#I know technically it should be a skirt/dress instead of pants but I like the design with pants better

[bigbrainbiology]

Another WiP bc I can't get over the tragedy that is OG Penelope </3

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

inventory, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You’re missing a piece of inventory from your erotica shop. Surprisingly, you find it in the same day. It’s around your boyfriend’s neck, who also happens to be your sub. Hm, well, you have to act accordingly, don’t you?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; non-idol!AU; dom/sub dynamic; feels and there’s a decent bit of buildup; smut (mirror kink, spitting, cock ring usage, cock-slapping, scratching, spanking, vibrator use, overstimulation, edging, m-masturbation, cum eating, f-receiving oral); fluff; noona dom!reader x sub!Jungkook

technically part iv of ‘customer service’ series, but can be read alone

–

customer service part i | part ii | part iii

-

Jeon Jungkook was a problem.

Technically, your problem.

You tapped your pen against your recordkeeping book. No one was in the store. It was the middle of the week. Not usually the time to get freaky. People got freaky on the weekends. You usually spent these times doing the boring stuff. Setting up the deliveries for the rich customers that purchased clothing from you. Cleaning the store from top to bottom and finding some interesting fluids in interesting places. Typical. Answering emails, accounting, taking inventory. You were missing one piece of inventory, but those things always turned up eventually. You weren’t worried.

Eh, wasn’t a big problem.

Your big problem was Jeon Jungkook.

He wanted to be exclusive. Okay. He wanted it to be a relationship. Slightly less in your comfort zone, but you were willing to give it a shot. Unfortunately, Jungkook also wanted one more thing.

He wanted you to lose you temper at him.

Now, there were several things you, personally, did not do anymore. And number one on the list was losing your temper. You did not want to be in power and actively angry at the person you were fucking at the same time. It was dangerous. It was irresponsible. You’ve gone too far before and hurt your sub. You weren’t going to repeat it.

Not with Jungkook, no matter how much he tried to rile you up.

And he tried. Disobeyed you outright. Talked back. Taunted you. It took a lot of your skill and redirection to focus his attention elsewhere and not at his ultimate goal of pissing you off so much that you used sex as a weapon, because quite frankly, that was a fucked-up thing to do and you were not going to do it. You would rather leave than become that.

You told him this. You told him that he should not try to provoke you, especially not this early in the relationship. His body couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t handle it mentally, and you didn’t want to end up emotionally and sexually abusing him, even if it was an accident. Because it was your responsibility to not do that and you took that shit very seriously.

Jungkook had agreed reluctantly and he still tried.

Sigh.

You rubbed your forehead. If he was an experienced sub, then maybe you could be less strict. But he wasn’t. And yeah, maybe you were a little scared. Because your last relationship had ended very, very badly, because you had gone too far and your sub had been too scared to use the safe word even when it was too much and that really, really fucked you up. You regretted it, even after all this time, even after all the apologizing, even after your sub had forgiven you, multiple times.

You had never forgiven yourself for it.

The whole relationship had fallen apart because of that one time.

After that, you didn’t really date. All you did was have one-night stands with subs you already knew. It was easy having sex with no strings attached. Now you were dating Jungkook. Yeah, that. The dating bit. It was messing you up. It was making you overly cautious. You didn’t want to repeat your mistakes.

You let out a tense exhale.

You didn’t tell Jungkook about this, mostly because you didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to admit your sub had been too scared of you to use their safe word. You were ashamed. Scared of yourself and what you were capable of.

Sometimes, when you thought about it, you wondered if you should stop. Give up on the dom/sub thing and have vanilla sex instead with some nice guy who had a normal job and raise some babies and fucking chill out. Seemed nice. Life wasn’t about needing a power complex when being intimate after all. You could have a perfectly satisfying sex life with two people in equal power. Could even still be kinky without the whole ‘I’m the authority and you have to listen to me’ thing.

Yeah, well. Before you could commit to that, Jeon Jungkook decided to fucking seduce you in your own damn sex shop.

You placed your hands on your head and let out a big sigh.

Damn you, Jungkook.

-

You found your missing piece of inventory.

It was around Jeon Jungkook’s neck when he opened his apartment door for you.

Your face was completely neutral, one hand in the pocket of your black trench coat. The other holding your black leather briefcase. Underneath the coat, you wore a simple floor-length black skirt. Black heels. Nothing but your face and hands uncovered. In one second, you took in every detail upon seeing Jungkook.

One, his long black hair was tied back, his bangs framing his large brown eyes. Two, he was wearing a little bit of makeup. Slight amount of eyeshadow and liner, lip balm to make his lips pinker. Three, he was wearing a very low V-necked black t-shirt that was quite obviously meant to show off his shapely collarbones and sculpted pecs. The ink-black tattoos in his right arm stood out against his tan skin. Fourth, he was wearing leather pants – not the ones you made him, that would be indecent exposure showing up to the door like that – but, still, black tight faux leather trousers that he half-tucked his shirt in so his crotch was visible.

And.

Fifth.

He was wearing a black leather collar around his neck, one with a large silver ring hanging down at the center. It had silver studs with in the shape of a diamond pattern punched into the leather. It closed in the back with a silver buckle.

How did you know this?

It was your missing piece of inventory, of course.

You clicked your tongue.

“Oh! Noona,” Jungkook said nervously, biting his lip.

You little shit, don’t you ‘oh, noona’ me. You almost turned around and left. Almost. Irritation was putting it mildly. You were pissed. He had stolen from your shop. Became an actual fucking thief to get a rise out of you. You two weren’t going out on a date. It was already late, so both of you had intended on having a nice night in. He’d dressed up for it, as one does. Made himself pretty for you to ruin. Jungkook knew what he wanted. And he wasn’t being subtle about it, wearing the stolen inventory right in front of your face the second he opened the door.

He wanted you mad and he wanted you mad from the start.

You did not look at the collar. Instead, you stared into his eyes, furious internally, but completely placid on the outside. His brown orbs were observing you in anticipation. He wanted it. Bad. You had refused to let him cum last time because he had talked back to you. That was a week ago. You wondered if he had jacked off or not. You put no such restrictions on him even though he asked you to. You were curious on how far Jungkook was willing to go, so you let him choose.

And, clearly, Jungkook choose death.

Just kidding. But he was really testing you here. And so, you made up your mind.

You waited, raising an eyebrow.

Jungkook flushed and backed up, holding the door with two hands.

“C-Come in.”

You stepped inside, heels clicking on the hardwood. Jungkook closed the door behind you. The large, floor-length mirror was in the living room again. The incident in the fitting room must have really had an impact on him. Maybe he was developing a mirror kink because of it.

You felt Jungkook slide up next to you, his breath against your ear. Shallow, needy, already horny. You weren’t surprised. Nobody dresses like that and doesn’t want to be fucked.

“N-noona…” He was making his voice desperate and breathy, already submissive for you. “I really missed you.”

“That’s lovely to hear.”

You kept your tone light, no pet names, stepping out of your heels and walking towards the couch. Jungkook followed you like a shadow, still chewing on his lip, messing up his own hard work of making himself pretty for you. You placed your briefcase on the coffee table. He hovered as you undid your trench coat slowly, pulling open the tie and unbuttoning it deftly, fingers dancing on the placket.

“I can help you?” Jungkook offered, holding his hands out.

Your eyes gradually lifted, locking your gaze with his. You saw him visibly shiver in excitement.

“No need.”

You saw Jungkook pout as you slipped out of the coat, one arm, then the other, revealing the white dress shirt that was neatly tucked into your black skirt. It had pleated detailing down the front and silver collar pins, completed by the silver cuff links you used to close the sleeves. You folded the coat elegantly and laid it over the back of his couch.

“Are you mad, noona?”

You want me to be mad. Thankfully, at this point you had calmed a little. Yes, Jungkook was an idiot for doing such a thing, but he wasn’t doing it because he was trying to hurt you or actually steal from you. Maybe it was something he’d seen or read in porn. Maybe it was something his brain devised because he felt some weird need to prove to you that he was a good and obedient sub, because he knew you had previous partners and he wanted to outdo them or something. Maybe he wanted to see how much of a dom you really were.

And, most likely, it was all of those things.

“Jungkook.”

This time, you said his name with a sharper tone.

“Y… yes?”

You turned your right hand upwards, entirely aware of the placement of your fingers. Pinky, ring, middle curled inwards. Index up, thumb out. Poised, elegant, almost haughty. You flicked your cuff link, straightening the backing to slip it out. It was a diamond-shaped accessory, completely unnecessary for everyday life and completely necessary to force Jungkook to wait on you one more second. One more heart-stopping moment.

You glanced at his crotch. Hm. Interesting. Then you blinked and your eyes were on his. Hair hanging around his cheekbones, pupils dilating, swollen lips parted as he let out light pants of desire. He was slowly but surely losing it.

Maybe it was because his erection was suffocating in his leather pants.

You twirled your cuff link in your fingers. Jungkook watched the action, entranced by the dexterity of your digits. You knew what he wanted. He’d been texting you all day, trying to work you up. You had made him wait. Just like how you were making him wait now.

“What is your safe word?”

That was the question you used to start off the scene.

Instantly, you saw the relief, the hunger, the absolute need to serve flood his dark brown eyes. Now you were the dom. Now he was the sub.

“Euphoria,” Jungkook nearly moaned.

You nodded slowly, placing the cuff link on his coffee table. You upturned your other wrist, removing the other with a swift flick. You heard him whimper at the quick action. You almost smiled. He really wanted it. Ah, but you are a bad, bad boy, Jungkook. The metal clinked as it touched the walnut wood of the tabletop.

And there are consequences for being a bad, bad boy.

Your gaze connected with his once again. His eyes were practically begging for instruction.

“You look like you want to ask me something,” you drawled. His teeth sunk into his lower lip once more, the tiny mole underneath winking at you. “Go ahead.”

His eyes flitted about, trying to search for the trap. He swallowed, straining against the collar.

“Do… do you notice anything different about me?” Jungkook asked hesitantly, taking a step towards you.

You didn’t move from your position, observing him closely. His hands by his sides were antsy, itching to touch you or be caged with rope. You hooked your thumb at the base of your cuff and rolled it down. Once. Twice. Three times.

“You’re wearing makeup for me,” you replied, letting a small smile drift to your lips.

“A-ah…” He blushed. “Is it… is it too unmanly?”

Who the fuck put these ideas in Jeon Jungkook’s head? You just wanted to talk to them. And by talk, you meant flog the living daylights out of them. You had a big one at home. It could be arranged.

“No, of course not. You look very handsome.” Pause. “And fuckable.”

No reason not to tell the truth.

Jungkook’s cheeks flushed a dark pink. “T-Thank you, noona.”

During the entire conversation, you had folded the sleeves of your dress shirt up to your elbows. The stiff, crisp fabric held, and suddenly you were imposing, sleeves rolled up, black skirt skimming the hardwood floor. The neutral façade you had upheld for so long dropped away. Jungkook noticed the change instantly, even though you hadn’t actually said anything yet. His eyes widened a little, shoulders tensing.

Your eyes flashed, chin lifting.

“Or is that not what you meant, pretty boy?”

You did not hide the irritation in your voice this time. His breathing hitched, the muscles his arms ripped and Jungkook very, very much wanted to be punished.

“Um…” He fiddled with his hands guiltily, eyes skirting about. “It’s not what I was referring to, no…”

“Look at me.”

He snapped his head up, gulping. So obvious. His neck strained against the leather. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What were you referring to?” you questioned icily.

Jungkook was shaking all over. He lifted his hand slowly, reaching up to his neck, hooking two fingers around the metal ring of the collar. He tightened them, tugging down a little, eyelashes fluttering, a tiny moan rumbling in his throat. You were going insane on the inside. Fuck, did he know how submissive he was? Did he know how his small, cute little actions made him look so fucking appetizing?

“T-This.”

“Ah, yes,” you finally acknowledged. You waved a hand and he removed his, biting his lip again. “I did notice that. A nice touch. Is it for me?”

He nodded quickly. He seemed to forget for a second that he stole it from you. “Yes, noona, it’s for you.”

You sighed. Jungkook’s expression changed, becoming slightly confused.

“Pause.”

The indication that there was an intermission in the scene. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You are testing me, Jungkook, and I do not like it.”

Jungkook’s brows knitted together, looking down. “I’m sorry, noona.”

“I told you that you shouldn’t try to make me angry on purpose.”

He closed the distance between you two, placing his hands on your elbows. His brown orbs anxiously found yours. “I… I just… please…” His fingers pressed into your skin, his breathing deepening. “I want to see how far I can go. How far you can take me. You won’t…” Jungkook shook his head, hair flying everywhere, ponytail bouncing. “You’re holding back, but I can take it, noona, I promise. I promise I can.” His fingertips caressed you, determination in his eyes.

Hm. Jungkook could tell. You breathed in deeply, inhaling his clean scent.

You are aware of your mistakes. You have learned.

You pursed your lips.

I really, really do not want to hurt you, Jungkook.

“You must promise me.” You looked deep into his eyes. “You must promise me, that if it is too much, if you cannot handle it, if it is not something you want, you must use your safe word.”

He nodded quickly. “I promise.”

And then you crumpled a little bit, your strict demeanor falling, the fears rising, the vulnerability making your voice quiver as you unfurled your arms and grabbed his t-shirt, shaking him roughly.

“No, Jungkook,” you pleaded. “You must promise me.” And you couldn’t explain, couldn’t bring yourself to say why, but he could tell how serious you were because you were suddenly weak, suddenly the parts of yourself that you kept under wraps revealed themselves, the parts you were ashamed of appearing, and you were letting him witness it. Because he said he wanted you. Not just dom you, but you.

And this, well, this was you too.

Jungkook’s eyes softened and he smiled. He leaned in and kissed you, long, sweet, delicate. It was like time stopped. As if the world froze and there was nothing but Jungkook’s lips on yours, reassuring and comforting. He drew back and opened his eyes slowly, warmth in his chocolate orbs.

“I promise.”

You looked up at him, stunned. He grinned at you, showing off his teeth, a little cheeky and embarrassed all at once. You removed your hands from his shirt, lowering them gradually.

“Sorry, I…”

Jungkook’s hands dropped and held yours tightly. He shook his head.

“No, noona. I understand. I know you are looking out for me,” he said brightly. “Because I’m always trying to get into trouble.”

A muscle in your eye twitched. At least he admitted it.

His teeth caught his lip, still smiling. Less nervous now, more playful.

You removed your hands from his. Okay. Okay, fine. Jungkook wanted you to be the dom. Not a dom, the dom. You let out a breath, controlled, clean. Step back into your role. You are in control. You can do this.

“What is your safe word?”

You cracked your neck, a sharp pop that made Jungkook jump.

“Euphoria,” he replied automatically.

“Very good.”

A beat passed. Jungkook remained close to you, unsure what was going to happen. His eyes wide and flighty, chin trembling, hands in front of his chest. You lowered yours, placing them behind your back. Piercing gaze on him, taking a step. His eyes followed you as you slowly circled him, speaking carefully and deliberately.

“So, Jungkook, tell me,” you began, skirt grazing the floor as your glided around him. “What makes you think you’re wearing the collar for me?”

Jungkook’s head whipped around quickly, following your movement with darting eyes. Damn, his ass looked great in these leather pants. He looked unconfident, brows furrowing, trying to conjure the right answer to get what he wanted.

“Um… I thought… maybe you might like it…” He stumbled through his words. “B-Because you like controlling me…”

You smiled at him. Jungkook brightened.

“I do.”

The eagerness beamed off his face as you stopped in front of him, still smiling pleasantly.

“I love controlling you.”

Then the smile dropped. The air around you became ten degrees colder with your shift in demeanor. Jungkook barely had a half-second to realize the change before your hand shot out and gripped the silver ring, yanking down harshly. He yelped, arms flying out, falling to his knees hard, gripping your skirt for balance. Your other arm was still behind you, folded into the small of your back. You narrowed your eyes, holding the collar ring so tightly that your knuckles were white.

His eyes flew up, pain and surprise.

You ticked your head. “But clearly, I’ve done a poor job, because you’ve gone and stole from me, you bad boy.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly, scooting himself forward, clutching your skirt tightly. “N-No, please, noona, I only–”

You yanked the ring up and Jungkook gasped, words cut off from the sudden jerk of his head snapping back. “You only what? Pickpocketed? Broke the law? Took my hard-earned money from right under my nose, to hurt me?”

“No, no, never,” Jungkook whimpered, looking up at you, blinking rapidly. “I don’t want to hurt you, noona. Never.”

“Then explain yourself,” you barked severely.

His eyes were turning teary, pleading. “I only… I only wanted to borrow it. So you could punish me and so I could show you I could be a good boy and take what I deserve.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your other punishments weren’t enough?”

Jungkook’s lower lip quivered. The shame of his true intent was creeping in his eyes now.

“I… I wanted to see you angry, noona.”

“Even after I told you that you shouldn’t?”

He nodded, scurrying himself even closer on his now, most likely, bruised knees. Eyes on you, holding onto your skirt, whole body trembling. He angled his hips forward, showing you how hard he was in his pants, straining it even more by pressing his erection into the zipper of the leather. His lips open, black curls hanging around his face, almost pathetic but not quite, because you knew Jungkook was acutely aware of exactly what he looked like. Doing it to entice you, doing it to assure you that he wanted it.

“Y-Yes,” he admitted.

You forcefully let go of the ring, flinging him away from you. Jungkook squeaked, releasing your clothes as his body twisted to the side from your sharp movement. You swept your skirts away and took a step back.

“Noona, w-wait!”

Jungkook tried to scramble to his feet, but you snarled deep in your chest, making him freeze.

“Crawl.”

He looked startled, looking at you with wide puppy eyes. You took another step back. Jungkook followed you, on hands and knees, his bangs flared out, the low neckline of his shirt hanging down, revealing his chest. You could see his back muscles rippling under the fabric. Fuck, he was so handsome. You weren’t heading for the front door. You watched his mind calculate the angle of your body, mood lightening as he realized that was the direction of the bedroom. You, however, stopped at the floor-length mirror in the living room. Pointed to the patch of floor at your feet.

“Here. Now.”

Jungkook immediately complied, getting on his knees in front of you, hands between his legs, keen to please, facing you.

“Other way,” you clarified, sounding disappointed.

He lowered his head at his mistake and spun around, now facing his reflection. You glared through the mirror, making eye contact. He looked very sorry and very dejected. You almost forgave him just like that. Maybe Jungkook didn’t like this. Maybe you were being too harsh.

“Do you want to use your safe word?”

His eyes on yours. He shook his head lightly, not breaking your gaze.

“No, noona.” Your heart thudded in your chest at his tone of voice. “I’ve been a very bad boy.”

Jungkook licked his lips slowly, not looking away, the tip of his pink tongue lingering before sliding back into his mouth. He kept the same look in his eyes, but his actions were giving you the go ahead.

Shit.

You raised an eyebrow and lowered your hands. They floated above his shoulders and you were reminded of the first time, in the fitting room of your erotica shop, the moment he seduced you and pulled you into his pace. Jungkook tipped his head back, long hair sliding to his ears, the reflection of the stolen collar taunting you.

This brat.

Slowly, finger by finger, you placed your hands on his face. Fingertips pressing into his jaw, cheek, temple, into his soft skin, nails slightly digging in. Scratching up his pretty face a little, claiming it as yours. Jungkook had perfect bone structure, high cheekbones, sharp jaw, pretty forehead. He was panting, mouth open, hot breath drifting down. Hands on his thighs, clutching them tight.

You bent down, chin above his head so he could feel your hot breath on his scalp.

“My pretty boy,” you murmured softly. “Why must you be so bad? Do I not treat you well enough? Do I not give you what you love?”

“You do,” Jungkook whined in your hands, the guilt creeping into his voice. “You do, noona. Your pretty boy is… g-greedy.” He rolled his hips a little, spreading his thighs more, staring at his own reflection of his low-necked shirt and his thighs open, cock bulging in his leather pants.

Your fingers slipped down, down, tracing the leather collar. You let your index finger circle around the metal, not yet touching his chest, so close but so far. Jungkook kept trying to raise it into your touch.  Your other hand reached back and grabbed his ponytail, yanking his head back. He moaned right into your chin, too turned on to pretend he was hurt.

“I am going to my briefcase,” you stated, not looking at him under you and instead staring at his reflection, torso straining from how sharply you were forcing him to arch his back. “You are to remove your clothes. Whatever is left on you will remain for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes, noona.”

You abruptly let him go, striding to your briefcase swiftly, hearing a flurry of noise as Jungkook flung all of his clothes off. Snap, open, grab. You had already packed a black velvet bag holding the things you intended to use on him tonight. You spun around to see him practically ripping his leather pants off, the panic and regret evident on his face as he tried to shove them down his muscular calves. Smart boy had removed his underwear with his pants, smearing trails of pre-cum down his legs and onto the floor. You waited half a second for Jungkook to pop them over his ankles and he threw the pants to the far wall, so hard they made a loud slapping noise. Jungkook was on his hands and knees, panting, beads of sweat on his forehead.

It was actually hilarious to watch, but now was not the time to laugh.

Jungkook snapped his head towards you, eyes wide, his hard cock smacking his thigh. You raised an eyebrow at him. He gulped. Wearing nothing but the collar. Oh, he looked so good. You could tell him to get into position.

Or.

Tease him.

“Want to put my mouth on you, handsome boy.”

His cock twitched as his jaw dropped.

Your tongue slid out and stayed at the side of your lips as you spoke. “You look so tasty for me. When was the last time you came, Jungkook?”

His hands curled into fists on the hardwood floor, legs falling open, cock throbbing. The veins stood out against the hardness, head swollen and red.

“F-Fifteen days ago…” he whimpered.

He had denied himself. So cute. What a good boy. You smiled at him, still holding the velvet bag. “Really? You didn’t cum, not even once, without me?”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, hair flying everywhere. “Wa… wanted to be tasty for you.”

You pouted a little. “Hm, that’s half a month. You waited so long.”

Jungkook nodded, chewing on his lip. You gestured for him to adjust his position and he turned his body to fully face you.

“Eyes on the mirror.”

He turned his head to face his reflection. Hands on the floor next to his ass, slightly leaning back, legs open.

“Look away and I’ll walk away,” you warned.

“Y-yes, noona.”

You floated down to the floor. He couldn’t exactly see you, but you slid into the frame of the mirror, right between his legs. The velvet bag was out of his sight, next to his leg, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention. He was staring at his stiff cock and your proximity to it, holding his breath. You collected your saliva on your tongue and opened your mouth. It dripped down in a thin, slim line, hitting the angry red head of his cock and causing it to jerk at the sudden impact, coating it.

“A-ah, s-so good…”

“What do we say?” you purred, collecting more.

“T-thank you, noona,” Jungkook moaned, watching as you dropped more onto his aching cock, splattering onto his crotch. You lowered your head, closer. Closer. Jungkook sucked in a breath, waiting, needing, trying not to move. You made eye contact with him in the mirror.

“You’re a bad boy, Jungkook.”

And then you spat on his balls.

His head tipped back as he groaned, eyes barely open as he watched himself, chest shuddering as he felt it trickle down and onto the floor below. You spat on his genitals again, more force this time, spraying it across his cock and stomach. He cried out, slamming one of his fists onto the hardwood.

“Y-yes, noona, I’m a bad boy.”

And then you produced a cock ring seemingly out of nowhere, eyebrow raised as he wailed loudly.

“N-no, please, please don’t,” Jungkook panicked as you brought the black silicone ring closer and closer to his now saliva-drenched cock. “Please, I promise to be a good boy, please don’t do it…”

You said nothing, simply placing it on the engorged head and using three fingers to hold it, pushing down slowly.

“Noona, a-ah… no…” His eyelids fluttered, eyes on the reflection of his thick cock being viciously squeezed into the silicone ring. He let out a choked sob as it popped over the bottom of the head, sliding down, down, all the way to the base. You barely touched him, removing your hand as Jungkook shuddered, his pulsating length now bound by the black band.

You raised your head. He was still, very obediently, staring at the mirror.

You smacked his cock with your palm.

Not hard, but enough to make it bounce and for Jungkook to squeal, hips rising as his dick shook from side to side, unable to move much from the tight cock ring. He was making it move more by rocking his hips, heightening the feeling of being bound.

You waited until it stopped swaying.

“Your neighbors will hear you, Jungkook,” you said calmly. You turned your head and looked into the mirror. His eyes locked on yours, pupils dilated, strands of hair clinging to his sweaty face. “Should I gag you?”

“N-no, noona,” he whispered hotly, breathing shallow and tight. “They have to know I’m being punished. B-Because I’ve been b-bad.”

Good gracious, Jungkook.

Your panties instantly soaked. Who was losing it here? Was it him or was it you? Fuck.

You slowly smacked his cock back and forth, back and forth, staring at his face in the mirror. His head tipped back, not closing his eyes, moaning wantonly as his stiff length was roughly shoved around, barely any pressure and too much at once because of how hard he was. You stopped, watching his cock bob, almost purple-red now. Pre-cum beaded at the tip.

You couldn’t help it.

You leaned down, tucking your hair behind your ear so he could see, and gave the slit a tiny kitten lick.

Fuuuuuuuck.

Jungkook lost control, eyes rolling back into his head, and you almost moaned, his strong, intense taste all over your tongue. He tasted so good. So fucking delicious. You pulled back, pretending not to notice that Jungkook had looked away from the mirror as he quickly collected himself, back to staring at his reflection. You grabbed his hips and dug your nails into his skin, dragging him so his body was tilted.

“Flip over,” you growled.

You backed up, taking the velvet pouch with you as Jungkook obeyed, on his hands and knees now.

“On your face.”

Jungkook whimpered, lowering his cheek to the cool floor, leaning against it. Now his ass was up in the air, vulnerable and exposed.

“Both hands on the ring.”

His teeth sank into his lower lip, scooting his hands so he held the silver collar ring with fingers on both hands, arms against the floor to hold him up. His cock stuck straight down, stiff and swollen, trapped in the silicone circle. You waited to let Jungkook readjust his knees to be more comfortable and so he could see everything. The muscles on his back tensed with anticipation.

“I didn’t cover your mouth for a reason.”

“Yes, noona,” Jungkook breathed.

You raised your hands and raked your nails over his back, all the way to his ass. Hard, deep, leaving lines of pink and red, almost breaking the skin. Jungkook moaned, tongue sliding out, body shaking, eyelids fluttering. You did it again, and again, creating your pattern of lust on his back.

“Mine,” you growled possessively. Your eyes locked with his.

Thump.

Had anyone ever looked at you with so much adoration before?

Jungkook nodded.

“All yours, noona.”

You slapped his ass with your open palm.

He yelped, shoulders hitting the floor, face sliding a little against the wood. Pupils dilating, whimpering for more. You smacked him again, and again, and again, never the same spot, always with the full palm, all over, causing large red handprints patterned all over his ass. Jungkook was a groaning mess, legs slipping, the head of his cock touching the hardwood.

You stopped.

His ass was bright red, covered in your slaps and scratches.

Jungkook opened his eyes. He seemed to realize he wasn’t looking at his reflection anymore. He panicked, seeing your glare in the mirror, and tried to raise his hips, but your hand stopped him. The tip of his cock was in contact the floor, dripping pre-cum.

You pressed his hips down a little and shifted them from side to side.

Even the little stimulation of the head against the hardwood made Jungkook moan, pleading with you as he desperately clutched the collar.

“Noona, p-please… Please let me c-cum…”

You removed your hand. Jungkook continued rubbing himself in his own puddle of pre-cum on his living room floor, as you predicted. You didn’t stop him. You reached into the velvet pouch again. Jungkook’s eyes had fluttered closed as he continued stimulating himself, probably not enough, but he didn’t seem to care. You pressed the thing in your hand onto his scrotum and turned it on.

“A-ah!”

Jungkook’s hips flew up, balls suddenly shaking violently from the bullet vibrator in your hand. He shut his legs, sticking his ass out into your hand as he gasped, pressing back into the vibrator as you lazily drifted it around his balls.

“Oh, fuck, noona, oh, fuck!”

He was still holding onto the collar somehow as he tried to get more, wiggling his hips, but you were faster, grabbing his ass with one hand and digging your nails into it.

“Stop.”

Jungkook froze, whimpering and panting on the hardwood, cheeks hollowed out, eyes glazed over.

You traced his asshole with the tip of the vibrator.

His eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out.

“Oh, please, noona, put it in me, p-please…”

You drew figure-eights around his asshole and his balls, calmly.

“I bet you would love that, but you’ve been a bad boy, so I don’t think so.”

Jungkook whined, shaking his head, dark curls fluttering, soaked with sweat.

“P-please, I’ll be good, I need it, I need you to do it, fuck, please.”

“No.”

You pressed the vibrator into the cock ring and Jungkook nearly screamed, cutting himself off by snapping his jaw shut and yelling into the floor, hips jerking in your hands. You kept it there for a good five seconds before you removed it and backed up, reaching into the velvet bag again. Jungkook had maybe one shaking inhale before you gripped him under his armpits, hoisting him up.

“Let go of the ring,” you commanded, and his hands dropped, helping you get him to his knees. His bruised knees. Still, he leaned against you, soaking your clothes with his sweat, spreading his legs out more so his body lowered and your head could be seen past his shoulder. 

You reached down and removed the cock ring, Jungkook gasping in relief. It rolled away, now forgotten.

“Get yourself off.”

“B-but, noona…”

Your hands appeared and pressed against his nipples, turning on both bullet vibrators at once.

“Get. Yourself. Off.”

“F-fuck!”

His hand immediately flew to his cock, viciously pumping himself as you rubbed his nipples with the toys, his groans rumbling in his chest with the vibrations, so strong, so intense, his tan skin glistening with sweat, arm tattoos dancing as he stroked himself fast, his cock so hard it was purple now, veins popping out.

And, like the masochist he was…

Jungkook grabbed the head and squeezed firmly, cutting off his own orgasm with a wail.

You responded just as fast, dropping your hands and shoving the vibrators against his balls, twice as much stimulation as before. His head fell back against your shoulder, half-moans, half-screams of your name as he bucked into them, working himself up once again, your breath against his neck, your eyes watching Jungkook’s reflection – his shaking legs, his balls cupped in your hands, his abused and overstimulated cock popping in and out of his tattooed hand, his now inflamed nipples, sweat dripping down his neck, long black hair flared out against your cheek, the mole under his lower lip trembling with his cries.

Fuck, he was everything. Everything you ever wanted.

“Ah, noona, yes, yes, you’re so good to me, so good…”

“Cum on the mirror,” you demanded. “Cum all over yourself, pretty boy.”

Jungkook whined, snapping his head back down, feeling you increase the vibration setting on his balls and that was it, the tipping point as he sobbed out your name, shooting all over the mirror in large splatters of white, jerking his hips so it traveled higher, sticking onto the reflective glass, all over his reflection.

And he watched it, moaning, so entranced by his likeness covered in his own cum, dripping down in slow smears, messy and dirty.

You turned off the vibrators, withdrew your hands from him.

“Lick it off.”

Jungkook was exhausted, wheezing, hoarse, and yet he still removed his hand from his cock, crawling to the mess he made, pink tongue flopping out, licking his own cum off the mirror, eating it up with groans of satisfaction. You watched him, fascinated, surprised he even listened to you, surprised he was still going, because honestly at this point, you really thought you had gone too far, but Jungkook was enthusiastically making out with his own face with his orgasm at your command, and loving every second of it.

“Jungkook.”

He pushed himself away from the mirror, immediately coming to you, his dark brown eyes hazy with pleasure. He dumped himself in your lap. You still wearing all your clothes. He looked up at you, lips curving into a naughty grin.

“I love it when you turn me into your plaything.”

This guy.

“What do you want?” Jungkook panted. “I’ll do anything. Anything for you.”

Oh, that’s right. You had spent so much focus and energy on Jungkook that you completely forgot about yourself. How did that happen? Ah, but you were so tired now. You let out a puff of disbelief and slid down to the floor.

“I want a nap. Get back to me tomorrow morning.”

-

You woke up slowly to something wet and hot between your legs.

Can I wake you up by eating you out tomorrow morning?

If you brush your teeth.

Really?!

If you brush your teeth, yes.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, breathing in Jungkook’s scent. His bed. His tongue against your opening, softly lapping, burying his nose into your core. You pursed your lips, sighing softly. The tip of the wet muscle slid up, licking at your clit. You pressed your hips into his face and the large hands around your thighs tightened, holding you closer.

He moaned, so hot, right into your pussy.

Your hands released the sheets, sliding across the fabric, up your hip, tracing his fingers. Eyes still closed, feeling for his long hair, clean, fluffy, wild from sleep. Burying your fingers in the strands, pressing him down into you.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

He licked faster, lips closing around your clit, pushing his head into you as he pressed your thighs into the sides of his face. You could feel his cheekbones, his jaw rubbing against your skin. Felt his wet warmth, rapidly rubbing your sensitive nub.

“That’s a good boy,” you purred and he whined, vibrating your pussy with the sound.

Your fingers tightened in his hair and you hissed, gliding into your orgasm, dripping into his mouth as your clit throbbed against his tongue, pleasure flooding you like a warm blanket.

You finally opened your eyes, breathing out as you saw Jungkook’s handsome face between your legs, cleaning you up. He kissed the insides of your thighs, nuzzling your skin. He seemed to feel you watching him and his eyes looked up, bright, doe-like, chocolatey. His pink lips glistened with your release.

“Noona?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I keep the collar?”

You raised an eyebrow. He smiled at you, playful, naughty.

“If you pay for it,” you replied, half-joking.

His tongue flashed out.

“I can pay in cash and in orgasms.”

You laughed as Jungkook dove down between your legs once again.

--

masterpost

[charlies-gillespie]

private relationship | charlie gillespie (part 1)

PART TWO

paring: fem!reader x charlie gillespie

summary: reader and Charlie have been in a very private relationship. none of their fans know that they’re together, until a slip up at a very public event changes everything for the pair

requested: no

length: long

rating: PG (borderline PG-13 tho for some nsfw jokes)

warnings: a dirty joke or two, a few sexual innuendos throughout, drinking

!! MY GIF - give creds if used !!

authors note: “mon amour” means “my love” in french. it’ll probably be used a lot throughout the imagine

another author’s note: would y’all want a part two, but with smut?

MASTERLIST

“Charlie!” you call. Your voice echoes through your apartment. “Can you come here for a second?”

You need help zipping your dress. Charlie was the first to get to your apartment. He’s been waiting for Owen, Madison, Jeremy, Jadah, and Savannah, and Sacha to get here so your group can go to the release party together. It’s a formal event so you had to wear a dress and heels. It wasn’t your first choice, especially the heels part.

Charlie appears in the doorway and says, “Yea- woah.” You see him in your mirror. His eyes are on you. He looks good in his suit that he’s wearing. His jacket and pants are black, his button-up beneath the jacket is white, but he wears a silver tie to compliment the color of your pale pink dress since he can’t match your dress.

A smile forms on your lips and you ask, “Can you come zip up my dress, please?” Charlie nods and walks into your bedroom. You watch him as he slowly zips up your dress.

The dress is a long, baby pink dress with satin fabric. The skirt is a little poofy from the waist down. The top hugs your chest, pushing your breasts up a little bit so they look a little bigger than they actually are. A sparkly silver belt sits on your waist to add some sparkle to the dress. The sleeves are off your shoulders, and there are hidden pockets in the skirt.

Your boyfriend admires you in the mirror. You’re fully dressed now. Your hair is loosely curled and you have a natural makeup look painted on your face. The light color of the dress compliments your tan skin.

“You look stunning, mon amour,” Charlie sighs. “Absolutely stunning.”

You lean your head back a bit, resting it against Charlie’s shoulder. “You clean up very nicely, Charlie,” you say. “I like that you matched me without actually matching me.”

He laughs and says, “I might’ve had Mads and Jadah help me with that little detail. I wanted to match you but it would draw suspicion to us.”

When you and Charlie started dating almost nine months ago, both of you agreed to keep it on the very low. No social media posts unless hanging out in a group setting, no tagging each other in stories if you were alone together, and only going as far as following each other on social media since you’ve worked on the same show together. The fans don’t even know that you’re friends with each other at this point. Only your closest friends that are going with you to the event tonight know that you and Charlie are together.

Kenny Ortega also knows since he’s technically your boss and you’re both co-workers. He also might have found you making out with Charlie after the two of you got carried away when cuddling on Julie’s bed after a few hours of shooting scenes. You couldn’t lie to him after that.

Tonight is a very public event. Pictures will be taken, journalists will be wanting every juicy detail, and fans have been invited to the event so if there’s even a little be of suspicion, it won’t take very long to go public. It’s the release night party for Julie and the Phantoms season two. Everyone’s been invited to watch the first few episodes of the new season.

You feel Charlie kiss your bare shoulder and you giggle softly. “I’m sure everyone will be getting here soon so we should go wait out in the living room,” you tell your boyfriend.

“I wish I was able to touch you tonight,” he says. “It’s your big Netflix debut, Y/N. I wish I was able to hug you and show you how proud I am of you.”

A little sigh leaves your body and you say, “You can hug me. I’m sure a friendly hug won’t hurt, as long as you hug other people too. As for showing me that you’re proud of me, you can do that later when we’re alone.” You send him a playful wink so he gets what you mean.

Charlie’s jaw drops and he blinks at you. “I-you, um,” your boyfriend stammers. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to show you just how proud I am of you later, baby.”

You turn and face Charlie. “I look forward to it, Charlie,” you tell him, leaning up. He smiles and lightly pecks your lips.

Someone knocks on the door and you click out of the room in your silver heels to answer the door. Owen and Jeremy stand at the door. Jer’s wife, Carolynn, stands beside him.

“Hi, Y/N,” Owen greets you. “You look very pretty. I saw Charlie’s car in the parking garage so where is that loser?”

You laugh and say, “Probably still in my bedroom. Go get him. I think I shocked him or something with my words.” Owen pushes past you. Jeremy follows him, leaving you and Carolynn alone.

Carolynn smiles and says, “I love that color on you, Y/N. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” you say, shooting her a little smile. You’ve grown close to Carolynn since she’s married to Jeremy and you’ve spent a lot of time hanging out with the guys in a group.

You let Carolynn walk in before closing the door behind her. Faintly, you hear Owen say, “Bro, what’s going on with you? Your face is red.”

Charlie responds with, “I am so having sex tonight, dude.”

Both you and Carolynn laugh in the living room as Carolynn asks, “I don’t want to know what that’s about, do I?”

As you sit, you say, “Charlie said he wishes he could touch me tonight at the party so he could show me how proud he was of me. I told him he can show me how proud he is of me later when we’re alone.”

Carolynn says, “Ah, okay. That makes sense. Congratulations, by the way. Making your big Netflix debut tonight. How’s it feel?”

“I’m excited, but very nervous,” you admit. “The first season did so well and won so many awards that I’m scared that I’m going to come in and ruin the whole show and that people won’t like my character.”

She says, “You play the nice daughter of the villain of the show. Everyone will probably love you when they realize that your character wants to help the Phantoms instead of siding with Caleb. Don’t tell Jer and the guys but I think you have one of the best songs of the season so I think the fans will definitely love that.”

You smile as there is another knock on the door. Charlie, Owen, and Jeremy come into the living room as you answer the door.

Savannah stands in the doorway with Mads, Sacha, and Jadah. “I had to pick up the kiddos,” Sav says. “Ooh, Y/N. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling. “We’re just waiting for the limo to get here. I think we have a half hour or so before it gets here.”

Kenny is sending a limo to your apartment for the nine of you. When you decided to go as a group so you and Charlie could go together, Kenny pitched in and helped like the wonderful human being he is.

Owen decides to go live with Jeremy on his Instagram account for a few minutes. Carolynn talks with Savannah, Sacha, and Jadah while you find yourself talking with Charlie and Madison.

Mads says, “Kenny is giving us the opportunity to sing on stage together tonight. He told me that we can pick whatever song from either season. He thinks the fans would want to hear Perfect Harmony or Stand Tall since those were massive after season one dropped.”

Charlie nods and says, “Stand Tall would be good since all of us can get in on that number. I can talk to Jeremy and Owen about it when they get off live.”

You smile at the two of them and say, “That’s exciting. The fans will be so excited for this little surprise.”

“We can thank Kenny when it goes really well,” Mads says with a laugh. “He’s always got these great ideas. I don’t know how he comes up with them.”

Both you and Charlie laugh as your phone rings. You answer it, speaking to the limo driver. After a moment, you hang up the phone and announce, “Limo is here. Let’s head on out.”

Everyone gets their things together, Owen gets off Instagram live, and you all head down two floors to pile into the limo.

The drive from your apartment to the Laglyan Complex on North Vine Street is close to forty minutes. It was close to six when you left and it’s almost seven when you arrive to the venue for tonight’s event.

There is a red carpet laid out across the front of the building to the door. There is a lot of press here and a lot of cameras flashing. Cheyenne Jackson and Booboo Stewart are together on the carpet. You spot Kenny with one of the assistant directors.

When the press spots the limo, they begin to mumble to each other as they try to figure out who is in the car. Owen and Jeremy get out first. The press begin to snap pictures of the guys. Madison gets out with Jadah. Carolynn, Sacha, and Savannah. Sacha pairs up with Savannah while Mads, Jadah and Carolynn walk the carpet together until Carolynn finds her way to her husband.

Charlie helps you out of the car. The journalists call Charlie’s name as you close the door behind you. “Go,” you order him. “I’ll be okay. You’re the star of the show.” He smiles and sends you a wink since his back is turned toward the cameras. He walks off and your eyes follow him. Cheyenne walks over.

“Look at you, Y/N,” he says. “You look wonderful.”

You smile and say, “Thank you, Cheyenne. You look nice tonight. I love the suit.” He wears a shirt similar to his Julie and the Phantoms character, Caleb Covington. You play his daughter on the show.

Cheyenne holds his arm out for you and you hook your elbow with his. The cameras snap away at you and Cheyenne since the two of you play a father-daughter duo. Booboo comes and joins you and Cheyenne as the ‘Hollywood Ghost Club Crew’, as Booboo dubbed the three of you. The band is getting pictures together. Savannah, Sacha, and Jadah are getting their pictures taken together. Carolynn is getting her pictures done.

The journalists call out questions to the cast. They ask Madi which season was her favorite, which she replies with, “Y’all really going to make me choose? I can’t do that.”

Owen is asked whether or not we’ll get a Willex kiss in the future, which Owen replies with, “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

All the journalists laugh. One of them calls out, “Y/N, what was it like joining a show that already had a pretty large fan base and a successful first season?”

“It was nerve wracking at first,” you admit. “But the cast welcomed me with open arms and I’ve made some very, very close friends.” You shoot a smile to the cameras.

A second journalist calls out to everyone, “Are there any secret romances on set that no one knows about?”

Most of the cast, including you and Charlie, laughs. Owen answers with, “Now it wouldn’t be a secret if we told everyone. But no, there aren’t any secret romances. That I know of at least.”

After a few more pictures and questions, we all head inside. The main room as a bunch of tables set up and a little stage with Madi’s piano, Charlie’s guitars, Jeremy’s bass, and Owen’s drums. There are a few fans that were exclusively invited that are scattered around. They start getting excited when they see you walk in with everyone.

You find your table. You’re sitting with Owen, Charlie, Jeremy, Carolynn, Cheyenne, Booboo, and Savannah. This is the “adult” table, you guess. Mads, Jadah, and Sacha sit with Kenny and a few of the younger cast members at another table.

You’re sitting between Charlie and Owen. Someone needs to sit between them or they’ll be at each other all night. That’s your argument if someone is suspicious of you and Charlie.

Suddenly, you feel someone’s fingers lace with yours under the cloth that’s on the table. You glance over at Charlie and he has a little smile on his face as he talks with Jeremy. You turn and say to Owen softly, “Did Charlie really say that he’s having sex tonight?”

Owen laughs a bit and nods. “He thinks he is anyway,” the blond says. “Is he?”

“If he can behave himself then yes,” you say. Owen chuckles.

You feel Charlie squeeze your hand. You know he heard so you smile.

After small conversation with everyone at the table, you get up and get a drink. You walk to the bar, asking for a martini. While you wait, you’re approached by a guy dressed in a nice button-up shirt and dress pants. His hair is in a neat bun behind his head. “Hi,” he says. “I’m Austin.”

“Y/N,” you say.

“I couldn’t notice you came over here alone,” he says.

The bartender gives you your drink and you say, “I just came over to grab a drink. I was going to go back to my table after I grabbed it.”

Austin pulls out his wallet and hands the bartender a twenty dollar bill. “Let me at least pay for it,” he says.

You smile a bit and say, “Thank you. I must be headed back to the table with my friends now. I appreciate the drink, though.”

He blocks your way and you look up at him. “How about a dance in return for the drink?” Austin suggests.

Feeling more and more uncomfortable, you say, “Maybe later. I need to get back to my friends.”

Austin asks, “What’s the rush? It’s not like you have a boyfriend or anything. I follow your social media accounts and you never post a guy.”

You begin to say, “Actually, I-” before Charlie walks up. You let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Everything okay here?” Charlie asks. “You were taking a while to come get a drink so I thought that I’d come check.”

The stranger says, “All good here. I was just offering Y/N a dance here since I paid for her drink.”

Charlie looks down at you and blinks before you say, “I didn’t ask him to pay for it. He took out a twenty and offered.” Austin looks between you and your secret boyfriend.

Then Charlie says, “If you offered yourself then Y/N isn’t obligated to dance with you just because you paid for her drink.”

Austin says, “Well, I’ll just ask again later.” The man walks away and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your boyfriend moves and stands in front of you. He asks, “Are you okay?”

You nod and say, “Yeah, thank you. It was just uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to get out of it.”

Charlie reaches up to cup your face in his hands but he stops before he can touch your face. You look up at him before you lean forward, putting your face in Charlie’s hands. Your eyes flutter closed and you smile.

“Y/N,” Charlie says. “People are looking.”

With a sigh, you say, “I just need you to touch me, Charlie. I want you.”

He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones and you can hear pictures being taken. You put your drink on the bar counter and step closer to Charlie.

Your eyes open and you find Charlie looking down at you. He says, “You know what this means for us, right?”

You nod and say, “Our on-the-low relationship isn’t as on the low now. I don’t mind that anymore because I’m tired of guys coming up and trying to flirt with me while I have a boyfriend.”

Charlie chuckles a bit as he says, “I hope that means I can kiss you now. It’s all I’ve wanted to do tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh.

With no hesitation, Charlie leans down and crashes his lips to yours. You press your body against his, grabbing his jacket and holding him close to you. You kiss Charlie back just as hard as he kissed you. Your eyes are closed again but you can see flashes behind your eyes. You pull back from the kiss and stare up at Charlie.

Both of you smile at each other as Charlie says, “You better be ready for what happens after this.”

You push Charlie’s hair away form his face and say, “What happens after this is you get on that stage tonight, you kill it, we go back to your place because it’s closer, and you get all the sex you want.”

Charlie’s face turns a little red and he says, “I will never get used to you saying something sexual to me. I hope you know that.”

“You better, Mr. Gillespie,” you tell him. “I’m not the innocent girl that you met a year and a half ago.”

He laughs and says, “Trust me. I know you’re not the innocent girl that I met last year. You’ve proven that several times at this point.”

With a smile on your face, you take Charlie’s hand in yours before grabbing your drink and walking back to the table with your friends. When you get back to the table, you scoot closer to Charlie and rest your head on his shoulder. Owen looks over and says, “Woah, being affectionate in public. This isn’t the best idea.”

You say, “It’s okay, Owen. Everything is okay.”

Owen looks confused as you look up at Charlie. Charlie looks at his best friend and says, “I kissed her. At the the bar when I went to check on her. Cameras saw so that’s going to be a huge thing in the morning.”

Jeremy says, “Well, congratulations on making your relationship public, I guess.”

The table laughs. Owen looks at you, Charlie, Jeremy, and Carolynn before he says, “I need a relationship. I feel so single right now.”

Charlie says, “You’d actually have to talk to people to get a girlfriend, Owen.”

“Haha,” Owen says, sticking his tongue out at Charlie. You laugh.

***

At nine, Madi, Charlie, Owen, and Jeremy all leave to get ready. They decided on Stand Tall for the number they’re going to perform. It’s almost 9:30 when Kenny gets on the mic on stage. “Hello, everyone,” he says. “Today, Netflix released season two of Julie and the Phantoms. To celebrate, I offered our band the chance to perform a song of their choice. So, let’s all welcome Madison Reyes, Charlie Gillespie, Jeremy Shada, and Owen Patrick Joyner to the stage for their performance of whatever song they chose.”

The crowd cheers as everyone walks onto the stage, taking their place. You and Carolynn get a front row seat while you both watch your guys perform. You notice Charlie took off his jacket and his tie. He also cut off the sleeves, but that doesn’t surprise you. The top few buttons of his white button-up are unbuttoned, showing off his chest a bit.

Mads begins to play the first few keys to the song.

Don't blink No, I don't want to miss it One thing, and it’s back to the beginning Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep going on, never look back

You smile and watch Madi sing. She’s insanely talented and you’re so glad that the world was able to hear her voice.

The guys nod their heads to the beat while they wait for their signal to begin playing. Once they get their cues, they begin to play one by one.

Right now, I'm loving every minute Hands down, can't let myself forgеt it, no Cause everything is rushing in fast Keep holding on, nеver look back

Charlie plays like he’s flickering on and off stage like he does on the show. You smile and admire your boyfriend. You know how talented he is, especially those fingers of his, but he never ceases to amaze you how talented he is.

And it’s one, two, three, four times That I'll try for one more night Light a fire in my eyes I'm going out of my mind

You smile wide when Charlie sings his line at the end of the pre-chorus. Then he begins to sing his part of the song and you dance with Carolynn. The crowd sings and dances behind you two.

The four of them finish the song and smile. The crowd cheers and you smile, looking at Charlie. He has the biggest smile on his face, which is covered in a layer of sweat. His hair is damp with sweat too. Charlie bows with his closest friends before putting his guitar on the stand. He jumps off the stage and comes over to you.

“I told you that you’d kill it,” you tell him when he gets to you.

Charlie laughs and says, “Oh, hush.” He pulls you into a soft kiss. You smile and kiss him back, making your relationship with him completely public. The people around you cheer a bit as Charlie pulls away.

You look up at him and say, “You’re going to have so much fun being able to hugs me and kiss me in public now, aren’t you?”

He smiles and stares down at you. Charlie says, “Maybe I’ll be having too much fun now.”

As you brush some of the hair away from Charlie’s eyes, you say, “Please try to keep the PDA to a minimum, Charlie. You do have a lot of younger fans. Save most of it for when we’re alone.”

“Like how we will be tonight?” Charlie asks, eyes hopeful.

You laugh and say, “Just like how we will be tonight.” Then an idea pops into your idea. “This dress is getting really hot. I might need to take it off soon.”

Charlie gets what you’re trying to say so he replies with, “Let’s go.”

He takes your hand and hops over the barricade. You smile as he leads you through the crowd of people. Charlie calls you an Uber so you can both go back to his place tonight.

[audreydoeskaren]

Abridged history of early 20th century Chinese womenswear (part 3.1: 1920s-silhouette)

Source:  lucianolapadula.wordpress.com

*Disclaimer: I mostly talk out of my bum so don’t ask me for academic sources, I would love to know where they are but I haven’t found any reliable ones. I only share my own observations so please read me for filth if I’m wrong.

*There are almost no public domain images I could use because this topic is too obscure so I have to use random images that work and link the sources.

Intro/Context

In the 1920s the dominant form of womenswear was still technically the aoqun, however one piece dresses, sometimes with a fake vest, became popularized later in the decade and that could be considered a kind of proto-cheongsam. Many scholars and people on the Internet have different theories as to which particular garment was the true predecessor to the cheongsam but I think that’s a pointless quest, everything went in 1920s fashion and many styles bearing the same silhouette coexisted and they were all valid, it’s just that the one piece dress emerged victorious in the 1930s as the dominant form of womenswear. Looking at 1920s fashion with the sole purpose of finding the origins of cheongsam doesn’t do the decade justice.

In the 1920s Western influence also became more visible and many Art Deco designs were integrated into Chinese fashion, making it an all round exciting and creative decade for Chinese fashion.

Silhouette

In the early 1920s, the hem of the robe was similar to the mid-1910s ao from my previous post, hitting about the top of the hips. The sleeves became somewhat wider, but not reaching the widest point until the mid 20s. The skirt became shorter, usually mid calf, and was not as full as the pleated skirt of the previous decade. I was not able to find a lot of information about early 20s fashion but from the few contemporary drawings I did find (such as the one below) the outer robe of the previous decade seem to have become sleeveless in some occasions, resembling more of a vest, exposing the sleeves of the undershirt. Put a pin in this as the vest style will become quite prominent later in the decade.

Source: https://historypipe.blogspot.com/ (a cigarette ad from 1920)

Aoku (robe with pants) was still considered a fashionable way of dressing in the early 20s, then it started to fade out of popularity. The pants of the early 1920s were shorter and less form fitting than those in the 1910s, usually ending below the knee, allowing stockings to show, which could be very colorful and elaborate.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest https://www.pinterest.de/pin/675540012850646515/ (a tea ad from 1920)

Around the mid 1920s the skirt began to shorten, eventually reaching knee length, a development similar to that in Western fashion at the time. Pleating became fashionable again; instead of the mamian style pleating with flat sections in the front and back popular in previous decades, mid to late 20s skirts were completely pleated along the waistline, giving them an all round even fullness. Mid to late 1920s skirts commonly had wide hems, which could be decorated with embroidery, trimmings, scallop edges or other Western finishes. The sleeves were half length or shorter and became wider at the bottom, a style commonly known as 倒大袖.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest https://www.pinterest.de/pin/675540012850651575/ (a calendar showing the years 1926-1927) (the lady to the left is wearing aoku and the other aoqun. Notice the vest look)

Source: http://robertbrowngallery.com/artists_exhibited/artist_pages/image_page.php?image=Chinese_Advertising_Posters- (a raisin ad from 1925-26)

Around the same time, the proto-cheongsam one piece dress look was also being popularized. In the mid 1920s this style was usually knee length, with short sleeves and a high collar; they could also have the fake two piece effect, giving the appearance of a separate vest/tunic being worn. These dresses could have flared hems or short slits down both sides to allow freedom of movement. Interestingly, these dresses were tighter and more body-hugging than Western women’s dresses at the time, which were baggy and rectangular.

Source: http://www.thepankou.com/history-of-the-qipao-recluse-to-national-dress-1910s-1920s/?epik=dj0yJnU9UU82azlTdzgzSXBiYXV6dzJmUHdQcUFBaXQtci1KQVImcD0wJm49MmZTY3pna3FzQXBVOFJ3bGJSY1laZyZ0PUFBQUFBR0FVVU8w (I’m actually not sure if this is late 20s or early 30s, judging by the baggy look it’s probably 20s but the early 30s one piece dress had a similar, albeit tighter, silhouette)

Another thing about 1920s Chinese fashion is that I rarely see long-sleeved women’s garments, even in images supposedly depicting fall/wintertime. The more common way to fight off cold weather throughout the 1920s and 30s was to wear Western coats, especially Paul Poiret style fur wrap coats. I recall a lady in a contemporary film saying that coat design of this period was dominated by Parisian trends.

Source: https://www.liveauctioneers.com/item/19256348_hang-zhiying-1899-1947 (late 20s/early 30s) (the lady on the right is finally wearing long sleeves, not so easy to come across haha)

Source: art.com (their website shut down I can’t find the url) (1920s Western fur coats)

Late 20s Chinese womenswear was quite easy to identify. The skirts in aoqun outfits became longer, usually ankle length, with very wide hems. They had a tube like silhouette but were quite full, so I deduce that they were constructed from rectangular panels that were then cartridge pleated or gathered around the waistband. The waistline of the bodice (I don’t think these could be considered separate robes anymore...) rose quite significantly, ending at the natural waist. This was a divergence from the Western silhouette, which remained rectangular until late 1929. 

Source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/contumacy-singh/2803160798/in/photostream/?epik=dj0yJnU9cWhFcko0YUU5WXd1OERGQWd2VW9aQ1RXcFZ2S0VUTEEmcD0wJm49bWtmNTUzX0oxY2N3Zl94TWgycU5sZyZ0PUFBQUFBR0FVSW5R (a perfume ad calendar showing the years 1927-1928)

Source:  rs.bift.edu.cn (a cosmetics ad from 1928) (this company, Kwong Sang Hong, was founded in the 1890s and was really iconic and produced many advertisements which are great primary sources)

By the end of the 1920s there were four main styles of womenswear: the two piece aoqun with robe and skirt, the three piece set with robe, vest and skirt and the proto-cheongsam one piece dress. These styles coexisted; it was the silhouette (length of skirt, sleeve shape etc.) that changed throughout the decade and these changes applied to all styles. Interestingly, I don’t think I have seen photos of 1920s Chinese women wearing actual Western fashion, which is weird considering the level of westernization in the 20s and how easy to make and accessible 20s Western clothing was, in addition to the fact that many women in neighboring Japan had already adopted Western clothing.

Source: https://simplycirculate.wordpress.com/2012/04/05/beautiful-20s/?epik=dj0yJnU9WFVWLWtXQU9WM3NhOWVPZTJjZXlTMjc5SHVqeVNTUHQmcD0wJm49U1R4b2swZmxzQU9IUWpkX1o5TWVaUSZ0PUFBQUFBR0FWa2Zz (late 20s Western summer fashion) (Isn’t it interesting that when people think of 20s fashion they usually think of late 20s fashion? Early 20s with the long dresses and big hats deserve more appreciation, even though I don’t really like it personally)

Chinese women began wearing Western fashions in very small numbers beginning in the 1900s, but I guess because of the elaborate nature of Edwardian clothing and the lack of corsetry traditions in China it was expensive and not really popular. I have only seen uber-rich Chinese women in portraits wearing Western fashions. If a lady wanted to show Western influences in her fashion sense it was usually by using Western decorations or fabrics to make her Chinese clothes, or by wearing Western accessories.

Source: https://driwancybermuseum.wordpress.com/2012/07/29/semarang-history-collections/amp/?epik=dj0yJnU9TWRsc3pQU05nQTBVa19xVjZzSFBpSzlHclpTUHZrSUQmcD0wJm49WkdreF9VZnZqUEY3RWVOSVBaOExsdyZ0PUFBQUFBR0FVSnlz (Madame Wellington Koo in a 1910s ballgown)

I think it’s of some importance to discuss the methods for pattern drafting and construction. Chinese clothing began to become more form fitting in the late 20s, however it should be noted that this form-fitting shape was not achieved by Western dressmaking methods i.e. shaped pattern pieces and darts/tucks, but rather using the historical Chinese method of pattern drafting 平裁; Western dressmaking techniques would not be commonly used on Chinese garments until the 1950s. With this method, the front and back pieces of a robe/bodice would be two identical T shapes with overlapping parts at the front right closure. Historically (I mean in the Ming Dynasty) the overlapping bits at the front would be cut separately and then attached to the front pieces, resulting in a seam down the center front 中缝 that many people consider to be a staple of hanfu, although I’m not sure if this method was used before or after the Ming Dynasty. Similarly, I’m also not sure if this was the way 1920s/30s bodices were constructed, they may as well have two separate whole front pieces joined to the back piece at the shoulder and underarm/side seams. Until I get my hands on a period original this shall remain a mystery unless someone enlightens me (please). Anyway, bodices constructed in this method are not three dimensional and could be laid flat on a surface; this method was also used in other East Asian countries, maybe you have seen that when kimonos are laid or hung flat they have a T shape as well.

Example: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/88086 (mid 20s ao, can’t show the image here unfortunately)

This is getting very long so I will split the 1920s into multiple sections, information on design details, hair and accessories will be in subsequent posts.

[a-singleboat]

LA Girl

Word Count: 3.5k

Request: Since requests are open, can I ask for one where Shayne Topp has secretly been dating an Alt girl (piercings, coloured hair, tattoos ect) for months and she has anxiety and is nervous about meeting the squad as she feels like they’re gonna judge her for being so different to him so Shayne introduces her to Damien first alone and Damien automatically likes her and they click really well so she tells him she’s ready to go public and meet the rest of the squad and they all accept her?❤️ - Anon

A/N: I hope you guys like this! It took me a while to conceptualize it at first but then the rest came pretty naturally :D

Warning(s): Mentions of oral sex (male receiving), swearing, mentions of sex, self deprecating thoughts

You never really liked living in Los Angeles. Most days it was too bright and there were too many people, too many tourists. Yeah, you hated living here. That is, of course, until you met Shayne. 

At first, it appeared that you and Shayne were as different as night and day. Literally. He was the perfect LA Boy, with his blonde hair and his trim physique, always looking like the sun while you… you liked your dark colors and vibrant hairstyles, not to mention your multitudes of piercings and tattoos. In the mornings that you did spend together, Shayne liked to trace them with the tips of his fingers before the day started. 

These past few months with Shayne have been euphoric, for lack of better words. It seemed you were forever stuck in your honeymoon phase together but even you knew that it couldn’t last forever. The first fight you’d have, the first disagreement, stemmed from your own insecurities. 

As you’d mentioned before, Shayne looked like the perfect LA Boy, as did the rest of his friends. He didn’t stand out while walking the length of Hollywood Boulevard and he certainly didn’t catch any of the police officer’s eyes when he went to the bank. 

Which is why you weren’t so sure you wanted to meet them, his friends that is. You were sure that they would judge you for your alternative fashion choices, just like everyone else did. 

“They’re not like that,” Shayne tried to convince you for the umpteenth time that day. You had just finished washing the dishes, using your day off to catch up on chores you’d neglected during the week. Shayne was supposed to be completing his coursework for his degree but instead he’d decided to pester you with this topic once more. 

“My friends are super supportive and they just want to meet you,” he tried again. “And if they say anything then they’re not really my friends. They’ll love you, I promise.”

You picked up the laundry basket full of clean clothes from beside your front door, dumping the basket out on the couch. You cleared off a small section on the coffee table so that you could fold your laundry. 

“I’m just worried,” you confessed, folding a cropped shirt in half twice before dropping it into the laundry basket. “You say that they’re supportive and that they just want to meet me but you also just said, ‘if they say anything.’ Shayne, if I really didn’t have a reason to worry, you wouldn’t have thrown that in there.” 

“Okay, that was my bad,” he admitted, “but I’m serious. You have nothing to worry about, they’ll all love you.”

You gave him a weary look, folding a pair of black cargo pants over your arm. A few weeks ago, you’d met Shayne’s parents and while they were two of the most loving and welcoming people you had met, you could still see the discomfort and unease hidden behind their eyes. They expected someone different, with less tattoos and piercings most likely. They probably weren’t expecting their blonde baby boy to be with a neon-pink-haired twenty-something with daddy issues galore. 

“Okay, how about this,” Shayne took the pants from your hands, folding them and setting them onto the coffee table. “I’ll invite Damien over to mine for dinner tonight as a tester. If everything goes well with him, then maybe you’ll consider meeting everyone else?”

You took up your cargo pants once more, settling them in the laundry basket with the rest of your folded clothing. You had less than half the original pile left, the rest of the clothing being mainly bras and socks that still needed to be sorted. 

“Okay,” you gave in. What was the worst that could happen?

As it turns out, completely forgetting that Damien was due to arrive any moment at Shayne’s apartment was the worst thing that could happen. His best friend’s first impression of you would forever be this: you on your knees with Shayne’s dick halfway down your throat while you gave him a before-dinner blowjob. 

Embarrassment burned through your entire being as Damien realized what was happening before he closed the front door and called out, “I’m so sorry, I should have knocked!” 

You looked up at Shayne who couldn’t decide between being mortified and being smug. It took everything within your power not to punch him in the dick, considering it was literally right there in front of you. 

“Go… take care of yourself,” you awkwardly chuckled, patting his thigh lightly. “I’ll let your friend in and hopefully not die from embarrassment on the way.” 

Shayne scrambled up off the couch and into his bathroom while you opened the container of mints you kept under the coffee table for these types of instances. Not that you and Shayne expected people to walk in during any of that normally. You washed your hands at the sink while you chewed the mint, giving yourself a moment to breathe before even thinking about opening the door.

Once you’d calmed down enough, you opened the door for Damien, unable to meet his eye as you let him in. 

“Uh, sorry you had to see any of that…” You closed the door behind him, double checking the lock to make sure it was still working. “We don’t usually do it out here, um--”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” Damien tried to save the night. “It’s not like I haven’t seen Shayne’s dick before--I mean--Not in the way you’d think--”

The two of you dissolved into laughter, still thinking of a way to dig your way out of the hole you’d awkwardly made. When Shayne was telling you about Damien, he did mention that he was possibly the most awkward of his friends which made him the perfect ‘test monkey’ for the night. 

“I should’ve knocked,” Damien settled, an apologetic look on his face. “Shayne gave me a key a while back and I usually just let myself in but that’s really no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Shayne had also mentioned Damien was the most polite out of them all. Not that the others weren’t polite, because they were. He had meant it in the way that Damien would apologize for existing if he could (which he has done before). 

“It’s okay, really. Though, we might have to tweak the story of how we met for future conversations.” You made your way into Shayne’s little kitchenette. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” Damien said, moving to sit in one of the chairs at the high table. You grimaced at the couch, making a mental note to grab some disinfectant once Shayne came out of the bathroom. “And yeah, we’ll just leave that part out for future retellings.”

You pulled a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it with water from the Brita. You added a few ice cubes as well, smiling as they clinked against the sides of the glass. 

“So, how did you and Shayne meet?” Damien asked, thanking you for the glass. You took up the other seat, crossing your right leg over your left. 

“At the tattoo shop I work at, actually,” you played with the end of your belt, twisting the fabric over your hand until it covered your knuckles. For this meeting, you’d decided to tone down your wardrobe--less chains and more softer fabrics. Your pleated skirt had been exchanged for the black cargo pants you’d folded earlier. That paired with a simple side release buckle belt and a structured white top for contrast, this was probably the most “tame” you’ve dressed in a while. 

“He came in with another friend of his, Paul, and sat with him while I worked on a piece for his sleeve. After that, I gave him my number in case he ever wanted to get a tattoo himself and the rest is history.”

“I can’t believe Paul technically met you before I did,” Damien said in disbelief. You heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on which meant your boyfriend would be joining the two of you soon. 

The awkwardness between you and Damien had faded slightly but you could still feel the tension in the air. Shayne opened the bathroom door and you looked over your shoulder to watch as your no longer disheveled boyfriend entered the room. He’d changed his pants, which was fair, and he was holding the disinfectant in hand as if he’d read your mind. 

You hopped off the seat and took it from him, spraying down the entire couch while he greeted his friend. 

“Really sorry you had to see that,” Shayne said, laughing as they clapped their hands together. “We would have disinfected the couch either way, just so you know.” 

Damien laughed as you finished cleaning off the couch, setting the disinfectant on the coffee table. You couldn’t be bothered with putting it away in the bathroom right now. 

“Well, this is Y/n, my girlfriend,” Shayne pulled on your arm until you settled into his side. You gave a small wave. “And she made Italian for dinner so unless you now want nothing to do with me, we can start eating now.” 

“Sounds great.”

Once you actually got over the initial awkwardness, your night actually turned out enjoyable. Damien was extremely funny and nice, just like Shayne had said. He’d even asked about your job and your own tattoos, expressing his own thoughts about getting one or two done himself. 

“If you get it done at my shop, I can get you a discount,” you offered, taking a sip of your water. “Friends and family get twenty-percent off, though that doesn’t include the tip.” 

“Really?” Damien asked. He looked shocked that you’d even offer to tattoo him, let alone provide him with a discount. 

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Just let me know when and we can set up an appointment.” 

“That’d be amazing.”

The three of you were sitting on the couch now, you and Shayne sitting on the side closest to the window while Damien was on the other end. His body was angled toward the two of you as “The Office” played quietly in the background. 

“Does this mean I’ll be seeing you around more?” Damien asked. “Shayne always comes alone to out-of-work get-togethers and Courtney’s been pestering him to bring you around for some time now.”

“She has?” you looked up at Shayne, asking if that was true. 

He nodded. “Why do you think I’ve been so insistent on getting you to meet my friends? They all want to meet you.”

“It doesn’t help that you’re all he talks about,” Damien chuckled. “I swear, every other word from his mouth is something about you. Whether it’s wondering what you’re doing to wondering how you’re doing, it’s always about you.” 

You reached up and patted Shayne’s cheek lightly. “Aw, babe. You think about me? How embarrassing.”

  He swatted your hand away, chuckling as you giggled at the shared joke between you. 

You talked for a little longer, sharing stories between the three of you before Damien caught sight of the time. 

“I should get going,” he said, standing up. You got up as well, giving him a hug before letting him and Shayne say their goodbyes. Once Damien had left the apartment completely, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, you shoulder relaxing. While Shayne was an extrovert, you found yourself physically and mentally drained from hanging out with just one person. 

The entire experience was new for you. Since you’d started dressing how you wanted to dress and expressing yourself accordingly, there have been people less than willing to be nice to you or show you any sort of kindness. It was mostly linked to the fact that people thought that if you wore black, put on lots of make-up, had piercings, and had tattoos you were a bad person and an even worse role model. Not only was that hurtful, it made you very self conscious about meeting new people. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Shayne said, pulling you in for a hug. You sunk into his arms, wrapping your own arms around his torso. 

“It wasn’t terrible,” you replied, your words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. You turned your head sideways so that you could hear his steady heartbeat, allowing it to lull you into what felt like security. “Though, the beginning could have been better.” 

“We’re never speaking of the beginning again.”

“Agreed.”

Shayne started to sway with you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before letting go. “So how do you feel about going to brunch with the rest of my friends on Saturday?”

After meeting Damien, your anxiety had subsided. No longer did you think you would be judged for the type of clothes you chose to wear but this time the anxiety of meeting so many people at once surfaced. When you didn’t respond, he looked down at you worried. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I just…” If you said what you were thinking out loud, you knew you were going to sound ridiculous. “It’s nothing.”

“No, really,” he frowned, “tell me what’s wrong. Bottling it all up inside won’t work this time.” 

You sighed. “I--Shayne, you’re perfect, you know that?” 

“I wouldn’t say perfect but…” You dug your fingers into his side, causing him to laugh. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just that you’re the perfect LA Boy and I look nothing like the perfect LA Girl that you so clearly deserve. I mean, Damien was nice but that’s literally just how he is. What if your other friends think I’m, like, a terrible influence on you with my millions of piercings and tattoos and attention-seeking hair and--”

He cut you off with his lips, arms pulling you in impossibly closer and effectively stopping you in your tracks. 

When he pulled away, you fixed him with a playful glare. “Shayne Robert Topp, you did not just pull a movie cliche on me while I was airing out all my concerns to you. Apologize right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But, Y/n, you don’t need to be the ‘perfect LA Girl,’ you’re perfect the way you are. That doesn’t mean I’d like you any less if you decided that you did want to become whatever you think is the ‘perfect LA Girl’ because I’d like you no matter what. I just like you.”

“Even if I went bald?”

“Even if you went bald.” 

You’ve said it once and you’ll say it again: you fucking loved this man. 

“I love you,” you said, pouting your bottom lip. You felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you looked up at him in adoration. 

“I love you, too.” 

By the time Saturday rolled around, you were ready to meet the rest of Shayne’s friends. Most of your anxieties had been successfully quelled, though they still lingered. You had gotten your hair done again the day before, meaning you were now sporting a bright neon green. You matched your makeup to your vibrant new dye and picked out a heat-appropriate outfit. 

“Are you ready to go?” Shayne called from your front room, interrupting your self-admiration session. You gave yourself one last look in the full-length mirror in your room before slipping on the pair of DnD dice filled platform shoes that added at least three inches to your height. 

“Ready.” You stopped to pose in the doorway, the bottom of your shirt riding up as you leaned against the wooded frame. “Baby, how do I look?” 

Shayne looked up from his phone, his jaw dropping the second he laid eyes on you. A blush settled nicely onto your cheeks, as you grew shy under his gaze. He dropped his phone on the couch and crossed the room in three long strides. He pulled you in by the waist, pressing a kiss to your lips. You melted into his touch, a giddy feeling spreading through your being as your arms looped around his neck, bringing him closer. 

“You look amazing,” he breathed, pulling away. You giggled as you realized that a bit of your black lipstick had transferred off onto his lip. You reached up and wiped his top lip with your thumb. 

“Thank you,” you giggled, rubbing your fingers together until the black rubbed off. “What time did your friends say?”

“We’ve got some time…” his fingers crept up your side, dipping under your shirt and tracing the band of your bra with his thumb. 

You smacked his hand. “Naughty boy.”

You didn’t end up leaving the apartment for another thirty minutes, though you couldn’t complain about it. Still, you ended up making it on time. From where you’d parked on the street, you could see Shayne’s friends spread across two connected tables, laughing on the patio. 

Damien was the first to spot the two of you, standing from his seat and calling out, inviting you into the sectioned off area. You took up residence in the seat closest to him, leaving Shayne to take the seat on your other side. 

“You guys, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Shayne introduced you to everyone at the table. There were nine other people sitting at the table. You recognized maybe six of them from the videos you’d watched, while the other three were most likely spouses (considering how close they were sitting next to who you assumed were their significant others). 

“Hi, Y/n!” the blonde sitting next to Damien greeted. You recognized her immediately as the inspiration for Shayne’s alter ego, Courtney Freaking Miller. 

You smiled politely as everyone went around introducing themselves to you, from Olivia and Sam to Sarah and Claudio, you didn’t feel out of place for one second. The hand that had been tightly intertwined with Shayne’s relaxed as you grew even more comfortable around his friends. 

“So Damien told us that you worked at a tattoo parlor,” Ian inquired, propping an arm up on the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. On his left sat Anthony, who also looked interested in your answer. “And Shayne did, too, I guess. Did Damien tell you that your boyfriend literally never stops talking about you?”

You giggled. “He did tell me that and I find it adorable that he can’t go a second without missing me.” 

“I wish Peter was like that,” the purple haired woman, Mari, complained playfully, nudging her husband’s side. Peter just laughed it off, casually putting his arm around her shoulders. 

“You do not,” he refuted. “You get flustered when I even mention you to my friends.”

She huffed, though there were no traces of anger to be found on her face. “It’s the sentiment that counts.”

Courtney put her menu down, reaching over to grab her glass of water. “I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo. Y/n, yours are so pretty.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you! I actually did most of them myself.” 

Courtney’s eyes widened at that. She reached over Damien, who had leaned far back enough in his seat to allow her to do that. She motioned at your sleeve, specifically at the roses that decorated the back of your forearm. They were cliche and most likely overused but you just thought they were pretty. 

“Those? You did those yourself?”

“Yeah!” you said enthusiastically. You offered your arm out, allowing her to take a closer look. “My friend, Alyssa, designed it for me and as soon as I was trusted to wield an actual tattoo gun, it was the first piece I worked on.”

“That’s insanely cool,” she gushed, tracing a finger over one of the larger roses. “And you’re insanely talented.”

“Thank you!”

For some reason, Courtney was originally your biggest concern. Most of the insecurity had sprouted from the constant online presence of the ship Shourtney, which Shayne assured you was nothing but a meme. And you trusted your boyfriend, and though you didn’t know Courtney, you trusted her too. But sitting here, at the same brunch spot as her, sharing the same meal as she was, all your fears washed away. 

It was incredibly difficult not to like her. Not only was she extremely nice, but insanely pretty as well. Though you had to accredit most of your confidence to Shayne, who only had eyes for you despite everything else. You’d thought that you would find yourself vying for his attention in front of everyone but not once did he leave you to flounder. He was always there, ready to step into any conversation you were having. 

When you’d all finished your meals and began to wrap up the late morning, you couldn’t help but show your gratitude for your amazing boyfriend by pressing a huge kiss to his cheek, whispering that you loved him while everyone had grown content in their own little conversations with each other. 

Content, he grinned and his arm around your shoulders tightened just that much more as he used his free hand to tilt your face up towards him. He pressed a kiss to your lips, keeping it short and sweet, before pulling away and whispering, “I love you, too.” 

TAGLIST

Permanent

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[forasecondtherewedwon]

Gladly Be a Fool

Fandom: A Discovery of Witches Pairing: Phoebe Taylor/Marcus Whitmore Rating: E Word Count: 2883

Summary: The missing scene after Phoebe and Marcus stumble into his bedroom in episode 4.

“Is this alright?” Marcus asks, despite feeling Phoebe’s calf wind around him like the heavy scroll on an antique gilt frame—the kind of thing they surely have in the vaults at her auction house.

“Completely,” she says against his throat before leaving a lingering kiss. “Does it seem like I think this isn’t alright?”

“Just checking.” He laughs at himself, scoffs with his eyes shut. “It was only that you looked a bit disoriented when we…”

“Flung ourselves onto your bed?”

Phoebe’s bold. He suspected, even with her backtracking after kissing him by the cab, and he enjoys it immensely.

“Yes. Forgive me. Occupational hazard.”

Smiling, he bends his head to her neck. She tilts her head to make space for him. The hum of blood beneath the surface of her skin is more intoxicating than the red wine, less than the creep of her fingers unbuttoning and spreading his shirt. He wishes he were wearing something smarter; blue plaid isn’t his go-to seduction look. However, he didn’t foresee this when he darted to Phoebe’s office earlier. That just toppled into dinner, from dinner into a lovely stroll while they discussed his taste in music to the soundtrack of her laugh, from playful conversation to the kiss that left him longing on the sidewalk, to her surprising call, to, finally, the supreme pleasure of holding her body in place with his and the prospect of imminently warming his cool sheets.

“Are you saying you’re trying to assess my health? In other words, play doctor with me?”

“I don’t think it’s playing doctor when I actually have the qualifications,” he argues between kisses, meandering up to her cheek, then her mouth.

“I suppose I have been acting out of character. Do you think that could be a symptom of anything?”

Phoebe pushes at his shirt and Marcus lifts one hand and then the other, slipping free of the sleeves so she can toss the garment aside. He lifts his head and cocks it.

“I’ll keep you overnight to make sure.”

He doesn’t think he’s offered her anything unusual, and yet she clasps the back of his neck and leads him through a kiss the flavour of gratitude and relief, intense desire welling just beneath. The last thing gets him harder than anything. He presses his groin to her thigh, wanting her, hating his jeans.

Reminding himself that he’s a thinking being, a centuries-old intellect, not just a creature of primal hungers like the one Domenico described, Marcus defers briefly to his brain. The verdict there is that Phoebe’s feeling reassured by his implication that he’d like her to stay the night. She’s inquisitive, attempting to decipher him since they met, holding back even more questions than she asked. Amid all her uncertainties where he’s concerned, his invitation is solid. A promise that predicts the next eight or so hours of her life. He decides he can appreciate that craving for a knowable future. By job and genetics, they’re perhaps both more comfortable with the past.

“I really can’t believe I called you,” Phoebe confesses, working on his belt. “I’m normally not—”

“Liar,” he teases. His hair’s in his eyes as he stares smugly down at her. “A woman who dresses entirely in red is definitely a woman who makes the first move.”

Now to get her out of all that red. Remembering his other guests, Marcus moves swiftly to his feet and closes the bedroom door. He jerks his thumb towards it and mumbles about a friend staying with him as he returns to Phoebe’s waiting arms. His heart doesn’t so much beat as somersault, watching her skate her dress up her legs—presumably, the better to wrap them around him. He feels flushed, imagining forgetting the clothes and just pounding into her.

“Technically,” she pants as his hand skims her inner thigh, fingers trailing along the lace hem of the slip beneath her dress, “the call was the second move.”

“Well, I’ve got to make one of the moves.”

“You really should. Unless it takes you a while to get going. Hamilton six times…”

Grinning, Marcus shakes his head at her and feels for the line of her underwear at her hip. He starts to tug, then wriggles his fingers under the band instead. As he slides his hand down to cup her, he fits his lips back over hers. Phoebe sighs shakily into his mouth as his fingertips glide through her arousal. He applies a gentle touch, tracing her with a surgeon’s finesse.

Before he can ask her which move this qualifies as, she’s opening his fly, her ring scratching against his zipper. The kiss opens up, growing harsher, teeth grabbing lips, her tongue pushing into his mouth then his into hers, until she’s gripping his cock and he’s sunk a finger inside her. He curls, she palms. Between their obscene sounds, he recalls the neat click of her typing as she brought up Lot 42 on her computer. It makes Marcus smile to himself. Then, he dives deeper into the kiss and into her, adding a finger, coaxing a broken moan from Phoebe that vibrates across his tongue.

He raises his head and her hand with it, fingers twined in his hair, because he’s honestly not sure she’s taking in enough oxygen. She might be breathing heavily, but her hand doesn’t quit, fingers encircling him as she pumps faster. Feeling his hips begin to rock as he seeks satisfaction, he realizes he’d better distract her.

“Hope my hands aren’t too cold.”

Phoebe laughs breathlessly and does stop dragging him to the edge for a moment, but then she reaches for his hips with both hands instead, pulling his jeans and underwear down.

“I think I’ve stopped noticing,” she says.

“Am I boring you?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Not like that,” Phoebe tells him. Then, “Yes. Yes, like that,” as he pulses his fingers shallowly and drags her clit in urgent circles beneath his thumb.

“You can have the first move,” he cedes. “I’m claiming credit for the first one of these.”

But he’s got to actually get her to orgasm before that claim’s really worth anything, so he continues what’s making her squirm. With his other arm, he drops from his palm to his elbow, freeing his hand to unbutton her dress from the top. Her chest is warm where he brushes his lips. He exposes more skin, then the lacy neckline of her slip. Being disappointed by too many clothes is a modern man’s insanity—what does it for Marcus are these layers, needing time to strip and reveal, this thick feeling of anticipation drawn out. He watches the dainty gold pendant bob against Phoebe’s throat as her breath hitches. Groaning, he leaves her buttons for now and grabs the hand not in his hair, interlocking their fingers and pressing the back of her hand into the mattress.

“Almost there,” he murmurs to himself, but Phoebe squeezes her eyes shut and nods rapidly in response as the nails of her other hand bite into his naked hip.

Her legs tangle around his and tense when she comes; the leverage pulls him in as her hips jerk up from the bed. He was trying not to grind his erection into the satiny fabric of her skirt, but it’s too late for that now. The contact has him kissing faster over her collarbone and up her neck, sucking where her pulse throbs until Phoebe moans, clamping even tighter around his fingers. Marcus clenches his jaw hard and rests his forehead on her neck, wondering if that was just a spike at the end of her orgasm or whether he compelled her into a second.

When her hand loosens against his, he draws back to look at her in the yellow light coming through his windows from the street.

“Not too cold,” she says, smile slack and easy from the wine and the release.

“Good.”

The word is no louder than the rustle of bedding as he withdraws his hand and braces himself over her again. He stares admiringly down at her. She just makes him feel… like he’s really glad he didn’t pawn the miniatures investigation off on Miriam.

Holding his eyes, Phoebe brings her hands to her chest. Her smile turns sly as she runs her fingers along the open front of her dress until they encounter the next fastened button. She undoes it. Marcus’s gaze leaps from her hands to her face and back. He grins, hanging his head, at her ability to do this to him. She knows too, because she doesn’t speed up. She takes her time all the way to the very last button. When she sits up to shrug out of her dress, he does as well, kneeling between her thighs as she does a little hop to whisk the skirt out from underneath her. She casts the dress aside.

Marcus takes a long breath through his nose, studying Phoebe in her short sheath of white silk. She’s wearing a bra under it—white, ribbed, unlined—but he can see her hardened nipples. While he stares, she unclasps her necklace and lowers it onto the closer of the two nightstands. The chain trickles through her fingers.

“Not the watch?” he asks with a grin when she’s touching him again, hands on his sides, moulded to his ribs.

Phoebe shrugs, barely glancing at her wrist.

“Didn’t think it was really in the way.”

He gives her a considering frown and kicks his legs out from under him, peeling his clothes off. She looks slightly shocked, mouth open in a scandalized smile as she does her best to keep her eyes on his face. Shame.

“Is that all?” he wonders.

“I guess I just like knowing what time it is.” She pauses. Goes on. “So much of the past is identified so indistinctly. Paintings or jewellery by year, some artifacts by decade with our appraisers’ best estimations. The possible timeframe only gets broader the farther back we go. Things travel through time… objects… but we lose details. Maybe it’s silly, but sometimes it amazes me that I can know the time down to the second. I think time is underappreciated.”

“Now that,” Marcus says, leaning in until their lips almost touch, “was a much more interesting answer.”

“Coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

He’s not positive that was a compliment, but he kisses her anyway. Though he can feel her smile like she might say something else, his hopefully-charming insistence wins her over and her mouth seals to his with more certainty. He groans into it, cupping her cheek to angle her head as he deepens the kiss. He misses her hand wrapped around his cock and yanks expressively at the blanket to either side of her hips. Phoebe shifts back against his headboard, curving her legs out of the way. The second he has the covers whipped down, he catches her behind the knees and pulls her back to him, laughing. Marcus’s smile is broad as he settles between her legs. He traces the neckline of her slip, ignoring where the hem’s scrunched up above her hips, revealing her white underwear, for the moment.

“Did you think about me when you put this on this morning?” he inquires, fingering the lace.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming in. To the office,” she clarifies when he jauntily raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm. That’s not exactly what I asked.”

Marcus kisses her shoulder, heading towards her throat. He slips his hand under her ass to keep her in place as he grinds down with his hips.

“I take care in my appearance,” is all Phoebe seems willing to concede.

“And that appearance is very lovely.” He can feel her arousal through her underwear and rubs against her more precisely, dying to bury himself in her. “So very lovely,” he pants against her skin.

“You’re being very charming for someone who’s already got me half naked.”

“Oh, I never turn it off.” He flashes an enticing grin.

He can feel, and hear, her heartbeat, then his cock twitches eagerly and they’re in another scramble—the first was to make it to his bed, this is to get her out of her underwear and him inside her. She takes care of the former as he stretches to fish a condom from the drawer of the nightstand. If she asked, he would say truthfully that he was thinking about her this morning. The way he pleased and flustered her when they met by suggesting she should be the one in charge of the auction house was in his mind when he ventured to the shop, guiding his hand as he tossed the box of condoms into his basket alongside the coffee creamer and eggs he was bringing back to Sophie and Nate for breakfast. The thrill for the rest of them might have been the discovery of Matthew and Diana’s miniatures; the thrill for Marcus was doing everything he could to provoke a smile out of Phoebe Taylor.

Pressing inside her, he inches the white slip up her stomach with every gasp. Her fingers grip the back of his neck, her eyelids lowered, her parted lips bumping his as they share air. Marcus thrusts shallowly once he’s all the way in and Phoebe shifts her hips, widens her legs; they adapt to each other.

His hands caress her skin more insatiably the more of it he bares. He can feel the goosebumps under his fingertips, unable to count them because she’s rocking her hips with his, driving him deeper. Phoebe intervenes with the slip, stripping it off over her head, then her hands slap to his back and they kiss hard as he bucks into her. Marcus absorbs her high whimpers, refusing to break the kiss. Fuck, she’s incredibly slick around him and he badly wants this to be as good for her as it is for him. He hooks his arm beneath her thigh and folds it up. The moan that leaves Phoebe is almost enough to stand even his heavy, floppy hair on end.

He dips his head, tugging at her nipple through her thin bra. He can feel her wristwatch against the back of his neck as her fingers comb into his hair. Not everything’s been removed; so many pieces of her. She thinks he’s evasive and mysterious, but he’s sure he doesn’t know the half of it with her, and that excites him. Phoebe in his bed excites him. He lets her pull him back into a messy kiss and allows his eyelids to flutter open ever-so-slightly, stealing glimpses of her. This room is full of mirrors, but most are hung just a little too high on purpose because it isn’t really his reflection Marcus wants. He doesn’t need his own face looking back at him, he doesn’t need two nightstands for all his shit.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he catches the wine they drank downstairs, her gin at dinner. There’s the scent of night air and the faint hint of the perfume she must have put on this morning. He smelled it at her office earlier, but at the time it seemed a little too—as Phoebe defined their first kiss—forward to ask if that was for his benefit, like the later uncovered silk slip. She’s as irresistible when experienced through this sense as any other.

“F-faster,” she directs, bowing her body against his, and he is happy to oblige. He loves her sweat. He’d be perspiring himself, if he weren’t what he is.

The present rides him as he moves quickly in and out of her. This is fast, him and her, for something he thinks is more than a hookup. Two days to get them from his cold hands to her heat under and around him. One dinner, one walk, one call, a multitude of kisses. He is so, so into her.

His hand finds and grasps her hip, heaving her up to stroke inside her differently while pinning her thigh to her stomach. She cries out and he knows he’s got her.

“Good god, Phoebe,” Marcus breathes into her ear.

She shudders and shakes, clenching around his cock. He switches to long strokes as she climaxes, powering through them, trying to last if only to extend the present, here to play time’s own game. All of his seconds are Phoebe sighing and catching her breath and being so vibrantly human beneath him. He finally finishes with one of her hands kneading his shoulder, the other on his cheek. The orgasm ripples through him, muscles taut as his hips snap to hers and push until he’s empty.

He almost doesn’t want to pull away, but he’s being stupid. He swaggers unhurriedly over to the bin to chuck the condom, smirking back at Phoebe, who he’s caught watching his ass, as he thought she would be. She rolls her eyes with a certain fondness while she takes the liberty of rearranging the pillows that are propping her up.

“You know what would be great right now?” Marcus asks as he rejoins her.

“What’s that?”

He waits until she’s looking at him dead on before he grins.

“A little Duran Duran.”

[thejudgingtrash]

Invisible Strings (2,5k)

(Ruby Red!Percabeth AU and I hope tumblr doesn’t mess up things again 🙄 Not beta’d, this was just a random sprint for a scene)

“Mister Jackson!” yelled Mrs. Dodds as she was trying to chase after the taller student who unfortunately had longer legs, better stamina and much more urgency to get out of this situation. An unwelcoming combination and another chain of chaotic events that had unfolded.

“Come back at once!” Percy didn’t think to march back to that wretched woman that called herself a math teacher. Why now? Why me?, he cursed in his thoughts. Alas there was no time. He had to flee if he didn’t want everyone to witness what was about to unfold.

“Percy!” Grover huffed as his best friend had just shoved his backpack into his stomach. He was more than aware of Percy’s… condition, but that didn’t mean that Percy could just do what he wanted, whenever he wanted. That and he was much slower due to the cast around his foot and the tight pants from the mustard yellow school uniform.

But things took a different turn as Percy’s stomach turned and the feeling of the quick drop from a rollercoaster reappeared. 

“Argh!” Percy yelped. Nausea spread through his body like a mutated infection and he felt sick. Waves of heat followed, however, there was no fever. But it was no ordinary sickness that plagued him, no. It was much worse.

The two boys fled as best as they could, Grover with his crutches and Percy’s backpack in his hands and Percy who tried to not trip and turn invisible in front of the entire few confused students in the hallway that were watching. Not to mention a certain crazy teacher that was chasing after them.

“Quick! Into Mr. Brunner’s classroom! The room should be empty, the sixth graders are on a field trip,” Grover remembered and took a sharp turn with his best friend following. Percy ran into the classroom; possible students be damned if they were in there. Luckily, his best friend had been right. The room was unlocked and entirely empty. Chalk dust and smelly remains of unwashed teenagers stood in the air.

Grover barely sneaked into room as it happened right in front of him. The student would have never thought that he would see it happening live in front of him.

“Take care of my-” Percy was unable to finish his sentence. His vision blurred and it literally felt like someone had pulled the rug under him. His feet didn’t feel like they were touching the hard floor anymore.

Grover’s jaw dropped as Percy seemed to have been pulled up by an invisible hand and pulled back into nothingness with force. Perseus Jackson had disappeared and Grover had no idea where he was. Or rather when he was.

For Percy it felt like a minor earthquake. His vision shook and his feet found the ground again. Instead of the bright daylight in the old castle that usually was his school, it was the middle of the night. The tall windows showed the moon in all of its beauty. But now there was no school. It was quite literally an old castle. Instead of neon tubes amounted on the ceiling there were dozens of candles trying to bring light to the room. Instead of two dozen wooden desks where students normally sat around to at least pretend to learn something and a blackboard in front of them, there was only one mighty secretary in the middle of the room. It overflowed with scrolls and books, coins and other instruments. An abacus? Swords stacked on the walls? Who knew.

Percy grimaced at the thought of the carelessly displayed candles that were a fire hazard as he was alone in this room. It was good for him for the moment to have a source of light but with his clumsiness it would be a matter of minutes until he would accidentally knock something over and set everything ablaze. 

Bookshelf after bookshelf was stacked against the wall, some with carefully crafted decorations, many books written in Latin and therefore nearly unintelligible for Percy. Taking Latin in class and understanding Latin on a whim were two very different things. The dim light did the rest as it was simply not bright enough to snoop around further. Percy walked around the desk and looked at the other items on the table. A fancy quill, dark ink, a couple of envelopes, a tricorn hat and an unfinished letter. 

Beloved mother, the person wrote and didn’t bother to finish the correspondence. July 17th, 1764 was marked as the date in the upper corner. What a lousy child, Percy shook his head. His eyes moved to the left where a finished letter remained. It had been written by someone else.

To my dearest son Apollo, the first line was the most Percy could read as the cursive was way too embellished and elongated for him to decipher in such a short period of time. Apollo! His heart swelled. The friendly school ghost was still alive, not a ghost yet and thriving in 1764. Technically that meant Percy could try to sneak out and look out for him…

A laughter erupted outside the door and the doorknob turned. Percy was lucky he didn’t scream. He was ready to jump underneath the table for all he cared. He wasn’t in the mood of getting chased through a house in a different time period yet again. The young student was lucky. He was able to hear the muffled voice of a woman say, “Oh no! Not in here Zeus! I do not wish to defile your son’s study yet again!”

“Alright, my dear. Let us make sure my wife shall not interfere this time,” sighed Zeus. The woman’s laughter slightly echoed as they moved further away.

Percy frowned. Yikes, Apollo was right when he said his father was a rake. Then he shook his head and carefully approached the door. The steps got quieter. The student inhaled and with all of his courage he turned the doorknob. A cloud of perfumes and spices hit him straight in the face. Then the sour and foul smell of sweat, urine and other unpleasant things followed.

Percy sharpened his senses. He could hear music. String music to be exact and a pianoforte in the background. More laughter, heels stomping on the floor. Or where people dancing? Dancing to the string music? Conversations tried to dominate and drown out the music but it was an everlasting fight of audience and musicians. Who could be the loudest?

The hallway that Percy was used to was no longer covered in its ugly orange coating, instead a lovely violet was illuminated by dozens of candles that hung around in the walls and standing still in candle sockets. Gone were the lockers, the corridor was filled with pompous vases and statues, expensive artwork which included a painting of Apollo smirking at the observer. Percy cracked a grin and shook his head. That was Apollo to you.

“Wait!” pleaded a young woman as someone else climbed up the stairs. It was a tall man and from his stance and body language he seemed to be more than just displeased. The young woman fought her way up the stairs with the hoop skirt and layers upon layers of fabric. 

“Please wait! Let me explain!”

The man she seemed to hunt down, didn’t bother listening to her and it was a matter of mere seconds until Percy got exposed. Panic spread through his synapses and the muscle memory forced his feet to go. He took a turn around a corner and approached the first door. The room was already occupied as the door stood ajar.

If Percy didn’t know any better it was that Zeus guy and his mistress as a middle-aged man in the finest robes was kneeling on the floor and taking the pair of tights that covered his lover’s milky legs. Oh my god no, Percy thought and approached the next door in a haste. He opened it and was greeted again by an empty room to his relief.

But the steps only got louder and louder. Percy looked out for a hideout. There was nothing but a couple of sofas, another row of bookshelves and a contrabass in the room. Oh no, Percy thought as the steps approached. He looked to the windows, only to realize they had been covered by heavy looking curtains. Better than nothing. He ran to the window and thanked the gods for the broad windowsills. Percy was scrawny enough to fit onto them.

“It’s not what you think it is!” The woman tried to explain as the man stormed into the room. 

“Oh yeah?” The man huffed. He sounded familiar. Way too familiar. Percy decided to pull a little bit of the curtain aside. He saw the broad shoulders of the man and the emerald green tail coat he was wearing. The man had long black locks that were tied into a pony tail. A proud stance that prevented the golden heels on his feet from looking utterly ridiculous.

“Also, it would be improper for me to run after you. It should be you defending me, in case something happens,” the soft voice of the lady demanded.

“Me defending you?! Anna, did you forget you carry daggers in your corset and had a goddamn sword hidden underneath there?” The 18th century man pointed to the wide skirt.

“I don’t think-” He had crossed his arms and spun around in an annoyed whiff only for his eyes to widen and his face to pale. Percy behind the curtain pressed his hand against his mouth as he was also shocked. The man standing in front of the other woman, was him. Him as in Percy.

It was weird looking at yourself for the first time without a mirror in front of you. Was your forehead really that wide? You really needed to visit the saloon soon again. Whoever that other Percy was, he made a waving motion with his hands, signalizing “Hide!” to student Percy.

“What are you doing there? Could someone be spying on us?” this Anna lady asked. The candle light brightened up her face and Percy saw her light gray eyes for the very first time. Her heart shaped face made him speechless. His heart stopped beating for a second or two. The pointy nose and rosy cheeks, white teeth and the light eyebrows. The way she bit her lip as she was calculating the next move, the slight worry in her eyes. She didn’t look as ridiculous with that huge red wig as most other people would. The green dress hugged her curves despite the ridiculously large amounts of fabric surrounding her. She didn’t seem much older than he was, but the authority her voice carried made her seem that way.

“Nothing, nothing!” the other Percy clearly lied.

“Did you already forget?” Anna huffed as she tried to place her hands around her waist without ruining the beautiful dress. Her eyes were glued to his back. “I can tell when you’re telling a-”

She did not finish her sentence as she had been cut-off by the other Percy. Cut off by his lips, to be exact. The Percy behind the curtain looked shocked at the scene in front of him. 

The strange girl and his other self separated. “I’m…” The other Percy harrumphed and looked to the side. “I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know what overcame me and-”

“Oh, shut up!” the beautiful young woman barked, grabbed the other Percy by the ruffled collar and pulled him in for another kiss. The pair kissed as if there was no tomorrow left. The Percy on the other side of the room had never kissed a person in his life. The truth or dare kiss five years ago from Nancy Bobofit did not count. But as far as he could tell… he did a great job. At least Percy assumed he did as the woman grabbed his hair and didn’t seem to want him let go. Oh wow, the large hands found her tiny waist and Percy hoped that both of them remained steady on their feet. From the swaying it looked like they would fall flat to the ground.

Then the wicked feeling came back. The dizziness, the spots in his vision, the rumbling ground. Percy’s fingers clung to the windowsill as he felt being spewed into his right time line. If he had been sorting his thoughts right, he would have disturbed the wood shop class by Ms. Minerva. Percy closed his eyes and shoved the curtain aside. No screams or gasps, no puzzled students. He opened the sea green eyes again.

Oh yeah, the kids are on their field trip, he remembered. Ms. Minerva otherwise would have reprimanded him further to Mrs. Dodds pleasure. The flabbergasted student quickly left the room. Percy had to lie to janitor Argus about why he was still at school and fortunately managed to get away with his lame excuse of forgetting his smartphone in a classroom. Said smartphone he just pulled out of his pocket and pressed the first number in his call logs.

“Grover!” Percy exhaled. “I just spent my time in 1764, I saw an unfinished letter in Mr. Brunner’s classroom.”

“You are okay! Where are you? Mrs. Dodds wants to murder you!”

“Just got out of school, I’m on my way home.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Grover sighed into the speaker which created a little bit of static. “You were gone for almost two hours! I shoved all of your stuff into Jason’s stomach who was not pleased with you ‘skipping school’ earlier.” 

“Shit,” Percy cursed. Two hours? How? It felt more like five minutes, did he truly spent that much time lingering around? He should have picked up Estelle from band practice an hour and a half ago. His mother would kill him.

“There’s something else I need to mention,” Percy began. “I didn’t just land there in 1764… I saw someone…”

“Who?” Grover asked.

“Myself,” Percy answered. “It was clearly me… Or a twin brother I didn’t know I had and I was…” Kissing a pretty girl. “Having an argument… with some weird girl that I didn’t know either. I shooed myself away for her not to notice me! Grover, what the hell is going on?!”

Percy imagined how Grover’s eyebrows rose and how he was fumbling with the zipper of his favorite jacket as he always used to do whenever he was trying to connect new information. Someone else yelled in the background. It sounded like Mrs. Underwood.

“We need to talk about this later and strategize, mom needs me downstairs,” proposed Grover. “Percy, you have to speak to your mother about the time traveling! She knows more about all of this, she has to! Who knows into what time period you’ll jump next! Pretty sure that London in the 1940s seems more than just dangerous with world war two going on. Or… I don’t know. Any other year when vaccines still weren’t a thing yet. Catching the plague or medieval herpes sounds horrific.”

Percy winced. Both at the thought of more uncontrolled time jumps and also at the thought of medieval herpes.

Grover was right. He needed to speak to his mother and confess. It wasn’t his annoying cousin Jason who had inherited this weird time traveler gene. 

It was him, Perseus Jackson, the poorest bastard one could imagine.

I tried and I blame you for everything @marisolsnose 🤷🏾‍♀️

[illfoandillfie]

Hey darling, for prompt weekend can I have B1, C4, and F14 with either Roger or Ben? You’re the best and the greatest!

her you go darling! I went with Ben since most of the requests have been for Rog and I wanted somethign a lil different lmao Hope you like it!

Extensive talking during foreplay and sex + In costume + In a bath tub

The party had been fun, right up until your friend and her boyfriend snuck off together, leaving you in a room full of strangers. The host was one of her friends that you’d met in passing once or twice but couldn’t pick out of the mass of costumed people, and that was the strongest connection you had to anyone there. You were contemplating leaving, texting your friend so she knew where you’d disappeared to and just calling an Uber or something. You even had your phone out, composing the text, when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Cher right?”

“Sorry?” you turned, hoping the man in denim overalls and a short sleeved red shirt that you’d come face to face with, could hear you over the noise.

“You’re dressed as Cher from… fuck I had the name a second ago…Clueless,”

“Correct on both counts. Good spot Mario”

He laughed and shrugged, “It’s an easy costume to throw together. But my friend is dressed as Luigi so I’m not the only unimaginative one,”

“My friend is dressed as Dion but she ditched me to make out with her boyfriend,”

“Group costume then?”

“Yeah. One we’ve used a couple of times now, but shhh,” you held your finger over your lips.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Can I get you another drink?”

“That’d be lovely, thanks,”

“I’m Ben by the way, probably should have said that earlier,”

“Y/N,”

“Pretty name. Give me a minute and I’ll be back with another,” he indicated your mostly empty cup and then turned and disappeared into the crowd congregating near the alcohol.

You slipped your phone back into your purse. Maybe the party could still be fun.

 When Ben returned he handed you a fresh drink and you found yourselves heading outside where it was a little easier to talk.

“So, your friends ditch you to make out too or?”

“Not quite. I ditched them to talk to you,”

“Well I’m flattered,”

“I take it you don’t know anyone else here,”

“Nah, you?”

“Not really. But at least we can be the weird outsiders together,”

You laughed and held up your cup, “cheers to that,”

 For a while you stayed out in the cool night, finding a spot on the lawn to sit and chat. Ben was nice, sweet. He asked about your job and your friends and your pets, made dumb jokes you found hard not to laugh at, told you about himself. And he flirted. Openly and shamelessly. It was cute though. He shuffled closer so you were practically sitting on top of each other, his hand slipping behind you, palm to the ground for him to lean his weight on as he reached over to brush a strand of your hair back. The conversation was full of suggestion and innuendos, said with a boyish smile and an easy laugh, once or twice a bitten lip. It was hard to resist. Especially when you hadn’t expected anything like it to happen. But being chatted up by a cute boy was definitely an improvement on the night before he’d introduced himself. And really, getting a little action would be very welcome. So you flirted back, a hand on his arm or his chest as you laughed at his jokes. Licking your lips to draw his gaze. So, when he leaned in to kiss you, you let him and you kissed him back and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him there.

 It was clear where things were headed so you suggested finding somewhere a little more private. Unfortunately there were people spread throughout the entire bottom floor.

“Upstairs?” Ben asked, pulling you by the hand back towards the hallway.

“Isn’t it roped off so people don’t go up there?”

“No one’ll notice if we’re careful,”

You giggled and agreed, Ben climb over first and then gave you a hand stepping over too. That was when you saw it.

“You have a tattoo!”

“Shhhh,” Ben laughed, trying to tiptoe up the stairs, “Yeah I do,”

“Can I see it?”

“Let’s find a room first. What about,” he pushed open the first door and found a bathroom, “Will this do?”

“Absolutely.” You shut and lock the door behind you.

Ben’s first thought was to lift you onto the sink but he stopped with his hands on your hips, and frowned. The bench wasn’t really wide enough to be comfortable and what space there was, was taken up by discarded makeup and hair products. But what was lacking about the sink was made up for by the size of the bath. You indicated it instead and Ben shrugged and held out his hand to help you in.

“Uh uh, you gotta get your kit off first. How am I meant to ride you though fucking overalls?”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, unhooking the first strap and throwing it over his shoulder with a pout worthy of a model. You took your blazer off and then your knickers but left the skirt on as Ben discarded the overalls.

“So you wanted to see,” he pushed the sleeve of his shirt up so you could see the ink marking his shoulder, “You like it?”

“I do. Simple but really cool.”

“You don’t have any?” this time he stepped into the tub first before offering his hand and getting comfortable himself, legs stretched out in front of him, leaning against one end, “oh, cold on my arse,”

“That’s what you get for wearing a one piece. And, no, I don’t.”

“Technically two pieces with the shirt. God I hope this bath is clean,”

You distracted him by kissing him again as you settled on his lap, your knees wedged between his legs and the sides of the bath. But Ben was at least somewhat of a gentleman because you feel his hand on your arse and then on your thigh and then between your legs. You sighed into the kiss as he found your wetness, spreading it over your pussy lips and up to your clit.

“I – mmmh – I wouldn’t mind getting a tattoo actually,”

“Tattoos are hot, especially on attractive women,”

You hum, half because you agreed and half because you felt him press two fingers into you. It wasn’t not long before you wanted more, wanted what you’d been promised, so you dropped your hand between you to stroke his dick. He gasped softly at the contact.

“So how come you haven’t got any tats?” his voice was slightly strained as you worked your hand over his shaft.

“I don’t know, I guess- you’ve got condoms yeah?”

“Back pocket,” he pointed at his discarded costume and you released him to grab the overalls.

“I guess I just haven’t properly looked into it yet.” You ripped the condom open with your teeth and began sliding it onto him, “S’pose I don’t really know how to go about it,”

“Yeah, the first one’s a bit dau-nting,” his voice hitched as you lowered yourself onto his dick, “But it’s pretty simple really.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, you feel amazing,”

“Meant tats, do they h-hurt as much as people say?

Ben chuckled, his hands finding a place on your hips and squeezing as you began to raise and lower yourself, “I mean it’s needling ink into your skin, it’s not painless. Guess it, uh fuck, guess it depends on pain tolerance and stuff. Any idea what design you’d want?”

“Not really. Maybe something like a sunflower,”

“Cute,”

“Thanks,” you braced your hands on Ben’s chest so you could take him a little faster, “My friends got one of a fox, looks like watercolour,”

“Yeah I’ve se-een them online. Really cool,”

“Maybe something like that, but a bird. You want any, ohh, anymore tats or just the one?”

“I’d l-ove more. Not sure of what yet.”

“My name?”

He laughed again though it turned into more of a moan as you clenched, “You could get mine too,”

“Make me cum and I’ll think about it.”

Ben took the hint and brought his fingers to your clit again, rubbing it firmly as you tried to keep the pace of your bouncing despite the way your knees were beginning to hurt.

“Just like that Ben, don’t stop,”

Ben nodded and kept up his ministrations until you stilled, mouth falling open and fingers tightening on his chest. He followed quickly, head falling back against the side of the tub.

“Fuck,” he laughed, pulling you into a kiss “You look ridiculously sexy right now.”

“You think this is sexy you should see what I sleep in,”

“If that’s an invitation then I accept.”

“Put your pants back on and we can call and Uber,”

“So,” Ben said as he was pulling his overalls back on, “where are you going to get it?”

“Get what?”

“My name when you get it tattooed on you? I was thinking it’d look good on your arse but up to you,”

“Think I’ll still to the sunflowers,”

[hansoulo]

dissimulato

Pairing: Cassian Andor/f!Reader

Warnings: cursing, Sensual Salsa Dancing, K-2SO is an asshole, lots of talk about high heels, mild violence

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: i was watching blade runner and actually named the guy deckard but whatever. also took some dialogue from havana nights. half of this is canon-compliant and the other half i made up so... don’t think too much about it. just think about salsa dancing with diego luna. (also in my head this is like 5-ish years before rogue one. baby cass.)

“Stop fidgeting,” Cassian mumbled, not looking up from the ship controls.

“I can’t, it’s this stupid dress,” you said, hiking the fabric up as you stood. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn a dress, let alone one that cost more than an entire year’s worth of ration packs. When you asked Cassian where he’d found it, he just shrugged and handed you a case of makeup. Rouge, little pots of millaflower pigment, spiced perfume. They were the most luxurious things you’d seen since this whole mess started. Makeup, you thought with a shake of your head. Where the kriff was he taking you?

“That’s because it’s not done up all the way,” Cassian said, and it took a moment before you realized he meant the dress. You glanced down at your shoulders before reaching up to your back, curling your hands awkwardly in a vain attempt to tighten the bodice.

“Damn thing. I can’t-” you struggled with the fabric. and he pushed away from the console, standing up.

He waved a hand over. “Come here.” His voice was clipped. Brusque. Mission-mode Cassian, you called it. You supposed it was fitting, given you were en-route to a mission, but it didn’t feel like it. All the bangles on your wrists and the spray in your hair made you feel like a child playing costume. You missed your tactical pants. All he had to do was put on a buttoned shirt and boots that didn’t have holes in them.

Sighing, you stepped forward and turned your back, letting him reach for the laces. You sucked in a breath when he pulled them tight across your back, your palm flying to press against your stomach. “A little looser,” you choked out. Cassian obliged, letting the ribbons go slack in his hands.

“Better?” he asked, his breath hot and tickling your neck as he leaned forward. If you dared, if you were to just turn your head, he’d be close enough to-

“Am I interrupting something?”

You whipped around to see K-2 in the doorway of the cockpit, a metal hand reaching to gesture vaguely as it looked at you.

“No!” you both shouted and Cassian pushed away from you, his back knocking against the wall and his arms still outstretched.

“No, you’re not! Cassian was just- my dress needed to-” you said as you tried to hide your embarrassment, shaking your head. That was impossible. Laughable, even.

“I'll make sure to knock next time,” and with that K-2 turned, stepping back into the main hull.

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

You sat on an upturned weapons crate, the emerald fabric of your dress pooling around your legs as you eyed the heels in your hands. They were a death trap, with strappy, gold ties that were possibly meant to cross around your calves. At this point, you couldn’t be sure. You turned one over in your palm and the heel slipped down between your fingers, stabbing you in the leg.

Cursing under your breath, you rubbed at your thigh with your palm, letting the other shoe fall to the floor. If you were going to wear these, the least Cassian could do was tell you why. Knowing him, though, that wasn’t very likely. He had a habit of keeping all his cards hidden, which made for a good intelligence agent but a damn annoying person to work with. He hadn’t even told you what you’d be doing. I’m tracking an Imperial weapons supplier. We’ll be undercover at a party. That’s all you need to know.

“We’ll be undercover at a party,” you mimicked to yourself, your voice whiny and high-pitched, “That’s all you need to know.”

So now, for reasons still unknown to you, you were dressed like an Inner-Rim escort. You would’ve said no if you’d been told the details, which was probably why Cassian only handed you the clothes after you’d taken off. Damn him.

K-2 turned to you in the pilot’s seat, the ship coasting through hyperspace. “Would you like to know the probability of stumbling in those shoes?”

You glared as you attempted to untangle the straps from your hands. “Go eat a blurrg!” you called out.

“It’s high,” it spoke again, unfazed by your response. “Very, very high.”

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

Setting down the jar of pressed powder, you frowned at your reflection in the mirror. If you were being honest, the whole get-up wasn’t half bad. The kohl lining your eyes was a bit heavy-handed and the dress made you feel like you were stuffed in a bantha sausage casing, but you’d be lying if you said it was unattractive. It was a change from your usual appearance, that was for sure.

You stepped out of the refresher and made your way back to the cockpit, the shoes still in your hands. You weren’t going to put those on until you had to. Cassian sat in the copilot seat, one foot on the armrest as he laced up his dress shoes. Leaning against the doorway, you struck a mock pose and put a hand on your hip.

“How do I look?” you asked with an exaggerated pout on your lips. Shaking your head at the absurdity of it all, you choked down a laugh. He didn’t say anything. “Cassian?”

“You look...” and his eyes followed down the length of your body, making your skin tingle. It should’ve made you uncomfortable, but something about the way he looked at you was… admiring, although the idea of Cassian admiring any part of you was too dangerous of an idea to entertain. You chalked it up to novelty. The shock of seeing you with rouge on your cheeks instead of dirt.

“You look,” and Cassian swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Good. You look good,” he finished. When he finally met your gaze, your cheeks burned.

Wrapping your arms around your waist, you let your eyes drop to the floor. “Thanks,” you whispered.

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

“Remind me again why I have to come with you?” you asked, crouching over to strap your shoes to your feet. K-2 was off in the ship somewhere, powered off for the night after you landed in the hangar. Cassian sighed and pulled on a suit jacket.

“They’re high-profile, it'd look suspicious. Better to be seen with someone,” he explained as you stood up. Smoothing down your hair, you raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m your arm candy?” and he didn’t look up from the side controls as he opened the ship.

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, pressing a palm against the wall to keep from falling over. You could do that. Smile, look pretty, kill time until Cassian did whatever he needed to do and you could make it back to the ship. Child’s play, right?

You made it about two steps down the ramp before you almost fell flat on your face.

“Hey, hey, hey, easy,” Cassian said, slipping an arm around your waist to steady you. His voice was hot against the shell of your ear, his breath tickling your hair and sending a zip of electricity down the base of your spine. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. Fuck, since when was his voice so... so...

No. Stop it. You’ve known Cassian for years. You’ve dealt with looking at his stupid face on missions for years. Stars, if you really thought about it, which you didn’t like to, he was technically your boss. This was a mission. You were an intelligence officer. A damn good one, too - even if Cassian hadn’t thought to brief you on anything. An intelligence officer.

You should probably say something now. Intelligent. Fuck.

“You okay?” he asked as he walked you out of the docking zone into the city streets, his hand still resting on your waist. You nodded, your tongue thick on the roof of your mouth, and vaguely registered the tips of his fingers as they pressed against your hip. For balance, right? Just so that you wouldn’t fall over again.

Adjusting the bracelets on your wrists, you spared a glance up at Cassian as you reached the entrance of a brightly-lit casino, the open double-doors spilling over with music. Watching as he handed two forged invitations to the security droid, you sucked a breath in through your teeth.

This was going to be a long night.

-----------

Correllian wine was nice. Correllian wine was really, really nice. Maybe you shouldn’t be drinking on the job, but so far all you’d done is trail alongside Cassian as he skirted around the edges of the party, his eyes scanning over the heads of party guests and searching for something. Someone, more like. The rumored Imperial weapons supplier.

You could afford to be a little tipsy if all you had to do was walk around and look stupid.

Cassian didn’t look stupid, though. He looked… clean-cut. Handsome. Besides the tension in his shoulders and the fact that you’d seen him tuck a blaster into his waistband, he played his part well. You could only hope you were doing the same.

He paused in his stride - halting with his face half-cast in the shadows of the revolving lights - and you lost your balance again, thrown off-kilter at his lack of movement. Righting yourself, you furrowed your brows and shot him a quizzical look - receiving a small shake of his head and a whispered explanation in return. “Found the supplier. Need to put a tracker on him,” and you turned your head, following his gaze to see a thin, sharply dressed man - maybe 40 or so - with a plastic smile sitting at a table off the main dance floor. He was surrounded by empty glasses and a crowd of Twi'lek… dancers? Prostitutes? Barely-clothed party guests? It was hard to tell.

“Seems like a fun guy,” you mumbled. Cassian scoffed under his breath and nodded, raising his eyebrows when you plucked a flute of champagne off a waiter’s tray. You shrugged but your nonchalance quickly turned to irritation when he took it from your hands. “Hey what’re you-”

“Shh. Trust me.” You scoffed and followed him through the crowd, eyeing the champagne. If you had a credit for every time he told you to trust him you’d be knee-deep in your own Twi’lek dancers.

As he approached the man’s table, Cassian let the glass slip from his hands, spilling champagne across the floor and the tops of the man’s shoes. The stony expression he had worn before slipped off, a mask of calculated charm taking its place. If you weren’t so used to seeing it, it’d be unnerving.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, seemingly sincere as he picked up shards of glass. The man grunted and moved his foot away, waving toward one of the waiters.

“It’s fine, just… watch where you’re going next time, alright?”

“Of course, of course,” Cassian said, flashing a blinding grin before wiping his hands on the front of his pants. He had a nice smile. Nice... teeth. Maker, what had gotten into you? Maybe the wine wasn’t a good idea after all.

“Very sorry about that, Mr…”

“Deckard. Julian Deckard.”

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Deckard,” Cassian said, sticking out a hand. Deckard took it tentatively, giving it a hesitant shake.

As Cassian walked away, you caught the slightest brush of his fingers against the man’s collar. Ducking your head as you followed him to the edges of the party, you tried to maintain appearances as your legs wobbled slightly. Whether it was the wine, the heels, or Cassian himself that caused this, you didn’t dwell too much on. Laughing when you saw him sit at the bar, you nudged him with your shoulder as he called the bartender over. Apparently, he liked spiced whiskey.

Sliding onto the stool next to him, you opted for a water. You’d had enough to drink for tonight. Tracing your finger across the rim of the glass, you looked over your shoulder to see Deckard, who seemed unsuspicious of anything besides having to get his shoes rebuffed, taking a body shot off one of the Twi’leks. Classy.

Cassian scanned around the bar and, satisfied that no one was listening or sober enough to care, spoke quietly. “I placed the tracker when we walked past. Now, if he really does meet with the Imperials, we’ll know.”

You hummed and nodded your head. That was fairly painless, right? You got a few drinks out of it, at least. “So we’re done, then? I can take all this” you motioned to your dress and the gold paint on your eyelids, “off?”

“Not so fast,” Cassian said, his eyes with a look you couldn’t place. You frowned at him, cocking your head as he downed the rest of his drink.

“Cassian, what are you playing at? We are done, aren’t we? That was all?”

“No, not all,” he motioned towards the crowded dance floor. “Do you want to dance?”

If you didn’t already think he was crazy, this cemented it. He’d gone absolutely batshit.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re drunk.”

Cassian shook his head, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “You’re a sadist, then. A sadist who wants to see me trip, fall, and break my nose.” He stood up and slid a few credits to the bartender. Well, his face seemed to say, aren’t you coming?

“Cassian I-” and he pulled you towards the crowd, not listening to your pleas. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t really-”

He stopped at the outskirts of the dance floor. “Shh. I can teach you.”

You could feel the pulse pounding in your ears, in the soles of your feet, thumping in time to the music and making you feel like you were drowning. In him. All around you was movement, sweaty and magnetic and way too close. You were in out of your depth, clothed in a dress that barely covered anything with heels that legally should be classified as skewers and now Cassian, who’s your commanding officer, a captain of the Rebellion Alliance for Maker’s sake, is asking you to dance. Did this count as a direct order? Could you say no? Did you even want to?

Before you could protest any more, he slipped an arm around your side. Fuck, okay. You were dancing. People did that all the time. You’ve danced, right? Maker, this dress was low-cut. Okay. Alright. Dancing. With Cassian.

“Did you um-” you tried to make conversation as he led your feet forward. “Did you make a habit of this? On Fest?” He chuckled and guided your hand to his shoulder, taking the other one in a gentle grip out towards his side.

“We are a people of music. It’s in my blood,” he shrugged, twirling you in an easy spin. You laughed when he pulled you into his chest, more out of nervousness than actual humor. “Relax, it’s just dancing, hm?” he mumbled into your ear, motioning towards the throng of couples. Everything was bathed in soft neon, streaking and fogged over with the heat of compromised bodies. This did not seem like “just dancing.”

Cassian stopped when you tensed at his touch, exasperation - and maybe amusement - clear in his tone. “You’re too stiff,” he said, and your arguments were quickly silenced when he placed his hands on your hips. “Here, move in a circle,” he explained, guiding your body in a slow rotation. You gulped down a breath and pressed a hand to your forehead, the silky fabric of your dress sticking to your chest. He let go and watched your attempts, only to sigh. “No, that’s a square,” he laughed. You pouted and stepped away, indignant.

“Well, how am I supposed to do it, then?”

Cassian led you in by the small of your back, his hands barely skimming the top of your ass as he pulled you close to his chest. Then he pushed down against you, pelvis to pelvis in a way that made your knees threaten to buckle. “Like this,” he whispered.

You were drunk. You’d tripped and hit your head on those damn high heels. Cracked your head open, died and were sent to hell. This could not be happening.

“Oh,” you managed to choke out. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cassian asked, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

“Okay,” you nodded, gulping down your fear and the rational, sober part of your brain that told you this was probably not a very good idea.

“Okay,” he chuckled, letting his palms rest on your waist. If you could make it out of this casino with your ankles and your dignity intact, you’d count the night a success.

Cassian led you across the dance floor, his movements steady. He was always so sure of himself. Confident, but in an understated way. It was the kind that simmered, underneath the quiet stoicism and the soft eyes. It was the kind that made you really, really want to kiss him.

You weren’t a great dancer by any means, but the longer he held you, the longer he rocked against you like it was the easiest thing in the world, the more it felt like it. Underneath the darkened lights, surrounded by strangers just as depraved on a planet where no one knew your name, you allowed yourself the feeling of touch.

He was everywhere. Palms scraping against your arms. His chest against your back, solid with the rhythm of his quickened heartbeat. His lips ghosting over your hair. It was suffocating, all-consuming, and you were certain your lungs had filled with concrete, incapable of drawing in a breath without having it rattle in the back of your throat. You were drunk, but it wasn’t on wine. It was just Cassian.

You were so fucked.

You weren’t entirely sure how long you stayed there, sweat beading between your breasts and flushing your cheeks. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Not the Alliance, not the supplier, not K-2 still waiting at the loading port. It all fell away underneath the evening heat, turning your body to liquid and your common sense to dust. All that mattered was that you were here, dancing with him.

Cassian turned you and your back met his chest, your head falling against the curve of his shoulder. You looked at him through your lashes, following the dip of his chin as he eyed you. His mouth was close. Like, really close. Like you were sharing the same air, noses almost touching, barely inches apart close.

You can’t remember who kissed first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. You didn’t really care, as long as he didn’t stop. Maker, you wished he never stopped. You could live your whole life with your lips on his, never knowing anything besides the taste of him and the feeling of stubble beneath your hands, incapable of telling where Cassian ended and you began. You gasped when he slid a hand down the side of your thigh, the movement knocking you out of your trance.

You both pulled away, just as you had both leaned forward, eyes half-hooded and blown over with something too risky to dwell on. He coughed and stepped back, tearing his gaze away from your lips. “We should get back to the ship,” Cassian said, his voice tight in his throat, “It’s getting late.”

Yeah, it was getting late. Don’t think too much. He probably didn’t mean it, anyway.

You were both silent as you left the party, bodies that were once loose-limbed turned to practically marble. Neither of you dared say anything.

When you stepped out of the casino, Cassian let you balance on his arm as you reached down to take off your shoes. You couldn’t be bothered with them anymore, sparing a cursory look towards the ground and deeming it clean enough to walk on. You swung them on your hands, the straps digging into your fingers.

“So…” you began.

He said nothing, just kept walking beside you. Through all of this, you can’t remember when, the first few buttons of his shirt came undone, revealing the hollow of his neck. Shaking your head with a soft sigh, you shivered against the chill of the night air as it bit your bare skin. Cassian didn’t want to talk. Okay.

He looked over to see the rising goosebumps on your neck, pausing on the walkway to take the suit jacket from his arms and drape it around your shoulders, still silent. It smelled like smoke and blaster-fire, something grounding and earthy. You avoided his eyes as you wrapped it around you, resisting the urge to bury your face in the collar and inhale.

When you climbed inside the ship hangar, you worked up the nerve to speak again, his name soft and pleading on your tongue. “Cassian,” you said as he walked ahead of you. He stopped then, turned back just enough to give you hope.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it,” he mumbled, “I knew you didn’t feel the same-” and he was interrupted by the sound of your heels falling against the floor, your hands flying to his face as you crashed your mouth against his. He was so stupid sometimes. So handsomely, lovingly, blindingly stupid.

You heard the hull doors hiss as they opened, not registering the sound of K-2’s voice until it called out. “I should have knocked, shouldn’t I?”

Cassian didn’t look up from your face as he pressed your back to the ship wall, his arms never loosening their hold around you. “Yes,” he breathed out against your neck, “Yes you should’ve.” Tipping back when Cassian ghosted his lips across your throat, your head met metal as his suit jacket fell from your shoulders.

“I’ll power off again and give you lovebirds some privacy,” K-2 sighed with a shake of its head. “Absolutely vile.”

Tag List: @youmeanmybrain​ @ah-callie​ @itzagoodthing​ @damndamer0n​ @chelsfic​ @agirllovespasta​ @glowingpena​ @poeticandors​ @symbiont13​ @squidlywiddly87​ @1zashreena1​ @padfootwantsatummyrub​ @lesqui​

[tcookies777]

Here is a sneak peek at a side story I've written for The Anatomy of Love (a KakaSaku modern college au - AO3 hyperlink included)! You don't need to have read the fic to read this side story since this is a flashback to Kakashi's past when he was a teen, but it does help to understand since it's in the context of the fic itself!

The Anatomy of Love: Side Story - What He's Looking For

About 17 years ago on a sunny September day...

They'd raised the prices on the gum again. Under normal circumstances, Kakashi would've thought that was absurd. Really, 4 ryos for a few sticks of gum with a strawberry flavor that would last for only—what?—fifty chews? But it was also understandable given that the war efforts required such generous financial contributions. Money didn't grow on trees and soldiers didn't come back to life. It was to be expected that the economy would tank during war, but looking at the propaganda posters, anyone would think Fire country was thriving. It was the exact opposite, however, and the high inflation, budget deficits, rise in taxes, and reduced consumption of goods only proved that. So he was loathed to think that he would have to waste a couple of ryo on a pack of gum, but he also wanted to support the soldiers on the frontlines.

With a sigh of defeat, he snatched the pack of gum off the stand before traipsing further down the store in search of his journey's main quest item. There wasn't really much supply to offer these days, and even less food to fill the shelves. But Kakashi wasn't here today to buy some bread or milk, so he had no need to worry about that. All he needed to worry about was looking for the right condoms. And as he entered the aisle of pleasure to peruse his selection for the day, his presence did not go by without notice from a nearby clerk. It was not entirely unusual to see a boy in this aisle, but the clerk had certainly not anticipated that the purpose of the boy's presence here was for contraception. Perhaps he thought the boy was buying for his father, or maybe even an older friend—which, technically, Kakashi suppose he was. But the clerk seemed adamant in keeping his eye on him and Kakashi did his best to ignore him. There was also the possibility that the guy thought he was a shoplifter. After all, despite the clean way Kakashi dressed in his slim dark jeans and olive shirt, he did have the rugged gaze of a kid who'd been beaten up by life but was now ready to fight back. That, and the apathetic darkness in his eyes tended to disturb adults whenever they encountered a kid who was too young to look at them like they were the ones who were younger.

Although, to be fair with the clerk, there had been an increase in theft and street crime ever since the war had started, so Kakashi didn't blame the guy for dogging after him up and down the aisle.

"Uh, hi…?"

The words came muffled through Kakashi's headphones. With a heavy sigh, he slowly reached up and tugged the headphones down to let them rest on his shoulders, but the music continued to blare loudly through both sides of the speakers. The clerk's brow twitched when the boy in front of him still didn't even spare him a glance.

A throat was cleared, and then, "Hi?"

Finally turning to meet the annoyed face of the man, Kakashi crinkled his eyes at him. "Yes, I heard you the first time."

The clerk's brows twitched harder and he shuffled a step closer, still not quite sure how to approach him or maybe the subject before them. "Uh, did you need help finding anything today?" he asked in a peppy voice, remembering to plaster his customer-service smile back on.

"What kind of condoms would a girl like?"

The clerk blinked at him. "P-Pardon?"

"What kind of condoms would a girl like?"

Realizing the boy wasn't joking, the guy's face reddened and he stammered, "I-I-I do-don't know!"

Hmm, pity. "Then I guess you can't help me," Kakashi sighed out, wandering further down the aisle to let the guy lick his wounds.

Ignoring the aghast look cast his way, Kakashi studied a box of condoms that were of various colors and various tropical flavors including strawberry, apple, orange, banana, and—oh!—even cherry. If his suspicions were correct, however, he doubted anyone would appreciate a cherry-flavored condom that tasted more medicinal than fruity. Still, maybe Sakae wouldn't care. She'd always had a wicked tongue that could handle the taste of anything, which Kakashi had learned when she'd swallowed down his cum like she was sucking up the last dregs of a vanilla milkshake.

But Kakashi set down the box and picked up the standard, ultra-fine lubricated condoms instead.

Tonight, he didn't plan to get another blowjob in the back of an abandoned lot. Tonight was meant to be the first lay of his life if he played all his cards right, which he'd had no problem doing so in the past few weeks since the night of his birthday when Sakae had taken him into the backyard to give him his first kiss. Even if the kiss had happened through his mask, she'd liked it enough to guide his hand to her generous breasts which he'd always taken the time to admire during dinners when she'd eat across him with her breasts resting on the edge of the table so that he could study the way a stray crumb would disappear down the same cleavage he often dreamt of burying his face in. And then the week after that, he'd guided her hand to cup him through his jeans, encouraging her to slip that hand down his pants and fist his cock well enough to make him burst into the cage of her fingers. The next week, it was her turn to guide his hand down her shorts too.

It should have left him quivering with trepidation when he'd slipped his finger inside her the first time, hearing her cry out either from pain or pleasure or both. Instead, Kakashi had felt no sense of fear or anxiety—or anything, really, save for the sense of satisfaction and curiosity as he explored the velvet insides of a girl for the first time. His fingers had to have been good enough if it eventually had Sakae collapsing against him, shaking and whimpering as if she was in pain but smiling like she enjoyed it. And so it was last week when Kakashi had to tug his mask back on and pull his face out from between her legs to ask if she could repeat what she'd just said.

'If you can get your hands on a condom, I'll do it with you.'

'Do what?' he'd asked her, her orgasm staining the thin cloth of his mask.

'Sex,' she'd purred in his ear, just as he'd expected.

And so in Kakashi's young but precocious mind, of course it only made sense that he would obey the lady's wishes—as well as his own—and seek out the item of his quest. As it was now, he tossed the box of condoms in his hand much like he would as if he was a character from a video game doing a little victory jig, tossing his trophy in a show of smug triumph.

But because it was still too early in the noon to return to the orphanage and catch Mrs. Matsuda breathing fire out her mouth with more bitching, he took a turn into the next aisle full of baby diapers. The efflorescent smell of baby wipes assaulted his nose, sweet as a baby's bum and much to odoriferous for Kakashi's tastes. Then again, he'd always despised the pungent chemicals of perfume. However, the stray pug in the alley across school was in desperate need of diapers since his crippled hind legs always trailed right through his own filth and feces, and Kakashi had grown tired of bathing the old dog daily with a neighbor's sort-of borrowed hose.

In the midst of studying the difference between 'disposable diapers' and 'disposable underwear', Kakashi was indifferent to the cart that rolled up near him just a respectable foot away. At the background of his thoughts regarding the expensive cons of disposable underwear, a woman's voice spoke aloud, her words lashing out with the venomous bite of anger. She wasn't speaking to him, of course, since he definitely had nothing to do with the 'sorry piece of sods who didn't know a leaf from a ryo bill'.

Inclined to give her a wide berth and let the lady yell into the phone without breaking his left eardrum, Kakashi sidled over a step or two. Apparently, it wasn't enough distance, however, as he felt something bump the side of his left sneaker.

He peered down from the disposable diapers and to the stuffed sloth that had somehow ended up against his shoe. Picking it up, he frowned at the sloth that was barely the size of his one hand. Just then his nose wrinkled at the scent that permeated from the stuffed toy—milk that seemed to have been churned up in the stomach and spat back out. Nose still wrinkled, he quickly adjusted his grip so that it was only his finger and thumb that pinched the ear of the sloth.

A quiet cooing sound quickly stole his attention away and to the side where a baby in a cart stared curiously at him. She was dressed in a hideous tuft of pink that nearly swallowed her whole with two chubby little feet poking out from beneath.

Kakashi glimpsed at the woman who was still berating whoever the poor soul was on the other end of the phone. Her back was turned, and she'd taken too many steps away from the child in her cart to notice Kakashi approaching the babe.

Sure enough, she smelled like milk and baby wipes. But there was also another softer, more subtle sweet scent beneath. Not quite aromatic like perfume, but it clung to her gently as if someone's perfume might've rubbed off on her rosy, chubby cheeks after one too many kisses or cuddles. Or maybe she'd just gone rolling down a hill of flowers—cherry blossoms, it smelled like—for all he knew. He didn't know what babies did in their free time besides piss, poop, and play anyway.

"Here," Kakashi muttered quietly, dumping the sloth in the cloud of pink tulle that was the baby's skirt.

Large spring green eyes blinked up at him as if she was asking, 'what the fuck is this doing on my lap?'

He shrugged and stepped away to return his attention to the shelf of diapers. But no sooner did he pick up a pack when he felt another nudge against his left shoe again. He glanced down at the sloth smiling up at him from its position by his shoe, and then he glanced over to the baby in the cart.

She was staring almost expectantly at him as if to say, 'pick it up, dumbass'. Or maybe she was just curious why a boy was wearing a mask when nobody else was. Perhaps she thought he was a creature of the night come to nom on the fat rolls of her thighs and this was her way of testing him. Nah, babies were curious oddities but not too astute.

With a roll of his eyes, Kakashi bent down to retrieve the sloth whose smile seemed more derisive than friendly now. While the mother was still turned away and barking into the phone, he pressed the sloth toy more firmly, insistently to the baby's front.

There it was again, those big eyes staring up at him like saucers of green tea. Huh, now that he thought of it, he hadn't had a cup of tea in a while. Rin had given away the last pack to a younger kid who'd wasted it down the drain anyway. Shit, but he remembered the prices for green tea had risen too. Oh well.

Taking a step away from the baby, Kakashi was miffed when she suddenly threw down her sloth at his feet again before he'd even had the chance to look away from her. He frowned and glared over at the mother who couldn't be bothered to keep a better eye on her daughter who'd decided only a few months old wasn't too young to start acting like a bratty princess already. A bratty princess who was treating him like her dog that she was playing fetch with, he realized belatedly.

As if to assert her royal if infantile position, she looked up at him, spring green orbs glittering with pure mirth as a gummy smile broke out on her face. Kakashi raised a brow at her, none too impressed when a wave of drool spilled down petal-pink lips and painted her poor sloth's face in saliva so that it looked like it was crying for help now.

Sighing quietly, Kakashi shook his head and decided to make his retreat from the diaper aisle. This was a battle he could not win, and the baby only proved that with a gleeful 'mah!' as she waved her hands, gesticulating in a language he could not begin to comprehend beyond grabby, chubby hands reaching for him. The further he retreated down the aisle, the more she kicked up a fuss, kicking up her tiny feet too. Her mother peeked over a shoulder for a split-second but looked away when she saw her baby was fussing for no reason.

Just as Kakashi turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of the baby tossing her sloth back down to the floor like it was her means of summoning her new dog to play fetch with her at her beck and call. Yeah, well, that went against Kakashi's domineering nature and so he stuffed his hands to search for the literature section.

Much to his pleasure, the books were kept at the back of the store where he could read through them in private without a clerk judging him for not paying for the paperback service instead. Much to his disappointment, however, there was no Make-Out Paradise and the selection of books was few and far between, and not to mention somewhat outdated since all the covers were easily recognizable from the days that he'd spent poring through them. Despite the pitiful collection of paperbacks collecting dust in the hopes a perverted reader might spread open their covers and peruse their naughty tales, Kakashi's attention zeroed in on the single brand-new hardcover tempting him with the 10% off sticker. Even more tempting was the cover art of a high school girl wearing a blouse that was buttoned just enough to keep from flashing a nipple, her tennis skirt a plaid black and red color to imitate the style of a uniform a private school girl was mandated to wear. A private school girl who wore that sultry smile just as well as she wore the necktie hanging loosely around her shoulders and arranged to cover a pair of hardened nipples.

Cracking open the cover, Kakashi inhaled the scent of fresh paper and ink first before glimpsing the first string of words that sat beneath the chapter title. He breezed through the first page, mouth quirking up when he recognized the set up for a good fucking. By the third page, however, his small smile had disappeared once he realized the setup was just that: a setup. No fucking. It was even more disconcerting when he flipped through the pages more quickly and concluded that most of the story was just one agonizingly slow striptease that he had neither the time nor patience for. He could even already see the ending from a mile away just by the building premise riddled with clichés and tropes: the professor gets caught and blamed for his sordid affair while his seductive mastermind of a student twiddles her thumbs in a very plausible show of innocence that hid her conniving smile. Of course, the man who gives in to temptation must always be punished for it in the end. It was a theme Kakashi was consistently seeing in almost every book he read.

With a huff of disappointment, he returned the book to the shelf where it could sit with its siblings to collect its own film of dust.

Straying his eyes over to the magazine section, Kakashi hummed in contemplation as he eyed the cover of a girl drawing the shape of a heart over her exposed lower belly with both hands, a peeled banana angled to censor her pussy. He picked up that magazine, flipping over to the section of the sex tips, most of which he already knew and had already practiced several times with Sakae. But, just for good measure, he decided to review the part that advised him how to last long during sexual intercourse.

It was when he was in the middle of studying about technique over speed did the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rose up at the same time the smell of tobacco and rotten garbage flooded his nose. Kakashi was about to gag but stopped himself when a man stepped into the aisle—into his peripheral view. There was nothing unusual about the guy as he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt sporting a rock band that had broken up too long ago for Kakashi to even know who they were. What was unusual, however, was the baby hoisted against his hip. The monstrous pink tulle skirt was fluffed up to block her face, but he recognized that hideous dress that nearly swallowed her.

The stench of tobacco and garbage grew stronger as the man stepped closer, and it overpowered the delicate scent of baby milk. Despite having never been a parent before, and certainly not old enough to even have a child, Kakashi was still aware that it was never a good idea to smoke in the presence of a pregnant woman or newborn child. If Rin were with him right now, he had no doubt she would instantly spin on her heel to give the man a good tongue-lashing. And even though Rin wasn't with him right now, he could still feel her elbowing his ribs hard to get him to stop the man.

So with a sigh, he lowered the magazine from his face and sidled his eyes over just to check if the man had some sort of joint in his hand. Nope, nothing but the toy sloth. Kakashi flicked his eyes over to the baby who kept squirming in the man's arms, whining quietly as she swiveled her head left and right as if in search of something. Her toy? No...

Her mom.

Kakashi turned his cheek to glance at the back exit of the store that was reserved for employee use. Just as the man was about to sweep by him, Kakashi dropped the magazine right in his line of path and quickly moved to intercept. The man jerked to a stop, visibly disgruntled by a boy's ass blocking his path to the exit.

"Oh, what a cute baby you've got there," Kakashi drawled out, standing up to set the magazine of sex tips aside. The man paused at the sight of the boy giving him a crease-eyed smile that seemed friendly enough, but hesitation still flickered through his scowling face. Nonplussed, Kakashi tilted his head to the baby beginning to squirm. "What's her name?"

"Hana," the man grunted, moving to step around him.

Kakashi stepped with him, still effectively blocking his path and still smiling beneath his mask although the crinkle of his eyes had smoothened away to display the dead apathy in his gaze. "But that's not really her name, is it?"

The man's eyes widened by a fraction and he stepped back, dropping the sloth toy to reach for something at his back. But Kakashi's instincts were razor-sharp as well, honed by the many late-night street fights he'd often get into on nights when he had trouble sleeping. So before the man could pull out his gun, Kakashi had already pulled out his own pocketknife in a flash and sunk the blade all the way into the man's eyeball so that the hilt rested against the brow bone.

There was an audible 'squelch' that had the baby whimpering louder in distress while Kakashi impassively watched red dribble over the bottom lid of the stabbed eye. The blood started to trickle down a scraggly beard. The man let out a gasp, still staring in surprise at Kakashi as if he couldn't register the knife that'd been jammed into his head or the baby calmly taken from his stiff arms. He stumbled back, reaching up a shaky hand as if considering pulling the knife out even though that would mean taking his eye out with it. With one last gasp, he toppled onto the floor, his one good eye now staring listlessly at Kakashi's scuffed sneakers.

The blood started to pool out from his head rapidly now, spreading across the shiny epoxy flooring of the store. Before the blood could stain the sloth toy, Kakashi swooped down to pluck it off the floor. The baby had stopped her whimpering, looking on curiously as he pressed the toy to her chest.

"This is the last time I'm picking it up for you," Kakashi warned her. "I'm not your dog."

Instead of breaking into tears under his irritated gaze, however, she defiantly dropped her toy sloth (away from the pool of blood, thankfully) in favor of grabbing for Kakashi's face. Faster than he could react this time, she had yanked down his mask to paw and smack his mouth with hands that had probably been in her mouth too. Kakashi's nose wrinkled once more at the weird, somewhat sweet milky scent that he was only now figuring out was indeed saliva.

He jerked his face back in disgust, but that only served to give her a better view of his mouth. She paused, big jade orbs widening at his lips and she broke out into another gummy smile before leaning forth, mouth open like she planned to give him either a great big wet smooch or a great big gummy bite.

"Why not save that for your mom?" He frowned at the river of drool spilling down her chin.

"Agooo!" she squealed gleefully.

"Uh… bless you?"

No longer holding back a cringe, Kakashi held her further away, glancing down when his shoes felt slippery on the floor. He belatedly realized he was now standing in a puddle of blood. And among the sharp scent of copper and the gentle smell of milk, there was now a foul odor that stung his nose and this time Kakashi did gag. The baby giggled aloud, prompting him to glare at her. She only responded with another fart and then a giggle. Kakashi rolled his eyes, adjusting her onto his hip so that he could pull his mask back over his nose even though it wouldn't help much.

"SAKURA!" A woman's voice screamed out—the same woman who'd been too busy arguing on the phone earlier to notice her baby playing fetch with a boy shortly before getting kidnapped by a man.

The woman rushed over in a panic, face flustered with tears and fear. She wrested her baby from Kakashi's arms, glaring murderously at him like he was the culprit and not the dead man on the floor. Well, dead men couldn't tell any tales, so it fell upon Kakashi's shoulders to explain what happened. Maybe it was better to start from the beginning instead of jumping right into the scene where he stabbed the guy's eye out on a hunch. Now the woman was hysterical, crying over her baby's safety and the horror of a dead man on the floor. The woman was still eyeing him warily as the clerk came around to see what all the screaming and blubbering was about. Then he, too, screamed at the dead body on the floor. Which had then resulted in Kakashi retelling his story from the beginning again, this time including how the little babe still farting in her mother's arms had attempted to make Kakashi her toy dog to play fetch with.

The mother hadn't taken too kindly to that part, of course, even though it was the truth and she had demanded him to tell the story all the way from the beginning.

And then the cops had come and now Kakashi was getting really tired of retelling the same story all over again. At this rate, Rin would give him an earful when he got home if Mrs. Matsuda hadn't already blown out his eardrums by then. Of course, it was only until the officers had gotten his statement did they go bother to check the camera footage. And it was only until every microsecond was picked apart and the man was confirmed to have a gun on him did the officers decide to let Kakashi go. If Kakashi had to be honest, he'd thought the police would let him go once he'd mentioned the name 'Sakumo Hatake' to them. Alas, they were too bewildered by the fact that a teenage boy was able to take down a kidnapper with multiple felonies in the blink of an eye. So the fact that said teenage boy was the son of Sakumo Hatake was more or less glazed over.

When the reporters had finally come, it was just a motley crew of young journalists that looked like they were more interested in ordering some burgers than reporting a mere kidnapping attempt. Kakashi couldn't blame them. A burger and a milkshake sound good, he thought to himself, too absentminded when the baby was shoved back into his arms again, this time by her mother who now seemed to have flipped a switch and was giving him—or rather the reporters taking pictures of them—a saccharine smile instead of the accusing scowl from earlier.

One of the reporters had the gall to say, 'smile!' when Kakashi had been forced to pose for a picture, holding the baby against his hip and against his will. Even beneath his mask, it was hard to attempt a smile when she kept making grabby hands at his face. Tufts of pale pink hair tickled his cheek when the mother managed to wrangle her cooing daughter to hold still for just one photo.

"She needs her diapers changed," Kakashi sniffed, all too happy to give the baby back before she really did start treating him like a toy dog to yank around with her.

When the journalists trailed after him in an attempt for an interview, they at least had the common sense to realize their efforts were futile as Kakashi easily sniped them down with curt, one-word answers. Although he'd found it amusing to see them tripping over the cords of their microphones, he was ecstatic (inwardly) when the crew had finally given up and left, having not much else to report but maybe a two-hundred-word essay at most.

Good. He didn't need Mrs. Matsuda blowing up in his face the moment he stepped back inside the orphanage. Not when she was already a ticking time bomb ready to explode over his tardiness and other riff-raff nonsense. She already had disdain for his recalcitrant behavior, and he was sure she was keeping a list of all his shameless shenanigans.

Which was why he hurriedly dumped his box of condoms, the diapers, and the pack of bubblegum on the counter. The clerk, still quietly bemoaning his inevitable duty to clean up the blood at the other side of the store, flinched when Kakashi slapped a ryo bill in front of him.

Only a few years older, the clerk eyed the condoms warily before shifting his attention to the boy who'd just killed a guy like he'd only been playing pin the tail on the donkey—or eye, in this case. "Uh… how old are you?"

"Fourteen."

"You're pretty young."

"There's no age minimum to purchase condoms."

"Yeah, but I mean… aren't you a lil' too young to be..." The clerk trailed off unsurely.

"Fucking?" Kakashi finished for him, deadpan. "Or did you mean killing?"

It was a sincere question. He really didn't know if the clerk was raising his brow because of the condoms between them or because of the pool of blood further away. Or maybe his apathetic attitude to it all exacerbated the awkward atmosphere that reeked faintly of blood still.

There was also the option to just brag to the guy that he was old enough to already have a college degree under his belt and would have his Masters by fifteen years old. After all, prodigies like Kakashi didn't need to follow the guidelines of how to grow up like a normal child. He was far from normal, and they both knew it after what had just transpired today. But Kakashi found it more amusing to see the guy shiver visibly in distraught of how fucked up in the head this kid in front of him had to be to walk away from a crime scene like it was a walk through the park.

"Give me a pack of Spinel," Kakashi nodded to the cigarettes behind the counter.

The clerk hesitated once again. Clearly, fourteen years old was not quite old enough to buy cancer sticks like they were lollipops. But considering what this kid had just done to a full-grown man earlier and without so much as a blink of an eye... Smoking a cigarette seemed to be harmless when compared to killing a man.

With his condoms, diapers, bubblegum, and Spinel cigarettes now packed in a plastic bag, Kakashi crinkled his eyes at the clerk who shivered again when he realized it was the same expression he had just before killing a man. Unperturbed, Kakashi made his way out of the store, but not without suggesting aloud that they restock the literary section for the poor, depraved souls in desperate need of a raunchy book to soothe the ache of their groins.

On his way back to the orphanage, Kakashi stopped by the corner for a quick smoke. He counted his puffs carefully. Mrs. Matsuda had given up warning him of the addiction to nicotine he would develop sooner or later, but she underestimated him. The shrewd woman liked to believe that she knew him like the back of her hand just because he'd been under her wing for a couple of years already. Little did she know that underneath all that 'recalcitrant behavior that brought shame to his father', Kakashi was in complete control of himself. It was almost neurotic for him to fine-tune his body like an instrument—or a weapon—and constantly stay on high alert for any sign of danger. Like a master of his own puppet, he pulled the strings on every single muscle and breath he owned.

He was in control of himself, and he made a promise that no urge would ever control him. If he wanted to smoke a stick, that was fine. But he wouldn't let the cravings get out of hand. Because it hurt too much to want something so badly that it destroyed you, and Kakashi Hatake was all too aware of what that was like. He'd been craving the impossible since he was a five-year-old kid who'd discovered his father's gutted body one stormy night. And though the cravings never really stop, what mattered was that he was in control of himself.

Even so, he finished his last puff and dropped the stick to snuff it out with a quick grind of his heel. The sun was hanging low, signaling that it was almost in time for dinner and Kakashi knew that his tardiness would only add more fuel to Mrs. Matsuda's already raging fire. He could already smell the smoke of danger—or maybe that was just the smoke of his cigarette clinging to him. Still, he couldn't afford to listen to her bitch for an extra hour when he had another appointment to get ready for tonight.

And it was after dinner that he readied himself for that appointment by sneaking out onto the back porch to enjoy the fresh air as well as the bottle of vodka he'd swiped after picking the lock of the alcohol cabinet. The vodka ran down his throat like fire and settled warm in his stomach. He sighed, leaning back to watch a plane fly overhead. The backyard was filled with fireflies at this time of night, the bugs eager to get some fresh, cool air after a balmy day under the sun.

"Someone made the local newspaper today."

Kakashi glanced up as Rin lowered herself down to take a seat beside him. "Front-page?"

"Last," she replied, presenting him with the page of his deed—minus the word 'heroic' though. At the bottom of the page was a photo of him holding the baby, the both of them painted in shades of black ink and icky grey but neither of them even looking at the camera. Kakashi was in the middle of thinking how much the baby's cheeks look a lot like a chipmunk's when Rin sighed beside him. "They say you killed a man, Kakashi."

He raised his eyes to her. Her face was marred by a disapproving frown while his was as smooth and blank as a canvas.

"Yeah... And?"

Rin's frown deepened. "And... you don't seem to care," she said, her gaze heavy with woe instead of bright with fear.

"I don't care that I killed a man that was going to do god-knows-what to that baby?" He couldn't help but get a little defensive. What did she want him to do? Cry and mourn the loss of a man who contributed nothing to society and was more of a fungal infection that needed to be taken care of? Sure, a life was a life and Kakashi had no intention to play god and decide who lives and who dies. But in a situation like that, there was no choice but to decide who lives and who dies—and hadn't he made the correct judgment in killing the guilty to save the innocent?

Every soldier out on the battlefield was doing that right now. Killing people to save people. It was a necessary evil for the greater good, but maybe Rin didn't understand that quite yet. She was still young and naïve in the sense that she was a proponent for idealism rather than realism. She still had yet to take off her rose-tinted glasses and see the world for what it really was and not for what she wanted it to be. And right now, she was squinting through those glasses to scrutinize him.

He didn't know what she saw, but he knew she didn't like it.

"You know what I mean," she sighed, looking at him the same way she'd looked upon that crippled, old pug in the alley. Broken, and waiting for death.

Just like his father.

"Don't look at me like that, Rin," Kakashi muttered darkly. He looked away from her, taking a sharp swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

She clicked her tongue but grabbed the drink to take a sip, wincing from the burn before tapping a finger on the photo from the newspaper. "You know, it almost looks like this is your baby," she said with a teasing smile. "You almost look adorable as a teen daddy."

"Very funny," Kakashi said with a roll of his eyes although he was grateful for the change in subject. "You know I'm never having children, right? They're fussy and needy and I dare even say abusive. This one pulled my mask down and saw my face while I was helpless to do anything about it. She practically tried to assault her own savior!"

"What?! Why, out of all the people in this world, it's a baby who gets to see your face first?!" Now Rin was pouting with him, but a smile was threatening to twitch awake again. "So not fair. I wiped your puke the first time you got blackout drunk and you still wouldn't let me see!"

"I'll show you one day."

But first, he hoped she'd forget about it.

"At this rate, I'll be dead by the time you do show me."

"I promise to show you," he said, taking absolute care not to pinky promise because, according to Rin, those were unbreakable even for him. He dug into his pocket for the pack of strawberry bubblegum and tossed it to her.

"You remembered the flavor I asked for?" She looked pleased.

"I do have perfect memory."

"Only when you care to remember things."

He raised a shoulder into a shrug like he could care less. "Go brush your teeth and make sure to clean your tongue like I taught you. I can smell the garlic chips you snuck in."

Rin sniffed and curled her lip in distaste. "And I can smell the nicotine on you."

"That's from Asuma."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yeah-huh."

She rolled her eyes back at him but stood up, brushing the invisible dust off her skirt. "What about you? If Mrs. Matsuda catches you here—and with her stolen vodka..." she had her brow raised at the way Kakashi had grabbed the bottle to hug it to himself. Then her brow dipped into a frown and she followed his gaze to the shadows of the backyard. Her face scrunched up in disgust. "Wait, are you going to be making out with Sakae again?"

"Of course not," he snorted. "I'm way past first base already."

And second, and third, and now he was on the last stretch of his home run.

"You say you'll never have children but you sure like practicing making them," Rin said dryly.

Kakashi shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a healthy growing boy with healthy hobbies."

That earned him a sharp kick in the ribs from Rin but he hardly winced. "Remind me to not buy you the next installment of the Make-Out series when it comes out next year."

Ouch. She knew where to hit him where it really hurt.

Hearing her leave to get ready for bed, Kakashi sat straighter, knocking the bottle back for another swig of vodka. He had a better tolerance than last year, and at 5 feet and 5 inches, he already had a solid build shaping up even if his bones still ached and his voice still broke. But he'd already become a man at five years old, growing up in the hard blink of an eye. The painful whiplash of his childhood ending so abruptly had already faded away, but he still found his thoughts straying to his father even on a night like this.

Glimpsing the photo of himself and that baby, Kakashi couldn't help but replace the image with him in his father's arms instead. He blinked once, and he was back to staring at his deadpanned face in sharp contrast to the giggling, gurgling baby he'd been forced to carry for the photo-op.

Heaving a sigh, Kakashi scrubbed a hand down his face before reaching for the newspaper to tear off that page. He folded the sides, making sure the edges were crisp and aligned before throwing the makeshift plane out into the garden. It caught a warm breeze and rode on the tails of the wind, rising higher into the night sky. Kakashi watched on, his memory of today's events already miles away like the paper plane would soon be; soon to be forgotten completely by the end of the night. And as the paper plane raced over the neighborhood, Kakashi's thoughts were now racing towards the future, particularly tonight during which he'd get to weigh Sakae's generous breasts in his hands again.

They're definitely just as soft and heavy as I remember, Kakashi thought at the back of his mind an hour later. But he'd also just as soon forgotten those plush breasts once he found himself inside of Sakae, fucking her in the shadows of the backyard with the rest of the orphanage (save for Rin) none the wiser. He'd impressed her when he managed to roll the condom on without a problem, and he'd been impressed when she guided him down on the bench to ride him. Then they'd both been impressed when, in a sudden turn of events, Kakashi had ended up bending her over and fucking her from behind, her hands gripping the bench so hard that her knuckles bled white and his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.

When it was all done and nothing left to be said, Kakashi honestly didn't feel any different from before. Even when Sakae had blushed and stuttered through her words to tell him to take her out on a date, he felt no inclination to return the romantic sentiment. Of course, he'd still proposed to take her to the movies next week, and she'd proposed to give him a handjob if they stayed for the credits. But beyond the primitive nature that drove Kakashi to accept the sex, there was no tug at his heart the way Sakae's had been.

He liked her as much as he liked her big breasts, and he liked the sex just as much as any healthy, hormonal boy would at his age. But his loss of virginity tonight had changed virtually nothing inside him. Sakae didn't seem to notice at all though when she'd peck a goodnight kiss on his cheek, and Kakashi had given her that same crease-eyed smile he'd given to the clerk and the man he'd killed.

After checking that Rin was tucked in bed and asleep, he made his way to the boy's bathroom. There probably would've been a celebration of sorts among his male peers had they known that Kakashi lost his virginity and got to cum inside a girl—four years older than him at that—all in one night. But at the tender age of fourteen and a genius in his own right, the only one he could celebrate with was the old, crippled pug across the school. He was the only one of his peers who'd had sex with a girl, killed a man, and found his father's own corpse, so of course there wasn't really anyone he could talk to except for the pug who was already too tired laying on Death's doors to care about the fucked-up adventures of a fucked-up boy.

And when Kakashi started to strip off his clothes to shower off the smell of sex, it was then that he realized the bit of blood from the store had stained the edges of his sleeve, the red nearly blending into the black fabric. He didn't care for the copper scent, but he did frown at the light smell of thrown-up milk and cherry blossoms. But of course the baby had drooled on his shirt. He was probably lucky enough that she hadn't puked milk all over him too.

"Never gonna have children," Kakashi groused to himself, and then he stepped into the shower to rinse away the last evidence of today's events.

The rest of the chapter will be published soon on AO3 and Fanfiction.Net! Thank you for reading!

[smol-and-grumpy]

Cross My Heart - CH.02

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: There’s really none. I don’t know if I can warn awkward tension?

WC: 2181

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean left while the police are still working in her house and Y/N paces around in her bedroom. Her mind races. This is a sick joke isn’t it? She expects Chuck to jump out of her closet when she opens it, making jazz hands and laughs while he tells her that she’s been fucking pranked.

But nothing happens. Her closet stays silent and dark until she switches on the light.

She looks through her clothes, lets her fingers trail along the fabric on their hangers.

Pack light.

Pack light?

What the fuck does that even mean?

She doesn’t even know where they’re going. Doesn’t even know the weather. Doesn’t even know how long she’ll be away and for how many days she needs to pack for.

This is fucking ridiculous. How can she pack light when she might need to have something to wear for a month? She feels nauseous all of a sudden. What if it’ll be longer than a month? Or worse? What if she doesn’t get to come back? What if she’ll stay on the run? She knows it’s a ridiculous thought but her mind’s going crazy.

Y/N finds a backpack somewhere buried deep in the corner of her walk-in closet and takes it out, dusts it up and then she begins to pack. She mindlessly throws in underwear and socks, shirts and blouses, shorts and skirts, one hoodie and one cardigan. She has to decide on only one heeled shoe and that is actually a crime against fucking humanity. She doesn’t even bother with her jewelry or make up, though, because there’s just no space left. 

It’s starting to get dark outside and she hears the doorbell. Dean returns earlier than he said he would.

Zipping up the backpack, she swings it around and secures it behind her back before walking down and out the door. The policeman who stood guard gives her a courtesy nod. 

Dean’s standing in the doorway, and she squints her eyes a little because she first thought it was someone else. Gone is Dean’s suit, which is really a shame, but instead he wears casual grey jeans and a black shirt with a black leather jacket. 

“Hey, we’re twinsies!” She declares because she’s wearing her black leather jacket too, she thought she’d dress the part since Dean said that they’re going to travel on a freaking motorcycle.

She hears him chuckle. It’s the first time that he lets himself go like this and she thinks that he finally resembles a human being when he shows emotions. She likes the sound of it, and would like to hear it more often.

“Good that we’re only twinsies with the jacket. I don’t think that dress would look good on me.” He smirks when he eyes her up, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” She says and Dean grabs at the backpack, lets her slip out of it and carries it to the motorcycle. “Is that yours?”

“Yeah,” He says and smiles. She can see that he’s proud. Dean secures the backpack on the back of the motorcycle. “It works better if we have to shake off people who might be following us.”

“Okay,” Her heart is beating fast. She’s never been on a motorcycle before. 

Dean notices her timidity and walks over to where she’s standing with her arms wrapped around herself. He places his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up to him. “You don’t have to be scared, okay? Nothing is going to happen on that motorcycle. I know what I’m doing and I wouldn't put you in danger.”

She nods her head, “Okay.”

“You’ve never been on one before?” He asks when he hands her the helmet. 

“No?” 

He laughs, “Oh, you’re going to love it.” 

She puts the helmet over her head and Dean does the same. He steadies his motorcycle and straddles it before waiting for her to hop on.

“What you have to do is to move closer to me,” Dean grabs her by the back of her knees and pulls her closer to him. So close that they’re chest to back. He leaves a wake of goosebumps on her skin that’s been touched by him. “Good, now put your arms around my waist and hold on tight, got it?” 

She nods.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me that you understand.”

“Yes.”

“There you go,” Dean chuckles. “Okay, I can’t see what you need but if you want me to stop anywhere, just tap on my body, you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“That’s a good girl,” Dean laughs. 

But then his laughter dies down. She’s still blushing at the good girl comment, loves how it sounds out of his mouth, it hits the right button, can’t lie about that. Dean’s body goes tense. He probably realized that he crossed a line he shouldn’t be crossing in the first place. 

“‘M sorry. That was out of line.” He apologizes. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She answers because it’s true. She likes it. Dean has nothing to worry about. If possible, she would like to hear it more. Which really is not a good thing to be wanting, is it?

Dean starts the engine without another word to her and she hopes that he’s not completely disappointed in himself because she likes the playful Dean. The Dean who can make jokes and smile and laugh. 

 *

 After about six hours, they arrive at their destination. 

They had to stop for gas six times, and every time she would ask him where he’s taking her but every time she got shot down. 

Dean’s really good at what he does, apparently. And that includes keeping things to himself, as well as feelings, because the bodyguard Dean is back. He’d only answer in riddles and they’re mostly one syllable. There’s no playfulness in his voice anymore, no smirk that dances along at the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s also because after the fourth stop, he realizes that she still has her phone with her and technically everyone can track a phone so he took it from her and unceremoniously breaks it in half and throws it away. 

Y/N has stopped talking to him after that stunt either.

It’s already night and she can’t lie, it’s fucking creepy out here in the woods. There are trees everywhere and right in the middle is this small cabin.

“I grew up here.” Dean just says. As if he knows what she’s been thinking. He takes the backpacks from the bike, walks them to the front door. 

She has to hurry to keep up, “You grew up in this cabin?” 

Dean has to chuckle at that. 

Finally she hears the deep rolling sound of his voice.

“No, I grew up in the town about ten miles from here. This is my uncle's cabin. He has several in the woods. Little safe houses that he set up.” Dean steps in and turns on the light and she closes the door behind her.

“For people like me?” 

“Not exclusively. For other people as well, people who need to get away from abusive partners, people who need to hide from abusive parents, I don’t really know. All sorts of people. The world is a scary place.”

Dean drops the bags and walks over to switch on more lights. 

The decor of the cabin is sparse. There’s a couch, a TV. A table for two and she can see the kitchen from here. There are two other rooms and she guesses that one is a bathroom while the other one must be a bedroom. 

It’s a stark contrast to the house she used to live in. But nonetheless it feels cozy? She doesn’t know what it is but there’s something about it that makes her feel comfortable and safe. Maybe it’s the presence of Dean.

“You hungry?” Dean asks as he carries a bag towards the kitchen and begins to put the groceries he brought with him into pantries. 

“No, thanks.” 

It’s already late and she’s exhausted. Can’t lie, her ass is also sore from the bike ride and to be sitting down is the last thing on her mind.

“There’s the bathroom, and you’re sleeping in the bedroom.” He points at the two doors.

She takes a peek into each of the rooms and sees that there’s only one bed in the bedroom.

“And where are you sleeping?” She eyes the couch, it does in fact not look comfortable to sleep on at all.

Dean nods. 

“We can trade. I take the couch and you take the bed.” She offers him, because the couch looks too small for him to sleep on. She on the other hand would fit in perfectly. 

She earns a chuckle from Dean.

“Y/N, that’s okay. I slept worse. My job is to keep you safe. Your husband would kill me if he knew that you’d be sleeping on the couch.”

“I don’t think Chuck really cares where I’m sleeping.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, he frowns and then he turns around to finish the tasks he set out for himself.

She goes into the bedroom. It’s quite spacious and she’s sure that Dean would fit into the bed too if she’d make room for him. They could sleep in the same bed but she doesn’t think that Dean wants that. She doesn’t know if she really wants that either. 

After she takes a shower, she goes in to change into her pj and climbs to bed. Dean slips into the shower after her, comes out with damp hair and a simple t-shirt and pj pants. She sees it because the door to the bedroom is wide open. 

“You’re going to stay in bed?” He asks her while he makes himself comfortable on the couch. 

She pulls the blanket up to her chin, “Yeah, I’m exhausted. And my ass hurts.”

He chuckles from the other room and after a while he says, “I hope it’s okay for you that we leave the bedroom door open. I need to always be able to see and reach you at all times.”

“Okay,”

It’s silent until Dean speaks up again, “I’m sorry about your phone,” 

“You should be,”

“If you want, you can use mine. But I have to listen in to every conversation and read every text you send out. It’s for your own safety.”

She thinks about it. Thinks who she would even reach out to. Chuck knows where she is, and he has Dean’s number. Maybe Meg? She’s her friend after all and she hasn’t updated Meg yet about any of this. Maybe she’ll take Dean up on his offer. She doesn’t talk about it now though, it’s late and Meg is probably sleeping already anyway. So instead of saying anything about the phone, she just wishes him good night, “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Y/N.”

 *

 She tosses and turns in her bed and it’s impossible to fall asleep. She keeps hearing things outside and it frightens her. 

“Dean?” She calls out in a whisper. Doesn’t really want to wake him up should he already be sleeping.

She gets out of bed when she doesn’t get an answer, and wanders out to get a glass of water. Maybe that’ll calm her down. 

Walking out into the living room, she can’t help but stop at the couch. Dean’s sleeping, his lips are slightly parted. There’s a frown on his face even when he’s sleeping. She brushes against the couch in passing and that’s when Dean jumps up and she’s looking into a barrel of a gun. 

Y/N’s so shocked, she doesn’t get a word out.

“Jesus, don’t sneak around like that ever again!” Dean growls and lowers his gun, puts it back under his pillow. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Fuck, I could have hurt you!” Dean rubs a hand over his face, she can hear his palm rubbing against his scruff. “Why are you up anyway?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go get a glass of water.” She blushes as she walks to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water and walks out again.

Dean’s sitting upright now while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. When he hears her approaching, he makes room on the couch. “You wanna watch TV? Maybe it helps to fall asleep. It’s the sound of the trees and animals outside, isn’t it?”

There’s a crease between her eyebrows, “How do you know?”

“Been there. When I was a kid I came out here with Bobby, that’s my uncle, a lot. He’d take me hunting. I could never sleep at night. Now I can just sleep anywhere.”

“Ah,” She settles next to him as he turns on the TV for her. They settle on some cartoons. After a while she leans her head against him and Dean’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t say anything, though, just pulls his blanket up and covers her with it. Her eyes are already almost closing when she mumbles, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods as he sits beside her until she falls asleep.

CH.03

[imaginejamesandsirius]

this is like, a super weird idea i've have had in my head for a long time: So, trans Sirius and James are both famous singers (they are together) and Sirius is outed as trans, maybe someone posts and old picture or his dead name, and James is the best boyfriend ever comforting him:) (sorry if i had mistakes, English it's my second lenguage)

((A/N: Warning for forced outing and some mild transphobia- aka people see old pictures of Sirius and assume he’s a woman))

Sirius had made a career out of being a bloke that dressed feminine at times. Technically, he'd made a career out of singing, but more people talked about his outfits, his makeup, and his hair, than his songs. Which was fine by him. He wrote all of his own lyrics, but it's not like he thought they were anything groundbreaking. He'd done three albums so far, and each of them had a single, poetic song that was basically a love letter to James. The rest of the songs on the albums were pop. Maybe pop rock, if the reviewer wanted to be generous. Incidentally, his poetic songs were always the least popular ones, but again, it didn't really bother him. He was a pop artist. He was successful at it in large part because people thought he was gorgeous. It was a nice stroke to his ego, which he always appreciated. 

James had made a career out of actually being a good singer and songwriter, which Sirius thought was hilarious. They were quite a pair. Every time a fan discovered that they were married, they expressed shock at how different their styles were-- usually followed by wondering how the hell they were together; Sirius didn't understand how different musical styles were supposed to make them incompatible life partners, but he thought that was pretty funny too. 

"I don't want to go on tour again," Sirius said with a frown-- not that Benjy could see it. The beauty of phone calls was also the biggest drawback: Benjy couldn't see what Sirius looked like. It meant that he could stay in his pants while talking, but it also meant that Benjy couldn't see his expression and react accordingly. 

"I know you said that, but-" 

"But nothing, Benjy. I've got a husband that I do like seeing every once in a while, and I can start on the next album like you wanted." 

"It's an over exaggeration to say that you starting on the next album is what I want," Benjy, Sirius's manager said. "I offered it as an alternative to going on tour." 

"And I've accepted, so what's the problem?" 

Benjy sighed. "Nothing, I guess. Tell James hullo for me." 

"Will do. And thanks." Sirius knew that he was a pain sometimes, but whenever he was too nice to Benjy, he never ended up getting what he wanted. He once hadn't seen James in person for three consecutive days for a year and a half because he had kept telling Benjy that it wasn't the end of the world if he stayed on the road. 

"Uh-huh. I know it's your time off, but keep in touch, yeah?" 

"Yep. Bye." 

Benjy echoed, "Bye," and they both hung up. 

"Hey sweetheart," James said, putting an arm around Sirius's waist and pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. 

"You're cuddly," Sirius noted. 

He hummed, not denying it. "Just love you is all." 

"Aw, you love me? How embarrassing." 

"I've always been in love with you, and not once in my life has it embarrassed me." 

Sirius flushed a light pink but pretended like he hadn't. James saw it anyways but kept his mouth shut. There had been times where Sirius didn't like himself in the slightest, but James had always liked him. Every inch. When he had his dysphoric days, James loved him just the same; it helped. 

*

James was plucking tunelessly at his guitar as he frowned at his music notebook, and Sirius was laying on the ground with his feet propped up on the armchair in front of him. Ah yes, the glamorous lifestyle of popular musicians. 

Sirius was having a pretty good time of it. Doing nothing was quite a bit of fun. It was one of the only things he really missed from their school days. Even on his days off, where he purposefully sat around doing nothing, it felt like he had been run ragged. Sirius loved his life, and he liked performing, but a part of him couldn't wait for the day when he got to retire. They'd be able to sit around like this all day, every day. 

It was as he was having that thought that his life decided to take a dip. His phone was sitting on the coffee table, and it buzzed several times in quick succession from new messages. "Can you kick me my phone?" Sirius asked, not wanting to get up to see if it was important. 

James paused playing, then did as Sirius asked and kicked it off the end where it landed near Sirius. 

He picked it up and unlocked it, then frowned. "What's Benjy texting me for?" 

"Well, he's your manager. I'm sure he has lots of reasons." 

Don't panic. 

Well that was comforting. 

I'll take care of it.

People might say some shite, but your #1 defence is to just not look at it. 

Sirius itched to get on twitter and see what he was talking about, but to date, Benjy hadn't given him bad advice. If he said that Sirius didn't want to see it, then it was probably true. Still, he needed to know what the hell he was talking about. 

What's going on?, he texted back. 

Someone found an old photo of you and James at school. 

Oh. Sirius swallowed. If it was from Hogwarts, then Sirius hadn't come out, and he sure as hell hadn't transitioned yet. James was back to plucking at the guitar strings, evidently coming to the conclusion that if Sirius hadn't told him what it was about, then it wasn't important. It's not like Sirius was going to keep it from him, but he wanted to know what was going on, and James would tell him not to bother with it. He'd tell James what was going on-- as soon as he figured it out himself. 

You're gonna get pissed at me for looking, aren't you? 

DON'T. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SIRIUS DO NOOOOOT. 

Sirius read the text and didn't reply. He wasn't going to look at all the comments-- really, he wasn't. He just wanted to know how this had started. 

It wasn't hard to find. 

Some fan of James's was attending Hogwarts and had recognised him in an old photograph. They'd snapped a picture on their phone and uploaded it. Guys, teenaged James Potter!!! I guess that's his girlfriend before he got married :P Sirius had hair down to his shoulders now, but back then, he hadn't cut it once and in the picture, it was in two low pigtails. He'd had to wear the girl's uniform back then, which meant a pleated skirt and a blazer in red instead of trousers and a yellow blazer like the boys had gotten. He'd hated that uniform. He'd gotten more detentions for wearing the wrong uniform than he had anything else, which was sort of amazing considering how often he'd acted out in other ways. 

Someone else had said that the girl in the picture looked an awful lot like James's husband. 

Someone new put that picture side by side with one of Sirius's current ones. Dude, does @siriusblackpotter have a twin sister or smthn?? He has mentioned "family issues" before... 

It went from there to someone unearthing the names listed for the original picture, to someone pointing out that he never took his shirt off for photoshoots, to someone finding both records of him changing his name. That shite was on public record. The only reason he'd gotten away with it up until now was that no one had thought to look for the first one. 

Sirius exited out of twitter and crawled over to James's chair, leaving his phone where he'd been sat before. 

James stopped playing, peering at him curiously. "You alright, love?" 

"Mph." 

"Benjy trying to get you on tour again?" 

"Nah." 

James threaded his fingers through Sirius's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "Then what's up?" 

"Someone found an old picture of us in Hogwarts." 

There was the briefest pause in James's hand before he resumed. "All over social media?" 

"Yeah." 

"What did Benjy say? That was Benjy texting you, right?" 

"Yeah. He said he'd come up with a statement or summat, and I should just wait it out." 

"Good advice," James said mildly. 

"You disagree?" Sirius asked, tilting his head back to look at him. 

James gave a small shrug. "I dunno. I'm sure from a PR point of view, that's the smart thing to do." 

"But?" 

"But all I want to do is... I dunno. Something mushy. Let everyone know I love you." 

"Pretty sure they already know that. I think the marriage might've tipped them off." 

"Might've," James agreed with a small smile. With the hand still holding the guitar, he held it off to the side and leaned forward to kiss him. They kept it short since it was an awkward angle, and if James tried to stay that way for very long, he'd probably fall off the chair entirely. It did Sirius a world of good to feel it, brief as it was. Feel him. He leaned back in the chair again, but he kept the guitar away. Evidently, the time for figuring out a new chorus line was done for the moment. 

"I love you," Sirius said. He knew that James knew that. But he liked saying it, and he knew for a fact that James liked hearing it. 

James's eyes lit up like Sirius had given him the world-- just like he did every time Sirius said it. "I love you too. You want to do something fun?" 

"Fun how?" 

"Eh, dealer's choice. We could watch a horror movie and eat ice cream." 

"I hope you realise the only part of horror movies I like is the part where I cuddle up to you." 

"Liar," James said with a grin. "You also like the blood sprays." 

"I just think they're funny is all," Sirius said. 

"Thinking it's funny counts as liking it." 

"Hm, disagree." 

James rolled his eyes. "Does that mean we're on for a horror movie?" 

"Absolutely." 

[10moonymhrivertam]

Hello! A post by @west-moor got me thinking, and it resulted in this! This is a little left to the point of the post, but it just grabbed hold of my brain for a solid three days. It’s currently full of author’s notes, but I feel the Need to Share. (Please let me know if you’d like to see any of the struck-through bits revisited!)

Warnings: Renfri’s backstory mentioned throughout (rape tw); Jack Harkness-style immortality (death tw, not permanent)

Concept: With a little bit of timeline nudging, Jaskier could be Renfri’s son

“Dandelion, come here before I go.” Renfri held out her arms, and Julian dashed forward, snuggling into her. She squeezed him. “I want you to make me a promise, okay?” Her voice was soft but raw. Julian frowned - this must be serious. 

“What kind?” He asked, refusing to let go of her. She rested her chin on the top of his head. ((she’s grateful she doesn’t have to look him in the eye))

Renfri sighed, tracing patterns on his back. “The [hard/important/??] kind. What I’m about to do...it might get me in trouble. I -“ Renfri hugged him tighter. “I might not be able to get back home.”

“What?” Julian’s voice went up, and Renfri shushed him gently, kissing the top of his head. 

“I want to. I’m going to try to. But this is dangerous, Dandelion. Even so, I have to take this chance. I’m so sorry.” Renfri took a breath. “But I need you to promise me, Julian, that if I don’t come home...you won’t do anything about it.” She squeezed him, so he didn’t shout like he wanted to. “No matter what you hear. No matter what Stregobor might do. That bastard cannot have you, do you understand?” Julian squirmed, and Renfri loosened up her hug with an apology, finally pulling back to look at him. “I don’t trust him not to use any excuse he can to hurt you, too. So we’re not going to give him an inch. Not a thing he can twist about you the way he did me. Alright?” She cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “So that’s the promise. No revenge. I don’t care what else you do, love - swordplay or poetry, or -“ She grasped for a third option, shook her head when she couldn’t seem to find one. “Anything but revenge. Promise?”

“Promise, Mummy.” Julian saw her eyes go misty. ST ? It was probably because he’d called her Mummy instead of Renfri. That’s what everyone else called her, and she was fine with him doing it, too. [Also draws less attention than Mummy] But sometimes, when he was scared or when something was important, Mummy meant so much more ? ST

*****

Fuck, but it had been hard without Renfri. It seemed like it would be fine, at first. Renfri had left him with her friend Gina; Gina lived in Oxenfurt; and he kept living with Gina; so it was easy to badger the Academy into accepting him when his interests turned to poetry. (He ignored the pang he felt at the memory of his last promise to his mother.)

Since then...well, he was just glad Gina was an innkeeper and had seen every trick in the book for getting food, some less underhanded than others. He stuffed the bread into his pants - he wasn’t likely to be able to eat here in peace, not with everyone...

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the corner and narrowed. Not everyone. He’d thrown neither bread nor coin. Strange - even people nominally without opinions usually got caught up in the energy of a room. He hopped to his feet, grabbed an ale, and crossed the room. He’d expected it to be a little harder to wheedle a review from the stranger, considering he claimed he was there to drink alone, but he came right out with his opinion once Jaskier sat down across from him. Now Jaskier got a good look at the whole of him, though, besides that stand-out hair. His eyes were golden.

“White hair....big, old loner. Two very -“ Jaskier’s words caught in his throat. The hilt that peeked just barely out of the [bag (technical term?)]. He couldn’t look away from it. “Very,” he managed to find his voice before it could be suspicious. “Scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt stood. [second instinct>] STDismay filled Jaskier. That was his mother’s brooch. Seeing it made his heart ache, and he wanted a piece of her - any piece of her - back. He tried to stop him by drawing attention, but it only landed Geralt a job. Well. A job would keep him in Posada long enough to talk, wouldn’t it? So he followed, letting his mouth run wherever it would. He surprised himself a little with the optimism in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”.ST

[first instinct>] Jaskier nearly saw red. The Witcher didn’t get to just walk away with his murdered mother’s brooch. Drawing attention to Geralt didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, instead landing him a job. Jaskier hurried after him, not wanting to give him any chance of escape. He let his mouth run as it would, taking a kernel of malicious glee in pointing out the onion scent. Geralt either had a very good poker face or quite thick skin, or both. He surprised himself with the optimistic tone in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. After all, Geralt had already brought him two of those things directly.

“Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the Butcher of Blaviken.” He relished the taste of the title in his mouth. The way it hung in the air was viscerally satisfying. He shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. It made the fist seem like it came out of nowhere. 

He couldn’t catch his breath back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him once before, falling out of a tree. It had seemed like it had taken hours for Renfri to come to him and hold his hand. It was probably barely minutes, if that. The panic stretched time. Long enough for him to remember his promise to Renfri and break his own heart. He’d nearly broken his promise. Over a piece of jewelry - a sentimental improvised weapon, but far from as useful as the daggers he hid on his person. 

When he could breathe again, he straightened to find Geralt hadn’t moved far. He seemed to be checking the horse’s reigns, but coincidentally finished just as Jaskier straightened up. Well. That was almost cute. Jaskier dug claws right into a tender title, and Geralt waited to make sure he hadn’t done permanent damage. He suppressed a smile. 

“You really do pack a wallop!” He crowed. He regretted it a little, his stomach still aching. “What’s this going to take, two minutes?”

Geralt ignored him, mounting Roach. Jaskier hurried to keep up, still talking.

*****

As he talked, Jaskier realized his mother would’ve disapproved. Home wrecking wasn’t puppy-murder, but it was still something Stregobor might use should he ever find out Julian de Lettenhove was connected to the Black Sun. But there was nothing to be done about it, now. It didn’t technically break his promise, and it did too many wondrous things for his mental health to simply go without.

Jaskier was tired of this semantic argument, and they’d only had it twice before. The first time Jaskier had called Geralt a friend, and the first time he’d called him his best friend. He was all too happy to turn the conversation back to the night’s contract, and years of living at an inn had him snatching away Geralt’s ale with barely a thought. There was work to be done, and drink made everyone slow, even Witchers. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier dismissed, setting the ale gently on the dresser. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.” You got involved in Stegobor’s petty squabble. You killed my mother. But that would bring the mood down and might give Geralt the wrong idea. Real friendship had taken two years for Jaskier to admit to himself, and sometimes hurt still festered, but hate? It had all but vanished at Dol Blathana, listening to Geralt bargain for his life. Listening to him reason with the elves, Jaskier suspected he got a peek into his mother’s last few days. He had to stop thinking about it. He pulled a joke out of his ass and let the conversation carry itself. 

*

He had proven, via scorned lovers past, that he had a resistance to magic. It didn’t skirt away from him, not completely. But it was often less severe. However, a shockwave was a shockwave was a shockwave. 

***

A djinn was not a shockwave. And he thanked his mother, and Melitele - even Lillit for that. Because he could feel the djinn on the edge of his senses. Drowned, trapped, shaken, fought over: tired and hellishly angry. He should’ve dropped dead, his throat burst open. But no. There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he could hardly force air in and out, but he was alive. Barely. Because the djinn had underestimated the force it would need. As his head began to spin and he clutched desperately at Geralt, his mind took a few funny turns. Renfri would be disappointed in the wish about Valdo. Not against the letter of the promise, but the spirit - Stregobor could definitely use murder-by-djinn against him. Would Renfri think it was funny if he died in Geralt’s arms, when she had met her end at his hands? And make no mistake, he was dying despite the djinn’s miscalculation: that was Roach’s back. Even after a decade, he still didn’t get to ride Roach unless he broke a leg miles outside town. 

**

[Yenn POV of Jaskier definitely dying and coming back to life; deciding to make it her little secret???]

**

It was a spring snow, and Jaskier wasn’t dressed for it. He was pleasantly surprised when the puppy eyes he gave Geralt got a non-frowning eye roll. That was about as good as an exasperated laugh from Gina. Shortly afterward, Geralt had found a safe-ish cave, and Jaskier helped him to set up the campfire. Usually Geralt didn’t resort to an Igni to start a fire unless they were both running low on coin for supplies - better to have all his energy at his disposal if something came across them in the night. But the kindling was damp, and Jaskier was shivering. After the fire, Geralt rummaged around on Roach for a moment before producing a blanket to drape around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier smiled at him. 

For a while, there was only the sound of the whetstone as Jaskier warmed up. Once he felt a little better, though, out came Filavandrel’s lute. It had become something of a game over the years, to try to make Geralt’s sword-sharpening his metronome. He plucked mindlessly in time to the sound, his eyes only half-focused. Renfri’s brooch caught the light as Geralt worked. Jaskier didn’t even realize what he was playing until Geralt stopped, looking downright alarmed. Well, for him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier frowned at him. The change in his face meant he felt the tear tracks. Then, he realized what he’d been playing. He clamped his fingers down on the fret board, strangling the notes. 

“Fuck. No.” Jaskier wiped roughly at his face. “I...didn’t think I still knew that.” He focused on his instrument.

“Do you...not want to talk about it?” He supposed it made sense for Geralt to be unsettled - he did usually tell Geralt about all his woes. He’d just kept him away from the serious ones, the old ones, so far.

Jaskier swallowed. He unfolded his hand and slowly began to play again. “Little Viscount Dandelion,” he sang. “It’s time to rest your head. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to eat your bread.” He hummed a little. “Little lord, oh little lord.” More humming. “Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to comb your hair. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to cut through air.” It was five lines, at best. How was he crying again? Why couldn’t he go on? Renfri had stretched it out as he grew up. The first couplet had been easy. But as she’d wanted him to do more than go to sleep or to eat his dinner without a fuss, rhymes had gotten harder. He’d helped her rhyme them, and she would sing it while he laid down to sleep, or while she combed his hair. Sometimes she would teach him to fight to it. “‘S just a silly kids’ song.” Jaskier said thickly.

“Nothing silly about something that makes you think.” Geralt looked down at his sword, his thumb skimming across the edge of Renfri’s brooch. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it now. Geralt must have caught his line of sight. “Even you’ll think less of me if I tell you where this came from.”

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low, so mournful. And the sincerity had to be confusing. 

“I killed the woman it belonged to.”

“In Blaviken?” He was relieved it sounded like a guess. Geralt grunted in grave affirmation. 

“It’s from Creyden, I gathered,” Geralt continued. 

“Princess Renfri’s.” Please, just let his voice not sound funny to Geralt.

“Not a Princess after what Stregobor[‘s meddling got her stepmother (to do)]did to her.”

“I imagine not,” Jaskier murmured. His hands clenched around his lute. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t told him about the man who sired him. But she had never, not even once, held it against him. 

“You should sleep, Jaskier. It’s not going to clear up before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed in a whisper. He rolled out his bedroll and curled up as close to the fire as he dared. If he hummed Renfri’s song and cried himself to sleep, only Geralt and Roach could say so. 

***

[mountain? Or just...skip the mountain, cuz it’s overdone and I don’t imagine much changes]

***

ST Jaskier stopped suddenly. Ciri noticed first and tugged Geralt to a stop. Jaskier turned on his heel and retraced several of his steps, stopping in front of a pair of [idle gossipers(?)].

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” He flashed them a quick grin so patently false that be even saw Geralt wince out of the corner of his eyes. “You said Gina of Oxenfurt’s in town?”

“Apparently she knew Jaskier before Toss A Coin. She keeps tryin-a find him, she said.”

“Right, right. Who did you say she’s with?”

“Ffffffrida,” the other one said slowly, far too drunk for so early in the afternoon. “Of Let-something.”

“Lettenhove?” 

“Hey, yeah!” They frowned then. “Did you need to talk to them?”

“Would help, yeah.”

“Right. They’re at the market,” the first one declared. The other frowned. 

“No. The [otjer place]”

Jaskier’s heart roared in his ears as they fought, and he charged out to go looking himself. Gina wouldn’t let just anyone use Lettenhove - she knew what it had meant to Renfri, the pretend city she’d given him because she could. Jaskier snarled as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he prepared for a fight. 

“Which one were you checking?”

“[place]

[Renfri back, bitches. I might prefer this pre-mountain tho idk. Best for Julian’s blood pressure if he finds her first instead s of Geralt finding her.] ST

*****

“Julian.” Jaskier froze. Then he nearly cursed himself out - there would be no denying after-the-fact that the name had anything to do with him. He stood there and clung to the strap of his lute, trying not to lose himself in swirling negativity. He turned, surprisingly controlled. He frowned at seeing it was Borsch. 

“I prefer Jaskier.” Well, at least his voice stayed even. He tried to settle himself, putting his arms at his sides. 

“Come with me, my boy. Didn’t you tell our companion you’d be getting the rest of the story?” His tone was complicated. He’d obviously noticed Jaskier had no intention of doing anything but going straight down the mountain, but there was a painful gentleness to his request. Jaskier followed just to shed the itch of vulnerability. He could hardly believe what he saw there [in the cave]. At least until he turned to speak to Borsch and fell flat on his arse with an undignified Yelp. Alright, then. Gold dragons. Rarest. That’s how he’d smiled like he knew better than a Witcher. 

ST“I sought out the Witcher for a number of reasons. The first being that I have, on occasion, insights into the course of destiny. The second being the way your songs painted him. Destiny showed me a number of paths. And I may have guessed at the wrong one, given the knowledge of what occurred in Blaviken. But I heard your songs, and destiny told me of you. I am relieved I let faith dictate my choice.”

[dialogue I don’t wanna deal with hammering out at work]

[Borsch revealing the Jack Harkness thing “there are some creatures on this Earth who are not slated to meet their makers even should they fall to tooth, claw, or blade.” Etc; mentioning Deidre as an “aunt”, maybe suggesting Eskel assumes she’s dead as well and maybe he should fix that; intro of idea that Renfri would call other girls of the black sun his aunts]ST

STBorch didn’t speak, letting Jaskier stare, his mouth flapping soundlessly. 

“You hired Geralt,” he eventually managed. 

“Yes.”

“For - protection?” He guessed, face screwing up in a sort of frustrated confusion. ST

“Fuck!” It felt good to swear. It made the loss, the anger, the confusion, and the heartbreak feel less intense. 

“The baby does have some understanding of the world, if you don’t mind.” Borch’s voice was terribly mild. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut - he never was good at keeping it that way for long, though, not that Renfri or her men had ever minded. Gods, that was so long ago, now. 

“No one’s called me Julian in thirty years.”

ST“Will you keep your promise to your mother, even now?” Borch asked, softer than Jaskier would’ve believed possible. Jaskier sighed, curling in on himself and covering his face.

“He would deserve it if I broke it.” His voice was dark and angry. A moment later, he curled deeper in on himself. “No, he doesn’t. That bastard.”ST

“With all that’s happened today, I think it is safest if you know something in advance, Viscount Pankratz.” Jaskier looked up furtively, trying to make sure no one heard. When nothing stirred, he fixed his gaze on Borch. 

“There are some individuals in this world who are destined not to meet their makers until a god is satisfied with their work here. Wounds that should end them will not stick; substances that shouldn’t be inside them will be expelled one way or another; some days they will wake up and find that wrinkles they had the day before have retreated.” Borch looked at him. Jaskier frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Many of Lilit’s chosen fall into that category.” The words settled slowly into his mind, his frown deepening. 

“Not all of them?”

“Not all. But - some. Including your mother.” Jaskier’s breath hitched. Borch fell silent. It felt like Jaskier’s mind was racing, but he couldn’t have articulated one single thought on his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have to -“ Where before he’d felt lost, his tether of twenty years cut, now he had new purpose. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You’re very welcome. Take care, Jaskier.”

Jaskier babbled another goodbye as he raced to start back down the mountain. 

***

[thing from receipt in work jacket pocket about Valdo discovering Gina isn’t Jaskier’s mother.]

“It’s what bards did at the Academy, make fun of each other,” Marx claimed. “It’s all in good fun, picking at your opponent’s mother. Nobody means what they say.” Geralt stated dubiously at Valdo Marx. Were students really that stupid? “We were at the inn - fairly traditional setting. Everyone knew it was where Jaskier was from, too. The regulars all knew him; Gina roped him into chores on the weekend. I was up first. I’d cultivated my set carefully. Nothing that might actually hurt Gina’s feelings.”

“But you were wrong,” Geralt rumbled. Otherwise, there’d be no story to tell - he’d learned that much from Jaskier. 

“Found out when he put a dagger to my throat, and I was the one Gina kicked out over it. Gave me a lifetime ban, but... did me the courtesy of explaining, a few years back. It hadn’t been all that long, in the grand scheme. His mother had gone traveling and never made it back. It was a mistake,” Valdo insisted. “One anyone could make. Glad, in hindsight, that it was me, even if he still holds it against me.”

****

[Deidre and Jaskier meeting]

***

Vesemir was tucked into a shadow on the battlements. He was glad he’d been in the courtyard; inside, the stone might’ve blocked their voices. But he’d been hearing them for a while now, giggly and serious in turns.

“Whose idea was this? All this trouble and they’re not even likely to be home.” The man’s voice had turned from giggles to complaints the closer they drew. 

“Mm. Yes. Terrible idea.” The woman sounded terribly amused. 

“Fuck you.” His voice was light. 

“Language!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He laughed.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. It’s my right as an ‘aunt’.” Laughter, a pause. “How often were you mistaken for siblings?”

“Usually as soon as I opened my mouth and called her by her name instead of, y’know, Mum.”

“Figures.”

“Oh!” The man said after a beat of silence.  “Oh, towers! Oh, thank fuck, this mountain is too damn tall.”

[more break in]

They were rather a motley pair as they stood before Vesemir. [Deidre] and the brightly-dressed man who was probably a bard, to be carrying his lute this far. 

“Well, you see - sir,” the bard amended. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Where do I even start?”

“Your mother?”

“Bad decision.” He shook his head at her. “Too much, too fast.” He paused again. “Well.... A dragon told me to find my Mum because she didn’t stay dead. But it’s been thirty years and I didn’t know where to look. Ran into Deidre first. Mum always talked about other Black Sun princesses as sisters. I was interested. She heard me out. Have to say, the ‘Witcher’s child surprise’ thing gave me a headache. But when she told me it was a Wolf, well - I knew generally where Kaer Morhen is, and we thought it would be funny if we. Um. Dropped in. Especially since it’s Summer so the consequences are minimal.”

This bard knew too damn much. “Are you Jaskier, then?”

“Ah. I hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious.” Suddenly, tentative hope bloomed behind his eyes. “You’ve heard of me?”

[All Geralt talks about. Other princesses? ~~ Ah yes well no easy way to say this mine is one too. It’s Renfri. No, Geralt doesn’t know. About any of this. And please don’t tell him! well, you’re actually supposed to tell them all Deidre and her nephew came by, to make Eskel sweat, but - hand wring - don’t connect Jaskier and Julian in their heads, if you can avoid it?]

*****

Jaskier had a hand pressed to Roach’s neck as they walked. It was both easier and harder going this way than breaking in. He liked the directness of it, but he hated the cold. Ciri shifted on Roach and leaned down a little to fuss with the cloak Geralt had made him wear.

[Vesemir has found Renfri; reunions, identity confessions, etc...]

***

[hm. To mention all the ammo Stregobor could potentially have against him and then not having a Stregobor plot is about as distracting as an unused rifle on the wall.]

[cloudsrust]

Your art is amazing omg- I played NSR recently and now i'm curious what casual outfits for 1010 would look like (you don't have to draw this though just keep drawing your cute art :D)

Thank youu! And I don’t think I got the time and strenght of will to draw all 5 boys- but I can kinda pinpoint the looks I have in my mind for them! Under the cut since it’s long!

Rin: -the only one who technically doesn’t have a casual outfit. He is the leader and next in “power” after all- so Neon selected mostly elegant clothing for Rin’s wardrobe.

-Lots of tasteful yet quite plain shirts, sometime suspenders or decorate vests and jackets/coats, dress pants just in case. Sometime they can also range into vintage fashion due to Neon’s taste- those are also the ones Rin minds less.

-This lack of freedom though lead to Rin exchanging outfits with Zimelu and sometimes even the others, so that the white android can change after leaving and returning to the mansion. He likes the freedom that type of clothing makes him feel.

Zimelu: -He also technically has a persona (”the bad boy”)  to maintain but Neon isn’t as strict with him- Zim still tries his best to follow the suggestions given, both out of respect for a “superior” and ‘cause well- he just isn’t as tough as he looks.

-His wardrobe would range from 70s punk style to today’s grunge style- anything that could give him “bad boy” vibes.

-Deeply though he highly prefers more elegant or even “cute” looks- if not a complete “prince charming makeover” (even letting down his mohawk into something that resembles Purlhew’s hair- just longer). For this Rin’s assigneded clothes are perfect- Eloni's shirts too if he wants to go for a “tough overall and cute underneath”

Purlhew: -Neon trusts them with their choices so he didn’t give them real suggestions. Even when they presented themself into a full floreal patterned skirt with matching blouse the most he criticized was to choose a plain top part instead to not over do.

-This blue android is into sober and serious looks, a lot into turtlenecks. Surprisingly enough they also love flower themed clothes and the 50s rockabilly fashion (sometimes even convincing Zimelu to match with them) especially high waisted pants and polka dots-

-They rarely go out dressed in such way though- they don’t like giving possible fans stuff to gossip about them.

Haym: -Neon tried to convince them that cute outfits didn’t make them look infantile or naive but he quickly gave up with how tenacious and against the idea the android was. They ended up on the compromise of some sort of sweet/gothic lolita look (elegant and bizarre for actual Haym, cute and sweet for their persona)

-Their clothes are all very intricate- lace and ribbons are the norm. The only things typical to the fashion missing are roses (Haym’s isn’t into flowers) and visible corsets (Neon prohibited them- for their sake). The intense ammount of ruffles are what they like the most- same with letting down their long hair from time to time.

-Even tho they love the unusual elegance of such style- they’re more for highly eccentric clothes- the type that more than on a person should belong in an art museum- we talking 70′s style mixed with Lady Gaga and the like lmao- let’s say they love to visit Eve for suggestions.

Eloni: -Due to his stage persona not being as specific as the others- he is mostly free in his choices and knowing him Neon just said to “just have fun” with it.

-Most of the cute things meant for Haym ended up in his wardrobe instead- so his it’s practically a whole rainbow of both saturated and pastel colors. Tons of mismatched socks and hoodies, t-shirts with puns or those lil texts with quotes and stuff- also Sayu merchandise ahah he a fan. Also likes to decorate both himself and his clothes with the stickers and pins from his collections (the latters also borrowed by Haym and Zimelu).

-Sometimes though he wishes he could look more serious- especially during the days in which he is most discouraged or doubtful- so he asks his bros to lend some of their clothes instead- Purlhew’s especially.

Long story short- Neon is just screen in hands everytime any of them (except poor Rin) leaves to have their free day or free hours lmao.

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 13

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Triggers:  not triggers for this chapter (I think so 😁 )

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you   so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag   you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8   penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming  alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​

How nice was to be able to wake without the noise of cars and drivers screaming at each other. It was so calm there. Henry was still asleep, with his arms wrap around you. Gosh, he looked like an angel. You wanted to prepare breakfast for him, so you moved slowly, putting his arm on the bed carefully so he wouldn't wake up. You grabbed a pair of red pants, a white hoodie and a shirt to wear underneath. You made a big effort not to made any noise. When you left the room, Kal surprised you running towards you, excited to see you. You petted him and rushed him to the kitchen, so he wouldn't bark in front of the bedroom door and wake Henry up. You were studying his Instagram Stories and tried to replicate some of his previous breakfast and made some tea and toast for you. You couldn't contain the chills and tingles in your body when you felt his body pressed against your back, while he hugged you and kissed you on the neck and the cheek. You laughed as a reflex of the tingles and then turned around to kiss him. - I made you breakfast- you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair. - I see and smells delicious, I must say - he replied and kissed your forehead - It could smell delicious but taste horrible- you joked and he grinned - I'm sure it's pretty tasty. You spend part of the morning talking about all the smaller things than you hadn't talked during your time apart. Things that you did while you were on LA, funny things that Kal did, etc. Later, he decided to train with the machine that he had on the house while you use the time to check houses in London. You wanted a house as close to Henry's as you could, but the house had to be big. You needed to have enough rooms so you could have room to store your instruments and you also wanted a room that you could turn into a small recording studio. After some time researching, you found the perfect one. It had three small floors. It was white on the outside and luxurious on the inside. It had the main room and two guest bedrooms, a gym, a small cinema and a pool room. It had a gorgeous patio and a terrace that was also great. Your emailed the link to the sale to Brian and asked him if he could contact the people for you to see if the house was still available to purchase. You realized that once that you moved to London, you'll need to get yourself an assistant because you would no longer rely on your agent to do everything for you. You offered to prepare lunch and make risotto. Henry took a shower after training and joined you in the kitchen and helped you with the cooking. - I don't have to work tomorrow either, you know- he told you - I know, that means that we'll have another day to spend together, right?- you asked, excited - Yes. And there's another thing... - What? - Tonight I'm going to a friend's house to watch a Rugby game. - That's great! You deserved to spend time with your friends -you encouraged him- we can hang out tomorrow. - Actually, I wanted to know if you wanted to come with me?- he asked - Really? You want me to meet your friends? - you questioned surprised - Absolutely! - he assured you - Do you think that your friends will be ok with me going too? - I've already asked and yes. Besides, is not like is just men in there, all my friends always bring their girlfriends and wives. - Oh, so great, I will not be the only lady in there. - No.- he said grinning- plus, one of my friends in that group is a girl. - Oh, yeah? - you asked, raising an eyebrow- Is she pretty? - She's like a little sister- he answered, making sure that you wouldn't be jealous and you laughed. - That's ok. I'm not going to tell you not to be friends with a girl. You can be around a woman and doesn't have to mean anything more than a friendship. I have male friends I'm close to. They have been there for me for better and for worst so yeah, you can be friends without anything else going on. - you said and smiled at him and he smiled back.- Oh, by the way, I need to give you a heads up. - What? - I don't know shit about Rugby.-you admitted and Henry laughed. - That's ok. I'll explain to you later if you want or you could watch the game and try if you can understand something or go to talk with the other ladies that don't care much for the game.

You put on a black short skirt dress with a black vegan leather jacket on top; a nice pair of black short stiletto boots with long black socks underneath. For makeup, this time you went with a different approach a did a black smokey eye. As for your lips, you only put gloss, so it wouldn't be too much. You looked like if you were going to a fashion show instead of a house of Henry's friend to watch Rugby, but you wanted to cause a good impression. He was one hell of a man, you didn't want his friends to think that he could do better. More than all, you wanted to believe it yourself, that there was no one better out there for him than you. Henry was waiting for you in the living room. He had a light grey Royal Marines hoddie, a pair of blue jeans and a beanie of England's Rugby team. He stood up as soon as you showed up and looked at you astonished. - You look alluring. Like...I cannot tell you how much I wish to cancel the plans right now and run to the bedroom with you. That's how beautiful you look. I mean, you always look beautiful, but right now, you look "you're going to give me a heart attack" kind of beautiful. - you rolled your eyes and called him exaggerated and then kissed him, leaving a little gloss on his lips, which made both of you burst into laughter. His friend's house was lovely. Homie. You recognized him and a few faces from a picture that Henry had on his place. His friend introduced you to his wife and said: "This is Henry's girlfriend, y/n". Everyone knew who you were, you were famous around the globe, your face was easy to recognize, but he still introduced you to everyone as "Henry's girlfriend". Henry was greeting his friends and chatting with them, as his friend handed him a cold Guinness and offered you one as well, but you rejected it and decided to go for soda instead. You sat next to Henry and while he was talking with the group, you were lost in one thought "Henry's girlfriend". - Babe?- Henry spoke to you, touching your knee to call your attention. - Yeah, sorry, I got a little distracted. I sucked with names and I was trying to memorize all before I forget them.- you lied and smile. - They asked me how we met and I was telling them that we ran into each other at Simon's party.- he explained to you - Yeah. I wasn't even invited. Not really. Was more like "ok, you can bring your friend, now leave me alone" kind of case I'm sure.- you joked and the rest joined you. - So you met at the party and started to date? Who made the first move? -asked one girl curiously. - Well, that depends. Technically, both. He asked me out as a friend and then I visited him to thank him for the date and after a lovely chat and, thanks to said friend, already knowing that he liked me, I told him that I liked him too, and the rest is history. - you said and look at him and smiled and he smiled back at you and kissed you. That caught you off guard. You have never been kissed in front of other people before. It felt weird but nice. A bit uncomfortable, but like a warm hug at the same time. He put his arm around your shoulders and watch the game with his friends. You didn't pay attention at all to what was happening, all you did was stared at his face as if it was the most perfect painting that you've ever seen. He caught you looking at him a couple of times, smiled and kissed you and gave his attention back to the game. You love how passionate he was about his favourite things. After the game, he and the rest of the group spend some time discussing the game results and then just talk. You liked his friends a lot. They were funny, nice and real. For those hours that you've been there, you weren't "y/n, the superstar, the legend", you were " "Henry's girlfriend, y/n". It was nice for once to feel like a normal person. After you left, you picked up Kal from his assistant's place and then headed home. Once there, you decided that was time to address the elephant in the room. - You know, your friend introduced me tonight as your girlfriend. Did you told him that I was "your girlfriend"?- you asked, trying hard not to blush. Henry sit on the couch of the living room and looked at you, a bit nervous. - Yes and no.- he answered and that confused you- I didn't call you "my girlfriend", I called you "my girl".- dammit! you could feel the warmness of your cheeks. - Oh... - I should have consulted with you first before I told my friend.-he apologized - No, that's ok. It took me by surprise, that's all. - So, you want to make this official then? - he questioned - Hu? - you asked speechlessly - Do you want to be my girlfriend? I totally understand if it's too soon for you for a formal relationship, but for me, I already know that I want to be with you, so was the point of a wait when I already have what I want, except for the right to call you my girl. - Yes. - Yes, what? -he asked raising an eyebrow - Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, silly. - You said and he looked at you with a big smile. He was still sitting on the couch, petting Kal who was sitting next to him- Henry William Dalgliesh Cavill, if you don't stand up and come and kiss me right now I swear...- you didn't have the chance to finish the speech. He was already grabbing your face and kissing you. Then, as you put your arms around his neck, he put his around your hips, pulling you closer to him.

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part One

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day One Prompt: Wedding @gochi-week

When thinking of future weddings, ChiChi thought of attending Gohan and Goten’s wedding. She pictured fussing over the food, decorations and making sure everything was absolutely perfect. She imagined herself crying and being happy of seeing her sons marry. However, ChiChi thought that wouldn’t happen for another five or ten years. Gohan was 16 and Goten was so much further away from marriage. Another future wedding ChiChi thought of attending was Bulma and Vegeta’s. They were together for several years now. They had a living arrangement and appeared satisfied with that but ChiChi thought someday those two will make it official.

When thinking of future weddings, ChiChi never thought of herself marrying again. She was eligible but for her, she was one and done with Goku. He died and a second wedding for her never entered her mind. Without any daughters, ChiChi accepted her mother’s dress will be put away to never be worn again but on this momentous day, in her mother’s dress, ChiChi was marrying again for a second time.

To her first and only husband.

It was a miracle and something ChiChi never thought possible. After seven years, Goku returned from the dead. He was blessed with a new life. He and ChiChi got a second chance again to be husband and wife and parents to their children.

Things have changed between them. Goku was a wiser man, aware of past mistakes he made in their marriage and his own life. Those decisions were costly on his family but his loving family always forgave him. ChiChi mellowed over the years. Her quick temper had cooled. Oh, she can still get mad but she matured, too, and looked at every new day with her love again as precious. In some ways, they were different people getting to know each other again and in other ways, they were the same.

This is why ChiChi propositioned Goku with an idea a few days after he returned.

“A second wedding?” Goku propped himself as he laid on his side of the bed confused. “But ChiChi, ain’t we already married?”

“Well, yes,” ChiChi said slowly as she debated this herself. “But you were dead for seven years. We both thought that was it and we wouldn’t see each other until I crossed over. I have lived as a widow. It’s different from when you died the first time. I think you coming back is a revival of you and us.”

Goku didn’t see it that way. He assumed when he came back, he’ll jump back in as ChiChi’s husband, father to his sons and life will resume as always but ChiChi had a better understanding of this stuff than him so he considered her words. He picked up from her tone this is something ChiChi wanted and after all she did to keep their family together, Goku thought if ChiChi wanted it, she can have it. “If ya think we need a second wedding, okay.” The tight suit would be annoying but Goku also remembered a benefit about weddings: food! Lots and lots of food! “That means we’ll have a feast, right?”

“Yes.” With food, Goku will be on board for anything. “It’ll be an even bigger feast than our first wedding. We can invite your friends this time. Gohan can be your best man and instead of my Dad, Goten will walk me down the aisle and give me away.”

A wry smile rose on Goku’s face. ChiChi had this planned out. This meant he shouldn’t argue and go with it. “Sounds good. When do ya wanna do this?”

“With the food planning, clothes fitting, decorations….” ChiChi mentally calculated. “Two weeks. We can have our wedding here in our backyard.”

“Okay. Works for me.” Now that was settled, Goku was ready to move on to their nightly activities. Seven years was a long time to be apart and recently back, Goku played catch up with his family. One way he caught up with ChiChi was intimacy.

Goku pulled ChiChi so her body pressed against his. He moved to kiss her when ChiChi put a finger on Goku’s lips and gently pushed him back. “Since we are getting married again, we should wait on doing certain things we did until after we married.”

“Like?”

“Intimacy.”

Goku frowned. He suddenly didn’t like this idea ChiChi had in mind. “But we have already done it since I came back.”

“Right,” ChiChi agreed, “but I didn’t think we should get married again until today. Now we have to wait.”

“But it’s been seven years!” Goku whined. “We’re still catching up!”

Goku tried to kiss her again but ChiChi turned away. His lips pressed her neck and his hands tugged her nightgown. “We can wait, Goku.” ChiChi put a firm hand on his chest and pushed Goku away.

Pouting, Goku sulked. As much as he wanted, he knew ChiChi’s signal of no. Goku poked ChiChi’s right breast. “You mean I can’t touch and lick these?”

“No, Goku.”

Goku slipped his hand between ChiChi’s legs. “I can’t touch or eat this.”

ChiChi pushed Goku’s hand away. “No, you can’t. Not until our wedding day.”

ChiChi knew Goku didn’t like it but complied with her. He even tried to tempt her to break her little rule. He slept naked and against her every night. Sometimes, ChiChi awakened to feel Goku poking her. ChiChi thought she escaped his seductions when around their sons but Goku tried then, too. He’d brush against her innocently to their sons’ eyes but naughty to hers. Sometimes he walked around in tank shirts aware of how that affected her. Because of Goku’s subtle teasing, two weeks felt like four and her resolve was breaking. The temptation was so great the night before the wedding, ChiChi forced Goku to sleep on the sofa.

“The bride and groom can’t see each other until the wedding,” ChiChi told Goku when she forced him out of their bedroom with a pillow and blanket.

ChiChi glanced at the clock on the wall. The ceremony will start at eleven. ChiChi admired herself in the mirror in her mother’s wedding dress. Martial arts was very beneficial to her as it kept her body in shape. She even thought she looked fitter now than when she was a teen. Her face still looked youthful. She didn’t look like a teenage bride but she didn’t look old either. Still, ChiChi thought a little makeup wouldn’t hurt. As she applied a red coat of lipstick on her lower lip, Goku suddenly materialized behind her. He smiled in the mirror and waved while ChiChi felt her quick temper returning.

“Goku! What are you doing here? You can’t see me before the wedding.” She caught the smile on his face and the smirk. Goku didn’t look at her like that unless…..

Uh-oh.

Dropping her lipstick, ChiChi turned around. “No. No!” She put her hand out as Goku stepped to her. “Goku, we can’t do this now. This comes after the wedding.”

Goku wagged his finger at her. “You said we have to wait until our wedding day. It’s here.”

ChiChi opened her mouth to argue but paused. Oh, boy. She did say that. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I meant after the ceremony.”

Goku kept walking. He slowly shook his head not accepting that answer. “You didn’t say that,” he sang the words. He opened the button of his pants and pulled down the zipper. “I’ve been waiting for two weeks and I can’t wait anymore.”

ChiChi’s eyes dropped down as Goku pulled his thick penis out. His tip oozed with his liquid. “It’s our wedding day like you said.” His hand stroked his penis up and down. When he grew and hardened before her, ChiChi’s lips parted and her tongue peeked out wanting a lick. “We made it two weeks. We’re getting married today. What if we bend the rule?”

He was right. They made it to two weeks. It wouldn’t matter if they did do it now. Technically, they were still married. “The ceremony’s not long from now.” She didn’t stop him as Goku lift the skirts of her dress. “But I can’t undress again. It’s too sooo---” she gasped as Goku went under her dress. “Goku, what are you…” ChiChi sucked her breath and her hands gripped her dresser. ChiChi felt Goku’s tongue flicking against her panties before his mouth covered over her sweet spot. Through the skimpy layer of white sheer fabric, Goku’s tongue rubbed against the sensitive nub of her clit. Through her own bodily reaction or Goku’s tongue, she was getting wet fast. She bucked against his mouth.

“Goku, this doesn’t….” ChiChi panted, “happen… before wed….ahh!” Her hands gripped the wooden furniture. “Keep going,” she pleaded.

Goku unhooked the garters and pulled the panties down ChiChi’s twitching legs. ChiChi’s head rolled back as she felt Goku’s mouth between her legs again. His tongue delved deeper between her folds with one of his thick fingers assisting with the penetration.

ChiChi’s pelvis pressed forward as Goku’s teeth nipped her clit. Her eyes saw the clock on the wall. The ceremony. They didn’t have time for anything lengthy but ChiChi didn’t want to rush Goku either. Goku ate his food fast but when she’s the meal, he savored her and his deliberate slow and fast eating always ended in an intense orgasm for her.

Pressed against the dresser, ChiChi raised one and then both legs up and around Goku’s neck. “Ahhh …. this is wrong.” Her mind thought so but her body thought otherwise as her legs squeezed tighter as Goku licked her faster. But I don’t wanna stop. She glanced at the clock again. Not enough time. “Wait. Wait.” ChiChi unhooked her legs and pushed Goku from under her dress.

Smeared with her liquid heat on his face, Goku was on his knees before ChiChi with his erect penis sticking out his pants. “I’m wet enough.” ChiChi pulled up her skirts. “Put it in me now.”

Grinning, Goku rose to his feet. He turned ChiChi to face the mirror, pulled the skirts over her hips and entered ChiChi in one long and hard stroke. The wood of the dresser cracked under ChiChi’s hands at the sudden thrust. Gazing at her flushed face and Goku’s equally blushing face and clenched teeth as he gripped her hips and slide in and out of her, ChiChi released a loud moan. They made love in different ways: in the forest, the beach, even in the air but ChiChi never imagined her and Goku in her wedding dress moments before their wedding ceremony.

As Goku sheathed and unsheathed himself with increased urgency, ChiChi’s dress slipped down with each thrust. When her breasts flopped out and dress pooled at her waist, Goku grabbed them and pinched her nipples as he drove his hips harder.

Holding one hand on the dresser, ChiChi grabbed one hand over Goku’s and squeezed. “You’re torturing me.”

Goku smirked as he drove himself harder against ChiChi. She accuses him of torture after what she put him through for two weeks? Goku meant to accuse ChiChi of torturing him but he whispered against her ear. “You love it.”

“I do,” she moaned. Her eyes rolled back to the clock. “But hurry. The ceremony…..”

Goku smirked in the mirror as his hair rose. With flowing black hair and teal eyes, Goku eyed him and ChiChi in the mirror. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

ChiChi grasped the dresser as Goku plunged faster. He was on the cusp of being a Super Saiyan but with years of training, controlled himself to not fully transform. They swayed in perfect rhythm with her hips bouncing back and Goku slamming forward. Deeper he buried himself in her and harder he rocked his body against her. Her and Goku making love in front of the mirror in their wedding clothes moments before the ceremony, was morally wrong, illicit and shameful if caught but exciting!! ChiChi’s heart pumped faster; her body got wetter. The sheer naughtiness of their behavior pushed ChiChi to a quick and tantalizing release.

She didn’t hold back crying Goku’s name as her muscles contracted around him. ChiChi was faintly aware of Goku plunging in and out with increased urgency until he stiffened and emitted a satisfied groan as he pumped his cream in her. He slumped forward with his head resting against her shoulder.

Eventually, ChiChi felt Goku pull out of her and pushed her dress down. “Sorry, ChiChi,” Goku apologized. Both knew he didn’t mean it. “But you did say our wedding day and I couldn’t wait anymore.”

ChiChi would scold Goku for using her own words against her. Seven years ago, ChiChi would but she was a seasoned woman now no longer angered at the small stuff. Life and every moment with her husband were now valued and precious. She adjusted her dress and covered her breasts again. She also couldn’t be mad at Goku because a few days after telling Goku they should wait, she regretted it. It has been seven years and that is a long time to be without sex, and if it weren’t for the ceremony she’d throw Goku on the bed and have her way with him.

In her wedding dress.

The visual of her riding Goku in her wedding dress had her lower body awakening again. Heat spread through her and a new wave of moisture formed between her legs. She pictured Goku groaning under her as she bounced up and down over him. She thought of him rising to take her breasts in his mouth as kept riding him until they came. In the mirror, ChiChi saw peaks of her nipples poking through her dress. She wanted Goku again. Badly. Goku didn’t see her as he fixed his pants. ChiChi glanced at the clock. Did they have time?

Screw it ChiChi decided as she grabbed Goku and threw him on the bed.

They’ll make time.