#because australia is like the seat of his power or whatever. hes more powerful there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baronessvonglitter · 3 months

Text

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 9 | "i want you to want me"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 1,423

Summary: you and Dave have a real conversation about your expectations of each other as you rekindle your relationship. Smut ensues (duh)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, Dave shames Carol for having a life outside of the home (he just rationalizes everything, doesn't he?) but it's meant more as bait to get the reader back, oral sex (m receiving - in his fancy SUV of course, and in an alleyway of course), come swallowing, fingering, possible soft!Dave (?), pet names ("sweetpea", "good girl"), no use of y/n

Series Masterlist

You agonize over what to wear to meet Dave. You're already twenty minutes late by the time you go to the coffee shop. Let him think your lateness is you pulling some kind of power move to keep him waiting. He deserves it.

The cafe is quaint and warm and smells comfortingly of aromatic coffee and freshly baked bread. It's almost like something out of a romantic movie, except women who willingly enter into affairs with married men aren't typically the heroines, and quaint little bakeries are never the backdrop for illicit liaisons.

But when you spot Dave in a corner booth, his smile changes your mind. It's hard to ignore the once-over he gives you, his hungry leer an indication that what he said on the phone last night was true: he really did miss you.

A smile flits across your face as you approach him, not wanting to give too much away in the first few moments of your reunion. He has to come to you. He's made the first few steps in reaching out and setting up this clandestine meet-up. "Hey," you greet him, sliding into the seat across from him. "Good to see you again." He stands in a gentlemanly welcome, only sitting down when you do.

"It's great to see you," he replies, and there's more warmth in his face than you can recall ever seeing before. It's the same look he wears when he's with his family. "I'm glad you agreed to see me."

"You made it sound terribly important. Unless it was just a ruse to get me to come out here. I have a lot on my plate, as you know."

Dave looks chastened and you can't help feeling a little bad about your standoffish manner, but you need to keep the upper hand. "I think it's wonderful that you're going back to school. You're a woman with great potential, and you can do whatever you set your mind to."

You almost laugh. "Did you really ask me to come here to give me an inspirational speech? I sucked your dick while your wife was in the next room with her book club. I think we're way past formalities."

He has the nerve to smirk, and you glimpse a bit of the man you've come to know in your secret doings. "I want to talk about what happened, but mostly--"

"Are you going to buy me a coffee or not?" you interrupt, pulling out your compact to check your makeup.

It seems he likes this new you, and you watch as he goes to buy your drinks. You have a feeling you know what he's going to ask, and it's going to be quite an effort to deny him. You haven't even considered going back to how things were. Would you?

He returns with the drinks. "I've apologized."

"You have."

"I could have handled it better," he admits. "You haven't asked anything of me during our time together, and I appreciate that. The least I could have done was to handle the situation with more discretion."

"I was upset, but you were fair. We're already in a sticky situation and I wouldn't want to worsen things between us. You're my employer."

"Well, I've been thinking about it," he says, the tips of his fingers resting on the white paper of his coffee cup. For a brief moment you remember the feel of those fingers inside you, the way he muffled your moans with his hand or, sometimes, with his necktie. "I've never been with a virgin," he says quite plainly, as if he's saying he's never been to Australia, or he's never been skiing.

You take a moment to process this, because it feels like he's speaking another language and you have to take a moment to translate it. "Never? Really?"

He shakes his head. "Not even Carol was a virgin when we met. Not that it made any difference to me."

"You said you don't want me to develop feelings," you remind him.

He takes a long look at you, and for once you feel you hold up to his scrutiny. "I think it could be different with us. You've maintained discretion. You're a bright young woman, you know what you want. You're okay with the fun we've been having so far?"

You nod. "Of course."

"I'd like to continue," he says softly. "Would you?"

This is exactly what you'd asked yourself just moments earlier.

"Not the same as before," he says quickly, reading your hesitation.

"Meaning you want to fuck me," you say it for him.

He smiles, looking shy, but you know he's not. "Yes. I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you since the day you came to interview for the position."

You give a sharp intake of breath. He knows just where to get you to make your walls come down, and all this time you thought you were in control. "I felt the same.."

He looks pleased with himself, yet flattered.

"What about Carol?" you ask. "You're okay betraying the mother of your children?"

Dave sighs, expecting this question to come up. "She's a great woman, and we do love each other. But you know how she's busy all the time, chasing her personal ambitions. If she stayed at home more we wouldn't need you," he points out. "Our marriage has become more for appearances now. Something I'm supposed to do. And when you've been together as long as we have, things get comfortable."

"What's wrong with comfortable?"

He shrugs. "Exciting beats comfortable any day."

Your heart beats like it has wings, and you feel that heartbeat somewhere else too. Dave makes sense, but everything he's saying is almost mean. Carol must have no idea what her husband's proclivities are, or she would not have invited a younger woman into their lives to essentially house. But really, all Carol's guilty of is being married to a man you desire.

"I could never ask for commitment from you, not really.. I'd never get it," you state plainly.

"True," Dave admits. Then in a sudden, very un-Dave-like fashion, he grabs your hands across the table. "I was almost catatonic when you were gone. I barely went to the office, and when I did I spent my time at my desk, my mind a million miles away. I struggled to sleep and often found myself dreaming of you."

"Dave!" you gasp, but you don't dare let go of his hands.

"It's my last-ditch effort to influence your decision," he confesses. "But it's the truth, all of it. I want you to be mine."

This is what you've been wanting to hear, not just moments of hot, whispered words because of your praise kink. You wanted, if not romance, affection. You can live with that.

"Okay," you say at last. "I'm yours.." You look into his deep brown eyes and you both smile. "So.. what happens now?"

His fingers are threaded through your hair as he thrusts into your mouth with enthusiasm. He'd stayed away from Carol, only fucking his hand when his needs were absolutely necessary, wishing it was you. In the front seat of his SUV in an alleyway, you're practically on all fours, deep-throating him, hungry for the taste of him after all this time. "Good girl," he mutters, palming your breast through your clothes. He pushes your panties to the side and strokes your clit, wanting you to come, loving the vibrating feel of your moans around his cock, the way your mouth tenses up when you're so close to the edge. "Here it comes. Be a good girl and swallow all of it," he pants, and you wonder how he can manage words when you're both in such a carnal frenzy.

He explodes in your mouth just as you come apart from his aggressive touch. As the pleasure ebbs over you, you artfully swallow every stream of cum, your hand pulling upward from his base, wanting every single drop he has to give. And when you're taking a moment just to come down from that high, you tell him, "I want you to fuck me."

His eyes darken with lust. "Now?"

You nod. "Backseat."

You can tell he's trying to keep it together, trying not to frighten you before he's had a chance to have you to himself. "For your first time you deserve better, sweetpea. I'm getting us a hotel and we're gonna fuck in high thread count sheets," he insists, and starts the car.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york smut #pedro pascal #pedro boys #pedro pascal characters #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut

32 notes · View notes

cyncerity · 1 year

Text

sorry that all of my posts lately have been about literally nothing but i am seething with rage rn so i’m posting

i’m assuming all of us in the g/t circle know about Fern Gully. It’s one of, if not in my personal opinion, the greatest g/t movies ever made. My sister and i used to watch it every time we drove somewhere on these cheap little screens you could attach to the back of a car seat so you could watch movies. We watched it on a weekly basis. It is one of my favorite movies of all time and it’s not just the rose tinted glasses: i can absolutely understand that some of my favorite movies absolutely suck while actively enjoying it (looking at you Strange Magic), but Fern Gully is genuinely such a good movie. the voice acting (mostly thanks to Robin Williams and Tim Curry), worldbuilding, characters, pacing, the soundtrack and animation especially, it’s all incredible. it holds a special place in my heart.

that being said i just learned that there’s a Fern Gully 2 and it absolutely sucks balls.

rant under cut

really i’ve never had a harder time sitting through a movie, and that’s saying a lot since i just mentioned how much i actually enjoy Strange Magic, which is a notoriously hard to watch movie.

In Fern Gully 2 the pacing sucks, every character is butchered, Batty is kinda like how he was in the first movie, but without Robin William’s delivery he feels like an entirely different character, every bit of world building is chucked out the window, i’ve never seen a more nonsensical plot in my life, there’s these 3 baby animals and the movie can’t decide if it wants them to be able to talk or not, and the budget drop is so obvious it’s painful. the only even mildly enjoyable part of this movie is a short lived gospel number Batty sings for no goddamn reason, but i can’t get mad at it for being totally out of place cause it was the only bit that made me smile even a little.

also it’s in Australia?? I get that the first movie had a kangaroo and like 3 shots of a platypus, but other than that it was kinda just an ambiguous rainforest. No one in the first movie sounded Australian. Even if it was in Australia, I guess you could reason that the fairies didn’t have to have the same accents as the humans, right? Maybe Zak (the human guy that gets shrunk: remember him for later in this rant) was from America but was working in Australia? The two guys who sit in the machine throughout the movie are certainly the peak of American stereotypes. But when the first human and villain (he’s a poacher so basically the villain from Tarzan if he was written worse) of Fern Gully 2 is introduced, he is so violently stereotypically Australian that it’s genuinely jarring when he says his first line.

then we meet his boss who…isn’t Australian. Actually, he kinda looks like a short and fat Hitler.

But whatever, maybe the boss is from out of town, too, like Zak. but NO. we then proceed to meet two more humans who are confirmed to live in Australia with American Accents. PICK A LANE MOVIE. Either set the movie in Australia but give no one accents, or give everyone an accent, you can’t just ONLY GIVE ONE GUY AN ACCENT. HOW THE HELL CAN HE DEVELOP A REGIONAL ACCENT IF NO ONE ELSE IN HIS REGION SOUNDS LIKE THAT??

They’re also both such a massive step down from Hexus. Hexus, aka Tim Curry goo, is one of my favorite villains of all time (Toxic Love is a hard song and scene in general to beat), but he had a purpose. He was representing the dangers and evils of human greed and power. He was a very literal force of chaos and destruction. The entire reason he had power to destroy the forest was because of humans, and that’s a massive part of the movie’s theme and moral.

In Fern Gully 2, these two jackasses want money for selling baby animals. That’s it. And it’s not even really the fairies who stop them: it’s a human girl and her Grandpa who Pips met. The entire symbolic thing from the first movie of Zak having to learn from his mistakes and turn on a goal he once had worked towards is gone. In the first movie, it was equally Zak, Crysta, and the rest of the fairies who trapped Hexus again. In this movie, the fairies are powerless (which they say like 100 times), the humans are doing their best but it’s not doing much, and the only reason the movie turns out ok is cause Crysta shows up for a literal Deus Ex Machina at the very end. It’s so fucking infuriating.

Also, back to Zak: he’s not in this. Like, not even mentioned. There’s one instance of “humans dont know the harm they do to the forest” “well remember some humans do” but that was just foreshadowing the human we meet in this movie who sucks. How can these fairies, who in the first movie believed that humans were fucking extinct, completely forget about the only human they have ever met? Crysta, who by the way isn’t even the main character anymore, never brings him up. Pips (the jerky red haired fairy with the beetle posse), who spends most of the movie around another human and who is the new main character (and maybe the only returning voice actor from the first one), never mentions him. Also, there’s just a FUCKING TOWN NEAR THE FOREST. A TOWN.

remember this shot from the first movie?

yeah apparently it missed AN ENTIRE DAMN CARNIVAL??

Pips, Batty, and the beetle boys take LESS THAN A DAY TO FLY THERE. FUCK THIS MOVIE. SERIOUSLY FUCK THIS MOVIE.

i could go off on more about how the human in this movie (Budgie, which is a stupid ass name) sucks, and now Pips just strolls up to her like “hey” and she’s like “woah a fairy, i’m so shocked you’re real…and now i’m over it, let’s go hang out.” I could also go off about how in the first movie, the entire reason Zak gets shrunk is because Crysta tried to use a spell to make him see her, but accidentally said “size” instead of “sight,” meaning that canonically in this universe, humans can’t see fairies without that spell. So when Pips just waltzes up to the first human he sees, she shouldn’t be able to see him, but whatever. I could also rant about how they made Crysta so disinteresting that she’s probably in less than a third of the film. I could also rant on the three main baby animals who i hate with a burning passion and i was rooting for at least one of them to die throughout the whole movie, but I have homework i need to be doing and grades that are due this friday, i just decided to rant instead of doing stuff lol

#cyncerity #technically g/t?#idk #fern gully #fern gully 2

20 notes · View notes

reianishkadoesstuff · 3 months

Text

A few knocks from the door disturbed the silence surrounding Shouta. When he reached out to open the door, it was his friend, Hakamada Tsunagu aka Best Jeanist, the current number twelve hero of Japan. He let Jeanist in and offered him a cup of coffee.

“So, why did you come over?” he asked politely, not wanting to spoil whatever news the six-foot-three giraffe has delivered for him.

The six-foot-three giraffe cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s about Emi.” He felt a pang on his chest. It’s either good or bad.

“What about her?” Shouta replied in a low tone.

“We’re taking her to Australia for surgery. She’ll be under the care of Sana and Laurent,” he paused to take a sip of his coffee. “I kept asking her if she has had a vivid memory of you, but she would always give me a ‘no’ for an answer.”

“She totally forgot about me, didn’t she?” the overwhelming silence added more of darkness to his somber heart.

“The irony of the situation. You are the reason why she’s still breathing up to date, yet she doesn’t remember you at all.” That statement left him lost in words. It hurts, a lot. “A-Apologies. I didn’t mean to uhm… worsen the wound…”

“It’s fine. I understand. Maybe I’ll just… wait for her. To remember me.”

The thought of Emi losing the memory of him felt like fate gave him something a thousand times worser than death. He stared outside his window, observing every fragment of life as the sky shed frozen fractals as its tears.

I do hope she would. He thought to himself. When that day happens, he’ll pull her into the midst of hail, with the sound of falling snow as their calm, silent tune.

Emi is a ray of sunshine. His sunshine. Her smile alone could light up the darkness that Shito bestowed upon the Earth. But what could he do now? She can’t even remember his name.

Shouta’s body, usually covered by Emi’s warmth, is now cold as the snow began to fall rapidly. His arms longed for the lady’s presence, sweet smiles and comforting voice. If only he had the power to stop time, none of this feeling would’ve crept to him. But that’s impossible in his case. Even in a world where eighty-percent of the world’s population possessed superhuman abilities, it would be a one in millions of chances would someone be born with that quirk. And that would never be him. Let’s just say, he’s currently holding a deep grudge against fate by now.

Because of that incident, Emi hit her head in the wall, causing her amnesia. Not only was it the reason of her amnesia, it also worsened her heart problems. As a resolve, her very aristocratic family made efforts to find the best doctor to cure her. In Australia.

The best thing he has to do now is to wait. Wait for her to remember. Wait for her to come back. Wait for the fates to give him the chance to let her fall in love with him, once again.

His hopes fell apart when the memory of him holding a bloodied Emi in his arms came back.

~ ten years later, UA High School ~

The bell rang. “Class dismissed. Don’t forget to answer your assignments.” He said as the class prepared to leave. He finished tidying his desk before heading to the teachers’ lounge. Hope Mic’s not hyped up today. I’m tired and his annoying loud voice is the last thing I want to deal with. He thought.

“Shouta, have you heard about the big news?” Nemuri asked as he took his seat, ready to sort papers.

“No. What news?” he replied, obviously not interested in what his R-Rated friend is about to say.

“It’s about Emi.” And that is something he is definitely interested in. “She’s back, Shouta. I saw her with Natsuo earlier on my way here. I greeted her but she certainly did not recognize me.” Nemuri said.

He felt like something is preventing him from speaking.

The villain grinned widely. “You’re next.” He mumbled, slowly walking up to Emi whose eyes have never been more afraid. Everything happened fast. When Shouta opened his eyes, he had a horrible sight in front of him --- it was Emi, head swimming in a pool of her own blood.

He woke up, realizing it was just a dream. No, not a dream. A nightmare. A nightmare where he had to watch Emi being crushed by that goddamn villain over and over and over again. Damn, he can’t even count how many times his mind and the goddess of memories betrayed him. He wanted to move on. Start all over again as his hopes of Emi coming back scattered to minute shards.

And now she’s back. Hopefully, she is the same Emi everyone knew before. Sunshine, smiley, pure happiness Emi.

Maybe he should continue. Continue teaching his beloved problem children, or continue to play fool.

His heart never felt this swollen ever since he stopped hoping for her to come back to him. Her scent still lingers in his sense. And then he realized, it would never leave him alone.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Keyword: supposed.

Apparently, Hizashi wants this year to be one of Shouta’s best birthdays ever. That’s why they invited her.

She whose fragrance always left him astonished. She whose smile never failed to leave one in his lips. She whom he waited for so long.

“Hi. Aizawa Shouta, right? Happy birthday!” Emi exclaimed. She didn’t change at all. Still the same girl who would smile and laugh in the tiniest details of everything.

“Thank you.” He’s become completely lost in thought.

“I’m sorry if I can’t remember you. Tsun said I hit my head in an encounter against some villain, which resulted in amnesia. Ooh, and earlier when he found out I was going to your party, he told me you’re the one who saved my life.” She put on a smile before proceeding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It felt… comfortably awkward. Seeing her again and talking to her again (he’d consider that ‘talking’ because that’s the way he is) for the first time in ten years is just… warm.

Shouta Aizawa had always been and is known as a rational man, but it seemed like Emi’s presence alone could stop his brain from functioning properly.

There are exactly thirty people in the room, yet his eyes saw no one but her. Everyone’s chatters and the music are loud enough to make anyone deaf temporarily, yet he heard nothing but her cheerful voice. The aroma of liquor and food are all around the place, yet her fragrance managed to outshine everything.

Most importantly, he’s completely lost in thought. He couldn’t form words nor could he say anything.

How about courting her once again? That idea sounds… nice.

When he said courting Emi for the second time was a good idea, he meant it. But damn, why is it so difficult?

Five years have passed since the day Emi came back from Australia, and as they coincidentally crossed paths with each other many times, the girl pretty much fell in love again. Or so he thought but hey, is being delulu illegal now? Last time he checked, it’s not. If it is though, he’s probably held by the government in handcuffs by now.

Everything went bittersweet. He didn't know how to start. His sunshine would come to him just to joke about marriage, and his idiot students supported it.

He even overheard Ashido and Hagakure (the gossip queens of UA) yesterday and here’s what he heard:

“Sensei is sooooo gloomy! All he needs is one Ms. Joke and he’ll be happy for once!” exclaimed Hagakure Toru. She can’t be seen by the naked eye other than her floating clothes although Shouta can tell she’s smiling widely and is really happy about their teacher finally having a significant other. Or whatever.

“He’s just shooing her away. But, but, but did you see how Sensei’s eyes would light up whenever Ms. Joke is around? Because I totally see it!” Ashido replied. Maybe they’re right. Maybe they’re not. Gossip queens aside, these girls are the closest he can call his ‘daughters’. And no one’s gonna touch them without getting ready to face the wrath of the gloomy Eraser Head.

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, maybe all he really need right now is Emi.

He’s actually thinking while glancing t the falling leaves outside, what if I had actually lost feelings for Emi right now? Maybe I’m just faking it just so I could keep my promise.

Just then, the image of a smiling Emi walking up to him to tease flashed to his mind.

The answer is No. Aizawa Shouta is certainly not faking it.

Maybe his love faded a little because of her entirely forgetting him. Now all he has to do is give in to his feelings. He can do this forever as long as he could. To fall in love with Emi Fukukado over and over again.

This is also uploaded in my wattpad account.

#hi mga shutek #lol #send help #mha #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #eraserjoke #eraserhead #aizawa #shouta aizawa #emi fukukado #amnesia #ms. joke

4 notes · View notes

wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

this deleted itself but the req was for an ill reader who likes to try and carry on even if they feeling shit and tom noticing I think?!?

Summary: you take start to feel a bit shit at toms family barbecue and get caught out and taken care of

///////////

It should've be lovely, an evening in the rare but much appreciated British summer sun in Dom and Nikki’s garden. Everyone was there; all the Holland boys; both sets of Tom’s grandparents; Haz and his long time girlfriend Lucie. It was a reunion of sorts, although no one had been away working, you’d somehow all timed your individual holidays simultaneously. You and Tom to Australia; Sam and Harry to south-east Asia; Paddy, Dom and Nikki to Sweden. Having all returned in the space of a week, everyone was catching up, involving great British barbecues (which are always a little disappointing) and a fair amount of booze.

You were sat on the garden furniture with Tessa (Tom’s grandma), Nikki and Lucie. Very much a ‘girl power’ meeting if ever there was - which in a family full of boys was often needed just to keep the peace. Everything about the evening was lovely… except perhaps your body. God knows why, because you rarely got ill - having not had a day off work in two years. As much as you’d been trying to push away the slow creeping feeling for a couple of hours - it was now getting impossible to ignore. The slightly unsettled feeling in your stomach had you fidgeting in the wooden chair constantly, trying to ease it by shifting positions... to no avail.

“Y/n… Y/n?” Looking up to see three pairs of beady eyes trained on you, you faked a smile, looking over to Nikki who had been calling your name. “Tess was asking how long the flight back was?” “Oh sorry, was miles away!” You tried to cover, shifting once again, this time pressing a hand to your lower abdomen in the hope that’d distract you as you turned slightly to make eye contact with Tessa. “And I think 11 hours ish.” The girls all pulled a grimacing face in sympathy, to which you chuckled at. “No no honestly cos Tom spoiled me completely so we were in the fancy seats, I honestly was spark out of it the whole time!”

It was enough of a response for the girls to all nod, carrying on the conversation as you, now not the main focus, rubbed your pulsing temple with your other hand - in the hope to relieve some of the building pressure. Clearly, though, you weren’t a subtle as you thought - since Lucie got your attention by bumping your shoulder and leaning in closely. “Come to the loo with me?” It sounded like a question, though it very much wasn’t - the stern look in her eye enough to scare you into agreeing. With a word to Nikki and Tess, you both stood up and made your way to the inside, not stopping until you were locked into the thankfully spacious downstairs loo - the brunette eyeing you intently. “You look like shit.” “Thanks Luc, that’s exactly what I needed to hear right now.” You sighed, sitting on top of the closed lidded loo heavily. “What’s up?” Her tone was harsh and to the point, but secretly there was a look of worry in her eyes. She was one of your best mates but sometimes could also scare you shitless. “I think I’m just tired, it’s my stomach and my head, I’ll be fine.”

Lucie didn't really seem to believe you, but respected your stubbornness and after providing you with two paracetamol capsules from her bag, she let you off - both going back into the garden, where, by now Sam was plating up the slightly charred burgers.

Naturally, you’d sat next to Tom, who had pulled your chairs right next to each other - so that his leg was pressed up against yours, his arm pulled around your shoulder. That was just Tom, away from the prying eyes of the public and media, he really was an affectionate person. He just liked to feel you there. God knows how long you all sat in those same positions, but it was long enough for the sun to set. In fact, you most definitely weren’t the person to ask, because at some point, unbeknownst to you, you’d zoned out. Nobody had noticed, under the cover of the low sunset light, until Tom felt your head briefly fall against his shoulder before it shot up once again - your eyes blinking heavily.

He frowned at the sight, seeing you huddle your arms across your body, which was bizarre due to the unbelievable hot weather in London. Yes, it might have shifted into nighttime, but it was still at least 24 degrees. So as his Dad had the entire table captivated recounting some long and complex tale of his touring days, Tom took the opportunity to squeeze your shoulder - grabbing your attention.

“You alright love?” In response you just hummed, eyes shifting up to him after a little delay - similar to how your reflexes became stunted with alcohol, though Tom suddenly realised you’d barely had more than half the glass of beer he’d poured you when you’d both arrived. “ I’said are you okay?” “Yeh… yeh I’m fine.” You forced a small tight lipped smile, whilst Tom took his arm that was round his shoulder to rest on the crown of your head before slowly stroking down your hair. “Sure? You seem a little out of it?” He pushed, still in a whisper so as not to draw attention to the two of you. “Maybe just tired.” Flat out lying, you shifted back into the backrest of the chair a little more making his hand accidentally land on your forehead rather than your hairline. He didn't move it though, instead sitting and swivelling in his chair, pressing the other side of his hand to the skin as well. “You’re burning up Y/n/n” he spoke a little louder - eyes full of concern as he looked you up and down. “No I’m a bit cold if anythin-“

That was when Nikki, from across the other side of the table got involved. She’d obviously been silently observing the two of you, now feeling the need to send you both home. “Oh, we forgot dessert! Tom, Y/n would you mind helping me bring it out?” Thank god for Nikki, for finding a cover story and stopping everyone's eyes on you. Because for someone dating, three years deep, an A-lister - you hated any sort of attention, even from those closest to you. Especially sympathy, you had absolutely no time at all for that.

Leading you into the kitchen with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, Tom waited till the door was shut before turning to you.- claiming you were boiling and looked not so great. “I’m just a bit cold if I can borrow one of sam’s jumpers then-“ “Love, please go home.” Nikki interrupted as she wormed past Tom to put her own hand on your forehead too. “You’ve got the chills and you’ve not been normal all day. Am I right or am I right?” She was the worst to argue against. That was completely due to the fact she was always right. With a defeated nod from you, she clicked her tongue, pushing you to sit down on one of the barstools. “Tom go get a jumper from Sam’s room and order a taxi, I would drive but we’ve all been drinking.” “I can just go back by myself T, you don’t get to see your grandparents a lot and -“ “I love you but please please shut up.” Having rounded the back of your chair he pressed his lips to your temples as confirmation before scurrying off to the back of the house.

“You know he doesn’t mind at all? My son never was at my beckon call like he is with you.” There was a little smile teasing the corner of her lips as Nikki placed a glass of water in front of you, as though instructing you to take small sips. “I just feel bad, he’s always telling me how he regrets not spending more time with all of you and… well I’ve had him to myself for the fortnight in South Africa.” “Your just as much a part of the family as me or his grandparents are okay? Now when you get home..”

Nikki switched the tone to then list off all manners of ways that you needed to look after yourself once back, which she then repeated as soon as Tom returned with a black hoodie that you gratefully pulled over your head.

//////////////

By the time you got home, you were feeling so incredibly shit you weren’t even considering keeping up your brave face. Tom had wordlessly led you up the path to your shared home, unlocking the door and telling you to go straight to bed.

Perhaps he was so concerned because in the whole three years together he’d never ever seen you ill. Yes, the odd headache or whatever, as well as the occasional morning after the night before when you’d opted for a ‘tactical chunder’ to try and protect your modesty. But other than that, you were always the one being sympathetic to him. When he was tired, both emotionally and mentally from work; when he hurt his knee and was on forced bed rest for a couple of days ( which turns out to be the hardest time for you too, dealing with the whiny and fidgety boy man).

He came up a couple of minutes later, by which point you’d already pulled joggers on and wrapped yourself as tightly in the duvet as physically possible. If felt so bloody cold your teeth were actually chattering as you curled up into the smallest ball possible. In his hands was a small tray, carrying a steaming mug; a collection of all the different pill packets you kept in the medicine cabinet (as Tom himself had no idea which one was right so decided to use them all); a hot water bottle and what looked like a damp towel, all scrunched up.

No matter how shitty you felt you had a smile at how sweet and doting Tom was being... and as much as you hated the sympathy - if it was always given by a ripped and beautiful brunette with the sharpest jawline you’d ever seen… well just maybe you could get used to it. After snatching the hotwater bottle up immediately, then letting Tom fuss over you in every which way he wanted you gave in, losing the ability to entertain his puppy energy.

“Can we just go to sleep please?” You whined, which Tom nodded to - quickly getting changed and ready before joining you in bed.

As soon as he felt the way the bed was practically vibrating with the chills you were suffering from, he pulled you up into his chest. Now you had both your own personal heater and a hot water bottle to try and warm you up. “You wake me up if you need anything kay?”

Pressing a kiss into the crown of your head, which was nestled between his shoulder and neck. “Promise me ‘kay?” Him needing the reinforcement caused you to arch back up, looking deep into his brown eyes with the warm glow of his bedside table lamp. “You’re too good to me Tommy.” He tutted at that, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek.

“Oh no” He whispered exclaimed, making you immediately ask him what in response. “I think this fever is making you go all delusional love.” You quirked your head, causing him to continue with a cheeky grin. “Well for one, nothing would be too good for you darling and two…. When the hell have you ever called me ‘Tommy’” With him chuckling at his own joke, you rolled your eyes at his cheekiness, firmly planting your head back on his shoulder as if to shut him up. “Alright, I’ll let you off just this once cos your all feverish… get some sleep love.” “Thankyou Tommy.” “Shh love.”

And that’s how you fell asleep, finally finding a bit of warmth in Tom’s arms.

Safe to say he very much didn’t sleep so well. Yes, you felt cold - but Tom was bloody boiling. Still he didn't move because if you were comfortable, his discomfort didn’t matter. It was also a physical impossibility for him to relax until he felt (yes, technically not the most scientific way) your fever coming down. Every five minutes or so he’d gently press the back of his hand to your forehead. This boy was so whipped for you... but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~~feedback is really really appreciated~~~~

taglist for tom: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol @marvelsbitch8

#tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom x reader #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagines #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #tom holland angst

234 notes · View notes

rein-ette · 3 years

Note

Are you still working on your Commonwealth study? Do you have any thoughts on Arthur's relationships with his colonies apart from Canzuk + US?

Not properly, unfortunately with exams and then work I haven’t had mental/emotional capacity to do real research (and probably won’t for a while 😔). But I have continued to think about and develop certain relationships, and I think I also have old hcs I’ve never shared, so I’ll put those down!

Born into the Empire

Australia

@oumaheroes has already done such great hcs on him idk what I can add, but basically he was a little bit of a rowdy child, always breaking windows and shattering fancy pots, never able to sit still. I think rainbow once mentioned that Ken (short for Kenneth, my name for Aus) was a lot like England as a child in his curiosity and energy, and I wholeheartedly agree. But I think Arthur’s intensity was more inwardly directed, pushing him to pursue and master new talents and learn whatever he could, while Australia is a little more carefree in his love for the outdoors, exploring, jumping around and off things, little wild animals. Unfortunately for him, he was born in a period of the empire when Arthur was very serious about his kids education, and therefore often praised those who studied hard and learned fast, which really just wasn’t Australia’s cup of tea. Australia took this kinda hard and thought he was the “dumb” one in the family that Arthur was always scolding, but in reality Arthur knew and appreciated that Australias interests lay elsewhere — he was just a frustrated, tired, parent who really wanted to give his kids the best while also holding his empire together, two goals that were never going to fit well in the end and would completely exhaust him.

As Australia’s grown older he’s realized a bit of this (not entirely, though) and also that 1) he really did break a lot expensive things and cause general mayhem 2) scolding us Arthur’s way of showing he cares, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have payed attention to him at all 3) despite being a penal colony, he was still one of Arthur’s more “legitimate” children (being white and a boy) and was therefore still incredibly privileged — never having to question, for example, why it was that Arthur was his dad, if it should be this way, or if he had a seat at the family table at all (more on this later).

New Zealand

Zee, from birth, was a clear favourite. Obedient, calm, quietly intelligent, he would also later develop a blistering sense of humour which combined with his appearance made it overwhelmingly clear who’s child he was. If Ken questioned his place in the family because of his poor academic record and others did because of their appearance/race/other complications, Kaelan never had such problems; his siblings called him the “prince.” Zee, however, also had a charm that, like Matthew, endeared him to his siblings and mostly protected him from jealousy, though he certainly still had issues with being called a try hard, daddy’s boy, bossy, arrogant. Certainly as a child Zee was a little prideful and, under that unperturbed demeanour, willful, but he grew out of it by the 20th century and became one of those most trusted by Arthur, second only to Matthew. He’s also always been inseparable from his brother Australia despite their differences, and today they both have one of the healthiest and most amicable relationships with Arthur of any nation, let alone former colonies (family road trips, every summer).

Bermuda

I absolute fell in love with this girl after reading about here, once, in this fic by @shachaai, and after that my mind just ran away with me. For me, her human name given to her by Arthur just has to be Ariel — for the little mermaid reference, yes, symbolizing her connection to the sea and stunning good looks, but also because:

1. Ariel is a biblical name, meaning lion of God. This makes sense to me, because Bermuda began as a Portuguese trade post, so Arthur definitely consulted our resident bad catholic Port before naming her.

2. Ariel used to be boys name. This also makes sense, because I hc Bermuda was and still is a tomboy. Bitch is fierce, takes no prisoners, and has zero filter. Her letters to Arthur, which all the colonies sent so Arthur could keep an eye on things, were full of shit like “I swear to god if the Spanish don’t get out of my waters I might eat one of them,” and “father, I asked you for destroyers two months ago, and yet you sent them to Hong Kong — could you explain this most unusual occurrence, surely it’s not that you forgot”, and “thank you for the harpoon on my birthday, I caught a small shark a couple days ago and have sent you some of its teeth for your collection.” Arthur tolerates this attitude because he’s weak when it comes to girls; he absolutely spoils his daughters (and flushes like a 16 year old when a woman so much as bats her eyelashes at him). Yes, p*ssywhipped Arthur is a hill I will die on.

3. It also suits her because? Ariel? Shakespeare? The Tempest? Bermuda Triangle? Shipwrecks? Daughter-like figure of powerful and vengeful sorcerer? Yeah. And this girl is a fire spirit — she is so lively, snarky, clever. As she’s grown older she’s mellowed out a little, but still: a no shit taken, no fucks given type of gal.

4. Speaking of growing up, she’s also become quite the beauty. Shacha, if I’m remembering correctly, described her as dark skinned, wavy-haired, and green eyed and that image has been burned onto the back of my eyelids ever since. Those Iberian genetics really be pulling through for her, that’s for sure. Engport love child if I’ve ever seen one. Definitely one of the prettiest in her family.

Singapore

I’ve already mentioned this to needcake, but I’m not too big a fan of canon Singapore, so this is my oc version. Singapore is fascinating to me because it had only a very small local population before it became a colony (The original settlement had actually been destroyed by the Portuguese about two centuries before the British started building a port there.) So nation-tans like Singapore and Bermuda really are Arthur’s children in the most direct sense of the word. And yet, Singapore is mostly ethnically Chinese, with Malays being the second largest group. Growing up Asian in a white, Victorian era family surely cannot have been easy and more than once Singapore probably wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. To make up for the constant fear that he wasn’t “really” British, Singapore studied ferociously and had a truly terrifying work ethic. I’m not sure if this is common knowledge outside Asian circles, so I’ll mention that this hc comes from the fact Singapore is well known for having truly exceptional students and some of the most prestigious schools. Singaporeans score highly in literally everything and they have an advantage with good English learning environments, a highly desirable trait in Asia, but these results come from brutally long hours — and its really saying something that they’re known for working hard, considering the studying ethic of students in Korea, Japan, and China aint nothing to sneeze at, either. To me this actually fits really well with Singapore’s upbringing in Arthur’s household, because Arthur himself prizes intelligence and hard work above all else, being a workaholic himself.

As for their relationship, it was probably the best when Singapore was young and peaked in the 1930s with the massive naval base the British built at Singapore, at the time the largest dry dock in the world. Singapore was a well-behaved child, not necessarily introverted but not rowdy either, and all the way into his teenage years he truly admired Arthur and was proud to be a part of the British Empire, despite his lingering unease and insecurities. The British defeat in World War II, however, was a massive turning point. He had worked his ass off to be a good son, a good brother, to contribute to the only family and system he had ever known, and he had thought by the 30s he was finally on his way to becoming a fine adult. And suddenly, the British surrender brings his entire world crashing down. He had followed the rules faithfully thinking it was his destiny, but suddenly it was clear that all rules were made up. Of course, his insecurities exploded. If the empire was a ruse, what the hell was he? A part of the illusion? He couldn’t have a truly Asian identity, because many of the old East Asian nations shunned him for his Western upbringing, and he could not entirely understand their values either. So he was a kid who kinda had to figure out late and very very suddenly who the fuck he was and wanted to be.

And, well, he’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he. After having a total crisis and questioning everything, I think Singapore slowly started to realize that just because the British Empire as a political entity didn’t last forever, that didn’t mean that his entire childhood and identity weren’t real. The love he gave to his siblings and the love he got back, the hard work he put in, his bond with Arthur and the safe, happy childhood he had — those memories and feelings didnt have to be diminished by what came after. Essentially, he learned the lesson all nations have to learn, which is that one needs to be able to discern between duties as a nation and feelings as a human being, and to some extent keep them separate to protect both.

Whoooooo ok I’ll stop there because this turned into a dissertation, sorry. Let me know if there are any specifics u want me to elaborate on or anything I missed, but I’ll leave this here for today :)

#hws england #hws Australia #hws new zealand #oc: hws Bermuda #not gonna tag anymore I’m lazy #fun times with the commonwealth #I probably won’t write so much for all of them I just put it there to remind myself #needcake #ask #my hcs

43 notes · View notes

champagne-bucky · 4 years

Text

The Things We Do for Money

Summary: Your boss is a pain in the ass… sometimes

Warnings: Chris Evans x Reader, smut, oral (female receiving), a bit of drunk! Chris

Notes: I know Chris Evans has big brat energy and I needed to get it out of my system.

There was no one on this planet who could hate their job as much as you hate yours. Sometimes you’d curse yourself out for agreeing to take on this stupid assistants job, but you were in a pinch and desperately needed the money. Now here you are, stuck three months in with the most absurd and demanding boss. He always has you doing his bitch work for him.

Okay, you’ll run out and get him a coffee from time to time when he’s at work. You’ll go run the errands and make the phone calls he’s unable to make, but you drew the line the second he asked you to do the most dumbest tasks for him.

He started acting ridiculous literally a month into the job, when he called you at the ungodly hour of 5 a.m. Turns out the dumbass couldn’t find his running shoes and you had schlepped yourself half an hour to his house only to find them under the bed the first minute of your arrival. Then, he’d call you for things like tying his shoe laces “because his hands were tired”, whatever the fuck that means, or picking out his evening wear when he’d go out with the guys (and he’d never end up liking what you picked out!)

Now here you are, in your cold ass car in the middle of a Boston winter, driving to your bosses house at the crack ass of dawn. You were annoyed because the night before he’d kept you up till late rattling off your To-Do list for the very next day, half the stuff would probably be scratched from the list anyways.

Your phone started to ring and you groaned knowing exactly who it was... BECAUSE WHO ELSE WAS UP THIS EARLY!?!?

“Yes, Chris,” you grumbled.

“Whoa, whoa, someone’s a little grouchy for 5:30 in the morning. Speaking of, you’re 30 minutes too late,” you wanted to cure the bastard out, but then he followed up with a laugh.

“Kidding, kidding, anyways, Assistant, I need a favor,” here we go…

“I’m your assistant, doing you favors is my job description, and I have a name you know.”

“Eh, Assistant suits you better. Anyways, if you could run to the shop and pick up my shoes for that award show I have later, oh, and schedule me a haircut would you? You know what to tell them,” this man was way too cheery for this early in the morning.

“No, it does not, the award show is three months away, and no, I do not know how you get your haircut, and I don’t want to know,” Chris responded with a low whistle.

“Gee, someone’s a little cranky monster. Let’s fix that frown before you come over okay?” you grit your teeth. Chris didn’t like a nasty attitude and he had the power to fire you for it.

“Yes, Mr. Evans,” you huffed and he hung up the phone after telling you a few more demands.

As much as this man was slowly pushing you towards your breaking point, the job came with perks. One of those being travel. You never had an opportunity to travel a lot and working for Chris gave you the chance. From Singapore to Australia, you finally got to see what was beyond your small town of Massachusetts.

Right now, you were in Atlanta where Chris was filming a new Marvel movie. You didn’t get to see much of the set, or the cast, or the inside of your bosses trailer, but you did get to see a lovely highway every couple hours while running around for that pain in the ass. However, when you got done you got to have lunch in Chris’ trailer without him, which was a big plus. Actually, every moment away from Chris was a true blessing.

“ASSISTANT” you groaned as you heard your name being called from outside the trailer. You put down your half eaten sandwich and swung open the trailer door. There stood Chris in his Captain America suit, arms crossed and tapping his foot.

“Yes, Mr. Evans?” Chris put a smile on his face and motioned you to come closer to him. You stepped closer, but he made you come even closer. You came as close to his mouth and he whispered in your ear.

“Do you know what time it is?” you pulled back from his lips with a confused expression.

“Uh, no. W-What time is it?”

“Time for you to help me out of this tight ass costume,” your eyes went wide in horror. Not this shit again.

“No, no, please Mr. Evans, can’t you ask someone else, like a male, to take off your costume,” you pleaded as marched past you.

“Nope, that’s why I hired an assistant, Assistant. Now hurry up, the boots are the hardest to get off,” you groaned and stepped into the trailer.

Chris sat down on the couch and motioned for you to get by his one boot. You grimaced and got to your knees and started to take the boot off. You tugged and tugged until it loosened a little. When it finally did, the whole room filled with a stench.

“Mr. Evans, ew, can’t you wear socks with these things,” Chris let out a deep chuckle and shook his head.

“Can’t do that or the boots will be too tight on my poor little feet,” he put out the other boot clad foot.

“Little is an understatement, sir,” Chris covered up his small groan with a clear of his throat.

“Well Assistant, you know what they say about big feet,” you choked on your spit and looked up at the man.

“They sign you big paychecks. Now hurry up, I’m getting drinks with the guys tonight,” you groaned again and worked the other boot off.

When the costume was fully off, averting your eyes where necessary, Chris was changing back into his regular clothes while a knock sounded at the door.

“Get that for me, Assistant,” you went to the door and swung it open and were faced with two of his co-workers, Anthony and Sebastian.

“Oh, assistant girl? We aren’t interrupting anything are we?” Anthony winked and Sebastian chuckled. Your cheeks were heating up at that comment when you felt Chris behind you.

“Yeah guys, just one second I gotta put on a shirt,” your eyes noticeably widened knowing Chris was right behind you, shirtless.

The men suppressed their laughter at your shocked expression. They probably thought you were sleeping with your boss! Oh god, listen, Chris wasn’t an unattractive man, hell no, but he was your boss (and also a pain in the ass), you couldn’t cross that sort of line.

“I’ll be going now, Assistant. Clean up for me and finish up that list,” Chris grabbed his wallet and left the trailer.

“Yes, Mr. Evans.”

Anthony and Sebastian stopped in their tracks to laugh a little. When Chris turned around to give them a ‘what’ look Anthony finally spoke.

“Yes, Mr. Evans. I’ll clean up the trailer and then clean you up later, sir,” Anthony mocked your voice as Chris punched his arm lightly.

That blare of your ringtone made you shoot up out of your peaceful sleep and clutch your heart. You peered over at the time to see that it was 3 a.m. Groaning, you ignored that call without seeing who it was and tried to sleep again, but then they called you back.

You turned your light on and grabbed your phone and saw that Chris was calling you. Pissed off and tired, you answered the phone with an angry ‘what’.

“Oh, Assistant, I need you,” Chris sounded like he was slurring his words. He was still at the bar?

“Mr. Evans? Are you drunk?”

“Yessssss, I made an oopsie and had tooooo much to drink. Can you pwetty pwease come pick me up. Pleaseeeeeeeeeeee…” he dragged out the last vowel as you started looking for your keys.

“Fine, but you’re paying me overtime for this,” you slide on your shoes and run out of the hotel room to go get the big drunken baby.

It took you awhile, but you finally found the bar Chris was at. Luckily, he has always shared his phone location with you for emergencies like these. It didn’t take long to find him either seeing as he was moping on the curb nursing a beer in his hands.

You rolled your eyes and got out of the car. Chris’ ears perked up at the sound of a door slamming shut and he immediately was smiling like a dope.

“ASSISTANT!” He screamed and held his arms out for you. The people passing by on the sidewalk gave him dirty looks.

“Chris, shhhh, let’s get you back into the car, okay?”

“HEY! THAT’S MR. EVANS TO YOU or sir if you want to spice things up,” he barely whispered and gave you a wink. Scoffing, you shoved him into your tiny car before he took off down the street.

The drive back to Chris’ Atlanta home was a bit of a drive, but there was not much traffic on the road so it would be quicker than usual. Chris was falling asleep in the passengers seat, but would come to every so often to slur something stupid. This time, when his head went up to speak to you his words were loud and clear.

“You’re pretty,” your cheeks were heating up, but it was too dark to see.

“Thank you, Mr. Evans.”

“And kind, sweet, lovely,” he was showering you with compliment after compliment and you didn’t know how to respond.

“I like you, Assistant,” you tried to keep your composure, but you were stunned. He was drunk so that meant nothing, right?

“I would figure since you keep me around all the time,” you laughed off.

“Noooo, I really like you. Not in a “like” you, but in a “like like” like you way,” his body was now fully turned to face you.

“Oh, well, Mr. Evans I’m flattered, but you’re my boss. I can’t ruin our professional relationship,” Chris let out a whine just as you were pulling up to his house and getting out of the car.

“Then as your boss, I demand you to like like me,” you laughed as you opened the car door for him to get out.

“Mr. Evans, you know we can’t allow that,” you tried your best to joke with him, but he kept up pestering you.

“How about a thank you for helping me get home,” you furrowed your brows as Chris unlocked his door and was leaning up on the threshold.

“Umm, Mr. Evans I-,” you didn’t get a chance to finish because Chris grabbed your face and was leaving a sloppy kiss on your lips.

Your eyes were probably wider than they have ever been in your lifetime. Chris Evans was kissing you. Chris Evans was kissing his assistant. Chris Evans was drunk and kissing a woman who he signs her paychecks for every week.

He pulled back a few moments later with a satisfied look on his face. He was still stumbling drunk, but it seemed as if he didn’t care. Chris had a cocky grin on his face while looking at your frozen expression.

“Um, Mr. Evans, um. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and you sprinted back to your car and pulled out of the driveway, not even glancing back at your boss.

It had been a while since the whole drunk kiss incident. The day after that night you didn’t bring up what had happened and neither did Chris.

You assumed that he was so drunk that he probably forgot about the kiss. To be fair, he didn’t even remember him calling you to come pick him up or the whole drive back home. He must’ve forgotten about the kiss and you intended to never bring it up.

Things between you and your boss went back to normal after that. You were still dealing with his antics and absurdities, but it paid your bills so you couldn't complain. However, Chris seemed to be lenient with you nowadays.

You couldn’t put your finger on it, but he definitely changed his demeanor recently. He let you come into work an hour later than usual, anytime you said you were unable to do something he let it slide, and he also had given you a raise out of nowhere. Maybe he was changing…

“ASSISTANT,” nevermind…

“ASSISTANT!” you followed Chris’ voice to the backyard where he was standing by the pool.

“Yes, Mr. Evans,” you rolled your eyes.

“Assistant, can you do me a favor?”

“Will I get fired for saying no?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is it,” you walked over to him as he started to take off his shirt.

“I want to go for a swim, but I don’t want to miss an important phone call I should be getting.”

“And?”

“And I want you to sit out here and watch my phone till it rings,” you looked at him in disbelief. He really wants you to babysit a phone?

“Are you serious? You just want me to sit out here and stare at your phone?”

“Well, I’d invite you to join me in the pool, but you don’t have a swimsuit,” Chris scoffed and jumped into the pool.

You rolled your eyes and took a seat on the lounge chair. If you were going to babysit his phone you might as well relax a bit. Plus, you didn’t mind the little show you were getting courtesy of Chris.

About an hour went by and still no phone call. Chris had been busy swimming laps in his pool and playing with Dodger who would jump in for a swim. Either Chris was pulling your leg just so you could watch him or this phone call was never happening. You’d think after an hour someone would call soon.

You moved to get up and go back in the kitchen to answer some emails to the rest of Chris’ team when he called for you to come back.

“Mr. Evans, it’s been an hour and no one has called. I have work to do, I can’t stand around all day watching you swim and wait for your phone to ring. You’re a big boy you can do it,” you didn’t hear him get out, but Chris was hot on your tail as you entered back in the house.

“So, you were watching me, huh,” you tried your best to hide the blush creeping up on your face.

“Not the point, sir. I need to get back to work,” Chris clicked his tongue between his teeth.

“Alright, while you get back to work, I’ll be in the shower,” you went back to your computer and hummed in agreement with his plans.

You heard a ruffle of clothing hit the floor as you looked up from your laptop screen. You gasped in horror as you saw Chris had shucked his bottoms off right in front of you and turned to walk to the bathroom. You put your head down as he turned around to look at you with a satisfied smirk.

The faint sound of the shower running filled the silence for a few minutes as you contemplated your next move. The swim shorts stayed where they were and you refused to pick them up. You still couldn’t get the image of your boss and his bare ass out of your head.

What did this mean now for your job?

“Assistant,” you froze at the sound of Chris’ voice, “I need you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, it’s urgent,” he sounded anxious.

“Yes, Mr. Evans,” you said from behind the cracked door.

“Can you get me a towel from the closet? I forgot mine.”

You went to grab him a towel and stuck your hand through the door. When you didn’t feel him take the towel from you you got worried.

“Mr. Evans,” you called out.

All of a sudden the door opened and you were face to face with a naked Chris Evans. You kept your wide eyes on his and pushed the towel to his chest.

“Assistant, I need some help getting dry,” you were stumbling over your words, but not for long until Chris pulled you in the bathroom with him and brought your hands up to his chest.

You kept your eyes on him and you dried off his upper body. Chris looked into your eyes with adoration and a hint of lust. This was getting too serious way too fast, you went to pull away, but he grabbed your wrists.

“You know, I meant what I said. You are very pretty,” you gasped.

“Chris,” he pulled you closer until your lips touched. Fuck it. You couldn’t fight this anymore. This gorgeous man wanted you and a part of you wanted this pain in the ass too.

The kiss started slow, but descended into something so raw and animalistic. Your tongues were all over each other’s mouths and your teeth were scraping and hitting together. Chris pushed you up against the bathroom door and moved his lips to your neck.

“So good, wanted you for so fucking long,” he continued to kiss down your neck to the collar of your shirt.

“I want this off, now Y/N,” you gasped again. That was the first time he ever used your real name.

You couldn’t deny his orders, so you happily took off your shirt, bra included, and threw them on the floor. Chris went to praise you for being so good and attacked your sensitive buds.

He scraped, licked, and sucked gently on each nipple, giving him all the attention they deserved. You moaned loudly and he went to kiss you again. He pressed himself into your thigh and started to grind.

“All for you, baby. It’s all for you,” you let out a breathy moan.

“Please, Chris, please, sir. I want it,” Chris growled in response.

His hands began to wander. They rubbed up and down your sides before they inched their way towards your center. Chris took his one hand and put it under your shorts. You whimpered as he went and rubbed your center in teasing strokes.

“Chris, please,” he removed his hand and opened the bathroom door.

“Patience, baby,” Chris picked up your shaking body and carried you throughout the house towards his bedroom.

He kicked opened the door and laid you down on the bed. Chris removed your shorts and stood back to admire your bare body. His thumbs drew small circles around your hips as he looked up at you with dark eyes.

Chris connected his lips with the top of your belly button and started to kiss downwards. He came in contact with your pussy, but wouldn’t kiss it. His lips ghosted yours, his beard was scratching the surrounding area. It seemed as if time had stopped when all of a sudden he attacked your core.

Your hands flew down to his hair and began to pull at the roots. Chris groaned into your pussy as you arched your hips into his mouth. He brought his thumb to your clit and started to rub fast and hard circles. You were so close to cumming, but you could barely form the words.

You tried to tell him, but it felt so good and he was doing all the right things to restrict your speech. The tiny bubble within you had grown bigger and bigger and was going to pop any second. Chris started to thrust two fingers in you while his lips sucked your clit and that’s when it happened.

“Holy fuck,” you looked up with a heaving chest to see Chris’ beard, lips, and fingers soaked. His eyes grew darker as he grabbed your chin and kissed your breath away.

“Fucking squirted all over me baby, how you gonna clean me up?” He nuzzled his face into your neck and started to pepper kisses all over.

You were at a loss for words, but your body was doing all the talking. Your hips started to thrust up into Chris’ thigh and he looked down with a smirk.

“I know you want it, honey. Give me one second,” Chris moved off your body and made his way to his nightstand drawer. He pulled out a condom and rolled it on.

Now, he was back on top of you and drinking you in. You kissed one more time before he lifted your leg over his shoulder and positioned himself at your sensitive entrance.

“You sure?” You shook your head rapidly at his question.

“Yes, get on with it, sir,” he smirked as he entered you.

The stretch hurt, but the pain was replaced with pleasure as he started to thrust. He started off slow, careful not to hurt you, but he was going deeper into your pussy. You cried and slapped his bicep, urging him to go faster.

“If that’s what baby wants, then that’s what baby will get,” and Chris went into overdrive.

You screamed his name and moaned so loud that you were sure the neighbors would hear you. Chris loved hearing those sweet noises and was doing all he could to make them louder. You were reaching a second high, but Chris was still keeping a brutal pace.

“Chris, I’m about to cum.”

“Hold on, sweetheart. We aren’t finished this just yet,” he grabbed your other leg and threw it over his shoulder, attempting a deeper angle.

Chris kissed you with all his might. His tongue evaded your mouth once more and his thrusts were getting faster and faster. A sweat broke out on him and he was getting close.

“Baby, you can let go whenever you want,” a final scream ripped through you as you arched your back and came for the second time.

Chris fucked you even harder through your orgasm. He wanted to fuck your pussy so that it was be sensitive for the next couple days. He wanted you to never forget this moment.

Tears formed in your eyes as he kept going. You were trying to keep up, but your body started to get weak. Chris noticed this and worked faster to get himself to the edge.

When he finally came, it felt as if his eyes had rolled back up into his head. He was sweaty and growing tired, but he didn’t want to leave your pussy yet. He knew he had to because the position you were in was starting to get uncomfortable. Chris finally removed himself and threw the condom out.

He saw your eyes were dropping and quickly picked you up to take you to the bathroom. He let you do your business and went to grab you a bottle of water.

When you came out of the bathroom, with shaky legs, Chris was there with a water bottle by the bedside table and the sheets drawn back waiting for you to get in beside him. You gladly accepted the comfy spot next to him and soon you drifted off to sleep.

When you finally woke up, you felt something heavy weighing down across your abdomen. Your eyes shot up as you looked around a room you didn't recognize. As if right on que, Chris groans beside you and opens his eyes. He smiled and pressed you closer to his body and gave you a sweet kiss to your temple.

“Evening,” Chris buried himself in your hair as you lifted your head to look out the window, confirming it was night.

“What time is it?” your voice was strained.

“Close to 11. Didn’t think we’d be out for this long,” he winked and for a moment you forgot why you were in his bed.

“OH MY GOD,” you gasped and shot up and Chris followed suit.

“WHAT? WHAT’S WRONG?”

“WE HAD SEX!”

“I KNOW I WAS THERE. WHY ARE YOU YELLING?” Chris matched your voice.

“I’M YELLING BECAUSE YOU’RE MY BOSS. I SLEPT WITH MY FUCKING BOSS,” you slammed your head back down on the pillow and buried your face in it. You only lifted your head off the pillow to hear him laughing at you.

“I get why you’re laughing, but I’m not. I’m a slut,” Chris laid back down next to you and pulled you into his arms.

“Hey, hey, you are not a slut. Please don’t think of yourself that way,” he cradled you into his arms.

“I did the one thing that nobody is supposed to do. I shouldn’t have ruined our professional relationship,” you tried to break free from Chris’ hold, but you wouldn’t let you go.

“Listen to me, you did not do anything wrong. I wanted to ask you out for a long time… I just, well, you see-”

“You got piss ass drunk and ruined your plans,” you giggled into his bare chest.

“That’s one way of putting it, yeah,” and he laughed along with you.

“So, I guess this means I should resign now shouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily no, I still need my assistant.”

“So I get to sleep with you AND be on payroll? Wow, what a dream come true,” Chris laughed some more.

“We don’t have to tell anybody for a while. I’ll help you find a new job so it won’t look so fishy whenever we tell people we are dating.”

“I don’t know, I am gonna miss that fat Christmas bonus I get every year…”

“I think I can think of a way to make up for that,” Chris’ hand was stroking up and down your thigh which made you shudder.

You turned to kiss him as you hummed in agreement. Things started to get hot and heavy once more and soon the sheets were pushed off the bed, Chris was attacking your lower half with kisses. Right when he got to your center, his phone rang.

“You wanna get that for me, Assistant?”

#Chris Evans #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #marvel smut #chris evans one shot #captain america #captain america smut #captain america x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader

518 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Leave No One Behind

Ch2- The Red Sea Diving Resort: Part 1 Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Ari and his team arrive at their Resort and begin making plans for the first mission. Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. Allusions to death and serious injury.

Episode Pairings: Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 1

“What the fuck is he wearing Cracker?” Max asked Hannah as he nodded over her shoulder. Frowning, she turned to see Ari had walked in, briefcase in hand, dressed in a dark brown velvet suit and a white and gold striped shirt with a large, open necked collar.

Hannah snorted “He looks like John Travolta.”

“Walking like him too…” Sammy mumbled.

“Night fever, night fever…we know how to do it…” Jake sang softly, and the rest of the group all started to chuckle, hastily turning away as Ari walked towards the table and dropped the briefcase down on it.

Ari greeted Ethan with a nod of his head and looked around the room. His team was already gathered standing around the oval metal table, chatting idly.

Max and Jake were sniggering about something and Ari could clearly see Sammy was trying to keep a straight face, hands in his trousers pockets and looking at his feet while bouncing on them. Did he want to know? Probably not.

And then he noticed Hannah. She was chatting with Rachel who was admiring the brown leather knee high boots she was wearing. Ari heard Rachel comment something about her loving chunky heels as Hannah twisted her left foot so that Rachel could have a better look at the boots.

But Ari wasn’t interested in the boots, well, ok he was, but his gaze then travelled upwards, following her black tights clad legs and thighs, until his eyes mid-thigh met the hem of the skirt of her maroon pleated chord pinafore. Luckily for him, when his eyes continued past up her waist and the long sleeved polka dot blouse she was wearing, and he could take in the delicate features of her face, she was still engaged in some sort of fashion conversation with Rachel.

She was stunning, but what was new there? He had to admit to himself he had felt his chest fill with warmth when he had been running through the fake passports Ethan had given him the previous evening. He had opened hers first, sitting on his bed in the privacy of his hotel room, tumbler of Scotch in hand. His eyes scanning Hannah's passport photo over and over again. Those big round blue eyes looking directly at him.

Firefly, he had muttered running his thumb over the photo before gulping his drink.

Thus, Ari knew which would be the one on top at the deck of passports he was now pulling from his briefcase. He was going over the questions he would be asking each one of them in his head when he heard Max asking him something.

“You got chills Ari?”

“What?” Ari frowned, his head turning to Max and in the corner of his eye he noticed that Hannah turned to watch, biting her lip as behind her Sammy laughed and hastily started coughing to cover it up.

“Are they multiplying?” Jake chipped in.

“Are you losing control?” Max continued

“Coz the power, you’re supplying…it’s electrifying!” the two men sang together as Ari looked at the pair of them rolling his eyes, a smirk playing on his face. Behind him Ethan groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up…” Ari’s mouth curled into a crooked smile. “I’m Guy Thomas…he wears this shit…its fashion. And besides, Max, you’ve no room to talk!”

Hannah snorted and turned to look at Max, taking his outfit in in more detail. Because they were all in Zurich at the NATCOR HQ under the guise of a simple Mossad business meeting, Ari had instructed the team to come dressed as they felt their Alter Egos would dress for work. Sammy and Jake were both dressed in suits and ties, Max was in a suit with an open collar pinstriped shirt.

“He has a point…” Hannah conceded “You’re like the Kenickie to his Danny…”

“Grease was based in the 50s.” Max narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yeah, which is when that shirt was in fashion.” Jake said, slapping Max on the shoulder. Hannah and Ari snorted before they were cut off by an angry noise from behind them.

“Save the outfit discussions for later.” Ethan snapped “You lot are going to get yourselves killed for fucks sake.”

“Ethan, Ethan…” Ari turned to him, his voice soothing “Just, calm down…we’ve not even started the meeting yet.”

“Exactly, and we’re already behind schedule so if you don’t mind…” He nodded his head in the direction of the table and everyone, suitably chastised, took a seat.

Ethan and Ari ran the group through the plans regarding the next few months and how the deployment was going to work. They were to fly out on the 4th January, from Zurich, where Ari and Rachel would meet with the Sudanese Government and get the paper work and everything signed for the lease on the diving resort. Whilst they were there Max, Hannah, Jake and Sammy were to pair off and head to 2 different places to pick up 2 different cars which would be ready and waiting with supplies from 2 in country contacts. Once the explanations were finished, Ari then picked up the false passports.

“So you’ve all had enough time to read over your covers.” Ari said, flipping through the pile of passports, selecting one “Remember, the point of being undercover is you keep it simple. So you should have memorised the basics, your name, date of birth, parents names, address, hometown that type of thing. Everything else you can make up on the spot but nothing too elaborate. Don’t take it too far from the actual truth because whatever you tell one person you need to remember to tell another.”

He paused and cleared his throat. “Ok, let’s see how you fare under questioning.” he looked at Hannah “Firefly, you first… Name?”

“Rosa-Maria Gomez” Hannah repeated back, without so much as batting an eyelid, her Spanish accent flawless.

“Where are you from?”

“Valencia.”

“What did you do?”

“Bar manager at a local hotel.”

“Which hotel?”

“Sidi Saler”

“How long for?”

“Just over 10 years. Travelled for a year or so after University, settled back home when I was 19. Never looked back.”

There wasn’t so much as a hint of hesitation when she spoke. Ari smiled at her and tossed the fake passport down in front of her. “Good job.” he said and with a faint smile she reached for the passport.

Next he put Rachel through her paces, picking her up on the slight hesitation she had over her address and then Jake’s mistake over his elementary school name. He then turned to Sammy.

“Sammy…name. Where are you from? “

“I'm Liam Anderson. Australia.” Sammy said, picking up his passport

“First girlfriend.”

“Mary”

“Tell me about her.” Ari said, stopping at the head of the table.

“Mary Rose. Took my virginity and broke my heart.”

At that, Ari saw Hannah, who was sat at the far end of the table next to Sammy shift slightly. Despite himself he glanced at her and she caught his eye before she looked down at the table. Ari turned back to Sammy who was still speaking.

“We met at the University of Queensland in Brisbane. I was 19. Later died in a car accident.”

“It's good. Good work, Sammy.” Ari turned to Max “You're up.”

There was a pause as Max stared straight ahead before he glanced at the passport.

“I still think this is a stupid name for someone from Malta.” Max protested “Why Malta?”

Rachel gave a little chuckle as Ari looked at him, rolling his eyes as his hands fell to his hips.

“Max, when you learn a second language, that's where you can be from. Till then you're from Malta. No one knows what people from Malta speak.”

“What do people speak in Malta?” Rachel asked.

“Maltese” Hannah supplied and sniggers rang round the table.

“See, no one knows, that's the point.” Ari said with a smile before he looked pointedly at Max “Name”

“Hello, everybody, my name's Irving Wilmington.” Max said in a ridiculously, fake European accent which made everyone start to laugh “And I'm from Malta-“

“You think this is funny?” Ethan’s angry voice cut across the laughter and everyone looked up at the man as he strode around the table. “Just for the record, there's not one person in this group that I would have chosen for this type of mission. You're all too reckless.” Hannah looked at Max who raised his eyebrows as if to say, he has a point…which to be fair, he kinda did.

“I've gone against every instinct I know.” Ethan continued as Ari looked down at the floor “broken every risk management rule I believe in, including sending two women to a Muslim country.” Ethan said, looking directly at Hannah then Rachel “So let's be very clear. This mission has no backup. There's no exfil plan for you. You're going in without guns, or any other weapon. If this goes wrong, you'll all be hanging from cranes in Khartoum.”

With that Ethan left the room and there was a moment of silence.

“Can’t wait…” Jake said, leaning back in his chair.

*****

Of course, nothing every runs completely smoothly. Jake was stopped by the Sudanese Immigration, simply to be released once he had paid the ‘bribe’ the officials wanted. Ari spotted him joining the others in the queue for cabs as he and Rachel departed in the car to the Tourism Board.

Then, they met with their contact in the Sudanese Government, Colonel Madibbo and embarked on the anticipated haggling over the price. The man looked Ari in the face and told him that the lease was five hundred thousand, to which Ari replied simply that they had agreed Two-Fifty. After a little bit of negotiation, Ari moved up to three-fifty, informing the Colonel it was their best offer, but then loaded told the man that could write it down as two-fifty and then take the rest and do something beneficial for the people of Sudan.

“You may not speak Arabic, Mr. Thomas. But you do speak the local language.” Madibbo laughed, and Ari simply glanced at Rachel before smiling back, fully understanding that the “local language” meant he’d given the man a bung, and that the extra hundred thou was going straight into the Colonel’s own back pocket.

Bent bastard.

A few hours later everything was sorted, they’d been given everything they needed and Ari and Rachel walked out of the building, climbed in the arranged car and were dropped off on the main high-street where they headed to the inconspicuous Café that had been allocated as a meeting spot. Remaining in character, Ari and Rachel, or Guy and Angela, greeted their team loudly, as if it was the first time they had seen each other for a while, and then they all settled down at a table outside on the packed market square, and Ari briefed them as if he was briefing resort staff. They all listened, picked up on his cues and after a quick coffee each they all stood up to leave.

As they were leaving the Café, Max tossed one of the jeep’s keys at Ari, who caught them with a swift movement of his hand. Once they reached the spot where the vehicles were parked Ari opened the driver's door to one of them and turned to see his team had stopped and were looking at the trucks as if deciding who was going to ride in each one of the trucks.

"Ride with me?" Max turned to ask Hannah waving the other set of keys in the air.

"Yup. I call shotgun!" she said as a reply as she walked round to open the passenger side door.

"Right, I'll be on the back seat." Jake quipped as she pulled the seat forward and gestured for him to get in the back.

Ari shook his head, hands on his hips, as he looked at Sam and Rachel through his shades before opening the back door of their jeep for Sam to jump in, tossing his backpack on the floor of the car as Rachel went to the side of the passenger seat.

"Guess the three musketeers have decided for all of us." Ari said as he jumped up in the truck, a trace of bitterness in his voice which wasn't undetected by Sammy.

"Oh my. The great Ari Levinson scorned by part of his team." Sam said, amused and Rachel chuckled.

"You're hilarious Sammy." Ari deadpanned as he fixed the rear view mirror for the third time in the last couple of minutes before he set off.

"Maybe you should keep an eye on Jake." he spoke again a minute later, turning to look at Sam as if trying to make sure he understood what he was implying. Sam examined him for a few moments before speaking

"Yeah, maybe. And maybe you should keep an eye on the road and stop looking through the mirror." Sam deadpanned turning his head slowly to the side window.

***** A few hours later, they had a quick pit stop to stretch legs and changed drivers. Ari was keen to make as good time as possible so it was only for a few moments, Max taking a well needed pee at the side of the truck, groaning in relief. Hannah shook her head, before she climbed in the back of the jeep. They set off again, and their gentle chatter struck up once more.

"So..." Jake said, turning to glance over his shoulder at Hannah, one eye sort of remaining on the road. "I've been dying to ask. Your nicknames..." "What about them?" She asked, turning her head to face him from where she had been looking out of the window. "Why does Ari call you Firefly when the rest of the team seems to call you Cracker?"

Max snorted and looked at Hannah who was grinning. "Ok so the cracker thing came from a mission." She said, thinking fondly back "it was the first one we all actually ran together...me, Max, Sammy, Ari...Andy..." she trailed off for a moment before she continued "we were sat round the fire one night and Andy had a pack of those little savoury fish cracker things. We started playing a game as to how many each of us could fit in our mouths. Max insisted he would win...but who in fact did win Maxwell?" "You..." Max sighed "by 2 crackers" "So Andy started calling me crackers which became cracker and it stuck..." she shrugged. "Well, with everyone but Ari that is..." "Yeah, so explain the Firefly thing..." Jake pushed. "The first time I met Ari was when he came over one evening with Sammy. It was just before Sammy moved out." Hannah said "I was 17 and we were sat out in the garden at the back. It wasn't a huge garden, communal like, shared with 3 other houses but I loved it because there was a colony of lightning bugs, or fireflies that frequented it. It was a few months later Sammy was being an ass-hat about something and I flipped out at him and threw a mug at his head. It missed and smashed against the wall but Ari found it hilarious. Told I was just like those little fireflies I admired so much. Such an ordinary, unassuming thing on the outside with a hell of a surprise packed away underneath..." Jake paused and then started laughing "Now that's a back handed compliment if ever I did hear one." Hannah grinned "I know. When I asked him what he meant by ordinary you should have seen his face. He was all flustered and stammering and worried he'd offended me. Lasted all of 2 minutes until I cracked up laughing and told him I understood." "Well, fireflies are pretty awesome..." Jake smiled "A symbol of light in the dark, hope, warmth" "Yup, all things Ari said to me when he was back pedalling over the whole ordinary thing" Hannah smiled with a shrug "either way, it stuck."

My little firefly…

“Tell him what you call Ari.” Max said and Hannah snorted.

“El Lobo hambriento” She replied after a moment’s pause “Or Lobo for short.”

“And that means…” Jake looked at her again for a second.

“Spanish for the hungry wolf…” Hannah said “It came from when he used to eat my Mama out of house and home whenever he came round with Sammy. And over time it got shortened to Lobo…just wolf…”

Jake laughed “Well, he is kinda hairy…but you know, that should be my nickname given that I am actually a Wolf.”

“By name…” Max teased “You look like more of a poodle.”

Hannah laughed and leaned forward, so that her head poked between the front to seats in the car “You can be Loop.” “Loop?” Jake frowned.

“Short for Lupin…Latin for Wolf, or there or thereabouts anyway. Or it could just mean you’re a total fruit loop, take your pick…”

Jake gave a huge guffaw of laughter and looked at her “Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood?”

Hannah snorted as Max shook his head, looking out at the window “That’s the shittest chat up line I’ve ever heard” he spoke, turning back to Jake.

“Can’t blame a man for trying” Jake winked.

After a total of six hours and a couple more stops to stretch and freshen up, if that was even possible in the middle of the desert, they arrived in the resort. But they couldn't properly see it until they got out of the trucks, the windows being partly covered by dust as they had taken shortcuts over sand dunes to save quite a few hours more off the travel time should they have opted to use the main roads.

When they finally got out of the car they took some clumsy steps on the sand after being into the confined space of car for that many hours. Jake lit a cigarette and as he looked at Ari he couldn't help but make a howling noise to Hannah who started laughing immediately. As if on cue, Max started howling too and the three of them were caught in a fit of hysteric laughter, Max bending his body for balance and Hannah leaning on Jake's arm.

Ari, Sam and Rachel stood there watching the three of them, dumbfounded. Ari shared a glance with Sam before he shot his sister a look and she pulled herself together still trying holding back laughter. Ari sighed before he took a few more steps towards the main entrance of the resort and the rest of the team followed suit.

They all stopped still, looking at the ram-shackled building in front of them, the words Red Sea Diving Resort were descripted in fading red paint above the large, archway shaped door. Hannah removed her shades, looking at it, and she let out a loud breath from where she stood at the end of the line they seemed to have formed, next to Max.

“It sure doesn't look like the brochure.” she said, and everyone turned to look at her, Max giving a small huff of laughter. After a second or so, Ari moved to the trucks to retrieve their luggage and the rest of them followed suit before they headed towards the entrance. Ari wrestled with the wooden trellised screen doors before he gave one a harsh push and it fell forward off its hinges, crashing to the floor sending up a cloud of dust and sand. He turned to look at them all, giving a shrug before he headed inside. They all followed and Hannah cast her eyes around as they hit the main room. All the window screens were shut, leaving it quite dark despite the bright late afternoon sunshine outside. Chairs and tables were piled haphazardly around the edges of the main room of the resort, various other pieces of furniture dotted around.

“It needs a little TLC.” Ari said, turning to the team.

“Nice.” Rachel chuckled.

“Oh, yeah?” Sammy snorted, pushing the shaded lenses on his glasses up as he looked around with a laugh. “What a dump.”

Hannah watched as Jake moved to open one of the sets of doors which led out onto the beach and instantly the place was flooded with light. She glanced at Max who smiled and they followed him out onto the beach.

“This is paradise!” Jake sighed. Max looked at him, incredulously, but Hannah had to admit, outside it was beautiful. A secluded cove of The Red Sea right was in front of them, the sun bouncing off the blue water, waves softly lapping at the shore.

Max pushed his glasses back up his nose and headed away to his right, Hannah following as they walked round the side of the resort and up a small boardwalk which led to a small pier of sorts.

“Well, hello, gorgeous…” she heard Max say. Hannah turned to see him examining a spear gun which was leaned up against the glass windows in front of him. She rolled her eyes.

“Your obsession with sniping weapons is worrying.” she arched an eyebrow.

He turned to face her with a grin before he tucked his shades into his shirt and picked up the fishing spear, holding it like a gun, checking down the sight target. The two of them stepped further round and Hannah frowned as Max stopped under a wooden shelter of sorts and the pair of them spotted the large, silver fish hanging from the structure. It had been beheaded, the head laying on a grill, and Max turned to look at her.

“This fish is fresh.” he frowned.

“Don’t eat it…” Hannah said instantly, teasing him about his obsession with food.

“Don’t eat…it’s fucking raw.” he rolled his eyes at her.

“Never had sushi?” she shot back.

“Don’t care for it much…” he mused before they both exchanged a glance, the seriousness of the fact that the fish, was indeed newly caught sinking in as Max turned to call back to the resort.

“Hey, yo, this fish is fresh!”

Ari who had been walking along the shore, heard Max’s call, along with Rachel’s which informed everyone she had found a newspaper from this week .He stopped and glanced back into the resort before he opened the door into one of the bedroom huts. Taking a glance round he threw open the wooden window screens, turning his face away as the sand and dust from outside blew into his face. It was then a familiar smell hit his nose and he glanced down to his left and saw that there were cigarette butts in an ashtray. One was still smoking slightly.

And then, someone jumped up from behind a pile of furniture in the corner of the room and shot out of the door. Ari turned and sprinted after him, yelling for him to stop and calling to the team. They all joined him, sprinting around the corner where Ari stopped at the sight of a group of what they could only assume were locals.

“Hello. My name...” Ari began, before he whipped off his sunglasses, figuring they might trust him more if they could see him eye to eye “My name's Guy Thomas. I'm the new owner of this hotel.”

The locals didn’t speak, and Hannah noticed that the woman at the front, adorned in bright yellow local dress was glancing at Max nervously.

“Max, lower that thing…” she said softly, as he had the spear gun raised.

Ari turned to face him and nodded, gesturing with his hands “Come on.”

“Sorry.” Max said gently, as he slowly lowered his weapon.

“Abu Hamid.” the man at the front of the group spoke to them.

“Hello.” Ari greeted him kindly.

“What the hell's going on?” Sammy spoke gently through his smile.

“I think we just met the local staff.” Ari said softly, looking round at everyone.

Part 2

#leave no one behind #Ari Levinson #ari levinson x ofc #ari levinson x original female character #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans characters

35 notes · View notes

aggresivelyfriendly · 4 years

Text

Tryst-Chapter 10

I did it! I finally edited this thing. Still not completely happy, but they are, so 🤷‍♀️s! If you enjoy let me know. I love a like, reblogs are love, and anons are lifeblood! 😘!!

Tam

Inglewood

There seems to be an equilibrium they have reached, Helene decided one balmy afternoon home alone of her tiny apartment patio. She pictured it like a piece of a Johnny Cash song, them walking the golden line in the middle of U.S. streets. If they were to veer either way the emotional equivalent of oncoming traffic would flatten them.

Though she supposed that line felt pretty roomy, like an estate broker's favorite word, spacious.

Maybe it's a tightrope, and any imbalance means they smash upon the hard, unforgiving ground.

Helene had convinced herself that this was her own conception, that her lover, her boss, her Harry, didn't feel it as well.

Until she heard the album.

She'd been at the Paris listening parties, so she'd heard snippets, and she'd been in the studio a time or two, so she had heard rough stones being polished to diamonds, chord progressions and roughed out lyrics and melodies. That was all up until this point.

Helene was offered a choice, the whole of staff was, to hear the album early or with everyone else.

She had declined. Because she had a very clear picture of what it was about, who it was about. It stung. Not because she was unaware of his sorrow, or how he missed her, the other French girl, the one worthy of homage, but because, she had been there too- with him too. Every step of the way and through Paris and Rome, and Japan and Australia too.

It hurt.

As much as her eyes were open, muscle memory of the drill, the words cemented on her brain to console herself. He was in an open relationship, Helene was not in that relationship, she was simply a reason for the unbolted window. Always making cameos, never the headliner.

So, the album, as great as she kept hearing it was, would be confirmation of her role, or lack thereof. She wasn't ready for that truth.

She'd better get ready. Helene would be hearing it soon no matter what, and seeing him. It had been a little bit since Cancun, but the show was going on, and she was involved, expected. It wouldn't do to cry over her lack of lyrical odes in front of the fans, they all knew her name and face, and she wasn't so good a liar they'd believe a disclaimer of happy tears.

Before the first show went on, her own show needed to get on the road. It was time for her to break a leg, or her heart as it were. Her set up was optimal for a breakdown.

Empty hotel room, qui Tissues on the toilet seat, qui Full hot bath, qui Goblet of red wine, tout a fait.

Helene was as ready for heartbreak, or it's residue if that's where she was now, as ready as one can be.

Her clothes are easy to quit, sweats and a TPWK tank exclusive to crew. The water is hot, her skin will redden to match her tear streaked face.

The level of melodrama she's reaching for this is impressive to even herself.

"Allons-y" she mutters and presses play.

And Clairemeant, she loves it. From first cord, she can imagine being in his stupid convertible driving to Shanghri la. Helene wishes he had played this when they went, a moment of California dreamin. She knows the next couple, as everyone does, in his world at least. Soon the whole world probably. They were radio besties, not just friendly.

It's the next few tracks where her preparations pay off. The tears come. For him, for her, and for Helene herself. The worst part isn't even her own pain; the waterworks are for Harry. She can hear his broken heart and bad decisions.

God, she hopes he does not count her among those.

But She, She is a new place to be. It's exactly what she would expect him to make and miles beyond expectation.

Then Sunflower, god, is it ridiculous to feel like there are glimmers of them? If kraft services counted as kitchens. It's the toothpaste. It's the fact that on their first go, they didn't know each other. Not really. She was his employee. She knew him, intimately, from all the watching, much less creepy than it sounds when it was her job. But she was somewhere between an insider and an outsider. Always an observer, never a participant was the lot of a photographer.

Except when Harry pulled her into the shenanigans, onto his lap, or some other harmless flirty gesture she couldn't forget.

Helene never lived in a canyon, though all of Paris seemed to rise around her some days. That one was nothing to do with her, and after a couple songs reprieve her heart seized all over again.

Helene loved that he'd made a song for his motto. It had all the silly he made cool. Even if he broke her heart sometimes, she loved how her kindness grew watching him cultivate and sow his own. The harvest was in the venues, and her heart.

After that happy high, she's not ready for the closer. Though she suspects she may never have been, no matter practice or preparation.

Fine Line throws her, thrills her, and makes her think.

Is it her? Is it them? Is it like most of the rest, Camille?

Helene is aware she is simplifying. Music isn't exactly clear in its inspiration or intention. There may be shades of her throughout.

In this last song, she feels more than shades.

Had they ever been anything besides a fine line? Somewhere between one thing and the next.

She hesitates to think something more, that denigrates their friendship. Romance isn't necessarily superior, that's a bought and sold fairy tale she has tried to unlearn.

But, if she is honest, being together would have felt like more, better. Because she wanted him, wanted him to want her.

Some of the lyrics trouble her.

She didn't think she was unknowable though. Maybe at the end, when she let him open her completely everywhere, and then promptly hopped over into one territory and only tread their old familiar line accidentally once.

Could she ask him? Would she? Tomorrow?

Non, that's not like her. Helene's direct in desire, but not in definition. Probably why they got stuck walking the line.

But they were alright. What a comfort that was.

Whatever the truth, the inspiration, when she heard it live, tomorrow, she would pretend or hyperextend. Believe. She'd believe it was about her.

———————————————————————————

Helene always forgets what it's like to see his face in person, be in a room with him. On paper and in her mind when she is away, she can rationalize. 'He's handsome. But not extraordinary. You know better looking men, have shared more time with some.'

And then he is nearby, and her entire body is aware of him.

Moreover, so is everyone elses. That is his power, super prowess. He has this energy that galvanizes every libido in range. The hell of it, it turns on a dime and you want to ruffle his hair just after riding his face. He's so sexy and frustratingly endearing.

His gap between adorable and sexy is so small, and bowtied to perfection.

"What's new pussycat?" He whispers near her left shoulder before she can even fully take him in.

"Enfin!" She could see the rear of her brain case. Harry turned her body into his hug and was responding to her exaggerated exclamation.

"See Jeffrey, I told you she had the best eye roll!" He giggles a bit and holds her long, in that way anybody else probably couldn't get away with. Someone might rightly think they'd tasted every part of one another if he didn't hold everybody like this.

Helene takes the opportunity to smell him. He always smells good to her, even his stink. Sweat drenched and ball's empty or dandied up and stage worthy, he tasted like her first meal out when she returns home to Paris.

" I cannot believe you remember that conversation." She said into his neck.

It quelled his laughter.

"How could I forget the look of disgust on you and Sarah's faces. Too good to not use!"

"You gonna use it on Sarah too? Or would Mitch put your nose between your pretty eyebrows?"

"Don't mock my eyebrows!" He pulls back, but she's still within the walls of his body, bracketed by his arms. "They just grow like this."

"Qui," she snorted. "Don't forever I've photographed you being groomed, ma belle."

"She's just cleaning them up! I swear."

"She just took your man card Harry." Jeff 's snickering.

"He didn't have a man card since long ago." She and Jeff laugh together.

"Heeeey!" His offended face goes soft around his smiling eyes. He tilts her body away from the small backstage crowd and she wonders where they are going. She's still going; her toes have all but left the ground while he leads her with his whole body.

She follows her heart.

Helene always feels small, but he makes her feel deliciously tiny. He leads her down a corridor, past people he waves to and she would have stopped to hug in other circumstances. She'd missed this circus family. Finally, she just has to ask, "Harry, where are we going? I don't have my equipment." If he wanted her to capture the moment, she needed a camera. He did this sometimes, this drag to a piece of personal history or set up he saw well in his mind's eye. His enthusiasm always contagious.

He didn't exactly have that energy going on now, he seemed nervous rather than excited.

"That's a bit unfortunate. S'ok though I only want a mental picture of your face. When you tell me." He pulls her through a door, a different dressing room from last time, which she realizes upon entry is actually an office.

"Where are we?" Helene asks as he positions himself between her and the door like she might make a break for it.

"Irving's office." He explains off hand. "Now tell me, what' d you think?"

"Quoi?" She can feel the screw of her face to the left. She has no idea what he could mean, she'd been so busy keeping up with his footsteps, she had no idea what he was on mentally. They didn't always connect easily, he wasn't always an open book, but she'd figured out how to crack him a time or two. It was easier with a camera at her eye, or both of them naked.

"Of the album, my album." He pinches his bottom lip and wrings his hands a tad.

"The album?" Her brain's slow. Why were they talking about this?

"You' re the only one who hasn't text me, or responded. That's included I mean."

"Included?" What?

"Please stop repeating me in one word questions, Helene!" He looks up and blows out a breath. "Did you like it? Are you upset?"

"Upset?"

"Helene!"

"Harry, lower your voice."

"Apologies." He takes her hand. "Now, did you like it?"

Ah, it was easy to forget how praise was like water on a neglected plant to him. He just wanted assurance that her love of his work would fill her photos again.

"Qui, clairement, it's gorgeous."

"And?" He looks, she couldn't quite place it, Like a puppy trying to sneak into your bed. Hopeful but preemptively scolded.

"And?" She opens her palms to him, subconsciously trying to release his nerves about whatever he's asking her opinion of.

"Did you hear it? At all." He rolls his eyes, but it was so clearly at himself that Helene takes no offense. "Hear us I mean?"

"I didn't want to presume." She starts after a pregnant pause.

"Presume, tournesol, presume." He leans close and she can really smell him. Not pungent like Mexico after hours of sun, or after a night on stage. But, days lazing or loitering in Italy under warm skies.

She shakes her head at him. She felt a spark of recognition that she'd classified as hope during that song, but, "that one is not all me."

"No, not entirely. It is an idea, a feeling fleshed out, but an ode none the less." He assures her, all eye contact and vulnerability.

He's closer now, enough to touch. And she could have? Would, but she had a more important question, a deeper song to address. Though she had to admit, most days Sunflower was her favorite. "Am I in any others?"

"Glimpses. Though one is mostly you." He gives her an encouraging smile, mischief around its edges.

She sucks in a breath. She really wants to know, she's become so much more that she was since she met him. Braver, kinder, richer in many ways. Could she be direct as well? What would Dominique, her most forward friend, do? "And the ending. That feels like a beginning?"

"Fine line?" His dimple's out. Helene might feel upset that he's a cat and she's the mouse if he wasn't a Tom to her Jerry.

"Qui, fine line?" If she just lifts her hand, his jaw will fit just so, always has., or the beautiful curve of his shoulder.

"That one," he's smiling like the time he presented her cake on her birthday. "I realized in Mexico is you!"

"Not until Mexico?" Now she didn't want to touch him, not even his fine shoulder.

"I knew while writing, the glimpses of you, but only one part was, her, was" he swallowed. She hoped it wasn't still pain slicing his throat as he forced the feeling down. She'd even take regret. "Camille" he took her hand. More friendly than the conversation. "The rest, the hope, is you." The nerves were foreign to him when he was with her, he didn't wear them well, his only awkward fit.

Helene let's her eyes fall closed while his breath wafts over her face. That was more Harry. The taste of caffeinated mint. The familiarity messes with her head, it's a bit false but never forced.

She wants to accept his compliment, even though he's undercut it with an inconvenient truth. Their relationship was not one. They were friends, they slept together sometimes, he was her boss and her muse. But they were never together, and "that's nice, Harry, but, forgive me if it seems, well convenient."

"Convenient?" Oh, his brows are as tangled as his growing curls. Damn him.

"Me belle, it's hard not to notice who is not here, but everywhere on the album." He narrows his eyes in response to her observation. "And I also have someone else to call baby."

"You're with someone?" His pretty brows nearly touch above his nose.

"Qui." It was a bit of a stretch, really. A man she is dating, fucks occasionally. They're not exclusive, and she likes him, Rene, but no more has developed With anybody else, since she gave Harry Carte Blanche with her body. She had liked him, them, a few of them, thought they had potential. She supposed they still did, it just hadn't developed. Helene has never pushed them down the hill.

It hadn't stopped her from being with Harry in Mexico.

Helene talks about him now, hoping it will slow down the ball rolling from the top of the hill in Harry's mind. If he'a just realized he wrote about her and still believed sharing that notion just after she spent several hours marveling, begrudgingly, over his words to another woman, her clothes would fall off over one song for herself, well, he might be right. But she needed some kind of defense mechanism.

She's lacking a chastity belt, Rene's specter would have to do.

"How long?" He asks quietly.

"A bit." She wasn't going to give him details. That was showing him the chinks in her honor.

"Oh, ok, well, that's good." He clears his throat, looks at her with murky eyes. "I'm happy for you."

"I'm happy for you, as well." She hugs him, to touch him and reassure him. "This album, tour, will be a great success."

"Yeah, yeah." He says trying to believe it. "Now that it's out there, I hope so. But we are going to make it fun. You up for some fun, Helene? This time out?"

She's confused, last time was fun, but she supposed her life was changing so fast, she had no grand expectations to carry on her shoulders and no one broke her heart during tour.

That came after. He must be going into this round with a different attitude.

"Yeah, fun sounds good." He high fives her and she can't help but laugh at him. It turns into another hug, and all the distancing she'd done during this conversation ceased when he kissed her flaxen hair.

"Break, break a leg, Harry." He smiles, the nerves making it quiver just a bit as they go their separate ways.

—————————————————————————— The album closer is approaching and Helene is suddenly nervous. Sunflower kinda made her shake, luckily it's such a damn happy jam, her feelings didn't sweep her away. It's already been a magical night, and she knows the magic doesn't end with the album. Harry has some amazement up his pink sleeve.

His outfit had been distracting, not like Paris or Madrid, but it's so pretty and such a cute silhouette. Helene realizes while she is snapping away. It was distracting because she wanted it herself. It might overwhelm her small frame, but that pink would look good on anyone. He might loan it to her, Sarah and Mitch wore his clothes sometimes.

She's at least as close.

Closer.

He says something before he begins, and it's loud so Helene has to translate it twice, figure out his words and then think them in French. The song's started before she realizes he's said its a difficult song to perform for the first time.

She can't put her finger on why, but she feels for him, for herself. Her brow is knit up like that time she tried to make a Christmas scarf and the little piece of her heart she took back from him breaks free from its stitches and goes to him, right where he stands on his big stage.

The music starts and it's the build that gets her. Just like the first time. She admits she listened to this one repeatedly, Listen one- physical experience, listen two- listening for the glimpses she thought she had caught of herself. Listen three- cry time.

Helene does not want to weep, but it seems she might be in good company. Harry's doing his closed eyes thing. She teased him about that onetime.

"Is it easier to hear how good you are if you close your eyes?" She'd asked this from the head of the bed while he lay across the bottom rubbing her feet.

"What?"

She supposed it was a nonsequiter. "When you sing and when you fuck, you close your eyes sometimes. Is it so you can focus on the screaming?" She pushed him with her foot and gave him a flirtatious smile.

"I don't need to hear the screams to know I'm good." He'd smirked at her and she would have kicked him off the expensive high hotel bed, but he continued too quickly, "To be honest," oh he was serious now, "It's when I get emotional. Or I need to focus."

"Like to hit a note?" She likes his explanation. He keeps his eyes closed sometimes when he's inside her. She hopes that, she, makes him feel; she's too afraid to ask him about that though.

"Or to make you hit a note!" He'd dropped his emotional temperature quickly, grinned and tackled her. "Let's see if we can get you to a G7!"

She did not hit any whistle notes, her orgasm had actually been pretty silent, but the build up had been harmonious.

The conversation came back to her now. His eyes were definitely closed, as they had been during Falling, and a few other times. But, he'd said this was hers, theirs, and he seemed to be feeling, if her memory served, and she remembered so much about Harry, she trusted it.

And then, as her eyes are unquestionably about to spill over to wet the forum floor with her fellow Harry fans, his open. They find her like he's been tracking her all night, and that may be true, though that is more her job, to always be aware of him and his location. But she's rooted there now. She may never leave this spot, Because there is emotion in his eyes, it's not humid like hers, but it's intense.

He eventually shifts to connect with a paying customer, but Helene is a mess. She has to go back stage to collect herself.

She almost misses Stevie, and even if he wrote songs about her, Helene is fairly certain she would get fired for that. The rest of the show is a blur. She snaps it by muscle memory.

Helene also doesn't stay for the after party, it's all to much. It's a departure from her normal behavior, she would almost always stay, with her camera, and to be with everybody. Tonight she's planned to. She missed them dearly, she just couldn't after that moment.

Harry doesn't have that luxury, it's his party, which is why he doesn't knock on her hotel room door until 3am.

She thought she'd got away with it.

Helene's still awake, barely, and when she answers the door, she knows she's mussed. He's seen her like this before, he's caused it. She's too tired to care much.

"Harry," she sighs. "It's late, Cherie."

"You left, and I needed to talk to you." He walks in like he owns the place. She supposes he did pay for it. He just turns to look at her, and if she didn't already feel exhausted beyond measure, those eyes on her may have sparked the fire he lit long ago in her belly.

"Go ahead." The sooner he unburdens himself the better, she looks longingly at her bed.

And then he just sighs and says, "are we?"

She's doubts the face she makes is attractive, "are we what?"

"Alright? Are we alright?"

God, that's a major question. What they are is a shadow of existence, some half way place between what they could have been, what they should be, and then what they are. It a very strange set of loops, like the comparison charts from school. They are colleagues, no doubt, friends, thankfully, and lovers, occasionally. Do any of those designations mean they are alright?

Because she doesn't want occasional lovers. She's put distance between them because she wants more. Halfway is not alright to her.

"Helene?" Oh, she's just been biting her lip this entire time. She really wants to go to bed, but, they should get this done before tour. Does she tell him she wants to be the dead center of his life, or just leave it at they are alright and go to dreamland.

Either are scary in their own right and he's distracting.

He's wearing comfy clothes, the yellow shirt and large trousers she'd snapped him arriving at the forum in. The shirt hugs his body and it makes it difficult for her to pretend she doesn't want to be really open about her feelings. Sometimes isn't enough, not anymore, maybe not ever.

"Let's sit."

"Uh oh." Harry exhales.

"Uh oh?" She looks up at him.

"Is the next sentence 'we need to talk?'"

"Well, we do, or you wouldn't be here on the wrong side of the sun."

"Fair enough." He sighs and sits back, his head hits the back of the couch. He's stretched out, and her small frame would fit well between his hips and chin. She's tempted to do it, to straddle him. Then the talk won't happen, and all these things will be left up in the air. And she will be narrative adjacent, still.

But she's in his narrative, right? If the song is about her? Is that enough?

So she sits with him. "Harry," she takes his hand and he looks so hopeful. "What does it mean to be alright?" Helene is surprised by her own question. It's direct, perhaps not as direct as it could be. She's unsure what he's asking. Is he asking her for more of the same? Today's same, where they are flirty friends and colleagues. Or the alright of yesterday, where she's his friend and employee with benefit.

That's not alright.

Or does it mean something else, something more. Like the feeling after the build in the music, hopeful, open ended: a chance taken.

He finally yanks his eyes open, and Helene remembers he performed an entire concert and went to an after party. That he is center stage in many peoples life. Is she insane to want to be his locus? Harry opens his mouth, then closes it.

"I guess, I don't know."

Helene nods. It's not a surprise, he just wants harmony and everybody happy. He may not have thought beyond them being ok on the surface. He's not ready for the conversation she thought he was asking about.

"We're fine Harry. You're tired, you should get to bed." She stands to show him to the door, is suddenly back to wholly exhausted herself.

He's shaking his head.

"Harry's it's 330. We need sleep."

"I didn't like that you left."

"You don't get to make me stay at a party. It's not part of my duties."

He's still shaking his head. "No, I'm not saying this right. It's not alright."

"What isn't?" God, she's frustrated, wants him to be clear.

"That you don't want to be around me. I miss you." Well that's obvious for him, and wrong.

She closes her eyes. "Did you ever consider, maybe it's that I want to be around you too much."

"What do you mean?" He looks puzzled but there is light around his eyes, blue skies and clouds.

She sighs. Someone has to be vulnerable, Might as well be her. She knows how straightforward he just was must pain him. "I mean, I don't want to be with you at the party," he's cringing. "well, not just." She takes a fortifying breath. "I miss you too, but I miss what we could have been as well. And I can't," she could do this. "I can't just sleep with you when you are feeling lonely anymore. We are either friends or we are more. It's not fair to me. I can't walk the fine line anymore."

He's looking at their interlaced fingers. A drop hits her hand.

"Harry?"

"I'm sorry." He whispers

Her heart breaks. He doesn't want this. She tries to take her hand from his. Dammit, why did they have to do this in her room? She can't run away now.

"No, no." He looks up. Why's he sad when she's getting rejected? "I'm sorry I took you for granted, or made you feel like you were my second choice."

She'd not said that.

"I can read between your lines, Helene." He touches her cheek. "I had feelings for you, but I was already with Camille. And then, I was mourning. And it takes me bloody ages."

She wants to role her eyes. She supposes it's kinda true, but he was mourning his rejection.

"I've realized since then, my heart was bruised, but my ego was what got broken. And I wasn't in a place to offer you anything. Not until Mexico, but then things just got busy and we didn't talk."

"We never do." She purses her lips.

"We need to." He holds her chin in his hands. "So, I'm asking. Will you cross the line with me?"

God, her heart is swelling, and she's afraid to look at his face. Is he really asking what she is hearing? "Harry, amor, what does that mean? I can't speak in metaphors." She can, but it's trouble with him. He's a metaphor himself with his figurative edges and blurred meanings.

He sighs, chuckles to himself, and lets go of her hand. He cups her face and draws her eyes up to the tide pools of his. The tides in, he's teary. "I want to do it together, not have you cross the line hoping I follow, or me waiting on the side for you thinking you understood what I was asking for. But together."

She huffs, she stilll, always, doesn't know what the fuck he is talking about. "What line Harry?" She assumes when someone is holding your face gently you shouldn't be yelling in their face in return, but he is so frustrating. "I still don't know what you are saying."

He laughs at himself, or at her, or them. "I'm saying, we should do this, you and me. Like a real relationship. Not just when we are together on tour or meeting up for me to work. But you come home with me to London, or Malibu, or wherever. Or I go with you to Paris, and we don't leave."

"Are you suggesting we move in together?" She's smiling, finally. The edges of her lips would be at her earlobes if they could be. "You may want to ask me to be your girlfriend first."

"We've been moving at a glacial pace for years. But that's not really what I meant—"

"I know." She shakes her head fondly. "So?"

"So-" he takes a big breath. "Will you be my girlfriend, Helene?"

Oh god, this is what it feels like to look at the sun. To be the sun. "Yes!" It's a whisper, but full of emotion if not voice.

She's not sure why she is so overcome by it that she can't speak, but she can move, she's straddling his lap a moment later.

He laughs, "it's hard to kiss you when you are giggling." But he's vibrating along with her and his bunny teeth clack against hers just as much. His hand is in her hair and it's not until it slides down to cup her jaw that she can't laugh anymore.

Not when he is looking at her like that. His heart is in his eyes and her face is in his hands. Harry's eyes always sparkle, but the combination of mirth and awe shakes her like an earthquake.

The kiss goes better then, or it more closely resembles a kiss, in that their lips form to one another, going from right angle to straight line to acute in time. His tongue has always been devilish and she wonders if it's vocal training that renders it so.

She's more vocal than him, as always, and she's panting his name when his hand engulfs her throat before sliding her silk pajama top off her shoulder to kiss her neck, collarbones, the tops of her breasts. Her nipples stand high on her plum sized mounds and they always trill along the roof of his mouth deliciously. His other hand is around her hip and he's gripping it fiercely to move her over him.

She's halfway there on his question alone, but their venue seems a bit uncomfortable. Helene almost reconsiders her position on their positioning when Harry has that perfect mouth between her breasts and below and the back of the couch is perfect to hold onto while she arches back, back, back. She's bent in two when he pulls her up to his mouth.

This time she is getting his teeth. Why's he giggling again, this is serious business? If she could just concentrate, get him to focus for a moment, she can have her first orgasm of the night.

"Harry, Cherie." She tríes again, her tongue ready to slide over his lips and into that pattern that makes her shiver when his teeth block her again. "Please kiss me!" She's frustrated.

"I was going to ask you if you wanted to move to the bedroom, girlfriend, but you're very focused." He's still smiling and her ire melts at the appellation.

Does she want to go to the bedroom? She won't have the back of the couch to hold onto, but she will have Harry.

She stands and drops her loose shorts. As is usual, Harry has most of his clothes on and she's suited up for her birthday.

"Alright." He breathes and she's in his arms and he's finally giving her the tonguing she loves en route. Her in the altogether seems to have finally got him from mirth to girth, pressing against her and filling the void at the apex of her thighs the way only he has.

She's happy Harry seems to have been enjoying their bodily arrangement as much as she is, when he sits on the side of the bed and maneuvers to the middle with her still draped around his waist. He's said before he loves how maneuverable she is, and she is loving her tiny stature at the moment too.

Her hands are pulling his t shirt free and tossing it away. She loves the golden hue of his skin, he's always a little tan, even in winter. The milk and honey of their bodies against one another always delights her. She goes for the button on the jeans she'd like for herself. They won't fit her, but he always fits, snug at first and then just right.

He kicks them free and then she's back on top of him doing the wiggle to get his inside her, pressing over the largest part before the pressure keeps up and then everything slips into place, the audible pop of his tip still her favorite part.

They both exhale, and smile into each other's eyes. Helene touches the corner of his eyes and they twinkle back at her. "Hi boyfriend."

He chuckles and she moans over the tiny vibration it causes. "You're ready then?"

He already knows the answer to this question. Helene braces her hand behind her while she nods and then his hand is beneath her ass flexing her pelvis over his own.

He really is her prince of rock and roll. She rolls up over him and rocks over his dick until he's closing his eyes and drilling her hips. He's split her open, bottom up and it's intense.

"Give me a minute." He chokes after less time than she expected.

"Too much?" She likes that the shoe is on the other foot, usually she needs a break from his unrelenting physicality, Harry the athlete in the bedroom as well.

She supposed it takes emotion to force Harry to a quick release.

She's keeps flexing around him until he puts his head to her collarbone and then looks up to glare at her. "You're walking a fine line!" He says before he laughs at his own joke.

"I'm not waking anywhere. I'm loving you." She let's that sit there while her hips are quiet. That's all she's going to say about that. He stares at her intensely.

"Let me see you love me, then." She likes when he gives orders, even when their sex is closers to making love than fucking.

Helene obliges him, caves her belly back and starts the ride again, notches her head next to his, like the teeth of zipper, so she can watch with him.

It gets her there, but he's a little ahead of her. He's stilling her hips again. "Stop." It's a beg.

"Just come bebe." She whispers into his sweaty skin.

"You're not ready." He protests.

"We have all night, you can spread me open, all. night. and all day tomorrow, and after." She smiles at him. "All the time in the world to know me!"

"Yeah?" He's gleeful like a kid finding tooth fairy money.

She nods and starts moving, directs his gaze down. The edge of pleasure closer than she expects. Harry is rarely wrong about pleasure. Helene's happy her climb surprises them both.

She reaches the peak and plummets with him on the rollercoaster of emotions tonight's brought. Screams with the thrill.

It's more than fine, the white light explosion behind her eyelids. They've found the right side of the line.

They'll be alright.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #Inglewood #fine line live #chapter 10 #halene #tryst

41 notes · View notes

thethousandyearwitch · 3 years

Text

The Show Must Go On! Chap. 7

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 7 “Montero” out now!

AO3 Link

What could be worse than taking care of a teenage boy who is developing a steady video game addiction?

There was a loud bang coming from the room above the kitchen, followed by laughter and cackling. The boys were in Gons room and tried their hardest to set up the sleeping cod. They refused help, naturally, convinced that they are just as capable, confidence heightened by being in each other’s presence, hyping each other up, and the consumption of their own body weight in burgers.

Another bang. A shriek. More laughter. Mito sighed so deeply that she feared a piece of her soul might have left her.

Taking care of TWO teenage boys who are developing a steady video game addiction.

Her phone vibrated with a new message. Gon had sent her a selfie of himself and Killua on the cot, which seemed to be standing securely. The boys were flexing their arm muscles (or lack thereof) with proud looks on their faces, and the only caption was “#success”. Well, at least they are having fun.

Bellissimo<3: Good morning. I am going to pick you up at 1pm, be dressed by then, and pack your bag for tonight’s show. We are going for a brief detour.

Hisoka stretched out on his bed and squinted at the too-bright phone screen. It was 10 in the morning, though the rooms curtains were drawn shut tightly as a defence against harsh sunlight. A lazy smile spread on his lips.

Hisoka: Are we finally running away together to get married in Las Vegas? I thought you’d never ask~~❤️

Bellisssimo<3: I am trying to reward you for not getting arrested last night.

Bellissimo<3: Do not make me regret this.

Hisoka: I should avoid getting arrested more often ❤️

Bellissimo<3: 1pm Hisoka. See you then.

Hisoka let his phone drop back into pillow-mountain. This was certainly an interesting surprise, and an opportunity that the make up artist wasn’t going to waste. Getting One-on-One time with the Zoldyck was something precious and rare to him. Because Illumi was a rarity himself. In a world of increasingly bland and repetitive personalities, especially in his field of work, Illumi presented a challenge of raw potential. Cold and calculated to the masses, an obedient dog to his family, a revolutionary in his work. Hisoka knew that he must be hiding so much more, and the more walls he encountered with the man, the more he wanted to tear them down with his bare hands. Hisoka hated calling whatever this was a ‘Crush’. Sure, he was affectionate towards the other man, and at this point he couldn’t deny the pleasant twist of his heart whenever they touched. But he didn’t yearn for lazy Sundays in bed together, didn’t want the peaceful domesticity that seemed to be inherited in being a ‘couple’.

What do I want?

Hisoka pulled himself out of bed, and made his way to the shower, determined to abandon this pesky train of thought. There was no point in pondering the unlikely. Though… Illumi had been indulging him. And he was going to indulge him again this day. Maybe he wasn’t the only one getting soft, even if neither would ever admit it. The thought brought another satisfied smirk to his lips as he massaged his favourite shampoo into his scalp.

He wondered how Illumis family would react, hypothetically, if they were to end up a couple. The eldest son of the Zoldycks, not just gay, but in a relationship with a makeup artist who is famous for starting drama whenever possible. They certainly would be a more feared and adored couple than if Illumi were to marry some busty heiress who hooks up with her tennis coach when he’s away.

Silva Zoldyck would drop dead right on the spot if Hisoka would ask him if he should call him dad, he was sure.

He stepped out of the steamy shower and mustered his refreshed face in the mirror. Maybe that’s all he wanted. To form something with Illumi that would be even more powerful than the Zoldyck empire, to make everyone else envy/fear/adore them. They had the capacity and the ability to do so, no doubt.

Or maybe he just wanted to have something he wasn’t supposed to have.

Hisoka shrugged to himself, before he went over his usual beauty routine. Today could prove very interesting.

12:45 pm, Hisoka leaned on his kitchen island, absentmindedly scrolled through social media to beat time. Illumi wasn’t going to be late, but he’s never been early either.

He decided to go with a casual look, fitted beige khakis, with an oxford blue button up, sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, debated with himself on how far unbuttoned would be appropriate-yet-slutty (Top 3 Buttons unbuttoned, was the conclusion). Under his eyes, rested on his cheekbones, he had painted his signature star and teardrop, eyebrows plucked to perfection, and after 10 tries he managed to get a satisfying cat eye done. It was perfectly normal to want to look like hell on wheels while meeting with your friend-partner-associate-crush-insertsatisfactoryterm.

The afternoons were always the worst time to check social media, the calm before the posting-storm that comes during the evening and night. Hisoka had already reached posts that were done last night, a few screenshots taken here and there for future reference and roasting purposes.

Almost fed up with endless scrolling, suddenly it appeared. Hisoka had followed a twitch streamer on twitter recently, some kid who was definitely going to screw up in some point of his career (they always do, when the fame gets to their heads), and didn’t want to miss that mess. “Foxbeargaming”, what the fuck is even a foxbear, he had thought.

He had seen the brat before, in his profile picture and clips of his streams. But that wasn’t the problem with the newly posted selfie.

The problem was that he also recognized the second brat in it. Remembered the way Illumi boasted about his talented little brother, the same wild hair and blue eyes as he showed him a picture of the kid. Killua Zoldyck is currently in the middle of nowhere Australia, and his family most likely doesn’t know about it.

Oh, this will be delicious.

Hisokas day had been upgraded from surprisingly interesting to extremely entertaining if everything were to go smoothly. Immediately revealing to Illumi before their date that his little brother is out in the desert trying to tame himself a boyfriend wouldn’t do either of them good. Let it simmer, let it fester, keep Illumi away from his phone the rest of the day.

Lost in his scheming, he just barely noticed that the clock hit 1pm. He grabbed his bag from the floor and stuffed his phone into his back pocket before he headed out the door.

Hisoka wasn’t sure what he expected, yet he was taken aback by the sight in front of him as he exited the apartment complex.

Illumi leaned leisurely against a black sports car, as if that were his only purpose in life. His sleek hair was tied into a neat ponytail, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Hisoka let his eyes take in every detail of him. Peridot green jeans, fashionably washed out, paired with a simple grey polo shirt, the collar popped open just enough to reveal more neck than usual.

“Are you waiting on an invitation?” Illumi didn’t sound as agitated as he probably intended, giving Hisoka only more reason to push his luck.

“I was thinking about whether I want to pounce on you now or later.” He approached the other man, who in turn straightened up his posture in defence. But instead of any hostile movements, Hisoka simply took Illumis hand, and bought it to his lips for a caste kiss. “But I’d rather not spoil our date this early.”

Illumi pulled his hand away, though maybe with a second’s hesitation. “Not happening, also not a date. Get in the car before I change my mind.”

The car was equipped with fabric seats, which Hisoka was grateful for in the Italian heat. “Maybe I should film one of those Vlogs today, what do you think of the title ‘Partner takes me away for secret date’?”

“What about ‘Multimillionaire kicked me out of a speeding car’?”

“Touché.” Now Hisoka was sure that his companion had to be in a good mood, despite what he’d claim, he’d never go along with his jokes if he were feeling neutral-to-pissed otherwise. He rolled his shoulders back into the seat comfortably, golden eyes fixated on the way that Illumis elegant pale hands wrapped around the steering wheel. “I didn’t know you can drive, considering you always have someone to do it for you.”

“I prefer it over flying, and I still consider myself a better driver than half of our staff.”

“I’m sure you’re great at handling stick shift as well.”

“Of co-“Illumi pressed his lips together in sudden annoyance, he most definitely had caught onto Hisokas smirk as he waited for an answer. “That is repulsive.” That prompted the makeup artist to break out into self-satisfied snickering.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Tesoro.” This earned him an eye roll, and silence as the car made its way through mostly empty streets. Hisokas eyes fell onto Illumis phone that rested on the console of the car. “Ah, I’m sure mister multimillionaire has Spotify Premium, right? Let me turn on some music.”

“Use your own phone.”

“I ran out of data volume. Are you that afraid I’ll discover your disastrous music taste?” His teasing smirk was met with another, more defeated eyeroll and a sigh.

“Don’t play anything trashy. The passcode is 0707.” After a questioning silence, he added “It’s Killuas birthday.”

Hisoka replied with an appreciative purr, before he started scrolling through the others music library. No personal playlists, not even a profile picture attached to his account. He was almost offended at the man’s lack of care for something as deeply personal as ones Spotify account, something that surely could tell a lot about a person. “Tchaikovsky? I’m not sure if I am impressed or utterly bored. Oh-“ His eyes stopped on a familiar album cover. “Maybe you’re not a lost cause after all, dear.”

A button press later, and the familiar opening sounds to Tame Impalas “Currents” played. The faintest trace of a smile curled on Illumis lips, barely noticeable, but Hisoka wanted to burn it into his mind anyway. Never mind that he took the brief distraction to turn the others phone onto silent mode. No unnecessary distractions.

It took the rest of the album until Illumi pulled the car into the exit towards the nature reserve near Lago di Bracciano, the last notes of “New Person, Same old Mistakes” dying together with the engine as they parked.

Hisoka stretched at the warm sunlight that caressed his skin when he exited the vehicle. Birds sang happily in the trees that lined the path around the large lake, and the only other person in sight was an elderly woman walking a small white dog. As the second car door shut close, he turned around with a pleased smile that showed off his shining teeth. “I never took you for the kind to take afternoon strolls.”

His friend-or-whatever set a relaxed pace onto the path and looked out onto the deep blue water. “I can’t sit around the hotel room the entire day, can I? And Rome is crawling with sweaty tourists and noisy journalists.”

“So you wanted to get some quality time outside?” Hisoka absentmindedly ran his tongue over his own sharp incisors.

“Correct.” Illumi didn’t seem to notice, or at least ignored, the predatory gesture.

“With me.”

He missed a beat before a simple, “It seemed appropriate.”.

This earned him an appreciative purr, before the men walked in silence along the large lake. Italy still wouldn’t reach its heights of temperatures this time of year, but any breeze was still a welcomed change from the rising humidity and sting of the sun. Hisoka wondered how much the others pale skin would change if he’d expose himself for a bit longer to the sun, if he’d immediately burn up in red, or if he’d start to tan, even just the faintest bit. He’d definitely look more alive, less like a puppet on invisible strings.

They continued to walk in a comfortable silence next to each other, took in the different sounds and sights of nature and the others presence, until eventually they reached the border of one of the shore towns. Beautiful stone buildings climbed the side of a smaller hill, only interrupted by greenery sprouting up between them. The main path was lined with flower shops, cafes, and Gelateria, whose smells mixed into a pleasant sweetness in the air. But one store in particular stood out. It wasn’t super flashy, it could have been found in any city and any street, but Hisoka knew this one from memory.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the others hand, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Excuse me-“ Before he could free his hand, Hisoka intertwined their fingers and pulled him closer.

“Let me treat you to something as well, I promise you won’t regret it,amore.” As his flaming eyes were met with a wrinkled nose, the sunshades Illumi were as not-telling as his eyes, he added “If you do regret it, I’ll gladly let you drown me right here.”

There was hesitation as the other mans wrist twitched against his hold. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

The absence of a struggle was still taken as accepting whatever had gotten him so excited, and thus Illumi was quickly pulled and seated outside the small café. Hisokas attitude had changed from a lazy yet scheming happiness, to pure, unfiltered excitement. It became almost impossible for him to sit still, he rapidly tapped his fingernails against the small glass table, until a waitress (in her mid-40s, he assumed) stepped out. She handed the men a small, leather bound menu, though both were immediately snatched by Hisoka and held back towards her.

“Non sarà necessario. Ordineremo la Cheesecake alla fragola. Grazie.”

“Certamente.” The woman replied with a smile, before she retreated into the shop.

“Cheesecake?” Illumi asked with a raised eyebrow, he had taken off his sunglasses by now and placed them on the table.

Hisoka tutted, “Not any Cheesecake, dear, it is the best Cheesecake you will ever have. I will have it at my wedding, funeral, and every occasion in between that.”

“I take it you’ve been here before.”

“When I had just moved to Rieti, I’d come here almost every weekend, though I unfortunately stopped when weekends became workdays as well.” He considered carefully how much more he was willing to share about that time of his life with the other, though the decision was taken off him as the waitress approached with two plates, each adorned with a generous slice of cheesecake, topped with strawberry slices and strawberry jam dripping off it.

His jaw clenched in anticipation as he watched Illumi take the first bite of the cake, reminiscent of all the rituals he’d do for him whenever he visited. It felt degrading to admit that he wanted to impress and gain the approval of the Zoldyck, but not degrading enough to stop the attention seeking behaviour.

A bite. Some careful chewing. Averted eyes because Hisoka was staringbut he did not care. He swallowed.

Illumi didn’t look at him as he spoke, seemingly engrossed in studying the décor of the shop. But his eyes betrayed him, Hisoka swore he saw something within the dark orbs glisten and flash to life. He didn’t know people could smile only with their eyes, but Illumi continued to be different in the most intoxicating way. “It’s… really good.”

Hisoka tried hard not to pick up his train of thought from the morning, tried not to think about what he wanted from Illumi or a relationship, and he especially tried not to think about the growing urge to leap across the table at that very moment to kiss him until their lips were sore. Instead, he started to eat his own cake, and failed to supress his sharpened smile.

They ate mostly in silence, safe for Hisokas muffled crazed snickering, and ordered espresso to chase down the thick cake.

“Hey, let’s play a game. What is wrong with that woman over there?” Hisoka pointed at a blonde who rested against a railing near the lake.

Illumi seemed to consider for a second whether he even wanted to play a weird game like that, before he stopped mid espresso-sip. “Ah. Those red heels are obviously spray-painted on.”

“Bingo~! It’s super obvious, right? You can still see the black shine through.”

“I’m more concerned about the uneven stitching on her shirt. Either she did that herself, or she has gotten scammed.”

Somehow that conversation triggered them to analyse the fashion choices of every stranger they encountered on their way back to the car with increasingly devilish tones. Illumi Zoldyck was a surprisingly good gossiper, and Hisoka filed that fact into the growing corner of his brain that he reserved just for him.

In the car, Illumi informed him they would just head to his hotel room to get dressed for the show, and then head there together. Any attempt at a joke about spending hotel-room-time wisely was, expectedly, cut off.

Illumi had never focused on the road this much in his entire life. He tried to be grateful that they had managed to get ready for the show in his hotel room without any major incidents, but now Hisoka was seated next to him again, wearing the suit he made for him. He looked good, annoyingly so. Naturally, Illumi wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction of telling him that though. He had indulged the man plenty enough for that day already and was holding back from chastising himself for it.

Last night had made him soft, Illumi decided. A brief waver of confidence and self-preservation that made him want to spend one-on-one time with Hisoka, in what may have resembled friendship to an outsider.

But his head was clearer now, cleansed from whatever foolishness had overcome him – the image of his mother recovering from a coughing fit and regaining her composure crept itself into his mind. Unrelated, he thought, though cleared his throat regardless.

“Machi says the crowd tonight is dreadful. Do you think she is just saying that to keep me from going~?” Hisoka tapped his long nails against the screen of his phone. Machi was a model they both have worked with in the past, though she was no where close to a breakthrough. A pretty face, objectively spoken, though smaller than most models, and the personality of royalty about to be executed. Do they always text each other?

“She’s there as well today?” He tried not to sound bitter. He didn’t have a reason to be bitter.

“Mhm, she’s modelling for a friend of hers it seems, though all the examples she sent me looked like someone with a priest-kink designed them, so it doesn’t hurt as much that she didn’t hire me as her artist.”

A moment of silence. “I see.” Illumi was not going to indulge Hisoka even more by inquiring about the nature of his relationship to the woman. It did not concern him; it wasn’t relevant to him or his work.

“Illumi?” Hisoka leaned over in his seat, golden eyes piercing into the side of his face.

“Yes, Hisoka?” Just now he noticed that he had been clenching his jaw uncomfortably.

“Are you jealous of Machi?” He didn’t need to look to know that Hisoka was smiling from one ear to the other, voice dripping with joy. He wasn’t going to look at Hisoka.

“You are insane. Why would I be jealous of her? I pity the girl, still having to work as a favour for acquaintances.”

Predatory eyes continued to drill into him, and a dangerous purr escaped the man, “Is that so?”.

“Yes, don’t be ridiculous.” They pulled into the valet line.

“Then you surely won’t mind that she’ll meet us in the entrance hall, wonderful!”

Illumi shouldn’t mind. It should be perfectly fine that instead of spending the evening alone with Hisoka, a good-looking young woman with an unclear relationship to him would meet them. He definitely couldn’t be jealous; it would be irrational and yet-

He threw the keys to the car at the valet and grabbed the number-marker without a word. His face wouldn’t give it away to others, that he was practically fuming, but Hisoka seemed to take pleasure in the subtle way that Illumis facial features tightened. “I heard jealousy can give you wrinkles~” Hisoka whispered cheekily as they approached the venue entrance, rows of reporters and interviewers lined at the sides, even more so than at the opening day before.

“You must have a lot of experience with that.” He hissed in reply and straightened his posture as they passed the crowd, mostly reporters who desperately tried to take pictures of attendees. Pictures, Interviews, all loathsome cries for attention that Illumi has always tried to avoid as much as possible without damaging the families reputation. He looked down the carpeted entrance and spotted the young woman known as Machi Komacine, clothed in a painfully tight black dress adorned with rosaries draped around her waist like belts, her messy pink hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her posture signalled boredom, but her eyes screamed murder.

Illumi was not a man who easily feared anyone, especially not a woman who stands at 5’2 proud; But he also was not necessarily thrilled to approach her. As he tried to hiss something in Hisokas direction again, something about not having much time to chat with their acquaintance due to meeting a client, he noticed: The other man had stayed behind, and was now busy posing for numerous cameras. Their eyes met, and with a mischievous grin, Hisoka held his hand out to beckon Illumi closer. For Pictures. Together.

Take pictures with Hisoka together in a public appearance that will most definitely set the gears of the rumour mill in motion; Or approach Machi alone and run the risk of uncomfortable conversation about our respective relationships to Hisoka?

He looked back at Machi, whose eyes met his instantly with a raised eyebrow. Fucking Hell-

Illumi made his way back to Hisoka, casually disregarded the hand that was held out to him and positioned himself as practiced – left arm leisurely to the side, right arm three quarters across his front. Not too strict, but not too relaxed either. In contrast, Hisoka had his left hand in the pocket of his suit, his right hand rested on Illumis shoulder as if were the most natural thing in the world. Journalists started to yell even more for their attention now, asking pesky questions that he tried to ignore, telling them to stand closer to each other, the likes. He kept the façade of his neutral face through the blinding flashes intact, even as Hisoka snaked his arms from his shoulder around his waist. “Do you wish for a public execution?”

“It looks better for the pictures~”

Illumi brushed a few strands of hairs behind his shoulder and used the motion to glance back to where Machi was waiting, her steady gaze on the two of them. “It’s rude to let her wait.”

“How considerate you are!” Hisoka snickered. “I know you aren’t jealous, caro, but I’d still like to reassure you of something.”

“And what’s that?”

“Machi and I look for, how should I say, very different things in a partner.” He tugged at Illumi waist and pulled him closer. “She’s looking for women and I am not.”

“Oh.” Illumi continued to look at the reporters cooing for their attention, as he tried not to think of the warm hand on his waist that felt searing hot and- Wait.

“OH.” He turned in Hisokas hold to properly look at him, who in turned grinned like the cat that ate the canary, then he looked back to Machi, and suddenly he felt stupid, which he didn’t experience a lot.

“Feeling relieved, even though you definitely weren’t jealous?”

“I think they got enough pictures.”

Illumi heard Hisokas snickering trail behind him as he made his way down the entrance. Machis eyes met his again, hands steady on her hips. Up closer now, he could observe the details of her dress, white seams stitched into crucifixes that crept up the sides, and the number “3” painted on every bead of the rosaries. It was cleanly executed, but Illumi was confident in the superiority of his own work.

“Miss Komacine.” He extended his hand to her, which she shook half-heartedly.

“Illumi. I’d like to get to business talk right away, so I don’t have to look at this clown longer than necessary.”

“Business talk?”

The young woman lit a cigarette for herself and shot a glare to Hisoka. “I assume you didn’t tell him I wanted to speak with him?” This granted her only a shrug and a smile from the man. “Fine, whatever. Illumi, I want to model for your next line, it would proof beneficial for both of us.”

“I don’t deal in women’s fashion. Furthermore, I do not see how I’d gain benefits from having you work for me.” Finally, a topic he felt comfortable to speak about, even it was only to criticize the woman for her awful attempt at business.

“I don’t mind wearing a suit, you should be at least competent enough to make smaller sizes, right?” She stepped closer to push a sharp index finger against his chest. “And about those benefits; Having me model for you would give me more exposure from a mainstream crowd, and thus exposure for my group. You would gain exposure to a wider audience of underground fashion-following, that isn’t influenced by your family’s name, meaning you could manifest a name for yourself. Unless you prefer being ‘a Zoldyck’ forever.”

The nerve. The audacity. Illumi considered just calling her a presumptuous cunt and leaving with his pride intact, but Machi looked like the kind of woman who knew how to slice car tires and break-wires.

A manicured hand curled around his shoulder, and Hisoka pushed himself between Machi and him. “What could be better than this; My two favourite people in this world, getting along, talking friendly business. Unfortunately, dear Machi, there’s some people inside that are dying to meet us tonight, so we’ll catch you later~”

Before he could object, Illumi was pushed through the entrance of the venue. The large runway was occupied by a high-end brand that premiered their women’s gala collection, mood-lighting engulfed the rest of the room, rhythmic beats of low music drowned out most of the talking crowd.

“Be a darling and just let her offer simmer a little. Machi can be very scary when she’s mad, and not in the way I enjoy.” Hisoka purred closer to his ear.

“Did you know she was going to ask?”

“What if I did?”

A waiter offered them drinks on a tray, and Illumi leisurely grabbed a glass of champagne.

“What does that even mean, ‘a Zoldyck’, as if it is something bad.”

“Don’t wreck your pretty head over it, you know how women are.” Hisoka laughed, and Illumi wasn’t sure how serious he meant that, considering that personally he had no idea how women are, and after newest revelations, neither did Hisoka.

But through the course of the night, Illumi couldn’t get it out of his head. He pretended not to notice how people approached Hisoka, addressed him by his name, first or full name, and talked with him about the content he has created, complimented on his most recent videos and looks. And he pretended not to notice how people approached him, addressed him only by his last name, and asked about the family business. “Mr. Zoldyck, are you going to write an article about this line?” “Mr. Zoldyck, about the next issue-“ “Mr. Zoldyck, tell my greetings to your father.”

No word about his own collection he had premiered. No one even uttered his first name.

He was ‘a Zoldyck’. Nothing more, nothing less.

“If looks could kill, we’d be ankle deep in a blood bath by now.” Hisoka snaked an arm around Illumis waist again and rested his hand on the tip of his hip. The designer took a long sip of the bitter champagne, casually slapped away the offending hand, and kept his dark eyes fixed on the crowd. “Still pouting because Machi was being a bully?”

“I am not pouting.”

“And you weren’t jealous either, got it~”

An eye roll, followed by “I have a headache, what’s the time anyway?” Illumi tried to reach for his phone in his pocket, though before he could grab it, Hisoka took hold of his wrist. They locked eyes, and even in the dim lighting of the venue, Illumi saw something wild glisten in those amber eyes. “Let’s leave, together, to my place.”

“Very subtle, Hisoka. I am not going to-”

“Indulge me, Tesoro, I want to show you something.” Determined to blame it on the repulsive atmosphere that had build itself up at the fashion show, Illumi let himself be swept away by Hisoka for the second time that day. The thought of getting away from noisy reporters and cockroaches of the industry who only knew him as the eldest Zoldyck.- former Heir to the empire, was pleasant enough, yet he also didn’t have to be alone and actively think about his reputation, name, and being a ‘lapdog’, technically a win-win situation.

The drive back to the apartment was oddly quiet, despite Hisokas prior excitement. The car tore through the dark night primarily in silence, only accented by the ‘The Velvet Underground’ album they agreed on after scrolling through Hisokas bizarre Spotify library. It definitely wasn’t the kind of music he was used to from the home he was raised in, didn’t fit between the classical music his mother used to play before her headaches made it impossible and the obscene noise music that Killua would play to trigger the same headaches.

“Could you check my messages for me?”

Hisoka hummed in response and grabbed the phone, manicured nails tapping on the screen, before dropping it unceremoniously back into the cup-holders. “Batteries dead.”

“That can’t be, I charged it before I went out this morning, the battery is supposed to hold for a minimum of 72 hours when idle.”

“Your dainty British batteries sometimes give out under Italian heat, invest in better engineering, and charge it at my place for now.”

“…This will better be worth the trouble.”

The streets of Rieti were expectantly empty, and Illumi parked the car right in front of the apartment (Was it a legal parking spot? Unlikely. But parking fines barely matter when seemingly half the world knows your families name.)

The stairs, the door, the entrance, Illumi knew all of these things about Hisokas apartment. “What is there to show me?”

“Patience. Come here~” Hisoka opened the doors to the balcony, white drapes gently tossed in the fresh breeze. The Zoldyck followed- with sceptical hesitation, but followed nonetheless.

He rested his hands on the railing, eyes turned sky-wards, a few strands of hair upset by the wind.

“If you took me here to just look at the stars, I’m not sure which one of us is the bigger fool.”

“Right, if we wanted to look at soon-to-be dead stars, we could have stayed at the show. But we’re not here for them. They are insignificant, always there to look at until one day they vanish and are forgotten. The real star of the show is over there.” He pointed a long nail at the night sky, and Illumi tried to follow where it pointed.

“The moon? Really?”

“Close, but also mundane and boring. Here- “Before Illumi could react, the strange man had placed their heads next to each other and started to correct Illumis position with a pointed yet gentle grip on his chin. “Look straight ahead.”

Just a little bit off to the left of the moon shone a star brighter than anything else, for a moment Illumi felt ridiculous for missing it.

“It’s Venus. Among all these long dead stars, she’s ever present, stands out the most, and is a rare sight to behold.”

“You took me away from the show to gaze at other planets?” Illumi turned towards the other man, suddenly all too aware of how close they were standing once again.

“I took you away from the show because no one there is capable of understanding your true potential. The way everyone there only sees you as an extension of your family is so infuriating, that it makes me want to ruin all their hopeless little dreams right in front their pitiful faces.” With a swift movement Hisoka had pinned the designer against the railing of the balcony. “You could crush all these people under your heel and make them beg for forgiveness. And there’s nothing I’d rather see than that.”

“I don’t need to make anyone beg, if I want something, I get it. It’s always been like that.” A cold thumb traced the line of his sharp chin, followed by a dark chuckle, and all of a sudden Illumi felt fatigued, all air leaving his lungs. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers his mother recalling symptoms like that. It’s a sickness, nothing more nothing less.

“You get it because you’re a pretty show dog held on a short leash by your family.”

Fucking lapdog. The weight on his chest feels like it could crush his organs any second.

“I’m not asking you to bite the hand that feeds you. But I’d give everything to see what you could do if you were free of restraints.”

Feeling like he needed to hold onto anything, Illumi grabbed onto the back of the other man’s head, fingers buried in wild hair. “And why would you care so much? If you’re just trying to rile me up, there’s ways that don’t make me want to throw you off the balcony and watch your mangled body struggle for life.”

“It’s because you fascinate me, Illumi. You’re my Venus in a sea of dying stars. I want to observe you in all your glory as you outshine everyone else, in your full potential.”

“Who says I won’t crush you as well?” His fingers grasped harder on a few strands of hair. Everything in his body felt wrong, the way his skin was freezing all over, but searing hot wherever he made contact with the other man, the suffocating weight on his chest increased by the second, and in the back of his mind something about sickness echoes again.

They locked eyes, and just then Illumi noticed how close they truly were, Hisokas hot breath falling onto his lips.

And he should have pushed him away.

Should have slapped him, insulted him like the sorry maggot he was.

But he felt weak and sick and so cold, and Hisoka radiated pure heat.

Their lips met, softer than expected of either of them, and Illumi wondered if this is what it feels like to be saved from drowning.

A pleasant warmth seeped into his body, and his lungs felt weightless, like he could breathe for the first time in his life.

Hisoka kissed like each touch might be the last, and Illumi let himself be guided as he wanted, eventually wrapping his arms around the others neck, eager to steal as much of this intoxicating heat as possible.

The man kissed along his jawline, stopping just barely below his ear. “Stay here tonight, cuore mio.”

And Illumi placed a kiss to his temple, as gentle as a man who was never been taught gentleness with people could manage. “Let’s go inside.”

#hxh fanfic #hisoillu #killugon #hxh #hisoka marrow #illumi zoldyck #killua zoldyck #gon freecss #mito freecss #machi komachine #fanfic #fanfiction #I continue to have the worst update schedule known to man <3

7 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Get Real Angry: Interrogation, Final

CW: Institutional brutality, whump of a minor (in the form of a video Jake watches), beating, electric shock, very vaguely referenced past/potential noncon, violence in response to self-soothing stimming behavior, referenced familial abuse, sleep deprivation, creepy whumper behavior

The final part of Jake’s interrogation during his very bad week. Tomorrow I hope to get his reunion with Chris written, and then Jake’s first day back in class after that, and then we’ll return to your regularly scheduled comfort programming now that this little mini-narrative is out of my head!

To understand the frat guy reference (a reference to @deluxewhump‘s Alex), please read this piece here.

INTERROGATION: PART ONE PART TWO

Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxck-fxck, @slaintetowhump

When Everly wheels the TV in - big and blocky, on a little metal wheelie cart with a squeaky wheel and rust spots along the frame - and settles it in front of the chair Jake has been encouraged to sit in, Jake is reminded, bizarrely, of a movie he saw a few years ago.

Weird arthouse movie about a guy that takes another guy captive and his boyfriend or whatever tries to hunt him down, they watched something on a TV in an old house… shit, what was it called… Jake’s head hurts, throbs with a kind of foggy ache, and he closes his eyes, head drooping just slightly.

He could drift off just like this, with his wrists still zip-tied, his shoulders screaming pain at him. Since waking up at the sound of the cops banging on the door, sleep has been a twenty-minute nap here and there, as long as they’ll let him drop off, slumped in his chair, forehead resting on the table in the interrogation room.

Everly left for a while, he assumes to get some fucking sleep. They’d set up some kind of weird blaring alarm system that went off while he was gone, going off every hour or so, waking Jake up. His head feels weighted down with the fucking need for sleep.

Once his eyes close, he can’t quite seem to force them open again. God, he could, he really could fall asleep now, with Everly staring right down at him. Rescues talk about it, about curling up on the floor, covering their eyes with their arms to try and find the tiniest bit of darkness in the unending white light, just… drifting away into some kind of doze and fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a real nap right about now-

There’s a slam, palm on metal table, rattling it, and Jake jerks his head back up, staring wide-eyed up at the handler, breathing in harsh pants. Everly’s not even wearing his stupid fake cop uniform anymore. He doesn’t even try to hold up the pretense.

That’s how Jake knows - for sure this time, not just a hunch - that that camera in the corner by the ceiling definitely isn’t turned on.

Wanted to contract you but I was overruled. Jake’s bloodshot exhausted eyes stare up into Everly’s calm, almost pleased flat gray, and he shudders. It’s a thin line between protecting people who need help and being turned into one.

He kind of wants to send a thank-you card to whoever decided he was too much trouble to abduct.

“Wake up, sunshine,” Everly says, pleased as can be, pleased as punch Jake’s nana would have said, when he was little. Tiny little old southern woman, genteel beachside accent, sweet tea on the table, Sunday dinner, what happens between you and your husband is your business, Maggie. Jake shudders, all over.

When you run from a man who won’t stop hurting you with your kid in tow, you have to run from all the people who just can’t give enough of a fuck to help you, too.

“Pretty-… pretty sure sleep deprivation is torture under th’ Geneva Conventions,” Jake mumbles, forcing his head to stay up, his spine as straight as he can make it. Leaning against the back of the chair helps, but shit, what he wouldn’t give-

That’s how it starts, Jake. You think you’d give something up just to sleep, and then they take that, and take more than that, and eventually there’s nothing left.

“Probably,” Everly acknowledges with a careless shrug. “But you’re gonna have one hell of a time proving you were here and not just the unfortunate recipient of a beating outside a bar or whatever the fuck you do in your free time.”

“In m’free time,” Jake slurs - weird how being this tired has made it harder to move his mouth, even, “I mostly feed homeless people. Not… ‘zactly a violent hobby.”

“Weird how that happened to you, then,” Everly says brightly. He picks up a remote on the cart and starts pressing buttons. The TV powers on with a sudden flash of colors and Jake winces as the light hurts his eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to focus.

It’s harder than it should be. Everything is harder than it should be. He’s not even sure he could stand up on his own any longer, his legs feel like noodles precariously balanced on top of concrete blocks.

“No… no folder t’day?” Jake asks, staring as the menu pops up. Smart TV, of course it is. He stifles a laugh at the sight of the little Netflix icon, Hulu, Amazon Prime. “Y’watch a lot of, of fuckin’ TV when you’re torturin’ innocent people?”

“Shut up, it belongs to the police station.” Everly chooses an app off to the corner, something called KINECTREMOT, the letters dancing and refusing to settle as Jake tries to read them. Does it start this way, with the rescues? Does it start with it just getting harder because you’re tired, and then one day the letters start to hurt?

Or is there something else, to that? Something to the training the rescues can’t explain, maybe don’t even remember?

No, Kauri remembers. Kauri’s head is a fucking mess but he remembers more of training than any of the others seem to be. Maybe that’s why his head is a mess. Jake groans, trying to focus, to think.

Everly’s humming to himself, a soft little tune on his lips, as he inputs a login username [email protected] and a password that just shows up as little circles. He fucks it up the first time, has to redo it. Jake holds back a snort.

“Y’tired, too, huh?” He asks, false sympathy dripping from his tone. “Real tired? Wanna schedule us a fuckin’ naptime, man?”

Everly glances back at him, then leans over and grabs Jake by the back of the head, casually slamming his forehead into the metal table, listening to Jake’s cry of pain with a faint grin on his face, then jerking his head back up, to look into exhausted, foggy light-colored eyes. “Have some fucking manners, Stanton.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Jake slurs, head pounding with pain, slumping to the side. “Can I please request a fuckin’ nap, sir-”

“No.” Everly goes back to humming, tries the username and password again. Wrong again. Jake wonders if he fucks it up again, if he’ll get locked out. Since this is clearly meant to be some kind of dramatic reveal, the idea strikes him as funny. Not just funny, fucking hilarious. Jake starts to giggle, unwillingly, almost helplessly. Big tough guy can’t figure out his fucking password for his Big Villain Moment. It’s funny, right? It’s really fucking funny, and shit, he’s so tired the glint of light off the table and the little spot of blood from his head, smeared across, seems funny because it’s like looking at clouds, what shape is this? and Chris on the grass bouncing up and down on his feet and saying it’s it’s it’s a kangaroo, Jake, it’s a kangaroo, in Australia they call them roos, they just say, say, say say say roo I saw a man on TV he said, said roo, he just said roo and that cloud looks like-

There’s a flash of pain, impact of palm across bruises that have already blossomed dark on his face, and Jake grunts, jerking to the side, somehow managing to stay in his seat.

“Stop laughing. Stay quiet.” Everly narrows his eyes, tries one more time to put the password in. This time it works and the screen flashes black with the KINECTREMOT logo across the front, a soft chime of sound.

What he’s looking at now, Jake doesn’t really understand. Some kind of inbox, but for pictures and videos. They’re all labeled with six-digit numbers, a long list of them, with the words PRIMARY, SECONDARY, TERTIARY next to each one. Not always the same word. Some of them say one thing, some say another. Some of them just say CALL IN or EMERGENCY.

Everly chooses a search bar option and starts painstakingly entering a number, and Jake stares, dumbly, wondering what the fuck he’s looking at, but with a sick certainty that he really, really does not want to know.

Everly’s still humming that stupid song, and Jake realizes why it’s sticking in his head, now. “Are y’… are y’humming Hotel California?”

Everly stops, blinks, looks over at him, genuinely baffled. Then he laughs, a rumbling sound. Jake hates that fucking smug piece of shit’s laughter. “I guess I am. Hadn’t noticed. It was playing on my way from the hotel this morning. You like that song?”

Jake stares at him, as evenly as he can, his eyelids trying to droop down, body desperate for sleep. “Used to.”

Everly chuckles again. “Yeah, it’s overplayed. Anyway… here we go.” He’s picked one number out - 223499, it doesn’t mean anything, and next to it he reads PRIMARY/SECONDARY and what the fuck does that mean? A long line of little thumbnail images pop up, with labels next to them. INTAKE, ISOLATION DAY 1, DAY 2, DAY 3.

The drop in Jake’s stomach gets worse. He feels almost nauseous with fear - not for himself, exactly, but for what he knows he’s about to see. “Wait, wait-… what are you-”

“Shut up, Stanton.”

“No. No, I, I can’t-… what are you goin’ t’do?” Jake looks up, bleary, frightened now. Everly just smiles back down at him, that smug fucking shit-eating grin, and Jake pulls hard on his restrained wrists, feels a flash of bright agonizing pain as the plastic, caked in two days of dried blood, reopens the raw wounds. He grunts at the ache, but everything from his shoulders down has hurt like hell since day one.

“You know, I requested authorization for injectables, too-”

“What th’fuck are those?”

“It’s pretty obvious from the name, I think. Got overruled on that one, too. Fuckin’ higher-ups worried about traceable compounds and shit. I mean, I get the concern. We can’t keep you long enough for that shit to get fully out of your system. But it would’ve made getting to watch this part a lot more fun.”

Everly selects a thumbnail, and the screen opens up - it’s like some bizarre fucked-up snuff-film take on a Netflix episode choice, with the thumbnail suddenly blown up to a larger size and a small description next to it. Someone made a computer program for this, Jake realizes with an even sicker drop in his stomach. Disgust ricochets around his body. Somewhere, at some point, someone built a computer program designed to let these assholes show him a video of… of what?

223499 - CONTRACT SIGNING he reads, just as Everly pushes play.

“Why show me this?” He asks, in nearly a whisper. “D’you… d’you think this is gonna make me not want to, to help?”

“No, I think you won’t break today, and today’s all I got. Give me a week and a white room and I’d have you taking food from my fingers, but sadly, our time together nears its end. Here’s what I can do, though. I can show you something you can’t ever prove. And I can watch your fuckin’ face the whole time. I can get you all riled up, all angry, and send you home with that bitterness just roiling around inside you.”

On the TV screen, Jake sees a small table in a blank room. No pictures on the walls, no decorations at all. Just a small table, two chairs, one on either side. Sitting in one chair is a woman in a suit - everything about her screams lawyer. Behind her, leaning against the wall, in a prim pantsuit, is a woman Jake has seen on TV before, that Renford bitch.

Antoni walked into the room when she was on TV once, turned around and walked out, and didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day. Kauri flinched when Nat had to wear heels for a meeting and came walking down the stairs.

Jake knows pure soulless evil when he sees it, and there it is, looking bored.

There’s another person, too, mostly hidden by the shadows in the corner, but there’s something weirdly familiar about what Jake can see of him, something he can’t quite place. He’s wearing a pastel-colored polo and light slacks, weirdly fussy looking, like he’s dressed in case he ends up on TV.

Which, Jake guesses he kind of did.

They’re chatting - the sound of it too low for Jake’s tired brain to parse into words he can understand. Just easy, comfortable talk. Coworkers chit-chatting about their weekends, waiting for the day to start. Lawyer’s got a mug of coffee in front of her, takes a sip. It’s normal inane corporate chatter and these are people who do unimaginable damage to other peoples’ lives and they don’t feel a fucking thing about it.

“I won’t get what I want today. But I think I’ll see what I’m hoping to see on your face - and I think you’ll go home with something stuck in your head that you can’t get out.” Everly moves around behind him, stands with his hands on Jake’s shoulders, rubbing thumbs in like he’s giving him the world’s most painful backrub. Jake grinds his teeth together to keep from making a single sound. His eyes want to close, to look away, but there’s some sort of fascination that keeps his eyes glued to the screen.

He’s always wondered what the contract signings are like. The rescues never remember them.

There must be some sound - everyone kind of shifts around in their chairs, straightens up, and the lawyer pulls some papers out of a small folder in front of her, slides them across to the other side of the table in front of the other chair, sets a plastic pen down next to the paper. Fiddles with it, shifting it back and forth minutely, until it’s perfectly parallel.

A door behind the empty chair opens, and Jake stares in perfect horror as Chris is shoved into the room, a man Jake doesn’t recognize behind him, wearing the handler uniform and prodding Chris with a black stick.

He’s so… small, isn’t he?

Jake rarely thinks about how small Chris really is. In the video, he’s hunched over, his hair looks weirdly clumpy. He’s wearing a loose white V-neck T-shirt that’s way too big for him, like it’s oversized or they just couldn’t be bothered to get him one that fit. His knees stick out from under a pair of thin black shorts.

“Oh my God,” Jake whispers. His heart feels like ice in his chest, the cold is spreading through his veins, right to the tips of his toes in his sneakers, now bloodied like everything else he was wearing when they dragged him in here two… three? days ago.

Thumbs dig into his shoulder blades and he hisses, jerking forwards away from the pressure. “Recognize him, huh?”

Jake sets his jaw. “I recognize that you’re a fuckin’ monster piece of shit-”

Everly grabs his head and slams it down on the table again. Jake goes limp, groaning at the spark of white-hot pain, little spots in his vision even with closed eyes. Then his head is jerked back up. Motherfucker really likes walking the head injury line. “Watch. The. Video.”

“This… this won’t make me any less angry,” Jake manages to force out between numb lips. “None of it will.”

“Good. Then you’ll fuck up. The angry ones always do.” Everly grabs his chin from behind him and forces it forward.

On the screen, Chris is sitting in the previously empty chair now, the handler’s hand on one shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of his neck. He’s shivering so hard Jake can see it in the slightly blurry video, looking around at everyone. There are deep visible shadows under his eyes, and Jake watches the way he sits, with his hands sort of between his legs, can tell from the tension in his arms he’s gripping onto the chair. “Wh-why am, am, am, am-”

“Fuckin’ broken record,” The handler behind him says, a man Jake has never seen, and smacks Chris hard against the back of the head. He jerks forward, whimpering, and Jake would give anything to be able to crawl into the screen and save him.

There are tears in his eyes he has to blink away, but now that he sees him he doesn’t want to miss a second. He’s so little, even though he’s almost the same age he is now. Being in that place, with those people, makes him seem so small, so deeply in need of protection. He’s so fucking scared and none of them even care.

“No one mentioned a stammer,” The man in the corner says. His voice is familiar, too, it sounds like it’s tailor-made for TV. Smooth as silk, with something rotten hidden underneath. “I’m not interested in a fixer-upper, Karen.”

“I’m not selling you one, either,” Renford replies, and Jake’s hands curl into fists behind his back. “He hasn’t been trained yet. No one starts training until they sign.”

“What…” Chris - not Chris, not really, this is whoever he was before he became Chris - flinches and looks backwards up at the handler, as if checking for permission to speak. Jake swallows back bile when the handler nods, and Chris looks back forwards again, his gaze jumping all over the room. He doesn’t seem to see the man in the corner at all, and Jake squints as he realizes there’s some kind of one-way glass along that area, angled so the camera sees everyone, but he’s pretty sure Chris can’t see the man. “Who’s… talking?”

His words are slurred together and deliberately, carefully spaced.

He talked like this when he first arrived at the shelter, for days after. Flat, meaningless syllables dropped and run from, certain he’d be hurt if he made a single sound that wasn’t allowed.

“Not important, trainee,” The handler says. “Pay attention to what is important.”

“Yes, um… yes, yes, sir,” Chris says in a low, weak voice.

“Bet you’d like to commit murder right about now,” Everly says from behind him.

“You’d win that bet,” Jake growls.

“I always fuckin’ do.”

“What, um-… what’s happening?” Chris asks, softly, looking around the room.

“This is your consent form,” The lawyer says, tapping a fingernail on the paper between them. Chris winces, slightly, hunching back into the handler’s touch. “All your information is there as provided by your adult guardian-”

“Joanne? Aunt Jo?” Chris is looking around, confused, blinking. “But, but, but but she… she, I’m supposed to, to live with her now-”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” The handler says, with a laugh.

“What, what, what-what, what, what does that-”

The handler hits Chris hard across the back of the head again, and he bites down on his lower lip and goes silent.

“You’d have gotten her an even higher payout if you didn’t talk so fucking much,” The handler says, grumbling, like Chris is the problem here.

Chris’s expression collapses from a nervous, frightened curiosity to an awful well of pain and grief. “Gotten her, her, her a what?”

The lawyer ignores him and keeps speaking. “… and your legal identification, confirming that you’re overage-”

“But, but I’m not, I’m, I’m n-not, I just turned, uh-” Chris is struggling, and Jake wants to climb into that screen and hold him, calm him down, help him slow his mouth to find the words. Chris’s eyes are wide, and his fear can be read, oddly foggy and dazed, like he’s operating on a slight delay. “I just, just just just-”

The handler behind him grips the back of his neck, like a man grabbing the scruff of an unruly dog, and Chris’s voice cuts off like turning a radio dial.

There’s a moment of silence where Jake can hear his harsh, panting breaths.

“What did we talk about, ‘499? About lying?”

Chris’s hands come up onto the table, tapping on it, not loud enough for Jake to hear. “N-not, not, not to lie to you, but-but, um, but but but I’m, I’m not-”

“Stop that shit with your hands. Now.”

Nothing visibly changes but Chris goes quiet again, staring straight down. His hands stop moving. His shoulders are hiked nearly to his ears and Jake wonders if the handler holding him by the neck tightened his grip.

“How old are you, trainee?” The handler asks the question heavy with loaded double-meanings, obvious enough Jake can read them. Give the right answer or get hurt.

“Eighteen,” Chris whispers, with wide scared eyes. Everyone in the room seems satisfied with the blatant, obvious lie.

“Good. And is that the legal consenting age?”

“… yes.”

“Good boy.” The handler pets heavily through Chris’s hair, and the boy shudders in disgust - Jake has never seen him react to touch like that, not from anyone. Just one more sign of a person that’s been totally erased.

“Pl-please, please don’t, please don’t-don’t, don’t touch me-”

“That’s not an option available to you any longer,” The handler says, pulling the black stick from his belt - and Jake knows what those are, he knows exactly what those are, he’s had one raining down on his back and his ribs and his arms now, had one stuck against his knee to force electric shock into his nerves. He wants to push back, but he’s so, so tired. “Your options are to take the touch as it’s given and thank me for it, or…” He taps the black stick on the back of one of Chris’s hands. The boy’s hand jerks back, but when the handler tsks, clicking his tongue against his teeth, Chris lays the hand slowly back out on the table.

“Why would you ever tape this?” Jake asks, barely aware his mouth is moving.

“Lunchtime entertainment,” Everly replies, blithely. The two of them watch as Chris says something, but there’s a strange rushing sound in Jake’s head and for a second, he’s so… furious… that he can’t even hear. All he can do is stare, the rushing sound drowning him out, and then the black baton comes down on his fingers and Jake cries out, as Chris’s mouth opens in a painful wail, as he tries to pull his hands protectively back to himself only to have them forced back onto the table again.

And hit again.

And again.

Jake’s going to be sick all over the floor if it goes on any longer.

The man who has been watching, hidden in the corner, laughs at the sight. He laughs harder, louder, when the handler forces Chris to thank him for the pain.

It’s his laugh that Jake recognizes, finally. It’s the laugh that turns him from shadowy and familiar to a face that Jake’s seen on TV a dozen times or more. Jake has protested his speeches on the human pet industry, has written essays on the complicity of government in human atrocities with this very man in mind, but when he was thinking of complicity he was never, ever thinking of this.

“You sold him to the fucking Governor?”

No wonder he’s so fucking cozy with WRU. They sold him a goddamn teenager for a personal toy-

“Took you long enough.” Everly pats him on the head, good dog, and Jake jerks away from the touch, thinking of Chris doing the same - and how he pushes into every touch now, good or bad, can’t tell the difference. Has to be told, over and over again. How many days without letting me sleep would it take to get me to give in like that? “Watching you watch this… you know who that kid is. You’ve seen him before. Lie to me or don’t, your face gave it all away. Our informant told us you’ve been bringing a kid who fits the description to your classes.”

Oh, God. The raid was my fault.

On the screen, Chris is signing the contract, hands shaking, the handler’s palm still laying flat against the back of his neck, over the heavy black collar he has around his throat.

“Just a homeless kid,” Jake grinds out, staring at Chris’s terrified shadowed face. Watching as he’s dragged back out, stumbling, with the handler’s grip iron-tight on his thin arm. Chris was tapping in the video, Jake thinks. He tapped before, that’s part of him, not something he picked up. Did he hit his head, before, too? “Could’ve been him. Wouldn’t know. He left.”

“Different story than where we started when I brought you in,” Everly remarks. He puts a hand on the back of Jake’s neck. Rubs his thumb, back and forth, just at the nape where skin and soft, short hair meet.

Just like the handler in the video, with Chris.

“Who called?” Jake asks, holding himself very, very still under the touch. He’s seen Antoni go like this, he thinks - just holding himself like a statue, his eyes straight ahead, not looking. When he has a bad night and spends the day on edge, when any little thing sets him off. “Who told you it was us?”

If it was that fucking frat guy - he’s in one of Jake’s classes, he’s probably seen him with Chris, could even have seen him doing yoga over on the grass, could have seen them in the coffee shop or eating lunch in the big seating area, anywhere, really - Jake will hunt down which frat he’s in and personally set the whole goddamn house on fire, starting with that asshole’s bedroom-

“A Professor Gregory Barnham,” Everly says. The words mean nothing to Everly. They mean entirely too much to Jake.

“My fucking Ethics in Political Philosophy professor?” For a second, his brain just refuses to reconcile what he’s been told. He’s been careful in that class. He’s kept his head down, stayed quiet, and the professor never told him not to bring Chris and the professor has smiled at Chris. Said hello. Nice guy, if definitely not super into the pet lib thing, and Jake had been so careful, bringing Chris in the back, keeping him carefully separate from the other students.

Not careful enough.

That son of a bitch saw Jake with a kid who was slowly coming out of his shell and he thought, better call WRU on this one. Better have that kid all fucked up again.

He’s probably not going to go back to that class. He’s probably going to fail it. He’s probably going to spend the next week convincing himself not to light the professor’s house on fire, and feeling like he kind of owes Frat Guy an apology for assuming the worst.

Sorry, dude, you trusted my intentions enough to be fuckin’ vulnerable about your shitty fucking fraternity buying a fucking preson, I decided to repay the favor by assuming you’re the asshole who could have gotten my family killed-

Jake doesn’t think about calling them his family. The word doesn’t even register in his tired mind. It’s just there, the foundation of the thought.

“Why tell me who called in?” Jake asks. He can’t figure out this guy’s angle. He’s giving Jake too much information, isn’t he? Showing him Chris’s video, the contract signing of an underage kid, the fucking governor the one apparently buying him… telling him who called him in… why give him all of this? Why give him all this information?

He’s too exhausted to try and outthink him. He… just doesn’t get it. He needs three days of sleep and probably some serious medical attention at this point, and he can’t even begin to try and think through this until he gets at least one of those things.

“Already told you, numbnuts.” Everly lets go of him, and Jake breathes a sigh of relief as he steps away. “I’m making you nice and angry. Go on, Jakob Collins Stanton. Go be the face of the fuckin’ movement. I can’t wait to see your fuckin’ dumbshit expressions on TV. Go on, Stanton. Get real… fucking… angry.”

Jake sees the black baton unhooked from the guy’s belt in the corner of his eyes, and his muscles tense, but he doesn’t move.

“Why tell me it was the Governor?” He asks, but the baton is already swinging at his head. When it connects, Jake’s head smacks forward into the metal table, he drops to the ground, and everything goes black.

He wakes up and the metal table and chairs are gone. The TV and its little wheelie tray are gone. The zipties on his wrists are gone and his shoulders scream as he pulls his hands forwards, looking at how deeply the plastic dug in. His head is pounding, throbbing, and he feels even more exhausted than he did before.

He cries, for a while. There’s a cop in the room who doesn’t stop him or help, just kicks a box of Kleenex across the floor.

Eventually they tell him he’s been charged with resisting arrest, but that his bail’s been paid. No one tells him but he sees a calendar on his way out, limping heavily, walking in bloodstained jeans and T-shirt looking like he lost a fuck of a fight, and realizes he’s been here for three days.

Chris has been alone for three days.

Any hint of pain Jake is feeling is washed away by the panic that takes its place. Chris can’t handle being alone that long. He needs touch, needs it, the constant never-ending compulsion for human contact that all of the ones like him have. Who even knows what he’d do - go next door or let anyone who knocked in or, shit, just start testing people, like he does, and that could get him hurt or killed or taken advantage of or-

Unless Nat…

“Uh, um,” Jake stumbles over his words, and the cop glances at him, dismissive. “Natalie… Natalie Yoder. The woman with me. Is, is she… was she let go before me, or…?”

The cop gestures ahead of himself, and Jake raises his eyes to see Nat sitting on a bench with a vaguely familiar man that Jake has never actually spoken to before, although he’s seen him watering flowers outside his yard. He looks like some kind of cowboy.

Natalie looks like hell - rings around her eyes and a few bruises littered across her face - but he can tell he looks worse, because both she and the man who lives across the street from the shelter recoil when they see him.

Natalie jumps to her feet. “Jake, what the hell-”

Jake walks to her, as fast as the cop will let him, and nearly collapses against her, resting his head on her shoulder. She puts one hand up over his hair on the back of his head and the other around him, holding him tightly. “I resisted arrest,” Jake says. “Apparently.”

“Yeah,” Nat murmurs. “Me, too. Jefferson here’s our neighbor, he’s come to take us home.”

“Is… everyone safe, there?” Jake asks, low-voiced, just above a whisper.

“We’ll talk in the car. Come on, we’re all paid up, they’re ready to sign off on us going. I… didn’t know about your dad, Jake.”

Jake stiffens and pulls away from her, looking away. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know about your job history, did I? We both kept secrets.”

There’s a silence, long and uncomfortable, broken only by the sounds of the department around them - people working at computers, talking on phones, chatting over coffee. It makes Jake think of the lawyer in the video, sipping her coffee before they dragged a teenager in to sign his life away, watching with a passive, uncaring expression while they beat his hands with a baton.

“Guess we have some things to talk about in the car on the way home, huh?” Nat says, trying for cheer. When Jake responds with silence, she sighs. “Fair enough. I should have told you.”

“Yeah. You should have. I have some other stuff to tell you, too, about who called-”

“I know,” Nat says, heavily, rubbing at her eye with one fist, looking oddly like an exhausted toddler. “They told me. That landscaping company that works down the street.”

“Wait.” Jake frowns, looks around. No one’s really looking at them, now. “Wait. I got told it was one of my professors.”

“You did?” Nat hesitates. “Then they gave us two different stories, Jake. So… which one is true?”

“If you ask me,” Jefferson says, in a soft, unobtrusive voice, “probably neither of them. Come on, we can continue this little guessing game in my car, yeah? I’ve laid down some towels, I had a feeling you might still be, um… bleeding… like that.”

They leave the police station in silence, Jake sitting in the backseat of Jefferson’s ancient Subaru, beat half to hell but the thing’s still running, somehow. All he can think of is getting home to Chris, keeping his promise.

“Look,” Nat says, after they’ve sat in silence other than Jefferson’s quiet NPR playing from the car’s radio. “When I started the job-”

“Not yet.” Jake cuts her off, and his voice is harsher than he means it to be. His eyes have closed and he’s not sure how he’ll ever open them again. “Chris first.”

“You know, your, um… Chris is really doing fine-” Jefferson starts.

“Don’t care. I don’t want to think about anything else just yet.” Jake’s face throbs. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton dipped in acid. His shoulders ache, his wrists look like they’ve been wrapped in razorwire, one of his ribs is probably bruised, he knows his torso is a fucking mess of black and blue, he’s exhausted and starving and pissed off and all he can think about is that fucking handler saying, go on, Stanton. Get real fucking angry.

What does it mean that they want him to be? And if they gave he and Nat two different stories about who turned them in, which one is true? What if neither of them is? What’s their plan? Or is there one? Maybe they just want him to get paranoid and freaked out, see if he stumbles, fucks it up. Maybe this is all just to get him wondering exactly who is out to get him.

Maybe Everly just thought it’d be fucking funny to get him all worked up.

He can’t think about this now. He’s too tired, he’ll only make the dumbest fucking decisions if he tries.

No, he just…

He just has to get home to Chris.

Keep his promises, first. Figure out everything else after that.

Told you I’d come back for you, man.

Jake thinks of the boy in the video, asking about his Aunt Jo, the look of crumbling sorrow in his face at their reply.

I made a promise to you, and I’m going to keep it.

But I am definitely real fuckin’ angry.

148 notes · View notes

karajaynetoday · 4 years

Text

everybody's got their demons, even wide awake or dreaming | part two

Photo credit: Jess Gleeson

Hello friends! Hope you’re having a lovely day. It’s time for part two of this series! Lizzie takes her opportunity to interview Calum one-on-one in this part. If you need to catch up on Part One, you can do that here. Onwards!

(This is a fem!OC story)

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: none? i don’t think?

More writing here | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here | if you’d like to be on my taglist go here

The day or so leading up to Lizzie’s one on one interview with Calum was a blur, as Lizzie tried to fix her body clock and orientate herself with how to get around LA. Her boss had offered her the opportunity to hire a rental car, but the idea of driving on the wrong side of the road was too much for Lizzie to stomach, so Ubers were the go.

Her body sometimes overslept, sometimes woke her up at 4am, so Lizzie had downloaded a yoga and meditation app to try and sort herself out. She might’ve almost given herself a concussion after toppling over while trying to do a particularly tricky pose, but no one needed to hear about that. The bruises on her elbow were embarrassing enough.

Danielle had sent Lizzie a text the morning of her lunchtime interview with Calum, confirming the time and place as they’d discussed. Lizzie had handwritten some notes for her questions, trying to contemplate what she could ask Calum that would differ to the others. Or maybe she should ask them all the same questions, and then in the piece she could compare and contrast responses? It was so hard to know what would make the best piece, especially with interviewing Calum in particular. Lizzie knew from watching other interviews, and in her group interview with all of the band the other day (and from back in their school days) that Calum was a man of few words. When he did speak, it was usually with purpose and thought, and made for some great content, but he wasn’t always particularly forthcoming. Which is why it had surprised Lizzie that Calum had volunteered for the first solo interview, but given Michael’s behaviour, she was glad to be continuing with the profile piece at all.

It was a really warm day, so Lizzie had to forego her usual blazer and jeans in favour of a long green dress with blue and white flowers on it. Her hands were sweaty as the Uber pulled up to the café Calum had suggested, and something in the back of Lizzie’s mind suggested it wasn’t just from the weather. She’d always been an anxious person, but she’d gotten a handle on it recently; this whole LA debacle had brought it back with a vengeance.

Calum was waiting for her just in front of the café, dark wayfarer sunglasses covering his eyes and his phone in his hand as he leant up against the brick wall beside the café door. He was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans, and nobody coming in or out of the café seemed to pay him any attention; but then again maybe people of Calum’s level of fame were just part of the furniture around here. It was near to Hollywood, after all.

“Hey, thanks for agreeing to meet me.” Lizzie’s voice wasn’t overly loud, but it still made Calum jump as he looked up from his phone at her.

“Of course, of course. I know I sound like a broken record, but we really are excited for you to do this piece. The new album era is something I’ve been looking forward to for a while, and - “ Calum began, smiling warmly at Lizzie, who cut him off by pulling open the café door.

“Before you start getting all meaningful and quotable on me, shall we get a coffee and take a seat?”

“A woman after my own heart. Let’s do it. Pro-tip, the brownies here are to die for.”

The café was bustling, but most of the patrons seemed to be lining up for takeaway orders. Calum stepped ahead of Lizzie and slipped into a booth towards the back, near a frosted window, greeting the wait staff by name as he went. Lizzie scurried after him, apologising as she accidentally bumped into a tall man with her shoulder bag in her haste and he glared at her. Guess not everyone was as friendly as Calum, then. She slid into the booth opposite Calum, pulling out her notebook and phone as she went.

“Is it okay if I record this? I’m not very good at taking notes.”

“Straight into it, LL? At least let a man have his coffee first.” Calum deadpanned, and Lizzie felt her face fall before she realised he was joking with her.

“Of course, sorry. Let’s order. The brownies, you said? How big are they?” Lizzie pasted a smile onto her face, grabbing for the menu on the table in front of her.

“I have it on good authority that they’re perfectly Lizzie-sized. Calum-sized, too - a real multipurpose snack.” Calum was teasing her now, but also being completely serious, as he got the attention of a waitperson who came over to welcome them and take their orders. A skinny latté for Lizzie, an iced coffee for Calum, and a warmed up chocolate brownie with a side of coconut yogurt for them each. They fell into easy conversation, about the weather, and Calum’s neighbourhood, and the other pieces Lizzie had written, almost forgetting why they were there in the first place. When their order of coffees and brownies arrived, Lizzie suddenly snapped out of her feeling of ease when she had to push her notebook and phone over on the table and remember that she was supposed to be interviewing Calum Hood, 5SOS bassist, not catching up with Calum Hood, her Year 9 science lab partner.

“Now that you’ve got your coffee, can I start recording?” Lizzie asked timidly, as she took a bite out of her brownie and audibly groaned at how heavenly it tasted.

“Depends. Will your brownie orgasm be mentioned in the article?” Could Calum say anything that wasn’t teasing her? Damn it.

“Maybe. Perhaps I’ll do a twitter thread of my trip food highlights, given that the profile piece will be under embargo until the album comes out.” Lizzie deadpanned right back, earning a smile and a small chuckle from Calum.

Lizzie hit record on her phone’s voicenote app, sliding the phone into the centre of the table. She flipped open her notebook to the page marked “Calum”, and she could see Calum trying to read her writing upside down.

“No spoilers, mate. I’ve got a strategy here.” Lizzie mused, angling her notebook so it was harder for Calum to see as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Well then, Ms Lawson from Junkee Australia, do your worst.” He flashed her a grin, before taking a sip of his coffee followed by a bite of his brownie (sans any groaning… that must only be a first-time brownie thing).

“So, in our chat yesterday, it was mentioned that this next album is, in some ways, a letter to your homeland, and a reflection on your journeys so far as individual artists as well as being 5SOS collectively. For you, as Calum Hood, what’s the main contribution or perspective that you feel you’ve brought to this album, and the band?” Lizzie saw a flicker of something in Calum’s eyes as she shifted into journalist mode easily, but he only paused for another sip of coffee before answering.

“I think at this point, my main contribution is balancing the collective contributions in the room. I have a lot to say, and I do a lot of songwriting, but I also think the others would agree that I’m also quite observant, so I can read a lot into things they’re saying, or not saying, and bring it out of them into the music. We’ve known each other for almost half our lives at this point, so we know each other better than anyone else, but when we work with other co writers and things like that it can be hard to feel entirely comfortable with the vulnerability you need to bring into writing a song or telling a particular story that day. I’ve got the rep as the strong, silent, shy type, I know - “ Calum paused and returned the soft smile Lizzie was giving him, as she nodded encouragingly.

“But in interviews, when I’m being asked to explain myself and validate my artistic choices, I’m immediately more defensive and protective of it, because there’s something magical about the writing room, and the vulnerability that can only exist in that context when we’re songwriting, and creating that art. The end product, which is the song or the album or whatever, conveys the emotions in a way that I could never say them with words, and the beautiful thing is that so many people can listen to it and relate to it in ways that I’d never considered before. But that’s the power of it, you know? We make these songs to express ourselves, and fulfil our creative outlets, but it extends beyond that, and that’s the part that gets me.” Calum finished speaking and reached for another sip of his coffee.

“Right. The magic exists in the studio, and on the stage, and in individual people’s lives when they listen to the music wherever they are in the world, and it’s the connecting thread that brings you together with your fans, a moment that you can share even if you never meet.”

“Exactly, it’s the universal experience, and everyone has their own interpretation of what it means to them. Pisses me off when people try and dig to find out who we wrote a certain song about, or whatever. Sometimes it is a specific person or a moment, other times I make shit up to suit the vibe of a chord progression or a concept someone’s brought to the table. It’s a juicier headline if we name and shame, but it’s not fair to the person I’m writing about, especially if they don’t have a similar outlet for a right of reply, and it’s also irrelevant, because my meaning behind a song could be completely different to yours, but that doesn’t make it less valid.” Calum shrugs as he speaks, his tone calm and nonchalant.

“Makes sense. The music can exist as art, and be open to interpretation, like everything in life. And with this album, and reflecting on your homeland… what does that mean, for you? Because 5SOS have lived almost their entire adult lives overseas, so I know it must be hard to self-determine a cultural identity that’s so strongly linked to somewhere you haven’t lived for so long.” Lizzie asks, munching down another bite of brownie.

Calum cocks his head to the side and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, and Lizzie feels a lump rise in her throat. Had she phrased the question wrong? Was he mad? Had she struck a nerve? Fuck.

“Sorry, we don’t have to - I mean, we can keep discussing the album in a different way if you’d prefer -” Lizzie started babbling, and she froze when Calum reached across the table and rested on hers reassuringly.

“Breathe, Lawson. I just need a minute to think about a deep and meaningful response to your question. You’re fine.” Calum was speaking softly, and there was an apology of sorts in his eyes when Lizzie glanced over at him. She was about to ask him something else, when a waitress came over to check on how everything was going with their orders and offered a second round of coffees and Calum withdrew his hand from the table as he ordered another iced coffee to go, times two.

“If you could have it ready to go in about an hour, that’d be great.” Calum flashed the waitress a smile, and she shot him a wink as she headed back to the counter to update his order.

“A whole ‘nother hour? You spoil me, Mr Hood.” Lizzie joked, downing the last of her coffee and desperately hoping to avoid any awkwardness in her remaining interview time with Calum.

“Anything for a fellow Australian, mate. To answer your question, it’s strange, because yes I’ve never lived there full time as an adult, but there’s something about your home country and your hometown that stays with you, no matter where you go or how long you’re gone. Obviously, for me, my sister lives overseas, and neither of my parents were raised in Australia, but it still means a lot to me, because it’s home, you know? The industry there is… interesting, but I still think that if we didn’t have the background we all have as individuals and the band, there’s certainly a lot of decisions we’ve made and ways we’ve gone about things in our careers that are heavily influenced by our upbringings and the mindsets we all have from that experience.”

“Home is where the heart is, right?” Lizzie offers, thumbing her notebook absently.

“It’s true. But it’s also refreshing to go back and escape it all a bit, you know? None of my friends at home really give a shit about Calum from 5SOS. They just like hanging out with Cal, which is nice.” Calum shrugs, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him.

“Just Cal? Not cool guy Cal? C Dizzle Swizzle?” Lizzie bit back a grin, remembering the multitude of nicknames Cal had garnered over the years.

“Look, cool guy Cal is just my constant state of being. C Dizzle might make an appearance if I’ve had one too many, but either way, they’re just happy to see me. Or happy to tell me some home truths that I haven’t heard, or wanted to hear, so that’s important too. You can’t live in LA for as long as we have without having a good support crew to keep us grounded, you know? Even if some of the ones who mean the most to us are on the other side of the planet.” There was something in Calum’s eyes again as Lizzie looked at him, and she could tell it was more than what he was trying to say for the sake of the profile interview.

She swallowed down one final bite of the heavenly brownie, and turned the page to find her next question. Lizzie couldn’t entertain the idea of asking Calum why Michael was mad at her, because it would break the air of professionalism she was desperate to maintain; also, she wasn’t entirely sure he’d even tell her. Calum and Michael had been inseparable in their school days, and Lizzie knew that their bond and sense of loyalty no doubt ran even deeper now than then, given all of their shared experiences, trials and tribulations to date. But Calum had always been so kind and patient with her, whether she’d accidentally ruined their Year 9 science experiment, or she’d nearly thrown up on his shoes at the Year 11 formal after party, or when Michael had stormed out of the studio a few days ago and he offered her his time for the first solo interview. Lizzie brushed off the train of thought, and continued with her interview questions for Calum.

The conversation flowed easily, and Lizzie could already feel the profile starting to come together in her mind. She jotted down a handful of notes on how to adapt her questions for Luke and Ashton based on Calum’s responses, and before they realised how long they’d been chatting, the waitress returned with Calum’s two takeaway iced coffees.

Lizzie asked the waitress for the bill, but Calum waved her off.

“I’ve got it, Lizzie. Don’t stress.”

“But I can expense it! I have a receipts app, and everything!” Calum laughed at how excited Lizzie seemed at the concept of submitting a work expense claim.

“Okay, fine. You win this round.”

Lizzie pressed stop on her phone recording, and reached for her bag to slide her notebook in. The waitress returned with the bill, and Lizzie handed her travel bank card over, drumming her hands absentmindedly on the table while she waited for the waitress to come back with her card and the receipt.

“Lizzie?” Her head snapped up as Calum spoke.

“He’s not… I know it seems like he’s really mad at you, but he’s not.” It took a moment for Lizzie to register what Calum was saying.

“He’s not mad at me? He refused to speak to me and stormed out of the room the first chance he got, but he’s not mad? Right.” Lizzie couldn’t help but sound bitter as she spoke.

“I can’t speak for him, but I know him. He’s not mad, he’s just hurt about everything.” Lizzie could tell Calum was being very careful with his choice of words, and she eyed him curiously across the table.

“What does he possibly have to be hurt about? He’s the one that -” Lizzie catches herself halfway through her sentence, and squeezes her eyes shut as she inhales deeply.

“Here’s your receipt and your card back, miss. Thanks so much for visiting us today, have a lovely day!” Lizzie blinks and squints up at the waitress, who hands back her card and a paper receipt. Lizzie mumbles her thanks, and goes to stand up and slide out of the booth, and Calum follows her out of the café.

“Lizzie, I didn’t mean to upset you -” Calum’s apologetic tone had Lizzie spinning on her heel to face him once they’re through the doors of the café.

“You didn’t, Calum. It’s fine. I’m here to do a job, and I appreciate your time today, I really do. Michael and I… I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, okay? I know it won’t be easy, but for now, I just want to focus on getting the best interview content I can from you all. That’s why I’m here.” Lizzie wrings her hands nervously, and she can feel how sweaty her palms are.

“Is that the only reason you’re here?” Calum’s tone isn’t teasing, or harsh. It’s genuine, curious, soft. He’s not moving as he stands in front of Lizzie and gazes down at her from his full height.

Before Lizzie can answer, Calum’s phone starts to ring, and he casts her another glance before stepping away to answer it. While he’s chatting to whoever’s on the other end of the line, Lizzie decides to order herself an Uber and make her way back to the hotel so she can make a start on transcribing the interview with Calum. Because that was why she was here, Lizzie told herself in her head, stubbornly. Didn’t matter about the feelings in her stomach, and the tightness of her chest. She was there to write a profile about a band, nothing more, nothing less.

“I’ve got to go and meet Ash at the studio, are you all good from here?” Calum’s question broke Lizzie out of her internal dialogue.

“Yep, all good. Thanks again for your time, Cal. I really appreciate it. I think it’s going to be a great piece, and I’m intrigued to see what comes out of the other interviews. All of them.” Lizzie’s pointed tone isn’t lost on Calum, and he grimaces slightly at the fire he seems to have ignited. Ah well. Lizzie and Michael had to sort their shit out sooner or later, right?

Right?

Calum was trying to convince himself as he strolled down the street towards his car, pondering if he’d made things better or worse between Michael, his best mate through almost his entire life, and Lizzie, the girl that he’d been sure Michael would love forever, but had walked away from in a shadow of hurt, betrayal, and disbelief. The girl that apparently had no idea Michael felt that way, or that if he did, it wasn’t justified. Someone’s side of the story just wasn’t adding up, but Calum wasn’t sure whose it was. Not anymore.

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is! @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie @becihadshawn @allthestarsandthemoon @wheniminouterspace

#5sos fanfiction #5sos imagine #calum hood imagine #calum hood fanfiction #michael clifford fanfiction #michael clifford imagine #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin fanfiction #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings fanfiction #my writing #everybody's got their demons even wide awake or dreaming #let me know what you thiiiiiiink #part 3 is already in the works but i figured i should post part 2 first lol oops

44 notes · View notes

butterbeeryuta · 5 years

Text

You

Inspired by Netflix original series, 'You.'

yuta x reader | stalker!yuta au | smut, thriller | 6.0 k

warning: mention of drugs, profanity, death, stalker behaviour, sex scene

Note: Sometimes, you have to do what is right. It may not be right for you, or anyone else, but hey, ethics is a tough area of study. In the end, we all have our own personal morals anyway. It’s called egoism. Believe me, I’m doing this for you. Just hang on, we’ll meet, and you will be mine.

Ah, I was waiting for you. Three twenty-four p.m. every Wednesday and Friday. For the rest of the days, you either have work at the clothing store as a sales clerk and English assistance, or at the café if their pancakes are on sale. But, today is Friday. You walked in the library rather silently if I have to say. I’ve been observing you since last year when you entered this university from a TA’s perspective. Today, you were wearing a button-up shirt tucked into your jeans, so it can be assumed that you take a business related course—maybe economics, or business studies. But, I know you don’t. You’re in your second year of university taking biochemistry hoping to be a pharmacist to help your adopted older brother, Lucas, recover from his drug addiction. You have a really caring and supportive father who will do anything for his children, and that is because he does not know about your brother’s condition. He thinks that your brother is doing fantastic studying marine biology abroad in Australia, when he is actually living with you and your roommate in Seoul still figuring who the hell he is. As per your mother, nobody knows I guess. Nobody really knows, and neither do you. But, let’s pretend I do not know that for now.

Your eyes were looking for where to sit. You looked unsure if you should sit next to Kim Eunseo, the third year student in the acting department known for vomiting on her boyfriend, or the empty spot in front of me, the teacher assistant for chemical thermodynamics. Or maybe, you want to sit beside Na Jaemin, the heartthrob freshman of Hanyang University. The boy was perfect; pretty face, honey-like voice, and takes media studies and journalism under a 50% scholarship. But, I am better. I am better for you, and not that heartthrob, and neither is your ‘small’ crush on Dong fucking Sicheng who also happens to like you. Your eyes scanned over the empty seats, and for whatever god or spirit that was listening to me, you seemed to walk over to my space. Good job, you’re taking the initiative to come near me. It’s good progress my dear.

‘Hi, Yuta right? Is it alright if I can use the socket in front of you for my iPad?’ So that was the reason. Maybe next time you will willingly sit near me because of me, and not for that device of yours. And it’s been almost two years my love, how are you still so unsure about my name?

‘Yeah, of course, here let me plug it in for you… y/n right?’ That’s good Yuta, do the same thing your loved one does. You smiled brightly in return, nodding your head in approval. You should smile more my dear, it looks wonderful on you. So much more wonderful than the sorrowful and heavy eyes you have whenever you come home when having to deal with that gigantic brother of yours from both family and school stress. But trust me, all of this pain and pressure will all be lifted once you fall into my arms. I will keep you safe and loved. Your hand reached out of your bag for the charger, the white wire coiling against your smooth skin. My dear, the things you do so innocently can mean something else for people like me. Imagine your vulnerable and frail little body tied up against the bed with a white rope, it will look so good against your skin. For a person so intelligent academically, I wonder why you have a crush on a man who just so happens to like you back. He’s such as ass acting all cute and innocent when in reality he just wants you to teach him and give your notes just so that he can pass Biology 101. Your hand, or I guess the charger, made its way to mine, our skin touching for a brief second. Our first time holding hands.

‘Thank you so much. And just for the record, I do know that your name is Yuta. You’re the TA for chemical thermodynamics. And also because that was the class I got highest in’ you added, smiling shyly as you look at your iPad, probably a digital copy of your polymer chemistry textbook. Of course you got the highest in that subject. Yes you are intelligent, highly intelligent if I have to say, but a 97% as an average may slightly be an exaggeration in comparison to your original average of a 83%.

‘Ah yes of course. 97% in chemical thermodynamics, how can I ever forget you.’ I added with a smile.

‘Surprisingly yeah. I genuinely thought material chemistry was my best, but now I guess it’s thermodynamics.’ You added. You’re not lying. Material chemistry was, and still is your best. You’re doing great in all subjects love, so you do not need to worry about that. It’s just your fucked up brother, and your insufferable crush.

‘Well you did amazingly well on your test. With a brain like yours, you would be wanted to come join the seminars for your thesis paper you’ll write in the next 2 years.’ You only smiled in return, your go-to-move when you just want to start working on your stuff. I saw that happen way too many times. For example, two years ago on the 7th of December at the café, the waiter asked for your phone number, but you only smiled and rejected in response. Last year on April 30th when you were on your trip to Jeju island with your friends, Yeeun and Sooyoung, you wanted to stay in your hotel room because you were tired, so you smiled to the girls and rejected their offer to go to beach. And what did you do instead while your friends were swimming and tanning? You masturbated while watching lesbian porn on that exact same iPad you are studying from. With that note, I let you work on whatever you had to do, while I should be checking the current materials in the lab for the lab experiment for the freshmen students. God I hate being a TA.

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

It has been exactly three hours and seventeen minutes since you came, working hard on your notes as you listen to piano versions of kpop songs. You’re honestly so cute sometimes, it’s really hard to control myself and devour you. But that time shall come naturally to us one day. If not, I will ensure it will happen.

‘Hey, can I ask something?’ Are you talking to me? I looked up at the love of my life. Your eyes looking at me, very clear to me that you want something.

‘Yeah, what is it?’ Well that sounded quite rude.

‘I know that you’re a Chemistry graduate student, and as mentioned earlier, you work as a teacher assistant. I was wondering if there is a job open at the university? I do work at the clothing store, but I sorta need more income since I have to move apartments. Anyway, um, is there a job open?’ You asked. More jobs to move? What the fuck, is your roommate kicking you out? Your voice sounded so… desperate, needy, broken. You were broken.

‘Well I doubt it you can be a TA, but I’ll see if I can get you the lab technician position, or maybe the university’s official peer tutor. I’ll see what I can do.’ And there is that beautiful smile again. Obviously I will have to actually ask the professors and administrators, but they know your reputation and capabilities love. They talk about how you’re ready to go to graduate school in an instant, and how you’ll be a great asset in the research department. I promise you, your life will be perfect the moment those two men stop dragging you, especially Lucas.

‘Thank you so, so, so, much Yuta. Here, let me give you my contact for easier access…’ Good job my dear, good job.

Wine is disgusting. The amount of tannin present is so overwhelming, leaving an unpleasant taste in your mouth. I don’t know why you like it love, but here I am in a restaurant that serves multiple different types of wine. Red, white, mulled, rose—all of which I know you will greatly enjoy. I want to question why you drink this, but I know. It’s all you ever post on that nonsensical Instagram page of yours. Wine. Wine. Wine. Sometimes there’s a splash of red, or clear bubbles coming from time to time. You’re a mess, a drunken mess. Which is why I am here; I will fix everything for you. Knowing that you texted your group chat entitled as ‘vagina power’ twenty-three minutes ago that you were on the way to the restaurant, you should walk through that door in three, two, on—

‘Excuse me, is Mr. Nakamoto Yuta here?’ Your voice asked the waitress. Technology never fails, I can assure you that. There you were in your clothes from class today. You had medicinal chemistry, human physiology, organic chemistry, analytical chemistry, then ended the day with Korean—you must be exhausted my love. While you were apologising being late as you made your way to the table, all I could notice were your dark under eyes, the dullness in your eyes, and the slight oiliness on your scalp. You are overworked and internally dead. Despite my one year and a bit of research on you, what I could never answer was why you are working so damn hard and not letting one in to help you. Yes, I know that it is your goal to be this highly skilled pharmacist to help your brother, but you yourself knows that even without the excessive revising, you will still make it. Back in senior high school a guy named Kim Yugyeom asked you out, and you said no. You also said no to Park Jimin, Kim Jungwoo, Bang Chan, and even your first ever crush in Grade 11—Yoo Jeongyeon. She made you think girls were for you, but you still said no even if you two fucked in the laboratory because you didn’t ‘finish’ your experiment. Why do you always say no?

‘… thank you so much.’ You were still talking?

‘No problem at all. So, how’s university?’ Keep the conversation going Yuta, keep it going.

‘Well, it is challenging and heavy, but I guess I am doing fine. But now that I get the lab technician job, it will hopefully get better’ you say much more cheerfully, contrasting the tiredness and paleness of your face. You’re an unheard ghost.

‘Well that is how university is. But to congratulate you for your new job, we must make a toast!’ You raised your glass, and so do I, and we clinked. My, how can you not love this person. The moment I see you, all I want to do is hug you, protect you, and love you. If I can make you mine, treat you as my own, I will be the happiest man on the earth.

‘So how did you become a TA?’ You asked as you sipped your alcoholic beverage; your plush lips pressing so tightly against the rim of the glass cup and—Yuta, stop it.

‘Well, I took Chemistry only for my undergrad, and a bit of IT and languages. Then the professor, Professor Seo, asked me to be his teacher assistant initially for organic chemistry. But, I hated that subject and I ended up negotiating to change my position after a month. Then I got the chemical thermodynamics TA job. It’s honestly the exact same job, but I just prefer this topic.’ This is most likely that only truth that I have told you, and you were still listening to me for every word. A true listener with a bright mind, yet not bright enough to realise I have been watching you for more than one year.

‘Well, I think that is great. But let’s move away from academics, I just had five classes straight and I will honestly evaporate into thin air if I hear the c-word again.’ You say as you slightly chuckle. Alright then, what should we talk about? The reason to why you’re leaving your apartment? Your reason to deny people’s offer when they ask you out on a date? Why you overwork yourself to death to a point where you’re affecting yourself physically? Tell me, I need to know.

‘So you wanted to leave your current apartment right? Why’s that?’ You froze for a while. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes moving to the side. Almost unsure if you should respond to my question. You do have a point though, this is by far our first oral conversation, you barely know me.

‘I can’t afford my current apartment anymore since I kind of forced my brother to be moved to the hospital. So I need to save up more money to pay for hospital bills and the cheaper apartment.’ You quietly replied, your eyes still avoiding mine.

‘Oh no, what happened to your brother?’

‘He’s sick. Mentally ill.’ Well, at least you’re not lying to me. Though you could have said that your brother was kicked out of the University of Adelaide for failing all his classes, then he moved back to Seoul with you all high and reliant on that white powdery poison. It has been two years, and he was barely improving, and you had to move him to a hospital. Why didn’t you tell your father who loves the both of you unconditionally? It was because for that exact reason—he loves the two of you unconditionally. You knew for a fact that once your father finds out that your brother is a drug addict mess, Lucas is cut from the family, and you just could not let that happen. You two grew up together, and he used to take care of you a lot when you were in high school. He helped you drive around places, or libraries per se, and he also bought you snacks and all. He seemed to be very happy and caring back then, and you do not know what happened to him the moment he touched down in Australia.

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope he gets better soon.’

‘Thank you, I hope he does too.’ The conversation is dying Yuta, quick, think of something.

‘So when are you planning to move?’

‘Oh um, maybe sometime in February or end of January. I will be getting my apartment keys in the next two weeks, so yeah, around those times.’ I better clean up my schedule during that time then.

‘Hey if you need help in moving, just let me know. I will be willing to help.’ Your eyes finally looked up to meet mine, slightly bigger than usual as the corner of your lips were about to rise. You were about to reject my offer.

‘I-I think it’s fine, I’ll be able to manage on my own—‘

‘No, no, I insist. You’re going through quite a bit, the least I can do is help you move in your stuff.’ You nodded instead, bringing your lips to a tight line. You’re considering my offer aren’t you?

‘Alright, I’ll let you know when I’m moving.’ You say as you comb your hair backwards with your fingers. I cannot wait to make you mine.

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

It’s been about two months since we had our first proper conversation, and we have not stopped since.

‘You know, Ikea is the greatest thing that has ever came into existence.’ You say, carrying the big wooden compartment for your bed. Which will eventually be our bed, but I can wait.

‘Hmm, I remembered a few days ago you said ice cream was the greatest invention in human history.’ And it is arguably true. It’s comfort food, and keeps you happy from the amount of sugar stored in which makes your brain beg for more. It’s addicting yet unhealthy, but you cannot stop yourself. You crave it when you’re happy, sad, angry, stressed, tired— it’s designed for you to be beg, and beg, and be—

‘Ice cream is a great invention, I do not deny that. We should get ice cream afterwards once we’re done building this bed.’ You smiled at me, again. That beautiful and bright smile of yours can melt anyone my dear, you better be careful before you flash it to anyone else. ‘Anyway, we should go back to building this thing, I want to sleep tonight’ you added, moving your legs again to attach the next piece of the bed frame. Maybe I misread you a bit, you seem to work hard in everything. Not only in academics, but you’ve been doing your best in the lab, academically, ensuring your brother feels safe at the hospital, and even in making a goddamn bed frame for yourself. It is almost as if you barely take any breaks, and yet you do not seem to mind. Maybe you just enjoy to work hard.

‘Ice cream later is it then. Are you the type to eat those weird flavours like into mint chocolate or strawberry cheesecake, or some shit like that?’ Of course I knew what you liked. A few months ago, October the 12th to be exact, you went for ice cream with your lab partner, Sana, and you had chocolate only. You claimed yourself to be an avid chocolate lover. I honestly do not blame you for that.

‘I don’t think they’re weird or anything, but I just prefer to have plain chocolate. I just like chocolate in general. How about you?’

‘I’m more of a matcha type of guy.’ Another honest thing that came out of my mouth. You chuckled in response, nodding your head up and down just by a little. You want to say something don’t you? ‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Oh, it’s nothing too bad. It’s just very Japanese of you,’ you answered, trying to snap yourself out of a giggly state. Cute. After our small chat, we eventually set up the wooden frame, and placed the mattress on top along with placing of the beige bedsheet. I can’t believe this will be the exact same bed where we’ll have our first everything, including our children. We will have two beautiful daughters: Saya and Emiko. They will be four years apart, and both girls will be at least bilingual. They will also love and cherish the both of us. With our combined intelligence, our girls will conquer the industries, wrapping the entire world in their little, delicate fingers. We will be a perfect family of four, and this bed, the one we have just made together, will be with us until the end. Just before my mind could go somewhere else, your tired body dropped on the newly made bed, feeling the softness and the warmth provided by the material.

‘I know you’re tired too Yuta, you should lay down too,’ you say with your eyes closed, both your hands interlocking with one another just above your abdomen. From what I know, you only do this when you are really tired, thinking of all sort of different scenarios. Since you asked me to anyway, I laid down beside your exhausted body, embracing the same warmth the bed is providing. ‘You know, I’ve never really had anyone over at my place since I’m so busy and all, but I’m glad you came and helped me move’ you softly say, your eyes finally open as your orbs look directly up at the plain ceiling.

‘It’s not a problem really, you do seem tired during lessons so I figured helping you a bit can hopefully ease whatever you’re going through.’ You grinned at what I said, as if you somewhat agree. I do hope it’s true my dear. You had it tough with your brother, but I will assure you that you will become the pharmacist you deserve to be.

‘You did, Yuta. You did.’ The bed slightly shifted, only to see you on your side as you look at me, and here I am looking back at you. Without hesitation, your lips pressed against mine, something I did not expect at all. Since when were you like this? Have I misread you all this time? You rejected so many different guys and one girl, yet now you are acting to brave and different in contrast to my observations and research over the past years. Although multiple questions came across my head, this does not mean I have to stop whatever you just began.

Your warm hand made its way to my left cheek, rubbing the cheek back and forth with your thumb, almost the same gesture when you caress your loved ones. Grabbing your left leg, I pulled over my body, allowing you to sit on top of me, our bodies so close to being connected, to being united. The kiss did not break at all, in fact, it deepened. You surprisingly took the initiative to tap the velvety muscle on my bottom lip, so needy to enter the hot cavern. Maybe this is your way to ensure that you can trust me, and that somebody can love you forever. Maybe this is a process of yours to know that you will be taken care of for eternity. I deserve to be with you my love, you are everything to me, and I know I will be your everything. Your tongue eventually slipped through my lips; both our wet muscles meeting each others, exploring each others caverns for the first time. My arms were holding you tightly against my body, keeping your fragile body on top of mine—I do not want to let you go. But, how do I know that you really want this? Despite the fact that I do not want this to end, I had to pull away, just to be sure. Our mouths slowly separated with the presence of a string of wetness proving the intense session we just had. Your forehead fell against mine, your eyes clouded with lust as you pant heavily against me.

‘Do you still want to do this?’ I have to know.

‘Y-yes, please make me feel good’ you whispered against me. Fuck.

*Disclaimer: sex scene will begin from here. This will be a female x male smut scene, so if this is something you do not want to read, please scroll down until you see another disclaimer similar to this. Please keep in mind that I will write a male x male scene, so please do not feel too disappointed. I am sorry that I was not able to write it on the same day as the publication. Thank you.

Our lips reconnected again, only this time, the feeling was much more intense. I poured in all of my frustration of waiting, and the amount of love and lust I have for you my love. I flipped us over, finally seeing your sensitive and fragile body below me. You are a sight to see my dear, but only for me. I have seen the way your body trembles as your delicate fingers enter in and out of you; your legs shake uncontrollably, your free hand unconsciously slips inside your hot mouth trying to keep yourself quiet, and your beautiful face contorts in pure pleasure. I want you to do the exact same, but I want you to be louder, and I want to be the one pleasuring you. The moment our tongues touched again, I took the initiative to envelop your velvety muscle with my lips, tasting you completely, leaving you as a moaning mess under me. So you like this. I continued to do so as your hips slightly rocks back and forth, your covered sex rubbing against me. Leaving your mouth, I peppered kisses down your addictive skin, taking in the honey-like scent you had. Soft whimpers escaped your throat, clearly enjoying the amount of care and love you were receiving. You deserve this. My hands slipped under your shirt, feeling the soft and supple skin until I met your clothed breasts. Massaging the flesh against my hands, your fingers crawled up behind my neck, slowly making its way to my hair, pulling the roots so gently. My dear, you are indeed irresistible.

‘Yuta t-touch me please,’ you beg, moving your hips even rougher than before, almost as if you are trying to reach for your orgasm by yourself. I chuckled at your submissive manner, knowing exactly what to do to make you come.

‘You want to come my princess? Do you want your pretty pussy to come over my tongue? You’d like that won’t you as you beg nonstop.’ I read that on your diary, you wanted someone to go down on you and make you orgasm uncontrollably, and you want to repeat the process until you beg them to stop. My dear, you are one dirty little girl. You only whimpered in response, nodding your head vigorously. Although it would have been ideal to get a response from you, I know for a fact that the last time you got laid was five months ago with your colleague at the clothing store, Lee Minho. I hope that he is forgotten. Pulling your shirt up, I kissed down from your supple skin until I met the top of your black sweats. I slowly pulled at the strings as my eyes looked up to meet yours. There you were with your glossy and lust-filled eyes as your bite your finger, anticipating what would happen to you. Your chest was heaving up and down as I pulled at your pants, only to reveal you in your sheer white bra and panties. What a fucking sight. Pulling your legs apart, a visible wet patch was displayed, showing a clear outline of your pink lips begging to be destroyed.

‘I haven’t even touched your greedy little hole and yet you are so wet princess.’ Before you could even say anything, my tongue made contact with the soaked cloth, tasting the sweet essence as a moan of relief escaped your throat. Continuing to lick up and down against your clothed sex, your fingers made it to the roots of my hair as your slowly rock your core against my face. Your moans slowly turned louder and louder, and all I can say is, I was definitely going to implode. Allowing you to take control of me, your legs started to tremble on either side of my head as the tip of my tongue was on your covered clitoris. To further intensify the feeling, I pulled your barely existing panties to the side, sucking on your clit, tasting you properly, eating you out like a starved man.

‘Fuck!’ You screamed, legs shaking vigorously as your fingers left my hair for your lips. Without letting you rest, I grabbed both of your legs, pushing my tongue into your dripping entrance, pathetically clenching around it. What a fucking whore. Moans and sounds of me eating your core filled the room, and whoever is living beside you is surely going to know you as a slut. ‘Y-yuta shit I’m coming again,’ you moaned, your head thrown back against the pillow underneath you. Pulling the warm velvet out of your sticky cavern, I slipped in two fingers, moving in and out of you as I watch you in pure euphoria. Just like that, your legs closed and shook, screaming for the second time tonight. Taking out the fingers, I slowly made my way up to your fucked out body, only to see your lips red from the biting, as well as your teary eyes from your orgasms. I pushed the fingers through your lips, and like the good girl you are, you immediately sucked in my fingers, leaving me to imagine all the things you can do with that sweet little mouth of yours.

‘Fuck me please, god I need you in me’ you say breathing heavily, as if trying to understand how you were coping with two orgasms in one go. You said you needed me. Kissing you one more time, I finally unzipped my pants, releasing the solid member that sprung against my lower abdomen. As I removed my sweater, your eyes were staring at the red tip whereas your licked your bottom lip.

‘I’m going to enter alright,’ I whispered beside your ear, peppering feather-like kisses on your face. You froze a bit in place, though I was not exactly sure why. You did not seem to say anything, but it may be because you are finally being with the man who truly deserves you. Placing myself on your dripping hole, I looked at you one last time before anything else goes wrong, or if I miscalculated everything.

‘Just put it in Yuta, I’m on birth control, no need to worry’ you impatiently said, waiting to be filled and feel immense pleasure. Taking in your words, I slowly pushed myself in you, trying my best not to hurt you or bring you to any sort of pain. But my god, were you tight. Your velvet-like walls enclosed around my hard cock, almost impossible for me to go further in. You gasped loudly, pulling yourself closer to me as you held your hands behind my neck, feeling every once of me. ‘Oh my fucking god, I’m so full.’

I pushed myself further with one of my hands on your lower abdomen to keep you stable. ‘Shit you’re so tight, stop me if I go to harsh on—‘

‘Just fuck me Yuta, I don’t want to go gentle, please just do it.’ What?

*Disclaimer: smut scene has ended.

‘Y/n how else will I make love to you if you want to go rough on our first time?’ I asked, trying my best not to lose my temper. Why on earth do you want to go rough? Isn’t that why the reason you rejected all of those guys so that you can finally be with the one that truly deserves you, and can protect you from anything? Your eyes only grew wide at what I said, slowly pushing yourself off me.

‘Make love? Yuta, we’ve only started talking for like two months, what do you mean make love?’ You asked, successfully pushing yourself off of me, slowly pulling the blanket to cover yourself. Why are you acting like this?

‘You kissed me on your newly made bed, what else was I suppose to thi—‘

‘I was only asking for a quick fuck, not a whole love-making session Yuta. I think you should go home and rethink what you just said, I don’t think you’re in your right mind right now.’ How can you say that? I have loved you since you entered the class with, asking thought provoking questions to the professor. I have loved you since you were at the lab, working on your experiment until eight in the evening. I have loved you since you helped that customer in your shop many months ago, trying your best to communicate with the old woman in her mother tongue. You were always so patient, hard-working, and submissive— how can I not love you?

‘No! I do mean it, I do love you. How can I not? You always work so hard and made sure that you and your brother, and your academics were both in good condition. You are my dream, how can I not love you?’

‘Yuta, you’re saying the most insane shit. Please leave. What happens between me and my brother and my studies only should be limited to me, and not you’ you answered, not believing any word I said.

‘I am being normal, you’re just too busy and stubborn to believe anything I am saying! I have taken so much good care of you. I helped you get a job, I paid for all the meals and snacks we had together, I helped make your fucking bed, and you repay me by being your fuck buddy?’ You were infuriating. You were not like this when I watched you on a daily basis.

‘Well I’m sorry if you thought that I was trying to make you as my boyfriend or something, but I do not have time for that Yuta. I am truly sorry if that is what you thought, and if you do not want to see me anymore, I completely understand that—‘

‘No! You rejected Kim Yugyeom, Park Jimin, Kim Jungwoo, Bang Chan, Yoo Jeongyeon, and you do not let anyone else to love you. Is it because you’re too busy taking care of your drug addict of a brother?’ Your eyes grew wider than it already was, your mouth left agape unsure of how to react. Shit.

‘H-how do you know all of t-these things?’ Your voice was shaking, the fear on your face clearly visibly.

‘That’s not m-my point. What I am trying to say is—‘

‘Yuta, have you been stalking me?’ Yes, I have.

‘What? No, I wasn’t. You’re dodging my question again.’ Shit, Yuta. Think, think, think.

‘Then how do you know about my brother?’ You asked, fear and shock still evident on that beautiful face of yours. I made my way to her, gently cupping your face in my hand.

‘I h-heard about it from s-somewhere—‘

‘Get your hands off me! Tell me how you know all about this!’ You shouted, ripping my hands off of you. Without thinking, my hand came in contact with your skin. Loudly.

I slapped you.

A bright red mark was left on your face, eyes filled with tears, unsure if it was from the pain, or from our argument.

‘Shit, no, I didn’t mean that. Fuck, okay, y/n, let’s talk about this like adults’ I said, trying my best to diverge her thoughts away from what just happened. But I know that it will not work, you are one of the smartest people to exist, and you do not let yourself down easily like that.

‘Get the fuck out Yuta. You’re insane.’ Why are you not listening to me? I grabbed your body, leaving you to scream for help, pleading to be freed away from me— but I am not letting that happen. You are mine. I tightly wrapped my hand against your throat to make you shut up, making sure that you listen and concentrate on every word that I will say to you. You need to be disciplined love, especially if we will be together.

‘I need to know why you’re acting like this otherwise we will not be a happy couple. You are my everything, and I should be yours. I made you enter a world of euphoria with my mouth alone just a few moments ago, and you rejecting my love and pushing me away will not work. I have loved you the moment my eyes laid on you, and I need you to love me back’ I explained, watching your face slowly lose colour as your screams died down, but I do not care. You need to listen to my every word and acknowledge it. ‘You will be my partner for the rest of your life, and so will I. We will have two beautiful daughters, and you will also be able to help Lucas medically without letting your father know. But before we can do any of that, you need to be disciplined and I am here for that. Do you understand me?’

No response.

‘I said do you understand me.’

Still no response.

Your face was pale, eyes were closed, body cold. You were lifeless. Y/n, we were supposed to be together forever. We were supposed to have children, have you become a pharmacist, we were supposed to be in love together. Holding your lifeless body in my arms, I rocked your bare body back and forth— you’re not dead my love, you’re just resting. Yes, you’re resting.

‘Y-you’re not dead. I was just teaching you a lesson, but you seemed to become tired. It’s okay, we’ll do it another time. I love you so so much, I will never hurt you my love. Never.’ A dark laugh left my throat as tears rolled down my face. I finally had you in my arms, finally.

a/n: WEEEEEE i wrote that???? okay umm while i’ll be too busy screaming at myself for writing THAT scene, i hope everyone enjoyed it despite the fact that mcfucking yuta was a creep, but yeAhhhH. i am honestly quite paranoid after finishing ‘you’ cause i keep thinking that someone is in the house, but not really, but yeah... the show was good though. let me know if you also watched it cause i would really like to talk about it with you. and also, HAPPY NEW YEAR! i hope ya’ll had a fun time celebrating it.

明けましておめでとうございます！今年もよろしくお願いします。今まで英語だけで話を作ったので、今年日本語でやってみたいと思います。

祝你新年快乐！万事如意也心想事成❤️

427 notes · View notes

bexterbex · 5 years

Text

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 13

Warning, if it hasn’t been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover (If you can’t find it here)

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7a | 7b | 8 | 9a | 9b | 10 | 11 | 12

Chapter 13: Into the War Room

You walked into the room and immediately regretted putting on a sweater that morning. The room was full of different world leaders, the U.S. President, the Prime Minister of Australia, Federal Chancellor of Germany, Prime Minister of France, Prime Minister of Russia, Prime Minister of Japan and the President of Brazil. The other end of the table was full of different First Order officers, General Hux saw that you had entered with Kylo, "can we get a chair for Lady Ren?” And one of the suited staff members scurried and brought one to him.

The general moved down a spot, Kylo seated himself at the head of the table and you sat next to him. At the other end of the table sat the U.S. President. You felt as if you just stepped into a war room.

The U.S. President asked, “Are we to resume?”

“Refresh my memory as to what we were discussing,” said Kylo.

“We were discussing how to best handle the riots that are happening in Paris, then the once in Hong-Kong, and the ones here in the U.S.,” said the Federal Chancellor of Germany.

“Yes, what is currently being done now,” Kylo asked, probably for your benefit more than anything.

“Currently we have a hold on all news media and social media around the world. We have stopped government benefits in the area, areas are on lockdown and there is local military involvement,” said the Prime Minister of Australia.

You spoke up, “Why are they rioting?” And all eyes turned to you. The other end of the table was silent.

“Answer her question,” you could hear the harsh demand coming from the vocoder beside you.

“The people don’t want First Order occupation,” said the Prime Minister of France.

“What are they demanding then,” asked General Hux.

At this, the Prime Minister of France and the Federal Chancellor of Germany shared a worried look before the Prime Minister of France looked at you quickly before saying, “The people of France are calling the First Order Nazis.”

The Prime Minister of Japan also spoke, “The people of Hong-Kong are calling the First Order a Mao regime.”

A First Order officer who you didn’t know asked, “why? Is that a problem.”

Your eyes flicked to her as she spoke. Knowing the answer. “It is, the people will never trust the First Order if they keep thinking like this. Unless you want all of the First Order in Paris to be guillotined you have to move carefully.”

She looked shocked at your answer, but it was General Hux that spoke first, “These Nazis what did they do?”

You weren’t prepared to give an in-depth WWII history lesson so you said simply, “They tried to occupy most of Europe through military gain, for 12 years. They killed over 17 million people during that time. They tried to systematically exterminate an entire race of people and ultimately failed. They are one of the most hated groups of people to have ever walked the Earth.”

“And Mao,” asked another officer you did not know.

“During his 27-year reign, he killed around 40-80 million people in China. Starvation, prison labor and mass execution to name a few. Although he helped build modern China, he and his regime were extremists. Mao is more controversial than the Nazis as some praise him for his resurgence of China’s world power. But the First Order should take both of their comparisons as insults if you want to move forward.”

The room fell silent to your answer, you could tell the world leaders were doing their best to please the First Order, but the people were retaliating and some in large numbers. Something would have to be done in order to maintain peace.

Kylo asked, “what would you suggest that we do in order?” He took your hand in his, even through the mask you could tell his attention was solely on you.

You thought about your answer for a minute. “You need to gain their trust somehow. Panem et Circenses or something. Give them something they want. Give them some semblance of power. I don’t know how to do it per se, but something would have to be done to avoid a Les Miserables style ending.”

“Bread and Circuses that is what you are suggesting,” asked Prime Minister of Russia. “Or power, you are contradicting yourself.” He seemed a bit annoyed that you were here.

Kylo’s grip on your hand tightened as his head snapped toward the man who just questioned you.

You answered before he did, “I cannot answer that for sure, I believe the people in France will want power as do the people in Hong-Kong, the Americans may be swayed with some sort of entertainment. I don’t know, have whatever public executions happen here, or give them someone else to hate. They are used to feeling like the best people in the world and now that patriotism and pride are stripped from them. Something needs to be done. I don’t have all of the answers.”

Kylo then spoke, “I would keep your thoughts to yourself Prime Minister and I would think twice before addressing her in that matter—even in your head.”

This made the Prime Minister go wide-eyed with fear.

Thoughts what about his thoughts? Certainly, Kylo couldn’t read minds, could he? You were broken away from your questions by him saying, “We will form a civilian consortium and allow them to give input on the way things are run in these local areas. I will have officers and local government officials heading the councils. We may have to adjust timelines for education and registration within these areas. Give them the hope of peace and control. I agree that public executions should be localized to one area. Shall we say the steps of the Capitol building? We should control the media as to not let problematic areas witness these executions until it has been deemed safe.”

Everyone was silent, you wondered how many hours they had been deliberating this before you stepped into the room. Hux was the first to speak, “that is an excellent plan Supreme Leader and Lady Ren.” The rest of the First Order officers nodded and clapped in agreement. “Shall I execute an order now?”

“Yes, and we will pause before our next meeting so that those who need to collect their thoughts may do so,” Kylo said pointedly at the Russian Prime Minister.

With that he stood as did you, he took your arm once again and you left to go back to the red sitting room.

Kylo removed his helmet and you watched him take a deep breath before turning to face you. His face was stoic but there was something wild in his eyes. He was trying to take control of his breathing.

“Kylo, is everything alright?”

He removes his glove and takes your hand, he seems to calm down. He leads you to sit down, this time side by side holding hands. He then gently takes off his other gloves with his teeth. Moves your hand to his lap and runs his fingers over his name on your wrist. He is lost in a trance, just slowly tracing his name—letter by letter. Again and again, it seemed like time had stopped.

“I won’t let them treat you like that. I won’t let them think of you like that,” he said barely above a breath.

“What do you mean? What do they think of me?” You were worried now.

Kylo looks back up into your eyes, the wildness was back, he swallowed before saying, “They treat you as if you are below them when you are above everyone. The Russian Prime Minister thinks you are…” His voice dies, he is struggling to say it.

“What does he think of me Kylo,” you ask now placing your other hand over the one that is tracing his name.

“He thinks that you are just some plaything that I brought in for my amusement, nothing more than a harlot who pleases me.” He was shaking, a tear slips past and his resolve broken.

You reach up and wipe the tear from his face, he holds his breath at the touch. He moves into the caress and you hear a whimper.

“But you and I know the truth. Why does it matter what he thinks,” you ask still holding a hand to his face.

He looks at you his willpower returning as a fire is set in his eyes. “Because he doesn’t even deserver to look at you let alone think about you.”

“What do you mean think about me? How do you know what he thinks about me?”

His willpower seemed to crack at this question. “I can hear him, through the Force. It’s like he projects them—his thoughts of you. He wants you, but he can’t have you.”

Your eyes widen at this. Shocked at the fact that he could read thoughts, possibly your thoughts. “I thought the Jedi use the Force.”

“I was trained as one of them once. Now I know better,” He paused the fire still in his eyes. “He is thinking of you right now. Vulgar, disgusting things. He doesn’t know who you are. Who you are to me, who you are to them. He wants to use you, in the way he thinks that I do as a slut.” The last word came out choked. He was angry and shaking.

Your thumb caressed his cheek. You flung yourself into his arms. He held you tightly to him. In his chest, you said, “like you said, he can’t have me. I told you before. Yesterday when we were in this room, I will stay with you.”

His face was buried in your hair. His labored breath became deeper. He held you as if the universe was going to rip you out of his arms at any moment. You stayed like that for a while before you separated. One of his hands now caressing your face, it felt like deja vu. The same position from yesterday. The man in front of you was broken, you were determined to fix him—to mend him.

“As much as I would love to stay like this for eternity, we need to get back to the next meeting,” he said while his thumb ghosted over your cheekbone down to your lip. He let go and started to put his gloves back on. And then his helmet, he stood and once again took your arm under his as you marched back into what you nicknamed the war room. Ready for battle.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #a soul to mend his own #read other posts to get context #finding the perfect gif takes too long

186 notes · View notes