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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (4/?)

Chapter summary: The night at the club - from your perspective. And we find out whether you came to the opening of Wanda's cafe or not

Chapter word count: 6.3k+

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader (heavy on this chapter)

Tags: fluff if you squint (did I just say fluff?)

AO3 | Masterlist

Next Chapter: Five

Four

The night at the club - from your perspective

The club Clint chooses for Natasha’s send-off is a drug deal away from being sleazy, despite its popularity. It’s significantly larger too, than the typical nightclubs you’ve been to in the past; there's a mezzanine for VIP members and celebrity guests; three bars are stationed at the corners of the main room, selling beverages based on a price bracket–with the most expensive ones near the steps leading to the VIP area. In here, you find all kinds of party-goers–from preppy high school kids with their daddy’s money and fake IDs to aging business men looking to score a high-end escort or a B-list actress in need of a sponsor for their lavish lifestyle.

And then there’s you–newly single, unemployed, nearing your 30s and rooming with your best friend. Just with how you’re dressed–a white, velvet sleeveless cowl neck top and skinny jeans–you wonder what other people think of you, what backstory they’ve concocted in their heads. Whatever it is, it couldn’t be worse than your actual reality.

“How did you find this place?” you ask Clint after he returns with shots of tequila to start the night with.

He glances between you and then Natasha, who finishes her shot in a single gulp the second she snatches it from Clint’s fingers.

“Did you not see how big this place is from outside? It’s hard to miss the biggest nightclub in New York, Y/N.” His breath fans over your face, and all it takes is one whiff to know he’s already had some pre-party drinks in his system.

“I prefer the dive bars we used to frequent.” you say, grimacing as the tequila burns down your throat. It immediately warms the middle of your chest, leaving you thirstier than before.

Clint raises his eyebrows at you incredulously. “We’re not here to talk and catch-up. We’re here to get trashed because our girl right here,” he playfully puts an arm around Natasha so she’s snug against his side. “Is returning to the front lines.”

“Damn right!” Natasha yells, raising her empty shot glass to no one in particular. She’s deadly as she looks for what she’s capable of–which you know very little about–and yet, astoundingly lightweight when it comes to holding her liquor. It wouldn’t take three more rounds to render her thoroughly incapacitated.

Clint looks so smug, and it doesn’t take a second more for you to realize that he gave Natasha a double. You weakly jab his side with your elbow and then proceed to swipe his credit card from his back pocket, making sure he at least pays for everything tonight.

“Come on,” you say, reaching for Natasha’s hand. “We can’t have you drinking on an empty stomach or you won’t last until midnight.”

Natasha shakes her head with a pout. “Gotta last much, much, much later than that.”

“For sure. But first, let’s–”

“Where are you taking my sister?” A voice behind you asks in a demanding but playful manner. You feel it being said right in your ear, causing goosebumps all over the back of your neck.

Whipping your head around, you find Yelena smiling at you as she staggers a step back to avoid you accidentally kissing her cheek in the process.

There’s tension from the last time you saw each other, and it becomes instantly obvious that it hasn’t gone away the moment you take in her plunge cocktail dress and the rose-colored smirk she has on. You don’t really mean to, but it’s easy to make the conclusion that anyone would easily find her the most attractive person in the room.

“Little sis,” Natasha exclaims in barely contained excitement, hastily enveloping Yelena in a bear hug. “You came!”

“Hey,” you breathe out, failing to stop your gaze from straying below her collarbone and landing on her proud cleavage.

“Hey, stranger.” she greets you back, and you catch the mischievous smile on her lips despite having half of her face squashed against Natasha’s shoulder. Yup. She’s definitely noticed.

“See you around, kid. I’ll take care of this one.” Clint says, already pulling Natasha away before she can suffocate Yelena further.

Helplessly, you watch Clint and Natasha disappear into the crowd, anxiety crippling your ability to decide what you’re going to do or where you’re going next.

Yelena lightly taps you on the shoulder to get your attention–which, for all intents and purposes–is already hers to begin with. You just don’t want to be too obvious about it.

“My sweater.” she simply says with an unreadable expression when you turn to address her.

“Sorry?”

“You still have it?”

And then it comes back to you. Your ruined shirt, borrowing’s Yelena sweater, Yelena joking about her first sexual experience, that happened to be with you–

You can always blame the tequila for the way your cheeks flush at the memories.

Biting your lip, you say, “The truth is I forgot to mail it. With everything that’s happened–”

“It’s okay. Nat just recently told me the stuff you went through the past few months,” Yelena cuts in, and the softness in her gaze gives you a sense of calm. “Do you, maybe, want to drink about it? First round’s on me.” she reluctantly offers.

“Nah,” you dismiss her intentions to pay, as you hold up Clint’s Visa. “All our rounds on this.”

Yelena orders a frozen margarita, while you opt for a more basic choice of gin and tonic. You find yourselves sitting closely together, sharing a couch with random strangers in the most relatively secluded part of the club.

“So, what exactly did Natasha tell you?” you ask, letting your index finger dance along the rim of your glass.

Yelena takes a sip of her drink and considers how she should relay what she knows.

In the end, she goes for the unfiltered narrative, given that there’s really no way of making it sound less severe than it is. “That your wife cheated on you with her student.”

You offer her a wan smile and clink your drinks togethers. “Cheers.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be betrayed like that by the person you–I assume–trust the most.” Yelena says after some time. She’s not used to being the one to give consolation, especially with you. Growing up, you were a steady, ever-reliable presence in her life; her place of solitude throughout the pains of her youth. It’s pathetic how she’s wishing she had gone through the same ordeal if it meant she could give you the comfort and understanding you needed.

“Me too. I don’t even remember how I was able to survive what came right after taking your sister’s call that day. Did Nat mention that I almost killed the kid? He’s only a little younger than you are.” you say.

“Yeah. It’s fucked up. But it doesn't compare to what she did.” Yelena tells you with a pained expression. “You’re okay now, though. Right?”

“I’m,” You search for the right word that perfectly describes your monotonous routine and lack of a meaningful purpose. But you figure that there’s no need for Yelena–or anyone for that matter–to worry about you. Life’s easier to live without the concern of disappointing people who care about you. “I’m better than I was yesterday.”

Yelena nods empathically, and places a hand on your knee. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Your smile is small, but genuine. Clearing your throat, she quickly puts her hand back over her lap.

“Y/N?” Yelena starts.

“Yes?”

Yelena, for all her boldness and tenacity, has to put down her glass lest it accidentally slips from her shaking hands.

“There’s something I want to say, and you can’t talk unless I say so. Understood?” she says as calmly as she can manage.

“Am I free to react?” A smile plucks at the corner of your mouth, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Yelena has grown into a woman so different from when she was just Natasha’s little sister. She carries an air of sophistication, and from what you can tell, sasses her way out of difficult situations and knows what and how to get what she wants. Which is why it’s refreshing to see her display glimpses of the shy girl who spent her summers burning through classic literature in the public library.

A husky laugh escapes Yelena’s throat. “As long as it’s a good reaction.” she says.

You playfully roll your eyes at her.

“But seriously, hear me out,” Yelena breathes steadily through her nose. “First of all, I want to apologize about what happened when you were at my apartment.

“I didn’t know why I brought up losing my virginity to you, and it was terribly awkward–for me especially because the look on your face was…” Yelena trails off, pointedly avoiding your curious eyes. “It’s like you were recalling a bad memory–a memory that’s dear to me. And to be honest, it hurt me a bit.”

“Yelena–”

Yelena shushes you with a finger. “Let me finish. I was hurt, but I understood that I crossed a line that day. I was flirting with you the whole time knowing you were married. In a way, I was no better than–well, your ex-wife.”

Yelena pauses to look at you. She can’t read your expression, but at least you haven’t run away yet. Which is more than a good sign for her to continue.

“There’s no excuse for what I did. I could dismiss it as friendly between old friends, but could we even call ourselves that? We were never just friends. We had something that wasn’t official, and then I ran off to the UK before we had a chance to talk about that thing that wasn’t official, and then when I got back, I found out you’re already with someone else.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… that was a shitty move on my part and I’m sorry. But I’d be lying if I said I didn't mean to do any of that. ‘Cause I did want to stir the pot just to see if there’s still something there.”

You wait for her to continue, but eventually Yelena vaguely signals that she’d done speaking.

You cover your mouth with your hand, thumb scratching lightly at your chin as you thoroughly digest her confession.

“Y/N?” Yelena asks when she feels you’re being silent for too long, fear lacing her voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” you quickly reply. “I accept your apology. And I do appreciate your candor–for not skirting around that incident like I probably would’ve, for…well, forever.”

Yelena is overwhelmed with relief.

“You were never great at confrontations.” she muses, and your minds both wander to the letter you wrote for her that she had missed, already having boarded the plane when you decided to drop by and hand-deliver it yourself.

“I’m working on it. I know I can’t keep putting things at the back of my head until I eventually forget them and then it’s too late.”

“Or maybe you just think it’s too late, and you use that as an excuse to not even try.” Yelena counters. It’s a fair point and somehow applicable to your shared history together.

“You know what? I’m just gonna shoot my shot here while I’m feeling brave,” Yelena says, keeping her eyes trained on her almost empty drink.

“Go to dinner with me next Friday.”

Before you can stop it, Wanda’s languid face in the mornings registers in your brain fleetingly. And then you blink once and the image of her is gone, replaced by Yelena’s hopeful stare.

“Dinner, as in…” you try to clarify, just in case you’re misreading it.

“As in I’m asking you out,” Yelena confirms, and proudly smiles at how your ears redden at this point. “Or if you’re not ready, say so. I’m a big girl. I can take it. Then I’ll ask you again in a few months.”

“I-I don’t know. Can I sleep on it?” you say, suddenly embarrassed.

“Take all the time you need. I just thought you should know that I’m an option.”

Your expression turns grim once you question the fact that someone like Yelena wants you.

She senses your internal conflict and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“How could you want me? I’m damaged goods. You know that, right?”

“Y/N,” Yelena chides, and she looks positively horrified. “Don’t you ever think you’re half the person you are just because somebody was stupid enough not to know your worth.”

You shrug your shoulders. There’s no point in arguing. Regardless of what other people think, it’s what you see in the mirror these days.

“Okay.” you mumble in reply and casually chug your drink to the last drop.

Yelena’s not convinced, but recognizes that it’s not the right place nor the right time to show you you’re more than just damaged goods.

“Okay.” she says, then looks over to where people seem to be under the spell of eternal bliss.

“Wanna dance with me at least? You know–as friends,” Yelena says, and then a second later adds, “For now.”

You don’t answer and merely allow yourself to be pulled towards writhing bodies moving to the beat of the music, like puppets on strings.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve thoroughly enjoyed dancing with someone.

(That’s a lie though, because you do; if twirling your wife and enthusiastically swaying to her poor singing in the kitchen counts.)

Unbeknownst to you, a pair of green eyes darts to you and your dance partner, before they shut in reprieve.

A surprisingly sober Natasha appears next to you as you’re getting the next round of drinks. You fan yourself uselessly with your hand after breaking out a sweat on the dancefloor.

“Hey! Where have you been?” you say.

“Bruce was here. But that’s not important.” Natasha says.

“Are you guys–” you begin to ask about it, but Natasha brazenly cuts you off.

“Don’t even think about it.” she says, her tone unusually stern, and you whip your head so fast in her direction your vision spins a little.

“Think about what?” you say.

“Flirting with my sister.”

“I wasn’t,” you say and Natasha lifts an eyebrow. “I swear.”

Natasha surveys you a while longer with an unreadable expression, and just as you start feeling uncomfortable, she backs off with a small nod.

It only bothers you more. “I-Is that something I’m not allowed to do?” you cautiously ask.

Natasha scratches at her nape. “Technically, you’re single now and you can flirt with whoever you want. But maybe not my sister, okay? I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“What are you implying?”

“Look, Y/N, I’m just trying to give you the big sister talk, and I hope you understand why I need to. Especially since Yelena told me not long ago about the R-rated version of your history together.”

Your mouth falls open in shock, already circling around the details of what Yelena might have shared with your best friend. “She what?”

“I wanted to smack you in the face when she told me that you were…” Natasha grimaces, trying not to imagine you in bed with her sister. “... her first.”

“God, Nat. I–” Your tongue feels heavy, and you wish you weren’t half-sober for this. “She–we–”

“Relax, Y/N. It’s not like I found out about it yesterday. I’ve known ever since she came back to New York.”

“I think I’d prefer if you’d still smack me in the face right now. But please consider how tiny I am compared to your usual sparring partners.”

Natasha lets out an airy laugh that gives you a bit of relief. “To be honest, I think I’ve always known that there was something going on between you and her. I was just too stubborn to admit it because I care about you both so much.”

“I care about you too. And Yelena.”

“I believe you,” Natasha says. “But Yelena thinks you hung the moon and stars and all that shit, and you’re–you’re kind of a mess, Y/N. No offense.”

“Do you want me to stay away from her?” you ask.

“Not really. But as her older sister, I need to remind you to think about it carefully if ever it becomes more than platonic.” she says. “I’m leaving in a few hours, so I need you to promise me not to be reckless. That's all I’m asking.”

Natasha gives and gives and gives, and rarely ever asks for anything.

And you suppose you owe it to her in some way.

“Promise.”

A couple of more shots (and an incident of restraining Natasha from punching the lights out of a guy who randomly grabbed your ass) later, you’re stumbling out of the club, reeking of smoke, sweat and alcohol.

Your phone dies just before you could confirm a ride, and you blearily stare at it like you’re expecting it to suddenly come alive again by some miracle. Yelena has left earlier, mentioning an early meeting at work, and you can’t find Natasha since Bruce’s surprise appearance. An option is to walk to your apartment, but you can’t seem to move any part of your body with the intense throbbing in your head.

You deliberate your fate for the night, until you feel an odd sensation of being watched.

Your eyes flit across the street and there she is.

Wanda Maximoff.

You get home safely with the help of your ex-wife. Once you reach your room, you don’t bother to brush your teeth or wash your face. You just mechanically strip down to your underwear before diving under the covers.

In your sleep, you dream about Wanda.

Dream Wanda resembles College Wanda, with her dirty blonde hair that falls in waves past her shoulders. She’s cradling your head on her lap, while you look up at her lovingly.

“Wands,” you whisper. “I miss you.”

She scrunches her nose as she smiles down at you. “I’m right here, baby.”

“You’re not.”

“Where did I go then?”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Look for me, then. I only want to be found by you.”

“I’m not sure I want to.” you confess to Dream Wanda, and her brows stitch together into a frown. Then you feel something wet and cold drip on your cheeks. Your eyes flutter open but instead of seeing Wanda, you see Vision’s face covered in blood.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream. In reality, you’re alone in Natasha’s apartment, thrashing in your bed and mumbling incoherently.

The next morning, you don’t recall any of it, but you feel its echoes in your heart anyway.

You wake up to a text from Natasha, telling her that she’s already at the airport. The message came in at 1:30AM, and was followed by another text six hours later, saying that she has landed safely and that you won’t be hearing from her again in the next ten days at the minimum. A third message came in a second after that, and it simply read, “Look out for my sister. Don’t forget what you promised.” You text back a short “Take care, Nat.”, before tossing your phone somewhere on your unmade bed.

Trudging towards the kitchen, you think about Yelena.

There was a time when the blonde used to occupy your thoughts day and night, notwithstanding the thousands of miles you were apart.

But all that changed the day you met Wanda, and she never crossed your mind again except when she’d come up in conversations, and until that time you accidentally almost ran her over in Soho.

You languidly stir together the milk and cereal in your bowl. It would be a lie to say that seeing Yelena, especially in that dress, didn’t do things to you that a married woman would normally stamp out before they could spread like wildfire. Except, you’re no longer a married woman. And Yelena let you look as much as you wanted–even encouraged it.

It’s liberating more than anything, not because you’re free from the confines of marriage, but because you didn’t feel guilty having looked.

Is it time?

You’ve always thought of Yelena as your ‘right person, wrong time’.

Is it the right time?

The weekend passes in a blur of series marathons and Chinese takeouts. Wanda doesn’t text or call, neither does Yelena. You thought you had sufficient time to reconsider Wanda’s invitation, but Monday eventually comes around, bringing about an unexplainable anxiety you can’t curb and can only attribute to intuition. Even if you don’t tell Wanda the reason you won’t come, binge-watching another show instead of doing something meaningful for someone is at a level of pathetic you’re not willing to stoop towards.

Besides, you said you’d come. Being steadfast in your word is both your strength and your undoing. And so, your intent to follow through with your promise brings you to a corner gardening store, after scouring the internet for ‘grand opening gift ideas’.

None of them suggested this. Though you knew Wanda enough to know better than those online articles.

“And this pretty thing? What does it stand for?” you ask, pointing at flowers of a variety of colors resembling a pompon.

“That’s a Chrysanthemum–or just ‘mums’. Very easy to keep them alive. In Chinese culture, it represents longevity and good luck. But it also simply symbolizes friendship and happiness.” the store keeper says.

“Perfect,” you say, focusing on ‘longevity and good luck’. “I’ll get… Five of those in a pot.”

“What color would you like, dear?”

Without thinking, you pick Wanda’s favorite color. “The red ones. All of them.”

The store keeper claps her hands together. “Excellent choice. Just give me a second to prepare them for you.”

A pleased smile works its way to your lips. “Thanks a lot.”

Mums in a pot. That's a good gift right? Not too thoughtful nor impersonal. It would look good displayed anywhere in her shop should Wanda decide to keep it there. Or she can place it at her new home near a window, as it probably needs six hours of sunlight a day.

Perhaps you should also write instructions for Wanda on how to care for these mums. And will she need some fertilizers too?

You’re busy putting together a mental list when the store keeper comes out with the final product.

“Here you go,” she says and hands you over Wanda’s gift in a paper bag. “It’s $95.86.”

You pull out a hundred dollar bill from your wallet. “Keep the change.”

She does a little bow of gratitude and says, “Thank you, dear. She’s going to love it.”

“She?” you sputter, bewildered.

“The recipient’s a lady, I assume. Is it not?”

“It…is.” you hesitantly confirm.

“Good luck, ma’m.” she says with innocent cheer, unmindful of your sudden skepticism.

As you leave the shop feeling less sure of your gift choice, your phone’s ringing tone goes off in your pants. With urgency, you take your phone out of your pocket and find an unknown number calling.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” A husky voice greets you over the receiver.

“Yelena?”

“Hey. I, uh, got your number from Nat,” she says, hearing her heavy sighs in between sentences. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Is something wrong?” you ask, swinging the paper bag back and forth as you meander about the busy alley on your way back home.

“I’m in the middle of a news article that’s due for tomorrow, and I heard that your former boss is Scott Lang?”

“You heard right.”

“I need your banking knowledge to go over some facts in my draft,” she says. “And maybe, get a quick interview with Mr. Lang?”

For a while, you don’t know how to answer. You haven’t been in touch with Scott or any of your colleagues since moving back, and it seems kind of rude to call him up out of the blue for a favor.

“Please?” you hear Yelena beg softly. You knew Yelena. Like Natasha, she almost never asks for help, not unless it’s a matter of life, death or career.

“Okay,” you finally say. “Where should we meet?”

“I’ll meet you at Nat’s in an hour? It’s where you’ve been staying, right?”

You agree on the time and place, and hurry to catch a bus instead of your original plan to walk the thirty minutes back to the apartment.

It oddly feels good to be part of a Monday’s morning rush once again.

You end up spending the whole day helping Yelena and trailing after her to visit various places and meet financial executives just to put together a 1,500-word news article on The Wall Street Journal.

“You saved me today,” Yelena tells you while you escort her to the lobby. “Let me make it up to you on Friday?”

It’s tempting, especially after discovering that you both make a great team. You actually had fun running errands with her.

But you promised Natasha.

“I’ll text you.” you answer with a small smile.

Once Yelena gets inside her ride, it hits you right away where you’re supposed to be. You check your watch and the time displayed sends you in a panic.

It’s almost ten. Wanda’s café is only open until nine. You quickly grab your gift for Wanda and hail a cab for Queens.

Your cab screeches to a halt right in front of Second Chances. You make sure to tip big for forcing your driver to beat the speed limit several times on the way.

You get off the cab, and take in your first impression of Wanda’s café. The facade of the coffee shop is simple: the signage looks obviously hand-drawn, while the black awning underneath it gives it a Parisian vibe; a string of yellow led lights hang above the glass door and the full-length window next to it.

It has Wanda written all over it. And you can’t help the teary smile that creeps its way to your lips. Carrying the potted Chrysanthemum securely under your arm, you walk to the entrance that holds a ‘Sorry, We’re Closed’ sign. The stainless shutter is lowered down just barely, and it’s pitch black inside except for a beam of light coming from the back room.

You raise your fist, about to knock, when suddenly you catch a figure from the corner of your eyes.

It’s Wanda, and she’s asleep with her arms as her pillow, hunched over the bar table facing the window. Curiously, you move over to stand right across her and push your palm against the translucent barrier.

She waited for you to show. Your heart betrays you as it thumps wildly in your chest.

For a moment you just stand there watching. There are still days when you randomly get angry at Wanda all over again. Some days, you bargain and simultaneously undergo depression. And you cycle over these stages in random orders but haven't–not even once–felt like you’re ready to accept all of it.

Somewhere in the stillness, an ambulance siren could be heard wailing in the distance. Wanda is slow to come to, and even as you realize she’s waking up, you stay frozen in your position.

“Y/N?” you read your name being spoken from her lips. Wanda looks confused in her sleepy state, still deciding if you’re actually there. You beam at her and mouth a ‘hi’ in return.

Wanda lights up right before your eyes. She hurries to unlock the door to her shop.

“Sorry I’m late.” you say.

Wanda’s smile only widens, and then she says, “Better late than never.”

You choose to sit at one of the tiny dining tables for two near the open kitchen. There are congratulatory flowers arranged neatly by the counter, making you a bit self-conscious about bringing something similar on a smaller, more insignificant scale.

“How long have you been waiting?” you ask as you survey the interior of the cafe..

“Not long.” Wanda assures you, and then proudly hands you over the menu. Her writing is almost instantly recognizable.

“Pick anything you want. On the house.” she says, tying back her apron.

There aren’t many items on the list, but you’re familiar with each of them from Wanda having made them for you over the years.

“I’ll have a Spanish latte,” you say, eyes still scanning the menu. “Do you have any cookies left?”

“Sorry, they are all sold out.”

“Wanda, that’s awesome!” You exclaim, placing the menu back on the table.

Wanda endearingly chuckles at your excitement. You’re still a customer, and it’s very unusual for one to cheer when the item they want is unavailable.

“Have you eaten? I can whip something up.” Wanda says, peeking inside the fridge.

You haven’t eaten since lunch, but you don’t want Wanda to go through the trouble of preparing something off the menu. “It’s fine.”

“I’m kinda hungry myself,” Wanda chews on her bottom lip. “Does garlic pasta sound good?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbles and Wanda tries to suppress a smirk.

“Sounds amazing.” you mumble, somewhat flustered by the sound you just made. The thought of a warm pasta for dinner, however, is already making you drool.

Wanda grins, buzzing with childlike enthusiasm. “Coming right up!”

Right before she gets to it, Wanda puts on some music and gives you her phone. “Play anything you want.” she says. A classical piano piece starts playing in the background, and it actually matches the mood and the vibe of the room, so you choose to stay on the current playlist.

Wanda already has some minced garlic and left over pasta from earlier, so it’s just a matter of reheating and then mixing the ingredients. In less than ten minutes, she’s bringing out two plates of Aglio e Olio and your order of a hot Spanish latte.

You haven’t realized how starving you are until the aroma of Wanda’s dish reaches your nose.

“What’s that?” Wanda points to the paper bag sitting beside you after she settles in her seat across you.

“Oh!” you say. “I almost forgot. This is for you. Happy, uh, grand opening day?”

Wanda takes the bag, unintentionally brushing your fingers in the process. Her skin is warm from cooking and smells like the condiments she used to prepare your food.

You quietly eat your food, unable to keep yourself from moaning out your satisfaction. After months of living on takeouts, it’s a very welcome change.

Wanda, on the other hand, peers inside the paper bag, and her smile grows and grows until it reaches her watery eyes.

“These are gorgeous, Y/N,” Wanda comments, taking the pot out of its hiding. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wanda stands up and walks towards the window near the entrance, the plant and a glass of water in tow. She places the mums in the corner where it will be least bothered by customers, but should receive the most sunlight at the same time. She then proceeds to water it, careful to cover the whole soil and sprinkle some on its delicate petals.

A smile graces your lips as you watch her tend to the mums.

It’s hard not to wonder if maybe this could work. Maybe healing can be possible while being friends.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, after you finish your food. You subtly eye Wanda’s plate, which she’s barely touched.

“Like I said, on the house.” she answers.

You purse your lips in disapproval but don’t insist; the tip jar is right beside the register and you can slip some twenties later when Wanda’s not looking.

“So, any feedback? Is the latte too sweet?” Wanda asks with a devoted curiosity of a businesswoman. “For the pasta I added an extra ounce of minced garlic from the original recipe, but I’m not sure if it made the flavor too strong. And this table–don’t you think it’s too small? Cause they don’t look standard-sized to me, and I keep telling them–”

“Wanda, slow down,” you gently cut in, bringing the coffee mug to your lips for a taste test. It’s sweet but not achingly so. There’s still a hint of bitterness in the aftertaste, and the richness of the condensed milk counters it, resulting in a very comforting pick-me-up.

“It’s good. I’d say, better than the ones I always got when I was still working.”

“You’re not working anymore?”

You bite your lip at that, not really meaning for that information to slip out of you.

“I took a sabbatical,” you explain, refusing to call yourself jobless in front of your ex-wife, who somehow contrived to achieve greater heights following a divorce and a narrowly missed small town sex scandal.

You quickly try to change the subject. “Anyway, don’t worry about the furniture. As long as they’re comfy.”

“Half of your ass is barely hanging onto your seat, you know?” Wanda points out with a giggle.

There’s no denying the tinge of jealousy you feel over the fact that Wanda seems to have her shit together more than she cares to admit. But that’s overruled by the natural joy of seeing someone you care about (because you do, you really still do) thrive, no matter how much they hurt you in the past.

“Are you saying my ass is fat?” you ask, pretending to be offended.

She laughs harder, resulting in tiny hiccups that never fails to trigger you into a fit as well.

“Honestly though, it barely fits mine as well. But that's all I can afford for now.” Wanda says as she keeps twirling the pasta around her fork without any intention of actually eating.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” you chide, still smiling.

“Do you want some of mine?”

You shake your head no. “Not when you just implied I have a fat ass.”

Wanda snorts, her laughter building up again at your poker face.

When she recovers this time, you sheepishly smile and take some from her plate and transfer it to yours.

“I haven’t thanked you for coming.” Wanda mutters in a hoarse voice. You wordlessly fill her empty glass with water.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure until this morning if I was going to.” you say.

Certain muscles on Wanda’s face visibly tighten at that.

“Why is that?” Wanda whispers, staring at her unwanted food, losing again the appetite she lied about in the first place.

You mull about it for a moment. There’s no point in denying that you feel things for Wanda. Abstract feelings that you can’t name, but feel regardless. And it’s still unclear whether they are beneficial or not to you moving forward. Just that, being in communication with Wanda again puts you at ease; brings back a sense of normalcy that you so crave. It could be because you can’t remember a time she wasn’t a part of your life, can’t remember who you were before her. Going cold-turkey only led to some impulsive decisions (not to mention, a cheap and random sex with a stranger who was spoken for).

“Because I want to do what’s right for me, this time. And I’m not sure if this is.”

“This?”

“Being in each other’s lives.” you coolly state, crossing your arms and leaning back on your chair.

Wanda blinks a couple of times when wetness gathers around her eyes. You drop your head and sigh. It goes without saying that these meetings with Wanda are always volatile. But constantly crying around someone is obviously not an indication of a healthy bond.

“I’m afraid you’re the only one who can answer your own question, Y/N.” Wanda swipes at the corner of her eyes.

You hollowly laugh. “I was kinda expecting you’d convince me that this is a good idea.”

“The fact that I invited you here and never stopped trying to contact you says alot without me having to say it.” Wanda reasons evenly.

“And me doing exactly the opposite, must also say a lot. Is that it?” you retort.

Wanda squints at your hard tone. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, it’s what I’m hearing.”

An impasse is reached, and Wanda wishes nothing more than to retract her statements and start all over again.

“Why do I keep fucking this up?” you’re scarcely able to hear Wanda talk, more directly to herself than you.

You release a ragged breath and speak out, “You’re not fucking up anything, Wanda. There’s nothing to fuck up in the first place because we’re not supposed to expect anything from each other anymore, remember?”

Wands nods in understanding. “It just feels like I keep saying the wrong thing.”

You consider her words for a moment. “Maybe it’s because I keep waiting for you to.”

Wanda looks up at you with wide, limpid eyes. “So I am walking on eggshells.”

“You don’t have to though. You can’t always worry about what will set me off. Let me worry about that.”

“I’m scared, Y/N,” Wanda whispers. “I’m scared I’ll say one wrong thing and I won’t hear from you again for a long time. I mean, I just… I just found you. Inadvertently, if I may add.”

“I-I get where you’re coming from, and I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” you say. “But I can’t promise that I won’t disappear when something happens.”

Wanda hums and you lick your lips.

“I have thought about it.” you say, in spite of the delicate timing.

She looks skeptical. “Thought about…?”

“Us,” you motion between yourself and her. “Being friends.”

“Oh,” Wanda tries not to sound disappointed. The problem is she wants too much too soon. And she needs to work on that or else she ruins her chance with you. “And?”

You’re nothing but truthful when you say, “And I miss the comfort of having you as a friend.”

“Me too,” Wanda whispers thickly as you both share a meaningful look.

Maybe someday, she can have everything she has lost.

Just not all at once.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #wanda maximoff #marvel #natasha romanoff #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #angst

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straylightdream · 2 years ago

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trust fund baby - “𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦”

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: hwang hyunjin x f.reader

college au

↳ Escaping the planned out future your family has for you leaves you mess. You were born with anything you could ever want and yet you don’t want the life that has been planned for you. He’s a struggling painter who was a loner all his life until he found his friends. From the moment he met you captivated by you, even when he has to take care of you. “Do you ever feel lonely in a room filled with people?”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ only, listen below the cut

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.8k

𝐚𝐧: this is a part of my connecting connect stray kids college au series SSFW. this can be read as one shot tho. You don’t need to read the other stories to know what’s going on. This switches pov from Hyunjin to the readers. Sections labeled Lost Boy is Hyunjin’s pov.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: first time sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, begging, oral (male receiving) names such as: (baby), mentions of alcoholism, and drugs (the mc is a hot mess)

-LONELY BOY-

Aloner is someone who prefers to do things alone. Hyunjin most of his life could have been referred to as a loner. It wasn’t until Sophomore year of college when he finally found a group of friends that brought him out of his shell. When he was in high school he didn’t really have friends and never went to parties or anything. He spent most weekends home in his room working on either drawing or painting. When he finally moved away for college he thought this might be his chance for things to be different. Freshman year he tried to get out of his shell some more. He found some friends and went to parties here and there.

Junior year he moved off campus and moved in with Changbin and some of his friends. Living with friends really pushed him out of his comfort zone and gave him a chance to really grow. He even became close with Felix, one of Minho’s friends.

Junior year was an interesting year for Hyunjin, he seemed lost in his art. Most of his free time was dedicated to attempting to paint a whole series painting for an exhibit. He needed to finish twenty paintings in five months. If all went right they would auction off his paintings and he could make some decent money to hold him over while he worked on new paintings to sell.

For the last week Hyunjin had been trapped in his room attempting to figure out this painting. He was only leaving the apartment to go to class. Sitting at the kitchen table next to his roommates Minho and Angel he was more tired than he normally was. His newly bleached hair was falling in his face as he stared at the cup of coffee Minho had placed in front of him. Pushing his fingers through his messy hair he sighed. He was struggling to figure out what his next painting needed to be. Looking up he found Angel staring at him, her eyebrows were knitted together as she focused on him.

“You know eating is essential to living right?” she says pushing the plate of toast that was in the middle of the table closer to him.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. If it wasn’t for his roommates he would probably forget to do basic tasks at this point. These twenty paintings have taken up all his mental capacity at this point.

“Hyunjin, you need to take a break from this project. You’ve finished four of the paintings and you still have four months,” Angel has pointed out to him before that she’s concerned with how lost he seems to get when he’s focused on one project.

“I think you need to take a break for a day or two,” Minho chimes in.

Hyunjin grabs a piece of toast and doesn’t say anything before taking a bite of the bare white toast. Minho and Angel’s eyes are focused on him as he chews the dry bread. Setting the toast on the table he sighs. “I’ll take a break for the weekend. Felix asked if I wanted to have lunch today with him. He wants me to meet his new roommate.”

“Oh yeah he ended up getting a new roommate right after winter break,” Minho says.

“Is that the trust fund girl?” Angel asks standing up.

“Felix told me a little bit about her. He said she’s sweet but kinda a hot mess.”

Hyunjin hasn't met his friend's new roommate but he’s seen you on instagram. Felix sent him your instagram when you reached out to move in with him. Hyunjin was surprised you were looking for somewhere to live half way into the school year, but according to Felix you got into a blow up with your father and moved out telling him you could live independently.

-LOST GIRL-

You were born with everything you could have possibly wanted, and yet it didn’t matter. Your mother came from old money and your father owns a bank. Your whole life you’ve been surrounded by so many people, and yet you felt so lonely. There were many charity events you attended with your family, and tons of people were there biting at the bit to talk to you, and it didn’t matter. You never fit into this elite society you were brought up in. Your mother was a socialite that thrived in a crowd, and your fathers ego loved to be stroked at these lavish parties.

Growing up you were a well behaved child that did everything anything your parents asked of you. Your older sister was the star of the family. She’s five years older than you, as a preteen you watched as all types of men fell at her feet. You realized in your preteen years you didn’t want to be socialite. You didn’t want people chasing after you for your money, and you sure as hell didn’t want to live as your fathers puppet. His goal was to marry off both his daughters to equally as rich or richer men.

At fifteen you attended your sister's wedding to a very rich man who came from old money just like your mother. The wedding, an event for the decade, was all the upper class could talk about when the Heiress of Brighton Banking was marrying Lee Seok Min. The pair dated for a year before they were engaged. You were fourteen when they started dating and when you first met your future brother in law you thought your sister loved him. You think in the beginning she actually loved him. When your lives have been planned out for you, it's a little hard to be happy. The engagement between them happened right after a fight led to them breaking up. You have a core memory of walking by your fathers office and hearing your sister scream at him that Seokmin didn’t actually love her, and that she didn’t love him either. Standing in the ballroom where the lavish reception was being held you watch your sister carefully. The little faces she would make as her new husband kissed her let you know that this marriage was a political move made for money and social status by your parents and the Lee’s.

After the wedding was when you started to pull back. You stopped attending most events, you threw yourself into focusing on school. You hoped that if you were able to get accepted to a good university far away, maybe you could escape your parent’s control.

Senior year of high school was when you started to rebel. You became more social that year of high school. Freshly eighteen you started doing everything to avoid any event your family attended. When all the money in the world is in your hands it’s not hard to find bad habits. Parties with people from school became your favorite pastime. Occasionally you found yourself with a popular boy who had a fondness for sex and white powder he liked to snort.

Many nights you passed out at his luxury house doing anything you possibly could to avoid going home. The sunlight would come up on Sunday morning and you would pull yourself away from his bare body. Stumbling into your house sometimes hungover and sometimes completely sober you didn’t try to be sneaky. Your parents were well aware of how much you hated being home. Your mother asked you to stop acting up once, but when you informed her your boyfriend was a popular rich boy from the Byun family and she suddenly didn’t care. There was a stinging feeling in your chest when you realized your mother didn’t love you like you thought she did. She loved the idea of you elevating your family's social status even more than your sister did.

College was your great escape, at least you thought it was. The problem was you didn’t get accepted into a university far away. Instead you found yourself at an amazing university with a great academic program near home. Freshman year you were still seeing the same rich popular boy, he had the same love for white powder and sex. Since the beginning of your relationship with him you’ve tried his favorite pastime a couple times but tried to stay away from it. That relationship burned down when you found him in bed with someone else. The beginning of sophomore year was a blur, you threw yourself into focusing on school, and occasionally found yourself fighting with your father. Sophomore year things between you and your father got worse.

During the winter of sophomore year you snapped when your father informed you he wanted you to start dating a very rich boy named Kim Doyoung who was attending the same university as you. You went on one date with the boy and quickly realized that your father fully planned on having you married to him by next winter. A screaming match ensued between you and your father. You told him all about how you aren’t some puppet you can control.

“I refuse to live in a loveless marriage,” you screamed.

“Watch your tone child,” he sat at his desk, barely fazed by your screaming.

“Wendy doesn’t love Seokmin, and I won’t marry someone just for money like she did.”

The screaming match went on for too long and it ended with you telling him you needed to move out. This is the fight that led to you getting drunk to forget how hurt you were. You lived with one of your friends from school Seungmin’s couch for a week before he helped you find a place to stay. He recommended his classmate Felix who had an open room. Using the money from your trust fund you reach out to Felix to move in.

Just because you're away from home doesn't mean your fights with your father stopped. Even away from he tried to control your life.

You quickly became friends with Felix, and he quickly realized that the stress of dealing with your father was getting to you. Two weeks into living with him you went to a party and got wasted after a screaming match with your father. You called Seungmin and he came to your rescue before taking you home. Sitting on the bathroom floor puking up all the dark liquid you had drunk Felix held your hair back and took care of you.

-LONELY BOY-

Friday afternoons Hyunjin normally hung out with Felix. They would normally order coffee after their lab they had together and then would go back to Felix’s house and get any homework they needed to work on done. Their homework sessions normally lasted two hours before Felix had to go to his next class during the evening.

This Friday had been going just like it normally did. Hyunjin walked into Felix’s apartment with his coffee in hand. Sitting at the small black kitchen table he worked on his art history homework that was taking up too much time.

The front door swung open and a very drunk girl stumbled in. Felix shut his laptop and immediately rushed over to you as you fell on the floor attempting to take off your boots. “YN not again” Felix drops to his knees in front of you.

“Hi,” your voice is high pitched as you sway a little bit.

Hyunjin shuts his laptop and watches unsure on what to do as Felix is talking to you. Felix helps you remove your boots that you were struggling with.

“YN how much did you drink?” Felix asks, realizing right away how drunk his roommate was. Hyunjin stood there unsure of what to do.

“I don’t know. I feel sick,” you mumbles.

Felix pushed your hair away from your face, “did you get in a fight with your dad again.” From what Felix had told him you only got drunk when you and your father got into blow up screaming matches. He said it’s only happened a handful of times.

You swayed a little before Felix pulled you into his chest. Hyunjin was frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

“Are you going to puke?” Felix asked, rubbing your back as he held you close.

“I think so,” you mumbles with the nausea feeling taking over you. “I can’t walk you,” you whined.

Felix takes a deep breath, still rubbing your back. Hyunjin moves closer so he stands right by them and Felix. “Do you need me to carry her?” He finally speaks.

Felix looks up at his friend with a pleading look in his eyes, “please I can’t lift her.”

Hyunjin squats down behind you. He pulls you away from your roommate and you look up at the beautiful boy with long bleached hair. You smile as you close your hazy eyes, unable to focus on him. Without another word he picks you up bridal style and carries you out of the living room. You looked up at him trying to focus on his beautiful lips. How would it feel to kiss someone with pillow soft lips. Reaching up you touch the soft skin that runs across his jaw. Hyunjin feels conflicted suddenly as you touch him in your drunken state.

“Who are you?” Your voice is low and barely audible.

“Hyunjin,” he says as he sits you down on the cold tile floor near the toilet.

“You’re the boy who is always leaving his painting stuff here,” you mumbled.

Before Hyunjin can even respond you start to puke up the dark liquid you drank to forget your fight with your father. Felix came rushing in and held back your hair as you threw up. He rubs your back saying it’s okay. The same sweet encouraging words he always tells you.

Hyunjin watches as Felix gently takes care of you for about thirty minutes before he excuses himself to go get you a bottle of cold water. He comes back into the bathroom handing you the bottle of water and asks for you to drink it. He asks Hyunjin to talk with him in the hallway.

“Hyunjin I hate to do this but I need to go to class. Can you possibly take care of YN until I get home. It’s my Lit class I can’t miss. The class is two hours long and I’ll come right back when I get out of class.” Felix stares at Hyunjin with a pleading look in his eyes.

Before today Hyunjin had never even met you properly and now Felix was asking him to take care of you.

Felix went to class and for a while Hyunjin sat on the bathroom floor next to you. At first he was unsure of what he should do. Sitting on the floor leaning against the wall you started to sober up as you stared at your roommate's friend.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Bringing the water bottle up to your lips, you drink the cold water. “I’m better now.”

This is the first time Hyunjin officially met you. He sat on the bathroom floor with you for about an hour before you complained about being hungry.

Bending down, he helps you stand up. He helps guide you to the living room where you sit down on the living room couch. He goes off into the kitchen and works on making something to eat. He comes back in with a plate of toast and citrus flavored soda.

“My mom used to always give me this when I was sick growing up.” He sits down on the couch next to you holding out the plate.

Slowly you eat the dry toast hoping it will help fill your empty stomach. You move so you’re sitting on the couch with your back against the arm rest and your legs are curled up close to you.

-LONELY GIRL-

You haven’t ever had someone look after you other than Felix while you’ve been drunk. In the short period of time you’ve known Felix he’s gone out of his way to take care of you when you’ve been a mess, but you didn’t expect his friend who doesn’t really know you to be as kind. You’ve seen him a few times in passing but you never met him. The first time you saw him in your kitchen with Felix you automatically noticed how beautiful he is. Now sitting next to him on the couch you can’t help but stare at his beautiful full lips.

The longer you sit there on the couch eating the better you start to feel.

“Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling?” he asks, holding out the citrus soda for you.

“No,” you shake your head before taking another bite of your toast.

There is something so gentle about the way he looks at you. There is zero judgment in his eyes as he watches you.

“Okay that’s fine.”

You finish the toast he made you and you work on slowly drinking your soda when Felix walks into your apartment. He shuts the door and takes his shoes off. He stops in front of the couch and looks between you and Hyunjin. He sits down on the couch next to you. Reaching over he rests your hand on your knee and gently squeezes it.

“Are you feeling better?”

Silently you nod your head.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” he looks over at Hyunjin.

“No problem.”

“I should probably head home, I need to work on my painting.” You stay on the couch as you watch Hyunjin leave. Felix walks him out before he comes back into the apartment and finds you in the same spot you had been in since Hyunjin helped you to the couch.

“Did you have a bad fight with your dad?” Your roommate hasn’t known you very long but he knows all about your struggles with your family.

“Yes,” you whisper, embarrassed that you let your fight with your father get the best of you.

The rest of the night you spent in your room trying to rest and sober up more. When the morning came you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that Hyunjin took care of you while you were drunk. Only Felix had really ever seen you that drunk.

Looking over at the clock on your nightstand you were reminded you had class in an hour. You got up to start your day. You brush your teeth and do your hair before getting dressed in something warm to wear for the day. Walking into the kitchen you’re caught off guard when you find Hyunjin sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him and his sketch pad. You instantly feel embarrassed this boy had to take care of you while you were drunk. Part of you wants to run, but before you can Felix greets you.

“Good morning YN.”

“Hi,” you awkwardly wave. Sitting down at the small table across from the beautiful boy, Felix placed a cup of coffee in front of you. Hyunjin’s eyes shift from his sketch pad to you a few times as he silently studies you. There is something so gentle about him.

Felix is humming to himself as he’s in the process of mixing together what looks to be his brownies he likes to make. You glance down at the cup of coffee Felix made for you in your favorite yellow cup.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper just loud enough for Hyunjin to hear.

“I’m glad I could help.” There is a softness behind his eyes, and the way he speaks to you feels sincere.

“How can I repay you for taking care of me?” You feel as if you owe him.

Looking up from his sketch pad again he knits his eyebrows together. “You don’t owe me anything.”

It has been a couple weeks since your fight with your dad and the cold winter air has left you feeling a little under the weather.

Luckily you had the day off from class and you could spend the day bundled up on the couch drinking tea. The front door opens and Felix walks in with an exhausted looking Hyunjin. You can’t help but watch him push his fingers through his bleached hair. Felix has mentioned Hyunjin was spending most of his time at the art studio attempting to get ready for a huge art exhibit where he was going to sell his art.

“YN, Hyunjin is gonna hang here while I run to the store for a little while,” Felix says rushing off to his room. Felix leaves as quickly as he arrives and Hyunjin is left in your kitchen sitting at the table with his sketchbook. Getting up off the couch and walking into the kitchen you find Hyunjin making a cup of tea. Looking in your fridge you attempt to find something to eat.

“Are you hungry?” Hyunjin asks, breaking the silence between you.

Turning around you find him watching. He looks so tired sitting there. He is dressed in baggy jeans and a gray hoodie.

“I think we’re out of ramen and I’m not really good at cooking,” you’re a little embarrassed that you don’t know how to cook much more than ramen.

“Did you want me to help you cook something?”

You couldn’t quite figure out why Hyunjin was always offering to help you. Before the night of the fight with your father you hadn’t spoken to him before.

“I would really appreciate that.”

Without saying a word Hyunjin starts moving around your kitchen pulling items out of the fridge and out of the cupboard. You watch him carefully wondering if you could learn to cook from him.

“Thank you again for taking care of me,” you say softly.

“No problem. I’m glad I can help.” He plates lunch for both of you and sits down at the table. You sit across from him. You take two bites of food and you can feel his eyes on you.

“You can say whatever is on your mind,” you say between bites.

“I know it’s not my place to say anything because I don’t really know you or your situation.” You know where this conversation is going. Felix and Seungmin have had similar conversations with you. “Have you thought about talking to someone?”

“Like who?”

“Like a therapist,” you were in the process of finding a therapist. Seungmin offered to help you find one.

“I’m trying to find one. Hyunjin, I want you to know I don’t drink often. There have just been a few fights with my dad that I have gotten drunk after.”

He pauses staring at you as he pushes his food around on the plate with his fork. “If you’re ever upset. You can always come to me. You are more than welcome at my apartment or I can come here.” He sounds so nervous as he is talking to you. “I would like to give you my number.”

Hwang Hyunjin is a sweet boy and too pure-hearted for you. He barely knew anything about you and he was going out of his way to make sure you knew you weren’t alone.

“I would really love to be able to see you when I’m upset. I feel like having someone to talk to would be nice.”

It’s not long before Felix comes back and somehow convinces Hyunjin to take the day off from his art project. You spent the whole day hanging out with the boys and when dinner time rolled around Felix ordered take out and put on a movie in the living room. From that night on Hyunjin became a new fixture in your life.

Since that evening you spent with Hyunjin and Felix. Hyunjin has seemed to be at your apartment nonstop. Felix often leaves him alone with you and you can’t really complain. You’ve grown to really enjoy his company. Many evenings have been spent with Hyunjin drawing in your living room with you watching him.

It’s another day and Hyunjin came over before Felix had class. You asked if he wanted to stay and hang out with you once Felix left for the day.

“What are you doing this evening?” You asked walking over to the kitchen table where Hyunjin was sitting working in his sketchbook.

“I need to go to the studio and try to finish part of my painting,” he looks even more stressed than normal.

“Would you be interested in having some company?”

He knits his eyebrows together studying you for a moment. “You want to hang out with me?”

“I like to think we’re friends so I would like to hang together” The more often Hyunjin comes over with Felix the closer you feel like you have grown to him.

“I want to hang out with you. Yeah you can come with me to the studio.”

The walk to Hyunjin studio isn’t long. The whole way there he talks about this painting he’s been trying to finish. He tells you all about how he is trying to make money off these paintings.

Walking into the studio he leads you over to a corner that he’s clearly taken over. Sitting his backpack down on the floor he pushes his fingers through his hair. You notice right away he seems more nervous than normal.

He takes a deep breath as he starts setting his supplies up. You sit in a chair by the window near him. Your eyes are focused on him as you watch him start to paint. The studio he paints in is very relaxing. You’ve heard from Felix that most of the summer Hyunjin spent here working on painting to sell. You can’t help but admire how driven Hyunjin is to make a living off his art.

“This studio is very peaceful,” you break the comfortable silence that had formed between you. He turns away from his canvas and smiles at you. Getting off the stool you walk towards him accidentally bumping a cup of paint brushes knocking them on the floor. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as you squat down and start picking them up. He leans down squatting in front of you. “Clearly I’m the opposite of peaceful when I’m here. I’m clearly a walking disaster in every aspect of life.”

He paused, staring at you. He reaches out grabbing your hand before you could pick up another paint brush. “You are far from a walking disaster.” You don’t say anything, you just stare at him. There is sincerity behind his eyes like there always is when he looks at you.

“You have to say that,” you stand up leaving a few paint brushes on the floor.

Hyunjin picks them up and stands in front of you. Silently he reaches out pushing loose hair behind your ear. His calloused fingertips gently grazed your skin. He’s never been this close to you before in what feels like an intimate setting. “Your presence is really calming to me. I really enjoy your company.”

You’ve never felt like somebody truly enjoyed company like Hyunjin does.

“I like spending time with you-“ you pause feeling slightly embarrassed. “I like spending time with Felix and Seungmin, but things are different with you.” You’re aware you have a crush on him and you’re starting to fall for him, but you can't bring yourself to admit it out loud.

“I really like spending time with you.” His hand is lingering on your cheek as you stare at him for a moment. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away from you. “You know if you ever want to hang out with me outside your apartment all you have to do is ask.”

“I would like to hang out more outside my apartment.”

Things between you and Hyunjin changed. He became someone you talked to every day. Even if he didn’t come over to your apartment you texted every day and sometimes you even went over to his place. You had been avoiding talking to your parents in attempts to avoid fighting. Many weekends, you find Hyunjin sitting on your couch with you hanging out and watching movies. Even a few times he convinced you to meet up with some of his friends. You quickly learned you liked Chan and his best friend turned girlfriend.

Things seemed to be going pretty good for you and you were pretty happy. Seungmin and Felix's suggestion to talk to a therapist was starting to help. Even though sometimes you felt like you were rambling on about the same thing it was nice to know someone listening.

You tried your hardest to grow and move on from the crippling feeling you were trapped under your parents hold on your life. You spent most of your time with Hyunjin these days or Seungmin, the only other person who truly understood what your life has been like.

Sitting in a coffee shop you were listening to Seungmin talk about some girl he has a bunch of classes with. For the last month Seungmin has been complaining about her. You’ve known him long enough to know he clearly has a crush on this girl.

“Enough about me and this annoying girl. How are things going with you? I feel like I don’t see you nearly as much as I used to. You’re always with Hyunjin now,” you can’t miss the smirk that plays across his lips as he mentions Hyunjin's name.

“I’m okay. Things with my dad are still bad, but I’m seeing a therapist now. Things with Hyunjin are okay.”

“Just okay?” He brings his latte up to his lips.

“He’s my friend Seungmin,” you know your friendship with Hyunjin is odd and it’s clear you like him and you’re pretty sure he likes you.

“I think you like him more than you’re admitting,” he smiles. You’ve known Seungmin for years and he’s always seemed to know what you’re thinking.

“What about you? It seems like you like this girl from your class,” you tease him knowing it will rile him up.

“(YN) you can’t change the subject.”

“He’s my friend and I think he sees me as just his friend,” you sigh.

“Maybe next time you see him you should let him know you like him.”

After your lunch with Seungmin you seemed to think about Hyunjin even more than normal.

-LONELY BOY-

It was a Saturday night and Hyunjin’s apartment was quiet. Changbin and his girlfriend went to a bar with Jisung, Chan and their girlfriends and Minho and Angel went out to dinner. You had a long and tiring day of studying so you decided to call Hyunjin asking if you could come over. Any time you texted him asking to hang out Hyunjin was happy. He had a huge crush on you but was too afraid to admit it. Spending time with you was really bringing him out of his shell.

Sitting on his bed he sketched you without you paying attention. You had become his muse without even trying.

You were scrolling through your phone but kept glancing up at him any chance you got.

“Hyunjin, have you had a girlfriend in college?” You can’t help being curious. Sitting your phone down on the bed next to you.

He pauses looking at you. Biting his bottom lip he studies your face. Taking a deep breath he sighs, “I’ve never had a girlfriend. I’ve never been in a relationship.”

“Oh.”

“I’m quite inexperienced when it comes to girls.” He felt embarrassed admitting this. In his friend group he’s aware he was the only virgin and the only one who was quite inexperienced.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I'm not exactly great at talking to girls.”

“You’re fine talking to Bambi, and Angel,” you pointed out his friendship with the girls in the friend group.

“They’re like sisters to me. I’m not exactly experienced in talking to girls I would like.”

“Oh,” you stop talking. Pausing, you stared at him looking slightly hurt. “Do you see me as a sister?”

He sets his sketchbook down on his bed and looks at you for a long moment. “No.”

“But can you talk to me?”

“You’re different,” a blush creeps across his cheek.

“Is that good?”

“YN what do you want me to say here?” He’s definitely flustered by this conversation. He didn’t plan on confessing he liked you.

“I don’t know. I like you Hyunjin and I was just curious if you liked me.”

“I like you,” he’s trying his hardest to sound confident. The smile that spreads across your face is so heartwarming to him and he can’t help but get butterflies.

“Have you kissed a girl before?” Leaning forward, you get closer to him.

He nods his head. “I’ve kissed people before but haven’t gone much further with anyone.” He still feels embarrassed confessing how innocent he is. He’s managed to get through a few years of college with no sexual experience.

“Have you ever thought of doing more with someone?”

He leans in closer to you really hoping you want to kiss him as badly as he wants to kiss you. “Yes, it’s not that I don’t want to do more. I was a loner in high school and didn’t really have friends and then in college I just had my friend group and I’ve always seen Bambi and Angel as just friends.” He pauses wondering if he rambling on too much. “I’m not exactly great at flirting or letting someone know I’m interested in them.”

“You flirt with me though,” you lean in even closer.

His eyes are wide as he stares at you. He knows you’re teasing him and trying to rile him up, but he knows there’s no malicious intent behind your words. He knows you actually like him.

“Everything with you is different,” he whispers. Your nose brushes against his and it’s taking everything in him not to lean forward and press his lips to yours.

“I’m going to assume that’s good,” you whisper with your lips brushing his. “Would you want more with me?”

Pulling away you leaves him sitting there. You move, straddling his thighs as he sits with his back against the headboard. Hyunjin's head feels like it’s spinning as you sit on his thighs.

“Do you want more with me?” You repeat.

“I’m inexperienced with everything outside of kissing,” he rambles with the tips of his ears bright red.

“That’s fine. If you want more you can learn with me,” the boy below you has really broken down the walls you’ve built and you want to make him feel good.

“YN I really like you, like a lot,” his hand gently rubbed your side earning a smile from you.

“That’s good Hyunjin because I really like you.” He can’t help the goofy smile that plays across his lips.

“I want more with you.” He says.

Without saying another you lean forward pressing your lips to his for your first kiss. One hand rests on his cheek as your lips move together. The moment your lips touched Hyunjin felt the sparks he always hoped he would feel when he found the person he truly liked. His hands gripped your sides holding you close, hoping this kiss wouldn’t end.

-LOST GIRL-

Kissing Hyunjin is everything you wanted it to be. The way he sneaks his hand under your sweater so his hand is resting on the bare skin of your side. Your lips move together and you move your body as close as possible. Your legging cover core comes in contact with his already strained jean cover erection. Pulling away you can’t help but smile. Your fingers tangle in his blonde hair tilting his head back slightly earning a low moan from him. His sweet moans are music to your ears.

“Would you like my help with that?” You’re dying to know what it’s like to touch him.

His eyes go wide at your question and he stutters a bit before responding, “do you want to help?”

“I would love to.”

“Okay. What do I need to do?” He’s obviously nervous.

“Just take your jeans off and sit on the edge of the bed in your boxers.” Sitting on the floor between his legs you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Can you push your boxers down your hips?” He lifts his hips freeing his erection. You can’t help but swallow at the sight of him. “Can I touch you?” You want to make sure he’s fully comfortable with you touching him.

Silently he nods watching you. Reaching out you slowly stroke him the first time earning a moan. Your eyes stay locked on his dark eyes as you stroke his length. Watching him fall apart in your hand is something you’ll never forget. He bites his bottom lip attempting to hold back a moan.

You tighten your grip as both your hands work his length. His lips part and a soft moan passes his lips.

“Do you want my mouth?” You look at him through your lashes.

Silently he nods his head.

Leaning forward you lick his blush colored head that is already leaking precum. You want to know what it’s like for him to fall apart in your mouth. You run your tongue along the underside of his length and he whimpers softly. One of your hands rests on his thigh while the other helps with your ministration. He’s longer than anyone you have ever been with so you’re attempting to take him as much as you physically can. His hands grip the bedding below him.

“YN,” he whines.

Your eyes focus on him as you continue to take him in your mouth.

“I’m going to cum,” he moans. The sight of him so close to the brink of the edge is beautiful.

He tenses under your touch as you pull away. You work on pumping his length hoping he finds his release. With a moan he comes shooting ropes on your cheek and hand. The look on his face completely blissed out is something you’ll never forget.

Wiping away the sticky substance that was left on your cheek you can’t help but smile at how blissed out he looks sitting there.

“I can return the favor,” he’s still attempting to catch his breath.

“I’m okay.” Tonight isn’t about you. You got enough pleasure watching Hyunjin fall apart. You don’t want to rush things with him.

“Did you want to stay the night?” He asks with his eyes still closed as he lays back.

Standing up you walk over to the dresser where you see some loose napkins. You wipe away Hyunjin release from your hand and your cheek. He’s pulling up his boxers and laying on the bed. You can feel his eyes trained on your back.

“You never answered my question,” he says.

“Do you want me to stay the night?”

“Of course I do.”

“Did you want to have sex with me?” You’re curious if he just wants to have sex already.

“Yes I do, but I don’t want to do that tonight. I want you to stay so we could maybe watch a movie and cuddle. I don’t want to rush things. I’m new to all of this.”

Nothing else happened that night between you and Hyunjin. You laid in his bed dressed in his hoodie and a pair of shorts cuddled up next to him. The warmth of his body holding you close made you feel warm and cozy. You felt completely relaxed in his embrace.

When the morning sun rose you cuddled up even closer to him burying your head in his chest.

“Sleeping beauty are you awake?” He asked softly.

“I’m not ready to leave this bed.” You snuggle up closer to his body with your head resting in his chest.

He pulls your body even closer to yours. “You never told me what upset you.”

“I got into a screaming match with my dad and for once after the fight I didn’t feel lonely. I didn’t have a desire to drink away my sadness. I wanted to see you, because you make me happy.”

Your morning with Hyunjin was the domestic normalcy you craved your whole life. Not a single relationship you have ever been in was this simple. You sat in his kitchen he shared with his roommate while he made you breakfast. Sitting at the table you sipped on your coffee and watched him. There was a warmth in your chest whenever you thought about the tall boy with bleached hair. You had grown to care about him deeply and it was clear he cared about you.

When Minho and Angel walked into the kitchen together you couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. Hyunjin ran off to his room to grab something for Minho. It didn’t take long for Minho to walk over and sit with you.

“YN I don’t really know you well. I can only talk from the outside looking in. I know you can be kinda a hot mess, but I think your intentions are good with him.”

“Minho,” Angel put her hand on his shoulder. Part of you feels like you should be hurt by Minho’s words but you can’t be. You know he’s just looking out for Hyunjin and you’re glad he has people who protect him.

“What Minho is trying to say. Hyunjin is a really sweet and innocent soul. Please don’t break his heart. You seem like a really sweet girl. We just are asking you not to hurt him.” You can’t take anything they're saying personally. You know they would say this to anyone.

“I care deeply for him, and he’s the first person outside of Felix or Seungmin who really seems to care about me. I don’t want to hurt him.”

Nobody can say anything else before Hyunjin comes back into the kitchen. “I don’t need you guys protecting me,” Hyunjin says. Everyone’s eyes focus on him for a moment.

“We know that,” Minho walks over patting Hyunjin on the shoulder.

His two roommates leave you and Hyunjin alone in the kitchen again. Hyunjin just stands there staring at you. You can tell he’s at a loss or what he should say.

“Don’t worry, they didn’t hurt my feelings. It’s nice to know they care about you and truly love you.”

He rests his hand on your cheek gently. He takes a deep breath staring into your eyes, “I like you so much.”

“That’s good because I like you a lot too.”

It had been a month since your first sleepover with Hyunjin and in that time he had grown to be not only your safe place, but he truly made you happy. Since that night together there had been a few fights with your parents that led to you running to him. With mascara streaming down your face he wiped away your tears. One particularly bad fight led to him asking to take a shower with him so he could wash away your tears. Standing under the hot water he used strawberry scented shampoo and helped by washing your hair. Rinsing your hair you step back so your wet back is pressed up against him. There’s a sense of comfort you feel when you’re with him. You feel erection pressed up against your lower back. He’s chosen to ignore it and not say anything so you do the same. His arms wrapped around you hugging you from being. He presses his lips to your temple earning a smile.

“Was coming here the first thing that popped into your mind?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence that has formed between you. He was always the first thing on your mind no matter if you’re happy or sad.

“I didn’t have a desire to drink or do anything other than see you. My therapist said that having someone to talk to when I’m upset is helpful. I don’t feel the need to numb my pain.”

“Are you going to stay the night?”

Since that first night you gave him head you’ve explored other aspects of sexual relationships but haven’t fully had sex. You could tell Hyunjin was still nervous and you didn’t want to do anything that would make him unhappy. If or when you finally have sex and he loses his virginity you want it to be on his terms.

“If you want me to stay. I’ll stay.”

You finish showering and Hyunjin helps you dry off before dressing you in some of his clothes. Laying in his bed curled up next him your head is resting on his chest as he’s talking about another painting he had finished. You could listen to him talk about his art forever.

“Did you want to go to the studio in the morning with me?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” you whisper.

You listened to him talk for about an hour before you fell asleep in his arms.

It’s been a few weeks and Jisung was throwing a party for his girlfriend’s birthday and you didn’t plan on going when Felix invited you, but when Hyunjin brought it up while you were doing your homework sitting in his room while he was painting you couldn’t say no. You hadn’t really hung out with his friend group all at once. You had hung out with Minho and Angel plenty of times. You quickly learned they did everything together and always had wondered if there was something more between them. You had hung out with the couples in the friend group but never all of them together. You really liked Chan’s girlfriend and Chan was a total sweetheart. The other boys were sweet and the same with their girlfriends.

Hyunjin had originally asked for you to ride over to the party with him, but you had to finish an assignment so you needed to show up later. Figuring out what to wear to this party was a little difficult. You wanted to look nice but didn’t want to look like you put too much of an effort in.

Walking into the busy house you couldn’t help but be nervous. Your eyes roamed the room looking for your favorite boy. You found him standing in the middle of the living room. The moment your eyes locked he rushed over to you. He pulls you into a hug pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asked you as he pulled away.

“Sure.” He leads you off to the empty kitchen.

“What would you like to drink?” He asks.

“Just a beer.”

Before Hyunjin can walk away you reach down grabbing his hand. You step towards him pressing your lips to his for a kiss. You haven’t really kissed him in front of people. Not even in front of Felix. He reached down resting his hand on your cheek. He smiles pulling away from him.

“I really like you Hyunjin.”

“My cherry girl, I really like you,” your stomach feels like it’s filled with butterflies.

“Can you come home with me tonight?”

“Of course,” he leans forward pressing his lips to yours for another kiss.

With a beer in your hand Hyunjin leads you off towards the living room.

Standing next to Hyunjin in the busy living room you feel so comfortable next to him. There was a time before you knew him where you could be in a crowded room and feel so lonely. But when you’re with Hyunjin you feel almost as if you’re home.

He leans down with his lips brushing your ear. Closing your eyes you smile waiting for him to say something. “What are you thinking about?” His hands gently rub your back.

“Do you ever feel lonely in a room filled with people?” You look up at him.

“I did in high school.” He’s told you before high school wasn’t the best for him.

“I did too before I met you and Felix.”

“Do you still feel lonely?”

Shaking your head you can’t help but smile, “not anymore.”

You spend the whole party by Hyunjin's side. You’ve grown to really like Hyunjin and Felix’s friend group. Everyone is really nice and even Minho seems to have warmed up to you. You’re assuming Angel might have something to do with that. You noticed very early on him and Angel seem to be closer than just friends.

After being at the party for a few hours it’s after midnight and a few people have left. You look around noticing all Hyunjin’s roommates are missing. You saw Changbin make his way out the front door a while ago taking his girlfriend with him. You realize you haven’t seen Angel or Minho in a while.

“Did Minho and Angel go back to the apartment?”

“Probably. Minho doesn’t really like parties and if he leaves normally Angel goes with him.”

“Are you ready to go back to my place?” You can’t help but be a little nervous.

“Yeah.”

Arriving at your apartment you notice Felix still at the party and can’t help but be relieved. Taking Hyunjin's hand you lead him off to your bedroom making sure to lock the door behind you.

Hyunjin stands at the foot of your bed nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. Walking towards him you lean up pressing your lips to his for a soft kiss.

“What do you want to do tonight?” You pull away from his lips slowly.

“Um-um-“ he’s stuttering letting you know he’s nervous. “Did you want to have sex?”

You can’t help but smile as you nod. The idea of having sex with him is enough to make your body feel like it’s instantly warming up.

Leaning forward you crash your lips into his for a searing kiss. It takes very little effort for you to both work on removing your clothes. With each passing kiss you notice Hyunjin’s nerves are starting to settle.

With each kiss it’s not long before you’re both fully naked.

Sitting on your knees completely naked between his legs. Leaning forward you rest your hand on his chest. His heart is racing fast. You know he’s nervous, he’s made it clear to you he’s not experienced. You’re nervous yourself because he’s really important to you and you want his first time to be special.

“Lay down for me,” you whisper.

You’re both completely naked. Reaching forward you take his hardened length in your hand. You stroke his length earning a beautiful moan from him. Everything about the boy laying below you is captivating.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked you. If only Hyunjin knew how much you wanted him. “You’re sober right?” The tiny bit of alcohol has nothing to do with how badly you want him. You barely had anything to drink.

“I’m sober,” you purr. You’ve only had one beer at Jisung’s girlfriend's birthday party. You move so you're straddling his lap with his dick nestled between your legs. “I only drank that one beer.”

He sits up again. His hand takes your hips rubbing your wet core against his hardened length. You moan with your lips close to him. Rolling your hips the head of his cock rubs against your sensitive bundle of nerves. A gasp passes your lips as you roll your head back. Hyunjin’s large hands roam your back as if he’s trying to remember how your skin feels. “Baby,” he whimpers, rutting his hips into yours.

“I want all of you,” you moan.

Leaning forward he presses his lips on your neck. He leaves a wet trail of kisses across your skin.“You can have all of me.” His words set a fire in your veins.

“Are you sure you want your first time with me? I’m kinda a mess according to Minho.”

Reaching out his hand resting on your cheek, “there is no one else I would rather have my first time with.”

“I’m on the pill and clean,” you say. You trust Hyunjin and you hope he trusts you. He just nods.

Lifting your hips you take his length in your hand lining it up with your entrance before slowly sinking down. Hyunjin is bigger than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. There is a long moment of silence between you and the only thing that can be heard is both your heavy breathing. The look on Hyunjin's face is something of pure beauty. His eyes are blown with lust, and his beautiful soft lips are parted as staggered breaths pass them. The burning sensation between your legs causes minimal discomfort as you adjust to his size. You could stay like this forever just sitting on him filled you to the brim as you stare at his beautiful face. You take his face in your hands and gently drag your thumb across his cheek.

“Are you ready for me to move?” You ask.

“Yes.”

Slowly you lift your hips and slide back down his length. The blissed out look that plays across Hyunjin's face is absolutely intoxicating.

His hands roam any and everywhere they can reach. You’ve had quite a lot of sex since you lost your virginity but nothing has ever felt this intimate. Your name leaves his lips like a prayer. With each drag of his cock touching just the right spot inside you you can’t help but moan. Keeping a steady pace your lips crash into his muffling the moans that keep passing your lips. One of his hands takes your breast massaging it and earning a gasp as he tweaks your hardened nipple.

“I’m so close-“ he gasps “please- please- please,” he’s pleading desperately on the edge of finding his release. “Please tell me you’re close.”

Nodding your head you reach down to start rubbing your sensitive clit hoping to find your release with him. His lips are all over your neck leaving a trail of wet kisses as you fall apart moaning his name. He takes the leap right with you pulling you down to his lap keeping your body close to his still moaning as he paints your walls white. He doesn’t last very long for his first time, but everything about your time together is perfect. His head rests on your shoulder as he takes slow deep breaths trying to come down from his high. Pushing him back gently he lays down with you still on top of him. He’s still nestled inside you with no sign of pulling out.

“I like you so much,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your shoulder.

“I like you too Hyunjin.”

It’s been a month since you and Hyunjin’s first time. Things have been going great. You’re with him practically all the time and he makes you really happy. You’ve done your best to avoid talking to your parents. It’s been quite easy when Hyunjin is great at distracting you. You spend many evenings in the studio with him while he’s painting. You normally sit on the floor watching him while you work on your homework. You can’t help but feel proud watching him complete each of his pieces he’s been working hard on.

Today isn’t a great day for you. Your father managed to get ahold of you and your fight you had was uglier than normal. He can't seem to get past the idea of setting you up in arranged marriage like your sister was practically set up in. The phone call ended with you saying you were done. You told him he no longer controlled your life or got to make decisions for you.

Your screaming match with your father left you a crying mess. You knew when you were upset like this you needed to call Hyunjin or even Felix but you didn’t, instead you reached for the bottle of whiskey you had in your closet you hadn’t touched in a very long time.

Grabbing the bottle you head off to the kitchen grabbing a can of coke and sitting down at the table with a glass in front of you. You quickly drink the first strong concoction you made attempting to help with the anger and sadness taking over you. After multiple therapy sessions and getting to know Hyunjin you know this isn’t helping you. But right now you’re so upset it doesn’t matter.

You make a second drink and sit down as Felix walks into your apartment with Hyunjin right behind him. Felix stops in the kitchen the moment he notices you and steps aside as Hyunjin eyes locked on you. A sad look plays across his face and you instantly feel terrible.

Felix pats Hyunjin’s back and says, “I’m gonna go out to lunch with Seungmin.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything as he walks across the kitchen and sits down across from you silently.

The front door shuts letting you know Felix has left, leaving you alone with Hyunjin.

The silence in the room is louder than anything you’ve ever experienced. You instantly regret that you didn’t call Hyunjin the moment you hung up the phone with your father.

You take a sip of your jack and coke, and stare at Hyunjin who is intently watching you. The bitter liquid hits your tongue and your eyes never leave his. Bringing the cup down, you watch him carefully. He seems at loss for words.

“You clearly want to say something,” you break the silence that's formed between you.

He pushes his fingers through his bleached hair that is already showing his dark roots. “Why are you drinking?” He knows you, and he knows that the only reason you would be drinking at eleven in the morning is if you’re upset. Pushing your drink away from you and rubbing your face. How do you tell him that you might lose everything because you told your dad you were done.

“I talked to my dad.”

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well?” he reaches out, taking the cup away from you. You don’t say anything, you just watch him look at the cup. “Maybe you should drink less unless you want to become an alcoholic.”

His words feel like a bucket of ice water poured on you. You bite your bottom lips trying to take in what he just said. His words are harsh but you know he’s saying it only because he cares about you. He’s told you before he doesn’t like you drinking so his words shouldn’t be that shocking. “Maybe you should work less because you’re already a workaholic.”

He just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at your retort. “I’m a workaholic because I need to make money off these paintings.” He gets up walking over to the sink to pour out your drink you’ve barely touched.

You feel like an asshole for calling him a workaholic. You know why Hyunjin works like he does. He’s trying his hardest to support himself. He’s also been trying his hardest not to overwork himself. According to Angel before you Hyunjin didn’t hangout with anyone who wasn’t in his little friend group.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” you say softly. You want to cry again at the thought of hurting his feelings.

“YN you know why I made the comment about you drinking?” You don’t say anything, you just stare at him. “It’s because I care about you. I don't just care about you as a friend, I like you a lot and I need you to stop drinking when you fight with your dad. I’m aware you don’t drink every day, but I wish when you were upset you would at least talk to me. I thought you realized I want you to feel like you can always come to me.”

“Hyunjin I told my dad today I’m done with the family. I’m probably going to lose everything. I told him I don’t want to talk to them anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you for a long moment before silently blinking. Without saying a word he stands up and walks over to your chair and holds out his hand. Taking his hand you stand up. He doesn’t say anything as he pulls you into a hug. He holds you close with your cheek resting against his chest. He rubs your back and you suddenly don’t feel hurt by your fathers words. You hold him close not wanting to let go of the boy who is breaking down your walls.

“You don’t need your fathers approval to be happy,” He pressed his lips to the top of your head. Your eyes brim with tears when you realize your whole life you’ve tried getting away from your fathers plan for you, there was a part of you that so desperately wanted his approval. Salty tears slide down your cheek soaking his tan sweater. “I’m sorry you’re hurt, and I wish you would realize that I would do anything to make you happy.”

Pulling away you look up into his pretty brown eyes. Your hand rests on his cheek, and gently you drag your thumb across his plush bottom lip. Pulling away from him you rub your face pushing away your tears. “(YN) I want you to know I love you.”

Your chest tightened for a moment at his confession. You push away your tears knowing no one will care for you like he does. He’s fallen in love with you after seeing you at your best and your absolute worst. Even seeing you crying a mess he still loves you.

“Hyunjin I love you too.” You’ve known since that night you slept together for the first time you had fallen for him.

“Please stop drinking because you’re upset with him. Just come to me when you need someone to talk to.”

“Okay.” You whispered, hugging him tightly.

The rest of the night you don’t touch any more alcohol. Hyunjin cooks you lunch and you spend the day together. You start by watching a movie in the living room before you move to your bedroom with the intention of just cuddling but it’s not long before you’re both lying in bed naked.

He’s hovering over you slowly thrusting into you. Your hands cling to his back holding him close as your lips move together. One leg is hooked over his back with your foot resting right above his butt. You moan his name encouraging him. His thrusts are slow but deep. After your first time together Hyunjin took the time to learn the perfect way to make you fall apart. You reach your hand between your two bodies and rub quick circles on your sensitive clit.

His nose rests against your as he continues his slow pace, “baby are you that desperate to cum?”

“I need you,” you gasp as the coil in your stomach tightens. “I’m so close,” you practically whine.

“Then cum baby,” he crashes his lips into yours muffling your moans.

He finds his own release shortly after. He removes himself from you and lays down next to you with his body plastered against yours. You can’t help but smile as you look over at him in his blissed out state. You’ve managed to fall in love with him without even trying.

Things weren’t always going to be sunshine and rainbows. You were still going to fight with your parents when they tried to contact you, but after long talks with Hyunjin he always told you that things would work out. Things between you were good and you were absolutely in love with him. Nobody has ever made you happy like he has.

When his art exhibition rolled around it was an absolute hit. He managed to sell all his paintings and make more than he thought he would. You can’t help but feel proud knowing he worked so hard to achieve his goal.

After a night out celebrating with all his friends at the bar he hovered over your naked body repeating how much he loved you between kisses across your jaw. There is nobody else you would have rather fallen in love with then him. You love him with your whole heart and soul, and know he feels the same way about you.

𝐚𝐧: I can’t lie I struggled writing this and I felt self conscious with the switching pov. I hope everyone enjoyed this part of SSFW.

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 in any future college au stories or any Hyunjin stories 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 by filling out this form.

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inkmemes · 4 months ago

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never stop blowing up ( 2024- ) e02 : and that's whirred up sentence starters ↪ taken from dimension 20's 22nd season. alter as you see fit ♡

“i'm just a lanky boy.”

“hello! nobody's home.”

“don't mess with brooklyn.”

“and what if i swallow it?”

“i wish you wouldn't.”

“i'm not hearing no!”

“it's beautiful.”

“you gettin' a little fucked up already?”

“i mean, i feel pretty fucked up.”

“that's for… that's for me? you want me to put that in my body?”

“okay, why don't you try some first?”

“you all right? you're looking a little green around the gills.”

“we can't afford this.”

“oh, um… i'm just being funny today.”

“i didn't get it. it didn't seem funny to me.”

“when you do drugs, sometimes you have ego death and it doesn't feel like you're you anymore.”

“this is paid for? this is, we got this? this is fine?”

“what are you asking?”

“i actually thought we were bonding.”

“wait, so you're not mad at me?”

“nothing you could do would ever make me mad.”

“i'd date him.”

“god, cutie alert.”

“this guy brought dogs to a nightclub!”

“he's really old. he has like, no teeth.”

“just taking notes on a fucking conspiracy.”

“see, when someone doesn't answer right away, you feel the need to keep going.”

“oh, okay, so you're making accusations.”

“i'm like, a little nervous that we left things in a weird place.”

“i don't even know this guy.”

“snort some and then sell the rest for money.”

“i don't want me to be happy!”

“i guess let's have some more of these drinks.”

“i didn't write down where i was supposed to go.”

“what's going on?”

“oh my god, he's dead.”

“you're on top of a building.”

“wait, a man just jumped off of a building?”

“i think [name] is attracted to this man.”

“is this a gun?”

“wait! come with me!”

“did i love him?”

“it was all a blur. i was getting thrown around like you can't believe.”

“yeah, he really gave it to, huh?”

“i wanna go out on the town.”

“we don't have the same room?”

“he left me up here on the street?”

“that was cool, man. i don't know what you want me to say.”

“i've been shot!”

“i've never been in a hotel this nice.”

“it's so hot. it's so hot.”

“there's dead guys all over the ground.”

“the floor is sleek with blood.”

“don't know how to spell that.”

“what the fuck?”

“sneak is like their primary fucking thing.”

“it's crazy that they just straight-up advertise that.”

“dude, this movie fucking rules!”

“i'm gonna need that from you.”

“tell me what i was supposed to do.”

“i think he's just starting to sweat.”

“you are wearing a tuxedo, baby.”

“just getting my sea legs, man.”

“could you send me a ping?”

“come on, man. we got bigger fish to fry. you gonna get hung up on this right now?”

“i've watched this.”

“i can't wait to see you.”

“i'm not the only one feeling pressure.”

“i'm probably not even gonna show up to work.”

“you told me what to do, i'm gonna do it, no argument.”

“i hate doing what people tell me to do.”

“he didn't think you were a shithead. there was trust there.”

“you were given an impossible thing to do.”

“i'm going so fast.”

“i'm still on my learner's permit!”

“i don't know who you're talking about!”

“does it look like the car is like, toast?”

“get outta there. those guys are some bad dudes.”

“i fucking love it.”

“i didn't know!”

“i fucking think it's a great fucking choice.”

“none of these are good enough.”

“[name], i thought you were dead.”

“that's why he hates me and that's why he stabbed me.”

“that's why he hates me and in turn why i hate him.”

“that was a weird interaction you just had.”

“oh, don't worry. i'm not gonna do anything with it. i'm just kinda holding it 'cause it feels necessary.”

“they can take care of themselves.”

“i'm getting it under control.”

“oh my god. this must be my fault. what did i do?”

“i hate new technology.”

“how the hell did you get that number? never call me on that line.”

“they're dancing together.”

“why the fuck are you calling me at the bureau?”

“can i get a second one?”

“oh fuck, they're all dead. they're all fucking dead.”

“goddamn it! [name], did you fuck us?”

“no, don't you fucking hang up on me!”

“we are gonna find a way to make this right.”

“did you get nabbed by the feds? what happened?”

“what do they want you to do?”

“but you know who you are.”

“it made so much sense in my brain.”

“what are you talking about?”

“yes! oh my god, fuck!”

“you had it in you all along, kid.”

“it's crazy. it was crazy down there.”

“can't say i'm surprised.”

“you must not have been invited.”

“that's a really interesting question i'm not willing to open up.”

“don't tell me what to do.”

“and it's weird 'cause it's not… it's like an emotional feeling. it's not a logical thing, right?”

“you're the guy from the movie!”

“i have a motorcycle.”

“we should go to a bar or something.”

“let's go get a drink. i wanna see the town!”

“i'm already deciding that i'm making that for you.”

“i mean, we're in a fucking movie together.”

“it's the '80s, baby.”

“i'm fucking pissed.”

“i wanna get out and i wanna solve this crime!”

“oh, are you looking for companionship?”

“oh, she sounds mean.”

“i think you're getting your groove back.”

“i want an appletini.”

“we're doing a drink crawl or something like that.”

“you look awful. you look bad. worst i've ever seen.”

“what, you want me to pretend i'm happy to see you, [name]?”

“watch where you're going!”

“i was just trying to like, prank.”

“someone wants to decapitate you.”

“you're probably the strongest dude i've seen.”

“just really good to be touched.”

“i think you need it.”

i'll go find parking, but i'll meet you at the hotel bar.”

“oh my god, [name], how are you doing? you look great.”

“oh, you've been waiting for that for so long.”

“wait, what?”

#rp meme #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #sentence meme #sentence starters #rp starters #rp prompt

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lesinquietes · 5 months ago

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Grower!Dabi is in his thirties. He spent some time in the clink on drug charges — seven years, to be exact. He got arrested for sloppy dealing while he was high on his own supply. It took him mandatory rehab to realize he can’t handle being around hard drugs. No more coke for him. Painkillers are off the table, too. Being around them is the only temptation he can’t resist. He blames his fucked up childhood for that.

In prison, they teach you the ways of botony to calm the urge to use. He cared for plants and they healed his addiction. So, naturally, once he got released, he started growing weed. Indica, mainly; it tend to grow faster. He never meant to sell it — until Twice came begging for a whole ounce. He said something about his strains making the voices stop. Dabi doesn’t know what this means, but he’s happy to take his cash.

After a year of selling to friends and acquaintances, he started making a profit. Soon, he was stacked enough to move. He relocated to the mountains across the country, where other cannabis cultivators operate their illicit craft. The cops don’t touch them up here; they can’t. There are no laws, save for the ones they’ve made for each other.

Point blank: don’t touch each other’s shit.

His grow op is recognized far and wide. Grower!Dabi recruits trimmers every time he harvests. It’s easy. Bus loads of people come into the city beneath the mountains in hope of being chosen by a cannabis facility. The money is decent. It’s damn well better than the crap they’ll make working retail or fast food, that’s for sure. Plus, they get to smoke on the job. He can see why this place would attract a certain type of person.

He likes cruising by the bus shelters to scope out potential targets. He doesn’t want locals. Travellers have no idea what to expect. A lot of them are blind to the true dangers of this sees — the real monsters lurking in these mountains. Many don’t make it out alive. He’s been the culprit of more than a few.

Last year, he shot three trimmers in the head after catching them stealing some of his product. It was only a couple of grams, but still. He had to set a precedent, didn’t he? No one saw the act; nevertheless, the others he picked up knew what had happened. He left some of the blood mess behind for them to discover. When their families called for them, he hung their missing posters up, merely to add insult to injury.

Again, he blames his fucked up childhood.

He drives by the bus stop one evening and sees you standing on the corner. Initially, he thinks you’re a lady of the night; then, he clocks that you’re here to find work. A smirk graces his lips. Well, he might have a job or two for you.

You’re dumb, from the city. He grins when he notices the skimpy outfit you’re wearing. You obviously don’t care what sort of attention you attract in that. He accepts you she a few others in the back of his truck and takes you into the hills. He lets you sit in the front seat with him, warm hand on your thigh, asking you what you like to toke, and promising you he’ll smoke you on something potent when he gets you back to the trim house. You giggle when his fingertips rest on the hem of your panties.

Grower!Dabi is absolutely shocked at the luck he’s been having in recent years. First, his own business. Now, a beautiful woman to trim his weed and warm his bed. He pulls you closer to him as he drives. He doesn’t see himself letting you go.

Next l

𝔉𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔲

#minors dni #tw drug use #tw weed smoking #tw misogyny #grower dabi #bnha x reader #stoner dabi #grower dabi x trimmer reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere touya x reader #fem reader

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gemini-sensei · 1 year ago

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Tease | Robby Keene x Chubby!Reader

Kinktober Day 6: Blowjob

Contents: mentioned drug use, oral sex, and some dom/sub dynamics near the end.

"Oh fuck," he let out hotly, head tilted back. His brow scrunched up as he felt the warm mouth wrapped around his cock pull away. A cute giggle made its way to his ears and he grunted. "Don't act cute, you're such a filthy girl."

He looked down at Reader, who sat so pretty on her knees between his legs. He was resting on the couch after a long day of trying to get some cash, aka scamming people out of their personal belongings just to survive. Usually, Reader came around when he had something to sell her, preferably weed, but he'd invited her over for another reason.

Somehow watching movies turned into getting a blow, but he wasn't exactly complaining. She'd said something about needing to relax, only sinking onto her knees after palming him for a while.

She was a tease by nature, always flirting with him when she came around but he never minded it. Her attention was a little bonus when he had to deal with his problems or run away from them if he really didn't want to face them. She was nice enough, unlike other people he had to bother with from time to time. She was also good for her money, so he usually let her have first pick of whatever he had at any given time.

Never in a million years did he think his dick would be in her mouth.

"Didn't I tell you to relax?" she giggled again. She wrapped her mouth around the tip of his dick and sucked on it fast and hard, then swirled her tongue around it. She made it sloppy and wet, her saliva dripping down his shaft as she toyed with his balls in her hand. "I want you to relax for me, Robby."

"Fuck," he groaned. He watched her intently, biting his lip as she lowered her head and took more of him into her mouth. It was so wet and warm, it felt so beyond nice. His eyes fell closed again and he rested his head back again. "Okay... fuck..."

She hummed around his cock and his balls twitched. Just to tease him, she gave them a little squeeze. While he moaned, she hollowed her cheeks and pulled off of his cock. He left a little bit of pre cum on her tongue and she swallowed it, humming at the salty taste left on her tongue. More bubbled out of the tip of his cock and she happily lapped it up before swirling her tongue around his cock head with a little smirk.

His hand came to rest on the back of her head and he pushed her into his cock. She pressed her tongue along the underside of his cock and felt the vein that ran along it pulse with need. She squeezed his balls again, making it pulse faster.

"Are you gonna come, Robby?" she asked, licking stripes up his cock.

He looked at her with dark, hazy eyes. His hair hung in his face and he forced it back with his other hand, holding it away just so he could see her clearly. "Fuck, make me come, Reader."

"I need more than that," she giggled.

He shoved her face into his cock, rubbing it against her cheek. He clenched his jaw and grunted, "I wanna come down your fucking throat. Just take my cock again."

She took his cock into hand and gave him a few teasing pumps. "If that's all you wanted, you just had to ask."

She opened her mouth and took him again. She would have just taken the tip again, just to tease him, but he pushed her head down further and fed her more of his cock. She moaned around him, taking as much of him as she could until he hit the back of her throat. It gagged her, but she didn't pull back. She took it. Gagged herself on his cock while sucking him off, making a sloppy mess. It was so hot, it pushed Robby to the edge.

He came with a loud groan, throwing his head back as her name fell from his lips. He filled her mouth with hot shots of cum, helped along by her firm grip on his balls as she ensured she got every drop. It was so much, some dribbled out her mouth and down her chin.

When it was over, she pulled away and swallowed what she could, but had to stop to take a break. She panted hard and he saw a substantial amount of his cum still on her tongue.

He took her face into his hand, his cool rings pressed against her cheeks. He squished her face together and she spit out his cum on accident, making it run down her chin. She whined needily, wanting to swallow it up like she had been doing.

"You're so greedy, Reader," he grunted. "Who knew?"

She looked up at him with soft, pleading eyes. He smirked at her, finally taking the upper hand from her. It was his turn to tease her.

#robby keene x reader #robby keene imagine #robby keene #robby keene x chubby reader #robby keene smut #s1 robby #cobra kai #cobra kai smut #smut thoughts #cobra kai smut thought #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai x chubby reader #cobra kai x plus size reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #gemini sensei #kinktober

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kittyclawsdolls · 8 months ago

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rafe x sunshine!reader

TW: drug talk, alcohol consumption, throwing up, i think that’s it!

(in this the kooks and the pouges don’t hate each other, they may dislike each other tho)

imagine rafe and you are at home cuddling, rafe is on his phone texting barry about the party tonight, talking about selling. you didn’t want to go at first.

“baby, are you going to kelce’s party?” you ask looking up at him. he looks down at her. “yea. why sweets?” rafe asks with a grin at thought of making money there. “i wanna go too!” you say happily. “i thought you didn’t like parties?” rafe asks confused playing with your hair.

“well i changed my mind! i wanna be with you, and since you’re going to the party i thought i should go too!” rafe looks at you with a smile. “ok baby, we’ll leave at 7 o’clock. okay?” rafe says kissing your lips softly. “yay!! i’m going to pick out my outfit right now.” you say getting up, giggling on the way to the shared bedroom. https://pin.it/3Vimo5JxP

time skip

rafe and you are now at the party, rafe is selling drugs, you are off with sarah, john b and kie. rafe made sure to tell the 3 to watch you and make sure you don’t drink so much, that was until you, sarah and kie got super drunk and john b went off with jj and pope. you started to miss rafe and went off to find him. you saw him sitting on the couch next to top, you walked over there sitting next to him, putting your legs on his lap. rafe looks at you and smiles. “hi sweets, where’s sarah and kie?” rafe asks concerned cause they weren’t with you. “oh- i went off to find youu.. i’m glad i did! you’re so.. handsome.” you said while your hand is playing with the ends of his hair, and the other hand is holding his jaw. “how much did you drink?” rafe asks smiling at you. “i don’t know! maybe 10 shots? or 15?” you said questioning yourself. “ok lightweight.. you need to go home and sleep.” he says chuckling. “what- no- no i don’t *hiccups* need to go home! i’m fine baby.” you say surprised he would say that.

“nope don’t do that. you need to go home and sleep, c’mon let’s go.” rafe gets up and takes your hand dragging you out to the car. “but babeee! i’m fin-“ you got cut off by you throwing up. “see. you need to go home now.” he said with a straight face. “okk fine.” you grumble.

you get home, he helps you out the car and picks you up princess style (cuz you’re a princess). you are dead asleep, he puts you in bed. he grabs makeup wipes and wipes of your makeup, then does your skincare. he grabs a nightgown and your favorite stuff animal. he changes you, then tucks you in. he changes and then gets into bed

the next morning you wake up confused and rafe is beside you watching tv. he looks at you and kisses your forehead. “you drank to much last night baby.”

“i can tell. my head hurts like hell.” you say mad. you got up and brushed your teeth. then went back into bed. “you want breakfast?” rafe asks knowing your hungry. “yes please!” you mumble into the pillow. “ok sweetheart.” rafe leaves to make your food.

☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽☾☽

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

#rafe cameron blurb #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe fic

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spencer-reids-adventures · 1 year ago

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for @tobias-hankel!

cw: drug addiction

---

He doesn’t think anyone knows.

Last time, of course, they knew. They knew he’d just suffered a major trauma. They knew he kept arriving late to work and snapping at the team. They knew something was very, very wrong. And they never said anything to him about it, not really. Some vague words from Gideon. A few suspicious looks from Morgan. Utter befuddlement from poor Emily. But no one ever said a word, and so, neither did Spencer.

This time, he’s more careful.

Once again, it’s not his fault, not really. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s not his fault he wasn’t coherent enough after being shot to tell the EMTs not to give him narcotics. It’s not his fault he was unconscious when the rest of the decisions about his knee surgery were made. It’s not his fault he limped out of the hospital on crutches with a bottle of Percocet, and it’s not his fault he took it, or that he took it upon himself to increase the dose. Small increments, a few days at a time. He’s a doctor. It’s fine.

It’s not his fault his team was too busy focusing on Hotch to notice any of it.

It’s not his fault that when the Percocet runs out, he manages to make his way to a crummy neighborhood in the middle of the night to pay an embarrassing amount of money for a moderate quantity of Dilaudid, and it’s definitely not his fault that the relief is so powerful, it actually makes him cry.

No, it’s not his fault, he assures himself. But it’s still a problem. It’s still a secret. It’s still scary and shameful, and Spencer is weak and broken, and he can’t let any of his teammates find out what’s happening.

He tries to be careful. It’s easy at first, because he’s on leave from work. Once he gets back, he does his best to look normal, to arrive on time, to be kind to his coworkers. He tries his best, and it’s so hard, and he truly doesn’t know if he’s succeeding. He’s not sure of much, at this point. He’s just trying to get through each day the best he can, to manage the pain in a way that’s familiar for him.

Hotch returns to work not long after Spencer, and from the look on his face, he can tell something is wrong. He doesn’t say anything, though. He never says anything. Spencer tries to brush it off, pretends it doesn’t bother him, pretends he’s not desperate to just talk about it with someone.

He tries, and he tries, and he tries.

And then one evening, the phone rings.

The call shows up as Unknown Caller, but Spencer answers it anyway, expecting someone trying to scam him or sell him something.

“Just listen,” the voice says on the other end. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

And Spencer couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to, because it’s Gideon’s voice on the other end of the line, a voice he hasn’t heard in years, though he hears it in his memories and his dreams more often than he’d like to admit.

He waits, speechless, for Gideon to continue.

“Hotch called me. We talk sometimes, you know. He keeps me up to date on what’s going on. And he told me that something’s going on with you. He’s really worried about you.”

Spencer swallows. Why would Hotch reach out to Gideon instead of just talking to Spencer himself?

What would Spencer have even said if Hotch had tried to talk to him?

“I’m assuming it’s the same problem you had last time, when you missed that plane, though Hotch couldn’t confirm anything. Maybe it’s not that. Maybe you’re just struggling emotionally, or maybe it’s something else I don’t even know about. No matter what it is, Reid, I want to help you. I want to be here for you in a way that I haven’t before.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hand. It doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense. Gideon left. He left, and he’s gone, and Spencer made peace with that a long time ago. And now—now he doesn’t know what to do at all. Now, nothing makes sense. Nothing at all.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, Spencer?”

Spencer sighs. Pulls at his hair. Wrings his hands out a few times, and switches his phone from one ear to the other.

“I messed up,” he finally whispers. “I missed another plane.”

“We can fix this,” Gideon says immediately. “Are you home? Are you safe? Can I come to you?”

“C-come to me?” Spencer repeats incredulously.

“We obviously don’t want you detoxing on your own,” Gideon says matter-of-factly. “I’ll come help you.”

“Detoxing…”

“You know you can’t keep going like this. Something needs to change. I’m not going to let you kill yourself with this stuff.”

Spencer is quiet for a long time.

“I’m… at home,” he finally whispers.

“Stay there,” says Gideon. “I’m coming to you, okay? It’s going to take me a little while, but just—don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises.

When Gideon shows up 30 minutes later, a needle and a vial are sitting on the coffee table, but Spencer hasn’t moved.

#maya writes #cw drug addiction #spencer reid #jason gideon #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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mollymauk-teafleak · 8 months ago

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but I'm more than a need

So. What happened was @minky-for-short told me about her idea for a painter Husk/model Angel AU and things spiralled from there. Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drug use, alcoholism, mentions of sexual abuse

Please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3 if you enjoyed!

--------

Angel Dust had expected this to be easy. Wasn’t it his job to be stared at?

When Valentino had told him his schedule was being cleared of clients two days a week for a ‘special assignment’, his tone had been sickeningly magnanimous, like he expected his star performer to fall to his knees and shower him with thanks at the prospect. And Angel would, if he didn’t know better.

Being taken off the roster did mean a break from an otherwise endless parade of men with bad breath and bruising hands, reeking of the alcohol they’d needed to overcome their shame at wanting to fuck another man, a break from being so buzzed that he’d disconnect entirely from it all, not noticing how they’d hurt him until he came crashing down. But at least that was the devil he knew, intimately enough to know the taste of its tongue in his mouth.

Time away from the brothel usually meant that Valentino had something much worse in mind.

So when Angel finally arrived at the address on the card, after trekking across what felt like ten fucking blocks from the spot Valentino had him kicked out of the car, and saw it was an abandoned looking brownstone on a shady street corner, he wasn’t surprised. That part of him that never learned to sit down, shut up and accept his shitty life told him to turn and walk away.

But whatever was in that house, Valentino would be worse. So he’d gone up, knocked on the door and was thoroughly surprised when a paint streaked, grouchy man appeared, blinking like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks and growling that Angel was late, did that asshole pimp not know that paint fucking dries?

And Husker hadn’t stopped surprising him since.

Angel still rolled his eyes at it. Of course Valentino wanted a fucking portrait of his favourite whore, the creep was probably going to hang it in his bedroom. It was so like him, wallpapering this old money aesthetic over the newly minted wealth he’d gained selling other people’s flesh. Angel wouldn’t even mind that Valentino had made a small fortune pimping him out, or how he spent it, if he didn’t treat him so cruelly. He’d signed on willingly, at first, believing the sugared words and promises of finally being free to fuck how he wanted without shame, of being able to drown the nightmares left over from the war in as many drugs as his body could take. But those promises had dissolved away to nothing on his tongue, leaving his teeth rotted and his nerves shot worse than ever.

And now Angel’s pain would be immortalized in oils and hung in a gilded frame.

But at least it would be a proper break. And it would be easy, all he had to do was stand there looking gorgeous, pinned under the gaze of an older man who never had a bottle far from his hand. No different from his usual job except he got to keep his head clear and his clothes on, if the costume Valentino wanted him painted in had enough fabric to count as clothes.

And it was easy. But not for the reasons he expected.

There was really only one reason actually and his name was Husker, Husk for short, an odd name but he hadn’t given Angel any other. At first he’d thought it was a good fit, the painter was grizzled, surly, his eyes hard and his tongue sharp, with hands that shook unless they held a brush or a bottle. He was a hell of a far cry from the rich businessmen and upper class bankers who paid for Angel’s time, who tried to impress him with gifts that Val would take and sweet words that didn’t soften their hands any, but apparently his paintings had once sold for thousands.

Angel couldn’t possibly comment at first, the cramped little studio space had oddly bare walls, but when he’d gotten glimpses of his portrait, he realized just how great Husk must have been back in his day. In nothing more than rough sketches, he was making something almost beautiful out of Valentino’s slightly nauseating ideas.

Which did beg the question, if Angel Dust was finding this so easy, why was Husk finding it so hard?

“You’re moving again, Legs.”

“Am I fuck…” Angel retorted with a grin, which of course meant he was, in fact, moving.

“Hey, you want this to look like shit, it’s no skin off my nose,” Husk looked at him over the edge of his glasses, “I got no reputation to maintain.”

“Good look trying to get this to look like shit,” Angel lifted an eyebrow, brushing his hands down the vaguely Grecian drape of silk that was preserving no modesty. The freckles dusting his skin covered more.

“Don’t underestimate how much I can fuck something up, kid,” Husk grunted, transfering his pencil to the corner of his mouth, picking up an ink brush instead, “I’ve had a lifetime of experience.”

Angel couldn’t help another grin, even as he tried to stay still. That was one of the things he liked about Husk. He didn’t try to be perfect, he didn’t hide his rough edges.

The way his arm muscles flexed as he drew, looking unfairly sexy now he’d pushed his sleeves to his elbows, Angel liked that too.

“Next question,” Husk whipped the brush back and forth across the sheaf of paper on his easel, “Think it was your turn, kid.”

Angel blinked, realizing how long he’d been quiet before Husk spoke. It was so easy for his mind to wander here, with the comforting smells of paint and paper, the soothing whisper of sleek bristles on canvas, the warm sunlight streaming in through the windows. And more than anything, the feeling of safety, knowing that quiet here really just meant quiet, come by honestly, not just waiting for the next blow. He’d been embarrassed the first time he’d dozed off in Husk’s studio, his body jumping at the chance for some real rest and shutting down without asking Angel to give the order.

But after the fourth time of waking up on the battered sofa in the corner with a musty but cozy blanket over him, Angel had found it in him to stop caring.

But he didn’t want to sleep now. Because as much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Husk were on borrowed time, he was at the edge of this peaceful eye in the storm he lived in.

The portrait was almost finished, colors starting to appear at Husk’s elbow as the first draft took shape. Soon Angel wouldn’t be needed in the studio anymore, he’d go back to the stage, back to the brothel, back to living under Valentino’s thumb. And Husk would go back to…well, nothing, by the look of his bare, dusty life. The thought made Angel’s heart ache.

He pushed the thought away, refusing to chew on it. But he wouldn’t sleep away the rest of their time together, either.

“What kind of music do you like?” he eventually asked.

Husk chuckled at that, seeming to let his hands create independently, flying across the paper while the rest of him moved at a lower tempo, “Easy, jazz. I used to play when I was younger, actually. There was a club not too far from where I lived, I’d sneak out and go all the time. A guy there taught me, pretty sure just to keep me away from the bar. Looked old for my age back then…and now.”

“Shut up,” Angel perked up interestedly, “What did you play?”

“That’s two questions now,” Husk reminded him, smirking but he answered all the same, “Sax. Was a fun time but I ain’t cut out for being in a band, don’t play nice with others. Realized I was better at making art for the eyes rather than the ears.”

“Makes sense though,” Angel hummed, adjusting the angle of his arm as the silk started to slide, “You paint the way jazz sounds.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he blushed, realizing how dumb it sounded, like he didn’t know shit about art or music. Which he didn’t, but something about Husk knowing that made his face burn.

But Husk’s eyes brightened, his wry mouth turned up in a genuine smile, “No one’s ever put it quite like that. But thanks.”

Angel had to roll his eyes at himself, just a little. He’d thought crushes were from a time he hadn’t known any better, another thing his hard life had calcified until he couldn’t make it work anymore, that real, genuine attraction had gone the way of imaginary friends and daydreams. But Husk had cracked right through to that giddy, naive part of Angel, he’d let it stretch and unfurl itself and fly. You could argue it was the part that had gotten him into so much trouble but, in Husk’s studio, it didn’t feel dangerous. It was fun again, simple, pleasant. So he let himself stare, he let himself get butterflies, he let himself blush and laugh and embarrass himself. It wouldn’t last, it wouldn’t mean anything but Angel had never been one for saying no to temporary pleasures. Especially ones that made him act like a damn fool.

“You can ask me two questions,” he hummed with one of his best flirtatious smiles, “Seeing as I snuck an extra one.”

This had been their game for the last month and change. Husk had said he couldn’t paint a stranger, if he was going to put him on canvas then he needed to know him. The thought had got Angel’s back up so Husk had promised it would be an even exchange. He’d ask a question, Angel would answer it and then they’d trade. He’d even said that they didn’t have to be truthful answers, he’d understand enough from whatever lies the younger man chose to tell.

And they’d started as lies, the standard sanitized version of his past Angel gave to any johns that wanted to fake like they’d taken him on some grand romantic date, rather than paid to fuck him in the tackily decorated back rooms of a downtown bordello. But, without even really noticing, he’d grown comfortable with Husk and the truth started slipping in. Now Husk knew more about him than anyone else left in the city and, Angel suspected, he knew just as much about the older guy. He could taste lies, thanks to his profession, and as far as his tongue could tell, Husk had given him nothing but truth, bitter as it was.

“Always one to push it, aren’t you, Legs?” Husk chuckled, switching to a different brush, taking a pull from the bottle of amber liquid before continuing to paint. How he knew the difference between that and the water he cleaned his brushes in, without even glancing at them, Angel had no idea.

“You know it, sweetie,” Angel purred, recognising the color Husk picked up as the color of his own eyes, “Ain’t a proper game if you don’t try and bend the rules.”

Husk shook his head in amusement, choosing his questions without a pause, like he already knew which ones he needed to ask to make the next brushstroke perfect, “What was your biggest fear when you were a kid?”

“Before I turned thirteen? Spiders,” Angel wrinkled his nose, though there was an odd fondness to the nostalgic fear, “Nona’s apartment was full of them, I used to be frightened they’d crawl on my face when I slept. But she loves them, even named them all, the mad old bat.”

“And after?” Husk’s brush hesitated and changed direction at the last moment.

Angel gave a dry laugh, “Father finding out I was a pansy.”

Husk made a sympathetic noise but there was no pity in it, another point in Angel’s book. He sat back suddenly, frowning, “Come tell me what you think of this.”

Already? It hit Angel like a blow to the chest, enough that he staggered as he stepped off the little platform he posed on, enough that his mask almost cracked, “From your tone, I’m guessing you’re not happy?”

Husk gave a grunt, “Not me who needs to be happy with it…”

“Well it ain’t me either, baby, it’s Val,” Angel let the fabric fall, shrugged on a robe and came around to the other side of the easel. The sudden shock of color and movement on the other side of such a plain, gray nothing hit better than some highs he’d had.

Angel didn’t know how to talk about art. He’d seen plenty of it when he was shipped out in France but he’d had other things on his mind then, it had all just been set dressing in this brand new world of dizzying highs and terrifying lows.

So when he saw Husk’s work, he didn’t know how to describe the way it made him feel, he just felt it, in a rush like a wave that took him off his feet. It was the way he took moments in time and fixed them to the paper, turned them into something Angel could actually touch if he wanted, and made them so beautiful in the process. For someone who had so many gaps in his memory, parts of his life eaten away by drugs and pain and terror, it may as well have been magic.

The painting was gorgeous, that wasn’t the problem. It was just a gorgeous painting of a vindictive, controlling pimp’s sex fantasy.

When he first started working on this particular commission, Husk had asked Angel if he was really okay with what his boss had requested, showing him the list of demands with a knowing air, the older man fully aware of what answer was true and what answer he would get. And Angel hadn’t surprised him, glancing over what Valentino wanted and saying that whatever he’d asked for, Husk had better deliver. That’s how Angel had kept most of his teeth.

From the way Husk’s eyes had tightened, he hadn’t found the joke very funny.

But Angel knew what he’d see when he looked at the paper but an image in his own mind and something realized in ink and paint, brought to life by Husk’s clever hands, were two very different things. The Angel on the page was much truer to his name, he was angelic, pale skin glowing, freckles scattered across his skin like flecks of gold, eyes bright and blue and innocent behind flaxen hair. But he was a fallen angel, chains securing his hands to some part of the background that Husk would draw in later but, even without it, they looked inescapable, raw chafe marks in a wincing carmine visible below their cuffs. And the fabric looked somehow even less, like a rough hand was in the process of tearing it away to leave him naked and flushed. And there wasn’t a single scar on that perfect, porcelain skin.

It wasn’t him. It was the role he was supposed to play for Valentino, the fantasy he was forced into. And seeing it in front of his eyes, he could almost feel the weight of those chains on his own wrists and, fuck, they hurt.

“It’s exactly what he wants,” Angel said truthfully, making himself smile at Husk, “You’ve done a great job.”

But the older man’s frown just deepened, etching the lines around his eyes and mouth more firmly. Angel realized then that he wasn’t looking at the painting, he was only looking at him.

“It’s shit.”

The sudden sound of the paper tearing away from the pad made Angel flinch but he couldn’t deny there was some catharsis in seeing it crumpled in Husk’s surprisingly strong fist.

But he was the one who had to fight for his own misery, “Husk, no, it’s good! It’s really good, Val will love it.”

“You don’t,” Husk pitched the failed painting into the dented old furnace he’d light whenever he noticed Angel shivering.

Angel opened his mouth but no words came out. It wasn’t so easy to lie to Husk as it was to lie to everyone else in his life.

“That isn’t the point,” he finally managed, “Husk, honey, if you take any longer with this, he’s gonna start getting mad.”

Like it wasn’t already too late.

He’d seen it in Valentino’s gaze every time he left the club for Husk’s studio, the building jealousy, the brewing sense of danger that Angel was so depressingly familiar with. They were meant to have been done inside a week but that week had rolled on and on, Husk getting to this point in the process, the moment where he should have let Angel go, and then starting over three times now. Every painting had been gorgeous, it had been lecherous, it had been exactly what Valentino wanted, and each one had ended up in the furnace as soon as Husk had seen Angel’s reaction.

And if his boss’s simmering fury had just been directed at him, he wouldn’t have minded, the daydream was worth it. It was what he’d said about Husk that worried him.

“It should be the point and I’ll fucking well tell him so,” Husk reached for the bottle again, draining it in one swallow that left his voice a smoky growl, “Valentino can get as mad as he wants, I ain’t scared of that up jumped pimp.”

Panic tasted bitter on Angel’s tongue and sharpened his words, “You should be. If you don’t realize how dangerous he is, you need to learn fast, Husker, because I’ll be damned if I let you get hurt because you stuck up for me. I’m not worth it.”

Husk’s eyes darkened, his voice softening, “You really believe that, kid?”

Angel realized he’d said more than he’d meant to, feeling more naked than he had when there was only a swathe of fabric between him and Husk’s gaze.

“I have to,” he said eventually, voice trembling ever so slightly, “There ain’t another way through.”

Husk looked like he was going to say something, like there were some words pulling at the tip of his tongue, desperate to fly. But suddenly the fight went out of him, shoulders slumping, the words becoming a low groan as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I need another drink,” he muttered, “Gimme a second…”

He went into the back room of the studio that served as his living space, that rickety, sagging bed and chipped wardrobe and lopsided bookcase apparently holding all he owned in the world. But Angel knew there were several bottles of whiskey under the bed, enough that he didn’t need to ask whether Husk had served in the war too. Only a soldier needed that much poison to hand.

Selfish tears threatened to choke him the moment he was alone. He’d done the right thing, he knew he had, but it still hurt like a bitch. He let himself have a moment to almost cry about it before scrubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his robe and moving to the furnace. He’d fish out the draft, he’d tell Husk to use that painting and he’d be done with this. The daydream had been nice but it needed to end, before someone other than Angel himself got hurt. He could see that now.

There were several balls of crumpled sketchbook paper in the furnace’s grating, he couldn’t remember which one he needed. He came up with a handful of them, as well as an annoying smear of soot on his fingers, pulling a face of irritation as he unrolled one at random.

And felt his heart stop in his chest. It was a drawing of him but it wasn’t the one he was looking for.

It was a quick, hurried drawing, like Husk had done it on impulse, something to keep his hands steady or to keep them off the bottle for just a little longer. Angel wasn’t dramatically posed, dressed up in silk, he didn’t look alluring or otherworldly, it was just a sketchy of him from the neck up. He was doing that grin he tried not to do because it made his nose turn up and his teeth look huge but the way it was drawn here, it looked…adorable. Natural.

He looked so happy.

It was dizzying, seeing the way somebody else could look at his flaw and find beauty in it. Not Valentino’s warped, fake idea of it but real, actual, honest. Angel didn’t think he’d known the difference before looking at this drawing.

He knew what he should do. He should drop the sketch back in the furnace, pretend he’d never seen it. He should light it up himself, let that version of himself blacken and curl and become nothing, go back to Valentino and the devil he knew.

But his hands weren’t connected to his brain, reaching for more balls of paper the way he reached for the next pill or line of white powder, the next bad idea that would be sweet in the moment then do him more harm than good.

Some pages just had one drawing, some had a few. The sketch of him asleep on the couch was full body but around it were isolated hands, eyes, a smile, every inch of him noticed and practiced until it was perfect. Angel was smiling, he was lost in thought, he was yawning hugely, he was guarded and wary, he was alight with playful mischief. He could match the expressions with memories of the last few weeks, stories he’d told Husk or bad jokes he’d made. Things he’d said and done so offhandedly but apparently they’d mattered enough for Husk to commit them to pencil and paper.

Finally, after pages and pages of careful studies of himself, he found the draft painting done for Valentino. Seeing them side by side, it was heartbreakingly obvious, like he held night in one hand and day in the other. How he looked to someone who wanted him and how he looked to someone who loved him. Who he had to be and who he wanted to be. Angel Dust and Anthony.

Angel didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

“I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, I…Angel?”

He felt his stomach drop, whipping around, arms already drawn to his chest in defense and eyes screwed tightly shut, “I didn’t mean to look, it was an accident, I’m sorry.”

But the blow he’d learned to expect never landed. There was no anger, no explosion, just a long pause where the only sound was the city outside the windows shifting into evening, oblivious to the two of them.

“Angel…fuck, I’m sorry.”

Surprise made him open his eyes, Husk just leaning in the doorway, slumped like a man too tired to fight anymore.

“I never wanted to put you in this position,” his voice was rough, heavy, in a way that had nothing to do with the drink, “I swear, those sketches…they were just be trying to get this fucking lunacy out of my system, I was never gonna act on it. I don’t want to be just another deluded old idiot leering at you like he’d got any damn right to.”

“Husker…” Angel breathed, unsure what to do, holding onto the pages of sketches like he was afraid someone would take them away.

“I just…it’s been so long since I talked with anyone, since anyone wanted to hear what I had to say,” Husk ducked his eyes, wincing, “I shouldn’t have let you in, I should have known better but you’re so…” he shook his head like there weren’t even words but it was there on the page, “I’m an old fool, Angel. That’s all. I’m sorry, I understand if you want to leave.”

Angel felt the weight of the choice. Again, that hard learned fear was pulling at him, telling him what he should do, what was safe, what was smart. Telling him that he didn’t deserve it. But for the first time in his life, he was able to drown that voice out, his grip on the pages, on his hope, tightening.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmured, taking a step closer to Husk.

The older man’s eyes widened, looking like he didn’t know whether to believe what he’d just heard, “What?”

“I want you,” Angel said it again, feeling the truth in it now, feeling it steel himself.

He put the sketches to one side, resting his hands on Husk’s chest, letting himself have what he knew now he’d wanted for so long. Maybe even longer than he’d known Husk.

“Angel,” Husk’s own hands responded, settling on his hips like nervous birds, “You have a right to know, when your boss came to hire me, he…he offered me you. For a discount he said I could…have you while I worked. And I didn’t take it, I never would but I just…I need to know that this is what you want, not something you feel like you have to do just because I got a stupid crush on you.”

The news didn’t surprise Angel in the slightest, Val had used him as sugar on top of deals plenty of times before. What did surprise him was Husk’s mouth twisting in disgust at the idea, the restraint holding him back until he heard Angel’s answer. What surprised him was finding himself in the arms of a truly honest man.

“Baby,” he smiled, as big as he wanted to, not caring how it looked, “Believe me, I know what a bad idea this is. I know what I’m risking, I know what I’m asking you to risk. But I’m here anyway, ain’t I? So I know how much I want this, how much I've been wanting you since I walked through your door.”

Apparently that was all Husk needed to hear. His hold on Angel became certain, pulling him that last inch closer until their bodies pressed together, “Then I’m yours, baby. For however long we got.”

The moment their lips met, Angel knew the answer was not long enough. He knew in an instant that he’d never get tired of the way Husk kissed him, of that taste of second hand whiskey and those strong arms around him, feeling safer than anything had for a long damn time. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t want to press forward into the next thing, he just reveled in kissing Angel like if it stopped right there, it would still be enough. Angel found himself nearly climbing Husk, gasping and whimpering in between hurried breaths, nearly screaming when the older man shifted and pressed his leg up between Angel’s.

“Fuck me,” he moaned desperately, needing Husk more than he needed air, so much he as burning with it.

“You got the kit for that?” Husk’s voice had become a growl, something Angel felt as much as he heard.

“I’m taking the fact that you have to ask as a professional insult,” Angel smirked, only the promise of having this man inside him able to make himself let go.

He scrambled for the bag he’d left in the corner along with his clothes, Husk dropping back on the sofa to wait, warm golden eyes never leaving him. With that gaze pricking pleasantly across his skin, Angel shed his robe, stepping out of the pool of pink silk and coming back to Husk wearing only a lopsided grin.

“Fuck, look at you, baby…” his hands were as reverant as his gaze, both stroking down Angel’s narrow body, drinking in every freckle and angle and scar with as much adoration as he settled in the older man’s lap.

“Now you,” Angel tugged impatiently at Husk’s suspenders, “It’s my turn to stare.”

“Ain’t gonna be half as pretty,” Husk warned, the skin on his cheeks darkening a little but he didn’t resist as Angel yanked down the collar of his shirt and pulled open buttons, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his trousers.

Under the slightly bedraggled clothing, Husk had scars of his own. Everything about him seemed designed to contrast Angel, dark skin where he was pale, strong where he was wiry, thick black hair across his chest and down between his legs where Angel just had a dusting of gold down, the curve of a beer gut where drugs had left Angel nearly concave.

He wasn’t pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. Angel had to drag a fist across his lips to check he wasn’t drooling.

Husk’s blush only deepend but now he was grinning rather than looking anxious, “You have weird tastes, baby.”

“Guys who are nice to me? I know, I’m a hopeless degenerate,” Angel cackled, before pressing the small jar into his hand, “I want you to do it…”

“My pleasure,” Husk rolled his hips, letting Angel feel the press of his erection against him, beaming when it made him tremble and whimper hungrily.

Even slick with Vaseline, Husk’s fingers were fucking big. Angel found himself squealing like a fucking rookie when his hole finally opened for him after a few coaxing strokes, burying his face against the curve of his neck as he pressed inside. But Husk knew his business and in a moment it was bliss and nothing else, making Angel cling to him so fiercely that there would be an impression of the other man’s dog tags on his chest when he pulled away.

When Husk curled his fingers against that sweet spot inside him, the pleasure took on an edge of panic, almost too much between that blinding pressure and his cock trapped between the warmth of their stomachs, the pre he was spilling like a fountain making it slick and hot.

“Gonna…fuck, Husk, I can’t hold it…” he gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“You say that like it’s not the aim, baby…” Husk purred smokily, tongue tracing the curve of his ear.

“Not like this,” Angel begged, voice strangled as it had to shoulder past gasps and moans and pleas, “On your cock. Need to feel you, wanna make you feel good too…”

The arms around him became soothing, like he was being rocked, Husk shifting to give him what he wanted, “You do, baby. You do. You’re doing so good.”

Those words set his nerves alight as much as the fingers crooked inside him until Angel almost sobbed, “Please…”

“I got you,” the loss of the fingers was heartbreaking until he felt Husk’s cock press against his entrance, thick and hard and hot enough to burn, “Breathe, baby, you’re so tight, you gotta let me in…”

Those strong hands slid down to Angel’s hips, holding tight so he couldn’t force himself back and take him, damn the pain. It was slow, careful, but the reward was all the sweeter for it, Angel’s eyes nearly rolling back as he sat on Husk’s dick, feeling so full he didn’t know how he wasn’t unraveling completely.

“Fuck…” Husk’s voice cracked, a hand sliding up to tangle in Angel’s hair, the other draping around his hips to keep him close.

“As good as you imagined?” Angel panted, nuzzling at his shoulder.

“Better…”

Husk rolled his hips like the sweetest music was playing in his head, purposeful, rhythmic, wanting Angel to feel every inch. At first Angel couldn’t even scream, everything in him utterly surrendered, every cell in his body devoted to chasing after that feeling. But he soon realized he didn’t need to, Husk would give it to him and give it gladly, as sure as the tide. He fucked into him slow but the pace built gradually, leaving Angel free to moan and shriek and beg. He couldn’t let Husk mark him, as much as he wanted it, but he could sink his teeth into him, sucking hard until he’d have something to look at in the morning and feel less lonely.

Angel knew how to read people’s bodies, he knew they were about to fall. Husk throbbed deep inside him, his own cock was stiff as a board and trembling between their bodies. He wanted to beg Husk to hold on, to wait, just a few seconds more because even those would be sweeter than anything he’d ever get again. But he might as well have wished for the moon.

So Angel did what he’d always done and took a hand in his own destruction.

He moved his hips faster, grinding down hard on Husk’s dick and whispered in his ear, “Come for me, baby.”

Husk did, with a yowl like a cat in heat. Angel was a second behind, painting both of their chests and crying out his lover’s name, letting his voice shatter on it. They were both left ruined, gasping, only held together by the other’s arms around them.

It was a long time before Angel trusted himself to speak, morning back to rest his forehead on Husk’s, “Will you draw me? Like this?”

Husk’s smile was warmth itself, “I’ll do my damndest, baby.”

It came out beautiful. Of course it did.

Afterwards, when their lovemaking was just an ache in his hips and a slick feeling between his legs, Angel sat back in Husk’s arms and looked at the sketch like he was trying to etch it onto his brain. The pencil version of himself wore Husk’s shirt rather than his own, eyes heavy lidded, his smile crooked and blissfully tired, happier than Angel had thought his own face would ever look.

Even if the moment had ended for them, he’d always have this. He had this proof that someone had loved him.

“Can I keep it?” his voice was raw and shaky, “And some of the others?” In case I come to my senses and never see you again.

Husk kissed the side of his head, squeezed his hand gently, like he’d heard the words left unsaid, “They’re yours. But I’ll draw you better ones if you like? Ones that didn’t spend a few days in the furnace?”

Angel smiled up at him, seeing that some of the soot from his fingers had smudged on Husk’s cheek, “I think these are perfect the way they are.”

“Then they’re a good likeness,” Husk murmured, pressing the next kiss to his lips.

Angel leaned into it, letting himself have another temporary pleasure, letting himself have a moment to not think about anything but Husk. What he’d do tomorrow, fuck, what he’d do in the next moment, he had no idea. But he wouldn’t think about it now.

“It is stunning, isn’t it, Angel? Who’d have thought the old drunk had some talent left clinging to him…”

Valentino’s voice was full of smug satisfaction and smoke, faintly red billows of it hissing from between his teeth and scratching at Angel’s nose. He didn’t flinch, he’d grown used to it over the years.

“It’s exactly what you asked for,” he hummed in what would sound like agreement, looking up at the painting now slotted cozily into its new home on the wall of Valentino’s office.

The frame was a tacky travesty, of course, gilded and overblown but he supposed the image inside was as well. Husk had delivered exactly what he’d been asked, once Angel had convinced him to. It was exactly like the draft piece that nearly ended up in the flames, just more polished and done in rich, sumptuous oils, his wanton blush more rich, his eyes shining brighter, his pose more tempting. Valentino was nearly salivating looking at it.

“You’ve never looked more tempting, my dear,” he crowded Angel closer, voice almost warm though his hands were like vices on his shoulders, “In fact, I can think of no better advertisement for our little club, you’ll have the deviants of the city flocking to our doors just for a glimpse of this…and then they’ll pay through the nose for the real thing.”

“Yes, Valentino,” Angel hummed, not taking his eyes off the painting.

“I believe I’ll take Mr Husker up on his kind offer, now I know his talent hasn’t faded along with everything else. A few pieces like these in the hallway, my profits could triple…and with the discount he mentioned, well, I don’t know what you showed him or shook in front of him but the old fool’s half in love with you. Very nice work, baby…”

Angel shrugged, gaze still fixed on the painting, “Just a generous guy, I guess.”

“Don’t make me laugh, sweetling, you’re not good at it,” Valentino said curtly, “I want you on stage in ten. With how much time you’ll be spending in that studio, you’ll have to make it up to me. Double shifts for the rest of the week and I don’t want to hear you bitching.”

Angel flinched a little but he didn’t take his eyes off Husk’s painting, not even when the office door closed with a slam designed to put him on edge, “You won’t…”

Of course Valentino hadn’t noticed it. But it was the first thing he’d seen as soon as he’d stepped into the office after Val had called him in so he could gloat over it. Husk hadn’t let him see the final piece, just reassuring him that it was finished and that his boss would be happy with it. And now Angel knew why.

Valentino didn’t look past the eyes, the beckoning gaze, the perfect body begging to be ruined. But Husk did. And that's why one of the chains in the links that bound the painted version of Angel was cracked. Almost all the way through, about to break entirely, if he just pulled hard enough. Valentino saw him chained but in Husk’s painting, Angel saw himself fighting and, against all the odds, about to win.

It was a nice dream.

Angel turned away from the painting, thinking about where this had begun. It was supposed to be easy. It should have been easy, it was Angel Dust’s job to be stared at.

But this was the first time he felt like he’d been seen.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #husker #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #husk #painter husk au #please reblog and comment!

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camarocarfight · 9 months ago

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There's A Demon In My Radio Chapter One An Alastor x Reader slow burn fic featuring human Angel Dust (Anthony), Vox, and many more. Buckle up, and grab the tissues. Rated MATURE for sexual themes, violence, and drug and alcohol use.

There's A Demon In My Radio

New Orleans, 1947

There had been a cabin in the bayou that you dreamed about living in all your childhood. Your family would drive past it on your way to your father's sugarcane fields, and your gaze would be fixated on the log structure. The cabin wasn't much to look at, being a quaint hunting shack and all, but your father said that it had been refurbished after the previous owner had died. It sat empty for years, and was listed on the market for just as long. Talk of the town was that the serial murderer from the 1930s cut up and ate his victims there, but that seemed far-fetched to you.

Regardless of the rumors and your father's distaste for the idea, you bought the cabin after graduating from nursing school. Not at all put off by the fact that a serial killer had taken up residence there nearly two decades ago. All you cared about was that he was dead, having been shot by a hunter who mistook him for a deer. Truthfully, an unfortunate way to go, but was he deserving of any other?

Anthony, your closest friend, was meeting you at the hospital after work to help you move in. The two of you had been close since middle school, after Anthony had warded off some unwanted advancements against you by Vox. Since then, you had each other's backs, and agreed to a mutually beneficial relationship. Your first time meeting Anthony, you knew he was different. Different in the kind of way that society didn't accept and could very well get him killed if he wasn't careful. After the Vox incident, you and Anthony agreed to ‘courting’. It was the only solution you knew of to keep Vox off your back, and it would keep Anthony safe from any accusations.

For years your plan had worked, but as of late, the pressure was mounting on you to keep Anthony safe. Everyday, it seemed Anythony found himself in some sort of trouble with drugs or with selling himself for money. He would come to you at odd hours of the night either high or sporting the cuts and bruises of his latest scrape.

So it really didn't surprise you when you found Anthony sitting outside the hospital on a bench. Dressed to the nines in a charcoal gray three piece suit with a matching fedora and sporting a black eye. You bound towards the young man, shaking your head in disappointment. Anthony simply grinned, finding your motherly instincts comical.

“Honestly, you need a babysitter,” you took him by the chin and moved his head from side to side, examining the bruise.

“Nice t’ see you too, Doll,” Anthony took your hand from his face as he stood from the bench. He easily towered over you, being 6’3 and all legs. “Coulda been worse. It was only Val dishing out the punishment.”

“You shouldn't have to be punished,” you grumbled and took Anthony's arm and the two of you began your walk to the cabin.

“Jus’ forget it, and let's have a nice weekend puttin’ your murder shack together.”

The two of you walked in relative silence, arm-in-arm. From the hospital to the cabin was a thirty minute walk. The landscape changed drastically along the way. Going from the bustle of the city and the stately homes, to plantations that eventually tapered off into the forests that surrounded the bayou. It would no doubt be an interesting walk coming back from the hospital during those Late nights. Your father had offered to buy you an automobile, but you felt they weren't safe. Not that walking such a distance was much safer.

“I don't know, toots,” Anthony glanced down and eyed you wearily through his blackened eye. “Quite the walk for a gal by her lonesome.”

You scoffed and pulled your arm free from Anthony and rummaged through your purse to find the keys to the cabin.

“Have you and my father been talking?”

“You know he don't like me,” Anthony murmured and thrust his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

The man stopped before the cabin and regarded the log structure with an unamused expression. Refurbished or not, it still wasn't much to look at. The windows in the front were caked with dust, and moss and vines had slithered their way up the siding and onto the shingles of the roof.

“What was it about this place anyhow?”

“I don't know,” you shrugged and walked up to the door. As you slid the key into the keyhole, a smile slid across your lips. “There's this je ne sais quoi I couldn't ignore.”

The lock mechanism clicked, disengaging the lock, and the door slowly creaked with the hinges squealing in protest. Light filtered into the vast space of the cabin's main room, illuminating the dust that floated and filled the musty air. The old furniture had long since been removed after the passing of the previous occupant, leaving only an old radio sitting in the corner of the room next to a stone fireplace.

Behind you Anthony whistled. “Smells wonderful,” he stepped past you and into the living space. Under his oxfords the old wooden floors creaked. “Like rotten meat.”

“Anthony, quit.”

“Maybe the killer's bodies are still buried here,” he laughed, but the look on your face had his smile fading. “Awe, c'mon, toots.”

“I really want to make this place home, Anthony. Regardless of what happened or not.”

“And we will,” Anthony put his arm around your shoulders and regarded the space. “‘Least it came with a radio.”

You hummed and walked up to the floor model radio sitting dorment in the corner. The once mahogany stained wood was tarnished and chipped, with years of dust covering its surface that was so thick that it didn't even leave a trail when you swiped your finger across the surface. There was a tiny frequency window that was yellowed and cracked and two knobs that barely turned.

“It be neat if this still worked,” you reached down and picked up the power cord. The outer sheath was dry rotted and nearly falling apart in your hand.

“Yeah,” Anthony shook his head. “I wouldn't, unless I want to burn the place down.”

“If the cord is in this condition, then the capacitors are probably dried out too,” the cord fell from your hand and clattered against the wooden floor. “I wonder if this was his radio.”

Anthony quirked a brow and folded his arms over his chest with his right hip cocked. “Are y’ keeping it? No use keeping someone else's junk. Especially since it doesnt work.”

“No, I'm keeping it,” the look of confusion on Anthony's face made you smirk. “It's a nice decoration.”

“Whatever you say, toots.”

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #angel dust #human angel dust #angel dust and reader #reader insert #vox x reader #valentino

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rowretro · 11 months ago

Text

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood, details of violence and death.

✧THE PROLOGUE✧

The man smirked at Riki as he held a knife to Y/n's throat "Not so fucking cocky now are we?... what... cat got your tongue Nishimura?!" The man asked as Riki went silent. His girlfriend, who did absolutely nothing in the first place to be put in a position like this, was all bloody and bruised because of him...

His eyes darkened as he noticed how the blade was only slightly drawing an inch of blood at y/n's throat, her arms tied back by a rough uncomfortable rope. Yet no fear was evident in her eyes. "So... why don't we go through the list of demands I had held..." The man smirked as he let go of y/n, pushing her to his wife who yanked at y/n's hair harshly.

"Lets start with the first and foremost.... sell me your company. all that drug dealing you worked your blood sweat and tears into.... will no longer be yours I will get the full profit." The man smirked. "Then, I want you to flee the country without any of the money you made from the company." The man continued as Riki gripped onto his gun tighter, clearly enraged.

The man, Soobin continued with his demands as Riki cocked his gun "Ah du du du- now Riki... you're putting a lot at risk here..." Soobin said as he turned to his wife, the woman hit y/n around the head with the back of her riffle, kicking her to the ground and cocking her riffle as she pointed it at Riki.

Riki wasn't having it, such a lowly man, making requests to him. Not even thinking twice, Riki simply shot Soobin's wife in the head multiple times, as Soobin screamed in horror "FUCK NISHIMURA FUCKING RIKI-" The man screamed, as he was about to attack the younger male, but before he could, Riki shot Soobin to death.

y/n screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the two bodies... the eerie silence filling the whole room. She heard Riki walk toward her, he bent down to her level, hugging her softly "It's all over now sweetheart... you can open your eyes" Riki softly said... But she didn't want to, she just hugged him tightly, crying.

She knew exactly what she was getting herself into when dating him... but she just didn't think she'd have to witness him get blood on his hands... a sudden cry broke the silence. Rowan opened her eyes, frowning... it was the sound of a baby's cry.

She slowly got up, pulling away from Riki as she walked a little deeper in the building, there in a bedroom, in a crib was a little baby. She softly picked the littlun up, rocking him as she stared up at Riki "They have a baby ki..." Rowan trailed off as Riki dropped his gun.

His hands shaking as he realized the depth of what he did... he didn't just murder 2 people... he orphaned a baby, an innocent little soul. His father would likely have killed the baby and expect Riki to do the same thing. Suddenly stab wound in his back and other fresh slits and bruises weren't so painful anymore.

Seeing the innocent little baby in y/ns arms, crying, in hopes of being held by it's mother, clueless of the events happening around him. Rowan softly rocked the baby as she tried to read Riki's face... was he going to kill the poor soul?... or pay for his sins?...

✧𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓✧

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atmilliways · 1 year ago

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Wrong On The Money (11-12)

parts 11 & 12 of ?? | 1076 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Giving the kids rides home from Hellfire meetings is wreaking havoc on Steve’s gas money. It also involves the double-edged sword of Eddie being there.

11.

Giving the kids rides home from Hellfire meetings is wreaking havoc on Steve’s gas money. It also involves the double-edged sword of Eddie being there. Two birds, one stone—but seeing him always stirs up feelings in Steve’s chest that he doesn’t know what to do with, so the audience isn’t ideal.

“About that total,” Eddie says one night, in the hurried rush between the kids piling into the Beemer and exchanging bills so either no one saw or the older club members assumed it was a simple drug deal. “I need to charge interest.”

Steve pauses, peering at Eddie, whose expression and body language carry more of the tension from their first run-in than he’s seen in a while. His first instinct is to ask about his uncle, but he’s not supposed to know about that and doesn’t want to get Dustin in trouble for telling him.

So much for a straightforward total. There’s some jewelry in his parents' room that his mom hasn’t missed in months, and probably won’t ask about whenever she bothers to stop by the house next. Maybe he can sell it, help both Eddie and himself out.

“Sure, why not,” Steve sighs.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stop and frown at him. “Really? No protest, just like that?”

Steve angles a thumb over one shoulder, pointing back at the Beemer right as one of the kids (his money, if he had any left, would be on Mike) gets to the horn. “No time,” he says with a tight smile of his own.

The car honks again as he turns to go. He was right; Dustin has shotgun, but Mike is the one leaning up from the back seat to lay on the horn.

“Mike! Patience, dictionary, look it up!” Shaking his head, Steve starts towards the car at a brisk pace, throwing a quick “See you next week, Munson” over his shoulder.

12.

What the fuck was that, what the fuck was that?

“What the fuck was that?”

Jeff’s voice mirroring his exact thought makes Eddie jump at least half a foot in the air. Gareth and Frank are already headed to Frank’s car, a fact he notes with confusion because—

“I told them you’re giving me a ride,” Jeff explains. “Figured it’d give you an opportunity to share about whatever’s going on with you and The Hair lately.”

“There’s nothing going on,” Eddie mumbles, jamming both hands deep in his jeans pockets to tuck the wad of bills he’d palmed from Harrington safely away. He slouches off towards his van where it sits alone in the deserted parking lot.

“Then he’s shit at buying drugs,” Jeff shoots back, following, “because he didn’t take anything with him. Come on, Eddie, how long have we been friends? I was right there getting that rabies shot with you after you tried to house train a raccoon, man.”

Eddie gets in and starts the van, looking anywhere but at his friend. “What are you poking at this for? Let it go, it’s not that big a deal.”

Yes it is. Yes it is and I am in over my head, I am so in over my head it’s not even—

“Dude,” Jeff says flatly. “I can see you thinking a mile a minute.”

So Eddie cracks. He drives out to the middle of nowhere and parks in a field, and tells Jeff everything, hardly stopping for breath the entire time. He outs Harrington, which he's literally being paid not to do. He outs himself (which, nothing against Jeff, but he was kind of hoping to get the fuck out of Hawkins before anyone besides his uncle found out). He talks about how the doctors keep extending the time Wayne is on the medication, not happy with some sort of results from blood tests, and having to ask for interest.

“And he’s going to do it,” Eddie says, winded by disbelief of this fact as well as everything else that's tumbled out of his mouth like a goddamn avalanche. “He didn’t even ask how much. That must mean—I must have really intimidated him, right? What if I’m ruining his life?”

“Oh bull,” Jeff scoffs, finally elbowing a word in edgewise. “Nothing I saw tonight implied he thinks you’re intimidating. Look, wait a minute—did you just say you’re gay?”

Eddie freezes. “I . . . sort of did, yeah.”

“. . . And the best you can do is a crush on Steve Harrington?

He flushes, pulling clumps of his hair to cover his face with both hands—mortified, but also hiding a manic grin. They’ve been friends for years, and while Eddie hadn’t expected Jeff to call him a fag and spit in his face, it would’ve been too much to expect this kind of easy acceptance.

That done, he starts patting his pockets for a joint, because god he needs one. “Uh, apparently? He’s, I mean, he looks like that, but. . . .”

“But a total douchebag,” Jeff supplies. “Man, I get it, most of the girls in this town would call me a nerd or have their boyfriends beat me up as soon as look at me.” He pauses, accepting the joint when passed to him with a look he sometimes gets when trying to puzzle out one of the traps Eddie's set in a campaign. “You’re right though, it’s weird. I never would’ve guessed blackmail because he didn’t even seem, like, mad.”

Eddie pounces on that, nodding hard. “Yeah, exactly! You know, he never even asked why I wasn’t worried that he’d tell people about me? I had an answer all lined up too, I was going to be all—” he drops into one of his villain character voices, low and gravelly— “Everyone knows I’m a freak already, they don’t need confirmation. You, on the other hand, are prime real estate for the gossip mill to go to town on.”

Jeff smirks. “Well, that’s true. But you’re only threatening to tell his girlfriend, right?” When Eddie nods again, he simply shrugs. “So, maybe he’s not worried that she’ll spread it around. I know Buckley from band class, she’s decent. Could explain why he’s so relaxed about the whole thing.”

“But then why is he paying?” Eddie wails, getting both arms in on the question.

“No idea. Maybe all that hair is weighing down on his brain.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbles, but he doesn’t mind. It's a relief to tell someone, even though he's still not sure how to feel about the whole mess.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #jeff is eddie's bff in this one. i don't make the rules i just write the story.#steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #jeff (stranger things)

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blissfulstarsfics · 3 months ago

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Black and White Chapter 8

Read on AO3

Chapter Rating: M

Pairing: A!A X Female Tav (Non-abusive fic.)

Summary: Astarion starts the week with his palace being broken into by his protégé. Tav is out gathering information on his rivals, which makes him greatly uneased.

Firstday always brings about the terrible return to reality. Work was, as ever, a necessary evil Astarion had to do in order to maintain the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to. Cazador may have left him a sizable fortune, but money was finite whereas the vampire was not. It wasn’t all bad, though. Some of it was quite fun, actually, such as blackmailing key figures in the Counting House or foiling a merchant’s business venture just because he felt like it.

Click!

Had anyone else been sitting at the desk, the sound would be imperceptible. Two feet landed on the floor, not as quiet as he would have liked. Astarion reclined in his chair, listening to the muffled footsteps approach. A small hand snaked its way into his pocket, reaching for his gold.

“You’re improving, Mol.” The young tiefling shot straight up in disbelief. Sometime after the Absolute’s defeat, Astarion briefly reunited with Mol in Nine-Fingers Keene’s Guildhall. She was growing dissatisfied with her position within the guild, due to the adults refusing to take a child seriously.

Their loss would be Astarion’s gain. Over the course of his travels from the nautiloid to Baldur’s Gate, Mol had proven herself time and time again to not only be efficient, but loyal. The group of children refugees she led had her total devotion. The vampire remembered fondly how she stole wine at their victory celebration, only to later sell it for quite the high price.

“How?” Mol stomped her foot, “I’ve been planning that for a week! I scoped every inch of this place, learned the movements of your people, practiced with the picks, and still got caught.” Astarion listened intently, eventually motioning for her to sit across from him. He leaned forward and rested his chin on folded hands.

“Did you practice your stealth?” He raised his eyebrows, knowing the answer when Mol slumped in the chair. “You may as well have been a bulette when you came through the window. Contract your muscles before you land. Remember to touch your toes down first.”

Mol stood on the chair, jumping down to perfect her technique. “Oh yeah, I heard the guildies talking about some contraband a big house is bringing in,” another climb up, “Some lady named Jannath is near bankrupt and bringing in traveler’s dust with some mining shipments. It sounds like a big deal.” Another jump. “Nine-fingers wants the stuff out of the city.”

Oh, this was interesting! Astarion remembered how Tav had helped save Lady Jannath’s penniless artist fiance. At the time he was wholly against wasting time on the two of them, but this turn of events made him grateful they did. While the vampire didn’t care one way or the other about the drug being in the city, the leverage he could gain over one of the greater houses was invaluable.

Astarion proudly beamed at Mol. He could see why Raphael was eager to become her patron. At such a tender age she had already mastered the art of blending in unseen. The window lock proved to be no trouble for her too. Indeed, she was shaping up to be a prodigy of criminal mischief.

He didn’t yet know what her final fate would be. Making her a spawn would give him a permanent puppet to run the Guild, but the girl was incredibly ambitious and may try to overthrow him. Leaving her a mortal thrall ran the risk of her losing some of her wits. Both options would be a gamble, it was a matter of which would be the safest bet in the long term. Nevertheless, today she did her job and did it well.

“That’s enough for now.” Astarion reached into his pocket and flicked a gold coin to the girl.

“Hehehe, thanks!” Mol deftly caught the coin. Light flickered off its luster as she slid the coin down her fingers. A prodigy indeed. The girl dashed to the window and had one foot on the sill when Astarion stopped her.

“Ah ah ah, manners my dear!” Young she may be, that didn’t excuse breaches of social practices. Mol gave a huff and a bow. Not the obeisance he preferred, however he would let it slide. Children do like to test boundaries. “Very good, my dear. Now have fun today.” Flashing a smile, she hastily exited the way she came in.

The clock chimed three times. Astarion could scarcely believe it was already that late. He determined that a short break was in order. Grabbing a bottle of a locally sourced red vintage, he thought to join Tav in the courtyard. It was around this time that she would train with her swords. He would have a light snack, she would maintain her technique, and he would admire her sweat covered body. Should that admiration lead to other things, so be it.

Upon his arrival, he was disconcerted to find the enclosure empty. No matter, she must be in her room. He knocked on her door. Nothing. Astarion didn’t appreciate not knowing where she was. Stomping through the mansion, he burst into the spawns’ quarters. There Tibbi was, soundly resting in her tiny bunk.

“Where is your mistress?” The master vampire roughly shook her awake. The maid jumped out of the bed, cowering on her hands and knees.

“She had an appointment with Lady Foxworth today, master! She told me to take the day off.” Tibbi looked like a scared pup, trembling and whimpering. He had forgotten about Analee’s little offer in the park. This wasn’t good. Panicked, Astarion knelt in front of her as she mewled. She recoiled when she felt a hand settle under her chin.

“And when will she be back?” He yanked her head up, allowing her to see the soft, horrifying red glow in his eyes. Snapping her eyes shut, she held up four fingers.

“My lady will return shortly before four o’clock,” she choked out between sobs. Astarion was about to leave the wretch to her blubbering, when he stopped. Thinking of Tav's words regarding the maid, he saw that she was correct. Tibbi was a mess of nervousness.

“Calm down,” he commanded. Fright melted and limbs steadied. While he did like to strike a certain amount of dread into his spawn, Tav had grown fond of her little maid. He knew if she found out that he made her attendant wet herself groveling, it would stir up unnecessary arguing. Best to avoid that. One day his happiness would be bound to hers, he may as well start compromising now.

One hour. He could wait one hour for her to return.

~~~~~

Earlier that day.

The Foxworth estate was smaller in size than the Crimson Palace, which was unsurprising to Tav. What was surprising was how opulent the interior was. The manor’s inhabitants were minor nobles, but the way it was decorated suggested wealth on par with families like Belt or Portyr. It was becoming clear to her why Astarion became interested in a seemingly insignificant house.

The ladies had tea in the drawing room. The walls were littered with embroideries similarly detailed to the one Tav had been shown a few days prior. Analee took as much pride in her craft as Tav did in hers. They sipped on an expensive imported tea while they chatted the afternoon away. So far, the only new thing learned was that the matron of the house was exceptionally lonely. She went on and on as if she had no other friend who would give her the time of day.

Something was off about the house, though. The minute she was inside, she felt something infernal happening within the walls. Tav’s attention became divided between reaping information from the exchange and figuring out what hellish forces were at work here.

Another distraction came in the form of a lush garden, viewable from the room’s tall windows, boasting plants not native to the sword coast. The moss covered rocks and trees littering the ground gave the enclosure a forested feel not seen in the city. Analee couldn’t help noticing Tav’s admiration.

“Shall we migrate? The foliage is even better looking up close.” She struggled getting up. Her breathing was worsening, now sounding wet and phlegmy. Tav took hold of her arm, helping her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Tav gently rubbed her back. Without warning, the door had been burst open by an energetic boy. He leaped over the couch to encase his mother in a bear hug.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Guess what!” The boy jumped up and down, barely containing his excitement. Analee stifled her coughs well enough to converse with her son.

“Yes, my heart?”

“My team won the kickball game!” Young Carlo had expected to be showered in praise, however he instead received a scowl.

“Playing games when you should be studying?” The boy hung his head, but his mother wasn’t finished, “Your tutor is testing your mathematics in three days and you’re playing kickball? Son, you leave for boarding school next month. You need to be ready!” Analee pointed in the general direction of his room, silently ordering him to march back upstairs. Hands on hips, she shook her head, “This is what I get for being too lackadaisical. I let him rule the roost for years and now he’s failing in his basic subjects. It’s such a terrible burden for one so young, but I won’t be around forever and he’s my only child. My lumber business will fall to him. He needs to be ready for that when the time comes.”

Bells started ringing in Tav’s head.

“Your business?” She asked. Quickly, a plot formed in her head. One she aimed to set into motion that very afternoon. If all went well, her lord would surely be pleased.

~~~~~

Tick tick tick tick.

Four o’clock. She was to be back at four o’clock. It was now six o’clock. Where was she? Astarion paced the mansion’s halls, fidgeting and mumbling to himself. Going through his head were all the horrible ways she could be hexed, cursed, or worse. He saw a dark figure briefly flit by in the window, but when he looked onto the dusky hued streets it was only a hooded footman.

Tick tick tick tick.

Unable to contain his fury, he picked up the damned, ticking clock and smashed it against the wall. Gears and springs flew in every direction as thralls and spawn alike ducked, squealing in terror. One of the wooden shards managed to lodge itself into the legs of one of the housemaids carrying coal to the parlor. Now, on top of the disquietude, he had to deal with his hardwood floors being singed.

“Well?” He mockingly addressed the rest of them, “Are we going to let our home burn or are we going to clean this up?” Scurrying to their feet, they managed to get rid of the smoldering embers before they could cause lasting damage. As for the maid? You know what? Fuck her. She shouldn’t have been there anyway. Astarion could see his spawn salivating at the crimson oozing from her well defined calf.

“Take her underground. Dispose of her when you’re done.” A few sets of chilly hands carried the bewildered girl off to her grizzly fate.

He sharply spun around when heard the doorknob twist behind him. To his relief, Tav walked in. Finally, she was home. She was where he could keep her safe.

“Where in the hells have you been?” He shouted, patting down her body, jerking her limbs about, “Are you alright? Did you run into that bastard’s warlock?” Tav looked over his shoulder at the damaged state of the foyer. Eyes wide and mouth agape, she peered over the scattered cogs, the lightly scorched floor, and…

“Astarion?!?” Why is there a massive hole in the wall?!?” One hand pointed to the crumbling plaster, the other to the bloodstain and soot, “What happened here?”

“Answer me! Are. You. Alright?” His mind was one-track at this point.

“Yes, I’m fine. Now answer me,” she mimicked him, “What. Happened. Here?” Heat surged through his core, unappreciative of the imitation. He pointed a quaking finger, teeth snarled.

“Perhaps if you came home when you told Tibbi you were coming home, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you blaming this on me?” She scoffed, “You ungrateful prick. And after everything I set up for you today.” Tav examined the back of her hand, her mannerisms indicating that she had something to share. A secret she was now refusing to hand over. Rather, she smiled insolently as she walked upstairs.

The ascendant felt like he’d been slapped in the face. Did she really just walk away like that? Fuming, he ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him. The impact of the mahogany pounding against the frame set Tav’s instincts into motion. Immediately, she took a defensive stance, one hand reaching for her swords.

How insulting. No, not just insulting. Hurtful.

“Do you really think I would harm you?”

“You’re scaring me, Astarion.” No more bravado. The ascendant stood at his full height, nose in the air. He took her chin in his forefinger and thumb, taking care to not be rough.

“You had me scared all afternoon, I suppose that makes us even. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you today? My spawn had reported that the place is teeming with infernal magic and now we know it’s from that woman, whatever her name was,” he waved his hand, “In any case, she’s a warlock. You are never returning there, am I clear?”

Tav swatted his hand away, “Who are you to tell me where I can and cannot go? Also, you knew about a warlock and failed to tell me? And,” she interrupted herself laughing, “after eight months in the hells, you thought I would be so weak and powerless against someone like her? A basic warlock with her basic infernal arts. You of all people should know better.”

That, he couldn’t deny. But, neither could he deny how he felt. For two centuries he knew nothing except pain, humiliation, fear, hunger, and subservience. Why did no one understand that all he wanted was to keep safe the one good thing that came into his anguished existence? The one person who understood him, who didn’t judge him, who cared for him? The one who rescued him from that misery by helping him ascend? The one person he loved.

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat, “I’ve enacted a plan that will take about a decade to come to fruition. Long story short, Analee Foxworth is dying. Her husband is having his warlock mistress use her powers to imitate an illness of the lungs, so he can take over her fortunes. Or he would have if I hadn’t used my charismatic charms to convince her to have her lawyer draw up a last will and testament that left all her money in a trust for her son.”

He cocked his head, “Her fortunes?”

“Yes. His lordship entered the marriage after his house fell to ruin. It’s her ladyship that holds the purse.”

Astarion blinked rapidly, taking the whole thing in. This whole time it was her who held the money? He hadn’t been able to learn the lord’s source of vast wealth, now it made sense. Inwardly, he chastised himself for overlooking something so blatant.

“And he won’t see a copper of it when she dies?” Oh, this was delicious.

“I was able to convince her that he didn’t deserve it. After years of maltreatment, why should he live the good life off her hard work?”

“Without her money to play with, the lower city will be mine.” He could see it now, his vast network spreading into every corner of Baldur’s Gate. More and more would soon be answering to him.

“His lordship will be given a livable stipend of course, mhm,” her face morphed into something diabolic, “However, there is the matter of her son. This is where the plan gets tricky. We will need to use some discretion, some finesse. I was able to persuade her to leave guardianship of her dear little one to her newest best friend, should tragedy strike and he became orphaned.”

Astarion threw his hands up in protest, “Hold on, I’m not playing house with some random child!”

“Even if it meant controlling the city’s entire lumber industry?” Tav crossed her arms smugly.

“What?” It took him a few seconds to process what he’d heard.

“Oh yes. All of it. Think about it. His mother dies, we kill his father, and all that is ours. What’s more, the boy is work shy. I’ll foster that mentality, ensuring he won’t want his destined burden, then we do him the ultimate favor of letting him sell that pesky old family firm to us for a sum generous enough to let him gallivant across Faerun worry free.”

“Darling, that is pure evil. Manipulating a child!” Astarion wasn’t sure if he should be happily surprised or slightly disgusted. Never would he admit it, but he had a soft spot for children.

“I promised Analee I would look after the health and happiness of her son and ensure her family’s legacy never died out. I never specified how. What’s more, the boy won’t suffer. Quite the opposite,” Tav looked into the distance, dreamy eyed, her smile widening, “Ah, I think when all is said and done, we should celebrate by burning down the docks and charging double for repair materials.”

Well, the day was certainly coming to a magnificent close. First, the information on Lady Jannath, now the plot for controlling essential resources. And this was only the beginning. Tav beamed proudly, as she should. What she had accomplished in this one afternoon pushed them forward to his goals much faster than originally planned. Yet, he still would have preferred she not do it.

“While I do appreciate your efforts, and believe me I do, don’t ever do this again, darling.” Astarion cupped her face in his hands, “Even if it sets us back centuries, don’t place yourself in harm's way. If you detect danger, leave. Find me. I can replenish my wealth, rebuild the palace, construct a new web, but I cannot replace you. ”

A single tear fell into the crease between his hand and her cheek. “Do you really mean that, my lord?”

Silly girl. He wiped the saline liquid away and took her hand. Astarion guided her through the palace to the balcony which overlooked Baldur’s Gate. The full moon casted a silvery glow on the rooftops, contrasting with the golden hearth light coming from the homes of the lower city.

“Do you see all this?” He stretched his hand over the expanse, “My sole endeavor is to make this city ours. ” He took care to emphasize “ours.” Let there be no mistaking his intentions. Tav was, at first, bewildered at the revelation, but he could see that she was quickly warming to the idea. As she gazed upon the city below, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest.

“Ours, forever, my love,” he whispered into her ear. Tav’s body stiffened.

“Forever. As your spawn?” She turned her head sharply.

“You wouldn’t just be some spawn - you’re far more than that to me. My dark consort. My right hand. My most beloved spawn.” Sincere as his words were, Tav still wasn’t convinced.

“A beloved slave is still a slave.” She knew full well what it meant to be a vampire’s spawn. To submit to him meant he would have control over her, that he would effectively own her as Cazador once did with him.

“Don’t be like that, darling. If I had wanted to enslave you, I would have done so by now. Heh, I’ve had plenty of opportunities. No, this will be your choice. When you are ready to accept this immortal gift, all you need to do is ask.” He released his hold on her and went back inside the palace. The proposal was made, now all that remained was to see when his beloved would accept. Yes, when and not if. Who would refuse eternity with the vampire ascendant?

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