#I don’t even always have pockets on trousers or jackets

[cyberr-v0id]

For me I keep:

- phone

- a water bottle

- purse

- lip balm

- tissues

- some mints

- snacks

- a ton of things I’ve found

- sharpies

- earphones

- and more

wait do you guys actually carry purses/bags everywhere you go i really need to know

[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.    

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut. 

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said. 

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?” 

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap. 

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once. 

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?” 

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said. 

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks. 

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly. 

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.  

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.  

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. "By the end, D-Day was just one of a lot of days."

You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.  

His brows furrowed. “Do what?” 

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.” 

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.” 

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice. 

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff. 

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so. 

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. 

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” 

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.” 

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner. 

“Excuse me?” 

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.” 

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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[uolarieclosed]

kim sunoo ☆ ! thinking about you

━━━ in which a fake relationship blossomed with a base of true feelings …

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who asked you to be his fake girlfriend because his mom wouldn’t stop pestering him about getting a date for the family wedding they’re attending.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who couldn’t stop staring at you in your pink dress, shoving his shaky hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“you look gorgeous,” he whispered into your ear as he opened the door to his car—smiling to himself when he saw you blush.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who picked you out of all the girl pining on him because he knew that what he felt for you would bloom sooner or later.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who slow danced with you under the stars.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who gave you his name tag the following day at school, kissing your cheek before he ran off to the baseball field.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who never expected you to reciprocate his feelings until he found a baseball with your confession on his desk.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who carries your lunch tray to your table, sitting separately from his friends so he can listen to you talk about your day.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who takes you somewhere secluded to see the stars after a bad game—reminding him of the night he truly fell in love with you.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who takes you on small dates at least every weekend. it didn’t matter if it was supposed to be his rest day from baseball.

“sunoo, why don’t we stay at my place?” sunoo shakes his head, tugging you behind him. “i heard the new makeup line that you like just dropped. let’s go buy some.” he slugs his arm around your shoulder, kissing your temple—silently thanking you for looking out for him.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who gives you his letterman jacket, being the only player to not have his because it’s around your shoulders.

“won’t you get in trouble?” you frown as sunoo slides your hands through the sleeves. “i can always get another.” sunoo ruffles your hair with a complete lovestruck grin.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who texts you good morning and good night even after his long practices.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who embarrasses you in front of everybody because he likes when you hug him to hide your hot face from everyone.

“there’s my pretty angel! let me kiss you!” sunoo throws his arms up, his huge smile evident from across the hallway.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who can get a bit mean during disagreements, however he’s just trying to get his point across even if it’s harsh.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who loses every hit because he knows you’re not in the stands watching him.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who stands out in the rain until you forgive him, which you do because he get’s annoying when he’s sick.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” you tug sunoo’s drenched jersey, hoping to pull him inside but instead he wraps his arms around you. “i’m sorry i said all of those things, you’re always going to be the one more me, always. you’re my girl.”

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who won’t let you go the next morning, burying deeper into your pillow and leaving wet kisses along your neck.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who draws your name in the sand with his bat, pointing back at you.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who will get in a fight with anyone who bad mouths you or tries to make an advance towards you.

“you know i’m the one she lays next to every night, right?” sunoo shoves the kid, feeling a bit too proud of himself.

BASEBALL PLAYER SUNOO who was set on you being his one and only.

© 2024 uolarie

[aestas---estas]

Out in the open

MDNI 18+ | Series Masterlist | Previous | Read on AO3 Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | fem!reader, assistant!reader, reader described as shorter than Simon, plus-sized/curvy reader (few mentions), drinking mentioned, military inaccuracies as always | if I forgot a tag/tw please tell me | divider by @/cafekitsune

Price is the first one to notice, because of course he is — you're his assistant after all. Your desk is situated right outside his office door, a comfy little area that he gave you nearly free hands on when it came to decorations.

Before you the space had been grey and dull, one previous assistant that lasted unusually long had brought their own desk lamp and bought a fancy shredder that they left behind. Most of them didn't even bother to bring in personal photos to keep on the desk. But now Price entered the alcove with a smile every morning; various flowers and plants placed around the area (how you manage to keep them all alive he'll never know), curtains hung around the large window that you changed monthly, you'd even placed a fluffy carpet down underneath your desk for those moments where you kick your shoes off and relax a little further in your chair.

It’s been getting colder outside lately — the hot summer months that left all personnel on base sweating and dehydrated are long gone. Neither Price nor you have invested in a coat rack, so your jacket is always hanging on the back of your chair. It’s become as much of a staple in the room as the plants by this point. So when he enters one morning and your usual coat is missing — in its place hangs a larger one in a colour you don’t usually wear —, it gives him pause.

Price eyes the garment for a moment more, tracing over the scuffed elbows and various pockets. It looks far from new, like it’s been worn for years with little care, yet he’s never once seen you in it. You always looked so meticulous, hair styled, clothes ironed; the only bedraggled thing about your appearance were the old trainers you refused to throw away because of their comfort despite the worn down soles and heels — and even then you only wore those every once in a blue moon.

“Gone shopping have you?” Price asks playfully, tearing his gaze away from the oxymoronic jacket. There was something familiar about it, something he couldn’t quite place his finger on, and it gnawed at his brain, practically daring him to figure out its secrets.

You look up from the work on your computer screen, a friendly smile on your face as your eyes meet his. “Good morning, sir. Your agenda for the day is on your desk.” You’re already up and out of your chair, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on your trousers as you prepare to leave to get him a cup of coffee.

His raised hand stops you in your tracks; you’d been so immersed in your routine that you’d missed his question, your brain completely on autopilot.

“I’m so sorry, sir. What was your question?” you ask, hoping to smooth over the unintentional disobedience with another warm smile and some flattery — maybe two biscuits with his morning coffee instead of one.

“The jacket,” Price says, nodding to the garment in question.

You look back at it, as if it and everything it symbolises isn’t engraved on your brain.

“Oh, just a gift,” you explain when you turn back to face the man, a shy little smile on your face that tells him there's more to the story. “From a… a friend.”

Simon was more than a friend, he had spent the past two weekends at your place — complete with meals eaten in bed, exploratory touches and a bedroom filled with both laughs and moans — and had had his tongue in your mouth not even twenty minutes prior when the two of you said goodbye at his office door. But telling your boss that you’ve been getting down and dirty with his subordinate was not especially high on your priorities list.

Price nodded in acceptance, but he couldn’t help but take a second look at the jacket after you scurried away to the mess for his coffee. It truly was worn out; the zipper on one of the pockets was broken and both the collar and cuffs seemed stretched.

It wasn’t until the end of the day, as you were both packing up for the night, his office door halfway open to let you exchange polite small talk, that he got his answer.

“Ready?” he hears the low timbre of his lieutenant ask, effectively cutting his own conversation with you short.

“Almost,” you answer and Price sees your friendly smile turn positively radiant as you look up at the man. You had been happy and talkative and bright, just like always, but as soon as Simon’s deep voice rang out it was like your dial had been turned up by one hundred; you were practically bouncing on your toes as you saved your documents and powered down the computer.

You shrug on the jacket and Simon enters Price’s field of view as the lieutenant closes whatever distance had been between you previously, his hands disappearing under the fabric as he pulls you to him by your hips.

Your little giggle soon turns into a satisfied hum as Simon leans his forehead against yours and just breathes for a moment, lets himself close his eyes and relax. Price is pretty sure it’s the most soft and intimate display of feelings he’s ever seen, Simon could’ve wrapped your legs around his waist and devoured your mouth and it still wouldn’t feel as intrusive as watching this did.

Yet he can’t tear his eyes away as your hand toys with the hem of Simon’s balaclava, your lips are moving but your words aren’t for his ears, they’re spoken softly and quietly, meant only for the man in your arms. He sees Simon nod, a deep breath expanding his chest before he rolls his shoulders and straightens up.

“Let’s get you home,” he says before his eyes meet Price’s through the ajar door. “Captain,” he nods in respectful acknowledgement, no sign of an explanation or backtracking in his determined gaze — he was unapologetic at the display Price had just witnessed, impenitent about having fallen for and pursued a relationship with you.

“Ghost,” Price greets back and it’s all the confirmation that Simon needs to know that the older man approves. “Have a good evening. See you both tomorrow.”

---

Kyle is the next one to find out; a little over one week later. He catches you sitting on the edge of your desk, Simon’s broad frame in between your parted legs as his large palms slide up your thighs, rucking your skirt up in the process to reveal soft and smooth skin. He’s leaning down, pressing kisses against your pulse point, murmuring dirty words and promises of what tonight will bring. Simon never takes his mask off on base, and while the fabric is coarse the pressure of his lips is still enough to send a shiver of arousal down your spine and make your breath catch.

Maybe it’s not smart to have him in between your legs, pressed up against you, in the middle of the day, but Price was gone for a meeting that would last long into the evening and you had truly — naively — thought no one would walk in. He’d even given you the go-ahead to leave early.

Simon had come by to drop off a report and maybe steal a few minutes of your time, but when you let him know Price wasn’t in the office, he couldn’t help but occupy more than just the allotted time he’d scheduled in his head.

“Working on something important, love?” he asks, gripping the backrest of your chair with one hand to turn it until you’re facing him. His voice isn’t low and alluring in that moment, at least not in the same way it is when he intentionally wants to seduce you, when it’s smooth like silk and dripping with lust. No, he sounds practical, pragmatic, professional down to the last syllable — he knows the type of documents you handle, knows that you’re much more integral to the day-to-day than he had first given you credit for — and while he wants this moment to stretch as long as possible, he also knows he will have more than enough time to trace his hands over your curves and have you shaking beneath him later.

“Just some reorganising,” you answer with a nearly imperceptible shake of your head as you gaze up at him. Your hand is already reaching for his free one, playing with his fingers innocently even as your eyes seem to darken and dare him to make a move.

He’s got you out of the chair and into his embrace in the time it takes for you to blink, one hand still in yours while the other reaches down to grab your plump ass, pressing your pelvis against his as his actions force you to your toes.

“Then you won’t mind a little break,” Simon insists, eyes dark with barely contained lust and twinkling with promises yet spoken.

“I wouldn’t mind a break,” you confirm, lips tugging up into a smile as you wind your arms around his neck, nose brushing against his.

It takes him no effort to help you situate yourself on the desk, and no time to nudge your knees apart to fit himself between your plush thighs and let his fingers sink into the fat of them. 

And that’s how Kyle walks in on you — with Simon’s hands dangerously high up on your leg, fingertips just barely teasing the hem of your underwear, lips wandering the length of your neck as lustful, near sinful, words swirl between you.

“I know the old man is out but I’m just going–” Kyle’s voice trails off as he looks up from the folder in his hand and gets smacked in the face with the compromising position of his superior officer and his captain’s sweetheart assistant.

Simon doesn’t seem all that bothered, unmoving with his hands and lips still on your skin, like he didn’t even hear the interruption; but you can feel your own face heat in embarrassment. Pushing him away enough to let you slip down onto the floor, you straighten out your skirt and look over at Kyle, plastering on the most friendly and professional smile that you can muster despite your legs still feeling wobbly.

“You have something for the captain?” you ask, hoping your voice sounds more stable to Kyle than it does your own ears.

For a few seconds the room stays quiet, and you can see Simon in your peripheral readjust his trousers before moving to stand behind your still pushed out chair. Eventually, though, Kyle’s able to shake the shock when he nearly bends double with laughter.

Your head snaps to Simon, mouth dropping in bewilderment, but when you only get a shrug in response you take a cautious step towards the sergeant. For a moment you hesitated, not even sure what you could say in this situation that wouldn’t make it worse and deepen your humiliation.

It’s not what it looks like — oldest excuse in the book and obviously a blatant lie.

We would’ve told you soon — a half lie, but a lie nonetheless. 

It’s not a big deal, people kiss all the time — also a brazen fucking lie.

It was a big deal, both to you and Simon as well as the rest of the team. Which is why you had been… hiding the relationship like a dirty secret would’ve been the wrong analogy, but it had gone unspoken between you that it was best to keep it under wraps when it was still so new, so fresh. And for a while you had gotten to be selfish for the first time in a long while; got to have something warm and blissful that you could cradle close to your heart.

“Snap out of it, sergeant,” Simon commands, booming and authoritative in a way that sends a shiver down your spine and has your breath stuttering in your chest.

“So-sorry, s-sir,” Kyle manages to get out between gasping breaths, still trying to get his laughter under control as he straightens out, wiping away a tear you’re not sure is really there or if he does it for further comedic effect. His shoulders are still vibrating and you can see him struggling to hang on to the slim hold he managed to grasp. “Will you give this to Price when he gets back?”

“Of course,” you reply as you take the folder from his outstretched hands, just barely able not to stutter the words out as wariness and shock blended and mixed inside of you.

“If that’s all,” Simon prompts with an incline of his head towards the door, arms folded over his chest as he stares the other man down.

Kyle gives a half-assed salute before turning on his heels and high tailing it out of the room — you can hear his chuckling return even when he’s out of your eye sight.

“Fuckin’ numpty,” you hear your boyfriend say and it’s all it takes to break your own dam, nearly stumbling into his arms as the humour of the situation finally catches up with you and an elated giggle bursts from your lips.

“Oi, shut it,” Simon murmurs warningly, but you can hear the smile in his voice, see the evidence of it in the way the skin around his eyes crinkle, feel the affection he exudes as he pulls you against his chest and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

---

Johnny is the last one to know. And boy does he whine about it, laments loudly and dramatically to anyone that will lend him an ear.

It’s another pub night, the men having returned just two days ago from a month long mission victoriously. They were all a little bruised, a little broken, but they were alive and that was enough cause for a celebration. Price had given them all some time to settle in, to sleep, to ground themselves and tend to any new wounds, but had insisted on a few rounds once the dust had settled.

Johnny knew Simon was protective of the people he considered his, always had been, so he didn’t question the arm resting on the back of the booth right behind you, didn’t question the eyes following you whenever you left to order another round for the table or to use the bathroom — it was the same guarding actions Simon would’ve done for any of them.

But if he had looked a little closer with eyes a little sharper and mind a little clearer, he would’ve noticed the deft fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric draped over your shoulder and softly caressing your neck, he would’ve noticed how you leaned into Simon’s side and how your hand seemed to disappear intermittently underneath the table to rest on his thigh, would’ve noticed the softness in Simon’s eyes whenever you started rambling passionately about something.

Neither of you were exactly hiding your affections, you just hadn’t announced it loudly for anyone and everyone. And you thought for sure someone would’ve clued Johnny in by this point; it had been weeks, months even, since the other two caught on. But seeing as he was actively talking up one of his many cousins to you, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I’m not interested, but thanks,” you say, barely containing your laughter as you catch Kyle chuckle and shake his head in your peripheral.

“Och, c’mon, lass,” Johnny exclaims, words slurring as he nearly knocks his beer glass over with his wild and broad gestures — the alcohol having clearly affected his coordination. “Ah swear oan mah maw’s grave he’s a good ‘un!”

“Your ma’s not dead,” Simon deadpans and you glance up at him, eyes twinkling with mirth. Your hand finds his where it’s leisurely cupping your shoulder, your fingers intertwining with his easily; another show of affection and intimacy Simon would not allow anyone but you.

“Aye, but if she was!” Johnny says, still fighting to get his point across, blatantly missing how you are practically halfway in his lieutenant's lap and has been for the last three rounds.

Kyle is still quietly chuckling beside him, shoulders nearly vibrating with the effort of not bursting out in laughter, and Price has his head leaning in one hand, fingers pressing into his temples in a form of self-soothing massage, like he’s trying to stifle an incoming headache.

“MacTavish please,” Price grumbles, but Johnny bulldozes right over him.

“C’mon, lass,” he says again, one leg energetically bouncing under the table as he grows more and more excited at the prospect of setting you up. Ever since that first pub night, where his offer to walk you home had been immediately shut down with a crude comment by Simon, he had resigned himself to the fact that you were apparently off the table for him — probably best for the team to keep all relationships professional and platonic, he thought — but that didn’t mean he didn’t still want you to be happy, to be with a good and deserving partner.

Your gaze meets Simon’s again, searching, questioning, and when he gives you a near imperceivable nod of confirmation you turn back around to the sprightly sergeant.

“Johnny,” you say before he gets the chance to speak again and you can almost see his ears perk up from barely contained excitement, “I’m sorry to your cousin, but I do actually have a boyfriend already.”

Kyle mouths an exasperated ‘thank you’ around a smile, and even Price lifts his head to spectate the scene with renewed interest.

Johnny cocks his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together as he finally, finally, takes in your and Simon’s positions. His mouth drops open when the pieces click into place and an accusatory finger is pointed back and forth between the two of you.

“Holy shite! Wha– when– how–?”

You can feel Simon’s thumb rub soft circles into the back of your hand, wordlessly telling you to take the reins at the barrage of questions the Scot had thrown your way — more sure to follow.

“Slowly, over time,” you answer, a warm smile on your lips as you speak. “Called him to pick me up from the club when I celebrated my birthday, gave me his jacket and everything.” 

Simon squeezes your hand, a silent warning, but you know it’s an empty one. He might complain later that you’re ruining his reputation as the strong, silent, scary shadow in the corner, but there will be no bite behind his words when you nuzzle into his neck in apology and stroke down his chest with intent.

“We started having lunch together every week and everything just… fell into place.” You lean your head on his shoulder, letting his warmth swallow you up as you press a delicate kiss right under his jaw. Another warning squeeze of your hand has you chuckling and retreating back to face Johnny once more.

“Didnae kno’ ye were such a sap, sir,” Johnny says, a toothy grin as he straightens up at the newfound information — no doubt already planning on how to use this as fodder for further teasing down the road.

“That’ll do.” Simon quickly shuts it down, voice a few decibels louder than normal to get his point across, and if you didn’t know him as good as you do, you would’ve thought he was truly angry. But you do know him; you know that he might be a bit miffed, but also that it’s an affectionate sort of annoyance. Like when you’re rolling your eyes yet holding back a laugh.

And you know Simon wouldn’t trade his team for the world — not when they’ve grown to become his people. And with a kiss pressed to the top of your head where you can feel his smile, you now know you've earned yourself a spot in his heart right next to the rest of his family.

--- CoD Masterlist

[exoticbvnni]

I’m not the one you should be mad at | J.Y.

Jeong Yunho x fem!reader

Summary:your ex boyfriend fooled you once again,however Yunho will take care of it

Warnings:break up,angst,fingering,prise kink,unprotected sex (don’t do it guys!),smut

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ‘♡’- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You stepped into Yunho’s apartment,slamming the door before throwing your jacket on his couch:you were on the edge of tears.

You felt so stupid for coming back to your ex again,no matter how badly he had treated you while dating,and no matter how many times he had simply used you even after breaking up.

“Already back? I thought you would’ve spent the rest of the night at his place” Yunho stepped in the living room; as you could tell by his wet hair,the clean black shirt and the new gym trousers he was wearing, he had just taken a shower.

“I’m done with him!” you exclaimed,mad,walking to the kitchen in order to pour yourself a glass of water.

You tried to fight back the urge to cry,however tears started streaming down your face as soon as you opened the fridge. What a crybaby, you thought,but you deserved it for being such an idiot.

“You said the same thing last week,and the week before,and the one before…” Yunho spoke,resting his back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m serious this time!” you exclaimed,walking towards him. The height difference showing as soon as only a few inches distanced the two of you.

The brunette giggled,shaking his head:

“I’ve already heard that. I don’t believe you”

“I said that I’m serious now! Look at me!” you pointed at your tears.

Yunho stared at you,his eyes were cold:

“Whatever… -the brunette mumbled,walking past you to go to his room-the fridge is empty,if you wanna sleep over order dinner for yourself. I’ve already ordered pizza for me” he explained,disappearing.

“Fuck you and your damn pizza! -you exclaimed,sitting on the couch-thank you for being an asshole today…” you then whispered to yourself,sobbing hard.

You sat there crying for thirty minutes,eyes lost wandering from an undefined point of the floor to another, and a hand holding onto you phone as if you were thinking about what to have for dinner when your mind was just empty.

Why did you believe to your ex again? Why you didn’t expect him to call you only for sex and not to give your relationship a second chance? He didn’t care about you anymore,you had turned into his little toy,so why would you bother to listen to him? He had been playing with you for six months now,yet you would always come back to him.

Why were you so stupid? Still so in love? And why was Yunho so cold? Why wasn’t he comforting you like he had always done? Why wasn’t he hugging you? Wiping your tears away? Why wasn’t he reassuring you? Was he mad at you? Was he just mad in general?

You grabbed a pillow, throwing it to the ground as you yelled, angry. You needed to let it go…to make sure that Yunho was listening to you, so he could come and give you the comfort you were seeking. It didn’t happen,tho.

“Don’t yell,my neighbour will complain” he spoke coldly,appearing on the entrance of the living room. He rested a shoulder against the door frame and slid his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

“What’s your fucking problem?” you growled,getting up from the couch just to walk towards the boy.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded

“Why are you acting like a prick?” fire was burning in your eyes,but Yunho didn’t react.

“Like a prick? I’m not the one you should be mad at” he shrugged his shoulders, ready to walk away when you grabbed his forearm:

“Tell me what’s your fucking problem!” you screamed again,tears still rolling down your cheeks

“What’s your problem if anything! -he yelled back,recomposing himself immediately after- you’re just frustrated because I’m not running to save you. That’s why you’re throwing a tantrum” he shrugged your hand off,but you held on.

“I’ve been fucking played and you’re making it worse!”

“Yes! You’ve been fucking played,congrats on waking up after six months y/n! What am I supposed to do,uh? Wipe your tears,tell you that it’s not your fault and that everything will get better just to get laid in my fucking bed? That shit is over!

I tried Y/n, I tried so hard to stay by your side when you needed it, I tried so hard to become something more than your post-break-up fuck buddy. I accepted to have sex with you,gaslighting myself into believing that maybe,maybe if I held on and took care of your wounds you would’ve seen me in a different light; but it didn’t happen. All you cared about was that fucking idiot. I won’t be here wiping your tears again after you brought this on yourself, running to him anytime he was horny and needy. I’m tired -he pushed you away- get home. I changed my mind,I won’t allow you to sleep here tonight. I need to be alone”

“You need to be alone?! Fucking narcissistic, I’m devastated and all you can think about is yourself?!“ you were getting more and more mad

“Narcissistic?! You are a narcissistic! Have you ever thought about how I could feel? Have you ever thought about how much energy I put into this just to get nothing in return?”

“You can’t expect people to fall in love with you just because you help them,how sick is that logic?!” your hands were wandering in the air, there was no control in your movements as you were blinded by pain and anger

“I did not expect you to fall in love with me..but to get at least a thank you,hell if I did;but no,no,you couldn’t say thank you,you couldn’t percieve me as an actual person,you were so busy thinking about that idiot that all I was seen as was just a damn rebound!” Yunho walked closer,making you step back,hitting the couch.

“I never considered you a rebound” you justified yourself,holding onto the backrest of the sofa.

“Your actions said otherwise -he bit back,staring into your soul- and I’m over”

From his eyes,you could see how painful it had been for him,how hurt,and angry,he was right now.

Maybe he was right:maybe you did act like he was a rebound,the one you wanted to run to only when you needed someone to put the pieces of your heart together;but you had never been aware of it.

“I don’t want you to be over” you spoke,holding onto the cloth of his shirt.

You were stuck between the couch and his body,with his warm breath caressing your cold skin.

“Why? -the brunette paused- Cuz you want an unconditional emotional support? Or -he pushed his lower abdomen against yours- or because you need me to make you moan out loud?”.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes for an eternity of seconds.

“Answer me” Yunho mumbled

You didn’t say a word

“Answer me!” he repeated himself

Still nothing.

“I hate you” he then mumbled, almost broken

“Me too” you replied,smashing your lips against his.

He was right:you did need him…but,after all,he needed you as well.

A moan of yours filled the air as soon as Yunho’s strong hands rested on your hips,moving your body from the couch to the wall,pushing your back against the cold surface as his lips sucked yours; his tongue twirling in your pretty mouth.

You grabbed the cloth of his shirt,stripping him out of it by lifting it up from the back.

Without breaking the kiss,your hands wander along his torso,feeling his muscles tensing at every movement.

Again,Yunho grabbed you by your hips,this time just to lead you to his bedroom and push you on his bad.

“I don’t wanna see you ever again after tonight” he whispered,kissing your neck;his hand was already wandering in between your thighs.

You didn’t answer, you just dragged him closer,stroking your lower abdomen against his as he moaned in your neck,biting his favourite spot:the skin upon your right collarbone.

Yunho’s hand went up your torso,getting rid of your top to leave you in your white bra and white skirt:

“My favourite colour” he commented,starting to suck your shoulder immediately after.

Again,the hand on your torso went up,squeezing your breast,stroking the cloth of your lingerie while he couldn’t stop grinding his crotch against your panties.

“Stop teasing” you panted,unbuckling his belt. You weren’t sure of what you were doing since your head was thrown back and your mind was foggy.

Yunho smirked and laughed, moving your hand away to get undressed on his own:

“Sometimes I wonder if your ex had ever gotten you so worked up in such a short time” he bit his lips,freeing your body from his grip for a second just to take off his gym trousers.

“Yunho…” you mewled,holding onto the sheets as you were already missing his touch.

“He didn’t,did he? Or you wouldn’t have fucked with me so often when he used to call you for that” he spoke again,going back to suck on your neck,which was now covered in purple marks.

“Yunho…Yunho…” you repeated his name as a mantra while he unbuttoned the strap of your bra to let it fall down the bad.

“What do you want darling? Speak up” he groaned,kissing your chest,right between your breast,before twirling his tongue around your nipple and then lick your tummy.

“Your fingers…please” you slid your hand down your body,under your skirt,realising how wet you already were.

Yunho was right:for how much you loved your ex,he had never gotten you so worked up. You had always had to do that on your own,focused on the idea to please him instead of creating a mutual relationship.

“I know angel, I know you love it” he whispered,going more and more down on you,until his lips started kissing your inner thigh, close to your wetness.

“Yunho…” you cried again, head still thrown back.

The boy stroked his knuckles against the cloth of your panties,moving it aside before sliding a finger inside you.

You moaned out loud,holding onto his shoulders to release the tension pleasure had rose in your body.

“Fuck” you whined,music to Yunho’s ear.

The boy lifted his head,admiring your red,flushed cheeks and your slightly open mouth. He knew you were feeling good,but he also knew that you wanted more:he knew you,he knew how eager you were for his fingers; that was why he decided to slid in another one,making you moan louder.

“Fuck,fuck!” you cried again,coming undone on Yunho’s hand.

The brunette smirked,licking his fingers,kissing your lips.

“Good girl -he moved to the angle of your mouth,leaving another kiss also in that spot- do you think you can hold on a little longer?” he asked,sure that you would’ve said yes,as always. However,this time,you got so high that you could barely talk.

“Y/n?” Yunho called you,worried as he gently stroked you cheek,waiting for you to stop panting and open your eyes:

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” he asked,worried,but you shook your head.

“Are you sure?” he asked again,you nodded

“You didn’t-you didn’t come yet” you whispered

“I won’t keep on if, today, you can’t handle it” he moved a few strands of sweaty hair away from your face;you shook your head again,kissing him.

“Don’t stop,please” you whispered,stroking your hips against his.

Immediately, the light in Yunho’s eyes changed as the boy started sucking your skin one more time,making you moan,going down and down until his tongue met your intimacy.

“Yes,please,I need you!” you mumbled,bucking yourself against him

“Stay still angel,I can’t make you feel good if you move” he groaned,blocking your body against the bed with his huge hands.

You bit your lips,enjoying his teasing until,finally,you felt his fingers lift your skirt to then grab your legs.

Yunho smirked,looking down at you before pecking your lips and move, for the second time,your panties aside.

“Gonna make you feel so good” he groaned into the crook of your neck,getting inside of you.

“Fuck,Yunho” you mewled,almost in pain:no matter how many times you had taken him,you still needed time to adjust to his size.

Once he had understood that you were finally okay,he started moving his hips,slowly,scared to cross the line as you had almost passed away a few minutes before;however,your moans and half eaten up prayers to move faster, made him go feral.

The room was filled with grunts:Yunho couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful you were anytime he had sex with you;you always came so undone for him and only him. It was his biggest turn on:your pretty o shaped lips,the sweaty hair spread all over his bed,your moans, and those eyes shut in pleasure. It was heaven for him:it was heaven for him knowing that you were feeling so good.

“Fuck,I’m about to come” he suddenly muttered as his movements got sloppier.

He looked at you one last time,knowing,thanks to your contracted expression,that you were close as well.

A few last moans filled the air,then your release came,followed by Yunho’s.

The brunette panted,resting his forehead on your shoulder before laying down next to you.

Again,it took you a while before coming down from your highness,and Yunho noticed,that was why he started caressing you slowly,kissing your forehead and talking sweetly:

“It’s okay angel,just stay with me,can you hear my voice?” he asked,you nodded,sliding your body closer to his to be welcomed in his warm embrace.

“Are you okay? Was I too rough? Or did I teased you too much today?” he demanded,caressing your hair

“It’s okay -you mumbled,tired- you were perfect -you paused- I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? For what? For not carrying it out like you always do?” Yunho asked,confused

“No…for making you feel like a rebound. You were right,I did that,but I wasn’t aware of it. I was…”

“You were in love. But,please,next time don’t let your feelings fool you again” Yunho kissed your temple.

You shook your head,wrapping your arms around his waist:

“I won’t. You were right when you said that I kept coming back to you just to be comforted. I needed it so bad,I…I needed you so bad -you lifted your head- and I still do. But not because of sex,or because I need an emotional support,only because…-you gulped- only because you’ve become my safe place -you admitted, wiping a tear away- I don’t think I’ve realised it before you told me. I don’t understand why I could be fooled so easily. Now that I think about it,my ex never really cared about me. I was always the one giving everything to him in every aspect of out relationship,from support to sex. Even there he acted like a selfish prick,yet I kept going back to him” you were now crying in Yunho’s chest.

The boy slid on his right side,keeping you close,caressing your back to comfort you,to let you know that he was there.

“Now that you’ve realised it, you broke the cycle. It’s a good thing,next time you won’t believe him;but, please,and this time I am not referring only to myself,remember that only because someone took too much from us without giving anything in return,it doesn’t mean that we’re supposed to do the same with those who are close to us” the brunette pointed out,sweetly, caressing your cheek.

“You are right -you sat,looking down at him- I’m sorry Yunho,for everything. I promise that from now on I’ll treat you right…if you still want me around” you crossed your legs.

Yunho mirrored you,sitting. He then dragged you into a long hug:

“Of course I want you around. I love you,y/n” he kissed your temple

“I love you too,Yunho. Thank you for everything” you kissed him back,hugging him tightly. You would have never hurt him again.

[bullet-prooflove]

Dean Winchester. Coat, Cheese, Flowers.

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gatefleet @private-jett @cosmic-psychickitty

Prequel to:

You, Me & Tennessee - Dean always returns to Tennessee.

On The Mountain - Dean wishes he was back on the Mountain with you.

Six Pack (NSFW) - You realise the man waiting for you isn't Dean Winchester.

Memories (NSFW) - Michael invades your home whilst you're away.

Sweet Dreams - Dean thinks about how this all started.

Deals With the Devil (feat: Michael)- You wake up with an angel in your bed.

Dean doesn’t intend to fall in love in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. It’s something that just happens after he starts hearing rumours about strange attacks up in the National Park.

You know the instant he turns up at the ranger station to investigate the circumstances that he’s a hunter. He has the same demeanour as the first one you met a few years ago, similar features. He’s surprised when you call him out on it, more so when you agree to take him up to the Fire Tower with you.

“There’s more to being a forest ranger up here isn’t there?” He had said, standing in front of the open weapons cabinet surveying the small arsenal. It’s certainly not the usual shit you see out here in the wilderness, silver bullets, long range rifles, military grade explosives. That’s just some of the interesting paraphernalia you have stored away in there.

“There’s lot of power up here on the mountain, it attracts things.” You had told him as you picked out a flare gun and a couple of blocks of C4. “Let’s just say this isn’t my first monster hunt.”

It’s refreshing being open with someone about the work he does. You spend the evening sharing a mini charcuterie board that you manage to pull together with some cheese, jerky and crackers, swapping stories about your exploits. The attraction starts then he thinks, because you’re pretty, funny and a complete badass. The shit you’ve dealt with on this mountain, it almost makes him quake in his boots. He wants to ask you how this all started for you but then you both hear the cries for help and a scratching at the door and it’s hunting time.  

It’s five hours later that you return to the Fire Tower, the both of you a little worse for wear. Your coat is shredded, there’s mud smeared across your cheek, your hair is a mess and the scent of motor oil clings to you from the C4. Dean isn’t in a much better state. He’s bleeding from a gash in his hairline and there’s a three inch slice up his forearm that you’ve managed to patch up with moss and strips from your ruined jacket.

It turns out there wasn’t just one Wendigo, there were two. It had been a fight to the death before you’d managed to trap them in the abandoned mine shaft they’d been using as a nest before activating the C4.

You’re both still hopped up on adrenaline when you get back to the Fire Tower, usually you’d take it out on the punch bag outside out then then Dean kisses you and you spend the next two hours working it out in other ways. You end up watching the sunrise together with a cup of coffee on the balcony, you wearing his t-shirt and nothing else.

He’s regretful when he has to leave. Usually he has no problem hitting and quitting but there’s reluctance in him because the two of you have shared something special up here, something he isn’t ready to let go of just yet.

“Call me alright?” He says as he writes his number on a post it note. “If you get in over your head and I promise you, I’ll come running.”

“I have a whole team of rangers who do the same sort of shit that I do, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” You tell him, tucking it into your trouser pocket.

He gets the message loud and clear. You’re strong, independent, you don’t need him, not really and somehow that makes Dean want you even more.

The next time he’s travelling through Tennessee, he ditches Sam and drops by Gatlinburg, just to check in, see how things are going on the mountain. He’s barely half way down Main Street when he catches sight of you stepping out of the florist with a bouquet of sunflowers, cradled in your arm. You’re wearing  jeans that hug your ass in a way that has him groaning and a brown leather jacket over an ACDC t-shirt.

You don’t react when the black Impala pulls up alongside of you, it isn’t until Dean calls your name that you realise someone’s trying to get your attention. You pull out your earbuds before tilting your head towards the wound down window, surprised to see Dean Winchester sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Hey.” Dean says with that handsome smile of his. “Need a ride?”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mclennonlgbt]

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.”  - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

"They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from the Beatles and going off to Spain. En route, they’d stop a day or two in Paris, to size up the Brigittes, check out the kind of clothes Jurgen Vollmer wore, and perhaps see Jurgen himself, if he was around. [Johnny] Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday 30 September. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station with them and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent, and so close.” - Mark Lewisohn, All These Years: Volume One

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

"John’s 21st birthday was a month away, and he knew he was getting money — 100 pounds cash, more than he or Paul had ever seen in their lives. (…) Bob Wooler was party to their planning, and fought with them:

They were bored, and decided they would go away for a month. I thought this was disastrous because they would be away from the scene too long and lose their fans, Fans were very capricious: they moved from one group to another. And anyway, what about the other two members, George Harrison and Pete Best?. What about them, what do they do? We argued a lot about this — we argued in the back room of the grapes pub to a large extent —- and they said ‘Well, we’ll go away for a fortnight only’

(…) Equally, the promoters who paid the Beatles over-the-odds to present them every week had to “lump it” (….). To a man, and woman, they were incensed by it - but John and Paul hadn’t a care. They didn’t mean to be rude about it but basically it was tough shit.

it was tough too on Dot and Cyn, Dot simply had to accept the situation, but Cyn had a greater case of grievance. John was heading off without her when he could so easily gave waited for the art school holidays. (…).

That John was taking Paul, no one else, accentuates the renewed closeness since Stu quit The Beatles. They were the Beatles force, an unstoppable and authentically powerful pair. “Lennon had the attitude”, Wooler said, “and taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were superior human beings”

"You’d always see them together, in the pub or walking along the street", says Johnny Gustafson of the Big Tree. "They were a duo, and seemed each other’s equal". Bernie Boyle, the young lad hanging around with them at every opportunity, says, "They were like brothers, with John as the elder and Paul’s mentor. They were so tight it was like there was a telepathy between them: on stage, they’d look at each other and know instinctively what the other was thinking"

They were brothers. They were the Nerk Twins, and now they were taking a break from The Beatles and gofin off to Spain. 

Gustafson happened to bump into them the day they left, Saturday, September 30. “They both had bowler hats on, with the usual leather jackets and jeans. They said they were off to Paris, so I walked down to Lime Street station and watched them go. They were an incredible pair: always great fun, irreverent and so close. - Mark Lewisohn, Tune In: The Beatles: All These Years (2013)

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true): 

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.”  - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The Beatles were staying at the George V Hotel at the time. John and Paul composed "Can't Buy Me Love", "I Should Have Known Better" and "If I Fell" on the piano.

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1966: Paul, his girlfriend Maggie McGivern, John and Brian Epstein spend 5 days in Paris. "All of them flew into France separately — Lennon had been filming abroad and Epstein had been away on business. Maggie and Paul, she says, traveled apart ‘as part of keeping the relationship secret’. During the five-day trip the foursome stayed at the same Paris hotel where she and Paul shared a luxury suite. ‘It was a marvelous holiday,’ she says. ‘. . . just walking around the streets of Paris.‘My abiding memory is of me, John and Paul lying under the Eiffel Tower, gazing up at it. We couldn’t go up because we would have been recognised, and we were masters at the art of avoiding people." [x]

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s (maybe 1978?): John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording. Longer version

1970s: John writes "Skywriting by Word of Mouth", a book that would be released in 1986. One story is about sex he had with a woman in Paris. Here it is. As anon noticed here: "...the woman is called Amie L'Nitrate and Amyl Nitrate is a reference to poppers. He talks about grabbing her 'pomme de frites.' Her potatoes? He uses the term 'tread lightly on some loafers' which is an old euphenism for being gay. Amie says they should have sex to God Only Knows. Then John says their relationship ended in a seething rage but he still thinks of 'her.'" @sgtsaltsband concluded in the same post: "so he writes a story about PARIS ( where he and paul went on a trip for his 21st bday and never stopped talking about it ) , in the HOTEL where the Beatles stayed later on [Hotel V in 1964] , names the girl after POPPERS ( a drug commonly used by gay men during sex ) , the girl wants to have sex to PAULS fave song and he uses this PHRASE." Also: this is an excerpt of the story:

"Boogie" is a slang word for sex or dance (also, "Born to Boogie" is a 1972 movie starring Marc Bolan, Elton John and Ringo Starr). "Band on the Run" is a Paul McCartney and Wings' album which John loved. "Sue you sue me" can be a reference to to the Beatles' legal and business disputes and the fact that Paul sued John, George and Ringo in December 1970, and to "Sue Me, Sue You Blues", a song by George.

(thank you @menlove for uploading the story and pointing out interesting words!)

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Thank you for adding, @ringompreg!

(it's like 7 minutes in) Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris.

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

Bonus

[seriouslysam8]

Selcouth Sneak Peek

Chapter Eight

They stepped out onto the balcony. Sirius placed a hand on her lower back, steering her away from the rest of the party goers. His hand dropped when they found a secluded corner away from all the drunken wizards and rich snobs that had more money than they knew what to do with. He turned, leaning his side into the railing. Tegan mimicked him, her head cocking to the side. 

“Tell me everything I should know about the Weasley family,” Sirius said, his eyes searching her face. 

“They are the nicest and warmest family I have ever met,” Tegan replied with a soft smile. “My daughter is best friends with Ginny and she’s also dating Ron. I’m invited to every single event that family holds, which, trust me, is a lot. They have ongoing Friday night dinners where almost everyone always shows up. They are invested in each other’s lives. Ginny actually lives across the pond from her parents’ house.”

Sirius nodded. “Any entanglements that came to life after the war?” he pressed. “Even if it’s a third cousin twice removed, I need to know.”

“No,” Tegan said in a sure tone. “They’re a good family, Sirius. Extremely loyal to one another. If you’re lucky enough to enter their orbit, they’re fiercely loyal to you as well.”

Sirius shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. “So, I’m being a paranoid git for nothing?”

Tegan’s brows lowered on her face. “Definitely,” she replied with no hesitation. “Was that really a question?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, a sigh escaping his lips. “Harry wants to move back to England to be closer to James and Ginny.”

Tegan smiled. “That’s great!”

Sirius’ face pulled. 

“You don’t want him to?” Tegan asked. 

Sirius swallowed, his gaze flickering to the sky. “I just worry for his safety in England.”

Tegan touched his arm, causing him to look back at her. “It’s not like it was before,” she assured him, her thumb brushing against the fabric of his suit jacket. “Voldemort’s followers aren’t causing issues.”

“Yet,” Sirius stressed, his eyebrows shooting up. 

Tegan dropped her hand from his arm. “Sirius…”

“You don’t believe he’s actually dead, do you?” Sirius pressed, his lips thinning into a straight line. 

“There was a body,” Tegan replied as though that meant something. 

“I’ve heard stories from people who attempted to kill him and spells that should have done the trick barely made him flinch,” Sirius said in a low tone, his eyes flickering around them to ensure no one would overhear.

Tegan sighed. “Those are all stories.”

“Dumbledore doesn’t think so,” Sirius added, his arms crossing over his chest. “He believes it’s only a matter of time before he reappears.”

“So, what? You think Harry goes back to England and some Death Eaters will reincarnate Voldemort?” Tegan asked in an incredulous tone, her head shaking. “Do you know how mad that sounds? No magic can bring back the dead.”

“They could if he’s not actually dead,” Sirius explained.

Tegan frowned deeper, her dark eyes boring into him. “And the body that was burned was what? An illusion?”

Sirius stared at Tegan. Knowledge was a dangerous thing to have. Trust between two people seemed nearly impossible to maintain. Except, Tegan kept the secret of Harry being in England. She contacted Sirius first instead of saying James looked like a Potter to people she was extremely close to. Having an Auror like Tegan in his corner would be beneficial. Dumbledore always said it was good to collect strong allies, ones who could obtain knowledge and have skill sets that you may lack. 

Sirius wasn’t stupid. He knew what he brought to the Order all those years ago. Knowledge of pureblood circles, who were friends and who were enemies. He knew their secrets. He heard their gossip. Being a Black was beneficial in that way. Sirius grew up with the very wizards that had been rallied and radicalized by Voldemort. He understood what motivated them, what enticed them. 

While over the years Sirius lost access to that information, now he had an even more important connection that Dumbledore wanted access to: Harry. Sirius allowed it, needing Dumbledore’s resources and knowledge to keep his godson safe. Sirius doubted that Harry would even be alive at this point if it hadn’t been for Dumbledore’s connections. Watching Harry waste away at such a young age from the Horcrux slowly chipping away at him had been the worst years of Sirius’ life. 

[meetmymouth]

Harry follows one of his friends outside as they’re looking for an appropriate place to smoke, one hand holding his glass of whiskey as the other finds comfort in one of his pockets. It’s hot in the marquee, so the sweet July breeze outside is more than welcome on his face.

So far, he’s taken a few photos with people he’s never seen in his life, and Harry hopes that the bride and the groom aren’t bothered.

He should be able to say no.

He really should.

Though, surrounded by friends and family, Harry feels like it’d be too much to say no to someone who obviously admires him and his music— admires him enough to want a photo with him.

His friend says something, and he laughs because he does, and he takes a sip from his drink, watching the flame from the lighter lick the end of his friend’s cigarette.

He’s enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the countryside when he sees a shadow, and feels another presence behind them.

He turns around, somehow nervous and on edge, and notices her pink dress before her beautiful face.

She is beautiful, but he lets out a tiny sigh, and says, “Sorry, would it be okay if we didn’t take a photo?”

All three of them stop— his friend lets out a breath, and the woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raise in question— somehow offended at his request.

There’s another moment of silence before she takes a step back, and Harry notices she’s also holding a cigarette.

“Uh,” she lets out a laugh, like she knows something he doesn’t. “I wasn’t going to ask for a photo. Your trousers…”she looks down at his outfit even though she’s next to him, therefore can’t really see the back of his trousers. “They’re ripped.”

“What?”

And, what?

“Your trousers, below the jacket. Ripped.“

Harry hears his friend laugh, and he also feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment. His whole body feels numb, though he can feel the ringing in his ears.

“Shit—” he murmurs, hand going to his back. He feels himself until his hand touches the ripped area. “God, I’m…really sorry.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, you should be.”

“I don’t normally— I’m not bothered normally, it’s just— it’s not my wedding and I kind of feel bad enough that people have been… you know?” He cannot help his rambling, words rolling off his tongue, though he doesn’t know if he’s making sense or not.

She looks like she’s bored. He guesses.

Though, he notices her checking him out, only a mere second before her eyes find his again.

“I get that. I guess.”

“I’m sorry. Again.”

“All good. I thought you might want to know, yeah?”

He turns to his friend, and notices him on his phone.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He hisses.

He hears her laugh.

He doesn’t even listen to the man next to him list all the excuses why he hasn’t said anything, only hears the laugh she lets out.

He finds her gaze, and she bites her bottom lip.

“I guess,” she says, tone a tad softer than when she first came up to him. “I was one of the few who were looking…there.”

And well.

Harry’s always loved weddings.

[film-in-my-soul]

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Blog Info ☆ All 2024 Reclists ☆ 2023 Reclists

[thegreatobsesso]

snippet from part III (safe house era <3!)

I jump around so wildly with this WIP and it's always interesting to me to see which part I end up sticking to on a daily basis. I had this one sitting around for a long time and yesterday my brain zeroed in and edited to a place I feel happy posting!

---------------------------

Milo

The Old Country Feed Store is wedged between a barber shop and a bar and if the name evokes a certain image, it looks even more retro than that. It’s the closest grocery store to the safe house, clocking in at forty-five minutes doing the speed limit, and it oozes that sort of nostalgic charm that can go from quaint to scary at the drop of a hat.

(“You present like you came out of the womb with a cock already in your mouth,” Octavius duly informs him, fussing with his outfit before starting the journey. “And I love that about you, but we need to masc you up.”

“Like you’re the poster child of male heterosexuality!”

“I dress consistently and impeccably masculine.”

“You dress well, darling, and in a place like this that translates to gay. You should trust me on this one, I know small towns.”)

So now Milo’s in a nondescript hoodie and a brown jacket whose lining has seen better days, and Octavius is dressed down, which for him means a ruddy crimson sweater without a button-down under it and trousers that have a centimeter of extra give. He still looks like he’s stepped off the pages of a menswear catalog, but it’s fractionally more subtle than usual.

He puts the car into park and pockets the keys. “It’s cute,” he says, determined to be optimistic in the face of all that weathered wood and rust. “We can do this. Got your list?”

In the passenger seat, Octavius bursts into tears.

Everything that happens around Milo is surreal these days, so it takes him a second to react. “Oh, sweetheart,” he manages once he processes what’s happening, twisting himself sideways in the cramped vehicle to pull him into a badly angled hug. “Hey hey hey, it’s alright, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this,” he sobs into Milo’s coat.

“Do what, love?”

“This. All of this. I can’t… I miss my life, I don’t want this, I just, I-”

Oh, Milo’s an idiot. He rubs Octavius’s back and curses himself for feeling blindsided.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. Octavius cries like it causes him physical pain, muscles all taut and locked, and Milo reminds himself they’re not in a partially constructed building in the cold dead of night with a discarded gun that’s still warm. Only days ago, really, but Octavius’s hair is shorter now and Milo’s heart is stronger, and this is nothing. This is simple. “You’re okay, let it out. Just try and take a deep breath for me. You’re alright.”

Octavius pulls away first, jerky and uncoordinated. “Fuck,” he croaks, staring into his clawed fists. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Milo claims one of his hands and smooths it out. “Permission to be a therapist?”

He pulls a face at that and wipes furiously at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Granted.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Okay, so, consider: you’re a man of routine and structure whose entire world just collapsed around him. Your life is on a totally different course. You were betrayed by someone you trusted - that’s me - and now your life’s in danger and you’re stuck in an unfamiliar place where absolutely nothing’s like what you’re used to. It’s okay if all this has you feeling a little scared and a little overwhelmed. I’d be more worried about you if it didn’t.”

He grunts and sniffles, but he doesn’t pull his hand away and he hasn’t tried to hide his tears even a little. It’s terrible to see him in pain, of course, but this is also really healthy and good. It’s normal.

“You’re alright,” Milo reassures him again with a kiss to the forehead. “I know it’s a lot, but I’m right here with you. You don’t have to go through any of it alone, you got it?”

“Yes,” he says simply, and shakes his head and clears his throat. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be fine.”

“Well, I am, at least for now. I’m not built for prolonged hysterics. Let’s just… get the food sorted.”

“Sweetheart, really, if you wanna wait in the car that’s totally okay.”

“And leave it to you?” he scoffs weakly. “I’d be stuck with those rancid microwaved pizza bits of yours and die of malnutrition.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “We’ve been over this, the pizza bits are a snack, not a staple.”

“They’re garbage.”

“They’ve got pepperoni, that’s protein. Cheese: dairy. Tomato sauce: vegetable.”

“I’m suffering and you’re doing everything in your power to antagonize me.”

He grins. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says, popping the door open. “And tomatoes are a fruit.”

“I knew you weren’t gonna let that slide.”

Milo follows him into the shop feeling particularly warm inside despite the dry, frigid air.

---------------------------

✨ WIP intro

🔖 tag list: @winterandwords // @foxboyclit //@revenantlore

@space-writes // @indecentpause // @words-after-midnight

comment to be added or removed!

📝 all posts from WIP: gay crime bdsm story

[him-x-her]

Dead Lovers’ Lane

One shot fic, requested by @sincerelyaliciaamarie

…

I stand at the cemetery gates, feeling a little stupid. Well, a lot stupid. Who the fuck agrees to a date at the cemetery? How do you even dress for a date at a cemetery? I stand by the railing in my black skinny jeans, black converse low tops and a ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ shirt, featuring one of my favourite men - Robert Smith - on the front with his guitar. My long brown hair is straightened, hanging down and hiding half of my face. I am wearing very little in the way of makeup: some clear lipgloss and black pencil eyeliner.

I obsess over my choice in attire, wondering if I should’ve worn something girlier or showed a bit more skin. Then again, skinny jeans and band shirts are all I wear, and he must like me to have asked me out, right?

My mind flitters to that moment in our high school hallway. Mike and Jared were being complete dicks as usual, but this time turned their sights on Ville. He’d always been so quiet, disconnected, headphones on. We had that in common. I guess that’s why it pissed me off so much when they shoved him into the lockers and kicked his books. I had told them to go and fuck themselves, and helped Ville pick the books up, but in doing so for the first time I noticed how green his eyes were and almost became catatonic. It took his long fingers to brush mine for my trancelike state to break. Later that day he had waited by my locker to ask me out.

Fast-forward to now, I feel restless, hopeful this isn’t one big joke. I run my fingers across the rusty iron gates, entertaining myself with the slight ringing sound emanating from the metal. My finger brushes something sharp. “Ow, fuck!” I curse, examining my index finger. A pinprick of blood oozes from my small wound.

“I would be careful…” I hear in that deep baritone I have become so sensitive to, and spin around on my heel. I am face to face with those emerald eyes that have haunted me since. Ville swiftly lifts my palm to his mouth and sucks the blood from the tip of my finger.

“W-what are you doing?” I ask, weirded out but completely mesmerised.

“Just in case anything has entered your bloodstream through your wound… the safe thing is to suck it out.” He smiles.

“And swallow it?!” I raise my eyebrows.

“I don’t mind…” he smirks, running his hand through his hair. I take in his appearance. Black trousers, doc martens, a Black Sabbath shirt and a black suit jacket. Smart casual. My heart flutters. “Shall we?” he gestures to the cemetery entrance. I look up and follow his lead, feeling ever curious.

“I love your Cure shirt, by the way.” He compliments. We walk through the entrance and along a small stone path in between headstones.

“Oh, um yeah, thanks.” My cheeks grow pink at my awkward acceptance of his compliment. “I love them so much, Disintegration is…”

“Incredibly overrated.” He stops, and turns to me with an apologetic smile. “All the Cure fans love that album the best, but for me it’s-“

“Bloodflowers.” I interject. “If you had let me finish, I would’ve said that Disintegration is the most popular album, but my favourite is Bloodflowers.” I say with righteous indignation, annoyed at being interrupted.

“My apologies, I made an incorrect assumption.” He looks down at me, biting his moist lip. I watch it turn pink. “Bloodflowers is my favourite too.” I smile back. We have even more in common than I thought.

We reach a clearing in the cemetery where the grass subsides, and the space is occupied by a beautiful white statue, surprisingly bright and well preserved. It appears to be a some sort of Greek statue of a woman and her child, adorned in cloth. Ville leans against her and reaches in his pocket. He takes out a cigarette and lighter. I watch as he lights the cigarette, wraps his lips around the tan tip, closes his eyes and softly inhales his vice. His slender fingers flip the cigarette in my direction in offering. I impolitely refuse.

“I’m good without lung cancer, thanks.” I dismiss.

“Hmm, these things cause cancer? Never knew.” He responds sarcastically, producing another cigarette from his pocket and placing it between the stone lips of our statuesque friend. He humorously tries to light it.

“You’re very cavalier about death.” I observe.

Ville smirks, and with a flick of his wrist gestures around him. “Look where we are; we’re all gonna die someday. Eat the apple, Eve.”

I angrily yank the cigarette from his mouth, take a drag and blow it into his face, before dropping it on the ground and stamping on it.

The smoke dances in the daylight, swirling around us until the only thing visible to me are his beautiful green eyes. We gravitate closer, intoxicated, and his lips find mine. He kisses me gently, sucking softly on my bottom lip.

He pulls back to look at me, now the smoke has subsided. My mouth falls slightly open at the surprise of his affection.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks down, seemingly shy. “Thank you for helping me the other day…”

“With the books?” I ask. “Oh, that was nothing.”

“It was everything.” He looks up again and paralyses me with sea green irises. “In a world where people are cruel and selfish, it means everything.”

I look down, kicking the dirt with my dusty cons, feeling ever so self conscious. My curtain of hair falls forward, obscuring my face. His pale hand reaches out to sweep my hair behind my ear. “It is criminal to hide a face so beautiful.”, he whispers. His fingers find my chin and guide my gaze back up to him. “Can I kiss you… properly this time?” I nod, unable to speak. His lips press against mine and his warm tongue sweeps between, requesting access. I part my lips and meet his tongue with mine. His hands explore my hair as I wrap mine around his waist, lost in his sweet kiss.

A sudden gust of wind blows, leading my long brown locks to wrap around us. We open our eyes at the sudden sensation. Ville chuckles and I giggle, as he presses his forehead to mine.

“The elements approve.” He grins.

“So does Maria.” I laugh, and gesture to the statue.

“Why Maria?” He cocks his head one side curiously.

“I don’t know, she looks like a Maria?” I shrug. Ville holds out his large palm and I place my hand in his as we continue our walk.

“So, um, why the cemetery?” I implore, inquisitively.

“There’s beauty in being laid… to rest.” He smirks and my cheeks feel hot. What exactly is he suggesting?

We continue our Summer stroll until the path comes to a sudden end. In front of us are hundreds of gravestones and far as our eyes can see. Acres of stone and marbles and offerings of flowers and colourful trinkets. It is as sad as it is beautiful.

I take a long breath as we look out into the distance. “I can see the beauty in death. It’s incredibly peaceful here.” I sigh. “Where to next? There’s no path.”

Ville looks down, “This is my favourite place to frequent when I’ve had enough of humanity. There are hundreds of souls here, listening, not judging.”

The wind continues to blow gently as I kneel to read a beautifully carved white marble headstone. “Here lies Marco and Maria. Beloved husband and wife.” My eyes widen. “Maybe her name really was Maria!” I say, masking my disconcert at this information.

Ville kneels next to me as I continue to read, “Michael and Evelyn, Vincent and Isobel… they, they’re all couples.” I look at Ville, wondering why he has brought me here.

“I call it Dead Lovers’ Lane… the point where the path ends and so does life.” My eyebrows raise in fearful anticipation. “I imagine this is where we can go, when we get tired of living.” He says, eyelids heavy and expression morose.

I cup his cheek in my palm in comfort and he smiles. “Well then…” I decide, interlocking the fingers of my free hand with his. “Let’s head down Dead Lovers’ Lane.”

[lorifragolina]

The brother of the bride

Hello! the fifth fic for the @harringrovesummerbingo is here! This time I read a post on facebook and thought, how can I Harringrove it?

And this is the result! I hope you like it!!

Title: The brother of the bride

Square & Prompt: A3 "Bare feet"

Rating: General

Word Count: 1471

Major Tags: fluff, first kiss

Summary:It's Max wedding, and Billy is the man of the house, in his duty of brother of the bride. Love is in the air, and would Billy have some of it for him? Read it on AO3

Billy fastened his cufflinks and smoothed his jacket for the last time.

Stunning, as always. He loved the sage tone of his tie, it really enhanced his eyes, although he would never tell it to the shitbird. He sprayed a last touch of hairspray on his already perfect curls, took the bouquet and left the room. 

“Knock knock, can I?”

He knocked to the room at the end of the hallway, and Max raised her head and smiled at him.

She was beautiful. Billy had fussed at every shop and try, but deep down he really enjoyed the dress hunting with his sister and that dress was absolutely perfect, silky and not too feminine as she liked, with some lace accent and the sage details. 

The bridesmaids were giving the last touches, and he went kissing Jane and Erica before hugging his sister tight.

“You’re beautiful,” he smiled.

She had her eyes lightly glossy, but she was his shitbird, after all.

“Did you have any doubts?” she looked at herself proudly in the mirror. 

“Absolutely not,” he kissed her forehead and gave her the flowers. Max nodded, looking again at them in the mirror.

“It’s time. You’re ready, Max?” Said Jane. She was the maid of honor, so she checked that everything was on its site and touched the heart shaped necklace she was wearing, matching the one Maw was wearing. They hugged and the bridesmaids went to the chapel to open the parade. 

Billy gave his arm to the bride, they walked giggling until the entrance of the chapel, then Max became serious and the music started. 

Lucas was already at the altar with his older brother at his side, and Billy shook the hand of both before giving a last hug to the bride.

“You are still on time to call it off,” he mocked, being sure Lucas heard too.

“Bitch,” giggled Max, and Billy took his site at the maid of honor's side.

The ceremony was intense and touching, almost all of the guests ended up in tears, then cheering and clapping, and finally they all got together to the reception.

Max and Lucas chose a hotel near Hawkins with a big garden and a pool that was welcomed on that hot day of summer. Billy greeted the guests, old and new friends of the couple, and he smiled when Steve came and stretched his hand. 

“Nice to see you, Billy. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the rehearsal dinner”.

“No, don’t worry, it was only for the close family. But I’m glad you can make it today”.

Steve nodded and reached more people to say hello to. Billy looked around trying to see who was his plus one, but he was cheering only with Dustin and Robin at the moment, so he sighed, turned his head and kept doing his duties as the man of the house.

He was a little drunk after enjoying the free drink a bit too much; he needed a smoke, so he stole a bottle of champagne, left the hall and walked alone in the dusk to the poolside, that was empty at the moment, all the guests were dancing to old songs he remembered from his teen era. 

He was happy for Max, although he kept pretending he didn’t like Sinclair; he had enjoyed all the preparation and even bear his sometime hysterical sister; he had been proud to walk her down the aisle, even if they lived already together for a long time: he felt his sister, and ok, even Lucas deserved a celebration of his love. Twelve years was a big, big goal indeed.

He reached the pool, took off his shoes, rolled up the trousers and sat at the side with his feet in the water. He giggled alone, flopping his feet a little, like a child, then fished a cig on his pocket, blowing the smoke at the sky and looking at the red clouds in it. 

“Hey”.

Steve emerged from the bushes at the bottom of the garden, with guilt in his face.

“Don’t tell me you were peeing out there, I thought you were trained to live inside,” said Billy.

Steve giggled nervously. 

“How funny, you didn’t change at all,” he answered, shaking his head. He pointed at the joint he had in his fingers.

“Well now you have been caught, come here and share. They are all busy”, Billy patted the spot at his side. 

“And don’t you dance?”

Billy pointed his cig too. “I needed a break.

Steve nodded, understanding. “Me too”.

Billy lit the joint with his zippo and Steve passed it to him after the first drag.

“So bland, Harrington, I remember you used to smoke stronger things, or my memory is wrong?”

Again, Steve giggled nervously. 

“I’m older now, a bad hangover lasts three days”.

“Oh, come on, we’re the same age and I can party all weekend”.

Steve laughed and they smoked a little in silence.

“So, Harrington,” Billy leaned on his hands looking at the sky, feeling the smoke kicking in. “I didn’t see your plus one, why didn’t you introduce me?”

“Mpf, you know very well I’m here alone,” Steve turned his face to look directly at him. 

“Oooh, too bad”.

“Stop mocking me, you’re here alone too”.

“Harrington, I’m here as the brother of the bride, I’m the man in charge and I suppose to be here alone, I’m on duty,” Billy snapped all the sentences in a really serious way, but stumbled a little in his words, and Steve bursted out laughing. “There’s nothing to laugh about, I’m serious”, he insisted, and Steve stopped giggling, looking at him with a strange look. 

Billy turned his face away, embarrassed, and reached for the bottle, drinking straight to the bottle. He passed it to Steve then and he had a good  slug too. 

“It’s funny,” he murmured to himself.

“What’s funny?” Steve stared at him again.

“Nothing”.

“Come on, dude…” Steve offered him the bottle again, and Billy chugged. He felt his head a little lighter and his guard was a little down.

“One… one of the last times we saw each other back in the day was… at your pool party in 1986, do you remember?”

“Yeah… we were drinking like this, and Max was everywhere with that damn Polaroid, she was so annoying… and look at her now… photographer for the National Geographic, and even married”.

Billy chuckled.

“I still have one of those photos,” those words felt between them, lingering in the heavy silence after. Steve didn’t say anything, and Billy chugged again. “I had a fucking big crush on you at the time, Harrington,” he giggled, looking the stars that began to appear in the sky. 

Steve held his breath for a time that seemed extremely long to him.

“I… I had a hard crush on you too,” he whispered. Billy suddenly looked at him, widening his eyes, and Steve blushed, lowering his eyes. “I… I thought you were so out of my league…”

“Bullshit,” said Billy with a gravelly voice. “You were out of my league… I was trash and you were straight”.

It was Steve’s turn to chuckle. “I filled up my senior year diary with you… and I still have that photo too,” he added sweetly, suddenly aware of what they had just confessed to each other. 

Billy was looking at the ground, blushing, 

“You… you’re mocking me,” said Billy.

“No… not at all. You have always been my secret crush”.

“And you have always been mine,” whispered Billy, his eyes glossy, looking finally inside Steve’s. 

Billy moved towards him, and Steve closed his eyes.

The shriek and the splash made them jump. They didn’t notice that the music stopped and all the guests were leaving the hall and the first bold guy had already jumped in the water.

Billy stood and lent a hand to Steve, helping him to stand again too. 

“Come on,” Billy grabbed Steve’s hand and they ran to the bottom of the garden, between an elegant group of trees, forgetting the bottle and their shoes.

The fresh touch of the grass on their bare feet made Billy cry and giggle, and they stopped, one in front of the other, looking at each other lovingly, an expectant smile on both faces.

“What if I asked you to marry me right now, Harrington?” Billy took him in his arms, raising his chin, terribly moved.

“I do,” answered Steve with a trembling voice. 

The kiss was the most magical, wonderful, amazing kiss both of them ever had, and it seemed to last forever. 

“I love you, princess. I have always loved you”.

“Me too, Billy. I have always loved you too, and I’ll love you forever”.

They kissed again, and it was even more stunning than before.

[dellalyra]

FAMILY FORMATIONS - THE PROPOSAL

Summary: The proposal.

CW: fluffy, fem!reader, nsfw but not like badlyyyy like a lil smutty

A/N: imma do the wedding too and all of the requests but this gave me brain ro

Recommended Listening:

Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier

Bartender - Lana Del Rey

After Hours - The Weeknd

Masterlist

Satoru walks back inside the door to the cottage and closes it behind him. He had a bag of all of your favourite snacks hiding a bottle of champagne and a box with your favourite cake from the small patisserie you both loved.

He had planned this ‘stay at home date night’ down to the very last detail, even having bought a new picnic blanket. He laid everything out on the blanket outside in the middle of the garden you oh-so-carefully tended. It was your pride and joy (second to Satoru and the kids of course), so it was the ideal setting for the evening. With it being only 7pm and mid-summer, the sun was still gently shining over the scene and the air was warm and balmy – he wondered briefly if Mother Nature knew of his plans for tonight and decided to help him out by making it perfect.

He knows you’re upstairs, getting ready for your date and he swallows his nerves and takes a deep breath. He wasn’t used to being nervous, he’d never had to be before. But fuck, was he nervous now. He heard Nanami’s sharp but reassuring voice from earlier echoing in his mind.

“Of course, she’ll say yes, Gojo.”

He patted his jacket pocket to make sure the blue velvet box was still there, double checked the blanket and food and the bottle of champagne hidden in one of your flower patches (are they lilies? Lobelia? No – lilacs. Yeah, lilacs. Hey he remembered!) and then found a pebble and tossed it at your bedroom window.

“Rapunzel, rapunzel let down your hair!” He shouted upwards.

The window flung open and a true, real life princess, his princess, poked her upper body out.

“With your height, I’m sure I don’t need to, can probably just crawl in.” You joked down at him.

He then sees you disappear and seconds later you appear at the back door, and god you were perfect.

Wearing a floral sundress, with a corset style top and falling just below your knees – the white dress was covered in tiny pink delicate flowers and Jesus did it fit you just right. As you strolled toward him, checking your flowers along the way – he noticed the swell of your breasts as they fell from the top of your dress and the slope of your neck, your hips swaying with the dress and the curve of your ass accented by the corset top of the dress when you bent to pick a rose. He shook his head; he’d entertain those thoughts and the tightness of the front of his trousers later on – fuck, he wanted to cage you and that delectable fucking body underneath him and make you squirm.

You smile as you reach him and he notices, as usual, you’re barefoot. The evening sun is illuminating how unbelievably bright you are and for a moment his breath is stolen from a chest because you have to be an angel to glow that much, surely?

You lean on your toes, kissing him on the cheek.

“Hi, ‘toru.”

“Hi princess. Take a seat.” He says as he gestures behind him.

You gasp in shock at the spread in front of you. All your favourites, strawberries, jam tarts, fairy cakes, some cheeses and cured meats and ooh the white chocolate and cherry cake you love along with a big jug of pink lemonade.

“Oh my god ‘toru! What’s all this for?! What’s the occasion?” You squeal, excitedly plopping down on the blanket and looking at everything.

“What? Can’t I just spoil my pretty princess for no reason?” He smirks, taking his spot beside you and popping a strawberry into his mouth.

“You always spoil me ‘toru, but this is extra spoiling!” You giggle, gripping his jaw to turn him to you so you can kiss his strawberry stained lips. He looked so fucking handsome shining under the sun, surrounded by colours and flowers and he was just so breathtakingly beautiful you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. His jacket was beside him, and the short sleeved white button down was unbuttoned a few buttons at the neck exposing the milky expanse of his chest and collarbone, and you spotted a dribble of lemonade making it’s way down the column of his throat and you just couldn’t help yourself – so you leaned in and kitten licked the droplet away, eyes coy looking at him through those fluttery lashes.

He couldn’t give in yet, even though he was sure he was tenting his trousers by now – he had to do this now, the timing was far too perfect.

This was exactly what was planned, not by him, but by you. 6 years ago, sipping vodka lemonades on the moonlit roof with all four of you together – long, semi tipsy conversations about hopes and dreams being shared with giggles and far-in-the-future promises. You had said as Geto asked (with a sly wink towards Satoru) how you’d want to be proposed to. Only just in your second year, you and him had been pining for each other for a year – but were still nothing but best friends. You’d talked about how you wouldn’t want anything over the top, no photographer or audience (you fake gagged at this), just you and whoever (in your head, it was Satoru), you’d want to be outside, isolated, you’d want a unique ring, nothing outlandish or gaudy and you didn’t want overdrawn, long winded speeches or declarations of love – just the simple question. That was your dream proposal, and he memorised the details right there and then – determined to be the one who made it reality.

After 20 minutes of snacking and chatting away and giggling about everything and nothing, you started telling him about your plans for your butterfly garden at the back corner, and the moment came as you turned to look in that direction and he knew in that moment that you were everything and more to him, alight with happiness and passion.

He softly said your name, then poked you in the ribs.

You turned to poke him back but froze.

He was leaning toward you, broad shoulders turned to you and celestial eyes staring into your very soul and in those long, elegant, powerful hands was a tiny open blue velvet box, the gold clasp sat atop the lid. On a matching cushion inside it – sat the most beautiful piece of jewellery you had ever seen, like something from a magic fairytale. Tiny filigree gold housed a shiny marquise diamond and two dainty sapphires on either side.

You froze and sucked in air in shock.

You looked up to his eyes again, seeing nothing but sheer love, sincerity and pure adoration reflected back at you.

“Marry me?” He said, boyish smile lighting up his face at your reaction.

You shook out a breath, you didn’t need a second to think so you just lunged at him and wrapped your hands around his smooth cheeks and crashed your lips into his, you felt his arms around your waist pulling you onto his lap and you couldn’t pull yourself away, tears beginning to wet your cheeks.

He pulls away first, hand firm on your waist.

“Is that a yes, then?” He smirked, very proud of himself.

“It’s infinite yes’s, ‘toru. It’s yes in every universe, yes forever.” You giggle out through tears, peppering his face with tiny kisses.

He grabs your hand and then slides the ring onto your finger, a perfect fit. Was that why Shoko insisted on borrowing some of your jewellery last weekend?

He smiles up at you, bright and blinding.

He cradles your face in his hands.

“My beautiful, incredible, amazing, sexy princess, my angel forest fairy – I can’t wait to call you my pretty little wife.” He says, pressing kisses into your neck and sucking marks into your exposed décolletage.

“I can’t wait to introduce you as my devilishly handsome, kind and loving husband Satoru.” You reply, hands gripping his hair and pulling slightly, making him growl into your chest. His hands grow firmer on your hips and your centre is guided to move along his solid length beneath you.

“Fuck, my little wife, so fucking pretty. God, and you’re all mine.”

“All yours, ‘toru, and I always have been. Aa-ah, fuck baby, more – please, upstairs.” You whimper, breathless and full of love.

At that, he scoops you up bridal style and begins to stride back to the house, stopping to tell you to reach into you lilac bush, you pull out a bottle of champagne and throw your head back laughing at him, to which he just lets out a chuckle and a cheeky smirk takes over his face.

“It’s hydration, gotta practise for our wedding night, the house is all ours and I’m not letting my fiancée leave the bed for at least two days.”

[umaficwriter]

“You know, I don’t remember ever opting to be the odd man out,” bitterly she declares. Her back to him as she goes through his books.

The library reverberating the sounds of the French Quarter down below.

Elijah didn’t want to say he was the one who did so.

Katherine turned around slowly, her movements somehow calculated, so to now go out off of script. The memories and hurting still too fresh not to have every syllable rehearsed.

“I heard you go for your brother’s leftover now, but haven’t you always?” Elijah felt the venom dripping from her tongue. He had hurt her and she was striking back.

Katherine wouldn’t only let him cop out from their pro missed seis in the dark, vulnerable and truthful to an extent somebody has yet to witness coming from her.

“Now you’re only aiming to cruelty, Katerina,” Elijah tried his hands in his trousers’ pockets, not moving from his spot across from her, on the other side of his study.

She scoffed, her hair moving from one shoulder to the other, the ringlets shone with the sunlight signalizing the twilight.

She clicked her tongue “guess I’ve founded the club she heard oh so great things about,” her feet moving sideways, the long fingers adorned of well-manicured nails touching the end he of his table, as to testing its quality.

“After all, she worked for me when we were together, before you leave me in order to…”

She wasn’t going to say it.

“Maybe she wanted to know you better after we-“

“You’re not being fair-“ he interrupts her.

Half laughing, mockingly no less, she strides the few steps that separate them both, invading his personal space, she stares into his brown eyes.

“You don’t deserve fairness, Elijah,” her hand touching his suited chest “you threw that away when you left me in Mystic Falls,”

He looked sideways.

“You didn’t leave me any choice,”

“And how’s that, hm?” She questioned chin up, eyes shining with something he couldn’t pinpoint. “You threw our second chance away, like it was nothing!” Her fists now in balls holding his jacket. “You didn’t even spare me a glance, gave me the choice of following you!”

Pushing him way, Katherine turned around taking a. Deep breath. She willed herself not to cry.

Elijah still said nothing. He never considered she’d have.

Regret started growling into his chest like vice. The fire of chagrin burning like the sun, flooding his heart and mind as what ifs swirled behind his eyelids at every blink.

“I never-“ he started tentatively “you never left my chest, Katerina”

Katherine sneered blinking rapidly and turning around to face the Original again.

“You left me, instead, right? How dare you even consider it romantic or noble?” Pointing a finger in his direction she continued “you left me standing safe and sound, so you say, but you broke me!” Her voice louder now.

He shook his head facing the hardwood before saying himself “you think you never did just that to me?!”

Disbelief washed her features, how dare he?

Nodding, the fake smile contoured her next words “maybe we both drew blood Elijah, but you can’t say those cuts were remotely equal, because they weren’t,”

“I tried to save you, back then, but you ran!” Defending himself he approached her but Katherine stepped back.

“You’re a coward!” Accused “never even considered you should inform me of things instead of assuming you already knew my opinion,”

“And how on watt was I supposed to know when you Dan from me at every chance, Katerina?” He questioned his hands coming to comb his hair back, pulling at the edges. “If at every chance I got to catch you, you ran further?”

“I was afraid of you!” She confessed and that made me pause in mid stride.

He looked at her astonished, it took him an instant to completely process what she’d just said.

“You killed them…” the feminine whisper broke him as soon as he connected the dots.

Katerina thought he’d been the one who killed her entkre family back in 1492.

The realization broke something inside of him. For all their almost encounters and after that their brief plenitude, had she suspected he had been the one to murder her relatives? If so, how had she bared to even look in his face?

“I could never…” he professed almost begging her to believe him.

Her eyes sought his as if to be sure he spoke the truth.

“I could never…” he repeated and slowly approached her form. Fingers touching her shoulders first, sliding down her arms, pulling her to him.

His words were disavowal go all her accusations.

He would never love another.

He would never wrong her purposely.

He could never.

[wistfulcynic]

here in the land of mud and fire

every time i think i'm done posting gentlebeard fic, some new interesting event crops up and my fingers just start typing. This particular folly is for @ecclesiasticallatinfest and their Continental Challenge. It's a two-shot set in Azerbaijan, a country that spans Europe and Asia. First part posts today for Europe, part two will arrive on Tuesday for Asia.

this is by far the most self-referential thing i've written for this fandom. i lived in Azerbaijan 2013-2014 which is when the fic is roughly set. Ed's thoughts and feelings here are basically my own. There's also references to other places i've lived and visited, all real except for the sea turtle sanctuary which does not exist. There is however a Sea Turtle Museum on Kume-jima in Okinawa and it is worth a visit.

aside from all that the fic is basically just a meet-cute, a silly adventure, then sex. Boom, bing, bang.

5k for the first part, rated M

-

“…and I still can’t figure out how to get out to Qobustan!” 

With a crisp, economical movement of shoulder, wrist and elbow, Ed makes his shot. The tip of his cue hits the eight ball at precisely the angle he’d intended but Ed doesn’t watch to see if the ball sinks into the pocket. He knows it does based on that angle and on the sound of Izzy’s irritated huff, but Ed’s attention is elsewhere. 

Specifically, it’s on the blond who’s just entered Hops Pub—an only slightly dive-y sports bar near Fountains Square in Baku, popular with locals and Baku’s tiny expat community alike. The blond fits in here about as well as a cut diamond might in a handful of gravel but the man himself doesn’t appear to notice this, or much else around him. He’s gone to stand at the bar now, wearing a turquoise jacket and a bitchy expression, mobile phone pressed to his ear, actually tapping his foot with impatience as Ilya serves other customers. His hair frames his face in flawless golden waves and the pleat in his trousers could cut glass. 

Ed’s fascinated. 

“Another game?” he vaguely hears Izzy say. “Fang, rack ‘em up. Ed? Hey? Edward! You up for a rematch?” 

“Nah.” Ed doesn’t spare him a glance. His eyes are otherwise occupied. “Let Fang have a go.” 

“C’mon, Ed—” 

“He’d just kick your ass again anyway,” Fang points out. Ed chuckles as Izzy splutters. 

“Perils of playing pool with an architect,” he says absently. “We’re all about the angles. Hey, I’m gonna go to the bar, you guys want anything? My round.” 

They all accept of course and Ed heads for the blond. Er, the bar. He heads for the bar. If in doing so he comes extremely close to the blond, well. The man is standing right in front of the bar. Which is where Ed heads. 

“A taxi?” the blond is saying as Ed settles in beside him with his forearms resting on the familiar scarred wood. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that already? None of them are licensed, I don’t think there even is such a thing as licensing here, and the minute the drivers see me coming they form a sort of wordless pact to quote me absolutely absurd sums. It’s pure corporate collusion is what it is.” 

Ed catches Ilya’s eye and indicates with a gesture he’d like another round of their usuals. Ilya acknowledges this, then attempts to catch the eye of the blond. Who entirely fails to notice him or indeed anyone or anything else in his immediate surroundings.

 “What do you mean what was I wearing?” he demands in a testy voice. “The same things I always wear… Well, in this particular instance it was my teal jacquard… No, Lucius, I cannot ‘just wear different clothes’. My clothes are the only clothes I have… No, I didn’t repack after Osaka, why would I… Obviously I brought a proper adventuring outfit but I’m hardly going to wear that until it’s actually time to go… Well, yes, I believe there is a shopping mall around here somewhere but Lucius I simply refuse to lower myself to the gruesome depths of poly-blend suits just to get a reasonable taxi fare. There are limits… No, I’m sure there’s got to be another way.” 

By now Ilya is all but waving his arms in the air to get the blond’s attention and at last he succeeds. “Oh, yes, um.” The man blinks, apparently only just coming to the realisation that he’s in a bar and certain social customs must be observed. “A mojito please, if you have that.” 

“Of course.” It’s impossible to tell from Ilya’s straight face or toneless reply whether he’s annoyed or not but Ed rather suspects he is. “One ‘mojito’, coming right up.” Oh, he’s definitely annoyed. 

Ed shifts his body so he’s facing the blond directly and observes him with unabashed interest. Predictably, it takes him a moment or two to pick up what Ed’s laying down but once he does his reaction is deeply gratifying. His eyes widen, then travel slowly from Ed’s face down his body and back up to his face again. Ed unleashes his most mercilessly sexy grin. The man swallows visibly.

“Lucius,” he says, “I’ll call you back.” 

A tinny voice from the phone’s speaker squawks in protest then is silenced as the blond cuts the call. “Hello,” he says to Ed. 

“Hey,” Ed replies. “So, I heard you say you’re going to Qobustan.” 

“Trying to.” The man pulls a face. “I didn’t think it would be quite this hard.” 

“Yeah? What are you finding hard about it?” 

“Well, my original plan was to hire a car and drive there myself. But I’ve been travelling a lot in the past few years you see and in all the confusion of being away from my usual routine I sort of… forgot to renew my driving licence. Turns out it’s been expired for six months.” 

Ed makes appropriately sympathetic noises and the man continues. “So then I thought, well, surely there will be a bus. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site! But, well.” 

“Yeah, mate, there’s no bus. Not outside Baku.” 

“Which I soon discovered. And then finally there were the taxis.” 

“I heard what you said about the taxis.” Ed can’t keep the amusement from his voice. “You’re absolutely right about them, they charge foreigners extra and you’re probably the most foreigner they’ve ever seen.” 

The blond gives him an odd look, a sort of bemused scowl. “I can’t tell if that’s an insult,” he says. 

“Wasn’t meant as one. Just a statement of fact. There’s not a lot of Western tourism in Baku so most of the foreigners here are Russian, Georgian, or Turkish. The ones that aren’t are probably oil rig workers or English teachers. Hardly surprising they haven’t seen anything like you before.”  

The blond sighs. “I actually get that a lot.” Ed believes him.

Ilya sets Ed’s drinks down on the bar then with exaggerated ceremony places a beautifully constructed mojito on a bar napkin and slides it over to the blond. “Sir’s mojito,” he says, deadpan. “Ten manat.” 

“Oh, right, um—” The blond begins to fumble for his wallet. 

“Put his on my tab,” says Ed in Russian. “Спасибо.” Ilya nods curtly and turns to the next customer. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” The blond picks up the mojito. “I’ve got manat of my own, you know. I didn’t come here entirely unprepared.”  His lips purse around the stripy straw in his drink as he takes a sip and Ed is momentarily distracted. 

“Wait,” he says, once his ability to produce language returns. “Do you speak Russian?” 

“Understand it mostly. Read it a little bit.” He shoots Ed a little smirk. “See? Not entirely unprepared.” 

“And did you know they spoke Russian in Azerbaijan before you came here?” 

The blond’s cheeks pinken. “Not precisely.” 

Ed starts to laugh. 

“Look, I know! This whole trip is a mess. In my defence I’m actually very good at what I do but the logistics surrounding my work are not something I normally have to manage. That’s my assistant’s job but he’s been down with the flu for two weeks and I’ve had to muddle through on my own. Not very well, apparently.” He gives a rueful shrug.

“Why don’t I take you to Qobustan?” Ed offers, casual as you like, as though this is merely a friendly gesture and not the object of the plan he’d formulated about three seconds after first laying eyes on this man. As though it were not the opening salvo of what he hopes will be be a quick and successful campaign to get himself into those sharply pleated trousers. Figuratively speaking, obviously. Pleats are not Ed’s style. 

The man looks taken aback but Ed can see he’s also considering it. “I don’t even know your name,” he says. 

“Ed Teach.” Ed holds out his hand. 

“Er.” The blond takes it in a firm and confident grip. Something ignites low in Ed’s belly. “Stede Bonnet.” 

Ed nods, swallows, forces himself to withdraw his hand. “Well now that we’ve been introduced, Stede Bonnet, can I give you a lift to Qobustan? Tomorrow’s my day off.” 

“Really?” Stede brightens. “On a Thursday? That’s a bit of luck.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

Tomorrow’s not Ed’s day off, of course. He doesn’t really have days off. But what’s the point of being the fucking boss if you can’t skive when you feel like it? Life is short and there are shiny blond men to fuck.  

“Well, if you’re sure it’s not an imposition,” says Stede. 

“Definitely not.” 

“And you aren’t some sort of deranged killer?” 

“Never on a Thursday. That’s my day off.” 

Stede laughs. It makes his eyes sparkle and his nose crinkle, exposes the line of his throat as he tilts his head back. Ed wants to devour him. “Then I’m delighted to accept your generous offer,” he says. “Thank you.” His beaming smile lights up the dim pub and Ed’s insides alike. 

“Cool,” Ed manages. He’s cool, everything’s cool. “Can’t wait.” 

continue reading on AO3