#Sorry if I sound like a pretentious bitch; I promise I’m not. I should just read more old books… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blahkugo · 4 years ago

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Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

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

Tags:

@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

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theydontknowaboutusimagines · 4 years ago

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Sunflower - Harry Styles AU Series (Volume 5)

The year is 1977 and it’s officially summertime. Y/N is spending it with her family at the Malibu Breeze Hotel, where she meets, aspiring musician, Harry Styles. The two clash in the beginning, but soon realize they may just need each other in the end. Find out just how life changing one summer can be in Sunflower, a Harry Styles AU.

Here is part 5 of Sunflower. Hope you enjoy it!

Vol. 1 Vol. 2 Vol. 3 Vol. 4

Word Count: 2,144k

I had every intention to sleep in the morning, but both Marianne and I were woken up by our mother who insisted we join our parents for breakfast. Even though I was annoyed at my lack of sleep that was quickly catching up with me, it had been awhile since we shared a meal as a family. Or really done anything as a family since arriving here.

Dad still had his meetings, while Mom spent her days with the wives of other men in my father’s business. Then of course, Marianne did her own thing. I brushed through my hair as I got ready, feeling Marianne’s gaze on me.

“So, how’s everything going with you?” She asked me. “I’ve noticed you have been here most nights lately.”

“Interesting because neither have you,” I pointed out.

“Touche,” she laughed. “But seriously, how’s it going? I know you’re in Harry’s band now and that you played with them at The Soundbooth. Shame I heard it from Jessie, who was there and not my own sister.”

“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I didn’t know I would be playing there and I guess I didn’t tell you about it after because I figured you didn’t care.”

Marianne bites her lip, “Y/N, I know we haven’t been close, but I’m still your sister. I love you and care about you, besides I’m the one who pushed you to do this because I believe in you. So, yeah, you’re damn right I want to know what’s going on with you.”

I hid back a smile, “Okay.”

“Promise?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Promise,” I nodded.

Once both of us were finished getting ready, we walked down to the dining hall where my parents were waiting. We saw them sitting at their table, but we noticed they weren’t alone. There was a guy who appeared to be around our age give or take a few years sitting at the side of the table by my father. He wore a fancy dress shirt and slacks, too fancy for the beach, and short blonde hair slicked back.

I looked over at Marianne, wondering if maybe he was a friend of hers, trying to impress our father, but she wore the same confused expression as I did. The closer we got, the more confused I became. Whoever the guy was, my father knew him well, based on their conversation and body language.

“Oh, there you girls are,” my mother smiled practically clapping her hands together.

My mother’s statement put my father and this mystery guest's conversation on pause as they all looked at us.

“Y/N, Marianne, I would like you to meet William, he’s George’s son,” My father said.

Ah, the bosses’ son.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Marianne snorted before sitting down.

“Hello,” I nodded sitting down next to Marianne.

“So, Y/N, I invited William here today because he’s visiting from Boston and I thought he could share with you what University is like there,” My father said, picking up his glass of orange juice.

It took everything I had to not roll my eyes, “Oh, um, thank you… for that,” I said.

Marianne was smirking behind her glass and wanted to kick her.

“Y/N, your dad’s told me you’re still unsure of where you want to go,” William said.

“Well, I mean... “ I started.

“It’s completely understandable. Women haven’t exactly been attending college for long,” he said. “Do you know of what you might major in?”

“She’s talked about teaching perhaps,” my father interrupted.

“Oh, that’s perfect and certainly needed,” William said. “There are many wonderful colleges and Universities in Boston that have excellent teaching programs.”

“Wonderful,” I mumbled, biting off a piece of toast.

And that’s exactly how the rest of breakfast went, my father and William having a conversation with us commenting here and there. I try not to be one who judges someone right away, but I could tell that William was a pretentious dick who lived off Daddy’s money.

Yes, my family had money and were well off compared to most, but I didn’t talk about it or wear fancy clothing to show it off either.

Finally, the meal was over and Marianne and I were just about to make a break for it, when William spoke up.

“A few friends of mine are heading out for a boat ride soon, if you two would care to join,” he said. “We could talk some more about Boston.”

“That sounds lovely, doesn’t it girls?” My father asked, looking at both Marianne and I.

I wanted to decline, to go about my day doing what I needed to do to prepare for rehearsal that evening, but the look on my father’s face told me exactly what I needed to do.

“Sure, we’ll meet you down at the Marina once we change,” I said.

Neither Marianne or I said anything as we changed into our bathing suits. There was more to William inviting us to hangout with his friends than him just being nice. The odds my father arranged for his invite were quite high. He was pushing for me to make a decision about school, especially since the start of the school year was just around the corner. But I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. I needed a plan and it all depended upon what happened with Harry’s band.

When we arrived at the marina, William and a group of five or six were loading onto one of the biggest boats I’d seen since being here. I don’t know what I was expecting, to be honest, but I should have known it wasn’t going to be an average boat.

“Ladies! Welcome, welcome! Come aboard!” William shouted, motioning his arms around.

“All I know is there better be some fancy ass beer,” Marianne mumbled. “And snacks.”

“If not we could always jump ship and swim our way back,” I suggested.

“Yeah, and have Dad flip? How we act around him and his rich little friends reflects Dad,” she said. “This little arrangement isn’t random.”

“I figured as much,” I said following behind her up the dock and on to the boat.

“You two are looking dynamite,” he winked. “We have drinks, snacks, and help. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask Harry and Jasper.”

I froze scanning the boat hoping William was talking about a different pair named Harry and Jasper. Unfortunately, he was not, standing there holding a pitcher of lemon water was Harry. His hair was clipped back on top of his head in his light blue Malibu Breeze uniform. He looked annoyed and miserable, until his eyes landed on me.

I smiled and waved my fingers at him. He walked over to me and Marianne, “Water, miss?” He asked, annoyance dripping from his voice.

“Oh, we’re fine,” Marianne answered before I could open my mouth.

And then he walked away.

“Did you know he was going to be here?” Marianne asked as we sat down at the front of the boat.

“No, and he doesn’t look like he knew I would be here either,” I sighed.

“Okay, look, I know you’re part of his band, but you can’t make it seem like you know him. If William suspects that you know Harry outside of him working at the hotel, he could tell Dad and then he’ll shit on your parade before it even gets started,” she said.

“That’s real rich coming from you,” I told her. “I’m the one who keeps to herself most of the time, but now I’m the one who is going to fuck things up for Dad if I’m not on my best behavior.”

Marianne glared at me, “You know what fine, if you want to be a bitch, go right ahead.”

With that she pushed herself off the bench, stomping her way towards the rest of the group. I sighed looking out at the ocean as the boat started to pick up speed. Marianne was right, but I couldn’t put on a facade just to impress someone, that was something she did and was good at. It’s one of the many reasons why she got away with so much.

“There you are,” I heard a male voice from behind me.

For a moment, the voice belonging to Harry crossed my mind, but as soon as I turned around William was the one standing there.

“Not a fan of a crowd?” He asked nodding towards the group of his friends behind us.

“Um, not really no,” I said. “So, this is your boat?”

“My father’s,” William said, sitting next to me. “Although, I’m the one who uses it the most with him being in the office all the time.”

I nodded, “How long are you here for?”

I didn’t really care other than wondering how long he would be around to try and tell me all about Boston.

“A few weeks actually,” he said. “I’ve got time off from my internship, so I thought I’d come here.”

“Hm, from the way you talked about Boston this morning I’m surprised you want to leave,” I snorted.

He laughed, “Yeah, well sometimes we need a change of scenery, right?”

“I guess,” I nodded.

“Teaching, huh?” He asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure,” I told him, not sure why, but the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. “There’s a lot I don’t know about my future, but my dad- he wants me to go to University. I think he wants me to follow in his footsteps, business, you know? But I’ve seen what he goes through and I don’t want that.”

“That would be hard, especially when you get around to having a family,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, side-eyeing him.

Our conversation turned silent after that, both of us sitting beside the other. Glancing over at him, I noticed he looked different than he had earlier that morning. His blonde hair no longer slicked back, but blowing freely in the wind. He wore bright orange swimming shorts with a white tank top. A small light colored beard poked through his chin, glistening in the sunlight.

After a while, I needed to get away. I asked for the bathroom, which was below deck. Of course, this boat would have a bathroom. Walking past the group and Marianne, who was laughing and joining in with the group like they’ve been friends for years instead of an hour, I found the steps heading down below.

Luckily, my plan had worked and Harry was down there, plating more snacks onto trays.

“Hey,” I said softly.

He looked up from his tray of food, “Need something?”

“No, I uh, I just… I wanted to see you,” I told him.

“Hm, you mean your boyfriend’s okay with you being down here conversing with the help?” He asked.

“William? He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, confused. “And even if he was, I would still be down here talking to you regardless of what he thought.”

“Right,” Harry said. “Look, I think it’s best if you just go about your business and I’ll go about mine. I’m working and I don’t get paid to talk to the guests, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“And just like that you’re back to be a complete ass!” I snapped. “What is wrong with you? I thought we moved past this last night.”

“This is who I am, Y/N, you might as well get used to it,” he said before walking up the steps, taking the tray of food with him.

My time being stuck on the boat was finally over. Jasper docked the boat at the marina and everyone started gathering their belongings. I couldn’t get off fast enough. Harry ignored me the rest of the trip and his face was in a permanent scowl. William staying close to me and at one point putting his arm around my shoulder, didn’t help any.

“Y/N! Wait,” William yelled after me just as I reached the ramp onto the dock.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Would you like to join me for dinner in the dining hall tonight?” He asked.

“Oh, I uh, I’m afraid I have plans tonight,” I replied.

“Oh, what time?” He asked.

“Um, around 9,” I said.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “We can have dinner around seven, see you then?”

“I-” I started to say, but he interrupted.

“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby,” he smiled, kissing my cheek before heading back onto the boat.

I stared straight ahead to where Harry was standing there witnessing what just happened with me and William. The veins of his arms popped out as his grip tightened around the rope in his hands. I opened my mouth to say something to him, but he just walked right past me, not uttering a word.

Let me know what you thought!

Also, if you have any ideas you would like me to include in part 6, send those in.

#Harry Styles Imagines #Harry Styles AU Series #Harry Styles Fanfic

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inquisitoracorn · 4 years ago

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Tevinter Nights reading live-tweets reacts - Part 1?

I just got the book, and thought it would be fun to write down thoughts as I read, in a pseudo-reaction-video sort of way and post them on my blog. Anyone wanting to join me into laughing at myself, thoughts are below the line :)))

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Spoilers for Three Trees to Midnight and Down Among the Dead Men, also there’s a lot of swearing (Trespasser as well actually)

Enjoy!

Three Trees to Midnight

- VENTUS HAS FALLEN????

- Heheh.... Bas-taar--d - heheheheh

- I like this elf - STRIFE hello my new fave

- Something tells me the plan isn't gonna go as planned

- Oh noooooooooo tranquility elixir but fucking worse

- THIS IS SO SAD, FUCK.

- Oh nice gesture, but Myrion you're a fucking idiot

- Run bois

- WAIT ARE HALLA PEOPLE??

- These are all so fucking sad I feel sad for everyone

- Oh ok she's just a shapeshifter wow I am stupid

- Didn't know the Antaam can do shit on their own, I genuinely thought the Viddasala had orders from the Qun and they later washed their hands off her

- So does the Qun not object to the military doing their thing as long as it goes with the general principles of the Qun?? Aren't wars supposed to be a bit more planned out? Interesting

- Full draw for a gull? It will obliterate the poor bird - god the Qunari are weird

- Wow they're all pretentious fools and one day they'll trip over their own...wisdom

- Is Bull so different from the other Qunari because he spent time in the south I wonder

- The Qun contradicts itself so much I love it

- Fuck

- Myrion can you not be a little bitch for one second - I think he's gonna die

- Oh fuck of course they got caught

- Fifty years huh

- Yes Myrion fight for the pastries! :)))))

- OH FUCKKKKKK

- THE FUCK IS THAT

- It's like.....futuristic robot guardian killer dogs... But it's rocks and vines...and blades

- So far, the most common Tevinter phrase I've heard is "I'm not a magister"

- FINALLY cooperation - Myrion still not gon make it tho

- Heking knew that Bastaard will trip over his own...competence. Oh you'll see. I hope.

- “I’ll make a note to have my slaves apologize for doubting her” - hehehehehe cute - now I'm sorry he's gonna die

- The work together speech tho :)))))))

- PLOT TWIST, NICE

- My former assessment of the Qun was correct

- Is that why he didn't shoot the gull damnit

- Awwwwww Myrion LIVES

Down Among the Dead Men

- Ohh is this Nevarra are we in Nevarra (it'd be handy cuz I need to write Nevarra soon) - yeeeesssss

- Is Audric afraid of the dead

- I take it the corpses getting a bit friendly isn't part of the ritual

- I love Audric and I love Manfred too

- Do the Mortalitasi have templars?

- googles bailiwick

- “Should be nigh impossible this close to the Grand Necropolis” - is there a disruption in the Veil? Is the Veil wobbly?

- A rib?? Wait it wasn't a fresh corpse? That fight got intense

- Ivona sus

- They can't have killed any dragons the Inquisitor killed them all in the last game

- Both dead huh... Both very good at stabbing

- Forty years ago - Audric's fashion savagery rivals Vivienne's and Dorian's

- “I promise, guardsman: You will be perfectly safe by my side” - never trust promises made in literature, Audric

- Poor Audric - I catch myself thinking every few sentences :)))

- Myrna stop exploiting Audric's architectural nerdiness - curiosity will be his doom

- It would 100% work on me tho

- .... googles cathexis

- “Twice” QwQ

- The necropolis sounds dope

- Myrna is the picture of professionalism

- Once again poor Audric that boy has done nothing wrong in his life

- The skeletons in Nevarra have some temper, wow, they're so fussy

- Uncatalogued - please tell me we get to catalogue things in the next game

- Pride again why is it always pride

- I knew there was something with Audric but what is ittttt

- Myrna knows I am positive

- WAAAAAAATTTTT????? WAIT SINCE WHEN

- Ok at least he didn't die right then in the Necropolis somehow that would have made me a lot sadder

- Poor. Audric.

- Easier to think now that the body doesn't need to deal with puny things such as breathing :))))))))

- I think that about sleep

- "I am cataloguing all the ways I've been a fool" will now enter my everyday speech repertoire

- Can't believe they did actually killed each other in a petty duel

- It'll be fiiiiineeeee - good thing he's already dead

- Dawwwwwww Audric the un?dead librarian

- Can...can we have Audric as a companion in DA4? An interactable NPC? Can we give Audric a hug Bioware PLEAS-

That’s all for now :)))

#dragon age #dragon age literature #tevinter nights spoilers #how should I name this #tevinter nights keysmashing #that'll do

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lumiolivier · 4 years ago

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The Good Old Days Chapter Thirteen: Checking In on a Friend

A/N: We, as a society, have evolved past the need for April Fools jokes. Everything I tell you today is 100% genuine. I pinky promise. Even with my other pinky and my pinky toes. But if you get near my pinky toes, I might stab a bitch. Anyway, so! For the sake of streamlining everything all nice and neat like, the Good Old Days is moving! To Thursdays! Why? Because it’s when I post For the Family anyway. Yay! Branding! Anyway, here. Have this chapter, you nerds. Love you x

ICYMI: Chapter Twelve: What Happened to Your Face?

Wow…The Scarlotti estate looks a lot different in the daylight. And when I’m not here with Vanessa and Veronica. And Veronica’s drooling on herself because of…I didn’t even catch the guy’s name. Oh, well. He knows better now. At least I think he does. I sure as hell hope he does for his sake. If he doesn’t, he knows where we are. He can come back to the Narrows for round two. As long as he doesn’t fuck with Veronica again. But something tells me it’s not often a cab shows up to the front doors of this place. I would’ve taken the Old Man’s town car, but this was something I needed to do. He didn’t need to get involved.

When I walked up to the front door, I got nauseous. Was it the memories from last night coming back to haunt me? No. I mean, it could have been, but I doubt it. It’s the gut feeling that I knew I didn’t belong here. This was beyond me. This was high-class beyond high-class. This was somewhere that the toilet seats could be eaten off of. Where if I walked in the front door out of nowhere, I’d be mistaken as the house staff instantly. Not that I’m knocking the house staff. It’s helped keep a roof over our heads for the last however many years Mama’s been doing it. I had no room to talk shit. But at the same time, I knew damn well I didn’t belong here.

Well…Here goes nothing.

I grabbed the solid bronze knocker on the door and smacked it against the door a few times. Granted, the house had a doorbell, but if Veronica was taking a nap, she didn’t need that going through her head. Some Alfred Pennyworth looking mother fucker answered the door. Please have an accent. If you don’t, I’ll be so horribly disappointed in Saturday morning cartoons for lying to me. I knew I had one, but I needed one that was more pronounced than mine.

“Can I…” the butler looked me over in disgust. Surprise, surprise. I’m just happy he had an incredibly uppity British accent. Thanks, Saturday morning cartoons. I knew you’d never let me down, “Can I help you, sir? Whatever it is you’re selling, I can assure you that the Scarlotti family is not interested.”

“I’m not selling anything.” I told him, “I’m looking for Veronica.”

“Oh,” Alfred held his composure. Like a screen door in a hurricane, but he hung in there, “Mistress Veronica isn’t feeling well this morning.”

“Please,” I wasn’t one to normally beg, but given the circumstances, pride went out the window, “I just want to make sure she’s doing ok.”

“She will be,” he kept a tight lip, “Please see yourself…”

“Frankie?” There was a welcomed voice. There was something I needed to hear.

“Hi, Vanessa,” I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if I wanted to. What can I say? She’s got me hooked.

“As I was saying,” Alfred (if that even is his real name. I didn’t care enough to ask.), “Mistress Veronica isn’t feeling…”

“He’s ok,” Vanessa brushed him off, letting me inside. Oh, I like her. She knows what she wants. And it just so happens to be me, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check in on Veronica,” I took her hand, “How’s she feeling?”

“She’s better,” she reported, “Considering how bad she was last night. But she’ll be ok.”

“That’s good,” I let out a quiet sigh of relief, “Do you think I could see her?”

“Of course,” Vanessa got a little misty eyed. I don’t think she was expecting to see me today, let alone at her own front door.

“But Mistress Vanessa…�� I’m really starting to hate her butler, “Mistress Veronica shouldn’t be having visitors today. She’s not well.”

“He’s ok,” Vanessa vouched for me, “He’s a friend. He’s ok. Don’t worry. I’ll go take him upstairs myself.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he gave her a quick bow and let us go.

“Sorry about that,” she led me up the stairs. It’s weird walking up these stairs and not having Veronica nearly asleep in my arms. This was better. This was definitely better, “Mr. Pearson is kind of overbearing. He always has been since I was little. As Veronica and Violet came along, he’s only gotten worse.”

“Must be rough,” I teased her a bit.

“It’s its own kind of hell,” Vanessa shrugged, “But I suppose it’s better than having no one care.”

“Way to be the optimist, Vanessa,” I applauded, “That’s the spirit.”

“Shut up,” she giggled, “I know. I don’t mean to sound pretentious. It comes with the territory. And it makes my mother proud.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” she went up to Veronica’s door. Was it this covered in neon paint when we were here last night? I don’t remember it. Then again, I had more on my plate that night. Gently, Vanessa knocked on the door, cracking it a little, “Veronica? You awake, sweetie?”

“Yeah,” Veronica’s voice sounded strained and tired, but it’s better than not hearing it at all, “I’m awake. What’s up?”

“You got a visitor,” Vanessa smiled, “Is that ok?”

“Who the hell is coming to see me?” Veronica wondered.

I stuck my head in the door, “Hi, Veronica.”

“Twitchy!” Veronica didn’t even hesitate. She jumped out of bed, throwing her arms around my neck, “Bad idea, but fuck it.”

“Why bad idea?” I worried.

“Because I may need to go throw up…” Veronica gagged a couple times, “Nope…Hold on.”

Sure as shit, she took off toward the bathroom and made noises that should not come out of a human being, yet they came out of Veronica. Poor kid. She didn’t deserve last night. Asshole didn’t deserve her attention. I didn’t want to put Vanessa through that phone call. But it happened. It’s not like we can go back and change it. It’s not like I could’ve done something to keep Veronica from puking her brains out today. At least she’s in high spirits.

“You feel better?” I hoped.

“Yeah,” Veronica ran some Gatorade through her mouth and spat it down the sink, “I’ll be fine. It’s been like this all morning. The butlers think I’m sick.”

“You were poisoned last night, Veronica,” I reminded her, “That’s definitely a kind of sick.”

“No, no, no,” Veronica crawled back into her bed, “They think I got the flu or some shit like that.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa winced, “We know better than to trust the butlers. They’re fucking narcs.”

“The butlers,” Veronica rolled her eyes, “The maids. Violet, if we’re not careful.”

“You’re not wrong,” Vanessa sat at the edge of the bed.

“That’s what you vented to me for, right?” I figured, sitting on the other side.

“Yeah…” Vanessa’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Oh, shit, she’s cute.

“Really?” Veronica smirked, turning her attention toward her sister, “You’ve already spilled your guts to this guy, Ness? Shit must be getting serious already.”

“I never said that,” Vanessa glared a hole through me. And I think I might have fucked up a little here, “By the way, Frankie, have you met my little sister Veronica? She’s an asshole and likes to poke her nose in my relationships.”

“So, keep her away from my brothers,” I figured, “Got it.”

“I told him what you said about him the night you met, too,” Veronica grinned.

“Dammit, Veronica!” Vanessa snapped, “I tell you certain things in confidence!”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Veronica whined, “I’m sick.”

“No,” Vanessa’s anger only got worse, “I told you last night before you went out, don’t go out alone. Stay out of the clubs for the night. At least wait until my philosophy class is over. But you didn’t listen. Now that you’re awake and coherent, I can get pissed at you.”

“Hold on, Vanessa,” I wasn’t sure if it was my place to step in here, but I had a feeling I needed to or it was going to turn to bloodshed, “I’m not exactly agreeing with the whole, be nice to her because she’s sick, thing, but how was she supposed to know some asshole would score in the Bronx just to drop it in her drink? She didn’t ask for that. She just wanted to go dance and have a good time, right, Veronica?”

“Right,” Veronica looked at me strange, “How do you know where he got his shit from?”

“Let’s just say,” I pulled Veronica into my side, “Everything was taken care of last night. And everything’s going to be ok.”

“What do you mean?” Veronica looked up at me, getting a better view of what happened last night.

“It was taken care of,” I repeated.

“Frankie…” Vanessa got nervous, “What happened last night? After you left here, where did you go?”

“Can I speak to you privately for a second?” I put Veronica down in her bed and tucked her back in. I pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head and whispered in her ear, “Trust me. Everything’s going to be ok. He got what he deserved.”

“Thank you, Frankie,” Veronica’s voice broke. She knew. That’s all that mattered. Now, to take on Vanessa.

She and I stepped outside Veronica’s room and she dragged me down to the room next door. This one wasn’t quite as colorful as Veronica’s. More polished, less punk rock. Vanessa sat me down on the bed, my hands in hers, “Frankie, we’ve been honest with each other since the first night we met. I’d like it to stay that way. Where were you last night after you left here? And don’t say you went straight home because your face does not say you went straight home.”

“You really want to know?” I was hoping to keep Vanessa out of the…business end of my life.

“Please.”

“I found the guy that drugged Veronica,” I came clean, “I brought him to the Narrows in Brooklyn and I beat the fuck out of him. Look, I wasn’t going to let him get away with what he did. That just went against my own moral code. She didn’t need that last night. You didn’t need to get that phone call. I just…I couldn’t. I’m just happy the Old Man let me take care of him instead of someone else. And I get why you’d be mad at me. We probably should’ve just turned him in, let it process through the system, and…”

“Frankie,” Vanessa cut me off, throwing herself into my shoulder. My still…Relatively sore…shoulder, “Why would you ever think for a second that I’d be mad at you for that? For taking care of something that probably would’ve sat for months in the system? No. We didn’t have that kind of time. Nobody deserves to go through what Veronica did. If you were looking to score brownie points with me, that would’ve been the best way. Granted, I’m a little pissed, but mostly because you could’ve gotten hurt. You did get hurt.”

“Yeah…” I winced, “Just a little, though. I’ve gotten into worse scraps than that. He just happened to get lucky and get a couple good swings on him. Not to be that cliché, but you really should see the other guy. He got his ass handed to him. But yeah. He kind of fucked my face up, but it’ll heal.”

“It will,” she kissed my cheek, “It’s still a cute face, though.”

“Mama said the same thing,” I chuckled a bit. Then, I remembered the promise I made to Mama. I wasn’t promising results, but it’d be worth a shot, “Speaking of Mama…She kind of wants to meet you.”

“How does she know about me?” Vanessa wondered.

“César sold me out,” I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, “And she wanted to know why I would’ve thrown myself into that kind of fire for just some random girl I met in a club on a run for the Old Man…And I had to explain who Veronica was. So…Needless to say, she kind of wants to meet you both, but I get it if you don’t want to yet.”

“Quit preparing yourself for no,” she smiled, “I’d be happy to meet her. Veronica, on the other hand, is staying home for a while. Her ass is grounded.”

“You have that kind of power?”

“It’s not like anyone else uses it,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Someone has to actually raise the children here.”

“Isn’t that what your parents are supposed to do?” I asked.

“Mom’s always busy,” she explained, “Dad’s her lapdog. Their marriage is practically a sham. It’s sad. So, one of us had to step up. Why not me? They have no clue about Veronica going out the way she does. They don’t know about Violet throwing up at the sight of one of her report cards because god forbid she was a disappointment. They don’t know about half the shit that’s gone on with us. But that’s ok. I understand. She has a company and a legacy on her shoulders.”

“Oh, Vanessa,” I threw my arms around her, “Mama’s going to love you. I promise.”

“She’s never met me,” Vanessa thought, “How can you be so sure?”

“Just…Trust me.” Anyone who knew Mama knew she was a sucker for those abandoned. And she can smell it from a mile away. It’s her superpower. It’s almost scary. And I have a feeling these two are going to get on like a house fire.

“So,” she curled into me, “Tonight? Is that ok for you?”

“Tonight?” I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon. Mama might be pissed. She didn’t have time to prepare anything. But we could manage. I had no doubt in my mind.

“I think we should go out tonight,” Vanessa went on, “I mean…It’d be a good way for me to say thank you for last night. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through that without you, Frankie. Really, I don’t. I mean, it wasn’t the first time I’ve dealt with Veronica like that, but…Fuck, that shit gets hard after a while.”

“Shh…” I comforted her in the best way I could, “It’s over with. She’s alright. We just saw her.”

“She’s never been roofied before,” her voice broke. Oh, yeah. Mama’s going to eat you alive, “She’s had a few hits of E that went sideways and I’ve had to take care of her through bad trips, but…Roofies are new.”

“And the asshole that did it bled on the floor of a warehouse in the Narrows last night,” I kissed her forehead, “Hopefully, it’ll be the last we hear of him.”

Vanessa pulled herself together. Just a little, “Eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock,” I nodded, “I’ll see you tonight. Ok?”

“Ok.” I put her down on the bed, but she grabbed the bottom of my shirt, “Where are you going?”

“I need to get home,” I took her hand, “Don’t get me wrong, Vanessa. I’d love to stick around just a little while longer…”

“Then, do it,” she begged, “Don’t go yet.”

“I mean…” I thought it over. This might be a longshot and/or a disaster, but it’s worth a try, right? God, I hope so, “Unless you wanted to come with me.”

“Someone needs to watch Veronica,” Vanessa winced, “But…Eight o’clock.”

“Promise,” I gave her one little kiss, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“That’s the plan.” I got a smile out of her. That’s all I could ask for. Before I left, I peeked my head in Veronica’s bedroom. Sleeping like a baby. Good…Take care of yourself, kid.

Now, I had to lower the boom on Mama that I was bringing Vanessa home tonight. And an entire cab ride back to Brooklyn to think about it. It could go one of two ways. Either I’m going to get beaten within an inch of my life with her shoe or she’s going to be ecstatic. Fingers crossed for the second one.

#The Good Old Days #fan fiction prequel #oc backstory #mafia au #for the family #switch

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bamon4bamily · 4 years ago

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TVD 9x11 - Jukebox Feels (part 1) Enjoy! =)

Cut to - 2018 prison world, the Salvatore mansion. Katherine walks through the front door, dazed and confused. She must be having a nightmare, she thinks to herself; this can’t be happening, she can’t possibly be where she thinks she is. Although her intuition tells her the contrary, she gives it a shot, on the slim chance it might not be true…

KATHERINE: Hello? Anyone there? (She searches the house; as expected, it’s empty. She tries different techniques to escape the situation. Pinches herself to wake up, nothing. Taps her feet together, and with her eyes closed whispers: There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home… doesn’t work either). Maybe if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal… Yes, I need to sleep (she goes into Stefan’s room, puts on one of his pajamas and lies in his bed. Not even a minute in, and she’s off dreaming of sheep.

Cut to – Akumal, Mexico. After a beautiful moonlight dinner, Damon and Bonnie sit on the beach, admiring the full moon’s glow, and some real good tequila.

DAMON: (Randomly) Truth or dare…

BONNIE: (Laughs) Are you serious?

DAMON: I’m dead serious, come on, scaredy-cat!

BONNIE: Please! I just don’t want to humiliate you, cry-baby!

DAMON: Oh, it’s on! Brace yourself for defeat!

BONNIE: Bring it!

DAMON: One rule, no magic or psychy stuff!

BONNIE: Fine, no vamp tricks.

DAMON: Deal. Truth or dare?

BONNIE: Dare.

DAMON: I’ll start easy, (smirks) don’t want you loosing so fast. I dare you to take a shot of tequila while doing a handstand.

BONNIE: Piece of cake! (Delivers to perfection) My turn, truth or dare?

DAMON: Truth.

BONNIE: Okay, let’s settle this once and for all; do you steal from the bank when we play monopoly?

DAMON: (Grins) Not every time…

BONNIE: (Whacks him with her elbow) I knew it!

DAMON: What can I say, Bon, too much temptation. Okay, truth or dare?

BONNIE: Dare.

DAMON: I’m sensing a pattern here, but suit yourself. I dare you to go up to one of the people at the bar and tell them, in a very low and creepy voice, I see dead people…

BONNIE: I’m gonna get you back for this one! (Although hesitant, she delivers; freaking the hell out of the poor soul unfortunate to be approached by her. They go back to their spot) Okay, Mr. smarty pants. My turn, truth or dare… and you better choose dare!

DAMON: Dare… I say truth!

BONNIE: I’ll break you, eventually. What is the most embarrassing thing in your room?

DAMON: Oh, you’re going there! You already know the answer…

BONNIE: I do, but I want to hear you say it.

DAMON: Fine, my unicorn onesies.

BONNIE: With a butt crack… can’t forget the butt crack (she laughs)!

DAMON: They’re cozy! Okay, missy, shit just got real! Truth or dare…

BONNIE: I’m going with truth; just cause I know you’ll make me do some crazy shit after that one.

DAMON: (With a wicked grin, rubbing his hands) Excellent… What is your guilty pleasure?

BONNIE: Oh, come on! You know that…

DAMON: I do, but I also want to hear you say it, so, go on…

BONNIE: Fine… occasionally I like to dress up like Whitney Houston in the Queen of the Night video from the Bodyguard, and perform in front of the mirror…

DAMON: Occasionally? More like every other Sunday... and it’s HOT AF!

BONNIE: Can’t believe you caught me doing that!

DAMON: One of my fondest prison world memories! I have to hand it to you, Bon, you really got creative with the costume.

BONNIE: I’ve perfected it since then… Well, there, I said it! Happy now?

DAMON: Never been happier… (leans in to kiss her) and you are, beyond a doubt, the queen of the night…

BONNIE: Don’t think for a second that’s gonna get you out of what’s coming…Truth or dare?

DAMON: I’m a mix it up and go with dare.

BONNIE: (With a wicked grin, rubbing her hands) Been waiting for that since we started.

DAMON: I’m instantly regretting my decision.

BONNIE: (Laughs) Oh, and you should! You’re in trouble now… Mr. Damon Salvatore, your mission, which you have no choice but to accept, is to (she opens a portal to their room, goes and comes back).

DAMON: Hey, we said no tricks!

BONNIE: You said no magic, no psychic stuff, but you never mentioned teleporting, so suck it! Here (hands him one of her outfits and her make-up kit) Put this on, make-up and all. Once you are ready, and looking gorge, you are going to perform Queen of the Night to the guests at the beach bar. Good luck, doll! (Laughs hysterically).

DAMON: Oh, Bon-Bon… when you least expected, I’ll get you back.

BONNIE: (Mocking) I’m sure you will; but for now, come on, dancing queen, your audience awaits. (Damon performs, surprisingly well, or at least good enough to receive and applause from his audience, who, although very confused, found the show quite entertaining. They go back to their spot). You did great, almost nailed the choreography.

DAMON: Well, I learned from the best.

BONNIE: I think it’s safe to say I won this little game.

DAMON: This time around…

BONNIE: How bout you get out of those clothes, I get out of mine, and we go for a night swim?

DAMON: Don’t have to ask me twice! (As he is taking the high heels off) How do you guys walk in these things??

BONNIE: You get used to it, (teasing) just don’t get too used to it... Ready, my night queen?

DAMON: (Carries her) Let’s go, witchy! (They swim under the moonlight; then make love till sunrise).

Cut to - The secret facility, Edward’s cell. He has been sleeping for quite some time. He slowly begins to wake; as he opens his eyes, he sees someone lying on the floor under a pool of blood, right next to his bed. He jumps up in a scare.

AUGUSTUS: Oh, don’t be alarmed, son, it’s not me, I’m doing just fine. Meet your uncle Pete; granted it might not be the best introduction, but hey, you wanted to meet your family… well, there you go.

EDWARD: (Disgusted and in shock) What is this!!??

AUGUSTUS: It’s a dead body, son. And, from what I hear they start to smell pretty bad once they decompose; so, I suggest you move fast and bring your cousin Matty back. Feel free to use our tech if it helps, Eddie here (points to the strange man that has been standing outside his cell everyday) is more than happy to help.

EDWARD: (Crying in despair, looking at the corpse) Oh god, oh, god!!! (To his father) You are fucking insane!!!

AUGUSTUS: Language, boy! I taught you better manners than that… guess I should have never left you in Tamara’s care; what a waste of an ivy-league education. My fault for bringing in the trash. Oh, well… time is ticking, and that body is stinking… Ha, that rhymed, maybe I should pick up poetry? I always did love Literature… Anyway, (belittling) Mayor Powell, let’s see just how smart and powerful you really are. Rest assured, if you get the job done, I promise I will make it worth your while (he leaves; Edward can’t stop crying, imagining Matt’s pain).

Cut to - Munich, Germany. Sam, Elena, Sage, and Alex, are having some drinks, after their first days of the program.

SAGE: I knew this program was going to be out of the ordinary, but it’s totally blowing my mind!

ELENA: I agree, it’s amazing! The equipment we have access to is unbelievable! Never knew those types of tools and tech even existed.

SAM: (Putting his drink up for a cheer) Here’s to an unorthodox quality education, and to new awakenings!

ALL: Cheers! (They drink, share some laughs and anecdotes; at some point, the boys get into their own conversation in another area of the bar. Elena and Sage have no option but to interact more closely).

ELENA: Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a bitch.

SAGE: I’m sorry for being one. (Holds her hand out for a handshake) Do-over?

ELENA: Do-over (shakes her hand). So, tell me, why are you so obsessed with Pietro? Not judging, just curious.

SAGE: I know a lot of people think he is just an entitled jerk, but he is so far from that. I mean, yes, he is arrogant and pretentious, but when you’ve accomplished what he has, you kind of earn the right to be.

ELENA: Still don’t get it, what has he accomplished? He’s not even a Doctor…

SAGE: He owns the world’s most groundbreaking technology companies. Ai, IoT, nanotech, you name it, he is behind it. He might not be the science side of the operation, but he is the business side that makes it possible. Just between us, I’m pretty sure he is a vampire. Get this, while I was doing research on his background, I stumbled upon some pretty crazy documentation that dates his birth back to 1865. It’s either that, or he stole some real old dead guy’s identity.

ELENA: That is definitely not a coincidence… Do the names Stefan and Damon Salvatore ring a bell?

SAGE: Never heard of them, who are they?

ELENA: Besides my ex-boyfriends, I think they might be Pietro’s half-brothers.

SAGE: (Laughs) That’s impossible…

ELENA: Put two and two together…

SAGE: Oh, they’re also…? OMG! So, you slept with two vampires, and they were brothers??!! I totally miss read you, you’re a badass!! I love it!! (Holds her drink up) Cheers for that!

ELENA: Well, the brothers thing is something I’m really not proud of. I was young and gave in to my darkest desires; but I guess karma got me served, because they both fell in love with my best friends; so…

SAGE: Hey, nothing to be ashamed of; more power to you! I mean, it’s okay when men do it, but as woman we get shamed for it… Fuck that shit!

ELENA: Good point... (holds her glass up for a cheer) Here’s to woman equality!

SAGE: Fuck yeah! So, tell me, how did you end up getting involved with vampires?

ELENA: It’s a long and complicated story… Let’s just say I look exactly like someone they were once very obsessed with, and it grew from there.

SAGE: Who did you go out with first?

ELENA: Stefan… my first true love; but then I fell for the bad boy, who just happened to be his brother. Like I said, not proud, but that’s how it went down.

SAGE: Was it serious?

ELENA: Very. With Stefan I could see my entire future; it was like a fairytale love. With Damon, I lived for the moment and was consumed with passion.

SAGE: Sounds like you were quite in a predicament.

ELENA: I was, for a while; but I ended up choosing Damon.

SAGE: So, what happened? Why did you two split?

ELENA: There were many reasons, but every time I go back to it, I think it’s because we got off to a wrong start. When I became a vampire, I was sired to him… not the best way to start a relationship.

SAGE: Wait, you are a vampire!!? Are you kidding me?!! This story keeps getting better and better!

ELENA: No, no! I’m not one anymore, but I was.

SAGE: Oh, okay, you freaked me out there for a sec! Anyway, then, what happened? Spill!!

ELENA: Well, a whole bunch of crazy stuff... then I took a cure, became human again, only to be put into a three-year sleeping spell, then I woke up. At first it was bliss, but then, once we moved in together our deeper problems began to surface…

SAGE: Did those problems have to do with him falling for one of your best friends?

ELENA: Not expressively… but in part, yes. I knew he was in love with her, and that there was nothing I could do to change that.

SAGE: Ouch, that’s gotta hurt.

ELENA: I mean, he never cheated or anything like that, they didn’t even get together until recently, but just knowing he would never love me like her, hurt for a while… then I met Sam…

SAGE: Wow, that’s quite a story!

ELENA: Straight out of a supernatural YA book, am I right?

SAGE: I’m a big fan of YA drama, and supernatural lure, so, right up my alley! Okay, let me ask you one last question. If you could go back, would you make the same choice?

ELENA: What do you mean?

SAGE: Stefan or Damon? Who would you choose?

ELENA: (Laughs) Uhm, okay, that’s a weird question…

SAGE: Oh, come on, just for fun, and keeping with the YA context.

ELENA: I’d say as a human, I would choose Stefan; as a vampire, Damon. But I guess it wouldn’t matter who I would choose, since they wouldn’t choose me a second time around, that’s for sure.

SAGE: (Teasing) Well, good news for Sam.

ELENA: Okay, I shared my stories; now it’s your turn.

SAGE: Well my stories are quite boring compared to that!

ELENA: Still, spill! It’s only fair, you have leverage on me, I should have some on you.

SAGE: Fair enough. What do you want to know?

ELENA: You and Alex, what’s the story there?

SAGE: Oh god, no! Nothing like that, he’s like a brother to me.

ELENA: Aw, that’s too bad, you two are cute together. How about you and Sam, anything ever happen between you two?

SAGE: This conversation is getting dangerous...

ELENA: Oh, come on, what’s in the past is in the past; there’s nothing dangerous about that.

SAGE: Fine, you asked for it. Long time ago, one crazy drunken night; that’s all.

ELENA: I know, he told me; just wanted to check if you would be honest with me.

SAGE: (Teasing) Now who’s the bitch!

ELENA: Sorry, trust issues. Now, for real, any past epic loves?

SAGE: Uhm, not really… I mean, I’ve had many relationships but nothing serious. I’m not the deep connection type; I just like to have fun, and I don’t like to put in the time, so short and sweet works out perfectly for me.

ELENA: Crazy hookups?

SAGE: Now that is my area of expertise! Wow, where do I start… I’ve done all the clichés, mile high club being my favorite one. But I have to say, the craziest has been with someone you actually know, (mocking) the renowned city Mayor of Mystic Falls.

ELENA: (Spits out her drink) Are you serious? You had a thing with Edward Powell? How do you even know him?!

SAGE: From NYC, our hometown. We were both part of the upper east side elite; a real Gossip Girl type thing. And let me tell you, he might seem like a Nate on the outside, but inside, he is a full-on Chuck Bass. Anyway, we went to this masquerade ball at an exclusive mansion outside the city. Long story short, we ended up covering for a murder which turned out to be anything but that; it was just a really drunk-ass Wall-Street magnate, that passed out in a tub filled with red wine. Good thing he woke up before we finished filling the whole… and that he didn’t see us having sex next to what we thought was his corpse. In our defense, we were also really drunk, and high as fuck.

ELENA: Holy shit! And you call your stories boring? Wonder what the exciting ones are like!

SAGE: (Laughs; then sees that Alex and Sam are heading back to their table) Well, that’s a conversation for another night… this has been fun, but I think our girl time is over; I’m glad we had a chance to talk like this.

ELENA: Me too, and I’m sorry I was so quick to judge you.

SAGE: Dido. Friends?

ELENA: Friends.

Cut to – Akumal, Mexico. Bonnie, Damon, Stefan and Caroline are having a nice beachfront brunch.

CAROLINE: I can’t believe this is our last day! Time went by way too fast!

BONNIE: I know, seems like we just got here.

STEFAN: How about we make a deal, right here, the four of us.

DAMON: (Teasing) Bro, we are not even done with brunch; plus, it would be way too weird…

STEFAN: Of course your mind would go there… Anyway, no, Damon, that’s not what I want to propose. How do you guys feel about spending some money and investing on a property down here? That way we can come back whenever we want.

CAROLINE: I love it, yes!!!!

BONNIE: I’m in!

STEFAN: Damon?

DAMON: Just tell me where to sign!

BONNIE: La Bruja is coming over for dinner tonight, maybe she can give us some tips on property here.

STEFAN: That be great. I’m thinking nothing too fancy, but definitely beachfront.

BONNIE: And secluded.

CAROLINE: 2 master bedrooms, 1 kids room, and two or three guestrooms for when Ty, Lexi, Matt and Alaric come visit.

DAMON: So much for “not too fancy” …

CAROLINE: I’m not saying it needs to be fancy, just spacious, there are way too many of us.

BONNIE: We’ll also need a garden, good footprint area so we can grow our own food.

CAROLINE: And a pool of course, for the girls.

STEFAN: And I think we can all agree, we need a big bar.

DAMON: And a wine cellar.

STEFAN: Maybe we’re gonna have to build it from scratch, I’m pretty sure we won’t be able to find a place that checks all of our boxes.

BONNIE: If we have someone design it for us, I’m pretty sure La Bruja and I can pull it off.

DAMON: It’s settled then, we’ll brief La Bruja over dinner and start to plan our perfect Belvafore hide-away!

STEFAN: Belvafore?

DAMON: Yes; Bennett, Salvatore, and Forbes… Belvafore!

BONNIE: (To Stefan, mocking Damon) I’m telling you, not even with his vamp back on…

CAROLINE: I like it! It’s like Steroline and Bamon!

BONNIE: Steroline and Bamon?

CAROLINE: Yes, Bamon, aka, Bonnie and Damon; isn’t it perfect?! Stefan came up with it.

STEFAN: Sorry, Bon, just a fan.

BONNIE: (Laughing) Oh, Stefan, didn’t see that one coming... And Steroline, is Stefan and Caroline...

CAROLINE: You got it! (With pride) I came up with that one!

BONNIE: (With a y’all crazy look) Okay...

DAMON: Oh, come on, Bon-Bon; Bamon, gotta love it!

BONNIE: Fine, I’ll admit it... y’all crazy but I love it!

CAROLINE: (Holds her mimosa glass up for a cheer) To Belvafore and building new traditions!

ALL: Cheers!

Cut to – The Salvatore school, Alaric’s study. Alaric, and Radka, are trying to figure out their next steps.

ALARIC: How could I have been so reckless and stupid…

RADKA: It was an honest mistake, Ric. How were you supposed to know what would happen?

ALARIC: I know how dangerous that little gadget is, it was my responsibility to keep it under lock and key. Now, thanks to me, Katherine is probably being hunted down by a psychopath.

RADKA: Katherine is strong and witty, if anyone, Kai is the one that needs to worry. I’m sure she’ll be fine; we just need to figure out how to bring her back.

ALARIC: The only one that can help with that is Bonnie, and I’m not letting her go near Kai. We need to figure out a way to do this without the need for Bennett blood.

RADKA: How about 2 werewolves, 2 vampires and a hunter… think we could pull it off?

ALARIC: The problem is not getting in, but out… there’s no way out without the right ingredients.

RADKA: Okay, I might be thinking crazy here, but we need to think outside the box. What if we ask Margo to summon a Bennett witch, she can open a temporary spirit realm and do an incarnation spell so she can be materialized; then, we go to this prison world, get Katherine and use the blood of that Bennett witch to come back…

ALARIC: That sounds insane… but it might actually work. Isn’t Margo still on sick leave?

RADKA: She’s better now, called me up this morning to let me know she’d be back tomorrow.

ALARIC: Do you think she would be up for it?

RADKA: Not sure, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

Cut to – 2018 prison world, Stefan’s room. Katherine wakes up to find herself tied up with her mouth covered. Kai is sitting on a chair, reading. He looks quite different than expected; very clean cut and intellectual, glasses and all.

KAI: I’m sorry I had to tie you up, but I do not appreciate intruders. God, these new generations have completely lost their manners. Sneaking into other people’s homes, putting on their nightclothes, sleeping in their beds… The audacity!

(Kai gets up, walks towards one of the many jukeboxes he has installed around the house, and plays a song...)

youtube

TVD 9x11 (part 2), coming soon! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy! =)

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marbledaesthetics · 4 years ago

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Only on Principal | afi | part i

pairing: ashton x ofc

warnings: angst, fake (semi-coerced?) relationships, pining, swearing, slow burn, sexualization (kind of?)

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i’ve actually been holding on to this piece for awhile because i didn’t know if i was going to publish in it parts or as one long fic, but decided that i should really post something, so here it is. updates will probably be irregular, because i don’t have the next part finished or edited, but i promise that updates will come! also, getting this moodboard was a bitch because i kept screwing up the file type

part ii

~~~

“Why are we doing this again?” Ashton was slouched in his chair, a hand tugging on the back of his hair. He didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in his voice anymore, the management had set the arrangement in stone, and he wasn’t happy about it.

"We gave you a chance to throw the paps something fresh, something to bring in new people, and you refused.” The man’s voice was tight, trying to remain patient with Ashton’s brash attitude. “This is the compromise.”

Ashton scoffed harshly at the word, rolling his eyes as he sat up properly in his chair. “Compromise? Pretending to be in love with a person I’ve never met? That’s the compromise?”

“Like, I said you had options. You don’t need to assume that you are going to absolutely despise her, she’s not that bad.” This man, taking over for the other, was speaking casually, returning Ashton’s annoyance with ease.

“‘Not that bad?’ You’ve paired me with ‘not that bad?’”

The man groaned, turning so he was directly facing Ashton. “Personally, I’m not a fan of her, but believe it or not, we chose someone whose company you would actually tolerate while doing the press stuff. I think you are going to really enjoy spending time with her, so please, be nice, the last thing we need is you scaring her away.” He gripped the edge of the table harshly and spoke with a tone of finality that almost made Ashton want to back down.

The two men held each other's gaze for a moment before Ashton sighed, kicking the table leg childishly. “I’ll play nice, but I’m not gonna promise that I’ll like her.”

“Great, because she’s waiting in the lobby for you to stop throwing yourself this pity party, so we can explain everything to the two of you.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled to himself, straightening up to the table and running a heavy hand over his face.

He had thought up what the girl they would want him with would be like, already thinking up things he would hate about her. She would probably be short and platinum blonde, so perky that even he couldn’t handle it before 11 am. An innocent type, he thought, someone who embodies the management in a naggy, girlfriend-shaped package.

When the door opened, Ashton’s first thought was don’t judge a book by its cover. She looked like almost everything that he assumed she wouldn’t be, but he was still sure that nothing about this endeavor would be enjoyable.

She was taller than he had imagined— he probably didn’t have more than two or three inches on her, and her dark locks were swept back to expose a small tattoo just behind her ear. She grabbed an open chair near Ashton, not too close, but close enough that the management could address them at the same time easily.

Ashton tore his gaze from her, looking back to the team, refusing to give them the satisfaction of showing interest in the girl they had chosen.

They held each other’s gazes expectantly before the girl to his left cleared her throat softly and said, “Well, I’m Hylla. So, hello?” She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to the situation, but was sure that long, tense silences weren’t going to help anyone.

Ashton looked back at her, taking in the uncertainty in her features. Her demeanor makes him want to drop his guard, but he remains strong, keeping every ounce of his attraction out of his voice. “I’m Ashton, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Hylla resisted the urge to flinch at his harsh tone and merely rolled her eyes, shifting back to face the team before them. “Are we gonna go over everything now?”

“Yes, so here are the contracts,” said the man sitting across from them, passing them the thick packets. “I know you’ve both already signed them but I want to remind you of a few things. So first is the time frame: this contract covers eight months, but we may extend depending on how everyone reacts to this. During that time, you absolutely cannot have any sexual or romantic relationships with other people. The last thing we’ll need is the media getting their hands on a cheating scandal.”

“I thought feeding the vultures was the point.”

The man looked as though he wanted to strangle the smirk Ashton wore off his face, but managed to remain calm enough to continue. “Ashton, if you dare, you will be in some deep shit. This is for the good of your career, not some scheme for us to ruin your life.” He clipped his words, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Anyway, similarly to what I said before, no one outside of this group can know about this. If anyone accuses you about this being for PR, you ignore it. If you get too defensive, it will set people off.”

Hylla, who—much to Ashton’s annoyance—was actually paying attention, nodded along, thumbing through the contract as she took in the information. He couldn’t help but think that she looked kinda cute when she was concentrating. He didn’t even bother to look away when she noticed his gaze, continuing to study her even as she looked back to the man speaking.

“You two will make your first public appearance next week, after you guys know each other a little better. After that we’ll make sure you two will be in the public eye a few times a month, depending on how much exposure each outing gives us. You’re going to need to make sure the paps see you, but don’t make it obvious that you want their attention.”

The meeting drags on longer than Ashton bothers to pay attention for, and he is mildly surprised when it ends, the management team getting up and telling them to hang around the studio, get to know each other before they go public.

Once they’ve gone, Ashton makes a move to leave as well, but is cut off by Hylla.

“Where are you going?” The question doesn’t sound accusatory, but it bothers Ashton nonetheless.

“The writing room. I’m not doing this in here.” His words are curt, making him feel almost bad for the girl as he brushes past her, heading through the winding hallways of the studio.

Hylla matches his brisk pace, muttering softly in an annoyed tone until he stops, holding the door for her in such a manner that it seemed almost sarcastic.

She entered the room, standing near the door until Ashton sat, not wanting to worsen his already sour mood. He chooses a spot on the far end of a couch, leaning back and twirling a pen he had snatched off the table in front of them between his fingers.

Hylla plops down on the opposite end of his couch, tucking one leg beneath her and propping her elbow on the armrest. Ashton’s eyes follow her, taking the time to take even more of her in. Her hair is a deep chestnut, dyed deep red at the tips, and stick straight. Now that she’s taken off the leather jacket she had been wearing, he could see her ear was just one of several tattoos that adorned her skin, and she wore a worn pair of Docs with faded yellow laces. She radiated confidence, never flinching as she waited for Ashton to finish checking her out.

“Enjoying the scenery?” Her grin was cocky, teasing him as though they had been friends for years.

“Something needs to make this arrangement bearable.” Despite his sullen mood, he returned her grin, joking with her. “So who are you? If I need to be madly in love with you in a week, I’m gonna need to know something about you.”

“What do you want to know?” She smiles easily, raking her hand back in her hair just far enough to prop her head on her hand. “There’s a lot about me.”

“Start with the basic things, how old are you, what’s your full name, your favorite color.”

“Well, my name is Hylla Rae Narvaez. I’m 24, and probably red.”

“Hylla Rae Narvaez. A name like that’s gotta have a story behind it.” His grin is teasing, curious as to how she’d react.

“It does sound a bit pretentious, doesn’t it? Queen-like is how most people describe it,” she replies, chuckling along with him. “My dad wanted a Puerto Rican name, and my mom wanted a Greek one, so this was the compromise. What else do you want to know?”

“What do you do for a living? Other than date celebrities, of course.” The jab is teasing, but Hylla stiffens for a moment anyway.

“I’m a tattoo artist, and I do commissioned art on the side.” She speaks a little softer than before, pulling the leg that had been on the ground to her chest.

“Should’ve guessed, with all the ink. You seem like the artsy type.” His words are kind, reaching out to squeeze her knee gently. “I’m sorry I was so pissy before. I just hate that they’re forcing me into this whole thing, you know? It’s nothing personal.”

“Ahh, so you only hate me in theory?” She teases, readopting her carefree demeanor.

Ashton giggles, his eyes bright. “Something like that. It’s the principal of the thing.”

They continued to make small talk, and the easiness of the conversation was surprising to Ashton, as though they were old friends just catching up. He was shocked when he checked the time to find that they had been there for hours, just chatting. Deciding they should both go home, they bid their farewells, Ashton allowing Hylla to leave first to avoid being seen before they were supposed to.

He spent the ride home lost in thought, terrified of how easily this girl he was supposed to hate was breaking down his walls, crawling into the cracks and making herself at home.

After he was home, he meditated to sort out his thoughts, and eventually resigning with a reminder to himself to take things slowly, allowing the whole thing to work itself out. He was in this for the long haul, whether he wanted to be or not, so he couldn’t let himself fuck it up from the start.

~~~

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darkartsandcrafts · 5 years ago

Text

The Best Of

The Goldfinch AO3 tags

Deepest apologies to the authors. Probably of interest only to @wellntruly and maybe @antiquesfreaks

this is so niche, if a single person reads it i will be happy, it is completely self indulgent, Imaginary Rain , [theodore decker voice] i'm a homosexual having a panic attack, also xandra is there I guess, ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING, theo has a crisis because thats his Brand, theo's a whole mess, boris is a slightly different mess, theo is a little bitch, sad times with boris &theo what else is new, apocalypse in a very american sense, they live in Costco, they r just liddol creatures, i am a SLUT for water, this is basically just a love letter to the desert and the sky, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise, Not really a fic as much as it is an experiment

Romantic Face Punching, i mean.... that's literally a tag so i'll use it, It's bittersweet my dudes, boris waxes poetic about his bird, russian vampire that glows, it was way too easy for me to project onto Boris, theo said 'nothing rly happened in antwerp', i said 'you are an unreliable narrator and a Fool please step aside', Theo Decker should be considered his own warning, Theo Decker's Toxic Masculinity, rip to donna tartt but I'm different so they're lesbians now, there will be smut but it will be artsy, and theos parents but who can be asked to put them, Hurt No Comfort

Well maybe a little bit of comfort, The briefest and barest mention of Boris's fuck-me pumps, some real basic bitch fic but I had to get it out of my system, I promise this isn’t as depressing as it sounds, the sharp ache of memory, the thrill and terror of getting what you want,

Excessive Drinking

Heavy Drinking

Drinking to Cope

Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Magical Realism, take shot every time theo says fuck and/or is gay and bitchy, its a TURNBULL AND ASSER SUIT, Gratuitous Fleetwood Mac Referencing, slight drowning mention, underage lots of things because its them, google translate Russian, Underage Drinking but like this is the Goldfinch we’re talking about, theo has been to therapy and knows one (1) distress tolerance technique, Theo's too neurotic to top but can unrepress just enough to bottom, i like to believe donna tartt would condone this if she believed in love, They really put that scene in the movie huh, TOO MANY REFERENCES AND I AM NOT EVEN SORRY FOR THEM

donna tartt i just want to talk

and he cries his eyes out and they listen to the magnetic fields, nostalgia for two days ago, they listen to music and flop around, they're a little drunk but when aren't they, Boris POV bc theo pov is difficult and also depressing, theo isn't as canonically repressed here oops, theo did write boris a letter he just never included it bc it's gay, i hope they know i would die for them, @ donna tartt u too bitch i love u, Heavy pining you guys, i went hard with the hand holding in this, They've kind of gotten their lives together!, Boris still works in art crime though, they're drunk

but what else is new, idk if this is good or if im just on my third drink, is it homo to want to kiss your best bro? maybe so, no homo your way out of this decker, boris is basically a pillow princess but who’s surprised, smoking in bed is an activity for french movies and repressed gays, we don’t admit to feelings we emotionally repress like men, obviously boris is into some kinky shit, boris is dead sorry

very sad actually, the world needed some boris' pov so i did my job, i'm not projecting onto theo he's just me, i'm not even projecting onto theo anymore he's literally me, i managed to write some sort of happy ending, it was way to easy to write from theo's pov and i'm worried, interpret the end how you want i guess, it was so easy to project onto theo it's kinda concerning, They weirdly don't do drugs in here, the usual shit that happens in goldfinch, the boys go rollerskating, Like Really Fucking Sad, flangst city bois, theo is a clingy drunk, if only he were like this when he’s sober, Theo committed suicide, I mean Theo really did it, Boris didn't stop him, Theo may not like this, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Theo is a pretentious dick, Mental Institutions, one instance of projectile vomiting, Questionable Marriage

#These are just in reverse chronological order #linebreaks to make it readable and occasionally for emphasis #I've read precisely none of these but will try to when my brain works #the goldfinch #found poetry

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years ago

Text

When You Least Expect It: Part Five

Jensen x Musician!Reader; Nathan (OMC)

Also featured this chapter: Jared Padalecki, Gen Padalecki, Rob Benedict, Briana Buckmaster, Dee Harris, and mentions of Kim Rhodes, Mark Pellegrino, Jason Manns, Richard Speight, Jr.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

A/N: This is a slow burn fic that I have been working on for a while. Its a story I wrote for myself and just wanted to share with everyone. Yes, the “Dee” in the story is who you think, but there is no intended hate on her or their actual marriage. It is a work of fiction, that is all. Part five is from Y/N’s POV. There is also a playlist to go along with the series. Series Playlist: “When You Least Expect It” (Spotify). Two songs linked in this chapter, “Do I Move You” & “Up Cripple Creek” go back directly to this playlist.

A HUGE shout out to @closetspngirl for putting together Jensen’s & the reader’s gorgeous wardrobe for the NYE party. Also for not only being my beta, but helping me write the G-D thing. Your input, suggestions, and overall inspiration has been a game changer.

Chapter Summary: Reeling from a visit with her Ex while home for Christmas, Y/N goes back to Austin to get ready for the Padalecki’s New Year’s Eve party. That event turns everything upside for both Y/N and Jensen.

Chapter Warnings: Language, Talk of Break-Ups, Angst, Fluff,

WC: You don’t wanna know... Trust me.

*Banner created by me; pics & gifs found online

Y/N stood at the kitchen counter, her fingers gripping the butcher’s block so hard it was turning her knuckles white. She tried to regulate her breathing, which would help slow the relentless pounding of her heart being fueled by the adrenaline rush of seeing Nathan again after so many years.

“It’s really good to see you,” he started, the tenor of his voice instantly drowning her in memories. The quiver that lived beneath it wasn’t lost on her either. In fact, she relished that he was nervous. Y/N hoped he was scared as hell.

“What do you want, Nathan?” she asked, finally turning to face him.

“Just to talk. To—”

“Bullshit. If you wanted to talk, there are phones for that.”

“You would have taken my call?”

“Probably not,” she shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

“See. Figured the drop by was better.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and began to slowly walk around the bungalow. “Wow, the place still looks exactly the same. It's crazy…” he trailed off and snorted a laugh when he gazed at the pictures along the walls. “I actually miss it.”

“What?”

“The bungalow. You. Our life.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and felt the urge to scream at him to go. Her fingers crawled up and once again clutched her charm. “I won’t ask again, Nathan. What do—”

“…I want… yeah, I’m getting there. This isn’t easy, okay?” He sighed dramatically, something he had always done and plopped down onto the couch.

“I couldn’t care less how hard, whatever it is you wanna say, is for you to say. You ran out of sympathy from me when I came home and found every single one of your belongings gone. Hell, even before that. Because of you and your debts that you left me with, I had to borrow ten grand off of Leo. I’m still paying that back!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m working now and I promise I’ll repay you. I was such a dick for leaving how I did. I was fucked up, babe. I was gambling and drinking and using—I was a mess.”

“I remember,” she sighed, exasperated and tired. She wanted him to go so she could melt back into the happy state she was in just after getting off the phone with Jensen. “So last chance to tell me why you’re here and bringing back those bad memories.”

“They weren’t all bad,” he said with that crooked smile. “We had some good ones.”

“Nathan… if you don’t get to the fucking point, I will call the police and remind them of the restraining order—”

“Ok, ok… I came to try and make amends. I’m twelve stepping my way back to a better life. It’s taken a while, but I’m finally in a good place. I need to apologize for all the terrible things I’ve done. Especially to you. I’ve hurt you—”

“You have,” she interrupted. “Honestly, I don’t know what hurt worse. When you left without a word or when you broke my nose.”

“Y/N—I…” he trailed off again and shrugged pathetically. “I was a horrible person then. I know it’s not an excuse. If I could go back in time and change everything, I would. We’d be married, have kids… we’d have a life together here.”

“Well, thank God you can’t. Look, Nathan, I’m glad you got yourself straight. I am. But my life right now is good, and I wouldn’t want to change a thing.”

“I heard. Got yourself a fancy new job,” he said with a smile, but Y/N knew him well enough that behind that smile was a fit of pure, seething jealousy. It was always there in him; lurking.

“Who spilled the beans?”

“Leo. I ran into him last week when I got back. I asked about you, and he said that you had moved to Austin temporarily for work.”

“Did he?” She reminded herself to thank him for that later. “Well, then you know I’m busy. I’m only home for a couple days—”

“He said a week.”

“Leo was wrong. I’m cutting the trip short. I have an event to go to on New Year’s that I need to get back for.”

“Oh,” he replied. There was a lot packed into that ‘oh’. “Y/N, I know I don’t deserve to ask you for anything. But for a long time, we loved each other. We’ve been together since we were kids. Me, you… Dave. We were a little family, especially after your mom left.”

The mention of her mother and brother turned her stomach.

“If you want to apologize, bringing up my mother and dick of a brother isn’t the way to go.”

“Dave isn’t a bad guy. I know he did some shitty things, but babe, he’s your brother. He loves you.”

Y/N finally moved from where she was frozen in place and slowly walked into the living room. “You still talk to him?”

Nathan nodded. “I do. He misses you, asks about you. A lot.”

“Good. I hope that shit for brains realizes now that I will never talk to him again.”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“You don’t understand... Nathan, you were here for the bullshit they put me through after dad died. That bitch swooped in and took my entire inheritance! If not for Leo buying the bungalow from her, I would have been homeless. Then, to find out later that my so-called loving brother, HELPED HER?!” Y/N was shaking now. The act of dredging up these memories was not exactly how she wanted to spend Christmas morning; especially not after it started so well.

“Babe…” Nathan consoled and rose from the couch to come closer to comfort her.

“STOP CALLING ME BABE!”

Nathan froze in place and swallowed hard. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I just came here to try and apologize. For everything I’ve done. I was supposed to be the one person you could trust, who protected you. I’m sorry that I failed you.”

Much to her own surprise, Y/N didn’t cry. She wanted too, but she wouldn’t in front of Nathan. There had been enough tears shed for him over the course of twenty years. Her phone began to buzz from deep within her robe’s pocket. She tried to ignore it, but just before it stopped ringing, she pulled it out and saw Jensen’s name flashing on the screen.

Without hesitation, she answered the call. “Hey,” she greeted and hoped there wasn’t any residual tension in her tone. “Miss me already?”

Nathan’s head picked up, his gaze intense and curious. But he saw the warning look Y/N passed him and forced himself to stay quiet.

“If I did?” Jensen asked playfully. “No, I was calling to tell you that as soon as we hung up, Jared called me to say Merry Christmas and all that. I asked him about the party and his exact words were ‘whatever makes you happy, doesn’t matter so’s long as you’re there’. So there’s your dress code.”

Despite her current mood, she laughed. “Well, that doesn’t help at all.”

“Yeah, I know…” he hesitated for a beat, “are you alright? You don’t sound as chipper as you did twenty minutes ago.”

“Um, yeah. I’m fine,” she lied and tried to put herself together. “Just getting ready for the day, you know.”

“Sure? If you wanna talk, or—I can find a quiet spot and—”

“No, Jay, it's fine. Really. I do gotta run though. Few things I need to wrap up,” she said and hoped he would take it as wrapping last minute gifts for the holiday.

“Ok.” She could tell instantly he didn’t believe her. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Talk soon?”

“Yeah, definitely. Enjoy your day and if you talk to Jared again, or Robbie, tell them I said Merry Christmas.”

“Will do, bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Jay.”

She ended the call and kept the phone hovering near her mouth, almost as if she was trying to hide from Nathan.

“Who’s Jay?”

“Jensen. He’s my boss,” she answered then slipped the phone back into her robe.

“Jensen? Some name,” he sneered. “And he calls on Christmas morning? What a pretentious dick.”

“Fuck off, okay? You don’t know him.”

“I do though. He sounds like every rich, asshole Bennie that tears up our beach every summer. Comes down with his crap, his money and thinks he gets whatever he wants—”

“Nathan! You wanna apologize, make amends? Attacking my friend will not help accomplish that.”

“Your friend? I thought he was just your boss.” Realization dawned on him then, and she noticed his body stiffen. “You have a thing for him, don’t you?”

She didn’t expect that and stammered before she could find the words she wanted. “I—no, he’s been a good friend. It's business. That’s all. Besides, you put me through enough. I couldn’t deal with anyone else after you.”

Nathan cast his eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never intended for you to be hurt so badly. I never wanted for you to hate me.”

“Yeah, well. Your intentions don’t mean shit, Nathan. Look, I should hate you… but I don’t. God only knows why, but I don’t. You’re right, we did have some really great memories. Being friends since we were little kids and all the years we spent together as a couple; it’s not lost on me. Even though you left like a coward after you hit me—”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you… I needed the money and—” he stopped himself from going down that path. “It’s not an excuse. I should never have touched you, especially not at the club. Mama Mia nearly put me in the hospital that night.”

“You deserved it.”

He nodded and let her continue.

“Anyway, all that aside, I’m just in a place where I don’t want to be with anyone, Nathan.” Y/N paused and realized now she was not only lying to him, but to herself. “I appreciate your wanting to make amends. I’m glad the twelve-step thing is working for you, and that you’re here for your mom for Christmas.”

“But?”

“But, nothing. I am honestly glad for you and for your mom. She didn’t need to lose you.”

“What about us?” he asked hesitantly, bringing his bright blue eyes to meet hers. For the briefest moment, she could see what she used to see in them; kindness, compassion, and hope making him look more like the first boy she ever loved.

“Us?” Y/N laughed and sighed all in one breath. “Nathan there is no ‘us’. That ship sailed years ago. But I am glad that you’re getting your life back together.”

His phone pinged from down in his jeans pocket. “That’s probably my mom wondering when I’ll be back. She’s got breakfast waiting.”

“Then you should go.”

“Do you wanna come with? I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“No, I promised Leo I would be there today.”

“When do you go back to… Austin is it?”

“Yes, Austin. In a few days. I have some work to do while I’m here…”

“So, in other words, you aren’t free on this trip to make any plans with me.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m sorry. Maybe another time.” She once again crossed her arms over her chest. It was a mannerism Nathan knew well; she was putting up her wall, and while he couldn’t blame her, he felt his hopes of any reconciliation being quickly dashed.

“Could I, maybe, call you from time to time?”

She exhaled slowly, expelling the breath through pursed lips. “Nathan…” pausing when she saw the seemingly honest, pleading look in his eyes. “Sure. But, if it becomes obsessive, or intrusive…”

He held up his hands in relent. “I promise, it won’t. I just…” he took a few tentative steps closer to her. As he approached, she took one step back and he stopped; afraid he was scaring her. “I just want to get to know you again. This you. I still love you, Y/N. I know you don’t love me, but at least give me the chance to prove to you that I’ve changed. That I can be the guy you used to love. Or at least the one you used to like.”

His phone pinged again.

“You should go, Nathan. Tell your mom I said Merry Christmas.”

Nathan nodded and went towards the door. “I’m not gonna ask you to wait, but maybe you don’t rule me out completely.”

“Rule you out of what?” she asked.

“Your future.” He lingered for a moment longer, then left and quietly closed the door behind him.

The daylight hours of New Year’s Eve was packed with errands, including trying to find something appropriate to wear to Jared and Gen’s New Year’s Eve party. Jensen didn’t exactly help with his recon efforts; having the perimeters of “whatever makes you happy” to go by wasn’t much to go on. Finding nothing while in New Jersey, she frantically searched for any shop that was open in downtown Austin on her way home from the airport.

Finally, in the very last shop, she found the perfect one. The moment she laid her eyes on the turquoise colored dress with a lace overlay from the neck to the hem, she fell in love. It was a little fancier than she’d normally go for, but attending this party in one of the most beautiful Country Clubs in Austin seemed like the occasion to do so.

Once all the accessories had been chosen, Y/N rushed back to her townhouse to shower and get ready. As the hot water cascaded down through her hair, she closed her eyes and thought about the last few days back home. She had finally gotten to a place where her life didn’t feel so suffocated, where she could have reconciled her past while looking towards the future. Now she was uncertain if she would be able to ever really move on from Nathan, or if she would always be scared because of the marks he’d left on her heart.

For the next few days, she went on an emotional journey that she knew had to be done, but not one she expected just then. Nathan had been such a big part of her life since she was a kid; he’d been there through some of the worst times to comfort her and support her. It was also true that he was the root cause for a lot of bad times, and though he was the one that made the bad choices, got wrapped up in things he shouldn’t have… wasn’t there a part of him that was still the same boy that held her through the night her mother left, then her brother and again when her father died?

Y/N turned off the shower and wiped away the steam on the mirror. As she watched her reflection in the glass, Jensen’s face floated into her mind’s eye. His beautiful green eyes, full, round lips, the way that he smiled at her made her breath hitch and her skin tingle in ways that felt extraordinary. Mostly, it was how he made her feel calm and in control; like she could accomplish anything she wanted. Yet, whenever she allowed herself moments to daydream about him, and what it would be like to be with him, fear set in and she would pull away.

“You’re a fucking mess,” she accused at her reflection. “Seriously, get your shit together (Y/L/N). You have a gorgeous, generous, amazing man about to pick you up for a fancy party. You got a new dress, new shoes and a wonderful night ahead. Don’t self-sabotage before you even get in the car.”

She gave herself an affirmative nod, tightened the towel around her chest and moved away from the mirror to get finish getting ready. Halfway out of the bathroom she paused and went back to the mirror.

“Also, don’t let Nathan and his bullshit ruin a good night. He’s not here, he won’t be here. It’s just you, Jensen and a hundred of his closest friends. If anything is going to freak you out, it should be that.”

Y/N hung her head dramatically and sighed. No matter how hard she tried not to think about Nathan, he was just there now, living somewhere in the recesses of her mind and slowly inching his way back to the forefront.

Two hours later, when Y/N heard the knock at the first door, she looked over at the stove clock and realized it could only be Jensen. Seven on the dot… Mr. Punctuality. Y/N took a deep, calming breath, nerves quickly igniting as to how things may change if she opened that door. She froze with her hand on the knob.

You should say you’re sick… jet lag? No, stupid, it’s only an hour time difference, jet lag wouldn’t--

He knocked again. Stopping the freight train of doubt that ran on a constant loop, she exhaled slowly and opened the front door.

“Hey!” Jensen greeted upon seeing her. “You ready to…” he trailed off as he noticed how she looked and took a moment to drink her all in. Jensen was dumbfounded, as his eyes glazed over her from how her hair was twisted up off her neck, to the color of the dress and how it hugged her just right, flowing out to a skirt that fell a few inches above her knees. She was wearing heels, and as he admired how her legs looked while wearing them, he realized he’d never seen her in anything but her old sandals.

“Wow… You--you look amazing,” he breathed. “I--that’s not even the right word. You--”

His gaze softened the longer he looked at her; and the more he looked, the more she was becoming affected by his stare.

“Ok, ok. Easy tiger. It’s just a dress,” she laughed but was barely holding it together as she noticed how good he looked, as well. Jensen showed up dressed in a black sport coat and slacks, beneath it, a nicely fitting shirt that complimented his strong and lean figure. The color of which, just happened to be a shade off of matching her dress perfectly.

“Hey, we match!” she smiled, lighting up her whole face. “People are going to think we did that on purpose.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he said, the corners of his mouth pointing down. “Besides, no one in that whole place will even notice me once you walk into the room.” He waggled his eyebrows and moved aside so she could walk out.

“You’re such a dork,” she teased and rolled her eyes. “Though, I gotta say,” she paused and spun back around for a minute to face him, “you do clean up pretty nice yourself, Hollywood.”

Heading towards the party venue, Y/N was quiet. She could feel Jensen continuing to steal glances in her direction. He had never been shy before about asking her something when it was on his mind, but now he hesitated. She finally caught his gaze and sighed.

“You want to ask me something, so ask,” she said, startling him with her accuracy.

“Alright… what happened on Christmas?”

Boy, he’s blunt, she thought. She furrowed her brow and tried to play it off like she didn’t know what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon Y/N. I talked to you and you were… you. Twenty minutes later I called back and you were completely different.” Jensen’s eyes flickered back and forth between her and the road. “Then, I don’t hear from you all week. Just seemed like maybe something was wrong.”

Y/N could just brush him off, she thought about it. She didn’t want to get into a big conversation about Nathan solely because it would lead back to their past and she didn’t want to go back to that headspace. She also didn’t think brushing him off was the best idea. Jensen was more than just a colleague now, he was her friend; a friend that she had come to care about very much.

She swallowed nervously, her tongue darting over her polished lips. “I had an unexpected visitor after I hung up with you. Just an old… someone, that I wasn’t expecting to see.”

“Oh,” he replied, his eyes now transfixed on the road ahead. “A recent, old, someone?” he asked, and thankfully she caught his meaning.

“Yes. Sort of. It’s been a few years.”

“Oh,” he said again, this time as more of a sigh of relief. “How did it go?”

“It went. He just wanted to catch up. He was in town visiting his mom and had run into Leo. I guess Leo told him about Austin, and he wanted to say congrats on the new gig.”

“Ah.” Jensen’s gaze drifted to catch her expression. Y/N appeared unaffected, but there was something in her eyes that told him that maybe wasn’t the whole truth. “Exes… huh?” he quipped and tried to get her to smile. “I got one, too.”

“An ex?”

“Yup.”

“Don’t we all?”

Jensen laughed. “I guess.”

“How recent is yours?”

“Last Spring. I got back from a con and came home to an empty house. She was just, gone.”

“Ouch,” Y/N winced, knowing the pain of that feeling. “Did you ever find out why?”

His reaction took her off guard. Jensen smirked, then it faded and his eyes seemed to drift a million miles away. She saw him force the lump in his throat down to a place where it wouldn’t stop him from choking on the words that he tried to say.

“She… uh,” he snorted a laugh, “she met someone else.”

“Oh,” she breathed, waited for a beat, then muttered. “She’s an idiot.”

Jensen’s lips formed a tiny little grin of satisfaction and gave Y/N the hint that he heard her after all.

“Well, I’m sorry your Christmas was ruined by an ex,” he said, turning the subject back to her.

“It wasn’t ruined,” she replied quietly and cast her gaze out of the passenger side window. Her hand went to her neck, to where the necklace had resided since she clasped it around there Christmas morning. “Got to open the best present I ever received while watching the sunrise over the ocean.” Turning her attention back to him, her features softened as she lifted the charm from her neck. “That’s what I’ll remember most from this Christmas.”

The Country Club was far larger than Y/N thought it would be. Even in the shadows of the evening, she could see how beautiful and expansive the grounds and golf courses were. It was lit up in soft whites and golds, and there was a buzz of activity in and around the entrance.

After the valet parked the car, Jensen linked his elbow with hers and escorted her inside. Her nerves were starting to show, barely, but they were there. She’d been to more than enough events like this for Leo’s business, and she’d played the boardwalk stage to a crow of a few hundred people. Somehow, this was more nerve-wracking, and Jensen could feel it radiating off her.

“Hey,” he whispered but kept his eyes focused ahead. “You know this is low-key, right?”

“You mean despite the fact that the party is in Wayne Manor? I swore that was Alfred who parked the car.”

Jensen laughed. “Yes, despite that. These are all just friends, wearing fancier than normal clothes.”

“Your friends. I know them through Skype or email.”

“They’re gonna love you. Alright? Robbie already does. He won’t shut the hell up about meeting you tonight.”

“Says you. I feel like I’m going on an audition and this is my call back for the role of Celebrity Assistant…”

“Hey,” Jensen interrupted and pulled her to a stop. “You know that’s not what you are, right? It’s important to me that you know that.” Using her own words against her made her relax a little. “You’re not my assistant. You work with me. And as for tonight, well darlin’, you are simply my date and easily the most stunning woman in the room.”

His features relaxed, the small bunches of wrinkles deepening around his eyes and the peek-a-boo dimples on the corners of his mouth showing themselves. “Relax, have a drink, dance a little and have a damn good time.”

“I thought we established that me dancing is hazardous to everyone’s health,” she joked, feeling her nerves dissipate a little.

“Hey, it's New Year’s Eve. If you can’t do something new and out of your comfort zone on a night like tonight… then you never will. Besides, I am way worse at dancing than you. I’m more than happy to prove it. After a drink or two, that is.”

Y/N exhaled as steadily as she could and straightened her shoulders back and tightened her linked arm around Jensen’s. She was going to make the most of the night and go in with her head held high; ready to push herself well beyond her limits.

They breached the entryway and stepped into the main room where the Padalecki’s were hosting a jam-packed New Year’s Eve party. Faces were floating by at a rapid pace, some she recognized, some she didn’t. Names were thrown at her, and she smiled at each one, shaking hands with those who offered and returning polite smiles to those she didn’t. It was overwhelming and yet exhilarating, especially when Jensen was introducing her as the Music Director for FBBC’s Hometown Music & Brew Fest. For the first time in her life, she was being looked upon as someone respected; someone who was spending their time trying to make a difference; not slinging drinks, not pushing papers or hustling pool just to make ends meet. What made it even more special, was having him be the one who helped her find this place in the world.

“Well it’s about time!” a woman’s voice squealed over the music piping in through the generously spaced out speakers. As you both spun around, you saw a beautiful, petite woman with long dark brown hair and eyes the color of dark chocolate. “I was starting to think you were going to be late, Jensen. You’re never late!”

“C’ mon Gen, you know better than that,” he laughed and released her arm to embrace Gen and leave a kiss on her cheek. “Where’s the big jerk you married?”

“Oh, mingling, you know him. I’m sure he’s got half the place in hysterics already,” she laughed. When she turned her attention to Y/N, her eyes grew wide and she clapped in excitement. “You must be Y/N! It’s so good to meet you in person! This one doesn’t shut up about you or the festival. I think he may have imploded if you didn’t come on to help.”

“I’m just glad I could contribute something,” Y/N replied. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Gen.”

“Have you met everyone else yet?” she asked excitedly, taking Y/N’s arm much the way Jensen did and led her away into one of the rooms that jettisoned off the ballroom. “I think they’re all hiding away in here.”

She led Y/N in, with Jensen following closing behind. The room Gen lead them into was large enough to fit approximately twenty people comfortably, with a baby grand piano at the center. There were windows along the back wall that overlooked the deserted golf course, but the cream and deep beige draperies were pulled and hid the view from the party goers. In each corner, was a tall, potted decorative tree, with hanging white lights that cast an ambient glow over the room. Scattered throughout the room were overstuffed armchairs and a few leather love seats. A perfect place to sit and listen to someone play on the baby grand while enjoying the view of the grounds.

Y/N searched the handful of faces that were standing around the piano but none were too familiar. The moment Gen spoke, the man at the keys stopped playing. When he stood, Y/N smiled wide, instantly recognizing Robbie as he started walking over to them.

“Hey man!” Rob greeted Jensen excitedly. “Was getting worried about you! Thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“I could never do that to you, Rob. You know I love you too much,” Jensen teased, giving Rob a wink. “But, if I tell you Y/N is here to finally meet you, do you forgive me?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he grinned and reached out for Y/N’s hand, bringing the back of it to his lips and giving it a barely-there-kiss. “It is a pleasure to finally see your face sans computer screen.”

“It really is,” she said, trying not to giggle at his overindulgent greeting.

Robbie kept her hand and began to move her away from Gen and Jensen. “Here, let me introduce you to the whole gang.”

Jensen just shook his head, his arms open wide and mouthing, “Really?”

Ignoring him, Robbie pulled Y/N around the room and one by one introduced her to people from both the show and the regular con circuit. Y/N’s head spun as she met Jason Manns, Kim Rhodes, Richard Speight, Jr., and Mark Pellegrino among others. It took nearly twenty minutes to make the rounds and by the time Rob had brought Y/N full circle, Gen and Jensen were no longer alone. Jared had just joined the small group, drink in hand and a smile that was more forced than genuine.

Jared leaned closer to Jensen’s ear just as you sidled up next to him. “Hey, I need to talk to you,” he whispered.

Jensen furrowed his brow and snapped his gaze up to catch Jared’s eye. They had a silent exchange, one that could only happen between two people who knew each other explicitly well. When Jensen turned back to Y/N, she waved him off before he could even speak.

“Go, I’m fine. I have Rob to keep me company,” she said, not without a little spunk.

“Hands above the waist, Rob. Remember you’re with a lady, not one of your women of the night,” he warned and gave Y/N’s shoulder a little squeeze before he was whisked off by his best friend.

“I should go check on everything in the kitchen. Will you be alright?” she asked Y/N.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Rob interjected.

Gen shook her head and gave Y/N an apologetic smile. “Welcome to our weird, little family. Please don’t judge us solely on our Robbie.” She patted Rob’s arm lovingly before turning and heading back out through the ballroom.

“She’s one hell of a lady. Throws a damn good party, too. Come on, let’s mingle.”

Jensen followed Jared down the long clubhouse corridor and down to the double doors that led into the game room. Once inside, Jared shut the door but didn’t bother with turning on the lights.

“What’s up?” Jensen asked. “I barely got in the door, didn’t even get a drink yet.”

“Here, have mine. You’re gonna need it.” Jared held out his glass of bourbon. “I tried to get a hold of you earlier--”

“Why?”

“Because man, Gen invited Dee. She’s coming, and she’s not coming alone.”

Jensen sighed heavily, his head rolled back on his neck and his mouth hung open. “Fuck. Really?”

“Mhm. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, I know they still talk and hang out, but, I didn’t think she was going to invite her.”

Jensen gulped down the rest of the bourbon from the glass, wincing at the burn as it hit his throat. He turned abruptly and headed through the game room to the small bar that was kept there. Rummaging through the bottles, he found a bottle of Jim Beam and refilled the glass.

“Is he here with her?”

Jared nodded. “I don’t know. I just know she’s coming.”

“Does Dee know I’m here?”

Jared shrugged. “Gen and I… we try not to talk about her with each other.”

Jensen considered this and shrugged, too. “I hate that what happened between me and her put you guys at odds.”

“It really didn’t, not until times like this.”

“You know what? It’s fine. Not like I’m here alone, right?”

“Right. About that… You’ll have to introduce me properly when we head back.”

“I will,” he said, and just knowing that Y/N was out there waiting for him, suddenly made the Dee situation seem somewhat tolerable.

“What was that?” Jared asked, looking at him curiously. “What did you just do with your face?”

Jensen scrunched his face in ignorance. “What… face?”

“That face! That face you make when you get all dreamy and shit.”

“Dreamy fa--” Jensen scoffed. He was getting flustered, so he drained his glass. “Shut up.”

“Ha!” Jared laughed and clapped Jensen’s shoulder. “So, you gonna be able to be cool with Dee?”

“As a cucumber,” he promised.

Jensen had disappeared with Jared, Gen had disappeared back into the crowd of people in the ballroom, and Rob had just disappeared. Somewhere in the middle of crossing the big room’s dance floor, Y/N had lost him and when she broke through the sea of people, she didn’t want to go back in. Meandering alone through the party, she felt suddenly out of place and all her earlier nerves settling back in for the long haul.

She wished Jensen would come back from wherever he disappeared too. But as the minutes ticked by, Y/N found herself back in the room with the baby grand. It was completely empty now that the music had stopped; for this, she was suddenly grateful. As she slowly walked along its side, she ever-so-lightly dragged her finger against the ebony lacquer of the lip then followed along the edge and down to the keys.

Y/N hadn’t seen or touched a piano of this caliber for a lot of years. Guitar had been her true love since she was five years old, the piano came later. When she was little, and her mother was still around, she would take her to the most luxurious of all Leo’s hotels up in the wealthy area of Spring Lake. These were the ones with professional piano players in the lobby and a bellhop that came when you rang. Y/N would sit for hours, watching that old man with the sandy blonde hair play the keys like a magician, and pulling some of the most glorious melodies she’d ever heard.

Her mother was a maid back then, cleaning and stealing from most of the rooms upstairs. Leo would find Y/N a lot of times left alone, sitting in the lobby and listening to the piano and felt sorry for her. On her seventh birthday, Leo bought her a small electronic keyboard to practice on. She took to it easily, and by the time she was ten, was recording tracks on the keyboard, they play along with them on guitar.

She exhaled softly as she slid onto the bench and smoothed out her skirt. Just as she hovered her fingers over the keys, and pressed the first few, she was no longer alone in the room.

“Found you! Took me damn long enough…”

Y/N’s head snapped up, to see a beautiful blonde woman, with long, wavy curls approaching her. Her big, dimpled smile lit up the room the second she entered, and Y/N couldn’t stop admiring her.

“I tried to wrangle Robbie before when he was parading you through the room, but that little man is too fast for me!” She sat down on the bench beside Y/N in an exasperated huff. “Woo! I’m beat and it isn’t even midnight yet! I’m Briana, by the way. Briana Buckmaster. You’re, Y/N, right? Working the music side of Brewfest? I’ve heard a lot about you from Robbie.”

“He’s one hell of a cheerleader,” Y/N said. Something was familiar about her, but she couldn’t put her finger on where. “Are you doing work for it as well? You just seem so familiar, but I can’t…” as she trailed off, it hit her why. “You have an album of covers out, right?”

Briana was taken aback, her sweet smile dimpling as it grew. “I do! You’ve heard it?”

“Hell yeah! Back in Jersey, I was a musical director for a burlesque group. Some of the girls were playing it for a routine. It was hot. Your voice is seriously magic.”

“Burlesque? How fucking cool are you? Did we just become best friends?” she roared with a throaty laugh and threw an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. “And here I was just coming over to ask you about Jensen. Had no idea I’d find a fan and a new friend in the mix!”

“You definitely have a fan in me, Briana.”

“Oh please, call me Bri, everyone does. This dress, gorgeous, by the way. And please tell me that Jensen matched you on purpose because I will both love him and tease him for eternity because of it!”

“No! It wasn’t on purpose. But I knew someone would think it was.”

“I guess you two are just on that wavelength, huh?” she wiggled her eyebrows and poked Y/N’s arm with her elbow. “I did see you guys when you walked in together.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. So, you gotta tell me something,” she said and leaned in a little closer. “How good a kisser is he? Cause, I may be married, but I ain’t dead. And that boy is… mmm mmm!”

“I don’t--I haven’t… We’re not…” Y/N laughed nervously shook her head slightly, trying to shake the embarrassment off and form a complete sentence. “We’re just friends, we work together on the festival. That’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” Bri said and cleared her throat before turning back to Y/N. “You guys are in the denial stage! Ok, I get it.”

“What? No! It’s…” Y/N searched for the right word. Damn this woman is perceptive, she thought before finding the winner. “It’s complicated.” she sighed, surprising herself that she gave any kind of real answer.

Y/N was instantly comfortable with Briana. Her spirit and fiery personality felt familiar, and something she’d been lacking in her life since leaving New Jersey months before. She felt that she could say something like that to this virtual stranger because she felt like Bri wouldn’t be a stranger for much longer.

“Yeah well, complicated can work itself out,” she nudged her shoulder into Y/N playfully, then motioned down towards the keys. “You play?”

“I do,” she replied, relieved Bri moved the subject off of Jensen for the moment.

“What do you like to play?” she asked, but not in the way where one is curious. She asked because she looked like she was scheming.

“Just about anything really. Why?”

Bri slid out off the bench and walked around to stand in the curve of the piano. “You sing, too, right?”

“I do,” Y/N replied and started to play with the keys around middle C. Finding the melody of something soft but familiar. “Robbie tell you that?”

“Nope. Jensen did. Did he tell you that he sings as well?”

Y/N’s fingers froze and her breath caught in her chest. “No… he didn’t.”

Bri’s face light up as she leaned against the piano, letting her hands slide along the edges in each direction. “Oh, he does. And he sings, goooood.”

She forced her fingers to continue playing the song. As she played on, she didn’t realize the song that she’d been playing just then was the same one she had been strumming on the guitar the morning Jensen shared her sunrise.

‘Ooo-ooo-ooo honey, you’re the one that I want...’ Y/N sang silently along to the melody in her head.

“I know this one… I did a stint as Rizzo at the Citadel Theater,” Bri squealed excitedly. “This was a fun one to perform.”

“Pink lady here,” Y/N laughed, and quickly changed up the melody, not wanting that one to get wedged in her head again. After she played it that morning, it stuck with her for days after. But instead of it making her think of the play, now it just reminded her of sitting on the floor with Jensen and talking through the night.

“But I wanted to play Rizzo,” Y/N continued. “She’s clearly the most relatable.”

“We really are kindred spirits! So, new friend…” she brought her arms back to center, and rested her elbows on the piano, cradling her chin in her palms. “Play me something.”

Y/N thought for a moment and began to pick up a melody. Bri’s eyes lit up as she recognized the beginning notes to “Do I Move You.” They exchanged a knowing glance; Y/N knowing this had been one of Bri’s covers, and Bri realizing that Y/N chose it for that reason.

Starting it acapella, Bri sang the first line, “Do I move you?”

Y/N played, finding the groove of the song. It wasn’t hard for her, all she needed was a place to start and she could slide right into it.

“Are you willing? “Do I groove you? Is it thrilling? Do I soothe you? Tell the truth now… Do I move you? Are you loose now? The answer better be…” Bri drew out the last word, soft and sultry and looked to her accompaniment to finish the first verse with her.

“That pleases meeeee….” They sang together.

The song played on, just the two of them at the moment. The party noises were all but a second thought, as these two new friends found an easy rapport with each other through the music. With every few lines, Y/N increased the tempo of the melody, her fingers beginning to move across the keys with speed and accuracy. She was ensconced in playing and vibing with Bri, relishing in the rich grit and tenor of her voice. Both of them solely just going with the song and building it from an intimate conversation to an all-out war cry with the depth, and fullness of Bri’s bravado.

“When I touch ya? Do you quiver? From your head right down to your liver If you like it, let me know it Don’t be psychic or you’ll blow it The answer better be…. Great God Almighty, that pleases meeeee….”

Bri hit the last note in her full voice and a roar of applause ripped through the room. If Bri had seen the people funnel in, Y/N didn’t know; but she hadn’t. Getting so lost in playing freely, not worrying about anything more than feeling the song at that moment, she had no idea that the small music room had filled up with at least twenty different people. Among them, Jensen and Rob, whistling and clapping along with everyone else.

Jensen stood at the opposite end of the piano, holding Y/N’s gaze as the small crowd began rumblings of play more, something else, keep going… the way he watched her made her nervous, yet euphoric. Y/N could feel him beaming with pride, and while she didn’t play with him in mind, it made her feel good to know he got to see her play.

“Hot damn, girls!!” Rob shouted over the crowd. “I knew this was gonna be a good night! You’re amazing!” he ran over and planted a big kiss on Bri’s cheek, then Y/N’s. “I’ll be right back, don’t move!” He was excitable and bouncing all over the place, then finally disappeared back into the crowd.

Y/N took the chance to slide out from behind the piano. Bri grabbed her the minute she was upright and pulled her into a hug.

“That was fucking fantastic!” she squealed and gave Y/N a squeeze. “We have got to hang out and do that again sometime.”

“I am down for that anytime. Your voice… that rasp you have. I’d kill for that.”

“Don’t let her fool you Bri,” Jensen said, rejoining them. “This girl has got some soul when she sings.”

“Oh, I believe it,” she said, “I just can’t wait to hear it.”

“Another time, maybe? Come by my place here in Austin. We can sit around and gig all day if you like. I am happy to spend an afternoon like that.”

Jensen opened his mouth to say something, but Rob’s re-entrance into the room caused some commotion. The moment he walked in with two guitars in hand, the chatter grew again. Rob handed one of the guitars off to Jason and someone else had already slid behind the piano. Stopping at a handful of the guys, including Jensen, he whispered something quick in their ear and went back to stand near the piano.

“Be just a second,” he said as he placed a hand on each of Y/N’s shoulders as he slid around behind her through the people, giving her a gentle squeeze as he did.

The guitars started, piano joined in, and Y/N picked up the first few beats of The Band’s “Up On Cripple Creek”. Bri squeezed in close and tapped her arm.

“I love when they do this song,” she whispered. “Just wait, you’re gonna love it too.”

The moment Jensen’s voice filled the room, Y/N’s mouth fell open at the sound of it; completely in shock with what she was hearing. He sang the first verse, while his friends picked at the guitars and played along on the piano. Jensen kept up with them effortlessly, though his attention was fully on Y/N. From the first line, he locked eyes with her, keeping a grin at bay while he sang his verse. He had a soul and a tone to his voice that tickled the deepest part of her, arousing both the creative and the lustful sides of her. Y/N didn’t know what to expect when Bri told her Jensen could sing, but it certainly wasn’t that.

The song went on, but Jensen just continued to sing along with the chorus, letting each of the other guys take another verse. When it was over, the crowd once again strongly approved of the impromptu performance. Y/N subtly backed her way through the crowd and back out into the corridor to get some air, still reeling from how good Jensen could really since. She saw him shaking hands, making pleasantries and small talk as he made his way towards her.

When he broke through the barrier of people, his arms were outstretched low and he was smiling. “You’ve been holding out on me, Trix. You can play…”

Y/N snorted a laugh. “You can sing!”

Jensen shrugged, not just with his shoulders, but his entire face. “I guess we’ve both been holding out, huh?”

“Looks that way,” she loosely crossed her arms under her breasts and gave him a challenging look. “Feels like maybe we should rectify that.”

Jensen thought about it for a minute, then held out his hand for her to take. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

“Good God, yes please…” she sighed and took his hand without hesitation, happily following along beside him as he whisked her through the ballroom.

The next hour or so was spent drinking and eating with people coming and going from the table. Around the third whiskey sour, and multiple helpings of the barbeque pork potato cups, apple brie crostini and mini beef wellingtons, Y/N needed to stand and stretch, allowing the food to settle.

“You alright?” Jensen asked, standing up too, reaching for her elbow to hold her steady.

“Yeah, fine. Just head rush from the booze. Also, this dress wasn’t made for gorging oneself on whiskey and crostinis.”

“Lightweight,” he teased.

“Hey, I don’t live in a brewery, okay? It doesn’t take much to get me--”

“Drunk?”

“Unencumbered,” she corrected.

Jensen leaned closer. “Does this mean I could maybe convince you to dance with me now?” his voice was low and raspy as if it had been denied water for days.

“Let me venture to the ladies’ room first. It is getting close to midnight after all. Then when I get back, we’ll see…” she narrowed her eyes at him.

When he narrowed his eyes back at her, mimicking her expression, she felt her breath begin to get shaky. “Hurry back. Or I’ll tell them to play the Macarena.” Jensen began to do the dance, but subtly, just enough to tease her with.

“Don’t think for a second I wouldn’t whip out my phone and record you doing it,” she warned. “It would be a nice addition to my video collection.”

He stopped cold and stood still. “So, that’s a no, on the Macarena?”

Y/N patted his cheek lightly and let it linger against his stubble for a moment. “Good boy. I’ll be right back.”

She turned to go, and just before she was out of earshot, he called out. “Don’t take too long, or it will be the Chicken Dance!”

Y/N didn’t turn, she just shook her head and kept walking. She didn’t want him to see how much he made her smile.

Just after drying her hands in the ladies room, Y/N was about to leave and bumped into Bri as she was coming in.

“Oh, hello new friend!”

“Hi Bri, having fun?”

“Yes! I love being with this group. You and Jensen should come over to where Kim and I are sitting. She’s a fucking blast, I think you two would get along fantastically. Just give me a sec, I’ll walk back out with you.”

Bri was quick and within minutes she and Y/N were heading back out towards the ballroom. The music was still playing and people were still dancing and having a blast. The music room was still full of passersby, and a different mix of faces at the piano and playing the guitars and singing. Y/N scanned the area where she had left Jensen, but it was now vacant. She tried to search the rest of the room for him, but there was no sign of him.

“Oh shit,” Bri mumbled, then pulled on Y/N’s lace sleeve. “Looks like you might need to go save your boy, there.”

“What?” she asked, her head whipping around to where Bri was motioning. Just past the bar, she found Jensen, talking animatedly to a petite redhead in a shimmery dark green dress. She was also being over-animated in talking back to Jensen. “Who is that?” she asked, but deep down she already knew.

“That’s Dee. Jensen’s ex-girlfriend. I knew they broke up last year, didn’t realize they still talked.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and she remembered their very quick conversation about her in the car. “I didn’t either.”

Bri and Y/N watched from a distance until Jensen laughed at something she said. It wasn’t a genuine laugh by any stretch. Glancing pensively at Bri, Y/N bit on her lower lip. She didn’t know if this was a case for her to interfere or simply let the man work out his own business. The longer she watched and saw his body language change to stiffen and defensive, she knew she couldn’t be complacent.

“Maybe I should…” she trailed off and looked to Bri for some kind of sign.

“You probably should.”

Y/N gave her a small, appreciative smile and nod before she began to approach Jensen and his ex. The closer she got, the more of their conversation she could hear, and when she finally was standing beside him, they’d already found an argumentative pit and had fallen in knee deep.

“Well, well. Good to see you still make bad decisions,” Jensen scoffed at Dee, his voice slightly louder and more accusatory as it needed to be.

“Just stop, Jensen,” Dee pleaded. “It’s enough, alright?”

“You knew I was gonna be here. You had to know that. He had to come with you, right?”

“We’re together, Jay. I’m not going to hide that.”

“I wish I could… hide it… from my face,” he muttered.

“Not like you’re here alone,” she retorted and motioned to Y/N.

Jensen finally saw her standing there, and moved closer to her, exchanging his scowl for a grin. “Hey, you’re back.”

“I am. So, whatcha say we go get some air? Uh, Hollywood? I think some fresh air will do you good.”

“I’m good, Y/N. I swear. I got a few things I wanna say--”

“Nope, no, not gonna happen. Say, Happy New Year and let’s go,” she encouraged and tried to pull him away.

“You know who that is, don’t you?” he asked, in what he thought was a whisper, but everyone could hear.

“Yes, I know who it is,” she replied and looked up at Dee with a wan smile in greeting. “Hi, it’s nice to unofficially meet you.”

“Hi,” Dee replied with an apologetic smile.

“Then you know she’s a bit--”

“Don’t,” you warned, cutting him off. “I don’t care who it is, it is not like you to talk to anyone like that.”

“But—"

“Doesn’t matter Jay, you don’t. You’re better than that,” she said, her eyes pleading with him to just follow her out.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this,” Dee started. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. He just can’t let this all go.” Her tone was genuine but her words were enough to make Y/N turn around and glare at her.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I just mean that--”

“Maybe, if you hadn’t treated him like a piece of shit, he wouldn’t be this way. Maybe, if you had the balls to have had a conversation with the man instead of just walking out, he wouldn’t want to call you a bitch. So, if I were you, lady, I’d scoop up the boy toy over there and move along.”

Dee’s mouth was agape, but then it seemed as if she may fire back some offhand comment or quip. Instead, she turned, linked her elbow with her man’s and walked off to the other side of the room.

She could feel Jensen’s lips by her ear before she actually heard his words. “You’re my hero,” he rasped.

The feeling of his hand on her shoulder only fueled the adrenaline that was coursing through her. The incident didn’t sober her up, but it definitely put a mild damper on the good feeling she had before.

Y/N went up to the bar and asked for two shots of bourbon.

“You wanna talk about what just happened there?” she asked Jensen and watched as he leaned both elbows on the bar, and rubbed his hands over his stubbled cheeks.

Jensen shook his head and finally looked her in the eye. “Nope. Not right now.”

The bartender lined up the shots, and Y/N passed one to him. Without a word they touched glasses and threw them back down their throats. Once the burn wore off, Jensen’s smile returned.

“One more?” he asked.

“You may have to carry me out of here if we do,” she chuckled.

“That would be my pleasure.” Jensen motioned for one more round.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Dee and her companion off on the other side of the room, but continuing to look over in their direction. She didn’t want to spend the rest of the night exchanging accusing glances from across the room.

“Hey, you wanna take a walk? Get out of here for a minute?” she asked Jensen, just as the bartender refilled the shots.

“More than anything,” he said and tossed it back, Y/N doing the same.

Y/N was the one to take his hand this time and led him away from the ballroom.

It was mere minutes to midnight by the time Y/N had pulled Jensen away from the party. He was clearly more than a little buzzed when they stumbled into the elaborate game room and Y/N quietly closed the door behind them, so as not to draw attention to their departure.

She found the light switches on the wall, and turned on a few, illuminating the four corners of the club’s game room. The soft glow of the neon-lighted beer signs gave the space a warm, rich burst of color. In the middle, was a large pool table, made of dark mahogany wood and blue felt. The pockets were made of netted silk twine and gold inlaid etchings around the bumpers. On the far side of the room was a string of videos games with lifeless screens, and foosball table half draped with a soft leather cover.

More pool tables followed that, along with a collection of high top tables and chairs, a small bar that was fully stocked and four dart boards along the wall. One of which was open with all the darts still stuck in the corkboard target.

“Wanna play?” he asked, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off before laying it on the pool table. He walked over to the board and removed the darts before she could answer.

“I gotta tell you, I am no good at darts. So, you best steer clear when it’s my throw,” she warned.

“I can teach you.” His smirk wasn’t even trying to be subtle as he approached her, four darts with red tails in his outstretched hand. “I’ve played a time or two.”

“Oh, I imagine you have. Something tells me you’ve done everything a time or two.”

Jensen stood next to her, leaning against the one pool table where the billiard lamp’s soft lights lit up the midnight blue felt. He rolled his neck to the side where she was and leaned down close enough that she could smell the hint of bourbon on his breath. Normally it wouldn’t be enticing, but on Jensen and in her own partially inebriated state, she let her mind wonder how it would taste off his tongue.

“Not everything,” he rasped, then gave her a wink.

Three minutes to midnight…

Pushing off the mahogany, he took a proper throwing stance and explained how to plant her legs. Y/N chuckled as he swayed a little before launching the dart at the board, striking the edge of it instead of the middle.

“That’s just a warm-up,” he scoffed, waving it off. “Let’s try that again.” He glanced over his shoulder to see her expression before launching a second dart.

Normally this is when she would look away. The more time they spent together, the more she found herself avoiding making eye contact in situations like this. She knew that one day she wouldn’t be able to look away, and unless she’d been reading the signals wrong for the entire span of their partnership, it would end up turning into something else. As much as she may want that, she didn’t know if she was ready for it.

“Ok Trix, your turn,” he said and took her hand, pulling Y/N off the edge of the table and positioning her to face the dart board. He made sure she was holding the dart correctly. “Pinch it here between these two fingers…” he configured her pointer finger and thumb on the dart. Gliding his hands down the length of her arm, she could feel him on her skin through the lace of her sleeve. When he paused at her elbow to bend it back at the right angle, his other hand gingerly touched the outside of her left leg. “Move your leg back, just a little,” he instructed, and as she did, he left his hand there, and despite the fabric of her dress between them, the heat of his hand felt warm and inviting.

Hyper aware of all the sensations her body was experiencing, she could feel herself simply melt back into him. The day’s earlier concerns weren’t gone but being wrapped up in the night as it had gone so far, Y/N pushed it all away to enjoy these quiet, close moments with Jensen. She needed it, and she suspected he did, too.

“Now, pull back your arm,” he continued, “almost like a slingshot. Okay? Then eye up on the board where you wanna aim for.”

She did as he said, closing one eye and targeted the bullseye. “Okay,” she said, biting down on her bottom lip in concentration.

One minute to midnight

The partygoers out in the rest of the clubhouse began to get louder with their anticipation of the stroke of midnight building. Y/N tried to block them out and launched the dart at the board. It wasn’t lost on her that Jensen’s hand was still hovering over her leg, and the other was now resting against her back where the dress she chose was bare of fabric.

The dart hit just off center, and she jumped up, arms raised in the air in triumph.

“Yes!” Jensen cheered and clapped as she danced around victoriously. “See that!”

“Well, the things you can do with a good teacher,” she shrugged.

From beyond the game room doors, they could hear everyone start counting down.

20...

19...

“It’s not too late to go join them,” she said and motioned towards the door.

17…

16…

“Here’s good,” he replied, the smile fading from his lips. He took a few steps towards her, and when he reached out for her hand, she gave it willingly.

14…

13…

12…

“Here’s very good,” she breathed.

Their eyes were locked, as the countdown continued from the other room. Y/N felt what he wanted from her, and despite any of the worries she had, she wanted him; denying that any longer would just be self-inflicted torture. But still… it could hurt.

10…

9…

8..

They were counting it down together. As the numbers dwindled down towards one, Jensen cupped her cheek and let his fingers slide down her jawline and onto her neck. Ever-so-lightly, she could feel his fingertips brush against her hairline at the nape of her neck, sending waves of electricity to course down every vein.

5…

4..

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” he rasped.

“Happy New Year, Jensen.” Her voice was shaking in anticipation of…

2..

His mouth drifted the last couple inches to hers. By the time the rest of the party goers were hootin’ and hollerin’, shooting off poppers and kissing everyone around them, his lips touched against hers for the first time.

Everything faded; the party sounds, the soft hum of the circulating air in the game room, the fireworks going off in random places throughout the city… all either of them could sense was the other. Jensen’s fingers began to press into her neck, encouraging her closer, as her lips opened to accept more of him. A soft moan escaped her, as he walked her back up against the pool table. More than just a New Year’s tradition, this was months in the making and neither of them wanted to pull away.

Jensen’s lips were as soft and luscious as she dreamed they would be. She relished in how they formed against her own, how easily she moved along with them, and how well she fit when pressed against his body. His hand stayed gripped on her neck, while his other ran roughly down the length of her body; coming to rest just about where it had when they were throwing darts. Now, inch by inch he began to lift up the fabric of the skirt, bunching it in his hand until her flesh was exposed to the heat of his hand and the coolness of the air.

Lips parted, and the sensation of his tongue on hers was dangerous. Her head was fuzzy from the alcohol and his touch. Little gasps and moans came from both of them, as the kiss continued to deepen, finding more fuel the longer his hand pawed at her thigh.

His teeth grazed her lip and it was enough of a rush for her to break free of him and slowly roll back at the heat of his touch. Jensen didn’t waste a second and sunk his teeth into her neck while she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, dragging her nails against his skin. He nipped at her and trailed his tongue lightly up towards her ear, then peppering wet, lingering kisses back down towards her collarbone. Waves of goosebumps rippled beneath the lace of her dress and brought on a flush of heat between her legs.

Y/N mewed deeply, which pulled a soft growl from deep within his chest. His fingers continued to creep up her leg as the fabric now fell down around his hand, covering it. He reached the edging of the lingerie she wore beneath it, he brought his fingers to follow the hem around back to the swell of her ass, cupping it gently. Y/N felt him there and slowly raised her head back up, making him do the same.

“Jensen…” she whispered; unsure herself whether it was a plea to stop or to keep going.

Jensen closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, desperately wanting to kiss her again, but not here. He wanted to be home, his or hers, with no onlookers or distractions. He wanted more… he wanted all of her…

He was about to go in for more when the doors opened behind him, the sound of which made them jump apart like two teenagers getting caught in the dark. She had a moment--it couldn’t have been more than that, though it felt like an eternity--where a very clear voice screamed in her head to run. This was wrong, she was drunk, he was drunk, they were in a public place, and she had no business starting something up with him.

The flood of anxiety-riddled doubts crashed into her and physically caused her to step back from him. She didn’t have time to register the hurt and confusion on his face before Y/N was turning and bolting for the door. Little hot pinpricks of tears stung at the corners of her eyes and by the time she reached the door and saw that it was Bri standing there, she could barely see anything at all.

“What happened?” Bri asked, her brow furrowed in concern when she saw how upset Y/N was. She looked across the room to where Jensen stood, still staring in confusion.

“Nothing… I just… can you please take me home?” Y/N’s voice was small, and her entire demeanor was far different than it had been ten minutes earlier.

“Uh, I--” Bri paused and looked back to Jensen again, who just shrugged. He started walking towards them and Bri just held up her hand to tell him to stop. She gently shook her head, silently asking him to give Y/N space. He stopped but Briana could see he wanted to go to Y/N. “Sure, honey. Let me just get my stuff.”

Bri wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and left the game room, and left Jensen standing there alone in it. As she walked with her new friend down the corridor, Y/N was aware that running out like that wasn’t the best plan; but she needed to get out. What happened with Jensen wasn’t anything like she expected it to be. It was far more intense and meaningful than she thought it could be. The way he touched her, kissed her… It was a game changer.

“Leaving so soon?” Gen asked as they passed her near the coat check.

Y/N tried to reply, but she was still trying to process what almost happened.

“She’s not feeling good,” Bri covered easily. “And I think stud muffin in there has had one too many to try and drive home. Would you and Jared take care of him? I got this one.”

“Of course! I’ll let him know you got Y/N home,” Gen said with a sad smile. “Hope you feel better!”

“Thanks,” Y/N replied quietly. “It was an amazing party, thank you for inviting me.”

Once the pleasantries were passed, Bri quickly shuffled Y/N to the valet stand and handed him the ticket. While they were waiting for her car to come around, she put an arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“So, did it just get a whole lot more complicated?” she asked.

Y/N rested her head on Bri’s shoulder and sighed. “That, is the understatement of the New Year, my new friend.”

Everything Tags: @kazosa // @sorenmarie87 // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @letsby

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#jensen ackles x reader insert #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #Jensen Ackles rpf #spn rpf fics

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darlingod · 6 years ago

Text

Billie Eilish song lyrics as Maven Calore

(half of the songs are unreleased if you get confused)

you should see me in a crown:“Bite my tongue bide my time. Wearing a warning sign. Wait till the world is mine. Visions I vandalize. Cold in my kingdom size. Fell for these ocean eyes. You should see me in a crown. I'm gonna run this nothing town. Watch me make 'em bow. Your silence is my favorite sound. I like the way they all. Scream. Tell me which one is worse. Living or dying first. Sleeping inside a hearse. I don't dream.”

lovely: “Thought I found a way out. But you never go away. So I guess I gotta stay now. Oh, I hope some day I'll make it out of here. Even if it takes all night or a hundred years. Need a place to hide, but I can't find one near. Wanna feel alive, outside I can't fight my fear. Isn't it lovely, all alone. Heart made of glass, my mind of stone. Tear me to pieces, skin to bone. Something's on my mind. Always in my head space. “

idontwannabeyouanymore: “Don't be that way. Fall apart twice a day. Show, never tell. But I know you too well. Got a mood that you wish you could sell. If "I love you" was a promise. Would you break it, if you're honest. Hands getting cold. Losing feeling getting old. Was I made from a broken mold? Hurt, I can't shake. We've made every mistake. Only you know the way that I break.”

copycat: “Don't be cautious, don't be kind. You committed, I'm your crime. Push my button anytime. Silver dollar, golden flame. Dirty water, poison rain. Perfect murder, take your aim. I don't belong to anyone, but everybody knows my name. Watch your back when you can't watch mine. Call me calloused, call me cold. You're italic, I'm in bold. Call me cocky, watch your tone. I would hate to see you go. Hate to be the one that told you so. You just crossed the line. You've run out of time. I'm so sorry, now you know. Sorry i’m the one that told you so. Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry, sorry. Sike.”

watch: “I'll sit and watch your car burn. With the fire that you started in me. But you never came back to ask it out. Go ahead and watch my heart burn. With the fire that you started in me. But I'll never let you back to put it out. If I could get to sleep, I would have slept by now. Your lies will never keep, I think you need to blow 'em out.”

party favor (i think we all know what this is about): “And I hate to do this to you on your birthday. Happy birthday by the way...”

bellyache: “My friends aren't far. In the back of my car. Lay their bodies. Where's my mind. Where's my mind. Maybe it's in the gutter. Where I left my lover. What an expensive fate. Thought that I’d feel better. But now I gotta bellyache. Everything I do. The way I wear my noose. Like a necklace. I wanna make 'em scared. Like I could be anywhere. Like I'm wreck-less.”

ocean eyes: “I've been watchin' you for some time. Can't stop staring at those ocean eyes. Burning cities and napalm skies. Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes. Your ocean eyes.”

hostage: “I wanna be alone. Alone with you - does that make sense? I wanna steal your soul. And hide you in my treasure chest. I don't know what to do. To do with your kiss on my neck. I don't know what feels true. But this feels right so stay a sec. Yeah, you feel right so stay a sec. And let me crawl inside your veins. I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain. It's not like me to be so mean. You're all I wanted. Just let me hold you. Like a hostage. Gold's fake and real love hurts. And nothing hurts when I'm alone. When you're with me and we're alone.”

limbo/seven days: “I'm not trying to say words anymore. Cut me loose, 'cause you're too far away. Seven days in limbo, push me out the window. Nothing but problems between me and you. I'm done thinking that we might just spark enough. We're broken glass waiting to be washed away.”

when the party’s over: “Don't you know I'm no good for you? I've learned to lose, you can't afford to. Tore my shirt to stop you bleeding. But nothing ever stops you leaving. Don't you know too much already? I'll only hurt you if you let me.”

listen before i go: “Tell me love is endless. Don't be so pretentious. Leave me like you do. Sorry can't save me now. Sorry I don't know how. Sorry there's no way out. But down. These salty tears on my cheeks. That's what a year long headache. Does to you. I'm not okay I feel so scattered. Leave me, deja vu.”

see-through: “Wait a minute, let me finish. I know you don't care, but can you listen?. I came committed, guess I overdid it. Wore my heart out on a chain around my neck. And now it's missing. I never really know how to please you. You're looking at me like I'm see-through. I just never know how you feel. Do you even feel anything? I know you're not sorry, why should you be. 'Cause who am I to be in love when your love never is for me?”

true blue: “I'd like to mean it when I say I'm over you. But that's still not true. I'm still so blue. True blue, true blue, hey. True blue.”

bored: “The games you played were never fun.”

bad: “I'm giving you. On count of three. To show your stuff. Or let it be. 'Cause I'm telling you. Just watch your mouth. I know your game. What you're about. But my friend you have seen nothing. So just wait till I get through. I’m bad. The word is out. You're doing wrong. Gonna lock you up. Before too long.”

bitches broken hearts: “You can pretend you don't miss me. You can pretend you don't care. All you wanna do is kiss me. Oh, what a shame, I'm not there. What is it you want? You can lie, but I know that you're not fine. Every time you talk. You talk 'bout me, but you swear I'm not on your mind. I guess being lonely fits me.”

six feet under: “Help, I lost myself again. But I remember you. Don't come back, it won't end well. But I wish you'd tell me too. Our love is six feet under. How can you die carelessly? (😑)You’re cold as a knife.”

#billie eilish #maven calore #red queen

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assholemurphy · 7 years ago

Text

The Poets Are Just Kids Who Didn’t Make It

Also on AO3

Stranger Things

Steve/Jonathan

Summary: Steve Harrington is an out of work actor who's just starting out and has agreed to let one of Nancy's friends photograph him for extra cash. Jonathan Byers is a broody, asocial photographer that just wants to finish he project. Steve isn't used to photo shoots and Jonathan isn't really used to people like Steve. But, Steve is hard to dislike, and Jonathan opens up to him about his reasons for his art and why he has to make it mean something. Steve thinks he's a little pretentious, but he's cute and honest, and really? Steve's a sucker for anyone that calls him beautiful.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7045

Warnings: Referenced Child Abuse, Reference Drug Use

Steve sat in the cab toying with his phone, double checking the address to make sure he had the right place. He did. He was over thirty minutes late and he didn’t think Jonathan would be pleased, but he wasn’t sure he was even going in. He knew nothing about the man waiting for him inside except his name and that he was a photographer and Steve was being paid a hundred bucks to let him photograph him for some project. He needed the money, sure, being an out of work actor wasn’t going to pay his bills. Rent was due in two days and the money from his last job was running thin, so he needed this, but staring up at the decaying building where Jonathan’s studio was made him feel a little bit nervous. What if he was some creep who was just trying to get him naked and then take advantage of him?

Granted, he had gotten a reference from his ex, who had apparently gotten her start modeling for this guy, so he doubted he was too much of a creep. ‘A bit asocial and shy, but otherwise nice’ had been the way Nancy had described him. So, he probably wasn’t some predator, and Steve had dealt with worse people who hadn’t come so highly recommended.

“You getting out? I’ve got other places to be, kid,” The cabbie spoke, gruff and tired, shaking Steve from his anxious thoughts. He was going in. He had to.

“Yeah, sorry.” Steve handed over a few bills and exited the cab, stretching as he looked up at the high rise. It looked like it had been built a couple centuries ago, but this district wasn’t that old, so it wasn’t ancient, just decrepit and crumbling. Not at all what he’d expected when Nancy had told him about the photographer that had launched her career. Apparently, he had connections and was somebody important here in LA, but if that was the case, why couldn’t he afford a better part of the city?

He took a deep breath and walked up to the front doors looked over the list of names above the speaker. There, fifth on the list, scrawled in fading felt pen, the label peeling ever so slightly from age, read ‘Jonathan Byers.’ That was the guy. He pressed the button and waited.

“Yeah?” A tired voice came from the speaker, crackling with static and slightly distorted.

“Uh, I’m Steve Harrington? I have an appointment with Jonathan Byers?” Steve answered.

There was no reply, but the door unlocked, so Steve assumed that meant he was supposed to go in. He took hold of the door’s handle and pulled, half afraid it would break off in his hand. It didn’t, and he entered the building. It was just as old and worn down on the inside as it was on the outside. The décor was dated at best and tacky at worst. The mailboxes looked antique and could have been considered pretty, in some odd way, but the metal was tarnished and two of the doors hung open on broken hinges. This was not the type of place Steve was used to going. Hell, he hadn’t even known places like this existed in LA. Even his apartment wasn’t this crappy, and it was the cheapest place he could find. Not that he was judging, okay, yeah, he was judging, but could he be blamed? This place was a wreck.

He shook his head as he passed the elevator, not really trusting it to carry him up four flights of stairs. He’d rather walk, even if it meant being a few minutes later than he already was. Aside from a newspaper and a few crumpled flyers, the stairs looked to be solid. It only took him a few minutes to climb them, and another two to find the right door. He let out a sigh and knocked, promising himself that if it looked shady, he’d make up an excuse to leave, even if it meant not getting paid.

“You’re late,” Jonathan greeted him as the door swung open. He stepped out of the way and ushered Steve through the doorway and into a room that didn’t quite fit the rest of the building. The walls were clean and white and covered with photographs and magazine articles that Steve assumed were about exhibits Jonathan had done. The room smelled of smoke and lavender incense, which was a nice change from the musty hallway. Camera equipment was scattered on top of a wooden table next to a half empty mug of coffee with a happy looking rainbow on it and a pack of cigarettes, lighter balanced on top. In one corner of the room there was a back drop, grey, plain, with a darker grey chair in front of it and a few lights positioned around it with a camera on a tripod in the middle. The room wasn’t very organized, but Steve figured it was more of an organized chaos than general messiness. Two over-stuffed, faded blue chairs were next to the table, but that was the only color in the room besides the mug. It wasn’t homey, but it was better than he had expected.

“Yeah, sorry. Traffic was a bitch.” Steve winced at how cliché that sounded. It wasn’t even a good lie. The truth was that he’d needed the full half hour to work himself up into even hailing a cab in the first place.

Jonathan only hummed in response and Steve doubted he cared enough to call him on the obvious lie.

Steve took a moment to take in the man before him. He was shorter than Steve, and his hair was fairly long and messy, but it framed his angular face quite nicely. Steve watched as he took a drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke out. He was attractive, Steve guessed, not what he’d expected, either. He wore a long sleeved black sweater, which Steve found odd, considering LA’s heat, but it fit his frame well. Dark wash jeans hung loosely around his waist, not purposefully loose, but more like they just didn’t quite fit right anymore. Steve frowned, wondering exactly how he could get away with dressing like that when the second Steve so much as forgot to wash his hair, somebody had a comment for him. It took him a second to realize he wasn’t the only one staring, but unlike his gaze, Jonathan’s was much more intense, looking at him like he wasn’t quite a person, but more a painting and he was deciding whether he’d look better above the mantel or in the hallway. It was a little unnerving, Steve was used to being looked at like he was an object, it came with the territory, but it didn’t feel like Jonathan meant to be rude, more like he just didn’t know how else to view him.

“Uh, so-”

“You can undress here or in the bathroom, whichever you’d prefer,” Jonathan told him, taking another drag.

Steve nodded and the nervousness was back. He wasn’t used to undressing in front of strangers. But, he’d agreed, and now he had to make good on that. “I’ll just- Uh, here’s fine, I guess.”

Jonathan looked him over once more before putting out his cigarette in an ash tray and starting towards his camera. He paid no attention to Steve as he began to fiddle with it. Steve figured that was his way of trying to give Steve some semblance of privacy.

Steve bit his lip, deciding once and for all that he was going to do this, and pulled his shirt over his head. He wasn’t sure where to put it, so he threw it over the arm of one of the chairs and kicked off his shoes, tucking his socks inside and unbuttoning his pants. He pulled them off and laid them with his shirt. He hesitated a second before ridding himself of his boxers, deciding that, well, Jonathan probably saw a lot of naked people, so he most likely wasn’t going to be a creep about it, nor was he likely to judge him too harshly, not as harshly as some of his lovers in high school had, anyway, so there was no point in being shy about it.

He was thankful that the room wasn’t cold like the last one was when he’d filmed his last unclothed scene. That had been quite uncomfortable and he’d been sure the whole time that he was going to catch a cold.

“Where do you, uh, where should I stand?” Steve asked, absentmindedly rubbing his arm. Shy, no, but still nervous. It wasn’t everyday he stood completely naked in front of an attractive man, especially one who was so focused on anything but him.

Jonathan looked up from the camera and suddenly Steve found himself on the receiving end of one of the most intense looks he’d ever gotten. Jonathan wasn’t appraising him this time, no, this time he was flat out staring. Well, Steve could work with that. Just a deep breath and turn on the charm, that always worked.

Steve smirked, “I know, I look good, right?”

“Don’t. Nancy said you’d do that. Don’t,” Jonathan stopped him in his tracks.

“Do what?” Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so, but maybe Byers had a different opinion.

“That thing where you get nervous and act cocky because of it. You don’t have to impress me. I’m not here for your personality.”

“You just like me for my body,” Steve teased, not dropping the act. It was what he did when he got nervous, it was his way of controlling the situation.

Jonathan pursed his lips and looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and simply pointed to the gray chair. “Sit.”

Steve wondered if he’d done something to piss Jonathan off, and before he could think better of it, he asked, “You mad at me or something?”

“I just don’t like fake people,” Jonathan shrugged.

Steve scoffed, offended, “I’m anything but fake.” He made his way over to the chair and dropped down into it, drawing up in on himself. He didn’t know what Byers’s problem was, but he could get over himself and his hashtag deep nonsense.

“You’re putting on a front because you feel like you aren’t in control of the situation. It’s fake confidence and it’s annoying. I didn’t ask you here because I wanted you to force yourself to flirt with me. And if it helps, you are in control of the situation. You tell me to stop, I stop. You want it to be over, it’s over. I’m not going to do anything you aren’t okay with, alright? I don’t know what Nancy has told you about me, but that’s not how I work,” Jonathan told him, frowning. He didn’t mind nervous, everyone seemed to get nervous when they were naked, but it just bugged him that Steve was pretending to flirt with him. He didn’t need that. Yes, Steve was pretty, and not just from an artistic standpoint, but he didn’t like the idea of Steve putting on an act for him. It wasn’t necessary, and, frankly, it was annoying.

“Alright.” Steve had to admit, it did make him feel better knowing that he was more in control of the situation than he’d thought. “And I’m not pretending.”

“You’re pretending to be some cocky little-”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not pretending to flirt with you.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. Did he really just come on to Jonathan? After all his worry that Jonathan would come on to him? Way to be a hypocrite. That being said, of course, that was before he’d met him when he was still imagining a forty-year-old blading guy in sweatpants.

Jonathan wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but he felt his cheeks get hot. Well, that wasn’t what he’d expected from this encounter. He was pleasantly surprised, but it was a distraction and he didn’t have time for that. “Whatever, just, don’t sit like that.”

“How do you want me to sit?” Steve asked, not really sure how else to sit that wouldn’t put the spotlight on the fact that he was, well, naked.

“Normally. Just relax, okay.”

Steve shifted, trying to ignore the fact that he was naked and just sit like usual. It didn’t work and he sighed in frustration before trying again, knowing that no matter how he sat, he was still on display. Or maybe he should work with that. He was naked, that wasn’t going to change, but maybe he should stop trying to pretend he wasn’t and just-

“For fuck’s sake, it’s not a porn shoot, Harrington!” Jonathan snapped, frustrated.

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“Sit naturally, like you would at home.”

“Oh, yeah, because I sit around my house naked all the time,” Steve snarked. This was awkward enough without Jonathan’s help.

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his noise, annoyed. This was usually easier. Usually, he had people who had already done a few photoshoots who knew what the fuck to do, but no, he couldn’t go with someone with experience, he just had to do what Nancy asked and help her friend. Her really hot friend who was obviously clueless about everything. “Here, just let me- I’ll show you, okay?”

“Fine.”

Jonathan made his way over to Steve before stopping and looking a little pained, “I’m going to touch you, okay? Is that alright?”

“Go for it.” Under normal circumstances, having a cute guy touch him while he was naked would be cause for celebration, but Jonathan looked so awkward about it that Steve doubted it would be much fun for either of them.

Jonathan nodded before placing his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gently shoving him back into the chair. “Turn so your back is against the arm of the chair.”

Steve did as instructed, letting Jonathan move him into place.

“Good. Now put you leg up. No, the other one. Yeah, like that. And your hand here.” Jonathan moved Steve’s hand to his lap and let it drop, not wanting to be inappropriate. “The point is to show the human body as a work of art, you know? But nobody’s gonna want to look at it artistically if all they see is your dick.”

“Fair enough,” Steve accepted it and covered himself as instructed. “Now what?”

“Now don’t look directly at the camera,” Jonathan instructed, walking back over to his place behind the camera.

“Where do I look?”

“Just anywhere but directly at the camera,” Jonathan told him with a shrug.

“Can I look at you?”

“Am I behind the camera?”

“Yeah?”

“Then no.”

Steve rolled his eyes but scanned the room, looking for anything interesting enough to stare at. He finally settled on a few pictures on the wall across from him. He couldn’t quite make out what they were, but they looked like buildings. Well, at least he knew Jonathan took photos of more than just naked people.

The camera clicked a few times before Jonathan came back to help him adjust his position once more before taking a few other photos. It felt like it took forever to Steve, who was doing his best to keep still and the effort clearly showed on his face.

“You can move, you know. You’re not a statue and I’m not going to yell at you if you move a bit. Just don’t start flailing about and you’ll be fine. The world won’t end if you move your arm a few inches,” Jonathan chuckled.

Steve smiled. He liked Jonathan’s laugh. It was honest and quiet. It struck him that, while Nancy had seemingly told Jonathan all about him, he knew very little about Jonathan. “So, uh, why’d you get into photography?”

“Hm?” Jonathan looked up and shrugged. “There’s so many moments that should be preserved. Life moves on and forgets them seconds after they happen. Sometimes things are worth immortalizing.”

“Like naked people.”

“No, like buildings falling down or broken things that look so surreal, so imperfect for just a moment until someone fixes them and the world goes back to turning without even noticing it was ever anything less than perfect. Those things.”

“So, broken things and collapsed buildings.”

“Chaos and ruin, society’s biggest flaws laid bare for any that care to look hard enough.”

“That’s deep,” Steve snorted.

“Shut up.”

“So, you like ruin.”

“I do.”

“Is that why you chose this building? Because in all honestly, it should probably be condemned,” Steve said, letting Jonathan adjust him once more.

“Probably. And yeah, it was a good place to shoot when I don’t feel like going anywhere, there’s plenty of things to photograph here. Like the water stains on the sixth floor, or the broken mailboxes, or the broken window in the lobby that should have been fixed months ago but somehow isn’t in the budget.”

“So, flaws.”

“Yeah, flaws. I like them. People think they’re inherently bad, but they’re not. They’re what make things different, special. I find meaning in things like that. Some kind of proof that things aren’t as perfect as we want to pretend they are.”

“You could find meaning in a crack in the sidewalk.”

“I actually have several photos of various cracks in the sidewalk,” Jonathan told him. “Alright, on last one and then we’re done.”

“Of course you do,” Steve laughed. He didn’t know much about him, but that seemed very true to character. “So, I take it you like photographing people because of their flaws?”

“Yeah. Especially ones they try to hide, features they don’t like, scars they wish they had better stories for, things like that.”

“Things people don’t like. Like scars. And freckles?” Steve asked, looing up at Jonathan, slightly vulnerable. He’d gotten used to having them, they were easily hid beneath his clothing, but when he was younger he refused to even go swimming without a shirt. They’d been something different, something to be teased about, so he’d learned to hide them. Now, he didn’t really care. They were there, he didn’t like them, but they were there and he’d almost embraced them. There was no way to remove them without extensive treatment, anyway. But if Jonathan thought they were worth photographing, maybe they weren’t so bad.

“I like your freckles,” Jonathan smiled at him, raising a hand and tracing a path between a couple of them on Steve’s shoulder. “Makes you special, unique. Anything but perfect.”

Steve’s mouth went dry. He’d never felt so complemented by being called imperfect. And Jonathan’s hands were so gentle, so steady, and they had been the whole time. Every time he touched him Steve was struck by that, and every time he touched him, Steve wanted to tell him to never stop. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful,” Jonathan said, his voice low. He let his hand trail across Steve’s skin to his neck. This wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to one of his muses, but it was the first time he’d ever acted on it. Swallowing hard, Jonathan asked, “Can I?”

Steve wasn’t too sure what he was asking, but in that moment he would have let Jonathan do anything he wanted. “Yeah.”

Jonathan leaned down, cupping Steve’s face in his hand, and pressed his lips against Steve’s for a moment before pulling back and straightening up. Steve stood with him, fully aware that Jonathan would have to adjust him again, but dammit, that was not enough.

He let out a small laugh, “That’s not how you kiss someone, Byers.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at him, but smiled when he felt Steve’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for another, much longer kiss. Steve’s lips moved against his and Jonathan found himself kissing back with just as much force, his free hand finding Steve’s waist and pulling him close. Steve bit at Jonathan’s lower lip and Jonathan obliged. Steve licked into his mouth, his hand tangling in Jonathan’s hair and pulling gently. Jonathan finally broke the kiss after a few moments, pulling back and taking a deep breath.

“That’s a kiss,” Steve informed him, smirking at him. This time the confidence wasn’t fake. He felt completely comfortable with Jonathan, despite his state of undress, and given the opportunity, he’d do his best to get Jonathan unclothed, as well.

Jonathan just smiled at him for a moment before gently shoving him back down into the chair. “Sit. One more, then we’re done.”

“And then what?”

“You could leave? Or we could, I don’t know? What do you want?” Jonathan wasn’t used to people staying, he wasn’t sure what he could offer Steve, but whatever he asked for, Jonathan was willing to provide it. Well, almost. “I’m not going to fuck you, though. I like to keep my professional life and my private life separate.”

“That’s disappointing.” But fair. “Any chance I could be part of that private life?”

Jonathan was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Steve to allow him to kiss him, let alone want anything more to do with him. He was pleased, though, as Steve was everything Nancy had said he was. He was a little concerned about dating one of her exes, especially when he, himself, was one of her exes, but somehow he doubted that would be a problem for them.

“I have no objection to it,” he shrugged, stepping back into place behind the camera. “This time you can look at me, if you want. It’d be better for the shot.”

Steve did as he was told, looking up at Jonathan and asking, “Can I still stay, though?”

“Sure?” Why would he want that? “What would we do?”

“You could show me your photos and tell me about them. They look interesting. And, if I’m going to be part of your private life, I should probably get to know you, right?”

“Right, sure.” Whatever you want. “Now, shut up so I can take your picture, alright?”

Steve snorted but did as instructed, waiting until Jonathan looked up from the camera to speak again, “So, why photography? Why do you do it, aside from because you like taking pretty pictures of broken things? What do you get out of it?”

“Why acting? What do you get out of it?” Jonathan countered, removing the SD card from the camera and pocketing it. “We’re done.”

“That was fun. And I chose acting because I like to pretend I’m someone else.” Someone better, someone more confident, cooler, smarter, just better. He’d been a very self-conscious kid, but the second he’d stepped on stage for his second grade school play, he’d felt like he could do anything. It was like coming home. Like he’d finally found a place where he could fit, and if it ever stopped fitting, he could just become someone else. Sports were nice, too, his father had pushed him into those, but theatre had been where his heart was. He’d never forget the fight he’d had with his old man when he found out he was doing theatre. Their relationship had been failing for years, but that had been what really broke it. “It just felt right. On stage, I wasn’t me. I was whatever the script said I was, I didn’t have to worry about my problems or my shitty parents or the fact that I was failing English. It was just an escape, I guess, and I got addicted to the feeling of being someone other than myself for a few minutes.”

“Escapism. Understandable.”

“Your turn,” Steve told him, heading towards his clothes.

“I do it because I need an outlet. I need something to make sense of things. I find flaws and I highlight them and I make them look beautiful, and I guess, in doing that, I figure that if those flaws are beautiful, maybe my own are. And I mean, it gives purpose to the pain, so, there’s that.” Jonathan wasn’t used to talking about his reasons for doing what he did. Sure, he had them, but to put them into words that didn’t sound cheesy or overly emo was a feat. He did it because he needed to. He needed to make art to make himself happy, to keep himself sane. If he didn’t, then he had no purpose, and therefore, neither did all the pain he’d gone through to get where he was today.

Jonathan went towards the kitchenette, hidden behind the back drop to retrieve some of his work. If it wasn’t on the walls, it was in an album or a box, but he figured Steve had had enough nakedness for one day, so he went with the box instead of his current project. Maybe he’d show the full finished project to Steve after he got his photos printed. If he stuck around that long, but Jonathan hoped he would. “These are just random shots that don’t have a particular project attached to them, but you’re welcome to look through them. I’m not sure what all of them are, I just printed them and tossed them in here, so my apologies if you find something horrible.”

Steve, fully dressed and sitting down in the chair, reached up for the box, happily taking it and setting it on the table in front of him. “And you took all of these?”

“Every one of them,” Jonathan nodded, taking a seat. “Some are from abandoned projects, some were just opportunistic, I think there might even be a few family photos in there from the last time I went home, too, but those are boring.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t have any family photos. I left them all at home when I left. Not that there’s any particular sentimental attachment to any of them, they’re just stiff posed photos where we pretended to like each other long enough for the photographer to snap a photo.” Steve was well past caring about his family. He’d learned a long time ago that trying to make sense of what went wrong would only end up hurting him more. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

“That sucks.” Jonathan wasn’t sure what else to say. He knew what it was like to have a shitty relationship with a parent, but he had his mother, at least, he couldn’t imagine what it would have been like without her.

Steve just shrugged and picked up a photo. A black and white image of a broken clock, the glass cracked and scuffed like it had fallen on the ground. “You weren’t kidding about liking broken things.”

“Broken things are interesting, especially when they still function. It’s like a testament to what we can withstand and still pull through. We might not work the way we should, but we work, and really, that’s all that can be asked of us.”

“You’re really into this deep, emo artist thing, aren’t you?” Steve asked, teasing. He found Jonathan to be a little pretentious, but not in a bad way. He didn’t seem to be saying the things he said because he thought he was somehow better for thinking them, but rather because he truly believed them. He was open, honest, even at the risk of being mocked. It was like he didn’t really care what Steve thought, didn’t care if he judged him. He was at peace with himself, knew who he was and wasn’t ashamed of it, and Steve was a little envious.

Jonathan snorted and shook his head, “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“It is what I want to call it. Oh, my god, I’m dating an emo kid,” Steve laughed at the thought. It was like high school all over again. He was getting flashbacks of self-dyed black hair and way too much eyeliner. He could just imagine Jonathan wearing all black and listening to My Chemical Romance on repeat whilst writing angsty poetry.

“Dating? You’re dating me?” Jonathan raised an eyebrow, not objecting to the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it, but he wasn’t adverse to the idea. Dating Steve might be fun. He was certainly unique, not just physically, but personality-wise. Jonathan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an honest and revealing conversation with a total stranger, but Steve made him feel comfortable, like he wasn’t going to judge him for anything. Steve was certainly odd, but Jonathan liked that.

“Well, I mean-” Steve blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, “If you’ll have me?”

Jonathan smiled at him, “Sure. Who wouldn’t want you?”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve told him.

Jonathan shook his head, Steve seemed to have some self-worth issues, but that was alright. Jonathan wasn’t exactly the most confident person, either. “I took that one my senior year of college. Someone threw a rock through the cafeteria window and instead of shattering, it broke in this spiral of cracks, like safety glass but sharper.”

“What? Oh,” Steve looked down at the photo in his hand. “Is everything you take in black and white?”

“I use color when the occasion calls for it, but I find most things look better in grayscale. It highlights the lines, the abstract beauty of it.”

“You really are an artist, aren’t you?” Steve didn’t meet too many artists outside of actors, but he had to admit, he liked their viewpoints.

“Art is everything to me. Without it I probably wouldn’t be here right now,” Jonathan admitted. “It sounds cliché, I know, but it’s true. Without an outlet, without a way to make sense of all the suffering, I don’t think I would have made it through college, let alone this far.”

“And the suffering has to make sense, right? It’s got to have a purpose?” Steve asked. Obviously, Jonathan had been through some shit. Steve understood that. He couldn’t say he had the easiest of times getting to where he was right now. He couldn’t imagine who he’d have become without theatre giving him a way to express himself. He probably would have ended up like his dad. Working a job he hated, married to a woman he didn’t love because she ended up pregnant with a son he didn’t want. No, Steve couldn’t live like that.

“That’s what art is. Giving purpose to the suffering. What’s the point of it if it doesn’t make us better? Better people, better artists,” Jonathan told him, feeling more open and vulnerable than he had in years. This was why he was on the other side of the camera. He didn’t like to be splayed out and picked apart like someone was trying to make sense of him.

“Maybe it doesn’t have a purpose, though. Maybe it just hurts,” Steve shrugged, picking up another photo and looking at it like he was trying to find some hidden meaning in it. Really he just wanted an excuse to pry into Jonathan a little bit more. He wanted to ask him about his past, but he figured that was best left to another time, after they’d gotten to know some of the smaller stuff first. You couldn’t just dive first into childhood trauma, you had to learn things like how they took their coffee and what radio station they liked best first.

Jonathan was quiet for a moment before responding, “If it doesn’t have a purpose, then it’s just pain. Pointless, senseless pain. Like the universe just decided one day that ‘Hey, I’m going to fuck up this person forever for no apparent reason.’ How do you heal from that?”

“And that’s supposed to help you heal? That’s what this is?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. If this was Jonathan healing, he’d hate to have seen him before. He didn’t exactly scream mentally stable or put together now. Not that that was a problem, Steve couldn’t judge. He didn’t have the healthiest of coping mechanisms, himself.

Jonathan nodded. He’d tried a lot of things to make himself feel better. Drinking, drugs, running away. None of it had worked quite like this did. It was his way of making sense of a senseless thing. It helped. It didn’t make his past go away, it didn’t change all the shitty life choices he’d made, but it made them bearable. “This is me giving purpose to the pain, giving it an outlet. This is me healing, slowly, sure, but healing.”

“That makes sense,” Steve said, looking at another photograph. He wasn’t sure what this one was supposed to be. It looked like a bunch of bruises, but it was so close up he couldn’t tell. It was one of the few that were in color, though, so it caught his attention when he’d seen it.

“That one’s from a fight I got into about three years ago with Lonnie. He showed up at my mom’s house and wanted a second chance. It didn’t take long to see he hadn’t changed, and when he started in on Will for dating a boy, I lost it. Took Hopper and two other cops to separate us. Wasn’t a good night, honestly.” It had been the last time he’d seen Lonnie. As far as he knew, he hadn’t come around much after that. Jonathan didn’t like to fight, but after years of having to defend himself against Lonnie, he’d gotten pretty good at it. He knew it would have been easy to give into the anger that burned underneath everything, but he didn’t want to turn out like his father, so he avoided violence as best he could.

“Looks painful,” was all Steve could think to say.

Jonathan just shrugged. He wasn’t trying to be a tough guy, but after fourteen years of living with Lonnie, pain had kind of lost its edge. He reached over to rifle through the photos, looking for a couple he knew were in there. “But that’s the past. I think there are a few happier ones in there. Some stuff from a shoot I did back home. It’s a small town, but it’s got this aesthetic, like it’s stuck in a time loop and it’s forever the eighties. It’s quaint.”

Steve watched as Jonathan pulled a photo from the box and handed it to him. “That’s Will, my brother, and Mike, his husband on their first anniversary last year. They’re in front of the town’s theatre. I swear, it’s never shown anything more recent than Grease.”

Steve smiled at the photo. The couple looked happy and the town charming, if not a bit strange. “So, you can take happy photos.”

“Yeah, sometimes. It might not seem like it, but this does make me happy. It’s easy to get all brooding and dark about it, and the eighth grader in me loves to do just that, but I am happy. Most of the time.” He’d spent a good chunk of his life thinking it would never get any better, that he’d be stuck in a life he hated with no way out and that no matter what he did, he’d never feel that way, but he’d been wrong. It had taken a long time to get where he was, but once he’d finally made it, he wasn’t about to give it up for anything.

“Acting does that for me. I might not get a lot of work right now, but when I do, I’ve never felt so at home in the world. My dad wanted me to be a business man, and I was going to do that, up until my second year of college when I took intro to theatre and realized that I was about to waste my life doing something I never wanted just to please someone who was never going to be proud of me, anyway. So, I changed my major and didn’t look back and-” And while he wasn’t quite as happy as Jonathan seemed, he was getting there. It would take some time to stop living in the shadow of who he was expected to be, but eventually he’d learn to stop hating himself for what he wasn’t. “But, anyway.”

“You should try talking to Benny. He got me my first exhibit here. If he thinks you’re worth it, he’ll help you get where you want to be. I’ll give his number, call him, tell him I recommended you. He’s got a new project he’s working on and he needs a few actors for it. I don’t know how talented you are, but if he likes you, then he’ll probably hire you. I know a lot of people that got their real start through Benny.” Benny had saved Jonathan’s life, quite literally, when he’d showed up to his agency drugged out and on his way to burning out, fast. He’d stuck with him, got him cleaned up, gave him a chance to actually do something with his art. If anyone could help Steve get ahead, it was Benny.

“Let me just-” Steve dug in his pocket for his phone, handing it over to Jonathan. “Here.”

Jonathan took the phone and unlocked it, it didn’t take him too long to figure it out enough to add Benny’s number to it. He paused, “Do you, uh, do you want mine, too?”

Steve smiled and nodded, “That’d be nice, yeah. I can text you terrible lines from the scripts I’m reading. Film students are comedy gold, if they’d just learn not to take themselves so damn seriously.”

“Sounds good. I could use more comedy.” Jonathan entered his number and handed his phone back to him. “You’ve got a few messages, by the way. I wasn’t snooping, but they looked pretty frantic, but it’s like, half emojis, so I can’t tell.”

Steve snorted, “That’s probably Dustin. He writes in hieroglyphics and calls it self expression.” Steve took a moment to look at the messages, noting that, yes, Dustin did seem frantic, and that the photo of their stove on fire was probably a bad thing, but it was the photo of the fire truck outside their apartment that had the most impact, it was dated ten minutes ago. “Shit. I’ve got to go. Dustin tried to burn down our apartment again. He’s a great cook, but it doesn’t take much to distract him.

“That sounds daunting.” Jonathan stood as Steve did, unsure what to do now that he was leaving. They’d spent at least four hours together, with the shoot and talking, but Jonathan didn’t regret it like he usually did after spending a long time with people. He hadn’t felt this comfortable with someone since Nancy and it was nice to open up to someone who wasn’t going to judge him. He really hoped their relationship went somewhere, because Steve felt safe, and it had been a long time since Jonathan had felt safe with anyone.

“It happens like, once a week, honestly. I’ve just got to go, my name’s on the lease, so I’ve got to be the one to explain it to the landlord. I’ll uh, see you soon?” Steve asked, hesitantly.

“Yeah. Text me. We’ll meet up, get dinner or something. Actually, there’s a theatre not too far from here that shows a bunch of classics, maybe we could go? If you’re into that, you know.” Great Byers, you don’t flinch when seeing him naked, but now you get nervous? Way to go, champ, this is why you don’t have friends.

“That sounds great, actually. Maybe like, Sunday? Get lunch and then catch a movie?”

“Yeah. I generally spend Sundays walking around town and taking photographs, but I mean, I guess I could just photograph you?” Was that the best attempt at flirting he had? It was pathetic. Honestly, it was no wonder he hadn’t had a real date in seven months. Picking up random people at his exhibits didn’t count, because they were already interested in him, but it was rare he was actually interested in someone back.

“Don’t you have enough photos of me?” Steve asked, walking towards the door.

“No, not really. Most of them are of the same shot, just from different angles, and they’re all staged.” Jonathan shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe you could be my next muse.”

“Your muse? High praise,” Steve smirked, opening the door. “Does it come with perks?”

“Not really. It just means that I’ll be taking too many pictures and writing sappy poetry about you. Nothing too fantastic.”

“You write?” Well, looks like he’d been right about the angsty poetry bit.

“A little bit. I’m not like, good at it, but I do sometimes.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime. I’d like to read it.”

“I’m serious, it sucks, but, sure.” Jonathan didn’t generally show his writing to anyone. Nancy, Benny, and Will were the only ones he ever really shared it with.

Steve just smiled and stared down at Jonathan for a moment, waiting for him to make a move. But after a few seconds it became painfully obvious that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He seemed to be a little socially inept, but Steve thought it was cute. “This is the part where you kiss me goodbye, Byers.”

Jonathan swallowed hard, “Right. Of course. Sorry, it’s been a while.”

“I can tell,” Steve laughed, not mocking him. He placed a hand on Jonathan’s chin and tilted his face up to him, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He felt Jonathan smile into it. The kiss only lasted a few seconds but Jonathan’s cheeks were burning by the time it was over. “You’re pretty when you blush.”

“Shut up,” Jonathan mumbled, shooing Steve out the door. He heard Steve laugh as he closed it, resting his back against it and trying to no avail to stop the blush from spreading. He wasn’t used to attractive people liking him back. He wasn’t used to anyone liking him back. Nancy had been right, he did like this one. He was going to do his best to keep him as long as possible. He’d have to buy her flowers or something as a thank you for sending Steve his way.

#stranger things #stonathan #jonathan byers #steve harrington #steve harrington x jonathan byers #it's shameless self projection onto jonathan #but i needed a way to get out all of my Profound Art Nonsense #so i gave it to jonathan #he's abit emo but it's lowkey so it's all good #my fics #stranger things fic #stonathan fic

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maybe-this-time · 7 years ago

Text

Tooth Ache (a 2 a.m. college laundry AU)

Lily Evans couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t because finals were coming up (though they were). It wasn’t because her suitemates were having loud and aggressive sex at two in the morning and the sounds of headboards, bed springs, and fake moaning was driving her mad (though it was). It wasn’t even because that fit bloke in her Romantics Literature class had recently acquired an equally fit girlfriend (though, okay, that did bother her).

No, normally Lily Evans could sleep through anything – earthquakes, hurricanes, her sister Petunia’s incessant criticism. So, what was keeping her up so late?

Her bloody wisdom teeth.

She had awoken the day before with a throbbing pain on the lower right side of her jaw. Her third molar was inflamed, and it hurt like hell. Being the weekend, she couldn’t even get in to see a dentist until Monday.

So how did she cope with the pain induced insomnia? By doing her laundry, of course. She loaded up the weeks’ worth of dirty clothes and headed for the laundry room in the basement.

The room was quiet, the florescent lights casting an eerie glow on the sterile looking room – white tiles, white machines, greying walls. She loaded up her clothes, then settled in for the long wait. She brought a book to pass the time. Jumping up onto the counter in the middle of the room, she began to read.

She was doing an alright job – the pain in her jaw only causing her to reread half the sentences – when a loud noise startled her. A giant laundry basket came crashing through the door and careening to the ground. The lanky man behind it managing to catch himself on the door before he met the same fate as his clothes, which were now strewn everywhere. “Fuck,” he muttered, surveying the damage.

“It’s not going to pick itself up,” Lily said, placing her book in her lap.

The man looked up, blushing furiously. “I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

“Clearly.”

He dropped to his knees, haphazardly sweeping his clothes back into his basket. Lily took the time to survey him. His glasses were slipping down his crooked nose, and his limbs seemed a bit too big for his body. Form the looks of his hair – dark and extremely tousled – he had just woken up. Although, that could’ve been a stylistic choice. Some guys liked having perpetually messy hair. He rose, and Lily took note at how tall her was. She liked her men tall.

He set to work emptying his basket into the nearest open washer, not even bothering to separate his whites. She tsked as she turned back to her book.

“What?” the man called. “I can feel you judging me.”

“Have you ever done laundry before?” she asked.

“Of course, I have,” He said before opening his bottle of detergent and just pouring some in.

“Sure,” Lily said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were the laundry police.” The man shot back as he closed the lid.

“The laundry police?” Lily repeated. “Is that the best you can do?”

The man jumped up onto the other end of the counter. “It’s very early and I am operating on zero sleep, so forgive me for not being at full quipping potential right now. I assure you that if you find me sometime tomorrow, I will give you the verbal sparring of your life.”

“Is that a promise?”

He surveyed her again. She knew how she must look to him with her flaming hair pulled up in a messy bun and her old pair of her dad’s sweatpants. He must think her a right mess. “Yeah,” he said at last. “It’s a promise.”

She turned back to her book as he pulled out his phone. Alter a few minutes, he spoke again. “What are you reading?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” she answered. “It’s for my Romantic Literature course.”

He scoffed. “An English major. Of course.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He ruffled his hair as he turned to face her. “Just that, you know, you have that air about you. The stuffy pretentious air.”

“Stuffy and pretentious? And what’s your major, then?”

He puffed out his chest. “Maths.”

She let out a bark of laughter, the force of it hurting her jaw. “Naturally. That explains your judgment and arrogance.”

“You’re calling me judgmental and arrogant, really?”

“You called me stuffy and pretentious.” She pointed out.

“You’ve been critical of me since I walked in the room.”

“Technically, you crashed into the room.”

“See,” he pointed at her as if she had proved his point. “There you go again.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “Maybe I have been harsh on you. Let’s start over,” she extended her hand. “I’m Lily Evans, and you are?”

He took her hand. “James Potter.”

She made a mental note to look him up on Facebook later. “And what brings you to the laundry room at this ungodly hour, James Potter.”

He gestured to the washers. “Laundry.”

“No one does their laundry at two a.m. on purpose. There has to be a reason.”

“What’s your reason then?” He asked. He moved closer to the middle of the table and she followed suit. They were now sitting cross-legged in front of each other, knees touching. If her jaw didn’t ache so badly, Lily would’ve appreciated the Sixteen Candles-ness of it all.

“Wisdom teeth,” she said, pointing to her face.

He winced. “Ouch. I remember having mine out. They were impacted. I was awake the whole time.”

“You were not.” She said. They didn’t do surgery on you when you were awake, did they?

“Was too.” He said. “It was cheaper to do it with just local anesthesia and laughing gas.”

“Oh my god, that must’ve been so bizarre.” She couldn’t even imagine that. She could barely sit through a filling!

“Oh, it was, believe me.” he picked up his phone, scrolling through it. Finally, he held it out, showing it to her. “Look at how badly my face was swollen. My best mate Sirius teased me about it for weeks.”

It was selfie or him laying down, his cheeks an angry shade of red and swollen to half their side. “You look like a chipmunk!” she squealed.

“Alright, enough.” He took the phone back and she noticed the tips of his ears turning pink.

“So…” she prompted. “Why are you up?”

He looked away sheepishly. “It’s a little embarrassing, actually.”

“Go on,” she pressed.

“Okay, fine, but you can’t laugh. I locked myself out…yesterday.”

She just looked at him, “Excuse me, but what?”

“My roommate and I were both going home for the weekend. I was in the middle of loading up my car, hence the laundry, when he left. He assumed I was already gone, so he locked the door. I left my keys in the room.”

“And you’ve just been wandering around all day, doing nothing?”

He nodded. “I’ve been in the library, mostly, playing on the computer.”

“Why not just go to the RA and have them unlock it for you?”

“Funny thing about that,” he said, ruffling his hair again. It must’ve been a nervous tic. “You can only do it five times before they start charging you.”

“You’ve already locked yourself out five times?” she asked incredulously. “God, it’s only the first semester!”

He held up his hands defensively. “I know that! That’s why I’m a little ashamed.”

“You should be. How could you be so irresponsible?”

“Are you trying to convince me that you’re not stuffy and uptight, because you’re doing a horrible job.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “It’s my tooth. I swear, I’m less of a bitch when I’m not in constant dental pain.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.” but he was smiling. “I’ll have to meet you later and see for myself.”

“Good. You can give me my verbal sparring and I can dazzle you with my normally winning personality.”

He grinned. “It’s a date.”

Her buzzer went off then, startling them both. “Laundry’s done,” she said, hopping off the counter. To her surprise, he followed, helping her unload her washer.

“That’s nice of you,” she said as he tossed some of her things into the nearest dryer.

“I assure you, this is completely self-serving.” to prove his point, he picked up a pair of her more daring knickers. He dangled them from one of his fingers. “I just wanted to see your underthings.”

she snatched them from him, hitting him in the arm. “Perv”

He laughed as she threw her knickers into the dryer. “You’ve got quite the arm, Evans.”

“My sister was a bit of a bully growing up,” she explained. “What’s your excuse, perv?”

He shrugged. “I went to boarding school.”

“Oh, wow, a rich kid.” she rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning against the counter, the picture of ease.

“Maths major, rich kid, boarding school student – it’s no wonder the sight of you pisses me off.” But she was joking. she leaned against the counter too, her arm brushing his.

“The sight of me bothers you? Usually girls don’t complain.” he ruffled his hair to drive the point home.

“Someone needs to slap you in the face one of these days.” she teased. “Put you in your place.”

“Care to be a volunteer?” he asked, looking down at her.

“You’d let me slap you?” She wasn’t averse to the idea.

“Honestly? I doubt there’s anything I wouldn’t let you do to me.”

Lily blushed all the way to her roots. She broke eye contact, looking down at her feet. “Oh.”

“Was that too far?” he asked. “I’m not the best at reading a room or knowing when to shut up. Actually, I probably misread this entire situation.” he pushed himself away from the counter. “Do you want me to leave? Because if you do, I’ll-“

“Shut it,” she said, looking back up at him. She was still blushing. There she was standing there with a total stranger, looking a mess and acting a brat, and he still wanted to flirt with her. She wasn’t used to being flirted with so openly. Boys were usually hesitant with her, always assuming she was a prude, afraid they’d scare her away.

She found his honesty refreshing.

“It’s alright,” she told him.

“It’s alright?”

“Yes.”

“As in ‘I’ll tolerate it’ or ‘I’m into it’? Because those are different things-“

“I’m into it,” she laughed at the way his face lit up. “At least right now. Who knows how I’ll feel when my tooth doesn’t ache and your wit returns. Maybe I’ll hate you completely.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” he said. he sat back onto the counter. “You’re going to the dentist Monday?”

she nodded.

“Then let’s go to the dining hall together on Tuesday. We can start all over.”

“Will you even recognize me if I don’t look a complete mess?” she asked, sitting down too.

“You don’t look a mess,” he told her. “You look beautiful.”

She snorted, and her jaw pulsated in pain. “You’re only saying that because I may have agreed to go on a date with you.”

“I assure you, I would think you’re beautiful, even if you turned me down.” his voice was so earnest that Lily felt compelled to believe him

She was starting to think that James meant everything he said.

“Alright, Potter, I’ll believe you. For now.”

“I can work with that,” he beamed. he reached out, fingers slipping through her hair. her breath hitched. “You have lovely hair, really. I’ve never seen hair this shade.”

“That’s because everyone else with it has the good sense to dye it another color.” She reached out, grabbing at his hair too. “What about you? Don’t you own a comb?”

he laughed. “Nah, it’s fruitless. nothing can tame it.”

“I bet I could,” she said, running both of her hands though his hair now.

“How’s that?” he asked. She felt his free hand running up her side.

“Magic,” she said. “I’m absolutely magic when it comes to hair styling.”

“Magic, huh?” he was leaning closer, his glasses slipping down his nose again. “Care to show me?”

She released his hair, moving to push his glass back up his face. “Not now,” she said. She let out a laugh at his dejected expression. “Don’t look too sad, Potter. It’s mainly because my jaw hurts so bad that if you kissed me now I’d forever associate you with excruciating pain.”

He pulled away from her, dropping his hands to his sides. “Mostly?”

“It’s also because it’s nearly three in the morning, I just met you, and I’m a little peeved about the whole knickers thing.” she allowed. “We’ll try again, when we’re both our best and sunniest selves. see if I still want to kiss you then.”

“You will,” he told her confidently. “I assure you, you will.”

“So sure of yourself,” she chastised.

“I’m right, though. You will.”

He was right. When Lily met his Tuesday night to walk to the dining hall her first thought was that her sleep deprived aching head hadn’t imagined how attractive he was. the second thought was that she very much wanted to kiss him.

But she wasn’t going to let him know that. Not yet, anyway.

#hp #jily #james potter #lily evans #long post #fanfic #harry potter #my writing

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humanitys-trashiest-fanfic · 8 years ago

Text

The Stars Will Remain- Chapter Seven

Summary

Chapter One

A03

Navigation

Chapter Seven

The relative ease of Jean’s first week at college quickly wore off.

His initial inspiration and creative drive quickly dried up and snowballed to an obstinate stop as he was hit with the most severe case of art block he’d ever experienced. He spent the majority of the month that followed scowling at blank pages in his sketchbook, his pencil clutched in his unwilling fist, with absolutely no idea what he should be doing. The drawings he managed to produce were done so with great effort and gritted teeth, but when he looked back on them, all he saw were dark lines carefully arranged in a way that was theoretically correct, but lacked…soul.

Jean was never the type to romanticise his artwork. It was the thing he enjoyed most, and it meant a lot to him, but it was never anything more than capturing an image in his own interpretation. It was never anything more than that- there was no such thing as character, or emotion, or movement in inanimate, two dimensional streaks of graphite on a piece of paper, and the pretentious artistic types that said so were just pulling words out of their asses so they had more to say than “looks good”.

And yet he couldn’t think of any other way to describe his art, so lacking in something that he reluctantly put it down to the fact they were devoid of substance. Whatever the hell that meant. Inspiration? Meaning? Significance?

Whatever it was, it was a bitch, and it needed to fucking stop.

...

November had arrived in a sudden onslaught of cold; premature frost gathered on the car bonnets and hedges that Jean passed every dark morning on his way to work, his breath misting in the air before him and icing the tip of his nose as he made the trips to and from the bakery and to college. It would have been nice if, now that he’d been presented with a beautiful frost-webbed world, that he’d derive some inspiration for his sketchbook, but no, apparently, that wasn’t the case.

So here he was, sat hunched up on the sofa one foggy evening, glowering at Mikasa and Eren rolling around on the floor over the top of his woefully blank sketchbook.

In the interest of saving money, he and Eren had decided to restrict themselves to only using the heating on the ground floor, theorising that since heat rose, their respective rooms would be warm by the time they went to bed. Consequently, they spent every evening cooped up together in the same room, which meant Jean got to bear witness to…this.

Eren was lying spread eagled on his back in the middle of the floor, taking up most of the space between the two sofas, with Mikasa on all fours beside him, bending low over his form, giving Jean a very gratuitous view of her…

“Do you guys really have to do that here?” he said irritably, clearing his throat and doing his best to ignore how low the neckline on Mikasa’s shirt was.

Eren lowered the script he was inspecting and glared at Jean, upside down.

“We’re rehearsing, asshole. If you’ve got a problem with it, take it up with the head of the drama department.”

“What the hell kind of performance means you have to-” Jean gestured furiously at the two of them, borderline entangled in such a compromising position- “do whatever the fuck it is you’re doing?”

“It’s supposed to be a murder scene,” Mikasa said monotonously. She leant back on her heels. “Why, what does it look like?”

Eren’s fierce expression didn’t waver. “Mikasa’s playing an inspector, I’m the corpse. What’s weird about that?”

“You don’t make a very good body, Eren. As far as I know, they don’t talk.” Jean shifted his sketchbook into a better position on his knees. “Wait, if you’re dead, why do you need a script?”

“Because he comes back to life.” Mikasa answered.

“What the hell kind of play is this?”

“I never said it was good.” Eren finally averted his gaze from Jean as he shuffled through his script. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s important for our final grade, alright? I’m about as enthusiastic about it as you,”

Jean snorted. For different reasons, I suspect. I doubt you have any qualms seeing Mikasa from that angle. “Never thought I’d hear you talking like a responsible student, Eren. Mikasa’s worked wonders on you.”

The glare quickly returned.

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly. But it’s cold as polar bear balls upstairs so, unfortunately for us both, I ain’t going anywhere.”

“Eren,” Mikasa chimed in. “Focus.”

“Right.” He sifted through his script one last time before letting his arm fall as he closed his eyes, doing his best to imitate lifelessness. Mikasa scooted forwards on the floor and leant over him once again.

Jean quickly diverted his gaze before he could get anymore distracted, resuming to stare blankly at the sketchbook propped up against his knees.

He didn’t understand what was wrong with him. Sure, he’d had art block before, but it had never lasted this long, nor been so severe. It was such hard work trying to come up with artwork that linked to ‘self identity’- an abstract concept in itself- made even harder by his own physical struggle to create anything halfway decent. If he hadn’t promised himself to do this for Marco, he would’ve thrown the whole goddamn sketchbook in a fire already.

Jean sighed inwardly, peeking over the top of the page once more, half-listening to Mikasa reciting her lines. She was amazing at many things, but acting wasn’t one of them. Her tone was stiff and self-conscious, her movements reluctant and wooden as her fingers danced over Eren’s chest, supposedly looking for evidence.

How someone could still look so incredibly attractive whilst doing something they were clearly terrible at was beyond him.

His gaze darted back and forth between her and the page as he adjusted his grip on his pencil and began attempting to draw her for what felt like the thousandth time since his bitter failure last month.

Every muscle fibre in his fingers locked in place, refusing to cooperate, as Jean forced himself to trace out her figure in broad, sketchy strokes- knees together, arms extended on the floor, shoulders forward, graciously displaying her…ahem, assets; chin pointed down, head inclined slightly to the left, hair falling across her face…

“Eren, I can see you breathing.”

“Shut your face, Jean.” Eren didn’t open his eyes, but his brow furrowed in annoyance the second Jean spoke.

Jean smirked to himself, ducking his head to avoid the disapproving look Mikasa shot at him.

“Just trying to help with realism.” And trying to dull the feelings of failure already starting to creep up on him.

His drawing was terrible. Laughably so, with spidery limbs riddled with questionable anatomy, shitty composition and even worse proportion that made Mikasa look like a spaghetti-limbed bobble head. It was even worse than his last attempt, and that was putting it lightly. Indignation bubbled up inside him before bursting into weary, disheartened defeat. He didn’t understand. This had always worked for him before- when in doubt, draw Mikasa. Drawing her was the one way he could express his unrequited feelings without having Eren chase him down with a chainsaw, and so far, it had worked. But for some reason, it was now proving impossible.

Jean looked up from his lap at the couple on the floor. Mikasa kept messing up one line, and Eren was prompting her every time, clearly having given up on being a convincing corpse.

What was Jean supposed to do now? It’s not like he had anything he really ‘identified’ with. Art was his one and only true interest. He wasn’t truly passionate about anything else- clearly evident in the soulless, empty drawings he’d been producing up until now.

Of course, there was an exception.

Jean thumbed back through the past month’s work until he got to his drawing of Marco and stared at it in silence.

The only drawing he’d managed to capture any scrap of real substance in. Whatever that substance was. Life, energy, interest…soul.

His eyes were bright and alive, his jawline jutting out- not in a strange, disproportionate way that Jean was susceptible to often draw- but in pride; his expression was broad, deep, questioning, provoking emotion. Jean’s fingers ached at the thought. He wanted nothing more than to capture that sort of vitality again, over, and over, with more power than the time before, more life.

Jean’s face was feeling uncomfortably hot as he quickly flipped back to the sorry excuse for a drawing and tore it out, crumpling it up into his fist before dropping it on the sofa cushion beside him. He exhaled shakily, heart thumping against his chest.

What was wrong with him? He’d never been so fixated on a single subject before. Not even Mikasa. He’d always been able to draw other things- he’d always wanted to draw other things- but to just want to draw Marco?

No matter how he said that to himself, it just sounded plain weird.

He brushed these thoughts away and decided a second attempt was his best bet. If he just focused this time…

Once again, he pressed his pencil tip to the page, eyes flickering upwards for a brief second only to linger helplessly as he stopped short to see Mikasa lean down low over Eren’s ‘dead’ body when he seized hold of her around the waist, making her burst into peals of laughter. He grinned as he sat up, rehearsal clearly forgotten, and craned his neck upwards and kissed her, softly.

The sour bite of jealousy took a chunk out of Jean’s heart as he watched them laugh in each other’s arms, happy, contented, together.

There was something he could identify with. Jealousy. Maybe he should just paint his whole fucking sketchbook green and draw the things he wished he had.

He slammed his sketchbook shut, swinging his feet off the sofa to stalk over to the kitchen, away from the two of them practically generating their own warmth, entwined there together on the floor. Jean wrenched the fridge open, looking for something, anything, to dull the throb of petty envy gripping his heart in a granite grasp.

Fuck you. Fuck you stupid, happy couple, in your stupid, happy relationship.

“What’s up with you?” Eren’s voice drifted over from across the room as Jean pulled out a box of pastries he’d brought home earlier that morning and straightened up.

Jean frowned, shooting Eren a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

“Why’d you throw your sketchbook down and go storming off like that?”

Jean rolled his eyes as he dropped the box onto the kitchen counter, doing his best to avert his gaze from the two of them to avoid igniting any further spark of spite within him. “I didn’t storm.”

“Uh, yeah you did.” Eren was quiet for a moment before his gaze drifted to the abandoned sketchbook. “What were you drawing anyway?”

The back of Jean’s neck prickled in humiliation as he opened the box and fished out the first pastry he came into contact with.

“Nothing important,” he said dryly. “Not that it matters, it was crap anyway.”

They lapsed into silence as Jean put the box back in the fridge and knocked the door closed with his foot. He peeled away the wrapper surrounding the pastry in his hand and took a big bite, closing his eyes to savour the rich, full-bodied flavour that spread to the back of his mouth, engulfing his senses for a split second, so all he could taste was the genuine hand of someone who knew the definition of comfort like second nature; feel the warmth and familiarity of the bakery cloaking him like a blanket, smell that musty combination of bread and sweets and firewood...

He opened his eyes, gaze instantly falling on the couple entwined in each other on the floor. Eren was leaning against the sofa behind him, one arm still looped around Mikasa’s waist, the other raised as he held the back of her head and leaned in to kiss her again. She was all but straddling him, cupping his face with both hands, her expression bright and adoring, endearment and pure joy lining every crease of her face.

Jean felt his heart stammer in his chest, bitter with envy, yearning for the same level of intimacy.

But, for the first time in his life, he wished it could be with someone else.

…

Even though the following day was his day off, Jean still woke up at three in the morning out of habit and lay awake for a good hour, trying to convince himself to go back to sleep. Finally he decided it was hopeless and reluctantly rolled out of bed, peering blearily into the darkness. His teeth chattered and gooseflesh crawled over his skin as he got up and crossed the freezing landing to get to the bathroom, spending a little longer than normal under the hot jets of water in the shower before he returned to his room, got dressed, and sat down at his desk to stare at his sketchbook once again under the light of his desk lamp. Maybe, if he just sat it out, and forced himself to draw, he could move past this artistic slump.

He tapped his pencil against the desk, a scowl burrowing deep into his brow. He’d been sitting around waiting for inspiration to strike for a full month. He didn’t know what he was waiting around for that wouldn’t have already hit him in that much time that had already passed. If he didn’t come up with something soon, he’d fall behind in class and have to play a ridiculous, hectic game of catch up for the rest of term.

Jean buried his face in his hands and groaned to himself. This was supposed to be easy. He was supposed to be good at this. The whole point of him taking art was to do something productive with the skill he already had. And what had he done so far? Nothing but consistently disappoint himself.

He lowered one hand and leafed through the pages of the sketchbook until he got to the drawing of Marco, the one drawing that felt alive, bold, confident, and as genuine as the real thing. He rested his hand against the page, feeling blood drumming at the base of his throat as he swallowed painfully.

So, the only drawing he was proud of was the one of Marco. But he couldn’t base his entire project around Marco’s face. Where was the self-identity in that?

Jean sat his desk, alternating between glaring at blank pages and scrolling through various apps on his phone until dawn began to filter through the bleak darkness of the morning, turning into dim grey light that crept up onto his desk through his window. He slammed his sketchbook shut and kneaded his hands through his hair furiously. What he wouldn’t give to be at the bakery this morning, dimming all these stupid fears of failure and inferiority in mountains of dough and the thick, heady scent of sugar and firewood and must…

Jean shook his head fiercely, ignoring the kind brown eyes that floated into his mind, the broad, freckled cheeks lifted by the corners of his mouth into a smile.

Not today.

He was sick of this. He’d had enough of this standstill. It wasn’t funny anymore- not that it had ever been- but he needed someone to drag him out of this pit of artistic gloom and set him on the right path again…maybe Erwin would have some advice. He was their teacher, after all. Jean didn’t often go searching for help; for most of his life he’d been fiercely independent, after figuring out that if you wanted something doing, the best way to make sure it gets done is to do it yourself; but even he couldn’t deny that he needed help anymore.

Not that he could confidently say he’d been living up to that mantra. If it weren’t for Marco giving him this damn job, where would he be now?

No. Enough. Shut up brain. We have bigger things to focus on.

Jean got to college early, not in the mood to wait around for Mikasa to fetch the car after she stayed the night, and walked there himself. He was the first of his classmates to arrive at their classroom, entirely empty, except for Erwin, who Jean could see sat at his desk through the window at the top of the door, jotting something down on a notebook in front of his computer.

Jean couldn’t have been blessed with a more perfect opportunity to get his advice without being under the critical eye of his far more skilled, pretentious peers.

Shouldering his backpack properly, he squared his shoulders, reached out to grasp the handle, and swung the door open before he lost his nerve.

Erwin looked up at the sound of the door opening, raising his eyebrows in surprise to see Jean standing in the doorway.

“You’re early,” he said, checking the gold watch on his wrist. “Either that, or my watch has stopped again.”

Jean quirked an uncertain smile. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t have work this morning, so…”

“Ah, yes, of course. You’re the one who works in a bakery, correct?”

He nodded, clutching at the strap of his backpack awkwardly.

“Well, take a seat, you’re welcome to stay until the rest of your classmates arrive.” Erwin averted his gaze from Jean, going to look back at his computer monitor.

“Wait,” Jean interrupted. “I was…I was actually wondering if you could give me some advice.”

Erwin looked at him in surprise.

“That depends what you want advice in,” he said steadily. “Anything to do with your artwork, I’m more than qualified to help, but anything personal, I’m afraid you’d be better seeking help with one of the college counsellors.”

It was Jean’s turn to look bewildered. Was his social standing in the class really so bad that even the teacher thought he needed help? Professional help?

“Then you’ll be glad to know it’s to do with artwork,” he replied uncertainly. “I just need some, uh, guidance on the project.”

“Oh.” Erwin’s expression immediately mellowed into a gracious smile. “Then of course, I’ll be more than willing to help. Do you have your sketchbook with you?”

Jean slid his backpack off his back and placed it on the desk closest to the door, unzipping it and retrieving his sketchbook as Erwin stood up from his desk and came over to his side. Jean laid it out on the desk and opened the front cover.

Immediately, Erwin began turning pages, examining every trace of ink and scratch of pencil with an unflinching, searching gaze, from which nothing could hide. Jean waited, watching him apprehensively with folded arms, until he reached the end of the sketchbook and finally spoke.

“What is it you wanted advice on?” Erwin asked, his tone smooth and even.

Jean opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment. Wouldn’t it have been better to lead with that question? “I just…need help with the prompt. I don’t know where to take this whole idea of self identity without making it all about one thing.”

“Explain to me what you’ve done so far.”

“Uh…alright.” Jean reached over and flipped back to the end of the section with his artist research, where the little drawings of all the things he supposedly liked covered the pages in miniature. “I took the idea of identity literally and tried drawing all the things I liked…well, kind of.”

“’Kind of’?” Erwin echoed.

Jean rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t really like anything. Not enough to base a project around. The only thing I’m passionate about is art and I can’t really draw about drawing.”

“No,” Erwin straightened up. “you can’t. But you can focus on the concept of artistic expression and how that influences identity. I see your problem, and I completely understand. Defining your own identity is a challenging thing, especially when you’re as young as you are- I wouldn’t have expected you to know yourself with enough certainty to focus exclusively on yourself.”

Jean’s heart sank. “So I was doing it wrong this whole time?”

“No, I didn’t say that. There’s nothing wrong in trying to put a little bit of yourself into your art- that’s the basis for any impressive piece of work, regardless of what form it takes. But, in your instance, I think you relied too much on the assumption you already knew yourself well enough to capture every aspect of yourself as a person. When- and, forgive me if this is presumptuous- you probably still have a lot of personal development to go through before you can define yourself so easily.”

Jean didn’t know what to say. He thought he’d get some regular, friendly, artistic advice and a few prompts from his art teacher to give him the push he needed- but no, instead, Erwin was spitting straight wisdom at him; deep, profound wisdom that was way too concise for this early in the morning. The most unnerving thing was, the more he thought about, the more Jean realised Erwin was right. He��d done what Jean had found impossible and put the feeling he couldn’t name into words. It wasn’t so much a lack of inspiration as it was a lack of identity in the first place.

“Now, you asked for my advice. Creating anything based on the things you enjoy is a good start, but if you’re lacking inspiration, I suggest you shift your focus onto the creation of self identity rather than the concept itself. Take it in a less literal direction. Find out what defines people, and that in turn might help in defining yourself. Instead of documenting the result, create the process.”

“And you said you weren’t a counsellor,”

Erwin’s smile twitched in amusement. “I can’t pretend to be one. Does that make sense? Or was that a little too abstract?”

“No, no, it was fine.” Jean said. “Almost freakily accurate, actually. But I think…yeah, it might help.”

“Glad to hear it.” Erwin paused, regarding Jean out of the corner of his eye for a few steady moments before he spoke again. “Right. I want you to take the day off. I’ll sign you in so you’ll still get your attendance mark, but today, I want you to go out there-” he made a broad, vague gesture to the door- “and find your inspiration, whatever that is for you.”

Jean blinked. “Are you sure?”

“Most certain. If you haven’t been inspired sat in this classroom for the past month, then I don’t expect you to suddenly be in the space of another day just because you’ve decided what to look for.” He looked down at Jean and smiled once more. “I eagerly anticipate what you come up with.”

Jean shoved his sketchbook back into his bag and wandered out of the classroom, making his way back down the corridor to the atrium in somewhat of a daze. Well. His day had barely begun and he’d already been the recipient to one of the most profound things he’d ever heard in his life before nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning. You were trying to define yourself before you knew everything about yourself.

Part of him wanted to be angry at himself for feeling like such an open book, but a larger part was more impressed that Erwin had managed to pick up on what he was feeling with only the tiniest amount of information- when Jean had been stuck in his own mind for all this time and still hadn’t figured it out for himself.

His awe carried him out of the college and down the long path leading up to the front entrance, only bringing him to a stop when he reached the gates and halted, suddenly realising he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going or what he was doing.

Being given the day off college to go and find inspiration was all well and good, but where exactly was he supposed to find it? Inspiration was a concept, just like the idea of his artwork lacking soul and energy. But just like those two things, it was vital.

Jean chewed indecisively on his lip, glancing down the street as he balled his hands into fists, keenly aware of the cold wind chilling them to the bone. He could go home, but the likelihood of him getting any work done was extremely low. He could walk into the town centre, where he could watch people and draw them, like the pierced girl from his class had. But that was her idea, not his. He wanted something that was his own, something original, something individual, something that really gave off a sense of self.

He ran a hand through his hair. His short lived bout of motivation was quickly fading, already being replaced with exhaustion and weariness. He’d been awake since three in the morning. He needed sleep. He needed a cigarette. He needed to go to the one place he’d found true inspiration for the first time in months, and be around the one person who’d truly inspired him, for the first time in forever…

Jean froze, hand resting on the back of his head.

Would Marco mind him showing up, even though it was supposed to be his day off? Jean wasn’t particularly bothered about being paid for the extra day, but if Marco would just let him watch the counter, just so he could be in the place that had kicked his creativity into action from the first second he saw it…and, more importantly, just so he could be with the first person to properly encourage him from the first second they met.

Jean’s face was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot and the wind blowing against it very cold. He lowered his hand from his hair and ran it down his face, pressing frigid palm to blazing cheek.

Maybe he should ring him first, and make sure it was OK. Common courtesy and all. Even if it proved to be a useless move and he didn’t get any drawing done, at least he’d be doing something productive and have a temporary sense of fulfilment to mask the hollow feeling that was failure.

He had already fished his phone out of his pocket and was about to press the keypad icon before he realised he didn’t have Marco’s number.

Well, shit. Forget common courtesy.

Why was he so…apprehensive about showing up at the bakery unannounced? His fingers were shaking against his face, still burning red, and his breath came in short little puffs of air. Marco had said it himself. They were friends. Friends could hang out anytime, and if he was free, why shouldn’t he spend that time with his friend?

And besides, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed Marco’s company. Even if he shooed Jean off, seeing him might just be enough to inspire him, even a little bit. He’d been the only one successful at it so far, after all.

Fuck it. Jean kicked a pebble as he spun on his heel, scuffing the toe of his converse against the pavement as he set off at a brisk pace, stuffing his freezing hands into his pockets and breathing out a long stream of cloudy air. I’m coming to see you, Marco. Like it or not.

...

It was a little past nine when Jean finally got to Jinae and arrived at the bakery. He’d stopped at a convenience store on the way to buy a box of cigarettes in the vain hope that the steady, familiar process of smoking would put him a little more at ease, like it normally did. But the second he’d lit the tip of one and taken a long drag, all he could think of was that alcohol tainted summer night, smelling beer and tasting smoke and talking, talking about the world to the boy in the baker’s van.

He managed half of the cigarette before he was so overwhelmed with nostalgia, and a powerful sensation he couldn’t name, that he threw the stub on the floor and crushed it with his heel.

The bakery itself was surprisingly quiet. At just gone nine in the morning, he expected to see the regular steady influx of customers darting in and out of the door. But there was no one.

Jean frowned as he crossed the road of the cul de sac and got to the front window. It was overflowing with pastries and cakes like normal, but the lights were off in the rest of the shop. He cupped one hand around his eyes and peered into the window, looking for any evidence of Marco being in there. Not a freckle was in sight.

Concern was beginning to bubble up at the back of his mind as he stepped back from the window and made his way to the door. The little sign in the window was flipped over to ‘Closed’. That was…odd. Marco only closed on Sundays.

Tentatively, Jean reached out to try the door handle, surprised when it gave way in his hand easily, the bell above him in the doorway jingling out its welcome.

Jean stood in the doorway, closing the door behind him, frowning in confusion.

“Hello?” he called out into the empty building.

No response.

It took him a moment of wondering why on earth Marco would leave the bakery, unattended, with the door unlocked, before he glanced out of the window to realise that the van was missing.

Of course. At this time in the morning, he’d still be making deliveries, which explained why the bakery was full of stock with no one to sell it to. Didn’t explain the unlocked door, though- unless Marco had just forgotten about it.

Jean grinned to himself as he flipped the sign in the window over to ‘Open’, crossed the room and weaved around the counter to drop his backpack next to the till as he snapped the lights on. Forgetting to lock the door sounded exactly like the kind of mistake that endearing idiot would make. Well, he was here now. Might as well do his job, since Marco wasn’t around to do his.

He pulled the stool out from underneath the counter and took a seat, retrieving his sketchbook and pencil case from his backpack. He’d scarcely shoved the bag out of sight when a customer appeared- expressing how glad they were that Jean had shown up to open the bakery before they left for work- and after they left, Jean was almost immediately greeted with the morning rush, a steady influx of customers from all over Jinae. His sketchbook lay abandoned next to the till for nearly an hour before the final straggling customer left and Jean could attempt to start on his project once again.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he sank down onto the stool and opened the sketchbook to a clean page, brushing it down with one hand as he picked up his pencil and pressed its tip to the page experimentally. A moment or two passed as his eyes flickered around the room- looking for something, anything- a trace of existence, a scrap of human life that he could reimagine and recreate to form something based on identity. He stared at the timber frames veining the ceiling, the wooden beams framing the door, the iron studs nailing the floorboards down around the skirting board, all remnants from another time. He found himself thinking of just how old the bakery was. Marco had said it had been run by his family for the past four generations. It was an incredible piece of history, now that Jean actually thought about it. A fragment of the past preserved in an ever-changing world, a tiny piece of permanence that age had not yet brought down- and Marco was part of it. This was his heritage. A huge part of him. His identity. His identity, defined by the process of the bakery’s ownership being passed down, generation to generation.

OK…that realisation was all well and good, but how was he supposed to translate that onto paper? What could he possibly draw that represented everything he’d just summarised?

Jean was still staring at the blank page when he heard the distinctive rumble of an all too familiar engine. His head jerked up eagerly, just in time to see Marco pull up outside the bakery’s front window.

He watched as Marco leant over the steering wheel, peering at the bakery in surprise, clearly having noticed the lights on when he’d left them off. Jean bit back a grin as he watched him kill the engine and open the door, the tiniest crease of a frown dipping his brow as he stepped out onto the pavement and met Jean’s gaze through the window. Jean smirked, raising his hand and cocking it in greeting.

Marco’s eyes widened as he bolted to the front door, fumbling with the doorknob in his haste before the door swung open.

“Jean!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? It’s your day off- and- how did you…?”

Jean raised an eyebrow and pointed at the door behind a very flustered Marco.

“You left the door unlocked,”

Marco opened his mouth as he twisted to look at the door in mild horror, before turning back to Jean and clapping a hand over his mouth.

“I did? Again? Shit.”

“Again?” Jean echoed, snorting in disbelief. “You idiot, you’ve done it more than once?”

Marco half-grimaced, half-smiled.

“More times than I care to remember. Crap. I’m such an idiot.” He looked back up at Jean and the frown on his face quickly returned. “But what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at college?”

Jean shrugged as he tapped his pencil against his knuckles. “My teacher gave me the day off. I asked him for help with my project and he told me to go and find something that inspires me instead of staying in class.”

It was Marco’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “And you chose to come here?”

Jean gulped softly as his stomach flipped uncomfortably, embarrassment beginning to prickle on his cheeks as he looked away sheepishly.

“Yeah. And?”

“Nothing. It’s just a little weird. Why would you want to come to work on your day off? Wouldn’t you rather be at home?”

“Hey,” Jean looked up and mockingly pointed an accusing finger in Marco’s direction. “Don’t you be telling me what’s weird and what’s not, Mr Home Schooled.”

Marco laughed as he crossed the room and lifted the hatch in the counter, stepping behind it to pull out some paperwork to track deliveries from under the counter.

“Sorry, Mr College Student. Just give me some warning next time before you show up unannounced.”

“I was going to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“Aha…well, yeah, that’s because I don’t have a phone. I mean, there’s a landline upstairs, and you’re welcome to have that number, if you want. But obviously if I’m out then I won’t get your call.”

Jean stared at him. “My God. You’re living in this day and age without a phone. You’re a rare breed of disconnected.”

Marco laughed. “So, the project’s not going too well, huh?”

Jean shifted in his seat as his gaze fell to the blank page once more, the sinking feeling in his stomach returning.

“Unfortunately.” He grimaced. “Like, the theory’s all there, I just need an idea of what to…well. Draw. Got any ideas?”

“Your theme is self-identity, right?” Marco asked as he sifted through the order forms. His mouth puckered up in thought as he cocked his head to one side. “Have you considered doing…I don’t know, emotions or something?”

“Emotions?” Jean repeated incredulously. “Why emotions?”

“Well…you’re always so straight forward and open about your feelings. That’s a pretty big part of you as a person. Or, at least, I think it is.” Marco gave him a shy, surreptitious sidelong glance as half a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “You never dance around anything, you’re just honest. I…kinda admire that about you.”

“Um…thanks.” Jean’s heart fluttered in his chest as Marco’s eyes lingered on him, just long enough for their gazes to lock, so he could see every individual fleck of gold in the rings of Marco’s dark irises before something in his chest gave a sharp throb and he forced himself to look away.

“A-anyway,” Marco cleared his throat. “That could work, couldn’t it? Because you can ‘identify’ with emotions.”

Jean nodded as he pressed his lips together, deliberately trying to avoid making eye contact again. What on earth was that? That…skip of a beat his heart just made, and that sharp twinge the moment he realised his eyes were fixed on Marco’s for a second too long. God, they were probably the most beautiful dark eyes he’d ever seen. As warm and comforting as he found coffee…but without the bitterness. No, they were like hot chocolate. Thick and dark and sweet…but then again, they sparkled with his own intensity, with richness of gold, as if he held a galaxy in each one of them.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Eyes! There was an idea. Known to one and all as the windows to the soul- he could link that to self identity, right? How a person’s very essence was reflected in the shape of their eyes, the intensity of their pupil, the pigment of their irises?

…It was a start. But if he wanted to draw Marco’s eyes, he’d have to look directly into them again. And, judging by his still pounding heart, it wasn’t the best idea to test how weak it was feeling.

“Hey, Jean?”

Jean jumped instinctively. “What?”

Marco looked bewildered at his sharp response for a moment before he spoke. “Um, can you just pass me that pen?” He nodded towards the till, at the pen resting on top of the notepaper they used to write receipts.

Jean picked it up and held it out to him. Marco extended his arm to take it, the sleeve of his shirt sliding up to expose a bandage around his wrist. Jean stared as Marco’s fingers brushed against his as he took the pen.

“What did you do to your wrist?” He demanded.

“Huh? Oh, this?” Marco pulled his sleeve back, holding his wrist out for Jean to see properly. He smiled, embarrassment knitting his eyebrows together. “I just burnt myself on the oven this morning, nothing new.”

“Fuck, man. You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Like I said, happens all the time.” His expression relaxed as he wiggled his fingers at Jean. “Just look at the rest of my hand. It’s scarred and burnt to hell and back.”

Jean obliged, hesitantly reaching out and tracing his finger lightly down the creases of Marco’s upturned palm. It was crisscrossed with burn scars; some light, some dark, some reflecting the light, others just little marks of discolouration. Some were raised and other, newer ones, were still puckered around the edges with scar tissue. He could feel the little indents and crevices they made as his fingertip skimmed over the top of them. They weren’t prominent enough in shape or colour or size to be noticeable from afar, and it was only now, at such close proximity Jean could distinguish the unmarred skin from the scarred.

Marco twitched at his contact. Jean quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry.”

“No, no it’s OK. I’m just kinda ticklish.” Marco pulled his sleeve back down, still smiling. “It’s pretty nasty, isn’t it?”

“No. Not really. It’s…kind of cool.”

Marco threw him a disbelieving look, eyebrow raised.

“How?”

Jean tapped his pencil against his fingers again, still avoiding eye contact as best as he could. “Well, it shows what you’re capable of, and what you’ve been through. Scars are…I mean, they’ve all got an individual story behind them. It’s like proof of your history, proof you’ve existed, and made a mark on the world, because it made a mark on you. Well,” He bit his lip and grinned, sneaking a sideways glance at Marco. “marks, in your case.”

Marco was quiet for a moment as he raised his arms, holding his palms up to examine them thoughtfully.

“A story, huh…” he said, more to himself than Jean.

The room was suddenly far too quiet and the words that had left Jean’s mouth suddenly sounded so…so…cliché, and pretentious, and ridiculous. What was he even saying? What the fuck was he doing, spouting some vaguely poetic bullshit?

“Sorry. That…sounded kind of strange.” He admitted.

“No it didn’t.” Marco said immediately. He took a second, examining his hands himself before he clasped them together, weaving his fingers through each another. “Really, though, none of the stories behind my scars are that interesting. Most of them are from the oven.”

“True, but if you think about it, that says a lot more about you than you might think.” Jean rested his elbows against the counter, twirling his pencil in his fingers as he spoke. “Not many people have that many scars from just an oven. So, that clearly shows you’re a baker, which is something personal to you. It’s what’s in your family, right?”

Marco smiled ruefully to himself. “Yeah. My…” He swallowed. “My…mom…always says I have hands like my grandfather whenever I see her. Don’t know why. She’d have hands like this if she baked too. She was never as enthusiastic about it like I was.”

Jean nodded slowly as Marco looked up from his hands with a somewhat vacant expression, his gaze elsewhere, clearly not focusing. Marco’s mother was a subject he hadn’t dared bring up himself. Every time Marco had mentioned her, he’d referred to her casually, but there was something cold underlying his normally warm tone, something foreboding and strange. It wasn’t something Jean thought was wise to provoke.

Marco broke the silence. “Funny, really. It’s like a legacy of scars in my family.”

A legacy…family…

Those words kept turning over in Jean’s mind as they fell quiet; Marco picked up his pen and starting to fill out the delivery forms, whilst Jean rocked back in his seat, staring at the blank page of his sketchbook. The concept of legacy, and stories, written in the marks on someone’s body…interesting. That could be something he considered.

He started sketching out the basic guidelines for a human hand, steadily building up the muscle around the joints and bone structure, less prominent in the knuckles, focusing more in the roots they made under the skin in the hand itself. He began to shade, adding discolouration and lines indicating damage to the skin. The steady process of use. The process of building a story imbedded into someone’s skin.

Jean glanced over at Marco’s free hand, resting on the counter. He had a small cluster of freckles on his wrist, peeking out from underneath his bandage. He went to add them to the wrist of his drawing before he stopped, hesitating, glancing at the little dappled patch of Marco’s skin. He let his gaze travel up his arm, thinking of all the scars and freckles hidden by his sleeves- remembering watching the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he showed Jean how to knead on his first day of work- recalling every little pin prick every freckle had made over his shoulders and down his biceps.

The last time he’d drawn freckles, he was told they looked like stars.

Stars.

Stories…and legacy…they’d been marked in the stars since the beginning of time, way back when the ancient world was still being built and people placed merit on the arrangement of the lights in the sky. Stars, that even today, people relied upon for guidance, for dictation on their personality. Marks that weren’t quite part of the world, but made up a huge part of the earth’s night sky. Without them, something would be missing.

Jean’s heart was beginning to pound in his chest once again. The stories people carried with them. The marks on their skin.

And here Marco was with a sky full of stars scattered over his cheeks alone.

He exhaled steadily, gripping his pencil, and, with a final glance at the man across from him, began to sketch, copying the outline his profile made and the incline of his back as he bent low over the countertop. Round, broad shoulders; well-defined arms, sharp angles. The gentle slope his spine made. The little nub at the small of his back. The trim waist. Nicely narrowed hips. The firm, bold, sculpted curve of his-

It took a few moments of his gaze lingering on one specific spot of Marco before he realised what he was doing.

There was no stopping the blood rushing to his face as he hastily averted his eyes and pressed his free hand over his lower face in a vain attempt to conceal the mad flushing.

He’d been checking out Marco’s ass.

Jean breathed shallowly into his hand, not trusting himself to look again.

What was wrong with him? He’d never looked at another guy like that before! Not once, not ever…

You’re tired. You’re sleep deprived. You’re frustrated with your art. And you’re trying to draw the guy, for God’s sake, of course you’ll be checking out his ass. You’ve been checking out everything else.

Tell that to the almost painful thudding in his chest.

“Jean? You alright over there?”

Jean’s heart leapt into his mouth.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He snapped.

“Oh…OK. You’re bright red, though. You sure?”

Jean shook his head fiercely at Marco’s gentle voice.

“I’m sure. I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong.”

Marco didn’t respond straight away, watching Jean carefully, somewhat bemused as the other refused to look at him.

“What are you drawing over there?”

The hairs on the back of Jean’s neck raised in fear.

“Nothing.” He lied. He raised his pencil and quickly scribbled over the drawing’s face. “Nothing important at all.”

4 notes · View notes

theartificialdane · 8 years ago

Text

Galactica, part 224

In this Pearl looks at her girlfriend, the V-list strikes again, Tatianna comes home, Courtney practices, Sutan visits, Fame tries not to worry, and Trixie removes the demon.

Thank you @toriibelledarling @veronicasanders and @samrull <3

TW: Mentions of self harm.

“Come on, babe! The water’s warm!” Pearl was already neck deep in the bath, enjoying the raspberry scent of bubbles around her.

Laila walked into the bathroom with a sour expression, holding up two t–shirts. “Which one should I wear tonight? It’s my first time doing a livestream and I want to look, you know, good? I guess.” She shrugged, showing Pearl the shirts, both of them generic Forever 21, black with writing on them. Laila deserved better.

“How about that crop top I got last week? From Victoria’s Secret? You’d look, like, fucking hot in it.”

Laila frowned, dropping the shirts to the floor and stepping out of her clothes to join Pearl in the bath. “I don’t know. Hot isn’t really my brand, you know?” she said while taking off her bra and Pearl was ready to argue a completely different statement.

“Bullshit. Hot was always your brand.” Pearl said, wrapping her arms around Laila when the other girl finally climbed into the bathtub and situated herself between Pearl’s legs, leaning backwards against her. “You look hot in your pyjamas, with your hair unwashed for three days, in your underwear, without your underwear, in ripped tights, in a fancy dress, in a–”

“Okay, shut up, shut up or I’ll feed you some foam.” Laila threatened, taking a handful of bubbles and smashing them on top of Pearl’s head instead. “I’ll check the crop top later, fine? Do you wanna guest star in my livestream?”

“I’d be, like, honored, BonBon. What do you need me to do? Do you want to paint me? Are we doing unboxing? Are we–”

“Nah, I just need a glamorous assistant to hand me my brushes,” Laila grinned. She was so beautiful when she smiled like that, Pearl couldn’t resist…

… smacking her in the face with a handful of foam.

***

Alright, muffins. We promised a full review of Li’l Courtney Act’s first album, Kaleidoscope, once it dropped, so here you go…

CONTENT: These songs are not bad at all. We know that sounds like damning with faint praise but that’s the truth. You know how most pop music is total garbage? Well, frankly, we expected garbage. Especially when we saw her listed as co-writer. (HARD EYE ROLL.) But yeah, a lot of the songs are catchy and danceable and her biggest flaw is her tendency to use nonsensically pretentious turns of phrase. That said, we’ll take pretentious lyrics over “yeah, baby, yeah yeah” any day, so take that criticism with a grain of salt. (We just think it’s silly when pop music pretends to be smart. Like, calm down, please. We don’t go to the VMAs to find an SAT tutor.)

EXECUTION: Okay, so as we said after her first single dropped, the girl can sing. She doesn’t have the voice of the Next Mariah, but neither is she the Next Britney, being shoved down our throats because she’s cute and mediocre. She has a good, solid voice and it’s also clear that she’s working for it, which it important. Solid B.

BEST TRACKS: We are totally in love with “Kaleidoscope,” which we hear is the next video/single (although it’s one of the worst offenders of the above mentioned pretentious nonsense lyrics, it’s a very exuberant, fun dance song), as well as her angsty unrequited-love ballad, “Across the Ocean,” which we assume is about BDR especially with lyrics like “her smoldering eyes taunt me, turn me to dust in her hands” - sure sounds like B. And then of course there’s the totally cheesy but ultimately fulfilling, sexy bass-pumped follow-up, “Found.” I mean, you gotta hand it to this kid for putting her heart out there. And of course we love what we think is the best dance track, “Ecstasy.”

VIDEO: The single that dropped today with the album was “Body Heat,” accompanied by a music video. Our review? HOLY SHIT. BASICALLY PORN. 10/10. GO WATCH IMMEDIATELY. The story is very simple. Courtney is trapped on a crowded subway car in the middle of the summer. Lights are flickering, everyone is sweaty and beautiful, and she’s being banged around (pun intended) between Ruby Rose and Naya Rivera. YES YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT. WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE????

TL;DR - Who cares about anything else, Courtney should be fucking SAINTED for that video.

Kisses, V

***

“Allison? Are you home?” Tatianna opened the door to her apartment. “I got ingredients for hot pot since we’re staying in tonight!” Tatianna threw her keys in the bowl by the door. Tatianna loved hot pot, even though it was technically way too fattening to eat on a model diet, but she didn’t care, not tonight. She hadn’t expected to like living with Allison as much as she had, but somehow it had turned out for the better, the quiet, big eyed, blonde girl a calm and quiet presence Tatianna had no idea she needed.

“Allison? Where are you, come on, I’m hungry!”

Tatianna toed off her shoes and walked into the apartment, all the lights were turned off, except the warm glow that came from the bathroom door that was cracked open.

“Allison?”

“Please don’t… It hurts…”

“I know sweetheart, I know…”

Tatianna didn’t recognise the voices. She knew one of them had to be Allison, but the girl sounded so broken, so small, the other voice a deep baritone that sounded familiar but she couldn't place it.

“Please...”

Tatianna pushed the door open, and saw Sutan of all people in the world, sitting on the floor with Allison, her cheeks dark with mascara, her hair a mess, Sutan sitting between her legs neither of them noticing that Tatianna could see them.

“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay.” Sutan was gently dabbing a cotton pad on Allisons inner thigh, her pearly white skin covered with tiny red cuts, drops of blood still clinging to her, the woman only dressed in a sweater and her underwear. “You did good.”

Allison shook her head, a sob coming from the deepest part of her chest.

“Hey, hey.” Sutan gently grabbed the side of Allison’s face, the man forcing the girl her to look at him, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. “You did good. You called me, and you did good.”

Allison nodded, the girl clinging to Sutan’s hand while she cried, small sounds of pain leaving her as Sutan finished cleaning the wounds on her thighs.

Tatianna gently closed the door, neither of them noticing her as she tiptoed into the kitchen, her stomach one giant knot. She knew Allison was going through a rough time, but to see her friend, her roommate and someone she cared so deeply about hurt her to her core. Allison had gone out that morning for a modeling job, the two of them eating breakfast on the couch while watching Good Morning America as Tatianna nursed her hangover from the day before. It felt like lightyears away, but she was pulled out of her trance when she heard noises from the bathroom, Allison on her feet, and Tatianna instantly went to the front door, opening it and slamming it shut before she turned around, a fake smile on her face.

“Allison, I’m home!”

Tatianna was a lot of things, and had been called her fair share of names by jealous girls and rude ex lovers, but if there was one thing she’d never be, it was a bad friend.

***

“5, 6, 7, 8…” Derrick counted Courtney in and she began the routine, flanked by two of the backup dancers with whom she’d be performing on Friday. She tried to concentrate, to not worry about how her album was doing on the iTunes charts, what people were saying, what reviews had come out...

Ben sat in front of the mirror, watching her closely, scrutinizing her every move. When she finished, he jumped up to give her some tips. “I think you need stronger arms, and to hit harder with your hips. You’re missing some of the accent beats.”

Derrick raised her eyebrows. “See?”

Courtney nodded, out of breath, watching Ben demonstrate, taking care to milk the part with the sexy backup dancer. “Hello, sir,” he simpered, body rolling against him. Courtney giggled.

“Yaaaaaas!” Derrick exclaimed. “See Court, how his hands are flexed and his legs are straight on the extensions? Sometimes when you do it, it’s like you’re marking.”

“Okay, let’s try it again,” Courtney said. “Sometimes I worry that I’m gonna forget the steps, or I get distracted, so I hesitate. I think I just need more rehearsal.”

“What you need, is to be a fucking confident, sexy bitch, who knows you are in total charge of the stage,” Ben replied.

Courtney grinned. “So I need to be Vanity?”

Ben tossed imaginary hair over his shoulder. “Couldn’t hurt, love.”

“I’ll do my best!” she promised, getting into her opening pose and winking at him.

***

“Thanks Katya, but I’m good!” Sutan smiled as he made his way through Violet’s apartment, Katya and Trixie in the kitchen with Ivan, baking pumpkin pies with the woman Sutan briefly recognised as Max’s girlfriend Ruby.

Sutan opened the door to Violet’s room, the light in the room dim, a single scented candle burning, a low male voice talking and Sutan realised Violet was meditating. Sutan gently took off his jacket, trying his best not to give Violet a shock, he sat down on her bed, waiting for the girl to open her eyes as he took out his phone. Sutan was dressed in a green sweater and black jeans, the man meeting Jaslene, her new husband and a lot of his friends for a pre halloween bash, Sutan hoping he could potentially find someone Tatianna could date for a while. Sport stars always needed models on their arms, and the press had started to wonder a little too much if he and Tatianna were too close, Sutan nearly rolling his eyes when Raven had sent him a link to an article from her hospital bed, Raven somehow always on top of the gossip.

“Sutan?”

Sutan looked up from his phone, a smile on his face when he saw Violet reach out and grab the hoodie next to her, quickly pulling it on before she got up from the floor and walked over to him.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t text...”

“I came to see you.” Sutan reached out and placed his hands on her hips, leaning forward to gently kiss her stomach that was bare, Violet only wearing leggings and a sports bra, the girl wrapping her arms around his neck, not saying anything as Sutan mouthed her skin.

“You did?”

“Mmmh...” Sutan pulled Violet down, the girl falling forward, her legs folding so she was sitting in his lap. “Kiss me?”

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, and Sutan was almost sure she was hesitating before she leaned down, their lips meeting in a kiss, Sutan gently prying Violet’s mouth open with his tongue, but Violet gently pulled back.

“So you came here, just to see me? Not for any other reason?

“What’s with all the questions?”

“No reasons…” Violet kissed Sutan again, her stomach in knots, but as Sutan pulled her down on the bed, the two lying together, Sutan holding her close, their bodies together, chest to chest, their legs intertwined, Sutan’s hand in her hair, and the knot was slowly replaced with warm desire. She was mad at the man who was holding her, mad and even a little hurt that he had apparently just come over to have sex, but the worry was slowly disappearing as Sutan whispered in her ear, his voice low, his breath hot, and Violet allowed herself to drown in her lover’s embrace, forgetting her annoyance.

***

“Hi, sweetie. What’s the matter?” Jinkx asked, opening her door to reveal Adore, holding a duffel bag. She’d been a little puzzled when her doorman had called up to say that Adore was there, and now her confusion was replaced with concern.

“The pipes are leaking again. My kitchen flooded. I have no hot water,” Adore told her, a look of shame flashing across her face. “I’m sorry, I hate doing this. I can call Bianca but Courtney’s brother stole my bedroom.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jinkx said, pulling Adore inside. “Come in. I was just about to order some lunch. It’s so dreary out, I was thinking some kind of hot soup. Maybe pho or ramen? Chili? What do you think?”

Adore sighed happily, following Jinkx and flopping down beside her on the sofa. “Whatever you want sounds amazing. And thank you, I’m really sorry to keep bugging you like this.”

Jinkx kissed Adore on the forehead, picking up her phone. “Please don’t apologize. I love having you here.” She wrapped an arm around Adore from behind, nuzzling the back of her hair. “Stay as long as you want.”

Adore pulled a blanket around them and leaned back, closing her eyes. “I love you, Jinkxy,” she murmured blissfully.

“Me too, honey.” Jinkx said.

***

Holy shit, you guys! So apparently Li’l Courtney Act has at least one ex who did not delete the nudes from their phone after they broke up. In what appears to be incredibly suspicious timing (her album dropped like, YESTERDAY), some very racy photos hit the tabloids this morning. Uncensored versions are all over the web and damn, girl. (After the jump.)

So these pictures are clearly from a few years ago, back when she had the roots of a poor person and some obvious dorm room decor going on. (Unframed movie posters and loft bed? Classy, Court.) If it makes any difference, we think she’s hotter now, but that doesn’t mean we’re not saving these. For...science.

***

The cafeteria in the late morning was Pearl’s favorite place at work. The suits had all left, the Johns and Larrys and Michaels all gone to their respective offices. Pearl liked the peace, liked hiding from her employees and taking the time to sit and eat without anything bothering her. Pearl was checking her Instagram, slowly making her way through a banana when a shadow blocked her screen and someone sat down next to her.

“Hey, this table is taken asshol-” Pearl looked up, expecting one of the suits that she had somehow missed to have forced their way into her space, but as she looked up, she came face to face with... Violet?

“Hi...” Violet smiled slightly, the girl looking incredibly insecure. “I... Umh... Is someone sitting here?”

Pearl shook her head, slightly shocked that Violet was even talking to her. Violet was the queen of the cold shoulder, and her friend had barely acknowledged her existence for weeks.

“I got you this...” Violet held out a cup of coffee, Pearl realizing that she hadn’t said anything at all since Violet had started talking.

“You’re not mad anymore?”

“No...” Violet smiled slightly and shook her head. “I woke up this morning, and I couldn’t remember why I was mad at you, and when I remembered, I realised that all I wanted was to talk to my friend…” Violet sat down, Pearl quickly moving so there was space for Violet, the two sitting together. “I’m sorry I was so mad, and that I was mad for so long...”

“You kinda had the right to, I was being a dick.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t one.”

Violet held out the cup of coffee once again, a sigh of relief leaving her when Pearl accepted it, the two girls smiling at each other before Pearl started laughing.

***

Fame hugged Bianca tightly. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course, blondie. How are you?”

Fame avoided eye contact, dodging the question with an exuberant, “I bet Courtney is excited about tonight!”

“Yeah, well...I don’t know if ‘excited’ is the right word. She’s turned our bedroom into a zen monastery.”

Fame leaned her chin on her hand, eyes glittering dreamily. “Oh yeah?”

“What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“You said OUR bedroom,” Fame simpered.

Bianca cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I hate it when you get all touchy-feely. Why are we even talking about me? Aren’t we here to discuss your failing marriage?”

Fame straightened up. “Nice, Bianca.”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever,” Fame replied, as the waiter walked up. They gave their orders and then when she left, Fame was still avoiding eye contact.

“Fame...I really am sorry. How are you doing? Have you talked to him at all?”

Fame shook her head. “Nope.”

“And…?”

“And I’m miserable. I miss him so much. I hate the way we left things. The more I think about that last fight, the more regret I have about everything. He’s not perfect, not remotely, but he didn’t deserve to be treated the way I...he didn’t deserve that.” Fame’s voice was soft.

Bianca nodded. “Yeah, well, listen, it sounds like you might have to do our least favorite thing now.”

“What’s that?”

“Admit you fucked up. To him.”

Heaving a huge sigh, Fame shook her head. “I don’t even know if he’ll want to hear from me now.”

“How will you know if you don’t try?”

“I just...I think this may be bigger than the two of us. I may need reinforcements.”

“Like the fire department?”

“Like a couples therapist.”

Bianca scoffed. “Pfft, therapy is for whiny assholes who don’t know how to deal with their problems.”

Fame rolled her eyes. “Bianca, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have never known someone more desperately in need of therapy than you in my entire life.”

“Don’t take that the wrong way? What way am I supposed to take that?”

“Well,” Fame began, “I mean, it’s an expression. Take it however you want. It’s true, though. You’ve got major issues.”

“What ‘issues’? My life is fucking awesome.”

“Right. Nevermind.” Fame rolled her eyes. “Aaanyway, where do you think I should suggest Patrick and I meet? I need somewhere neutral.”

***

“Trixie, what are we doing up here?” Ivy asked, trying not to let her extreme fear of heights take hold, as brisk autumn wind whipped her skirt around.

“/What/ are we doing up here, or what are /we/ doing up here?” Trixie responded coyly.

“Both!” Roxie exclaimed. Roxie wasn’t afraid of heights, and peered boldly off the edge of the roof. Holy shit, were they high up.

Gia yawned and examined her nails, and Betty crossed her arms, irritated. As relieved and happy as the design department was to have Trixie back, they were all still worn down and burned out from their months working under Bendela the Bitch, and had less patience than usual for his charming antics. The assistants were simply confused.

“Listen,” Trixie began, as he felt himself losing the crowd, “I know you guys have all had a very, very difficult few months. I’m really sorry for what you’ve all been through. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, and I’m sorry that you felt like you were, to put it simply, abandoned to live with an evil stepmother. She did a LOT of things wrong - basically she did everything wrong. The first thing was, she didn’t listen to any of you, or let you feel free to express yourselves creatively. As you all know, that is DEATH for a company like ours. The second thing was, she had you attempt to mass-produce what were supposed to be one of a kind couture garments. This put tremendous pressure and strain on all of you, and it also devalued the garments.”

“No shit,” Betty chimed in.

“Well, so, I thought...maybe today we could take care of both problems. Obviously, we need to get rid of the knock-offs. They are hastily made imitations of the originals and they shouldn’t be in the marketplace.” Trixie held up one of the jackets. “We’ll say there was a warehouse fire…” he grinned wickedly and poured a little lighter fluid into a large metal trash can. “And while we do this, we can vent, or yell, and get out all this negative energy, and start fresh on Monday.”

“Are you serious?!” Gia exclaimed.

“Yup! Let’s think of it as a cleansing ritual. Nothing more cleansing than fire, eh? So what do you say? It’s voluntary. No one has to participate.”

“Oh, I’m fucking IN!” Betty yelled, pumping her fist in the air.

April squealed and jumped up and down, clapping.

“And I think my friend Shane should do the first one. If he wants.” Trixie looked at Shane hopefully.

Shane had been standing beside Betty quietly. His eyes a little misty. He stepped forward and slowly took the jacket out of Trixie’s hand. Trixie helped him light a sleeve, then he tossed it into the bin and watched as the entire garment was engulfed in flames. “Burn, baby, burn!” he chanted, then turned to the group, eyes dancing with glee. “Who’s next?!”

***

Courtney paced around Bianca’s bedroom, muttering lyrics to herself, having totally given up on meditating. Ben appeared in the doorway, watching her for a few moments before startling her with, “Hello there, Sybil.”

Courtney nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around. “Ben, you scared the FUCK out of me!”

“Just what are you doing?”

“I’m...I dunno.”

“I thought you were supposed to be having a relaxing day. What happened to your meditation stay-cation nonsense?” he asked.

“I can’t clear my mind, so I decided to drive myself nuts instead.”

“Sounds like a great idea. I don’t get it, didn’t your run through go great yesterday?”

“It was fine.” Courtney chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, you need to stop stressing yourself out.”

“How?” Courtney fretted.

“Come play dress-up with me. I’m almost done with your Halloween costume…” he teased.

“Really?! I thought you said you’d be sewing it onto my body!”

“Yeah, well, I severely underestimated how bored I’d be living with you two. Now, come on, let’s see how much tailoring I need to do since you’ve lost inches in your waist and gained an actual female’s ass for the first time in your life.” Ben grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall, and she followed him, laughing.

#galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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