#but then youre smacked in the face with the reality that it Is applicable. that it Does fit that label.

[orcelito]

Do u ever just write an essay for school that has you thinking about an experience u had a whole 9 and a half years ago & it recontextualizes everything so ur accepting smth that u have been avoiding for Years

Or is that just me lol

[cuprohastes]

The Trouble with Pebbles Pt 2

So to set the scene:

Dave the human, actual human of indeterminate ethnic and cultural origin, who has never done anything wrong, or more accurately he's never done anything wrong that anyone cared to find out about has been given a really good rock by a small alien lizard who has an unfortunate speech impediment.

This means exactly what you think it means.

Garfield, Gondy and Rax, Two large and a Medium Atrix are swinging between delight, bewilderment and anxiety. Un-Named male, Garf's little Guy, hasn't woken up form a nap and is at this point, not really a stakeholder.

The Station chiefs, an Atrix called Don't Make Me come Down There AKA Big Ma, and her human counterpart, Chief O'Patel are locked in their office with a half dozen pet rats, some good moss and the emergency biscuit supply trying to figure out how not to get yelled at by Homeworld & Homeworld.

EVA 43 is currently conniving with Humanity's smartest person, which has around 18 different government groups from seven species taking terror shits.

Trashdancer is just having a shitty day because to paraphrase St. Marvin: Here I am with a brain the size of a planet and you want me to Wiki that for you.

Dave The Human is just keeping the plumbing working and singing along to a Human musical, re-written and re-scored for Tsin. It's Squeap!: The Musical.

The Von Neumann Space Squid aren't in this story.

Now: On with the show:

Dave the human is being fired.

"This is not how I thought my day was going to go." he says. He's holding the rock that was given to him my the small Atrix a few hours earlier. He's turning it over in his palm, feeling the smoothness and the roughness.

O'Patel is doing something bizarre with his face an Big Ma is maintining what can only be described as a Poker face. For a species that talks wit chromatophores splayed across their cheeks, muzzle and forehead, Dave can only deduce that he should never play cards with her, or possiby she's under near fatal amounts of sedation.

Slowly Dave starts to realise that O'Patel is trying to tell him something that he doesn't want officially recorded and starts to pay serious attention. Atrix Stare levels of analysis are going on here.

"Unfortuntely [Wink] due to the diplomatic [Eyebrows go up] realities of the situation [Grimace], we are unable to maintain your contract [Slight hunch of hte shoulders, headbob, are you following yet?] as one of the human specialists on this station. "[Pointed eye swivelling at Big Ma].

Dave has now developed telepathy. Let's re-run that with context.

"Oh shit homeworld is being dicks. We have to think fast, and we have to show we dealt with the situation. We have a plan, play along, over to you Big Ma"

"Coincidentally, your job has been allocated to the Atrix." says Big Ma, poking her tablet.

Dave's tablet vibrates and he looks up to see both Station Chiefts making emphatic Answer The Phone motions.

Dave pulls the tablet out, reads the message. He thumb-prints it and sits down hard.

"Oh look at that. Fortunately we were able to..." she says as she smacks a few on-screen buttons and makes Dave the Human vanish. "... find someone who is not only Atrix..." she says pausing.

O'Patel lurches across his desk and thumbprints about 9000 documents that scream across his display, in a performance of button mashing that will never be properly appreciated outside this office.

"... but has exactly the right qualifications. Graak. And... is getting a signing bonus for speedy... application." she says and countersigns about as many documents with the biometrics of her chromatophore pattern.

"Well." says O'Patel. "I'll miss Dave. Good chep, not his fault, good technician, crap taste in music."

"Even so," says Big Ma, "I'm sure you'll be happy to welcome Dave the Atrix, our new technician."

"My life is taking turns for the weird." says Dave and O'Patel slides the biscuits over sympathetically.

A little later on...

Dave the Atrix has a fresh set of work clothes in the Atrix pattern and is sitting on a work table while Dave The Human is working on a helmet with a UV visor.

Dave has a cloth bag lined with a fuzzy blanket, out of which is peeking Dave's little Guy.

The little Guy is a bit traumatised. He kind of assumed that Bad things were happening when Gony, Garf and Rax had ploughed into the common area, dredged the ferns sending kids and Little Guys scattering and then grabbed him specifically and lumbered at tooth rattling speed out of the nice bright Atrix wing of the Station and hauled him through terrifying corridoors.

Dave had been there, the lynchpin of the Little Guy's plan to Get out, and he had said an apologetic Graak, assuming they were both being thrown into space (though rumour has it that humans find this annoying then come back in and bitch about it).

It'd been a bewildering though pleasant surprise when the worst that'd happened was he was stuffed into a weird furry bag, and then Dave had said something about clothes and... now he was here watching the four armed Tsin, who probably ate small Atrix, adding ossicones to a lightweight helmet with a flip up faceplate of some nearly opaque material.

Dave the Atrix on the other hand was watching his friend add an arrangement of knobs to his UV helmet which had a nice buttery yellow visor, that blocked UV.

"Check this out." said Dave The Human. She toggled her tablet and a grid of hexagons on the faceplate rippled up and down in a colourful wave."

"Oh wow." said Dave A. "Does that actually work?"

"Not really." Dave H said regretfully. "There's a lot of research but right now it can approximate a name pattern, and repeat one back if the cameras catch it. Otherwise it uses the standard Atrix Icons, the ones they use as emoji."

"Well better than nothing. Uh, chunky pixels because... "

"Yeah. The Uncanny Valley. CG looks weird."

Dave A nods and looks over into the laundry bag at his Little Guy. "You ok?" he asks again.

The little guy just stares, but there's no ripples of colour and he says "grak."

Dave reaches in and pulls him out, sits him on his lap. "Come on little dude. Lets figure some stuff out. This is my friend, Dave the Human. She's not human but that's what she's called." he says, "And now they call me Dave the Atrix. I'm not an Atrix but I'm going to play one for a while." Dave says.

Every time Dave says Atric, the little guy looks up at Dave's forehead.

"You get used to it. Anyway. Rock accepted. Congrats, you escaped and that's big." he says.

"Grak?"

"Nah I'm not mad. I'd have helped anyway. I think you just startled a lot of people who are now having to answer some questions they needed to hear. So to speak."

"Graak?"

"No. And if anyone tries anything I will get very human about it." Dave says.

"So will I to the best of my abilities." says Dave H. "Hey, the cloth printer is finished..." she says and pulls out a slightly dusty set of clothes. She scrunches them and concertinas them to get the fibres supple and knock out all the cloth dust from the Maker.

Between the two Daves they get the Little guy into a quilted jacket with a hood, and a sarong.

The little guy is initially skeptical because clothes are not very normal for a Tsin of his size but after a minute, he stops feeling so cold and itchily dry and that sitting down on the cloth is a lot more comfortable - and the weird little socks with the silicone dots mean his feet are no longer aching or sliding around, and he starts to come around to maybe there's a use for this.

Then he discovers pockets and his horizons are expanded.

"Graak!!"

"Yeah. Like.. so good." Dave H says. "They're yours. Dave will show you how to wash them."

"You need a name." says Dave A.

"Grak?"

"No not everyone is actually called Dave." he says. "Hang on..."

Dave A motions for the helmet and he and Dave H fuss with it. Dave A puts it on and drops the visor. Now it's being worn, the little guy can more appreciate the dumb friendly expression it seems to have. "Atrix." says Dave A and the hex grid lights up in a pleasing blue and gold pattern that the little guy immediately associates with his new friend.

Dave flips up the visor and pulls the chin peice down. "Oh yeah that really is more comfortable." he tells Dave H and they do some sort of complex hand/claw tap.

"OK. Name time."

They both look at the little guy who up until now has not had an actual name, and has mostly inf act had people try hard not to look at him or refer to him. Hmm. A name like the face patterns he always wanted, but could never have. the tip of his tail starts vibrating.

"Cat." says Dave A. "Cat... Fantastic."

"Really?" says Dave H. "No, let me re-phrase that. Really. hey, Cat, if you don't take the name, can I have it?"

"Grak!" says Cat.

"That's it bud." says Dave H, "That's your name, nobody gets to take it away. If they try, Kick their ass." and proffers a claw. Cat eyes it and tentatively bumps it with a tiny hand.

"So... finally got married. Like... pebble married." says Dave H and Dave A laughs. "I guess. But hey, I'm a modern progressive, non-biological Atrix..."

Cat looks up at everyone's foreheads.

"... But i have been told that I will be in trouble - All the trouble - if I decide to lay an egg."

"Better not do that then." says Dave The Human.

"No promises." says Dave the Atrix and flips down his visor. It's showing cartoon face that from this angle, somehow seems to have a wink for Cat.

[siremasterlawrence]

Acting Dynasty

The Swedish Acting Dynasty The Skarsgard is my first fiery attempt at getting what I am deserving of for all eternity with the use of hypnosis to create whatever I wish for a life time.

I have spent time many hours in fact in my make shift laboratory working on a new vr virtual reality device and that I have fully completed with the help of advancement of technology.

I sigh taking a deep breath removing it from the table opening it, placing it over my head on to my face, and sliding in to the bridge of my nose and pressing the side of the virtual reality shades.

I smirk laying on my bed spreading over it I begin to imagine what the applications of this device can mean but none of that is of importance at the moment because I want control.

Snapping my fingers the the device revs up the screen pops up a pitch black a human face interface appears happily obedient to obey me every word for the rest of his life as if he has a choice.

I inform him of its purpose to hack in to the mind of anybody I choose the sound clicks on and screen blows up blue I think of the name Stalls Skarsgard popping in to my head.

My eyes close shutting my body totally fell in collapsing on to the bed my whole souls consciousness transforms into the virtual reality shades my body shoots in to the either.

It’s funny I can feel part of my soul rip off of me traveling through the speed of sheer force enters Stellen’s body his unfortunate portly body wakes up staring in to the ceiling.

I am not in his mind eyes commanding him to rise to his feet slipping on his slippers as he heads to the bathroom face the mirror he stares mindlessly at himself reversing it all now inside of his head.

“Who are you? What am I doing here? What do you want?”

“Don’t worry about it because as of now you are my property.”

“No Way! You will relinquish me immediately “

“I am your God! You will submit”

“Think of me as the real God Of Thunder “

“You feel it, you can sense it “

“You own me”

“Mwahahahahaha….give in to your God”

“Nnnnnooooooooo…..yes I’ve been psyoped”

“How may I serve you God?” A monotone voice answers.

“I want your sons Alexander and Bill.” I say firm.

“Yes God, I kneel to you I will invite them over.” He says exiting.

“Oh you will! Mwahahaha.” I laugh so hard.

“I will be waiting for sure.” I continue on.

“Yes hurry up! They are both coming in a few minutes.” He replies returning to me.

“How may I proceed?” He adds kneeling in front of the mirror.

“You will bring him here, lock the door, put him in to a choke hold and hold him up.”

“With pleasure.” He replies with a wicked evil smile.

A bell rings stirring up I pounding down for him to go downstairs, opening the door for his eldest son Alexander leading him up to the bedroom bathroom.

Alexander completely confused sending him in to the bathroom he quietly locks the door slamming it shut causing Alex or turn to face him.

Before he could react Alex can a feel a hand wrap over his neck tightly then follow by the other hand and holds him tight yanking him down.

Unconsciousness takes him in to a fade of total blackness slipping in to his fathers arm forever but my soul energy consumes him in to a pitch black state.

Alexander appears inside of his own mind in state of disbelief he can’t believe I am in his head in supreme control of the world he is now occupying.

My hand smacks him hard sending him in to the floor flying at a high speed he loses all sense of himself suddenly he erupts in a stern silent moan.

“What the fuck?”

“Shut up!”

“You have submitted long along.”

“You two! Can you hear me?”

“Yes God!”

“Stand at attention”

“Yes God!”

“Where is Bill?”

“On his way God!”

“The door bell god”

“Both of you answer the door”

“We open the door swing it open and he is in God.”

“Welcome Bill!”

“What the….”

“Ssssshhhh”

“Mmmmpppphhhhffff0

“Zip it”

“You are my property “

“I am your God”

“Mwahahahahaha “

“We all obey.”

The end

Who is next up? Tell your own story. Just give me credit for mine and the idea lol

The end

[mariposamisteriosa-blog]

Working a Job

I

Money is essential, we crave it, we want it more than anything else in this world. Money doesn’t grow on trees as much as we want it to be. As we get older our parents won’t give us enough money to spend on the desires we want. One solution to our problem is working a job. A nine to five with random people you don’t know a thing about. How do you start looking for a job ? Online. Filling out job applications day and night wishing they call you back. Phone rings, as you answer the phone you realize it was a spam caller. You look like a fool waiting on a call that will never happen. The interview made it seem as if I was going to get a call back. I had a smile and my posture was perfect. It was their loss not mine. 

II

Working looking at coworkers flirting with one another acting as though they don’t have their own girlfriends and boyfriends. I guess that’s what you call your boyfriend/ girlfriend. Having them not paying attention to what is going on around them. Looking at each other as though we don’t have stuff to cook. Making me rush and yell every time a new customer comes to complain about where their food is. I always wondered whether their significant other would figure it out and make a scene. It would be funny seeing them squawk for a guy that works at KFC. It isn’t none of my business but I mean how hard is it to do a simple job task. Wash dishes, take orders, and make the orders not so hard to do. 

III

Having to work all week just to be treated as a rat who roams New York subway . Hearing the boss yelling as if I’m deaf or something when in reality she’s just a few steps away from my face. The anger rushed through my veins, boiled up and wanting to swing at her with all the anger in me. Her daughter is a manager yet always flirting with one of the cashiers that refuses to acknowledge her. Not only is being mommy’s favorite work in her favor but it’s against mine. Her hot breath in my face makes me want to smack sense into her so that I don’t feel threatened. I would love to quit this job in seconds if only I didn’t need money. One day I would make them pay just not now. Her calling me a whore knowing I’m nothing like her. Being a

[ushidoux]

Power Struggle - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: You’re set up on a blind date with a man who might just be your match.  (~5.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, blind date, exhibitionism, public sex

A/N: Part of @cherrytenko​’s CEO collab! Surprisingly this is possibly the longest fic I’ve written as a oneshot and it’s a little softer than I expected it to be but please enjoy!

---

It’s about half past 6pm when you add the final touch to your makeup, a smear of matte lipstick (Rouge Hermes #48, to be exact), to your lips.

It’s not often that you’re able to leave work early but your mother and father had called you from overseas in the late afternoon, interrupting their own third honeymoon, to remind you of your final meeting for the day - 

A date.

“I know you hate these things, but just go! You might like what you see,” your mother insisted over video chat, her voice muffled by the sound of wind whipping past her as she and your father cruised along on a shaky speedboat they’d purchased just for the day. You weren’t completely sure where they were, only vaguely aware that they were somewhere around Jeju Island, and not exactly sure why they still had phone service, but you weren’t going to ask too many questions.

“No obligation!” Your father adds, just out of view and yelling slightly. 

Sure, never any obligations.

As you smack your lips in the mirror to smooth out the lip color, giving yourself a brief once-over to decide whether or not you feel the need to adjust your hair or if you will wear falsies or not, you frown ever so slightly, then let out a sigh.

You hate this. 

This is the third “meeting” they’ve arranged for you this month, and they’d been at this for almost six months overall by now. This search for a ‘suitable husband’ was getting stale -  not to mention, time-consuming - and you weren’t sure you would be willing to appease your parents any longer.

In fact, you weren’t exactly sure you were interested in a partner anymore. The clock would hit thirty any moment now, and the math of falling in love, getting married, having kids, and still heading a successful company no longer seemed to be adding up. You didn’t know how exactly to tell your sweet parents who were the picture of domestic bliss that they’d probably have to give up on the idea of grandchildren, and consider raising puppies instead.

Regardless, for the time being, you could still bother to meet this stranger for dinner.

There’s a clasp seal envelope atop your dresser - a portfolio that had been left on your desk by your father’s assistant at the beginning of the week - that still seems entirely too formal for the process. This is matchmaking, not a job application, was the first thought that came to mind once you realized the envelope held a set of photos, a resume and an admittedly curt but formally written statement reminiscent of a cover letter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, the signature at the bottom of the letter read in an extremely neat script. He must be particularly organized and detail-oriented.

There were two pictures, one that looked almost like a passport photo and the other much more relaxed, where he was dressed casually in a t-shirt and pressed jeans, standing with his arms crossed beside a redheaded man whose smile was wide and infectious, his arm around his neck. You wondered if he picked those photos himself. 

You’d perused the first photo much more carefully because you could see more of his face. He’s quite handsome, you’d admitted, the faintest warmth in your cheeks, but he seemed awfully uptight. For one, the look on his face was very neutral, not bothering to smile. He was clean shaven and his hair was close cropped at the edges, a woody brown that paired well with serious olive eyes. You wondered if he ever laughed out loud, and what he looked like when he did.

The taxi driver is prompt and waiting outside of the high-rise in which you live by the time you make your way down the elevator. The click of your heels is loud on the tile as you make your way past the revolving doors. As you slip into the back of the car, you wonder if you’re dressed too professionally. You may have forgone the women’s pantsuit, but you’re still wearing a feminine pantsuit-esque ensemble in a creamy beige - pink would have seemed too ditzy, white would have seemed a bit too innocent (not to mention risky) and yellow too juvenile.

You’re not sure why you’re thinking so hard about this, but really years of paying attention to your appearance in public, not being taken seriously because you’re pretty and young and your personality is more bubbly than bossy puts you on your guard, especially when it comes to first impressions.

The location appears to be an upscale sushi restaurant, the type that you have to call ahead for months to get a reservation unless you have some kind of special arrangement with the owner. A staff member checks you in and brings you to the back to a private room, and as you pass through the dimly lit hallway, clutching your purse a little too securely, a scene from a yakuza movie comes to mind.

“Your room, madam,” the young man nods and motions you to enter a room that is brightly lit enough that it is almost blinding, large and round as though you were in a fishbowl yourself. You look up and notice that even the ceiling is curved. Elaborate paintings hang off the wall. 

He’s not here.

You glance at the attendant and he raises his eyebrows as though he is expecting you to say something. You must look surprised, and continue to look so as you remove your shoes to sit at one of the thin mattresses set before the low table.

You wish you’d worn stockings perhaps, tucking your bare feet beneath you in a casual seiza position. You can’t recall the last time you’ve been this traditional/formal, and the thought of a man you barely know already knowing what your feet look like bare bothers you just a bit. 

The attendant pours water and then tea for two wordlessly and slips out of the room. 

Your heart pounds once you’re finally alone. Why is this so intense? 

You fidget nervously with the thin silver necklace you are wearing, looking for a menu. There is none so far. Just square plates, both chopsticks and forks (odd for sushi, you think), and a steaming cup of tea set right next to a sweltering crystal glass of ice cold water. Opposites.

For a fleeting moment, you actually wonder for once if this man will like you. 

“My apologies, Ms. ___.”

You’re startled by a rich voice, a tiny gasp revealing that you’re more spooked than you realize, and your eyes shift towards the direction of the sound to see what looks like your date finally arriving in a hurry. 

You instinctively readjust yourself onto your knees to look formal, then realize you should probably stand instead, but before you can get up he waves you to sit back down, now settling down himself across from you.

“I had intended to arrive early but quite a few things happened at the company to make that unfeasible.”

He said this while removing a suit jacket in a way that was in no way intended to be sexy, not at all, then let out what sounded like a single, semi-nervous chuckle. 

Wordlessly, you replied with a nod, transfixed as you compared photography to reality. The photos didn’t do him justice, not at all. The suit jacket was picked up quickly by a waiter who you had forgotten was still in the room.

Ushijima extended an arm to you across the table, intending to shake your hand.

“Did you wait long?” He asks as you shakily take his hand for a handshake that consumes your hand almost entirely in his large one.

You shake your head, then embarrassed when you realize you aren’t using your voice, and add, “No, I didn’t wait long...”

“Are you hungry?” He replies, quickly. Your instinct is to say no, no you didn’t need anything, especially not from him, but you are pretty sure your stomach would growl loudly any minute now, and you’d only look like a fool. 

Ushijima glances at the waiter, who finally hands the two of you menus.

“Please order anything you like.”

You look down, swallowing hard again, and for a moment it is difficult to focus on the unnecessarily elaborate handwriting on the menu.

Something about him already grates on your nerves and you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. You could forgive people for being late, and you were used to people being a little forward, but something about the way he was both familiar and unfamiliar in the way he spoke to you seemed to veer into patronizing behavior. 

Why wasn’t he nervous? Every man you’d sat across from in the past half a year had just a little waver in their voice when they spoke to you at some point, even those who had started off boasting their fancy degrees and their villas and their large bank accounts. 

But he sits perfectly still, all broad shoulders, gently wafting cologne, and a gaze that is both disconcerting and impartial, so you don’t know what to think. 

When you look up from the menu to him, his eyes are still heavily focused on you, and you can’t really fault him. There’s nothing else to look at in this room, after all.

You take this opportunity to tease him. No man has ever intimidated you before and this one is no different.

“Are you going to order anything? I barely saw you look at the menu.” Your voice is light and coquettish and it implies, all you’re doing is staring at me.

“I already know my order. I’ve been here enough times,” he replies, immune to the playfulness in your voice. You watch him roll up his sleeves as he answers, and take note of the shape of his hands as he takes a sip of tea.

Maybe you’re the one staring.

“Would you like a recommendation?” He offers as he sets the cup down. 

You shake your head no, and wonder again why you’re making gestures instead of talking. He smiles as though he can read your mind.

Once the waiter takes your orders and leaves the room, you’re left in silence, facing your would-be partner. It’s a stalemate of sorts and you lose, asking the first personal question.

But you ask it semi-clinically, refusing to lose the upper hand. You’re not sure why there’s an upper hand, but there is, and it will be yours.

“I read a little about your company before arriving. You gave me quite a few details, which I appreciated,” you state, turning your head to the side politely to take a sip of tea yourself. “You’ve done very well for yourself as CEO,” you add.

His eyes don’t crinkle from the flattery. “My employees do great work at all levels so it’s only natural that there would be positive growth,” he replies matter-of-factly.

You smile politely, but this answer doesn’t give you very much information about him. He’s shifting the success away from him, you remark, however he accepts the compliment as though expected. Is this genuine humility or arrogance?

You lean very slightly forward, just enough to see if he’ll take the opportunity to glance down your blouse, as other suitors have invariably done. He doesn’t, and you proceed to ask the next question.

“What do you do outside of work?”

His eyebrows raise, and you wonder if it’s because he realizes you are pretending you didn’t read that section on his application, but he answers anyway.

“I don’t have very much free time, as you are probably aware, but I garden and paint. And of course, I like to keep fit through team sports.”

A quick look at him makes that last part quite clear. You clear your throat slightly and then it is silent again. It’s not exactly an uncomfortable silence, but it’s not comfortable either.

Just as you wonder why he isn’t asking you any questions, he suddenly speaks up.

“Pardon me if this sounds inappropriate, but you’re beautiful. Why would you need a matchmaking service?”

You’re taken aback, and while your brain is scrambling for understanding of what his intentions are, he adjusts his sitting position so that he’s cross-legged with both hands on his knees and lets out a sigh before continuing.

“You’re also accomplished and clearly articulate. I don’t imagine you’d have trouble finding a partner through more organic means.”

It seems like there are a million butterflies that suddenly inhabit the small space in the pit of your stomach. Again, you’re at a loss for words, something that is rare for someone as opinionated and cordially fierce as you.

Should you be offended? It’s almost as though he’s asking what’s wrong with you?

He asks frankly, “Why a blind date?”

You want to ask him the same question, but you hear the waiter return and you fall silent, letting the butterflies in your stomach die down.

---

“I-is this the first time - ah - you’ve done this?”

You’re no longer laid out on the tatami like you were just an hour earlier, Ushijima nibbling on your lower lip and your collarbones instead of the overpriced, high-quality fish that sat atop your table, but now laid under him, spread eagle save for the hands you use to hold on to his shoulders as he slowly and deliberately thrusts inside you. 

Your voice is breathy and catches in your throat every time he moves, but you have to know. How often has he ended up like this?

The heat that fills your whole body now isn’t just from the shame of letting a stranger fondle your body in an upscale restaurant, it’s because Ushijima somehow knows exactly where and how to touch you, as though he’s always known. His fingers have traveled your body like a hiker on a well-beaten path, from the softness behind your earlobes to your squishy center and back, and now have settled into a hold that is firm yet gentle on your hips. 

When he replies “no” with immense honesty, his mouth sinks into the crook of your neck and he goes just deep enough that you don’t have time to factor this new information into your impression of him.

So instead you savor the thickness that fills you and the strength that holds you close, the soft grunts that fill your ears before they get drowned out by your equally loud whimpers and moans.

---

You don’t spend the night, partially out of shame that Ushijima bedded you so quickly and partially because you have a full schedule for the next morning. The parting of ways is brief and awkward and you seem to feel it more acutely than he does.

“I enjoyed our time, Miss ___,” he offers. You’ve dressed up faster than he has so you find yourself unwittingly ogling at the expanse of his sculpted chest and the flex of his muscles as he redresses. You’re almost sad to see him cover up.

You nod and walk out of the room, trying your best to hide the fact that your legs feel far too wobbly to be walking on these heels.

---

“Miss ____?”

Your eyes widen as you realize you’ve been daydreaming through a meeting with the board of trustees and now the wrinkled old men who hated the fact that your father thrust you into leadership you “didn’t deserve” are staring at you with disgruntled expressions.

“Oh, um,” you think quickly, recalling where the presentation left off and glancing quickly at the notes you’d jotted down on a notepad before wondering why Ushijima hadn’t called or texted since you met two weeks ago.

“Um?” The most senior of the group repeats, and your stomach turns for a moment before you steel yourself. He bares his teeth every time he’s displeased with you and you get the impression of an ancient and disgruntled wolf. 

You clear your throat loudly, and settle back in your chair, crossing your legs and your arms over your chest.

“I have some disagreements with the current approach, but I’ll start with the pertinent positives,” you start.

---

“Was the sex at least good?”

Your best friend from high school glances at you briefly, as you face forward on the Peloton you are riding side by side with her. She’s much less out of shape than you are given that she also is your personal trainer and thus rides hers effortlessly, taking some time to wait for you to respond.

You begrudgingly say yes.

“Wow, for once someone dropped you before you could drop them!” She teases in a sing-song voice. You would slap her on the shoulder if she was close enough and if you weren’t out of breath. It stings just a little bit that you’ve heard nothing from him nor the matchmaking company and don’t have a good response to tell your parents aside from I guess we didn’t click.

“He’s missing out, though.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you huff, and cycle faster. No hard feelings.

---

Scratch that, there were absolutely going to be hard feelings now that he was not just fucking with you but also with your livelihood.

Admittedly, it was strange that despite the fact that your companies had never crossed paths until now despite working in the same consumer domain but this was unacceptable.

You’d opened an email that had just slipped into your peripheral vision as you worked on reviewing a couple of interns’ executive summaries, only to find that Ushijima might have just royally fucked you over.

A curt email from a crucial business partner read,

We apologize but we’ve decided to move forward with Ushijima Industries instead. I understand that this is last minute, but we believe that it will be mutually beneficial to discontinue our relationship at this point in time.

Your blood boiled. What the fuck was this?

Your phone rang, one of your team leaders calling immediately and likely looking at the email at the same time you were. He apologized profusely.

“What happened?”

“It seems like they just showed up and offered twice as much as we offered them last minute.”

This bastard. Then in a moment of horror, you wondered if this was your fault, if you had blabbed a little while slightly tipsy off of sake, and revealed that you had this acquisition in the works.

Voice smaller now, you asked, “So we can’t do anything to woo them back?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just have to make sure our other deal doesn’t fall through,” the slightly frantic man answered, the sounds of keyboard keys clicking rapidly heard in the background of the call. 

“Okay, thank you for your hard work,” you stated. “I’ll see what I can do,” you replied with a click. 

Maybe calling someone who’d ghosted you as you drove home, fuming and irritated, wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to confront him somehow. The idea of being bested in more ways than one was too much to bear.

The phone rang once, twice, then three times, and you were getting angrier with every tone through the car speaker. You hung up in frustration.

How embarrassing.

You made it home still irritated, indulging yourself in a relaxing bath to quell your anger. By the time you had soaked for close to an hour, you were mad at yourself for reacting impulsively and now having your number in his phone as a missed call… if he recognized it anyway.

It turns out he did.

“Ms. ___, did you call me earlier? I wasn’t able to make it to the phone in time.”

His voice was even lower on the phone, a slightly gravelly quality making you wonder if he’d actually been napping or just had a smoke. You couldn’t imagine him doing either of these things.

“What kind of game are you playing, Mr. Ushijima?”

There was a bit of hesitation on the phone, and you let out a sardonic laugh once he replied, as expected, “What?”

“How did you know about that deal other than what I told you?”

He paused again, and you too, stood still, a towel wrapped around your still dripping body.

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he then said, carefully. “I, uh… assume you were calling about something else.”

You grit your teeth. What the fuck else? The fact that he sounded genuinely confused only served to aggravate you further.

“Did you or did you not use the information I gave you to intercept my deal with MNY?”

Finally the lightbulb went on.

“Oh, that was you. Hm.”

If you’d been talking in person, you probably would have slapped him at this point. Or at least considered it.

“I didn’t know you were our competitor in that aspect. I… probably would have reconsidered if I had known.”

“Excuse me?”

That tone of over-familiarity, patronizing… the care when you’re not supposed to care was back and you realized you regretted this phone call. 

“How would it be any different? Are you implying that you’d let me win?”

“No, of course not, I…” He trailed off. “Would you like to come over to my apartment and talk? I can give you my address, I would rather talk in person.”

Why? So I can get over there and end up fucking you again?

“I respectfully decline,” you answered curtly, and hung up, tossing your phone onto your bed and letting out an aggravated sigh. 

---

The next morning, you leave an early executive meeting only to find that your office had been overrun with flowers between the hours of 7 to 8 am.

There are yellow roses, stating admiration, spilling out of an oversized bouquet on your desk and a separate bouquet of light red carnations and white camellias that imply that he finds you ‘adorable’. A white card is placed in the yellow bouquet, and on it is written Ushijima’s neat script - you realize it’s from him before you even finish reading the note.

I would like to see you again. Please accept my call around 6 pm.

Respectfully, 

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Your hands hover over the wastebasket in your room with the flowers in your arms, but instead you sigh, and stuff them behind you on your shelf. At least you won’t have to see them while you work, but they’re pretty. They’re clearly bought from a floral shop, but you recall that he had said he gardened in his free time.

Ushijima calls promptly at 6 pm and you let it ring twice before deciding to block his number just as he’s calling. Something about the action is satisfying. 

You can’t be won over with a couple of flowers and kind words. Women aren’t as easily swayed as he may think.

---

It’s another Friday, and surprisingly you haven’t been contacted for a blind date, whether it’s by your parents or the matchmaking service they’ve subscribed you to.

Maybe they’d gotten the message after you’d been ghosted that you were tired of this game. Maybe they were giving you a break. Maybe they’d run out of potential suitors. You were surprised, but not upset.

Ushijima had truly gotten under your skin.

After blocking his call, there were no more attempts at contact for the rest of the week. The only thing left to consider was that if you ever crossed paths in your careers, you would pay him back for snatching your investor. 

And snatching your dignity in the process.

It was about 4 pm and most of the employees were wrapping up their tasks for the day. You usually aimed to have everyone out by 5, especially on Friday so this was boding well. 

“Hey, Madam President, are you okay with an add-on?” You hear your secretary call from outside your door.

“Oh, I mean, I guess but-”

She’s already letting Ushijima through the door.

You smile sweetly, maintaining professional behavior as best you can, while your secretary leads him to an armchair across from you, up until she exits, your expression souring the moment she closes the door.

“Mr. Ushijima, what are you doing in my office?”

He’s settled into the chair so comfortably that it feels as though you’re in his office, not your own. He’s dressed more casually than he was at the restaurant, no suit jacket, just a brown V-neck sweater over a dress shirt that almost seems too tight and a pair of chinos. He’s also wearing a pair of glasses, which is new. 

You hate that he looks good.

“Apologizing and requesting your company.”

He looks at you sincerely, his hands clasped together in his lap. You narrow your eyes.

“Please leave.”

He actually frowns, and the small action actually surprises you. 

“Do you actually want me to leave or are you still upset about the investor? Because if it’s that, we can make an arrangement-”

“No, I’m upset because you did that after not following up after our one night stand!” You finally blurt out, then bite your lip realizing you might have said too much.

“I… got busy.”

“Busy screwing me over?” You quip.

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture.

“I didn’t call because I thought you didn’t like me.”

You’re a little stunned by this reply, then decide you don’t believe him. What was there not to like? At least at that point he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Why would you think that?”

His hands leave his hair again and rest on his knees. You notice it seems like a default position for him. 

“I’ve been referred to as ‘stiff’. It’s great at work but not great for relationships.”

Ushijima’s brutal honesty is again sending you for a loop. You raise an eyebrow, bidding him to continue. Your arms uncross and you rest your elbows on the table.

“So…?”

“So usually by the time I’ve had sex with someone, it’s all they’re after. And since you didn’t call, I assumed even the sex wasn’t good.”

You unwittingly burst into laughter. Here was this successful, attractive man with a perfect pedigree who was insecure about how good he was in bed?

His eyebrows furrow, and you recollect yourself, realizing that this is a bit cruel.

“You could have sent a text,” you murmur.

“I’m bad at starting conversations.”

You stifle another laugh. “So you just don’t?” You tease. It’s gently mocking but mostly incredulous. It seems that he’s the opposite of the confident man he appears to be.

“That’s why I got excited when you called but then you were upset.”

You purse your lips.

“I promise I didn’t intend to put you in a bad situation,” Ushijima insists.

You sigh, then offer him a small smile. “Are you normally this persistent?”

He glances at the flowers that are only partially hidden from view, which makes your face warm up bashfully, and then looks right back at you.

“No. I just like you.”

Again with the directness, a confidence that is effortless, even when he’s not confident at all.

You don’t want to melt but you do. So instead you rise and clear your desk, stuffing a few items into your handbag as you prepare to leave. He watches, unsure of what you’re up to, sitting still as you walk around towards him and place your hand lightly on his shoulder.

Your body faces the door, but you turn to the side to look at him and grin.

“I’m done with work for today. Take me out.”

---

A couple months later...

“Fuck, you’re - ah - they’re gonna know, I-” Your voice morphs into a mewl instead once his ring finger reaches just the right spot; you’re squirming as much as possible under his touch but he has you laid back on your work desk with both ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight leaning onto you to essentially keep you in place.

“Move your hands,” Ushijima whispers in a hushed tone, leaning in to kiss between your breasts as he readjusts your legs atop him. His pants are down and his cock is already up and ready, the base and swollen balls rubbing against your wet cunt that you are desperately trying to protect from his intrusion. You know there’s absolutely no way you’ll stay quiet when he’s pounding the shit out of you, he likes it entirely too rough, and the walls are thin. You don’t listen, continuing to reach for his hands to swat them away from you.

There’s a part of you that is almost certain that at the very least your secretary knows that every time Ushijima comes for a ‘meeting’, it really is just to fuck the shit out of you before you leave together for the evening, or to relax you right before you once again have to defend your dad’s establishment of you as Company President.

This isn’t a good look.

“I-I can’t…” you whine.

“You can,” he assures you.

He gently kisses your face before prying your hands out of the way and keeping them pinned up against you with one hand and guiding his trajectory with the other before sinking inside of you. You moan at the breach of your privates and he quickly presses his lips to yours to swallow the sound.

Once he’s bottomed out, he rolls his hips, and soon you start to see white once you climax, clenching and cumming around him.

“T-Toshi!” You moan his name, and he clasps a large hand around your mouth before continuing, picking up the pace as he fucks you through your orgasm. He can’t deny that he likes the fact that you’re noisy, that the fact that the heavy desk he’s fucking you against is making a squeaky noise that suggests he’s really putting some force behind these strokes, and that if anyone could see the two of you now, it could be an issue for both of your corporations. Misconduct, they would call it.

He doesn’t care and while you act like you do, you don’t really care either. 

When he lets go of your wrists to use the edge of the desk as leverage and tilts backwards, you scream in pleasure, a terribly obvious sound, and it’s enough to have him tip over and spill into you with a groan. He collapses onto you and the two of you almost slip onto the floor, but don’t; you wrap your arms around him. 

Your hair is disheveled and so is his, and your legs are sticky with sweat and cum. You sigh, letting him soften inside you and stroke his hair.

“You’re getting me in trouble,” you murmur, and he lets out a breathy laugh.

“We don’t really have to answer to anyone, do we?” He replies with a smirk, and pecks you one more time on the lips.

He’s right - only you two are a match for each other.

[xpeachesncream]

fiend | one shot

f i e n d ;

a person who wants something really bad, and keeps coming back for more.

because that's exactly what you are with your boss who dicks you down properly, time and time again.

pairing: assistant!reader x ceo!yg

genre: ceo au | smut

words: 2.7k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, bondage, unprotected rough sex that makes you cry, multiple orgasms, breast play, fingering, oral (m. & f. receiving), pussy smacking, ass smacking, dirty talking, doggy style, choking, i think that’s it? 

note: uh, definitely filthiest smut i’ve ever written by far.. i’m sorry lmao i’m trying to experiment with smut and yoongi is the one i’ve decided to experiment with. again, pls excuse any errors. enjoy!

Your eyes drifted down the hallway, quickly making eye contact with your boss before you turned the corner. Soon after, you heard his foot steps following behind you, his fingers grazing the buttons of his blazer as he unbuttoned them and quickly loosened the tie around his neck as he continued to follow your path.

You bit your lip as you took one last look behind you, seeing him coming for you, the lust seeping through his skin. Apparent in his eyes. In his walk. The way he licked his bottom lip.

You turned the knob to a room, not knowing who's it was but you didn't give a single fuck. All these rich folk and their big ass homes, there was no way any of them truly and actually cared about each and every single room in the house. Before you could fully shut the door, your boss slips himself in, silently shutting it close for you and locking it.

"Running away from me?" Yoongi asks in your ear, his breath grazing your neck.

"There's no fun if I don't, right?" You slightly cock your head to the side, a smirk slowly growing at the corner of your lips. Suddenly, you feel the cold material from his tie wrap around your wrists.

"Hmm." He hums. "Now that I've got you though, you're not going anywhere." He says lowly, holding the tie tightly as he bends you forward onto the side of the drawer against the wall. He finishes tying his tie around your wrist, your breathing slightly hitching when he tightens it. You feel him lift the back of your dress up, your thong exposing your ass cheeks and your folds almost swallowing the material with how bent you are at the moment.

How you got here? You didn't know, but you also didn't care. Min Yoongi was one of the youngest thriving CEOs to exist and out of all applicants, he had chosen your innocent ass as his assistant. You literally had just graduated not too long ago, finding an ad for the position online as you nonchalantly surfed the web and did your rounds of poking for entry-level positions. It didn't contain many requirements, which sparked your interest. But you figured you'd never land the job having interviewed amongst other women and men who had been executive assistants previously for months, even years.

Little did you know that you'd star in your own Fifty Shades of Grey movie, and honestly, all this shit was worth it to you. You didn't care about the dirty ass looks the rest of the staff would give you. You didn't care about the shit talking they'd do. You were never one to worry about little things like that; You did you and you carried your own shit. You knew the women were jealous, and you knew they wanted to be you.

Why would you be mad about that?

It ultimately became Yoongi's weakness. You just had it like that.

You'd watch as they'd take your job and prepare Yoongi's coffee in the morning, hoping to bat an eyelash and shower him in compliments. You sat at your desk smirking to yourself at how hard they tried. Sometimes Yoongi would acknowledge it, most of the time - he didn't. Because he was fixated on you and you had yet to learn that.

He wasn't one to build relationships with his staff, he made sure to keep his personal life separate from his career. He didn't talk much in the beginning, having random people train you before he began to step in and show you the ropes himself. He'd come off cold at first, barely showing any expressions. Barely acknowledging you by name, even. But as time went on, you were able to exceed his expectations, doing things before he'd even ask and you found him slowly unraveling around you. He'd tell you goodmorning as soon as he'd catch sight of you at your desk. He'd ask how your day was. He'd ask for your opinion on certain things. He'd ask for you to fully handle his schedule because he loved the way you treated him so delicately, moving appointments around just so he'd have time to breathe and eat. Then, you'd catch his smile. His laugh. How he'd shower you in compliments, talking about how nice you looked that day. He'd leave you notes on your desk, thanking you for your hard work.

If you weren't mistaken, you had felt a small crush developing for your boss. But, you knew you had to keep it professional. That is - until Min Yoongi had caught on and acted on it. He stood behind you as he looked over your shoulder at the computer screen. He had one hand planted on your desk, while the other rested on the top of your chair. You looked up at him from your seat, his eyes locked onto yours. He edged his face closer to yours, locking your lips with his. You couldn't help but gasp as you quickly pulled away, pushing yourself off after reality had settled in. But he had grabbed your wrist ever so gently, shaking his head as he told you to stop holding back.  Something so innocent had turned lustful, full of desire and passion. You gave in and allowed him to get a taste of all of you. Once you were in, there was no going back. He fucked you so good that you could barely walk, fucking you in all places you could imagine - his office, his car, his home, his kitchen, balcony, now this party that was flooded with such highly important people. All you wanted was him, all you craved for was him; Just as he had craved for you every second of his day.

That's why your ass was bent over on someone's expensive ass black dresser, Yoongi's tie tied tightly around your wrists as he swipes his fingers down his tongue before giving your pussy a good smack. You let out a small whimper as he pulls your panties down and throws them aside, his tongue licking a stripe in between your folds.

"You gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Yes." You whimper once again when you feel him spread your cheeks to take full advantage of the position you were in. You feel his tongue gently probe your entrance before you hear him suck you dry, a slight chuckle releasing from his lips as he pulls away and starts to insert two fingers to stretch you out. His long fingers start slowly, Yoongi full out enjoying the sound of your wetness every time he pulls in and out. He curves his digits upwards, causing you to twitch on the drawer from how deep he's tickling your core.

"Ohhhhh, Yoongi, please." You mewl. Your hands are slightly getting tired from being held behind you, but at the same time, you're so fucking turned on at how rough he's handling you - like he had been wanting you all night. Which, he has. He couldn't believe the audacity you had to show up to this party in that tightly fitted dress, hugging you in all the right places. You caught on quick, teasing him throughout the night by grazing your hand against his, brushing your fingers across his manhood area ever so gently in passing, whispering how good he looked in his suit.

"Stay still. You said you'd be good." He says, quickening his pace while he held the tie down to keep your hands in place. The faster he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the quicker you feel yourself coming undone.

"Hohhhh, fuck." You moan. "I'm close."

"Gonna cum around these fingers, baby?" You want to hold on so badly, but you can't. And you don't. You find yourself trembling on top of the dresser, Yoongi licking up your mess and completely disregarding how overly sensitive you are right now. The pain turns into more pleasure for you, and you want nothing more than to feel him inside of you.

But he has other plans first. He wastes no time bringing you back up to standing position by holding his tie, aggressively getting you on your knees in the middle of the room.

"You better make good use of those hands when I let them go." He says, undoing his tie. You slightly wince at how sore you are from keeping your hands in one position for some time, but you brush it off as Yoongi stands in front of you, ready for you to unzip his pants and let his aching dick free. He loves watching you suck him on your knees, the sight of your pretty face and his dick going in and out of your mouth being something out of this world for him. He ain't ever gotten head so good until he's gotten it from you.

And so you're craving to make him feel just as good as he made you feel, gripping his hardened member when it springs free from his boxers, your tongue following its length like a guide. His dick wasn't the thickest, but it was long and that shit never failed to make you cum time and time again. That shit never failed to tear you up. You suck his tip, your tongue swirling around the pooling pre-cum before you pull back with a pop. You watch from below as he tilts his head back in pleasure, small moans leaving his mouth as his hands are tangled in your hair. He begins to lower you onto his dick, steadying the pace before he wants you to start taking him all the way. His tip tickles the back of your throat while he keeps you there for a good minute, tears streaming from your eyes as you choke on him, saliva trailing from your mouth and his tip once he tugs your head back.

"So fucking pretty when you take my shit like that." He smirks before biting his bottom lip, his grey hair lightly brushing past his eyes. You swallow him whole a couple of times more, more saliva trailing down his dick and between your mouth and his tip before he's satisfied with how fucked out you look simply from taking his dick down your throat. "What do you want me to do to you, pretty girl?"

"Fuck me, please." You whine. He grips your chin and stands you up to eye level.

"You want me?" You nod. "Tell me how much you want me, babygirl."

"I want you so bad, Yoongi. Please. Wanna feel you."

He smirks. "Gonna make you feel good, sweetheart. Don't worry about that." He doesn't hesitate to carry you, albeit he struggles a bit with his pants below his ankles, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso before dropping you onto the bed. You wiggle yourself up a little higher before he crawls on top, his lips pressing against yours. The kiss quickly becomes messy, your hands getting tangled in his hair as his tongue sensually caressed your mouth. You moan into it while his hands work to bring the bottom portion of your dress above your waist. He pulls down your top portion just enough to expose your bare breasts, his hands giving them a good squeeze before taking your nipples in between his fingers and giving them a good pinch. You let out a small cry as he pulls away from the kiss, your nipples feeling incredibly hard and sensitive from his touch. He brings his mouth down to one nipple at a time, toying with it for a second by using his tongue to flick the bud around before sucking.

"That feels so good." You let out breathily. He lets out a small moan as he sucks on the other before bringing his mouth back up to yours. You wiggle yourself onto him, feeling his tip graze your folds, driving you insane. The heat is pooling in your core, almost unbearable at the fact.

"You want this dick in you now?" He whispers in your ear, nibbling at your earlobe right after. You let out a hiss as you nod, letting out a small whimper as you watch him pump his dick a few times below you. He inserts the tip, your mouth slightly open at how fucking good he feels slowly filling you up. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grip onto his shirt while he bottoms out, the sound of your wetness bouncing off of the walls while he rolls his hips into you, working inwards and outwards. He keeps your legs open with his hands, making sure your wide enough to feel every inch of him inside of you.

"Fuuuuck, Yoongi." You moan. "Give it to me." He picks up his pace. "Just like that, just like that." You repeatedly whine until you can't cry it out any longer. The pleasure completely takes over your body as you bounce up and down in his grip, his eyes marveling at your titties bouncing around while he fucks you senselessly.

"Always so good to me." He groans. "Taking me in so perfectly. I wish you could see how fucking good you look crying out for me." You were absolutely perfect to him, in every way possible. The music outside is so loud at this point that you're sure no one can hear you yelling his name in this room. Your nails are digging into his clothed arms, his hands now making his way up to your neck to slightly grip onto it while he aggressively hammers into you.

"I'm gonna cum again." You manage to spit out as his hands are barely giving you room to speak. Sooner or later, one to two more powerful thrusts in, you feel yourself spiraling out of control, groaning as you tremble underneath him. He bites onto his bottom lip as he slows his pace to help you ride out your high and places a sloppy kiss onto your lips.

"Turn around for me." He says, you quickly obeying silently. He has you on your fours towards the edge of the bed, his tie now wrapped around your mouth and in between your teeth. He tugs on it ever so slightly to the side, getting a good look at your face before planting a kiss on on your neck. He quickly swipes his hand down your pussy, knowing full well how sensitive you still are. You twitch at the sensation, Yoongi letting out a small chuckle at how sexy and vulnerable you are right now. He slips himself in, letting out a moan at how wet you are around him. He holds onto his tie as he fucks into you quick, tears streaming down your cheeks. You let out a loud moan, but it's muffled through the material of his tie, enjoying every bit of the pain and pleasure your boss is bringing you at this moment. He grips your ass with his free hand before giving it a good smack, groans leaving his mouth as he pumps in and out.

"Who's pussy is this?" He leans forward and asks in your ear.

"Yours." You mumble.

"Who's?"

"Youuuuurs." You cry.

"Shit, babygirl. I'm gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good." He leans back, his high coming to a close. Your eyes shut close as you feel your walls constrict around him at the same time he lets himself go, his cum coating your walls while you coat his dick. He lets the tie go gently, allowing you to breathe through your high, huffing and puffing to regulate yourself. You let out a small gasp feeling him remove himself from inside of you, cum leaking out of your throbbing pussy. You can barely fix your position, your legs trembling and weak from how fucked out you are. Yoongi takes a napkin from the nearby dresser, wiping you clean before getting himself together and helping you up.

"So much for enjoying the party like you wanted." You tease as you fix yourself in the full length mirror near the bed. Yoongi stands behind you, adjusting his blazer and shirt and tossing his tie aside since it had been drenched from your saliva.

"Didn't have to be such a tease."

"I thought that's what you wanted." He comes from behind you, lowering himself to your ear.

"You know I always want you though, so there's no need to be one. You ever think about that?" He says lowly near your ear as he lifts up your long lost panties with his finger.

[deniigi]

Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

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

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

--

 It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.  

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

--

 It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ��artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

--

 Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

--

 Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

--

 It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

[luxekook]

𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥 | 𝘬𝘵𝘩

⇥ pairing: quadruplet!taehyung x reader

⇥ genre: crack, smut

⇥ summary: in which the reader lives next door to taehyung… and his three brothers. she doesn’t realize they’re quadruplets until it’s just a little too late.

⇥ word count: 7.5k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing/dirty talk, alcohol, general chaotic energy [as usual], one hard dom!taehyung and three soft dom!taehyungs, sub!reader, pet name: kitten, smut (breast worship, oral [f receiving], bondage, spanking, slight degrading name-calling during sex, mention of daddy kink, ownership kink, four taehyungs lovin’ on the **READER** [***NOT EACH OTHER***])

⇥ beta’d by: the lovely phia (@meowxyoong​) and the cutie ally (@ally-127), and read over by the iconic heath (@shadowsremedy)

The Kim Quadruplets:

Mic Drop!Tae as “V” Boy With Luv!Tae as “Vante” Pied Piper!Tae as “Hansung” ON!Tae as “Taehyung”

Of all the days to forget your umbrella, your brain just had to choose today. You cursed your faulty memory as you shuffled your drenched sneakers across the ‘Welcome’ mat of your apartment building. As someone who prided themselves on being prepared and dependable, you were thoroughly angry at yourself for dropping the ball. Lightning flashed through the windows of the lobby, but you barely flinched - already used to the noise after a lengthy walk home from work.

You worked part-time at a small indie coffee shop called ‘Grind On Me’, which was located halfway across town. The shop was owned by an eccentric middle-aged woman named Reese who still had not gotten over the tragic loss of Vine. The menu was full of references to the fallen application: “Oovoo Java”, “Coulda Dropped My Croissant”, “Avocado Toast, Thanks!”, and “Back At It Again With The Refill”.

The best part of your job was definitely fucking around with your co-workers Jess and Cal. Reese often scheduled the three of you together because your “combined chaotic energy” was “on-brand”. Basically, the three of you would spend your shifts roasting coffee and roasting each other, while Reese looked on like a proud mom. You loved it.

The rest of your time was filled with school. You were up to your neck in your studies; but, with just one semester left until graduation, you were more determined than ever to stick it out. As a literature major, you spent many hours hunched over your trusty MacBook, fingers flying across the keys. Creating new worlds and constructing well-rounded characters was intoxicating. Every new document was a chance to bring ideas to life, an opportunity to make someone laugh or cry, a possibility to both mend and break hearts.

But, your absolute guiltiest pleasure was writing romance - and not the lovey-dovey kind. No, you wrote the racy kind of romance: the heart-pounding smut, the kinky (well-written and well-researched) BDSM, the raunchiest threesomes. You always wondered what your professors would think if you submitted one of your erotic novels to be graded; but, for now, you settled for posting to your loyal audience on Tumblr and for fantasizing about someday fulfilling the filthy scenes you wrote about.

Your most recent fantasy was inspired by the rainfall. Kissing in the midst of a storm like people did in those cliché movies… fucking as the rain poured over you… hands sliding down your slippery skin…

“Woah.” Hands grabbed your hips, halting you from continuing to walk forward absentmindedly. You jumped, your mind jarred from your fantasy and back to reality.

“I am so sorry,” You breathed out, “My mind was somewhere else.”

“I’ll say,” The deepest and most divine voice you had ever heard sounded from the figure in front of you. You looked up, desperate to know the source of such a dulcet tone. You were not disappointed.

The boy was beautiful.

His skin was the color of warm honey, his dark eyes sparkled with bad intentions, his full lips curled into a sly grin. “I would pay good money to know what you were thinking about just now, kitten,” The boy’s grin widened, displaying a cute boxy smile that did nothing to take away from the implications of his words.

“I’m not your kitten,” You glared at the blonde boy in front of you, shoving aside both his hands and the traitorous warmth that bloomed inside you at the pet name. With those words, you sidestepped around him and trudged to go check your mail. Your heart flipped in your chest when you heard the soft pitter-patter of footsteps following close behind you.

“Ever heard of an umbrella, kitten?” You could hear his smile in his infuriating words, and you shot him a glare.

“Yes, actually. Have you ever heard of manners?” You bit out, punching in the key code to your small mailbox.

The boy’s laugh sent a shiver down your spine that you tried to rationalize as a chill. God, he was maddeningly handsome. You grabbed the small bunch of letters shoved in your mailbox and were so ready to hightail it out of there, when he grabbed your wrist.

The sight of his long fingers wrapped around your wrist made your mind flash to scenes of him holding your wrists above your head as he thrusts, hips swiveling and pounding into you… him holding your wrists behind your back as he kneels in front of you, tongue deep in your—

“Kitten.” Your attention snapped back to him, your eyes wide and your cheeks flushed. Fuck, you really needed to shut your inner ho of a writer off sometimes…

He winked, “Next time you’re going to have to share what’s going on in that head of yours. I’ll be seeing you around, neighbor.”

With those parting words, he sauntered out of the mailroom, flipping the hood of his grey sweatshirt up over his wavy blonde strands as he tugged his dark bomber jacket closer around him.

Neighbor?

You were so fucked.

A few days later, you still had not forgotten your blonde self-proclaimed neighbor, no matter how hard you tried. And, god, you had tried. No amount of smutty fan fiction or archaic romance tropes could quell your thirst.

You didn’t even know his name.

Jess and Cal had urged you to just knock on his door and introduce yourself, but you knew it wasn’t that simple. First, you had more than one apartment neighboring yours. You were not about to knock on each and every door in your hallway to find some mystery boy - even if he did call you kitten and smelled like summer nights. Second, you had already written so much filth inspired by your brief encounter that you feared you might not survive being in the same vicinity as him without spontaneously combusting or jumping on him.

And third, you were just so intimidated by him and his dominating presence. Even though you spent just a few minutes with him, you knew that you would have fallen to your knees before him if he’d demanded it… And he really looked like the type to demand.

Now every damn time you entered your apartment building, your eyes sought him out. You jumped out of your skin at every ding of the elevator, half fearing and half hoping he might be getting off. Your heart pounded whenever you walked down your hallway to unlock your door, waiting for him to swing open his own door to greet you with a smirk and some sarcastic words.

But, nothing had happened. And you were beginning to think he might have just been a rain-induced hallucination. Those were a thing, right?

You shook yourself out of your disastrous train of thought. Your shift at ‘Grind On Me’ was approaching, and you really needed to make some money. Rent, unfortunately, just didn’t pay itself. Tugging on your non-slip black sneakers, you made sure to grab your umbrella - just like you had the previous couple days, despite the clear forecast. You would not be caught out - or called out - again.

You push open your apartment door, shoving your umbrella deep into your tote bag and stepping out into the hall. You were entirely unprepared for the sight you were met with.

The boy from earlier that week was fumbling near the door across from you with what looked like an entire art store crammed into half a dozen reusable bags. He was mumbling about some Han character who couldn’t “get off his ass for one second to help him”. And, his hair was a bright shade of blue.

His. Hair. Was. Blue.

You must have made some sort of choking noise because suddenly he whipped around to face you. His wide eyes latched onto yours, and you couldn’t help but think that there was something peculiar about him today - even besides the hair.

A light flush bloomed on the boy’s face that you were sure was mirrored on your own tenfold. Shit, he really could pull off that shade of blue… Your eyes involuntarily slid lower to check out his white slouchy ‘CELINE” t-shirt, his black Adidas sweatpants, his bag hung casually off one muscular shoulder. You swallowed suddenly craving some water.

“Uh, hey, neighbor,” You waved at him idiotically as he continued to just stare. You lowered your hand and fought the urge to smack yourself for your lame actions.

The boy blinked and then smiled that same boxy smile as before, “Hi! I would wave back, but I’m kind of tied down right now.”

You let out a very uncharacteristic giggle, “And I would offer to help you, but I’m already late for work. Don’t worry, I have my umbrella this time.”

Grabbing your umbrella from your bag, you waved it briefly in the air before returning it to its resting place. “Bye!” You called over your shoulder at the bewildered blue-haired boy, “Love the new hair by the way!”

“Uh, thank you?” He called after you. As you stepped into the elevator, you swore you heard him say something about having good weather with no chance of rain, but you were too busy thinking about how nice he was today.

And about how he didn’t call you kitten.

You were so, so fucked.

When you got to work, you were immediately bombarded with questions from Jess and Cal.

Jess: “Wait. His hair is blue now? Does he look like a hot Smurf?”

Cal: “So, no “kitten”? Throws phone. Stomps on skateboard.”

You: “Did you just try to use the ‘So No Head' Vine out loud?”

Reese: "She sure did." *wipes away tear proudly*

They continued to clown on you for another hour while some of your favorite regulars filed in and out, grabbing their late afternoon coffees.

One of your particular favorites was an enigmatic individual named Heath. You, Jess and Cal were about 85% certain that Heath was a sugar daddy based on his regular order (the "Valentino Flat White") and the large amount of tips he always left (at least $20 for each barista on duty).

Another favorite customer of yours was Tay. She tended to skulk in the corner of the cafe, typing away on her phone and occasionally letting out loud bursts of laughter. Once, you had asked what she was writing, but she just looked at you like you had asked for her darkest secret. You figured it was something juicy.

Sighing, you checked the clock on the wall for the umpteenth time that evening - 6:50PM. Two more hours til you could go home, throw on some sweatpants, and drink a glass of cheap wine.

Wiping down the coffee bar, you heard a throat clear behind you. "Be right with you!" You called over your shoulder, placing the wipe in the garbage before turning to take their order.

"Oh," You gasped as you took in the new customer, "Your hair!"

"My hair?" Your neighbor that you had seen just hours before tugged his hands through his now-brown waves, "Is there something wrong with it..." His dark eyes flicked to your name-tag, “(y/n)?”

"N-no," You gulped, wondering what happened to the cute blushing blue-haired boy from earlier. Your neighbor really was giving you whiplash with his different moods. "What can I get for you?"

"Your number." His boxy grin was lethal, his voice was sultry.

You blinked at him. "You could have just knocked on my door later if you needed me."

His eyebrows flew up, "Oh really? I like the sound of that. You'd have to give me your address though, kitten."

"Very funny," You scoffed. Your insides turned to mush over the return of the nickname that you hated to love. "Now, seriously, what can I get for you?"

"Surprise me," He winked, handed you $50 and sauntered to a nearby table.

Gaping, you shook yourself out of your trance and got to work on his 'surprise' - an "I Thought You Were Americano".

"Who is that?" You jumped two feet in the air at Jess' hissed question. She was hovering right behind you as you poured the espresso into his to-go cup.

"My fucking hair chameleon of a neighbor!" You whispered back, conveying your panic, “Deliver this to him, would you?“ You tried in vain to shove the hot Americano into Jess' hands but she dodged your efforts.

"Oh no, bitch,” She laughed, "I am going to watch from afar as this plays out."

"Goddamn you," You shot her your best side-eye and stalked off to deliver the drink to your godforsaken neighbor.

The boy in question flicked his eyes up to look at you as you approached his table. He was wearing a flowy button-down shirt with at least four of the buttons undone, showcasing a tan and very toned chest. His legs were spread wide, encased in tight black slacks that left little to the imagination.

You gulped, trying not to imagine yourself perched on his lap and grinding into his hard––

"See something you like, kitten?" You jerked out of your daze and looked at his amused face. "I know I do."

You decided to be bratty. "Nope, nothing too impressive for me to see." You smiled sweetly as you deposited his drink on the table in front of him.

He licked his lips slowly, "God, if you were mine..." He trailed off, eyes narrowed on yours. Your mouth dried as the image of the two of you in a dark bedroom flashed into your mind. You sprawled out across his lap, his hands smacking your ass, your underwear pulled to the side…

“Yeah, you get the picture,” Your neighbor’s crooked smirk was downright obscene as his eyes flashed to your lips briefly. “I’ll see you later tonight, kitten. You know, when I come knocking at your door.”

With that parting remark, he stood, raised his americano in your direction, and strutted out the door.

You stood rooted to the spot, gaping after him for god knows how long.

“She’s gotta move at some point,” Cal’s voice vaguely sounded from the side of you.

“I don’t know,” Jess’ response sounded from your other side, “I once saw her stare out at a speck of dust for like fifteen minutes straight.”

That got you. “It was not fifteen minutes!” You defended yourself, “And it’s not my fault that I happened to be writing a coffeehouse AU at that time!”

Your friends cackled as you stomped back behind the counter.

Your friends were evil, and so was your neighbor, of that you were certain.

And you were so, so, so fucked.

Hours later, you were still thinking about your fucking neighbor. Why were you only meeting him now? Why was his hair always changing colors? Why did he fuck with you so much? Why did you like it?

All of these questions bounced around your brain as you entered your building, your eyes seeking out the boy instinctively. But, as before, he was nowhere to be seen.

You shuffled over to the ancient elevator and punched the 'Up' button a few more times than necessary. Something must be wrong with you. You were way too infatuated with your way too infuriating neighbor.

The elevator doors parted, and you automatically sighed in relief and disappointment as you entered the empty space. Pushing the button to your floor, you waited for the doors to close.

“Wait!”

A shudder trailed down your spine as you watched the doors re-open to let the subject of your thoughts onto the lift. He was wearing yet another outfit that was different from earlier - a white tank top with loose pants adorned with decorative zippers.

And was that a fucking tattoo?

There was no way you had missed that in your previous encounters. He must have felt your piercing stare because his eyes flashed over to yours. “See something you like?”

“You have a tattoo!” You blurted out.

“Um, yeah, I do. Nice observation,” Your neighbor looked at you weirdly. “Aren’t you going to ask what floor I need?”

“You and your fucking jokes,” You rolled your eyes at him.

The boy’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked at you intently, “Ah, so you’re kitten.”

Your insides into jelly, and you decided the safest tactic would now be to ignore him.

“Now, now, kitten,” He crowded your space, backing you up against the elevator wall, “It’s impolite to ignore your neighbor.”

“Well, it’s against the commandments to covet your neighbor, isn’t it?” You sniffed, pretending to not be affected by his sheer size and dangerous aura. The tattoo curling up his neck demanded your attention, and you only wished you could pay your respects with your tongue.

“I’m pretty sure they said something about coveting a neighbor’s wife… you’re not married are you, kitten? Got a boyfriend, girlfriend or partner that we don’t know about?” His breath mingled with your own, his lips so close to your own.

Wait, we?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the elevator’s arrival at your floor. Ducking under his corded arms, you scurried out of the elevator and down the hall towards your apartment.

Of course, he lazily trailed after you.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” You shot over your shoulder at him as you neared your door. “We just met like two days ago.”

His grin turned feral, “Yes, kitten, of course we did. Hey, why don’t you come over for a drink? You’re right; we don’t really know each other. Let’s change that.”

You weighed your options. Hanging out with him could drive you absolutely crazy or it could lead to something you previously could only write about.

He lounged against the wall next to your door in await of your answer. He raised a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, and your eyes caught a sudden flash of silver. Was that an honest to god nipple piercing you just saw?

All rational exited the building. “Sure, but only for a little bit. Let me just change real quick.”

“Great, kitten,” His eyes flared, “Wear something comfortable. Just knock when you’re ready.”

You just nodded mutely as you entered your apartment and then shut the door. What the fuck were you getting yourself into?

After ten panicked minutes of you running around your apartment in search of ‘comfortable’ clothes, you were poised to knock on your still nameless neighbor’s door. You glanced down at your cropped t-shirt, leggings and running shoes. It would do. Besides, you had your lucky lingerie on underneath just in case.

Before you could even knock, the door flew open. “I was beginning to worry you were just going to stand there all night, kitten.” Your neighbor pouts, “And then we wouldn��t get to have any fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to invite me inside?”

His lips twitched, “How vampiresque of you, (y/n).”

You smiled broadly, “If I was a vampire, I would definitely have killed you already. You’re really fucking annoying.”

He stared at you for a split second before throwing his head back and laughing. The amount of neck that was in your face was heavenly; and, suddenly, you questioned whether vampires actually had it right this whole time.

“Well, kitten. I’m Taehyung. Please, do come in,” He opened the door wider, still chuckling lowly, “Would you like anything to drink? I think we have wine and maybe some beer hiding in the fridge somewhere.”

There was that pesky ‘we’ again.

“Red wine sounds good, thank you,” You said, plopping yourself down on one of the deep wooden barstools lining the marble kitchen island. You watched as he poured two glasses and handed one to you. Just as you were about to ask if he had roommates, Taehyung held up his glass.

“Cheers to being very friendly neighbors,” He said, sitting in the stool next to yours and staring intently at you.

“Cheers,” You echoed, clinking your glasses together and then taking a sip. Your eyes widened both from the sight of Taehyung drinking – his throat tipped back, his eyes dark on yours – and the deliciousness of the wine. It was an intense ruby red pinot noir that somehow tasted of fruit and of smokey spice all at once. It was honestly so fucking good that you just knew it had to be exorbitantly expensive. You licked your lips, making sure not to miss a single drop.

Taehyung’s eyes latched onto the movement. “You know,” He murmured, “They say if you hold eye contact while toasting, you’ll keep having good sex.”

You almost spat out your second sip of wine. Just as you were about to risk it all and say you would actually have to start having sex for that to happen, a crashing sound echoed from the dark hallway to your left.

“Shit,” Taehyung cursed, glaring in the direction the sound had come from, “I need to go and check what that was. Are you all right out here for a minute?”

You shrugged and nodded, swirling your wine around your glass.

“Be right back,” Taehyung brushed his hand over your cheek for a split second before stalking down the hallway in search of whatever had caused the ruckus.

Your hand flew to your now-warm cheek. Fuck, were you really crushing on your cute neighbor with the mood-swings?

Ugh, you were.

You glanced speculatively around his apartment. It was so much nicer than yours… The minimalist but chic decor just screamed rich vibes. However, there were a few oddities that made you frown. Four sets of keys hung by the front door. Four sets of shoes were lined up in the foyer. Four different color coded markings were on the calendar pinned to the wall.

Four different versions of Taehyung smiled back at you from a photo stuck to the fridge.

“Hello again, kitten,” The low voice startled you from your internal panic. Reluctantly turning to face them, you cursed your own stupidity. The blonde version of Taehyung that you met a few days ago grinned back at you.

“Fucking brothers,” You moaned, slouching over on the kitchen island and placing your head in your hands, “You’re all fucking brothers.”

“Quadruplets, actually,” He unhelpfully added, “I’m V. You’re (y/n), right?”

“Were you all just eavesdropping on me and Taehyung, or what?” You knew your were being petty right now, but you felt blindsided by your own lack of awareness and the brothers’ obvious lack of tact.

“Kind of,” Blue-haired Taehyung exited the hallway, “Sorry, (y/n).”

It was honestly unfair how sweet Blue was. “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

“Vante,” He waved at you and grinned, “See? I can finally wave back now!”

If you could turn into a human version of ‘uwu’, you would have done so right then and there.

“Stop flirting with her, Vante,” Coffee-shop Taehyung enters the kitchen followed closely by the actual Taehyung, “Let me introduce myself, kitten. I…” He gripped your hand and brought it to his lips, “Am Hansung.” His lips brushed over your knuckles as the words poured out of his mouth.

You blinked at him as it clicked, “Oh, so you’re the Han that wouldn’t get off his ass!”

Hansung choked, dropping your hand as his brothers cried with laughter. “Who said that?” He rounded on his brothers, “Who?”

Vante shot you a desperate look; and, since you had already internally declared him your favorite, you kept the information to yourself. “I don’t see how that matters when you all clearly have been keeping me in the dark about the fact that there are four of you.”

“I mean,” Taehyung began, “Technically we didn’t not tell you. You just never asked.”

Your blood boiled, “And how the fuck would I know to ask? Should I have consulted a psychic? Scoured the census data? Kept tabs on the entire population of quadruplets nationwide?”

You stared down each of the boys. Vante and Hansung at least looked a tad sheepish, but Taehyung and V just looked amused.

“You were right,” Taehyung nudged V, “She is feisty.”

You contemplated your options: 1) Kill V and bury the body deep in the nearby woods, 2) Dramatically exit the apartment and never speak to these demonspawn ever again, or 3) Chug this miraculous tasting wine.

You chose option three.

No regrets.

Looking at each of them, you felt like you could be the stock image for the word ‘shooketh’. Fuck, you had thought it was overwhelming when there was just one of them in your mind. But, now? You were in full panic mode over the sheer amount of masculinity and identical good looks that surrounded you.

“You know what?” You said after draining your glass, “I really don’t like being made to look like a fool. And that’s what you all did to me this whole week.” You saw Vante open his mouth, and you cut him off, “Some more than others… but, still, you knew where I lived. You could have just introduced yourself separately.”

You stood, glancing over the boys’ varying degrees of pouts and sighing. “Yeah, I’m out of here.”

Making your way over to the door, you were suddenly cut off by V. He leaned heavily against the door, successfully blocking your smooth exit.

“V, move.”

“No, you need to hear us out, kitten,” He murmured, looking down at you with an intense expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “Could you do that for us?”

You spared a glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, the other three were right there. Vante stared at you pleadingly. Hansung shot you a wink. Taehyung snapped his gaze up to yours… Had he been checking out your ass?

Deciding not to pay them any mind, you turned back around to face V and shrugged, “Fine, two minutes.”

“Good girl.”

A shiver coursed down your spine. You didn’t even know which brother behind you muttered those two words, and, yet, perhaps that made it all the more thrilling.

V shot a glare over your head and then refocused on you. “Kitten, we’re sorry. We just really like to tease, and you made it so easy.” Seeing your glare, he continued, “We didn’t mean to make you upset. That wasn’t our intention at all… it was the complete opposite, actually.”

Taehyung moved in front of you, next to V. “Why don’t we start over? Come over for dinner tomorrow night at eight. We’ll have a proper introduction to our neighborly relationship.”

You mulled it over in your mind. Embarrassment warred with infatuation. Worst case scenarios clashed with the best of cases. Images of a dark bedroom with multiple partners contrasted with words typed on a laptop screen.

Finally, as the seconds ticked by, you decided to ask yourself: ‘What would your characters do?’

They would fuck them all.

“Okay,” You sighed, eyeing the two boys in front of you and then the two behind, “But you better make something edible.”

“Challenge accepted,” V’s eyes glinted wickedly.

“It wasn’t even––” You cut yourself off. Though you only had met V twice thus far, you knew it was virtually impossible to make him back down from anything he perceived as a dare. “You know what? Sure, it’s a challenge. I’ll be the Gordon Ramsey; you’ll be the crying contestants.”

A stifled giggle sounds from behind you that you suspect belonged to Vante.

“That mouth…” Taehyung muttered. His tongue swiped along his lower lip as he stared you down.

Suddenly, Hansung popped out from behind you and shoved his two brothers out of the way of the door. “Allow me, kitten,” He swung it open in a flourish, bowing as he cleared your way out. Your lips twitched. That boy was so extra.

“Thank you, Han,” You smiled and waved as you exited their apartment, “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night…” Walking the short distance across the hall to your own apartment, you unlock your door, step inside, and then turn back to see if they were still there.

They were.

All four of them peered back at you from their doorway. “Shoo!” You laughed, waving them away before slamming your door shut.

You were so, so, so, so fucked.

Four’s hands ghosted over your skin, caressing the dips of your curves. You shuddered as Three’s tongue slides across your pussy.

“You like that, kitten?” One asks, as he watches from the armchair in the corner of the room, “You like my brothers ruining you?” You weren’t fooled by his lack of participation; you knew One pulled the strings. “Answer me.”

“Yes, daddy,” You moan out as Two sucks one of your nipples in his mouth and asoidfjgioykl—

The ringing of your doorbell caused you to key-smash in panic. “Coming!” You called out, flustered over the interruption and over the filth you just wrote about your neighbors.

You padded over to the door and peered out the peep-hole. It was Hansung. Your breath caught in your throat as you try to push the vivid scenes you just wrote out of your mind.

Pulling open the door, you greeted him with a smile, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi…” Hansung trailed off, his eyes roving over your body. You glanced down at your typical loungewear - an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts. Nothing too out of the ordinary. “Do you have any sugar?”

You stared at him with a deadpan expression, “Are you serious?”

“I don’t joke about sweets, kitten,” Hansung grinned, running a hand through his messy head of hair. You would have to add a scene to your story about pulling on it… “There’s that look,” he shook his head amusedly, “When will you ever let us know some of those thoughts?”

“Never,” You vowed and stepped aside so that he could enter your apartment, “Come on in. I’m pretty sure I have sugar somewhere. Sorry for the mess.” You wandered over to the kitchen area adjacent to your living room. Hansung was assessing your apartment with a critical eye, and you decided you needed to make this fast before he uncovered any dirty secrets.

Pulling open your baking cabinet, you scoured the shelves looking for that pesky ingredient. Flour, vanilla extract, chocolate chips…

“How is it that four boys don’t have any sugar?” You complained, leaning up to snag your bag of sugar from the very top shelf.

“We ask ourselves that all the damn time,” You knew Hansung was smirking even without seeing him, “We’re getting some now though… and later.”

“Well, good,” You turned to face him, “You better stock up so you don’t come bothering me every time you need some.”

He laughed, “Oh, (y/n), we’ll always want more.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved the bag of sugar to his chest and pushed him towards the door to your apartment. “Out you go!”

“Oh kitten, I always knew you were sweet on me,” Hansung grinned widely as he stared down at the sugar you had pushed against his chest.

“Fuck off,” You groaned, letting out a slight chuckle despite yourself. “Now, go away and cook me a nice dinner. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye-e-e kitten,” he sang as he paraded back across the hall, “Wear something sexy for me.” With a wink, Hansung disappeared back into his shared apartment.

You groaned, slamming your door shut before sliding down it onto the floor. These brothers might be the death of you. Glancing up, your eyes settled on your laptop. Had it always been in that position? Was that how you left it?

Standing up, you walked over to where your laptop resides on your coffee table and closed it. You had a dinner to get ready for, after all. You didn’t have time to return to your story.

Alas, you really should have made time; because, little did you know, the open document on your screen had a new addition courtesy of Hansung… “That’s hot. Which number am I?”

It was 7:59PM; you were pacing inside your apartment.

You contemplated cancelling for the hundredth time that evening. But, momma didn’t raise no bitch.

With that in mind, you assessed yourself in the foyer mirror. The black midi-dress wrapped around your body like armor. The wings of your eyeliner flicked out like battle knives. The redness of your lipstick warned of the biting tongue that lie within.

Yeah, you looked ready for war, and it was perfect.

With that in mind, you trudged across the hall and knocked on their door before you could talk yourself out of it.

The door opened to reveal V in all his glory. His blonde hair was tousled, his eyes were dark. He looked at you as if he knew all of your secrets.

You bit your lip, “Um, hi?”

A slow smile crossed his face, “Hi, kitten. Please come in.”

You moved past him to enter into the apartment. Taehyung appeared and greeted you with a grin. “Hey, (y/n),” He purred, running a hand down your arm, “Glad you could make it.”

God, what was up? The tension in the room was palpable. You walked over towards where Hansung and Vante were plating dinner in the kitchen.

“Hi,” You greeted them. Vante jumped two feet in the air as Hansung smirked at you.

You cocked your head. Moving your eyes from one brother to the next, you caved, “Okay, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean, (y/n)?” V moved closer to you, “Is this not going as you wrote it?”

You stopped breathing. No, there was no way… but, your laptop had seemed to be moved. You shot Hansung a look in askance.

He grinned sheepishly, and it told you everything you needed to know.

“Fuck,” You turned away from them, “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing. I’ll leave.”

“Who’s One?” V’s question cut through your rambled apology.

“What?” You blinked, turning to look at him.

“Who is One, kitten? Is it me?” V moved right in front of you. You gulped. He smiled. “I thought so.”

“You see, (y/n)-kitten,” He continued, “You were right. My brothers and I? We’re a unit. We do everything together. We live together, we date together, we fuck together.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words.

“We just want one girl to keep us all together, kitten… to be ours.” V murmured, twisting a lock of your hair between his fingers, “That’s what we’ve been searching for for so long.”

You finally found words at last, “And you think that girl is me?”

“We know it’s you,” Vante said, shyly approaching you, “And we’re going to show you why.”

He kissed you. You almost laughed over how cute, shy Vante was the first brother to kiss you. His kiss was gentle, but insistent in its movements. It was like he was pleading you to let him in both your mouth and your heart.

You crumbled. Your hands fisted his shirt and tugged him closer. His kiss ignited something in you that made you want more.

Your tongue darted out to run along the seam of his lips. Vante gasped, and your tongue slid inside.

As you continue to kiss him, someone moved behind you, his lips ghosted over your neck.

“Mm, baby,” Taehyung whispered against the nape of your neck, “You’re so beautiful.”

Taehyung ran his hands over your hips and tugged your ass flush with his crotch. You moaned into Vante’s mouth. Vante took advantage of your dazed state to slide his tongue against yours in a way that was so deliciously dirty.

Suddenly, Vante backed up, and V took his place before you.

His hands slid up your body, grazing the sides of your breasts before settling back down at the top of your waist.

He kissed you deeply, differently than Vante. The slight roughness of his touch was new, and it seemed to declare ownership over you.

V’s tongue twined with yours, playing with you. From behind you, Taehyung continued to slowly grind into you.

Your body felt so overheated, so overwhelmed.

Pulling back from your mouth, V glanced over your shoulder, and Taehyung slipped away from you.

V focused back on you. “I don’t think you understand what you do to us. God, this dress. Did you wear it to tease us, kitten? We’ve been wanting to unwrap you, to strip you down, since you walked through our door.”

V fiddled with the bow keeping your dress fastened.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you said, “Well, do it then.”

His hand froze. His eyes flicked up to yours. “You’re sure, (y/n)? You know what you’re asking for? You know what we’ll give you?”

You glanced around. Vante looked at you with a hopeful expression. Hansung wore a smirk, already working on undoing the buttons of his shirt. Taehyung full-on grinned at you with dark eyes full of wicked intent and promise.

“Yes.”

As soon as the word left your lips, the mood shifted. V nodded at Vante, who scurried out of the room. You opened your mouth to question his departure, but V cut you off.

“Now, kitten, I know you’ve imagined this - wrote this; but, you’re not the one in charge here. We are.”

He led you down the hall and into what must have been his own bedroom. The king size bed dominated the room. Paintings decorated the walls… Was that a real Degas?

Vante entered the room, holding what looked like long scraps of silk.

“Finally,” Hansung grumbled, and then turned to you, “Strip.”

Your hands shook as you reached down to the tie at your waist and pulled. Your dress, your armor, fell to the ground in a whoosh. You stood in just your underwear, having forgone a bra that evening.

“Goddamn,” V growled, “Such a good little slut coming to our place without a bra.”

His filthy words slid over your body like a caress and settled deep in your core. You pushed your thighs together. The movement was not lost on the brothers.

“Vante.”

At V’s call, Vante reached out and took your hand. Leading you over to the bed, he gestured for you to lay down. “We want to tie you up, kitten. Is that okay? If not, we can have fun in other ways.”

“T-that’s okay,” You swallowed hard, “I like bondage.”

“I knew it!” Hansung cheered from the left foot of the bed.

“Shut up, Han,” Vante shot over his shoulder as he focused on tying your wrists behind your head. Refocusing on you, he mumbled, “How does that feel, baby? Too tight? Too loose?”

“Just right,” You sighed, almost moaning at how hot you felt getting tied down by one man while three others watched.

Taehyung sat down at your side, his pointer finger began drawing light circles across your stomach. “Can Hansung take your panties off, kitten?”

Nodding, you looked down as Hansung leaned over you, hands briefly squeezing your hips before tugging your underwear down your thighs. Almost on reflex, you squeezed your legs together again, craving any sort of friction.

“Open your legs,” V ordered from his stance against the wall by the foot of the bed, “Show us how wet you are.”

You listened, hyper-aware of how your wetness was surely obvious. Taehyung’s fingers suddenly pinched your nipple, rolling the puckered bud between his fingers. A small moan escaped you.

“Fuck,” someone cursed. Hansung, you guessed. “She’s so pretty.”

“How wet is she?” Taehyung asked, the only brother not openly ogling your wet pussy.

“Dripping,” Vante murmurs, tongue wetting his lips.

Your eyes locked with V’s as he stared you down. “Now, kitten, do you want Vante to lick your pussy? Or Hansung?”

Both boys in question stared at you with wistful expressions. You knew your answer though. It was not an option he had given. And it was your lack of answer that tipped V off.

“Ah, I see,” V laughed. “Well, that’ll be a new one for us.”

Hansung shot V a confused look, “What?”

“She wants both of your mouths,” V smirked at your immediate blush, “What? Am I wrong, baby?”

“…No,” You pouted.

Vante’s eyebrows furrowed, “Both of us? Like at one time? Or one after the other?”

All eyes were on you once more as you squirmed under the weight of their attention and Taehyung’s continued worship of your nipples with his fingers.

“Either?” You were losing your train of thought under the building pleasure. Could you actually come from just nipple play?

“Mm,” V hummed, “Our little kitten is being indecisive. Vante?”

Again, Vante hastened to fulfill V’s unspoken command. You wondered how many times the brothers had done this together, because they were really fucking in sync.

“Are you good with being blindfolded, too, kitten?” Vante asked, kissing your cheek lightly. You nodded and lifted your head up slightly so he could tie the soft silk around your head.

Darkness consumed you. Your senses heightened. A breath coasted over your wetness and you shuddered.

A light kiss pressed over your folds followed by a tentative swipe of a tongue. “Damn, she tastes fucking amazing,” Hansung groaned, completely giving himself away.

“Shut up and make her come, Han. Or I’ll let Vante take your place.” V’s voice came from closer by you now. Was he right next to you? Was he at your feet?

His lips felt so soft as he dragged them over your pussy to finally suck your clit in between them. His tongue slid and flicked perfectly against your clit.

The small ministrations of his tongue against your clit set your arousal ablaze. You shifted your hips up in hopes he will lick harder, but a firm hand pushed you back down.

“No, no, kitten,” V’s voice sounded in your ear, “You’ll get what we give you.”

Hansung continued to stroke his tongue between your legs. Finally, by the grace of the gods, he pushed a finger inside you and hissed, “Fuck, she’s so tight.”

You clenched down around his finger at his words, and he moaned. “She was fucking made for us.”

As Han returned to worship your pussy, another tongue flicked at your nipple. Was that Vante? Taehyung?

Honestly, not knowing was high-key hot. You were hurtling towards your orgasm as one brother ate your pussy, another worshipped your breasts, and two more watched.

The feeling of having so much attention on you, on your pleasure, on your body, set you off. You came with an embarrassingly loud moan.

Lips brushed your ear as V murmured, “You’re so sexy when you come, kitten. I bet you’ll look even better when you come all over my cock.”

A whine escaped you as he teased you, licking your neck, teeth scraping over it. The afterglow of your orgasm quickly turned into the aching need for more.

And then your stomach let out an insanely loud growl.

The room quieted. A chuckle escaped someone. Then, laughs echoed around the bedroom.

“Well, someone needs to be fed,” V’s smile was apparent as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

The blindfold slipped from around your head and you blinked up at V as he untied your wrists. “Come on, baby, we can reheat dinner.”

“But–” You pouted as V placed a finger to your lips.

“We can get back to that after. We’re not even close to being done with you, kitten.”

“I don’t think we ever will,” Taehyung grinned at you as he tugged you up from the bed.

“Here you go, (y/n),” Vante handed you Han’s discarded button down.

“Thank you,” You blushed at his cuteness. Pausing, you scoured the ground for your panties.

Thwack.

Your ass stung as V’s hand massaged over the area he just smacked.

“They’re mine. Don’t bother,” His grin was feral as he squeezed your ass and then led you out of the room towards the kitchen.

As you both joined the others in the kitchen, you took the plate that Han offered you. Surveying the room, you took in your varying states of undress as you all stood around the kitchen island eating your reheated dinners.

Damn, you could get used to this… Taehyung caught your eye and shot you a wink.

Yeah, you were so fucked… but, so were they.

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝐷𝑎𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝐷𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

꧁𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰꧂

"Mom! Dad's being annoying again!"

You walked into the office only to see your daughter huffing with arms crossed as your husband sat in his chair, busy writing something down.

"What is it this time?" You mentally prepared yourself to hear some silly thing.

"It's nothing dear. I already told her I'm considering allowing her classmate to take her to the school's dance." Hongjoong responded as if he wasn't guilty of anything.

"See? He usually says no. So what's the problem?" You asked your daughter.

"He's making an 'application to date my daughter' to give to my date!" Your daughter exclaimed.

"What?" You walked over to Hongjoong and snatched the paper away from him and began quoting some of it:

"Thank you for your interest? Please allow 4 to 6 years for processing? If you've been rejected, you will be notified by 2 men carrying violin cases? Any false information may result in punishment by dismemberment, crucifixion, Chinese water torture?!"

"Kim Hongjoong!" You threw the paper back at him.

"What?! I'm only trying to look out for my baby! I only want the best for her." He defended himself.

"At this point, you might as well send me to a convent!" Your daughter furiously marched away to go lock herself in her room.

"Are you happy now?" You raised an eyebrow at Hongjoong.

"Not yet. But once I finish these last details on the application, I will be." He smiled as he resumed his task.

You threw your hands up in anger. "You're unbelievable!"

Hongjoong looked back at you and stuck his tongue out.

"If you were me, you'd do the same!"

꧁𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪꧂

Seonghwa kept pacing back and forth in the living room, unable to calm down.

"Would you please stop it?" You finally told him, annoyed by his fidgeting.

"Stop what?" He asked rather confused.

"That! Stop being so dramatic about this. You knew this would happen sooner or later." You reminded him.

"And I sincerely hoped it'd be a lot later. Waaay later." Seonghwa sighed.

"It's just a first date. It's not like sending one of your rookies out on their first mission." You joked to lighten the mood.

"There's a huge difference... this is my daughter we're talking about! My daughter! My beacon of light in this dark world." He pouted.

"Speaking of which, here she comes!" You pointed to your daughter, who is happily skipping over to you two.

"Look mom! What do you think?! Do you think he'll like it?!" She asked as she twirled around in a sparkly red dress.

"You look gorgeous honey. Of course he'll like it! Right Seonghwa?"

You turned to Seonghwa, who just stood there awkwardly, his eye was visibly twitching.

"Does.....does it have to be that short?" He asked.

He let out a yelp of pain when you elbowed him on his side. He looked over at you and you silently warned him to behave.

Sighing, he smiled at your daughter. "You're absolutely beautiful darling."

She beamed with happiness and hugged you both before running out the door once she heard a car beeping. Seonghwa just watched her as she left.

"See? That wasn't so bad right? The overprotective dad mode isn't necessary."

Seonghwa laughed awkwardly at that.

"Haha....yeah right."

As soon as you were out of sight, he took out his phone and dialed a number.

"All units on sector 3 better report to me any sign of physical contact that happens between them. Over."

꧁𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸꧂

"It's already 2:31, she's late." Yunho blurted out.

"What are you talking about?" You asked him.

"I mean school is over at 2, it's only a 30 minute drive from here to there and vice versa. They're late, we gotta make sure they're all right."

You grabbed his arm when he sprinted from the couch.

"Yunho, it's only been 1 minute-"

"2 minutes now actually." He corrected you.

You sighed, praying for patience.

"Point is, it's her first day of school, maybe there was a lot of traffic and you're overreacting. She'll be here soon." You tried to calm him down.

Yunho sat back down and huffed. "I still say we should have just home schooled her."

"Public school isn't going to kill her!" You argued.

"I got the best tutors and professors on speed dial. They're more than willing to give my daughter the best education money can buy!" Yunho repeated what he's been saying for months.

"She needs to learn to interact with people, develop social skills. You're making a fuss over nothing. It's only the first day, and see? Where's the danger? What's the problem so far?" You tried reasoning with him.

"Problem is..... she's not here!" He exclaimed.

Right at that moment, your 6 year old daughter came running in, straight to her father's arms.

"She's here now, and in one piece." You told him.

"Hi sweetheart. Did you have fun today?" He asked as he bounced your daughter in his lap.

"Very! We got to paint, and play around, and at recess, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend and I said sure!" She babbled happily.

Yunho's smile dropped when he heard that last part. He looked over at you, and you were just on the verge of laughing at his reaction.

"See?! Now we got a problem! Some boy is already trying to take my daughter away and corrupt her!" He whined.

"Oh relax Yunho! They're 6 years old! The worst that can happen right now is he gets her sick or something." You shook your head at him.

Yunho held your daughter and looked at her seriously.

"Honey, listen to me. Stay away from boys, they have cooties and they're evil vicious villains who'll just hurt you. Ok? Can you do that for daddy?" He made puppy dog eyes at her.

You face palmed at him.

꧁𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰꧂

"You know Yeosang, you've been having a lot more drinks than usual...." San pointed it out to him.

"I wanna drink tonight to forget and pretend like today didn't just happen." Yeosang said as he downed another shot.

"Yeosang, we've all been there like you were tonight. Trust me, you'll get over it." Wooyoung reminded him.

"Not me! I was the most supportive out of all of you! I was the perfect dad." San smiled, his cute dimples on full display.

"Hey! I was supportive as well!..... sort of. ." Yeosang replied sheepishly.

"Oh yeah? What happened then? Do tell us." Mingi rested his face in his hand, ready to hear Yeosang's story.

Yeosang began reminiscing about what happened a few hours before:

He stood there awkwardly, the young lad that was taking his daughter to prom right in front of him, trying his best to make a great impression of him. But Yeosang wasn't making it easy with his cold icy stare. He just couldn't believe someone was daring to come between him and his daughter.

"I'm ready!"

They both turned and looked over at you and your daughter, all dressed to perfection. The boy's breath was taken away and he was almost drooling. Meanwhile, Yeosang was clenching his fist so much it almost drew blood. After taking so many pictures, she hugged you both goodbye. The boy went to shake Yeosang's hand, but Yeosang instead pulled him in for a caring and ,somewhat suspicious, hug.

"Well then?" Hongjoong asked, snapping him back to reality.

Yeosang gulped.

"Ok. So I may or may not have threatened to cut off his balls if he tried anything...."

꧁𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷꧂

Even though San was extremely close to your daughter and yes he was protective of her, he was also overjoyed and very supportive when she asked for permission to go on a date. He immediately stood up and began bombarding her with questions:

"Who was the boy? Where did you meet? How long have you two known each other? Where do you guys wanna go? How much will you need? Want me to set you guys up at an expensive restaurant? Are you two in love?"

On the day of the actual date, he seemed more excited than your own daughter. He actually hired a photographer to capture every single moment.

"Ok honey I think that's enough photos, the kids might lose their reservation." You tried to make sure they actually made it to the date.

San gasped. "Oh right right! Well you kids have fun and don't worry about paying! I rented the whole thing out for you two!"

He pulled your daughter in for a tight and squishy hug, reminding her how much he loved her and to take care. He also gave the boy a firm pat on the back before watching them get in the limousine and drive away. Even after a few minutes, he stood there silently.

He sighed happily.

"They grow up so fast.....it feels like it was only yesterday when I held her in my arms for the first time....."

You watched San and could tell he was getting emotional.

"Are you going to cry?" You asked him.

"Me? Cry? Pssht! I'm Choi San, the manliest man of all mafia leaders and I do not cry!" He declared bravely.

He then stood there awkwardly before turning back to you. Sighing, you opened your arms.

"Come here. Let it all out." You assured him.

Instantly, San held onto you, crying his eyes out, his heart full of so many emotions.

"Oh my god my babygirl is all grown and soon she'll be leaving me, and I'm sad but I'm so happy at the same way cause I love her so much, and I love you so much and I just miss my baby already even though she's still here!"

You only patted his back and nodded at his sobbing. At least he wasn't putting a tracking device on her.

꧁𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲꧂

You knew it was all bullshit when Mingi said he was desperately needed at the headquarters with the boys. And Seonghwa even confirmed it when you called him and he said that everything was fine, no one called a meeting. You thanked him and hung up. Grabbing your car keys, you sped to your daughter's location, hoping to get there before something embarrassing happened.

You looked around the place, trying your best so your daughter wouldn't see you. She didn't, however you spotted a very familiar shade of red hair hiding behind some bushes. Discreetly, you crept up behind him and smacked his head.

"Ow! What was that for?!" He cried out.

"Song Mingi! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Spying on your own daughter on her first date!" You yelled at him.

"It's my right as a father to make sure my daughter is safe!" He protested.

"Well you can do that....from a distance!"

Without warning, you grabbed his ear and pulled him back to your car to take him home.

"Ok! Can you let go?! I'll go back home with you!" He gave up and walked back with you.

"Good. Honestly, what were you thinking? Oh wait! You weren't." You huffed as you got in the driver's seat.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting your daughter to be safe and make sure her date treats her decently." He pouted like a little baby.

"Well like I said, you could do that from a distance. There's no need to be stalking her out like one of your snipers." You told him as you started the car.

"Yeah.....you're right...." Mingi sighed.

You smiled, proud that he was willing to accept his mistake. That was until he opened his mouth again.

"I mean, why put a tracking device on her phone and not use it?" He stated nonchalantly as he took out his phone

"Song fucking Mingi! I swear to God, if you did that I will make you roll out of the car!"

꧁𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰꧂

"For the last time....No!"

Wooyoung was stubborn. No matter how many times your daughter begged him to let her go to the school dance, he stood his ground and refused. She tried every single approach: she behaved like an angel, tried bargaining and even rebelled like a teenager but to no avail.

"Give me one good reason why I can't go!" Your daughter pouted.

"I'll give you three reasons: One, boys. Two, boys. And three, which is actually the most important one... boys!" Wooyoung was practically dramatic at this point, as if he wasn't already.

"You're going to have to let me date someday!" Your daughter retaliated.

"Absolutely....when I'm cold in my coffin or when hell freezes over. Whichever comes first." Wooyoung said.

Your daughter ended up locking herself in her room, refusing to see her father. It hurt him to have her rejection, but he only did it because he loved her. Unbeknownst to him though, you gave her permission and even arranged for her to be picked up by your friend so she could go to her dance. You hoped Wooyoung didn't notice.

"Where is she?" Wooyoung asked you, crossing his arms over his chest, his foot tapping on the floor.

You sighed in defeat. "She went to the dance. I gave her permission."

Wooyoung began screaming at the top of his lungs, getting agitated.

"Oh relax you drama queen! Her date isn't a bad boy! In fact, he's the sweetest boy ever! You know him, it's San's son!"

As soon as he heard that, Wooyoung felt like he was going to get a heart attack.

"Of all people, she chose San's kid?! Is she insane?!"

Wooyoung took out his phone and furiously tapped on the screen.

"San you little piece of shit! Why are you letting your devil of a son seduce my little angel? Hmm?..... Oh don't give me that! He's just like you! Behind that innocent dimple smile lies a demon, waiting to prey on the innocent and pure so they can corrupt them!! Curse you and your cute dimple genes! I will get you back for this!"

꧁𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸꧂

"So....what are your intentions?" Jongho asked the boy sitting in front of him.

"Excuse me s-sir?" The boy didn't quite understand.

"What are your intentions with my daughter?" Jongho repeated as he reached for one of the apples that were on the table.

"Well I... I....I'm not sure. I guess-"

"Oh? Not sure?" Jongho locked eyes with him as he effortlessly split the apple in half with his bare hands.

The boy noticeably gulped and stared at the crushed fruit.

"I I mean! It's only a dance! It's nothing serious-"

"Are you saying my daughter's a joke? Are her feelings nothing to you?"Jongho reached for another apple and split it apart just like the other one.

"I didn't say that!" The boy exclaimed.

Jongho nodded and reached for yet a third apple.

"Listen very carefully to me boy. I love my daughter so much. There's nothing I wouldn't do for her. I only want her to be happy."

He split the apple and set it down on the table.

"So let me make this clear: break my daughter's heart and I will break you. You know like what?" Jongho tilted his head at him.

"Like.....those apples?" The boy hesitantly pointed at the murdered fruit in front of him.

"Hmm? Oh no. Not like those apples."

Jongho smiled and pulled out a watermelon from one of the cushions.

"I'll break you like this watermelon."

Jongho's fist slammed down on the watermelon, effortlessly breaking it in half. The poor boy was now pale, fearing for his life.

"Daddy! I'm ready! Is the driver ready- what's with all the split fruit?" Your daughter asked when you and her walked into the living room.

"Oh! Nothing sweetheart. I was just splitting these for our guest. Gotta have a little snack before. Right?"

Jongho held out a parted apple to the boy, his eyes silently warning him not to say anything of what really happened. The boy simply nodded and took the apple.

"Y-yeah. Your father is really n-nice."

You frowned at Jongho when your eyes met. You knew what really happened. But he simply smiled innocently at you, like nothing happened.

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

[gveret-fic]

A lil fic in which Gideon showers with her clothes on, changes in the dark, applies her face paint out of a manual, and doesn't touch herself ever. Well. Hardly ever.

HtN spoilers ahead!

---

A bit anticlimactic, if you ask me, after slaying brain melting horror bees and swimming right out of hell, for my next great big challenge to be trying to figure out how to take a dump in a prudish little nun’s body without compromising its modesty.

Not to put too fine a point on it or anything, my sombre bathroom break micromanager, but you really didn’t stick the landing on this one. You had a letter for basically every contingency, like you had one for if God sneezed really hard and blew out the sun, I’m pretty sure, and then mine was basically just ‘fuck you, return to sender’. You just went and parked your porsche in my landing pad with the blasters still on and didn’t even bother to leave the DRY CLEANING ONLY tag on the upholstery. I had to come up with a virtue-preserving game plan all on my lonesome, you know.

And I've been such a good girl, Harrow, you'd be proud. Well, at least you'd be such an unexpectedly small, tiny, miniscule, astonishingly negligible amount of pissed off that it's basically pride at that point, right.

Don't get me wrong, it was a logistical nightmare. Ever tried to shower in multiple robes plus what I must assume are, like, pantaloons? The sonic flaps it all the fuck around, and let me tell you, getting spanked by heavy Ninth vestments is now officially off my kink list. Now, the other option is wet dog trapped in straightjacket, and I'm not too keen on that one either. But I stuck with it. It takes like 20 minutes, no joke, to struggle out of all your stupid layers in the dark, with my eyes closed, without touching any of your most hallowed skin. But I've got a knack for it now, you know? If I ever get the chance to get a lil frisky, maybe with a hot ghost or something I don't know, I can totally impress her with my wild 100% contact free striptease skills.

What I'm saying is, I've been such a super duper chaste and meticulous and ephemeral little make believe nun it's like I was never even here. So you gotta take that into consideration, Harrow, when you pass your terrible judgment once I tell you how I've sinned.

So, it happened when I was putting your face paint on. It wasn’t half bad, either. Really, it was half good. I’ve been practicing. I found this horrible little book full of the gnarliest, creepiest, just most hideous skull faces, and they all had these pretentious titles like The Palm of the Storm or The Young Boy’s Booger. Just your style, basically.

But I was looking at your face in the mirror—that’s the way paint application goes, Harrow, don’t pout—and I got stuck on your pinched, bloodless lips for some reason, and I forgot for a moment that it was me in your muscles, and I just thought, wow, you looked so sad. You always looked so goddamn sad, and no one ever did a fucking thing about it, least of all you, and in that moment I was so angry about it, I could smack you.

So naturally I reached out and I brushed your knuckle gently over your cheek. And lo, I wasn’t struck down on the spot. That gave me a bit of a confidence boost, I suppose. I ran your thumb under your eye, just a little avuncular half circle while thinking just the purest fucking thoughts, and it came away wet.

Really got you going, that one little barely there swipe. You needed this real bad, Nonagesimus. I needed this, too. We were gagging for it. We were crying for it. I needed you to be touched gently, so bad, and I needed even badder to be the one doing the touching. I knew you wouldn't want that, of course, don't feel the need to defend your honor. This was my best compromise, okay? I didn't have a lot to work with. This way you wouldn't really be touched and I wouldn't really be touching, but maybe we'd both get a little something out of it anyway.

This is maybe a good time to confess those thoughts weren't so totally super pure. They were maybe a little muddier, a little earthier, you know. Harrow, listen, I've been thinking a lot about your body, what with living in it for months and having only the one made up magazine to look at and being balls to the wall in love and all. Sorry. So when I tell you I've been thinking about running my fingertip over your eyebrow from glabella to sphenoid, what I'm saying is I've fantasized about the texture of each one of your big black goddamn eyebrow hairs so much my finger's never not tingly anymore. And when I wiped your eye with a tiny knuckle and ran that smooth little fingertip along your real ass eyebrow, Harrow, there was a definite fucking tingle, and I didn't fucking stop.

I traced the smooth plane of your frontal bone, the proud arch of your brow ridge. I dragged your fingertips over your temple and into the mass of your sweaty, overlong hair. The side of your finger grazed the shell of your ear, and you shivered—your ears are so sensitive, Nonageaimus, I thought this stuff only happened in porn—and I felt the full, terrifying shape of your skull in my hand. I cupped the back of your sore-ass neck in a palm and I squeezed just a little, just to let us know we were held, and I worked our fingertips into those nonexistent traps that still somehow managed to be clenched tighter than a stoma that's munched down on one too many emperors. I kneaded them good until they loosened just a bit, and we were still crying like a little bitch.

I squeezed your shoulder, the clavicle pressing sharply into our palm, and I stroked down your bicep, which did not deserve the name, by the way, and I brushed the inside of your elbow and I dragged the underside of your bitten fingernails up your forearm and over that terrifyingly delicate wrist and your doll sized soft palm and then I held your fucking hand.

Yeah, I laced our fucking fingers together, Harrow. Eat me.

I could feel your heart beating in our interdigital folds, I was holding your hand so hard and so intertwiney. And we were definitely feeling some kind of way just then. I had to sit down on your bony ass, your eyes leaking, your shoulders shaking, as I was having just the most mortifying little breakdown over holding my own hand.

I'm sorry, Harrow. I wanted to hug you a lot, these past few months. There were so many moments I wanted to reach outside of you, all like blerghgrgh sudden gorgeous beefy arm bursting out of your stomach to smack Shittier Gideon in the balls or give Shittier Tridentarius a purple nurple. I wanted to give you a pat on the head, tell you've been a good good doggie and you can take a lil break now. Wanted to rub your shoulders and arms all over, force a bit of warmth into em even if I've given up on muscle. Wanted to brace the heel of my palm at the small of your back, squeeze your hips and pull em back, run a hand along that spine to make it proud again, just to give you some support, just to see you stand up straight. Wanted to rub the frown right off your brow, poke your lil cheeks and make you snarl, give you something nice and tough to bite on. But mostly I just wanted to hold you.

I wanted to wrap you tight, so that you'd become a compact little package with well defined edges and maybe then you could open it all up and let it out. Only in my big stupid arms, I'd think selfishly, like some sort of grand duke of self delusion, would you finally feel safe enough to cry.

Nah. Who was I kidding? It was me who was crying. It was me who wanted to be comforted, to be touched kindly, to have her hand held, and it was only me who was getting anything out of doing this stupid weird creepy bullshit. I wasn't giving you shit, Nonagesimus. I just wanted to hold your hand.

I didn't let go, though. Again, Harrow, sorry. Your body didn't care that it was only you, only me. Your skin and your flesh and all those bits you didn't care about wanted this too, probably. The pressure, and the warmth, the illusion or the weird roundabout reality of another person who cares about you. Maybe I'm making excuses again. But I care about you, Harrow. You'll believe that much, won't you? I care about your body. I care about all the non-skeleton parts of you, even. Baffling, I know.

So I sat on your ass, and I bent your head over our joined hands, and I cried, and I didn't let go.

[bunnyywritings]

May I please have headcanons on how hawks and grown up!midoriya would react if their daughter turned into a villain if it's ok? Thanks!!

their daughter becoming a villain

[a/n: this is such an amazing prompt! Thank you anon 💓I’m guessing the daughter is the reader? If that’s not what you had in mind then go ahead and let me know ☺️ I tried to make it as angsty as possible, I hope you enjoy! Uhh these came out longer than I thought...sorry -yours truly, bunnyy -`ღ´-]

takami keigo

✾ he honestly had no idea you existed

✾ he was on parole one day and there was an incident

✾ he was too far to help but he saw the headlines

✾ the hero had completely disregarded the woman being held hostage and had gone for the villain

✾ this resulted in the woman being brutally murdered

✾ his stomach churned as he shut off the tv, she had looked vaguely familiar but he shrugged it off

✾ later on in the day, he got a call

✾ he had a kid...a daughter to be exact

✾ the woman he had just seen on tv was the mother, someone he had a one night stand with and forgot about

✾ so there he was, sat across from a 13 year old with his wings and her mother’s lightning, who had refused to talk to him

✾ it took a few months but you finally warmed up to him, even calling him dad/papa

✾ you had gotten accepted into UA and were very excited

✾ it wasn’t till the anniversary came up, you though you had repressed the memory but it all rushed back

✾ and as time went on, everyone saw the change

✾ you were questioning the principles of being a hero, questioning why heroes were in the right and all villains were automatically in the wrong just because they didn’t agree with the ideals of being a hero

✾ the last nail in the coffin was when you met Dabi

✾ it was completely by accident but you had recognized him and had asked him what it was like to be in the LOV

✾ he was gonna completely brush you off since he knew why your wings looked familiar but the tears in your eyes and the genuine pain in your voice tugged at his heart and he had taken you to the hide out and had somehow convinced shigaraki to hear you out

✾ he did and invited you to join...an invitation that you had greatfully accepted

✾ sneaking back into the house, you got a few things and left nothing but a feather on your pillow

✾ that was the last time your dad saw you

✾ until...

-

After having run away from home, you were confined to the LOV hideout for a bit because police and heroes alike were searching for you and Shigaraki didn’t want you to draw attention.

Taking a page from Dabi’s book, you bleached and dyed your hair. It was now a bright, fun color instead of the drab natural hair you had before. You quite liked it. Your wings, however, were the same maroon as before. There wasn’t much you could do about it, at least not until one day that Toga had rushed into the hideout with some pet safe dye she bough. It would effectively dye your wings without damaging them and without needing to use bleach. Whenever you looked into the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. Your hair a fiery red and wings a jet black. Dabi had even given you a few piercings per your request, your favorite was the tongue one.

“Hmm so what d’you think?” You hummed, sticking your tongue out to show the metal stud.

“Ooh (y/n)! You look so adorable!” Toga squealed in delight.

“I agree, it looks super cute!” Twice agreed before downturning his thumb. “Looks terrible! Any hero with a magnet quirk would rip it out!” You giggled and thanked him.

Dabi watched from the side, a small smile tugging at his lips. It had been a bout a year since you had joined and he had noticed that you were way happier than before. He had felt a connection with you and he couldn’t help but see you almost as a little sister. He looked out for you, made sure you were eating and sleeping well.

After you had been missing for around two years, Keigo gave up looking for you. He had lost hope of ever finding you. There was a new villain who had joined the league that he had to worry about, it didn’t seem like they were up to anything violent...just petty crime. He couldn’t help but notice that as the anniversary of your mothers’ death came up, the crimes got more and more violent. It wasn’t until he was called on the scene that he had realized why.

On that day, Shigaraki had called a meeting. You were finally going to get the chance to get justice for your mother and there was absolutely no hesitation when you had agreed to come along. You had just through you were going to go in and smack him around a bit. You definitely did and it was more than a bit, but he was still breathing when you left him a limp mess on the ground...just barely. What you hadn’t noticed was that Dabi had gone in after you and set fire to the agency, after making sure those who weren’t targets had made it out. So you were a bit surprised to see the building being engulfed by gorgeous blue flames. Dabi smirked and threw an arm around your shoulder.

“How’s it feel kid? He finally paid up.”

“Yeah, and I say good riddance.” You smirked along with him, absolutely no remorse in your voice.

“B-aby bird?” You cringed at the name. Dabi frowned as he felt you tense up. Both of you turning around to see Hawks and Endeavor. He couldn’t believe it was really you. “(Y-Y/n)...w-what did you do to y-yourself?” There was tears in his eyes as he looked you over. Watching as you rolled your eyes, reaching a gloved hand up and removing the muzzle like mask from your face.

“What do you think Keigo?” You spat, “I got justice. That disgusting excuse for a human being murdered my mother and was basically praised for it!”

“That’s still a human being...where’s his justice?” His mind was racing, trying to figure out what in the hell was going on.

“We just gave him his justice, bird-brain!” Dabi snickered from beside you.

“You’re more angry about this bastards death than my mother’s?” You stalked over to your ‘father.’ “HOW DARE YOU! My mother was INNOCENT! She was held hostage and murdered because a hero wanted to make it on the front page!” Your feathers ruffling up with your anger, lightning crackling to life around them.

“I thought-but you said you wanted to be a hero? W-what happened?”

Scoffing, you brought your finger up to your cheek and pulled down the skin under your eye, tongue sticking out and a wicked look in your eye. “Things change pops! Try and catch me if you can!” You felt Kurogiri’s warp gate ruffle your feathers and you tugged at Dabi’s coat sleeve. He threw his arm around you once again and stuck his tongue out at both pro heroes as well, Keigo took notice of the matching tongue piercings the both of you had. “I’ve got a new family, I don’t need a phony holding me back.” You winked, flapping your wings and both you and Dabi leaned back and fell into the the purple mist. While Dabi’s heart swelled with warmth at your words, Keigo’s grew cold and crumbled into little pieces. He fell to his knees, holding out both his hands to catch the stray feather that had floated down. He gently caressed it with his gloved thumb, gazing sadly at the faded black dye, the natural maroon was faint but it shone through.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Kicking himself and trying to see where everything went wrong.

He lost his baby...he wasn’t sure if he’s ever bounce back from it. Not only was it the day that your mother died but it was the day he lost you too.

pro! midoriya izuku

✰ never would he had thought that things would end up like this

✰ he had been blessed with a beautiful wife, but with a healthy set of twins

✰ a baby boy and girl

✰ however, you were both quirkless

✰ either way, you and your brother were loved and cared for

✰ you grew up idolizing both All Might and your father

✰ it wasn’t until the both of you were going to take UA entrance exam that it happened

✰ you both new that he had possessed One for All

✰ so when your brother had suddenly manifested a quirk, your heart broke

✰ Midoriya watched as tears cascaded down your cheeks, a blank look in your eyes

✰ you couldn’t believe it, he had passed it down to your brother...

✰ you withdrew your application for the hero course and applied to the General Studies course

✰ with your grades alone, you instantly got in

✰ and even as your father congratulated you, you could see the overwhelming pride in his eyes as he praised your brother for getting into the Hero Course

✰ it wasn’t until your third year that you had enough

✰ you watched your brother receive special treatment, how he flew through each semester with absolutely shit grades but he was going to take your father’s place as the symbol of hope

✰ you watched your brother become the pride and joy of the family

✰ your accomplishments never even got any attention, always being brushed off by your father who was too busy helping with your brother’s training

✰ even your mom ignored you in favor of babying your brother

✰ so you left

✰ it took them a whole three days to notice

✰ in the first week of working as what society viewed as a “villain”, you made quite the name for yourself, in your first year of working...well, let’s just say that there was a good amount of heroes on the look out for you

✰ in reality, the villains were the ones abusing their power to oppress those that lacked those insignificant quirk cells...those a re the people you got rid of

✰ you had captured a low level “hero” that had been framing innocent people for crimes they didn’t commit, all to get his name to the top of some stupid list

✰ that’s when your father saw you again

-

“How pathetic.” You spat, wiping the blood from your Bowie knife on your black cargo pants. The man whimpered in fear, still trying to escape his restraints. Relacing your boots, you stomped on his ankle. A sickening crack echoeing through the empty room. Tears leaked from his blindfold. “This would be so much easier if you confessed, y’know?” You chuckled manically, gazing into the camera before refocusing on the task at hand. “No? Okay then.” Shrugging, you pulled the cloth sack over his head.

You fixed the plain face mask that you had worn and made your way into the convenience store and picked up some cheap and quick things to eat before heading back to the abandoned warehouse that was working as your base for now

What you hadn’t noticed, was the person following you. They watched as you entered the building.

“Deku...I can’t believe I’m saying this but I think it’s her.” He spoke into the earpiece. “I’m going in.”

Back inside, you sighed and tossed the wrapper of your meat bun to the side. You were growing irritated. You had this man chained up for three days and he hadn’t said a word. No matter how much you cut at his skin, no matter how much you made him bleed. Growling, you went to your table of toys and grabbed a gun and reloaded the magazine. The sound of a cocking gun made the hero quiver in fear.

“Alright, I’m done playing games with you!” You pulled off the cloth hood and ripped off his blindfold. You placed the muzzle of the gun right under his chin. “Confess or pay for your sins!” His lips quivered.

You were intimidating, despite technically still being a third year. You had a mask that was similar to Shinso’s artificial vocal cords, it distorted your voice and your eyes were wide with insanity. Your outfit could be classified as tech wear. You had a harness strapped above the black long sleeve you were wearing. Multiple knives and other weapons strapped to the harnesses on your thighs.

He stayed silent, eyes glossing over with more tears as you pressed the cold metal into his skin. “OKAY! OKAY! I DID IT!” His voice cracked as a satisfied smirk played on your lips.

“What did you do, Mr. Hero?”

“I-I framed all those people. The ones in jail, people that were put on death row. They’re innocent!”

“Good to know Mr.” You giggled. “The jury finds you guilty of all accusations, Penalty: Death.” You grinned.

“WAIT-!”

A gunshot echoed through the warehouse as he fell limp in his chair. The splattering of warm blood against your skin made you shiver.

“Great, now I’m all dirty...” You sighed.

Just before anything else happened, an explosion sent you skidding across the room.

The dust clearing and your eyes widened. “Uncle Katsuki?” You asked softly.

When Bakugo saw the blood, he panicked that he had hurt you but then he noticed the body that had fallen to the ground. Gun still in your hand. Anger bubbled in his chest.

“YOU DAMN IDIOT!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-“ Before he could finish his reprimands, Shoto ran in.

“Uncle Shoto...” The fog in your head cleared as memories of simpler times flooded your brain. The days where you’d get spoiled by Uncle Katsuki and Shoto before they had their own kids. The comfort they offered you before you ran off.

Shoto took advantage of your distraction and slowly approached you. “(Y/n)...sweetheart I need you to put the gun down okay? You’re safe now.” The look in your eyes was too familiar. It was the way his mother’s eyes looked when he first saw her in the hospital. Broken, lost, terrified. He knew you weren’t in your right mind. Hope filled both him and Katsuki as your trembling hand held the gun out to him. Of course, that was until-

“(Y/N)!!” You flinched, snapping out of your docile state. Eyes hardening once more as you kicked away form Todoroki’s knelt form. Seeing your father filled you with absolute rage.

Midoriya froze, eyes running over the scene. Realization setting in as he saw the gun clutched in your hand.

“D-did you do that?” He asked, eyes glossy.

“And what about it?” You giggled. “Why do you care all of a sudden? HUH? DAD? WHY NOW?!”

“You’re a murderer (y/n)...a villain.”

“Better than being a phony and pathetic hero! I’M NOT IN IT FOR THE MONEY!” You growled, cocking the gun and pointing it at Midoriya. “But he was. He’s had dozens of people locked away for life, people sent to the electric chair for things they didn’t do...all because he wanted to be in the top 10.” You shrugged, biting your lip coyly. “He’s the real villain here, not me.”

Midoriya clenched his fists, holding in his tears. It felt like his heart was violently being ripped from his chest. “I thought I raised you better. How do you think your mom feels? Or grandma? Your own brother-“

“Uhm, news flash! This is all your fault! Plus, I couldn’t care less about my degenerate of a brother!” That’s what made Shoto and Katsuki realize what happened. “WHY?! WHY HIM?!” They were all caught off guard by the tears that drenched your cheeks. “I worked hard and did my best...but that wasn’t enough for you! He was failing all his studies but NOBODY CARED! He was your successor and that was enough! I got a B on my final exam and all you did was give me a lecture about the importance of studying...HE FAILED! HE GOT AN F AND ALL YOU SAID WAS TO TRY HARDER NEXT TIME!”

The tears finally escaped Midoriya’s eyes. ‘Did he really do that to you?’ ‘Had he been such a terrible father that it drove you to this?’

“HOW WAS A QUIRKLESS DISSAPOINTMENT LIKE ME SUPPOSED TO COMPETE WITH THE GREAT DEKU’S SUCCESSOR?! YOU BASICALLY SET ME UP FOR FAILURE!” The tears were streaming down your face but instead of sobs leaving your lips, they were replaced by deranged giggles. “It’s okay Papa...don’t feel bad. It’ll all end soon.” No one noticed when you pulled the pin from the sphere in your hand. Not until the flash bang went off and everyone turned to shield their eyes.

Once they regained their senses, you were far gone. Leaving behind empty meat bun wrappers and several cassettes taped with confessions of those that you had ruled guilty. He screamed. It was so gutteral that it hadn’t sounded human. His body filled with dread and anguish.

“I’m sorry (y-y/n)...I never meant to-“ A choked sob interrupted his whispers. Then another...then another. Both Katsuki and Shoto watched helplessly as their friend completely broke down. Their hearts heavy as well. The little girl they watched grow up was gone.

“I lost her...she’s gone.”

𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱(open) : @ohbois-biggay-bnha @yuiji-yuiji

[flufflepuffle296]

Heathers au: Beautiful Songfic

This is more centred around Veronica/Marinette so not really any mentions of Heather/Heather/Heather. Sorry if someone’s done this before I apologise I just got into Heathers like two days ago. Also I changed some lyrics and took others out to make it more “realistic”. Sorry I suck at endings, it’s 5:30am rn and this is my first fic so be nice please! (I’m on mobile so I can’t add the keep reading tag so sorry if you don’t like this) xxx

I brushed down my dress: I couldn’t give them anything to criticise me over. Everything had to be perfect. I had to be perfect. Chloé sat next to me, my beautiful fiancée, slipping on her kitten heels. She may be 3 months pregnant but no Bourgeois woman would be seen wearing flats. I was in a red floor length a line dress — I grew out of my childish pink years ago, before it even went out of fashion! My hair was twisted into two plaits that were knotted together into a stylish bun at the back. Chloé meanwhile had stuck to her white and gold aesthetic, currently in a slim fitting white dress, showing off her small baby bump, decorated with gold jewellery. I rummaged through my drawers, trying to find a lipstick, when a thin book toppled out. I picked it up, and laughed fondly when I saw what it was.

My old Collège and Lycée diary.

I flipped through it, landing on the page that stuck most clearly in my mind. It was the day my class reminded me of my current reality at that time, shocking me out of a bubble that had surrounded me during the summer holidays that year.

September 1st, 1989.

Dear Diary: I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year!

And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known all my life and I ask myself—what happened?

I bit my lip. What happened? I knew darn well what happened. Lila Rossi. She came in, flaunting her friendships and connections, a new disability every other week to cry about, another rumour about me coming out every 3 days.

Alya ended our friendship, Adrien continued to cry about Lila’s feelings. Lila just kept doing what she did best. The class gave up on changing my mind and instead decided that calling me names would be better. Because logic?!

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Burnout!” “Bug-eyes!” “Poser!” “Lard-ass!” Were the insults they liked to yell daily. Yeah, they weren’t the most creative...

We were so tiny, happy and shiny. Playing tag and getting chased. Singing and clapping, laughing and napping. Baking cookies, eating paste.

Nino and Kim used to come over to the bakery when we were kids, where we’d gorge ourselves on sweets, before celebrating our sugar rushes by chasing each other in the park and then crashing on my sofa, cuddled in blankets and laying on top of each other.

Then we got bigger, that was the trigger. Like the Huns invading Rome. Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school: This is the Thunderdome. Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon. College will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!

But I know, I know, life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray for a better way. If we changed back then, we could change again. We can be beautiful...Just not today.

I scoffed at my optimism back then. Them changing? They never did, I don’t know why I bothered trying at that point. I should’ve moved on but hey! We all make mistakes. It’s just that sometimes you make 11 friendships worth of mistakes.

“Freak!” “Slut!” “Cripple!” “Homo!” “Homo!” “Homo!”

I cringed as I read their old “insults”. They would write homophobic messages across my locker, getting Alix to spray paint a few slurs across my work after I came out as bisexual.

Things will get better soon as my letter comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown. Wake from this coma, take my diploma. Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls, no smoky French cafés. Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze!

I had purposefully sent out applications to universities far away from these people, from Paris. All three schools accepted me, something I can’t say about my classmates, most of whom were rejected for essays on false information (sourced by Lila) and a quick scan over the Ladyblog meant not a single newspaper would even consider my ex-best friend. Gabriel Agreste, as I later found out through my internship in America, had to bribe several schools with double tuition to get even one to accept Adrien, after he got exposed as sexual harasser and disgraced hero “Chat Noir”. I turned back to my diary, having to peel off rock hard gum from the page that someone had smeared in “revenge”.

Le Chiên Kim. Third year as linebacker and eighth year of smacking lunch trays and being a huge dick.

“What did you say to me, skank?” He would yell, his fist raised in the hallway.

“Aah, nothing!” I then cowered. I may be Ladybug, but he was 150lbs of pure rage. No one can compete with that!

But I know, I know... Life can be beautiful. I pray, I pray, For a better way. We can be beautiful...

“Marinette! Wide load! Honnnnnk!”

He was the smartest guy on the football team. Which is kind of like being the tallest dwarf.

“Hey! Pick that up! Right now!”

“I’m sorry, are you actually talking to me?” He used to snarl, his hands covered in sauce from knocking my tray.

I stood my ground, I had been practising for this moment. “Yes, I am. I wanna know what gives you the right to pick on me. You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future gas station attendant.”

Kim then smirked, crouching down to eye level and pressing a finger to my forehead. “You have a zit right there...” he pointed out, causing the cafeteria to laugh at my expense.

I used to ask myself “Why... Why do they hate me?”

And hear Adrien whisper “Why don't I fight back?”

Watch as Max Googled “Why do I act like such a creep?”

Listen in on Lila stamping her feet in the bathroom asking “Why won't he date me?” Clearly frustrated.

Kim panicking as he wondered “Why did I hit him?”

And Chloé sob down the phone “Why do I cry myself to sleep?”

I would stay up late, screaming, begging. At my lowest points I would cry out “Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me! Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!”

I remember when I first met my real friends. The famed trio had gone into the bathroom and I followed after them, clearly my throat.

“Who are you?”

“Uh... Marinette Dupain Cheng. I crave a boon”

“What boon?” Chloé asked, filing her nails.

“Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. If our class think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone...”

Chloé threw her nail file out and began circling around me, running her hands through my hair, commenting that “For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure!” Before coming to a conclusion.

“And ya know, ya know, ya know? This could be beautiful. Mascara, maybe some lip gloss, and we're on our way. Get this girl some blush; and Kagami, I need your brush. Let's make her beautiful.” Sabrina and Kagami, chimed in, echoing her words.

“Let's make her beautiful...”

“Let’s make her beautiful...”

“Make her beautiful...Okay?” Chloé ordered, dragging me out with Kagami and Sabrina, driving me to her hotel. They sat me down, taking my hair out of its bunches and brushing it out. Kagami painted my nails a deep navy with surprising precision, manning my cuticles. Sabrina twirled my hair into a high bun, leaving a few pieces at the front to frame my face. Chloé came back from her wardrobe, throwing a blue blazer and grey skirt at me. I changed into my outfit for them, to which they clapped their hands in glee. They dragged me back to school, taking in everyone’s reactions to the new and improved me. This became my new daily outfit for the rest of the year — the class couldn’t find anything bad about it, and even if they did Chloé would threaten them with her father’s power.

I was happy with my squad. Kagami taught us Japanese and Chloé taught us American English that she’d picked up from her mother. I taught them self defence, under the guise of learning it from my mum, unknowingly training them for the day I would rip Chat Noir’s miraculous from him, before slamming it into Kagami’s palm. I needed help that day, so thrust them bee and the fox miraculous at Chloé and Sabrina respectively. They became permanent heroes, Kagami under the name “Noirette”, Chloé under the new guise of “Buttercup” and Sabrina “Renard Rouge”. Akuma attacks have never lasted more than 15 minutes since we got rid of that alley cat, and we’ve been closing in on Hawkmoth recently.

I shook my head, snapping the crude book shut, throwing the diary in the bin. Today was going to be the day I made peace with all that happened, our 10 year school reunion. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna make up with anyone, just that I will finally leave everything behind. I found my lipstick and smeared on the crimson lip, smacking my lips together. I grabbed my clutch and helped Chloé stand up, though she wobbled a little in her heels. I slid her miraculous into her updo, blowing a kiss at her as to not ruin her makeup.

We met up with Kagami and Sabrina in the hallway, Kagami in a wine red suit with gold jewellery, and Sabrina was in emerald green to compliment her red hair. We stepped into the limo awaiting us outside and set off, arriving at the school 10 minutes later. We walked up the steps, hitching up our dresses and arrived in the courtyard. It had been lit up with fairy lights, with stands of food and drinks scattered around the court. Our old classmates were huddled in small groups, whilst Mlle. Mendeleiev’s was in a large group, enjoying each other’s company after 10 years apart.

No one noticed us, until Rose pointed at me and whispered “Who’s that with Chloé?” The group turned to stare at us, trying to place my face. Adrien looked up from talking to Lila, who seemed to be flaunting a rather tacky Gabriel engagement ring, and whispered,

“Marinette?!”

The class began gossiping amongst themselves, “Marinette? Marinette? Marinette?!”

I ignored them, their childish ways were behind me, and walked up to Aurore and Mireille, fawning over their relationship. They turned Kagami, asking her about her life and squealing over her Olympic medal for fencing. I grinned as I watched my old class, happy that they had moved on from each other — well apart from Alya and Adrien, who were still hooked on Lila. I was finally, content! I thought back on my diary, one particular paragraph standing out to me at this time.

And you know, you know, you know, life can be beautiful. You hope, you dream, you pray, and you get your way! Ask me how it feels, lookin' like hell on wheels...My God, it's beautiful! I feel so beautiful... And when you're beautiful...It's a beautiful frickin' day!

Chloé boasted my achievements, my business, my awards, and the entire of Mendeleiev’s class started chanting “Marinette! Marinette! Marinette!”, much to my embarrassment. I boasted her’s in return, Sabrina revealed how far she’d come as a lawyer, Kagami swung her prized sword from side to side as she listened to us all catching up, laughing at the memories.

It really was a beautiful day.

[harryswatermelonsegment]

Fire For You

Pairing: Reader/Harry Styles,Harry Styles/Omc x2

Rating : Strong R 100% porn w/o plot tbh

Warnings: *cracks knuckles* orgies,sex parties, anal sex, male oral sex, female oral sex, anal play, sub!dom play, drug use, vaginal penetration, squirting

A/N: Look, never posted fic. And I haven't checked anything 😳 Due to the heavily noted anon prompt fluttering around my dash that read: "My friend went to some weirdo eyes wide shut kind of party in the Hollywood Hills last year and overheard 'yeah you can't use that room, Harry Styles is high as fuck and getting railed by some dudes in there" plus that damn 🍉 video... well, I am at peak feral in quarantine and 3k of smut just popped right out. Title actually the Cannons song cos it's such a sex song innit? I'm doing this at 4.20am after starting this at 11pm my time so..good fucking night. ✌🏻🍉

—--------------------------------------------

You were petrified. 

You'd moved halfway across the world with your best friend after a shitty person broke your heart and your spirits. 

A circumstantial opportunity had arisen to become her PA,after her chance audition for a series had turned into cult viewing overnight.

She was everything you weren't. Confident, effortlessly cool and entirely comfortable in her own skin and sexuality. That's why, as she sauntered away with a tuxedo clad tall stranger, you stood frozen on the spot trying to remember it was okay to watch. 

It had been her idea for you to submit an application after you'd said you needed to take risks and feel good in your skin again. Your best friend had told you you were wasting your youth, after years wasted on the ex you were in this country trying to forget. That you should embrace you were young, hot, single and getting older by the second. So you'd rolled your eyes and submitted your video application. You wouldn't get a reply for such an elite thing. 

And yet, here you now were, in a millionaires mansion watching two men fuck a bunny masked stranger infront of you. She looks up at you through the velveteen eye holes and offers you to join with her finger come hithering you over. Your eyes widen. 

You immediately remember your stiff upper lip and bound up the right hand staircase as fast as your heels will allow. Hoping to find a cool place to catch your breath. 

Maybe you weren't as free spirited as you were in your head. Open to trying things theoretically, but now, as you see a flurry of naked bodies out of your peripheral vision and hear sounds you'd only heard in more private settings, you felt quite overwhelmed. 

You were no virgin but not to say you could count on two hands your conquests past kissing either. 

You came to the one shut door at the end of the long hallway, assuming it was a bathroom. Heels clicking against the pristine marble floor below as you approached. You put your hand to the cold metal handle, if you weren't prepared to see strangers fuck, you certainly weren't prepared for this. 

There were five people in the room. 

Three men on the bed and two women. The first woman sat open thighed across a low backed plush chair. Another on all fours on the floor licking into the others cunt as one guy stuck his fingers into her own folds from behind. He was then, with the rest of his olive skinned built body, sharply thrusting into the man on the bed at such a pace you could hear his balls slap against the sweat glistening flesh. He held his hip nearest to you so tightly, you could see the red marks appear from under his large hands. 

The slender man receiving all this action was being silenced in his pleasure by the guy kneeling up in front of him. He hummed loudly through his nose as his mouth was busy bobbing up and down the guys length. Eyes closed in the orange low light as he was thrust into still, with such force he deep throated the guy he was swallowing down. He suddenly gagged and the man moaned then pulled his head away and nodded to signal if he was okay to continue, he agreed then he got right back down to business. 

It was probably one of the more explicit scenes she'd seen. Making her feel hot and cold all at once. Not because of what was happening, no, it was who it was. 

His face was disguised by a navy blue, high winged, theatrical mask. As were those involved, or some variation at least. 

You heard a voice beside you at the door frame. A deep voice talking to a white bunny beside him

"Nah, that rooms got enough going on, Harry Styles is high as fuck getting railed by two dudes" 

And that's all the confirmation you damn well needed. You'd been in L.A three weeks. Three weeks was all it had taken for you to be stood watching Harry fucking Styles getting Eiffel towered by two guys in the Hollywood Hills whilst you watched, mouth agape in barely any underwear. 

No one had seemed to notice your intrusion, if the screaming of the red head  in the chair reaching her climax was anything to go by. She rode out her high on the blondes face before getting up, lighting a joint and pulling the blonde up by roots. No real concern that she hadn't climaxed from Mr. Powerthrusts fingers yet. Dragging the young white cat back towards the door with a glistening mouth and chin, you were still entranced at the boy on the bed pooling your sheer briefs and the sight before you. 

The redhead looked at you, to where your focus was on, then back to you. Giving one condescending chuckle. Still with the small blonde girls hair in a vice hold she spoke roughly into your ear as she passed. 

"He's soft and ready to go sugar, strike whilst he's still loose" with that, she kisses your cheek and her Loboutins clicked away from you. 

You stood there. Tits up to your chin from the force of the practically sheer black bra you were spilling out of, the suspender belt grasped your hourglass shape perfectly too. There was delicate, black designer underwear framed by the belt and thigh high stockings. You'd felt beyond confident at the beginning of the party. New eyes dragging over you in a way they didn't when you were in your regular get up of jeans and a t shirt. But behind the Japanese type kitsune half mask, you had felt invincible.

Right up until the point people actually started fucking. 

But this, this was different. 

You'd never been into guy on guy action, not even in porn. It didn't ignite any fire inside the pit of your stomach like it should. But seeing someone you'd casually ogled through the media like the other few million in the world had, well the chances of being in this position again were rare. Suddenly, the thrill of being able to possibly turn dream into reality spurred you on. He'd never know it was ever you if you met again right? 

The three of them were still going at it. Powerthruster behind, contorting his face as he placed smack after smack across the pale flesh of Harry's ass. Grabbing a fistful in each hand as he sped up even more to reach his climax, he cried out when he did pulling Harry's hips flush against his own, it was only now, amongst all the activity that you notice Harry's cock for the first time. 

The rumours online highly underestimate it. 

He's long and thick and his drippy head is causing a string of pre cum to trail from its opening onto the white silk sheets below. 

You clamp a hand between your thighs, the first time you feel your inhibitions falter that night. You had to relieve some of the friction your body needs. Watching the man remove himself, and toss the condom in the bin by the door frame you were still fixed to. 

Harry scrambles to the other muscular guy infront of him, kneeling back on his calves, hissing a little as his legs under each cheek spread his already tender hole a bit. He doesn't miss a beat though, the already close to orgasming guy looking down at green doe eyes as he pushes Harry's mouth from him. Harry knows where this is leading and opens his mouth for him spill his seed onto his waiting tongue. 

By this point you'd moved quietly from the door and across the wall so you were in prime position to watch Harry swallow all this man's cum whilst you just stood watching. 

Feeling like a pervert, feeling turned on, feeling fucking everything to be frank. You'd question it later. Right now you needed Harry to touch you. 

One leg kicked up behind you so you could slightly part your thighs and rub your middle finger down your folds beneath your knickers. You began to put on a show. The other hand is inside your bra cupping and squeezing your nipple between your index and forefinger sharply. Panting quietly as you see Harry's eye clock you in his peripheral vision. You're terrified of his reaction for a second before remembering the setting of the evening, but he smirks the best he can do with an open mouth and looks you up and down slowly. His dick twitches in his lap and that's all it takes for you to start rubbing two soaked fingers fast against your clit, your ego inflated that you could be the cause of his heightened arousal. You're going at such a pace on yourself that you almost don't catch the ropes of cum descending into Harry's mouth as he watches you trying to get the release his actions have caused. The guy stills, spent. Harry is still watching you pant faster as you take the hand on your breast away to steady a palm against the wall. He holds the guys cum in his mouth before tearing his eyes away from yours to kneel up and place an opened mouthed kiss onto the guys lips, transferring him back into his own mouth, forcefully. Switching the dominant role back in his favour to show you who was really in control in the room despite how it may have looked. He breaks the kiss, both men chuckle at each other before Harry taps the other guys cheek with his palm playfully. Like his just scored a goal at the Sunday football league, but definitely not like they'd both shared a mouthful of semen. 

Your pace has slowed down slightly but you see him whisper something into the man's ear before he hops off the bed, grabbing only his black briefs and closing the door behind him. But not before saying "have fun" to you with a knowing wink. 

It suddenly feels very intimate. When there were a few more people in the room it felt easier to blend into the festivities, but now you were essentially alone with a stranger who was watching the slow movements of your hands in your underwear. You decided to carry on, to keep up the pretence that this is the sort of thing you do all the time of course. 

It wasn't. 

So when he stands straight up off the bed, taking the few steps towards you, slightly pouting into the air as he keeps his eyes locked on yours and gently grabs your wrist that leads to the hand on your pussy  bringing the two digits that had been furiously rubbing your clit, up to his mouth. He never breaks his gaze as he sucks them fully, with the same technique you'd just seen on that man's dick minutes previous. Closing his eyes and humming approvingly at your sweet taste. 

Your insides are screaming but your present body moans and he drops the hand to grab your waist and pull you tight to his torso. He kisses you hungrily and you taste mostly of yourself and try not to think about the other taste from the strangers cum on your tongue. 

He kisses you like he's getting to know you through this alone, grazing his palms from your waist to your shoulder blades then back down slowly to your ass, gripping it tightly to his body as he hooks a thigh over his hip. His cock is sandwiched between you, droplets of pre cum on both your bellies. The crotch of your underwear is rubbing his length slightly as you rock your hips down onto his. 

His tongue is lapping and swirling languidly against yours, it's unexpected given the setting but, it's fucking glorious. You grab fistfuls of curls at the back of his head between your fingers and once you get to the nape and give a sharp tug on the baby hair there, his breathing hitches. 

"You're quite good at this" he says casually,taking a breath. You pant in response and chuckle slightly. Mostly at the contrast of moods he appears to have. 

"Not s'bad yourself" you smile. 

There's a heartbeat whilst he takes in your accent similar to his own he pulls back, brows furrowed causing his forehead to wrinkle down slightly at the top of the blue mask. This isn't the time to get to know one another though, you get that, and despite your reservations on this place you suddenly don't give a shit. You push your mouth into his neck suckling lightly and finding a sweet spot at his pulse that has him shaking. His nimble pianist fingers undo the flimsy material of your bra as he goes back to the weirdly passionate make out session, you let it fall off your shoulders, shaking it down your arms to the ground. 

He walks you both back to the bed and sits down pulling you to straddle his thighs. You both moan at the reconnection and don't miss a beat rolling your hips over his slowly. Giving him a taste of what's to come. He grunts through his teeth out of frustration, pulling away from you both once more to reach blindly for the fishbowl of condoms, provided by the host, on the nightstand. 

"Fucked anyone else tonight?" he asks matter of factly. 

Your eyes looked shocked, even though they probably shouldn't be. You furiously shake your head. 

"Hm" he chuckles as you lay your hands in your lap submissively, he clearly notices and you see an eyebrow raise over the mask. "that mean you're a good girl?" 

Cottoning on to the game he's starting, and that you're more than willing to take part in, you take one side of your bottom lip between your teeth and nod quickly. 

This is an absolute fantasy. But you're aware you could get interrupted at any moment so you'll take what you can get before being pushed out, and no doubt off, this absolute wet dream of a man. 

He tears the packet open with his fingers, sitting back, a little hunched over to roll the rubber down his length. He hisses at the brief contact after being edged so much the last hour or so. You start to wonder how he's keeping up his stamina before he sits back up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger and interrupts. 

"Gonna be a good girl f'me then love?" he leans forward places wet opened mouth kisses at each of your breasts in between his words, looking you straight in the eye. "Gonna slip those pants to the side and get on me then?" 

No sooner had he spoke, you were grabbing his cock in your palm with one hand, and pulling the crotch of your soaked fabric to one side with the other. You hadn't done this in a fair few months and definitely never taken a cock as big as his, but your arousal was so high that you were desperate for the sweet pain of being stretched around him. You pumped him barely as to not roll up the condom, just grazing him and feeling him twitch in your fist as he watched you briefly stick two fingers into your cunt. The wetness being heard as you opened your mouth and gasped at the sensation. You didn't want to waste anymore time checking you were prepared so you scooted forwards on his lap. Brushing his swollen head against your clit, before tapping it a few time as you sunk down onto his length. It burned so good as you got to about halfway before lifting yourself up and sinking down again further. It took three times of doing that to be completely seated and drowning his cock in your juices as your pelvises locked together. You both took a second to pant out curses against each others necks. 

"Jesusfuck. You're so fuckin' tight. Can you move? Fuck! Please move" he strained into your throat. 

You sat back a bit so you were facing one another and with fingers pulling at those nape hairs you reconnected your mouths before rolling your hips experimentally against his. 

"Oh fuuuuck" you shot out, the feeling of him so deep inside you and him pressing against your clit was other worldly. The friction of the underwear you still had on, gathered between your folds and caused the sweetest friction. He grunted once as your jaw lay slack at the contact, before getting impatient and guiding your hips to slam into him harder as he thrust up at the same time. 

Your head was spinning. 

His strong hands pulled you close to him he smeared your lips together as he flipped you so he was on top, manoeuvring you up the bed and slightly diagonal so his feet didn't dangle off the edge. 

It became a power battle then. You knew he was on the edge and holding back. He pulled a leg to hitch around his waist and thrust into you at speed. Enough to leave you sore tomorrow. You smirked into his mouth, pulling both up further to lock behind his neck, knowing the angle would make it so much tighter and so much easier to reach that sweet spot inside you. With your head thrown back at the new angle he began leaving marks around your neck and breasts, trying so hard not to cum before you. 

Then you had a brilliant, foolproof idea of how to win this game. As he was preoccupied leaving a red mark against your clavicle, you sucked your middle finger into your mouth for your planned attack. Before you could do anymore though, he moved two of his digits against your soaked clit at speed, tapping every now and then and making you writhe and grip the sheets with overstimulation. You held off best you can but he was hitting that spot that few had taken much longer to find before. You knew what was coming but it was too late to warn him. 

Your orgasm took over your body from the middle down to your toes and up until your eyes practically rolled back in your head. You heard the lewd, wet sounds his thrusts were still making and wanting to even things up you made a quick recovery enough to part your mouth and make your middle finger drip with saliva as you gripped his ass to guide him into you. You could tell by his speed he was almost there so you went between his cheeks with your slick finger and suddenly buried it inside him to the hilt. He was still stretched from the previous guy so you sink to the knuckle easily. It only took two movements to feel him spill inside you. Long drawn out moans left his lips like a dirty drawl from his throat. You took out your finger and went slack onto the mattress. 

He was spent but he wasn't done. 

As he pulled out of you carefully, gushes of your cum cascaded down onto the expensive sheets. If he didn't know you were a squirter, he did now. He stared watching it fall from your weepy hole blind removing the condom and tossing it into the bin behind. 

"Holy fuck. I.. I've never managed that before. You're a fucking dream….so fucking sexy. Fuck" he looked at you like a feast. Your saturated underwear stretched out beyond repair now. Laying against your thigh and the material dripping. He pulled the stockings from their clips quickly, not taking them off but so he could peel the knickers from your sticky thighs. You noticed he threw them down near what you assumed to be his tux. 

And that was it, he pushed your thighs up and back to your body so your knees were flush against your chest. You felt some of your cum still seeping out if you and he growled watching the last few drops drip down your bum and onto the bed. 

He dove into you like he'd not eaten in weeks. Lapping every bit of fluid from your pussy, clit, thighs and ass. He licked around your puckered hole as he sink two fingers into your cunt at pace. 

"You got one more in there for me hmm?"

He said huskily, keeping one arm across your thighs as he sat up on his haunches to look down on you falling apart. You nodded frantically, feeling the bubbles in your stomach growing again. You felt the pressure build between your thighs. Completely living in this moment with this beautiful man you got to see so desperate for you to cum. He dived back in to trace figure eights across your clit with the tip of his tongue before laying it flat and going up over it again and again. He alternating the two before you were ready to burst. He felt it on his fingers so he stilled them inside you still lapping at clit but using his whole arm to move at speed up and down to keep pushing at that one ridge inside you. When he felt the first wave of your climax hit he quickly put his face infront of your cunt and let the force of your squirt hit him the face. He caught a good amount in his mouth before repeating the signature move of crawling back up to your face and getting your soft, limp body to open up so he could spit your cum back into your mouth. It was tart but sweet probably due to the pina coladas you'd sipped downstairs to get you loosened up a bit. 

"Good girl. Swallow, show me y've swallowed it all up" he panted kneeling at your side. 

You gulp and meekly open your mouth to prove it was all gone and he smirks and gives you a slow, lazy Sunday kind of kiss that sends its shivers down your spine. You stare at each other as he sweeps your sweet drenched hair from the front of your face. You're not sure what suddenly changed in the room but you've created your own bubble. Your own bubble where a millionaire pop star a Jenner has shagged, whispers praises against the shell of your ear in some sort of awe and kisses your neck and face tenderly. What even is life? 

It's stupid but you don't want to go. Well, it's not stupid as this boy is a hurricane in the sheets and why would you not want more!

But you know the deal. This isn't a date. This is an elite fuck party. A. Fuck. Party. 

The realisation dawns on you like a thorn to the side. You can't just lay here in a post orgasmic comatose state. There's people waiting, people he's waiting on too. He sees your eyes widen and watches in confusion as you take a white robe from the hook behind the door, still in your heels you pick up your bra. You smile briefly before closing the door behind you and practically sprinting to your car. 

Not before seeing the guy Harry had been deepthoating earlier, now standing fully clothed with a headset at the door you'd just come out of with a suit and headset on. Like nothing had ever happened. Of course you weren't interrupted. Of course he had security. You rush back down the staircase before you have a panic attack in plain sight. Your thoughts scrambled beyond what you thought was capable. Did that really just happen? With him? Is this who you are now?

It's only when you get to the end of the street after texting a quick "sorry wasn't my scene, call me when you need picking up" to your mate before leaving that you're suddenly aware you're missing your underwear...

[booksandlewks]

Intensity in Insmire | A Jurdan AU

Happy Holidays to my wonderful knife wife @starborn-faerie-queen!! I’m so lucky to have you as my friend and now snusband (we’re def married now) <3 I was so excited to see that I got to try and write something for you. I also have to thank everybody in the @jurdannet discord for helping me with my writer’s anxiety throughout, and @jurdannetrevels for hosting this secret santa event! 

So this was a prompt you didn’t ask for, but that I hope you will like. I thought of this right when I saw your name and have had a blast making it a reality. One of our first conversations in the discord was about none other than Lauren Layne, so I thought I’d give it my best go at making it Jurdan. I picked what I think of as the iconic scene in Passion on Park Avenue because Jude and Cardan literally define passion. You also put Nicaryn, so in my head when I wrote this they’re already dating and Jude just hasn’t noticed. 

"Be careful, you're going to drop that!" Jude said watching her twin throw down yet another box full of her merchandise.

 It was times like these that Jude wondered about her choice in friends. Not that she had so many choices in friends to begin with, something about her being "abrasive". People may not always appreciate her edges, but that edge is what landed her on the 30 under 30 list. She was grateful, if not confused, about her new-found friendships. While the ladies made for excellent company, and fellow schemers in action, a moving company they were not. Not that Jude would say a word against their help out loud. She was still so grateful to have her twin back in her life.

Jude would thank Locke for bringing them together, if she'd thought it was even remotely a part of his plan. Maybe she could thank him for dying, so that they could find each other in the park that fateful day. Not likely, she had better people to think on.

Nicasia kicked a box into the corner with the toe of her Louboutin heels, "You worry too much, they're not going to break because I didn't gingerly place every single one of your hundreds of boxes down."

"I'm not worried about you breaking an accessory," Jude said huffing as she moved to open the box Nicasia had kicked to prove a point. She held up the lipstick tube, twisting to expose the blade to prove her point. "I'm worried about one of my accessories breaking you."

"Oh, I like that," Taryn laughed, her eyes widening, "Can I borrow that for my next date?"

"Well, it is just a sample," Jude nodded her head to the truck parked outside her new building, "You can keep it if you help me unload the rest of the truck." 

"You drive a tough bargain, a days labor in exchange for one accessory?" Nicasia teased.

Jude put one hand to her heart and the other to her forehead dramatically, "Oh you're truly suffering going up and down the elevator while carrying small boxes."

"These boots were not exactly made for walking Jude," Nicasia said flicking her hair over her shoulder, and punctuating it with an all too casual check of her nails. Why she wouldn't just concede to putting her hair up was beyond frustrating to Jude. She wasn't sure if she hated or respected Nicasia's commitment to always looking perfect.

 "I mean I didn't get to where I was by giving things away for free, but I may have also ordered us pizza and tiramisu from the Italian place on Lexington Ave."

 "Ahh I knew you were my favorite twin!" Taryn said wrapping her arms around Jude and kissing her cheek with an exaggerated smack.

 "I'm your only twin, and you definitely did not know it."

 "The real question isn't why I can't move things in these heels, it's why you think I should be doing this in the first place," Nicasia said glancing speculatively.

 "Wait, yeah, aren't you meant to be rich now Jude?"

"Well, according to my accountant, approximately I am," Jude tilted her head and pretended to tally with her free hand, "filthy rich." She moved the box that had been hoisted on her hip onto the floor of what would be the main living area.

Jude wasn't insane, the larger items like the couch and industrial garment racks would be delivered by a moving company later. She just knew that she could handle the smaller boxes herself. She'd always survived by being self-sufficient, so she wasn't going to start changing what was working now. She'd moved herself into her first shoe box apartment, all her belongings compact and loaded into the back of her ancient little two door.

 "Then why on earth are we moving all of this by hand?" Taryn said turning to her sister, exasperated to see the determination gracing her twin's face. She hated that look, especially when it was on the face that was practically her own under all that stubbornness. "Nic, I need backup here, we're entering dangerously uncharted areas in stupidity. "

 "Jude, love, remember when we agreed to stop each other from entering another toxic relationship?" Nicasia said gently, her hands up as if coaxing a small animal.

 "No, I've blocked out the entirety of Locke's funeral out of a sense of self-preservation," she said voice and face purposefully blank.

 "Why stop there, why not erase him from your entire mind?" Taryn said a bitter edge to her words.  

 Jude laughed, "Me and my therapist are hard at work doing just that."

 "Well while you're working on that, have her work on the toxic relationship you've got with your stupid pride," Nicasia said checking her already perfect nails.

 "Wait, was all of that just the set up for the punchline to your dumb joke?"

 "Woah Tar, harsh words from the woman who asked for my backup in the first place." Nicasia pursed her lips clearly displeased that Taryn had not enjoyed her attempts at humor. "Maybe you should try being nicer to me considering that I have the power to save you from Jude's torture."

 Jude laughed as Taryn started to pester Nicasia to tell her what she meant. While they'd all become fast friends on the fateful day of the funeral, Jude couldn't help but feel that Nicasia and her twin had gotten closer over the summer. She supposed it had to do with the fact that they both had to worry about their reputations and what the fallout from Locke's infidelity would do to it.

That old wound started niggling at Jude again. She may not have been in an official New York society relationship with the man, but she'd had to mourn the loss too. She supposed it hadn't affected her societal standing, being Locke's dirty secret, but she hadn't gotten out unscathed. The bastard had known about her fears. She'd confided in him, about her mother's cheating and how she'd grown up not wanting to get attached for fear of ending up in a similarly messed up situation.

 He'd comforted her, talking about how cheating on somebody wasn't in her character. He'd spelled out what their story could be instead, spinning a story of comfort, safety in his arms, and safety in that future. It made Jude's skin crawl to think about now. How he could say all of this while cheating on her with Nicasia and Taryn, and using her to cheat on them. Some nights it actually made her physically ill. She was such a careful woman, and yet she'd never suspected.

 She wondered if lying to her was part of the game to him, it had to be. Jude thought about how she'd considered bridging the gap and calling Taryn to tell her that she'd met somebody. She'd been too scared to reopen that wound. At eighteen Jude walked away from the stifling role of being Madoc's daughter. She hadn't thought about what leaving Taryn behind to deal Madoc's only other eligible daughter would do. She left her behind for him to put all of his stupid high society rules and dreams into. She'd wondered about her twin over the years, but could never pick up the phone and just dial. What would things be like if she had? Thinking about it wouldn't change anything.

 During Jude's musings Taryn had moved into Nicasia's lap and was switching between pleading and apologizing. Her groveling was so over the top that a warm spot bloomed in Jude's chest while watching her. She had no idea how much she'd missed Taryn, and yet having her take up space in her apartment just felt right.

 "Okay, okay, fine!" Nicasia said standing up and taking Taryn with her. "I happen to have a friend through the New York royalty network, as you call it, and he lives in this very apartment complex."

 "Oh thank god, I love you Judie Bee Jones, but this is the worst."

 "Woah no, I never agreed to having anybody over," Jude said walking over to lock her door, "and wasn't the point of having you ladies around to avoid the assholes."

 "How can you call them an asshole when you don’t even know who it is?" Nicasia asked unlocking the door. Jude went to stop her, but Taryn simply took her face in her hands and pointed it towards the window where the open moving truck stood idle.

 "I promise he's good people, we grew up together," Nicasia said clearly forgetting that her and Jude had not exactly grown up as friends.

Jude did not have much of a chance to consider who might be coming to the rescue she did not need, as there was a knocking at the door.

The warmth she felt from being with her friends left her the second she opened the door and saw Cardan Greenbriar standing there. She'd never seen Cardan look anything less than impeccable, so she was even more furious to see him standing there looking like a Saks Fifth Avenue model from the catalog to help her move. A cable knit sweater, really, to move boxes. With an overcoat no less. No, no, this couldn't possibly be happening. Jude would rather move every single box one by one, than have Cardan Greenbriar help her.

What on earth could have even possessed him to try. She thought she'd made it clear when she'd damn near bitten his head off in her "entry interview" to the apartment complex. It wasn't her fault. Cardan had a particular way of getting under her skin, and the fact that he'd known her from her twin and had not even bothered to look at the application resting in his hand the entire interview had gotten her blood boiling. She'd never actually wanted to live in Elfhame.

The stupid application had been filled out for her and sent in by her mother ages ago. Eva Duarte had been so proud of Jude's success, it had never occurred to her that her mother had plans to use it as a statement. She'd miss her mother's mean streak, and wished she'd been around longer so Jude could understand this plan. Jude had been shocked to be called in for the interview to move into The Palace, and caught completely off guard to see Cardan on the day of the interview.  

 She must've released an actual snarl at seeing him darkening her new doorstep because Taryn and Nicasia pried her away from the door and invited him to come in. This was ridiculous ; she was not a rabid dog to be put in the corner. Although, she was considering biting Cardan.

 "And hello to you too Jude," Cardan said laughing as she struggled to break free of the grip of her friends, "Lovely as ever to see you."

"Why am I seeing you?" 

Cardan raised an eyebrow at that, "Not a very friendly greeting neighbor."

"I read over the paperwork your father sent over and it said that the building takes care of pests in the apartments."

 "Ha ha, very funny Jude," Cardan said stalking closer, "I do hope that's true, as I'd love to see them take you out of here."

 "Really, we're going to resort to I know you are but what am I?" Jude intoned, "On day one?"

 “Is this really our first day together, Judiebeet?"

 "Don't call me that!"

 "As much as I do love seeing you upset my sweet villain," he said trailing a finger over her cheeks, "I didn't come to pick a fight." Jude knew her cheeks had to be bright red, she always got flushed when she was mad. She hated that he had command over her, more than she appeared to have over her own body. Which only made her more upset when he called her that stupid name.

"Why did you come, I had demon summoning scheduled for later in the day," Jude said ignoring the looks Nicasia and Taryn were shooting her.

 "I was informed of a damsel in distress, and princely duties demanded that I come to your aid."

"Oh no, that's it," Jude turned on her friends glaring, and pointing at the door while practically shoving Cardan out, "Everybody out, I'll move them all myself."

 "Wait, but I brought champagne," Cardan said materializing a bottle from the inside of his coat. 

"Jude you can't kick the man out, he brought Dom," Taryn said pulling Cardan back into the apartment by his arm. Jude watched as he re-entered what was meant to be her space, unwilling to fight with Taryn.

"Fine, but if he's here he works," Jude said looking at Cardan as if to say 'unless you've got a problem with that.' The Cardan she knew would never deign to do a day's labor on his own. Always calling somebody his father employed to do things for him instead. So Jude was shocked when all he did was set the actually quite nice bottle on the counter, and gesture his hand towards the door with a look that said 'after you'.

Jude was not sure if she was pleased or pissed off when Cardan actually matched her for work ethic for the rest of moving. He eventually took off the coat, and the sweater, tossing them on the counter with his welcome gift. Jude wished he had not, as she'd been determined to carry more than him before that. She would have managed it too, if he had not rolled up his white dress shirt to the direct center of his forearm. Where it hugged just below his elbow as he worked.

She dropped one of her merchandise boxes when his arm brushed hers while reaching for another, shocked by the contact of his skin hot against her own. Furious with herself for the look that graced his face when she cursed and picked up the box, she decided to be less ambitious with how much she carried.

They had not actually had all that many boxes left. Which made it all the more traitorous that Nicasia had called in for help. As the work dwindled Nicasia and Taryn gave up the pretense of pretending to want to help move the boxes, and sat on the benches that were near the building's entrance. They sat close talking and laughing quietly at each others jokes. Jude could be funny too, but her humor was more dry and wicked. Just as Jude was sprinting to get the very last box, the pizza delivery driver had pulled up to the curb. 

Taryn had gone from commiserating with Nicasia, to giving Jude puppy eyes in 10 seconds flat. Jude laughed softly as she went to go pay the man. Her path was blocked by Cardan who'd made a beeline for the car as it pulled in, while she'd been distracted. If she hadn't been so focused on his damn arms she might have missed how he went to get his wallet from his back pocket. Hell no.

Jude stood one shot at having Taryn and Nicasia not mention her attitude since Cardan walked in, and that was to buy their silence. Nothing says be on my side like hot pizza and good dessert. Which is why she was going to pay for it. Cardan was already handing the man a crisp bill when Jude went to shift the box she'd been holding to under one arm. God, she hated him so much. She'd already missed out on getting to bond with her friends over how annoying moving was because of him, and now he was going to ruin their meal too?

He'd already ruined Jude's childhood, but she was an adult now, and he would not even get a single day from her. She grabbed the boxes of her food and walked to the elevator clicking the button for her floor and slamming on the door close button before he could follow. She walked into her apartment, and she would've locked Cardan out if it not for the fact she had to wait on Taryn and Nicasia to follow. If she had to face him again today, it was going to be on her terms and her rules.

 Jude moved to the boxes now all neatly lined up in what would be her living room. She scanned the barcode stickers on the top of the boxes, each item had been carefully cataloged so that she could be sure that she didn't lose anything important in the move. Downsides to owning and running a successful companies that sold accessories with a dangerous edge? There was so much inventory to keep track of.

 She found what she was looking for and swapped her sneakers for stilettos. She'd love to see Cardan try to look down on her when they were eye level. She'd give a new meaning to the term glaring daggers. She was perfectly capable of paying for a damn pizza.

The door of her apartment opened and Cardan strolled in, his arm around each of her friends. Jude let out a breath that his shirt had been set back to normal, although she was not sure if she was relieved.

 "Really, my own twin?" she said putting a hand on her hip and looking at Taryn who moved, hands up, to sit on the counter top.

"Jude, he got us pizza, please be reasonable," Taryn said in a placatory tone.

 "I got you pizza, this interloper just stole it because pizza is joy, and he can't let me have it."

"You need to stop, you're hangry and turning into rude Jude," Nicasia teased using the family nickname she knew Jude hated. That was just low, she'd revealed that in a 2 A.M. group chat. Which every woman knows means it’s classified information.

 She was being rude, she knew, but well...frankly he started it. Years ago, but she was a petty elephant and would not forget.

 "Fine, have a slice of pizza and then get the fuck out."

When Nicasia and Taryn turned their looks at her, Jude just blinked her eyes slowly a few times. She had never claimed to be a saint. 

"Can I at least get a drink before you kick me out on my ass?" Cardan asked the corner of his mouth upturned.

"Nope, sorry," Jude started and feeling her friends angry stares added, "I just moved in, and I haven't stocked the fridge yet."

"Well, then it's lucky for us my friend was kind enough to drop in to christen the home with champagne," Nicasia said as she made remove the muselet. Jude watched her carefully grip the wire as she twisted it off with effortless ease, and admired her friends grace. Jude would've likely embarrassed herself biting at it. She'd been served champagne at events, but it always came in a glass if she was honest.

 With the sound of the popping cork her control of the apartment got further away from her. She watched as the three of them opened cupboards and looked at an empty counter top as if expecting glassware to simply appear. Jude knew she could easily scan the boxes and find her glassware, but business had taught her to spot an opportunity.  

 "Oh darn, it seems like we can't get you that drink after all."

 "Yes, you seem very forlorn about it," Cardan said shaking his head at her, amusement in those dark eyes. 

Jude gave him a mock apologetic shrug of her shoulders, lips pulled to one side of her mouth. The amusement in his eyes turned to challenge. Unbeknownst to Jude, Cardan's newest hobby was complicated jigsaw puzzles. He had needed something to do while being able to keep an eye on his father, and he found that once he started he just couldn't resist figuring out how the pieces fit together. She'd just presented him with his newest game, and he was going to figure out her pieces.

"Don't worry my darling, like I said we're neighbors now," smiling when Jude scowled at the pet name, "I can just head to my place, and get us some glasses."

It was clear that he'd gotten under Jude's skin when she stalked towards Nicasia and took the bottle from her, and into her own hands. Nicasia just looked at Taryn, and whatever that look meant Taryn must have understood. She moved to the edge of the counter top and invited Nicasia into the circle of her legs, resting her chin on her the top of the other woman’s head.

"How very unfortunate for high-born little princes like you, that you can only sip champagne from the finest of glasses."

She looked right into his eyes as she began glugging the expensive bubbly from the bottle and drinking it like watered down beer. She raised an eyebrow at him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I do hope I haven't offended you Cardan," she said snarling out his name as if it was foul, "I'd hate to scare you off from ever visiting again."

"Not at all, I'm quite charmed by your lovely manners," he said walking over to where she stood by Nicasia. "Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes," he said taking the bottle from Jude's firm grip and drinking directly while their gazes stayed locked in a battle of wills.

 "Nic, you feel like we're interrupting something here?" Taryn said from where she sat inches away. It shocked Jude out of her stupor, and her sister hopped off the counter as Jude made to reach for her. She was suddenly stricken, it was all fine and well to hurt Cardan, but she wouldn't lose Taryn again. Not when she just got her back.

"Ugh I thought you'd never ask, this is all too straight for me," Nicasia said taking Taryn's hand and making for the door.

"Wait guys, don't go--"

 "Nope, text us when you're ready to act like a person again," Nicasia said laughing as the door shut behind their quickly retreating figures.  

 "Way to go, you scared them off with your stupid smoldering thing."

 "Jude, I think you'll find I'm not the one in the wrong here, although I am delighted to hear you think I smolder," Cardan said backing away from her.

"I meant that stupid staring," she started but trailed off when she noted his smug face.

 "Jude, all I've done today is bring you a housewarming gift and offer help at my friends request."

Jude opened her mouth to protest about the pizza slight, but stopped as she'd realized she'd just dig herself into a deeper hole. All he'd really done was cover her food for her and her friends. Was it possible that her childhood tormentor really had come here without the intent of torturing her. She'd been too caught up in trying to catch his next move, that it hadn't occurred to her. He’d clearly taken her silence to mean something else, because he went to gather his coat and sweater.

"Look, it's clear you don't want me here and I'm not actually trying to hold you hostage in your own apartment."

Jude's pride stopped her from correcting him. She'd been working so hard to get him to leave, that she couldn't exactly walk back her position now. She wanted to though, she wanted to grab him by those rather toned arms and hold him in place. To explain herself or make him explain himself, she wasn't sure. Instead she nodded her agreement, and silently watched him leave. She watched as he walked down the hall, opening and then closing his door. Only then did she finally unfreeze from her doorway and shut her own door.

She sat for about 30 minutes just trying to process all that had just happened. She was not sure when she'd become the villain in this story, but she didn't enjoy the feeling. He was the bully, not her. If his actions today were to be trusted, maybe not even him any longer. Jude stood up suddenly confident in her movements as she scanned the boxes searching for her glasses. She hadn't actually moved everything today, so all she was able to find was some coffee mugs. She looked down at her "I Rule" coffee cup, it'd have to do.

Jude went to where the remains of the bottle was left on the counter, and poured it into the cup. She wouldn't apologize, as she was not truly sorry. Even if he was not the menace he used to be, one day of rudeness was the least of what he'd deserved. She did however write what she'd call her concession. She'd apologized for the coffee mug. The note told him that while her fine Waterford Crystals were still in storage, it should taste just as good coming out of a mug. Jude left the note under the cup, and knocked on his door before leaving.