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undercityviktor · 3 years ago

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Your Hands On My Body (JayVik Part Two - sfw)

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who commented and reblogged Part One of this idea!

Here’s part two for you! It’s very much a WIP, but if you like it, I’ll write more, so be sure to let me know, either with a reblog or an ask or comment or something.

Part One | AO3 | Tumblr Writing Masterlist

___

Jayce found himself full of a joyous, nervous kind of energy as he flung open the doors to the sports centre and practically jogged across the atrium after lunchtime a week later.

To say that he’d spent the entire week thinking about Viktor was a bit of an overstatement, but he’d been distracted enough that even Vi had noticed his weird behaviour. He’d managed to deflect by threatening to tell Caitlyn that Vi was crushing on her like a wistful teenager, and mercifully she’d let the matter drop.

Now, up ahead and talking to someone who was concealed behind one of the large, cylindrical pillars that supported the ceiling of the huge, open plan space, Jayce spotted one of the high divers who usually practised at the weekends, and whom he had treated as part of her rehab from a torn triceps a few years earlier. After that, they’d become something akin to friends around the centre, though he rarely saw her outside the place.

“Hey Sky!” he called and she twitched around with a beautiful and bashful smile. For someone as breathtakingly smart as she was, the young woman was incredibly shy. “You’re not usually here during the week,” he said, and then his feet abruptly stopped.

The person she was talking to was Viktor. He was standing close to her, leaning much of his slight weight casually on his crutch, and he looked loose and carefree in a way that he had not been in Jayce's company, until perhaps the very end of their brief first meeting.

Confusion buckled Jayce’s heavy brows and he half-squawked, “Viktor… Our appointment isn't until three, right?” It was only two o’clock.

Viktor’s expression brightened a little with a flare of amusement and he shook his head. “That is correct. I came here early to meet Sky for a coffee — after her session in the pool, and before my appointment with you.”

“Oh,” Jayce said and he tried to hide his plummeting disappointment. “Right.”

Then he remembered that Sky worked at the university and Viktor had said that he worked in bionics. That was Sky’s field. Viktor hadn't mentioned that he worked at the university, but it was natural to assume they would probably know each other. In fact, he reasoned as he just stood there like a giant, dumb stone, they were perfect for each other. Obviously. No wonder Sky was smiling like a teenager at prom — Jayce himself had borne the same smile a week earlier.

Jayce swallowed thickly. “Well, I won’t keep you. Um… have fun…” and with that he bolted upstairs.

Viktor’s knock when it came on the open door just before three o’clock was quiet and polite, and Jayce looked up from where he was just laying out the last of the protective paper coverings on the massage table. “Ready?” he asked Viktor, who came in through the door and closed it behind him.

“I believe I am more prepared this time,” he said with a wry smile that did strange things to Jayce’s insides. “How would you like me?”

Jayce’s brain activity sputtered out for a moment. “Huh?”

Did Viktor’s lips twitch at the corners?

“Am I on my back or on my front for you?” he said, once again with that flat intonation that couldn’t possibly carry a double meaning, could it?

Jayce had had more clients flirt suggestively with him than he cared to admit, but he just stood there like it was his first time receiving that kind of comment. “Uh.” Finally he scraped his brain back into the centre of his skull and cleared his throat. “Well, last time we made some progress on your IT band, so why don’t we start with that again and see where we get this time?”

“Fair enough,” Viktor smiled. “Shall I undress now?”

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be right back. Oh shit, wait, I didn’t put the table down yet…” he said, and began bumbling around and fumbling with the controls to lower the table to a height that would allow Viktor to sit down on it easily and swing his legs up.

When he looked up, Viktor was already undoing the button on his slacks, and Jayce turned around with his tanned cheeks flaming. He definitely didn’t bolt out of the room. With the cold wood of the door pressed against his back outside the room a moment later, he exhaled slowly. “Fuck. This man is going to be the death of me,” he hissed to himself.

Then he re-entered the room, Viktor was lying on his back, and the cushion was waiting to be slotted beneath his stiff right leg again. As before, Jayce halted beside him and asked, “Alright to touch?”

The soft smile he received this time nearly turned his knees to water. “Yes,” came the quiet, gentle response. No sarcastic bite at all. “Thank you.”

Viktor no longer sat like he was expecting an electric shock, and as Jayce pressed his warm, oiled hands into the clenched muscles of Viktor’s quad and began to circle his thumbs experimentally, Viktor let out a shaky breath and let his head fall back against the pillowed rest behind him. Jayce watched Viktor’s still hands for a moment while he worked — long fingers, nicked here and there with tiny scars and flecks of weld burns, with moles and freckles artfully placed in ways that made Jayce want to kiss them.

“You enjoy this,” Viktor stated and Jayce nearly leapt back from him in surprise.

“Huh?”

“Your work. You enjoy it.”

“I do,” he croaked. “I like… I like that I can… I can tell where someone’s holding tension, and it’s not always in the place you think it is. Like… if someone’s leg is hurting, the source of the problem could be in their lower back, not necessarily the leg itself.”

“And you can tell that by touch?”

Jayce nodded. “Among other things. I can see from the way someone holds themselves what might be part of the problem.”

Viktor snorted and closed his eyes. His consonants, already softened by his gorgeous accent, seemed to blur as he let himself actually enjoy the treatment. “I dread to imagine what you must think when you look at me,” he said in barely a whisper.

Jayce eased his thumb around Viktor’s kneecap and toyed with the tight tendon above it, and watched as Viktor sucked in a breath and then moaned it out, unable to stop the sound escaping along with the tension. “Someone who carries a lot of tension,” Jayce said carefully.

That earned him a vague smile from Viktor, but it faded quickly as he began to melt visibly beneath Jayce’s ministrations.

Ten minutes later, as Jayce concentrated all his efforts on Viktor’s extremely tight Achilles tendon, he heard a sniffling inhale and turned, horrified, to find Viktor with tears tracking down his pale cheeks. “Viktor, if I’m hurting you —”

“You’re not,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I… I can’t help it…”

Jayce slumped in relief. “It’s ok. Sometimes it’s just endorphins,” he murmured. “It happens. You want a tissue?”

“Please. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “It’s just biology. Or chemistry, however you want to look at it. Either way, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Viktor fumbled the tissue that Jayce handed him and used it to swipe angrily at his face, leaving red scuff marks across the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

After a long moment of silence, Jayce spoke up. “You know Sky then?”

Viktor nodded and balled the soggy tissue into a tight ball in his fist. “Yes,” he rasped. “She is a PhD student, and an assistant in the lab where I work.”

“At the university?”

“Mmm. You know her… how?”

Jayce focused again on his work, but saw no reason not to keep talking if Viktor was happy to converse. He felt then that he’d do anything to hear the sound of Viktor’s lilting voice again. “I helped her rehab after she tore her triceps in practice. Must have been about three years ago?” His fingertips found a stubborn lump of muscle and he set to work on it while he talked, drawing little gasps and moans from Viktor with each press of his fingers and thumbs. He drank each one down with a private pride that roared in his ears each time he heard them. “She’s nice. Super smart too.”

“Mmm,” Viktor hummed again. “Very talented.”

“Yeah?” God, he wished Viktor had meant Jayce in those two words.

“She’s just… just finishing up her doctoral thesis and preparing for her defence,” Viktor slurred. “I’ve been her supervisor for the project.”

“She said she’s developing some kind of AI exoskeleton for spinal cord patients?”

Viktor nodded, but didn’t seem to have the words at his beck and call as Jayce worked his way back over his calves and up to his thighs again.

“Listen, we’ve still got twenty minutes left,” Jayce said, straightening up and rolling his neck out a little. “I’d like to get a feel for your lower back, if that’s alright with you?”

Viktor tensed a little, but nodded. “I left my brace on this time,” he said. “But it can come off now. I need to sit up though.”

Unthinkingly, Jayce extended his hand to Viktor with the intent of helping him sit up, the way he’d done with other clients. For a moment, Viktor stared at his outstretched hand, and Jayce thought for a horrifying second he was going to refuse it, offended at the suggestion that he couldn't sit up on his own, but a slight smile played across his mouth and he accepted it. He slid his fingers across Jayce's palm and gripped with a strong hold, pulling himself up while Jayce stayed put.

With a final squeeze, Viktor let go and Jayce stepped back, carefully freeing the cushion from beneath his right leg just before Viktor swung his legs down. He also removed the cushion which Viktor had rested his head on, revealing the little hole at that end of the table that would allow Viktor to lie with his head in alignment, and still be able to breathe.

Viktor had still been wearing a warm, dark woollen jumper, but when he pulled it off, casting his thick hair into gloriously tousled disarray, he revealed the white, plastic brace that snugged around the top of one hip and wrapped around his skinny torso to his armpits like a piece of modern art.

Without fuss, Jayce let him get on with taking it off, and once he was free of it, Viktor pulled off the dark t-shirt he had on underneath it. Creases in the compressed fabric had pressed lines into his fair skin like pillow marks on a lover’s face, and Jayce swallowed thickly as Viktor carefully eased himself down onto his front. He had moles dotted up his spine like the two beauty marks on his face, and Jayce ached to touch them.

“If that’s not comfortable —” Jayce began but Viktor spoke before he could finish his question.

“I will inform you if I grow uncomfortable, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Jayce grinned. “Are your surgery scars sensitive?” he asked, eyeing the thickly corded, pinkish line that ran up his spine.

“Yes,” Viktor mumbled from the little hole at the head of the table. “Please be careful with them.”

“Noted.” And with Viktor lying face-down on the table, Jayce bit his lower lip. He’d never wanted a client before. Not like this.

Viktor was thin and bony, with the bumps of his vertebrae and the lines of his ribs evident, but he was strong too. The muscles of his body were clearly defined, and he had a presence that Jayce found undeniably alluring. It clung to him like an aura, drawing Jayce in and begging him to touch.

Jayce knew he was a tactile person by nature, and always had been, but this was different.

Forcing himself to be professional, he poured a drop or two of oil into his palm and came around to one side of the table. Viktor’s scoliosis was immediately obvious without the brace, despite the surgeries he’d clearly had over the years. Jayce asked him where the pain was most noticeable, and whether the spasticity in his leg was present along his whole right side. Viktor’s answers were muted by the table to start with, but after five minutes of Jayce’s fingers kneading into the sinews of his back, his words slurred again to the point that he seemed to forget words in his second language altogether.

“Don’t worry,” Jayce chuckled when Viktor apologised for answering a whole question in the wrong language. “I think I can figure most of it out with my hands. You just sit there and yelp if it hurts.”

“Mmmphfff,” said Viktor, and Jayce got back to work.

Part Three on AO3 -->

___

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider a reblog, and if you’d like more, let me know! Otherwise I’ll just assume this odd little AU of mine missed the mark and leave it at this.

Check out my Tumblr writing masterlist here.

AO3 link in case that’s more your jam

#jayvik #jayce x viktor #jayce talis #viktor #viktor arcane #arcane #arcane netflix #jayvik fanfic #jayvik story

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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More than just a game

Warnings: dark elements including noncon and rape, oral, fingering, doxxing, stalking, and other explicit content.

This is dark!Jake Jensen and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find a new gaming buddy but he sees you as more than that.

Note: So this is my first Jake Jensen fic and it was lots of fun so let me know what you think and hope you enjoy. :D

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Special shout-out to @navybrat817 for helping me with this idea

After too many nights scrolling through subreddits and searching for something to keep you distracted, you decided to bite the hook. Several other redditors agreed to hop on Minecraft and it had been a while since you logged in. You missed the almost relaxing ritual of mining and building.

You joined the chat, quick to hit the little microphone emblem as you listened to the voices in your headset. You learned long ago to keep your mic muted on the servers, especially with strangers. The last time you dared to speak up as a woman in a game chat, your DMs had become so overwhelmed you deleted and started a new account on Discord and changed your ID on Steam.

You were all given your tasks as players called out coordinates and you kept to chopping up the side of a mountain. You mostly worked alone, chatting through text instead of voice chat. As you placed a crafting table in your little mine, another player, JJ-Smooth, popped up and dropped some iron for you.

He stayed close but you didn’t mind. A lot of players tried to work together the deeper they got and you were used to it. As you uncovered some lava, he dumped water before you could get burned and helped you hack up the obsidian.

He thanked you on the voice chat but you knew any courtesy in return would earn you the attention of the entire server. So you dropped some gold for him and went on your way.

“I hear a zombie,” he warned.

You turned to hack up the undead before it could get you, only to be shot by a skeleton hidden on the next level. Another appeared and you died before you could hide, the bony villain killed by your ally as you watched your possession scatter over the death screen.

“Hey, I got your stuff,” he said as you loaded back up, “I’ll find you.”

You typed quickly in the chat, ‘sorry, mic busted, give me your coordinates and I’ll come to you.’

You waited as ‘JJ-Smooth is typing…’ appeared at the bottom and finally he sent the numbers. You hopped over the blocky hills and through the forests until you found the mine again. He was just outside and handed over all your tools and ration. He headed back into the mine and you followed him. This time, you began your own path in the opposite direction.

Before you knew it, you’d lost track of time. You sat back as you realised it was only you and JJ on the server. The silence should have tipped you off earlier. He was the host and you felt super awkward for staying so long. You typed that you were logging off for the night and thanked him.

You hit the keyboard with your knuckle and yawned as you opened the screen,

“God, it’s late,” you muttered.

“Hello?” he said.

Your eyes rounded as you looked at the mic symbol and the lack of red line made you cringe. You’d hit an extra button without noticing.

“Um, hi, sorry, I just--”

“Mic busted, huh?” he asked.

“No, I--” you didn’t know what to say, “anyways, I should--”

“So, you’re a chick? Is that why you mute?”

“Uh, well, it’s just… easier, sorry, I--” even if you weren’t trying to hide from gamer dudes, you weren’t the best at conversation.

“A gamer girl, nice,” he said and you sighed, “sorry, that sounded weird, didn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” you touched your bottom lip as you cupped your chin, “it’s late, I have to work tomorrow.”

“You comin’ back?” he asked, almost hopeful.

“I don’t know--”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said abruptly, “promise, lips sealed.”

“I really don’t know if I can do this too much, I usually work early mornings so… yeah,” you said.

“I get it but you know you’re always welcome, hope you don’t mind if I send you an invite now and then. No pressure,” he offered.

“Uh, sure,” you shrugged, “okay, yeah, good night.”

You left the chat quickly and pulled off your headset. Shit.

‘I’m Jake by the way,’ a pm popped up, ‘gg.’

You typed back, ‘gg, it was fun’ and quickly logged out. You sat back and rubbed your eyes. Well, he didn’t seem like a total creep, maybe just a bit awkward but so were you. You shut down for the night and stretched out as you switched off the lamp. You were going to pay for your session in the morning.

🎮

A few nights later you got an invite to the server. You debated it but as it was Friday, you decided to make good use of the PC you’d saved up forever to build. You spawned in the middle of nowhere and built a bed before you found the half-finished settlement. You joined the chat but you must have been early as you were the only one there.

You headed back to the same mine, some work done since the first night, and laid your torches as you ventured into the depths. You jumped in your seat as a voice broke your peace.

“I don’t think anyone else is gonna join,” JJ-Smooth, or Jensen said, “you think maybe you’ll unmute?”

You stopped your mining and stared at the screen. You hovered over the mic button and re-read his name, he was the only other one there. You clicked and gave a strained smile to the screen.

“So, um, what’s the goal tonight?” you asked.

“Get some materials and go back to the settlement, keep building, oh, maybe we could try a portal, you ever gone to the nether?” he said but before you could reply he kept on, “shit, I shouldn’t assume, you seem like an experienced player.”

“Yeah, a few times, but I’m more a casual miner,” you went back to harvesting stone and ore.

“Ah,” he said, and it was silent for a moment, “so, you work again in the morning?”

“Not tomorrow,” you said as you focused on the game, “daycare isn’t open on the weekends.”

“A daycare, huh? That sounds fun, I love kids… not in a weird way but you know, I… urgh, I have a niece,” he said with a nervous chuckle, “nah, that’s cool though, sounds more fun than my gig.”

“Oh?” you turned and kept your axe moving.

“IT. You know, some people would be like ‘hey Jensen, why do you spend all your free time staring at a screen when that’s what you do at work?’” he scoffed, “well, who says I’m not mining there too.”

You wrinkled your forehead and gave a small laugh. He was rambling and it was kinda odd. You were happy for once not to be the strange one.

“But anyway,” he said, “I found lots of diamond over here. If we get some lapis lazuli we can build an enchanting table and get some sick armour.”

“Awesome,” you pressed your fingertips to your lip as you leaned on your elbow, “should try to head back before dark…”

“Hard to tell down here. How about you mine and I’ll keep an eye out for monsters?” he offered.

“Sure,” you agreed as he came onto your screen, “that works.”

🎮

Another week went by and you ventured back into the server a few times but not for very long as late nights did not mix with young children. The next weekend, you joined again on Saturday night and like the last few times it was just you and Jensen. You wondered why no one else was joining when the subreddit was so popular but you didn’t worry about it for long.

You mostly played in silence, Jensen did most of the talking and it was never about anything more than the game or his niece’s last soccer game. That night when you left the game, he kept typing on Discord.

‘I like playing with you,’ his message blipped up.

‘Same, thx.’

‘Really, you’re awesome.’

‘Thx :) Tired, gotta sleep.’

‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Night.’

You changed your status to offline and dragged yourself to bed. You opened your phone as you laid in the dark and went to the subreddit, you scrolled through the builds and screenshots of other people’s catastrophes.

You came to Jensen’s last invite post from that night but all the comments complained that the world code was incorrect. Hmm, you should tell him next time.

You blackened your cell and plopped it on your night table. You rolled over and buried your face in the pillow, the light still etched into your vision. You fell asleep quickly and woke the next day to another invite from Jensen.

‘How about some Fortnite? If you’re into it?’

‘Srry, can’t, my mom’s expecting me for lunch.’

‘2 bad, maybe later.’

‘Maybe’.

You got ready to go see your mother for your usual Sunday afternoon visit and it went by like any other. When she asked you what you’d been up to, you didn’t mention the gaming, she was never a fan of it. When you got back home, Jensen was messaging you again. You didn’t open the notification and settled in to catch up on some streaming before another week of work.

Monday hit you like a train and you were glad you hadn’t spent the night mining again. If you had, you doubted you’d even be able to open your eyes. You got to the daycare centre and welcomed in the kids. You got them set up for the morning snack then cleaned up as Sandy took them over to the reading circle.

You wiped the tables and then did some painting before you went out for some play time in the yard. As you watched several of the children on the swings, you glanced around. There was a man across the street. You squinted through the chain link as he seemed to be watching but assured yourself it was nothing as he quickly headed for the corner and disappeared.

Inside, the kids were due for quiet time, some napped and those who didn’t, stared at the ceiling and yawned. You could have joined them but knew that wouldn’t be acceptable. The end of the day came and you helped the kids pack up their paintings and their sweaters. You waited in the yard with them as the parents showed up and handed them off one by one.

You waved to Danika as she clung to her mother and your eye was once more drawn beyond the chain link. The same faded grey jacket, the same glasses, and the hat with the frayed brim. It was a better look at the man. Was he looking at you? Why on earth was he hanging around outside a daycare?

“Sandy,” you turned and lowered your voice as she neared, “see that man?”

She peeked over and shrugged, “which one? The guy crossing the street?”

You looked up again and like before, he was walking away casually as if he hadn’t just been staring through the fence. You shook your head and huffed. “Sorry, never mind.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” she waved her fingers, “come on, let’s clean up.”

With the kids all sorted out, you went back in and tidied up the last of their mess. You and Sandy were friendly but like with any, you weren’t very talkative. You never really knew what to say but you were never unkind.

You pulled on your jacket and checked your purse for your phone and wallet. You checked the time and turned off the lights. You bid Sandy goodbye as she headed for her SUV and you took your usual route down the sidewalk towards your bus stop.

You stopped short as the man was there. You were paranoid, he must just be waiting for the same route. You approached and he turned to watch you as you sat on the bench. He smiled and the dread sank deep in your chest.

His rectangular glasses gave light to his blue eyes and a goatee trimmed his jaw. He was tall and well-built, you could tell even under his comic book tee. He was going to talk to you, another weirdo in the city.

“Hey,” his voice was chillingly familiar, “how was your day?”

You stared at him and blinked cluelessly. You looked around, it was only the two of you. You opened your mouth but you had to be wrong. He said your name and you winced.

“Jensen?” you breathed as you stood and squeezed the strap of your bag, “why? How--?”

“You weren’t answering me, I was worried,” he said, “just making sure you’re okay.”

“What the-- I don’t understand how--” He stepped closer and you backed up against the bench. “Don’t, I’ll scream.”

“Scream? Why? I’m just-- You know me, it’s me, Jensen.”

“You doxxed me?” you snapped, “what the hell?”

“No, I didn’t-- I’m just checking on you--”

“I don’t know you,” you said as your heart began to race, “so please, leave me alone,” you edged away from him, “and don’t message me again.”

You sprinted across the street and as you came up on the curb, you looked back at him. He watched you but didn’t follow. You could tell from there he wasn’t happy but the brim of his cap shadowed most of his face so you couldn’t guess if it was hurt or anger. You quickly spun away and continued down the next street to the nearest stop.

You couldn’t believe he’d just shown up like that. You couldn’t believe he would think that was okay. You couldn’t believe he’d think that much about you.

🎮

You blocked Jensen on Discord and left his world on Minecraft. That night you were shaky and nervous, afraid that he would show up at your apartment. Did he know where you lived? He must if he could figure out where you worked.

You didn’t open Steam that night. You paced your small apartment, jumping at every noise. Sleep didn’t come easily but in shallow spurts that left you even more tired. You watched over your shoulder as you walked to your stop and boarded with one eye on the door.

Work was little better as you found yourself distracted in the room full of toddlers. Sandy asked if you were okay as you kneaded play-do violently. You shook yourself out of your paranoia and assured her you were only short on sleep, not a complete lie.

You took out your phone when you stepped out for a small break. Your mom had called but you would have to get back to her when you had two hours to waste. There was another notification, that one from Discord, a friend request from JJ-NoRematch. It wasn’t hard to guess who it was and you declined it right away.

There were several others from Jensen, too. He followed your Insta, blocked; he followed your mostly empty twitter, blocked; and he even commented on your LinkedIn like a weird. You closed your phone and took a breath before you headed back into the kids, their voices rising in their excitement to go outside.

In the yard, you had another look around, expecting to see him there on the other side of the fence. You were slightly relieved when he wasn’t but still on edge. You joined a game of tag then watched several of the kids line up for the slide. You lost yourself in your job as you told yourself he must have gotten the hint, at least not to bother you irl.

Just like the day before, and every day, you left work and headed for your stop. He wasn’t there either and you sat down and phoned your mom, hanging up as the bus pulled up with a promise to call her again when you were home. At home, you felt almost normal again and checked your notifications; no more follows, no more requests, nothing.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday passed in a similar fashion. Each saw your anxieties less than the day before. You even resolved to open Steam and start a new world for yourself. You spent hours mining and almost fell asleep in your chair. When you nearly tipped over, you decided it was time for bed.

You slept better than you had all week and woke up before noon. You wanted to log right back on but you had life to deal with; groceries, cleaning, and of course, making that call to your mother you’d delayed the night before. After all that, you felt accomplished and you decided to treat yourself to take out, a rare divulgence.

You called the local Chinese eatery and waited eagerly for your feast as you turned on a new episode of your current binge. You played on your phone until the battery was low and had enough juice to buzz up the delivery man. You dug for your wallet as you went to the door and unlocked it without looking up.

“How much--” you asked as you opened the door.

Your eyes met a familiar pair, two blue gems behind a pair of narrow glasses. Jensen wore the same cap and held the paper bag of take-out with a smile. You grabbed the door and tried to swing it shut but he was too quick as he slapped a large hand against the peeling paint.

“It’s on me,” he said, “I love spare ribs.”

“What the--” you gasped as you pushed on the door helplessly, “please go away.”

“You’re not answering me,” he said as he stepped closer and forced you back as his body brushed against yours, “you blocked me and I can’t even get a hey, Jensen, how are you?”

“I don’t want you here,” you tried to shove him and he shouldered you away easily, “get out!”

He slammed the door and you flinched. He put the bag down on the corner table and reached back to twist the lock without a look. His eyes roved around your entryway and further into your apartment. He smiled as they stilled and focused on you.

“This place is cute… like you,” he said and you heard a slight hesitation in his voice.

You swallowed and backed away from him. You spun on your heel and ran for your couch. You reached over the back to your phone and unlocked it as the battery icon flashed. You had just enough juice to make the call. You dialed as you turned back to him.

“I’m calling the police so you b-better l-leave,” you warned as your voice and hands shook, “I me--”

He was quick and before you could pull away, he swiped your cell out of your hand. He scoffed and tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and landed screen down on the hardwood. You bit down and pressed yourself to the couch. You stared at him and kicked yourself forward as you tried to slip past him. He caught you and wrestled you back into the front room.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked calmly as you struggled in his grasp, “I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

“N-no, you’re-- you-- let me go,” you stammered as he angled you around the couch. He pushed you down so you bounced on the cushion. You tried to push yourself up and he pointed his finger in your face and wagged it.

“No, you stay,” he growled and wiped his other hand on his jeans. He was nervous, even if he was angry.

“Please, why-- what do you want?” you grasped the cushion and hovered at the edge of the couch.

He sighed and sat in the chair. He took his hat off and set it on the table as he ran his fingers through his short hair.

“Good question,” he said as his jaw squared and his eyes turned to pinpoints, “better one, why did you block me?”

“Are you serious? You-- you--” you struggled to get your words out, your voice even more splintered by your fear, “you doxxed me, you came to-- to my work-- and…”

“I thought we were getting along. I thought you liked me,” he said with a frown, “I really did, you sure acted like it and-- I only wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“But why wouldn’t I be? I--” you shivered and crossed your arms as you withered beneath his gaze, “Jensen, this was only supposed to be online.”

He scoffed and stomped his boot on the floor. He shook his head as he looked to the ceiling and his anger bulged along his temple. He tilted his head and looked at you again.

“You know, for years, I have been a nice guy, I am a nice guy,” he pushed his shoulders to his ears as he threw his hand out, “I’m so patient and caring and you girls, you don’t even give me a second look.”

“Jensen--”

“No, really, I mean look at you, you’re no supermodel and yet it’s the same thing, ‘let’s just be friends’,” he spat, “but I watch guys all the time treat women like shit and they don’t have any trouble at all, they got them hanging off of them and I’m a creep for giving them a compliment or opening the door--”

“I don’t… know you,” you eked out, “you have to understand--”

“I don’t understand,” he stood abruptly, “I’m done trying to understand.”

He pulled his jacket open and slid it down his arms. You watched him sling it over the chair and as he turned back to you, you stood. He caught your shoulders and held you in place. His strength was plain in his grip as he squeezed then slowly moved his hands to cradle your face.

“I just wanna be nice,” he said as he leaned in. You tried to pull away but he moved a hand around the back of your head and forced your lips against his. He poked his tongue inside your mouth roughly as you tried to shove him away. Finally, he parted, his hands still firmly around your head, “wasn’t that nice?”

“Please,” you begged as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

His eyes searched your face as you stared back at him in terror. He sighed and dropped his hands back to your shoulders. He pushed you down to the sofa harshly and backed away.

“Fine, I won’t be nice,” he snarled as he took his glasses off and folded them carefully. He put them on the table beside his cap and twined his fingers together, loudly cracking his knuckles.

You blinked at him as your eyes grew glossy. You brought your legs up under you and pressed yourself to the back of the couch. You grasped the upholstery and turned as you launched yourself over to the other side. You stumbled as you landed on your feet and ran for the door.

You were yanked back as he snaked his arms around you and took you off your feet. You kicked out and screamed but it was cut off by his palm as he kept one arm around your middle. You scratched at his hand as he dragged you back to the couch. He pushed you face down onto the cushions and planted his knee in the middle of your back, slipping his hand away as he put enough weight on you to keep your voice suffocated.

“Listen, I know I look like some IT nerd but I’m a lot more than that, now don’t make me hurt you,” he played with your hair as he smiled down at you, “you try that again and I will shut you up and if someone hears you, I can take care of them too.”

You sniffed as tears pricked in your eyes and nodded frantically as it felt as if he would snap your spine. He pushed off of you and you stayed as you were, paralysed with fear. He sat and unlaced his boots one at a time. He looked up as he set them neatly beside the foot of the chair and he bent to catch your eye.

“Well?” he pointed at you and traced the line of your body in the air, “let’s go.”

You stared at him dumbly and he stood to pull his tee over his head. His torso was sculpted perfectly and his chest trimmed with hair that trailed all the way down to his pants. He stepped forward and tugged at the back of your shirt.

“You want me to do it for you, baby?” he purred, “I can help you.”

You swatted him away and sat up. You bent your legs to your chest and hugged them. “Please, I’m scared, just leave me alone--”

His hand rested on his belt and exhaled again. His fingers moved swiftly to unloop the striped belt and unbutton his jeans. He pushed them down, nearly tripping as he stepped out of them. He stood in his boxers, tented with his impatient excitement, and gripped his hips.

“It’s okay, baby, I know you’re shy, I am too,” he neared and you winced as he grabbed your wrist. He tugged on your arm and you resisted until he bent your hand back painfully and you cried out. He tickled your jaw as he looked you in the eye and tutted, “it doesn’t have to be like this, alright?”

You went limp and let him pull your arms apart. Your legs slipped down and your feet dangled above the floor. He got to his knees and pushed between yours. He slowly rolled up the hem of your shirt and bent to kiss your stomach as he bared the flesh. You trembled as he forced your arms up and swooped the fabric over your head. It fluttered through the air and to the floor as he cupped your tits through your bright pink bra.

“Is this so bad?” he asked as he nuzzled your chest and pushed your tits up.

He glided the straps down your arm and slid your bra lower so that you popped out. He nibbled at your flesh and traced your nipples with his tongue. You sat rigid and let him explore your body, too terrified to move a muscle. He reached around you and struggled with the hooks, frustrated he snapped the clasps and the band came free.

He continued to play with your chest, his fingers crawling up and down your stomach and sides. There was a genuine curiosity to his touch and it sent a chill through you. His fingertips pressed to the top of your pants and he pulled at them as his lips travelled down to your hip.

He tugged on your pants and jerked your entire body. He tore them lower as he pushed you up and you lifted yourself to let him peel away the layer. He added them to the floor and toyed with the elastic of your panties. The little bow in the front drew his attention as he pushed your legs wider and ran his nose along the cotton.

He hummed and rubbed his fingers down your crotch, pushing the fabric to your folds as he teased you through them. You inhaled sharply at the tingle it inspired and he pressed firmer against you, flicking his fingers along your bud as he noticed how it made you squirm.

He gently pulled aside the cotton and you felt his hot breath against you. You pushed on his head before he could delve into you. “Please, don’t--”

“Shhhh,” he threw your hand away from his head and bent over you, “just relax.”

He dragged his tongue along your cunt and lingered around your clit. You clenched as it sent a thrill through you and he moved his lips against you, suckling at you bud as your breaths grew raspy. You pushed yourself against the back of the couch and dug your nails into the cushion.

He slid a finger along your cunt and circled your entrance. He rubbed up and down as he kept his tongue swirling over your clit and you swallowed back as gasp as he poked inside. He felt around and added another finger, stretching you as he carefully pushed them in and out of you in time with his mouth.

He lapped you up and you closed your eyes, desperate to resist the coil winding within you. Your legs tensed against the couch and you tilted your pelvis without thinking. He sped up, the noise of his mouth and your slickness filled the silence. You let out a puff and moaned as you slapped the couch. The waves rolled over your flesh and you came into his mouth with a pathetic mewl.

He stilled his fingers as he lazily teased you with his tongue. He pulled his fingers out and sat back, the heat between your legs cooling in his absence as he licked up your juices. He watched you as he sucked his fingers and stood. Your head lolled and you edged forward on the couch. You tried to stand but he caught you and flung you back.

“We’re not done, baby,” he winked at you as he grasped the top of his boxers, “go on, lay down.”

You murmured your refusal and once more tried to get up. You slipped onto the floor and shakily crawled away as he dropped his boxers to his ankle. He grabbed you before you could get around the side and lifted you easily. He turned you and shoved you down onto your back as he lifted a leg over you.

He straddled you and again his hands roved over your body. You smacked at his fingers weakly but he easily ignored you. He kept one hand moving along your curves as he stroked himself with the other. He groaned and shook as he stroked his dick. Your eyes followed his hand and you gulped, he was thick.

He moved his knees back and pushed them up beneath your thighs as he kept a hand planted on your chest. He ripped your panties down your legs and untangled them from your feet.

He held you down as he ran his tip along your cunt, wetting himself with your coerced arousal. You groaned and grabbed the arm of the couch above you. You tried to pull away from him.

He pushed against your entrance and you looked at him in shock. You couldn’t stop him. His eyes were set between your legs as he inhaled and slowly eased into you. He gasped as he got his tip inside you and his muscles tensed. He bit his lip as he dove further in and you gasped as he filled you inch by inch.

“Shitttt,” he moaned as he reached his limit and you whined at how full you were, “oh, baby.”

His hand slid from your chest and he gripped your hips as he pulled back and thrust. You exclaimed and he did it again, slowly as he watched himself impale you over and over. You curled your fingers against the couch arm and your feet arch as you pressed your thighs around him. He lifted your pelvis high as he angled his dick even deeper.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, “oh, baby, you’re so good. Ahh-hh-hh,” his voice fizzled as your walls clenched him and you closed your eyes as you felt the heat building.

He moved his hand along your thigh and stretched it over your pelvis, pushing his thumb to your clit as he kept his pace. He purred as you writhed helplessly against him and you panted through the rising ecstasy.

“Please, please, please…” you chanted, unsure if you were begging him to stop or for more.

He moaned as he sped up and you sucked your lip under your teeth as you neared your peak. You quivered as your orgasm crashed into you and you let out a strangled cry. He snarled and planted his hands beside your head as he leaned over you, his hot breath tickled your face as he pounded into you.

Your legs bent around him as his pelvis rubbed against you and the friction drove you to another climax. You held onto the arm of the couch as he fucked your harder and harder. He kissed you and nibbled at your lip as he groaned and hooked an arm under to hold you close.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby,” he said against your cheek and you turned your head away from, “ah, here I--”

He spasmed and slammed into you. He took several long thrusts and stilled. He grunted and drew heavy breaths as he rested his weight over you. He grabbed your head and turned your head up as he pressed his forehead to yours. You kept your eyes closed as the flames slowly dwindled.

“Was that so bad?” he stroked your cheek and trailed his finger down to poke between your lips, “No, it’s what you wanted, isn’t it, baby?” he wiggled his hips and you hissed, “yeah, you want me.”

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #the losers #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #one shot

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ghost-ghost-baby · 4 years ago

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We're Just Friends! (Omega!bakugo x alpha!reader x omega!Izuku) pt. 3/?

Pt. 1 / / pt. 2

A/n: cannot believe we made it to pt. 3 I’m sksksksksk,,,, they finally get together! Pt 4/5 will b them all together and adjusting and then it’ll b readers bday so 👀👀

Lore: Once an Alpha reaches 21 they get their first rut, they’d either already have their mates or the rut will act as a push for them to get together and bond.

Summary: Reader and Katsuki have been friends for years, and everyone expects them to get together, until reader rescues an omega that lives in their building, and things get a touch more... complicated

Warnings: swearing, omegaverse, mad pining, Katsuki get exposed for going to therapy lmao, Izuku is kinda a shithead, Katsuki b mad insecure, reader is still dumb- everyone except for Izuku is bad at feelings

The two of you had gotten sidetracked, really quickly, it wasn’t even twenty minutes before you were putting a horror video on the tv. That was almost an hour ago, and you were about to doze off now, laying on your back with your head on the arm rest, Izuku right on top of you with his head tucked under your chin. You didn’t know how you got into this position, but you weren’t complaining, it was… nice. Perfect, almost, but something still felt like it was missi-

“Y/n- why the fuck are our stupid friends asking me about your new- Deku?” Katsuki burst through the door, already yelling, and his scent took on a burnt tinge that almost had you gagging when he slammed the door behind him.

“Kacchan! I didn’t realise you were Y/n’s roommate!” Izuku perked up almost immediately, sitting up so he was straddling you with his eyes fixed right on Katsuki.

“Wait, you two know each other-“ You tried to sit up, barely managing to turn your head to see Katsuki, Izuku was stronger than he looked, and he obviously didn’t want you moving-

“Yeah we go way back, childhood friends, right Kacchan?” Izuku’s tone was light, but you couldn’t see the feral look on his face from where you were trapped on the couch.

“Right… that doesn’t explain what the fuck you’re doing here, Deku.” Katsuki snarled, and Izuku giggled at the blonde. What the fuck kinda thing were you stuck in the middle of-

“What does it look like, Kacchan? We’re courting now! And Y/n’s already been such a good alpha, I’m surprised you didn’t ask them-“

“What does he mean you’re courting?” Katsuki’s tone was something you’d never heard before, and your heart twinged at it. “Get the fuck off of them Deku.” He walked closer to the couch, until he could grab onto your arm and haul you off, Izuku sliding back to the couch and pouting.

“He asked me on the way home and I accepted-“ Katsuki’s heart sank, he’d been too late? “I didn’t think you’d care, aren’t you courting Kiri?” Your scent was far too comforting, and the way it accompanied Izuku’s had Katsuki feeling something he definitely didn’t want to. Deku was a stalker! A creepy little nothing stalker! With great hair- no! And you looked so cute when you were confused like this-!

“Katsuki, are you okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face, and the blonde only let out another snarl. What if you found out about what he’d done to Deku, you’d never look at him the same, and from the way Deku was smirking the bastard knew it too.

“Whatever- I’m fucking going to bed.” Katsuki pushed past you, and you could only gawk as he disappeared down the hall and into his room.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, you were meant to be with him, it had been the two of you for years! Why were you such a fucking idiot! Katsuki was fuming even as he hugged the pillow he’d stolen from your room, how dare Deku come back and steal you! Still, the nagging thought that coming back to the two of you… had felt like home wouldn’t get out of his head and it was only making him angrier.

“Katsuki? Izuku went back to his apartment, do you have any requests for dinner?” Your voice floated through his door and Katsuki opened his mouth to respond on instinct. No, if you wanted to be with Deku so badly you clearly didn’t care about him, and so he would stop caring about you.

“Katsuki? Please come out, I don’t understand why you’re upset but I want to.” You tried to keep the desperate tone out of your voice. It didn’t work, and Katsuki was biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself crooning in an attempt to calm you down.

“Okay… I’ll uh, just be in my room if you want to talk.”

This was getting out of hand, it was like you were living with a ghost. It had been three days of Katsuki ignoring you, three days of no contact whatsoever, and even though you had Izuku, and he was just… amazing, it still felt like something was missing. You actually didn’t think you’d gone this long without talking to Katsuki in- well since the two of you had met. But, it was finally the weekend, you’d have to run into him at some point, and then you could finally talk, even if he didn’t feel like it.

You were pulled into Izuku’s apartment before you could even knock, the omega giving you a deep kiss before quickly tugging you into a hug and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland.

“I missed you, Y/n! What took so long?” Izuku only pulled away when he couldn’t smell anything except you, and pride filled him when he saw you were wearing his sweater.

“Sorry Bub, I was trying to get Katsuki to talk to me but he’s still giving me the silent treatment.” You shrugged as he walked you over to the couch, something already playing in the background, and Izuku pushed you down without hesitation. You let the omega position you how he wanted, wasting no time wrapping your arms around him once Izuku settled down next to you with his head on your chest and your legs tangled together.

“You know… it does seem like he likes you, maybe you could suggest a triad? I know I wouldn’t object.” Izuku’s tone was so nonchalant you’d expected him to ask what you wanted to watch, not suggest bringing Katsuki into the relationship.

“You’d be okay with that? Really?” You hadn’t even considered that, you felt kinda stupid, honestly. Why hadn’t you- oh, right.

“I think he’s courting someone else, actually, I’m sure that’s why he’s being so weird.” You pushed any hope you had down when you remembered how much time Katsuki actually spent with Kirishima, and how close they seemed to be.

“If you say so, but I wouldn’t write the idea off, Kacchan’s always been good with surprises.” Izuku shifted to press a kiss to your scent gland, before he grabbed the remote and returned his attention to putting on a show.

It was Sunday, you hadn’t seen your roommate all weekend, this really wasn’t going how you planned. A sigh left you as you pushed open the door to your apartment, you’d been with Izuku for most of the day, and you were so, so ready to just go to sleep. You’d been exhausted for the last few days, and Denki kept commenting about how snappy you were and asking why your scent was ‘so weird man’ when the three of you had met for lunch. It was sweet how much they cared, but annoying as fuck nonetheless. You were wide awake outside your door though, almost missing the sweet caramel smell that leaked out until you had your hand on the handle. Your room didn’t usually smell like that, not unless-

“Katsuki-? What’s going on?” You pushed open the door to a very, very startled Katsuki, like a deer in headlights, really, and your confusion only grew when he was holding onto an armful of your clothes. “You could have just asked if you wanted something for your nest, but isn’t Kiri helping with that?” You closed the door behind you, and Katsuki’s eyes darted from you to the door. Fuck, you weren’t supposed to be home for another twenty minutes, you’d usually spend at least two hours at Deku’s place, why the fuck had you come back so early? Katsuki clutched the clothes tighter against his chest as neither of you spoke, you really still thought he was with shitty hair when all he really wanted was you?

“Katsuki? This is ridiculous- what’s going on with you? Why won’t you talk to me?” You stepped forward and Katsuki growled when you got within a foot of him, the sound setting you on edge and making you release a growl of your own on instinct.

“We’re gonna talk about this, I’m not letting you ignore me anymore, it sucks! It feels like there’s a piece of me missing-!” You stepped forward with every word, flinching at yourself when you heard your voice crack at the end.

“What does any of that matter? You have Deku now, the two of you are perfect together, you don’t need me anymore!” Katsuki yelled back, everything that happened the last day and the confused puddle that the state his feelings were in finally bubbling over. It was too much, he’d barely seen you and now here you were, reeking of Deku of all people, and accusing him of liking someone else.

“How could you say that? I need you, Katsuki-! I always need you! These last few days have been hell without you! It’s bad enough I have to deal with you courting Kiri, but now you don’t even talk to me and I don’t understand what’s going on!” Tears kept welling up in your eyes, and Katsuki dropped the pile of clothes on the floor, his hands balling into fists by his side.

“Because I don’t know- I don’t know what the fuck I’m feeling!” Katsuki’s voice broke, and you barely had time to open your mouth before he continued. “I thought that we- that we were set in stone, and then I come back to you and fucking Deku on the couch and fuck that hurt! But it fucking- it fucking felt like home, and all I wanted to do was join you and I don’t understand why!” He turned around to wipe his eyes, and your jaw hit the floor as you tried to process. He wasn’t… courting Kiri…?

“You’re such an idiot- you couldn’t just tell me this?” Exasperated didn’t even begin to cover how you felt.

“How could I say anything? I was horrible to Deku in school because I couldn’t deal with my feelings, why would either of you want to be with me after how awful I’ve been?” There was no anger in Katsuki’s tone anymore, and the guilty scent he was putting out was just putting you on edge.

“You regret it though, don’t you? And I know you’ve worked really hard to be better, and you even go to therapy now-“ Katsuki snarled at the last part, he hated whenever you brought up therapy, but at least you weren’t yelling.

“We actually talked it over and… Izuku and I both like the idea of a triad with- well with you, if you wanted.” You reached out to grab Katsuki’s shoulder, though he refused to look you in the eye when you turned him to face you. You had to be lying, you had to, you couldn’t mean that and he didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.

“Katsuki, you gotta talk to me, I can’t read your mind.” Your cards were all out on the table now, and your anxious scent was a dead giveaway to your feelings. What if you’d ruined everything? What if you’d gotten everything wrong- you were never good at guessing-

“You’re being serious? This isn’t some kind of payback?” Red eyes finally met yours and you could only nod, you still got caught of guard by how pretty he was. “Okay, I’ll join your shitty fucking triad.”

Taglist (pls lemme know if any of em r wrong)

@pasteldaze @hopeless-ro-simptic @ntngann @somerandominternetgirl-blog @ianem005 @lalaluvzen @antisocial-minnie @rogueofbullshit @hakunamatatayqueen @so-uncute @therealwalmartjesus @unlightedfool @all-the-kings-reblogs @cth-l

#omegaverse #bnha #bnha x reader #yandere x reader #yandere bnha x reader #omegaverse x reader #alpha reader #omega izuku #omega bakugou #bnha omegaverse #izuku x reader #yandere izuku x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #poly #poly imagine

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imaginedxlan · 4 years ago

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Drivers License Pt. 2 (Ron Weasley)

a/n: You guys absolutely went off for part 1, thank you so so much!! Someone requested that I make a part 2 where y/n finally gets a happy ending, but without ron so I decided to kind of run with the idea, this time sort of from ron’s point of view.

disclaimer: the timeline in the books/movie are gonna line up in this one. I know they didn’t have a seventh year and i know ron kissed lavender before winter but this is obv not cannon, go with it, also fred dying was a prank anyway so YOU THOUGHT it would be included. absolutely not.

After taking y/n’s affection for granted, Ron realizes he’s made a huge mistake when she’s moved on to be happy without him

warning(s): cussing, sadness, broke my own heart writing this

Pay attention to the gif, keep it in your mind towards the end.

Part 1

___________________

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

It took a long time for you to move on from Ron, you didn’t have to look very far to do so. Ginny had told off Ron one night for hurting you without realizing the twins were awake and hearing all the nasty things Ron put you through. By that point he and Hermione were no longer together, she realized he was too good of a friend to lose to a ‘stupid school relationship.’ So now he was alone, completely clueless to the fact that someone else had begun pining over you.

“Merlin, not this again.” Harry groans into his textbook. The wizarding world was on the verge of destruction and all Ron could speak about was how much he missed you. “Ron, we get it you fucked up with her, get over it.”

The boys had heard the same speech everyday. He would first start off with ‘I know I say this a lot’ then go onto name the things he misses most about you. Your hair, your eyes, your laugh, how small your hands are compared to his. He then groans about how stupid he is for, well, everything.

“I never heard you talk about her before now,” Dean adds, actually semi-invested in the drama that surrounded Ron’s love life. “Whats so special about her anyway?”

How could he even begin to explain what was so special about you. As much as he wished he could say he lied to you about everything he said to you, how easy it would be if he never gave a shit about you, that just isn’t the case. You had this way of making him feel safe whenever he held you. He wasn’t lying when he told you that you felt like home, he just didn’t mean to say it to soon. Maybe that was the reason he decided to kiss Lavender Brown, knowing you were watching. He wanted to push you away in the most hurtful way possible that you never even thought about coming back to him, but immediately regretted that decision.

You also had this weird hold on him, even when he was with Hermione, he would catch a glimpse of your smile and his heart would drop into his stomach. He would see your eyes sparkle in the light of the living room fire place when you were visiting the Burrow and want to scream out that he never meant to hurt you. He notices things about you that you probably hadn’t even noticed about yourself. The way your nose will scrunch when you focus really hard when Ginny tries to teach you wizard chess, how he wishes you would let him close enough to teach you. His heart aches when he notices you shift away from him, even after he and Hermione broke up. When you and Gin walk into the Great Hall for dinner and you go out of your way to sit as far from his as you can.

“You don’t understand,” Ron huffs out, rolling onto his side, wishing you were laying close into his chest like you used to. “She’s something else.”

“Ron, I know you miss her and everything but I have to tell you that you missed your chance,” Harry tells him. “Ginny tells me more than she probably should about all of this, she’s finally moved on from you mate, let it go.”

But how could he? How could he move on when you’re constantly around? He can hear a laugh from all the way down the hall and immediately know its falling from your lips, he’ll hear the sound of an engine from his bedroom window and know you’ve arrived for one of your weekend stays. The way you get on so well with his family, you’re perfect for him, you always have been but he took you for granted and now all he can do is complain to his friends about how he let you go.

And I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one, oh And I just can't imagine How you could be so okay now that I'm gone?

He thought for a long time that you were a temporary fix for his feelings that ran deep within him for Hermione, but being with her only made him realize that it was you all along. How could he have been so stupid? He refused to let his friends know you were together, in fear that Hermione would lose the feelings he had prayed she felt toward him, but in doing so he only pushed you away.

“Ron, we can’t keep sneaking around like this.” You would tell him after he pulled you into a broom closet in the middle of the day. “They’ll find out eventually, it’s not like Ginny would be cross with either of us.”

Ron was never able to give you a clear answer when it came to why you had to hide from everyone, not wanting to admit to you that it was because he was hung up on his best friend. Looking back now, it was the stupidest decision he ever made. While your relationship was chaotic and spontaneous and secretive, it was still something he now yearned for everyday, he needed to feel what he felt for you then. More specifically, he needed you to feel what you felt for him back then too. Admittedly, he never loved Lavender Brown, she was only there to stroke his ego. He thought he loved Hermione, but how can you fully love someone if your heart is connected to someone else? Loving you felt different than with anyone else, his chest burned and his hands tingled whenever you were around him.

That’s why it hurt him so badly to see you move on, and not to just anyone. After Ginny’s outburst toward her brother over how he continued to treat her best friend, a certain Weasley grew closer to you. At first, George wanted to apologize to you for the way his brother treated you as well as help you navigate co-existing with the boy. However, the more time you spent with George, the closer you became. You found yourself laughing at his stupid pranks that wouldn’t have even warranted a grin years ago. You felt the need to be near him grow more everyday, Ron noticed your sudden draw toward his brother as well.

He couldn’t understand how after, according to Ginny, crying over him for days on end, barely being able to get into your car to drive to the Burrow in fear of seeing him you could all of a sudden move on to his brother. Now that he realized how bad he messed up, he’s miserable that you weren’t around him, that you didn’t love him like you used to. How could you not feel the same hollow feeling he did?

What Ron didn’t see was that you did feel that hollow feeling, for months actually. You watched him fall in love and out of it twice before he realized you were the one, but by that time you didn’t have anything left to give him. You were healing in a way that caused you to grow apart from him even further. You found happiness is sleepovers with Ginny, helping Molly in the kitchen, and now long drives with George. You no longer felt like you needed Ron to survive. You didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe him anymore and that killed him.

You were careful to never make Ron feel the same way you did when you saw him with Lavender and Hermione, you weren’t as cruel as he was back then, but it was no secret that you and the twin had sparked some sort of relationship. Ginny was over the moon, as she began to lose hope in having you as a real sister by being with Ron, George came in and saved the day. If you thought Ron was mature for his age, George was practically ten times more. The more responsible of the twins, he always seemed to know exactly what to do and say in every situation. He always gave the best advice. What to do when a professor wouldn’t let up, how to sneak around the halls of Hogwarts at night, and most commonly how to continue in your growth while the one person who seems to stunt it is living only a stones-throw away. While you were still in school and he was running the shop, he would send you letters updating you on his life and beg you to come work at the shop with him and Fred when you finish school, telling you that you would make an excellent addition to the team. His words never failed to make you blush.

He’s three years older than you, almost twenty by the time you had moved on completely from Ron, so nothing ever really happened with George then, but your growing companionship could only be expected to blossom from there. Ron couldn’t stand it. Of all people you could seek comfort in, it had to be his brother. He would hear you gushing to Ginny about the most recent letter you received in the Common Room or witness you and George chatting about something completely arbitrary over Christmas and seethe with anger. In his mind, if you had ever truly loved him like you say you did, you wouldn’t be so content knowing that you two would never be together.

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

It was no longer a secret to any of the Weasley clan that Ron was miserable. When he’s at school, he’s complaining to his friends about what he could have done differently so that he could have you. At home he begged his sister to stop bringing you around, as if he had any say in whether or not you visited the Burrow. Now being old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts, he would apparate out any time he heard you pull up to his driveway. He would go to London mostly, distracting himself in the busy streets and crowds of people.

It never worked. Somehow everywhere he turned he thought he would catch a glimpse of your hair blowing in the wind. He would shake his head just to realize you were never there. Any white car that passed next to him would immediately strike fear in his heart, thinking you were behind the wheel, but you never were. He couldn’t decide if he was looking for you in everything or if he was so afraid to see you that he imagined you everywhere. Nevertheless, there was nothing Ron Weasley could do that would effectively distract himself from you, and he’s now starting to realize it’s all his fault.

If he hadn’t been so self centered to fall into Lavender Brown’s compliments and praises due to his egomania, he would have never kissed her in front of you. At the time he thought of it as kind of a test, how far could he push you before you were no longer kissing the ground he walked on. Seeing you still tremble at his touch or your cheeks heat up whenever he said your name made him feel good, like you would never leave him. Now that you’re gone, he’s kicking himself for pushing that limit. He didn’t know it would take him falling into Hermione’s arms in that hospital bed in front of you to ruin your good opinion of him forever, but if he did he swears he would have called out your name that day instead.

On top of the Dark Lord plotting to take over the wizarding world as he knew it, his last semester was filled with memories of you. Any time he would walk into the common room his heart would fill with sorrow, recalling how it felt to first kiss you there. He would also replay the moment he kissed Lavender Brown in that very spot, after pulling away catching a glimpse of you rushing through the crowd of Gryffindors to get away from him. In that moment he felt like the world’s biggest arse, yet it didn’t keep him from holding onto Lavender a bit longer. He avoided certain hallways that would force him to pass the broom closets and empty classrooms he pulled you into throughout the school day, hiding you from his friends. What a stupid thing to do. Part of him knew back then that he would never feel the way he felt about you for anyone else, but he was greedy.

Seeing you happy without him ripped his heart out of his chest and tore it to shreds. How you would smile down at a piece of parchment, assuming it was a letter from his brother. The sound of your voice carrying through the dorms as you and Ginny would stay up late in the common room talking about nothing and everything all at once. He couldn’t bear living right next to you, co-existing with you, while you just ignored him and grew apart from him.

“Y/n,” He calls your name. You’re alone in the common room, that is until he came in. You hadn’t heard him say your name in a while, you find it doesn’t have the same impact on you as it did a year ago and you’re grateful for that. “Y/n, can I talk to you?”

“What is it, Weasley?” You ask him, hoping the dismissal you intended in your tone translates. You had spent months avoiding him, avoiding the longing gazes, so that you could pick up the pieces of your heart that he shattered and put them back together. He doesn’t respond for a while, just admiring how you look in the glow of the fireplace. “I don’t have all night, get on with it.”

“Right,” He replies, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He takes a seat on the arm chair across from the couch that you’re sat on, careful not to get too close. Your face is cold, he almost doesn’t recognize you without your smile. “I messed up, Y/n. I know I did. I fucked it all just to have a quick fix because I’m arrogant and selfish. I was so lost back then, in my own pride, that I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. But I know now what I needed then, what I need now.”

You don’t reply. Your heart is sinking but you do a great job of hiding it. Your face doesn’t change even though your inside is screaming. After months of crying and misery, watching the first boy you had fallen in love with fawn over what felt like every girl in the school, you had finally stopped hurting. Your heart doesn’t ache when you see him anymore, you don’t blush when you hear his name and you stopped yearning for his touch. Yet now, he has the audacity to try and fix it. Months ago you would have welcomed this grand gesture of what you can only assume to be a confession of the love he never lost for you, but you’re not the person you were then, thanks to the boy sat in the armchair that forced you to grow up and move on from him so soon.

“Say something.”

“Say something?” You ask, gawking at his audacity and slamming your book next to you. “You dangle your little relationships in front of me for almost a fucking year, pretending like I never meant anything to you and you’d like me to say something? Do you understand what kind of pain you caused? I cried until I had nothing left because you told me all these nice things about me, you told me you loved me, then you kissed Lavender right in front of me. Not only that but I spent hours, Ron, hours sitting next to your bed in the hospital scared shitless that you were going to die in there. You know who came twenty minutes before you woke up, Granger. I was there for hours and who’s name you did you call out? Hers. Months ago I would have eaten this shit up, Weasley. You could have come in here and told me my hair looked different and I would have fallen in love with you all over again. Not anymore. I’m finally happy, you don’t get to ruin that because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to with Hermione.”

He sits in front of you, shocked. Part of him expected you to always want him, to come back to him even after all this time but he was wrong. He looked at you, hoping that maybe you were lying, that you were just scared to get hurt again so you put on a face for him but the look in your eyes told him more than what just fell from your lips. You hate him.

“Y/n, please.” He whimpers as you start to collect your things to leave this room immediately. There are only two of you but you feel suffocated. “I love you.”

“Shut up.” You tell him, not in jest, not to tease him but genuinely wanting him to stop speaking. “Don’t you dare say that to me ever again. You don’t deserve to know what it’s like for me to love you, you never did.”

You leave him sitting alone in the common room, heart shattered from your words that dug into him like a thousand knives. He replayed it over and over again, to feel something other than the numbness that was sure to come in time when you love someone you cannot have. He still had to be around you, watch you live your life without him. He had to see you laugh and know he could never put a smile like that on your face ever again. In order to fully heal from the heartache he was facing he knew he had to separate himself from you, to leave for a while so he didn’t have to see you fall in love with his brother, but he couldn’t. He decided he would rather have you in the smallest way possible, watching you from afar, seeing you smile like you once did at him, then never see you again.

Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe

Years Later

Following your last year at Hogwarts, you followed George’s orders and began working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The twins were overjoyed to have your help, George especially so to have you around so often. With you 18 and he 21, after all these year he made his move on you, your friendship blossoming into something more.

You finally knew what it felt like to love and be loved back. George never tried to keep you from his friends, he never snuck off with you to hide your relationship, rather he paraded you around, proud that ‘someone like him was able to swing someone like you.’ He made you blush every time he looked at you, his handsome smile always pulling at your heartstrings. You had become addicted to being loved in that way.

Ron didn’t love your new relationship with his brother as much as as you did. He knew you deserved someone good, someone who would treat you right, he just wished it didn’t have to be someone who placed you in his life indefinitely. His heart ached whenever he would see George’s hand reach for yours as you giggled through the backyard of the Burrow. The worst was when he caught the two of you kiss for the first time.

It was late in the Summer, just after you and Ginny finished your years at Hogwarts. You were visiting just like you always did that time of year and late one night Ron heard rustling down from the main floor. Fearing that an animal had gotten in the house, he immediately searched for the origin of the noise. What he was met with was worse than if an acromantula had found its way into his kitchen. There you were, your hands tangled in his brother’s fiery red hair and his resting on your waist, your body pressed up to the sink. As he watched your lips against his brother’s, he felt as if a fire had engulfed his heart, his chest beginning to sting as it became harder to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t stop you two, just turned on his heels and darted back to his bedroom. When he was finally safe in his solitude, he slid against his door and broke down. The memories of the two of you in that very kitchen years ago flooded his sense.

During winter break of his sixth year and your fifth, the two of you spent your time cooking and cleaning together in that kitchen, laughing over the littlest things. Even when you weren’t right next to each other, he could still hear your laugh over all the commotion in the house. It was and still is his favorite sound. He wishes that he could bring that sound from your lips again, hoping that maybe one day you’ll realize your love for his brother is really misdirected love toward him, but that all changed.

You’re now 22 and George is 25. You have officially been together for four year. The shop had expanded immensely, renovations to the first store and new shops opening up all over the country and the continent. You count yourself lucky to be a part of it, to be able to say your boyfriend was the co-owner of the most successful joke shop in Europe. Being able to see how his eyes glow like it’s his first day of work every single day still makes your heart smile.

Tonight is another unveiling event of a new shop, this one in Spain. However, this new location being the 10th shop to open up in the continent, the boys decided this launch party would be more formal than the last, a bigger celebration. You all are dressed up, George in a tuxedo and you in a floor length gown. You loved seeing George in his everyday clothes, thinking he would look handsome in a potato sack, but there is something about that boy in a suit. All your friends and family are there, investors too. It’s a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Ginny is still your best friend, you can’t imagine a day when she isn’t. You still have sleepovers in the Burrow even though you had your own lives and own flats. She’s still with Harry, a ring now occupying her left finger. When he proposed you and Ginny immediately started planning the wedding, there was no question who the maid of honor would be. She practically begs her older brother to make an honest woman out of you every time she sees him because she wants to, like almost everything in your lives, go through this experience with you.

Ron is there, of course he is. One of the biggest milestones in his older brothers’ career paths so far, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He works at the shop sometimes, never with you, Fred and George would never be so cruel to ask him to do such a thing. He watched you for most of this night, his brother’s hand resting on your lower back every time he looked. While he knew your smile that you were putting on for investors and old friends was partly exaggerated so you could better play your role of proud girlfriend to the co-owner, he still admired how it sparkled like no one else’s he had ever seen. You grew more beautiful with every year you aged, this of course hurt him to still see you so happy without him.

You catch Ron’s stares throughout the night, you ignore them for the most part. You have come a long way, you were sixteen with you had your heart absolutely shattered by the boy and now you’re an adult. You have a job, a home, a life that at one point you could have never imagined living without him. The boy you were once completely and utterly bewitched by is now just a faint memory, a small ping in your chest when you think of how someone could hurt you so badly at such a young age. You catch his eye and smile at him, no longer angry with him. Like most things, George helped you process your anger. He couldn’t stand to see you so furious anytime you saw someone who mattered quite a bit to him. George has his moments when he hears something Ron did to you for the first time and becomes outraged, now that he loves you and everything, but he always reminds himself that its in the past.

Ron smiles back, you can tell he’s forcing it, but it’s a step in the right direction. Something tells him that he’ll never fully get over you, that part of his heart will always be in your possession. The only way he can describe his feelings whenever he’s around you anymore is blue, every shade of blue. Sometimes are better than other, a sky blue, a bit brighter but still a hint of sadness. Other times are a navy blue, complete and utter darkness. He hasn’t decided what tonight is blue-wise.

“Fred and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight.” George speaks into a microphone placed on an elevated surface in the new shop. You can’t help but admire his features, he looks so mature. “As you all know, courtesy of this bloody massive sign above our heads, this is our tenth shop to open across the continent. It feels surreal to say, eh Freddie?”

“You said it, George.” Fred replies. “Everyone in this room holds a special place in our heart, you’ve all, in your own ways, made this shop what it is today. We are so grateful to have such loyal and fantastic business partners, friends, and family.”

You want to cry, not a sad cry, but burst into tears over how far the two of them have come. When you first joined them in working at the shop, it was just a corner store on Diagon Alley, now it’s a world wide chain. You see the ins and outs of the business, knowing just how much work the two of them put into this dream. You’re able to catch George’s gaze, mouthing an I love you which he returns with a wink.

“Before we let you all get back to the party, theres one person we would like to specifically thank,” George speaks again before pointing down to you and motioning you to come up with them. You shake your head at him, not wanting to impede on the well deserved attention and praise the boys are getting. “Y/n, this isn’t an option come on up here. Alright, for those of you who don’t know this is my lovely, gorgeous, smart, talented-”

“Alright, get on with it Georgie!” Fred interrupts, making the crowd of people laugh. “I think they get the point.”

“Okay, okay.” George puts his hands up in defense. “Like I was saying, or those of you who don’t know this is Y/n. She’s better known to most of you as the lady who was stupid enough to say yes when I asked her to be my girlfriend, but she was the stores first hired employee. She has been with us for all the renovations, all the expansions and has always supported us in every hair-brained idea Freddie and I have come up with. She has since become our creative director for the company as well as held a seat on our board for, well as long as we’ve had a board. Without her, I think we might just crumble to the ground.”

“Oh stop that!” You don’t mean for it to come out so loud, but you make the crowd laugh again and your cheeks heat up. You slide in front of George to bring your mouth up to the microphone. “They’re making my role seem much larger than it is, all of this that you’ve seen over the years has very little to do with me.”

“Pay no mind to her, she’s being humble.” George retorts, and you decide to stop fighting it. “I guess what I’m trying to say is our lives, especially mine, would be a lot harder if Y/n wasn’t in it. I couldn’t think of a better place, in front of a better group of people, to ask this question.”

Before you can process his words, your boyfriend is lowering down on one knee and pulling a small box out of his pocket. You hear gasps and whistles coming from the crowd, making you turn to see Ginny with the biggest smile on her face. You look back down to George, your hands going to cover your gaping mouth. This is not real. The red haired boy opens the box to reveal a ring, a massive diamond in the center with what seemed like a dozen smaller diamonds surrounding it. So this is where all the money the shops have been making was going.

“Y/n, my dearest love,” He doesn’t even get a full sentence out and you’re already shaking. “It will never make sense to me why you said yes to being my girlfriend, but I’m hoping whatever came over you that day is over you now so you’ll say yes to this one too. Y/n, will you make the happiest bloke to every walk this earth and marry me?”

You can’t even form words, your heart feeling like it’s migrated to your throat. You can only nod and pull him up from his kneeling position to pull him into the tightest hug you’ve ever given. “Yes, yes. One thousand times yes. Georgie, I love you!”

George gives you that smile that melts you in every way and places the ring on your left finger. Ginny finally got her way. He pulls you in for a small kiss and your friends and family clap and shout with joy. You can hear Molly shouting over everyone else. Everyone in the room is clapping and celebrating but one person.

Ron’s mouth is agape, watching as you say yes to spending the rest of your life with his brother. He wants to be happy for the two of you, he wants to be able to celebrate with his family but the dull ache in his heart that has been present since the night in the common room that you told him to never say the words you just shouted to his brother turns into a sharp pain. This is the final nail on the coffin that is the hope Ron held that you would one day be together. That small glimmer dying as the ring is placed on your dainty hand. It doesn’t take long for Harry to notice the look on his best friends face, excusing himself from Ginny for a moment.

“You alright?” Harry asks quietly, careful not to draw attention to the one person in the room that isn’t happen for the newly engaged couple at the front. “Ron you have to at least pretend to be happy for them.”

Ron looks over to Harry and shakes his head. “I wish I could be happy for them mate. Everything in me wishes I had done something differently so it was me asking her that question.”

Harry is quiet for a while, watching as Ron’s face keeps the shocked and defeated look that its held since he saw his brother get on one knee. He balls his hands into fists every few minutes to keep himself from going completely numb. “You really still love her, don’t you? After all this time.”

“‘Course I fucking do.” Ron whispers, not meaning for it to come out as harsh as it did. He and Harry talk for a little while, just to keep his mind off the obvious stressor in the room, until Ginny is pulling Harry away to come and congratulate her best friend. Ron is left alone as we watches your smile, a genuine one this time, is glued to your face as you show anyone and everyone the ring. George is standing proudly beside you, holding your waist. You never look his way, too involved in sharing the most exciting moment of your life, though Ron wishes you would look over to him. He wishes he could catch your eye and sense some form of regret, then come save the day, but that never happens. Today is the darkest shade of blue imaginably, knowing for certain that your whole heart belongs to someone else. Quietly, for no one else to hear but him, he utters:

“I love you, I always will.”

#ron weasley #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagine #george weasley #george weasley imagine #weasley imagine #weasley twins #gryffindor #gryffindor imagines

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just-come-baek · 4 years ago

Text

get in, loser 2

Pairing: Taeyong x female!reader

Themes: smut | mafiaboss!taeyong | carthief!reader | streetracer!reader

Word count: 8.3k

Summary: As controversial as it is, it’s Taeyong’s order for me to participate in the most prestigious race of the underground. As one may expect, it is frowned upon by other gang members.

A/N !REUPLOAD! sorry I fucked something up. Next parts shall be posted on Tuesdays every two weeks.

***

Getting up early in the morning isn’t really my thing. I was the most productive during late evenings and nights, and the fact that I had to be ready unusually early fucked up my sleeping schedule. Hopefully, it was the first, and the last time my presence was requested at such an unholy hour. Right after getting introduced to my new workplace, they had to be flexible enough to let me adjust the work schedule to my preference.

Unfortunately, Taeyong didn’t specify how early Lucas wants to see me the next day. I guessed it was around 7 o’clock in the morning – it was late enough for an early bird, yet early enough for someone who doesn’t really fancy getting up at sunrise.

Having parked my starling Fiat500 in front of the building, I saw a man. He was leaned against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette. It must’ve been Lucas. Who else could’ve been? It was the asscrack of dawn, for crying out loud!

“You’ve gotta be kidding me… that’s your car?” the man asked as he flicked the butt of the cigarette, stepping on it, grinding it against the ground, visibly galled by my cute feminine vehicle.

“It’s inconspicuous,” I commented, trying to make my point. Blending in after hours was one of the most crucial things in this profession, I didn’t want to go on and scream that I steal cars and race for a living.

“You’re late,” Lucas whispered. Under any other circumstances, I would roll my eyes, but right now, I just couldn’t. I was just staring at him, slowly checking him out. He was ridiculously handsome, and I tried my best not to drool. “I’m Lucas,” he said, sending me a playful smirk.

Politely, I introduced myself despite him already knowing who I was.

“That’s impressive,” Lucas commented, and I shrugged, not wanting to go through this once again. “How did you do it? It’s not that easy to steal Taeyong’s car, let alone Yuta’s,” he added, and I sighed, trying to come up with a vague and equivocal answer.

“What can I say? You’ve gotta have charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent.”

“Alright, I get it, keep your secrets,” Lucas voiced, biting his lips as if in deep thought. “Sooner or later, I’ll figure this out,” he promised and smiled, willing to take this secret with me to the grave. (I had a bad feeling in my gut, telling me Taeyong would be pissed if he found out the truth about the theft, and I was too cowardly to admit the facts.)

“Are we gonna stand here the whole day, or are you gonna show me around?” I challenged, and Lucas took a step to the side, gentlemanly letting me enter the car repair shop, following closely behind me.

“Ladies first,” he added, chuckling.

It wasn’t a typical car repair shop. The space was huge, and it could accommodate at least fifteen vehicles. On the inside, it resembled a car factory, but instead of assembling the cars, people were taking them apart.

What surprised me the most was the fact that I was the only female inside. Though I knew it was a stereotypically a male profession, men to women ratio was astounding. I didn’t mind it, though. I knew I could beat every single one of them. Gender didn’t matter at all.

“Let me introduce the guys you’ll be working with,” Lucas mentioned, and a few men stopped what they were doing to look at Lucas and me. “Please, meet Renjun, Jeno, Haechan, Chenle, Jisung, Jaemin, and Mark,” Lucas introduced them to me, but they didn’t seem very happy to see me. If anything, they seemed a little bit hostile.

“Hi guys,” I said, smiling and waving at them, but their intimidating auras didn’t change. It was awful, and I couldn’t imagine how difficult it was going to work with them. They obviously didn’t like me and didn’t respect me as if worthy of the same position. And it was especially weird because I knew I was better than all of them combined.

Ignoring their angry glances, Lucas explained their roles in this division. Renjun, Haechan, and Chenle were in charge of tuning up the cars, making sure they’re up to the racing standards. Mark and Jaemin were stealing the cars and bringing them here, and Jeno and Jisung were racing. Later on, Lucas revealed I was assigned to both – car theft and racing, and of course, the boys had to voice their objection.

Apparently, they had never heard of multitasking.

According to them, it wasn’t fair for a rookie member to participate in the street races. This position had to be earned through hard work, and they just couldn’t comprehend how much effort I had put to prove my value to Taeyong.

Well… to be honest, I didn’t suspect any of the boys to ever personally talk to Taeyong. I highly doubted they had an idea of what I had to go through to get recruited. They probably had never heard of Yuta, let alone been to his area and stolen one of his vehicles.

“I hope we will work together just fine,” I declared, though deep inside, I knew it wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. I was sure the boys were to make my time there miserable.

And, oh boy, I was right…

***

Somehow, I managed to survive a week at my new workplace without quitting. At some point, I was really close to doing so, yet then I remembered what I had gone through to work here, and this thought alone kept me going. The boys were an enormous pain in the ass, but it would definitely take much more than juvenile bullying to make me leave.

I was a lot of things, but definitely, not a quitter.

Having acted tough the whole week, I needed something to help me chill, and the only person I thought of was my best friend – Doyoung. I was a gang member now, but I knew it wouldn’t matter to him – it wouldn’t have any impact on our friendship.

Within an hour, I was already at his car repair shop. Not bothering to announce my arrival, I strolled inside, looking for him. It was already weekend. All of his employees were recharging their batteries for the upcoming week, so the slim pair of legs under the Nissan Maxima must’ve been Doyoung’s.

Smirking, I slammed my hands against the hood, startling him in the process. Swiftly, Doyoung rolled out from under the car, staring at me angrily, as if refraining himself from murdering me with bare hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he yelled when he saw my face, apparently relieved it was me. “Ever since I helped you with that gig, I have terrible anxiety,” he confessed, and I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same, fearing that someone might want to get rid of me with violence.

“Good thing I stopped by,” I mused, excited to reveal my amazing plans. “I was wondering if you would like to go on vacation with me – my treat. We haven’t spent all the money Taeyong gave me that time, and he hasn’t mentioned anything if he wants the rest of it back, so I thought we could go to the beach. What do you think?”

“More like Mr. Bad Boy’s treat… It does sound tempting, though. Where is the catch?” Doyoung asked suspiciously, knowing me all too well. “Are you on another stupid assignment?”

“Well… not exactly,” I answered, looking away, nervously playing with my fingers. “They’ve accepted me as the newest addition to the family, though some of them gotta warm up to me yet,” I explained, shrugging at the thought of the relentless bullying. “But that’s not the point. Taeyong told me to get rid of the car, and I thought of kindly returning it to Yuta. It’s only logical I send him back the car plates, yet far from home because I don’t want anyone to trace it back to me.”

Judging by the look on Doyoung’s face, he wasn’t completely sold on this idea.

“It’s like killing two birds with one stone. We’ll go to the beach, post the plates to Yuta, and then enjoy the rest of the weekend, sipping drinks by the sea. It’s a two-minute risk-free adventure. What do you say? We both deserve some leisure…”

Staring straight ahead, Doyoung must’ve weighed all the pros and cons of my proposition. Ultimately he decided he deserves some alcohol drinks with cute little umbrellas in the glasses.

“What about the other car?” Doyoung asked, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“I’ll give it back as soon as we return.”

“Fine.”

“Great! Pack your suitcase, the plane takes off in four hours.”

As soon as we arrived, we made a short stop to mail the package to Yuta, praying for him not to trace it back to me. The parcel contained the Ferrari’s plates, a key to the storage room in Japan where Yuta’s vehicle had been kept, and a tiny piece of paper with a sorry written on it. Hopefully, once Yuta gets it back, he will forget about the car ever being stolen.

Later in the evening, we checked into the hotel I had booked, left the baggage, and hit the SPA. Having taken all available services, I was calm, I felt like a lotus flower. Doyoung, however, still was anxious and whiny.

“You need some vitamin D, my friend,” I told him, and he grimaced at me in disgust. “You know… there’s this man, his name is Jaehyun. He’s a guy from work, and I’m pretty sure he could help you let off some steam,” I offered, and Doyoung shook his head, sassily wrapping his lips around the straw, sipping on his third drink of the evening.

To be honest, I doubted Jaehyun swung for the same team, but both of them needed to get laid. Jaehyun because I was really close to start believing his gaze could be literally lethal, and Doyoung because he was so whiny and intractable to be around. I knew it wouldn’t ever work out, but I had to, at least, try.

“I appreciate the proposition, but I don’t hook up with gangsters,” Doyoung said, setting his drink on the counter. “You know what…” Doyoung started, and I rolled my eyes, knowing his further statement will be both funny and hurtful.

When tipsy, Doyoung would often state things harshly without even thinking about running around the bush. “Being your friend has become really stressful recently. It’s a matter of time until I go completely bold, and it will be exclusively your fault.”

“I know…” I agreed, sighing in helplessness. “I’ve been a terrible friend, I’m sorry,” I whispered, resting my head on Doyoung’s shoulder, reaching out to hold his hand. “I’ll never put you in danger again, I promise,” I added, acting way out of my character. Usually, I wasn’t this emotional, but I suspected it was coming from pretending to be badass all the time.

“OK, enough of the weeping, let’s buy some alcohol to go and go get drunk on the beach, waiting for the sunrise,” Doyoung pushed my off of his arm and jumped off the barstool.

“That’s the spirit!”

***

“Gather round people,” Lucas yelled as soon as he entered the car repair shop. As always, he looked like a complete snack, yet I chose not to comment on that. Though we barely spoke with one another, everybody knew how big his ego was, and I didn’t want to inflate it even more.

“What is it?” Haechan whined at Lucas, being annoyed by the interruption.

“The color festival,” Lucas revealed, and everybody grew silent at the mention of the event.

Though a regular person wouldn’t understand what’s that big of a deal, to a car racer, it was an event of the year. It’s an annual the most prestigious car race in the country – participation alone is an honor. It’s every racer’s dream to take part and win, earning a shit load of money and fame. The participation fee is 50 grand per head, after all. Every year the date is different, and only the best racers are talented enough to be a part of it. No wonder Taeyong’s gang will have its representative.

“It takes place this Friday, and Taeyong has already decided who’s gonna represent us this year,” Lucas announced, and the boys started to guess whether it would be Jisung or Jeno. If I had to nominate anyone, it would be Jeno – his drifting skills were no joke. “As I was saying, it’s Taeyong’s direct wish that our special snowflake represents us in the competition,” Lucas specified, and the boys looked at me the way Jaehyun did – with hatred and disgust.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” I chuckled drily, but the boys didn’t change their attitudes.

No way! Taeyong couldn’t… he wouldn’t. Well... I expected him to respect me after what I had done, but this… it was too much. Some drivers worked their entire lives mastering their techniques to participate, and right now, I felt as if I had my chance served on a silver platter. The boys must’ve felt the same way.

I deserved to participate, but Jeno and Jisung did as well. I wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. Their bullying was giving me a headache as it was, another reason to pick on me was the last thing I needed at the moment.

“It can’t be,” Jaemin stated, too perplexed to voice a longer statement.

“Well… it must be, Taeyong’s orders,” Lucas added with a smirk on his sexy lips, ignoring all complaints. “Guys, behave, it’s not my decision to make. You can always try next year,” he tried to console the whining boys, but it didn’t seem to work. If anything, it only multiplied the anger they felt towards me.

“It’s impossible,” I muttered, but the boys didn’t pay any attention to what I was trying to say, “I’m pretty sure it’s not final. I’ll talk to him, I think I can change his mind,” I continued, but once again my words were muffled by the loud white noise of complaining.

“You can’t just call him,” Lucas remarked, trying to remind me of my position in the hierarchy. Now, when I was a valid member of the organization, I had to follow the rules, and Lucas was my superior to whom I was obligated to report everything back. Talking to Taeyong would be highly unprofessional; I had to stick to the code.

“Can you try to persuade him?” Jisung asked, full of hope.

Lucas laughed at Jisung’s question as if it was one of the funniest things he heard in years.

“To be honest, I don’t give a fuck who’s gonna ride this year,” Lucas started truthfully, and I gasped at the harshness of his words. He didn’t sugarcoat nor beat around the bush. “It’s Taeyong’s decision, and I am in no place to question his choice, so beat it.”

His words successfully shut everyone up; Lucas was mean and straight-forward, but it had to be done. Perhaps his leading skills were a little bit rough around the edges, but they managed to get the work done.

“You,” Lucas exclaimed, looking at me. “Meet me here before the race; we’ll pick up the car,” he added, turning around, leaving me alone with the boys, so they could take out all frustrations on me.

“Fantastic.”

***

As expected, the boys, Jeno and Jisung in particular, were giving me hell. It was obvious they were unhappy with Taeyong’s decision, yet I shouldn’t be the receiving end of their relentless bullying. If I could, I’d pay Taeyong a visit and persuade him to change his mind, but just like Lucas said, I was on the very bottom of the gang hierarchy.

At this point, I’d call it quits. Unfortunately, I was too far in the game to bow out. Right now, I could only endure their harassment in hopes of quickly getting promoted, leaving them far behind. It wouldn’t be the most challenging thing I had done for the gang’s sake.

It was a Thursday night. Within 24 hours, I would compete in the most infamous race of the year, and I was beyond mortified. I had drunk half a dozen mugs of double lemon balm, yet the stress was still eating me from the inside out.

It was oddly quiet. Usually, at this time of night, something was going on, but tonight, it was silent. Without any white noise, one could hear a pin drop.

Everything suggested I was alone in the car repair shop. Having slammed down the hood, I wiped my hands in the cloth and looked around. Where was everybody? Did they forget to add me to their group chat? Did they go out for a drink without telling me?

I strolled through their stations, yet I didn’t find anybody. They really left me behind. That wasn’t cool. We weren’t best friends, but I deserved to know if there was a staff outing. Maybe this time around, I’d pass, given the plans I had for tomorrow, but any other time, I’d be down to have a beer with them.

Perhaps, they would warm up to me if we could spend some quality time together.

Once again, I looked around the space and decided to call it a day. There was nothing urgent that I had to finish, so I closed up. I really wanted to come back home, relax, and psych myself up for the upcoming race.

Yawning, I slowly made my way to my car, which was parked two blocks away from the car repair shop. Lucas had suggested it was for the best if the boys didn’t see my vehicle, since it would definitely become another reason to pick on me. Though I didn’t care what they thought of me, I ultimately decided to follow Lucas’ advice. He was my superior for a reason.

The narrow street was barely lit, yet I made my way through it with ease. I had the route memorized by heart, even though I wasn’t completely familiar with this city district.

Once the car conjured in my line of vision, I reached into my backpack, fishing for the keys.

Unfortunately, before I managed to find them, somebody grabbed me by my shoulders and pushed me onto the ground. Stupefied, I looked up and saw half a dozen of persons, each of whom clad in a black hoodie and a face mask.

I was being mugged in a dark alley.

The survival instincts kicked in. The adrenaline rush hit me in a matter of seconds. Just like mothers who can lift cars to save their children, I was in a combat mode, ready to fight off all of them. I was outnumbered, but when driven on hormones, I thought I stood a chance to defend myself and kick their asses.

Quickly, I got back on my feet and took a few steps to the back to distance myself from the attackers and strategize my next move. My first idea was to run away, but that wasn’t going to work out. Two men with crowbars crept out of the shadows, depriving me of the only escape route I could think of.

“OK, think,” I whispered under my breath. There were seven of them, two of whom had crowbars, while one of them pulled out a knife. Seven against one, it didn’t sound fair. Back in the day, I had taken some self-defense lessons, but it was a long time ago. If I had some skills unconsciously memorized, they would surely be rusty.

Perhaps, I could bullshit my way out of it.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, but none of the men even flinched. They were frozen in their spots, probably waiting for the best moment to attack. “I don’t have any money on me, but I can give you my wheels,” I proposed, but once again, I didn’t get any reaction. “It’s a measly car, but I got it checked by a mechanic a few days ago. It’s as good as new.”

It was like talking to a wall. I could run my mouth, yet I would never receive any reply.

Plan A didn’t work out.

They weren’t cooperative enough for me to implement plan B.

I had no choice but to go with plan C, which consisted of fighting back, hoping they wouldn’t beat me to death. It wasn’t the most optimistic scenario, but it’s what my mind came up with after doing the math. It wasn’t a fair fight, what were the odds of me winning?

Close to zero.

When I was about to pick which guy I should attack first, the one in front of me made a cutting throat gesture. It did freak me out, but on cue, I ran up to the one with the crowbar and kicked him in the nuts before he managed to smack me with the metal. Instantly, he crumbled down on his knees, dropping the weapon on the ground.

It was my opportunity to try to even the chances.

Everything happened so fast. One second I was wiggling my body from side to side in an attempt to dodge the attack, while a moment later, I was swinging the crowbar like a baseball bat. In all honesty, I wasn’t that bad, I managed to omit most of their punches.

Unfortunately, there were too many of them. At this point, I knew I wouldn’t win. The least I could do was to try to minimize the damage.

Though I could feel a couple of bruises on my thighs forming up and my blood oozing from my shoulder, I gathered enough strength to swing the crowbar at the man, hitting him straight on the neck, knocking him out. As soon as the man’s head collided with the ground, everybody stopped in their tracks, trying to register what just happened.

They couldn’t believe that a woman successfully fought back. It was a small victory, though. Six more angry men wanted to mug me. Or rape me. Or worse.

“You bitch,” one of them yelled, going towards me with a knife as if he wanted to gut me.

I saw everything in slow motion. He ran to me, screaming, and I tightened my grip on the crowbar, getting ready to knock him unconscious, too.

Before he managed to get close enough for me to hit him, we all got blinded by the lights. There was another car in the alley, scaring the men away. In an instant, they picked up their stunned friend and ran away, disappearing in the distance.

My vision couldn’t accommodate this amount of light, so I couldn’t precisely see my savior. Unfortunately, I was unable to see the person behind the wheel, but the vehicle looked like a Ford. Too bad it drove off before I could have a better look.

Worrying the thugs might return, I limped to my car and locked myself in. My pulse was slowly getting back to normal, and the adrenaline was wearing off, making me feel the pain. Each bruise and cut was hurting me, but I inhaled, flooring the accelerator.

***

When I woke up around noon, I was sore all over. Though I had taken some painkillers and put on ointment on the fragile skin, I still felt like shit. I wasn’t the best at treating wounds, and I discovered this fact about myself in the worst timing ever.

How was I supposed to win the most meaningful race of the year when I felt excruciating pain when I had to stretch my arm? How was I supposed to operate the gearbox in this state?

By the time I had to leave my apartment, I felt only slightly better. High on meds, I drove carefully to the car repair shop, expecting Lucas to already be there. It was typical Lucas – giving vague instructions, yet at the same time, demanding precision, or in this case, punctuality.

Gingerly, I parked the vehicle outside the garage, noticing Lucas leaned against the wall, smoking what I hope was just a cigarette. Putting a smile on my face, I undid the seatbelt and exited the car, waving at my superior.

“What the hell are you wearing? Are you going to a race or Lazytown?” Lucas yelled, amused by my outfit. I could bet it wasn’t a typical outfit for street-racing.

Tonight, I chose to wear a pastel pink wig that reached down to my shoulders, a mini dress in the same shade of pink, and a pair of white combat shoes. I had my reasons to wear this type of clothing, though.

First of all – diversion; I hoped the other contestants would underestimate me upon seeing my eccentric outfit. Looks might be deceiving, and at this point, I couldn’t wait to bask in the glory of their judging stares. In this outfit, no one would think of me as a threat.

Second of all – bruises; no one paid them any attention because all the curious gazes were focused on extravagant clothes. Moreover, I could apply another layer of ointment if needed because the skimpy outfit allowed me easy access to my bare skin.

Third of all – Taeyong; pink was his favorite color and it matched his current hairstyle. It was a bold statement to demonstrate whose gang I was representing in the race.

“The outfit is going to serve its purpose, so let me live,” I murmured, not in the mood for friendly banter. Lucas was ridiculously hot, and I respected him, but right now, I didn’t feel like joking around. “What car do you have for me?”

Lucas pulled the sliding doors to the side, letting me in, following right behind me. Though I tried to control my walk, Lucas quickly caught on.

“What’s happened? Why are you walking like that?” Lucas asked in concern, and I told him everything about the men, their attempt to mug me, and the savior. I didn’t even fail to mention how I knocked one of the guys out with a powerful hit in the neck. “I don’t really think it was some random dudes,” he concluded, taking a closer look at my bruises and cuts.

“Huh?” I mused in confusion.

“I think someone wanted to make sure you’re not participating in the race,” Lucas stated. I creased my eyebrows, unable to make sense out of his suspicion. It was ridiculous. Though I knew how to race, my name wasn’t widely known in the illegal underground racing circle. “It can’t be a coincidence you’re getting attacked one night before the event.”

Well… Lucas had a point.

“Can you race?” Lucas inquired, his voice coated in worry.

I did not expect that, but it felt nice. Lucas, being my superior, looked after me, and it was the first time I felt like a legitimate member of the gang.

“I’ve taken a lot of pills, I can pull through,” I stated, smiling half-heartedly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed, though I could already feel the medication wear off. This insignificant setback wasn’t going to stop me. I had something to prove.

“Alright then,” Lucas said, following me to the back. “Taeyong has personally chosen these cars. You can pick any of them,” he added, and I looked at the beautiful machines in amazement. “Oh, before I forget, he also said you get to keep it if you win.”

“For real?” I asked, and Lucas nodded, smiling at my reaction. “Sweet.”

Now, I really had to win.

Taeyong had selected three vehicles for me to use: BMW M2, Toyota Supra, and Porsche 718 Cayman. The three of them were white and shiny, and it was a real dilemma.

“Tough choice,” I whispered, struggling to make the ultimate decision. Each vehicle had incredible features, and it was impossible to pick the best one. It felt like having a birthday on the same day as Christmas.

“Be quick, we’ve got to go,” Lucas urged me, tapping his foot against the concrete floor impatiently. “Make up your mind, woman.”

“OK, fine, fine, let’s go with Toyota,” I answered, and Lucas put his hand into the pocket of his jeans, fished out three sets of keys, and threw one for me to catch.

“Let’s go, then,” he added, quickly making his way to the passenger seat.

“How does it feel like to win such a race?” I inquired, breaking the silence inside the car. I was speeding to the abandoned airport, while Lucas was texting with somebody, completely ignoring me. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to bond with him, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. Three years ago, being the youngest participant, Lucas had won the race, and I really wanted to know how it felt to make history.

Who knew? Maybe I’d be the first woman to win this race this year.

“Fine, I guess,” Lucas answered dismissively, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

“Oh,” I sighed, deciding not to pry further. We would have other opportunities to talk about it.

Once we arrived, Lucas told me to park the vehicle on the start line. The race would start in an hour, and until then, I had to mingle with other drivers and make my presence known. It was time for the rich men to make their bets.

“Hmm… that’s strange,” Lucas commented when I turned off the engine. “Taeyong’s here.”

“Is that strange?”

“He hasn’t attended such an event ever since he had won it five years ago,” Lucas explained, and I nodded my head, registering the new information. When Lucas put it like that, it really seemed out of character. “Interesting,” he added, deep in thought.

When Lucas got out of the car, I searched for Taeyong in the crowd. Thankfully, it wasn’t that difficult. This time around, Taeyong was wearing a green tracksuit set, thick-rimmed black Fendi sunglasses, and a pair of simple white sneakers. With his pink-ish hair and a custom-made Dior purse loosely hanging off his shoulder, he did not fit in this picture packed with gangers. Taeyong looked like a stray 4-year-old who got lost in a dangerous alley.

Following Lucas’ example, I exited the vehicle, and leaned against the hood, posing as a confident yet quirky driver. Though I expected everyone to underestimate my skills, deep inside, I wished to be recognized as a serious competition.

Looking around, I stared at Taeyong and deliberately ignored Jaehyun’s death glares. Even from afar, I could sense he hated my guts. I suspected I was the reason why Taeyong was here right now, and Jaehyun was unmistakably displeased by it.

With my eyes locked on Taeyong, I noticed Lucas joined him and whispered something into his ear. Whatever Lucas had told him, it made Taeyong visibly angry.

“Attention racers,” a female voice spoke through the speakers, obtaining everyone’s attention. “The race shall begin in thirty minutes. We ask all racers to pick up the GPS device box at the judge’s lounge. Thank you for your attention and good luck.”

Every participant had to install the device in one’s car. Once set in the vehicle, the racer could see this year’s route and all checkpoints. The fastest one to clear all the checkpoints and come back to the airport would win the competition.

Following all the instructions, I got ready for the race. In a few minutes, twelve cars would leave the airport in an attempt to chase their dreams of fame and success.

I was sitting comfortably in my seat, and though on the outside, I seemed calm, the courtesy of painkillers, I was freaking out internally. I didn’t even notice someone knock on the window, making me jump in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Lucas, you scared the shit out of me,” I cursed, rolling down the window.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he added, smiling genuinely. “I spoke with Taeyong, and he would like to talk to you after the race in his mansion.”

“Oh.”

And with that, Lucas walked away, letting me relax some more before the race. I just had enough time to turn on my playlist, which consisted of Britney Spears’ biggest hits. It always helped me to uplift my mood, and I really needed that.

“Three,” the woman counted out loud, and all participants turned on their engines.

“Two.”

“One.”

At once, all the cars surged forward, and people cheered enthusiastically, not even muffling the loud engine roars.

The route had seven checkpoints in total, and since the race was called the color festival, each stop was named after the rainbow color. There was no specified order in which the contestants ought to clear them, yet most of them chose to drive east, toward the indigo checkpoint.

I, on the other hand, decided to head west. The more drivers in one area, the more chances of dirty tricks, and I didn’t want to end up getting pushed out of the route into the gutter.

Only four racers mirrored my actions, and out of the five of us, I was leading. With ease, I cleared the green checkpoint, but one Britney song later, the driver of the red 2020 Lexus SC caught up to me, driving straight into my back left lights, making me lose control of the vehicle for a second. Thankfully, I managed to get a hold of the situation before I drove into the dangerous turn.

This bastard scratched my car and cleared the yellow checkpoint before me.

I couldn’t let him get away with it.

Flooring the accelerator, I quickly found myself on the right side of the Lexus, staring at the driver. I recognized him in an instant. It was Felix, and he was infamous for dangerous driving. It didn’t matter how many drivers he had to send to the hospital to win the race.

Perhaps, it would be reasonable to let him be, but I was high on meds, and the logical solution fled my mind before I managed to memorize it. The only sensible reaction I could muster in the heat of the moment was hitting him before he hit me again.

Sticking my tongue out for Felix to see, I abruptly turned to the right, pushing him out of the road. Unfortunately, I didn’t hit him hard enough. Before I drove into another sharp turn, I saw him in the rearview mirror. He was back on the lane, trying to catch up with the rest of the participants.

“Too high, can’t come down, losing my mind, spinning ‘round and round, do you feel me now?” I sang along with Britney, driving through the blue checkpoint.

I was almost halfway through the race, and it was about the time when I ran out of luck. I could hear a loud siren ringing in the distance, followed by red and blue lights. It couldn’t be a good sign. Competing against lunatics was challenging, yet on top of that, I had to lose the police.

My first thought was to let the other drivers catch up to me, and then hope the police would chase them, but I quickly realized it was a dumb idea. The racers would out-speed the police cruisers anyway; it was stupid to purposefully slow down.

The next checkpoint was near, and it was my priority. I’d deal with the police by the end of the race. Of course, only if the police cruisers could handle such speed. It was doubtful, but I chose not to underestimate them.

“Fuck, it can’t be,” I cursed when I noticed the red Lexus again. “He is stubborn,” I added, once again flooring the accelerator, trying to keep as much distance from Felix as possible. This car would be mine if I won, and I didn’t want any more damage.

Then, a few seconds later, another car appeared a couple of hundred meters behind me.

Too bad the police were too incompetent to catch them. The sirens were still ringing in the distance, so it only meant they didn’t give up yet. I didn’t think they stood a chance against any of the sports cars in the race, but it was admirable that they still tried.

The red checkpoint was a couple meters ahead, and I reasoned I needed to step up my game. In order to win, I had to think out of the box. I had to do something they wouldn’t dare. I couldn’t play it safe if I really wanted to win.

Having cleared the red checkpoint, I made a U-turn without slowing down. If it wasn’t for the breaks, the force would pull me out of the lane, sending me flying off the cliff. Felix and the other guy were visibly confused when I started driving right at them.

Going over 180 km/h, I passed them and the police cruiser before I made an abrupt turn, driving through run-down, abandoned properties. Very few people knew this short-cut, and I hoped it would give me the advantage I desperately needed.

With no problem, I cleared the orange checkpoint.

Only two more to go, I told myself, trying to uplift my mood.

The violet checkpoint resembled a war zone. Three cars were sitting on the side of the road, all scratched and damaged. Compared to this psycho who had done it, Felix was a harmless kitten. Thankfully, he hadn’t chosen to follow the same path as me. It made me sick to think I could be inside of one of these wrecked cars.

Or it was the meds overload in my system.

I couldn’t be sure.

Having passed the final checkpoint, I noticed a sports car. It was heading the same direction, so I concluded it was one of my rivals. The neon green Porsche Boxter was behind me, but it was catching up incredibly fast.

I had to get my shit together, or I was going to lose.

I could see the finishing line in the distance. Unfortunately, the green Porsche was right there, on my left side. Neither of us wanted to lose, and almost at the same time, we turned, smashing against each other. Sparks were flying everywhere, the sound of scratching metal was ringing loudly, yet no one dared to let go.

If I didn’t push him out of my way, we would tie, and this result was unacceptable. With my foot on the accelerator, I turned the steering wheel to the right as hard as I could. The vehicle barely moved to the side, yet it was still making progress.

Maybe it was pure luck, but the Porsche ran over something on the road, and its driver lost control of the car. It was my time to shine, so once again I turned to the right. The vehicles made a 90-degree turn, which resulted in me being the first one to cross the finishing line.

Oh my god, I won.

These guys could suck it because I beat them!

When I got out of the car, Taeyong and Jaehyun were gone. Lucas was the only familiar face in the crowd, and he actually ran up to me to congratulate me. “You won,” Lucas said, beaming. His smile quickly faded away upon seeing how wrecked the car was. “It was a new car,” he cried, calculating the damage.

“It’s still new,” I remarked, but Lucas didn’t find it amusing. Well… I could relate. After all, it was my car. I knew the second the painkillers wear off, I was going to in pain because of what I did to the vehicle. Hopefully, Doyoung would help me get it fixed.

A lady in a deep-cut bikini and sun-kissed tan walked up to me to hand me a bag of cash and a bottle of champagne.

“Everybody, make some noise for this year’s winner,” she screamed into the microphone, making the crowd go crazy.

I was smiling like a lunatic. People were cheering, and it was all for me.

Though I was craving champagne, I knew it wasn’t the best idea to drink it. The pills mixed with alcohol would kill me, so I opted for an alternative celebration. Swinging my arm, I threw the bottle at the car, smashing it against the scratched doors.

“Christening the car seemed appropriate,” I commented when I saw Lucas trying to process what I just did. “At this point, one more tear doesn’t make a difference.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lucas said lifelessly, staring with concern at the vehicle. “You better go. Don’t keep Taeyong waiting. He’s not a patient person.”

***

Having parked in front of Taeyong’s big ass mansion, I made my way to the main entrance and rang the bell. The doors opened a few seconds later, and Jaehyun looked at me from head to toe, stepping to the side, letting me in.

It was my first time in Taeyong’s palace, and the interior was breathtaking. Everything looked expensive, and everyone must’ve felt the wow effect during their first visit. Though I knew he had a shit load of money, witnessing his wealth first hand was an unforgettable experience.

“Stay here, I’ll get Taeyong,” Jaehyun ordered, and I smiled sheepishly, not wanting to mess with someone who could easily murder me. “Don’t touch anything,” Jaehyun added as he turned around, catching me red-handed on trying to brush my fingers against the sculpture, which was set on a coffee table.

Two minutes later, Taeyong joined me in the spacious living room.

“Lucas told me you won,” he spoke as he plopped down onto a leather couch, putting his hands into the pocket of his disgusting green tracksuit. “Good job.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me? To congratulate me?” I asked out loud, wanting to smack myself the moment the words left my mouth. Of course, Taeyong didn’t want to congratulate me; he had invited me to his mansion before the race even began.

“No,” he replied shortly, and I smiled sheepishly, trying to forget this incident. “You know what I will never tolerate?” Taeyong asked, and I sighed in thought.

“I don’t know… Hmm… it’s a wild guess, but is it Hawaiian pizza?”

“No,” Taeyong denied, smirking at my random guess. “I will never tolerate treason, doll.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to figure out what he meant. I hadn’t done anything to betray him, yet he still somehow found something to punish me for. No way, it wasn’t possible. Had he figured out how I really had stolen Yuta’s car?

Fuck.

“Come on, doll. Let me show you,” Taeyong whispered, standing up. With his eyes on me, he smiled and stretched his hand. Anxiously, I let him hold his palm around mine as he led me to the basement.

It wasn’t a good omen.

Despite all of my achievements, Taeyong was going to kill me.

“The pink really suits you,” Taeyong spoke out of the blue when we slowly made our way downstairs. “I really like this hair on you,” he added, playing with the ends of my wig.

“Thanks, I was hoping you’d like it,” I answered, trying not to show how intimidated I was.

“Oh, I do, doll,” he smirked, pushing a pair of big pine doors open, stepping to the side, letting me in first.

Inside the room were seven men tied to the chairs with a piece of cloth wrapped around their eyes. Since there was only one light bulb, it took me a while to recognize them.

They were my colleagues from the garage. What the hell were they doing here? Why had Taeyong imprisoned them? What had they done? It was them who had betrayed Taeyong? No, it didn’t make any sense. He wouldn’t have invited me if it was about them.

“I don’t understand…” I commented, my eyes focused on the tied men in front of me. The moment when I looked at Jisung, I saw a wound on his neck.

Then it hit me.

It was them.

They had tried to kill me last night.

“As I said, I cannot tolerate treason,” Taeyong voiced as he began to rip the makeshift blindfolds off their faces. “Working against the gang is unacceptable, and you dared to hurt one of your own,” he spoke, and I trembled, afraid to witness what’s going to happen next. “Who came up with this stupid plan?”

Silence.

“Alright then,” Taeyong concluded through gritted teeth. It was the first time I saw him this angry, and I was scared. I’d shit my pants if I were the reason for his wrath. “Come here, doll,” he ordered, wanting me to join him. “Pick your weapon,” he told me, and I looked at him in confusion. What did I need a weapon for?

I looked to the right and saw pegboard tool storage on the wall. It was an impressive collection of torture weapons, and Taeyong wanted me to use them on the traitors. It was wrong on so many levels, and I really didn’t want to do it, but the perspective of wronging Taeyong seemed even worse. I would rather hurt them than let Taeyong hurt me.

“We don’t have a whole night, doll,” Taeyong urged me, and I grabbed the first thing which was in my arms’ reach. It happened to be a hammer. “Excellent choice; who should we punish first?” Taeyong asked, resting his arm over my shoulder, smiling like a maniac. Without any doubt, it was to bring him a lot of pleasure.

“I don’t know…”

“Alright, then,” Taeyong smiled in amusement before he started to sing the eeny, meeny, miny, moe counting rhyme to select the first victim. At first, I didn’t look, but once Taeyong stopped singing, I opened my eyes to see that his finger was pointing at Haechan.

“Do what you gotta do, doll,” Taeyong ordered happily, leaning against the wall, making sure he had the best view at the scene unfolding in front of him.

I wanted to cry, but I tried my best not to. As a part of a gang, it was inappropriate to show vulnerability. I didn’t want Taeyong to revoke my membership, especially when the only way to leave the gang was through excruciating death.

“Where should I start?” I asked myself under my breath, having no idea how torturing worked. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way of inflicting the least amount of pain, while maintaining the expected level of Taeyong’s satisfaction.

Having closed my eyes, I swung my arm, hitting Haechan’s palm with the hammer, making him groan in pain. “You bitch,” he cursed, and I repeated the blow a couple of times until his hand looked like a smashed pomegranate.

Haechan was yelling in pain, Taeyong was chuckling in amusement, and I tried my best to refrain myself from crying. Though I didn’t particularly like Haechan, and he had been a real pain in the ass with the bullying, he didn’t deserve such punishment. How was he supposed to work at the garage without his dominant hand? His career was basically over. It was a dick move to attack me, and though I was awfully petty, the punishment was too severe.

“Who came up with this stupid plan?” Taeyong questioned again, yet none of the boys dared to speak. Not even Haechan, who was in a tremendous amount of pain. “Here, hold this,” he added, handing me a baseball bat, “I got bored of the hammer.”

Obediently, I grabbed the baseball bat and hit Haechan in the stomach until he started coughing blood on my pink dress. “What the fuck?” I cursed, getting angry at the minor inconvenience.

“Stop it, you’ll kill him,” Jisung yelled, trying to shimmy himself out of the ties. “I did it. I told them to beat her up. She didn’t deserve to ride in this race,” he carried on, and Taeyong sighed, walking up to Jisung nonchalantly with his hands loosely tucked in the pockets.

“It wasn’t that hard, was it?” Taeyong asked as he bent a little and caressed Jisung’s chin. “I really appreciate your honesty,” he added before he pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

It was hard to process, but he really did shoot Jisung.

“Good job, doll,” Taeyong congratulated me with a smile before he fired his gun once again, this time shooting through Haechan’s forehead. “What? He was useless without his hand anyway,” he commented upon seeing my shocked reaction.

“You’re not gonna kill them, are you?” I quietly asked as I leaned against Taeyong’s frame, clinging to his chest. None of them deserved to die, yet I hoped Taeyong would spare the remaining five.

“No, I think it was enough for them to learn their lesson,” Taeyong revealed, and I sighed in relief, glad the bloodshed was over. It was the first time I saw somebody get killed, and it was a morbid sight. I wouldn’t mentally handle the situation if he decided to murder them all.

“Can we go now? The blood makes me sick,” I confessed, and Taeyong once again wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulled me to his side, and led outside. Surprisingly, regardless of what I had seen a while ago, his hug felt genuine. “I have a question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“How did you know it was them?”

Taeyong smirked, “who do you think was in that car that scared them off?”

“You?” I asked, cocking up my eyebrow, trying to process the newfound information.

“No, what I would be doing there?” Taeyong denied, making me even more confused. “I told Jaehyun to pick you up and bring to my mansion. However, when he saw you were attacked, he drove off and hunted them down.”

“I guess I owe him big time.”

#taeyong smut #neosmutcollective #nct smut #nct angst #taeyong angst #taeyong #lee taeyong #mafia boss taeyong #nct scenario #taeyong scenario #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #taeyong fanfic #taeyong fanfiction

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morimakesfanart · 4 years ago

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Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

#sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x oc #sinbadxoc

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years ago

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Something more infinite (George Weasley x reader) ch. 3

Chapter 3: Sticks and Stones will break my bones, and so will you because you knocked me off your broom, you maniac!

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 (final) |

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: Light swearing, TW: broken bones, injury.

In the midst of the busy O.W.L oriented fifth year, you were so grateful for flying lessons. At this point you were being buried in books and assignments to the point of having to reduce your prank wars with the twins to the weekends only (which was easier to carry out now that they’d seemingly lost their map sometime over Christmas). As the snow began to melt away and the spring was coming along, so were the exams and you had so much on your plate you were afraid you’d choke. Flying lessons were a breath of fresh air, literally, since they were spent away from the dusty halls and classrooms out on the grounds and on the quidditch pitch, which was where you were now. Madam Hooch understood that her fifth year students were more than fed up with information from all their other subjects and since flying was not an exam subject, she’d softened on your class during this late afternoon class. She’d allowed you to part up into teams and play amateur quidditch games in a mini-quidditch cup.

The students from the houses decided on their teams quickly, since only the most competitive students were up for playing, the rest of the students seemed to welcome this chance of sitting still and concentrating on something that wasn’t reading for 90 minutes with open arms. The teams were mixed houses, and originally when it had been announced that the lesson was going to be spent on quidditch, you’d planned on sitting back and zoning out so hard you’d forget where you were, maybe take a nap, either way, you were not intending on playing.

At least until George and Fred Weasley loudly joined a team. There was a sort of hush over the conversation, Madam Hooch called out for a chaser for the team opposing the twin’s team. No one wanted to play. People were well aware of the twin’s affinity for quidditch, even you had to admit that they were talented beaters, and you fully understood why none of your classmates were particularly interested in facing off with bludgers sent by them right before the end of year exams. So how you managed to volunteer yourself was unknown even to you. But there you were, on a broom, ready for take off. George looked positively giddy, and you wished you’d volunteered earlier as beater. You’d love to have a bat to retaliate with. You don’t show it, but the knowledge of George’s skills as a beater, and the fact that you don’t have a single way of keeping yourself from being hit by an iron ball pelted towards you is your flying skills makes you a little nervous. You’re not a bad flyer, but you’re not on the quidditch team for a reason. You try to brush off the fear as Madam Hooch blows her whistle and starts the game. The game isn’t as high speed as the offical quidditch games, since most of the teams are just regular, extremely exhausted students, which you’re thankful for. You do your best to keep up and actually manage to almost score before the bludgers come at you. Fred seems to be targeting people at random, mostly trying to get players away from the goal posts, but George only seems to have eyes for you, even when you don’t have the quaffle. Luckily for you, you manage to dodge the bludgers well enough by attempting to stay far away from George, though this doesn’t seem to make him focus on anyone else. When you assist in your team scoring and a bludger zooms by your ear so close to your head you nearly fall off you broom, you become fed up. You speed towards George,

“Would you fuck off?” You yell at him, he grins back at you, he hasn’t even broken a sweat yet while you can feel how flushed your cheeks are, same as the rest of your team, for some reason this makes you even more annoyed,

“Why? I’m just doing my job?” he replies,

“Y/n!” Someone yells and suddenly there’s a quaffle being thrown at you which you catch. There’s a split second which feels like an eternity where you and George look at each other, then he looks at the quaffle and a smirk appears on his face which genuinely makes you uncomfortable. This is not the same expression he’s worn whilst tormenting you in ways that could easily be described as childish teasing. No, this smirk is pure malice, and you know all too well what he plans on. The second long eternity ends and you speed off, swearing under your breath. You’re never volunteering for a game of quidditch against George again. First a bludger attempts to knock you off your broom but you’ve seen that coming so you do a spin and avoid it, what you haven’t expected is George appearing at your side, trying to push you away from the goal posts by blocking you. You’re used to him blocking you in general though, and you’re not having this. You’re not going to let him win. You don’t care what it takes; he’s not defeating you. Even if he has to knock you off your broom. And he does have to, because when you push into him in an attempt to signal “hey, I sort of meant that ‘fuck off’ thing I said earlier.” He pushes back. And there’s a slight error in your calculations, because you’ve forgotten that George is not only taller than you, he’s also stronger. A lot stronger. His shoulder knocks the wind out of you as you try to stay on your broom, hold on to the quaffle and not steer into the spectator stands. But you’re still hanging on. You’re not down yet. So you decide to push back again, and before he can knock you off your broom you dive underneath him, in an attempt to escape on the other side of him, if you could do that you could score. Here’s the thing though: George notices what you’re doing, from the years of playing quidditch, he’s become quite good at recognising manoeuvres before people even do them, and you’re a beginner, which means your moves are obvious. So as you appear on the other side of him, before he even registers what he’s doing, he spins and kicks out, as he would in any regular quidditch game, his foot knocking you off your broom in a swift but forceful movement.

And everything seems to slow down as you fall, letting the quaffle go. You don’t register anything as you fall, other than the very notion that you’re falling and then the conclusion that if you’re falling, you’ll probably also land. And you just sort of hope you won’t die or break anything too important. You do land, on the sand, with a thump that shakes your bones and reverberates through your every cell. Your vision blurs as everything happens very quickly and very slowly at the same time. In this blurry version of the world, people land around you in slow motion though they seem to appear by your side almost instantly. Madam Hooch’s voice is ringing in your ears. Someone asks if you’re alright. You feel yourself nod, then wince as the pain registers in your shoulder and arm. Then the rest of your body follows suit. Madam Hooch and some classmates help you stand after checking in to see if you’re able to stand. To your own amazement you can, and as you do you lock tearfilled eyes with George’s.

George wished he could describe the way he felt in that moment as he saw you fall off your broom. It had felt like shock and victory combined into a strange slush of stomach dropping, heart soaring and nausea. It had taken him the remainder of the day to conclude that he hadn’t really meant to knock you off your broom. He didn’t know what he had intended on doing exactly, though. Most likely, he thought, he’d just wanted to win over you. To have another thing to rub in your face. And he supposed he did have that now. Only, he didn’t want to rub it in your face. He actually didn’t want to see you at all. Because for the first time ever, George felt something different inside him at the thought of seeing you. Something akin to the way he felt when he’d broken his sibling’s things on accident as a child and had to face them when they found out, something not unlike when he’d play-wrestled Ron and knocked one of his teeth loose, something like….No, George thought to himself, he was many things, but George was not feeling guilty because of you. He couldn’t be. Right?

Sure it had been unfair of him to underestimate his strength and of course he’d felt bad when you’d broken your collarbone and arm in the fall. He’d even considered seeing you in the hospital. He knew how horrible it was to drink skele-gro, after all. He hadn’t seen you though, he figured he was not the person you wanted to see. Besides he’d felt that weird need to avoid you. And avoid you he did. For the first time in almost three years, George Weasley had actively stayed away from you. He’d skived off the classes you had together, had sat far away from you in the great hall, often with his back turned to you, he’d simply done a 180 whenever he’d seen you in the halls or at the library. And this bloody feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t going away, which had kept him plenty busy with all the extra time he’d had from skiving off. The feeling had almost completely consumed him at this point, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He woke every morning with a strange expectation that a howler would come from his mother, spend the few classes he had left in the school year awaiting McGonagall or even Professor Dumbledore himself to show up and pull him aside to scold him. He’d wandered every corridor with a feeling that he was trespassing when he had every right to be there. And he was sick of it. A small voice in his head told him to just apologise to you, but that little voice had no idea what it was really asking of him. Apologising to you would mean he’d have to lose face to you, and for some reason George would rather have his fingers hexed off one by one than be vulnerable in front of you.

When he did see you it was in Hogsmeade on the last visit before the summer vacation began. He’d been at the three broomsticks with Lee and Fred, celebrating that they were officially done with exams and studying. He’d been chosen to go order their drinks on the argument that he was the one closest to the bar. And as he’d been waiting on his order, he’d heard your unmistakable voice behind him. Turning around to face you, he noticed your arm enveloped in a cast, he’d heard the story in snippets from passersbys and offhand notions: complicated break, waiting list for st Mungo’s, weeks to recover completely. Every word had added a pebble to the pile of boulders in his stomach. You looked up at him and almost looked surprised to see him. He figured you would. It had been almost two months since you’d been face to face like this. coward another voice whispered in the back of George’s mind. He shrugged it off.

“Oh,” you say, “Hi, Weasley,” your e/c eyes have a certain gleam in them, he’s well aware it’s not from him, he’s heard you’ve done well on your exams despite the broken bones, he figures the gleam is from pride,

“Hi,” he replies dryly, say something, anything, say you’re sorry just speak dammit, George, “Nice cast,” he manages a smile but on the inside he’s curling into himself with horror, “want me to sign it?” as he says it the gleam in your eyes disappears, and the usual sour expression you wear when you speak to him paints itself on your face. To his own astonishment, it doesn’t bring the joy it usually does, it makes him feel sort of sick, actually, say you’re sorry, the voice begs again.

“You can sign your bank information, and I can send you the bill from St Mungo’s if you want,” you turn back to the bar, looking at a menu that you’ve already ordered from, “doubt you’ll be able to afford it though,” you say, slightly softer, and the weight of the boulders of guilt inside him becomes painful, he hadn’t thought about the cost of getting your bones fixed, and as an extra weight, you were right, he couldn’t afford to pay it. So he doesn’t answer. You glance up at him with a challenging gaze when he doesn’t but he just bites his lip to counter the pain inside him.

“Three butterbeers, Weasley,” Rosmerta says, placing the drinks on the bar,

“and three butterbeers and a soda for you, L/n” Rosmerta holds onto the tray with drinks, “Oh don’t worry about it, dear, let me carry the drinks to your table for you,” she says and sets off towards the table where your friends await you,

“I guess I’ll see you next year, Weasley,” you say, “and don’t think the arm is going to stop me from kicking your arse if you knock me off a broom again,” you grin at him, and a wave of elation runs through George at the sight of you grinning at him. It tells him that you’ve not resorted to hating him fully, at least not in a different way to how you hated him before. You were rivals, yes. But George would never consider you an enemy. Not that you were friends. He didn’t like you. He didn’t think he liked you, either way.

“Y/n?” The word slips out between his lips as your back is turned to him, he blinks a few times, trying to figure out what to say, you stare at him with an expression that seems to say “go on?”

“I’m-erh- I’ll see you next year,” he says.

taglist: @schlongbottom @cardboardbenmazzello @unseensilver @mochamiilk Let me know if you want to be added :))

#does the wizarding world have free healthcare?#many questions I have #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley series #Fred and George #weasley twins #weasley twins x reader #harry potter #hp #george weasley fanfic

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leam1983 · 3 years ago

Text

On Grief

This is a long one. You're under no obligation to push further if you don't want to. It's a personal post, so I'll more than understand if this isn't to your tastes. The normally-scheduled pedantry, commentary and memes will resume shortly.

One of my relatives was diagnosed with ALS. What started as an odd case of palsy in her left set of vocal cords that could've been far more benign was just confirmed by her referred physician. It's Lou Gherig's, and with her age and current condition, her prognosis is of three to five years, tops. Sure, Stephen Hawking blew his own prognosis out of the water, but a combination of notoriety and luck enabled him to eke out as much existence as medical tech could've possibly allowed.

We knew things were suspect when my aunt, a marathoner with a monthly sub to Runner's World, stopped running. Her food intake dropped like a stone, and she soon took to increasingly simple painting and drawing styles. At first we thought it was just her wanting to explore simpler rendering techniques, but then...

Then we noticed the twitching. How awkwardly her pens and brushes were set in her hands. She was in great shape and didn't mind living in the ass-end of Sutton, basically in the open country and with a path leading up to her front door that was all in rough cobblestones. She broke a hip against them, last year.

Her speech started to slur, lately. Her last bike trip also landed her in the ER. She doesn't bike anymore. She doesn't run, and being a gourmand by nature, feels obligated to restrain herself, for fear of gaining weight. She's aggressively vegan. Not towards others, but towards herself. No meat, no eggs, nothing. Most of us ovo-lactos and omnivores in the family know her constant snacking meant her seventy-plus body is desperate for energy.

From the look of things, it feels like the diagnosis broke through her bullshit reasoning for being vegan. She wasn't vegan for the sake of limiting her carbon footprint or making more responsible choices at the grocery store, but because she, as a lifelong anorexic, thought she was ugly and needed to lose weight. That's been a constant with her. Age catches up and skin sags? She mistakes it for a love handle, cuts out virtually all sources of protein and carbs safe for tofu, seitan and bean-based preps. Of course, like a lot of anorexics, she'd have bulemic episodes. I used to sleep over at her last bachelor pad, as a teen, and I remember her pantry was loaded up for bear with Danish cookie tins, Nutella jars and whipped cream. I remember she invited me over specifically when she intended to cheat. Then it was back to yoga, pot-smoking, meditation and shopping runs - and she probably kept her purging for when I was gone.

So yeah. I'm betting Belgian Asshole (see one of my previous posts) convinced her to break her vows and went looking for a "slice of authentic Tikka Masala", to quote his email. The entire family is made up of ethnic food diehards, so we spam-flooded his inbox with recommendations. Looks like she'll be eating meat again, soon. Her own email mentioned concerns of strength and stamina, so I get it.

Otherwise? We're gobsmacked. Imagine spending an entire weekday both at work and off work, aggressively goofing off because you're trying as hard as you can not to think of your favourite aunt's mention of assisted suicide as an option.

Three to five years. Maybe one, or two good Christmases. After that, her condition should probably have started to deteriorate quickly.

I'm not close with a ton of my own family. I love them all, but it's more a sense of polite respect than anything involving solid bonds. The only two folks I know I'll be devastated for when they'll die are her, and my youngest cousin on the other side of the family.

I'm mostly okay now. No doubts, no crisis of unbelief, no anger, no rage... But then I'll see her in a more diminished state, one of those days. How am I going to take to it?

Part of me keeps a tally of the deaths in the family. First, it was my uncle on my mother's side. Ruptured abdominal artery, with a leak small enough to pool into the gut's cavity for months. Decay settled in, guy got anesthetized for an intervention...

They didn't even bother sewing him back up.

Second one was my other paternal aunt's new husband. First one was great, but left the country in the seventies to go live in Stockholm with his medical assistant. Second one was a geologist and physicist at the same campus she taught as. French guy, the son of innkeepers four generations down. It showed, too. Our Christmas tables haven't been the same since he left us his recipie books, all his corny jokes on provincial eating habits, and his obstinate focus on turning every 25th of December into a Roman orgy probably befitting of the old Saturnalia traditions. I mean, when's the last time you've had an eight-course meal, outside of Thanksgiving?

Tumors in his mesenteric artery lined the blood vessel's inner walls, deposited virtually everywhere in his body. He was diagnosed in June and dead by August. He'd always been the lanky type, bone-thin even if he hoovered food like he'd never have enough. He looked even thinner in his hospital bed.

Then, my maternal grandpa bit it. Decades of casual alcoholism, cirrhosis more or less jumping on him around his seventy-sixth year. He looked a bit like John Keston, the actor who played Gehn in CyanWorlds' Riven. Same hairline, same hawkish nose, same eyes - just more Cajun and less New England-esque. I don't know if it was youth or stupidity or - anything, really, but I dropped by to see him, just two days before he died. I didn't realize he was tallying my life, asking me if I had everything in order, if things were planned.

Now, I understand.

Next one on the chopping block is Aunt Doris, still on Mom's side. She of the serial mooching, she of the concept of not needing much to get by if you were the cute one of the family. She was pretty enough in her prime, sure - if by pretty you meant "cigarette-butt blonde with a discount Farah Fawcett blow-up and an unfinished High School degree". First husband was an abusive ass who gave her an uncommonly sensitive son, second one figured she'd stick to the minimum-wage circuit while he tore out rotator cuffs or busted his C7 while on his outboard like clockwork. By the end, she roped my grandmother into living with her, spent her days sloppy-drunk and died on her ratty couch while falling asleep and choking on her own vomit.

Before them all, the youngest of my uncles died at age two. Cancer. Never knew which one, was told it didn't matter. You didn't survive much of anything cancerous, back in the late fifties.

Ping-pong this back to three years ago, and my oldest paternal uncle dies. Paul, who smoked like a chimney for most of his life and successfully stopped after discovering Champix. He got to live five great years as the high-IQ oddball he'd always been, smoke-free. Paul was the weird bird in the family, the type to remember a really engrossing story at two in the morning and making a note to call you up first thing in the morning to share it. He always had a project of some sort to work on, like a simulated investors' tank for young entrepreneurs looking to learn the ropes, or a Byzantine arrangement of coaxials allowing four of his lakeside neighbours to pirate his cable sub. He'd invite us over for dinner, gather all the ingredients we'd need for whatever it was he wanted to treat us to - and then he'd let us cook it - just sitting by the sidelines, chatting away.

He was also a bit of a narcoleptic, and looked a bit like William Howard Taft if you'd worked him out of these old sack suits and into modern shirts and suspenders. He fell asleep practically everywhere, with his more wakeful environments being his workshop and his property's dock. He took me out fishing, once, and knew what the entire family expected.

"Oars're here, Gremlin, fish're that way. Wake me up when you've got a bite."

At this point, it wasn't even a point of concern; it was just an Uncle Paul Thing, the exact thing you'd have expected out of this kind, eccentric blob of a man whose idea of fishing involved pushing his hat over his eyes and basically all but ensuring that his roaring snores would scare prey away. He'd been a supposedly high-IQ type, terminally bored with almost everything, only really getting agitated and interested back when I asked him for help for my Junior High Computer class's Javascript calculator. Once the syntax hit something familiar and he realized that JS has some similarities with FORTRAN, he was on a roll, acting like someone had snuck a Red Bull in his coffee.

Well, fibrosis caught up with him. His last hours were spent directing us on how to cook what would've been his last meal. I think he really just wanted to know we were alright, that we still could exchange laughs around the kitchen counter. He clocked out the way he always did, except he had an oxygen tube running under his nose. His head bobbed down, he snored loudly for a few minutes, then turned increasingly quiet...

And that was it.

And now there's Isabelle. The marathoner, my partner-in-crime when it comes to professing to have a healthy diet while occasionally cheating in glorious, weekend-defining means, my gateway to cannabis and also the first person who took my cringy self-insert fanfic fodder and went No, that's worth it! Push it, develop that universe of yours!

I wouldn't be almost two-thirds of the way through my first decent manuscript, if not for her, and I wouldn't be shopping for publishers with the same energy you'd reserve for weekend-grade Facebook putzing-about. I owe her part of my self-acceptance, and part of my discovery of what defines my routine to this day. Isabelle was my first meditation coach.

And in three to five years, she might be gone.

I just thought grief might be... noisier, is all. Louder. Right now, it's just germane to confusion, and it's sitting there. There's a pinch of fear in it, too. My parents are in their mid-sixties. How long do I have left with them?!

And the family and I just covered that up with jokes and, well, cooking. I've been told I'd make a half-decent therapist but - navigating your own emotions is hard work...

I don't know. I guess I needed to put this down somewhere.

#personal life #tw: cancer mention #tw: alcoholism mention #tw: death mentions #grief #coping

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starkeristheendgame · 5 years ago

Note

Peter tattooed Tony's name on his ass after a drunken night on his 18th birthday. And then Tony found out.

I had so many ideas for this and I fucking loved this prompt. Honestly Anon, thank you so much for the burst of inspiration! I absolutely love this concept and spent like two-hours just staring into space and internally fic-writing 😂

Its not exactly a ‘drunken night tattoo’ AU, but that’s because any respectable tattoo shop will not tattoo you if you’re drunk, or if you’ve consumed alcohol within the last 12 hours. So in respect of the professionals and in the interest of promoting safety, this is a slightly different base!

TW: Very light D/s Dynamic | Slight possessive behaviour | Under-negotiated (but consensual)

Peter couldn’t even blame being drunk. He wished he could; really. People did stupid things when drunk. It seemed to be an immediate write-off excuse for anything, instantly accepted as a valid reason for any stupid decisions.

Peter had been completely and utterly, stone-cold sober at every point in this process. He’d been sober when he’d scanned one of Tony’s signatures onto his phone. Sober when he’d booked the consultation with InkSpren Tattoo. Sober when he’d walked into the studio a week later in a pair of MJ’s velvet shorts.

He wasn’t entirely nervous. Pain didn’t really scare him as much as he supposed it used to. Especially not pain from a set of tiny, teeny needles. He’d gone with MJ for her first tattoo, and she’d taken it pretty well. Well enough that somewhere around the first hour, she’d begun to snore.

His tattoo artist was named Dave. That was comforting. Dave sounded like a nice name. Normal. Friendly. Guy-Next-Door-Dave.

Peter faltered in the doorway.

Dave was a 6″1 male with a beard and more tattoos than Peter thought possible to fit on one man. He was in the process of sapping on a pair of gloves, and eyed Peter critically when he noticed him lingering in the doorway, before motioning for Peter to join him.

“Lay down on your front. Arch your spine a little. You’re gonna have to pull those down under the cheek,” he instructed, reaching into a small tub to pull out some sanitary wipes. Peter tried not to feel embarrassed as he did as told, crawling up onto the bed and settling comfortably, before he squirmed, tugging down his shorts and his boxers both.

The wipe was cold and Peter huffed out a breath in surprise, nose scrunching as he forced himself to relax again. It was fine. It was a wipe. “I’m going to apply the stencil now. You wanted it dead-centre on the right cheek, yeah, mate?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter nodded.

It would be more accurate to say that MJ wanted it there. Or at the least… That was the spot she’d chosen, when he’d lost the bet. Or… The pseudo bet. It was better to say that MJ had simply said she didn’t believe Peter would ever do something like this, and.

Here he was.

The stencil felt a little like rice paper. A little wet, and having some strange, scary dude palming his asscheek was definitely an experience, but Peter lay quietly through it, glancing nervously at his phone.

God. He hoped Mr. Stark was too busy to call him today. Or worse, face-time him. Was Mr. Stark watching him through the camera? Had he hacked the microphone?

“Alright. Get up and have a look. We can wipe it off and re-place if its not right,” Dave instructed, and Peter moved gingerly, keeping hold of the waistband as he shuffled awkwardly over to the mirror and twisted.

There, emblazoned in dark purple on his asscheek, was Tony Stark. In a perfect replica of Tony’s elegant, eccentric scrawl. “He’s gonna kill me,” Peter breathed, staring at the stencil with growing horror. He caught Dave’s quizzical, raised eyebrow, and forced a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Its perfect. Right in the middle there. Great. Thanks.”

He lay back down, and after a brief warning, Dave begun.

“You lost a bet or something, kid? Or are you just…Really into the whole Iron Daddy thing?”

Peter wheezed.

Iron Daddy?!

“Lost a bet,” he managed to hiss out, burying his face into his arms. Oh, god. Thank whatever Deity was lurking up there that MJ wasn’t here to witness that. She’d immediately demand that the stencil was changed. Dave gave an affirmative sound from behind him.

“Why this guy? You a big fan or something? Or is it the opposite?”

“Uh… I guess a fan? I Intern. At SI,” Peter replied, wincing at a particularly harsh nip from the needles. It wasn’t so bad, all things considered. It stung, but it wasn’t the raging fire of pain that some people mentioned when they spoke about getting tattooed.

“Mmph. Must come with a nice paycheque. You gonna show him?”

“Absolutely not” Peter responded instantly, to Dave’s amused chuckle. Christ. Mr. Stark would fire him on the spot. He’d take back the suit. He’d get a restraining order. What mentor wanted their name on their eighteen year old mentee’s asscheek?

Then again.

Tony was egotistical enough that he’d probably love it, and think it was the most hilarious thing in the world, and Peter really wasn’t sure which one was worse. Not to mention that both involved him dropping his pants in front of his boss.

It was quiet for a little while after that, just the buzz of the needle and the odd puff of breath at the occasional sting from the gun.

“You know anything about knitting?” Dave asked after a pause, and Peter frowned, considering. He knew a little about sewing. He’d made his own suit, before Mr. Stark had showed up. Aunt May had taught him back when he’d thrown a tantrum over ripping his favourite shirt as an eight year old.

“Uh… Not really? I mean, I can sew a little. But I’ve never knit anything,” he remarked back, pondering it. Knitting was soft sweaters and thick scarves. It made him think of little old Russian ladies on their porches.

“My Ma wants to knit. Says she’s at that age. Told me to get her some wool and those special needles. I dunno the first thing about knitting.”

And that was how Peter learned that Dave’s Ma was what Peter imagined Ms. Romanoff would be when she was eighty, and that Dave’s main job was actually as a Doggy Daycare assistant at Paws ‘R Us.

“All done,” Dave announced, squirting a weird, green froth over Peter’s asscheek before wiping it lightly with a series of cloths. “Go take a look.”

Peter obliging, sliding off the bench and twisting to see his butt in the mirror.

“Aw, man. This is gonna be on my mind literally every time I see him,” Peter complained, clapping a hand over his face. There, in what looked like thick Sharpie across his ass, was Tony’s signature. Forever. If he ever died, it would be with this stamped across his butt.

“He ain’t gonna know none, unless you drop your kick in front of him,” Dave shrugged, peeling off the gloves. Peter had to concede that he had a point. He had zero intentions of ever telling Mr. Stark what he’d done, and in the three years they’d known each other, Mr. Stark had never seen Peter in less than a shirt and bottoms.

MJ looked moderately impressed when she pulled the hem of his shorts down, peering at the taped-up tattoo with her phone flashlight. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” she shrugged, flopping back onto her bed and resuming the video she’d been watching on her phone.

Peter shuffled around to lay on his stomach on the bottom of the bed, slapping at her ankle. “Never tell a Peter Parker he can’t do something,” he announced, and MJ rolled her eyes.

“I never said you couldn’t do it. I said it was a stupid thing to do, and you argued it, and then decided it was your new personal challenge.”

Peter paused, then tipped his head. “Fair.”

Hiding it was both predictably and surprisingly easy. Peter spent the next few days sitting very gingerly and working himself up into a lather about meeting Mr. Stark on the weekend. Would Tony somehow know? What if MJ had emailed him to spill the secret?

What if Peter and his big mouth spilled it for him?

Except… It went fine. Tony picked him up in a sleek, red sportscar and they went straight to the Tower. Peter was taking a gap year in order to process what he wanted to do with his future.

Spiderman suddenly changing locations would be suspicious, and sooner or later, someone would think to check on new students at local facilities. People moving for jobs, that sort of thing.

Mj was just… Refusing to comply with the Government agenda or something like that. Honestly, Peter was thankful. With Ned moving to San Francisco for college, things could get a little lonely.

Bar the odd self-conscious squirm, it went as any other meet-up went. They stuffed themselves silly with food in the penthouse and messed around with tech and prank-called Steve and by the end of the night, Peter had almost forgotten about his tattoo.

The twitchy, nervous fear that Tony would somehow turn around and demand to know why he had his name tattooed on his ass eventually faded, and life resumed as it had before he’d gotten the ink.

Which, of course, is exactly when things had to go wrong.

Really, Peter should have expected it. His luck ran in a pattern, and he should have walked on egg-shells the moment he realised things were relaxed and easy and his tattoo was still a secret.

It had been about a month since the tattoo. When he was alone, Peter couldn’t help but stare at it, running his finger over the shiny, black skin. Tony’s name, emblazoned like a brand across his ass.

It became the focal point of more fantasies than his ass could keep up with, lazing floppy and exhausted and lube-covered on his bed, his mind reeling.

He imagined Tony tracing the letters with his tongue. Imagined Tony pinning him down and tattooing it himself. Imagined a different world where the branding was deliberate. A mark of ownership. Or a surprise. The look on Tony’s face when Peter would bend over, revealing his name.

And, as predicted, hiding it was no trouble at all. Peter had his own room in Tony’s penthouse, so if he needed to shower or sleep there, he had complete privacy. It helped that the Iron Spider and that Tony’s Mark II for the fabric Spiderman suit fit over his regular clothing now, so he didn’t even have to strip to do his thing.

The one thing he didn’t factor in, was a disastrous inventory day combined with the decision to wear white boxers. There’d been a raid on a medical facility kidnapping people to experiment on and most of the equipment and tech had been turned over to Tony for examination, classification and destruction. Peter was there to help, sleepy-eyed and not quite as focused as he ought to be.

He didn’t check the lid on the canister was tight before picking it up.

He didn’t see the drop of oil on the floor where Dum-E had been trundling around, moving things.

He slipped with a whelp, still clutching the container as he slid and twisted, bumping canister first into the edge of the table. He was vaguely aware of Tony shouting as his vision filled with pink dust that stung his eyes and seemed to cling to his clothes.

“Peter! Jesus H - Get in the med-shower, now! I turned away for five seconds kiddo, how did you -” Tony’s frantic muttering stops and starts as he grabbed onto Peter’s arm, dragging him across the workshop to the tiny little emergency shower stall in the corner.

Peter could do nothing but stagger along, blinking frantically to clear his eyes of dust and pink.

It doesn’t even fully register he’s inside the stall until the first blast of water rained down on him, cold like ice before immediately coming something akin to tepid. He spluttered, trying to flatten himself back against the wall as his hair fell down into his eyes and the water streamed down his mouth, his hair, his back.

He gasped as the water trickled down his thighs, soaking through the cotton of his sweatpants and making them heavy. His shirt clung to his torso like plastic wrap and stuck-peeled uncomfortably with each heaving, shuddering breath.

“Yeah, sorry. This thing acts for burns too, so. Gotta keep it cool,” Tony murmured from outside the stall, head tilting sympathetically even as Peter scowled at him from under the battering stream. “Take your clothes off,” Tony instructed, turning to look over his shoulder.

“What?” Peter squeaked, eyes widening as he wrapped his arms around himself protectively. Tony glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Relax, munchkin. My moves are smoother than that. It was a powder. Its likely it got inside your clothes, too,” he pointed out. Peter wanted to argue. Wanted to say if he just stood here long enough the risk was over, but.

“Turn around,” he huffed adamantly, scowling harder at Tony’s snort. But the genius complied, turning away and folding his arms as he observed the settling dust cloud. Peter counted to ten slowly, teeth chattering under the cold spray before he peeled off his shirt.

The water on his skin was even more unbearable and he gave a whine of protest as he begun to work at the strings of his sweats, letting them fall with a disgusting, heavy slop.

“I was naked in front of you before,” Tony pointed out conversationally and Peter spat out water, shaking his head before pushing his hair from his eyes.

“That doesn’t count. The armour ripped your clothing off in beta deployment,” he pointed out, though he couldn’t help softening at the memory, snickering as he turned his back to Tony, scrubbing at his body.

It had been hilarious. The actual deployment had gone fine, it was just when Tony had deactivated it that the armour had shrunk in on itself, taking his beaten old tank top and ratty workshop jeans with it.

“Both were an accident. Both involved one of us witnessing the other in a state of undress. Although my back has been dutifully turned since you commanded it, by the way. And both were equally hilarious in that my own armour undressed me, and you essentially became a - What is that?”

Peter jolted, having sunk into a daydream state of listening to Tony talk as he wiped himself down. He looked over his shoulder to find Tony staring straight at him, expression delighted and curious. Or, rather, straight at his ass.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Nothing!” he yelped, twisting to flatten his back against the wall. He’d left his boxers on for the sake of not trusting that Tony wouldn’t forget his vow of not looking, and had completely forgotten they were white.

Which also meant that his dick was now flat out bared to his mentor. With a howl of frustration he twisted so he was side-on to Tony, curling up and glowering with all the muted rage he could muster.

“Its a logo. On my boxers,” he ground out.

“I think not,” Tony shot back gleefully, leaning on the protective railing with an absolutely manic glint to his eye. Peter almost groaned aloud, head falling back under the spray. It was too late. He was doomed. His heart begun to pound and the air he was sucking in felt like it wasn’t enough.

“You have a tattoo. On your ass. Right there,” Tony pointed out, as though Peter didn’t know it. Peter tried to glare but it came out feeble, weak. Fuck. He was screwed. So screwed!

“What is it? Who’s name is it? Its clearly a name,” Tony continued, pestering for the information.

“Go away!” Peter barked lightly, shifting restlessly under the cool stream. Tony just shrugged easily at him and leaned through the gap, hitting the OFF button for the water. He seemed unfazed at Peter’s shuffling or his attempted aggression, smiling at him sweetly.

“You can tell me, or I can ask JARVIS. JARVIS is nice, he’ll tell me.”

And Peter’s blood runs cold, because there’s no doubt that JARVIS will. Peter never swore him to secrecy, and Mr. Stark’s name on his ass isn’t anything concerning to the AI.

“Its nothing! Oh my god, its just a tattoo!” he complained, making a shooing motion at his mentor as he side-stepped his sodden clothing. “Go get me a towel. And clean clothes. Please,” he huffed, fingers digging into his sides where he’d wrapped his arms around himself. Tony gave him a devilish grin, then gestured upwards.

“J?”

“It appears to be your name in your own handwriting, Sir,” JARVIS dutifully responded, his voice ringing like church bells through the room. The silence that followed was deafening and panic seeped like ice through Peter’s veins as Tony’s childish, gleeful look faded into complete, lax shock.

This is it. Everything he’s done, the last two years, the friendships and the Internship and Spiderman being Iron Man’s little tagalong… All gone. He’ll never eat day-old pizza with Clint again. He’ll never have Dum-E running over his foot again. The terror and panic bubbled up before he could stop it.

“Oh my god. Mr. Stark - You can’t - I’m so sorry. I swear, I wouldn’t have gotten it and especially not there but I just - I never thought you’d see it and -”

“Turn around,” Tony cut him off mildly, but his tone was firm. It was enough to snap Peter’s jaw shut as he stared, nails digging into his ribs as he blinked under the droplets that fell from his lashes. He sucked in a breath, staring in confusion.

“…What?” he breathed, pressing back against the shower wall as Tony advanced, unlocking the cubicle door to lean against the frame, eyeing him like a prime cut of steak.

“I said turn around,” Tony repeated patiently, raising one hand to make a little spinning gesture with his finger, as if Peter was a trick dog. Peter shook his head, horror quickly dawning as he realised not only what Tony was asking, but also the fact that if his boxers were that see-through…Facing the man directly was probably not the best idea.

He shuffled to the side as much as he could without baring either delicate matter. Tony’s lips quirked in amusement at this and he hummed softly as Peter shook his head.

“Mr. Stark, its not - Its just your name, I swear. You sign it like every day, you don’t need to look,” he pleaded, shivering in the cool temperature of the workshop as the water begun to dry on his skin, running down in rivulets.

“I don’t sign it on your ass every day,” Tony pointed out, stepping closer. Peter wanted to stall, to argue that technically Tony hadn’t actually signed his ass, except his mentor was moving closer, reaching out slowly as though he might spook if he moved too fast.

He was so close Peter could see the flakes of gold in his eyes, could smell the minty-motor-oil combination.

The first brush of Tony’s fingertips had his skin jumping like a colts, the touch so gentle it almost tickled. It was on the arch of his hips, skating the waistband of his sodden boxers before pressing just slightly to encourage him to turn. Tony’s gaze was tipped down, dark on his own.

“You can say no,” Tony reminded him softy, the hungry look in his eyes fading for a brief moment, replaced by something tender and careful. Peter sucked in a breath but didn’t resist as he was spun slowly on the spot, hands coming up to brace on the tiles.

“How long?” Tony asked after a moment, thumbs pressing into the backs of his hips, breath hot across his shoulder.

“A month,” he managed to whisper, pressing his forehead to the wall as Tony’s thumbs slid along the waistband teasingly, catching and pulling but never dipping it more than an inch.

Peter shuddered under the gentle touches, lips parting when Tony finally begun to slide the sodden material down his hips, over the large swell of his ass.

“You should have told me,” Tony rumbled, head ducking to mouth a lazy, open kiss to his bare shoulder, his stubble scratching just slightly. Peter shuddered as he felt the fabric slip to under his asscheeks, tight in the groove where it met his thigh but not overly uncomfortable. “Should have shown me sooner” Tony murmured into his skin.

And then the warmth of his breath was gone as he leaned back, and Peter could hear the gravelly, husked fuck that he uttered as he looked down, palm sliding around Peter’s flank so he could swipe his thumb across the dark sheen of the ink.

Peter held his breath, tensing at the touch, though it didn’t hurt. Tony’s hand left his side to slide down between his shoulders soothingly.

“My name. On that perfect, juicy ass. Branded on there forever,” Tony was murmured, voice lethal and rasped as he stroked over it slowly, reverently. “Does that make you feel good, sweetheart? Knowing my claim is on you? In such an intimate place, too? Did you choose this?” Tony hummed, breath ghosting down Peter’s spine as he sank slowly to his knees.

Peter wasn’t about to let Tony know that actually, stamping it on his ass had been MJ’s idea. Especially not when Tony pressed a gentle, scratchy kiss over the tattoo.

Especially not when he licked over the letters slowly, palms falling down to cup Peter’s asscheeks firmly. It was all he could do to whine, high and pathetic as he trembled under Tony’s hold.

Tony continued to mouth at the tattoo, lavishing it with nips and sloppy kisses as he kneaded at Peter’s asscheeks, almost distracting him enough to spread them with his thumbs, the kisses slowly travelling right until hot air right over there made Peter jolt, eyes snapping open.

“Mr. Star - Ahhhh-Ohhh,” his yelp faded into a gasp, which trickled into a breathless moan as Tony planted a firm kiss to the swirl of muscle between his thighs, sucking ever so slightly before promptly laving his tongue in a fat, wet stripe upwards.

“No idea what it does to me, kiddo. Seeing my name there. Marked on you forever. Marking you as mine,” Tony spoke against him, licking and kissing thoroughly between his words as Peter scrabbled at the tiles, desperately trying to keep himself from rocking back against Tony’s tongue.

One of Tony’s hands left his ass to stroke across his flank, delicate in its search before wrapping around his cock with a surprising firmness. Peter’s hips immediately jumping forwards into the grip and his moan was staggered as Tony paired it with a thrust of his tongue.

He mewled, embarrassingly high and and desperate as he threw one hand back, sliding his fingers gently into Tony’s hair. It was soft, far more silken than he had expected for something that stuck up in odd places when not professionally attacked by a stylist.

Tony gave a soft sound of encouragement, nipping at him and sliding his hand up to stroke at the tip of his flushed cock.

“Mr. Stark, please,” he gasped, fingers twisting lightly in the soft, dark locks and hips stuttering minutely between Tony’s hot, wet tongue and his firm, slow grip. He wasn’t going to last; not with Tony Stark finally touching him. Not with the scrape of his stubble and the husk of his voice.

Tony chuckled against him, the vibrations making Peter shudder before he rose slowly, kissing a wet path from the small of Peter’s back to his shoulders, never stopping in stroking him slowly, firmly.

“So eager, sweetheart. So precious,” Tony breathed against his skin, his hand leaving Peter’s hip to fumbled between them, knuckles brushing the round meat of his ass as he tugged his belt free of its buckle.

The slap of cold metal made Peter jolt, hips bucking in Tony’s grip and wrenching a whine from his throat as Tony squeezed him lightly, dipping his thumb into the tip and pushing at the bead of pre-cum that oozed there.

“Steady, darling,” Tony huffed into his ear, the smirk audible in his voice. Peter opened his mouth to reply, but then there was the sudden feel of a thick, long cock resting in the line of his asscheeks, heavy and hot and he could do nothing but groan weakly.

“Hush, sweetheart. I’m not gonna take you apart yet. Not here. When I do that, you’ll be on my bed, spread out and sloppy for me,” Tony soothed, jerking him off in steady, tight strokes as he rocked his hips, dragging his cock between Peter’s asscheeks with a soft hiss of pleasure.

Tony flattened against his back, careless of the fact that Peter was still dripping water as he nuzzled into his neck, one hand roaming from Peter’s asscheek to his own cock and back, petting and stroking.

Peter could feel the slow, hot build of an orgasm coiling in his gut, could feel his thighs shaking with the effort of keeping still as he let his head fall back onto Tony’s shoulder with a feeble gasp.

Tony pressed open-mouthed kisses to his temple, training down to his neck where he nipped softly as he thrust against him, a seemingly never-ending, thick drag of heavy cock that Peter instantly wished was buried deep within him.

Tony’s moans were deep, slow things, soft in his ear as he pushed his hips back, arching his spine to give Tony a better, tighter angle.

“Fuck, sweetheart. So good for me. That’s it,” Tony purred, one hand dropping to briefly pinch over his tattoo, speeding up his hand and his thrusts as they moved together. It was Tony’s cock catching on his rim that did it, pressing there briefly as though he was slide right in, paired with the ragged gasp the older man gave at the sensation.

Peter’s hips stuttered forwards and his high moan pitched into a yelp as Tony gave him a rough down-stroke, his cock jumping in his grip before painting the tiles in milky splashes. Peter shook in Tony’s hold, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving as Tony worked him through it, continued to chase his own pleasure.

“My sweet boy. All branded as mine, coming on my cock and my touch. Look at you, baby. So good. So good, Peter. Fuck. Seeing my name, my writing on your ass… I’m gonna ruin you later,” Tony promised, voice ragged, hand falling from Peter’s cock to squeeze his ass, thumb sliding over the signature as he chased his own orgasm. Peter fell breathless against the cool tile, rocking back against the firm, heavy slide of Tony’s cock.

“Please, Tony. Fuck me. Mark me. Take me,” he rambled, breath hitching as Tony pulled back with a groan, nails digging into his ass.

The older man looked down, managing to pull his hips back and angle his cock in just enough time to paint thick ropes of cum right over his tattoo, the thick, creamy liquid sliding over the ink wetly. Peter let out another mewl, his cock twitching feebly at the thought as Tony panted behind him.

There was a fumble, the rustle of fabric, and Peter opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder in time to see Tony snap a photo of it. His cheeks burned with arousal and humiliation, but Tony dived forwards, capturing his mouth in a firm, wet kiss.

Peter was breathless by the time Tony pulled back, the corners of his mouth tingling with stubble burn.

“Marked as mine. Twice,” Tony murmured into his cheek, pressing another soft kiss there.

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doomedandstoned · 4 years ago

Text

Italian Doomers BRETUS Tell Ghostly Tales on New LP, ‘Magharia’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by DamianaMerante

Hailing from the City of the Two Seas, Italian doomers BRETUS return with a new album of ghost stories. Longtimers know that Bretus and Doomed & Stoned practically grew up together. Though the band has been active since the turn of the century, our first exposure came with their debut full-length 'In Onirica' (2012) and subsequently we formed a friendship with the Catanzaro doomers that continues to this very day. It's hard to believe they're already over two decades old (okay, 20 years young, if you like). And what do they have to show for it? A handful of LPs, an EP, and a split with fellow Italianos Black Capricorn.

If you're as much a fan of vintage horror movies, H.P. Lovecraft lore, mysticism, and the occult as Zagarus (vox), Ghenes (guitar), Janos (bass), and Striges (drums), there's a whole world of story and sound awaiting your deep dive into the Bretus catalog. Adding to their already excellent discography, a fifth album now reveals itself: 'Magharia' (2021).

I won't spoil my interview with the band (see below) if I tell you that the album concerns, shall we say, several tales of the supernatural variety. An ominous gong is struck to the backdrop of monastic chant as Magharia opens in epic fashion "Celebration of Gloom," a song characterized by a chugging proto-trash tempo, trve metal stylings, and Gothic vocals appropriate to it's subject. It's a rather grim account of a certain sacrilegious priest and his daliences with young women of the church. As a preacher's kid, I've seen this kind of thing play out a hundred times and can assure you these sweeping romances between clergy and laity never end well. In this case, it winds up with a ghoulish rite and a victim's vengeance.

"In the sky lightning strikes...wicked laments rise from the ground." Welcome to "Cursed Island." True to the spirit of the lyrics, this track really let's it all hang out, with quasi operatic vocals that occasionally erupt in maniacal laughter (reminding me vintage Reagers-era Saint Vitus, with its lusty swagger). And why not? This is after all about the mystery that surrounds one of the most haunted islands on earth.

Thus far, the record's been sporting a pretty up-beat pulse, so surely you're ready for some good old fashion doom? "Moonchild's Scream" concerns a albino girl accused of being possessed by the devil for her appearance. One day, she disappears in the dungeons of a castle and legend has it that her cries can still be heard every five years during the Summer Solstice. Doesn't get more doom than that, folks!

After a brief interlude ("Necropass"), we arrive at my favorite track of Magharia. "Nuraghe" concerns the spirit of a woman judged and condemned for a crime she was innocent of still roams among the ancient stones. Boy, the ancients sure did have a hang-up with free-spirited, independent women, didn't they? The song itself is possessed by the spirit of Pentagram in its biting guitar work and rhythmic attack. Love the riffage on this one! Some of it could have been played out just a little more for my taste, like the all-too-brief Soundgardenesque motif at the two-minute mark. It returns a minute later, again in brief. C'mon Ghenes, let your inner Kim Thayil loose! Maybe we can convince them to improv at this point with a bitchin' guitar solo at their next festival appearance. Then again, perhaps this fits artistically with the song, which speaks of obscure "grim dancing bats" and a ghost that haunts through swift shadows passing over glimmers of light. Once again, Zagrus expressive song style comes through to distinguish this as a gem of the genre. I shall be revisiting it on my personal playlist often.

"Headless Ghost" strikes graceful Goatsnake groove as the yarn is spun about the restless and tormented soul of an ancient Roman warrior who has risen from his place of rest. All he wants is the skull that was looted from his place of burial. Give it back to him! "No one will be spared tonight," the lyrics warn, as the song shifts down to a dire doom dirge as the night unveils a strange moon and the wanderings of a cursed soul, seeking his head and not more. "He is living again in this hell."

"The Bridge of Damnation" is one of the creepiest of the record, said to be about "a bridge, a young boy, and his three torturers." The mood is quite dark, with esoteric atmosphere, reverberating vocalizations, guitar and bass trading off notes. Oh, and did I mention this tale from the crypt involves death and resurrection, as well? The riffmaking and drumming are absolutely on point, as is the singing -- which by now in the record I'm not only am accustomed to, but have grown to admire. Another keeper!

"Sinful Nun" winds and grinds as Zagarus croons about the inner torment of a Sister who has never gotten over her beloved, who died under such unspeakably tragic circumstances that she decided to consecrate herself to God in celibacy. However, her vows are in vain as she still pines for her long lost lover. The verses are sung to the accompaniment of a galloping tempo, which seems to represent the fevered anguish of a soul forever stricken by grief and the haunted memories of lost love. This is juxtaposed in the chorus by a cursed riff that seems to speak as the Hand of Fate itself. "Farewell to this life," are the Sinful Nun's final words.

At last, we reach the album's namesake and though "Magharia" is entirely instrumental, it would be a mistake to assume you know what it's going to do. Around the four-minute mark, I had to check and make sure I was listening to the same album, as dark synth busted out a metronomic rhythm, leading to a declamatory section of keyboards to accompany the math-like guitar play and an improvisation of almost creepy seventies-sounding prog, which after its playful fit dissipates suddenly in a bluesy collapse.

Bretus have cooked up a remarkable horror soundtrack that, though it speaks of ancient lore, is very much a fitting backdrop to the unreality of our own times. Fitting somewhere on the stylistic spectrum between Candlemass and Paul Chain, Reverend Bizarre and Cardinals Folly, Margharia may be the band's finest effort to date. Certainly, it rewards repeated listens, and will haunt you for many years to come. Look for the record to drop this weekend (pre-order here), with multiple physical formats releasing via The Swamp Records (compact disc), Burning Coffin Records (cassette), and Overdrive Records (vinyl). Until then, you can stream it all, right now, right here!

Give ear...

Magharia by BRETUS

An Interview with Bretus

What is the concept behind the new album and what themes do you explore?

Musically the new record is most "in your face" than the previous album. Also our approach to the recording was different. We rehearsed and arranged together more than before. The result is an album more raw to us. It is a concept album born around different italian old ghost tales. Some of these is supposed to be legend or myth, who knows.

When did you write it? Was it during the pandemic lockdowns?

We had more ideas about new stuff long before the pandemia arrived. We spent this time working on the pre-production of the tracks.

Can you give us a track-by-track explanation of each song on the album?

For sure!

"Celebration of Gloom" is a strange song because there are many influences in it. Including a solo flute in the middle of the track. However is a very loud and gloomy song.

"Cursed Island" probably is the most rock 'n' roll song of the album. If you know what I mean. Rock in the attitude. Also the first video of the album.

"Moonchild's Scream" is 100% pure Doom with a heavy mid-section.

"Necropass" is like Caronte travelling the damned souls across the Stige River.

"Nuraghe" is a heavy oriented track with a very dark feeling.

"Headless Ghost" has a more stoner trend than the others and in the end there is a psycho riffing.

"The Bridge of Damnation" includes our '80s dark influences into our sound, probably the most haunted track of the album. The story is based upon an old weird story that happened in our native city, Catanzaro.

"Sinful Nun" is like an experiment and neither of us can explain really what it is... ah ah aha! For sure the most heavy track of all.

Finally "Magharia." You cannot believe it but the idea comes from a Who's album, Quadrophenia. Either of us wrote a part of the song. The result is a kind of horror soundtrack.

Magharia by BRETUS

How do you feel that your basic style or approach to song composition has changed since you first started writing songs in the early days?

You already know a lot of things about us, we know you from so long ago! Please don't ask how old we are. (laughs) Basically our approach is the same from the beginning. Of course we listen to a lot of new stuff during these years so every album brings different "colors."

Where are you most looking forward to playing live once pandemic restrictions are eased?

Everywhere! We are angry for live gigs or simply to drink beers with friends.

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#D&S Debuts #D&S Interviews #D&S Reviews #Bretus #Catanzaro #Italy #doom #metal #doom metal #horror #occult #stoner rock #HeavyBest2021 #Doomed and Stoned

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writingsbychlo · 5 years ago

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heart under construction (03)

word count; 4255

summary; sam is finally confronting his feelings.

notes; yay, I fixed your hearts. for now. we’re building up to the something big now.

warnings; none.

It had been twenty-seven days since you had walked past Sam’s house.

He was counting, he knew.

He had really hoped you might walk past on that first Monday after the argument, but you hadn't. He’d packed extra food in his lunch, the snacks he’d quickly come to realise were your favourites, and he’d eaten them all to comfort himself as he sat waiting at the top the ladder for you for the entire house of his lunch break, and an extra half an hour that Jake told him they could spare.

He understood though, he really did. He hurt your feelings, and he made you feel unwanted, and you didn’t want to see him. He waited all week, but you didn’t walk past at all. He waited during the second week, he stood on the street corner of the direction you came from every morning of the second week in case he would see you, but he didn’t, you never showed and he spent his days sulking as he continued to fix up his house, the entire passion being gone.

In the third week, he had finished patching up all the walls, and the railings on the balcony were up and glossed over, and he really wanted to show you that he’s taken your advice and bought plant-pots to line the walls near the roof. He was hoping he’d be able to win you over with a session of planting the flowers you thought would look good, and some takeaway food. He’d really watch the sunset with you this time, and then he’d show you all the improvements he’d made to the house.

By the end of the third week, he realised you were taking a different route to work, and you weren’t going to see the walls being painted a colour that would perfectly match the carpet you had chosen, which was to be delivered in two weeks, once the bannisters and doorframes had been glossed over.

And now, he was closing in on the end of the fourth week and he was no longer waiting for you to walk past because he knew you wouldn’t, he was no longer looking out for you and sitting in view on his lunch break because he knew you wouldn't be coming to join him.

It was the final Saturday of the month, and as Sam at in his apartment, staring around at the four walls in complete boredom, he realised he was wasn’t really home. It just didn’t feel comfortable, and it had never mattered before now. Before now, it was just the place he was living at right now, somewhere to keep his clothes and sleep between dates, work and seeing his brother, but as he thought about it more, he didn’t want that anymore.

He wanted a home, he wanted somewhere he was proud of, somewhere he was excited to go home to, somewhere he could share with someone who mattered one day. One day, he wanted to settle down.

The shade of oakwood flooring for the house that he’d spent the week laying down was still flittering through his mind, and now he was wondering what it looked like in the night, in the moonlight, what the kitchen tiles would look like in contrast. They were still sitting in the box on the newly installed kitchen counters, he had let to lay them down but he knew you’d love them. They were classic, just like the older theme he was going with, real stone tiles that would be cold underfoot in the mornings and with a deep sigh, he debated just what to do with the night.

He could text Jess, she had been asking him about his plans for the last three weekends, and his phone had been blowing up with notifications from beautiful girls on tinder. He could go to a bar and have a drink, or he could watch one of the recorded baseball matches he had on his tv, but for some reason, he just couldn't stop thinking about the goddamn kitchen tiles.

Maybe it was because he was worried about them just sitting out, maybe he was just bored, or maybe it was because he was convinced that you had chosen those tiles. They were the same shade as the carpets you had chosen, a dark grey with slightly lighter speckles and it added the most perfect continual theme to the entire home. They were perfectly matched to the dark grey solid oak wood that lined the bottom and top floors, and he dragged his hand down his face as your touch on the house only seemed to become more and more prominent.

Jake had been taking a lot of photos of the samples, before having very strong opinions on which flooring they should have, and now that he thought about it - really thought about it - Jake had never had good interior design taste, and the house was going to look perfect, and it wasn’t thanks to them, all they did was rebuild it.

With a deep sigh, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he had no regrets in heaving himself up off of the couch and grabbing his car keys, swiping his coat on the way past and dragging it onto his shoulders as he jogged down the stairwell of the apartment building. It had been fine, comfortable even, when he’d first moved in but now he just felt out of place.

Jake would be at the house, and so he could play off the weird urge to go over and stare at the kitchen tiles you had chosen with longing as instead as spending the night with his brother, and his family. It had been a while since he’d seen Roger and his niece, and it would certainly take his mind off of his wallowing.

The ride over was short, and he knew it by heart now, and he wasn’t sure why the idea of pulling up to the house in the night, the windows lit up with dim light to welcome him in felt more like home than the actual place he lived did.

Throwing the car into park, he jogged up the steps, happiness filling him as he thought about spending the evening with his family, the irritable depression seeping away from him, and the door swung open before him, his brother shocking him by filling the doorway, a loud greeting falling from him upon seeing Sam on the steps.

“Hey! Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

Sam’s brows shot up, his jaw-dropping slightly as he looked at his brother and he gaped for a second, before his brother was shrugging and scratching the back of his head. “Uh.. I figured I’d come and see my niece, spend some time with you guys..”

“Right, yeah, ‘course.” Jake paused, glancing over his shoulder and back into the house for a second, noises of distraction sounding out from him as he fumbled for his words, and Sam stuck his hands into his pockets as he rocked on the balls of his feet, waiting to hear what his brother had to say. “It’s just, you know, normally you have dates or plans of Saturday nights. I figured you’d be with a nice girl at a bar or something. A tinder hookup, you’re a popular guy..”

He finished off his sentence with a laugh, and Sam knew the words weren’t insulting, but they still stung, the idea that he so predictably spent every Saturday night with a random chick who always turned out to be not quite what he was looking for in his life, she never quite seemed to fill the gap of what he didn’t even know he was looking for. “I haven’t really been feeling up to it, lately.”

Jake’s expression seemed to soften from slight panic as he watched him, and Sam felt heat crawl up his cheeks at his brother’s evaluative face, assessing him and trying to work out just why he was really here, and what he was really feeling.

“Can I please come into my house now?” He cracked a smile, choosing instead to try and breeze right past the awkward tension of the conversation between the two of them and Jake huffed out a laugh, nodding and lifting his arms down from the frames on either side of the front door from where he had been caging him out previously.

“Sure, yeah. Just- just give me a minute, okay?” Before he even had a chance to reply, Sam was watching with wide eyes as his brother dashed away and into the house, disappearing into the sitting room and back to the mumbled voices and gurgles he could hear from Alice. He didn’t hesitate to step across the threshold, closing the door behind himself with a soft click and following through the house.

Flickering candles were sitting around on all the temporary furniture that had been set up as they had let to choose light shades and bulbs, and it gave the place a cosy and dim glow. He smiled, watching over the room and freezing as his eyes settled in on the scene in the middle of the empty room.

A picnic blanket had been laid out, glasses of wine sitting around the outside on folded napkins as not to leave marks on the new floors, Chinese food and wrappers that were still steaming, barely even opened as cutlery and chopsticks surrounded them, and each member of the group present looked up at him.

His brother, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he clasped his hands in front of himself, a slight wave of worry began to flit across his features. Roger, his wine glass raised halfway to his lips as he paused, a happy smile on his face as jovial greetings and questions began to pour from his brother-in-law’s lips. Alice was reaching out to him, her little pig-tails bobbing in joy as she practically bounced, her hands making little grabby motions and Sam wiggled his fingers at her, mumbling a child-friendly greeting as a distraction for himself as he found his bearings.

Finally, he glanced up, swallowing thickly as your eyes met his for only a moment, before you were tearing them away, a polite smile on your face that was directed at him and he cursed himself, because he’d never seen that smile before.

He’d seen your reassuring smile, the first one he’d been given when he had met you all those months ago, as you told him not to worry about his stupidity and that you’d be okay, and he shouldn’t worry. He’d seen your nervous smile, the day Jake had asked you to join him for lunch and you’d first climbed that ladder all the way up to join him at the window. He’d seen your carefree smile, the one you’d given him every time he told a stupid joke and you’d laughed for a while together, holding your stomachs and wiping your eyes. He’d seen your smile of pure joy the moment he’d told you he’d stay behind and watch the sunset with you.

He even had smiles he didn’t like, such as the one he’d seen moments later, the fake ‘I’m okay’ smile you’d shot him. He didn’t like the uncomfortable and anxious smile you’d given him the day he’d exploded and you’d slipped away before he could apologise, and he definitely didn’t like the polite and dismissive smile you were giving him now. It made him feel like an outsider, the sort of smile you gave someone you might pass by in a supermarket whom you vaguely knew but not well enough to actually say hi.

It made him feel like he was a stranger in your life, and he hated it, because that was exactly how he’d made you feel.

This was his fault.

Watching as you tickled at his niece’s side before standing up, and brushing the dust from your pants. His eyes widened, he knew what was coming next and before he could reach out to stop you, you were already mumbling excuses and removing yourself from the situation, his hands sweating and getting clammy, and he wiped them on his jeans as he gaped at you.

His brother and his husband were insisting you stayed, and you were simply thanking them for a lovely evening, and promising you’d do it again soon, despite the fact that you hadn't finished your wine and you hadn't even eaten yet.

He had waited for so long for this chance, and now that it was here, he watching you breeze past him to the front door as you buttoned up your soft-looking blue coat and pure desperation and panic filled him as he stood rooted to his spot, unsure what to do in his frozen state.

Jake shoved him, Sam stumbling over his own feet as he finally snapped to it, and he caught the front door as you swung it shut behind you, chasing you out into the dark garden as you made your way down the path and toward the streets. “Do you think the garden would look good with those little solar-powered lights that go along the edge of the driveway?”

You came to a slow halt, pausing as you left your back turned to him for a second, your shoulders slumping as you finally turned to face him, confusion covering your face. “What?”

He shook his head, cheeks heated as he mumbled to himself about his stupidity, but you were talking to him, and it was something, even if it was about garden lights, and even if you were looking at him like he was insane. Taking slow and cautious steps toward you, he tried not to scare you off, and he ignored how much it hurt to watch the way you stiffened as he stopped a few feet away from you. “The garden. I’m thinking all along the edge of the driveway to light it up, it would look nice, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Wouldn’t it just be a call that the new owners would make, though?”

He hummed, dropping his eyes for yours when you refused to meet his gaze, a sigh leaving him. “Yeah, but the thing is, I can’t stop thinking about.. the house. I lived in a lot of places before and they felt great, but with.. this house, there’s something different. Something special. I want to keep.. it. I really, really like it.”

He wasn’t sure you were understanding anything he was saying, but he chanced a glance up, at you, your soft gaze on him as you finally looked at him, and he offered you a small and tentative smile. He reached out, daring to take a step closer and he extended a shaky hand to take one of yours from where they were hanging limply by your side, and he distracted himself by playing with your fingers for a moment as he considered his next words.

“Please don’t leave. I’m really sorry. I am!” He could hear the pleading tone in his own voice, and he didn’t care, because all he wanted in the world was to stand here and talk to you, and currently, you were staring at him silently. “Please, talk to me.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stop telling me that when I do things that aren’t fine, it’s fine!” He let out a ragged sigh, running a hand through his hair in anger as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “It’s not okay that I was too busy texting to see you walking by, and it’s not okay that I said you were a stranger. You’re clearly not! You know my family, so you can’t be a stranger an-”

“Sam.” His jaw snapped shut at your tone, his eyes wide as he halted his rambling, your own eyes scanning over him gently, your shoulders rigid and your body tense before him. “Stop, really. Just because I’m your brother’s friends doesn’t mean you want to be my friend, and that’s okay, it’s okay. You feel invaded upon when I’m around, and that’s okay too.”

He shook his head rapidly, his lips still sealed tightly shut as he waited to check that you were finished talking, your head tilted to the side as you sighed out at his refusal, and he realized it was his turn to talk again. “That’s not it, I swear! I like you, I do!”

He knew his statement wasn’t enough, and he let out a low growl as he tried to find the right thing to say, his lip caught between his teeth, brows furrowed so deeply he was practically squinting, and he thought through everything he could say, he thought about just what he was feeling, trying to express how to fix this.

“I’ve missed you. Every day. I waited for three weeks for you to walk past so I could apologise. I miss you, and I need you. You make me smile and you make me happy. You are my friend, and you’re important to me, and I shouldn’t have said that, I was just angry and upset and-” His throat practically closed up on him as he choked down his feelings once again, word-vomit threatening to take over, and he swallowed thickly, his eyes dropping from yours for only a split second, before he was looking back up at you again, determined to say his piece while you were still listening. “My mornings don’t feel right anymore, because I don’t get to see you, and hear you wish me a good morning.”

It seemed something had gotten through, because your fingers twitched in his hold, squeezing his a little and he resisted the urge to grip your hand, so tightly he never let go, to lift your hand and place it over his heart as he hugged you, or to use it to tug you closer until you were crashing into his chest. “I text it..”

“I don’t get those texts.” Letting out a cautious sigh, he adjusted his hold, threading his fingers through yours to link your hands together, your own fingers curling around his loosely and he didn’t bother to hide the small smile on his face at the action, stepping closer to you as your wanted breaths mixed in clouds within the cold night air. “I don’t get anything, and I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you, Sam.”

A shiver rolled over his body, his eyes stinging as e blinked back tears, the relief flooding his body washed away the sinking and nauseous feeling that had been swirling in his gut since the night it had happened, and he had to check he wasn’t swaying on his feet from how far in the clouds his heart was soaring at the moment. “I should have stayed and watched the sunset with you. I just bailed, and that was a dick move, an-”

“It was just a sunset, Sam. You had a date, and that was more important.” Your shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug, your eyes watching the way his fingers were twiddling with yours in the now tight hold he had on his hand and he allowed himself to let out a sound of disagreement, his fingers tilting your head up and cupping your cheek as he guided you to look at him.

“I would’ve rather watched the sunset with you.”

You huffed at his words, your eyes wide and he forced you to keep your gaze locked with his, your cheeks heating up under his hand, and the edges of his lips dragged up into a tiny smirk, his tongue poking out to lick over his lips. “Well.. it’s in the past now. It doesn’t matter anymore. I forgive you, okay?”

“Okay, sweetheart.” His shoulders dropped down, small smiles being shared between the two of you as a once again comfortable and light silence weighed between you both. The second you took a step back, his hand tightened around yours, tugging you back in close to him, his head shaking as he grunted in disapproval at your attempt to leave. You crashed into his chest, your eyes wide as you pressed a hand over his heart as you stepped back, far enough to look up at him. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Don't leave me, again.”

“You should go and be with your family, and I should go home.” He shook his head, dropping his head down and letting his eyes close, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll see you around Sam, I’m not going anywhere.”

“See, you say that, but you don’t come by anymore. You don’t eat lunch with me and you never walk past. If I let you go now, I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” You let out a small breath at his words, the warmth of it washing over his lips and he twisted his head, his nose bumping against yours, feeling the way you twitched a little on the contact and he smiled, being able to picture your face in his mind, your eyes closed, the same as his, smiling lightly as you held his hand and felt his heart beating steadily under your palm. “I want to see you.”

It was a while before you even reacted, and his words seemed to fall on deaf ears for a moment, until he felt you shift, your head sliding to rest on his shoulder as your chest pressed to his, your arms looping around his waist as you hugged him gently and he didn’t hesitate this time, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tightly, holding you to him, with no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Please.”

“Okay, look. If you’re free, you should come with Jake and Roger to the princess prom.” He let out a laugh at your words, his chest rumbling underneath you and your fingers tightened in his shirt, scratching at his skin lightly through the material as you let your giggles join his in the quiet night.

“The what?”

“Princess prom. It’s the theme for this year's new parents and kids introduction party. All the current nursery children and their parents will be there. We have newcomers and their parents come, and the kids can all play together while new parents can ask current ones about the system, the way we work, and they can talk to all of us, the teachers, too. The children chose the princess prom theme.” He felt you shift against him a little in what he assumed was supposed to be a nonchalant shrug, and he hummed at your statement. “It’s next Sunday, so if you’re not busy and you want to st-”

“I’ll be there.” He pulled back, holding your jaw in both of his palms as he looked down at you seriously, sending you a short nod in confirmation. “I promise. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“O-Okay.” You leaned into his touch, his thumbs, stroking over your cheek as your head tipped to the side, and you nuzzled into his palm just slightly, his cheeks heating up as you did and his heart skipped a beat, one of your own hands coming up to close over his and hold it there for a second longer. “Well, your brother has all the details. You don’t have to dress up in a suit, or tux, or anything. You can just dress formally, you don’t have to go all out if you don’t want to. The kids will all be in their favourite Disney prince and princess costumes, I think. They’re all very excited.”

He chuckled, already picturing Alice in her purple rapunzel dress, the one she insisted she wore to every family meal they had, and every time they went out somewhere that required Jake to wear a tie. She even had the braid head-band extensions to match. “What will you be wearing?”

“I will, of course, be wearing a ridiculous ball gown and a tiara. I’m royalty, you know?”

“Mhm, you certainly are.” He grinned as you scoffed, shoving at his shoulder and he slipped his hands down from your cheek, taking both of your hands on his as he rocked on the balls of his feet. “I’ll wear a suit to match you, okay? What colour is your dress?”

“Navy blue.”

“I will get a blue tie, and I’ll match you.” He added a wink on the end of his sentence, enjoying the way your cheeks lit up red, a cheeky smile finding its way onto his features as you grew flustered under his stare.

“You don’t have to do all tha-”

“I want to. I really want to.” You merely nodded, before giving him a dazzling smile, one full of joy and care and warm emotion that he just wanted to bask in, and he had missed it so. “I’ll see you Sunday, okay?”

“Sure, I’ll see you on Sunday, then..” With a final grin, he raised your hands up to his lips, pressing a series of kisses to the backs of both hands and your knuckles, before giving you a final parting wink and jogging backwards up to the house, watching as you blushed, turning and heading away toward your own home.

He had never been happier to have not been on a Saturday night date in his life.

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor/reader #amazing stories #dylan obrien amazing stories #dylan o'brien amazing stories #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader #heart under construction #HUC

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azozzoni · 5 years ago

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VDS saga part 9!

Leaning against the bike rack, Lucas sighed, rubbing his eyes and blinking unseeingly at the ground. He felt as though he hadn’t slept in days--probably because he hadn’t.

He’d woken up two days ago to a crash from the kitchen where he’d found his mom trying to make croquettes, puttering around in the dark. She had protested when he took the pan away, said she was hungry.

“Then let me,” he had said, putting the oil back in the cupboard and going to the freezer instead. She didn’t need to accidentally set the kitchen on fire, get distracted in the middle, move onto the next idea before she finished the first. Lucas had been through this too many times.

“Let he who is without sins cast the first stone,” she had said, abandoning the kitchen for the living room where several different copies of bibles were spread open on the coffee table.

Instead of making the croquettes, Lucas had curled up in the arm chair instead, watching her switch between bibles, muttering verses under her breath until the sun began to rise and he finally got her into bed.

Lucas fought back his yawn as he stood there, gazing up at the school. Normally, he’d be with Kes and Jayden inside, out of the mist, but he was pretty sure they both thought he was a total jerk. Maybe because he’d been acting like one.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d texted Kes--it had to be more than a week, before the weekend he’d spent with Jens. If he just kept focusing on that weekend, on how happy he’d been for those two days, he didn’t have to think about how he badly he’d treated his friends. They were his friends but he was the one keeping a secret, acting like a jerk, ditching them to hang out with Jens instead, not giving them any kind of explanation.

No wonder they didn’t want to talk to him.

“You look like shit.”

Isa’s voice made Lucas grimace, turning to face her. She flashed him a cheeky smile in return.

“Hi,” he only said, looking back at the school, the students clustered around the front door.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” she asked, coming up beside him, bag slung over her shoulder. Her curls were damp from the mist and Lucas sighed.

“Nothing,” he replied honestly. Avoiding going inside and facing his friends, the well-deserved silence.

“Are you and Kes fighting?” she asked, and she seemed to take it upon herself to tug Lucas away from the bike rack and towards the front door.

“No,” he said, though that wasn’t the whole truth. Kes just knew he was keeping something from him. He didn’t know it was Jens, a guy that made Lucas feel like he could finally be himself around someone, not have to keep any secrets.

“I may not be dating Kes anymore,” she said, stopping at the front stairs. “But I still know what his face does when he’s upset. And I know what yours does. You should just talk to him about it.”

Lucas wanted to roll his eyes, but wasn’t that what had torn her and Kes apart? A lack of communication. That and Lucas’ inability to hold his liquor.

“What if he doesn’t understand?” he asked before he could stop himself, gazing up at the front door.

“He’s Kes,” Isa said simply, hooking her arm in his. “Even if he doesn’t understand, he’ll still be there.”

He knew it was supposed to be reassuring, but Lucas didn’t feel much better as Isa tugged him up the stairs and into school.

The Terminator is in a totally different class than Rambo. Next time, we’re marathoning all of them.

Lucas clicked out of Jens’ message, watching down the hall, the students flowing past him without a second glance. He couldn’t think about next time with Jens, not right now, not with his heart climbing into his throat as he caught sight of Kes amongst the crowd. To his relief, he was alone, but he stopped as he caught sight of Lucas.

Kes seemed to sigh after a minute before continuing forward.

“Hey,” Lucas greeted him carefully, and Kes only nodded. “You want to get some fries?”

For a second, Lucas thought Kes might say no, and his chest constricted in fear. Had he completely ruined everything? But then Kes shrugged.

“Sure,” he said and Lucas couldn’t help the breath he exhaled.

The shop was warm and smelled of fries and hamburgers. They chose a table near the window, and for a moment, Lucas only watched Kes eat his fries. He didn’t want fries. That wasn’t why he’d asked Kes to come.

Isa’s words kept echoing in his head, that even if Kes didn’t understand, he’d never turn away.

“Kes,” he said finally, and Kes looked up. “I need to tell you something.”

Kes set down the fry he was holding, taking in Lucas slowly. “Everything okay?”

Lucas found himself shaking his head. It was harder than he thought, forcing the words out. Just two words that could change everything. But if he didn’t say it, he’d have to live with this feeling forever.

Taking a breath, Lucas turned his gaze to Kes’ plate instead. “I’m gay.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Lucas could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, feel the rush of blood against his pulse, a rapid thud as fear rose in him. He just wanted Kes to say something, anything.

“I know,” Kes said finally and Lucas’ head shot up.

“You do? How?”

Kes looked uncomfortable now, shifting in his seat. It couldn’t be a good sign. “Jayden and I saw you, a couple weeks ago, in the skate park with some guy.”

The rustle in the bushes, the whispered voices. Lucas didn’t know what to say, caught between embarrassed and guilty. So Kes had known this whole time? And Jayden?

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked finally, and Kes shrugged, frowning.

“To be honest, I was mad. Well, not mad. Hurt, I guess. Why would you think you had to keep this secret from me? You’re my best friend, Luc. You always have been.”

“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted to the table. “I wanted to tell you. I was just afraid things would be different.”

“Nothing’s different,” Kes assured him, and he sounded so sure that Lucas looked up. “I thought about bringing it up, but then I realized it really wasn’t up to me.”

Lucas wasn’t sure what to say to that, watching Kes push his fries around.

“I just hoped you would trust me enough at some point.”

“I do trust you,” Lucas said, seriously. He needed Kes to understand that. “I knew you wouldn’t care. I was just afraid of things changing, me not being me anymore.”

“You’ll always be you,” Kes said, and Lucas was surprised to find a slight smile on Kes’ lips. “You’re still Lucas. So you like kissing guys? It can’t be that much different than kissing girls, right?” Lucas smiled, relieved as he sat there, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “It’s better.”

“See?” Kes said, picking up his fries again. “Now we can finally talk about that shit without you getting all weird. Now I know why you used to get all weird.”

Sitting there, Lucas laughed, feeling better than he had in weeks. It felt good to finally tell someone.

“So what about this guy?” Kes asked finally.

“Jens,” Lucas supplied, feeling the blush on his cheeks again. “He’s from Belgium.”

“Aren’t you a player,” Kes teased, tossing a fry at Lucas. “So you’re dating?”

It still felt weird to talk about this with Kes, but it was nice. It was nice to not have to hide anything. It was nice to have someone to talk about Jens with, aside from Ralph, who only tried to give him advice about safe sex.

“Not exactly,” Lucas admitted, watching Kes’ eyebrows go up. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Ah,” Kes said thoughtfully. “Well, if you want my advice, I’d say lock it down. The guy was hot.”

“Hot?” Lucas repeated, disbelieving. He couldn’t believe his ears even as Kes shrugged.

“I’m allowed to say that, right?”

Laughing, Lucas shook his head. “I have no idea.”

It wasn’t really important, he thought, as Kes grinned and popped a fry in his mouth. The only thing that mattered was that Kes knew and he didn’t care. He didn’t care at all.

#van der stoffels #skam nl #wtfock #my fic

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lyricfulloflight · 5 years ago

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Everything For You

This one is for you @pinkoptics. You sent in my first prompt: picking fuzz off their clothing From a list of ordinary things that become intimate when you love someone and this is what happened ;). I hope you enjoy it!

Everything For You

“Stand still.”

Erik gritted his teeth and picked a spot on the wall to stare at as Charles examined him from shoulders to ankles, brushing off lint and picking off extraneous pieces of… well something… as he went.

“How long has this thing been stuffed into the back of your closet?” Charles asked.

“Um… a while?” Erik answered lamely.

Probably more than a while really. He might have pulled this suit out for his sister’s graduation, but that had been years ago, before he’d even moved into Charles’ place.

“You should have told me about your show sooner. I would have sent this to get cleaned.”

“When exactly would you have had time to do that?” Erik queried.

Charles had to be the busiest person he had ever met. Teaching classes at Columbia, spending absurd hours at the lab doing research, staying until the janitors kicked him out of his office typing up journal articles, and still accompanying Erik every weekend to the Mutant Youth Center to volunteer, teaching teenagers everything from chess to how to control their mutations.

“I have my ways.” Charles replied, brow arched.

“There’s no way I would have bothered you with cleaning the suit, but I should have told you about the show earlier. You are coming, right?”

“Of course I’m coming. I am annoyed that my roommate and best friend didn’t tell me about the biggest show of his professional career until, oh, four hours ago – but there is no way I’m missing your triumph.”

Looking down at Charles, picking bits of fluff off his old dusty suit, doing his best to make Erik as presentable as possible, Erik felt his heart lurch in his chest. He couldn’t quite figure out why he hadn’t told Charles about the show until today, scant hours before he had to leave to meet with the gallery director and make sure everything was perfectly set up for the show tonight. Charles was, however unbelievable it may be, his best friend and biggest supporter. By all rights, they should never even have met.

Erik, a thirty year old ex-mechanic who’d quit his job to start a new career as an artist and Charles, twenty six year old academic genius and one of the youngest professors to ever be employed at Columbia. Two opposites living together because of a combination of luck and misfortune.

The luck had been Erik’s. Finding a posting on Craigslist for an ‘Artist’s Apartment’ listed with a very reasonable monthly rent, Erik had jumped at the chance to see the place. He’d arrived to find what had to be the most perfect space for an artist – huge open living area, giant windows, concrete flooring, brick walls, 16 foot high ceilings. He’d also met Charles, in all his khaki pants and cardigan wearing academic glory. Charles had happily prattled on about how his sister was an artist and had been using the apartment, and how she’d kept everything open to make it accessible for him, but now she was in Paris with no plans to return to New York for at least a year.

That had been over two years ago.

The misfortune had been Charles’. He’d been in charge of renting out Raven’s apartment and had been happy to lease it to Erik. He’d been the perfect absentee landlord; never bothering Erik, always on top of sending a repairman when needed, never unexpectedly increasing Erik’s rent like some of the shady characters Erik’s had dealt in the past. Then, six months into his lease, Charles had shown up on Erik’s doorstep one night, soaked to the bone and dragging one sad looking suitcase and a backpack. It was one of the most pathetic sights Erik had ever encountered.

After ushering Charles in, giving him time to change into dry clothes and making him a hot cup of cocoa, Erik had found himself on his couch with Charles, who had explained, cheeks flushed, and voice apologetic, his current unfortunate circumstances.

Apparently, Charles was rich. Erik did not find this piece of information particularly surprising. Charles looked rich, he talked like he was rich and he dressed like he was rich. Charles’ wealth was a given. That he had horrible relatives who had kicked him out of his home and were suing him for all was worth, which had left him with all his assets frozen and no where to live was more of a shock. Charles owned Erik’s apartment – outright. He’d bought it for his sister five years ago and it was currently his only option for living accommodations (Charles’ words, not Erik’s).

Erik couldn’t have kicked the man out if he tried. Charles looked like a puppy, a small blue eyed puppy, who’d been kicked out into the street and left to fend for himself and had no idea what to do with himself. Erik might not have been the most friendly, easy going guy, but his mother hadn’t raised him to be a jerk. He’d told Charles in no uncertain terms that he was more than welcome to stay as long as he needed to and had then gone to clear out the spare room (which had until that moment been full of sculpting tools and materials). Charles had thanked him profusely, sworn up and down he wouldn’t be a bother and then passed out on the bed within minutes.

Two years later, they were still living together. Perhaps at first glance they were unlikely roommates, but somehow it all worked. It worked kind of perfectly, if Erik was being honest. Erik got up early every morning to run and by the time he got back to the apartment, Charles was always up, a cup of tea in his hand and a steaming hot container of French press coffee on the counter for Erik. Charles didn’t care that Erik didn’t own a television and took up most of the living room with his sculpting work. Instead, Charles would coax Erik away from his work in the evenings and they would watch documentaries on Charles’ laptop, propped up on Charles’ very fancy hospital grade bed, eating popcorn.

Charles was the best roommate Erik had ever had. He was also the best friend Erik had ever had. When Erik wanted to quit sculpting because he was sick of taking commissions for things he wasn’t inspired to sculpt, Charles was there to sit beside him and pull him through with encouraging words and a glass of delicious scotch. If Erik’s mom stopped over to fuss over him, take over the apartment, and complain about both Erik and Charles’ single status, Charles was always there, effortlessly changing the topic and making his mother smile.

When Erik had first heard he’d succeeded in getting his first major gallery show, Charles had been the first person he’d wanted to tell. He’d come home that night with every intention of telling Charles and then… he hadn’t. He didn’t say anything the next day, or later that week, and then it got to a point where it was weird that he hadn’t said anything, because he clearly should have, and that had made Erik lock the information about his show away like it was a forbidden secret that Charles could never know about.

Today, the day of the show, he’d finally cracked. He needed Charles to be there. He couldn’t imagine the night without him. He was finally showing the world his art, not replicas, not commissions, not what someone else wanted, just his own creative visions as a sculptor, and he was proud to be showing that off to anyone who wanted to look, but the truth was, well the truth of it all was, the person he really wanted to show it to was Charles.

The thing that had been holding him back, the thing that had almost caused Erik to never tell Charles about the show at all, was the idea that Charles might not like Erik’s work. That all those hours Erik had spent, working in his separate studio space he’d been able to rent this last year because of his success with commissions, all the pieces Erik had created with Charles in mind; that they might not even appeal to Charles was terrifying.

When he’d finally told Charles about the show today, it had been a relief. Charles knew. And Charles had looked… incandescent. He had glowed with pleasure when Erik told him, his whole face alight with happiness. Erik had desperately wished he was in his studio right at that moment so he could capture the expression on Charles’ face in clay, or stone, or even sketch it in charcoal. He’d probably never be able to do it justice, but damn if he didn’t want to immortalize that look – surely no one had ever looked so impossibly beautiful as Charles had in that moment.

“You don’t have to go to the lab?” Erik asked, because frankly, any other Thursday night Charles would have ensconced in his lab work until at least nine o’clock.

“I can miss one night.” Charles shrugged. “I think you may finally be presentable.” He wheeled back and gave Erik an appraising look. “Yes. No lint, no dust, no pieces of god knows what.”

“I should get going then.” Erik was reluctant to go, he’d much rather stay here with Charles, but if there was any night he needed to be timely and professional, it was tonight.

“I shan’t keep you a moment longer.” Charles smiled, looking up at Erik. “This is your night and I am so very proud of you, Erik. I’ll see you at seven o’clock.”

***

Charles sat in front of the sculpture and stared.

The gallery was packed with people milling about, chatting, drinking wine, and gushing over Erik’s work. Charles had arrived half an hour ago, only ten minutes later than he’d planned (which was rather good by his own personal standards), and had yet to see hide or hair of Erik.

He had, however, seen quite a bit of his art and it was astonishing. Oh, he’s always known Erik was talented. He never doubted for a moment that those long, graceful, yet calloused fingers could mold clay into anything they wanted. He’d seen Erik’s sketches, he knew the man had talent. Being in a room full of Erik’s art, large, imposing, never afraid to shock an audience, was another thing all together.

Charles had been stuck in front of this particular piece for ten minutes. He couldn’t seem to make himself leave, and since he was in a wheelchair, no one had had the gall to ask him to move.

“Do you like it?” A deep voice behind sounded behind him.

“Do I...” Charles whirled around to look up at Erik, struggling past the lump in his throat. “I...Erik, it’s… gorgeous. It’s gorgeous and profoundly moving, and… is it… this might be ridiculous, it is ridiculous, but is it supposed to look like me?” Charles asked incredulous.

Because the sculpture behind him was a man, a serene, soulful looking young man, leaning against a tree and he might have been any young man, but Charles could see, from his positioning, to the overly thin nature of his legs, that the man sitting on the ground, book in hand was not capable of walking.

“Of course it’s you.” Erik replied, typically blunt and forthright.

“I’ve never looked half so handsome, of course.” Charles joked.

“You look twice as handsome right now.”

Charles gaped up at Erik, his mouth hanging open. Had Erik just said… he couldn’t have meant… Charles was certainly in love with Erik, and had been almost as soon as he’d moved into Raven’s old apartment with him, but to think Erik might feel something for him… it was simply unfathomable.

“You inspired every piece here, Charles.” Erik continued. “Every one. I wouldn’t be here tonight without you.”

“Of course you would be! You’re the artist, Erik, not me. If I helped in any way, well, I’m very glad of that, but this, all of this, is you.” Charles argued.

“No.” Erik shook his head and then knelt down so were face to face. “This is for you, Charles.” Erik insisted, taking Charles’ hand in his. “You are my muse. I don’t sit down to make a piece and not think about you, about how you make me feel. I love you.”

“You love me?” Charles winced as his voice broke like a teenager.

“I love you.” Erik repeated and squeezed Charles’ hand. “I know you don’t feel the same way and that’s fine -”

“I feel the same way.” Charles interrupted breathlessly. “Of course I feel the same way.”

“You...what?”

“I love you.” Charles said, and he couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “I love you, you incredible man.”

And he reached forward, cupping Erik’s jaw with his hand, pulling him forward and kissing him, slow and sweet and deep.

“So,” Charles whispered when he finally pulled himself away from Erik’s lips, “am I going home with my boyfriend tonight, then?”

“Yes.” Erik grinned his gorgeous toothy grin. “Yes, you are.”

#lyric writes #cherik #cherik fic #pinkoptics prompt #erik the sculptor #charles the professor

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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 5 years ago

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Can you keep a Secret?

*Not My Gif*

Post Date: 8-1-19

Paring: Remus Lupin x Reader

Word Count: 4K

~Master List~

~Prompt List~

Requests are closed

“You want to fake date?” You mused as James practically begged in front of you. The poor boy just fell back on the ground, groaning as you rolled your eyes. “Alright, in the end you get Lily. What’s in it for me?”

He shot off the ground at your acceptance, smirking as a nervous feeling settled in your stomach. “Moony.”

You furrowed your brows as James stood up off the common room floor, dusting himself off before falling next to you on the couch. There was no way your arrogant friend knew about your crush on Remus. “What are you on about?”

“Come on Y/N. I know you fancy him. The longing stares when he enters a room, the way you light up every time he looks at you, the way you sigh everytime-“ he began to pester you a little while you blushed, leaning closer with a smirk as he gently poked your sides.

“Ok! Ok! Now get off me!” You laughed as he fell back once more from your push. You huffed in annoyance as Lily and Remus entered the room, not seeing you at first.

James was quick to lean into your ear, “It’ll make them jealous, trust me.” You didn’t know what to do, on one hand it didn’t feel right to use James to make Remus jealous and even if that wasn’t a problem, fake dating James wasn’t so appealing anyways. On the other hand, If it worked then James would end up with Lily and Remus and you might actually have a chance. You also would’ve felt better about yourself having helped your friends realize they liked each other. As Lily and Remus reared their heads to you, you shot James a quick nod as he smiled, wrapping an arm around you right as they sat down.

“Y/N and I are dating.” James blurted out as you realized this wasn’t a good idea at all. Remus looked at you shocked, he always thought he had a chance with you but now he thinks he doesn’t. You hadn’t looked at Remus, too afraid of what you might see when you did, so instead you focused your sights on Lily and James, watching the way the red head took longer glances at him before her smiled faltered as she looked at you.

“Well, I have to get to herbology early to help Alice so I best get going.” You lied as you got up, trying to get out of this conversation. James stood up right along side you as one of his hands wrapped loosely around your waist.

“Have fun, Love” He said as you tried to ignore the foreignness of hearing him call you that. You were so focused on your nickname you hadn’t realized James was leaning in to peck your cheek until his lips hit your skin, causing your cheeks to heat up and definitely redden. You make a meek smile to your friends and “boyfriend” before leaving the common room. Remus watched you leave, trying to calm the rage and disappointment he was feeling since James kissed your cheek.

“So. You and Y/N. How did that happen?” He asked as Lily nodded, turning her attention between the two boys. James just shrugged, not trying to give as much information before you both came up with a backstory.

“Just happened. It’s all still new for us though, Moony.”

“Well Y/N’s a special girl.” Lily remarked as James beamed, glad to know Lily was starting to get jealous.

“Yeah, She is.” Remus whispered having hoped no one heard him but James did and part two of his plan was working, Remus was reacting just like he wanted him too.

You tried to avoid your friends for the rest of the morning, not completely knowing if you made the right decision in fake dating. Sirius had found out through Peter who had overheard Lily and Remus discussing it, both confused of where these random feelings came from. Lily was certain James was still in love with her, in fact he just asked her to Hogsmede the weekend before last and now he was dating you? Something was weird about it and she was determined to figure it out. Remus on the other hand didn’t want to learn more, he hated you and James together, sure no one knew about the boy’s feelings for you so there was no way you’d be able to figure it out but it still hurt like hell. You needed to think and so you headed out towards the lake, hoping for some alone time. When no one was there you threw down your bag, using it as a pillow as you stared off into space.

“Thinking about me?” James said behind you as you rolled your eyes, giving him a smile as he sat down next to you.

“In your dreams Potter.” He laughed with you as you sat up, resting yourself on a tree opposite him.

“We need to come up with a cover. Like how we got together.” He pointed out as you nodded your head, trying to come up with something.

“Why don’t we just say we were hanging out and realized how much fun we were having and you asked me out? Keep it simple?” You suggested. James didn’t seemed to have a problem with it as he threw the rocks against the waters surface, soon turning into a competition of who could skip the rock farther. Picking up a flat sided white rock you carefully chucked it at the water, getting it to skip 7 times before it stopped. James scoffed preparing to beat you before Remus , Peter and Sirius arrived.

“You’re skipping rocks without me?! Y/N! How could you!” Sirius yelled as he put his hand over his heart, fake pouting before picking up a rock.

“Padfoot, last time we skipped rocks you tried to hit snivellous.” You reminded him as you checked around for the boys safety. Sirius just rolled his eyes as he grinned.

“But now its a competition, and I’m not going to hit snivellous, now am I?” He said before throwing his rock. It bounced against the surface a few times short of yours before falling into the water. Peter had followed Sirius’ lead, chucking a rock into the water instead of skipping it, insisting it was more fun. Remus watched you four throw rocks into the water smiling at how happy you looked before you turned to him, giving him one of your famous toothy smiles and running over to him.

“Come on Moony! Join us!” You grabbed his hand pulling him to the others as you put a rock in his. He blushed a little as he glanced between you and the stone.

“I uh, I don’t know how to.” He admitted as he ducked his head towards the ground. Your beaming smile turned soft as you covered his hand with yours, admiring the way his face lit up at your actions.

“I’ll show you.” The next few minutes were spent with you teaching Remus, casually grabbing his arms and moving them as you both hid the blush on your faces. James watched out of the corner of your eye, content with how well everything was going. Remus and you were getting along famously and Lily and him were supposed to go study together in the library. In all their years it had never been just Lily and him studying, usually another marauder or you alongside.

The night came quicker than any of you had hoped. You all fell into a fit of giggles as your bodies dropped onto the crisp dry grass underneath you. You weren’t aware of Remus watching you until you slowly turned your head meeting the brunettes eyes as you both blushed, not turning away. Time felt still until your hand met another’s. Just not Remus’. James has seen the interaction, grabbing your hand to help sell the fake dating. Your eyes locked on the sight of James and yours fingers intertwined. You didn’t like it, you didn’t like it one bit.

“Oi, Prongs. Don’t you have to go meet Lily now?” Sirius yelled from the other side James. You mentally thanked him as James shot up, much to fast for someone who was supposed to have a girlfriend.

“I almost forgot! Lily has probably been waiting for a while!” He scrabbles to get up while you chuckled, watching him struggle before you realized he was still holding your hand. You were pulled to your feet, landing not so gracefully as James steadied you, placing his hands on your shoulders before giving you a bigger than necessary kiss on the cheek. You tried not to grimace as he ran off, you following back to the ground as Remus stared into the sky, too consumed with thoughts. He wanted you to be happy and if James made you happy then so be it, but at the same time he wanted you to be happy with him. No one said anything as time continued to tick, alerting you to the new awkwardness between you and your friends. Never in the 7 years you had known these boys had you been too awkward to coming up with something to say. Coming up with a conversation starter with Remus was like second nature for the two of you and yet here you were, James just kissed your cheek and Remus and you are silent. Sirius caught onto the situation soon enough and began to pester Peter in a friendly manner until you had enough.

“I think I’m going to go to bed a little earlier today.” You said as you stood up, getting a weird glance from your best friend.

“Really? Y/N It’s 7:30, in all the years I’ve known you, you had never turned in before you had to.” You looked down at your feet, biting your lip as you try to figure out how to respond to Remus. He noticed your reluctance as he nodded his head, pulling himself to his feet before dusting himself off. “I’ll walk you.”

Remus and you made your way back to the common room, hardly any words being exchanged as your eyes casted down. The lively common room buzzed as you entered, students chatting and studying.

“Night Moony.” You mumbled as you turned to look at the staircase. Remus felt his stomach drop as he reached for your arm, causing you to turn and look at him confused.

“What’s going on with us? I mean, you’re my best friend but right now it feels as if we’re drifting apart.” He admitted as his hand fell onto yours, it was such a familiar action with him and you couldn’t help but get butterflies in your stomach when ever he did something like that, making you think there could be more between you two.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to be drifting apart. Rem, I have no idea what’s going on between us.” You weren’t lying at all, you truly had no idea. Was he jealous or was he just trying to give you and James space. You doubted it was the latter but do you really think he’s jealous? Maybe he was just going through something and you were to busy trying to get him to notice you that you didn’t notice him. God your head was spinning.

“How about we go to Hogsmede this weekend? You, me, and the others.” He suggested as you smiled to him. You gave his hand a squeeze before dropping it.

“I would love nothing more than that.”

The weekend was even more awkward than that night. James had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and Lily either seemed to be shooting daggers at you or watching James. You felt bad, you felt really bad. You knew Lily actually liked James and you hanging onto his arm made your stomach twist and you hated doing that to her. It’s been almost a week and you and Remus seemed to be farther than you were at the beginning. But James and Lily seemed to be working. They spent all their afternoons in the library studying together. Marlene, having heard about your relationship, came up to you in the Leaky Cauldron when you were alone and told you right away about how they spent their time goofing off and you had to play the part of a worried jealous girlfriend. She bought it but after she ran off you let out a shaky breath, a scowl covering your face as you fell onto the table.

“What’s wrong?” Someone asked behind you as you turned to face none other than your “boyfriend”.

“McKinnon just came up to me to tell me I should be worried about your relationship with Evans.” You smirked as James held back a laughter. “Honestly James, I think your plan is working for you. Can’t we just break up and you and Lily finally get together? I’m getting tired of all the people coming up to me to warn me about you and Lily! I’m supposed to act jealous but really all I want to do is tell them to sod off! It’s Remus I want to snog, not you!” You both exploded into an fit of laughter as the door opened to the rest of the marauders and Lily, all having seen you both compose yourselves before they just sat down.

“What was that about?” Lily whispered to you as you shook your head, not really sure how to tell her about that conversation, you know the one where you told your boyfriend to ask out another girl so you could snog someone else, that conversation. Remus took the seat next to you, giving you a cheeky smile as your eyes met. James just smirked as Lily took the seat on the other side of him. Sirius and Peter cramming themselves into the edge of the booths. Somehow, being there with all your friends, it felt perfect. No one was being awkward about relationships or crushes or anything. Just 6 friends laughing their asses off at and with each other. By the time you started to head back to Hogwarts you shivered, regretting the light sweater you brought as you rubbed your arms up and down.

“Here.” Remus said as he slung his coat over your shoulders. You instantly sighed into the warmth, fingers clenching the fabric to bring it closer to you. Remus stuck his hands into his pockets smiling down at your cute expression from the warmth before looking at James, seeing him chat with Lily instead of paying attention to his freezing girlfriend. His jaw clenched and his fists tightened. He was in disbelief of how James could have someone like you and still be so focused on Lily! It made no sense to him.

It was still daytime when you reached Hogwarts and you all collapsed against the couches in the common room, each person eating their respective goods from throughout the day. At some point James and Lily has made their way to the library to study but you know they didn’t, James and you talked almost everyday about Remus and Lily since you started “dating” and so you practically knew all of their moments and he knew about all of Remus and yours. As soon as James got up you threw your feet across the length of the couch as your head landed comfortably in Remus’ lap laying on your side. One of his arms settled on the arm of the couch as the other came to rest on top of waist.

“Y/N, did you ever get that book for the potions essay?” Peter asks as you groan, throwing your head up to face Remus.

“Why didn’t you remind me? You know I’m worthless at remembering these things.” He chuckled as you felt your heart speed up. You rolled off the couch very dramaticly, landing with a smack and an ow against the floor before Sirius pulled your head up.

“Come on, I haven’t got mine either. Let’s just get it now, besides I want to see what Lily and Prongs do when they’re studying.” He smirked as you slapped his arm lightly, letting him catch it before pulling you up to your feet and heading out of the room.

Your eyes scanned the shelves skipping over titles as Sirius leaned onto you, thumbing through a few books on the lower shelves before moving on. You weren’t really paying attention as your chest smacked into Sirius’ arm.

“Ugh, Pads. What’s wrong?” You grumbled as you pushed his hand down. He didn’t say anything instead choosing to put his finger to his lip and shush you. You were taken back but followed directions, peaking over his shoulder to see what he was staring at. James and Lily were sitting next to each other at a table, some herbology books open between them but what had caught your attention and more importantly Sirius’, was how they were sitting close to each other, staring into each other’s eyes as James’ hand came up to cup Lily’s cheek. If Sirius wasn’t with you right now you probably would’ve stayed, aww-ing at their moment before leaving them be, but Sirius was here. And you were fucked.

“Come on, Sirius, lets get back to looking at books.” You argued as Sirius looked at you wide eyed, shaking his head.

“That’s your boyfriend getting quite close to Lily and you want to leave him?” He whispered as his voice became more harsh. You knew it wasn’t meant to be directed towards you, Sirius saw you as the closest thing he had to a sister and he wasn’t going to just let James hurt you.

You turned your sights back onto an oblivious pair as you tried to tug Sirius away again before you heard James speak.

“What I feel for Y/N is nothing compared to how I feel about you.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped opened as you tightened your hold on his robes, only this time to keep him from going after James.

“Sirius! Please Stop! I just- let me explain!” You pleaded as Sirius stopped struggling, turning to you confused.

“You explain? What the bloody hell do you have to explain?” You glanced around being sure no one could see you as he let you pull him towards a more secluded area as he crossed his arms. You took a deep breath before sighing, deciding to just tell him before he tries anything with James.

“Can you keep a secret?” He nodded his head, not saying anything as he let you continue. “James and I aren’t actually dating. We were faking the whole thing.” You rushes out as he furrowed his brows.

“Why?”

“He wanted Lily to get jealous. He wanted to get her attention and I agreed to follow his plan.”

“Why?” He repeated as you dropped your head. “Y/N. Why did you agree on his dumb plan?” You slowly met his eyes, biting your lip as you shook your head. You knew you could trust Sirius with your crush but you didn’t want him to laugh or anything at how you handled the situation. But you gave up. Hey, maybe he has a better idea on how to admit your feelings.

“I wanted to make Remus jealous as well.” You mumbled practically unheard.

“What did you say?” He asked as you closed your eyes.

“I fancy Remus!” You shouted hoping no one was around. Your hope fell on deaf ears as a book dropped in the next aisle, causing both you and Sirius to exchange worried glances before slow footsteps rounded the corner. You were met the shaggy brown hair of the one person you hoped hadn’t heard you.

“Remus...” You said as he shook his head, nodding towards Sirius to tell him to leave as Sirius gave you a meek smile, unreturned as he left you two amongst the books.

“You...fancy me?” He clarified as you thought about how to get out of this, instead deciding to just embrace it. Your head was nodding before you could even stop it. You’ve never felt so small in your life, not even being able to look at the boy in front of you. Remus was dumbfounded. He didn’t know what made him want to follow you but now he was more than glad. Not only had you just admitted you liked him, you had put up with James antics for an entire week just to make him jealous. Remus grabbed your hand, letting his thumb rub the back as he squeezed it. You lifted your head, meeting his deepening eyes as he quickly leaned in to you. He pecked you on the lips but the only problem was it was over almost as soon as it started. Remus was nervous, sure you literally just admitted you liked him but what if he turned out to not be enough. He was still over analyzing the situation when you pulled his lips to yours by his collar, making the kiss last longer as his hands found your hips, bringing your body into his as you moaned, allowing him to deepen the kiss. You didn’t know how much noise you were making until the librarian came around the corner, shushing you both as you pulled apart, both out of breath and blushing more than you ever had. Remus took this time to study you, the way your lips curled up into a smile even though your eyes looked terrified, the way you grabbed his hand once again after you pulled back, and how your eyes sparkled as you looked up to him. God he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Can you keep a secret?” He whispered to you, making you chuckle at the familiar words. You nodded your head, tilting it to the side as Remus smiled. “I like you, too.”

You wanted to kiss him again, hell you didn’t want to stop but technically you were still dating James. Your smile dropped as you told Remus you’d be right back. Right after he told you he liked you.

You ran back over to where Lily and James were, taken back when you realized that they were snogging right in front of you. “Oh. Ugh. Sorry. James, could we talk. Like now.” You said as they saw you. James looked between you and Lily with a happy smile as he nodded his head, giving Lily one last kiss on the cheek before following you.

“Remus and I kissed. And he kind of knows about the plan. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I actually told Lily about it today too. I didn’t want our relationship to start based on a lie.” He shrugged as you patted his shoulder.

“Well Prongs, I think it’s time you and I broke up.” You said feigning sadness as James pretended to wipe away tears. You couldn’t help but laugh as he joined you.

“Thanks for your help Y/N.” You nodded your head, giving him a hug before sending him off towards Lily. You let out a content sigh before turning around, hitting Remus’ body as you both staggered back a little.

“Sorry! It’s just- I kind of followed you just now cause you ran off. I got worried it was because of me.” He said sheepishly as your hand cupped his cheek. He leaned into your touch as his hands fell onto your waist once more.

“I will never run from you Rem.”

He leaned down for another quick, yet slower than your first, kiss before swinging his arm over your shoulder.

“How about we go to Hogsmede tomorrow again, just this time with out the others, just us.” You stopped as you grabbed his hand, giving it another squeeze before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“I would love nothing more than that.”

I LIVE ON YOUR FEEDBACK!!

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