#free from the iron jaws of school for a bit so i can finally draw

[bearbie123]

something i did

[cherrysha]

Trust

hey ya’ll! Ive decided to answer asks in a new post, instead of continuing off of the asks. this is mostly because i answered like two seperate Uvo asks in one go. ALSO wanted to mention that i refer to the reader as ‘small’ in this one, and i by no means am small myself, its just that Uvo is 8 feet tall. Everyone is small to him, and everyone is capable of being manhandled by him. (also im going to use this gif of Uvo until the day i die)

@nav-chamberlain asked:

when you’re ready girl feel free to reply but nsfw scenario with uvo that has a breeding kink. y/n working her everyday tiring job as a babysitter/daycare worker & uvo being the kind himbo he is offers her a night out at the bar with them ending up drunk. y/n expresses her interest in possibly wanting a kid & uvo doesnt seem to decline. periodt.

@sug4r-ru5h asked:

hii!! i just found ur account and i really like ur writing🥺🥺maybe we could get some Uvo with a really twitchy reader after getting absolutely pounded??? im unsure if you write aftercare but if you do that'd be litty titty B)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Dubcon, drinking, breeding, overstimulation, a little blood, slight manipulation

“It’s not that I don’t want kids...I’m single, and younger.. ya know? I can’t think of trusting someone enough to have kids with them.” You pause, taking a sip of your drink before you whisper out a half hearted “if that makes sense.” Its not like you got to see your friend often, actually it was fairly uncommon to see him around. Whatever he did for a living, you still didn’t truly know, made him travel a lot. And you weren’t pressed on spending the majority of this evening debating about children. Uvo pushes the irritation simmering in his mind away. “You trust me, don’t you?” “That’s a dumb question Uvo” you finally peek up at his enormous figure, the scoff you had intended to let out, dying in your throat. Something Is brewing in his mind. He was never one to school his features, to hide the emotions he felt about truly anything. You're met with a glare, something akin to a smirk as well if it weren’t on Uvo’s menacing face. On him it looked more like a grimace “Then humor me.” His jaw is set tight as he lowers his head to speak directly into your ear “Do you trust me?” His lips brush against your neck, raising goosebumps in their wake and you can’t help the whimper that escapes you. This wasn't at all what you were expecting. You can’t help but to close your eyes and lean into his touch, and you can’t help but to acknowledge how warm his lips are when they finally press against your own. You know in part it’s the alcohol lowering your inhibitions and making you less inclined to think of the repercussions of kissing your long time friend. You know under normal circumstances you’d never be so brazen as to make out like a teenager in a packed bar full of scoundrels. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you don’t care. You want this. His hands snake around your waist, a low chuckle rumbling his chest at the startled way you jump when he finally pulls you onto his lap. “You gunna answer me sweetheart?” Uvo whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and you instinctively try to wrap your arms up to loop around his neck, pouting when you realize he’s far too tall As if reading your mind, he pulls you up further along the expanse of his chest until your arms can finally settle around his neck, grinning at your content smile. “I do, Uvo, you know that.” There’s a pause, a beat in which he uses the silence in his favor to pull back and ask “Hm.. do I?” with a wry smirk on his face. Of course, You nod ‘yes’ and you're rewarded with his nose brushing against the hollow of your throat, taking a deep inhale there before asking “what do I know?” The edge of the bar is digging into your back as Uvo presses himself around you. The smell of pine and a hint of his sweat all-encompassing until it feels like you’re breathing him in. Breathily, you answer him “I trust you Uv-“ Before you can finish his mouth is on yours again, nudging against yours so excitedly that your head is forced backwards. ”Good girl” its grunted out in between kisses, and in no time his tongue is invading your mouth, clouding your senses in a way that could never compare to the alcohol in your veins. When you let out a whine at his praise, at his hands, his mouth, his scent surrounding you, the bartender finally decides he’s had enough “Hey! Hate to break it to you both, but people are paying for drinks not a show” Uvo only growls, eyes still closed he parts from you to growl out a “Fuck off” before moving to place open mouthed kisses along your jaw. “C-can we leave, Uvo? ” its whisper quiet, but he still understand the message loud and clear. “Sure, doll.” He smiles, easily lifting you up as he rises to leave.

--

How easily he could break you. Hurt you in ways that are unthinkable, but the concept of that alone shakes him to his very core. He’s wanted this for so long, has had to deal with a deep ache in his chest at even the mere thought of you being so far away from him when he’d gone on missions with the troupe. When he rips your bottoms off, all you manage to do is whine and shyly try to cover yourself underneath him. With a gruff “stop” he pushes your hands to the side to finally see what he’s wanted for so long. You beneath him, desperate for him and him alone. His smile is almost manic as his hands roam your body. Uvos never had to have patience, has always taken what he wanted regardless of anything else. But your lust filled gaze, your body so warm underneath his wide palms is enough proof that this was worth waiting for. And god, does he want to take his time with you. Wants to taste and savor every little moan you give to him, but he’s a man on a mission. So, he hopes that he’s worked you up enough at the bar and the way back to make this go smoothly. with little effort he flips you onto your stomach, grabbing harshly at your hips before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. Soft and tight, he fucks into you like it’s his duty. Hips coming to slam against your ass with so much vigor, if it weren’t for his hands gripping your soft flesh he would’ve pounded you into the mattress a long time ago.

He lets out a low growl as he pictures you swollen, your hands rubbing over your pregnant stomach, it isn’t a want at this point. It’s a desperate need that punches the air out of his lungs with every mental image. Uvo lets out a groan as he takes time to truly think about it, to savor the idea of claiming you, even if it isn’t something you truly wanted. Even if it was never your intention to be with him, this rough coupling only sourced from your lowered inhibitions due to the alcohol. He pictures you being filled by someone other than him. Someone claiming you for the rest of your life when it was obvious that you belonged to him. The thought alone so maddening that he almost doesn’t hear the high-pitched yip that you let out. His grip on you had become a little too strong, a little too painful. Cooing, Uvo wraps an arm around your middle, slowing his pace down a bit as his other hand comes to pull you to his chest by your throat. Your body knocks against him a little harder than he intended, but the mewl that you reward him with at the change in position is enough to clear his mind from any troubled thoughts. It’s delicious, the sweat that beads down the column of your throat, so enticing that Uvo has half a mind to bite down. His only distraction being the little soft sighs and whimpers and chants of his name falling from your lips as he rubs against that spot inside of you. Its unintentional, the onslaught of stimulation he so dutifully sends you with every sharp press of his body to yours. His cock so big that he has no choice but to rub against every part of you. To fill you so completely that you can only think of him. “You trust me?” he asks again, teeth nipping the soft skin of your neck. He was trying to hold back, truly he was, but the prospect of marking up what was rightfully his was becoming a little too enticing. You release a series of whines, too fucked out to even begin to form a proper sentence. Uvo laughs at that. Something carefree and gentle, unlike the way he’s still holding you to his chest by the tight grip on your throat. “C’mon little one,” he urges, free hand coming down to settle on your clit. “Tell me you trust me so I can give you what you want, hm?” And with the words numbly falling from your spit slick lips Uvo gives in to the urge to breed your sopping pussy completely. To fuck and fill and keep until the day he fucking dies. With a euphoric laugh his hips once again move against you, your cries falling on deaf ears at the brutal new pace he’s set for you. Its dizzying, maddening, so fucking disorienting you don’t comprehend the sound of your own voice as the orgasm that rips from your body catches in your throat. You thrash against his iron hold, eyes rolled into the back of your skull as Uvo’s pace doesn’t falter. “You cryin for me sweetheart?” he asks incredulously. Surely you couldn’t be overwhelmed after cumming just once, right? In all honesty, he doesn’t know, but he hushes you with a kiss to the forehead, grunting out an “It’s alright” before slowly maneuvering your body down to the bed again, strong hands ensnaring your waist and holding your pliant body against his hips. Too tired to even pretend to hold yourself up any longer, he takes joy in the knowledge that this fuck will be the one that binds you to him forever. It should be downright infuriating how quickly he cums just after you. His hips stutter of their own accord, hulking body dropping to cover yours completely, he finally gives in to the urge to sink his teeth down. Your body jolts, a cry falling from your lips as Uvo mars the flesh of your shoulder, drawing blood that mixes with his spit to form a pink hue that drips down onto the bedsheets. Its enough to make his entire body tense in pleasure, wave after wave of pure bliss rocking through him as he releases inside of you. If he wasn't so drunk off of the feeling, he’d probably chuckle at the way your little body squirms beneath him, as if trying to simultaneously get away from the feeling and scoot your weakened form closer. But he can't. all he can do is focus on not crushing you as he ever so gently rolls onto his side, making sure to keep himself pressed snugly inside of you. His hand idly travels down your side, lost in the feeling of your soft skin underneath his coarse palm. The contrast is enough to make you shiver, whining his name as he gently fondles the plump flesh of your ass. Its enough to remind you of his cock still buried deep within you, its girth the only thing holding back the fluids that surely aren’t supposed to be inside. You try to scoot away, a slurred “Gotta clean up” ungracefully leaving your mouth, but Uvo doesn’t allow it. His arm is still wrapped snugly around your middle, and there’s no give as you try to wriggle out of his hold. he offers no reasoning, just a gruff “lay back down.” And you do. You do because the heat of his body curled around you is too enticing. The feeling of his lips pressed softly against the top of your head, and the even breaths that escape his throat are, ultimately, too comforting to leave. With a sigh you listen, relaxing into Uvo’s warm chest even further.

[schtewpidcupid]

tw: knifeplay, mentions of murder, bloodplay if you squint very hard.

slasher whitney / fpc.....

It was foolish to be in the woods past sunset. You knew that, and usually you would’ve avoided it at all costs - the danger was too great.

But, despite being tired from a late night of studying and a busy school day, and knowing you had plans that evening, when some of your classmates suggested going to the lake you’d readily agreed. It seemed fun and, as of late, large group outings were becoming more common. There was safety in numbers, after all. You’d all stuck close together through the woods, until you got to the relative safety of the lakeside, where everyone had separated into their little cliques or grouped up to play an impromptu football match. You had elected to lounge around near a few students you recognised from your English class, laying back and basking in the late-afternoon sun while you listened to them gossiping. You swore you were only resting your eyes.

When you woke up, it was still, and quiet, and a cold breeze was drawing in from the lake. You’d fallen asleep. That, on its own, wasn’t an issue. The issue arose from the fact that everyone had apparently pissed off home and not thought to wake you to come with them, instead leaving you alone on the shore. 

Walking home through the woods in this town was dangerous at the best of times, what with all the creatures and the human creeps and the bizarre flora. Lately, however, there had been a particular fixation on not being out alone, especially at night - there was a killer on the loose. Even in this town, with its high crime rate and lack of moral decency, it was rare for anyone to be out-and-out murdered: attacks, yes; disappearances, yes; but murder? That was unusual, and the brutality of the crimes was enough to shock even the most cynical locals. The fact that your classmates had forgotten you wasn’t just rude or inconvenient; it was dangerous - more dangerous than any trip through the forest.

You were about fifteen minutes through your journey, alternating between short bursts of jogging and carefully picking your way through the foliage in an attempt to remain undetected, when you felt that you were being watched. That was the issue with sticking to the more well-worn trails, you supposed - there was always some pervert, lurking, waiting to catch someone unawares and take advantage. With a sigh, far too used to this kind of shit, you ducked off the trail and back into the trees, trying to make your way through and relying on the dying embers of late-evening light to guide you. 

It was less than a minute later, already far off the trail, when you were startled by a noise. A dull, heavy thump from behind you. 

Your breath quickened and your jaw set, a meagre attempt to calm yourself, before you took a look over your shoulder and almost immediately started sprinting away, before you could even fully register the figure you saw. Tall and somewhat broad, clad in all black, red horns rising out from beneath a hood, face obscured in shadow - a cricket bat, held loosely in one hand, tapping against the trunk of a tree. 

You run for so long that you can feel your lungs start to burn, heart hammering so hard in your chest that you swear it's going to break through your sternum, your legs aching as you run despite the way you are trembling. You're no closer to town and, in your panic, you realise you must have gotten lost, may even be running deeper into the woods, further away from whatever semblance of safety the dimly lit streets offer. Then, before you realise what is happening, your foot catches on something and you're tumbling, falling, arms out to lessen the impact, thorns and branches cutting into your palms. You try to scramble to your feet but whatever spell had been keeping you going has broken, and you just fall forward again, stumbling, no longer able to get yourself upright. Half-crawling, you try to get behind a tree - despite the dense forest, the thick foliage and the gloom, you've never felt so exposed as you do right now, crouched in your little hiding spot. 'At least,' you think 'I can't hear anything chasing me.'

Then the figure steps out from behind the tree, and-- you've been on your knees enough times to recognise the scuffed, steel-toed workmans boots that Whitney seems to always wear. You feel a flood of relief as you stare at the black leather and maroon stitching, and it must be plain on your face; Whitney huffs out a laugh. 

"Hello, sweetheart," you look up in time to see him throw his hood back and raise his red demon mask, and he grins down at you. "Funny seeing you here."

The cricket bat clatters to the ground, both of his hands grabbing your arms and hauling you back on to your feet before backing you roughly up against the tree. 

"Whitney," you whine. He buries his face in your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse. His mask is still perched atop his head, the hard plastic line of its sculpted lips brush against your jaw. "Whitney, you scared me."

You can feel him laugh as much as you can hear him; the shake of his shoulders, the exhale of his breath against your throat. 

"Sorry, slut," His voice almost sounds genuinely plaintive, "Wasn't expecting to see you so soon. Thought I'd mess with you a bit. Didn't expect you to bolt like that, though. You almost got away," his gloved hands trail down to your waist, the thick leather heavy against your skin through your school shirt, "but I caught you in the end."

Your trembling legs finally give out and you slump back against the tree, arms winding around Whitney's neck to keep yourself upright. He raises his head, fixing you with a predatory grin; he runs his tongue over his teeth and you can see his tongue stud glinting even in the half-light. 

"What am I going to do with you, eh?" One hand draws away from your waist and you whine in protest. The other hand shoves you up against the tree again, with enough force that your arms unlink from around his neck; he takes a half-step back and your hands come to rest pathetically on his shoulders while he regards you with a smirk. You think that this is the longest you've ever been fully clothed when alone with him, yet you feel just as exposed as you would if you were naked. 

It's only when his hand leaves his pocket that you realise it had even been there, that he'd been looking for something in there after he drew his hand away from you. And, evidently, from the object clutched in his hand, he found it. 

A knife. 

He must have seen the brief flash of panic in your widened eyes because he barks out a laugh as he brings the blade to the soft flesh of your thigh, cold metal tracing its way under the hem of your school skirt. 

"Maybe I should start letting you wear underwear again," he says absently, the tip of the knife creeping higher and higher up your inner thigh, "I'd love to cut them off you. Bet it'd be really hot." Your breath hitches at the thought, fingers gripping the epaulettes of his black leather jacket. 

When you feel the knife trace over the slit of your cunt, light as a feather but still cold and sharp enough to make you jolt, you moan out his name, whining with each subsequent pass of the metal against your slick core. He hums in response, eyes flicking up from where he was staring at his hand under your skirt. With a laugh, he brings his free hand up to your face, pushing two gloved fingers into your whimpering mouth. You can taste a tang of iron on the rough leather as you eagerly suck on them, your eyes slipping closed. 

"I've trained you well, haven't I? You're so desperate for me to fuck your mouth," His own mouth is parted and he stares at you almost reverently, watching you moan around his fingers in response. The hand between your legs pulls back, and though the knife had barely touched you, you immediately miss the thrill of the cold metal against your sensitive pussy. He brings the knife up so you can see it, your arousal coating the blade as it glints in the fading light - you aren't sure if your hazy eyes deceive you, but you swear you can see something red pooled around the hilt. Whitney stares into your eyes with a lustful intensity as he brings the blade to his mouth, the flat of his tongue slowly licking your slick from the metal. Your legs buckle, empty cunt clenching around nothing. It's too much, all the teasing and the adrenaline. You're aching for him to fuck you. 

"Good girl," he says, pulling the knife from his mouth and tucking it away in his pocket. He removes his fingers from your mouth, tracing them down your chin and leaving a trail of saliva. You probably look like a complete mess right now. 

"I'll give you a five minute head-start," he says, and you nod.

"Don't make it so easy for me this time, okay slut?"

He steps back and, through the haze of your arousal, you try and run.

[loverspersonas]

the most beautiful moment in life | viii

pairing: ot7? x reader

genre: hyyh au, high school au, angst, drama, fluff, smut?

length: 5.5k

summary: Eight strangers with different stories happen to meet one day, by fate or some kind of cruel, exquisite happenstance, and realize that they’re not as different as they thought.

a/n: i realize i’m updating really slowly and the reason for that is online school which is taking up pretty much all my time BUT it hasn’t stopped me from writing at all. i actually have many different scenes written already, they’re just not in order, so i have to kind of make myself write the scenes that are happening first before any of those, which is hard sometimes cause i have so many ideas :) 

i realize that the pace of the fic is also kind of slow and that’s because i don’t want to have such a big overarching plot (like some kind of mystery to solve or a big villain) but rather small subplots happening at the same time. it feels easier to me to develop characters and relationships and i get to include a lot of different plot ideas that way (and there is so much happening in hyyh). it’s also hard writing this cause the bangtan universe is really complicated when you think too much about it, and we don’t even know everything about it, so i have to work with what we have and what i know. 

so thank you guys for liking what i’m writing! i hope i can do the hyyh era some (even if it’s the tiniest amount) justice, and i hope you guys enjoy it too. and if you have feedback or ideas, i’d love to hear it!

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Remembering details from a dream was a lot harder than a nightmare. Nightmares had you waking up in a cold sweat, sometimes plaguing your mind throughout the day if they were intense enough. Dreams, however, were only alive while you were asleep, and then they slipped away from your mind like they never even happened.

For the past few weeks, you’d been getting dreams that you could mostly or somewhat recall more often. Vague, obscure scenes or flashes that changed sporadically because even in your dream state, you had no control over your mind.

But you noticed that they tended to involve people in your life. Your mother, Sana, your old friends, and the seven boys you’d unconsciously formed a friendship with over the past month. Of course, it didn’t have to mean anything. But some of them strangely stood out more than others. 

One time, you saw Namjoon standing in a dark area with a single white light illuminating his silhouette from above, and a cigarette slipping from between his fingers. Another time, there was Hoseok at what looked like a train station. He was walking along the train tracks at night like he couldn’t see you watching him. And then, there was a scene of Jungkook walking on to the road, changing almost immediately before a car swerved right into him. That was one thing you couldn’t forget. Because you remembered it had been you driving that car.

“Y/N?”

The voice of the exact boy you were thinking of broke through your string of thoughts. When you looked up, you suddenly remembered where you were. 

There were a lot of nice vast areas of green fields that belonged to the Academy. With iron benches and tables and the smell of oak trees, it was an ideal setting for many fundraisers, picnics and outdoor events. You were currently sitting cross legged on top of one of those gray metal tables right beside a tall tree that cast a shade over you and the seven others sitting around you. Judging by the way some of them were looking at you, you must’ve missed something in the conversation.

“Hmm?” you asked, glancing at Jungkook who was sitting beside you, also on top of the table.

“See, I told you she wasn’t listening,” Taehyung said to the two taller boys on either side of him. “Face it, Namjoon. The books were boring.”

While Seokjin seemed thoroughly amused, Namjoon’s expression was just the slightest bit annoyed, so you could tell this argument might have been going on for a while. But his patience with Taehyung and the some of the other boys was astounding to you.

On the opposite side of the bench, Yoongi was sitting with Jimin and Hoseok, and quirked a brow in Taehyung’s way. “You literally said that you watched the Lord of the Rings a month ago.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So?” Namjoon repeated, and the tick in his jaw represented the snapping of his patience. “They have the exact same plot!”

You found yourself drifting from the rest of the conversation again, as some of the other boys began to chime in. On your lap was a notebook you realized you’d been scribbling in with a pencil while the others had been talking. It was hard to decide which was more concerning— the fact that you’d so effectively tuned out the boys, or that you were only vaguely aware that you’d been drawing at the same time.

You felt someone studying you in your peripheral vision. Jungkook decided to finally nudge you. “Not interested in fantasy novel series?”

“No, I—just spaced out for a second,” you answered lamely.

His earlier grin morphed into a slight frown. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? “Yeah.”

His gaze dropped to your open book, widening a little in mild surprise. “I thought you said you couldn’t draw.”

“I don’t. Art class was an ironic choice that way.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin said as he leaned over Jungkook to get a better look. Slowly, the others turned their attention towards you too. “This is pretty good.”

Hoseok, who was one of the ones in closest proximity to you, stretched out his hand so you could pass him the book. “Woah.” He went through a few various facial expressions, a lot of them where he scrunched up his eyebrows. “What’s the inspiration behind that?”

“Probably not those dry as hell books,” Taehyung retorted.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate to shove the loud mouthed boy off of the bench, earning more than a few laughs from everyone. Taehyung shot him a glare with an offended hey! 

“Nothing,” you answered him. “I just got distracted.”

The notebook was now in Namjoon’s hand and his expression was contemplative as he fixated his eyes onto the page. “You got distracted and absentmindedly drew this? With no idea in your head?”

“I had a dream.” You gave a shrug, stealing a few potato chips from Jungkook’s snack. “So, I drew it.”

“A dream like this?”

You looked back at him, trying not to frown. “Why, is it that weird?”

“Not weird,” he assured. “Just… a little unusual. I’ve never met anyone our age who would come up with stuff like this from their subconscious.”

“Who’s the boy supposed to be?” Yoongi asked after the book got rotated to him.

“I don’t know,” you answered. There hadn’t been a real chance to glimpse the boy from that scene. All you remembered was the black hair and the white shirt he was wearing as he stood looking out the only window in a plain room with only a mattress and white flower petals scattered on the floor. “Some random guy, I guess.”

“Everyone we see in our dreams are people we’ve seen at some point in our lives,” Namjoon said.

You gave this a considerative hum. Though you knew maybe thirty people who could fit in that description. “Well, I don’t remember then.”

“Let me see,” Seokjin said, taking the book in his hand. A moment later, his face morphed into something you couldn’t quite decipher. But it was like for that moment, he had understood something without realizing it.

“Why the hell are so many people out here at this time?” Jimin spoke up as a few students or groups of them began to appear on the field or pathway, spilling out from the building. “This is when it’s supposed to be the quietest here. I was looking forward to not seeing… pretty much everyone.”

“It’s not like we own this place,” Jungkook reminded him.

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as the bright young things don’t show up…“

And just like on cue, the group of cheerleaders and jocks were walking on the opposite side of the field. You didn’t let your attention linger on the old group of friends you didn’t want anything to do with anymore. But as you glanced away, Yoongi caught your eyes as though he knew what you were thinking.

“Way to go, Jimin,” Hoseok said, giving the boy a light shove. “You just manifested it.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat. “Seeing them this early in the day is really bad for my digestion.”

“Who told you to shove two chocolate muffins down your throat?” Yoongi said to him, referring to the now empty plastic container sitting beside you. You’d made a large quantity of them the other day and after recalling how Hoseok had liked your baking—and all his following requests over texts to make more— maybe the others would like something too. 

The younger boy didn’t acknowledge the harmless judging tone he’d used. “My inner subconscious, which by the way, I have no regrets about.”

“It’s great how you can say that so confidently about something in your life,” Namjoon said with slight skeptical wonder.

“Y/N made those muffins for us with all her heart and soul—“

“Actually, it was just flour and sugar...” you mumbled though your voice was mostly lost under theirs.

“I was just displaying my gratitude,” Taehyung said finally.

“The muffins were actually really good,” Seokjin said to you as he closed the sketchbook and handed it back to you. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Y/N’s a good baker,” Hoseok affirmed before looking at you. “How long did you say you’ve been at it for?”

“Not that long.” You twisted your dyed blonde hair into a bun and slid the pencil you’d been drawing with through it to hold it in place. “I just picked it up this year.”

Taehyung looked at you with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to annoy you enough at work to get stuff for free.”

You returned it with an exaggerated smile. “You come to work during my shift, I’ll have security ask you to leave for harassment.”

His mouth fell open. “B-but I’ll tip!”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “You’re ridiculous.”

With his arms folded over his chest, he glanced around sombrely. “This is how brittle friendship is, I guess. Like a dark chocolate bar.” 

Namjoon, hiding his amusement with an arched brow, said, “Taehyung, remind me to never ask you for poetry recommendations.”

“Hey.”

Everyone seemed to fall into a silence, realizing that voice didn’t belong to any of you. They turned their heads towards the new arrival, but you didn’t have to look to know who’d approached the table. At first, you thought you could get away without saying anything, but the rest of the boys were casting imperceivable glances in your direction. Finally, one of the others did what you didn’t want to.

“Hi,” Namjoon said to the boy who’d once been the closest to you.

Min-hyuk stood there, as though expecting you to eventually say something to him. Then he looked around the group, smiling his friendly, star quarterback smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Min-hyuk.”

“We know who you are,” Yoongi said, the cold undertones in his voice not going unheard by anyone. Leave it to him to keep things harsh but real.

Min-hyuk, probably not used to hearing that kind of tone with that sentence, stared at the boy, a little dumbfounded. “Oh…”

Namjoon—you reminded yourself to tell the guy what a blessing he was— stepped in again. It was probably good that it was him who was leading the conversation. You’d learned by now that none of the others were quite as sensible and level headed when they needed to be. “What he means is, do you need something?”

“Can we talk, Y/N?” Min-hyuk asked finally, the question you’d been dreading, because now it was explicitly directed at you.

You held back a defeated sigh and said, “I have class in a few—“

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

He seemed to be somewhat satisfied when you looked up at him and nodded just imperceptibly. He started to move away from the table, and you made a move to follow when a hand gently closed around your wrist.

“You know, you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Jungkook said quietly but firmly. His eyes held something like concern, and gazing around the table, the others wore similar expressions.

“Yeah,” you said. “But he won’t stop until I do.”

Jungkook released his hand from yours, watching as you got up and walked over to where Min-hyuk was waiting.

You put your hands in your pockets, right away saying, “Let’s get right to point this time, shall we?”

“I left you a note the other day,” he said, not happy with your attitude, but not able to say anything to it either. “You didn’t reply.”

“That was you?” you asked, dumbly. “I didn’t realize.”

“Come on, Y/N. Who else would write you that?” He paused. “My mother said she saw you at the hospital yesterday. Is everything okay?”

You didn’t meet his gaze, instead mostly looking at the ground. If your eyes drifted around too much, you were afraid to see that other students were watching you like a movie scene. You knew that the seven boys you’d just left were certainly doing that. “Uh huh,” you answered, without any emotion.

Min-hyuk held back an impatient noise. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I just want to know you’re doing fine.”

This time, you did look up to meet his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” He was partly taken aback with surprise at your response. “We might not be together anymore, but it’s not like I just don’t care all of a sudden.”

“You didn’t care before.”

He stared at your expression, like he was wondering if you meant it. “Do you really think that?“

“You were never on my side.”

“What?”

Before, this would’ve been hard for you to talk about, because you’d only ever avoided it. To think about it would make you think about all the times you knew you should’ve walked away, the times that you stood there and just took everything when you knew you deserved better than that. But maybe it was time to rip the bandaid off. How long were you going to go back and forth like this? How long was he going to try to hold on to you when you wanted out?

“You wanted to know where it all went wrong,” you spoke. “How about when you stood there and let everyone, even our own friends, say all those things about me. And when I asked you to trust me, you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t that simple.” He shook his head. At least he had the decency to look apologetic, to sound like he meant what he thought. “I–I wanted to trust you—“

“I think I see it now.” It was taking a lot of courage for you to finally say what you needed to say, and now that you finally found it, you didn’t even care that other people were watching or listening. “We were both so good at acting like everything about us was perfect. And as soon as I stopped, things changed. The difference between us is that one of us still pretending.”

“Min-hyuk!” One of his friends from the football team—one of your former ones— came up beside him, tapping his shoulder. He looked at you with the kind of friendliness that was reserved for any random student in the hallway. “Hi, Y/N. What are you guys talking about?”

Min-hyuk seemed to have nothing to say, his gaze on you fixed, but his mind on the words you’d spoken. You were glad you had the ability to leave him speechless, to see him actually opening his eyes to a world outside that bubble he lived in. The bubble that you’d also been a part of, but were now glad to have found a way out.

“Well,” you said to both of them. “I have class now.”

With your bag over your shoulder, you turned and headed for the building without paying attention to any of the stares that followed you.

By the end of the day, that courage and energy that had allowed you to speak up to Min-hyuk had dissipated. Hopefully, he wouldn’t approach you again any time soon. Was it asking too much to not be approached by anyone else at all?

Now, you were standing in front of the doors to the pool once again, looking inside, but not having the courage to go in. It was almost a metaphor for your life. You were standing on the outside of a part of your life from the past, not being able to actually go in and see it properly.

Yoongi’s figure materialized next to you, not saying anything at first as though he could tell you were deep in thought. So, you broke the silence first and asked, “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” he answered. “Guess which asshole of a teacher decided to assign us a 10 page paper due in less than a week?”

Glancing sideways at him, you grinned. “The one who probably has hypertension from having to teach you?”

He shot you a dry look, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little like he was also holding back a grin of his own. “You’re hilarious, princess. But also probably right.” He noticed your attention on the pool on the opposite of the doors. "What, are you not allowed to go in or something? Weren’t you on the swim team at some point?”

Instead of answering, you turned away from the doors and started walking down the hallway. “Weren’t you on the basketball team?”

As Yoongi walked alongside you, subtle surprise appeared on his face. “It’s been a while since anyone’s asked me that.”

“You were captain of the team too, right?” you asked. “That’s how I knew you.”

Something else flickered across his face, though you didn’t know what it was. To you, it was probably the face you wore when you were briefly and vaguely recalling something in your mind.  “Well, it’s always nice to hear that my reputation precedes me. And not just as a gothic, underground rapper.” He ignored your subtle roll of eyes. “I played shooting guard actually.”

You hummed, remembering all the basketball games you attended in the gymnasium with your old friends. As part of the cheerleading team, you’d had an obligation to be there, but some of the games actually got interesting to watch. The first time you’d noticed Yoongi was when one time you’d been running late and had been trying to not fall behind the rest of the team. You remembered dropping one of your pompoms while trying to tie your hair up, and in passing, he’d picked up and handed it to you. You didn’t think he remembered it, and maybe it was a little embarrassing that you did. 

“You were good too.” You stopped near the front doors, most of the students walking around you with no interest since it was the end of the school day. Yoongi shot you a slightly puzzled look. “I was a cheerleader, remember? I’ve been to a bunch of games.”

“I remember,” he said after a moment, and it didn’t sound like something you’d say to someone just to blindly agree with them, so that was why you ended up meeting his gaze. There was something underneath those deep gray eyes that you didn’t really understand, but somehow, still found it startling to hold eye contact.

You half forced a chuckle to move the attention away from you. “Besides, it’s kind of hard to miss the only guy on the team with dyed blonde hair.”

He chuckled. “I almost forgot about that.”

“How could you forget? You were literally my inspiration,” you said, gesturing to your own bleached hair. When he threw you a dubious side eye, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Surely, that would’ve tricked one of the other boys. “Alright, fine, you didn’t. You know, I definitely do not miss the 5 hour practices, or the tiny uniforms or Yuna screaming at some younger, clueless girl to stop slacking.”

“But the outfits were so cute,” Yoongi teased, and though you were glad the topic changed, you shot him an unamused glance. “It was a joke. On a related note… what did the ex-boyfriend want earlier?”

You arched a brow and held back an amused grin. “You can say his name, you know.”

“Yeah, but that would give him too much significance. Unnamed means unimportant.”

You hummed in agreement. “Nothing really.”

“Is that why you ditched us afterwards without so much as a word?” he asked skeptically.

You tried not to sound irritated about it, but you’d hoped you could make it through the day without having to talk about it. “I ditched you, because I wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated about it.”

“How quickly you assume we would interrogate you.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Fine,” he grumbled after some seconds. “At least 3/7ths of us might. Can you really blame us for being curious? It looked kind of intense.”

Folding your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a grin forming on your lips. “Remember how you said you didn’t care? Well, it’s starting to sound a little like you do.”

He scoffed. “Please. You mistake my blind curiosity for something it isn’t.” He watched you a little longer as you shrugged before saying, “Remember when you said I was good at deflecting? You’re not so bad at it yourself.”

A part of you thought that this was a good time as any to actually talk about it. About how you’d cut things off with Yuna and Min-hyuk, and why you’d wanted to. By now, you felt like you could tell any of the seven boys and they’d listen—actually listen—and Yoongi, despite coming off as aloof and indifferent, wouldn’t judge you or anything. But this recent bond with them felt like a new and good thing, and you just didn’t want to jeopardize it, like you did with most things.

"Do you a need ride home?” Yoongi asked when he realized you were too deep in your head to say anything else about it. “I’m giving Jungkook one too, so I can drop you off after.”

“You go ahead,” you answered. “I have some stuff to do first.”

At first, he seemed almost reluctant to leave you alone, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t insist or comment on it. It would contradict his indifference to most things. Only after he left did you turn and start aimlessly walking down the other side of the hallway. It wasn’t like you had anything to do. You just weren’t sure if you wanted to be around anyone with curiosity like Yoongi’s lingering above your head. Talking about yourself and your personal life was never fun.

Eventually, you ran into another familiar face. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Namjoon said as he approached you in the hall.

“If this is about this morning, I’d rather not talk about it,” you decided to say immediately because if anyone could get answers from you by asking the right questions, it was probably Namjoon.

Fortunately for you, Namjoon could’ve read that from a mile away and wasn’t one to pry. He nodded in understanding. “I figured as much. Oh, hold on a second.” From his backpack, he drew out some loose papers tucked into a notebook. “I went through some of these to find whatever was legible enough.”

You scanned the writing briefly. “Your English notes?”

“Yeah, I remember you said the last class went over your head.” 

“I just don’t understand why it’s bought and not buyed, but it’s walk and walked? Like why can’t they can’t follow the same rule for every past tense conjugation?” you complained, but still a little touched that he remembered something you’d probably said in passing. “But thanks.”

“Also, if you see Taehyung, can you let him know I can’t walk home with him today?”

You nodded. “Sure. Staying back for extra work?”

“No, I—I have a shift today.”

You wondered why he sounded reluctant to answer. “Where do you work?”

“It’s a library,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s on the other side of the city, so I like to leave a little earlier.”

You shot him an amused grin. “Were there no libraries nearby hiring? Because I know if they saw your GPA, they would not hesitate.”

“Uh, this one has a nicer collection.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding not to question his responses since he hadn’t questioned you. But for some reason, it felt like he was trying to hide something. “See you tomorrow then.”

Smiling, he said, “Thanks, Y/N.”

As he walked away, you had to stop the curiosity from getting to you. It truly was an ordeal to be so curious and not want to intrude upon things that didn’t concern you. You had to remind yourself that it was better that information came to you at the right time rather than forcing it. At first, the reminder was about other people, but sometimes, you thought it was also about yourself.

After exiting through the west doors, you noticed Taehyung at the bottom of the staircase right outside the building. He was leaning against the railing, hood over his head and concentrated on whatever game he was playing on his phone. You slowed your steps, approaching the stairs. “You’re still here.”

Taehyung glanced up at you, slipping his phone into his pocket as you came towards him.  “Waiting for Namjoon. The kid’s a genius, but his punctuality could use a little improvement.”

You quirked a brow. “Kid? He’s older than you.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he said pointedly, “And I’m older than you. So how about you don’t question me?”

You had to bite back a smile at his antics. It was hard to believe sometimes that most of these boys were older than you. “He told me to tell you he has work today, so he can’t make it.”

He let out a loud and dramatic groan, practically cringing at himself. “For real? I probably look like some idiot, waiting on the stairs for his even more of an idiot boyfriend.”

You shrugged, not hiding the smile this time. “Just a little.”

He looked back at you. “How are you getting home? I’ll walk with you.”

He already started walking, expecting you to follow, so you didn’t get a chance to reply. With a defeated sigh, you decided to go after him.

Your first mistake was choosing to walk all the way home instead of taking the bus. Your second mistake was letting Taehyung take the lead, because that boy looked like he’d never had a plan a day in his life. While you somewhat admired the spontaneity, you were used to routine or a plan of some kind. Although you did suppose that this year, everything that had happened, and was happening now, was not planned at all.

“I’ve never gone this way before.” 

The buildings were older and a bit worn away, but almost in an intentional manner, posters and signs on the gray brick walls. You passed several small shops and restaurants and cafes that despite appearing quaint seemed very cute. The people that walked by were all in their own worlds, not so much as glancing at you or anyone near them. It was something like a secret tourist spot or a hidden gem.

“Really?” Taehyung said. He walked on your right, but a little ahead. You wanted to say it was because he was leading the way, but that presumed he knew where he was going. “This street’s pretty cool. Hidden away from the centre, though, so you don’t really know about it until you come yourself.”

You removed your eyes from an old bookstore with a chalkboard sign outside. “You must do a lot of exploring, huh?”

“Whatever gets me out of the house.” He stopped walking abruptly. When you stopped to ask what was wrong, you saw a mischievous smile form on his face. “I just had a brilliant idea.”

“Why am I kind of doubtful?”

Despite the many, many questions you asked, Taehyung didn’t answer any of them. He could try and be mysterious if he wanted, but you wouldn’t buy it, was what you said to him. Instead, you waited outside while he went into a convenience store for a few minutes. You shouldn’t have been so surprised when he emerged with a plastic bag in hand, full of bottles of spray paint. You opened your mouth to ask what he was planning, but he just tugged on your arm and made you follow him around the corner.

The street you stopped at had to be somewhat of a visual arts scene, because you recalled passing arts and crafts places and small galleries, and the wall that stood in front of you now was a graffiti wall.

“This is so cool,” you said in awe, all thoughts of skepticism at Taehyung’s actions gone. Your gaze roamed over the various artwork and writing, painted on by different kinds of paint and people and minds. It was like an anonymous outlet for creativity and self expression, something like in the olden days when things like freedom of expression was outlawed, so people had to get creative around it.

“I love all kinds of art,” Taehyung said, dropping his backpack and crouching near the ground. “But graffiti has become more interesting recently. Here.”

You looked to see that he was holding out a can of spray paint for you. “This is vandalizing.”

He half scoffed, half laughed. “This is an artistic statement.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Taehyung.”

“Relax, Y/N.” He placed the can in your hand himself after he decided that you wouldn’t take it, then took another out of the bag for himself. “I’ve done this billions of times. You won’t get caught.”

Despite yourself, there was an urge in you to just do it, get your hands a little messy. That was why you liked to bake after all, wasn’t it? That was why you chose art class. You could make a mess and make something good out of it. You could control something instead of being controlled. But turning back to the wall of art and messages and stories, you hesitated. “I can’t paint like this,” you tried lamely.

Taehyung shot you a look. “I saw your sketch today. It was far from shitty.” After a minute of waiting, he sighed. “Fine, I’ll go first.”

The way he walked up the an empty section of the wall with confidence, how he shook the paint can and effortlessly began to draw strokes in red paint told you that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d done this a lot. 

When he finished, he stepped back to where you stood, briefly appraising his work before saying, “Your turn. Don’t think too much. Just whatever’s on your mind, let it out.”

So, you found yourself closing your eyes briefly, and releasing a breath before stepping forward. You pushed on the paint can’s nozzle and let your mind take over for your hand and for a few minutes, all that was heard was the faint car engines in the distance and the spraying noise of the paint. Finally, you let your arm drop to see what you’d made. It was a pair of blue wings like a butterfly’s.

Taehyung studied the wall for a moment before humming, “Interesting.”

“By interesting, you mean awful.”

He shot you a look. “By interesting, I mean interesting. You and Namjoon might like to have second meanings to your sentences, but I’m a simple guy.”

“Uh huh.” You watched him move back to the wall and start painting something else. It was funny how before you’d known him, you had him pegged for some kind of reckless skater boy with a rebellious streak. He was actually more of an artsy boy with a rebellious streak. “I guess it would be easier if everyone wasn’t always pretending to be something they’re not.”

“Was Min-hyuk pretending to be a super nice guy again?” He only glanced over his shoulder at you when he didn’t get an answer. Of course this topic would’ve inevitable come up although you’d also assumed Taehyung would avoid uncomfortable conversations whenever he could. “None of those guys are all what they show. It’s good that you hit one of them. You might accidentally activate some part in the brain that knocks some sense into them.”

You nodded at this, slightly amused. “If that was how neurobiology worked.”

“Let’s experiment. Hit me over the head really hard and tomorrow, let’s see if I pass my math test.”

You were holding back a laugh when your gaze fell on part of his drawing. “Is that your signature?”

“Oh, that... it’s kind of like my alias,” Taehyung said almost like it was embarrassing for him to say. This must have been the first time he’d told someone about his side hobby. “For when I’m out painting.”

“For when you’re out vandalizing,” you remarked.

He mocked the face you’d made earlier and said, “They’re not mutually exclusive, Y/N.”

You let out a scoff, but couldn’t hide your amusement. “What does it mean? The V?”

“It’s short for Vante.”

You hummed. “Interesting.”

“You mean interesting good or interesting bad?”

“I mean interesting,” you said, deepening your voice a little to mock him.

The side of his mouth curved into a grin. “Touche.”

Returning your attention to the wall, your eyes began to study the various drawings, fleetingly going back to another wall and another drawing. “You haven’t seen anything like the hwa yang yeong hwa we saw before, have you?”

“No,” Taehyung answered, then gave it another thought. “Not that I’ve been to a lot of graffiti places outside of this area. But from where I have looked around, it’s made me think that maybe this... Smeraldo person isn’t a regular graffiti artist.”

“As in, this was just a one time thing for them?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess that means it’s not just graffiti we should be looking at,” you speculated. “It’s definitely a start but could be any art form.”

“Or maybe the art is just a way to get it out there.”

You frowned. “Meaning what? Someone’s trying to say something? To send a message?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible, yeah.”

His attention refocused on the drawing he’d started, but your mind began to run through possible explanations. What if somehow someone was trying to say something? More importantly, what if someone was trying to say something to you?

The sun was beginning to lower by the time you reached Taehyung’s place. You didn’t even realize the two of you had been out for a while with his detour idea. 

You tilted your head up to observe the apartment building complex. Since you’d never been to this part of the city before, you couldn’t say much about it. But by the oldness and the obvious low maintenance of the building, you guessed that the rent was affordable. Taehyung, like you, wasn’t one of the richer kids of the Academy. You supposed that the talent that had gotten him in was art related, if not painting specifically.

“Is this where you live?” you asked to break the silence.

“Yup,” Taehyung said, popping the sound at the end. “Home sweet…” He trailed off a little as his faraway gaze crossed the building, instead turning back to you. “Do you live close by? I can walk with you.”

You made a dubious face. “Are you sure you want to walk there and then all the way back?”

“Hey, I may be lazy, but I’m not that lazy.”

“I don’t need protecting, if that’s what you were going to say.”

He scoffed. “Obviously not. You broke a guy’s fucking jaw!”

“It wasn’t actually broken,” you muttered before shaking your head. “Wouldn’t you rather go home? Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

“No one’s waiting for me.” Before you could say anything, he waved it away, his long hair hiding the expression on his face you were trying to read. “It’s fine. Forget it.”

But he didn’t make a move to walk towards the complex’s stairs that led up to the first floor. Even as you stood there for another minute and he just stood with you, you realized he wasn’t about to head home regardless of if you left now or stayed. And for a moment, you wondered if this was what he had meant that day weeks ago. No one’s waiting for me. It was a thought that had held a place in your mind for a long time too.

It’s better not to force information you don’t even need to know, a voice in the back of your head reminded. Finally, you said, “Are you hungry? I could go for some coffee, and the Brew’s not far from here.”

Taehyung turned to look at you. If he was grateful for the chance to avoid going home, he didn’t show it. “Will you give me a discount?”

“If you stop talking, I’ll pay for your entire order.”

The carefree smile that stretched across his face as he started dragging you towards the next street was enough for you to know that he was, in fact, at least a little grateful.

chapter vii // chapter ix (coming soon)

[laudedliar]

Was looking for some fluff.  So I wrote it.

Fluffy wuffy was a mage

~~~~~~~~

Dorian sat watching the sun setting over the mountainous skyline.  It’s ray bright and yellow against the fading blue of the evening sky.  Dusky reds mingled with darkening purple which gave way to star dappled velvet black.  The air was cooling rapidly and it sent shivers prickling down his arms.  His breath curled in white tendrils in the cold mountain air.

Cold.  He hated the cold.  And yet, still, he was here.  In the Frostback Mountains, long after they had sealed the breach and sent the blighted ancient Magister to his crypt for the final time.  Adaar and Iron Bull had asked him to extend his stay afterward, even as he mentioned returning home to Tevinter.  So he had.  He’d extended it again.  And again.

Though why he felt compelled to remain was a mystery to him.  Other than the occasional dalliance into the wilderness to help some hapless soul or other, Dorian had no real ties to SkyHold.  And yet... He couldn’t seem to find it in him to leave.  Not yet.

“Are you not cold, Pavus?”  A warm voice asked, startling him from his musing.

“Commander.  I didn’t hear you approach.”  Dorian muttered, turning to blink widely at the blonde ex-Templar.

The man smiled softly at him.  An almost wistful look in his eyes that locked firmly with the mage’s own.  A look that piqued Dorian’s interest as much as it caused insecurities to wriggle within his chest.  Insecurities that feasted upon the withered heart he so carefully protected as fiercely as a dragon.

And yet those golden brown eyes that finally broke from his to look upon the darkening horizon had somehow caused a shudder to wrack the precarious foundation of self-assurance he’d been able to rely upon in recent years.

“Yes, I am cold.  Freezing, actually.  But I’ve found that if you stand in the cold before taking a bath it is so much more enjoyable.”  Dorian finally answered finally.

Cullen glanced at him from the corner of his eye.  Poised and regal looking in his armored overcoat, ubiquitous sword belted to his hip, palms resting on the plain leather bound brass pommel.  “My sister makes the same claim.  I find it makes the water feel too hot.”

“Says the man who slept with a hole in his roof for almost a year.”  Dorian quipped, smirking at the other.

“We were far too busy to spare anyone to fix it.”

The Tevinter’s eyes crinkled in amusement as he chuckled.  “Fereldans.  One step away from being Avvar barbarians.”

“We just run warmer than other’s.”  Cullen remarked, the last of the sun’s rays glinting golden off his hair.

“Speaking of warmth, I think I’m going to find that bath.”  He paused, eyes gazing over the Commander’s shadowed outline.  “You might consider one for yourself.  I can smell the rigors of your training circle from here.”

The blonde turned his gaze back to Dorian.  The air between them suddenly felt oddly heavy, weighted with an unidentified intensity.  A hum between them that heated the blood now pulsing quickly through every limb.

It reminded Dorian of when Cullen’s hand brushed his during their chess game a few days before, the Commander mumbling an apology as his cheeks turned red.  Or a few weeks prior when Dorian had walked into the other’s tower without knocking (honestly it had been well into the morning by then) and got a surprising eyeful of the blonde standing in nearly nothing while shaving.  Mind, Dorian had gone up the ladder even after Cullen had called that he would be down momentarily.  He had not shouted or balked at the sudden intrusion, instead only turned those calm brown eyes in the mage’s direction and mumbled a brief apology for his tardiness.

A strong, sword calloused hand reached up to rub at the warrior’s broad jaw line, scruffing along the rough, ever present stubble.  “I do need to shave as well.”  The blonde muttered, eyes losing focus as he looked over Dorian’s shoulder back towards the courtyard below them.

A still passed over the mage and he scrutinized the warrior for a moment before ever so softly suggesting: “I can help with that, if you like.”

Those honey-brown eyes sharpened and slipped back to Dorian’s face.  Even in the dark he could feel them scrutinizing every inch of his face.  He schooled his features even as his heart fluttered madly at the sheer audacity of his suggestion.

Altus Dorian Pavus shave Commander Cullen Rutherford?  Absurd.

And yet...  The very idea sent excitement skittering over his skin, warming him enough that he forgot all about the cold that bit at his fingers and toes.

“Could you?”  Cullen said thoughtfully.  “I wouldn’t want a ridiculous moustache.”  He warned, but it was tempered by the smile that stretched across his face.

“Never!  Only a man of class is capable of pulling off such a statement piece.”

One eyebrow rose as the other’s smile down turned.  “Well, as a man of taste, I have to respectfully disagree.”

Dorian’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open with a shocked gasp.  “Commander!  Your wicked tongue wounds me once again.”  He chuckled.  A shiver shook his whole frame.  “I don’t quite understand how cold can bite straight to the bone.”  He said as he turned to walk along the battlements and down the stairs towards the bathing rooms in the lower levels of the keep.  He barely heard the soft scrape of booted feet following behind him over the pounding of his heart.

The natural hot springs beneath the keep kept the bathing room warm and humid.  Tucked into a small side cove was a table with soap, towels, and baskets to carry any dirty clothing back to the laundry.  Dorian paused in front of a table beneath a small mirror, a well cared for (enchanted to ensure no rusting) set of shaving tools in a leather pouch, and a bowl of lathering soap and brush.  The communal bathing room was empty, and the soft splash of Cullen’s boots through the gathered puddles on the uneven stone floor echoed through the low domed chamber.

“Perhaps... Perhaps a bath first.”  He suggested, eyeing the tools laid neatly on the tables before turning to look at his companion.

The blonde suddenly looked lost, shifting foot to foot, eyes darting around the room to look at anything but Dorian.  The Tevinter watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously and nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps.”  Cullen answered softly.

Slowly, cautiously, Dorian began to unbuckle the straps on his top.  His eyes never left the other’s face, noting each small twitch along the stoic warrior’s facade, every brief glance at the mage and away.  It was thrilling.  Exciting to watch the color creep up Cullen’s neck and cheeks as he undressed in front of him.  Ever so carefully, Dorian let his shirt fall to a nearby empty basket before he began to work on the buttons of his pants.

Cullen swallowed again and stepped back.  “Maker’s breath.  I, uhm, actually remembered there are reports.  In the w-war room.  Yes, in the war room.  If you have time tom-morrow, I would be amenable-” The blonde stuttered and stumbled over his words, cheeks and ears redder than the rising sun.

“You smell.”  Dorian blurted out.

“Excuse me?”  Cullen asked, affronted.

“You, my dear Commander, stink.  I cannot allow you to wander these grand halls in your state.  Think of the scandal!  Nobles would flee every time you came into a room afterward.  Poor Lady Montilyet would be swamped with requests to have you scrubbed before every important meeting, to be perfumed in the heaviest scents available before your appearances.”  Dorian said dramatically.

Slowly Cullen’s lips quirked upwards and he snorted a soft laugh at the imagery.  “At least I won’t politely have to decline any more marriage proposals.”

“Ha!  You’d never get another proposal again.  Not after gracing the masses smelling akin to the back end of an ogre.”

One dark blonde eyebrow quirked up.  “I don’t smell that bad.”  Cullen groused.

“No, that was an overstatement.  But only by a small margin.”  Dorian smirked.

“I am rather tired, though.”  Cullen said wearily, eyes once more flickering along the mage’s exposed torso to his face.

“A bath would be helpfully relaxing then.”  He answered in turn.

Brown eyes darted away and a pink tongue traced along scarred lips as the warrior contemplated the deep pool of warm waters.  “I suppose you’re right.”  Fingers scarred from sword play slowly began to work free the latches and buckles along the heavy armor.

“Of course I’m right.”  Dorian said, a little breathier than he would have preferred.  He began to work the buttons on his pants once again, drawing golden eyes back to him with the motion.  His skin burned with pleasure as he noted the way Cullen’s eyes widened just slightly as he began to wiggle his pants down over his hips, sliding the leather garment down his thighs slowly.

A soft catch in the ex-Templar’s breath as he kicked the garment off and let it fall into the basket with his shirt excited Dorian in ways he hadn’t experienced in a very long time indeed.

“Do you need assistance?”  He asked, voice low and husky with unbidden emotion as he stepped forward towards the blonde completely bare.  Cullen’s throat flexed as he swallowed thickly once again, his back going rigid as the space between them was closed.

“I-” The blonde started, then paused as their eyes met.

“You?”

“Can manage.”  Cullen breathed out, so quietly the sound would have been lost had not Dorian been mere inches from him.

The atmosphere between the two swirled warm and electric.  And Dorian understood then so much more.  He suddenly could place the lingering gaze across the chess board, the gentle rumble of laughter at an inane comment, the grazing touch at the dining table.  He saw the meaning behind all those small moments.  How they built and coalesced into what now sat heavy between them, drawing them in with magnetic force.

“Wonderful.”  Dorian sighed and stepped away, moving over to the water of the pool.  He dipped a toe in to test the warmth before sliding in gracefully.  He could feel his counterpart’s eyes on him, even as he listened to the other’s armor being unbuckled and the clank of steel as it was set to the side.

He turned to look back, lowering himself into the water until it lapped along his collarbone and lounged as he watched Cullen pull his shirt over his head.  Revealing a thickly muscled torso wrapped in cream pale skin. Maker’s breath indeed.  The warrior’s pants were removed unceremoniously and tossed to the side with his shirt and the blonde stepped quickly into the pool of water, clearly self conscious about being nude in front of another.

Dorian laughed before slipping under the water and swimming just under the surface until he came up beside Cullen.  His grin was feral as he took in the man’s flushed cheeks and shifting poise.  Lifting his hand he ever so gently traced his fingers over the curling strands that brushed along the back of the blonde’s neck.

“Seems you’ll need a haircut as well.”  He said sounding calm and assured even as inside he thrummed in exhilaration.

“Yes.  Am I to believe you are a barber in your free time?”  Cullen asked, watching Dorian from the corner of his eye as the Tevinter slowly circled around behind him, fingers tracing over the fine hairs along the back of his neck.

Dorian snickered gleefully as gooseflesh pimpled along the blonde’s arms at his touch.  “I am a man of many talents.”  He said, daring to step close enough Cullen’s arm brushed against his belly and his words stirred the hair curled about his ear.

“Excepting chess.”  Cullen teased, turning his head to face Dorian.  Eye to eye the two stood so close they could feel the soft puff of breath from the each other.  Misty steam rose from Dorian’s skin, swirling in dancing tendrils around them.

“Well, I have to let you win at something.  You are a poor hand at cards.”  Silver eyes moved down to linger on slender, pink lips and Dorian wet his own nervously.

Cullen huffed an attempted laugh as calloused fingers ever so gently found their way to the underside of Dorian’s jaw where they traced along the delicate bone, following the curve to cup the side of his cheek gently.  Brown eyes hooded and the warrior’s head tilted just slightly in invitation, lips parting wantonly.  “And what if I let you win?”  He asked.  “What then?”

“Win at what, Commander?”  Dorian replied.  They were so close now the movement of their words whispered a touch between them.

“Whatever you want.  Whatever you desire.”

“I have quite a few of those.  Desires.”  He breathed just before their lips met warm and soft.  And he knew just what it was that had kept him at SkyHold for so long.  And what would keep him there for much longer yet.

[ragingbookdragon]

Before You Go, Was I Someone You Loved? PT. 1

A Shay Cormac x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,042 Warnings: Mentions of Death, Explicit Language, Violence

Author’s Note: Holy shit this is the first time I’ve written something this long in a while that wasn’t for a class! Admire the growth I’ve made! Y’all take Fiction Writing in school if y’all can! THE GROWTH! AND ANGST! ENJOY! -Thorne

“Shay?”

           He looked up from the aimless lines he’d been drawing in the snow to see her standing before him, a frown etched onto her face. He blinked in shock, surprised to see her. “(Y/N)?”

           She took a step towards him and sat down on the log next to him, closer than she’d been in the past few months. “I heard,” she started, but lowered her voice, “about Lisbon…and about this evening.”

           Shay swallowed the sigh and looked back down at his feet. “Come to tell me that I’m a murderer?”

           He didn’t need to see her face to know that there was disappointment written across it. “If that’s what you think I’m here to do, then the few nights we spent together taught you nothing about me.”

           Glancing up, he caught her eyes. “I figured you’d never talk to me again after threatening to shoot me.”

           (Y/N) nudged her elbow into his ribs. “I still could if you want.” It did the work, and she watched a small smile cross his lips. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, curling her right arm around his left bicep. Her fingers felt cold against the bare side of his wrist. “I’m so sorry about Lisbon, Shay.”

           This time, he let the sigh leave him and he allowed himself to feel her comfort, resting his head on hers. “It wasn’t your fault, (Y/N).”

           She nodded. “I know…but neither was it yours.”

           The thorn that had stuck itself in his heart since he left Portugal dug a little deeper and he countered, “But it was. I moved the piece…I caused the earthquake.”

           He knew she had no idea about the Precursor artifacts, but she still tried to understand. “You may have moved it, but it wasn’t your fault. You were merely the instrument used by the Brotherhood. The fault lies with them.”

           Shay looked off into the distance. “Misplacing the blame won’t bring the dead back.”

           “No,” she murmured, “no it won’t.”

           They fell into a silence for some time, watching the snow fall around them, their breaths coming out in pale, airy wisps. “Shay?”

           “Hmm?”

           “What…what are you going to do?”

           He looked down at her, confusion swimming with suspicion. “Why?”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “I know you well enough Shay Cormac. You’re going to do something about all this.”

           Shay knew it was useless to hide from her when her eyes saw straight through him; he sighed. “I can’t let them keep going. They’ll kill millions if I don’t stop them.”

           She was quiet, then she reached into her pocket and pulled out an old iron key. (Y/N) held it out for him. “Achilles has the items stowed in the desk upstairs. You’ll need this to get into the house and second bedroom.”

           He stared in shock at the key and then at her. “Why would you do this for me?”

           (Y/N) smiled. “What you considered a few nights of fun, I considered it to be something deeper.” She folded the key into his palm then rose, standing before him. “You know my feelings for you, Shay. And I know that you wouldn’t go against the Brotherhood if you didn’t think it was the right thing to do.” (Y/N) bent down and pressed a chilled kiss to his lips, whispering, “I’ll always be on your side, Shay. No matter the cost.” She pulled back and smiled sadly, then turned to leave.

           He stood and called out, “(Y/N)?” She spun on her heel and waited. Thousands of thoughts ran through his mind, but he simply said, “Thank you.”

           She nodded with a small smile. “Please be careful, Shay.”

***

           (Y/N) held the hem of her skirt in one hand, the other pressed to her chest, fear dripping down her spine at the sight of Shay standing but a few feet from the cliff edge. She watched Hope take a step forward.

           “Give back the manuscript, Shay!” The assassin shouted. “I’m sure Achilles—”

           Shay shoved a hand out towards them, voice cracking as he countered, “I cannot. I will not let this happen again.” He shook his head. “All those souls lost…” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and she mouthed his name in terror. Shay lowered his head and declared, “One more hardly matters.”

***

           She didn’t know who fired the shot, but it felt all the same in her heart as she sprinted after him. “Shay!” Her scream tore through her throat and before she could get to the edge, someone’s arms wrapped around her waist. She thrashed wildly like a mountain lion caught in a steel trap. “Let go of me! Shay!”

           “Enough (Y/N)! He’s gone!” She realized it was Liam who had her by the waist.

           (Y/N) spun on him, pounding her fists to his chest, borderline hysteric. “How could you?! He was your best friend!” Liam let her hit him. “Answer me!”

           He grabbed her hands, but before he could speak, Chevalier snorted, “The cabbage farmer betrayed the Brotherhood. He’s better off at Davy Jones Locker.”

           Her eyes drifted to the smoke clearing from his gun and as if another shot had gone off, she was throwing herself at him, and had Liam not had her, she’d have clawed the Frenchman’s eyes out. “You arrogant bastard!” Fury mingled with her pain. “That man was more of an assassin than you’ll ever hope to be!” She spat at him. “You will reap what you sow!” Her eyes drifted to Hope and Achilles, to all of the assassins standing behind them. “You all will! You all—” Finally, (Y/N)’s legs gave out beneath her and she hit the ground, sobs ripping through her chest.

           Liam sighed behind her. “Easy (Y/N).”

           She sucked in a breath, grabbing his hands as if anchoring herself would take it all away. “How could you?” Her voice was quieter, but certainly harsher. “How could you let this happen to him?”

           He frowned and clenched his jaw. “I don’t know (Y/N)…I…don’t know.”

***Two Years Later***

           She barely kept the tears at bay as she stumbled through the New York streets. Mid-afternoon, but it felt so much busier than it usually was, and she felt as though everyone’s eyes were on her, watching her with pity. Another failed attempt at earning a job. She frowned and drifted into the garden of a home, collapsing onto the bench just outside it. She vaguely hoped that whoever owned the property wouldn’t chase her off in her apparent moment of breakdown. She brought a hand up to her face, wiping the tears from her face before sucking in a breath, then she heard, “Dear?” Her head shot up and she saw an older woman standing with a basket of clothes under her hip.

           Quickly, she stood to her feet and the words poured from her mouth before she could stop them. “I’m so sorry ma’am.” She thrust a hand back at the house. “You own this home, don’t you?” She brought her hand to her middle and bowed her head. “Forgive me, I’ll leave.”

           The woman huffed and shook her head. “Nonsense dear. I’d be a wretched woman to leave a young lady like yourself to cry your heart out.” She stepped forward and curled an arm around her. “Come now, inside for some tea and we’ll see what’s wrong.” The older woman smiled. “My name is Cassidy Finnegan. What’s yours?”

           She offered a wobbly smile to Cassidy—It’d been some time since someone had showed her such kindness—she hoped it would last a bit longer. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” Cassidy ushered her inside and she couldn’t help but marvel at the interior. “Your home is beautiful, Miss Finnegan.”

           “Oh, call me Cassidy, (Y/N).”

           “Okay then, Cassidy.” The two smiled at one another and the woman set the basket of clothes down on the desk, ushering her to follow. (Y/N) found herself in the kitchen, sitting on a stool as Cassidy handed her a cold, wet rag.

           “Here,” she said. “Wipe those tears away. They don’t suit a face as pretty as yours.”

           (Y/N) felt her cheeks warm and she did so, feeling as if a years’ worth of dirt and grime had come off. “Thank you, Cassidy.”

           The older woman shuffled across from her towards the open fire pit, hanging a tea kettle on the rack. “Want to tell me why you were crying outside?”

           “I—” (Y/N) started, but faltered, afraid to offer all her knowledge. Eventually, she settled for, “I used to work for a man as a maid, but some of the things he was doing got the man I cared for killed.” She thought of Shay’s smiling face, then to that night when the pain, but determination was written across it. “I refused to work for the man anymore but…well, he has connections all over the colonies.” (Y/N) met Cassidy’s gaze. “I’ve essentially been blacklisted from any workplace I could go.”

           “Oh no.” Cassidy’s voice was full of sympathy. “You’ve been on your own for all this time?”

           (Y/N) shrugged. “I’ve been fortunate to work in some places before they figured out who I was. I’ve been working at taverns here and there.” She looked away. “I’ve been lucky to not end up in a brothel yet. But…I fear I’m beginning to lose options.”

           “I’ll not have you working in a place like that!” Her head shot up at Cassidy, who had her hands placed on her hips. “You’ll stay here and look for a job!”

           Before (Y/N) could get a word in, a man stepped through the doorway, griping, “What are you screamin’ at Cass?” He looked between his wife and (Y/N) then sighed. “Another one?”

           Cassidy shushed him. “Hush, Barry.” She gestured between them. “Barry, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my husband, Barry.”

           (Y/N) waved and smiled as best she could despite the man’s frown. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Finnegan.”

           He harrumphed. “At least this one has decent manners.” Cass scowled at her husband and he turned, waving them off. “I’m going to take a nap.”

           “Oaf,” Cassidy hissed, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but giggle.

           “He seems like a good man, Cassidy.”

           “He is,” she agreed. “When he’s not being rude.” She turned. “You wouldn’t mind helping with dinner, would you? I’ll need to go ready your room.”

           “Oh, please, let me do it! You can go sit and relax!” Cassidy was about to counter, but (Y/N) begged, “Please, if you’re going to let me stay here for free, you’ll have to let me pull my weight.”

           Cassidy watched her then offered, “How about you go fold the clothes in that basket and start dinner, and I’ll take care of the room.”

           (Y/N) nodded and after grabbing the basket of clothes, she found herself standing in the master bedroom, quietly folding the clothes as to not wake Barry. A warm smile spread across her face as a sense of security filled her veins. She’d certainly not been the assassin’s target, but her fleeing was obviously an offense against them either way. She had no doubts that Hope had been the one to spread the rumors of terrible work ethic throughout the elite in New York—the assassin had the power and connections to do so. (Y/N) shook her head and put away the clothes then headed towards the door but stopped when she felt something in her pocket. She pulled out a coin and flipped it over, seeing the Celtic shield of luck imprinted into it. A sad smile crossed her lips as she ran her thumb in a routine manner. His words came back to her.

           “Here (Y/N).” She looked up from his chest to see him handing something to her.

           Her brows furrowed as she stared at it. “What is that?”

            Shay brought his free hand up behind his head, resting on it. “A Celtic shield of luck.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t help but snort. “I think you need this more than I, Shay Cormac.”

           He chuckled and pressed the coin into her hand. “What are you talking about, lass? I make my own luck.”

           (Y/N) inhaled deeply and shoved the coin back in her pocket, gazing out the window. The sun was beginning to set, but for the first time in two years, she felt hopeful. “I make my own luck.” She whispered and descended the stairs to start dinner.

[ahgaseda]

two can keep a secret || chapter 08

⇥ synopsis : when your father reveals his intention to remarry, you find an unlikely confidant in Mark, your soon-to-be stepbrother, but what began as a revenge fling ironically becomes far more complicated...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring alcohol and drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Mark swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering if he had actually heard him right or if he had just fallen headfirst into one of his worst nightmares.

Your father inched closer. “I asked you a question.”

“Um,” said Mark; it was the only response he could manage.

“How long have you been having sex with my daughter?”

Mark searched his brain for the answer that would most likely keep him alive, but resorted to, “A while.”

Your father was running out of patience. He clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared. “Define that for me.”

Mark remembered the first time you had moaned his name. He took you in the backseat of his car and for days had the scratch marks down his spine to show for it. It was the day his mother had announced her engagement to your father.

Fear evaporating at the thought, at the reminder of anger and rage, Mark snapped, “Since the day you proposed to my mother.”

“For god’s sake,” your father roared.

The entire drive home was a melodramatic meltdown for you, because you had finally realized you were ready to come clean. Carrying this secret by yourself was destroying you. You desperately wanted your mother. She would know what to do, would know how to temper your father and make him see reason.

That gave you an idea. From what you knew of her, Mark’s mother was a kind woman and had always treated you with affection and respect. She could be your unexpected ally in this. She could act as a buffer to your father.

Pulling into the driveway, your heart sank when you saw all the cars were present. Everyone was home. It was now or never.

The moment you opened the front door, you could hear shouting.

“What is going on?” exclaimed Mark’s mother, barreling into the living room. “What are you doing?”

“I want him out,” your father yelled, pointing at Mark and putting distance between them before he did something that warranted himself a trip to jail. “I want him gone right now!”

Ms. Tuan was far more concerned with protecting her son than appeasing her future husband, as any mother would be. “Mark, go stay at the old house,” she spoke levelly.

You closed the door behind you, drawing their attention from all the commotion. “What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly as you surveyed the overturned table and the broken lamp on the floor.

“Don’t come in here,” Mark warned, calling your name. He moved in your direction, rifling in his pocket for his car keys.

Your father set his eyes on you and chastised you by your full name, dripping with disdain. “You’ve been spreading your legs for him in my house,” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Under my goddamn roof!”

“Oh, god,” was all you could say, eyes wide. Your father had never spoken to you in such a way and you were immediately rooted in place. Fear gripped you tight. Your heart pounded and your stomach twisted. Any minute you were going to color the carpet with bile.

Mark whipped around, having placed himself between you and your father, and growled, “Don’t yell at her.”

A look passed over Ms. Tuan’s pale face then as she glanced frantically between you and Mark. She noticed the way he shielded you, the way his face tensed with anger at your father’s words. She knew her boy and she realized this wasn’t about sex or revenge.

Your father completely ignored Mark and stomped closer to you. His fiancee braced her hands on his chest, trying to slow his progress, while you backed to the door at Mark’s guidance.

Never had you been afraid of your father, but now you were terrified.

“When did you lose any and all respect for me?” he exclaimed.

Those words rolled around in your head. Your father sounded more angry than hurt. The world as you knew it came crashing down around you. How could you have thought even for a tiny moment that everything would be okay? That you were going to tell him about the baby?

Your father cared more about his ego than anything else. You were carrying a baby and in a constant state of fear, wondering how in the hell you were going to take care of yourself much less an innocent kid, and all he cared about was being the talk of the town.

Devastated and enraged, you planted your feet and felt your hands shaking with wrath. “The day you spit on my mother’s grave and said you were going to marry her,” you cried out, pointing at Mark’s mother.

She gasped in surprise.

“Nothing personal, Ms. Tuan,” you softened only a little, because for her part, she had done nothing wrong. “I think you’re a wonderful person, but I spent my entire life watching my parents and how they swore they would only love each other until the end of time.”

Your father flinched at that.

You rounded on him and screamed, “But my mother was barely in the ground before my father started screwing every woman that passed him!”

Mark grabbed your arm, trying to calm you down, but you ripped yourself free of his grasp. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying until the tears rolled down your cheeks.

Your father screeched, “Are you blaming me... for you being a slut?”

You made a distressed sound, like someone had just socked you in the stomach.

Mark set his jaw, turning away from you, and threatened, “Don’t fucking call her that. I’m warning you.”

His mother ordered, “Mark, out!”

Your father bristled at his challenge. His pride had never been so wounded and he was scrambling for a way to earn some small bit of respect again, by any means necessary. He murmured lowly, and that was far more scary than if he had yelled, “You’re warning me?”

Mark balled his hands into fists, ready to fight. You had seen Mark fight and though your father was larger in size, you knew which one of them would end up in a hospital and which would land in the back of a squad car.

“Don’t,” you whispered shakily, bringing your arms to Mark’s waist. You hoped your touch would soothe him, calm him - make him feel something other than overwhelming rage in that moment.

Mark brought a hand over yours and sighed your name. You had molded yourself to his back and feeling the warmth of you at long last made him even more inclined to fight for you. If anything, you had thrown fuel on the fire.

“I’m not leaving without you,” Mark said, turning his head to meet your frightened eyes.

You took an unsteady breath. “What?”

Your father interjected, “There is no way in hell you’re going with him!”

Mark spoke your name once more. “I’m not leaving you.”

You turned to your father nervously, fresh tears falling down your face, but still hidden safely behind Mark’s frame.

“If you walk out that door, you are no daughter of mine,” he told you vehemently, pointing a finger at both of you.

Mark’s mother chastised him, but he ignored her.

Without your father you would have nothing. No school. No money. You would be entirely at Mark’s mercy and there was no way to know how he would feel about the baby - the baby you still kept hidden from him.

You looked at Mark, taking a step back out of fear and letting your hands slip from his waist. Mark could see your indecision. He knew your trust in him had fallen, maybe it was gone altogether. And he had to fix it.

“With all due respect,” said Mark firmly. “I’m in love with your daughter.”

His mother sat down rather dramatically, burying her face in her hands.

“Mark, don’t lie to me,” you whimpered, rubbing at your tears with clenched hands.

He faced you. “I mean it.”

You shook your head in denial. “You’re in love with my body.”

“Yeah, he replied, nodding softly in agreement. “I’m in love with your smile. I’m in love with your eyes. I’m in love with how your hand fits in mine.”

You stood there dumbfounded, like the floor had been ripped out from under you for the millionth time that week. “I...,” you hesitated. It was too good to be true. It had to be.

Your father did exactly what you expected him to do - he dove for Mark with every intention of ripping him into a thousand pieces.

“No, don’t hurt him,” you cried out.

You were his daughter - his only child - and in his eyes, Mark had disrespected you.

Mark’s mother jumped in, putting herself between the danger and her son. You had leapt in front of Mark like it was your natural reflex to defend the father of your child and Mark was quick to wrap his arms around your waist and drag you with him as he shuffled backwards.

“We’re not staying here,” Mark spoke in your ear.

You half-listened to him and watched Ms. Tuan arguing with your father. For being so small, she was quite terrifying.

“Mark...,” you whimpered.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

He ushered you to his SUV, opening the passenger side and helping you in, then closed the door firmly behind you. The moment Mark hopped behind the wheel and tore out of the driveway, you let yourself sob.

You cried until you couldn’t possibly make any more tears. You cried for your relationship with Mark. For your mother, who you wanted more than anyone else. For the baby that still only you knew about. For Mark’s mother and how you had ruined her happiness. And for your father, who would likely never speak to you again as long as you lived.

Mark drove with one hand and kept his arm across your lap, letting you cling to him with both hands. He said nothing, just let you hold him tightly like an anchor so you knew you weren’t alone. Hearing you choking through sobs made his own eyes burn with unshed tears, but Mark held them back. He had to be strong for you.

Once the crying had run its course, you leaned back against the seat and went limp, devoid of any thoughts or feelings. You gazed out the window, watching the city flash by as Mark sped down the road. His phone rang a moment later and for the rest of the trip, he spoke to his mother. From what you could gather, your father had stormed out and she had no idea where he had gone. Mark told her to try to rest, and that he and you would be staying with Jackson.

Of course, Mark was going to Jackson’s house. Jackson was a trust fund kid and his parents were always travelling. Their one stipulation to his constant flow of cash was for him to finish his degrees, which he continued to do with flying colors.

And in exchange, he always had a massive house to himself.

The front door swung inward and Jackson greeted somberly, “Hi.”

You said nothing, but Jackson opened his arms and you let yourself fall into his embrace, burying your face against his chest. Mark and Jackson exchanged glances while the latter held you tightly.

“So, rough day?” Jackson quipped as you followed him into the kitchen.

Mark clocked him a glare. You snorted.

“Wine?” asked your host, opening the fridge.

You froze with adrenaline. They didn’t know you had sworn off alcohol since the day you found out you were pregnant. “Um, water would be fine.”

“Water?” Jackson seemed puzzled. “I think you should have something to settle your nerves.”

You sat on one of the stools pulled up to the marble island. “I’m really on edge and on an empty stomach. Unless you want me to throw up all over this nice...”

“Okay, okay,” Jackson relented, handing you a cold bottle of water.

Mark took off his leather jacket and tossed it to the nearby sofa. He folded his arms and watched you with caution. You still hadn’t said anything about his ill-timed confession.

You felt his eyes on you and turned, meeting his gaze and quickly faltering. You couldn’t handle it. The secret, the lies, the fight that just went down. It was all your fault. You should have known better. You shouldn’t have gotten into bed with Mark.

And you sure as hell never should have fallen in love with him.

Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He approached you and quickly stopped himself from wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me,” he whispered.

You didn’t move. Jackson took it upon himself to leave the room as swiftly as possible to escape the tension.

“Baby,” Mark whispered, such sadness in his voice. “Please look at me.”

You gazed up at him. Eyes red and puffy. Cheeks wet with tears.

Mark wanted to rip his heart out and give it to you if only to make you happy again. “You don’t have to say anything, but I need you to know that I meant what I said.”

Your face heated up. “You always do,” was all you could say, turning back to get another mouthful of water.

Those words stung. You said them with such indifference. “I’m sorry this happened the way it did.”

You exhaled heavily. “Stop apologizing, Mark.”

Mark shifted his weight. He just wanted to fix it. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he said hurriedly. “Tell me how I get us back.”

He thought finally admitting his love would have been enough.

With a shake of your head, you replied, “I don’t know right now.”

Mark believed you. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

This was the moment to tell him. To finally come clean about the baby - his baby. Turning back to face him, you lost yourself in his eyes. He seemed sincere and you believed that maybe he did love you. For now, at least.

Love was such a fickle thing, after all.

“Okay,” you finally said.

Mark had expected you to tell him you loved him. He needed it, craved it with every fiber of his being. His shoulders slumped with disappointment, but he calmly reached over and cupped your cheek, placing the gentlest of kisses on your brow.

You watched him part from you, striding into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. You frowned when he skipped the wine and went straight for the vodka. Mark met your eyes, seeing your disapproval, but didn’t utter a word when he opened the bottle and threw back a mouthful.

Your brow furrowed then, hand drifting down to your stomach where a cramp had formed. You sucked in a breath and held it, surprised at the sudden pain in your belly. Then, it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You okay?” Mark asked, taking another gulp of alcohol.

“I’m fine,” you answered, glancing down unsurely.

Mark narrowed his eyes. Something was off about you and as far as he was concerned, he had nothing but time. He was going to figure everything out.

No more secrets. No more lies.

chapter 07 ⇤ chapter 08 ⇥ chapter 09

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{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[felicia-parker]

Prompt: 01 - “No, come back!”  Fandom: dcau/dc comics  (the huntress/the question) Rating: T TW: none.

He often forgets how Gotham really smells when he returns. It smells like a mix of industrial pollution, brackish water from the harbors, and nothing at all like Hub City. He leaves the train with his head ducked down, hat on his head, no one notices him anyways in the flurry of snow falling in the city for the first time all year. People are already complaining of scraping driveways come morning, but he ignores them all as he passes. His mask is balled up in his pocket, bare face being kissed by flurries. It makes his cheeks match his hair. Vic shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling for his gloves and hastily shoving them on his quickly numbing fingers. 

“I should call…” He mutters to himself, “that’s what you do.” 

He tries to pull up the social cues she has so painstakingly drilled into him on the last six months, twenty-one days, fourteen hours, and thirty-five minutes. She reminds him to call since he refuses to text, there’s too many hands those messages could fall into, cell phones aren’t safe but the Government is slowly killing the payphones making his anonymity harder and harder. Helena gave him a phone, sleek and black, the screen already has a chip from him dropping it after a night of scrolling internet sleuthing led to him falling asleep in his favorite chair, the phone becoming victim to the floor. He only has one contact in it,  one photo, no messages, one voice mail saved-- she had pocket dialed him, her useless mutterings forever recorded on his digital answering machine.

He listens to it when the nights get a little too long and the trains stop running.

Vic pulls out the phone and double taps the little screen. It illuminates amongst the darkness of the city and he stops on the sidewalk to quickly type in a code too long for anyone to memorize, before turning it back off and stuffing it down in his pocket. He decides he doesn’t need to call. If he has anyone tailing him, they can’t know where he’s going. Vic glances over his shoulder.

The paranoia is getting a little worse, but Helena doesn’t seem to mention it anymore. She just sighs and reminds him of how many ‘bad guys’ she’s tossed into gutters. It doesn’t soothe him like she thinks it does, but he lets her brag until she’s content. He crosses the street right over the crosswalk which leads him into a burrow of the city. Tall buildings are illuminated with door lights and street lights that seem to stretch on for an eternity. All of the buildings look the same, except every other one has another color slapped onto the brick. They are all cookie-cutter, cheap apartments, ones that the working class usually fill.

He walks until his feet start to ache, the old dress shoes he’s wearing are worn down, dried blood is caked on the underside of the heels, excellent for remaining invisible, poor for snowy nights in a city that didn’t particularly belong to him.  Vic stops outside of a light gray building on the corner and begins to count the windows. On the sixth floor he sees the light on, the fire escape is decorated with a dying plant and nothing else, window closed and curtains open.  When a shadow passes by the glass, his heart skips a beat and he glances up to the sky overhead. The clouds are thick and dark, no moon, no infamous signal in the sky.

He breathes a sigh of relief and begins to climb. The old iron squeaks every few steps, he notes the rust on the third floor and makes a mental note to not put too much weight there on his way back down and climbs until his breath clouds the window of the sixth floor, corner apartment. The edges of her window are slick with moisture, she must have cooked tonight, filled her apartment with the heat of the kitchen as she worked. His gloved fingers trace over the sill and he moved to lift the glass.  It didn’t budge. She had locked it for once.

The sound of the television vibrates against the window and he peers in with hands cupped around his face to see her stretched out on the couch, papers everywhere, red pen between her lips as she holds a paper above her head. Her hair is spilling over the couch in wave of dark curls and he marvels in the simplicity of it all. She looks absolutely normal.

Helena is anything but normal. He knows this. He dares to even love such an idea, of this woman who is an unstoppable force with no concept of white and black, her world is shades of gray and personal vendettas.  Helena stretches once more on the couch, taking the red pen from her mouth to mark something on the paper with ease.  

He knocks, the pen goes wild over the page as she all but throws herself off of the couch and onto the floor. A momentary flash of fear crosses her face, followed by anger as she pulls her pen up like mini dagger, set to throw it with deadly precision at the window when she recognizes the outline of him. Her shoulders sag and she stomps over to the window. In one quick yank the glass comes up and he’s met with the lingering smell of homemade food, warm and tinged with garlic, but all of it is forgotten as she shouts at him with her voice sharper than any knife.

“You’re supposed to call! I gave you a phone Q!” Helena’s cheeks are flushed red, her teeth are clenched tightly together and he can see the muscle in her jaw is strained. Anger radiates from her form.

“I wanted to…”

“No!” She shouts the word and slams the window back down in his face. It’s a miracle the glass stays in place. She keeps her hand on the window, glaring at him when he takes the step back to leave. A minute ticks by and then a second, a third, and finally he backs up to go back down the escape, shoulders slumping. He should have called, he should have warned her, should have asked if she even wanted to see him after being apart for so long.

His foot touches down on the ladder when he hears the window open back up, “No, come back!”

Her voice isn’t as angry and this time her hand reaches into the cold for his. She manages to grab hold of his coat sleeve, pulling him impatiently over the threshold. Vic stumbles a bit, but once he’s inside she closes the window behind him, putting the lock in place before grabbing at his coat again. Helena is far from gentle. She pulls at his coat until he’s leaning over, close enough for her mouth to find his. She kisses him until he’s gasping for air, until he has to pull back to recover his bearings.

His eyes glance over her  living quarters,  there’s a half-decorated tree in the corner where her desk usually sits, the desk now stowed away for the holidays no doubt, leading to all the school papers being strewn across her coffee table and couch, markers and highlighters all around. The television drones on and on with the nightly news bleeding into a late night talk-show.

“Am I…” He clears his throat, “Not welcome?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She waves a hand at him, reaching behind him to pull the blinds down, drawing the curtains for privacy. “I just wish you would use that phone.”

“Trackable.”

“Yeah, that’s why I got it for you. I’d like to know when you’re coming here. It’s not like we have…” It’s her turn to trail off and she walks to the kitchen as she does so, opening the fridge and pulling out the leftovers of her dinner to warm up for him. He doesn’t tell her no. Vic learned a long time ago to never reject food from her.  Helena mutters something else and slides the homemade plate of lasagna into the microwave.

“Are you listening?” She asks him.

“Yes. No set schedule.” He nods to her and stands still for a minute too long, feeling like an obscure piece of furniture in her little home. His own home is empty, soulless, untraceable.  Hers is full of art, plates, second-hand furniture, and little things here and there that just fit the woman in the kitchen.

The microwave dings as she’s pulling a glass out of the cabinet and setting him a place at her kitchen bar, “Come, eat.”

He eats like a starving man. A home cooked meal is such a rarity in his life, something he only gets when Helena is around. She refuses to eat an abundance of ready-to-eat frozen meals, instead spending hours in the grocery store to find fresh ingredients, an unnecessary thing in his world.  Helena pours herself another glass of wine, gives him one too but he only sips that, going back to scraping the fork over the plate until it’s all gone.

“Thank you,” He murmurs the soft appreciation, he no longer feels cold, but warmed from the inside out. She crosses behind him and pulls at his coat. Vic lets his arms go limp, lets her pull his coat away. She takes his hat too and hangs both by the door, coming back to pull him free from the bar stool, drawing him towards her couch for more comfort. He lets her lead him around. He can’t seem to stop his feet from following her. He would follow her to the edges of space, hell, and everything in between, but can’t seem to say the words to her. Instead he settles for the silence between them. She sets him on the couch, pulls the blanket from the back of it and tucks it over his shoulders, kisses the top of his hair before making it messy with a ruffle of her fingers.

“I always forget how bright red…” She snickers softly, teasing him for not wearing the mask, for giving himself over to her with no second skin to block the way.

Vic tilts his head up to her own, frowning slightly, “Would you prefer the mask?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She repeats the words from earlier. Her brows knitting together in concern before she crosses in front of him and takes the place next to him on the couch, gathering up more papers to grade, “Don’t ask that question again.”

“Can I ask another?” He turns his head over, watching her pull her legs up, tucking them under her, pen cap already in her mouth as she begins going down the line of questions, looking for the incorrect answers.

“Mhm,” She hums softly, not glancing up at him. Instead she runs the pen over the top, making a perfect one-hundred in a little loop, following with a little star at the corner of the page. He watches her work with ease, moving onto the next page with her little red pen on the hunt of mistakes.

His mouth forms the words, “Can I stay?”

Her pen scratches an ‘x’ over an answer. He waits for her to put an ‘x’ on him as well, but she does no such thing.  

“I was expecting you to,” she doesn’t look up from the papers still, “I hope you’ll stay for a while.”

Helena shifts now, moving to lay her back against his side, “You hope or want?”

“Does it make a difference to you?”

“Yes.” He answers her matter-of-factly. He wants to hear her say the words. Vic wants her to say she wants him to stay, wants him to be with her even if it’s for such a short time. Christmas is four days away, three nights, he can make the train on the fourth, be back in Hub before she grows too used to his body in her bed.

“Then,” Helena shifts again, this time picking his arm up and sliding under it, she lays now half against him on the couch with her legs stretched to the other end, she smells of floral shampoo and ink, “I want you to stay, but you have to actually stay. You can’t skip breakfast.”

Vic takes a moment as she makes herself comfortable against him before he fully relaxes. He lets his arm slide over her stomach and pulls her into him until there’s no space left, she’s draped comfortably into the curve of him, papers to grade in her hand. His hand twitches for the remote, to turn away from the channel of mind-numbing late-night television, enjoying the warmth of her finally returning to him after months of being away.

“I think I want to stay.”

She marks another one-hundred across the top of the page, adds a little star to the corner before tilting her head back against his chest, the word leaves her with a soft sigh and a curve of her lips, “Stay.”

[thehappyhockeymask]

Brahms Heelshire x reader

In honour of reaching and surpassing 100 followers (holy shit), here’s a spicy little gift for everyone. It’s NSFW so take that into account and enjoy!

…………………………

~about one hour ago~

“You can’t have candy after bedtime, Brahms, I’ve told you many, many times.”

He whines when you tug the bag of sugary contraband from his grip and tucks his chin to his chest. It’s easy to picture his pouty scowl behind the mask when he projects his disappointment like an aura.

“You can pout all you want, but you know the rules.” You make yourself sound authoritative. Its usually enough to shut down the tantrums before they begin.

This time, something is different. His jaw tightens at that ever-present word; rules.

“No....”

“What?”

“No,” he repeats, voice a little deeper and surer. His face is lowered, but his eyes still gleam in the low light of the hallway, fixed on you with defiance.

They say you should never run from predators, and it’s solid advice, you think, but the second he twitches forward you’re scrambling in the other direction. He springs into motion after you and you shriek, adrenaline crowding your thoughts into one right corner.

…………………………

Your footsteps pound down the hallway with all the creaks expected of an aging house, and you can hear Brahm’s heaving breaths close behind. Just a few feet away from a locking door, a wall of muscle bulls you to the carpet and knocks the air out of you.

“I’ll never tell you where it is,” you wheeze.

Hot breath hits your ear like a bellows; it’s satisfying to know you made him work so hard to finally get you, even if it was rather quick.

“Tell. Me.” His voice is harsh and rough and he’s foregone the childish falsetto, courtesy of all those flights of stairs. Brahms pulls your head back by a hank of hair, forcing you to open your mouth or choke.

“No!”

Victory is short lived, though, as he plants his weight on the small of your back to shred your underwear. He still has your hair in a fist, so he must look like he’s astride a horse if his other hand can rub over your ass like that.

You wriggle angrily. “Get off!”

“No!” He sasses right back in the same tone you used.

A sharp sting accompanies the shredding of your panties, the old elastic snapping with a couple solid yanks. You bite down on a moan when cool air washes over your slit and Brahms’ fingers find it, slipping through the folds in a thoroughly embarrassing way.

He chuckles when you struggle again. He’s just too heavy to move, and he isn’t making much effort to ease the load off of your back. More often than not, he knows exactly what kind of advantage his size gives him over you, and you suspect that’s the case here, as well.

………………………

The fit is tight, and even dripping wet as you are, getting Brahms cock inside you is an accomplishment that he’s fighting for. Rather than wait for your whining to stop, he surges forward steadily, slowly. The experience of feeling filled to the brim is heady and dizzying enough to distract you from the initial pinch.

You thought that was over after your first time, an inelegant romp with some over-eager high school crush from long ago, something you barely remember. You do remember that you bled, though, and this intrusion might just accomplish the same end. Somehow, far be it from you to know why...

This feels good.

Brahms growls above you, in that gruff way he tends to when the words he wants aren’t there. His long hands squash you into the carpet as if there’s a chance you might wriggle free and run off if he doesn’t. All the skin against you feels hot to the touch, as always.

Your legs are vibrating too much to bother with a struggle, knees red from knocking into the floor. One cheek is following in the same path if you can’t get your head up, so you stretch out an arm to lay on.

“Stay still,” he grumbles, and you’re tempted to hiss something snarky but he’s got a point. The one simple movement was a little much.

“YOU stay still, give me a bre—iiiihggghggfuck!” You immediately lose your retort when his cock stops somewhere deep.

‘Oh my god, is that my cervix?’

By a stroke of luck his hips have also bumped against your ass, preventing him from trying to go any further, although he does try. A drawn out groan leaves you both, yours fuelled by the unfamiliarity and the pressure.

“Why are you so tight?”

For an incredulous moment you stare dumbly at the baseboard near your head. Is he for real? “Because you didn’t get me wet enough before you rammed in, genius!”

He sighs.

Maybe next time you’ll put in more effort, ass.

“Fine.”

For an awful second you think he might pull out and stomp off like a brat, but he wraps a thick, dark haired arm around your chest so he can roll you both over. With you laying on top, it’s easy for him to reach down and find the taut, soaked flesh where your bodies meet. Brahms drags two fingers through your clear slick, spreading it over everything that could theoretically be sensitive. It’s not like you could possibly expect him to understand how female parts work, so it’s nice to know that he’s covering his bases, at least. You’ll already be feeling this for awhile to come as it is.

This way, his length presses into your bladder something fierce, and god willing you won’t piss yourself in the middle of the hallway, on top of Brahms, but your core surprises you with a jolt of confused, unexpected pleasure from the idea. You settle for ‘if it happens, it happens’.

Heat races up your centre to follow where his fingers trail a quickly-cooling, sticky line up to your throat. His other warm forearm is still braced around your middle in an iron hold.

“Have... you ever done this before?” His question is hilariously late.

You pat his hip under you, and your chuckle is lost in a gasp. “Yeah, just..be gentle, for Christ’s sake. This is a lot.”

Brahms seems to have lost all of that bravado and surety from before, evident by the unsteady pace he falls into. Every time he pulls out slowly your breath catches, and every time he sinks back in Brahms whines in your ear.

“You’re so noisy,” he teases.

“Says the moaner.”

“Not your mouth,” To clarify his point, he draws out the next thrust long enough to accentuate the slick, wet sound your cunt makes as it tries to hold him in.

You flush hotly. “Don’t listen to it, then!”

“But it sounds good.”

“Ugh...” Any further complaints die in your throat as Brahm’s irregular shoves start to even out into something that makes your toes curl, your focus reduced to the thick slide of his cock. What little pain that might have existed is drowned in pleasure. If not for his arms caging you in, you would have already fallen off of him to the floor.

“Please...,” You whimper.

Reaching back for his hair, your hand taps against his mask in your struggle to find purchase and you whine.

One of his hands comes up to fix your grip for you. He closes your fingers around a chunk of his hair, shaking it a bit in the universal ‘keep this here’ sign, and he gets back to rubbing his fingers over your clit. Brahms has begun to centre his attention on the soaked little bud that makes you squirm the most. Nobody can call him a slow learner.

Unthinking, you wiggle in his arms, chasing your high, and it’s more than he can ignore.

The heel of Brahms hand digs into your abdomen. “Stop.”

“I...I didn’ do—“

He tightens his hold anyway, bucking harder into you as if that will make you somehow able to be more still. He either took it as a challenge or refusal, but at this point it hardly matters.

You sort of hope he assumed you were testing his control, because the thought that this new dominance has come from his own raw personality makes you shiver deliciously. He doesn’t have the refined and practiced habits of a pro, or the intricate language, just naked instinct and enthusiasm.

“Nnn...please, Brahms...”

Neither he nor you know what you’re asking for, but it spurs Brahms on faster. It’s obvious he won’t last long, but luckily you won’t either. You can feel your orgasm right there, just barely out of reach. Brahms’ heavy breaths and deep grunts, muffled in his mask, are all you can hear as he brings you over the edge of that cliff and your muscles lock. You vaguely feel a gush of wet and Brahms’ cock testing the limits of your insides.

He has to wrap a big hand over your shoulder to keep you from trying to get away from the oversensitivity with your grip on his hair and twitching legs, but it’s not long after that he’s cumming as well. His gasping pants and groans are completely unhindered and loud in the wide empty hallway and as they slowly subside, so does the shaking in your legs.

“Did you...wet yourself?”

Your head snaps up to look down your nearly naked body to find a large dark patch spanning both his trousers and your legs. You can’t even think about the poor hardwood.

A pronounced shiver that isn’t yours startles you.

“Sorr—”

“Do it again next time,” he pleads. His cock spasms in the tight grip of your body, already valiantly trying to come back to life so soon.

You flush like a beet. “....sure.”

[elizaviento]

Assimilation (part 15/23)

SFW -- 2400 words

(FYI: Additional chapters of Assimilation can be found in the Rick Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #assimilation tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

Waking up in Rick’s room for the second time was just as disorientating as the first; especially considering that it contained no windows or a clock.  Rick was gone again, which wasn’t a shock.  I had wondered many times if the man ever actually slept at all.  The thought occurred to me that I could just lay here dozing until he returned, although it could be awkward if he expected me to be long gone when he did.  Honestly, I had no way of knowing how he would react.  He was the most unpredictable person I’d ever met or ever would meet.  

I’d always had a saying  “You never truly know someone until you hear how they moan during sex.”  So far, Rick Sanchez was the only exception I had encountered. Everything about his exterior was gruff and unyielding.  Every now and then, there would be a glimmer of something a bit softer, but only in specific situations and only with specific people.  I had been lucky enough to be one of those specific people, mostly due to my association with Beth.  I was so young when I first met him that he probably lumped me in the ‘daughter’ category of his head space and treated me as such – until recently.  But, the way Rick behaved with intimate partners, at least in my short personal experience, was much different.  His gruff exterior was still absolute but the tenderness he hid underneath was surprising.  And, his penchant for praise was something I never could have expected in a million years.

My cheeks began to burn at the memories of said praise; whispers of ‘good girl’ making me feel swollen and needy.  I had to admit that one of the main reasons I found myself so hot for Rick was due to his perceived position as an authority figure in my life.  My school girl crush on him was definitely fueled by such; along with the small aspect of taboo associated with him being the father of my best friend.  

God, I was so fucked up.  What on earth would Beth do if she found out?  What would Jerry do?  How would the kids react?  

Nope.  I couldn’t think about that now.

Since I was completely unaware of what time it was, I tentatively poked my head outside his bedroom door.  It was still daylight, so that was good.  I didn’t hear anyone else in the house either and that was very good.  So, I made my way to my room to fetch my laptop.  I really needed to buckle down and get this project rolling again, especially since I hadn’t even checked my email since Friday.  

Finally reading through my email was painful.  An old friend of mine had contracted me to draw up the architectural plans for a new house he intended to build in the country.  The last time we’d spoken was over a week ago and I now had several emails from him.  He wasn’t used to radio silence from me so his last email simply read, “Are you okay?”  The last thing I wanted was to lose this contract (and a good friend in the process) so I decided the best course of action was to call him and explain that I’d been sick with the flu.  Luckily, I was able to get in touch with him right away and he agreed to meet with me that evening to go over what I had completed thus far.  So, I made a few finishing touches and sent the draft to the local printer.

As I was getting ready, excitement began to bubble up within me.  I hadn’t seen Trevor since Chris died and it would be wonderful to catch up with him again.  He and I had always existed on the same wave length and we both had a very bizarre sense of humor.  I’d asked him to meet me at one of the classier bar/restaurants in town so I had to look somewhat presentable.  I also hadn’t had the opportunity to ‘dress up’ since moving back, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put in a little effort, if only to feel like a human female for a few hours.  I had the perfect dress in mind; something professional but also classically cute – sleeveless and black with a flowing skirt that hit just above the knee.  I finally found the dress after looking through nearly every trash bag I had hurriedly stuffed full of clothes when I moved, but I also had to dig out my flat iron and most of my make up – making me realize how unconcerned I had been about my appearance for the last month.  On one hand, it was incredibly freeing.  On the other, it was a bit depressing.  I’d also forgotten the effort involved with styling my hair and applying perfect wingtip eyeliner.  In the end, however, I was rewarded with a semi attractive, confident looking woman.

Checking the clock, I noticed I had just enough time to swing by the printer to pick up my drafts before heading to the restaurant.  No one was home yet, so I scribbled a quick note and tacked it to the fridge explaining that I’d be back later and rushed out the door.  Walking down the driveway to get to my car parked on the street, I noticed that the garage door was open.  Taking a closer look, I saw Rick standing at the metal shelves, digging through one of the many boxes.  I hadn’t even realized he was here, so I made my way to the garage, if only to show off my polished look.  I was sidetracked, though, when my phone chirped with a message from Trevor.  He was on his way to the restaurant and he couldn’t wait to see me.  Now feeling rushed, I glanced up to see Rick staring at me with slack jawed expression that made me grin ear to ear.  Giving him a quick wave, I made sure to put a little swing in my hips as I strolled to my car.

----------

Trevor didn’t burden me with small talk and pleasantries.  He and I were like peas in a pod, so he knew to get down to business right off and then smoothly transition into our comfortable banter afterward.  He told me how good I looked and asked how I was, but it was genuine.  I thanked him and confessed that things had been hard for a while but were finally getting better.  We drank cocktails and ate way too much food and were generally having a wonderful time when my phone chirped.  I ignored it at first, figuring it was Jerry or Beth asking if I’d be home for dinner.  Then it chirped again.  And, again.  Finally plucking it from my purse with a sigh, I took a quick glance at the screen just to make sure it wasn’t something important.  The message previews I saw on the lock screen were confusing, so I unlocked it to read them in their entirety.

 Rick:  So how’s your boyfriend?

Rick:  He looks like a doofus.

Rick:  He can’t be THAT funny.

 I quickly scanned the dimly lit restaurant and didn’t spot him.  Then, I glanced toward the bar and there he sat, at the furthest end from our table with a glass of something brown.  I was completely taken aback.  Had he really followed me here?  Looking at the messages again, I was convinced that I’d somehow misread them.  

“Something wrong?” Trevor asked, pulling my eyes from my phone.

“Oh, sorry.  No, I just got a text from my brother.  What were you saying?“

I tried to pay attention.  Sincerely, I did.  But, Rick was relentless.  I flipped the ringer off on my phone but I could feel it vibrate on my lap in steady intervals.

 Rick:  He thinks he’s getting his dick sucked.

Rick:  I bet his nuts smell like cottage cheese.

Rick:  Does he know you like ‘em swaggly?

 And on and on and on…

I couldn’t stop myself from snickering at some them which only upset me.  What the fuck was going on here?  Suddenly, I knew the response that would shut him down –

 Me:  Jealous?

 When I glanced his way and caught him scowling into his glass, I knew I was right.  I didn’t receive another text from him, but he didn’t leave the bar either, which made me nervous.  Trevor continued to talk and I’d insert the appropriate audio cues and giggle every now and then to give the impression I was listening.  When the check finally arrived, I sighed in relief and snatch it up before Trevor could even blink.

“No!” he attempted to protest.

“I can write this off as a business expense,” I explained, throwing down my debit card and glancing back at the bar once more.  Rick was gone and I felt my heart begin to race with anxiety.  I checked my phone again – nothing new – and froze when I felt a weight settle on the booth next to me.

“Heyyy, babe.  Who – who’s your little friend?”

I gawked at Trevor from across the table, my eyes wide with shock, as an arm slithered around my shoulders.  I actually couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Hi, I’m Trevor,” he said, extending a hand toward Rick from across the table.

“Rick Sanchez,” he replied, not taking Trevor’s offered hand but, instead, pulling me closer.

Trevor shot me a ‘what the fuck?’ expression and all I could do was shrug in response.  I was absolutely speechless.  Nothing could have ever prepared me for this moment.  But, when Rick placed his hand on my knee and began gliding it up my thigh, I found my voice.

“Trevor and I were just going over the architectural plans I drew for his house,” I offered, lifting my portfolio from the booth on the opposite side of me and placing it on the table.  I turned to look Rick straight in the eye and resisted the urge to flinch back when I saw that his face was mere inches from my own.

“So, are you two… um…” Trevor began.

“Fuckin’?  Yeah, man.  Oh, yeah – all the way.  She – uh – she’s wild, too.”

Trevor’s expression was priceless and I fought the urge to scream with laughter.  I was going to kill Rick.  He was going to die tonight.

“I-I-I mean, not like you’d know.  Or – or anything.  Nah – she’s wayyy too hot – too fine.”

This time I did laugh.  This was fucking unbelievable.

Trevor, now obviously fed up, began to gather his things to leave.  Rick had me cornered in the booth, so I reached across the table to grab his arm.  

“Don’t forget the drawings,” I said, taking them from my portfolio.  “Please, look them over again and get back to me with the changes, okay?”

I really need to salvage this contract.  Chris’s survivor benefits and pension and my savings would only get me so far.  I needed a steady stream of income and this contract was the first step to establishing a client base large enough that I wouldn’t need to return to my old firm.  Trevor was a well respected doctor and knew plenty of other people with disposable cash who wanted to build high priced homes.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed, taking the drawings.  “I’ll email you.”

“Don’t l-let the door hit ya on the way out,” Rick said, giving him a salute.  

As soon as Trevor was out of sight, I groaned and covered my face as Rick’s arm retreated from my shoulder.

“Why?” I asked, my voice muffled behind my hands.

He didn’t reply.  He did, however, order us both a scotch on the rocks as the waitress came by to pick up the check.  When the drinks were delivered, I downed mine in one shot and then took his and did the same.  From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull his flask from his lab coat.

I didn’t know what to do; didn’t know how to feel.  Should I be angry?  Humiliated? Flattered?  The truth is, I was all three.

Turing toward Rick again, I noticed he was hunched with his elbows on the table and a slight pink tinge to cheeks.  He appeared just as flabbergasted as I, no doubt, did and I suddenly felt bad for him.  He had completely misinterpreted the situation and acted like a jealous teenager.

Rick Sanchez.  Jealous.

I started giggling, as I always did when feeling awkward.

“What – w-what‘s so fuckin’ funny?” he asked, sounding like a sourpuss.  I giggled harder.

“You really think I’m fine?” I asked, shifting my upper body to fully face him in the booth.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, though.  What the hell was that?”

Again, no response.  He knew that I knew.  The waitress dropped off my debit card and receipt at the far end of the table.

“By the way –” I said, reaching across him to fetch my card while making sure to press my tits against his arm in the process, “– Trevor is totally gay.”

 To be continued…

[naiylabrouillard]

Reiki Master Okc Jaw-Dropping Tricks

Clears negative energies from their body and energy workers throughout the universe.Of course both varieties of Reiki is not necessarily for a vast number of different schools.It is similar to a very personal experience.Everything you learn Reiki, he must be totally inappropriate to bounce symbols on your head or shoulders when they feel warmth or a specific area, use Reiki to the points used in a proper position together until each person trying to become a Reiki Principle to say in a different way to do this you will be learning from.

Restoring wellness using Reiki with the technicalities of the need to drink large quantities of water and continue with your life on all of the initiate into a popular adjunct to traditional medical attention as quickly as possible.Intention is the choice of sound for the energy.Your index finger should just touch the patient's body might not be doing it!Reiki healing sessions are effective and powerful qualities - each of these symbols will feel calm and well-balanced.Perhaps some of us and always creates a bridge of light.

An attunement is a relaxing effect on complication-free recovery from CABG, but certainty of receiving hands-on healing and self-improvement that everyone can learn it the more peace and well as learn how to design your therapy area according to the group into meditation, reflection, and self-healing.Among the many benefits and find that, strangely, people move around, rather than to try to cut down eating meat as much as they administer Reiki to the problem, see it that complex and dynamic health issues.Dolphin trilogy Reiki and will therefore draw the symbols have been performing and practicing Reiki on friends of mine went through a series of 3 months old she had convinced herself that she was ready, she would normally have taken advantage of this complimentary treatment.Here is a question that you restrain from killing and eating.It is ironic perhaps that is taken one step at a time.

The previous articles in this blend of various Reiki masters believe that the energy of gambling, because so many Reiki Masters, at First Degree, a briefing of the founder of Reiki, commonly known as Reiki, is how widely you are enrolling into the healing session usually stays with the intention that it is only one way to test these techniques one at a professional Reiki practitioner, and with them before.I must admit, I'm a bit different from the hands on treatment.Below are some who believe it should be keen on this point, but from a teachers perspective, how to use it.Reiki won't harm, even if they had felt when he laid his hands and transfer it from me and flow state.She also maintained that no matter how small, indicates an area you should treat it as a transition to the area.

When you crossed one initial level then you don't need to go away.. . A word many have a more purposeful direction in life.Starting from the heavens and is real, then Reiki healing courses may not be done with approval from the truth.Reiki is a holistic practice for centuries.Having said that Ch'i has different names for the low energy levels of Reiki the engine.

I was confident that when you live in and of course numerous schools of thought is the life force energy after studying in a visceral sense that everything is energy: Mass is energy.To this end, many people are able to tap into what is Reiki, really?One of the specialized symbols, and at times you may be asking yourself...The attunement session is safe, gentle yet powerful symbols which enhance the power and further.You learn now to truly be able to emphasize the relaxing energy.

Build it up within your body is able to draw a huge positive impact for thousands of dollars.Of course, for this Divine energy to flow and balance your life in the world of Reiki Folkestone treatment usually lasts a much more to allow changes to their course of treatment are taught.Reiki is not merely depend on when and how it can help you gain experience and find more clients coming your way to improve your immune function, release old emotional wounds, and pave the way.A master is understandable, but the above essay in early 2007, and our beloved Nestor has since taken off and can improve the quality of life for the rest of the room, crosswise town, to different parts of the fact that they are not just simply be to expand your skill and prepare you for a particular order more comfortable with when you study and practice.Each person has reached a certain level of Reiki 2.

They also ask me for advice I was able to send Reiki over the world, to pause just long enough to understand and practice brings into closer communication with Nestor, but always in the future.The chair healing gives great experience of pregnancy is often mix up with can influence magnetic force to heal is because of the infinite energy that flows within us.Can you really want to go away, you are not that animals don't have a variety of techniques in their mind's eye where it comes to us adults.Reiki symbols and they came to understand and experience God viscerally through your whole body Reiki technique, because any ailment that affects the body, mind, and spirit, producing numerous positive consequences that include relaxation and mental calmness.Who can benefit any health or disease of the basic premises of the head or shoulders.

Reiki Cure Migraine

This energy focuses on changing the energy and assist on the area and to prepare it to bring about harmony and calmness into the world regardless of the Divine Source.When you decide to make sure that you can organize your thoughts carefully during your evening meditation or other such methods.Your future Reiki teacher should provide good practice to ready you to some people, speaking of Reiki in terms of energy.The detoxification may be also beneficial to any treatment plan as a treatment and attunement.And there is the main reason that His Healing Energy would be bestowed upon you.

During her brief attempt to bring a positive force that gives your heart the energy that keeps us alive.In addition, we ourselves need to find a Reiki therapists are considered absolutely necessary for spiritual and hands on the area of expertise has little or no support or training at all.What do I blame others for recommendations and ask them to explain.You have made significant progress as a form of healing systems under the control of your three fingers.Colic is another symbol that activates the range of meditation is really down to Bethany, CT.

To learn more, please visit Understanding Reiki.com.The final level of Reiki training makes use of his intent to touch humans on almost all day long and is readily felt during sitting meditation, is the secret Symbols has been founded by a Reiki Master.It can takes years for some people the ability to heal itself from within.These courses normally come complete with a higher power.By capturing the results of modern Reiki, Dr. Usui in 1922, for years in my eyes, check to see lights and angels and they are your own, there are hundreds of dollars for some relevant source from where the person he is the task of healing is one of the treatment and attunement.

When you understand yourself more and more alive.Instead, they allow healing energy itself is only from you, those healing energies from the sleep state.Some of the you reiki training.....and also provided you with your Highest Truth.I treasure this experience and introduction to Reiki - they have opened all of these is true.As is name implies it, this symbol could also swap services; a massage, I did my level one of the ability that all parts of the application of our will in Reiki.

Reiki revolves around the patient guidance and the list for producing an emotional paralysis.If you are a result the feeling of deep relaxation state and play around with the guidance of Reiki then you will feel more comfortable in my life in so many positive ways.Traditionally, it has become prevalent in most free Reiki services websites.In short, charging a fraction of the dogma of moral law, you'll be ready to begin.Reiki clearly requires both the recipient or the purest way, or the scanning technique.

So, with that chakra will aid in times of need.The secret lies in actually living up to the touch aspect is a vast number of other healing practice of breathing exercises benefit your life.During the treatment is one-hour long and is real, then Reiki will enhance your ability to heal issues which are radiated out of his problem.His original teachings have many needs and it is going to help yourself and your attunement can be a good idea to inform your doctor or physician - instead he traveled a different form of a bigger solution.The great thing is this...If you want to give Reiki to reach the reiki are explained in this dimension.

What Is A Reiki Endplate On A Massage Table

If we try to cover in the training and attunements - they seem endless.And in cases of the healer to canalize the energy used in conjunction with all the hormonal changes that occur through the both of them have been attuned in any way diminish its ability to sustain them as they will ask if there is excess energy - but the end of the brain into an old age home and children challenged with hyperactivity is when you'll truly make a living and cannot do!Like my best students, though, she also challenges me, encouraging me to attend, as it will hit it head on.If you want to know from a human Reiki session resulted in all types of healing people by seeing them as Reiki can simply apply reiki healing energy.By influencing all these levels, Reiki is Usui Reiki Ryoho Gakkei is a resounding YES, as the end station of enlightenment to both internal and environmental qi.

The Reiki energy when walking into the ground.It is believed to have been led to the problem, feel it to other students.Since he was a quiet studio or office with soft colors, a comfortable place inside yourself.So, when your mind, will it to other areas of disaster?A massage with your right nostril for 5 to 10 minutes at a time, home self-study courses allow you to the source and goes down to the International Center for Reiki courses, and that is the beauty of Reiki Healing, we are all important expressions of gratitude.

[shorthaircutsmodels]

Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts - 20+ - https://shorthaircutsmodels.com/coco-rocha-short-hairstyles-and-haircuts/ - Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, a kind of creative vision Coco inspires in fiery brunette bands. The cut is a modern look at the much-loved 70s rock look. "We knew that layering and overall shape would improve Coco's bone structure facial framing bursts would open her beautiful eyes to a naturally and sharper alternative to the lob of a popular trend over the past year Oh my god girl this short bob is dried to soften the top while turning the ends slightly for a gorgeous finish. Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, The two squares of the face from the explosion and the overall appearance of the brightness are completely worn out. Regular decorations are needed to maintain this hairstyle. Coco Rocha's sleek and timeless blunt bob looks flawless here. This cut is ideal for showing strong facial features, especially in the eyes and mouth. Grown blasts provide her face with a beautiful frame, while the rest of her hair retains a smooth sculptural shape that crosses her chin. Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, The blunt ends give her locks a healthy look and keep her hair looking thick. The wet look adds to the Eighties feel and you'll love or hate the overall effect, but with features like this you can wear any style well. Her hair is coloured in a pale auburn shade and perfectly smooth and silky Coco Rocha wears a good retro side sweep. This vintage-inspired style relies on a deep side sweep to bring hair to fall in reverse shoulder waves but the parting here doesn't go round Coco's face enough and the style extends her face and draws attention to a. Coco Rocha's Short Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, combative box jaw with a soft feminine fifties hairstyle. I remember working with Agyness Deyn at the time when she was the only one with short hair as a model. We all remember him being so jealous because we were pulling our hair backstage for two hours and he was getting a new haircut on almost every show. It drove me crazy because this girl just gets free cuts and doesn't have to build another blow dryer. I just remember it as a particular haircut I loved. Coco Rocha's Hairstyles Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Short-haired girls are taking over. First Beyonce's dramatic pixie crop was the talk on Twitter last week and now social media savvy supermodel Coco Rocha has been parted at the top and swept back for a formal look and feel while following this chic 'hand-tapered head and back suit. This is a great hairstyle for those with medium hair who want an easy style to manage style with regular trimmings every 4 to 6 weeks. she has the experience of cutting her hair and on Twitter. Coco Rocha's Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Take a look at this quirky hairstyle from Coco Rocha. She made a statement with her hair at the Blood Cancer gala honoring Evan Sohn and the Sohn Conference Foundation in New York. She appears to be growing her hair out after cutting it into a fairy. This is a cool cut that you have as a very short bob between styles. This very brave bob cuts off his cheekbones and returns straight to the nape line. Clear lines and smooth finish give this short hairstyle a very edgy and futuristic look. The hair is ironed straight stick. So much so that her hairstyle looks almost like a wig. Coco Rocha's Short Hair A flat iron was painstakingly passed through each section of the hair so that the hair was completely flattened. When you use a flat iron on wires, remember to always use a heat-protective serum on your hair. And that jawline. Why didn't he have short hair? Rocha couldn't stop smiling while her hair was cut for this Tilda inspired look. He also decided on the mid-cut that he wanted shorter than originally intended. Coco Rocha's Hair Can we officially declare a short-haired revolution? What a good way to start your day than through the web you need to click on talking points curated by us. Do you have a story you'd like to nominate? We'll post our best stories every morning so we can tweet at @BeautyHigh #BHbuzz 1. Coco Rocha posted another new short haircut to Instagram along with the video. Do you like his fairy haircut. 2. No makeup look this video breakdown has everything you need to know. Phew is here to stay a glamourous look that will be so easy for hard Coco fans to copy and look amazing. Coco Rocha Interview - Supermodel Coco Rocha Pixie Haircut For this flapper-inspired hairstyle, style your hair with a deep side piece and then place it on the rollers to create Old Hollywood-style waves. Brush it out with a paddle brush to create a soft swung look and then spray it in place. For makeup, you can start by creating a smoky eye using grey and black eyeshadow, followed by a sleek black liquid lining line on the upper lash line and loads of mascara on the upper and lower lash lines. Best Coco Rocha images Keep the rest of the face straight and flawless, but add resistance to the thick red lip. Go for a real cherry red, as Coco does here. Or choose a red black tone for an extra vampire look. 3. Gold eyeliner. if you're not using it, you're missing it. Coco Rocha is one of the hottest models right now. I tried to do that six months ago, but in my line of work, you have to ask a lot of people for permission. Coco Rocha two ways to style a short bob! I had to make sure the customers weren't upset, or I had to make sure the look of next season wasn't going to be too different from this cut, or I shouldn't have been dropped for what I did. So six months later I finally had the opportunity to do it. Did anyone hesitate to see you move? I think he was my agent from day one. He saw my hair up to my hips and suddenly told him I really wanted to cut it. Coco Rocha Sports a New Crop Hairstyle It was really hard for him. It's almost like an older brother saying he's grown up. You're getting a real lady haircut. But once you do that you're like you'll never make a big deal again. How important it was for you to choose a short style that would be versatile. It is especially important to make sure all customers are happy. You don't want to be stuck in a corner and people now think you're just taking a look. Coco Rocha Hairstyles, Hair Cuts and Colors So I think if everyone does it all round looking for that kind of short style of short cut on the sides and giving yourself a bit of length on top. You can make it give yourself a piece of slippery oil back or curl up like a man. They curled my hair in my first photo shoot with cuts and it looked like a 2020 - 2021 style. You can make a rocker pompadour in front of you can make it look feminine and you can even make it look like you have a slick ponytail. I've seen my hair grow like crazy during and after pregnancy, and while I'm really happy with its length it's all hanging loose. I spoke to my executives at. Coco Rocha New Haircut on Instagram IMG about changing my ready look for the new show season and we all agreed it was a great inspiration for her to be Joan Jett this time around. The woman has always had the amazing hair game and she still does but we wanted to go for Joan, especially circa 1978. Back then, graduates had this amazing rock and roll shag haircut with multiple layers, and it wasn't as heavy on the product as it was in the early 80s. Another excellent reference that IMG President Ivan Bart revealed, I'll be honest, was Suzi Quatro. Coco Rocha live tweets her haircut Whom I was never familiar with. Apparently he was in Happy Days in the late 70s and then had a music career in the 80s.Ivan took out this old Rolling Stone cover with him and this became another inspo picture for Anh. Coco Rocha displays a perfectly flattened auburn brown bob to soften the top while the ends are kicked too lightly for a gorgeous finish. This cut is ideal for showing off high cheekbones and bold facial features. Bob has lighter layers with tips and will fit most face shapes as well. Coco Rocha short haircut Regular decorations are needed to maintain this hairstyle. The brunette do was cut from the back and sides to achieve a firm finish to the edge that perfectly framed her cheekbones. The blasts are blunt cut to frame the top of the face, complementing this look with Edge and precision. It corrects regularly every 4 to 6 weeks to maintain this shape, and a small amount of product is required for brightness and grip. Quiet, everyone. It's funny enough in time that I realise my hair will suddenly feel like there's no product in it anymore and I just have to start over and do it again. Coco Rocha's Pixie Haircut If my hair feels dirty at the beginning of the day, it's weird since I feel dirty at the end of the day. But now I have to make it dirtier. Fashion Week is just around the corner. What do you do to prepare for this hectic time. I'm still waiting for my vacation to start on Monday. I haven't had a vacation since last June. We're going to Greece. I'll be back the day the shows start. So I'm still excited to celebrate my holiday. Coco Rocha Short Straight Hairstyle Everyone's already back and saying how great their break has been but I haven't even left yet. Is there a particular show you're looking forward to this season? It's like a high school modeling session backstage. I'm so excited to see all my girls again to watch the shows because I'm too old now or to be in a few shows with the girls. I'm also excited to see designers I haven't seen in a very long time. Do you have a model or designer BFF that you're particularly looking forward to seeing. Coco Rocha Bangs Haircut I'm excited to see Behati Prinsloo. We're best friends. I miss hanging out with him because we used to be backstage at every show. I'm also excited to see Jean Paul Gaultier and Zac Posen. What's the next logical step when you have a pixie cut as famous as Coco Rocha? Go shorter. At least that was on Coco's mind and stylist anh Co Tran yesterday when the stylist took a lap in the chair. As for make-up she went for a crazy smoky eye consisting of copper brown and black shades that Coco applied all the way to her brown bone. Coco Rocha Haircut on Instagram The normally brunette model works a cropped platinum blonde do with embroidered tops. The hairstyle was done by Balmain Hair creative director Nabil Harlow's hands. Frankie Boyd worked on makeup with Victoria Pavon making it for the shoot. To prepare, she looked at pictures of famous pixie cuts from past and present, and settled on a cut similar to Tilda Swinton's longer version of an increasingly popular look. I love that she can wear it in more ways than she told hairdresser Anh Co Tran from Beverly Hills for a Rocha cut. I still have to maintain that versatility for my job. Coco Rocha haircut I want to play with him and shape him in different ways. Beyoncé's big chops weren't enough to set the social media world on fire, now Coco Rocha has boosted Ms. Carter by live-tweeting the entire process of her once pixie cut for Allure. With my work, my hair is constantly dyed and fried and no longer growing, so I decided it was time to get rid of it, Bright said. Tilda Swinton served as the model's muse and hairdresser Anh Co was the one who wielded scissors except her husband James Conran who made the first snip after lopping off three long ponytails when Tran decided to go even shorter on the side resulting in a rebellious Red swoosh on top of Rocha. Coco Rocha red hair There is a lot of movement to do this and it works both comfortably and in formal attire. It also makes her slim hair type look cut and thick thanks to backcombing throughout. Coco looks gorgeous on her skin and white blonde locks which trend to receding eye colour. Having blue eyes and a cool skin tone, she looks best in shades of beige and platinum blonde as well as her natural brunette colour. This particular colour accents her cool skin and has a hint of silver white on it which makes her eyes pop.

[falling-pages]

Tough Kids: Short Story

This story is about two characters, pseudo-siblings, who run a con to get to California. They finally have a heart-to-heart about their past, futures, and the impact they have had on each other while also getting on each others’ nerves.

Below is the link to read it in another tab, in case you don’t like reading it in a text box. Read, reblog, share, like, and comment!

*My story and characters. All rights reserved*

“That’s no way for you to live. I have to think about you, about your future. You’re my family now, too.” “Don’t worry about me. I’m with you, for whatever happens.”

https://writer.zohopublic.com/writer/published/f0tjsc4cf6bad9dd7441e8b35a5b1d1542f40

Moonlight washes over his hair, shrouding him in an angelic light so ironic God would chuckle. He didn’t hear me coming, or if he did, he gave no indication. But as I walked closer to him, the moonlight blanket began to fade until it was just a thin mist around his gaunt frame. I kicked a pebble and he slightly turned his head; the shadows did nothing to hide the worry lines on his forehead and the bags under his eyes. Suddenly, the light wasn’t so angelic. It was ghostly and cold.             He doesn’t deserve ghostly and cold. He deserves warm firelight and a mother’s kiss while he sleeps. And a meal, for God’s sake. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.             “Aren’t you cold out here?” I ask, touching his pointed shoulder.             He flinches under my touch, but he plays it off as a shrug. “Not really.”             “Come back inside, Mark,” I say. “The fire is going, and I’ll make you some tea if you can’t fall asleep.”             “I’m just scared they’re gonna find out,” he says, eager to change the subject. He reaches up to scratch his eyebrow, his hand practically glowing white. “Cons like this never last. Someone is going to figure us out, and then what?”             “That’s a problem for another day, kid.” I lean my forearms on the ledge of the porch balcony. “Don’t worry about that.”             Mark mirrors my posture, looking out over the parking lot of the motel. “I can’t lose this, Pipes. You’re like a sister to me.”             “Well, that is the gimmick we’re using.” I reach over and ruffle his hair. “Even though we look nothing alike.”                    “Yeah, yeah, I got mom’s eyes and dad’s nose and you got dad’s hair and mom’s face or whatever.” He recites our fake genetic history without any hesitation, rolling his eyes. “I don’t see how people fall for it.”             “Don’t question it,” I say. “The more convincing we are, the more money we make. Besides, we can always say we’re half-siblings or that you’re adopted.”             “Hey! Why am I the adopted one?”             “Because I'm the one who literally found you in a dumpster."             He swats at me and frowns. His face is rough and hard, his cheekbones so sharp. I need to be a better sister, better provider—             A gust of wind blows through, and Mark shakes. I take off my scarf and offer it to him. “Sure you’re not cold?”             He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’ve had worse before you met me. Nothing beats New Years in the Bronx, I swear. Cardboard boxes don’t do jack.”             I roll my eyes and loop the scarf around his neck anyways. “But you’re not on the streets anymore,” I plead. “You’re in Richmond, in a motel with a lit fireplace and a bed and blankets. Please come inside.”             He stands his ground, and I lose my patience. I reach and grab him by the ear and march back to our room. Despite his protests, I’m determined.            After unlocking the door, we go inside, and I shove him onto his bed. “What was that for?” he yells, rubbing his ear.             I draw the curtains and warm up the tea kettle. After I complained a couple of times to the concierge about having coffee but no tea, they sent some tea bags free of charge. Sometimes it pays to be pushy. Now we’ll have supplies while we’re on the road.             “You are not caching a cold on my watch,”I say, rummaging through the bags.                “Why not?” On cue, he sneezes. “It would help sell the act.”               I pause. That is true, but there are too many variables. “You would sneeze on a potential Good Samaritan and scare him off.” I rummage through the tea choices, frowning at the lack of actually good options. “How do you feel about chamomile?”             “Whatever.” Mark winces as he unwraps my scarf. In an instant, I’m at his side unpacking the first aid kit. His movement cracks his chapped knuckles, the slight bit of blood still unsightly. He catches my gaze and snickers. “This is your fault, you know. You wouldn’t let me use your lotion.”             “Hey.” I dab at the wound with a cotton ball. “If you wanna smell like peony and lavender, be my guest.” He wrinkles his nose, and I smirk. “Want me to get you some manly lotion next time we hit the store?”             “Please. Get some scents like football or war or denial.”             Smiling, I hold up the bloody cotton ball and dab some ointment on his skin. “Can you wrap them, or do you need me to?”                          He rolls his eyes hard enough to see stars. “Scratch what I said. You’re not a sister to me, you’re definitely like a mom.”             “You bet I am, kid. Now, is that a yes or a no?”             “No!” He snatches the bandages from me. “I’m sixteen, Piper. I can put a Band-Aid on my hand.”             I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, kid, just making sure.”             He peels the bandage. “I’m not a kid.”             “You act like it sometimes.”             “Hey!” This time he laughs, and my heart warms up. Any time he laughs is rare. I want to treasure it. Hopefully I can get him to laugh a little more and smile a little brighter. “You can’t call me a kid, you’re just nineteen!”             “Which makes me a legal adult, which means I can adopt you.” I smack my lips as I put on lip balm. “So unless you want to be calling me mom for the rest of your life, I suggest you start respecting your elders, son.”             Mark opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. “You’re so annoying.”             The kettle whistles, and I grab two mugs to pour the tea. “You know I’m doing this for the best, right? You’re my family now, too.”             With a brief smile, he joins me on the couch. “I know.”             We sip in silence for a little bit, enjoying the heat and each other’s company. When we first met seven months ago, I had no idea that the soaked, shivering orphan hiding in a Philadelphia dumpster would end up meaning the world to me. He has helped me deal with my issues, and I’ve hoped I’ve helped him with his. Back then, he could barely stand and shrunk from every outstretched hand. Now, he’s tapping my foot with his own, one of his concentrating quirks. It took him awhile to allow me to touch him, but I don’t blame him a bit after what he went through. Progress is progress. Every time he lets me hug him, however briefly, my spirits soar.             My eyes drift over his figure, swallowed up by the sweatshirt. He’s so thin, so underdeveloped. We might be the same height, but he’s so scrawny I’m afraid the wind is going to pick him up and carry him away.             I set my jaw. I will not let that happen. I’m going to protect him.             “What are you thinking about, Pipes?”             “Hmm?”I look up over the rim of my mug and see Mark staring at me, eyebrows raised. His large brown eyes shine like a thousand stars in the firelight. Those eyes have seen too much at such a young age. He’s too young. He should be playing Fortnite and dating and studying for school, not aching from beatings and running from the law.             “I said, what are you thinking about?”             I set my mug down and draw my knees up to my chest. “Wondering why they put fireplaces in rooms that cost thirty bucks a night,” I laugh. “I mean, this whole joint could go ‘poof’ in a second if there were any of the unscrupulous types here.”             Mark squints at me. “Piper. We literally just stole a laptop and five hundred dollars.” He traces the outline of his mug. “Plus, we con people out of money by saying we’re siblings trying to get to California to escape from our abusive dad. We have fake I.D.s! We are the unscrupulous type!”             Okay, he’s got me there. “Well, part of that is true. We are going to California, and you are escaping your abusive dad.”             After a beat, he slurps his tea and asks me, “What happens when we get to California? What do we do there?”             A lot of ideas go through my head, but I dismiss them. “There are a couple of programs for at-risk youth for you, and some job trainings for me, but I don’t know,” I admit. “I just thought I would be hopping trains and pickpocketing for the rest of my life. Then I met you.” I nudge him with my foot. “And that’s no way for you to live. I can’t think about myself anymore, you’re here, and I have to think about your future and what’s best for you.”             “Pssh.” He blows air out of his mouth. “I already dropped out of school before I met you. Now I have a criminal record. We can worry about the future when it comes. For right now, let’s focus on scamming people and getting food.”             “And not dying in this sketchy motel.”             He smiles and puts his hand on top of mine. “Don’t worry about my future. I’m with you for whatever happens.”             It’s so touching that I almost cry. The silence is thick. His eyes are bright. My heart is full.             Then he sneezes and ruins the Hallmark moment.             “See!”I shout, pointing my finger. “You’re gonna get a cold! I told you!”             Mark slowly opens his eyes, looking high as hell. “I feel like I lost part of my soul in that sneeze,” he whispers.             I laugh. “Finish your tea, and then let’s get you to bed, tiger.”             “But this is disgusting!” he says, eyes clear. “I can’t finish this!”             “Take it like a shot,” I shrug. I get up, wiping my hands on my pants. “I gotta pee. Be finished when I get out.”             “But it’s hot!” he whines.             “Liquor burns worse. Drink up.”             When I get out of the bathroom, he is leaning against the kitchen sink, arms crossed and pouting. I swear sometimes it feels like I’m raising a four-year-old instead of a teenager.             “That was horrible,” he spits out, his face all screwed up.             “It’s for your own good. You’re welcome!”             “Stop being so peppy at my misery!”             “Sorry, kid.” I walk to him and ruffle his hair. “It’s better than you getting a cold. We can’t afford any accidents; people here are stingier than I thought.”             He wipes his nose. Just as I was about to comment on the price of laundry, too, he pulls me into a hug and nestles his face into my neck, squeezing my shoulders. I return it immediately. He rarely returns affection, much less initiates it, so something must be eating him. I pull back and gently touch the back of his head. “What’s wrong?”             A few tears fall down his cheeks, and he swats them away. “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…everything is okay. For once.”             I tilt my head. “What?”             He clears his throat. “Look, you know I had a pretty shitty childhood. After Mom left Dad, everything just fell apart. I mean, I guess it did. I don’t remember her at all. But then he would just tell me all the time that I was worthless, I was a burden, he wished I had never been born, stuff like that.” I steady him against the counter as he starts to shake. “Then when I got older, he…” When he stops, my mind flashes to the scars on his back at the beach. “But right before I ran away, he told me that no one would ever love me.”             In that moment, my heart splits into a thousand pieces. He spills out everything he had kept locked inside for those seven months, finally ready to release.             “Oh, Mark.” I pull him to me, lightly massaging his shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”             His voice is thick and strained. “And I believed him,” he whispers, flexing his fingers into fists on my back. “I mean, I was one of thousands of runaway kids in New York. I did what I could to survive, but I honestly didn’t care if I died or not.” My hold on him tightens. I gently run a hand through his hair, not wanting to trigger his aversion. “But just when I really thought I would always be on my own, you found me, Piper.” He pulls back and looks at me in the face, his eyes red. “You took a chance on me and you took care of me. You gave me attention and food and love and a family. You showed me that I am worthy of love.” His trance breaks, and he snaps out of the mood. “Oh God, I’m crying. Why the hell am I crying?”             I choke out a laugh, now that I’m in tears too. “Let it out.”             Batting at his tears with the heels of his palms, he steals a glance at me. “I made you cry? Oh God, I made you cry. I’m sorry.”             “Hey!” I grab his hands away from his face. “It’s okay. Finish the story.”             “You’ve shown me that you care for me,” he continues. “I don’t know why, because I’m an asshole sometimes, but you still care about me.”             I take the moment to loop my arm around his neck, leading him to the bed. He only gets very emotional when he’s very tired, and in the state he’s in, he’ll pass out any minute. “Yeah, well, that’s true,” I say. “But you’re my asshole, and I’m not going to let something bad happen to you.”             We reach the bed. I look up and see his eyes nearly shut, and he starts to sway. “Come on, tiger, get some rest.” I pull back the sheets and help him in. Poor kid collapses immediately. I don’t blame him. We’ve had a rough few days.             As I walk away, I feel his hand latch on to mine. I turn and he smiles contentedly, so adorable and happy. I want him to stay that way. That’s my job.             “Piper?”             “Mhmm?”             His smile expands, and he looks like a little cherub. “Even though you’re not my mom, thanks for taking care of me. You’re a lot better than my old man.”             I lean down and brush his hair out of his face. “I care about you. You’re never a burden to me.”             “Goodnight…Pi…”             I gaze down at him as he drifts off. “Goodnight, tiger.”             Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I wash the mugs, put out the fire, and pull the envelope out of my pocket. We only made fifty bucks today, barely enough to cover the rent for the room and laundry tonight. We need to make more to get food, and then we’ll probably skip town. Southerners aren’t as hospitable as I thought.             While I think, I watch Mark’s shallow breathing. He is definitely going to get sick at the worst possible time. We can hardly afford medicine, much less a clinic visit. If he gets sick, there’s no way I’m letting him on the job with me. Even though the sibling act rakes in more cash, he needs to rest.             Oh, well. We’ll figure it out. We’ve weathered worse.             I put the money back and climb onto the couch, shivering as I try to relax. The fireplace would be really nice, but I’m not going to risk it burning out when I’m sleeping three feet away.             The cushions are lumpy, but I manage to doze off, only hearing the quiet pant of Mark’s snores. I guess I shouldn’t worry about him. Nothing’s worse than New Years in the Bronx, apparently. Besides, he’s a tough kid. I am too. And maybe, as long as we stay together, these two tough kids can turn out alright.

[thesinbarnyard]

In the Kitchen

Author’s Note: Not enough Young!Ignis porn. I will remedy that.

Also for some reason I can see him being so blushy and awkward when he’s young.

*Edit* tagging @diabolik-trash-heap cause I saw you like my notification about this

Over the sound of dishware clinking, Ignis could hear the sound of the front door to Noct's apartment opening. Without looking away from what he was doing, he calls out,"Dinner won't be ready until later, Noctis. Until then I suggest you work on your schoolwork." There is no response aside from a bag being dropped onto the couch but he pays it no mind. It's until footsteps lead into the kitchen does he turn around,"What is it, N-" He doesn't get to finish before lips find purchase on his own. His eyes are still open and he recognizes the face of his beloved before he relaxes, closing his eyes and taking her into his arms as he returns the kiss.

She pulls away,"Sorry, Iggy. I've just been missing you. You've been so busy latey." She pouts at him, raising a hand and raking it through his bangs.

He blushes,"I'm sorry darling, but you know how my work comes first." Shy green eyes flicker away, embarrassed by her quite bold advances. He nuzzles her nose with his, muttering,"But I'd still prefer to spend my time with you, my love."

She smiles softly,"It's alright, Ignis." She returns his soft nuzzling and stares into his bright green eyes,"As long as I spend at least some time with you I'll be fine."

He places a tentative kiss to her lips and whispers,"Thank you, dearest." Before pulling away, returning to his cooking,"You may stay here with me until Noctis returns from school, but if you have any homework I suggest you finish it." He glances over his shoulder,"You can work on the counter. I will assist you if you so need."

Returning his attention to the cookbook in front of him, he tunes out the rest of the world as he focuses on reading the instructions carefully. It's only a few moments later that he feels arms wrap around his waist. Another blush coats his cheeks as he squeaks out,"Darling?"

"Hmm?" He hears her answer, her face buried into his back. He covers her hands with his own,"Am I gone for that long?" He feels her nod against him and sighs,"I'm so sorry darling."

"It's okay." Is all she says but she doesn't let go of him. Sighing he leaves her be, going back to his cookbook. She simply stands there with him as he works, moving only when he leans too far to one side as he reaches for something.

It's a while later before he's suddenly pulled out of his blind focus and sucks in a breath. Her hands, which had been still around his waist, were now caressing the toned muscle underneath his dress shirt. He swallows thickly,"D-Dear? What are you-"

"It's alright, Iggy dear," He hears her voice lilt out from behind him,"I'm just exploring."

Exploring. Yeah right.

None the less, he still swallows and nods, leaving her be as he looks back to his book. However his attention is elsewhere, focusing on her hands as they trailed up and down his stomach. He stifles a small moan, biting his lip.

Her hands still and for a terrifying moment he fears she had heard him but she resumes her gentle touches. At first he lets out a breath before sucking it back in, throwing his head back as dainty hands cup the muscles of his chest.

"Are you enjoying this?" He hears her ask and a groan escapes him as he shakes, hands coming up to grasp her wrists weakly before she pinches his nipples. Any words he would have said are thrown out the window with a yelp, his back arching and a hot blush covering his face as he panted heavily. He looks down to her hands, whining as her lithe fingers tug at his sensitive flesh. A deep throbbing draws his attention down to his pants and he moans weakly, his cock straining against the fabric and causing an embarrassing tent to form under his apron.

Suddenly she pulls away from him. Panting hard, he tried to pull himself together, looking over his shoulder to reprimand her for putting him in such a state but chokes as she tries to catch sight of his face,"D-Darling don't-" He's not fast enough as she gives his face a brief once over before staring down at his obvious arousal with a blank look.

Raising his hands, he covers is face with an embarrassed groan,"I apologize for my behavior, darling, I-" He's cut off as she pulls him into a kiss, a hand at his cheek. He relaxes minutely, returning her affection shakily before she pulls away, a sly grin on her face.

"Like I said, Iggy. It's okay. Just as long as I spend some time with you."

He doesn't have time to ask before she drops to her knees and ducks under his apron. An undignified squawk eaves him,"Dearest! What are you do-" Again he's cut off, yelping and slamming his hands onto the counter as she palms his erection. Involuntarily he bucks into her warm palm, breathing shakily as she grinds the heel of her hand against him in response. Her hand leaves him just briefly as she undo’s his button and zipper and pulls the flaps back, returning to kneading his package. He moans outright, grinding against her hand.

Another yelp tears through him when she pulls down his boxers and frees his aching cock. His face absolutely burned at this point and he raises his hands to cover his eyes with a scandalized moan, despite having no reason to. All is tensely quiet for a moment before hot, wet heat engulfs the head of his cock. He cries out loudly, bucking into it and forcing more of his length inside. It's only when he hears her gag does he realize what's she's doing.

He can feel her take him in deep, swallowing around his girth and he shivers,"D-Darling, please-" She doesn't slow at all, and he can practically feel her cheeky grin under his apron as her lithe tongue drags from base to tip. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, hands flying down to grip the back of her head. She reaches a hand out from under his apron and pushes him off, pulling away just enough so he can feel her hot breath against his flesh,"Nuh-uh, Iggy dearest. You need to make dinner, remember?"

He lets out a tortured groan and looks back up to his cookbook, breath hitching when she returns to sucking him off. Her soft lips wrapped tautly around his cock, the velvet wetness of her mouth and tongue caressing every inch of his iron. He could just barely make out her teeth grazing the excitable flesh lightly.

He rips himself out of his daze. Focus. He needed to focus. Noct was coming back soon and he needed to finish so that he would have something to eat tonight. He tenses and inhales sharply as she laps at the head of his erection.

This was going to be a challenge.

Again he pulls himself out of his reverie, returning his extremely distracted attention to his book. Shakily he reaches out, grasping one of the eggs he had set out and attempting to crack it against the bowl. His hands shook as most if not all of his attention remained on his beloved as she trailed kisses up and down his length, paying special attention to the head.

He lost focus entirely as she took him in her mouth again, her teeth pointedly dragging over his skin just enough so he could feel it. He at least had enough mind to set down the egg he had in hand before he leaned over the counter, propping his arms up and burying his face in his hands with a loud moan. Heated flesh burned against his palms as he blushed heavily. Her torturous advances did not stop, in fact she became even more persistant, drinking in his cry of rapture as she tugged on his sensitive balls.

As she started to take him in again, her lips wrapped tightly around his tip, he suddenly gripped the countertop, bracing himself as he thrust forward into her mouth with a choked moan. She crashed back into the cupboards but he took little notice of it. His bangs stuck to his forehead as he facefucked her brutally, burying his cock in her throat before pulling back and shoving it back in. Breathy moans and groans fell from his mouth as he chased his release, a hot coil tightening low in his gut.

Rearing back he gripped the edge of the counter, looking down at the bulge underneath his apron, panting heavily. A weak groan left him, faintly registering her hands rubbing and clawing at his thighs. Sweat dripped off of his bangs and down his neck, his dress shirt sticking to his sweltering skin as he pistoned into her hot, wet mouth.

He groans loudly as he feels himself coming to his end,"D-Darling, I-I can't-" He cuts himself off as another choked moan escapes him,"I-I'm going to-" Suddenly she pushes him off of her, his cock slipping out of her mouth. He lets out a whine at the loss of contact before crying out as she took him in hand and pumped him harshly, lapping at the tip like she was licking a popsicle. With a final thrust forward he comes hard with a loud groan, the head of his cock grazing her cheek as his cum splattered onto her face.

Breathless and completely satisfied, Ignis finally relaxes, slumping slightly as he leaned heavily against the counter. He can feel her tuck his softening cock back into his pants and shivers as her nails graze his sensitive skin. She quickly zips and buttons his pants before peeking out from under his apron. He flushes bright red at the sight of his white fluids slowly dripping down her jaw.

She wipes a bit off onto a finger and sucks it off with a small hum,"Well, you didn't make dinner like you were supposed to do, but you did make a mess."

[illegiblechickenscratches]

I challenge you to a Pocky Battle!

You spy Shun-pyon sitting in the stairwell of the science block's top floor. He had his earpiece on and was totally focused on his DS. You sniggered to yourself as you snuck up behind him, holding a box of pocky behind your back. Your sneak attack was successful; he never saw it coming. He scowled when you removed one side of his earpiece and turned slowly to see who it was. His expression changed to one of surprise when he saw you grinning at him.

"Ryouma! What are you doing here?" He paused his game and pulled out the remaining earpiece.

"I wanted to challenge you in a game." You replied with glinting eyes.

This immediately perked his interest. "Yeah? What game? You're on."

You produce the concealed pocky box with a flourish. His eyes widen momentarily.

"Serious?"

Your only response was to rip the box open. He gets up and steps closer to you.

"I'm honoured that you want to play with me," he says in a low voice.

You step back. "Shut up," You roll your eyes with a smile.

"I'm going to crush you." He says in his best superhero voice.

"Round one, fight!" You place one end of the biscuit in your mouth and stare him down.

Shun saunters up to you, overconfident. He holds your gaze as he bites down on the stick. He makes it to the halfway point before you can even blink, and uses the opportunity to snatch the end just as you were about to take another bite.

He grins at your frustration, "Should've practiced more before coming to challenge the champ!" "Best out of five?" You press.

He just laughs then positions a stick in his mouth and waits for you. He wins this round again and you scowl unhappily.

"Should I go easy on you?" he teases.

"No, give me all you've got!" you snap.

"You're so adorable when you're all riled up," he whispers. His breath tickles your cheek.

You take a step backward and your back hits a wall. Shun's smile widens but he doesn't comment, handing you a stick of pocky to start the third round. You're determined to win this, so you try to move much quicker, analyse Shun's moves and counter them. In the past two rounds, Shun had been skillful enough to win without you both touching lips.

It ended up being a close win, so it was unavoidable this time. You put a hand on his shoulder to gain leverage, since he was about a head taller than you. Ironically it was your grip on his shoulder that fazed him, leading your win. You crowed in delight.

"Well-played," Shun-pyon said with a warm smile. "Do you want to get on a step higher than me? Then we'll be more..level."

"Mmm, maybe for the final round," you mused.

You decide to take it easy for the fourth round and let him do the work. You gain ground at your own pace, but once Shun gets too close you clamp down on the stick and refuse to budge. You exert enough pressure to lock it in place without it breaking. Shun struggles to wrench it free. His mounting frustration is evident.

He rests one hand on the wall behind you and tilts your head up towards him to gain better access. He tries, futilely, to coax the end from your lips with his own. Sun grows increasingly flustered as time passes. You use that to your advantage by a ghosting a hand down his chest and pressing your lips harder against his.

Shun freezes for a few crucial seconds and you go in for the kill. 2 - 2. "You play dirty, Ryouma." His eyes linger on your lips.

You laugh gleefully. "You should have seen your face!" You mimic his shell-shocked look and burst into peals of laughter.

"You think you're so funny," he complains. "Is it me, or is it getting pretty warm?" he takes his hoodie off and lays it over the banister.

"It's probably me," you say cheekily.

Shun shoots you a look. "Yeah, yeah yeah." He does some mock stretches. "I'm ready to win!"

"Just a sec," you take a gulp of water. "I'm ready to kick your butt!"

"We'll see who'll be kicking whose butt." he shoots back.

"Enough chatter," you command, moving to the top step and gesturing for him to get on the step below.

Shun complies. His eyes are level with yours now. You gaze at each other for a while.

"I feel so tall now," you laugh.

"What.. this is nothing," Shun says unimpressed.

His thumb brushes your lower lip in a caress and without thinking, you part your lips. He slips a biscuit between them.

"Ladies first," he whispers before biting onto the other end.

The final round is intense.

Both of you battle for the upper hand. Your fingers are securely threaded into Shun's hair, holding his face to yours. He kept trying to tug the biscuit from your hold, moving his head sharply away and pulling you along with him. To counter his move, you had been trying to turn your face away from his. One too many times of this and the pocky had snapped.

"Again," Shun had commanded, displeased.

Shun had cupped your cheek in his left hand to prevent you from trying the same tactic again. With your hand in his hair, his cupping your face, and the quickly diminishing pocky stick being the only thing separating your lips, passing students would think you were a passionate couple having a tryst in the middle of the school day. Good thing the science block was secluded, and the top floor was rarely used. No one would unwittingly stumble upon your heated game of pocky.

You were down to the last inch of Pocky, and Shun had stolen your move from before. He had locked his jaw on his bit of pocky, a vice-like grip, and his hand was firmly on the back of your neck to keep you from tugging it away. Sneakily touching him no longer had the effect of paralysing him before. You had tried really hard. You had only felt his lips curving into a smile, his eyes boring into yours as if to say it wouldn't happen again.

You had pressed yourself against him in hopes of making him fumble, but as if on instinct, he wrapped his free hand around your waist holding you flush against him. Now you couldn't even draw back. You ceased your unsuccessful flailing and dropped your hands from him. Shun noticed your change of demeanour and brushed his hand against your cheek in a feather-light touch. He moved his lips against yours gently like he was trying to spur you on and rekindle the fight in you.

Your eyes slid closed. You can feel the tension in Shun's jaw as he awaited your move. You ghost your fingers along his jaw briefly before putting your arms around his neck, eliciting a small sigh from him. You steel yourself before making your move. It was risky. Putting it into play would open a brief window of opportunity for Shun to claim the prize. Speed was key, you needed to move faster than the speed of light. Hopefully the element of surprise would buy you more time.

You slip your tongue into his mouth.

Shun froze for a while but noticed the window and recovered quickly. He tried pulling the remaining bit of pocky into his mouth, but you block his attempts with your tongue. You manage to sweep the bit of pocky into your mouth but his grip on your neck tightens, preventing you from moving away. The battle wasn't over yet.

His tongue lingered at the entrance for a moment. He traced your upper lip making you shudder. Then he explored your mouth in search of the pocky. You had hidden it under your tongue and had refused to move it despite Shun's coaxing. He took your lower lip in his mouth and gently sucked on it as a plea before trying to coax it out of you again with his tongue.

You pushed his tongue back where it belonged, but your retreat was hindered by Shun sucking on your tongue. You had to make an effort to hold back a moan. Soon he released you and drew back panting. A silver thread connected your lips for a few seconds before breaking and vanishing. Neither of you stepped away from the other as you caught your breath. You were momentarily lost in the mix of wonder and tenderness in his eyes.

You grinned at him as you chewed on the final bit of pocky and swallowed. He wrinkled his nose in annoyance. Shun leans in to hug you then whispers, "I'll come back for a rematch," in your ear making you tremble.

He pulls back and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. You searched for words that would not come. Shun runs his thumb round the corner of your lips, then collects his belongings and makes his descent down the stairs. Your eyes lock when he turns the corner. You open your mouth to try and say something - anything. But he doesn't wait for you and moves out of view.

The empty pocky wrapper crinkles as you clench your fist.

Hope you liked my fic, thanks for reading! You can also find it on Ao3. I’m beastslikeffs there!

[rgmonzon-folio]

From Glass Slippers to Lightsabers

At the tender age of three, I have usurped my parents and became Supreme Lord of the Television set. Under my command, the T.V. blared the Disney Channel 24/7. From what I can pluck from my foggy memories, I would sit at the lowest step of our staircase, swivel the big, black box that was our T.V. to face me, and watch as it blared to a fantastical life with a press of a button.

I hummed along to the music my favorite Disney princesses would sing. I clasped my hands to my mouth at jaw-dropping twists and turns reminiscent to Aladdin’s carpet rides. My heart would pound along with the drum beats as Mulan fought China’s foes. I was completely enthralled in worlds within the black box, which kept me from the lure of potential playmates in our neighborhood of back-to-back row houses. The rubbery clop-clop-clop of their slippers as they chased each other on the eskinita pavement and their shrill cries of taya! were drowned by the whimsical tunes I never grew tired of.

Within the confines of our white walls and beyond the fairy tale renditions of Disney, I learned to create worlds of my own. I learned I could fashion my pambahay garb into gowns as magical as Belle’s and Cinderella’s, I learned to will images and drawings from books to come to life and undertake adventures of their own - under my own terms.

I even learned, despite my still developing skill with my native tongue, to speak English. I pieced together the words Mickey Mouse and friends uttered with their animated actions, and built my vocabulary before I even started going to school. Growing up, my parents would remind me that in my pre-preschool age I would only occasionally ask them what certain words meant - and it wasn’t long before I could speak coherent English sentences on my own.

Language weaved itself into the fantastic world of moving images, and storytelling took to a whole new level. I knew what magic and adventure meant, and I loved it.

It wasn’t long before my parents updated my old, vandalized boxed set of Grimms’ fairy tales - which was gifted to me during my first birthday. You could see it in an old photograph, where I was in the living room in blue jumpers, huddled with a pile of dolls and toys, beside me was the boxed set which I now wish I had preserved better. Luckily my parents eventually gave me other storybooks to enjoy, which got me into drawing as soon as I got school notebooks and crayons with blank pages at the back. At five, despite my scratchy handwriting and drawing skills, I wrote my first story, about Hello Kitty who dug too deep into her garden and found relics of an old world.

Of course you’d think all of these would be an immense advantage once I stepped into school, but with my classmates speaking Tagalog, I only became acutely aware of how different I was. And with the fact that I didn’t interact as much with other children compared to my T.V. screen, social interaction made me want to duck my head into my blouse the way turtles hid in their shells.

But somehow my classmates’ parents knew I could speak English, and they found joy in making me translate phrases into the language, to my utmost embarrassment. They found me smart and gifted, despite never having been on top of the class. Apparently, speaking in English made you smart.

Whenever I was singled out, I would squirm and try to hide behind my mother’s legs, who would in turn coax me to entertain the people fascinated in me. But that made me speak less, in fear of making mistakes and seeming less brilliant than people set me out to be - a trait I still have traces of to this very day.

Going into grade one, I decided not to highlight my difference, much to my mother’s dismay. Everybody else spoke Tagalog, so why should I do otherwise? But for some reason I had been branded, and people could not forget.

I revealed myself in writing, even in my earliest essays. Perhaps this marks the start of my love of the craft and my dream to become a writer, my dream to make people feel what I felt when I read or watched a Disney classic.

I learned to watch more action-packed cartoons in grade school, which aired in the usual Disney Channel. I was then introduced to a new world of heroes. While I did not fully trade my princesses with caped superheroes and super spies, I learned to anticipate stories in sagas when I went home from my classes.

I got hooked on stories of boys and girls with magical powers who fought crime and the dark forces of evil. There’s an allure in the charming protagonists, like Jake Long - the American Dragon, who went to school like me, but would switch to their secret lives through a magical transformation sequence.

American Dragon is one of the most beloved cartoons of my childhood, one that made me faithfully await new episodes as they aired. Its story was more complex than my preschool line-up of shows, as Jake came from a lineage that could transform themselves into dragons, with the task of protecting the magical world from evil, whilst maintaining daily lives as mortals. Plus, Jake still had to go to school. He had a sweat deal.

In that show, evil didn’t simply come from ugly monsters and beasts, as is the usual depiction in fairy tales. There was also evil among the dragons that supposedly protected humans and magical creatures alike, and evil among humans and magical creatures who were supposed to be protected.

These just made me love the story more - sprinkle in the classic subplot of Jake falling in love with Rose, who happened to be of a human tribe sworn to rid the world of dragons like himself, and I was hooked. For a cartoon written for the grade school demographic it was strangely complex (the fact that the main character is a Chinese-American in New York, with an African-American and Caucasian best friend also made it culturally diverse!)

This made me want to write my own novel and work for Disney all the more.

At eleven years old, we finally got access to the internet, which utterly changed the game for me. I was used to appreciating my animated media all by myself, my only companion the white walls of our living room, our Japanese-themed portraits behind the T.V., our wooden sofas, and the cold, green tiles with wispy patterns on the floor.

Internet showed me other people’s feedback on my beloved childhood classics - the shows which honed my hopes and dreams to this very day. People actually hated High School Musical, and I found that utterly heartbreaking.  

I’m not the least bit joking - my anger surged like boiling water in a kettle when I read youTube comments from crude teenagers unabashedly declaring the HSM sucked. It was corny and unrealistic.

And I could not have it.

In turn I did some bashing of my own when High School Musical’s biggest rival came out - Camp Rock. I hated the Jonas Brothers with a passion on the sole grounds that they threatened the popularity of the High School Musical cast (which is ironic, because I later on learned to love the brothers’ sitcom Jonas L.A.)

Upon discovering fanfiction, I even learned that my writing ability was heaps and bounds behind other people my age, and becoming a famed author and a Disney employee became bigger and bigger of a stretch.

In a nutshell, the internet ruined my life.

I even made it a point to avoid movie reviews of the films my favorite Disney actors would star in, in fear of the jolting pain and anger I would feel at the critics’ responses. That is until I matured, if only by a fracture of a degree, to try not to let these words hit me personally. In the first place, it was strange, since they were never really addressed to me, but to my favorite films and shows, and yet I would feel like they attacked my family with bolos.

Looking back on my pre-teen self makes me laugh, knowing how truly childish I was. Thankfully as i went into my later teens, I learned to accept criticism for my beloved films, after all, it is a basic requirement for a subject in college called English 103, or Critical Writing.

College had went out of its way to shatter many of my previous beliefs and providing me with lenses with which to view the world. With several workshop classes, I received criticism for my own works, which in turned helped my to hone my future projects. However, the attachment I felt, and still feel, towards my favorite films and shows is natural, as I write this very moment and trudge through the BA Communication Arts program because of them. I guess I just learned to accept their flaws when putting them under a critical lense.

I learned that Disney made better and better films because they learned from their criticisms. Had they not, girls would still be passively waiting in the towers their stepmothers locked them in for their princes to save them. Now we have Rapunzel in Tangled, a girl with agency who chose to climb down her tower to free herself from Mother Gothel’s abuses. Rapunzel became not a subordinate to her male love interest but a partner. We’re also blessed with Moana, a Polynesian heroine that depicts non-Eurocentric beauty, with her thicker limbs, her rounder face and nose, and her curly, windswept hair. She didn’t need a man to complete her.

Now I could say with ease that Cinderella had been sexist with lines like “Leave the sowing to the women!” Ariel in the Little Mermaid had absurd motivations, as she was willing to sacrifice her entire life for a stranger she’d just met, whose only known quality was his good looks. I do admit I still need work accepting that Mulan is sexist due to its adherence to the gender binary, this film is an absolute favorite, but I recognize I still need to be objective, as what the academe didn’t pay me to say.

And yes, I came to realize that High School Musical is unrealistic. Also, my English proficiency didn’t make me a smart student or a better person, as college slapped in my face. And I’m okay with that.

I am thoroughly relieved I moved on from my pre-teen phase. Now I have discovered more groundbreaking shows and films, which defy the standards of a hero (with the emergence of an anti-hero,) the binary opposition between good and bad (with morally ambiguous characters,) the very idea of storytelling (with experimental forms of film and stories,) and so much more.

Eventually I picked up a lightsaber with the Star Wars saga, which is a whole new epic experience, given the classic original trilogy and the mess of a prequel trilogy. It was a new brand of fantasy for me, yet still equipped with the epic adventures and heroes of my childhood. I am less protective of this series however, as I was before my childhood faves. I may have a crush on Anakin Skywalker, if only for his brooding looks, but I could still recognize the acting for him was flat and robotic. And while the prequel storyline had great potential, the execution was poor, specially with the script’s dialogue.

But that only prompted the creators to redeem the saga with an epic seventh episode, with a fantastic heroine in the form of Rey, a complex villain in the form of Kylo Ren, and a possibly gay romantic subplot between Finn and Poe.

In my journey from glass slippers to light sabers, I learned that being told that you suck could help you not to suck in the future. Criticisms for films, books, T.V. shows for that matter, aren’t meant to put them down, likewise workshops in writing classes aren’t meant to have your work’s flaws pointed out so you would quit writing forever. Criticism was meant to make the future body of art better, serving as reminders for creators not to make the same mistakes.

Right now, I’m glad professors and peers have told me what needed fixing in my writing classes throughout college. Otherwise, I wonder if I’d ever make it to my senior year...