#but i don’t have any jeans that fit the dress code at work and it’s getting too cold in the mornings to wear shorts -_-

[francisforever2014]

i have to go shopping today 🤢🤢👎👎👎👎👎 i hate shopping 😭😭😭

[touyasdoll]

Scream 2

this is a follow up to a fic I wrote last year for kinktober, but it’s not necessary to read that one before this one. it can stand alone <3

pairing: ghostface!Dabi x f!reader x ghostface!Hawks

warnings: DARK CONTENT, please be advised. CNC, dubcon, fear play, knife play, home invasion, threesome, double penetration in one hole, eiffel tower for lack of a better term, oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), backshots, also Touya is 6'4 idc what the canon says, au where Hawks actually double crosses the HPSC bc a girl can dream, rough sex, not exactly hair pulling but hair grabbing, face sitting, thigh riding, size kink, dirty talk, biting, marking, overstimulation, mild degradation, praise, impact play (barely), nipple play, breeding, let me know if I missed any please <3

word count: 5.3k

notes: Happy Halloween! 👻🔪🖤

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” Keigo asks as he narrows his golden irises at the white haired man before him on the rooftop. 

The sky is dark, especially in this part of the city. The few lights from the rundown buildings and buzzing street lamps provide the only meaningful illumination, as the moon is hidden behind a thick blanket of dark, heavy clouds that promise a storm is coming. 

“I’m sure. Don’t sweat it, feathers. Just stick to the plan and everything’ll be fine. Scout’s honor,” Touya replies, flashing a sardonic smile. 

“Your honor isn’t exactly worth much,” the hero scoffs. “But I guess I’ll have to take you at your word.”

Keigo’s dressed in his civilian clothes; an all black ensemble consisting of jeans, boots, and a well-fitting hoodie. He’d clearly heeded Touya’s instruction to dress for stealth, while the villain is still dressed in his stitched ensemble. 

“That’s a good little bird,” Touya says as he heads for the stairs. “Good luck. You might need it, hero.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, heaving an anxious sigh before he takes off into the cool night air.

You’re just getting ready to turn in for the night. It had been a successful Halloween. You and Touya were able to watch a few spooky movies and take turns passing out candy before he had to leave for whatever PLF business he’s up to tonight. 

He actually seemed to enjoy himself whenever it was his turn to answer the door. Maybe it was because he got a kick out of seeing the kids’ reactions to his Ghostface mask, but you have a feeling it was more about seeing your reaction to the mask. 

He hasn’t pulled it out since last Halloween, much to your disappointment. He just looks so good in it. You could even do without the theatrics. Just being able to ride him or get railed while he has that damn mask on would be enough.

You were hoping that he’d give you an encore tonight. He did use the code the two of you had established. You vividly remember him slowly lifting off the mask after closing the door on another round of trick-or-treaters and sauntering over to the couch with a mischievous grin on his face. 

“Hey, doll. What’s your favorite scary movie?” He’d asked, the question so full of promise, just as it had been last year. 

But it was well past midnight now. He’d said that he might be back late tonight, which is usually how it goes when he’s working. Maybe you two could have your fun on another night, you suppose as you retreat to your bedroom. 

You change into one of Touya’s t-shirts before you slip beneath the covers and just before you rest your head, your phone rings. Seeing that it’s your boyfriend, you pick it right up. 

“Hey, baby,” you greet him, sitting up against the headboard. 

Unfortunately, you don’t hear a word that he says. What you do hear is much more terrifying. A loud, sudden thud reverberates throughout the house and you swear it must be coming from your kitchen, but you were just in there hardly a minute ago. Surely, you’d notice someone creeping around your house, right?

Then again, you hadn’t noticed last year. Maybe he was keeping up the tradition after all. Trying to pull the wool over your eyes again to give you a scare. Well, not this year. You know better. 

“Sorry, baby. You were breaking up,” you say calmly as you slip out of bed and creep into the hall. “What did you say?”

You’d play along with his little game, but you know that you have no reason to be truly afraid. He’s probably hiding behind a corner somewhere, watching you as you pad about the house in nothing but his t-shirt and your underwear. The thought actually turns you on quite a bit. 

“I said I’m about to head home. Sorry things took so long, but I should be back soon. M’not far,” Touya says as he jingles his keys in his hand. 

“Okay. I was just about to turn in to bed, but I’ll wait up for you,” you say as you head into the kitchen to turn the light on. 

There’s a large duffel bag in the center of the floor and you can’t help but wonder what might be inside. Seems like he’s really trying to up the ante this time. Your insides start twisting with a heady mixture of both excitement and desire, but then you see a figure who seems too short to be your boyfriend step into the other entrance to the kitchen and your heart stops. 

“You don’t gotta wait up if you’re tired, doll,” Touya says on the other end of the phone, confirming that it’s definitely not him staring you down in that familiar Ghostface costume. 

“Babe,” you whisper, your voice trembling in fear as you take a step back and the masked intruder takes one with you. “S-someone’s in the house.”

“What?” Touya asks and you can hear the fear in his voice as well, which sends your blood pressure through the roof. “Doll, just stay hidden. I will be there as soon as I can. I’m on my way, okay? Where are you?”

“O-okay,” you respond meekly, your voice cracking as you continue to walk backwards. 

The intruder keeps at your pace, tilting his head to one side as he studies you. Your eyes are drawn to something glinting in the light as he reveals a blade from behind his robe. 

“Doll, where are you? Do they know you’re there?” Touya asks frantically as he fires up the car and takes off. 

You only faintly hear his voice and the tires skidding in the background of the call as you freeze up. Everything slows down for just a moment and then the adrenaline kicks in. 

You bolt for the front door, only to find that it’s locked from the outside somehow. You try again in vain to jiggle the handle, praying that maybe it’s just stuck, but it’s definitely fucking locked and that causes you to panic all over again. 

“Doll? Doll, answer me,” Touya yells loud enough for you to hear it even though you’ve since dropped your phone to your side. 

You don’t hear the stranger coming up behind you, but when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Close enough to kill you if he wanted. 

You scream in fright and drop the phone in your haste to bolt for the back door, but he jumps in your way. He’s on the smaller side, but he seems especially nimble. You aren’t sure you stand much of a chance getting away from him, but you have to try. 

You just have to last until Touya gets home. That’s what you keep telling yourself. A mantra that you repeat over and over in your mind as you scramble down the hall and into the first open door. 

The slam of the door knocks some sense back into you. You keep your hands pressed against it and take a look around the guest bedroom, eyeing the dresser nearby. It’s mostly empty and it’s not very big, but it’s better than nothing. 

A loud bang that sounds like a heavy fist thudding against the wood startles you and you let out a scream before you lurch towards the dresser to start sliding it across the floor. 

“Doll? Doll, where are you?” You hear Touya’s voice call out from down the hall. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. Do you come out? Touya’s more than capable, but you don’t know what this intruder is capable of. What’s his quirk? What if it’s deadly?

Your heart thumps wildly in your chest as you listen for sounds of a struggle, but your fear of something happening to your boyfriend wins out over your fear of something happening to you. 

“Babe?” You call as you burst out of the door, frantically scanning the dimly lit house as you creep down the hall once more. 

The kitchen lights have been turned off and it’s quiet. It’s silent. Eerily so. Just when you feel like you might have made a mistake, the stranger turns the corner from the kitchen and holds a voice changer up to his mouth. 

“Yes, doll?” He says, tilting his head in a mocking fashion as he slowly stalks closer to you. 

Your eyes go wide as you realize that you’d definitely fucked up and you attempt to retreat back to the relative safety of the guest room, but you hear footsteps right behind you. He’s moving too fast. He covers twice the distance that you’re able to and throws himself across the doorway before lifting the device to his concealed mouth again. 

“Fooled ya,” he says in the familiar, raspy distorted voice of Ghostface. 

Tears well in your eyes as you turn tail and run straight for the backdoor. You aren’t thinking, just moving. Hurtling towards freedom, which you are hoping against hope you are able to find, but all hope is lost when you suddenly collide with another figure in the kitchen. 

You slam into their firm chest and tilt your head back to look up at the imposing new intruder, who is also dressed as the masked fictional killer.

“Fuck,” you mutter, gaping up at the taller of the two in horror as you turn on your heel, only to find the other one right behind you. 

Both of them begin closing in, sauntering towards you silently. All that you can hear is the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears as you back yourself up to the island. The shorter stranger looks between you and his companion in crime, who nods in response as your heart sinks into your stomach. 

“Please. Please don’t hurt me,” you whimper, shrinking against the cool marble countertop. 

The shorter of the two lifts the voice changer to his lips and uses his other hand to brandish the knife once more, using the blade to lift the hem of your shirt and press the flat of the cold steel blade to your stomach.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, gorgeous. We just wanna play,” he says as he leans in closer. 

“I thought you liked playin’ like this, doll?” The taller one asks as he tilts his head to one side. 

You whip your head towards him, because you could swear that’s your boyfriend’s voice, but you’ve already been tricked once tonight. He flashes his palms, revealing no voice changer in his hand. No knife either. He snaps his fingers together and a brilliant blue flame burns away the glove concealing his hand to reveal familiar scars and staples. 

“T-Touya?” You ask shakily, blinking in surprise. “Then who the fuck is..?”

Your heart rate finally starts to slow as you trail off and shake your head, looking at the other Ghostface in confusion. You reach out to rip the mask off and are stunned to find Keigo’s wilder than usual blonde hair and disarming golden gaze beneath the disguise. 

“Happy Halloween, doll,” Touya purrs as you stare at Keigo’s handsome smirk. 

“I-I don’t understand,” you say quietly, not wanting to assume that what you sincerely hope might happen is actually about to happen. 

“Sure ya do,” Touya continues, his large hands finding your hips to draw you closer and bring your back flush against his chest, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as Keigo sets the knife down on the counter without taking his hungry eyes off of you. “You remember us having this conversation, don’t you?”

Your brow furrows and you look away from the hero as you try to remember just what in the fuck Touya is on about when you recall him prompting you with an unusual question a few months ago.

You were sitting on the couch, curled up watching a movie. Sleep was beginning to tug at you, trying to beckon you to bed, but you were stubborn and insisted on staying up to see the end of the film, even though Touya was making it that much more difficult by rubbing his unnaturally warm hands along your back. 

“Say, if we were ever to have a threesome with one of our friends, who would you want it to be with?” He’d asked you seemingly out of the blue, but unknown to you, he’d been ruminating on how to top his Halloween escapade for some time already. 

“Hmm?” You ask as you tilt your head back to look at him and shrug. “I don’t know. You don’t exactly have a whole lot of friends. No offense.”

“None taken. I’d consider that a compliment,” he says, shrugging. “But seriously. Well, hypothetically, I guess. If ya had to pick one, who would it be? There’s plenty of hot people in the PLF.”

You hum curiously, taking a moment to think it over as you tuck your face back into his chest and nuzzle into him. 

“Keigo. He’s hot and I’d trust him,” you reply bluntly, a yawn escaping you a moment later. 

“Good choice. You’re right on both counts,” he murmurs, a plan already coming together in his mind. “That could be fun.”

“I didn’t think.. I mean–I–,” you balk, looking between them in disbelief. 

“I wasn’t bein’ hypothetical, gorgeous,” Touya says as he spins you around to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilting your head back so that his blue eyes can bore into you while Keigo switches on the kitchen light. “So whaddya say?”

“We’re gonna need a clear answer before the real fun can begin,” Keigo says sensually as he steps close enough that you can feel his body heat behind you. 

“Yes,” you eek out, nodding your head as you try to wrap your brain around this unexpected turn of events. 

The bastard had gotten one over on you again after all, but it’s not like you can even stay mad about it, considering what’s in store for you.

“I hope you’re hydrated, doll,” Touya chuckles, fisting a hand into your hair to carefully tug your hair back and kiss you like his life depends on it. 

He sighs through his nose, groaning against your lips as his hand drops to your ass. He gives it a firm squeeze as he shifts his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he is already. 

Keigo steps closer to press his toned chest against your back and tilts his head to start kissing along your neck as he grabs your waist and grinds against you from behind, revealing that he’s also sporting a raging hard on. 

You moan, working your tongue and your mouth against Touya as your hands explore his chest, searching for an opening in the black robe he’s wearing. 

“You wanna just cut to the chase already, doll?” The villain smirks, lighting his palm for just a second to reduce your scant clothing to ash. “I think we’ve been through enough foreplay and I’ve been waiting too damn long for this.”

He does the same to his clothing, pressing a hand to his chest and the other to Keigo’s. You feel another brief flash of tolerable heat before you’re hyper aware of the feeling of both of their bare bodies writhing against your own. 

“Oh fuck,” you sigh, tilting your head to one side as Keigo begins nipping at your sensitive pulse point, laving his tongue over it to soothe the subtle ache. 

You reach a hand back to work it into his hair and tug gently as you arch your back, grinding your ass against his stiff cock, which coaxes a gorgeous moan from him. You slip a hand between you and Touya as he captures your mouth again. Your fingers wrap around his length to guide the bead of precum along his shaft, drawing out a beautiful noise from him as well. 

Both of them suddenly pull away and you’re afraid that you’ve done something wrong until Keigo steps in front of you to grab your hips and effortlessly lift you up onto the kitchen island. 

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a long, long time,” he says, smirking as he leans in to kiss you and parts your legs. 

Touya stands back, stroking himself as he watches Keigo crouch down between your thighs. The blonde keeps his eyes on yours as he trails kisses and love bites along your inner thighs, slowly and steadily working his way up to your glistening pussy. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs as he sets his sights between your legs as dives in, his tongue parting your folds before it spears inde of you. 

He certainly knows what he’s doing and it immediately drives you crazy. You keep yourself supported and sitting upright with one hand, so that you can watch him feast on your pussy while you keep a hand in his hair. He alternates between bathing you with his tongue and sucking on your clit with just the right amount of pressure, drawing moans and whimpers from you with ease. 

You look up to seek validation from Touya, almost feeling guilty for enjoying yourself so much, but he seems to be just as into it as you are. He nods, grinning wickedly as he comes closer. 

“You enjoyin’ yourself, doll?” He asks as he stops stroking himself to instead reach beneath Hawks’ chin and slip two fingers inside of you. 

“Y-yes!” You gasp, your eyes crossing as your head tips back. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“I know, gorgeous,” he purrs and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Go ahead and cum all over my friend’s face. He’s dying to taste it.”

His words send you over the edge and you cry out, sending your release gushing into Keigo’s mouth as your hips gyrate on top of the counter. The hero wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you still as he continues ravaging you with his tongue. He noisily cleans up your arousal, sending you into overdrive as you whine and beg for him to show you mercy when it just gets to be too much. 

He eventually lets you catch your breath, but when he stands up to wipe his chin, the look on Touya’s face tells you that you in for much worse if you thought that was too much. 

“S’my turn to taste that sweet pussy, gorgeous. C’mere,” he says, nodding towards the hall as he scoops you up off the counter. At least he doesnt expect you to walk after that. 

He carries you into the bedroom and switches the light on before he lays you down on the bed and lumbers over you. 

“First things first, clean up the mess you made,” Touya practically coos as he offers his slick fingers to you. 

You hold his gaze as you slowly take the digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and moaning quietly when you taste yourself on his skin. 

“Good girl,” Hawks praises you as he crawls onto the bed and Touya repositions, laying flat on his back. 

“You know my favorite number, doll,” he says as he delivers a swift smack to your behind, just enough to make you jump a little. “Assume the position.”

You look between him and Keigo curiously and do as you're told, straddling Touya’s face to wrap your hand around his cock and begin stroking, but before you can take a seat, he tuts his tongue. 

“I want your mouth on him, baby,” Touya says before he hooks his arms around you and forces you to sit. 

His mouth starts working wonders between your legs and you think you might just cum in record time after what Hawks had done to you, but then you remember that your mouth is needed elsewhere than just filling up the sticky air with filthy noises. 

You shift forward as Keigo comes closer, his swollen cock bobbing in front of your face. You lift your eyes to his and take great pleasure in watching the watch his head dips back and his Adam’s apple bobs when you take him into your mouth. 

“Fuck,” he groans, struggling to keep still as he lets you slowly bob along his length until you’re comfortably taking him in and out of his mouth while working your hand along his shaft. 

You keep your other hand wrapped around Touya’s cock, focusing on trying to please both of them while feeling like your brain is going to break thanks to what Touya’s doing beneath you. The moans that you drive from him send vibrations straight into your pussy that only drive you closer to the edge. 

You hold on for as long as you can, but it soon becomes to much again and you pull your mouth and hands away from both of them to sit up and support yourself with your hands on Touya’s thighs, gripping them tight. 

“C-can’t,” you practically sob, squeezing your eyes tight as you hang your head. “Holy shit.”

“Yes, you can,” Keigo coos as he reaches out to cup your breasts, massaging them with care before he starts tweaking your nipples, which sends you cascading into oblivion for the second time tonight. 

You nearly collapse, slumping forward as you’re overcome with pleasure, but Keigo catches you, loosely holding you in his arms as he rubs his hand along your back, which only heightens the sensations you’re feeling. 

You whimper in his ear and he presses a kiss to the side of your head as he and Touya gently ease you off of the latter, so that Touya can sit up. 

“You’re doin’ so well, beautiful,” Hawks croons, peppering kisses along your jaw until he finds your lips. 

“Mm,” is the only response you can muster at the moment as you slowly come down from your high. 

“So well,” Touya praises, moving behind you to rest his hands on your hips as he kisses along your shoulder. “Such a good girl. Can you keep bein’ a good girl for us, gorgeous? If we give you what you really want? Hmm?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, nodding your head as your eyes fall closed. “I’ll keep bein’ good. I’ll be so good.”

“That’s our girl,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck before he places a chaste kiss to it. 

Keigo moves aside and then Touya presses a hand to your back, keeping the other firmly planted on your hip as he forces you onto all fours. He groans as he grinds himself against you, his cock gliding through your folds, nearly penetrating where you need him the most. 

“Please,” you whine softly, shaking your ass as you drop your hips back against him. 

“Since you asked so nice,” he purrs, smirking as he slips inside of you, letting you feel him enter you inch by glorious inch, his piercings sliding against your walls and making your eyes roll back. 

Keigo starts stroking himself as he watches Touya set a steady rhythm, fucking you just hard enough to make you gasp now and then as you fist your hands into the sheets and meet him thrust for thrust. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with the euphoric noises pouting from each and every one of you.

“Just gotta stretch you out a bit, gorgeous,” Touya pants, draping himself over you as he slows his pace. He reaches a hand around ti gently guide your face towards Keigo, who’s abs are drawn taut as he continues stroking himself, his eyes now fixed on your face. “You think you can take both of us? He’s not exactly small either, but I believe in you, doll.”

Your eyes widen, but you find yourself nodding. You aren’t sure if you can do it, but you’d be damned if you didn’t at least try. 

“I want to,” you breathe out, nodding as you reach out towards Keigo to take over stroking his cock, tugging very gently to guide him closer as you smirk up at him. “We should get you nice and lubed up though, yeah?”

His eyebrows raise and he looks extremely pleased as he nods and cradles your head in the back of your hand as Touya straightens up. 

“So fucking good,” Touya marvels through grit teeth as he picks up the pace again. 

He lets you adjust to having Keigo in your mouth, but he starts pushing your further, driving into your hard enough to make you deep throat the hero, which makes both of them groan sinfully as they watch you swallow their cocks at either end. 

“Fuck,” Keigo sighs as he suddenly backs away. “Anymore of that and I’m gonna be done way too soon.”

“Let’s see if you’re ready then, doll,” Touya says, smirking as he pulls out and kneads the fat of your ass before giving it a light smack. “Lay down, Kei. You should her pussy for yourself first.”

Hawks lays on his back and Touya cups your cheek to guide your face towards his one, giving you a passionate kiss before he lets you go and nods towards the blonde. 

“Give him the ride of his life,” he says as he wraps his hand around his own cock. 

You climb on top of Keigo, leaning in to give him a kiss and slip your tongue into his mouth, teasingly tracing it around the entrance of his mouth as you wrap your hand around his length. You suddenly sink down and he lets out a choked groan as he seizes your hips. 

You rest your hands on his chest, smirking with satisfaction as you start riding him, moving your hips slowly at first as your walls clench around him, hugging his cock tight. 

“You feel so good, Kei,” you say breathily. 

His eyes widen and for a moment, he feels like he might just cum and pass out right there. He lets you set the pace, watching you intently as you bounce up and down on his length. His hands glide over your body, exploring every inch of you that he can reach before they settle on your breasts. He massages them as gently as he had earlier before tweaking your nipples. 

He seems to get a better idea as he sits up and wraps his arms around you, grabbing your ass to start guiding your hips more forcefully while he takes your nipple into his mouth to suck. He expertly moves his tongue across the sensitive bud, flicking and swirling it around as he applies more pressure to your hips and encourages you to quicken your pace. 

“Just like that, doll,” Touya pants, struggling to stave of his own end as he senses yours coming. 

“Keigo,” you whimper, grasping onto his shoulders as you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back, your hips bucking as you come undone again. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans loudly, panting for breath as he continues fucking you through your end while fighting off his own. 

Touya pulls his hand away from his cock to take a few deep breaths, watching you contort with pleasure until you’re through the worst of it. He moves behind you and kisses along your shoulder again, sending delicious shivers down your spine. 

“You sure you wanna do this, doll?” He asks quietly, his tone sincere. 

“Yes. Yes, please,” you whisper, nodding weakly nodding your head. 

“You don’t have to do any of the work this time, baby,” Keigo says as he runs his hands along yours arms and lays flat on his back. “Just let us make you feel good.”

You nod again and Touya rests a hand on your back to gently guide your forward so that you’re laying on top of Keigo before he situates himself behind you. 

“I’ll go slow,” he assures you as he first works one finger inside of you. Then another. 

You and Keigo both moan quietly, your shallow breaths mingling with one another’s as he drags his fingertips along your back. Touya starts slowly thrusting his fingers and Keigo slowly shifts his hips, working you open further as you rest your head on the blonde’s chest and submit to it. Once he’s confident that you’re able to take both of them, Touya slowly guides the head of his cock inside of you. 

“Shit,” he groans, continuing to gently bully himself inside. “It’s so fucking tight. So fucking good. You feel that, Kei?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” Hawks sighs, holding perfectly still as his face twists with pleasure. “It’s so fucking good.”

You press your nails into Keigo’s biceps as you feel the two of them stretching you open and filling you up in a way that you never thought possible. They’re right. It is so. Fucking. Good. 

“Fuck me,” you beg quietly once Touya’s seated inside of you. “Please fuck me. Wanna feel both of you.”

“You’re gonna, baby,” Touya croons as he slowly draws his hips back and pushes inside of you again. 

The sensation is glorious. It’s mind numbing. It’s like the best drug you’ve ever felt and you know that you need more of it. 

He holds onto your hips and Keigo seizes your waist as they both begin to move in tandem, slowly at first, but working their way to a pace that has you at a loss for words. You couldn’t find any if you tried. None of you can apparently. 

The only noises to be heard are your bodies all grinding against each other. The lewd squelching of fluids between your forms as you trade sinful noises and panting breaths back and forth. Eventually, you do find one phrase, but just one. 

“Cum inside me, please. Please,” you whine, your voice pitching higher as you feel another orgasm building, this one threatening to tear you apart in the best way. “Cum i-inside.”

“We’re gonna breed you so fuckin’ good, doll,” Touya promises without missing a beat. “I promise.”

They seem to have mastered their movements. Together, the two of them drive you steadily towards your end whilst chasing their own. You snap first, of course, howling with pleasure as your writhe on top of them, your walls contracting impossibly tight around both of their cocks. 

Keigo cradles your head and kisses the top of it, whispering praises and Touya hunches forward to do the same, speaking them right into your ear as both of them keep driving themselves inside of you with unparalleled need. 

Keigo finishes next, his eyes snapping shut as he lets out a long, loud moan, his rhythm stuttering just as Touya finds his end. His head snaps up as he leans back and grips your hips with bruising force, delivering a few more good thrusts while letting out a primal groan before his thrusts become sloppy and begin to taper off as he lays himself across your back again. 

The three of you are left a sweaty, blissful mess on the bed. You’re so wonderfully full. So much so that you’re leaking all over both of them, but neither of them seem to care and neither do you. It’s as if the world has stopped for a minute and you’re all floating outside of time and space, suspended in this moment.

“So good for us,” Touya finally murmurs after who knows how long. He gently grabs your chin to guide your face towards his once more, a lazy smile on his lips as he captures yours in a decidedly sweet kiss. “Happy Halloween, doll.”

thank you for reading! I hope you have/had a safe & happy halloween!

[halfmoth-halfman]

iii. no proof except my silver tongue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 8.3k Warnings: blood, alcohol, brief nudity, guns Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: i ended up rewriting this part because i thought it was too long, but it ended up being longer than before so enjoy the hefty chapter! prev | next

“You know, it’s just dawned on me that you’ve never actually been to the club.”

You look up from the vase you’re polishing, tilting your head at Kyle, who sits across the table from you. He had been working on some kind of financial report when he joined you, but now he’s leaned back in the plush chair, arms folded across his chest as he stares at you. You blink back at him, trying not to let your eyes dip down to where he’s left the top two buttons of his crisp, deep purple shirt undone.

“I'm…literally in the club right now?”

Kyle rolls his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Not what I meant,” he scoffs. “You’ve never been here while we’re open.”

“You’ve just noticed that?” you ask, raising a brow at him. He gives a half-shrug, glancing back down at the pile of papers in front of him.

“You’ve been here for nearly three months…” he says, quickly glancing back up at you. It’s your turn to shrug, using that as your answer before you return to polishing the vase.

“There’s no cover charge for employees if that’s what you're worried about.” His voice is quiet, but you easily catch his words in the club's silence.

You stop mid-polish, setting the vase aside to clasp your hands together on the table. You meet Kyle’s eyes with a steady gaze.

“You think I can’t afford to get into your club?” You keep your voice light, but the accusation is there, and Kyle picks up on it instantly—you’d be surprised if he didn’t.

“I’ve seen that hunk of junk you call a car,” he laughs, all tease and no malice. You scoff, grabbing the closest serviette and tossing it at him. He catches it easily—one-handed and without flinching—neatly folding it and setting it aside. He turns back to you, still waiting for an answer.

“I’m not big on clubs,” you sigh, sliding your hands off the table to settle them in your lap.

“If I remember correctly, you came here to sing in a club?”

Your fingers loosen, allowing your thumb to pick at the edges of your nails.

“That’s work, not recreation.”

“Semantics.”

Your thumb catches on your pinky nail, digging in and tearing painfully into the bed of your finger. You roll your eyes, ignoring the sharp sting on your finger and Kyle’s quiet chuckles.

“There a reason you want me here so bad?” you ask, pulling your jacket sleeves down over your hands and folding them atop the table. You press your pinkie into the denim, letting the coarse fabric soak up the few droplets of blood.

“You missed out on the New Years party—”

“Not a fan of fireworks.”

“—And you’ve been here long enough. Most people would jump at the opportunity to get in for free.”

You have a feeling this is something Kyle’s stubbornly set on, and you’re going to have a hard time talking your way out.

“Isn’t there some kind of fancy dress code?” you try, looking down at your simple outfit; it's the same t-shirt and jean jacket combination you've worn almost every day—you hadn’t thought to pack your whole wardrobe when you started this little adventure. “If you’ve seen my hunk of junk car, you should know I don’t really have anything that nice.”

Not anymore.

Kyle scoffs, an easy and surprisingly sympathetic smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. You can hang out at the bar with Alex, and if anyone gives you shit about it, just let me know.”

“I don’t—”

“And if it really bothers you, you can take one of Farah’s outfits from backstage. There’s a ton of them, dresses and suits; I’m sure you’ll be able to find something that fits.”

A moment of silence as you stare each other down. Kyle’s convincingly charming smile against your blank stare. You know he won’t accept no for an answer as you try to mentally sort through excuses to find one that might work.

All you can come up with is, “Who’s Farah?”

“Guess you’ll have to show up tonight and find out,” he smirks.

Walked right into that one.

You sigh, long and dramatic, putting your hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’ll come see what all the fuss is about.”

“Great!” You can't find it in you to regret the decision when you see how Kyle beams at you, clapping his hands together. He hurriedly gathers his spread of papers, standing from the table. “Club opens at eight. You can come in through the back; I’ll let Rudy know.”

He takes off, heading straight for the back office.

“Wha- hey! Is that why you came and sat with me?” you call out, turning in the chair to yell at his back.

“See you tonight, Canary!” he laughs, disappearing behind the doors.

-

You don’t borrow one of Farah’s outfits, instead switching out your denim jacket for the only other piece of outerwear you’d packed: a long, black sweater that still carries the faint scent of your mother’s favorite perfume. You switch boots, choosing your cleaner and less worn pair—still solid black and probably not formal enough for where you’re going—and try to put a little more effort into styling your hair than your typical ten-minute morning routine.

The bathroom mirror in your motel room is permanently foggy; your reflection is still visible, but just blurry enough to be frustrating. You do your best, using the always-too-cold sink water to wash your face and smooth down any stray strands of hair. It takes some time, and you’re finally presentable enough to leave the room thirty-four minutes after eight.

You’ve never been to this side of town at night.

The road to the club is packed, cars filling spaces on both sides of the street, some parked and some dropping people off. It’s almost an hour after opening, yet there are people everywhere. A long line spills out of the club into the crowds walking by. Blurs of silk, sparkle and too-much money pass by you, the masses already belligerently drunk and ready to party.

It takes some effort to get to the back lot in your car, avoiding cars and pedestrians alike. You can see a few stragglers in the alleyway: a bald man smoking by the dumpsters, two men talking quietly near the entrance, and a couple doing something they probably shouldn’t in the back corner.

You keep your eyes forward, parking your car and tucking your duffel bag as far under the backseat as possible before you get out. You lock your car, double and triple-checking that it worked, before hurrying to the back entrance.

You pull on the door, only to find it…locked?

When the hell did they start locking doors?

You knock, knuckles wrapping against the metal in a quick rhythm. You give it a minute, then two, then five, before you knock again.

Still nothing.

You groan, clenching your hand into a fist to bang on the door. You step back to wait for an answer, glancing around at your surroundings. The two at the entrance have joined the smoking man, all watching you as they exchange laughs. They’re dressed in all black covered by long coats covered in impeccable hand-stitched designs that you recognize; you’ve had a few of those bespoke coats yourself. Their smug grins verge on leering, setting you on high alert as you spin back around to the door.

You shuffle the keys in your hand to grip them like a small knife and pound on the door one more time, debating if you should try the front or just get back in your car and head home.

You hear the men laugh again, louder this time. Chancing a glance over your shoulder, you see the bald man toss his cigarette, stomping it out with a polished shoe. His eyes never leave you, even as he leans slightly to speak to the men beside him.

He takes a step forward.

Your hand tightens around your keys.

The door swings open behind you, a blast of hot air and a cacophony of delicious smells following suit.

“You’re late,” Rudy sighs as you turn to him. Tiny beads of sweat gather on his brow, threatening to slip down his handsome face onto his crisp, white uniform.

“Traffic was a nightmare,” you mutter, peeking back to the alley to find all three men gone and walking away. You let out a small breath of relief, your grip loosening on your makeshift shiv, turning back to Rudy with a smile. “So, you gonna let me in?”

He steps aside, and you hurry past him into the busy kitchen. You can barely hear the music over all the sizzling, clanking, and yelling in Spanish. A solid hand sets itself on your upper back as Rudy guides you through the kitchen's chaos and to the doors of the main room.

“Gaz is taking care of something, but Alex left a seat open for you.” Is all he says before someone yells, and he rushes off.

You’re immediately hit with the thrum of the music’s bass as you open the doors to the main room. It rattles through your chest, settling somewhere at the base of your spine. The curtains to the booths are all open, small groups of patrons laughing and talking over buckets of ice and wine bottles. You offer a polite smile to those who look your way as you head to the bar.

You don’t bother looking for a seat; your attention is immediately pulled to the scene before you.

You suddenly understand the longing and envy in your father’s voice when he told you tales of the infamous 141.

The room is covered in a soft haze of smoke, the normally blinding house lights dimmed to a sultry glow. The place is completely packed. The tables are full, older patrons decorated in subtle wealth enjoying rich food and richer wine. Groups of suits hang around the game tables, sharing drinks and letting their hands wander along the scantily clad women hanging on their arms. The dance floor is full, a colorful hurricane of expensive fabrics and laughter. A few smaller groups, mostly giggly couples, make their way up the steps to the second floor.

And at the center of it all, standing on the stage beneath a bright spotlight and singing into a microphone, is a woman with long, black hair dressed in form-fitting red satin. Her voice is lovely—soft and deep but upbeat—matching the fast-paced music perfectly.

There’s a slight pang in your chest—images of overpriced champagne bottles, hours spent in hair and makeup, throngs of black suits and blacker hearts staring up at you as you croon into your own microphone flashing through your head.

Stop it.

You shake the images from your mind, pulling your attention away from the siren on stage and ignoring the ache in your shoulder. Your eyes wander the crowd, spotting Soap serving a table with a dazzling smile and a few too many of his shirt buttons undone. Valeria sits at a poker table, cards in hand and a pile of chips bigger than any of her opponents. A few feet away, Ghost’s figure towers above the crowd as he stands unnervingly still with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Next to him, speaking to a small group of men and women huddled around a pool table, is Mr. Price.

A deep blue shirt stretched tight over his chest with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open, you can see the rise and fall of his chest as he laughs at something said at the table. Black, form-fitting slacks cover the expanse of his legs, held up by a belt with a silver buckle that matches his silver Rolex. He leans against the table at the hip, lit cigar in one hand and a half-full glass of whiskey in the other.

It should be illegal to look so good, you think, heat slowly flooding your face as you let your eyes rove over your boss.

“Enjoying the show?” You try not to jump, shrugging away from the sudden hand that shoves at your shoulder. You whip around to meet Alex’s beaming face and pray he can’t see the red in your cheeks.

“She’s amazing. Who is she?” you ask as Alex leads you further down the bar to an empty barstool.

“That’s Farah, Gaz’s sister,” he answers as you sit down. His voice catches on Farah’s name, and you think you see a flash of pride in that wide smile of his. “What’re you having?”

“Water,” you smile. The pride is quickly replaced with disappointment as Alex stares down at you. You hold his gaze long enough for a few other patrons to start getting impatient before you relent with a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll spice it up.”

“Ha, I knew—”

“A water with lemon, please.”

Alex turns away with a huff, tending to the other people at the bar. You turn around on the stool, content to people-watch from your spot. Alex slides you your water, a small lemon wedge on the rim, followed by a shot glass filled with what smells like flavored vodka. He sends you a wink, leaving before you can send the drink back.

After three more of Farah’s songs, you spot Kyle coming down the steps and weaving his way toward the bar. He glances over the guests until he spots you. You wave at him, and he smiles wide. As he approaches, the person next to you stands, shaking hands with Kyle before heading to the dance floor. Kyle takes the now empty seat, excitement plain on his face.

“I was wondering if you’d actually show up!” he laughs.

“I did! And now you can do me a favor!” you laugh back. Kyle raises a curious brow as you glance over to make sure Alex’s attention is elsewhere. You turn back, handing the shot to Kyle. “Drink this for me.”

“What is it?”

“Vodka, probably? Just drink it before he comes over here!”

He downs it with ease, setting the glass back on the bar. There’s a small pause before the alcohol hits him, and Kyle sputters.

“Not vodka,” he coughs.

“Glad I didn’t drink it, then,” you mutter, sliding your glass of water in front of him. He chugs the rest of your water, taking a bite out of the lemon for good measure.

Once his throat is soothed, his eyes flick to the club before he looks at you with a smirk made of nothing but pure mischief.

“I think you owe me for that one.”

“Fair enough. Name your price.”

Kyle stands from the barstool, stepping in front of you and holding out his hand. You look up at him, confused.

“How would you like a dance?”

You glance over to the dancefloor, then back to Kyle. You hadn’t come here intending to do much aside from hanging out with Alex, but the place doesn’t seem that bad. The gang appears to have a tight handle on things, not a single person upset or out of place. You don’t see the harm in having a little fun.

And you’d never gotten to enjoy your time at—

Fuck it, why not?

“Just don’t get mad if I step on your toes,” you laugh, giving Kyle a quick wink as you set your hand in his and follow him down to the dancefloor. He doesn’t wait, using his grasp on your hand to spin you into the crowd. You bump into a few people, but no one seems to mind; a woman in an almost too-short purple dress with a draping diamond necklace smiles at you as you collide with her, pulling you into another spin that sends you back to Kyle.

You don’t know how long you dance for, but it’s long enough for your feet to ache. Still, you keep dancing. You don’t remember how long it’s been since you’ve had real fun—how long it’s been since you were allowed to.

It helps that Kyle’s a good dancer, though his attention is split between you and Purple Dress, who seems determined to get him to herself. You can tell he’s as interested in her as she is him; his eyes wander back to her every time he rejoins you for another dance.

You’re ready to come up with an excuse to bow out and let them spend the rest of the night together when Kyle catches sight of something over your shoulder. He smiles down at you, grabbing your hand to spin you. You follow along, letting Kyle guide you until you collide with a solid chest and a set of hands clasp around your waist to steady you.

You look up to apologize, but the words freeze in your throat as you’re met with the smell of mahogany and expensive whiskey. Your eyes travel up the body in front of you to meet the sharp blue gaze of your boss. He looks down at you with amusement, hands squeezing your hips before he looks up at Kyle.

“Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all,” Kyle laughs, immediately turning his attention to Purple Dress.

“Oh no, I don’t mind either. Thanks for asking.” The sass isn’t intentional, but you can feel the heat radiating from his hands into your hips, traveling up your sides and straight to your face. You feel the overwhelming urge to run, to return to the bar and drown yourself in lemon water and maybe a few of Alex’s mystery shots.

“We don’t have to dance—” Mr. Price assures you, beginning to step away, hands slowly starting to slide from your hips.

“No!” You step forward on instinct, chasing after his warmth. He raises a brow, mouth widening into a smirk that has your blush crawling down to your neck. “I mean—it’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine—but not like that. Well, yes, like that, but that’s not what I meant. I—”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip to fight back his smirk, but you can see the way his shoulders shake with laughter.

Get yourself together.

“You’re my boss, and I don’t know what to do in this situation,” you say, trying not to let the embarrassment get to you. All you want is for a giant hole to open in the ground and swallow you, but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.

“Relax, dove. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

It is sinful, the way he speaks with that deep accent.

“I…I think I want a drink.” Preferably enough hard liquor to make you forget this moment.

“Then we’ll go get you a drink.” Mr. Price turns over his shoulder to where Ghost stands, completely still among the flowing crowd of dancers. Had he been there the whole time? You hadn’t seen him, and he’s a hard man to miss.

“Go make sure everything’s ready in my office,” Mr. Price says, quieter than he had been with you. Ghost nods, giving the dancefloor a once over before melting into the crowd with an ease that’s surprising for someone of his height. One of Mr. Price’s hands leaves your waist, the other sliding around to settle on the small of your back as he guides you toward the bar.

He leads you to the bar, keeping anyone from bumping into you. It’s almost gentlemanly, and if you weren’t so nervous, you might’ve read a little more into that.

There’s only one empty stool, and Mr. Price steps aside to let you take it. You sit down with a soft thanks, his hand lingering on your back until you’ve gotten comfortable.

“Alex!” Alex whirls around at the other end of the bar, making his way over with a wide grin.

“Hey, boss!”

“Whatever the lady wants. On the house.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Alex gives a two-finger salute, shooting you a wink before returning to work. You stare at his retreating back, a new, minor wave of anxiety crashing into you.

If this is on the house, does that mean you were supposed to pay for your water earlier?

Mr. Price glances down at his watch, shifting his gaze toward his office, then back to you. He sets a large hand on your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze—nothing like the bone-crushing handshake from when you first met. “I have to check on some things, but you should have a few drinks. Enjoy yourself, Plover; you’re not on the clock.”

“Yes, sir,” you nod. You let the name slide, not trusting yourself to correct him properly until you can collect yourself and get a grip.

“And stop calling me sir,” he laughs. “Price is fine.”

He sure is.

“Sure thing,” you smile. His hand slides from your shoulder. Had his fingers lingered, or was that your imagination? He looks down the bar to catch Alex’s eyes and gives a single, sharp nod.

“If you need anything, Alex will take care of it,” Mr. Price—no, just Price—smiles down at you. Another nod, this time at you, and you nod back before he takes his leave, heading toward his office.

You wait until he’s out of sight to turn to the bar, dropping your head into your hands.

What the hell’s wrong with me?

You don’t know what it is about that man that drives you crazy, but you’ll have to learn to reel that in real quick.

“Rough night?”

You peek through your fingers to see someone taking the seat to your left, their gaze focused entirely on you. You sit up, letting your hands fall into your lap as you turn to face the stranger.

You’d expected another patron, maybe another co-worker you hadn’t met yet.

You weren’t expecting the bald man from the alley.

He’s sort of handsome now that you see him close up. Dark brows, darker eyes framed by thick lashes, and a beard freckled with gray. You can see the appeal, but he isn’t your type.

Your type is currently checking on some things in his office.

“Not rough, just…new,” you explain with a friendly smile. He returns your smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Something about him seems familiar, and the sense of déjà vu that creeps up your spine sets you on edge.

“First time here?”

“You could say that.”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself. Most people spend the first night trying to get as wildly drunk as possible.“ There’s a thin veil of disgust over that second sentence, the mild irritation sparkling behind his eyes as he gestures toward the crowd.

He smiles at you, but his eyes keep flicking behind you. You don’t know what, or who, is behind you, but it’s something he doesn’t seem to like.

“A bit presumptuous for someone you’ve only just met, don’t you think?” you ask, with a slight tilt of your head. The man chuckles, eyes traveling up and down your form.

He extends his hand, a collection of gold bands decorating his fingers, “Hassan Zyani.”

In an instant, you’re back to being stuffed in a tight dress, pouring drinks for your father and the fearsome man he’s attempting to negotiate with.

No wonder he seemed familiar.

“Canary.” You force out a smile, shaking his hand.

“Canary,” he draws out your name, your skin crawling at the way it grates over his tongue. “If you’d like, I would be happy to show you around. The rooms upstairs are particularly—”

Someone steps up to Hassan’s side—one of the other men from the alley—leaning in to whisper in his ear. The man faces away from you so you can’t read his lips. Not that you’d try with Hassan’s eyes fixed on your face. He nods at whatever the man says, standing from the barstool.

“I’m needed elsewhere, but perhaps later we can continue this conversation somewhere more…private?” Hassan doesn’t let you answer, kissing the back of your hand and walking off with the other man.

You let out a deep exhale the moment he leaves, rubbing the back of your hand on your jeans.

What the fuck was Ghorbrani’s right hand doing here? You knew from experience the Iranians kept their business within the family, but Hassan spoke as if he’d been here before. Was the 141 working with Ghorbrani? Your father tried for years to get in Ghorbrani’s good graces, throwing everything he could—including his only daughter—at the man’s feet. How the hell had the 141 managed what he couldn’t?

“You okay?” Alex’s voice breaks you out of your internal crisis, and you find him standing in front of you with a glass of water set between you.

“I’m a little overwhelmed, to be honest.”

And you are. You’ve had fun, but you’re tired and left with more questions than answers.

“You can sneak out the back if you want; we’re closing up soon anyway. Besides, I think you danced long enough to satisfy Gaz,” Alex chuckles. You look around the club and notice that there are indeed fewer guests, and those who are left seem to be winding down for the night. You check your watch, the hands reading a few minutes after three in the morning.

“Maybe. I wanted to say goodbye, at least,” you shrug, looking around to see if you can spot Kyle among the shrinking sea of people.

“He probably won’t be back out until after we close.”

You spin around in your seat to face Alex. “I can make it, just need something to do…You need any help cleaning up?”

“Hell, if you’re offering.”

Alex lets you behind the bar, handing you a rag to start wiping down the bar top. You busy yourself with cleaning, trying to keep your mind from wandering. The club winds down until only a few stragglers remain.

The music eventually comes to a stop, Farah heading backstage as the stage lights dim and reappearing in the hallway next to the stage. She’s changed into a black hoodie, dark jeans, and boots with her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Farah makes her way to the bar, Alex meeting her at the top of the steps, leaning against the bar with a proud smile and pure adoration in his eyes.

You leave them to their conversation and take up the rest of the cleaning duties as König’s massive form heads down the steps to guide the remaining guests outside. The only people left inside are you, your co-workers, and Hassan’s two men standing guard outside Price’s office.

A few minutes pass by in relative peace: Alex showering Farah in praise, Soap bringing you empty glasses, Valeria counting her comically large pile of winnings, Kyle descending the staircase with Purple Dress giggling behind him, Alejandro joining the rest of you after locking the front doors.

A peace quickly broken by the sounds of shouting from the back office. All attention snaps to the doors and Hassan’s two men standing guard. Tension floods the room to a suffocating degree: Soap setting down his tray of dishes to face the door, Kyle guiding Purple Dress to stand behind him, Valeria’s hand crawling down the slit in her dress while Alejandro’s begins to slide into his jacket. You follow their lead, setting your rag on the bar top and preparing for the worst.

The seconds crawl by at an almost agonizing pace before the office doors burst open. Hassan storms out, followed quickly by Ghost, with Price walking up to stand in the doorway. Hassan turns back, shouting something in Arabic that you’re sure is an insult.

“Ghost, escort Mr. Zyani and his men out,” Price says, low and eerily calm. Ghost reaches for Hassan, but the man slaps his hand away.

“Get your hands off of me!” Hassan shouts. His men move forward, shoving Ghost out of the way to get between him and their boss. Alejandro stands abruptly, and Soap steps forward, but Price raises a hand, and the two stop where they are.

Hassan looks around, noticing the number of people he and his men are surrounded by before his eyes land directly on you.

He moves quickly, but you’re on high alert and catch the flash of silver he pulls from his coat. You drop to your knees, a bottle on the shelf behind you bursting into a spray of shards and alcohol.

You tuck yourself behind the bar, and all hell breaks loose.

Your heart slams inside your chest, the hurried thrum reverberating in your ears over the chorus of screams and gunshots. You crawl your way to the end of the bar, not stopping even as more bottles pop and shatter above you.

You barely feel the glass digging into your hands, peering around the end of the bar to look for a way out. You duck as several people run past you, all from the kitchen. A thunderous boom echoes from the front of the club, and the gunshots increase tenfold.

You take your chance, darting out from the bar and toward the kitchen as fast as your legs can take you.

You make it halfway to the backdoor when a hand snags the back of your jacket and yanks you into a rigid body. Two arms wrap tightly around your waist, lifting you up to slam you down onto the counter, dishes and cutlery shaking at the force. Pain vibrates across your body, your assailant gripping the back of your head to shove your face into the cold steel.

You reach out blindly as your attacker wrestles to get you subdued, feeling for whatever you can to help get away.

The blade that slices through your bleeding palm burns, but you tighten your grip around it and swing it backward. It lodges into the person behind you; you don’t know what part of them, but it’s enough to get them to step back from you.

You don’t hesitate, pushing yourself off of the counter and using the momentum to sprint towards the door. Footsteps thunder behind you, whoever it is recovering from their stab wound. You don’t think, yanking down every rack you pass in hopes of creating more obstacles to trip up your attacker.

You make it to the door, yanking it open just in time for it to shield you from an incoming bullet. You don’t bother looking, instead running straight for your car. Adrenaline courses through your veins, giving you the extra strength to not have to fight with the car door and pull it open on the first try.

You don’t even shut it all the way, only focusing on getting your key in the ignition. A higher power must be watching over you in this moment as your car starts up on the first try. You waste no time, not bothering with a seatbelt as you peel out of the backlot.

You head straight to your motel, body jittery with pain and adrenaline. Tension winds through your muscles, worsening into a painful tightness as blurs of police lights and sirens zoom past you. Blood leaks from your hands, sliding down your steering wheel to drip onto your jeans. You’ll deal with it later, you decide.

It’s not like you don’t know how to get blood out of your clothes.

You reach the motel, stumbling out of your car and kicking the door shut with little grace. You lock it behind you, trying not to run directly to your room but rushing all the same.

You move on autopilot, locking the door behind you, shutting the flimsy curtains, and immediately stripping yourself of your clothes. Your feet carry you to the bathroom, stepping into the shower before turning the water on.

The hard pressure of the frigid water is an instant shock, your body flinching at the sudden coldness. You stay under the spray, unable to will your feet to move, and stare down at the rusted drain to watch it sputter and swallow the water. Your hand rises on its own, holding your palm directly under the water. The hard beads sting as they beat into your wound, but the cold of the water seeps into your skin and numbs your hand just enough.

It takes almost two hours to collect yourself with a combination of deep breaths and soft assurances to yourself. By the time you turn the water off and step out, the sun is already starting to come up.

There’s a considerable effort for you to get dressed, the rush wearing off, leaving you full of aches and pains as your muscles untense. You wrap your hand in the gauze from your measly first aid kit, changing into your pajamas—a t-shirt and your only pair of sweatpants—before collapsing face down onto the lumpy bed.

You stare at your door, unblinking and vacant until the sun’s fully risen and sleep finally decides to take you.

-

A knock on your door startles you awake.

You lift yourself, groaning at the stiffness in your limbs and the ache that has invaded your entire being. There’s no light shining through your window, the whole room shrouded in darkness.

How long were you out?

The knock comes again, rougher and hurried.

“Hold on, hold on,” you grumble, shuffling to the door. You unlock it, pulling the door open just enough to look outside.

“Ma’am?”

It takes two seconds too long for you to process the blue uniforms and gold badges. The haze of sleep evaporates in an instant, and you straighten up. Their badges shine against the fluorescent light above your door: Dipaolo & Erikson.

“Is there something you need, officers?”

“We have reason to believe you might’ve been witness to a shooting last night. We were hoping you could come down to the station and answer some questions,” the cop in front of you, Erikson, speaks. You know that tone—the command hidden under the guise of friendly suggestion.

He’s asking, but he isn’t.

And if they’ve found you here, there’s little chance you can lie your way out of this one.

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Yeah, no problem. You mind if I grab a jacket and some shoes first?” You open the door a little wider to show them your attire. Officer Erikson nods, and you leave the door open as you hurriedly grab your jacket and slide into your boots. You fasten your watch, catching your reflection in the glass.

To say you look rough is an understatement, but you don’t have the time to get dolled up now.

You head outside, and the officers let you lock your door before escorting you to their squad car. Officer Dipaolo opens the back door, holding it open for you. You can’t help but give your car a quick glance as you slide into the backseat. Officer Dipaolo shuts the door and joins his partner in the front.

The drive to the police station is quiet, the two in the front speaking to each other in hushed voices. Occasional chatter comes across their radio, but nothing they seem concerned about. Every once in a while, you catch Erikson glancing back at you through the rearview mirror, but when you meet his eyes, he immediately looks away.

Dipaolo holds the door for you again after you arrive, and you're escorted through the station. You get a few looks from the other officers, but all attention is suddenly stolen by the sudden shout from lockup—

“Hey, Pigeon!”

You turn abruptly, spotting Soap leaning against the bars with a broad smile and bruised jaw. He’s not alone, either. The entire gang seems to be stuck inside, all sporting their own cuts and bruises and all staring at you.

“Quiet!” An older cop, bald and angry and dressed in a nicer uniform than the rest, slams against the bars and startles Soap. You see Ghost shoot to his feet behind him, fierce glare aimed at the cop as he grabs Soap by the back of the shirt and pulls him away from the bars. The cop huffs, turning to look at you with a curious glare. You set your gaze on the floor, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“This way,” Erikson says, setting a hand between your shoulder blades and gently guiding you further into the station.

The room you’re left in is all gray, with a single metal table, a few chairs, and a large window of one-way glass.

You may have never been in a police station before, but you know what an interrogation room looks like.

Erikson brings you a cup of water, pulling your chair out before he takes his seat across from you. Dipaolo joins a few minutes later, walking in with a friendly smile. You smile back, but you peer out the door as it shuts behind him to catch a glimpse of the same angry cop watching you with an uncomfortable intensity.

“You’re not under arrest or anything,” Dipaolo starts—an attempt to be reassuring. “We just have a couple of questions for you, Ms….”

“Canary.”

“Of course. It’s nothing to worry about, Ms. Canary.”

“How did you find me?” you ask. “I—I mean, I didn’t give anyone my address, so….”

“Security cameras caught your car leaving the club,” Erikson explains. “We tracked your plates.”

Well, shit.

They must see the discomfort on your face because they both switch to good cop mode. Dipaolo leans forward, “Listen, the people who run that club are involved in some very bad business, and I think you know that. We just want to make sure they don't get anyone else hurt.”

They must think you're an unwilling participant, some damsel in distress. That's fine; you can work with that.

You shuffle in your seat, hands fidgeting in your lap. You keep your gaze focused on the table, glancing up at one of the officers every so often.

“What kind of help?” you ask softly. They share a quick glance, poorly hidden triumph in their smiles.

“We just need you to tell us what happened last night, as much as you can remember.”

You take a few deep breaths, exaggerating the shake in your exhale before nodding.

“Well, I got there—”

“Questioning someone without their lawyer present? I thought you two knew better than that.” You jump at the sudden slam of the door as a woman marches into the room, all respect and authority.

She’s older, blonde hair pulled up into a neat bun, and wearing a similar suit to the one your old family lawyer used to wear. She takes the seat next to you, staring hard at the now-agitated officers on the other side of the table.

“Didn’t realize she was one of yours, Kate,” Dipaolo spits, his glare briefly traveling to you.

“Because I’m not,” you speak up, taking everyone in the room by surprise. Dipaolo and Erikson ease up, but the woman—Kate?—fixes you with a stern stare. She turns to the officers, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I represent the club and all of its employees. As long as she works there, she’s a client.” She’s explaining to them, but telling you.

“I don’t need a lawyer,” you counter.

Kate’s hands clench around her arms before she says, “I need a moment with my client.”

“Doesn’t sound like she wants to be your client,” Erikson smirks.

“Doesn’t matter what she wants; I’m still here to represent her. Now, give us five minutes.”

You don’t need to be alone with her; you need to get the hell out of here and back to your motel room.

“I can tell you what happened,” you call out before the officers get two steps from the table. “If she wants to be here or not, that’s her choice.”

They sit back down, smug and taunting, ready to listen. You can feel the frustration oozing from Kate, but she stays put and stays silent.

“Kyle invited me to come see the club when it was open—”

“Kyle Garrick?” Dipaolo asks, and you nod.

"It was supposed to be a fun night out—a break from work—and it was. Things were fine until….” You give Kate a nervous glance, quickly looking away from the look of warning she gives you. “I was at the bar when this man came up to me. He said his name was…Hassan, I think? He started…flirting with me, and when I tried to keep things friendly, he got pushy. He said he noticed me outside and that he could show me the upstairs rooms. I tried to leave, but he grabbed my hand and—”

You take a moment, letting out a long, quivering exhale and squeezing your throat. It only takes seconds for the wetness to build in your eyes.

“One of his friends pulled him away, but he promised to come find me later so we could talk in private. I didn’t know what he was going to do, so I told the bartender, and he let me stay near him until closing. After everyone left, I was grabbing my jacket when Hassan showed back up with his friends. I tried to walk away, but one of them grabbed me and threw me onto the bar. I—”

You let the tears roll down your cheeks, waiting a few seconds before wiping them away. “I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I swear, but I was so scared. I just grabbed a glass and hit him with it. I think someone must’ve heard the commotion because Ghost and Kyle came in and tried to kick the guys out, but then Hassan pulled a gun—”

“Wait—wait, you’re saying Hassan pulled a gun?”

“I don’t know who shot first, but only him and his friends had weapons. I don’t know what happened; Ghost told me to hide behind the bar and run as soon as I could, so that’s what I did. The last thing I saw before I got out of there was him trying to wrestle the gun out of Hassan’s hands….”

Silence looms over the room, so you add, “If Ghost hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t shown up, I don’t know what those men would’ve done to me. He saved me.” You throw in a sniffle as Dipaolo sighs. He leans over to whisper something to Erikson, glancing back at the one-way glass.

“Is there anyone else who can corroborate your story?” Erikson asks through clenched teeth.

“There was another woman; she was in a glittery purple dress. I didn’t catch her name, but you could probably find her on the cameras. There weren’t a lot of people in purple.”

“And she saw everything that happened?”

And then some, you almost laugh to yourself.

“Yeah, she was there the whole time.”

“Alright,” Dipaolo sighs. “Thank you, Ms. Canary. We appreciate your honesty.” He doesn’t sound very appreciative, but you don’t really care.

“We’ll have one of the boys escort you out,” Erikson says, standing from the table. He holds the door open for you, and Kate follows you out into the long hallway. Dipaolo disappears into another room as Erikson whistles over another officer to show you out. You follow behind him but are stopped when a door opens behind you.

“A minute, Kate?” You and Kate look back to see Erikson and Dipaolo standing with the same bald cop from earlier.

“You go ahead,” Kate says to you, turning to the three with a polite and professional smile. She walks away before you can stop her, the officer in front of you nudging your arm and grumbling a quiet let’s go.

He leaves you on the front steps, standing by yourself in the cold, commenting that a cab has been called for you. You mutter a thank you, pulling your jacket tighter to fight the chill.

You take back that thank you forty-five minutes later when you’re still standing outside with no cab in sight.

Of all the times to not have a phone.

Another fifteen minutes later, you post up against the wall next to the doors, staring up at the clear night sky. It’s not as clear in the city as it was from your old view, but you find a small sense of comfort in the twinkling stars.

A few cars pull up, sleek and black, led by a vintage silver car with dark windows. You don’t have time to question it, the station doors opening abruptly as a cluster of footsteps pouring outside. You turn your head, watching the 141 leave the station, too busy speaking to each other to notice you.

Valeria leads Alejandro and Rudy into one car, Alex and Farah getting into another. Ghost and Soap get into the same car while Roach, König, and Kyle head across the street and start walking down the sidewalk, leaving one more car behind the silver car.

Price and Kate stay behind, waiting until everyone’s left.

“You sure we’ll be alright, Kate?” Price asks, watching the cars pull onto the street.

“Should be,” Kate sighs. “All they have is the exterior cameras and the bullets from Hassan’s guns. No one got killed, so all they have is eyewitness testimony.” Kate looks over Price’s shoulder, catching sight of you.

“Thanks for the help, Kate.”

“Don’t thank me,” she says, nodding toward you. “It was all her.”

Price turns around, surprised to find you standing there. You give a little wave of your fingers, trying not to wince at the pain in your hand.

“Here, you can take my car home,” Kate says once Price turns back to her. She hands him her keys before making her way down the steps. “Just make sure to return it in one piece,” she calls over her shoulder as she gets into the back of the last black car.

Price huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before turning his attention to you.

“Enjoying the fresh air?” he asks, leaning on the wall next to you.

“Waiting for a cab that probably isn’t coming,” you sigh, moving your gaze back up to the sky. “I think I pissed off the officers, and this is their way of getting back at me.”

“You definitely made a few enemies in there,” Price chuckles.

“Well, I couldn’t let my boss rot in a cell, could I? Who’s gonna sign my paychecks?” you joke. His chuckles turn to a full laugh, staring at the side of your face while you pretend not to notice.

“Come on,” he speaks up, pushing himself off the wall.

“What?”

“I’m taking you home,” he smiles. You want to argue, assure him that you can find your own way home, but your mind goes blank, and all you can do is nod. You follow him to Kate’s silver car, trying—and failing—not to blush as he holds the door open for you. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, sliding into the driver’s seat.

The first few minutes of the drive are spent in comfortable silence, with you giving him quiet directions. You lean back in your seat, savoring the warmth of the car.

“Does it hurt?” Price asks, breaking you out of your contentment.

“Does what hurt?”

He takes his eyes off the road for a second, nodding towards your hand where it rests in your lap.

“A little,” you shrug. “I was too tired to do anything other than wrap it.”

“Have Rudy look at it tomorrow. Make sure it’s nothing too serious.” He’s using that Boss tone that tells you there’s no room for debate, but you swear you hear a small current of worry beneath the surface.

The rest of the drive is quiet but not uncomfortable. Price follows your directions easily and even lets you turn the heat up a few notches.

It isn’t until you get close to the motel that you tell him to stop.

“You can just pull over here,” you say, gesturing to the sidewalk. It’s close enough that you can see, and walk to, the motel but far enough that no one else staying there will see the car.

“Here?”

“Yeah, people might get the wrong idea if they see me getting out of a car this fancy,” you laugh as he pulls over. He doesn’t laugh along, and when you turn to him, he’s frowning back at you.

“Something wrong?”

“I know we’re not paying you a lot, but I’m sure you can afford more than…this.” He looks to the motel, then back to you, unsure and concerned. It’s almost endearing.

You unclip your seatbelt so you can turn to fully face him. “You’re paying me quite generously, actually.”

“Am I?” He raises a brow, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. It takes everything in your power not to let your eyes fall to his lips.

“Mhmm,” you hum, a sly smile stretching across your face. You lean closer, blinking up at him innocently, catching the way his throat bobs as he swallows. “In fact, you’ve decided I earned a raise after tonight, and I’ll be sure to celebrate and treat myself to two bags of pretzels from the vending machine.”

With that, you swing the car door open and slip out into the crisp winter air. You start down the sidewalk, the telltale sound of a car window rolling down behind you as the car creeps alongside you.

“There’re other places around you can stay, y’know? Safer places,” he calls, leaning over into the passenger seat to look at you.

“Thanks for the ride, sir,” you laugh, turning to wink at him before heading into the motel parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush, @aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx

[mountttmase]

A Mountain To Climb - Part Four

Note - Happy Wednesday, thank you all for your kind comments on the last chapter I hope you all like this one too 💙 and as always feedback is appreciated 😉

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 4k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Master List

Mason sent through the address within the hour and you had a quick nosey at where it was. The house was huge, on a private road surrounded by other huge houses, and it was a far cry from you little one bed flat.

You’d told yourself you weren’t going, but it didn’t stop you from thinking about what you might have to wear if you did go, remembering you’d bought a cute lacey corset top to wear when you went to Leeds but you’d ended up taking something else.

You carried on with life, not hearing from Mason again until Friday lunchtime when you felt your phone buzz as a text came through.

You read the text over a few times, guilt washing over you at the fact he wanted to see you and you weren’t planning on being there. Every interaction with this boy seemed to chip away at you and you were soon texting your best friend Freya to help you.

No more than three minutes later and your phone was ringing, a cute picture of the pair of you filling your screen and you smiled as you picked up.

‘Hey frey’

‘Who have I got to kill?’ She said sternly and you burst out laughing at her protectiveness.

‘No one yet, I just need to rant at you about something and no matter what you feel, I need you to tell me I’m right okay? cause that’s what friends do’

‘Hit me with it’ she quipped and you started on your long rant about how you’d ended up here. You hadn’t mentioned to her when you’d made it back to her flat about getting stuck in a lift with Mason so she was shocked when you gave her the low down of what happened that night but she let you rant how you hadn’t managed to shake him off and now you were contemplating seeing him again that night.

Freya knew you like the back of her hand. You’d been best friends since you were five and she knew what you were thinking before you’d even thought it, so to hear you now taking like this about a boy shocked her. But she was secretly happy for you, not having heard you speak this way in a long time.

‘Well, I’m gonna have to go against girl code here, babe’ she told you and you huffed in annoyance.

‘No no no, you promised to tell me I was right’

‘And any other time I would, but come on, y/n. When was the last time you took a bit of a risk and let someone in?’

‘That’s the point, I don’t. But he’s getting under my skin and I barely know him’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘At the weekend. I don’t know Frey I just feel safer texting him cause then I can convince myself he’s not real’

‘So you don’t want to see him again?’ She asked and you took a second before you answered even though you knew the answer straight away.

‘No, I do’ you breathed and you could hear her chuckle down the line.

‘So do it. Doll yourself up and go see your man’

‘He’s not my man’ you groaned before you both burst into a fit of giggles.

The rest of the day was spent finishing up work before ordering yourself some food. You were in two minds about tonight and Masons message still sat unanswered in you phone but there was no way you were responding now. You’d just hopped out of the shower when something inside you snapped, then and there deciding you were going to go. It’s not everyday you get invited to a fancy house party with gorgeous footballers, so why not make the most of it.

You quickly got dressed in a pair of baggy jeans before throwing on some heels and the corset top to show off your figure. You didn’t spend too long on your hair and make up but by the time you’d made it to Masons friends house it was around 10:45pm.

As soon as you got out of the Uber you wanted to crawl back inside and go home but he drove off pretty quickly, leaving you on your own to walk up the drive to the door. No one was outside but you could tell there was something going on from where you were and you hoped the doorbell was loud enough for someone to hear.

In the end it didn’t matter though, the front door opening and a guy around your age walking out looking down at his phone, doing a double take as he heard your shoes on the gravel path. You gave him a friendly smile and you noticed him give you a once over before smiling back.

‘You okay?’ He questioned and you nodded shyly at him. ‘Do I know you?’

‘Uh no, my names y/n. Mason invited me’ you told him and his face instantly changed to a knowing look as he smiled wider at you.

‘Ah, I was beginning to think he’d made you up’ the man laughed as you hugged your arms around yourself. ‘I’m Kai, by the way. Come on let’s get you inside, I can take you to him’ he offered and you smiled before following him in.

He guided you through the impressive house with his hands on your shoulders, weaving you in between a sea of gorgeous looking people until you got to the kitchen where Mason stood with his back to you, slightly off to the side of a group of guys who all looked at you as you walked in but Mason was too focused on filling his cup up to notice you come in.

‘Hey Mount, I’ve got a delivery for you’ Kai shouted over to him and he turned his head slowly before he realised it was you, a look of relief washing over his features as he smiled over at you. His drink was quickly forgotten about as he made his way over almost instantly, ignoring the giggles and jibes from the boys behind him as he came closer.

‘Y/n? I didn’t think you were coming’ he told you as he approached, Kai now having moved from behind you to stand with the other boys and you gulped down a nervous lump as you looked up at Mason.

You hated the fact he looked so handsome, even dressed in a simple plain black T-shirt and jeans but you’d noticed he’d had his hair cut since the last time you’d seen him last week and you willed your cheeks not to flush. His dimples were on full show as his eyes creased at the sides of his face, letting you know he was giving you a real smile with his eyes rather than one just out of politeness.

‘I wasn’t planning on it but, here I am I guess’ you smiled and he laughed lightly at you.

‘Well I’m glad you’re here’ he beamed before a chorus of oooing and ahhing came from the boys, teasing Mason but he was quick to give them the finger. ‘Shut up dickheads, come on let’s get you a drink’ he told you before leading you out into the utility room. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Surprise me’ you told him and he laughed before turning away from you to grab a cup and a bottle. ‘So is this Kai’s house?’

‘No, Ben’s. I’ll introduce you later’ he murmured whilst passing you a red cup. You gave him a small thank you before taking a sip, unsure of what it was he gave you but it was sweet and alcoholic so you didn’t care. ‘I mean it though, I’m really glad you’re here’

‘Yeah?’

‘Definitely’ he confirmed as he walked closer, stopping just in front of you with your chests almost touching. You noticed what looked like to be a spec of fluff on his top by his neck and you reached out to remove it causing him to hold his breath and even though he was quiet, you were so close that you heard him. Your eyes wondered up to meet his and you noticed how close the pair of you were, lips only a few inches apart as his breath fanned your face.

You broke eye contact with him before taking a nervous sip, not feeling like your usual confident self around him once again as you took a step away from him.

‘So where are these cute boys you promised me’ you asked with a smile as you turned and made your way out, laughing to yourself as you heard him scoff behind you.

‘I never promised you that. Plus there’s only one and he’s right here’

‘Oh yeah? Can you point him out to me? I can’t quite see him’ You teased, turning to glance at him and you could tell he was getting a bit flustered.

‘Ah there you are’ you heard suddenly from a familiar voice and you turned to see Kai was now standing in-front of you with a pretty brunette on his arm. You felt Mason stop right behind you, his body heat almost making you shiver and you were wondering if he was going to reach out and hold you in some way but he seemed to be keeping his hands to himself. ‘Y/n, this is my girlfriend, Sophia’ he told you and she smiled warmly at you. ‘I thought it might be nice for you to hang out with another girl rather than be stuck with him all night’ he joked and you laughed as you felt Mason shake his head behind you.

The usual uneasy feeling you got around other girls at parties didn’t seem to be present as she smiled at you and held her hand out which you took almost instantly, thankful you could get away from Mason for a bit and focus again but you knew he’d be lurking so you couldn’t miss him too much.

‘Come on, let’s leave the boys. I need you to tell me where you got this outfit from’ she asked you as she pulled you away. You chanced a look back at Mason who was pouting a little bit as Kai dragged him back into the kitchen so you sent him a wink before disappearing.

Sophia was a lot of fun, so fun in fact you seemed to be forgetting your rule of not having anymore friends than you already have. You both seemed to be bad influences on each other, encouraging the other to drink more than they could handle until you were dancing on Bens coffee table with a couple of the other girls.

Mason managed to keep an eye on you at all times, whenever you looked in his direction he was already looking at you and at first he seemed embarrassed but as the night wore on the shyness left him and he held your eye contact a bit longer. Sending you a cheeky smile or a wink.

Seeing him around all these people he knew made you notice was how touchy he seemed to be with everyone. No matter who he was with he would put his hands on their shoulders or lean into them as he laughed and you were brought back to the thoughts you had the other day where you wondered why he kept his hands to himself around you when he seemed comfortable enough to lounge over everyone else. You weren’t sure why it was bothering you so much but when he eventually came over to join your group you noticed it even more.

He sat next to you, his arm around the back of the sofa behind you but his skin never touched yours. You subconsciously leaned back into him after a while and he took this to mean he could put his arm around you properly. You only realised when he lent his cheek on the top of you head as he was laughing at someone’s joke what position you were in and you felt yourself tense up. He must of felt something too, slowly rubbing his thumb over your skin and you were surprised about how much it relaxed you. The pair of you sat and laughed at Kai and Sophia bickering but still no words were shared between you. You were racking your brain to think of something when he placed his lips to you ear.

‘Are you okay? Can I get you anything?’ He whispered so only you could hear and you turned to face him, again surprised about how close your faces were. You gulped as you averted your eyes down and shook your head, nervous again and you shut your eyes to make it go away. He avoided your eyes for the next half an hour and when everyone dispersed, he gently slid out from behind you and made a beeline for the stairs.

Kai and Sophia left soon after, and once you’d said your goodbyes you wondered around trying to find Mason again but he’d seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. You wondered if he’d seen you tonight realised he didn’t want you around anymore after your constantly changing attitude but you willed yourself not to think about it as you wondered around upstairs looking for a bathroom.

When you left, you almost immediately ran into someone, apologising as they held you steady and you looked up into a pair of bright blue eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going’ you explained but he just shook his head as he laughed.

‘It’s fine, honestly’ he told you as he straightened himself up. ‘You’re y/n right?’

‘Depends on who’s asking’

‘I’m Ben’ he laughed and your eyes went wide as you realised this was his house.

‘Oh right, sorry about standing on your coffee table’ you joked and he just shrugged.

‘Don’t worry about it. Are you alright? You feel a bit cold’

‘I’m fine, don’t worry I should of dressed a bit more appropriately’ you laughed and he quickly disappeared behind a door before coming back with a black hoodie and offering it to you. ‘Oh no, I’ll be fine honestly’

‘Please, I insist. Can’t have my guests being cold’ he told you and you eventually took it from him. ‘If you’re looking for Mason, he’s just in there’ he winked, nodding to a door just up the hall before he made his way back downstairs. You quickly pulled the hoodie over your head before adjusting your hair and making your way over to the door Ben said Mason was behind. You gave it light knock and you heard him softly tell you to come in so you opened the door and popped your head round the side.

The bedroom he was in was dimly lit, and he was sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand as it was plugged in to charge. A small smile spread across his lips as he realised it was you and he nodded for you to come in. You stepped inside but lent your back up against the door and he gave you a funny look at your sudden change of clothing.

‘What are you wearing?’

‘Oh this?’ You questioned, pulling at the strings. ‘Ben gave it to me. Said I felt cold’

‘Why was he feeling you?’ He probed, his eyebrow’s drawing together in what you assumed was jealousy and you let out a breath before stumbling over to sit next to him on the bed.

‘I bumped into him when I came out the loo. What are you doing in here?’ You inquired and his face relaxed slightly as he put his phone down.

‘I’m staying here tonight, was just putting my phone on charge and having a break for a few minutes’ he told you and you nodded as you looked around the room. ‘Are you having a good night?’

‘Yeah, Sophia seems nice. Are you?’

‘Yeah, but I was hoping to speak to you more than I have’ he told you, bumping his shoulder with yours lightly and you let out a little giggle.

‘The nights still young’ you told him, checking the time on your phone to see it was nearing 2am and you grimaced slightly. ‘Or not. I didn’t realise it was that late. I’ll have to head off soon’

‘Wait, don’t go’ he pleaded ‘I’ve barely seen you’

‘It’s late, Mason. Plus we sat together downstairs for over an hour and you didn’t hardly say a word to me’ you pouted and he gulped as he’d realised you’d noticed. ‘Why haven’t you? Have I done something wrong? I know I can be difficult but I’m trying’ You told him softly, the alcohol seeming to make you a bit vulnerable and honest and you watched his face drop as he realised you were a bit upset about it.

‘No of course not, I’m so sorry. I don’t know I guess I was just a bit nervous’ he confessed and your eyes dropped to your lap. ‘Why don’t you stay here? With me? Ben won’t care. I’ll sleep on the floor or something just please don’t go’ he pleaded and you were stunned at how quickly he was able to wear you down. ‘I promise I’ll get you home tomorrow early-‘

‘Mason-‘

‘Please, I’m not letting you go home alone this time of night. I’ll even go bunk with Ben if I have to or sleep on the sofa but I’m not letting you leave’

‘Fine I’ll stay’ you cut him off with a quiet laugh and he relaxed instantly, half wanting to keep him happy and the other half wanting to get your head down as the alcohol was wearing off and you were tired.

‘Thank you’ he smiled and you were about to reply when a white paper bag with your name on it on-top of the chest of drawers caught your attention.

‘What’s that?’ You asked he he followed your line of sight, blushing and stuttering as he caught onto what you were looking at. ‘Is that for me?’

‘Well it’s got your name on it’ he laughed as he nodded over to it. ‘Open it’

You walked over to find a long pink box inside and once it was out of the bag you opened it to find the poshest looking chocolate chip cookies you’d ever seen. You turned to face him with a confused expression and he was blushing furiously now.

‘You said the other week when I got you the brownie you would of preferred a cookie’ he explained, walking up to you, and your breath got caught int your throat.

Without thinking about it, you threw your arms around his shoulders and buried your face into his neck. He seemed shocked at first, but after a second he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his body even further.

‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me’ you whispered and you felt his body shake as he let out a little chuckle at your words.

‘It’s just some cookies, Y/n’

‘I know’ you uttered and Mason squeezed you a tiny bit harder. ‘Thank you. Why did you bring them here though? I wasn’t even sure I was coming’

‘I know, I just hoped you would I guess’ he spoke into your shoulder and you felt yourself melt before you slowly pulled away from each other. He kept his hands planted on your hips as he tried to catch your eyes but you keep them down, not wanting him to see how vulnerable you felt right now. ‘I think most people are gone, we can get ready for bed if you want’ he told you and you nodded shyly. ‘Just wait here, I’ll go grab you some bits’

He was soon back with his arms full of supplies. Bottles of water and painkillers plus some wipes and a toothbrush from Bens box of spares that apparently he kept at his house in case of emergencies and you we’re pretty sure you knew what that meant.

‘You can borrow something of mine to sleep in’ Mason told you and he was quick you take his shirt off and hand it over once you’d agreed. You tried as hard as possible not to look at his naked torso but you were only human, however Mason seemed to be sculpted by gods. Your eyes automatically landed on the little mole on his tummy and you got the overwhelming urge to kiss it.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts, not wanting him to catch you looking so you took yourself off to the bathroom to get changed. Mason shirt was longer on you than you thought, coming down to about mid thigh and you felt yourself come over all warm as his smell consumed you.

You quickly wiped your makeup off before stealing some toothpaste from the wash bag on the side that you presumed was Masons before joining him back in the room.

He was now changed, dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of joggers and your heart sunk as you watched him make himself a bed up on the floor.

‘Mason?’ You called quietly and he whipped his head round to look at you. You watched the way his eyes widened as he gave you a once over, slyly licking his lips before his eyes met yours. ‘You don’t have to sleep on the floor, I’d feel awful if you hurt your back or something. There’s enough room for the both of us’ you told him, nodding to the bed but he shook his head almost instantly.

‘I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable’ he started but you shook your head straight away.

‘Please? It’s honestly fine I’ll feel more uncomfortable with you on the floor’ you argued and he huffed before nodding.

‘I’ll be back in a sec’ he told you, disappearing into the bathroom and you placed your stuff on a chair in the corner before sliding under the covers. True to his word, he wasn’t that long and soon enough he was gently climbing in besides you.

‘Are you not gonna get hot in all that?’ You asked, noticing he was fully dressed but he just shrugged and he settled down, making sure you keep his distance from you. ‘We’ll don’t overheat on my account’ You whispered, turning to face him. You shuffled a little closer to him, never crossing the imaginary middle line, but he smiled and moved himself a little closer to you.

‘Sorry if I made you feel like you’d done something wrong. You haven’t at all I just… Come on, let’s get some sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning’

‘I know I’m confusing’ you whispered and you felt him reach over to give your hand a squeeze. ‘I know I blow cold a lot but I’ve just got some stuff going on’

‘It’s okay, you don’t have to explain’ he whispered and even though you wanted to argue with him you thought now wasn’t the best time. ‘Y/n?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You looked beautiful tonight’ he whispered and you felt your whole body prickle with goosebumps, opening your eyes to try and find his in the dark but it was pitch black and no use. ‘I mean you always do but… yeah I’ll stop now’ he laughed

‘Have a good sleep, Mason’ you whispered, hoping your voice didn’t sound a shaky as you felt.

‘Night, Y/n’

Tagged: @alwaysclassyeagle @ricsaigaslec @cinderellawithashoe @vip-access @majx00

[ejzah]

You Had Me at Jack, Part 7

***

After a fairly long phone call, Kensi Blye returned to the bedroom with a pinched expression.

“Apparently you and my team are going to LAPD for a meeting with your boss,” she informed him.

“You got reamed out, huh?” he guessed. She rolled her eyes.

“No. My boss isn’t happy we didn’t realize there was an open and ongoing investigation, but I think she’s more annoyed with your supervisor.”

“Ah, Roger Bates. Yeah, he kind of hates you guys, so I’d be careful what you say.”

“Fantastic.” She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, inadvertently revealing a healthy amount of cleavage. Deeks cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow, and she hastily dropped her arms, cheeks turning an amazingly dusky shade of red.

“I need pants,” she declared, turning abruptly. “And a bucket of coffee.”

“I’ll take a vanilla latte,” he called after her. “Hold the whip cream.”

***

A few hours later, Deeks waited outside Roger Bates’ office, slouched against the wall. He’d already received his own call from Bates, who had some very choice and not child friendly words to say about NCIS and Kensi Blye’s team. After assuring that the case hadn’t been compromised, calmed down slightly.

“Right through here, Agents,” Bates’ secretary said, ushering Kensi, now dressed in jeans and a coral colored t-shirt, and two men into the outer room. He caught her eyes and winked.

“Agent Blye.”

“Detective Deeks,” she responded, her pitch dropping just a touch. Now that was interesting. “These are my colleagues, Agents Sam Hanna and G. Callen.”

“Nice to meet you. Can I interest you in a cup of coffee? It’s terrible, but it helps to fill any awkward silences,” Deeks said. Agent Callen gave him an odd look, shaking his head.

“I think we’re good.”

“Alrighty.”

“You’re telling me you’re really a cop?” Agent Hanna asked, looking Deeks up and down with a perplexed expression.

“Yep,” Deeks confirmed with a knowing grin. “He tipped his chin up at him. “Detective Martin A. Deeks, undercover division at your service.”

“They don’t have a dress code?”

“Not really. The department understands that undercover work requires a certain amount of leeway, even eccentricity if you will.”

“I guess it would take a special sort to dress up in a Jack Dawson costume every night for weeks at a time,” Agent Callen commented. “Kensi said you played the roll very convincingly.”

“Oh my god, don’t listen to a word they say,” she groaned, glaring at them. “They’re a couple of idiots.”

Before Deeks could same something in return, Roger Bates barreled into the office, greeting the three agents with the barest of nods when they introduced themselves.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said, impatiently inviting them into the office. “So, why don’t you tell me what brought you in to nearly blow my detective’s cover?”

“We had information that linked him to a murder we’re investigating,” Callen shared, pausing expectantly. When Bates didn’t take the hint, he added, “Just to give you a forewarning, our boss, Hetty Lange, will likely be recommending NCIS take lead on this case.”

“And she can take that suggestion and shove it,” Bates said, unmoved.

Deeks saw Kensi’s brows raise in surprise. He’d guess that Bates was a revelation for the whole team.

“Our team is specially trained for this kind of situation. Can you say the same?” Sam asked, his smile ever so slightly condescending.

“Deeks is the bane of my existence, but he’s also damn good at undercover work,” Roger Bates declared, looking supremely annoyed at having to make such a statement. “Which of you fellas think you could fit in at a dance club like that?”

Kensi snorted, immediately covering her mouth, muttering an apology under her breath. Deeks concealed a grin at her slip.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me,” Deeks joked. “Anyway, I’ve been investigating a possible money laundering scheme. It’s important, but probably not enough to get a federal agency involved.”

“We take financial crimes very seriously,” Agent Hanna said.

“Well, in that case, I suggest you buy some tear-away pants and find a good waxer,” Deeks said brightly, settling back for what would likely be a very entertaining meeting.

***

“Well, that was interesting,” Deeks commented, strolling out Bates’ office with Kensi by his side. “Your boss is an extremely reasonable woman.”

“Gloating is a very unattractive quality,” she grumbled.

“Oh, don’t be bitter, Agent Blye. Just because your Miss Lang agreed to give LAPD lead on the case doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.”

“Right. You’re already causing trouble.”

“How? I have done nothing but be an absolute delight,” Deeks objected with feigned shock.

“Like you don’t know. I’m talking about the winking, and suggestive comments, the looks,” she rattled off, leaning towards him.

“So, what you’re saying is that you were watching me.”

“Oh no, don’t try to turn this around on me.”

He turned so he faced her, placing a hand on his hip as she stared at him with a furious expression. It was kind of cute.

“Do you want to talk about what happened last night? You know, with the whole making out on my couch thing,” he clarified. “I mean, since we will be working together, it seems like we should be completely honest and open with each other.”

“That was just to keep my cover and don’t you dare think of opening anything in front of me,” she said.

“What if I offered to give you a private show?”

To his surprise, she stilled, eyes flickering with interest before she caught herself, and huffed out a forced laugh.

“Right. In that case you’d be paying me.”

“Uh-huh, you keep telling yourself that, Agent Blye.” He dropped his head towards her ear, whispering, but if you change your mind, I’ll be your Jack any day.” He was rewarded with her inhaling sharply, and he grinned to himself, sauntering away.

[microsuedemouse]

so over the last month or so I have been steadily blowing out the thighs in every pair of decent-for-work pants I own. first it was both good pairs of jeans, then the cheap cotton twill joggers I literally only ever wore for work, and yesterday as I was getting ready to go out the door it was the last pair of skinny-jeans-whose-fit-I-don’t-like-anymore-but-which-were-technically-work-appropriate.

(I wore a pair of overalls, which are technically not allowed, and explained the situation to a sympathetic supervisor. to be fair you rarely get dress coded at work unless it’s egregious or a recurring issue, but I’d still rather not have it come up at all.)

a couple weeks ago my mom and I went to Value Village to look for more pants, and I bought four pairs, but when I got home none of them fit. unfortunately my mother had forgotten the receipt, as these things go, so all four pairs have been kicking around my room ever since. I’d actually been thinking that I’d use today - my first day off in a while - to bus out to Old Navy and just buy a couple new pairs, but then… the bus drivers went on strike this week. also more of my paycheque went into bills than I’d expected, anyway, so I don’t have a lot of cash to spare.

SO. today’s mission is to attempt to upsize some of these too-small VV pairs.

I was ready to scrounge around the house for old clothes I could salvage for fabric, but at my mom’s clever suggestion, I’m actually using some fun upholstery fabric we’ve had kicking around unused for ages. some of it is leftover from when she recovered the seats of our old dining room set probably a decade ago; some of it is just stuff we picked up and never got around to using.

the bobbin remains my sworn enemy and bane of my existence. I’ve never had more problems with an inanimate object than I’ve had with sewing machine bobbins. 🖕🏻🖕🏻 honestly

(yes these images are from my ig story; I forgot to take/save any other pics from this stage of the process)

I’ve finished basting in one side and it doesn’t look too fuckin bad!!! now I’m taking a snack/stretching break before I tackle the other leg and check the new fit. this is the pair that was closest to fitting before, so I don’t need to add toooo much for it to work, I think. (I hope.)

if this works out, I’ll scrap the pair I busted yesterday for fabric and use it to add some reinforcement patches to the insides of these new pairs. might as well try to defend them from my thunder thighs however I can, especially if they’re gonna be ~fun~ now.

[salty-professor]

My eyes are up here

There has been a lot of talk recently at my university about adding a dress code. Keep in mind I work at a university, for adults, not a prep-school on the CW network. Still, apparently, the president, who always wears an ill-fitting suit, wishes we all took after him and “dressed the part.” I don’t know what part it is, but if it means swamp ass and pit stains in early September or late April when the buildings start to cook and the AC doesn’t work, then I guess I don’t want to look that part at all.

I’ve worked at this particular school for 12 years now and at no point have I ever seen any of my colleagues wear anything that was untoward. There was one guy who wore nothing but sweat pants and a sweatshirt for about a year, but that said more about his state of mind than his fashion sense. After he ended his toxic relationship, he started wearing jeans and button-down shirts again. In retrospect, it was a call for help. Sorry man. I thought you wanted to be with that person. Glad you didn’t though. She is awful.

Even if we were paid enough that we could all afford brand new suits and fancy pants, which we are not, none of it matters. We were not hired because of how we looked, we were hired because of what is in your heads AND most importantly, how well we help our students get that information in their heads. It doesn’t matter how we dress.

What matters is our creativity, our ingenuity, our mastery of the material, our ability to make something boring fun or to make something challenging, if not easy, easy enough to understand. What we say matters. What we do matters. What we look like, simply does not. Our clothes can, and should represent who we are. I’m a jeans and t-shirt guy. There are likely suit and tie people and tie-dyed dress people and wearing what makes us comfortable, affords us a level of comfort that passes on to the students. You know, the people who matter here.

Honestly, for the most part, we don’t pay any attention to what anyone at work with is wearing. I mean, the year of sweat pants thing was noticeable because it was different. If he showed up on day one dressed that way, we wouldn't have cared. Unless someone shows up dressed like a furry, no one should really pay it any mind. Although, that would be fucking amazing if someone started to teach dressed as a racoon. That would make people come to class, on time, and excited to learn about physics.

Really, though, and let’s be honest, this isn’t about men. It all comes down to the fact that the president is uncomfortable with the bodies of the women on campus. He didn’t care about sweatpants McGee nor would he care if I showed up in parachute pants and did a whole dance routine a ’la M.C. Hammer. This is not about the way we all look. It is about the way women look. It is my contention that his old white man conservative repression stresses him out when a woman shows some ankle, so a bra strap makes him have a fit. He says he doesn’t think “jeans are professional” but what he means is, “I can see a bit of your bare lower back above the waist of your jeans and that make want to leer.”

Dude. Get over yourself. You are not a hormonal 12-year-old. The Mike Pencification of women’s bodies has to stop. If you seriously can’t handle seeing an armpit, then maybe you shouldn't be in charge of higher education. People are not dressed a certain way for you. It isn't about you.

You don't seem to have any problem with the women on the volleyball team wearing skintight pants that are affectionately known as bun huggers. If you want to worry about a dress code maybe fix that one. Maybe get them in regular shorts and have them wear their underwear underneath their uniform.

Could it be you don't care about that because you actually love seeing those women's bodies are on display? Could it be that you don't see them as scholars and athletes but you see them as entertainment? The difference between them and the woman in the Math department with thigh high boots and a short skirt is that you can't openly ogle her without being called a creep but you can stare for hours at the women jumping up and down in tight shirts and pants.

Seriously. Ug. Grow up dude. Grow the fuck up.

[crownamedblue]

Hey, let’s talk about aesthetics

(Written for a school newspaper)

To the readers of the Chariot,

In case you haven’t gone outside recently, surprise, it’s cold. I know, shocker. This- I’d hope- would inspire a change in aesthetics for some. For the purposes of this article, aesthetics are to be defined by a certain look, mood, or vibe. This means it applies to clothes, accessories, and anything else that can be decorated, modified, or chosen specifically. This also means that any and all adults most likely stopped reading the second they saw the word “vibe.” For those that stuck around, I’m not sorry, this isn’t for you, and very little of this will make sense. That being said, let’s talk about some killer fall/winter aesthetics. 

First on the list, inspired by my recent love of sweaters, is Academia as a whole. Academia, as a descriptor, is defined by being related to college or further scholarship. Academia, as an aesthetic, is defined by little london boy being sent to private school, among many other things. We’ll begin with the fit, see here at least two layers, usually a sweater over a button down. Color tones are usually browns in combination with darker shades. Jewelry, specifically in shades of gray, is always appreciated, and books of some kind are necessary. The aesthetic is versaille, ranging from scruffy rebel still forced to wear the uniform, to loner art kid with fingertips stained with charcoal/graphite, to preppy charismatic leader who may or may not be the villain of the story.

Next off is Halloween! It’s Halloween season and I refuse to admit anything otherwise. My friend you need black, you need orange, you need purple. Mon amie you’re gonna need some fake blood and an absurd amount of makeup. No I don’t care that it’s September, it’s Halloween season. Wear those fake teeth! Those black cat thigh highs are necessary! That witch hat headband does not violate the dress code! (it very well actually might, and I hereby deny any and all responsibility that comes from the making of this statement) It is spooky season and I will not shut up about it, we diehard fans of Halloween are the only thing that stops Christmas from encroaching even further. You cower behind our DIY costumes, as we collectively confront the horde of snowmen. We and our “needless obsession for spirit Halloween” make up the STALWART SHIELD PROTECTING YOU NON-BELIEVERS FROM THE JOLLY RED MAN AND HIS HORDE OF ELVES. WE WILL NOT STAND DOWN, WE WILL NOT SHUT UP, WE WILL DEFEND THE HALLOWEEN SPIRIT, BOTH THE AESTHETIC, THE SPECTER, AND THE POP-UP STORE! Ahem…

I got really excited about the first two, as they are my favorites. Not nearly as much detail will be given for the rest, but y’all have instagram and TikTok, It’s not as if they’re hard to find. Starting off with Goblin-core, meaning greens and browns and ratty clothing. Congratulations, your compulsion to grab random things that you personally think are cool can now be spun as “dedication to the aesthetic.” There’s grunge, needing a band tshirt, a flannel, and jeans. Next up is goth, all black, all the silver, all the time. May I introduce to you corvid-core: goblin core in random items, but all black and well put together in clothing. Also on the list is cryptid-core, because mothman is cool and everyone needs to appreciate that. Everyone also needs to appreciate simple eye imagery and all sorts of other cryptids. Just for the men, it’s “straight?” where the fit is fire, you’re wearing jewelry/nail polish, and you look too good for people to fully believe that you’re hetero. For those looking to achieve this look, ask your girlfriend for advice on what to wear. For those who are rather decidedly not straight, try queer-core, where anything and everything works, so long as it looks amazing and is a little bit weird. Under this aesthetic falls different colored makeup, mashups of other styles, and subtly/not so subtly incorporating the colors of whatever your current identity is. You’re valid and I love your earrings. 

Fair warning, looking up these different aesthetics can and will push your algorithm into wanting to give you more ideas. This article is mostly just meant to start your journey into all that, there’s so much more to find outside of this specific instance. If we’re looking for more ideas still, here’s just the names of some more aesthics: cabincore, adventurecore, cottagecore, skatewear, Victorian, glitchcore, fallwear, pink goth, white goth, ska, androgynous, steampunk, cyberpunk, biker, pastel core, carnivalcore, casinocore, fairycore, femfatalle, feral, emo, indie, punk, and electroswing. There are still so many more I’ve yet to mention. What this means is that you have no excuse to just wear a sweatshirt and basketball shorts. Please, I’m begging you, no more basketball shorts, enough is enough, you’re giving high school boys a bad name. They’ve already ruined their image, you don’t need to add to that. Regardless of what you wear or what aesthetic you ascribe to, be confident in yourself. You deserve it. Last but not least, don’t forget that WE ARE THE ONLY THING PROTECTING YOU FROM THOSE BELLS JING-A-LINGING, AND WE WILL DIE BEFORE THAT COOKIE EATER SHOWS HIS SORRY FACE BEFORE OCTOBER. 

-Sincerely, Blue

[theuniquestore]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Essentials Pink Chenille Crew Pull Over Long Sleeve Sweater Size L.

[comedywalkwalk]

Welcome to an EXTREMELY late…episode? Post? Whatever this is. It’s day three of Comedy Walk! Walk! And due to scheduling issues I had to make my walk at night instead of my normal morning routine. Regardless, I’m still here to make my post! Progress, not perfection.

For whatever reason it’s so incredibly difficult to find any clips of this episode that I can post to this blog, so instead I posted one of the songs featured on todays episode. As always, I’ll be listing all of the music played throughout the episode at the end of the post.

Todays episode was more of the same, an odd ball of unmolded clay unsure of what it wanted to truly become. We’re still in the Indie 103.1 days so the episode again feels more like a classic radio comedy show compared to current day CBB. This episode feature Jackie Clarke (Superstore) Greg Behrendt (He’s Just Not That Into You) Nick Thune (Venom, apparently?) and another “episode” of Doug Loves Movies featuring Doug Benson.

Jackie Clarke is the first female comedian to pop up on the show, which they are quick to poke fun at and quickly start talking about crude subjects like pubes just because. Greg Behrendt comes on to discuss his book? Maybe? He and Scott mostly discuss music and playing live shows as Greg recently (at the time of the recording at least) formed and was playing with a ska/surf rock band called The Reigning Monarchs (first featured on yesterdays episode!)

It’s at this moment I got one of the best little bit of information about Scott Aukerman that I’m not even sure is researchable in any way, and who knows if there is any validity to this since Scott is known to be very sarcastic but he claims that he was originally a co-lead singer for No Doubt, but quit because he didn’t think it was a right fit for him. Now this COULD have been a joke however Jackie and Greg quickly ask Scott for the details and Scott says he’d rather not talk about it on air but would tell them later which leads me to believe it’s true. The world may never know…

Anyways, the episode concludes with some Twitter questions that again don’t generate as much conversation as Scott was probably hoping at the time (something I’m sure I’ll say a lot for these first few episodes) Nick Thune does a few of his rapid fire one liner jokes over guitar, and Doug Benson calls in to review “Angels and Demons” the sequel to “The Davinci Code” which Doug describes and “incredibly boring, it out does The Davinci Code in boringocity”

As for the walk, due to my work schedule I wasn’t able to go for my walk until around 8pm so I walked most of my trail in the dark. The cold night air was a refreshing change of pace, and having the park to myself is nice, but I felt uneasy about being there so late and I felt like I was in a rush to leave to avoid being hassled by the police for being in a park at dark or something.

Overall todays walk kind of outweighed todays episode, but when you average the two together I’d still have to give todays walk as well as Episode 3 of Comedy Death Ray…a 3 out of 5.

Songs featured in todays episode:

Theme song from Monty Pythons: The Life of Brian

Don’t Stop or We’ll Die - “Austin and Ace”

Tenacious D - I’m not sure what song this was they cut most of it out and Scott never says the track only Tenacious D

The New Sheridans - “Blayne”

The Reigning Monarchs - “Fanfare for the Well Dressed Man”

The Lonely Island - “Punch You in the Jeans”

Hulk Hogan and The Wrestling Boot Band - “I Wanna Be a Hulkomaniac”

[ciyapaofficial]

Clothes You Should Avoid Wearing To Work

Every occasion demands different types of clothing and your clothes tell a lot about your personality. The choices of clothing you make can either bring your personality up or down. Whatever you choose to wear, do not forget to add a few t-shirts to your closet that matches each pair of pants in your wardrobe shop the t-shirts combo offer for men for Ciyapa, they have bright and vibrant colors that can complement other clothes in your closet.

As we mentioned above, every occasion demands a different form of attire that is appropriate for the event.

There are certain rules that you should follow at your work, no matter if your boss asked you to follow some specific rules for the dress code or not. This is for you, following disciplines is important to enhance your personality as well as enhance your work quality. So, let’s see what kind of clothing you should stop wearing at work:

Avoid Rugged Or Casual Jeans

Rugged jeans may be in trend and I also love to wear them as it gives a casual smart look. But too casual rugged jeans are not an appropriate article for work. A study shows that employees who dress in suit coats or straight-fit jeans perform better than those who wear just casual clothes. If you still want to wear jeans, opt for straight pants with plain shirts or solid t-shirts.

Avoid Flip-Flops

You should be appreciated at work if you working well, and flip-flops are definitely going to limit your appreciation. Flip-flops show your untidy toenails and cracked heels that are not going to get you anywhere but embarrassing. Always wear shoes that cover your foot and look professional.

Avoid Crop Tops

Crop tops are a statement of fashion, but anything that is appropriate for a party is definitely not suitable clothing for work. Crop tops are definitely a not soo good choice for office wear. In short, avoid anything that goes against professionalism.

Avoid Pajamas

A big no-no to wearing pajamas at the workplace. It seems like you just rolled out of bed and went straight to work, which indicates that you don’t actually care. Making an effort to dress appropriately for the day will make others take you seriously.

Avoid Dominating Perfume Fragrances

Irrespective of how beautiful the smell is, you want to be recognized for your work, not your perfume. Wear only a small spray of cologne if you want so the fragrance isn’t dominating. “You don’t want people sneezing when you enter a room.

There are some other things that you should avoid but do not avoid your comfort buy t-shirts combo offer for men that you can wear at work and absolutely any occasion you like.

Visit Website.

[euphiea]

I'm still waiting for part 2. of the anchor (jisoo x reader)

anon did you give it a name *}*}+]£{€}~* I AM SO WEAK

a/n (07/31/22): IM SOOO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS. It’s been months sorry

pairing: kim jisoo of blackpink x fem!reader

warnings: degradation, facetime sex, public masturbation

1.

The morning after is just like any other. You wake up with stickiness between your legs, take an hour or three to freshen up, and meet Jisoo downstairs for breakfast.

The penthouse is a comfortable environment, the subtle wealth type. You walk in and it doesn’t seem like much, but the plain vase to your right is worth thousands of dollars.

The windows serve as its own wall, stretch all the way to the high ceiling of the second floor. The view is gorgeous, the best money can buy in Seoul. You’ve never been to any of her other residences, but judging from the selfies and photos she’d send you while visiting, the view is absolutely breathtaking.

Dark mahogany wood floors that are always cool to the touch no matter the weather, black, luxury italian sofa that’s custom made and worth more than your tuition, on the walls are pretty paintings of women, and meadows. Jisoo’s eye for aesthetics is truly admirable.

You brush past the kitchen door and take two long strides to the closest seat at the dining table; your assigned seat, across from Jisoo, who’s chewing a piece of meat and rice, and her assistant, Jennie, whose polite and proper tone hurts to listen to.

She’s a woman of fair height and long black hair, she sports a middle part and rarely wears it in a bun. Jisoo finds dress codes for hair unnecessary, a woman came in with neon green hair and she didn’t bat an eyelash. She took a picture and showed it to you, said the color would look nice on you.

Jennie’s work attire is your typical Friday Morning outfit, blue jeans and a nice, cream colored blouse with white heels. She doesn’t spare a glance in your direction when you walk in or sit down, doesn’t even pause her ramblings to acknowledge your existence. She doesn’t like you that much.

“Applications for the internship program opened this morning,” Jennie says, tapping away at her phone, “So far two hundred people have applied. It’ll be a lot to look through.”

Meanwhile Jisoo’s face is still covered with some white mask, the sleeves of her baby pink fleece robe are pushed up to her elbows, and her hair’s tied in a bun. She doesn’t like to eat after getting dressed.

“Obviously- Fuck!” Jisoo hisses, steam arising from her bosom where coffee was spilled. She snatches the napkin Jennie hands her and dabs at her skin with it.

She’s a messy eater.

You’re watching all of this go down while taking tiny bites of the sunny side egg atop your rice. You’re not planning on eating the entire spread, just enough to settle you until lunch with your friends. Today’s a big day, possibly the biggest day of your life, and it isn’t even the meat of the situation.

“-The boys are in it for the money, the girls are probably- jittering with fucking excitement,” She sighs and places the damp napkin on the table.

“Why do you say that?”

“Tech is ruled by men. Believe me, those boys have an opportunity when they round a corner. No matter how incompetent and insignificant they are.”

She has a point. She speaks from her own experiences climbing to the top, a far but short journey considering she’s still so young. Jisoo’s voice is soft, but it’s what makes her words all the more hurtful. Is that how she would describe you? Incompetent and insignificant?

“Are you going somewhere?”

Jennie’s heels are clacking away from the table as she speaks, so you’re not entirely certain Jisoo’s talking to you until she’s calling your name as Jennie’s coming back.

“Hello? Are you ignoring me?” Jisoo snaps her fingers twice. “You’re gonna eat my food without addressing me?”

You place your chopsticks down. You’re suddenly not hungry anymore.

“Are you sure you should be eating? You have dress fittings today don’t you?”

Jennie’s snide remark morphs your neutral expression into a sour mug. She likes making remarks regarding your appearance, whether it be your face or the clothes you wear. Jealousy can be quite annoying, but you understand. You’d be jealous too if you had to work nonstop for a check, meanwhile a girl that just waltzed in and batted long, false eyelashes gets bags of Cartier dropped on their doorstep.

Her bittersweet tone fits her doll-like features. If you didn’t know any better, she’d easily fool you, trick you into forgetting how despicable she truly is.

Your tongue prods at your cheek. “I’m not the one paying you to be in my business.”

Jennie’s sweet smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “What exactly do you pay for?”

Right, you were anticipating she’d say that. Jennie has a jealousy problem, to keep it short. The necklaces she has to pick up from different stores are the same ones perfectly fitted to your neck. The skirts you wear could cover the bills she pays living in a flat downtown, each skirt paying off another month.

You get paid millions, get so many nice things, everything you could ever want—just for being pretty. Really, the sex work was a mistake, you got drunk on the first night, made Jisoo pass out, and she offered you a number one hundred times your age to do it again.

You have multiple modeling agencies and brands begging for your signature. Though the private school you go to for Fashion is nice, you were just offered a full ride scholarship to FIT in New York, and you’re still so enthusiastic for school. Your publicity ratings were high before Jisoo, but they’ve sky rocketed.

Your outfit for the day, too, for example. A mini dark washed denim skirt with a wide belt snug against your hips. The denim is rough, vintage, and has only a little stretch to it. It’s freezing outside, so you’re wearing white leg warmers with your white camel boots. Your shiny velour cropped jacket is white, and fits snug against your skin. Faux fur decorates the wrists and hem of the hood. On the back in bright silver rhinestones writes BRATZ.

The zipper is pulled down to show off the silver Vivienne Westwood red heart necklace and reveal the soft skin between your tits. Your earrings match the pendant of the necklace. Underneath the fur on your left wrist is an iced out diamond rolex, sitting heavy.

This is actually your cheapest outfit, free except for the two dollar SHEIN leg warmers because they were all gifts from brands. A follower requested this out of you.

You’d be mad too if you were in Jennie’s position.

You eye the woman. “Do you have enough money to brag about spending it?”

Your phone buzzes in your purse—a White Crocodile Himalaya Birkin, delivered to you personally—and you shoot up from your seat. Jennie’s face contorts to a look of disgust. Jisoo hasn’t spoken a word, doesn’t even look the slightest bit of fazed by Jennie’s actions, and it stings. You can handle your own, though, and fairly well at that. That’s all that matters, you suppose.

She didn’t even say good morning to you.

When the front door closes shut and it’s just the two of them, Jennie looks down to her boss, who’s still peacefully chewing a piece of beef. She hums.

“She’s so mean to me.”

When all she gets in response is obnoxious slurping out of a coffee mug, she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

“Do you have any idea why? Why she doesn’t like me?”

Jisoo abruptly sets her mug down, white cream sits light on her lips. She stands from her chair; her hips sway as she pads out of the kitchen.

—&—

There is quite the difference between Expensive and Luxury stores. Expensive stores are typical, just about anyone can go in and stay in, if you have a few hundred or few hundred thousand to spend it’s a comfortable experience. Gucci, Prada, Chanel—expensive stores.

Luxury stores, on the other hand, are quiet. You won’t know something is off until you check an item and there are no price tags. Until you find a purse with one and the zeros form their own phone number.

You learnt this whilst shopping with Jisoo for the first time. A store you’ve never heard of, never seen any advertisements for even in the piles of magazines you read for research on the whole sugar baby thing.

When you got there, there weren’t many clothes on wracks. There were a plethora of bags, purses, and shoes, but clothes for the most part sat on black mannequins. You were worried about the clothes not fitting; none of the items you wanted seemed to be your size, and you had already bought five different pairs of shoes.

Well, you didn’t buy it, didn’t even bring your wallet. However, that’s not the point.

When Jisoo returned from whatever small room a manager pulled her in, you told her your dilemma. You could count the seconds on one hand for how long it took for a worker to approach and measure you. Apparently clothes were made specifically for the buyer, the mannequins were just models.

The store was noticeably quiet, the buzzing in your ears was louder than any conversation held in the store.

Luxury is silent. Expensive is just expensive, it’s general, just about anybody can buy expensive.

The store you’re in now is an expensive one. Music is easy on the speakers, necklaces and rings glitter in their glass cases, doing a better job than the lights at keeping the store well lit.

“(Y/N), we’re so early,” Comes the disembodied whine of your friend, Frenchie, “Ooh! Maybe we can have brunch?”

Frenchie is one of your insanely pretty friends, quite popular on her own for her visuals and reputation. She’s 6’2, has glowing, dark medium brown skin that’s always so moisturized. She has a little bit of everything, you’d say. Curvy waist, noticeable pudge in her stomach, thighs thick for her tall body. She has an income comparable to official escorts from stripping, so of course her ass and tits are amazing.

You met three years ago while she was completing an internship with Vivienne Westwood. She plans to start her own modeling agency one day, goes to school at FIT for it. You asked her where she came from, and she said half a house in Golfport, Mississippi.

“So how the hell are you paying tuition?”

“I’m a stripper.”

Together, your friendship added fuel to the fire of controversies surrounding sex workers. You being the private, mysterious character you are kept silent about your thoughts.

You included Frenchie in everything. You love her, and you express this to the world in short videos of your daily life. You go with her everywhere, smile so big with her, sometimes it’s just no context screenshots of your private conversations, like you asking her for her spanish notes.

Funnily enough, Frenchie’s only an exotic dancer. You’re the one licking pussy for money.

You’re currently in one of the store’s changing rooms, shimmying into dresses fitted for you. Days before, Jisoo handed you the list of shops you’re allowed to go to for this dress, demanded that you do not stray from the list.

She sent the stores on the list your measurements, and had three specific dresses fitted for you. You’re on the third store, and so far each dress is absolutely gorgeous. You’re not sure how Jisoo expects you to be able to pick.

Since she was so nice to pay, you take your favorite dress from the trio and keep it for yourself. So far you’ve done this with two stores. A treat, just for fun.

Monty, another friend of yours, grunts. “Man I look good as hell. Should I cuff the ankles?”

“No.”

“The fuck? Is there a fucking issue?”

You met Monty by mistake. He’s a long friend of Tyler The Creator’s, an anonymous painter that gets paid quite the salary for his work. He has thick black locs that flow down his face, has beautiful midnight skin that he takes awfully good care of. Monty’s wealth comes from smart investments and songwriting credits.

You chuckle to yourself before re-adverting your attention to your figure in the mirror. If you had to describe the cut of the dress, you’d only have one word: Tinkerbell.

It sparkles the same, but it’s a deep plum rather than leafy green. The dress comes with two equally sparkling sleeves to match, stopping right at your bicep. Dazzling pearls with a diamond saturn sat in the middle, dangling diamond earrings gleaming. Around your right finger is a diamond ring with a vibrant, deep blue gemstone. Meant to represent Neptune.

You’re in love with it. You’re just not sure if it’s appropriate to wear under a graduation gown.

You hear the rapid buzzing coming from your phone, and you’re quick to dig through your purse and grab it. You answer without looking at the contact, already knowing who it is.

Jisoo stares back at you resting her head on her hand, pretty brown eyes as dark and cold as ever. She’s in her office, this you can tell from the warm early afternoon glow shining so perfectly on her sandy skin.

“Let me see the dress.”

You position the phone to stand straight against your purse, and then back away. You show her the view from the back first, wrist on your hip, eyes looking behind your shoulder. You cooly turn your front to the camera, and take your time dragging your gloved hands up your sides.

Jisoo gives a small hum of approval. “Beautiful. You like this one?”

You nod. “But ‘m not sure if it’ll work.”

The casual conversation in the background drowns out your voice. You’re glad you had enough sense to plug your airpods in before you answered her call.

“Nonsense. It’s perfect. Turn around, I need to see how far it rides up.”

You follow her orders with ease; turn back around, and slowly slide down the front of your legs. A shiver wracks up your spine at the crudeness of it, bending over for your sugar mama in a dressing room.

You don’t mean to be dirty minded. There are times where Jisoo can’t stand how quick your mind is to go to the gutter, but you honestly can’t help it. She’s just so attractive to you. Sure, she’s bitchy sometimes, but it’s easy to forget that when you feel your panties dampening while you’re watching her conduct meetings.

You’d do it a million times over, bending over for her. You wish Jisoo was here to bend you over herself. You wish she wanted to bend you over herself.

“Pretty. Take one step out for me.”

You use your right leg to follow her directions. You don’t feel the dress ride up on your thighs, amazing considering how short it is. Perfectly cut, you’d say. That’s what Jisoo pays for.

“Good. Doesn’t ride up, and it’s little too. It compliments you.”

Jisoo’s compliments are so rare, and so genuine. She’s assertive, speaks them in a way she knows you’ll hear, and never doubt. There was a time she walked in on you curling your wig, and praised you for having a good eye on styling. Yes, praised, because Jisoo’s compliments are nothing short of praises. You love when she praises you.

“Ji-Jisoo..”

“Oh? Already?”

A small, nearly inaudible whimper comes through the speaker, and she remains still, staring you down with the same eyes she greeted you with.

Her silence stretches on, seconds feel like minutes, and as each one ticks by your breath gets heavier and heavier. When your brain, slowly turning to mush, counts to five, you speak.

“I’m wearing.. the panties you bought me.”

Jisoo blinks. Her black bangs fall in her face.

“And?”

You whine. Slowly sliding the glittery dress up your hips, you deepen the arch in your back. Half of you prays she can’t see how bad your pussy is jumping, but the other half knows she knows what she does to you.

When the dress is bundled at your waist, you place your hands on your thighs. Jisoo lifts her head with a low hum, as if bored.

The panties in question came in a set, but you didn’t wear the bra. It’s a deep, crimson red thong, made of soft cotton. The black haired woman squints, immediately causing you to shiver.

“Are you wet?”

“No—“ You gasp, reaching a hand back to cover your pussy, “—I’m not, I promise. I just wanted to show you—“

“—Shut up. Move it to the side.”

You pinch your lips shut. Looking over your shoulder is putting an uncomfortable strain in your shoulder, but you don’t want to look away. You pull your panties to the side as instructed and use two fingers to spread your pussy lips. Her expression doesn’t change, remains blank and bored. She’s watching, though. She hasn’t blinked.

Even in the dim brown lights of the dressing room, your pussy glistens and glitters as it beats.

“Liar. You’re making a mess on your nails,” Jisoo sighs, lays her head in her hand again, “Play with it.”

Eager, you drop your fingers down to your clit.

As the store’s speakers play filler music and your two friends debate on the best place to eat, you’re leaned over a chair, biting your moans into your arm. It’s like a dream come true, you were just wishing for this exact scenario. Well, wishing is an understatement. Jisoo finally putting her issues to the side and touching you is a fantasy in a daydream, from how much you think about it.

Pleasure sits heavy at the pit of your stomach, travels on your skin in the form of a million tiny little ants. The fear of getting caught is too potent to let anything slip, so you bite harder, and pray your setting spray works.

“Whiny girl. Does it feel good?”

Your knees buckle, you use the arm in your mouth to catch yourself, causing a sharp gasp to tumble out. The accident has your cheeks burning hot, hell you can feel the steam blow out of your ears. You bite the inside of your lips as you nod, eyes pinched shut.

“You’re so easy, look how wet your pussy is. Don’t you think you play with it enough?”

Your jaw slacks against your will, you bite to keep your mouth closed. You play with it more than enough, more than you should. You’re always touching yourself, she’s walked in on you multiple times. You can’t help it. Even looking at her sometimes is enough to get you whining. As the pleasure in your gut builds, you press on your clit and slow your pace. Pure bliss wracks your body in waves and you’re rocking your hips by this point. Jisoo watches you chase after it, can tell you’re close just by the way your eyebrows pinch.

“Prettiest girl in the world. Can you make it cum for me?”

It’s becoming increasingly hard to stay silent. Your breath comes out of your nose in short, hot pants. A low moan hums in your throat, and it dissatisfies Jisoo.

“C’mon, baby, do I need to pay you? How much? Give me a number.”

Your body tenses up, and then the feeling that’s been building in your gut suddenly tips over. Your release hits you hard, has your legs visibly trembling.

“There it is, good girl—“ Her voice is so strained, you can’t help but notice it, “—Knew you wanted my money. Look at how pretty that pussy leaks for it.”

A knock on the door causes your legs to give out. You fall to the ground with a shout, and familiar voice on the other side yelps.

“Goddamn girl, you good? Have you picked a dress?”

Frenchie’s voice comes through the wooden doors. You tap your airpods twice to hang up the phone as you slide your panties back into position.

“Yeah, I found one!” You shout, and Frenchie’s head peaks over the door. Her tattooed hands hover over her closed eyes, careful not to touch her long lashes. Of course, she’s taller than the stall door, taller than most. It’s cute, you snatch your phone from behind you with your non-soiled hand and slide over to snap a quick picture.

“Okay, let me know when I can look.”

“Okay.”

You lock your phone, but it lights up again with a notification.

ACCOUNT XXXXXXXXXX228: ₩ 1,302,993,400 WAS TRANSFERRED INTO YOUR ACCOUNT.

When your head finally digests the number, you become consciously aware of the warm cum and wetness beating at your pussy lips.

Face heating up, you cough. “Let’s do seafood for lunch.”

[moonctzeny]

love to hate me

request:  celebrity! jaehyun + enemies to lovers + “don’t you want to know how i feel?”

pairing: friends to enemies to lovers! jaehyun x female reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff... this fic has it all folks

word count:  7.514k

warnings: toxic behaviour, public sex, light restraining, jaehyun pulls a ‘white boy punching the wall’ at some point 

summary: “You and Jaehyun meet as SM trainees, developing a friendship until he debuts and you deicde to leave the company and pursue a solo career. When you reunite again in a music show and he acts like he barely knows you, you stubbornly begin a series of hate-brimmed sex rendez-vous. Your touch-and-go relationship continues on, until a song collaboration will force you both to deal with all your repressed feelings for each other”

a/n: this is the longest it has ever taken me to finish a fic.. I have a love-hate relationship with this (no pun intended XD). I hope whoever requested this likes it!

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

Of-fucking-course you had to bump into him out of all people at the vending machine. All you wanted was a drink to refresh you before you got up on stage, and now you have to deal with Mr. Too Good For This World and his relentless teasing. His eyes, lit up by an amusement that was also evident in his smirk, stayed glued on your body, raking up and down at it for a second too long. Not that you didn’t like it.

“Stare much?”, you bark at him in hopes of snapping him out of his trance, and push through him to punch in the code of your favorite drink. But alas, he always had a comeback ready on the edge of his lips.

“You look ridiculous”, he states and you have to admit that your outfit, though fitting for the Halloween special of today’s music show, was way different than anything else he had ever seen you in. Reincarnated as Dorothy Gale for the night, your stylists had chosen a short, light blue checkered dress, with red stilettos that gave a sexy twist to the character’s ruby slippers. Hair neatly braided in two pigtails, decorated by ribbons and topped off by glittery pink makeup. The image of innocence. Jaehyun had to laugh.

“Says the man dressed up as Woody”

It was unfair, you admitted, how good he looked in that stupid outfit. His hair was gelled back, a few strands framing his handsome face strategically. The yellow shirt fitted him like a glove, its bright colour lighting him up as well. And those jeans, tight in all the right places, just melted over the muscles of his thighs. The ones that you’ve come undone on one too many times.

“So”, he lilts, giving you a once over before lowering both the volume and pitch of his voice, “want a ride?”

You scoff, sparing him an incredulous look, “on what horse, cowboy?”

He doesn’t reply, only points with his eyes to his crotch that is undeniably sporting a visible tent, and you gasp when you see the outline of his dick twitching under your stare.

“Jesus Christ, Jaehyun”, you mutter with a disgusted look on your face before picking up the almost forgotten beverage that the vending machine had barfed out for you. The boy mentioned, however, was unfazed.

“They don’t call me Woody for nothing”

Almost choking at the drink that was supposed to calm you down, you catch his eyes rolling at you through your third cough. Well, that ruins one of your favourite childhood movies. “Don’t pretend to be a prude. Now are we going to fuck before you get on stage of not?”

You can clearly remember the first time you met Jung Jaehyun alone. You always spotted him somewhere in the SM buildings, joking around with his future bandmates, barely ever without company. As a fellow vocal trainee, he introduced himself to you as Yoonoh, filling up the awkward silence while your vocal teacher prepared the music sheets for the both of you to rehearse.

You were thankful the two of you always got paired up together. Jaehyun was charming, easy to be around, funny. He was a model SM trainee with the otherworldly looks he possessed, almost impossible for anyone’s eyes not to follow him when he entered a room. Radiant porcelain skin, soft brown locks, and a dimpled smile that made your heart melt in seconds.

You can also clearly remember the first time you had the privilege of hearing him sing. Jaehyun had a beautiful baritone voice, one that contradicted his flower boy image but matched his manly personality perfectly. The four walls of the small practice room resonated with his sound, that was stable and smooth like honey. The lessons were challenging but Jaehyun made them bearable through spending time with him. Maybe it was your shared struggles, or how you were always tired and vulnerable when you saw him. Maybe it was those damned dimples, but your heart always beat faster when you were around him.

“Sometimes I get discouraged”, he confides in you in that same room, hours later, early into the morning now. The vocal lesson stretched on longer than expected, leaving you two sitting on the floor, sharing a cup of lemon-honey tea to soothe your vocal chords. You let your head rest to the leather couch behind you as you stare into his handsome features one by one. What time was it? Shouldn’t you be back at your dorms by now? It didn’t matter, this was one of those moments when time seems to stop and life seems unreal. When the only thing that you care about is the person standing next to you, and whatever it is they have to tell you.

 “I fear that I will never get to debut. There’s handsome guys all over the company. I just don’t know if my skills are enough.”  

You thought he was crazy for thinking that way, wanted to scream at him that he’s just perfect and more than enough for the company, or for anything in this world for that matter. But Jaehyun was reserved, the type to always mask his true feelings behind a smile and you were more than glad that he finally opened up to you, that he saw you as someone trustworthy. You didn’t want to dismiss his feelings, so you just pet his hair while you listened to his concerns.

 As you mindlessly gaze at the rainy weather outside, a couple of droplets following their own path down the froggy window remind you that time does run by. Even if every day seemed the same, following the same routine, going to the same classes over and over again.

Jaehyun had this sad look that contorted his pretty face and you hated it, reaching up to massage away the wrinkles between his eyebrows. You don’t know which godly creature made the hourglass of time freeze this moment, nor did you know why Jaehyun leaned forward to capture your lips into a kiss. Maybe it was his way of saying thank you for keeping your ears and heart open for him, for listening to him when he needed it most.

It felt so lovely while it lasted, two young people leaning on each other during an uncertainty that anchored them far away from their emotional shoreline. But life as a trainee isn’t a fairytale and falling in love can have serious ramifications. So you promise to each other that this will be a one time thing, and then you never speak of this night ever again.

Unsurprisingly enough, Jaehyun got to successfully debut, yet you didn’t have the same luck. The company had plans of focusing on their new boy group, thus postponing your debut for an uncertain amount of time. It was hard for you to decide to switch labels, to throw away the years of hope and dedication you had pinned on this company but the faith you placed on yourself was stronger.

It’s years later when you finally get to promote as a solo artist in a different company, and you are happy to say that the decision you made all those years ago was the right one. The exposure you got wasn’t the same as being in a Big 3 company, however leaving SM entertainment has its pros. Flexible schedule, less scrutiny, great creative freedom over your work. 

This wasn’t the first time you have come across your old trainee buddy. Jaehyun had multiple comebacks in a year, so it was only natural that his group’s and your promotions would sometimes overlap. You were only a rookie, and NCT turned out to become pretty popular, so of course the wins were always tied to their names.

The first time you walked past him in the hallways, dark makeup and professional styling making you both almost unrecognizable, you expected a wave, small talk, maybe some reminiscing of the old times. Instead, you got a cold stare or at best, an arrogant smirk coupled with a “Do better next time”. It was shocking to you how much Yoonoh, the boy with the shy smile and awkward social skills, would turn into such a stranger.

How you always ended up sneaking out with him to have a quickie in one of the ready rooms, was beyond you. He rushed you inside before checking both sides of the hallway, cautious to hide from any curious eyes. The coast was clear and Jaehyun doesn’t like to waste time, so he pins you against the door he just closed behind him, face dipped in your neck. You can feel his fingers dancing on the skin of your thighs, eager to explore what is hidden under your frilly skirt, and their delicacy in contrast to his feverish kisses sends a shiver down your spine.

One pretty whine from your lips, then two, three and you can feel Jaehyun smile deviously against your neck. The softness is too enticing for him to resist, so he nips at it skillfully, trying to get a reaction out of you. He recognizes that you have plenty of talent as a singer, yet the symphonies you sing out for him in those little sessions seem to be his favorite.

“Jaehyun, cut it out. I’m going on stage in like, 20 minutes”

“Turn me on then”

Wasn’t he the one that basically flashed you in the middle of the cafeteria for just existing? Isn’t it his hard on that digs against your lower stomach? The demand made you mad, and you wanted nothing more than to entice him with a nice blowjob, only to take a big, strong bite off that cock of his. But see, you had a full face of makeup on and your career is way more important than a fuckboy, so you’ll have to get creative.

Flipping him around so that he’s the one trapped between you and the door, you start to suck on his collarbones , then nibble at the tender flesh. He seems distracted enough by it so that you open the button of his jeans and fully remove his belt from their loops with no objections. Palming him over his boxers to keep him entranced, you manage to bring his wrists together, wrapping the leather around them, then lastly fastening them in place.

His eyes widen in shock when he realizes that he’s too late, wiggling his hands in a futile attempt to free himself. Your laugh is sadistic, making the hairs on his arms stand on edge and you gloat in the effect you have on him. 

Giving your palm a good lick, you form a ring with your fingers, wrapping them around the base of his member. He hisses and drops his head back, thudding loudly against the wall. His cock enlarges and reddens as you move your hand up and down, changing the pressure according to his reactions. Jaehyun isn’t one to express himself freely but there is not much he can do to stop the low moans leaving his lips. Not when you rub circles over his tip with the soft skin of your palm.

He looks so fucking good, all squirmy and desperate and trying to hold himself from saying ‘please’. You almost want to keep going, squeeze him more until he whines and begs to cum, and admire the white beads dripping from his slit and covering your hand. Almost.

You halt your movements with a last strong stroke, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare back at him. Jaehyun tentatively opens one eye to see why you have stopped, only to come across that bratty smile that he loves as much as he hates.

“You should have dressed up as a siren. Seducing people before they realize you are a man eating bitch”

“If you want someone to jerk you off you can go ask one of your little fangirls. I want to get fucked.”

“Let me go then. And you’ll wish you never did”

You scoff at his cockiness, nonchalantly freeing him from his constraints, and the way he immediately has a hold of your jaw reminds you of a predator eyeing its prey. His eyes have a crazy look in them, moving frantically over every part of your body like he can’t decide what to grab onto first. He decides on your hips, bending you over a table full of snacks and makeup tools and flyers of today’s schedule.

“You think it’s funny to tease me like that?”, he asks you with a peremptory voice that signifies you’d better shut up.

You hear shuffling behind you and assume it’s him slipping on a condom, so you make yourself more comfortable on the wooden surface. A hard slap on your ass jolts you alert.

“I asked you a fucking question”, Jaehyun presses brusquely and flips your skirt fully over your ass, pulling your panties down until they’re bunched up right over your knees.

“It’s fun”, you moan out, breathless both from the pleasure and the stinging feeling on your right cheek, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Was the room occupied by one of the artists that have already been on stage? Or will they barge in at any moment to find you bent over and pussy dripping for Jaehyun to finally dive inside you? He chuckled at the sight of you, eyes feasting off your naked body, your ass up just the way he likes it. Not so innocent anymore, huh?

He doesn’t reply to you, aligning himself against your slit and bottoming out in one go instead. Involuntarily, you let out a small screech, the sudden stretch catching you off guard.

“You better stay quiet, siren. Or maybe you would like it if people found us like this? Saw how good you take my cock whenever I ask”

You wanted to bite back at him, but the only sound you could make was a guttural moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and you fall forward to bite your fist and force yourself to shut up. It was effective, yet Jaehyun had other plans for you, pulling your pigtails towards him in a strong grip that has you against his chest in seconds.

“Nuh, uh, uh, siren”, he hums in your ear, his panting making his voice sound huskier and smokier than ever, “How about trying to stay quiet by using your willpower alone? That way it’s more- how did you call it? Fun.” 

He slows down his pace momentarily, as if he’s giving you time to answer him. But the moment you open your mouth to talk back at him, he thrusts particularly hard inside you, forcing a whimper out of your lips.

“Fuck you, Jaehyun”

“As you wish”

Jaehyun was conceited and cocky and a dick, but he was also a good fuck. He kept at it with what seemed like all the energy in the world, fucking you against that table until you came all over him, and your legs gave out. It ended how it always did, with him moaning how fucking sexy you look and how much he hates you, and you swallowing your pride as you swallow his cum. You’d tell each other to fuck off and never bother the other again, until you meet up at the next comeback, to do this shit all over again.

And that’s how things would stay if it wasn’t for that goddamn phone call from your manager.

“...so we thought what better way to promote your new song by recording a duet with NCT’s Jaehyun?”

No, no, no this can’t be happening. No way. Anyone but him.

“Are you sure this is the only way we can promote me? Can’t I just go to variety programs like every other idol out there?”

“y/n, duets by different group members are one of the most efficient methods of promoting there is! And with NCT’s latest song topping the charts this will be a great opportunity for you. Taemin and Sunmi did it. Suzy and Baekhyun, Chanyeol and Punch-“

“Alright, okay, I get it”

“Besides, since you used to be an SM trainee they specifically asked for you. The directors made some pretty big compliments on your work”

Isn’t it a little too late now? Not like they didn’t have the chance to debut you, right? That being said, there isn’t much to oppose to decline SM’s offer; your manager is right and you know it. Saying no to Lee Sooman and giving up a popularity push like that is basically career suicide. Nor could you let your manager know about your and Jaehyun’s little adventures, minutes before you have to go on stage.

“Just send me the schedule. I don’t have to record with him, right?”

“Oh no, they’ll record his part first and then they’ll send it to us. But there will be a music video of course”

Oh for fuck’s sake.

There was this little monster of worriedness that was screaming inside your head, refusing to shut up. This collaboration isn’t going to be easy, but you didn’t want to let Jaehyun’s pettiness get in the way of your career. Fumbling with your phone in your hands, you kept removing and reinserting its case compulsively, over and over again, until you mustered the courage to take matters into your own hands.You knew his number was buried somewhere in your contacts.

you [16:35]: hey it’s me, y/n

Jung Yoonoh [16:50]: y/n who??

you [16:55]: y/n y/l/n? the girl whose guts you were inside in last week? we have a song coming up 😒

Jung Yoonoh [16:57]: oh y/n right

Jung Yoonoh [16:58]: thought you’d have deleted my number

Well you sure have deleted mine, you murmur with your blood boiling, regretting reaching out to him in the first place. 

you [16:59]: i always hoard peoples contacts

you [17:00]: old habits die hard i guess

Jung Yoonoh [17:00]: like the habit of me being inside your guts?

You gasp out after reading his last message, hands awkwardly juggling your phone until you’ve forced yourself to calm down. After waiting for a while, until your face has reached its previous temperature, you feel focused again, and type out your original intentions for this conversation.

you [17:05]: this isn’t what i texted you about.

you [17:07]: we have this project coming up and while I know we aren’t exactly on the best terms, this comeback is very important for me

you [17:08]: and i don’t want to fuck it up

Jung Yoonoh [17:10]: kitty cat, relax. maybe this is a brand new word for you but i know what professionalism is

you [17:10]: don’t you ever and i mean ever call me that again

you [17:11]: glad to see we are on the same page

You didn’t expect a message back, nor did you get one. All you could do from now on, was pray that the promotions would go smoothly and Jaehyun wouldn’t do anything stupid that would jeopardize your collaboration.

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

And the day you dreaded finally came. The first day of filming for the music video. 

You had already finished recording the song, a bittersweet balad about two lovers who lost their way, only for their paths to cross again. When you listened to the demo for the first time, it only took three notes from Jaehyun’s pre-recorded verse to spread goosebumps on your skin. His voice was deeper and even more developed than you remember. Long forgotten memories, shoved deep inside your brain so as not to leave a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, came flooding up again. But things have changed since then.

The sky was crying rain and lightning, fitting to the storm inside your head. Normally you'd be excited to film a music video, bubbling with energy and unable to contain a smile. Today, all you could do was let your teeth abuse the cuticles of your left thumb, until little drops of blood ruined the fresh manicure you got for the shoot. 

Following your manager inside the studio, you take a quick glance at all the props the creative directors have prepared. They were very intricate, filled with all different types of flowers everywhere. Some of the fake rooms looked like classrooms, two others were decorated like teenage bedrooms. It was a lot more than you have anticipated.

“The song will be part of a drama OST, that’s why the budget is higher than usual”, your manager tells you as if he was reading your mind. 

He leads you to the changing room, where you try on different outfits your stylist has chosen for you, while simultaneously being briefed on the concept of the music video. It’s kinda cheesy and cute, with you and Jaehyun posing as high-school students falling in love. Certain scenes of the drama, whose plot matches the music video’s, will intercept in between.

You’re seated on the makeup chair, sunk in the uneasiness caused by your co-star. Jaehyun had arrived a few minutes after you, his bare face more handsome than you’ve ever looked in your most glamorous state and you can’t help but stare at him. He is all polite smiles and bows to the staff, and even gives you a formal greeting. 

You’re not sure why you just can’t bring yourself to stop your legs from shaking as the makeup artist patiently tries to apply a rosy blush on your cheekbones. It’s like you’re scared that everyone will see right through the both of you, somehow enter your brain and find out that you’re replaying your last encounter with Jaehyun in the music show’s waiting room in your head. As you try to read through his expression, to see if he’s nearly as nervous as you are, you defeatedly can’t decode what’s going on inside his head. Not like you ever could.

You glance at both you and Jaehyun through the mirror, admiring the youthful makeup. Blushy cheeks and innocent eyes of two teenagers in love, masking the raw lust between two nemesi. It couldn’t stray any further from the truth.

A staff member leads both you and Jaehyun (who is refusing to spare even one look your way) back to the main set. The director is passionately explaining what he wants to see from you in your first scene, but you can barely focus with Jaehyun’s eyes burning holes through your school girl outfit. You block him out and walk inside the ‘classroom’, spotting the cameras and sitting on your designated seat, while you wait for your signal to start.

Of course, you had acted before. Yes, you had expected for the director to ask you for some more intimate moments with your co-star. But when Jaehyun passed you a “love note” from the desk in front of you, looking all blushy and shy and with his dimples showing, you felt that the role of crushing schoolgirl became a little too easy for you to act out. 

And maybe, just maybe he was feeling the same way too. He looked pretty flustered when he saw you dancing across class, shifting restlessly in his seat when you bent forward to tie your shoelaces. Whether you did it on purpose or not, was a question your ego didn’t allow you to answer truthfully.

Most of the individual shots would be handled at a different shoot, so all you had to do was get over this one day with him. That’s what you repeated yourself over and over again. And you did pretty well, smiling charmingly at the camera, with the director praising you for your “innocent look”. You didn’t miss the scoff slipping from Jaehyun’s lips but you were good at ignoring it, focusing on getting through the different scenes in one-shot. 

You were currently leaning your body against the wall, playing with your hair while Jaehyun glances down at you, like a boy that is ready to confess to his first love. 

“y/n, I need you to give me something more shy, more bashful”, the director yells eagerly, but you can barely hear him, too focused on regulating your breathing. The look your co-star is giving you right now might seem loving and pure to the staff, but you know all too well the motives hidden behind his facade. It’s the calm before the storm, the silence he purposefully keeps to make you squirm, right before he whispers the most sinful propositions in your ears. 

Reading him like an open book, you stand still as he leans closer, just enough so that no one besides you get to hear his words.

“Come on y/n, can’t you act bashful? Or is it impossible for you to get embarrassed after getting fucked against the window of a TV station’s building?”

Clearing your throat, you’re suddenly hyper aware of every single sound and movement in the room. Suffocating, even in the light clothes you were wearing, and desperately trying to mute out his words that bring you back to the day he was repenting.

“When you were pressed up against that glass, moaning my name, all exposed for anyone that simply looked up to see, you weren’t too shy, were you?”

You raise your palm to wipe a bead of sweat that has collected on your temple, and breathe deeply through your nose, as if a good pump of oxygen would cool off the sudden heat between your legs. 

“Shut up Jaehyun”, you simply hiss through your front teeth, but he isn’t done yet.

“You know I can’t hold myself when I see you in skirts. So pretty. And you love to tease me in them too, I’ve noticed. Flashing me again and again until you get to suckle on my dick”

You were sure his voice was barely louder than a whisper, but the thought of anyone accidentally prying into your conversation had your whole body raising in temperature. The heat didn’t take long to reach your cheeks and you couldn’t remember the last time your legs felt like jelly, as they do now.

“Perfect y/n, that’s exactly what I’m looking for!”

You blinked back at Jaehyun a couple times, your mind trying to process that the director is cheering you on instead of scolding you to focus. The trembling hands, the fast-paced heartbeat, your big doe eyes. Though involuntarily, you had nailed the scene.

“You’re welcome”, Jaehyun mouths at you just as the staff announces a break. He scurries off to his dressing room without a word, as if he hadn’t just spewed his dirtiest of thoughts on set. It was almost as if he was daring you to follow him, but it’s not like he had left you a choice. You were fuming.

“Jaehyun”, you called out to him strictly but he didn’t acknowledge you, only walked further inside the small room with his name written neatly on the door. He was removing some of the heavier jewellery, rubbing the red lines they had left on his neck and wrist, momentarily catching your eyes on the mirror's reflection. They were misty, unreadable, and with how unpredictable you knew he could be, you decided to close the door behind you.

“Closing the door?”, he muses and in just a few long strides he has managed to trap you between his body and the wooden surface. It is reminiscent of your last meeting at the music show, and the memory of you tying him up doesn’t help with the organizing of your thoughts. “What are you planning on doing to me in here?”

You point one finger against his chest, not enough to create any real distance between you, but it comforts you nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that out there? What happened to professionalism?”

“Relax, kitty cat. I was just helping you act better”. His eyes stayed glued on your hips, once again making you all wound up and jumpy under his stare, “And it worked. You should be thanking me”

“I. Told. You.”, you started, tapping your finger on his sternum to emphasize each word, “Never call me that again. Today’s already hard as it is, why do you have to make it harder?”

He takes one more step towards you, his chest now touching yours and your hand that separated you lands involuntarily on his right peck. As if his presence wasn’t overwhelming enough, you feel a hardness pressing against your thigh, and for a moment you worry he can feel how wet you really are under your skirt. His voice is a low, a deep rumble.

“I don’t know. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“You are unbelievable”, you scowl at him and free yourself from his trap. You turn to the big mirror to avoid looking at him anymore, and you come to the embarrassing realization of how fucked out you look right now. You had to get out of there as soon as possible, before you do anything stupid and lose any trace of self control left in you. But not before you gave Jaehyun an earful.

“What I meant was that I am out there, being paid to be all lovey-dovey with you. This is not something easy for me you know. It’s basically prostitution.”

You catch Jaehyun’s eyes in his reflection, and for a fleeting moment they turn a colour that you hadn’t seen them in for a long time. Hurt? Disappointment? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second, replaced by that smile that made him both irresistibly smackable and fuckable at the same time.

“Did it cross your tiny brain that maybe someone could hear you? Staff leaks information all the time! If they found out we were fucking…”

“Were? Past tense?”

“Are. Will be. Whatever.” You sigh, defeated, hiding your eyes with your palms as you face him once again. “Like I said, this is important to me. So no more dirty talk on set. Okay?”

Jaehyun avoided your glance, from embarrassment or uninterest maybe. “Okay”

You continue to sit there silently, but your head is so occupied with a million thoughts that you don’t notice. How you will get through the rest of the shooting, whether your manager is looking for you or not, the coldness of the glass Jaehyun had pressed you against that day. The only thing that snapped you out of it, was him suddenly taking off his shirt.

“What are you doing?”, you ask panicking, but you can’t dismiss the pool of excitement in your belly.

“We have a wardrobe change after the break, remember? And since you refuse to leave my changing room..”

You clear your throat, trying your hardest to rip your eyes away from his abdomen, that you’ve so keenly marked with love bites before. His naked skin must have monopolized your attention way more than you realized, as you can’t remember when he slithered his way closer to you, towering over your height.

“Stare much?”, he almost growls, arousal dripping from his voice.

Every fiber of your being wanted to lurch forward, glide your fingers through his hair and start nibbling at those pretty lips of his. The sexual tension, amplified by the argument you just had, was filling the room like a thick liquid would fill a cup. One more drop, one more second of his staring and it would overflow. It felt so real, that you could feel that drop landing on your forehead. Then another one on your cheek, and that’s when you realized that what you felt was real.

“What the-?”, Jaehyun mumbles as he stares up at the ceiling, a big wet spot staining it and allowing the water drops to slowly wet his styled locks. As you start to put two and two together, someone knocks loudly on the door, making you both jump one feet away from the other.

“Get undressed”, a high-pitched male voice that you recognize as Jaehyun’s manager calls through the door, “the rain is ruining the set. It’s a wrap for today”

———————————————————————

A soft touch on your lower back, an even softer breath making your ears tingle. A tentative kiss on your neck that’s full of purpose and makes you shiver.

And then another touch, this time more south on your body. Fingertips grazing over your sensitive clit. Easily moving through your wetness and finally dipping inside of you. That baritone voice.

“This pussy is mine, isn’t it, kitty cat?”

You look up to meet the face of the familiar voice, only to meet Jaehyun’s baby brown eyes. The pleasure was enough to make you ignore the despised nickname, flowing intensely through your body. You let out a desperate moan, gripping his arms to keep your balance. His fingers are now dragging through your walls and you clench around them instinctively, confused but enamored by his touch. You are falling apart.

“Jaehyun? What are you doing?”

“I want to make love to you”

“Love? But you hate me”

He plants another kiss on the slope of your neck, his hands picking up in pace and making you feel like you’re floating on air.

“Love. Hate. Is there really any difference when I’m here, ready to please you? Willing to make you feel things you have never felt before?”

“You already do”, you admit, only seconds away from your orgasm. The bliss is so close you can almost taste it, but for now you choose to taste his lips. They are so soft and warm that you realize you haven’t kissed Jaehyun since that night at the practice room. How you miss him. Not the group visual, not the idol, not even Jaehyun. Yoonoh.

“Yoonoh”, you moan out against his lips as the pleasure overtakes you, a low buzz humming in your ears, “mmm yes, Yoonoh”

“Who the fuck is Yoonoh?”

You finally wake up, your manager shaking you awake being the first thing you see. The sun’s morning rays are peeking through your blinds, warming your skin in lines. Your phone’s ignored alarm clock is still buzzing on top of your nightstand.

“No one. I’m awake, thanks”

Fuck. That makes it what? The fourth night in a row you dreamt about him?

“Get, up. Quickly. We’re late”

You groaned at the banging of your head that was caused by you getting up so fast. It was early into the morning, as you had to get ready for the mv’s second shooting day. The heavy rainfall wouldn’t allow for the filming to continue for another week, yet aided your growing anxiety of having to encounter Yoon- Jaehyun again. 

You felt a little stupid, like a kid that goes to middle school for the first time, anxious but full of butterflies in your stomach in the thought of seeing him again. You weren’t sure who the anger, that came with the inability to control the fresh feelings bubbling from your dream, should be directed at. Your manager for booking you this job? Jaehyun for making it his goal to have you dripping wet on set? You, for letting it all affect you so much?

You decide on the former, giving your poor manager the cold shower for forcing you to deal with the problems you’ve caused yourself. Checking your phone, you realise that you are, indeed, late, and wonder how quick you’re going to have to make your morning shower.

“Is Jaehyun and his team there already?”, you ask your manager as nonchalantly as you could, feigning mildly interested in his answer.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you? The other team asked for the shootings to continue separately”. You felt your stomach drop all the way down to your condo’s basement. And the icing on the cake: “Jung Jaehyun’s request”

Maybe your manager wasn’t as clueless to your electricity, or maybe it was your sudden impulse to pluck every loose thread of the pyjama top you were wearing that made him sense the discomfort following what he’d just said. He plops next to you on your bed, boards creaking in the silent room and you feel his rough hands patting you on the back.

“I’m sure he had an overlap in schedules and needed a break, nothing to do with you”

But you knew better, and you knew your palms wouldn’t stop itching unless you picked up your fucking phone and sent him a message. 

you [06:30]: i heard you can’t make it to set today. everything ok?

You wish you never did. The radio silence from his number was way worse than any insult, any form of teasing he could give you on set. You even tried calling him, desperate for an answer, a closure even. Maybe he was busy. Maybe the shooting took longer than expected. Maybe he wasn’t avoiding you; one of his managers uploaded his latest story on his instagram, not him. Maybe at the end of the week he would get back to you.

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

Going to his dorm unannounced was not a good idea. Waiting for someone to open the door for you, you hope his members will recognise you from your trainee days, or those rare nights Jaehyun sneaked you in when you were both lonely and in need of a… well, whatever you two were.

You’re starting to worry that whoever saw you from the peephole thought you were a sasaeng and called security, when Mark opens the door. His eyes are wide open behind his glasses, clearly not expecting you and immediately yelling for his ‘Jaehyun hyung’.

Soon, the called male arrives at the apartment’s entrance, annoyed for being interrupted from whatever it was he was doing. “What is it, me and Jungwoo are watching the season fina-“

As if Mark suddenly turned invisible, Jaehyun walks right past him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to his room without another word.

Jungwoo, engrossed with the aforementioned show’s season finale on his computer screen, tries to cover up his naked torso in panic when he notices you. 

“Get out.”, Jaehyun orders him, and the younger man knows that his tone is not one to be argued with. It triggers the cold sweat that makes your clothes stick closer to your skin and forces your heartbeat to quicken, pumping blood all over your body. The door closes, leaving you both alone with only the sound of Jungwoo’s laptop still playing in the background. A lighthearted scene that is too oxymoronic against the tension that is just palpable at this point. What the hell were you thinking coming here?

“What the hell were you thinking coming here?”, Jaehyun speaks your thoughts out loud, and you wince at how empty your head is with excuses.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“What?”, he asks dumbly, hoping you would avoid asking again.

“Was it that hard to text me back? Am I such a waste of your time?”

Jaehyun seems angry at your confrontation, his bad mood escalating with every word that is leaving your mouth. He still avoids to look at you, toying with some plushies and decorations next to his bedpost. You realize you never had time to really notice them, barely recognizing them. You always entered the room blindly, pressed up against Jaehyun’s body and with his lips all over your neck, then left as soon as the sex was over. His apathy was infuriating.

One by one, you start to remove all of your outerwear, dropping your clothes on the floor until you’re left in only your bra and jeans. Jaehyun stares at you incredulously, then at the pile of clothes on the floor, unable to make out the reasoning behind your impromptu stripping.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting naked. Seems to be the only time you can actually pay attention to me.”

You reach for the buttons of your jeans, only able to unzip it halfway before Jaehyun has you pinned against the wall behind you, his fingers cool and pressing lightly against your neck.

“I-I fucking hate you!”, he cries, punching the surface to release some of the steam, and lets go of the hold on your neck almost completely. How tempted he is, to just fuck your right against that wall, pour out his anger by pouring out his cum inside you, then ignore each other like you always do.

It’s the easy thing to do, keeping the toxic circle going. All barking and fucking and no real problem gets resolved in the end. He wouldn’t even call a cab for you, preferring to be hated for something he wasn’t than to be rejected for showing the real him. You would still have no idea about his feelings towards you, going around saying how awful he was while asking for a round two. But Jaehyun was tired.

“Can’t you tell that I am trying to distance myself from you?”, he sighs and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound so emotionally exhausted.

“Why do you dislike me so much? We used to be friends and then one day you-“

“Friends? Just friends?”, he interrupts you with a chuckle and a sarcastic puff through his nose, and you shake your head.

“If you also think that what we had was more special than a common friendship then why act like you don’t know me?”

“You were the one who wanted to ‘forget about anything happening and never telling a soul about it’, remember?”

“I thought we came to a mutual agreement! I was just trying to save our careers and it worked Jaehyun, you got to debut and I-“

“And you just threw away everything we had like it was the easiest thing to do! Do you ever want to know how I feel, y/n? First you want nothing to do with me, left the company without even saying goodbye. Then I try to forget about you, become an asshole to keep you out of my life and suddenly you want to jump my bones. One day you just play blind to everything, asking for professionalism and now I’m the one ignoring you? What the fuck do you want? A fuck buddy? A professional? A friend?”

“I want you, Yoonoh. Fuck, I just want you”

You’re not sure which one of you initiates the kiss. His lips are as plump and kissed as hard as you recalled, a couple of tears staining your cheeks that you didn’t realize you were holding back. It felt so right, the way his head pushed and pulled away from yours, always inviting you back to him. One hand was situated over the dimples of your waist, the other lost between your hair, untangling it gently. You decided to lay yours over his heart, feeling its tempo and calming yourself down.

You kiss for what seems like an eternity, so drunk in bliss that you can’t remember how you made it through life without Jaehyun’s taste all over your tongue. When he pulls away from your lips, you almost whine, but his fingertips dabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks feel just as comforting.

“I don’t want us to be like this anymore”, you whisper to him and he nods encouragingly, holding you even closer. “I’m sorry for not reaching out to you all these years ago, I just thought ‘What would a brand new idol want to do with a failed trainee like me’-“

Jaehyun brings your fingers to his lips, kissing all your knuckles one by one and you think you’re gonna burst at the seams. “You weren’t a failure, you were the best thing to happen to me back then”. His voice is so sincere that you don’t dare question the veracity of what he’s saying and you let him continue. “When I saw you again I was so bitter, I decided to turn off my feelings. I think I get too comfortable in that role. I put it on for me, my members, my fans even”, he stops then, laughing sadly, “it’s how I finally got you”

It was your turn to open up his eyes to the truth, holding his face between your hands and admiring its beauty. 

“That’s not true. I kept staying because I knew what was hidden behind all that armor. I guess, the sex was the only way to get closer to you”

“Not because I’m good?”, he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and you can feel his dimples forming under your fingers.

“Eh, you’re pretty good too”

He starts pecking your neck, his smile obvious in his kisses and you squeal when he lifts you to his bed. Bouncing on the hard mattress, you let him lay his body weight over yours as he gives you a million traces of his love. 

“So, I’m guessing this means we start over?”, he asks reluctantly as he emerges from your half naked body and you hold back from cooing at him.

“I thought you loved to hate me?”

“I think I hate it, but I love you”

[cyoc49]

HIMBO Magazine: The New Hire

23 year-old Barry Allen looked across the street at the office building of HIMBO, a lifestyle & fashion magazine targeted at gay men, and the site of his job interview. After graduating last May, Barry has tried for months to find a communications job with no luck, until he saw HIMBO’s advertisement for an entry-level social media position. The pay was unbelievably good, and they reached out to him about applying which made the whole situation seem very promising. He was a little uncomfortable about the idea of working at a gay magazine. I don’t have any issue with gay people, Barry thought, I just don’t understand a lot of the culture and I’m not really trying to. Still, the job was too good to pass up without at least interviewing.

Barry walked into the lobby of the building and was directed on how to reach the HIMBO’s offices. Stepping into the elevator, Barry thought about how sharply dressed everyone in the building was. It made him feel a little unprofessional, in his blazer, checkered shirt, and jeans. But the email had told him to dress “Appropriately for his position,” so he dressed the way he knew modern social media teams did.

As the elevator opened, Barry was greeted by the bright offices of HIMBO. The personnel working there (all male, he noticed) were dressed in a mixture of ridiculously eccentric business wear, speedos and harnesses, club outfits, other other bizarre fashions. “I’m guessing those are models?” Barry wondered, before walking over to a desk attended by a swishy receptionist.

The twinkish secretary looked up at Barry, and his eyes widened in excitement. “You must be the new applicant!” He exclaimed, jumping up out of his seat. “Oh, you’re perfect! He always knows the right people to pick. Well knock on wood, but I’m excited to work with you!” Then in a swift motion, the man darted around the desk and grabbed Barry by the hand. “Here, I can take you to him! He’s been waiting for you. I’m James, by the way! I work the desk!” And with that, Barry found himself being dragged along through the HIMBO offices.

“Uh, I have a question. Who is ‘he’?” Barry called along as he tried to keep pace with the fast-paced James.

“Christian Le Maître, the Editor in Chief! He’s brilliant. He does all the interviews and hiring himself. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

Wow, he picked me out himself, Barry thought, I must really be promising.

Barry spoke up “That’s pretty cool, to have a boss that cares that much.”

James nodded enthusiastically “Oh yes, he cares for us all so much! We’re all his boys here.”

Looking past the odd use of “boys”, Barry continued “I’m, uh, applying for a social media position.”

“Oh okay, interesting,” James said with less enthusiasm than usual, “He’ll sometimes try to figure out a different position for you during the interview. Just go along with what he says. I promise he has your best interests at heart.”

Before Barry could ask what that meant, James came to a sudden stop in front of a large heavy door. He knocked on it several times, before a deep muffled voice called out “Send him in” from behind the door.

James turned around, grinning ear to ear “Okay, best of luck! Remember: you’re gonna fit in here.” With that, he pranced back down the hallway, leaving Barry alone in front of the door.

He took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing,” he thought, and opened the door.

Walking into the office, Barry looked behind the desk and saw one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen.

His face was rugged and handsome, with insatiably curious eyes, perfect white teeth, and a beard that was just the right amount of stubble. His hair was parted with gel into a professional, clean, and gorgeous haircut. His toned muscles perfectly filled out his expensive looking business clothes: a light blue silk dress shirt, grey pinstripe pants, suspenders hung over his shoulders and pressed out by his chest, gorgeous-smelling black leather dress shoes, and a sterling silver watch. He was an absolute alpha male, so perfectly handsome and successful that Barry couldn’t help but feel awe, jealousy, and a hint of... lust?

The man looked at Barry and smiled a perfect smile. “Barry, is it? I’m Christian La Maître, but everyone around here just calls me Mr. M.” The man stood up, revealing his daunting 6’4 frame, and extended a muscular hand to Barry

Jesus, his voice is intoxicating, Barry swooned. It was so smoothly deep and inviting. With just the few words Barry already felt like he could listen to the man for hours. He reached out and took hold of Mr. M’s hand for an extremely firm handshake. As their hand touched, Barry felt a jolt, and found himself unable to take his eyes off the powerful man before him. And more importantly, he had no desire to move his eyes away.

Mr. M sat back down again. “So Barry, tell me about yourself. College graduate?”

“Uh, yes. Digital Communications maj-“

“Have you ever read HIMBO before?” Mr. M cut Barry off.

“No, sir” Barry said, neither objecting to being interrupted, nor noticing the “sir” he just said.

“Are you gay?” Mr. M examined Barry’s body up and down, never making eye contact.

“No, sir. I’m straight.” He paused “Is that okay?”

Mr. M let out a hearty laugh, and Barry found himself laughing along with the man too. It just felt right. This brilliant, perfect businessman that Barry was lucky enough to be in the presence of, anything he did had to be right.

“Ahhh, Barry. You’re a fun kid. Now unfortunately, that social media position was filled earlier this morning by another applicant. But I would be a fool not to bring you into the HIMBO team, Barry!” This filled Barry with joy. The approval of Mr. M felt so good.

“Now if I think about it...” Mr. M paused for a few moments, giving Barry another thorough looking over, “I think we have an opening in the accounting department.”

“Yes! I accept!” Barry shouted out. He didn’t even care that it was a totally different position than he had come here for, nor did he care that he had zero accounting experience. If Mr. M said he would be a good accountant, then Barry had to be the best accountant for his boss.

The man chuckled again. “There’s just a little on boarding we’d have to do to get you ready for the position. Beginning with dress code, for starters.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes, sir?” Barry asked eagerly. He would do anything for this man, who was offering him a coveted job at HIMBO magazine. Barry would change anything about himself.

“Well, you just dress so... cool. I mean look at that outfit! You are a hip young man who is ready for a good night out. And I love that for you, but I think a good accountant would dress a bit... sharper.”

The “sharper” bounced around in Barry’s head. Visions of men in suits and ties flooded his mind. He began to feel attracted to the idea of being a finely dressed man. In fact, he couldn’t imagine ever dressing down, not even in his free time. As Barry listened to Mr. M’s words, his plaid shirt rippled into a crisp white dress shirt. It tucked itself into his jeans.

“A good smart accountant would look his best at all times.”

Barry’s jeans turned into tight fitting grey dress pants, and a brown leather belt cinched itself firmly around his waist. His casual wool blazer morphed into a clean grey suit jacket matching his pants. Underneath, a gray sweater materialized and hugged itself to Barry’s slimming build.

“A good, clean-cut accountant.”

Barry felt his feet shift as his shoes changed into well-polished brown leather dress shoes, with wing tips. His socked changed to clean white socks, and inside his pants he felt briefs take form around his shrinking manhood.

“A good, nerdy accountant.”

A red bow tie wrapped itself around Barry’s neck and tied itself into a perfect knot. Large round glasses popped up on Barry’s face, which he knew he needed to wear every day. Barry’s hair ruffled as if wind was blowing through it, before settling in a clean side part, well-combed and maintained.

Barry stood before the incredibly powerful man before him looking totally different. Just 10 minutes ago Barry had dressed like any college graduate, but now looked as if he wore a suit every day of the week. But as for Barry himself, he had never felt better. As his clothes changed, Barry’s thoughts realized how right this felt. Barry now perfectly remembered his 2 hour morning dress routine. He knew exactly how much pomade to use to achieve the perfect side part, he remembered tying bow ties for six years now. His home wardrobe, all of it, had been replaced with suits, sweaters, shirts, dress shoes, and bow ties of every material, pattern, and color imagineable. This was the way he had dressed ever since he got to college and felt he could express himself truly. The truth was Barry loved the feel of a suit. The cleanness and dignity were an intoxicating feeling, and he couldn’t imagine himself in anything else.

Mr. M smiled a big smile. “There we go, an absolute perfect fit for our accountant opening. Welcome to the HIMBO team, Barry. Or should I say Bartholomew.”

That was right. Bartholomew Pippin, and he couldn’t be happier. He was a timid, nerdy kind of guy, sure, but he felt on top of the world. Bartholomew was an avid HIMBO reader for its good guides on men’s formalwear (and also so he could jerk off to the photos of shirtless guys), so to work at the magazine he loved, doing the job he loved (accounting) was a dream come true.

Mr. M stood up and walked over to Bartholomew, getting extremely close to him. “There’s just one last step in the hiring process...”

Barty shook a bit as he looked up at the domineering man before him. Mr. M was a tall man to begin with, but at his new height Bartholomew was 5’9, and the taller man encompassed him.

“I seal all my contracts... with a kiss.”

Barry’s knees quivered. He had realized he was gay at a young age, but aside from a few “almosts” in college, he had never gone farther than holding hands. Bartholomew had always reasoned that he would meet the right one eventually... and looking up at this man, Barty knew he had found it. Mr. M was all Barty would ever need. This man would control his work life and his sex life, dictating when Barty could pleasure himself, when he could come, and when he got the ultimate privilege of spending the night with Mr. M.

Bartholomew wrinkled his note and nodded eagerly “Of course, sir. I would be honored to kiss you.

As Barty stood on his tip toes to kiss his new boss - god, his lips were smooth and perfect - Barty felt all his changes lock into place. This is who he was. Bartholomew Pippin, mild-mannered accountant of HIMBO magazine, and one of Christian La Maître’s very good boys.

The two parted, and Mr. M gave Bartholomew another killer smile. “Bartholomew, I can already tell you’re gonna fit in here perfectly. And as a signing bonus, how about you stop by my place tonight. 7 PM sharp.”

“Oh thank you so much, Mr. M! I’ll be there at 6:45, I promise.”

“That’s a good boy, Barty. Now get settled in, your desk is at the end of the hall.” He gave Barty a spank on his bubble butt, and sent him on his way, to his new job and new life.

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 2. math

Previous | Next

[warnings: cursing, mention of smoking, mention of household abuse of a teenager]

"what a plot twist you were."

—

The next day, you'd wakened with dry lungs and an even drier mouth.

It was true that smoking was bad for you—but it hadn't been as horrible as you'd thought. You'd try it again, but you couldn't see yourself becoming addicted.

Your mother wasn't home, again. You were quick to understand that she worked longer shifts now and you wouldn't see her a whole lot.

Not like you cared. Michelle never really liked you all that well. You'd probably have been dumped on the street a long time ago had your father not legally obligated to pay child support.

You'd never known him. You weren't sure if you wanted to.

She doesn't use child support for your well-being. Probably uses it to continuously feed her crippling gambling addiction and buy more pointless flowers for the apartment.

You were nervous about today. You'd never been the new girl before—and you didn't know what to expect about these kids. You doubted they were as cool as people as Larry and Sal.

You showered and put on your boyfriend jeans—which had holes in the knees, but you couldn't bother to concern yourself whether or not that conflicted with the dress code or not— and your light grey hoodie. You added a flannel on top of that which was a little too big for you. Don't forget the white sneakers which you should probably replace.

You pocketed your flip phone and slung your bag over your shoulder. Stopping in front of the mirror, you passed a hand through your hair, decided it was adequate, and walked into the kitchen. You grabbed an apple—you never really found yourself hungry in the mornings. Besides, it wasn't like your mother was around to make sure you were fed—and left the apartment.

You locked the door behind you and shoved the keys into the front pocket of your bag afterward.

You met with Sal and Larry at the foot of the front steps of the apartments, like you'd agreed the day prior. You couldn't help but feel a little nervous as you opened the door and walked down the three stairs.

"Hey!" Larry greets you first.

"Hey, Larry," you smile weakly, as you're not fully awake yet, but it still means as much as a smile you'd give him when you were awake. You turn your eyes to Sal, waving shortly. You were momentarily startled when you realized he'd already been looking at you. "Hi, Sal."

"Hey," he says your name pleasantly. "How are you feeling?"

It was sweet that he was concerned about your well-being. "Alright. My lungs hurt."

He hooked a thumb around the strap of his bag and slid it up and down. His hands were pale and veiny. His nails were painted black and the polish was chipped in a few places. "Yeah. You did a shit-ton of coughing."

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can he meets your eyes. His head is inclined slightly downward, tilted a bit. He peers at you through the shadows of the mask. Lash-fringed, blue angel eyes bore through yours.

His eyes are opalescent. It's almost as if every time you look at them they were a different shade of blue.

You're sure your gazes hadn't connected for more than 3 seconds but the feeling that spawns inside of you from that short contact is slightly jarring. You don't necessarily comprehend what is stirring in your gut and you don't have time to because Larry's speaking breaks through your reverie.

He begins to talk about the chaos the first day of school would be. You quickly forget what had happened before.

But nothing had happened. It was nothing.

When you'd arrived at school after a little bit of walking, you, Larry, and Sal received your schedules together.

"Fuck me," you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you look down at your paper. "Math is first. This always happens to me."

Larry laughs loudly. "Yeah. That does suck. Mrs. Packerton looks like a walking corpse."

Sal jerks his head upward from his schedule. "That's fucked, Larry. She's an old lady."

"I don't care. Pretty sure she's secretly evil anyway."

Sal looks as though he's done reasoning with how harshly true Larry is most of the time. He shakes his head and looks back at you. "Well, if it's any consolation—I've also got math first. So, you know. We could go together," he pauses. "If you want."

You grin. "Yeah. Sure. At least I'll know someone there."

Larry flicks his eyes between the both of you before stopping them on Sal. "Hopefully you won't have Travis again," His eyebrows twitch. "He always has math first."

"Travis?" You echo curiously.

The two boys exchange a glance.

"Just a guy we know who-" Sal starts, hurrying to finish the sentence.

He was rushing so Larry wouldn't cut in and say something but it happened before he even had a chance. "He's a little fucker we know who gives Sal shit. 24/7. He makes my blood boil."

You furrow your eyebrows. "What- why? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing," Sal replies. "Pretty sure he's really troubled. Not unlike the rest of us."

"Doesn't mean he should take it out on other people." Larry scoffs. "I know it bothers you, dude."

Sal doesn't reply—seems as though he's growing uncomfortable speaking about all of it.

"Hey, guys!"

A voice calls, having grown closer halfway through her sentence. You all turn towards it. A girl, leggy and taller than both you and Sal, with long locks and eyes greener than a spring clover. There was something homey in the way her chocolate brown hair brought warmth to her features.

A boy is beside her, with ginger hair with eyes a deep shade of the richest earth. His skin is pale and freckled. He carries himself with an air of bluntness and just a little bit awkwardly—his facial expression is very blank, you note.

"Hey, Ash. Shocked you aren't late," Larry grins.

"Ash" rolls her eyes at him and mirrors his expression. "You know Todd would never let that happen."

"No, I wouldn't." Todd deadpans.

Ash turns toward you after laughing enough to flash the white gleam of her teeth and a slight dimple in her cheek. "Hey!" She then says your name prettily and juts out her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Ashley."

You don't ask her how she knows your name. Instead, you sincerely smile, take her hand and shake it. "Nice to meet you," you return, and then turn toward Todd. "You, too."

Todd is already an interesting character. He doesn't smile but his expression is cordial. "Welcome to Nockfell."

Your smile widens.

"Have you guys gotten your schedules yet?" Sal speaks up after having been quiet for a moment. He must've been reading over his schedule to himself.

"Oh! Yeah," Ashley opened her other hand, the one she hadn't shaken your hand with, and unfolded a now very crumpled piece of paper. She passed summer green over the list. "I've got biology."

Todd didn't even look at his list. "I have history."

Sal looks at you. His gaze easily levels with yours. "Looks like it's just me and you then."

Your face feels hot. "Haha," you suddenly feel nervous. "You're right. Sit beside me, okay?"

His eyebrows jump—that much you can tell by the way his eyes move. Tucking a strand of loose blue hair behind his ear, he replies: "Will do."

His ears are double pierced.

The bell's shrill ringing floods the halls. You wince, and you and Sal's eye contact is broken. Before that happens, though, you see Larry grinning to himself.

Weirdo, you think lightheartedly.

Everyone parts after that. Larry and Ash walk away together. They must both have biology, you thought. Todd leaves by himself to his respective class and you and Sal head towards math.

For a moment, the silence is unbearable. You've never been alone with a boy. Well, you weren't alone, just not in a group with other people. The noiselessness begins to bother you so you fleetingly think of something to say and blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

"The piercings," you say suddenly.

He turns his head toward you. You look up to him before looking straight. "What?"

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god, you thought. All I do is make a mockery of myself.

"I like them!" you add, hurriedly. "They're pierced twice. That's really cool. Looks good on you."

He laughs shyly. "Thanks. I like your shoes."

"My shoes?" You look down and laugh. They were so worn. "Why?" You continue to giggle. "They're falling apart at the seams, haha."

"That's the best kind of shoe," he retorts. He jerks his chin towards his sneakers, a muted shade of cornflower blue. "Look at mine. They barely fit and they're- like, super constricting. Also super ratty—but I can't seem to get rid of them."

You laugh with him. "They look better than mine, at least."

You're glad the ice was broken so fast. You liked him.

The class was boring and uninteresting as any math class would be. You do work. You glance over at Sal a few times throughout the class—not to cheat, just to see how he was fairing—and he was writing answers down with a quick response time and humble confidence within the drawl of his handwriting.

Alright, so he was smart. Not much of a surprise there. You could tell just how perceptive of a boy he was.

You stared hopelessly at an answer on your sheet you'd yet to fill out and twirled the pencil around in your fingers.

Suddenly, a pale hand with black nails has nimbly reached over and hastily circled what you assume was the correct answer to the question with his pencil. You look up to Sal in surprise and appreciation, who's already back in his seat as if nothing had happened.

You giggle before you can stop yourself when he raises a hand and raises a finger in front of the prosthetic's mouth, to tell you "shh."

Mrs. Packerton slowly pivots away from the chalkboard and passes her eyes over the class. You and Sal quickly break eye contact and look down on your papers. Sal's shoulders shake in your peripheral vision and you press your knuckles to your lips and force a bored expression on your paper.

Before the bell rang, you noticed a blond boy with tan skin and caramel eyes in front of you and Sal, occasionally shooting your friend bitter looks. It left a sour taste in your mouth, but you didn't mention it.

You find Ash and Larry before your next class. You think you've burst a blood vessel from how hard you'd laughed when you left the classroom.

"I thought I'd cracked a rib," Sal states over your laughter. as you walked up to Larry and Ashley.

Larry and Ashley exchange a look. Larry is the first to state the obvious. "What the hell happened to you two?"

You and Sal look toward each other and make eye contact. That's the last straw. You cover your mouth and try and hold it in.

"I-" Sal inhales. "It doesn't matter," he breathes out, an amused lilt in his tone. "How was class?"

"Bad," Larry and Ashley reply, in synchronization.

"Really?" You ask, surprised. "Biology can be fun."

"This biology isn't," Ashley sighs. "Not when you're just staring at cells and organisms for 20 minutes and then being expected to do work on it and understand what's happening."

"Well, math wasn't any better," you reply. "If it's any consolation—I don't think I got any answers right except for the one Sal did for me."

"I thought math was fine," Sal chimes in.

"That's because you're fucking Albert Einstein reincarnate," Larry squints. "Please have mercy on our mortal souls, Math God."

"Oh my god," Sal looks down. "Please don't make this into another nickname."

"I like it!" Ashley grins.

You know they're teasing but you can't find it in you to join in after he helped you out in class. Instead, you resign into silence and watch as countless students filter through the halls, bumping into each other as they pass and chatting with their peers.

Through the crowd, at the far end of the hall, you see him. The blond boy who'd been eying Sal in class. He was looking at him in the same way he had been then, with threat and resent shadowing his polished amber eyes.

It looks as if he's readying himself to approach.

You glance toward Larry, Sal, and Ashley. They seem occupied well enough, so you slip into the crowd and head towards who you've now pieced together to be: "Travis," you state, as you stand in front of him. "That's you, right?"

He regards you with distaste. "Do I know you?"

You suck your teeth. "No," you tell him your name. "I came to ask you something."

Despite himself and his embitterment, his eyes shine with hesitant curiosity. You take that as your answer. In spite of his stance over you and his general advantage of being bigger, you hold his gaze with blunt intent.

"What were you planning on doing when you walked over?"

"Why do you fucking care what I do?"

You shrug. "I don't know, Travis. I just think you need to learn how to pick your battles."

"Pick my fucking battles.. you know what? I think I will go over there-"

As he takes a step forward, you raise your hand and your palm roughly hits his chest, stopping him in his tracks—not because of strength (he's at an advantage, and he could easily walk right through) but because of the views he had, or rather—the views pushed upon him.

You saw the golden cross swinging off of his neck as soon as you approached. You'd also seen the gnarly black eye he wore on his face.

It was safe to assume he was being beaten at home and by a parent. And, most of the time.. when an adult is religious they will use several methods to further push it upon their child. Like sinner's guilt. And abuse.

If Travis' extremely religious guardian were to ever find out he'd harmed a girl, especially under the eyes of many others—it wouldn't turn out very well for him.

Yes, maybe you were being manipulative. But you were being manipulative for the good of both Sal and Travis.

"Step down," you advised. "This won't go very well."

You steadily meet his eyes. The stare between the two of you lasts for an even amount of time. Finally, he breaks that contact, jerks away with you, huffs, and walks his way around you and down the hall.

After that, you returned with the excuse of exchanging books from your locker, after Larry had asked you where you had wandered off to. No one seemed to have noticed Travis standing ominously at the end of the hall or your altercation with him.

At the end of school, you were beat. You said goodbye to both Ashley and Todd. Afterward, you, Larry, and Sal head for Addison's Apartments.

"You know, we don't have to go home yet," you say.

The boys turn to you curiously, as you kick a pebble as you walk along the side of the road. The beginnings of the sunset blossom in the sky—orange and fruity like tangerine jelly and amaranth pink like homemade strawberry frosting. like home. It fills you up inside and makes you feel so sweet.

"You guys wanna see a movie?"

Larry grins. "We don't have money."

"Who says we need money?"

When you'd arrived at the movie theater, all three of you had circled to the side exit. After a few moments of waiting suspiciously, an older couple exited through the doors. Larry caught the handle before it closed, and you brushed past them and quickly entered the theater. Before the doors closed, you heard them mumbling about "pesky children," or something.

Once you'd gotten in, you scanned each screening room and what movie the doors said it was playing.

You and Sal decided on a scary movie. Larry was not amused. Whatsoever. Apparently, horror is not his thing.

Before you entered, you frowned.

"We have no popcorn.."

In moments, Larry was reaching into a nearby trash can and pulling out an empty bucket that improbably had popcorn inside of it at some point in time. He then walked away, holding this empty popcorn bucket. It was so bizarre and you would have laughed had not been extremely confused.

"What.." Sal murmured, looking to you. "You think he'll come back?"

"I don't know where he would even be coming back from," You admitted.

It wasn't very long until he'd returned, with the empty bucket he'd taken from the trash now full of popcorn.

"Mandatory free refills," He said to your baffled face, pointing toward the poster on the wall above the trash can which read exactly what he'd just said. "You can never forget the hustle, kids."

"Oh my god," Sal mumbled and you barely heard him beneath Larry's laughter.

The movie was horribly made, and it still somehow scared the shit out of Larry. It may as well have been a comedy with how hard you'd laughed. Multiple other people in the theater had told you to shut Larry up but that was impossible when he was screaming every time a shadow would come on screen or the scene would change.

You, being between Larry and Sal, originally thought you'd had the best seat. You were wrong. Not only was Larry cowering into you and screaming directly in your ear, but Sal had simultaneously begun to throw popcorn at Larry's face to shut him up. That only resulted in popcorn. All over.

Needless to say, you left before the movie ended because of the fear of being escorted out by the employees.

"I'm never seeing a movie with you again," Sal squinted towards Larry. The three of you were now on the way back to the apartments. The night was thick and pearly moonlight bounced off old the white of his prosthetic face. "I think my eardrums are bleeding."

"It's the horror movies! This isn't my fault. Both of you ganged up on me and chose it."

You giggled to yourself.

Sal, beside you, suddenly stopped. "Wait, Y/N."

You stopped, and Larry halted a few feet away, as he'd been walking a bit ahead. Sal leaned forward and reached toward your face. Your body felt as though it had been zapped and you stood still.

He reached into your hair and pulled out a piece of popcorn.

"Huh." You said, dumbly. "How'd that get there?"

Larry's approaching footsteps were fast and leggy. He reached into Sal's hand, plucked the piece of popcorn between his fingers and fucking ate it.

"Jesus Christ, I can't do this anymore," Sal shook his head.

"What? It looked okay."

Recovering quickly from whatever had happened to you, you laughed.

You also inwardly denied what your body was feeling because you knew it was much too soon.

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

The Perfect Night | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: Can you please write a fanfic with Charlie Gillespie x reader where you're taking him with you as a plus one to your high school reunion because you don't have anyone to go with but then they realise they really like each other

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Female!Reader

Warnings: a few curse words like bitch, fluff 

Words: 2,622

High school wasn’t your favorite. All the bullies and the stress to fit in. Everyone laughing at you because you were the nerd with all the stories piled up on your computer and the fantasy of a child in your head. You’d thought you left all of that behind. But then came the reunion. You’ve only graduated five years ago from high school and only last year from college. Though you had an amazing job as screenwriter and some really great friends, you didn’t have a date to bring to that reunion, and you knew all those people would pick on you for old time’s sake because you didn’t have a date. “Hey, you okay? You seem stressed,” Charlie’s voice shakes you awake from your anxious thoughts about the reunion. You look up at him and offer him a nervous smile. Charlie Gillespie is your co-worker, and along with the rest of the Julie and The Phantoms team, one of your newest friends. Yes, you were on the writing team for Julie and The Phantoms, and you had just finished a table read for season 2. “Yeah, I just—there’s this high school reunion tonight and I really don’t want to go.” “Not a fan of high school?” he asks as he falls into step with you, the two of you walking out of the building. “Not at all…” he gives you a curious look, “Eh, they used to bully me because I was a writer and spent my time writing books instead of going out to parties or spending time with friends,” you give him the synopsis. Charlie doesn’t need to know about the nights you spend crying in your room or going to your therapist. You were close, just not that close. Besides, you’d rather forget about your past. “And now you’re a part of the writers’ team on a popular Netflix show?” he tries with a smile, but you just give him an unimpressed look. “Come on, Y/N! This is an opportunity to show them what you made of yourself! Brag a bit about how amazing a job you have!” You shrug, still not convinced. “I just don’t want to face them alone…” you mumble, staring at your moving feet when suddenly a thought pops into your head and you stop in your tracks, looking up at him. “Do you want to be my plus one?” He halts too, raising his eyebrows at you. “Nope, you’re right, that’s stupid!” You start walking again, Charlie following your example. “No. No, it’s not stupid. I just didn’t think you’d ask me?” “You’re one of my best friends here, Charlie. It’s just logical.” He smiles at that. He really has become your best friend since meeting him a couple months ago. “Okay! So, am I playing your boyfriend? Husband? Just a best friend?” You furrow your eyebrows at him, glaring at him questionably. “We could make something fun out of this, Y/N!” He’s almost bouncing off the walls with excitement. That’s the Charlie you know and love. “Okay… Uhm, let’s pretend you’re my boyfriend. I bet they wouldn’t expect the antisocial nerd to have a boyfriend.” The giggle that comes out of his mouth is too adorable to handle. “How did we meet?” he asks, making sure you got the story straight. “Uhm, here?” you suggest. He rolls his eyes at the obvious answer but goes with it. “Okay! Uhm, let’s – let’s say I fell for you when you bossily told me how I should say a line in the dialogue you wrote?” You nod your head slowly. That sounds kind of cute. “What was our first date?” “Uhm, I don’t know? Movie and dinner?” He scrunches his nose, shaking his head. “No, girl… Charlie Gillespie doesn’t do basic dates!” You chuckle at this, stopping in the hallway of the building to check out. “You like hiking, right?” You nod your head, signing your name on the paper at the front desk. “I took you on a hike on the Eagle Bluffs trail in Vancouver and we had a romantic picnic on the mountain with a gorgeous view over the Cabin Lake.” You nearly melt away at the thought of him taking you on a date like that. “That’s a cute date,” you tell him, impressed, and trying not to show what it’s really doing to you. “And I kissed you on that mountain top.” He raises an eyebrow as an amused smirk pulls at his lips. “No one at my school would ever think I’d be the one to take that step.” “And our first ‘I love you’s were accidental slip ups at work!” He sounds way too excited and he’s getting way too into this. “Like, I’d accidentally completely mess up the punch-line of the joke you wrote, and you’d get annoyed and angry, and then I accidentally said “Okay, sorry, thank you, I love you”.” You giggle at his ideas as the both of you exit the building together. “Anything else we need to discuss?” you ask, grabbing your car key. “Don’t think so…” he trails off, really mulling it over. “Oh! Is there a dress code?” “Yes! It’s formal,” you reply, hoping that wouldn’t be too much of trouble so last minute. He thinks about it for a moment, going through his own wardrobe in his mind. “What are you wearing?” he questions. “Not sure, a red dress, I think…” “You think?” “Yeah, I might change my mind if I don’t like it.” He nods his head understandingly. “What time does it start?” “Seven. It’s about fifteen minutes from my place.” “I’ll pick you up at twenty minutes before then,” he suggests. You nod your head in agreement, then say your goodbyes and go your separate ways. That night, Charlie’s eyes widen when you open the door in your red, tight-fitting bodycon dress with spaghetti straps. He’s not used to seeing you out of your comfy mom-jeans and T-shirts or sweaters. “Uh… Okay… First of all,” he gestures to your body, “Wow!” You laugh at him, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Second of all… WOW!” “It’s not too much?” you ask, shyly. “No! No! Not at all! I’m very glad I get to play the boyfriend of a goddess like you.” “Oh, shut it, Charlie!” you slap his chest playfully before grabbing your clutch and leaving your apartment. “You look pretty wow yourself, by the way,” you say, approving of the suit he’s wearing. He bashfully smiles as you exit the building. He opens every door for you, like a true gentleman. You’re pretty sure no one has ever done that for you before. You always thought it would be so cliché, but it’s actually really nice. “Hey, how far are we going to go with PDA?” he asks when he gets in behind the wheel. “You know, holding hands and stuff…” You blush a little at the thought alone. Being single for so long almost made you forget that was a part of it too. “Uhm… Just improvise,” you shrug. “You’re the actor after all.” You go over the story again with Charlie, making sure neither of you will forget and give everything away. “You ready?” he asks as you’re standing in front of your high school. Terrible memories flood back inside your mind, sending shivers down your spine. As if on automatic, you grab Charlie’s bicep for support – both moral and physical. “Let’s do this.” The two of you walk inside the school and find the gym where they’re holding the five-year reunion. The music’s blasting, lights are flickering, and people are mingling, reminiscing over their high school memories. You already spot a few people you know, but much rather not talk to. “If you ever feel overwhelmed and want to leave, just tell me, and we’re out of here,” he whispers in your ear. You can’t help but smile at his words. A true gentleman.   “Thanks, Charlie,” you whisper back. He takes you straight to the bar where he gets you your favorite beverage. “How’d you know?” you ask when he hands it over. “You always order a G&T at the crew parties,” he tells you nonchalantly. “How attentive of you,” you compliment with an endeared smile plastered on your face. This man keeps surprising you with the smallest thing, and it’s the cutest thing you’d ever witnessed. It gives you the feeling of being seen and appreciated and respected. For the first time in your life. “Oh my God! Y/N!” you hear the shrill voice of Ella, one of your classmates from back in the day. One of the biggest bullies from your senior year. “You look amazing! How are you doing?!” she grabs the hand your not holding your drink with and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Hi, Ella…” you greet, putting the fakest smile you can muster on your face. “I’m good! How are you?” Charlie watches you to find any sign of uncomfortableness. “I’m good! You know, recently engaged.” She shows you her hand, which is decorated with the shiniest, biggest diamond ring you’d ever seen. “Oh, wow!” you glance at Charlie, “Look, babe, she’s engaged!” If he’s surprised by the sudden pet name, he doesn’t show it. “Congratulations, Bella!” You know he’s butchering that name on purpose, and you have to try your hardest to stifle a laugh. “You have a boyfriend?” Ella asks, clearly bitter over either him butchering her name or you, having such an attractive boyfriend. “There’s nothing on Facebook about that?” she chuckles awkwardly. Charlie wraps a protective arm around your waist, pulling you closer towards him. “Uhm… Yeah… We’re keeping it lowkey, you know?” you reply as convincingly as possible. “He’s an actor, so…” you trail off, hoping that would impress her. Ella’s demeanor changes all of a sudden. She goes from total bitch to flirty bitch. “Really?” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Y/N?” Another voice chimes in, this one belongs to Addison, Ella’s bestie. “Hey, Addie…” you greet, clutching your glass really hard. Charlie can feel you tensing up beside him and starts rubbing circles on your hip. “Y/N has an actor boyfriend,” Ella informs her. Addison’s eyes widen as they dart from you to Charlie and back. “How’d you meet?” Addison questions, intrigued by this entire story. The two of you glance at each other, trying to determine who’s going to tell the story. “At work, actually,” you start. “I’m on the writers team of the show he plays in.” “Yeah! She bossily told me how to deliver the line she wrote, and I’ve been in love with her ever since.” He looks down at you with the most endeared smile on his face that makes you melt like ice cream in the sun. “Aw! That’s adorable!” Addison clutches her heart as if it’s about to burst out of her chest. “When did you fall in love with him, Y/N?” You glance at Charlie for some assistance or some inspiration. “When he suggested that instead of a boring movie and dinner date, we’d go hiking together. I just knew he was the one for me at that moment.” You’re not going to lie, Charlie taking you on a hiking date would totally make you fall in love with him. Ella’s and Addison’s noses scrunch up in disgust. “Also…” she adds, then leans in closer to the girls to whisper, “His arms! The boy has guns, I tell you!” The two girls gasp, scanning Charlie entirely from head-to-toe. He snickers, then pulls you closer again. “You did not fall in love with me for my arms,” he tells you, shaking his head with an amused look on his face. You look up at him, eyebrow raised. “I do see you every day with those muscle tees, babe. You really think I wouldn’t swoon for that?” You couldn’t lie. Charlie’s arms were killer. But obviously not the only thing that made him attractive. “If you don’t mind, ladies. I’m going to take my lady for some food,” he nods towards the other side of the gym where food is stalled out into a banquet. Addison and Ella bid their goodbyes, and the two of you make your way to the catering. “I hate them with a passion,” you grumble as you take a plate to fill with canapes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as fake as them, and I’m an actor.” You giggle at his comment and reach for the mini-pizzas at the same time he does, your hands touch, making both of you freeze. “Sorry,” you both mumble, pulling away, flustered. “Hey, Y/N!” A voice you really didn’t want to hear sounds from behind me. “Kill me now,” you mumble, earning a worried look from Charlie. “Ex-boyfriend.” Charlie takes your plate from you and places it onto the table, leaving you a little confused. “Do you trust me?” he asks, hushed. “Yeah, wh—?” before you can finish your question, Charlie presses his lips to yours, pushing you gently against the wall behind you. You’re startled, at first, but then melt into the kiss as your stomach starts to do flips and turns. You didn’t realize until now that this is what you’ve wanted all along. You always wondered why your eyes always automatically darted to his lips. Now you know why. “Ooh! Get it, Y/N!” you hear your ex’s best friend shout. Nothing about high school has changed. Except now Charlie’s here. He pulls away and stares at you for a moment, equally as overwhelmed as you. “You want to get out of here?” he whispers. You simply nod your head, running your tongue across your bottom lip as though the taste of his lips is still there. Charlie grabs your hand and pulls you to the door of the gym. As you pass your ex and his friends, you offer them a wave of your slender fingers. For the first time in years, you feel powerful in this gym, like you can conquer the world. Charlie takes you into the hallway, and pushes you against the wall of lockers, kissing you again. You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as your hands tug at his suit jacket. “I wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers when he pulls away for a second, pressing his forehead against yours and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your voice down too. “You really think I made all of that up in there?” he chuckles. “I really did fall for you when you told me off about delivering that line wrong.” Your mouth drops open before your lips turn up into a surprised smile. “It was incredibly hot.” “And I do swoon every time I see you, by the way,” you admit for the first time to yourself. “And I would really love that first date you imagined for us.” “Good,” he replies, “Because I was going to ask you to go this weekend.” Your eyes widen, and Charlie notices a sparkle in them that he’s never seen before. “Thank you for tonight, Charlie,” you whisper, pushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He has that Patrick Swayze hair he had a couple of times in Season 1 of Julie and The Phantoms, the hairstyle you find way too attractive. “No, thank you.” He smiles down at you before connecting his lips to yours again in a deep, passionate kiss. Tonight, you not only conquered your dreadful past, but you also found the love of your life in your best friend. And you couldn’t possibly ask for more. This was a perfect night.

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