as The Grand King raises his head, Hajime comes face to face with his nemesis and his Very Normal night shatters.

Without taking his eyes off the screen, he presses his thumb to the scanning pad, a security measure that allows only him to open the door and it swings open to reveal a slumped figure.

The villain is barely upright, even raising his head seems to be an effort and he sways, toffee eyes drifting shut before opening again. Instinctively, Hajime raises a hand to his elbow to steady him and through the material, he's surprised by how bony the other man is.

At the touch, Grand King's eyes clear slightly and they fix on Hajime, blinking a couple of times to focus. Underneath the fog of disorientation, there's a measure of fear and uncertainty that has never been there before. He's shaking in Hajime's grip, whether from the cold or something else, Hajime isn't sure, but he's on Hajime's doorstep, bleeding and afraid.

It’s a trap. How does he know where I live? What happened to him?

Even in this state, he's able to read Hajime the way he always seems to do in a fight and the edges of his lips quirk up in an attempt at a smirk that slides off like oil on water, the fatigue overpowering him.

"...didn't know where else to go…" Is all he gets out before he's slumping, his tall frame folding straight into Hajime's stunned arms.

Read on AO3 or...

There are a billion questions clamouring in Hajime's mind but he shoves them aside along with all common sense, when he hauls the person who's technically his enemy into his house.

Hefting the man,who the city has christened 'The Grand King', into his arms, Hajime lays him carefully on the couch - a move that warrants an offended look from Captain, his ginger cat.

"I know, this is insane, that this could be a trap, and no, I don't know how he knows where we live," Hajime tries to explain himself to his cat, because that's what all heroes do, reason out questionable life choices with their pet. He casts a doubtful look at the crumpled figure on his sofa and sighs.

"But I don't think so," He murmurs, more to himself than to Captain, "I think he really needs our help."

Having had his fair share of scrapes, Hajime makes quick work of cleaning and bandaging Grand King's wounds and then sits back, taking a good look at the man he's been fighting with for years.

Normally, he's too busy fending off multiple attacks or rushing to prevent a building from crashing on tourists to really look at his opponent. But in the low light of his living room, in the stillness of the late evening, Hajime finds that underneath the gaudy mask of this pesky villain is a gorgeous man not much older than him.

Without the mask and the banter that Grand King usually keeps between them, he's all creamy skin, long lashes and his mouth is soft, vulnerable in sleep. There are shadows under his eyes and sweeping a gaze over the various bruises and lacerations, it's easy to see someone hasn't been kind to him.

Hajime wonders who. And then he tells himself it’s none of his business.

Without warning, Hajime is struck with the horrifying feeling that The Grand King is someone who needs to be protected more than he needs protecting from and it leaves him utterly discombobulated. To avoid the struggle of trying to reconcile this man with the one who had most recently tried to flood a press conference with piranhas in the water, Hajime decides to hook him up to an IV bag to try to flush out whatever it was in Grand King's system that made him so sluggish.

He wakes as Hajime is cleaning grime off his face and Hajime doesn’t know who is more startled. His hand freezes mid-motion, too caught off guard to snatch itself back and the Grand King’s eyes dart around the room, the sharp gaze whittling down to something like padded caution as he finally stops on the very hand that had been dabbing off smudges of dirt.

A slow blink that has the dark edges of lashes grazing a rapidly swelling cheek. Hajime tells himself he's looking at the bruise, not the other man's eyelashes.

Just like that, Hajime has no idea what to do with his hands, if he should wipe that last smear of dirt off or get into a battle-ready stance. He watches as The Grand King's lips tilt up.

"So you didn't kill me," There's a wheezy rasp in the voice that usually rings clearly across buildings and town squares and Hajime doesn't like it. He hands a glass of water over, scowling.

"Did you come here expecting me to kill you?" He demands.

After carefully peering into the glass, Grand King takes a tentative sip before shrugging and immediately, wincing as he jostles the wound that runs across his ribs.

"It was a gamble," he says lightly, as though delivering yourself to your enemy's door carries the same risk as trying a new brand of peanut butter.

Hajime says as much and Grand King raises an eyebrow, managing to look regal even though his hair is a mess and Hajime desperately wants to comb his fingers through it so it would stop being so distracting.

"Are we really enemies though, Iwa chan?"

Hajime cycles through ten different variations of rage before reminding himself that Grand King probably can't sustain a duel right now.

"What did you just call me?" He says slowly, deliberately, prying his fingers from the indents he's made in his coffee table.

"You think I would find out where you live but not your real name?" Grand King asks, chuckling. Hajime feels the indignation subside slightly at the familiar sound, the way the air seems to have properly returned to the other man's lungs.

"If I wake up one day to find piranhas in my house, I really will kill you," Hajime threatens even though they both know this is not the implication that he should be most concerned about.

"Of course n- Oh," The Grand King breaks off when Hajime's absolute traitor of a cat crawls straight into the villain's lap and starts purring.

The betrayal continues when The Grand King begins cooing to Captain and Hajime's absolute traitor of a heart does a helpless flop.

"Who knew a stern old man like you would have such an affectionate kitty, Iwa chan?" Those caramel eyes are soft now and Hajime suddenly feels disconcertingly out of his depth.

"I told you to stop calling me that," He grumbles, shooting a glare at Captain who responds with a smug look.

"Aww, don't be such a sourpuss, Iwa chan! Look, you can call me Oikawa and we'll be even," Oikawa grins cheekily, scratching Captain under the chin in the way that has the feline's eyes closing in contentment.

"Is that even your real name?" Hajime raises a skeptical brow and is met with a knowing grin.

"Don't sound so suspicious, Iwa chan," Oikawa teases as he sits up and begins taking the IV out.

"Wait," Hajime hears himself say before realising he has one hand out, his body moving faster than his mind can filter, "You shouldn’t- You’re not in any condition to move around."

The look that Oikawa gives him is undecipherable and Hajime sees him hesitate before he gently moves Captain out of his lap. But he stands and Hajime watches carefully, relieved when he doesn't sway even though he moves with an unnatural heaviness.

"Do you-" Hajime struggles with himself before he decides he will regret not asking more than he will asking, "Are you in trouble?"

This time, Hajime catches the flash of surprise ripple across Oikawa's elegant features before his confident smirk is back in place.

"Why? Is Iwa chan worried?" He leans in close, Hajime can see gold flakes swimming in brown, illuminated by the warm light of the lamp, can feel Oikawa’s breath skim his cheek.

"Are you going to protect me if I am?"

Yes, the response rises in Hajime like a wave swelling in the sea, yes. That's what I do. And I want to do it for you.

"Just wondering if I'm going to get more surprise visits or if this is a one-off thing," Is what he mumbles gruffly.

"So forward, Iwa chan!" Oikawa gasps and slaps him playfully on the arm, "If you want me to come over more often, you should've just said!"

"Really? I've tried to get you arrested five times this year and we aren't even in April yet," Hajime fixes Oikawa with an unimpressed stare, "You, a self declared villain of Seijoh, want to visit me, the most commonly called for hero in the city?"

They've reached the door and Hajime isn't even surprised when Oikawa reaches for his hand and guides his thumb up to the scanning pad so that he can leave.

The night air is cool and crisp, and the moon is extraordinarily bright, shedding milky light in layers over the empty street. Oikawa turns, still holding Hajime's hand and Hajime fights the urge to curl his fingers and hold on to the other man.

Stay, let me take care of you.

"Then don't be a hero," Oikawa says quietly and Hajime's brain scrambles to orientate himself in the conversation, "Don't be a hero and I won't be a villain. I'll come over and you'll just be you, and I'll just be me."

Hajime is still processing that statement when Oikawa lets go and steps back.

"See you later, Iwa chan." A glint of teeth as Oikawa smiles, a gentle smile, a soft smile.

And then he's gone, melting into the darkness despite the fact that he was in his hideous white outfit, and Hajime doesn't strain to find him. He just stands in his doorway and listens to his carefully constructed world crumble in the silence of the night. It sounds like Oikawa’s laughter.

Nothing is going to be the same after this, he thinks, I’ve lost my goddamn mind, and then he smiles, gently and softly.

"See you soon, Oikawa."

#iwaoi #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa torū #haikyuu fanfiction #villain x hero #redwrites #iwaoi day

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belva-athanas · 5 years ago

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You don’t scream when the ground rushes up to meet you as you fall (is that the right word? even years later, you’re not sure if you simply fell or were pushed) from the climbing frame.

It’s silent, all those kids and not a single word said among any of them, the air tense as Dad appears out of nowhere. Your blonde curls are spread across the pavement, contrasting greatly with the dark asphalt, and although you can’t see it, you can smell the sticky scent of blood. It must be coming from you, from your arm where it’s bent in a way that it shouldn’t be, something you can’t quite identify sticking out of the pale skin. Instead of screaming, instead of crying like a ten year old should, you keep your gaze trained on Dad as he rushes towards you. You want nothing more than for him to lean down and pick you up, carry you away to somewhere safe where he’ll fix what hurts and coddle you until it feels better. Instead, he simply stares, strangled sobs falling from his lips. For a second, even through the pain, you’re caught up in the display of emotion. In the realization that he cares for you so much, that he loves you so much, that the seemingly impenetrable mask that he wears has slipped and he’s crying. Except then he opens his mouth and says something that will stick with you for the next decade, rubbing your skin raw as you try to figure out just what exactly he means. “Oh God, she’s BROKEN.”

He doesn’t know that this isn’t the first time. Doesn’t know that you’ve broken bones before, before he was even a possibility in your life.

BEFORE

Before the house upon the hill, before Mom and the gentle way that she would move your hair off of your shoulders, there was another woman. Her hair was blonde, too, light like yours is. It was curlier, though; that much you can remember. You can’t remember what your name was then, even though it has only been four years since Dad brought you home, but you do remember what you called her. Momma.

You remember her in bits and pieces, each memory tied to something that happens now, in your new life. They come without warning and leave you tired, but as much as you want to talk about what they mean, you have the feeling that you’re not supposed to. It’s more than just the way that dad likes you to be quiet, to be a listener instead. It’s because in this new place, no one really mentions what happened before. It’s not a rule, not really, but you know it isn’t allowed. So when they come, you don’t say a word.

When you’re eleven years old, Vertmoor is hit with a thunderstorm so strong that the trees in the garden seem to twist and turn, as if reaching for you. A memory comes, quick as lightning, and suddenly you’re five years old again, locked out after school. Momma had forgotten to unlock the door, and you don’t know if she’s inside asleep or off with her new boyfriend. All you know is that the thunder is so loud and it sounds so close, and you’re not tall enough to try and crawl through the window. You sit outside of your apartment until she stumbles home, smelling of smoke, offering little more than a glance as she fumbles with her keys before letting you both in. When a particularly loud crack of thunder shakes the room, you break, tears running down your face as you go to your favorite person for comfort. Remy opens the door and although the storm rages on, you feel the slightest bit safer with him there.

When you’re twelve years old, Cassia drops a mug in the kitchen while helping with the dishes. It’s the sound that does it, that pulls you back. There’s yelling in the kitchen, so loud that you’re afraid to tip toe from the bathroom. It’s late at night, and you have nursery in the morning, but you’d woken up and had to go to the bathroom. When you’d fallen asleep, it was only you and Momma, but there’s another voice there that’s deeper and unmistakably male. You don’t know his name, there’s been too many to really keep up. All you know is that his voice is angry, and you don’t like it. Something smashes, like a plate being dropped, and you run out to check and see if Momma is okay. The man glares, a large hand reaching out for your shoulder, and he shoves you away, out into the hallway. “Go back to bed, kid,” he spits out, and you can just see your Momma from behind his legs, sitting on the floor in a little dress, a drinking glass in pieces beside her. You want to check on her, but he’s too big and you’re scared, so you go back to bed.

When you’re thirteen years old, Dad takes you to one of the parties that his organization is putting on. You’re so excited at the thought of getting to spend time with him alone, away from your siblings, and he’s bought you a new dress for the occasion. It’s pretty, light pink in color, with matching kitty cat heels that Mom had helped you clasp. You feel grown up, important. Before he opens the door to exit the car, he leans in, voice steady. “Now remember, Belva. At these events, it is important that you be respectful. Listen, and wait for me to tell you if you should talk, understand?” You stare at him, not completely surprised, but uncomfortable with the similarity between his words and the woman you haven’t seen for seven years. “You don’t answer any of their questions, do you hear me? They’re just poking their noses into our business, gossipy bastards, all of ‘em. They don’t care about either of us. You talk to them, and they’ll cause trouble for us. You’ll cause trouble for us. If they ask you something, you wait for me to tell you what to say. Got it?” Momma’s face is drawn tight, an anxious energy coming off of her as she paces around the kitchen. You nod, unable to find your words, not wanting to make her mad or for any trouble to come.

When you’re nineteen years old, you’re getting ready for bed when you hear heavy footsteps outside of your door. You peek your head out, curious, watching as a clearly inebriated December sneaks back into the house. Where Horatio is, you’re not sure, but you can smell the alcohol that clings to your older brother from your doorway, only one away from his own. It brings you back to a memory of your Momma, slumped over on the worn couch in the living room, sick down the front of her dress. You’d done the only thing your six year old mind could think of, covering her with a blanket and hoping she would be better in the morning.

When you’re twenty two years old, Dad kicks you and Ace out. Not with those words, of course, but you know that is what he is doing all the same. Standing there in your new apartment, pretty and shiny just like he’d trained you to be, your back is facing the door when a knock comes. You’d been trying to figure out the stove, to get it running so that you could heat up the stir fry you’d picked up on your way back from lunch with Bluebell, but the knock had pulled your attention away from what you were doing and you’d clipped the edge of your hand against the pan. It burns, and the knocking continues, and as you clutch your hand to your chest, you’re six years old again, on the day when everything changed.

She’d left the stove on before she left, the burner still warm. You’d only been trying to reach the box of sugary cereal on the top shelf, too short to reach it on your own, so instead resorting to using the counter to give you the added height. Except you’ve never had the best balance, even after years of learning to stay out of people’s way and remain quiet while doing so, so when you get ready to jump down, you lose your grip and your hand lands on the too hot surface. It burns, and the pain is enough to draw a strange sound from your lips. Tears fall from your eyes as you struggle to get down without further aggravating your hand, and you call out to try and see if Momma might still be home. If she’s asleep on the couch again, or watching television in the bedroom. She’s nowhere to be found, and your hand still aches and so you do something that sometimes (no matter how wrong it is, no matter how much you know you shouldn’t feel this way) you regret years later. You go to the neighbors, to the outside world that supposedly only wanted to cause you trouble, and the older woman ushers you in without hesitation and runs your hand under cold water until you’re able to stop crying. Then, you sit in her living room with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich until another woman comes, all soft edges and trained smiles. You never do get to go back to your apartment, never get to see your Momma who could be so cold but sometimes ran her fingers up and down your skinny arm and whispered to you when you had a bad dream. Instead, you’re taken somewhere else until a man arrives to pick you up and take you away to the house upon the hill.

When you’re twenty four years old, your father is murdered, and you pick up the phone to receive this news and feel nothing. You finish your cold glass of water, and wait for something to rise up within you, for a sadness and anger that never comes. His words come to mind (“Oh God, she’s BROKEN.”) and you wonder if maybe he’s right. Wonder if he’s the one responsible, or if that was from before too.

#dhtask #tw: alcholism #tw: child neglect #tw: blood #dad #mom #momma #this is way too long and yet here we areeeeee #remy #cassia #december #horatio #ace

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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nobody knows where we might end up, chapter two (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr)

“Then why,” Nina punctuates it with a click of her pen, “have you been so on edge since finding out that it was her?”

Brooke scoffs. “What are you talking about?” She’s not that obvious. She’s professional. Dr. Mateo doesn’t affect her that much.

“You practically ran away from the conversation when I introduced her to you-”

“I did not-”

“And now you’re sitting here like you’ve been personally wronged. If you were anyone else, I’d tell you to get the hell out of my office and respect my hiring decisions. But it’s you, and you’re my friend, and I care about you, so you need to start talking.”

AN: Hello, hello, chapter two! Some bonding outside of class in the past and a pissed off Brooke in the present. Thank you writ for being an amazing human and helping me talk through ideas, roasting my writing, and being a great beta.

(then)

“C’mon, B. You’ve barely come out with me at all since orientation week.” Brooke’s roommate flops down on her bed, fixing her with a quivering pout that’s dramatic enough to win an Academy Award.

“I gotta study, Detox, it’s already week three and midterms start-”

“Fuck midterms.” Detox’s statement is punctuated by a hand in the air. “Uni’s not for studying-”

“Yes it is-”

“-Uni is not only for studying. You’re gonna regret it years from now if you spend it locked away in a dorm room preparing for midterms that are still weeks away.” Detox flips over onto her stomach. “Come study the different types of shitty mixed drinks that we can make instead.”

Brooke bites her lip. She’s always had a plan - get into uni, study her ass off, get experience in the field, and ace the MCAT all so that she can be accepted into med school. A worthy four year plan. She’s vowed to herself not to get distracted, not to get pulled away from it. Not if she wants to get into med school on the first try.

Detox sees the torment on her face and lets out a sigh. “It’s one night, B. It’s not even a party. Just some people on our floor gathering in 718 to get to know each other more and chill.”

“Promise we won’t stay too long?” Maybe she can go for an hour or so, max. She can spare that much time.

“Oh Jesus, yes fine, we won’t stay too long. We can come home for your nonexistent curfew so that we don’t make your mom who lives hundreds of miles away mad at you.” Detox extends a hand, tugs Brooke up into a standing position.

“She lives in Etobicoke, actually, not too far from-”

“Irrelevant. Now c’mon, put on something a little sluttier than that high school marching band t-shirt you’re wearing. Not exactly gonna get yourself a man in that.” Detox starts rifling through her own clothes, pulling out a crop top and holding it out for Brooke.

“Who’s to say I even want a man in the first place?” Not that she’s even come out to Detox just yet. Better to test the waters with her first.

“Whatever. Get changed. It’ll be fun.”

It’s only kind of fun.

Detox finds other people to talk to as soon as they step through the door, leaving Brooke to her own devices. She makes small talk with a girl who calls her ‘stunning’, which is flattering, really, before she realizes that the girl uses ‘stunning’ as an adjective for pretty much everything.

“This cider? Stunning!”

Case in point.

Brooke nurses her own drink, noticing with a wrinkle of her nose that it’s emptying faster than she’s planned. She’s only brought one, not intending to even get tipsy - she still has another lecture to get through tonight if she wants to stay on top of her study schedule.

She runs a hand through her hair when the girl leaves to grab a snack, wishing that she’d just stayed in her room. It’s hard. Having to socialize is hard. Uncomfortable. She almost misses home, misses her ballet friends and how easy things were when they had common ground to bond over.

But she’s left dance behind with high school, not following the path of her friends who want a ballet career. Her body is tired, worn. Her mind has better uses.

Maybe she should just go home and study.

“Brooke!”

Brooke’s head snaps up at the mention of her name, a voice yelling who is most definitely not Detox but-

“Vanessa?”

She’s here. Grinning with a smile that lights up her face, her hair in a high bun with pieces falling in front of her face that she goes to tuck behind her ear.

She’s adorable.

Vanessa maneuvers between the people sitting on the floor to come sit beside her. She’s in another shirt-dress, one with Led Zeppelin’s logo on it.

Brooke points to it. “Didn’t know you liked Zeppelin.”

“Who?” Vanessa looks down at her shirt. “Eh, I don’t. Stole it from my brother’s closet when I was last home.”

Brooke can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips, sounding quite similar to the girls that sit outside the Athletic Centre and watch the guys’ football team practice while hoping to catch their attention.

Nauseating. She’s better than this. She has game.

But then Vanessa nudges her, grabs her can of cider to look at it (‘I’ve never tried this one before’) and Brooke realizes from the way that her breath catches that no, she really doesn’t.

“Try it, see if you like it.” The comment slips out before Brooke can stop herself.

Vanessa raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Her sip leaves a deep red lipstick print on the edge of the can, one that Brooke can’t help but stare at when Vanessa passes it back.

“You’re right, that shit is good. On second thought, I want another sip.” Vanessa reaches across to grab her can.

Brooke lifts it higher, out of Vanessa’s reach, can’t help but grin when Vanessa pouts up at her. “How about we trade?”

Vanessa practically thrusts her own can in Brooke’s direction. “Take it, I’m tired of this hard lemonade. It’s not even good.”

Vanessa takes another sip from Brooke’s drink, running a hand through her hair. Her leg is bouncing in place again, but somehow it’s less annoying than it is in class. “Question. What were you doing here alone, looking all sad and shit when I came in?”

“I wasn’t sad. ” Brooke’s voice is defensive. She wasn’t.

“Yeah you were.” Vanessa’s eyes are twinkling, making Brooke see that she’s just playing around. “Pouting and everything by yourself like a sad kitty.”

“You’re making me feel real cool.” Vanessa cracks up at Brooke’s wry statement, her laugh reverberating in the small room and it’s so cute that it makes Brooke crack a smile too.

“Nah. I just…my roommate dragged me here. Wasn’t really in the mood today.” Brooke shrugs at her.

“Are you ever?” Vanessa can’t keep a straight face before nudging Brooke. “Kidding, kidding. I’ve just never seen you at one of these floor hangouts before.”

Brooke can feel the blush rising on her face. So maybe she’s a bit of a hermit in her room. Who needs to hang out with others all of the time? But at the same time…Vanessa noticed.

“You were looking for me, huh?” It’s her turn to tease, and it feels great to turn the tables when Vanessa is the one flushing crimson.

“No! Okay…maybe. It’s just kinda nice seeing you outside of class. Where we can actually talk and shit, not with Professor What’s His Nuts droning on and on and on.”

Brooke can’t help but clap a hand over her mouth, looking around as if the man is going to actually materialize out of thin air or something. “Professor Who?”

“I said what I said.” Vanessa takes another swig of Brooke’s drink. “I can never pronounce his actual name, it’s too damn long.”

Brooke snorts. “And yet you can pronounce things like ‘ventricular tachycardia’ just fine in class.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Priorities, bitch. I practice. Speaking of which, I’m fucking glad we moved onto cardio from neuro. Neuro was boring.”

“It is not.” Brooke has to stop her mouth from dropping open at Vanessa’s statement. “Neuro is so fun! Learning about how the brain sends messages and the different cranial nerves and-”

“Zzzzz.” Vanessa pretends to snore. “Already asleep.”

Brooke gapes at her. “How can you hate neuro? Cardio is so confusing, with all of the different nodes and phases. I still haven’t fully gotten it, I need to go back and study it again before the midterm comes up.”

“Is that why I barely see you around? Cause you’re studying all the damn time?”

“No!” Brooke makes a face Vanessa gives her a pointed look. “Maybe?”

“You need to loosen up a little.” Vanessa stands up then and faces her. Sticks a hand out. “Lemme show you how.”

“I don’t really want to drink that much tonight.” Her protest is cut off, however, when Vanessa winks at her and makes the words that are resting on the tip of her tongue disappear.

“When did I say there was gonna be more alcohol? Come on.”

Brooke relents, letting Vanessa pull her into a standing position and drag her to another corner of the room. The music is louder, people dancing and laughing and then so is Vanessa, singing along to lyrics that Brooke doesn’t know and grabbing her hands, trying to make her move too.

Vanessa giggles at the way Brooke is frozen in her spot, stiff despite the music. “C’mon, you. Why you looking like a baby giraffe trying to learn how to walk for the first time?”

“I don’t dance. Not like this, anyway.” She’s a ballet dancer. She doesn’t know how to do this kind of dancing, one where she doesn’t have to drill the steps into her head a million times first.

“Sure you do.” Vanessa’s smile is a bit too mischievous and oh , that’s why, because she puts her hands on Brooke’s hips. Brooke’s heart does approximately twenty-five flips, because does Vanessa even know what she’s doing to her?

“Try and sway a little.” Vanessa moves her hands, bringing Brooke’s hips with them. “There you go.”

“I look like one of those inflatable balloons outside of used car dealerships.” Brooke feels her heart glow in her chest when it makes Vanessa crack up.

“Shut up, you don’t.” Vanessa says it with a smile that makes her eyes sparkle and hey, even though Brooke may be looking a bit stupid, does it even matter when she can make Vanessa’s face do that?

Vanessa lifts her hands from her hips, the loss of contact tugging on Brooke’s chest more than it should. But then Vanessa grabs both of her hands, intertwines their fingers and jeez. Brooke feels like she’s had more alcohol than she actually has, because she feels so light and happy and Vanessa is singing along again, and hey, maybe dancing like this isn’t so hard.

Brooke can’t keep the smile off of her face when she stumbles back down the hall to her room hours later. She’s a little sweaty and tired and definitely in need of a shower but her heart feels like it’s shimmying to its own rhythm, one curated by Vanessa and the way she had danced around her.

Brooke tosses Detox’s crop top back onto her bed, her roommate still not back, probably not returning until the morning.

Vanessa’s fun. Real fun outside of class, when they’re not taking turns asking and answering questions and annoying the fuck out of everyone else present in the lecture hall.

Maybe falling a tiny bit behind on her study schedule is okay. She’ll just work extra hard tomorrow.

She thinks of the way that Vanessa had held her hands, twirled her around while going on her tiptoes (‘Why are you so tall, what are you, a skyscraper?’). Perhaps she’ll need to alter her schedule to allow for such extracurricular activities, because she’s made up her mind.

She absolutely needs to hang out with Vanessa outside of class again.

(now)

Brooke exits out of the Word document open on her office computer with a frustrated growl. The words aren’t coming to her no matter how hard she fucking tries and it’s annoying, this never happens, shouldn’t happen because this research trial is her baby and she should be able to describe her findings in words.

Except that the words seem to be gone.

She rubs at her temples, trying to work away the tension headache that has started to blossom. The day has felt longer than usual. Her craniotomy had complications with bleeding that needed to be dealt with, making the surgery go for an hour longer than necessary. The patient that she had a consult with had to be intubated after a code blue. Now her research is just…not working.

Brooke hasn’t felt this off-kilter in a while. Things just changed after she saw…her.

Fucking Dr. Mateo. Throwing Brooke off of her rhythm.

Brooke stands up, shutting off her office computer. She needs a break from her work, anyway.

Her feet lead her to Nina’s office before she even realizes where she’s walking. Nina’s on the phone when Brooke lets herself in, holding up a hand until she hangs up. Brooke flops down on a chair, crossing her arms.

Nina raises an eyebrow at her when she puts the phone down. “Hello to you, too.”

Brooke leans forward in her chair. “You didn’t tell me that the new hire was Vanessa Mateo.”

“You never asked.” Nina’s forehead wrinkles. “Wait, is there something professionally that I’m missing? Her references were absolutely gushing about her.”

Brooke pauses. “Well…no. I don’t know much about her as a surgeon.”

“Then why,” Nina punctuates it with a click of her pen, “have you been so on edge since finding out that it was her?”

Brooke scoffs. “What are you talking about?” She’s not that obvious. She’s professional. Dr. Mateo doesn’t affect her that much.

“You practically ran away from the conversation when I introduced her to you-”

“I did not-”

Brooke deflates in her seat. “It’s…it’s not work related. It doesn’t matter. I can work with her.”

So she doesn’t want to talk about it. Sue her. Why bring up a relationship that ended so many years ago?

She can be professional. She can avoid Dr. Mateo, if necessary. They head completely different units, for crying out loud. Who’s to say that they’ll even run into each other at all?

Nina sighs. “Brooke-”

She’s up from her chair. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

Brooke shouldn’t be a child about it, anyway. She can just stay away from her.

“I gotta get back to work.” She’s at the door, ignoring Nina’s disapproving look.

“If you now think that I’m absolutely not going to get this out of you, you’re wrong.” Nina clicks her pen in her direction again. “We’re gonna talk about this sometime. As well as your penchance for avoidance.”

Brooke waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, West.”

She’s out of the office before Nina can say anything else.

“That’s it, come on baby.” Brooke mutters the empty words into the ear of the…nurse? Radiation technician? Whoever she’s fucking on this bunk in the on call room. The woman’s moans sound fake, and would annoy Brooke if she couldn’t currently feel the way that she’s shuddering underneath her.

Brooke extricates herself as soon as the woman comes, wiping her hand on her pants. It doesn’t matter. She’ll change into a different pair of scrubs before her next surgery, anyway.

The woman is still lying on the bunk, dazed expression on her face as she giggles. “Wow, Dr. Hytes.”

Brooke pulls her lab coat back on, letting out a noncommittal hum in response. She grabs the woman’s scrubs from the floor, tosses them to her. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work, too?”

“Uh, yeah. I will.” The woman’s still looking a bit out of it as she pulls her shirt back over her head. “Can we do that again sometime?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Brooke leaves with that, shutting the door behind her.

She’s used to letting off steam like this, pulling one of the women on the floor that fawn over her into the on call room for a little break. Though this time, it hasn’t been as stress relieving as it usually is. The tension in her shoulders is still there, the headache that has hovered for the last few days behind her eyes still present.

Brooke lets out an annoyed huff as she passes the cardiovascular ICU because she knows exactly why she’s still felt so off, no matter how much she wants to pretend that she hasn’t.

She hasn’t seen Dr. Mateo since she started working at the hospital at the beginning of the week, but reminders of the woman are everywhere. Avoidance hasn’t helped when the gossip on the various units is so loud, so carrying, everyone gushing about Dr. Mateo’s surgical techniques and daring nature and how fucking friendly she is.

Brooke doesn’t care. She doesn’t. But why has Dr. Mateo felt the need to come here, of all places?

She’s ruminating as she power-walks to the Stroke unit, intent on distracting herself with checking up on some of the patients that she’s operated on during the week. Her mind is running as she flips through the files in her hands as she walks, barely noticing the woman heading in her direction-

“Shit! Shit, sorry-”

The woman’s apology cuts off and it makes Brooke look up and oh.

“Dr. Hytes.”

“Dr. Mateo.”

Of fucking course.

Dr. Mateo’s in her scrubs now too, dark blue ones matching Brooke’s because she’s also an attending surgeon. Brooke clenches her jaw. Her luck, really. She doesn’t want to deal with her. Even if she still looks fucking good.

Not that the fact is relevant whatsoever. Doesn’t matter in the least. She needs to go back to work.

“Excuse me.” Brooke shoves past her, and if the files in her hands knock against Dr. Mateo’s shoulders it’s absolutely not her fault. Not at all.

“Not even the end of my first week and you’re already pushing me out of the way. Don’t let me keep you waiting from whatever important shit you’ve clearly got going on.” Dr. Mateo’s tone is biting, and it makes Brooke’s eyes narrow.

“More important than whatever it is that you’re doing here.” With that, she stalks down the hallway without looking back because she’s mature, real mature.

She’s fuming when she reaches the Stroke unit, an emotion that is only exacerbated when she overhears nurses talking about “that new cardio surgeon, I heard she’s crazy good,” making her slam her files down on the nursing desk with more force than necessary.

Clearly avoiding Vanessa isn’t going to be enough, not when she’s the talk of the hospital. Focusing on her work is going to be more difficult than she thought.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #hospital au #greys anatomy au #holtzmanns #nobody knows where we might end up #submission

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shamelesslypoetic · 5 years ago

Text

I: The Birds and The Dee

Summary: The Forrester household is home to four pets. Dastan’s ball python, Nova, who bit Park in the ankle is one of them. To make up for it, Dee decides to increase the pet count to five but ends up getting two more. TW: Self-deprecation, body image issues, snakes, strippers Word count: 2.4k

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Nova’s eyes narrowed as her tongue flicked out at me, rolling up and down in the air as I fixed her with a firm glare. Squirming, she looked away. I followed her gaze to the bird she'd killed and felt a slight twinge of guilt. Grave mistake keeping her cage open by the window. Park would be devastated. The pain he went through was enough so I decided not to tell him. A groan sounded from Park’s room. Sighing, I pulled a pillow over my head, frustrated that, yesterday, she’d gotten out and bit him. Because he’s Park, of course, he kept telling me it didn’t matter, that he was okay and that he’d ‘tempted’ her by wearing gray socks with mouse patterns. I knew better, though. So fragile despite the strength of his mind, my brother bruised very easily.

Distraction. I need a distraction. My hand itched for a cigarette but Park didn’t like the smell and Pops wouldn’t want me to. Mulling over going to the store to get a pack, I grabbed my phone from the bedside. The black screen showed my face staring back at me, twin to Park’s in every way except the dark, uneven patches spread like rot on fruit. Tomato pits. Banana bruises. Pretty patterns. Park’s voice answered in my head. I hurled the phone, letting it bash against the headpost. It fell onto the bed with a thunk and I exhaled sharply, running both hands through my hair. I stood up, fingers drumming on my thigh as I paced back and forth around the room. Finding myself in front of the hollowed carcass of the bird, I grit down on my teeth. Brown, eyes two slits, beak open in an uneven angle and wings still slightly raised, it lay there, dead. If she weren’t sleeping Nova’s eyes would have spoken to me, teasing because she knew I couldn’t be mad at her for answering to her survival instincts. That anger only existed because of what she’d done to Park, after all. I stared at the bird some more, moving a bit closer to Nova’s cage. One way or another we all end up dead. I felt a consolation, for at least its death had given me an idea.

“Dastan!” Pops’ concerned voice caught me at the door, hand frozen on the handle. I didn’t turn. “Where are you going?” I squeezed the cool metal, tensing. “Out.” Wearily, he repeated, “Where are you going?” “Don’t worry, old man, I’ll be back in an hour,” I said. He inhaled a sharp breath and I bit my lip, imaging his red face and the hand running through his graying hair. Too young for this. I pressed another mild insult, “Take care of Park.” Kitty, our golden retriever – courtesy of Park – whined in front of my brother’s door, scratching at the wood. As Pops turned to her, I pushed my way through, tossing a glance over my shoulder. Soulful, worried eyes and a heavy brow met mine. Vitiligo or no vitiligo, you’re my son and I love you. Slamming the door behind me, I sighed.

A shop window revealed that the concealer I’d applied held up well through the town square’s usual buzz and bustle. Park’s words echoed in my head. You’re perfect just the way you are. He didn’t understand, how could he with his clear honey eyes, freckled face and curly hair? Various birds, fish, cats and dogs blurred in my vision, face coming into focus. Muddy brown and green gazed back. Without breaking stride, I pushed into the nearest pet shop, tearing my eyes away from the display window. I hadn’t managed to see a single creature anyway. Ding. The bell went. I wanted to break it. The hot summer air licked at my cheeks and ears. Air conditioner who? Scrunching up my nose at the cat piss and cheap air fresher meant to cover it up, I glanced over to a girl with an exposed midriff. “How can I help you, babycakes?” her eyes went down, tattoo of an arrow pointing to the bottom from her navel. Downcast eyes met mine again as she swayed towards me. I curled my lip. Classy. “Stuck up dick,” she murmured. Flashing her the black ring on my middle finger, I turned to another aisle. Basically, ‘Fuck off. I’m not interested.’ A little harsh, yes, but how else would people know I’m ace? Her presence stayed there, cloying perfume nearly suffocating. A vaguely Australian accent greeted me, “Tattoo’s for a strip club I work at after shifts.” My head fell back, something close to regret washing over me. “Whaddya need?” Another blast of hot air from outside had me worried that the powder would come off with the heat and I touched a hand to my face. Great. Exactly what I needed. “Cool how you don’t have air conditioning here,” I said, eyes falling on her name-tag. “Annabelle.” She gave an apologetic smile and I stuffed a five dollar bill into her hand as I brushed past, silently apologizing for being an ass.

Well, well, what have we here? Cat food. That’s what. And a nerd. Such a curious sight, the two of them together. Earlier, Viridian had called to tell me of his common cold, delirious as he begged for dry food. ‘Dirthersh’, that British short-hair Macy insisted they keep, seemed more trouble than he's worth. I browsed the birds section and two lovebirds rubbing their against each other caught my attention. A gradient gray and a gradient brown. Just the colors I was looking for. I’d learnt by now. Red and orange showed me different shades of brown and green gave me gray but my heart still thumped an unsteady beat. Another convenience took for granted among people. Despite anything I could tell myself it would always hurt, having eyes that don’t work properly, ill skin, uneven body and mind at every turn. What if I got them wrong? I just wanted to get one thing right. Just his favorite color, damn it. But it’s not orange! It’s purple! Of course, he always said that because he didn’ want the colors I couldn’t see to be the ones he liked. Oh, shut up. Slate spun towards me and I clamped my lips shut. Of course I’d said it out loud. Stupid. Raising a hand, I walked towards him, pinning him with my gaze. He leveled a calm stare. “Can I help you?” Formal as ever. “Yeah, Malachi,” I said, giving a crooked smirk. “You see colors, right?” Slate adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat. “As far as I’m concerned.” “Well, that makes one of us,” I pointed at the two birds and Slate’s thick, wire rimmed glasses followed my finger. “What are those?” An Encyclopedia exploded in my face, “Lovebirds, the common name for Agapornis is a species popular amongst pet owners and typically bought in pairs—” “Oh for fuck’s sake, their colors, Slate.” Slate blinked in disinterest, shifting in the same monotone voice as if I’d asked Siri. “The one on the right is red and orange, the other is a gray and mint green gradient,” for once, his specificness paid off. “Make sure to buy a spacious cage. They’re quite lively and need room to be healthy.” I nodded, catching Annabelle’s eyes across the shop. She smiled at me, mouthing ‘thanks’. “Why are you buying them?” The scorn in my voice hiding the fact I was grateful, I turned back to him. “I decided our house wasn’t enough of a zoo as it is.” “For someone who likes salt, this is a very sweet gesture to your brother.” “Park,” I said, arching a brow. “He has a name.” Slate cleared his throat, looking away. “I am aware.” “And that’s not the phrase,” I added, peering at the slight color on his cheekbones. “I’m salty, but I’m not a complete jerk.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “The debate team would beg to differ.” “Bunch of pussies,” I dismissed, waving my hand. “Why are you here? Last time I checked, you didn’t have any pets.” “Viridian wasn’t feeling well so he asked if I could buy cat food for Hershey.” “What was our next discussion supposed to be about anyway?” I asked. “You don’t take notes?” I scoffed, almost offended. “Of course not.” “How do you manage to keep up with tasks then?” “I don’t,” I said smoothly. “I forget, like a cool person.” He crossed his arms, indulging me. “The Israel Palestine feud” “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

At the cash register, Slate strode over with the cat food. He placed a five dollar bill on the counter and stared ahead. He cleared his throat, adjusted, readjusted his glasses and then looked at me. “Dastan.” I rolled my eyes. “I told you, I go by Dee.” “Tell Park our next session is on Wednesday,” his voice cracked at my brother’s name. Coffee brown eyes grew just a shade lighter as he squared his shoulders, holding my gaze. “Oh, he can’t,” I said, sizing him up. “He’s been bitten by a snake.” Slate tensed, eyes widening despite his best efforts. “What!? Is..is he alright?” I’d spent my whole life thinking myself a mutation because I’d never seen in my face what I saw in his but I pretended not to notice, jaw clenching as I subdued him. “Relax, it was just Nova.” His flushed face deepened in color. Trembling and steadying, hitting uneven notes, his usually deep voice stretched thin. “Is he in any pain at all? Are you quite sure the snake isn’t venomous?” My heart pumped, mind running, scrambling with the impossibility that I’d never noticed before. “No.” “May I come with you to check on him? If it’s a suitable time, of course. I mean, I must...reschedule with him.” Words were pushed out of him in a flurry, cracking his composure enough for me to sense his worry. “We have an Algebra exam next Monday.” “I’ll have him call you.” A pause. Slate, leader of the debate team, son of Principal Marvin and valedictorian student, Slate Malachi hesitated, barely audible. “I’d like to see him in person.” I looked him up and down, head to toe, drinking in his nervousness. Eyes snapping to his stiff shoulders, pursed lips, his bumped eyebrows. I could almost smell it, taste the tang of his concern. It left a bad taste in my mouth. “No, Slate,” he blinked, expression shifting in an instant. “It’s not a good time. We need to just be a family right now.” “I—” “We don’t need you there,” I pressed. “Right, well,” he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He turned to leave, froze, hastily throwing his last words over his shoulder before stalking out. “Tell him to call me when he can.”

Kitty barked from inside and Pops opened the door, eyebrows raised at the fact I’d help up on my promise. “You’re back.” “No, I’m still at the city square,” I said. “Should I get you something on the way?” Park shuffled out of his room. I kept my hands behind my back, legs pressed together. “Hey.” “Deedee!” I grimaced at the nickname, pulling the cage in front of me where he could see it. Instantly, his eyes brightened. Park stopped limping towards me, bandaged foot stilling on the floorboards. “Are...are those what I think they are?” I restrained a smile. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?” I gave it a gentle push and the cage rolled rolled right towards him. Falling to his knees in front of it, he ran his hand over the thin bars, gaping at the chirping balls of feather inside. Tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, he looked up at me with a limpid, clear gaze. Leaning my back to shut the door, I tilted my head at him, arms crossed. “You like them?” He nodded frantically, sniffing. “But my favorite color isn’t orange.” I smiled. “Is that so?” “Yes! I, I hate red and I hate green!” he sobbed, hugging the cage. “I like purple and...and blue!” Pops ran his hand through the tangles of Park’s hair, smiling. When the two looked at me again, tears spilled from Park’s eyes. A few minutes passed with Park repeatedly thanking me and the lot of us gathering in the living room with Sardine, Fredrick and Kitty to decide the two newcomers’ names. Pops held onto Sardine and Fredrick slept on the couch while Park lay flat on the floor, arms cushioning his chin. “She looks like a mango.” I snickered, shaking my head. “You should make that her name.” He looked from me to the cage and squealed. I took off the beanie on my head, scratching at my scalp in disbelief and praying the fresh air would save my head from this silliness. “You can’t be serious.” “I’ve never been more serious in my life!” Rubbing my temples, I watched as he scrutinized the other bird, suddenly blurting out, “Pierre!” Pops smiled. “Sounds good, Park.” “Get it?” glowing, he sat up, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Cause he’s green! Like a pear!” “Ugh, I never thought I’d regret this,” I groaned. “Shut up, you love them!” Just as I opened my mouth to deny it, Park’s phone rang. It belted out a bubbly tune and my brother’s face tinted scarlet. I kept my arms crossed over my chest, clenching my fists so I wouldn’t do anything rash when I saw the caller’s name. ‘Slate’ shone on the buzzing phone’s screen beside a blue heart. Park showed his love in a lot of ways, this was a common one. But I knew better, this time, that heart spoke volumes. My jaw clenched and my attention rested on a yellowed patch on the carpet, thumb pressing down on my knuckles. “Dee?” I looked up, carefully focusing on the wallpaper over his shoulder. “Hm?” He gave a disarming smile. “Thank you.” I returned a half grin, sighing, “Welcome, fluffball.” My grin lasted till Park shut his room’s door behind him. Frowning, I looked over at Pops who scritched at Sardine’s forehead. “I’m worried for Sardine. She, I mean, they haven’t been eating well lately. Do you think they might be sick?” Normally Pops’ attempts at getting used to modern pronouns tickled but this time, I just shrugged, mind worked up as I stared at the sky blue of Park’s door. His voice came in happy torrents, divided by giggles just a bit louder than normal. Blood throbbed in my ears because I knew, I knew with the same surety I felt my thumb grinding over my skin the guy I had to blame. What the fuck are you trying to do with my brother?

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AN: So this is my first prologue for Inner Monologue. Expect a lot of these in the future. They're canon and they happened in universe but you don't have to read this to enjoy IM. These are just Easter Eggs and snippets of my writing style. Thank you so much for reading. Love you <3

Tag List (ask to be added/removed): @the-real-rg @stars-and-rose @seouqi @scribbling-salmon @ymmm-someone @klywrites @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @purpleshadows1989 @mvcreates @james-stark-the-writer @indecentpause @lemonayyyyyde @liarede

#inner monologue #original content #original character #original writing #my writing #prologue #prologue fic #dastan forrester #park forrester #slate malachi #slark

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