#anyway yes this week ? i am maybe working on a queue for when i am on holiday next week for my bday | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

apprenticestanheight · 11 months ago

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THE FIVE DAYS OF SMUTMAS QUEUE: DAY ONE

Bad Decembers - Adam Stanheight x gn! reader

OKAY!! I would not be me if I did not find a way to worm my love for the holiday season into my love for writing, so that's what the fics coming out in this queue are going to be—not all of them will be the pinnacle of the christmas season but all of them will at least be set in december and mentions of the holidays will probably worm their way into several, but the guarantees I can make are that the fics will either be close to or more than 1k words, and that there will, at a minimum, be snowy weather in the fics because we have gotten snow maybe twice where I am and I can't resist.

This one stems from a thought that I had on the sixteenth where I was like "okay angry and aggressive sex with adam, talk it out, then make up sex for round two yay" but it did change a little bit as things do when they start as ideas but get turned into fics! It's not that different from the original concept—the idea is the same it's just that round two is a little different than how I'd originally intended because I believe in my heart of hearts that Adam would be a fiend for giving oral so this fits that headcanon.

lastly, this fic is meant for audiences of 18+! Minors, DO NOT INTERACT.

Fic type- this is smut!

Warnings- adam is a guy with anger issues and they get the best of him (it is mentioned a couple of times that he punches a coworker in the face after he was provoked, and the work environment Adam is in is implied to be shitty anyway, as someone slapping someone else is also mentioned) the reader is gn for all intents and purposes but as I know the anatomy best, they're AFAB but referenced with gn terms and petnames (aside from the word pussy, which only gets used once), Unprotected sex, rough sex, reader is a masochist and Adam is kind of sadistic, oral sex (m! giving) bruises do happen because adam gets a bit manhandl-y and bruises and rough biting ensue, as does rough groping. Pet play is also in this one a few times (in use of the nickname puppy only, gn terms when smut writing aren't my strongest suit so puppy is for some reason my go-to)

December, despite all of the cheer and festiveness it usually carried, was just not your month, so it seemed.

Work was very, very difficult for you, which really shouldn't've come as a surprise come the last month of the year, but somehow always did.

Crappy coworkers always became the crappiest versions of themselves with the onset of the holiday season, and by December, amidst having to listen to your coworkers complain about how difficult their relatives were to shop for, several HR-funded Christmas parties where you and Adam would drink some of the cheapest booze and listen to your crappiest coworkers complain, and a Secret Santa gift exchange with a minimum—yes, a minimum, which to you seemed kind of ludicrous, though a max amount was certainly something you understood—spending allowance of $150 and a maximum of $380, you were angry and exhausted and looked forward to the nine days off you took between the twenty third and the thirty first like nobodies fuckin' business.

The only bright side to working in that company was the fact that you'd gotten the opportunity to get your secret santa—and one of the few decent coworkers you had in your offices, one named Claire who was actually breeching close friend territory more and more by the day—a bundle of things she'd mentioned really needing in those past few weeks thanks to the budget imposed by your offices.

You'd had the chance to get her a couple of the books she liked in addition to a couple of gift cards to grocery stores and gas stations as she was in a very tight situation with her mooch husband who refused to work point blank period. You'd gone over budget with her gift, actually, and it was the first and last year you'd ever do that.

You were working in marketing and sales and you made $2000 biweekly, which covered your half of rent and utilities, groceries and other bills with something like six hundred to spare to use as fun money. When you'd brought it up with Adam, who'd met Claire a good couple times at those Christmas parties and thought she was great for your morale, he'd supported you, said to go all out because you'd have the money back in your account two weeks from your latest paycheck anyway.

So, grocery cards, gas cards, books and around $100 in stowaway cash later, you'd gone over budget by $80 but had zero regrets because of how happy it made Claire at the end of the gift exchange.

For what it was worth—you were gifted a Nespresso and five boxes of Nespresso pods from someone who practically loathed you and probably wanted you to refuse it, but by the 21st you were so sick of work and people and everything else that you just faked a smile, said your thanks in a way that seemed just a little too sweet and definitely a bit too happy, and knew that you and Adam would cherish that Nespresso for all of the glorious coffee it made on your latest nights until it broke in the years to follow.

Getting home from the gift exchange at six, you were tired and angry at the world, pretty much, and it seemed—based on vibes alone—that Adam was much the same.

For Adam, though, it had definitely been work. After the trap, he'd switched from working as a glorified snitch for far less money than all of it was worth to working closely with a gallery that liked the shots he took enough to commission him for collections of photos. The commission money was certainly more than enough—from commissions, he got $3000 a month for 300 photos, which were typically displayed for six, eight, or ten months before he had to pick a new theme and the cycle repeated—but the gallery people he was working with were much like your coworkers in that they became the worst versions of themselves in the holiday season.

The collection he'd been trying to get together had been one part of a four hundred photo collection that captured Jersey in the winter which was due to start displaying on the 23rd and would stay up until the second of January the following year. He was working with three other people and the gallery staff and all of them were too stuck up to actually cooperate with him.

To that point, it had been twenty-one days of screaming matches, crappy coffee made worse by the bitterness Adam felt, and fighting day in and day out to keep his anger internal while he was in the apartment you shared because yelling at you, when he'd worked so hard to keep his anger issues in check? That was, under no circumstances, an option.

The first four months of your relationship had been spent with fights once every two weeks because Adam was still trying to learn how to keep his anger in check after letting it go unchecked for so long, and you'd been dating for five years. In those five years, after that rocky four months, you'd both found a balance and you both loved that balance. Adam wasn't going to fuck it up because he was angry at people who existed in a realm completely othered from the one where you were.

Well—he was going to try to avoid fucking it up for himself.

He's sitting on the couch, stewing in his anger when you come home. You grin at him, exhausted, and Adam leaves to the kitchen before you can get a word in—he'd been warned to expect a joint call sometime before midnight in relation to the collection that he had to take 100 photos for and he was antsy as well as angry, and he doesn't want you to see him like that, spiteful and angry at anything that breathes the wrong way.

He tries to make coffee with the pot you'd taken when you'd moved out of your parents place eight years prior, though the coffee machine seems to have a disagreement with Adams idea as it refuses to work, which causes Adam to snap.

"Fuck!" He shouts, hitting the coffee machine and regretting it because damn, plastic meeting knuckles is a horrible feeling. "All I need is some goddamned coffee, but no! The fucking machine—"

You step into the kitchen. When Adam hears your footsteps, he turns on his heels to face you, sees your grin.

"The coworker who loathes me gave me something that will definitely make your night a bit better," you say. "He probably wanted me to refuse but I figured we would need a new one soon anyway. It's a Nespresso, there are five different coffee types to choose from, and all you need to do is set it up. Shitty month?"

"Shitty is a fucking understatement," Adam grits his teeth. "I'm just so pissed off at the world right now, Y/N. I wouldn't be around me if I were you—when I get like this I am a flight risk because I tend to want to break things. Punched a guy in the face today and was reprimanded for an hour or three, which just made my day a lot fucking longer than it needed to be, and everything is shitty all the goddamned time and I'm sick of it."

You nod, further enter the kitchen and set the Nespresso up while Adam stews in his anger, trying to calm himself down in the ways he normally does only to find that nothing is working. He's frustrated with everything that's happened in the past three weeks, and the more he reflects on that time the angrier he gets.

And then, something happens. You accidentally sidestep onto his foot and the floodgates open, and he snaps. He screams for a solid five minutes about shit that doesn't even relate to you and you just—you just let him. You do fight back but it's like part of you understands that not all of it relates to you anyway so you just let him say his peace, and when he storms off, you don't follow him.

He goes to your bedroom, angry now with the events of the past three weeks, and the fact that he punched someone in the face, and with himself for snapping at you instead of just communicating, and he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall and stewing within his anger until you're opening the door, poking your head in and meeting his gaze.

"You're still angry?" You ask, tone calm and even.

Adam nods, pursing his lips. He doesn't want to be angry anymore, doesn't want to do anything other than let everything go and apologize for all of the shit he berated you for, but he's still angry. Something within him isn't letting him let it go, even as much as he wants to.

"All right," you step into the room. "Would sex help? That way you can just get your frustrations out while also getting endorphins and all that other health shit."

Adam clenches his jaw. "No," he says. "We've never fucked while one of us has been angry, Y/N, and if I'm willing to punch someone in the face while I'm pissed off, I'm a little scared to find out how rough I would be willing to be with you if I did that while so mad I could smoke two joints and still feel it."

You shrug, leaning your back against the door to close it. "So be rough," you suggest. "I don't care, Adam—I think we've discussed it before, but I do like being manhandled. You can leave bruises, too. I don't care how rough you are with me, I just hate seeing you like this and if sex will take your mind off it and if it's something you're willing to do, I want to do it."

"I don't wanna leave you bruised," Adam says. He hates how obvious it is that he's half-lying. He doesn't hate the idea of you bruised—it's just how you end up as such—if someone else hurts you, he'll be ready to commit murder. But if he were ever to do that? He would feel immeasurably guilty.

"You're lying to me," you say, catching onto it immediately. "You don't want me bruised as in black eyes or punches or something else physical and abusive and you would never, ever do that to me so I'm not at all worried about that, but you would absolutely cherish the bruising on my hips and arms from holding onto me that tight during sex. I would cherish them, too, actually."

Adam tsks, "masochist," he says before biting on his bottom lip. He gets to standing, crosses the room and closes in on you, grinning as he feels your breath against his face.

"If I'm a masochist, you're a sadist," you whisper pointedly. Adams hands go to your hips, holding them tightly, thumbs pressing into your skin until he finds your hip bones and you moan just low enough for Adam not to hear it at the contact.

"Mhm," Adam whispers as he leans in so that his lips are millimeters away from your pulse point. "Gonna let me use you, puppy? Need an outlet for my anger, and you did offer."

"Yeah," Adam can't help but smile as he presses himself up against you and notices the way that your arms clench at your sides because you're physically trying to keep yourself from leaning into his touches, not wanting to give into it as quickly as you might've when he called you puppy. "All yours to use, Adam. Please. Don't want you to be angry anymore, and if using me is what it takes then go ahead."

Adams left hand moves from your hip to your face, thumb tilting your chin up and to the left so that he has better access to your neck.

"Good puppy," he whispers, this time close enough to hear the quiet moan that the praise pulls out of you. "That's all you are, isn't it? Just a good puppy, reliant on praise and my cock."

You haven't had sex since early November, so both of you are sexually frustrated, which is the icing on the fucking cake.

You moan in response, grinding your hips against him. He pushes his leg between your thighs as his tongue presses flat against your pulse point, the grip he holds on your hip remaining steady. The hand thats on your face moves down to your hip again, thumb pressing until it finds the bone.

"Mine to use," Adam says after a couple of seconds. The anger that's within him exists like a fire pit in his stomach, burning bright and burning hot and burning unrelentingly. "Right, Y/N?"

"However you want," You don't know how you're managing to speak. "As rough as you want, Adam—fucking hell. Please."

"You're perfect," he loosens his grip on your hips, kisses down your jawline until he's back at your lips again.

When he kisses his way up to your lips, the kisses he leaves in his path are rather sweet. His hands are groping aggressively at just about anywhere they can get to, and when his hands settle on your hips again, your lips are on his and the kiss he pulls you into, tongue sliding into your mouth as you open it in a quiet moan, is enough to leave your lips bruised.

Adam doesn't pull away until you're starting to and he's realizing that he can't really breathe. You press your forehead against his shoulder and take a deep inhale, arms settling around his waist.

Adam pulls away, cups your face in his hands. "Getting submissive on me already?" He asks teasingly, grinning at you a little. "Oh, Y/N. You're so easy."

You hum your agreement. "You always manage to make quick work," you murmur, moving to lay down on the bed that you share. Adam stops you, unbuttoning your work shirt and tossing it into the farthest corner of the room before you can go any further. You lay on the bed as Adam takes off the granddad sweater he'd chosen to wear after having absolutely nothing else in his closet during what would later turn into a laundry evening, happy to stare at the ceiling while you wait for your beloveds next move.

His lips are on yours again seconds later, one hand roving over your chest while the other is near your face after he'd bent his arm at the elbow to hold himself up.

After he's kissed you sufficiently, he moves his lips down your neck, kissing and biting and sucking at the skin mercilessly. You wonder, for a second, if he wants to draw blood and decide that if he does, you'll let him because the pain feels so good.

Adam laughs after he's bitten down on your collarbone particularly harshly and you've moaned lewdly, rolling your hips against his half hard length without thought.

"You're such a slut for pain," he nips at the skin again gently. "I really do think that I could cut you to pieces and you'd thank me for it, Y/N."

the thought of it makes your core wet, and so you give an embarrassed nod. Adam just laughs again, lifting your hips while still maintaining an aggressive hold on them and releasing that hold to take off your pants and underwear, leaving you completely open and bare in front of him.

You shiver as a gust of cold Jersey air gets through the room through the slightly opened window, nipples hard as pebbles from Adams ministrations, and watch him take his own pants and boxers off.

"Want me to wear a condom?" Adam asks.

You shake your head. "I can take a plan B pill," you respond. "Just--please. Please don't make me wait. Need you."

"Good puppy," Adam breathes. He goes back to kissing you before his lips move to your chest, biting and sucking at your nipples in the way he knows makes you melt the quickest. "Gonna let me do whatever I want, mm? Even if it means you're in pain?"

"Adam," you moan as he presses his cold tongue flat against your warm skin. "Fuck—mmm, whatever you want. Please, just—please don't stop. Please don't—"

"Pain slut," Adam laughs a little. "You love this, yeah? Love me using you, manhandling you, not giving a fuck if you get bruised up?"

You moan, pressing the back of your head into the pillow.

"Speak to me, baby," he murmurs, pressing kisses down your navel.

You whimper, bucking your hips against Adams shoulders and Adam repositions himself so that he's eye level with you again, holding your chin lightly.

"Use your words for me, baby," he says. "I know you love how this feels, yeah? I know you love it when I bite you because you like the pain that the biting draws out, but how am I supposed to know you want me to keep going if you don't tell me? How am I supposed to know you're not whimpering, not squirming, because the pain is too much?"

"Adam," you moan, rolling your hips against nothing. "Adam, it—you—oh my fucking—" you moan again, and Adam smiles.

He moves back to where he'd been before kissing down your navel to the place where you needed him most, kissing back up to your lips again and wetting his dick with the wetness from your folds before he thrusts into you in one fell swoop.

He gives you maybe three seconds to adjust to his length before he sets a quick, aggressive pace, one hand on your hips to keep you steady while the other sits on your breast, first finger and thumb pinching your nipple with as much force as he can muster. He needs the anger to be gone, needs it to be replaced by the comfortable, airy feelings that come with sex and post-sex glory, needs to get his anger out of his system before he's at risk of snapping at you again.

He thrusts with as much fervor as he can, trying to rid the anger from himself with each thrust. It works, for the most part, and when his hand finds your throat and presses on the sides but is careful to avoid the front, most of the anger goes out of his system completely.

You lean up into his touch, and Adam laughs at it.

"Pain slut," he whispers, leaning down to bite and suck at your nipples.

Adams release triggers yours, and Adam thrusts through the aftershocks before he pulls out, falling to your right and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close.

A few minutes pass by. You get up to use the bathroom and return to Adams embrace, press a kiss to his lips and look at him like you want to talk.

"You've been angry for three weeks," you say. "If you're in a talking mood, let's talk, yeah?"

"I know that photography is what I'm good at, and normally I love it but I think I have something of an independence issue with regard to working there," Adam admits, moving the hand that's on your waist up to your face. He just wants to kiss you senseless, kiss you until he forgets his own name and how to speak words other than yours, but he knows he owes you a conversation—an explanation, mostly, and an apology. "I just can't do it. I can't work with other people. Three people on this project besides me and all of us are in conflict day in and day out because we're all apparently averse to compromise, and yeah, I punched Harry in the face but he smacked Kelce the other day because he didn't agree with one of Harrys ideas. It was payback, which I know doesn't excuse it for shit, but—I just—"

You press a kiss to Adams forehead. "I'm sorry that work has been so terrible," you murmur. "Soon as you get this installation done, though, you'll be able to work on your own again. Gotta practice a bit of optimism, baby. Gotta see the bright side and all that."

Adam laughs. "There is no light at the end of the work related tunnel," he says. "I'll be due in to work with the same group of people in the spring, and then in summer, and then in autumn. I've been told I'll have to do my own installations on top of that, which will mean picking more themes, dealing with more disagreements."

He props himself up on his elbows, presses a quick peck against your lips.

"I'm sorry," he says, green-blue eyes meeting yours. "About earlier—snapping at you like that? It was a dick move, and with the coffee—I flipped my lid in a way that was completely unfair. I'm sorry you had to get screamed at like that, everything just boiled over and taking it out on you is the last thing that I should've done."

You nod. "It was a dick move, and you do kind of need to work on talking it out with me before the shit hits the very angry fan, but you're forgiven," you grin at him. "If it helps, work hasn't been a picnic for me either. Never is during December."

Adam groans. "You work in an office," he notes. "How many of your coworkers complained about how difficult it is to buy gifts on their salary?"

"Everyone who had anyone willing to listen," you laugh. "Claire liked the gift I got her for the Secret Santa gift exchange, though. Glad I was hers—were it Leon, I fear she would've gotten a book on being a housewife or some shit like that. James was the guy who got stuck with me, which means we have a Nespresso. Bastard probably wanted me to reject the gift, too, because he scowled from the window at me while I loaded it into the back seat of my car."

Adam laughs. "Good thing the old coffee machine broke when it did, then," he pecks your forehead, feels the desire to kiss you senseless evade all of his senses. "A broken coffee machine turns into a Christmas miracle! Oh, glorious day."

You laugh, hand moving up Adams shoulders until your cupping Adams face, hand resting against his jawline.

"Was my apology good enough?" Adam asks, dipping his lips to your neck as your hands slide back down his and you let your arms drape over his shoulders.

"Why do you ask?" You know why he's asking, but you want to hear him say it. He had his angry fun, and now you get a shot to have a bit of fun of your own.

"There's something that I haven't tasted since early last month," he kisses until he's at the center of your collarbone. "Miss it, is all. Had a bit of a craving lately too, if I'm honest."

You spread your legs on impulse, already weakened and ready to let Adam give in to his whims. It makes him laugh because of course the bastard notices the movement, and he nods.

"You're amazing," he presses kisses down your chest, careful to kiss lightly over the places where light bruising has started because of how aggressive he was with his groping, kissing delicately over the places where the bite marks remain. You hate how quickly he can get you hot and bothered but admire it all the same, hate how you thrive off the feeling of his wet kisses and his perfect tongue moving down and across your torso.

"You're depraved," you try to say it, but it comes out as a moan, and you feel Adams smile against your navel. "Absolutely fucking depraved, Adam."

"Well, if you weren't so fuckin' ethereal, I might be less depraved, but every time I look at you all I see is perfection. Can't help it, baby."

He kisses across your lightly bruised stomach to your hips, careful to kiss lightly over the already-forming bruises that match the shapes of his thumbs.

"'M sorry about these," he says. "Sorry about all of it—the bruises and the bite marks. I didn't mean to hurt you this bad."

"It doesn't hurt," you assure. "And even if it did—I like the pain, Adam. The pain is good, I promise."

He kisses the bruises on the sides of your hips, too, nods. "I momentarily forgot about the masochism," he admits. "They do look nice, but I just can't help feelin' bad about being that rough."

"Focus on how nice they look," you hope it comes out reassuring. "They don't hurt, Adam. I promise. If I tell you not to worry, will you listen?"

Adam hums, kisses along your stomach to your other hip and takes his time there as well.

By the time Adams gotten to your thighs, you're wet and aching and just about ready to start clenching around nothing. He's got you needy and wanting, which is what he wants, and he loves it.

He turns his gaze to yours as he presses his tongue flat against your clit, loving the way that you writhe, clenching around nothing in response.

"So wet for me," he says, kissing along the outside of your pussy. "Good God, you're perfect."

And then he's licking at your folds, eating you out like he's a man starved, and you're not even trying to be quiet because of how consumed you feel by his lips and his tongue.

He moans against you, clearly getting off from getting you off, and can't help but buck your hips against his face.

He laughs, pulling away for a second. "You're so fuckin' needy," he says, bringing one finger to your gaping hole and slowly pushing it inside you.

You clench around the digit, moaning. "You're the reason. You and your perfect tongue, your amazing lips," you moan, arching your back off the bed for a split second.

He brings his lips and tongue back to your clit, thrusting into you with one finger, doing as you wish when you start begging for a second and a third.

"Adam," you moan, "fucking hell—Adam,"

Your orgasm crests, and you feel Adam moan against you with his own release as you cum over his fingers.

Breathless, your gaze moves up to the ceiling as you feel Adam pull his hand away. You turn to him as you hear him get up, watch him make something of a show out of licking your cum from his fingers.

"Just as good as I remember it," he grins teasingly at you, leaves to go to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he's telling you that a bath is ready and you're leaning against him as you walk to your bathroom, sinking into the hot water and pressing your back against Adams front.

"I'll get better at communicating before it boils over," Adam murmurs, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your shoulder. "Promise, baby."

You hum, leaning against him. "We can work on it together, yeah?"

Adam nods. "That sounds like a nice idea," he says.

Silence lapses, though its comfortable. You get out of the bath tub and stumble back to bed because of how jello-y your legs feel, which Adam laughs at even though he knows he's to blame, and when you steal a pair of his boxers and one of his button up flannels, he doesn't object, merely pulls a pair of boxers and sweatpants on himself before joining you in bed and pulling you close.

The two of you fall asleep early that night, curled up together in the quiet of a Jersey evening in the tail end of December. Adam sleeps through the call from the gallery and you sleep through the call that Claire tries to get to you to talk about the aftermath of the Secret Santa gift exchange, but the sleep you get is so good that the missed calls feel entirely justified.

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw (2004)#saw posting

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savventeen · 1 year ago

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OOH IF YOU'RE STILL TAKING ASKS FOR THE TROPE THING can i get vernon and like you two are assigned partners on an art project but he's awful at art LMFAO okay thank love you xx

JJ BELOVED HI HELLO I AM FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THIS <333333

okay first of all i LOVE this idea skfjllkdfl this would definitely be a fun, comedic, romcom nonsense fic hehehe

i'm picturing this being set in like, a fucking calculus class and this project is the professor's way of trying to "bring more creativity to the sciences" or whatever. and vernon's just like. 'dude. how on earth is making a collage...sculpture...thing... supposed to help me learn calculus???' no one in the class really gets it either, since they can just, you know, do the math without having to create anything. but whatever, a little arts n crafts never hurt anyone [spoiler alert: it maybe hurts someone *cough*vernon*cough* a little at some point]

anyway, vernon ends up being partnered up with reader who, thank god, actually has an idea for what they can do for their project and also talks like someone who knows about art. in fact, they seem really into art and like, super pumped for this project. which is great! except, they're also really cute? and like, they're maybe kinda sorta the person he's been lowkey crushing on from afar since last semester???

and because having a crush sometimes makes you say/do stupid things, he tells reader that he can totally help with the art portion, easy peasy. [narrator voice: it was not, in fact, easy peasy] queue montage of the week leading up to when they're supposed to meet up again: - vernon desperately watching all kinds of youtube videos trying to learn how to Art™️ - him walking into a Michael's and just being so lost and overwhelmed that he just. has a bit of an existential crisis in the fabric section - he somehow manages to accidently cut himself with a pair of scissors while trying to do some kind of papercraft thing and has to go to the nurse's office. - his roommate (let's make it chan for funsies) is convinced that he's having some kind of mental breakdown "hyung, i don't know what to do, he's just staring at a pile of children's playdough like it holds the secrets of the universe. or maybe like it killed his pet goldfish. i don't know, he's just being weird."

all of this leads up to when reader and vernon meet up again to present their 'prototypes' of the art part of the project so they can decide which they like better and then start actually working on it. reader is already at the cafe they agreed to meet at, and vernon (sleep deprived and already overly caffeinated) walks up to where reader is sitting, drops his sad attempt at art on the table, and blurts "i lied about being good at art because you're really cute and it broke my brain a little bit and i'm actually really, really bad at it. i'm so sorry." and then he fucking WALKS AWAY because he's a LOSER and you were extra cute today and his brain is still a bit broken and reader ends up having to chase him down the street, his shitty attempt at art clutched in one hand, to tell him that it's fine, they can handle the art part as long as he does his fair share of the math

"and like. maybe i could, teach you? sometime? if you want to learn, that is. and i'm not the best artist, but i've taught some summer camp classes before, and—" / "wait, you'd really wanna do that? after seeing how bad at it i am?" / "well... it means i'd get to spend some extra time with you outside of school, so... yeah"

vernon of course readily agrees, and they start going on little art dates together (and yes, they're Date dates bc vernon finally gets his shit together and asks them out) and they get a solid B- on the project bc while reader is great at art, turns out neither of them are the best at math rip </3

[send me a person and a trope/au and i'll tell you what kind of plot i'd write for them]

#savv answers #savv writes #jj 🎸#i hope u enjoy the nonsense sldkjfsdlkjf

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horce-divorce · 2 months ago

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I'm doing my best to individually reblog each and every one of the posts that folks have contacted me about recently. I can't donate myself since I am currently homeless, but I do have plenty of followers and I can share the views!

that said, I had about 50 this week, and trying to schedule/queue 5-10 posts per day is a lot of work that I may not be doing the best job of due to my own health!

so just in case i drop the ball and miss anyone, here is a compiled list. all of these accounts contacted me personally and asked me to share, they are all vetted & easily verifiable as such, or otherwise threw up green flags (ie they have original images associated with them).

inb4: yes these are all vetted, and its not hard to check.

i want to specially highlight @rehamjawad33 who has been trying to evacuate a family of 7 for over nine months and haven't even yet reached 40% of their goal.

@ahmed79ss is fundraising to reunite a separated family and has been for over six months. the children are still in Gaza alone and need medical attention as well.

@ranin3344 (Gofundme), @bilalassadabedrou (Gofundme), @kareemalnakhala (Gofundme) and @nevinalser (Gofundme) all have vetted fundraisers over 6 months old that have reached less than 50% of their goal so far.

Here are a handful of other evacuation funds, created within the last 4-5 months, that are also very low on funds: @savepalestineinfamily19 (Gofundme) - €7,000 / €50,000 @kareeem-sd (Gofundme) - €2,220 / €50,000 @nurserehamo (Gofundme) - $4,452 / $40,000 @salahaldinhorsblog (Gofundme) - €6,140 / €40,000 @abed-rashad13 (Gofundme) - $8,058 / $50,000 @yara-family (Gofundme) - €1,537 / €20,000 @yosefresh (Gofundme) - €2,277 / €50,000

@ranoshfamily (Gofundme) gets mentioned as well - this is only 1 of maybe 2 or 3 fundraisers I had asks for that weren't yet vetted by another Palestinian, but they have original images associated with the campaign and lots of videos, and otherwise seem like a real poster and dont give me any scammer red flags. like, im just a guy, but that's more than enough for me. imagine having to market yourself while living in a tent and being bombed, and then having people online call you fake because you don't already know somebody on tumblr or whatever, even after posting graphic accounts of what's happening to you. anyway, €390 of €70,000

I will be adding to this as time goes on (just trying to split up the work for myself) in addition to reblogging the individual posts.

if you have the time, please at least queue some of these to reblog! you'd be surprised how much of a difference a few extra views can make when you have to fundraise to stay alive, I know it all too well myself!

#🍉🍉🍉

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smokinsid · 7 months ago

Text

Late Night People

Summer. 2:15 AM. College of Synergetics, Level 3 – REAPER Lab, Rata Sum.

Enid looked wearily at a crumpled pack of cigarettes, then back at her holo-screen. On her desk, a little girl in a big red hat grinned up at her tired face, looking as bright and proud as the midday sun.

For a few weeks now, her research had been chasing its tail. Relative Extraplanar studies- thrill that they were, giving a scientist cause to go sliding orthogonal to the three-dimensional Tyria into realms unknown- were still a headache, at their core. Was a mortal body meant to move that way, or see those things?

“Yes!” Came a low, sonorous showman’s voice from across the room. The attuned crystal in her radio blinked and pulsed in time with every syllable. “And I’ll tell you what else, my friends- if Balthazar can bite the dust, if Kralkatorrik can kick it- then what is there out there for us to worry about? The Arcane Council keeping secrets, hiding things from us? Well, we know why they do that- the slow dissemination of what they really know is what’s keeping them in their seats, after all.”

Smoke Signals with Sidney Figleaf. Venlin Vale Radio, 103.3 K-R-U-E.

The call letters came to her mind automatically. And that voice- “Smokin’ Sid,” on the radio- was her brother.

They hadn’t talked in a while. Maybe she should call him. It had been a long time since the big blowup, after all- and Rucks had turned out alright so far. Still young enough to come back to college.

“Coming up in the next half-hour, we’ll have open lines here on Smoke Signals. Tune your crystals to 1.333.1033- again that’s 1.333.1033, for the Smoke Signals hotline. Call now and get queued up- the subject tonight? Strange lights in the sky! Stranger than usual, anyway. Have you seen them? Tell us all about it. --And now, a word from our sponsors.”

As a jingle played for Royal Kournan cigars, followed by an ad for Oozeley’s Sure-Fire Detergent, she drummed her fingers on the desk and frowned at the blue-gray little crystal in front of her, mounted in a ring of brass.

“Oozeley’s, Sure-Fire,

Made from the goo you trust,

Oozeley’s, Sure-Fire,

For stains, it is a must!”

It was now or never. She grabbed the little brass ring and rotated the pointed crystal within, spinning it like a dial toward the numbers etched into the metal edge. In seconds she was connected, and a pleasant, modulated golem’s voice greeted her.

“You’ve reached the 103.3, K-R-U-E, call-in hotline! Your queue position is currently... SIX. Please hold. Your call will be on the air shortly. Remember to shut down your radio receiver before speaking, to eliminate static and echo. Thank you for calling Venlin Vale Radio.”

Soft jazz rose from the vibrating surface of the crystal, tickling her ear. She set it down on the table and huffed.

She had plenty of time to hang up if she wanted.

“Subject is mysterious lights in the sky- mysteriouser than usual, I should say. Caller number two, you’re on the air.”

Oh, Alchemy. He’s just picking lines at random.

“Am I on the air with Smokin’ Sid?”

“Yes, that’s me. Please turn off your radio, sir, for the feedback. Now, what’s your name, and what do you have to report?”

“Uh, name’s Putt. Work outta Statics.”

“Ah, a fellow Statics, ahem, alum. Wonderful. And what did you see?”

“Well, this was a couple weeks ago, late one night in Brisban- we were listening to the show while we were on stakeout, watching the bandit gangs drift here and there.”

“Ah, sounds like you’re working a security detail. I’d ask you how things are going with the gangs, but let’s focus on the scene overhead.”

“Right, well- me and the fellas like to shoot skeet to kill time,”

“Careful friend, this is radio,”

“Y’know, like clay pigeons, we got some with glow-in-the-dark paint.”

“Ah.”

“And so I was up top of the watchtower, throwing ‘em here and there when I heard the word ‘pull,’ that kind of thing.”

“Putting some lights in the sky yourself, as it were.”

“Mm- so we’ve done a few rounds of this, and I throw another one, and Creidon- big fella, Lionguard, down at ground level, he puts a crossbow bolt through it, sure as sunrise.”

“But...?”

“It got stuck, Sid.”

“In the... clay pigeon?”

“No- well, not as such. It’s like, it punched through the pigeon and hit something else. Something round. Like... shoot, I’m gonna sound crazy.”

“Not on my show, friend.”

“Like a bubble, in the sky. Like someone got a straw under the sky and blew real hard and just... warped it out. The stars looked all stretched and distorted close to the pigeon, got more normal the further out you went.”

“As if the sky itself was... closer, there?”

“Yeah! Damnedest thing I ever saw! Bowed in like the ceiling on a first-floor dorm when the toilet upstairs overflows.”

“Remarkable.”

“The pigeon- and the bolt- just clung to it. And then it sorta... deflated? Just slowly receding until the sky looked normal again. It took both with it! We never got ‘em back.”

“Wow. Not quite what I expected to hear when it comes to lights in the sky, but that certainly is mysterious. Thank you, Putt- the Smoke Signals Research Team will put some time into this one, I’m sure.”

Enid had already taken a few steps away from the crystal, drawing up astronomical charts of the sky over Brisban and running numerous calculations and simulations. A ‘bubble’ in the sky could be any number of things- in her mind, it was some burdensome patch of mist, pushing on the fabric of Tyria. A mistquake? A mist… sinkhole?

“Caller number… six! You’re live on Smoke Signals. Go ahead and turn off your radio, feedback and all that. I need a name, and- what did you see in the sky, lately?”

“…Could’ve been the movement of a human god, they make quite a dent- haven’t heard from Melandru in a minute, have they?”

“Caller number six? Are you there? –Do turn off your radio, please and thank you, for the feedback, then start with a name.”

“Of course, if it isn’t the movement of a god… can we rule out dragons now? Are they done?” She poked at the holo-screen and flipped through archive files.

“…Enid?”

Enid let out a horrible gasp and slapped her radio, then spun away from the screen and rounded on the crystal.

“—Am I on the air? Shoot, I missed it!”

“No, no, you didn’t miss it. Bit of a rocky start, but I’m feeling generous tonight. Now, ah… name, as I said, and, what exactly did you see?”

“Oh, I’m… Enid. I work here on the third level of Synergetics, and…”

“Enid! I knew it was you! Distinguished listeners, we’re hearing live, the voice of my dear sister. It’s been ages. I’m surprised to hear you saw something ‘weird,’ Nid- you always had a pretty high bar.”

In his smoky studio, Sid was secretly reeling. He leaned away from the microphone and pat a box of Shadhavar Wides against his palm to pack them, then fumbled for a little silver lighter. The etching of a bikini-clad human winked up at him as he struck the wheel and took a long, steadying drag.

“Well… hm. What your first caller said caught my attention, so I was in the middle of researching that.

“The- the Brisban case, with Putt? You jumped on it that quick?”

“While I was on hold.”

“Wow. But, ah… do you have your own sighting to report? Something for the audience to chew on?”

Enid tapped her bottom lip and huffed.

“Well, I don’t want anyone to think too much of this, but I have seen something. About three weeks ago. I was up north- in Grothmar, the Charr territory?”

“Beautiful weather up there. Even the storms are nice.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I was studying post-Kralkatorrik brand radiation- the corruption is persistent, you see, and when you have a steady source like a dragon, that’s to be expected. Without it, the flow should ebb and the radiation should begin to decay. But I think that due to the crystalline structure of the corrupted materials, the magic is finding these facets to bounce around on, conserving angular momentum and-“

“Nid, I love ya, but this is dead air. Lights? Sky? We getting there?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Right. Sid and Sid’s audience. Lowest common denominator.

“It was a symmetrical cymatic response- that is to say, we used our instruments to mess with the cluster of corrupted material on the ground, and were able to have a second team in the mists check their location with identical instruments. We’d make a tone, they’d detect a tone.”

“More of a sound in the sky, but I’m with ya so far. So this krewe, on the other side of the veil, so to speak, they could hear the sound you were making, and… what?”

“Well, that’s the revolutionary thing, Sid. It’s the first time we’ve been able to accurately, linearly map the coordinates of a location in the mists, as it relates to a location in Tyria! By measuring the offset between the two, we were able to calculate that the mists themselves are at an orthogonal angle to standard Tyria- our North is their West!”

“…Fascinating. And the implications are… staggering, I’m sure.”

Her expression flattened and she ran a hand across her face. Lights. In the sky. Right. Let’s get to that before he moves on.

“So this relates to Putt’s bubble, you see. The fact that it welled up at all, how it moved, where it came from- to your listeners’ great satisfaction, we did see lights in the sky that we couldn’t explain. Not a bubble, no- but I theorize we saw the shear between Tyria and the mists. Sending such a direct signal from one to the other had an effect on the boundary between realms… and somebody, we speculate, didn’t appreciate that.”

“Oh. Oh! Hey, that’s juicy, you should have started with that! No flair for the dramatic, this one. So let’s get into that, specifically- what did you see, that gave ya cause to speculate that?”

“At first we thought that we’d kicked up a storm. Cloud-to-cloud lightning, and lots of it. But… I hate to hand it to the humans, especially after the Balthazar thing, but they might be onto something with some of their gods.”

“You saw one?”

“We saw a hand. Specifically, the underside of one. Curling fingers, drawing across the realm-shear, constructed out of lightning. It was vague at first, but as the digits moved, there was no mistaking it.”

“Wild stuff, sis. I wanna take a shot in the dark here, because I know you- I know there’s more at play here than just you seeing something. Did your krewe in the mists see something too?”

“That’s the kicker. They saw the other side of the hand. They thought they were having tech issues, an overloaded crystal somewhere, until screens started blowing out and lightning started leaping everywhere. Had to evacuate their work camp while huge knuckles made of static discharge just sort of… raked through their whole shop, destroying anything they couldn’t carry out. Made a circular motion, seemed to… stir up the mists? Maybe… froth them back up, after we’d thinned them out?”

“Holy crap. Now that’s the kind of mystery I’m talkin’ about! The nature of the human gods, or whatever they are! Why would it do that? Does this mean that gods are making other lights in the sky? Did a god blow Putt’s bubble? We gotta get some humans on the line- they got experts, right? Like, uh… religious… scholars?”

“Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Nid, be nice. We take all kinds here on Smoke Signals. –Speaking of which, our next caller’s been on the line quite some time, waiting for their chance. Boy, but this was a doozy. I’m gonna run a golem down to your lab with my personal number. Maybe the Smoke Signals research team can lend a hand with this, huh? –‘Til next time, though, goodnight!”

“…Yeah, see ya around, Sid.”

“Thank you for calling 103.3, K-R-U-E, Venlin Vale Radio!” A familiar automated voice chimed. “You have been disconnected! Please wait five minutes before placing another call!”

And then the line went quiet, the crystal dark.

She turned on her radio and returned to the holo-screen.

“—aller number one, you’ve been awfully patient, you must have something reeeeeeally important to share! Turn off your radio and give us your name, if you please.”

As the next caller regaled Sid with tales of a “boat” they saw in the sky as they were hiking in Dzalana, Enid immediately tuned out.

Sid… she really didn’t have any reason to want his respect. In fact, he should be treating a professor of her caliber with a little more deference, when you really looked at the situation from the outside in. But here he was, regionally-famous radio host, urging her to get to the ‘good parts’ of her research and shooing her off the air when he thought she’d said enough.

Why did that cut so deep? As nice as it was to talk, it was painfully one-sided.

She knew he had a good mind. An inquisitive and dutiful mind. He’d volunteered to serve in Orr, after all, and was instrumental in reporting troop movements back to Claw Island over secured channels and providing music to those same troops over unsecured channels, using just deft hands and a junky set of equipment he’d cobbled together.

She was finishing her first doctorate at the time, too young for the Priory to deploy her- and too young for the College of Synergetics to let go of her, besides. When the news came back, she really thought of her older brother as a hero. Silly old Sid, a war reporter.

But maybe he was just a nicotine-stained, slimy, self-serving, cabbage-fucking-

She took a deep breath and shook her head. He had given her a lot of airtime to tell a complicated story, and he was sending along a means to talk privately, finally!

But it was the ‘he had given’ part she took painful umbrage with. How is it that he’s always in charge of these things? Effortlessly, as if it’s his right? There was a real mystery. Lights in the sky are easy to explain compared to that.

She continued to grumble as she prodded at the screen. As the pink holographic text started to blur, she looked away and found herself staring at the framed photo of her daughter, grinning up at her with gap teeth and bright eyes.

“He’s repulsive. Rucks, how did he ever get in your head? If you had focused on your studies, you’d be here in the city with me, instead of…”

She couldn’t remember the name. Some backward human fishing village across the sea.

Enid pulled open a drawer and retrieved a bag of hard candy. It was right next to her cigarettes- Skrittmann’s Menthol Silver Slim 120s. She frowned at the half-full softpack and shut the drawer, then popped a thumb-sized cylinder of blue raspberry into her cheek.

The clock struck 3:00 am, and there was a knock at the door.

“It’s open,” she called out. The interlocking hatch doors slid apart, and a golem stumped into the room, carrying a teal holopad in one hand and a book in the other. She met it halfway and it held its hands up in an oddly childlike fashion, offering both at once.

“This must be the private number, and… what’s this, now?”

She took the book and frowned at the cover, reading aloud in a flat, irritated voice:

“Up In Smoke – One Asura’s Journey from Lowlife to High Life, and How You Can Too.”

Alchemy fucking preserve me, it’s signed.

She scowled at the silver paint-pen signature across the dustcover, and flipped to the first page.

To Spokes- it takes balls the size of honeydews to ride a ten-speed through Malchor’s Leap, and you did it every day. I might have quit radio altogether if you hadn’t brought me those letters from Camp Narthex.

“DEDICATION

To the 113th Ground Artillery Regiment- you guys were a real peach to bivouac with. Sorry about the latrine. You’re welcome for the case of Gorepelt Supreme I found- didn’t take us long to get through those bottles, did it?

To Professor Qlatt, Statics Earthworks Division- sorry I kept putting stuff in my nose, man. I got an attention span you could fit in a teaspoon with room to spare, and you sure were patient. I ain’t coming back, but if you want that homework I owe ya, I eventually filled it out.

To Ma & Pa- I just hope you’re glad I figured out something to do.

And to my sister, Enid. You don’t just make them proud, you make me proud, too. It’s a big ask, but keep achieving for the both of us. When I say you’re Council material, it’s the only time in my life I’ve ever not meant it as an insult.”

Enid swallowed, frowned, and pat the golem on the head, sending it clunking off back into the hall.

“Guess I’ll call him,” she exhaled through her teeth.

“Just… maybe tomorrow.”

She set the book face-down on her workbench and took another deep breath, then turned her eyes back up to the screen.

She’d never admit it, but they both wanted the answer to the same question.

Just what is going on up there, anyway?

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #smokin' sid #synchroneer enid #rata sum #kralkatorrik

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thessalian · 4 months ago

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Thess vs Pettiness

I've more or less learned by now that complaining about certain ... tendencies amongst my co-workers gets me absolutely nowhere. This is unfortunate because I tend to get ... erm ... slightly nasty when I have to deal with this level of bullshit, and it's kind of hellish maintaining professionalism in that sort of situation.

It's New Girl again. I've mentioned before - she takes a bunch of dictations out of the queue, does all the short ones, and then dumps any of the ones she doesn't actually like (long ones, normally, or ones by a couple of our resident nuisances) back into the queue. This causes some issues with the typing queue, because she's not exactly all that quick with her short ones. What this means is that I'll go check the dictation queue when the number of dictations goes up, just to check for urgent cases or something, and find several long, aggravating bits of typing at the top of the queue, done hours before the next ones in the queue. Plus she either saves a few shorter bits of dictation or just waits, because the queue doesn't move an inch until someone else takes those cases. And guess who gets to pick up those ones to get us back on some semblance of even keel?

Yep. It's me.

I had a fair few of those today - mid-length to a point, but complicated and aggravating. Once I was done with those, it took everything I had not to ring up New Girl and say, "Hey, you can look at the queue and pick up more things now; the big scary cases are gone." You know, like you would tell a dog that it's okay, they can come out, the fireworks have stopped. Yes, I want to be that fucking petty. Gods, I want to be that fucking petty. I mean, nothing else works, because Scruffman is confrontation-avoidant and wouldn't know where to begin if I told him, yet again, that certain staffers need to do their share of the annoyng ones, and if they don't know how? They need to fucking learn how. That means practice. That means actually doing the damn things. And I can't stand another couple of weeks of hope that maybe, finally, someone listened before finishing up a chunk of typing only to find three hemithyroidectomy cases and a breast shave that should have been done hours ago if we're going as chronologically as Scruffman wants us to, and knowing that no one's going to touch the entire damn queue until someone takes them away.

So ... yeah. I want to be petty. I want to call them "poor little babies" who can't handle anything more complicated than a couple of measurements and a copy-typed summary of clinical details. Awwww, did we expect you to actually have any kind of in-depth knowledge of medical terminology that you weren't afraid to use? Did we expect more effort than thirty-second bursts of typing? Aren't we mean...

But I am generally polite, and not particularly minded to have an acrimonious relationship with my co-workers, even if we never go within a mile of each other these days. So I am not petty.

...Not out loud, anyway.

#Thess has a day job

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allwaswell16 · 1 year ago

Note

i sometimes come across your fic recs and i always thought it was amazing that you were doing these very elaborate recs tumblr asks so today i opened your profile and saw that your queue is over a year long??😭 that‘s so wild, do you ever look at that list and kind of dread all of that work? and do you ever look at a prompt and want to do it now but it‘s still several months out? anyway, i‘m being nosy but i just wanted to let you know that this is incredible work and people like you give me hope that there‘s still some people in this fandom who know how *actual fandom* works. thank you!!!

Hiiii, anon! My rec request list is indeed over a year long lol. I definitely don't dread it, but it's a little intimidating at times. I wouldn't probably do the recs if I dreaded it...it's definitely an enjoyable activity for me. I do like to keep as organized as possible with it, so I generally am about a month ahead...so right now I'm actually working on the rom com rec which is for the first week of November.

Speaking of that rec, it was one of the ones that when I first got the ask made me really excited and I wanted to do it immediately lol. So yes, that definitely happens.

Thanks so much for your lovely ask! I am definitely out here trying to keep this part of fandom going! Sometimes it can get a little disheartening just because I have thousands more followers now, but a few years ago when I had a lot less followers I got way more like triple the notes/reblogs on the recs. Maybe it's to be expected? But anyway, I'm still out here trying! I also have a Larry fic rec blog that I took over from the original creator of it at the beginning of last year which is @hlficlibrary and I also run @1dmonthlyficroundup to help promote new fics. lol. Honestly, it sounds like a lot but as long as I stay on top of things and organized it works out well.

There aren't as many fic rec blogs out there anymore BUT I'd love to shout out two that I love so much... @thelarriefics has been around such a long time (since 2017!) and posting recs so consistently! And @theficpusher has been around since 2018 consistently posting 1d fic recs! So glad both of them are still here!

#ask #anon #lol i always end up rambling so much with asks like this #nice things

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elenajournals · 2 years ago

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Coming back for 2023!

I'm journaling again, with both words and art.

I let a lot of things go this year, for a lot of reasons. My author platform disappeared--no blog posts since March, a barely-there tumblr where I reblogged stuff in spurts but never promoted my work. I stopped reviewing books and posting to my booklr as well. (I am still reading, all the time, but I even stopped recording my books on Goodreads, which I had been using consistently since I found in 2015.)

A lot of times, when someone disappears from social media and come back, they cite depression, and given my history, I'm surprised to say--no, I wasn't depressed, I was busy with a new job, I was focusing my energy elsewhere, but also I was creatively stagnant in my writing and grappling with my lack of "success," and that damaged my motivation to do other creative things.

I needed the time off to figure out what I really wanted to get out of my creative practices, because the pipe dream of making money from it wasn't happening. (Y'all didn't see that part, because elenajournals was never trying to make even the slightest bit of money, this was the safe space where I could do whatever the fuck I wanted, be inspired by anything or nothing, and be answerable to no one. Those of you who found me randomly and followed me for pretty art journal pics would be forgiven for not even knowing I was an author, as I rarely self-promote here.)

But recently, a few things have changed. The one most relevant to this platform is that I found a (lightly used) guided transformation journal at a thrift store on Small Business Saturday during their half-off-everything sale. Sure, the first two pages of lessons, someone had already written in, but they gave up on the journey almost immediately, and I dearly love "used" things that have a history I can share in.

I've been writing in that journal every day since, and I'm not going to share those pages online. They're too personal, too intense in self-examination, and I'm simply not comfortable opening up publicly to that degree.

What the first three weeks of guidance have taught me, though, is that I have, for various reasons, completely cut myself off from anything spiritual, and that I need to make space for meditative practices in my life.

Hence, the return of art journaling. (Also slow stitching, which I may or may not talk about or chronicle here. Stitch journals are a thing, even a thing I've tried before, but I'm still figuring out if that's a good fit for me and if/how it would be practical to share here.)

Later today, I will finish the final spread in my Rose Journal, the found poetry one I started in 2017, and before this past week, hadn't worked on since January of 2021.

I picked that one to finish because it was the closest to done, it has small pages that I don't feel intimidated by (large blank spaces can feel so challenging sometimes!) and though I tried out many techniques and styles over the course of filling it, it was primarily a zentangle book and I felt comfortable returning to it with the goal of meditation-as-art, rather than Making Art to Maybe Impress Other People.

Over the next few days, I intend to photograph and post those pages, plus the usual finished-journal retrospective of my favorites. Also to talk about some of my journal-related goals and practices for next year.

Then it's going to be radio silence for a week, because holiday vacation with no laptop and limited time to be online. So yes, I will disappear again for a bit, if I haven't gotten enough done to queue. Though I'm sure I can find enough stuff from others to queue for inspiration, which was always half my blog (when it was active) anyway.

So that's the update. I know that I've said before that I'm coming back, and then little or nothing happens. That's why I waited until I actually had done some journaling before I said so, rather than feeling vaguely inspired, saying so, but not following through.

#elena rambles #personal

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blackbloodteeth · 2 years ago

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"SoMa no kissing in The Backroom challenge (Hard Mode)"

Well this was intended for April Fools Day but sometimes things get a little out of hand don’t they haha

I wrote this with the premise of “no plans, no backspaces” (except for fixing typos otherwise this would be unreadable) because of a joke I made in chat, which is where the exact words of the title comes from, typo included. Hopefully the nonstop work I did on this for over a week is at least worth the read.

[Also on AO3]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom: Soul Eater (Anime & Manga)

Relationship: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans

Characters: Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn

Additional Tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Violence, Blood, Body Horror, Trauma

Language: English

Words: 9920

The story starts with Soul and Maka having left the hallway into an unidentified room, holding hands as one of them claims to tell them something (I'm not sure who we'll see if this becomes relevant later).

"Hey, I need to tell you something..." It's probably Maka.

As it turns out the room has other plans when the lights flicker and the surrounding area fades into a change of scene. The walls become a yellowish office hue, with those bright monotone white lights overhead, and an incessant buzz droning into your skull from the trademark origins of said previously mentioned standard faculty lighting.

"Oh shiot the backrooms?!" That was probably Soul.

Why yes I am keeping that typo, but also while he and her also were looking around they noticed that it may not be The Backrooms but instead The Backroom, since there was only a singular room instead of the endless horizon of identical labyrinthian empty spaces. Go figure.

"Well this is a problem."

It was indeed a problem. They continued looking and saw that it was a room and that this came with the consequence of just being a room, no doorways, no windoways, and no ways that it appeared to have an exit.

In case that sentence was too butchered to make sense, they’re locked in here now. Looks like they’ll have to survive not kissing in here The narrator insists that thought came from one of them, probably the one who had to tell the other something wink wink.

Souls eyes dart between the empty space and Maka’s squinting, wondering what the actual heck is going on and probably if he’s crazy I guess since that seems like a reasonable assumption.

“Okay...” He reigns himself in, facing her directly. “I guess we should probably figure out how to escape, and probably pray we actually can all things considered.”

She fidgets. “Solid plan.”

So the two try to assess the current state of the backish room – Which unsurprisingly still did not contain anything text worthy – Until one of them sighs, probably both, and there is another hand holding, with sincerity.

“Look no matter what happens I’ll try to stay with you, we can figure this out.”

Queue title card of area.

Part 1 – Limbo

As you may have guessed, there’s nothing much here.

This part is probably not going to be long.

The two decide to take different routes of examining the room – For Maka she focuses on her Soul Perception, while Soul physically runs his hands along every inch of the walls to see if there’s a secret hidden in them that he somehow wouldn’t have known with only his previous experience with this concept to be theoretical.

“Yeah, still not really getting anything, aside from you and me anyway.”

He sighs, as it seems his luck is similar. “Well this sucks.”

She wanders up to him, maybe to give him both an extra set of eyes and some optimism that usually one does not remain trapped in solitary room states forever (in better or worse implications), and sends him another smile that the will of some unforeseen force says he should enjoy seeing.

His glance flicks out with a sense of unease for a moment.

“Well, guess this isn’t the worst situation we could have ended up having.“ He reluctantly agrees. “Guess I could...”

She motions to him indiscriminately.

“Sit down with you and talk I guess.”

Soul shuffles a bit in place while pondering the implications of having to communicate, and the possibility that it could involve feelings and personal stuffs, and he’s not sure if he wants to do that since he is in fact the world’s most cagey bastard even if said world is currently just a box.

“What.. do you wanna talk about.” They lean against the wall, mostly that he did it with his shoulder to mirror her propping against it with her back, and she snickers slightly.

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me?”

He blinks.

“Did.. I?”

Her brows furrow with a sense of playfulness if not also a slight confusion. “Yeah? That why we ended up here in the first place, since you pulled me aside in the hall.”

He continues his stupefied blinking before she corrects herself with her hands motioning. “Okay not first place first place, but like before the room changed for whatever reason.”

The air is quiet a moment as he genuinely replays the events that have occurred just now, sifting through them to remember right before then and if he was in fact the one who was asking her to ask her something, and it dawns on him that maybe he was even if he has no idea what it was he wanted to ask in the first place.

“I’m not sure...”

But he looks her in the eyes, certain that whatever it was it was probably important.

“Guess we have enough time for me to figure out that out, though.”

Part 2 – Indecision

They pull away from the wall when suddenly it starts to shift.

The air feels almost like it’s vibrating, fidgeting like an innumerable swarm of busybody insects as the room tints to a passive shade of grey. Along each four cardinal walls soon stood four differing objects, still as if always having been there.

The closest: A couch. Black and white, plush, but strange as that soft feature appeared to stem entirely from being made of stuffed toy rats.

Across from that: A chessboard. Similarly colored while retaining a sense of normalcy being made of wood and carved plainly, albeit lacking any sort of seating to go along with it.

To the right: A bookshelf. Topped up and down with loads of books, all of different colors and most likely of different subject matter. Still they sat but quietly they beckoned with how densely populated the whole shelf was kept.

And finally: A piano. It remained silent and patient.

“...The hell is this?”

Unfortunately no answer was returned as the gleam in Maka’s eye had already taken her to personally inspecting the bookshelf of its contents, much to Soul’s eyerolling. She seemed excited though even if she still wouldn’t admit she’s absolutely a nerd.

“Wow, they’ve even got Dante’s Inferno on here...” He simply saunters away from the unsettling rodent affair, glare suspicious and unyielding toward the more concerning addition to their imprisonment.

“This feels like some sort of trap, if I’m to be honest.”

Her hair whips as she shoots a look to both him and the obvious transgressor.

“What?”

A chuckle turns her away from the book she was readying to dive right into (just a closer examination of its sudden appearance, of course), arms now crossed with that sass she never lets up even in stranger times. “A piano isn’t suddenly going kill you.”

His squint narrows further.

“Factually incorrect, actually.”

He continues before her stance has a chance to go anywhere. “Look, Black Room yadda yadda, but also people have been killed by pianos before. Usually dropped from great heights but there was that one guy who got ran over once.”

His hands motion away her imminent questioning. “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t trust a damn thing about any of this” – Each point is further emphasized with gesturing – “At least two of these relates to our personal interests, this one’s just freakin’ weird, and this… I dunno actually, looks like filler I guess.”

Maka’s analytical gaze does another brief sweep before falling back onto the rat couch with a growing smile, which he immediately also did not trust.

“...You really freaked out by the couch?”

He fidgets subtly. “...It’s weird.”

That smile overtakes her face and sends him into further restlessness, especially with how she’s flipping between him and it. “I think it’s cute.”

“You...” His blinks flutter more rapidly. “Maka it’s made of rats.”

“Soul those are clearly stuffed animals.”

“On an entire couch??”

“Oh come on, I bet it’s soft.”

He scrunches up. “God, please tell me you wouldn’t actually sit on that thing.”

Regret immediately seizes him when she gave him that look that told him oh I definitely would sit on that thing before she drops her arms, reveling in his increasing discomfort as she prods one of the vermin making up the arm.

“Yep. Feels soft.”

“Maka, please don’t...” Genuine distress starts to raise his tone when the head of the rat registered as movement when she pulled away, his fists clenched while trying to remain level headed. “We don’t actually know if that’s safe.”

A sense of playful desire to continue teasing him dissipates at his sighing, her arms now idle as she steps away, softened. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

His fingers scratch at the back of his hair, a murmur still keeping his focus on the potential dubiousness of him having just imagined that.

“`s fine. Just… bit on edge right now…...”

He lifts his eyes up again when she reaches her hand out to him, a huff breaking out his smirk while he meets her palm again, and a sense of comfort washes through him with seeing that despite it all her reassurance thankfully hasn’t changed.

“Like I said: No matter what happens, I’ll be with you the whole way.”

“So...” His eyes gloss over the different array of covers as he continues halfhearted moving each of them around. “What’s Dante’s Inferno actually about?”

Maka glances at him briefly, a smirk raised to his brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’m surprised you asked.”

“I mean I’ve heard of it before, just never read it… Probably nerd stuff…….” She snorts at his grumbled pouting. The books keep shuffling with her attention to them as she remains smiling, more enticed by the opening to inform than to seize the chance for further teasing.

“Well it’s a story about an Italian poet who journeys through each layer and learns something about what it really means and the significance of each punishment. Genuinely really fascinating, especially for the time period.”

Soul’s finger hovers over a volume of something seemingly animal related until he slowly resumes his prodding. “...Layers of what?”

She stops and blinks. “...The Inferno.”

He squints, their staredown lasting approximately 30 seconds before he takes a gander at connecting the vague dots.

“...Like Hell?”

At this moment he now wondered if she was trying to Morse code his stupidity through eyelids alone, lips raised in a patient but very noticeably befuddled shade of amusement. “Yes…? Did I not already say that?”

“No, actually.” He deadpans. “Just that there were layers and that could have meant literally anything without context.”

Her eyes visibly replay her words through her head, quickly dropping into bit of chuckles once registering that she did in fact miss that part of her explanation, much to the chagrin of one’s initial intentions.

“Sorry, I thought I mentioned that.” The book she left parted away from its brethren was then returned after having been held for long enough, a lighthearted hum resuming as she returned to inspecting the remainder of that particular shelf.

“Yeah, it’s about Hell. Each layer is divided by the different sins people who don’t want to make up for them have committed, starting from the outer edge and getting progressively more intense the deeper it goes. Pretty interesting this actually does reflect the layers of the Earth’s core while still going through all this different symbolism.”

“Yep that sounds like nerd stuff.”

He snickers as her knee retaliates into his shoulder, hands soon dusting themselves off when he finally reaches another shelf’s end with a sigh. “Well doesn’t look like there’s actually any secret switches behind any of these...”

The thud of a hardcover resounds as she frowns. “Yeah… At least it was worth a shot…...”

Blood flow restores to his legs as he levers himself back up into standing, fingers stretching as he shakes them off and rolls his shoulders.

“So, what now?”

Consideration immediately turns around to the other side of the room where – “Aside from that.” – and then moves over to the right, mentally interrogating the chess board already set up even without anything to sit up to it with. As it stood the potential hazard level of it simply being there was estimated to be fairly low, so she lets her eyebrows raise at the prospect of something entertaining for them to do. “Care for a game?”

“...Do you know how to play?”

They then plummet at the sheer audacity of the assumption that she would have said not. “Yes?”

Soul’s eyes roll almost fast enough to take his head along with the force. “Do you know how to explain the rules.”

“Oh.”

She clears her throat before walking over to the table, briefly examining it and then lifting up one of the pieces slowly, setting it back down to where it had just been after nothing strange had decided to finally descend upon them and Soul had done a thorough amount of anxious fidgeting. “Here.”

His hands tuck into the pockets of his steady gait toward the opposite end of the board – the white pieces – while she takes position across from him. The awaiting game was indeed carved in a similar manner to the table, but in the curiosity of his touch he began to wonder if it had been done in bone instead of wood…

“This front row? Those are your Pawns.” Her instruction gestures out to the relevant parts of the board. “This piece here is your King – Your goal is to make sure I don’t capture him while you try to take mine. This one is the Queen; Unlike the King who can only move one space at a time, she can go pretty much anywhere so think carefully about how you want to move her so you don’t end up wasting her abilities.”

He nods to confirm that so far things made sense.

“The Pawns also can only move one square at a time but only directly in front of them and if that space is empty. They can’t capture another piece directly in front of them, only when another piece is standing diagonally to it like this – “ A spare pawn is used to demonstrate the attack pattern. “ – If you can get a Pawn to my end of the board you can then turn it into any other piece you want.” He nods again, pieces returned to their proper spots.

“The rest of these are the Rooks, Bishops, and Knights. Rooks can move as far as they want but can only move in these directions, but you can capture whoever’s closest in any of the directions. Bishops work the same way but they move diagonally instead. And Knights move differently than any of the other pieces, kind of in an L shape like this – “ The ivory slides over multiple center squares. “ – both forwards and backwards. These ones can actually jump over other pieces so you can only capture with a Knight if another piece is on the last square they land on.”

The pieces are once again set back, this time tidied up and straightened forward, an excitement shimmering in her eyes that he knows is going to give him hell later.

“Other than that, the Pawns can move two spaces only when they’re first allowed to move and there’s a special move you can use once per game that lets you move Rook and King together, but other than that I think you’ll be able to pick it up as you go.”

Soul lets out a slow exhale while taking a moment to let that all sink in, eventually raising his shark-toothy smile up in accepting her challenge. “So, who starts first?”

“White does.”

Oh that grin definitely tells him she isn’t planning to go easy on him.

“Got it...” His hand hesitates out briefly, then extending a pawn from the middle, two spaces forward like he already knows to do so.

Let the game begin.

The makeshift door opened swiftly with her brisk entrance, eyes still bound to the journalings while she hurried over to him.

“Found something?”

A sharp sigh indicated that that may indeed be a yes, the papers soon sat in front of him as she did, that sternness worn unyielding even if her tone held no affront. “I think we just might finally have found the thing we’ve been searching for.”

Intrigue brings his fingers over his chin as she unfolds the relevant notes for him, scrawlings and sketches somehow still as concise as ever. His eyes tread lightly yet with care, soaking up every drop of information until eventually his gaze lifts, heavy with a newly added weight of dread even aside from the pervasive fear looming through the very air itself.

“A power greater than anything ever imagined...”

Her mutter sicks into him, thickening the tension. “Do you really believe this to be a wise decision?”

“Do you trust me?”

His thumb strokes in restless thought for a moment. “You and you alone, yes.”

“Then allow me to pursue this chance to finally end all bloodshed.”

That ideal did ring deep with him – It was no hidden fact that their very home had quickly descended into a battlefield, one that now only reeked of war and chaos in mere days, and ever the strategist he considered both scales accordingly before finally reaching his verdict, solemn yet proud.

“If it is your will, than so it shall be done – I’ll continue to follow it until the very end.”

Part 3 – Hesitation

“Checkmate.”

An air of victory resounds in the final tap of ebony across the board, Maka’s triumph lasting for only a few second before suddenly the lights start to flicker, both of them instinctively distancing themselves from the table while the room already began to shift again.

At first, nervousness at the unexpected change of scene, but soon a bewildered uncertainty with their surroundings now being cozily lit, décor more fit for a small party.

Beside them, as they looked back, was now a wider table hosting an array of tantalizing food and drink. To Soul’s left stood a grandfather clock where the bookshelf once was, ticking quietly to itself yet unassuming. To Maka’s right came a soft tune of inviting music, spun from a record that played of its own accord. And at the remaining wall there sat a simple recliner.

“Well if didn’t look like a trap before, it definitely does now,” he mutters, tension keeping his movements stiff despite his attempt to seem calm.

Maka at least appears to take this in better than he is. “Hey at least it’s friendly.”

“That’s the part I don’t trust the most.”

Her laugh turns away as she continues surveying the room, though inevitably pulled back in when his frowning murmurs at the sound that didn’t strike him as necessarily grating. “Do you think there’s some sort of… symbolism in any of this…...”

The reflection of their earlier idle talk resurfaces with a thoughtful hum.

“Hmmm… That’s a good question actually.”

Truthfully the room did seem to actually know them to some degree even if so far fairly surface level, but it having struck more than coincidences threw her into full intrigue, a finger tapping out of sync against her chin as she wandered to the middle of the stage.

“Well this is clearly some sort of party scene… Maybe it has to do with being outside our comfort zone; Like there’s stuff we’re familiar with, like you’ve got the music and food, but then there’s this sort of sense that… That sort of feeling that you just want to go home, you know? Since there’s a clock that constantly tells you the time and a chair maybe someone would want to sit on instead of moving around.” Her arms then drop to the side with a humored aside. “Or this actually is some kind of Hell and we’re not supposed to fall for temptation or something like that, either one.”

His brows furrow as he sinks a little more. Well he could definitely believe that latter just from the piano alone, though that only raised more questions as to what they’d done to end up in that kind of place to begin with, or when they were going to be able to leave for that matter.

“The last version of the room ended up changing after we did something; Maybe we have to keep choosing the correct options until we can find our way out.”

“Oh, good idea.” Her owl eyes take to immediately assessing their next course of action. “Okay, that will probably get us killed. Don’t really know what the chair would do but kind of don’t want to see how that could go wrong. Hmmm… I wonder if...” She moves her examination along the clock’s height, souring when nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself before swiveling away again. “Guess that leaves the record player. Maybe we’re supposed to shut it off?”

Soul ponders this as he also has to consciously pull his hand out of him having started chewing his nails. “Last time changed when we played along with it, I’m not sure if trying to shut it down is a good idea.”

He then tenses up at how much her eyes immediately light up.

“Oh we should dance!”

His entire being immediately scrunches into itself.

“Oh come on; I showed you how to play Chess, you can show me how to dance! I know you’re way better at it than I am, anyway.”

One long drawn out sigh later, he reluctantly admits that so far that logic is safest and most promising thing they have to work on, a timid arm extended her way once he’d slowly trudged to the center of the floor. “Here...”

Not even his pout could remain sure of itself as she bounded up and eagerly accepted his invitation, fitting right into place in a way that drew his grin out helplessly.

“Okay so I assume you know how legs work, but uh… First basic step goes somethin’ like this…...” The gears in his head gnash wildly over trying to figure out how one condenses a lifetime ago of formality into a single comprehendible list until they’re suddenly knocked out of alignment, his balance startling back when her attempt to match his movement puts her too close too fast. He brushes it off with a laugh while straightening them out to try again.

“Okay, uhhh...” And then clears his throat to reset his posture. “Yeah I don’t think I can explain it the same way you can. I’ll try to make sure you can follow along, but uh...” He can’t resist loosening up a chuckle at how serious her face said she wanted to take this.

“Just think of it like how we partner – Let me um… be your Meister right now.”

“Got it.”

With a deep breath, he takes a basic step, then another to feel for the general movement. Slowly he pulls her along, letting her familiarize with the pattern, before he eases into bringing them closer to the beat of the current song, falling into the rhythm that he made sure not to get swept away in as long as she was there to keep up with him.

The water swayed along with his feet, soon slowing to an end when he reached the chamber where she stood ahead of him. His eyes fell affixed to objects she revealed in hand as she turned:

One constantly shifted into itself while the other pulsed outward, both glowing mysteriously and mesmerizing enough to hold him at bay, still even while she promptly addressed him.

“These are it – We finally have both keys to unlock an end to this madness.”

And him the third…

He finally breaks away back to her sober gaze, resuming his trek toward the stone platform with a sullen breath. “You’re truly certain this will end in our good favour?”

“You have my faith. I’ve studied extensively enough to understand the process and as long as we remain together we should be able to control the outcome how we desire it.” His footsteps pause right in front of the steps up. “Are you truly prepared to walk this path with me?”

The stone answers quietly beneath his climb, gentle fingertips meeting her knuckles as their eyes locked, tender and understanding yet firm in resolve.

“My oath is sworn unbroken.”

Part 4 – Stagnation

Click.

Their steps cease when the song comes to an end, the needle’s aimless wandering soon fading into silence while the room shifts away again.

This time it appeared much simpler yet more abstract: The scene laid barren except for two standing chairs, facing both opposite ends of each other and up against the walls, the floor of which contrasted both sides – red and green – in a spiral pattern that twirled directly into the center until neither were distinguishable. This color also ran up the surface of all sides but faded halfway into a muddled shadowy ceiling, which consequently revealed the lighting to now originate from an ornate crystal chandelier that was notably hanging somewhat precariously.

Enough to fall and hurt someone if it was swayed too much, Soul reckoned.

Maka pulls away, gears visibly turning in her eyes quick to contemplate their new puzzle, frowning as she eventually hazards at its reasoning.

“Duality.”

“Hm?” It was a hum less about it making sense and more for prodding her train of thought.

“Conflicting viewpoints – There’s two opposite sides facing away from each other, but eventually they work around each other until they meet in the middle.”

That definitely seemed clear enough to be true, but there was still a clue lacking enough to bring his thumb over the corner of his mouth in pondering. “So what does that mean for us?”

Her frown continues twofold as she continues working through it before bringing him along.

“The first room we went ‘against each other’ while the second room we ‘worked together’, so for this room...” She perks up when a dot connects. “We come together as equals, like Resonance!”

He hums his agreement to that conclusion. “You showed me something, I showed you something, so now we have to show each other something?”

“Yep!”

A smile twitches up at her triumph before it lowers again, thoughtful as his glance flicks around briefly. “...So what exactly do we have to show each other?”

That was actually a very good question, one that quieted her again while it became mutually obvious that unlike the previous two iterations there wasn’t nearly as much to do here (aside from sitting and staring straight at a wall, but Soul wasn’t too keen on that even if his legs started to want to convince him otherwise), and as she moved along reassessing either side her face eventually lit up with her hands clapped.

“Oh, I know – Here, you stand over by the green side!” He hesitates a moment until her persistence in the matter slowly shuffles him over to the other chair, Maka then standing proudly opposite and eager to give instruction.

“It’s like you said when we were dancing: you took the perspective of being a Meister, and now I’ll take the viewpoint of being a Weapon before we meet in the middle as partners!”

His brows furrow, staring up at the chandelier with unease over having to be anywhere beneath it, but he complies for lacking any other possible solutions. “So we both just kinda pretend to be each other’s roles?”

“Yeah – Maybe we can take steps forward when we feel like we get the hang of it so that we’re both ready at our own pace.” Soul nods as her face then slips into full concentration, a sigh quietly puffed out while he closes his eyes to focus too.

A Meister… Not too different from being a Weapon in that they were two halves working towards the same goal, but the way both went at it from separate angles as a default.

He had to eat souls, she did the legwork to fight for those souls, and now… he has to picture what it’d feel like if it were the other way around.

Soul’s spine straightens at the sound of her foot shuffling.

He doesn’t have perception or a special wavelength, but most people don’t. He also doesn’t move as quickly as she does, but that’s something that he could probably work on if he wanted… Besides, he works better thinking quickly and figuring things out on the fly, more of a backseat “observe and adapt” kinda guy than he prefers to admit.

Though that does make him wonder what would make him decide to pursue being a Meister to begin with……

Soul meanders forward a little when her steps continue.

Would it be for the same reason he left as a Weapon? Would he have even considered that as a possibility, taken his life in another direction even if it wasn’t sparked from an existing passion?

...Would he still be willing to defend her life even if he had nothing to do it with?

Soul peeks out at her steady approach toward the spiral’s center.

Of course he would, she’s his partner, he’d do everything he could to keep her safe even if it meant risking himself, Weapon or not. The scar embedded across his chest was a reminder of that, one that would remain for the rest of his life… But would he do it again?

Soul watches her progress.

Would he still take the hit for her if he was on the other end? Would he have even gone into that fight if he’d known the danger that they were in?

Would they have even been there to begin with if it’d been a different night?

Soul stares directly at the crystals hanging directly above her head.

Could he have done something to prevent it in the first place?

“That doesn’t look safe.”

Maka looks at him confused, but all he can see is the light dropping and shattering her. “The chandelier, it looks like it’s going to fall any minute.”

“Oh.” Threat swayed in his gut as she simply gazed upward, and especially when her returned smile defied all risk. “I think it looks sturdy enough – Here, you should see it with me. I can jump out of the way if it starts moving.”

He wanted to shout, rebel against the impending dread and get her away from the looming danger as quickly as possible, yet timidly he walked to take her hand, trust peering up at a newfound view unfolding above him.

The light reflected through all the individual crystals, bringing each one to life against the dark horizon, like stars shining through a midnight sky. In the middle of course was the moon, so radiant it formed a complete circle with its luminescent shards now its crowning petals.

It was… rather pretty, actually.

Her fingers felt warm in between his, her eyes illuminated brilliantly even if it was lit with a bit of I told you so, though genuinely he could sense it was more for getting to share the experience than anything.

He sighs out an awkward show of teeth, smile inevitably mirroring hers while a glint of curiosity eventually rekindled. “So, do you remember what you were wanting to ask me?”

A stammer drops his jaw and flusters it helplessly as his mind proceeds to replay through everything again.

Maybe in truth he always did have that question in the back of his head, but maybe it isn’t one he ever needed to ask. She was always there for him, ready to take his hand whenever the moment needed it, and him… Maybe he just worries too much.

Despite everything she really was strong. Maybe that’s what really made them partners.

“Oh, uh...” Soul loosens out a goofy little chuckle before lifting it away back to the ceiling, deciding it was probably better to just enjoy what good did manage to come from all this nothing nonsense.

“Ah, not really…...”

But the questions still remained.

His face finally emerges out of the red hot liquid, lungs gasping desperately as if the engulfing heat crushing his body was soaking right into his chest.

This… This isn’t……

Metallic sting blurs his vision, but even before he fights to free his eyes open he already sinks in the weight of the surrounding sea, a seemingly bottomless chasm of blood. The worst part is it wasn’t his. The best part is it’s everyone else’s.

His face contorts through several wild emotions until it collapses into laughter at how comforting it actually is.

He slips back into submersion while laughing and laughs at how great it would be if they all joined him.

Part 5 – Regret

Their fingers tense together when the light flickers yet again, fading into a fixture much more dim and plain. The dark ceiling mellows into a dull grey, which fell over the rest of the walls except for the rust spread along the floor slightly over them, the odd monotony only noticeably broken by the frequent smears and splotches of pitch black ink seemingly coated by someone’s haphazard wandering.

Soul didn’t like this room.

The two remain in hand even while this shift leaves both unsettled before an interrupting echo of bare footsteps break them apart, his arm naturally extended in front of her to prepare guarding her from their unexpected visitor.

It was Soul. It also wasn’t: He wore casually untidy clothes different from him, but the main thing that set them apart was his stare, hollow yet wide as if he didn’t have lids while a smile wore halfheartedly on his open lips.

It wasn’t necessarily with hostility but it was… off, in every way imaginable.

This was especially true as he then followed up with digging his fingertips into the edges of his teeth, running the dark ooze along the end of his tongue until it all fell to the side, Soul’s entire body recoiling into disgust while more ink dripped onto the unclean floor.

And then it spoke.

“Look who just showed up.”

His voice coming out of that face was low and raspy, his tone accusatory and straight to the point as he stood his ground. “Who the hell are you?”

It only laughed.

“Do you think you’re the main character or somethin’? That you can’t feel pain? That I couldn’t just beat the shit out of you and let you watch her die? Do you really think you’re fuckin’ invincible or some shit?”

The stammer caught in his throat was quickly interrupted by Maka shouting beside him. “What do you want with us?!”

“Could you actually kill him if you needed to? Would you watch him die if you had to?” They both shuffled back as it began approaching.

“Did you really believe your actions don’t have consequences?”

Soul watches as the pitch black rushes toward him.

Soul watches as his chest tears wide open.

Soul watches as molten flesh rains from his skin.

Soul watches as his body melts into the floor.

Soul hears a scream as he can no longer gasp out from his crushed lungs.

Soul’s back slams into something, air unable to pass in or out as his sneer continues toward him.

“Do you really want to die for her? Do you actually want to keep feeling that pain?” He locks up when a hand rams right next to his head, trapping laughter nearly broken into screaming. “You want to be ripped open again?! You want another scar matching the other way, or fuck it you can just tear all of it off and start all the fuck over again!! Maybe if you keep getting hurt enough you can finally get it through your thick fucking skull just how mu– ”

Force blurs by too fast for him to understand what it was, but eventually he registers it as Maka pinning him to the ground before her fist collides with his face, a confusing calm numbing into passive silence when she just… keeps going.

Every hit was struck with her full weight, repetition until black kept splattering out and yelling, wailing even, rang indecipherably through the stiff air, continuously reverberating against the cracking mush even when it’d long stopped moving. Eventually, her chest only heaved, quieted except for a choke he then identified as sobbing, shaking as she soon lifted herself and slowly turned with a whine leaking out from underneath the mess of ink and tears.

“I’m sorry...”

He remained motionless while her posture tightened and started curling into itself.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…...”

He should do something. Say something, walk to her, move her away from the body.

But he did nothing.

Felt nothing, didn’t know what to feel or do or say, just watched her face drip and sounds shaking her downward before a fit of chuckling snaps them both back.

The body began lifting up, head pulleying from some invisible string while darkness spilled out where his face had been onto its clothes, painting all of it black as his voice hollered out undeterred.

“Damn girl, you really just shot past Wrath and dropped straight into Violence!”

Boisterous cackling spasms from the spew of ebony as it then erupts into dozens of pale wings, all writhing and coveting the front of its head while its back burst and sprayed out into four greater wings, two black, two red. Eyes of dark rings and crimson split open upon their feathers, staring and dripping more ink onto the pool now consuming the flooring.

Fear, dread coiled around his chest, steps quickly unsteady when the wall scoops him up and slams a cage door over him, silver bars to match the golden cage now also surrounding her.

“Maka!”

There was no time for even a response, the body hopping up on top of his imprisonment for its weight to swiftly plunge him into the abyss with a howl.

“Going dooooown!!”

He barely catches the chain lifting her up as fast as he descended, his stomach churning with nothing to grab onto while he plummeted, faster and faster through the darkness, until suddenly the stop jars him, leaving his side crashed into the now swaying cage.

It didn’t take him long to realize he was currently being suspended right over a sea of red, the heat and stench no doubt being blood, pooled in a horizonless dark chasm that made him recoil before his voice resumes its tune.

“So, did you really want to die for her?”

His head whips up to his body still crouching over him, rage now finally reaching its boiling point. “Is there really something so wrong with wanting to protect her?!”

“No, you still don’t get it. Let me spell it out for you then:”

Part 6 – Isolation

“You’re all alone now.”

Fingers grip over the bars as it crawls halfway down, looming over him upside-down with innumerable white feathers squirming through the gaps.

“You swore to dying for her. Kept carrying all the weight of the pain so she wouldn’t feel hurt.” Its large wings outstretch, eyes crying crimson that dripped meaninglessly into the rest of it. “This is your consequence.”

His laugh then echoed against the metal as it climbed back up to the cage’s chain.

“I’m going to leave you now and let you wallow in it, all to yourself just like you wanted.”

The cage sways a little more while its hands and feet pull it along the chain’s length, Soul’s palms slamming into the sides while shooting upright. “He- Hey!”

It continued making its way up until eventually it faded into the obscurity of the shadow above, the silence soon deafening even when his back landed into the bars again, sliding and curling his chest against his knees with his arms limping around them. Despite the heat steaming from below, he only felt cold, empty, and… alone.

A sniffle trembles his shoulders, breath unsteady while his arms coil in tighter to hold it in place. His eyes wander through the abyss and are offered nothing in return, nothing left for him but the memories and his words.

Upon reflecting, the blood directly in front of his view begins to bubble, raising into a mirror image who’s head just barely left the surface.

His wild hair floated and dragged onto his pale face, draping around his dark round eyes in a way that gave more resemblance to a fish, especially when the surrounding pool streamed out of its mouth, freeing out a soft murmuring hoarseness.

“Hey, you seem lost.”

Soul’s lungs stuttered before finally cracking his voice out. “Yeah…...”

“Yeah, me too.”

He blinks at him for awhile before chiming in again.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Soul swallows the pressure still sitting in his throat, a sigh tumbling out while meekly looking away. “I dunno, I guess… I just wanted to keep Maka safe because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but now it’s like I wasn’t supposed to, or I’m doing it wrong or something……...”

“You care about her a lot though, right?”

Soul nods. “...Yeah, but… I think I hurt her…...” One long breath shudders out from his sniff. “...Not, not physically but, I think I hurt her from… not talking about it…… Like how much it still hurts even though I ignore it and just keep saying I’ll keep getting hurt for her………...”

“Not all acts of good are wise, and not all acts of evil are foolish, but still we should strive to be the best that we can be.”

Soul peers up at his light smile.

“I don’t think it was really your fault. You just did what you thought was best and sometimes there’s no real clear answer, especially when it’s something you’ve never really dealt with before.”

He watches him for another moment, smile continuing.

“It’s never too late, by the way. You can ask her about it yourself if you still want to.”

Soul slowly perks up, even if unsteady. “...How? I’m still locked down here...”

“You care a lot about Maka’s pain, but are you willing to try caring for your pain too?”

Soul pauses, until eventually, he nods again.

“Then let me help open the door for you. You just have to get up top and start climbing.”

Out of the blood then emerges arms upon arms of pale hands, countless fingers reaching and grabbing the cage steady before a few stray limbs pull the side bars away.

Soul swallows, cautious, but soon lifting himself up and crouching through the doorway to hang against the other side, feet balancing onto a couple palms that carefully bring him level enough to the roof for him to now stand on top of it. His grip clings tightly to the chain’s links, tense as he looks back at his unmoving reflection one last time.

“Just keep climbing and don’t let go!”

And with a deep breath, he begins his ascent, steadily working his way up, one step at a time.

Part 7 – Perseverance

His hands interchanged their grip around the chain as he persisted his journey upward, his feet dutifully following each motion while passing onto each stair step. It was a long hall, dull in a truly neutral grey, inclined so extensively that the horizon remained consistently vague.

The weight of the climb already dragged on him. Exhaustion ached his body, weakened his stride under the uncertainty of any visible end. Made his arms plead this was good enough, his legs beg that it wasn’t worth it, but he knew that she would have tried to her fullest and that she’d want him to succeed too, so he carried on.

Beside his climbing this hall appeared just spacious enough to be able to host another person next to him, bringing along its reminder that he was traveling solo. A twinge of burning sparked from it, twisting over how he was left enduring this, but he smothered it in knowing she would gladly extend her hand for him if she was here and settled into gratitude, simply hoping she is safe.

Yet that spark reinvigorated itself much more furiously, a loathing now falling directly upon himself. Maybe this fate truly was deserved, a punishment for his consequences being truly just deserts. Though it soon tempers when memories wash back in, both of her lament despite best intentions and the newfound promise he’d sworn, mellowing him into holding for the chance to make things right again.

...But does it even matter? Would anything actually change in the end, if there even is an end to this? Scars heal on their own, don’t they? What difference does it make between just getting over it and throwing the pain at someone else…… But… The pain wasn’t just physical. He was terrified, still scared it could happen again, happen to her, and the darkness that came with it never left his head. That stuff doesn’t just go away, even if you bury it. And seeing how she still reached for him and wanted to be at his side despite the hurt inflicted on her, maybe she… Maybe it’ll be okay, if she helps him unearth it, even just at his own pace.

His footsteps lightened and fueled his hastening, determination empowering as a feeling then squirmed in his chest. It murmurs to him that they’d been happier when he kept the question to himself, yet he reminded it of how she was the one who asked him again first. When it pointed toward his controlling worry, stubbornly fighting her meeting in the middle, he counters that even with their different views she still believed in him trusting her, and the weight of his body lifted at the experiences they can still share together.

The feeling began gnawing on him, told him that he was just using her for his own gain. Yet he stood his ground, firm in their efforts being mutual while assured that neither of them will leave each other behind, and his legs raised him higher than ever at the goals they can still both work for.

And finally it seethed, demanded that she’s already rejected his selfishness. And he contented, knowing that she’ll be waiting for him the same way he would for her. Because they’re partners, and that’s what partners do, so his arms kept reaching with greater fervor at the connection they can still call theirs.

Calm eased through him, the feeling quieted as it simply asked what it was he truly wanted.

He just wanted to be with her again.

Suddenly the hallway begins to shimmer, that monotony reflecting brilliantly, almost blinding, as pure light engulfed everything surrounding him. Hope hurried his ascent, hands outstretched until they latch onto a much sturdier link, turning that light red as he pushes past it and through the heavy curtains where his eyes soon adjusted to a familiar shade of reds and shadows.

The Black Room.

To his relief, the first thing he notices is Maka – black dress swishing around her as she shot up from the lone chair sitting aways from the curtain.

“Soul!”

Waves of emotion float a smile on up until it quickly sinks when he also registers the noise, head turning beyond the fabric to watch another version of himself – a black suit with a face obscured by long bangs, swaying as it played that dark piano in a tune he immediately recognized. Soul looks back at her pouting.

“He’s been playing Für Elise nonstop for several times in a row now.”

The way she huffed that sentence out made him want to laugh, instead only blinking while deciding to ask the more important question in any case. “Are you doing okay though?”

“Aside from having this song engrained into my soul, yeah.”

He snickers at her wryness before it softens up considerably.

“What about you – Are you okay?”

His breath tenses up, gut reaction stuttering it until it jolts when a harsh stray note drops the room into stiff silence, that other self now looming his direction like a weeping willow with roots of midnight judgement. Soul swallows, then shutting the door behind him as he finally takes a step forward, voice meek.

“...No.”

Maka stills, tone unchanged but remaining gentle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really...” He’s quick to follow up his mutter with a sharp sigh. “...but I need to ask you.”

She moves forward a few paces slowly, patiently awaiting as he spends a moment composing himself, and eventually he forces the words out.

“Do you…...” One breath at a time.

“Do you hate me?”

Her brows furrow, confused. “Hate you?”

“Are you mad at me. For getting hurt… and… not talking about it…… acting like it never happened, and just… saying I’ll keep getting hurt, even though……...” His chest shudders, constricted. “...it still hurts…...”

She takes a deep steady inhale, thinking, his eyes vulnerable while she answers calmly.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m frustrated, but I’m frustrated about a lot of things; I’m frustrated that you got hurt, and I’m frustrated because I feel like I could have done better, but I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault.”

The constriction winds up his throat and her sigh lifts, not quite into a smile, just something positive.

“I genuinely appreciate that you’re still here, and that you’re being open with me. It means a lot and...” Her body audibly tenses. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’re hurting.”

Maka watches his breath sway uneven, teetering until he timidly walks toward her. He can’t say for certain when those old Black Room clothes slipped onto him but that was never surprising, fingers gripping along the seams of his slacks like a child shaming away from its parent’s imminent disappointment as he closed their distance, Soul now standing only a few feet away.

His stance wobbles, aches at her heavy exhale, and finally the weight truly collapses him, slumping onto her shoulder as the air all chokes out.

“I’m so scared. I’m so afraid of you getting hurt and I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking terrified I’m going to lose control and one day you’re going to end up dead because of me.” Heat sputters from his chest even under the warmth of their arms embracing closer. “I hate that I’m not as strong as you are. I hate that I keep making you feel like shit because I can’t deal with being weak. I hate this stupid fucking curse and having a demon in my head all the time that keeps telling me it’s my fault you’re going to get hurt next.”

Moisture leaks down from his face but he doesn’t care, just holds onto her more, never wants to let go while sobs continue pouring out.

“It hurts so much. My scar never stops aching and I try to forget about it and hope it just goes away. I keep having nightmares over and over again about when it happened and it happening to you and me hurting you, and it… it fucking sucks. I wish it would stop but I don’t tell you about it because I know you blame yourself, I know you think you’re the reason I got hurt, but you’re not. You didn’t do this to me, life just fucked us over and...”

His voice was loud, ugly, and a mess, but it was his. It was both of theirs.

“...It’s not fair. It’s not fair Maka.”

All he could do was cry, both of them. Just finally let out all the pain he’d been carrying for far too long now, let go of the burden he tried to keep shouldered on his own, and let her help lift the weight that had sunken his chest away from hers.

In that moment their grief was deeply shared, and his shadow, now moving back to whence it came, finally brought that fallboard to its close.

Part 8 – Resolve

Soul scoots the piano bench out a little before taking a seat away from the instrument behind him.

It was a wonder they even managed to clean the mess from their faces, but he was feeling tons better now, and judging by how she comfortably sat next to him it seemed she felt the same way. He wasn’t sure where that other version of him went, hadn’t seen when it’d even left, but that too was a welcome change as they simply got to have the room to themselves for the time being. And with a nice, calm breath of relief, quietly his voice lifts up to her again with a timid glance.

“Thank you, for um… listening to me.”

Maka welcomes it with her own lighthearted smile. “Hey, you know I’m here for you when you need it – I really am glad you came to talk to me about it.” She then laughs aside a little. “I think we definitely both needed this, anyway.”

He follows, albeit weakly. “Yeah, sorry, I just…… It’s not easy, um… talking about this kinda stuff...” And smirks awkwardly. “Sorry for being kind’ve a jackass about it.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it. It’s been hard to deal with, but you know… I’m proud of you, for reaching out. I know it takes a lot of strength to do that.”

Their eyes remain locked, stammer caught in his throat all over again until he gives it up, gaze averted down to his fingers aimlessly fidgeting with themselves even when his voice eventually squirms its way out, quiet but genuine. “Thank you.”

The two then simply wallow in each other’s company, thoughts just drifting through his hands before deciding it’d be okay to keep freeing them up.

“So, um… How did you end up here?” He gestures vaguely around the room to clarify. “Like nothing bad happened before I got here?”

“Oh, no I just...” She thinks briefly, answer facing the chair she’d first been waiting in.

“He said I was free to go, but I didn’t want to leave you here so I just waited for you to come back since I knew you would.”

A laugh returns over to him, shining through all uncertainties. “Pretty sure he was trying to get me to leave though.”

Soul chuckles lightly, soaking in both the warmth of her mirth and lighting curiosity, then willingly indulging it to lean more into its comfort.

“Yeah, it was pretty weird down there, but uh… Basically I promised I’d try to care about myself more, and I climbed up for awhile to get here. It definitely kinda sucked but um...”

He looks up to her with full sincerity.

“...It was a question I needed to ask you.”

And Maka extends her full appreciation in return.

“That’s good, I’m glad you made it out.”

Though his face does become a bit restless when a gentle humour makes her start to shy away. “...I do feel a little embarrassed though now that I know what the question was actually about.”

He scrunches. “...What did you think it was about?”

More laughter shoots out while she flutters about nervously.

“Well y’know… You suddenly pulling me aside into an empty room after you looked like you really wanted something all day, and I just… I don’t know.” The emphasis of her hands flopping down mesmerizes him, leaving the gears in his head slowly turning until they begin speeding up and contorting his expression through several unexplainable emotions before she cuts it off, huffing.

“Look: Just because I can see your soul doesn’t mean I know what you’re actually thinking half the time.” Huff then muttering into a pout. “Boys are weird, okay?”

This finally breaks him, uproarious cackling shaking haphazardly before he whips back enthusiastically. “Girls are also weird!”

“They’re all weird: People are weird.”

The deadpan quickly descends him further and drags her along with him, taking him a solid good minute to catch his breath for when he eventually meets her again, voice softened despite his sharp grin.

“You really are my best friend, though.”

He soon hesitates, fingers back to fidgeting with the seam. “...No offense to everyone else, obviously, you’re just um… You’re the coolest person I know and I genuinely appreciate you being there for me.” And he then faces her in complete earnest. “I want to care about both of us.”

So she truly meets him in the middle. “We both can.”

Their shared admiration beams while he extends his hand, her gladly taking it even before he asks.

“Partners?”

“Partners.”

Newly kindled hope and determination sparks up from within the bond of their resolve, igniting Soul’s sharkiest grin and Maka’s telltale smirk, which soon slips into something unexpectedly casual. “Hey do you wanna go get ice cream?”

He snorts. “Yeah, y’know what I’ve had enough of this room – We can keep moving forward together but who says we can’t also live life how we want too you know?”

“Live life and fuck Medusa.”

The two begin to stand up as he nods in full agreement. “Fuck Medusa.”

And as he shambles up onto his own two feet, hand firmly in hand, they both walk together side by side across those old checker tiles and eagerly chatter all through the exit, finally finding peace in closing that door shut.

Gently he picked the teacup up, letting the aroma drift in before taking a nice sip proper.

Ah, what a pleasant blend.

Quite well done if he says so himself, pairs excellently with the early morning view upon this balcony. A crisp delicate flavour to match a cool yet refreshing sunrise, to which the sun itself greets the day already hard at work.

Yes, this shall be a good day indeed.

He takes another fine sip, most certainly pleased with himself on its taste. Two creams, two sugars.

A good blend always needs a good balance in sweetness, though it was no lie he tended to be a bit more indulgent than most. Perhaps he’ll dare to make a visit today, but who would he be fooling to say he doesn’t make this consideration every day…

He sets the teacup onto its platter, soft clatter then reaching the table he seats at before his eloquent voice finally comes to life.

“I bet you’re wondering where the probable ruse lies, if perhaps it were all a dream or such events holds no bearing beyond the imagination.”

He lifts his cane resting faithfully by his side to give it a graceful twirl, suddenly halting to face its head up for a grand emphasis.

“Fool! The story was but in twain; It happened long ago, you see.”

The end is then swiftly brought upon the floor, like a gavel signifying its supreme judgement.

“Well done, the two you so followed did not meet lips. I’m sure such a challenge was quite trialing, but the reward of your efforts must be well worthwhile. Perhaps you’ve gained greater wisdom for further endeavors, even.”

With a flick of his wrist his magnificent hat tips, parting with a gentleman’s last word.

“And so it would appear our time together now comes to a close, but fret not – We may meet again if you so wish. Always more stories to tell, more secrets to unveil… Some possibly even already upon the horizon, hm.

Until then: fare thee well!”

#2023 art #writing #soul eater #Soul x Maka

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simmancy · 2 years ago

Photo

Happy Spooky Season, ghosts & ghouls!

I’m participating in @simblreenofficial again this year! My blog is getting appropriately spooky (its a WIP). Here’s what’s happening this month on simmancy-dot-tumblr-dot-com.

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜! 👋

Hi there if you’re new! My name is Kit, I am 31 now, this is my simblr, it’s a mess. When I’m actively posting, I post a variation of gameplay and some very basic storytelling and sometimes poorly done edits, so if that isn’t your jam, that’s okay! Just letting you know, k-pop inspired sims and vampires might be here, sometimes the pictures are sorta pretty. There’s a disclaimer on the blog stating that generally my content is akin to PG-13, anything you could construe as being above that rating gets tagged.

Sometimes I post CC. It’s rare but it happens.

𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚎 🍬

I’ll be participating in simblreen festivities again this year! The first weekend my porchlight will be on all 3 days, a different tiny gift each day. When you see that the porchlight is on, feel free to come knocking! If you miss it, don’t fear–I’ll be releasing them all on October 31!

As of right now, I’m not planning on participating the full time the second weekend as I have IRL plans but I’m not sure if I’ll do a candy bowl or not. We’ll see!!

𝟸𝟾 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝙰𝚂 🧛

I’ve been trying to work on some of these up but I am famously lazy. ANYWAY though I am trying to do this challenge by @nikatyler so if you are ALSO vampire obsessed let a girl know. I love a good vampire!!

𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 🌕

Hi regular followers!! I’m working on queueing Not So Perry (my Not So Berry challenge) as well as Star x Crossed (my s-pop story). They are going slowly because I’m currently ✨ tired ✨. This week I think I’m going to take a break from both and mostly do reblogs and finally clear out my ask box, so I can focus of finishing shooting Episode 1 of Star x Crossed.

I have another two saves I’ve been working on/playing in the background that are meant for simblr but I’m not ready to share them... just yet. Maybe soon!

I might drop ACNH content again too LMAO I’m currently back to hanging out on my island of Briarwood... Going on vacation and being away from my computer for a week really made me pick ACNH back up, yes.

𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 🔮

I copied and pasted this whole newsletter format from the year I got married :’) That was two years ago now!! Time sure does fly??

My “new job” isn’t so new anymore--I’ve been there a year--and it’s still pretty good! It keeps me busy... And this time of year can be unpredictable so while I’m not super-duper busy right this second it could change in an instant. We also have another round of weddings coming up to attend, plus my better half and I now throw the annual Halloween party in our friend group.

I also read more, but that’s because my coworker keeps giving me books LMAO

Anyway, that’s my update of the year. Happy spooky season everybody! I hope it’s a good one!

Stay safe & spooky out there!

#queue update #kitkat chitchat #blog update

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mendesblurb · 3 years ago

Note

Request:

Shawn mendes x reader

Three times Shawn felt so happy and in love

By the fourth time he finally said I love you

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

When I'm With You

Shawn Mendes x female reader

Warning: fluff, maybe grammar error and maybe some punctuation errors.

Note: This is probably at Queue while I’m asleep lol, anyway I tried my best, let me know what you think about it @mendesx321 , Thank you so much for requesting :)

First

It was just another Friday night where both of you decide to take a bath together as a way to unwind after a long and exhausting day at work.

Shawn pulls you onto his lap, and you lean your head back against his chest.

You let out a relieved sigh as your body is immersed in the warm, soapy water. “Oh… I didn’t even know how much I needed this.”

“The bath or me?” Shawn questions as he kisses your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your middle and holding you tight.

“Do I have to choose?” You jokingly question.

“What can I do to make you choose me?” Shawn chuckles,sliding his hands down your body. His fingers drift to your inner thigh. He strokes his way way up your leg with one hand, letting you the other drift to your chest.

“I will always choose you, Mendes.” You turn around and straddle his lap, pressing your body against his.

“Oh thank goodness.” He chuckles, gently strokes your cheek, bringing you closer while you close the distance between the two of you, and press your lips to his.

His arms slide around your waist. He kisses you back urgently, eagerly and passionately.

It didn’t take long for water to slosh over the edge of the tub as you press against each other, lost in the rhythm of your bodies…

Second

It was just another Sunday night. Preferably, the most relaxing day of the week. You and Shawn were just sitting in his bed putting some face masks.

“Be careful!” You laughed as he straddled you, head tilted back slightly to keep his own mask on his face. He was cracking up as well, trying to put the mask on you while his head was back towards the ceiling.

You could tell that he was not putting it on you right, even with your eyes closed. “What is this hole with the flap?”

“For my nose, smarty pants.”

“Ahhhh, okay” he flipped the mask over and fixed it on your face. “There.”

“Okay, now get off of me,” you laughed, and he just pressed his weight down on you lower.

“I’m comfy, sorry.” Shawn laughed.

“Shawn,” you laughed harder, and tried to get him off of you. It wasn’t like he was crushing you, but having a rather tall and muscular guy straddling you definitely didn’t make breathing any easier. “Get off of me!”

“What did you say?” Shawn teased, looking down at you. “You want me to tickle you?”

“No!”

“Sounds like a Yes to me.” He scooted himself lower so he was resting on your thighs, and his fingers went to your stomach and sides, where he tickled unrelentingly.

You couldn’t stop yourself from calling out his name and he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he tickled you. Finally, when you were completely out of breath, he stopped.

Eventually his face mask fell off of him and landed on your stomach. “Oops.”

Meanwhile Yours was not at all on your face, it had fallen onto the pillow while you were laughing.

“You’re such a dork, Mendes.”

Third

“Like what you see, Mendes?”

“I am enjoying the view, thank you very much.” Shawn say, moving to stand behind you. Leaning in, brushing his lips brushed against your ear, breathing hotly as he speaks. “Spend the night with me again, Y/N.”

“What makes you think I’m going to spend the night here tonight?”

“You can’t honestly expect me to just stare at you in my shirt while not do anything about it.” He said as he moved your hair from your shoulder and starts leaving small soft kisses down your neck.

“Okay fine, only because you insist.”

“Good.”

With a mischievous smile, Shawn suddenly scoops you in his arms and, you let out a shriek of laughter.

“Shawn!”

“What, can’t a guy sweep his girlfriend off her feet?”

“I suppose he can.” You giggle and soon both of you were laughing as Shawn gently place you to the bed, pressing his lips to yours.

Fourth

You were holding hands at a random park, not that both of you would think too much about it because it should be a casual thing by now, but everytime you decide to see the intertwined hands, you still can’t stop the blush from appearing on your cheeks.

“You promised me there would be a snow today.” You pouted.

“I’m sorry my love, can I make it up with a kiss?”

“I don’t know.” You continue pouting, arms crossed over your chest.

“Please.” Shawn begs while giving you his best puppy face. “Please.”

“One kiss.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck, closing the distance and press your lips to his. Shawn returns the kiss eagerly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

After a long, lingering moment, Shawn pull back and grin. “I think I might be ready,"

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to say that I love you, Y/N.”

“I suppose I’m ready too.” You say before taking a deep breath, locking your eyes with his, nose brushing and your hand intertwined with his. “I love you too, Shawn.” You finally say.

“I like me better when I’m with you, Y/N.”

Shawn leans his body closer, his hand move to linger at the small of your back, both your lips inches away when suddenly he reaches over and pulls something out of your hair.

“What is it?”

“It’s a——-.”

Before Shawn can fully say a large of snow falls on his nose. You look up, only to see the air filled with flakes.

“SNOWWWWWW!!!”

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ɢᴜʏꜱ... ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ, ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ᴍʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ, ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ᴄʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴄʜᴀᴛꜱ ᴏʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ... ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱɪɴɢʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ... ❤️

Taglist: @monikamendes @holland-styles @bvttercupbby @lonelyreputation @badreputationlove @shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean @benito-mi-vida @swiftmendeshoran @yournameoneverypage @shawn-is-bruh @mendesbhraanth @perfectlywrongsm @imaginashawnns @smendes-forever @nervousmendes @whenyoureadyholland @shawn-youth @myboyshawn @camilalewiss @camilalewisss @theregoesmyherojd @nanijaac1 @shawnieeboyy @silverswallow @inlovewithmendes @mendeslol @mendesx123

#shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fandom #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes stories #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes one shot

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bomberqueen17 · 3 years ago

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vacation

i am Going on Vacation. wellll i’m going to an AirBnB “cabin in the woods” in... somewhere down the hudson valley, so far from my house but closeish to the farm, for two nights, and then we’re going to the farm for the week. hopefully there will be cabin-building. hopefully i will not just wash eggs the whole time but i am prepared to wash eggs the whole time. dude is staying at the farm for the week because he can work remotely and like why... not.... he was going to come back on the train, but i wanted him to help with cabin things and of course we don’t know what the weather will be so we don’t know which day we’ll be able to spend on building shit so. impossible to schedule.

anyway. The Farm Season is going to begin. I’m not ready. I meant to do literally any physical activity this winter and just didn’t. Woke up this morning with one forearm all sore and funky and either I was possessed in my sleep or I have... sore muscles... from scrubbing a pot??? yeah idk.

anyhow this cabin in the woods just outside a fairly large town has a hot tub so i am going to procure a bucket of salmon and sit topless in it and live my bearselkie dreams, so.

also i have packed both a sewing machine and my serger into the car already, and several large bags of Projects, so we shall see what I actually do but I’m Prepared.

(Have I packed clothes? No. I found my bikini. That’s not gonna cut it for like. Going out to dinner or you know the entire week I’m spending working on the farm. (Mm yes I am applying roof sheathing to the cabin in a 40 degree drizzle, in a bikini! Hmm maybe not.) So probably I need to do that but let me just sit here trying to get my weird sore arm to work again. God I have the fitness levels of an entire veal calf.)

edit: oh I forgot to post this, I stuck it in the queue by accident.

well, I’m on vacation, which is why I haven’t updated the fic today. I just forgot it was Friday. I have hot-tubbed topless and today I lay in the sun in a thong for a careful twenty minutes so as not to get sunburnt, but like, I needed some vitamin D, and that’s not a sex thing that’s a genuine metabolism thing. It’s going to rain the rest of the time but today it’s a glorious 70F so I’m out there. I will update the fic! Probably tomorrow when it is raining, but it’s possible I won’t get to it. Rest assured, I have several juicy possibilities and hope to get even more written whilst here, I’m just, you know, away from the keyboard and made no provisions for this, LOL.

#about the author #bearselkie lyfe

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zhanyes · 4 years ago

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Tianshan dating headcannons because i also love these two dumbasses too

Also dedicated to @el-mundo-real who requested tianshan headcannons 🖤

. . .

- Literally no one knows whether they’re dating or not. Not even themselves because they don’t talk about it

- Jian yi thinks they’re dating already and Zhengxi says they’re still getting there (somehow they’re both right) and they make a bet

- He tian likes staying over at Mo’s and he’s gotten pretty close to mama Mo

- Mama Mo teaches him how to knit !! He tried to knit a scarf for Mo but it came out a little messy and tangled. Mo still wears it anyway saying it’s a waste of yarn if not used (He’s actually really touched)

- He eats dinner there about 5 times a week and sleeps over thrice a week. He’s a permanent fixture in the house now, he has his own plate and mug, utensils, toothbrush, a spare key, and more than half of his closet migrated to Mo’s closet

- Sometimes Mo “accidentally” wears He tian’s sweaters and He tian dies a little bit every time

- Sometimes He tian deliberately wears Mo’s clothes and it’s always tighter and a bit shorter on his body so when he moves his arms the shirt rides up. Mo guanshan shouts at him to change and to stop contaminating his clothes but his ears are red anyway

- They bicker A LOT. Over the smallest things because He tian loves riling him up and Mo gets riled up too easily

He tian, for the 7th time in 5 minutes: “What does this thing do?”

Mo guanshan, losing his mind: “THAT’S A FUCKING MICROWAVE WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK IT DO?!”

- There are times when homicide is the best option

Mo Guanshan: “I acknowledge that I can be mean sometimes-”

He tian, in the bathtub: “Sometimes?”

Mo Guanshan: “Shut the fuck up. So I brought you a bath bomb as a peace offering.”

He tian: “That’s a fucking toaster.”

Mo guanshan: “Exactly. A bath bomb.”

- Contrary to what his actions say, Mo guanshan is actually relieved that He tian spends most of his time in their apartment. He tian never told him but he can see how lonely the other teenager is

- Mo guanshan tries to teach He tian chores because He tian knows nothing about cleaning or doing everyday things

Mo guanshan: “How the fuck do you not know how to wash dishes where the hell do you eat?!”

He tian, drinking milk straight out the carton: “Obviously on plates, Momo. I just throw them away after.”

Mo guanshan, sputtering: “WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THROW OUT PLATES?!”

- The first and only recipe that He tian managed to cook successfully is instant noodles with boiled egg that’s not quite cooked enough. Sometimes he brings Mo noodles as breakfast in bed and he looks so proud of it Mo has a hard time saying that the noodles are overcooked and that noodles aren’t exactly breakfast food (he eats it anyway)

- Mo sometimes, only sometimes, brings He tian grocery shopping because he needs to learn how to buy food for himself. Somehow He tian always ends up in the miscellaneous section where he has a pack of ballpens he’ll never use, 2 journals he’ll also never use, a couple of scented candles, various dog clothes and leashes for the dog he doesn’t have, a couple’s mug, and a vase in his cart

- He tian stopped trying to barge into Mo guanshan’s bed and sleeps on the futon on the floor beside it. It’s not the most comfortable and he had a hard time sleeping on it at first but he likes being in Mo’s company even while sleeping

- Sometimes Mo would move in his sleep and leave his arm dangling on the side of the bed, He tian grabs it of course and Mo wakes up to sweaty palms. He still leaves it for a few moments before harshly slapping away He tian’s hand

- Mo’s hands aren’t smooth at all because of working all the time and practicing the guitar but He tian loves them all the same. He likes to feel the contrast in textures with his slightly smoother hands

- He tian has a thousand pictures of Mo guanshan sleeping in various angles and poses. He has his favorites framed and keeps it on his bedside table in his apartment so when he’s sleeping there he still feels like they’re sleeping together

- Mo guanshan has a few of He tian sleeping but he swears up and down that he'll never do anything as disgusting as that. He makes one of them his wallpaper.

- Sometimes when they don’t feel like sleeping yet they stay up talking and arguing about random things

Mo guanshan: “Why would aliens be in space? The ocean is definitely the way to go.”

He tian: “But why would they be in the ocean? They’ll drown.”

Mo guanshan: “They’re aliens maybe they have gills or some shit.”

He tian: “I’m telling you they’re not in the ocean, Mo.”

Mo guanshan: “And I’m telling you you’re wrong, bastard.”

- On rare days they would stay up talking about their pasts and about life in general, with the lights closed and the only source of light is the moonlights from the window

- One of these nights, Mo told He tian about what happened to his dad and their restaurant, why they’re in so much debt over it and He tian holds Mo’s hand tightly throughout

- He knew better than to say that he could pay for that debt so Mo doesn’t need to worry anymore (He still says it anyway and Mo blew a fuse) but he swore to help Mo through other means

- The next day he orders a whole carton of mangoes, apples and peaches in his apartment and learns how to peel properly through youtube and Zhengxi

- He goes to Mo’s part time job in the grocery and helps him peel fruits, Mo guanshan doesn’t mention anything when he notices the bandaids on the other’s hands but he does cook him beef stew for dinner

- As expected He tian’s presence brings more customers and the manager asks if he wants to work there permanently but he said he’s only working for Mo so the manager can give Mo a raise instead

- Once, Mo got sick so he missed his part time job for the day (He was supposed to give away flyers on the streets) and got extra pissy because He tian didn’t visit him and wouldn’t answer his phone

- Apparently He tian took over his job for the day and he only finds out when he goes to the manager and the manager asks when his ‘boyfriend’ can come back to work again because the customers love him

- He tian almost never talks about himself but once he talked about the puppy who disappeared after he saves it and then found out that it’s still alive after all these years

- Mo keeps quiet about it the whole time he was talking and the next few days he takes time to knit a small dog plushie and leaves it on He tian’s futon

- He tian didn’t cry, he didn’t (he did), but he hugged Mo and whispered a sincere thank you. For once, Mo lets it happen

- Mo quickly regrets his decision when He tian names the plushie “Chicken sandwich”

- He tian brings Mo in a lot of not-dates (according to Mo) like arcades, ocean parks, festivals, and fairs because he didn’t get to go as a kid and he wants to experience it for the first time with Mo

- They get crazy competitive in every game. Every. Single. One. If it’s a co-op shooting game they would compete on who kills the most enemies, if it’s a harmless crane game it becomes a competition of who can get the most plushies

- They both each have a photobooth strip. Mo keeps his as a bookmarker in a journal, and He tian has his in the back of his phone.

- They go on a double not-date with Jian yi and Zhengxi and it ends up in almost getting chased by a police car at 2 am in pokemon onesies and holding a bag of chips

- Sometimes Mo would visit his dad in prison and just rant to him about He tian

Mo guanshan: “The nerve of that guy to do something like that in front of a teacher urgh.”

Papa Mo: “Your boyfriend sounds like a fun guy, son. I want to meet him soon.”

Mo guanshan: “BO-BOYFRIEND?!”

Papa Mo: “Yes???”

Mo guanshan: “No??? That bastard isn’t my boyfriend??”

Papa Mo: “Are you sure about that?”

Mo guanshan: “...Yes?”

- Enter gay panique because he doesn’t actually know whether He tian is his boyfriend or not

- They don’t call each other boyfriends and they never talked about it so no??? But they’re also not just friends so maybe??? Do they go on dates?? Can grocery trips be considered dates??

- He rings up Jian yi and the blonde just laughed for 5 minutes straight without stopping and he wonders how he’s still breathing

Mo Guanshan, after hearing Jian yi laughing for 5 minutes: “Are you fucking done?”

Jian yi, trying to catch his breath: “Man this is some top-tier entertainment.”

Mo guanshan: “WELL?!”

Jian yi: “Look bro literally no one knows whether you’re dating, fucking, planning each other’s murder OR planning a murder together.”

Mo guanshan: “What if it’s all of the above?”

Jian yi: “Then congratulations…? Please don’t murder me?”

Mo guanshan: “Urgh you’re fucking useless I should have called Zhengxi.”

Jian yi: “Wait don’t, I don’t wanna lose the bet. How about this, there’s a festival upcoming for couples and families, if He tian asks you then you’re probably, maybe, dating?”

Mo guanshan: “That’s stupid. AND WHAT BET?!”

Jian yi: “Ah woops gotta water my dog.”

- Mo tells himself that it’s stupid and there’s no way he’s falling for that...but he feels disappointed anyway when He tian doesn’t ask him the following days

- He tian asks on the last day before the festival, but he asks mama Mo first and Mo guanshan second cuz he wants to celebrate with both of them. He confessed that he’s never actually went to a festival with a family before so he was trying to build up courage to ask

- Mo guanshan is an absolute goner after that

- On the day of the festival, they find Zhanyi there on a date but decide to leave them alone. While they were leaving Jian yi kept throwing Mo guanshan so much winks that Zhengxi thought he got something in his eye

- The festival was fun but Mo couldn’t take his eyes off how happy and content He tian looks

- Queue cliche fireworks scene but it’s He tian being amazed by the fireworks and Mo looking mesmerized at him thinking, “Ah, I want him to look at me like that.”

- The next day, he drags He tian to visit his dad in jail

Papa mo: “Oh this is a surprise, you’ve never brought someone before?”

He tian, trying to introduce himself: “Hello, sir. I’m He tian, Mo guanshan’s fri-”

Mo guanshan, cuts him off: “Boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend, dad.”

He tian:

#19 days #19 days headcannons #19 days hc #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #zhanyi #jian yi #zhan zheng xi #am i procrastinating updating my fics and 19 days socmed au by posting random 19 days stuff?#yes yes i am #old xian

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newtonsheffield · 3 years ago

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MOLLY! Does good girls Anthony ever see Kate in traditional dress maybe for a holiday like Holi? Or maybe a party? Cause I think GG Anthony would be MESMERIZED?!

Oh Anthony is *obsessed* with this. He's obsessed. Like, LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLFRIEND IS SHE NOT THE PRETTIEST!!!!

As always I am not an expert on South Asian culture (ya girl is white AF) and I do get nervous sometimes discussing Kate's culture because I am sensitive to the fact that I 1) may be accidentally insensitive which is never my intention and 2) May be perpetuating harmful stereotypes however inadvertently. So as always if I need correcting, hit me up!

May I also just say I spent 45 minutes staring at pictures for this. White People, why are we so bland at weddings?????My word. Anyway, here's Anthony, attending his first event for Kate's family.

Anthony was stressed. That was an understatement, actually. Anthony thought his stomach was going to shrivel up and die from nerves.

"Mum, are you sure I look okay?" He said for the millionth time, standing in front of the mirror, the grey suit stark against his skin.

His mother hummed, "You look very handsome, Anthony. I promise, Kate's going to like it."

Anthony sighed at her unhelpfulness, fiddling with the blue of his tie. "What if this isn't the right colour blue? And I look stupid! Or like... I don't know, what if she's decided she doesn't want me to come with her. Her grandma's gonna be there."

Panic had been rising steadily in his chest for weeks, ever since Kate had said, very casually,

"My cousin is getting married next month."

Anthony had smiled at the thought of it, "Cool, that'll be nice, You'll get to dress up pretty, and dance. You'll have to send me a picture."

Kate bit her lip, "Actually, you were invited... if you want to come, you obviously don't have to, but my grandmother wants to meet you, and um... I want you to come as well."

Anthony's mouth had fallen open in surprise, his heart pounding, unable to formulate a response to the fact she wanted him to be part of her family in a more intimate way.

"You don't have to dome. Forget I said anything." Kate said quickly, misreading his silence completely.

Anthony had shaken his head a little desperately, "If you want me to come. There's no way I'm not coming, Princess." And her smile had been so beautiful.

He'd asked her, specifically, what colour her dress would be, because he wanted to match and she'd smiled,

"It's blue and gold. You can wear either."

And it had suddenly occurred to him in a way it hadn't before. "This is a Hindu wedding."

Kate had looked a little bemused "Yeeesss." She'd drawn out the word as though it were obvious, and he supposed, yes it fucking was obvious.

But Anthony had panicked, "I don't really... know a lot about your culture, are you sure you want me to come? I don't want to embarrass you."

"Anthony do you want to come?" Kate's head was tilted curiously, a genuine question.

Anthony nodded, maybe a little too vehemently. "Yeah, I want to meet your family."

Kate smiled, kissing his cheek, "Then that's all you need to know. The rest I'll teach you."

So now here he was, standing in his bedroom with his Mum fussing around him, in the first suit he'd work since his father's funeral. And even more nervous.

"You think Kate is going to see that your tie doesn't match her clothes perfectly and ask you not to come?" His mother said a little exasperatedly.

Anthony scowled, "Well When you say it like that, it doesn't sound great."

"Exactly." His mother said marching from the room, "Come on now, or you're going to be late."

The whole way to the Sharmas Anthony thought he might vomit. Nerves nipping at his stomach even as he stood at the door, too afraid to knock. The door swung open anyway.

"Anthony sweetheart, what are you doing out here?" Mrs. Sharma had obviously spotted him, loitering on the curb.

"Oh um... I was tying my shoelace." She gave him an astute look, a little hum.

"Don't you look handsome? Kate's in the living room."

Anthony nodded, finally, bringing himself to look at her, and when he did he couldn't help but smile.

"Mrs. Sharma, you look amazing." Green and gold silk seemed to spin around Kate's step mum, cascading like a waterfall, Anthony suddenly felt very underdressed in his three piece suit as Mr Sharma walked down stairs, in green to match his wife.

“You’re very sweet, but wait until you see Katie.” Anthony had a sudden jolt. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d be in traditional dress, she hadn’t said, but he supposed it must have seemed obvious to her, and he’d been too stupid to ask.

“Anthony, you look very smart.”

“Thank you sir, I wasn’t um, sure… Kate said this would be okay?” He was resisting the urge to sprint from the room, suddenly desperate to get away before Kate’s entire family judged him wanting. The crown tattoo wrapped around his left forearm burning.

Mr Sharma clapped his hand on Anthony’s shoulder, wheeling him towards the living room. “You look great, Son. Be careful, all the Aunties will be trying to steal you for their girls.”

And then Anthony stopped dead, even as Kate’s father tried to tug him forward. Because the Kate that was standing in the living room, pinning some decoration into her sister’s hair was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, blue and gold silk and organza woven together in a skirt, that floated and swished in the air around her, her skin glowing golden in the light, a corset style top he doubted was strictly traditional tight against her, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. And his tie was the wrong fucking colour.

“You are so beautiful.” The words were out before he could stop them, causing Kate’s head to shoot up a slow smile stretching across her face.

“You don’t look so bad either.” Anthony felt a little smug, suddenly as she walked towards him, her lips brushing his cheek, but Anthony was still fixated on the fabric all around her. Even as he was bundled into the car, he couldn’t stop staring, barely even looked at the bride, barely looked at anything until he was tugged up to stand in front of a group of women that included Mrs. Sharma, Kate’s hand tight in his.

“Who is that handsome man, Katharine?” The oldest woman said narrowing her eyes at him.

Anthony felt his cheeks grow warm as Kate smiled, a Tamil word Anthony didn’t quite catch falling from her lips before “Aunties, this is Anthony.”

For a horrifying moment everyone stared at him, their eyes raking over him, Mrs Sharma smiling encouragingly.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, you all look so beautiful today.” God he sounded stupid, panic was rising in his chest, even as Kate’s hand gripped his tightly.

And one by one they all smiled, the oldest woman, Kate’s grandmother, patting his cheek. “Katie, what a polite boy, and so handsome. Now tell me young man, what are your plans for the future?”

“Kate rolled her eyes, “Anthony’s going to be a mechanic.”

Anthony nodded as her Grandmother nodded approvingly, “Not afraid of hard work either, excellent young man.”

Anthony relaxed ever so slightly.

“They like you too much already, Son.” Mr Sharma hummed as they watched Kate and Edwina twirling around the floor. “No getting out of it now.”

“I don’t think I’d ever want to Sir.” He couldn’t help himself.

Mr Sharma clapped him on the shoulder, “Good Lad, now, this is your queue.” And he pushed him out onto the dance floor next to Kate.

#good girls au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #Sharma family feels #erryone’s here #Molly’s asks and answers

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years ago

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact.

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication.

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive.

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.”

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both."

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours.

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it.

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night.

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood.

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you.

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey.

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.”

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble.

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek.

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face.

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much.

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends."

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks.

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises.

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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