#The simultaneous urges to laugh at him and hit him with a chair are strong

[distracted-obsessions]

The urge to make a Whumpee based off of this coworker of mine...

[tetsvhoe]

AFRAID | HAIKYUU FILO SMAU

MASTERLIST | PREV | FIN.

#25 i almost love you

– oh ayan onting backstory chaka redemption arc kay aiko baka may maka relate

– omg finally chapter di ko na to hahabaan basta thank you so much for the support and the laughs! this was my first ever smau and series i hope you all enjoyed and i hope to see you in my future works!

– wag niyo kalimutan si anak ni imelda at anak ng mafia boss, ha? :(( <3

taglist | anitwt

@mirakeul @erinoikawa @haji-bby @seijohoe @szeonn @banananaa4 @stffychn @vvvselfindulgence @devilgirlcrybabiey @knmsapplepi @duhsies @littlemochi @mikeystomanjacket @noitsmrleorio @agasheeee @roanniee @softsakusas @your-girl-mj @hello0i @crustycookiebestie @shanthesamurai @naviation-xx @sciophobia @lady-tokugawa-of-mikawa @bakugouswh0r3 @aizameow

iwaizumi shuts his phone off with a faint click, throws his head back against the headrest and shuts his eyes. he feels lightheaded, hands clam around his phone and the steering wheel subconsciously. was he always this nervous to talk to you? he can’t remember the last time he’s seen your face, the last time since he’s heard your voice. he misses it so much it makes his heart clench.

he lets out a long shaky breath as he wills himself to open his eyes, peer out the window. the club lights pulse faintly in the darkness of the night, he hears the faint music and clamor of club goers. the team’s last reply was from roughly an hour ago. he shivers thinking how he managed to cut the drive time in half and thanks the heavens for the mostly barren roads he drove through.

he can only imagine how everyone must be hammered by now. the “demonic hour” as they collectively dubbed 3:00am, is nearing. the demonic hour is when ushijima starts speaking in english considerably louder than his usual stern yet soft spoken voice. bokuto slouched against his seat, arms over his chest, passed out and snoring steadily. atsumu and sakusa may start swapping personalities soon, osamu and suna are talking about extraterrestrial life, and hinata is probably stumbling on the dancefloor holding in the urge to puke. iwaizumi also fondly recalls your friends, how kiyoko would be sleeping on top of the table, god forbid someone tries to wake her. alisa would be flirting with someone’s girlfriend, and tendou making everyone take “shots” of water, nearly falling off as he laughs at their muscle memory reactions as if they are still taking a slug of alcohol.

and of course, his mind wanders to you. how you slur your words and swear you’re not that drunk. you gauge each miniscule action and word carefully in an attempt to prove to everyone you’re sober, but it only gives you away so much more because you’re moving in x0.75 playback speed. he catches himself smiling at the mere thought and blushes though he’s alone in his car. the demonic hour turns you to an angel, quite ironically. you’re poutier than usual and throw a hissy fit at iwaizumi when he refuses to get you lugaw or mamiin the middle of the night out, not like he can resist your pleads for long anyway. you can’t keep up with the usual playful banter anymore and flirt terribly.

the thought of some other man finding you during your demonic hour flings iwaizumi out of the driver’s seat and he’s marching into the club before he knows it. it doesn’t take long for him to weave his way in and navigate your group, and the scene he finds is exactly as he imagines, but where are you?

“ten, ten, saan siya?” he shakes tendou into sobriety. he peers up at him with dazed eyes before grinning widely upon recognizing iwaizumi.

“oy, tangina mo! ano ginagawa mo dito?” the red head laughs. “‘di ko sure lumabas daw siya saglet.”

the rest of the group slowly registers iwaizumi’s presence, greeting him with clumsy high fives and fist bumps and “ba’t andito ka, kupal?”, “late na late na ba’t humabol ka pa?”, “akala namin di ka pwede ngayon?” and he returns each greeting half-heartedly as he constantly searches for your shadow in the crowd.

suna teases iwaizumi’s panicked state before pointing out you might have gone outside for a smoke. a sour feeling brews in his stomach; how could they have let you gone alone, why weren’t they sure where you went? but he saves the frustration in favor of finding you as soon as possible.

he all but runs outside through a back door near the bar which leads to a terrace overlooking the parking lot. his whole body stills as he sees your back turned to him, the heavy metal door creaks to a close, letting the loud pounding of the club music fade. he half expects to see you barely able to hold your weight with your own legs or with another guy, probably why he was so worked up in the first place, but you were alone. you seemed sober enough. it scared him even more.

as if feeling his presence, you look over your shoulder. iwaizumi debates turning on his heel and making a bee line for the exit, back to his car, and driving another hour or so to manila, but he’s frozen in his place.

you offer him a small smile, motioning for him to join you. “hayop ka anong ginagawa mo dito, ha? nag-drive ka pa, eh late na late na.”

iwaizumi is hit with the realization that in all that time he was driving alone with his thoughts, he didn’t even think of all the things he wanted to say to you. his head was simultaneously full and empty, there was just you.

“ikaw kasi kani-kanino ka nagpapa-picture. akala ko pag-papalit mo na ‘ko,” he manages to blurt out, yet you don’t miss the way his remark lacks the usual sass and playfulness.

“tama naman. ayoko na sa’yo eh,” you laugh, glancing over your shoulder to catch his scowl and an ad-libbed curse. your features soften when you notice the seriousness in his features as he stares into the nothingness ahead. you’re about to ask him if something was wrong when he sucks in a sharp breath.

“ako gusto ko sa’yo,” he says matter-of-factly, eyes meeting yours.

“what?” you laugh nervously, suddenly hyper aware of the way your heart hammers against your chest, of how you get a whiff of his usual perfume because you’re so close, the dark circles under his eyes, the distraught etched on his furrowed brows.

“i said i like you,” he repeats louder and firmer.

“i know what you said, i’m not sure i understand—”

“i like you, fuck i… i don’t know why it took me this long to say it to your face, but if i’m being honest, i was just afraid. i still am, but between being afraid of my own emotions and being afraid of fucking this up, i am actually quite fucking terrified of losing you more than anything else,” he rambles in one breath, words trembling but intense. it knocks the air out of your lungs, and you don’t know why tears start lining your eyes. “i might… even be falling in love with you fuck—”

“haji…” you whisper, body turning towards him like a magnet. he lets out a breath he didn’t know you were holding, oh how he missed you calling him that so soft and endearingly. “you have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to finally grow the balls to say that,” you chuckle, almost bitterly. “but i don’t know how to go about with this anymore.”

“let me set things right. i know we did things out of order, but i want to make us work,” he pleads, rough hands coming up to softly stroke your cheek with his knuckles.

your lips form a tight-lipped smile. he knows you’re about to ramble and finds it adorable. “i’m… i’m not so sure anymore, this is more complicated than i initially thought. w-what about the distance? haji, i’m not built for long distance i—”

iwaizumi grabs your wrist and pulls you against his chest. a strong arm wraps around your waist, his other hand holds the back of your head. you can feel both your hearts beating harshly against your chests, your cheeks heating up while you relish his embrace.

he places soft kisses onto your temple, whispering. “don’t worry that pretty little head of yours too much, there’s no rush. i’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. maghihintay ako.”

your eyes flutter open, light seeps through your vision and iwaizumi’s blurred figure slowly becomes clearer. he’s sat on an office chair, pulled right next to your bed. he watches over you with a soft smile.

“good morning, tomador.”

“tangina mong manyak, kanina mo pa ako pinapanood matulog?” you yawn, stretching your arms and limbs. did he not sleep at all? If he did, that shabby office chair couldn’t have been comfortable in the least. “akala ko ba babalik ka rin agad sa manila, akala ko umalis ka na kagabi.” you sit up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. the clock reads 6:07am.

iwaizumi tilts his head to the side as he eyes you, a small smile tugs at his lips while you glare at him. “cute mo pala pag bagong gising,” he remarks. “gusto ko lang siguraduhin natatandaan mo pa ‘yung kagabi.” he stands up, pushing the chair back and walks over to cup your cheeks.

“oo naman, tanga. ‘di naman ako lasing kagabi—”

“ano sinabi ko?”

you blink back, stunned. you know what he means, but suddenly can’t get the words out of your mouth.

“hm? akala ko ba natatandaan mo, anong sinabi ko sayo kagabi?” he smirks, squishing your cheeks together in his hand.

“uh… s-sabi mo ano, gusto mo ako.”

“gusto lang?”

“baka… sabi mo baka mahal mo na rin ako,” your ears burn up as the words leave your mouth, you attempt to look away but iwaizumi jerks your face to look at him smirking menacingly at your flushed state. “chaka ano pa?”

“sabi mo mag hihintay ka, ‘yan okay na! tangina mo,”you pry his hands off and attempt to close in on yourself by hiding behind the strands of hair that fall over your face.

“good girl,” he chuckles. “una na ‘ko, ha? tawagan nalang kita mamaya, tulog ka ulit maaga pa.”

you nod wordlessly, still avoiding his gaze. you watch his retreating figure, but he halts right in front of the door. he looks over his shoulder, “bye, i almost love you,” and winks.

summer didn’t last a hundred and four days, not this time. iwaizumi came to visit you a few times over the course of barely a month and a half of vacation. you managed to make it work for until then. he was even more busy tending to documents and requirements for his fourth year on top of helping his mom and grandmother, but he made time for you. he always did.

you both made adjustments to accommodate the distance. regular phone calls, curt text updates, movie marathons on discord, sometimes with your squammy group of friends. some things stayed the same, the regular cussing each other out, the snide remarks, the usual roasts. except this time, days end on an “i almost love you” note.

as you’re running late for your first day of third year, you realize barely anything has changed. and when you run out of the house, hopping on one foot as you tried to stuff the other into your shoe, you see iwaizumi parked outside of your house, leaning against his car, and twirling his keys on his finger, he manages to make your world come to a standstill once again.

“good morning, anak ng mafia boss. late na po tayo, bilisan mo na dyan.”

just like that, you’ve come full circle.

[yolkyeomie]

Crescendo | Kang Yeosang

summary — The beating of a heart is like a crescendo, screaming louder and louder in one's chest until it's reached maximum capacity, and you’re about ready to burst.

word count — 8.6k words

pairing — yeosang x female!reader

genre —violinist + college au, band au there if you look around a little bit, fluff with like a hint of angst in the later parts

disclaimer — SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT,,, this is more of prologue than anything tbh. also I have almost zero knowledge on college and violins so if this is horrible I’m so sorry. also typos. lots of typos.

part I | part II | part III

I.

There was just something about summer that you liked so much. You just couldn't exactly put your finger on what.

Maybe you liked the sunny days that it would bring? The giant ball of light in the sky beaming down at full power onto every human in sight. It would illuminate the world with a golden glow, bringing out the more natural and earthy colors hidden from the other seasons. The heat would call for unplanned trips to the cool waters and hot sand of the beaches or a quickly made dash to the nearest frozen ice cream shop. Perhaps it was because there was no more school, no more time needed to spend on slaving away for hours at a desk just to not retain any knowledge given.

Or maybe you liked it because it was the time you’d see children the happiest. Every time you biked along the sidewalk to and from your home you’d come across a playground almost always filled to the brim with the joyous sounds of laughter. Children scattered around the playgrounds like little ants to a picnic, grabbing whatever they found the most intriguing for the day. Some would be swinging, some would be sliding, some would even be chasing each other around without any of the equipment catching their attention at all.

However, there was a possibility that you enjoyed the summertime because of the theater your town held. It wasn't very big compared to the ones that could be found in the big cities of your country, but it was nice nonetheless.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

There were white walls lined with a fake golden trim along the floors, bright lights nearly blinding one as they walked inside of the theater for the first time. There was a slightly smaller stage than normal, not too tiny but definitely smaller than you’d seen in the more famous theaters. The seats weren't in their traditional curved angles either. They were in neat straight rows leading all the way to the back of the theater where the volunteer tech crew would operate behind the scenes.

Every year your high school would hold recitals for their students in that theater. They would use these performances as a way to showcase their students' growing talents in the art of music or to spotlight their shyer students who never had gotten a chance to show everyone what they were made of. You weren’t in any sort of music group nor did you know how to play any instruments, so you never participated. But you did show up to every recital you could.

When you were in tour first year the only reason you had attended the performance was because your English teacher had promised to raise their overall grade for the year if they did. You were a decent student, overall you had average grades but wasn't the most outstanding person in your class. A few extra points to curve your grades were always appreciated so you had planned on attending the performance.

You had tried to grab a couple of friends to go with you, but all of them coward out when they got the chance. Some would say they were too busy, some would outright tell you they didn't want to sit through a performance they had no interest in. So you ended up simply going with your family, more begrudged than you originally were for the recital.

You had sat through choir members and members of the school's small orchestra and band repeating nearly the same song over and over again. Each song had a different tune, maybe a different style depending on how much creative liberty the singer or player gave themselves. One song was sung a bit louder than the others, another song was played by a small thrown together orchestra than simply a soloist, but they were all the same.

It was boring, and you were growing tired of listening to the same thing constantly. The only thing willing you to stay in your seat the entire time with the arm crushing strength of your mother and your need to get extra points on your grades for the year.

Near the end of the recital was when you had gotten hooked. Your family had finally decided they were going to pack it up for the night, her father had to work early in the morning and you were going to be thrown over towards your grandparents for summer. Just before you could have risen out of your chair to leave behind your parents, you heard it. A different melody than the ones that have been rocking your brain that night.

There was a boy walking on the stage, probably no taller than you was at the time. He was tiny for a first year boy, probably one of the shortest in his class as well. His hair was like a fluffy brown bunny's tail, bouncing and tousling itself around with every step he took. There was a string instrument in his hands, from what you could see was a red-tinged wood violin. You couldn't quite see the expression on his face either though, due to the distance you were from the theater stage.

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he plucked one of the strings, letting the note resonate through the theater and bounce off the walls and into their ears. He had played a note, on a different key from the other performers. He was playing a song that his fellow violinists hadn't picked. He was different.

The sound was like a siren's song that grabbed the audience's attention and placed it to the stage. His melody started out soft and somber, almost as if the violin itself was conveying its unspoken emotions. The violinist was trying to use those emotions his instrument lent him to serenade the tears in the audience's eyes to fall and hit the ground simultaneously, creating their own beat to his song.

After a moment of enticing the audience to his performance, he sped up his pace. His quiet song suddenly grew in size until it overpowered every other sound in the room. He strummed each string with a quickness you didn't even believe was possible, his bow striking each note like it was powerful enough to create an earthquake. In a sense, it was like he and the violin had become one being, his string instrument becoming an extension of his arm as he played.

The audience whispered in wonder and amazement of the boy's talents, unable to take their eyes away from his figure. It was an enchanting sound so you couldn't blame them. The violinist had brought you into a world completely different from reality, where every object and plant in sight was made out of his musical chords.

How does a boy, barely over the age of fifteen, have this much power in his hands? You would be cursing yourself if you didn't grant him the title of prodigy right then and there.

Unfortunately for you, you couldn't listen to the rest of his alluring song. Your family had dragged you out of the theater to finally retreat to their humble abode for the night. After that night you had declared to yourself that you’d find the violinist who played that song, whether you had to search all summer for him or dig around your school for him. You’d attend every recital and every performance your school's small orchestra had just to get him to play for you again.

However, you lucked out each time you tried. Your school's orchestra didn't allow students outside of their instrumentalists into the classrooms. The violinist boy was too short for you to find in a crowd at their performances either. You even tried to find someone who might be close to him, but no one seemed to step up to the plate. This went on for the rest of your high school years. The only time you could see him where those days after the school year had ended, listening to him play those high energy tunes and somber melodies for his recital before he disappeared from existence once more.

That was, until now.

Plus you made a little bit of money on the side as well, and who didn't like money? Sure most of it was going to your tuition for college but there were times where you liked to splurged on your own interests every once and awhile.

"You seem tired," a feminine voice commented, making you turn around to face her. It was a girl, around your age, walking towards you, her long sleeves rolled up against her arms to mirror the way her shorts looked. She sat down on the pavement next to you, handing you a water bottle ice cold to the touch. "I would be too if I rode around in this crazy heat. I'm surprised you haven't melted at the mere light of the sun yet."

"I almost did," you responded, taking the water from her hands gratefully. "Today was unreasonably hot... I felt like I was sitting right in the middle of hell. And the fact that my bike is made out of metal, too? It's a miracle I didn't get third degree burns or something."

The girl went quiet for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought before speaking again. "You know I can always do it for you? The delivering stuff. It's my family's business anyway, I should be helping them out, not relying on you to do all of the hard work for me."

"Are you serious?" you questioned, suppressing the unusually strong urge to laugh. "You can't even ride a bike or skate. Nor do you have a car either, it'll take you hours to get from one house to the next. And I like the money I earn from doing this for you, I can't get a job anywhere else so this is just perfect for me."

"But still!" She complained, a pouting donning her lips as you screwed open the bottle cap. "I feel bad seeing you bike along in this hot ass weather for my family! I gotta do something to give you... at least a little relief."

You laughed at her desperation, placing the water by your side to face her fully. "The relief you can give me is not playing your cello so loud in the morning. You play wonderfully, trust me, but it's so loud and I'm so tired." you clarified, reminiscing on every time she'd walk up to her house with the sound of a cello's notes wavering through the air.

The girl wasn't in their school's orchestra, she had picked up on the instrument as a hobby. She didn't have a desire to play it in a school setting or professionally no matter how much everyone would suggest otherwise. Yet she suddenly began to really start practicing more often when her next door neighbor had moved in two years ago. You remembered exactly how frustrated the girl was when she discovered that he played guitar at maximum volume in the middle of the night without any regard for anyone else.

To counteract his annoying behavior, she'd open up all the windows in her house and began to play her cello as loud as she physically could in the morning times. It became a war of the instrumentalists after that and neither of them seemed like they were going to stop any time soon.

"Oh you know I can't do that," She responded, glaring at the house to their left where the guitarist resided. "He'll take it as me surrendering to him. I don't even want to think about what he'll do in the middle of the night once I stop. Probably bass boost his guitar so that it's even louder than normal! Oh god, I won't ever get any sleep if he does that."

You found it funny really. The two had never even met each other face to face. "Right... and we don't want that happening do we?" The girl shook her head vigorously in response to your words, taking your sarcasm very seriously. "I still think you can at least tone it down a little bit... this is our last year, in a few months we'll be dragged off into a bigger city to attend colleges and universities for another four or more years. Are you really going to be playing your cello first thing in the morning in your dormitory?"

"Well..." the girl pauses, taking your words into consideration. "No... I won't really need to since I'm not bringing it with me."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands together and giving the girl a mocking smile. "Now I think you should at least go over to that boy's house and settle this raging war before you move onto better things. Make amends with him, he might even become a new friend of yours for the future. If not, you're not gonna see him again. There's a very high possibility that he's not going to the same college as you, or that he might not be going to college at all!"

She rolled her eyes at your suggestion, forcing herself off of the ground reluctantly. "Fine. I'll go make amends with him or whatever. But I'll only do it if you give up on the violinist boy from the recitals."

You stiffened at the mention of your high school goal, your very unsuccessful goal of finding him and making him play a song for you. "It's like you said, this is our last year here as teenagers. You've been trying to find him longer than I've been waging this musical war on my neighbor. It's about time to lay to rest, you. Seriously, it's more painful to watch than those terribly edited movies from my parents' watch for the "nostalgia"."

"Ouch there was no need to stoop that low," you mumbled, making the girl laugh in turn. "But I guess you're right. I've failed at finding him for this long, I might as well just give up now."

The girl nodded before patting your shoulders in reassurance. "If you really want to hear someone play music so bad for you, you can always ask me. I know a cello sounds nothing like a tiny violin but I can always try?"

"Actually that doesn't sound like a bad idea," you mumbled after a moment of thinking.

"Perfect!" The girl hummed, nearly jumping with excitement to show off her talents and pleasing your several years long urge to have someone play for you. "Usually I only play for my family but I'm very willing to show off what I've been working on. There's this one song I've using to annoy the guitarist boy in the morning and—"

"Go," you reminded her, your smile growing wider at her friend geeking out about her work. "Go get your cello and actually play it for me."

She nodded at your words, skipping on her feet as if she was as light as a feather towards her house. You knew it would be a bit of a struggle in moving her instrument from her room to the outdoors but if the girl was willingly and happily doing it, she had no reason to stop her.

It was a little funny though, how much you were surrounded by people who were gifted and talented in the form of music. Your school's orchestra knew you because of how you’d always try and snatch a peek into their classroom and attended their performances. Your closest friend was a cellist, but only played for hobby and the boy next door was a guitarist. All these connections started happening because a boy you had been chasing after for four years was a violinist.

You'd think you’d pick up some sort of instrument to attract them to you, and trust and believe you tried. You attempted to start playing many instruments after that summer night in your first year. Guitar, flute, piano, trumpet, you even tried to learn the violin yourself. You just weren't musical gifted, you didn't have the patience nor the ears to learn any sort of instrument that passed your way. The best you could do was play a sad tune on the kazoo or laugh into a harmonica.

It's even funnier when other’s learn that your mother used to sing and play the piano while your father played the clarinet when they were in high school. Go ahead and laugh, you knew you were a musical disappointment. Music was practically flowing strong in your blood and you sucked at it. Don't even get started on dancing either, it was a frightening sight to see. Those who could live to tell the tale never told the tale to anyone.

A melody began to float through the air once your friend disappeared into her house, catching you off guard. It wasn't the sound of an electric guitar, shocking the hair and making your skin prickle with its overbearing and booming sound. It was soft and sweet, vibrating through the air as if it was playing with the wind that blew by every few minutes. You could immediately identify the instrument as a violin, it's slightly strained notes from the bow connecting with the strings were all too familiar to you.

You turned towards the guitarist's house where the song was the loudest. To your knowledge, the boy didn't play any other instrument than the guitar. Yet the violin's sweet yet sorrowful song was coming from his house. Without even thinking you rose off the ground, following the song's notes like it was your guide. You had heard the door of your friend's house open again, signaling that the girl had successfully brought her cello from her room to the front of her house. Unfortunately for her, you were walking a little faster than she could drag her cello case.

"Y/N?" The girl called, trying to catch your attention. "Y/N, where are you going?"

You stood in front of the guitarist boy's house, right before where the balcony was hanging. The door to the balcony was ajar, letting the cool afternoon air into the room and releasing the melody of the violin out. "Is that the guitarist boy's room?" you called out to her friend, not taking your eyes off of the balcony. Just as you spoke the violin came to a screeching stop as if the mere sound of your voice was disrupting the flow of its song.

"No," the girl responded after abandoning her cello and running to your side. She pointed to the other side of the house where the window's blinds were closed yet light still shined through them. "His room is right across from mine, I should know I get the brunt of the blow every time he strums his stupid guitar."

Your voices dropped into pure silence when you saw something moving in their direction from the balcony. The door to the outside area slowly screeched open as the figure on the other side pulled on its door handle, stepping onto the wood floor of the balcony and letting the floorboards creak under their weight. Your eyes widened at the sight of a red-tinged violin, it's body scratched from its long term usage and its color dull from the lighting the setting sun had given them.

A boy stepped into view after the violin, the brown hair bouncing on his head like a bunny's tail. His resting face looked like you were staring at a statue, unable to catch any hint of movement in most of his features unless he blinked his eyes every few seconds. Right beside his eyes was some sort of mark, more of a rosy color than the rest of rather pale skin. He must not leave his house that much. After a few moments of silence, he leaned over the balcony's hand railing and spoke, "What do you want?"

The girl beside you glanced between the boy and you frantically, trying to piece two and two together. "you... is that the—"

"I want," you yelled up to him, interrupting your friend's question to respond to the boy above them. A smile began to play on your lips as you spoke, excitement festering up in your chest. You had found him. You had found the violinist from your first year. "I want you to play for me one of your best songs yet."

II.

There was just something about mornings you hated, no matter the day of the week. They'd always leave you more exhausted than you were the night before, whether you had gone to sleep late or not.

Maybe it's because of the dorm room you stayed in, assigned the room the moment you had gotten accepted into your university. It wasn't tiny, but it was definitely much smaller than your room at home. Your belongings barely had enough legroom with your roommate's whole entire area taking up more than half of the room. Despite being rather clean, to an extent, and cool during the day it was also incredibly hot at night.

A few months back the air conditioning unit for the floor you lived on broke down due to age. The university had reassured the students that they'd be looking into the broken unit and the technicians would be coming in and out of the building to fix it. However, they were rather slow with the process. Instead of just moving toward the third floor where the problem had started, they were moving from room to room on each floor the building had.

Apparently, they were just going to fix the problem in one go, however one go suddenly turned into a few days. A few days turned into a few weeks. And a few weeks turned into two months.

Thankfully they were on the edge of the summer season, the crisp breeze of the autumn air in October beginning to blow throughout the city. However that breeze simply abandoned them every time the night fell, the hallways and the common room being filled to the brim with students trying to escape the blazing heat. One would think it would be much cooler around the nighttime, so did they.

You weren't the heaviest of sleepers either, which meant you'd wake up at even the slightest vibration of a phone. One could only imagine your reaction when your alarm clock suddenly blared its ear piercing wake up call. The irritating buzzing of the built on alarm would always shock you out of bed like a cat. Yet even when you knew you were wide awake, you constantly struggled to force yourself up and out of your room. If time would allow it, you would lay in your very warm and comfortable spot in the bed for at least an hour or more.

What's even worse for you was that your dormitory was co-ed, which meant that next door to you was a group of boys who were sharing a room for the school year. They were loud, constantly moving around in the middle of the night, and screaming at random times of the day which usually ended up being the time that you used to study. There were always noise complaints about those students. No one on their floor, or the floor above and below, like them that much. Yet they never seemed to tone down the problem, they made them worse with every noise complaint that was filled to their resident assistance.

Every time they'd get a noise complaint, they'd go and find someone else who was just a little too loud one day and pin the blame on them. It was a way to show that everyone in the building made a commotion and that they shouldn't be the only ones punished for it. You didn't really care about what they were doing until you had suddenly become a target one day.

"I'm sorry, what?" you questioned them, leaning up against the door frame with your arms crossed. In front of you stood the two boys that lived in the dorm next to you, nearly towering over you like the buildings in the city thanks to the monstrous amount of height. They appeared to be up to no good when they had randomly shown up, and you were absolutely right.

"Are you the one who has been playing that music for the past three days? What was it... classical music?" He asked, tugging at his hair as he spoke. He glanced towards his roommate for confirmation, who nodded his head vigorously in response to his question. "Are you a music major or something? Maybe in the orchestra? If not it's been blasting really loudly lately and my roommate here has a majority of his classes at eight am. Right, Jaehyun?"

The boy didn't seem like he was on board with being used as an excuse at first, raising his eyebrow and staring at his roommate in confusion before turning to you. "Right, I have to get up so early for all my classes. I'd really appreciate it if you keep the violins and cymbals and triangles to like a minimum so that it doesn't bother me anymore."

"If not we'll take it to the RA," His roommate quickly added to put their threat in full effect. "And we'll file a noise complaint for disturbing us."

You scoffed at the thought, wanting to slam the door closed and forget about their petty revenge. "Aren't you the same duo that got a noise complaint filed to them last week because of an extremely loud yet unidentifiable thud..." you began before turning on your heels and correcting yourself. "Oh, my apologies. I meant boom, extremely loud yet unidentifiable boom that came from the laundry room. Only for one of the students on the lower floors to go down there and find that one of the washers and dryers had literally malfunctioned and exploded?"

"Listen," One of the boys tried to interject, his ears burning bright red as you kept talking. "That's not... listen, we—"

"Didn't they go on the security cameras to find out who had done the damage? Because a washer and dryer going suddenly haywire on its own is extremely worrisome and dangerous for the students who may have been around during that time. And weren't you two—"

"Classical music is such an amazing genre of music!" The roommate interrupted, yelling over your voice in a panic. There was a pained smile on his face as he hooked an arm around the other boy, punching his arm to follow along as he spoke. "I mean, it has such a clean and light texture to it, simplistic but a great melody nonetheless! God, it gives me nostalgia for a time I wasn't even alive in! Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"

"Oh," the boy spoke, his eyes darting in between his roommate and you. Slowly a smile began to grow on his face to mask his growing embarrassment as he gestured towards the other boy. "Of... of course! Johnny has such nice music taste! So you know when he says a genre is really good it really means something. Seriously love classical music, man. Lulls me right to sleep!"

Needless to say, they choose to not bother you as much as they used to. The strange and loud noises that would echo through the dormitory walls had gotten significantly lower since that day. They didn't stop completely yet but it was enough for you to keep your peace of mind before waking up every day.

Your mornings had gotten relatively calmer after that incident as well. Both of those boys were usually out of the dormitory by the time you were awake to attend classes or work, so you didn't run into them much during the week. You'd have calm enough mornings to where you didn't feel the need to nearly pass out on a car or bus ride to your campus and almost miss your stop. It felt like a dream come true when you would hop out of whatever vehicle you were in and would be right on time before your classes even started.

"Y/N!" A feminine voice screamed, catching you off guard when an arm suddenly slung around your neck. You clutched onto the bag hanging off your shoulder as you nearly tumbled to the ground at the sudden addition of weight, bringing the other girl down with you as you struggled to comprehend what was going on. They got a few stares from the other students who were arriving and leaving the campus but no one said a word to them. Thankfully everyone practiced the art of minding their business. "You'll never guess what I got!"

"Do I want to guess?" You questioned, shoving the girl's arm off of you so you could regain your balance. Once you were stable enough to stand up, you turned around to see who had stumbled into your path. The girl's eyes were wide with innocence and excitement as she stood in front of you, fidgeting in place as she tried to contain herself. Most of the energy she'd originally be exerting into jumping up and down was focused into the beaming and bright smile she couldn't wipe off of her face even if she tried. "Do I have to guess?"

"Yes, you have to," She demanded, holding her hands behind her back to hide whatever got her spirits high. The girl must have ordered some sort of object online again and simply couldn't wait till after your classes to show you. "It's so worth it, I promise! Just... just guess!"

A sigh escaped your mouth as you straighten your posture, reading deep into the girl's expression to try and figure out what it was. "I'm going to guess—"

"Two front row seats to our school's very own band performance!" The girl nearly squealed, shoving two flimsy pieces of paper in your face. You took a few steps back in order to align your sight with the tickets, taking them out of the girl's hands to inspect.  Both tickets were for general admission, their names printed on it with the date they were expected to attend the performance. "Aren't you excited? I literally fought tooth and claw to get these before they sold out, and you know these sell out fast!"

"Band? Like the guys who play trumpets and bass drums during school games?" You questioned, glancing up from the tickets to face your friend. The tickets didn't have exactly who was performing written down on it, simply stating that it was a live music event. "Why would you go watch them play? I thought you were more of a... pop genre person?"

The girl rolled her eyes at your response, snatching the tickets from your hands and placing them back into your pockets. "No, not the band. Who goes out of their way to specifically watch our band team play?" She hissed. "I mean like rock bands. You know, the type of people who play the drums and guitars in one big band and perform on stage with a lead singer and everything. That type of band."

"My point with you being a pop genre person still stands," you mumbled in response.

"Yes I do like pop music, I understand that," The girl clarified. "But we're going to see Aurora. Our school's very own rock band! Do you seriously not know who they are? I know you listen to classical and orchestral music and all, but I thought you were at least in the loop with Aurora!"

You scoffed as you began to walk forward, shoving your hands into your pockets and you spoke. "Just because I don't listen to the popular music right now doesn't mean I'm out of the loop! I'll have you know that I am a very big fan of idol groups. I even participated in those farewell events when groups’ oldest members start enlisting in the military."

"Idol groups have absolutely nothing to do with Aurora and you know it," your friend grumbled. "Do you seriously not know who Aurora is? At all? Have I seriously been friends with a hermit crab this whole time?"

"Fine then," you shrugged. "Go ahead, tell me about this Aurora band since you're so obsessed and knowledgeable about this group I've never heard of."

Aurora is a much bigger thing than you had imagined. From your friend's knowledge, it was a group of boys who had gathered around the beginning of the year together, all of them having several different traits and personalities that simply meshed together all too well. They had created the band, Aurora, for fun at first as they were all instrumentalists with different crafts. They had started busking in order to make money as a side job and quickly grew in popularity with the audiences they performed to.

Their university had caught wind of their musical abilities and had asked them to perform during the annual club fairs to help attract more students. After that, they seemed to have skyrocketed in popularity within the college campus. Jung Wooyoung, the group's bassist, Song Mingi, the group's lead guitarist, Choi San, the group's drummer, and Jeong Yunho, the group's lead singer, had become some of the most well-known people on campus.

Everyone seemed to know them and wanted to listen to their music, which is why your friend was so excited to be getting front row tickets to their next performance. You thought it was funny though, Wooyoung was the guitarist boy that lived next door to the girl. 

"The past is in the past!" She exclaimed, throwing up her hands as the two entered the university's building. The indoors wasn't very crowded, all the students attending were spread throughout the area either taking a break before their classes began or nearly booking it straight up the stairs in fear of being late. "Sure I wanted to murder him with my cello beforehand, but it's okay because we put our differences aside like you said we should have. And it's good that we did because we ended up going to the same university."

"So..." you began, thinking for a few moments before turning towards your friend. "Does this mean he's your favorite member? I mean you've got the background and chemistry for a nice little love story don't you think?"

"Oh absolutely not," she immediately responded. "We may have made up that summer but I have not spoken to him since. Plus my favorite member is their drummer so if anything I'd like to start a love story with him. Do you think I should plan out of my outfit for the music event? What if I actually start a love story with him like in those tv shows my parents used to watch? We catch each other's eyes during the performance and before we're about to leave I get asked backstage to meet him in person!"

You visibly cringed at your friend's fantasizing, putting four feet of space in between the two of you. "Gross. Go to class before you contaminant me with your fantasies."

"Oh shut up." She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks so that you were forced to wait for her. "Everyone likes to fantasize about their love life every once and awhile. It's natural to want something grander than reality to happen to you."

"You are the most cliche woman I have ever met," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder to look at the girl. "You just told me you want to make eye contact with him and immediately fall in love just like that! Have a fun time dreaming about that while you stand in a crowd full of people in your general direction."

"You're so mean to me!" She yelled, causing everyone in the vicinity to turn and stare at the sudden commotion. "You're just mad that the violinist boy from freshman year refused to play music for you even when you got on your knees! And you were looking for him your entire high school career!"

You sprinted towards the girl at full speed, clamping your hands over her mouth to silence her. She screamed into your hands as you dragged her away from the public eye and muffled her voice. "Heejin, are you out of your mind?" You growled, looking behind you to see if anyone had heard her. "I thought we had both agreed to pretend like that never happened?"

The girl pried your hands away from her mouth and smiled innocently up at you. "We did promise. I just never forgot."

You shoved the girl towards where her lecture hall was located, a frustrated frown growing on your face as a pinkish flush began to creep across your face. "Go to your stupid business math class. Go before I chase you all the way there!" you threatened through gritted teeth. Her friend laughed at the girl's response, skipping like a child to her class for the day.

You really did get rejected that day, it was too ingrained in your brain to forget. The boy had stood on the balcony staring down at the two with a bored and uninterested expression in his eyes, tilting his head like a dog's when you screamed your demands up at him. Honestly, you didn't know exactly what you were expecting. Did you really think that he was just going to pick up his violin and start playing whatever tune he knew just because you asked him to? You didn't even say please!

You had spent a good ten minutes arguing with the boy about how you had been searching for him for years just to make him play at least ten seconds of a song for you. Each time you'd explain your situation to him, he'd immediately give you a dry response of why he kept declining you. He didn't even say it politely! He stared at you straight in the eyes and told you," I don't want to play for you because you aren't worth it."

You swore if you could jump high enough, you would have bounced onto the balcony and strangled him for his rude behavior. It was truly a sight for sore eyes watching an angry and frustrated high school senior scream up at an innocent looking but totally uninterested boy on the balcony. The argument was always almost completely one-sided as well, which made it slightly embarrassing to watch from the sidelines.

You had forced your friend to promise you that she'd either forget the whole incident or pretend like it never happened. Either one was good with you since your friend was known to tell everyone's stories when you weren't paying attention. She had gone this far without saying anything so the urge to talk about it must have been truly bubbling up inside of her. It's been a few months since the incident occurred and the memory is still fresh in your minds.

"God, I'm never gonna live down that stupid incident am I?" you grumbled, practically stomping towards your end destination. "Just when I thought maybe I was finally growing past it, she has to go and bring it back up again. Doesn't she know I'm still healing from that embarrassment? It took a toll on pride and this is how she helps mend the wound? By opening up again?"

You stopped in place when a melody began to waver in the air, following along the cold breeze of the university's air condition. The music notes hopped from breeze to breeze as it traveled through your ears to the next. The sound continuously grabbed your attention as each note was struck no matter how many times you turned to keep walking. It was hitting you like a rock to the head as your brain immediately identified the music maker to a violin.

You slowly turned around to see a few students peering through a crack in some double doors, staring intently on what was on the other side. "They're at it again," one of the older students spoke, holding the door open for his friends to look through. "They're much earlier this time than usual, we'll only catch a little bit of the performance. Do you think something important is happening?"

"You think they're competing for first chair again?" One of the younger students asked, glancing up towards the boy who had spoken beforehand. He shrugged in response to their question, but he seemed to agree for the most part. "Whatever it is, I bet Hong is about to take the first chair again. He's always the first chair. No one can beat that boy when it comes to the violin."

"Kang is always right behind him though, don't forget that," another voice reminded, trying to get a better view of the inside. "Both of them are musical prodigies, and the conductor has always been fond of Kang's playing style. I think he'll get first chair this time."

You couldn't help but let curiosity take over, standing just a few feet away from the group of friends and trying to peer through the small windows of the door. It was rather dark near the entrance to the room, but farther back was lit up by lights that illuminated the wood floor stage where two performers stood. The doors seemed to have led towards an auditorium from the looks of it. You couldn't exactly see their faces from how far away you were, but you could make out a little bit of what was actually going on.

A boy stood in the middle of the stage, the music coming directly from him as he strummed the violin with his bow, grace and elegance oozing off of him. He seemed rather focused on playing his violin precisely, not missing a single note in the song as he allowed the rich and melodic song to ring through their ears. The opened door seemed to amplify his sound even more, ringing within your brain as if it was trying to engraved its sound into her ears. Hearing a violinist play in person was truly much different from hearing it through speakers.

In a chair behind the violinist sat another figure, holding what seemed to be a violin as well in his hands. You assumed that it was the competition who had played their song earlier before you had arrived on campus. His shoulders seemed to tense as the violinist held his final note, a plaintive sound echoing through the auditorium as he held his form to leave an everlasting effect on his listeners.

The students in front of you held their breath as he finished, staring intently at where you assumed the conductor was sitting for his reaction. There was a moment of silence after the note finally fizzled into nothingness, no longer bouncing off of the walls after finding a home in the audience's ears.

"It's Park," the younger student spoke, standing up from where they originally crouched down. "Park is the first chair once again. Honestly, was I expecting a change? No, not really. He's just that talented."

"I was really rooting for Kang this time," the other student spoke, huffing as they crossed their arms in disappointment. "I wonder what he did to not get picked again this time. Usually, Kang performs wonderfully but we weren't early enough to catch his turn."

"Whatever it is," the older student added, shutting the door to the auditorium and shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sure Kang will get over it. I mean that's always next time! But I guess I say that every time this happens..."

When the trio had disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but open the door to the auditorium and peek inside. You had been walking past this exact area how many times and you didn't even notice an event like this happening? Your either extremely stupid or completely oblivious, there's no in between.

You pulled on the heavy auditorium doors, peering in the room to take a look for yourself. The room was chilly, much colder than the breezes nature had been giving you so far. It was like you had stepped straight into the freezer, feeling the need to rub your arms for warm to make sure you didn't suddenly die from the cold. "How long has this place been here? I could have sworn this was an administration office or a classroom... literally anything but an auditorium..." you mumbled to mumbled, your eyes drifting towards the stage.

Only one violinist was at the stage, his instrument dangling in his hands as he sat in silence. The other violinist and conductor were nowhere to be seen, abandoning him to be alone with his thoughts. He must have been the one who wasn't picked by their conductor for first chair, reveling in his defeat by his peer. "Is it that serious?" you mumbled, going to close the door before you zoomed to your class, only just a few minutes late.

Though you saw the violinist rise from his seat in the corner of your eye, approaching the edge of the stage to leave the room. Of course, being the generally nice person you were, you pushed the door back open, holding it open for the violinist to pass through. "Hey, are you about to— Woah! Woah, woah, woah, don't do that!" You yelled at him.

The violinist had raised his instrument high above the ground, a bored and uninterested look in his eyes as he debated on whether he was going to let the violin drop from the height it was at and scar it. It definitely wasn't going to shatter and break, but an ugly dent would be achieved through the notion. Your yelling seemed to stop him in his tracks, preventing him from possibly making the worst decision in his life.

"Don't violins cost a lot of money?" You nagged, forgetting about the door you were holding open and marching towards him. "I know you might be frustrated over whatever just happened but is it really worth breaking your instrument? You should be satisfied with the fact that you even got the chance to be chosen as an option for, what was it, first chair? Whatever it is, I think breaking your violin might be a really bad..." you trailed off as you got closer, slowing down your pace as you got closer to the stage

The violinist stared at you through his long blonde bangs, his eyes gleaming in the dingy and dim stage lights. Despite the horrible lighting it seemed to illuminate him as if he was some sort of statue on display, every curve and sharp corner of his face being highlighted just perfectly. His impassive expression refused to let you in on any sort of emotion or thought in his head, locking you out with every chain known to man. His eyes glanced over you, reading you like an open book before he finally spoke. "Why... do you care?"

Your eyes dropped from his face to his violin, taking note of the bored expression and the red tinged violin in his hands. It seemed like it had been used frequently, it's the color worn from age and usage with scratches scattered throughout the instrument's body. "Oh...," you trailed, dropping your hands to your side in defeat.

How long had he been here? Hiding right under your nose in what seemed to be plain sight. How long were you going to go without realizing the violinist from your freshman year was attending the same university as you? "It's you again."

The boy titled his head curiously, a moment of silence expanding over them like a blanket. You felt like you were going to twitch and squirm under his gaze, the eerie silence of the auditorium and his almost blank stare making the atmosphere uncomfortable for you. All you could think about was the one sided argument you two had; how you had embarrassed yourself in front of your whole neighborhood just because you wanted him to play a song for you. The amount of humiliation that was crashing over you like angry waves could have washed you right of the auditorium if it wanted to.

The violinist crouched down on the stage to look down on you, resting his head on his hands as he began to speak. “Do I... know you?”

“Do you know me?” You repeated, disbelief prevalent in your tone of voice. “Did you really just ask that? Of course you know me! Remember from this summer? Just a few months back?”

The boy nodded his head as you spoke, absorbing all the information you were telling him and letting it process in his brain. He closed his eyes as he began to form his final thoughts, leaning back on his heels before opening them again and staring at you. “Ah... I remember now. You were Wooyoung’s fling for a couple weeks... right?”

“What?” You exclaimed, a rosy pink tint spreading across your face as you spoke. You’ve never even spoken to the guitarist boy when he lived near you, nevertheless have a fling with him. The mere thought of doing something so... dangerous like that made your skin crawl. “No... I don’t... listen, are you serious? You don’t remember who am I at all? Not a thing about me seems to trigger some sort of memory in you?”

“Not to be rude,” he responded, lifting himself out of his crouched position and beginning to walk across the stage to the stairs positioned at the side. “But you don’t look like the most memorable type. I mean if I don’t remember you are, would anyone else be able to?”

His blunt honestly was like a knife to the chest, only he was repeatedly sinking the weapon into your already open wound. Had he always been this straightforward with people? Of course he was, that’s why you never got him to play a song for you. You didn’t even know whether or not you liked the fact that he didn’t recognize who you were because he had formatted his words. You’d much rather be remembered for something embarrassing you did than be forgettable as a whole.

Though by the time you had clocked back into reality, a snarky and rude comment ready to hit the bullseye on the back of his head, he was gone. There was no sign of violinist boy anywhere in the room, as if he has quiet literally disappeared into thin air. “I should have just let him smash his violin to pieces,” you rumbled, now not only late to class but also filled with bitter rage that wasn’t even reciprocated.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Love Me, Love Me Not

yespolkadotkitty submitted: Hi! If you’re still taking requests, would you write Geralt winding down in a tavern after a fight, all pent up stress and black eyes, and smut ensuing with a barmaid/tavern girl? Thankyou x

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier x Reader

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be just a Geralt oneshot, but my finger slipped and suddenly Jaskier was caught in the middle of it too. Whoops!

Summary: You’ve been teasing Jaskier all day while Geralt is out on a hunt. But when the black-eyed witcher returns and discovers what you two have been up to without him, he spoils your fun.

Warning(s): teasing in public, handjob, blowjob, masturbating (f), voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, polyamorous relationship

Word Count: 2,779

Jaskier squirms beside you, bucking his hips up against your hand.

“Careful now,” you tease in a low voice, “someone might wonder what we’re doing if you keep moving like that.”

Jaskier sends you a cold look. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Don’t try to pin this on me.”

He’s right. You do know what you’re doing. You’ve learned the pleasure points on both Geralt’s and Jaskier’s bodies and you often use that to your advantage. Especially in public, when neither the witcher nor the bard can do anything about it. Geralt can usually get you to stop with a warning glare--that look is so intense on him that you practically shriek and run for cover every time he does it--but Geralt’s not here right now. He’s been gone all day to hunt down a kikimora. You and Jaskier have grown used to not knowing when Geralt will show up again, so as far as you know, you have all night to tease Jaskier.

You squeeze the base of his shaft over his clothes, applying enough pressure for Jaskier to feel it in his core. He can’t stop himself from letting out a soft groan and bucking up against your hand again. There’s a faint blush on that adorable face of his. He bites the inside of his cheek, clearly trying to refrain from making any noise while you two are in the middle of a busy tavern. You run your hand over the length of his erection again and some movement of your hand registers deep inside of him because a second later his arm shoots out. He grabs your wrist tightly but doesn’t pull your hand away. Instead, he presses your hand down harder against his erection, applying more pressure. His breathing is shallow and barely controlled; his mouth is pressed in a tight line. He’s about to cum, you realize.

The realization sends a jolt of euphoria through you but you don’t get a chance to finish him off before the door to the tavern bangs open. The smell hits you before you can register the sight of your witcher in the doorway. You try not to gag at the smell of death and the sight of monster guts covering Geralt, but you fail miserably. Everyone in the tavern stops and stares at his entrance. He sulks over to the man who promised him a reward and takes the bag of coin before stomping upstairs to the inn bedrooms.

You and Jaskier exchange a glance before you both run up the stairs, Jaskier hiding behind you so as to hide his prominent erection. Geralt is already in there, waiting for you. He stands in front of the bed. Some sort of liquid--water? blood? some other type of bodily fluid?--drips onto the floor, creating a puddle around Geralt’s feet. His attention is locked on you and Jaskier, though.

“What the hell were you two doing?” he growls.

You exchange a look with your bard. “What do you mean? We’ve been waiting for you--”

His angry eyes, still pitch black from his elixir, snap to you. You can’t help but admire how he looks right now. Despite being covered in monster guts, the sight of those dark eyes and the paleness of his skin makes you want to get on your knees for him. You wonder what those eyes would look like when your mouth is wrapped around him, your hand slowly teasing him from base to tip.

“Don’t play coy,” Geralt snaps. “You’ve been touching Jaskier without my permission. I could smell his arousal from a mile away. I can still smell it--and I can smell yours, too.” He looks between you and Jaskier. “You know not to play while I’m gone.”

Jaskier stutters out an excuse but doesn’t get far.

“You two are going to wait for me here while I wash off. When I come back, you both better be naked.” Though his words send a thrill through you, the look he gives you says that this won’t be a fun night. “If either one of you touches the other again, I’ll make sure neither of you have release for a week.”

And with that, he leaves.

Admittedly, watching Jaskier undress is a temptation that is almost impossible to resist. And the sight of his naked body in front of you--the dark hairs that swirl around his chest; the way his hip bones make a defined V; the hardness of his cock, sticking straight out and calling your name--makes you so wet it hurts.

You can tell he has the same reaction to your body. His eyes follow your every movement as you step out of your dress. His cock grows harder when he takes in the sight of your breasts, the curve of your thighs, and the wet space between your legs. You stand there for a long time, just taking in the arousing sight of each other. Your hands ache to reach out to Jaskier, to touch him and please him and make him come undone as he does the same to you, but your fear of Geralt’s punishment is greater than your need for the bard at the moment.

“Fuck Geralt,” Jaskier finally growls. He makes a step towards you and your breath catches in your throat--

The door opens to reveal Geralt on the other side, as if he’d been standing there this entire time, waiting for one of you to disobey. The elixir has started to wear off by now; his skin is back to its normal shade, though there’s still a mixture of black amongst those golden irises. He stands in nothing but a towel, his hunting clothes nowhere to be seen. You keep your eyes on him, searching for any new scars, but find none. A sigh of relief escapes you.

“Fuck Geralt?” the witcher repeats, his eyes boring into Jaskier.

Jaskier swallows.

“Just for that, you won’t get to,” Geralt growls. “You’ll just have to settle with watching.”

“Geralt--” Jaskier begins, his voice pleading, but Geralt raises his hand and the air around his fingers hums as he uses his magic to pull a chair out from the side of the room and force Jaskier’s body into it. He tries to fight against Geralt’s magic, but it’s in vain. Jaskier won’t be getting out of that chair until Geralt wants him to.

Geralt turns to look at you. “Lie on the bed on your stomach.”

You don’t dare to hesitate. You crawl onto the bed and relax against the soft coolness of the sheets. Geralt comes up behind you a second later. His body heat wraps around you, simultaneously arousing and calming you.

“Do you want my mouth on you?” Geralt asks in that deliciously husky voice that makes your toes curl.

You nod and bury your head into the mattress, your body tense with anticipation.

“Want my tongue between your folds, licking up that sweet nectar that we make drip out of you?”

Jaskier whines at Geralt’s words. You look over at the bard to see him fighting against Geralt’s magic, desperate to reach out to you or just to touch his aching cock.

“Answer me,” Geralt demands, bringing your attention back to him.

“Yes, I want your mouth,” you tell him.

He hums his approval at your response. He moves closer to you until his breath warms the top of your legs, making your walls clench around nothing. Your arousal coats the inside of your thighs now.

“I want to taste you so bad, Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin. “I want to suck on your clit until you’re squirming beneath me and coming on my tongue.”

You push your ass up closer to him, wanting him to put his money where his mouth is. But instead of the wet, soft brush of his tongue, you’re met with a painful slap to both of your ass cheeks. You gasp in shock as your skin stings and pain shoots up your spine.

“If only you’d had the patience to wait,” Geralt sighs. “But you and Jaskier had to play, so now neither of you will get what you want.”

“Geralt--” you cry out, but can’t get another word out before he slaps you again. You rush out an apology when you find the strength to speak again. Your ass is already sore, no doubt stained bright red with his large handprints. You’ll be able to feel it tomorrow every time you move. So you cry out apology after apology, hoping that will get him to stop.

“If you really want me to stop, you’ll use your safeword,” Geralt replies. He waits, as if to hear you say it, but you don’t. It hurts, yes, but you can’t deny that every slap sends a wave of arousal through your body once the pain has ebbed a bit.

“Please, Geralt,” you whimper. “I need you to touch me.”

He lets out an unrecognizable sound, something between a growl and a laugh. The next thing you know his hands are on your waist and he’s flipping you onto your back, hovering over you like a predator scenting its prey. You resist the urge to arch your body towards his, knowing he’ll only grow more upset if you touch him without permission.

“You want my hands on you?” he asks, his mouth less than an inch from yours. If you barely move your head your mouths will brush against each other. The urge to kiss him is so strong that it takes everything inside of you to stay still.

“Y-yes,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Geralt pulls back until he’s no longer on the bed. It’s only then that you realize he dropped his towel and is completely naked in front of you. Your eyes jump to his cock, already fully erect. Was your want for him making him hard? Or was it the smell of the arousal dripping from you and Jaskier? No matter the cause, you can’t pull your eyes from his thick shaft. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips; you want him in your mouth, stretching your lips until it hurts, brushing against your throat until you’re gagging.

Geralt says to you, “The only way you’re going to get off is by your own hand.”

Your face falls at his words. He’s not going to touch you tonight, you realize. Disappointment makes your stomach knot and you glance over at Jaskier, only to find that his eyes are already hooded, his cock leaking pre-cum from the arousal pumping through his veins. He’s too far gone in his own lust to help you change Geralt’s mind.

You look back at the witcher as he says, “You’re going to touch yourself exactly how I tell you to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The thought of getting off in front of both Geralt and Jaskier makes your thighs clench together, but the thought of Geralt talking you through it? The idea gets you dripping.

“Spread your legs,” he orders.

As if your body is his own, your legs fall open. You’re positioned perfectly for both the men to see your pussy and just how wet you already are for both of them. Jaskier lets out a breath and squirms in his seat, clearly wanting to touch you. Geralt’s gaze is locked on your heat for a good minute. You wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s contemplating whether to go through with the punishment or take what he wants from you. His cock is as hard as Jaskier’s, the tip red and aching. He finally decides against it, determining your punishment more important than his own lust.

“Run your nails up the inside of your thighs,” Geralt tells you. “Do it lightly.”

Like his puppet on a string, you do as he says and trail your hands up the inside of your thighs. Goosebumps rise in the spots your nails brush against, and though it sends a shiver up your spine, it feels nowhere near as good as Geralt’s or Jaskier’s hands would. You let out a whimper. The teasing touch is working, even if it’s your own hand that’s doing it. You drip with arousal until you’re practically sobbing, desperate to release the tension between your thighs.

“Run a finger between those wet folds,” Geralt commands.

You do, writhing against the light touch. It’s all you can do to not disobey and finger yourself right then.

“Now play with your clit,” Geralt says, “and tell Jaskier just how desperate you are for him.”

You glance over at the other man. He can’t take his eyes away from your fingers, still teasing your clit in slow circles. His cock leaks pre-cum and you yearn to taste it on your tongue. You long for his fingers just as much. You wish it were his long, nimble fingers teasing your clit right now instead of your own; you wish his fingers were inside of you, brushing against that spot that makes you orgasm in seconds; you wish you had his fingers to suck on after, tasting your own arousal on them. You tell him all of this and watch as he squirms even more in his seat.

“I need to cum.” Your gaze is locked on Jaskier as you say it, though your words are meant for Geralt.

“Good,” the witcher finally says, “because I’m going to fuck you until I cum deep inside that tight pussy of yours, and you’ll have until I finish. If you don’t cum before I do, you’re not coming tonight.”

Before you can protest, Geralt’s hands are on your hips, dragging your body to the edge of the bed. His cock lines up with your entrance. Your arousal drips onto him as he pushes inside of you. He’s not gentle this time. You cry out as he bottoms out in one quick thrust, your walls burning as they adjust to his size.

“Fuck,” you whimper, and then he’s pounding into you. His movements are fast and sloppy and you can tell that watching you touch yourself and vocalize your wants had gone straight to his cock, because he’s seconds away from coming.

Normally it takes you a few minutes to get close to your breaking point, but with how aroused you’ve been all day, on top of Geralt’s punishment and now the way he fucks you with inhuman speed, you feel yourself getting close within a few seconds. Your body begins to writhe, your legs clenching around Geralt’s waist as you feel your orgasm near.

“You gonna cum for me, my little slut?” Geralt grunts, picking up his pace to an impossible speed.

You can’t even answer before you throw your head back and let out a silent scream. Warmth rushes through your body as your hips grind against Geralt, meeting every one of his thrusts as you cum around his cock. Your walls squeeze around him. It only spurs him on more, and seconds later you feel his seed coating your insides. He thrusts into you a few more times before he stills, both of you struggling to catch your breath.

“Geralt,” you sigh out, loving the feel of his name on your tongue.

He kisses you deeply, claiming what’s his. “Next time you’ll wait for me,” he growls against your mouth.

You nod. “Next time we’ll wait for you.”

Jaskier makes a noise. That’s the first time you and Geralt remember he’s there. Jaskier looks like he’s in hell, enduring his eternal torment.

“Since you got what you wanted,” Geralt tells you, “it’s only far you please Jaskier too.”

You’re in front of the bard in seconds, kneeling between his spread legs. You tease him with a few licks to the tip of his cock before wrapping your mouth around him. He lets out a beautiful groan of pleasure. Your hands fondle with his balls, massaging them between your fingers, as you take his cock all the way in your mouth. You struggle not to gag as he brushes against your throat. You bob your head twice before Jaskier begins to shake and seconds later his cum shoots down your throat. You swallow every warm, salty drop.

“I love watching you cum in her mouth,” Geralt tells Jaskier.

You don’t have to look up at the bard to know he’s preening under Geralt’s gaze. You pull back, letting Jaskier’s cock fall from your mouth, and lean up to kiss him on the cheek.

Geralt tells both of you, “Just remember: the next time this happens, I won’t be so merciful with you.”

It’s a threat you take to heart.

***

Tag Squad:

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[captain-tch]

All That I Can Give

summary: kiko is a struggling business owner thrown into the chaos of the borderlands. when she makes a mistake that will threaten her life, she learns just how far she will go to keep herself alive. 

TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, MENTAL HEALTH, TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS, VIOLENCE

chapter 10: little firecracker

previous chapter

Kiko bolted upright. Her hand flew to her chest as she cast a panicked gaze around the room. Tetsu was still asleep on the sofa, a light snore filling the silence around them. The door was still firmly locked as it was last night. From what she could tell everything looked normal. 

So why did she fly awake so suddenly? 

She shrugged it off. Maybe something in her dream startled her so much her brain pulled her back into reality. Not that she was sure what it could have been. Her dream had been polluted with a never ending cycle of her hands slamming the paper weight into Ryuk’s face. The loop brought a slight frown to her face. If she thought hard enough, she could still feel the ghosts of his blood and viscera on her skin. 

Lying back down, she tried to turn her thoughts away the dream she was having. She prayed she wouldn’t return to the world where she could relive one of the greatest moments, and greatest shames, in her life. Her eyes had started to drift close when she heard it. 

Voices. 

Kiko jumped to her feet. Her heart raced with each passing moment. She tried to gently shove Tetsu awake, going as far as lightly slapping his face. All he did was turn around in his slumber. Kiko muttered a strong swear word under her breath. 

She lunged for a nearby pan, holding it in a vice like grip. Creeping her way to the door, she sneaked a glance at the pharmacy. Inside, there were a group of five people. Men and women poked around their supplies, sweeping their arms along the shelves and stuffing as much as they could into their bags. All of them carried a weapon of some sort. 

Kiko couldn’t contain her gulp when she saw the sniper rifle. 

These people weren’t playing games. 

She turned back to look at Tetsu. The bruises looked even worse today. Her heart ached as her mind flashed to the game the night before. She wasn’t going to let anyone hurt him ever again. 

It was only going to be a matter of time before they started searching the entire pharmacy. These people take what they need, then steal everything they want. Kiko had a unsettling instinct that that included people too. Maybe she could distract them, or scare them away? Not that the latter was likely, her only weapon being the kitchen utensil gripped tightly in her hands. 

Kiko placed her hand on the door handle. Sending a silent prayer to whatever higher power was mocking her, she opened the door and slammed it shut behind her. 

All five intruders spun in her direction. Kiko suppressed the urge to shudder as the sniper rifle sight was trained on her. The man holding it leered at her, his pierced tongue darting out of his mouth. 

“What do we have here?” 

In the strongest voice she could muster (which was still riddled with a scratchy rasp), she commanded the room. “Take what you need and leave.” 

No one moved. 

Kiko raised her pan in an offensive position. She couldn’t imagine how pathetic she looked - a kitchen appliance against one sniper rifle, a katana and semi automatic weapons. The bruise on her neck and bandages covering her hand and elbow did nothing to support her case. Still, she stood her ground, trying to ignore how her knees shook. “I told you to leave.” 

“We’re not going anywhere.” The man nodded to one of his friends. Immediately they surged forward, stepping closer to Kiko. 

She spun around to face them. “I’m warning you!” 

They ignored her, moving forward and reaching for her. In one smooth move, she slammed the pan into her attackers head. They stumbled backwards, gripping their bleeding forehead with a curse. 

Simultaneously, Kiko heard the sound of three distinct clicks. 

“Leave. Now.” She prayed her words were as solid as her resolve.

“You’re a little fire cracker, aren’t you?” The man with the pierced tongue laughed. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see the man with the katana moving towards her. She subtly took a step back. Her weapon was nothing against his katana. The distance he had meant she would be skewered the moment she tried to attack him. 

“I’d be careful if I were you.” Kiko tensed her muscles. “Get too close and you’ll get burned.” 

With those words, she darted forwards. She ducked out of the way of her attackers, flying behind the shelves as a shield. Without a second thought she flung herself out of the shattered window, glass slicing into her legs. 

A shot rang out. 

Kiko fell to the floor. She groaned, pulling her head off of the concrete. She tried to pull herself upwards, only for a foot to land on her back. A cry ripped out of her throat. 

“Careful little firecracker.” The man whispered, metal pushed into her spine. She froze. “You’re coming with us.” 

“Hey, Niragi!” A new voice shouted. Kiko tried to crane her neck to see, wincing at the pain igniting in her body. “Guess what we found.” 

Kiko’s blood turned cold. It wasn’t long before Tetsu’s broken body was thrown besides her. Her eyes scanned him for any new injuries, struggling to differentiate between the old and the new. His chest was rising and falling. 

Kiko sighed a breath of relief. At least he was still alive. 

“What should we do with them?” 

Kiko clenched her jaw. 

“Let’s take them back. We could always use some fresh meat.”

With those final words, the butt of a gun slammed into the back of her head. The world around her melted away. 

                                                             *

Kiko awoke with a start. Her head banged with a blinding pain. Liquid was running down her arm. The bruises on her neck pulsed. She groaned, rolling her head to the side. 

She caught sight of Tetsu, his body limp in a chair. His hands were tied behind his back and his legs roped against a chair. The events of the last day came rushing back to her. 

Kiko thrashed against her bonds, groaning as more liquid moved further down her arm. The looters. The gun shot. The darkness. 

“Where the fuck are we?” Kiko muttered. She finally looked up to take in the rest of the room. Two of them tugged at a memory of the back of her brain. She swore she could remember encountering someone with those muscles, and that hoodie at her spades game. The more she tried to think, the more intense her headache got, until she was nearly crumbling in her seat. 

Giving up on those two, she surveyed the remainder of the room. She recognised some faces, sneering at the memory of them looting her temporary home. She couldn’t hide the smirk she saw at the cut on one of their foreheads. At least she managed to do a little damage. 

“You’re awake!” An eccentric man appeared in her line of vision. She had to control her expression, feeling an urge to raise her eyebrows at his robe and sunglasses adorning his face. “My name is Hatter, pleasure to meet you. How are you feeling?” 

Kiko remained silent. 

“Niragi here tells me he found you while they were on a supply run. Living in a pharmacy?” 

Her lips remained sealed shut. Hatter sighed, a dramatic hand falling to his forehead. He spun away from her, his robe swishing with the action. Already she got the vibe he had too high of an ego. She was itching to put him back in his place.

“How am I expected to help you, when you don’t speak to me?” His gaze turned to somewhere she couldn’t see. He gave a small motion of his hands. 

Kiko’s mind raced with the possibilities. Was that him delivering a silent kill order? Was that code for torture? 

She quickly found out as a finger pushed into her shoulder blade. Kiko’s body instinctively doubled over, a high pitched shriek forcing itself from her. More liquid rushed down her arm. She saw her own life drip to the floor, marking the carpet an ugly red. 

The gun shot. 

It hit her then that she must have been shot. The adrenaline of the attack must have diluted the pain. That, coupled with a constant, low pulsing agony all over her body, must have erased the injury all together. She was definitely feeling it now. Kiko clenched her jaw to stop herself from screaming - in pain or fury, she wasn’t sure. 

The pressure left her wound. Kiko gasped for breath, her body still crumpled. Hatter crouched down so he could meet her eyes. She fixed him with a steely glare. “You were living at the pharmacy, am I correct?” 

The memory of the blinding agony lingered as she reluctantly nodded her head.

“My men found some playing cards there.” Hatter pulled out an array of cards, including the seven of diamonds and two of clubs. Amongst the pile, she spotted a hearts card. Kiko’s interest piqued - that wasn’t one of hers. “Are these all yours?” 

“They’re ours.” Kiko cleared her throat. She jutted her head to Tetsu. “Some of those cards are his.” 

“I have to say, it’s quite an impressive collection.” Hatter flitted through them, assessing each one as if it held the secrets to life itself. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“How are you still alive?” His gaze wandered over the wounds littering her body. Compared to Tetsu, she was perfectly healthy. This didn’t go unnoticed by Hatter.

“Because I have to win. To get back home.” 

Hatter’s face lit up in a bright smile. “We need more people like you. Niragi, you were right to bring them here. I don’t necessarily, um, agree with the method.” He looked at Kiko’s bleeding shoulder. “Try not to shoot them next time.” 

Kiko resisted the urge to make a smart remark. It wasn’t like they were brought here by choice. 

“I have a proposition for you and your friend. If you’re willing to accept it.” Kiko subtly leaned forward. “I want you to stay here. You play games for us, and in return, we provide you a safe haven where you can do whatever you like.” 

“What’s the catch?” 

“We have three rules here. To maintain order, we all need to follow them. One - everyone wears beach wear. It’s harder to hide weapons.” Kiko’s eyes must have involuntarily moved to the muscled man’s gun for him to continue. “Only the militants can carry weapons.”

Once again she had to bite her tongue. It clearly wasn’t the best idea, considering her attackers seemed to have an addiction to spilling blood.

“Rule number two - turn in all playing cards you earn. And three... death to all traitors.” 

Kiko gulped. She had a feeling if she rejected this offer, she would be deemed a traitor. It was clear by the rules he was clearly unhinged - what other options did she have? 

“What is it you want with the playing cards?” 

The man spun around, pulling open a curtain Kiko didn’t notice earlier. Along the wall, was a diagram of all the possible playing cards. Some had crosses through them, while others remained unmarked. “Once we have a full set, one person can go back to the real world.”

Kiko glanced at Tetsu, still unconscious. The only thing reassuring her he was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Her mind flashed back to her own brother, the cheeky glint long gone. Now with Ryuk out of the picture, she was determined to get that back. This was a chance to go home. A chance to see Riku again. 

“We accept.” 

She wasn’t sure how Tetsu would feel about her agreeing on his behalf. He was the one to say do anything you can to find your way home. They just had to follow the rules, and everything should be fine. As she told herself this, an uneasy feeling settled at the bottom of her gut. 

The man’s smile grew tenfold. He clapped his hands together. “Welcome to the Beach!”

[shealwaysreads]

Face to the sun: a drarry fanfic

A birthday gift for the lovely @maesterchill - inspired by THIS  gorgeousness she created! ❤️

Drarry | 1k | E | summer holiday, EWE, dirty talk, soft and dirty feelings

Read on ao3

Draco blinked awake to bright sunlight glinting through the sheer curtains at the windows. Ridiculous. The hotel clearly didn’t want its clientele sleeping in on their holiday. But his ire settled as he stretched and rolled towards the glass doors leading to the balcony. Harry was out there, a hazy silhouette against a stark blue sky through the gauzy window-dressing, wearing only the green swimming trunks Draco had brought for himself. The sheets smelled of them, of their shared shampoo, and sweat, and sex. So Draco watched Harry and luxuriated in it, lazy and content in the knowledge that when they came back from dinner tonight the bed would be fresh and neat—ready for them to ruin it all over again.

It wasn’t their first holiday together, but whenever Draco took Harry abroad it felt special. An adventure without fear or danger, full of time and space and the excitement of the unknown, and even now Draco still felt like gloating that he was the one who got to show Harry the world in all of its sunlit splendour—to share these trips with him and carve gentler memories into the bedrock of their lives.

When they first got together, Draco found out that Harry had never been out of the country before; it was one of many galling facts that Draco excavated from the dust and stone of Harry’s admissions and silences during those early months of working each other out. During that time, Harry’s childhood had been revealed to be a study in lack, in not-having, in exclusion and isolation. They didn’t talk about it much, usually only when Harry got drunk and maudlin—red wine and cheap Firewhisky, inevitably—and Draco would sit quietly as Harry talked around the subject in circles, uncharacteristically indirect. Thankfully, Draco was adept in the language of avoidance, he could read between the lines. Harry would speak quietly, until he was whispering in the guttering candlelight. And then he would fall silent, and Draco would manoeuvre him out of his chair and up the stairs to their bedroom, and hold him.

Their first holiday had been catastrophic. They had been together for three months—three months of sex that left bruises, that felt like fighting played out with a fresh set of soft spots; of slowly untangling their history from their present (from their tentative thoughts of the future), of learning where their jagged edges met with tenderness, of sitting across a table of tea and toast and bitter-silver curls of smoke and smiles that made something inside of Draco ache and flutter.

Draco had chosen a ridiculously extravagant hotel in the tiny wizarding district of Venice—still wanting to impress, falling back on old habits that didn’t fit quite as well as they used to. It was August, the heat had been stifling, and the crowds spilling from gigantic Muggle cruise ships turned the plazas and tiny alleys into a heaving mass of sweaty flesh and flashing cameras. Draco had had an anxiety attack on the first morning (Harry had sat with him silently for hours when he got him back to their room, a heavy Nox around them, his shoulder steady), Harry had eaten something bad and vomited for the duration of their second night (Draco had stroked his hair away from his clammy forehead, flushed the toilet, conjured cool water for him to sip). Neither of them had been comfortable in the plush hotel suite; Harry simultaneously overawed and uncomfortable, Draco strangely ashamed of the excess he had been raised to expect. They had come back to London three days early.

But they had gotten better at their breaks, just like they had gotten better at everything else. They were both nothing if not determined, in all aspects of their life, and once they had decided that this—that they—were something worth fighting for, Draco had settled into the surety of Harry keeping up with him (keeping him).

The line of Harry’s jaw eventually became a more pressing concern than the residual twinge in Draco’s thighs, so he slipped out of bed and stepped into soft cotton to cover his nakedness. He walked past the crisp boundary of their room’s Cooling Charms, and rolled his shoulders when he was hit with a wall of warmth and light as he stepped into the bright mid-morning sunshine.

There was a breeze off the ocean, brine and ozone. But it was insufficient to offset the heat of the sun, or of Harry’s sweat-shining back as he leaned against the balcony and watched the sea and the sky mingle in blues and greens and the white-kissed curls of waves and clouds. Draco moved closer, watched as Harry cocked his head, listening to Dracos footsteps, as he came to stand behind him quietly. Draco could smell the salt on him—sweat and sea-water—and the dark curls behind Harry’s ears, at his nape, were shining with moisture. Draco wanted to taste them.

Instead, he hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder. “Morning, nice swim?”

Harry hummed in the affirmative and leaned back—trusting, always so trusting—into Draco’s chest, a satisfied sigh gusting out of him when Draco wrapped him in his arms.

“Nicer if you came down with me later though.”

Draco kissed at his neck, savouring the sting of salt against his mouth, and looked over Harry’s shoulder to where his own pale hands stroked at Harry’s abdomen, darkly tanned already after just a couple of days in the sun. Bastard. All Draco had to show for his lounging on the beach was scattered freckles and the tingle of heat in his bones when he was in bed at night—though maybe, on reflection, that was just Harry being next to him.

“I could be convinced, if we’ve got time,” he murmured against Harry’s skin.

Harry raised his cigarette and inhaled deeply, his back pressing against Draco’s chest as his lungs filled, the faintest crackle of burning embers audible over the breeze. “Didn’t think we had anything planned for today.”

Draco slipped his hands lower, knocking aside Harry’s hand where he’d lazily wedged it in his trunks, and slipped his own fingers under the waistband to replace it. Harry’s exhalation was shuddering and smoky, and the scent of cloves on the air was so like home. Draco breathed it in as he ran his nose along the curve of Harry’s neck and licked delicately at the sweet softness of his earlobe.

“We hadn’t planned anything. But when I woke up and you were gone I may have formulated a small...ambition for the day.” He stroked, feather-light at the cut of Harry’s hip, and hid his smug grin in Harry’s hair at the resulting twitch.

Harry vanished his cigarette with a twist of his fingers and a delicious spark of magic—bright, and deep, and sparkling along Draco’s awareness—and turned in Draco’s arms, with his own smile dimpling at his cheeks. He nudged his hips against Draco’s, and huffed a laugh at the involuntary whine it drew. “Only one ambition for the day? You really are relaxing.”

He was losing ground; the way Harry dragged their bodies together, his hands firm at Draco’s waist, and the arrogant tilt of his head as he watched the rising flush Draco could feel heating his throat all combined with the heady knowledge that here on their balcony they were easily visible by anyone on the beach.

“Just one,” he managed to answer, in a voice that would have sounded steady to anyone but Harry (who knew Draco’s tells better than anyone, now). “I’m a simple man to please, my goals aren’t lofty.”

Harry snorted with laughter, and tucked his face down into Draco’s neck to bite, and suck, and urge him to elaborate with a questioning hum that buzzed against his skin. Safe from knowing green eyes, Draco grinned and tilted his head back to bask in the sunlight and Harry’s mouth. He slid his hands up Harry’s arms—radial, bicep, deltoid all firm and strong and tensile under his fingertips—and settled them at his nape, tangling in those sea-kissed curls to hold him close. Draco had the winning hand, and wanted a firm grip before Harry yielded to it.

“Mmm,” Draco hummed, casual and unaffected. “I woke up and before I even opened my eyes, I thought about the ache you’d left me with.” Harry stiffened against him. “An empty bed and an empty hole.”

“Draco,” Harry groaned against him, his tone of voice as good as a red rag to a bull.

“I can still feel it now,” Draco continued, breathing deeply to maintain his composure when Harry pushed his hands past the low-hanging waist of the joggers (Harry’s, of course—Draco always wore bespoke tailoring, but sometimes only the worn-soft cotton of Harry’s favourite clothes would satisfy him) and groped at his arse, broad palms and strong fingers and just the right side of painful. Draco ducked his head, and whispered into Harry’s ear, deliberately breathy and deep. “I can feel your come, trickling out of me as we speak. I’m wet.” He paused for effect, then dropped his well-crafted bomb. “You probably wouldn’t even need lube to stretch me out right now.”

Harry, action over words as ever, immediately palmed Draco’s cheeks apart and then one blunt fingertip was circling his hole—as wet and slick as promised—then pushing in with intent, only stopping when his knuckle nudged at Draco’s tender rim.

“Fuck.” Harry’s voice was ragged already, and Draco clenched around his finger in victory and helpless response to his touch.

“My plan exactly, Harry.”

❤️ to @tackytigerfic and @bonesliketambourines for keeping me in check!

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 6

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level), swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 1775

Author’s Note: All my thanks @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for making this story way better than it started. Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. Also, hang on to something. This chapter is short, but it packs a bit of a punch.

I’m working on a follow-up to my Dean story Dear Mr. Fantasy that I hope to post sometime in the next few weeks. Check it out, if you haven’t, and let me know if you’re interested. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 6

“I think we can officially call this morning a bust,” Kimber declares, collapsing into her office chair. Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead with one hand, the other propped on his hip. He doesn’t disagree.

“We checked the grad student office where I found Allen,” she says, checking off her mental list as she goes. “You checked out the stairwell where Helen fell. We found zilch in Dr. Lawrence’s office, and nothing here, as well. What’s next?”

“I’ll check in with Sam,” Dean decides, pulling out his cell. “Then maybe some lunch, and if Sam’s done, we’ll meet him at your place so we can start there. Sound good?”

She nods as Dean hits a button on his phone, raising it to his ear and turning away. Kimber’s eyes follow him as he paces the front of her small office, waiting for his brother to pick up. She stretches in her chair, feeling drowsy after the morning’s exertion, and she realizes she’s going to have to get up if she doesn’t want to fall asleep at her desk.

She moves towards the door, mouthing, “Bathroom,” to Dean, who nods as he listens intently to Sam. The brisk air in the corridor is bracing after the still warmth of her little office, and she takes a deep breath before turning towards the restrooms. The hallway is as close as the department gets to being crowded, with several classes letting out simultaneously. 

She pushes through the throngs of chattering students, smiling at a few of her own, intent on getting to the bathroom before it fills up, when she feels a light tap on her shoulder. Kimber turns, but before she has time to register anyone’s face, she feels something thrust into her outstretched palm.

…

Orange and red leaves flutter around her, joining the dense carpet of their brethren beneath her feet. Footsteps crunch before her, and she can see Dean just up ahead, her backpack slung over his shoulder. Dean never carries a backpack of his own, so they must have just finished a study session. He glances back, eyes alight with mischief, grin firmly in place.

“You comin’?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues his casual saunter down the path as autumn rains down around them. “Wanna show you somethin’.”

She hurries to catch up, waving a stray leaf out of her face. The ground feels strange underfoot, too firm, her footfalls too loud for such a thick layer of leaves, but she’s too focused on Dean to pay much attention. Someone calls out behind them, but she’s determined to not be left behind a second time.

No matter how fast she runs, though, he stays a few paces ahead with his steady, cartoonishly slow pace, and she grits her teeth in frustration. 

Molasses would be an improvement.

“You’re gonna love this, sweetheart. C’mon, it’s just up ahead.” 

Their pursuer calls her name, closer this time, but Dean is right there, and if she can run just a little faster, she can catch him. She swats several leaves from the air, her mouth twisted in a frustrated frown, reaching out to Dean. 

“Kimber! Stop!”

A voice echoes from behind her, but then Dean turns, holding his hand out, and she stretches her fingers, her feet leaden as she drags her body forward. He smiles encouragingly, curling his finger to beckon her closer, his other arm spread wide to reveal his surprise. 

The trail ends abruptly at a sidewalk that leads to a house very similar to her parents’ old place (“They moved years ago,” she thinks), a house that was definitely not there before Dean pointed it out. The front door stands open wide, welcoming, as a sleek, black muscle car pulls up to the curb out front. Her eyes track the car’s approach, and she registers the name “Winchester” on the mailbox. 

Breathing suddenly becomes very difficult.

As she watches, a couple slides out of the front of the Impala. Kimber’s eyes widen in shock as she recognizes herself and Dean, though not older as they are now. Younger, maybe just a few years out of high school. 

But that’s not right, she thinks, her eyes flicking to seventeen-year-old Dean standing before her, urging her closer still. We’re not...we’re in high school, we aren’t grown...

The Dean before her holds his hand out silently, waiting as she struggles towards him. So close! she thinks. The voice behind her, so familiar, calls her name again, but her mind is foggy, distracted by young Dean and the phantom scene before her.

The couple embraces next to the car, blissfully unaware of their audience as Dean sweeps Kimber off her feet and carries her up the walkway. As they disappear into the house’s interior, she can hear her other self squealing happily as the door swings shut.

“I...can’t…”

Dean smiles at her, that sweet, just-a-touch shy smile that won her over so many years ago.

“It’s my dream, Kimber. We could still have it, if you want?” His eyes, so earnest, beg her to take just one more step. “Take my hand. It’s not too late for us. I’m right here.”

“Kimber, stop! Listen to me!”

She almost turns, the voice behind her is so desperate and beseeching, but Dean shakes his head. His smile widens, and he opens both arms to her, offering himself fully. 

“It’s our last chance. Come to me, Kimber. This can be ours, sweetheart. You and me, just the two of us. Just take that last step. You can do this.”

She wants to, so very badly. Her mind pulls towards Dean, smiling and hopeful, and she wants with almost every part of herself to take that step, take his hand, and live happily ever after.

But deep in her heart, she knows none of this is true. The Dean before her left, no matter how unwillingly, and she hasn’t heard from him until yesterday. Neither of them are seventeen any more, and this dream was never possible for either of them, no matter how much they wanted it.

“No...no...you’re not…”

He frowns, his expression suddenly cold, alien, and absolutely furious. His features harden, and he turns to her completely, squaring himself and giving her his entire focus. 

“Come here, Kimber. Take the damn step. Now.”

“No!” She doesn’t know where this reserve of strength is coming from, but she welcomes it. The fog begins to lift from her mind a little, and she manages half a step backwards.

Dean’s lip curls in a snarl, and she wrenches herself away, fighting to move in any direction but forwards. She throws herself back, expecting to fall, hoping the leaves will cushion her, planning to roll away.

Instead, she finds herself supported by strong arms that flood her senses with immediate relief. Something is jerked from her hand, and the autumn scene complete with the monstrous teenage Dean vanishes. The wind whips Kimbers hair in front of her face, and she looks down to see…

Nothing.

Arms pull her back from the edge of the building, and she chokes on a scream. Her self-defense training kicks in, and she throws her head back, trying to catch her assailant’s nose. 

“Kimber, it’s me! I’ve got you, don’t fight!”

It takes a second for Dean’s voice to register, and by the time she realizes she’s safe, she’s already planted her elbow square in his gut. He releases her with a pained wheeze, doubling over, holding up a placating hand towards her. She realizes in a detached sort of way that she is breathing way too shallow and fast, but she can’t seem to stop.

“Breathe,” he wheezes at her, trying to straighten up. Something about the ridiculous sight of Dean telling her to breathe when he can barely pull in his own breath cuts through her panic for a moment, and she almost laughs. Her head whirls, colors starting to blur together. 

From the view and the drop-off, she guesses they’re on the roof, though she’s never been up here before. She looks to Dean as her vision tunnels and a rushing noise fills her ears.

“Dean...Dean, you were...what did I…you said it was…”

Dean struggles upright and takes her face between his hands, forcing her to focus on him. “Breathe, honey. You’ve gotta breathe right now. Can you do that for me? Breathe with me. Slow, deep.”

She struggles to imitate him, and her lungs finally unlock enough to let in a reasonable amount of air. 

“Kimber, I’ve gotta burn this thing. I don’t know if it can affect you from a distance. Just...here. Sit down right here. Keep breathing.” She drops where she’s told, lowering her head between her knees as she focuses on counting her breaths. 

She can just make out Dean on the edge of her vision, crouching down. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, flicks it, and lowers the flame to something on the ground before him. The object lights up with a whoosh of flame, and Kimber gasps as a searing bolt of pain flashes through her entire body before vanishing, leaving her feeling weak and shaking but finally, finally, back in control of herself.

Dean rises, stalks back over to her and drops to one knee, his fist pressing hard into the gravelled surface. He glares at the ground, his jaw clenching in a way that she’s glad is not directed at her. His nostrils flare, and his face flinches as he reaches some decision.

“I should never have let you go on your own. I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we gank this son of a bitch.”

She shrinks under the burning intensity of his words, and he closes his eyes for a second, wrestling with control of his anger. He holds a hand out to her, and she almost recoils, remnants of the vision burned in the back of her mind.

But this isn’t some sinister phantom leading Kimber to her death. She knows exactly who this is, and she trusts him implicitly.

Dean’s entire body relaxes when her palm touches his, and he drops his forehead to their joined hands. When he finally looks up at her, his eyes are green flame.

“I almost lost you. You were so close, Kimber, you were on the edge. I...”

He trails off, searching her face for a heavy moment. Without warning, he slides forward, releasing her hand to pull her face to his, kissing her with a fierceness that steals her breath and leaves her glad she’s already on the ground.

…

Chapter 7

[chiefnooniensingh]

it’s in our blood, in our veins (a The Old Guard one-shot)

Rating: G Pairings: JoexNicky and Joe&Booker Characters: Joe, Booker, Nicky, Nile Summary: Over the shared worry for one of their own, Booker and Joe hash it out, a year after the Merrick debacle. A/n: I need this family back together so I fucking wrote it. Also on: ao3

This had never happened before, to any of them. The team was huddled in a hospital waiting room, looking around nervously, aware of the cameras that were hung up everywhere, but they’d be damned if they were leaving. Nile was the only one who looked remotely put together, her immortality still so new that she hasn’t forgotten what it was like to be wounded, in need of professional care.

Nicky was handling it the worst of them all. He was pacing through the waiting room, continually running his hands through his hair as he muttered about what if’s and we should have’s. For once, Joe was unable to get him to calm down. Because Andy was in the hospital, gravely injured and fighting for her increasingly shortening life, and there was nothing any of them could do.

Joe knew his love and Andy had an incredibly special relationship, not unlike brother and sister. She and Nicky were the most attuned to each other of all, barring Joe himself. In battle, Andy and Nicky were the level-headed strategists (until it became time to bring hellfire), while Joe and Booker had always been the rash, impulsive ones. Andy and Nicky shared a love for baklava unparalleled even by Joe’s own. When Joe and Booker would split off to watch a game, Andy and Nicky would sit together, pouring over books, laughing over tv shows they would watch together, or sparring.

Joe was worried as hell but seeing his love so distraught brought him even more pain than his worry did. He felt absolutely useless, unable to soothe his Nicky and unable to heal Andy. Joe kept flexing his hands, which were itching to do something, anything. “Nicky, please,” he tried once again. “Nicolò, amore mio…”

“It’s Andy,” Nicky croaked, sounding for all the world as if it had been him who got shot in the chest.

Joe stood up and halted Nicky’s frantic pacing by taking hold of his arms. “I know, my heart, I know,” he said, then hugged him close to his chest. “But, sweetheart, you are driving me absolutely insane with your pacing.” He kept his tone just shy of teasing, knowing that Nicky would pick up on the lack of heat behind his words.

Nicky sighed and wrapped his arms around Joe’s frame, burying his nose in his shoulder. “Scusi,” he said softly, “I’m just so worried.”

“So am I, Nicky, so am I,” Joe muttered, then pulled back to kiss his Nicky’s forehead. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yes, it will,” Nile said, from her spot against the wall. She looked worried and anxious but had the most faith in Andy’s chances of survival. “She’s strong, guys. And this hospital is the best at what they do. She’ll pull through, I’m sure of it.” Nicky and Joe smiled at her, but while Joe took his seat again, Nicky still couldn’t stand still, and he went over to the coffee machine to get them more terrible hospital coffee.

Joe looked across from him and felt a surge of emotion as his eyes locked with the man who had brought them here. Booker. It had been nigh on a year since they’d last seen each other, since they’d banished him, but here he was, looking apprehensive and scared and worried. He’d been too late to warn them of the attack but had helped them fight their way out of it. The revelation that Quynh was not only alive and freed from the bottom of the ocean, but also hell-bent on destroying as much of Andy’s life as she possibly could, had shook the entire team. Andy had gotten a glimpse of her during the fight, and in that moment of distraction, had taken a bullet straight to the chest.

And now here they were. Joe and Booker in an intense stare-off while also worried out of their minds for their oldest friend.

A year was nothing to them. Like an hour to mortals. Joe was still pissed off as hell at the man whom he used to call his brother, the man who had betrayed them, had put Nicky in danger. If Joe hadn’t been strapped to a medical bed, he was sure he would’ve ended Booker’s life right there when he first learned of the betrayal. Their exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had prevented him from doing it after they’d reached a safe house. Joe now felt that urge to snap Booker’s goddamn neck again.

“Just say what you want to say, man,” Booker said, breaking Joe from his thoughts. Nile looked up from staring at her knees and Nicky turned sharply, his eyes on Joe. Joe read the warning in his eyes but knew he wouldn’t be able to heed it.

For a moment, Joe said nothing. Then the dam burst. “I am so angry at you, Booker,” he said in a low voice, and Nicky closed his eyes briefly. But Joe focused his attention on Booker instead, who looked miserable as hell. “Why?”

Booker shook his head. “I never meant for it to get so far, I just wanted…”

“You just wanted it to end!” Joe spit, jumping up, too charged to sit down any longer. Booker stayed in his chair and couldn’t meet his eyes. “So you sold us out to a sadistic maniac for the chance of relief, knowing full well how much pain you were going to put us through!”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Joe!” Booker said, and Joe could hear tears threatening in his voice. Joe would feel sorry, but he could still hear Nicky’s pained groans as that woman did her sick experiments on him. “You and Nicky, you always had each other, meanwhile I just had the memories of those who loved me, dead, while I continued to live!”

“But you had us, Booker! We were your family, too! We loved you, too! You threw us away like we were nothing!” Joe yelled.

Booker rose now, too. Apparently Joe had struck a chord. “And what would happen if Nicky were to die right now, huh? Would you stick around?”

It was a thought too horrible to process, and Joe shook his head to clear the image from his brain. The thought of Nicky dying without him… “I wouldn’t betray my family,” he said quietly. At that moment, he felt Nicky come up beside him, squeeze his hand for a second, then moved off to the side. Joe felt a rush of absolute love for this man, who knew Joe had been on the bring of absolutely falling apart and gave him the reassurance that they were both alive.

Booker shook his head, tears now visible in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Booker said, and it startled Joe. This hadn’t been a conversation heading anywhere near an apology, yet the Frenchman was looking more miserable than ever. “I never meant for any of you to get hurt, I swear. I was so blinded by my grief and pain that I didn’t see…didn’t know…”

“What,” Joe said, almost astonished, “that we love you?”

Booker nodded, tears falling in earnest now, and he fell back in his seat, burying his head in his hands. Nile was about to get up, join him and comfort him, but Nicky put a hand on her shoulder. This was something Booker and Joe had to work through themselves. Joe stared at Booker, mouth agape as the weight of what Booker had just said crashed over him. He hadn’t known… Stumbling backwards, Joe’s back hit the wall and he slid down it, still trying to process. “How could I have been so blind…” Joe muttered, and Booker looked up, surprised to see all the anger having drained out of Joe. “All those times you made those self-depreciating jokes, jokes about ‘misery loves company’…I thought you were just joking, but it was real, wasn’t it?” He looked up at Book, his best friend, his brother, who he was now seeing in a completely different light. It was like the last 200 years were being rewritten in his mind. “Book, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve been there for you…”

Booker shrugged, wiping furiously at his eyes, trying to stem the flow. “I didn’t want to come between you and Nicky, you two were always so happy…”

“So you let us believe you were fine, meanwhile you were just dying a little bit more inside every day?” Joe put his head in his hands and felt tears burning in his own eyes now as well. “How did I miss it, Book? What did I do wrong?”

“What?” Booker said, his head snapping up to look straight into Joe’s eyes. The Frenchman and the Egyptian stared at each other, seeing each other differently, but really seeing each other for the first time. “Joe, you couldn’t have done anything…”

Joe shook his head and jumped up, starting to pace, trying to understand the new host of emotions he was feeling. Anger was there, sure, but it wasn’t directed at Booker anymore. It was directed at himself. “Jesus, I’ve been so blind. I considered you my best friend, my brother, even. What Nicky and Andy have, that’s what I thought you and I had…but now I see that I have been the worst brother you could’ve had. I should’ve seen, I should’ve known!” Joe dropped to his knees in front of Booker, who looked like he was about to either laugh or cry uncontrollably. “Book, I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

Booker let out a watery laugh. “Me forgive you?”

“I called you my brother, considered myself yours, yet I completely ignored all the signs that you were in pain. I missed every part of it. And somehow I made you belief you couldn’t come to me, couldn’t confide in me, with your pain, your loneliness. I should’ve been the one to be there for you, but instead I was the one who made you think you were alone…that is a crime far worse than yours.” Joe felt the tears spilling over and could feel Nicky restraining himself from coming over and either hugging or punching the pair of them. Nile was staring at them, open-mouthed.

“Can you ever forgive me for betraying you?”

“It is already done,” Joe said, and simultaneously the two men stood up and wrapped each other in a bear hug. Joe felt his anger drain away as the bond the two of them had had, seemed to mend between them. Joe still felt the pang of anger, but he understood now. And pushing Booker away now would only result in more pain for both of them.

“Y’all need some therapy,” Nile said, which broke the silence as Nicky burst into laughter, and even Joe and Booker managed to laugh. “No, seriously, nobody noticing Booker was clinically depressed for 200 years is a problem.”

Joe laughed, but nodded his head as well, because he knew. He knew it was a problem, a problem they needed to fix very soon. Booker released Joe and went over to Nicky. Joe watched, intrigued, as his other half watched with open and kind eyes as Booker stood in front of him. “Nicky, I’ve apologized to Joe, and I feel like I also owe you an apology. What that woman did to you, and Joe…I never thought they would go that far. I am so sorry, and I’ll do whatever it takes to win back your trust.”

Nicky gave him a small smile. “It might take a while to win back all of my trust, but saving our asses today has brought you a lot closer. I just hope in the future you will tell us when you are in pain.”

Booker nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Then I forgive you,” Nicky said, and he wrapped Booker in one of his signature hugs that would solve all the world’s problems, Joe knew, if he could just hug everyone.

“Nile,” Booker continued, but Nile cut across him, “Nah, I don’t need your apology, I need your ass in therapy.” Then she hugged him, too, because she’d never been that angry at him to begin with. They all laughed, and soon they were wrapped in a group hug, Joe and Nicky holding hands on Booker’s back. Joe felt something in him heal that he hadn’t realized was broken. His family was back together.

“Family of Andy Smith?”

They all broke apart hastily as a doctor entered the waiting room, who looked slightly bemused at the touching scene in front of her. She had no idea the amount of pain and anger had been worked through in the past half hour, and Joe smirked slightly, revelling once again in the fact that there was so much information they all held, without anybody knowing it. It gave him a sense of power. “Yes,” Booker said quickly, stepping forward, “that’s us.”

“She’s out of surgery, awake, and asking for you.”

A feeling of absolute relief washed over them all, and they hugged again before following the doctor out of the waiting room. Before they left, Nicky grabbed Joe’s arm and held him back. Joe looked at his love questioningly, but Nicky just pressed his lips to Joe’s in a tender, loving kiss, into which Joe immediately melted. “I’m proud of you,” Nicky said softly, touching his forehead to Joe’s. Joe brushed his nose against Nicky’s and kissed him again, because one kiss was just never enough for him. “Let’s go see Andy.”

Joe nodded, linked his hand with Nicky’s and together they walked to Andy’s room.

[theangriestpea]

Pitching Tents | Jughead Jones

Summary: Sexual tension surmounts between Lily and Jughead after they partake in a little too much extracurricular activities. <ao3> <kink masterlist>

Pairing: Jughead Jones x OC

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Smut, mild drug use, mild underage drinking

A/N:  Smut request from @the-gargoyle-queen​! This started out strong but kinda fell apart about halfway through. Depression brain doesn’t want to cooperate. Anyway, I combined her two dialogue prompts (in bold) with the Switch prompt from my @riverdalebingo​ card! I wish this was better x.x Not my best smut by a long shot.

The Southside core four sat around that evening’s campfire. Most of the other young Serpents had retired to their tents or campers, so it was just Sweet Pea, Jughead, Lavender, and Lily left. The four of them had been passing around a whiskey bottle and pipe that seemed to stay full of green.

And in typical fashion, Sweet Pea and Lavender could not keep their hands off of one another even in such a public setting. Jughead sat in his plush chair, trying to concentrate on lighting the bowl for another hit while Lily was propped up lazily on the arm of it, waiting her turn. She threw a pine cone and the lovebirds in an attempt to break them up again.

“Ow! What the hell?!” Sweet Pea shouted as the cone ricocheted off his head. Lavender couldn’t help the drunken giggles that came from her at his expense.

“Maybe they want in on the action, Pea,” Lav said teasingly, about to pull him in for another deep kiss when Lily launched another pine cone, this one hitting Lav in the chest. She pouted at her friend. “Lily, if you’re bored then why don’t you make out with Jughead? I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

Jughead choked on the smoke he had just inhaled, nearly dropping the pipe as he coughed until he was wheezing. Lily tried not to give him an amused look as she stared across the fire at her friends. “We’re...just friends. That would be weird.”

“I make out with my friends all the time.” Lavender said, leaning heavily against Sweet Pea as she let out another fit of giggles.

Jughead couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “And that’s weird.” He pointed out, having finally caught his breath again. “Normal people don’t do that, Lavie. You just suck people in like a damn succubus.”

Lavender grinned, “Is Jughead the weirdo trying to pass himself off as a normie? I think I’ve seen it all now.”

His face heated with a blush, although it was mostly hidden by the shadows of their surroundings. He went back to smoking in an attempt to ignore her altogether. Lav was smirking in triumph as she stood up, “Come on, Pea, let’s go finish this in your camper so these two can continue to just be friends here in peace. Don’t want to give them any ideas of what they could be doing.”

Sweet Pea shook his head as he stood up. He grabbed his girlfriend by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. She squealed in surprise as he made sure to hold her in place by gripping her ass tightly. “Hey Jones, might want to take care of that tent later. Sure Owens could help you out.” He teased as he walked past them to take his laughing girl to their shared makeshift home.

Jughead and Lily were both quiet. He tried to shift his position to hide the “tent” Sweet Pea had been referring to. He couldn’t help that weed made him incredibly horny and having Lily right next to him in those thigh highs were just doing things to him. He swallowed uncomfortably and finally stood. “I guess we’re done for the night..” He mumbled, not knowing what to say.

Lily stood, reaching out to pull him closer to her. “We don’t have to be.” She muttered daringly, her cheeks red as she let her own inebriation fuel her confidence. She latched onto the lapels of his jacket to anchor him to her, her face daring to upturn towards him as she lifted onto her tiptoes.

Jughead took her cue, leaning down and letting his lips crash down onto hers while his arms wrapped around her slim waist. He teased her lips with the tip of his tongue, silently begging her to open her mouth so he could deepen the kiss.

She parted her lips for him, greeting his tongue with her own. He tasted like weed and whiskey, a delightful combination in her opinion. It was a fight for dominance, one taking over for a moment before the other took the crown. They kissed until they had to break apart for air.

As they gasped in gulps of oxygen, Jughead looked down at her, “My tent or yours?”

Lily shoved him playfully, “definitely mine. Yours smells like stale french fries.” She teased, taking him by the hand to pull her towards her home. As they walked they could see Sweet Pea’s camper swaying from side to side from someone moving forcefully inside. It wasn’t hard to deduce what was happening.

“They waste no time, do they?” Jughead asked with an amused smirk.

“I’m surprised they waited until they got inside.” Lily replied with a laugh. “I mean, they both might as well be exhibitionists with the amount of public sex they have.”

Jug shook his head, unable to understand how anyone would be brazen enough to fuck in public. Though the distant thought of trying it sometime did arise somewhere deep inside his brain, he decidedly pushed it away.

He felt himself being yanked inside of Lily’s yellow tent. She quickly reached around him and pulled down the zipper so they’d have some privacy.

Lily laid down, pulling him down on top of her so they could resume their make out session. Jughead nipped at her lips as she rolled her hips up against his until he was groaning against her mouth. Their hands roamed, slowly discarding clothing until the two were down to their underwear.

He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, biting at the most sensitive places on her throat until she was mewling softly beneath him. His hand was between her legs, rubbing circles around her clit through her cotton panties.

Her hand was inside of his boxers, stroking his hard penis and rubbing his pre-cum across his head and down his shaft. Jughead grew more aggressive with each movement of her hand, opting to start leaving bruises anywhere his mouth could reach.

They were both panting and moaning before the real action had even started. The only paused after hearing a twig snapping outside. Jughead looked around to see if he could decipher any of the nearby shadows. “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” He asked, breathless.

“Yes, we can.” A voice belonging to Fangs Fogarty replied. “It’s about time you two hooked up again.” He added with a light chuckle.

Jughead and Lily looked at each other, faces flushed before they threw all care to the wind. Their heavy petting resumed until they were both completely naked.

Lily managed to find a condom amongst her things and hand it to Jug, who had come unprepared. He quickly slipped it on, unable to hold back any further. He grabbed her by the thighs and pulled her closer to him as he aligned his tip with her entrance.

He looked at her face, waiting for any sign of doubt. Lily only smiled back before engaging in another rough kiss to urge him to continue. Jughead pushed in, sighing into the kiss as her heat wrapped around him.

Jug kept his hands on her outer thighs, squeezing the tender flesh there as he began to thrust his hips in a quick but thorough pace. Lily couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped her as he bit at her neck once more. He increased his pace, ramming into her until suddenly she forced them to adjust positions.

Lily rolled the two of them over so that suddenly she was on top, moving her hips at a feverish pace. Jughead’s hands traveled to her hips as her name rolled off of his tongue, voice thick with lust.

“Fuck, Juggie,” Lily moaned into an exhale as she put her hands on his chest to steady herself as she moved her hips even faster as she raced to meet her peak. Jughead’s grip on her hips tightened and he suddenly began to meet her movements with his own, thrusting into her at opportune times to maximize their mutual pleasure.

They came almost simultaneously, unable to hold themselves back as they cursed and gasped and panted. Jughead stopped moving first, Lily soon after as soon as she had begun to come down from her high.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, enjoying the feeling of his long arms wrapped around her torso. Outside they could hear a round of applause and someone (who sounded very much like Toni Topaz) called out, “Long live the king!”

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[svtskneecaps]

See You When I Fall Asleep

Jeon Wonwoo x reader; Soulmate AU

So this is a little different to the other soulmate au stories I’ve written, and it also explains the reason why I’m postponing updates on Stop Loving to an unspecified date, and why i’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. Sorry for the inconvenience, hope this makes up for it! I haven’t got anything up for Wonwoo yet, and honestly writing this really helped my stress. Ya know, I felt productive and all that. Anyway, hope you enjoy~!

((this is not part of my main soulmate au series))

Soulmark: when your soulmate sleeps, they appear near you looking like the person who’s on your mind. you can interact with them, but nobody but you can see them, and they’re not allowed to give you anything that would hasten your meeting (I like to call this a Guardian Angel Mark)

Main Masterlist

“You’re up late.”

“And you’re asleep early.” You glanced up at your soulmate. “Or late, depending on who you ask. What brings you here?”

“Driving. Decided I’d take a quick nap.” He sat on your bed (you’d asked his pronouns long ago). “Who do I look like today?”

“Tony Stark. But young, so not Robert Downey Jr Tony Stark. Like, imagine him, but as a young, acne faced, awkward, too skinny for his height teenager. Minus the beard.”

“Specific.” He laughed. “Any reason why?”

You shrugged with a soft smile tugging at your lips. “ ‘S for my essay.”

“Oh right.” He leaned against the wall. “How’s that going, anyway?”

“Not well, let me tell you.” You sighed, fighting the urge to slam your laptop shut. “Actually don’t, I won’t shut up.”

“Made any progress since I was here last?”

“Unfortunately, not much.” You rubbed a distracted hand across your forehead, smearing the foundation you’d forgotten to take off that evening. “Maybe another hundred words, before I started looking for better examples.”

“Five hundred isn’t bad,” he encouraged.

“On a four thousand word essay?” You shot him a wry smile, turning back to your computer screen. “I don’t think so.”

He watched you work in silence for a second, before scooting closer. “You know working in the dark like this and staring at that screen isn’t good for your eyesight.”

“I’ll wake the people in the next room if I turn on the light, and they’ll be upset.” Your eyes didn’t leave the screen as you scrolled down the page. “You know how they get.”

“You know how I get,” he insisted, leaning into your side. The hair on your arms stood up. You still couldn’t get used to seeing that, where his ghostly figure leaned on you but you didn’t feel a thing. “You’ve at least been eating well, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, unconvincingly.

“Y/N, you know your health is important.” He sounded disapproving, and worried.

“I’m not going to die because I didn’t eat breakfast.” You successfully avoided rolling your eyes like a petulant teenager. “I did that for the past two years and look, I’m still alive aren’t I?”

He just stared at you. Damnit. You hated that he knew that worked on you. “Alright fine, I’ll try to eat better.”

“And sleep at a more decent hour,” he scolded, checking the clock across the room, reading a time well past midnight. You just sighed, long and low, resting your head on his phantom shoulder.

He stared at your computer, seeming curious. “What are you looking at now?”

“Fan fiction. I’m trying to figure out a way to back up my argument.” You straightened back up, and now you rolled your eyes. “Or, you know, make one.” You sighed again and pulled a makeup wipe out of the box on the table next to your bed, rubbing the foundation from your hand and face. “I hit the same damn block, for the millionth fucking time.”

“Language,” he chided.

You snorted, reappearing from behind the wipe. “Sorry, it’s just hilarious for me to hear teenaged Tony Stark saying that.”

He pouted, but moved past your comment quickly. “Maybe if you went to sleep, it’d make more sense in the morning. You’d get a fresh perspective.”

“Oh, probably.” You tossed the makeup wipe in the trash and grabbed another one. “But I’d lose time, and that’s what I really, really need.”

“No, you need ideas.” He closed your computer, an action you knew took immense amounts of energy, so you were shocked that he’d even bothered. “And you’re not going to get them from staring at a computer screen.”

You trashed the last makeup wipe. “Okay, but it’s only because I love you.”

“Good.” You couldn’t see his face anymore, since your computer screen had been the only source of light in the room, but you knew he was smiling. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.”

~~~

It was always disorienting to fall asleep with your soulmate by your side and wake up to have him gone. You knew he’d show up soon, though, and besides, you had an essay to work on.

“You didn’t forget what I said, did you?”

You didn’t look up. “Which part?”

“The part about eating.” Your soulmate found a seat on the arm of the chair next to you.

“I did get breakfast, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good.” He seemed satisfied. “Any luck?”

You closed your laptop. “Not much. I’m probably going to give up for the morning. Clean my room or something.”

He followed along beside you. “So who am I today?”

You turned to look at him. “Jeon Wonwoo, from Seventeen. You know who he is or do you want me to describe him?”

“Describe him.”

You weren’t sure what that look on his face meant, but you shrugged it off. Your soulmate could be mischievous. Who knew, maybe he knew the guy. He mentioned at one point that he was an idol.

You studied him for a second. “Light brown-ish hair- I’m not sure which promotion this is from. He’s wearing glasses, actually, those cute thin wire framed ones that kinda remind one of Harry Potter. Kinda got the bookish nerd vibe going on if we’re being real. Umm... kind of a square jaw. Actually he has a really strong jaw. It’s nice. Never noticed that.” You shrugged. “He tends to be rated among the top visuals by fans, so take that however you will. I’m sure you know Korean beauty standards better than I do.”

“Yeah.” You could see him side eyeing you. “But do you find him attractive?”

You tried to keep your voice casual as your responded. “I mean I guess, I understand the physical appeal. And he’s got a lovely personality to go with it, which I can appreciate.”

He hummed in response.

You glanced back over at him. “What’s that big smile for?”

“Nothing.” He turned his head away slightly. You could tell the smile never dropped.

“Let me guess, you’re a Wonwoo stan? Don’t worry, once we meet in person I’ll describe you with all the care I do everyone else.”

“I’d love that,” he said, “more than anything else.”

~~~

He hadn’t shown up.

You’d known this was coming, of course; he’d said that his group would be touring in your country, but you didn’t think you’d feel his absence so keenly. Desperate to escape the lonely feeling, you spent a lot of your time in coffee shops. There was one downtown that you really loved, since it was in a non-sketchy neighborhood and the barista was kind of cute. She also didn’t mind when you accidentally fell asleep in the shop, which tended to happen quite often. Like today.

Your soulmate was wandering around in a downtown area not unlike yours when you showed up. He was obviously filming, so he didn’t acknowledge your presence, but you knew he was aware that you were there. He managed to slip away from the cameras for a brief second in a park as his members split off into various directions.

“Seems kind of early for you to be sleeping,” he teased.

“You know me.” You laughed. “Always falling asleep in random places.”

“I just hope this ‘random place’ is safe.”

“It is.”

You didn’t get much more than that quick exchange, since the cameras returned. The members went back to wandering around town (unfortunately, you couldn’t see what they looked like either, and although you weren’t sure why you figured it was because they were idols, and it would make your soulmate too easy to find). You narrated some of the things you saw, although you tried to keep it at a minimum. Despite your unending well of witty commentary, if your soulmate was caught smiling at nothing too many times the fans would catch on. His career meant a lot to the both of you and you didn’t want to mess that up.

Despite your unspoken commitment to staying quiet, you were getting confused, and with that came the desire to voice that confusion, because you knew a music shop with that name and you could’ve sworn that woman walking across the street from them was Mrs. Perkins from the nice clothing shop a few blocks down the street from the café you were dead asleep in, and you thought for a second that the friendly looking man switching the sign on the laundromat door to ‘open’ looked a lot like the grandfather of your best friend from childhood. And then you couldn’t keep quiet. “I think I’m around here.”

He looked over at you, then immediately jerked his attention back, but you knew he was listening. “I think I’m around here,” you repeated. “I know that shop, and I know him- and I recognize her- I might be right down the street.”

He said something in a low voice to his PD, who listened for a second, then said something to one of the staff members. Your soulmate looked back at you, and said one thing.

“Show me.”

After all those years an ocean apart, it was laughably simple to navigate through the streets to find the café, and seeing the look on his face when you pointed at your sleeping form, passed out on your computer keyboard, was simultaneously priceless and the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. As he pushed through the coffee shop door and moved over to wake you, you were suddenly struck by the realization that, this was it. You’d finally get to see what he looked like, to put a face and a name and a voice behind that personality you’d fallen for a million times over.

He placed his hand on your shoulder, and you were gone.

“Hey,” a familiar voice said. “Wake up~”

You pulled your face off your keyboard, rubbing the impression the ‘f’ key had made on your cheek. The face of the stranger who’d woken you blurred in your sleepy vision. But it wasn’t a stranger, you remembered, it was your soulmate. You couldn’t rub the sleep from your eyes fast enough, eager to see who it was you were destined to be with.

Your jaw dropped.

And of course, your first reaction upon regaining your senses was to smack him on the arm. “You told me you didn’t know who Jeon Wonwoo was!”

“I never said that!” he defended, grinning at you. “I just said I wanted you to describe what he looked like.”

“Well he looks like you, you dumb nugget!” You huffed. “Did you even try to tell me that you looked like yourself?”

“Well no,” he admitted, “but I wanted us to be in the same position, you know? Makes this moment sweeter.”

“But it would’ve been sooner.” You pouted, although you both knew there wasn’t any real emotion behind it. You were elated, and so was he.

“It’s better like this.”

You looked back up at him, smiling. “You’re right.”

“I always am,” he said calmly. You leaned your head against his arm, your smile growing as you felt him there, as more than just a ghostly presence. It was comforting.

He smirked. “So, about that essay...”

“No! I just met my soulmate, I’m not gonna think about some stupid essay!”

[8bityeol]

Player Vs Player [m]

smut /// Knowning how much you love to play games, Minseok challenges to probably the competition of a lifetime. His mouth versus your will. Who will win?

“How long are you going to play that game?” You had your eyes glued to the screen but you could tell Minseok was at the doorway, watching you with a subtle glare.

“Uh...I'm ending soon.”

The uncertainty in your voice caused him to sigh. “You need to eat dinner.”

“I’ve eaten,” you said.

He was now looming over you from behind. “This isn’t food,” he reached across you and took the plastic wrapper that once held two doughnuts. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not hungry but I will eat. Just not now. Our team’s got a head up from these guys and we’re so close to beating them.”

“Hmm so how long will this take?” He asked leaning down until you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

You peered up at him. “What are you doing?”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, “What am I doing?”

“Yes you, you know what you’re doing,” you said, simultaneously tapping the keys on the keyboard, you were in still in the game.

His hands came up to your shoulders and massaged the muscles. He stopped as though he'd had an epiphany. Somehow, and most likely because you were too concentrated on your game you hadn't noticed him coming to your side, crouching and kneeling under the desk. Playfully, you kicked his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" You asked, looking down to grin at him.

"Nothing," he placed a hand at your ankle.

"Min! No, wait, you're gonna make me mess up," you yelped as felt his fingers scaling up your leg in small touches.

"Want to play a game?" he asked, grinning up at you. The mischevious twinkle in his eyes told you more than you need to know, but still, you went along with his antics.

"Go on." The game had ended and your character was in the waiting room.

He points to himself. "I eat you out," then points to you. "While you try and stay alive in the game. If you die, I win and you have to do the dishes for the whole of next week. And vice versa."

You weighed up each of the consequences if you lost you'd do the dishes and worse, be the dishonoured member in the group. "If I win, you also don't mither me about how many hours I clock."

He kissed the side of your calf, "Deal."

"I'm not going to lose," you said,

He snorted. "Honey...you're so cute. And we're starting now. Take off your shorts."

If there was one fatal flaw that you shared was the competitiveness. You're sure that one day it'd be your undoing.

You lifted your hips up, "You do it. My hands can't leave the keyboard." You smirked down at him.

"You're lucky I like you," he said, pulling the flimsy cotton gym short over your arse and down your legs. He didn't miss making quick work of your underwear too.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You rolled your neck as the countdown to the next round began. You sucked in a deep breath, this would be your best game ever. Your character popped up on screen the moment you felt Minseok leave a lingering kiss at your thigh, his other hand stroked your thigh. As much as the anticipation gnawed at you, you wouldn't be swayed.

The first monster appeared on screen, Grumpy13, a level 56 mage dashed towards it, it was a low-level thing-

"How are you doing?" His voice was low. You swore you could feel its vibrations through your flesh.

He licked the spot where he'd kissed and you tightened your grip on the mouse. "Good, we're doing good." Your voice didn't waver.

He hummed in response and give a longer lick, this time moving up north. You had to will the growing fire in your stomach to settle. Shaking your head, you zoned into the game, another monster had appeared. It was the closet to you so you decided to take it on. You used low energy spell, but it didn't do much damage to it.

"Damn," you muttered.

Meanwhile, Minseok was moving closer to the apex of your thighs. His hand came up to push your legs further apart, with one resting on the arm of the chair. "It didn't take you long to get wet," he noted, running the pad of one his fingers down the slit of your pussy.

You licked your lips and shook his words and touch out of your mind. In silent retaliation you fired three high-level spells at the monster, you cringed when you noticed that your Mana level had significantly decreased. You switched to using your Scythe, you could easily finish the monster up with it.

You felt his hair brush up your thigh and your muscles instantly tensed. He was getting closer and you could now feel his breath against your vulva. He blew a sharply pointed breath against your clit and you just about resisted the urge to kick him.

The first whimper that left your lips was silent, you hadn't been expecting him to flatten his tongue and make a long stroke up your slit. Which was quite ridiculous considering the game you were playing.

Don't think about him or his tongue! You repeated in your mind. After a few blows with your scythe, the monster had disintegrated, but now, higher level Orcs were spawning and your mana was low. You quickly asked one of the other members to send you some.

"Hmm," was the sound he made when he wrapped his lips around your clit. You attempted to shift in the chair but you were thwarted by his hand pressing down on your hips.

"Did I say move?"

You shook your head and mentally slapped yourself right after, you had to play the game, you shouldn't be responding to him. Taking a deep breath, you fired a hard hitting spell, the monsters health bar only reduced by a small fraction and did yours too.

After moments of withering, he released your clit from the devilish clutches of his lips. He had his tongue pointed stiff languidly caressing your folds. Your stomach twisted and you couldn't hold the moan against yourself.

You forced yourself to focus on the screen. The Orc had taken a chunk of your health, as though knowing your current predicament, FlowerChild2 swooped in a hit the Orc with two spells. Your fingers shakily typed out 'thanks'.

You let out a gasp when you felt his two fingers prodding at your entrance. "Min, we only said ora-" your complaint was drowned in a moan when the fingers entered you. "You're sneaky."

His fingers moved slowly in and out, slightly hooking themselves till they stroked the walls of your pulsating pussy. You shuddered when latched his mouth back onto your clit. The two motions were all far too stimulating. He pressed his face closer to you, you could feel the tip of nose resting on your skin.

"The game," You cursed under your breath, a horde of high-level Necrowarriors had begun flooding in and your health bar seemed to dwindle down fast. Shit, you couldn't even focus on the damned things. "Ahh..don't, I'm gonna-"

He lifted his head slightly. "You're gonna what princess?" his lips shone as though he was wearing gloss, and you had couldn't douse the fire inside you in anymore. He looked sinful.

"Just- fuck! my character!" You smashed button on your keyboard, sending spells and blows flying all over the place. Two Necrowarriors had you surrounded. You were going to lose. This was it.

Minseok had increased his speed and ferocity. You were now actively grinding against his face and by his groans, he didn't mind at all. His hand dug hard into your thigh as he gripped it over his shoulder. You sent one last high spell and tipped your head back, your fingers had left the keyboard and were know intertwined within Minseok's locks.

"Agh...God!" you rasped as you felt your muscles locking. You had the pleasure of seeing your screen fade into black as your body shook and white hot fire blazed across your nerves. Fuck.

As the last aftershocks settled down, and your muscles felt like putty, Minseok stood up and brushed his knees. He took one look at the screen and began laughing.

"Wow, I guess my eating out game is that strong," he said between howls.

"Oh shut it," you said, exiting the game before the mean comments from the members could be typed out.

A/N

WHEN I SAY I WROTE THIS IN 2HRS, I MEAN  IT!!!!!!!! my fingers literally flew all over these damn buttons bitch!! this is the quickest i wrote a smut. whew!  i need a standing ovation

Question: Would you win against Minseok?

[luisneer]

selected tweets 2016-17

These are tweets from my first @luisneer twitter account. Recently I made a new twitter account with the same username, after having deleted my account and having been without twitter for several months. These tweets are from August 2016 to March 2017, which was most of my first year of college at Shepherd University, in Shepherdstown, West Virginia. I don't go to Shepherd anymore; I transferred to West Virginia University, in Morgantown, WV, after my second semester. My tweets from late March 2017 to [July or August] 2017, when I deleted my twitter, were not archived. 

I'm creating this blog post so the world will have access to some of my tweets from the deleted @luisneer, in case they have any merit as literature. I'm still not sure if I will continue to use twitter in 2018/the future. Usually when I use twitter I feel like I'm actually wanting to be doing something else, but I don't know what; or wanting to be using "another app" that doesn't exist. Twitter generally seems bad for me. Questions about my tweets August 2016-March 2017 can be directed at luisneer@gmail.com. Thank you

    2016

   morgantown has ~48 vape shops

 **morgantown has ~480 vape shops

 siri has werner herzog-like inflections

 considering changing outfits when i take several walks in one day (so nobody thinks im a serial killer, stalker, spy, alien)

 think i remember ~5% of things i said today

 imagined vague connection btwn 'vitamin d' and 'reptar'

 felt distinctly that i was a monkey or chimpanzee while crouching in the corner of my dorm room eating peanuts out of a jar

 just thought (as a request to my mom) 'fax me my skateboard...'

 looked at toilet in bathroom stall with expression of 'utter terror' for what felt like ~15 seconds while it flushed

 listening to bright eyes with headphones at house show

 feel that the toothpaste i use is advancing decay of my teeth

 feel 100% certain that i could train myself to use telepathy to operate my phone during classes

 enjoying the sensation of my right leg 'falling asleep' during psychology class (left foot is also 'asleep')

 felt 'sociopathic' after eye contact w library worker who watched me pick up & pocket a pair of apple headphones someone had left on a chair

 left stolen apple headphones on gray bench across the street from my dorm

 repeatedly placed/removed sunglasses while walking in hallway

 strong desire to remove all positive patterns from my life and perpetuate/embrace all negative ones

 feel that my laptop 'knows' which parts of its screen im looking at

 in winchester, VA

 thought of my own music as having 'no compelling audible elements'

 thought of myself as being legally named 'the fuck up', then couldnt remember my actual name

 successfully, i feel, duplicated 'sociopath facial expression' during eye contact with arch-nemesis in stairwell

 ive taken 13800mg ibuprofen since i got to college

 feel compelled to ask my 9 yr old brother for advice re 'college-level' personal issues

 feel smart after sitting on couch in painting studio + reading art magazines for 2 hours

 persistent notion that 100% of students at my college personally hate me

 psychology professor muttered something like 'scary snake... endocrine system...'

 feeling heavily drugged/sedated in psych class

 psych professor seems obsessed with/terrified by snakes

 imagined kanye smoking crystal meth and tweeting something like 'please help me... cant feel mouth... need help'

 saw a moth at open mic, thought about god

 experiencing difficulty trying to smile

 enjoying using numerous cliches ('the case is closed', 'taking a step back', 'harsh realities') in an essay

 intrigued by conversation i had 9 hrs ago w/ 2 boys who countered my tone (calm, eloquent) exactly by being loud and rude in a friendly way

 felt simultaneously really cute and really lonely while giggling with my mouth closed in french class

 imagined kanye inventing the word 'compactualize' and using it in a sentence during a televised interview

 enjoyed 8-sentence john updike bio in norton lit anthology

 perceived person standing outside bathroom stall occupied by me could 'sense', via something like echolocation, that i was/am depressed

 spoke to french professor in what felt like a distinct persona/alternate luis neer called 'marge simpson voice' luis neer

 feel confidently that the public debut of 'marge simpson voice' luis neer was a success

 feel that 'marge simpson voice' luis neer is the culmination of an unconscious process that initiated in my mind maybe 3-5 years ago

 i want to identify/analyze additional alternate luis neers

 i dont like videos

 i came to college and got weirder, better at writing, more arrogant, more defeated, more sensible

 simultaneously feel that i should run 3 miles and that, at this moment, i would be incapable of running any distance

 feel urged to draw new attention to my 'marge simpson voice' tweets

 huge power outage at shepherd lol

 realized theres no such thing as a 'nation'

 remembered ive blown off obligations to several people, not just one person, so my irresponsibility doesnt 'have a focus', felt comforted

 feel that my follower count is 'crystallized' / will never increase or decrease ever again

 struggled to convert 'stick-and-poke' to past tense during conversation in line at sheetz

 feel it would be pleasurable to take a donut + bottle of coca-cola from this sheetz via armed robbery

 crossed busy road, felt really surprised i didnt get hit by a car, also i wasnt wearing glasses, was walking to sheetz, bought an icee

 laughed alone in my dorm thinking that i should print out a picture of barack obama to put on my wall

 drank from separate glasses containing soymilk, coffee, iced coffee, apple juice, cranberry juice, water, sprite for dinner/breakfas

 just thought 'from adorno to zizek' sans context while shitting

 opened gmail, emailed my father, closed gmail, opened gmail again, viewed email to my father, forwarded it to myself

 'camcorder' would be a good band name

 i thought arnold palmer had already died

 willem dafoe doesnt make me uncomfortable

 i want to stop being mean

 i hate bfs but i want to be someones bf

 wishing i was in a car with friends and no cellular service

 tangled up in myself and others

 twin peaks is depicted as a small town but its population is greater than that of every city in west virginia including the state capital

 eating shark

 thought of my own intelligence as 'frightening'

 thought while walking to class that ginger ale should be made public domain

 had the stitches on my chin removed today, touched the scar tissue for the first time

 i miss being in therapy

 i love carpet

 i love carpet !!

 just thought about my own tweets and lol'd

 mood lately very fragile

 this is what i get for staying up til 5 am

 all night i've felt a wave of dread swelling up, now it's really hitting me

 sound of laughter in public still frightening + unnerving

 my instinct for when to unfriend people on facebook has adapted so that i unfriend people over statuses that make me feel no emotions at all

 fuck, im feeling so much terror

 gucci mane was born 3 days before conor oberst

 the other day i mentioned that i was a poet and this vape guy interrupted me to say "and you didnt know it" and i went fucking nuclear

 interacted with mailman who was picking up mail as i was trying to mail chapbooks, he didnt notice at first that i was talking to him

 what if old people have secrets

 my dad is making me root for a football team but im in pain emotionally

 i feel guilty in general

 thought of my poem "portrait of a nation without any people" as the "lead single" for my full length; it appeared in potluck 14 months ago

 im close friends with satan rn

 feel like travis scott never intended for people to spell his name with a $

 from now on every time i get honey on something ill list the thing in this thread

 finger

 desk

 coffee cup exterior

 pajama pants

 knee

 carpet

 chin

 phone

 shirt

 shoe

 thought that my elderly geography prof. moves by "shuffling"

 feeling shorter, broader

 the only part of the new bright eyes box set i want is the booklet

 is there a booklet? i know there are nvr b4 sn photos

 the song "lime tree" came to conor oberst in a dream

 i like citing things in MLA

 i write essays by pretending im werner herzog

 doesnt seem to be getting later

 lit professor gave my project (sequence of 6 sonnets) a C, i wish she would have gotten me expelled, shelley + ginsberg both were expelled

 heard someone in another room ask "where's wal-mart?" as if wal-mart were a person whose location could change

 i think i just swallowed a filling while eating popcorn, i am very scared, please help

 crazy how things get worse

 there are people on my floor having tons of fun and im upset

 bit my mattress while sitting in the chair next to my bed

 weird that chance the rapper only has 2.4 million followers when he's sort of one of the most famous artists in the world rn

 also weird that donald trump has made 34,000 tweets, seems like an incredibly large number

 the strangeness of yesterday was, for me, augmented by people on the internet talking about a tv show that ive never seen or heard about

 the sunlight is obscene

 im so upset about the sun being so bright im afraid to go outside

 im glad im the only poet who likes trailer park boys

 i slept in a blanket fort under my bed and havent left it all day

 yr = your ur = you're

 my favorite things are pdfs

 now that ive adapted my living space to allow me to never leave my blanket fort i feel like my roommate, omar, exists in a parallel universe

 i hear him but i never see him

 i love latte art, i drink many lattes

 thought that twitter "isn't worth it" in an upset tone while drinking mtn dew

 felt pleasant considering uniqueness of all parent-offspring relationships

 went through my closet + made sure all shirts and jackets were zipped/buttoned

 my blanket is generating flashes of light from static electricity

 record store guy became visibly sick of me several months ago; feel a little guilty every time i enter his store to spend money

 i prefer EPs

 felt "out of control" walking downhill listening to dead kennedys with headphones

 writing an essay is difficult because idk how much relevant information other people have already considered / moved on from

 have been wanting to write at least one poem inside my blanket fort but i don't think it's going to happen, i don't know why

 the internet isn't big enough

 usually when i think "i dont understand the uproar about [event]" i realize there is no "uproar"

 "uproar" is media's way of manipulating the public spotlight and distracting people from important tasks

 feeling helpless + melancholy after dying 15 times and killing 2 stormtroopers in star wars battlefront

 the only way to attain conor oberst-level emo hair is to lay in bed and sob for hours

 i'm sad

 my mom was confused when i told her my first book comes out today

 was luis neer in odd future

 thought "sometimes i just want to end it and start all over" in an exasperated tone re my goodreads account

 becoming increasingly convinced it would be best for me personally to take myself extremely seriously/never joke about myself

 thinking that my tweets would seem terrible if i were a senator/governor/other politician

 imagined doomsday device for future @starwars movies: the "death train," a normal train that exists in space and destroys planets

 how does anyone do it

 in science fiction movies, spacecraft usually look like shopping malls

 everyone in the world is high except me

 feel like i want to have poems published immediately

 having delusions of grandeur

 im sitting on my record player

 my most-used word in 2016 was "bleak"

 prepared and ate garbanzo beans w a lot of rosemart at 2:00 AM

 my brother has a friend over and is being mean to the friend

 all i want for christmas is to never cheer up, ever

 watching eyes wide shut and hugging duckuc

 my nose feels like it's going to bleed

 im sad because every bf looks like me

 getting better at eating ice cream by punching it with my tongue

 the internet is too freaky...

 i think 2017 will be a year of realizing things

 im watching the angry birds movie

 the angry birds movie is so shitty... why was it made...

 ive never had a new years kiss

   2017

   im weird

 eating medicinal ice cream

 im not going to do any drugs in 2017

 made a medicinal phone call

 i want to drink some blood

 i dreamed that roger ebert wrote a negative review of life after ppl and called it "liner notes"

 years dont kill people

 feel inexplicably/explicably really scared about the future of my poetry career

 i've felt stoned since i was a baby

 downloading google earth

 made eye contact in starbucks with possible luis neer incarnation from ~50 years in future; bon jovi "dead or alive" played through speakers

 realised that at some point in the future i will become extremely interested in watching football

 i recommend reading poems extremely slowly while touching the text with your middle finger/index finger

 experiencing cognitive dissonance

 used phonetic clues to correctly predict meaning of & use the word "tandem" while discoursing with myself internally

 i miss steel pedal guitar sounds on conor oberst songs

 my previous incarnation "college luis neer" has evolved to become "high school luis neer-like luis neer in college setting"

 thought "man, i got to stop caring what people think about me" in an emphatic tone that seemed confusing/interesting

 mediocore

 beyonce is cool i think

 i want to re-read "v for vendetta" and to not tweet about it

 remembered that i own a pinata

 i will be at awp

 how could i make twitter a better place

 i saw 4 people wearing yeezys in dc this weekend

 feeling increasingly self-conscious about how much i use the phrase "in the world" or refer to "the world" in poems

 felt robot-like while attaching detachable headphones cord to my headphones while wearing the headphones

 watching shepherd univ lacrosse team practice from "safety of" student center

 i invented releasing two chapbooks in one day

 im dumber than me

 reasoned mentally that im more likely to produce accurate drawings of myself because "i basically look like a bird, so i just draw a bird"

 i want to have a "fake tweet" (e.g. a simple phrase) to tweet repeatedly every time i feel urged to tweet an uninformed/unimportant opinion

 my fake tweet for the foreseeable future will be "i dropped my textbook in the stairwell". when i tweet this it means i have an opinion

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 does anyone remember the chapter of "the hobbit" where bilbo avoids starvation by ingesting peanut butter, honey, cherry nyquil, and water

 sensed that all my college friends just simultaneously shifted from having vague/non-serious negative feelings about me to hating me

 resulting from continuous building of irrepressible/inevitable conjecture in the friends' conscious thoughts

 eating chicken and squash

 i click on 100% of poetry links tweeted by poets i follow

 when i was writing Waves i was obsessed with waves (e.g. energy waves, frequencies) and used the word "waves" at least ~10 times every day

 i dropped my textbook in the stairwell

 white nike swooshes on shoes of boy in library look vibrant/magical

 terrified of being cool

 walked to library really slowly while listening to noise music through big headphones

 i was really, really yung when i started publishing and i'm still really yung

 2 chainz always looks like he's walking in an airport

 i have 5 twitters

 i didnt know what bill paxton looked like, i was thinking RIP gene hackman

 why doesnt anyone blog about me

 thesis statements arent real

 thinking about my book

 i deleted both my tumblrs by accident

 sad about my tumblr

 my name is all over the internet

 im a lizard

 someday there'll be no more ppl

 a lot of conor oberst song titles have parentheses

 feeling sad about the actions of my clone, who passed away

 idk how to use venmo or what it is

 present-day tumblr is like the end of the never ending story where atreyu is talking with the rock biter and the nothing is swirling around

 when someone, anyone, is upset with me im afraid im going to be assassinated

 the views-era apple music ads that depict drake working hard in the studio have really affected and inspired me

 on tumblr i have 4 followers

 almost all of my tweets seem unimportant

 feel that if someone told me that one of my tweets made them upset i would just apologize and delete it

 ground control to commander venus

 i like my new tumblr

 i would be wearing a cardigan rn but i dont have one

 feel that i will continue to generate bright eyes-related content throughout my life

 is everything ok

 i look like michael moore

[bellarkefanworkawards-blog]

Best Slow Burn

ARKADIA FLORAL & GARDEN by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

Clarke has owned Arkadia Floral & Garden Supplies for 3 years when Bellamy Blake, her high school rival, comes back into town following his mother’s death and needs Clarke’s help to restore his mother’s garden to its former glory. But gardening isn’t Bellamy’s strong suite, and neither is coping with losing another parent. He might need a lot more help than he’s willing to admit, but luckily for him, his feisty blonde former rival is there to guide him through some of the most difficult months of his life.

DON’T LOOK BACK, YOU’RE NOT GOING THAT WAY by andsowemeetagain @and-so-we-meet-again

Viking Bellamy prepares for the journey of a lifetime. Clarke Griffin is the new, mysterious girl that wants to join him.

Best Fake Relationship

THINGS WE SHOULDN’T DO by Willaphyx @rebelprincebell​

“The history between the two of you is well known,” Marcus went on, talking over Clarke’s continued splutters. “And it hasn’t escaped the notice of certain news organizations–” “What, you mean fucking TMZ?” Clarke interjected.Marcus sighed. “It would be in the best interest of the show and I think both your careers if you were to be seen as a couple. ”Silence.“A dating couple,” Marcus added as if that hadn’t been clear. Bellamy and Clarke exploded simultaneously.“If we what?” Clarke demanded at the same time that Bellamy just started laughing. He slipped sideways, dangerously close to falling out of his chair. Clarke is at the bottom of a downward spiral and Bellamy is riding an all-time career high when they’re cast as the leads of Marcus Kane’s newest drama. The entertainment world expects a blowup of immense proportions between the two feuding actors but get a hard to explain romance instead. Or: a fake dating celebrities AU.

I DREAMED YOU A SIN by monroeslittle

“If I do this,” Blake said, “how are you imagining it’s going to work? I can’t just knock on his door, and say I want in again. It’s been eleven years. And even before I left, I never cared about the business. Do you have a plan? You say you want me to open the door for an agent. How? What’s that mean?” “You’re going to get in touch with your grandfather again at your wedding,” Clarke said. He stared. “I hope you don’t have a girlfriend, Mr. Blake.”

fake!married AU. Clarke’s in the FBI, Bellamy’s the grandson of a mobster, and they’ve got to work together.

Best Pining!Clarke

I (LOVE)D YOU by funfanfin @funfanfin

A relationship that only lasted five months and ended four years ago shouldn’t still be affecting her, but…it wasn’t just any relationship. It wasn’t just any breakup. It wasn’t just any ex. It was Bellamy.

AND THEN WE WERE CHASING COMETS by prosciutto @prosciuttoe

That same, elusive shrug. “It’s a secret, princess.” He says pointedly, snagging the book from her before throwing the truck into park, “But you’ll be the first to read it once it’s done, okay?” “Wow,” she says, nodding. “I’m honored.” A beat as he sizes her up, his brows furrowing together in exasperation before he says, weary, “You’re going to ask me what it’s about again, aren’t you?” “Bellamy,” she says obediently, grinning, “what’s your book about?” If you told Clarke Griffin that she would become best friends with the resident black sheep of Arkadia, she would have difficulty believing it, let alone the fact that he apparently wrote an entire book about her.

Or: Clarke and Bellamy through the years, as childhood best friends.

Best Royalty AU

KINGDOM COME by the.ktgrace

Her father, the king, was poisoned. She, heir to the throne, fled into hiding. Ten years later, a royal guard needs to bring her back to the throne to save his sister. Faraway kingdoms, arranged marriages, deception, brewing war… And that’s only the beginning for this stubborn princess and her arrogant guard. A story of fantasy and adventure in the kingdom of Ark.

HOW TO SAVE A KINGDOM by Laughingsenselessly @wellsjahasghost

Clarke sputters an indignant laugh as he takes her elbow and steers her away from the doors. “You won’t let me out of the palace and you’re calling me a difficult person? You,” she fumes, “are insufferable.” Bellamy merely grins. “Now that’s no way to talk to your husband.” Clarke forces herself to stalk away before she can give into the urge to throw her glass of wine at him. She doesn’t know why she bothers, though. Somehow, none of their guests seem to notice the clear antagonism between the king and queen, or maybe they just don’t care. And why should they? The two of them are just husband and wife. They’re not actually expected to like each other.

AU. Clarke marries Bellamy for a political alliance.

Best Teacher!Bellamy

MUST BE LOVE (ON THE BRAIN) by Caramelle @mellamymake

Is she grateful for the distraction that is Finn Collins? Sort of. Does that make her want to punch his teeth in any less? Hard no. Or, the one where Clarke Griffin wishes the annoying boy who always sits next to her in class would shut up and let her listen to her professor. Her professor also happens to be really pretty. The two things are mutually exclusive.

AFRAID TO CALL THIS PLACE OUR OWN by HawthorneWhisperer @hawthornewhisperer

Clarke frowned at the notification on her ipad. “Why does your history teacher want to meet with me?” she asked, but Madi kept her eyes innocently on her homework. A little too innocently. “Mr. Blake’s a hardass,” Madi said with a shrug. “A hardass who wants a meeting with me barely a month into the school year?” Clarke asked. Madi shrugged again and Clarke narrowed her eyes and scanned the email. “He’s worried about your performance already. Have you even had any tests? What am I missing?” “He just doesn’t like me,” Madi replied and erased something on her worksheet.

Best Roommates AU

KILL THEM WITH KINDNESS by Kacka @katchyalater

Clarke thought subletting Miller’s room for the summer would be a perfect solution: convenient, affordable, and it comes furnished. Unfortunately, it also comes with his roommate, who for some reason, hates her.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOVE PEOPLE WITHOUT THEM DYING by Kacka @katchyalater

“This is where it falls apart,” Clarke whispers. Her finger traces random patterns across Bellamy’s chest, his gently untangling the knots in her hair. The sun hasn’t yet risen but the sky outside has begun to lighten, those nebulous hours when night fades to morning and the world starts to think about waking up. Clarke greets them like an old friend. Most nights she wakes with a jolt– sometimes from nightmare, other times from the stress of an unimaginably long to-do list– and lets the slow ascent into day calm her racing mind.

Best Social Media AU

OR, YOU COULD ALWAYS GOOGLE IT by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

“You know,” Bellamy muses, grin wide and a little conspiratorial, “you’re robbing our legions of fans here. They’re expecting a showdown and you’re being perfectly cordial towards me.” “Right,” she nods, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. “Well, it’s not too late. I could always pitch that glass of water down your shirt.” Someone really should have warned Clarke that the first step to becoming internet famous would involve acquiring a nemesis.

(Or, Bellarke as rival YouTubers, basically.)

YOU’RE COOL ON THE INTERNET, AT LEAST by Prosciutto @prosciuttoe

Look, Clarke will not dwell on this. She will not get flustered just because a possibly cute guy on Facebook apparently shares her views on what constitutes a terrible person. Ten minutes later, her phone gives a short, irritated buzz; startling her enough that she jumps. Biting at the inside of her cheek, she allows herself a quick peek. Friend request from Bellamy Blake. Clarke has no idea how she manages to develop a crush on a guy who won’t stop fighting everyone on Facebook, but here they are.

(Or: Clarke meets Bellamy on Facebook. They hit it off.)

Best Enemies/Friends to Lovers

EMERGENCY CONTACTS by wanheda_two_heda @youleftme-clarke

When Bellamy gets a call from Ark Memorial Hospital because he’s the emergency contact for an unnamed girl in her early twenties, his only thought is Octavia. He can’t imagine that someone might have just entered his phone number by mistake. But when he sees the blonde girl lying unconscious in a hospital bed with no other contacts until she wakes up, something tells him to stay. So he does.

Based on the prompt: au where person a accidentally puts the wrong number as their emergency contact and when they end up in hospital person b gets called (and comes anyway, despite not knowing person a)

IN MY DREAMS WE ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER by andsowemeetagain @and-so-we-meet-again

100 delinquents got sent to Earth and battled for survival against the odds. They landed in Trikru territory but that is not where they stayed. After weeks of battle and war, the Sky People finally lost. They were sent to a land far away, where a group of Grounders unlike any they’ve met waited for them.

*This is a terrible summary…I don’t know how to describe this story. It’s a mix of canon and AU. But if you like arranged marriage and enemies->friends->lovers and friendship and love and fluff and angst, then this is the fic for you.

Best Arranged Marriage

BEFORE: KING OF A BROKEN LAND by forgivenessishardforus

Miller, a knight who had graduated with him five years before and now a lieutenant and one of his best friends, sticks his head around the door. His mouth is quirked in a smile that instantly makes Bellamy wary. “You have visitors,” he announces. Bellamy groans. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is visitors; most were families of murdered nightbloods, looking for answers he didn’t have; some were looking for advice on problems he didn’t care about; still others came to him with suggestions and criticisms on what he should be doing to better protect his people. “Tell them to wait in the audience chamber. I’ll deal with them in a couple of hours, or maybe in the morning.” “Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to keep these visitors waiting,” Miller says. His eyes are positively snapping with mirth now. “Who is it?” Bellamy demands. “Just the Queen of Arkadia and her daughter.”

JUST AS YOU ARE MINE by prosciutto @prosciuttoe

Bellamy’s already there by the time she makes her way to the centre of the room. She didn’t get a good look at him before, so Clarke takes the time to look at him now. He’s not all that much taller than she is, but the breadth of his shoulders feels worrying, somewhat. His skin is marked with a array of calluses and scars, white against his tanned skin, and the deft, sure movements he makes confirms that he’s every inch the warrior he’s promised to be. Swallowing, she steps forward, meeting his gaze. His face remains carefully blank, same as before, when Kane had told her that they’d be married. In hindsight, marrying a total stranger may not have been one of Clarke’s brightest ideas.

Or: Arranged Marriage AU. Clarke seals an alliance with the Broadleaf clan by marrying Bellamy Blake.

Best Past Relationship

KNOWING ME, KNOWING YOU by caramelle @mellamymake

In hindsight, staying in the apartment he shares with his ex probably isn’t the best idea Bellamy’s ever had. Probably not his worst either, to be fair.

Or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke break up and, instead of moving out, somehow find themselves in a heated prank war.

I FEEL IT IN MY FINGERS by lightyears

It’s a short wait for the patient to arrive once Clarke gets herself organised. She stands out at the emergency entrance for all of three minutes before the ambulance comes to a stop in front of her, Jasper jumping out of the driver’s seat and rounding to the back to open the rear door. Clarke’s right behind him, watching as the patient is pulled out on a gurney, and getting ready to take action, just like she’s done countless times over the years. But instead of grabbing ahold of the stretcher railing to help wheel the patient inside, asking Monty what happened, what his initial evaluations found, she falters in her step, feels the air get knocked from her all at once. Because she recognises that boy, warm brown skin sprinkled with freckles, unruly inky curls and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. She recognises him despite the ten years that have passed and the bruises and cuts scattered across the skin free from his clothes. She recognises him and it makes her world stop. “Bellamy,” Clarke breathes out.

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. III (Katlaska) - Sebald

A/N: [4763 words] Sex is sex, the rest is just noise. And Brian would like to plug his ears.

As Paul goes on about his last photoshoot, Brian envisions the varied ways he can dismember Trixie and bury her plastic Barbie limbs across all of Los Angeles.

Paul is, undoubtedly, a gorgeous son of a bitch. Now, Brian isn’t typically attracted to model-types, and would like to think that he is often more drawn to coked-out amateur porn star-types, but when you see a piece of art so perfectly sculpted, you’d be remiss not to appreciate it. And Paul is some fine-ass art. Emphasis on fine ass. He looks like the type of man even Narcissus would have begrudgingly admitted to be beautiful—killer cheekbones tapering down to a strong, stubbled jaw; green eyes sitting coolly beneath the commanding arch of his thick brows; rich, golden skin that makes him look like he’s always trained by reflectors from every angle. And most importantly, Brian notes when Paul excuses himself to the restroom, his ass is sublime. Brian would very much like to touch it. Mold it. Sing “Unchained Melody” to it.

Too fucking bad Paul won’t shut up.

“It’s really hard work, actually,” Paul says, deep voice dripping with that SoCal drawl that used to annoy Brian but has now been Stockholmed into liking, months after moving to LA. Paul has an elbow perched on the back of his chair, and he’s leaning back with practiced ease. People walking by their table in the little sidewalk café openly stare at him, but he is unruffled. Probably used to admiring glances, Brian assumes. Paul takes a drag from his stick before he continues, “I know people have this misconception of models just sitting around and looking pretty, but there’s a lot of work that goes into it. My Calvin Klein shoot in particular was so demanding because their set was literally freezing, and I had to pose in nothing but briefs for hours.”

“Oh wow. How cruel,” Brian says in as sympathetic a tone as he can. He manages to bite back a snort, instead busying himself with putting out his cigarette and dropping the butt into the ashtray. Immediately he lights up another one. It seems a necessity, if he’s expected to carry on with this conversation.

“But that’s not even the hardest part. I was bought into the shoot blind—all I knew was that I was hired to do the campaign, but I knew nothing of the art direction, the photographer, the clothes. Nothing. So I get to the set and we start off doing solo shots, and then an hour later two female models come in, and I’m suddenly told that I’m supposed to pose with them—be all sexy and everything. So okay, that’s fine. A bit of a surprise, but I can handle it as a professional. What I’m not okay with was that I wasn’t told anything, and I didn’t get a say in anything. I was expected to just follow. And that’s how it goes for models. Ordinary people,” he brazenly gestures to the passersby, the withering curl of his lip expertly turning ordinary into an insult, “think it’s a glamorous job, but really we receive so little respect in the industry.”

It’s not like he doesn’t have a point, Brian concedes. His point is just severely unsharpened, and less a point and more a blunt hammer, completely lacking in finesse and forceful in its ways. He goes for a friendlier approach, partly to show that he can commiserate, and partly so that he can contribute to the conversation, which seems to be what dates are for, if rom-coms are to be believed. “I sort of get that, I think. I mean, drag queens are the furthest thing from models, I’m sure—for one because most of us are butt-ass ugly—” he pauses for a second, hoping Paul might laugh. But Brian gets nothing.

“—and, um, also because we have creative control over our art. But being a drag queen on reality TV, you do get a sense that you’re a pawn of some sort. That even though the show is putting your art out there for you, you’re first and foremost cast to sell the show. It’s a strange feeling,” he admits lightly, before smiling and saying, “But it’s not the worst gig in the world. Oh at all.”

“Wait, wait,” Paul blurts, bringing a palm up to stop Brian. He leans back in his chair even more, as if to better look Brian up and down. “You’re a drag queen?”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Brian is really going to kill Trixie now. Or he’s going to cut all the strings on her guitar and the lace on her new BobbiePinz wig. “Yeah. Didn’t David tell you?”

“No. He just said you were a really nice guy.”

“Okay. I guess that’s fair. Come to think of it, Trixie didn’t tell me about what you did either. Just that you’re hot.”

“Who’s Trixie?” Paul is more perplexed than ever.

“Sorry, I meant Brian. Not me, David’s boyfriend, Brian Firkus? Milwaukee Brian? He’s a drag queen too. We’re friends.”

“Wait, country Brian? Gay Willie Nelson is a drag queen?”

“She’ll resent that comparison, but yes.”

”Okay, yeah I know him. But wait, you said you were on TV. Were you on the RuPaul show?”

“I was,” Brian affirms. “I take it you don’t watch the show?”

“No, sorry,” he says with a shrug, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I do know about it because I had a roommate who used to watch it, but I moved out and never heard of it again.”

“Wow. Well, congratulations. I didn’t know it was possible for a gay man in Los Angeles to avoid the show, but here you are,” Brian says, halfway between being complimentary and disbelieving.

“I guess most of the friends I run with these days aren’t necessarily gay,” he explains, flicking his cigarette behind him before reaching for his cup of coffee sitting right beside the ashtray. Brian can almost imagine the strains of a horror thriller building up to a crescendo as Paul continues. “I’m not even really gay myself, I think. I do say I’m gay on Grindr and all the apps, but that’s just to make my life easy. So people know what I’m looking for, you feel? But I’m not, like, gay gay, you know? Like into musicals and stuff. No offense.”

The imagined music hits a peak, and a markedly effeminate scream goes off in Brian’s head. For some reason he envisions the scream to be from Justin, clad in that ridiculous pink-and-yellow ski suit with a feather sticking out of his goggles. Truly the gayest thing Brian’s ever seen.

In front of him, Paul is an image of casual disinterest. How Trixie thinks this guy would be worth seeing, Brian doesn’t know. Is this a prank, perhaps? He represses the urge to walk out, or maybe throw coffee on Paul. It seems a bit dramatic. Instead he offers a tight smile and an apology. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed you were gay.”

“It’s cool, I don’t mind too much,” he says, again unbothered, as if he didn’t just malign all the Harvey Fiersteins and Kurt Hummels of the world. “I don’t really care what people call me, as long as I get laid.”

A pause. There it is, the lead-in they both showed up to the date for. Brian considers his options. He could tell Paul he is an asshole and then leave and find Trixie so he can rant about the date, or he could stay and see this thing through to its inevitable end—and it seems fair to reward himself with that. A well-earned prize for his patience throughout Paul’s blathering about the plight of male underwear models. What would Dr. Arroway do?

Brian’s decision is made when he watches Paul tip his head back to drain the last dregs of his coffee, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a manner that should not be as sensual as it’s managing to come off. Feeling simultaneously reckless and disappointed in himself, he opts to concede to the only sound statement Paul has said in the span of an hour. Cigarette in his mouth, Brian noncommittally utters, “Amen to that.”

When Paul acknowledges his reply with a sly smile, Brian feels the need to whisper an apology into outer space and hope that it makes its way to Jodie Foster.

“I’m supposed to see my trainer by three—maintenance, you know? But I have some time before then, so do you wanna stop by my place for a bit?” Paul asks smoothly, in the practised way of someone who’s employed the same scripted cues before. He makes a show of checking his phone, as if he hasn’t already blocked off some time for a pre-workout fuck. “It’s just two blocks down. You cool?”

“You’re not turned off by me being a nelly faggot?” Brian asks around his cigarette, not unkindly.

“Oh. Um. Well, no,” Paul answers, suddenly uncertain. Brian feels a little thrilled, watching him stammer. “You don’t—you don’t really seem, um, too gay?”

“I hope you know I’m not taking that as a compliment,” he says with a snort, hoping to get the last word in.

When they make it to the apartment, Paul thankfully cuts back on the chatter. It’s no pretty fucking, just quick and graceless, Brian hammering away almost vindictively. Still, Paul’s ass lives up to its promise, and Brian almost feels like it was worth all the trouble of their coffee date.

But he’s still definitely killing Trixie. Maybe after he gloats about how luscious that ass is. 

~~~

The small convenience store on the corner of Paul’s block is thankfully empty. Brian gets himself a pack of Newports, stupidly having let Paul bum his last one off him after Brian already selflessly sucked him off and ate and fucked him out. For all his masculine posturing, Paul turned out to be a pretty lazy princess in bed. He needs to find more generous partners, really. As he waits for the bored young cashier to punch the cigarettes in, he scans the bright, beguiling menu behind the counter and stares dreamily at the image of a soft serve cone. The perfect upward swirl. The height of American culture.

“Wait, can I get a vanilla cone with that?” he hears himself saying before he realizes what he’s doing.

“Of course,” the cashier says, mustering up an unconvincing smile as she rings the item in.

He’s never been one for post-sex ice cream, usually a post-sex smoke kind of guy, on top of being a post-breakfast smoke, post-breakdown smoke, and post-smoke smoke kind of guy. But he indulges himself today, a congratulatory treat for making it through Paul. Not that it was much of a chore, the sex part. But the getting-to-the-sex part? A rough road. To that Brian raises his cone.

The store has one row of seats and a long table facing the street, and he settles in, licking his ice cream absently as he watches people walk by. Los Angeles is generally laid-back, a city of beaches and slow drawls, but Sundays are especially lazy, when passing time seems like pulling taffy. The rest of the week it might be more like chewing gum.

A young couple leisurely pushes a stroller carrying a beribboned Shih Tzu in a puffy princess dress, giving Brian one more reason to be glad of his lack of romantic attachments. Across the street, two twin ladies with fire-engine-red hair hobble into a nail salon hand in hand, looking like the Parent Trap twins sixty years into their future, and looking exactly like the type of people Brian would like to feature in one of his pipe dream documentaries that he thinks about when he’s showering. It’s always either a gritty documentary or a pornographic film with vague allusions to the Russian symbolists. An orgy in the snow. Kneeling down to kiss the ground, the night wraps everything around, my lips are feeling it is close… And then bukakke cum loads vanishing into the snow as bodies huddle together for warmth. He brought the idea up to Avi once, but he just said Brian needed help.

Beside the nail salon, a group of buff guys crowd around the entrance to a gym—Paul one of them, to Brian’s chagrin. He hides uselessly behind his cone, but Paul thankfully doesn’t look around, absorbed in conversation with his friends. His decidedly not-gay friends. Brian would bet his entire Kickstarter fund that they all take it up the ass. They disappear into the gym, leaving him to enjoy his cone in peace, imagining the locker room hand jobs they’re going to discretely gift one another. No homo, just bros looking out for bros. It feels almost obscene to lick away the trail of melting ice cream down to his wrist, but Brian’s broken out of his locker room imaginings when a kid taps the glass in front of him. The kid looks up at his cone with big, excited eyes, tugging at his mother’s shirt to point it out. Preoccupied with a phone to her ear, she just shakes her head and pulls him along. The kid glares back at him, like it’s Brian’s fault somehow that he’s not getting any ice cream. Brian offers the kid a mocking pout before reveling in another cool lick. Little brat.

When he looks back across the street, he sees Justin’s brother, of all people, walking out of the gym. He sits up, piqued, when he sees that Cory is followed by Justin and an unfamiliar woman who’s about half Justin’s height but looks like she could tap him with a single finger and send him toppling over. She and Justin have their arms linked, chatting brightly as they follow Cory across the pedestrian lane. For a second, Brian contemplates running out of the store to call their attention, but Justin beats him to it (quelle surprise!), spotting him from the middle of the street. Justin waves with his long, spidery arm and smiles before gesturing for the woman and Cory to look into the convenience store as well. The woman’s face lights up, pleased recognition spreading across her face. Cory, on the other hand, just squints in his direction before looking away. Maybe that’s how army men greet casual acquaintances, Brian posits.

He waves the remains of his cone as the trio, now led by Justin and the woman after speeding past Cory, make their way into the store.

“Fancy meeting you here, stranger,” Justin greets with a transatlantic affectation as he steps in first, holding the door open for his friend. “What’s up?”

“VH1 stocks are,” Brian fires back. “Logo down.”

“No shop talk on Sundays,” he tuts while going in for a hug. His cheeks are flushed red, presumably from the gym, but his freshly showered skin is cool against Brian’s post-sex heat.

“Don’t. I stink,” Brian warns.

“But when do you not?” Clicking his tongue, Justin ignores the warning and encloses him in a one-armed hug. With his free arm, he gestures to his companion. “Kiara, this is Brian. Brian, this is Kiara, fitness trainer to the stars. And Cory’s girlfriend, for reasons that elude me.”

Kiara laughs and shoves him lightly, and then extends her hand for a shake, until she realizes that his handshaking hand is preoccupied with ice cream. She shrugs and goes in for a quick hug instead. “Nice to meet you! I loved you on the show. That finale speech? Girl, I almost cried.”

“I’ll never escape the Team Katya folks, will I? I’m quitting drag.” Justin juts out his lower lip in a comically large frown.

“Plenty of love to go around,” Kiara says brightly, kissing his cheek, which Justin accepts with a laugh.

“Always so needy,” Brian teases with a smirk. Justin catches his eye and smirks back knowingly.

“Hey Kee, catch,” Cory calls out, walking from the cashier. He flings a bottle of water through the air, and Kiara catches it expertly. It’s fantastic, like a choreographed move. Gold medalists in the Olympics of water bottle catch. With Justin, it’s much less of a sporting event, the bottle safely changing hands between brothers. Probably for the best.

Cory stares at Brian for a solid second. It’s nerve-wracking, like passing through security and waiting for them to pull you aside for a bomb that you know you don’t have but is still afraid of being caught with. Brian lets out a breath when Cory finally turns to Justin and Kiara, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, would you wait a minute,” Justin says, almost like a fussy mother. He turns to Brian with an exasperated look—a can-you-believe-how-rude-my-brother-is look, Brian would like to think. “Brian, you know my brother Cory.”

“Yes. Hi. Cory. Bro’Laska. Big fan. Huge,” Brian says rapidly, hoping to get in Cory’s good graces. He hasn’t seen but two episodes of their web show, but the words come stumbling unbidden out of his mouth. Like puke, but worse. “Really, really fun dynamic. Just hilarious.”

“Cool,” Cory says uncertainly, looking to Justin for help.

Brian’s mouth runs ahead of him, completely unmindful of the one smart voice in his head telling him to shut up, “No, I mean it.”

“Sure,” he grumbles. And then, under his breath, “I didn’t say you didn’t—”

“I really do! I love the show. My mother loves the show. My father loves the show. My sister loves the show. My brother loves the show,” he rambles. “No, wait, sorry, I don’t have a brother.”

“Oh-kay.” Cory can’t even meet his eyes anymore.

“But I wish I had a brother!” Brian offers, before he can stop himself. “Several brothers! So we can all watch Bro’Laska and love it. Together. And be… progressive gay brothers.”

“Right.” Cory regards him with a tired look. “I’m not really gay, dude. But thanks, I guess.”

Brian nods and wishes he hadn’t been blessed with the capacity for speech. It just seems a cruel thing to be burdened with, doesn’t it, when the supposedly benevolent Lord is not as kind as to give you a working brain to govern your tongue. Brian winces apologetically at Cory, who shifts his eyes away. Kiara may as well have a question mark bobbing over her head with the way she’s staring at him. Justin’s lips are contorted in an indecipherable twist, conveying something between schadenfreude, pity, and horror—Brian’s not sure yet. And he doesn’t quite want to know. He just wants to melt along with his ice cream. Which he still has. And which is now leaking all over his hand, down his arm.

“Katya, your—” Kiara gestures kindly, bringing out a handkerchief from her bag and handing it over graciously.

“Oh no, thank you, it’s fine,” he refuses. He’s not going to let her pristine kerchief be victim to his sloppiness. “I’ll, uh, go on ahead and wash this away.” He grabs his backpack with his clean hand and begins walking out. “Great to meet you guys. Have a good day.”

He backs into the door, but it won’t budge. He pushes into it again repeatedly, pressing the full weight of his body like a human battering ram. “Fucking hell. What kind of Superman strength does it require to fucking—”

“Pull,” Justin suggests gently.

Brian pauses his full-body hammering into the door and nods. “Right. Of course.” He bows once in their direction, turns, pulls the door, and stops when he realizes that he has smeared ice cream all over the handle. Shit. He wipes it with his shirt, to little effect. He takes a breath and hopes the cashier gets paid more than minimum wage as he resolves to leave the sticky mess behind in favour of marching out without another glance back.

Was that rude? He doesn’t know. He just wants to never interact with any human being ever again. He finishes the rest of his soggy cone as he walks away. Miserable fucking cone. He shouldn’t have gotten it. Just another American icon, shattered and exposed for the flimsy illusion that it is.

Quickening his pace, he walks in the direction of his yoga class. The thought of yoga isn’t quite enough to stifle his mortification just yet, but it’s a good start.

A hand lands on his shoulder. Justin, he recognizes before turning. Maybe he was expecting it. Justin is holding out a wad of tissues. “Got you some from the store.”

“Thanks,” Brian says. Wiping down his arm, he looks up at him sheepishly. “Sorry for being weird in there. I dunno what happened.”

“Yeah, that was something. But then it’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Justin chuckles. “Are you all right?”

“Totally. Your brother just kind of made me nervous. He can be pretty imposing. He’s so large and gruff and…big brother-y.”

“I’m older than him.”

“What? No way.”

“I am. But he’s a tough old military man, and I’m a flaming faggot blessed with eternal youthful beauty.” Justin shrugs.

“That you are.” Brian nods sagely.

“Anyway, no worries. It’s my fault, if it’s anyone’s at all. I mentioned to him that we’ve been fooling around, so I suppose he’s assuming some sort of protective brother role and being cold on purpose. Sorry about that. He’s usually nicer and chattier. Willam will vouch for him.”

“Oh. You told him?” Brian marvels, “So that’s what meeting the family is like,”

“Sort of. Usually with less ice cream and faulty gaydars.” Justin snorts. “You heading to yoga?”

“Yeah,” Brian confirms, tilting his head in the direction of his classes. “I’m walking. You?”

“Can I walk with? I’ll grab an Uber from your building. Then I’m just going home. Ordering Indian. Watching Feud. Regretting going to the gym,” Justin says, falling in place next to Brian as they stroll through the Sunday heat. “But you’re not getting rid of me until I hear about the date.”

He groans. “Horrible. I called my date gay too. That’s twice today. And guess what, Joanne, he said he wasn’t.”

“What?”

“He’s not gay-gay, just gym gay.”

“Oh god, not one of those.” Justin sounds both sympathetic and personally offended.

“But you know what’s worse? I enjoyed the fuck out of the sex. He’s got, hands down, the firmest ass I’ve ever seen in my entire wretched existence. And I loved every spray-tanned inch of it.”

“Well, that’s a happy ending.” Justin laughs. “Will you go out with him again, then?”

“Hell no. God, I hated the date itself. I don’t know why people do it. Horrible. You’re both trying to impress each other and trying to be polite even when he’s being an ass, and it’s just such a chore, the whole thing.”

“You’re being cynical. Dates can be fun, you just had a bad one.”

“I guess,” he concedes. “I guess meeting your friend’s brothers can also be fun, I just happened to make an ass of myself.”

“Precisely,” he says. “We’ll get you a life coach, girl. You can be saved. Just trust and believe.”

“My first introduction as your fuck buddy of one week, and I’ve already made a bad impression,” he laments. “Whatever will that mean about our future?”

“You won’t get my hand in marriage, but we can always elope,” Justin suggests. He clears his throat, loops one arm around Brian’s, and gestures grandly to the streets of LA with the other. “Where to, my star-crossed lover? The world is ours, though lawful companionship not be.”

Passersby look on at Justin’s theatrics and keep a safe distance away. Brian laughs. “And I’m the embarrassing one.” Despite himself, he affects a Maxish accent and projects loudly, “The world indeed, my dear, is ours. As my heart is yours, and your cock mine forever.”

Justin drops the act and cackles wildly, unmindful of the people sending glances their way. He wipes a fake tear and turns to Brian. “That was beautiful. See, you’re one for romance after all.”

“God, if dating was anything like that, I’d be into it.”

“You’re such a grump. Dating can be fun and comfortable. It just has to do with compatibility. It’s just like sex, really. Sometimes you find someone who can get you off twice, thrice in a night. Sometimes you end up with someone, and neither of you are able to get it up, and you both hate yourselves a little. But you don’t blame the entire practice of sex for bad sexual encounters, do you?”

“I hate how sensible you’re being about this. But I dunno, dating, it’s just so much pressure. And for what? So you get to fuck someone exclusively for a couple of months until your insecurities eventually come out and eat the relationship from within, and the whole thing inevitably dissolves and leaves a trail of misery and bad blood in its wake? Fuck dating then, just skip straight to the fucking.”

“Slow down there.” Justin laughs, holding Brian back and pointing his head across the street. Brian blinks in that general direction, until it clicks that he’s been too preoccupied talking to pay heed to the ‘STOP WALKING’ light.

Justin looks straight ahead for a while, and then he speaks quietly, perhaps addressing Brian, or the streetlight across the way, or himself. “You’re right. Fucking is nice. I think I’m sticking to it right now actually, just to disentangle myself from the whole relationship aspect. Maybe just sleeping around for a while and not being in anything serious will help me be less of a needy, whiny bitch.”

“Oh.” Brian is taken aback. Justin’s no prude, and he’s always been happy to fuck a race chaser, but he’s also garnered a reputation for being a sappy romantic. “That’s an interesting exercise in self-control.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his feet now. “Dunno what my goal is really, just wanted to try it out. No actual dating for some time. None of the fancy dinners and movies and all that. Just sex.”

“Seems excruciating for you, I’ll be honest.”

“Well, sex isn’t a bad thing to be stuck with,” Justin reasons.

“Oh no, not at all. That’s my MO anyway. I support it. Just doesn’t seem like you, is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah? Do you think it’s stupid? Am I kidding myself here?” Justin asks, looking sincerely worried, and Brian feels bad for walking him to that edge, when he’s already made the decision for himself.

“No, no. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to want to get into,” he placates him. “And anyway, if you find that it isn’t for you, you can always go back to dating. That easy.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Justin says, nodding to himself. “I’m trying this, then.”

“Tell you what,” Brian begins, a smile playing on his lips. “Let’s make it fun, so you’re not worrying yourself over this. Because really, the point of sleeping around is that it should be fun, not a lonely way of forcibly deromanticizing yourself.”

“How?”

“Let’s make it a game.”

“A game?”

“Yeah. I’ll match you. For every guy you sleep with, I go out on a date with someone,” he offers, surprisingly not regretting it the moment it leaves his lips. But there is time for regret yet. When the first date with the next Paul commences, most likely. For now, Justin’s face is breaking out into a wicked smile, and that’s reason enough to commit to the game.

“No fucking way.” Justin looks like he’s having way too much fun now. “What if I get into an orgy?”

“I’ll do those speed dating things,” Brian haggles, laughing fondly at the sight of Justin furrowing his brows and seriously weighing the offer.

“Okay. That’s fair,” he decides with a firm nod. “So how do I win this game?”

“Does it have to have a winner? I think you win anyway, since you get to sleep around without the boring rituals of dating.”

“Well… then that’s not such a fun game for you, is it?” he says, frowning.

“Okay, fine. If you drop out of the no-dating life first, I win. If I drop out of the dating life first, you win.”

“Okay.” Justin beams. As the ‘WALK’ light comes on, he cheekily turns to Brian. “May the best woman,” he pauses and walks ahead, and then yells over his shoulder, “win!”

Brian laughs and wonders just what he has gotten himself into.

[promiscuous-jalapeno]

Songbird-Ch.2

Mystic Messenger Mafia AU

║ch1║║ch3║║ch4║║ch5║║ch6║

Word Count: 2,758

[VIOLENCE]

     The night air blew a rather unpleasant chill up your skirt, and you squinted to gaze at the neon sign just above you. The Stranger Lounge, one of the hottest joints in town, and your destination for the evening.

     “Hey there, dolly,” a sandy-haired boy called over to you as he leaned against the brick wall of the place, snapping his suspenders with a wink.

     You paid him no mind as you opened the door and stepped inside. The cigar smoke hit you as hard as the music. There was laughter and chit chat from men and women alike throughout the space. Girlies with feather fans were dancing on stage for a sea of small white round tables, covered in a cream colored cloth. Along the back wall were large U-shaped booths, for the more distinguished clientele. Men in suits with fat cigars stuck between their lips laughed with young beautiful women. This is where married men came to play, and the object of their fantasies came to make a quick buck, or at least earn a new fur coat.

     It was a rambunctious space, but it wasn’t where the action was. Oh, no. For the select few in the know, there was a much better spot. It lay below, hidden in the basement of this establishment. You made your way around tables of obnoxious cackling men and doe-eyed girls all clapping as the dancers kicked their legs in the air. Down a hallway and passed the kitchen where the laughter and music was drowned by the clanking of dishes and yelling of the cooks.

     “God damn it, Jimmie! Where the fuck are my steaks?! You killin' the cow yourself you slow son of…” their voices trailed as you walked further.

     Through another hallway and finally to a set of stairs leading you down a low narrow corridor. At the bottom lay a heavy wooden door. And behind that door lay criminals. Always the same familiar dryness in your throat as you took each step into the darkness. The click of your heels echoed off of the cold brick, counting down your last minute before entering this proverbial lions den.

     In the distance you could see a couple standing at the base of the steps. The metal slot of the door scraped open hard and a set of eyes leered through the slit.

     “Cat’s miaow,” you heard the fella say confidently and then smile to his girl. The grate slid shut with a bang and then there was silence.

     “Hey!” he began to bang on the door until it opened once again, “cat’s miaow! That was the password last week!”

     “Well, it ain’t last week no more, is it? So scram!” the gravelly voice spoke from behind the door.

     He pulled the girl back up the stairs, muttering curses under his breath and brushing into you as you passed each other.

     “But Johnny, you said-“ she whined and his face got red.

     “I know what I said, okay?!”

      The password to get in was ever-changing. This helped keep out any unfavorable people who had somehow managed to get in. But for those special few, such as yourself, you had a card. This could be shown at the door and allow you to gain entrance no matter what. Most of the carriers were gangsters and the affiliates of such. People you wouldn’t want to upset by making them figure out through the grape-vine how to get in.

     You fumbled through your handbag at the door, looking for the card when you heard the clicking of locks. The door creaked open to the sound of a familiar jazz band playing and the thumping of half-full glasses on the bar top.

     “I know who you are, no n-need for that, Miss,” the doorman tipped his hat to you as walked through the smoky interior.

     The ceiling was low and the lights were dim. A few warm bodies bumped against you and you found yourself seated at the L-shaped bar. The counter was slightly wet and you pulled your hands back to avoid it. A sea of brightly colored liquor bottles lined some shelves all the way up to the ceiling. Some of them, you imagined, worth more than you made in the last few months combined.

     “Sorry about that, little lady,” the handsome owner swiped a rag in front of you to clean the mess.

     You swiveled in your stool to watch the band play for a moment. The music from the instruments vibrated in your chest and you smiled watching the crowd of men and women drunkenly dance away in front of the stage.

     “Gunna dance a bit?” he asked you.

     “Not tonight, Zenny,” you sighed and faced his red eyes once more.

     “A drink, then?” he pulled a clean glass from underneath and set it in front of you with a smile.

     “You know I can’t stand that coffin varnish,” you laughed.

     He had known, of course. Instead, he was pouring you some water in the glass. A white bandage was wrapped around his knuckles and he slid it towards you, the ice clinking.

     “Hey! How’s that hand? It looks brand new, already,” you exclaimed.

     Just two days before he had been in a tussle with another man bent on causing a raucous. Zen wiped the floor with him, but his hand had been badly hurt. You’d never even know, watching him work the bar tonight as he was.

     “Ah, it’s nothing,” he rubbed his hand, “bandage is basically for show at this point. I’m all healed, really.”

     Beneath that warm and charming smile was a tough guy. A character who grew up on the streets and made his way in life by understanding respect and hard work. And on top of that, he had a beautiful singing voice. Girl from all over town flocked to watch him at the mic, making their dates jealous as they got moon-eyed over him.

     It was strange, to like someone like Zen. In any other scenario you would have him arrested. But here you were, sitting in this blind pig he ran, laughing with him. Having connections with the very people you set out to investigate was not something you had planned for. Often, you lay awake at night pondering whether or not you could really see this thing through. Could you sit across someone like Zen in that courtroom, your finger pointing towards him as he sat in shackles? All eyes on you, all ears listening to your testimony. You let the water swill in your mouth for a bit before swallowing it along with the thoughts and anxieties that had built up in the moment.

     “They’re in the back room, waiting for you I’m sure,” he mentioned while filling up another man’s glass.

     “Yeah, waiting for me to bring the drinks,” you said with sarcasm.

     “Hey, what do we always say? There could be worse things. For people like us, there could be worse things,” he replied.

     He wasn’t wrong. Just remembering the bullet from the other night had you suddenly delighted to carry a tray of jag juice around for the men.

     “Butt me?” you asked.

     He pulled a cigarette for you and lit it when you placed it between your lips. You gave him a wave before heading off through the crowds and into another room. Although the music carried through, there was no dancing here. Only gambling and heavy drinking. In the center of the room you saw Saeyoung seated in his usual spot at the table, holding a hand full of cards while puffing from a strong cigar with a smirk.

     Yoosung stood along the wall but rushed to greet you as you walked through. You took a seat on a nearby plush chair and blew a puff of smoke.

     “There you are!” Yoosung smiled as he stood above you.

     “Here I am,” you grinned back.

     “They’re in good spirits tonight, I think.”

     They, meaning Mad Hatter and the rest of the gang at the card table. Some of them were Capos for the family, you knew that from all you had researched. Others were local business owners who occasionally did work for the outfit. You could scan the room and put a name to each face. Except one…a younger looking male holding a drink tray was standing in a corner.

     His thick dark hair and quivering nature had you unsettled. While everyone seemed to be enjoying the night, he seemed to do not much but stare at the card table. You took another drag of your cigarette and narrowed your eyes onto him, inquisitively.

     “Who’s that?” you asked Yoosung.

     “I’m not sure. He seems pretty quiet. I think Zen might’a hired him? Pretty shy, but can you blame him?” he shrugged.

     “Lucky! We’re thirsty,” Saeyoung taunted from the table.

     Yoosung jumped up to grab his tray of glasses while the men threw more money onto the table and carried on with their conversations.

     “You take a drink, first,” Saeyoung gestured to a full glass and urged Yoosung to drink.

      “No…I don’t…” Yoosung shrunk into himself at the thought.

     “Come on, be a man and drink with us, Lucky!” he pat Yoosung on the back roughly and caused him to choke on the liquid.

     Everyone was laughing at Yoosung’s face, he was clearly trying not to spit out the harsh alcohol burning his throat and lungs.

     “Get outta here,” Saeyoung laughed, only to trip him as Yoosung tried to walk away from the table.

     A few of the drink glasses spilled on the carpet as he tumbled and the table was roaring. You tossed your cigarette in a nearby abandoned glass, going to help Yoosung clean up the mess, when Saeyoung spoke in a more serious tone.

      “You aren’t laughing,” and as he spoke the space went still and quiet. The only sound being the band from the other room who simultaneously picked up the pace with a new song.

     At first you thought he was looking to you. Your heart went into your throat and you froze, only to see him looking directly behind you at the dark haired boy.

     “Was that not funny enough for you? Are you worried for poor Lucky, here?” he took the cigar from between his teeth and with a smirk pointed it towards Yoosung who had straightened all the glasses and was picking up bits of ice. “Lucky, come here. You’re alright, aren’t you?”

     Yoosung ran to his side with a nod. Saeyoung puffed on his cigar for a moment before clenching it in his teeth once more. He smiled and pretended to dust Yoosung off, straightening his bow tie and vest for him.

     “See? Kid’s alright,” Saeyoung held his palms open as if he was showing Yoosung off to the room.

     The boy said nothing. You stood only a few feet from him now and could see his eyes were unblinking. His hands trembled slightly at his sides as if he was deciding to reach into his pocket or not.

     “You’ve been staring at me all night. If you keep staring without saying anything I’m going to pluck your eyes out of your fucking skull,” he took a swig from his glass and sighed.

     The room was thick with tension now. Everybody was staring at this boy, Yoosung’s mouth hung open. He couldn’t be more than 15. He was small and skinny, his eyes were still that of a child. His lips were moving but his words were a whisper. If you hadn’t been so close you wouldn’t have caught some of his mumbling.

     “Killed him…killed my dad,” the boys voice was hoarse and quivering. He had a crazed look in his eyes.

     His fingers slowly reached for his hip and you took a quick breath when you glimpsed the outline of a gun. Your eyes flashed to Saeyoung who was making a move of his own. Of course, he wasn’t a fool. But you had to do something. Lifting your skirt you whipped your own gun out and brought it down with a rich thud to the back of the kids skull. He went hurling to the ground on his knees and you kicked him in the side. Not too hard, but hard enough.

     “I think this kid’s bent,” you played it off, “probably been sneaking drinks all night. Come on, you. Time to go home,” you heaved and picked him up by the collar, dragging him towards the back door and into the alley.

     Your heart was racing and you tried to keep your hands from shaking so much after you let him loose. Bending down you got close enough to whisper.

     “You bitch. He killed my pop,” he said angrily through tears.

“Go home. Kiss your mama. You have no idea what you almost got yourself into,” you stood up, “don’t be such a dummy. You have to take care of your family now.”

     You left him out there and walked back inside, glad to hear that the normal chatter has resumed.

     “He wants to see you,” one of Saeyoung’s body guards appeared from your side and nodded his head in a gesture to follow him.

     The room looked like an office. You’d never seen it before, perhaps where they did the book keeping. What you wouldn’t give for a few minutes alone in there to read through some of the documents. You made a mental note of where it was. Perhaps one day, if Zen let you in. Maybe if you said you forgot something…If they had names, any names at all to connect them to other syndicates and families, or to where this booze was coming from…

     The red haired man stood up from a chair and walked until he was arms length in front of you. Very rarely had you been so close to him. Only now could you see just how handsome he really was. How could someone so cruel be so good looking?

     “How do you know that kid?” he asked with a dull face.

     “I don’t,” which was the truth.

     “And I don’t believe you. He’s about to pull a gun on me and you saved him anyway? Don’t lie to me,” he smiled, his gloved fingers traced your jaw line for a moment, “do you know who sent him, maybe? Maybe you did, and gave him a whack when you got cold feet?”

     His hand now had a grip on your jaw, and you realized he had been pushing you back and now had you pressed between him and a wall. The tips of his fingers pressed in further and he tilted his head while looking at you with a curious grin. Your chest was beating so hard you could almost swear everyone in the room could hear it, but you knew it was only your imagination.

     “If you get your paws off me, I could talk to you,” you spit back, not knowing where this fire was coming from.

      The few men in the room made an ‘ooh’ sound and a few chuckled at Saeyoung being had. He moved his face closer to yours, looking deep into your eyes as he released his fingers.

     “She may be cute as a kitten but this one has claws, boys!” he laughed and stepped away.

     They were all smiling as well. It was like being part of a joke you knew nothing about. You straightened your headband and took a quiet deep breath.

        “I’m just fucking with you,” he took his hat off and ran his hand through his red hair as he leaned on the front of the desk with a smile, “I know who that kid is. Oh! I see that look on your face. Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m not going to do anything to him. He’s just a squirt, right?”

     The men all seemed to relax again and some even lit up a smoke as they sat down in their chairs.

     “There’s something about you. I don’t know what it is, but I like you. You’re observant. And you’ve got a kick to you,” he brought a glass of hooch over and placed it in your hand.

     Even the smell was strong enough to knock you back on your butt. You let it wet your lips but nothing more. Was the underboss…inviting you to drink with him?

     “Anyway, I’ve got your nickname figured out,” he adjusted the flower on your headband with delicate fingers, “I’m going to call you Kitty.”

[copper-wasp]

Hi there! Can I request for a part 2/chapter 2 for “War Room”? This time Titus joins the party hehehe. So a threesome with Nyx and Titus and some daddy kink in it and magic play(the electrocuted orgasm or something). 😏🤤

Here you are! This is pretty filthy, so prepare yourself! 😂

War Room Part II

Nyx Ulric x Reader x Titus Drautos

Rating: E

Words: 3,041

Also posted to AO3!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Nyx was insatiable since your tryst in the war room. Constantly touching you if he’d pass you in the halls, pulling you to the side after everyone else left a meeting to press a long, passionate kiss on your lips. Coming to your rooms at all hours of the night to have you beneath him, squirming in pleasure over and over again.

He’d text you lewd things when he knew you were in important strategy meetings, and you’d eventually just have to turn off your phone in fear that someone would see the multitude of dick pics he sent you. Not that they were even remotely unwanted; you always promptly saved them in your spank bank for when Nyx would be gone on a mission for more than a day or two.

You tried to put him in his place, tried to be stern, but you were just so weak when it came to him. He’d look at you with those soft blue eyes, trace his finger down your jaw and lean in for a sweet kiss, warm and gentle and you’d melt. And if there was enough time, he’d peel your clothes off and lavish the rest of your body with his skilled mouth.

You were in The Room again one day, sitting at the table rewriting a set of notes you’d taken in another meeting, Captain Drautos sitting across from you doing some of the same.

You heard the door creak open, but didn’t spare a glance; you already knew it was Nyx, and that fact was confirmed when you felt him place his hands on your shoulders, followed by his lips on your cheek.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he said by your ear, urging you to turn your head so he could give you a proper kiss. You acquiesced, letting him claim your mouth with a long, languid kiss, feeling his tongue slip past your lips and gently slide against yours.

You were about to get lost in it when you heard Titus clear his throat from across the table. Eyes springing open, you pulled away from Nyx, wiping your mouth on your sleeve and mumbling an apology. Nyx didn’t get the hint, or was just being an asshole (you figured the latter), and attached his mouth to your neck, sloppily kissing and sucking at it, lewd noises and all.

You tried to push him away, but he was like a lamprey, and soon there would be a bright red bruise on your delicate skin, “proof of his affection,” as he’d say.

“Nyx,” you warned, and you heard him chuckle next to your ear.

“Take a look at the Captain,” he whispered, so softly you could barely hear him, but your eyes flicked over to where Titus was sitting. He was trying so hard not to look at you, his lips a thin line, with his hand clenched tightly on the pen he was holding.

“Told you he wants you,” he said with a quiet laugh, and you flushed. You had shrugged it off when Nyx expressed that particular sentiment to you before, but it seemed that there was some truth to it after all.

“Good thing for him, I’m willing to share,” Nyx said, his hand creeping down to caress at the top of your breast through your shirt. Now it was your turn to flush, not actually thinking that Nyx would be even remotely into your fantasy of having the both of them at the same time. Guess he could read you better than you thought.

Your lips parted, the smallest moan issuing forth from between them, and you heard the Captain make a strangled noise, slamming the pen against the wood.

“You two aren’t going to fuck on the table again, are you?” he asked, laser focusing on you. You looked back at him with a blissed out expression, Nyx still continuing his ministrations, his lips dancing along the soft skin of your neck once again.

“Not unless you join us, sir,” Nyx replied with a grin, and you watched the Captain’s eyes widen, following the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly.

“Ex... excuse me?” he replied after a few tense moments with your soft panting breaths the only noise in the room.

“I know you want her, and, lucky for you, she’d like you too,” Nyx said, biting down on your shoulder, making you whimper. You could feel your arousal pooling low in your belly, just the thought of the Captain’s rough, calloused fingers touching your heated skin enough to get your slick flowing.

Nyx was trying to kill you; you had never been so simultaneously embarrassed and turned on in your life, and if one or both of them didn’t do something about the latter soon, you were going to explode.

“Of course there are rules,” Nyx continued, deft fingers unbuttoning the stiff cotton of your shirt. Once he got to the last button, he pulled your chair out and urged you to stand so he could push the garment off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. “The first is to go and lock that door.”

Titus didn’t move for a moment, catching your eye to make sure you were serious. You managed to nod to him, and he quickly stood, rushing over to do as Nyx asked.

“Good,” Nyx said, pulling your camisole over your head, his hands roaming over your bared skin, warm and smooth. “Next, you don’t do anything without her permission. She’s in charge, understand?”

“Y-yes,” Titus said, a little more confident than before. You were watching him like a hawk, your imagination running on overdrive, wondering what he’d be like with you. Gentle? Rough? A little of both?

“Lastly, her ass is mine,” Nyx said with finality, grabbing two healthy handfuls of your rear, pulling your body flush with his as he captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

You held up your hand towards the Captain, giving him a ‘come hither’ gesture with your slender pointer finger, and he was on you in seconds, the hard line of his chest pressed up against your back, hands winding their way around your waist. He kissed your neck while Nyx was still in control of your mouth, four hands caressing over your molten skin. You felt the Captain feel around for the fastenings of your pants, quickly undoing them and pushing the fabric over your hips. Nyx broke apart from his searing kiss to kneel down to remove your boots, pulling your pants off the rest of the way once they hit your knees.

You felt the Captain’s lips by your ear, his hands teasingly flitting around the waistband of your panties. “May I kiss you properly?” he asked and you smiled, turning to face him. You placed your hands on either side of his neck, pressing your mouth against his. Kissing him was different, but the exact opposite of unpleasant, and you could feel the skill in his lips as he molded them to yours, kissing you like a man starved.

You felt Nyx’s hands at the clasp of your bra, a swift pull and he released your breasts from their prison. You quickly discarded the garment, pressing yourself against the Captain, forcing your tongue into his mouth. He made a satisfied noise, kissing you with fervor.

You pulled away after a blissful minute, Nyx’s hand creeping down the front of your panties, and you demanded the Captain strip with a ragged voice. You did add a ‘sir’ at the end, to be respectful.  

While Titus took care of his meddlesome clothing, you attention was brought back to Nyx, his hands caressing over your bare breasts as he captured your lips again. He had removed his clothing while you were busy with the Captain, and his cock pressed delightfully against your stomach, warm and hard.

“Nyx,” you whispered against his mouth, feeling his hand slide down your front, beneath the elastic of your underwear, parting your lips and dipping his fingers into the slick pouring out from your center.

“She’s dripping already, Captain,” he teased, looking down at you with a smirk, “You’d better get over here before she gets bored and hops on me instead.”

“You’ll be the last thing on her mind once I’m fucking her,” Titus replied, and you felt your body flush, a shiver passing through you in anticipation.

“That’s some big talk from the both of you, are you sure you can back it up?” you asked between panting breaths. Nyx quickly divested you of your last remaining bit of clothing, plunging two fingers into your tight heat. Your knees buckled at the sudden rough treatment, but Titus was there to catch you, wrapping his strong arms around your middle and attaching his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and biting until you were moaning.

You were thoroughly enjoying the attention you were receiving from both men, until you felt an intense warmth between your legs. No, not just between your legs, inside you. You let out a pleasured yelp, Nyx twisting his fingers inside of you as he warmed you up from the inside.

“Fuck, Nyx... are you... using magic on me?” you asked, gripping hard onto his shoulders. You heard him chuckle darkly, tilting your chin up to look into his eyes, burning with lust.

“Thought I’d give it a try. What do you think?” he asked, thrusting particularly hard into you on the last word, warmth ratcheting up even hotter, not enough to burn, but enough to make you nearly come on his fingers right then.

You couldn’t even form a response, you were feeling so much pleasure from your lover, heightened even more when you felt a chill over your nipples. It seemed that Titus didn’t want to be outdone, pinching your nipples until they were hard peaks, icy cold fingers tugging until you arched your back, pressing your head against his chest. You couldn’t believe you were about to come, sandwiched between two men using elemancy on you, but here you were. Your orgasm crashed over you when Nyx rubbed his thumb hard against your clit, vision blurring as you cried out. Two sets of hands were there to hold you, both returning to their normal temperatures as they ushered you over to one of the large couches towards the back of the room. They let you have a moment of reprieve, aftershocks still coursing through your body, before you felt one pair of the hands pull your rear to the edge, and a slick finger toy with the tight ring of muscle of your asshole. You had a fleeting thought of where Nyx had managed to find a bottle of lube, but knowing him he probably carried it around with him for just such an occasion.

“Oh, gods, you’re going to kill me,” you said, pulling the Captain’s mouth to yours once again.

“Don’t die yet,” Nyx replied, adding a second finger into your ass, stretching you out until you had to break away from Titus to cry out in pleasure. “We haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

Satisfied that you were adequately prepared to take him, Nyx sat on the sofa, gently pulling you away from your passionate kisses with the Captain. He positioned you so that your back was against his chest, and he nipped at your neck while a hand drifted down to tease at your sensitive clit once again.

You felt his cock at your asshole, the anticipation almost too much to bear. You were about to sink down into him when he held you up, just teasing your tight ring with the head of his cock. You whined, trying to get him inside you, but his grip was solid.

“You’ll want to watch this Captain,” Nyx said, still playing with your clit. “Just try not to come from the sight of it,” he added, and you just knew he was smirking. Titus stood and moved to stand in front of you, giving you a sweet kiss before he set his sights on your most intimate parts, watching Nyx tease you.

“Are you ready?” Nyx whispered in your ear and you nodded enthusiastically, managing to get out a ‘yes.’ His grip on your waist loosened, you pushed down on his slippery cock, gasping once the head pushed past the muscles at your entrance, the rest of his substantial length following in one languid thrust. The soft moan that issued forth from your lips was full of pleasure as you let yourself get used to Nyx’s cock. It had already been there on more than one occasion, filling and stretching you so damn good, and you were already in heaven sitting there on his lap. Titus was completely enthralled, his thumbs rubbing circles on your inner thighs. You wove your hands into his hair, pulling his face towards your cunt, wanting him to taste you. You also knew Nyx would get off on another man’s mouth being so close to his cock as it was settled nicely in your ass.

He was a smart man, immediately tonguing your clit as you rocked your hips on Nyx’s length, working yourself to orgasm.

“That’s perfect, baby girl, take everything you want from us,” Nyx’s said into your ear, reaching around to tease your nipples as the Captain fucked you with his mouth. “Come in his mouth, let him drink you down. Wouldn’t you like that, Captain?”

Titus nodded, slipping two of his fingers inside your warm, wet heat as he continued sucking on your bud. You were so close, just a little more and you’d be tipped over the edge. Nyx helped you, lifting you up off his cock and slamming you down, again and again until your thighs tensed, clamping around Titus’s head as you came for the second time, slick gushing out from your hole, lapped up eagerly by a willing tongue.

“She tastes good, doesn’t she Captain?” Nyx asked, continuing to fuck up into your ass as Titus wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Absolutely divine,” he replied, grasping your chin hard to force his tongue past your lips, spreading your taste inside your mouth.

“Fuck me... gods, please. Fuck me,” you whined, dragging your nails down Titus’s chest. Leaning over you, he lined himself up, pumping his length a few times before pushing inside your cunt to the hilt. You cried out, tears of pain and pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. Titus immediately started moving in tandem with Nyx’s thrusts, making sure one of your holes was always filled, his arms boxing you and Nyx in as they pressed against the back of the sofa. You were completely lost in pleasure, body feeling so light as these two gorgeous men fucked you into oblivion. Nyx wrapped his arms around your waist, helping to leverage you on his cock, and you draped your own over the Captain’s shoulders to try to ground yourself.

After coming hard twice already, you didn’t know how your body was going to handle another orgasm, but you could feel it already brewing deep inside you, twin cocks striking the pulse point over and over that would soon set your every nerve alight.  

You whispered their names like a prayer, two sets of lips on either side of your neck, kissing and biting and sucking at your sensitive skin. Titus thrusted at the same time as Nyx, and you couldn’t hold out any longer; your release washed over you, cunt and ass clenching tightly around their cocks, a soundless cry parting your lips.

Nyx came next, stilling with his cock buried as deep in your ass as it could go, warm gushes of come splashing your insides. Titus was close, his breathing heavy and strained by your ear. You sucked his earlobe between your lips before biting down gently, earning you a delicious groan in return.

“Come in me Captain,” you said, feeling Nyx’s hands run up and down your sides.

“You won’t regret it,” Nyx added, breathless and completely spent.

A few hard thrusts into your slick cunt and the Captain released inside you, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss as he emptied his seed into your womb. Panting breaths were all you heard as the three of you came down from your highs, two dicks still comfortably inside you.

Nyx turned your head to kiss you gently, and you soon found another set of fingers turning your head back, Titus also kissing your swollen lips softly. He pulled out of you first, slowly, and you felt his come drip out of your hole as he freed himself. You swiped a finger over your willingly abused entrance, sure to keep eye contact with the Captain as you licked his release off your slender digit.

Titus smirked, dropping unceremoniously onto the couch next to you. “You keep that up and I’ll have to have you again,” he commented, wiping the sweat off of his brow. You chuckled, letting Nyx help you off of his cock. You stretched your arms up over your head before sitting back on his lap, resting your legs on top of Titus’s thighs. Nyx kissed the tip of your nose, and you sighed in contentment, feeling a little heat on your legs where the Captain was rubbing them.

“I have to say you didn’t disappoint, Captain,” you commented, giving him a smile. He smiled back at you, letting his head drop back, eyes closing.

“I’m glad I was up to your standards,” he replied and you heard Nyx snort.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“Up to your standards? I’m worried you’re going to leave me, the way you were clinging to him,” he said and you punched his shoulder playfully.

“Don’t be stupid,” you said, giving him a stern look. “But, we may have to invite the Captain here to play with us more often.”

Nyx squeezed you against his chest, pushing your hair back behind your ear. “I think I’d be okay with that.”

“So what do you say, sir?” you asked, reaching down to grab Titus’s hand.

“I would find that quite agreeable.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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