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ilguna · 4 years ago

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Anteric - Chapter Six (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. FIGHTING, GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, INJURIES.

wc; 8.6k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

Finnick is still picking blue paint out of his hair this morning. Each time he goes to run a hand through it, he’ll get stuck halfway through, due to a clump of knotted blue hair. You try not to laugh, but every now and then a cough will slip out. At some point, he gives up and goes to take a shower in hopes to fix his problem.

Since you woke up fairly early again, you have enough time to get ready at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, you're sure that the sun has already risen, so there wouldn’t be a point to go up the Pit to see. And you think that’s for the best, because it’s not safe up there anymore. Not now that Finnick knows where you’d go if you need a moment to breathe.

Well, that’s one of the places. Hopefully he won’t figure out the other.

You’ve realized that you probably need to speak to him sometime soon, considering the rift that’s continuing to grow. The only problem is that you’ve already apologized for your sudden distance. He just ignored it.

You think you’ve said this before, but Finnick will get extremely upset to the point where he’ll stop talking. He used to do that all the time to a couple of other people that you knew in Abnegation. You weren’t his only friend, just the best. There’s only been a few times where you’ve been on the receiving end of his cold behavior. And he’s always bounced back from it.

Half of the time it’s because you gave him space to think about what he wanted. He would just wander back on his own, heart in his hands to give to you. In those moments, it was always his fault. Which is why it was so easy for him to come talk to you again.

Other times, you’d persist after Finnick, trying to get him to budge and talk to you again. This is how you found out that it would be harder to talk to you again. Because you were constantly trying to get him to. It just built up annoyance more, and prolonged the silent treatment. This option is always the second choice, a last resort for dire situations.

Which is why you’re so caught right now.

Finnick could really need you to go after him, or he could really need you to stay away. And honestly, you don’t mind either of those plans, except the latter one has a problem hidden within it. Normally when you’d leave Finnick alone, it would be because he didn’t have anyone else to talk to.

If you go on and move onto Trink circle for the time being while you wait for him to come around, he won’t be alone. He won’t have time to think about why he’s angry by himself. He’ll have someone else to delay that entire process. You know Finnick like the palm of your hand, he can and will put talking to you off for as long as possible.

You thought that Thyme could be a nice addition to yours and Finnick’s friendship, but it seems like she’s going to be making things more complicated. And there’s a hot, sticky feeling in your chest that’s telling you it isn’t a coincidence. From the moment she’s gotten here, she’s been weird.

A hand slaps your foot, making the laces slip from your fingers, your foot falling to the floor. Thyme passes in front of you, and sits down on her bed. It’s only when she starts to lace her first shoe, does she look at you, “Keep your dirty shoes off my bed.”

You stare at her for a moment, and the only thought that comes to your mind is the fact that you’re too tired for her bullshit. You fix your laces before standing up, leaving her alone. You stretch your arms and legs, moving toward the middle of the room. Caspian said that training wouldn’t resume until tomorrow, but that just means you’ll be stuck shooting guns for ten hours.

Finnick comes out of the bathroom, briefly catching your eye. He’s fully dressed, a black towel hangs around the back of his neck to catch the water from his hair. You move out of his way, not thinking too much into the movement. All you know is that you don’t want to be caught in the storm that might be brewing at the moment.

Which ultimately means you just unintentionally made the decision you’ve been worrying over for the past couple of minutes. You guess that your first instinct has never been to pry. And you also guess that this is a result of the Abnegation conditioning. You’re not supposed to ask questions, especially if it might hurt the other person.

But you aren’t in Abnegation anymore, are you?

You spare a glance in Finnick’s direction, wondering if it’s too late to go back and change your mind. His back is already turned toward you, and he’s talking to Thyme. He turns his body slightly, going to sit down on his bed. The smile on his face is almost unforgivable, a light feeling arising in your stomach.

There’s a split second where you recognize that he’s going to look toward you, his head is already turning, his eyes still on Thyme. You think that you’ll be able to muster up enough courage to talk to him. But it all disappears the moment his eyes land on you. And you find yourself turning before you say to.

Trink is stretching her arms above her head, her tank top rides up slightly to reveal her belly. She lets out a slight yawn, and then she pulls her top back down and looks between you, Eytelle and Allio.

“Breakfast?” she proposes.

You wonder how far is too far with Finnick.

“Yeah.” Eytelle agrees, Allio raises to his feet.

Trink’s eyes land on you, waiting to see what you have to say.

You roll your shoulders and give her a bright smile, “Well, obviously.”

Trink leads the way out of the dormitory, with Eytelle and Allio in the middle, and you taking up the back. Up until the door slides shut smoothly behind you, your hands are balled into fists and you can’t relax your shoulders no matter how hard you try. You just feel safer now that you’re out of sight, at least their eyes won’t be on you.

For a while, you focus on Allio and Eytelle’s voice echoing off the walls, as they talk about what they think their rank might be. It’s an easy enough conversation for you to escape to. Since the answer should be pretty difficult to find, because of technicalities and all. But the mystery is solved two minutes later, and the distraction is no longer here.

You’re lucky that the walk to the dining hall is short.

“You two head inside, we’ll follow in a minute.” Trink says, giving them a polite smile.

“Do you want to sit with the Dauntless-borns?” Eytelle is walking backwards.

Trink makes a face like she’s telling them ‘obviously’, but speaks anyway, “Make sure it’s with Lennox.”

Eytelle nods, and the two of them disappear inside. Trink turns to you next, her smile fading from her face, “Why didn’t you say anything to her?”

You press your lips together for a moment, and then you speak, “I know what I’m doing with Finnick.”

“Really?” she rolls her eyes, “Come on, (Y/n).”

“I’ve been dealing with him for my entire life.” you tell her, drifting towards the doorway. You two might be friends now, but you don’t have to reveal all your secrets to her just yet. It’s been less than a day, “Thyme won’t last, trust me.”

She raises her eyebrows, “You should still talk to him.”

“I will.” you say, she’s starting to follow you now, “I’ll do it tomorrow before the final fight.”

Trink shrugs.

The two of you stand together for a while, before she’s the first to spot your group from last night. At the table, she greets Lennox and slides right in next to him. She serves herself a small portion of toast and blueberry pancakes, as always, and starts talking as if they’ve been friends for a long time.

Ameer and Mirza are sitting across from each other, a path is cleared between them to allow the arm wrestling match. It seems like they’re both struggling, since Mirza will stay on top for a while, straining. Then Ameer will get a burst of strength and push his brother’s arm down toward the table. Neither of them have won yet.

Sydney is twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, talking to Nestor and occasionally Ameer. It’s always through gritted teeth and gasps if he does respond. She doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, no one looks bothered over the twins’ shenanigans.

Claris isn’t gathered with you guys, she’s actually sitting on the far end of the table off to the left. Hallie sits beside her, the two of them talk every now and then between long stretches of silence. However, the person that is sitting here with you guys, is Blaire.

He’s got one of his black curls pulled out, talking to Lennox and Trink. When he lets go, the curl bounces back into place as if it wasn’t out in the open just seconds before.

“Four people are going to be cut after this last fight, right?” Trink says, she’s squishing a blueberry between her fork and her plate.

“Yeah,” Lennox says, “The two lowest ranking initiates from both groups.”

Trink hums, “Who’s your two?”

Blaire gives her a look, and then you, “You first.”

“Amos and Ossie.” you say, carving your fingernail into the wooden table, “No question about it.”

Trink’s face twists for a moment, eyebrows raising, and then dropping. Like she’s trying to tell you that it isn’t set in stone. Like she’s trying to tell you that you’ve lost your last two fights, technically Ossie is ranked above you at the moment, and so is Trink.

That won’t last long. You’ll be winning tomorrow’s fight, no matter who it’s against.

“That was easy.” Lennox breathes out a laugh, and then he jabs his thumb to Claris and Hallie, “They’re out. Neither of them have won. They talk shit but the rest of us are taller and stronger than they are.”

Sydney pauses what she’s saying to Nestor to lean in, “The two of them talk like they own the world. Should’ve seen their faces when they got their asses kicked on the first day. Or when they couldn’t even move the punching bag.” Nestor nods in agreement.

“Huh,” you let out.

Blaire shrugs, “Just how it is.”

Trink leans her head against her hand, pushing her plate away now, “How was it working with Finnick and Thyme?”

The question makes Mirza lose at the arm wrestling match. Blaire stares at Trink for a long moment, his eyebrows drawing in, “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I guess I should’ve asked if he mentioned anything about (Y/n). And what exactly did he say?”

You want to stomp on Trink’s foot beneath the table, but she’s not across from you. You wish that she wouldn’t go around asking questions like this. You don’t care what he said about you during the paintball match. In fact, you could guarantee that it’s not anything bad, because Finnick doesn’t bad-mouth until he’s absolutely certain that the other person is his enemy.

You press your lips together and scowl.

“Well,” Blaire looks uncomfortable, as he probably should be, “It’s complicated… I guess.”

“Oh, come on.” Trink waves her hand, “You can’t hurt her feelings, she’s a brick wall.”

You’re suddenly glad that she hasn’t seen you vulnerable just yet. And that you held yourself together after the incident in the Pit, hanging over the river. Otherwise she might be saying something else right now.

Blaire looks to Mirza for reassurance, but the twins are gone. The two of them have vanished without a single word. Blaire sighs, “Finnick said that the two of you had grown up together.” his eyes are on you, “And that you know everything about him, including his weaknesses. He also said that your actions are predictable which is why you aren’t threatening.”

Silence sweeps the table. You let the hotness take over your face first. Anger so rich and raw that you might as well be a reincarnated god. But there’s something bubbling in your chest, light and friendly. The exact opposite of war and bloodshed.

You try to stay straight-faced, but there’s a crack at the corner of your lips. Until you burst, tears forming in your eyes. The laugh is loud, but draws no attention from the other Dauntless around you. With the exception of the group you’re sitting with, of course. You end up covering your mouth, trying to be a bit more modest.

“Not threatening, huh?” You smile, running your finger over the divot you’ve carved into the table. Then, you look up to Blaire, “If I were you, I’d be skeptical.”

Blaire doesn’t respond right away, “What does that mean?”

“Well, for starters.” You place your palms on the table, getting ready to leave, “He doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.”

You stand up from the bench. The clock on the wall says that it’s ten minutes to eight, which means you’ll be arriving in the training room early if you leave now. It’ll give you a moment to think and reassess your next move.

You take a step forward, but then stop, “Finnick isn’t as put-together as he likes to show. It’s all a façade. I’ll be in the training room.”

You take your time leaving the dining hall, not seeing a reason to rush. You have more than enough time to get there, and you need to spend it all.

On the way out, you pass Finnick and Thyme.

You were wrong. You thought that Finnick would keep his opinions of you to himself. The two of you don’t know these people, and they weren’t in your business to begin with. So what is he doing, basically telling people that you’re weak?

A hand hooks around the inside of your elbow, keeping you from talking further.

You yank your arm out, turning to face Finnick, while putting distance between the two of you. The mere look on his face is enough for you to set your jaw, clenching your teeth together. A deer in headlights, a child acting like it doesn’t know what it did wrong, an act.

“Hey,” he says, even his voice is soft, like he’s trying to coax you, “Are you okay?”

Your first instinct is to snap and then run. Leave him blinded and shocked just like you were a couple of moments ago. But the longer you stare at him, the more you begin to realize that he’s not acting. He’s being genuine.

“I’m fine.” you force yourself to calm down, standing up so that you aren’t hunched over, “Thanks for asking, though.”

“Are you sure?” Finnick straightens out too, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You can see Thyme stalking over his shoulder, eyes boring right into yours. Watching, waiting. Probably wanting material to spread around to the others. Look at (Y/n), upset over this and not nearly as scary as she can seem at times. She’s probably the one that managed to convince Finnick that you aren’t threatening.

“Not with her around.” you snarl, looking past him, “You’re a goddamn coward, you know that? And it’s no surprise, you come from Amity.”

She backs up, face twisting when Finnick looks over his shoulder.

“Really?” you ask, moving forward. Finnick presses a hand to your chest, keeping you from going any further. You look at him dead in the eyes, “You’re stopping me? Why? She can take care of herself. If she’s going to cause problems, then she’s going to deal with the consequences.”

“You’re not thinking straight.” Finnick says, not affected by how angry you are.

You slap his hand off and shove him back in one move, “So? Does that scare you, Finnick? What happened to me not being threatening?”

Finnick’s confused for a second, but then his face smoothes over, and he’s shaking his head, “That’s what this is about?”

You grit your teeth, “Yes, Finnick, that’s why I’m upset.”

“You don’t know the context--”

“No!” your voice is loud, “Blaire told me the context. You said I wasn’t threatening because I’m so fucking predictable.” you shove him again, “If I’m so predictable to you, then why do you bother to stick around?”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, there’s an overwhelming silence that sits between you two. Thyme doesn’t even move from where she is, her hand is pressed against the wall as if she’ll fall over. What a drama queen.

It seems like you have attracted attention, though. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re able to see Damon coming your way. Why he’s still inside of the dining room when he eats earlier than everyone else, you don’t know. What you do know is that you’re about to get in trouble.

“Back up.” Damon says, motioning, “Now.”

You do, hands balling into fists. You should’ve hit him when you had the fucking chance to. Or lunged straight towards Thyme, who’s playing up the innocent act again.

“Where are you going?” he looks at you first.

“The training room.”

Then his eyes land on Finnick and Thyme. Finnick’s the one to speak, “For breakfast.”

“Go.” he tells them, not leaving from where he stands. He waits until Finnick and Thyme are clearly inside before turning to you, “I remember being told that Laurel issued a warning about fighting.”

“Yeah, I was there for it,” you say, “But I didn’t hit him, so it doesn’t count.”

“Shoving counts.” Damon says, “Don’t do it again.”

“Sure.” you say, “Sorry.”

You turn and leave before he tries to talk to you anymore. You’re already testing his patience by being short with him. You head straight into the darkness, nails digging into your palms. The walk to the training room isn’t as serene as you originally wanted it to be. With every step you take, you can only find more reason to be angry.

There’s so many things you should’ve said to him.

By the time you get to the actual room, you’re only slightly calmed down. There’s no doubt that you just made things worse between you and Finnick. But to be fair, it’s no thanks to Trink. You don’t know whether or not to be angry at her. If she hadn’t asked the questions in the first place, then you’d still be on the road to recovery with Finnick.

It all conflicts with the fact that you wouldn’t have known what Finnick said if she hadn’t asked. You didn’t know he was talking about you like that. And sometimes it’s good to be underestimated, but here it’s not. It’s the simplest way for you to end up factionless.

Laurel and Caspian are already inside when you get there. They barely look up at first, too focused on what they’re hovering over. Laurel then suddenly raises her head, a murmur sounding from her. Caspian has to turn his body to see.

You give them a gentle wave.

“Don’t touch anything just yet.” he says, motioning you to stand somewhere.

Along the wall of the entrance sits tables with knives on them. All of them black, with identical blades and sizes. On the other side of the room are targets, much like the ones you’ve used to shoot guns. It looks like you get to try your hand at something new today.

It’s hard to be excited when there’s a hateful feeling in your stomach, telling you that Finnick will have no trouble keeping his streak. He’ll nail the middle of the target and then immediately turn to Thyme to gloat. You can’t help but to wonder if he genuinely thinks he’s winning in Dauntless right now, because you wouldn’t think so. Not when your best friend is halfway out of the door.

You pick a spot on the far side, shoving your hands into your pockets while you stare at the wood. If you strain hard enough to hear, you can listen in on what Laurel and Caspian are talking about. And it honestly sounds like they’re discussing the pairs for tomorrow’s fights. You thought they would have worked this all out this morning, but you guess you were wrong.

You have to win, no matter what. Or you will end up in last place. And instead of Ossie being cut, it will be you. You and Amos.

It’s funny, really. For a second, you really thought that you were on top of the world. You didn’t know just how quickly it would all fall back down. How you wouldn’t be able to catch everything--anything. It took a week to break all that you’ve worked towards your entire life.

You still have enough time to turn it around and end up on top. All you have to do is pass this first stage, and then you could blow everyone out of the water. You have the power to. You just have to apply yourself more.

A couple of minutes later, the others begin to arrive in their own groups. The first is Ossie and Amos, the next is your three new friends, and the last is Finnick and Thyme. This time, they’re the ones keeping their distance, placing themselves firmly on the other side of the room.

If Caspian has any questions rising, he doesn’t ask them. You do catch the quick look between you and Finnick, though. As if he’s trying to decipher it for himself. His eyes find yours again, and you give him a gentle head shake, letting him know that things are not what they are anymore. You wish it weren’t this complicated.

“Tomorrow is the final fight, and it will also be the last day of stage one.” Caspian says, he stands near the chalkboard, shouting across the room. His voice carries well, you don’t have to turn your head to hear him better.

“Today, you’ll be learning how to aim.” Laurel continues for him, “Pick up three knives, and pay attention. No one will be excused from tomorrow’s fighting, so try not to hurt yourselves.”

You all begin to wander over to the knives. You pick up the first one in your hands, and you can’t help but to notice just how light it is. It’s not as heavy as the one in your aptitude test, or the one back home in Abnegation. This is as light as a feather, easily movable. It reminds you of the knife you used to cut your hand during the Choosing Ceremony.

You pick up the other two, being careful not to cut your hands.

“I’ll demonstrate, so pay attention!” Laurel shouts.

Once you’re all back in your respective places, all eyes are on her. You have to move around a little to see better, and you can’t help but to curse yourself for choosing this end of the room. But then again, you didn’t want to invade on Caspian and Laurel’s privacy, clearly it was an important conversation.

Laurel is smooth and flawless with her throws. One after the other, each one hits the dead center of the target. Once all three knives are gone, she backs away from the target. You have to move again to see that she’s thrown her knives so that they make a triangle.

“Line up!” she yells, “And get to throwing! Caspian and I will observe.”

You remember the first time you shot the gun they gave you. It’s almost hard to believe that was only five days ago. At the rate things have been moving around you, it almost feels like a year.

Automatically, you find yourself readjusting your stance to mirror what Laurel had looked like. She had her dominant forward just a little more, body turned to the side to allow her dominant arm move free range. You extend and tense your arm a couple of times, getting a feel for the throw.

You have to remember to exhale when you let go.

And make sure not to think too much or you’ll hesitate.

You draw your arm back, knife handle in your hand. Your eyes land on the red circle in the middle of the wood. You hold your breath for a moment, pausing to readjust, and then you throw.

For a second, all you can hear is the sound of knives bouncing off the wall. No one has made it even close to their target. So why are you so sure that you’re going to be different?

Well, because you are.

The knife lodges in the red circle. It’s nowhere near perfect, since it’s off center and barely hanging on. But you are the first.

“Wow!” Trink lets out, “That’s luck!”

You prepare the second knife in your hand, drawing your arm back the same way, correcting for the middle. This time, when the knife hits the wooden board, you are much closer to the center. You’re too eager for the third knife, excitement bubbling up your throat and to your cheeks. An infectious smile fills your face when the third knife is in the center.

A hand slaps on your shoulder, “You’re a natural.” Caspian’s hand slips slightly as he moves around you to take a better look. He lets out a slight whistle.

Eytelle and Allio are nodding along, looking enthusiastic.

You can’t help yourself, though. You thank Caspian, but move to look at Finnick and Thyme, to watch them throw. You catch Finnick’s eyes for a brief second, clearly he was watching you. It’s your turn to take notes now.

You felt this exact same way when you first shot the handgun. To know that you were so close to the center circle, only for Finnick to best you. Finnick moves his hand, showing you that he still has all three knives in his hands. It’s an under-the-table move, not noticeable unless you’re paying close attention. Which means that Thyme completely misses it. The blades glint in the light.

He raises his arm, Thyme pauses what she’s doing to watch him. She’s already missed her first two knives. Finnick takes in a deep breath when he throws, and this is where he goes wrong. You’ll give him credit, because the knife hits the board. But it’s a corner, and clatters to the ground without sticking.

Finnick’s face twists, and when he turns to you--

You’ve already got both hands up, formed in an ‘X’.

Figuring that you’ve reached the point of no return yesterday, you went ahead and switched beds after dinner. Originally, you’d been sleeping over Finnick. Now you’re over Trink, since she’s the one that has an open bunk. You went to bed before you got a chance to see Finnick’s reaction, but you can tell by the way he’s acting this morning, that he’s upset.

He’s normally chatty in the morning, whether it had been with you, or Thyme. But no matter how many times Thyme tries to start a conversation with him, he only lets out one word answers. Which is a telltale sign that Finnick is not as okay as he’s been projecting. Another reason why Thyme doesn’t fit the space, she thinks about herself first and not the people around her.

Abnegation-raised children have been taught to focus on others before them. Like Candor, you begin to be able to pick out the little things from others reactions and body language. You might not be able to ask about it, but you’re supposed to notice it so that it’s easier to avoid the topic.

Thyme knows nothing about this, which means she doesn’t know when to leave things be instead of trying to fill the silence.

There’s a tight feeling of smugness in your chest. Finnick is going to be the one to apologize, not you. Not like you have a reason to, anyway. You already did and he ignored you, as if it hadn’t existed at all. You weren’t bluffing, it was a genuine apology.

You start out of the bathroom, fully dressed, shoes on, minty breath. All you have to do is wait for Trink to get ready, and then the four of you can head to the dining hall so you can watch and wait for them to eat. You already decided that you shouldn’t eat this morning. With the way everyone has been going at your stomach, it’s the only real choice you have. Unless you want to puke all over the floor, of course.

Trink’s in the middle of braiding her hair, talking to Eytelle. Allio is still in the bathroom, you saw him wander into the shower area just before he shut the curtain. He said that it should only take a couple of minutes. So, you suppose that you should correct yourself. You’re waiting on Allio, not Trink.

You start toward the girls, a question to start conversation already appearing on your tongue. But it all dies when someone appears in your path, tall and towering over you, like he always does. You press your lips together and look up at Finnick. And you can’t help but to think that this scene is all too familiar.

But the last time you checked, you moved out of the way.

“We should talk.” Finnick says, his voice is gentle, face smoothed over.

“Yeah?” you ask, eyebrows raising slightly.

You will not be the one apologizing this time.

He takes his time before speaking. Letting out a small breath, sucking in one between his teeth. He does this every single time, you know what to expect. He’ll start his sentence off with the apology, and then what he did wrong.

Finnick takes in a final breath, “I need you to hear me out.”

No.

No, this is wrong.

You stare at him, almost wanting to hold your breath.

This is the second time you’ve been wrong about Finnick would or wouldn’t do.

Finnick takes your silence as a good sign to keep talking, “When I said that to my team, I was still angry at you for blowing me off.”

Now you hold your breath, teeth settling in. He’s wrong, you didn’t blow him off. You apologized, you told him why you’ve been acting this way. It’s the other way around, he’s the one that confronted you and didn’t even listen. As if he didn’t care in the first place, and just wanted to find a way to get at you.

“I should have phrased what I said differently, though.” Finnick pauses for a moment, “Your turn.”

Your turn?

“That was not an apology,” are the first words to leave your mouth, eager, slick and pissed.

Finnick stares at you, like he’s thinking it over. It’s just five words, straight-forward all by itself. But then his lips press together, and his face begins to turn red, eyebrows turning downward. He’s acting like you’re in the wrong here. You’ve apologized, you’ve expressed your dislike for Thyme, so why does he keep on pushing it? What the fuck does he want from you?

“You are brave.” Finnick’s words are low.

He doesn’t scare you.

You know him in and out.

You know his darkest secrets.

How is he going to scare you?

“I’m the brave one?” you ask him slowly, “Last time I checked, I already fucking apologized. You were the one that didn’t listen. You were the one that brushed me off. Don’t come to me acting like the victim.

“Not to mention, Finnick,” you spit his name, “You didn’t even say that you regret what you said to your team. You said that you would rephrase it. It’s a fucking excuse, and I don’t do excuses. You owe me an apology.”

“For what?” he asks.

You explode, voice loud, “What the fuck do you mean ‘for what’?” you’re shaking your head, “I just fucking told you! Do you want another reason, then? You’ve been treating Thyme, over there, like your fucking best friend as if I’m not here. She’s the devil on your shoulder, Finnick. Won’t you open your eyes?”

Finnick shoves you back, you catch your footing in time to make it look natural. You don’t see this as a good sign, though. He’s angry, “Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not? Don’t like facing the truth--?”

“Because she’s my fucking friend, (Y/n)!” Finnick shouts back, “You called her a bitch and you don’t have a shred of sympathy!”

He gestures over his shoulder, straight at Thyme. She’s sitting on her bed, looking like she’s enjoying herself, watching the two of you go at each other like this. You watch as she fakes a pout, bites her lip, and then turns her head away. Her shoulders shake, pretending to cry. But her giggle is unmistakable.

It takes everything in you not to lunge at her.

The oven controlling your body is only getting hotter. You can feel your fingernails digging into the skin on your palm. Your eyes flash to Finnick, “Why should I? She’s not my fucking friend, she’s yours!”

You move forward, “And I know this might be shocking to you, but I’m your friend. I’ve been your best friend for years! So why are you so hellbent on keeping her, and not me? Aren’t I more valuable than this?”

Finnick stares, no response coming from him.

Your jaw sets, “During the Choosing Ceremony, before I came to Dauntless, I thought it would be an even trade. To take you, and leave my family behind. Clearly, I was fucking wrong.”

The anger washes away from his face, his mouth opening. You can see his hand raising to grab onto you.

You jerk away, “Don’t worry Finnick, this is all fine to me.” you give him a sneer, “Just don’t forget that I know all of your secrets. And there’s nothing stopping me from using them anymore.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, hand frozen out to grab you.

“It’s time to go to the training room.” Trink’s voice cuts the silence that deafens the room.

No one moves from where they are. Not even Ossie and Amos left early to get breakfast. They’re still near the door, hand poised on the handle, like they had been expecting the fight to only last a couple of seconds. Or for the two of you to kiss and make up and let this all be over and in the past.

You’re the first to straighten.

“Okay,” you say, still staring at Finnick, “Let’s go then.”

Ossie and Amos scoot out of the door first. Trink holds it open for you, before letting Allio take it next. She keeps to your side, glancing at your face every now and then like she expects it to change. But there’s an unmistakable anger that’s bubbling in your stomach and popping in your chest. Like lava.

She’s wise enough not to say anything.

You all arrive late to the training room. Caspian has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the door when you walk in. He doesn’t look happy at all, and neither does Laurel. You’re guessing it’s because Mags is standing right there, hands behind her back, assessing each and every one of you as you enter.

“Where’s Finnick and Thyme?” Caspian barks.

“Oh, they’re coming.” you snarl.

Caspian’s eyes linger on you, but you’re more focused on the board behind him. To see who’s fighting who. They’re standing directly in it, purposefully blocking your view. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme. You hope it’s Thyme.

You hope it’s Thyme.

After a few more beats of silence, the door to the training room opens.

Caspian tilts his head slightly, like he’s unsure what to make of today’s newfound tension.

But then he moves out of the way.

And there’s an explosion of pleasurable bliss that fills your body.

You will not be fighting Thyme.

You will be fighting the man himself.

You grin, head turning to see Finnick’s reaction. He’s stoic, staring ahead at the board, not entertaining you. It’s fine, Finnick. You already know what you need to. You saw him reach out. You saw the look of remorse. Everyone did. There’s no point in being so guarded now.

The chalkboard reads:

You and Finnick.

Trink and Thyme.

Allio and Amos.

Eytelle and Ossie.

“Oh, she’s going to get her ass demolished.” Trink cracks her knuckles.

“(Y/n) and Finnick.” Caspian calls, watching.

“Good luck.” Trink says, Eytelle and Allio echo her.

You resist the urge to skip to the circle.

When you get there, you crack and stretch every place you can think of, letting Finnick take his time. In the meantime, you go over every single detail that you’ve logged over the years and the past couple of days. Finnick has only been hit twice, both in places that are insignificant. You shouldn’t spend your time focusing on them.

You need to watch the way he moves, and predict his hits before he makes them. If you stay ahead of the game, then Finnick will have no opportunity to get at you. And if he does, it’ll be minor chances that won’t have a single affect on you.

You will come out as the winner of this fight.

Even if that means to put the remainder of your friendship on the line.

You roll your ankles in front of you, stretch your shoulders back and forth. You can feel every little ache in your body. Unfortunately, you’re going to be defensive in some areas, even if you don’t want to be. You were smart to give up during Ossie’s fight when you did. Otherwise you’d be hurting so much worse right now.

There’s a few things that Finnick’s going to want out of this fight. The first is a quick and easy win. He wins this, he keeps his perfect streak of no losses and no major injuries. He gets to impress Mags, and the fight won’t be dragged on for longer than a couple of minutes.

So you need to do the exact opposite.

You’re the first to raise your fists, he follows suit. You can’t help but to smile, “What’s the matter, Finnick? You’re looking a little blue.” his face hardens, “Something happen?”

He moves forward, “Shut up.”

You don’t move, standing your ground, “Sounds like you’re a little scared. Am I suddenly threatening to you?”

His arm twitches, you jump back, out of the way completely just to be safe. You’re not sure if he’s going to pull an Allio and swing at you with his non-dominant hand. You’ve already made that mistake, so it won’t be happening again.

“A little unpredictable?”

If Finnick is twitching, you’ve broken the mask. Finnick is supposed to have smooth movements. He’s always had smooth movements.

“Stop fucking with him and fight.” Caspian barks.

You ignore him. You have a plan, and antagonizing Finnick is on the list. You need him to stay angry, so that his actions aren’t hidden. It’s almost like what Ossie did to Allio on the first day, except you’re being verbal. It’s easier to get under Finnick’s skin this way. You need to stay one step ahead of him.

You move toward Finnick now, remembering the way that he had started all three of his fights. You need to find a way to get Finnick down. As long as he’s standing, he has an advantage on you. There’s no way you’re going to get a good hit on his face, he’ll be able to catch your arm before you’re even close.

Maybe if you get his guard down?

You’re prepared for Finnick’s swing, he likes to take the first hit, usually. You manage to lean out of the way before driving your fist into his stomach, backing off immediately after. His face is a shade of red, slightly twisted in pain. Unlike Allio, Finnick doesn’t absorb hits as well. He’s not used to being hit.

Finnick comes closer, crossing the circle straight instead of slowly shuffling to get to you. You don’t move at first, still trying to stay with the ‘keep your ground’ strategy. But the closer he draws, the more you realize that you can’t escape this. You can’t come up with a plan and stall. You need to give Mags something to make you stick out.

You head towards him too. Finnick is not the only initiate in this room who can match energy.

You jerk to the side, watching as Finnick immediately goes to correct his path so that you’re in his line of sight. You wonder if Finnick really has a need to show off and drag this fight out for Mags. He rarely switches up routine, so you’d like to say that he doesn’t. It’s the whole reason why he can be terrifying sometimes.

Everyone knows how he likes his matches by now, which is probably why Finnick has been put to fight first after the first fight. Because his is the quickest and easiest, you know what to expect to happen and how it’ll end. You can see why people would be afraid of him for this reason. If something isn’t broken, why replace it? Finnick has won all his matches in three punches or less, why try to change that?

It’s more impressive to get someone down without severely injuring them anyway, right? It’s like a demonstration of raw power. And with you being on the opposite end of the spectrum… it’s like you always have something to prove.

You can feel your face drop, eyebrows drawing in.

No, everyone in Dauntless has something to prove. If you don’t, then there’s no point in being here. If you’re not proving that you’re strong, or brave, or--for fuck’s sake--threatening, you won’t be considered an equal. And if there’s anything, anyone ever wants, it’s to be an equal or above.

This brings you to another infuriating realization. Finnick does not see you as his equal.

Without a single thought going into the move, your fist flies across Finnick’s cheek. His head turns, eyes widening. You duck, he misses, you’re back on your feet in time to slam your shoe into his ribs. When you move forward again to keep the rhythm, Finnick backs up, eyes darting across your body.

You fix your hands before he decides that’s a good place to target. You need to make sure he stays away from your nose and stomach. Everything else on your body is free reign, you could give less of a shit. But if you break your nose again, you’re not sure you’ll be able to stop the blood flow this time.

Finnick presses his hand to his ribs for a moment, his hand looks shaky. He stops backing up, now that he’s assessed the damage to his ribs and completely ignored his face. It’s a shame too, Finnick’s always been cute.

He moves towards you, you try not to back up too much. You still need a way to get him down without aiming at his face. You got lucky with the face shot, it will not happen again. Like you, Finnick tends to be more careful with spots that were just hit. If you want to try again, you’d have to find another way to wind up to get there.

Then again, you didn’t even think about it. One second you were standing there, and the next your knuckles were throbbing.

You bounce from side to side, watching him. You just barely catch the way he leans forward, throwing all of his weight into his punch. You twist your head to the side, which changes Finnick’s course of punching your nose, to your jaw instead. You recover better this way, ignoring the complaints from the nerves in your teeth.

Without much of a choice, you punch Finnick’s stomach, using the weight idea that he had originally used. The silence in the room is temporarily disturbed when he gasps, trying to suck in air to replace what you’ve stolen. You squeeze your fist tighter, bringing your arm back to do it again.

Finnick’s hand envelopes your fist, catching it before you land the hit. It isn’t until he’s twisting your arm, do you realize what he’s about to do. It’s the exact same thing he did with Eytelle. Trap her, twist her arm, two punches and she was out like a light.

You need out, right now.

You yank, ignoring the pain in your wrist. Finnick’s raising his arm, face stoic and staring into your eyes. You need to break the mask. You saw his face when you told him what happened at the Choosing Ceremony. You need to do something like that again.

You grab his wrist with your other hand, not pulling away as prominently now. You let tears flood your eyes, “Don’t, please.”

At the softness of your voice, Finnick’s arm isn’t as tensed, his face matching the emotion you’re giving him. He still plans on punching you, just not as hard. Which is good enough for you. He’s fallen for it.

Your left hand hits his chest, full-force, dead-on. He loosens his grip, but not enough for you to regain your right hand. You twist your arm until your wrist is grabbing his, before kicking his legs from underneath him.

He pulls you down with him, making you land on top. The two of you scramble to get the upper hand, but it’s easier for you. You place your hips on top of his, struggling to get your wrist free. He’s got a lock of iron, and no matter how much twisting you do, he doesn’t budge.

You lean forward for a moment, slamming your right foot on top of his wrist, keeping it from moving. This means that you have limited mobility, though. And he’s still got full use of his right hand.

Finnick knows this, his arm is already raising. All he has to do is turn his upper body and he’ll be able to hit your face. You could try to catch his wrist, but he’s got enough force to plow through whatever you’ll be able to do.

You still have access to your left foot.

Right as Finnick unwinds, you slam your foot across his jaw. You can hear his teeth snap against each other, head hitting the wooden floor. He finally releases your wrist though, which is enough for you. His hands cup his face, but it won’t last long.

The first punch is to his chest, making his body cave in temporarily. The next is to his nose, blood running down the side of his face and pooling on the floor. You aim for his nose again, and this time you’re filled with a fluttery pleasurable feeling, hearing the snap fill the air.

A pain explodes across your mouth, bringing tears to your eyes. You back off of Finnick for a moment, allowing him to shove you off of his body. You scoot back, not wanting to close your mouth. But you can’t help it anymore, gritting your teeth to combat the pain. You taste metal immediately.

And see red right after.

You lunge for Finnick, who’s trying to get on his feet. He’s moving slower than usual, which is probably because he’s rubbing the blood from his mouth to avoid the problem you’re currently facing. He doesn’t see you coming. Your body collides with his again, fist raised and slamming against his mouth this time.

Let’s see if he likes how it feels.

The two of you end up in the same position as last time, only he’s twisted at an uncomfortable angle, and you’re straddling his hip. You can’t help yourself, aiming for his cheekbone. The more injuries reside on his face, the more proof it is that you beat Finnick. The more the lesson sinks in.

You are just as good as he is. And he was stupid to think otherwise.

This is his punishment.

The tunnel vision begins as soon as you start a pattern. Each time you blink, his face gets worse. First his nose, then his swollen lips, then the red splotches across his cheekbone. Your knuckles catch his jaw, slamming his head into the ground harder. The more you lean forward, the more leverage you begin to have.

And Finnick is pushing, blocking his face while he tries to find an opening. But it’s hard to block his entire face with just a forearm. You should know, because it’s one of the flaws that he couldn’t pick at.

One hit after the other, your hands begin to coat red. Your knuckles begin to ache, arms becoming sore, too much protest because of how much force you’re using. You can’t help it, there’s no other way to keep him down. Any other place, and he would just get up again.

Your hand raises for his eye, and you get halfway through the move before there’s a pair of hands grabbing your arms, yanking you off of Finnick. You struggle for a moment, but the hands are gone as quickly as they came. The person throws you away from your former friend, and moves in.

It’s Laurel, hovering over him like she doesn’t know where to begin.

There’s throbbing in your temples, a headache beginning to form. You wonder why the room is so quiet at first, then you realize that there’s an intense ringing in your ears, taking it’s time to fade out. By the time you regain your hearing, Laurel is saying something about calling the doctor, Cleo, and having her bring an extra pair of hands to wheel Finnick out.

You can feel a dripping sensation beneath your nose. You reach up to touch the area, and come back with red. You don’t remember your nose getting hit, and you can’t tell if this is your blood or Finnick’s.

“Please.” a whisper fills the room.

Your eyes land on Finnick, who’s nothing but a mess of blood and tears. Did he call the end of the fight? You don’t remember hearing that either. In fact, you don’t think you remember anything. Only the feeling of skin-on-skin contact, over and over and over...

Laurel gently tells him that the fight is over, before she looks over her shoulder at you.

You think you can see disappointment. Or maybe it’s anger.

All you know is that you struggle to stand on your own two legs, smearing blood on the floor. You can feel your legs tremble beneath you. Your hands are the same way, not staying in the same place for longer than half a second, coated in red. Your palms, really, are the only safe place that isn’t touched by Finnick’s blood. You can feel droplets running down the back of your arms.

“Holy shit, (Y/n),”

You look over to see Caspian, drained of color. He’s surprised, why? Did he not see the way you fought Allio? Or does that not compare? Mags doesn’t look the same way, she just stares. You don’t know what to say to either of them, so you don’t. You slowly back out of the white circle.

And then the words come to mind, “I couldn’t lose,” it’s quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “And he needed to.”

You’re not sure if needed is the word, you guess it doesn't really matter.

You won, Finnick lost.

And neither of you can come back from this.

Not anymore.

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld / @i-dumb-bitch /

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair anteric #anteric #anteric chapter six

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yeeawwriting · 3 years ago

Text

Another Family

@modgirlyreposts-revamped here it is!

"You don't have to go, mi señorito." Remus rubbed gentle circles on Kellen's prosthetic hand. "You know, Matt and his brother are having a celebration, we could go there instead."

"I have to, dukey." Kellen stared out the window of Remus's stolen car. "They're my family."

"What, like we aren't?" Kellen winced at the tone. "Im just teasing, doll. Call me when you want me to pick you up, ok?"

Remus nibbled on Kellen's temple, his teeth scraping at his oily skin. "Te amo, señorito."

"Love you too, you overgrown rat." Kellen placed a small kiss on his platonic partner's hook nose, leaving a black lipstick stain.

As Kellen jumped out of the car, he could hear Remus's screeching tires as he pulled away from the curb.

Deep breaths. You got this. Kellen walked up to the door, tentatively knocking.

The door opened slightly, revealing a round face with short, mouse brown hair. "Hello?"

"Here for the event." He simply explained. "Are you a Fitzsimmons?"

"My girlfriend is. I'm Sarah." She opened the door all the way for Kellen to step inside.

Thank Hecate! She didnt ask about his relations to the family!

Unfortunately, Sarah's girlfriend did.

"And who are you?" A teenage girl, around his age, frowned at him. "Friend of Sarah's?"

"We have the same great grandfather." Kellen deadpanned, already regretting not going with his zucchini, maybe commiting a few felonies with the boys.

The girl scowled at him, as if doubting what he said. "Fine." She decided. "Yeah, ok. Sure."

"Millie..." her friend poked her in the arm. "Dont start this." Another boy called her name, to which she left for the kitchen.

"I, uh, I'm Kellen. Kellen Ignatius." He stammered to break the tension. "You are?"

"Millie." The girl, his cousin, answered. "So, you're a part of this family?"

"I don't have a choice." His father was dead, his brother left, and his mother... "It was this or nothing."

"Riiiiight." Millie shook her head.

"Oh, there you are, Millie." An older man came up to the two. He squinted momentarily at Kellen, then relaxed. "Oh, you must be Kellen. You can just call me Maurice. Don't mind my granddaughter, she can be a bit-"

"Grandpa!" Millie stomped her foot, a tick that also belonged to Kellen himself.

"Millie, be nice." Maurice scolded. "Ill be going to get a drink. You two" aimed more at Millie than anything, "get along."

Millie frowned but said nothing. Kellen, trying to break the tension yet again, decided to strike up a conversation. "Is that jet?" He gestured to her jewelry.

"Yeah, how did you..." her eyes trailed to his similar, gothic style. "Where'd you get all that?"

"Oh, this?" He pulled down his weirdcore esque shirt to show off the design. "My partner got it for me. Pretty sure he got it from Hot Topic."

"You hardly ever find those kinds of boots anymore." Millie commented. "Jeez, I'd kill for them."

"I actually did." Kellen joked.

"No way."

"Yes way."

"What one do you go to?" Millie changed the subject.

"Order it offline. Let me show you," he pulled out his phone, displaying the text notification.

🐀🧍‍♂️ <3

- Hey doll, I think I set Matt on fire

-Nvm he'll live

-Aw shit it aint Matt on fire

-IFUCKEDUPIFUCKEDUP

"Anyways," he could tell Millie was reading the text, "here's the site..."

Brooke tapped her fingers on the countertop, watching the two. "So, they went from hostile to being friends?"

"We saw what you did." Dylan sipped his sparkling apple cider. "Maybe its a goth thing?

Brooke laughed. "Maybe they're more related than we thought!"

~~~~~~~~~

"How was it, Kelly bear?" Remus sneezed out some flour.

"What did you do this time?" Kellen hopped in the passenger seat.

"Sacrificed Ro Bro to Pancho." Remus was currently covered in white flour.

"Sure." He decided, knowing better than to ask why.

His hand came to rest on top of what fell like paper. Eyes widening, he picked it up, unfolding it. Blatantly ignoring Remus begging him not to read it. "Aw, what's this?"

"Thats a rough draft!" Remus yelled, biting the blue plastic of his hand.

I wish I could tell you about how when we're looking at the stars, your eyes reflect the Milky Way. I wish I could tell you about how light bouncing off the glasses you forgot to take off waking me up is the best part of my day. I could go on and on, but I wont. And maybe that makes me a bad partner, but you know what? I know you still platonically love me.

Happy anniversary, señorito.

-Reems

"Our anniversary isnt until next week, you big dork." Kellen giggled, blushing a little bit.

"Dork means whale penis!" Remus hollered.

Kellen rolled his eyes. "Youre the best partner I could ask for, you silly trash bastard."

"Love you too, doll."

And they commited crimes happily ever after <3

#janus writes

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bangtangcorner · 4 years ago

Text

Blueberry Muffins - Kim Namjoon

pairings: idol!kim namjoon x half Italian!half Spanish!reader (lol don’t ask why, I did it for fun)

word count: 2.08k

summary: It’s been a few months since you started dating Namjoon. When he texts you one day that he’s in a bad mood, you pay him a visit with the sacred thing that brought you two together : Blueberry Muffins.

warnings: a few cuss words, FLUFF, Yoongi with his gummy smile and Kookie with his bunny smile, Namjoon just being a WHOLE ASS BABY

a/n: I’ve just begun writing on tumblr so I’m a little nervous about putting my stuff out there. I’ll improve with time I promise and I hope you like this! Feedback and criticism of any kind is always appreciated <3

(Edited)

****

“4 blueberry muffins and 1 hot chocolate to go please.” I smiled at Sinthia. Her eyes crinkled as she grinned and started shuffling behind the counter.

“No chocolate chip cookies today?” She asked as she bent down behind the shelf.

“Nope, he’s not in a good mood today. Blueberry muffins are for turning the sour mood into sweet, they somehow always work.”

“I think we both know why they work sweetheart.” Sinthia said as she came up from behind the counter with a paper bag in her hand. I tilted my head to the side and looked at her with a puzzled face, silently asking her what she meant.

“Don’t you remember the first time you both met in this very cafe?”

I smiled as the fond memory replayed in my head.

“The usual Sinthia, thank you.” I smiled at the little woman behind the counter and moved to the side.

My phone vibrated in the back pocket of my jeans. Pulling it out I saw that it was my mom calling, my fingers immediately swiped across the screen.

“Mama!”

“Come stai mio caro? (How are you my darling?)

“Sto bene mama, come stai?" (I’m doing well mom, how are you?)

“Sono grande dolcezza, come vanno le lezioni? Com'è Y/f/n?” (I’m great my sweetness, how are classes? How’s y/f/n?)

“Le lezioni sono frenetiche mama.”(The classes are hectic mom) A sigh escaped past my lips, “Ma per fortuna ho Y/f/n per superare tutta la merda.” (But luckily I have Y/f/n to get through all the shit.)

“linguaggio!” (Language!) I chuckled as she laughed in return. I could imagine her shaking her head, eyes rolling at my behavior.

“I-”

“Excuse me sweetheart.” I whipped my head around to see Sinthia looking at me.

“Yes Sinthia?” I asked my mom to wait for a second and muted the call.

“That young man over there” She pointed to a man behind me. I turned around to see a man with blond hair sitting in the corner booth, his chin perched on his palm as he stared out at the street.

I turned back to look at Sinthia, “What about him?

“He has ordered a blueberry muffin too. But the problem is that I only have one of those sweet treats left and he looked really upset. Do you mind if I give it to him? I can pack your favorite chocolate scones instead.”

I smiled, “Of course, it’s no big deal.”

Sinthia grinned and patted my shoulder, “You really are a gem, tesoro.(Darling)”

“Y/n? la mia bambina? (My baby girl?)”

“Shit” I muttered as I realized my mom was still on hold.

“Mama, posso richiamarti prima o poi? (Mom, Can I call you back in sometime?)

“Certo baby” (Sure baby)

“Va bene, ciao mama, ti amo!” (Okay, bye mom, I love you!)

“Ti amo troppo cara!” (Love you too dear!)

Cutting the call, I saw Sinthia circling around the counter, probably going to give the stranger his order.

“Hey Sinthia, wait up!” She spun around to look at me.

“Do you mind if I give it to him?”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Just wanted to see the man who was stealing my favorite food.” A sly smile took over my face and Sinthia giggled, handing the tray to me.

“He’s all yours.”

I looked down at the tray to see a cup of black coffee and the blueberry muffin I had been craving since yesterday. Shaking my head, I made my way to the corner booth.

“Hey, um, excuse me”

He turned around to look at me, “Yes?”

Suddenly, I couldn’t speak. He was gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking. His blond locks were messy on top of his head, mask pulled down to his chin, lips full and red. His eyes bore into mine as I stood there frozen, unable to do anything in front of the Greek-God like human.He also looked awfully familiar.

“Um?” His voice snapped me out my stance as I cleared my throat and let out a breath I’d been holding since the minute my eyes landed on his beautiful face.

“I, uh, I have your order.” I said, placing the tray on the table.

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t see any waitress when I had walked in?”

“Oh no, I’m not a waitress.”

Now I had begun to question my decision of serving him, why did I ask to do this again? This was probably the stupidest decision of my life.

“Oh okay?” He frowned as he looked up at me.

Without thinking, I quickly slid into the seat in front him and began talking.

“I’ve been coming to this cafe for almost 3 years now. I moved here when I got into Seoul National University. This has kind of been my safe place since then, not to mention Sinthia has been a mother like figure for me. She also helps me learn Korean and sometimes gives me yummy treats for free. Anyways, so today we were partnered up for a literature project and I was paired up with this cocky jock who’s so fucking full of myself. Then someone spilled their coffee on my favorite white top. It’s just been a shit day and I really wanted one of Sinthia’s blueberry muffins with the delicious dark roast she makes. But then it turns out you looked upset too so I let you have the last blueberry muffin.”

At the end of my mini rant, I squeezed my eyes shut, face turning red from embarrassment. I had literally just said random shit to a complete stranger who already looked like he wanted to be left alone.

“Here.” His voice made me snap open my eyes.

He was wiping his mouth with a tissue as he passed me the remaining half of the muffin.

“It looks like we both need something to lighten up.” He smiled and I swear I felt my heart skip a beat.

And then suddenly, it clicked.

“Holy shit” I mumbled.

“Is everything okay?”

I looked him dead in the eye, “You’re RM! Oh my god I just said complete nonsense to one of the biggest stars in the world.” I leaned back against the seat and mentally smacked myself for making a fool out of myself in front of one of the world’s biggest idols.

“Cosa c'è che non va nella tua ragazza!” (What is wrong with you girl!) I muttered to myself.

“Ahh you recognized me, but for now I’m Namjoon.” He took out his hand for me to shake, a small smile still tugged on his lips.

I took a deep breath and calmed myself down and took his extended hand in mine.

“Hi Namjoon, I’m Y/n.”

“You’re Italian Y/n? I heard you speak on the phone earlier.”

“You heard me?” I squealed.

He laughed, “Yeah, it’s 1am in the morning and we’re the only ones here.”

“Wait, you know Italian?”

“A little bit, I could catch a few words you spoke.”

“Half Italian, half Spanish actually.”

“That’s interesting.”

“You bet.”

“Oh by the way, I have no clue why I just came and dumped all of my problems on you, I’m really sorry for that.” I sighed and inwardly cringed at my actions.

“Aigo, stop worrying. Tell me more about your literature project and this jock you’re paired up with.”

“Y/n! Earth to Y/n?” Sinthia waved her hands in front of my face. I jumped slightly and laughed, “Sorry, took a little trip down the memory lane.”

Her face beamed at my words as she passed me the bag of muffins and the cup of hot chocolate.I took out my wallet to pay but was stopped by little hands clutching my fingers.

“Don’t, it’s on me tonight.” Sinthia grinned.

“But I-”

“No buts Y/n, go make your superstar boyfriend’s day.”

“You spoil us too much I swear.”

****

“Noona!”

“Jungkookie!”

Our laughter died in the air as we embraced each other. I pulled back and ruffled his black hair as he gave me his famous bunny smile.

“How are you noona?”

“I’m great Kook, is he still in the studio?”

“Yeah, he’s working on some new tracks with Yoongi hyung.”

“And that of course means he must have not eaten for hours.” I sighed, his habits always worried me.

“You got that right.”

“Good thing I come bearing treats.” I said, raising the paper bag in my hand and shaking it with a cheeky smile on my face.

A big smile stretched across his face as he made grabby hands towards me.

“Gimme Gimme Gimme”

I giggled,”Take one Jungkookie, we have to save some for Yoongi and Namjoon hyung.” Jungkook happily retreated one muffin from the bag and released a content ‘hmm’ after taking the first bite.

“I’m gonna go and see him now Kookie.”

He nodded. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

“알아,준비 됐어 “ (I know, I’m prepared)

His eyes widened as his choked on the muffin. I laughed loudly and made my down the hall to the Rkive.

Knocking twice I heard Yoongi shout, “뭐?” (What?)

Without replying, I opened the door, revealing Namjoon and Yoongi hunched over the studio board. Namjoon’s eyes met mine and a big grin stretched across his face.

“Hi Y/n” Yoongi said smiling while getting up.

“Hey” I said and pulled him in for a side hug.

“What’s that?” He asked, looking at the paper bag in my hand. I opened it and tilted it towards him, “Have one”

He looked down and pushed his hand inside it, pulling out a muffin. A gummy smile appeared on his face as he turned around and pointed at Namjoon,”당신은 자신에게 맞는 여자를 얻었다” (You got yourself the right girl.)

Namjoon chuckled and flipped him off. Yoongi stuck his tongue out at him, gave me one last toothy grin and made his way out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey” He said as I walked towards him, placing the muffins on the side table. Swinging my leg across his thighs, I straddled him, my arms locking behind his shoulders. His hands take a hold of my waist, face nuzzling in my neck. His deep breath hits my skin, making a shiver run down my spine. I took my right hand and massaged his scalp earning a little whine from him. I giggled, the soft boy in my arms making my heart turn to mush.

“You’re too cute.” My soft voice broke the comfortable silence.

He looked up at me and snorted, “I’m sorry, have you looked at yourself in the mirror jagi? You’re literally the definition of cute.”

Now it was my turn to snort, my hands cupped his rosy cheeks as he leaned in my palm, “Stop being cheesy Joonie.”

“Can’t help it when it comes to you.” He placed a very soft kiss on my lips, letting it linger for a few seconds. My heart combusted at the action, senses fogging as I lost myself in the feeling of his soft lips on mine.

“I got you something to eat.” I said pulling away and getting up. Picking up the bag of muffins, I threw them in his lap and sprawled across the small couch.

He opened the bag and whistled,”You know me too well.”

He immediately started munching on the muffins, now looking much more relaxed under the dim lights of his studio.

“You can’t keep doing this you know.”

“Doing what?” His voice came out muffled as he chewed on the delicious muffin.

“Neglecting your health, overworking, stressing too damn much.”

“I don’t do it purposefully.” He grumbled, brows furrowing.

“I know baby.” I turn to my side and fold my arm, plopping my head on my palm.”But you have to take care of yourself Joon, your heath should be the priority.”

He wiped his hands against the back of his sweats and came towards me. In the next second, I was squeezed below Namjoon’s body.

I squealed, “What the fuck are you doing?! Namjoon!”

“Hmm” He mumbled as his arms circled around my figure and pulled me closer to him, if that was even possible.

“Get up Joonie.” I whined from under him.

“No” He grumbled, placing his head on my chest, his long legs draped over mine.

“We’re too big for this couch Namjoon.”

“Doesn’t matter, just wanna be close to you.”

My breath hitched in my throat as I repeated his words in my head. He was too good to me, I didn’t deserve an angel like him. I shifted underneath him and he whined in return.

“닥쳐 (shut up), I’m trying to get comfortable.”

He hummed.

I smiled to myself.

****

Masterlist

#kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts x reader #bts fanfction #bts imagines #jeon jungkook #jung hoseok #kim taehyung #kim seokjin #rm x reader #rm bts #kim namjoon imagine #rm imagine

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Dammit, Amos, I’m a Botanist Not a Doctor

Prax's first aid skills are really not equipped to handle the kinds of injuries Amos keeps coming to him with. And he's getting pretty mad that Amos keeps needing that sort of medical attention. Wishes he'd start taking better care of himself. And in the middle of his lecture about Amos doing just that, feelings get revealed.

“You know that I'm a botanist and not a medical doctor, Amos. I don't know why you keep coming to me with this kind of thing.”

They're standing in the harsh lighting of the mechanic shop rather than the sterile med bay and Prax is peering dubiously at the cut on Amos's chest, a cotton swab with disinfectant held in his unsure hand. Exactly how Amos had gotten cut is a mystery – and a mystery that Prax doesn't really need to know the answer to, if he's being honest with himself.

After Jules-Pierre Mao, and Dr. Strickland, and everything surrounding Mei's rescue, he's more than aware of just what kind of man Amos Burton is. Just how far he's willing to go to protect those he's chosen to follow, to guard. And for whatever reason Prax and Mei have fallen into that “protect” category. And there's nothing Amos won't do to see them – and the rest of the kids – safe and shielded from any form of harm.

Including the protective form of harm Amos has been dishing out as the Roci crew attempts to eradicate any remaining pockets of Protomolecule left hidden away by Jules-Pierre Mao or Dr. Strickland and his scientists.

“It's cuz I trust you, doc,” Amos says, clapping a big, rough hand onto Prax's shoulder. “And it's just a little cut anyway – nothing to waste the autodoc on.”

That's not, strictly speaking, true. The cut's deep enough that Amos needs stitches – which he'd opted for over the cellular regen, for reasons known only to him. And it's a wound that falls right at the edge of Prax's limited first-aid skills.

But Amos has this way of looking at Prax – blunt and direct and so full of trust in him. It's almost frightening in its absoluteness. Prax never wants to see that look turn to distrust and betrayal. So this – Amos standing in the mechanical bay, stripped to the waist, while Prax patches him up - has turned into something of a ritual for them whenever Amos comes back from a mission.

And it is every time Amos comes back from a mission, Prax thinks as he starts disinfecting the cut. Because Amos will bodily put himself between his crew and harm every. Single. Time.

And it's a little bit infuriating and a lot concerning. But being infuriated is easier to concentrate on as Prax works to bring the broken edges of skin back together. He needs his hands steady and his head clear of worries about what if.

What if this is the last time they do this? What if Amos gets hurt too badly to fix next time? What if...?

So Prax thinks about how mad he is at Amos for dragging him away from his plants or his daughter or his reading to patch him up, over and over again. Because he has no regard for his own safety. His own worth.

“You should be more careful, Amos,” Prax says, an edge of steel to his voice as he pulls the needle through Amos's tender, breakable – oh, so breakable – skin. “You're not indestructible, you know.”

The point is underlined by Amos's sharp breath as Prax pulls the first stitch taught.

And he can't keep up the steely disapproval. Not in the face of Amos actually hurting. But he has gotten pretty good at gentle chastisement through his being a single parent to Mei. And heading an entire department of younger scientists. So.

“I know you like to go charging headfirst into danger, like to put yourself in the line of fire. Like to protect people. But you're human. Flesh and blood. And you can't – you've got to start being more careful, Amos.”

Prax runs his hand gently over Amos's chest, soothing Amos's flinching at the sting of the needle and steadying himself and making sure – to the best of his limited ability – that his stitches are even and won't scar.

“There are people who care if you come back, you know. Mei would be devastated to lose her new uncle. And the rest of the kids.”

A pause while Prax makes the next stitch. And thinks about his next words.

“And me too, Amos. I – I wouldn't have made it to Io without you. Wouldn't have found Mei without you. And I don't. I can't say what would have happened with Dr. Strickland without you there. But more than that, you're my best friend, Amos.”

That's not. That doesn't come close to describing how Prax feels about him. But it's all the words he can find right now – when he's scared and mad and so, so full of concern for the man who's standing there so still and patient and, and nonjudgmental under his clumsy attempts at doctoring.

“And I don't want to lose you because you were being reckless or, or not valuing just how important you are to us. To everyone on this ship.”

Prax makes another stitch. Almost done, now.

“But mostly, I don't want to lose our friendship. Is that selfish to say?”

Not that Amos has ever cared about things like that. It's one of the things Prax values about their friendship – with Amos, he doesn't need to apologize for how he is or what he feels. Amos takes it all with equanimity. Takes Prax as he is, even at his worst.

And true to form, Amos shrugs – broad chest shifting under Prax's hands.

“It's true, regardless. So you'd better start taking better care of yourself.”

Prax ties off the knot on his suture. It's not professional by any means, but it ought to hold. He wipes away the blood, and he can already see where Amos's flesh is purpling in vicious bruises along his ribs and he runs his fingers over the flesh, pressing in, testing for bruised or broken ribs.

“You'd better come back to me, Amos.”

There's a hitch of breath that doesn't come from Prax pressing at Amos's ribs. And, oh God. What is he saying? What has he done?

After that first gasp, it doesn't feel like Amos is even breathing, he's standing so still.

He's messed everything up, that's what. Messed up his friendship with Amos – as new and tenuous as the tender green shoots of the soja hispida growing in his room. And this. This has to be the end of everything between the two of them. Prax has gotten too clingy, too desperate sounding. And Amos won't want that, won't want his baggage, won't want to come to him for this anymore.

Prax wants to turn away in shame and misery, curl in on himself like the mimosa podica does when touched, so that he doesn't have to face Amos and his look of betrayal. But he finds whatever courage brought him from Ganymede to the Rocinante to Io in search of Mei, in search of vengeance if he couldn't find her, and he steels himself and looks up into Amos's face.

And Amos is looking back at him with such deep emotion, such blunt trust, such naked warmth, that Prax feels himself open up like a helianthus to the sun and before he knows what he's doing he's reached up and cupped Amos's bristled cheek in his hand. And when Amos presses into it, just barely, Prax kisses him.

It's soft and tentative and everything that Amos Burton isn't. So Prax isn't all that surprised when Amos cradles the back of his head in his big hand and pulls him closer, deepens the kiss, until Prax is drowning in it – couldn't think about anything else even if he wanted to.

Eventually, they break apart, Prax gasping for breath, overwhelmed. But Amos is there to hold him up, to keep hold of him, to guide him through this, too.

And Amos is smiling down at Prax, eyes still boring into Prax's soul.

“I was wondering when you'd get the picture, Prax. For a smart guy, you can be a little slow on the uptake.”

“What?” Prax gasps, still feeling breathless – though that probably doesn't have anything to do with lack of oxygen at this point. “What are you talking about?”

Amos laughs. “What, you really thought I had'ta strip half naked for you to patch up a bullet wound on my shoulder? Or this cut?”

And Prax lets his gaze trail down down down Amos's chest to where his jumpsuit is just barely clinging to his hips, riding low enough that Prax isn't even entirely sure he can call him clothed. And yes, Prax can see that it's all a little unnecessary for the kind of wounds he's been tending.

“You were coming on to me?”

Amos shrugs one shoulder. “Yep. Glad the interest's mutual – I thought maybe, but then you didn't do anything. So I'd kinda given up on it.”

“To be fair, I was a little preoccupied with finding my missing daughter at the time to realize that you were hitting on me.” But Prax can feel himself smiling as he says it. Because everything worked out ok and Mei is alive and here on the Rocinante with him and Amos is standing here, steady as a rock, patient, waiting for Prax to catch up with him.

“Well, she ain't missing anymore,” Amos says, matter of fact.

“So what now? We fall into bed together?”

Amos shrugs again. “If you wanna.”

Prax thinks about it for a second. But really, there's not that much to think about.

“Yeah, ok.”

And after, when they're laying together in Amos's bunk, sweaty and a little gross, and very, very happy, Amos turns to him and says, “You're my best friend, too, Prax.”

#the expanse #praxos

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ma-lemons · 6 years ago

Text

rosegarden

Ahahaha so my friend @lethiepie had an excellent little thing: Oscar teaching Ruby Portuguese or Spanish, which I adore!! (I kinda imagined him to be Latino sometimes). A little disclaimer: I don’t speak either of these languages so google translate will be my teacher. This takes place at some random point in time. Doesn’t matter too much.

—————————————————

Ruby couldn’t sleep one night. However, this time it wasn’t due to a nightmare or hearing people’s voices. Someone was... singing.

Her body ached from the position she had thrown herself in last night. She was sharing a room with Weiss and Nora, who were fine roommates. At least, Weiss was. Nora was a loud snorer, and it bothered Ruby most nights. She, on the other hand, liked to argue that Ruby was the loud snorer. Either way, Weiss would shut them up with a pillow to the head before they all returned back to sleep. She stretched out and blinked in the darkness. She could make out the patterns of Weiss on the bed and Nora on the sofa. Once her sight had adjusted, her ears honed in the soft voice.

She heard a voice, one that she had never heard before. It wasn’t a gorgeous voice, but it was one that reminded Ruby of a school choir and a mother’s lullaby. It had been a while since she had listened to music herself, often she forgot what it sounded like. To hear it was refreshing. The voice sounded strangely familiar, like someone she knew. Yet, the voice sang some indecipherable words.

Deciding sleep wasn’t that important, the teen slipped out from her quilt and sneaked out the door. She didn’t bother to tug on her boots, knowing that she might trip and wake everyone up. She passed her uncle’s room that she shared with Oscar and smiled a bit: she was glad that her uncle was starting to confide in her more. She knew that he had lived a long and difficult life, but that didn’t meant she wouldn’t do her best to be there for him.

The young huntress followed the voice until it grew louder and louder. She slid the door open, finding herself outside. It was a windy night, and Ruby felt her cheeks getting nipped out. Hugging herself she moved towards the smallish figure who was seated at the top stair. The lights revealed the figure to be Oscar, who was singing softly to himself.

Ruby grinned to herself and stood there, watching the young boy sing to himself. She wasn’t sure what he was singing, and she had never heard any other language being spoken before. It was beautiful though. It sounded like a rapid fire jumble of letters, but it had to mean something to him. She watched as the young boy swayed side to side, eyes fixtated on the shattered moon before them. A little while later, he had finished, and sat there in silence. Ruby shuffled forward, and propped herself next to him.

“Hey.”

Oscar jumped, further than she had ever seen him before. He was a few feet away from her now, and she could even see the slight pinkish tint his face had taken on. His chest was heaving up and down and Ruby laughed at the sight of it.

“Ruby! You scared me—how long have you been out here?” he asked, his breath shaky. Did she scare him that much?

The huntress bit her lip. “Uh, not that long. I just heard some singing and decided to follow it. That was you, right?”

He nodded, and regained a better posture. He scooted closer to her and nodded. “Yeah... that was me. Pretty embarrassing.”

Ruby shook her head. “Nope. I liked it. I had no clue what you were singing, but I liked it.”

Oscar didn’t meet her eyes. He clasped his hands together and stared at his toes.

“I was singing... a lullaby. My aunt used to sing me to sleep when I was younger, every time I couldn’t sleep. It kind of reminded me of her. Sorry if that’s super childish,” he admitted.

“Oscar, of course not! I think that’s really sweet.” She patted his back. “And I know you miss her. You’ve been so brave and I know you wish you could see you aunt, just to let her know you’re okay. I understand.”

Oscar looked up, giving one of his signature half smiles back to her. “Thanks, Ruby.”

She nodded. “That lullaby was really cute. What language was it in anyway?”

“Uh, Portuguese.”

“Portuguese?”

“Yeah... I’m part Brazilian, so I was taught how to speak Porteguese.”

Ruby had never heard of Brazil nor Portuguese but she decided to smile and nod anyway. She a made a mental note to one day brush up on her geography skills.

“That’s cool. I wish I could speak another language,” she murmured, hugging her knees.

“I... I could teach you. I mean, if wanted of course,” the farmhand rushed out.

Ruby’s face lit up. “Really? Thank you thank you thank you!” she shouted, hugging Oscar.

“Tomorrow then,” she grinned, standing up. Oscar nodded. “Tomorrow.”

————————————————————————

“So, to say ‘My name is Ruby Rose’ you’d say...” Oscar asked.

“Meu nome é Ruby Rose.”

Oscar gave an encouraging smile. She knew the words... but the pronunciation wasn’t too good. In the morning they had started to learn, they had gotten through pronouns and now he was trying to teach her basic sentences.

“Okay, you’re doing good, but it’s meu, not mi. Mi is Spanish. Try to repeat after me. “May-yoh.”

“Like mayo? So mayo?” He could see the frustrating growing on her face.

“Sort of. I mean, you do understand what you’re saying, and we can work on prounociation later. Do you remember how to say “Hello, how are you?”

“Oi... oi... something something...” she mumbled. She threw up her arms and rested her head on the table. “Face it Oscar,” she sighed,“I’m too stupid to learn Porteguese. I can’t think and I don’t understand any of it. I thought it was cool cause I’ve never heard it before, and I thought having a language only you and I could speak would be fun. So we could gossip about Yang behind her back and play pranks on everyone.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know the huntress was so serious about learning the language. He felt bad, when an idea came to him.

“Hey Ruby, let’s stop for today and continue tomorrow.” Before she could get in another word, he ran off. She sighed and sat back. “Meu nome é Ruby Rose.”

“Whaaaat are you doing? I heard you and Oscar speaking all morning,” Yang said, poking her head into the dining room.

Ruby, sulking, faced her sister. There was no point of hiding it. “Oscar was trying to teach me to speak his language and I can’t remember anything. I think he’s mad.”

Yang stifled a laugh. “Ruby, it’s no big deal. You can’t learn a language in a day. It probably takes years to do so. Besides, I imagine he’d never get mad at you.”

Ruby sighed. “I guess you’re right, meu irmão.”

“I think that’s brother.”

“What?”

“I think you said ‘my brother’, not sister,” Yang clarified.

“How... how do you even know that?”

“Oh, when I was at Signal, we had a Portuguese class. We mainly spent the days watching telenovelas. I remember a few things.”

So even her sister could remember a language she learned many years ago? Why was she never aware that Portuguese was a language? Since when did Signal have language classes? Ruby groanerd, slamming her head into her hands.

“Rubes, take it easy. You’ll learn in no time.” Yang grinned and left the room.

You know what made her better when she wasn’t in a good mood? Reading comics. She needed to get her mind focused on something else. And that was how she spent the rest of her day, lying in bed, pretending she wasn’t thinking about learning Portuguese with Oscar.

——————————————————————

The next morning, Ruby woke up pretty early. She sighed and tugged on her boots, before heading downstairs. She figured she could eat some oatmeal (if she didn’t burn it) and practice with Crescent Rose before the inevitable lesson with Oscar.

When she headed downstairs, she was unable to take in the sight in front of her. Wherever she looked, there was a white sticker attached. On the tables, the chairs, the ceiling, the light. Everything had a sticker.

Ruby, in awe, shuffled over to the chair and looked at the sticker. On it, was written “a cadeira”. Below it, “A cadeira é marrom”. She assumed cadeira meant chair. She knew é meant “is”. So marrom....

“A cadeira é marrom. The chair is brown,” Oscar’s voice came from behind her. Ruby turned around, to see Oscar holding a bin of white stickers. He had his dopey smile on his face. “Bom dia!”

“Uh, that means good morning, right?” Oscar nodded. “Yep!”

“Bom dia, then. Oscar, did you do all of this?” she asked incredously. The farmhand nodded. “I spent some of my night doing it. I wanted to surprise you. I...I know how much you wanted to learn Portuguese, and I appreciate it so much. I know it’s hard to learn a new language, so I thought it would make it easier be showing you, instead of just telling you.”

Ruby’s face was blank for a moment and Oscar was scared she was upset. He had worked really hard to make this work. He wanted to see Ruby smile, and he wanted to help her achieve this goal.

Then, her face split into a smile, and she rushed to embrace him. “Thank you,” she murmured in his ear. Oscar’s face grew warm. He had also stickered his room to help her know the bedroom too. He hoped everyone else would be okay with everything being covered for a moment.

“But you know Oscar, Qrow’s gonna have a fit when he sees this. Weiss too.”

“Weiss likes me.” Oscar couldn’t say the same for Qrow. “You think I’ll be okay?”

“We’ll find out later, I guess,” Ruby shrugged. “Onward to the lesson!”

Well, as Oscar found out later, Qrow was furious. He had to dodge um livro e uma caneta being thrown at him.

————————————————————————-

Months later, and Ruby was doing excellently. Oscar would record things for him and sing her little songs to help her remember things.

“To say you love someone, you say ‘eu te amo. Eu te amo. Eu te amo. When I say I love you, I mean ‘eu te amo. Eu te amo,” the girl sang to herself, while firing her weapon at a target.

“Hm, seems that someone is getting a little fond of a language,” Yang grinned. “I’ve heard you say “I love you” to Oscar more than you ever have to me. I’m wounded, Rubes, truly wounded.”

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Shut up, Yang!” She fired Crescent Rose at her sister, who easily dodged it. Oscar was sparring with Jaune, and he could’ve heard what she said. She glanced over to him and said, ‘Mantenha o bom trabalho!’” (keep up the good work!).

Oscar nodded back in approval, before striking Jaune in the knee. Team JNPR’s leader fell back but returned, parrying the farmhand’s next attack. Jaune was getting much better, Ruby was proud.

She had finished her trainings and went inside to get water when she found a note that was written completely in Portuguese on her sleeping mat. She translated some of it, and got the basic idea. Oscar wanted her to meet him in the living room for a “final test. She giggled at it. Over the weeks, Oscar had started treating his teaching like real school. He probably got it from Ozpin, and he would scold Ruby teasingly if she was late to lessons. A final test seemed okay. She wasn’t so good with writing, and her pronunciation was a little bad somemtiems. But she had to admit that she couldn’t believe she had made it so far in a matter of months. She’d have to thank Oscar sometime.

———————————————————————-

Around 10 pm, Oscar sat on the sofa, waiting for Ruby. He had to admit, the first time he had offered to teach Ruby Portuguese, it was just to spend more time with her. He thought he did a pretty good job of concealing his feelings. But over time, he realized it just made him happy to see Ruby happy. She was doing something new that she started to enjoy, and he was simply glad to be a part of that.

Ruby walked in moments later, no hood and no boots and took a seat next to him. “I’m going to ace this test, by the way.”

Oscar laughed. “I sure hope so. It only has one question.”

“Aw, yes!” she exclaimed. “What is it?”

“Technically it’s not a question. But do you think you could sing the lullaby I sang to you a few months ago?”

Ruby’s eyes widened. She had only heard Oscar sing it a few times and always skipped it on the recordings because it made her want to cry.

“I don’t remember it all,” she admitted, disappointed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sing it with you.” Oscar gave a supportive smile and started to sing.

A linda rosa juvenil

juvenil, juvenil

a linda Rosa juvenil

juvenil

Ruby started to smile and started to sing along.

A linda rosa juvenil

juvenil, juvenil

a linda Rosa juvenil

juvenil

She glanced at Oscar, and grabbed his hands. “Come on, get your dance on.”

“Yang said you hated dancing,” Oscar laughed, standing up. Despite how he behaved, he was very very nervous. He realized how close he was to her, and he felt the air becoming quite warm then. Ruby shrugged. She took his hands and swung him around, as they sang the song at the top of their lungs.

Vamos fazer a roda assim,

bem assim, bem assim

vamos fazer a roda assim,

bem assim.

“Shut up!” a grumpy voice, most likely Qrow’s came from upstairs. Ruby giggled and lowered he voice, before starting it again.

“This song is about a rose, right?” she asked.

He nodded. It wasn’t a typical lullaby that told children to go sleep, but it helped him as a child.

“Hey Oscar?” Ruby murmured, after twirling him around.

“Yes?”

“Obrigado.” Her voice was warm and sincere and they continued to dance and sing—until her uncle came downstairs, yelled at the sight of the two dancing, and dragged Oscar back to their room.

#soooo this was longer than expected #i hope you enjoyed #ill try to make this shorter cause it reached 100 blocks #rosegarden #rwby #ruby rose #oscar pine #roscar #rosepine #porteguese #is this an au?#sorry for any translation errors #i shouldve done spanish cause i know a bit #i know 0 porteguese so if its wrong forgive me #yay i loved this #please request some more

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overlyobsessedgaygal · 6 years ago

Text

Absolutely Not Homeless

Words: 1,757

Fandom: tua

Characters: Klaus, Ben, Five, Vanya

Summary: After they stop the apocalypse, Klaus goes back to being homeless. But this time he has someone who cares. This is pure angst for like 50% of it so enjoy it. More cursing than usual this time, so like PG-13 it please.

Klaus is wrapped around himself, head ducked as far between his knees as he could get it, hands covering the back of his head. The hail pelted down against his skin like paintballs falling from the sky. Ben was huddling next to him, mumbling comforting words to ease his brother's pain.

The hail wasn't even the worst of it. Not if Klaus really thought about it. He didn't think about it, of course he didn't, he didn't think of the temperature being in the negatives or that he hadn't ate in more than twenty-four hours. Instead he focused on the constant sting of hail leaving dark purple splotches along his skin.

Somewhere in him he knew he should probably go ask to stay with someone for the night. They had promised to get closer now that the world was saved and they all had kept to that promise, except him. He didn't have a place there. He was a homeless, ex-addict, lunatic. He was weak and pathetic.

Klaus pulled the faux fur jacket tighter around his balled up form, leaving his head exposed to the massive ice balls falling from the sky. God, he wanted to go home. He didn't have a home but he wanted to go to one.

He could show up at Vanya, Luther or Alison's apartment. He could go to Diego's gym. He could go back to the academy with Grace, Pogo, and Five. Thunder rang out across the world, echoing off the brick walls around him and suddenly he was back in the war.

“Klaus!” Ben shouted, trying desperately to pull his brother back. Ben had been with Klaus throughout his whole afterlife and he knew that this was not his brother's first time hiding in the fetal position waiting for it to pass. This time, though, it was different because each booming thunder could be compared to a gunshot and this alleyway felt much more like a battlefield than it should.

Klaus pulled himself back together as Ben shouted for him. “I-I-I'm good,” Klaus alerted his brother. “I'm here again, not that this is much better.” Ben laughed a little to loud and a little to long to be sincere but Klaus felt good anyway.

The hail was coming down with enough velocity that Klaus could feel the welts forming on impact and there was blood leaking from where skin had been repeatedly struck and split open. Klaus wished he had stayed with Five, at the academy, in his warm, safe bed, with Grace dotting on him like he was a kid.

Honestly if he wasn't afraid to uncover his head he would go there now. No matter what disappointment he would see in his sibling's eyes at his failed life. It's not like Klaus wasn't trying, Klaus was trying harder than ever actually. For the first time in his life he had a real job, as a waiter at the new Griddy's Doughnuts. For the first time he was sober and was controlling his powers, at least enough to be sane.

He was doing so well but he was still just as stuck and pathetic as before. The job brought in an average amount of money, not enough for rent and electricity but enough for rent at least. Well it would have been enough if Klaus wasn't seven thousand dollars deep in debt. He was paying it off though, actively trying to be a benefit to society.

Look how well it was working out for him. Sitting in an alleyway, mother nature's bullets branding his skin as if it were paper. Maybe Klaus could make it to a dumpster, get in a dumpster and close it. The hail would sound even more reminiscent of a war torn field but at least it wouldn't feel like it.

Klaus wanted to look up bit he was to scared that an unfortunate piece of hail would strike his face or his eyes and he would be seriously injured. “Ben?” He asked softly. His voice wouldn't have been audible to anyone else, drowned out by the demanding rumble of thunder or the angry snack of ice striking the ground. “Is there a dumpster around here?”

There was silence for a few seconds. “Yeah, about four feet to your right,” Ben answered. Klaus felt like it took forever. Klaus took a few deep breaths. He would have to make a break for it, he couldn't sit here any longer and feel his back split open.

“Klaus!” The voice was screaming from far away. Klaus clenched his teeth, now was not the time for the ghosts to come back. “Klaus!” The concerned voice screamed out again.

“Holy shit!” Ben exclaimed. Klaus jumped at the noise and his back felt like he had tugged it open to expose a million crimson puzzle pieces. He hissed. “What is she doing here?”

“Klaus!” The voice came again. Klaus almost looked comical with his eyes widened, mouth opened, head hanging between his knees. Because he knew that voice and why the hell was she out here? Ben was certainly right about that.

“Vanya!” Klaus called and titled his head up, on hand covering his eyes. The small figure appeared at the entrance to the alleyway, a thick blanket wrapped around her like a cloak, like padding from the ice pellets raining down on her.

“Five! Five I found him!” Vanya called out, relief filling her tone. Her voice was so soft against the thunder that Klaus was tempted to ask her to sing. Maybe once she was out of this painful mess and she was somewhere warm he would ask her to. “Klaus, are you okay?”

She moved to take the blanket off and put it around him but he stopped her. “Do not take that blanket off,” Klaus tried to play the slight hiss of pain off as a commanding noise.

Suddenly he heard more footsteps and Five appeared from around the corner, he was also wrapped in a blanket that covered his head. All Klaus could think was that they were lucky bastards.

“Holy shit!” Five exclaimed, not unlike Ben. “You look awful, can't believe I have to come out here and save your ass from a storm.”

Five stuck a hand out of his blanket fortress. Vanya grabbed onto his wrist, Klaus hesitantly grabbed onto his hand. Ben let his hand hover over Klaus’ shoulder. Then there was a shifting sensation that made Klaus scream and they were back in the living room.

Grace rushed to their sides. She ignored Vanya and Five as they took the blankets off to reveal bruises among their faces and shoulders. Klaus wanted to yell at Grace to go help them, that he was fine, that he had been out through worse. Before he could say any of that Grace and Vanya were both kneeling by him and fussing about him. Five had left the room.

The only thing Klaus could focus on was that Five had left the room. His brother had used his powers to come to his aid, probably at Vanya's request, and he had sounded so annoyed when he arrived. Five was definitely mad at him, pissed probably. The little ball of murder was planning the best ways to torture him at this moment, most likely.

He clenched his teeth as Grace worked on his skin, wiping blood away from the welts before gently putting a cream on them. Vanya was running her fingers through her hair, telling them it was okay. “It's kind of cute that they care for you,” Ben said. Klaus grimaced.

“Shut the hell up Ben,” Klaus said. Vanya giggled and murmured a hi to her dead brother. Ben seemed more than happy to be acknowledged and if Klaus was feeling better he would have had to play translator for longer than his patience could handle.

Then Five came back and Klaus was expecting to be screamed at but instead Five set down a mug next to him. It was tea, a herbal tea most likely since both Klaus and Five enjoyed them. “Why were you sitting outside during a hail storm, idiot?” Five didn't sound harsh, he sounded as if he was actually, genuinely confused as to why Klaus was sitting outside.

“Where was I supposed to go?” Klaus sounded harsh. That was a change for him but he was upset at the moment. He had a right to be.

Five scowled. “If you were homeless why didn't you come stay with me you stupid boy? Do you know how lucky you are that I checked your tracker before going to sleep? How lucky that Vanya qas here to help me find you?”

Klaus did even know where to begin to process his words. So he decided to the most Klaus-like option of, “You had a tracker on me?”

Five let out a short chuckle at that. “I have one on all of you idiots, although yours was in here so it didn't help much,” Five complained holding up the wallet that was meant to be in Klaus’ pocket.

Klaus briefly remembered when the thunder started he had jumped and he swore something fell but he was to out of it to care. He is so lucky Five found his wallet, not for the tracker but for the money inside the cheap leather substitute.

“I don't know why you're freaking out, it's not like this is new. I was homeless for years remember?” Klaus decides to be blunt as he reaches for his wallet. Five snatches of away and Klaus looks up to his face to express his annoyance but he freezes.

Five looks downright terrifying. “You are staying here. In your room. Until you have your own place.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. He can practically hear Vanya's pitying look and taste Grace's permanently plastic smile from behind him. “I have my own place. Nice little place over off Amo Avenue, metal walls, real cozy. No ladder to get in but climbing is good exercise. It's got a fresh coat of diarrhea green paint to, real luxurious.” Klaus had dropped all hints of vulnerability from his tone as he described the dumpster to his siblings.

Five didn't look amused whatsoever. “Number Four, I will tie you to the fucking bed by every single limb and force you to be comfortable if you don't shut the hell up and agree with me.”

The look on Five's face said it all. And Klaus agreed, he knew better than to argue from that point on.

#kaytikittyfanfics #tua vanya #tua klaus #tua #tua fandom #tua five #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #pure angst

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calizonia · 6 years ago

Text

Diary (p.p)

this was 1,507 words god bless

requested by : @lizwritings 😍

warnings: swearing, angst???? , fluff ????

The fact that Peter Benjamin Parker had invited you, (Y/N) (L/N), over his house to study for your Spanish test on Thursday was absolutely phenomenal. But, you were flipping out.

The guy who took up a good portion of your diary, the guy who you thought would put Clark Kent to justice had invited you to his humble home. But, hey, what’s the worse that could happen? You guys would just be studying and helping each other pronounce words.

~*~*~*~*~*

You were wrong. You were so fucking wrong to the point where it could be the dumbest thought you’ve ever conjured.

“Hey, (Y/N), since we’re on the topic of movies, what’s yours?” Peter asked, looking up from his textbook to look at you, “mine is anything dealing with Star Wars.”

“O-Oh, umm, me? Well. . . I’m particularly fond of (Movie Name), but Star Wars is cool as well...” you said, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“Really? Have you watched the latest one?” He asked, the excitement in his tone causing you to let out a quiet laugh.

“Ahhh, no? I’ve only watched a few movies,” you weren’t lying exactly if it meant watching 3 movies and getting 30 minutes into it then falling asleep.

It was silent. You immediately racked your brain of what you could’ve said to make him so quiet. Looking up you seen him looking at you with a goofy smile.

“Peter?”

“(Y/N) we gotta have a movie marathon.”

That sealed the deal.

“Oh, hey! Peter! Wow, we’ve been studying for a while now how about I go down the street and get us a pizza? Yeah? Okay! See you in a few,” you’ve never walked out of a room so fast.

Peter stared after you before he checked the time on his phone. 8:37 P.M., he shrugged realizing he was a bit hungry anyway.

To be honest, he was trying to get to know you better. After a pep talk with Ned and a slap on the ass from MJ to get him to grow a pair and ask you if you wanted to come over and study and you accepting had his heart racing for the rest of the day.

And now, he was wondering if he blew it, seeing you rush out of his house knocked his confidence down a few levels, but at least he knew you were coming back because you left your backpack.

He told himself that he could be a good friend by taking out the green textbook for you since that was the one with the most facts that would help you tremendously on the test.

Grabbing your backpack he began rummaging through it, spotting the green textbook and spotting another small book that he hasn’t seen.

Setting the green book next to your seat he grabbed the little book, wondering if it was something you kept your notes in. He opened it to a random page titled September 7th, 20XX

“This is recent,” he muttered , scanning the page that had his name on it a few times.

“...this is really cliché, but is it wrong to think that Peter could be the Clark Kent to my Louis Lane? Or the Romeo to my Juliet, minus the dying parts though, because I feel like it could be. Ever since the first day, Peter caught my eye. There was something about him. . . something different. I didn’t notice it until a month ago that I realized that Peter is something equivalent to my soulmate, but it’s like a love triangle??? No a love line, like my heart belongs to Peter. . .but he’s pining over Liz who quite possibly likes him back. . .hell I wouldn’t know, wow this entry isn’t making any sending so I’m just going to leave it here. I’m gonna end the entry with what I say all the time, but in a different language, since we have a Spanish test on Thursday, which I actually need to start studying for. Te amo, Peter B. Parker.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh, wow, oh Lord.

“Peter. . .did you just read my diary?” He jumped at the sound of your voice, not even hearing you come in even though the smell of pizza was prominent. Looking up at you he nearly wished he could turn back time and made a different choice because the hurt and heartbreak in your eyes is the worst punishment he could ever receive.

You quickly walked over to him and grabbed your diary and shoving it in your backpack. You grabbed your other study materials and put them in your backpack.

“The pizza’s on the counter,” was the last thing you said before leaving. And, he just let you go.

The next day at school was absolute hell for the both of you with you trying to avoid Peter at all costs while he was trying to get your attention.

“What’d you do to her?” Ned asked during lunch as he and Peter watched you and MJ from afar, “I read her diary,” Peter sighed.

“You read her what?! Peter, I’d ask if you we’re high, but I know that’s unlikely. Dude, what were you thinking?!” Ned slapped Peter on the back of his head.

“I wasn’t, but Ned, it said ‘Te Amo, Peter B. Parker’ doesn’t ‘te amo’ mean ‘i love you’ in Spanish?” Peter asked which caused Ned to roll his eyes, “I don’t know, you take Spanish, you tell me.”

“It does! And, I always thought (Y/N) was cute, but the fact that she likes me is a different story,” Peter picked at the food on his tray with his fork. “A good or bad different type of story?” Ned asked.

Peter looked up from his tray to look at you. He took in how you looked, how your eyes shone with every type of emotion, how nice your hair looked everyday, and the laugh that he never knew he needed until now.

“It’s a great different.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

On your way home you thought about how Peter longingly looked at you after lunch every time you were in the halls or when you were in the same class.

It felt weird, not a good or bad type of weird, just a bit abnormal. The type of weird that had to make you think about what it would mean. Which is exactly what you were going to do once you reached your house.

Saying hello to your (parent(s)/caregiver(s)) you went to your room and you swore you would’ve jumped out of your skin with the sight that was in front of you.

Spider-Man.

Fucking Spider-Man was sitting on your bed. In your room.

“Oh, hey,” he said, which caused you to put as much distance between you and him. His voice was surprisingly demonic and deep.

“Shit, Karen!” He turned away from you, whispering, “I told you to disguise my voice not turn me into a demon! Just turn it off.”

He sighed before turning back to you, “Hi,” he waved at you and you weakly waved back, “w-what are you doing here? In my house, in my room...?” you questioned after closing your door.

“I came to apologize,” he said which confused you, “you’ll figure it out in a second, (Y/N),” he told you and you got an odd sense of familiarity with the way he said your name.

“I didn’t mean to read it, (Y/N), I swear I didn’t...I was just trying to help get your books out and I thought you kept your notes in that little book. So, I read it. And I know I should’ve stopped when I seen it wasn’t, but hell (Y/N) you called me the Clark Kent to your Louis Lane and I couldn’t help but read it. (Y/N), I’m so sorry and...I just wanna tell you that the feelings are reciprocated. I love you, (Y/N),” he sniffled before hanging his head down. He sounded on the verge of tears. Spider-Man was going to cry in front of you?

“Wait. . .wait. . .Peter? Peter Parker, i–is that you...?” When he didn’t respond you walked closer to him and laid your hand on his cheek, raising his face so you could look at his big, white eyes. Your hand slowly trailed to his neck, where the end of his mask was.

“Is this okay?” you asked him, he nodded, and you slowly lifted his mask up. Above his chin, over his nose and finally it was off, revealing the boy who you came to love.

“Peter...” you were speechless as you felt yourself tearing up before hugging him tightly, catching him off guard only for a moment before he wrapped his arms around you just as tight.

“Te amo, Peter,” you said into the crevice between his neck and shoulder blade. He smiled before raising your head and placing a soft kiss onto your lips before smiling against them, “te amo, (Y/N).”

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #peter parker #tom holland x reader #tony stark #avengers #avengers x reader #infinity war #peter parker x reader #but tom holland is beautiful #requested #requests #asked #ask #fanfiction #writing

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

Text

Tia Bianca (Biadore) - Dandee

AN– SO! I take like nine billion years to write anything, and this was for the June fic challenge. Lol my words were anatomy, crispy, and flawless, and well… This is what my brain generated. Anyway, hope y'all like garbage.

Summary– Adore meets her girlfriend’s aunt. Lesbian AU

“Psst.”

Adore lifted her head from the pillow and squinted around the room. She sat up and rubbed the back of her neck, giving a low groan. These beds would be the death of her.

“Good morning.”

Her beautiful girlfriend leaned in the arch of the doorway, arms folded across her chest. With auburn waves framed perfectly around her already flawlessly painted face, she wore a light pink cardigan with a modest cami underneath, and a lavender pencil skirt to match. Her nude heels clicked against the oak floor as she crossed to the bed with a smile.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Adore croaked with a sleepy grin, her morning voice still getting the best of her. She tilted her head to meet Valentina’s lips for a brief kiss.

The younger girl smiled as she pulled away and sat on the bed, brushing her thumb against Adore’s cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah– yeah, I did,” Adore lied, blinking slowly to let her eyes adjust. “How long have you been up?”

“Oh, I guess a couple of hours,” Valentina shrugged innocently. “I’ve been in prayer.”

“Oh,” Adore nodded and shifted her eyes to the clock. Seven AM.

This bitch was crazy.

“I was thinking,” Valentina said as she batted her long lashes and laced her fingers together. “There’s this cute little chapel in town, and they have an 8am mass today. Maybe if you hurry, we could make it before I have to be at the beach house-”

“Oh, God– gosh, baby,” Adore stammered, quickly correcting herself for her girlfriend’s aghast expression at taking the Lord’s name in vain. She took Valentina’s hands and tried to give her most genuine face for this hour of the morning.

“I, uh, I really don’t think– I don’t think I have anything to wear.” At Valentina’s narrowed eyes, she continued hastily. “And I have this awful migraine, my vision’s actually really blurry. I, umm, I think maybe I should just lay down for a while?”

Valentina’s expression softened, her eyebrows furrowing with concern. “Oh no… Pobrecita,” she tutted and placed the back of her hand against Adore’s forehead, then felt her cheeks. “You do feel a little warm. My poor baby.”

Adore nodded as pathetically as she could. Valentina sighed.

“Well, you should stay and rest then. I don’t want you sick for Paolina’s wedding. Or maybe– maybe I should stay here, just until you feel better–”

“No! No, that’s, uh– that’s okay babe, you go ahead,” Adore said and patted her hand with a nod. “You’re the maid of honor, you should be with your sister. I’ll be fine here. Go, have fun.”

She nodded and sighed. “Okay. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything?”

Adore lazily held out a pinky. “Promise.”

Valentina giggled and looped her pinky through Adore’s, then leaned forward to steal another kiss, this time lingering a bit. After a moment she pulled back and cupped Adore’s cheek, gazing down at her warmly. “Te amo.”

Adore grinned before Valentina rose from the bed. Once she had left the room and shut the door, Adore collapsed back into the pillows with a heavy sigh.

*****

Hours later, Adore slowly opened her eyes. She gazed past the flowing white curtains to the place where blue waves crashed onto the white sand. Seagulls cawed in the distance as she lay there, bundled up in the thin white sheets, her raven hair cascaded over the pillows. She blinked slowly, and sniffed– was that bacon?

Wrapping the sheet around her, she rolled out of bed and shuffled her way out of the room. A light hum came from the kitchen, and a very thin layer of smoke covered the top of the hall. It thickened as she grew closer, and she stopped in the doorway to poke her head around the corner.

A woman with dark hair in a tall updo was swaying in front of the stove, humming a soft tune as she worked a spatula, banging it occasionally on the side of the pan. She was wrapped in an animal print robe that tied tightly around her waist, and her gold earrings sparkled in the sunlight that poured into the room. She bounced her hip to the erratic beat in her head as she floated from the stove to the cabinet.

Adore inched her way from the doorway and stepped into the room, but hung on the frame hesitantly, eyeing the woman with suspicion.

The woman, who had grabbed a couple of plates and forks from the cupboard, paused when she turned around and caught Adore’s eye. After a brief moment, she set the plates down on the bar.

“Well, look who’s up.”

Adore pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders and shrugged, slightly unsure of how revealing her wife-beater and boy shorts were.

The woman turned back to the stove, waving the spatula with emphasis as she spoke. “I hope you like your bacon crispy. This shit’s burnt.”

Adore walked toward the bar and pulled out a chair, sinking into it slowly.

“I uh, I don’t eat bacon.”

The woman stopped and whirled around to look at her. “You don’t?” At the shake of Adore’s head, the woman pursed her lips and placed a hand on her hip. “Well fuck, neither do I. Do you eat eggs?”

“No.” Adore laughed through her nose and shook her head once more. “I’m veggie.”

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered, tossing the spatula into the sink. “Would have been nice of your girlfriend to tell me that.”

“Yeah,” Adore yawned and rubbed her eyes with the sheet. “Val’s not always totally detailed.”

“No shit,” she nodded and sighed. “Well, do you at least drink coffee?”

“God, please.”

The woman turned and reached into the cabinet to grab a mug, and Adore watched her– her movements were all very fluid, very graceful, and her silky robe clung to her body in all the right places. She poured the hot liquid into the mug and set it in front of Adore, then grabbed her own and leaned on the other side of the bar.

Adore picked it up and took a sip, closing her eyes and relishing in the warmth it brought to her chest. She normally would have taken cream but she was too lazy to move, and she wasn’t about to ask this intimidating woman for anything else, not after she’d taken the trouble to make a breakfast that neither of them would eat. She opened her eyes to see the woman holding a bottle of Don Julio over her mug, and she nearly choked with laughter.

The woman cut eyes at Adore. “Something funny?”

Adore coughed a bit and shook her head. “No…no, nothing.”

The woman tilted her head and smirked. “What, you want some?”

“I mean–,” Adore blinked at her for a moment, then pushed her mug toward her with a sheepish grin. “Sure. I’m down.”

The woman raised a brow as she leaned over the bar, pouring a generous amount of tequila into the mug. She scooted it back toward Adore and raised her own in the air, inclining that Adore do the same.

Adore lifted her mug and nodded to the woman, taking another sip.

Adore gave a hard exhale against the biting tequila. After another few seconds of regarding Bianca with narrowed eyes, she brought the mug to her chest and leaned back into her chair.

“Okay. I’m not trying to be rude, but like, who the fuck are you?”

The woman snickered and leaned to rest her hip against the counter, her brows raising at the boldness of the younger girl. “I’m Bianca,” she said, swirling her mug idly. “Valentina’s aunt. She asked me to keep an eye on you. Said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Wait, Bianca?” Adore asked, a grin spreading across her lips. “Like, Tia Bianca?”

“That’s me,” Bianca shrugged, then eyed the her skeptically. “And you’re sick, huh?”

“Oh– yeah, I mean,” Adore stammered, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. “Val may have exaggerated a little.”

“Or you may have exaggerated a little.”

Adore glanced up to meet Bianca’s knowing smile, and she rolled her eyes as she took another sip of coffee.

Bianca leaned her elbows on the counter. “Let me guess,” she goaded, her eyes full of amusement. “She wanted to pray the rosary?”

“Worse,” Adore shook her head, “she wanted to go to church.”

“Mm.” Bianca nodded and pushed herself from the counter, drinking the last of her coffee and setting it in the sink. “Well, I’m glad you’re not sick,” she said as she rinsed her mug. “That means I don’t have to take care of you. I’m not very good at that.”

Adore watched as the older woman reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine, then took a glass off of the rack. Giving Adore a brief smile and a wink, Bianca swiftly grabbed her sunglasses and hat off of the counter, slipping out of the sliding glass door and heading toward the beach.

****

After a shower, Adore felt much more like herself. It had been exhausting, coming here with Valentina. Destination wedding or not, being in Mexico was one thing– being in Mexico with her perfect, overbearing girlfriend was another.

She sighed as she flipped open her suitcase, her eyes roaming over her colorful bathing suits. Normally she wouldn’t even try and match her top to her bottom, but she felt differently under the judgement of her girlfriend’s aunt. Her girlfriend’s notoriously wealthy aunt from New Orleans, her voluptuous, sexy, much older aunt… Adore shook her head. She felt crazy. Valentina was on this celibacy kick, and had insisted that they completely stop having sex ‘until they were married’, and well… it was starting to take it’s toll. Everyone was starting to look good.

She slipped into a pink two-piece, grabbed a towel, and headed out the French doors of the bedroom. Spotting Bianca’s over-sized sun hat the minute she stepped outside, Adore made her way to the lounge chairs by the shore.

“Cool if I join you?” she called as she neared the chairs.

The older woman turned to look at her briefly before waving her hand absentmindedly and turning her attention back to the water.

“It’s a public beach. Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Adore took the passiveness as a yes and tossed her towel onto the lounge chair next to her. “Thanks.”

She stood there for a moment and looked to the water, a hand on her hip and the other to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun. Dark clouds approached in the distance.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain.”

“Yeah,” Bianca slid a leg up against the other, propping her knee up against the armrest. “It might.”

Adore’s gaze shifted to those long, slender legs. They were smooth and toned, and the sunlight beamed against their darkened tint. In fact, Adore was impressed with her body as a whole– she knew Bianca had some work done, but age be damned, the woman was hot. She wore a nude two piece that left little to the imagination, and Adore couldn’t help it when her eyes began to roam over her physique, the swell of her perfect breasts and the dip in her waist making it feel like the sun was beaming more fiercely against Adore’s skin–

“Keep staring. I might do a trick.”

“What?” Adore snapped from her trance. “Oh– sorry,” she shook her head and blushed as she crawled into the lounge chair. “You just, uh, you look really good for your age.”

Bianca propped herself up on her elbows and turned to Adore, taking her sunglasses off and shooting her a look.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What?”

“For my age?” Bianca repeated and leaned over the armrest with narrowed eyes. “Jesus, you sure know how to compliment someone.”

“I said you looked good!” Adore exclaimed.

“Yeah, and old,” Bianca said, pursing her lips and leaning back in her chair.

Adore sighed and grabbed her towel, placing it behind her head. “That’s not what I–”

“I can see why you’re with my niece,” Bianca continued, putting her sunglasses back on. “You’re as much of a dumbass as she is.”

Adore wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow. She blinked for a moment, than sat up again. “You know, you don’t have to stay here and babysit me, okay? I’m not sick. You can just leave.”

“I’m not here for you,” Bianca said coolly, adjusting her shoulders to relax into the backrest. “I’m here for the view. The condo I’m in has a marvelous view of the parking lot. Yours has a beach.”

Adore rolled her eyes and sank back into her chair.

“Here,” Bianca gestured toward the bottle of Chardonnay on the table between them. “Help yourself.”

Adore sighed and looked at the bottle. This weekend had turned into a nightmare. Valentina was being absolutely extra about this wedding, her baby sister’s wedding, where everything had to be absolutely fucking perfect, no mistakes, no buts. Kind of like Valentina.

She grabbed the bottle and took a large swig.

“Uhh–” Bianca cocked her head and held a palm in front of her. “You could use a glass.”

“Fuck off,” Adore said with an exhale, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I bought this.”

“I don’t care, that doesn’t mean you have to be a hooligan.”

Adore grinned at the older woman’s choice of word. “There’s more in the fridge, if you’re scared of my cooties.”

Bianca sighed and pushed herself from the lounge chair, snatching her silky robe as she stood. “Thank fucking God,” she said as she slipped her arms through, tying the robe around her waist and placing a hand on her hip. “I’m gonna need a lot more if you’re gonna sit there.”

*****

Three hours later found them on bottle number three, with both their asses in the sand, sitting just where the tide was lapping onto their feet. While drunk may have been a strong word, tipsy would have been an extreme understatement.

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Adore said between giggles, waving her hands in front of her. “The sluttiest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Oh, come on-”

“No, no! You said anything!”

“Okay, alright, okay– let me think…” Bianca trailed off, squinting her eyes as she stared into the sun.

Bianca had ditched her sunglasses hours ago, claiming they’d leave a ‘fucked up tan line’ on her face. Adore was sort of captivated– the way the sun illuminated Bianca’s irises fascinated her. They went from a sort of almond brown to this light, honeyed color when they were angled toward the light, almost like a cat.

“I guess it was when I was younger,” Bianca said slowly, nodding her head as she gazed in thought. “I guess it was right after my first marriage.”

Adore tore her eyes away from Bianca’s and took a swig from the bottle, then passed it to her. Bianca took it absentmindedly, lost in her resurfacing memory. “Okay, yeah. It was right after Gerald and I had split. I was really lonely, and I hadn’t had sex in months. Well one night, I’m takin’ my dog out to pee, and there’s this guy, just sitting on a bench outside.”

Bianca’s hand flapped as she talked. “He wasn’t– he wasn’t a particularly handsome guy, but he was just sitting there, smokin’ a blunt, which I thought was pretty bold, so I– well, I just went and I sat next to him. And we start talkin’, you know, and he pet my dog, and I smoked a little bit with him, and he just– you know, he just seemed like a nice guy–”

“So you fucked him.”

“–right. So I fucked him.”

Adore erupted with laughter, slapping the wet sand beside her, and Bianca threw her head back and cackled with her. “I did! I brought him back to my apartment and I fucked that man somethin’ fierce. I mean I rode his face like a fuckin’ bike. And you know, it was actually really good.”

“Really?” Adore tilted her head and grinned.

“Oh yeah,” Bianca said with raised eyebrows and a smirk. “One of the best I’ve ever had, I would say.”

“That’s awesome.”

“It was,” Bianca nodded. “And there’s a certain kind of freedom in that, I think, to fuck a complete stranger. It was very– it was very empowering, I felt very sexy. I felt like Samantha, I was feeling my Sex and the City fantasy.”

“You are sexy,” Adore said before thinking, and Bianca turned to look at her.

Adore swallowed hard and shrugged. “Well, you are. You should feel that way– all women should feel that way.”

Bianca scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes at the younger girl, but she couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto her face.

“Says the girl who’s dating the pope.”

“Yeah,” Adore laughed again, her eyes drifting to the sand. “I know.”

A silence fell between them as Adore looked at the sand, grabbing a fistful and crumbling it in her hand. After a moment, Bianca cleared her throat and nudged Adore’s arm with her wrist. “What about you, huh? I know you’ve got some crazy stories.”

Adore gave a short breath of a laugh, glancing up to meet Bianca’s gaze. “I mean, not really. I don’t really fuck anymore.”

“Yeah, but you probably fucked a ton of people before Valentina, huh?” Bianca goaded her, continuing to nudge her arm. “She likes that kinda shit, she likes taking people and ‘saving’ them. It’s kinda her kink.”

Adore’s jaw went slack as she narrowed her eyes.

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“Yes,” Bianca answered very matter-of-factly.

“The fuck?” Adore chuckled, eyes widened and mouth agape. “You don’t know me like that!”

“I don’t have to know you like that,” Bianca shook her head and pursed her lips. “I know a hoe when I see one.”

“So I look like a slut?”

“Yeah. You do.” The corners of her mouth turned upward as her eyes wandered down the younger girl’s body. “You look like I could just throw you around.”

Adore’s eyes locked with the older woman’s and a moment passed between them. Her breath hitched in her throat, heat suddenly pooling deep in her belly. Was she– no, she couldn’t be.

Bianca grinned smugly.

“What’s a girl like you doin with my niece anyway?” she asked, leaning back on her hands while she rolled her heels in the wet sand.

Adore sighed and glanced back to the water, picking at the sand between her knees.

“I don’t really know,” she said quietly. “It’s complicated.”

“It always is,” Bianca chuckled.

“I mean, it wasn’t always like this,” Adore continued, her eyes drifting across the skyline. “When I first met Val, she was super chill. We did everything together, she was always down for whatever.”

“Mm,” Bianca hummed, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a few gulps. She nodded, then thumbed the corner of her of her mouth as she passed the bottle back to the younger girl.

“But then it was like,” Adore narrowed her eyes in thought as she took the bottle, “I don’t know. She went on this Christian retreat, and she came back fuckin’ bible-thumper crazy. She didn’t wanna go out anymore, she didn’t want to do anything. It was all about church and God and shit– which is cool, I mean, whatever, but I just… I don’t know. I miss sex.” Adore chuckled and took another long swig from the bottle.

She glanced up to find Bianca looking at her, a softer expression on her face than she’d seen all day. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just being here, on a beach in Cancun, that made Adore feel so different. She felt vulnerable, but at the same time she felt comfortable. Too comfortable, maybe.

“I miss being touched,” she admitted just barely above a whisper, and Bianca’s eyes didn’t waver. She gazed back at her with an intensity that made Adore’s chest rise and fall heavily.

A raindrop hit Adore’s nose.

Bianca’s brows furrowed suddenly, and she blinked a few times– she’d been hit too.

Adore felt a few more drops on her skin, and she held out a palm, glancing around at the ground.

“Is it–”

“I think so,” Bianca nodded, squinting against the rain as she glanced up to the sky, and it came down faster. Lightning flashed over the skyline.

“Shit,” Adore muttered.

“Relax.” Bianca smiled and tilted her head back, closing her eyes and letting the rain fall on her face. “It’ll stop soon.”

“How do you know?” Adore frowned and held a flat palm over her eyes.

“Because I know,” the older woman said with a smirk. “It always rains in Cancun.”

The rain fell harder and louder, and Adore looked at the completely soaked sand around them. She jumped at a crack of thunder that echoed across the beach.

“It’s a fucking monsoon,” Adore called over the rain, slicking her hair back.

“It’s not that bad!” Bianca laughed as she blinked away the wetness on her lashes, sputtering lightly against the drops that trailed to her lips.

“It’s fucking pouring, fuck this!” Adore shook her head and grabbed the bottle, propping herself up to climb to her feet.

Before she could get her feet from under her, Bianca tugged on Adore’s bottoms. She fell back down onto the sand, eliciting a cackle from the older woman.

“Don’t be such a pussy!” Bianca teased.

Adore smacked her arm lightly. “Fuck off!”

“Live a little. It’s just rain!” Bianca said, and her legs slid against each other as she leaned toward the younger girl, a lazy smile gracing her features. “You’re not gonna melt!”

Adore wrinkled her nose and tilted her head. “What if we get struck by lightning?”

The older woman let out another raspy cackle and shook her head. “What?”

“That’s a thing, right?” Adore laughed with her, nodding her head. “Don’t they say, that like, if it’s raining, you don’t wanna be the tallest thing on the beach?”

Bianca just cackled again.

“I’m serious!” Adore defended, straightening her shoulders and leaning toward the older woman. “That’s what they say, if you’re the tallest thing around–”

“You always do what they tell you?” Bianca asked with a raised brow. Adore stopped mid-sentence at the bluntness of her words, and she stared at her, stared into her smug-looking face. Somewhere along the line, Adore’s gaze drifted from Bianca’s amber eyes to her soft, pouty lips.

Blame it on Cancun.

It was so quick that Adore didn’t know where the kiss began and the moment prior ended. All she knew was that her lips were on Bianca’s, full and plump, and the older woman’s soft intake of breath was all she could hear over the sound of the rain hitting the sand.

Adore pulled away suddenly. Bianca stared back at her, heavy-lidded.

“Oh God,” Adore whispered, her lips still inches from the older woman’s. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

Bianca’s hand slid along Adore’s jaw and into her hair, and she pulled Adore back to her, crashing her lips against hers.

Bianca’s mouth claimed Adore’s hungrily, her tongue sliding against the younger girl’s lips until she parted them, and a soft moan escaped Bianca as she deepened the kiss. Adore’s hands found the back of Bianca’s neck, and she pulled her closer as she rose up on her knees. Bianca matched her stance and came up with her, pushing her weight against Adore and sliding a knee between her thighs.

Adore groaned and moved herself along Bianca’s thigh, and in a moment she was on her back, pressed against the wet sand, the older woman hovering over her, running a hand up Adore’s side and cupping a breast. Adore’s hips bucked against her knee, and she gasped when Bianca broke the kiss to scrape her teeth along her jaw, kissing her way down Adore’s neck and moving her hands lower. They trailed lightly down her stomach, then lower, her fingertips dipping into the band of Adore’s bikini bottoms.

Adore’s eyes snapped open at the sound of “Como la Flor” coming from one of the lounge chairs.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I forgot about the phones.”

Bianca pulled back immediately, snapping out of her trance and looking to the chairs.

“Fuck, me too.”

Adore climbed to her feet and ran to the chairs, snatching her phone and wiping the wet screen. She let out a huff of a shaky breath before she answered.

“Hey babe,” she said, her voice a little too high-pitched.

“Hi baby,” Valentina purred from the other end. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh– good, I’m good,” Adore stammered, jamming the phone between her ear and her shoulder to pick up Bianca’s completely soaked phone from the other chair, wiping it aimlessly with her wet hands.

“Are you– are you outside right now?”

“Yeah, I am. I, uh, I left my phone outside.” She held the ruined phone out to Bianca, who rolled her eyes when she took it. Bianca stood for a moment, looking at Adore with an expression that was hard to place.

“Oh okay. Well it was in the case I bought you, right?” Valentina asked.

“Yeah, yeah it was. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Bianca chuckled as she reached for her drenched robe.

“Well I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Valentina said. “My Tia’s been taking good care of you?”

Fuck.

Adore peeled her eyes away from Bianca and cast her gaze downward, a wave of guilt washing over her. “Yeah, she has.” She felt Bianca’s eyes on her, and her cheeks flushed. “It’s been great.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see the older woman shaking her head before making her way toward the condo. Adore’s eyes closed tightly and she inhaled deeply.

“Listen Val, my phone’s about to die, can I call you later?” It wasn’t a complete lie, her phone was at twenty percent.

“That’s fine,” Valentina said cheerfully. “The girls wanna watch a movie anyway. I just wanted to call and check on my Pobrecita.”

Adore winced at the baby-voice.

“I’ll call you before I go to bed, okay?”

“Okay. And listen, make sure to set your hair tonight,” Valentina said. “I know how long it takes you, and you can not be late tomorrow morning–”

“I know, I know. I’m not gonna be late,” Adore said with an eyeroll, grabbing one of the empty bottles of wine and making her way to the door.

“And remember the pink dress we talked about? Make sure you iron it, you know it’s a problem fabric and I don’t want you to end up wearing that red dress–”

“Babe. I got it,” Adore said a little more firmly this time. “It’s gonna be fine, just chill.”

“Well I’m just saying,” Valentina said, her defensively snappish tone becoming all too familiar. “You don’t have to raise your voice.”

“I’m not– okay. Alright. I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Call me before you go to bed.”

“I will.”

“And give my Tia a kiss for me.”

Jesus Fuck Me Christ.

Adore could hear the beginning of “love you” right as she ended the call.

She’d hear about that one later.

She let out a breath as she leaned on the door to the kitchen, finally out of the rain. She looked back to the gray skyline and ran a hand through her hair. What the fuck had just happened?

She shook her head and slid the glass door open, stepping into the now freezing kitchen.

“Bianca?” she called.

No answer came.

Adore sighed when she glanced to the older woman’s phone on the counter. She picked it up and tried to power it on, but the screen stayed black. She pursed her lips and set it down, feeling a pang of… guilt? She felt bad. She’d probably really fucked this lady’s day up.

She turned to open the pantry and thanked the gay gods when she spotted a lone box of rice on the top shelf. She grabbed it and poured it into a large mixing bowl, then took the phone and submerged it in the rice. As she set the bowl on the counter, Adore heard the sound of the shower running upstairs.

She sighed in defeat, making her way to the master bathroom. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who needed a cold shower.

*****

The lights would go out right as Adore was stepping out of the shower.

Adore had a fabulous time feeling her way around the bathroom and blindly trying to find her towel, managing to trip over a bath mat and slam her elbow on the counter on her way to the door. The hallways were a little better- unlike the bathroom, there were large windows that allowed what was left of the daylight to creep in and guide the way back to her suitcase. Throwing on a pair of pink shorts and a grey-ish tank, she eventually made her way back down the stairs.

She could hear the sink running in the kitchen.

Adore sighed and closed her eyes, leaning in the doorway. What the fuck was she thinking? This was Valentina’s aunt, for fuck’s sake. Her favorite aunt. Her Tia Bianca, the infamous, crazy aunt that Valentina had talked about nonstop since they’d first got together. And what, she thought she was just gonna casually fuck her, on a family trip in Mexico?

She poked her head around the corner to find the older woman scrubbing a pan mercilessly, the room illuminated by a Virgin of Guadalupe candle that sat in the windowsill. Adore hung on the frame for a few seconds, then swallowed hard and stepped into the room.

“Hey.”

Bianca stopped her scrubbing, her shoulders visibly tensing at the sound of Adore’s arrival.

“I, uh,” Adore stammered, blinking rapidly as she stepped toward the bar. “I just– well, the power’s out.”

Bianca turned her head slightly, just enough that Adore could see her disdainful expression.

“No shit.”

Adore pressed her lips together. Okay. Fair enough.

“I was just, uh, gonna look for a candle,” she mumbled nervously.

Bianca sighed. Dropping the sponge in the sink, she reached to grab the candle that burned in the window.

“Take this one,” she said quietly, turning to set it on the bar behind her. Without meeting Adore’s eye, she turned back to the sink.

Okay. Cold shoulder.

“Thanks,” Adore said, reaching across to take the candle. She paused for a moment, leaning on the bar, her hands delicately wrapped around the warm jar. Bianca resumed her scrubbing, and Adore smirked at the familiarity of it– Valentina did the same thing, cleaned when she was pissed. The resemblance was uncanny.

“I, uh… I put your phone in some rice,” Adore said eventually, glancing toward the giant bowl on the counter. “It should really help, I’ve dropped my phone in water a bunch of times and–”

“I’m ordering a new one,” Bianca said dismissively.

Adore faltered a bit. “Oh, okay.”

She glanced down to the flame between her hands. The lump in her throat felt bigger the more she thought about it, of the anatomy of the problem, of just breaking the tension and just fucking saying it– that wasn’t Adore’s thing, that wasn’t really her style, but this– this was different. This was fucked up, and it needed to be resolved. If they didn’t resolve it now, at least kinda talk about it, it would be this weird thing that hung in the air from here on out, every time they saw each other. At family events, or birthdays, or weddings or funerals, they’d both be there and they’d be thinking about it but never they’d never say anything, and Valentina would be there and Adore would feel guilty–

“Listen, Bianca.”

Bianca paused mid-scrub and lifted her head.

Adore gave a heavy sigh. “I’m– I’m really sorry. About earlier.”

Bianca set the sponge on the counter and leaned against the sink. When no reply came, Adore bit her lip before she continued.

“I just– I just feel bad. It was totally inappropriate, I wasn’t thinking.”

Bianca remained silent, all but for a low chuckle.

Adore’s heart sank. She grimaced and shook her head, running a hand along the back of her neck. “It just happened, I– I don’t know, I mean, we’ve been drinking, and– and it’s been really hard for me lately, and I mean, come on, we’re in fucking Cancun–”

Bianca turned to meet her gaze.

“And I– I know that we don’t know each other that well, or like, at all, but, you know, I’m not like that,” Adore continued on, caught up in her guilt. “That’s not me, I would never wanna come between you and-”

Adore’s words were lost as she watched Bianca’s silky robe come undone, falling to either side of her breasts.

Oh. Okay.

Bianca stood there, hands on her hips, completely nude, and Adore couldn’t look away.

“You were saying?” she asked, her darkened eyes boring into Adore’s.

What was it, that they said about Mexico? No, that was Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Close enough.

It couldn’t be helped. The woman was a goddess and Adore was only human. She couldn’t stop it, the spell Bianca seemed to have her under. She couldn’t stop the way her body gravitated toward her.

And they were kissing again, kissing with a fire and intensity that Adore had forgotten how to feel. Bianca was smooth and firm under her touch, and Adore wanted more, wanted to feel more of her body, wanted to glide her hands across every inch of her skin. She ran her hands up the woman’s sides and came to rest at her breasts, gripping them gently, rubbing her palms over her nipples as she squeezed.

Bianca’s fingers tangled into Adore’s hair and she pulled her closer, as close as they could be, and Adore moaned softly into her mouth. She parted the older woman’s legs with a knee a moved her hands lower, trailing from Bianca’s breasts back down her sides, around her hips and down her backside. Adore hoisted her up in one swift movement, Bianca’s ass coming to rest on the sink and her hands flying behind her for support. A plate fell and shattered against the tile, and neither of them cared.

A satisfied smirk graced Adore’s lips at the desperate noises that came from Bianca when she began to move her lips down the woman’s chest. She wanted to know, had to know what the woman tasted like. The smell of her skin was intoxicating, honey and vanilla, and the softness and suppleness of her skin had Adore wanting to sink her teeth in. Her mouth grazed across Bianca’s stomach and Adore fell to her knees, placing a soft kiss at her hipbone as she pushed her thighs apart.

A soft breath came from the woman when Adore nipped the flesh of her inner thigh. She nipped again at the other thigh, then back to the first, and continued, working her way in. She glanced up to find Bianca gazing down at her, the rise and fall of her chest visibly heavy, and Adore kissed her way further in, placing delicate pecks on the very edge of her folds. Adore could see what she was doing to her, could see the wetness glistening around her entrance.

Holding her gaze, Adore flattened her tongue and took one long, slow lick.

The sounds that spilled from this woman’s lips were angelic, musical to Adore’s ears. She worked her tongue, slow and ravaging, not wanting to miss any part of her, not letting a single drop go to waste. She could feel Bianca’s hands run through her hair as she buried her tongue inside of her, as deep as she could go. She felt her own pussy throbbing as she sucked hard at the bud above Bianca’s entrance.

“Oh my God,” Bianca panted, her legs spreading wider.

Adore hummed her response, causing the woman to press herself further onto her face. She moved her head from side to side as she went deeper, eating Bianca with abandon, and she added a finger, slipping it into her entrance with ease and curling it forward. Bianca threw her leg over Adore’s shoulder when she pressed on her g-spot, adding enough pressure to elicit a soft whine from the older woman.

“Wait– wait,” Bianca breathed, tugging on Adore’s hair. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.”

Adore pulled away slowly, raising a brow as she gazed up at her.

“Isn’t that the point?”

Bianca chuckled, her eyes heavy with lust. She tugged on Adore’s arms, and Adore obliged, sliding up her body and throwing her arms around Bianca’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Bianca nodded, a smile playing across her lips as Adore leaned in. Before Adore could recapture her lips, Bianca turned her head to whisper in her ear.

“But I always cum last.”

With a dark gaze, Bianca hopped off the sink and grabbed Adore’s wrist, leading them to the bedroom.

***

Adore gazed past the flowing white curtains, to the place where blue waves crashed onto the white sand. Seagulls cawed in the distance as they flew over the bright pink sky, and occasional raindrops tapped against the glass of the French doors. She lay naked, tangled loosely in the thin white sheets, looking to the skyline with lazy eyes.

A pair of lips pressed softly to her shoulder, and a smile crept across her features.

“It stopped raining,” Adore said quietly. Bianca hummed a response, continuing to kiss along her shoulder to the back of her neck.

“I told you it would,” Bianca murmured eventually, her voice raspy. She slipped an arm around Adore’s waist and pulled her closer.

Adore sighed contentedly and leaned into her touch.

There wasn’t much to say.

Not that she wanted to, anyway. The morning would come, and they’d go back to their lives. They’d go to the wedding, Adore would go back to Valentina, and Bianca would go back to New Orleans. And that would be that.

But as Bianca’s hand slowly trailed down to the curve of her ass, Adore lifted her leg, welcoming her fingers with a soft groan.

If anything, they still had the rest of the night.

#dandee #biadore #smut #tia bianca #bianca del rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #lesbian au #valentina

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missdandee · 7 years ago

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Tia Bianca

#Bianca Del Rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #lesbianau #cisgirl au #biadore #Smut #tw alcohol #valentina #dandee #tia bianca

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im-still-writing-out-of-time · 8 years ago

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It’s My Job- Lin x Reader

I’m not putting any warnings, because if period talk bothers you, you need to be educated on the female body.

Masterlist

You were laying on the bed cramping when the bedroom door opened. Your husband of six years rushed into the room, barely looking up until he saw you still in bed.

“Morning, (Y/N). You feeling okay?” His hair fell against his shoulders, slightly wavy from where his hair band had been the night before. Stubble adorned his cheeks, and the ever-present bags under his eyes were a light purple. He stripped off the t-shirt he wore to bed and tossed it in the hamper before crawling over the bed to you.

“Yeah, just having some major cramps. I’ll be okay,” you said before wincing slightly. “I should get out of bed anyway.”

You went to sit up but he gently pressed you against the bed. “Stay here for a minute, I’ll be right back.” He pecked your lips before disappearing into the bathroom. You sat in the bed as you heard him bustle around the bathroom, starting the water in the bath. The cupboard doors began opening and closing and before you knew it, he was next to the bed, a couple of pills in one hand, a small cup of water in the other. “I got you some Midol. Here.” He disappeared back in the bathroom and the room became quiet.

“Lin?” you questioned.

His head popped out of the bathroom. “Just give me one more minute, princesa.” He disappeared back in the bathroom and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Alright,” he said, still behind the door. He appeared in front of you, holding his hands out. “Come, my beautiful (Y/N). I drew you a warm bubble bath.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you to a stand. You loved the feeling of his calloused hands surrounding yours. It brought you a comfort you couldn’t describe.

He pulled you to a stand and the blankets fell off your legs, revealing a bloody stain on the light-colored sheets. You blushed and looked at the floor, knowing your pajamas looked the same way. He dropped one of your hands and lifted your chin to look at him. “I’m sorry Lin,” you whispered. “I’ll clean that up. Just give me a minute.”

He brushed his lips against yours. “Nonsense, princesa. Come, get in that tub and soak yourself. I’ll start the laundry.” He led you to the tub and pulled your pajama top off over your head, rolling it into a ball in his hands. He stood there, waiting for you to take off your pajama bottoms when your cheeks flushed red.

“Can you turn around for a second?” He turned around and you stripped off your pants and underwear, wrapping the soiled pad in toilet paper, tossing it in the garbage. You blushed as you handed him your clothes. “You can turn around now,” you murmured, your voice barely higher than a whisper.

Lin turned to you and shuffled your clothes under one arm, grabbing your hand and helping you into the tub. “You sit here and enjoy yourself and I’ll go start the laundry and be right back.” He disappeared into the bedroom and you could hear him stripping the sheets off the bed. How much more disgusting could you get?

You sank beneath the bubbles, your head bobbing just above the water line. Lin had chosen your tub when you two had renovated the bathroom and you were more than happy with his choice. Your entire body fit under the water from toes to shoulders and it was as amazing as you hoped it would be. You were almost enjoying yourself, had it not been for the ache in your abdomen. You couldn’t believe you had made a mess like that, and in your bed nonetheless. That feeling of embarrassment engulfed you and you were ashamed that your husband was cleaning up your mess.

Just as you thought about him, his head poked around the corner. “Where’s the fabric cleaner?”

Your eyes dropped to the bubbles that stuck to your skin. “Under the sink.”

He walked in the bathroom and began rooting under the sink until he pulled out the bottle. He set it on the counter and stepped to you, sitting on the side of the tub. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, mi princesa. It’s not like you meant for it to happen, and I don’t mind cleaning up after you once in a while. Goodness knows you clean up after me enough.” He smiled before pressing his lips to your forehead. “I love you princesa. You never have to feel embarrassed around me, especially about something as natural as this.”

He stood and grabbed the bottle from the counter, disappearing into the bedroom. You smiled at his kind words. He said there was no need to be embarrassed, but you knew the embarrassment wouldn’t leave. The bedroom became quiet and you frowned. Where did he go?

Five minutes later, he was knocking around things in your room and you couldn’t help but smile at his clumsy awkwardness. He walked in and set a skateboard across the tub in front of you before hopping back out again. Seconds later, he sauntered in with a tray of French toast and orange juice. “My queen,” he said, bowing and playing the tray on the skateboard.

“Thank you, Lin,” you smiled. “Come. Climb in with me.”

“No, (Y/N), it’s your bath. Scoot forward.” You did as you were told and he wet your hair, massaging your scalp. He grabbed the shampoo and continued working with your hair, bringing the shampoo to a lather. “Lean your head back, baby.” He grabbed the shower head and washed the shampoo into the already-soapy water. “How’s the food?”

You threw your head back to give him a closed-mouth smiled, your cheeks full of French toast. “It’s good,” you said, swallowing. “Maybe you should cook more often.”

He smiled at you before grabbing the conditioner and worked it into your hair. “But then it wouldn’t be as special.”

You smiled and leaned back as his hands left your hair. You grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his face, shaping them into a bushy beard. “It’s a cute look,” you giggled.

He turned and looked at himself in the mirror. “You think so? I could make it work.” He leaned in close to you and wiped his cheek against yours. You squealed as the bubbles clumped onto your face, leaving his cheek clear. He grabbed more suds from his face and poked your nose, leaving the bubbles in his wake. You laughed and scrunched up your nose and he took the empty tray and the skateboard off the tub and pushed it all into the bedroom. “Come on (Y/N), let’s get you rinsed off. How are you feeling? The cramps any better?”

“A little,” you said, pulling the drain plug and standing up. Lin placed the shower head back in its bracket and turned on the water so you can rinse your hair.

He runs out of the room, sliding in his socks across the bathroom floor. “I’ll be back!” He cried. “Stay right there!” You laughed at the padding of his feet running down the hallway, the slamming of a door, and the padding of his feet back into the bathroom. A towel was in his hands and another slung over his shoulders. “This one-” he said, tossing one on the counter. “-is for your hair. And this one-” he held out the one in his hands. “Is for your body. I put it in the dryer for a little bit so it’s nice and warm for you.”

You smiled and turned off the water, stepping into the towel he held out for you. His arms wrapped the towel around you and you welcomed the closeness. “How did I get so lucky to have you? To have someone who treats me as good as you?”

“I don’t know. I am pretty perfect,” he smirked, making you laugh.

You bounced up on your toes and kissed him. “You are perfect.”

Lin leaned down and kissed you, his lips molding perfectly with yours before he stepped back. “Get dressed, and get a clean pad and everything on, and meet me in the living room. We’re going to have a movie day.” He stepped out of the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. Pulling on a pair of underwear, you grabbed a pad from the bathroom cupboard. You snagged a pair of his sweatpants from college from the closet and pulled them on, digging through the dresser for a t-shirt. You swiped one of Lin’s t-shirts and walked down the hall, pulling it over your head as your chest hit his.

“Hi,” you breathed, your cheeks red.

“Hi,” he smiled back. “Stealing my clothes again, I see.” You looked down at the shirt that draped down to your thighs and the sweatpants that were pooled beneath your feet, dwarfing you. “You look good.” He kissed you, his hands on your waist and began to sway back and forth. He began to hum the song that was your first dance at your wedding. “Te amo, mi princesa.”

“I love you so much Lin. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” You danced the two of you over to the couch and you plopped down, pulling him down beside you. “So what are we watching?”

“Ladies choice,” he said, looking through the DVDs.

“It’s been a while since we watched Titanic,” you said. “I’m in the mood for sappy.”

He grabbed the DVD and pushed it in the player, grabbing the remote and sitting on the couch beside you. He leaned over the side and grabbed a heating pad and a bowl of your favorite chocolates. Turning on the heating pad, he placed it on your abdomen and held his hand there.

“Better?”

You leaned in, kissing him. “Much better babe, thank you.” You pulled your feel up on the couch and leaned your head on his chest, inhaling the scent that was just- Lin. It was comforting and reminded you of all the good times- times like these.

“I got chocolate too,” he mumbled, pressing his lips to the side of your head. “I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

You laughed and grabbed some chocolates, unwrapping them and popping it in your mouth. “You always know how to make me feel better, Lin. I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you.”

“It’s my job, mi princesa. And you deserve every bit of me, every bit of this treatment. I love you.”

“I love you too, Lin. You’re the light of my life.” You buried your head in his chest and settled in to watch the movie. “I love you so much.”

#lin x reader #lin-manuel x reader #hamilton writer #hamilton cast au #lin-manuel miranda x reader #fluff #lin don't look #lin sin

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ruthlessbookfish · 8 years ago

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The Silver Swan by Amo Jones

March 7

My Review

Amo Jones wrote another captivating story. I am seriously dying for the second book. I can not wait for Broken Puppet.

Bishop and Madison have the complex relationship Amo Jones writes so well. Her characters have layers and layers. You think you’re about to hit the jackpot and the story twists around to reveal the next layer. Again I am dying! dying! dying to find out what is in store for Madison.

* I voluntarily read an advanced reader’s copy of this book*

Title: The Silver Swan

Series: The Elite Kings Club #1

Author: Amo Jones

Genre: Romance

Release Date: March 7, 2017

Blurb

Riddle me this...

“I am neither dead, nor alive, and I’m not something little Madison can hide. But you will be dead, by the time this is done... the timer starts now, and the games have just begun…”

Madison Montgomery comes from money and power, but when someone close to her commits the ultimate crime, Madison must live with her tainted name for the rest of her life. When she begins Riverside Preparatory Academy, the private school her father has swept her into in The Hamptons, she hopes for a fresh start. What she wasn't hoping for was the pack of bad boys who run the school; ten, to be exact. When Madison gains the attention of their leader, Bishop Vincent Hayes, a whole new world that she didn't think existed is exposed to her. A whole world that starts and ends with The Elite Kings Club and these boys, are about to flip her world upside down. Secrets are overflowing and family lies are about to be exposed. Is there more to Madison Montgomery than even she knows?

About this book:

I need to admit something right now. The Silver Swan is

f*cked

. It might be the most

insane

story I've ever written with equally insane characters. Who knew? You know, when I started this book, it was supposed to be YA. I wanted to write a book that my sisters could read. A book that won't have people look at my mum like

"damn... what sort of messed up shit happened to your kid?"

. The angst, the assholeness, the games, the f**kery, the

WHAT THE F**KING F**K ARE YOU DOING???!!!...

I cannot even.... anyway, this is a warning (and the only one I'll give you). It's crazy. I don't compare my work to my others, but this book is f**ked. It will most likely stomp all the f**k over people's hard limits (and not give a sh*t while it's doing it) and will make you second guess all the morals you thought you had.

This most definitely is not looking like a love story right now... more like a..... I don't even....*shakes head* anyway, I apologise now. You asked for it..........

Add to Goodreads

Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

B&N / KOBO / iBOOKS

Excerpt

“Nate?” I whisper. “Maybe I took a wrong turn.”

Silence.

“Nate!” I yell down the phone. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing, sis. Keep going, we can see your headlights.” What am I doing? I’m basically relying on the fact that Nate and I had bonded a little and that both our parents are together. I’m not sure those facts are worth my life. No, he wouldn’t. I’m just being paranoid. The only time, except for school, where I didn’t bring my fucking pistol either. I sag in defeat. My dad will not be impressed with my not carrying, and my mom will no doubt be screaming at me from the other side about how these are the reasons why she and my dad educated me so much on firearms. I’ve failed as a fucking daughter. I shuffle up in my seat.

“Nate, I don’t fucking see anything up here but ja—OMG!” I slam on the breaks, all four tires locking up in a skid. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly, banging down the locks on the doors. “Nate!” I yell into the phone.

Silence.

Slowly, I look up out the front windscreen, the thick dust from my tires interrupting the loose gravel still floating in the air and that’s when I see it again.

Ten men.

Ten dark hoodies covering their faces.

Ten—“Nate..” understanding sets in. Ten.

Slamming the gear into reverse, I’m just about to floor it backwards—to hell with anything or anyone behind me—when my driver’s window smashes into a million pieces, the tiny shards of glass falling onto my lap. I scream, my hands coming up to shield my face just as an arm slips inside and pops up the lock.

A deep menacing chuckle breathes over the back of my neck just as a leather gloved hand wraps around my mouth and pulls me out of the car. “Hello Madison. You don't know us, but we know you. We want to play a game. Here's what happens if you lose...”

Author Bio

Amo is a full-time writer from New Zealand who loves long romantic walks to the wine cellar.

She loves to write like how she lives, hanging on the edge of insanity with a wine glass in one hand and her morals-or lack thereof- in the other. Those are not my monkeys, I swear.... Oh those hellhounds? Yeah, those are mine.

Author Links

WEBSITE

FACEBOOK

FACEBOOK GROUP

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

#The Silver Swan #Amo Jones #love #romance

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impatient14 · 8 years ago

Text

EMP Theory is Alive and Thriving

I want to preface this post with this: I am in no way trying to offend or upset the people who do not believe in EMP. This show can be read in so many ways, even by the people who agree on most things. I respect everyone’s opinion. This is just mine!

So, with that said, I want to go through some things I noticed in The Six Thatchers that (to me) are Extended Mind Palace smoking guns. Let it be said that I have only watched the episode twice so there is definitely going to be more to add to this list.

1.) The story about death in Sumara. It was mentioned multiple times, by multiple characters. Almost like they were all given the same script. And you may be like, well, yeah, they are actors in a show, but writers do not give actors the same brain. But it is like Sherlock, Mycroft, and Norbury all share a brain. They all bring up the story without any of the characters speaking to each other about the story first. Sherlock’s dialogue is a voice over, which is not time stamped. It is possible that Mycroft and Norbury brought up the story and then Sherlock used it in his monologue to the audience, but why did Mycroft and Norbury both think of the story? Because they share a brain. Sherlock’s brain.

2.) As @tjlcisthenewsexy pointed out, the sharks, CAM, water, and the death story are also very telling. This post/thread sums it up far better than I could.

3.) Intuition, Premonition- these words were used to describe Sherlock’s feelings about The Six Thatchers case. Premonition is defined as a strong feeling that something is about to happen, especially something unpleasant. Sherlock is anticipating his death, and his intuition is telling him that Mary is involved. Its almost as if she is responsible for his murder in the first place…

4.) The odd transitions and reality breaks. The water imagery over Sherock’s face and in the background of certain scenes, Mycroft and his office busting just as the MT busts were doing throughout the episode, the overlay of a cracked bust on the side of Sherlock’s face. There is an argument for production style here, but its all so very over the top. Much more so than ususal for BBC’s Sherlock. Its almost like they want you to question what you are seeing…

5.) The Damn Skull. In case you can’t tell. Its glowing, almost like an x-ray. Like, an x-ray of someone who is currently laying in a hospital bed. Its fucking glowing guys. Adding onto the fact that it was blue in HLV, something is seriously wrong here.

6.) Mary and John sleeping on opposite sides of the bed from where they slept at the beginning of HLV.

7.) AJ doesn’t care about killing people enough to slit the throat of one of the Thatcher bust owners (unless it was really Mary who killed her), but doesnt shoot Sherlock when Sherlock tells him he is Mary’s friend and he will protect her. Um. Okay.

8.) Sherlock Holmes. His first and last name was said multiple times, by multiple people. Almost as if the entire world is centered around him. We hear his full name multiple times in his confrontation with AJ at the pool. “Who are you? Sherlock Holmes. Who is Sherlock Holmes? Not a policeman.” (This is a reference to ACD or canon Sherlock Holmes who is always described as “Not a policeman or vigilante, just a logical man with an eye for detective work.”) AJ’s “Goodbye Sherlock Holmes” is haunting me too, and not just because of the cheesy line. Where else have we heard someone say, “Goodbye Mr. Holmes”? (Honest question, I know its significant…help! EDIT TO ADD: A couple people have pointed out that this is what Irene texts Sherlock in ASiB. I do remember this, but it isn’t what I had in mind. I feel like I can hear someone say it…like in a threatening way the way AJ does…any takers?)

9.) “Sherlock the dragon slayer.” Mary says this to Sherlock after she gives him what looks like a wickedly smug smile. First of all, how the hell does Mary know Sherlock sees himself this way. When he and Mycroft had this conversation, she was in the middle of passing out in John’s arms. Unless she knows Sherlock sees himself this way because the conversation with Mycroft took place in Sherlock’s mind, just as this ones does.

10.)”My Darling.” Mary begins her letter to John in the most old fashioned, cheesy way. Its not the way Mary Morstan talks…but it is the Mrs. John Watson talks- from TAB. “I don’t mind you going, my darling, I mind you leaving me behind.”

11.) Mary’s disguise on the plane was a joy to watch, but it reminded me of someone else. Sherlock. Sherlock loves disguises and theatrics. The vicar from ASiB and the french waiter from TEH spring to mind.

12.) The number 6. Six months of bristly kisses. 6 months until SHerlock was to die in exile. 6 years that AJ was held in captivity. 6 Thatcher busts. A metaphorical 666 carved into the baby’s head. Highlighted 6 before giving us this:

The number 6 is important to Sherlock, but why?

13.) John’s blog. There should be multiple blog posts for us to read and yet, there aren’t. Its not that Joe is no longer available, bc they’ve told us he has a project for this series…why stop updating the blog? Because there have been no more cases and John is too busy sleeping by Sherlock’s hospital bed. oH, and The six Thatchers? Already a case Sherlock solved. Years ago.

14.) Scene in Georgia. The ambassador says, “I’ve got something they’d love if I could just get out of here” (Paraphrasing). The man asks what and the ambassador replies, “Amo.” She has love. Just like Sherlock has love and has figured it out and if he could just get the hell out of that coma, out of the damn hospital bed, he could give it to John- and John would love him in return.

15.) The two lengthy rapid deductions Sherlock makes are about Mary.

16.) The white papers of doom. There are three of them. Mary to Sherlock (drugged), Exx to John (temptation), and Molly to Sherlock from John (emotional distress). There was a white note of doom in TAB too. Miss me?

17.) John’s cheating story line. It fits in with TAB (see below), but I think its more complicated than just that. We get him texting someone Hey and them replying with the same.Then we get the night time text messages. They seem to be written between people who are at the beginning stages of their relationship, but are still intimate in some way. The Its been too long and Miss you implies they’ve spent time together, but the Night Owl? implies they don’t know each other very well. So, taken alone, this could definitely be from the bus woman. John then breaks it off with his This isn’t a good idea. I’m not free. Things wont end well. It was fun getting to know you a little. I’m sorry. Then the bus stop girl is waiting for him at the bus stop and he smiles at her and then looks guilty- the same look he had when he decided to keep the paper instead of throwing it away. This is what we see. HOWEVER there is more there. First, when John opens the paper to text Exx for the first time he does so horizontally, however, the image they show us has the number broken vertically, as if the paper were folded vertically and Exx isn’t broken up.

Then we’ve got Sherlock saying he deletes all messages from John that begin with the word “Hi”, then we see John text someone (E xx) with the word “Hey.” .The paper that the woman (E) gave John was already in her hand when she was sitting on the bus, she was fiddling with it when they made flirty eye-contact. She then wrote something on it before giving it to him, but the presence of the paper beforehand is suspicious. Almost as if she was planning to hand that exact paper to John anyway, before they even flirted. We’ve also got Sherlock telling John and Lestrade, very specifically, to take the bus home from the crime scene. Sherlock set John up. Why? Because that is the part he needs him to play. He needs John to feel guilty while Mary piles on the manipulative hero-worship and then dies in his arms. All of the text messages themselves are off. Almost like they are in code or written to different people. As if it is Sherlock writing for LiR, while channeling himself as well.

18.) TAB. Basically the existence of TAB is the biggest smoking gun of all. Within that episode, Mofftiss established multiple things. 1.) Sherlock sometimes goes through lengthy mind palace scenarios (with the aid of drugs) to work out a case and we, as the viewer, could be subject to watching them. 2.) A bride fakes her own death with a big splat of blood and drama, then returns to kill her husband- who was cheating on her. 3.)Sherlock made a promise to someone about keeping their spouse safe, and that promise was broken. Lady Carmichael- “You promised! You promised you’d keep him safe!” John- “You made a vow!” Let it be said that Lady C was playing Sherlock there and that she wanted her husband dead all al- OH WAIT. Actually, we never get confirmation that it was Lady C that set up the whole thing. Sherlock makes that deduction, but then Moriarty shows up and ruins the reveal. Either way, its the same story line. Sherlock makes a promise to keep someone safe and fails. 4.) we have the text messages that Sherlock sends John and Mary at the end. Mary’s reads: The Curtain Rises.The Last Act.Its Not Over. John’s is just literal directions as to where to go. He didn’t tell Mary where to meet him. There could be an argument that this would imply that Mary was already in on some sort of plan to fake her death, but the exact same phrasing was used in TAB.

19.) Mary’s video. A posthumous message that parallels Moriarty’s in many, many ways, which includes the phrase, Save John Watson. Where have we seen the phrase Save John Watson before? It was the answer to part of the skip code in TEH. John or James, indeed.

20.) “You’ve been having a reoccurring dream.” I feel like this might be an actual scene, just placed out of order. This scene might be from after Sherlock wakes up. He explains to her what he went through in his MP and she (as any therapist would do) interprets it as a dream. A reoccurring dream. That’s exactly what TAB and TST is. Its the same dream told differently. He goes to Ella after he has awoken and recovered and asks for her help in figuring out what to do with the emotions he has decided to acknowledge. (EDIT: This may actually be EMP too…read this.)

I think 20 is a good number to stop at. Im sure there will be more in the future. Please feel free to add on at your leisure.

The most important thing to realize here is that Mary is the villain and Sherlock is figuring out how to best her, protect John, and stay alive at the same time AkA- The Final Problem.

Tags:

@monikakrasnorada @isitandwonder @tjlcisthenewsexy @ebaeschnbliah @yan-yae @gosherlocked @the-7-percent-solution @longsnowsmoon5 @tendergingergirl @may-shepard @loveismyrevolution

#sherlock #emp #tst #tjlc #johnlock

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