#I am not an eloquent woman but I'm tired of looking at this so I guess it's time to post | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butmakeitgayblog · 3 years ago

Note

I love the cruel intentions au so much and I don’t even like the movie. I absolutely reread the snippets when I have a bad day just to glean some confidence from those messy bitches. That make me feel like I’m too nice sometimes.

I like the movie but only because it really is so fucked up. Like on levels I hadn't even really considered when I was younger but now as an adult I am horrified

Anyway speaking of messy bitches let's see Clarke be really messy shall we (angsty and be prepared to possibly not like Clarke for a lil bit but meh)

//////////

Sometimes it feels crazy having this thing on your finger.

Particularly in the moments when you're going about your day and forget all about it, until a twist of your hand catches the light and sets off a riot of color.

If it were on anyone else's hand you'd probably dismiss it. Call it tacky and nouveau.

Certainly would never admit how bad you'd want it for your own.

You'd honestly never thought of yourself as a big diamond person. Size wise at least, respectively. Apart from never having really thought you'd end up married to begin with, just the idea of carrying a goddamn boulder this size around om your finger had been laughable once upon a time.

But you do have to admit.

Lexa'd truly outdone herself.

And what's worse, you find yourself showing it off fucking everywhere. You're horrified that you might actually be becoming one of those girls you absolutely cannot stand.

But you just... can't seem to stop yourself.

Secretly, you don't want to.

Not when Lexa looks so stoically pleased with herself each time you get a chance to shove it under an admirer's nose.

You figure she's earned that much.

Because the diamond is flawless, and the setting is disgustingly divine, and your heart still goes a little gay and pounds with the knowledge of just how long Lexa must've searched for it. How many stores you knew she must've shut down to search in peace until she'd found the only ring her pretentious ass would feel proud to slip on your finger.

It's not about the pomp of it or the carat count for her, that you know without doubt. And it certainly wasn't the price tag, shockingly, having figured out it'd set her back when you'd snooped. It'd barely been more than what you'd paid to redo the bathroom of your condo-- because you love that woman with your entire heart but there still wasn't a prayer's chance in hell you were about to share a sink with her. And besides, the job was basically chump change compared what she spends on clothes alone, so actually--

You're losing your focus.

The point has always been, she knows you. And you really do have to hand it to your wife.

She really doesn't half-ass one single thing.

So you don't bother yourself with breaking the habit of delicately tracing your neck in a way that draws attention to the rock.

"You really are a cunt for managing to marry someone richer than you who actually has good taste, you know that, right?"

You chuckle as you swallow a mouthful of champagne and thankfully don't choke.

"Intimately."

"Spoiled as shit and a fucking nightmare on good days, you of all people land the heir to the Woods empire, and you didn't even have to suck any old man balls."

"Not recently at least. You're eloquent tonight," you note absently with a tilt of your head and another sip.

"I'm bored of this fucking city," she sighs and gestures around the bustle of the room with her own champagne flute. "It's nothing but vapid East Coast socialites with more money than class, and I'm tired of having to pretend to be awed by them."

"Nothing shocks them anymore," you agree with a hum, and you suppose you feel a bit sorry for her. You know since you've settled down with the girl of your dreams she's kind of been flying mostly solo at these things.

Which is sad, because if there were ever actually a person you'd considered a friend, it probably would have had to been Raven.

But you shrug and sit back. Let your gaze wonder over her. Let your lips fall into a smirk when she stares back just as dangerously.

Sometimes you wonder why you never tested the boundaries of your questionable friendship during your single years, because she really is quite stunning.

You don't feel bad for appreciating her.

You're married.

Not dead.

Maybe it's time to shake off the dust on you're wingman credentials.

"You need to get laid," you decide.

"Getting laid has never been the issue."

"Oh right. Wasn't fucking vapid socialites on your Princeton application?"

"Eat me."

"Tempting," you smirk with a flit of your brow, a habit you'd picked up from the woman somewhere off schmoozing. "But alas, this mouth belongs to another. You'll have to find different hieress to make a buffet of, I'm afraid."

She rolls her eyes and lets her gaze wander the ballroom stuffed with the better part of the northern hemisphere's elite.

And just as you're toying with the notion of ordering a fresh drink, the sharpness of your friend's smile catches your attention.

"Or," she drawls in a dulcet purr, "I suppose I could just try my hand at stealing yours."

Your face screws up in confusion before you can stop yourself as you try to recall exactly how much this silly bitch has had to drink.

"Yeah, good luck with that. Have you seen this cleavage tonight?" you ask and eye her while waiting for the punchline to drop.

But she grins on with evil satisfaction, rests her chin on her knuckles and keeps her eyes locked somewhere beyond you.

"I don't know, Clarke. She certainly seems to be keeping her options open to me," Raven says with a delicate tip of her glass. "Perhaps I should throw my hat in the ring. Now wouldn't that be hilarious? If I were the one to steal her away?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" you finally snap beneath your breath to warn her she's nearing a personal line.

As though that's ever stopped either of you.

"She looks cozy."

You turn at the simple lift of Raven's chin, following her eyeline up and over your shoulder.

"Though I suppose that makes sense. As if I could get in the middle of those two. Mah! Don't know what I was thinking," you hear Raven say through an amused noise, something akin to a pop of laughter.

You remember why you've never actually considered her a friend.

Because you ignore her and watch your wife toss her head back in a song of throaty laughter. The kind that usually makes your every nerve ending feel on fire.

But you can't hear it from this distance, and it's not being directed at you.

All it does is make you feel sick.

"You know, I was shocked when they broke up," Raven continues through the fog of something dark coiling low in your belly.

Something you haven't felt in years.

You grit your teeth and force the words out as calmly as you can manage. "Is that so?"

She hums and you can practically hear the thrill in it.

"We all were," Raven breaths as though divulging a heavy confession that is undoubtedly at odds with an unseen gleam in her eyes. "Tragic, really. I mean they always seemed so in love, those two. She really couldn't get enough of lil Cos."

You tighten your fists in your lap at the familiar nickname to hopefully ebb the urge to slap her.

Because that's entirely bullshit.

But also... entirely not.

Because you remember that year and a half when they'd dated, and you remember how happy Lexa had seemed. You remember their secret smiles, and how she'd been the one Lexa had paraded back and forth to her bed. How the noises at night had sounded downright obscene. And you remember how softly she had spoken of her the few times your parentals had actually asked.

How it was like you hadn't even existed from the very second they'd kissed.

But you also remember how cold Lexa had been when Costia had ended things, when she had said they were moving in two different directions. When she'd said they just wanted fundamentally different things out of life and that she needed things Lexa couldn't give.

You also remember how Lexa had chosen to rebound by discreetly fucking everything in a skirt that lived on the upper Eastside.

You'd hated Costia from the start but you're old enough now to know that wasn't her fault.

Except sitting there watching her shuffle a step closer to your wife, lay a hand on your wife, smile and bat her lashes at your fucking wife... had you forgetting exactly why that was.

And on top of all the reasons you'd hated her to begin with, she'd broken Lexa's secretly delicate heart. And a transgression like that was simply unforgivable, so, logically, now you hate her more.

So all things considered you really can't seem to comprehend why Lexa is nodding and taking her hand to lead her out onto the edge of the dancefloor.

"You have to admit, they make a beautiful couple."

"Shut the fuck up, Raven."

"Oh c'mon," you hear her chuckle behind you through the din of clinking glasses and shoes on hardwood floors. "Don't kill the messenger. I thought you knew."

"Knew what, exactly?"

"Why everyone was so astonished when you actually managed to get her to marry you, of course."

You wheel around and stare at her with a razor-edged glare.

"I mean... besides the obvious," she shrugs at your wordless question, but her words drip with scandal. "Everyone always thought they'd find their way back to each other in the end. I mean they had talked quite a lot about getting married eventually. Everyone assumed they just needed some time to grow up. Get a few indiscretions out of their systems... Surely you knew that."

You're initially proud of yourself for tempering any sort of response, opting to remain perfectly still despite her obvious glee.

But somehow you realize too late that saying nothing is apparently worse than saying anything at all.

Christ, being in love has made you go soft.

"Oh, dear," she simpers when you don't move an inch. Gives you a pitying smile and reaches out to pat your hand as she rises from her seat. "Apparently not."

And you're glad she's out of swinging distance, because, no... no you had not.

"Well," she breathes and scoops up the shawl that'd been draped across the back of her chair. "I'm sure I'm just being silly. Anyway, it's been lovely catching up, Clarke, but you know? I think maybe you're right. I will go look for my own heiress tonight. Leave you two lovebirds to your wedded bliss. Oh, and tell Lexa she did a beautiful job for me, won't you? Whenever she, um... remembers where she left you."

Your jaw tightens as you accept the bump of her cheek against yours because what the hell else are you supposed to do.

Because anything else would only give that bitch all the more ammo for next time.

You sit there in silence and blot out the tinkling sounds of the festivities around you. And you hate that after all these years, Raven finally managed to find your weak spot. Hate it only slightly more than actually having one to begin with.

Your body feels numb and your eyes strangely burn when you turn around and look back out at the dancefloor.

You watch Lexa's smirk dissolve into another laugh when she gives her ex an elegant dip.

There are so many things you love about yourself.

Things to take pride in and feel exalted over the rest. Things some may find offputting or attributes to be fixed, you like the darker parts of yourself that you choose not to restrain.

But in the moment, watching her nod and lean closer in some hushed conversation, one hand wrapped up tight in another that is distinctly not your own, while the other sits low on Costia's back... all you can feel are the ugliest pieces of you bubbling up to the surface.

The room suddenly feels too hot and, Jesus...

No. Fuck this. You're definitely not about to cry here of all places.

Because while you might be having a lot of... blegh, feelings at the moment, Clarke Griffin-Wo--...

You don't lose your control in public.

You're up out of your seat with little in the way of a plan. Toss back the remnants of your lukewarm champagne and hand it off to a passing waiter, only to grab a fresh one from the next bowtie-clad person you fly past. It does nothing to cool you off when you down half of it in one go as you very calmly make your way up to the pair seemingly lost in their own world.

"Hello."

You paint on the best approximation of a smile you can manage and want to knock the answering one off hers when Lexa's head snaps around at the clipped sound of your greeting.

As though she's surprised to see you here.

It makes the blood in your veins boil.

"Oh, there you are, darling," she has the audacity to say as though she's positively been looking for you everywhere.

But you're not looking at her.

You're looking at the face you hadn't seen in six blissful years. And it's not hard for your mind to kick up all the loathing from your questionably shared past.

She's still unfairly beautiful, older and somehow more gorgeous for it, and in another lifetime you know damn good and well you would've asked for the skincare routine with a smile.

But in the moment, looking at her annoyingly perfect skin and cheekbones that could end your life just makes you feel...

Destructive.

There's an awkward lull as you glance between the pair with wide, burning eyes.

Lexa frowns and tilts her head toward her dance partner. "Darling, you remember Costia--"

"Oh right!" you burst out as though it's all just come together and ignore her when Lexa's eyes immediately narrow. "I thought you looked familiar. How ridiculous of me, of course. And here I was thinking Lex was dancing with some random stranger."

Lexa stiffens as Costia chuckles and godammit you hate how lyrical it sounds compared to your own. "Don't worry, it's been awhile."

"Hm. Too long," you smile with a sharp glance at your wife. "And yet somehow not long enough."

"Clarke--"

"So, how have you been, dear CC? It's been some time since you've graced us with your presence."

You relish in the pleasure that curls through you when every drop of Costia's warm welcome falls away.

You can tell she's barely containing an eyeroll which, honestly you wish she would try you with one right now. "Actually, I was just telling Lexa about how I only got back into town yesterday. I've been traveling."

"Ah, yes, I seem to recall hearing something about that."

"But of course, when I heard about Lex's little event tonight," she grins and looks at your wife, "I simply couldn't keep myself away."

Oh.

Oh this bitch is testing the very last shred of your patience.

"Yes, I know the feeling," you say through a sneering laugh, lifting the hand holding your drink in a way that shows off your ring. "Good thing I don't have to, hm?"

"Cos was just telling me--"

"That sounds so lovely for you, though," you cut in over whatever Lexa has to say because just the sound of that name rolling off your wife's tongue has you irrationally ready to fuck someone up. "The traveling, I mean, of course. Some people thrive on that kind of lifestyle, I suppose. The routeless, listless kind of running from one obscurity to next. Others of us prefer to lay down roots, though. You know, build a life. Stability. Loyalty. I'm sure you can fathom that in theory, yes?"

"Clarke."

She says it with a snap like a whip and, yeah, you've decided you've had just about enough of this too.

"Well I can see when I'm intruding, so I'll leave you both to it. But it has been a treat seeing you, CC," you say with a brilliant smile before knocking back the last half of your drink and shoving the empty glass into Lexa's hand. "Have fun, ladies."

You're gone before either of them can utter a another word.

The fact she doesn't follow only makes you feel worse.

/////////

Ten more minutes.

That's what you've been telling yourself for last forty-five.

Ten more fucking minutes then you're gone for good.

Because it's a little after midnight and you've already embarrassingly cried twice, each between bouts of treading grooves into the seven thousand dollar wood grain of your bedroom floor.

And frankly, you're over it at this point.

Over feeling like a child. Over feeling like some idiot wife waiting for their spouse to come home. Over playing through one sickening mental image of the evening after the next.

A part of you knows you potentially overreacted and you'll eventually apologize for that through a mediator you're sure, but for now, you're more than happy to stew in a pool of self-righteous rage.

It'd been hours since you'd stormed out and slammed the door of your waiting limo. Since you'd slammed the door of your condo as well and the one to your bedroom just for good measure. Been hours since you'd left her there staring stiff-jawed after you with little more than a silent dare.

And she still wasn't home.

And you're still stupidly waiting.

And pissed off and fed up and so goddamn sick to your stomach.

You hate yourself for how pathetic you were.

Are.

And you rest your head in your hands and wonder if... you wonder if this was how your mom used to feel--

You suck in a gasp tangled with a growl and shoot off the foot of your bed before you can even finish the thought.

Because you'd rather burn the world down with Lexa smack dab in the middle of it before ever letting yourself be as pathetic that bitch.

The quiet spurs on your movements as you throw your personal walk-in closet open and grab the same piece of luggage you'd initially used to move in. You toss it on your bed and snatch up a few things at random because fuck Lexa and fuck Abby and fuck Costia's entire fucking face, and--

"Jesusfuck!"

You clutch a balled up fistfuls of underwear to your chest and pant through your startle when you turn around and see green eyes staring back.

She leans silently in the doorway, arms crossed and resting her weight on her shoulder, and she looks so ethereal in the soft glow of the rooms dimmed lamplight that it makes you physically ache.

You stand frozen as her gaze pulls away from your own, drops to the clothes still clutched to your chest. Slide to the luggage laying open in disarray on your bed, then back to you again.

"Going somewhere?"

You scoff at her lazy tone and find your rage all over again as you storm back over to the bed.

"What are you doing, Clarke?"

"You're a smart girl. I think you can figure it out."

You can practically hear her jaw grind from across the room.

"I'm surprised you're even here right now," you continue to push in your anger, shooting her a snark laced smile when her eyes follow your every move.

"... We live here."

"Oh, I'm aware. But you seemed to be having such a wonderful time, darling," you sneer just to twist the knife. "I'm astounded you managed to drag yourself away."

She stays silent as you pick through your closet because you're intent on leaving with only the pieces you came with.

It's not until you've got most of your blouses collected and laid out on the bed that you hear the click of her heels step up behind you.

"You embarrassed me tonight, Clarke."

You whip around so fast you damn near loose your balance, but still manage to yank back when she almost reaches out to steady you.

"That's fucking rich coming from you right now, Lex," you laugh and shake your head. You stare at her for a quiet moment and feel sick with the weight that settles in your stomach at her silence.

You move to step around her but she doesn't let you get far. Steps in front of you to cut you off and bring herself closer.

"You embarrassed me."

"Aww. Well, I'm sure Costia was right there to lick the wounds."

Your stare unimpressed when her head rears back, when her mouth drops open in apparent shock.

"I'm not--... Tonight was important to me, and you weren't there," she seethes barely above a growl and you chose to ignore the wet sheen that suddenly coats her eyes. "I hadn't even given my speech yet when you left. Do you have any idea how it felt to stand in front three hundred people and thank my wife for always being there for me, and not have you be there?"

"You're good at riffing, I'm sure you managed."

"Why are you acting like this?" she says again it tears at you, the way she's almost pleading.

"Are you fucking joking, Lexa?" You practically shove past her on your way to your dresser. "You looked like you barely even remembered I existed when I walked up. You were all over her tonight."

"I wasn't!" she grinds back in a yelp. "I haven't seen her in years. We were catching up!"

"Oh right, my mistake. I'm constantly fawning over every ex I 'catch up' with."

She releases a strangled noise and follows hot on your trail when you double back toward the bed.

"I wasn't fawning over her, Clarke. She was just telling me what she's been doing. I haven't seen her in six years and, in case you've forgotten, she was my friend long before we started dating."

"You don't have friends, Lex. You have people you know, people you date, and people you've fucked."

"And you have any room to talk?" she snaps and there's a sick feeling of satisfaction that goes along with it because she can't even argue that fact. "God, Clarke. Have you forgotten exactly who you were before we got together? How you act now? Since the day we met it's like it's been your personal vendetta to drive me insane, and now you're going to hold it against me because I maybe flirted with someone?"

You slam down the folded shirt in your hands and send her a glare, because there's no fucking way she's that dense.

"Not someone. Your ex."

"I just wanted--"

"Then go!" you finally explode as the remaining clothes tumble from your arms and you round on her. "Jesus Christ, then just go. You have my blessing, okay? If that's what you needed, if that's what you wanted, what are you waiting for? Go, Lex! Go fuck her till sunup for all I care, but at least have the decency to not expect me to just be sitting here waiting like--"

Your chest is heaving when you cut yourself off and you feel sick at the way she blanches. But the ugliest pieces of you want her to hurt as much as you do and she's quiet so long you feel your legs shake.

"What?" she finally breathes and it sounds so small and lost. "Clarke... What are you talking about?"

You don't think you've ever heard that voice out of her.

"Apparently you actually do think I'm an idiot, but you can't possibly have thought I was that dumb when you married me," you angrily push on anyway and struggle to keep your lips from trembling. "And, ya know, it's on me. It really is, because I had forgotten--... But then seeing you two together tonight, it was like six years ago all over again. Watching you two, it was like... fuck. I have been such an idiot. Of course."

"Clarke, I don't-- Cos and I broke up--"

"You two didn't break up," you remind her and want to be sick as every insecure thought tumbles out. "She broke up with you. But what if she hadn't?... Where would we be? Where would I even fit in your life, because tonight it sure as shit didn't seem like anywhere."

You sniffle and feel horrified with yourself when she just stares at you, and all you want to do is jackknife out of the window.

If they... actually opened.

"All I've thought about is what would have happened if she hadn't broken up with you," you admit when the silence gets too heavy and wrap your arms around yourself, shielding yourself from her in a way you haven't needed to in years. "You never even noticed me until after she ended things. If she hadn't broken up with you, we never would've made that stupid bet, and you never would've wanted me. And seeing you together reminded me how happy you were with her. That I only got you because she was too stupid to see what was right in front of her, and I just- I can't be... I can't be the woman who knows she's her wife's second choice."

The quiet of your bedroom is so loud you can hear your own heartbeat and still, you can't make yourself look at her.

Because you know whatever must be waiting there, etched in that breathtaking face, holds everything it would take to kill you.

Goddamn, being in love with her really has made you soft.

She doesn't even sigh when she passes you. Either ignores or misses the way you flinch when she ghosts her fingers along your arm. You hear her sit heavily on the end of the bed and the following rustle and thunk as she unceremoniously shoves all your things off the side.

"Sit with me," she commands in words so soft they barely break the silence.

"Lex--"

"I know you're angry, but I'm still your wife... We at least owe each other this."

You toe the edge of rug beneath your feet but give in and lower yourself a few inches away from her.

Her hands sit motionless in her lap as she stares out across the bedroom, and you glance to her in time to see her bite the full swell of her lips.

"I like rules," she starts quietly. "Not other people's, but my own. I've always made rules for myself because they keep me on track. They keep me going and keep me sane... but most importantly, they keep me safe."

You let your eyes wander over her and still, after all these years together, the sight of her always takes your breath away.

"When my dad died, I made a rule for myself. Or... more of a promise, I guess... I swore that I'd never let myself love anything as much as I had loved him. Not as a memorial or anything as foolish as that," she cuts in with a tiny shake of her head when you move to speak. "But because I never wanted anything to be able to break me like that did... I never wanted anything or anyone to have that kind of power over me ever again. I swore to never need, or love anyone the way I loved him because I knew I wouldn't survive it a second time."

Her throat bobs in a thick swallow and you don't bother stopping yourself from shifting closer despite yourself. Despite your lingering anger, you ache to reach out for her because somehow you know she's giving you parts of herself she never intended to.

"I was basically a kid when Cos and I dated," Lexa exhales with a tiny shrug. "And as much as I cared for her, I always kept that promise while we were together. Easily, actually. I had no delusions of what she meant to me, and while, yes, I did want to be with her, part of it was because she only ever had half my heart. I loved being with her because I knew she could never break me... Honestly, that's why I was more pissed than heartbroken when she dumped me... But still, I survived losing her."

Your heart races when she squares her shoulders and turns to you, eyes bright and alive as they take in every inch of your face. You swallow when she tentatively reaches out and takes your hand. Move with her when she tugs you closer.

She's near trembling when she laces your fingers together and her next words hold such intensity her body seems barely able to contain it.

"Clarke, I wouldn't survive losing you."

It lands like a suckerpunch.

It always does when she says such things in that perfectly Lexa-way. In the that way that somehow settles in your chest with a warmth beyond the words themselves. And where some would need more, would need promises and slavish bumblings of devotion, she manages to fit all that and more into those simple little words.

And, yeah, you'll still be a little pissed about it later because it never fails to take every last bit of wind out of your sails, but part of why you love her is because she means exactly what she says.

Even more the things you know she doesn't feel strong enough to say.

"I'm sorry," you hush and lean into her, nuzzle her neck as she wraps an arm around your waist. "I shouldn't have acted that way, and I'm sorry, baby."

"I'm sorry for making you feel the way I did," she says into her hair where she's buried her nose to breathe you in. "I didn't realize, but I should've. If it were the other way around, I would've been angry too."

You pull back and look at her, reach out and tuck a flyaway back. "Yeah?"

She snorts and gives you a look that you can practically hear say, 'Don't play stupid'.

Fair enough.

"I'm still sorry I acted like an ass."

"Just say something to me next time," she soothes with a grin. "Or at the very least have the decency to drag me to the an empty room and fuck me before you leave."

You bark out a laugh because she really has always been a better planner of such things and you guess hindsight is twenty-twenty... or something like that.

But the point is you feel stupid, but mostly stupidly loved because even when you're awful, she's always somehow gentle with you.

"What happened after I left?" you can't help but ask because apparently you're a glutton for punishment.

"I asked her to leave."

Your brows shoot up at that. "You did?"

"Of course," she hums and brushes her nose against yours. "She kinda treated my wife like shit... She was antagonizing you. I didn't appreciate it, and so I told her I thought it'd be best if she left."

You sigh and shake your head.

"Couldn't have told me that sooner?"

"Our torrid drama aside, you're always kind of fun to fuck with."

"Fuck you," you laugh and press your smile to her cheek because for every bit as bad as you are, she's such a pain in your ass sometimes. "I love you, ya know."

"I had a feeling," she says with a haughty smirk and kisses your lips so softly you ache. It's barely a few pecks between speaking, but you feel them all over. Her kisses always make you feel alive. "Now I'm gonna go wash my face. I'll be back in a minute. And when I am, I expect you to be naked."

"Why?" you chuckle as you chase her lips when she pulls away but let her go when she stands.

"While I'm glad we've found a resolution to our problem, Mrs. Woods," she says sternly and fuck that voice is all business, all sharp edges and teeth, and you know exactly what it means, "the fact is, you were quite the little cunt this evening, weren't you."

And you know there's probably something genuinely wrong with you because her talking that way shouldn't turn you on the way it does.

Because Lexa's not much for taking charge. Prefers to be supple and dripping around your fingers at any given moment. But she knows, always knows, exactly when you need her to take control.

To remind you exactly who each of you belong to.

"I mean really, darling. Throwing a tantrum. Missing my speech. Ridiculously pretending to move out."

Your stomach flips at the darkness in her derisive laugh and you love how she makes you feel like she owns you.

"So. I'm going to go wash my face," Lexa cooes and slowly unzips her dress, letting it pool at her feet in front of you. She bends down, rests her hands on the swell of your thighs and you damn near moan at the feel of champagne sweetened breathe. "And when I get back, I expect you wet and ready for me. Because I'm going to fuck you with my mouth until you beg me to stop... And if you do well, I will consider letting you use the strap."

She traces a finger under slacked hang of your jaw and smiles wickedly when she gives your nose a solid tap.

"So I suggest you do as I say."

/////////

#kismetcanbiteme #cruel intentions au #cruel intentions snippet #morning 🥴

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alloverthegaf · 6 years ago

Note

So you said you wanted prompts so here's one I tried to write but never did because I'm not a good writer and also I'm lazy: *So the idea is that person A is a barista and person B learns A's hours and come in specifically to see A and order something complicated and annoying. And give A a hard time. But today, A is already having a bad time.* anyway if you want to try that haha

I like it and it’s perfect for Merthur which is not something I generally write but hopefully @dementorsatemysoup will get a kick out of it?

There’s a lot of swearing, mostly a horrendous abuse of the word ‘asshole’, and it cuts off very abruptly because it kept going longer than I meant it to and I ran out of patience lmao but hopefully you like anyway

The first time the Handsome Asshole, as he comes to be known in Merlin’s head, enters the cafe where he works is something of a prophecy for how their relationship is destined to go. He steps up to the counter, six people waiting in line behind him, and proceeds to order quite possibly the most complicated, douchiest beverage Merlin has ever had the displeasure of making. He lists off no less than eight modifications for his coffee, and though Merlin has two years of practice with his customer service smile, he can feel it getting tighter with every specification. Clearly, the Asshole who is Handsome is oblivious to Merlin’s - and his other customers’ - impatience, because he then goes back and lists it all again to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. Merlin assures him, through gritted teeth, that he’s got it all written down and will take extra care not to forget anything, and takes a moment to compose himself before he takes the next person’s order.

Despite the unfairly attractive man - tall, toned and beautifully blond - being an unequivocal douchebag, Merlin does his best to get the ludicrous order right, but they’re understaffed, it’s 8am, and there’s a horde of uni students who are about five minutes away from moaning for brains.

He gets the order wrong, and boy does he fucking hear about it.

It doesn’t stop the man from coming back, though. Two days later he’s back, this time at 4 in the afternoon, and Merlin could swear his face lights up with evil glee when he sees who’s behind the counter.

“Think you can get it right this time?”

Now, Merlin understands that the main reason he even has this job is because his uncle runs the place. He’s very grateful to Gaius for hiring him, and he knows that every time he mouths off to a customer it’s Gaius that has to hear about it. He never actually means to bite anyone’s head off, but he’s never been so great at keeping his mouth shut around bullies and the “think you can not be a prat this time?” slips out of his mouth before he’s even processed the words in his head.

Handsome Asshole’s eyes widen to saucer size and while a part of Merlin is panicking and already trying to think of a way explain this to his uncle, the rest of him is doing a mental self-five. He wishes he had his phone on him to take a photo of the guy’s expression. Maybe he’d print it out. Stick it on one of the front windows.

In the end, he doesn’t get abused. The man orders a flat white with two sugars and doesn’t say another word, but he stays as he drinks his coffee, and Merlin swears he can feel eyes on him the entire time. He waits, afterwards, for the inevitable dressing down from Gaius, but it never comes. Asshole must not have complained after all. Huh.

Maybe he realised he was being a prat after all.

But then, one week later, Handsome Asshole is back and apparently determined to up the ‘Asshole’ levels. His order seems twice as complicated as the first one, and he changes his mind about what syrup he wants about three times. Every time he does so, his smirk grows just a little wider, a little bit more smug, and Merlin can practically feel his blood levels rising. He considers getting it wrong on purpose, just to inconvenience him, but it’s pretty clear by this point he’s just being difficult on purpose so Merlin devotes every ounce of his concentration to making it perfect.

Judging by the surprised look on Handsome Asshole’s stupid handsome face, he succeeds. Mentally, he starts a tally in his head. Counting their first meeting, he sees it as 2 - 1 with him in the advantage. It’s his turn to smile smugly. Asshole looks at him with something like contemplation.

From there the pattern is set. At least three times a week Handsome Asshole - or HA for the times when Merlin’s too busy to properly mentally insult him - comes in and orders something ludicrous. It’s different every time, and every time Merlin makes sure he gets it just right. It comes to the point where Merlin neglects other customers’ orders in sake of HA’s, and as soon as he realises this he curses the man, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Every time the man sips his coffee, or tea, or iced double whip soy latte with extra foam and two straws, and that expression crosses his face, Merlin feels like it’s a win.

Then comes the Very Bad Not So Good Day, as Gwen refers to it, or Absolute Shitfest, as Merlin prefers. It’s exam time for the uni students, and their milk wand is playing up, and a toddler knocks her babycino (and why is that a drink, Merlin thinks as he’s hurriedly mopping it up, just give her a goddamn juice box), and then a woman wearing gold and pearls like a bird that’s collected too many shiny things for its nest yells at Gwen and very nearly makes her cry, and Merlin has just. Had it. With this day, with this job, with humanity in general, Merlin is done, and he’s trying to gather the strength to last the two hours he has left of his shift while squeezing Gwen’s hand in comfort when the Asshole - because Merlin’s not feeling charitable enough for the ‘Handsome’ part today - strolls in like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Merlin takes a deep breath, lets go of Gwen’s hand with a final squeeze, and steps up to the register. He stands tall as Admittedly Still Maybe Slightly Handsome Asshole walks up to the counter and opens his mouth to no doubt make his day twenty times harder, and Merlin just snaps.

“No.”

Asshole stares at him. “Excuse me? No?”

“No.” Merlin knows he should backpedal, excuse himself, just take the damn coffee order and spit in it when no one’s looking like any normal person would do, but he’s started now and he can’t seem to stop his mouth forming the words. “No, I will not make your skinny cap with three sugars and an extra half shot, or your mochachino at precisely 82 degrees temperature and four marshmallows, no, you don’t get a half-water chai latte with no foam and a dash of vanilla, no, okay, no. I’m done. I have had the day from hell, I am tired, my friend is crying in the back, and I’m about two seconds from throwing a mug at someone’s head, so no.” He breathes in, long and deep, and lets it out, taking advantage of the stunned silence. “I’m willing to do a flat white. One regular, plain, no frills flat white. I may throw in a spoon of sugar if you agree in the next five seconds.

To his utter shock, the man nods. “Okay.” Suddenly, it’s Merlin’s turn to stare. The man’s looking serious for about the first time since he ever stepped foot in this cafe, and is watching Merlin with dark eyes, calm and composed.

“Okay,” repeats Merlin dumbly, “okay.” He turns to start the very simple, very plain, very… boring coffee order.

“Is your friend okay?”

“What?”

Handsome Asshole cocks his head in gentle enquiry, and fuck, fuck if Merlin has stop calling him Asshole then all he’s got left is Handsome and he can not deal with that - “you said your friend’s crying. What happened?”

“Oh,” Merlin says, confused and unsure where to step in the face of this suddenly caring and apparently nice man, “uh, yeah, she uh - just, a customer was really awful to her, a few minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry,” is the man’s answer, and okay, what?

“Seriously? You’re sorry?” Merlin sets the mug down on the counter with a hard clunk and the man flinches as the coffee spills over the sides. “You’re sorry? You’ve been making my life hell since the moment you came in here but someone else gives one of us crap and now you’re sorry?”

“To be fair, I’ve only ever given you crap. I’m always nice to Gwen.”

Merlin throws his arms up wildly. “Oh, well, in that case.”

He hears an inelegant snort and stares at Very Handsome Asshole who is poorly hiding a grin behind one hand. Merlin channels his Uncle Gaius and raises a very unimpressed eyebrow. “Okay, seriously, what’s the deal? Why have you got it in for me?”

“I don’t,” is the reply, as the man lowers his hand but leaves the grin in place. “Not, uh, not like that, anyway.”

And that - that just makes no sense to Merlin, who responds with a very eloquent “what?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but you’re incredible entertaining when you get all riled up.” Merlin opens his mouth to give an improvised but impassioned lecture on the morals of riling up service people for fun when he quickly adds “and cute.”

Merlin thinks something in his brain has fallen out of place. “What?” he says again, because apparently that’s what his vocabulary has shrunk to.

“Your ears get very red,” the man says, and the high points of his cheeks seem to flush in sympathy. “And your eyes get kind of wild and you start biting your lip and, uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. It’s the first time Merlin has ever seen him act self-conscious. “Well. Couldn’t help myself, I suppose.”

Merlin stares at him. And stares. The staring goes on for so long that the coffee sitting ignored between them goes cold. Finally, as if only just managing to register what was said, he exclaims “you’ve pissed me off for near three months because I’m cute?!”

Some of the other patrons look over curiously at the rise in volume. Handsome Man shifts uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. “I’ve been told I’m not so good at flirting.”

“You think?”

#merlin #Anonymous #merthur #small fics #my writing #dementorsatemysoup

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hsj-scenarios · 7 years ago

Note

LOL you guys make Ryosuke seem like such a perfect man. Good with girls and everything LOLOL so! I'm gonna be a joke and request a one shot or anything. With Ryosuke having a crush on the reader and being a nervous and clumsy prick about it lol. Don't get me wrong. I adore Ryosuke but 🤣 Sometimes I like to see him being a cute loser LOL mods~ お願いいたします！🤣🤣

( Note: Keito ghost wrote this request. – Mod L )

Today was the day.

The dressing room mirror illuminated the idol’s face as Ryosuke surveyed his own appearance, paying little attention to the stylist who had already currently been working on it. He had to look the best of the best today. No wrinkles in his clothing, no blemishes on his skin untouched by makeup, and certainly no flaws in his hair. Today, he wasn’t going to be working with just anyone on the drama that he was filming for. He was working with the object of his long standing crush.

You.

Though, actually, ‘working’ meant that by chance he was working with an actress; of whom you were the private assistant. Also, ‘today being the day’ honestly meant that today had to be the day that he needed to make a move – this being the last day of recording.

For five months, the time it took to record the series he had pined over you from afar. You were just too cute to avoid. The veteran actress you were working for, Ishihara Satomi, was a kind employer, though it was obvious you had been new – at least to working under such a celebrity. Your diligence in pleasing Satomi was endearing and cute, and Ryosuke was also able to first-handedly witness a sweet friendship budding between the two of you through the months.

If only life could go that well for him.

The best he could conjure up, socially wise, whenever he got close to you was a ‘hello’ and even then he was severely prone to stuttering. Actually, he was convinced that you thought he didn’t like you. It was too often he tried to hide his quickening heart beat and sweating palms around you, so he would put on a mask of indifference. Had he ever smiled at you? He couldn’t remember. Still, you would be nothing but smiles whenever he came your way.

That smile. That was the cause of his stuttering.

“Yamada-san?”

He could remember the first time he’d laid eyes on you now.

Knocking on Satomi’s dressing room door, he’d only meant to go over a few pages of the script. Not to catch a case of heart flutter at the pretty face that greeted him instead of the actress. The door opened and his heart nearly stopped, brows raising upwards.

“Uh…” Is Ishihara-san here? He’d meant to say.

Your own eyes went wide before putting on the brightest smile he’d ever seen. “Ah, you’re here for Ishihara-san. Am I right? Please, hold on.” You turned before he could say more, not that he could even have raised the gall.

“Uh…huh.” He dumbly managed to finished, script in his hands held tightly. His feet were practically glued to the floor, even when Satomi motioned for him to come in.

A perplexed look on her face, Satomi tried to urge him into the room once more. “Yamada-kun? Yamada-kun…?”

Nodding stiffly, he inched his way into the room. His head felt light and stomach weak, instantly regretting his decision to be a workaholic and want to know the lines more throughly. He should’ve just stuck it out on his own. “I-I apologize for intruding,” He apologized. “I’m just, uh, stuck on how my character is supposed to come off on this part and I,” Shit. Once again, he hesitated. Against his better judgement, his eyes kept trailing back to you as if you hadn’t already discarded the conversation and been preparing coffee for Satomi. “I wanted to ask your opinion, Ishihara-san.” He rushed the last words.

A confused look crossed the veteran’s face as she glanced from Ryosuke to her personal assistant, though neither of the two were any the wiser. The former’s eyes on the latter and the latter in their own world, trying to determine how much sugar to put in Satomi’s coffee cup.

The actress gave a soft smile. “You know, Yamada-kun, I see you haven’t lost that cute innocence of a teenager.” She chuckled.

“Eh?” At that, Ryosuke was muddled. “I-I’m sorry?”

Satomi brushed his question off, shrugging. “Heh, it’s nothing. Please, sit down.” Gesturing to the chair next to her, she wait until he was situated to turn to her assistant; who had just given her the cup of coffee. “Here, let me introduce you. This is my assistant; ____.” She glanced up at the other. “Obviously, you already know of Yamada-kun.”

“Yes!” You turned your gaze to Ryosuke once more, who had perked up in his seat. “It’s nice to meet you, Yamada-san.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Palms already sweating, he could only conjure up the most basic of greetings as seconds went passed. Say something else, something inside him was egging on. Still, his mouth once again remained shut even though Satomi allowed him the timeslot to say more.

Suddenly, the floor was very interesting.

“Yamada-san?” The stylist prompted him out of his thoughts. “You’re done.”

He had to double take at the woman, no aware that she had finished or even called his name. Honestly, after remembering the time that he met you – and the various, similar, meetings after that – he hadn’t felt so confident in himself anymore. “Oh…Thank you very much.”

Pushing the intruding thoughts of you aside, he took on the work day as he would any other one; giving it 110% of himself and being nothing but professional. Still, there were moments when you caught his wandering eye and he was reminded of the goal that he wanted to accomplish at the end of the day. Getting your contact information. A number, an email, something so you wouldn’t disappear from his life.

The only other person who knew how bad he had it was Daiki, who’d told him to just go for it and talk to you. You’re going to finally talk to them on the last day? You’re already too late, the other group member had laughed at the ace’s confession – to which Ryosuke had lightly shoved his shoulder. ‘I’m not brave like you!’ He had told the other.

It was imbedded in his mind. For so long, he’d strayed away from the thought of romance and dating. It was simply off limits as an idol. Even when others would slyly hide their relationships, he was too paranoid about ruining everything that he’d worked for. Now, when he finally wanted to take a chance, he seemed to have had forgotten how to even flirt. Or, talk eloquently at all.

‘You and Ishihara-san have so much chemistry!’ Someone had told him once.

If only they knew that said chemistry was only possible when he pictured you in his mind.

Tired of slipping in between serious and lovestruck sap, he was grateful when his long awaited break finally came along; moving to sit in his chair near the set.

“Yamada-san?”

Your voice brought him harshly back to reality, missing the chair by a few inches and falling to the floor. His script fell from his hand, and it the floor with an embarrassing ‘thud’. A few other members of the production turned to see where the noise had come from, some laughing at the idol who’d just fallen on his butt.

You gasped, quickly reaching out to help him up. “Oh, no…Yamada-san, are you okay? I’m sorry, I must’ve taken you by surprise…”

To be honest, yes.

It was hopeless. He knew his face was the color of a strawberry by now. Call him Ichigo for real now. No, actually, just bury him because he was dead. He hadn’t felt such a level of wanting to be invisible since he started high school. Actually, could he go back to high school and warn himself that this would happen in the future? God, take him now.

“It’s fine.” Trying so hard to play it cool, he disregarded the hand held out to him and brushed himself off. Waving off the staff that had gathered, he tried to defuse the situation and save what little face he had. “I’m fine! It wasn’t your fault.”

Turning to sit firmly on the chair that he missed previously, he hadn’t noticed the spurned expression on your face before you quickly fixed it. “Well,” You continued, shooting a glance behind yourself before looking forward again. What he had noticed was that your smile was weaker than it usually was. “Ishihara-san had nothing for me to do, so she asked me to see if you needed help with anything.”

“She…” Eyes widening, Ryosuke pointed to himself. “Me?” His words were anything but put together and he was all too hyper aware of the fact. Why wasn’t he as suave as the character he was playing? He searched for Satomi among the crowd of people, spotting her going over something with the director. Catching his line of sight, the actress merely shot him a wink.

She knew.

Needing something to do with his hands, he brushed the pages of his script with his fingers. This was happening. There was no Satomi to mediate, no passing you in the hallway (no bumping into a wall after attempting to speak to you), and nowhere for you to really go as there was no work to be done right now. This was it; he was alone with you.

His mouth felt dry.

“C-Can I have some water, please?” How’s work been today? He’d meant to say.

His foot tapped nervously as he admonished himself for chickening out already, seeing your retreating figure from the corner of his eye. He hit his forehead. Stupid, stupid…

You were like lightening, back at his side within a few seconds with a water bottle in hand. “Here you are! Oh, wait…” An anxious look crossed your face as you retracted the bottle. “Uh, did you want cold water or room temperature?” You looked on, genuinely wanting to know his answer, and he felt the heat rising at this chance to study your features so closely.

Ryosuke stared at you for a few moment before covering his face with a hand, not wanting you to see the rising blush on his face. You were cripplingly beautiful, at least to him, and his heart couldn’t handle it. Then just say that, you idiot! His mind reminded him, though his vocal cords would’t comply. “Whatever you have,” He forced. “I’m sure that it’s alright.”

“If you’re sure…”

He took the bottle that you tentatively handed over, taking a grateful sip. It was cold, just as he subconsciously wanted, though his throat still felt parched. The painful silence that followed didn’t help. His hands were getting sweaty as well, taking him back to the first time you met. He hadn’t been with you this long since then, forgetting how weak you made him.

‘You haven’t lost that cute innocence of a teenager.’

Satomi was right, he felt as if he were some flighty, lighthearted, boy again.

‘Talk to her!’ Daiki’s voice rang in his mind this time.

Today is the day! Was his earlier thought.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before deciding to act. He was twenty-four, for goodness sake. He didn’t plan on being single forever, so he had to tackle his awkwardness at some point. He hadn’t wanted you to disappear from his life and today was the last day he would see you. Ryosuke had to act now, especially when Satomi made things so easy for him. He’d have to thank her later.

“So–”

“Yama–”

He stopped, eyes wide. The two of you had spoken at the same time, exchanging glances with reddening faces. Giving a shy laugh, Ryosuke gestured for you to go first. “After you..”

You shook your head, gesturing back to him. “Please, you can go.”

“No, uh…” Finding himself at a loss for words yet again, he shook his head and watched as you conceded to being the brave one.

You wrung your hands together before placing them behind your back, reminding yourself of the professional setting. “Well, are you sure that you’re alright with that? You seem a little on edge.” Realization crossed your face. “Or, maybe you wanted to be alone? Oh, I’m sorry!”

You moved to leave before he quickly out a hand. “Wait!” He said, louder than he meant, though no one else but you had heard. “Um, no, it’s really fine. I’m just…not that great with words.” Glancing around the room, he made sure that no one was watching as he stood and motioned for you to follow him into the hallway.

Standing at opposing ends of the hall, a few feet away, Ryosuke felt like he had asked his high school crush into the hall to confess. Honestly, it was too early for confession. What he wanted to say was an ‘I want to get to know you better’, but the words felt so heavy on his tongue. How did an idol go about asking a commoner out anyway? He didn’t even like that word; commoner.

Placing a hand in his pocket, he shuffled to and fro anxiously before steadily keeping his back to the wall. “Sorry if this is all confusing or weird, but…Uh,” He shook his head, glancing from you to the floor. Looking at you was too hard. If only you were the one he was acting with, it would so easy to imagine you as a character. At least, that way, he could disconnect himself from the conversation in some way. Turn on a switch and become his own character, spouting sweet lines about how he wanted to meet you for lunch and talk.

Still, he was Yamada Ryosuke; more average than people knew.

Less than average in some areas. Hence now.

As if sensing the situation, he noticed a light in your eyes seemed to turn on.

Oh, no. He wanted to crawl under a rock once again. You were probably going to tell him that he was a weirdo, or that you were taken, or that you didn’t even view him in that way. All were understandable, but hurt nonetheless.

The smile that he loved on your lips was long gone, and an ‘o’ shape formed instead. This was it, where he got his heart stomped on and crushed. Where he would mark it as the day that he could’ve spared his own feelings by keeping to himself. He should’ve just–

“Yamada-san,” You began. To small relief, the smile had been slowly forming on your face as you went on. Though, this time, it was shier. Sheepish. The light in your eyes was a glimmer of sweetness; a fondness. “Forgive me if this is forward. But, would you like to go out for lunch sometime?”

It was like the last string of his sanity left, before the whole thing reattached itself all over again.

His head nodded before his words agreed, wanting to get his feelings out to you as quickly as possible. “Uh-huh. Yeah, I’d love to.” His mouth moved before his mind caught up. “I mean, yeah! Actually, there’s this cafe that’s really good…”

Eyes all on you now, you laughed as his personality seemed to do a 180 turn and some new confidence arose within the man.

“Uh,” Taking out the object that sat in his pocket, he handed a card over to you. It was different from the card he gave to some, with his private phone number instead of business. “Here,” He gave a short laugh, mostly from reassurance. “I’d love to talk to you more. I wanted to speak with you during these months, but…” Think of an excuse, think of an excuse. “Hah…You know how work goes! Plus, disturbing you and Ishihara-san wouldn’t be any good.”

Well, it was partly the truth.

You did the same, giving him a business card that Ryosuke relished in taking.

This was it. He’d accomplished his goal. He spoke to you for more than two seconds. There was a new pride that swelled inside of him as he promised to call you within the next few days. A happiness sparked at the idea of spending time with you in a casual setting, where he wasn’t an actor and you weren’t Ishihara Satomi’s assistant. He was going to get to know you, his crush.

And, he couldn’t wait to shove it in Daiki’s face.

‘Too late’ his ass.

#Anonymous #yamada ryosuke #hey say jump #hey! say! jump #drabble #did i do good? lol #mod l

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