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fandomwritings-cm13 · 20 days

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The Case of the Missing Maid (A Paul Drake fic) - Chapter 9

Summary: Maisie arrives in Paris with Paul, Della, and Perry. Paul takes Maisie out to dinner at a familiar cafe to her.

Warnings: Lots of dialogue, bit of a lazy ending, drawn out scene

Word Count: 3155

The group enters the hotel, The Obsidian Pinnacle. Paul takes Maisie’s suitcase from her before she approaches the front desk. Perry is glancing out the large window in the waiting area they stand in. Della is glancing around in awe at the lovely decor, but her eyes stop on Paul as he admires Maisie at the front desk, conversing so easily in French with the woman behind the desk.

When Maisie turns to return to the group, Paul quickly diverts his attention elsewhere, finding his shoes most interesting.

“The rooms are all ready,” I say cheerily. “I hope you two gentlemen are alright with sharing a room.”

“And what about Della and you?” Mr. Mason questions, an eyebrow raised and a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Well, we’re in separate rooms, not that that’s any of your business.” I hand one of the keys to Ms. Street and give another to Mr. Mason. “Shall we?”

I begin heading to the elevator, and I can hear the others right behind me. The elevator opens, and all four of us step inside. I direct the operator to take us to the sixth floor. We then wait in silence as the elevator ascends through the building. There’s a chorus of thank you’s from us as we exit the elevator when the door opens.

We walk down the hall in silence, until we reach where the rooms are.

“Are we going out to dinner?” Ms. Street asks.

I glance around the group to find them all staring at me. “Well, I do know of a few good restaurants, if you’d like to go out.”

“Are you not going to join us?” Mr. Mason inquires.

“I’m not sure. I have a rather early morning tomorrow to get ready for the showcase.”

“Does any of this getting ready involve shopping?” Ms. Street interjects.

I grin. “Yes, in fact, it does. I do need a rather fashionable dress for the afterparty.”

“Think about it,” Mr. Mason gently commands. “We still have a little while before dinnertime.”

I nod once. “Thank you, Mr. Mason.”

I watch as both he and Ms. Street disappear into their respective rooms. Paul, however, remains by my side. Once the doors are closed, I look up at him.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to go out for dinner, honey?” he asks, his voice quiet and just a little husky.

I shrug my shoulders. “Perhaps. How are you planning on convincing me?”

“I could selfishly ask you to join me for dinner, just the two of us, at some cozy, romantic little number down the street. Would that be convincing enough for you?”

I shake my head and look down at my suitcase, reaching out to take it from him. I stop, however, when he moves it further from my reach.

“I have to get up very early tomorrow, and the longer you stall out in the hall, the longer it’ll take me to get ready,” I counter. “Means less time to enjoy dinner, since I’m sure you’ll get me back to my room at a reasonable hour, Mr. Drake.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Is that a yes then, honey?”

I nod, giving him a sort of sly grin. “Yes, it is.”

“See you in fifteen minutes?”

“You need to freshen up as well, Mr. Drake?” I tease.

He chuckles but shakes his head, tucking one hand into his pocket. “No, just want to give you the chance to, honey.”

“Well, thank you. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

I turn and unlock the door to my room, quickly stepping inside. I shut it behind me without glancing back and step further into the room. It’s fairly spacious, with veranda windows that lead out onto a small terrace, fashioned with a wicker bench and wooden table. The bed is as large as the one I have back home, and both the bedding and pillows look just as comfortable.

I set my suitcase on the foot of the bed and open it up. Everything is still neatly packed away, folded or in little cases. I pull out a black dress and my makeup case then head to the vanity. I set the makeup case on the wooden table then the dress. It gives me the hands to get out of the pencil skirt and nice blouse I had chosen for today’s trip.

I remove the clothes and put on the black dress. It’s got a loose skirt, going down past my knees. There’s a sash in the middle which leads into a lacy bodice. The neckline and mid-forearm length sleeves are a mesh, see through material.

Moving quickly, I put the skirt and blouse on the foot of the bed beside my suitcase then return to the vanity. I settle into the seat and pull out some makeup, some face powder and some lipstick. I take the little poof, put a little powder on it, and dab it all over my face. Setting it aside, I swipe some fresh, red lipstick on.

A knock comes from the door, and I look in the direction of it. I stare for a couple seconds before rising and approaching. When I open the door, Paul leans in the doorway, still in the same charcoal gray suit he started the day in. He’s without a tie now, leaving the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone.

He smiles when he sees me. “Hello, beautiful.”

A blush heats my cheeks, and I look down at my shoes. “Paul, I-...”

“Are you ready to head to dinner?”

I look up at him quickly. “Is Mr. Mason or Ms. Street joining us?”

“I thought it was just you and me. Did you want all four of us-”

“No, this is fine. I just don’t want them to struggle to find a place to eat.”

“Could I humbly suggest room service?”

I chuckle. “By all means.”

“Or,” he extends his hand to me, and I take it, “we could simply leave them to their own devices, and go to dinner on our own.”

“Paul, are you sure?”

“Would you rather I tell Perry my suggestion, honey?”

I nod slowly. “I’d feel better, leaving them here with that.”

“Get your purse,” Paul commands gently, “and I’ll tell Perry.”

I nod once before turning around and heading back into my room, not even bothering to close the door. I grab my purse from the bed and return to the door. Paul isn’t there, and my heart sinks a little. I, however, still close the door and lock it before standing by the wall to wait for him.

The hall is silent for the few minutes I wait. This silence is broken by the door across the hall opening. It’s Paul stepping out, grinning ear to ear.

“See you later, Perry,” he says, a cigarette between his lips. He closes the door behind himself and turns to me. His grin widens. “You ready, honey?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He gently grasps my elbow and begins walking us toward the elevator. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting out here too long.”

“Not too long.”

We soon reach the elevator, and Paul pushes the button with his free hand. His hand still remains on my elbow, even as we enter the elevator. I tell the operator to take us to the first floor then the elevator falls silent.

“Merci,” I tell the man as Paul walks me out of the elevator.

We walk through the luxurious lobby, now quite dark with the setting of the sun, and the doorman holds the door open for us as we exit the hotel.

“Now, where is this cozy, romantic little number I can take you to?” Paul questions, pulling me a little closer into his side.

I look at him with derision in my eyes. “You didn’t notice anywhere?”

He’s still grinning as he shakes his head. “Nope, not a place. In my defense, I was rather distracted.”

I roll my eyes. “You can’t win with that card with me.”

“Well, I certainly tried, didn’t I?”

I shake my head, smiling a little. “Well, I happen to know of a little restaurant we could try. Might be booked full.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re heading in the right direction, at least.”

There’s several minutes of walking, silent between the two of us, before I guide Paul over to the entrance of the restaurant. There’s a glass door that leads into the restaurant. Paul opens it for me, and I step in with him just behind me. The hostess’s focus is on the desk in front of her, likely the reservation book.

When she looks up, her eyes immediately meet mine and light up. “Mademoiselle Maisie! It’s so nice to see you again!” She turns and shouts over her shoulder. “Monsieur Raoult! It’s Maisie!”

The owner, Mr. Raoult, looks over from the bar, and his eyes also light up when he sees me.

“Mademoiselle!” he exclaims, walking quickly towards us. “How lovely to see you again! It’s been too long, no?”

“Far too long. My apologies for not coming by on my last visit. You know how crazy things get when it comes to preparing for the showcase.”

“Absolutely. I see you’ve brought a gentleman friend with you.” He smirks at me, an eyebrow raised knowingly.

“Yes, this is Paul Drake.” I motion to Paul. “He works with a lawyer named Perry Mason in Los Angeles.”

“Your grandmother likes him?”

“Certainly seemed to,” Paul comments.

“Could we get a table tonight?” I inquire. “It certainly looks like you’re busy, which is definitely good for business.”

Mr. Raoult chuckles. “If you can wait about fifteen minutes, I can get you a table.”

“Are you sure? We didn’t even place a reservation.”

“You're an old friend so it’s no trouble at all. It’s nice to see you again, Maisie. You’ll have to come by again before you leave for America.”

I nod. “Absolutely. I have a couple more friends with me. I’m sure they’d love this place.”

“Whenever you come, I’ll have a table ready.” He turns to the hostess. “Reine, take them to the lounge. I’ll get them when their table is ready.”

The hostess, Reine, nods once then turns to us. “Follow me, please.”

Paul’s grip loosens on my elbow, and my arm slides out of his grip. His hand moves to my back as we follow Reine through an archway and into a room littered with couches. Cigarette smoke hangs heavy in the air, and I can’t stop a cough as we enter the room with how hard it hits me.

Reine leaves us in the far corner at a small pink settee. Paul grabs my hand and helps me ease into a seat on the settee before taking a seat beside me. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and lighting it.

“You want one, honey?” he asks, letting out a long puff of smoke.

I shake my head. “Not right now, thank you.”

He tucks the package back into his pocket. “How many times have you been to this place?”

I shrug. “Too many to count.”

I shift on my seat, feeling the stares of other patrons. I don’t know if it’s that we’re not speaking French or if Paul is speaking too loudly for their liking. Either way, I try to ignore it and instead focus on him.

“Then this place must have some pretty good food,” he adds.

I nod. “This was my favorite place to come and unwind when I felt overwhelmed by the amount of work I had from Madame Batteux.”

Paul puts his arm on the back of the couch and practically around my shoulders. “It doesn’t seem like you could feel overwhelmed by her work.”

“While that’s true now, it wasn’t always.”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“Well, in the beginning, I was learning so things were more challenging. I didn’t have the head for designing I do now.”

“What all did you learn under Madame Batteux?”

“Mostly women’s fashion, but I learned how to hem garments and how to wash them properly.”

“Fascinating. You’re a well-rounded woman, for sure.”

I chuckle lightly, smiling at him. “What can I say? I certainly tried to be.”

“Um, mademoiselle, monsieur, your table is ready,” the hostess Reine interrupts.

Both Paul and I look up at her for a split second then rise to our feet. We follow her out of the lounge and through the restaurant to a quiet little corner in the back. She places menus down at both place settings before stepping aside to let both of us take seats.

“What can I get you to drink?” she asks as we settle into our chairs.

“Some tea for me, please,” I answer, “with cream and sugar.”

“Coffee, please,” Paul answers.

“I’ll be right back with those,” Reine states. “Damien will be by shortly to take your order.”

I nod once. “Thank you, Reine.”

I watch as she walks away, disappearing amid the people in the restaurant. After she’s out of sight, I turn my attention to the menu, risking a glance at Paul. He looks utterly lost and confused, his brows knit together.

“See anything interesting, Mr. Drake?” I inquire, teasing him.

He practically glares at me over his menu.

“Would you like some help?”

He sighs, nodding as he sets the menu down.

“What would you like?”

“A hamburger?”

I chuckle a little. “They, unfortunately, don’t have anything like that here. How about a quiche? Or perhaps some escargot?”

Paul raises his eyebrows, a worried look taking over his eyes. “Escargot…?”

“Snails.”

He wrinkles his nose.

“I’ll take that as a no then. A quiche would be filling. The Lorraine is divine here.”

Paul nods. “I’ll try it.”

“I have a coffee and a tea,” a gentleman states as he approaches the table.

“The tea is mine,” I state, resting the menu on the table in front of me.

The waiter, Damien, sets the tea cup and saucer in front of my place setting at the table. The mug is placed in front of Paul. “Do you know what you would like to order?”

I nod. “Yes, we do. The gentleman will have an order of the quiche Lorraine.”

He jots down the order and replies without even looking up at me. “And for you mademoiselle?”

“Do you still have any fresh ratatouille?”

Damien pauses for a couple seconds before looking at me again. “I believe so, mademoiselle. Could I get another dish in case we don’t?”

“Quiche Lorraine will do just fine.”

The waiter nods once, writes down my order, then walks away without another word.

“He seems just swell,” Paul comments, picking up his mug and taking a swig.

I chuckle. “Do you not like him?”

“I don’t know what to think of him.”

“He’s an interesting character. Very talkative if you can get him out of his shell.”

Paul raises his eyebrows, leaning toward me slightly. “And you have?”

“I came here far too often and stayed well past my welcome while studying under Madame Batteux.”

“Does that mean underneath that cold, hard exterior is an interesting and warm gentleman?”

I nod once. “Smiles and laughs, too.”

Paul lets out a snort. “Is this a man you’d be interested in?”

I look at him sideways, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Mr. Drake.”

“And if I am?”

“There’s no need to be. He’s engaged to the hostess who seated us.” I look away and pull my tea closer to me, followed by the cream and sugar. “They’ve been together for a while, since I was studying here.”

“Well, that certainly changes things.”

I stir in some cream and sugar, looking up at Paul. “Feeling less jealous?”

He nods once but says nothing.

“How’s the coffee?”

Paul shrugs. “I’m not picky.”

Before I can say anything else, Damien returns with our food and sets both in front of each of us respectively.

“Anything else I can get for you two? Some wine, perhaps?” he questions.

“Please,” Paul answers before I can say no.

“Red or white?”

Paul looks to me for an answer.

“Uh,” I fumble, “red please.”

Damien gives me a knowing smile. “Yes, mademoiselle.”

As he disappears, I turn my attention to my food. I dig in immediately, and when I look over at Paul seconds later, he’s staring down at his plate.

“Is there something wrong, Paul?” I inquire.

He looks up at me and shakes his head once. “No, just not quite sure how this will be classified as ‘filling.’”

“Try it and you may just be surprised.”

He takes his fork and stares at his plate for another couple of seconds. He eyes me with an uneasy look before he stabs the quiche and breaks off a piece. He gulps before eating what he broke off. I can’t tear my eyes off him as he chews. His eyebrows raise, and he nods.

“I may get a second helping of this,” he comments.

I chuckle, picking up my fork and getting a small bite of ratatouille.

As I take the bite, Damien returns with two glasses of wine and sets them in front of us. I nod and cover my mouth in an attempt to express my gratitude.

“Thanks,” Paul states.

Damien nods once then walks away, presumably to another table.

Paul and I continue eating, conversing easily until we’re both finished. Damien collects our dishes, we order a dessert to share with some more wine, then continue chatting while we wait. Dessert is finished fairly quickly, but we remain at the table, sipping wine and talking.

When we go to the register to pay for our meal, most of the other patrons who arrived before or just after us have already left. Mr. Raoult is the one at the register to close our check. Paul has his wallet out and is paying before I can even open my purse.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Drake,” Mr. Raoult states warmly, a kind smile on his face. “And it was lovely to see you again, Maisie. Good luck with the showcase, and don’t forget to come back before you head home.”

“Thank you, monsieur. We’ll definitely be back,” I assure him.

“Good night,” Paul says with a small wave to Mr. Raoult, his other hand going to the small of my back.

“Good night,” Mr. Raoult replies.

Paul guides me out of the restaurant with a firm but gentle hand. As we walk through the cool night air, his hand doesn’t move. It’s silent between us for a few minutes.

“Thank you for dinner, Paul,” I murmur.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he replies with a similar tone. “I quite enjoyed it, more than I thought I would.”

“I’m glad.”

“I can certainly see why it’s one of your favorite places.”

#chloewritesfandoms #paul drake #perry mason #paul drake x oc #william hopper

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niobiumao3 · 7 months

Note

for the fic writer asks: #7 and #10! ❤️

Thank you for the ask! (Fic writer 2023 in review asks)

#7 What character(s) captured your heart?

It's probably a surprise to no one the answer here is 'The Bad Batch', especially Phee Genoa and Tech. Phee was a wonderful addition to the show as someone on the theoretically shady side of the law who turns out to not be nearly that simple or straight forward. She's clearly uncertain about the Batch at first but warms to them enough to trust them with something she doesn't even trust Cid to know. My only regret is not enough screentime for her.

Tech, of course, is Tech but also the show gives him some things autistic characters are often denied, which is chances to showcase not just his skills but also how he *feels* about things, and that he's a genuinely good person. Autistic characters are typically 'the smart, amoral, unempathetic, meek one' and at every turn Tech has been shown to be none of these things. It's such a wonderful turn from standard autistic rep.

#10 What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I think out of all of the fics so far it's still Descent, if only because at that point in time I was so, SO UPSET about the finale and it felt good to screech into the void for 20k or so about how he was very much not dead, Disney, so fuck you anyways. OTOH I am loving working on the Pirate/Alchemy/Bio-Steam-punk AU because it's very world building heavy and has let me have more free reign over things in a way which makes it easier to explore different rollouts of the Batch's narrative. Maybe it is the later, since the former was really about catharsis and wielding a baseball bat at a narrative choice I Greatly Disliked In That Moment.

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missgeniality · 3 years

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A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonnafor hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again. Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids.

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.”

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want.

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink.

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand.

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it.

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all.

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in.

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation.

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek.

“Sooo I was watching Filter…”

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through.

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away.

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces.

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way.

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come.

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup.

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly.

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast.

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions.

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance.

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge.

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs.

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word.

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time.

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him.

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up.

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in.

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks.

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!”

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.”

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him.

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line.

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up.

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either.

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed.

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition.

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost.

But you’re not done being an idiot.

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient.

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!”

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one.

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral.

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go.

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night.

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow.

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams.

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder.

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now.

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone.

So there is no reason for you to be able to move.

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too.

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known.

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise.

You were a sucker for the whole man.

But the sucking will probably have to wait.

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.”

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this.

“You know my favorite part?”

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body.

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream.

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward.

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm.

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general.

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work.

Well, you must get to work.

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties.

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard. Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack!

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness.

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes.

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him.

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips.

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result.

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth.

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines.

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering.

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs.

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away.

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you.

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him.

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you.

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now.

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you.

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion.

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside.

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue.

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want.

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either.

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.”

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech.

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish.

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole.

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans.

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well.

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours.

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot.

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable.

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping.

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down.

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do.

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

#bangtansorciere #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bangtanuniversity

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sleepylixie · 3 years

Text

1.5k words, Lovers to Strangers, non-idol AU. Angst, but of fluff

Dancer! Yeosang X Fem! Reader

A/N: WELCOME TO MY very first official Ateez fanfiction!! This is the first of many fics I have planned for Ateez, can’t wait to show em to y’all! Anyways- onto the fic!

The spotlight wasn’t for everybody; it was a fear for some, an intrigue for others. But for him, your swan… the spotlight was his home. It makes so much sense that he left you behind for it.

//WHAT WAS.\\

“Any reason you were missing from class today?” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but the years of adolescence had worked its magic on him. The years of hard training and workout had melted the soft, childlike sparkle away to show high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and perfectly straight nose. But his eyes were still the same- soft, warm, always lighting up when he smiled.

You were yet to grow up- you still looked like an ugly duckling next to a pure white swan, marring beauty with just your presence. Did you even deserve to call him your best friend? Just because you grew up next to him, witnessing his life as an extension of your own? Was that even barely enough to stake your claim as a friend- as anything, to him?

“My ankle was causing trouble again.” you mutter, toeing off the blanket covering your legs to reveal the bandages wrapped around your right ankle. You were no stranger to injury, your body having taken the brunt of consequences for your clumsiness- but when you set foot on the stage, all the world’s pain seemed to melt away. You and Yeosang thrived off the spotlight and so did your friendship- but over the past year, the intensive program you both belonged to had stepped up their training regime and your body was struggling to keep up. “You really need to take care of yourself.” Despite the years spent around each other, it still astounded you how expressive he was without much movement. All he had to do was settle himself on the couch next to you and raise an eyebrow at you, lips curled in disapproval.

You looked away, the rapid beat of your heart the only betrayal your body gave away for the rush of emotions you were feeling. Damn him for making you feel this way, like summer and winter had descended upon your skin at the same time, like time would stop at your behest when he was around you. Damn him for being so painfully easy to fall in love with. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“You better be, best friend.”

“You’re always so good for me.” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but moments of intimacy made him look otherworldly. He was a passionate lover, that beautiful body of his aiming for pleasure beyond measure. and pleasure you he did, within an inch of your senses.

You remember not being able to fathom the disbelief you felt when he stood in front of you under a streetlight outside class, hands twisting together nervously as he mumbled out a confession.. a confession of love. It was the dead of night, but you could have sworn you almost felt the sun’s warmth in that moment, spreading from your heart to your toes, until the second thoughts sunk in. The memory of that momentary terror still numbs your fingertips sometimes, the fear that had coursed through your veins in the aftermath of that sunshine. What if, 6 months down the line, he looked back at this moment and felt nothing but a sea of regret? That you were nothing like the person he’d fallen for, only a shadow that could trail his otherworldly radiance? That he was better off far away from you, that you were better off alone, away from him? But you hadn’t voiced your internal sense of dread, choosing to drown instead in the pure joy that had settled onto Yeosang’s face when you told him his feelings weren’t unrequited. The first drag of his lips against yours was a sensation you knew you’d never be able to forget, the recollection still tinged with midnight softness. That night had marked the start of your tryst with Yeosang and romance. Shifting from friendship to lovers was smoother than you had anticipated- it was only a matter of your cafe runs now being categorized as dates, the two of you now able to stumble to one of your apartments hand-in-hand, giggling like high school sweethearts. Your belongings were already scattered around each other’s homes, your parents exchanging knowing glances and accepting the other into the family. As the days went by, slowly and then all too soon, you couldn’t help but look back and think, oh, what an enchantment the two of you were.

You were the king and queen of your dance major, the ones most likely to make it in the world, hand-in-hand. Your duets were the tear-jerkers, the seat-shifters, the reason for the wolf-whistles and the frat-boy whoops in the annual showcases. You were savored by the spotlight, adored by the souls in the seats, envied by your peers.. but your love was for no one but each other- until it all went to hell.

“You know I have to do this.” Kang Yeosang was always alluring, but the time he chose to walk away made him unattainable. The accident onstage rendered you with a weak ankle for the rest of your life- imprisoned away from the spotlight. You would never be able to dance again, said the doctors. You were to consider yourself lucky you could still walk. Even trying to dance again would have you running the risk of never leaving a bed again.

And your love, your swan, he couldn’t stomach the idea of being with a lover who could never live in the spotlight with him. He was young, your swan, and disillusioned by the stars that sparkled in front of him, reckless in his pursuit to reach them. So he took his first ticket out- away from you, away from the country, into a new world with a dance company and a dance scholarship.

You hadn’t even left bed rest when he had slipped into your hospital room, looking for all the world like he’d committed a crime he couldn’t bring himself to regret. “You’re okay with me leaving, right?” The undertone of the question felt clear enough that you didn’t say it aloud- looking back, it was possibly because you were too scared of having to hear the words out loud. What were the chances that he would want to keep a relationship with a broken dancer from an old chapter of his past? That’s right, none. It took everything in your body to subdue the response you yearned to give him- no, you weren’t okay. NO, You wanted him to stay. No, you didn’t want to be left behind. But even in the state of imminent despair, the only thing you registered was the hopeful glint in his tired eyes. The same eyes that had dreamt and fantasized of this day, to be worthy of the world’s best, be the world’s best- “Of course, my love. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you.” You reached out for Yeosang’s hand and let him clasp it, his uncertainty melting away as he pressed one last fleeting kiss to your knuckles before the seconds began to fly. All too soon, he was getting to his feet, squeezing your hand before turning away.

“I’ll miss you.” he breathed hesitantly, turning around at the door to meet your gaze for what felt like one last time. “I love you.” His whisper was as light as air, but the silence of the sunrise allowed the words to grace your ears before he slipped out of the room as quickly as he had come, leaving you all alone. Just as you’d feared. He didn’t even break your heart behind him-

So you steeled your nerves and broke your heart by yourself. “No you don’t.”

You remember feeling broken for a long time, like you’d lost an anchor that had held you to the ground where you were supposed to be. In one fell swoop, you lost the spotlight and you lost him. You had nowhere to go anymore- no safe haven, no safe human. And yet, you couldn’t bring myself to hate him, your swan.

Was this what unconditional love felt like?

//WHAT IS\\

“Miss!Miss ! What are your plans for this fine evening? I’m sure a beautiful young lady of your stature has many places to be?”

The lights shone in your eyes- not as one large blinding gleam, but as tens of tiny blinking ones. The cameras clicked at you, petite spotlights of their own.

“Maybe attend a recital, maybe find a drink in your marvelous city.” A renowned romance author at your age was unheard of- and with the rarity came fame. You pieced yourself back together, all by yourself. You grew up, from a broken ugly duckling into something beautiful. This time, you were your own anchor.

Kang Yeosang was alluring, but the spotlight following his solitary movements across a worn wood floor made him look like a god. There was nothing hesitant about his movements, the song building up to the swan song, the final adieu, the farewell of a character who had lived too much, too young. The audience was alive, electric with the feeling he left them with.

He made the right choice, your beautiful black swan. Watching him there, onstage, at the zenith of his existence, glowing, burning, alive under the spotlight that was so beloved to him… the embers of what you felt for him stirred, but you know they’d never come to life again.

The spotlight was your swan’s home, and your words would always be yours.

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think! - xoxo, Elliana <3

Network Tag: @kpopscape

#kpopscape #ateez #atz #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #kang yeosang #ateez yeosang #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #ella.ateez #kang yeosang x reader #atz imagines #atz x reader

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professorrw · 3 years

Note

Hi! Okay so first of all I love your fics sm 🤧 and second, could i request a smut fic where reader is giving thor a massage or he's giving her one, and then things heat up ☻ and if you could add a bit of daddy kink in there, that would be awesome 🙈

Thank you so much 😭❤ I hope you like this 👀

marvel masterlist

Pairing: female reader x Thor

Warnings: smut, 18+, fluff, dad!Thor, daddy kink, pet names (baby girl, honey), rough sex, Thor with a man bun 😫

A/N: I've tried asking about this before with just a text post but no one ever answers 😅. When I reach 500 followers would you guys like to do a celebration where I let you send in prompts from prompt lists (I may even add a few of my own of songs, prompts, date ideas, and careers) and then let you send characters for Marvel and Stranger Things that I write for and do some drabbles, blurbs, headcanons, and oneshots? Let me know in the comments, with an ask, or in my messages! Requests open, taglist open, inbox open! Please like, comment, and reblog!

Parenting is no easy feat. It doesn’t matter if you’re a prince, or a king, or if you’ve conquered whole armies. Having a child and raising it is a job all on its own. But it’s something Thor loves. Being a father is something he didn’t know he wanted, but becoming one and taking care of something so pure, so precious, it just captivated him. You had a beautiful daughter together, Eydis. She was three, and full of energy.

Thor walked into your room, shifting his weight from foot to foot heavily, and fell back onto the monstrous bed. His head was right next to your crossed legs and you stroked the top of his hair until you were met by his man bun. The hairstyle was originally given to him by you. One day he was complaining about his hair getting in his face all the time so you did it up for him, and he had been attached ever since.

He heaved out a loud sigh before he turned over and snuggled his face against your leg.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I’m very worn out. Eydy insisted that I carry her everywhere she wanted to go.”

“... And you did?”

Thor was a sucker for his daughter. She was his little princess. Quite literally his little princess. Whatever she wanted she got. You were aware she was going to be spoiled, and you told Thor, but he said that he’ll tone it down when she’s older. You didn’t see that happening though.

“Of course. I carried her on my back and shoulders for almost four hours before she wanted to come back inside.”

A breath left your nose as you smiled and shook your head. “Do you need a massage?”

He flipped over, beaming at you. You took that as a yes and ushered him off your lap. The bed shifted and dipped from his weight being in front of you. You ran your hands down his athletic shirt, which was his go to when he wasn’t having an audience. Your thumbs kneaded at his shoulder and back muscles, giving them the much needed stress relief they needed. He closed his eyes, fully taken by the release of tension.

“Being- ah- a father is hard,” Thor said.

“You’re a great daddy though.”

“Honey…” he trailed off in a warning tone. You giggled, remembering that he asked you not to call him daddy during the day time. When you called him daddy, which you had first called him while you were pregnant, turned him on. He didn’t know why, it just did. And at night when he was tearing into you and that word came out of your mouth it would set him ablaze.

That day though, as your hands were already on him and he was already in bed with you, you just couldn’t resist. You leaned in closer, whispering into his ear, “Daddy…”

“Y/N,” he warned again. One more time and that would be it. You could turn back… but did you want to?

No.

“Daddy,” you whispered one more time. His jaw clenched and he turned around in the blink of an eye. You were completely pinned to the bed. His hands were holding your wrists at the side of your head and his cock was pressing against your thigh.

“You asked for this,” he spoke with lust blown eyes. Wetness grew and pooled in your underwear, all thanks to your husband. The pressure holding down your wrists disappeared, instead moving to your midsection. He untied your robe and flung it open, showcasing your matching bra and panties.

You bucked your hips up, making sure that your vagina was pressing against his crotch. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut for a second before they opened again with an intensity unparalleled by anything else.

He sat back on his knees, straddling your lap while you laid there. He didn’t speak, just reached behind you and unclasped your bra and then pulled down your panties. He saw the wetness and held them up, chuckling.

“Darling, you’re already soaking wet. All for your daddy,” he taunted. He threw his shirt off, because he would never miss a chance to show off his impeccable abs, and took his shorts and boxers off too, unsheathing his thick member. It stood tall against his abdomen, something he was extremely proud of.

Unable to wait a minute longer he plunged into you. A strangled moan burst out of your mouth but the pain eased and became pleasant after a few moments of stillness. He started to move, going fast right off the bat. Even though he was thrusting in and out of you at the speed of light he would be able to last a good amount of time. He usually spared you that amount of aching, but he had gone multiple rounds with you before. It was a loud night, filled with many orgasms, positions, and locations.

Thor was above you, fully above you, and ramming into your pussy with inhumane speed and vigor. He was only a little winded and out of breath. Only a teensy weensy bit. Not everything was so perfect though. His hair was falling out of his bun, framing his face in a blonde, messy curtain.

You weren’t going to last long. It was a given fact. The butterflies and thumping of your pussy were already there before he even started. You really weren’t going to last long when he hit your g-spot.

“Ahh Thor!” you moaned.

“Uh uh,” he scolded, “you have to call me daddy since you love to say it so much.”

“Daddy!” you moaned as he hit your g-spot again.

“That’s it baby girl.”

He kept on going, never stalling his ruthless pace. Your orgasm was on the tip of your tongue and you were moments away from reaching it. Thor could tell you were about to cum. You had sex countless times and the tell-tale signs were there. Your moans were louder, your hands were clenched, and your back was arched.

The white liquid squirted out, and was followed not long after by Thor’s deep groan and his own cum spilling inside you. He pulled out and used his abandoned shirt to wipe up the mess. You laid next to Thor with your hand on your forehead. He was lying on his side, smiling at you, just slightly out of breath. He was about to kiss your cheek when there was a knock on the door.

“Dad! Come play with me!” Eydis shouted.

Thor sighed but got up with a smile still on his face. “I’m coming!”

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detectivesofty · 4 years

Text

like fine wine | j.h.

Summary: your first meeting with Jay’s team didn’t go down as you had it expected it to go.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x younger!Reader (this might get more parts (as in a series), if you guys like it)

Song I listened to while writing: Pump It by the Black Eyed Peas

Author’s Note: I legit have no clue how old Jay is (and believe me, I was doing some intense research) so let’s just say he’s in his early thirties (aka 31) for the sake of this fic, okay? Okay. Happy reading!

Warnings: cursing, unusual age gap (??)

Word Count: 2,2k

Requested: yessir

Anonymous asked: Can you write an imagine about the reader being quite a lot younger than jay and the reader overhearing the unit talking about her

“Okay, you can do this,” you muttered to yourself, nervously running a hand through your hair before you walked the rest of the way to Jay’s district, careful not to jostle the baked goods in your hand. The moment you stepped inside the building, you realized that you couldn’t have picked a worse day to visit him though. The station was packed with police officers, civilians and in the middle of the room was the infamous Sergeant Platt, whom you’ve heard a lot about. Intimidated, you approached the desk, smiling shyly at the older woman.

“Hi, I am here for Jay Halstead, my name’s Y/N Y/L/N,” you said but Sergeant Platt barely looked at you as she rifled through a stack of papers.

“Detective Halstead is on a case right now, if you’re here to give a statement, I can redirect you to one of my officers. Officer Elliot!” she called but your eyes widened and you quickly shook your head.

“Oh, no! No, no! I am not here to give a statement,” you quickly said, “Uh, I am Jay’s girlfriend?”

Sergeant Platt paused at that and for the first time she looked you in the face with raised eyebrows. “Oh! Oh. I see, I see.” She eyed you very distinctly, before she cleared her throat, putting the paper stack down. “I’ll check upstairs and see if he’s busy right now. Please just… Wait here?”

You nodded and Sergeant Platt came out of behind the desk and made her way upstairs slowly, while looking back at you several at times. With a sigh, you leaned against the desk, startling when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!”

“Kim, hey!”

Kim Burgess came up to you with a surprised smile, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”

“I know how important the team is to Jay and he always tells me he wants to introduce me, so I thought I’d come by and bring you some bribes,” you answered, bashfully showcasing the baked goods in your arms. “But I probably should have checked in beforehand, Sergeant Platt seemed really irritated at the intrusion.”

With laughter, Kim shook her head. “Nonsense! Don’t mind Platt, she’s always like that. And we always appreciate treats. Come on,” she said, inclining her head. “I’ll bring you up.”

Despite Kim’s reassurance, you felt incredibly nervous walking upstairs to the Intelligence unit. Kim pushed you forward gently, pushing you to introduce yourself, but the team seemed to be deep in a conversation, standing around a desk. Jay was nowhere to be found.

“Y/N Y/L/N, 22. English major at the University of Chicago, trying to live my best life?” a bearded man, sitting at a desk, read out. “I mean, Jay’s not on any of her socials, so there’s no proof of them dating.”

“Guys,” Kim said, trying to make them aware of your arrival, but they were far too deep. Were they looking you up on the internet? This was going to be fun.

“Ha ha Sergeant. Good joke. There’s no way Jay has a girlfriend, least of all her. She is way out of his league. She even has a tattoo.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get it together, Ruzek,” a Latin woman snorted. “You’re still on probation with Kim.”

So that must be Adam, Kim’s on-and-off, currently on, boyfriend.

Sergeant Platt put her hands at her waist, shaking her head. “I am telling you. She introduced herself as Jay’s girlfriend. Why would she lie about that?”

“Maybe she isn’t lying,” a dark skinned man said, shrugging his shoulders. “Jay has been quite secretive recently. Maybe he has a new girlfriend.”

“To be fair, if I were Jay and had a 22 year old girlfriend, I wouldn’t have told me either,” Adam said, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah because you’re an idiot.” A new voice popped up and Jay suddenly appeared next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Guys, this is my girlfriend Y/N. Babe, this is Adam, Kevin, Hailey, Vanessa, Sergeant Platt and you already know Kim of course.”

“Hey guys,” you said, waving at them with a huge grin and Adam promptly toppled out of his chair, cursing.

“Fuck.”

With a roll of her eyes, Sergeant Platt gave you a acknowledging nod before she went back downstairs. The rest of the team greeted you warm heartedly with hugs, immediately feasting on the food you’ve brought while Hailey held you at an arm’s length, nodding appreciatively at you. “I do not know how you pulled her Jay. She is way out of your league, I stand by my words.”

“Yeah Jay, where’d you guys meet? Was she one of the volunteers at your nursing home?” Adam cackled, which earned him a slap up the head by Kim.

“Told you,” Vanessa mused and Adam only glared at her.

With a laugh, you leaned into Jay. “We met at a coffee shop,” you said, keeping the story short on purpose, but your boyfriend immediately pounced on a chance to tell the story of how you met.

“She poured coffee down my lap!” he added and everyone laughed, while your cheeks tinged pink.

“I didn’t pour coffee down your lap. I knocked a coffee cup into your lap, that’s different.”

Jay rolled his eyes fondly at you. “Semantics,” he said, before launching into the story.

Yawning, you read through the last page of an article and you dotted down some notes before you closed the tab of the article, stretching your arms. You’ve been at the coffee shop for a couple of hours now, trying to catch up with some work. For some reason, you worked the best in a coffee shop. At home, there were too many distractions and the library was just… Too quiet.

A coffee shop was the perfect balance of quiet and loud.

You opened up a new document, feeling ready to begin writing. Grabbing your coffee cup, you realized with a grimace that it was empty. Another coffee then. With your wallet in hand, you walked over to the counter, Clarissa already giving you a smile.

“Another cappuccino?”

“Yes please,” you chuckled. “And perhaps a blueberry muffin?”

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks Clarissa,” you said with a smile, paying before you moved over to the bar stools to wait for your order. You allowed yourself to check out social media, looking up when Clarissa called your name. In a haste, you stuck your phone into your pocket, reaching over the counter to grab the plate, but in the hurry, your hand knocked over a coffee mug and the liquid spilled directly into the lap of a man next to you. The lap of a very gorgeous man.

“Oh crap, I am so sorry,” you quickly apologized as the man jumped up, hissing as the coffee seeped into his jeans.

“It’s fine,” he ground out but judged by the look on his face, it wasn’t fine at all. You grabbed a stack of napkins and started patting down the wet patches on his jeans in a panic, until two large hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you.

“Would you stop patting down my crotch?” he asked with a hint of a smile and your cheeks got even redder, which you thought was impossible.

“I am so sorry,” you said, straightening back up when you saw the badge around his neck, your eyes widening. He was a cop. Oh god, he wasn’t going to arrest you for touching him inappropriately, was he?

“I am not going to arrest you.”

Fuck, did you just say that outloud?

“Yes,” he answered and you willed the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Meanwhile the cop looked amused and he let go of your hands, taking the remaining napkins to dry himself off. “You know,” he said. “I usually take women out for dinner before we go to second base, but I guess there’s a first for everything.”

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Please stop, this is already embarrassing enough for me.”

Tossing the used napkins in a nearby trash can, he gave you a smile. He was really hot. You just wished you hadn’t just made a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“I’m Jay. Halstead.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Officer Halstead…?” You guessed but Jay shook his head with a laugh.

“Detective actually.”

“Damn it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “That’s even worse. You’re probably a part of some fancy task force, too, aren’t you?”

“Have to disappoint you there, I am in Intelligence with the CPD,” he told you and you sighed.

“Perfect, you handle all the hardcore cases, right?”

Jay shrugged, tilting his head. “Eh, you could say that.”

“I am an idiot.”

“You’re not. Let me buy you a coffee?”

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed, frowning deeply before you turned to Clarissa. “One cappuccino and one of whatever he was drinking please.”

“One cappuccino and one black coffee, got it.”

You gave Jay a look. ‘Black coffee, really?’ you mouthed and he just shrugged with a grin, handing Clarissa his card, which you nearly slapped away.

“Clarissa, don’t you dare let him pay,” you told her and the both of you offered your cards to the barista.

Clarissa luckily took your card and shrugged at Jay’s look of affront. “Sorry, seniority rules.”

Jay raised an eyebrow at that and took his defeat, turning to face you. “So how old are you?” he asked, somewhat curious but at the same time, really nonchalant. You were sure that Jay knew that you were younger than him. But you didn’t want to read too much into it.

“22.”

You weren’t sure if you had imagined the flash of disappointment that crossed his face but he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression.

“So not really seniority then?” he joked and you huffed in exasperation. Your conversation was cut short by Clarissa calling your name.

“A cappuccino and a black coffee.”

Along with the two coffees, Clarissa handed you your long forgotten muffin with a conspiratorial grin, to which you rolled your eyes. You then stood in the middle of the coffee shop with Jay, coffee mug and muffin in hand.

“So, you’re studying here, huh?” Jay asked, nodding towards your made-shift study space in the booth.

“Mhm,” you hummed, cracking a smile. “For some reason I can focus really well here.”

Jay smiled at you before rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, uh so… I gotta go. Lots of bad guys out there to catch.”

“I am sure there are,” you mused and he gave you one last smile before he turned to leave. You bit your lip and as he reached out to push the door open, you called out.

“Wait!”

He turned back to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“How about that dinner?”

“That is hilarious,” Adam snorted and the rest of the unit laughed in agreement. You huffed, turning so you could hide your face in his arm. Every time Jay told that story, he got the same reaction.

“I hate it when you’re telling the story of how we met,” you mumbled and you felt the vibrations in his body when he chuckled.

“I know you do, but I love it.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re slumming it with old Jay,” Vanessa said and you snorted out a laugh.

“Are you kidding? Jay is hot, have you seen his arms?” You asked, wrapping your hands around his bicep. “Besides, everyone knows that men are like wine. You gotta give them time to mature.”

Now it was Jay’s turn to flush and the entire unit ooh-ed simultaneously. Kevin nodded with a grin.

“Never let go of that one, Jay.”

The group was suddenly broken up when an older man came into the room. “What’s going on in here?” he asked with a husky voice. So this must be the infamous Sergeant Hank Voight.

“Sarge, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Jay said and you smiled at Voight, holding out your hand.

“Pleasure to meet you sir.”

Voight raised an eyebrow at you, shaking your hand gently. “Pleasure’s all mine. How old are you, kid?”

“22, sir.”

“I could be your dad.”

Jay scoffed, rolling his eyes and squeezed your hand. “You could be my dad, Sarge.”

“Fair enough,” Voight grunted with a laugh. “Alright we got a case.” He motioned for the rest of the team to follow him while Jay turned to you with a smile.

“Thanks for coming. I know I always told you that I’d introduce you to the team but never did it. Figures you’d take it in your own hands, huh?” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you grinned at him, shrugging with your shoulders.

“Thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“‘course you did. Listen, I gotta go, but how about I’ll take you out for drinks tonight and we’ll hang out with the guys? Properly?”

“Sounds like a great plan,” you nodded and Jay grinned at you, kissing you softly.

“Awesome. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Can’t wait.”

🏷️list: @itsdesiree86 // @anotherfan07 // @its-laur-laur // @life-treatments // @rebel-without-care // @hylandsedits

Bolded means I can’t tag you. Please message me so we can figure out the problem!

#like fine wine #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead fanfic #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd #chicago pd fic #jesse lee soffer

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melofanish · 3 years

Text

Clumsy Your Way Into My Heart

@carlosreyesweek Day 6: AU!!!

Summary: When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now.

Cereal box shenanigans and loads of blushing later:

Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Tags: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Mentioned Owen Strand, Mentioned Paul Strickland, Mentioned Marjan Marwani, Mentioned Mateo Chavez, Mentioned Judd Ryder, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Clumsy Boys, Firefighter Carlos Reyes,, Police Officer TK Strand, Pre-Relationship, Flirting.

Warnings: Blushing and clumsiness.

At the moment in which I'm writing this, this fic has been started less than 24 hours ago and was completed 10 minutes ago. My beta is going through it right now and I'm getting AO3 and Tumblr ready. As we've found out, AU is my kryptonite.

The hugest, and largest thanks and love to the one and only @lire-casander. The amount of love and support that I get from this woman is unbelievable. The help she's been on this fic alone is insane, let alone with everything else that I do. She's been a guide and a friend and this would not have happened without you <3

Read on AO3.

---

When Carlos first volunteered to go grocery shopping for the station, he didn’t think he would be overthinking it as much as he is right now. And yet he keeps remembering how Marjan can only eat halal food and Mateo is lactose sensitive, Paul likes spicy food but Judd can’t handle any. Captain Tommy -he still needs some time to get used to her not wanting to be called by her last name- likes white bread while his own soon-to-return Captain Strand won’t eat anything that isn’t full-grain. So he keeps getting more food, and more food, and more food.

He started out shopping like he usually would, keeping in mind the slight dietary restrictions; a few vegetables and fruits, several dairy and soy products, some poultry. And then he came to the realisation that it would be better if he bought food for more than one day’s meals. And then his brain supplied the wonderful what if I want to make a dish and I can’t find canned peeled cherry tomatoes, which he knows is not only highly specific but also highly unlikely. And yet he now finds himself dragging a cart on the verge of overflowing. And he’s still got seven more aisles to go.

He's so focused on studying the displayed boxes of cereal that spread across half an aisle, holding two different brands in his hands and moving right and left to compare them with others, that he doesn't notice a whole other human being on the way until he’s being run over by flesh and bones.

They immediately get into a fumbling battle, legs somehow holding up. The boxes in Carlos’ slip, so do the other person’s. Carlos manages to catch two cartoons, the faint recognition that one of them is sugar flakes -which he didn’t pick- runs through his mind before he focuses on yet another cartoon making its descent through the sky. He steps forward, and so does the other person. They crash in the middle, chest to chest. And this time, they all come crashing to the ground.

Carlos lands on a knee, hands already going out to hold onto the boxes, when a body slams into his. He drops the box, holding onto the waist person that’s half splayed on him now. He follows the flat chest, taking note of the APD logo on the side of his shirt and the rainbow pinned next to it, to the bare beginnings of a stubble, up across thin, pink lips and a sharp nose, to end at mesmerising green eyes.

It takes all of his will power not to gasp, but he can't stop the dropped jaw. The man is beautiful. There's no other way to describe him. His light brown hair lays a mess on top of his head, his green eyes sparkle with a mix of shock and surprise, and his teeth seem to find relief in sinking into his lower lip.

He feels movement around him, and then a hand makes its way between them and lays on his shoulder. He feels the pressure on his chest give way, manifesting as an exhale from the man. Carlos realises that he’s been holding his breath too, and sighs, his exhale mingling with the man’s inhale. And then a cart crashes behind them, and they realise they’re sitting on the floor of a grocery store in the middle of the day. Their bubble crashes.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy I can’t believe this happened!” The man says as he fully pushes off Carlos, eye contact breaking to pick up the dropped boxes. The apology finally breaks through Carlos’ hazy mind, and he let’s go of the man’s shirt, coming to a stand as well as he picks up the remaining boxes.

“Oh no, no! It’s my fault, I wasn’t looking,” he states, finally straightening up. "Good save, officer,” he adds as he steps back before he can even think about.

The man's eyes snap back to him, widening in shock before his face breaks into a small smile and then his head falls forward, chuckling and shaking his head. Carlos finds himself snickering as well.

"I can say the same to you, firefighter," the man says, nodding his chin towards Carlos' own AFD shirt.

Carlos looks at his own shirt before he looks back at the man. He feels like he knows him, he's seen him before, but he can't remember where or when. But the green eyes bore into his very soul, so he looks down at his hands instead, finally noticing the box of organic multi-bran flakes.

"Uhh, these are yours? I'm guessing?"

The man looks at Carlos' hands, eyes and mouth opening is recognition. "Yeah, those are my dad's. A disgrace to the very idea of flakes," he adds as he glares at the box.

“They’re not that bad,” Carlos laughs, and the glare redirects itself from the box to Carlos. Which makes him cut himself mid-laugh, only to dissolve into chuckles again when the man cracks the smallest of smiles.

“Are you just saying that or have you actually tried them?”

“I’ve tried them, my captain back at the station likes them,” he replies, moving a step back to drag his cart closer. “I even got a box here,” he gestures to the cartoon laying on top of the mountain.

“Pfft, and I thought my dad was the only one crazy enough to like these. Good to know there’s someone else like him in here,” he shakes his head in amusement, a sentiment Carlos shares. Of everything he was imagining when he moved states to join the 126, he wasn’t expecting to be talking to a cute officer in the middle of the grocery store, discussing cereal of all things.

The man takes a few steps back, reaching behind the corner of the aisle and dragging a cart up next to him. Carlos extends an arm to him, handing over the box, which he takes and drops into his cart.

Carlos can’t help but sneak a peek into it. There’s a very obvious mix of junk food and snacks, and healthy organic and full-grain foods. It reminds him of his new Captain. He hasn’t interacted with him much, the man getting injured a mere day after Carlos got transferred. But the rest of the crew has given him a list of all the dietary preferences, Captain’s included.

He looks up at the man, finding him alternating between looking at the ground and the shelves. Carlos has noticed that he already has three boxes of cereal, he couldn’t possibly need more. He looks like he wants to say something, or maybe he’s reading it wrong and he wants to move away. Either way, he decides to take a plunge. He’s already moved half-way through the country in a leap of faith, why not take another one?

“I’m Carlos, by the way,” he extends an arm to the man, “Reyes, of AFD.”

The smile that he receives tells him that it’s the right choice. The other man extends his arm, hand wrapping around Carlos’ in a warm embrace. If this is how his hand feels, Carlos can’t even imagine what a hug would feel like.

“Hello, Carlos, I’m TK,” he gives their hands a shake. “Strand, of APD.”

Carlos is so enamoured with the man’s -TK’s- eyes and smile that it takes him a moment to register the name. But once he does, he can’t help the quick and rapid blinking he does to clear his mind.

“Wait, did you just say Strand?”

“Uhh,” TK blinks back at him, turning his head to a side as his eyelids flutter in confusion. “Yeah?”

Carlos doesn’t pay him much mind though, what are the chances of this happening?

“Is your father Owen Strand? Captain of the 126?”

“Yeah, that’s my dad, how did you know that?” All of the confusion that was mildly visible on TK’s face is now showcased a full one hundred per cent, both in his facial expressions and tone of voice.

“He’s my captain!” Carlos exclaims. “I work with the 126 too!”

It seems to take TK a moment to come to terms with what Carlos is saying. But the moment drags on so long that he begins to think he just got this awfully wrong. He’s about to disentangle their still bound hands when clarity finally shines on TK’s face and he breaks into a wide grin.

“You’re the new guy from New Jersey,” he says around a smile. Carlos is confused for just a second, wondering how he knows about his previous state of residence when TK continues talking. “My dad told me all about you! He can’t wait to get back tomorrow and work with you again. Said he only had to see you on one call and he knew he made the right choice asking you to join the 126.”

Carlos feels the blush rising up the back of his neck and into the highs of his cheeks, but he can’t really stop it. He knows he’s good at his job, he knows he’s a decent firefighter. But having the son of his Captain relay what said Captain said brings a sense of belonging and validation he didn’t think he’d get a mere three weeks on the job.

“He… he said that?” he asks. He needs to know. He’s been worried, stressing himself out of his mind in fear that he’s not showing the best of his abilities. Not only did he travel 1.5 thousand miles from one border of the country to another, he also took a job with a team that’s already well-formed and perfectly working without him. They didn’t ask for him because they needed him, they asked for him because they just wanted to. And he’s constantly aware of that whenever they’re on a call and everyone is on top of what they need to be doing.

“Yeah, man, he did!” TK says. He then takes another look at Carlos, and he can only guess that he can read minds. “He said you’re sharp, careful and smart. You think twice as hard and act twice as fast. He said you carry the job like it should be, with respect and responsibility,” he smiles at Carlos, closing the step between them and bringing a hand up to run the back of his fingers across the logo on his shirt.

Carlos brings his own hand up, covering TK’s -one of many things he’s done before his consciousness can think it out today. TK’s eyes glance over their hands before they stare up into him, the faint emerald greens ripping his insecurities and uncertainties into shreds with each passing second.

“Thank you,” he whispers. He can’t talk any louder when they’re this close. “I needed to know that.”

The smile he gets in reply is worth the distance he travelled. TK drifts his gaze down Carlos’ face, and he copies the action. He finds TK’s lower lip hidden between the bite of his upper teeth, and he can’t help but imagine what they would feel like holding onto his own.

“Excuse me!”

Carlos snaps his head to the side, a woman with bright red hair standing there glaring at both of them. He sneaks a quick glance at TK, both of them stepping back as she steps forward, reaching between them to grab a box of cereal before she dumps it into her cart and moves along. He follows her until she turns the corner, no longer in his visual field, before he turns back to a blushing TK.

He provides a small, pained smile, and Carlos laughs at the expression he’s presented with. They’ve been caught in two of these situations so far, and they’ve only met for minutes. Carlos supposes it would be embarrassing if it wasn’t for the pull he feels towards the man. The pull that has both of them stepping forward again, until there’s barely a foot of distance between them.

“So, you’ve been here for three weeks, right?” TK asks. Carlos knows TK knows the answer. Captain Strand sprained his shoulder on Carlos’ first day here, and that was three weeks ago. He nods anyway.

“So, I’m guessing you haven’t seen much of the city yet?”

A twinkle of hope starts to bubble in Carlos’ chest. He has a faint inkling of where this is going, but he isn’t sure. He can only wish and pray.

“No, not really. I’ve been to a couple of places with the crew, that’s it,” he answers, pausing for a moment to take a breath. “I haven’t found a tour guide yet.”

TK chuckles at him, the sound sending waves of happiness through Carlos, even as TK shakes his head at him. “Well, then, I have a proposition for you, Firefighter Reyes.”

Carlos is playing into it without a moment to think. “Oh, do you now, Police Officer Strand?”

TK is nodding back at Carlos before the words are even out of his mouth.

“How about this: I’ll be your tour guide.”

Carlos looks up at the ceiling of the store, rubbing a hand through his chin and humming as feigns thinking. “What would your payment be?” he asks.

“You let me take you out for coffee,” TK says around a smirk. All pretence of a game falls through shambles immediately, and they’re back into an intense round of gazing into each other eyes. Almost as if they can read each other through them.

“Can I bargain for a cheesecake?”

The question seems to come out of nowhere and throw TK off his track. His eyes widen for a moment before he’s bursting into laughs. The loud, booming kind with the head thrown back and hands bracing his own chest. Carlos smiles at the sight, the closed eyes, the exposed neck, the sound that carries absolute joy; it’s a view he wants to see for the entire rest of his life.

“Ahh, that can definitely be arranged,” TK says once he manages to stop laughing.

Carlos doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes his phone from his pocket, opening the contact app and handing it over. TK takes it, types a few buttons and gives it back. Carlos looks at the screen to see that he’s calling a number. A number that’s been saved under TK Strand Grocery Officer.

A phone ringing has him lifting his head, just in time to see TK pull out his own phone, decline the call and press a few more times on the screen. He then turns it around showing Carlos his own number saved as Carlos Reyes Grocery Fire.

“I think there should be a fighter in there,” he comments, much to the amusement of TK.

“Naaah. That might be your job,” he replies, looking Carlos up and down. “But you’re straight fire.”

As if on command, said fire burns through his face as he blushes yet again. This time he doesn’t resist the urge to hide his face, lifting his hands to cover the warmth he can feel spreading to the tips of his ears. He hears a chuckle he knows is TK’s behind his shield. He doesn’t know how this happened, but he’s sure he’ll be able to recognise the sound out of a crowd of a hundred people.

He feels hands touch his fingers wrapping around his palm as they pull away from his face. TK then rests a hand on his cheek, and Carlos leans into it, eyes locked onto each other.

“I need to go. Call me?” Tk asks, voice flowing like butter.

“You can arrest me if I don’t, officer,” Carlos replies, voice just as soft.

TK nods as he takes a deep breath, the smile never leaving his face.

“That’s a good idea. After all, I do where you work”

From anyone else, that sentence would sound creepy and send Carlos running. But from TK it sounds like a promise he doesn’t want to lose. “Okay.”

With a final glance, TK steps back, breaking all contact they have together. Carlos misses the touch half a second after it’s gone. He moves back, grabbing his cart. He slowly steps forward, moving towards the registers. As he passes Carlos’ cart, he stops to peek into it before he turns back to him.

“Buy my dad cashew nuts and you’ll be his favourite tomorrow.”

As he moves away with a final smile thrown his way, Carlos finds that he’s much calmer than he’s ever been since he got here. Maybe overthinking about food isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

#carlosreyesweek2021 #Day 6: AU #Carlos Reyes #TK Strand #Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Alternate Universe #Alternate First Meeting #They're clumsy boys your honour #911 lone star #911 lone star fic

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Soothe (Male Naga ; Fic Raffle)

A quick re-upload of this fic requested by @gothglamonenightstand featuring a Black female reader and a male naga. A slight misunderstanding leads to more and a happy ending. Hope you enjoy!

tw: animal attack, animal death

Female Reader (POV) x Male Naga The cottage is everything you dreamed of.

It’s cozy with two floors, but not overly spacious with a welcoming guest room. Its clean hearth is large enough to warm the whole house during the heavy winters. But for now, during these mid-summer months, you’ll be drawn to the window of the master bedroom, which showcases a spectacular view of the forest just beyond the property’s edge.

Your new home is a wonder, one that was purchased with little coin per the last owner’s request. This, and the kindness of the elderly Mr. Adley, is why you’re more than happy to accommodate him until his son returns from the village to shepherd the older man to his new home.

“I’m glad everything’s to your liking, my dear. I was somewhat worried when you first arrived to see what this old shell had to offer.”

You tuck a thick lock of curly, black hair behind your brown ear with a smile and pour him another cup of soothing chamomile tea, finishing it with a dollop of honey.

“You had nothing to worry about, sir. This place is lovely and has a charm all its own. It carries the feeling of home all throughout.”

Mr. Adley chuckles, his wizened, light brown hand lifting his handcrafted cup with a slight tremble.

“Then may I also suggest the pathway from the back garden into the forest? I used the walk to clear my head and relax when life became overwhelming. I hope it can offer you the same if you need a reprieve from your apprenticeship.”

You respond with a brief smile then hide your growing frown behind your teacup.

The fact you were chosen as Madam Irene Bastien’s apprentice was a miracle all its own. Known for her reticence as much as her natural genius, people from far and wide sought her out for the chance to glean any knowledge from her. But every time, she rejected all potential students. Word of her refusals spread far and wide to the point that the number of hopeful potentials gathering at her manor dwindled to nothing.

You had heard the stories about the elusive apothecary and hearing was more than enough.You were comfortable in your little hometown, aiding your mother with selling her wares at the market. But a chance encounter in late spring with a carefully disguised Madam changed your life forever.

You had merely suggested to her a list of ingredients for a healing tonic and accompanied her around the market, helping her find the items. All without realizing that you helping out a supposed ‘visitor’ was a secret test of sorts. That very night, Madam Bastien revealed her true identity after finding your home and offered you an apprenticeship.

You’re still not yet sure what she sees in you, a mere beginner apothecary. But your family refused to let such a wonderful opportunity pass by. With their blessing, you gathered your belongings and made the three day move to the outskirts of the country’s capital, promising to never let doubt make you look back.

“Miss?”

You startle, your forearm bumping into the half-filled metal kettle beside you. Thankfully, the water inside has cooled to a lukewarm temperature.

“Sorry,” you say, “I got lost in my thoughts.”

“That’s alright, dear. A lot has happened today.”

Thankful for Mr. Adley’s kindness, you actively listen to his stories about how he built the cottage as a gift to his late wife. How his son grew up here as a rambunctious child. How so many friends and visitors from the capital would stop by during the yearly equinox festivals.

When his son arrives, you happily help him gather Mr. Adley’s belongings and place them beside the wagon to be packed. A few hours later, as you bid the men goodbye with a wave, a sense of warm contentment settles over you. You hope to run into Mr. Adley again one day, to share another cup of tea and to hear more of his stories.

But for now, there’s unpacking to be done.

First your clothing, which was packed by your mother in a sturdy trunk. Then, the wooden statuettes carved by your father. The bed linens, pillows, blankets, and your other personal belongings. Once everything is secured in its proper place, you light the hearth and reheat the stew cooked for you by Mr. Adley’s son.

Your stomach full, you think about the path Mr. Adley mentioned, wanting to at least see it before night fell. But no such luck.

“Ah well,” you murmur to yourself. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Your stomach full, you heat up some water drawn from the backyard well and scrub the day’s accumulated dirt from your body. Dressed in a long gown and with a silent yawn, you climb the stairs to retire to your bedroom.

Tomorrow will be a busy day and you can’t afford any lethargy. Safely tucked in bed, you close your eyes and drift to sleep.

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

The horse-drawn coach hits a slight bump on the gravel road, rocking you and your filled satchel. You had asked to sit up front beside the driver when he first arrived in the early morning. Mainly to talk and to calm your addled nerves.

Unfortunately, he declined, stating that he had strict orders from Madam Bastien to keep his distance. His words saddened you somewhat, but you complied, not wanting to threaten his standing with the Madam.

One drive past the capital’s city gates on the cobblestoned road and into the business district, the coach arrives at the Madam’s workshop. It’s small but sturdy, a much more humble place than the manor she’s known to live in. Once the coach slows to a stop, you gather your satchel and climb out.

A woman with deep skin the color of a starless, night sky stands before the workshop’s door. Her gaze is stalwart as she watches your approach, her hands tucked behind her back. Once you’re close enough, she gives you a warm smile that stretches the crow’s feet gathered at the corner of her eyes.

“Welcome,” she says. “Have you already had breakfast?”

The cheerful manner in which she greets you is nothing like how she first met you. You swiftly remember your manners and reply before she can attribute your silence to rudeness.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then the bread and pastries inside will serve as a later brunch.”

Madam Bastien turns around, her long, gray beaded braids shifting against her back. She opens the door with a wrinkled hand and glances at you with a sharp, deep brown gaze.

“Let’s get started,” she says. “We have much to cover.”

And cover much you did. The pages of your new journal were soon stained with notes detailing a variety of topics. Types of animal fats, herbs, plants. Which salves, tinctures, and ointments work best. Potions for pain, conception, and contraceptive measures. The apothecaries’ system for measurement.

She then has you mix together a common tincture after you memorize the ingredient list. The first time, the mix isn’t properly done. Not enough potency. How she can tell just by the scent alone is astounding. So you try again. And again. And again, until finally, you get it right.

By the time brunch rolls around, a number of failed tinctures sit on the table before you and your journal is halfway filled. You’ll have to purchase another before the next lesson.

“I think a break is needed,” Madam Bastien says. “You must be getting hungry.”

You’re about to politely refute her claim, but your empty stomach answers in reply, refusing to be ignored. With a chuckle, Madam Bastien stokes a fire in her hearth and uses the heat to warm up the chilled bread and pastries. They go wonderfully well with some tea and herbed butter, as you soon learn. You happily eat your fill, humming at the mesh of flavors coating your tongue. Madam Bastien, however, sits across from you and takes the time to flip through your journal. She nods as she reads along, smiling.

“I was right,” she says. “You’ll be a wonderful choice for the position of Royal Apothecary once I retire.”

Your fork clatters against your plate.

“W-what?” Madam Bastien simply picks up a pastry and spreads a little butter onto the flakey crust.

“Word got out about my imminent retirement, no doubt thanks to those damned gossips at Court. That’s why so many would-be apprentices swarmed my estate. Of course, I wasn’t going to simply choose some hopeful unknown to take my place as the Royal Family’s apothecary.”

She sips at her cooling tea before continuing.

“I decided to find my apprentice after the throngs died down. So the King allowed me to travel to the smaller pockets of the country while keeping the reason behind my absence a secret.”

“...Which is how you met me.”

She nods.

“A choice, I must say, I’m glad to have made. You show immense potential with your gift yet remain grounded. Both skills will be needed to survive the Royal Court and everything it entails. But that will be years from now.” She taps a loose fist against her opposite shoulder with a chuckle.

“I won’t be going anywhere any time soon. After all, there is still much to teach you. But for now, sate your hunger. Once you’re finished, you can leave for the market then get settled at home. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at the same time.”

You finish your portion, drain your cup of tea, and bid Madam Bastien a good day. The food weighs heavily in your belly and your temples pound as you gather foodstuffs from the large market. You honestly don’t know if you could’ve handled the task without the help of the coach driver. You’re thankful, but know he’s only aiding you due to the Madam’s order. And as before, he keeps to himself on the trip to your cottage.

Your nerves tense and heighten to a peak once you arrive home. The sensation only grows stronger as you place your items in their proper places. Soon enough, you drop down into a chair at the dining table, your fingers tangling and pulling at your hair almost to the point of pain.

You can deal with and adapt to a sudden apprenticeship. But the assured role of Royal Apothecary? That is something you nor your family foresaw. What would they say if they could see you now?

With so many hypotheticals running through your mind, you honestly want to forget Madam Bastien’s words for a short time. Forget that tomorrow is coming and with it, a greater sense of responsibility you never expected.

Your downcast gaze lifts towards the back door as Mr. Adley’s words resound in your mind. With the sun still visible in the sky, you won’t have to worry about nightfall and what it will bring. Now is a good time as any to see what his handmade path has to offer.

You press to your feet and slip outside, closing the door softly with a tight grip. Taking a deep breath, you force your fingers to relax and glance down. Flat, gray stones form a simple trail before your feet, leading towards the forest. Blades of grass stick up in the gaps between each rock, a reminder that nature can easily overtake this area if it so chooses. It’s a charming sight, one that makes taking the first step easy.

Your steady gait slows to a more eased pace as a gathering of clouds blocks the sun’s light. A gentle breeze carrying the raw, earthy scent of the forest brushes against your heated skin. You welcome the sensation with a pleased, quiet sigh and press onward.

There’s nothing but a sea of rolling grass between your cottage and the outskirts of the forest. It’s easy to see why Mr. Adley suggested this, and you’re highly thankful. It’ll be another thing you’ll talk to him about when you see him again. As you near the edge of the forest, your heart starts to sink. Turning around means having to face the reality of your apprenticeship; something you’d rather not do until absolutely necessary.

In a way, your wish is granted. But not through normal means.

Just a stone’s throw, in a sunlit clearing, a large, dark burly shape presses itself further onto the ground. You hear an odd, splashing sound that is soon followed with violent crunching. As the shape shifts, you’re able to see the scene before you with clarity. A massive, black bear tears its maw into the fresh remains of a stag. One that it, without a doubt, took down itself.

You take a silent breath and begin to slowly back away. Something brittle snaps underneath your foot. You freeze. So does the bear up ahead.

Your heart pounds in your chest as it lifts its head, searching for the source of the sound. Its dark eyes bore into yours, grunts emanating from its mouth. With a shrill roar, it barrels towards you, sharp teeth bared. You can’t move, no matter how much you beg your body to act.

All you can do is shut your eyes and hope for a swift end. But there’s no impact.

No sound of a beast eager to tear into you; only the soft whisper of a passing breeze. Carefully and slowly, as you mentally take stock of your intact self, your eyes open.

The bear lies on the ground, nothing more than a motionless heap. The green grass underneath its form is slowly dyed a dark color, a deep red that the sun’s rays catch. But the shade is nothing compared to the ink-black braid belonging to the being calmly extracting their long claws from the carcass. Piercing gold eyes meet yours, framed by rich, brown skin and a full nose bearing a long scar. In fact, the majority of the stranger’s bare torso is littered with old injuries, both small and large. The only part of his body that remains untouched is his black, serpentine tail.

Your legs decide then and there to lose their remaining strength. Your body sinks to the ground, the thick grass taking the brunt of your fall as your lungs cry out for air. You fill them, holding your hands over your throbbing chest.

“Are you alright?”

Your gaze darts up. The naga extends a bloodless, clawed hand towards you; the other he keeps behind his back. Pushing aside your nervousness, you take it and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. But his grip on your hand remains; perhaps to keep steadying you.

“T-thank you.” Your eyes flit from his claws, which barely touch your skin, to the fallen bear behind him. “I owe you my life.”

He releases his grip on your hand after a few minutes of silence. No doubt after assuring you can stand on your own two feet without aid.

“You must be the new owner of the cottage, then?”

You startle at his words.

“Yes, but how did…”

“The Adleys told me about the upcoming changes weeks ago. I just didn’t expect to meet you so soon...maybe not at all.”

You let out a soft chuckle, not quite aware of where the urge came from. But it acts as a crack in the dam holding back your feelings all the same.

Without warning, everything spills out from your lips. Meeting Madam Bastien, your apprenticeship, the move to the capital from your only home. Your eyes burn and your chest heaves while you speak, but you can’t stop the release. Not until everything is out in the open, including your near-death experience. As your sobs quiet, a cool sensation brushes against your wet cheeks. Your rescuer gives you a soft, understanding smile as he gently wipes away your tears with the back of his claw.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I must be taking up your time. And I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Anil,” he says. “And honestly? I was debating whether to take a nap in my favorite tree or grab a snack from the river. But I have to say this change in routine is more than welcome.”

His relaxed tone pulls a true laugh from you, which by the look of his own fanged smile, was his goal.

“Much better,” he murmurs.

Somehow, that one comment and your emotional release has you feeling much lighter than before. You’re able to take a deep, calming breath and give him your name. All while returning Anil’s smile. He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. But a part of you wonders why he looks so thrilled to know such a simple thing.

“Thank you again,” you say. “I should head back. I’m expected to meet with Madam Bastien tomorrow morning.”

Anil nods then clears his throat.

“If you’re in need of a willing ear, please feel free to return,” he says. “That is, if you’d like to.”

Your eyes take him in: the way he deftly skims a claw over one of his cheeks while attempting to meet your gaze, but failing to hold it. The sight is endearing and rather sweet.

“I would, as long as I don’t disturb you.” You purse your lips together and decide to take a chance. “In fact, if you’re available tomorrow…”

“I am,” he says, in what you think is an excited tone. But you don’t want to assume.

So you simply smile and bid him a good day, telling him “until tomorrow.”

Anil repeats your words and you two go your separate ways.

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

The following day, Madam Bastien proves to be quite the taskmaster. Your new journal is nearly filled like its predecessor, prompting another visit to the market. And another venture to the forest’s edge.

But this time, you plan to go bearing gifts. At first, you expect to wait at the previous meeting spot until Anil arrives. Instead, you find a guide of sorts without any signs of yesterday’s bear. Makeshift stakes stick up from the tall grass, the tops marked with a vivid red dye. It doesn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you.

You follow the marked path to a larger clearing where a massive tree towers overhead. Dappled sunlight shines through the gaps of the leaves and on a familiar, dozing naga. Anil is cradled among the thick yet lower branches of the tree. His dark tail is coiled underneath his upper body, providing a makeshift bed of sorts. His features are soft, the serene sight bringing a smile to your face. So you seat yourself at the tree’s base and turn to your attention to your wickered basket.

You push back the lid and remove the linen keeping the food warm. The delicious, mingling scents make your mouth water. And cause a groan from up above. Anil shifts, blinking down at you with bleary eyes, a few stray leaves clinging to his mussed hair. You giggle.

“Good afternoon, Anil. Did you sleep well?” Anil yawns widely, his fangs unsheathing themselves from the action.

“Very, thank you. By chance, is that venison I smell?” You nod.

“It’s for you. I purchased it from the market as a surprise. Come have some.”

You think you see Anil’s body tense for a few moments.

“Are...are you sure?” he asks with a hesitant tone.

You huff out a light laugh and smile.

“Of course I am!”

Seconds later, he takes you up on your offer and slithers his way down. Soon he’s beside you, happily partaking of the meat, bread, cheese, and fruit you’ve brought along. He finishes his portion with a satisfied sigh, licking his claws with a forked tongue while you tuck your leftovers back into the basket for dinner.

“I wasn’t sure what to get originally, but I figured venison would be a safe bet. Was I right?”

Anil glances your way then down to his hands.

“You were, and then some. It’s actually my favorite.”

He fidgets, the motion traveling down to his curled tail. It reminds you of how a ripple affects an entire pond.

You reach out with a tentative hand and touch his shoulder. His deep inhale doesn’t escape your notice. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yes! I’m just thinking, that’s all. But that can wait. How was your time at Madam Bastien’s?”

You tell him how your first foray with creating a decoction from memory went. Better than expected, but with some bumps along the way. You also mention the need for another journal and how you expect to have a miniature library soon.

Anil listens intently to you, smiling all the while. But it’s the light in his golden eyes that give you pause. They’re warm, almost molten, and full of...fondness? You’re quick to dismiss the thought and prompt him to tell you about his day, which he readily does.

When Anil asks to see you again, you both agree to the following day. It’s from that point onward that you notice some odd things.

One day, as you accompany Anil to the river, he stays close by your side. During one instance, he places his clawed hand against the small of your back. You don’t think much of it, especially when you both come across some gnarled roots jutting from the ground. He carefully and gently guides you over the obstacles, but his touch lingers before he pulls away.

Then, at the river, he catches a large haul of fish. But instead of placing them all into his own personal satchel, he reveals a second bag. He fills it with the majority of his catch and presents it to you with a shy smile on his lips. You accept it with genuine thanks and he looks away, grinning with pleasure.

After that, Anil keeps close to you in various ways. But more so as he tells you about his family, him leaving the den before his other siblings, and meeting the Adleys. Still, whether it’s to guide you by holding your hand, to show you some of his favorite areas in the forest, or to present you with more food, he’s always near. In fact, your personal stock of meat is nearly overflowing and you’d hate for it to go to waste.

Early that morning, you smoke the meat (with the wood Anil happily volunteered to chop for you) and bring the bundle to your next meeting with the Madam. She hums with pleasure as she tucks into the food and calls her coachman to receive a portion.

“This fish is considered a rare delicacy here in the capital,” she says, dabbing at her lips with a thick napkin. “Last I checked, the fishmonger was unsure if he would have any this season. How did you come across it?”

You sip at your water, unable to hide your smile.

“A friend of mine gave me a part of his catch.”

Madam Bastien gives you a look. It reminds you of the knowing way your mother would look at you when a young boy caught your attention.

“Just a friend? Are you sure of that?”

You’re about to refute her claim but pause. Your mind recalls just how close Anil has grown towards you over the last few weeks. You’ve also learned more about him and have come to greatly enjoy his company. But there’s...something more.

“It seems,” Madam Bastien begins, pulling you from your thoughts, “that your friend wishes to impress you. If I may ask, what has he done for you so far?”

You explain everything. And when she asks how it all began, you mention the picnic you prepared as thanks for saving your life from a raging bear. Confusion colors her face, but when you mention Anil being a naga…

The Madam nearly chokes on her wine. She swiftly places her napkin against her mouth as she coughs, clearing her throat.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say standing up, hands raised and ready to help.

But she holds up her own hand in reply, making you pause. She gestures for you to sit and you do.

“Since that is the case,” she says after a deep swallow, “I should explain a bit about the naga and their courting habits…”

She starts at the beginning, aligning what you and he have done so far with the start of naga courtship behavior. The interested party provides food without prompting, letting the other know their interest in them as a possible mate. As she provides more detail into what may happen—including copulation—a burning heat floods your cheeks. But you find that it isn’t unwelcomed.

“So then,” she concludes, “That is what you should expect. I just hope that your new paramour won’t distract you from your studies, yes?”

“Of course not.” You’re stunned to find that you mean every word and that you agree with Anil being more than a friend. “But, if it’s alright with you, may I be excused early today? There are some things I need to take care of.”

The Madam calls for her coachman, gives you a knowing smile and winks.

“Good luck, dearest.”

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

You can barely contain yourself as the coach coasts to a stop before your cottage. In fact, you take the initiative and leap out before the coachman is able to open the door for you.

You quickly circle around back and follow the stone pathway towards the edge of the forest. Your heart swells at the sight nearing closer with each stride.

Anil holds a bundle of makeshift markers, the tips dyed that familiar shade of red. Before he’s able to spear the next stick into the ground, you shout his name. He pauses, straightening his body and saying your name as you dash towards him.

He manages to catch you as you leap towards him, your arms winding around his neck and your cheek nestling against his own. He shudders, him own grip tightens around your body, secure and warm.

“I’m guessing something good happened today?”

You hum in reply, pulling back so you can see him face to face. Then, you gently press your lips against his.

Anil tenses, and for a moment, doubt begins to seep in. But it’s quickly swept away as he kisses you back, his fangs pressing against your mouth and the tips of his claws gently teasing the nape of your neck. All while as his other arm holds you close. Your hand taps his back, a reminder of your need to breathe. He tapers off the kiss, taking in a few deep breaths of his own. His golden eyes glitter as they take in your breathless expression.

“I didn’t...I wasn’t sure...so you are interested in me as I am in you?”

“I am,” you say, cupping his cheek in your palm. “It just took me some time to realize it.”

He nuzzles against your warmth, with a large grin.

“How so?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” you say. “One that may take up most of the day.”

“I want to know,” Anil says. “As long as I can be right next to you.”

You can’t help but silently agree. “The cottage is large enough for the both of us, if that’s alright with you?”

Anil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes drinking you in.

“More than,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #exophilia #naga boyfriend #naga #400 follower raffle #I hope you all enjoy!#female reader #fem reader

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hournites · 4 years

Text

Say that we’ll stay with each other

An aged-up Jealous!Rick hournite fic for @samarasketch

~.~

They grab coffee at the diner to catch up every week. It’s not the only time they see each other, but missions require zero personal life talk for safety, as learned very quickly into their JSA run, and their texts just aren’t sufficient enough for the way they miss each other’s company.

Beth rearranges the cutlery, waiting for Rick as he picks out two desserts from beneath the glass window by the cash. It’s late and quiet, Rick had to work overtime to finish a deadline, so she took a nap at her office until he swung by with his car to pick her up.

The steaming coffee is in front of her, untouched. It’s been a long day and she’s second guessing whether or not caffeine is actually such a good idea after all.

“Wow,” Rick greets her, sliding into the booth across from her. He’s no longer slicking his hair back with gel and the small change makes a massive difference in how he looks. His hair is thick, falling over the front of his face, long enough to frame his eyes. Those eyes are lit up now, bright hazel. They sweep over her, taking everything in like he needs the moment to process.

The silent gesture pushes Beth to look down at herself, wondering if she spilled something or was showcasing a wardrobe malfunction of some kind.

“You look amazing. I noticed before but your jacket was on.”

Beth relaxes, settling against the leather backing of her seat. He grins at her, which she returns easily. Rick is her best friend—has been for a very long time. Her lips curve around the rim of her ceramic mug. “Oh, thank you! I was on my date earlier over lunch. I didn’t want to show up in my lab coat.”

“Right,” he replies. “Dr. Leho, was it?” ” Rick twirls his fork into the perfectly cut marble cake slice on the pretty small plate. “How’d that go?”

Beth suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. “Dr. Leon.”

“Oh, was that it?” As if he hadn’t deliberately botched the name of her date in the first place. Rick has met Denny before. Beth’s mom had invited him to her surprise birthday dinner that she organized with Courtney a few weeks ago. He was nice, bought her a book of easy recipes that he swore got him well fed through night shifts that he thought she’d enjoy. The gesture was thoughtful and was what made her agree to giving him her number. Rick was there for it all, one eyebrow arched high in what she was able to tell was silent judgement as he kept sharing a look with Yolanda.

“—And it went fine.”

He raises that brow again now. “Just fine?”

Beth shrugs. She already knows how Rick feels about why she’s giving him a chance. He’s not exactly her first choice when it comes to dating—Rather, he wasn’t much of a choice at all, pestered into giving the youngest single doctor working at her mom’s floor the time of day.

Her parents are getting concerned she’s throwing herself too deep into work without any support. It’s not precisely fair—Juggling a new position at Central City emergency with spontaneous secret crime-fighting against metahuman villainous egomaniacs does not give a woman much time to find someone new to love. Long shifts end in face-planting into bed until the next one and there’s nothing more she’d rather do than shove off her work shoes to do that. Only a handful of people have enough grip on Beth’s heart for her to sacrifice her evenings—Courtney and her family, Yolanda, Jade, Wally, her parents. And while she enjoys the pretty dress and matching pair of high heels for dinner, her energy to sustain a relationship would require an extension of self that she’s not sure she has to offer.

She’s tried to explain this, cutting out the important JSA parts, which she self-admits would strengthen her argument.

“It was a nice lunch.” She’s already preferring dessert with Rick, though.

“Tell me about it.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“What, he was that boring?”

Beth sighs. She finds herself describing her entire lunch break, from waiting for Denny to scrub his hands from surgical fluids to grabbing her hand to chatter about his day without a moment of pause for her to get something into the conversation until their food had arrived. It’s because he was excited to be on the date with her. Beth’s mom was talking her up to him, no doubt, clearly that was the case by any indication of how her mother kept talking about Denny to her over the phone too. So Denny was likely nervous, he kept letting out a barking type laugh after something he thought Beth should find funny. Beth couldn’t exactly be annoyed for his rambling to no end, she was the queen of that when she was younger. Her mom probably thought it was nice they had that in common. Except, it’s not. Beth’s excited verbal amusement park went away with age. Beth learned to keep her mouth shut when she needed to, she’s hoarded too many secrets.

“There’s one thing though that bothered me a bit,” she admits finally, tapping her cut nails against the table. “He asked me what...pleased me... the most.”

Rick frowns at her. “Huh?”

She flushes, eyes flitting away as she mumbles, “In bed. What I find pleasurable in bed.”

Rick bristles, his mouth dropping open. “Did you tell him?”

“After what he told me first? I kind of had to. There was a family sitting within earshot of us, it was barely noon so I sort of said something vague, I don’t exactly remember, I think my brain is trying to block it out. It was embarrassing.”

“God, that’s tacky.”

She knew Rick would say that. “I think he was trying to assess our compatibility?”

“You make him sound like some socially inept robot.”

Beth lowers her mug, biting her tongue on calling herself a socially inept robot. She reaches over the table for the pot the waitress left for them after Rick’s second refill, instead. He lifts it for her when notices, pouring her a fresh cup and slides over the basket of sugar packets and creamers.

“Thanks,” she says, then returns to their conversation. “I think he was trying to be suave.”

“You hate that word! You’ve said so yourself!”

Had she? Beth wrinkles her nose. It’s crazy how much of their lives they’ve shared together. “In high school, maybe.”

“I vividly remember you telling me that talking about sexual preferences with acquaintances freaks you out.” That’s true. Whenever a horror story kinky sex accident patient shows up in Beth’s emergency room describing their incident in full detail, it takes all of her professionalism not to drop her clipboard and run out from second hand embarrassment.

She shifts in her seat and explains, “He was my date, Rick.”

“So that’s what, half an hour of getting to know him? You’d think someone that went to med school would have the patience to keep it in their pants.”

“Rick!” She gapes at his bluntness because he’s just flinging it out there, dragging Dr. Leon’s entire personality with barely any effort at all, what’s worse is that he’s being unintentionally funny and now she’s trying not to laugh.

“What? This man is clearly not for you. He’s not your type.”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Then what is?”

Rick looks down at his plate, quieting. He hasn’t really eaten yet, just danced his fork all over that cake. She’s half tempted to ask him for it if Rick’s not hungry. She finished her lemon square in four bites.

“Well...”

“Well?”

"Well... He’s not my type... for you. He’s not good enough for you. He sounds like a secret sleaze."

Beth stops trying to defend Denny after Rick says that. She’s not sure if he’s so adamant because he can tell the way she’s not really interested in him, but feels the need to make her mom happy and is trying to give her an out, or if he honestly thinks Denny is not a good person. She’s been a superhero for ten years now, Beth is pretty sure how to gauge a person’s character. There’s nothing wrong with Denny Leon the way Rick is painting him. It’s hard because she knows there’s no real spark, but she’s willing to try. Chemistry doesn’t develop like that over one day.

Beth thinks about her mom again. She just wants Beth to have a fulfilling life. And she had found Beth’s father while also steadily making a career as a respected research clinician. What’s Beth’s excuse then, to say finding someone isn’t possible?

“I don’t have a type, I’ve barely dated at all. The man I’ve spent most of my time with is you.”

Rick takes a while to respond, but his eyes are on hers like he’s waiting for an afterthought to accompany her last sentence. It’s sincere and gentle, and for the second time since they’ve met here today, she finds her heartbeat picking up because of the way she’s being seen.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just—“

“What?”

He takes another moment before answering. “Why are you forcing something with someone you have no desire to connect to? Are you not...Happy?”

His question takes her by surprise. She stammers, feeling more heat rise to her face. “Why are you asking me this?”

Rick drags a hand over his face and leaves it there for a moment, like he’s just trying to breathe. Eventually, he sweeps his hair back up over his head, and he strikes a nostalgic resemblance to the angry boy Beth latched onto in tenth grade whose soul she watched soften over years of time. Her heart pangs at the memory of the way things were. When they spent all week side by side, and didn’t have to schedule coffee dates that inch towards midnight around saving each other in costumes with relics because of their hectic lives.

“I care about you,” he finally says. “I just don’t want to see you exhaust yourself over someone that’s not worth your time. You should be with someone who makes you feel how I feel whenever I’m with you.”

She smiles at that. “I love you too, Rick.”

His own smile falters, something dims in his expression, she’d almost call it wistful, but that’s not exactly a feeling Rick has in his emotional repertoire. He lowers his gaze to his plate again.

“Hey.” Beth places her hand over his. “Are you okay?”

In high school, Rick was on track to becoming a mechanic like Pat until the man turned him around by the shoulders and walked him through scholarship applications for college. To the surprise of practically everyone in Blue Valley except his inner circle of friends, he graduated with honours in both chemistry and physics, and is now an independent research scientist for a big pharma company. He says he likes his lab, but the regulations of being under a company contract means there’s only so much experimentation he can get by with on his own. Beth has been encouraging his recent talks of starting up his own research lab for JSA, but he seems stressed thinking of taking that beyond the realms of idealism.

His hand freezes beneath her palm. He glances up at her again without words, like he’s struggling with what to say. The creases between Beth’s brows deepen further with concern. “Rick?”

“I’m fine,” he lies. The smile is so fake it hurts that he thinks she could be fooled by it.

“Come on, it’s just us. Something’s bothering you. Is it work? Did your uncle contact you for money again?”

“No, I’m fine. I promise.”

“Rick—“

“You don’t have a type. You just have a person. I know that because you’ve been my person since I was seventeen. You don’t need your mother’s fancy surgeon prodigy to sweep you off your feet, Beth. You have me.”

“I—”

Her pulse rushes in her ears. She’s honestly speechless. Beth just sits there. Rick searches her face for some type of recognition she can’t give back because she’s just confused. She’s blinking back unexpected tears, the hand she has over his shaking, because there has to be something more to this, the gravity behind everything, but her mind keeps hitting against a blank wall. She understands what Rick is saying but not what he means.

He sees her distress and slips out of his booth, sliding into her side. “Hey,” he says, wrapping an arm around her as she presses her wet face into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s okay.”

Her stomach drops at the horrible way his voice sounds scratchy, thick with regret. That’s when it clicks, and the tears fall for real.

Rick is in love with her.

She’s not crying because she’s upset. Blindly, she reaches up for his face to see him, those fond hazel eyes blinking back. They used to be so hardened and guarded, but it’s just openness now, with her. It’s late, the diner is almost empty, nothing but dim lights and the only waitress busy cleaning up behind the counter. It’s just them, in their special spot. And it’s just them, their solid partnership, that Beth needs in her life to carve out time and effort and feelings for. He’s been trying to articulate this over and over since the evening began. Hugging her tightly, lets out a long breath. The solace he finds in her, alone. The relief and love. How she feels it in equal measures, how it’s always been there.

“I didn’t know.”

“I never really told you.”

But he has, really. He’s shown her since they were kids.

She touches his face, guiding him down so he could kiss her the way she suddenly desperately wants.

He does, kissing Beth deeply until her head goes dizzy and the light feeling is not something she ever wants to let go of. There is no extension of self when Beth is with Rick. No room to make. He already is in her future, can have all of her time.

#stargirl #hournite #rick tyler #beth chapel #fluff #jealous!rick #hournites fic #dctv

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 48 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Aiden threw a tantrum when he found out he’d be assisting at the holiday show, and Courtney tried learning more about her best friend’s sister.

This Chapter: The Galactica Holiday Show very nearly goes off without a hitch...but not quite.

***

There were times, in this job, where Courtney couldn’t help but be extremely grateful to Violet for all the binders full of detailed instructions that she’d left behind.

Today was one of those times.

Courtney had never been to a showroom show, had no idea what to expect, and hadn’t even known they existed before Ivy had told her to put it in the calendar.

However, between Violet’s checklists and Ivy’s lead, Courtney felt like she stood half a chance of, at the very least, not fucking up too badlfy.

She’d spent last week pulling together everything they needed for the gift bags, from sponsors as well as Miss Fame’s preferred vendors, and made sure that she’d written everyone attending personalized notes as usual, thanking them on behalf of the company and Miss Fame for coming.

A last-minute change with the look books meant that they weren’t going to be ready until 6:30 am, so she’d been up at the crack of dawn to get to the printers in Queens the second they opened, now arriving at the venue holding the two heavy banker’s boxes, mind racing with everything she still had to do to make sure the day went smoothly for Miss Fame, calculating exactly how much time she needed to have her breakfast and coffee so that it would still be hot when she arrived later.

Courtney was so deep in thought that she almost missed seeing Tatianna, her friend standing at the elevator, bouncing nervously in her tennis shoes.

“Courtney!” Tatianna smiled. She was wearing a pair of tight fitting yoga pants and a white boxy t-shirt, a backpack over her shoulder.

“Tati!” she cried. “Hi! I would hug you but-” She motioned with her chin to the banker’s boxes.

“Here, let me help.” Tati took one of the boxes before she could protest, kissing Courtney on the cheek in the process, her lips silky smooth on Courtney’s skin.

“Thank you! I wasn’t expecting to see you so early.” Courtney was pretty sure that the models all had a 9:30 call time, and it was barely 8.

“I know, but I was all freaked out about the train being on time,” Tati explained, shrugging her shoulder.

“Well, I’m super relieved to see you.” It was true, Tatianna’s familiar face looking even more beautiful than usual. “I’m kind of panicking.”

“Why?”

“There’s just so many things that can go wrong, and I feel like I’m kind of over my head, and-”

The elevator doors finally opened on the showroom floor, revealing the bustling space that was formerly an extremely posh apartment, Ivy speaking to the event coordinator over by the bay windows, a lighting technician climbing a ladder nearby and a contractor stapling the last of the runway carpet to the floor so no one could slip.

Courtney had only been at the showroom once before, briefly, to pick up a suit for Miss Fame, but it had been totally renovated since then, nothing looking familiar, especially not the rows of white chairs set up for their guests.

She spotted the gift bag boxes that her and Ivy packed up and sent over on Friday, all stacked under a large folding table, and hurried over to set her banker’s box down, Tati on her heels.

“Thanks so much for your help. Let me try to find out where-”

“Court!” Ivy called out, walking over to her. “Hi, glad you found the stuff! By the time you’re done setting up the bags, I’ll have the names on all the chairs so it should be easy to put them out. And that door-” she pointed, “leads to the room we’re using for Miss Fame, so check it out and let me know if you’re missing anything.” She then noticed Tati putting down her box, and stuck out her hand. “Hi! I’m Ivy Winters.”

“Ivy, this is my friend Tati. She’s one of the models-”

“Of course! I should have guessed!” Ivy exclaimed, giving Tati her typically charming smile. “Come with me, I’ll show you where you can hang out until they’re ready for you. You’re a bit early, but that’s okay, because that means you get first choice at the craft service table!”

Courtney smiled, happy that Tati was being taken care of, praying that everything today would go smoothly.

***

“Feeling nervous?” Sutan looked over his shoulder as he made his way up the winding staircase to the Galactica showroom apartment.

The showroom was placed in an older building, Fame purchasing it when Galactica had finally started to make actual money, a proper showroom something she refused to pinch pennies on, and since they were still in business, it seemed like it had been the right decision.

“I’m not going to shit my pants if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ha,” Sutan smiled, Symone two steps behind him, her long hair in a braid. The gorgeous girl was one of his newest hires, her 19th birthday only just ticking around. He still remembered the text he’d gotten from the scout, who had been scoping out some regional teen beauty pageants in the south. He’d seen her picture and instantly instructed the scout to book her a flight to NY. He hadn’t meant to keep her, hadn’t intended to put her on his roster, but he liked her, her fighting spirit lighting up any set she walked on, and so far, even though she’d proven to be a fast learner, he still felt mildly protective of her.

“Not what I asked,” Sutan waited for Symone to catch up, “But good to know.”

They had almost made it to the showroom, Sutan giving her one last look over before they made it to the door. He had picked her up at the modeling apartment she was staying at, making sure she had a light breakfast and plenty of water, her black jeans and white crop top close enough to approved that he hadn’t bothered to ask her to go back inside and change.

Sutan knew it was probably nepotism to make his sister take Symone on so soon after the holiday fittings, but showcases were a good way to test drive newer models, to see if they were ready to do bigger and better things, and Sutan had every hope that Symone could be big.

“Okay, so,” Sutan turned to Symone. “Remember what I taught you. Shoulders back, chin up, back straight. Be polite, be nice, do as you're told.”

Symone nodded, her eyes resting on Sutan’s face, taking in everything he was saying.

“And most importantly.” Sutan smiled. “Have fun.”

***

“Okay, so has everyone found their models?”

Violet smiled as Trixie was standing in the middle of what probably used to be a smaller living room, holding his little clipboard, Alaska, Kim and Amy set up for makeup and hair at the side of the room, Raven already in one of the chairs, a magazine opened on her lap.

“Yes coach!” Maxwell yelled back, the man with Yuhua from tailoring who was making the final adjustments to one of the models. On one hand, it was a little unnecessary for Violet to be there, her holiday gown done and ready to go, the finished styling of the models not a task that fell in her hands at all.

Still, she was happy to be there, happy to get to experience this, but most of all, she was happy she wasn’t Courtney.

Courtney had been running around, trying and almost succeeding in making sure that Fame was in a good mood. They had never had a chance to test run a showroom show, but Violet knew she had left behind a binder with instructions for Courtney, keeping Fame level one of the harder tasks on a day like today, since a large portion of Galactica’s budget depended on impressing the rich and powerful that walked through the door.

Violet had been backstage at several shows, but this was the first time she was really paying attention to the models. She never used to think about what agency models came from, or even the models themself. At Parsons, no one had been able to afford them, and as Fame’s assistant, she only needed to give a single call to have every agency in town jump at the chance.

“Violet!” Violet paused, the sound of her name coming from a voice she didn’t recognize. “It’s so good to see you!”

Violet turned, coming face to face with the angel she remembered from Halloween.

“Oh,”

Tatianna was just as gorgeous as she had been the last time she saw her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, her brown eyes, golden-tan skin and bright white teeth apparently just how she looked.

“Hello-”

“I didn’t know you worked here!” Tatianna grinned, a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I do-” Violet cursed on the inside, the answer absolutely lame. “I haven’t seen you here before. Who are you with?”

“With?” Tatianna looked confused for a second. “Ah! You mean who I work for? So it’s actually kind of a funny story. I don’t really have a manager yet, but Courtney got someone named Max to take these headshots-”

“Violet!” Violet’s head snapped to attention as Tatianna was cut off, Trixie calling for her. “One of the model management models needs a robe. Can you find one for her?”

“Yes coach.” Violet nodded, thankful for the escape as she made her way towards the rolling clothing racks at the back of the room, Ivy stuffing them full of everything anyone could possibly need, the things toppling over if anyone breathed in the wrong direction.

***

Over the weekend, Aiden had taken the time to look deep within himself, tried to figure out the actual source of his discontent. Maybe it was silly to focus so much anger on Violet, just because she was brand new and already getting more chances and support than he’d gotten over a year. After all, it wasn’t her fault that she seemed to fall ass-backwards into every possible opportunity. Maybe she wasn’t the actual enemy.

Of course, the second he saw her on Monday, he realized that all of that was garbage: he hated her, and her face, and her stupid high ponytail and impractical heels. She was a stuck-up brat who didn’t appreciate how easy she had it. And besides that, her dresses were overworked and reductive.

Aiden had tried to stay calm, had tried to do what he was supposed to, which was assist and support.

Holiday was a smaller collection, which Aiden knew because he had been at Galactica for forever, unlike Violet, so there wasn’t that much to do, tailoring only sending them fully finished garments which didn’t always happen during the mad dashes that were fashion weeks.

Aiden had helped Kiara, and had even taken a trip downstairs to get a box of shoes, but he had quickly faded to the back of the room, standing amongst the racks with a cup of coffee, watching everyone else work.

He heard her before he saw her, Violet’s heels clacking on the floor as she made her way towards the racks with her stupid little scissors, the gold glinting in the light. She was probably going to go over the final check of the garments, snipping any and all loose threads, once again acting like she was better than everyone else.

Aiden was about to say something, but Violet didn’t notice him, didn’t even see him as she walked up, didn’t acknowledge his existence.

And that was the final straw.

It was an impulse. A whim. A passing thought. After a glance around the room to make sure nobody was watching, he did it--shoved the rack as hard as he could, causing both Violet and the rack to crash to the ground, Aiden not hearing the sickening crunch of Violet’s foot that got caught on the bar.

***

[So, any takers on when her majesty will lose her shit today?] Sutan smiled at his twin over the rim of his glass of mimosa. They were standing on the outskirts of the showroom, Ivy walking from white chair to white chair as she put showcards down, a big box under her arm. The showroom was set up in the classic style, a black carpet in the middle of the rows with several smaller circles on the corners so the models had time to twirl and really show off their garments.

He had tried to catch a glimpse of Violet when he had dropped off Symone, but he hadn’t been able to spot her, Raven chatting his ear off before he had made his retreat to go look for his twin.

[Don’t even joke about that asshole.] Raja smirked, her arms crossed, her own glass about half empty. She was looking absolutely stunning in one of her suits, her long hair up in a high ponytail, jewels hanging from her ears. [Also, I think we need a new nickname. Fame is catching on to majesty.]

[Ha,] Sutan snorted. He loved being able to speak Indonesian with his sisters, the language like their own little secret, the perfect way to gossip without being discovered. [We could workshop the upcoming storm?]

Raja laughed, just about to open her mouth, when they both heard a loud crash.

[What was that?] Raja turned around, Fame’s little assistant rushing by them as she ran backstage.

[It sounded like something falling?] Sutan hadn’t heard a scream, and even though he could clearly pick out commotion backstage, he couldn’t make out the sound of anyone crying. [I’ll go check.]

Sutan drowned his glass, giving his sister a smile before he started walking, hoping that it wasn’t anyone from Elite who had fucked up.

***

“Is everyone okay?!”

Courtney could feel her heart in her throat as she ran into the backstage area. She had been at the front, practically dropping the box she was holding the minute she heard the crash.

Several racks at the back of the room were toppled over, clothes everywhere in a gigantic mess. Courtney ran over, a circle of people blocking her way.

“Everyone!” Courtney heard Trixie, a surprising note of authority in his usually gentle voice. “Back off!”

They all did, Courtney now able to press her way forwards, forcing her body past Max, when she heard the last name she had expected.

“Violet.” Courtney made her way towards the front of the row, and there she was. “Violet. Are you okay?”

Trixie had a hand on Violet’s knee, and Courtney had never seen her look like this. There were tear stains on Violet’s cheeks, her normally perfect appearance frazzled and broken.

“Oh my god,” Courtney threw herself forward, scrambling to get on the floor next to Violet, her only thought being near her friend. “Violet, are you-”

“Courtney-” Violet looked at her, her brown eyes practically black, her mascara smudge. “My foot, I can’t- It got caught-”

Courtney turned her attention to Violet’s foot, easily telling which one it was since her shoe was strawn to the side.

“This one?”

Violet nodded. A bruise was already beginning to form, visible through her sheer stockings, her skirt around her knees.

“Kandy-” Courtney searched the group for the design assistant, finding her watching the scene with frightened eyes. “Go to the bar and ask for a bag of ice.”

“Okay!”

“Violet!”

Courtney turned to see Raja’s brother racing in, coming directly towards them. All she could remember was how, months ago in Fame’s office, he’d made Violet cry and forced her to leave -- and Courtney was in no mood to deal with some macho bullshit when there was a medical emergency.

“Don’t look at me!” Violet held a hand up in front of her face, clearly trying to shield herself from him.

“Lovely eyes-”

“Mr. Amrull.” Courtney tried to step between them, to help her friend, everything in her burning to protect Violet. “Please stay back, we’re trying not to-”

“That’s my fucking girlfriend!” Sutan exclaimed, ignoring Courtney completely and rushing to Violet’s side, crouching down by her head. “Violet. Please-”

Courtney opened her mouth to argue, but when she saw Violet reach toward him, Sutan grabbing her hand, Courtney realized that maybe his presence would be comforting to her, in spite of the bad taste he’d left in Courtney’s own mouth.

“Vi…” Courtney said gently, still kneeling at Violet’s feet. It was too early to see if there was any swelling. “Can you put any weight on it?”

Violet tested it, wincing deeply and then shaking her head no. “I’m sorry-” Violet’s voice broke, sounding almost embarrassed.

“Okay,” Courtney swallowed, trying to stay calm, “I think we need to call for an ambulance.”

“No! No no.” Violet exclaimed, holding up the hand that wasn’t clasped in Sutan’s. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’ll just ice it and take a cab after the show-”

“After the show?!” Courtney almost wanted to hit the other woman. “Violet, you are not staying here when you’re hurt!”

“I have to do my job.”

“Lovely eyes-” Sutan tried to cut in, the panic in Violet’s voice rising.

“I made a huge mess and-” Violet reached for her throat, her fingers scratching her neck. “I can’t just-”

“Violet.” Trixie cut in, Courtney genuinely forgetting that he was still there, his tone leaving no room for arguments. “We’ll take care of this. All I want is for you to be okay. Kandy is calling an ambulance for you and-”

“No, please-” Red splotches had shown up on Violet’s cheeks. “No ambulance, I can’t afford that, I’ll-”

“How are you even going to get yourself downstairs to a cab?” Courtney sighed. She’d never been able to get used to the fact of how expensive everything related to healthcare was here, how people had to worry about money when they were lying on the ground with a possible broken bone. “You can’t go to the hospital on your own-”

“I’ll take her,” Sutan said gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and Courtney smiled slightly. Maybe she’d misjudged him.

“But what about your-” Violet looked up at Sutan, the man taking most of her weight.

“That’s not important. I’m coming with you, even if I have to carry you out of here.”

“Please,” Violet snorted, her panic forgotten for a moment as she smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous,”

Just then, Kandy rushed back in with the ice, and so Courtney decided to give up the fight, helping to find Violet’s bag and coat, instructing Kandy to take them down the service elevator, knowing that Miss Fame would be furious if they interrupted the party, even for an emergency.

***

Violet couldn’t remember ever feeling this embarrassed in her life. She was leaning against Sutan who had said a few words to Raven before taking off, the man supporting her like it was the most natural thing in the world as they entered the service elevator.

Violet had never been more grateful for how overprepared she was, the pair of foldable ballet flats she always kept in her bag almost making it bearable to move. She had no idea how she’d face her coworkers when returning to work, thick shame curled up in her belly, the pain in her foot the only reason she hadn’t fought harder to redirect the attention, everyone staring at her without a doubt showing up in her nightmares.

Violet had no idea how the entire accident had even happened. One minute, she’d been ready to do the final check Trixie had asked of her, completely in her own world, the next, several racks had taken her down.

The only explanation Violet could come up with was that she must have accidentally kicked the rack, that her foot had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, that this was her fault.

Violet didn’t know if her dress would be okay, if her coworkers could salvage the mess she had made, but she hoped that she hadn’t ruined anything, and that she still had a chance to keep her job.

***

Bianca strolled into the Galactica showroom, impressed by the renovation that had apparently taken place since she was last inside. At least one wall had been knocked down, opening up the space and allowing the light to pour in through the bay windows, and all the furniture was brand new, what appeared to be lovingly restored antiques. She looked around, finally spotting the bar and walking over. It was only halfway through the workday, but since it was a holiday week, she figured it was fine to indulge.

As she waited for the world’s slowest bartender to make her cocktail, she turned around again, surveying the room. Most of the guests were high-end buyers, socialites, people known for spending big bucks on couture. Bianca knew a few in passing, socially, but this really wasn’t her crowd. She sighed, annoyed, wishing she’d just asked for a glass of wine.

Just then, there was a stir in the room as Miss Fame appeared, making her way graciously through the crowd and finally greeting Bianca with a delighted smile.

“Bianca! Darling!” Fame was a vision in white, the creamy fabric hugging her hips, the short cape sleeves and the knee length her signature silhouette, gold glittering from her fingers and ears. “So glad you could make it!”

“Of course, blondie, I wouldn’t miss it!” Bianca gave her friend a couple of air kisses and a hug, careful not to crease her clothing. “So, will I be impressed?”

“It’s my most fervent hope,” Fame said, sounding so drily sincere that Bianca couldn’t help but laugh.

“How’s your jaw?”

“My jaw?” Fame raised a perfect eyebrow.

“You know, days like this...it must really ache from sucking all this metaphorical dick.” Bianca gestured towards the clientele around the room, then turned slightly to pick up the cocktail that was finally ready for her.

“Ugh, really Bianca,” Fame scolded, nose wrinkled distastefully, but she couldn’t keep up the act, soon letting a smile pull at her mouth, giving Bianca’s arm an affectionate squeeze.

It was then when Bianca noticed a petite blonde hovering timidly by Fame’s shoulder, shifting from foot to foot. Courtney was obviously trying to get to her boss, but afraid to interrupt.

She looked absolutely adorable--a short, classic black A-line dress with a starched white Peter Pan collar, hair held off her beautiful face with a narrow black headband, clipboard in hand like a dutiful little assistant. Bianca caught her eye, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she smiled.

“Hi Courtney.”

“Hi.” Courtney returned her smile as she stepped closer. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, I’m-”

“It’s okay, do your thing. Nice shoes.” Bianca gestured to her Mary Jane style Gucci heels, knowing that they were probably procured second-hand and even then, probably a prized possession to someone on Courtney’s salary. The delighted expression on Courtney’s face at the compliment confirmed that she was right, a smile that made her glow from the inside.

“Bianca,” Fame said. “How on earth do you know my assistant?” Her face was still smiling, but with slightly gritted teeth now, her eyes telling a clear story.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bianca winked at Courtney, whose cheeks began to turn a charming shade of pink.

Fame turned her head and flashed Courtney a dangerous look, causing her to stammer out, “Oh um, I’m just… Bianca’s sister is my best friend, Miss,” cheeks reddening even more.

Letting out a mildly terrifying laugh, Fame responded, “How very delightful! What a small world we live in. Courtney dear, is everything alright backstage? On track?”

“Oh yes! That’s what I came to tell you. The situation has been handled and they’ll be ready to go in twenty minutes as planned.”

“Good.” Fame turned back to Bianca, dismissing Courtney with a little wave and, “That’s all.”

Courtney nodded, taking the signal and hurrying away. Bianca watched her go, and Fame watched Bianca, her eyes narrowing.

“Bianca Del Rio…”

“What?” Bianca turned back to Fame, batting her thick black eyelashes innocently.

“Do not. Even. Think about it!”

“Come on, I’m only human…” Bianca flashed a dimpled grin.

“I am serious. Leave her alone. Or I will end you.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared! You gonna nag me to death?”

“Bianca…” Fame’s eyes narrowed again. “I am telling you. Do not. Especially not this week when I already have my in-laws to deal with, and-”

“Alright, alright. I’ll wait until next week.”

“Bianca!” she huffed, and Bianca let out a loud cackle at her enraged expression.

“Would you calm down? Angel face over there is straight.”

Fame shook her head. “Yes well…So’s spaghetti until you get it wet. ”

Bianca laughed again, raising her class. “Cheers to that, blondie!”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #tatianna x violet #vitan #bitney #courtney act #tatianna #raja gemini #symone #violet chachki #trixie mattel #aiden zhane #bianca del rio #miss fame #lesbian au #m/f au #fashion au

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wildler · 4 years

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The last few months have been a bit up and down for me personally... but in amongst all that, my blog turned 1 and I turned 29! 🎉Well worth celebrating! So, as a belated blog-versary, I’ve put together a list of wonderful creators who have inspired me this last year!

If you’re looking for more writing content on your dash... see the list below! 🔥

First off are my must-follow Prompt Blogs:

(I gotta give them a shout out because prompts and flash are my life!!)

@alexprompts – My number 1!! Run by the lovely @alexwillow. This blog has been my main source of flash inspiration this past year. Amazing prompts of all kinds (picture, quickprompts, monthly) and Alex’s feedback is always so wonderfully encouraging! Also, a wonderful way to get your work out to a larger audience! I discovered some of my favourite writeblrs by reading their work here.

@tcstu– monthly picture prompt competition. Again, a wonderful host with wonderful feedback! These prompts are all so unique—each coming from a featured artist getting a chance to spotlight their work! I was lucky to win the February round with this piece.

@flashfictionfridayofficial – I’ve been too time poor to participate in this one so far, but I LOVE reading the works that come from this each week! If you’re looking for more original writing content on your dash, then follow, follow, follow 😊

Flash/short story writers I adore:

@sulfurousdreamscapes – one of the first writeblrs I stumbled across and one of my all-time favourites. Rahul’s talent is insane! His ability to craft entire worlds in very few words and his flexibility with POVs and themes always leaves me awed and incredibly jealous! Each day brings a new story that is vivid, well-crafted and totally unlike the one before. I would have a lot of trouble picking a favourite from Rahul’s work (as they are all so good!) but two that have still stuck with me (even after reading them over a year ago) can be found here and here. If all this wasn’t enough, his Mirrorscapes blog is incredibly supportive of other writers and is a showcase of others amazing and inspiring work.

@pied-piper-of-hamlet fits both the flash and WIP section’s here. I am in love with their OC Maya from Burying Deceit, this piece is a tiny example of what a badass she is! (blood and violence tw). PLUS their flash work is amazing too, I still think about this piece often!

@hyba —Ohhhhh where to begin!! Writing advice, flash fics, amazing WIPs AND a podcast—Hyba has it all! Not to mention a wonderful side blog @writeblrcabinetofwonders that showcases other writers’ amazing works! Every piece that comes from with writer is well worth the read, but a couple that have stuck with me can be found here and here.

@alexwillow —As if hosting an amazing prompt page wasn’t enough, Alex also writes incredible flash! Two of my favourites in particular can be found here and here.

@projecthypershort —These tiny stories pack a punch! A new hyper-short piece is posted each day—each one rich in worldbuilding and story telling, whilst being economical on words. Amazing writing! One of my absolute faves is this one.

WIPs I worship & Wattpad recommended reads:

@kd-holloman —anyone that follows this blog would know I have an obsession with kd’s WIPs. Every snippet of The Traveller’s Gift and The Reaper’s Curse that I have read is full of immersive, vivid details and imbued with such strong characterisation. I’m completely invested in Louis and Slater’s journey and can’t wait to read both works in full one day! 😊 ❤️ One of my favourite snippets from The Reaper’s Curse can be found here and another scene (which I know is a POV switch—but still sticks with me) can be found here.

@cirianne —Chasing Demons on Wattpad // Chasing Demons on Tumblr —my newest obsession!! I’m totally in awe of Sara’s writing, Chasing Demons is the perfect urban fantasy work—full of action, mystery, sassy dialogue and tangible characters. I’ve been sucked into Anna’s world and am loving it!

@aelenko —Sound Carries on Wattpad I am so impressed by (and jealous of) Abby’s ability to continuously create amazing works! The prose in Sound Carries is so incredibly immersive and the characters/plot so intriguing, that there is no helping getting wrapped up in the secrets of the Conolly Institute. Amazing read!

@the-scum-initiative —The S.C.U.M Initiative 01 on Wattpad Kfyaris has built a rich and intriguing post-apocalyptic world that is too easy to get absorbed into! TSI01′s large cast is full of solid characterisation, with diverse and compelling backgrounds driving strong motivations and palpable tension. The high-stakes action makes it tough to stop reading—such amazing writing! 🔥

There are so many more writeblrs that I would like to add to this list (I might have to make a second one when I have a little more time!)—and I’m so excited to find more wonderful writers to follow and support this next year! Thanks so much to all the lovely peeps that have read and supported my work this year! Every reblog, comment and ❤️ means so much! 🎉

#writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #writeblr community #fiction #must read #recommended read #fill ya dash #with the good stuff #great writers #faves on tumblr #faves on wattpad #happy birthday blog!#oh and this is my 500th post #!!!#others amazing work

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stvlti · 4 years

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2020 Creator Wrap

I was tagged by @irolltwenties to do the 2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works tag! Thank you, lovely (*˘ ε ˘*)

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Before I begin, let me just tag some friends:

@reaperlight @3dnygma @drowthelynes @transdankovsky @fantomn @lawliyeeeet @dressed-to-keehl @setfa @0akdown @reidsnor @clubolive @mermaides

No pressure, but it would be fun if you guys share some of your works this year ( ˘︶˘ ) let’s see those fics and edits and artworks!! Get the clicks and views y’all deserve 💕 💕

And now, onwards to my 2020 Favorite Works List!

I didn’t write nearly as much as some of you guys did. And though I did exceed my goal of putting out 1 fic per month, I don’t have 5 solid ones I’m proud of. So I’ll just list 4 fics here:

01 // Growing Pains

I’ve always been very nervous about reccing this one, because it broaches a topic that I don’t really have a right to claim? I’m not transgender myself, but I simply adore the trans Dick Grayson headcanon so much it singlehandedly brought me back to the DC fandom and restarted my fanfic-writing habit for 2020 😂😂 plus the writing quality isn’t half bad, and I still really like the idea/metaphor this little story started with and grew from.

Fave moment (besides the obvious):

"Ka-Pow!!" The boy ventriloquised. Lego Robin sailed through the air in his fingers. One stubby, outstretched leg made contact with a Lego henchman, knocking all the surrounding baddies over like bowling pins. "Sorry Mr. Bad Guys, guess it's way past your bedtime too!"

"Good job, Robin." The boy lowered his prepubescent voice and tried to affect Batman's gravelly timbre as much as possible. In his other hand, he walked Lego Batman across the floor of the crime scene. "How about we round them up and leave it for the Commish? It's getting quite late."

"Oh oh! Can I have cookies on the ride back?"

The boy swivelled Lego Batman's grinning face around. "I don't see why not."

Another night out in Lego Gotham City, another day saved by the Dynamic Duo. This called for a celebration indeed. The boy set the pair of heroes down by the Lego Batmobile and reached over to his own plate of Alfred's after-school chocolate chip cookies. He took his sweet time with the last piece, savouring each bite, sighing at the way it melted on his tongue.

02 // Transference

This is my best-performing fic in terms of the kudos to hits ratio, so I feel validated in being proud of this one :’) It’s a pretty good marker of the distances I’ve covered since getting serious about reading the comic source material end of 2019, as you can see from the much broader and varied cast of characters I focused on for this story. It also definitely cemented - to me, at least - the fact that I can write action scenes. When I went into “Second Chances” (a fem Jay fic) earlier this year, I was so nervous about writing the action sequence there, because I’ve never written a serious action scene up until that point! To me, this fic definitely showcases the growth I’ve experienced as a writer this year ^_^

Fave moment: (CONTAINS SPOILERS, PLEASE READ THE FIC FIRST IF YOU HAVEN’T!)

When the trio return, Ivy takes her place at the meeting table with a severe expression on her face. She chooses her words carefully, when she speaks. "The odds aren't pretty. We just accepted 100 refugees over the weekend, and the Green is still repairing itself after last week's attack."

Rose exchanges a glance with Jason. He gives her hand a reassuring squeeze, though he's not looking any better than she feels.

"But, each and everyone of us stayed behind to defend the Garden, because we all believed in giving a sanctuary for the civilian survivors out there.

"So bring them here. I'll take them in."

No sooner has Ivy finished the sentence, than Zatanna and Constantine have fired up their teleportation portal, and Harley's cheerful "Good luck!" is lost to the mad dash off to the rescue mission. The rest of the Shadowpact scramble after Rose as she launches herself through the portal—

—and slams into Arsenal, pushing him out of the way seconds before a meteoric explosion of green fire incinerates the very spot he'd been standing in.

03 // Paying It Forward

This one is important to me if only for the reason that it’s the first time I’ve written character dialogues that flowed. And I didn’t even need to plan them out meticulously beforehand! Do you know how rare that is for me as an ESL writer? Dialogues have been the bane of my existence since I started writing as a wee teen. Luckily, the Titans TV show has some solid character dynamics for me to fall back on. And from there I started reading NTT era Dick & Donna, and I just fell in love with their friendship. And now, I can turn to this fic as proof I still got it whenever I doubt my abilities as a writer c:

Fave moment:

Dick glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "She ran out on you?"

"No, no, we never really... I don't think it counts as running away if it never led to anything more."

"But you wanted it to be more." Dick paused, taking in Donna's silence, which would've fooled anyone else but him. "You still want it."

"I-- yeah." Donna sighed and held her hands up as if to say you caught me. "I'm... Sorry? For stealing your girl?"

Dick laughed, bemused. "She was never mine. She knew what she wanted, what she needed - and I wasn't in the right place to give her that."

"And you? You think I'm what she needs?"

"Better you than me. You're Donna Troy. Older, smarter, prettier..."

Donna gave him a deadpan stare.

"... And you know who you want to be. She likes that in a partner. I'm still figuring that one out for myself." Dick stretched his arms up and then leaned back into his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stared up into the ceiling.

04 // When I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray

I’m including this one just to showcase I got the range, babey. And honestly, the fact that I was able to write this fic and actually receive positive reviews for it was a surprise to me too!! This was the first time I ever attempted to write a real darkfic with dead dove subject matters, and I managed to nail the emotional manipulation, somehow ;__; It was a real learning experience too, learnt so much about Catholicism just to write about Dick’s guilt issues in an AU setting nobody asked for 🤡

Fave moment: (dead dove warnings apply)

"Not at all, Richard," Roman said. The boy would come to him, eventually. "Now, it's getting late. If that's all, I'll have Jason fetch your room keys. Seven Hail Mary's before bed, and think about everything we've just discussed. Tomorrow we'll do a proper debriefing."

"I... Okay." For a moment, Dick sounded like he had more to say. Instead, Roman heard a muffled sniffle, one that Dick likely tried to disguise with a hand over his mouth. Silly boy.

"Thank you again, Father," Dick said, after a beat.

"All in a day's work, my child." Roman unlatched the door and stepped out of the booth. He nodded at Dick as the younger man ambled out of the booth after him. "Goodnight now, Richard."

As he set off for the living quarters, Dick called out. "Wait!"

Roman turned around, inclining his head.

"Will you stay?" The candlelight chased shadows away from Dick's face, and for one glorious moment, Roman could see the depth of the desperation shining in Dick's blue eyes.

"Guide me through my prayers. Please."

Roman smiled.

Oh did you think I was done? 😂 It did say Favourite Works and not just Favourite Fics, so I gotta include this one on the list too:

05 // 2020 Jason Todd Birthday edit

I said Robin Jason deserves better and I meant it! 👏👏 This edit took me 12 hours and 67 layers ‘cause I made a mistake on like my 8th hour into the editing process o__o but it ended up being my most popular serious graphic edit, so it was worth it. I guess!

I mean the likes to reblog ratio is still fucked but hey, I broke 1k, which is more than I can say for any of my other edits

#tag meme #writerly things #long post #writerly tag

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 4 years

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If you feel up to it, do you have any first time affection moments headcanons for sketchbook? I’d love for u to make my heart melt with them.... 🥺 (also i know u get self conscious if you have longer responses but. I need you to know, I love when you do. 💖 not that i expect it, but just so u know....)

Hi, anon!! You’re so nice, thank you so much and I’m glad you enjoy my headcanons! Sorry for taking long to answer this, school’s been hectic (actually as I write this I just finished a literature exam, and this post will come out while I’m taking a chemistry one😅)

Okay, I’m imagining this as a typical friends to lovers situation. The librarian strikes me as a very recluse person, so she wouldn’t be used to affection. That being the case, I think she’d be very awkward upon receiving it, like she has no idea of what she’s supposed to do with it.

Johanna, on the other hand, seems to me like a “warmer”, more affection seeking kind of person. However, she did spend like, a decade in the wilderness with no one but her daughter so at the same time she craves more affection than “just” that of her daughter (and I put that between quotation marks because Johanna and Hilda’s relationship is so so wholesome and in the family sense, it looks more than fulfilling. But people need more love than just the family type, no matter how good the relationships are we all need friends and sometimes romance ya know), she also feels starved for different sorts of attention. But she feels like she doesn’t know what to do about that. I mean, she feels that there’s something she needs, but how can she simply ask for that?

She can tell the librarian likes her (at least as a friend) and she knows she likes her back (also at least as a friend, at this point I don’t think she would have figured out or completely developed feelings for the librarian), so I can see her trying to “go for it” and kissing her goodbye in the cheek after hanging out with her one day. A proper kiss, mind you, not like you have to kiss people goodbye in some cultures because it’s what’s socially expected.

And now I’m coming back to the librarian, because due to her not being used to affection, her brain pretty much blue screens. She may be good at hiding emotions when she wants to, but it would be clear in her face that she did NOT see that coming, and Johanna probably takes that as that kind of physical contact not being welcome. It makes her feel awkward, so she tries to pretend nothing happened and just says goodbye to the librarian again and walks away to her house.

Now, I know this is very cliche, but I picture the librarian being frozen in place for a couple seconds and when she comes back to herself she touches her cheek like... “oh. This happened”. And in that night (day?) she realizes she has romantic feelings for Johanna, because her reaction to the kiss was so strong, but in typical oblivious lesbian style she just assumes it’s completely unrequired instead of asking herself why Johanna kissed her in the first place.

Back to Johanna, after this she gets afraid of making any move because she doesn’t want to make her friend uncomfortable, obviously. I like to think of a special moment when Johanna did something sweet (let’s say she gets the librarian something she noticed the librarian had been looking at on a showcase plus her favorite flowers on her birthday), and then the librarian kind of... breaks? That’s not the right word, but like, her shell breaks, even if for just a moment, and she hugs Johanna because nobody had payed that much attention to what she likes in so long, and she’d be moved even if she didn’t have a crush on Johanna.

Johanna would be the one surprised this time, because she’d thought the librarian really just didn’t like contact, rather than that she’d just been unused to it, but she’s really happy at the same time! When the hug ends, she smiles and says “you’re a great hugger!” or something, trying to crack a joke to let the librarian know she was happy that she was comfortable enough to hug her. The librarian, I imagine, would chuckle a little nervously and blush. Whether or not Johanna notices the blush, I’ll leave that up to you to decide 👀

After that they’d learn how to do this more naturally, I suppose. I mean, Johanna would offer closeness and the librarian could decide if she wanted to take it or not. Saying this I have in mind then watching a movie and Johanna putting her arm on top of the back of the couch, so the librarian could snuggle closer you know, or something similar. I just think with time they’d get more used to both emotional and physical affection.

I think this is all I had to say about first time affection! I love how every time I get asked for headcanons I practically draft a fic I’m never gonna write (so thank you anon for giving me a chance to put my infinite fic ideas somewhere ngjfnfjjfj). Hope you enjoyed this one as well!

#v happy to know anon likes my rambling answers but im still putting a cut bc there must be like #at least 1 poor person who follows me despite bot liking sketchbook #and I want to spare their sanity cjcnkfnvmg #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #hilda librarian #johanna hilda

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coppicefics · 3 years

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Masked Omens: Week Six

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’.

Image 2 - A page from the Entertainment section of the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 30th January 2021. Full image description and transcript below cut. End ID.]

Read the fic here!

The Capital Herald - Saturday 30th January, 2021 Entertainment, page 13

Top story (continued from facing page): -talk filming, fans and family with 'Three Card Monte' star -finished, and hotly tipped for several major awards come the season, what does Dame Angela have in the pipeline? She's tight-lipped, but the question makes her smile. “Naturally I don't want to give too much away – an actress must maintain some mystery lest the camera fall out of love with her – but I can tell you I have several options in mind, and some of them are very exciting.” But is it a question of which project to take on, or which to take on first? “Well, of course, there are no guarantees, but... yes, I imagine some of them will wait.” It's an unusual level of power for an actor to wield, but at this stage in her career Dame Angela is more than entitled to wield it. How does she feel about winning the showbiz game so spectacularly? “Oh, I feel as though I've been playing a game of my own devising, to which even I don't know the rules.” She laughs. “No, but really, I don't think I've ever thought of it as playing a game. I go up for the parts I think are interesting or challenging, and I've been fortunate enough to get them more often than not. Then, when the part is finished, I move on to the next thing I want to do. There's no strategy, not really, not on my part. Naturally, my agent might tell you something very different!” Having the right agent can certainly be the key to success in the entertainment industry, and Dame Angela has been with Derek Mette, of MetteTalent, for many years now.“More than I care to admit,” she tells me with a laugh, “Derek has been with me since the beginning, really. We're old friends, at this point – our families exchange Christmas cards every year.” Family can be a challenge for someone who's trying to keep the momentum of their career going, and Dame Angela surprised the world when she took a year out of acting to give birth to her son, Anthony.“Yes, at that time it simply wasn't done; one could have a career, or one could have a family. Especially since I was very much on my own with it all. But I was able to get back in front of the cameras quite quickly, and I wouldn't change things for the world. Becoming a mother made me a better actress, I think, because it opened up that whole range of experiences. The highs and the lows of childrearing.” In fact, Dame Angela starred alongside young Anthony in A is for Apple when he was only eight months old. He briefly followed in her footsteps after leaving school, and seemed set for similar levels of industry acclaim. But it all came to a devastating halt when he developed an addiction that led to him being discovered unconscious in his trailer on the set of The Grasswater Affair. He'd overdosed. “I don't like to talk about it,” Dame Angela says, her mouth downturned. “I found it very hard. But now, of course, he's been in recovery for many years, and he does his little plays all around the country. It's behind us, and I'd like it to stay that way.” A change of subject, then; what does she make of the rumours that she is currently performing as a costumed character on The Masked Singer UK? “On- I'm sorry, what's that?” I show her a clip on my phone. “Good heavens, no.” But isn't that exactly what she'd say if it was her? “Well, I don't know. I'd never even seen it until just now. But it all seems a little childish for my taste. I'm far too committed to my art to do light entertainment.” Time, it seems, will tell. But if Dame Angela is indeed a participant in The Masked Singer, she hides it well.There’s time for one last question, so I try to make it a good one. What, I ask, does Dame Angela consider her proudest achievement to date? “Oh, that’s a difficult question. I simply couldn’t choose... Naturally, becoming a Dame was a great honour, and not one I expected at all, which made it all the more precious. But then, the first time I won an Oscar was a real moment of pride, and one that’s never soured with time. And, of course, every award and every round of applause is a moment of pride for any actor; it means I’ve done the job, and done it well, and that it has been appreciated by the audience in front of me. What more can any actress ask for?” MARY HODGES Dame Angela Crowley’s latest film, Three Card Monte, is in cinemas from the 12th of February.

Centre right: OWAS to host ‘magic’ event Literary society’s next gala theme announced The Oscar Wilde Appreciation Society has announced the theme for its spring social event, which is to be inspired by all things magical. Famed far beyond its actual membership for its lavish balls and banquets, the society has in the past held events held together by motifs such as 'Luck', which took place in a casino, 'Snow', which included a trip to a ski slope, and 'Flight', during which all participants had the opportunity to glide above the dancers on wires. This time, the theme is 'Magic', and while details are still being kept tightly under wraps, it seems fairly certain that Aziraphale Fell, London's most celebrated stage magician and a long-time member of the Oscar Wilde Appreciation Society, will be performing at the event. When the society throws open its doors each season, it's quite possible to go all night without seeing a single regular member of the club. While the organising committee is out in full force, soliciting donations from the wealthy patrons who attend the parties, and the society president stands up to make a toast at the beginning of dinner, it's largely outsiders who descend upon the Oscar Wilde Appreciation Society's chosen venue. In fact, the scale and opulence of these events has led some to speculate that OWAS is not a literary appreciation society at all, but rather a shadowy networking opportunity for the rich and powerful. Indeed, at the 'Flight' event, it's rumoured that two world leaders met in the queue for the wire-flying and laid the foundations for a later trade deal between their nations. The society's everyday goings-on are, I'm told, far more pedestrian and literary. But - as the current president, Edwin Pearce, often says - “what's an Oscar Wilde society without a little hedonism?” There's altruism, too, however; the society makes a substantial donation to a charity chosen by the members each year. This year's charity has yet to be determined, but last year the children of the Wessex Street Hospital enjoyed a very special Christmas thanks to a £20,000 cheque from the Oscar Wilde Appreciation Society. Much of the funds required to make such lavish events and donations possible are raised at those very events, which take place once a season. Tickets for the 'Magic' event have not yet been released, but previous events' tickets have sold for anything from £200 to £2000. A limited number of reduced price tickets are generally made available, so keep an eye on the Oscar Wilde Appreciation Society's website at oscarwas.org.uk if you're looking to get in without breaking the bank. If The Amazing Mr Fell will indeed be performing at the event, it might explain his recent reduction in performances – his show has gone down from six nights a week to just four, eliminating his Wednesday and Saturday performances. Magic fans in the capital can therefore hold out hope that once preparations for his upcoming performance are over, tickets might become easier to obtain. And, of course, the 'Magic' event itself promises to be one big avocado. CITRON DEUX-CHEVAL

Centre right: Drawing back the veil again Mystic Madame reportedly plotting TV return Two years after Drawing Back the Veil with Telepathic Tracy last aired, its old Saturday night slot is set to become vacant again – and rumours abound that the show may be set to return. For the last two years, live draws have been condensed into a fifteen-minute slot on BBC One, followed by an episode of one of the longer 45-minute drama series the BBC tend to favour these days. Much of the pageantry that used to go along with the weekly draw was shifted unceremoniously onto the National Lottery's YouTube channel or website, and the delivery of the actual results became more akin to the reading of a weather report before a return to the usual programming of the channel. Now, however, the BBC has put out a press release announcing that the National Lottery will now return to a half-hour draw show, allowing for 'a little more excitement and glamour'. This, the press release suggests, could take the form of a very brief trivia game before the draw, a return to celebrities wishing everyone luck before pressing the all-important button, a chance to showcase musical acts during the show, or some combination of the above. I'm all for a return to the showbiz nature of the nation's most mainstream gambling ring, but it's the shortening of the subsequent timeslot that has my attention. Already, just a day after the BBC's announcement, speculation is rife about what – and who – might be about to fill that second half-hour time slot. Most of the shows the BBC produces these days are designed for a 45-minute or hour-long format, and producers will be understandably reluctant to try to condense comedy, gameshows or drama into such a small space – especially given the National Lottery's occasional tendency to overrun. Pre-recorded shows have come unstuck before when the Camelot machines have jammed or some other calamity has befallen the draw, most notably in 2019 when the initial episode of Season 6 of Sherlock aired without the crucial first three minutes that explained the detective's cunning escape from the previous season's climactic scrape. It's the sort of situation that calls for a steady hand and an almost supernatural ability to adjust to disaster. Who better to take on the challenge than a woman who's had years of practice? Telepathic Tracy, the Mystic Madame, is very much still working her mysterious ways despite her departure from our TV screens – notably in The New Aquarian - and what better way to follow a disappointing lotto result than with the reassurance that this week, your luck will be better, or at the very least predictable? I, for one, predict Madame Tracy's triumphant return to television - and what's more, I welcome it. EDWARD BIGGS

Advertisement, bottom left: [Image Description: A grayscale photo of a warzone, with plumes of smoke. A smiling woman walks away from the destruction; she is in full colour and has artificially-enhanced red hair. Text is overlaid, as transcribed below. End ID.] When the news breaks, my hair doesn’t. Carmine Zugiber. Be bold. Be strong. Be Vibrant. [Image Description: The word Vibrant appears in red and is in a different font, like a logo. This is the case each time it appears. End ID.] Vibrant Flame Red Bottom right: Correction In Andy Sandalphon's column on page 15 of last Saturday's paper (23rd January), he stated that folk music made by an American is Country music. Several readers got in touch to explain that this is not, in fact, the case, and we would like to set the record straight. Country, or country and western, music is a very specific type of folk music, and while often associated with American artists, it is not simply the American version of folk. Furthermore, music must fit specific criteria to be considered country, and Anathema's does not. While country music belongs to the overarching genre of folk, not all folk music is country music, regardless of the nationality of the performer. We apologise sincerely for the mistake; while every effort is made to include only accurate information, errors do occasionally slip through. We regret the misunderstanding, and hope to do better in future. If you notice an error in any of our articles, please let us know as soon as possible by emailing [email protected]. We appreciate your help to keep our newspaper as accurate and factual as possible.

[End Transcript]

#masked omens #mo week six #very much fake news #good omens fic #mine #masked singer au #overdose tw

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