#an hour SHARP to leave like i need more than an hour IF IM HOSTING !!!!! like i want ATTENTION after

[bibleofficial]

ok so man that i hooked up w like 2 weeks ago that i wanted to see for like dates: cancelled. i’m bored of him 😭😭😭

[crimsonophelia]

I came across this blog by pure chance and to say I’m in love with your work would be a COMPLETE understatement <3 If you don’t mind, could I request an imagine involving Diluc and a femme maid reader? The reader has feelings for Diluc, but knowing the consequences of what would happen if she were to even try anything with him, she instead devotes all of her love and care into her work—cooking him extra hearty breakfasts, staying up late well into the night to welcome Diluc home after his duties as the Darknight Hero and to help patch up any wounds he might have acquired, etcetera—entirely unaware of Diluc subconsciously picking up her signs and slowly growing fond of her for it.

It all comes to light when the reader makes a passing comment about being excited to take care of Diluc’s children someday. (“Well, who wouldn’t be excited to take care of their own children?” “...My own children? I was talking about your children, Master Diluc.”) And Diluc promptly ends up struck with the realization that he can see no one else take care of him and his future family better than the reader herself (as his wife, perhaps? 😉)

I apologize if my request was a little specific, feel free to absolutely take any creative liberty with it—just the honor of you writing it would be MORE than enough. Thank you, and I hope you have a truly wonderful day! <3

featuring: diluc x fem!reader

warnings: none

published: april 23 2021

form: imagine

a/n: anon you’re so nice i’m gonna cry TTTT but really, you flatter me, and i also love this request. diluc deserves soft domesticity. i hope you like it, my dear! <3

mondstadt around windblume festival was always quite busy. the knights were busy setting up the decorations around the favonius headquarters, and all the local businesses were preparing for extra-heavy business during the season.

dawn winery was no exception. the ragnvindr family, led by young master diluc, made lucrative incomes during this time of the year, what with all the young lovers courting one another left and right, feeding the city’s wine, restaurant, and flower businesses. the winery also leveraged its monopoly on mondstadt’s most diverse selection of wines and spirits, and hosted numerous winery and vineyard tours throughout the course of the windblume festival. 

needless to say, the staff and owners of the dawn winery were not short of chores and tasks that needed to be completed in order to prepare for incoming business. you were certainly no exception, as a maid of the winery, and by extension, the ragnvindr estate. 

you were tasked with decorating the interior of the winery with various floral arrangements of what they liked to call “windblumes”, but in reality were just a number of other flowers that vaguely fit the description. the rest of the maids were outdoors, preparing the vineyard for the wine tours and marking which barrels of wine would be made available to visitors on the wine tours.

though you were rather abashed, you hoped that this would be an opportunity to find some time to be alone with master diluc. you would never openly admit to yourself your painful longing you felt for the master of the estate, the beautiful man with the flaming hair. regardless, it was unbecoming of a maid to think such things about her employer. having a roof over your head and a stable income was already more than you could ever ask for.

but you couldn’t help but to feel a certain way whenever the young man occupied the same room as you, his presence so large yet so humble, always conscious of those around him. ever since he was a boy, when you had first met him, he had nothing to offer but kindness.

it was years of him returning to the estate in the ungodly hours of the night, covered in cuts and bruises, in which you patched him up, never asking more than “where does it hurt the most”, during which you fell for him as fast as his bandages turned as bloody red as his silken hair.

it was years of you two sneaking glances at eachother, summers in which you and the maids were out under the sun, counting the season’s harvests, where you would catch diluc’s eyes roaming you and only. and when you met his gaze, he would turn away, bashful as a naughty child, and cheeks dusting a rosy pink, almost as dark as the grapes he so loved to walk amongst.

leaving your memories and returning to your duties, you continued to string up the lanyards of cecilias and lilies across the darkwood of the winery foyer. the flora was indeed, quite pretty, although their lightness did clash a little with the dark and brooding mahogany bookshelves you were pinning them onto. reaching up to try and place some cecilias onto the top shelf, you realized that your fingers could only reach a few inches short of the top. dammit. you would have to go fetch the stepladder from the storage closet.

as you were about to turn around, you noticed an arm from your peripheral vision reach up and place the flower up onto the upoer shelf with ease.

“good afternoon, [y/n]. these decorations look lovely. good work.” flashing you his uncharacteristically warm, familiar grin that he seemed to save only for you, diluc finished stringing up the rest of the lanyard across the parts of the bookshelf he know you would be too short to reach.

“good day, master diluc. you flatter me.” you turned away, ashamed at your own girlish excitement. “i hope your work is going well?” the formalities exchanged between you and diluc had become almost like a secret language, one always being able to effectively distinguish the other’s true feelings, beneath the saccharine emptiness of upper-class etiquette. yet this time you hoped he wouldn’t be able to read the fluttering of your heart through your words.

“hm. quite well, indeed.” the man stepped back from where you were working, and looked at the room, as if assessing every nook and cranny with his usual, critical glare. he wasn’t wearing his usual leather suit and fur jacket. today, the young master donned a sharp, three-piece suit, always neat and pressed. perhaps he was ready to go into the city to take care of winery business.

he looked around the foyer, squinting as if looking for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“is something the matter, master diluc?” you questioned. did you place the flowers asymmetrically? or perhaps there was too much space between the shelves and the potted cecilias.

“[y/n], do you ever feel like the winery is too empty?”

confused, you shook your head. perhaps now wasnt the time to bring up the emptiness left behind after master ragnvindr, senior, passed away. you always felt for diluc, and master kaeya as well, after their shining light of a father left the world. diluc had never been the same since then—you had caught him looking through childhood photos in the estate library when he thought nobody else was present.

“well”, you started, choosing your words carefully, “when the time comes for master diluc to have a family of his own, the estate might feel a little livelier then. and i would be very excited to nanny the future generation of ragnvindrs as well, if you’ll excuse my preposterousness.”

the man blinked, as if trying to make sense of what you just said. “nanny? dont you mean-“

oh. diluc sensed that he might have made a mistake. but yet, it made such perfect sense. in what universe could he accept [y/n] not being the mother of his children, the pillar keeping both himself and this entire estate afloat? certainly not this one.

the realization dawned upon him, as well as the regrets from years of inaction in his past. he wasn’t about to let someone else slip through his fingers. not again.

“say, [y/n], my dear. how do you feel about going into the city with me tonight? i have some business i need to run and i’d be much obliged if you accompanied me.”

a/n: aaaaah im pretty happy with how this turned out, and i hope you like it too! i wasnt able to go with your prompt word for word, which i hope is okay. the whole time i was literally imagining scenes from downton abbey lolol

[feelin-woozy]

accidentally catching your ex or the person you’re in love with getting frisky with someone else, and having to pretend like it doesn’t bother you

But this time with Billy? I loved the Stu drabble, and now im dying to see the reverse

Word Count: 831

Pairing: Stu Macher x Reader, unrequited Billy Loomis x Reader

Rating: M

Nights like this weren’t uncommon, where the three of you would spend the night at whoever’s turn it was to host, wasting hours watching horror movies you all had seen countless times and eating snacks till kernels and nougat were lodged between molars.

Billy awakes sometime before sunrise, the springs of the couch digging in uncomfortably to his lower back. It was his turn to sleep on the couch; you have laid claim to the spare bedroom. Though Stu had jokingly offered that Billy could be his little spoon in his bed, his face had curled up at the suggestion, and he rolled his eyes before elbowing the scrawny boy between the ribs.

He closes his eyes and tries to let sleep retake hold of his body. Inhaling deeply, his lungs expand before they deflate with a sharp exhale. He’s on the verge of drifting off once more when a noise startles him, making his limbs jerk with the sudden motion of falling that takes hold of his body. It was a breathy little note, the noise floating down from the second floor. Billy blinks against the darkness, listening carefully. He hears another noise, this one closer to a whimper. It makes his gut twist, his belly doing flops as his temperature begins to climb.

“Stu,” The name is jarring, a sound he had imagined so many times before but with his own name. And here you were, recreating it but with the name of his best friend perched sinfully on your tongue. “Shh, come on, you gotta be quiet.”

You sound so pretty with your words drenched in debauchery. It makes Billy’s mind wander; he thinks about slipping his own hands under your faded t-shirt, imagining how your back would arch into his touch lips, parting with a breathy plea. But the fantasy shatters once your tongue wraps around the syllable of another man’s name.

It makes his stomach twist, this time out of anger and disgust rather than lust and need. It’s ugly and unjust, and Billy knows this. Yet he can’t stop the way his lips curl into a sneer at the thought of you, of the idea of his best friend’s hands skirting over the soft skin under your shirt. The claim Billy had staked for you was only a fabrication of his mind, never spoken or brought forth into reality. The idea of you being Billy’s was delusional at worst, a long shot at best. He wedged his bets on it being the former.

You didn’t deserve someone like him. He couldn’t hide the darkness that encompassed him; he was someone who was shards of glass waiting to slice into unsuspecting flesh. You deserved more, someone like Stu, carefree and happy who knew how to hide who he was, what they were. It made Billy burn with a jealous rage, hot and fiery, sparks floating through the air waiting to singe and burn.

A part of him wants to take the fire that burns within himself, to destroy whatever you and Stu were cultivating. To watch it burn like a pyre, though he wouldn’t mourn the loss of whatever you two had. There would be some sick satisfaction that came from watching the two of you crumble to pieces. He could let their nighttime activities slip to you, to bare his teeth like a wolf and show you what he was. What Stu was.

The more intelligent, more rational area wills himself to leave it be despite the pain. It was best to leave the wound to heal than to agitate it with would have been, could’ve been, and should’ve beens. Not to mention the danger that comes with exposing their crimes; perhaps a prison sentence would follow? Maybe even the death penalty. Billy lets his eyes close again, takes another deep breath in, and holds it till his lungs burn before he exhales again.

Still, Billy wonders if things could have been different. Had he spoken up, would you have been his? Or would you have merely laughed in his face, sending him away with his tail between his legs and shame painted over his face? His brows pinch at the thought. Perhaps it truly was better that you were with Stu. If only because the heaviness he felt in his chest now wasn’t comparable to how bad it could be. In some universe where you were his, where he had made his move, would you have left him upon finding out that his hands were soaked in crimson? Would you leave Stu when you found out? It would break Stu’s heart, Billy knows this, but it wasn’t his problem. A part of him hoped it would happen so he could slide in like a serpent, whispering devious suggestions to Stu that tearing you apart, gutting you like a fish, would mend his heart. Billy wonders if the revenge for what you had inadvertently done to him would taste as good as he imagines it.

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Enchanted

finally finished this!!! im so happy with it, and will be writing it in thomas’s pov as soon as possible and perhaps part 2? 

Sleep evades me. My mind keeps returning to last night, specifically to a certain person I had met last night. I pull the covers higher, burying my head as I finally gave into my wandering mind.

~

I stand alone, needing a break from my aunt Amelia. The music was beautiful, a soft sound that filled the entire room. The party itself was decorated in a magical way, the columns in the building encompassed in vines, the tables with floral centrepieces. It was a mixture of whimsy and magic, yet no one seemed happy to be here. Everyone I spoke to was forcing smiles, men faked laughter as they believed this was not a party but a way to make business deals and enforce their own reputation. It was absurd how no one was just admiring the effort people put into making this perfect. It was the same every month, I'd walk to the edge of the room and watch. To calm my nerves, to explore the different flower pieces, the musicians and the flickering candles from the chandelier. The gowns women wore only once to try and show their wealth, whilst I tended to wear the same, as it fit the magical atmosphere this room desperately tried to make people see, yet they were too blind by their greed, the need to prove themselves to everyone to just simply stand back and enjoy themselves.

My cousin Liza seemed to be in conversation with Dacina, the host of the party, someone I had spoken to a few times, each being more enjoyable. Her calming demeanour and charm always lifted my spirits. Her family organizes this ball once a month, her father hates it but makes a lot of business so it is always left to her to plan and design it. With the help of Illeana and lots of their servants they always make this place ethereal. Her brother, Thomas Cresswell, only ever shows up for a few hours then leaves, only being able to handle the faking niceties for so long. Dacina told me of his tolerance, or lack thereof, to society. She speaks highly of her brother, as I once did, yet I have never met Mr.Cresswell. 

The varnished wooden floor slowly gathers marks as couples danced. How I longed to be one of those dancers, being swivelled by someone I loved. They would look at me as if I was the most magical thing in the room, with a soft smile and adoration in every word he whispers to me. I would be his equal as we spun around, the world fading into nothing as we held each other. Alas, those dreams are not likely for someone cruel enough to carve the dead. 

I snap out of my fantasy as a group of older men walk towards the buffet near me. They talk loud enough so everyone can hear, shockingly talking about work. I roll my eyes at them and look away back to the dance floor. The lights above cast shadows, making the scene feel like my imagination as I sit by a fireplace to read a romance novel. If this was a novel, there would be my love interest here, watching and finding the courage to say something. There are families at the table, children clinging to mothers as the men sit and discuss whatever. My father, uncle and aunt sit together in a seemingly civil conversation. I look for Liza again, deciding I should probably stop brooding in the corner but as I look for her my attention keeps going back to the men at the buffet. Not by choice, but by their obnoxious decision to shout their conversation. 

“A woman led the strike, ridiculous, she had to go,” I heard an oldish man say, followed by murmurs of agreement, “these strikes are out of hand, demanding we pay more, absurd notions.” The man is none other than Mr. Birling, a notoriously cold hearted man, much like dacianas father apparently, both of whom value money rather than people. Even their own families. The group of men who looked the same as him, slightly wrinkled face, greyish hair, miserable faces with hints of conniving schemes being plotted against each other. Friends until one of them was earning more money and was more successful, then they were enemies again. 

The men were in a heated discussion about their business and from what I can dissect from their ramblings is that they fully believe themselves to be hard working men, a rarity these days, and they must do what is necessary for their companies. Meaning, budget cuts, strikes from workers, firing people, and any horrible decision in the name of money.  I refrain from rolling my eyes, or going over to berate them. 

“Mr. Birling would not know what a hard day's work is.” someone says quietly behind me. His voice is smooth, confident, and whilst I agree due to what I have learnt about the birling family and the conversation I had just overheard, I still wouldn't say it aloud with him being this close. Not that he pays any attention to anyone but ‘hard working men’. 

I turn my head slightly, the man behind me is tall, a smirk playing at his lips. His suit is finely tailored in a dark grey, with a peach tie. He takes a step forwards and stands at my side, staring out into the crowd, a glass of half drunk champagne in his hand. I return my gaze to the crowd. “Whatever makes you think that, surely you heard him talk about how much he works,” I try to suppress my own smirk and I also sneak a glance at the strange man. He merely takes a sip of his champagne. 

“Right of course, his words, I shall listen more closely next time.”

“As you should. You wouldn't want to misinterpret someone's work ethic and make a fool of yourself in front of a stranger.” 

“You consider me a fool now?” he turns to me now, hands pressed against his chest in fake offence. His brown eyes meet mine as I face him. His sharp cheekbones feel familiar, but I can't place where from. 

“Yes. how could you consider someone such as Mr Birling, a man with such talent and tolerance of others, a man who clearly built his company and was not handed it by his father, how could you with a straight face imply he doesn’t know hard work.”  we stare at each other for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. He has such a pure laugh, we seem to be the only sound in the room. People around us stop and stare, upset two people are having fun at a party. The stranger leans against one of the columns, disrupting the vines slightly. Yet he doesn't seem to care, as he slowly starts to regain his composure from our outburst. 

Mr. Birling is one of the men looking at us with full disdain. He perceives us as two kids who do not understand life, he specifically tells his accountant that there is something wrong with us if the rumours are to be believed. Children of science. Outrageous. Especially a girl. A girl, not a woman. I ignore his pathetic whining, intent on not letting him ruin my night and return my focus to the stranger. Who, I realise, is someone who enjoys science. His face is more solemn now, having also overheard Mr.Birling. He quickly recovers and plasters a smirk on his face, a spark shines in his eye and I can already tell this won't be good.

“I want to meet this ‘girl’ who led the strike, perhaps she could use some help. I mean, all they ask is fair pay,”

“But fair pay is absurd. Completely and utterly absurd. Why should the wealthy share their wealth to those who ensure it.” he finishes for me. The men that run this world will end up being the reason it fails. We share a look, full of understanding and he lets out a sigh. Now we're talking about work and politics at a party. 

“Aside from those charming men, how are you enjoying the party?” He gestures to the men around us and I snort. Charming was one word for them. Being with him and trading remarks felt like passing notes to each other, telling secrets during class even though we are meant to be listening to the teacher. I can't help but think I know him, and by the look in his own face he knows me. Perhaps we met but didn't have time for a full conversation like we are now. 

“Mostly entertaining, the place is spectacular as always, the people are..” I searched for a word to describe the people, as well as my family. I love them dearly but they can be insufferable. “An interesting mix. My family is dramatic, so I escaped to the edge to peace and quiet, which apparently isn't possible. "I give him a pointed look but he takes no notice. 

“My family is also dramatic, and I came for peace myself but found myself captivated by you, specifically how you watched the crowd, listening, and how you curled your fists in an attempt not to go and publicly humiliate the poor man. Which, by the way, I think you should've. Would've made the whole thing worth it.” He takes a sip of his champagne and I nearly roll my eyes at him. Of course he'd want that. From what I can tell he isn't someone who enjoys society and has no problem saying it. I also think about the families in attendance and which of those are dramatic. The only person I can think of is Darci's brother, whom I've not met but heard about his nature over wine with her. 

“If I was merely standing here minding my business would you still have found me captivating enough to talk to me? Or is my appeal in my anger?”

He downs the rest of the drink and straightens himself taking a step towards me. I cross my arms, impatient but he gives me a soft smile. “I've been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, I always see you here at the edge, always. My eyes find you instantly in any crowd. Transfixed, captivating. It was an added bonus to me when I saw the fierce nature in your eyes up close, I knew I was right to want to befriend you.” 

Silence falls as we both take in his words. I feel bad, not being able to figure out who he is. His honesty is admirable and makes me smile, as well as blush. I can feel heat rise to my cheeks. Just as I begin to rectify the situation by asking for his name, a man comes behind 

me, he’s around 40 probably, and looks at me horrendously in an attempt at a smile. I recognised him from earlier, he's one of the men that spoke with Mr Birling and that alone makes me instantly want to recoil. 

“Can I help you sir?” I asked and I can hear my own clipped words, yet somehow he does not. The smile widens and he looks me up and down. Then he offers his hand to me and I realise he wants to dance. With a woman half his age, that he has never met. 

“Miss Wadsworth, dance with me?” more of a common than a question. Since I am already highly aware he doesn’t like when females have opinions or say no, I refrain from rolling my eyes and just walking off from him. Instead I take a step back, so I'm by my new friend’s side and smile widely. 

“I'm afraid I already promised the darling Wadsworth a dance, we are just finishing our drinks first.” As if to prove my point he drinks the last of his drink, mostly to hide his smirk. Something else the man doesn't seem to notice. His face drops, but his pride makes him believe he can stand there, waiting for me to run to him. There is an awkward silence until I feel hands reach down and take mine, they are warm and make me jump slightly at the contact. Not in a bad way, not in the way I would have if it had been the man in front of me with his gaze like fire as he looks at our joined hands as though he has a right to be mad about it. I feel my own fire burn as he stares, so I tug his hand away from the man. I need to just escape into the dreamlike nature of the dancefloor, as well as thank my saviour and learn his name.

He leads me to the dance floor, nearer the edge and his hands slip down to my waist as I find his shoulders. His touch is hesitant but reassuring. Somehow he looks calm and terrified, as though he never expected to dance with me but never wants to stop. I can't help but feel the same as we begin to move. My skirt swirls around us and we say nothing for a while as we both calm ourselves and let the music envelope us. In a way, this is as close to my daydreaming as I might ever get. Being here on the dance floor with someone who isn't twice my age and the definition of misogyny. We dance as equals, neither of us truly leading but letting each other float around each other. We're sure of our movements and demand nothing from each other. It is a weird calmness that settles. We are strangers as far as i know, and yet we dance as though we have known each other our entire lives. 

“You are a delight, miss Wadsworth.” he breaks the silence, somehow louder than the music for me, yet it's quiet. Almost like he didn't mean to say it aloud. 

“How do you know me?” my voice matches and i feel bad asking, but i need to know. My tone is not accusing, and his face only burrows in confusion for a second before he smirks at me. A smirk I'm seeming to become familiar with.

“My sister Dacina speaks highly of you.” my eyes must expand as he laughs softly. That's why I recognized him. He has the same structure as Dacina, sharp cheekbone and soft skin. Perfect complexion. 

“So you are the infamous Thomas cresswell?” this time I smirk and his eyes widen. 

“Infamous? What on earth have you heard of me?”

“Your sister has lots of opinions on you.”

“Of course she does. Whatever she has said is most likely not true.” He blurts out and I laugh at his relationship with his sister and him wanting to impress me. “Unless she told you I am utterly irresistible, charming, quick witted and incredibly smart.” winking at me he sends me into a surprising spin and my hands land on his chest. We've sped up slightly, yet our heartbeats are both faster than necessary and I can see a hint of a blush creeping up on his cheeks. 

“She did mention you have an overly large ego. She'll be happy to know I agree with her.” I feel his hands tighten at my waist slightly and I watch his curls fall down in his face as he shakes his head. I'm delighted by this turn of events. Daci is wonderful, and if this is the Thomas that I get to see, not his reputation, then I shall try and keep this in my life for as long as possible. His spark in his eyes shows how he may think the same. Also, if daci, liza and ileana are with Thomas, then i might have the most fun I've ever had in my life.

His voice slides through my thoughts, but also reinforces them. “I am sure she failed to mention how big of an ego she has. Honestly, Darci is worse than I. Have you met Illeana? She will surely agree with me on this.” 

“I'm sure she would, I've also heard you are a scientist, what do you study?”

“The dead. Much like you and your uncle.” There is so much certainty in his voice, no resentment or the usual tone I hear so I gift him an earnest smile. 

The song ends, and we stand, hands still on each other for a second longer than we should. Just as I go to remove my hands from his chest I feel him pinch my sides lightly. Then his warm hands slip from my waist and I wish more than anything to dance again. 

We go to return back to the column near the buffet, where we first spoke, and as I take a step I feel him move so he's pressed at my back, his hands finding mine. Even though we are gloved, even though no one can see our hands due to how close we are, and how many people are moving about, my heart pounds at his bold nature. I adore it, so I squeeze him and keep my head facing forward as I lead him off the dance floor. We settle back, Thomas letting go of my hand to pick up two glasses of champagne and hands me one. We both take a long sip, perhaps settling our brains or making it worse. Well see. 

“You look,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, brows furrowed slightly as if he was reading a dictionary, “enchanting.” he finally finishes, gifting me a rare smile it seems. No longer does he smirk at me, but shows me a genuine look that I want to have painted as it is the best thing I have witnessed. Heat rises to my cheeks as I look down at my dress. Someone at least understood what I was going for, with a pale peach colour, sparkling bodice that runs along the length of the skirt. The long sleeves adorned with tiny gemstones, golden to match the accented colours of the hall. In response to Thomas I look back up at him with my own genuine smile, perhaps some of the only true smiles to be shared this evening. His suit fits him perfectly, showing off his defined features, his tie a pale peach as well. I assume Dacina helps him, as her dresses always astound me with the details. There are tiny, miniscule gems on his tie, that snake down and remind me of vines.

“You look,” I act the way he did, scanning my brain for something that fits, handsome or charming doesn't do justice but I'm sure whatever I use will only boost his ego and be used against me, so I settle with: “bedazzling.” 

“Bedazzling?”

“Thomas, I study the dead, I have to look closer than one should at things, so of course I noticed your tie. Henceforth: bedazzling.” The air shifts back to our teasing tone and he smirks once again.

“You are the only one to notice, except Daci of course, nothing gets past her. Am I correct in assuming you like the tie?” Despite his teasing I feel a hint of worry as if I wouldn’t like his tie. 

“I adore the tie cresswell, everyone here should be weaning ties with tiny jewels.”

His face falls as he scans the crowd, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the groups of men. “I cannot tell if you are being serious with me or not, but I agree nonetheless. The men here are awfully drab, boring, plain. It's insulting to us really. Daci puts so much time into making this beautiful and these people do not see it.” He is shaking his head. I agree, I have heard how much work goes in and despite my effort to help she insists that I do nothing but enjoy the party. I have a sneaking suspicion though that Liza helps. The flower centrepieces are her favourite, and whilst that might be a coincidence I know how stubborn and convincing she can be. 

“I do. I love her parties. I always find myself standing here, watching and noticing all the changes from the month prior. Like, last month she went for more of a red theme, with red roses as the centrepieces, little red accented chairs and carpets. Whereas this month is more of a forestry vine, hence the vines around the column.” I point as though they are a secret thing you need to search for even though they are obvious. Yet he turns anyway and runs his finger down the length of it with his adorable face set at a soft smile. Thomas might have been there when she got the idea, or placed them or he might have placed them himself and is now remembering it. 

My gaze finds Thomas and he looks at me, baffled, and I feel the blush creeping back up. It is not the same confused look that I get when I tell people my love of science, but one of intrigue. As if he could listen to me talk forever and not get bored. It's as if he has never thought anyone would notice such things about his family's party. “Enchanting.” is all he whispers to me. Then he clears his throat, an ever so soft shake of his head as though once again the words were meant for him and not us both. 

I stare out at the crowd again. I'm sure my family will want to know where I've disappeared to, I normally do not leave them this long. Liza I'm sure will want to know why I danced with Thomas. Yet the thought of leaving him makes my legs leaden and my heart sink and anchor me right next to him. Im completely wonderstruck, and feel ill have a permanent blush, especially when i look at his stupidly handsome face, his quick smirk and small smiles that feel special. It is odd, I've only heard stories, spoken to him briefly and danced, yet I have enjoyed his company immensely and hope this never ends. I want more dances and to steal more smiles to keep forever. I want to make fun of people together, and dance. 

I go to steal a glimpse of him, expecting to find him staring at the crowd like I was but his eyes are on me. “I have to leave,” his abrupt words anchor me in an entirely different way, “I mean,  I want to stay and I'm sure you want my amazing presence always now Wadsworth but I have to wake early. New job. So, my darling, I shall see you tomorrow.” Thomas hesitates for half a second and begins to walk away. I watch him go and say goodnight to his sister and then leave. His words fill my head. It’s reassuring to know he enjoys my company as much as I do.

~

I bolt upright in my bed, the lights, music and memories falling away as I focus on the last words he said to me.

I'll see you tomorrow. 

What does tomorrow mean? Does it mean he has a job where he thinks I visit? Will he be making an effort to befriend me? Does he know my family? I am so confused. How had I not caught these words sooner? Perhaps he wants to tell me he had a terrible time, that he doesn't like my presence. I'm on my feet without realising, pacing back and forth, the cold air hugging me close. I wish he was in front of me now. I wish he would whisper the words enchanting again. I wish I knew what was happening in a few hours that warranted him saying those four words. I run my hands over my face, untie my hair and let my curls fall over my shoulder, brushing away the colder ever so slightly. I'm ridiculous. Four tiny words sent me spiralling. I climb back into bed, my hair fanning out around me and the blanket returning warmth back into my system. Immediately my mind returns to Thomas, his face forever in my mind. Even if tomorrow could be the last time I see him, there is a chance that it is just the start. 

Enchanting…

Those words fill me with confidence that yes, Thomas might become someone special to me. That perhaps our dance sparked something and now all I wish is that I can tell him how enchanting he is.

@fangirling-again @kittycat2187 @goatahoan @city-of-fae @purplecreatorhorsewagon @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing-wars @loveyatopluto @lovecakeandmore @yikesitsmaddie @bookscressworth @androgynousdeputylawyershoe @fandomtakeover @throneoftsc @the-hoofflepooff

[jossambird]

This Soul of Mine Pt 2

Main Incubus Otto x Reader (Incubus Axel and Oscar x Reader in later parts!)

18+ (also in later parts)

(Mentions of Rape but only passing, as Incubus are Male Demons who feed off sex, most of them are NOT kind Swedes.)

PART 3

-

You ran your hands over your hair once more, trying to hide a yawn as you listened to Father James’ sermon.

Fuck was this boring. Of course you had to be shipped to this honky tonk town, and attend mass with your beloved aunt. There was nothing wrong with your aunt of course, you loved her to death, but you would have preferred not to be involved in any of this-

“Oh, what a beautiful passage, don’t you find Y/N?” Your aunt whispered to you, smiling a tired old smile. You loved her.

“Yes, it was very beautiful.” You acquiesced, accepting the hand she put on your knee.

It was only when your aunt stood to go greet Father James did you notice the woman sitting beside you, jumping out of your skin.

Her eyes wrinkled, sharp blue eyes surrounded by black Kohl watching you as she pushed her white hair back.

“Am I that ugly, child? I thought I looked half decent today when I stepped out.” She laughed, elegantly hiding her teeth as she laughed. You had never seen her in your life, eyes taking in as much detail as you could.

“Oh god no, Im so sorry ma’am, you surprised me is all. You look great today.” You said, hoping she wouldn’t mention any of this to your aunt, or possibly even to Father James.

Her gaze was steady and unblinking. It was terrifying, if you could honestly say so. She looked like she was reading your thoughts, or more like, not being able to with how badly she frowned.

“My, I must say, I dont recall ever meeting you here, Miss..?”

“Y/N!” You supplied, shaking the hand she offered-

Her grip on your hand turned harsh, visibly not the strength of a old lady like her-

“My, nothing? Oh what fun. Tell me child, have you met any... beings, as of late, that haven’t gotten out of your head?” She asked quietly, releasing your hand from her crushing grip, patting her dress as if she needed it.

Her words were smooth, but they cut you deep, as if she could-

“Read minds? Yes, you’ve mentioned that already, but that seems to be all.” She whispered, huffing loudly as if she was angry, sitting too close all of a sudden. You had to escape, you had to get out-

“Dear, I think you should sit down and breath. I am not going to harm you, I am only here to... guide you, we shall say.” The old woman continued, smiling as you did as told and sat back beside her, listening as Father James started his sermon again. Your aunt sat at the front, the traitor, unaware of what was happening.

“You smell like him, you know. He imprinted on you, by accident mind you, but still, it is quite dangerous for your kind.” She was smiling so widely that you were sure now that she wasn’t human, eyes brightening a bit more.

“W-what do you mean?” You tried, voice too weak to summon anything other than the whisper that escaped you. It didn’t matter though it seemed, she had heard you perfectly well, brushing back her white curls, pretending to listen to the sermon, nodding.

“Oh darling, the man you met the other night. Tall, equally white hair, most likely drop dead gorgeous?” She suddenly looked 50 years younger as she turned to look at you, red lipstick clashing with her paling white skin.

“He touched you, didn’t he?” It came out from between her lips sounding cold, but her wide fluorescent blue eyes said different, curiosity shining brightly in them. Nothing felt right. You felt like you couldn’t breath, feeling as if nothing of this was real-

“I touched him. I bumped into him and he picked me up.” You shot back, surprising her as you tried to regain a semblance of power, remembering the dazed man’s surprised and kind eyes.

“What an interesting turn of events! I must say, I am impressed. Not only have you made his brothers and the Incubi world turn upside down, your also partly invulnerable to Succubi powers.” She seriously noted, scooting closer as if she could see the answer in your eyes. Something brushed against your ankle, but you ignored it, captivated by her gaze.

Nothing of what she was saying made sense, Incubi? Succubi? Childrens tales, nothing more than a silly tale told by the church to children... right? No, it was surely the Host wafer that your aunt had given you that was rotten and poisoned you. Yeah, that was surely it.

God, if only-

“Honestly, a rotten Host wafer.” She huffed as she turned her gaze away, rolling her eyes.

“Look darling, Incubi are exactly like mortal men; stupid, handsome, and driven by sex.” She looked mentally exhausted all of a sudden, rubbing at her temples, revealing a scar on her forehead in the shape of a round. The elder woman rose gracefully, her eyes back to the now dull blue they had been at the start, combing over your form one last time.

“If you truly wish to summon him, do so through your desire for him, either for protection or for... assistance, in personal matters.. He will most likely find his way to you within the following hour. You will need him just as much as he needs you.” She finished, turning as if to leave, lingering as you watched her.

“What is that saying again? ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace’? Spit it out.”

“I- ma’am, I appreciate all of this advice.. but if I may ask... who are you?” You asked, knowing deep down what the answer was. You had felt it, felt it between your ribs, in your beating heart. Her fluorescent blue eyes and never-ending knowledge of your inner thoughts were far from normal, and so was the cigarette she magicked before your eyes, watching you as if she had just struck gold.

“I am.. The Handler. I am the Succubus Ruler of all Incubi and Succubi.” She walked away from you then, looking confidently forward as she exited the church, lighting the cigarette between the final pews.

-

-

Finally elated to be done with Father James’ sermon, you stepped out of the Church to await your aunt-

“Y/N L/N?” Came the voice of a man, smooth, young but deep, accent reminding you of-

You turned hurriedly in excitement, heart racing until your eyes met with a platinum blond haired man, resembling the man who had occupied your mind ever since. Mild disappointment floored you until the old woman’s words came to mind:

He had imprinted on you, it was dangerous for humans, this was most likely another being of his kind.

“Ouh, that hurts cutie, I can smell the disappointment from here! I simply wanted to come meet my brother’s- Hey!” Said the man, grinning like a cat until you turned and sprinted with all of your might away, away, away.

-

Otto found himself looking down at the box of homemade cookies, cringing at the Church’s name. It shouldn’t be anywhere near your name, defiling such a beautiful name like yours was a crime.

He felt petty, reaching out and dragging a long sharp nail against the sticker, careful to not cross out your own name by accident-

“Your acting ridiculous Otto.” Came Axel’s teasing voice, surprised as he watched Otto jump out of his skin for what seemed to be the 70th time this week. What was going on?

“Are you.. okay, brother? You dont seem to be well.” Axel asked after a beat, knowing he had to confront him about it. For the first time in all of their lives, Otto seemed unfocused, out of it, mind drifting and constantly asking them to repeat themselves. They didn’t mind it much, but something was wrong. It had to be-

“Im sorry Axel. I...I keep feeling this... tug, of sorts.” Otto quietly muttered as he stared down once again at the sticker, entranced. It unnerved Axel for a moment before realizing this was serious, this was important. He walked over to his brother slowly, tail swishing out of anxiousness, feeling entirely out of his depths.

“Otto?” Axel asked softly as his clawed fingers met his brothers skin, receiving no answer for a long moment.

“Go see her, maybe after you do, youll stop feeling it. Maybe shes calling for you.” Axel said after a beat, deciding to comfort him brother instead of further pushing him into despair. Even if nothing would amount from an Incubus pining for a mortal. He smirked as he watched Otto turn to him, disbelief written all over his face.

“You dont understand brother-“ Otto tried before Axel waved his hand, not wanting to listen to the ‘why’.

“No, you’re right, I really dont, but if you really think you are her soulmate, shouldn’t you be going to see her?” Axel asked his brother, smelling his despair turn into agitated excitement. He smirked, watching and listening as Otto ran out of the house.

No matter how Oscar or he felt, and no matter what happened, Axel came to a conclusion as the distinct lingering scent of Otto’s desperate yearning met his nose:

He would support his brother in his ridiculous endeavour to win your favour, no matter what.

Where was Oscar anyways?

[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ��Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed. 

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[acelikesturtles]

“For The Love of Cake”

Prompt: Bakery AU - Mikey x Gender-Neutral Y/N

Warnings: Profanity

Word Count: 3,885

A/N: Okay so despite what the screenshot looks like, the original prompt came to be from a conversation on discord, but @wacheypena was the one that officially came up with the prompt, @dw-im-just-sad just sent it to me because I consistently have the memory of a goldfish, so credit for the idea totally goes to wachey. @dw-im-just-sad also wrote her own version of this prompt so go check it out on her blog and give her some love!

“Fuck.”

A blast of warm air from the oven hit your face and pushed the stray hairs out of your eyes. Despite how delicious the freshly baked poppy seed muffins smelled, there was no way in hell that these met the signature Paisley's standard. You tucked a loose strand of hair back behind your ear with your free hand as you set the tray down on the steel counter behind the oven. Two other perfectly top-notch batches of muffins from 45 minutes ago sat only a couple inches away, freed from the confines of the muffin tray and sitting pretty on the tabletop cooling rack. You popped one of the new muffins out of the tray and set it on the counter as a half-pout began tugging at the corners of your mouth. All the muffins here were caved in on the top and looked dense and chewy instead of moist and soft like they were supposed to.

You racked your brain, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. You poked the muffin with a toothpick to check the center then sliced it open with a fork to check the inside. Little tendrils of steam escaped from the muffin’s tortured core; a squashed, condensed, pathetic looking center that seemed ashamed of its own existence sitting beside the high and mighty rises that all its cousins had managed to achieve. You figured that in a moment of absent-minded baking you must have put too much baking powder into the batter, thus creating the chewy texture and the catastrophic cave-in on the tops. With a firm frown and a short sigh through the nose in defeat, you picked up the muffin tray and headed towards the back door quietly.

Normally you wouldn’t be so secretive about bad muffins and tossing them in the bin outside, but the manager, Heather, had been cracking down on all the wasted ingredients that went into batches of bread and cupcakes and muffins and cookies that ultimately ended up ruined beyond relief by new-hires. Admittedly these muffins weren’t as bad of a mistake as per the other new-hires’ usual (like leaving whipping cream mixing until it turned into butter), but these sad excuses for poppy seed muffins were still a recognizable mistake that could easily be attributed to you rather than Rosetta, who always managed to forget at least one egg when she made cake batter.

You opened the door to the back alley behind Paisley’s and kicked the rubber doorstep underneath the gap to hold it in place. You balanced the tray in one hand and used the other to lift the lid off the unofficially named “Fuck-Up” can. With a few small taps against the rim of the bin, the muffins tumbled out of the tray and into the trash, only leaving behind the faintest lingering scent as you returned the lid. You wiped the sweat that had gathered on your brow with the back of your hand. Looking up, the sky had turned a shade of pinkened violet that felt reminiscent of the childhood summer sunsets you had enjoyed back home. You checked your watch. Five minutes until the end of your shift. You hauled yourself back inside and began cleaning up your work station with the torn and stained damp rag assigned to your work space.

Your mind felt full with thoughts, heavy even. Five months in New York and aside from securing a relatively nice apartment with only a mildly concerning roach problem and an “only kinda-severely-cramped” bathroom, you weren’t feeling as if you were making much progress like you had maybe anticipated when the opportunity to move had first arisen. You had moved, after all, in the hopes of starting your own café. It would be something small and quiet, a safe space in the heart of the city for people to come and bask in the welcoming atmosphere and enjoy the soft sounds of Lo-Fi playing above their warm cups of coffee and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. You’d donate food to the homeless on Wednesday evenings after closing time, and on Sunday nights the café would host Bingo and Trivia competitions for charity like they did at some of the local bars. The thought of being able to make your dream come true here made you feel immensely grateful to be on the path your heart had been calling you to. Paisley’s was better than being stuck in your hometown selling discount jeans. Right now though, working these grueling hours made you feel even farther away from the finish line than you had thought it would when you started. Rather than a feeling of excited and determined immersion in a career area that would someday be a part of the larger puzzle you longed to complete, Paisley’s felt like a chore that truly nobody enjoyed aside from Heather’s domineering managerial attitude.

You tossed the dirty rag into the laundry bin on the other side of the kitchen and began making your way towards the time clock to punch out for the night. Your aching feet were relieved just knowing that rest was coming soon.

“You headed out for the night?” A coworker asked, bumping into your shoulder while you punched in your employee number.

“Yep,” You stifled a yawn. “Poppy seed muffins at my work station still need to be stored for the catering thing tomorrow, so have somebody do that when you close.”

“Sure thing, on my way to do that right now.” They responded.

You finished clocking out and lazily shuffled back through the kitchen towards the rear door again, now fully caught in a yawn. You opened the door and took two steps outside before waiting to hear the slam and the click of the lock behind you, finalizing the official end of your shift. Now that you were outside though, something felt off. You glanced down at the “Fuck-Up” bin. The lid was ajar instead of firmly placed like it had been when you had messed with it earlier. Perplexed, you picked up the lid and peered inside the can only to find it empty of the muffins you had tossed in there before. Bizarre, but not unheard of. Paisley’s didn’t donate any of their leftover food to homeless shelters and you had heard from your coworkers that the homeless often peruse through the large dumpster behind the bakery for scraps hoping that the trashed food wasn’t as bad as employees thought. You could hardly blame them for trying. One company’s terrible batch of cookies is another man’s saving grace. At least someone was making use of your mistake.

You yawned again, shuffling down the concrete steps towards your neon green motorbike. You knelt down to unlock the chain holding it to the company bike rack, absently humming some commercial jingle that had been stuck in your head for the last day or two. Once the lock was completely freed you stuffed it into your bag, kicked the kickstand back up, and fished your keys out of your pocket to turn the ignition. Just as the motor began to sputter to life, you heard shuffling feet and a faint and stifled cough echo in the alley around you. It was near impossible to not feel spooked or even just a little bothered at the thought that the person from earlier could still be lurking in the alley, even if you had no real proof that they were harmful. You had heard too many horror stories and seen too many documentaries to be foolish. Not taking any chances, you hopped onto your motorbike and immediately hit the gas, taking a sharp turn into the street and not daring to look behind you. You could have just been paranoid of course, squirrels and other animals liked to dig through their trash and make noise in the alley too, but when confronted with the silliness of the concept of hundreds of rats carrying the muffins away you found yourself instead hoping that the person that had fished through their trash had gotten what they needed (and that they wouldn’t still be there by morning).

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

The next morning as you came up the back steps to the kitchen you noticed a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the lid of the “Fuck-Up” bin that hadn’t been there the night before. At first you hesitated to read the note. There was an anxious pang in your gut that made you feel uneasy about it in a way that you couldn’t put you finger on. You reached your hand forward to open the door to the kitchen, but found your hand only hovering over the knob with no real intent of going in yet. You needed the closure that would likely come with reading the note, even if it was a little intimidating, the thought of someone interacting with you by way of your ruined poppy seed muffins. You plucked the sticky note from the rusty lid and held it up to your eyes, squinting to read the chicken scratch.

“Hey dude! These ones were not my favorites but still yummy! Get me some oatmeal cookies next time, the crispy ones! Those are fuckin’ delicious! -MC Mikey.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. Was this person seriously asking for more rejects? The only crispy oatmeal cookies that Paisley’s made that ended up in that bin were overcooked or half burnt, unless…did they think that this was a donation bin? Confused, you pushed your way through entrance and into the kitchen, claimed an empty work station, and headed over to the time clock to punch in your employee number. You were suddenly feeling a little bit more concerned for this individual than you did afraid of them. Maybe this was just someone ridiculously naïve. Maybe this was a kid that didn’t know any better and liked the smell that the trash behind Paisley’s had. Your sympathy had kicked in alongside a compulsive desire to bake those requested oatmeal cookies, and once you’d returned to your station you began flipping through the company cookbook for the recipe so you could sneak a mini-batch in-between actual requests.

After about 20 minutes, you pulled the first batch of cookies out of the oven and pushed the next sheet in. The smell was heavenly, an intoxicating mix of warm vanilla and cinnamon that made you salivate at first whiff. You picked up a cookie to check for the soft texture that was so characteristic for the recipe and sighed in relief when they pulled apart just like desserts did in those viral Instagram videos, softly and delicately. Hopefully these cookies would become this stranger’s new favorite. Whoever this was could have the experience of a real oatmeal cookie without the element of burnt edges interfering with the flavor, and the thought of being able to provide that joy was enough to put a little more pep in your step than was there before.

Several hours, a lunch break, and a couple run-ins with your bitch-of-a-manager later, you found yourself in front of the time clock again with a small Ziploc baggie of oatmeal cookies secured in your bag. They wouldn’t be as fresh as they were when they first came out of the oven unfortunately, but they’d still taste better than burnt and crispy cookies--that you were at least certain of. Once you’d finished punching in your employee number you made your way towards the back door as quickly as you could with aching arches and a stiff lower back. You stepped out onto the concrete stairs and waited for the latch behind you to click before making your way down the steps with one hand firmly grasped on the chipped railing beside you while the other dug around in your half-zipped bag for your keys and the Ziploc filled with cookies.

Your sneakers hit the alley and you let out a loud yawn while rolling your neck from shoulder to shoulder. You turned towards the “Fuck-Up” bin and gently placed the baggie on top of the lid. Should you have left a note? Would this person even care if there was a note as long as the cargo inside was sealed away from the elements? You let a puff of air out through your nose and let the worry roll of your shoulders as you turned back towards where you had parked your bike, keys jangling in hand. Just as you were about to reach your bike, you heard the shuffling sound again. Without hesitation you turned on your heel and looked back towards the garbage bins. Nothing had changed, nobody was there, but the noise of muffled footsteps said otherwise. This time you didn’t feel like running as much as you did like investigating the source of the noise to ease your curiosity to rest. You kept one hand firmly gripped on your pepper spray, and slowly stepped forwards, stopping at about the halfway point between you and the trash.

“Anybody there?” You called out. Your voice sounded particularly sick and crackly from the long work day. There weren’t any response and the sounds in the alley went dead quiet to underscore the sound of your own breathing instead. “If you’re the one who came by yesterday digging through our trash-” You started, wincing at your own condescending tone. You sounded so harsh, especially considering the fact that this could easily be a child based on what the handwriting had seemed like. “Sorry, I…I left you some oatmeal cookies. They’re on the lid.” You spoke softer, gesturing towards the “Fuck-Up” bin vaguely. The silence persisted. Now you were beginning to feel uneasy. The hairs on the back of your neck were practically standing up and you were beginning to think that you had either gone crazy or that maybe you were dealing with some kind of back-alley ghost.

Do ghosts even eat? Can ghosts even eat?

Without warning, a large hand partially cloaked by shadows broke free from the dumpster and began swiping in the general direction of where you had left the Ziploc bag. It would almost be comparable to a scene from a horror movie if the hand and the arm didn’t seem so clueless and desperate to get to the baggie. You fought back a smile and took a couple steps closer. You still had a grip on your concealed pepper spray just in case, but the thought of the stranger assaulting you was fading from the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t until you got close enough to see that this person’s hand was noticeably malformed—only two large fingers and a thumb—that fear was pushed onto the main burner once again. Clearly frustrated with the whole ordeal, the head and shoulders the appendage was attached to slammed up against the top of the dumpster and pushed the lid up against the wall behind him. That’s when he made almost immediate eye contact with you. Crystal blue eyes clashed against orange fabric and scaly green skin in a way that shocked your system to your core. This wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t a human, and it wasn’t, as far as you could gather, anywhere in between. A large shell was fused to his skin in a way that further broke your perception of reality as you tried to rationalize what you were seeing without thinking about costumes or special effects makeup or even aliens. You stood in shock for a moment, unblinking, watching as he strained to reach the baggie in front of him. He poked his tongue out and grunted as he stretched over the side of the dumpster, just barely missing the Ziploc with each swing of his arm.

“Dude, you could at least help!” He groaned, collapsing his upper body over the side of the dumpster in defeat.

You blinked and suddenly you were forced back into reality…or at least, whatever reality this was.

You took several more steps forward and snatched the Ziploc up in your hands, gently handing it to the…creature that was currently in the company dumpster. You had so many questions you needed to ask, too many questions, and without even opening your mouth the turtle began answering at least some of them one-by-one while shoving oatmeal cookies down his throat.

“I see you’re kiiiinda freaked out, and that’s okay! I get it, Mikey’s just so overwhelming to the ladies,” He said with a smug grin. “Turtle, mutant, ninja, sex god, what isn’t there to love angelcakes?” Your carefully baked batch of oatmeal cookies were disappearing in seconds, miniscule in comparison to the size and capacity of his stomach. “Oh, also?” He spoke through a mouthful of crumbs, spewing half-chewed chunks of oats and sugar all over the concrete beneath them. “These could use more cinnamon.”

“I-“ You hesitated for a moment. Your mind was filled to the brim with unfinished thoughts and rabbit trail theories about how Mikey himself was even possible (that is, if you weren’t dreaming) but they all came to a screeching halt when his comment about the cinnamon broke through your occupied mind. “Wait, really? I thought there was plenty, let me try that.” You huffed, snatching a cookie from one of his oversized, mutant hands. Within the first bite you were able to tell that he was right. The cinnamon flavor was more subtle than you had intended; a mere hint of warmth rather than the overwhelming comfort that you had been aiming for. “Oh. Yeah, I-I guess you’re right…Mikey.”

“Yeah, and those cupcakes the other day were-“

“Too much baking powder, I know,” You laughed and shook your head. “Those must’ve tasted gnarly, sorry,” You stopped mid-breath. “Wait. Cupcakes? Those were muffins.”

“Oooohh! So that’s why they didn’t come with frosting,” Mikey laughed. “Well that’s disappointing, I thought I was getting cupcakes. No wonder.” As the turtle crawled out from the dumpster with his empty Ziploc in hand, you became dwarfed beside him. He was tall, but not as menacing as you may have originally assumed. A half smile gradually worked its way onto your face as you looked up at him, trying to avoid grimacing at the smell of liquid garbage dripping all over his body.

“Next time I...I could make you cupcakes if you’d like.” You responded.

Mikey’s eyes looked alive with excitement as he nodded in complete agreement, musing aloud all his favorite flavors and fillings and frostings to you with a childlike delight. First there was snickerdoodle with extra cinnamon, then there was lemon meringue with more meringue than there was lemon. Red velvet with a whipped cream filling, double chocolate fudge with a gooey peanut butter center, tangy orange creamsicle with a tangerine wedge on top. You weren’t taking notes, but you figured that your personal investment in listening to a mutant turtle talk about his own takes on classic (and invented) flavors was enough to hold onto what he said in your memory, even if in the morning it may all seem like a hazy, drug-induced fever dream. You actually found yourself so intrigued with some of his flavor combinations and substitutions that you barely noticed that the grip you had been holding on the pepper spray had been entirely released, instead allowing that hand the freedom to gesture in a more relaxed manner as you articulated.

It wasn’t until the sound of a distant police siren echoing several streets away that the conversation stopped rather abruptly. The sound had grabbed the turtle’s attention in a way that stopped him in the middle of a sentence and replaced his excited expression with one of worry and concern. His eyes fell back towards you. You were searching his expression for a reason behind his troubled gaze just as much as you were looking for a clear answer behind what it was that made him who he was.

“Do you have a Sharpie?” He asked urgently. He looked behind him and over both of your shoulders nervously, as if he was waiting for someone to pounce, and that alone was enough to make you feel on edge again.

“Why?” Bewildered, you began digging in your bag again, searching for a permanent marker. You couldn’t find one but after clarifying that something similar might work, you managed to fish a red ink pen from the depths of your disorganized mess of a bag. Mikey snatched the pen from your hands, pulled the cap off with his teeth and spit it out onto the concrete, then stretched your forearm out in front of him. He scribbled a bunch of numbers rather messily onto your skin. He had accidentally smudged the undried ink a time or two and had to correct it, but when he was finished the string of numbers came out looking exactly like a standard, New-York area phone number. If this was a dream it sure was a detailed dream, you had to at least give it credit for that.

“My digits,” Mikey beamed while making the oh-so-stereotypical ‘call me’ gesture with his hand. “Call me, angelcakes. Unless you don’t want to, then like, don’t call me.” He shrugged. His confident aura practically dripped off of him as he began backing away into the shadows, shell nearly flush against the wall behind him. His hands rested on his holstered nunchakus as the police sirens faded away into the distance.

“Wait,” You faltered. Seeing him leave just as quickly as he had arrived made the flood of jumbled and confused thoughts come rushing back to you all at once. He couldn’t leave now, not when you were just beginning to get a grip on having him be a part of the same reality you were in. “Where are you going? What’s going on? What about the cupcakes?”

“Orange dreamsicle,” Mikey called back with a song in his voice. “Extra orange!” He said with a wink, while gesturing toward the cloth that covered his eyes.

Mikey had vanished into thin air, and just like that, you found yourself immersed in relative silence again. You pinched your forearm but didn’t wake up. You pulled on a singular lock of hair really hard, but didn’t wake up. Whatever you had just witnessed was still your reality, as evidenced by the smudgy red ink on your skin. You blinked once, then twice, then wiped the sweat off of your keys and your pepper spray and began shuffling towards your motorbike again. You turned your keys in the ignition, but when the engine started you didn’t feel the relief that you normally did when you were getting ready to head home from a grueling shift at work. If anything, your energy levels had peaked alongside your need to satiate your newfound curiosity aching in your bones. You pushed the kickstand up, removed the lock, pulled your phone out of your back pocket, and took your seat. You glanced down at your forearm again. The messy red ink was becoming clearer the more you stared at it. Perhaps it was just natural human tendencies at work, or maybe even fate, but the words just seemed to naturally tumble onto your keyboard once you’d copied the smudgy numbers into your contact list.

“Hey, Mikey right? I forgot to tell you my name. It’s Y/N.”

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Would You Be Mad? (SMUT)

anonymous said: Since requests are open can I request a smutty yet fluffy Bri please ? 💞

(a/n: srry for any typos im posting this RLLY quick before i go into work so pls dont roast me ok enjoy ur sinful sunday u nasties. also as always gif creds to @imladrs)

There were a lot of things in life you’d expected to hear from Brian May. Let me tune my guitar again, did you hear about this obscure blah blah scientific find, Roger’s an arse, why is Freddie being a tart, is there a meat-free option – you had heard them all. You expected them, and in turn, you received.

“If I kissed you, would you be mad at me?” was not one of those things. But now you had heard it, live and in the flesh, and you had no idea how to react.

You had chose to spend the night in, declining a night on the town with the boys, and Brian ended up missing you about an hour into drinking, so his tipsy giant self managed to show up on your doorstep, looking undeniably fit in a simple green polyester button up and black trousers. The buttons of the shirt were undone to the middle of his chest and was askew from his hour at the club, revealing hints of a gently tanned, slim torso, and his mid-waist trousers only accentuated his already long legs. He’d drank just enough to give his eyelids a bit of weight, and the way he looked at you with heavy hazel eyes and a toothy grin made your cheeks heat up.

God, keep it in your pants, you’d thought as you let him in. And maybe he’d been thinking the same. After all, you weren’t expecting company, so your lace and silk teddy/shorts combo was practically leaving little to be desired for. But neither of you had followed that rule tonight, and now you were here, Brian fucking May asking if you would be angry if he kissed you. As if.

It started out innocent enough. You’d invited him in, gotten him a glass of water and some snacks. He was grateful, and sat cross-legged on the end of your pull-out couch’s bed, snacking away. You returned to your laying position you’d been in before he’d arrived, on your side facing him, when he’d suddenly brought up your ex in the middle of polite conversation.

“How is Colin?” he asked, visibly sneering as he said his name and making you laugh as you toyed with the pages of your book, not really reading at this point. Brian was now laid down at a weird angle, his head resting against your stomach as he laid across the diagonal length of the bed so that his feet weren’t dangling off. Sitting your book to the side, you began to play with a piece of his hair and pursed your lips, trying to think of the last time you’d heard from Colin.

You knew Brian had always disliked him thoroughly, and this had led to Colin accusing Brian of trying to steal you from him, which had blown up into this whole big thing that ended in Colin leaving and Brian trying to avoid seeing you so he wouldn’t upset you. But it didn’t last. Brian was back within a few weeks, showing up at random times to spend the day with you. After all, you’d both clearly preferred each other’s company the most for a long time, and had been close friends for even longer. Even Roger was jealous of how much time Brian spent with you, but he never made a big deal about it with Brian. Instead, he made it a running joke, but that was okay with you, and you assumed it was okay with Brian (It was - he loved it).

“Haven’t got a clue, honestly,” you admitted, twirling a single curl around your finger before slowly stretching it out. “Haven’t seen him since he showed up on my doorstep drunk last month,” you teased playfully, giving his hair a gentle tug and smiling softly. “But I turned him away.”

Brian, unbeknownst to you, gasped softly and shifted his hips, turning a brilliant shade of red as you tugged on his hair. He was already drunk and horny, so everything about you in your silk teddy and shorts, right there for the taking, was turning him on. Now it was getting to the point where he needed to act on it before he had a mess to clean up in his trousers. They were restricting enough that he felt like he was going to burst out of his pants if he wasn’t careful, so he flipped over on his stomach, holding back a sharp inhale as his clothed cock rubbed up against the bed while he was getting comfortable.

After a shaky recovery breath, he spoke. “The difference between me and Colin showing up on your doorstep is that I’m a young, dashing, intelligent man here to have a good night in with you, and he’s just… well, Colin.” That got you giggling, and Brian grinned lopsidedly as he rested his head on both of his hands, crossing them and laying down on your thighs. His warm, twinkling eyes scanned your face as you laughed, soaking all of it in. “Besides, fuck him!”

“Why so?” you asked, a cheeky edge to your voice as you sat up a bit. You’d be lying if you said the sight of Brian down there wasn’t doing something for you, so upped the ante a bit against your common sense. “And I mean, I have, so there’s that.”

“Oh, you know what I meant,” Brian groaned, still grinning as he propped his arm up on your leg carefully, resting his head in his hand. “I bet he’s a lousy fuck either way. Probably doesn’t even know how to last longer than 30 seconds.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you mused, mainly to yourself, and then you reached out again to toy with his hair. “I don’t even know if he was attracted to me very much. It seemed like I didn’t really do it for him unless I was a quick fuck. Must not have been his type or something.”

“You, not doing it for him?” Brian asked, his voice unashamedly incredulous. “The man must be blind, then. You’re way too pretty to just be a ‘quick fuck.’” Your cheeks flushed a bit as he continued to watch you, eyelids still heavy from the liquor in his system but his eyes alive and teeming with energy. “You’re beautiful, Colin’s a prick for not appreciating you as much as you deserve.”

“Brian, you’re just drunk and saying that to be nice. Stop being such a sweetheart,” you laughed softly.

He rolled his eyes and gave you an ‘are you kidding’ look before shaking his head. “I’m serious, Y/N, you’re gorgeous. You’re mental if you don’t think I’m telling the truth. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Ouch,” you laughed, rubbing the side of your face and smiling as Brian cocked his head to the side a bit, curious. “I’m mental? That pisses me right off, I’ll have to kick you out of here for that one.”

“Oh, no!” Brian pretended to be panicked, but it only lasted a moment before he started grinning dopily again. “I don’t want to make my lovely host angry, I take it back.” A wide grin spread across your face as you gently shoved his shoulder, and his unbalanced equilibrium made him fall backwards with a groan. And when he rolled over, you were immediately distracted by the bulge in the crotch area of his pants, your cheeks flushing even more than before.

Suddenly, the air was tense as Brian noticed where you were looking, but he didn’t seem ashamed when he met your gaze again. Instead, he sat up, hovering over you as he kept eye contact, his gears shifted completely. No longer was playful Brian up to bat. This was different, a Brian you’d never seen before. He was imposing, attentive, and sensuous as his hand came to rest on your side. There was still a sweet look in his eyes, but something else lingered there, something darker.

You tried to say something, anything, but no words would come to mind as you stared back at him for what seemed like way too long. His tongue darted out and quickly wetted his lips as he glanced at yours, and then you spoke, finally remembering that the two of you were actually in the middle of a conversation. “You take it back? What part?”

He ignored that, the corner of his lip tugging upward as he leaned in a bit closer, then stopped himself. “If I kissed you, would you be mad at me?” His voice was somewhat clear, drunkenly unafraid, and he watched your eyes for any hint of a reaction as you remained quiet, biting your lip.

Finally, you responded. “Can’t be kicking you out if you kiss me, can I?” Brian’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he chuckled, and his hand slid around you to rest on your lower back as he pressed his forehead against yours, your noses brushing up against one another’s before you closed the distance and pressed your lips to his.

He tasted like whiskey and beer, an intoxicating mix of the two still lingering on his lips as he kissed back, a languorous pace to it while he savored the feeling of your lips on his. You reached up to cup his jaw with one hand, and he almost leaned into your touch as he tilted his head slowly, deepening the kiss and pressing your body up against his. The taut front fabric of his trousers pressed up against your thigh, so you raised your thigh up a bit to rub it against his bulge.

A breathy moan escaped his lips, Brian pulling away for a moment to regain his thoughts before he kissed you again, rolling over on his back and pulling you on top of him. He wasn’t urgent about it, taking it slow and easy as he sat up a bit to make it easier for the both of you. His hand rubbing up and down your side, he spoke against your lips quietly, just for the two of you to hear, even if there was not a single soul around. “Hey, I meant it when I said you’re beautiful.”

You smiled against his lips, kissing his lower lip before gently taking ahold of it with your teeth and tugging a bit. He made a pleased noise in the back of his throat and moved his hand to rest under your teddy, his rough skin brushing up against the soft curve of your waist. “Tell me how beautiful I am,” you murmured, ducking your head under his chin and pressing an affectionate kiss there, then trailing your lips down his neck and pressing lazy kisses to it as you made your way down to just above where his shirt started coming together.

“God, Y/N,” he almost whispered, his eyes watching your every move as you looked up at him through your lashes, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, button by button. “You’re like a fucking dream to look at, love.”

That brought a sly smile to your lips, and you unbuttoned the last button on his shirt, pushing it open to expose his whole torso. You straddled his hips as you did so, running your hands up his lightly toned, slim chest. His ribs just poked out of his skin, and you pressed a kiss to his collarbone before moving back up to kiss him on the lips again. This time he was more eager, trapping you there with a firm hand resting on the nape of your neck. But you didn’t mind, and you moved your lips in sync with him as he rested his free hand on your hip. He finally pulled away to take a breath, and you took the opportunity to pull your teddy up and over your head, tossing it to the side.

Brian’s pupils dilated even more as he looked over your body, marveling quietly at you. You pushed off his shirt as he ogled, tossing it to the side as well and reaching down to toy with the button on his pants afterwards. His teeth found his lip, and he chewed on it as he tore his eyes away from your body to look back up at you, a smile gracing his lips when you raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, distracted,” he mumbled, pulling you back in for a quick kiss before starting to push down your sleep shorts. “You’re too stunning, you have an unfair advantage right now.”

You giggled at that, moving off of him carefully to push off your sleep shorts. Now you were completely naked in front of Brian, your friend, and you didn’t feel at all nervous. It was like he was meant to see you like this, and there were no expectations. His praise was probably fueling most of that, but it was nice to be appreciated like this. “You’re not bad yourself, so I see no advantage,” you teased quietly, kneeling between his legs and undoing the buttons of his trousers as you kept eye contact with him.

Carefully kicking his pants off once you’d unbuttoned them and pulled them down, Brian watched in drunken amazement as you hovered over him for a moment before pressing a kiss to his abdomen. You reached up with one hand to palm him through his boxers, and received a throaty groan in response. His hand brushed back through your hair, and he admired you with a lustful, yet doting look in his eyes.

“Oh, Jesus,” he breathed out as you moved down to brush your lips over the thin layer of fabric that separated you from his cock. His eyelids fluttered closed as you did so, his head falling back against the back of the couch a bit. It took all of his energy to lift his head again and look at you, his lips parted slightly as he took shallow, quick breaths. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Y/N.”

This time, you only grinned mischievously in response to his slurring compliments, moving to the side to pull down his boxers. His cock sprung free from its restraints readily, but Brian didn’t even give you a chance to admire him before he was on top of you again, his lips attaching to your shoulder. Brian pinned you down with his own body, his cock brushing up against your thigh as he reached down to rub your clit hard and slow, eliciting a quiet purr of pleasure from you and making him shiver at the noise.

“So, so beautiful,” he mumbled against your shoulder, trailing love bites along the skin framing it and searching up your neck before stopping at your jaw. “You’re an angel,” he whispered this time, his lips agonizingly close to your ear and making goosebumps rise on your arms as you felt his hot breath against your earlobe.

You moaned lowly as his fingers pushed into you, your cheeks splotchy with redness as you felt an overload of lust and fondness at the same time. Brian was making you feel like a princess, but at the same time, his fingers were working so expertly at your core that you were quickly unraveling in his hands. “Bri,” you murmured, and he pulled back to gaze down at you as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, a cocky smile playing at his lips. You weren’t sure how to phrase it, but a curl of his fingers inside of you and the thought came tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Make love to me?”

Something in his demeanor changed as he slowed down, then pulled his fingers out of you and instead slid them up your sex, slick from how wet he’d made you in such a short time. “Make love to you?” he clarified, not even seeming remotely put off by the idea. You nodded, biting your lip as you studied his face, trying to gauge his reaction. “Of course,” he finally replied, his voice full of tenderness as he slowly rubbed his fingers around your clit in circles and ducked down to engage you in a quick but deep, passionate kiss.

All of your nerve endings felt like they were in flames at this point, every point on your body hypersensitive. You felt his hand leave your core, his hips shifting as he moved to sit back on his heels, grabbing his wallet out of his jeans and retrieving a condom. You watched as he put it on, focused on doing it right, and you found yourself blushing lightly as he met your gaze once he’d rolled it on.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, genuinely wanting to make sure you were being honest as he went to kneel between your legs. You nodded, and he smiled goofily, his drunken eyes holding even more of a smile than his own lips as he leaned up to kiss your forehead. His forehead then resting against yours, he took your hips with one hand and pulled you a bit closer, wrapping his other hand around his length and lining himself up carefully. You watched this happen, then looked up into his eyes, which were unnervingly close to your own. He noticed this and looked up at you, meeting your gaze with an unreadable emotion flitting across his face as he slowly pushed into you, maintaining eye contact.

The pressure of him filling you was almost alien, as it had been a moment since you’d even fooled around with anyone besides Colin, on top of the fact that this was Brian, your close friend, someone you’d never really expected to have on top of you. Your arms wrapped around his torso as you inhaled sharply, your fingers digging into his back when he bottomed out in you, a soft gasp escaping his lips. After a moment, he pulled out halfway and began to thrust slowly, with a purpose. Each roll of his hips was careful, calculated, and oh-so-satisfying as he focused on taking it slow, his nose nuzzled up against your cheek and short, shaky breaths hitting your jaw with each thrust.

“Brian, you feel so good,” you moaned in appreciation, his hips pressing against yours with each thrust. He groaned something incoherent, one hand gripping the top of the couch above your head and supporting his weight as he found your hand with his free one, lacing his fingers into yours and squeezing your hand. That little gesture made your heart soar, and you arched your back slightly to press up against him, your bodies melded together as he pushed himself into you, deep and slow.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re fucking amazing,” he groaned out, gradually speeding up his thrusts as he buried his face in your neck, murmuring praises over and over. One of your hands found his hair, and you tangled your fingers in it as you let your head fall back against the back of the couch, in complete bliss because of Brian’s gentle way with you. When his lips brushed up against your sweet spot, you involuntarily curled up your fingers in his hair and tugged slightly, making him choke out a low groan as his hips stuttered for a moment. He couldn’t be in this position if he wanted to last any longer, so he pulled out of you, to your chagrin, but he quickly laid on his side and turned you on your side as well. You were facing away from him, and you gasped softly in surprise as he lifted your leg up and slowly slid his cock into you again, his lips pressed firmly against your shoulder.

Colin had never taken you like this. In fact, no one had ever taken you like this before, and you were on cloud 9 as he thrusted into you carefully, his hips pressing against your ass with every thrust and making you smile in pure bliss. So it only added to your pleasure when he reached around you to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. This was overload, and you couldn’t mask your excitement as you moaned out his name, which made him grunt in appreciation and let out a few noises of pleasure himself. He cursed under his breath as you rested your hand on his forearm, gripping it tightly to ground yourself as he made waves of ecstasy roll through you.

Brian was just as undone as you were, the feeling of your hand gripping on to him for dear life only sending him closer to the edge as he thrusted into you deeper and faster, his thrusts becoming sloppy and signaling to you that he couldn’t last much longer. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathed out, resting his forehead against your shoulder as his lips remained parted in a silent moan, his trembling breaths hitting your back and making you shiver. When he knew he couldn’t hold out any more, he had to slip his free hand under your head and force your jaw to the side so that you were looking up at him, his head hovering over yours as he buried his cock as deep inside of you as he could go. He smashed his lips against yours, muffling the loud moans tumbling out of him as he came, hitting his climax and shaking a bit as his high ran its course.

You pulled away from the heated kiss as he quieted down a bit, an almost pitiful moan escaping his lips at the loss of contact, but you were too close to the edge to notice much as his fingers continued to rub your clit quickly. He was intent on making you climax now, his fingers working wildly at your core as he pulled out, and you looked up into his eyes, your lips parting as you moaned his name, your climax hitting you all at once and sending you reeling. He watched you unravel beneath him, his name on your lips repeatedly as you rode out your high while keeping eye contact with him, and it was enough of a sight to make him groan lowly, even though he was far from being horny anymore.

As soon as you’d came down from your high, your eyelids fluttered closed and you sighed softly, nuzzling into his hand. “Holy shit, Brian,” you murmured, exhausted from what had just taken place and overwhelmed by how good he’d just made you feel.

“You okay?” he asked, running his thumb along your lower lip, and when you nodded, he smiled softly and climbed over you, ambling his way into the kitchen. He cleaned himself off and disposed of the condom properly, then came back with a rag so you could clean yourself up as he pulled his boxers on again. He handed you his shirt after you’d cleaned yourself up a bit, and you sat up to pull it on, buttoning it almost all the way up. Brian climbed back onto the bed with you, halfway sitting up next to you and watching you quietly.

After you’d gotten yourself at least somewhat covered up with his shirt, you looked over to him and smiled before laying down by his side, curling up against him and wrapping your arm around his torso. He ran his fingers back through your hair, taking a deep breath before resting his hand on your head.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice full of admiration as he watched your eyelids flutter closed again, your breathing slowing down considerably. You reached over and took his hand that was on the opposite side of him, intertwining your fingers together and resting them back on the bed as you hummed softly.

“Good night, drunkard that showed up on my doorstep,” you replied sleepily, Brian laughing and shaking his head as he settled down next to you, pulling a blanket over the both of you before drifting off to a peaceful, deep sleep.

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[thewritewolf]

Nino’s Quest Chapter 6: Out of the Woods

The true struggle of DnD - getting the party together for a session. Not at all helped by magic terrorism attacks.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3.  My ko-fi.

--- October 15th ---

Lord DM: Hey dudes, we still on for today? Since its been like two hours I’ll guess that was a no then

Adrien Regreste: sorry dude. Got roped into a last minute photoshoot :(

Marinoodles: same Wait no I mean- last minute bakery stuff Sorry to bail like this! D:

Alya’ll Beware: Don’t worry about it girl I was chasing that akuma that was running around It kept giving lb n cn the slip Got some good footage tho

Lord DM: Bummer dudes Guess thats one of the perks of living in paris We can try again next week, k?

--- October 18 ---

Direct Message From Alya

Alya: These akumas have been crazy, babe. Rain check on dates? At least until hawkbutt tires himself out

Nino: :( Can’t you take a break or two? You don’t have to be on the frontlines of EVERY akuma attack

Alya: …

Nino: [crying emojis, broken hearts, butterflies with red X’s over them]

Alya: alright, alright But just two, okay? People count on me for the latest news

Nino: totally, babe Just hope lb+cn won’t need rr+cara Cuz… you know That’d be rough

Alya: [eye rolling emoji] Yeah yeah I feel bad for them tho Their social life must be wack at this point

---October 22nd---

Lord DM: Hey, bro, we still meeting at your place or what? ??? Come on, dude! Not again! :(

Adrien Regreste: Sorry dude [sobbing emoji]

Alya’ll Beware: Akuma, babe. Can’t miss three in one week!

Lord DM: Yeah… guess so. Let’s just not miss the next sess, okay? I dont want this campaign to end

Alya’ll Beware: We’ve only missed two weeks so far. That’s not too bad We got pretty lucky with getting five in a row Esp considering how busy we usually are

Lord DM: Fair enough Next week sound good?

Alya’ll Beware: Should for me

---October 31st---

Lord DM: Im scared to ask but… DnD today?

Adrien Regreste: [thumbs up] I’ll be going on 4 hours of sleep But I can do it!

Marinoodles: Same here Lack of sleep and all

Alya’ll Beware: Yeah We good

Adrien Regreste: !!! Wait its actually happening Awesome! ...I should probably clean my room.

Marinoodles: XD Probably! :P

Adrien Regreste: :3

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

An hour later and Nino had made the trip over to Adrien’s house, Alya and Marinette in tow. Their chatting had been less energetic than usual, no doubt because there wasn’t a single person among them who didn’t feel exhausted. A fact that wasn’t at all helped by the late hours that they were arriving at. It may have only been nineteen hundred hours, but when you’d only had a few hours of sleep each night for the past week, it made all the difference in the world.

Despite all that, they were determined. The very thought that they were willing to go through all this just to go further in his campaign was thrilling for Nino, and he didn’t want to let them down.

A wicked grin, looking out of place on him, stretched across his face. With the events he had planned for tonight’s session, he was sure they’d be awake in no time.

They entered Adrien’s room and saw the bounty of sugary treats and caffeine that their host had prepared. After some brief chit-chat, Nino got set up quickly and rolled right into the session. The longer he delayed the more likely it was that his players would fall asleep.

“The forest at last thins as you crest the top of a hill. From your vantage point, you can see the capital city on the horizon.” There were sighs of relief around the room.

“Finally! My character could definitely go for a proper bed after a week of roughing it,” Marinette said after taking a drink of pop.

“You’ll have to hurry, then. The sun is going to start sinking below the horizon. Unless you want to be stuck outside the city until morning, you’d better get moving.”

“My bard starts one last travel song as we rush over.” Adrien opened his phone, no doubt to a lyrics site and cleared his throat.

Alya quickly covered his mouth. “I do not have the time or patience to listen to another of your renditions of Take Me Home, Country Roads, Sunshine. Let’s just get to the city, alright?” Adrien’s eyes darted to Nino in a silent plea, but he simply shrugged.

“Sorry, dude. Babe has a point.”

Pouting, he closed his phone. Beside him, Marinette giggled and patted his back consolingly.

“You reach the city gates without any issue - no bandit or monster is stupid enough to get within stones throw of the capital, not with all the guards on patrol. They were a little suspicious to see you guys so late at night, but… two noble sigils, a bardic license, and my holy symbol put those dudes right at ease. There are still a few rooms open at the inn - how are you guys going to divvy up?”

A trio of blank stares looked back at him. He sighed.

“Each room costs money to rent. You don’t have a lot, so while you could get a private room for each of you, it’s probably better to room with someone else. So who is spending the night with who?”

“Dibs on the cleric!” Alya cried. She tapped her chin theatrically, “I guess that leaves you two together, right?”

“I- I guess so?” Adrien blinked, surprised at Alya’s sudden outburst. Marinette paled a little but nodded.

“Since you guys arrived so late, most of the rooms were already filled up and you had to make do with what you can get. When you finally find your rooms, they are across the inn from each other… and there is only one bed in each room.”

A slight blush, but neither Adrien nor Marinette were freaked out. Alya slumped in defeat - there wasn’t any roleplaying involved in sleeping after all. Unless they decided to do some method acting and have a sleepover.

“The four of us drift off to sleep, which was a totally great change of pace from the creepy woods that you’ve been sleeping in for a week now.” Nino punctuated his words with a yawn that proved contagious. “It was way late at night when suddenly… M, Adrien. Roll for perception.”

Adrien, naturally, rolled a one. Just when Nino was scared he’d accidentally killed them off, Marinette pulled through with a high roll. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“With your keen elven hearing, the creaking of the wooden floor boards was enough to jolt you from sleep. There is a glint of metal above you, and you feel a presence in the darkness. You have just a few seconds to react - what do you do?”

“I roll over!” Marinette blurts out, her eyes wide.

Nino nods. “Right, that puts you right on top of Adrien, who is now totally awake too. It was a good move, though - a knife plunges into the mattress, right where your neck had just been.”

All business now, Marinette asks, “What can I see?”

“Not much. Loose cloaks with hoods pulled up. Knives. Two people. The other person has stumbled back, probs spooked by your sudden movement.”

She taps her chin before her eyes widen again. “Wait, what about the others?! We have to go get them! Or at least get their help.” She shuffles through her character sheet. “Okay, um… I whisper to Adrien in Elvish ‘close your eyes’ and then I toss a flash flare thing at the guy.”

Nino rolls some saves - without the warnings, neither of them stood a chance. He looks up to see Marinette watching him with hopeful eyes. “You got ‘em, M. Now what?”

“I roll off the bed and try to take the guy’s knife.”

“You’ve got it and your turn ends there. The dudes are blinded, but it won’t be long before they’ve recovered. Adrien?”

“Can I cast a spell?”

“Not without your lyre, bro.”

“Fine, fine. I grab it off the bedside table.”

“And why do you think it’d be there?”

“...I’m a bard. Gotta be ready to play, first thing in the morning.” Adrien smirked.

Chuckling, Nino replied. “Alright, fair. What do you cast?”

Adrien stuck out a tongue as he thumbed through his spell list. His eyes lit up as he looked at Nino. “I cast summon monster one, and I summon the Good Boy.”

“Right,” Nino said as the others giggled. “So you’ve got your celestial dog next to you. I figure you want it to attack one of the dudes?”

To his surprise, Adrien shook his head. “No, I command him to go wake up the other two. Probably to go sit by their door and bark in a commanding angelic voice.”

The fight didn’t last long from there - the two of them probably would have been enough to deal with the assassins after they lost the element of surprise. But four against two made it a landslide victory.

“Even though you try your hardest, you weren’t able to catch either alive. One got stabbed and bled out and the other, well… hopefully the innkeeper will understand that it wasn’t your fault that the window got broken.”

“Do they have anything on them?” Alya crossed her arms. “I get the feeling someone is after us.”

“You’re immediately proven right when you find a note in the dead guy’s pocket that reads, ‘Information about the Necromancer cannot reach the king. Dispose of the adventurers before they get their audience.’”

The party exchanged looks.

“Spooky,” Adrien said flatly. The others nodded in agreement.

“Do I recognize the handwriting or anything?” Marinette leaned forward, the gears in her head turning. “Remember, I am a court brat.”

“Nope. Looks like it was written deliberately poorly. You don’t know if you’d recognize it normally.”

“Time for the king?” Adrien perked up.

“Yup, it’s time for-” Nino was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Adrien gulped. “Um… hello?”

Nathalie stepped into the room and narrowed her eyes at the dice and character sheets. Belatedly Nino remembered that Adrien usually claimed they were working on a project or homework during these sessions. “It is late. Your friends need to leave.”

Without a choice in the matter, they packed up and had the door shut behind them.

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

Nino’s fears were confirmed later that night during a discord chat.

Adrien Regreste: Sorry guys. Looks like we won’t be able to play at my house again Not for a while at least. :(

Lord DM: Don’t worry about it bro Had to happen eventually

Marinoodles: I’m so sorry! :( I hope you didn’t get in trouble because of us

Adrien Regreste: Nothing more than usual They aren’t threatening to keep me locked up at home So, you know Better than usual

Alya’ll Beware: That’s something at least R they going to let u hang out again?

Adrien Regreste: *shrugs* Probably. Anyway… Sorry to be a bummer. Night, everybody!

Marinoodles: Sweet dreams!

Alya’ll Beware: Night, kiddos.

Lord DM: Don’t let the assassins bite! ;) [Three thumbs down, one angry emoji]

[gray-anxiety]

No Sympathy → Levi Ackerman Chapter 7 → Information

Read the rest of the chapters here!

Apologies for the late update 

Also, for some reason this didn’t want to be uploaded indented, so oh well I suppose. 

       Even from blocks away, music could be heard throughout the alleys from the biggest party hosted in Maria to date. The sun had set hours ago, leaving only the young night and bright moon to guide Levi and Aella through the dark alleys. Aella had shoved her hands in her hoodie pockets and matched Levi’s fast pace with ease, though Levi still had his hand gripping Aella’s almost covered wrist from her pocket (she was wearing a sleeveless hoodie; Levi couldn’t exactly tug her arm with the same effect as her wrist or sleeve) so he didn’t lose her in the almost pitch black paths leading them directly towards the massive party house. Levi was on high alert — bringing every single one of his knives and forcing Aella to bring hers as well; they were going for answers and had no intent to party (against Aella’s wishes). Levi had his scarf covering his face and even had his own hoodie up — Aella didn’t need her hoodie up when she was wearing a beanie that was already close to covering half of her forehead; Levi turned every once in a while, simply just following the directions Google Maps told him to take. Levi’s phone gave out a dim light (he had his brightness all the way down) barely lighting up his own face; Aella looked around at the grimy poorly managed alleys — noting how almost every apartment that had any person old enough to sneak out was practically black and empty. Most of this district held the kids that were abandoned by their parents who went to live in the other cities — leaving barely any apartment filled with a person older than 25 left. Aella could still hear the bustling of cars even from deep in the back alleys; most people were going to party all throughout the weekend and leaving a golden opportunity for every gangster and robber alike to earn a quick buck with barely even trying thanks to the shitty police force. Levi eventually turned out of the alleys to the main sidewalk by endless road and continued walking with his focus all on his phone. Aella was pulled out of her fleeting thoughts when she bumped into Levi when he stopped suddenly — the music had gotten indescribably loud and the house in front of them had moving colored lights shine through the windows. The house itself looked more like an apartment complex than house, but Aella didn’t let looks fool her — Sasha was from the city of Rose itself and came from a fairly wealthy family considering the fact that they didn’t live in Maria; this was most definitely a house, albeit, a sure as hell expensive one.

       “We’re here. Stay close and do not drink or smoke anything.” Levi grumbled as he finally let go of Aella’s wrist and walked in the door without knocking — knowing no dumbass would be able to hear with how loud the music was thanks to the windows being open due to the amount of smoke coming out of the house. Aella walked in after Levi and looked around; practically everyone held a blunt of some sort in one hand and a beer in the other — while some groups stuck to the walls and corners, a massive crowd gathered around the large makeshift dance floor in the middle of what Aella assumed was a massive living room that easily held a few hundred people in there alone. Aella recalled seeing mini crowds outside from there being almost no room to fit any more people inside — the only word she could even come close to describing the house was massive, and even that was an understatement. How Sasha could afford a damned mansion with the food bill she has to pay for herself was beyond Aella, but this was Maria and every living space was cheap for any person from the other two cities. Levi tapped Aella’s shoulder and jerked his head in the way of what looked like businessmen holding signature red solo cups — they must’ve been the men Levi had been looking for. Levi pushed through the crowds of people — bumping most to move with his broad shoulders — and kept his head down with his hood up the entire time. Levi casually stood at the edge of the wall leading to the next room where the men resided: Levi could hear their conversation easily and look like he’s just leaning against the wall while onlooking the party. Aella stood nearby, though not too close to avoid suspicion and was Levi’s vanguard for distracting any horny teens away from flirting with the occupied thug. Levi directed all of his attention towards the conversation at hand — trying to find any answers whatsoever.

   “Heard Levi’s gone into hiding.” A grumbly voice chuckled.

   “Aye, the pussy has. Did you hear how much money the damned lucky bastard made for selling out the runt?” Another, more nasally voice responded smoking a blunt.

   “Upwards to almost a million some say — that true?”

   “1,500,000. The man told me hisself, aye. Bloody bastard really outdid everyone this time — and now he gets a nice cozy spot playing defense minister o’ the capital.”

   “Enviable. Has Levi been spotted here yet?”

   “Naw. The runt ain’t ‘ere from what I’ve been told. I’ve heard he went to either here or Rosie for a while, but that’s just a wee rumor. The official coverup is he’s outta the country for some time, but we haven’t seen ‘im yet.”

   “So, we held this party for a chance of seeing someone we’re not even sure is here?”

   “Aye.”

   “Bloody great.” Levi clicked his tongue and let out a string of curses silently — they knew he was somewhere on a guess. Nevertheless, his identity wasn’t figured out, no, it was leaked from someone that knew and was simply paid to snitch. Levi walked at an abnormally fast pace and grabbed Aella’s wrist — making a beeline for the door.

“Levi, where are we going?” Aella knew something must’ve gone terribly wrong if they were leaving so early.

“Home. Someone sold me out — they held this party to trap me, too. Unless you want to be jailed and killed by being busted with me, I recommend we get the absolute fuck out of here.” Levi once more brushed shoulders with every person standing as he tried to shuffle his way out of the ring around the dance floor and general crowd, but it was too late. Like it was in slow motion for Levi and Aella, some stumbling drunk dumbass tripped over Levi as they stumbled backward and tugged off Levi’s hood while trying to grab anything to help him not fall. Levi’s hood fell back — revealing Levi’s alarmed eyes as he recognized that three people around them alone were a part of numerous mafias. Mafia spies immediately recognized him from the photos given to them and advanced subtly to trap Levi with no way out available. Levi looked around the trapped duo and cursed — the only way out of this deathtrap was the back door. Levi grabbed Aella’s wrist tighter and speed-walked out of the tight crowd in a gap not filled in with a mafia spy, throwing caution to the wind as far as laying low went.

“Oi! There he is!” Shite. Now went every plan of losing a small, manageable, crowd. Every mafia member in hearing range turned their heads and spotted Levi too — they just had to make it out alive. Levi ran to the door and flung it open — shoving Aella outside followed by slamming the door shut. They weren’t going to lose them for long and Levi couldn’t possibly take them all on with the chance of Aella getting hurt — Levi’s hands were tied; he had to make a decision on whether to run or to risk the chance of injury.

“Hey, shorty, where you running off to? Did she promise to smash or what?” Levi turned his head back to the door to only greet three figures — two tall as shit males and one fairly tall female — all of which were smoking a blunt. Levi grunted and turned back to speed off, but Aella was stuck frozen in her tracks — her eyes wide and mouth open.

“Let’s go, Aella. They’re going to catch up any fucking minute.” The female’s head perked up at the mention of Aella’s name and stepped towards the still frozen Aella — Levi tugged Aella’s arm harder in a hurry. They were so caught if she didn’t fucking move right now.

“…Aella? Is that… really you?” Even though it was pitch black at the back of the house, the outline of the female shown — glasses that looked like goggles laid atop of her head, her hair was combed up into a messy ponytail, and she wore a leather jacket with chains connected to her pants. Aella sucked in a breath and felt a tear prick her left eye. Levi scoffed and kept looking around for any sign of mobsters — one sign of activity and Levi was cutting off this ‘special’ moment without giving a single damn.

“…Hanji?” The person in question smiled and nodded at her companions that Aella and Levi were, in fact, allies before pulling Aella into a bone-crushing embrace. Aella squeaked and laughed — hugging ‘Hanji’ back with glee

“I thought you were dead! I never saw you at school or at parties and you obviously weren’t answering your phone, so I went over to your place to hear that you had been kicked out! What happened, Aella?” Aella rubbed the back of her neck and started to speak, but was interrupted by every mobster in attendance bursting through the door and windows. Levi grabbed Aella and started running against a now screaming Aella to turn back to get Hanji. Hanji nodded back at Levi and sprung into attacking with her comrades to give the wanted duo time.

“Levi! What about Hanji?! She’ll be taken hostage back there!” Levi snarled and ran even faster.

“It doesn’t fucking matter to me one bit if that greasy hag makes it or not. We need to lose them and hide — fast. I will not risk us being discovered back at the apartment!” Aella looked betrayed but kept running with her numb legs. Aella spotted a tiny alleyway that didn’t even look like one thanks to being so small — perfect when you have people speeding towards you to kidnap you.

“Levi! To the left! You see that?” Aella called out, tugging Levi’s hand. Levi nodded and took a sharp turn towards the tiny back alley. Levi yanked Aella’s arm forward and shoved her in first before running in himself. Levi pulled up his hoodie and panted slightly while Aella was full blown gasping for air. Levi soon heard fast footsteps approaching and grabbed Aella in his arms — covering her mouth while semi-shielding her with his body.

“Don’t make a sound,” Levi whispered and held his breath. The footsteps echoed in the alleys and got louder and louder every single time, inching closer and closer until they stopped right at the corner before the turn to enter the back alley. There was no sound whatsoever for a few seconds — the silence was deafening for Levi — Aella could only hear her booming heartbeat that felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest. Aella’s hand silently grabbed onto one of Levi’s arms, which so happened to be encircling her waist, and squeezed it out of anxiety. Levi moved his arm and held Aella’s shaky hand with the hand that wasn’t covering her mouth. Levi’s body angled ever so slightly more to cover Aella — hoping that his black attire would blend in well enough with the shadows of the alley and the blackness of the night. Suddenly, a tall figure came from around the corner and stood — sniffing the air; Aella almost let out a surprised scream and Levi’s body almost moved on queue to attack until he heard a laugh.

“Mike! I told you to find them not fucking scare them!” Hanji. Aella shoved Levi out of the way and bolted to Hanji.

“What were you fucking thinking you jackass! You could’ve fucking died out there and for what? To save us?” Hanji cackled at Aella’s endless scolding and doubled over.

“Christ, You haven’t changed one bit, haven’t ya? I was perfectly fine thanks to Erwin and Mike over there. They might’ve had numbers and more weapons, but no one beats Mike’s nose and Erwin’s strategies!” Hanji threw an arm over Aella’s shoulder. Levi glared at the two men towering over him and gripped his knife harder — Aella might’ve been friends with one of these people, but Levi sure as hell wasn’t. Hanji sighed, removed her arm, and walked over to Levi.

“Yo, shorty. We’re all comrades here, alright? We aren’t going to sell you out or shit. Every guy back there is dead, by the way.” Levi nodded and slowly sheathed his knife.

“Anyway, the guy with the eyebrow piercing and tattoos is Erwin, and the one with the ’stache and brass knuckles is Mike.” Hanji introduced the men, who each nodded their head in hello while still standing. Aella sighed and walked up to Levi.

“He’ll never introduce himself, but he’s Levi — my roommate.” Levi was too busy having a stare down with each man to bother to acknowledge Aella’s attempt at introducing him to them. Aella grabbed Levi’s arm and pulled him out of the back alley.

“Levi, we should get back before anything else happens. You guys should come too in case they try and find you.” Hanji and Erwin nodded in agreement and Mike simply followed. Levi, on the other hand, was repulsed at the idea of bringing three unknown people back to the apartment and made it obvious by glaring at Aella — who returned the glare just as furiously as Levi.

“If they make a damn mess, they’ll be fucking slaughtered.” Aella rolled her eyes and took it as Levi’s way of saying ‘this isn’t okay with me, but I have to make it up to you some way.’ The duo made their way back to their apartment, only now with three allies in tow.

[tallat-of-thralls]

Abbey Adventure

Part 1

One time i was at a Catholic Abbey and had a conversation with one of the monk priests there.

I was brought there by one of their acolytes that had been a patron for over 15 years. The Father wanted to know why i suddenly appeared out of the blue if i was this important to one of their congregation members and why is it only now, after 15 years, that i was brought up.

I skipped around the topic, trying to avoid the dynamics of what I was raised under, avoiding topics relating to myself or my history, and establishing that i was trying to form networks of communication and connect to higher powers.

He immediately pegged me as not Catholic even though i went to every sermon i was present for but the curious figment was this; when i had been introduced the blood rushed from his face out from a startle.

"Before i became a monk, i had a daughter with your name." He said, proceeding to follow me for the duration of my stay.

The acolyte i was with had proclaimed me his daughter -though legitimacy to that claim is unfounded- and liked to make a show of it. It would drag on me.

After the priest spoke to me of his daughter briefly, i feared that he had developed feelings of transference. Though not said directly, i did see his figure out of the corner of my eye at a safe distance when i was trotting around the holy abbey grounds.

It took me hiking the desert cliffs and slipping through some of the ground staff doors to finally not have a monk in full cassock haunting my steps. Unfortunately, it does mean i lost my original entourage that brought me there.

Since this was a retreat, there was a church group there for a few days taking a vow of silence. Im not sure on the rules of that but they spent most of it texting eachother. When my hosts and i sat in the common room waiting to enter the dining hall, something my guide had done or said irked this group. (Perhaps it was his snide remark about protestants.) This caused one of the church members to confront him angrily about making to much noise. Funny break in the vow after only a couple of hours.

Sitting there, goth witch that i am, i simply watched the strange exchange. I was having a good time despite not being catholic but the sense of righteousness and entitlement they both had in that moment seemed... Petty?

Anyways, sometimes i was without my group and would eat alone with the monks and the sparse few silent pilgrims. Only, there was one man that was not part of any group nor was he a monk that i found a bit strange. He would sit alone, eating his food with this 1000 yard stare. He looked to be in his 70s and perhaps was there under care of the monks. I wouldnt know. I didnt ask, seemed rufe. But he would always sit alone at the end of the table. Not necesarily by his choice, the monks had their tables, the church groups had theirs, and we had ours. They were large tables and this man sat at the very end of my table nearest to the kitchen.

At school, i always sat alone because people avoided me and i got the same impression here. I felt that the abbey visitors avoided this man. The monks had their assigned seatings and cliques.

So, i took to sitting with this infirm man everytime i was in the dining hall. We never conversed. Id sit quietly across from him and eat my meal while he peeled his mangoes and drank his coffee.

The monks watched me carefully. They all did. Not just the father that followed me but they would gawk with a slight sneer whenever i was present. I didnt hide what I was, any man, woman, and child can see that i was a witch but i was in their house so i minded my manners and read their hymns.

During a lunch, i was sitting in between this lone man and my group not partaking in any of the self righteous conversation. Just eating my delicious bread hand made by one of the monks watching the lone man eat another mango and some yogurt. This prompted me to snatch a mango after i had finished my entree just because how juicy and ripe they looked.

I was peeling my mango when i felt a nudge from my compadres large elbow. When i had looked up, the priest was sitting across from me with a look of inquiry. I know i had been asked a question but i was too wrapped up in my mango ventures to have paid attention.

He had asked me on canon and if I had any questions. Perhaps a noncatholic or nonchristian had some questions about their Risen Lord. Thing is, my grandmother (who raised me) was catholic and my mother an exnun so i was familiar with the prayers and some of the less known day to day associations. I even use a rosary in my practice to show respect to my roots.

Thinking it was my duty to question the regiment as an outsider. I made a slick comment about the use of the King James bible (written by a protestant something my grandma complained about) and then i chided at the priest about other hobbies the monks may have other than prayer and devotion. (Mind you inwas sitting under a large 6 panel depiction of Mary, Joseph, pomegranates representing the virginal conception of Jesus Christ painted by one of the monks.)

Taken a back slightly, he gestured toward a clique of sharp looking monks with tidy modern hair cuts and goatees toward the corner of the room and made mention about their joy for motorcycles. A joy that i dont share due to my ecclectic and illnreputable upbringing.

Sneering i said, "i dont like bikers. Leather or canvas i detest them. I see the paintings and the clay art but are there other crafts not so readily displayed for the public entertainment?"

This made the monk chuckle. He has been following me and knows full well i have been trying to find ways into the restricted areas (mostly due to structural integrity and neglected funding). The only one i respectfully avoided were the monks residential quarters simply because women that aren't nuns were forbidden. Still, temptation, i wanted to see their quarters but i could easily have been black listed. But our conversation was soon interrupted by the religious banter and flatter from my gracious host.

The lone man had already picked up his mango peels and left his plate in the bus trays before leaving. While i returned to quietly picking away at the yellow orange flesh with the somewhat perturbed monk having to entertain his acolyte and not converse with the witch that bears his daughters name.

He was a clever priest, he caught up with us again when we we are at the book (gift) shop purchasing some trinkets to take back home to Texas with me. (I found a nice clay wall hanger that made me think of my mother in law that i later gave to her).

Here, while my acolyte host was distracted looking through books, the priest found me to inquire upon my hobbies and was more than curious to find that i enjoy writing.

Perhaps i should have chosen a different book project to talk about because i accidently made a comment about "the return of the godSSSS" as the theme. I felt myself grimace remembering i was talking to a catholic monk that had been a priest longer than i have been alive. But he took that tidbit of information with amusement and only grinned slyly at me.

Once again, our conversation was brief and soon interrupted by my raucous host allowing for me to make a quick get away before "witch" rolled off the tongues of one or more monks. Not that i was hiding it but i also didnt want to make it a point of conflict for the monks based off their religious principles.

Yes, im not catholic but in any regard a person who devouts themselves entirely and so intricately into their faith isnt something i feel i should contend with. Im no devil, not prophet, not temptress. I dont feel the need to seduce a monk with witchy knowledge. I was on their ground, im the guest. I had been invited and that invitation could be resent easily. I didnt want that.

I was having plenty of experiences there and i wasnt finished.

To be continued...

[jamlally]

Baby it’s cold outside

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by  @panicfob .  The Day 10 Challenge prompt was Snow Storm

Warnings: Fluff and suggestions of sex

Pairing: Tony Stark x OFC (Belle Porter),

Summary:Tony has a surprise for Belle and the weather has a surprise for them both

Being woken up in the early hours wasn’t common place but it also wasn’t entirely unusual.  Belle had spent the night in her own apartment for a change as Tony had been hung up on some project that kept him up late and had him coming to bed in the early hours.  No matter how quiet he tried to be she would still wake up when he came back to his apartment and when he did manage to fall asleep it wasn’t restful.  Belle needed one nights solid rest so they had agreed that she would sleep in her own bed for the night, and then they would go back to her staying in his room.

It hadn’t been long since things had moved on to the more physical level between the,, but Belle found that she had missed his warmth and his smell when she tried settle own to sleep. After an hour of tossing and turning she had wrapped herself up in a blanket and headed up to Tony’s apartment, stolen a hoodie that replaced the blanket and headed back to her own bed,  Surrounded in his musky amber scent sleep had come more easily - week right up until the lights in her apartment had turned on and the man himself was shaking her shoulder

“Snowflake, hey come on baby rise and shine”

“Tony?” She was confused and groggy “What time is it?”

“Oh its’ early, maybe 4 but I have a surprise for you”. He was crouched down at her level, eyes looking tired but full of life

“Couldn’t it wait until a little later my love ?” Tired as she was she returned his grin with her own sleepy smile “You could join me in here”

“Mmmmm as tempting as that is I  don’t want to spoilt the surprise” He ran his hands under the covers one skimming up her leg while the other found her waist ‘Is that my hoodie I feel.  Was my girl missing me?”

Belle blushed a little “No I think you’ll find I’m wearing it so its mine.” Tony chuckled “Fair enough.  Now up you get, put on something warm, and meet mean the garage in 5” A quick hint of a kiss and he was off  leaving Belle grumbling as she went to freshen up.

Bundled up in a warm jacket, jeans and numerous other layers Belle made her way to the garage to find Tony, who was stood leaning against one of the larger SUV’s cup of what she guessed was coffee in one hand and his ever present phone in the other

“There’s my girl, hop on in.  I put coffee in there for you”  She got another quick kiss on the way passed and then she was settled into the passenger seat coffee in one hand, her other resting on Tony’s thigh.  Content with drinking her coffee and watching the world fly by Belle simply enjoyed the quiet.  About 30 minutes in she realized that other than out of the city she had no idea of where they were going 

“OK so it’s 5am and we are out of the city, so do you want to tell me where we are going?”

“Hmm nice of you to ask but no, that would spoil the surprise”

“Ok and why are we having this surprise? Is this like Natasha’s gift?”

“Ohh now there’s an interesting idea but no.  I know that I’ve been busy and it probably feels like I’ve been ignoring you.  In fact I probably have been a bit.  When I get into my head sometimes I loose track of things and I need to just get things don.  It makes me hard to be around and …look I know I’m a pain in the ass most of the time, but I need you to know that even when I get caught up I miss you”

“Tony, that’s not something you need to worry about.  I understand that’s the way you work and I accept that - it’s a part of who you are”

“You say that now but some day it’ll get annoying and then we will fight, and trust me, based on passed experience it won’t end well”

Belle sighed “Is this because of where I slept?  If it is we tased about that Tony.  We both needed uninterrupted rest.  You wake me when you get I and I wake you when I go out.  It was just a night.  Hell I count even sleep without your hoodie”

“I dint want to take any chances so we’re having a surprise.  Now why don’t you settle down find us something to listen to and enjoy the drive”

Tabling the conversation for the moment Belle picked up Tonys phone and scrolled through it finding some podcast that sounded interesting putting it on for them both to listen to.  Settling back she watched as the miles passed by.

Two hours into the drive Belle suddenly sat up looking at the signs in more detail and paying more attention to her surroundings.  

“Tony are we heading to the Catskills?” She asked more than a little excited 

She got a grin in answer and Belle found herself bouncing a little e in her seat in excitement

The cabin they pulled up to was beautiful, set amongst the trees, warm lights already spilling out the windows.  Belle looked between Tony and the cabin until he nodded, then she jumped out the SUV and headed up to the door.  It was colder than she imagined it would be outside and the air smelled crisp and almost sharp.  

“Come on slow poke - I want to look inside” she called back to Tony, the excitement clear in her voice.  

‘Put your thumb on the reader and the door will unlock” he called. Back moving to the trunk

“Of course it will” Belle muttered to herself,  She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to the amount of tech that surrounded her.  Sure enough the door opened and she walked into a stunning log cabin. The hallway branched off into a living room, dining area and kitchen and what looked like possibly a bathroom, while a set of stairs lead, she guessed up to at least one bedroom.

The click of the door alerted her to Tony’s presence.  Im going to light a fire and get the stove working, why don’t you take our bags upstairs to the room.  Turning Belle was surprised to see Tony had 2 small duffles with him 

“Now how on earth did you manage to get a bag packed for me ?”

Tony just grinned “Thats my secret.  Now chop chop we have relaxing to be doing so off you go”

The upper level gad a couple of bedrooms and a bathroom, Belle picked the room with an en suite and put the bags at the foot of the the bed.  Checking the bags he found one filled with new bottles of her toiletries and a pile of casual clothes, most of which looked to be hers though there seemed to be a couple of new sweaters.  Smiling she pulled out a loose charcoal grey one that she definitely hadn’t seen before.  It felt wonderfully soft and when she pulled it on she felt content.

“So not that I’m complaining, because this is wonderful, but why did we have to leave so early to com here”

“Well I had this all kind of planned but then the weather looked like it might not cooperate so I figured that we would just move the plans up a little bit. Ohh and can I just sy that who ever picked that sweater has excellent taste, it looks wonderful on you”

Belle moved up to Tony sliding her arms around his neck “MmmmHmmm not only does it look good but it feels wonderful too.  It’s from my man on the side, he has wonderful taste”

Man on the side huh.  Well he better watch out, I’m not a man that likes go share” Tony dropped his voice to something that was closer a growl before nipping at Belle’s neck.  Belle giggled and moved in closer.

“Seriously though Tony, thank you for this, it’s a wonderful idea”

“So my plan was to make some breakfast and some coffee, maybe sit in here and read, and maybe do some other things too” queue eyebrow wiggle

“Now that sounds like an idea, how about I go get started in the kitchen, see what food we have and you can start on the coffee”  Belle knew that if Tony had picked the coffee maker then he would probably be the only one who could work out how to get the damn this to brew.

They worked in companionable silence, steeling occasional kisses, and touches as they pulled together food before eventually retiring back to the loving room, coffee cups refilled, ready to relax.  Tony had produced books from another bag and the pair snuggled on the sofa to read.

“So I did some research and there is supposed to be an amazing hiking trail not far from here,  I thought we could pack a lunch and head out for a bit seeing as the weather is still good” Tony broke the silence, causing Belle to blink a little sleepily,  She hadn’t been asleep but, she wasn’t that far from a quick doze.

“That sounds good, i'll freshen up and then we can head out?” 

“No rush baby”

It.turns out that there was a reason to rush. They had found the trail easily enough and it was nice and clear making it easy to follow.  There had been an epic view about an hour in and they had stopped to have lunch, before heading off again. Another 10 minutes in and the wind suddenly picked but, and it was sharp and cold.  Tony had checked in with FRIDAY and had quickly turned them round to head back, but it turned out that they couldn’t outrun the weather.  About half way back the wind had brought snow with it and it fell faster than Belle had ever seen.  The ground grew slippery and the snow started to settle.  

“You said the weather was going stay good”. Belle  squealed as she slipped her way around the last corner before the cabin would come into sight

“Actually I said that the weather had stayed good, but regardless I probably should have checked” Tony called back raising hi spouse to be heard over the wind. “I didn’t think that the weather would come in that fast” 

Belle gave laugh  holding out her hand for him to grab “ Me either, come on if we hurry we will get back before it gets much worse”

Tony wrapped his hand around hers letting Belle tug him closer laughing at just how crazy the situation was .  The lights of the cabin were a beacon to the pair and they sped up as soon as their target was in site. Tony fumbled with his gloves to get his hand out to unblock to door and Belle shuffled trying to keep warm, her teach chattering 

“Ok Snowdrop in you go” Tony pulled her forward into the still cozy living room before slipping in and pushing the door closed.  The wind was rattling and whistling and the light was dimming as the storm hit full force.

“Ok Snowflake strip and then it’s off to the shower to get warm. Tony was already shedding his jacket and boots and leaving them by the door.  

Belle fumbled with zippers and laces as she freed herself from the layers, teeth chattering she took Tony’s hand “I think I need to help to make sure that all of me gets warmed up”

“As my lady wishes” Tony puled her back to rest against his front, causing Belle to squeal when his cold nose pressed against her shoulder

The shower was more than big enough for the two of them and the rainfall shower head meant they were doused in hot water in seconds.  Hands ran over bodies, lips touched and sucked on flesh and moans filled the steamy air.  

Lying in bed arms wrapped around each other, breathing returning to normal Belle couldn’t believe how relaxed and safe she felt. The weather was wild with the wind screaming but she felt untouchable, wrapped in the cocoon of the man that she had realized she quite probably loved.  She wasn’t sure if he felt the same, and she was damned sure that she wasn’t ready to tell him, but in her heart the knew that the truth was there.

When Belle next opened her eyes, the light from the bathroom was the only thing that let her see anything.  She slipped out from under Tony’s arm and the covers stopping to grab some panties, thick socks and the grey sweater from earlier.  Heading down to the kitchen Belle started to put together something for dinner that would fill them and warm,  She also started a batch of mulled wine for later.  Looking out of window there wasn’t anything to be seen other than a smiling mass of snow.  The wind hadn’t settled down at all from earlier and periodically she could hear the wind ratting the front door.

She was adding more  wood to the fire when Tony came down the stairs and she glanced up at him

“Hey, the storms really picked up, I don’t think were doing any outside activities for a while, but I’ve got dinner on”

“Hmm well when I come down to a view like this I don’t feel the need to go outside.  Come here baby girl”

Laying a final piece of wood in the grate Belle stood and saunters over, adding a little more sway to her hips, her eyes fixed on Tony.  Pausing in front of him she reached out a hand to run it over his sweater covered chest 

“The views pretty good from here too” she murmured  before stepping in for a kiss which ended up pulling a moan from herself.

Tony leaned in closer deepening the kiss, one hand running down to squeeze a handful of her ass. “I need to go and check on dinner” Belle whispered against his lips

“Well I need to check on whats under that sweater” he more or less groveled back 

Belle laughed  slapping him gently on his chest “ Back up Mr and if you’re good I’ll let you have a look later”

Tony let her go but gave her a stinging slap on her behind as soon as she headed away from him before he went to look out the front door.  

“Ah mulled wine too” 

“Yep, I made us a beef stew and the rice is nearly done, I figured mulled wine would be a nice way to finish dinner”

“That sounds and smells amazing” His lips were back on her neck and arms around her waist “I just had a look outside and checked in with FRIDAY we’re pretty much snowed in, and the storm isn’t going to let up for at least 24 hours”

“So you’re saying that we are stranded here, all alone together for at least 24 hours, what ever will we do Mr Stark?”  Belle couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice

“Oh don’t you worry Agent Porter I’ve got plans for you”

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [17] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

It takes Roger exactly two weeks to realise he doesn’t know Ash nearly as well as he thought he did. There’s a lot to glean about a person from their room, and what they say, but not everything, not even close to everything.

“So I guess you’re working tomorrow?” Roger asks, leaning against the bar as Ash polishes a glass. It comes as a surprise when she makes a face, shaking her head. “We’re going on a pub crawl, if you wanna come along then.” 

Ash takes her time before answering, hanging up the glass and pulling another from the rack before she finally speaks.

“I can’t, I’m busy, sorry.” And she sounds... uncomfortable about it. Roger’s never known her to be uncomfortable about anything that didn’t relate to her home life, and she can see the moment he jumps to that conclusion. “I’m going to Paris in the afternoon,” she says quickly, and Roger’s taken aback, “I don’t get home until late; train times, you know?” 

“A day trip to Paris?” He asks, and Maureen leans over to Ash with a small smile.

“Is that where you go on those Saturdays? That’s cute, Ash, little routine trips to France.” She flicks Ash with the end of her tea towel, to which Ash smiles despite herself, blushing and flicking Maureen back.

“Oi, I’m just going to Paris, nothing cute about it. I’m allowed to have hobbies, you know.” She argued back, and Maureen snickered, smiling fondly at the ginger before she tucked her tea towel into her back pocket and went back to cutting lime wedges. “I’m going to The Louvre.” Ash explained to Roger, cheeks still faintly pink.

“The Louvre?” There was a surprise in his voice that Ash had expected, and when she looks up at him, she still seems a bit defensive.

“There’s free entry once per month; first Saturday at six.” She pauses, and when his expression brightens, hers falls and she feels like she’s said too much.

“Do you go every month?” He sounds delighted at the prospect, and Ash wants to defend herself, but then he says, “you shouldn’t be catching the train so late, it’s dark even at six, love, you must get home at like midnight; just let me drive you.”

“Rog, you don’t need to do that,” but her grin is more relieved than anything else, the tension leaving her shoulders as she goes back to her work, “you guys are going out tomorrow, and besides, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.” 

“I can get on the piss with them any time; this only happens once a month.” And the way his words make Ash smile, quietly pleased, he’s already pretty sure it’s going to be worth it.

Things between them have been... weird. Good weird, sure, but that doesn’t make them less weird. They haven’t really had time for an actual date yet, they just sort of show up at each other’s homes and watch TV and make out whenever they don’t have work or rehearsals of a night. It’s been good, it’s felt safe. 

When Ash sits on the curb outside of her dorm, she feels nervous more than anything else. It’s not a feeling she’s used to; she’s never been nervous around Roger before; it takes her probably too long to realise how much she wants this to go well. When he shows up, just after midday, he’s beaming from the second hand station wagon that he’d gotten since recording the album. There’s a map in the passenger seat.

“I’ve driven there before, but not for a while, you’re going to have to direct me.” He advises as she buckles her seat belt, putting her sketchbook and thermos by her feet and unfolding the map.

It’s a long drive, just over five hours, and Ash is nervous for about three of them, which is only compounded by getting lost twice, and eventually Roger pulls over.

“You’ve been tense since I showed up; what’s wrong?” He asks, and Ash sighs heavily, picking up her thermos and pouring herself a small cup of tea.

“I don’t exactly go blabbing about the fact that I make semi-frequent trips to Paris, alright?” Ash admits, and she takes a sip of her drink, looking out through the windshield. Roger’s not sure what that means, how to respond, and after a minute, she adds, “Freddie doesn’t even really know.” And she finishes the tea, putting the thermos back, and Roger’s still quiet. When she finally looks at him, his expression is fondly amused.

“You’ve made me feel all special.” It’s far too genuine to be a joke, and Ash lets herself smile back, rolling her eyes at him.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She warned, and Roger’s smile sharpened as he pulled back onto the road.

“Too late.” But he reaches over to rest his hand on her knee as she opens the map up again, and her heart grows warm, her anxiety easing. They turn up the radio for the rest of the trip; Ash hums along to the songs she only knows the tune of without too much hassle, yet somehow can’t seem to actually sing a note to save her life. She finishes butchering Elton’s Crocodile Rock at the top of her lungs, and Roger’s sides hurt from laughing, and she’s grinning in a way that means she knows exactly how terrible she is and how much it amuses Roger.

“I have other skills.” She says dismissively, grinning with her nose in the air as the radio host announces another song, and instead of answering, Roger sings along to the radio like he’d written the melody himself. “Showoff.” Ash laughed, and Roger’s eyes crease as he grins.

“I don’t have other skills, I gotta make use of this one.” He replied, lightly, and Ash’s expression softened.

“Oh shut it, you’ve got at least two other skills, probably.” She played along with his joke, watching him as he sings along to the rock song blaring from the radio, and it’s relaxed and easy, and she finds herself wondering why she’d been so worried just a few hours before. 

They hit Paris at a quarter to six, and grab some fast food before heading to the gallery. There’s people everywhere, and the line isn’t exactly short to get in, more than a few of them are uni students like them, looking to get in for free, and Ash says hi to a few; the fact that she goes here enough to know other people who do this regularly to is still something that baffles Roger a little. He’s worried she’s getting nervous again when she takes his hand - they’re not the sort of people who hold hands - but when he looks at her, her eyes are shinning and bright as she looks up at the building; she’s excited. 

Ash goes quiet in the gallery, looking around with wide-eyed reverence at the works around them. They move past the entrance slowly; Ash gazes at the works with their plaques memorised, while Roger reads them, fingers laced with hers. 

“Oh, hello.” Voice reverential, Ash greets a statue at the end of the hall like an old friend, and introduces Roger as such. “This is the Venus de Milo, she’s almost two thousand years old, god, look at that marble work, imagine how sharp it would have looked back then,” and then it’s like she’s opened a floodgate, and she’s tugging him along, rambling along the way about each piece they pass, little facts not on the plaques, things she can cite from the top of her head. Above everything, she’s passionate, pulling out of his grip to clutch her hands to her chest and looking up at headless sculpture of what Roger thinks is an angel, and what Ash clarifies to be The Winged Victory of Samothrace.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ash’s moon-eyed gaze was focused on the statue’s marble garments, but Roger’s only got eyes for her. When he doesn’t answer, she looks to him, catches the way he’s smiling at her, and she feels her cheeks heat up. “What?”

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” It’s a sincere question, and it’s as if he can see her responses flit through her mind, sarcastic, dismissive, an eye roll, flippant, she passes them all, takes a moment to really look at him, taking her time to breathe in the whole situation before responding.

“More than anything.” It’s a sincere answer, and it catches him off-guard. Ash is many things, but unapologetically enthusiastic is not one Roger’s familiar with.

Turning on her heel, Ash leads further in to the gallery, but it’s finally hits him how much this means to her, this place, these works, bringing him here. They’d been together for barely a fortnight, but they both know it’s felt so much longer than that; she’d taken a gamble, bringing him, he has no doubt she’d have left him in London if she didn’t want him to come along, and something tightens in his chest. 

He doesn’t dwell on it, he takes it in stride well enough, peppering her with questions along the way that she seems thrilled to answer. Tucking her arm into his, they make their way through the building, the babbling turning to banter easily as Roger provides his own commentary on each piece as they pass, which serves to make Ash laugh.

They get to a small painting on the top floor with a border that looks bigger than the picture itself, and Ash has gotten quiet again. 

“Who’s this?” Roger asks, the two of them stepping close to get a closer look.

“The Lacemaker.” Ash sounds a little awed, and when he looks down at her, Roger sees how fondly she’s smiling at the little painting. “She’s my favourite.” 

“’course she is, she’s like you.” Roger answers easily, and Ash makes a face, laughing a little self consciously.

“No she’s not, shut up.” She doesn’t sound like she believes him, a bit of a laugh in her words, but she’s resting her head against Roger’s shoulder and he wraps an arm around her.

“Same focus.” Roger muses, and when Ash looks to him, surprise and confusion on her face, he just grins. “When you sew, you’ve got the same look on your face, same focus.” He explains, and there’s something in Ash’s awed expression that he can’t place, and she pulls away from him too fast for him to really identify it.

She’s pretty sure she loves him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

She can’t look at him, stepping out of his grip as she feels tears well in her eyes as her emotions overwhelm her, not that it’s an uncommon occurrence, Ash has never set foot in an art gallery and not cried, but Roger didn’t need to know that. She’d really been doing well today, too. Usually she gets lost in the scope and detail of The Wedding at Cana, or even comes to obsess over the little details of The Lacemaker, but she’s also usually alone and can get away with it. 

“That’s- Rog, that’s really sweet of you to say.” And he can hear in her voice that she’s trying not to believe him, that she can’t let herself believe him. And when she turns back, she’s wiping at her eyes, and he wants to try and comfort her, but she’s already walking past him briskly, leading to the next painting.

“There’s something I’ve... well, I’ve always wanted to try here.” He hears her say, voice firm as if she’s trying to move quickly past whatever the moment she’d just had was. She leads not to the painting, but to one of the weirdly low, backless sofas that are scattered around for people to view the paintings from. This one’s empty; Ash looks around for security, and seeing none, steps up onto it. 

“And what’s that?” He asks with a smirk, the sofa giving her only about two inches of height on him. He doesn’t ask why she’d almost started crying, and for that she’s thankful. Instead, his hands come to rest on her hips, and he’s smiling at her in that way that sets her heart aflutter.

“Don’t ruin this.” She warns very quietly, amused smile on her lips, and Roger quirks an eyebrow.

“Ruin what?” He asks, shooting for innocent, a million different things running through his mind that could make her smile, but would definitely ruin the moment; he bites his tongue. 

Ash cups his face in her hands, and she can’t help but laugh as she leans in to kiss him. It starts sweet and tender, her lips soft against his, but he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. There’s people moving around them, most ignoring them, some stare, but neither of them seem to care. She tastes mostly like the tea she’d sculled in the car when they’d arrived, and she’s got a hand in his hair when he presses kisses from her jaw, trailing down her neck, and she laughs, a little giddy. He pulls back, if only to see her bright eyed and blushing. 

“Let’s go home.” She says softly, and Roger’s never agreed to something so quickly, his heart elated to see Ash giggling and mischievous as they backtrack through the gallery, knowing that he and the art were the things that made her smile like that. 

“I didn’t ruin it.” He sounds a little smug when he says it as they walk through the streets of Paris back to his car, and Ash glances at him out of the corner of her eye, snorting.

“I could see you holding yourself back from a one-liner about pinning masterpieces to walls or something like that; I appreciate your discretion.” She tells him, deadpan, and Roger gives her a self-satisfied grin.

“It certainly wasn’t easy.” He agrees, but she still reaches out and takes his hand. When they get to his car, he goes to head around to the driver’s side, but she pulls him back for a moment, pressing a kiss to his lips. After a moment, he’s got a hand on her hips, pressing her against the side of the car, and she sighs against his lips, her arms around his neck. Her legs slide open easily as she pulls him closer, letting him slide a knee between her thighs.

“Christ,” Roger breaks away from the kiss, murmuring the word against her neck as her nails graze his scalp.

“Thank you for today.” She whispers softly, and he can hear the smile in her words. He presses a kiss to her shoulder.

“Any time, love.” He steps back from her, enough to see her fond smile, and to give one in return, before he heads around to the driver’s side and they both get in the car.

It’s well past midnight by the time they get back, and Ash follows Roger up to his flat with a yawn, flinching as the door opens and Brian, Freddie, and John all greet them with a cheer, obviously taking a pit stop in the middle of their pub crawl.

“I was starting to sober up; the walk between the last pub and the next is directly smack bang in the middle of here.” Freddie claims with a surprising amount of confidence considering his words make no sense.

“No- this place is on the way to the next pub.” John corrects, and Ash has to giggle at the sight and sound of a drunk John Deacon. It never fails to amuse her, he’s surprisingly confident and well spoken.

“Yes! Deaky is right! You two can join us!” Freddie brandishes and subsequently spills on Brian, who’s sitting beside him.

“Go if you want, I’m knackered.” Ash yawns, giving Roger’s shoulder a nudge, moving past him to his room.

“Actually, I think I’m right, I’ve been driving for a while,” Roger says, making to follow Ash, only to hear Freddie boo loudly, and John call out after them.

“Where’d you guys go?” He asks, and Roger answers over his shoulder.

“Art gallery.” He answers, and he hears Ash snort from his bedroom.

“That’s... Rog, that’s surprisingly cute, didn’t know you had it in you.” Brian smiles at him, and Roger feels a little patronised by the pride in his flatmate’s voice. He flips Brian off, along with the rest of them, since John was grinning like the cat who got the cream and Freddie looked like he was three seconds away from actually ‘awe’ing. 

“Did you kids have fun?” Freddie calls, sounding nothing so much like his own mother, wearing a shiteating grin, which only got wider as Roger told him to piss off, slamming the door once he got into his room. 

Ash was standing by his bed, pulling off the shorts she’d been wearing all day, already wearing one of his shirts. Roger can hear the others on the other side of the door already laughing and talking about something else, all three of them trying to convince themselves to get up and move on to the next pub. She gives him an amused smile and Roger just rolls his eyes at his friends’ whole situation.

They don’t speak, though Ash’s yawn triggers one in Roger, and when he’s stripped down to his boxers, she’s waiting for him beneath the covers. When he kisses her, it’s a thank you for the day, and she hums a soft, contented noise against his lips. They’re too tired to even fool around, and Ash wraps her arm around him as he turns to lay on his side, pressing her chest to his back, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade before they fall asleep.

the ususal suspects: @deakydickfanpage @hollyissuchahoe @laueecakee @smittyjaws @crystalshines2909 @i-am-sarah @legendsaresooftenwarnings @2ptonpt @benhardy24-7 @maiilovely @mickey-yr-a-goner @butter-times @heyyouitskay @tired-eyes-fairy-lights @yepimthatperson @missieluvsmurder @ironqueen98 @ceruleanrainblues @banhbao329 @fantasticchaoticwho @ko-kitty @seven-seas-of-hi @mimisfangirlfantasy @aadjuric @rogmobile @cardybenhardy @snacfu @perriwiinkle @the-strange-fan-girl @finite-incantatem-7 @tapetayloe @florencewelchismybiggod

[porkchop-ao3]

I just watched the Wedding Squanchers episode and was thinking about how Rick hated himself for letting his guard down. Could you do a fic on Rick and reader enjoying themselves at an event, narrowly escaping a life-threatening situation, and Rick distancing himself from the reader because he thinks him letting his guard down almost got reader killed. Also Rick could have unspoken feelings for reader that are revealed in angsty confrontation after they realize they can't stand being apart.

First of all IM SO SORRY ANON. I’m pretty sure this has been sitting in my inbox since before Christmas, but I did promise I’d get it done and here we are! The reason I took so long is because I wanted to do something kind of lengthy, and I just needed the right time and spark of inspiration.

I hope this 6k+ word fic was worth the wait! It’s sort of what you asked for? But it just turned into this, I hope you like it anyway!

In this one the reader is bisexual and there’s a little woman on woman in it, so be prepared for that. It’s NSFW, naturally, and contains a little bit of gore (loss of a limb, yeah, this fic’s pretty out there) but I wouldn’t consider it particularly descriptive! Just be aware of it if you don’t like that kind of thing :) also contains a sprinkling of sexting and a pinch of anal fingering. Bon appetit!

-

Staring down at my freshly sliced off ankle was the last thing I thought I’d be doing that night, hell, it wasn’t even on my radar in terms of possible things that could happen. It wouldn’t even have appeared on the hypothetical risk assessment. But alas, I was sat on the grimy floor of Rick’s garage watching a pool of blood quickly form on the ground where my foot should’ve been, while Rick was rooting around in boxes muttering angrily to himself. The cut was perfect, like it had been done with a laser.

It was strange. I hadn’t yet quite wrapped my head around what had happened. Rick and I had been exploring a market on some alien planet, and he’d been in his element. He’d told me about the Garflugeron annual fair, and how a whole host of different alien species got together to sell/buy/trade goods; collectibles, technology, food, medicine, anything you could imagine. We were at a table speaking to an alien with four sets of arms, a large slug-like body and one big black eye, who strangely enough spoke English. I was about to trade an old Gameboy for a cool looking gemstone, when all of a sudden the alien fucking exploded. Rick seemed to know what was happening straight away, grabbing my arm and yanking me out of the ‘splash zone’ as millions of tiny bugs came crawling out of the chest cavity. It was like a domino effect after that, and everywhere around us these bugs were bursting out of various aliens’ chests. Rick had shot a portal at the nearest wall and ran for it, urging me to follow. I’d ended up with my face in the dirt after tripping on a rock like the hot blond in a horror movie, and only just made it through the portal before it closed. Of course, somehow I’d turned up on the other side missing an appendage.

“Rick?” I said, my voice was small. He didn’t respond, instead he growled in anger and upturned the box he was looking through, emptying its contents onto the floor so he could look through more easily. “I feel weird.”

“N-no shit. Your foot’s in another dimension. Wh-why the fuck weren’t you right behind me, huh?” He asked.

“I tripped.”

“Of course you fucking did, fuck… My portal gun works on a timer, which I specifically set to remain open just long enough for us to get through. K-keep that in mind next time we’re running for our lives, huh?”

“So that’s what happened? My foot got cut off by the portal?” I asked.

“Your foot ceased to exist in this dimension as soon as the portal closed up. Nothing got cut, doesn’t work like that.” He grumbled.

“Shouldn’t we go back and get it?”

“Huh?” He grunted, abandoning the clutter on the floor before hurrying over to the cupboards in his desk.

“My… My foot. We can go back and get it an- and take it to the hospital and they can put it back on. I’ve seen it on TV, we just need to put it in some ice!” I murmured. The adrenaline was starting to ebb, and whatever pain I hadn’t been feeling before was beginning to surface. I hissed as a sudden burning sensation started up, my hand flew down to my severed ankle, clutching at it desperately.

“Do you really wanna go back there? Th-th-that whole fucking place is teeming with Broflonite Lung Mites. You saw what happened to those aliens, th-the fucking things exploded from the chest out! Th-they practically turned inside out right in front of us! If we stayed there five more fucking seconds, that could be happening to us right now.” He yelled, then he was coming over to me, a device of some sort in his hand.

“Ahhh, fuck, it hurts.” I cried, eyes beginning to water as the burning intensified.

“Of course it does! Wh-what, you expect having your foot chopped off not to hurt?” He growled, and I sobbed, he met my eyes at this, seeming to soften. He patted my knee lightly. “Look, ahh, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna- I’m gonna fix you up.”

“What is that?” I asked, staring at the device in his hand.

“It’s gonna help you, okay? J-just relax. Close your eyes for me and take some deep breaths, baby.” He told me, now this had me panicking.

“Why? Are you- is this gonna hurt me?” I asked.

“Just trust me, it needs to be done. It’ll be over soon, alright?” The hand on my knee stroked up and down, a little too quickly to be soothing.

“What is it? I’m scared, I-”

“Ahh, fuck this.” He snapped, and pushed the device into the end of my leg, and I cried out. Following the instant agony of having a lump of metal rammed directly into a fresh wound, the pain only got worse. Burning. A different kind of burning than before, actual, physical burning; I could smell cooking meat, and I retched dryly at the knowledge that it was coming from me. “It’s cauterising the wound.” He told me, and I retched again; this time not so dryly. “Ahh, Christ. Got any other bodily fluids you wanna discharge all over my floor?” He complained, then did something to the device, and I watched as a robotic foot unfurled from the end of it.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “That’s my… that’s my foot now?”

“Try to move it.” He commanded. I hesitantly did as he asked, and to my confusion, the toes wiggled at will. “Alright, perfect.” He said, then wrapped one arm around my waist, and hooked the other under my knees. He grunted as he lifted me, and carried me towards the garage door.

“Wait, Rick… I’ve got a robot foot? Aren’t you- can you please explain what’s happening to me?” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck for stability as he carried me through the house.

“Your flesh will grow back around it. I-it’ll all be back to normal in a few hours.” He explained.

“How the hell does that work?”

“That device just injected the area with regenerative cells, harvested from a starfish. It’s gonna be like nothing happened, sweetie. Well, getting through airport security might be a bitch from now on, but at least you’ve got your foot back, right?” He said, kicking the door to his bedroom open before carrying me inside and placing me down on his bed. “Just uh, just take it easy for a while, alright? Rest up. Take a nap, or whatever. Like I said, it’ll be fine in a few hours but it’s best to keep off of it till then.” He told me, then made to leave.

“Wait!” I said, and he paused in the doorway. “Aren’t you gonna stay with me?” Please stay with me, was more like what I wanted to say. All I wanted was to be held by him, to feel safe, protected. He stared at me for a while, face emotionless.

“No. Y-you’re fine. I’m not gonna sit in here and watch you sleep, I have shit to do.” He said, then left. I stared out at the empty hallway for a good few moments, before letting out a loud breath and rolling onto my back. My leg no longer hurt, yet I could feel a strange, itchy, tingly sensation. I took his advice and closed my eyes, trying to get some sleep.

-

A few days after the incident it was as if nothing ever happened. Well, sort of. My foot was fine; I could walk, it didn’t hurt, and there was no trace of a scar… but something had changed. Rick hadn’t called, visited, or even texted. Now that was out of character, normally he wouldn’t go more than a day without texting me a photo of some gadget he was working on, or dropping in to drag me to some alien planet when Morty wasn’t around, or for a nice, loud fuck in the middle of the night. That last one was definitely a shocker, not to mention disappointing. I’d even stayed up late one night, purposely dressed in my nicest lingerie in preparation for his possible arrival, but it didn’t come. I’d been lounging on my sofa watching TV, in said lingerie, at two in the morning when I finally decided to take action. I pulled out my phone and took a few pictures of myself, scrolling through them until I found the most flattering one; the one where my tits looked the perkiest and my tummy looked the smallest. I sent it to him; no caption needed. In seconds the little 'read’ icon appeared below my message, and I eagerly awaited his response.

Ten agonising minutes passed, and I didn’t hear a peep from Rick. I sighed and unhooked my bra, letting it drop so I could snap a picture of my naked breasts, making sure to pinch a nipple with my free hand. I sent it to him, and again my phone informed me that he’d seen it. I nibbled on my thumb nail, my heart starting to drum harder in my chest. A few minutes went by and I typed him a message.

“Come over, I want you to bend me over this sofa and help me wake the neighbors up.” I said, pressing send. I leaned back, spreading my legs and sliding my hand under my panties, stroking my pussy at the thought of him doing so. Finally, I got a response.

“You’re making it very difficult for me to concentrate on my work.” He texted back, and I laughed; just a sharp exhale through my nose.

“That’s because I want you to concentrate on me.” I replied. It seemed I needed to up the ante even more, since I didn’t get another response. With a frustrated sigh, I pulled my camera up again, this time taking a video. I filmed myself playing with my pussy, keeping the phone close to my face so the mic would pick up my laboured breath and quiet moans. After a while, I pushed my underwear down my legs, altering the angle of my phone so it could capture me stuffing two fingers inside. I cursed under my breath at this, and started thrusting.

“Come on, baby. I’ve been thinking about you all night, I can’t sleep. I’m so wet for you, Rick. I need you to come over and stuff me with your cock ‘till I can’t take any more.” I said, my voice coming out needy and breathless. I cut the video, not daring to watch it back before sending it to him. I’d probably chicken out if I saw myself.

“You still got my dick in your bedside drawer?” He texted after a while. He was referring to the dildo I owned that’d been cast from Rick himself… his last Christmas gift to me.

“I do.” I replied.

“Great. You have my dick on demand, then. Go wild.” Was his response. My jaw dropped, and I felt the chilling, humiliating blow of rejection. A second text came in shortly after. “Btw, I’m not saying you should keep sending me videos, but I’m also not saying you shouldn’t. So yeah. Ball’s in your court with that one.”

I scoffed in irritation, tossing my phone aside. I went straight to bed after that.

-

The next morning (well, afternoon; I’d slept in pretty late) I drove over to the Smith household. When I turned up, Rick was unsurprisingly in his garage with the door open. As I walked up the driveway I caught his eye, and he pressed a button on the remote beside him. His face was an emotionless wall as the garage door began it’s slow descent, and I felt a flash of anger as he attempted to shut me out. Thank God for its slow moving mechanism, though, because I managed to duck underneath it before it closed. I stared at Rick with my arms crossed over my chest, daggers in my eyes. He sighed heavily, turning back to whatever he was working on.

“What the fuck, Rick?” I said. No reply. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He said monotonously.

“Well clearly you do. You made me feel like such an idiot last night.” I told him, feeling heat creeping up my neck and onto my cheeks as I relived the embarrassment.

“What, I-I-I’m not allowed to say no to you?” He said, and I gasped at his insinuation.

“Of course you are! It was the comment about the videos that got to me. You either want me or you don’t, Rick. You can’t have it both ways.” I told him, he didn’t even react. “And let’s be honest, Rick. It’s not like you’ve ever said no before; hell, it’s usually you initiating things, turning up at my house and waking me up when it suits you. But the minute I want something you… you go and make me feel dirty, and gross, and cheap, an-and…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

“That wasn’t my intention.” He informed me, taking a glance at me from the corner of his eye. “You aren’t any of those things.”

“Well, you need to work on your tact. And what was that, just then? Shutting the door on me when you saw me coming? That was about the rudest thing you’ve ever done, and let’s be honest, Rick, that’s a hard record to break.” I ranted.

“Ugh, can we not? I’m not in the mood for this. I-I never will be, so like… can we drop it?” He whined, burying his face in his hand as he leaned on the desk. I blinked at him.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” He lifted his head up to give me a funny look.

“Oh, I don’t know. You’re treating me like shit, I wondered if there was some external reason as to why that was. Maybe you’re just an arsehole, though.” I shrugged.

“You know what? I don’t need this. Just fucking leave if you’re gonna be all pissy with me. I’m over it.” He said, pressing that button again; opening the garage door for me.

“Why are you acting like this? Have I done something wrong? Is it because I puked and bled all over your floor and left you to clean it up?” I asked. He snorted, shaking his head.

“No. Y-you haven’t done anything.” He sighed. He paused for a while, chewing on his bottom lip and fiddling with a wire sprouting out of the gadget on his desk. “I just… I-I-I think maybe we should, uhhh, stop… this.” He finally said. Immediately, my heart was racing.

“What?” I asked, dread cascading over me.

“Did I stutter?” He asked, head snapping up to look at me. “Don’t answer that. Look, I just don’t think this is a g-good idea. Us being- uhh, us fucking.”

“Why not? I thought… I thought it was fun.” I said meekly, feeling a lump rise in my throat. I couldn’t tell whether it was because I was being dumped, or because he’d reduced what we had to simply 'fucking’.

“Does everything need an explanation?” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Not everything. But this does.” I told him. “Things were good until the other day. Has it got something to do with my leg? Does that put you off; make me less attractive?” I asked, suddenly feeling genuinely self conscious about it for the first time since I’d healed.

“You fuckin’ serious? N-now that’s actually the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and, quote of the day here; let’s be honest, that’s a hard record to break.” He imitated my voice, and I glared at him.

“You’re making it easier for me to walk away, keep going.” I said through clenched teeth.

“This is just a dis-disaster waiting to happen, (y/n). You know that.” He said poignantly. I shook my head in confusion.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“You and I… we aren’t good together. Let’s just leave it at that. N-no point dragging this out, my mind’s made up.” He told me, gesturing to the door.

“This has come out of nowhere, it seems. I deserve the chance to talk about this, make sense of it.” I argued.

“My mind is made up.” He repeated sternly, giving me a look that was so full of disdain I almost burst into tears. He made a sound of irritation, and turned away, effectively blocking me out as he continued his tinkering.

“Alright,” I said after a long pause of just staring at the back of his head. “Nice knowing you, I guess.” I shrugged, turning on my heel and leaving without a glance back. I was more pissed off than anything, quite happy to leave him and never see him again at that point, completely dumbfounded as to where it had all come from. I deserved better, anyway. The common courtesy of an explanation would’ve been nice, but at the end of the day, Rick Sanchez was Rick Sanchez. He lived on his terms, nobody else’s. If I expected closure, it’d be a damn long time until I got any; it was much easier to just walk away. To accept it all as an experience and move the fuck on.

So that’s what I did. A fortnight later, I found myself in a bar being chatted up by someone who was actually my age. They were pleasant, offered to pay for my drinks, asked questions about myself and appeared to give a damn about my answers, held the door for me on the way out. The perfect gentleman; except for the fact that they were a woman. A tall lady with long red hair that fell in curls down to her hips. Slender hands and high cheekbones, she was all smiles and soft touches; patting my arm whenever I said something she found amusing. She was a stunner, that was for sure. She held my hand in the taxi back to my place, and she was the first to kiss me once shrouded in the privacy of my living room. I’d never been with a woman before, though I’d always had an interest, and I was surprised to find that if felt like the most natural thing in the world. Well, aside from the fact that when those slender fingers slid underneath my shirt and grazed my nipples, I could only think of one person. And he certainly wasn’t a redhead.

I didn’t stop her. I didn’t want to. I urged her over to the sofa, sinking into the cushions as she climbed onto my lap. With a soft hum, she pulled my shirt over my head, let her hands slide back down over the black lace of my bra; which was quickly removed and discarded on the floor. With slightly shaky hands, I did the same to her. She was braless, her breasts were small and pert, and her nipples hardened under my palms. I licked my lips and looked up at her. She gave me this eager little smile.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” She said, and my lips parted as I considered my answer. “Female-wise.” She clarified, and I nodded. “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

“Yeah.” I breathed, closing my eyes as she slid her hand inside my jeans, finding my clit with ease and rolling it under her fingers. I moaned softly, parting my legs wider.

“Mmm, you’re a pretty one.” She whispered, leaning down to press kisses along the side of my neck. It was odd feeling soft skin against me, quite the contrast to the slight roughness that Rick usually brought, depending on how long it’d been since his last shave… I shook his image out of my mind, and ran my hands along the curve of my companion’s waist. I shifted on the sofa, tilting my hips as she picked up the pace. I moaned loader, rolling my head against the back of the sofa.

“Oh God…” I sighed, and she took my jaw in her free hand, covered my mouth with her own. She tasted sweet, her lips felt plump against mine and she kissed with a certain gentleness that left me craving more.

“Let me go down on you, baby. If your pussy tastes as good as your tongue, I’m in for a good night.” She said, a devilish giggle leaving her lips as she slid back, down onto the floor between my legs. She tugged on my jeans, and I lifted my hips to help her remove them. I felt a little self conscious being exposed, but it didn’t last long, because she soon buried her tongue within my folds. She moaned against me, pushing my legs further apart and coming closer. She worked differently to Rick, slower, more deliberate and precise, and I chalked it down to the fact that she was a woman and knew from experience what felt- I stopped myself. I was thinking about him again. I looked down at the woman between my legs and stroked my fingers through her hair. So soft. Nothing like the wild, unkempt-

“Fuck!” I spat, I couldn’t tell if it was out of frustration or pleasure. When she slipped a finger inside me and started rocking it against my g-spot, pleasure definitely won me over. I wailed and bucked, my back arching as she flicked her tongue back and forth. “Ohhh yes, please… k-keep going.” I cried, rocking my hips in time with her movements. She moaned and chuckled against me, adding a second finger.

“Alright, what’s this about, a-are you trying to make me…” A male voice cut through the room, and I opened my eyes with a start to see Rick stepping out of a portal into my living room. He was stunned into silence for a moment at the sight before him. “Jealous.” He finished.

“Rick, what the fuck?” I yelled, bringing my knees up to my chest in a bid to hide myself. Meanwhile my female companion and screamed at the top of her lungs and was now scrambling for her discarded t-shirt, pinning it against her bare chest.

“Shit, I thought I heard another woman but I wasn’t sure; holy shit. Y-y-you didn’t tell me you liked pussy.” He exclaimed. The redhead turned away from Rick and pulled her t-shirt on, giving me a strange look as she did. I could only offer an apologetic smile.

“You heard us?” I asked in confusion, fidgeting uncomfortably, suddenly realising I was completely naked in a room full of fully dressed people.

“Uhh, thanks for a decent night, but I think I’m gonna go…” The lady said, already in her shoes, handbag over her shoulder. She was practically out the door before I could respond, clearly shaken by the interruption. Once she was gone, I turned to glare at Rick. He held his phone up, it was showing a phone call coming from my number. I sighed and reached for my jeans, digging around in the pocket for my phone.

“S-so you didn’t do that on purpose?” He asked.

“Of course I fucking didn’t.” I told him, hanging up the pocket-dialed phone call. “Look away!” I shouted, and he was startled into doing what I asked. I dressed quickly, my hands shaky from unsatisfied arousal.

“Excuse me for thinking you were out to piss me off. W-we hardly parted on the best of terms.” He grumbled. He looked back over at me once I was decent.

“Who’s fault’s that?” I sighed. He rolled his eyes, but I could see he accepted the blame.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I know I didn’t handle things well. I-I just… I didn’t want to be around you.” He explained, and I cocked a brow.

“Right, that makes me feel better.” I said, dripping with sarcasm.

“N-not because I dislike you, or anything!” He rushed to amend, sighing heavily as he paused. “I thought it was best to keep you at arms length, okay? And I-I didn’t know the best way to approach- look, I fucked up. What can I say?”

“You can start by telling me what the fuck was going on in your head that day.” I deadpanned. He stared at me for a while then came to take a seat beside me.

“After what happened on Garflugeron, I had to do some- I had to rethink everything. Th-that was supposed to be a pretty relaxing day, you know? Just exp-ex- just looking around, somewhere safe and fun. Something we’d both enjoy.” He told me.

“It was. I enjoyed it. Until the thing with the exploding aliens and the severed foot happened.” I said.

“E-exactly! If that was just a 'fun day out’, a-and that happened… I don’t know. I just realised how much danger I put the people around me in.” He told me, looking down at the floor.

“That’s not like you to think so… responsibly.” I pointed out. It didn’t feel like the right word, but he got the picture.

“I know.” He snorted. “I-I-I just thought, well, if I’m putting this girl in danger… why the fuck do I care? Y-you’re supposed to be a fuck buddy or- or just a hot companion for when Morty’s not around. You’re just as replaceable as everyone else in my life.” He explained, and I shot him an unimpressed look. I gave him a chance though, I wanted to see where he was going with it. “Why do I care?” He repeated.

“Yeah, why do you?” I crossed my arms and waited. He looked up at me, allowing his eyes to roam over my entire being for a while.

“I don’t know. Well, I do know. B-but… it just complicates things, and neither of us need complication. That’s why I broke things off. To keep you safe, and to make both of our lives easier.” He told me, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Do tell.” I prompted, and he gave me a questioning look. “You said you know why you care, tell me.”

“I highly doubt you need me to tell you, (y/n). You’re not stupid.” He scoffed.

“That’s news to me, you hardly make me feel confident in my intelligence, Rick.”

“You know exactly why I care. I’m not saying it out loud, it’s pointless. Pointless and uncomfortable for everyone involved.” He said, getting annoyed, clearly.

“Do you have feelings for me?” I asked. The question didn’t surprise him, it only made his shoulders slump and his expression turn pained.

“Baby, please…” he sighed.

“I know, Rick. I want to hear it.” I softened my voice.

“I’m not- come on. If you know the answer then what. Is. The. Point?” He spat, cheeks flushing slightly. “What’re you going to do with it? I-if I answer.”

“Ugh, Rick. You’re acting like a child. If you aren’t going to speak up, I will. Someone’s got to take the initiative around here.” I said, exasperated. I turned my body to face him before continuing. “I’m attracted to you. And not just because we sleep together, I have genuine feelings for you. It runs deeper than just physical, sexual attraction. There we go, I’ve said my piece. It wasn’t hard.”

Rick looked up at me, pleasant surprise written all over his face. “Oh… is that- I didn’t think-”

“Why not?”

“You’re young. Not to mention into women, apparently.” He snorted. I smirked.

“I can like both.”

“I thought you only stuck with me for the- I mean we have some great sex.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think you wanted anything else from me.”

“Want and expect are two different things. Sex is great… for a while. But sometimes you just need more.” I told him, looking down at my hands. “And I thought you were only interested in sex.”

“Yeah, me too.” He laughed humorlessly, scrubbing a hand over his face as if this whole thing was exhausting. “I was wrong. Realised it the other day and… I-I guess I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

“So you do have feelings for me? That’s confirmed?” I touched his chin, turning his head so he looked at me. His breath hitched, he licked his lips. He moved in for a kiss, but I backed away, giving him a look.

“Yes.” He simply said, after a pause long enough to make me nervous. I let him kiss me then, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled back to move his kisses to my jaw, his teeth coming out to nip at me here and there. I moaned quietly, letting my eyes fall closed as he moved his lips to my neck. “I’m sorry for cock-blocking you… or whatever the female equivalent is.” He mumbled into my neck.

“It’s okay. You can pick up where she left off.” I told him through a smirk.

“Mmm, did you get her number? Call her back over and I’ll hide in the closet and watch.” He teased, sliding his hand under my shirt, rubbing my nipple with his thumb.

“You’d be okay with that? Watching some other woman lay her hands on me?” I asked, reaching a hand to his chest, trailing it downwards until I found the growing bulge in his slacks.

“Somehow that’s way more appealing than watching another man lay his hands on you. Weird, huh?” he said, moaning loudly when I started stroking him. I licked my lips as I felt him grow beneath my palm. Fuck. I needed him.

“Oh, crazy.” I nodded, then reached for his lab coat, pushing it from his shoulders before untucking his shirt, ridding him of that too. I stroked my hands over his chest and trailed one down to the line of hair below his navel, running a single digit down it. He grunted when I stopped just before his erection. His hands were on me, pulling my shirt off, followed by my bra. He kissed his way down to my breasts, bringing each nipple into his mouth one by one, sucking on them so they flushed pink and throbbed with sensitivity. As he worked, he was undoing my jeans and helping me out of them, panties joining them on the floor. For the second time that evening, I was naked before him.

“Ahh, fuck, she got you nice and wet for me.” He murmured as his fingers found my slit. I reached for his belt, unbuckling it before undoing his pants and releasing his hard length. I stroked his cock as he rubbed my clit, and we moaned in unison. He kissed me again, his tongue entering my mouth and flicking mine with playful strokes. He raised his hips, kicking his pants off onto the floor, and I took the opportunity to push him back and climb on top of him. “Yeah, baby, y-you gonna ride my cock? Bounce up and down for me, show me how those tits jiggle?” He said lewdly, hands gripping onto my hips.

“You just sit back and relax, Rick.” I said in a sultry tone, taking his cock in hand and guiding it to my opening. I sunk down onto him, biting down my on lip as that sweet stretch made my heart race. Rick cursed, rolling his head back as my ass met his thighs and he was buried fully inside me. I rocked against him, back and forth, rubbing my clit against his pubic bone. I did this for a while, adjusting to his size while my wetness increased, making every movement deliciously slippery. By the time I started bouncing on his cock, the two of us were panting.

“Fuuck, I can’t wait to blow my load deep inside this glorious pussy of yours. Y-you gonna cum on my cock and milk me dry, hm?” He said, his voice filthy. I nodded my head eagerly. I picked up the pace, riding him now at a moderate speed that worked like magic on my g-spot. He reached around to my ass, holding onto my cheeks as he guided me up and down his length.

“Mm, that’s it. Squeeze my ass. You know I like your hands on me.” I told him, bracing my hands against his chest as I rolled my hips in a circular motion with each thrust.

“I can do one better, baby.” He purred, bringing one hand up to me, he swiped his thumb along my bottom lip before pressing his middle finger inside. I eagerly sucked on the digit, swirling my tongue around it and coating it with spit, I felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach at the promise of what was to come. He fucked his finger in and out of my mouth, watching me intently and moaning as he did. After a while, he withdrew, and pulled me against his chest. I leaned forward, changing the angle of my movements just so, and Rick was grinding against my g-spot perfectly.

“Ohh, god! D-do it.” I whined, my clit was stimulated in this position too, and the sensation of everything happening at once was both too much and not enough. Rick stroked his wet finger over my back passage, teasing for a while before he breached. I cursed, rocking faster against him, pushing backwards harder as I urged him to go deeper.

“Fuck, baby. Your asshole is so goddamn tight. Y-you gotta let me put my dick in there one day. Shit, I-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted, his free hand moving up to gather my hair, tugging on it slightly, putting just the right amount of pressure on my scalp.

“We’ve been over this. I’ll let you fuck me in the ass the day you let me do the same to you.” I reminded him, and he chuckled, pulling on my hair harder.

“You’re never gonna let that pegging thing go, huh?” He growled, thrusting his finger in and out of my ass. I wailed, rutting against him desperately as I felt my orgasm approach. “You freaky little shit.” He whispered in my ear.

“Aww, fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” I cried, my eyes squeezing shut.

“Yeah, cum on my dick, baby girl. Let me feel you. Ahh, shit that’s it!” He growled into my ear, his gravelly voice bringing me to orgasm. I sobbed in ecstasy as I let go, throbbing around him as wave after wave of mind shattering pleasure swam through me, clouding my brain and destroying any composure I had left. Somewhere along the way, Rick came too, bucking his hips up against me, burying himself as deep as he could, the ache in my belly telling me he was hitting my cervix. The slight pain mingled with the pleasure, drawing it out for longer.

The cloud lifted slowly. I felt completely wrecked; tired and weak with barely any control over my limbs. Still, I threw my arms around Rick’s neck and put everything I had left into a kiss. I raised my hips, lifting off of him and immediately feeling his seed flood out of me. I moaned at the sensation, breaking the kiss and rolling my head back.

“Ahh, Jesus Christ. L-let’s never stop doing that, yeah?” He said breathlessly.

“Fine by me.” I chuckled. “I’ll hold you to that next time your feelings scare you.”

“Shit, record me saying it.” He snorted. His arms dropped from my body and he laid limp against the sofa. I did the same against his chest as I caught my breath.

“God, we made a mess, didn’t we?” I noted, feeling the stickiness between my legs and on the backs of my thighs.

“Best kind of mess.” He replied, seeming unphased.

“Come take a bath with me.” I said, pressing a number of kisses to his jaw. His response was a lazy grunt. “Let’s go. Before we get cum all over my sofa.” I said, climbing off of him and tugging on his hand. Finally, he gave in, hoisting himself up with a groan.

“I’m getting too old for this, you wear me out.” He complained, though the smirk on his face told me he was far from bothered.

“Do you need me to give you a sponge-bath, grandpa?” I teased as I led him by the hand to the bathroom. He pinched my ass in retaliation.

“Y-you can cut that the fuck out.” He hissed. After a pause, he added. “But uh, jokes aside, that’d actually be pretty nice.”

[crazyartdad]

Wow just kissing

Hes surprised how his parents still slept as Stuart crept back to his room, stumbling drunkenly through a dark hallway in a great attempt to sneak. And while the last crack of the door was shut he was even more surprised how they didn't wake up from they yell that followed after.

Hell you scared him too.

“Shit from how much we see each other you'd think-fuck” He says ruffling a hand through his unwashed hair.

Stuart relaxed against his door, heaving a sigh of relief as he looked over to the punk that sat at his windowsill, calmly putting out a cigarette bud. “Sorry, im alittle drunk and, I didnt think- the light n stuff”.

“Get a little nasty did we?” Mudz asks vaguely with a chuckle as he goes to plop down on the end of your bed.

“Naw, heads a bit swimmin. Decided to dip out afta a few hours” He says discarding his shirt, staggering to his dresser to find his bottle of pills. Finding the bottle he looked to the label with half a mind and popped three to swallow them dry.

“I was looking through your music, and might I add that you have...a very nice taste added to the mix.” the Bassists purred in approval using the Bluenettes new Rolling Stones album to fan away the leftover smoke that settled in the room..

“Careful with how much I paid for it, it's worth more then ya life”

“Ah so it was stolen” He laughs gathering a new cigarette between his lips, offering one to Stuart has he goes to play the disc. 2D Grabs a match from his pockets as he strikes a flame against his leg, holding it steadily to his end before waving the light out.

“Pops let ya in or dija sneak?” he asks through a wave of smoke.

“You know I come when I please, Whos party?” Murdoc asks after setting the needle down gently.”

“Emma Crabunk” Stuart said with a nasty tone as he settled on the bed to slip off his shoes.

“Thought you said she was a bitch”

“Still is but she throws a damn good party, thought I was bringing drugs tho. Like id share any wit er” he says rolling his eyes with a mumble, Mudz leaned against the wall.

“Meet any cuties?”

Stuart takes a minute to think, “there was this nice dark girl, real great hair, cool ass glasses-” he thought aloud. “One of them Disco Hippie chicks, yanno? We danced a bit but I didn't really feel like jumpin her, Think she came with this other chick anyway” He says with another drag from his smoke.

“Nice” he says “How was ya concert tonight?” “Well you weren't there, so kinda boring really. Had a seat up front fer ya..” “You mad I didn't go?” Stuart asks sitting up to face him

He gives a shrug hoping to brush off the topic before taking another drag to blow to the cracked window. He opens his mouth to speak but decides against it shaking his head.

“What?” He asks looking concerned “Nothing, just there was a party... I wanted to take ya too after, good one I coulda got ya some drinks and stuff” he shrugs again nonchalantly as he made his way over “Oh...Sorry” Stuart muttered looking down, rubbing the back of his neck

Murdoc gruffs a bit to show he’s unconcerned at the problem before resting his hands behind his head, falling back to the sheets below.

“ No foul play, we can hang here. After all, i'm welcomed whenever~” “That you are~” Stuart plays back

They sit in silence for a few songs, listening to comfortable thoughts in a smoked filled room while the record player spun some classic rolling stones.

“I like Keith Richards” “Yeah, he's kinda hot” Stuart smirks “Ment music wise but yeah, pretty bangable. I mean ya don't have ta be bent ta know that” “What about Jagger?” “Something bout him seems off, good voice just…..maybe his hair?”

“Really? I thought he was some sort of Idol” Stuart asks oh so innocently hoping to rile the older male.

Murdoc sits up looking appalled

“Keiths a sex God, how could you look at Mick and think yeah I'd fuck that awkward mess” “You're just saying that because Keith looks like you!” “Exactly!, he's stealing my looks and moves” He laughs putting his cigarette out on his boot.

Stuart laughs and sits up to flick his cigarette out the window with Mudz, shifting closer to him. He props his head in his hand and stares down the teen-esque male, poking his tongue through his gap teeth.

“So who's really stealing, him or you?” “You wanna find out?~” He says with a cocky smile.

Without thinking, Stuart leans down to capture a sudden kiss. Surprised at his own boldness and earning a squeak from none other than Murdoc himself. He thought about pulling away, suddenly feeling all to aware at the awkward situation and the possibility of completely fucking up his friendship.

But with even more shock Murdoc claims the kiss just as eagerly as Stuart.

“I-Im sorry its jus that-” He starts, pulling away for a hitch of breath only to get yanked back by the locks of his hair. Stuart gave a moan of approval ignoring the sharp pain of the others teeth that clipped the edge of his lips.

The taste of whiskey and smoke filled his mouth, something oddly charming as it fit well with the others rough characteristics. It was the kind of drunken attention he'd been craving all night as Murdoc pulls slightly at the his bottom lip. Invading his mouth to run his tongue along the gap in front he caused several years back during a game of pool gone wrong. He maneuvers the man lightly, hoping to urge him to his lap and was all to giddy when he complied, pushing the kiss a little harder.

Settling his leg over Stuart detaches himself from his lips to leave a trail of kisses down Murdoc's neck, trembling with every little noise that slips near his ear. The Satanist grasps the his hips as he slips his eyes closed, relaxing against the grazing teeth against his jaw.

“Fuck” he half yelp as Stuart bravery took a bite at his neck, he could feel the bruise beginning to form as a tongue pressed against the vein stained in his neck along with the stiffness rising in his jeans. “Ok?” He asks looking over Mudz with an all too concerned look in his eyes, fuck this was too vulnerable he told himself tingeing red from the thought of being so affected by so little. This needs to change ASAP.

Pushing himself up from the bed he grabs his hips in a vice grip and decides to dominate by parting his slips once more. This is..a lot more complicated (and hotter) than what was initially thought, trying to settle both their dominance was hard especially when Stuart ran his hands through the greasy mess of hair that Murdoc all to much enjoyed

All was well, good music, a slight buzz. additive kissing with heavy petting had them both shaking for more but before Murdoc could get ahold of eithers belt a knock at the door caused them both to pale and cease their actions.

“Stewie-honey? Are you ok?” His mom ask through the door.

Scurrying up from Murdoc’s lap he makes a break to the door before his mom bursts onto the current situation. The Bassists gives a toothy grin at the familiar nickname as he looks to the mirror to fix his hair and shirt.

He opens the door without haste, startling the poor mother she stood worryingly in her bathrobe. He gives a small coughs, thankful of the darkness to hide his embarrassed face.

“Are you feeling alright?, I heard noises is- Stuart is that smoke I smell? What did I tell you about smoking inside!” She says starting out concerned only to have her face distort from the smell that wafted through.

“I- Mom sorry I-”

“Hello Mrs. Pot!” Murdoc calls from the room

Stuart jolts from the noise but is relieved when he sees his mom soften from the all too familiar sound. Stuart pushes open the door a tad more so Murdoc can wave from the bed, a sudden stack of records in his lap.

“Murdoc honey oh! Hello!, everything alright dear, you're here pretty late?” “Im fine Mrs.Pot n’ sorry for the noise, I stubbed my toe on the damn dresser” “Language please” She scolds and he holds up his hands in defeat “We're fine mom, just-” “Well you're always welcomed,” She interrupts “just please no smoking inside and don't forget you have classes tomorrow- has he been a good host Murdoc?” “Nothing but the best~” he says with his best snake smile, eyeing down Stuart and his all to apparent flustered state. Rachel smiles lovingly at her boys and kisses Stuarts cheek goodnight before heading back down the hall leaving both men to sit in silence.

“Past your bedtime Stewie?” He asks mockingly

Stuart gives him a look trying to think of something to say, but with nothing coming to mind due to his still current state of high he settles with a heartfelt middle finger to the crackling Musician.

[midnightmxsings]

since my brain is like CONSUMED with GO rn im gonna add some GO AU rene/will headcanons here

just because i can so here goes:

- sometime around the 5th century BC, when the gate that Will guarded was still a grassy hillside, the sentinel angel befriended a talking crow. The crow was a particularly well-read crow, as far as crows went, and often perched on the tree whose branches stretched up into the sky as a ladder up to Heaven

- Angels, like most immortal beings, are terrible at keeping track of time, so it really wasn’t until humans began appearing on nearby hillsides that Will realized that the crow should have died several centuries ago. At that point, the crow revealed that it was, in fact, a he, and was an immortal, much like Will. Will, who hadn’t seen other immortals besides angels and the odd demon, was very glad that a seemingly neutral party had come along and was immortal, like him, and could keep him company in an innocuous way

- The centuries passed, and the two stayed friends. The crow would bring Will news about the outside world, and Will would listen to his stories and his woes.

- The crow many very unlikely crow-like woes, including decrying the injustices that the Lord allowed humans to commit. Will very earnestly encouraged the crow to trust in the Divine Plan and to not question it, as questioning it wouldn’t allow the crow to go to crow Heaven. The crow just laughed and changed the subject

- it wasn’t until the tree was replaced by an inn (which Will occupied the attic of), when Will first wondered if the crow had a more human-looking form. After all, angels generally did appear rather human-shaped (at least, those of the lowest choir of angels did). He also showed the crow his wings (upon the crow’s request). Of course, being a sentinel allowed for very limited wing grooming practices, and Will’s wings were dreadfully out of shape as far as wings went. The crow insisted on attempting to groom his wings, which led to a lot of accidental almost-squishings. That was the point where Will very gently asked if the crow had a larger form, since it would be easier for both of them

- The crow refused at first, but after he was almost swatted across the room for the fifth time in as many minutes, he relented, but insisted that Will close his eyes and not look back at him. “This form is hideous,” the crow claimed, “And I am very bashful.” As a being capable of great faith, Will saw no cause for concern and kept his eyes forward, allowing the crow to shift around behind him. Based on the sounds, it sounded like the crow was more or less human shaped, with curious hands that felt a bit like they had claws at the ends of them. They were cold, and a little scaly, but not altogether unpleasant.

- Wing grooming soon became a regular fixture in their routine. Every little while, the crow would return and groom the angel’s wings, and the two would talk about the goings on of the world around them.

- “Books,” the crow said one day, “Maybe I should bring you books. Learn to read so I don’t need to run my mouth for hours on end each time.” Will, of course, hadn’t had a chance to learn languages other than the universal one of heavenly beings (that was, coincidentally, shared with hellish ones). The books were very welcome, even more so when the inn briefly became a library, and the attic a storage for unwanted books.

- Around the 1600s, the appearance of the gate changed once again. It became a simple alleyway to one side of a bustling street, and that is how it would remain until Armageddon, although the buildings on either side would become taller and taller as the years went by.

- The crow, in fact, had been the one to bring news of Armageddon to the angel. The crow seemed very worried and fretful. ‘Crows,’ he had explained when Will asked, ‘Won’t survive Armageddon, much like the rest of life on Earth, and possibly that of Heaven and Hell’ (the crow was surprisingly well versed in the goings on of ethereal and occult beings, although Will had long since ceased to be surprised, since he figured that non-affiliated immortal beings probably had some kind of coalition on their own that kept track of what Heaven and Hell were up to).

- The crow said a lot of ominous things over the next ten years. “If Armageddon happens, I won’t be here to talk to you anymore.” “I’d offer to see you on the other side, but I don’t think there will be any more sides to go to after this, since one side is supposed to win for the rest of eternity.” “It’s rather sad, don’t you think, to try and eradicate the side that defines who you are, as the other?” Will stalwartly refused to question it, all the way up until he was mere days away from being recalled to Heaven.

- Seemingly aware of the fact that the forces of Heaven and Hell were rallying for war, the crow appeared for one last time. “I’m not going to be able to come back after this,” he cawed as mournfully as a crow could caw. “What if I were to bring you with me?” Will asked, a bright idea forming in his mind for the first time in a few centuries. “I’m sure the Heavenly Host would make an exception for one non-affiliated immortal.” The crow laughed. “Actually,” he admitted, “I need to tell you something. I haven’t been completely truthful this whole time.” “You haven’t? Don’t tell me that ice cream was a lie all along,” Will half joked, although he was very serious that if ice cream was a lie, he would be greatly disappointed. “No, not ice cream,” the crow rolled his eyes, “I mean about me. I’m not really a non-affiliated immortal.” For the first time in all the years they had known each other, the crow showed Will his true form. A demon. A well-dressed, neat-looking demon with scaly hands and talons for fingernails. A demon with sharp teeth and sharper blue eyes, and the very sharpest haircut.

- “You’re a demon!” Will cried out, manifesting his helm from the ether (the helm was a golden thing, complete with little wings on the side. Heaven-issued, that helm). “How could you? I thought we were friends!” The demon spread his hands to try and placate the angel. “We were,” he said very softly. “I wanted to be your friend, so I didn’t tell you. But now I think I owe you the truth. I am the demon Raum, commander of thirty legions of demons and an Earl of Hell. But I am also Rene, and I am also ‘the crow’. And I am also your friend. If I were truly to take advantage of you, I would have readily accepted your offer to bring me to Heaven, and brought along a few ‘friends’ to boot. I could have easily invaded heaven with the other demons--but I didn’t. Because... Well because I was happy to just be ‘the crow’ with you. You were kind to me, and I tried, in turn, to be kind to you. Please, Will. Understand that. And please, I just wanted to say a last goodbye to you.”

- Will sat stock still through the demon’s speech. Raum, the demon. It wasn’t so much that the demon’s words struck him, it was his appearance. The demon was hopelessly familiar, in the same way that a tune stuck in his head might be familiar but any recognition or name was beyond his reach. Something, deep down, told him that they knew each other before the Fall. Something told Will that they had been close before, and were close now. But they were on opposite sides. “Goodbye, then,” he heard himself saying. “I won’t be seeing you again, because, well, we’re going to win. And all the demons will die. So please--leave before I must smite you--or I may get in big trouble with my boss.” And so, the demon left.

And the rest uhh i haven’t thought about yet but yes!! thought dump that turned a little dialogue-y sorta