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piratewithvigor · 1 year ago

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Regal The Professional: Chapter 4

It's not professional to go on a killing spree in the middle of the day. Leon The Professional AU but make it found family

AO3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

There’s an electricity in the air right before a bust. A sharp little zinging from scalp to toes, a jitter of adrenaline from spine to fingertips. It’s a readiness, a focus. The moments of normalcy that are being counted down. They’re pleasant, but they’re made so much better with a little E in the system.

Thankfully, Jericho never goes without, just in case.

The dish used to be an antique compact mirror, but with the tray altered slightly, it fits the tablets easily, looks classy and slips right into his inside pocket without being bulky or rattly.

“I love these… calm little moments before the storm,” he comments to Matt behind him. “It reminds me of Aerosmith. Can you hear it? It’s the vibrations between metal and flesh, between man and machine. Do you like Aerosmith?”

Matt cocks the rifle in his hands, looking more towards the other men lined along the hallway, prepped for the breach. There’s five of them in total, all laser-focused on the door Jericho’s stopped in front of. “Couldn’t really say. Haven’t listened to them much recently.”

“That’s alright, I’ll play you one of my favorites.” The doorknob is blown off the door almost as fast as Jericho took the rifle from Matt.

There’s a lot he could ruin the gunshots with. Could make a joke, could start singing like a demented Malcolm McDowell wannabe, but neither really feels right. Aerosmith isn’t just Steven Tyler, after all. He can enjoy the little details that get muddled from all the screeching. Little details like how nice the sunglasses belonging to the body in the bubble bath are when they fall to the tile below. The doublebass of the blast hitting waiter and the body hitting floor. Mm, nice and quick.

But it’s still only two. The song can’t be over just yet. Especially when Beretta has to be skulking around. He’s only part of today’s concert. There’s so much more to be played.

For instance, he’s stolen about 20 grand of coke, give or take a sniff. Now it’s either hanging around, or the money that he got for selling it is. He’s not the kind of man who’s smart enough to put it in a bank or invest it, or probably even have someone else hold it. If he even has friends who would be willing to do such a thing.

Something Aerosmith did that they really should do more often is have more songs be recorded in stereo. A separate treat for each ear. Sounds just like how when he walks through the kitchen and slides everything from the countertops to the floor, he gets to enjoy the plates and food crashing on one side and the silverware on the other. A treat for each ear. Working in perfect harmony to create the song playing deep in the back of his brain. It’s exciting, but no opening, or even a bridge can compare to the chorus, to the man of the hour, Mr Trent Beretta, flattening himself against the back wall of the living room, barely even looking like he’s trying to defend himself.

“We said noon, Beretta,” he chuckles, joining him and tapping his watch. “And you don’t look like Axl Rose to me, so that means you’re late.”

Trent doesn’t make a move. Or even seems like he’s about to defend himself vocally. Maybe he’s just confused.

“You don’t like Guns N Roses, do you? Big shame. I hear screams like that and… mmm, they get my juices flowing. And Slash’s guitar work? Very powerful. But I have to admit, after their debut, now that they’re big rock stars… they’ve gotten fucking boring. That’s why I stopped.”

He still doesn’t get it. What doesn’t he get? The metaphor? It’s a good one. Clear as day. You don’t play when it’s boring. How does the line go? ‘Don’t bore us; get to the chorus’. He can play the most exciting part if that’s what Beretta wants.

“Toss the rest of the apartment,” he orders Matt. It’s not a big place, after all, and they’ve got a big enough team here. They’ll be in and out before the lunch rush is over. “You and Ang take the bedrooms, Sammy takes the kitchen and Hager takes the hallway, make sure no one comes in or out.” He doesn’t say he’ll keep watch over Beretta and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, but he doesn’t have to. Speaking is a good silence ruined, after all.

Besides being an excellent way to carry milk home, Regal’s had his case stocked to the brim for years with everything he could possibly need in an event like this. The shots have been going off for a while now and by his count, there has to be at least two deaths. No one is screaming like he’d heard for a few moments, so that must mean everyone who could scream can’t anymore.

He’s hoping that isn’t the case. That maybe the world isn’t quite so cruel as to shoot down the innocent with shotguns in their own homes. It is, of course, has been since guns were invented, but maybe not today. Maybe not in the apartment next door where there should be two kids who are safe and sound. He hadn’t seen the boy leave with his sister (he was pretty sure the younger sibling was a sister), but there was always a chance she was alright.

Wheeler’s got twenty whole dollars for groceries today. With the right budgeting, it’ll last for a week, maybe even a little longer if there’s a good sale going on. But five will still go to milk for the man down the hall. Wheeler owes him, after all. There’s a lot of things that guy’s seen that he probably could have gotten Wheeler in a lot of trouble for, but he’s never said a word. Never ratted him out and even gave him a handkerchief. There’s not a lot of really nice people in the building, but he’s a really nice one. He’s kind without being asked. A lot of people could stand to learn a lot of things from him about how to be good.

“You must be a fan of the older stuff. Like the Stones? Mm, I love the Stones. They’ve got a new CD coming out soon, you know? First one in a few years, very exciting. But for work like this, they’re a little… well, a little bit light. Days like today, I need someone a little heavier. But if you like the Stones, check out Geordie; they’re pretty good too.”

People underestimate Geordie, after all, if they’ve ever even heard of them. Hard for a band to live on when the lead singer goes and joins another band infinitely more popular. It’s a shame. Having everything you’ve ever worked on, your whole legacy wiped clean save for a few memories just because someone near and dear to you decided to make a decision for all of you.

The irony of Jericho thinking so as he stands in a pool of the waiter’s blood is not lost on him. If he cared, he may wonder who exactly the waiter is to Beretta. Husband? Lover? Occasional squeeze? He must have some point of being here. Whoever he is, Jericho hopes the coke was worth more. Cause whoever this person was is now pretty much just a sack of skin holding a few bones and some meat. Like an overdressed butcher’s bag.

There’s lot of little details around the room that show just how much Beretta chose to throw away. Little fingerprints on the wall around waist-high mean there’s a kid skulking around they’ll have to find later. Some clothes strewn around that look like they may belong to an older kid. Great, like they needed that kind of hassle. This sorry fuck had to go and reproduce just to make his life all the more difficult.

Jericho’s interrupted in his laments by something that rips through the sleeve of his coat and then his flesh. The boom of the shotgun seems to come a split second later. That fucking–

There’s a second boom and the too-quick popping of a semi along with someone running and just about everyone in the apartment scrambling for cover. Only one of his men came in here with something like that, so it doesn’t take a genius. Beretta triggered a fucking firefight and none of his guys were actually prepared for one mentally. He got two off from what Jericho heard and Hager, that dipshit, emptied his entire magazine through the thin walls of this crap shack.

No one says a word or even really breathes until Beretta tries to scurry out by way of the kitchen, as if that quick-thinking evasive maneuver will do him any good. He got the man in charge of hunting through it, after all. Probably the one he’d been aiming for in the first place. Just like Sammy to leave a blind spot open. Beretta’s making the same mistake, with his back to Jericho as he heads for the door. Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for the gene pool of future generations, Jericho didn’t take a shot with his own gun today. He’s got a full clip on the ready to nail him between the shoulderblades, just shy of his spine.

But he’s still moving. He’s still crawling for the door through his own blood– He has the audacity to rip a hole through Jericho’s jacket and pretend he’ll live to tell?

“Oh, goddammit!”

Matt’s asking if he’s okay from wherever he took cover, but he just won’t be loud enough. There’s nothing louder than his own pulse right now. It’s like John Bonham is inside his fucking skull and traded his Ludwigs for Jericho’s eardrums.

He follows Beretta down the hall, getting a shot into each of the vital organs. Through a kidney, through the liver, through an intestine, into a lung and lodges one in his heart when the clip clicks to signal its had enough. Beretta isn’t moving anymore either, so maybe it is enough.

“Chris, what th’ hell are you doing?” Matt whirls him around by his good arm. “He’s dead.”

“He ruined my jacket. Tore a hole right through,” Jericho points out like it makes all the difference in the world.

“Yeah, I know, but he’s dead. He’s just a piece of meat now, forget about it. Calm down”

Truly said like a man who’s never had to track down someone willing to sew functional lightbulbs into the lining of a good quality leather coat without making it too bulky or heavy.

“I’m calm.” It’s what he wants to hear, after all.

The frozen vegetable medley is actually on sale this week. For once, it means that Kris won’t have to deal with just one crappy vegetable and can take which ones she likes from the bag. It’s not the greatest treat in the world, but she’s too skinny already and Wheeler’s hoping that maybe she won’t be taken away by CPS if she looks like she actually eats at home. Besides, with the cheez whiz he got too, she won’t be able to tell she’s eating broccoli anyway.

Everything fits into the arm space Wheeler has to carry everything from the bodega up the flights of stairs. The two quarts of milk, vegetables, cheez whiz and jam in one bag and two loaves of bread with a tube of bologna wrapped together in paper under the other arm. Opening the front door is a bit of a challenge, but with the right shuffling of items and throwing his weight against it hard enough, it’s no problem at all.

The milk is starting to get a little bit heavy and cold against his arm by the fourth flight of stairs, but Wheeler’s still managing for the most part, quietly glad that he’s only got the one left to go. There’s a few voices coming from upstairs, kind of sounding like they’re chatting, but Wheeler can’t make out the tone until he reaches the landing of the fifth floor.

All the doors are closed like always, except for the one. His door. The guy from yesterday, Ernie, is putting up yellow police tape across it and doesn’t look twice at Wheeler, especially when Wheeler doesn’t spend more than a moment looking his way. Eyes dead ahead as he walks by and hears the voices clear as day.

“Dammit Jake, you killed a four year old kid! Did you really have to do that?” Bert laments from inside. He sounds like it’s more of an inconvenience than a travesty. Wheeler doesn’t stay to find out what happened to the others.

He finds himself at the door of the man he’s bringing milk for and rings the bell twice.

“Please let me in,” he whispers as softly as he can without his voice breaking. “Please?”

One of the guys is watching him, he can feel the eyes burning into the back of his neck. He can feel it as clearly as the chill of the milk is starting to make his arm ache.

He rings the bell again. “Please?”

He’d been getting prepared since the moment he walked in the door. Gathering all the loose weaponry from around the apartment and centralizing it on the living room table. Loading everything he could carry and sliding them into place on his holster when they’re filled. With a second’s notice, he could take out anyone who might come to the door.

Prepared for everything except a small boy pleading for his life, practically near tears, arms filled with groceries.

If he doesn’t open the door, the boy has probably a minute to live before one of the men in his apartment figure out that he’s part of the family. But Regal will be safe. On the other hand, if he opens the door, he’ll either save the boy’s life, or they’ll both get shot.

“Please open the door,” the boy whispers.

God, they should not be anyone’s last words…

He opens the door.

He’s inside. He’s safe. Is he safe? The man opened the door and let him in, but just how safe can he be? The guys are still out there, trying to figure out what to do with the bodies of his family so maybe… maybe they just can’t be his family for a little bit. That’s it, they’re just no one to him.

Thankfully, the apartment isn’t too big, so Wheeler can set down the groceries on the kitchen table and start putting the milk in the fridge. Just like he lives there. Just like he’s always lived there. Of course he’s always lived there with his… dad? Sure, his dad. His dad who doesn’t talk too much and likes drinking milk. His dad who wears big coats and full suits, even in the summer. And he… sent him out to get groceries to teach him responsibility. He’s got an accent… maybe he’s new in the country and adopted Wheeler not too long ago and until he gets an understanding of how American shops work, it’s up to Wheeler to do the shopping. He probably just gets frustrated that all the taxes aren’t included in the prices, so he never brings enough cash. Yeah, that could work. It’s a good story. And his dad has heard things about crime rates in New York, so he always keeps the door locked and only opens it when Wheeler rings the doorbell. And he told Wheeler never to talk to strangers, so that’s why Wheeler didn’t stop to ask any questions about the crime scene like another kid might. He’s a good dad and taught him well.

The fridge door is still open and Wheeler’s hand is still shaking on it, but the story is pretty much all there. He’s got all the bases covered.

There must have been some kind of mix-up when Jericho asked the captain to give him a crack squad. What he’d meant was that he wanted the best of the best. The elites. The ideal group to have alongside him when he made busts like this. What he’d gotten was a Canadian Beavis and Butthead and the kind of nitwits who not only turn their backs on suspects before the room is even clear and, even more stupid, who shoot blindly through walls.

In short, he got a team that were about as dumb as crackheads.

There’s blood all over the fucking floor and probably enough asbestos in the air to cut another 10 years off of all of their lives because what kind of jackass shoots through a wall on purpose? It’s made the hunt for the cash and for the dope all the harder. And now there’s probably other cops on the way because of all of the shooting that happened in the building, so they’re probably going to have to pause the hunt to explain everything.

It’s a fucking disaster.

Jericho’s almost about to punch through the damn wall when he spies the first sign this family was anything more than dysfunctional. There’s actually a cute little family photo on the wall. Framed and everything. Who’d have thunk it. Beretta and the waiter and… he’s pretty sure he shot that third guy in the bath and the little girl and a little boy. One who was not shot here today.

“Ang!” He calls in a voice sickly-sweet enough to send a chill down Angelo’s spine.

“Yeah? What’d you find?”

“Now, correct me on my math, but we’ve got four bodies here today and five people in this sweet little family.”

“Chris, I don’t think that kid was here today.”

“But you’ve seen him before?”

“He kinda looks familiar.”

“So if you kinda know him, there’s a chance he kinda knows us.”

“Yeah, but he’s a kid.”

“Ang, you dumb fuck, haven’t you ever seen Home Alone? Kids know more than we give them credit for. If there’s a chance, even a chance, that he knows our faces, God forbid our names, we’re fucked, you do know that, right?”

“Chris, just… calm down, okay? Look, we’ve got his picture, I’m sure his name is around here somewhere. Then we check the places kids play in the area. Ask if they’ve seen him. Kids trust cops.”

“I don’t care how the fuck you do it, I just want him found!”

Matt’s always so eager to put up the Police Tape. In any other set of circumstances, it’s almost endearing, but right now, when Jericho’s still high, but also angry, it’s just another stressor on Angelo’s day to try and maneuver through it.

“What’s he cussin’ a blue streak for?” Matt murmurs to him as Angelo ducks under his handiwork.

“We missed a little boy. I need to try and find the super, see if I can figure out anything about him.”

Missed a kid, hmm? There was something seriously weird about how the boy down the hall had to ring the doorbell three times before he got let in. On the one hand, his dad certainly looked disheveled enough to maybe have been sleeping, but on the other hand, why would a parent so concerned with security that he locks the door when he’s home do so while he knows his son is out, likely with no key of his own? There’s no way a little punk like that would be smart enough to just know the one person in the building who would not only be home, but who might actually let him in with a moment’s notice.

He’d be a fool if he didn’t at least take the time to double check. Listen for any sign of a kid actually living there and not just hiding.

The walls are thin enough, and he’s only a few feet away but he’s not hearing anything at all. There’s no feet running around, no asking for a cookie before dinner, or whatever the hell kids ask for these days. He’s practically ear to the door when he hears a soft click and then the much louder telltale sounds of cartoons. The exact same goofy-ass stunted dialogue of all the Saturday mornings of the past decade. They’ve woken him up on enough hungover weekends to be able to tell.

Sounds kind of like Transformers.

“Yo, I found it!”

Well, at least Hager’s making up for his being a moron earlier. A whole neat little pack of dope. Though ‘little’ being a bit of a misnomer. It’s enough of the missing shipment that Jericho feels safe assuming that the rest is gone. All having been stuck away inside a broken old radio. If Beretta were alive to be complimented on his hiding place, Jericho might even have considered giving him one.

The sore spot is the cash. There was a hundred in Beretta’s wallet, but there’s no way that was all of it. It’s still stashed somewhere, but there’s a good chance that ‘somewhere’ isn’t in the apartment.

The sirens outside are getting close enough that there’s no denying them anymore. They can frame a lot of what happened today as a drug bust that went bad, but not everything. They certainly can’t explain why they’re holding what’s close to a kilo of coke and not intending to turn it into Evidence. In moments like these, the last option is to get out before the uniforms get there.

“Okay, hand it over. We’re heading out, you stay here to explain,” he informs Hager, starting to drop from the E. Or maybe just because everyone around him is just so slow, it makes the pill wear off faster.

“Wh-” Hager’s stupid question is cut off by Jericho’s glare. He’s the one who gets to explain because he’s the one who killed a kid and turned the whole place into a biohazard from all the drywall dust. “Okay– what do I tell them?”

“What do you tell them? You tell them we were doing our job.”

#the slow burn isn't too slow on this one #I get to overexcited to let things burn slowly #this chapter was a lot of fun to write #and one of the ones I'm most proud of to compare to the movie #William Regal #Wheeler Yuta #Chris Jericho #AEW #Regal The Professional #Writing

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mysingularitybts · 2 years ago

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Put Your Records On [Preview]

Cat Hybrid!Yoongi x Human!Reader (you)

Appearances: Later on Bunny!Jungkook

Word Count: 1.9k

Note: It's been a long while since I've posted here but I've had this idea in my head for almost a year and would like to write it out. Plus, I got the motivation for it today. This is only a preview, the real thing should be much longer but I wanted to test the waters a bit. I live for cat yoongi and I hope to get it out of my system with this little story. Also, Bunny!Jungkook will make an appearance on the longer version, imagine how cute he'll be!!

Like every morning for the past seven years, Yoongi walks to work with his hands in his pockets and earbuds in his ears. The music blasting out of them does nothing to dampen the city noise as the extra pair of ears at the top of his head catches them. One of the downsides of being a hybrid, a cat one, to be precise.

Like every morning, he stops in front of a tall, glass-lined building that glimmers under the rising sun, and as always, he curses it out in his head (or under his breath) for it breaking his dream. The same dream that began when he first learned the purpose of the building. He scowls at it for a whole minute before continuing to his destination. A minute a day is all the time he allows himself to rain on his parade.

He walks to the small music shop tucked between a coffee shop and a comic book store. He unlocks the door fitfully, having to jiggle the keys expertly. There’s no chance of anyone stealing from the store as he can barely open the door himself. Turning on the stereo with the music of a new upcoming artist, he organizes anything he might’ve left out of place the night before and cleans the counters.

It’s become a routine for Yoongi to wake up, scowl at the glass building, go to work, endure people’s discrimination towards hybrids, close the store, go home, and go to sleep. He’s gotten so used to the repetition that when he has free time on Sunday, he feels at a loss on what to do. He’s tried opening the store those days, but then old man Lee would get mad at him for not resting.

It’s not unusual for him to get new customers. Still, they are always the same people, music students or hipsters who want to try and be cool with their indie music. Today though, he felt something change when a blue-haired girl walks into the store for the first time. The bell jingles at the top of the door as you walk in. Taking a moment to look around the store before beelining to the aisle labeled as ‘vinyl.’ Yoongi follows you with his eyes as his tail swishes behind him in curiosity.

You’d heard of this store from a co-worker and thought it would be the perfect place to find a gift for your brother, who’s recently started a vinyl collection. You rummage through the bins trying to find anything he might like but what you see is barely anything you’ve heard of before.

Yoongi stares but doesn’t approach you; he usually lets the customer decide if they need any help. He’s lost count of how many times people have told him they don’t need the help of a hybrid. But as you move into the third bin of vinyl out of the few dozen in the store, he makes a move. Yoongi doesn’t need you to be here for hours.

“What are you looking for?” he asks straight to the point.

You look up, startled, not having heard him approach you. You can’t help but stare, not because he’s a hybrid but because he must be one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life. Yoongi doesn’t take it that way, as he believes you’re judging him for what he is.

“Well?” He prompts rudely.

“Sorry, um…Yoongi.” You say, squinting to read his name tag, “I’m looking for a vinyl for my brother as a birthday gift.” You look at him nervously as you feel him judge your entire being, wishing you had worn more makeup today and not stained your sweater during lunch.

“Anything in specific you’re searching for, or what is his music taste?” Yoongi asks, bored.

“He likes electro-pop.”

Yoongi nods and directs you further down the aisle, he organized the bins himself, and you were looking in all the wrong places. It seems you missed the signs hanging above the bins designating the music genre.

“You were searching in the jazz area. This is electro-pop,” Yoongi points out.

Blushing at your stupidity, you thank him and continue to search for a good artist your brother will like. Yoongi hums in acknowledgment and makes his way back to the cash register, waiting for you to finish and ringing out other customers.

As you shift through the albums, you look up occasionally to look at the hybrid called Yoongi. He sits on a wooden stool, staring out the window. The sun hits his pale face, making him look ethereal. If she was braver, she’d ask him out, but she knows there’s no way he’d like her back. He certainly didn’t show it when he helped her.

Finally, seeing more artists you recognize, you have settled on two vinyls for your gift. You walk around the store as it’s your first time in it, and you stop to look at accessories for production closer to the counter. Your eyes roam the equipment, and your hand urges you to touch it, but you hold back because you don’t need anything right now. You might want it, but you don’t need it.

Placing the vinyls on the counter carefully, you wait for Yoongi to ring your items up. He barely looks at her as he tells her the total. That’s okay, though, as it allows you to stare at him more discreetly; you are in awe of this man with his glossy dark hair and pink pout. How could you have formed a crush on a man who has only spoken five words to you?

Yoongi looks up at the lack of response, only to find you staring at him. He frowns deeply, disturbed by the situation. Her staring differs from the people who point at his ears or make off-hand comments. Yet he can’t point out why it’s different.

“Hello?” He snaps to call her attention.

“Sorry,” you flinch, a blush covering your cheeks, contrasting the blue in your hair.

“Hope you’re brother likes them,” Yoongi tells her, putting both records in a bag.

“Thanks, me too,” you manage to stutter out with a smile.

You promptly pay and leave the store. Outside you slap yourself on the forehead for being so awkward in the presence of Yoongi. Caught up reprimanding yourself, you don’t notice Yoongi staring at you from the window with a quirk on his lips.

Yoongi thinks you’re a little odd but pays you no mind. He’d thought you’d be more confident with hair like yours, but you’re a little ditsy. It’s cute. You smelled good, too, not that he meant to smell you, but it’s hard not to with his heightened sense of smell. You smelled like chocolates and something florally but not overwhelming.

To a hybrid, scents are everything they can tell a lot about a person, although sometimes they can be misled. Hybrids can sense a person’s mood and overall persona with smell alone. A handy thing to have when dealing with people who constantly discriminate against hybrids. Times might have changed, and hybrids might have their freedom now, but it can’t erase years of slavery and mistreatment.

#min yoongi x reader #bts #bts min yoongi #min yoongi #min yoongi one shot #min yoongi imagine #jeon jungkook #bts jung jungkook #bts imagines #bangtan #bts oneshots #min yoongi x you

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notnctu · 4 years ago

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backseat chronicles - n.jm | ridin’ club

━ welcome to the ridin’ club smut series

genre ➠ slow burn, smut, fluff, lil angst wordcount ➠ 8.5k details ➠ fem!reader, streetracer!jaemin, badboy!jaemin, college!au ━ where Jaemin brings you to his club races as his arm candy. warnings ➠ explicit language, overstimulation, flirty banter, pet names, softdom!jaemin, car sex, praise kink, hittin it raw (y/n on the pill), oral, daddy kink, slight corruption kink, fingering synopsis ➠ There is no reasonable explanation as to why or how you always end up in the backseat of Na Jaemin’s beloved car. Almost routinely, he picks you up around ten in the evening with the stereo blasting the raunchiest lyrics for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. The entire night remains purely friendly, a dabble of flirtatious comments because well, it’s Jaemin for fuck sakes. But all it takes is one suggestive gaze from his dark, lustful eyes and a drop in his voice that rumbles your core to have you climbing over the seats to get to the back. taglist ➠ @rabbit-doyochi ; @darkneogotmyback ; @im-lame-irl ; @p-mini ; @niniluvsmarkhyuck ; @saniahmichael ; @jaehy9ngs ; @danyxthirstae01 ; @jaehyunoos ; @pikijaemin ; @suhweo ; @yunoyeol ; @lanadreamie ; @ta3ilmoon ;

a/n ➠ hi yall its author doie❀!! thank you for over 1k notes on this series, im beyond impressed by the amount of attention this got! it really blew up and its so crazy!! i wrote this one with more of a romantic plotline i realized its too hard to keep it pwp with all the story building and characterization i have :)) it’s almost over yall! pls pls leave me feedback im sorry it took so long to write ):

While college lecture rooms are too big to interact with other students, discussion classes are there to ease the difficulty. A classroom for about twenty students from a three hundred person lecture. It’s administered by a clueless TA, who barely began his second term in graduate school.

Unlike lecture, attendance is mandatory for participation points. You show up every time without a fail, so it came as a shock to you when a certain blue haired student finally appeared from the list of absent students.

Na Jaemin. The notorious playboy with looks that kill and partakes in some illegal racing club. It’s as if every person in the room fawns over his aura, Jaemin drips with an inexplicable alluring confidence. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he never shows up for class and rumors about how he’s slept with the entire cheer squad.

But he’s drawn to you like a magnet: always sitting in the available spot next to you, asking about your day before the TA arrives, developing an odd staring problem. You don’t feed much into his attention, minding your own business when he starts with his notably flirtatious greeting.

“You just take my breath away, (Y/N).” Jaemin cocks back in his seat with legs stretched wide in an overly comfortable manner. The smug smirk on his face cannot be ignored, he’s doing the absolute most to get you to pay the smallest attention to him.

“I didn’t do anything in particular to do that, Jaemin.” You respond bitterly, pulling out your notes for today’s discussion class. The TA enjoys wasting the first twenty minutes going over the past lecture slides and running through the most obvious topics.

You pay no mind to Jaemin peering over at you with the single handedly most dreamy eyes and smile --- stars shining in his dark orbs and a dazzling twinkle in his wide toothy grin.

“That’s why you’re so amazing. You do nothing and it still leaves me breathless.” His sneaky eyes examine your clothing choice for the long day. On this warm afternoon, the short tank top does nothing to hide much of your skin and the denim shorts that ride up a little too well drive Jaemin insane. And when you cross your legs together, he swallows the spit that pools in the back of his throat.

Your ears catch onto the murmurs of the rest of the class, the midterm is next week. The wretched midterm that is half of your grade dooms you, it is going to take an endless amount of completely undistracted dedicated hours of study--- “On a more serious note, can you help me with this class?”

His voice shatters your inner panic, if anything, adds to the stress that already beats down on your shoulders. You look up to glare at him, but you’re entirely taken aback by the new styling of his hair and the exposure of his tattoos.

The sweet blue cotton candied strands are ruffled lazily above his brows, messy from him constantly running his hand through them. Jaemin sits relaxed in gray sweatpants that are extremely baggy on his slender figure, hands are shoved casually into the pockets.

But what has you staring for longer is the long sleeve of tattoos that wrap around his left arm. Not that you’re surprised that Jaemin has tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve, but this is your first time seeing it as this is the first time he’s come to class without his leather jacket on. Something about the intricate lines and shadowing make Jaemin seem much cooler, almost more attractive.

When you meet his eyes, his lips curl slowly into a sly side smile and he’s practically eating you up under his gaze. He definitely knew that you were staring and what comes next out of his mouth will haunt you for it. “Like what you see, beautiful?”

“I don’t have the time to help you.” The best way out of this situation is to simply ignore it. Jaemin is overly adored and admired by many, he’ll find someone else to help him.

“Jaemin, do you want to study together?” There you go, folks. The random girl snickers with her small huddle of friends in the upper corner of the room, like a crowd of crows, they’re all waiting around for Jaemin to accept her offer so he can be easily integrated into their little group.

However, you watch how his glances bounce between you and her. The most sickly sweet, kind smile is almost too fake to consider it to be genuine. His final choice surprises you, “thank you for offering, but I only want (Y/N)...”

Your breath hitches and gets caught in your throat as you hope for him to finish his sentence, the drumming of your heart distracting you even more. Jaemin wants you? While the thought is flattering, it puzzles you greatly.

“... to help me with my studies.” Jaemin finishes his sentence after a rather long pause, his eyes finally resting upon your figure shying away and finding any way to seem uninterested in the conversation. “Is that going to be okay, (Y/N)?”

“What do I get out of it?” You can’t believe that you are actually considering it. But this is a man that only wants you to help him. Jaemin is an impossible, yet charming man and whatever comfortable attire he is wearing today is really aiding in his request.

He lights up, ears perked up and eyes attentive. His hands fold together on the empty desk, leaning forward towards you. “Dates with me.”

Rolling your eyes, you groan slightly at the arrogant answer. “I don’t care about that. I want something that benefits me.”

“I’ll make sure you’re well fed.” There is a tiny plea in his tone, a remarkable shift from his cool aura. “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”

“I guess I can’t turn down free food…” there is a hang in your sentence as you contemplate what chaos you’re about to dive into and what life changes are about to be explored with Jaemin.

“Before you agree,” Jaemin chuckles, “there’s one more thing I’d like you to do for me.”

You’re quick to shoot a daggering glare at the overly enthusiastic boy, “why do I suddenly owe you favors?”

“Because I say so.” He deadpans, a chill running down your spine at the deep dip in his octave. The playfulness that was present all this time suddenly vanished, a serious look that intimidates you, but sexy enough to where it erupts something in your core. He blinks at you with dark clouded eyes and you nervously anticipate what he is going to ask next of you.

“Accompany me to my races.” He speaks lowly as if he’s afraid of someone else eavesdropping in the conversation.

Here’s your issue with that request: you’ve never really been part of that scene. You’ve lived pretty mundanely, even in college. It’s simple, you like to stay within the boundaries of what you enjoy to do and what you have to do. But you’re always open minded and willing to try something to determine whether or not you’re fond of it.

Partying and drinking copious amounts of alcohol weren’t your favorite things to do, especially to the point of forgetting your nights. You wanted to remember your nights as much as you do your days. The youth isn’t here for long, why waste them by blacking out in the middle of a large party? Also, whoever said that alcohol goes down smooth is a blatant liar.

Illegal racing could possibly be an extension of people who participate in those things, which is fine, but does place a crippling fear of coming off too boring or unrelatable inside your nervous system. But just because you don’t do those things doesn’t mean that you’re not as cool, right?

Since when was your status based nonsensically on how often you spend your nights in socializing crowds full of sweaty bodies and how much cheap booze you can drink? It had to be all in your head --- you’re just dreading any awkward socializing with people who race cars when it’s absolutely illegal.

“Why me?” It’s a genuine answer, possibly stemming from your insecurities of not being on the same level of charm as Jaemin exudes. You’re not a fool, you’re well aware of the many different people he comes across on campus so, why you?

Jaemin doesn’t hesitate to answer, “why not you? You’re just my type. Hot and smart. Cute and a little shy. The greatest duality, if you ask me.” His words seem so genuine that it has you believing these things about yourself as well.

Nonetheless, you’re taken aback by his observations and his choice of descriptions. “We’ve barely ever talked. How can you say these things so confidently about me?”

Jaemin slightly pulls your chair closer to his own and you yelp in response to the sudden movement and lack of space that separates the two of you. He leans into you, breath hot on your skin and obvious eyes darting between your shocked ones and pretty lips.

“So let’s get to know each other. I can already tell that it’ll just make me fall for you even more.” His finger lightly traces your jaw, stopping at your chin to give it a small lift to meet his focus. Jaemin loves how you squirm underneath his intensity, you’re too cute to let go. “Plus, my boys will love you. I’m sure of it.”

The TA rushes in quickly and is utterly distressed from the traffic that had pushed back his schedule. “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He rummages through his things to find his notes, but groans to see that the monitor of the computer is off. It’s going to take him another ten minutes to input all his credentials.

But your attention doesn’t stray from Jaemin, especially with his delicate touch at the bottom of your chin. His gentle smile enacts nothing but a soft love, and a peak of interest. Na Jaemin, the one and only. He’s like an adventure waiting to be explored, an open bottle of fun for you to take a sip.

“What would I have to do?” Your voice comes out shaky.

“Just be there as your pretty self.” Jaemin comes off as the type to always have women around him, “you’ll be my lucky charm. For some reason, I always feel better around you.”

The escalation of this conversation is possibly more action you’ve had to handle in the last two years. Jaemin drops your chin and falls back into his own seat with his arms crossed. He is about to turn your life upside down and whether that be a good or bad thing, you don’t mind. You’re excited for the new thrills that come with being by Na Jaemin’s side.

Jaemin’s hot hands lift your shirt quickly, throwing it towards the front seat of his car. His lips return to your soft neck, nibbling at your skin tenderly and with love bites that will remind you of his gentle touches. The streetlamps outside flicker impatiently as you feel the eagerness soaking your panties and he lifts you up to take them off.

“My sweet girl,” his voice is light and airy that it becomes almost lost in the heat of the car. “You’re excited tonight. Did you miss me?” The devilish smirk can be felt upon your collarbones.

“Yes, I haven’t seen you for almost five days.” A peculiar whine settles in your pout and Jaemin’s low growl sends shivers down your spine. The only barrier are his own tight jeans and your hands are fast at unbuckling his belt. Jaemin relaxes back, forearms resting on your soft thighs and watching the neediness in your expression and the speed of your hands. He smiles to himself seeing you this way, wanting him so badly that you can’t wait to get him out of his jeans.

Throughout the two months that you and Jaemin finally became well acquainted, he’s fallen inexplicably into your trance. His friends made it very clear to you that he doesn’t keep the same girl around for more than a few weeks. But he’s brought you to almost every race so far and despite the initial shock of your appearance after the third time, you didn’t let the passing comments phase you.

Why he hasn’t replaced you is unknown and truthfully, there is no reasonable explanation how you always wind up in the backseat of his car by the end of the night. It’s become part of your routine. Jaemin picks you up around ten in the evening with raunchy lyrics blasting out of his personalized car for your entire suburban neighborhood to hear. More often than not, Jaemin has food ready for you to devour and a cozy blanket for your exposed legs.

You’ve learned a bit more about him through your backseat chronicles. Jaemin is possibly one of the only people in your life with a heart bigger than his own body, while also being as carefree as he can. Oddly enough, he cares about you as his friend and as his companion. Not to mention the ridiculous, yet endearing nickname, “Lucky Charm”, that he has coined upon you.

Jaemin has been the best adventure you’ve had in ages. While he takes you on intoxicating thrill rides on the leather of his back seats, every street race has been more than unforgettable. He shares one of the same values as you --- wanting to remember the present. You both know that you’ll remember each other enough for it to transcend into your next lives.

You have him to thank for your youthful experiences, to learn and dive into this new found world of mischief under his care. Jaemin treats you extraordinarily well, he’d never hurt a soul. He showers you in appraisal and carefulness, he’s attentive to your behavior and remembers your favorite things. And he reminds you almost every time you see him that he’s so grateful to have you in his life.

“Have you been touching yourself?” Jaemin’s bold question catches you off guard as it causes your hands to shyly hover over his unzipped jeans. When you glance up at him with soft innocent eyes, as if you’re guilty of a crime and wish to beg for forgiveness, his facial expression is serious and intimidating.

“Continue, baby. You can be honest with me. Daddy isn’t going to punish you if you did.” His tone is sweet and light, but his eyes are dark and piercing. His lips are drawn tightly into a thin line, no curve in sight.

His finger grazes down your cheek gently as he admires your slightly parted lips and the way your eyelashes dance every time you blink. However, his other hand urges you to continue your previous action of getting him out of his restrictive jeans.

You nod, while rubbing his erection through his gray briefs that hug him so tightly. There’s a sharp intake of breath when you pull the waistband of his underwear down and his cock stands against his lower abdomen. “Do you think of me when you do?” His voice gets caught in his throat when you take him in your warm hand.

“Always.” You kiss his jawline and fix your position above his dick. Your slick pussy presses down against his shaft, coating it in your juices and rubbing his tip to your clit for a delicious sensation. Jaemin groans, his gaze dipping between your lower bodies and back to your face.

“My sweet (Y/N) thinks about her daddy fucking her senseless while she touches herself.” Jaemin chuckles darkly, grinding his hips harder against you. There is a shift in the atmosphere as he grips your hips and slowly enters your dripping hole. “That’s cute, baby.”

You hold onto his shoulders as his raw dick fills you to the brim, stretching you out like past nights. Gasps leave your body when he starts pulling all the way out to only have you sink back down. “Daddy, please just fuck me.”

Jaemin picks up his speed, knowing that you have a quiz due at midnight that you scolded him for forgetting earlier. The grip on his shoulders tighten as this man navigates your body all too well. He knows you like the back of his hand, fucking the spot that causes your body to lose control.

One of his favorite sights in the world is the view of your lips parted open with loud whimpers falling effortlessly. Your eyes roll back into your skull as his hips roll deeper into your walls, the tip hitting your sweet spot repeatedly.

“You’re always the best girl for me, aren’t you?” His hand wraps around your neck when you throw your head back, choking you lightly and your walls grip around his shaft. “I know you’re close. Cum on my dick, baby. Be a good girl.”

Jaemin’s tattoos shine under the moonlight when you peer down at him. His hooded eyes are intoxicated by the pure image of your fucked out body and he’s truly in love. “My good girl, come on baby.” He continues to encourage, his other hand giving you a smack on your ass when he drills mercilessly into you.

The familiar bubbling occupy your lower half and the feeling of release unravels all so suddenly. You fall forward, Jaemin lets go of your neck to hold your limp body close to him, your head on his shoulder as your orgasm overtakes you. He grinds his hips into you to prolong your shaking climax, cooing sweet nothings in your ear as his other hand takes a whole handful of ass to squeeze.

He bottoms out, filling you up to the rim to cum deep inside of you. Jaemin moans loudly, his cum spilling all over your walls. You two sit like that until he grows soft, pampering your temples with gentle kisses. Jaemin remembers to take care of you, no matter what.

While you’re in his arms, he reaches for sanitary wipes in the side compartments. He lifts your hips slowly to pull out and you sigh at the emptiness. Gently, he swipes at the dripping cum from your pussy and makes sure that you’re all cleaned up before getting dressed.

“So, you want to tell me why you’ve been MIA for the past five days?” Rolling your eyes, you pull up your panties and fix the last decency of your hair.

“Car meets that are too far for me to take you.” His thumb rubs your chin lovingly and Jaemin’s eyes are so bright and mesmerizing, you find that it’s hard to look him in the eye at times.

“Not because you’ve been hooking up with other girls?” There is a tinge of sarcasm that laces your rhetorical question and though you don’t expect him to give you an actual answer, you take note of his reaction. Jaemin raises an eyebrow, clearing his throat and looking out the window away from you.

“And if I was?” Truthfully, that question hurt you more than your’s hurt him. His hand rests underneath his chin as he patiently waits for your answer. He admires the clear night sky and the rundown abandoned liquor store that stands all by itself.

“What do you want me to say?” Question after question, a stiff tension replaces the sex of the car.

“I’ll take you back now.” Jaemin crawls back to the driver’s seat, completely ignoring your confused figure. He has always been quite like this: going aloof whenever he wants to dodge something. However, it’s been happening more frequently the past times you two have been seeing each other.

The truth is simple, yet entirely complex at the same time. You and Jaemin aren’t dating, despite always going out together and him posessively introducing you to other men. You and Jaemin aren’t dating.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop you from growing feelings for him and you can tell that this happens too often for the attractive boy. He can’t have a fuckbuddy that won’t fall head over heels for him. But who could really blame you? Even if all this time Jaemin was pretending that he cared about you, he still pampers you like a princess; he still tells you he does.

But when it comes to discussion about advancing into something more, he hides and grows silent. This has you wondering, maybe this entire thing to him is all sex? And he can’t love you back the way you do.

No one knows his heart, not even himself. He’s never wanted to complicate his life, it’s always been about two things: racing and having fun. There is no easy way to explain it all, the thoughts that flood his mind and heart, so he chooses every way to ignore it. Overall, he’s genuinely lost. You are one source of stability in his life that he isn’t willing to let go, ever. But just because he won’t let you go, doesn’t mean that you won’t take the chance to leave when you’re fed up with him.

This has him wondering, how far can he push before he pushes you too far?

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just walk.” Tonight is unsettling, it usually doesn’t end like this. Jaemin locks the car doors and turns around to reach for your hand. “Jaemin, open the door.”

“I want you to say that you hate when I sleep with other people.” Jaemin confesses all too wildly as his hand lightly squeezes around your wrist. “And I want you to mean it.” He’s only speaking words of truth that haven’t had the time to process in his own thoughts.

“I hate when you sleep with other people.” And you do mean it. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said to this man. Jaemin just sighs, bringing your wrist to his lips for a lasting kiss.

“Can I drive you home?” Jaemin asks softly, eyes dipping down to the leather seats and avoiding all need for eye contact.

“Yes, Jaemin.” He pulls you back into the passenger seat and drapes the soft blanket over your exposed legs. “Hopefully, I still have time to take my quiz.”

“Can I come inside?” Jaemin coolly turns his marble wheel to reverse out of the parking space, a hand resting on the shoulder of your seat as he does a double take behind him for any pedestrians, even if you two are far out in the middle of nowhere and there isn’t anyone around; Jaemin knows you have the hots for him when he does that specific move.

“What do you mean? You’ve already cum inside.”

It’s the sound of disappointment as his tongue tsks at you and he flicks lightly at your forehead. He steps on the acceleration, revving the annoying engine that roars throughout the peaceful night. The multicolored lights illuminate around his stereo and at your feet, creating the Rainbow Road right out of Mario Kart.

Jaemin isn’t like the others who pay close attention to the details of his car. His motto goes, “if I like it, I’m going to have it.” Whether or not anything matches goes beyond his worries.

In some ways, his car is a mirror of his own personality --- wild and free, colorful and welcoming. And his skills as a driver? Safe, no matter how far the speedometer goes, Jaemin always makes you feel safe.

“I mean come inside your room for aftercare. You know how much I hate leaving you without a proper cuddle.” He pouts and almost immediately his cute baby tone comes out with his beg. Almost subconsciously, Jaemin lays his right palm open facing up to invite yours in. Almost routinely, you lace your hands to complete his hold. Getting Jaemin to smile has never been easier as his hold grows tighter.

“You can’t stay over tonight though. My housemates are doing some Single Girls Only house event tomorrow and it starts immediately when we wake up.” You laugh as the ridiculous words fill the air.

“And you’re participating in that?” Jaemin mindlessly asks and you’re unable to differentiate his implications from the question. Is he asking because the idea is horrendously nothing you’d like to do or he’s implying that you’re not single?

“Why wouldn’t I?” Sounding rather harsher than intended, Jaemin finally realizes how poorly he had worded his previous question. Yet, a part of him feels disappointment whirling in his chest and a desire to feel wanted by you.

“Doesn’t seem like something you’d like: wallowing in your singleness.” He chuckles, remaining lighthearted and playful.

“I really don’t.” Jaemin brings your knuckles up to his lips for a lingering kiss, his eyes darting quickly on the road ahead now that you’ve entered the metropolitan areas and his speed drops significantly to avoid getting ticketed.

“I’ll come pick you up. Instead of being single tomorrow, you’ll be on a date.” When you turn to examine his facial expression, the serious tension in his jawline and focused eyes alarm you. Your stomach twists into knots and if he couldn't already tell, your palms grow sweaty at his offer.

“That’s such a slap in the face to them.” Pulling your hand away from his, you cross your arms and lean your head against the cold window. “I don’t think I can do that to them.”

“I have a race tomorrow.” He starts, his head tilting over at you with his round gorgeous begging eyes, “at least, come to that with me.”

“Okay, but only because I want to see Haechan.” As if it wasn’t moments ago, Jaemin was the one balls deep in you and now you’re spewing enthusiasm for another man. It’s all a joke, a way for you to conceal your undying attraction for Jaemin.

You still remember the first time you met the sunshine that is Haechan and the jealousy that seeped from Jaemin’s words when he noticed the exchange of flirtation. Haechan is someone you’d knowingly gravitate towards: a man with a loud personality that just knows how to conduct every personality in the room. And at that moment, Jaemin couldn’t tell if being more observant was a good or bad thing.

Jaemin never saw himself as outgoing as his other friends, staying more kept in his own circle, but he had the confidence to fake it. He’s bold, rather impulsive and slightly narcissistic, Jaemin knows how to use his strengths very well.

However, when he saw the soft smirk on Haechan’s face and your shy mannerisms, a small tinge in his chest ignited a died out flame. He didn’t realize it before, but that was the very start of his long tumble of feelings for you.

“Do you say those things to purposefully get me jealous?” Jaemin rests his hand on your thigh, giving it a harsh squeeze. His eyes never leave the road and his tone reverts back to his dominant tone.

“Well, are you jealous?” It’s like you two dance in circles, answer questions with a question does not stop.

And as bratty as your tone is, you don’t expect the quick “yes” that answers back and the smoldering look he gives you briefly before focusing back on the drive.

“Then good.” You huff, ready to hop out of the car after the odd, yet sensual tension. Jaemin pulls up to your house and double parks the car to lean in for a nightly goodbye kiss.

“You’re not coming in?” You try to read his facial expressions, but he hides his emotions too perfectly.

His lips curl into a smile before saying, “I think it’s better I cool off tonight.” And you mindlessly give him a peck, but he holds your face to deepen it. Through the kiss, you can feel the neediness by the way Jaemin shoves his tongue into your mouth. The taste of lust against your palette is difficult to ignore, but your academically responsible mind screams at you about your forgotten quiz.

Your hand lightly taps at his chest and he pulls away, his eyes drinking up your swollen lips. “I have a quiz, Jaemin.”

“I know, sorry. It’s just so easy to get lost in you.” Jaemin kisses your cheek once more before you exit. You smile back at him as his words have grown a strong effect on you lately. Bidding him goodbye, he wishes you sweet dreams as he patiently makes sure you’re fully inside your house.

“Is the music too loud?” Jaemin checks over at your hunched figure in the passenger seat. You’re diligently flipping through your thick textbook, a yellow highlighter in one hand and the other comfortably holding Jaemin’s.

The worst part of college is the never ending midterms that are given at any time. Studying in his car isn’t a rare sight, if anything it is more expected than you not doing anything related to your academics. But Jaemin genuinely doesn’t mind, even being mindful about his own actions to ensure an optimal studying space for you.

He really is an ideal guy. Like his first promise, he keeps you well fed and never once asks you for any monetary pay back. Jaemin adjusts the car temperature before you even step into the vehicle, knowing that you prefer wearing less clothes rather than more. Though he isn’t academically responsible, he still makes the effort to try and understand enough information to pass his classes.

The sole flaw would be the lack of open communication. It’s genuinely difficult for you to read his emotions or intentions. Jaemin always has a dazed look in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and it’s an internal fight about whether or not you’re being delusional.

“Music is fine, honey.” The mindless use of a pet name slips from your lips, but your concentration on neoliberalism and globalization doesn’t allow for you to notice.

Nevertheless, Jaemin catches on immediately to the usage. While he showers you in ridiculous nicknames, you’re not one to do so. “Honey?”

“Yes?” You answer back carelessly, not entirely actively listening to him as you highlight an important concept in your book.

“No, you called me honey.”

Looking up from your page, you blink at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. “I did?”

Jaemin chuckles and finally pulls into the overly crowded parking lot, a whole mass of fanboys cheering at the arrival of his flashy vehicle. Everyone just loves Jaemin.

This familiar scene plays like a reel --- several high beams cast light under the dark sky due to the lack of functioning street lamps, dizzy multicolored cars that blaze the tracks, and the all too distinct smell of musky cologne in the chilly air. Oh, and the wide eye admirable stares when you get out of the car.

“Hi, you’re stunning.” A bold new recruit blinks at you in complete awe and awkwardly clears his throat once he realizes his rash comment.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at him, then at how you plan on handling the situation. You’re flattered, nonetheless, but know that Jaemin didn’t bring you here to flirt with other men. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy your membership in the Ridin’ Club.”

The gracefulness in your delicate voice has the youthful recruit swooning and subtly giddy as he runs off to join a group of others that have been eying you across the parking lot. Jaemin casually drapes his leather jacket over your exposed shoulders, knowing the temperature change is going to result in you most likely catching a cold and because you never bring a jacket despite his plea.

“The power you hold.” Jaemin winks at you before pulling you into a larger crowd to socialize with more impressionable recruits.

“Ah, so you’re (Y/N)!” The stranger is unrecognizable, but you giggle to acknowledge his confident statement. “We haven’t met before, but Jaemin was talking about you the other night at our motorcycle meet.”

Your eyes light up, as if you’ve unlocked a new fun fact of Na Jaemin. “You drive a motorcycle too?” You’re truly shocked at the talent of this man.

Jaemin snakes his arm around your lower waist to draw you closer to his side. “Yeah, but I can’t fuck you in a motorcycle, can I?”

Before the other men can comment on the obvious sexual tension that Jaemin created, he leans in to whisper into your ear. “Actually, I can, but we’ll save our decency from unwanted exposure.” His hot breath grazes against the shell of your ear and you just know where you two are going to end up tonight.

“Bro, you guys probably fuck in the backseat of his car.” One of them chimes recklessly, punching at each others’ chest playfully as if he made a decent joke.

“Why don’t you stay to find out?” Jaemin retorts and the grip on your hip becomes tighter. You’re too flustered to add much into this odd form of competitive banter, distracted by none other than the way Jaemin keeps glancing over at you with a delicious gleam in his eyes.

“So what? You don’t care about us now?” You’d know that bratty tone from anywhere as Lee Haechan pushes past everyone else to rush over to the both of you.

“Aw, are your feelings hurt?” Jaemin sticks his tongue out at his friend before cordially sharing a handshake with him.

“Just slightly.” Haechan looks over at you with a wide grin and playful eyes, “hello, my pretty girl.”

“Drop the possessives, Haechan.” Jaemin rolls his eyes with an irritable twitch on his lips.

He hates how obviously jealous he gets. It’s something too difficult for himself to control, he’s exhausted his efforts to bite his tongue whenever it comes to other people’s flirtations. The thought of someone else calling you theirs doesn’t sit well with him.

“I understand your jealousy, Jaem. If someone was flirting with (Y/N), I wouldn’t be able to stand it either.” Haechan fixes the falling jacket on your shoulders. “But she can handle herself, I know those pretty lips have a mind of their own.” His gaze drops momentarily, yet obvious enough for you to grow shy at how strong Haechan is coming off tonight.

“Stop trying to corrupt her, that’s my job.” Jaemin playfully pushes at Haechan’s chest and they both break out laughing.

“I haven’t said one thing and you’re both talking about me as if I’m not here.” Your small pout is literally the cutest thing to Jaemin. He physically has to stop himself from planting the sweetest kiss on it.

It’s blatantly clear that you’re hot stuff. You’re the perfect example of a head turner, your captivating aura has its ability to suffocate those around you. However, Jaemin has seen all sides of you, but overall finding you so entirely cute. And oddly enough, Jaemin has a knack for cute things.

“Is that (Y/N) I hear?” Huang Renjun engulfs you in a hug, showing clear affection and doesn’t mind doing so. “How did your project go?”

“It went well. You accomplish a lot when you don’t procrastinate.” Renjun gleams at your statement and if Jaemin is delusional enough, he’d probably mistaken the twinkle in his eyes for infatuation instead of admiration.

“You’re so responsible, why are you messing with Jaemin?” Renjun sighs and though his question is more of a joke, there is some truth behind his words.

Your friendship with his friends differ immensely compared to other girls who have come around. Like Jaemin had said before, his boys were going to like you and they do, a lot. Sometimes making it obvious that you’re too good for him.

Jeno comes up from the side, an unidentifiable bruise on his neck and a new cut on his brow. Lee Jeno being such a rough character, his appearance speaks well about how his day has been.

But when he lays his eyes on you, it’s as if all his pain is replaced with joy and security. “(Y/N)! I haven’t seen you in so long!” The enthusiastic boy rushes over to greet you with a warm smile.

“I’m pretty sure I was here a week ago.” You laugh, but welcome him in your arms for a tender friendly hug and pat his head out of habit.

“It’s been a week?! That’s so long.” Jeno narrows his eyes at Jaemin and flicks his forehead.

“Ow!” Jaemin exclaims while rubbing the pain away. “You act like she doesn’t go to the same school as us and therefore, can see her any time you want to.” The tone in Jaemin’s voice raises some eyebrows as they all exchange glances to each other before bursting into laughter.

“Like your jealous ass would allow for that?” Haechan remarks and Jaemin doesn’t outwardly react. However, Jaemin’s hand is squeezing you so tight that you’re more than certain he’s bothered by the comment.

“Oh, stop it. You all know I’m Team Jaemin. He does have the most wins this past month.” You only know that through Jaemin’s proud boasting, anything else in the racing world is unknown to you.

Jaemin situates you in between his legs as he slightly sits on the hood of his car. His arms wrap around your middle and chin rests on your shoulder. Public display of affection isn’t a problem for him, and you learned much earlier that Jaemin can’t keep his hands off of you.

Renjun scoffs at your whimsical fact, in absolute disbelief. “It hurts more hearing you say it. I’m getting my car upgraded, but once it’s done, I’m going to blaze his ass on the tracks.”

“Are you racing today?” Jeno asks the blue haired fellow that clings onto you like a koala.

“Yeah, against a newbie. Apparently he’s really good, so I’m not too sure I’ll win.” Jaemin mumbles into your hair.

“You say that every time, yet you win!” Renjun crosses his arms, weight shifting to his left leg as he pops his hip out. There is always a sense of competition between anyone with Renjun.

Jaemin perks up behind you and when you turn around in his arms, you’re face to face with a beaming smile. “That’s because I have you.” Eyes lock with yours, he isn’t saying that directed to Renjun. Na Jaemin has you wrapped around his pinky, the butterflies fluttering in your stomach are too hard to ignore.

“Alright, lovebirds. Get in your car and let’s start this shit.” Haechan groans and claps his hands to draw the crowd’s attention. Cupping them around his mouth, he roars into the starry night, “let’s roll!”

During the race, Jaemin’s number one priority is to keep you safe. While you’ve sat in his car for a number of times now, it’s different once the loud bang goes off and he’s hitting 100 mph. Tonight’s track is much more dangerous, with twists and turns that can have the vehicle flying weightlessly if he’s not careful.

“You trust me, right?” Jaemin has both hands on the wheel and the engine rumbling as you both anticipate the start of the race.

Spectators watch on the sidelines as if it’s the ultimate battle, but Jaemin doesn’t pay them much mind. He’s more concerned about you instead. “Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. You’ve proven yourself that you’re an excellent driver, so let’s win this.”

Jaemin smirks at your encouraging words, feeling a warmth spread across his chest. “I’ll tap out any time you want me to, okay?”

You nod and the initial whip of the car is so intense that you didn’t even register the sound off. It’s not your first race, but it’s been awhile since the last one. When you adjust to the pressure, the lanes in front of you cause a slight queasiness in your stomach.

It’s a two lane windy road that wraps around the mountain side and Jaemin happens to be in the outer lane. All it takes is a second of lost control and you two will hit the metal railings that guard the cliff below. Despite your inner panic, Jaemin guides you through the pooling anxiety that leaves you restless.

“(Y/N), look up and out the window. We’re coming up on the cliff side view, I’ve always wanted to bring you here.” Your eyes land on the dazzling glitter that dances on the ripples of the lake. It’s so vast, the moon high up in the sky is reflected on the water below. It’s a romantic scene of melancholy and bliss. Suddenly, you feel at peace in the middle of this high speed race.

“It’s beautiful, Jaem.” You whisper calmly and he’d reach for your hand to hold, but races take too much wheel control. And he’d turn to look at you, but races take too much concentration on the road ahead.

But throughout every obstacle, he hears the gentleness and the solidarity in your cadence in the midst of all the high stress. He, too, feels peace. He feels calm knowing that you’re simply by his side, even in the face of danger. So, he can finally admit to himself… he genuinely developed feelings for you.

Before you know it, you’re thrusted side to side from the sharp turns and the adrenaline kicks in when the other racer catches up right next to Jaemin. “Fuck,” Jaemin curses underneath his breath and steps harshly on the acceleration. “Baby, I’m going to go a bit faster so hold onto something.” He warns and your hand finds the grab handle. It’s neck and neck at this point.

Usually, you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid becoming too overwhelmed by the sights in front of you. Tonight is different, not entirely knowing why, you’re observing every element that circles around the perimeter.

The finish line is up ahead, but there is no sign that the other racer is slowing down. Then, you see it: the fatal mistake that can cost you both of your lives if you didn’t catch it. “Jaemin, watch out!” You yelp when the other car inches dangerously close, your warning allows Jaemin to make a controlled swerve away from a possible hit.

Jaemin shakes his head and tsks at the recklessness. “Now I know why he’s good. It’s foul play.” He blows his bang out of his eyes and casually says, “thank you for warning me. This is why I need you by my side.”

He makes it to the finish line barely before the other, winning the race by half a second. Jaemin brakes smoothly, tire marks scrapping the concrete below, and you both exit the car to celebrate with everyone else.

But before the mass of eager shouting men make their way over to you two, Jaemin hurries to your side to pull you into a steamy, rewarding kiss. The scene is just like the movies; his hand on your lower back and yours on his chest lightly. His lips taste like triumph, like he had won more than just a simple race against a random stranger. He’s won the best person he could ever have.

You two fled the scene after cussing out the other racer. It was a rare sight to see: Jaemin being all bothered and angry, practically fuming after scrambling back into the driver’s seat. However, your mind had mischievous plans of its own and all it took was one look from his hooded eyes for you to announce that you wanted him --- badly.

Back in your usual abandoned parking lot, Jaemin pauses before following you to the back seats. With the engine off and the dead of the night being absolute silent, the tension remains thick around you two. “(Y/N),” Jaemin is about to confess something he never thought he’d admit. He turns to you sitting in the middle seat with just your panties on and a curious look on your face.

His heart burns and despite being so incredibly aroused, he controls his urges enough to be able to say, “I’m into you.”

“I know you’re into me, that’s how we ended up like this in the first place.” You giggle cluelessly to his words, still not understanding the odd shift in mood and intentions. It’s always his unclear, messy intentions.

Though he can’t entirely figure out his puzzle pieces, he has plenty to connect the dots. “I like you. I want to be in a relationship with you and call you my girlfriend.”

You’re stunned. Did Jaemin just confess to you as you sit in your panties ready to fuck? This softness is different from the sides you’ve seen of him. It’s similar to a lost bunny, wandering grasslands to find a purpose. He looks so fragile, one intense stare and he’d crumble. This softness is vulnerability.

“So do it.” The boldness catches him off guard, but switches on the dominance in him. “If you want me, come show it.”

He climbs over the middle console to push you into the leather seats. “Not acting shy anymore, are you?” Practically ripping your shirt off of you, he cups your breast lightly and flicks at your nipples. Your immediate reaction results in a rush of wetness down your core.

“Before I forget,” sitting up, you share a passionate kiss that you’ve held back long enough. You give it every ounce of feeling you have for him. “If it isn’t obvious enough, I like you too.”

“It’s obvious, baby.” Kissing your nose, he wraps a hand around your throat to lightly push you back down. “But hearing you say it out loud makes me happy.” Jaemin smirks, hand still choking you gently and pampering your jawline with soft kisses.

His free hand reaches down into your dripping panties, circling your clit with your wetness. The sensation causes you to whimper for more. “Daddy, give it to me.” You wiggle in his palm, knowing that the nickname is more than effective.

“My sweet (Y/N) wants to get fucked?” Jaemin rolls your underwear off and rids himself of his own bottoms.

“Yes, please.” Through the darkness, his hard dick stands proudly. Jaemin lines himself up as he thrusts into you without another second of hesitation. He waits for you to adjust to his size, his tip barely grazing your sweet spot. “Fuck…”

“You take me so well, my pretty baby.” Jaemin starts moving his hips, slowly at first to build a rhythm. Taking your legs, he presses them into your chest to fuck you at a deeper angle. And you feel him practically in your guts, his cock pumping against your walls deliciously and bumping into your g-spot. “Do you want more of me?”

Your train of thought is in utter shambles and whatever Jaemin is saying to you barely processes. You’re overwhelmed by a pleasure that fills every system, every part of your body. To answer him, you let out an incoherent noise of approval.

Jaemin pulls your hips down while thrusting forward into you, maximizing every inch of his strokes. This single action causes you to scream and grip onto the headrest. “Who knew my sweet girl could be so fucking dirty?” Jaemin chuckles darkly, his cadence dropping several decibels. “When I first met you, I wanted to ruin you.”

All of his filthy words edge you closer to your release as he continues to repeat his previous motion. He holds your hips in place to grind into you, the feeling of his tip rubbing your walls has your eyes rolling back. “Do you want to cum, (Y/N)?”

“Yes!” You yell, the tight ball in your lower abdomen is bound to break any minute. “I want to cum so badly, please.” You beg and moan, the arch in your back lifts you from the seat of the car. Jaemin snaps his hips into you, drilling you quickly to reach your high. And you break. An euphoric cry fills the air as your walls clench around his length. You hear the extra wetness create a slick noise, but Jaemin isn’t done with you yet.

“You wanted to cum so fucking badly. I’ll reward you with one more for being such a good girl for me.” His thumb flicks at your clit and you convulse into spasms from the sensitivity. Your violently shaking legs can’t hold themselves up anymore and Jaemin rests them on his shoulders. He lines kisses along your ankle as the pleasure overtakes you.

“I don’t think I can do it.” You whine, your fingers twisting and toes curling.

“You are going to try, okay baby?” He coos, but it’s most definitely a demand. He sits back on his knees to pick up more speed, fucking endlessly into your swollen pussy and thumb rubbing fast strips against your bud.

“I’m going to snap, Jaem.” You cry, tears rimming your eyes and before you know it, a second wave hits you. Your second orgasm is ruinous and has you squirming around to regain some sense of control.

“Oh fuck, you’re so beautiful.” Jaemin slows down as your walls grip around him again, tighter this time. “I’m going to fill you up with cum,--- watch it drip out of you.” He grunts while releasing into you, his dick twitching and spraying your insides with white.

He pulls out as hot, white cum spills from your pussy. You take this moment to catch your breath and relax your legs. However, Jaemin coats his two fingers and shoves the cum back into you. “Jaemin!” You exclaim at the sudden intrusion.

He curls them into your plushy walls and finger fucks you into another oblivion. “Wait, again?” Your hands wrap around his wrist, but Jaemin moves too fast for you to catch it.

You’re a moaning mess again, louder than before. Jaemin leans down and flicks his tongue against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Your back arches automatically and a low animalistic scream rises from your throat.

He observes your body lines underneath the moonlight and the last remaining light the broken street lamps have to offer. Your face contours and you’re so far out into ecstasy that you don’t notice how intensely Jaemin watches you lose yourself.

“It feels too good!” With one last thrilling orgasm, you almost pass out and you see small stars of dizziness. He soaks up every last bit of your cathartic reaction and festers a small sense of pride that he can make you feel all this pleasure.

“Such a good girl. You’re beyond impressive, baby.” Jaemin pulls his fingers out to lick them clean and finds some wipes to help you out of your sticky situation.

“Now that you’re my girlfriend, can we cuddle at any time now? Not just as after care.” He peers up at you and the one word enacts a burning warmth to spread across your chest. That is the best nickname he can call you by.

“I think the Singles Girls Only house event is still going on, but after that, yes a million times.” You laugh and wrap your arms around him into a big loving hug.

Jaemin feels right at home. All the long years of living carelessly and wild, he’s finally found someone worth the extra mile. While Jaemin was a thriving adventure to be explored, you were his comfort to run back to.

It is through the intimacy of your backseat chronicles that Jaemin was able to fall deeper for you. You’re his lucky charm, for some reason, he always feels better around you.

#neosmutcollective #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #kpopscape #neothestars #nct scenarios #nct smut #jaemin #nct #jaemin smut #jaemin scenarios #na jaemin #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #nct imagines #nct dream series #ridinclub

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clonecaptains · 4 years ago

Text

Get a Room

a santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader fic

word count: 4.7k

rating: m - for smut, and semi-public sex (there’s others in the room - asleep)

summary: based on this ask from @woakiees - you’re on a trip with Santi, Frankie, Benny and Will - and you stop for the night at a motel. There’s only one room left, and you share a bed with Santi.

a/n: i spent yesterday afternoon crying cuz of my writers block and then THIS HAPPENED????? feedback is much appreciated~!

tagging: @pascalispedro, @tintinwrites, @damndamer0n, @huliabitch, @mandoplease, @darksideofclarke, @yougottakeeponkeepinon, @mylifeliterally, @agentpike, @pascalplease

Get a Room

You’re not sure how you got into this position. It all happened so fast. One minute you’re at one of Benny’s fights with the boys and now Santi has you pinned to the mattress. His hand clapped over your mouth, his length ramming into your heat – all while the other boys sleep in the same shitty motel room.

How did this happen?

Maybe it was the sharp smell of Santi’s cologne in your nose for 6 hours in Frankie’s truck.

Maybe it was the way Santi’s denim covered knee grazed against yours all evening during the fight.

Maybe it was the way his hand was on your lower back guiding you out through the crowd when someone spilled their beer on you.

Or maybe, maybe it’s the way you’ve been in love with Santi for years and every time he’s near you, your heart threatens to burst right out of your chest.

When your friend Will sends you a text that morning about Benny’s fight, you almost don’t want to go. You’re not in any mood to see Benny get the shit beaten out of him again. But then that second text comes in, that Pope is going to come. Your heart leaps in your throat and you answer back immediately. Will is too kind to pester you about it, but he knows about your crush. He’s kept it secret.

You have about 15 minutes to calm yourself before the boys come to pick you up. You watch like a hawk out your window and feel your stomach lurch when you see Frankie’s truck pull into the driveway. You step outside in a hurry, your hand trembling a little as you lock your front door.

This fight is 6 hours away. That’s at least 12 hours with Pope in a confined space guaranteed. Not counting the time spent at the fight.

When you reach the truck, the front passenger door opens, and Santi pops out with a smile on his face.

“Hey honey,” he grins and greets you with a kiss to your cheek. He opens the back-seat door and climbs inside, letting you sit up front. You fight the heat crawling up your neck and hope no one notices. Frankie nods a hello, and he backs the truck out of the driveway. He sees your blush, but he doesn’t say a word. His sunglasses hide the glint in his eyes.

Upon Benny’s request his playlist plays over the truck stereo system. It’s to help get him in the zone. It’s a little too hard rock for your tastes, but the occasional classic rock song comes on that you hum a long to or at least recognize. Still, it’s not exactly the atmosphere you were hoping for.

It doesn’t give you much time to talk to Santi.

There is conversation, it’s light chit chat. Benny is in the backseat, getting in the zone so he refrains from the conversations. It’s left to the four of you, but really you just do a lot of listening.

Santi’s cologne is so sharp in your nose. The drive is long and after a while it’s all you can focus on. It’s like a drug, a toxin in the air. Your lungs felt tight and your heart beats just a little bit faster. You start to think about what it must be like to smell it on his skin, with your nose pressed to his neck.

You know he’s warm, his touch is warm. You’ve been friends with him for years. Run into him at weekend barbecues and even the grocery store from time to time. He’s come to your birthday party the last three years in a row. He’s on your Christmas card list. His number is in your phone, but you never call him.

But you’re familiar enough that he can greet you with an innocent kiss to your cheek. It only makes you ache more.

Feeling hot, you angle the AC vent on your right to blow on you. Heat is beginning to build up on your collarbone. You’re already wearing shorts and a t-shirt but it’s too much, the heat of Santi behind you is burning through the seat.

He grabs the back of your seat once so he can shift around, the long drive cramping his legs. When you feel the seat shift behind you, your body tenses a little. His touch so close.

It’s stifling even when you have the air blasting on your face.

It gets worse when he leans forward, his voice in your ear behind you.

“Hey honey, can you angle the air back here? It’s a little warm.”

You lean forward and angle it, he thanks you with a smile and for some reason you panic. As if he knows something.

What could he possibly know? Could he deduce that it’s him that’s got you all sweaty, so you angled the air towards you?

It only adds to your suspicion when Frankie turns to look at you for a beat.

Shit.

They know something you don’t.

Maybe you’re just paranoid.

What could be so bad though? If Santi found out about your crush? It’s not like he would make fun of you. The only person in that truck that would make fun would be Benny, but he’s too in the zone right now to notice or care.

Santi has been nothing but sweet to you ever since you’ve known him. And maybe you want a little more than sweet. Maybe you want him to dig his fingers in your hips and take you apart with his cock and put you back together again with his gentle touch.

Maybe if he finds out then it could end well for you? If he turns you down though, you don’t know if you could ever face him again. That’s why you have to keep it a secret.

The heat’s only gotten worse now that it’s not blowing directly on you. How can you clench your thighs together without Frankie seeing? How can you breathe when Santi’s cologne is still so strong even after a few hours?

Your relief comes when the MMA arena is a few minutes away. Your long drive finally ending.

You’re not interested in this fight in the least, but if you can find a way to sit by Santi then it’ll make it worth your while.

It’s a tournament, and you’ll have to watch several matches throughout the day.

When you walk in, Santi and Frankie are with you. Will and Benny separate to go to the locker room. Before he parts with you, Will hands Santi your ticket. Frankie is buying a beer, and Santi’s hand touches your shoulder, directing you through the rowdy crowd to the ticket booth.

Finally, you have your moment alone with Santi. You’re not about to tell him you’re in love with him HERE, but you like being near him.

You make friendly chit chat when you find your seats.

“End or middle?” Santi asks when you reach your spot.

“Middle,” you tell him, and he steps in first. You follow behind, and that leaves Frankie to sit on the very end.

Frankie joins you in a few moments, beer in hand. He takes a seat with a sigh, then takes a sip of his beer.

“Think Benny’ll win this thing?” Frankie asks.

“He could, if he moves his feet,” Santi observes.

You just shrug, you’re not here for Benny.

Santi’s denim clad knee brushing against your skin reminds you why you’re here. His presence is so loud. In a room full of screaming spectators, Santi is the loudest in your mind. In a room full of the stink of sweat, smell of popcorn and beer, and the rubber of a gym floor – that cologne is what’s filling your nose.

“You smell nice ,” you blurt out suddenly in the middle of a match. Frankie and Santi’s eyes both fixed on the fight both turn to look at you.

“Thank you,” Santi smiles.

“Who said she was talking to you?” Frankie scoffs.

“Because man, all you put on this morning was deodorant,” Santi snickers and you laugh too.

“Thank you,” Santi says again, “I put on a little extra because I don’t wanna smell Benny’s sweat all the way home tonight.”

That’s only a reminder that this day will end and who knows when you’ll see Santi again for this amount of time. You have him right here and you can’t think of a single word to say.

You watch the fights, but you’re not invested. It’s then you get a bright idea.

“Santi?”

“What’s up, honey?” he turns to face you. The crowd “OOO’s” at something that just happened on the floor, but Santi doesn’t turn his head from you.

“Can you explain some of the rules? I’m trying to follow.”

“Of course!” he leans towards you a little, his shoulder touching yours. He’s closer so you can hear him over the roar of the crowd.

He tells you what to watch for and different rules. He gives you technical terms but explains them. He never once treats you like you’re stupid, and when he forgets a rule, he asks Frankie. Frankie always knows and he never tears his eyes away from the fight, but he answers out of the side of his mouth.

That keeps the conversation going. By the end of the day you’re actually a little invested.

“I’m going to get some water; you want anything honey?” Santi starts to stand up.

“I’m good,” Frankie butts in.

“I’ll take a coke,” you tell Santi and he nods. You fish for your wallet, but he shakes his head ‘no.’

“I got it,” and he squeezes past you and Frankie.

The moment Santi is out of earshot, Frankie leans down to you.

“Why don’t you say something?”

You know what he means. His words hit right in your chest. And you feel dizzy.

“What would I say?”

Frankie shrugs, but you see a soft smile on his face. You sit in silence then. Your heart pounding in your chest. It’s as if you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, deciding whether or not to jump.

“How long have you known?” you ask, breaking the silence. You feel horrified. He’ll be back in any moment.

“I had a guess, but today was it was confirmed.”

“Does he know?” You feel sick.

That’s right about the time Santi shows back up with your coke and his bottled water. He sits down with a sigh and hands you your drink. You can’t help but notice the brush of his fingers against your own.

Frankie gives you a look and you elbow him in the ribs.

Santi almost chokes on his water with a laugh, “What was that for? I mean I always wanna elbow Fish.”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Mhmm,” Santi shakes his head with a laugh.

You’re glad you asked Santi for that coke, you need the caffeine because the fights are running later than expected. And the crowd is extra rowdy as it nears the end.

There’s a few left to go, and Benny is still in it.

It’s a crucial moment in the match, and the crowd jumps to their feet. When they do, the person behind you spills their beer all over your back. Your now soaked t-shirt clings to your skin and you gasp. The smell of it is all over you, even soaked into the back of your denim shorts.

You look horrified, and Santi is quick to get you out of there when he sees the look in your eyes.

You’re dripping with it, it’s even in your hair. But sweet Santi, he cautiously puts his hand on your lower back, not caring if his hand gets wet. You can feel the heat of his fingers through your shirt.

“Here,” Santi leads you to a merchandise booth. He fishes out his wallet and starts to buy you an MMA shirt.

“Santi, no. They’re like $45!”

“Honey, you can’t wear a beer-soaked shirt all night.”

He hands the vendor the cash and he hands Santi the shirt which he then hands to you.

“The bathrooms are this way,” he motions for you.

“Thank you,” you tell him and bravely lean up to kiss his stubbly cheek. You grasp the shirt in your hand, as if it’s a precious gift. It is though, it’s a token of care. Even if it’s only a kind gesture as a friend, you cherish it.

You can hear the noises from the match in the distance, the audience growing loud. It must be over.

You peel your soaked shirt from your skin and do your best to dry off your back before putting on the new shirt. It still sticks to you, and you grimace at the sensation.

Santi is waiting patiently for you outside; you spot him among the crowd pouring out of the arena. The fight is definitely over.

Frankie is close behind, your purse in his hands.

“I almost forgot that!” you gasp taking it from him. You thank him and his eyes are kind.

“Benny won!” Santi tells you. “He did what I told him to!”

“I don’t believe it!” you laugh. You’re glad he won; he’ll be in a better mood on the way home.

“Finally,” Frankie chuckles. “We’re gonna stay at a motel tonight though, I’m not driving six hours this late.” He could do it and he has before. But he’s not interested in doing it tonight.

It seems everyone else had this idea because motels in the area all have no vacancy.

It’s 1am when you see the motel with the flashing vacancy sign. Frankie parks and you all pile out of the truck.

“Only one room?” Frankie wipes his hand over his face.

“We’ll take it,” Will interjects. “It’ll be fine.” He shoots you a look and you want to shrink back into the ugly couch in the motel lobby office.

Santi swipes the room key while Will pays the fee.

The motel room is small, as expected. There are two queen beds, a table, and a small bathroom.

Benny calls dibs on first shower, and Frankie collapses on one of the beds. He falls asleep the instant his body hits the mattress. His baseball cap falls off his head onto the floor from the roughness of his fall.

Santi sits down on the other bed and starts to take off his shoes. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and tosses it and his keys and wallet to the small bedside table next to the old motel phone.

Will sits down at the table, doing the same thing Santi is doing.

And you, you stand awkwardly in the room, unsure of what to do.

“Where am I going to sleep?” you ask, the elephant in the room.

“Wherever you want, honey,” Santi looks up with a soft smile. Damn him and that pet name. it gets you every time.

“I’ll go see if they have a cot,” Will volunteers and steps out.

“Thank you again for the shirt,” you tell Santi, tugging on it a little, it’s still sticking to your back.

He notices, and you see a small frown on his face. He makes a move you don’t expect, and he pulls off his dark blue t-shirt, leaving him shirtless. You can’t help the surprise that comes across your face. His tan chest glows in the dim motel light. There’s a chain around his neck and it glints in the light too. Your mouth waters and you have a need to touch him.

“Here,” he stands and hands you his shirt. “It’s better than a beer stained one for you to sleep in.”

“Thank you,” is all you can manage to say, and you know Santi can see the obvious flustered look on your face. His intention wasn’t to make you uncomfortable, and you know that.

“Whoa!” Benny shouts when he steps out of the bathroom. He’s the only one with a change of clothes, his gym bag draped over his shoulder. “What’s going on here?” he laughs seeing a shirtless Santi.

“Her shirt has beer on it,” Santi replies and he sits back down on the bed. Frankie wakes with a grunt and tells Benny to fuck off for being so loud.

You duck into the bathroom, taking your opportunity to get a moment to breathe from seeing a shirtless Santi.

“Why do you call her that?” you can hear Benny muffled through the bathroom door.

“What?” Santi asks.

“You call her ‘honey’ all the fuckin’ time.”

You don’t hear Santi’s reply and it makes your head spin. What did he say??

You clutch onto his shirt in your hands and you bring it to your nose. The smell of his cologne is so strong in the soft fabric. You breathe deeply, the thrill running down to your toes.

You put it on the counter and turn on the shower. You drape your beer-soaked clothes over the edge of the tub.

Stepping inside, you feel another thrill at being so naked and Santi is right outside the door. If it was only him in the room, you wonder if you might be bold and drop your towel in front of him.

But then you scoff at yourself, you could barely handle hearing him speak in the car ride over.

The motel shower is shitty, like everything else in the room. But at least the water is hot. You use every ounce of the little shampoo and conditioner and body wash to get the smell of beer out of your hair and skin.

While you wash your hair, your mind wanders to Santi again. There’s an ache between your thighs that will never be satisfied. Not unless you get up the courage to tell him how you feel, see where that gets you.

You have a mind to get yourself off real quick, but the motel water runs cold. This place is terrible.

You step out to dry off when you run into your next problem. You reach for Santi’s shirt to put it on, and stop – how bold are you? Do you dare not wear a bra under his shirt? There’s no way you’ll sleep comfortably with your underwire digging into your skin.

You’re already going to be bare legged, your shorts are covered in beer and drying.

Your towel in hand, you ultimately decide no bra. You’ll just make a dash for whichever bed you’re sleeping in and hope no one sees.

When you open the bathroom door, the lights in the room are off. There’s at least two men snoring. As your eyes adjust you see Benny is on the roll out cot.

“Over here,” you hear Santi whisper. You find your way over to that bed and without thinking, you climb right in.

Panic floods your veins. You’re in the same bed as Santiago Fucking Garcia. You’re wearing his shirt, no bra, and no pants. If you move just a small fraction, your hips will collide with his.

You face away from him and your nerves has you clutching that scratchy motel towel to your chest.

“Hey,” he whispers, he’s so close. “It’s ok.” You visibly relax at his words, and he seems to be content with that. The bed shifts as he gets comfortable, and you lay there, eyes wide open.

You’re closest to the bedside table and you watch the glaring red digital clock for at least 30 minutes. Everyone is asleep but you can’t. Not when the man of your dreams is next to you and all you want to do is touch him. Tell him you love him.

Maybe he wouldn’t be opposed to you cuddling into him.

You roll over, slowly, and you come face to face with him. His eyes are very much open, and his smile is soft. It’s so dark in the room, but you can see enough.

“Can’t sleep?” he whispers.

You shake your head ‘no.’

“C’mere,” he whispers and puts his hand on your hip. He pulls you close, and you let him. You bury your nose into his chest and get a good strong whiff of that cologne. “I lied,” you hear him whisper.

“About what?” you whisper back.

“I said I wore this cologne to cover up Benny’s sweat. I wore it for you.”

“I lied too. I didn’t care about the matches; I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

“So, what are we going to do about that huh?”

It takes a moment for your brain to come back online when he starts kissing you. The grit of his stubble scratches your chin. His soft lips brush against yours and his tongue finds its way into your mouth. Your body is putty in his hands, and you let him mold you how he wants.

Before you know it, you’re on your back. A wandering hand dips into your arousal-soaked panties and he toys with your clit. You whine once, and he claps his other hand over your mouth. It’s all you can do not to groan loudly. All of your senses are on fire.

You taste the salt of his skin on his palm over your lips. You hear your own heartbeat pounding at the thrill of it all. The man of your dreams is teasing your sex, all while you’re in a room full of sleeping friends. Your eyes are closed tight, just enjoying the feeling – you crack them open every once in a while, just to make sure what’s happening is real. You can barely make out Santi in the dark. His cologne and musk are strong in your nose. And you feel, oh do you feel. You feel it all. The pressure of his hand on your mouth keeping you quiet. His minty breath fanning against your face. His hard body on top of yours. The band of his watch digging into your skin. His fingers about to bring you to orgasm. His hardening length digging into your thigh.

His finger moves faster and faster, and you’re almost to the edge when one of the boy’s snores stop. Santi freezes, his finger pressed to your clit, you know he can feel your pulse there. But when whoever it was starts snoring again, Santi resumes at his rapid pace.

You shut your eyes and try your best not to whine when you come. You wish you were alone with him; you want him to hear how he makes you feel.

He pries his hand away from your mouth, so he can replace with his lips. You squeak in his mouth when you feel his hands pull your panties down.

“Do you want this?” he whispers on your lips.

You nod frantically YES. You could easily be caught, but you’d rather die then tell him no.

In a fraction of a second, his boxers are off and he’s slotting himself between your legs.

He claps his hand over your mouth again when you whine, the feeling of his tip against your entrance is too much. The blunt snag of him slowing pushing inside is more than you can take, and you arch your body up to meet his. He bites his own lip when he’s fully settled inside your welcome heat.

You can feel his heart beating against your chest, or is that yours?

Santi pulls out, and thrusts back in – it’s all you can do not to shout. The bed creaks, and you feel heat in your face. The reality of this is finally catching up with you.

Santi’s hips snap, and his thrusts are precise and unrelenting. The bed groans with his movement, and you wish you could groan. Instead you try and breathe through your nose and tears pour out of your eyes at how good he feels.

Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, on his back. You’re sure you’ve left marks on his skin from your nails scratching as he fills you up to the brim.

You can’t be bothered by the unforgiving squeak of the motel bed now. Not when you’re so close. His hand is in between your bodies toying with your clit again and that’s when you lose it. You pulse around him, hard. Your lungs are on fire and your heart is pounding so harshly against your ribcage.

It’s then his hand falls from your mouth. His face buries in the crook of your neck, his groans muffled as he spills inside of you.

He’s about to pull out when there’s a loud thump. Frankie throws a pillow at Santi, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Fuck’s sake, Pope,” Frankie mumbles.

“SSHH Fish!” Benny grunts.

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles and Santi snickers quietly. You’re feeling too good to be embarrassed.

“It’s gonna be an awkward six hours tomorrow,” Santi whispers with a laugh when he pulls away. He grabs the towel you’d had with you to clean up the slick between your thighs.

The next thing you remember is waking up hearing a loud whistle from Benny. You open your eyes to see Benny standing at the foot of the bed, your panties dangling from the tip of his finger. Your legs are intertwined with Santi’s, and you look around to see Frankie and Will looking at you with smirks. Thankfully, the sheets are covering your legs, and you still have on Santi’s shirt from last night.

“Pay up,” Will holds out his hand, and Frankie and Benny both sigh.

“Excuse me?” you laugh, very aware of Santi’s arms squeezing tightly around you. He’s promptly ignoring the boys and kissing your neck.

“They had a bet going,” he murmurs.

“You knew?” somehow this is more horrifying than being caught with your pants down, literally.

“Nah,” he shrugs, he nods his head toward Will pocketing the money. “If I knew then I’d be in on it.” He laughs and you shove his chest.

“Benny,” you stick out you hand, “if you would be so kind.”

He laughs and tosses you your underwear. You put them on under the covers, then head towards the bathroom. No sense in hiding now.

Santi is quick on your heels as he pulls on his boxers. His hand comes to stop the door from closing behind you, and he steps inside the bathroom, closing the door with a click.

You hear groans from the boys outside.

“No time for round two Pope, let’s go!” Benny bangs on the door with a laugh.

Santi only smiles and leans in for a kiss, which you gratefully accept.

“I need my shirt back,” he grins tugging on the hem of it. You let him peel it off of you, and his hands go right for your breasts. In the heat of the moment last night he didn’t get to explore this part of you. He didn’t get to do much exploring at all.

His big hands squeeze and bounce your breasts and his thumbs toy with your nipples a little.

“Tonight, honey,” he leans in to kiss your temple, “I wanna take you out for a real date yeah?”

You nod and giggle again when you hear Frankie shout in Spanish at Pope to get ready.

He puts on his shirt and he leaves you to finish getting dressed. Your shirt from last night is still damp. The new shirt you got is what you’ll wear. Your shorts are dry enough but it’s all you’ve got.

“I am never taking a trip with you two again,” Frankie smacks Pope on the back and he winces.

“Oh shit!” Benny laughs. “She scratched you, up didn’t she?!”

Santi only grins as he pulls on his jeans. He offers you his hand when you come out of the bathroom. He pulls you in for another kiss and you can’t help but smile.

Will gets the room key, and Frankie does a sweep to make sure no one forgot anything.

“You two,” Frankie motions at you and Santi as you walk out of the motel, “are sitting in the backseat. And if I hear one peep so help me…”

“You’ll what?” Santi laughs, “throw another pillow at me?”

Frankie mumbles something in Spanish and shoves Santi towards the truck. Santi opens the doors and lets you climb in first. He chases behind you, his hands tickling your sides as you sit down in the back.

You do kiss him a little on the way home, but it doesn’t take long before you fall asleep on Santi’s shoulder.

You didn’t get much sleep last night.

And you doubt you will tonight either.

#santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #my writing #gif is mine #i am ready for yall to yell at me

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4birds-of-a-feather · 4 years ago

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Chapter 27 - Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight (when it’s exactly twelve o’clock that night) [part 4]

Birds Of a Feather

Today is Sara’s birthday (both the author and the fictional one!) so we decided to come out of our usual hiatus to post a silly update and let y’all know that we’re grateful to have such wonderful, loyal readers that haven’t given up on us ✨ Hope you’re gonna enjoy this!

(In the previous chapters: the game of Never Have I Ever has been intense, to say the least, and now the guests are left to go on with the party with the aftermath of thoughts and memories that the game brought up)

The game finally ended and, unsurprisingly to everyone, Elias was the undisputed winner. Nevertheless, he laughed it off, saying he just lied and avoided drinking when he could have done it because he’d rather have the others get drunk so he could make fun of them. The gang didn’t even pretend to believe his version. They hated him more when Layla came up with the idea for the prize. Elias was already rubbing his hands, expecting a kiss or something similar, but it turned out the girl wanted to award him by revealing to him the solution to her previous game. “Sorry, Layla, but I gotta tell you, you don’t know what you just did there” Mike shook his head as she walked him by with two full glasses in her hands. “Hehe, what?” she stopped to talk to him and after an awkward couple of seconds handed him one of the drinks. She had meant to catch up with Eddie, offer him the drink, drink up her stronger one for some liquid courage, and tell him that she liked him. But now there she was, talking to Cready, and didn’t want to seem rude, keeping the alcohol to herself. “You put a big weapon in the hands of the wrong person, that is Elias. Now the guy’s gonna go to every girl in the room and use it as a bargaining chip to get something out of it” Mike explained keeping a straight face, something that made her laugh in his face “Don’t laugh, I’m not joking!” “You’re an evil genius, how did you come up with such a plan? I bet Elias didn’t even think about that!” “Uhm, I don’t know… but I bet you didn’t think about it. Or you’d have already used it with a certain someone…” he remarked and hid his smile drinking a sip from his glass. “What the hell are you talking about, Michael? You’re drunk” Layla tried to sound dismissive but was actually smiling. “I’m talking about things, you know. Things that should be done. And if you’re gonna do things, New Year’s Eve is the night – I mean, it’s the mother of all nights, isn’t it?” “The mother of nights to do… things?” Layla asked with an arched eyebrow. “Exactly. Like, it’s New Year’s Eve! It’s a big event” “A big doing-things event” the girl nodded suspiciously. “You almost feel like you have to do things tonight” “Ok but no. This idea of having to do things... it’s kinda cliché. Isn’t New Year’s Eve just so overrated?” “Maybe. I guess you don’t need to ring in the New Year doing things… if you actually do things during the rest of the year too. But if you don’t…” Mike didn’t finish his sentence, keeping the weird theoretical conversation on a very practical matter going. “And what if I wanna start doing things tomorrow?” “Well, it’s almost tomorrow, so...” he shrugged and took Layla by her wrist, showing her her own watch. “Half past eleven? Already?” Layla emptied her glass at once and handed it to Mike, then left and went around the apartment looking for someone, finally determined. <New Year’s resolution #1: doing things>

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Sara was quietly sipping on her fruit punch when the stereo system started to blast Lambada at full volume; after she recovered from a near death by choking, she proceeded to look for the person responsible for that atrocity. Meanwhile, around her some people had begun to dance to the tune in a totally unironical way – that made her quicken her pace. “I knew I shouldn’t have left you in charge of the mixtape!” she finally gave the culprit a push from behind “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” “I’ve been told, once or twice...” Stone gave her a lazy smile “What, you don’t approve of my musical choices?” “Fuck off” the girl started to walk away, then suddenly stopped “Oh, by the way: all these years you’ve been pulling my leg by saying I’m the shortest person you’ve ever known? Get your eyes checked, champ” she nodded in Demri’s direction while looking pointedly at him. “That’s because she doesn’t count – she’s like some kind of nymph” “Oh, wow, a nymph” Sara kept her deadpan face but seemed to stress the last word “And that makes me a…?” “... a person with dwarf ancestry, no doubt about it” “I hope you choke on one of those stupid pretzels you made Layla buy” she cut it short and made her way to a group of people from where Demri was calling her. “Hey, girl! I’ve been meaning to ask you: what sign are you? ‘Cause I have a faint idea of what you might be, but I wanna make sure I haven’t lost my touch” “Aquarius, what about you?” “I knew it! We’re neighbour signs, I’m a Pisces and I simply adore Aquarius people” Demri grinned enthusiastically, then looked at the others “They’re so full of knowledge and different interests, they always show you a point of view you would have never thought to see from, they-” “Ok, ok, enough with this astrology bullshit” Stone interrupted her, having apparently joined the group “We get it, you really like playing the little witch but cut us some slack, please” “Hey, it’s not bullshit! The planets are actually involved in shaping our personalit-” “Yeah? Then why Chris and I were born on the same day but he’s like that and I’m like this?” “I guess you can blame genetics for that” Sara blurted out, making Layne chuckle loudly enough to get the stink eye from the guitarist. “... that’s because you both have Sun in Cancer but were born in two completely different years, so all the other planets and signs are different too! It’s not so hard to get it, Stoney – this must be the hundredth time I’m explaining it to ya” the other girl didn’t miss a beat, and Sara could have kissed her then and there for the way she had just handed Stone’s ass to him – his embarrassed shitface was priceless. “So… how does this work? How can you actually know which planet is in which sign?” Chris seemed to show genuine interest about the topic, and Demri gave him a radiant grin. “Well, beside the birthdate you also have to take into account the time and birthplace you were born… the latitude and longitude and all those things, and you have to do some calculations to figure out the results, but you use some printed tables to help you with that” she sighed “I knew I had to bring my manual here! It’s old so the tables aren’t up to date, but they would have been good enough for our birthdates… fuck my life” “Hey, I’ve got one huge book that Layla gave me for my last birthday – if I’m not mistaken, the tables there go until 2020… I could lend it to you a few days so you can xerox the pages you need and then we could meet someplace so you can give it back to me? What do you say?” Sara didn’t have to wait for an answer because the other girl had literally jumped on her and was hugging her tightly. “You’re the best Aquarius I’ve ever met! God, I love you, you crazy, beautiful people” “I take it you approve, great” Sara chuckled “Just lemme go in my room to see where I put it – the sooner I start to look for it, the sooner you’ll be able to shed some light upon these amateurs’ miserable lives” She shot a cheeky wink in Demri’s direction and then proceeded to make her way to her room. <Who would have thought to find a fellow astrology enthusiast right here? I have to concede to Layla that, after all, giving this party wasn’t such a bad idea…> The girl smiled to herself: the day was reaching its end but it looked like it wasn’t going to be an entire failure – not something she would have expected after what had happened in the afternoon. She finally opened the door, a hand already going to flick the room’s light on, and when she turned she stood petrified. Apparently, there already were a couple of people on her bed: a girl with a blonde bob was straddling a guy – at least, the hands that were struggling to unclasp her bra seemed to belong to a man. The confirmation came when the hidden figure stuck his head out and revealed himself to be none other than Jeffrey Allen Ament. “Oh – I’m so-sorry, I’ll just go… don’t let me disturb the two of you” she muttered as stiffly as she could, then mustered all her strength and bolted out of the room.

The ice cubes in the drinks Layla had been holding in her hands were melting. She had fixed two more for Eddie and her but hadn’t approached the singer yet – and not because she couldn’t find him. There he was, sitting on the couch, totally absorbed in a conversation with Matt Lukin, who was also sharing a joint with him. Layla found herself fantasizing about what the hell those two could be talking about, whether they were having a deep philosophical debate or they were just trying to answer age-old questions like “What do teeth taste like?”, “Which armrest at the movie theater is yours?”, “Do pets name their owners?”, “Is the S or the C silent in SCENT?” The girl realized her drinks were warm and downed them both, hoping they would make her more talkative. Right after that she went to grab two beer cans from the fridge and walked through the people at the party up to Eddie at a moderately fast pace. Eddie saw her coming towards him with some anticipation and just smiled at her. “And that’s why it’s called sand, I swear to god” Lukin pointed out as she was in front of her. “And why is that?” Layla asked and Matt shot her a glance and sighed, as if she was asking a question with an obvious answer. “Because it’s between the sea and the land, of course” “Right, I’ve never thought about it!” she said as she handed one beer to Eddie. “What’s up, El? Are you having fun?” Vedder asked her and for a moment she thought that was probably the first time he called her like that: that was how Sara called her. She couldn’t say if it was a good or bad sign but didn’t think too much about it. “Yeah, the party’s been pretty successful so far… I mean, it didn’t turn into a disaster yet and nothing is on fire in the house, so yeah, everything’s alright” the girl replied and couldn’t help being surprised by the number of words which were escaping her mouth. <Couldn’t I simply say YES, WHAT ABOUT YOU? I guess it’s the alcohol speaking…> “And how come we say things are on fire while it’s actually fire being on things? Ever wondered about that?” Lukin questioned the two as he snatched the beer can from Layla’s hand “Thank you, darling” “Oh you’re welcome! And no… honestly I’ve never thought about that. Well, Eddie, can you just come with me for a second?” <Smooth, Layla, very smooth> she did a mental facepalm at how obvious she must have sounded. “What did I do?” the singer asked, suddenly alarmed, and Layla giggled and thought that he probably was too stoned to even understand shit. “Haha nothing, I just need you… err, need you for something” she pointed at somewhere vaguely around the hall with her thumb. “Uh ok, sure!” Vedder sprang up from the couch and took a last hit before handing what was left of the joint to Lukin. Layla started walking and gestured for Eddie to follow her. When he did she suddenly felt scared – actually terrified. She hadn’t practiced any speech, she hadn’t practiced anything, she just decided she’d tell him and now she had no idea how to practically do it. “Where are we going?” he talked into her ear as she was slowly walking through the people in the living room. “Uhm… just… DOWN THERE…” she didn’t turn around to answer and thought that yelling over the music was a much better option than finding herself face to face with Eddie just yet. “Are we leaving the house?” Eddie frowned as the two of them found themselves beside the front door of the apartment. “Oh no, I just, I thought of a quiet place, you know? To talk and stuff. And I think it’s quieter, here, don’t you think?” Layla said and knew that talk and stuff was up to her and it was too late to back away now. “It is. I honestly thought you wanted to save me from Lukin’s existential questions” “Hehe well, also. But I also wanted to talk to you” “Oh. About what?” a million things rushed through Eddie’s mind right then. What if she wanted to tell him she was getting back with her boyfriend? What if it was the opposite? What if it had nothing to do about them at all? What if it was just the solution to her mysterious game… <Yeah, that must be it, stop building your usual castles in the air> “About… about things and… failure, you know?” “Failure? What do you mean?” he asked confused. “I mean… you can fail either if you do things without thinking about them or if you think about things without actually doing them, right?” “Yeah…?” Eddie nodded and squinted at her, trying to guess where she was going with this. “And this is one of those there-are-two-types-of-people things. And I think I belong to the second type, I always did” “Uh-huh” “Like, I’m the one who always thinks about doing or saying stuff but rarely does. I'm that type of failure” “I have to disagree with that” “What?” Layla was surprised but also somehow relieved about Eddie interrupting her, so she could have a few seconds more to figure out what the hell she was talking about and where she was heading with all this nonsense. “You didn’t think too much about crowd surfing at our last show, well, not during our set but… I mean, you’re thoughtful and all but sometimes you’re capable of such impetuous acts. And you’re everything but a failure” Layla didn’t know if she was more surprised at what Eddie thought of her or for the fact he could use the word impetuous while high. “Well, I wish I was more impetuous in everyday life and not just at rock concerts” “Why are you telling me this?” “It’s… it’s just Mike’s fault!” “Mike?” “Yeah, we were talking about New Year’s resolutions and stuff like that” “Do you wanna know what my resolution is?” Eddie asked, still suspicious about the whole conversation. <So is that what it’s all about? New Year’s small talk?> “Yes, please” “Well… my resolution for 1991 is… to record this album and not to suck too much, to finally try and make an actual living of this thing that everybody in my family calls a hobby, you know? To play as many shows as I can. And not be fired by Stone” Eddie said and he wanted to add Kiss you to the list but he wasn’t intoxicated enough to say that out loud. “Oh well, that’s a very interesting bunch of resolutions” “What about yours? Being more impetuous and…?” “And…” <And tell you that I’ve been thinking about you, a lot. I think about you even when you’re right there with me. Like, I’m even thinking about you right now. Basically I always think about you. But not in a creepy way. It’s not like I’m listening at your door all the time. I’ve actually done it only once. Or twice. It’s not like I check the time when you get back home at night when I’m casually awake. Because it’s not like I stay awake on purpose waiting for you when you’re out at night. It’s definitely not like I picture your face while listening to your tape when you’re not around. It’s not like I listen to that cassette all the fucking time or anything. Well, to the casual observer of my thoughts it may look like I’m kinda creepy, like I’ve been thinking of you in a marginally creepy way… Oh my god, why am I telling you this? Wait, I’m not actually telling you! It’s all in my head so… nevermind> “... and get my master’s degree and find a real job. And get back into swimming” <See? I’m totally not thinking about you at all> “That’s cool” “Well, I used to be a pro. I can’t be a pro anymore, I don’t wanna be, I just wanna do it more. I just love being in the water” “I see. I love that too” Eddie agreed and came closer as Layla backed up until she had her back against the door. At the same time, without knowing, they were both thinking about being in the water together. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re gonna reach all your goals. If the record is half as good as the demo, then it’ll be huge” Layla snapped out of her water fantasy, while out of the corner of her eye she spotted an ocean blue sparkly blur pushing its way through the living room and running across the hallway behind Eddie’s back. “Wow, well, thank you” the guy was inches away from her but she was now focused on her friend, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. <What the fuck is happening?> “... I gotta pee” “Huh?” “Yeah, gotta go. It’s almost midnight so… see you next year, hahaha” she nervously added and walked away, just like that, leaving a confused Eddie staring at the front door.

“Seems like she’s conjuring that book directly from Mars” Stone dead-panned: it had been a while ever since he had seen Sara going into her room. This time Layne didn’t laugh at him but thanks to his remark – to his wounded ego’s relief – and had instantly gained a slap on the nape provided by his girlfriend. “The more time passes, the more insufferable you become, Stoney” Demri huffed “It’s like you have some kind of biological need to pester anyone who has the misfortune of being on your way-nevermind! My ally has come out of the cave unscathed!” she added, after seeing the other girl finally exiting the room. Stone turned again and there she was, striding through the hallway like some sort of acid-tripped Starry Night. “Huh, looks like her treasure hunt didn’t go well” Layne remarked, noticing how her hands were empty; furthermore, she kept on walking without sparing their group a single glance until she disappeared from their view. “Annnnnd she’s gone” Chris clicked his tongue and raised his glass high in some sort of toast to Sara. “She’s gone but the real question is: where is she going?” Staley looked alternatively at his girlfriend, Cornell and Gossard, the latter remaining suspiciously silent. “And why?” Chris added after taking a sip. “Why? Well, given the expression on her face and the fact she didn’t seem to give a shit about us or the rest of the world, I think it’s pretty obvious she’s upset for something… or someone” Demri pointed out “But that could be just my stupid Pisces intuition talking, don’t mind me” <Tsk, it doesn’t take an astrologist to tell that the girl’s fucking mad> Stone thought but it wasn’t until he spotted a very well-known person in the corner that it all clicked in his mind. When he saw Jeff rushing into the hallway, looking around, followed by a blonde girl who was talking to him while fixing her shirt, it all started making sense. <That poor excuse for a vertebrate….> the guitarist shook his head and scrubbed his hand across his face in frustration. “I need a drink” he said, excusing himself from the small circle of friends, and apparently walked up into the kitchen. Instead, he made a bee line to wherever Sara went.

“Sara? Come on, Sara! What’s up? Just tell me if you’re ok in there” Layla had been knocking on the bathroom’s door for a couple of minutes when Eddie first and Stone soon after showed up behind her. “What’s happening?” the guitarist tried to assess the situation, without mentioning what he had just witnessed. “It’s Sara,” the other guy answered him, while Layla proceeded to increase the knocking’s intensity, hoping to bother the other girl enough to let her into the bathroom “I think she’s not feeling good” “Oh – you think it has something to do with the food? Or maybe there are too many people in here and she felt dizzy...” Stone kept on feigning ignorance about the real cause of the girl’s distress. “I don’t know, it could be? Layla and I just happened to see her run in this direction and decided to follow her to see what we could do, but she doesn’t seem to be willing to cooperate with us” “And can you tell us what are you doing here, Stone?” Layla huffed, upset because her best friend still had to answer to her pleas to open the door “The less people we are, the more chances we have to make her feel a bit better” “Nothing, I swear I was up to nothing” he raised his hands “I was just going to get myself something to drink when I saw you guys quickly walking in this direction and thought that I should check on you, that’s all” “What if she… you know… took something and…” Eddie scratched his nape, casually speculating, but Layla and Stone shushed him up almost at the same time. “What? No way, man” “Sara’s not into that stuff. I know what happened. It’s all Jeff’s fault” the girl pointed out and Gossard was surprised to hear that. <Did she see them too?> he wondered. But if that was the case, he was mostly surprised that Layla would mention it at all. “Why Jeff? What did he do?” the singer questioned, thinking of another typical round of Sara and Jeff quarrelling and being at each other’s throat. Eddie thought maybe Jeff could have gone too far this time. “I told him to go to Pike Place Market but I bet he didn’t!” she said, still frantically pounding on the door. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Stone had no idea what was going through the girl’s head and looked at Eddie, who seemed equally perplexed. “It took him little time to do all the grocery shopping I asked him to do for the party. I specifically told him to go to Pike Place to buy seafood but he came back with some low quality prawns he must have bought in some fucking convenience store or something closer to home. Sorry Sara, I should have known better!” the girl added the last sentence directly addressing the bathroom door in a louder voice. Stone laughed internally at Layla’s assumption, whereas Eddie thought she must be really worried if she used the F word. “Well, darling, if it makes you feel any better I’m not hearing retching sounds coming from the inside, so I think the food poisoning hypothesis can be excluded” the guitarist patted her on the shoulder, but she kept on knocking on the door. “I’m sorry to inform you that I won’t feel better until my best friend comes out of the cave! She doesn’t know it yet, but I make a damn good Jack Torrance impression and I’m honestly itching to let her see it” “... ouch, maybe it’s better if I go looking for something to drink for her, the situation is quickly escalating” Eddie added and began to walk in the kitchen’s direction, hoping to find something for himself as well. “Please, let it be some chamomile tea because she doesn’t need any more Godzilla fuel” Stone shouted at him, avoiding a brutal push from Layla, who had heard everything. “Can’t you just stop being sassy for a minute? I’m worried, for real, can’t you see it?” “You don’t need to be, trust me. Sara’s ok, nothing happened, really” “How can you say that?” the girl felt he was keeping something from her. “Because I know” “And how do you know?” “Because… Well, I was there so I know what happened. And it was nothing. Sara is just making a scene for nothing – which is typical of her, lemme tell ya” “Why do I feel you’ve got something to do with that nothing that happened?” Layla looked at him suspiciously. <I knew he was up to something the moment he arrived! After all, he was talking to her like five minutes before she fled into the bathroom, it must be Stone’s fault!> “Ok ok, I give in! I’ll confess.” Stone raised his hands as a defeat sign and said the first thing that came up to his mind “We were discussing movies and I just shared one maybe slightly unpopular opinion” “That is…?” “I just said that Martin Scorsese is overrated” “YOU SAID WHAT?” “I mean, he directed a bunch of pretty decent movies but-” “A bunch of decent movies? Did you use these exact words?” Layla now could see why Sara wouldn’t want anything to do with the world outside the bathroom. “Yeah, more or less. Anyway, he did something good but… err, I just find him so boring, you know” “Well I think I can speak on behalf of Sara and say you can stick your unpopular opinion up to your you-know-where and apologize to her, Martin and the movie industry” she folded her arms and started tapping her toe as if she was actually waiting for apologies. “And that was what I was expecting, I was expecting her to tell me to fuck off as usual but she just up and left. Maybe she’s in a bad mood” Stone shrugged and silently prayed for the girl to believe his bullshit. “Yeah, she’s been in a weird mood all day” Layla recalled her friend disappearing the whole afternoon and then reacting strangely during their drinking game. “I’ll apologize to her” “Good. Just do it” “But… I can’t do it if you stay here” “Hahaha and why? Are you shy all of a sudden?” “It’s hard for me, you know” “Are you like the poor man’s version of the Fonz? Who can’t physically say I’m sorry?” “Sort of…” “I don’t know if I can leave you and Sara alone, can I trust you?” she sincerely asked. “Oh for fuck’s sake, sure you can! I’m not Jeff” Stone retorted and his remark had multiple meanings but Layla could only grasp one of them, the most obvious one. “Ok, come on Sara, tell this guy off and get out of here! It’s almost midnight!” she addressed her friend again with one last weak knock on the bathroom door and then went back into the living room. “Scout, the coast is clear… now you can come out” Stone had waited for Layla to disappear before addressing again the door; there was silence, when finally a croaky voice came from inside the bathroom. “... that makes you Boo Radley, I suppose” The guitarist smiled to himself: “I guess it does” “I appreciate the sentiment but I just wanna stay alone” “And monopolize the bathroom for the whole evening? Nuh-uh, missy, I won’t all-” “Stoney, what are you doing here, talking with the bathroom door?” a wild McCready appeared out of thin air, looking at his bandmate in a mildly concerned way. “Just trying to find out if it’s made of oak or pine” “Well, try to get an answer really soon because I must go inside!” “Jeez, Mikey, you know you can smoke from the balcony, right? Nobody’s going to call the police” “What did you understand??” Mike grabbed him by the shoulders and started to shake him “I already did that, we’re talking about another kind of emergency!” “What? You lost your contacts and need to put in another pair?” “I NEED TO SHIT! There, I said it! Are you happy, now???” “... you could have done it from the start” “That’s what I was trying to do” “... too bad we have another emergency going on, so you should find another suitable place for your crap – literally” “WHAT THE FUC-” “In your shoes, I wouldn’t get excited… you never know when shit’s about to hit the fan” “Fuck off you and your shitty puns, Stone! Where am I supposed to go??” Mike whined, shifting his weight from one leg to another with little jumps. “I don’t know, you could shit in Jeff’s bass case? Or hidden behind the ficus plants, but pay attention because Elias might still be lurking there…” “I’m going to knock on some apartment doors and the first that opens to me is gonna be the chosen savior!” McCready made his way to the front door, but stopped halfway “Don’t think I’m gonna forget how merciless you’ve been with me, I’m having mine served cold” “Hope you’re not talking about your imminent masterpiece, Cready…” “FUCK OFF, STONE” and, thus said, the victim ran outside the VedderAment residence. Gossard let out a huge breath of relief, then turned again towards the door: “Now, where were we?”

#eddie vedder #jeff ament #Pearl Jam #eddie vedder fanfiction #pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #jeff ament fanfiction #Birds of a Feather #chapters

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saltnhalo · 5 years ago

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for @blueeyesandpie. happy birthday <3

Dean comes home with a numbness in his fingertips and an itch under his skin.

In the summer, the sun sets so late that he can walk back to their apartment from the bar just as it begins to dip. The several glasses of cheap whiskey in his system haven’t done much to curb his restlessness today, so he takes the long route home, putting one foot in front of the other and thinking about what will be waiting for him in the apartment.

On nights like this, where the itch and the voices claw their way up his throat, Dean finds that the only way to cope is to self-medicate. Alcohol, cigarettes…

Cas.

He can hear the music blasting from their apartment as he reaches the top of the stairs and steps out onto their floor. Thank fuck that all their neighbors are artists or deadbeats, just like them, and no one gives a single fuck.

Still, the itch rises beneath Dean’s skin again.

He stalks the last few paces to the apartment door, scraping his key carelessly against the lock in an attempt to get it open. His hands shake, and not because of the alcohol winding through his bloodstream.

The music gets louder as Dean shoves the front door open and steps into his apartment, shoving the door closed behind him. The huge window of their tiny studio is uncovered today, paint-splattered makeshift curtains pushed to either side as far as they’ll go, and the setting sun throws the apartment into sharp relief.

Namely, the colossal mess of art supplies strewn across the floor, and the man and his easel standing in the very epicenter of the chaos.

Cas is fucking beautiful when he paints. Today he’s barefoot and shirtless, dressed in a dangerously low-slung pair of jeans. There’s paint smudged all over him, speckled all over the floor, blues and greys and reds that seem to blend with the tan of his skin.

The stereo sits by the door; Dean turns it down by half, which is still loud enough to drown out most of his thoughts. “You’re making such a fucking mess,” he grumbles in lieu of a hello, kicking his shoes off by the door.

There’s only so much A/C electricity they can afford at the moment, so Cas has a few of the windows open, but it’s still unbearably hot. Dean peels off his jeans and tosses them onto the back of one of their rickety, mismatched armchairs.

Cas just hums, rubbing a thumb over his jaw and leaving a black smudge of semi-dried paint in its wake. He adds a few more brushstrokes, loose-limbed and careless, then puts the paintbrush down and pulls the cigarette from between his lips. “At least I don’t throw shit around when my sculptures don’t turn out how I want them to,” he jabs back, his tone laid back but his words sharp.

The itch beneath Dean’s skin becomes a buzz.

“Only because the apartment is always already trashed,” he growls. He’s about to make his way over to the cupboard where he keeps his alcohol—numb, numb, numb—but Castiel catches his eye across the room. He’s blue and brown and tan, cigarette dangling from his fingers and a quiet challenge in his eyes.

Maybe Dean doesn’t want to be numb tonight.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

Castiel just lifts the cigarette to his lips again, and takes a long drag. The smoke curls out from between his lips and dissipates into the air, but in the red-gold light of the setting sun that filters through the dusty windows, his blue eyes seem to glow.

The silence stretches out between them, tense and charged, until Cas finally says, “As if you’re one to talk.”

Dean is the first one to move. The first one to snap, the buzz under his skin becoming a roar that demands an outlet.

He’s not sure where he puts his hands first, whether it’s on Castiel’s face or waist or shoulders, just that he’s not sure whether he wants to shove or punch or what he’s going to do.

And then he’s kissing Cas, kissing him with frustration and anger, biting at his lips and pulling at his hair. Cas gives back as good as he gets, digging his nails into Dean’s skin while he reaches out blindly for the nearest available surface to put his cigarette out on. Dean’s air tastes like smoke and whiskey and a little bit of weed, and he drinks it in like he’s drowning. Drinks Cas in like he’s drowning.

In the push and pull of it, the storm uncoiling between them and turning the air to electricity, one of them knocks over the easel. Cas trips over it, and they both go down, Dean’s shoulder crunching through canvas and wood. “You motherfucker,” Cas hisses, biting at Dean’s jaw as he pins him down amongst the wet paint and the scattering of art supplies that had either gone down with the easel or been strewn across the floor since the beginning.

There are more words on the tip of Cas’s tongue, more knives created with the intention of slicing deep into Dean’s skin, but Dean cuts him off with a kiss and a leg hooked around his hip, hands going to the buckle of his belt.

Castiel doesn’t say much after that, but his harsh hands, bared teeth, the hand that presses over Dean’s throat, it all speaks to his barely-bridled anger. They’re always like this, fighting or fucking when they’re not creating. When Dean isn’t numb, and Cas isn’t high, when they’re just them in all their fucked up glory.

But then… there are the moments of calm.

Fleeting, sure, but as Castiel finally sinks into Dean, his movements soften. He’s burnished in red-gold-bronze, all skin and paint and muscle, and his eyes are so fucking blue as he looks down at Dean.

Dean reaches up and curves his fingers against Cas’s jaw—the first soft touch they’ve shared all night. Even though the itch, the buzz, is still roiling beneath his skin… Cas calms it.

Just for now.

Just for tonight.

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #profoundnet #spncreatorsdaily #alcohol cw #cigarettes cw #dysfunctional relationship #artist dean #artist cas #established relationship #emma's writing #spn #fic #deancas

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babyspiderling · 5 years ago

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“Control” Steve Harrington x reader

Steve Harrington - Control Janet Jackson

Not requested

First time I fell in love, I didn't know what hit me So young and so naive, I thought it would be easy

August 1982

“I don’t understand how you like this stuff!” I roll over to sit up on Jonathan Byers bed. “How do you not? It’s so easy to move to, he has a nice voice, don’t even get me started on his dancing!” He looks up from his workbook with an incredulous look. “Y/N, I get it, you’re a dancer. But seriously? Michael Jackson? I thought I taught you better than that.” I shrug, “Well, I happen to like Disco and Hip-Hop. Not everyone could like The Clash, or else they wouldn’t be so indie.” We sit and study, or at least try to. We eventually migrate next to each other, hands intertwined. Everything felt simple then.

November 1983

Will had gone missing. Jonathan was up all hours of the night looking for him, and for some reason Nancy would always happen to be around. “Hey Jon, you wanna watch a movie tonight? I think we both need to destress.” He looks back at me, dazed and confused. “What? Yeah, sure.” He turns to look back at someone across the lunchroom. As I follow his gaze, no one but Nancy Wheeler ducks her head down, not wanting to get caught. Everything in me sinks at the realization, but I smile at him anyways.

It’s been hours since movie night was supposed to start, and Jonathan had still not shown up. Sighing, I put away all of the snacks I had prepared, put the tape back in the box, turned off the TV, and went to bed, crying myself to sleep. The next morning, I don’t see Jonathan or Nancy until second period. I watch them silently communicate across rooms or hallways, Jonathan disappears at her signal, leaving me alone during lunch most days if not all. As Jonathan leaves again, not even bothering with an excuse this time, I break. I gather my things and blink away the tears, heading to the library for peace and quiet. I cry in a secluded corner of the library, muffling my whimpers with my hand. How am I going to fix this?

October 1884

Jonathan didn’t want to go to this party. I didn’t want to go to this party. But Nancy wanted to go to this party. She wanted Jonathan to go to this party. That’s how I ended up dressed as Stevie Nicks, all in black and hair big. I had grabbed a soda, wanting to stay sober and keeping my mind in the right place. I watch Nancy and Steve have an argument, resulting in her white blouse to stain red. I had lost Jonathan not long after we arrived, choosing to people watch instead of looking for him. Feeling claustrophobic over the amount of bodies in the main room, I head outside. I watch the new guy do a keg stand for a surprising amount of time, and observe the costumed teens mill about the lawn. By the time I re-enter the house, Nancy is gone, and I’m done partying. I bump into a wall of a person in the hall, looking up at none other than Steve “The Hair” Harrington. “What are you still doing here? I thought you were taking Nancy home?” Rolling his eyes he leans against the wall. “Yeah, I thought I was too, until your boyfriend did it for me.” I gasp, hurt filling my chest. “Oh. Ok, cool. I guess I’m walking home tonight. Guess I should probably get started then if my ride is gone.” As I turn to walk out the door once again, Steve grabs my wrist. “No, there’s no reason for that. I’ll take you home. I mean we both get fucked over, might as well be hospitable to each other.” Nodding, I mutter “I need a drink. Fuck being sober.”

I take another sip of “Pure Fuel” as Springsteen blasts through the stereo system. I felt the buzz kick in as I move out to the living area. As a bass and drum heavy song comes on I feel a grip on my hips. I throw my head back to see the offender, coming face to face with the “New Keg King”. I shout “Can I help you?” over the music with a raised eyebrow. Leaning in, he says into my ear, “I’m hoping you can sweetheart.” Ok, if that’s how he wants to play, then let’s play. I swivel my hips hard against him, his grip tightening. I smirk and grip the back of his neck and his left hand on my hip. Spinning in his arms, we face each other. We keep dancing together, intertwined in a sweaty mess. He moves us against the wall, leaning to nibble at my neck. I catch Steve’s eye, and he holds up his keys, time to go. Rolling my eyes, I push the keg king off of me. “Well, I’ve had so much fun sweetheart, but I’ve got to go. Have a nice night.” As I walk away, I feel his gaze burn into my backside. Linking my arm with Steve, I ask: “Alright big boy, where to?” We get in the car, and I rest against the window, the buzz wearing off, leaving exhaustion behind. I tell him where I live, and fall asleep. I wake-up slightly at him opening my door, and he picks me up. “Parents aren’t home. Key under the mat.” He gets the door open unexpectedly easily. “What room?” Cuddling further into his chest, I grumble, “Upstairs, third door on the left.” I once again doze off, not waking until morning.

When I was 17 I did what people told me Did what my father said, and let my mother mold me

Summer 1985

“Y/N, you need to get a job. How are you going to get a car? Or pay for college? Your mother and I are not always going to be here for you.” I nod at my father's words. “Yes Sir.” My mother opens her mouth to give her two cents in. “Oh, Y/N, before you go, let me help you with your make-up today. You always have to be presenting yourself, you want to make me proud, don’t you?” I look down at my plate, nodding, and take another bite of my waffle. “Oh, and Y/N, maybe we can start a diet. Don’t want an embarrassing figure now honey.” Pushing the offending food around my plate, I respond “Yes Ma’am.”

I'm in Control - Never gonna stop. Control - To get what I want. Control - I like to have a lot. Control - Now I'm all grown up

I ended up getting the job at Scoops Ahoy, much to my Mothers chargain. “Y/N, are you sure you can control yourself around so much sweets? I just don’t want you to get any bigger than you already are.” Desperate to prove my mother wrong, I eat salads every meal, run the mall during my breaks, and always make sure my make-up is immaculate. I squeeze into the uniform my mother demanded I get in a small. It miraculously fits my waist snugly, but pulls at my hips, and rides high on my thighs. The shirt is short and tight around my torso, making it uncomfortable when teenage boys stop by only on my shift, doing everything in their power to stay at the counter and oggle what the uniform brings attention to. One of them grows brave and leans over the counter, “Did you sit in a bowl of sugar? Because it looks like you’ve got a pretty sweet ass.” I turn red in embarrassment, cursing my mother for my “blessings” and her insistence on the overly tight uniform. As I do my best to deflect their eyes and serve them as fast as possible, Steve comes out of the back, his shift starting. His eyes flicker between my red face and the boys ogling his co-worker. He pushes me behind him as he confronts the boys. “Alright guys, how can I help you? Our U.S.S Butterscotch is really good, and two scoops will only cost you a buck. So what’ll it be? Oh, and Y/N, Robin needs you in the back.” I open my mouth to protest, but he just nudges me towards the door. Reaching the back, I look at Robin. “Steve said you needed me?” Her eyebrows scrunch together. “What? No, I haven’t even talked to Steve today.”

We all sit in the bathroom, bloody and bruised. Talking about random shit. Parents end up being brought up in the conversation. “Ugh, my parents want to control me. My dad wants me to be an adult, and my mother wants me to be just like her. She made me get that stupid uniform in a small, she wants me to do my make-up dark and perfect, she wants me to be the skinniest girl out there. I bet she wishes I was made out of clay so she could mold me exactly how she wants me to be.” Robin mutters “My parents just want me to get a boyfriend. Like that’s going to happen.” We both turn to her. “What does that mean?” Blinking, she realizes what she said. “Oh, uh, I like girls. I don’t like boys like that.” I grimace as I scoot closer to her, taking her hand. “Thank you for feeling comfortable enough to tell us that. Just do you know, you’re not missing out on much. Guys are bullshit.” Steve shouts a “Hey!” at my accusation, but I give him a look that says “Seriously? Be honest with yourself.” He raises his hands in surrender and turns towards me. “Alright, why didn’t you want anyone to get close to you when you first started working here?” I swallow thickly, thinking through my answer. “Everyone else has been in control of what happens in my life for so long, I wanted to take that control back. I thought, if there was no one to try to take control, I would never have to lose control. Stupid I know.” They both shake their heads at my answer, just sitting in peaceful silence until Dustin bursts in the door. “Guys, we’ve got to go.”

After this is all over, Steve takes me home like he did almost a year ago. I rest against his window, sleeping off my injuries. I wake up as the car stops, but it's not outside my house. “Steve? Where are we? This isn’t my house.” Putting the car in park, he turns back to me. “No, it’s not. It’s my house, thought it would be easier to get you patched up and rested here than getting you home and needing to explain it to your parents. You can call them and tell them you’re with Robin or something.” I go to stand and walk into the house, but my legs give out. Steve picks me up from off the ground and carries me into the house. We patch each other up, band-aids here, ice packs there. We spend the night watching cheesy tape after cheesy tape, neither wanting to sleep and see the nightmares under our eyelids. As we both doze off, too exhausted to stay awake any longer, I feel Steve kiss my forehead and whisper “You talk about wanting control, but you’ve had control over me since Halloween.”

#steve harrington x reader #jonathan byers x reader #song fic #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #jonathan byers #billy hargrove #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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scatterthoughted · 5 years ago

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Secrets Never Shared

An angsty Miraculous Ladybug fic for @cartoonfanorwhatever for @mlsecretsanta taking place a week after the events of Chat Blanc. Enjoy!

Teenagers were often fluid in their likes and dislikes, preferences changing from year to year as they dug deeper into the self-discovery of who they were. But Marinette had only ever had one favourite song.

It was a classic, and Marinette was sure that many other Parisians, and Francophones, shared her love for it. Although, perhaps unlike other Francophones, she didn’t decide on it to be her favourite song simply because of the singers range (even though it is very impressive), or through its upbeat and conquering rhythm (while that did energize and inspire her). No, it was the memories she’d collected between each crescendo, the nostalgia crammed between beats, which had transformed it from a simple song into a timeless tune that she could play one thousand times without ever tiring of it.

She couldn’t recall the first time she’d heard it, or even the second or third. However, Marinette did remember dancing around her kitchen with her Maman and Papa, belting the words (only half actually right) at the top of her lungs. She remembered it playing in the background when stitching her first skirt, humming it just before meeting Alya, and blasting it at her surprise birthday party where all of her friends (including Adrien) told her (and showed her when it came to Befana) just how much she meant to them.

Today was the first day she’d ever scrambled to turn the radio off when it came on. The first day that one bad memory had the power to overwhelm all the good ones. The first day the chorus made her heart hurt, squeezed tears from her eyes. After last week, she didn’t think she could ever listen to it again.

“Um, Marinette...?” Dread stiffened her bones, sunk down deep and mixed with her shame and mortification. That tentative voice was a shot through her nerves, its concern a blaring alarm. Her hurried movements were committed to wiping the snot and tears from her face and taking a deep breath before slowly peering over her shoulder.

Sweet, amazing Adrien peered back, a worried frown pulling at his peach pink lips. Embarrassment rippled from her when his eyes flickered to the red-rims around her eyes that were not nearly as covered as they should have been. Marinette quickly looked back to the ground as heat rose to her cheeks. He moved closer, and she couldn’t decide whether she wanted him to get away from her, or to keep moving even closer.

“Are you alright? Is there something wrong?” He sat beside her, looking up at the jukebox in front of her. Slow jazz permeated the air around them, the first button Marinette found purchase on after sliding her quarter into the machine through a panic driven haze. Her eyes were on her hands, which still shook a little in her lap.

What could she tell him? The story was long, and dangerous to tell. She’d have to look into his soft green eyes and surrender to them fully, as she’s always wanted to. All of her secrets would come pouring out, beginning with her biggest- she was Ladybug, one half of the superhero duo who was responsible for the safety of all of Paris. Once it was out, she wouldn’t be able to stop- she’d have to tell him how she’d failed in this- at least, she had in an alternate timeline, one where Paris flooded, the moon had broken, and Hawkmoth had won but also paid the ultimate price. The story would come out of how she had to fight her akumatized best friend, Chat Noir, whose insanity had scared her. Whose loneliness had hurt her more than the bruises and scrapes his claws had given her.

And how to tell him the whole situation had begun because he found out her identity? How to ask who he felt compelled to tell? Marinette supposed she couldn’t blame him for something that didn’t even happen in this timeline, but try as she might, she couldn’t forget. That was why she smiled back at him.

“I’m fine, Adrien, thanks.” No excuse ever came to Marinette quick, and she was soon flailing for one. “This song just reminds me of, uh, a commercial I saw. A heartwarming story of this kitten who was lost and... and a little girl found him and took him home!” She avoided his steady and understanding gaze, feeling as though she betrayed it with her lies. “The song just reminds me of it, that’s all.”

The excuse was flimsy, and she could tell Adrien thought so too. He didn’t push it, though. But he didn’t leave her alone, either. He his eyes to the jukebox.

“Makes sense. Every song I hear has a memory attached. The one that plays during my perfume commercial? I can’t listen to it without wanting to bang my head against the wall.” Adrien pulled a face and Marinette giggled, heart warming at his efforts to cheer her up.

The rest of their friends seemed to finally notice their absence, and Nino, Rose, and Alix joined them a moment later. It seemed they missed Alya’s frantic hand signals for them to leave them alone.

“A jukebox? Sweet! Good eye, Marinette!” Nino leaned in to get a better look, practically drooling over the old sound system.

“Well duh. A fifties diner is just a brightly coloured restaurant that specializes in shakes without one.” Alix blew up her bubblegum, leaning onto the dinosaur of a stereo. Nino glared at the arm pushing on it, muttering something under his breath about disrespecting a great art form. She met his gaze and popped her bubble in reply.

“Ooh, I’ve never seen a real working one before. I call picking the next one!” Rose bounced in place, pulling a quarter from her pocket in anticipation.

Her remaining friends joined them a few moments later, Alya sending her an apologetic glance for the interruption. Marinette just waved her apology away with a smile, hoping desperately that no one else noticed her teary eyes and shaky hands.

As the voices of her friends idle chatter surrounded and warmed her, she chanced a glance back up at the jukebox, eyes drawn to that song she didn’t think she could ever dance to again.

Un Petit Chat Sur Un Toit stared back.

___

No day out with her friends was complete without the simultaneous beeping of all of their phones, of all phones throughout Paris. After about a year, the Akuma Alert had streamlined into an efficient process, allowing every Parisian- and even tourist- to avoid this weeks’ disturbance, making their lives easier.

Well, for everyone except Marinette. She had a caffeine hyped and intensely motivated reporter friend who didn’t fear akumas nearly as much as she should. Alya’s phone appeared back into its natural habitat (her hand) within a heartbeat of the alert, camera facing her and livestream on.

“Hey Ladybloggers! This just in: a new akuma has made an appearance at the Louvre, wreaking havoc with what’s been called ‘psychic powers.’ No supers at the scene yet, but it’s only a matter of time before Ladybug and Chat Noir show up! Stay tooned and I’ll get you all a glimpse.” Excitement poured from Marinette’s friend as she read the news scrolling across her screen. Marinette, on the other hand, felt the familiarity of cool determination flood her. Psychic powers didn’t sound too fun for her and Chat Noir, but she knew they could handle it. They always did.

One quick ignored pleading for Alya to stay safe and one easy excuse of going to the bathroom later, Ladybug swung from rooftop to rooftop on her path to the Louvre. Only a few moments passed before a familiar shadow began to tail her, Chat Noir making his usual flamboyant entrance with a front tuck and shout.

“Beautiful day for an akuma, isn’t it bugaboo?” Not even a cheshire would be able to replicate the blinding grin shot her way.

Ladybug rolled her eyes at the nickname she didn’t even bother telling him off for anymore. She could tell it was one of his favourites, and since last week… Ladybug would let him have every inch of happiness she could give him. She felt as though she owed it to him.

“Beautiful day to beat one, you mean.” Ladybug said with a grunt, tumbling out of her front handspring and loosening her yo-yo around a spire in the distance. His laughter combatted the air whipping by her, tugging and both her heart and mouth to make her smile.

“Of course, My Lady. That poor akuma doesn’t stand a chance.” Chat really ought to be looking where he was going instead of fixing his smile her way. When Ladybug looked his way, he shot a wink her way before executing a backwards full twist on the narrow ledge- a little flashy and unnecessary. Chat Noir must’ve been showing off again. Ladybug hid a giggle at his antics as the two of them powered forward on their way to the Louvre.

Screams greeted them when they got there.

Ladybug crouched on a roof overlooking the devastating scene, Chat Noir landing at her side. They watched in grim silence as the Parisians below shouted and cried at what seemed to be nothing, demons that the two hero’s couldn’t help them fight.

“What…?” Char Noir’s breathless question came out horrified. The unspoken words were answered only a heartbeat later when a scratchy rumbling formed words behind her.

“My name is Mare.”

Ladybug and Chat Noir whirled around, hearts pounding to a synchronized beat of terror. They had advanced senses while in their suits- only a very dangerous akuma could sneak up on them. Her appearance didn’t help Ladybug’s confidence, either.

Gray and black enveloped the akumatized victim from head to gnarled foot. Her skin was closer to scales, pointed ears resembling horns. All attention was drawn to her bright eyes, white and bulbous, blind yet searching. Mare’s gaping maw opened once again, revealing rows of pointed teeth.

“Your nightmares have caught up to you, Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

A clawed hand lashed out her way, faster than Ladybug could blink- but Chat was faster. He deflected with his baton, giving Ladybug an advantage so she could strike Mare while she recovered. Ladybug’s yo-yo wrapped tight around the akuma, pulling the hissing beast towards them. It gave her a moment to analyze the writhing creature, to look for anything that stuck out as an akumatized object-

It struck first.

Her yo-yo had restrained the beasts arms and legs, but that wasn’t how it claimed its victims.

Ladybug only registered the akuma’s lips parting and tongue lashing out before Chat fell over the side of the roof from the force of a blow, letting out a yowl of shock as he fell.

“Chat!” Ladybug dove after her disoriented partner, releasing her hold on the akuma to save him. She grabbed him seconds before he would have met the pavement, landing with him in her arms.

“Chat Noir, are you okay?” He didn’t seem to hear her. Chat’s brows were drawn up in confusion, and his eyes stared right past her. But then they focused on something in the distance. Chat’s face paled.

“Chat Noir..?” Before panic could make itself comfortable in Ladybug’s subconscious, Chat’s head whipped to the side, eyes blown wide in terror.

“Ladybug!” With a desperate cry, he scrambled out of her arms and sprinted away from the akuma, in the direction of something Ladybug couldn’t see.

“Chat, I’m right here!” She chased him desperately, but his fear seemed to have more permeance than hers, for after chasing him through several alleys and over rooftops, she soon lost him.

Alone, worried, and with no idea where the akuma was, it seemed she had only one course of action.

“Lucky charm!”

Chewing taffy fell into her hands, and Ladybug felt her heartbeat slow. She had a plan.

—

Her miraculous cure could always be counted to put things back the way they should be- and so, Chat Noir appeared in a swarm of ladybugs by her side, unscathed and bright-eyed.

Ladybug smiled with the rush of a city saved. “Pound it!” She held out a fist, ready to wrap up a day of good work. But Chat just stared at her outstretched fist with full eyes.

“Is… is that really you, My Lady…?” The voice he used was not one he let out often. It was filled with vulnerability and hurt, and it hurt to hear. Ladybug took a step forward, confused but patient.

“Of course, Chat. I’m right here.” After a moment of hesitation, she slid her hand into his. A moment of horrible understanding rang through her. Mare caused her victims to see illusions of their worst fear, and Chat got hit. Ladybug had a terrible suspicion that his worst fear had something to do with her. Ladybug squeezed his hand tight.

Chat was quiet for a long moment, just staring at their joined hands and slowing his breathing. The beeping of her miraculous cut through their silence, and Chat slowly pulled his hand from hers, jaw clenched. He turned to leave, but Ladybug grabbed his arms. She couldn’t let him leave like this.

“What’s wrong, Chat?” Ladybug’s voice was soft with concern for her partner. A partner that just shook his head, still turned away from her. Ladybug moved in front of him, waiting for him to meet her eyes- but he didn’t. Chat just kept staring at the ground in front of him, jaw clenched in an attempt to keep his emotion at bay.

A second warning beeped from Ladybug’s earrings, it’s sound releasing a bitter anger from Chat.

“I’m sick of it, My Lady. I’m sick of people using my emotions, exploiting how I feel to keep me under his thumb.” A frown tugged at Ladybug’s lips, her eyes dragging over the crease that appeared between his eyes. She didn’t think he was just talking about Hawkmoth.

“Chat…” she took a slow step forward, “…is there anything you want to talk about?” Chat’s eyes snapped to hers, welling with so much hurt and desperation that Ladybug saw white for a moment- white on his suit, white in his hair, and white-hot rage in his veins. She couldn’t help but suddenly step back. The window to his whirlwind of hurt shuttered close as he took in the movement. Took in her anxiety.

“Yes, there’s a lot I want to talk about. But I know you wouldn’t want to hear it.” His eyes were twin flames, burning through the pain that lit his heart. His teeth gnashed as he continued. “You always stress how we have to work as a team, but you don’t care!” His shout cut through the easy chatter on the Parisian streets below. Ladybug could only stare at him with wide eyes, heart pounding a rhythm of I do care, of course I care, I care so much, but Chat couldn’t hear it. His eyes were fixed on the foot that stepped away from him. “All you care about is keeping our identities secret!”

Thunderous green eyes snapped to hers- a mistake. All the rage that kept his afloat left him at the startled pain in his Lady’s eyes, leaving him to drown in shame and regret. But his heart still had a few more words. He looked down to his feet.

“I… I need you, My Lady. But you keep telling me I can’t talk to you…” Chat’s voice broke, along with the confidence that kept him there. With a speed that made Ladybug flinch, Chat disappeared over the nearest roof in a flash of black.

“Chat, wait!” Her call echoed down the streets of Paris and remained unanswered. Ladybug, heroine of Paris and recent conquerer of akuma, stayed still and silent until her miraculous’s final beep.

—-

Marinette made a lot of mistakes, but this one stuck. It hovered over, lay heavily on her hunched shoulders, and whispered doubts in her ear. She was letting what she’d seen in the alternate timeline get to her- and worse, she was letting it get to Chat. Marinette hadn’t felt the sting of believing herself a failure since Stoneheart, but at her partner’s words… she felt as though she failed him completely.

Being partners was meant to make them stronger, but it seemed like they were tearing each other apart. Marinette couldn’t let that happen.

It was with that conviction that she transformed, called her kitty for a quick meeting on the Eiffel Tower, picked up her vintage boom box, and tentatively grabbed a CD she never thought she’d ever touch again.

The moon sat high in the sky by the time Ladybug arrived, brighter for the stars that stood at its side. She had to remind herself that this was what she needed- what both she and Chat needed.

He arrived a few minutes later, a streak of black holding stubbornly dark in defiance of the moon’s best efforts. Ladybug knew him well enough to know that the hunch in his silhouette’s shoulders was the result of hounding shame. That his hesitance meant he was sorry- but that he didn’t want to talk about what he’d said.

Ladybug beckoned him into the light. She tried her best not to crumple at the cautious look in his eyes that drowned out his smile.

“Beautiful night, M’Lady. But I’ve got a feline that’s not the only reason for your late night cat-call.” His glinting teeth and playful tongue were trying to tell her he was fine, but the dullness in his eyes was a fierce contradiction. Ladybug took an involuntary step forward, wishing she could put the teasing spark back into his eyes through sheer force of will. He looked desolate, desperate… he looked too much like Chat Blanc.

Ladybug’s eyes quickly flickered down to the boom box she held before that thought could catch.

“Well, you’ve always said that the team would benefit from hanging out without the threat of an akuma attack or the responsibility of patrol and I don’t usually have enough time in the day, but…” Ladybug looked up at her partner from beneath the shield of her eyelashes, suddenly nervous. The plan of tonight was little more than a determined impulse.

“… but now I have time.” She held out the boom box as if it were an explanation. Chat Noir’s ears perked up, eyes flickering from boom box to teammate. A smile crept unbidden up his face all the way to his eyes, which lit with an excited spark.

“My sweet bugaboo,” Chat teased with a quirk of his lips, “did you call me up to join you in a starlit dance for two?”

Ladybug couldn’t help the heat that rushed to her face, nor the quick instinct to defend herself against his insinuating guess (even if it was exactly what she had planned). She crossed her arms as well as she could manage with the bulk in her arms.

“Not like that, Chat!” She knew half of his smug smirk came from the fact that her face lit up like a flame- and that he had he night vision to see it. Ladybug wrangled with her emotions enough to sober herself to the task at hand after a few moments.

“I just figured…” Her famed superheroine bravery faltered just when she needed it most. The small patient smile Chat gave in response didn’t help quell the nervous butterflies that had taken residence in her stomach.

“I just figured,” Ladybug tried again, “we both need this.” She raised her eyes to see Chat’s blinking back at her, surprise mixed with something more tender. A few moments stretched between them, and this time it was Ladybug who had to look away first. The small grin Chat gave her was all the permission she needed to turn and ready the music.

With her back to him, Ladybug could feel the heat of his eyes on the back of her neck, watching as she fumbled to put the disk into her music player. After what felt like far too long for her, the music began to play.

“Un petit chat sur le toit, se languit sans sa lady…”

The woman’s voice began to spill from the speakers, flooding the night with sound. A sound that caused Ladybug’s heart to pound, and took staring at Chat Noir and fiercely reassuring herself that he was right in front of her and fine to keep herself from shutting the music back off.

If songs were capsules for memories, she was just going to have to create enough good ones to outweigh the bad. And that started with remembering that her Chat Noir was not the broken kitty that lived alone in a world he destroyed.

Ladybug’s steps were featherlight as she began to sway to the music. Chat watched her with eyes that glinted in the moonlight.

“I love this song.” He said softly, careful not to break the spell that seemed to have fallen over the two of them. Chat Noir took a step towards her, taking her hand before she could protest. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected Chat to slowly bring her to him, placing a hand around her waist after checking for her quick nod. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t secretly hoped for it.

Flashes of white were kept at bay by focusing of the hand in hers, on Chat’s hold on her waist. He grounded her, supported her, saved her from the memory that clawed at her from the inside. The nervous fluttering in her stomach, the sparks that leaped from glove to glove- those she couldn’t be saved from. They moved as one to the beat of the music, of what they didn’t know was both of their favourite song.

“Ladybug?” She was startled out of her thoughts, the absence of a nickname making her frown. Chat was closer than she first thought, and when she looked up, his green eyes were gazing right back at her under hooded eyelashes. When he swallowed, she felt it. Ladybug hadn’t realized their chests were nearly touching- now that she did though, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away.

Ladybug was transfixed, a victim to a melody that she couldn’t remember the reason for hating, in the embrace of a boy who she couldn’t remember the reason for rejecting. She was struggling to focus on what he was about to say, struggling hard because she could tell by the way he breathed deep that it was important. Ladybug could tell Chat was struggling just as hard to get the words out

“I’m sorry.” Chat breathed, and Ladybug couldn’t think of one thing he should be apologizing for.

“I’m sorry for yelling, and I’m sorry for blaming you for something that really isn’t your fault.” He twirled her under his arm. “I guess I just had a lot on my mind, and Mare’s illusion was…”

He faltered for a moment, and stumbled but Ladybug picked up where he left off without missing a beat. “It was more than I could handle without cracking.” Chat winced, and Ladybug recognized the guilt that laid in his eyes all too well.

Ladybug met his gaze. “I want you to know that you can always talk to me, Chat. Even though it would be very dangerous for us to learn too much about each other,” Ladybug’s heart leapt at a reminder of what had nearly happened to Chat (and the entire world) when she couldn’t keep her most important secret, “I’ll admit that there are things more important than secret identities. Yeah yeah, don’t look so shocked.”

Ladybug huffed in response when Chat Noir lifted his eyebrows to a comical height at her last statement. He let out a short laugh, and Ladybug joined only a moment later.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, or someone to dance with,” she shot him a shy smile, “I’ll always be here for you.”

The promise was held in the air, tested for its strength out in the night before Chat responded, sincere and hushed.

“Thank you.”

The song had ended, but Ladybug and Chat Noir still swayed together, dancing to the wild drum of their hearts. Chat spun Ladybug once again, this time ending with her back brushing against his chest, hands in his and arms crossed across her waist. Her eyes closed in the bliss of the moment as she swayed with her best friend and partner. It only lasted a moment.

Her eyes shot open and she sprang forward the moment another face raced to the forefront of her mind, the face of a boy who was sweet and considerate and cheered her up when she was down. Ladybug viciously reminded herself that she was desperately in love with Adrien Agreste, and that she definitely should not be giving Chat Noir the wrong idea by turning a very platonic dance into a heated romantic one.

The thought was almost knocked from her head as Chat Noir stood across from her with eyes wide in confusion and disappointment. His hands fell back to his sides from where they had been outstretched, holding her. Ladybug’s traitorous heart had the audacity to twinge painfully at the sight.

“The music stopped! We can’t just dance without music, so, um, we should probably go back now. It’s getting pretty late too, I’ll see you tomorrow!” The speed of which she spoke, packed up her stuff, and flew from the tower was near record breaking.

Chat stood alone once more as he watched her fly away. It was time he accepted it- the two of them would never be as close as he wanted with all of the secrets between them.

#MLBsecretsanta #mlsecretsanta #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #angst #comfort

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jooheonspinky · 4 years ago

Text

Saudade - Ot7 | 10

Ot7 BTS

Genre: Psychological Thriller

Rating: M (Mature)

word count: 3,203

Trigger Warnings: Hospitalization (rehab, mental institute). Mental health issues (Text Reason to 741741 if you need to reach out for help). Insinuated M x M (if you squint hard enough). Substance abuse (alcohol, pills | call 1-800-662-4357 if you are dealing with this). Weapons (gun, knife). Smoking (cigarettes, weed). Mentions of suicide/attempted suicide (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255). Violence (murder/attempted murder). Mentions of blood. Mentions of therapy sessions (these are not accurate representations, please leave it to proper professionals). Mentions of physical abuse (Call 1-800-799-7233 if you are dealing with domestic violence) WE DO NOT GLORIFY THESE WARNINGS/TRIGGERS; THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY, AND DOES NOT RELATE TO ANY OF THE MEMBERS. IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH ANY OF THESE, PLEASE REACH OUT TO YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES FOR ASSISTANCE, OR THE NUMBERS LISTED ABOVE.

↤ Previous| 10 | Next ↦

January 20th, 2018 | 12:05

“Alright Jungkook, are you ready?”

I turn towards Jin-hyung, unable to stop the pout of my lips as hyung’s face is enveloped with worry. He’d run me through what this session would entail for the past week, ensuring me that I’m making great progress...is he second guessing this?

“Yes, hyung,” I assure, a smile playing at the edges of my lips. “I want to get better.”

Jin-hyung nods his head, his pen flicking across the notepad, the sound seemingly loud within the small room. As usual his dark brown hair is slicked back out of his face, exposing his forehead and his scrunched up eyebrows. He’s wearing contacts again today, but I’m not able to see clearly with his eyes casted downwards, his legs crossed to support the notepad in his lap. We stay silent as he takes his notes, and I’m tempted to ask what he’s writing, but I know he won’t tell me.

After what feels like a few minutes, he lifts his head and gives me a smile, his expression still unsure. “Alright then, let’s begin.”

I give a small smile back before leaning into the armchair, forcing my body to relax and prepare. I take five deep breaths, willing the air to fill my lungs completely before expelling them from my body, giving a nod once I’m done.

“Okay, Jungkook. As a reminder, you are completely safe in this room, and I will be here with you to guide you. Should you ever feel unsafe, you only need to say your safeword...do you remember what that is?”

“Lily.”

“Very good. Once you say your safeword, I will quickly direct you back. Do you have any questions for me?”

A shift to my left has my head turning, and I can’t help but give a weary look to the unknown man within the room. I don’t immediately recognize him, but clearly he was allowed access to my session with hyung, his face stoic as his eyes bore into mine. Hyung gives a small cough to direct my attention back, and I practically have to rip my eyes away from the unknown man, the back of my mind tingling with something that I can’t quite figure out.

“No, hyung. I don’t have any questions.”

“Perfect,” he chirps, leaning forward in his chair so that his gaze is level with mine as his hands come together in his lap. “Make sure you are seated comfortably. Your neck and shoulders should be relaxed, your back resting against the back of the seat, and your feet are flat on the ground.”

I immediately follow hyung’s instructions while also ensuring I’m taking deep breaths. Part of me is scared of what’s to come, and the other part of me realizes I can’t keep living obliviously unaware of my past. Hyung only wants to help me so that I can get better, so I can try and have a normal life again. I don’t want to keep feeling trapped.

“We’re going to begin counting down from 5, and as we do, you’re going to slowly let your chin touch your chest. 5...deep breath in as you feel your vision grow hazy. 4...let the air flow out as you blink, feel how your eyelids are tingling. 3...deep breath in, your eyes are feeling heavier and it’s getting more difficult for you to keep them open. 2...breathe out, your eyes are now completely shut. Make sure you continue your deep breaths...1.

Now I want you to imagine a chart of numbers, from one to five. This is the chart of relaxation, where one means you are not relaxed, and five means you are completely relaxed. Now Jungkook, please tell me what number you are feeling this moment, based off of this relaxation chart.”

Five.

“Good, good. Make sure you continue taking deep breaths, and you will notice the chart is gone. As you take in your surroundings, you will find yourself in an empty white room. There is no light in the room, but you do not feel scared because it is still bright. Go ahead and take a moment to ensure you are alone in the white room...are you alone?”

Yes.

“Freeze. You’re facing the north side of the room, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through. Your hair ruffles, but it does not get in your face. You do not feel cold. Bit by bit, turn your body so that you’re facing the south side of the room. As you’re turning, notice that small bits of a sidewalk come into your view. This sidewalk extends past the walls of the room, but that’s alright. Do you see the sidewalk in front of you?”

Yes.

“Perfect. How are you feeling Jungkook?”

Fine.

“Okay. To the left of the sidewalk are ten lamp posts, which will guide you down the sidewalk. Each lamp post rests next to each square section of sidewalk. Go ahead and take a step forward into the first square of sidewalk. I want you to allow your body to further relax as we make our way past each lamp post. Step into the second square...your shoulders are relaxed and your jaw is unclenched. Step into the third square...you’re feeling more relaxed. Step into the fourth square...your body feels light and you feel completely free of tension. Step into the fifth square...your breaths are steady as you take note that there are only five more lamp posts. Step into the sixth square...you’re feeling more and more relaxed. Step into the seventh square...only three more lamp posts. Step into the eighth square...deeper and deeper into relaxation. Step into the ninth square...and now step into the tenth square. You have now come to the end of the sidewalk, with the last lamp post to your left.

Now I want you to imagine a chart of numbers again, but this time from one to ten. This is the chart of deeper relaxation, where one means you are not deeply relaxed, and ten means you are deeply relaxed. Please tell me what number you are feeling this moment, based off of this deeper relaxation chart.”

Ten.

“Jungkook I want you to tell me in what direction you are looking at this chart. Are you looking up at this chart or down at this chart?”

Down.

“Alright, now take a moment to very slowly lift your head away from this chart. Notice how with every centimeter you look away from the chart it begins to disappear, and your field of vision becomes consumed with the sight of a cabin. Do you see the cabin, Jungkook?”

Yes.

“Go ahead and describe the cabin to me.”

It’s two stories tall, with a small porch leading to the front door. The wood is dark, but I can’t tell if that’s because it’s night. There’s a large oak tree to the right of the cabin, a makeshift swing hanging from one of the thick branches. I want to go on the swing.

“Jungkook, I need you to focus on the cabin. It’s approximately the middle of August, and the air is nice and warm. There’s a dirt path that leads up to the cabin, please make your way towards it. As you’re walking towards it, you notice there are some people walking with you. Can you please tell me who is all there?”

I look around, unable to help but smile when I see Jin-hyung to my left, his expression mirroring mine as he carries a pack of beers with him. He gestures towards something to my right, and I quickly turn my head to see Jimin and Yoongi in deep conversation. Shifting my body, I glance behind us to see Namjoon, Hoseok, and Taehyung all cheerily talking. It’s so nice seeing all of my friends.

“Can you tell me why you’re all there, Jungkook?”

We’re here to celebrate the end of summer, it was Yoongi’s idea since he was going to start getting busy producing new music. We all chipped in to rent out the cabin for the weekend.

“That sounds like fun. Now tell me, does Jin only have beer? Or is there something else?”

I...I’m not sure. Jin-hyung is holding a pack of beer. I don’t see anyone else holding anything.

“Go ahead and listen in on the conversation taking place behind you. What are they saying?”

Taehyung is asking Hoseok if he brought anything, and Namjoon is saying that it’s a bad idea. Hoseok says it’s okay, and that he brought a special stash along with the usual. I’m not sure what the special stash is though.

“That’s okay. Let’s continue focusing on your approach to the cabin. You’ve managed to open the door and you all step inside one by one. What’s the first thing everyone starts doing?”

Jin-hyung heads straight for the kitchen to put the beers in the fridge, I can hear him on the phone ordering pizza for all of us as Namjoon joins him. Jimin and Yoongi go for the living room couches, continuing their conversation. Hoseok says he’ll be in the bathroom preparing his stash, and Taehyung goes for the stereo system that sits next to the tv in the living room. Everyone laughs at Taehyung’s choice of music as it blasts throughout the cabin.

“And where do you go, Jungkook?”

I...I stand in the foyer for a bit longer before I join Jin-hyung and Namjoon in the kitchen. They’re standing close to each other and talking in hushed voices, but they both smile when I enter the room. I ask them what they’re talking about, but they tell me not to worry about it. I want to know though, so I ask them again. They look at each other before they look at me, Jin-hyung’s eyebrows come together as Namjoon gestures for me to step closer. They…

“What do they say, Jungkook?”

They...They start talking about Taehyung. About what happened in June.

“What happened in June?”

Taehyung got arrested again. He...he was caught vandalising a building. The cops had brought him into the station, and allowed him to make a call. He called Jin-hyung...but hyung was busy. He wasn’t able to answer the call, so Tae left a voicemail. Later, when hyung was able to listen to the voicemail, Tae was asking him to bail him out. Tae had asked for hyung not to tell Namjoon, because he didn’t want to disappoint him. But Jin-hyung called Namjoon to tell him what happened...only Namjoon doesn’t answer his phone. That’s why Tae is ignoring Jin-hyung...he’s still upset over hyung not answering his call and for telling Namjoon anyways.

“Alright, Jungkook, but why are they talking about this?”

They...they’re worried about Tae. Namjoon said that Tae has been acting more reckless. Getting drunk, getting into fights...Namjoon was worried that Tae would try to...to hurt himself again.

“Taehyung previously tried to hurt himself? How?”

After Tae and Namjoon hyung got arrested together a year ago, Tae’s parents kicked him out. He...he figured he had no point in living and tried to...he tried to…

“Okay, Jungkook. Let’s focus back on where you’re currently at. You’re still in the room with Jin and Namjoon. Can you please tell me what happens next?”

We hear cheering from the other room, so we follow the sound. Hoseok has come out of the bathroom and is passing his special stash to Taehyung. It’s...it’s pills. Hoseok says that they’ll make us feel good as we party, but I don’t like it. I tell them I don’t want to take any, but Taehyung tells me not to be a party pooper. I...I don’t want to ruin the atmosphere, not while everyone is looking at me like that.

I take the pill and pop it back just as Tae goes for another one. Hoseok is whooping with excitement but Namjoon tries to discourage Tae. Taehyung doesn’t even look at him before he’s popping the second pill in his mouth, smiling wide.

“Alright. We’re gonna go ahead and skip forward a little bit. The pizza has arrived, and you’ve all eaten. You’re all feeling pretty good as you drink and talk. Where are you now, Jungkook?”

I’m...I’m in the doorway of the kitchen, listening to Jin hyung trying to talk to Taehyung. Tae isn’t having it, and keeps cursing at hyung, which makes my stomach churn. Hyung keeps trying to apologize, but he’s getting cut off by Tae, and soon their voices get louder. A loud thud rings through the room and out into the hallway, and Namjoon is quick to pick up on the sound, pushing past me and into the kitchen. I’m scared...but I peek my head in and see Jin hyung on the floor, Taehyung on top of him as he punches hyung’s face. Namjoon is just standing there, frozen in shock as hyung’s blood splatters onto the floor. Taehyung...he reaches up to the kitchen counter and grabs a knife...he…

“Jungkook, I need you to take a deep breath. Close your eyes for a moment, and remember that you are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. Now open your eyes...what do you see?”

Tae stabs hyung...right in the chest. Hyung’s crying, his mouth open and eyes wide from shock. Tae’s eyes...they’re dark and angry, and my teeth chitter as a chill runs down my spine. Taehyung looks up, his eyes locking with mine, and I have the urge to run when I see him stand. Namjoon runs into the kitchen, his legs giving out as he falls down to hyung’s body.

“Jungkook...I thought Namjoon was already in the kitchen?”

I called you guys into the room, and you and Jimin grab Taehyung as I called the cops.

He was - is - in the kitchen. He calls out for help and we run inside.

“Who is ‘we’, Jungkook?”

Me, Jimin, and Yoongi. Namjoon tells us to grab a hold of Tae so he can call the cops. But...Tae is strong. He breaks from our hold and starts running upstairs.

“Where is he going, Jungkook?”

I...I don’t know. I run up the stairs too, passing Hoseok’s passed out body on the couch before I hear footsteps behind me. I’m..I’m scared. I feel panic set in as I stand in the middle of the hallway on the second floor, so I go into the first room on my right. I quickly close the door before I run to the closet, shoving myself inside and covering my mouth.

“Why are you hiding, Jungkook?”

Because I’m scared. I try and listen for footsteps, but I can’t hear properly over the thumping in my ears, a mix of the loud music and my pulse. I jump when the door to the room I’m in flies open, and I hear a scraping sound. I don’t want to move, but the sound of more steps in the distance has me shaking. Whoever is in the room stops, and I peek through the gap in the closet doors. It’s Taehyung...he’s standing in front of the window.

“What is Taehyung doing?”

Nothing...just standing there. I try and quietly step out of the closet, but it doesn’t make a difference. Tae sees my reflection in the mirror, and he begins to turn towards me. I panic, my body is shaking and I see Taehyung smirk...I…

“Tell me what happens Jungkook.”

He jumps out the window.

The glass breaks as his body flies through the window. Large black wings appear on his back, ripping through his clothes, and he’s being carried into the wind.

“Jungkook, I am going to count backwards from five to one. As I’m counting you are going to slowly come back into consciousness. Five.”

He just keeps flying, soaring high into the dark sky, almost blending in with it…

“Four - you feel your body becoming heavier. Three - you feel yourself more aware and focused on where you’re truly at.”

I move closer to the window so that I can try and see him better, but I’m so jealous. He looks so free.

“Two - Jungkook you are going to step back from the window. Your eyes are beginning to tingle and you want to open them.”

Why can’t I be free?

“One - your eyes are open. You are fully aware of your surroundings. Here, Jungkook.”

I turn my head, my eyes becoming wide as I stare at the unfamiliar face in front of me. Realization hits me as a fresh wave of tears spring to my eyes, and I quickly grab for the box of tissues in the Doctor’s hands. All this time...I was hiding from the truth. I didn’t want to remember, but now that I did...I wasn’t sure if it was for the better.

“Do you know who I am, Jungkook?”

I slowly nod my head, grabbing a few more tissues to wipe my nose. “You’re Doctor Kim. Doctor Kim Seojun.”

“That’s right,” he confirms, giving me a small smile. “Do you remember what happened back in August?”

I nod my head before letting it drop, giving up on the tissues as the tears continue to pour out of my eyes, my teeth gripping onto my bottom lip in an attempt to stop my chattering teeth.

“You did a good job, Jungkook, I want you to know that. Now that you remember, I think it would be best if we prevent any visitors from seeing you, just in case you start to regress. Does that sound okay?”

I give a small shrug of my shoulders as I try to contain my tears, but they just don’t seem to stop.

“Do you want another moment, or do you think you’re ready to head back to your room? We can discuss the results of today at a later time.”

I bob my head up and down, standing from my seat just as the Doctor does, and he gestures towards the door. I don’t bother looking at the other figure, just walk to the door, my hand gripping the freezing handle before turning it. The bright lights of the hallway assault my senses, and I duck my head down, gripping the useless tissues in my hands as the sound of footsteps follow behind me. My vision is too blurry to properly look at myself in the reflection of the floor, but that’s fine, I don’t have the courage to face myself at this moment.

It doesn’t take us long to get to my room, the security guard opening my door for me, and I take a step into my room. A moment later, I hear the click of the door closing, but I don’t move. Though my back is facing my room door, I can hear the muffled voice speaking on the opposite side, recognizing it as the Doctor’s.

“Well you have what you were looking for, Detective. I think we should go to my office to continue discu…”

I continue to stand there even when the voices become inaudible as they travel further away.

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anthonyed · 5 years ago

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since i’m already hopeless, i thought i’ll wallow more in stevetony post cacw and try tp fix it. this is a sneak peak

Tony’s broken.

Sometime between Howard’s fist and Maria’s ignorance, he’d heard his heart crack for the first time and quick second then ever since, he’d stopped counting the number of fractures line running along there.

Sometime between the age of fourteen and an assault he felt a chunk drop out, separated from its whole and he remembers still, the way it had ached that night he’d curled to himself and vowed to stop paying attention to said frail organ.

On good days, Tony can hear the muted clanging and banging of the separated clunks of his heart in its cage, missing pivotal pieces that are supposed to glue them all together into something singular and whole.

On bad days, they wail.

He tries to play deaf then; obnoxious music blasting on stereo, sledgehammer rhythmically brought down on spare metals, whiskey, scotch and cocaine overloaded system. Keyword: try. Because nothing, nothing, can mute when the broken starts to scream. Nothing. At all.

The thing is, Pepper said, “You love too much, too hard and all at once, Tony.” But Tony had never known how ever to love otherwise.

Isn’t love supposed to be that way? Aren’t you supposed to make the one you love happy? Do everything to make them happy? Give everything to keep them happy? Even if it strips you off of your dignity, your rich and your own every fucking thing?

“Isn’t that the way to love?” He had asked Pepper then.

She didn’t have an answer for him then and the way she sometimes looks at him these days, when she thinks he’s too distracted to pay her any attention, tells him that she probably doesn’t have one even today.

Naturally, Tony thinks, it’s best if he stops loving.

For a man with an incredibly high IQ reading, he can be embarrassingly stupid. He forgets. Foolishly, he forgets to take into account that the heart wants what it wants and when it does, there is no way for anyone to dictate that choice. Even the great Tony Stark himself.

And boy, did his heart wanted. Stubbornly and longingly, it wanted Steve Rogers.

Rogers with a heart so big and shiny and good to a point of being faulty.

Rogers who’s unbelievable beautiful inside, out that Tony’s shattered, twisted, broken heart sang for him.

Rogers who’s good to everyone and everything but for Tony.

Rogers who didn’t even blink an eye before smashing the remaining pieces of Tony’s heart with his Vibranium shield. Hefted it, planted it and gave it one harsh shove with all of his super soldier strength, that the pitiful remains of Tony’s pathetic heart crumbled and bled void into his veins until Tony became nothing but an empty man.

So empty that when he sees Pepper, she cries because he can’t. And when he sees her eyes, red rimmed and sad, he remembers what she had said once. About the way he loved: too much, too hard and all at once, and he has no one to blame for the damage but himself.

Whether Steve deserves it or not, is not of importance because Tony’s beyond regretting his choices in life after seventeen. The real question is, if Tony deserves it or not.

Most days, when he’s on his back staring at the blue glow on the ceiling of his bedroom, he believes he’s warranted all the hurt he’d been through. Including his parents’ abandonment, the assault, Afghanistan and now, the void in his chest. It’s only fair for all those years he’d ignorantly played the part of Merchant of Death, robbing people of love and the world of its peace. But what terrifies him the most is the realisation that after everything he’d lost, he may have still not paid the full price yet. That there still maybe some more debt written under his name.

And that scares him to death.

So much so that he decides to fuck it and embrace the spiral down. Booze, drugs, girls and lads. Self-destructiveness easily reclaims its residence in the now empty vault of his chest and sings him to hell.

Rhodey looks at him like he’s sixteen and disappointing and Tony doesn’t mind, because he feels as if he’s sixteen and a disappointment. Wearing riches on his skin and pretty faces in each arm. Every. Other. Night. Days stretching into a long and winding blankness - thank you drugs, thank you alcohol - just like the space behind his brittle ribs.

“You’re forty fucking six, Tony!” Rhodey yells at him one afternoon. After he’d recovered from the shock of finding Tony, passed out on a puddle of his own vomit, the floor littered with shards of glasses and broken furniture; aftermath of yet another outrageously reckless night of partying with all the pretties in Cali. “Act like one.”

Tony thinks, memories drawing blank, head aching and palm sticky from half dried streak of blood that may or may not be his. He doesn’t know. His back aches, all the way from his rear that sears in blinding hot pain when he tries to move – that maybe from sex, most likely non-consensual – but, who the fuck cares. Right?

Tony thinks, I’m tired. I don’t want to live anymore and I’m searching for death. Waiting for the day when I don’t have to open my eyes and face another day because all I want is to die. I want to die and all I can think about is dying and god forbid, honeybear, I hope when I do, there is not after world. I just want to stay dead. Blank. Empty. Like this thing inside me, but without the pain.

Tony says, “Relax, Rhodey. I can take care of myself.”

Rhodey looks at him in a particularly disappointed way that day. His dark eyes glowering mad as he punches his fists into his pants’ pocket and strides out of Tony’s mansion.

It’s Pepper he’s wakes up to, two nights later (or so he thinks), surrounded by sterile white walls and antiseptic smell.

“Billionaire Tony Stark found overdosed in his California mansion. Stark Industries stock is predicted to take the biggest dip of the decade.” She reads the headline of New York Times with a deceitfully serene expression on her face.

Tony turns away, unable to look at her with the amount of damage he’d inevitably caused her on his selfish attempt to seek death.

She never visited him again after that. He never saw the way she struggled to keep her tears from spilling before she left that one time.

Happy drives him to the tower; “Miss Potts order, boss,” and Tony’s too gone to even fucking care.

Pepper’s painfully optimistic. Tony is too. It’s part of being a futurist and what not. But he’s specifically pessimistic when it comes to himself. Unlike Pepper.

She puts him on R&D duty. Calls Nick Fury on him.

She makes Rhodey visit him.

All of which breezes past Tony’s apathy as he sprawls over whichever piece of furniture he’d made to and stares emptily at a distance while whoever Pepper had recruited in her mission to make Tony better rambles on and on about something he really doesn’t give a fuck about.

It nearly snaps Rhodey’s final string.

“You know I love you, Tony. But, it hurts to see you like this. I hate this, man. I can’t do this anymore.”

Nearly, because Pepper arrives that night. Takes one look at him and sighs, “He’ll be fine after some time.”

Tony tolerates her and her attempts. He doesn’t really appreciate them. Doesn’t say sorry because, why? Why should he, when he no longer cares?

What’s the point?

Pepper can exit his life and it wouldn’t matter. That’s how bad it is. That’s how low he’d landed and frankly, he doesn’t care or want to get up from there. Because, once again. What is the fucking point?

And then one day, he walks into the kitchen and finds Steve Rogers in there.

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #post cacw #steve x tony #is this long? this feels long #well the actual fic is LONGER #or sort of #who knows

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melyaliz · 5 years ago

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Chapter 1: Ride the Lightning

Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel / X-Men

Summary: Peter had seen a lot of weird things being an X-men but this woman was one of the weirder ones.

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x OC

Notes: Trying to figure out timelines for this is a pain. One of the reasons I HATE the X-Men. We are just going to say this is right after Apocalypse and Peter is around 25. I know I’m going to get hate for it because of time but oh well.

ALSO: I promise requests are getting written. I just had to clean the 12 chapters of my novel so I could send them to my editors. (I’m so close to being done with the first draft I can taste it)

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

DONATE or REQUEST

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

He was never sure what had drawn him to her. It was like this magnetic pull. No matter what he did he found himself back to her. Racing toward her, unable to go anywhere else.

Lighting striking the highest point.

Whoever said lightning never strikes the same place twice was wrong.

Lighting always struck whatever was closest. The highest point in the sky. So if that point was still the highest point it would still strike it.

And that was her, she was so high up he couldn’t see anyone else but her.

She was his angel in the clouds.

----

“Cyclops look out!” Jean screamed as she blocked the large bone spikes that were shot out at her boyfriend. Peter looked around the room assessing the problem. It was 6 of them against 4 of the bad guys.

And they were kind of getting their asses handed to them.

Only kind of though.

Cyclops and Jean were fighting that weird bone shooty guy while Nightcrawler was dodging the mini earthquakes from the other guy while Peter was racing around the blonde chick shooting weird little light bombs at him while Jubilee tried to combat the bursts with her own pyrotechnics.

While Storm, Strom was fighting a chick with hair that was almost as white as hers.

A gust of wind and the chick crashed into a bus.

But instead of seeming to get hurt the shock from the force between the chick and the bus seemed to get absorbed. Dropping down the chick shook her head eyes glowing bright blue sparks with energy.

No one else noticed it, probably because of his speed, but the girl's hands started to flicker with some weird blue light her eyes matching.

Slowly she stood and as Ororo sent another wave of wind the girl raised her hand the wind dying down and her hands glowing visibility now.

Dashing toward his teammate Peter quickly moved the weather goddess away as the girl let out a blast of pure energy. He glanced back at the chick, her face completely stoic no expression, completely blank.

It was kind of creepy.

Once Strom was away from the blast Peter raced toward the girl. It was time to end this.

Grabbing her from behind he pulled her hands behind her back against his chest trying to decide what his next move should be.

“Time to chill out,” he said.

Slowly she turned to look at him, her eyes glowing with energy, “We do not take orders from you.” she said before leaning back so her fingertips touched his wrist.

And suddenly Peter felt… exhausted.

It was as if someone was sucking the life out of him. Or his energy. Or his speed.

The world seemed to slow, drain.

He pulled away from her clutching his wrist eyes focusing on her face. Shock, as he realized the world around him, seemed to speed up, meet him.

Her face looked blank, unmoving in that creepy child of the corn look. But her eyes, her eyes were alight with blue fire. Hair bright as she let the blue energy flow through her body. Rising her hands like a prayer she closed her eyes then spread her arms out letting a wave of energy flow sending everyone flying.

In the dust of it, they were gone.

Peter blinked looking around.

What had just happened?

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

“Late at night, all systems go, you've come to see the show

We do our best, you're the rest, you make it real, you know”

Metallica pulsed through Gemma’s headphones from her walkman as she moved from the bus stop of her job at the post office.

“Adrenaline starts to flow

You're thrashing all around

Acting like a maniac

Whiplash”

Her hand tapped against the door letting the residual reaction flow through her hand. Small sparks of energy pulsing through her veins. Who needs coffee when they have an amazing song?

“Morning!” Her coworker Sandra said waving to her from behind the table where she was organizing letters. Gemma waved back adding a little skip in her step as she made her way back to the packages department.

Gemma liked the post office. It offered some sort of repetition, moving boxes around getting them where they needed to go. It was a lot of mental work but it was consistent and she liked that. They also didn’t mind if she played music while she did it which was a plus.

And when she was done she was done. And she could go home and be home.

And rest.

Gemma had always had problems sleeping. When her mutant abilities had emerged she had just assumed it had something to do with that. Her ability to absorb energy. It was as if every little thing charged her up and sent her into a spiral of energy that she couldn’t quite calm down from. It had taken years worth of therapy and mediation to get it under control.

So when the restlessness had come back she wasn’t really sure why.

It was as if even when she slept she felt even worse the next morning. No matter how early she went to bed or how long she slept in.

“Have a good night last night?” Gemma was broken from her internal whining about wanting a nap by her co-worker Paul who nodded toward the large bruise on her lower arm. She glanced down at it. Yeah, it kind of looked like a handprint.

“Honestly, I don’t even know where I got that.” Gemma laughed pulling at her sleeve trying to cover it and wishing she had worn longer sleeves.

“Man I need the drugs your on” he laughed as he handed her another box.

“Yeah Metallica is one hell of a drug”

“Oh have you checked out Twisted Sister yet?”

“Yeah, I loved it,”

“You should come over tonight, ya know, listen to it. I just got a new kickass stereo”

Gemma bit her lip nervously glancing at Paul. She knew what “hang out and listen to music” meant and… honestly, all she really wanted to do tonight was sleep. Like for real.

“Sorry I promised my parents I would… do this thing.”

“Oh that’s right christen girl.” Paul laughed shaking his head, “Well if you ever want to see how us pagans live let me know.”

“I’ll keep it in mind thanks.”

After several more long hours even her powers couldn’t help her charge enough. Gemma felt like she was going to pass out on the shipping floor. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.

Slowly she dragged herself back to the bus stop before putting in her headphones and resting as the bus drove her home.

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

No matter how fast he ran Peter could not get that feeling out of his head.

His literal speed being drained from his body.

It was back now, the energy within him quickly recharging after they had regrouped at a team but he still felt like he needed to run out that bad taste that was in his mouth.

That feeling. Like slowly getting tired. As if something was draining you. Sucking the very lifeforce out of your body.

He hated it.

Shaking his head he was about to do another lap around the coast when it caught his eye.

She caught his eye.

Maybe it was because he was thinking about last night but… there was no way.

Yet he could have sworn…

No, it wasn’t possible.

Doubling back he ran toward the bus again.

There was no way.

------

The bus stopped to let more people on. Gemma ignored them as she pulled her bag onto her lap to give a newcomer a seat. Settling back in she adjusted her headset as her eyes flickered up for a moment to see a silver-haired boy walking purposefully up to her.

Shit

Please leave me alone. I'm tired.

“It’s you”

Silence stretched between them both. “Oh sorry” she finally said, “I thought there was more to that pickup line.”

Peter felt himself confused, “No I… you know” he sat down next to her making sure he kept enough of a distance from her that he could get away quickly, especially her hands, “The one from the energy plant. Look if you come quietly…”

Was this guy insane? Possibly, I mean this was public transportation.

“Trust me, I’m not...”

“Wait are you listening to Pink Floyd?” he asked quickly pulling off her headphones putting one side to his ear.

“Ohhhh ok.” So this guy was insane, fun. “It’s ok never really been that big of a fan.”

“What?” his large brown eyes looked at you in pure shock as if you had just told him the world was flat and that stars are just fireflies stuck in the sky. You shrugged.

“I’m just more of a Metal fan”

“Like what?”

“Like this” you pulled out the tape and placed Iron Maiden in pressing play as Trooper blasted through the speakers. Gently she put the headphones on his head.

He nodded as the music blasted through the speakers. The energy around it is loud and addicting. He was familiar with the band and while his tastes leaned more for contemporary and experimental rock.

So here’s the thing about talking to strangers on a bus. Don’t do it, especially if they think you are someone you are not.

But there is also the other thing.

Gemma could basically blast this guys head off if she wanted. Maybe not at this moment considering that she felt like she was about to fall asleep at any moment, but if she really needed to he could drain his energy and get away no problem.

So why not talk about music with someone on a long bus ride home.

Also, she had other headphones so if he had some weird ear fungus whatever.

Call it loneliness. Call it boredom. Call it sleep-deprived.

Call it whatever you want but today she decided to just hang with a crazy stranger and listen to music.

So they sat a half a foot apart the headphones stretched between them as she showed him different songs she liked.

“This is me” she finally said a few songs later. Peter blinked in confusion at her comment. Turning to her as the song paused. The girl nodded toward the stop that their bus was slowing down toward. “So yeah…” unplugging the headphones leaving them on his hand she got up grabbing her bag before moving around him to get out. “See ya never”

Peter sat in shock for a moment, what had just happened? How had the time flown by so fast? Normally it was him flying through as the world stood and waited. Blinking a few times he realized the girl was already walking off the bus.

“Hey!”

She paused turning looking over her shoulder at the weird man sitting there with her headphones still in his hand looking at her as if he hadn’t quite caught up with what was going on. It’s ok not all of us are quick on the uptake.

Her bright blue eyes sparkled with the evening sun outside the window and a private joke she was enjoying. That’s when he saw it. The way her fingers tapped the metal handrail in time with the music still echoing in her brain.

Blue sparks.

“I… What’s your name?”

“Gemma”

Two more steps and she was gone, the door closing behind her. Bus pulling away.

What the hell?

---------

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#Peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #Peter Maximoff x oc #Peter Maximoff fanfic #Peter Maximoff oc #Peter Maximoff reader #X-men #X-men fanfic #X-men oc #Thief and the Outlaw #Gemma #my oc #my fic #My writing

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