#And yes this is not how an shooting range works but...we will ignore that

[birdy-bat-writes]

Coffee for Mrs. Seresin?

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Content warnings: Pining, fluff, and uh.... caffeine? Mild swears, Maybe some banter. I have no clue what qualifies as a warning anymore, I'm so sorry, y'all:') Also, sorry for the spelling, grammar, and punctuation errors.

A/n: Should I be doing math right now? Should I actually be sleeping right now? Yes and yes, BUT no one can blame me. I was reading an adorable Jake Seresin Fanfic by @roosterbruiser (everyone go read Millie's work, it's gold) and I got an idea and I had to write it somewhere so here:D

You were pretty used to people assuming you and Jake were an item. When an attractive guy and an attractive girl have been friends since college and spend as much time together as you both do, you suppose it's a fair conclusion for people to draw, but an incorrect one, nonetheless. And you really wish people would stop asking because every time you had to explain to someone how you were "just friends," it ate you a little more inside.

The fact of the matter was this: you were in love with your best friend. And it sucked.

You stepped out of your car and strode along the stone walkway amidst the grass up to Rooster's door and rang the bell. It was a cute little townhouse with a blue exterior and you often poked fun at him for how much it resembled a little wooden birdhouse with its colorful walls and white wood-rimmed windows. You suppose it's fitting since Rooster lives there and yes, he hates that gag. It also serves as your group's prime hang-out spot, which is why you're here now.

The door opened to reveal Natasha, wrapped up in an oversized sweatshirt with her hair thrown up in a claw clip. "Yes, you brought chips!"

"Yeah, you didn't really specify which flavor so I just got them all." You said, walking in. "Guests should start coming in an hour, right?"

"Mmm-hmm." The 7 of you were throwing a casual party to celebrate Jake's promotion to Lieutenant-Commander. You saw Nat lift her eyes and smirk. "And there he is, the man of the hour." You turned around to see Jake at the end of the staircase.

"Well, hello, Mr. Man-of-the-hour," you teased, setting down the numerous bags of chips you were holding.

"Glad you're finally here, N/N. I was starting to think you were going to leave me here to fend for myself against Rooster's ABBA medley." Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. It was always like this. Him giving you butterflies you had to ignore because there was inevitably some other girl.

"Oh please, I would never leave you to fend for yourself against Rooster. I would join him and together, we'd overpower you and make you listen to ABBA forever." You grinned up at him and he narrowed his eyes, lips quirking up at the corners.

"Betrayal never comes from an enemy, I see," he shook his head at you. "I will leave you, lovely ladies, to yourselves. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen." You watched Jake walk away and disappear around the corner. When you turned back, Natasha was still wearing that smug smile she always did when she saw you two. You knew it was coming.

"Nix, I'm telling you, if you say it, I'm salting your coffee." She knew you were messing with her but one of these days, you might just do it.

"All I'm saying is, shoot your shot! Come on, just once before you go settle for this rando."

"Mark is not a rando. We know him from accounting!"

"Exactly, Y/N, we know him from accounting. You don't even like the guy, heck you hardly know him."

"Exactly. That's why we're going to get to know each other at this party. I need to get over this crush, now. I can't keep pining for a guy who has no interest in me," you saw Natasha's mouth open as if to say something and you quickly jumped in, "And don't say he's interested. He's been with other girls multiple times and never once looked at me like that."

"True, I won't argue there. He's never looked at any of those girls the way he was just looking at you either." She took her hair out of her claw clip and it fell onto her shoulders in soft waves. "And ever since we all got back from that mission 3 months ago, he hasn't been with anyone. I really think he's got a thing for you but you're right. You should give this Mark guy a shot if you think he'd be good for you."

You smiled softly. You met Jake's friends when you were in San Diego a few years back. About a year ago, you were permanently stationed here and luckily for you, Jake was too. He settled here about 4 months before you. All his friends became your friends, and you've truly never known a better group of people. And they'd never known someone who could wrangle Hangman, so you were quite quickly welcomed to the group.

You and Pheonix tossed your sweatshirts upstairs and fixed up the last bits of your outfits just in time for guests to start arriving. You even managed to slip in a game of cards with Fanboy, Bob, and Payback before you joined a crowd in the living room. You barely felt the tap on your shoulder. If it wasn't followed by your name, you surely would have missed it. You turned on your heel to see Mark from accounting, facing you with a hand in his pocket.

"Mark, hi!"

"Hey. How are you?" His voice was almost monotone. His eyes roamed the room rather than meeting yours. He had just gotten here and he already sounded like he wanted to be somewhere else. You could have sworn he sounded more lively when you met.

"I'm good. I thought you weren't coming till later."

"I got off work early."

"Ah, well that's great." This guy really wasn't giving you much to work with. "Can I get you something to drink? There are drinks and food in the kitchen." That actually went somewhere. You headed to the kitchen where the conversation just barely picked up.

In the distance, Jake noticed your prolonged absence. As silly as it was, Jake liked knowing you were near him. You didn't have to be attached at the hip but he liked knowing he could saunter over to you and escape into your laugh when you came up in his mind. Which was a lot.

He scanned the room for you and stopped when he caught your frame in the kitchen...with some guy? Who the hell was that?

"Damn, if looks could kill...," Rooster muttered. "Do you not like that dude or something?"

"I don't even know who he is," Jake said through gritted teeth. "What's his name?"

"No clue. Pheonix?"

As if on cue, Natasha spoke up. "That, my friends, is Mark from accounting." Both the boys looked at her with questioning eyes.

"Okay, but who is he?" Something in Jake's voice was different now. Both of them looked at him.

"Careful there, Bagman, you almost sound jealous. He's some guy Y/N knows and I think she likes him." Phoenix was searching Jake's face for any sign that she was right about his feelings for you, and he never noticed because his eyes were trained on you like a hawk.

"I'm not jealous, Pheonix."

"You kinda sound jealous, Hangman," Rooster added, earning a glare from Jake.

"Okay, when we first met and you told me about her, you sounded so lovesick, I thought she was your wife. Cut to, you introduce us all and it turns out you're not married, or dating, but friends? I'm sorry, I do not believe that you two don't have feelings for each other." Natasha's remark sparked something in Jake. She watched the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk so small, she almost missed it.

"I'll be right back." Jake stated, already pacing away. Rooster and Pheonix watched Jake make his way into the kitchen.

"She likes him too right?" Rooster asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Pheonix responded.

"You know, Fanboy has a betting pool on them."

"What? Get me on this, I have a feeling we'll make some money tonight."

Jake entered the kitchen to see you sitting alone at the table. "Got room for one more?"

"I don't see why not. Shouldn't you be mingling with everyone out there?"

"Well, the person I want to mingle with is in here." You smiled at him. There it was again, that smile that always left him utterly defenseless. "Who's the guy?"

You don't know why you felt your cheeks heat up when Jake asked about him. "His name's Mark. I met him when I was sorting reports last week."

"Okay. So, why do you sound so upset?"

"Because he said he was going to get us drinks 5 minutes ago and I just saw him leave with Commander Reeves' daughter." Honestly, you weren't upset because he left. You were upset because you were glad he did. He was boring you out of your mind and you two absolutely did not click, but it was still disheartening to know that this is what it was going to be like. No guy was going to measure up to the one you wished you were with. The one who was at this table with you now.

Jake was seething. What kind of idiot comes to a party and leaves you for some other girl? "You wanna get out of here?"

"What?"

"Let's leave. I'm bored."

"It's your party, you dork, you can't just leave!" You were giggling at a feeling somewhere in between confusion and disbelief.

"Yeah, it is my party so I say, you and I get out of here." He took you by the hand and walked you out through the back door to his car. And you let him. The chilly air swept you both up.

The drive was pretty calm. You didn't know where Jake was going but you didn't care either. This reminded you of when you two were younger. The long quiet rides in the car with no one but each other for company. He'd put on some cheesy 80's power ballad and you'd both laugh at it until you'd give in and belt it out at the top of your lungs.

"If you don't mind my asking, what did you see in him?"

"I don't really even remember. I think I just wanted to try and get myself out there. I haven't been on a date in literally years."

Jake hesitated before he asked. "So... what made you want to start now?" You felt the words catch in your throat.

"I'm not sure." you lied. You. I'm in love with you and I can't take it.

You felt the car slow down. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even see where Jake parked. A cute little coffee shop and patisserie. Jake got out of his car and rounded the front to open the door for you. He already had you head over heels for him and he didn't even know it. Did he have to be such a gentleman? You weren't sure that you could fall even harder for this man but you really didn't want to find out.

"Why don't you get us a table and I'll get us something to drink. Don't worry, I remember what you like." You nodded and found a two-seat table by the french windows overlooking the city. On the left, in the distance, the last light of sunset was hitting the water and the top of the sky had started to go dark. Little stars twinkled above you. You wondered what it would be like to always be like this? Evenings with you and Jake, running off alone together from places and people you didn't really want to see. Taking comfort in each other's presence because it felt like home. Just then, Jake sat down in front of you. It almost hurt knowing he was right in front of you and you couldn't have him.

"Screw stupid Mark from accounting. He was not worth your time."

"Thanks. It's fine really, I'll find someone else. Someone less boring." When you met Jake's eyes, he looked as if he had something to say. Something he was holding back. "What is it?"

"Don't find someone else."

Did he just- Did you hear him right?

"What? Why?"

"Because-"

"I have a coffee and a latte for Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" The barista called. You actually felt your heart skip a beat. Your eyebrows scrunched together and you looked to Jake for answers.

"Well, I think that's us." He blurted like it answered all your questions, a smile heard in his voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" You queried, rising out of your seat in tandem with him. "Why'd you tell her we were 'Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?!'"

"Because you looked so down and I thought I'd get a reaction from you! And it's not all my fault, Pheonix gave me the idea." Jake stated, matter-of-factly. How could he say that so casually?! "And you're still looking red so I guess it worked."

You both grabbed your coffees and sat down once again. It was dark out now. Once your laughs and giggles over your reaction were out, you remembered where your last conversation left off.

"Jake, why'd you tell me not to find someone?" You didn't force the question too hard into the conversation. You asked softly, not knowing how or if he would answer. He sighed before he spoke like he was preparing himself.

"Because...because I can't ask you out if you're dating someone else." The emotions hit you like a bombshell.

"You want to ask me out?" You weren't sure this was real. You were really about to pinch yourself before he stopped you in your tracks.

"I've been meaning to for months. Y/N, we've been friends forever, and I didn't want to ruin what we have. I know I should have told you before because I've liked you for as long as- Why are you smiling?"

"Because, you big dummy, I like you too." You couldn't hold it back. You were beaming. You felt butterflies and fireworks all at once just because the man of your dreams just made it all a reality. Jake held your eyes in his and smiled ear-to-ear. You swore you saw his ears go red but if you asked him, you doubt he’d admit it. "I'm really happy right now but I have no clue what to do next."

"I've got it from here," Jake reaches out and takes your hand in both of his. It feels like electricity is coursing through your veins. "Y/N L/N, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

It took everything in you not to squeal in this coffee shop. "Yes, I will do you that honor, Bagman." You responded. He chuckled at you.

"Every now and again, I feel like introducing you to Pheonix was a mistake."

"Speaking of which, I really want to tell her about this but she'll get all smug because she was right."

"You're right. As far as people we don't have to tell yet go, Fanboy and Rooster have been betting on us. We can just keep it from them for now too."

"Deal." A laugh bubbled out of you as you thought about how the squad would react. And then a knock sounded directly next to you on the french window.

"Aww, cute," Rooster noted, his voice muffled by the glass, but still clear enough for you to hear his teasing tone.

"Left your own party so soon?" There stood Pheonix. Along with the rest of the squad leaning against Bradley's bronco.

"Shit." you commented.

"So much for keeping it secret."

———————————————————————

Tag list:

@glorified-red

[darlingofvalyria]

❝You don't think I can please you?❞

part 05 | we're really in it now, darling

chapter summary:

[ Everything comes ahead at a hedge maze because. . . hedge maze. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 4,517 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader, aemond x alys rivers

contains— angst, a lil smutty but no full whorishness, ya'll good - i should really put idiots in love as a tag shouldn't i - nsfw: grinding + some sexy, sexy second base lmao - no kingslayers, no rogues, no betas.

a/n— i hope ya'll forgive me. comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You don't really know what you were expecting come Sunday. Once you started to 'ehh' 'hmmm' and 'maybe's your way through random moments with Helaena after the radio silence from Aemond— your best friend put her foot down.

"Fuck him," Helaena grumbled. "You've been going to Sunday dinners before he was even born, you are not backing down now."

 You snorted. "That's wildly inaccurate."

"Point still stands. Fuck. Him. You deserve my mother's tiramisu cake. He doesn't get to take that from you." Her eyes widen as if trying to instil her determination into your system via eye contact. "You are not going to let him take that from you."

You nodded. That's at least a point to pro you can stand by. Though she can't cook to save her life— Alicent's words, not yours — the woman sure can bake. It became therapeutic for her, she once said. How measuring ingredients and kneading dough to patiently folding cream after another kept her mind quiet and her hands busy.

"My faith strongly does not advise rage shooting, you know?" Alicent once hummed.

"Did you mean 'range' shooting?"

"Oh?" she nodded absentmindedly, smiling. "Yes, that too."

"That's true," you mused. Tiramisu cake was her mother's specialty. Every Sunday, she has all attendees pack up at least one cake per person and you and Hel usually stave off bites throughout the week until the next Sunday comes.  "I deserve some tiramisu cake, gods be damned it."

"Plus, if you come with me, we'll get two cakes to take home instead of one." She wagged her finger. "We count as two separate entities with one fridge, it's our greatest privilege."

"Daeron calls it preferential treatment."

"I am her only daughter, of course I get preferential treatment."

"As you should, bestie."

Even when you've stopped struggling with choosing if you were going or not, your mind is never faraway from thinking about Aemond. You wonder if he's finally gotten back with Alys was a bad train of thought, while an even worse train of thought is how soft his lips were and how he holds your hair to pull you close when his tongue glides across your bottom lip.

You blink, shaken from the thought. Bad. Bad brain. Stop it.

And repeat. At this point, it was safer to think about Alys and Aemond.

According to previous cycles, by this point they'd be at the height of their newly blossomed relationship— all sweet kisses and heated looks, unable to stop touching each other much less act a little bit better when they're trying to leave a group function to fuck their brains out — so you wouldn't be surprised to see come Sunday that he arrives with Alys— both of them tall, gorgeous with just enough undertone of smirky, smarmy tension that would make you want to stab your own eye out — pointedly ignoring you or whatever happened between you and him.

It hurt to think about sure, but what else did you think was going to happen?

That call made a space the size of a puddle that turned into a lake, welled deep with unresolved feelings and untouched topics. More questions than answers, drawing lines both of you were too scared to tug and see.

It's big enough to notice, and both stubborn enough not to anything about it.

You tried. Well, you almost did. In the weird hours of the day when your brain and body are more physically disjointed so rationality gives way to adrenaline. Most of the time, this is during working hours. You, checking your phone, running around his profile with your thumb a few times, biting your lip as your mind blanks and your body fights to call him. Or leave a message.

Before your mind and body reconnects and you fling your phone as far away from you as possible.

It's weird. You've never fought with Aemond before. If this was considered fighting. You've been disappointed in him, gotten angry and annoyed with him, but someone always, always offers an olive branch.

Every time you think about that call, you close up, your annoyance flares, and you shove your phone away.

In your amicable defense, this was primarily his problem. You weren't truly dating. He made it clear every choice he was making was en toward the agreed conditions were of making his ex jealous enough to take him back, yada yada yada.

Even if, possibly, you wanted more, he made no actual steps to make it known that he was considering it too.

Funny stares on your lips don't count. The only sabbatical from sexual adventures Aemond got were the breakup round with Alys, and as established before, they got it on pretty frequently.

Another thought bubble about Aemond's lips pops in your head, the mint from his toothpaste and the coffee from his black with no sugar, no milk, the way he seemed to suckle on your sighs—

Gods. Damn. It.

Focus.

That last call?

You're a grown ass woman. You're allowed to do whatever you want with whomever you want, and you're not going to make Aemond Targaryen's steely silence of what— disappointment? Of your choices? Of your choice in Cregan Stark and Cregan Stark Jr? Of what you were doing? Sure he was faithful to the Seven, a good old religious boy raised by his momma, but it doesn't make him a saint. Just because he's clinging to the vestiges of first love thinking it could very well be his last doesn't make him holy, or warrant enough to judge you for getting your little you some good dick.

Life is hard. Good dick is hard to come by!

So. Yeah. Days leading up to Sunday was radio silence and way too many thoughts circling your head like vultures, eating away at logic and rationality, and stubbornly still, you refused to make contact. If it's not out of pride, it's out of hurt.

Because he could apologise, but Aemond wasn't known for his apologies.

But then you remembered the flowers, the tulips, and now you just felt sad. Moping, getting annoyed, and trying to get through work without breaking your phone speeds the week in a blur.

Come Sunday afternoon, Helaena was coming to pick you up from her shift at the vet— the beauty of having a vet bff is the Russian roulette of pictures; you never know if you're about to get cuddly new patients with big, sad eyes and pouty snouts or her newest c-section win without any attempts of a blur — so you could get to her mother's house together, you decided to go for the nines with your outfit.

A sweet summer dress later, some gold gladiator sandals half off from your favourite but largely can't afford shoe boutique that you swear you were always going to wear to make up for the insane price (thank the gods Alicent didn't have a no shoe policy because it takes fifteen minutes to get them on and you cannot be on the floor, on her house, with Aemond around, rolling around like a hot potato on the entry way trying to get a fucking shoe on), dusted and prepped in you're fancier version of makeup, and was just finishing off your hair— using the good mousse whilst blaring Disney epics — when knocking came.

You freeze.

On one hand, it could just be Helaena, forgetting her keys again somewhere as she had done so numerous times before, but there hadn't been a slew of expletives or her impression of a cool, clinical voice saying, ''Tis I, the Stranger, have come for thee soul! Open up I gotta pee, woman!' so you got a pretty good guess on the alternative, sending your heart into a stutter and get smacked with a well deep of yearning.

You miss Aemond. You miss hanging out with him, even just having him on video call whilst you prepped a late dinner and he's working out his thesis defense, too late for either of you, but catching another's eye in the tiny phone and sharing a comforted grin. You miss being called my lady in a language that means so much to him, miss bumping shoulders and smelling his crisp scent of cologne and laundry.

Miss his lips, his very soft, very delicious lips—

"Gods damnit, woman, keep it together," you murmur to yourself. Another series of knocks, ever patient, and you're moved by body not mind as breathless giddiness yanks the door open—

Only to fall flat.

"Oh." You can't hide your disappointment at the curly blond with the smirk for centuries. "Aegon. I didn't know it was you."

"Yes, the expressive disappointment in your eyes could bring a man on the edge to his downfall, I must say," he jokes hoarsely, a little hurt. "Not even a hi Aeg. I've missed you Aeg, or— hey Aeg! You look good enough to eat!"

It's Aegon. Not Aemond. Or Helaena. Helaena and Aemond's older brother, Aegon. Party rocking, cocaine hiding, sweat and someone's lipstick smelling Aegon. You like him despite his whorishness because he's funny, because he's sweet when he wants to be, and he always, always gets you a funny mug when he comes back from wherever he came from.

You blink a couple of times, laughing awkwardly as you give him a quick hug. He still smells the same, with the lightest tint of sun in him from his days at the beach not so long ago no doubt.

"Sorry, sorry. Hi Aeg, I've missed you Aeg, and yes, you do look good enough to eat, Aeg."

He hugs back tighter, smothering you in the denim jacket he's wearing and the curly edge of his white blond hair. He's got a new piercing and smells of new perfume.

"So do you, princess," he says as you step back and he appraises you appreciatively. "Those shoes can step on me any time."

"I will never."

"You will never," he says chirpily, moving back with a teasing grin. "Let me guess, you were waiting for my uglier version to come by and got too overwhelmed by the majesticness of me."

'"Majesticness isn't even a word." You snort. "And Aemond is not your uglier version, you don't look that alike."

He raises an eyebrow as you blink. Fuck. "Dear me oh my, I meant Helaena, babe. When did Aemond get into the mix?"

You shove his shoulder, huffing as you pick up your keys and bag, forcing him to step back as you lock the apartment, trying to give yourself grace from his burning, teasing stare. "As if Helaena didn't tell you." You finally turn to him, lips pursed at his faux innocent pout. "Helaena tells you everything."

"She might have mentioned a thing or two about a thing or two." He bumps your hip as you both get into the elevator. "Imagine my surprise when Lae-lae tells me of a wondrous development between her two favourite people that involved a breakup, some gift-giving shenanigans, and kissing." He gasps dramatically as you groaned. "I leave for what— a month or two and suddenly you and Aemond are making out? Babe, I must say, you're doing the tongue tango with the wrong brother."

 "He's not the wrong brother, also the tongue tango? Really?" you snap suddenly. The wrong brother comments always irk you because you understand that it's a sensitive issue to Aemond, as well as Aegon himself.

But it's a bait you realise too late because Aegon Targaryen enjoys hauling truths from people in steps and tricks, uncaring if he takes a stab or two to get there as you meet his gaze against the reflective wall, positively smirking.

"Really now?"

"Why are you even picking me up? I thought you were in Oldtown."

"Already sorted. Hel wanted to make sure you get there in time, she's going to be late... After all your earlier ride backed out didn't he?"

Your mouth pursed, annoyance prickling at your edges as the elevator pulled into the lobby. "I don't want to talk about it, where's your car?"

He whistles, languid and all the time in the world on his shoulders with just the hint of smug. "It's a thirty minute ride, babe, you're going to spill."

You shoot him a withering glare. "Not if I have say in it." For emphasis, you yank his door and slam it. Fuck his new Maserati.

"Mature!"

Thirty minutes is more than ample time for Aegon Targaryen to weed his way into your brain like the worst case of earworm (like a stupid ass commercial jingle that just. Won't. Stop) that by the time you reach his mother's, you were ranting.

"—like I get it, saying I'm going out with another guy to get some good dick after confirming that we're going to your mother's for Sunday as a date is bad, but we're not really dating! He said so himself! He pressed the issue of it not being a real thing! And he didn't attempt any—"

"— any communication at all," Aegon echoes, stretching his legs as he stood. "Not a sorry or anything."

"Anything!" you bolster, slamming his door again that is less about him and more about the aggressiveness. "I know that he's bad at apologising, or facing things that are hard, choosing to stew in it and act all shitty to people, I just... I thought he'd at least tell me. Doesn't that warrant our friendship?"

"Hm. Ever think that's precisely why he struggles with you?"

"What does that even mean?"

"That he cares about you, so he struggles more with expressing himself."

You turn to him, cocking your head. "When did you get so wise, oh Gandalf?"

"A Seven focused rehab facility can do that to you," he muses wistfully. "There was this nun that says verses when she orgasms."

You make a face. "Love the fun fact."

"You're welcome. But back to point, isn't the issue also the fact that you never tried to make contact with him either?"

"Well. Yeah. Because..."

Aegon squints at you sympathetically. "Because you're scared of rocking the boat because of how much you like him?"

"Not, well," you hesitate. "Not like that precisely..."

"How much you're capable of liking him?" Aegon smiles wryly. "You had a crush on him, I remembered that at least. When Hel first introduced you to him, you couldn't stop teasing him until he lit up like a Christmas tree. I knew you liked him since then. You called him pretty half the time, and I started to realise it was less about his reaction but how you actually see him, and speaking as the naturally cherub, pretty boy of the family, I find this highly, highly offensive."

You pinch his cheeks, wounding your arm over his shoulder. Aegon was built like a linebacker with less muscles that aren't postern, with wide shoulders and a strong body that's too easy to lean against.

"You're pretty too, Aeg," you coo. "But he's just..."

 "If you say ethereal, I will vomit right in my mother's petunias." He makes a face. "How about this. The problem is that you think Aemond doesn't like you back."

You frown at him. "I know Aemond doesn't like me back."

"Oh, sweetie," Aegon coos, sympathy and pity swirling in his smug, smug smile. "I'm so glad you're pretty."

You pinch his sides until he squirms. "Fuck you, what the hell?"

"What I'm saying is, let's test that, you know? Because that's the only variable you aren't sure with?"

You sigh. "Aeg, even if he does, I'm not going to pounce—"

The door swings open, and there he is, of pretty boy face and good boy posture because his mother raised herself a good, devout boy who doesn't know what a slouch is because he's not an ape— and is he wearing his leather jacket? Of course he's wearing the leather jacket and you know that smell, that spiced cologne with the leather and his natural scent and fuck, Aemond is looking at you, looking at his brother, and the open expression, the shock, that smidge of relief— shutters to an icy politeness.

Aegon because he's Aegon, pulls you closer, his mouth curling into a grin that only says trouble, forcing Aemond to straighten up his already perfect posture in preparation for whatever his brother has in mind and his stare is white-hot on the conjoined appendages between you and his brother— and Aegon lands a wet, smacking kiss on your cheekbone.

"Had to pick up your girl, baby bro, I mean what kind of—" his blue gaze finds his mother descending the stairs, peering out to see on who it was, and you're frozen, waiting for the bomb to drop and simultaneously unprepared for it, "— boyfriend has his brother pick up his girl? Good thing you got a good excuse, huh? Oh, hey mother dearest! Your favourite son has come back!"

As Aegon leaves your side with a cheeky little wink, you bit your lip at the frosty look on his face that makes you feel like an absolute idiot and fills you with rage all in one go. Because Aemond has never looked at you like that, like you were at fault and acting like a child, but that you also want to jut a finger against his chest.

"Did you have a nice talk with him on the drive over?" he says, jaw hard.

"I didn't tell him," you hiss, taking the hem of his leather jacket instead of his hands enough so you can pretend to kiss his cheeks because his mother is right there, eyes wide at that two of you as Aegon gave you a discreet thumbs up.

"Helaena did. Get over yourself, your mother's—"

 "Aemond?"

As he freezes and Alicent calls your name, you plaster the best smile you can make as you twine your fingertips with his.

"Smile."

"Hm."

When you leave his side to greet Alicent, you make sure to stomp on his stupid shoes.

As soon as you've finished your mandatory greetings— even with Otto Hightower, Aemond's grandfather, who merely raised his eyebrows at the apparent new status of you and his grandson, Alicent having to blink multiple times, wrangling positives as she kept shooting her son looks while he stood like a block of ice behind you — Aemond takes your hand by his own volition, tangles your fingers too tight, and starts tugging you along like a bouy.

"Are you a child?" you hiss, trying to pry your hand as insistently without outright yanking, Alicent already sending you both concerned looks at a news that she called 'oh, that is wonderful!'

"I am younger than you," he murmurs back, holding you tight.

"Oh, fuck you."

With a defeated huff, you take longer, heavier strides and stomps so you're the one dragging him.

It's all illusion of control built on pettiness because you're still being navigated, it's more just pride at this point, but you don't care, and when he scoffs right back, you felt at least a pinch of a win.

And then he, of course, matches your strides so fucking easily.

"Freaking horse-legged motherfucker," you mumble. You don't know if he catches it, or you're imaging the soft, surprised noise that's both a snort and a laugh.

He winds you around the hallway, an unbreakable trajectory to the backyard, dragging you past an easy eye view from the dramatic, floor to ceiling windows and trespassing straight into the hedge maze because of course they had one of those.

"Really? Here?"

"Do you want to be ogled up by my mother?" he says in a nauseatingly chipper voice. "Is that what you and Aegon are planning with all this, hm?"

You twist out of his grip, walking deeper on your own until your eyes are swallowed by the darkness. When you turn to him, your eyes adjust, only seeing the silver of his hair, so different from his black leather jacket and dark green jumper. You don't see his expression or his sharp gaze.

"Planned this? Seriously? Nothing since coming here had been planned, Aemond," your voice has bite and if your eyes had adjusted faster, or if you could see better, you would see the flinch he makes, "if it had been, this certainly would be the last of my fucking choices. Or do I have to remind you of the fact that we were supposed to go together? Oh right, things change when you drop a call out of fucking nowhere!"

"I—fuck." He moves around, a hand through his hair as exhales in frustration. "I didn't... think you'd want to go with me. That Sunday plans had been cancelled."

"And you didn't think to message? I mean it's not like we're friends in literally every social media." You try not to sound hurt before taking a deep breath, offering your palms up. "I didn't—don't even know what the issue is, Aemond. Were you so offended that I was sexually active that you just had to rudely drop the call and not talk—"

It's maybe the darkness, or intuition but you can bet half yours savings that Aemond Targaryen is blushing.

"It... gods, no it's not... I wasn't offended that you were sexually active," he says softly, evenly. He clears his throat. "I don't... mind that you're... sexually active. I actively... support it. Even." He coughs. Swallows. Curses.

If you don't feel like your heart is pounding in your throat you would have laughed. You had never seen the boy this flustered before that it's affecting his words, because Aemond has always been the most well spoken person you know.

"Is it about Cregan? Do you have something against Cregan?"

His eye flutter close. "No... and yes."

"I don't understand, Aemy," you whisper, defeated.

He sighs. In the dark, you notice a movement. His hands flex. It's a habit he's had since you've known him. It's instinct. The way you reach out, finding a piece of his leather jacket until you find your way to his hands, running your fingers over the bones and ridges, his sinew and skin. There are callouses from his fencing, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He's frozen first before he sighs, melting through the warmth you share with him.

 "I have nothing against Stark," he finally says. "It's the fact that you were still having sex with him that I found unfair." He steps closer until you can see his face better, the struggle in him can be told through the furrow in his brows and the press of his pillowy lips, red and wet as if he had bitten through it. "I... understand that we're not really together, but I couldn't... not feel as if it wasn't right. As if I wanted it to be me."

His hands finds your arms, eye closing and gently placing his forehead against your own. At first you panic, your body trying to make your brain decide do you like this or not but it's Aemond, and he's warm, gentle, sweet almost. It's familiar and new at the same time. It's warmth you recognise, skin you will know anywhere, but in a way that you've never felt him before.

You close your eyes and breathe with him.

You know that this is rare. That this Aemond is reserved for people he loves and cares about, but with his forehead against yours, with his hands holding you steady, rubbing a comforting thumb over your skin that felt just as for him as it was for you, breathing you in and exhaling you out. A single breath between two bodies.

"I don't know if I can agree to that, Aemy."

"What?" He pulls back, hurt pulling taunt your favourite pair of lips. "Do you like Cregan more? You don't think I can please you?"

"That's not—"

His hands closes on your face, cupping it in his palms as you stare, wide-eyed at the blue fire lit up in his eye. His breath brushes your lips, making them tingle.

"Push me away if you don't want it," he says before his eye closes and he takes your mouth against his own, swallowing your gasp then pulling you away again, eye glinting.

"Push me away, ñuha riña." His voice is so soft, words crisp while your body thrummed in a single, frantic heartbeat. When you don't move, too shock, thoughts tangled, he smirks.

With his teeth, he captures your bottom lip, grazing it. When he feels you shudder, eyes fluttering, he chuckles meanly.

"Push me away as if you don't want me." He tilts your chin up as he looks down on you, eye confident in its lust. His thumb brushes your bottom lip. "As if you don't feel everything I do."

"Fuck you," you manage to exhale as you grab the back of his head and devour him just as you did at the restaurant. He groans, using his other hand to feel your side, pass your one breast, giving it a firm squeeze that makes you gasp, tongue clashing, legs tangling as you push and push and he pulls you to him, his back hitting the prickly hedge. It's teeth and tongue, breaths twisted in one air as you used each other like lifelines, like enemies in a swords match.

It's feverish and passion, infuriating want that gives. Because when you dominate the kiss, tangling his tongue with your own, yanking him down and down as if you want him to reach every part of you inside, he bends and follows. And when he pulls you, tangles your hair and takes every gasp and breath, you surrender.

He groans when you suck on his bottom lip, pulling away just enough to spit out, "You taste so much better than my dreams." His mouth moves down and down, leaving a path of heat as he suckles at your neck, practically ripping the buttons of the top of your dress as he slides down and grunts in pain.

"A-Aemy?" Your eyes flutter. "Your back, shit—"

"Fuck that." He tugs you down until you land with an oomph! on his lap, your chest at his eye level before he drags them back to your gaze. "Tell me to stop."

You shake your head, tangling your fingers in his hair. "No."

"Good."

Your back arches, supported in his hold, as he starts sucking the skin lower and lower, another hand massaging your tit that pools hot down your core until his hand, warm and solid, sinew and bone, and Aemond Aemond Aemond, slides between your bra and cups your breast and his hand is so big, and it feels so good that you start grinding on the hard length you feel right at your—

An ear-splitting shriek freezes the both of you. You and Aemond pull back, hand still on your tit.

"Wha—"

"Ew, ew, ew! Mom said you were fighting! FIGHTING DOES NOT EQUATE FUCKING IN THE MAZE, YOU FUCKING CLICHES!"

TAGGED: @snowprincesa1 @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr @astroswift @queenofshinigamis @helaenaluvr @kaetastic @jxdegodfrey @laniii-on-your-left @watercolorskyy @microwaveallthedemons @kazuyatokue @herfantastyworldd @averyyreads @urmomsgirlfriend1 @bellstwd @jiminie-08 @ttkttt @nockerin @backyardfolklore @random-ocity @hc-geralt-23 @vendettasblog @cicaspair418 @malynn @anehkael @schadenfreude-and-sarcasm

[oizysian]

XIII: UPSET

Word count: 2.5k

All Eyes on Me masterlist

•

Lizzie left me a voicemail, one of many, that said she would be in the city working on a magazine photo shoot and that I should stop by her place to talk. She never gave up on me ... so why was I so quick to give up on her?

I quickly re-read the address I had written down in my notes on my phone, just to make sure I was in the right place. It was a beautiful neighborhood and honestly, I felt horribly out of place.

I rang the doorbell after a few moments of standing in front of it, my nerves making me hope against hope that she wasn't home and that I could just leave and continue to pretend this issue didn't exist.

No such luck.

The door opened and there she stood in casual clothes, messy hair, no makeup. She was beautiful. I stared at her and she stared back, neither of us speaking or moving - probably not even breathing. She moved out of the way and I blinked at her before entering her apartment, nervously fidgeting with my fingers as I moved past her.

She closed the door and took a step in front of me, leading me into one of the other rooms. I followed close behind, sitting down when she gestured to the chair in front of the dining room table. I shifted in my seat awkwardly, the silence and unfamiliar environment putting me even further on edge.

"Do you realize how upset I am with you?"

I looked down at the table, the little lines and crevices in the wood suddenly very interesting.

"Yes." My voice barely raised above a whisper.

"Do you know why I'm upset with you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

I raised my eyes to look at her; her brow creased, her lips pursed. I was in trouble.

"I left without talking to you like an adult."

"And?"

I blinked at her, unsure of what else she wanted to hear.

"You took away my choices, Y/N. You chose for me and that wasn't fair."

"I was just doing what I thought was right."

"Well, you were wrong."

"I know. I know that now." My shoulders dropped and my gaze shifted away from her. "I'm sorry."

"Y/N ..." she started as she approached me, her warm hands coming up to cup my even warmer cheeks. "What made you think leaving would be a good idea?"

"I just didn't want the gossip surrounding our friendship to fuck up your marriage."

She was silent for a second and I took that moment to look up at her. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears and I felt horrible all over again.

"Robbie and I worked it out. I don't want to lose you as a friend. Ever."

I swallowed roughly, her thumbs stroking my cheeks slowly as she spoke.

"You don't understand." Her voice cracked. "I see something in you ..." she sniffled softly. "You're so special. Maybe I'm selfish, but I don't want to lose you again."

"You won't." I promised, taking hold of her wrists and pulling her towards me so I could hug her. "I'm sorry."

"I know." She whispered against my hair as she held me. "I'm sorry too."

"For what?" I questioned, my voice muffled by her shirt.

"For making you think you had to walk away. If I had been a better friend to you, I would've taken your feelings into consideration."

"I didn't even let you speak to me. You can't blame yourself."

"We both fucked up." She chuckled dryly and I couldn't help but do the same.

"So, friends?" I asked, voice shaking.

I didn't want to be friends.

"Friends."

She released me and took a step back, sitting down in the chair across from me, a small smile on her face.

"So, what have you been doing for the past month? Besides ignoring my calls and texts."

I flinched at her words, grimacing at my past actions. Brie was right, I was being childish.

"Smoking. I did a lot of smoking."

"By yourself?"

I nodded.

"You've been by yourself for a whole month?"

Again, I nodded.

"Did you even go out? Get groceries? Take care of yourself?"

I hesitated, then shook my head. I couldn't remember the last time I ate a proper meal. I had showered this morning, but before that, who knew. Today was the first day I had seen the light of day in over a month.

"Y/N ..." her voice was soft, worried, and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. "Why?"

"I don't know." At least I was still taking my medication - that was something.

"When's the last time you ate?"

I shrugged, too ashamed to speak anymore about it. She let out a heavy sigh and I finally gathered my courage up to look at her. She looked sad, hurt, and I wasn't sure why. I hadn't done this to hurt her. I didn't mean to do this at all. It just happened.

"Let me grab my shoes. We're going shopping."

"Lizzie, no, I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

I let out a deep breath and gave in, knowing she was right. I wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. But, with her back in my life, maybe things would get better.

She got up from the chair and went into the other room without a word, returning only a few moments later with her sneakers on and her car keys in her hand.

"We're gonna stock your fridge with good food, okay?"

She came over to me and cupped my face again, forcing me to look up at her.

"You're gonna be okay now."

I swallowed roughly, pushing down the tears that threatened to spill onto my reddened cheeks. I nodded in her hands and she smiled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"C'mon," her voice was soft and gentle, as if she was talking to someone fragile and frail. "Let's get going before the store closes."

I exhaled and nodded again, words not quite forming in my brain to make full sentences at the moment. She smiled down at me and wrapped her arm around my shoulders, standing me up and leading me to the door.

We walked to her car, which was parked right out front of her apartment, and she opened the door for me, waiting for me to get in before closing it and going around to the driver's seat to get in herself. I buckled up and drummed my fingers on my thighs, nervously moving so I could distract my mind from my awkward feelings.

After she buckled herself in she turned to me, taking my hand in her own and holding it.

"Relax. It's just me."

"I know." I whispered, doing my best to calm down.

"Deep breaths. Always gotta practice your breathing exercises."

"I don't normally do breathing exercises." I chuckled dryly and she frowned.

"Well, you should. They really help."

She let go of my hand and started the car, and I couldn't help but twitch my fingers, mine aching for hers again. She noticed, because right away she was back to holding my hand, and suddenly I felt like I was home. But, in reality, I was in someone else's home.

We drove in silence, heading out of the city and back towards my apartment, presumably to go to a store closer to my place than hers. When she finally found the grocery store she was looking for, we parked and got out, grabbing a shopping cart and trudging inside.

"What do you like to eat?" She asked as we approached the vegetables.

"Not any of those." I said with a laugh and she furrowed her brow.

"You don't eat vegetables?"

"Not if I can help it."

"What do you eat then?"

"Normally, just like, cold cuts and ice cream."

"Are you serious?" She laughed and I nodded. "You cannot live off of cold cuts and ice cream."

"Been doing fine so far."

"Mhm." She said as she examined a tomato, putting it and a few others into a plastic bag.

"I can't promise I'll eat them."

"You don't have to promise. You just have to try."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. Maybe she understood me better than I thought she did. I followed her around the store like a little child as she picked up various fruits and veggies, occasionally asking if I liked what she was picking out. We got all different meats, fruits and vegetables, and some various other things too. I mostly let her pick out everything because to me it truly didn't matter. I wasn't even sure if I'd eat any of it. I was probably just going to be wasting my money.

At the register, she started loading everything onto the conveyor belt and I started digging into my pockets for my wallet.

"Put that back." She said, her voice somewhat threatening. "I'm paying tonight."

"Lizzie, I can't let you do that."

"Yes, you can - and you will."

I sighed in defeat once she gave me a death glare I would see in my nightmares, letting her pay once again. I would have to repay her somehow for being so generous towards me.

"And don't even think about paying me back. I won't accept any money from you for any of this."

"Lizzie -"

"I don't wanna hear it." She said as she handed the cashier her card.

Defeated, I started bagging the groceries, figuring that was the least I could do. Once she was done paying, she walked up next to me and helped me pack the bags, her mood completely uplifted from how it was earlier. When we finished bagging, she took control of the cart again and led us out and back to her car.

"We'll be lucky if all this stuff fits in here." I said as I stuffed a few bags in the backseat and she put some in the trunk.

"We'll make it fit."

And she was right. We did make it all fit. We got back in the car and headed for my place, and honestly, I was beyond exhausted after everything that had happened.

She parked out in front of my place and we unloaded all of the groceries in multiple trips, my fridge and pantries now fully stocked with healthy foods and snacks. She stood in the middle of my kitchen, proud of herself as she looked at the full fridge which was previously empty.

"I'm gonna make sure it stays looking like this."

I opened my mouth to speak and she shot me a look, which made it snap shut.

"I told you, I don't wanna hear it."

"But -"

She tilted her head at me and I instantly shut up again. I was not going to fuck with her while she looked so scary.

"Now, for dinner."

"Lizzie, it's too late for dinner."

"It's never too late for dinner. You have to eat."

I watched as she walked around my kitchen like she always belonged there, collecting seasonings and various food items we had just bought and bringing them to the counter to prepare our meal.

"You really don't have to." I said quietly and she looked at me, her gaze soft and gentle.

"I know. But, I want to. Plus, I'm hungry."

I let out a chuckle and sat down at the table, watching as she moved around like a dancer; her actions fluid and perfect. 

I couldn't help but stare at her as she cooked, her hips moving to a song I couldn't hear, her head bobbing happily as she cut up vegetables. The more I tried to deny my feelings for her, the deeper they got. At first, it was admittedly, a crush. But now, it was much, much more than that. She was perfect in every way.

My phone dinged and I looked down at it, quickly reading the text message I got from Brie.

Brie ... I really fucked up with her. But, was it so wrong to want to start a relationship with her? We both liked each other and Lizzie was married. Neither of those things would change any time soon so, why not?

"Brie ..." I started, still staring at my phone. "We've been talking."

"About?" She asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Getting together."

Everything stopped and I began to panic. She wasn't chopping the vegetables for the salad anymore. Her hips didn't move to the song in her head and the whole room was as still as the dead.

"That's good." She said after a moment, the sudden chopping loud in the silence of the room.

"You think so?" My voice was small, unsure, and honestly, I just wanted her to tell me that she was in love with me and to forget about Brie.

"Yeah, you guys are really close."

Chop. Chop. Chop.

"You'd make a cute couple."

I was silent as she continued to cook, waiting patiently for her to finish so we could eat.

So, we would make a cute couple according to her. I wondered if everyone else thought the same thing. And then my mind wandered back to that girl from the bookstore who thought Lizzie and I made a cute couple. Was this a mistake? But, wouldn't it be a mistake to put my whole life on hold for a woman who didn't even show any true interest in me?

When she finished, she brought over two plates of grilled salmon with asparagus and a small bowl of salad.

"I'm not sure how I feel about asparagus." I said as I picked up a piece with my fork and examined it. "Smells good."

"Taste it." She said as she ate her salad.

I chomped down on it and grimaced.

"It tastes like dirt."

"Even with all the seasonings I put on it?"

I nodded, swallowing the mouthful and finishing off the piece that was still on my fork.

"I'll still eat it. For you."

She let out a small chuckle and continued to eat and I did the same, silently finishing off the asparagus before moving onto the salmon.

"Do you wanna stay over tonight?" I asked, crunching on some salad. "It's really late. I don't think you should drive at this hour."

"Yeah, you're right." She said as she looked at her phone, noting the time. "I'd appreciate it if it's okay with you."

"Of course it's okay with me. You can take the bed. It's much more comfortable than the couch."

"I can't kick you out of your bed. Why don't we share again like we did when you visited LA?"

I looked up at her, nodding when I saw that she seemed rather pleased with her idea.

"Sure. I don't mind."

Another night of innocent sleeping with the woman of my dreams. After tomorrow, I really had to talk to Brie. I had an important decision to make.

•

@oh-thats-cute @marvelwomen-simp @dorabledewdroop @scarlie-johalsen-blog @annie-ahmelia

[modanisgf]

002. HESISTATING

prev | next | masterlist

wc: <1k

if you told haerin only an hour ago that she would be going to the girls basketball practice after school, she would call you insane. she wasn’t even sure right now why she was there, agreeing to something danielle said earlier on impulse.

haerin had walked down the hallway absorbed in her phone, not noticing they were approaching the gym. danielle and aeri opened the doors, the loud nose alarming haerin.

“why are we here?” haerin questioned, receiving confused glances from the two in front of her.

“we’re here to monitor over the girls basketball practice, we wanna see how we need to divide funding this month. i thought dani told you?” aeri said.

“are you serious..” haerin mumbled, ignoring the head shake danielle gave her.

“maybe you should start listening to what i say haerin.” danielle says, sighing.

“you talked to me while i was drafting funding for prom.” haerin deadpans.

“okay well, i needed you to come. i knew you weren’t gonna say yes cause of yn..” danielle says, mumbling the last part.

“she’s practicing right now?!”

“look haerin you’ll be fine, i don’t even get why you hate the girl she’s really nice.” aeri shrugs, “plus you have to be here, you are the treasurer.”

“you’re just saying that cause she’s yizhuo’s friend.” haerin says.

“i’m not..” aeri says, sighing.

“anyways, let’s go in!” danielle says, entering the gym with aeri following.

haerin hesitated to follow her friends, but soon went in picking up her pace in order to catch up with them. she ignored the eyes she felt staring at her, keeping her eyes trained on in front of her.

the trio took a seat in the stands together, them being the last to enter allowing the practice to commence. the practice had a smooth start up, each player working on their shooting first.

unfortunately for haerin, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. the way you played was so smooth and satisfying to watch, resulting you being the star player. you made every shot look easy, and even analyzed your teammates forms to provide feedback.

it was one of the many things kang haerin hated about you, you were extremely good at what you did, years of practice and experience contributing to it. haerin still remembered when she would call you up, only for you to tell her the same thing everytime she asked to hang out.

‘i’m practicing.’

the sentence rang in her head whenever she thought about you, reminding her of how you never set aside time for her.

haerin refocused on watching your team play, trying not to reminisce on the past. she felt her eyes roll when she saw you and ningning cheer each other on, the two of you making the most baskets.

danielle and aeri were talking silently, the conversation now registering in haerin’s brain.

“they’re really good.” danielle states, aeri nodding.

“what do you think haerin?” aeri asks, looking at the girl next to her.

“i agree with danielle, it looks like they’ve been practicing a lot.” haerin says, aeri nodding again.

“so far so good.”

the practice continued smoothly, mainly consisting of you and ningning excelling in each category. little did haerin know, you were trying to get her attention. you never tried this hard in practice, it resulting in you getting pulled over by one of your teammates.

“who’s in the crowd that your trying to impress?” rei asks.

“no one.” you start, “just trying to work harder this season.”

rei just dismissed the conversation, knowing you were lying. she’d probably find out soon, your friends not being the best at keeping secrets.

the practice finally came to a close, the three girls in the stands finalizing their decisions on the budget. haerin wrote all of it down, putting the paper in her binder after.

they all left the gym quickly after that, aeri leaving first leaving haerin and danielle.

“i saw you.” danielle says ominously.

“huh?”

“looking at yn.”

haerin froze, not knowing what to even say to her.

“the way she plays is just satisfying, there was nothing else to it.” haerin says, receiving a unconvinced look from dani.

“you want her so bad.”

“no i don’t?!”

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN) — @jayjj7 @saysirhc @sixflame438 @ajjilhan @amourjins @isither @sserajeans @greenniee @isabbellle @gayforalll @leeohknows @airice @yeetaberry127 @l0l44444 @inosfavgf @emphobics @edamboon @s3mz @newhairnewjeans @xen248 @nooneissheree @wintersgff @haechansbbg @gtfoiydlyj

— if your name is red i can’t tag!

[lady-raziel]

Do you also find it annoying how people will trash talk the USA by using statistics for the whole country instead of looking at them by state?

Like, for example, how they’ll claim we have terrible standards for paid maternity leave, but they’ll use the baseline for it and completely ignore the fact that paid maternity leave is different in each state.

Yeah. I think it’s difficult for people from other countries, especially smaller countries who are geographically small and overall more culturally cohesive, to grapple with the idea that America as a whole is a very challenging country to generalize. Like, yes, ok. I work at a government agency that looks at federal level statistics— the work my coworkers are required to do by statute requires them to look only at federal level data and draw conclusions based on that data. With large scale statistical analysis, you CAN say “based on census data of everybody, the AVERAGE demographics are x, y, and z and the AVERAGE income is x, the AVERAGE person pays this much in taxes, etc.” And those sorts of conclusions are valuable in certain senses and in certain situations.

However, making generalizations like that for a country of 333 million people is really only a very narrow view of the whole picture. People have said before that it’s more like America is actually 50 small countries in a trenchcoat, and honestly that’s not far off! It is pretty difficult to say “all Americans are x” when conditions in Alabama and Colorado can be literal opposite ends of the spectrum.

Even the “red state” and “blue state” generalizations can be pretty misleading— take Colorado again, for example. Colorado is widely considered a “blue/liberal state” because of the large high-population density progressive cities on the front range of the Rocky Mountains where most of the residents of the state are. However, this discounts the fact that in the rest of the rural areas of the state, especially the eastern half bordering Kansas, attitudes and policies are much more conservative.

Here’s a map that might be illustrative:

These are Colorado’s 8 congressional districts. Congressional districts are required to have approximately equal levels of population—therefore, you have geographically tiny districts in population centers and geographically large districts in rural areas. So the ENTIRE purple portion of District 3? That has the SAME number of people living in it as the tiny district 1 that contains the capitol of Denver. I’ll add another layer— despite Colorado being a “blue state,” that purple district is represented by Lauren Boebert, a notable MAGA conservative. So really, even in Colorado it’s hard to generalize and say “all Coloradans are x” because no they’re not—you have a variety even in the same state.

If you want to get EVEN more in the weeds, you can have wildly different types of demographics even within Congressional districts.

Here’s the map for Colorado’s 6th congressional district, currently represented by Jason Crow, a Democrat.

This district includes the city of Aurora— known for being a highly diverse area that has a high refugee population. You might also know the city of Aurora for being the site of the 2012 theatre shooting as well as being the home of Elijah McClain, a young African-American man murdered by police officers in 2019. So this Congressional district contains a large POC population and is not homogeneous. But this district is also interesting in that it also encompasses the WEALTHIEST CITY IN THE STATE, the 96% white Cherry Hills Village— which, considering Colorado has highly wealthy mountain resort towns like Aspen and Vail, is saying quite a lot. And this city is mere miles away from Aurora, where economic outcomes tend to be very different. Yet they are in the same Congressional district— so even on a local level its hard to make sweeping generalizations about most things and say “this is the one number or set of numbers that represents everything for everyone.”

Now imagine situations like this in every state and every congressional district across America. There is, of course, a place for large statistics, but such wide generalizations especially with context removed really don’t say much of anything unless you’re a data analyst studying something specific. It is hard to say definitively, especially on national data, that all Americans are a certain thing. This isn’t just an American problem with statistics, of course, not all people in any given country or population are going to be the same. Generalizing statistics can be good at a VERY broad overview that represent things worth conducting more specific crosscutting analysis to form more specific conclusions. However, a lot of people tend to view large stats as ways of stereotyping or confirming biases about groups of people in a way that SEEMS scientific or data based. They remove all context or specific crosstabs that actually paint a more accurate, but often messier, picture.

Big clean numbers are nice. But they rarely tell the full story or allow for nuance.

[melanieph321]

Dominik Szoboszlai x Black Reader - First Sight Part 2/8

The corner shop challenge

This story is about the night reader met her boyfriend Dominik and the series of crazy events that led up to the beginning of their love story.

Enjoy!

The conversation between you never died out. It's not like you fought to keep it alive as the two of you were walking side by side, it just refused to die.

"Okay, let me ask you a question." Dominik said, walking beside you, warming his hands in his pocket.

"Shoot."

"It's a hypothetical one."

"Yes, ask away."

"Alright, but the rule is that you must answer truthfully."

"Rules to answer a simple question? How intriguing." You smiled.

"Yes, but it's like a game. You can ask me anything afterwards, I promise to give you my sincere answer."

"Got it, just get on with it." You said, a bit excited to hear the question.

"Okay so, would you rather fuck a goat without anyone finding out, or would you rather have people believe you fucked a goat even though you didn't actually do it?"

Your steps altered, your eyes batting clueless at him. "Um...come again?"

"Like, would you rather have sex with a...."

You held up a silencing hand. "I heard what you said, I just...just why?"

He grinned. "I told you that it was a hypothetical question. It's mostly for me to get to know you better."

"Right, because asking 'Hi, what do you like to do with your life', doesn't cut it anymore?"

"It doesn't though." He chuckled. "People don't dig deep to answer those kind of questions, therefore they aren't sincere. I'm asking you to be sincere with me Y/N."

There it was again, that stupid spark. During your short walk to the corner shop you noticed that whenever your name escaped his lips your heart simply jolted. It was an amazing feeling and an annoying one at the same time.

"Fine." You sighed, allowing yourself to ponder the question.

You emerged in front of the corner shop, the question not yet answered as you stepped inside. However Dominik was patient with you, letting you take your time. Perhaps he really did want to know how your mind worked?

"I'd let people think I fucked the goat." You nodded. "How traumatizing it would be for both me and the goat if we actually did it."

Dominik nodded, just taking in your answer, not really judging you for it.

"What would you do?" You asked.

"Ah ah." He shook his head. "You can't ask me the same question I asked you."

"Why not?" You frowned.

"It's the rules of the game."

What a silly game, you thought.

"Ask me something else."

"Okay, okay."

You took a walk around the shop, thinking of interesting questions to ask. The bell above the door rang as people were coming in and out. Dominik looked conflicted of what kind of six-pack beer to choose from the many brands. Now and then his gaze lifted, glancing over to you, chuckling when he saw that you were already staring back at him. "Got a question for me yet?" He teased.

"Okay I got it." You said, leaving your aisle and joining his. "But it's more so a challenge then a question." You cleared your throat. "If that's allowed?"

"To challenge me?" Dominik's stance changed, his eyebrow twitching with his curiosity. He went from respectfully flirting with his eyes, to now leaning against the beer shelves, with a look that said, if you challenge me to go down on you, I will.

"Yes." You nodded, with your hands behind your back as not to give away your trembling hands. "I challenge you to strip naked, pop a can of beer and chug it down right here in this aisle."

"What?" He blurred out. More so surprised by the question itself then appalled by it. He was still smiling. "You want me to do what?"

"You heard me." You said, hands on your hips. You regained some of your cool following his quite hilarious reaction. "But if you're not up for the challenge Dommy, I won't force you to do anything."

"Please don't call me that." He said, kicking off his shoes.

"What? Dommy?" You tried to ignore the fact  that he was doing exactly what you asked him to do, stripping down, right there in the beer aisle of a corner shop somwhere in Liverpool.

"Yes, that." He sighed.

You chuckled. "What, you don't like my new nickname for you?"

"No, so stop calling me that before it catches on."

"I bet Trent would like it." You said, but quickly held a gasp from escaping your mouth as Dominik's hands gripped the hemn of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Your eyes widened at the sight of his hairless skin and outlined abs. He had tattoos on his arms and across his chest, one tatto running up his sleeve, the other cutting of just below his elbow. And whatever the ink on his chest meant you were here for it.

"Like what you see?" He smirked, catching you staring as his hands went to the strap of his belt. "One thing you should know about me Y/N..." He said,  removing his belt with a violent jerk. ".....I never say no to a challenge."

The air in your lungs disappeared, your heart beating fast as Dominik stripped himself of his pants, along with his underwear, leaving you to stare blankly at his dangling dick.

"Hand me that beer can will you?" He arched his back, standing proudly in the nude. He gestured for you to hand him one of the cans of beers behind your back. You did so with your eyes squeezed shut.

"What's the matter Y/N, you didn't think I'd do it, did you?"

Along with his teasing you heard the sizzling of the can of beer as he opened it. You heard him tilt it's content upside down and chug it down his throat. Although a loud burp let you know that he was finished, you refused to open your eyes until you knew that he had gotten dressed again.

"Hey, you there! Stop that!"

Your eyes flung open, only to see Dominik with panic in his eyes.

"What are you doing in my shop?"

Turning your head, you saw that an older man was charging down the aisle with a field hockey stick in his hands, looking more than keen to bash your heads in with it.

You looked to Dominik and he looked to you. "Run!" You said simultaneously. But as Dominik took off in one direction, butt naked by the way, you dropped to the floor, gathering his clothes. You then ran for your life, out of the corner shop and onto the lit streets. You and Dominik got separated as he ran out before you, but then you saw a pale figure shivering behind the nearest dumpster. It was Dominik, crouch down, covering his dick with his hands.

"Oh my god, Dominik!"

You rushed towards him, handing over his clothes, helping him get dressed.

"Fuck me." He muttered, still shivering to the point of his teeth rattling.

Suffering from terrible guilt, you did the only reasonable thing by pulling him towards you, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "I'm so sorry Dominik, so fucking sorry."

His chest vibrated when he chuckled. "Don't regret a challenge well done Y/N."

How could he be laughing and making jokes, you thought. Dominik was basically on the verge of getting pneumonia because of you.

"Shit, your still so cold." You said, feeling it rub off on you. You were still hugging him tightly, no plans of letting go until his body stopped trembling against yours.

"Don't worry, I'll warm up." He spoke against your temple, assuring you that the cold wasn't that bad. Still, you refused to let him go, at some point becoming one with his heartbeat slowly pulsating against your ear. His hand went to stroke your curls, the soothing sensation indescribable.  "You know..." He whispered. "If you wanted to see me naked you could have just said so before we left the apartment. Hey, I would've joined you for a quick shower in Sami's bathroom if you had...."

"Fucking dickhead."

Dominik couldn't help but to laughed as you pushed him off of you, breaking up the hug. The tender moment between you lasted briefly, his body having stopped shivering. He was back to himself.

"So were to next?" He asked as the two of you left the back of the corner shop.

"Well we still haven't bought any beer." You said. "Not that I'll ever recover from the sight of you chugging one down naked."

"Oh come on, don't lie." He smiled. "You loved seeing me complete your challenge. I'm surprisingly impressed how your mind works Y/N."

You lowered your head, hiding your smile.

"I say we head downtown, I know a guy that can hook us up."

"Fine." You muttered, trying not to make it obvious that you were happy that your night with Dominik wasn't over just yet. Little did you know that it was only the beginning.

[sunohws]

irresistible - choi soobin

pairing: top!biker!soobin x m!reader

synopsis: After receiving a phone call from the Hospital, you find out your ex-boyfriend had gotten into a minor accident. You also find out that is impossible to resist him.

genre: smut, minors dni.. please stay away. its kind of angsty idk

word count: 3.1k

a/n: made this while listening to maze in the mirror and happily ever after. my ears were busting from that eargasm. I was waiting for skipping stones to play but unfortunately it never came... also this is super SUPER long.

The workday was coming to an end. You found yourself fantasizing about your night. You in your cozy pajamas with some fried chicken and the new episode of his favorite tv show. A great way to end your work week. Your favorite way in fact.

You were just about done with your paperwork. Just ironing out the final details. So close to going home for the night. Your phone began to ring. It was an unknown number, so you ignored it. You continued the work until the same number rang again. You thought 'Maybe they have the wrong number and will figure it out soon.'  However, the phone rang again.

You sigh in frustration and annoyance as you pick up your phone to answer this troublesome caller.

"Hello?" You says with a huff.

"Is this Kim... Y/N?" The voice on the phone speaks. You were just about to hang up. You aren't really interested in whatever program they want to sign you up on.

Regardless he continues the conversation, "Yes this is he. Who is this?" You ask.

"Hi I'm Yoon Dayoung. I'm from Asan Medical Care. You are the emergency contact for Choi Soobin."

"Soobin?! What happened!?" You panic. You shoot out of your chair in shock. Your heart racing at the sudden movement and the anticipation of the verdict.

"Mr. Choi was in a motorcycle accident. From what we can see, he is alright. He has some minor bruises and some wounds. His in the bed now being treated. We need someone to pick him up. He should be ready to be released in a few hours or so."

"O-ok! I'm on my way now!" You jolt out of your chair. Grabbing your jacket on the way out. You squeeze out a jumbled sentence to your manager about an emergency at the hospital on your way out.

While on the road, your adrenaline cooled, and anger raised. You began cursing out Soobin. You were angry for his recklessness. You were angry that you were still the emergency contact. But most of all you were angry that Soobin scared him. You thought you'd lost him. Just thinking that brought tears to your eyes. Yes, you'd been broken up for a few months now. But there was still love in your heart for the man.

When you made it to the hospital, you checked in with the same receptionist who had called prior. She told you where to find him. And off you went. Your mind had simmered when you saw Soobin.

He was laying in the hospital bed with a few bandages wrapped around his body. One around his right wrist. Another across his chest. A few band aids on his head and arms. You had analyzed every part of Soobin that was hurt.

When you walked all the way in Soobin was asleep, most likely due to the amount of medication they had given him. So, you sat down in a chair near him and waited for the raven-haired man to awaken.

A few hours had past, the sun set and the night cooled. Soobin decided to open his eyes.

"Y-Y/N?" His voiced crooked.

"Oh. You're up. That's good. I'll go get the doctor." You respond back.

"Wait-what are you doing here?"

"Apparently I'm still your emergency contact?" You say before he walks out the door. You left Soobin there to sit in embarrassment.

While he waits for You to return. He sits up with a groan and a curse. Soobin swivels his head around to get a look at the time.

9:45 it reads. He wonders how long he's been out for. All he remembers is going out for a ride around 4 or 5ish then another motorcycle swerving into his lane. After that, everything went black. He hopes the other racer is okay if they did get hurt.

His bones feel swore but nothing too crazy to slow him down. Soon enough You come back with the doctor. However, you don't stay, you leave. Soobin assumes you're going to sign him out and wait in the lounge.

After the checkup, the doctor writes Soobin's prescription to pick up and clear him to go home.

Soobin walks out into the lounge with his damage helmet in hand, reminding you why they are here in the first place.

"I can find a way home from here. Thanks for coming." Soobin tells you. He can't bother to look into your eyes due to the embarrassment.

"No need. I'm dropping you off home." You insist. And Soobin doesn't fight it. He follows you out into the parking lot. You both get in the car. Not another word announced.

The drive was awkward and silent. The air, tight and thick. Soobin contemplated making small talk. But you and him knew that y'all were past that. The drive continued for about a half hour before they got to Soobin's place.

"Thanks for the ride." Soobin said as he gathered his things and exited the car. You gave him a head nod and a pressed grin in response.

When Soobin was gone you let out a huge sigh. You felt like you'd been holding in this breath for what seemed like forever. Your car now smelt like Soobin. A smell you had missed. The faint smell of cologne. His cologne. As you were basking in the smell, a gentle knock on your car window snapped you back to his senses.

It was Soobin, with his same ivory grin. A sparkle in his eyes that only You knew what it meant.

"Yes?" You say as you rolled down your window. "Come inside for something to eat or a drink. It's the least I can do." Soobin implored.

"Nah. I'm okay. Go inside. Get some rest." You turned down his offer.

"Come on Y/N. I know you just got off of work. I know you're hungry. Who knows how long you've been waiting on me. Come inside." Soobin appealed. It was something about his tone or how well he knew you. His voice hooked you in and you couldn't say no anymore. Not that you put up much a fight anyway.

"Alright fine. I guess I am a bit hungry." You agreed. But you'd try to remind himself to remain composed. Don't let things get crazy. Just a meal. Just a meal. He repeats.

Before You knew it you had been swept up in Soobin's charms.

Soobin's place looks the same as it did a few months ago when You had last been there. Dark and masculine. Clean as well. You sat at the dining table for two near the kitchen.

"I have left overs from my mom. It's really good." Soobin says as he gets the food from the refrigerator.

"Oh great. I missed your mom's cooking." You recalled.

"You missed it?" Soobin teases, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He then heats up the food in the microwave.

"Well yeah! My mom is in Japan! Of course, I miss home cooked meals from a mother figure!" You corrected. Your head drops, eyes looking in your lap.

"Oh okay." Soobin taunted.

"It's the truth." You whined.

"I believe you. Now eat." Soobin hushed the blond. He placed the warmed food on the table. He went back to get utensils and such.

The two began to eat and talk. Picking up as if they never stopped talking. They laughed and recalled fond memories. Dinner was over and you began to clean up. It was like your body went into auto pilot mode. Just like before.

"Oh you still remember where the plates go." Soobin noticed.

"Shut up." You say as you continue to wash the dishes. Soobin had been making remarks like that all evening. He did it on purpose. It's a game to him you think to yourself.

"You know, I've missed you..." Soobin confesses. All of the sudden, the room gets thicker. And you can feel Soobin's eyes burning on your skin. His voice was raw.

You can't find anything to reply back with, so you continue with the dishes. Your heart began to quicken. Your mind wondered. You thought about you and Soobin's more intimate moments. The little touches, kisses, dates. All the things you love about Soobin. All the things you hated about the man.

Like a snake Soobin slivers his way back to you. He takes your hands to wrap around his waist. His body is warm against you. And you can feel yourself fall into the embrace.

"Soobin..." You let out a breathy plea. Soobin plants a soft kiss on the back of your neck which sent unwanted flurries through your now sensitive body.

"I miss you Y/N." Soobin confesses again. This time he twirls you around so that their faces are close in proximity. Your wet hands fall onto Soobin's white tank top. It had faint red stains, predictably Soobin's blood. You stared at the bandage going across the man's chest.

This was the very reason the two broke up in the first place. Soobin's motorcycle. You couldn't handle the stress of the motorcycle, especially after the major accident Soobin had a few months back. Early in their relationship. You worried every day since then. The stress became too much for you so you left.

Soobin can see the gears turning in the your eyes as you look at his scars. He sees the worry build in your eyes, so he takes your wrist to plant a soft kiss, before he runs your hand over the wound to let him know that he was okay.

You looked at him with so much softness, that Soobin could actually give up the motorcycle for good.

It was so easy for you to fall back into Soobin's old tactics. His old charm that wins you over even when he doesn't want to admit it. Staring into Soobin's eyes it's like nothing has changed. You want to go back but you just can't. Today just proved his point.

However, the longer you stay in Soobin's presents the more his will chips away. And Soobin knows this, so he grips harder onto your waist and he doesn't break his stare on you.

"Soobin." You repeat.

"Y/N, please." He testified.

"Look what happened today. Do you not understand how terrified I was when I got the call? Thank goodness it was a minor accident. But what happens if the next time it's not. Like before. What if you-" Your voice breaks off as your throat get clogged. Your eyes began to redden as tears began to form.

"Baby. You don't have to worry about that stuff. I'm standing right here, aren't I? You can't break me." Soobin cups your face.

"Can't you just give it up?" You respond.

"Y/N it's my passion."

"A dangerous one!" You shout. Tears prickled at his eyes threatening to fall.

"Baby." Soobin cautioned.

"Stop calling me that." You throw Soobin's hands off your face and walk away.

You don't make it far before Soobin grabs your wrist. He pulls you in. And without a word he kisses you. His lips swallow Yours. His lips are soft and welcoming. His grip on your neck deepens as he becomes more passionate. It had been multiple months since he felt your lips against his.

And you didn't break the kiss instead, you endured it. Taking hands to grab at Soobin's biceps. He would get turned on just by looking at his muscles. The pure strength on this man was crazy.

The kiss disregarded any discourse they had before. A new argument was being fought. But with their tongues. Soobin's hands traveled around your body. Making you feel just, how badly you were deprived of psychical touch. It had been so long since you were touched by a man. Your body yearned for more.

The kiss finally breaks but it's not for long, Soobin swirls your back into the counter in the moments that they parted. He goes straight for your neck. Soobin plants sloppy thick kisses down your neck. Making you grab onto the countertops for support. Enjoying every second of this.

Fuck the breakup. Fuck the motorcycle. Just fuck me. You thought.

Soobin dragged soft lips along your neck. Kissing, tugging, biting. Everything lips, teeth, and tongue could do to a person. Your moans vibrated on Soobin's lips and your body pulled him closer.

"My room?" Soobin says words hot on your skin.

"Your room." you reply. There was not a moment for you to turn back, even if you wanted because Soobin dragged you across the house to his dark bedroom. Throwing you on the bed quickly. Your bodies connected instantly, Soobin taking his needy hands to trail vigorously upon your body. Grabbing anything in its path.

Soobin goes back in for a kiss. He's messy and sloppy as his tongue explores corners of your mouth. Your tongue is also grazing every inch of Soobin's mouth. With such passion it would be impossible to separate you two. They stopped every so often for air.

"W-wait." You try to catch your breath.

"What's wrong?"

"We should stop. You're injured." You sit up, he rearranges his clothing. Wiping his lips off as well.

All Soobin can do is laugh.

"What's funny?!" You look serious but Soobin laughs harder. "Hey!" You repeat.

The laugh stopped as if a switch was turned. Soobin's eyes darken, and his dominance spewed over you, as he leans over. "Do you really think a few scratches is going to stop me?" His voice is low, so low that it sends waves to your core.

"Uh...?" you respond meekly.

"Exactly." Soobin grin. He waits no time ripping your shirt off. Planting his soft lips onto the bare skin. Continuing his work through the rest of your body. And you didn't protest anymore. You wonder why you even questioned Soobin. There are many nights and scenarios where he knows Soobin's true stamina. You can only hope there's mercy for you tonight.

As passion burns, clothing gets removed and fingers start entering new territories. Causing many yelps from you. Two fingers crossed and swirled inside of you. Warming you up for what's to come. Based on how tight you were, Soobin could just tell he wasn't with anyone after him. That pleased him in many ones than just one. Soobin thrusted deeply one last time before abruptly yanked his fingers out. Causing your back to arch under him. Spiting an inaudible curse. Soobin just smirked and gave you a quick hard kiss.

Impatiently Soobin took his cock and lined it up with your hole, then invited himself into you with no mercy. Moaning into the tightness. Tightness that griped him so well. You let out a deep moan, your eyes shut and you throw your head into the bed. Soobin finding his breath after the first thrust. The entering is always the best feeling. Anything after it is just trying to chase that same feeling. Soobin dragged his cock practically out of you before shoving it back in. To chase that same feeling. He was going to fuck you hard. Make you feel it in your soul, make you not want to ever leave again.

Soobin continued with a pattern he knew drove you crazy. Hearing his name come out of your mouth in dirty moans made this even better. This was makeup sex at its finest. A sick part of him wanted to keep breaking up with you so he could enjoy this type of sex more often. However, that was just a horny thought and he no real plans of letting you go. He was his and only his. You would have to go back to Japan for Soobin to leave him alone but then again that's not far enough.

You wanted to pass out due to the pleasure being too much. It overwhelmed him. He hasn't had sex since the last time Soobin touched him. You couldn't be bothered to entertain a new person after Soobin. You had just been getting by with TV and work.

You were almost angry with how sensitive you were. Your cock was hard. Really hard. His body betrayed him instantly. The slight touch from Soobin and the war was over. Soobin won.

Not to say you didn't miss Soobin, you really did. Your relationship didn't have many flaws, only the motorcycle issue. They got along just right and when they didn't, Soobin knew just how to make thing better.

Just like now, Soobin knew all the spots to hit to drive the man under him crazy. Slamming into you like the car that ran into him.

"I'm close!" You moaned.

"Fuck- me too." Soobin bit his lip as he picks up the speed. Everything suddenly got louder and faster. The moans, the strokes, and their hearts. Soobin pumped harder and you squished their bodies closer. With one finally deep thrust they both let out the longest cry with white filling their eyes. The climax roughly coursed through them. Leaving you twitching under Soobin and Soobin groaning.

You too were still as their bodies registered what just happened. The room was still. The air still hot but filled with heavy breaths.

"That was..." Soobin says finally.

"Wow." You finish the sentence. You look at each other and smile like love struck idiots. Like routine, Soobin springs into action with aftercare.

"No, I'll do it this time. You're injured remember?" You stop him.

"I'm fine. Let me-" Soobin tries to protest.

"Sit." You demand and Soobin abides. He watches as You goes to the bathroom to get warm rags to clean up. He admired his work, the redness on the back side of You from his insane thrusts to the purplish-red love marks all over the man. You can feel Soobin watching you, so you blush a bit.

You continue cleaning you both. You grab one of Soobin's shirts to wear to bed and a pair of shorts for Soobin. When all is done you lay in bed with Soobin.

"Phew. That was a lot. I'm tired." You say as you snuggle closer to Soobin.

"I could've done it."

"But I did."

"I know and you did a great job." Soobin kisses the top of your head.

"Soobin...I missed you too." You finally say back. you kiss Soobin's neck.

"Round two?" Soobin says with that look in his eyes. It was supposed to be sweet!

"NO! I just cleaned us up! Go to bed." You turn the other way.

"I'll do it this time." Soobin grabs on to you, dragging his hands all over your body. He kisses your neck and whispers tempting things. You giggle and fight back. You knew you were going to lose but it was worth a shot.

For a man who just was in the hospital he had a lot of energy. In the end, He ended up cleaning you up after many, many rounds.

YALL THIS STAR DIVIDER IS SO CUTE IM IN LOVW WITH IT.. USNG IT FOR EVERYTHING ATP. also isnt my new pfp cute :33

[kaepop-trash]

Under the Table

It all started with this song and then sort of took on a life of it's own. Gotta love a good monkey brain creation sometimes. This is not edited, or even really thought out for that matter, y'all know the drill. I just needed to get it out of my system so I could move on with my life.

_

Tags: Sugarbaby au, (sort of) Infidelity, Rich Brat Johnny

Synopsis: There are a lot of choices that need to be made when you have big dreams. Big dreams require work, sacrifices and time. Most importantly though, big dreams need big bills. That was the decision that led you here.

Mr. Suh was as generous as he was supportive. You had an affinity for business that a self-made man like him could appreciate, he had the money and connections that you couldn't ignore. But it was that spoiled son of his that was an obstruction in your well carved path to success. The son that you wanted in a way you could never want his father.

Warnings: Smut, Sex, Penetration, Spanking, Kissing; Father and Son sleeping with the same woman (Hmm); Risqué public behaviour, Alchohol, Language

WC: 2.4K

_

The phone rang in the dark room, making her eyes shoot open. Arms scrambled, letting go of its tight grip on his back. She reached for the object.

His hand came over hers, the weight alone enough to press it down into the mattress— in place. His fingers carded over hers.

"You're on my time now, (Y/N)." He clicked his tongue, voice making her turn to him. His once neatly styled hair fell over his face, shirt hanging open and brushing against her chest.

"Johnny." She tried to sound firm, scolding him. In the back, the phone still rang.

"Try again. With more passion this time." He teased, making her brows knit in frustration. The moment her lips parted, he thrust into her with a clean jerk.

"Johnny, fuck." She moaned, clenching his hand.

"Yes, just like that." He demanded, pulling out so slowly that she whined.

"We have to go." She reminded him, her other hand gripping the back of his neck for dear life. "We're so late."

"I know." He cooed, "But it's just a party, (Y/N). It can wait." He leaned over, kissing over her jaw as he slowly entered her again. "Would you rather I stop?" He asked, knowing the answer already.

She shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist to keep him in place.

He smiled against her skin, tracing his lips all over her neck, her chest.

"Go faster." She panted, nails digging into his knuckles.

"You feel so good like this, though." His words sputtered as he focused on the grip of her warm walls.

"Johnny," She tried to coax him, "Just a little faster. What good is this if you can't make me feel good?"

He nipped at her neck, "This doesn't feel good?"

She didn't respond for a moment, caught in her own trap.

"It can feel better.” She added carefully after several moments, “Faster." She pressed her legs tighter, demanding more than insisting.

He watched her face as it scrunched closer to the centre, getting more impatient.

She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, amusement making his eyes sparkle.

"Johnny." She snapped, the hand around her neck slapping his back hard.

In an instant, the glint in his eyes darkened, making her insides flutter to mush.

"If that's how you want to play," He moved back despite her grip. Before she could let out a word of protest, he flipped her on her stomach, "You should have just asked." He landed a single slap on her ass, making her buck forward.

She hissed, feeling herself get wet from the sudden shock.

"Johnny." Her voice was no longer harsh, a desperate plea.

He got off the bed, spreading her legs wider. "Fine, we'll go faster if that's what you want." He lifted her waist higher, "Hands above your head, sweetheart." He ordered.

She did what she was told, his sharp words edging on tantalising.

He entered her without warning this time, both of them moaning loudly.

"What's got you so wet, babe?" He taunted her, not waiting for an answer. 

Once he settled on a pace, Johnny was insatiable. She clawed at her own sheets, trying to find ground while her entire body shook from a mix of his aggressive thrusts and her own muscles.

"I'm going to come" She sighed, picking her head to let him know.

"Finally." He huffed, grabbing her waist harder.

"It's going to bruise." She complained, trying to reach his hand to push it away. Her head dropped back when he snapped his hips. He slapped her ass again, the sound louder than the impact. She wondered if it would leave a mark.

Her body shattered up to her high, a surprised cry leaving her lips. Johnny came almost immediately after, falling on top of her from exhaustion.

She didn't even notice her phone had stopped ringing till the silence felt too deafening. 

His soft laugh in her ear filled the space.

__

"Where were you? I called you; why didn't you answer?" Mr. Suh asked the moment the both of them walked in.

"Your son picked me up very late." She pointed behind her to where Johnny stood, still trying to put his hair back in place. The other question was left unbreached.

"He's never had a reason to be on time anywhere." Mr. Suh laughed, kissing her cheek lightly before stepping back. She couldn't tell if it was an excuse or a jab.

Johnny came up beside them, slipping his arm through hers.

"I hope you can teach my son how to behave tonight." Mr. Suh eyed Johnny's crumpled shirt with distaste.

Johnny scoffed, pinching her waist. She bit down on her cheek, stifling her yelp and trying to hide the move with a shift.

"I'll try my best." She sounded distracted, trying to move his hand away.

__

Johnny did surprisingly behave. He introduced her to few people and sprinkled in the right praise. She wasn't sure if there was a catch to his kindness.

"So, how did you two meet?" A woman who Johnny introduced as the creative director of the newest popular clothing label asked.

He turned to pick up two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, taking his arm out of hers. She tried not to feel too nervous at the sudden lack of physical reassurance. Especially when she didn't even realise his touch was meant to be reassuring.

"We're in the same class in business school." To her surprise, he went with the truth. "She's much smarter than me, so I had to bag her." He laughed, handing her the glass. Adding to her surprise, he slipped his hand over her waist, giving her ass a squeeze.

“(Y/N).” She heard Mr. Suh's voice from behind them— stern. She had no doubt he saw Johnny's action. Despite what he told the woman, Johnny was a shrewd bastard. She pushed his hand off her, excusing herself from the woman.

She walked towards Johnny's father, his impassive irritation fixed on the back of his son's head.

"There's someone you should meet." He looked at her with the usual kind smile.

(Y/N) would have had a fruitful conversation with the Fortune 500 CEO Mr. Suh introduced her to if he hadn't been sizing her up the entire time she spoke. When the man did speak, he only mentioned his upcoming summer vacation before swiftly moving on to a discussion with Mr. Suh.

Stuck in place, not knowing what to do, she started looking around the room. 

She wondered if her discomfort was evident on her face or if it was something else. When her eyes met Johnny's, they were on her; the same dark glint in his eyes that made her stomach flip. Except the frown on his lips, the deep furrow of his brows, made him look furious. She wondered if it was something else.

(Y/N) willed herself to look away when Mr. Suh mentioned her name, talking about her promising stint as an intern at his company.

"And she's a pretty face to have around too." Mr Suh joked, catching her off-guard.

"That's a bold thing to say about my girlfriend." Johnny's arm snaked around her waist.

Her heart fell, beating loudly in her stomach. She turned to him with a panicked look, but he gave her a lazy smile. 

He was drunk, she realised.

"But I don't blame you." Johnny sighed, "She is beautiful." He said with his eyes on her, giving her a soft smile and pushing her hair away from her face. Like he was getting a better look.

"You're a lucky man." The man in front of them commented. Her eyes stayed on Johnny, equally furious and confused.

Johnny scoffed, the dark glint returning. "If you say so, Uncle." He turned to give him a half-hearted smile, pulling her closer to him.

She didn't know what to do, frozen in place as she felt everything she worked for fall apart. She didn't dare turn to Mr. Suh, not even ready to figure out what he was thinking.

Johnny leaned over, brushing his lips over her temples. "Come, there's someone I want you to meet." His breath smelled like whiskey and lemon. She couldn't do anything but nod.

__

"Why would you do that?" She hissed, "Your father saw you grab my ass too!" She shrugged him off her the moment they stepped away from the ballroom into an empty corridor. “You always ruin everything.”

Johnny smiled, unfazed. "He's the one who wanted me to bring you here as my arm candy. I was just playing the part."

"You're a god-honest dick." She groaned, her fear coming out as venom. "What if he finds out?"

"About what?" Johnny asked, stepping forward.

She groaned, stepping back from him.

"About what, (Y/N)?" He didn't relent, stalking closer.

She tried to look away from him, to back away from him. But both proved to be futile causes.

"You don't want him to know I'm fucking his pretty little baby? For free nonetheless." He laughed when she fluttered her gaze away at that.

"Stop it." She pushed him, "Your father was trying to do a nice thing for me. You've ruined it. Now you're acting like a child."

"He's trying to find a man that will be willing to take you as a trophy wife."

"No," She defended him, "He's helping me make connections. Because he believes in my potential, Johnny." She groaned, feeling her frustration bubble to the surface.

He hummed, unconvinced. "Every person you were introduced to today, by both of us, will call you starting tomorrow." He slipped his hands into his pocket, giving her a glowering look. "Let me know what they say. Let me know who messages you tonight and who on Monday morning."

He was closer now, walking into her personal space effortlessly.

"Your father is a good man, Johnny." She said weakly.

"The kind of man who hires my classmate as his plaything."

Her entire face soured, trying to push him away again. "Business school is expensive. Not all of us have rich daddies to support us."

"You do have a very rich daddy supporting you, sweetheart." He chuckled. She shoved him harder this time. He pushed back easily just to mess with her.

The move made her lose balance. He had to grab her wrist on his chest to keep her from falling. He didn't let it go once she was steady.

"I'm not judging your choices." His eyes softened, "This is about him, not you."

"You hate him so much, yet you're all set to be the next him." Her face twisted, "Or is that why?" Her eyes held the spite her tone lacked. “Some of us have to carve our own ways.”

The words made the kindness leech from his eyes. Johnny pushed her back roughly till her back pressed against the wall.

"So obedient for him, (Y/N). Why can't you be like that for me?" His hands slid up the high slit on her dress, making her breath hitch. "Because he pays for it?"

She felt rage coat her vision, turning her blind to any sympathy. "He's a better man than you." She said the words she knew would hurt him.

His hand immediately grabbed her face, squeezing her chin between his fingers. He made her look up to meet his eyes, "Do you suck his dick as well as you ride it?" He sneered. "You should show me sometime." He added when she didn't respond.

"You can't afford me, Johnny Suh. Even the money you'd throw my way would be his." Her words, muffled from his hold, were no less scathing.

"Bitch." He came closer, lips inches away from hers, "You'll take what I give you. Who's going to screw you like I do? Like the bad little whore you are." His lips brushed over hers, making her gasp. "Isn't that right, baby? Have you ever said anybody's name like you say mine?" He squeezed her cheeks this time, more gentle but no less insistent. "As desperately as you scream mine?"

She didn't answer him, keeping her enraged gaze locked on his. He seemed unaffected.

"Can he even make you come?" His hand slipped past the slit of the dress, brushing against her thighs. Her eyes fluttered shut. "That man only knows how to take, doesn't he?" His lips brushed over her cheek. "There's nothing wrong in taking from him in return. I just want you to see the truth."

"Johnny." She gasped when his thumb brushed over her clothed core.

"Hmm?" He hummed, brushing his lips on the corner of her mouth. She hesitated momentarily, tilting her head to press her lips over his shortly after. Johnny's hand came to her jaw, the other on the wall to keep her caged in. Like he was afraid she'd run away. His tongue flicked across her lower lip, pressing against hers and slowly devouring every crevice. He kissed her slow and deep, taking his time to taste the champagne and fury on her lips.

She was the first to move, pushing him back. He obliged, pressing his lips on her eyelid.

They stood like that for a moment, still like somehow it would make them invisible. Like time would not pass if it couldn't find them.

"I don't think we should do this anymore." She breathed out after several moments. 

Johnny scoffed, "You say that every few weeks." He brushed his lips over her temple.

"I mean it this time. I'm done." She bit down on her bottom lip, afraid that it would quiver. "I can't do this anymore." She tried to move, but he stopped her.

"No, (Y/N) look at me." He urged, trying to grab her cheek, but she evaded it.

"At some point. You'll have to learn to take no for an answer." Her face and voice steeled over, not looking into his eyes at all. "I'm tired of this. I'm not some object you can use to get back at your father." She clicked her tongue when he didn't budge, forehead creasing.

"You're not–" He stopped his voice from escalating. "You don't mean that." He coaxed her, trying to keep her pinned.

"Move!" She snapped, turning to him with untethered rage before looking away just as fast.

"(Y/N)–" He sounded so lost, so hurt. Her face faltered, and so would her conviction if her phone didn't ring.

She reached into her purse, both of them already knowing who it was.

"Yes?" She answered.

"Where are you?" Mr. Suh asked, "It's time to leave."

"I'm just fixing my makeup; I'll meet you at the entrance." She responded, hanging up after.

"You're coming home with me tonight," Johnny said, sounding like a wounded child.

"You don't make that decision for me." She spoke without turning back to him, walking away without waiting for his response.

[lostintransist]

Liaison | Part 7 | Shots, Shots, Shots

Check out part one here. Up to chapter 36/38 on AO3.

A knock on your desk pulled your attention from work. Gaz stood at your desk. You hadn’t seen him in months.

“Gaz!” You leap up from your chair and throw your arms around the man. He sported a goatee now, it looked good on him.

He hugged you back tight. “Hey there, I missed you.”

“I missed you too! I scheduled you to be back here at least three times since I saw you last but nooo you had to go and play hero with KorTac,” you rolled your eyes as you stepped back from the hug.

All eyes in the office were on you two but you ignored them. Gaz, without argument, had to be your best friend. He matched your level of crazy and understood your side-eye communication without explanation.

Gaz reached up and tugged lightly on your dangling earring.

“Fuck you Liaison I am a hero! At least to a couple of women who wanted to say thank you if you know what I mean.” He waggled his brows.

Slapping your hands to your ears you loudly drown him out with a la-la-la-la. His booming laugh could be heard above your panicked off-key chanting. Gaz settles into the chair at the edge of your desk, hand digging into the fidget basket you set up originally for him. Everyone used it when they came to chat.

Trusting he would not tell you any more about his escapades you settled into your chair, folding your legs into the seat. You had used the company card to buy a new office chair the second you got your hands on it. The one you had bought last year at Costco with Harold and Gaz wouldn’t stay upright and getting dumped onto your head was not a great way to start any day.

“How late do you work today?” Gaz spins a small chain around one finger.

“I only have maybe an hour left of work?” Filling one cheek with air you force it back and forth in your cheeks before blowing it out. “Unless someone accidentally shoots a diplomat again.”

“That was not my fault!” Gaz halts his spinning chain to point angrily at you. “You know it wasn’t my fault. We cleared all civilians but that fucker pulled his diplomatic passport and some rookie didn’t toss him out on his ass anyway.”

You grin, a light laugh showing you aren’t serious. It wasn’t Gaz’s fault, but the mess it caused you to clean up gave you the right to tease him about it.

“Any idea what you want to do tonight?” Gaz changes the subject.

“Wanna go shooting?”

At the opportunity to fire a gun Gaz brightens significantly.

“Shooting sounds great, dinner after?”

“Sure but you are not allowed to choose. The last place was not Mexican food and you cannot convince me it wasn’t a horror masquerading as a restaurant.”

“Deal.”

❈❈❈

“What the hell is this?” Gaz gestured to the large room with long open rooms lined up.

The bow and arrows decorating the space should have given it away.

“A shooting range,” you reply as if he couldn’t see that himself.

“I thought we were going to shoot guns, not bows?”

The half-smirk you give him causes him to squint at you.

“One would think by now you would remember to confirm before agreeing to an activity with me,” you fight down a smile.

Gaz shoves you, laughter spilling between your bodies.

“You are unbelievable, I have to stop agreeing to do things with you.”

“Actually you just need to stop trusting me to tell you the whole truth,” you wipe at the tears in your eyes from laughing.

Seeing someone come out of a back room you make your way over.

“Hi, can I get two lanes for 30 minutes?”

“Will you need to rent the bow and arrows as well?” The teenager asks already tapping away at the screen in front of him.

“Yes, please. Can I have a 40-pound draw and,” looking back at Gaz you make a decision, “a 30-pound draw?”

“Sure, have you both been here before?”

“I have, but my friend hasn’t.”

The teenager nods, tapping the screen a few more times. He quotes the total due and you tap your card before Gaz has a chance to pull out his wallet. The first time the two of you had gone out to dinner had been a battle to pay the bill. He would do his best now to cover dinner but you had called and prepaid.

“Okay sir, please fill out this waiver while I get everything together for you.” The paper and pen are placed on the counter.

Gaz reviews each line before he signs.

“Why give me a lower draw weight?” He taps the end of the pen against the counter.

“Because while you might work out I know this will be new for you and I don’t need you bitching at me in the morning because you can’t lift your arms.”

The teen comes back passing over both bows and a quiver of arrows.

“You guys will be on number 7, go down to the right and it will be near the middle.” The young worker disappeared back into a room beyond sight.

“Ready to see what you can do?”

Having been here several times you know where you are going. Setting the arrows point down in the provided container you pull out a single one. Notching the arrow you draw and let it fly.

“We will fire all of them and then collect so no one accidentally gets shot,” turning, you watch Gaz test the string of the bow.

He pulls and relaxes the string twice before he notches an arrow and misses so badly. He glares at your sputtered laughter.

“Couple things, you want full extension of your bow arm and to pull the arrow back to at least your face. Aim slightly higher than you think since gravity affects arrows faster than bullets and commit. When you let it fly don’t hesitate.”

You draw up another arrow, watching as it sinks into the target. Nowhere near the bullseye but not on the ground. Gaz takes his turn next until the arrows are all spent and none of his has touched the target. Confirming with Gaz you both move down the range to collect your arrows. He does not appreciate your rendition of “Shots” by Lil John. The laughter and Lil John remains the soundtrack of the night.

Before your time is up Gaz asks to try drawing on your bow. You pass it off.

“Holy fuck Liaison, I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Why would I joke about being stronger than you? This is probably the only time I can do it.” You stepped behind him and tapped both shoulder blades. “Draw again but try and make these touch.”

Gaz does as instructed, a light manly grunt coming out of him.

When your half hour is up you collect everything and return it to the teen working the counter. Bounding up the stairs you catch sight of a flash of white on black disappear as you approach the door to leave. Gaz is waiting outside for you, smoking a cigarette.

Waving a hand in front of your nose you tell him that you are going to go wait over by the alley until he is done. Cigarette smoke coated your mouth and tasted disgusting. Your back to the alley you address your stalker.

“Thought stalking was below your pay grade Gengar.”

“You’re too friendly with Gaz.”

“Right,” you drag the word out, “I’m too friendly with one of my only friends on this half of the planet. That makes absolute sense.”

The silence behind you raises the hair on the back of your neck, a puppeteer in fear.

Gaz wanders up, a lingering tang of smoke heralding his arrival.

“Ready for dinner?”

“Yep, we are hitting an Ethiopian restaurant. I’ve already been once, and the family that runs it is from Ethiopia. I can’t handle any of this bland British nonsense.”

Gaz sputters in defense of his country. He finds none being as well-traveled as he is. Knowing the darkness still stalks you you fire off a bird toward the man who has decided you are too friendly.

@nicroyal02

Part 6

Masterlist

[story-island]

Stitches and Scars (Simon Riley X Fem Reader)

A/N: Hey guys, hope everyone is doing well this wonderful day! I know this one is on the serious side here compared to some of my other Fics, but I still wanted to put this out into the world in case anyone can benefit from it.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Fem Reader (Technically platonic, but leaning to more near the end)

Summary: Your out in the field and you get shot in the thigh, its bad. Simon sees you have Self Harm wounds when helping with the bullet wound. Leads to some soft Simon, he's pretty gentle in this one.

Warnings: Bullet Wounds!, Mentions/ Descriptions of Self Harm!, Mentions of Blood and Gore!, Simon stitching up wounds.

DO NOT READ IF SENSITIVE TO SELF HARM!

Word Count: 2.1K

Bullets flew every time the 141 went on a mission, normally it was enemies' droppings, but occasionally one of your own got hit. This time it was you. You were in close range relying on your hand-to-hand combat training. The knowledge helped you put the sack of shit down, but not before he managed to shoot your thigh. It stung, as you noticed the damage, your adrenaline pumping even harder you managed to learn the bullet went straight through.

"I'm hit" you half growled over coms.

"How bad," Price's comforting voice asked.

"Can probably walk but it won't be easy." you managed, moving to a nearby wall to try and leverage yourself upright.

"I'll be right there" Ghost chimed in, but you could hear the stress in his voice.

Carefully, you tried to stand up, putting all your weight on your good leg. With some pain, you managed to get up, not before noticing how much blood you were losing.

Thinking quickly, you pulled off your belt to tie around your leg. It wouldn't be amazing, but it could work in a pinch, slowing the blood flow a small bit. Positioning the belt above the wounds you took a deep breath and pulled as tight as you could. At that moment you felt like lighting shot through your entire body, but you had to stay quiet, so you bit your tongue as you got the belt tied off.

Thankfully, the moment when you looked up, you saw a tall scary figure with the signature Ghost mask jogging towards you. Carefully to limped toward him, still using the wall to help support you.

"Got her, call for an evac Price" Ghost barked over coms, seeing your disheveled state.

"Don't Price, I'm good, can fix it at the safe house" you said, now staring down Ghost, warning him not to push it.

Sure, he was a scary man, but he knew damn well you could do some damage if you wanted to. Hell, he had seen it firsthand, the way you can take out men three times your size.

"You sure?" Price asked unknowing of what had happened between you and Ghost.

"Yes," you said sharply.

"Ok, off to the safe house you two, we can finish this up and meet you there" Price ordered before going quiet again.

Ghost was obviously upset you didn't take the evac but nonetheless, the best you could do was find a vehicle and get the fuck out of the warzone. You spotted a truck fast, and Ghost helped you into the passenger side before hot wiring it.

Speeding off you couldn't ignore the pain you were feeling. Walking was a bitch and a half, but now it was getting worse. The bumpy road mixed with the wearing off of adrenaline made your entire leg feel like it was on fire. You were hot all over from the pain, and your face flushed as you made faces to avoid screaming out.

As Ghost drove, he couldn't help but stay silent, obviously upset that you were in pain. He watched both the road and you. Noticing how you pulled up your gear to tear some of your shirt off to shove in your wounds. Trying ever so desperately to stop the bleeding and the pain.

When you did that, you were deep in your own world, finally looking at the damage. You saw what you didn't want to see, the scars, some new, some old, some newly reopened. The secret you had kept to yourself so well, the self-harm, it would be no more after tonight. Ghost would see them, and you didn't know what he would do or say. So as much as it hurt, a chunk of you didn't want to make it to safety.

After what felt like both an eternity and the shortest ride of your life you made it to the safe house. Were you ready? No. But all you could do was move forward. As soon as the vehicle stopped your big teammate was out and opening your truck door. Before you could say a word, Ghost moved to pick you up.

Ever so gently, he held you bridal style, carrying you through the front door and into the building. It felt too nice, in his comfortingly strong arms. Sadly, the moment was short-lived as he placed you on the couch before running off to go get some medical supplies.

As Ghost looked for things, you managed to get your boots and heavy gear off without too much extra pain. You understood that you were going to have to take your pants off, it was embarrassing for multiple reasons, but you had to. So, when he finally came back with some things you chose to speak.

"Ghost, you have to promise me you won't tell anyone" you almost warned, looking into his eyes, as he knelt in front of you.

He didn't understand, but he cautiously nodded his head. Ghost would understand in a moment, so undoing the belt on your leg you adjusted to pull your pants off. Quickly Ghost moved to help you, seeing the pain flash across your face. As he pulled your pants the rest of the way off, he saw them.

Noticing your thighs, he saw so many lines scratched across your gorgeous skin. Old scars that had healed to small marks, that were covered by newer, fresher scars, even seeing that some were reopened by the bullet. He didn't say a word, but he suddenly felt so bad that no one was there to help you.

"I'm not weak," you said, but your voice betrayed you, cracking, halfway through speaking.

Ghost looked up to see your glassy eyes, his heart broke at the sight.

"I never thought you were" was all he managed to say, but it was enough for you.

The two of you shared a moment, eyes locked, suddenly understanding that Ghost would keep your secret. He looked like he desperately wanted to help, and for now, you have to let him. Hopefully, it would lead you down a good path.

So, as you were now ready to get your wounds cleaned, Ghost handed you some water and pills.

"They won't kick in for the stitching, but you probably want to take them anyways." He explained.

Giving him a small nod you threw the pills back, swallowed, and looked back to Ghost. Throwing a thumbs up, he got to work. Cleaning the wound hurt but he did it fast and thoroughly. The first sting was the worst but after that, it became slightly more manageable.

When he decided it was clean enough, he picked up a needle and surgical thread. He looked up, warning you without words that this would hurt. You got the idea and grabbed for the belt you had thrown to the side. This time folding it up and placing it in your mouth. Leaning against the back of the couch you closed your eyes. Ghost took the moment of distraction to start stitching.

White hot searing pain rocketed through your body, causing you to bite down hard, as tears formed and fell down your cheeks. Ghost didn't stop, knowing if he did, he wouldn't be able to finish.

The belt fell from your mouth as both of you had made it through the painfully long minute, ready for a short break before he had to get the exit wound. Ghost had noticed how the bullet went through and he thought that it was close enough to the edge of your leg that it could almost have been a deep graze if you had moved a centimeter or two.

"Time for the other side I guess" you managed with a scratchy, broken voice.

"Give yourself a minute" Ghost soothed.

Taking in a few breaths you waited about fifteen seconds before attempting to move, gritting through the pain of moving. Ghost immediately moved to help you, positioning you on your stomach to give him the best access to the other wound. It gave him a pretty good view of your ass as well, but he wasn't so vain as to joke about that now.

Ghost got back to work, repeating the process again, cleaning the wound thoroughly but fast. When his large hands pulled away, you knew the needle was next, moving to grab the belt again to help aid the intense waves of pain washing over you. It was over faster than the first one, but the first pierce of the needle shocked you harder this time around.

When it was all said and done, Ghost helped you move again. Getting you to a spot where he could apply some gauze and topical antibiotics he had found. Then he moved to wrap your leg, his fingertips gently falling on your skin as he layered the bandage. You were still in pain, but his touch felt too good to ignore. Being in the military often meant you went touch starved for extended periods, but he was so gentle with you.

Your dirty pants came next, but thankfully you managed to find something else to wear in some abandoned dresser drawer in the bedroom down the hall. A pair of old Loony Toons sweatpants were better than your dirty gear.

Suddenly you were sucked back to the harsh reality though; Ghost hadn't said a single thing about your scars yet. You didn't know if he would say anything at all, but the thought was terrifying.

In truth, you wanted to stop hurting yourself, but it was a hard thing to do, the pain had provided you the release you needed sometimes. When your emotions were too hard to handle, it was your coping mechanism for all of the tragedies you deal with. You were trapped in a circle, and it was easier said than done to stop hurting yourself, but would he call you on it? As you were deep in your mind, sitting on the bed next to Ghost, he finally said something.

"Hey . . .you know I care about you," he said unsurely.

"I mean yeah, hard to tell sometimes, but yes" you scratched out, as you were yanked from your thoughts.

"Not my point . . .If you ever feel like . . . like hurting yourself I want you to come to me" he said carefully, holding your eyes captive to read your reactions to his words.

"Ghost" you whispered

"Please" He practically begged.

"Ok" you agreed, unable to deny the man who had just pretty much saved your life. Your affinity for the man simultaneously saving and dooming you at this moment.

"Thank you," he said, placing a large hand on your uninjured leg.

Finally feeling the meds kick in you started to get really sleepy. Feeling a sort of drowsy high creep up you, you craved warmth and blankets.

"Simon, can you help me under the blankets?" you asked before realizing your mistake "Shit! I meant Ghost."

Chuckling, he moved to pick you up from the foot of the bed, taking two big steps, then placing you back down on the bed.

"Simon's just fine sweetheart, but only when it's just us," he said as he pulled the blankets on top of you.

Taking a moment to stabilize your injured leg with extra pillows, Ghost seemed to linger for a moment.

"You going to be alright?" he asked, now that you were laying comfortably.

"Yeah, I think I'll be ok Simon, thank you" you spoke, watching Ghost's eyes.

"Mhm," he grunted "I should go watch for the team; they'll be back soon" as he moved towards the door of the bedroom.

"Umm, can you wait in here?" you asked before he could fully leave, assuming even he wanted to stay a little longer, even if just to watch over you.

"Sure" he responded, pulling a chair from the corner of the room to sit near the bed.

"Get comfy then, it'll be a long night," you said.

And a long night it was, for Simon at least. You passed out in no time, between pure exhaustion and the pain killers there was no energy left in your body. So, Simon sat there and watched, making sure your leg never moved too much, as well as keeping an eye out for the guys.

The rest of the team showed up with a good report, not ten minutes after you passed out. He updated them before resigning back to the bedroom you were sleeping in. There was one point in the night as he watched when you reached out for something, and he willingly gave you, his hand. Your sleeping form loved it, taking his hand and pulling it close to you. The small action made Simon smile under his mask, appreciating the little moment, hoping that he could help you in some way that no one had yet.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

This is totally becoming a safe space for a Striker/Blitzo aka Stritzo shipper.

So in this AU, Stolas is seen as a bored spoiled dissatisfied brat by many characters rather than an abusive cheater who gets away with practically everything in the audience’s eyes. Yes, he’s unsatisfied with his married life and not really caring about Stella anymore. See? I’m being nice and not do insane character assassinations unlike some rabid stans!

Striker and Blitzo are total strangers to Stolas, just faces in a crowd by royalty’s eyes, instead of Blitz and Stolas meeting as children like canon. The imp couple do comment on the bratty owl Prince along with some demons at a gathering or party, “Sheesh, and I thought I was effing miserable but he’s got all the privileges. That’s no darn excuse to act like that.”

“Yeah, most of us have to work our asses off since our youth or even as kids. Instead of this bozo just complaining, he should just divorce and try to remarry with someone else or smth.”

Striker and Blitzo marry first then adopt Loona at the pound? I could imagine in some scenarios that Striker also teaches Loona how to shoot guns long range style. Both parents look like they were going to burst tears of joy when their daughter makes several successful clean kills.

At least the Goetia royals say to Stolas’ spoiled ass, “Why didn’t you call off the marriage arrangement in the first place? Then you wouldn’t be acting this way?”

“If you ignore your spouse you also do the same thing to your child.”

Yep, even in canon Blitz is a better dad than Stolas bc I read from one of the posts that he at least made sure Loona had her vaccine/rabies shots even if it physically hurts. Rabies is not a joke.

So in the AU, both Striker and Blitzo comfort their scared shaking Hellhound daughter at the doctor’s place. They even promised to get her favorite treats/snacks if she takes the needle shot.

“Hey hey, it’s ok sweetie. It won’t be too bad. It’s just a yearly appointment.”

“But I don’t like this!”

“How about this? We will buy your most favorite food if you take the needle ok?”

Ngl, Helluva Boss has kinda more interesting and diverse characters than Hazbin Hotel (some religious ppl are understandably pissed at Viv’s designs of the Bibles’ angels and even humans) hence why I’m commenting here just to safely share my opinions and Stritzo AU.

Strizo for the win.

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] -  twenty-five | can I pick her up? can I tell her I love her? will she get mad?

Wooyoung rang the doorbell and you clapped your hands together as you waited in the hall with Wooyoung and Yeosang.

“Are you okay?” Wooyoung asked.

“I’m excited to see a cat.”

Wooyoung and Yeosang laughed.

“Do you parents still have Beanie?”

“Beanie?” Wooyoung asked. “Your cat is named ‘Beanie’?”

“Yeah, his mom was named Porky.”

Wooyoung sighed, and leaned against the wall dramatically. 

Yeosang smiled at his reaction.

“What? Don’t tell me you hate it.”

“I’m… I’m so upset I didn’t think of that first. Please tell me Porky was fat.”

“She was fat--”

“Who was fat?” San asked as he opened the door.

“One of my parents’ cats.”

“Oh,” he chuckled and let you all into the apartment. “Come in, I have food-- Baby, come’re!” He shouted into the apartment.

A somewhat chubby yet chic siamese ran over to greet you as you came in.

San picked her up and gave her a hug and held her so you could pet her. “This is her majesty, Byeol.”

You held out your hand so she could smell it, and she did, and then full-forced headbutted your hand with her face and rubbed all over it. You gasped quietly, eyes welling with tears as you felt what could only be given by a cat: the kind of regal acceptance of a monarch to their subject.

“She likes me.”

San smiled. Once you were done he set her back onto the floor and she rubbed all over your legs.

You reached out for San and whispered. “San, she likes me.” 

San held your hands and laughed.

“I’m really going to cry, I haven’t seen a cat since I moved out of my parents house-- except for visiting them. I miss cats. Can I pick her up? Can I tell her I love her? Will she get mad?”

“No, she likes being picked up. You can hold her like a baby.”

You scooped Byeol up as San said and she slow-blinked at you. You looked at San and whined. He laughed at you. 

“You’re so pretty,” you said as you cradled her.

“Y/n, we’re eating the food without you.” Yeosang warned.

You gave Byeol a kiss and put her back on the floor. “I’ll kill you myself, Sangie.”

He chuckled.

This non-party was like the last non-party, only with slightly less alcohol.

“Where’s your roommate?” Wooyoung asked. “I thought maybe he was in his room but he hasn’t come out.” 

“He’s been at work all day. I think he’s shooting something?”

“Shooting something?” You asked.

“He’s an actor.”

“Oh, cool.”

San nodded.

“Is he popular at all?”

“I think he’s mostly been a bit part in things, but he is trying.”

You nodded. “Well, good for him.”

This time, Wooyoung and Yeosang ended up sleeping on the couch together; Yeosang functioning almost as a second mattress as Wooyoung was draped over him, or perhaps, Wooyoung was functioning as a blanket. Byeol was curled up in your lap purring like a steam engine as you petted her and talked to San.

“Do you really miss having a cat that bad?” He laughed softly.

“Who else is going to ignore me, but in a loving way? And yell at me when they think I’m going to to get them food, but I’m actually walking past it?”

He laughed again.

You smiled as you pet her. “It is lonely when you don’t have anyone around though. And obviously a cat isn’t as good of company as a person, but it’s nice to have someone to spend time with.”

He nodded. “I’m sort of surprised you and Yeosang aren’t roommates, then.”

“Oh, I only found out we were in the same building the day I moved in. Another friend of mine is the one who found the place for me.”

“Oh, why don’t you live with them, then? If you feel lonely.”

You thought about it for a moment as you pet Byeol. Should you tell him that Keeho is an idol?

“I--”

You turned to him.

“I mean, you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, um… He and I keep very different hours so we’d probably just end up annoying each other.”

“Ah. How long have you known each other?”

“Umm… So, I knew Yeosang all through grade school, then he moved away, and I had actually met my other friend before that but we only became friends after Yeosang left when he noticed me sitting by myself in class and asked where he was. So… early high school? We’ve been friends since then.”

“You must be close enough that you wouldn’t annoy each other like that.”

You laughed softly. “You’d think, but sometimes living with someone else can really change how you see a person. Like, if you’re neat and they’re messy or something.”

San nodded.

You sat silently for a few moments and you went back to petting Byeol.

“You’re a streamer, right?” San asked.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“So I guess you probably stay up late, and that’s where the weird hours would come from?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. I play a lot of games by myself, too.”

His face brightened. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Which ones?”

“Umm… mostly I like RPGs or chill games, but then I’ll play like… multiplayers and stuff with my friends.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” San smiled.

“I built my own computer.” You nodded.

“Shit, really?”

You nodded proudly.

“I built my own too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Want to see?”

“Um, yes?” 

San stood and you scooped Byeol up and followed him to his room. He turned the lights on and presented the tower of his computer, which was currently off.

“What are the specs?”

“How would you feel if I said it had an Nvidia GeForce RTX 3080 Ti?”

Your eyes widened as you looked at him. Silence fell for a moment as you processed the letters and numbers you heard and gained a new appreciation for the man standing in front of you.

He smiled.

You suddenly felt that computer building could be a thing that was so… sexual.

“Don’t those need a really beefy power supply?”

He nodded. “It has it.”

“Ooooooof.” You breathed as you looked back at the tower. “I’ve never felt so envious before in my life.”

He chuckled.

“I can’t believe you dropped that much money on it.”

He shrugged. “It’d been a while since I built a new computer so I figured why not? Money’s no good unless you spend it.”

“That’s so sexy of you.” 

You froze for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that San also froze. You hated that you couldn't control your penchant for speaking without thinking outside of your streams: while you were streaming it made you hilarious, in real life it made you awkward. You did the only thing you could do and deflected; lifting Byeol up and holding her so her face was in yours. 

“Miss Byeol, you didn’t tell me your daddy had such incredible taste in computer parts. You shouldn’t keep secrets, you bad girl.”

San exhaled a laugh and you went back to holding her like a baby, the movement not deterring her from her eye smiles and happy purring.

“Oh, and it has LEDs,” San leaned over and turned it on, deep purple LEDs lighting up in the case as well as behind the double monitors.

“Wow. I’m a red LEDs person myself, but I can see you’re a man of taste.”

He laughed and held the power button to shut the computer off. The lights went off and everything was dark again.

“Should we go back to the living room?”

You chuckled. “I’m sure the sleepy twins are missing us terribly.”

San laughed as you turned and followed you out, turning off the lights.

   previous | main cast | masterlist | next

Send an ask or leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! 🧋

[icdrawings]

Corpse puppet au

By @sketchquill

Chapter 2

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Gold's pov

Aunt Nell rang the door bell, a butler opened it showing us the Pillar's. I tilted my head down because of how intimidating they looked but Aunt harshly nudged me with her shoulder making me pick my head up quickly to not cause anymore fuss.

"Oh, my goodness,oh ,such grandeur such impeccable taste! Oh, beautiful, innit?"my aunt said excitedly in a fake polish accent "it's not as big as our place, dear, Mm, a little bit shabby, really, isn't it?" Uncle stated only to get wacked by Aunt Nell "shut up" she screeched in a shush tone.

"Why you must be Mr. Pillar, oh, yes, I must say you don't look like a day over 20" Uncle William attempted to use flattery only for Aunt to hit him again "smile, darling, smile" Mrs. Pillar whispered a bit too loud "well, hello, what a pleasure, welcome to our home" Mr. Pillar said with a crooked smile and attempted a cheerful tone, I could tell that we weren't welcomed here but my Aunt and Uncle thought otherwise "Oh-oh-oh! Thank you!" Aunt sounded pleased "we'll be taking tea in the west drawing room, oh, do come this way" Mrs. Pillar said gesturing us to followed.

"Oh I love what you've done with the place, who is your decorator?" a sad attempt of Aunt Nell trying to make small talk "nice tiles, shame about the drapes" Uncle snarled "oh, my husband says such foolish things, ignore him" Aunt Nell said trying to shut him up. They were too caught up in there acting to notice that I stopped walking to gaze at the grand piano they had, it looked like it hadn't been touched in ages. The more I looked at it the more memories of Coin can rush back, oh, how he would have played this instrument to retirement.

~ Flashback ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Age 6 at old home)

With some figs I had my way to Coin's music room, he's been playing for hours now, I didn't want him to go hungry. The music grew louder as I got closer, holding the figs I gently knocked on the door to get his attention without startling him. "come in" hearing him, I opened the door to see Coin writing down some sheet music "hi Coin, I brought you something to eat" holding up the figs "Figs! my favorite! oh, you shouldn't have, thanks Gold" he said excitedly as I handed him the figs before leaving "hey Gold" I turned around "why don't we share" patting the space next to him on the seat "okay" I said happy to spend time with my brother, taking a seat we each grabbed a fig and started eating. It was a comfortable silence looking around the music room taking notes of all the different instruments that surrounded us before turning behind me to look at the piano, "hey Coin can I ask a question?" I said "shoot!" he said "why do you play your instrument almost everyday?" I asked out if curiosity.

Coin stuffed his mouth with the rest of the fig before placing a hand on my head "because if I don't how will I know my music is appreciated" he smile as I looked at him in utter confusion "if I don't use my instruments then why have them if not to create something that brings me joy, by the use and well care of the instruments shows the appreciation of the musician and their music" he rubbed my head "that's why I play so much, to show how much I thank the instruments and my talent to be who I am, in every song I play" I looked at him in awe understanding how much he loved being a musician " could... could you teach me a melody?" stunning him a bit before he chuckled rubbing my head more "sure how about the piano, I got just the melody" he said as we cleaned our hand before turning to play the piano.

~ Flashback ended ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I swiped the dust off the seat before opening the covers of the piano, taping out each key to make sure each was working and surprisingly they were, starting to play that same melody Coin taught me all those years ago.

🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛🐛

Howdy's pov

I rushed to meet with my parents only to be stopped hearing music coming form a piano, I know for a fact that no one in this place knows how to play the piano, it was only for an aesthetic choice to make my family look richer. Forgetting what I was originally doing as curiosity rushed in, I went to see who was playing. Quickly but quietly walked towards the stairs, looking down,I saw that it was my soon-to-be partner Gold Treasure, I must say they look gorgeous in that dress and played beautifully. I got closer, going down each step.

I was right behind them trying to think of a way to announce my presence, but seeing them reach for a key I got excited and pressed it, that was a bad idea because they flinched hard "o-oh do forgive me, I was lost in the melody" they said trying to get up "you play beautifully" I said mentally slapping myself for scaring them "I-I do apologize, Mr. Pillar, how rude of me to... well..." They tried to continue but kept stuttering "Mother won't let me near the piano" I took over the conversation "music is improper for a young man, too passionate she says" I explained as they looked at the piano sadly "I wouldn't think so, my brother loved to play music as if it was a part of his very soul, even the melody I played now it was his original creation" they said getting me curious "your brother plays, that's amazing and what you were playing just now, he wrote it, then I must meet him, will he be there at the wedding?!" I asked excitedly hoping to finally learn how to play the piano "sadly he won't be with us at the wedding" Gold said in a more quiet tone making me feel guilty for asking, thinking of a way to change the subject.

"If I may ask, M-Mr Pillar...where is your chaperone" they asked catching me off guard "perhaps in-in this view of circumstances, you could call me Howdy" I said "oh, yes, of course, well... Howdy" they sounded nervous "yes... Gold" I said in a similar nervous tone "to... tomorrow we are to be... m... m... Mm" "married" I finished their sentence. "O-oh, yes, m... m... married" they finally were able to say it, I finally decided to sit down next to them but they moved away a little which was understandable, we have only just met "since I was a child, I've always dreamed of my wedding day, I always hoped to find someone I was deeply in love with, someone to spend the rest of my life with, silly isn't it" I said rubbing the back on my next with my top right hand, top left hand tapping the seat, and my bottom hands fiddling with each other.

"Oh, no, that doesn't sound silly at all"they said surprising me as I looked at them, as they looked down at their hand "it wound be a beautiful thing, a wonderful thing" they sounded sad, I tried to comfort them by gently holding their hand as we made eye contact before they quickly looked away looking more sadden as they pulled their hand back.

"What improperly is this" we turn to see that it was my Mother "you shouldn't be alone together, here it is, 1 minute before 5 and you're not at rehearsal, Pastor Galswells is waiting, come at once" she scoulded us as Gold shut the piano case and walked to follow my Mother without saying another word making me quick to catch up.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Gold's pov

( 3 hours later )

"Master Treasure, from the beginning, again" the Pastor said in annoyance "with this hand, I will lift your sorrows, your glass will never be empty, for u will be your wine, with this candle, I will light your way in darkness, with this ring, I ask you to be mine, let's try this again" the Pastor said as I felt guilty for not being able to do it right the first couple of times "yes, yes, sir, with this candle..." I said said try to light it but it wouldn't"this candle..." I kept trying but it didn't work "this candle..." I kept trying "shall I go up there and do it for them" I heard Aunt say "don't get all flutter, dear" I heard Uncle as I turned my head around to see the Pillars giving me a harsh glare making me flinch turning back to the Pastor coughing, looking to see that my candle was lit.

"With this candle..." I said taking a breath to calm myself down but instead it blew out the candle "Oh!" I heard Aunt "CONTINUE!" the Pastor shouted making me flinch, then we heard knocking "get the door, Emil" said Mr. Pillar to his butler "let's just pick it up at the candle bit" the Pastor said "only for the butler to come back holding a card with a lady of pink skin, orange and yellow horn, golden hair, and wearing a velvet dress make ng me gulp. "A Lady Julie Joyful, sir" said the butler "I haven't a head for dates, apparently I'm a day early to the ceremony" the lady named Julie said "is she from your side of the family?" I heard Mr. Pillar asked his wife "I don't recall, Emil, a seat for Lady Julie" Mrs. Pillar said to the butler, once gaining a seat she immediately sat down before saying "do carry on".

"Let's try this again, shall we master Gold" the Pastor said "yes, of course sir" I said more nervous than ever as I lift my right hand "with this h... hand" I started off holding Howdy's hand making me uncomfortable "I.. with... OH!" I hit the table by accident "three steps, three, can you not count? do you not wish to be married, master Gold" the pastor said with anger "no,no!" I tried to explain "you do not" Howdy said shocked "I-i mean of course I do" I said quickly as I tried to calm my shaking body so as not to anger anyone else "have you even remembered to bring the ring!" The pastor said "of-of course, the ring" I said grabbing it out of my pocket but dropped it due to how undsteady my hands were "oh, no they dropped the ring!" Mrs. Pillar cried "this child doesn't want to get married" the Pastor said shocked as I tried to get the ring only for it to roll near Mrs. Pillars dress "I'm so sorry ma'am" I said grabbing the ring, getting up only to smell smoke.

Smoke? I looked down to see that Mrs. Pillars dress was on fire, the fire, so bright and hot, too hot, TOO HOT! I felt myself shaking quickly backing away only to bump into Howdy. I couldn't see anything only the fire as it was bright and orange, I tried to breath but my lungs felt as if they collapsed, I felt as if I was gonna fall. Covering my face trying not to cry as I felt 4 arms rapped around me as I heard someone trying to calm me down but it wasn't working. It was utter chaos until Lady Julie found a bucket of water and pourd it on Mrs. Pillars dress "Enough! This wedding cannot take place until they are properly prepared" the Pastor said pointing at me as I pushed away Howdy "learn your vows" he said as I tried to look at him, any of them but nothing it was so blurry I couldn't breath, I needed to leave, I have to leave!

Backing up again only to feel the door I rushed out and ran as far as I could after hearing Lady Julie said "well... their quite the catch, aren't they" making me start to cry.

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Eddie's pov

I kept wondering how Gold was doing, hopefully alright, I would have to find a way to thank them for giving me this cloak, it's really warm and better then what their family gives me.

I was about to doze off until I heard shouting from inside. I got off the carriage about to run over to make sure nothing happens to Gold only to see them rush out crying and running straight to the woods. I knew something bad had happened to them as I rushed to follow them not caring that my old bones ached I was as still as fit as a buffalo

"I'll be damned if I let those idiots hurt my kid"

----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

.

.

.

[free-for-all-fics]

So… while working on IWTV prompts, the s3 teaser made me feral. So with the help of my bestie, @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit we wrote this prompt that ended up being so much fun for us that it became almost like a miniseries! There will be 2 parts after this! Special thanks to her for providing the French! Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of this and I’d love to read it! 🎸❤️🩸

“No, that's how billionaire vampires do it. How does your average Jo Mo vampire keep people like you in line? Unspoken threats?”

“The threat is always there. He could kill us both now. But he doesn't. They are peaceful beings.”

“They drain and disappear us.”

“They have a biological imperative that is in conflict with human morality. But what is that morality other than rules agreed upon?”

“Thank you, Rashid. A romantic answer to your question. The average vampire has minimal contact with humanity. When exposed, they feed or run or kill themselves. And I'd say we're multi-millionaires. Not quite a billion.”

“How do you hide from the Cloud?”

“Your cell phones make you slaves to your fetishes and data retrieval is primarily about profits, so I suspect no one at Amazon is trying to sell us blenders.”

“You kill, nightly.”

“And sometimes you've watched that kill on the local news. You've never been easier to distract. You're at the height of willful ignorance. We exploit it. This is, was… Lestat's prophetic vision.”

“Lestat de Lioncourt?”

“Yes.”

“I really gotta meet this guy […] To hear Louis tell it... Lestat becoming a vampire was a horror show.”

“That may be. But he made a remarkable recovery shortly thereafter. How else could you explain his hand feeding the audience? How words came out like canaries, summer fruit in the dead of winter. They were all in love with him. He had that effect on everyone. He...”

“Was a natural?”

“Entirely unnatural. Using the Dark Gift for what? His vanity? It was heresy.”

~

Part 1: Orientation

It’s modern day. Ever since you and your older brother, Lestat, became famous rockstars while performing as The Vampire Lestat, formerly Satan’s Night Out, you’ve both been very active on socials. You’ve been around since the 18th century and it’s amazing what modern technology is capable of! You used to have to wait weeks or months for a reply to a letter or telegram, or sit or stand still for hours to have your portraits painted, but now messaging is instant and you can share photos and thoughts with people all over the world. You and Lestat are almost internet addicts with how often you post and interact online. If you’re not performing, rehearsing, writing music, or doing interviews, press junkets, or promo shoots, you’re tapping away on your phones or laptops, always posting. You’ve quickly risen in the ranks of social media influencers and have been trending for months. Together you and Lestat maintain a popular vlog on both Instagram and YouTube where you frequently post all kinds of videos ranging from Get Ready With Me, Ask Me Anything, or just daily life vlogs.

You’re currently on tour, but are in need of some new hires since your and Lestat’s last personal assistants unexpectedly…quit…or were…terminated. They weren’t up to the bar of meeting your and Lestat’s expectations and standards. Since Lestat has far less patience than you and can’t be bothered, he’s left it up to you to interview and screen potential candidates for the Personal Assistant position. Usually he’d have a say and you’d have to come to a mutual agreement before hiring anyone new, but he’s sat through this process multiple times and trusts you to single-handedly make this decision by now. That, and he just wants to dump the work, problems, and responsibilities he doesn’t want to deal with onto somebody else as quickly as possible. So the sooner you find someone, the better.

“Next!”

“Good evening, Miss Lioncourt. My name is Juliette—”

“Well, yes. We’ll get to all that. Sit down. Don’t just stand there, lurking in the doorway and making the place look untidy. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I think I could do a good job as your and your brother’s assistant.”

You read her mind. “You don’t listen to The Vampire Lestat?”

“Uh, no.”

“And before today, you had never heard of me nor my brother.”

“No.”

“And you have no style or sense of fashion.”

“Well, um, I think that depends on what you’re—”

“No, no. That wasn’t a question. A shame you were late.”

“I'm not late, though? I’m fifteen minutes early.”

“What do you mean fifteen minutes early? Did no one ever tell you fifteen minutes early is the new late? Have you had any experience before in this kind of position?”

“I already sent in my CV. All my information should be there.”

“You sent your CV through? You know, I don’t really remember you. Let me have a look. You look very different from your CV. Mmm. Well, your skills and experience are…adequate, I would say. But first thing you should know is that this job is not for the faint of heart. Lestat is incredibly fussy with his PAs. More so than I am. During our time on tour, we have had over sixty PAs come through our doors and, for one reason or another, Lestat or I just…didn’t get on with them. And no one really has ever been as good as… Well, you don’t need to know their name as it’s irrelevant, but Lestat had a favorite Personal Assistant a long, long time ago, and he hasn’t quite gotten over their leaving. Ah, Lestat est si nostalgique (Ah, Lestat is so nostalgic). They were his very most favorite assistant, so you have some mighty big shoes to fill. I hope you know that. Mhm. Well, it doesn’t really matter how well you do your job or how efficient you are. If Lestat or I don’t like you, you’re out. If you disappoint Lestat or I, you’re out. And if me telling you this makes you think I’m high maintenance or a piece of work, you won’t be able to survive in this position.”

Juliette has a feeling your use of the word ‘survive’ in this context isn’t just a figure of speech. She swallows down her nerves.

“I am the patron saint of mercy and patience compared to my brother, so if you have any doubts about your abilities, there’s the door. Otherwise…bonne chance.” (Good luck.)

“I’ll try my best-”

“Now, our concert tonight isn’t for another two hours or so, so we have a little bit of time to go over everything. Apart from us, you’d be working closely with Christine as well, so let me get this straight with you off the bat. You and Christine would have totally different jobs. She’s our lawyer and is in charge of Lestat and I’s schedule, our appointments, and our finances. She gets to go with us to Paris for Fashion Week in the fall, she gets to go to all the shows, meet all the designers, go to all the parties, it’s divine. Christine is also a vampire like us, so don’t think you can do what she can do because, trust me, you can’t. You, as a human, on the other hand, well…you get ‘coffee’ and run errands. ‘Coffee’ is code for blood, in case you hadn’t figured that out. Now, also remember you must pick up our band mates’ and guests’ coffee orders as well. Our guests could be designers, clients, musicians, models, photographers…. Anybody from the fashion, musical, or vampire world, and you are expected to learn everyone’s ‘coffee’ order. Remember, for vampires, ‘coffee’ is blood, and for humans like our band mates, it’s, well…regular coffee. Starbucks, Caribou, Dunkin’ Donuts, wherever you prefer. Now, this does change from time to time, I will admit. For instance, Zakk Wylde used to take his coffee black but now he’s um, not even drinking caffeine anymore, so you’ll just have to keep up-to-date with all our guests and their companions or assistants will tell you what they prefer that given day. We have an internal system of all the orders of the ‘coffees’ and the beverages that everybody drinks so you’re expected to learn that. Now, our internal system has everything, everything that you could possibly ever want to know. ‘Coffee’ orders, all our social media accounts, all our files, all of our system data, so I’ll get you set up on that now.”

You type away at the computer, pulling up the appropriate screen.

“So can I just take your full name? This’ll become part of your username. Okay. And what password would you like? You can change this, obviously. And your date of birth.”

When Juliette tells you her DOB, you do a double take. “Mon Dieu (my god), you look older. Okay. And your social media handles. Your Instagram first. Facebook? And Twitter? Any other social media accounts? Okay. Let’s see.” You click the ‘save new user’ and ‘apply new changes’ buttons. “All right, done. Can I take your number and then this will get pinged over to your phone? Okay. Should be through now.”

Juliette’s phone pings with a new email.

“Got it? Perfect. So those are your login details.”

“Thank you, I might have some qu—”

“Now, Lestat’s and I’s ‘coffee’ orders are incredibly important. We expect our ‘coffee’ to be on our desks precisely when we wake up in the evening. If the ‘coffee’ is late or if it doesn’t arrive for any reason, Lestat and I - especially Lestat - get very upset. One assistant actually missed our ‘coffee’ order because of some, I don’t know, bus crash downtown or something like that, some lame excuse, and…well, we drank him instead. Drained him dry. We don’t often share since most humans faint from just one of us feeding on them. Sharing a human and drinking as much as needed to feel full and satiated before the heart stops would mean certain death for them. With cell phones and social media, it’s getting harder and harder these days to make a human disappear. But it’s not impossible. Now, don’t look so scared! You won’t have to do this every night. Sometimes Lestat and I prefer to hunt for ourselves like in the old days for nostalgia’s sake. You’ll be notified in advance if we decide to hunt ourselves. But if not, it’s up to you to keep us fed, and Lestat and I tend to be very picky eaters. A fresh young girl, that is his favorite food. But the triumphant kill for a sadist like Lestat is always a young man. Young men appeal to him in particular. They represent the greatest loss to Lestat, because they stood on the threshold of the maximum possibility of life. For me, I don’t mind a young woman while she’s on her monthly cycle. It reminds me of who I used to be and what I once had. But I prefer…what do you call them in English? Ah, yes. DILFs or MILFs. Men or women who seem to be doing well in life. They have more ‘taste’, like aged wine. Lestat likes to take away young men from all their possibilities, while I like to take what I’ll never have as well: A menstrual cycle, a pregnancy, Getting old, settling down…”

“Did you and Lestat…feed on pregnant women and children?” Juliette asks hesitantly, as if afraid the question might be offensive to you.

“We used to. Not anymore though. We’d feed on infants too if blood was scarce and we were especially desperate. They were so small, there wasn’t much blood in their bodies to drink before their tiny hearts stopped. It may seem especially heinous, but in the 18th century when we became vampires, medicine wasn’t what it is now and the mortality rates in women and children were already very high even before the Revolution. People would notice if too many men died or disappeared as they held the most power and societal influence, but nobody would bat an eye if it was a woman or a child. They’d write it off as another stillborn or another unfortunate victim who succumbed to a tragic and fatal accident or whatever disease was most prevalent at the time. We were beggars and couldn’t afford to be choosers in those days. But now, like I said, we are much more particular. We don’t feed on animal blood and we don’t like cold blood from blood bags. Even if it’s been heated up in the microwave and poured in a glass, it’s not the same as when it’s warm and flowing directly from a still-beating heart. We’ll only feed on blood bags or animal blood if we absolutely have to - for example, if we’re seriously wounded from sun exposure or major loss of blood. If we cannot consume high-quality blood, we might as well drink blood from Florida. That being said, I am sure there is still decent blood to drink in Florida. But I would bring a test kit anyway. But if you value your job and your life, you’ll find us each a human volunteer to feed from, preferably ones that match our specifications.”

“And where—”

“Yes, our ‘vampire victim’ preferences and sleep and feeding schedule will be noted on the internal system so pay very close attention to it. Use Tinder or other dating apps to find matches, if you must. We don’t care what you have to do to make it happen, you’ll get us our goddamn blood. And then, once we’re done, we’ll have a car waiting for our human volunteers so they can be taken home to sleep it off. The vampire’s kiss can be like an opiate, but their blood sugar tends to drop and they get very woozy afterwards. We’ve been doing really well so far. Our kill percentage has been decreasing lately with only one or two upward spikes here and there. We’d like to keep that going.”

“That’s quite a reli—”

“You are also expected to update our social media. Every. Single. Day. The social media schedule is on the internal system and you must adhere to it. Like biblical. Lestat and I are in charge of and personally manage our personal social media accounts, so you won’t have to worry about those, but you will be in charge of managing our business accounts, including our official page for our band. And we get very upset when our assistants don’t post to social media or they forget to post to social media or it’s not right. And you cannot just upload anything just willy-nilly. Lestat and I approve every social media post, so if it hasn’t been approved by either Lestat or I, then don’t upload it. Now, when we go to Paris in the fall for Fashion Week, you’re expected to double the amount of social media posts that you will already post as a minimum.”

“But the time difference…”

“What do you mean about time differences? Well, you’re not expected to sleep whilst Fashion Week is on. Qui dort pendant la Fashion Week, franchement? (Who sleeps during Fashion Week, seriously?) You’ll have to figure it out. Our photographers will be sending you the pictures that they take from all the shows and all the couture and all of that and you’re expected, once Lestat or I have approved them, to be uploading and retweeting and regraming around the clock. You’re also expected to filter out any derogatory comments or any sort of foul language that is on the social media pages. Yes, it’s pretty intense. What, you don’t think you’ll be able to do it? You’re also expected to take pictures that represent us on a daily basis and put those up on the Cloud for Lestat and I’s approval before posting.”

“Will I be provided a camera for this?”

“Yes, you’ll be given a camera that’s state of the art, top of the range that you’ll be expected to use. As I’m sure you know, Lestat and I also have our own fashion magazine - Veins & Vanity. Yup. It’s a bestseller. Even more popular than Daniel Molloy’s trashy novel about us.”

“Who’s Daniel Molloy?”

“What do you mean? You don’t know who Daniel Molloy is? Have you been living under a rock? Pas très maline, celle-là. (Not very smart, this one.) I don’t have time to explain it right now, but— As the new personal assistant, you’ll eventually be in charge of dropping off the book each night to our apartment. But Lestat and I are very private and we don’t like strangers in our house, so until we both decide you’re not a total psycho, Christine gets the lovely task of waiting around for the book. Let me show you an example.” You flip through a thick, spiral-bound book. “This is the book for this month. As you can see, it’s a mock-up of the newest edition of our magazine. This is usually assembled at 10 or 10:30 in the evening and you must wait around for it until then. A car will take you straight to our house and you let yourself in and you do not talk to anyone. Do not look at anyone. This is of the utmost importance. You must be invisible. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So you open the door and you walk across the way, you hang our dry cleaning in our closets across from the staircase and you leave the book on the table with flowers. Do NOT go upstairs for any reason. That is the coffin room where Lestat and I sleep and it’s strictly prohibited to humans. We do not like our sleep to be disturbed. We are very light sleepers so if you try, we will hear your footsteps squeaking on the hardwood floors before you even make it halfway up the stairs. And when we’re tired, we’re not so kind. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You will quietly leave in the same car you arrive in. Then, in the morning, it will come back to you and be left on a desk - usually it’s Christine’s desk - and Lestat and I will leave notes, which are in blue and red sticky notes here. You will then drop it off at the Art Department where they can systematically go through Lestat’s and I’s notes and make changes. So, that is the book.”

You pause as realization dawns on you that Juliette has just been sitting there, listening to you but not typing or writing anything that you’ve said down.

“…Have you not been taking notes?” You rub your temples. “Oh my god, have I just been talking to myself this entire time?” You hold your hand up, stopping Juliette from attempting to explain herself. “No, don’t. I don’t care how good your memory is. Just…just…” You clench and unclench your fists in frustration, your nails digging into your palms.

Your cell phone rings.

“Look, let me take this phone call, you make notes, and…” You pick up the phone. “Y/N Lioncourt. Yes, hello, Christine. No. No, the Molloy interview is next week. …What time? Yes. I will let everybody know. Yes. Yes. Yes, take care, Christine. Salut, salut, salut.”

You hang up the phone.

“Okay. Something major has just happened. The Molloy interview, which was meant to be next week, has been moved to tonight at 2:30 after the concert. So people are panicking and my cell phone is going to be ringing off the hook. Les humains sont toujours si stressés.” (Humans are always so stressed out.)

You go into your recent calls and redial Christine’s number with a tap of your finger.

“Yes, Christine, me again. What time is the editor coming in? So we’ve got a little bit of time before the documentary crew arrives. Yes. Yes. Have you let Sophie know? Yes. And…yes. What about our jackets though? Lestat expressed he wanted to wear the chartreuse with the ostrich feathers… Oh, they’ve been dropped. Okay. That’s fine, I’ll make a note of that. Okay.”

You hang up but it isn’t even two minutes before your phone rings again.

“Y/N Lioncourt. Yes. I know, I know. Yes. Tonight 2:30. Yes. Yes. Can you remember to bring those belts as well? All right. Thank you.”

You hang up and focus your attention back on Juliette.

“Like I say, people are panicking. Now, you’re expected to note down everything that Lestat or I do and don’t like. Now, Lestat, if he likes it, he’ll nod his head once. If he nods twice, he really, really likes it. And if he shakes his head, he doesn’t like it, and if he purses his lips…disaster. I think there was only two records of a smile. And that was for Louis Vuitton way back in 1858 and Yves Saint Laurent in 1966. So you’ve got everything now? Well, there’s no time to explain anymore, this Molloy interview business is really…”

Your phone buzzes repeatedly, something that only happens if given an emergency call or alert.

“getting…out of hand… This isn’t good. Y/N Lioncourt. You’re joking. How long? Yes. I’ll let everyone know. Merde!”

Your fingers rapidly type a quick message to send out in a group text before you dial a number.

“This is not good. This is not good. Mia, it’s me. Lestat is coming in twenty minutes! Yes, I know he’s early! Can you let Sophie and the team know? Well, I can’t do it because I’m babysitting this new PA. Please, Mia. I’ll let you have my Prada bag. Thank you, Mia. Yes, salut.”

You hang up again and nearly jump out of your skin when you glance over and see Juliette still sitting in front of your desk.

“Oh my god, I totally forgot you were still here! That’s crazy. Yeah, sorry, babes. My peripheral vision is kind of selective. Like if my eyes get the vibe something is boring they just won’t tell my brain about it, you know what I mean? Yeah, that’s why I failed my driver’s test eight times. At a four way stop if the other drivers seem ugly, they’re basically invisible to me. All right. Lestat is coming in early, and he’s going to be here in twenty minutes, which means we need to get you ready because I can’t possibly let you in to see Lestat looking like that. Did you even look at yourself before you got dressed this morning? I don’t understand why you look like you rolled out of bed or something. Like you just said, ‘oh my god, I’m late, let me just go to work.’ Look, you can always be two minutes late in life. Nobody’s gonna tell you nothing if you’re two minutes late. You could put on a nicer top. It doesn’t take five years to find a nicer top and get out of your pajamas. I don’t know. Maybe it’s something like your culture. I’ve seen a lot of people on the streets just walking around in pajamas, going into the store to get something. So maybe it’s a cultural thing. Maybe the less attractive you look, the better your chance to find a mate or something? I don’t understand this dynamic, but I’m learning. Don’t worry, don’t worry. Calm, calm, calm. Les humains, vraiment tous pareils. (Humans, really all the same.) I’ll fix this. Right. What size are you?”

“Six.”

“Well, that will have to change if you want to continue working here. Four is the new six, you know. All right. I’ll see what I have available but… I can’t promise anything. What size shoe are you?” You get up from your desk and pace around before going into another room.

Juliette can hear you mumbling to yourself, “Everything is just everywhere! Danielle, have you got those, um, Prada pumps?” before you come back shortly with a pair of heels in your hand and a dress draped over your arm. “All right. This is all I could find in your size unfortunately. So I got you some nice heels here. They’re beige. They’re last season, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? Heels are a must. I don’t want to catch you in loafers or, god forbid, sneakers. So heels must be worn at all times.”

You lift a backpack and hold it up precariously by pinching your thumb and index finger together on the top loop, as if you don’t want to touch it at all. You look at Juliette. “What is this? Is this your bag? Oof. It’s hideous. Elle n’a donc vraiment aucun goût! (So she really doesn’t have any good taste!) Don’t let Lestat see you with that. Absolutely hideous. And I got you this Gucci dress. And…well, that’s all I could find for you.” You hand her the heels and dress. “Now, look, go and get changed.”

“Here?”

“Well, yes, here! We don’t have time for you to go wandering around the building.”

“But the walls are glass! Anyone could walk by and see me in my underwear!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter! We’ve had so many naked women and men in this office, more than an adult film sometimes. Now, come on, get on with it, I don't have time for this!”

Your phone rings again.

“Y/N Lioncourt. Yes, he’s coming in twenty minutes. Well, probably less than that now. Yes. You’ll need to send somebody out for ‘coffee’. Well, yes. This new PA is just a nightmare. You can get Jack to go? Yes, that’ll be great.”

You hang up again. You turn back to look at Juliette, now dressed in what you gave her.

“Are you done? Let me have a look. Well, that doesn’t go like that and let me just pull that down for you there. Seriously, do you even know how to dress yourself? That will do. It’s a little bit tight but…what about shoes? Good? All right. Let me have a look at your hair. Oh. We don’t have time for this. We really, really don’t. It looks like you’ve just stepped off the subway.”

“Well, yeah…”

“Why on earth did you take the subway? You can get a cab. Elle doit être tellement pauvre pour prendre le métro. (She has to be so poor if she is taking the subway.) Don’t worry. Let me just look at you. So, yeah, first priority is gonna be how you smell because I’m going to have to experience that the entire time I’m working on you and currently these are inhumane working conditions.”

“Do I really smell that bad?”

“Yeah, you smell like a gymnasium. Don’t worry, babes, we’ll take care of that. We’re gonna douse you in Cloud, everyone loves it. Yeah, it’s a universal favorite. It will make you smell like you’ve been in a bubble bath your entire life up until this very moment. I got enough Cloud to make a crowd scatter.” You spritz the perfume all around Juliette.

“Ouch!” She blinks and rubs at her eyes.

“I got it in your eyes? Close them. Oh my god, so much better already. Next up is your hair. Oh my gosh, I love your hair! Um, is it okay if I touch it?”

“Sure?”

“Cool, thanks. It’s so pretty. It’s so soft. It’s gorgeous. I like this color for you. It’s very nice, very good.”

“Thank—”

“But…uh…” You rub her hair between your pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb. “Oh, it’s very dry. Oh my god, it’s very dry! It’s not healthy at all! Can I tell you that? It’s not at all healthy. Do you use any product on it? Do you use anything to help it? Like some kind of oils or cream? Something?”

“Not really?”

“So like…what kind of products do you use on your hair usually?”

“Pantene.”

“Pantene? Babe, you might as well be using Nair. What the hell? It’s very straight. You must use a straightener like every day. Yeah. And yet it’s so frizzy somehow. I hate frizzy hair and yours is kind of hay-like. C’est comme de la paille. (It’s like straw.) Like a frail piece of straw that’ll break from a gust of wind. It’s not good. How many times do you try to straighten your hair? Okay, I’m just asking because the more I touch it the worse it gets. Look at it, it’s so thin. It’s so thin. I feel like if I touch it too much, it’s going to snap. It’s going to snap.” You curl a strand that falls out around your pointer fingers and pull. “It makes a sound too! It sounds like plastic. Look at that! It’s plastic.” You let it fall away and shake off your fingers. “It’s quite disgusting in my opinion. No offense.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said. I thought I liked it, but it doesn’t look very good up close. It’s like one of those abstract paintings. From afar, it makes sense and I can see the picture, but when I come close to it, it’s like…why don’t I understand where the paint strokes are going? I don’t understand this. What is happening here? Like from afar, it looks very nice, you look very good, very put together. But then when I come close, your hair looks like trash. And when I touch the texture of your hair, it feels like it will break. Lestat and I have curly hair too, so no hate towards curly hair, but this is…interesting. I don’t know…”

“Do you use anything on your hair to get it so curly?”

“No, ours is natural. Yeah. In our family a lot of us had blonde and/or curly hair and we didn’t dye it or perm it or use heat on it. Yeah, if you watch him closely, you’ll notice Lestat’s hair is like bleachy blond. It’s so light that sometimes it appears white under fluorescent lights. He takes after our mother, Gabrielle. Lestat and I’s hair is all natural and we don’t have to use anything on it. It just dries curly. That’s why it’s so healthy. Oui, nous avons de la chance. (Yes, we are so lucky.) That’s why Lestat’s grew past his shoulders and mine grew nearly to my butt by the time we were changed. We cut it and it just grows back the same way. Yeah. That’s why we have a lot of it. Lestat and I actually did each other’s hair today. Yeah, he did my hair for me so it’s like perfect today and I just don’t want anyone to touch it. But yours is like…very thin. So thin. And the amount of frizz and hair damage you have is ridiculous, even though you definitely don’t dye it or style it or anything whatsoever. So how you managed to get it looking this bad…honestly, an enigma. It’s really disturbing actually. Have you ever thought about dying it? Yeah, ‘cause the closer I look at the color of your hair, it’s very…off. Yeah, the… What do you call this color? Strawberry blonde?”

“Yes, it’s—”

“The strawberry blonde moment is just not doing it for you. I don’t like it. Again I use the analogy of the painting because, from afar, it looks good, but, up close, it looks like ramen noodles. I don’t know how to explain it. Do you know what I mean? Non, elle ne doit pas comprendre. (No, she can’t understand.) Like ramen noodles in the box and you put it in the hot water. And it’s yellow and hard. That’s what…yeah. I don’t know. I just think of you as more of a soft caramel color. Especially a little bit lighter at the ends I think would look really good later down the road. Well, for now, I think you have to just cut it all off. Just go short and start over. I feel like a lot of split ends are here. Yeah, you have a lot of split ends, oh my god. You’re full of them. Just take it all off and stop using heat on it. Just stop it all. Don’t do anything anymore to it. Just don’t touch it. Don’t touch it anymore. Do you ever go to a hairdresser to cut your hair?”

“Of c-”

“You know what? I’m gonna hook you up with my stylist, Celeste. Yeah, she’s amazing with hair. She does mine and Lestat’s and she’s just amazing. I think you’re gonna love it. I think just a little bit of layering because you’re very much all one length here. Yeah, that was like so…2005. Yeah, you gotta change it up a little. Put some layers in and I think it’s gonna look really good. Some nice face framing layers and, like I said, a nice caramel color. Like a chocolate at the top and, as it goes down, it gets lighter and lighter. We’ll go to Celeste and you don’t talk to her. Let me talk and I’ll tell her what to do because this is, in my opinion, unacceptable. I don’t understand why you wanna keep it this way. Elle est donc aveugle. (So she is blind.) Do you like it like that? Do you like it looking frizzy and breaking? Because if you like it like that, you just keep it, you know I don’t care. It’s really none of my business what you wanna do with your hair. It’s just not a good impression in my opinion.”

“No, no, I ca—”

“No offense, but it looks like you really don’t take care of yourself at all. It just gives a wrong impression like you don’t care about yourself and when you have that impression like, ‘I don’t care about myself’ and you go out like, ‘I don’t care about myself, so why should I care about other people.’ Do you understand? So I think this is something that you need to work on. Because I don’t like when people just look like they don’t really care about anything. Because it’s like, then why are you even here? Why are you here if you don’t care about anything at all? Do you know what I mean? If you don’t care, just go live on a mountain or something. Don’t come and live in society because there’s certain standards that we want and have to uphold. And this is not it. This is not it. You use your hair as a safety net but it’s not gonna save you from a bullet or a train, so it’s not really a safety net. So for today, I have the lovely challenge of making your chemically damaged hair look passable for Lestat. Yikes! I really don’t even know where to begin. Just kidding! Yes, I do! We’re gonna start with detangling spray. A nice spritz of this is gonna make all of those millions and billions of little tangles so much easier to manage. Close your eyes this time, okay? Perfect. I love this detangling spray so much. The tangles are working out like butter. Brush, brush, brush it all out. Brush, brush, brush it all out. The next step is gonna be this hair oil. Thick and full, Biotin and Collagen weightless oil mix. It’s got vitamin B7, Biotin, Collagen, hydrolyzed protein. All kinds of goods that your pathetic little strands have never seen in their lives. This is gonna make your hair look so silky and healthy instead of thirsty and tragic. Gonna work that through. As far as the style - Oh, god. What if we just like, grab a stand from either side and clip them together in the back? That can be pretty foolproof. I think I’ve got a clip over here. Yeah, this’ll be cute on you. Let me grab a strand from the right side of your face. Little bigger than that. Grab a strand from the left side of your face and then meet them together in the back, grab that clip and clip those together. Oh my gosh, so much better already, but still a ways to go. On progresse, on progresse. (We make progress, we make progress.) Then there’s your makeup. It’s not doing you any favors. Like really bland. Wait - are you even wearing any makeup?”

“No…”

“No?” You gasp. “Nothing at all? Oh, wow! Okay.” You interlace your fingers together in contemplation. “You’re actually pretty cute - in like a weird kind of way - like an armadillo! But yeah, cute. Okay. This has me rethinking everything. I thought we were starting from an entirely different place. If this is the blank slate we’re working with, there’s actually hope! We can get you to like a solid…6.5. I’m serious! But it’s gonna take hard work to get there. Blood, sweat, and tears, babe. But it’ll be worth it. I’m gonna pull out all my best tricks. Have you ever taken care of your skin? It looks just…dull…but I think I can bring it to life because, even though it is dull, it also has this perfection to it that not many have. This is good. This is good.”

You pat Juliette’s skin with cleansing pads.

“I’m going to use products from Lestat’s and I’s makeup brand. It’s called Bloodlust. I’m just trying to cover up some of the imperfections so that when I style you next time, I can have a better idea of what the final product is going to be. First we’re gonna moisturize you up nice and good because your skin texture is like asphalt. Let me grab a beauty blender. Hydrating your skin, giving it that gorgeous, gorgeous glow it desperately needs. Making sure that the foundation is gonna have a nice surface to stick to. Wow, your skin is seriously drinking this up, it’s so dry. Have you like, ever moisturized before in your life? You’re like a freak of nature. No offense. Les humains peuvent être des créatures si étranges de nos jours. (Humans can be such strange creatures nowadays.) ‘Kay. Now we’re gonna plop on the foundation with that same beauty blender. Just layering on more and more and more and more and more until we cannot see even a single pore of your actual skin anymore because it’s giving very much Nosferatu. And now, thanks to me, it’s giving very much Malibu! Let’s pick the perfect blush shade for you. Let me get a closer look at your skin, actually. Okay, so even with the foundation on, I can still tell that you’re working with a pretty warm undertone here. So we want something pretty and peachy rather than like a pastel pink. Got it! I know just the one! Blending that over your cheeks. Oh yeah, it’s bringing some life into your face in a big way. C’est pas encore ça, mais c’est déjà mieux!” (We’re not done yet, but it’s already better!)

You open your eyeshadow palette. “For your eyes we’re gonna do something kind of light because your eyes are actually one of your nicest features.”

“Thank you?”

“Yeah, so we want to highlight them, not hide them. Let’s take this nice bronze and just do like a nice subtle wash through the outer corner into the crease. Do you even know what eyeshadow is? Ridiculous. Just add a bit of depth and sparkle and let’s pick up a highlight color and dip that in your inner corners. And then a touch more sparkle in the middle. Now we’re getting somewhere. Next is the mascara. Just a little tip from me to you: Mascara is the most important step of makeup. I swear even if you don’t have time to do anything else, mascara is the one thing you cannot skip. Like if I was human and saw a bear lunging towards me, I’d take the time between then and my mauling to apply a fresh coat. If that gives you any idea of the importance. Never, ever, ever let me catch you outside of your house without mascara.”

“I don’t really—”

“Like even if you go to the gym, I want you to wear that because you can’t just like, be associated with me or my brother if you’re gonna look like you just rolled out of the trash, you know what I mean? The most important thing to remember about this job is that you must look impeccable at all times. Your hair, your makeup…flawless all the time. Lestat and I get very upset if we see people looking drab or unkempt or unmade up. So you must look good at all times. Just blink when I say. Wow, cute. Can you look up for me? Oh and, next time, we have to do something about your eyebrows ‘cause they’re just all over the place. Yeah they’re just a little bit too bushy for my tastes personally but if you like looking like an orangutan, that’s fine. It’s up to you. Oh yeah, I could totally bring you to my esthetician. Or I could just do them for you like I’m such a pro. When I was human, I did Lestat’s, I did my mother’s. I do it for my human band mates and friends. J’espère qu’elle ne croit pas que nous allons devenir amies.” (I hope she doesn’t believe we’ll become friends.)

You check your phone.

“Well. We’re out of time, so this is as good as it’s going to get. It’s showtime. Stay after the concert and I’ll introduce you to Lestat before the Molloy interview. Don’t worry, I won’t let him bite or kill you on your first day.”

Unseen, Juliette watches the entire show from the sidelines. Your set exceeds the usual 45 minutes or hour most concerts are, on account of you and Lestat deciding to play at least three encores. After the concert, Juliette is waiting for you in the hallway that connects the main stage with the backstage area. Finally you exit, your bass slung over your back and Lestat beside you, your human bandmates somewhere else, probably the bar. Your hair and makeup are still flawless since, as vampires, you don’t sweat. Having slipped out of the Prada heels for comfort’s sake, she had been casually leaning against the wall for the duration of the show since nobody would notice her in the dark. But she straightens up from her slouched position immediately, quickly slipping back into the heels and smoothing out her hair and the dress you loaned her before either you or Lestat can notice as you meet her offstage. Phew. That was close.

“Mr. Lioncourt,” Juliette says, using every muscle in her body to speak up with conviction and not shake or twitch from anxiety in his presence. Although you promised you’d protect her today, that protection may expire eventually. She knows that you and Lestat hate weakness, and she cannot show it in his or your presence if she hopes to keep this job.

“Yes? Can I help you?” With his arm slung around your shoulders lazily, he furrows his brow. Arching it questioningly, he barely makes eye contact with her and instead focuses his attention on you, as if waiting for an explanation as to why this human has been allowed backstage, is standing in front of him and you, and is addressing him.

“Well… I’m Juliette, your new assistant. Ms. Lioncourt hired me earlier this evening,” Juliette explains.

“You’re the new PA? You’ve got to be joking.” While keeping an eye on Juliette, he turns his head halfway to whisper in your ear, “Ma soeur, avons-nous eu si peu de candidats qu’il a fallu que tu choisisses celle-là?” (Sister, did we get so few of candidates that you had to pick this one?)

“I’m sorry if I’m not what you were expecting but… Mr. Lioncourt, I need to tell you that I absolutely love your yellow jacket. The bird feathers are a nice touch. Very stylish. Very you.”

“Are you colorblind? It’s not yellow, it’s chartreuse. And they’re not just bird feathers, they’re ostrich feathers.”

“Are they real?”

“Do you know anything about fashion?”

“I wouldn’t—” Juliette catches your warning glance. “Yes, of course I do.”

“Then you know that, of course, they’re real. I only wear clothes made out of genuine leather and fur because I’m all about being genuine in my music and my personal life and I want what I feel on the inside to reflect on the outside. Many animals had to die, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make if it’s for the noble cause of making me look this good.”

“Do you wear clothing made from endangered species too?”

“Sometimes. My sister and I both still have articles that were made from now extinct species too. But we were around long before those species ever became endangered or extinct. The failure of your kind to preserve and protect your environment is not our fault nor our problem. Enough chit chat. Onto the main issue: Let me have a look at you. Turn.”

Juliette turns in a circle very quickly.

“No. Slower.”

Juliette turns in a circle again, this time much slower than before.

Lestat scoffs in annoyance at her inability to follow clear directions. “Just stay still.” He leaves your side to walk in a circle around Juliette, looking her up and down with his hand on his chin, his fingers moving over his mouth occasionally. He doesn’t look away from her as he switches to French, once again talking about her as if she isn’t there. He clicks his tongue, as if tsk, tsk, tsking. “Vraiment, ma soeur? C’est tout ce que tu as trouvé? Elle ne sera jamais à la hauteur. Son visage passe encore, mais il va falloir qu’elle apprenne à s’habiller et se coiffer dignement.” (Really, sister? Is it all you have been able to find? She’ll never be good enough. Her face is okayish, but she will have to learn how to dress and do her hair with dignity.)

He switches back to English. “Well. Juliette, is it? I hope you know you are very lucky to get this position. Anyone would kill to be standing where you’re standing right now. We had over one hundred applicants for this position and, trust me, it was not easy whittling them down, I must say. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here. I always hire the same boy or girl…stylish, slender, of course…worships us and the band. But so often, they’ve turned out to be…I don’t know…disappointing and, um…stupid. So you, who probably has an impressive resume and made a big speech about your so-called work ethic… my sister must think you’ll be different. And since I left her in charge of hiring the new PA this time around, I guess I’ll just have to live with her decision.” Lestat then looks at you and waves you both off. "Vas-y, ma soeur. Prends le risque. Embauche la grosse intello.” (Go ahead, Sister. Take a chance. Hire the smart, fat girl.)

On the other side of the large and thick industrial double doors, you and Lestat, thanks to your super hearing, can hear Daniel and the documentary crew talking, clearly growing impatient.

“The car’s been on the lot for hours, man.”

“Hey, look, if you want, I can have somebody knock on the window.”

“I, uh…I think they…”

“What? What? You think what?”

“I think they’re entertaining somebody right now,” someone says, pointing out that he saw you and Lestat earlier, and Lestat had bite marks and hickeys on his chest while you had a new girl next to you.

“Do we have insurance for homicide?”

“You know what, we had three deaths on the Banger Sisters, don't worry about it.”

You and Lestat push open the doors and make your entrance.

“That's them. Jesus Christ, look at them,” Daniel says in awe.

You gesture with your arm for Juliette to not follow you and to instead wait on the sidelines with the rest of the human crew while you and Lestat walk to the matching black leather chairs waiting for you.

“Okay, let's go. Mr. and Ms. Lioncourt, hi. Mark Johnson. I'm the executive producer. We’ve talked on the phone a couple of times.”

“We're really excited about the...documentary...” Daniel trails off awkwardly.

You and Lestat leave Mark hanging, not making any attempt to shake his hand. You can smell that he didn’t properly wash his hands and instead just used hand sanitizer. Disgusting. Is basic hygiene really a lost art among humans? You stare at him blankly, as if bored already from listening to him speak.

“Je ne me souviens pas de lui, est-ce que tu te souviens de lui, ma soeur?” (I don't remember him. Do you remember him, Sister?)

“No. Usually I have a memory like a steel trap but we talk to so many people every day, and, clearly, this human didn’t leave much of an impression or impact. Comme la plupart d’entre eux malheureusement.” (Like the majority of them, unfortunately.)

“…Okay.” Mark awkwardly puts his arm back down.

“Hey, man. Thanks for the tickets last night. Great show,” Daniel praises. His deadpan voice leaves you unsure if he’s being sincere or sarcastic.

“You have 45 minutes and they’re gone.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“This is Christine Claire, Mr. And Ms. Lioncourt's lawyer.”

“Hair and makeup now.”

“Hi, I'm Tami—”

“Hi, I’m Sarah—”

You and Lestat both look up and pull your heads back so their makeup brushes and hands don’t touch your faces or hair. Lestat’s hair is already giving Michael Hutchence, while yours is giving Patricia Morrison. And your makeup, like your outfits, is already on point. You don’t need assistance when you’ve already achieved perfection, thank you very much.

“Do we look like we need you?”

Both makeup artists pause for a second and then retreat.

“They’re completely booked. No. Don’t even talk to me about it again for the next two months. They’re both booked.”

Lestat looks to his right. His shoulders slump as he deeply exhales and irritably taps his fingers on the armrest of the chair. He smacks his lips. “…There's a goblet on the table.”

“You don't like the goblet? Can we get rid of the goblet, please?” Daniel asks the crew.

“C'est tellement kitsch," (It’s so tacky) you say so only Lestat will understand.

"C'est de mauvais goût,” (It’s bad taste) Lestat concours.

A crew member takes the goblet away. Now that that cheap Party City Halloween decoration is gone, you can get on with it.

“Thank you. We need to wire you both for sound, I hope you don't mind.”

You and Lestat shrug.

“So the camera we're gonna be using is called an Interrotron. I'll be sitting here. You'll see my face in the camera like, uh, like we're talking to each other, and you don't have to just stare into an empty camera lens,” Daniel explains.

You and Lestat allow yourselves to be mic’d, but when the humans invade your personal space to put the microphones on your clothes, your vampire hearing can detect the fluid, or lack thereof, coursing through their bodies. You don’t have a problem with the person assisting you, but Lestat recoils in disgust, crinkling his nose. “Your sound man is dehydrated.”

“We’ll, uh, okay, we'll get him some water. Get him some water please.”

“Je ne te savais pas si attentionné avec les humains, Lestat. Cela me rendrait presque jalouse.” (I didn’t know you were so considerate of humans, Lestat. It almost makes me jealous.)

“Tu sais bien qu’ils ne m’intéressent pas, ma soeur.” (You know very well that I don’t care about them, sister.)

“All right, let's fucking go, people.”

“43 minutes.“

“Shut her the fuck up,” Daniel grumbles.

“We’re rolling! Quiet on set!”

“Take one, take one. And…action! Okay, we're gonna start. Listen, could you state your names for the camera?”

You and Lestat look up from the two copies of Daniel’s book you were leafing through.

“Justin Bieber.”

“Kylie Jenner.”

You and Lestat close your copies of Daniel’s book and place them on your laps, tapping your fingers against the hardcover, subtly nodding your heads.

“I see you have my book there, what do you think of...” Daniel starts retching. “I'm sorry. Excuse me… Give me a second here.”

“Daniel, are you okay?”

With your pointer fingers arched up, you and Lestat listen to Daniel’s retching as if it’s music to your ears. That should be answer enough for him to know what you and Lestat think of his book. The retching and the voices of the crew become background noise.

“I am the Vampire Lestat.”

“I am the Vampire Y/N.”

“Why are we retching?”

“We’re immortal.”

“I'm not doing it. It’s them,” Christine whispers.

“More or less.”

More retching.

“The light of the sun.”

“Can somebody get a glass of water?”

“The sustained heat of an intense fire. These things might destroy us. But then again, they might not.”

~

Take two.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between the camera and Daniel in front of you and J. Feldman, the first cameraman standing off to the side with the crew. The rest of the human crew either don’t see what you see, or they do and they’re just pretending to be oblivious. To be fair, you didn’t notice it during the first take either. But now that you’ve seen it, you can't unsee it. Not wanting to make a scene, you try to ignore him, but you’re obviously distracted. Lestat is the first to pick up on it, and he discreetly looks in the direction where your eyes are flickering to, but he doesn’t see what you see. If he did, there’d be a bloodbath to mop up. You make eye contact with Daniel and try to focus on finishing answering his question. “But...let's just say we, uh...we-we did a lot of writing. This is just, um...really just, uh… It's so special to be in Santa Carla, California - The Murder Capital of the World - again! The lights, the music, the energy, the people - It’s easily been my favorite venue spot so far on any tour. It surpassed our concert in Death Valley for me, which, before now, I thought was an impossible feat. Hmm.” Fuck it, you think to yourself. Your team and Daniel will just have to be okay with doing yet another reshoot.

“Ma soeur, est-ce que tout va bien?” (Sister, is everything all right?)

“Uh, I'm sorry, Feldman, what the fuck is that?” You ask bluntly, your tone laced with a bite to it as you stand up from your seat and lock eyes with the first cameraman. Everyone around him steps to the side, creating space between themselves and him in case shit is about to hit the fan or something is about to go down.

“What?” He furrows his brows in confusion when he looks at you, like a deer caught in headlights. Too scared that you’ll pounce on him like a wolf and latch your fangs into his jugular if he fully looks away from you for even half a second, he frantically glances from the corners of his eyes at either side of him, and sees from his peripheral vision that everyone has put a great deal of distance between himself and you. They are looking at the two of you with fear and apprehension in their eyes.

“What do you mean ‘what?’ That shitstain of a tattoo on your forearm. What the fuck do you have written there? ‘Armand told the truth’?”

Hearing those words, Lestat jumps up from his seat before the cameraman can blink. Lestat agreed to this documentary because he took issue with his portrayal in the book and wanted to set the record straight. Not because he wanted to invalidate everything Louis said but because when he read Interview with the Vampire, he was like, ‘ARMAND SAID I DID WHAT???’ and was angrily ripping out pages from his copy. He was annoyed with Armand's version of him and not Louis's (though you’re sure he doesn't agree with everything Louis said either.) Now this poor cameraman has two angry vampires standing on either side of him. You in front of him, and Lestat behind him. Just as enraged as you, Lestat is seething, his pupils just as dilated as yours. You haven’t seen him this angry since an incident during your tour in Death Valley.

~

You and Lestat pulled up to the auditorium in your shiny Porsche, dressed to the nines and exuding an air of money and status, ready to perform, but the security guy wouldn’t let you through at the gate. And Lestat was getting furious. The guy was like, ‘sir, miss, I can’t find your names on the list,’ and Lestat was steaming red because his ego was bruised. He’s a legend. Everyone knows his name. Anywhere Lestat goes, people flock to him, asking for selfies and autographs. He should be on the goddamn list. And even if he isn’t, he should be allowed through anyway because he’s Lestat fucking de Lioncourt. He’s a vampire aristocrat and rockstar, nowhere is inaccessible to him. He was really mad and was like, ‘why do you need my name?!’ so finally the guy was like, ‘sir, how do you spell your name?’ And Lestat went, ‘F-a-m-o-u-s!’ and then just hit the gas, breaking the barricade. It turned out the security guard couldn’t find your names on the list due to a spelling error, and Lestat’s name was listed as ‘Lesander Lionsourd’ (Lionsourd meaning deaflion).

~

His anger now is that times a billion. He is ready to tear out J. Feldman’s throat or rip his arms off. You make eye contact with Lestat and subtly shake your head at him. If you were anybody else, he’d ignore you and just go ahead and decapitate the man. He lived by the motto of ‘don’t ask for permission, ask forgiveness later.’ But for you, and only for you, he’ll be patient. Not just because you’re his sister and he loves you, but because he understands that you signaling for him to wait doesn’t mean you’ll show mercy. You don’t want this man dead. Yet. You want answers first.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think that because we were born French on our father’s side and Italian on our mother’s that we can’t read English? Who tattooed that on you?” You ask.

“Uh, Joel Emerson, I think.”

“You think? Where does he tattoo?”

“O-over at Inkspire in L.A.”

“Christine, get that tattoo shop on the phone. And if Joel’s not working today, find his personal cell phone and call that.”

Christine quickly Googles the shop and dials their phone number. She hands her phone to you while it’s ringing. You hold it to your ear while glaring daggers at the soon-to-be former first cameraman.

“Hello, is Joel working today? I’d like to talk to him. I don’t care that he’s with a client right now. Tell him to put his machine down and come to the phone. It’s urgent. This is Y/N Lioncourt. Yeah, I thought so. Thank you. Joel, why? You fucking asshole. How could you agree to tattoo that on someone? I don’t care. I don’t care about ‘consenting adult clients’ and ‘it’s their money and their body, so they can get whatever they want’. I’m going to police people’s bodies if they’re going to do stupid shit like this! Because this is offensive and unacceptable to Lestat and I! You have no fucking idea who Armand is or what he’s done. You and every other human on the planet don’t even know half of it. You weren’t there because you weren’t even fucking born, so you can’t know! You can’t even begin to comprehend what the 18th and subsequent centuries were like. He’s a fucking cult leader, for fuck’s sake. Did you know that? Have you tattooed anything else relating to Armand on anybody else? No? What about the other artists in your shop? No? Are you sure? You better not be lying to me because if I look on your and your coworkers’ Instagrams and see another tattoo showing love or support of Armand, whether it’s his face, his name, or any more of that ‘Armand was right, Armand told the truth’ bullshit, I will get our lawyers involved and they will eviscerate you in court and take your shop and your tattoo license from you. I will not hesitate to do the same with other tattoo artists and tattoo shops. And don’t think deleting posts will save your ass. The internet is forever and my lawyer will use the Wayback Machine or find some other way to dig up those photos even if you delete them. Understand? Good. You won’t be hearing from me, Lestat, or our legal team so long as there won’t be any further issues. Have a good rest of your day. Bye.” You give Christine her phone back and she’s already typing away, working on keeping tabs on Inkspire and any other tattoo shop in the state for damage control.

“Uh...”

“And you! You amateur fuck. You’re fired.”

“What?”

“You heard me. There’s obviously a conflict of interest here, so you can pack up your shit and go. I want you to leave.”

“The building?”

“No, not just the building. I want you to leave the state.”

“I can’t just move to a different state! My friends, my family, and my entire life is here!”

“That’s not my problem. You should’ve thought of that before permanently scarring your body with a steaming pile of shit. I hope, for your sake, you either get it lasered off or covered up with a better tattoo. Then maybe, just maybe, you can move back. I am being lenient by letting you off with a warning and letting you walk away with your life. If either I or Lestat see you again and that still isn’t gone or covered, then we won’t be. I’m going to chop your fucking arm off with Lestat’s tiny pocket axe. I’m the more merciful of the Lioncourts, so it’ll feel like a massage compared to what Lestat will do to you. Go. Now.”

He runs away crying with his tail between his legs, urine running down his pant legs. You and Lestat scrunch up your nose at the foul odor. Disgusting. He’s lucky he didn’t get any of it on your Chanel boots or Lestat’s Christian Louboutin’s. Although you can afford it, it’d be a shame to ruin such expensive and stylish designer outfits with blood, guts and sinew. While there are frantic calls for a cleanup and reset, you and Lestat storm off to your dressing room, uncaring that you’re leaving Daniel behind, unsure on what to do or if there’ll even be an interview tonight. You pace back and forth in there, trying to get your breathing back under control. Once your eyes return to normal, you text Juliette that she doesn’t need to worry about picking up dinner. You and Lestat will get it yourselves. You could use the air and will be back in an hour. Lestat and you send Christine a similar text, telling her you’ll still do the Molloy interview, but you’re going out to feed and won’t be back for an hour. You both need to cool off and blow off some steam by going on a hunt. You both need a fucking meal before going back in there to attempt the interview again. Now would be a good time for Daniel and the crew to break for lunch. In the meantime, she should find another cameraman to replace Feldman. You and Lestat change into more “casual” clothes that you don’t care about getting messy. “Casual” for you meaning “old” designer clothes from last season.

[scrapsovereign]

Ready, Aim, Fire

Summary: When Gale recounts how he became proficient with ranged weapons, he's going to have quite the salacious story to tell about how he learned from Astarion's "hands-on" teaching style.

(Astarion x Gale/Bloodweave, NSFW, 1.8K words under the cut)

“Having trouble, darling?” 

Astarion takes a generous swig of the vinegary swill Shadowheart promised him was the ‘good stuff’,  knowing the answer to his question before Gale can answer. There’s a handful of clues - such as how Gale’s ears flush with embarrassment at his appearance and how he fists the shortbow with a clammy, white-knuckled grip.

The most telling is the lack of arrows piercing the target before him.

“Putting it simply, yes. I think it’s time to call it quits, I’ve had quite enough of my own incompetence for one evening,” Gale seethes.

“Come now, my dear wizard. This is the first time I’ve seen you pick up a weapon in the weeks we’ve been traveling together,” Astarion draws closer to Gale with a voice that’s smooth as the silk of his shirt, licking his lips involuntarily from the way the mage’s frustration makes his blood hammer through his veins. “Unless you were a crackshot before we were whisked away on our calamari cruise, I wouldn’t expect you to be one now.”

“Ranged weaponry is a valuable skill for every adventurer to incorporate into their repertoire. With my recently weakened control of the weave it’s strategic preparation to have a backup combat method at the ready,” Gale punctuates his statement with a brandished finger before making a gesture that brings attention to his body. “I shouldn’t expect to make much progress, as evidenced by my poor physical condition.”

Astarion’s brows knit together in disapproval at the harsh manner of how the wizard regards himself.  

He wishes Gale could see what he does. The wizard is an absolute treat in the twilight, naked from the waist up, droplets of sweat clinging to every delicious, soft, olive-skinned curve of his. Wisps of rich brown and silver hair cling to the moisture on his noble brow, his magnificent locks pulled back in a ponytail that Astarion’s domineering hands itch to twirl into a length of silken rope for him to control. 

Gale isn’t ignorant to the hungry way in which Astarion regards him. He’s ready to inquire what’s gotten into his bloodthirsty friend when cool, elegant fingers snatch the wiry protuberance of his chin. 

“My, my. That bitch goddess of yours really did a number on your self-esteem, didn’t she?” Astarion murmurs, angling Gale’s face down to stare in to those gorgeous chocolate eyes of his. 

“I can show you how to do it, you know,” Astarion drawls, batting the lashes of his half-lidded eyes. “I’m quite the excellent instructor.” He can hear Gale’s heartbeat pound faster as he draws closer, his hand drawing down to rest against the warm column of his throat. 

Gale swallows thickly in reaction to Astarion’s thinly veiled flirtations, thrilled by the pressure of the cool hand clasped around his neck. “A clarification, if you don’t mind…you’ll show me how to do what, exactly?”

Astarion releases him and swirls the dregs of the last few mouthfuls of wine, knocking back what’s left in the bottle.  

“Why, teach you a bit of archery, that is!” He gives Gale a rakish grin, gesturing with open arms to the range on which they stand together. 

Gale stares at him slackjawed and dumbfounded by something Astarion can only assume is the brilliance of his dangerous smile. 

“Get to it then, show me your progress so far,” Astarion draws a line with the empty bottle in his hands from where Gale stands to the target down the range. 

By the time the arrow whizzes past the target, he can see at least 10 things Gale did wrong. It’s no matter, Gale will be shooting perfectly by the lesson’s conclusion. He’ll make sure that the wizard intimately knows what he’s about to teach him. 

Especially with the unorthodox instruction he’s about to recieve. 

“Alright then. I want you to stand as you’re about to shoot. Let me look at you,” Astarion intentionally gives Gale an eyefucking from the bottoms of his soles to the top of his head, amused by how he shivers underneath his lustful gaze. 

He slowly sinks down to his knees before Gale, noticing how the the wizard’s pupils eclipse the brown ring of his irises at the very sight. 

Astarion looks down, tutting at the placement of Gale’s feet, “You’re going to have a much easier time shooting if your leg is forward,” he pats the offending thigh much higher than would be appropriate, a signal for the mage to advance his foot. Gale ekes his foot politely to the front, his timid movement annoying the rogue below him.

Astarion grasps the inside of Gale’s thigh and his calf, hearing him hiss as he roughly yanks him to the correct position. 

A position that happens to trap Astarion directly underneath him.

“Like that. Perfect,” he puffs out innocently against the crotch of Gale’s trousers, watching them jump at his words. He rises to his feet and intentionally brushes up against the wand in the wizard’s pants, stirring his own arousal in the process.

“Now. I’m going to stand behind you, and move you into…position for me,” Astarion trails a single finger as he moves, Gale’s flesh pricking underneath. The mage is basically putty in his hands as he arranges his torso, allowing him to mold and shape him into whatever he desires. 

“I want you to draw your elbow back as if you’re really pulling the string back- ah, there it is,” Astarion wraps his arms around Gale’s, hearing his breath hitch when he forces them back. “Do you feel that?” Astarion taunts, rolling his hips forward to rub his cock against the taut cleft of Gale’s backside. 

Gale opens his mouth to reply, instead choking on his own saliva at the sinful feel of Astarion’s erection pressing against him. 

“Which...sensation am I supposed to be observing?” Gale asks in a strained voice, groaning when Astarion thrusts forward again. 

“Between your shoulder blades. Notice how they pinch together, how your chest opens up. It helps your aiming arm to stay level- which, yours is much too…stiff,” Astarion rumbles against the round shell of Gale’s ear. He curves the arm grasping the bow slightly, distracting him from how his other hand snakes down towards the front of Gale’s pants.  

“That’s a good boy,” Astarion praises, hearing the smallest of whimpers escape from Gale’s throat. “Can you continue to be a good boy for me?” 

“I…yes,” Gale gasps, huffing at the feeling of the elegant fingers that have begun to dance across the swell of his clothed erection.

“If you can hit that target before your quiver is empty, I’ll grant you a reward of your choosing,” Astarion gently presses a kiss to the flushed skin of Gale’s ears. “But that’s only if you can make your mark. What do you desire, Gale?” He wonders aloud, teasing his hand along the waistband of the mage’s pants.

“I want you to…I want you to touch me,” Gale whispers, answered by a sharp bite at his earlobe.

“Louder. And more specific. What do you want me to touch?” Astarion coos. 

“I want you to touch…my cock,” Gale stutters, the filthy word tumbling out of his mouth awkwardly. 

Astarion giggles condescendingly in response, “You’re adorable. Don’t be ashamed to use your words, my sweet. I rather like it when you do,” he moans, languidly rutting his erection back and forth against the cleft in the wizard’s cheeks, his breath hitching when the tip of his penis grazes the swell of Gale’s lower back. 

Cool fingertips breach the borders of Gale’s trousers and enchanted underwear, moving only a centimeter or two before they graze something hot, slick, and smooth. 

“Bloody hells, how am I going to concentrate on the task at hand when all I want is for you to have your wicked way with me?!” Gale grits out through his teeth, thrusting his hips upward to smear precum along the palm of Astarion’s hand. 

“Battles can be overwhelming with distractions, I just thought I’d assist easing you into it with a…helping hand,” Astarion says with a cruel grin. He wraps his hand around the velvety thickness of Gale’s cock and squeezes, feeling his own begin to ache and twitch from how Gale sobs for him. 

“Fuck, Astarion…” Gale’s voice cracks when Astarion begins to pump his hand tortuously up and down his rigid staff. 

“Hit the target first,” Astarion chides, bringing his hand up to stroke over the head of Gale’s weeping cock. “And if you’re a really, really good boy for me, if you can get three in a row I’ll take you back to my tent and fuck you until there’s no more thoughts left in that brilliant mind of yours,” he growls, tightening his grip as he strokes Gale faster. 

Gale’s body trembles as he draws back the bow and lets the string loose too early. Not a terrible attempt, he’d managed to lodge the arrow into the wooden pole that holds up the target. 

“Four more arrows left, you can do this for me, can’t you?” Astarion pouts, nuzzling the sweaty curve of Gale’s neck, quickening the pace of his fist. 

Gale’s chest heaves as he takes a deep breath, draws his shoulders back as instructed. Astarion can feel he’s close with how he twitches rhythmically in his hands, how his cock has stiffened, his breathy pants growing heavier.

“Stop here. Do you want to cum, pet?” Astarion gasps, licking a line along the tense ropes of Gale’s neck muscles. 

Gale whimpers and nods, his arms starting to shake from the strain of holding the bowstring taut. 

“What did I say about using your words?” Astarion says coldly. 

He can feel Gale on the very edge now, all it’s going to take is a few more strokes of his hand. 

"Ready..."

Astarion stops abruptly, feeling his cock twitch and leak when Gale sobs an unintelligible complaint, “Please keep going, please don’t stop, let me cum Astarion…”

“...Aim…” Astarion breathes the command, setting a brutal pace as he strokes Gale towards his inevitable peak. 

“...And fire,” Gale cries out as he lets loose the arrow, leaning his head back onto Astarion’s shoulder as thick, hot ropes of his seed spill over Astarion’s fist.

Bullseye. 

Gale drops the bow, whipping around to crush Astarion’s lips to his in an urgent, searing kiss. There’s nothing nice about it- the only way Astarion can think of it describe it accurately is with the cliche phrase ‘their tongues battled for dominance’. 

Gale breaks away to catch his breath, cradling Astarion’s head tenderly in his aching hands. “I cannot produce the same results again, my arms are on fire,” he complains, resting his sweaty brow against the other man’s. “But, if you’re amenable, I’d still very much like you to ruin me.”

“And ruin you I shall, my sweet,” Astarion grins mischievously, “After you give me two more.”

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 2) Chapter Four

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Four: Turbulent Christmas

Summary: Sherlock and (Y/N)'s frustrations with this case grow as Irene disappears for months on end.

            “Eat,” said Sherlock as John put toast and jam down in front of them on the breakfast table.

            “Only if you do,” countered (Y/N).

            “Oh, come on, dear, you’re a growing kid. Eat up,” said Mrs. Hudson encouragingly.

            (Y/N) sighed but obeyed. They and Sherlock both had a weakness for Mrs. Hudson, even if they pretended not to. She was a grandmotherly figure to them and watched out for them even when they were being idiots and not taking care of their health.

            The door to flat 221B opened, and (Y/N) glanced up. Seeing it was Mycroft, they didn’t bother to respond and just went back to eating toast with blueberry jam.

            “The photographs are safe,” said Sherlock by way of greeting.

            He’s not wrong perse, thought (Y/N). Irene is going to keep them safe. She had stolen them back when she dropped off Sherlock’s coat.

            “In the hands of a fugitive sex worker,” said Mycroft with as much dignity as he could muster through his grumpiness.

            “She’s not interested in blackmail. She wants…protection for some reason,” said Sherlock. “I take it you’ve stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?”

            “How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied,” said Mycroft, hands tight around his umbrella.

            “Ironic choice of words,” said (Y/N) innocently, causing John to joke on his tea and Sherlock to smirk. Mycroft just scowled.

            “You see how this works—the phone is her get-out-of-jail-free card. You have to leave her alone,” said Sherlock. “Treat her like royalty, Mycroft.”

            “But not how she treats royalty,” added (Y/N).

            John had to put his teacup down. He was going to keep choking if they kept going. A sigh echoed through the room, and everyone froze. It was distinctly feminine and distinctly sexual.

            “Uh, what was that?” asked John.

            “Text,” replied Sherlock, not looking up from his paper.

            “But what was that noise?” questioned John.

            Oh. Irene’s playing a game with him. (Y/N) was tempted to smile. Irene was clever. As long as she didn’t prove to be totally cruel and sadistic, (Y/N) thought they could end up liking her.

            “Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent John, (Y/N), and me in there? CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess,” said Sherlock.

            “It’s an absolute disgrace,” said Mrs. Hudson, bringing more toast to encourage (Y/N) to eat. She had learned that once they were eating, as long as they didn’t stop, it was pretty easy to keep them going for longer. Otherwise, (Y/N) would go back to ignoring their needs and focus on the case. “Really, sending your little brother and a teenager into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes,” reprimanded Mrs. Hudson.

            “Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson,” snapped Mycroft.

            Mrs. Hudson gasped, and Sherlock, John, and (Y/N) all exclaimed, “Mycroft!”

            Mycroft cringed at their glares and looked at Mrs. Hudson. “Apologies.”

            “Thank you,” said Mrs. Hudson primly. Sherlock’s phone sighed again, and she frowned. “Oh, that’s a bit rude, that noise, isn’t it?”

            Sherlock glanced at the message and put his phone back without answering. “There’s nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see,” said Sherlock, continuing his conversation with Mycroft.

            “I can put maximum surveillance on her,” said Mycroft.

            “Why bother? You can follow her on twitter. I believe her username is ‘TheWhipHand,’ ” said Sherlock.

            “Yes. Amusing,” said Mycroft sneeringly. His phone rang, and he stood. “Excuse me. Hello?” He walked into the hall so (Y/N) and Sherlock couldn’t listen in like they’d like to.

            John cleared his threat. “Sherlock. Why does your phone make that noise?”

            “What noise?” asked Sherlock, acting oblivious.

            “That noise—the one it just made,” said John.

            “It’s a text alert. It means I’ve got a text,” said Sherlock.

            “Your texts don’t usually make that noise,” said John.

            “Someone decided to personalize their alert sound, apparently,” said (Y/N).

            “So every time they text him—” John was punctuated by a sigh from Sherlock’s phone.

            “Evidently,” said Sherlock.

            “Bond Air is a go, that’s decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later,” said Mycroft as he rejoined them.

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Looks like Mycroft and his government are up to something. Sounds important. They filed the information away for later use if needed.

            “What else does she have?” asked Sherlock, again focusing on Irene. Mycroft pretended to not understand. Sherlock folded the newspaper. “Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn’t be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs. There’s more.”

            (Y/N) nodded in agreement. They had figured out the same theory with Sherlock. “Something big is coming, isn’t it?” Does it have to do with Bond Air or whatever Mycroft is doing? They did not voice that final thought. It had no factual basis, just intuition. Mycroft was almost always involved in at least five classified operations, so there was no telling what in particular this could be about.

            “Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours,” said Mycroft. “From now on you will stay out of this.”

            “Oh, will we?” questioned Sherlock, standing and picking up his violin.

            “Yes, Sherlock, you will,” said Mycroft. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend.”

            “Do give her my love,” said Sherlock as he began playing “God Save the Queen.”

            Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked out the door with Sherlock playing louder to ensure he heard it the entire way to the street.

l

            Unfortunately, Mycroft was right. For months, there was no hide or trail of Irene. She didn’t try anything, didn’t demand anything for her information, and didn’t even cause any scandals. Finally, Christmas arrived, and things remained (relatively) peaceful in 221B as they celebrated.

            Christmas lights and a tree laden with presents lit up the room, Lestrade stood in the kitchen doorway with a glass of wine, and Mrs. Hudson was grinning and sipping eggnog as Sherlock played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” (Y/N) lay on the couch with a candy cane, humming along to the music.

            Sherlock finished, and Mrs. Hudson clapped. “Lovely! Sherlock, that was lovely! (Y/N), you should play!”

            “Maybe a little later, Mrs. Hudson,” said (Y/N).

            “Anybody like some tea?” said John as he and his newest girlfriend ((Y/N) couldn’t remember the name) entered the room. He set down the platter of tea and biscuits.

            “No, thank you, Sarah,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) considered. They weren’t certain that was her name. But they were smart enough to not try and get it wrong.

            Sure enough, John’s girlfriend’s face fell. John interrupted, trying to keep everything was going worse. “Uh, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not good with names,” said John apologetically.

            “No, I can get this,” said Sherlock. “No, Sarah was the doctor, and then there was the one with spots, and then the one with the nose, and then…who was the one after the boring teacher?” (Y/N) shrugged.

            “Nobody,” said John’s girlfriend sullenly.

            “Jeanette, then!” said Sherlock. “Process of elimination.” He smiled falsely.

            John glared at him before guiding Jeanette away before more went wrong. A knock sounded at the door, and Molly walked into 221B.

            “Hello, everyone!” said Molly awkwardly. “Sorry, hello. Er, it said on the door to just come up.”

            “Oh, everyone’s saying hello to each other. How wonderful,” said Sherlock as everyone began hugging and shaking hands and chit-chatting.

            “It’s nice to see you,” said Lestrade, handing Molly a glass of wine.

            “Yes, thanks. I wasn’t expecting to see you, either,” said Molly. “I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas.”

            “First thing in the morning, me and the wife. We’re back together. It’s all sorted,” said Lestrade.

            “No, she’s sleeping with a PE teacher,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) sighed. Ever since Irene disappeared, he had been testy and acting out by saying his deductions, rude or not, whenever he felt like it. (Y/N) might not have been good at social norms either, but they could tell people were beginning to be annoyed by it.

            “Sherlock,” hissed John, putting on a smile when Molly turned to him.

            “And John. I hear you’re off to your sister’s, is that right?” she asked conversationally.

            “Yeah. First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze,” said John.

            “Nope,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) nudged him with an unopened candy cane to make a point.

            “Shut up, Sherlock.” Luckily, John was used to him.

            “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly,” said Sherlock. “And you’re serious about him.”

            “Sorry, what?” said Molly nervously.

            “In fact, you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift,” said Sherlock.

            Yeah, she’s giving you a gift since she has a massive thing for you, thought (Y/N). “Sherlock—”

            “Shut up and have a drink, Sherlock,” said Lestrade, trying to push a glass into his hands.

            “Oh, come on. Surely you’ve all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow,” said Sherlock, gesturing to Molly’s bags of gifts. “All the others are slapdash at best. It’s for someone special, then.” He picked up the gift in question. “The shade of red echoes her lipstick either in an unconscious association or in one she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has love on the mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all. That would suggest long term hopes, no matter how forlorn, and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she’s wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts—” Sherlock abruptly stopped as he read the tag of the present.

            “You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always. Always,” said Molly tearfully.

            Sherlock softened. He considered Molly a friend, and although he was very bad at being friends with people, he didn’t want her to cry. Again, he was acting out because he had no news on the Irene case. “I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he said. He stepped towards her. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” He kissed her softly on the cheek.

            A sexual sighed rang out, and everyone unused to it jumped. Molly looked panicked. “No! That wasn’t—I didn’t—!” she cried.

            “No, it was me,” said Sherlock casually, picking up his phone.

            “My God, really?” exclaimed Lestrade.

            “My phone,” corrected Sherlock.

            “That’s the fifty-seventh from today,” remarked (Y/N). “What is she saying that you’re not replying to?”

            “Excuse me,” said Sherlock, distracted. He walked to the mantelpiece and picked up a red-wrapped gift with a black bow before disappearing into his room. (Y/N) and John exchanged looks. That was odd, even for Sherlock.

            (Y/N) followed him to his door and knocked. “Can I come in?” they asked.

            “Yes,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) opened the door and stepped inside. Sherlock was sitting on his bed with the open gift on his lap. Irene’s phone was in his hand. “That’s hers,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.

            Sherlock nodded. “Just told Mycroft that they are gonna find her dead tonight,” he said.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow in surprise and a little regret. Irene had been an intelligent woman, and if Sherlock said she was going to die, then she most likely was. And it was unfortunate.

            Sherlock stood. “They’ll take her to Bart’s when they do. I’ll identify the body.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

            “No,” said Sherlock.

            “No?” asked (Y/N), hurt that they couldn’t go.

            “No. Dangerous people are involved. They may be waiting out there. Tonight, stay here with John. I’ll be back quickly,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh. Alright,” said (Y/N). “Merry Christmas, Sherlock…”

            Sherlock’s eyes softened. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).” With that, he was gone.

            (Y/N) followed him with narrowed eyes. “John, get in here!”

            John walked in. “What, what is it?”

            “Sherlock thinks Irene is dead and is going to the morgue,” said (Y/N), pulling out one of Sherlock’s drawers.

            “Shit,” cursed John. “It’s a danger night, isn’t it?”

            “He’s been clean pretty much since he took me in,” said (Y/N). They sighed. “But that doesn’t mean he’s perfect. And if it’s not cigarettes, it’ll be something else.”

            “We’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything,” said John. “And he’ll be working, too.”

            “I know, I just…Sherlock doesn’t have good coping skills. And I know I don’t either.” (Y/N)’s brow creased. “But I don’t want him to get himself hurt.”

            John’s gaze softened. They’re trying so hard to protect him, and they’re just a kid.

            “I’ll help you look,” said John.

            And while the party continued outside and eventually dwindled, (Y/N) and John searched through Sherlock’s room. Finally, the door of 221B opened again. Sherlock had returned.

            He walked into his room, sullen. “I hope you two didn’t disrupt my sock index.”

            “You know we didn’t,” said (Y/N). “Is…Irene actually dead?”

            “Yes,” said Sherlock, voice clipped.

            “I’m sorry,” said (Y/N), trying to be comforting.

            Sherlock sighed and caved seeing the worry in their face. “(Y/N)…I’m not going to relapse. I won’t scare you like that.”

            “You sure?” said (Y/N) quietly. “You respected Irene. And she’s dead. I know you’re hiding that you’re not alright.”

            “You’re right,” admitted Sherlock. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to relapse.” I’m not going to put you through that worry and anxiety. Not my kid.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence