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trulymadlysydney · 3 years ago

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1/ ok long anon :) back longer than ever ! because was there one time Harry was seen at like a western bar? or a bar that had a mechanical bull and he rode it ?? Then left with a girl? did that actually happen am I making that up? Anyways Harry’s in the middle of his American tour and has a 3 day break before his next show on Friday. And let’s pretend he’s somewhere around Nashville, or down further south near Dallas or Houston, or maybe west near Phoenix, or could be up in Boston, anyways point is, it’s Tuesday night and Harry just wants to find a place to have a beer at an actual bar with his band and some of the crew, and hopefully not be center of attention for a moment. And the bar he manages to make his way into isn’t packed whatsoever, but still has a nice crowd of what seems to be older locals, there for open mic night/karaoke. He and the band manage to make their way in to go sit at a booth tucked away and if any of the patrons do spare a look at him, it’s not really at him, but more so at his funky multicolored cardigan. And Harry’s having a great time just being able to be out drinking and having a good time with his friends, just laughing over stories told, pausing to listen to whoever is up at the mic if they catch his ear. Harry suggests another round of drinks, and he walks up to where you’re behind bar in a pair of Levi’s shorts, head turned away as you’re filling up a glass from the tap, and as if you could sense someone there behind you, you’re already saying “I’ll be with you in a second” without even turning around. And when you hear a “take your time” in an accent that’s definitely not from one of your usual crowd, you quickly look over your shoulder and just as quickly turn back to the tap because holy shit…it’s actually Harry Styles at this bar of all places. And as you turn to take the drink you poured to the patron at the corner of the bar, Harry gets an actual look at you and thinks to himself oh wow…she’s pretty. Really, really pretty even in this low lighting. And as you slide your way back over to him, you ask “what can I get you?” in the most calm cool collected way you can manage. And maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s because he’s naturally a menace, but Harry says “your name” with a slight grin. And you won’t lie, hearing that from Harry Styles did make your heart start pumping faster, and a smirk starts to make its way to your mouth that Harry catches, but is shaken away as you roll your eyes because men really are the same no matter who they are and you respond “it’s y/n. Now seriously, what can I get you? They don’t look it, but this crowd can get rowdy if they don’t get their drinks in time even if I tell them that it was a young big shot rock star decided to hold up the line” And there it is. The little weight that settled on your shoulders for a second lifted because you know that he knows and he knows that you know who he is. But you also can’t help but notice the little bit of hurt that crossed Harry’s face when you responded. And Harry, he’s a little taken back by your sharp response, mouth dropped, but not so much shocked that you know who he is (he’s not conceited just knows how relevant/big he is). And he doesn’t know what it is whether it’s the fact that you’re so pretty, or the fact you tried to play it cool (the shocked-knowing glance you made at him when you thought he didn’t notice turns out was noticed) the alcohol, or the slight bite in your response, but he turns to look back at the booth with his friends and notices that they’re so deep into conversations and laughs and (some even dancing with some of the older patrons) honestly, haven’t noticed that Harry’s been gone for a moment. He looks back to you and says “Y/N” (that rolls nice off his lips), “I’m sorry, I’ll have one of whatever is on tap.” And you nod as you turn to pour his drink while Harry decides to settle in and take a seat at the bar. And when you place his drink on the table, he goes “Seriously, I’m sorry if I offended you or made you uncomfortable in anyway.”

2/ And you notice how genuine he sounds right now, and you were neither offended or uncomfortable, just more shocked that Harry Styles is asking for your name. You tell him “it’s fine, really, just wasn’t expecting /that/ from you. Anyways, what managed to bring you all the way over here?” And that’s how you two started talking about everything really even as you excused yourself to fill orders, the conversation was easily jumped back into. Harry told you of how he’s been on tour and just needed to feel like a person and you told him about yourself. How you took up bartending because you’re starting grad school in the fall and little stories about the old timey crowd that like to inhabit this place. Like how behind the dingy curtain on the little stage, there’s actually a mechanical bull that is hardly ever used now because too many drunk old people nearly breaking a hip trying to live out their Wild Wild West fantasy. And you both don’t really notice, but as the conversation has gone on, he’s leaned more across the bar as you’ve leaned closer to him as well. Harry’s noticing how your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the mole on your forearm as you stretch to hand people their drinks. And your beautiful doesn’t go missed by the kind elderly guests who he can hear make comments on how “you get prettier every time I see you y/n” And you’re really smart. When you told him what you’re going to grad school for, and what you’re researching, Harry was reminded how he stopped going to school at 16. And you’re noticing how easy he is to talk to. Surprisingly easy and despite being a huge celebrity, he’s really down to earth, still cocky but charming. He’s also so handsome, strikingly so, especially this close. Anyways, the night has gone on, more of the crowd turning in for the night, and you’re now around the bar, sitting on the stool next to Harry, knees occasionally knocking against each other, still talking. At some point you’re both broken out of whatever trance you’re both under by each other by one of Harry’s friends coming over to tell him that they’re all leaving and you think sadly to yourself that this weird, unexpected, encounter has come to an end. But when you see that Harry hasn’t gotten up from his stool, and he tell them that’s going to stay back and he’ll get a ride back later, something lights up in your belly. As they all wave back at him you send a wave off as well and Harry turns back to you and says “Is that okay with you? I’m honestly having a really great time talking with you.” And you swear steam could come out of your ears and your face is probably beet red right now as a high pitch “no, that’s fine, I’m really having a great time too. But I am going to have to start closing up now, so if you do want to leave…” and Harry is all “oh….well is it okay if I stay as you close up, give you some extra company? I promise I’ll stay out of your way, or I could help, you know?” And he adds with a smile, “Whatever I can do that’ll make you want me to stay, lovely” And that last part makes you smitten really as you nod okay to him. So the bar is now closed, and you’ve been going through your usual closing routine (it’s just you that night since it was Tuesday) and you just can’t believe Harry Styles is here helping you sweep and flip chairs onto tables (“I can help some. I used to be a baker you know?”) And you’ve plugged your phone into the speaker to play your Spotify as you clean and when you hear the opening of Canyon Moon, a shock runs up your spine as you pause mid tabletop wipe down and your eyes move to meet Harry who has looked up mid sweep. And you’re blushing again and stammering an apology of “I am so sorry let me change it” as you rush to your phone to change it as Harry who has gone back to sweeping says “no I like this one” with a grin and looks back to you. And you’re a little relieved but still embarrassed biting your lip as you tell him “yeah i do too” with a returned grin.

3/ And you both go back to cleaning and talking, you’ve both ended up in one of the booths, Your feet brushing against each other under the table as you finish up looking over inventory sheets between asking Harry about his tattoos (his sleeves rolled up,holding his arm out on the table as you admire and you didn’t miss the flex of his hand when you brushed against the one of the holy Bible asking if the placement of the bookmark means anything particular). And at some point Harry looks towards the stage at one point and asks “is there really a bull behind there?” And you told him “yeah and that bull has a name, and it’s Stella by the way named after an actual cow the owner had on a farm as a kid” and now you’re pulling the curtain to reveal, the very intimidating mechanical bull that takes up most of the tiny stage. And Harry’s all “can I ride it?” And you’re all “are you sure? I mean it hasn’t been used in awhile besides my coworkers when we’re fucking around after closing sometimes.” And Harry’s like “yeah it looks like fun.” And that’s how he ended up, on top of the bull, shoes discarded and socked feet, holding on with one hand as the bull bucked and you laughed at first because of how ridiculous he looked, and he’s laughing along with you having the time of his life too, but oh…the way he’s practically grinding against the seat is making you have some really impure thoughts. And you shake your head a little as he’s finally lost his bearings and has fallen off onto the protective padding below laughing his head off. And jokingly you say “23 seconds. And here id thought you’d last longer.”

4/ And Harry catches your shot at his ego as he gains his composure, rising up to where you are at the controls to say “heyyy now. Bet you can’t do better.” And you’re a little insulted at his assumption because you mentioned earlier to him that you and the rest of the workers here will occasionally ride the bull after work for fun and you’d managed stay on the longest several times thanks to your highly strategized technique you’ve developed, as you scoff “oh please I know how to ride” and your eyes widen because you didn’t mean for your response to be that saucy, but Harry is already looking at you with that smirk and says “well, show me how you ride then” and you swallow and agree and after giving harry a rundown on the easy to use controls, you’re perched on the bull. With the bull facing the away, your starting with your back towards Harry, and he can’t help but to notice your ass in your shorts again as it’s slightly arched on the bull with your hand in the air. Once he actually starts up the bull, he realizes how right you were about knowing how to ride. And he didn’t think this was possible but you’ve managed to make this whole activity seem graceful? In the way that you’re going with the motions of the bull. Harry also can’t help but notice how sexy you look up on it too, he can’t help but let his himself imagine you riding him like how you are on the bull right now. You rocking rhythmically back and forth on the saddle. Harry’s glad that he’s behind the controls right now as he reaches to his pants to discreetly adjust himself because he’s getting hard. And your gleeful laughter snaps him out of his dirty thoughts as you make eye contact with him, and it’s a split second but oh did you just see him? adjust himself? Oh… and it breaks you from your concentration as you’re flung from the bull a little harsher than expected onto the padding below. And Harry has exclaimed your name as he has stepped his way into the padding of the bull pen rushing to you as you’re rolled onto your side catching your breath laughing a little because this is, just so crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy that Harry Styles has not only showed up to your bar, but he /likes/ talking to you, he called you lovely and now, he’s hard over you. And Harry is leaned over you, rolling you onto your back, concern on his face, and asking “are you okay?” And you’re still trying to catch your breath as breathless laughs escape you as you tell him “yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

5/ And now you’re close, really close and really looking at each other as Harry goes to sweep some of your hair off your face. And you reach your hand up to softly brush against the bare skin of his tattooless arm. And you’re looking at Harry’s lips as he’s paused his ministrations in your hair looking down at you and smirks “you were right about knowing how to ride.” And a smile spreads across your face, and your eyes are doing that crinkled thing that Harry likes as you reply “oh, you think?” and your hand moves to tug on his collar, to bring him down to your face as you kiss him.

Anndddddd that’s all I’ve got lol.

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BESTIE....... BESTIE OH MY GOD HELLO??? IM SPEECHLESS IM... OMFG HIM BEING A LITTLE NERVOUS? YOU BOTH BEING SO EXCITED TO HANG OUT AFTER HOURS, AND THE REALIZATION THAT LIKE... OH FUCK HE’S ACTUALLY KIND OF INTO YOU... OH MY GOD

#long anon my beloved #harry chats

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yeocult · 4 years ago

Text

ATEEZ as students studying

HONGJOONG:

king of self-care! but studies for 15 minutes then take a 2 hour break and calls it self-care (omg he thinks he’s me or smth)

has power naps every single day at least 30 mins because he’s Stressed

always thinking of ways to drop out during the middle of lectures

that one kid that talks to nobody & sits at the back of the class with his hood on to hide his airpods

doesn’t do it anymore bc one time it disconnected and “there’s some whores in this house” blasted out loud & now he’s paranoid

shows up to group studies but lets the group carry him,,, but he puts out One Really good idea to get his name on the paper

only cares about topics he’s interested in, other than that he’s just astral projecting

“yo can you send me your answers so i can compare mine?” but he copies it and says “we got the same answers” (all men do is lie</3)

calculates his marks; “ok so i need at least a 80 on this...oh wait no, a 95...damn okay...”

the type to arrives late with ice coffee

SEONGHWA:

wakes up at 5 am to study instead of staying up

scented candles and lofi music for the ~studying mood~

a linguistic learner

learns best by teaching others so he’ll do group studies often to help other people

teaches people without making them feel dumb

uses grammarly for his emails with 3 paragraphs asking 1 question with a proper greeting and a ‘sincerely, park seonghwa’

professor: ok - sent from iphone

you’ll never see him during exams week, he’s Gone

a loyal user of the outline method

his desk must be cleared at all times! a clean workspace makes it easier to focus

brings extra pencil just in case anyone needs them bc he’s the sweetest person ever (he’s fully aware that he’ll never get them back but it’s okay bc sharing is caring)

does his readings on time (you’ll never catch him slacking)

actually has his shit together for the most part 1/2

YUNHO:

writes “i love you” or “sorry” at the end of his tests (that he bombed)

the type to ask you to print “just one thing real quick” and it’s 15 page and at 2 am

uses emojis like :D & \(^o^)/ when sending emails to his professors

has a bad habit of copying word for word on the slide and he doesn’t actually understand/learn anything

goes to the library bc he thinks that’ll help him be in the ~studying vibe~

it doesn’t. ends up texting or watching youtube gameplay

has never heard of the colour-coding system in his entire life and ends up with a page filled with neon highlight

snacks breaks are the only thing keeping him Normal

leaves himself an encouraging note at the end of the reading page so when he’s finished he feels good !!

friends with all of the professors and uses all office hours

strongest points are his guessing skills in multiple-choice questions (process of elimination ftw!)

he tries his best, doesn’t care about marks that much because he knows it doesn’t determine him (and he’s right!)

YEOSANG:

probably runs a studyblr/gram

has the cutest note ever, his handwriting is so pretty!!

he thinks that buying an ipad pro & apple pencil will make him smarter

likes it bc he can doodle on it then erase them easily :”)

has to wear blue ray glasses because of how he looks at a screen so much

mildliners, muji 0.38 gel pen, 6 ring binder, minimal planner, washi tapes, you name it! he visits muji and daiso every other week

buys wayyy too many planners and notebooks which he never ends up using

only uses pastel mildliners because they’re easy on the eyes. cringes every time he sees yunho’s highlighters v_v

his flaw is that he spends 10 mins writing his header with brush tip pens

mutes the group project gc but gets his part done like the good classmate he is

sweats every time he gets an assignment back, takes a whole ten minute to mentally prepare himself

a visual learner; makes mind maps, flow charts, etc

actually has a working printer that he uses pretty often to prints lessons before class just to be Extra prepare

tells everyone he slept well but his bullet journal habit tracker for sleep says otherwise (plz rest!!)

exclusively uses college ruled paper like the sane person he is

SAN:

uses wide-ruled paper (unfortunately not everyone is perfect</3)

starts off very positive, motivated, and organized

then everything goes downhill by the second week

will definitely set byeol on top of his keyboard, take a picture, and send it to his professor as an ‘excuse’ as why he needs an extension (it works)

can’t sit still for any longer than 30 mins, his legs are always bouncing or fidgeting with pen

flashcard king! spends a lot of time on them but it’s worth it

a utensil chewer (always willing to share his pencil but when ppl saw the bite marks they’re like No Thanks >_>)

can’t study well with groups or himself bc he’ll be distracted,,, so he needs one person that can ground him bc when they’re in the zone, he will too be on his x game mode

sends his assignment at 11:58 pm hoping his professor will take the Hint (plz don’t be afraid to ask for help u_u)

prefers listening to ghibli studio soundtracks but then he either gets emotional or sleepy

sometimes forget to mute his mic and we just hear him groaning in frustration

“haha sorry i just stubbed my toe...”

then mutes his mic and goes back to his mental breakdown

MINGI:

the only person that studies every single day just to get his brain used to the information and running

probably listens to anime op or edm music for that Energy Boost

everyone either hates or love him because...

1. loves him bc he always comes clutched with study guides (and willing to share if he likes you enough)

2. he’s good at everything even if he’s not paying attention/doing it last minute

just naturally good at retaining information and applying them

asks Big Brain question that even the professors are shook

sometimes he gets super into the topic and wants to know Everything

“i’ve never failed an exam in my life” and he’s right! big brain mingi

fetal flaw is that he forgets easily (hence why the last minute) and has to write on his palm as a reminder

clicks his pens All the time so he switched to pens with caps just to keep others from jumping him

takes naps 10 mins before classes

actually has his shit together for the post part 2/2

“if no one got me, i know khan academy and quizlet got me. can i get an amen”

WOOYOUNG:

y’all know that one mf that doesn’t have a pencil?

yea he’s been using the same one someone lend to him before a test and never returned it

it’s been two months and it’s still working well and they’re never going to get it back

a minimalist,,,, but in a bad way</3 bc he carries his stolen pencil and paper that he spilled his energy drink over and that’s about it

just throw loose papers in his bag and forgets about their existence

doesn’t do binders or notebooks, just crumbled up paper

sometimes carries a textbook just to show everyone that he’s got his life together

really noisy for No reason, always wants to know other’s marks

a kinesthetic learner

hides his screen with he gets the kahoot questions wrong (you’ll never catch him slippin)

plays coolmathgames.com during class

doesn’t really know what to study/prioritize so he overwhelms himself with every single topic ever

thinks he’s god by pulling an all-nighter to look at the 60+ slides last minute

Swears he’ll change and do better next semester,,,</3

goes to the cafe, takes pictures of his notes & laptop, post it on his story, then leaves

JONGHO:

thrives off of red bull and ice americanos

gets notes and study guides from his upperclassmen because everyone loves jongho

an audio learner so he’ll probably work out or go on a jog while listening to lessons/audiobook

never pulls all-nighters bc it messes up his sleep schedule and says he’ll do it in the morning but he never does

doesn’t even own a highlighter, he’ll circle or underline stuff with a red or black pen

has never touched a textbook in his life

only the study guides and slides, his textbook is collecting dust rn

his notes are literally Only for him because his handwriting only makes sense to him

has questionable handwriting,,, it’s like decoding

multitasks a lot but it ends up taking a lot longer than he wanted to (bc it’s a myth)

very spontaneous; he’ll grind for 5 hours straight but sometimes he won’t even touch a pencil

works best when he talks about the work in groups and share information with each other, like having a convo about the topic

unmutes his mic Once after the lesson to say “bye”

does his work right after the lessons but then takes a short break & doesn’t even Look back for the rest of the night

a/n: tag yourself ! i’m a bit of hohong (i projected myself on all of them in some way lmaooo)

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fabricated-misslieness · 4 years ago

Text

Peter Parker x gender neutral reader with powers

Powers inspired by Fetch from Infamous Second Son

(I made this moodboard earlier on in the week to keep inspiration, since I didn’t have the time to write this then. This basically describes the reader)

Part 2 here

Requested: No

Word Count: 2512

Warnings: Swearing

Everyone knew (y/n) as the star of the track team, but to certain others he was a little more than that.

To the people in your classes, you were the quiet kid, the one that the teacher always seemed to forget to call. Yet they couldn’t seem to be that angry at your luck, maybe it was your charm, or maybe it was that sweet smile of yours.

To the quiet, shyer students, you were the nice popular kid, the one that would pull bullies away from others whenever you saw a situation arise. Ironically, the bullies were usually other popular kids.

To the popular kids, you were the one that they all liked, despite not talking much. You could say one sentence in an entire conversation and it would make them grow fonder of you.

To the kids in your art class, you were the one that always had a tip for their artwork, a tip that never failed to help. You were the artistic kid who got praise from everyone and would not hesitate to praise back.

To your best friends, you were crazy, in the good way. You had a risk to try every day and a gorgeous hide-away spot hidden in plain sight. But you had the tendency to disappear without a trace, though you were always back by a day or two. As for where you went, it was a mystery. They asked, but you never gave a direct answer.

To Peter Parker, you were someone that gave him subtle hints. Hints to what, he didn’t know, but you always winked when you saw him and didn’t have the time to speak, which was rare. You usually approached him, gave him a suave greeting, and sometimes a small pick up line. Ned told him they were pick up lines, but he didn’t actually believe that they were. The constant of the confusing equation that you were, though, was your smile. It was genuine. Not pitiful, not forced, not mocking, but truly, truly genuine.

It felt nice for someone, someone who wasn’t all that close to him, to smile at him in that way. He was used to the pitiful stares from people who knew what happened to his family, the forced ones he got from people trying to act nice, the mocking ones he got from Flash and his friends when they taunted him.

But to Spider-Man, you were an enigma. He’d usually find you spray painting the side of a building. Of course, he didn’t know it was you. Your ‘disguise’, he called it a disguise but it clearly wasn’t one, was a painting mask, one that blocked toxic paint fumes, and a beanie. Really, it was that simple.

You couldn’t blame him, though, anytime you had the small gut feeling he, or for that matter any other law-abiding citizen, was nearby, you’d bolt.

Your powers came in handy for that.

Speaking of which, he wanted to know where those powers came from, if they were tech or superpowers, if you ever had to replenish, if they consumed something like energy, if you could do something other than run faster and let the trails linger, and several other questions.

Everything you did with them left a neon red glow or trail, sometimes you even used them for your artwork.

Anyway, what even was the crime you did for Spider-Man to come after you?

Vandalism, straight up graffiti. That was certainly a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man kinda job, huh? Helping grandmas cross the street, old hispanic ladies get directions, stopping people from loitering where they shouldn’t be… non-Avengers level stuff.

Your graffiti was mostly political/social movement stuff, but sometimes it was a way for you to express yourself.

Nobody knew about your powers, hell, you didn’t even know where they came from. That was why you never told anybody, but man was it a hard secret to hold. Your reason was that they’d push you to become a superhero, like Spider-Man. That, however, wasn’t the biggest of your fears, nor the biggest reason.

You were scared. What would they think of you?

What would they think of the real you? The ‘you’ you wanted to show them.

You sighed, looking at the artwork on the wall. You’d worked as the ideas came to your head, even with how messy it was, it looked good. You felt like it represented you.

Even with how good it felt to paint your feelings out, your recent thoughts about how your friends, or really anybody at all, would react had altered your mood.

“How does Spider-Man do it?” You muttered to yourself. How did he keep a different identity, from superhero to teenager? At least you thought he was a teenager. Every time you ran from him he’d scream for you to “come back” or “slow down”, and he’d always sounded like a teenager.

“How do I do what?” Before you could run just like the other times, he webbed your wrist to the wall, too late to realize it was fresh paint and you had your watch on.

You shrunk back, side-eyeing the artwork and struggling against your restraint, forgetting in a state of panic that you could easily break it with your powers.

Spider-Man could see the panic in your eyes, and he was quick to calm you down.

“Struggling won’t--�� No, Peter, that’s not how you reassure someone. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was relieved to see panic to falter that teeny little bit.

“I just want to make a deal.” It struck him a few seconds later how wrong that sounded. “N-Not a drug deal, or anything.”

The panic subsided, though the uneasy feeling didn’t. You were amused at his mixup, thought you didn’t show it.

“You stop spray painting areas where you’re not allowed, and I let you go with a warning.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down your mask slightly so that he could hear you properly. Peter couldn’t help but think you looked a little attractive that way.

“You’ve seen the activism stuff I’ve done.” He has, and he was all for it, but it was still vandalism. “The world needs to listen, and if they can’t, they have to see.” You stuffed your hands into your pockets. You would’ve assumed that Spider-Man would be all up for it, but it seemed like he wasn’t.

“Trust me, I agree with it, it’s just that it’s illegal.” He crossed his arms as if to intimidate you but it had no effect on you.

You huff, furrowing your eyebrows. “You know that’s bull, Spider-Man.”

“Look, I love your artwork, but you have no permits.” He insisted, which was making you grow more and more agitated.

“You don’t have to be lawful good.” Peter raised his eyebrows at the DND terms, but you couldn’t see that. “These are statements for the world. And they’re—“

Spider-Man gestured towards the graffiti behind you, which was clearly not a statement.

“Alright, you got me there.“ You roll your eyes, “I can stop these, but I will not stop the important ones. I put them in those places because I need the people to see.”

Spider-Man was conflicted. On one hand, you were morally correct. On the other lawful hand, the spray painting was still illegal. He didn’t know how he should act on this.

Once again, he could clearly see you growing frustrated.

He steps forward to put a hand on your shoulder, but as his hand lands on it, your powers let out a neon red shock.

It doesn’t affect you, but it clearly affects him… and the web on your wrist.

He collapses face-first on the ground of the alleyway.

“Shit,” You kneel down next to him. “Of all the times for these stupid powers to backfire, it’s now?”

You stand up, debating on whether or not you should flee from the scene, leaving the red clad superhero on the ground.

Your moral compass was pointing to no. You couldn’t just leave him here alone, he seemed hurt.

You’d never done something like that on accident, not to this degree. Anything else remotely similar had been used as self defense, to some mugger or two, and all it did was stun them for a sec so that you could run away.

You turn him over to check on him.

He appeared to be fine physically, but then again if he’d only fainted he’d be up and running by now.

You sigh, stretching and getting ready to pick him up because he didn’t exactly look like a light-weight. Now, where was the nearest hideout?

Peter woke up in a sleeping bag. The first thought in his head wasn’t where he was, rather, why was his mask on?

He moved to take it off but then remembered what happened last night.

Then he asked himself, where am I?

He strained to sit up. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck several times.

He first looked down because his head throbbed with a splitting headache. When he found himself stable enough, he looked at his surroundings.

The first thing he’d noted to himself was that this was definitely not his bedroom, nor was it a place he recognized.

The second thing was, the place was dirty as all hell, it looked to be an abandoned warehouse. The only furniture seemed to be placed there by squatters, which was technically what you were, since this was your hideout.

You walked carrying a dunkin donuts bag. “You’re up?”

Without the beanie and the mask, he could finally see who you were. “(y/n)?” He whispered under his breath, hoping you wouldn’t catch that. You were the person who gave him hints, and also the star of the track team. No wonder you were able to run away from him that fast, even with your powers. He felt stupid, it was so obvious who you were.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You snicker, sitting next to him. You take note of the way he sways as he sits as if he were dazed, which he most likely was. “I’m going to assume you know me. As much as I’d like to guess who you were, I think that’d be a bit rude.”

Despite how dizzy he felt, Peter couldn’t help but notice you acted as if whatever happened in that alleyway didn’t happen.

You were being nice to him, even when he started that argument.

“I brought food, even if you won’t eat it in front of me.” You hand him a sandwich and a cup of water. Peter nods, taking the drinks but keeping them next to him. “I checked you for any serious injuries, had to pull back your suit.”

You notice the way he leans back from you, you take it as a sign of worry.

“Don’t worry, there was nothing serious. I didn’t check under your mask either, if you’re worried about that too.” You thought he would’ve assumed you didn’t from your previous comment about his identity, but panic can make you forget things, you guess. “Just bruises, and I think I gave you a concussion. They’re probably from that red burst... sorry about that by the way.”

“Probably?” He asked.

You hummed a yes, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don’t actually know much about these powers.” You played with the neon light of the glow stick you always carried around with you, in case you ever needed a recharge. You ‘pulled’ the light from the stick, admiring it. Spider-Man seemed to admire it too, though probably in an investigative manner.

After a while of molding it into different forms, you put it back on the stick. Peter took that as a sign to speak up.

“You don’t mind me knowing your identity?”

You stare up at him with a cheeky smile. Peter thought you looked beautiful under the red glow of the glowstick. “I wasn’t trying to hide it.”

Peter flushes a bright red, thankful for his mask. He nods slowly, pretending he was processing the information.

“I should.. leave.” He stands up, a little too fast for his dizziness. As a consequence, he nearly falls back down, if it weren’t for your fast reflexes.

“I think you should stay a while.” Your smile was wonderful. “Wait ‘till you feel fine.”

Peter looked out the small windows of the warehouse, it was still dark out. That was a relief, since that day, or maybe tomorrow who knows, was a school day. “Okay.” He mutters adorably. He plops back down on the sleeping bag.

You sit next to him again, taking a bite of your own sandwich. “I don’t imagine you’re actually hungry.” He nods back at you.

“You should take these back.” He makes an effort to shove the items back in your bag, but you stop him before he can.

“No, you should keep them.” He can tell you seem worried.

“Y’know, I think my concussion is--” He tries to stand up, yet you pull him back down.

You gave him an all-knowing look, “It’s not. You’re still swaying.”

You see the spider eyes narrow at you, and you can’t help but think he’s adorable. It’s almost like Peter trying to figure out if you’re flirting with him or not. “You’re nice.”

“I caused your concussion.” You reply.

Right, you were the one that pulled Flash away from him. He’d heard the stories from the other kids, too. Man, you seemed absolutely perfect.

The rest of his time with you he insists on making small talk, even if you tell him not talking might help him rest up more. You weren’t exactly sure if it would, and he wasn’t either, which was one of the reasons he insisted.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to stop swaying. He had a small headache, which would most likely last for the rest of the day, but the dizziness had left him.

His main priority was to get out of there, not only to get home, but also because you were making him flustered. You liked teasing Spider-Man, despite not indulging in blush because of the mask. You could tell by the way he looked down or how he fiddled with his fingers.

“I think I’m good now.” You made him stand up to make sure he was telling the truth.

He passed that simple test so you showed him towards the exit.

You checked your phone, “12 am.”

He nods, sandwich bag webbed up to the drink for easier carriage. “Uh..” You hadn’t expected Spider-Man to be this awkward. “Thanks..?”

“Yeah,” You smile. “No problem.”

He turns to head out but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He nearly jumps back when you press a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“See ya around?” Your smile turned cheeky.

“Y-Yeah!” He exclaims out nervously. A second later, he’s right out the door. Even if he has a mask on, he’s not risking embarrassing himself in front of you.

“God, why do I have to be so awkward?”

#spider-man x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu x reader

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expired-monster-craft-smp · 4 years ago

Text

Vibes Dream SMP members give off (in my opinion)

Dream

Barked at people in high school ironically but it became unironic real quick

Can’t cook very well but is good with a knife, especially at a fast pace

One of those kids who either purposely spells the first word wrong in a spelling bee to just be done with it right away or tries the hardest and manages to win (there is no inbetween for this heathen)

Bites ice cream with his teeth

Has snorted pixie stix far too many times and sneezed blue after each time

Eats bananas with the peels

Wears mismatched socks

Has taken a bite out of a pool noodle because he liked the texture and impulsively bit it (ADHD things✨😌)

Walks around looking extremely high but he’s just spacin out and stuck in his head

Dreams (lmao) in Minecraft and video games in general

Will flirt with anything that moves but has no idea how to respond to compliments

Makes fun of himself first before anyone else can

Has eaten an orange peel and it wasn’t that bad in his humble opinion

Wears khaki shorts

Eats the wax part of the baby bell cheese

Doesn’t actually know what genre his music taste is cause he vibes to everything

Georgenotfound

Picks at the skin on his lip when it’s dry so it bleeds and he tries not to give in by licking his lips often enough to the point where it became a habit

Wears velcro shoes because he doesn’t feel like tying them (he knows how, he just doesn’t wanna do it)

Eats peanut butter straight from the jar

Makes that disgusting “ants on a log” thing (celery stick filled with peanut butter topped with a row of raisins)

Can’t drink milk plain, it’s gotta have some sort of flavour

Can draw a perfect straight line but his circles look Terrible

Eats cheez-its like cereal without milk

Loves making little noises so much like he walks around his house doin chores and he’s just goin “memememenownownwnkwkshskshkshskhs”

Hates wearing socks

Coloured his tongue with highlighters because they’re non-toxic

Constantly tapping his feet and hands to a song/beat playing in his head

I can’t imagine this man using a bike of any sort, so Imma say he doesn’t know how

Can’t be licked by dogs because he’s used to being licked by his cat so it makes him uncomfortable

Can actually sing pretty well but gets real nervous in front of people so he fucks it up

Sapnap

No idea how to cook anything other than Mac and cheese please help this man

Meows at cats because he wants to confuse them and laughs Way too hard when he does (his laugh is like sunshine so I’ll allow it)

Would be fantastic at braiding hair Idk why

Gives the BEST fuckin hugs EVER

When singing, he makes noises for the instrumental parts too

Wanted to play the drums at one point

Really likes pit bulls but he’s more of a cat person so he loves them from afar

Only vaguely knows how to shave his face properly without hurting himself

Opportunities for him come up out of pure luck but mans is skilled for them so it works out well almost Always

Used to or currently has a skateboard and isn’t too bad

ALWAYS has bruises appearing everywhere for no reason, he doesn’t even know where 90% of them are from

Calls his friends twinks to jokingly bully them and gets away with it because he himself is not a twink

Gets sudden bursts of energy in the middle of the night and just shimmies around a bit to try and deal with it

Favours spearmint over peppermint

Arsonist

Banned from three (3) Dave & Busters in Texas

Badboyhalo

Washes his hands after doing literally anything

Likes the bird exhibits at the zoo (specifically the penguins)

Very good at cooking, best at soups and stews

If he painted his nails they would definitely be a baby blue

Overthinks very simple things and it makes him look less smart than he actually is

Drinks tap water

Probably prefers whiskey over beer

Knows how to tap dance a bit

Surprisingly good at taking and handling shots

Steady hands

Adds extra chocolate to hot chocolate

Plays sudoku and is really really good at it (only uses pen when he plays)

Everytime he sees a Himalayan salt lamp he NEEDS to lick it despite knowing it’s very salty and he’ll pull a face afterwards

Not great at Rock Paper Scissors

Wears sunglasses inside for no reason at all, he just,,,Does

Still has a stuffed animal from childhood perched on his bed

Probably tried his hand at archery

Tommyinnit

He has no idea how to use a baby voice on children or animals, so he just talks to them normally

Wears socks to bed

His fingers are double jointed

Always starts twitching if he stays still for too long because he’s gotta move around

His shoes and have different laces and it bothers everyone but himself

Doodles on himself in class when he’s bored or not paying attention

Has really good hearing, both with pitch and volume

Can’t eat tomato’s by themselves, it’s either gotta be in sauce form or with something else

FUCKING LOVES STRING CHEESE

Terrible handwriting

Favourite part of a slice of bread is the crust

Wants to paint his nails black to be cool and edgy but his hands are far from steady and he has no clue how to paint nails

Pretty affectionate with close friends (like Tubbo and Wilbur) off stream/camera

He likes pears for some reason

Wilbur Soot

Is constantly having to decide between leaving his hair as is or shaving all of it off

He also thinks about adding some colour but never actually does

Most tea is gross to him

Everytime he puts a breath mint thats circular in his mouth, he pretends it’s a pill and he’s taking drugs because he thinks that’s funny

He does that vacant state as a joke but that really what he looks like when he’s spacing out

Likes to aggressively flirt with his male friends but if his female friends flirt with him, he gets a bit flustered

Has probably accidentally swallowed a guitar pick

Once drank two entire jars of pickle juice

Bonks his head on anything and everything

He has broken a pair of glasses by walking face first into a pole outside

Thinks kinetic sand is fun

Has passionate arguments with others about trivial and random topics like chicken feet

Can open a beer bottle with his teeth

Would accidentally pop and swallow a bracket if he had braces

Tubbo

Hates sharp cheddar cheese

Everytime he learns a new word it’s in every sentence he says for the next week or so

Ate candle wax for a dare once

Doesn’t know how to tie a tie and will probably never learn

Wanted to do ballet at one point but decided not to

He has eaten multiple flowers for absolutely no reason other than wanting to know how they taste

Starts vibrating if he’s too excited

Used to bite his nails

ABSOLUTELY DESPISES MUSTARD

Has eaten paper and says it doesn’t taste that bad

Enjoys telling his friends how much they mean to him (this has resulted in Tommy and Wilbur crying on a few seperate occasions)

Spaces out a lot and doesn’t often pay attention to his surroundings

Gets lost inside of Best Buy’s

Likes s’mores but doesn’t properly understand how to make them

Technoblade

Learned to cook purely out of spite and found it’s actually pretty fun

Constantly getting smacked in the face by trees when walking outside

Really likes apple pie

Everytime he looks at potatoes he thinks of all the hours he spent trying to win the potato war

Starts things as a joke and gets too into it

Doesn’t like the taste of most energy drinks

Has rubbed salt and lemon juice into an open wound to just,,see how it felt (he did it once and Hated it but did it again because he forgot what it felt like)

Sometimes hates how quiet he is because everyone he knows is loud and talks over him

Despite how he is portrayed in the Dream SMP, he is extremely loyal to his friends and would kill for them

Over seasons his food because he can’t taste it otherwise

Really good balance

Doesn’t like to wear bright colours, but still enjoys wearing colours

Good at knitting

Quackity

Actually fairly quiet when off camera

Will accidentally use Spanish grammar while speaking English sometimes

Country music confuses him

Doesn’t really like kids but they really like him

Can’t dance

Hardest drugs he’s ever done is second hand smoke from a cigarette and children’s Tylenol

His favourite jolly ranchers are the red and blue ones

He uses lighters as fidget toys basically

Will have a breakdown, take a bubble bath, and call himself the self care king

Dehydrated

Wants a pet rat but he already has a cat and doesn’t wanna risk anything

Constantly questions why his main source of income is playing Minecraft with two 16 year olds

Karl Jacobs

Probably ate a spider once

Would wear those socks that are like gloves for you feet where it separates all the toes

Eats ravioli straight from the can, cold

Can answer an incredibly complex math equation fairly easily but will stumble over 12x11

Loves kids so much and speaks to them in a soft voice

Tried making ramen in a coffee pot and broke it

Drinks 2 monster energy drinks a day on average

Likes to open walnuts with his teeth but doesn’t actually eat them

The embodiment of that one John Maulany joke where he says you could spill soup in his lap and HE’D apologize to YOU

Loves physical affection so so much!!!!

If he moves his wrists in a certain way, they pop Really Loudly

Fantastic at making cookies

Fundy

Lowkey actually a furry but more on like, a cat boy level than fursuit level

Drives a Honda Civic

Likes ABBA

Adds parsley to almost anything he makes food-wise

Loves garlic bread so much, he’d commit a federal crime for it

Middle child vibes

Decent at skiing

Good at singing but isn’t terribly confident

Seems responsible at first glance but in reality he’s pretty chaotic and childish

Bad at spelling

Always cuts his nails way too short so they always feel weird/hurt

Likes bracelets and rings

Thinks pastel colours slap

JSchlatt

Despite the character he plays, he’s actually really sweet

He’s genuinely that cryptic off camera as he is on camera

Can cook but chooses not to most of the time

Would probably say “what pussy size you wear” to anyone who asks him to buy pads

Not actually as intimidating as he appears to be

Lowkey would fight a child

Shuts down when someone compliments him, often using aggression as a front because holy shit they just called him handsome and kind what the Fuck-

Jokingly says his license is suspended but in all actuality he never got his license in the first place

He has two (2) extra teeth but they don’t need to be removed so he kept them

Has a stick n poke of a stickman on his ankle he got in high school

Likes physics

This is already very long, and I still plan on adding more.

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freyjafm · 4 years ago

Text

hi everybody ! i'm 𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐝 , but you can call me later 😉 i'm your resident virgo , an avid tea latte stan and enjoy watching too many true crime docus . i'm currently a full time student & part time worker , so i'm not always accessible , but i promise i'll get back to u in 3-5 business days ! i'll be playing new york's rising it girl , miss 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚𝒋𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒅 herself ! under the read more below , you will find her statistics , her background , and her wanted connections ! tap that heart button 4 me to slither into your dms like an alaskan bull worm ! ps , i don't fck with discord so i don't have that . :(

freyja sayid was spotted in the fashion district adorning jimmy choo , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to wonder what she thinks of me by chloe x halle . you may know them as @FREYJA or as that aisha potter lookalike . their twenty second birthday just passed . while living in the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be cunning but on the other hand captivating . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . + ( freyja arm in arm with newest oil heir beau, weeks after messy break up with a prime minister’s nephew / what seems to be freyja sayid poorly sneaking out the back of a club at 4 am / what’s next for new york’s rising it girl, freyja sayid? )

𑁯໋ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐀'𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 ,

first. freyja ( named after the goddess )

middle. blaire ( named after her maternal great-grandmother )

last. sayid

dob. 19/02/99 ( 22 yo )

pob. bern, switzerland

height. 5′5 1/2

orientation. bisexual & biromantic

ethnicity. half white on her mother’s side and half malaysian on her father’s side.

parents. atalie sayid ( mother, senator for the state of new york ) and amirul sayid ( father, current deputy prime minister of malaysia )

siblings. 2 elder sisters, 2 elder brothers ( 5 in total ) all in politics in some fashion ( eg, the current mayor of a city, chief of staff to a diplomat, working under senior cabinet members, etc ! )

career claim. jennie kim ( minus ALL musical claims )

𑁯໋ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ,

youngest daughter born to the sayid family, a powerhouse of politicians. her mother is a current sitting senator for new york and her father is the current deputy prime minister of malaysia. they met years prior, during her mother’s first term meanwhile her father was the former attorney general for malaysia, at a un gala. as much as they both were passionate and concerned about their work, love never had a timing and they were married the following year. all the siblings have relatively normal age gaps ( the most being 4 ) but freyja was a bit of a surprise, and the only sibling in her early twenties. the rest are in their thirties, with her eldest sister nearing forty soon. that, paired with the fact freyja showed zero interest in politics, allowed them to have a rather hollow and strained relationship. she has a somewhat stable and semi-consistent relationship with her older sister, the second youngest, but they don’t meet very often due to work. they often treated her like the ultimate downfall of the sayid family.

growing up, money and the likes clearly weren’t a problem. as a child, she’d tag along often with her mom or dad ( rarely ever both ) and occasionally with a sibling, and hated anything that wasn’t sweet, glittery, or one of a kind. helping with campaigns were boring in freyja’s eyes and she’d often sneak away to go doodle in the bathroom walls or play on her blinged out, pink nintendo ds. needless to say, this was never going to be her jam. her parents role in her life was rather inconsistent, but not on purpose. it was mainly work-related, so she was taken care by a few trusted nannies and butlers. her siblings all moved out by the time freyja was finishing up elementary school, she was used to being alone.

not much else is known of freyja ( everything was p chill ) until she enters high school. she enrolls into a private and elite boarding school in europe and instantly becomes a hybrid ; both the social butterfly and the queen bee. the sudden attention she receives and the feeling of having people under her thumb sets her heart on fire. she adores this, loves it even. she gets what she wants with a bat of her bambi eyes or a little whine, but no one really can say no to her. beauty and power go hand in hand, and freyja sayid masters it by age fifteen. while it was a boarding school, her parents purchased an estate for freyja to stay at instead nearby with her nannies and butlers and security. what that meant to freyja ? throw the sickest summer parties before school started and the best holiday get togethers the first week of winter break ( before she inevitably flies off in a private jet with her friends to a sayid family owned villa near the alps ) and she began drinking / smoking early on. the world was this giant oyster and freyja the pearl. graduated with honors as valedictorian and prom queen, voted ‘ most likely to rule the world ‘ and oh, how she is coming so close.

after graduating, she spent a few years travelling and partying with friends. she spent less and less time with family, only for formal events or re-elections or other boring shit she didn’t give two cents about. most of the time she showed up stoned to pass the time away. most of her antics were able to be paid off by her family to save themselves some embarrassment, but sometimes ( notably about a rumored new beau or leaving the club at ungodly hours ) would slip onto tabloids. and yes, her pr manager is 100% always stressing out over freyja.

her influence over value was noticed by brands by age 19, when something she wore was sold out as soon as the pictures of her in it went viral. by 20, she was soon modelling for major brands and received early invitations to attend fashion week for brands like gucci, saint laurent, and chanel. dubbed ‘ human gucci ‘ and ‘ human chanel ‘ due to her fashion sense. hairpins that she sported one spring went viral and were soon known as ‘ freyja’s hairpins ‘ , a huge tell tale sign of her powerful influence over value and selling power. had modelled for magazines such as vogue ( internationally, too ) / harper’s bazaar / marie claire / elle / high cut / w / cosmopolitan / and billboard. currently, the face of ‘ hera ‘, a south korean luxury brand, the house ambassador for chanel, collabed with samsung to release a limited edition version of a phone with her signature color ; red, known as ‘ freyja’s red ‘. recently, she has worked as an editor for her latest magazine release ( feb’ 21 for vogue ) and last year, released a collaboration with ‘ gentle monster ‘ , a south korean luxury eyewear brand, and was just named as the face for a popular liquor brand in sweden. she is taking a small break until summer to give her some time to breath with a hectic life before she goes back into working. basically, her face is like everywhere.

a jealous, vindictive sort of bitch. wants what other people has because she wants to see how far the world will bend for her and because she knows she can have it. has cheated with partners before, though it has toned down a bit now. will flirt and mess with someone, not caring if they are in a relationship or talking to someone. often goes viral for ‘ sitting pretty ‘ and really loves being at the dead center of the spotlight. at the same time, the void of being ‘ abandoned ‘ by family makes her extremely loyal to friends ( yes, she picks sides after friendship and romantic breakups ) and her chosen family. will go to the end of the world for them, often spoils them with matching jewelry or shirts to go on cute dates together. bad day ? she’ll get a lift over, make you pack, and head to the sayid family jet to go wherever you want to go. a good ally to have, a terrifying enemy to have.

𑁯໋ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐉𝐀'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ,

something based on ‘ drivers license ‘ lyrically by olivia rodrigo .

something based on ‘ gone ‘ lyrically by roseanne park .

something based on ‘ love somebody ‘ lyrically by lauv .

something based on this gifset . ( 🎐 ) [ other : i just . . love this and want it . HDHDH the bond can be figured out beforehand ! ]

something based on this post . ( 🍶 ) [ other : most likely something toxic or angsty ! ]

something based on this post . ( 🍈 ) [ other : childhood or friends attempting to test the waters with something new ?? PHEW ! ]

down for anything not on here ! let me know if freyja fits anything of yours, a brand new idea that could just work, and any of the more ‘ basic ‘ plots !

#، 𓂅 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚𝒋𝒂 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒅 ⟆ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨 . ɞ #wealthyhq:intro

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gossipchii · 4 years ago

Text

Drive to survive

FF.net: here / AO3: here

Characters: Ishida Yamato

Words: 5100+

Notes: I promised this on twitter, and here as well and well, it happened. A Digimon story on my latest obsession. the Formula 1.

It’s safe to say I got excited, this is my longest story in forever!

Anyway, hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy!

He was making history; he could not let himself forget it. Not ever had there been a Japanese driver to win podiums, and so far, during that season only, he had five. He had been working towards where he was right now ever since he was 8, when his dad had taken him to a kid’s go-kart circuit in Tokyo and had found out his heart had never beaten quicker. His mom had gotten scared when he told her how much he had liked it, and that he wanted to go back.

The owner of the place, a former engineer for Formula 1, was impressed as soon as he placed his eyes on him.

“He’s got talent,” he had told his mother, she shrugged it off. It was only a hobby, it had to be.

When his grandparents had gone visiting from Paris, Yamato had insisted on them seeing him race, he was only ten at the time. His grandfather knew he raced go-karts from his calls with his mother, but since she had insisted it was just a hobby, he took it that way. Of course, as an old French man, he was a big afficionado of car races, and nevertheless he was impressed by how fast his young grandson was.

“He’s a natural Natsuko, you must understand this is not just a hobby.”

Yamato traveled back to France with his grandparents, after he had heard them discussed with his mother about him taking a shot at race teams in Europe, professional ones. He had never been a professional before, he was not even sure what that meant, since Formula 1 was not a popular sport between his classmates, it was all about soccer and baseball, he did not know people could get paid by racing.

Michel, his grandfather, had a friend, who knew a friend, who was a part of the recruiting team of Renault’s quarry, and as soon as they saw 10-year-old Yamato behind his tiny wheel, they knew he was a natural, good enough to start training as soon as possible with their team.

It all happened too fast for him, he had to go back to Tokyo to pack up his life and leaving for good. He was not even certain if he were feeling sad or nostalgic, all he knew was school would turn into something he could do at home, and in French, and that he would be racing all the time. It all sounded like a dream, really.

“Don’t tell your grandma I’m telling you this but go kick those English kids’ butts!” had been the encouragement words coming from his grandpa before his first-ever professional race. He was 13 at the time, already gaining enough attention from the media, especially from his home country, despite only stepping foot in Japan once a year.

He tried not to read anything regarding himself, they tended to be mean, and underappreciating him. He knew after the first article he had read, he would never read it again, what was the point anyway?

“Next time I see anyone writing something mean they’ll be fired, even if they work elsewhere,” his dad had threatened.

“It’s okay, I don’t even care anymore. Let them talk, all I care about is getting podium, again.”

And so, he did, until he was old enough to jump to the bigger leagues. From Formula 3 to Formula 2, and finally, with only 21 years old, signing a five-year contract with the team Michel had always admired: Scuderia Ferrari.

Sadly enough, he had not had the chance to see him drive in red, because he had passed away due to a heart-attack, his grandmother passing away shortly after. People said she had died from heartbreak. Yamato only took it as another reason why he had to prove his best. His management team had told him media were already calling him the best Japanese driver in history, and that was nice, but only if he made it reality.

Yamato had helped Ferrari pound back to being the first-place team once again, after years of competing against Red-Bull and Mercedes. But he had only been the fifth best racer, not good enough if he wanted to make history.

That week he was back in his homeland, Japan greeting him as a hero for the Japanese Grand Prix. It was scary how much his face was everywhere he looked, even more so than pop-icons. He was glad his team respected his choice to remain mostly private, and when they wanted advertising, his team-mate, an Austrian dude who was six years older than him, was more than happy to do the interviewing.

It was safe to say he was not pleased when they asked him to do a photoshoot for a local fashion brand, up and coming worldwide, apparently. Yamato did not care much about fashion, despite him being called the best dressed racer a few years in a row. Not that he knew about it, plus he usually put on an all-black outfit and he was through.

“Why can’t Lechner do it?”

“They want you specifically, Ishida.” His manager said softly, “even the Japanese embassy is paying for this partnership. Aren’t you proud to be Japanese?”

“Of course, I am, asshole.” He smirked, rolling his eyes as he decided it was the perfect timing to visit his brother.

As expected, he was on a tight schedule, this could never count as a vacation visit to Japan, but he had asked his team to send him into Japan two days earlier to visit his family. It was a tradition he tended to do ever since he started racing world-wide.

He took his ever-loved motorbike and drove as fast as he could to Odaiba. Driving a motorbike had been what he could call his hobby, since karting had turned into his job, having built a couple of them while living in Italy.

“He better be home,” he stretched his arms as he opened the door in front of him, knowing damn well his brother always made the mistake to leave it unlocked. He heard him singing in his bathroom, which meant he was finishing taking a shower. He looked around to confirm his mother was not home and shrugged it off. He had drifted apart from her when he initially moved to France with his grandparents, and even more so when his parents (finally) got divorced.

“Don’t you dare opening that door if you’re naked.”

“YAMATO?” Takeru opened the door wearing nothing but his tiny white trousers.

“I truly do not feel like seeing you naked,” but of course his younger brother could not care less and ran to greet him with a hug. He was the only person on earth allowed to hug him.

“What a funny way of admitting how much you had missed me!!” He gifted him one of his traded white smiles, the warmest smile Yamato knew. “Nervous for this weekend?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain, I don’t see why I should be.”

“Even when it rains you succeed, you’re always making everyone proud!”

“Even you?” he served himself oolong tea. He was surprised to see beer in his mom’s fridge, forgetting for a second his younger brother was legally allowed to drink.

“You know I’m your number one fan, those old-rich men are nothing compared to the original Yamato Ishida stan!” Takeru walked into his room to get dressed, for Yamato’s relief. He had offered his mother if they wanted to move to a bigger apartment, considering he now had the money to provide her and Takeru with something better, but she had refused, and he gave up after the third time.

“Going out?”

“I was going to, with the good-old gang, but that was before I knew you would pay me a visit.”

“So Hikari and company, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, even Taichi is coming, you should come, too!” Taichi was his oldest friend, the only one he missed when he moved to Europe.

“Nah, you know I don’t drink.” And it was not merely because of his strict diet, he was not a fan of what alcohol did with his mindset. “But you go and have fun, I must get back to my place, anyway, and be as early as possible in Suzuka tomorrow morning.” Takeru looked disappointed, Yamato felt a pinch of guilt for not being what a fun older brother was supposed to be. “But I’ll text Taichi! Remind everyone they’re invited this weekend, VIP seats and all!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, brother.” Yamato smiled softly before playing with Takeru’s hair like he used to when they were kids, even if he was almost his height.

He took a chopper ride from Tokyo to Suzuka the morning after. He had much rather taken the train, but Ferrari strictly prohibited him from doing so.

“Are you insane? People would eat you alive, you’re pretty much as famous as Hello Kitty is in this place!” He ignored his comment, it was always annoying to Yamato when they were in Japan, because most of his team-mates were foreign to Japanese culture, and he did not have the patience to educate every single one of them.

It was Thursday, which meant he could do strength exercises before the testing race the next day.

“How’s my superstar doing?” the mere voice of his manager irritated him, but he had another year signed up to him, afterwards he had decided to work by himself. After all, he still had another three-year contract with Ferrari.

“He’s extremely focused,” and he was strength training was the hardest to him.

“Don’t forget you have that photoshoot I had mentioned you in an hour, and I wouldn’t like you to go there all sweaty.”

“Do you think I would forget?” but in fact, he had forgotten it, his mind had probably erased the memory of that specific event.

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same track,” he winked at Yamato, before shutting the door of the hotel’s gym.

Yamato did not have much of a choice, so he took a cold shower before heading to one of the hotel’s meeting rooms. It had all been transformed for it to look like a Sakura garden. In reality, it was October and Sakura’s were far from blossoming. He would be lying if he did not admit it looked rather breathtaking.

He had heard about this up-and-coming brand. They had turned the Japanese typical attire and turned it into mainstream. He had to admit he was a fan.

He had also heard the brand had been started by a young student from Bunka Fashion College, under the wings of a bigger brand. He had heard, not that he cared, really, that the founder was around his age. Suddenly, he was curious.

“Ishida Yamato, what a pleasure to finally meet you!” a man around his thirties greeted him rather enthusiastic.

“You must be…?”

“Oh, you’re a funny one! Yoshio Fujiwara, of course!” And the Fujiwara branding was the bigger one who had taken the young designer under his wings, he wondered where she was.

“Of course, of course,” he bowed, always traying himself to remain close to his Japanese customs and traditions. “A pleasure to meet you, Fujiwara-san.”

“No need to be formal with me, I’m very used to western traditions, having spent most of your life in Europe, I would have killed for an opportunity like that!” Yamato tried his best not to roll his eyes, faking his best smile. “It is our biggest pleasure that you have accepted to be the face of our newest collection.” Yamato saw a petit figure running around the room with pieces of clothing covering her, he wondered if that was Fujiwara counterpart.

“It’s always delightful to put Japan’s name high, you know.” He cleared his voice, “so, am I also going to meet Takenouchi-san?”

“You absolutely will, she must be somewhere around… Sora!?” The fast-paced person finally stopped, uncovering her face from the piles of clothing she was carrying. “Don’t be rude and introduce yourself to Yamato.”

“Sure thing, just let me finish up the final touches and…”

“Now?!” Yamato noticed a subtle sigh coming from her lips. She surely seemed young, barely his own age. For the first time since the encounter started, he felt safe.

She ran right next to him, her attention still clearly on the mess she had left. He could immediately tell how passionate she was about what she was doing.

“It’s a pleasure, Ishida-san. I would love to lie and say I’m a fan, but truth is this is my first time having an encounter with races, or cars in general…”

“Sora! You’re being rude!”

“Sorry, I still take the subway and I never got a driver’s license!” Yamato snorted, in those five seconds he decided that redhead was his favorite person in the room.

“Well, I’m glad to admit this is not my first encounter with your brand, I’ve read so much.” Her eyes lit up; Yamato could have even sworn he spotted a subtle blush in her face.

He was rather awkward in front of the cameras, never quite a natural. Another reason why his team-mate was the one to do most of Ferrari’s advertisements. But Sora helped him feel in his element, somehow. He liked how much she got into her character, almost ignoring him by how much she cared on how her designs looked on him.

“I think we’re good, we shouldn’t take much more of your time.” By then, Fujiwara had left the room, Sora was certain he had slipped into the hotel bar.

“That must have been the less stressful photoshoot I’ve ever had, thank you, Takenouchi-san.”

“Oh, don’t call me that! I’m not older than you are.”

“Then you must accept to drop the formalities with me as well.” A grimaced appeared on her face, clearly unsure.

“But you’re a client, that would be completely unprofessional!”

“I promise I won’t tell anybody,” Sora liked that, a dirty-little-secret.

“Fine, but if Fujiwara is around, I’ll go back in character.”

“Deal,” Yamato grabbed a bottle of water and doubted if he should say what his mind was begging at him to do. “Are you staying for the race?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had no idea how this worked.” She shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t understand why it lasts so many days, it’s confusing. This whole sport is confusing.” Sora liked sports, for instance, sports where a ball had to go from one side of the court to the other, not cars and tires.

“It’s not that hard, you’ll see,” they took a seat on the fake grass Sora had built for the photoshoot. “The first day is merely for us to get familiar with the track, nothing formal. The second day the places for the actual race, which is on Sunday, get settled. And that’s pretty much it.”

“And you get to travel the world for that?”

“People can be very serious about their cars.”

“Incredible,” she locked eyes with Yamato, she was not familiar with his sport but she sure was with his face, and not only because it was everywhere she looked around the city’s billboards, but because she had studied it for the whole photoshoot, and even for the particular line she was about to launch.

“It would be fun if you stayed, some friends around our age are coming too, so it won’t be that weird for you.”

“Okay, but I’ll stay for fun, not as a part of my job schedule.”

“Great!” He said way too enthusiastic, regretting it right away. “I can get you great tickets, so don’t worry about that.” She chuckled, taking out her VIP pass.

“Don’t worry, I have that part settled.”

“Of course, you do,” he felt stupid, all sponsors got the best tickets, even better than he could even get most times.

“So, I’ll see you around? Do you say break a leg for this?”

“Absolutely not! But I appreciate your luck wishes.”

He was glad on Friday’s there was never much of a crowd, that way he could stay focused on what mattered: getting comfortable enough with the track. Whenever he raced, he felt an almost out of body experience, where he could disconnect from his current reality and be one with his car. Ferrari had nicknamed him the racing samurai, for how dramatic his recovering could be whenever he was behind on the race.

Japan had never particularly been the biggest crowd when it came to Formula 1, but ever since he had started getting podiums, and making a name out of himself, it had a 180 degrees change. Ferrari could not be happier with the now 23-yeard-old racer, he was smart, analytic, and cold headed.

When he got back to the Pits, he was greeted by his family, not expecting to see them until the day after.

“You were pretty fast out there!” his dad said, as awkward as he usually was.

“This was merely the boring race, we were just testing the track,” he smiled widely, greeting him by what could be considered a hug, or sort of one.

“But Hiroaki is right, you were extremely fast. That car you’re racing, is a beauty,” seeing his mother was always an adventure for Yamato. Ever since he left home, at such a young age, they had drifted apart. Naturally, she was worried for her older son, racing and putting his life at risk every time he did so. Yamato had heard her fighting with his grandpa countless times, until she finally gave in. She was never going to win, Yamato loved karting the same way she loved writing.

“You were tremendous there, superstar!” his manager came to greet him, as much as he annoyed him, he was not a bad person, he just clearly loved the money Yamato made him gain. “You better keep up the pace the rest of the weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” Yamato served himself a cup of tea, while he took a seat in front of the screen that was studying his track performance. He was nearly obsessed with improving, never not paying attention at even the slightest mistake.

“Before I forget,” his manager was French, and spoke a very heavily accented English. His family, apart from Takeru, barely spoke any English at all, hence why they did not communicate with one another. Yamato despised that, considering he could speak four languages. “Young Takenouchi asked me to give you her number, Romeo.” Yamato’s cheeks flushed, as he took with both hands the business card he was being given.

“I’ll quickly go to my room,” he excused himself with his family, promising he would meet them for a quick dinner.

He wrote and re-wrote his text message towards Sora, not wanting to appear desperate. Formula 1 drivers, at least some of them, had the reputation of being more than successful with the opposite sex, however Yamato was rather unlucky. He put so much effort into his performance inside the track, he tended to neglect everything else. Hence why it felt nice to have a close to normal conversation with someone his age, a woman his age.

“This is Yamato, I heard the rumor you wanted to have my number,” he finally sent, wanting to throw his phone over the window right after.

“How come we spent so much time talking yesterday and I had to ask your manager for your number?” she replied right after, Yamato felt relieved.

“I guess we lost track of time.”

“Hey, I had to come back to Tokyo, business matters. But I’m not one to break any promises, so I hope you still save a seat for me for the big race on Sunday. Did I say that correctly?”

Yamato immediately felt disappointment, but he had to understand he was not dealing with someone unoccupied; this was a young entrepreneur with a worldwide successful fashion brand.

“Are you sure you want to make a four-hour trip to see some car racing?”

“As I said, I’m not a promise breaker. Plus, is not Formula 1 supposed to be the best car racing in the world? I won’t miss it, and I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry, and your spot on Scuderia Ferrari will remain untouched.”

“Great, I’m actually pretty excited! You have turned it into such a big deal for the country, I’ve never seen such a media coverage on the sport before. How was the tracking test?”

Yamato’s stomach made a turn. He did not want to focus on the pressure it meant to be in his home country, he just wanted to do what he always did, which meant to give his 100% performance, and get better every time. He just really hoped it would not rain on Sunday…

Him and Sora kept texting for the rest of the day, and the morning after as he got ready for the weekend’s second race. His goal was to qualify on the front row, that was always a determining factor for the final race. His mom had been right when she mentioned his car was a beauty, because it may not be the fastest car, that would still go to Mercedes, but if Ferrari had something no other team could fight with, was beauty.

He was not one to make many friends, but he was always amicable with the rest of the drivers. He saw them more than he saw his family, and even grew up with a big amount of them, but he always tried to focus on what they really were: his competition.

The weather so far had looked hopeful, a rainy race was one of his biggest fears, he had already had more than one rainy accident, and they had been hard to get over. He tried not to put too much thought into it, how he put his life at risk every time he got into the car, because there was no point in doing so, considering he was not going to stop, racing was the most important part of his life.

He got behind his wheel and his team assured his car was ready to go for the last time, and he got into driving mode, forgetting everything else, the pressure, the people, the weather, his friends. He almost disassociated from everything, but the track, and his team speaking whenever there was something to say, like which place he was on at the moment.

He had gotten so used to Ferrari, after being over two years on the team, that he could go as far as to describe its motor as a part of him. The first few laps were always the most stressful ones, and were most of the accidents happened, everyone tried to gain that valuable P1 as fast as possible, but Yamato thought of it as a waste of energy, he would rather stay behind for the first few laps and give it all in after. It had worked for him so far, avoiding the turmoil behind it.

There were 53 laps in the Japanese track, not that he counted them, but he always studied the tracks of wherever he was at. He just focused on staying in track, passing the rest of the drivers and being fast, and his team made sure he did not forget where his position was at the moment, which was a P5, his teammate was currently second. Fifth was not a bad position, it was still second row, but it was not his goal, he truly wanted first row. In the end he had managed to end up fourth, which his team congratulated him for, he still was not happy.

Back in Ferrari’s box, he had a bigger crowd greeting him, not only his parents and brother, but some of his closest childhood friends.

“Man, how does it feel to be able to fly!” Taichi said before giving him a big hug, which Yamato did not mind, he guessed he was also allowed to hug him.

“What I wonder is what that amount of speed can do with your body, I read you lose up to 3 liters every time you race,” Joe patted his shoulder, the soon-to-be-doctor never missed to drop a random anatomy fact on him. “And sorry, but it seems to Koushiro your car’s machinery is way more impressive than you.”

His third friend, a genius redhead, had been talking non-stop with his team’s engineers, asking questions Yamato could possibly never answer.

He spent the next few hours doing interviews, as much as he hated them, it was on his contract to do them before and after every Grand Prix. He also took more time studying his career, and where he could improve. He wanted to get podium on his home country more than he had ever wanted before.

But of course, he also took the chance to spend some time with his loved ones, catching up about their crazy adult lives.

“Koushiro could soon enough buy one of these teams, you know? He’s getting so rich!” Taichi had a big mouth, but they had gotten used to it. And to be fair with his brunette friend, he was not wrong, considering Koushiro’s software startup had gotten public, and the dude was only 22.

“And Jou’s about to be a doctor, and you, well, you didn’t get kicked out of Uni!” They all laughed, Taichi rolled his eyes. Yamato had gotten so comfortable with their conversation, he got scared when his phone began ringing.

“Yes?”

“Guess who’s just landed in Suzuka!” it was Sora, his heart skipped a beat. “I’m glad I made it a few hours before I had promised, I truly didn’t want to miss tomorrow’s race.”

“Where are you exactly? You should come join us! I’m at Ferrari’s tent with some childhood friends, I mean, if you’re not too tired.” His friends started yelling embarrassing things to him, as friends did whenever you spoke on the phone with someone, even if that someone was your own mother. Except, of course, it was not his mother.

“Great! I’ll ask the driver to drop me off.”

They spent the next few hours chatting, and laughing, and making fun of Yamato with embarrassing stories Sora was rather intrigued to keep on listening. Of course, Sora had hit it off with his friends, she was a great talker, they all had liked her, he could tell, especially with Koushiro, considering the man was the clearest book when it came to first impressions. He felt disappointed once he checked his watch to confirm it was time for him to go to bed, the big day was closer than ever.

Suzuka was one of the last races on Formula 1’s schedule, which meant every single point counted even more. He was disappointed when he checked the weather, there was a rain forecast, but there was nothing he could do, he still was willing to give the best race he had given in his career span. His friends and family wished him the best of luck, just as he dressed up in the famous red suit.

He had never felt this overwhelmed before, as soon as he stepped a foot outside of Scuderia Ferrari’s box, the crowd chanting his name was like nothing he ever heard before. He bowed shyly, turning the shouts even louder. Fame had never been something he had been looking for once he started racing in Formula 1, but he thought at the end of the day it was only inevitable. He really wanted to make his co-nationals proud.

P4 was not a bad place to start racing, yet he could hear his heart beating up to his ears. A rainy race was always messy, and there was always a bigger risk for accidents, not just for him, but for the other racers as well. He had to drive smartly; speed was not all that mattered in that moment.

His eyes were fixated on the checkered flag, as soon as it went down, his feet went all in. Suzuka’s Grand Prix finally starting.

As it was expected, some cars lost control on the very first curve, him being noticed by his team on the other side of the microphone. He hoped nothing bad had happened to them. On a rainy race it was important to have extra control while reaching a curve, and absolutely never trying to overpass another racer while on them.

By lap 30 he had improved to P3, the engine of the previous third place had had some issues, which pushed him into the pits. The Ferrari engine had significantly been improved for the current season, and it showed. It had been a while since the red team had had both of their cars in podium position, and he was doing quicker laps than the last year’s race.

Everything appeared to be going according to plan, Yamato wanted to win, of course, but he was not unhappy with the third place. Yet, the unthinkable happened on lap 49, when his teammate lost control of the steering wheel. It all happened so quickly, Yamato could barely avoid the inevitable crash, which was bad enough for them to call a red flag, every racer had been sent back into pits.

His teammate had been fine, he could even walk by himself; however, his car could have been confused with garbage. A shame, really, everything had been better than what they could have imagined. Now every podium expectation fell on his shoulders, and he could hear the public screaming his name even louder, as if he was some sort of rock star.

“Only 4 laps left, you can do it,” and he was now put in second place, a bittersweet feeling inside his gut.

The final lap felt like the longest he had driven, all he truly wanted was for it to end. He was less than two seconds away from the first place, which his team kept repeating. He knew he could do it, if he tried and overtake him near the end, right after the final curve… And so, he did, winning a podium for the first time in his short Formula 1 life career. He had not done it for himself only, but for Lechner as well. It felt insane, he was no longer feeling the ground, he was still flying somehow.

Champagne soaked him as soon as he stepped out of the car, being hugged by everyone on the famous red car team. He was not easily to make cry, but he could not help the tears coming out, and he wished, if he were ever going to cry again, it better be as good of a feeling as he finally lifted the trophy for Suzuka’s Grand Prix.

#fanfiction #digimon adventure #fanfic #ishida yamato #yamato ishida #formula 1 #formula one #sorato #sora takenouchi #takeru takaishi #taichi yagami #jou kido #koushiro izumi

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gustafsnightangel · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Lives Ch 36 Pt 2

She blew out a breath. “Ok how do I say this without sounding like a complete bitch?... I’m jealous. Stupidly jealous of something that I can’t change. Stupid because everyone in this room has welcomed me with open arms and so much love, yet I still feel so fucking alone. I’m jealous that this was what I missed out on, and let’s be real, it’s ridiculous, because I have nothing to be jealous about, because they’re my family now too.” She held her breath after blurting all that out, ashamed she’d felt that ugly feeling in the first place.

Her words stung, but not because they hurt him, no, he knew how lucky he was, the loving family he had. It stung because it reminded her of the childhood she’d been denied. They stung, because he hadn’t taken into consideration that she might feel like this, that he’d put her in a position where she felt out of place. “I love you.” He said tenderly. “My family loves you.” He held her a little tighter and kissed her temple. “And to be honest, I don’t know how to fix this.”

“You can’t.” Her voice barely a whisper. “It rears it’s head at the worst times and it’s so ridiculous.”

“I’d say normal considering.” He kissed her, those ruby red lips so soft. “You missed out on a lot love, I’d like to think that would be a normal reaction to having it shoved in your face like I’ve just done.”

“You haven’t shoved it in my face.” She looked at him, those soulful blue eyes staring into hers. “You’ve given me something I’ve never had. I just have to get the rest of my emotional baggage on board.” She sniped with a huff. His grin easing her heart.

“It’ll take time love.”

“I keep telling myself that, but then my head goes to what if I don’t? What if something happens and this is all taken away? I know it’s unlikely, but I always thought that with Quinn and look what happened there. Losing him, my parents, changed something in me and I don’t know how to deal with it, get past it.” Her voice shook with emotion and he hated that sound, the unimaginable grief.

“I don’t have the answers love, but I’ll help you find them.” He kissed her temple and felt her body relax as they swayed. “Together, you and me.”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that right?” She felt him smile against her cheek.

“So a certain sexy lawyer keeps telling me.” He smiled.

“I love you Gustaf, so much. Don’t ever change.”

“You are my world lovely lady. You and four wonderful kids.”

As the clock marched toward 12:30 the adults started to say their goodbyes, some wanting to go and sleep, some to hang around and drink, but not Gustaf. Oh no, he wanted to get her alone behind closed doors, just the two of them. The twins were still up with Brendan, the boys looking sheepish when they got caught out by Gustaf as he continued to dance with Sildie. They’ll be fine, he thought, they were having fun with Valter and he wasn’t about to stop it. The kids knew the rules, no grumpies the next day, and what grandpa says goes, his house, his rules.

“Shall we go home?” He asked, his finger trailing down her jaw before he kissed her as they swayed, still dancing and enjoying the time together. “I want to do wicked things to you kitten.” He purred as he rested his lips at her temple. “Make you moan.”

“Take me home daddy.” She whispered, stepping closer and brushing her body against his, the hardening length of him pressing into her hip, his groan more a snarl, her chuckle sinful.

“Go check on the kids.” He growled, kissing her sweetly. Swatting her ass gently as she walked away, she looked back over her shoulder and the bite of that bottom lip was like a red rag to a bull, the sachet of her hips making his cock throb. Oh he was putting her over his knee tonight, he decided, as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed her to say goodnight to his father.

“You three be good for grandpa please.” She said kissing each one on the head while they battled a frustrated Valter.

“Grandpa’s the boss.” Liam stated, they knew the rules.

“Yes he is. Have fun though ok? I love you.” She smiled at the chorus of love you mum. How could she not love that? “We’re only downstairs at home B.” She squeezed the teens shoulder as he nodded, knowing the kid needed to know where she was before heading back to Gustaf. They would be fine and she needed to let them go a little, they were safe, they were happy. Saying their goodbyes and good nights to the remaining members of his family they walked out the door and waited for the elevator, her finger drawing devastating patterns on the patch of chest he had on display. She itched to touch him there all night, that damn white shirt and his massive chest beneath it, she was so weak for him.

“They’re safe love.” He said softly as if reading her mind.

“I know.” Her nod was quick and she didn’t look at him. Hooking a finger under her chin he waited until her gaze met his. “I’m trying.” As if she felt compelled to voice it.

“I know you are love. It’ll take time to get used to being away from them, but thank you for letting dad have them tonight. He was over the moon.” He kissed her tenderly, so strong, so brave. He kept his desire on a short leash as they rode to their floor, his thumb gently grazing the tender skin of her inner wrist as he held her hand, lips nuzzling her neck, the soft giggle making him rock hard. “I like you in black velvet, soft and sexy.”

He stepped off the elevator and his smile died at the red tag across her apartment door, there was another over his. Turning her back into the elevator he just held her in there, shielding her, not wanting her to see it.

“Gustaf?” She laughed, and that laugh faltered when she saw his face. “What is it.”

“She was here.” He ground out between clenched teeth as he punched the button to take them back upstairs. “No, stay here.” He said barring her exit and line of sight from the elevator as the doors closed.

“Who, Ana?” She was confused.

“Good you didn’t see it.” He sighed, somewhat of a relief. He never wanted her to see that.

“See what?” She snapped.

“She tagged our doors, red spray paint.” He spat as he stepped off the elevator on his fathers floor, virtually dragging Sildie behind him, he didn’t want her to see what was written, he didn’t want her to have to deal with that, not now, not ever.

“Stop a minute.” She said sharply. “Stop!” He came to an abrupt halt and spun to look at her as she wrenched her hand from his, her tone sharp. Pain and fury looked back. “Don’t shut me out love.” She said softly. Sweet man don’t let her break you again, she said silently.

“I’m not I just... I don’t want you to see it, to have to deal with it.” He said, his voice trembling, not from fear, no, this was pure lethal fury.

“Ok I get that, but I’m a big girl, and they’re just words.” She kissed him tenderly, his body tense and vibrating. She’d never seen his rage like this, the slow simmering fury that could explode at any given moment. She needed to be the one with a level head while he prowled the corridor like a caged animal. “Let’s go home, call the building security, look at our feed from the front door and figure out what to do.” She put a hand on his chest to stop him mid stride before kissing him again and waited for his eyes to focus on hers. “Believe me when I tell you this Gustaf, I will not let her drive us apart or from our home. I meant what I said, I’ll fight for you, for us.”

“Me either, I just didn’t want you to see it. Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t have to see that, be called that.” He leaned his forehead against hers, willing his system to calm down, breathing her in slowly. “I’ll fight for us too.” How could he protect her, he wondered, how could he keep her safe?

“We’re stronger together love and if this is Ana, it will only hurt her when she faces court. Let’s get it logged, get the process moving, and then let it be.” She pressed the elevator button. “Breathe.” She said sternly and he obeyed as she tugged his hand to walk in with her. “And again.” She would be the calm in his storm, the partner with the level head, the logical thinker, even though she wanted to find this woman and bury the body once she was done. How dare you hurt my man again, she seethed silently, how fucking dare you.

“I love you.” He said softly. “And this wasn’t the start to the new year I wanted for us.”

“It’s a blip love. Nothing a coat of paint won’t fix.” She kissed him sweetly, trying to soothe his mind and the rage that stormed inside him. “I love you too. Don’t let her win. It’s just words, just some paint. I’m here with you, I’m safe. If she thinks a few words spray painted on my door is going to get me to leave you or cause chaos between us she has egregiously underestimated me and our relationship.”

“You’re right.” He breathed out, he’d over reacted, but it would hurt her to face what was written on their doors and he had no way of stopping it. “It just pisses me off. We’re trying to make a home, have our family together, the kids safe and happy. I just want to hunt her down and kick her ass, fucking rage at her.”

“This is what she wants love. She wants the turmoil, the anger, the attention. She wants you to be a mess.” She kept her tone gentle. “She wants you to lash out at her, at me, at the world. She thrives on chaos, don’t give it to her. Don’t give her the satisfaction of destroying the peace you’ve fought so hard for.”

“Well she’s fucking succeeding.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, wrestling his emotions.

“Don’t let her. I know that’s a difficult task, and I know you’re trying love. But don’t let her get in your head again, you’ve worked too damn hard.” She took a steady breath as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors opened, Gustaf facing her with his back to the doors. She could feel him bristle as the doors open.

“I really don’t want you to see it.” He said tenderly, his kiss gentle and apologetic.

“I need to love, the only way we deal with her is together. I’m not leaving you vulnerable to her shit again. I love you, nothing written on doors is going to change that, ever, and that is all that matters to me. You and me, together.”

“I love you.” He kissed her hard before she could say anything else. “God, I fucking love you.” His voice choking with emotion.

He stepped out of the elevator and when her eyes fell on her apartment door she felt her heart lurch, it was like a slap in the face. In red spray paint was the word, cunt, blazoned across her door, the word whore was across Gustaf’s.

“She’s not very original.” She muttered as Gustaf pulled out his phone and rang building security as he stalked to their door.

“No she isn’t.” He spat as the phone rang out, before putting the key in the lock and walking over the threshold. As he rang again he dealt with the feed from the front door, it clearly showed Ana with another male coming down the hall from the other end of the building. He watched as they made out in front of Sildie’s door before tagging it, then repeating the same on his own door. Uploading the footage he finally had someone on the phone and he was about to unleash, white hot fury roiled inside him. How the fuck did she get in, he wondered and asked building security that exact question as soon as they got past the pleasantries.

She watched him carefully as she set the kettle to boil. The determined set of his shoulders, the cold rage rippling off him in waves, the ice calm tone in his voice as he spoke with building security and then the police. Although she wanted to help she understood his need to protect her from it, shield her and take care of it himself. He was proving to her he would protect her and the kids, their home, from anything and anyone who threatened the peace they’d found together. Showing her he wouldn’t back down from his demons when they threatened her, threatened everything they’d built together. “Sweet man don’t let her win.” She murmured as his voice held that lethal edge to it as he spoke to the police.

He dealt with it, police reports, evidence collection, photos, the lot, and he was determined to wait until there was a base coat of paint over the writing before calling it a night, the night almost over at 4 am. At least it was covered up in case the kids came down. That was a blessing, he thought, they didn’t need to see that. It was bad enough Sildie had. He closed the door and locked up before turning and finding Sildie standing in the kitchen watching him. He wasn’t sure if he could touch her now, the seething anger still raw within him. She was right though, he couldn’t let Ana get into his head, he couldn’t let her ruin tonight, or any night just because she wanted to have a bitch fit, and, it could have been worse, a lot worse. Sildie and the kids were safe, and Ana hadn’t been able to get into the apartment, that had to be enough. It was just paint and he had to put that into perspective.

He walked to her letting the anger fall from his shoulders, his mind letting go of something he couldn’t change and had no more control over. “Breathe and let it go.” He mumbled as he let a breath out. It was done, he’d done everything he could to get the police on the right track and to keep his woman safe, his family safe. Without a word she stepped toward him and kissed him tenderly, filling him with love and understanding. Forehead resting against hers he closed his eyes and breathed her in, the calm and serenity that she gave to him.

“I’m sorry.” He said gently.

“No, you don’t get to apologize for her either love.” Her tone gentle but firm.

“I’m not, I’m apologizing for the way I handled it earlier.” He stroked his knuckles down her cheek before his fingers toyed with her hair.

“No need, I understood why and that was sweet, but you never have to face that or deal with that sort of thing alone anymore ok?”

He nodded and kissed her brow. “I never wanted that part of my life to touch you. Her to touch you. I failed you in that respect.” He had, or at least he felt like he had.

“My sweet man.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. “You haven’t failed me at all. You and me, together, with the kids as a family. You’ve given me a family, you keep me safe, the kids love you, I love you. That’s not failing anyone.” She kissed him again sweetly. “Don’t let her win.”

“I’m not, I’m trying... I’m just trying to put it away where it belongs.” And he was struggling with it.

“You’ve done that love, it belongs with the police, I’ll call for a restraining order tomorrow once they’ve gone to confront her, let it be now. It is what it is, we’ll deal with it, let it go. Just a blip.”

“It sort of killed the mood of the night.” He scoffed and kissed her gently as his fingers brushed her hips.

“We could always pick up where we left off.” She started to sway to a silent tune, urging him to go with the flow, to leave it all behind and come with her. Her sigh of relief when his hand found the small of her back was enough for him to relax, his other hand taking hers to slow dance her in their kitchen to no music at all.

“We were about here right?” He asked cheekily, that low tone making her belly quiver as he kissed her temple. “Whispering how I was going to do wicked things to you.” His hand skated up her spine, the featherlight touch on her skin causing her to shiver.

“Then I think I said something like, take me home daddy.” She purred, her kiss erotic and wicked.

He danced her to the bedroom, the slow silent tune bringing them closer and he stood there and swayed with her in his arms. They were both beat to hell after their unsavory welcome home. His plans for spanking her would have to wait, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it now and neither was she. This was a time for care, for tenderness, he would show her that, give her that and more.

“Let me.” She said softly, let me lead she was asking as her mouth claimed his, sweetly. His hands dropped to rest on her hips, their seductive sway pulling him further under her spell as he let her have control. “For you it’s the black lace and red lipstick, for me it’s this damn white shirt.” She breathed as her hands raked down his chest slowly, feeling every contour, the strength, the love that radiated from him. “It’s this patch of your chest that peeks out.” Her fingers dipped between cotton and skin to trace the line from throat to third button. “It’s just begging for attention, teases me, seduces me.” She purred as her lips kissed the base of his throat and traveled over every inch of that deep V his shirt revealed. Feeling his hands grip her hips tightly she smiled against his chest, her fingers blazing a path down his torso over his hips to palm him.

He leaned against her hand when it made contact with his cock and groaned, the feel of her, the scent of her, that wicked mouth. “I want to see you.” He breathed, his hands tightening on the plush velvet of her dress and slowly pulling the skirt to bunch at the waist. “Feel you.” Her breathy moan as he spread his hands over the swell of her hips made his cock twitch. She kissed her way up his neck, savoring that one spot that wrecked him and only moved on when sucking on it elicited a hiss of arousal.

“You have a very clever mouth love.” His voice that low timbre she loved.

“Let me show you how clever.” Her purr made his cock throb before she devoured his mouth, that devastating kiss that left him breathless.

“I love you.” Traveling his hands further up her ribs he took the dress with it until she broke the kiss long enough for her to raise her arms and have him remove it. He looked down at his goddess, bound in black lace, beautiful as ever.

“My goddess.” He breathed. “So beautiful.” Kissing her deeply he pulled her into his arms, the need to feel her overtaking his mind.

“Wait.” She murmured and he let out a stifled groan, his cock pulsing with need. Moving his hands back to rest on her hips she continued with her delicious torment, her lips finding his throat as her fingers slowly undid the buttons of his dress shirt. She peeled it from his body at her own leisure revealing each inch of skin with a kiss. As she stood up straight she plundered his mouth, hot and hungry, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass to hold onto his control.

With a wicked smirk she stepped out of his embrace and walked to stand behind him, her fingers wandering his chest. As she pulled the shirt from his shoulders, her mouth kissed a trail down his spine as the fabric fell away. She stood there, hands roaming his broad shoulders, lips nibbling the nape of his neck. Letting her hands drift down his ribs and around him she found the fly of his jeans, the substantial bulge eager to be released.

He rested his head back as she undid the zipper, her hands sliding between denim and skin to feel him, to shuck the fabric from his body. Kissing her way down his spine her hands lingered as they travelled over his thighs. Once free of his jeans he helped her stand and pulled her into his arms, the kiss tender but hungry.

“You’re wearing entirely too much.” His low tone making a shiver skip over her skin as he released her bra. He stripped the delicate black lace from her body, helped her out of the four inch heels, and took his time on the journey back to his feet, her curves deserving every second of his attention. “My Sildie.” He murmured, mouth devastating hers slowly.

“My sweet man.” Her fingers trailed his scruff as he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m so in love with you.” He said softly. “You are my everything.” His kiss filled her with that unbound love he kept protected from the world, that love just for her.

Walking her backward to the bed he crawled over her as she shifted herself further back onto the mattress. His goddess, her halo of copper burning brightly against the soft blues of the covers, he wanted to lose himself in her. Pressing her into the bed he lowered his mouth to hers brushing those sinfully red lips with his before claiming them. There was that familiar heat between them, the spark that set them both aflame. No words were needed to confess their love, it was in their touch, their kiss, their gaze.

“I need you.” She sighed as he nibbled on that one spot below her ear, just the feel of his body between her legs making her pussy thrum.

“Look at me love.” He murmured, resting his cock at her entrance. There was nothing more beautiful, more erotic, than seeing her eyes as he entered her, he thought.

“Gustaf.” She gasped against his lips as he thrust in slowly until he was buried to his hilt, her hands clutching any part of him she could. When he was fully seated inside her he groaned as she took the kiss deeper, content with just the feel of her around him, clenching him. So tight, so deliciously tight and wet, he thought. She wrapped those stunning legs around his hips as he drew all the way out and plunged in, the slow thrusts bringing them both erotic pleasure. He made love to her, watched as each stroke of his hips brought her undone.

That body she craved moved against her, inside her, eyes of ocean blue speaking to her soul, his entire being swallowing her whole. She lost herself in him, the pleasure he freely gave to her as she crested. “Gustaf.”

“I know love, let it take you.” Her hands pulled him closer as her body tensed, legs wrapped around him. He watched her eyes glaze over as she came before they fluttered shut, her soft cry the most beautiful sound he’d ever hear. “Hold on.” He murmured as he wrapped his arms around her and hauled her into his lap as he sat up on his knees, the change of angle driving him deeper inside her. “Fuck me you’re tight like this.” He groaned into her neck, nipping it gently before sucking the pulse thrumming there. With his hands at her lower back he moved, the slow pull out and hard thrust in making them both groan. Tossing her arms around his neck she moved with him, their heated breath mixing as they took their pleasure from each other.

She peaked quickly, the sensations whipping her body into a frenzy. “Please.” Her kiss desperate as he deftly destroyed her.

“Go over.” He sucked on the pulse at her neck, tongue flicking, tasting. “Let me feel you.” He groaned, her pussy tightening at his words before she shattered, that delectable body writhing on his cock. Slipping a finger through her juices he stroked her back door, the gentle probe, the sensual touch. “Come for me again love.” He purred as that finger thrust in just enough to stretch her. “Let it all go.” He felt her tense, her whimper at her impending release so close. Snapping his hips forcefully he tipped her over, a cry of his name tumbling from her lips again as her body bucked against his, his own release crashing through him violently. He crushed her to him as his hips pistoned until he was spent, her pussy squeezing him deliciously.

Her head collapsed on his shoulder and the soft giggle made him grin as they forced air into their lungs.

“God you know how to get me.” She chuckled.

“Same goes love.” His kiss was tender, the passion sizzling under it. Laying her on the covers he relaxed on top of her, his weight a comfort to her, the feel of those curves against him equally as grounding. “I had so much more planned for us tonight.” He kissed her sweetly. “I’m sorry.”

She stroked a finger down his jaw. “Nothing to be sorry for love, shit happens and you rocked my world pretty damn good.” Her kiss was tender. “Tomorrow maybe? We don’t have the kids until much later.”

“That’s true.” He kissed between her breasts before climbing up and heading to the bathroom.

She was beat, sated but beat, and the paperwork she’d have to file tomorrow because of Ana was going to eat up most of her day, she needed sleep. It couldn’t be helped, she’d protect her kids and her man. Ana wasn’t going to know what hit her when she was done. She waited for him to crawl back to bed before taking care of her bladder, sleep nearly upon him by the time she snuggled into him. He was exhausted, angry and exhausted, she could still feel it simmering underneath. “Sleep love.” She said softly as he pulled her to him like a child with his favorite teddy bear.

“I love you.” He mumbled as she felt him sink into sleep.

“I love you too my sweet man.” She kissed his chest. “So much.” Laying there curled into him she chewed over everything that had happened since seeing their front doors defaced, the case she was already forming in her head, the lawyer surfacing to organize her thoughts. It was only when she had a solid plan forward that she followed him into sleep.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb

#gustaf skarsgard #shattered lives #gustaf skarsgard fanfic

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pisceserena · 4 years ago

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The End (Part 2)

Part 1 here

A/N: So this is posted a bit late-r than I planned. But here is part 1 anyway! This is quite long, and I hope you take the time to read it. Thank you guys so much for reading my fics!

wordcount: 1,779

AndromacheTheScythianxReader

No one knows how long it’s been since Andy and (Name) have actually interacted. The two have resulted to going back to how they were before. Cold, and with walls greater than the Great Wall of China. The two only speaking when needed, they are still a team after all.

Behind the strong facade (Name) puts up, is a person who is broken inside. Only letting herself go in the comfort of her bedroom or her bathroom. After countless nights of tears, and the discomfort of not being able breathe well due to their nose getting clogged, they’ve decided getting over someone won’t be possible if they’ll always see Andy. Not to mention the fact that being with her in missions results to her losing focus. No matter what happened between them, they wanted her alive...for as long as possible, even if it won’t be with them. It was the day after that (Name) has decided they was done breaking down, Quyhn will live a long life, and Andy would be there till her last breath. They should move on. And distance is needed if they wanted it fast. It was the day after that, they decided to go on missions on their own. They could take care of themself. They didn’t need anyone.

“I want work alone Copley.” Not all for it at the start, but after a few persuading and the “Not like there’s much that can be done with me, I can’t die” line from (Name), he eventually gave in. When the team asked about it, all Copley saud was that it was they wanted and that his hands were tied. In his defense, (Name) could be scarily persuasive if they wanted to be.

“Copley wants to see you in his office.” The sound of the throwing knife hitting the bullseye echoes in the room. “Are you working on missions alone?” Joe inquires, concern etched on his face. Taking a deep breath, (Name) throws the knife, not bothering to look at the target. “ I figured it would be best to be as detached as possible.” Not knowing what to say, Joe lets them walk past him, seeing the knife they nonchalantly threw at the target embedded on the bulls-eye. They were strong, but so broken inside, everyone sees that, Andy just chooses to turn a blind eye. She was with Quyhn, and wasn’t it (Name) that broke up with her? She hasn’t realized herself that she was in denial.

Quyhn at first was clueless, she didn’t know what was going on, why there was tension and why the two acted the way they did. It took a few days, but she was finally able to pick up on what was going on. She didn’t mean to intervene. She didn’t want to be the cause the two didn’t end up together. When she confronted Andy, she’d always brush it off. Saying that they were broken up, and it was just a short thing.

“This is your mission-” Copley starts, handing her a file and and ipad with a satellite map pinned. “that warehouse, in the outskirts of London, just a few miles from here, is where 3 daughters of a very important person is being kept hostage.” Their brows furrowed. What is it with men always targeting women? They looked through the file. Seems pretty easy. “You just need to take out the men, and get the girls to the car that will wait for them outside the facility gates.” They nod in understanding. “How many men?” Copley stares at them handing over the keys that they’ll use to drive themself to the location. He decided that in order to keep the warrior’s profile lowkey and what they were were doing a secret, (Name) couldn’t be the one to take the 3 girls back to their homes, hence the separate car with a clueless driver.

He zooms in on the satellite map and points out the possible entries and exits. “There are 2 guards at a bird’s eye view that you need to take out before the 2 infront of the facility’s main gate. Otherwise, the rest will be alarmed and you’ll be out numbered-”

“Because being outnumbered can really do me some damage” They roll their eyes before sarcastically gasping “what if I get killed?” They joke chuckling to themself. Unimpressed, Copley sits down and rests his hand together on his desk. “There’s 3 in the 2 entrance and exit points of the warehouse. Once you get in, there will be 6 surrounding the girls.” He finishes “Should be easy enough” They say standing up, Copley following suite. “Get what you need and load up. Not that you’ll think of it as much but, Goodluck, and come back safe”

Grabbing a DLQ33, (Name) tests to see if the the scope was clear and in good condition. “Need some help with that?” Nicolo’s voice loud that she could hear, but soft that it does not echo in the room. “I got it” They reply continue to move around putting the weapons she needed in bags, strapping herself with her throwing knives and such. It was silent for awhile, Nicolo watched as the broken warrior attached an extended mag to their AK117 “You don’t have to do this alone caro” his pet name made them pause. Oh how they missed the team. But as quickly as it came, it was pushed back just as fast. “I can do this Nicky” They reply adding the stock for penetration and the red dot sight for better aim. Grabbing more bullets, and stuffing it in the bag, they stop to turn to Nicky. “I just need to let all of these feelings go Nick.This is the only effective way of me releasing all the bad thoughts and negative emotions. Let me cope...please” Their voice getting soft, pleading towards the end. Silence once again embraces them. Their eye contact breaking when (Name) zips up the bag and hauls it over their shoulder. They take one last look at Nicky before proceeding to head upstairs towards the garage.

“(Name)? You dropped this” Nile says handing to them the car keys. “Thanks” they reply walking faster and towards the car. “I can help you (Name) atleast take me with you” smiling and ruffling Nile’s hair, “I’ll see you when I get back champ” they smile reassuringly and unlock the car.

“Need some help?” Booker asks, being the one to load up the car. “You’re going against 17 men (Name)” His words not bothering them as they open the driver’s side and start the engine. Rolling down the window, (Name) smiles at Booker. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.” That was the last thing Booker heard before they drove out of the garage.

The phone connected to the car starts to ring. Not bothering to look at the caller, they still gotta drive safe, they press the answer button. “New updates?”

“Be careful. I want you alive more than you think” Andromache says before the call ends, not giving (Name) any chance to speak. This wasn’t the first mission they went on alone. What was up? Shaking it off, they focused instead on what lies ahead. The sun has just set, and night was falling upon them. Perfect.

Eyes sharp, their AK117 in hand, they enter the warehouse. How incompetent is the police, this door is waaay too easy to breakdown. Taking a deep breath, they knock the door down with a strong, hard kick. Bullets were flying, their knife, hitting another man’s chest. The screams of the girls adding to the noise pollution. Everything was going well until (Name) decided that the girls needed cover, pushing a table over they lead them to hide behind it. What they didn’t notice, was a man getting up and grabbing them from behind, locking their arms. Before they got to break free, another man got a hold of their knife, and without hesitating, plunges it into her side. Crying out in pain, and finally being able to break free, they tackle the man and stab him in the head. His blood, splashing on their face. Another pain ran through their body, and they realized that they’ve been shot. Having enough, they throw the knife, hitting the right spots, killing them instantly.

Silence followed. It was creepy, and at the same time comforting. Taking a step towards the girls, pain shot through their side. The stab wound didn’t stop bleeding. Their brows furrowed. Inspecting the gunshot wound, they see that it’s not clotting. Imposible. Brushing it off, maybe they weren’t healing as fast. Quickly gathering the girls and taking them to the car infront, they leave safely. As promised.

Getting into their own car as well, the pain becomes unbearable. This is impossible. “I’ve got to get back to Copley” they mutter thinking quickly. Driving was difficult, and their vision was starting to blur. The pin was agonizing. The car seats were covered in red, as well as every possible thing that could be used to cover their wounds. Perhaps they didn’t realize it, but there were cuts littered all over, their body, and the gun shot wound giving her a difficult time breathing. Damn those guards really got me. Was their last thought. Before they passed out, Andy’s blurred figure came into view. “Hey, I made it”

As soon as they all heard their car stop outside, they jumped to their feet to greet them. The team speechless at the sight before them. Andy was the first to reach them, just as they were about to pass out. “They’re not healing” Booker states. “They’ve lost too much blood.” Nile adds seeing the fatal wounds on their body.

Copley didn’t know how to tell the team. He himself was devastated. So, when he looked up from the mini recovery room in the safehouse, they all knew. Some went into shock, like Quyhn and Nile. This was Nile’s first tie losing someone who’s become like family to her since she joined...she didn’t know how to take it. She was devastated and angry and sad. She should have gone with them.

Nicky had his head in his hands, in denial about the news, Joe trying to reach him, trying to be strong for his significant other, but deep inside, he was crushed. They’ve lost a best friend.

Booker lost a drinking buddy, a laughing partner. They’re memories played in his head, and as the news sunk in, he collapsed into a nearby chair.

Tears fell from Andy’s eyes, her body frozen “I never got to tell them how much they actually mean to me...how much I wanted them back.”

#the old guard #the old guard 2020 #netflix #andy #quyhn #nicky and joe #booker #nile freeman #andromache the scythian #sebastian le livre #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #imagines #theoldguardimagines #reader #writer #pisceserenawrites

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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years ago

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FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [9/9] - COMPLETE

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

It was a good party, but Adaar's mood just wasn't right for it.

She'd drunk enough to set her stomach churning, enough to dull the pain of her superficial wounds, but not enough to muddle her head. No, that seemed dangerous. Everyone in the village, even Hammond, swore up and down that all of Koster's Carvers had been caught up in the tavern and outside of it—but maybe they were mistaken. A cruel voice in the back of her head whispered, Or maybe they're lying.

She wanted to believe that becoming Inquisitor had made her paranoid, but really, ever since that night in the cellar, ever since someone had taken a saw to one of her horns, it had been there, underlying. Her current circumstances just...exacerbated it.

She didn't like to feel that she needed to watch her back when she came home. Made it feel like it wasn't home anymore.

Maybe it wasn't, little though she wanted to admit it. Before the hole in the sky, she'd returned once a year, maybe twice if the Valo-kas happened to be passing nearby. Was it really home if she spent only a handful of nights there every year? Or was it just a place she went to visit ghosts, ghosts who'd taken home with them when they went?

She made her way down the narrow path in the dark, putting the party at her back: Hammond, merrily passing out the local brew, espousing its virtues to Cassandra; Harriet, playing a jig on the accordion, Dorian and Bull in the midst of the dancing crowd, red with laughter; Marguerite and Wilfred and Lonnie, gathered around a card table, groaning as Josephine took another round with a look of polite glee. Josephine, drinking Hammond's beer like she didn't mind the taste. Josephine, catching Adaar's eye above the heads of the dancers...

There would be time for that. Soon.

She kept the lantern she carried shuttered, unwilling to ruin her night vision, and besides, she'd always liked the fields of Duskfield under the stars. It was a far cry from Skyhold, that was for sure. You could see Skyhold burning miles off, up there in the mountain ahead of you; if she turned back now, the fires of the celebration would already be nearly out of sight. Only the Dancing Star would remain.

She came to the turnstile. Her father's handwriting had faded with the sun, and she hadn't re-inked it in a long while—hadn't had the chance or the time. She trailed her fingers over the word they'd brought with them from Par Vollen, the word that had failed so bitterly in its duty of care to define them, the word she carried. She walked on.

The house, merely a dark, empty shape among a missing piece of the field, came into view. Every time she returned, she found herself surprised by its size, by the idea that she and two others had fit there. It seemed desperately small now, compared to the world she'd walked, putting holes in her boots.

She veered away, off into the field on the left. The house would be there, when she was ready. But the ghosts could not wait another minute.

Through the waving grains, toward the tree that stood stark and twisted against the starry sky, oddly bleached in the moonlight. The field parted to the little clearing, its careful rock formations intact. She released a breath. Jana had kept care of this place. Even the bench beneath the tree only had a few dead leaves; Adaar carefully brushed them aside.

But she didn't sit on the bench. She stood before the gravemarkers instead, letting a little more light from the lantern out, the better to see.

Hammond had helped her carve them. He'd taken the chisel from her whenever she'd wept too bitterly to continue. Silently offered her a handkerchief when she was ready to press on. She'd seen a few tears sneak down his old face in those hours of labor, too. She'd felt, fiercely, that her parents had been loved—that she had been loved.

"This doesn't change that," she said aloud, though no one was there to hear her. "I know it doesn't. I know that's what you would say. I just wish you were here to say it, dammit." She drew a shaky breath. "Where are my manners? Hi, Ma. Hi, Dad. You would never believe what's happened to me, and I don't think I could explain it if I tried. I just want to sit with you for a while, if you don't mind."

She put the lantern on the ground beside her when she sat. The low breeze rustled in the tree's leaves, in the grain. Here, so far from everything, she could almost believe the world was the same as it had always been, that these past few months had not happened at all. It was unchanged, here, where she'd written Beloved Husband, Beloved Father; Beloved Wife, Beloved Mother on the stones. She was unchanged.

"I'll skip all the nonsense," she said, when she'd been quiet long enough to regain her composure. "But help me get this piece right in my head. I've met someone. She's...hmm. She's not what you'd expect, I think. As different from me as it is possible to be. But she's also brave, and clever, and kind. I think you'd like her." She paused, tipping her head back to let the breeze catch her hair, ruffling up her hair like her father's hand, like her mother's kiss. "I like her. But I'm afraid of her."

With the words out in the open like that, they seemed very silly. She snorted. "I know it's stupid. But...hell, you both must have been afraid, right? You loved each other so much that you left everything else you knew. Sacrificed everything else you'd ever known. Each of your societies, and your collective society, combined. And you were happy. I saw it. I felt it." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know if it's going to work out the same way for me, but you were right. What's life without a little risk, once in a while? And besides, I think...I think it might be time for me to move my roots somewhere else. For there to be a somewhere else for my roots to go. If there's a somewhere else left, after all my nonsense is through, anyway."

She brushed her fingers over the grave markers, over the words. They weren't here. Of course they weren't. They weren't sleeping forever in the dirt beneath her. Their ashes had been flung wide across these fields, over the place they'd chosen. It was the only place that had made sense to her. Give them back to the earth that had known such love, such care, from their hands.

They weren't here. But she felt them, anyway. The sharp edges of memory had faded, and she knew they would continue to crumble, but even when everything was out of focus, someday, she would still know them. Would know, always, what they wanted for her.

"You dreamed of bigger things," she said, her throat tight. "Guess I got it from somewhere, huh?"

Heartsore but decided, she stayed there, beside the markers, watching the stars, thinking. She wondered if they'd gone through this part, too. If, even when they'd decided, they'd been terrified out of their minds.

Probably. Probably they'd stayed scared for a long time. But it had been worth it.

She'd been there an hour, sore and tired and a little chilled, before she heard a voice call softly in the distance, "Adaar?"

Her heart spasmed painfully. She sat up a little from where she'd been slouched against the bench. The voice came again, closer this time, but the word had changed: "Herah? Are you out here?"

She steadied herself and called back, "Over here." She raised a hand, high enough to be seen above the grain in the slight glow of the lantern light, and waved.

Josephine emerged into the clearing, blinking a little; she carried her own lantern, but almost entirely shuttered, like Adaar's had been. She'd taken her hair out of all of its elaborate braids so that it fell, loose with waves, around her shoulders. There was a worried twist to her mouth, and Adaar felt a surge of guilt; she really ought to have told someone, anyone, that she was slipping away.

"Hammond told me you were probably out this way," Josephine said. Her eyes found the markers. "If I'm intruding—"

"Nah." Adaar waved this off. "I've been moping out here long enough. They'd want me to pull myself together."

Josephine offered a tentative smile, and sat on the ground, tucking her skirts beneath her, not terribly near Adaar but not terribly far, either. "I've never known you to mope."

"I wisely do it out of sight of other people, for the benefit of all."

Josephine tilted her head a bit to one side. "Except you."

Adaar released a startled laugh. "How do you figure?"

Josephine looked to the markers, her eyes passing slowly over the letters. "If you mope alone, you have no one to comfort you."

"I suppose I'll have to carry on, then," Adaar said, "since you're here to comfort me."

Josephine gave her own breathless laugh, and offered her hand out, across the small distance between them. Adaar took it, intertwining their fingers.

Josephine looked up to the tree's canopy. "This is the oak?"

"Yes," Adaar said, unable to conceal how pleased she was that Josephine had remembered. "They added the bench, not long after they arrived. It felt like the right place for them, after they died. Sometimes, when I was a child, I'd wake up in the middle of the night, and I'd see this glow in the distance, beneath the tree."

"It sounds as if they truly loved one another." Adaar did not think she was imagining the wistfulness in Josephine's voice.

"It was embarrassing to me, back then. Now, I—I see how precious it was, what they had."

Josephine nodded, but didn't say anything more. They sat in a comfortable quiet for a little while; Josephine turned her face into the breeze now and then. The cozy, combined glow of their lanterns created a little pocket in this clearing, as if the rest of the world was held at bay by the shine, just for a little while. A secret, away from everything.

Adaar touched her father's gravemarker one more time, silently asking to borrow his courage. "Want to see the house?" she asked Josephine.

Josephine's face brightened. Surely she'd seen the shape of it as she'd walked past, searching for Adaar. Surely she knew it was nothing special. But she said, "Of course," as though delighted at the prospect.

Adaar got to her feet first, then helped Josephine up. They picked up their lanterns and moved away, back toward the path. As they walked, the backs of their hands brushed; Adaar took Josephine's hand this time, and she didn't pull away.

"Jana built her own place, a little further down the road," Adaar said, and pointed with her lantern past the closer house. Barely visible in the dark was another huddled shape among the fields. "She stayed in my parents' house, at first, but I think it felt too strange to her. Like I would have felt to keep living there, almost."

"Among memories," Josephine said.

"Right. But she comes through every month or so, dusts, airs the place out. I was never able to give much notice before I passed through."

"She wanted you to have a place to come back to."

"Yes," Adaar said, and left it at that.

They'd reached the clearing, the yard; together, they stood before the darkened house. She hesitated, but only for an instant.

"Come see," she said, leading the way toward the door.

The inside was much as it had always been: there, the humble kitchen off to the right with its hearth, shutters closed tight over the windows; there, the old armchair her mother had once sat in to darn socks, where she'd nursed her newborn child; there, the door to a passageway that could barely be called a hall, and two more doors at the end of it, leading to the two bedrooms. One—Adaar's—had been an addition to the original house, built by her parents. Jana and some of the other villagers had helped.

Despite the frequent airing, it still had the faint scent of misuse, of absence. It had always smelled of something delicious, a warm crackling fire, the spring breeze, when her parents had lived. Now it seemed a painful, empty shell.

There was a faint creak; she startled and looked around. Josephine moved systematically shutter to shutter, throwing them open. The night air drifted in, chasing away the stillness of neglect. Josephine leaned against one windowsill with a sigh, the breeze tugging at her hair.

"It's peaceful," she said over her shoulder. "A good place to grow up."

"It was," Adaar agreed, putting her lantern down on the kitchen table beside Josephine's. "Not…not magnificent, or anything, but still good."

Josephine turned to face her with a frown. "Not everything needs to be magnificent."

"Peace." Adaar shifted uneasily. "I know."

Josephine leaned back against the windowsill, her expression softening a little. "What's troubling you, Herah?"

A little of Adaar's anxiety melted away at that gentle voice, speaking her name. She took in a low breath. "You were right," she said. "I was afraid. I am afraid."

Josephine took a hesitant step closer. "Of what?"

"Oh, lots of stupid things." Adaar rubbed at her forehead. "That your family won't approve. That people will make snide remarks to you. That you'll have to work harder to extract what we need from our allies. That it will all add up, in the end, and we'll see that this was doomed from the start, and have only bitterness left for each other."

"Small worries," Josephine said, teasing but not dismissive. "Do not doom us before we've even had the chance to begin."

"You really don't worry about that? Any of it?"

"I can refute your points one by one, if you like."

Adaar gestured for her to go on. "Convince me, Ambassador."

She liked the coy little smile that came onto Josephine's face at those words. It was wonderfully distracting.

"My family, whenever we choose to make public declarations, will be all astonishment," she said thoughtfully. "Scandalized, but delighted. I've always been the pragmatic daughter, with no tendency toward feelings or frivolities. It will be such a relief to them that they'll hardly register who I have chosen, and when they do, they'll fall over themselves thanking you."

Adaar couldn't help but chuckle. Josephine smiled a little wider and continued.

"I have no fear of snide remarks. Frankly, the topics for condescension have been a little stale lately; perhaps this will liven them up. Besides, I have an arsenal of my own. I'm always looking for an excuse to use them. As for our allies...well, turnabout is fair play. They are hiding plenty of things that they think are salacious. I'm not above leaning on those secrets a little harder."

"You make interesting points," Adaar allowed. "And these?"

She unsheathed her daggers, dropping them one by one to the kitchen table. Josephine came forward, stopping just short of Adaar. Lightly, she touched one blade.

"You saved my life with these," she said softly. "You use them to great effect, never without thought, usually in the name of protecting others. But you have not fooled me into thinking they define you. They are only a part of you."

She looked up at Adaar; Adaar looked back, torn, wanting.

"That's the thing," she said. "It used to be simple, and now it's hideously complicated. If I went back to the Valo-kas, I wouldn't fit. Even coming back here, I don't fit. And I don't think I've quite made the leap to your world, either."

"And you don't need to. There is no my world. I do not have the authority to offer you something so abstract. There is just me. For now—to start—I would just ask you for a little time."

Josephine slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress, withdrawing a small, beautiful wooden box, polished to a high shine; even the golden hinges gleamed. She took Adaar's hand, turned it palm-up, and placed the box there. It fit neatly.

"What's this?" Adaar asked, momentarily thrown.

"A gift." Adaar got the feeling that Josephine had bitten her tongue on, Obviously.

"What for?"

She actually rolled her eyes, contrast to her fond smile. "As if you've ever made an excuse for the trinkets you give to me." At Adaar's raised brows, she huffed and said, "Very well, it is technically thanks for helping me with the House of Repose. In reality, though, I commissioned it as soon as you showed me the sketch."

"The sketch?" Adaar repeated, completely bemused now. "What sketch?"

"Open it and see."

Careful not to leave any marks in the varnish, Adaar opened the box. Nestled on a bed of dark green velvet was a delicate hourglass, gleaming in the faint light.

"I'm afraid I could only replicate one of the materials closely," Josephine said. Adaar lifted the dainty golden chain with numb fingers. "Wood, from a tree in Antiva. On the Montilyet estate, in fact. I'm certain it's not the same tree, but based on the sketch and the notes, I believe it's the same species."

Adaar could not have replied even if she'd known what to say; her tongue, usually so given to trip ahead of her thoughts, lay useless in her mouth. All the hair on her neck, her arms, stood on end. A ghost had walked right through her.

"And the gold your father used," Josephine continued, "that, of course, is irreplaceable, but the Valo-kas donated some for the purpose. The sand...Par Vollen is well out of even my reach, but I had some gathered on the shores of Haven. I remember…" Here, at last, she hesitated. "You seemed at home there. More so than in Skyhold. I thought you might like to carry it with you."

"You had the sketch in your hand for all of a moment," Adaar said, finding her voice at last. "How did you...it looks just like…"

"I have a good memory," Josephine said, with a modest smile.

"I…" Adaar shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

"I have achieved the impossible. Herah Adaar, speechless." Some of Josephine's delight faded. "I hope I haven't overstepped. You do like it?"

Adaar held the hourglass out to Josephine. "Help me put it on?"

Josephine took it, plainly relieved. With deft fingers, she loosed the clasp, then fastened the chain around Adaar's neck; Adaar could feel her breath, just briefly, against her skin. She arranged the hourglass carefully, letting it fall into the V of Adaar's shirt, a little cool against her skin.

"I don't know how I'll ever repay you," Adaar said hoarsely.

"There is nothing to repay. This is a gift without strings. Though perhaps it lends a little weight to my request." Finally, Josephine's voice showed her nerves; it trembled a little. "I only ask for the next turn of the hourglass. That you set aside what you think might come, what might happen. Be with me, and when the sand runs out again, we will take stock of where we stand. Please?"

Adaar scraped a hand through her hair, driving the loose strands back from her face. "As we've established already, I can't say no to you."

Josephine's eyes gleamed. "That's not the same as saying yes."

There was not so much distance left between them now; Josephine had worked at it, chipping away right under Adaar's nose. The last of it fell away as she cupped Josephine's chin in her hand and bent her head to press her lips to Josephine's.

There had been a desperation, a stolen quality, to those other kisses—like a woman taking panicked gulps from the paltry spring she'd found in the desert, afraid that she would never drink again. But this was another thing entirely, a slow delight, something to be savored. She took her time, teased apart Josephine's lips with aching slowness, tangled her hand in Josephine's half-undone hair, lost herself in the sound of pleasure Josephine made in her throat.

When they parted, she drew just enough air to say, emphatically, "Yes."

Josephine did not wait for any further explanation; she, like Adaar, seemed to have decided that the time for conversation was past. She went up on tiptoe to kiss Adaar again, and Adaar picked her up to make it easier for her, arms tight around Josephine's waist. Josephine gave a breathless laugh of delight against her mouth.

Adaar would still worry, she knew. But for now, she would set the trappings of fear aside. She would see where this turn of the hourglass took them.

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar/josephine #f!adaar x josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #class differences #mutual pining #developing relationship #universe writes

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dreadwulf · 5 years ago

Text

In semi-quarantine, and I wrote a bit more of That Modern AU I’m Not Writing. Actually I have a lot of this, but not consecutively and really for my own amusement, but this bit is presentable and maybe someone else who is stuck in their house would like to be angsty with me.

Long passage of Drunk!Jaime behind the cut, if you are interested in such a thing.

Jaime takes his time going home after the restaurant.

He’s ducked in out of the rain at two bars now. In the second bar he gets the best glass of cognac they can manage to find. While they rattle around on the shelves looking for the bottle the rain slows to a fine shimmer in the air and his fists finally uncurl a little. Anger drowns easily. He gets his glass and tosses a hundred dollar bill casually on the bar. As he nurses the golden liquid his body becomes heavier and heavier and the past and future both grow thin and hazy and eventually vanish. There is only now, a now with rounded edges and thick textures. It feels good.

Jaime stands at a corner of the bar and looks only at his glass and ignores everything else. There are only two kinds of bar, really. The hole in the wall and the kitch. You only need to look around long enough to know which one you’re in, a few seconds at most. Then you know and there’s no reason to look again. This bar is the second kind, with a vaguely sporting theme. There’s people in it, the same people who are always in this kind of bar, and they don’t matter.

Jaime knows that drunks are slow-witted and clumsy. He does not fool himself about that, reminds himself of it whenever he’s in a state. But truth be told, his mind feels clearer and sharper while he’s drinking. There is so much nonsense he concerns himself with the rest of the time and all of that has been neatly tidied away. Put into boxes with careful labels and firm fastenings. He is probably a little slower from the outside, but from the inside it seems more like everything else is slower. More his speed. He lets the world slow down around him and get quieter and further away, and then he’s able to straighten up and plaster on something more like a smile as he signals the bartender for the rest of the bottle.

It didn’t take much this time. It’s been a long while since he had anything to drink, and it took only the second drink to put him into the golden state of mellow relaxation that it might have taken an entire bottle to get to before. He is out of practice. He’s become a lightweight.

Though, given how it started this time, he did have that second drink pretty quickly, and all the ones after that to make extra sure. There was a lot of upset to clear away to get to the calm.

His phone has stopped vibrating in his pocket, so maybe it’s safe to go home now. He tucks the bottle under his coat and slips outside.

The slick streets shine with the effervescent colorings of traffic lights and Don’t Walk signals, and he lets the glow lead him home. He could call an Uber easily, but he left his car at the restaurant because he wants to walk. He has the rest of the cognac to keep him company and make sure he doesn’t sober up too quickly on the walk. He is not ready to be sober yet. Not for a good long while.

Cognac is not one of his favorites, but it keeps him warm enough. He sips at it only twice, ducking into doorways along the way. That’s not a good look, drinking from a bottle outside. No more of that. He makes sure not to stumble on the sidewalk, stands up straight. Walks not too fast and not too slow. Eyes the infrequent traffic on the quiet street. This would be a very bad time for a police car to drive by. Evening Mr. Lannister. Long night? Want a ride home? On second thought, maybe we’ll bring you back to our place to sleep it off. They’d love that, the cops, not to mention the tabloids. They’ve never been able to get him for Drunk and Disorderly. Definitely drunk, and seldom disorderly, but never on the same occasion. He’d better be careful.

How much would his father gloat if he got himself arrested now? After storming out of dinner so dramatically, his father would probably say something about making his bed and lying in it. He would probably let him sit in lockup and Tyrion would have to bail him out once he scraped the money together. Well, he won’t give either of them the satisfaction. He is going to walk all the way home and he is going to lock himself in his apartment and finish drinking and then go back to work tomorrow and keep running his damn company and doing a damned good job of it, and without following any of dear old Dad’s “advice”.

Then his building is rising up out of the concrete in front of him and nobody is standing outside waiting for him, thank god. The doorman lets him in and does not comment that he is soaked to the skin and weaving, and that’s why he gets the big tips. Jaime rides up the elevator to the penthouse and lets himself in without too much fumbling around with keys. Inside he goes straight for the 100 year whiskey, his favorite, pours a glass before he’s even got his coat off and lifts it straight to his lips like a man dying of thirst.

He gave a glass of this whiskey to Brienne that time. She liked it, he could tell. She took it a swallow at a time, savoring it, and that felt good to watch. He had a feeling she could appreciate a good 100 year whisky, and he had been right.

Gods. You have fucked this all the way up this time. Now it’s going to be a whole year --

No. Shut up. No.

He throws back his head and drains the rest of the glass, and things get quieter again.

He drapes his sopping wet coat over a high chair and pours another glass, takes it and the cognac with him into the TV room. Formerly the drinking room. It has the best chairs. A nice soft recliner that he can sleep in sitting up, in case things get out of hand, and a big tv bolted to the wall to shine espn at him all night. It’s the only room in this place, aside from the bedroom, that he really spends any time in.

He leaves the glass and the bottle there and turns back for more supplies. It’s good to be prepared. On the kitchen counter he stacks all of the items that he can remember from his old Good Time Drinking kit:

-water (hydration is key)

-red bull

-scotch

-leftover takeout

-mixers

-extra glass in case he breaks one

-2 bottles of the good vodka

All of that he piles into the soup pot and carries into the TV room and settles into his chair and finishes off the cognac one glass at a time. Then he eats the takeout, drinks a whole bottle of water, and then moves on to the scotch.

Six months. A whole six months out the window, you complete idiot.

The scotch is not one of his favorites either, but it’s strong and it shuts up that voice in his head. He watches the Knicks lose again. After that there’s a hockey game on. After that they play a soccer match from south america and he doesn’t know either team and he mostly zones out for awhile and enjoys feeling nothing about anything.

He probably sleeps a little. He’s starting to sober up and there’s light coming in the window that hurts his eyes and he gets out of his chair just long enough to close the blinds and go for a piss and then he opens up the good vodka and loads up Goodfellas on streaming for the 200th time. Clearly the best Scorsese by a mile. You could argue Taxi Driver but really mostly for De Niro’s performance, or Casino for pure spectacle but there are bits where it gets flabby around the edges and Goodfellas is flawless. There is not a single wrong second in Goodfellas. Impeccably structured from beginning to end. He makes it to the incredible tracking shot in the Copa and gets lost in thought about whether The Departed is a better film than The Irishman and if any of them are really a patch on Goodfellas or just revisions of the same thing, flourishes to show the old man’s still got it, and then the movie’s over and the bottle of vodka is empty and his head is starting to ring like a bell.

Or maybe that’s his phone ringing. But he’s not sure where he left that and really doesn’t feel like looking for it, so he closes his eyes for a while instead.

Later after he’s used the pot and run out of bottles of water he lurches in the direction of the kitchen. It’s a stupidly long way. He had to get the biggest apartment in Manhattan. Couldn’t have gotten one with a shorter hallway. Short-sighted of him. Now he has to keep the palm of his hand planted firmly against the wall and follow the wall to the kitchen and be satisfied that at least he isn’t falling over. He didn’t used to stumble around like this but he’s out of practice and fuck, he is going to pay for this in a few hours. When he goes to work he’s going to be sick as a dog. He’ll have to ask Pia to move his in-person meetings or switch them to conference calls.

In the kitchen he drops the pot un-looked-at into the sink and takes another one, and starts filling it with bottles of water and half-empty boxes of cereal. His coat is ringing from the high chair where he left it earlier. He fumbles around with it until he can figure out which pocket is making the noise and pull his vibrating phone out of it and squint at the screen. 16 messages. Well, that’s a problem for later. He puts the phone in the pocket of his pants and walks carefully back down the hall to his chair.

The next morning is going to be painful. It’s like the sword of - the sword of whatdoyoucallit that hangs over someone’s head and will cut their head off but they don’t know exactly when so they just look up at it nervously waiting for it to fall. It’s definitely going to fall, but he can put it off a little longer.

It takes longer to finish the vodka. He keeps falling asleep between sips.

His phone plays a few notes of Queen (ooh, you’re making me live now honey) and he has to shift around in his seat to pull it out of his pocket.

“Brienne?” he says into the phone, quietly because talking makes his head vibrate too much.

“Hey - I thought we were on for tonight.”

The online game. They’re going to hunt down some legendary bounties in RDR2. But not today. Jaime rubs his right eye with his useless right hand. “No, that’s Thursday.”

“Uh, today is Thursday, Lannister.”

Jaime sits up sharply. “It is?”

That can’t be right. It’s Wednesday. Dinner with his father and Cersei and Tyrion was Wednesday. Wasn’t it?

“Well, now you’ve got me confused. No, it’s Thursday, just check your phone.”

He does. His phone says it’s Thursday too. Oh fuck. There was a morning in there somewhere, wasn’t there? The windows were sunny for awhile there. If it’s Thursday now then… fuck.

“What time’s it?” He just saw it on his phone but he didn’t quite believe it. A slow panic is building. He has fucked this up even worse than he thought.

“The usual time. 9’o’clock.” Brienne is starting to sound concerned. “Are you all right?”

He missed work. He had… there were meetings. There were things to do. Oh god. He has to call Pia. He fucked up.

“Yes. Sorry, I gotta go. I can’t. Tomorrow?” Jaime hesitates. He has looked forward to it all week. He always does. Will he have to wait a whole other week to get a session with her? “Let’s do tomorrow. Please?”

“Sure,” she says. “Are you sure you’re all right? Are you drinking?”

“No. I have to go. Bye.”

He stabs his phone clumsily with his left index finger and misses the End button a few times. Locates Pia in his contacts list. Then he thinks on it, and stumbles towards the kitchen again.

He keeps most useful things in the kitchen. There’s a pen in the Miscellany drawer where most of that stuff ends up. He takes a scrap of paper and writes effortfully in big block letters:

SICK FEVER

MONDAY

REPORT WITH PECK

He stares hard at these words while he finds Pia’s name in his contacts again.

“Pia?”

“Boss, oh my god. Where are you? I’ve been trying to call ---”

Jamie tries to make his voice steady and clear. It takes a lot of concentration. “Pia, I’ve been sick in bed all day. Slept right through everything. I have some kind of fever.”

She sounds strange. Skeptical or worried? Both? “Are you okay boss? You sound terrible.”

“I just need to sleep. Probably tomorrow too. Can you move everything to Monday?”

“Already done. I know the drill.”

Fuck. He winces. Pia used to cover for him a lot on mornings when he was especially hungover, and he told her that wouldn’t be happening anymore.

PIA RAISE he adds to the scrap of paper.

“Thank you, Pia. Did Bolton come looking for the annual report? I left it with Peck for touch-ups.”

“He did. We put him off to tomorrow. I think it still needs some --”

“Tell Peck to finish. He can do it. I showed him how.” He rubs his right eye again. The icepick headache is starting up there. Impending doom. “Give it to Bolton tomorrow. Better done wrong than late in this case.”

“Okay boss.” Pia hesitates, starts a few different sentences in succession. Then she settles on: “Take it easy, okay?”

“Thank you Pia,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

He pours another glass of his favorite whiskey, leaning heavily against the counter. You fucking idiot. You fucking -- why? Why didn’t you notice it was morning? Did you just not want to notice? Do you want to wreck your life again?

Shut up, he tells himself again, and drinks down the glass.

Then he walks straight over to his most uncomfortable couch, the one he never uses in the spotless living room he never uses, and falls face-down on it.

His doorbell rings.

Some time’s gone by again. Jaime sits up slowly. Rubs the heel of his hand into his right eye. A few steps towards sober, but only a few. So not too long. Who is ringing his bell? He gets himself standing. Not many people come to his door. If it’s one of his siblings, he’s not home.

It’s on the third step towards the door that he realizes it will be Brienne. He doesn’t know how he knows it but he knows it absolutely, as if he can see her through the door. But how is she here? He never gave her his address. It couldn’t be her.

But it is her. He looks through the peephole in his door and he can see her. Tarth. Absurdly tall, with that strange hunched-over stance of hers. A coat wrapped closely around her, her sandy hair mussed up from the hat she’s taken off already. She looks nervous and worried. She frowns, takes out her phone and glares at it. Her shoulders are up around her ears like they had been at the barcade all those months ago, when they had been friendly for the first time.

Gods. What is she doing here? He brought her back here once, that’s how she knows how to get here. She remembered the building. He should have thought of that. He shouldn’t have answered the phone. He must have sounded drunk. She thinks he needs rescuing. Fuck.

She reaches over and knocks. He can feel it against his hands, her knuckles rapping against the door. It’s strange, hearing the sound and feeling it in his hands. Then she looks at her phone again and pushes some buttons.

His phone vibrates where he left it on the floor, over by the couch. At least he turned the ringer off.

She holds the phone at her ear and frowns some more. His phone vibrates two, three, four times. Then she takes it down and ends the call.

Brienne paces in front of his door a little. She walks away from his sight and he thinks that’s it, she’s gone and then she reappears. Looks at the door some more and then walks away in the other generation, comes back. Knocks on the door again. Who let her in the building? One of the doormen? One of his neighbors? No tip for security this year. She looks up and down the hall and then folds her arms in front of her and leans her back against the wall opposite.

Maybe she thinks she caught him at the bar. When she called earlier. She’s waiting for him to come home. What time is it now? It was 9 before, but that was awhile ago. His head hurts, and his nerves are starting to spark and hum. He’s getting too sober. He wants to go back to his liquor cabinet and find that Jamaican Rum that his aunt sent him from her second honeymoon. But he wants to look at her too. Looking at Brienne feels like his favorite 100-year whiskey. Warming, soothing. Like everything will be all right.

He doesn’t want her to see him drunk. She saw that just once, and that was not good. He hated that. He didn’t even know her then but something about being around her made him want to be… not like this.

Maybe he can call her from his phone, tell her he’s at his brother’s place. She’ll go home.

Brienne checks her phone again and sighs. She slides down along the wall so that she’s sitting on the floor, her long legs folded in front of her, and she leans her head back and closes her eyes.

Jaime keeps his hands on the door, still feeling the vibration of her knocks quivering against his fingertips, and closes his eyes too. She’s so close. He wants to… he wants a lot more than he can ask of her. He shouldn’t have answered his phone. He wasn’t thinking.

How long is she going to sit there?

He lets a few more minutes go by in utter quiet, resting his forehead against the door. Then he unlocks the door and yanks it open.

“You might as well come in,” he says.

She looks up with a mildly betrayed expression, though she could not know how long he watched her through the peephole. He’s ready to tell her some lie about why it took so long for him to answer the door, but Brienne doesn’t ask. She just unfolds herself, all six and a half feet of her, and breezes past him.

Brienne takes a long and appraising look at his apartment while he locks the door behind her, taking in the disarray in the kitchen, his coat fallen on the floor. One of his kitchen chairs is on its side. How it had gotten there is a mystery he is not interested in investigating. He must have gotten up for a while and knocked it over and not remembered it. Hopefully he hasn’t broken anything important.

“You weren’t in your office,” she says mildly. Not accusatory, just explaining. “And you weren’t answering your phone.”

Jaime rakes a hand through his hair quickly, tucking it behind his ears. He’s still wearing a dress shirt and trousers from dinner with the family, but they’re looking decidedly rumpled now. He’s a mess. He should jump in the shower and change.

“I was asleep.”

He can usually hold a conversation when he’s drinking with no one the wiser, but he’s also half-awake and hungover right now. He trips over the “S”s lazily, knowing there’s no point in pretending by now.

Brienne settles herself a good six feet away from him, and takes another step back when he takes one towards her. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” He shrugs. “I slipped up. It’s not a big deal.”

She’s standing so far away from him it’s almost funny. He ought to call her on his cell phone to underline the point. Maybe they would actually be able to talk then.

It’s strange. For all they have spoken to each other, they have rarely spent time together in person. Since that time they met, which hardly counts, and when they reconnected at his birthday, he’s only been face to face with her one other time. That was here at this apartment, and it had been strange then too. She had slept on his couch in the front room, and he had lain awake on his bed all night long.

She had been nervous then too, but not this nervous. Brienne’s always awkward, she has the presence of someone who’s been alone much too often and it’s made them strange. Now she’s worried on top of it, which is worse.

Brienne slips her long coat off her shoulders and drapes it over one arm, and looks grateful for something to do with herself. When she looks down at him again her brow furrows painfully. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” he says shortly, and takes the coat out of her hands. He hangs it up in the hall closet and when he turns back to her she has her arms folded in front of her.

Over the phone they have been relaxed with each other, but now it seems they’re back to square one.

And now he feels awkward too. “Do you want something? I have a little bit left of that whisky you liked.”

Her eyes narrow just a little. “No. Have you been drinking since Wednesday?”

Jaime shrugs. “I guess. Not the whole time. I slept some.” Wednesday. She said Wednesday, and not yesterday, and that means today is… he glances at the oven clock. 10:13am. He should probably open the blinds now so that time doesn’t get away from him again. It’s Friday morning. And he just offered her a whiskey. Smooth.

It’s Friday morning and Peck is fixing his report right now, and Brienne should be writing her next piece from that bric-a-brac nest she calls an office.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” he asks her suddenly.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” she says again, like that explains anything.

“You came out of your cave for that? I should never pick up the phone again.” He’s got his own arms crossed in defense against her now. “As you can see, I’m completely fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Her arms crossed in front of her like a scolding teacher. Next she’ll send him to the principal’s office.

Abruptly he decides to busy himself, first with setting his chair upright and pushing it under the counter. He puts some empty takeout containers in the trash. Puts some empty glasses in the sink.

Brienne just watches all of this silently, lets her words hang in the air between them like an accusation. You’re not fine.

“Did you come here to stare at me?” he snaps. “Or do you want something?”

Her eyebrows wrinkle in a way that he usually finds kind of cute. “I want to know what’s happened.”

He opens the refrigerator and withdraws a water bottle that is not actually filled with water. Sometime yesterday/last night/this morning he’d put it there, and now he congratulates himself on his prescience.

“Come on,” he says.

He takes her back to the TV room and sits in his chair and she sits on the one comfortable couch he owns, looking around the room. “This looks more like you,” she says. “This room.”

“Because it’s a mess?”

“It looks like someone actually lives here. The other rooms look like a catalogue.”

She’s sitting like a comma on his couch, some stiff and simple sort of punctuation mark that doesn’t take up much space. Her hands in her lap and her shoulders up by her ears. Brienne never looks especially comfortable but this is tense even for her. She’s worried. What does she think he’s going to do?

He feels he should explain. He’s giving her the wrong impression. He isn’t normally like this.

“This isn’t bad,” he tries to reassure her. “I mean, it’s bad, but it’s not that bad. You should see my brother and sister, they put me to shame. Tyrion’s half my size and he can put this away in a single night. And Cersei can drink a truly legendary amount of Tequila. This is an average night in the Lannister household, believe me.”

Her eyebrows raise. She is not finding this reassuring.

“College parties, that’s where the real drinking was. The blackouts and passing out on the floor and that kind of thing. Kid stuff. And when I first joined the business, there were some heavy nights. Mostly coke, but drinking too. It’s pretty normal, at this level. VPs, CFOs, we all party pretty hard. When you’re in charge, you do things to unwind. But I don’t do that anymore. I haven’t done coke in years. I never really liked it, it made me too paranoid.”

The most reasonable part of his brain, the one he has been trying to shut up, is absolutely screaming at him now to stop fucking talking. Don’t tell her these things! Shut up!

He keeps babbling anyway. “So it’s just this now, and I don’t really do it much anymore. For a while I was doing it all the time -- at night, anyway, after work -- but I didn’t let it get out of hand. I do my job and I pay my bills and was never a big deal. I decided to cut back and it didn’t really work so I cut it out all together for awhile. I got a sponsor and that whole thing, so it’s really under control.”

“A sponsor? You went to AA?” She looks startled. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah, well. It’s just as cliche as you’d think. Church basement, meetings, bad coffee, all that.”

“Did it help?”

Yes and no. There was something weirdly soothing about it. Like a movie he’s seen a bunch of times before, except now he’s in it. Now he’s the one sitting in a semicircle saying “My name is Jaime and I’m an alcoholic.” A person knows pretty much what’s expected of them there, what your lines are. It fills time. But it doesn’t really stop the pain, or smooth out all of the minutes of the day scraping by like sandpaper against your jagged nerves. The only thing that really helps that is booze, and that’s the one thing you’re not supposed to do.

“Jaime?” Brienne is staring at him and her eyebrows are knitted together again with that furrow in the middle. He has to say something back now. He says the first thing to come into his head.

“You don’t have to worry, ok? When I sober up I’ll be fine. Getting started usually isn’t a problem. If I need to not do it I can just not have any. I don’t get myself into trouble, fights, falling over in public, nothing like that. It’s not like… my grandfather, he was a real drunk. He’d pass out in some alley somewhere. Police used to haul him into the station, let him sleep it off in the drunk tank. My father would tell me stories… but I do this at home, and I don’t get arrested and I don’t bother anyone and no one sees. I go back to my job and everything’s fine.”

“If it’s not a problem,” she says slowly, “why did you need to quit? You told me you were quitting.”

“Well. It is a little problem,” he admits. “It’s… stopping is hard. When I’m drinking it feels good, and sobering up feels real bad.”

He can feel it sneaking up on him right now, actually, and it fills him with dread. The sword of Damocles. When he’s not drunk anymore he’ll feel shitty all the time. He’ll have to go back to being Jaime Lannister, and that feels pretty terrible.

“I didn’t mean to start again. It was an accident. I was at dinner with my father and Cersei and Tyrion. And we started arguing and I just… as a reflex, you know. There was a glass in front of me and I drank it. I wasn’t thinking. By the time I realized it was too late.”

He takes a swig from the bottle, several quick swallows.

“So the first drink was an accident. The others weren’t.”

“Well, by then I’m already off the wagon. I might as well enjoy it.”

“Why did you have a glass in front of you, anyway? Haven’t you told them yet? Jaime, I’ve been telling you --”

“I did tell them. I did.” He shrugs again. “I think Father’s exact words were, ‘Nonsense’ and ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ And Cersei just laughed and ordered drinks for all of us, me included.”

She looks furious. “Your family is horrible.”

He leans his head back heavily. “I did tell them all to fuck off, this time. After I realized. I was pretty angry. I was doing really well there for awhile, really I was. I had six months last Sunday.”

That awful moment of realization. That was what did it more than anything, that moment holding the glass and looking down and realizing what he had done. He had taken a drink and ruined everything and it was already too late to stop. He could not take it back. He had tried so hard and it was all for nothing. You don’t get to call it A Year of Sobriety Except for That One Time. If you drink again you have to start the clock over. He’d have to tell Arthur he slipped up and talk about it in a stupid fucking meeting and do the ridiculous steps again and it’s all so stupid and useless to go to the trouble when all of that miserable time and effort could be wiped out in ten seconds.

And Cersei, and Father, and even Tyrion… they thought it was funny, they laughed about how gobsmacked he looked, and that had made it worse. Because it had meant something to him, and maybe that was stupid of him but shouldn’t they care? Shouldn’t that matter? But it doesn’t.

“I know…” Brienne sounds properly sorrowful now, more like he would have wanted his own fucking family to feel. “You were doing really great.”

“He was calling me a fuck-up. A stupid, useless fuck-up. Just like his father was, my grandfather. And of course I went and proved him right. Right on the spot. Just because I wouldn’t -- he doesn’t like me calling my own shots, on the job. I’m supposed to just do what he tells me. But I actually had a better idea this time. We wouldn’t have to lay off half my department with the cost savings if we did it my way. And I knew he wouldn’t listen so I just did it. That made him pretty mad.”

He drinks a little more from the water bottle, several long swallows. He has to hold it with both hands. His left hand is a little shaky.

“You were arguing about work?” Brienne asks. She sounds a little farther away.

“Well, it started about work. But then he gets mad and brings out all this old stuff. He brings up the Stark kid. He’s still paying that family off you know. Did I tell you that?”

Her expression darkens immediately. “A little.”

“The kid that I hit with my car. Couple years ago. Cersei was there, and we were drinking, and she was distracting me. Doing things. And she said we had to drive away. Because we’d get caught. She was… it would have been obvious. So I drove off. But their mom saw the car and Father has been paying them off ever since. When he gets mad he brings it up like he’s going to… I don’t know. He wouldn’t actually let it go public, it would embarrass the family. But he might stop paying them. That kid’s still in a wheelchair. They need that money.”

His hand’s still shaking. This is… that’s a new one. It won’t stop.

“That was an accident too. But it was still my fault. Like this is my fault. A whole lot of things are my fault.”

Jaime sets the water bottle on the floor next to the chair and glares at his left hand. This hand needs to behave itself. The right one is down to three fingers and now the good one won’t stop shaking. But he can’t worry about it now, Brienne will see. He shoves it under the armrest where he won’t have to look at it.

He’s so tired suddenly. Every part of his body is so heavy. He would really like to just curl up and be unconscious for a while. Be nowhere. He could easily just turn over and go to sleep, but he is intensely aware that Brienne is here and she is watching and Brienne notices things, unlike most of the people he knows who never seem to notice a damned thing.

Right at that moment, she stands up decisively. “I’ll get you some more water. Do you need anything else? Maybe you could pick out a movie for us to watch. But no horror films, you are not springing something like Hereditary on me again. I didn’t sleep for days.”

She’s bending over and taking his water bottle and he’s tempted to snatch it back, but it was over half-empty anyway. He’s not sure he could follow a movie right now. Maybe there’s a game they could watch. He can’t remember if Brienne likes any sports. She thinks e-sports are stupid, when you aren’t playing them there’s no point in watching, but does that apply to espn? He’s filing through his memories to see if she’s ever mentioned basketball. A woman as tall as her almost certainly played some basketball. But does she watch it on tv?

Brienne sputters suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts, and he glances over to see her recoiling from the plastic bottle in her hand with a sour look on her face. “This isn’t water.”

Oh. Right. She would have assumed that. A reasonable person would have switched to water by now. But reasonable people would not have been drunk for… 2 days now.

“You’re still drinking?” she says incredulously. “After all this?”

He grabs at the bottle with what he hopes is a graceful maneuver. “There’s real water in the fridge. This one’s mine.”

She holds fast to the bottle, her expression suddenly hardening. “No. You have to stop.”

Brienne spins on her heel and strides out of the room purposefully.

He jumps up and follows her down the hall. Slams his shoulder into the doorframe making the turn and somehow manages to knock his head against the wall. Brienne takes no pity on him for that. She doesn’t even look back, beats him into the kitchen by a mile, carrying that bottle. When he makes it there she’s letting the last bit of vodka empty out of the bottle into the sink.

Okay, fine. He won’t be bothered by it. Jaime has plenty more where that came from, and if it makes her feel better, that’s worth its weight in Carbonadi.

But Brienne isn’t done quite yet. She walks over to the liquor cabinet and takes up a bottle in each hand, heading back to the sink. In a few quick motions she’s untwisted the tops of both bottles and is pouring those out too, overturning them completely over the drain with an expression of grim determination.

Jaime watches this every bit as disbelievingly as she had been to discover vodka instead of water in his plastic bottle. Wasting liquor is not something that would ever be done in the Lannister household. He would have been scolded for that as surely as another son would be shouted at for wrecking the car. That is, if one of his siblings didn’t lay themselves down under the bottle to catch every last drop before it could hit the drain.

Not to mention how expensive that particular liquor is. “Do you have any idea how much that costs?” he says, still not quite believing what he’s seeing.

“Send me a bill.” Brienne wastes no time - as soon as the bottles are empty she lets them drop into the sink and is heading back over to the liquor cabinet all in a rush.

He stirs at last, gets between her and the sink. He has to put up his hands like a basketball player to hold her off. “Okay, okay, I get that you want me to sober up. But don’t ruin a thousand dollars worth of good booze just to make a point.”

“I’m not -- a thousand dollars?” She looks down at the crystal decanter in her left hand, startled. “What the hell is it made out of, gold?”

He grins at her. “That one’s from Zurich, bottled in 1958. I’ve been sipping from that for about 2 years, making it last.”

“Well not anymore. You have to get rid of all of this.” She gestures at the assortment of bottles still gathered together in the rosewood box. “You can’t keep this around anymore.”

“Okay.” He holds up his hands placatingly. “I’ll give it to my brother, he’ll take care of it.”

She regards him suspiciously. “Not good enough.” She tries to push past him, and he stops her.

“Cut it out, Brienne.”

“No. I should have done this when I was here the time before. I was going to insist that you get rid of the liquor and I didn’t do it. If I had you might not be in this state right now.”

“Not true. I wasn’t even home when this started, and I can always buy more. I can go buy more right now.” Her nostrils flare, and she’s clenching her jaw stubbornly, unconvinced. “Listen, I’m going to stop now, for real. But you can’t just dump out this stuff, okay? It’s valuable.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“You don’t have the money.”

“I will in a few paychecks.”

Now he’s getting frustrated. “Look, it’s sweet that you wanted to check on me, but destroying my things is too far. I’m going to be angry with you about this, Brienne.”

Brienne looks at him levelly. “I can live with that.”

She could, of course. She doesn’t need him for anything. She can always just leave and never talk to him again.

“I think you should go,” he says, even as internally he is screaming in protest at the thought.

For just a moment, she looks hurt. Her blue eyes go wide and shimmery. But then she clenches her jaw stubbornly.

“I care about you, you asshole. I’m not leaving you here with all this. With these same bottles you’ve been haunting yourself with all this time. You can go and get more tomorrow if you really want to and If you hate me for it, then you hate me for it. But I’m getting rid of these.”

“No. You’re not,” he tells her firmly.

She turns her head to one side and another, looking for options, as though she might run to another room and upturn the bottles there. But that would mean abandoning the liquor cabinet, and he would surely rescue the rest of his stash while she did that.

Instead she hefts the heavy decanter in one hand and hurls it at the wall.

The bottle detonates in a spray of amber liquid and shards of glass, making a truly startling crash.

Jaime’s mouth falls open.

Brienne pants as though she has just run a marathon, grabs the next bottle and hurls it like a shotput. It explodes against the wall in almost the same spot, loud as a gunshot and culminating in a shower of glass.

Somehow the shock of it has fixed him in place. He just stands there stock-still as she lifts another bottle and throws it overhand like a wild pitch, like he’s admiring her form.

The third bottle, however, does not produce the same satisfying explosion. It bounces firmly off the wall with a resounding clunk, sails a few feet back, skids on the kitchen tile and slides into the island where it comes to a stop.

The two of them stare in silence, both frozen, at the errant, completely full and intact bottle.

Jaime recovers first. He bends over and picks it up. It’s another vodka, a grey goose, in a stiff plastic bottle that wouldn’t break no matter how hard you threw it. Garbage vodka, for when you’re too drunk to care about anything but staying drunk.

He hands it back to Brienne. His hand shakes only a little.

“Just pour it out,” he tells her, without looking her in the face. “No need to smash it. The others too.”

He turns his back on it, unable to watch, and leaves the kitchen. He sinks down on the terrible couch, leans back his head, and closes his eyes. Some small part of him is hopeful that she won’t take him up on it, that she made her point and will let the rest of his liquor cabinet live. But she doesn’t. Very methodically, she pours out every one of the bottles letting each one glug glug glug the wonderful liquid away until it’s completely dry before starting the next one.

It takes awhile.

He had his last swig from the bottle about ten minutes ago now. He can already feel himself starting to sober up again. He won’t have anything to soften that blow. Thirty minutes from now he’ll have a crushing headache, and the vomiting will start up after that.

And he’ll start feeling things. Probably a lot of things about what’s happening right now - about Brienne in his kitchen pouring out all his alcohol, and all the things he told her, and Brienne seeing him dead drunk, and -- how is he going to get rid of her before he starts puking? She is showing no inclination to leave anytime soon. What is he going to do?

When the sound of expensive booze pouring down the drain dies down he hears Brienne sweeping up the broken glass with a broom. He didn’t even know he had a broom.

He can’t believe she did that. Threw a bottle at the wall. Two bottles! Now who’s dramatic?

He can’t believe he’s missing another day of work. He’s never missed two days in a row. Before yesterday he had never missed even one. Even when he was drinking every night, he reported to the office no matter what. He might have felt like hell but by god he had gotten there. Now he has had a weekend bender in the middle of the week and left his team scrambling to cover for him and he is going to feel like shit about that sometime very soon.

A hand on his shoulder startles him, and he jerks up his head. Brienne is crouching down at his side. “Is there any more?”

He is quiet a long moment, then answers.

“In the bedroom. Bedside table. Maybe the bathroom too. Don’t remember.”

“Okay.” She squeezes his shoulder and disappears.

Jaime closes his eyes again. Was that it? He doesn’t think there’s any more. He never really hid booze - only a real drunk would do that. Maybe he should have gotten rid of the flask in the bedside table. He never intended to use it. He just liked knowing it was there, for some reason. He left something in the medicine cabinet as a dark joke. It’s the only medicine that has ever done anything for him.

Goddamn, his head is heavy.

Then she’s touching his shoulder again. “You said something about a sponsor? What’s his name? Is he in your phone?”

His head is too heavy to look. Does she have his phone? “His name’s Arthur. Something. D. Arthur something with a D.”

“Thanks.” She definitely has his phone. He can hear her dialing. She’s calling his sponsor? What is this, grade school? She’s tattling on him? He is going to be mad about that later, when he has the energy for it.

“Hi. Um, you don’t know me but… my name’s Brienne, and I’m a friend of Jaime Lannister. I have his phone. Well, there’s a bit of a problem… Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Then Brienne is asking Arthur sensible questions about ambulances and alcohol poisoning. She could have asked him about that, but maybe she’s not too inclined to listen to him right now. She says “uh-huh” a lot, and then is quiet for awhile.

“His awful family. He went to dinner with them and he came back like this- yes, apparently they didn’t take him seriously, or didn’t care. They put a drink in front of him and pretty much dared him to take it.”

She’s quiet again for a long while.

Then she’s putting the phone to his ear, and he can hear Arthur’s low and musical voice. “Hello Jaime. Gone on a bit of a bender, have we?”

Jaime doesn’t say anything. He is in no way ready for this conversation. He likes Arthur. He hates letting Arthur down.

Arthur goes on anyway. “Let me guess. You made a little unintentional mistake, and you decided you might as well make it a giant mistake while you’re at it. If you’re going to fall down the ladder you’re going to hit every rung on the way down.”

“Pretty much.” Jaime rubs his aching head.

“You should have called after the first one. That’s what a sponsor’s for.”

Yes, that’s what they tell you to do. But he didn’t want to tell Arthur he fucked it all up. He had just gotten to six months and Arthur had actually praised him for it, and Jaime had felt pretty good about that, and he didn’t want to tell Arthur about it at all.

“I fucked up,” he admits.

Arthur goes on. “Everybody slips up. It happens. One swallow doesn’t have to mean you’re off the wagon, Jaime. You could have stopped it there.”

“Really?” Could have kept his six month chip though? Maybe that shouldn’t matter to him, but he does so like his prizes.

“Look, don’t beat yourself up about it. You were doing really well until you saw your family. It may be that you can’t see them right now. We’re going to talk about that when you’re 100%, all right?”

He swallows. At least Arthur doesn’t sound too mad. Disappointed, maybe. Or concerned. He isn’t so good at telling what concerned is supposed to sound like.

“You’ve got somebody there with you? You never mentioned this Brienne.”

“Yeah. She’s…” He’s not sure how to explain Brienne. “She’s a friend.”

“She sounds like a good friend who is very worried about you. I’m glad she’s there. So sleep it off and call me when you wake up. And get yourself to a meeting."

Ugh. He hates AA meetings. A club for losers full of other losers. He especially hates knowing how many more meetings he's going to have to sit through now. Arthur will probably want him to go to a daily meeting for at least a few weeks, then twice weekly after that, then…. when will it ever be finished? Does he really have to keep doing it forever? Sitting around in a room full of drunks talking about alcohol on a regular basis is really not something he wants to be doing for the rest of his life.

"Okay Jaime? I know you hate them, but it was actually helping you. Maybe your friend could come with you."

"Absolutely not," he says quickly. It's bad enough that she's seeing him now.

"Sooner or later, son, you're going to have to let somebody see you hurting. You can’t keep doing this wounded animal bullshit, or it will kill you one way or another.”

"She's seen it." He laughs bitterly. "I hate it, but she has."

"Well, she didn’t run screaming yet, right? So maybe It's not such an awful thing, kiddo."

"I'm 38 years old, Arthur."

"You're a kid to me. Get some sleep. And stop beating yourself up. Tomorrow I’ll tell you how many tries it took me to get sober."

Jaime hangs up the phone feeling actually marginally better.

Brienne, meanwhile, is scanning her own phone, pacing in the kitchen. She looks up when he goes quiet, and then comes over.

“I’m looking up the symptoms of alcohol poisoning,” she tells him. Reading off her phone, she goes down the list. “Mental confusion, difficulty remaining conscious…”

“Not so different from normal, then,” Jaime cuts in. He’s read the list before.

“Seizures, slow breathing, slow heart rate, low body temperature, blue skin, clammy skin…”

He finishes for her. “Dulled responses, reduced gag reflex. It’s why I sleep it off in a chair, so I won’t choke. I know how much is too much, Brienne. All Emergency would do is give me fluids and wait for me to sober up. I can do that here.”

She leans over and brushes the hair back from his face. “Not too clammy. I guess you’re not dying. Your head is bleeding though.”

He feels at the spot next to his right eyebrow where she’s poking him with her finger. He’s cut himself somehow. Not too much blood, but fresh, bright red.

“Bandages?” she asks, before he can get up.

“Bathroom. Medicine cabinet.”

She’s back right away, with the little drugstore box kit that he keeps for this kind of situation, and the rubbing alcohol. Sitting on the couch next to him she starts dabbing at his head with a cotton ball. It stings.

Even sitting down she’s taller than him. He thought her height was mostly in her legs, but her torso is long and broad and he still has to tilt back his head to look into her face. It’s a strange sensation.

Brienne doesn’t usually come so close to him, and certainly hasn’t touched him before. Not since his hand. Now she’s tending to him again, and again he notices how careful she is, how considerate. She has one hand steady under his chin while the other gently cleans out his ridiculous wound. Her hands are cool and soft and her voice is calm.

“You’re pretty used to looking after yourself,” she says. “This kit’s been used.”

“Not so much. I’m not usually this clumsy.” He watches as she unpeels the medical tape a lot more gracefully than he would be able to now, with his claw hand. “I was an athlete for a long time, believe it or not. All through school, even after college. Before I went soft.”

Brienne doesn’t seem interested in that detail. She frowns in concentration as she applies a square of gauze to his forehead. “You said you looked after your sister and your brother after your mother died. So who looked after you?”

“Me I guess. That’s how we’re all so healthy and well-adjusted now.” He chuckles humorlessly. “Meanwhile you’re shockingly good at tending wounds for an only child.”

“Lots of time in hospitals,” she reminds him. Applies a second piece of tape and presses it down. “Do you feel like going back to the other room? We could still watch a movie.”

Jaime doesn’t feel like it, but he doesn’t feel like doing anything really, and the back room has his favorite chair. So he may as well. He pushes up to his feet and wobbles there, light-headed, until Brienne’s hand on his back steadies him. There is open concern on her face, standing over him.

He doesn’t like that. Being stood up like an invalid. If there’s one thing he is good at, it is drinking a hell of a lot of booze and keeping himself going anyway. He is an expert at it. So he can take being bandaged and letting her sort out his kitchen, but like hell will he get across his own damned apartment not under his own power.

He takes off determinedly down the hall, not feeling along the walls for balance. He is not doing so well now at pretending not to be drunk, and he doesn’t walk so straight, but he makes it the whole long length without crashing again. Points to him. He pulls the first DVD he can properly read off the shelf and hands it to Brienne where she is trailing behind him, and is satisfied to see her brighten a little.

“Oh good, I haven’t seen the third one yet!” She cracks open the box and starts poking at his entertainment system and he lets her sort it out while he settles down in the recliner. He wants to sit next to her on the couch but he has a feeling he is going to feel like fresh hell before the film is over and the chances of a cuddle under these circumstances are approximately zero.

He barely notices the credits. He’s seen this one before anyway. The first two were better. But it feels better with the lights out, and he won’t have to keep up conversation. He lets Brienne enjoy the movie. He sinks down lower and lower in the chair and as the minutes slip by he’s starting to be dizzy, and his throat is getting tighter and tighter with the knowledge of how badly he has fucked up.

Arthur made it sound not so bad. Like it isn’t a big deal. But it is for him. He hasn’t gone so long without a drink since he was, what, fourteen? He didn’t know he could go without. Six months sober. He was sleeping better, he had more energy, he started running again. And then this. Maybe he can’t cut it. One dinner with his father and he’s a disaster again.

Ugh. The flicking light of the screen makes everything look blurry and unreal. The room is starting to sway like a ship’s deck and he’s beginning to be seasick.

Brienne seems pretty engrossed in the movie. If he keeps looking at her it helps the room not to be spinning. But it also kind of makes him want to cry. Embarassingly so.

Six months. A few days ago he had half a year left until he hit the year mark.

Arthur told him in no uncertain terms not to start a new relationship in your first year of sobriety.

For six months he’s had phone calls and texts only, and just a couple face to face meetings, and it had been enough. He could live on that for a little while. But now he has to start it all over again and it’s going to be an entire year before he can ask Brienne to be his girlfriend. Six months of no drinking had been a Herculean task and now it has to be a whole year again. And if he slips up again, even longer than that.

What if he can’t do this sobriety thing? Could he go back to managed-drinking, the way he had been before? He pulled that off for a long time. He could go back to that, maybe, but he couldn’t be with Brienne that way. He had wanted to be better for her. He has to keep trying. And so what if he doesn't wait a year? It's not a law, he doesn't have to wait.

He just wants to do it right this time. If it would hurt his chances with her, make it more likely that he'll ruin everything, he will wait instead. It's bad enough all of the other baggage he has, that he should add "struggling to stay sober" on top of it. It's too much. He should get his head together first.

A whole year.

She could meet someone else in a year. She could get that surgery she was talking about, go out and get a better job, make friends, start dating. She won’t want to stay in and play stupid games with him when she can have a real life. She's going to realize she can do a lot better than him. He’s going to lose her.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, and pushes out of his chair before his watery eyes become too visible. Rushes into the bathroom and sits on the toilet with his head in his hands.

Brienne is knocking on the door. “Are you all right?”

No.

“Yes,” he calls out. Then he has to get off the toilet seat and yank it upwards so he can start vomiting.

#dogface au #trigger warnings for alcoholism and binge-drinking apply #I am not super-researched on the effects of alcoholism at this time and it probably falls short of realism #apologies in advance #am also working on AMFAS promise I just had to get this out first #tumblr fic

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ikonxmx · 5 years ago

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Coke n’ Hennessy Pt. 1 | Jaehyun [M]

Jaehyun spends the night with a beautiful bartender after a really bad break up. Jaehyun x Fem Reader. Inspired by Coke & Henny Pt 1. By Pink Sweat$

Word Count: 4,569 (well damn)

Warnings: Non-Idol AU. Mentions of post-breakup depression. Mentions of unhealthy coping. Mentions of alcohol consumption. Handjob. Fingering. Spanking (light). Dirty talk. Praise. Vulgar language. (Safe 😎) Sexual and suggestive themes throughout.

This is my first post for an NCT member and I’m pretty excited about it. Hopefully, all of you will enjoy it. Also please note, it’s 2 AM in California and I didn't proofread.

Rowdy drunk screeches make up the soundtrack of the night. Jaehyun had begrudgingly agreed to join his friends at the bar for a night of baseball and getting shit faced. Under normal circumstances he would have declined their less than enticing offer, but... he’s desperate. He’d been holed in his tiny one-bedroom apartment for the better part of two months, only emerging from his cave of self-deprivation and pity to obtain food. He was desperate for interaction that wasn’t through the mouthpiece of his headset and didn’t consist of flanking strategies or opponent locations being shouted at volumes so high they were almost inaudible.

The seductive lure of alcohol had also played a part in his agreeance. He hasn’t taken a drink since the night his ex dumped him, choosing to instead utilize games and food as his vices. They worked fine enough, but religiously eating a tub of cheese balls and drinking 2 cans of Red Bull a day combined with only leaving the couch for bathroom breaks and quick trips for more cheese balls had definitely taken a visible toll on his health. He broke out in places he’d never thought getting pimples was possible, but there they were. And now here he is. In a social setting attempting to fight off his post-breakup depression and enjoy life again. A step in the right direction and a step toward the bar.

“Bartender,” he calls raising his hand in an attempt to catch the woman’s attention. Your attention.

It feels awkward, possibly because it’s been so long since he last stepped foot in a bar fully intending to have more than one drink.

You turn toward the sound of a voice and attempt to spot the unfamiliar face. You find him rather quickly, his hand in the air serving as the perfect guide. “There’s 3 ahead of you hun, I’ll be there shortly,” You smile.

Jaehyun nods and watches as you quickly take the orders of two people, create their drinks and accept their payment. You’re quick, and judging by the satisfied looks of the customers, you’re good too.

“What’re you having?” You ask, lifting your eyes from the current cocktail you’re creating to boar into Jaehyun’s.

He swallows thickly. It’s only been a couple of months since the last time he’s had a drink, but he’s suddenly unable to remember the names of the cocktails he loves with you staring at him so intently. He can’t tear his eyes away from your expectant ones. You’ve finished the drink you’d been working on, collected the payment for it, and started preparing the glass for his drink all while never looking away. Your eyes aren’t rushing him, just waiting.

“Y-you choose,” he finally stutters out, afraid that his sudden lapse in memory would mess up the flow you’ve come into.

You nod, “Light or dark?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jaehyun had never really had much of a preference for one over the other. Alcohol was a means to get drunk, which type it is, lacks importance in comparison to the outcome.

He watches as you pull a can of soda from underneath the bar and a bottle from the shelf before mixing them in what looks like equal parts into the glass you’d prepared.

“You starting a tab?” your question as you hand him the drink. He shakes his head and hands you twenty dollars cash. “The drink was only $10. Let me grab your change.”

“Keep the change.” He says quickly before lifting the cup to his lips and taking in a bit through the straw.

“It’s Coke and Hennessy… in case you wanna order another.” You wink and place what would’ve been his change into the bar’s communal tip jar.

“You going to make a move, or just keep being a big tipper for the rest of the night?” Jaehyun’s friend Johnny playfully quips.

Jaehyun had been back to the bar five times in total, three for another drink and twice in between for a glass of water. Each time you had asked if he was ready to start a tab and each time he declined, leaving the change behind as your tip. Even when you had refused to charge him for water, he slipped five dollars into the tip jar and laughed quietly at your perplexed expression.

Jaehyun shrugs at Johnny, unsure of how to answer the question. Your drinks were good, but not ten dollar tip on a ten dollar drink good. He honestly can’t figure out why he keeps going back for more. It’s not like you’ve been giving him some crazy intricate cocktail the entire night, just soda mixed with liquor. It’s so simple. But he finds comfort in it. Or maybe your smile? The way your eyes light up when he tells you to keep the change? He’ll have to get another drink to be sure.

He returns to the bar, empty cup in hand and a broad grin adorning his face. You’re there. Though this time, as the bar has calmed down, you’re not rushing to take the next patron’s order. You’re talking to a man. Another bartender, Jaehyun assumes, the identical aprons would tell as much. Jaehyun waits for the conversation to end, not willing to interrupt. He can’t hear what’s being said, but it’s the first time he hasn't seen you smile the entirety of the night and figures it’s concerning something serious. Business perhaps? The topic’s not important to him, yet he’s still a bit curious. He twiddles his thumbs aimlessly as he waits, looking over the shelves to see the different kinds of alcohol and the random pieces of artwork scattered across the walls. He notices the bar doesn’t necessarily have a clear theme. It’s just dark… with red lights and a few large TV’s covering different sporting events. In fact, it's a bit run down. Why had his friends decided to come here? More baffling, why had you decided to work here?

“Hey,” A voice calls from directly in front of him, pulling Jaehyun from his stationary tour. It’s the male bartender you’d been speaking with. “What can I get you?” His smile is friendly, but not nearly as charming as yours Jaehyun notes disappointedly.

“Ah,” Jaehyun grabs the back of his neck awkwardly. “The um-”

“He’s not ordering anything else,” A voice cuts in from beside him. Jaehyun looks toward the sound and smiles as you come into view.

The male bartender chuckles, “Thought you were leaving.”

“I am,” You answer honestly. “Just taking him with me.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen. You pull him by the arm toward one of the only empty tables. Neither of you bothers taking a seat opting to just rest your elbows on the high table instead.

“You’ve paid ninety dollars for four drinks and two glasses of water,” You tell him over the roar of cheering in the background.

Jaehyun nods, fully aware of how much money he’s wasted at the bar tonight.

You scoff, “I should’ve asked if you were a lightweight.”

Jaehyun smiles, “I’m not,” You look at him in disbelief. “Really,” He assures you.

You look at his face, trying your best to read him but coming up short. He’s handsome, even with his face flushed red from the alcohol and the three small pimples that had clearly made themselves comfortable on his chin. He’s got these dimples, and they make an appearance with even the slightest change in his expression. They’re an added bonus to his already nice smile, pairing well with his beaming ridiculously straight teeth.

“Are you sure?” You questioned again. Through the night you’d watched him interact with his friends as you would any other customer. As a bartender, you have to know when to cut someone off. You definitely questioned his sobriety level the moment he stuffed a tip into the communal jar for comp water.

“I’m fine,” He laughs, “A little buzzed at best. I honestly don’t think you put enough Hennessy in my coca-cola.”

It’s your turn to laugh, “I was worried about making sure there was enough coca-cola in your Hennessy.” You’d been more than generous with his drinks, most bartenders are for the big tippers.

The conversation dies a bit as you both silently shift your focus to the basketball game. Jaehyun undoubtedly prefers the sound of your voice over that of the announcers and turns back to you. It’s his turn to try and read you. And as expected he can’t. Why had you pulled him away from the bar? The other bartender more than likely would have informed him that shifts switched and he would’ve ordered his final drink. Did you notice his interest? Did you take an interest yourself? These questions and more swirled through Jaehyun’s head as he watched you watch the game. Your lips move but Jaehyun wasn’t listening.

“Sorry, what?” He leans in closer so that you don’t have to strain.

You move your lips to his ear, “Tell me your name.”

“Jaehyun,” he smiles. With all his excitement of finally getting to say more than four words to you, he’d almost forgotten you didn’t know each other's names. He asks you the same question in return and you answer with a smile.

“Wanna get out of here, Jaehyun?” Your smirk

That smirk could mean a million things. It easily pushes a hundred different scenarios into Jaehyun’s mind, and suddenly the flush on his face isn’t just because of the alcohol.

“And go where?” He asks shyly.

“The beach.”

Jaehyun’s car is nice. It’s decently clean inside and out, and it’s a newer model. 2018 at least. He doesn’t say anything when you request the keys. He’s aware that it's much safer for you to drive since you haven’t had anything to drink. Though he stands by the earlier attestation of his sobriety, he wouldn’t want to put anyone in danger should he be misgauging it.

The drive to the beach is 45 minutes long, but it feels like it passes in seconds. You and Jaehyun speak about everything from pets to the ice wall you both (jokingly) agree is totally being guarded by NASA storm troopers while a playlist of mellow pop songs plays in the background. It’s nice. Jaehyun hasn’t had a conversation so random yet pleasant in a really long time. You make him feel comfortable. Which is weird since he’s only known you for a few short hours. There’s something about your presence he finds comforting. He was able to feel it at the bar as well. Though you made him slightly nervous, you also eased those nerves.

You make it to the beach in one piece. Jaehyun has a wide grin on his face as he watches you park the car where the sand meets the land. “All good?” You question as you turn to him. Upon seeing his face you can’t help but mirror his smile. Jaehyun nods, assuring he’s fine and shifts around in the passenger seat. The two of you sit there for a while, the mellow pop hits lulling in the back finally being heard in the new silence.

“Why coke and Hennessy,” Jaehyun breaks the silence quickly, already missing the sound of your voice. He’d also been curious for a while. What about him made you choose that drink of all things?

“Honestly,” you begin, a small smile on your face. “It was the first thing to come to mind.” You admit. There’d been no real reason. He didn’t particularly strike you as someone who even likes dark alcohol. But you’d burnt out on making AMF’s pretty early, and cranberry juice was too far away for a Cranberry Vodka. The simple mix was the closest thing available and your line was beginning to pile up.

“I like the honesty,” He laughs. “And I liked the drink.”

“You kept coming back for the drink?” You smirk.

He shakes his head chucking softly, “If I was only going back for the drink I wouldn’t be here with you right now.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely.”

It goes quiet again for a short period of time. You speak up before Jaehyun can this time. “Should we take a walk on the beach?”

“If I can hold your hand…”

You laugh, “You can hold my hand.”

“Can I kiss you?” Jaehyun asks boldly.

You’re taken aback by the request. Sure he had hinted toward his attraction to you throughout the night, but nothing this blatant.

He chuckles at your expression and heats up in embarrassment. “Was that too forward?”

“No,” You admit quickly. It’s your turn to be embarrassed. You answered the question just a little too fast. “It wasn’t, you just… caught me a bit off guard.”

Jaehyun removes his seat belt and leans over the center console. You do the same and laugh as you come face to face with his cheeky grin.

“So can I kiss you?” Jaehyun asks again.

You reach a hand up the back of his neck and gently caress his cheek with your thumb. “No, but you can kiss me back.”

It’s so light that Jaehyun is confused about whether you’ve really kissed him or not. It takes a while for his brain to finally register the light pressure against his lips as yours. He returns the kiss, hands reaching up toward the back of your neck and pulling you closer. Just like that he’s leading the kiss. There’s a heavier pressure and slight neediness to it. Jaehyun hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to kiss you until now. Now that he is actually doing it, and you’re sighing against his lips, Jaehyun feels like a starved man finally getting food. He never wants this to end. He feels your lips part slightly and wastes no time experimentally dipping his tongue between them.

You give a small kitten lick of your own, interested in seeing just how this kiss will pan out. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest as you wait on Jaehyun’s next move. Another swipe of his tongue. You impatiently take the reigns, pulling him closer and pushing past his lips. Your tongues meet and Jaehyun moans. You can’t help the small smile that forms.

Jaehyun moves his free hand toward your waist, desperate for more. More of anything. He wants to feel you… hear you. Every small whimper or sigh you release hits his ears like the opening chords to his favorite song. He can’t help but feel excited. Jaehyun shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat as his ‘excitement’ pushes against the confines of his jeans. There’s no subtly to it, he couldn’t be subtle if he tried right now. All he can hope is that you’re not offended by his body’s reaction.

You notice the second time he shifts and quickly reach your hand to the noticeable outline, eager to hear what sound he’ll make this time. You’re not disappointed. Your ears are met with a rather loud groan. You pull away to watch his face as you massage him over his jeans. It doesn’t take long for his skin to flush an even prettier shade of pink and his breathing to labor.

“The windows are going to fog,” You tease as you change your position to get a better grip.

Jaehyun throws his head back completely uncaring. He rushes his own hand down to his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them as quickly as he can. He grunts out his pleasure when your hand comes in contact with his hardened member over his boxer briefs. It’s one less layer between you, but it’s still not close enough. It still feels like he needs more. He reaches over, returning his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and crushing his lips to yours. His hips thrust into your palm, chasing the pleasure it provides.

You move your hand past his boxers and grip his uncovered hot flesh. He pulls away from your mouth with a loud moan.

“Fuck.” he pants against your lips.

“Feel good?” You tease as you speed up your fist.

“So fucking good,”

Every melodious moan, groan and sigh he releases heads directly to your core. Your need grows, starting in the pit of your stomach and pooling down until it reaches your damp underwear. “Jaehyun,” you whine his name in hopes of catching his attention but he’s far too enthralled in his own pleasure to notice. You whine louder, slowing your hand to a near stop simultaneously. Jaehyun’s head whips toward you and he lets out a whine of his own, his hips bucking up to chase the friction he’s losing.

“Please don’t stop,” He begs near tears.

You almost feel bad, but the ache between your thighs his whine causes pushes any sympathy you feel away.

“Touch me,” You demand, lifting up so you’re on your knees, leaning over the center console.

Jaehyun moans. Is this a dream? He’s wanted to touch you all night, but even with your hand down his pants, he didn’t have the confidence to reciprocate. Reaching a hand around he begins to run his fingers over your jean covered center. It’s hot to the touch and Jaehyun can feel your sex twitching with need. He gradually increases the pressure as he continues watching in awe as your hips push back to meet his fingers, grinding against the air and his digits.

He pulls his hand back, sprawling his palm across your ass and massaging the flesh before quickly lifting it and bringing it down. He isn’t sure how you’ll react to the blow but has high hopes you’ll be in agreeance. His worried nerves are eased upon hearing you release a deep sigh. So he continues, striking your ass again... And then again.

“You’re so wet,” He voices his observance, returning his fingers to your covered core. You’ve dampened your jeans, a clear sign of your arousal making an appearance through the thick material. “Want to feel you.”

You lift yourself up as much as you can, the hand on his dick abandoning its post in favor of your new mission. Undressing your lower half. You clumsily remove your shoes, socks, and jeans, and toss them to the back seat uncaringly. Jaehyun reaches over after your jeans have been removed and returns his hand to your core, the soaked material of your underwear immediately coating his fingers.

“So wet,” He sighs, reaching up and reconnecting your lips.

You kiss him back with fervor. His middle and ring fingers gracefully switch between sweeping through your covered folds and rubbing at your sensitive clit. You moan, desperate for more but much too embarrassed to beg.

Jaehyun isn’t one for begging, though he’s sure the please would sound gorgeous leaving your lips, he feels your body language is loud enough. You haven’t stopped moaning, your hips haven’t stopped moving, and you’ve taken a strong fondness to nibbling his bottom lip. Feeling the boldest he’s felt tonight, he wordlessly shifts the fabric of your panties to the side and slides a single digit into your heat.

“Shit,” He curses feeling a harsher bite.

“I’m sorry,” You moan pulling away, panting slightly. “Caught me off guard.”

He says nothing, instead opting to watch your face as his middle finger glides in and out of your sopping sex.

“I can’t believe how wet you are,” He admits.

You almost go to hide your face in embarrassment, but the intrusion of a second finger halts your actions. The pleasant stretch has you moaning out in bliss and pushing back to chase the fingers as they retract.

Jaehyun can feel your sex fluttering around his fingers as they enter you. It’s clear to him you’re enjoying yourself, the arousal coating his fingers serving as all the proof he needs. But, he can’t help but feel greedy for more. His fingers speed up and twist to reach every angle inside of your sopping center as he searches for the spongy flesh of your g-spot. You let him know as soon as he’s found it, doubling over and panting out a continuous mix of ‘right there' and ‘don’t stop’. It’s a bit awkward but he tries his best to keep the angle, watching you intently as he does. Your face is contorted in pleasure, lips parted, eyebrows knit, eyes sealed; you’re a complete masterpiece to Jaehyun. He’s not sure how you can get anymore more beautiful.

“I’m gonna cum,” You admit, grabbing at his thigh with one hand to anchor yourself. With your other hand, you reach back to your front and rub harsh circles against your clit. Your high hits suddenly and Jaehyun works you through it, never letting up his pace or changing from the spot he’s found until he’s sure you’ve finished. The hand you had used to help bring yourself to completion, swings up to join your other on Jaehyun’s thigh. Your eyes open, the blissful hayes of your orgasm slowly subsiding.

“So fucking sexy,” Jaehyun whines, shifting in his seat, his long-neglected erection straining harshly against the fabric of his underwear.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” You sigh. He reaches forward and pulls the lever to open his glove box. Sat neatly inside is an unopened pack of condoms. Your next sigh is one of relief. You swipe the condoms and reclose the compartment quickly. “Push the seat all the way back.” You instruct.

Jaehyun listens quickly, pulling the switch to send the seat back and catching you when you nearly lose your balance. He watches as you almost comically climb over the console and take a seat on his thigh. You struggle with the condom for a while before Jaehyun impatient takes the rubber from your hand and opens it himself.

You watch as he removes his dick from the confines of his boxer briefs and slowly rolls the condom down his erect length. He pumps himself a few times once the condom is on, making sure it’s on the right way and that friction won’t cause any air pockets to form. Feeling confident enough with his application, you grip his wrist and remove his hand. A swing of your leg and you’re straddling him, your heated and soaking center just above this throbbing cock.

All he needs to do is line up your center with his member and slide into your sex, everything he desires at this moment is within grasp, but he can’t bring himself to make the move. Everything tonight has been your call, and for some reason, Jaehyun likes it that way. You chose his drink, you chose to come to the beach, you had him get you off first… Why end that now? He moves a hand to your wait in preparation but doesn’t make another move. His eyes are glued to where you two sexes meet, watching as your juices glisten over your folds and his dick jumps in anticipation.

You place a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself and use the other hand to reach for his cock. A small drop in your hips sends his length sliding against your folds. You watch with a small smile as Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. Another more precise drop has his tip entering your heat. He sighs a bit and tightens his grip on your waist. You continue, drop after drop, easing his thick length into you bit by bit.

Jaehyun’s toes curl as you lift yourself up, your walls squeezing him so tightly he feels like he could cum any minute. He wants so badly for this experience to last. There's an amazingly beautiful woman sat on top of his dick, moaning as she takes what she can, and hissing as she tries to take more.

“Fuck,” You curse sliding yourself down again. “You’re so fucking big.”

“Your pussy is so wet,” Jaehyun moans. “Take some more, I know you can.”

You lift yourself up and drop again in an attempt to take more, but the stretch almost seems too much.

“Want my help?”

You nod, slightly exhausted from your earlier orgasm and exerting so much energy trying to fuck in such a tight space.

Jaehyun keeps his hold on your hips firm and raises his own up. He listens to every whine you let out as he slides more and more of himself into your sex, grunting out his own pleasure when he finally bottoms out inside you. He becomes less gentle. You feel too good to be gentle. As much as his mind yells at him to savor the moment and take things slow, his body is begging him to fuck you senseless.

“You feel so good,” He whines, tensing up at the feel of his impending end. He can’t cum yet. He’s just getting started. Jaehyun grounds his feet into the floor below him and picks up the pace.

“Oh shit,” You moan feeling him touch areas inside you you’re pretty sure no other man has. He feels amazing, the original sting of him stretching you has started to subside and is being replaced by insurmountable amounts of pleasure. Somehow your body is still greedy, begging for more. Although you’ve cum once already, it’s begging you for another. “You like the way my pussy feels?” You pant into his ear.

“Fuck yeah, so fucking wet,” He all but growls. Confidence being spurred by your dirty words, he picks up his pace again. “Your pussy’s gonna make me cum.”

“I wanna come on your cock,” You moan into his ear.

“Fuck,”

Jaehyun’s hips stutter at your words, the rhythm he’s come into suddenly getting lost.

“You want me to?” You question.

“Of course I do.”

You wordlessly bring his hand in between the two of you. He gets the hint and begins sloppily rubbing circles against your clit. You moan into his ear, pitch increasing bit by bit as you feel another climax approaching.

Jaehyun’s entire body is tense as he fights off the need to cum. He wants to feel your walls flutter around his cock the same way they did his fingers earlier. He wants you to cum first.

“Shit, Jaehyun. Fuck me harder,” You instruct. Jaehyun obeys rutting up into your sex with a fervor you’d yet to see from him tonight. “Oh fuck, just like that. I’m cumming!”

You walls clench and release around his length. The tension in Jaehyun’s body releases as he lets himself succumb to his own climax. He stills deep inside of you, filling the condom to the brim with his seed. Jaehyun can’t remember the last time he’s cum so hard. His hips twitch to prolong the pleasure, more cum leaving his exhausted body.

He collapses in the seat, chest rising and falling rapidly as he attempts to catch his breath. You’re doing the same, but can’t help but smile when you see his blissfully fucked out expression. You chuckle.

Jaehyun looks up at you, his cheeks turning that cute shade of pink again.

“Don’t get all shy now. Not when your dick is still inside me,” You tease.

“I don’t want to take it out,” Jaehyun admits with a laugh.

You lean down and peck his lips before raising yourself from his lap. He mock frowns.

“Think I should be driving you home now,” You say as you reach for your underwear in the backseat.

He grabs your hand, effectively stopping your movement and pulling your full attention to him.

“If you stay the night…”

END

I really hope you guys enjoyed, it took... so long. But, I feel way better now that it’s done! my first fic for an NCT member!! Time for some drabbles.

#nct smut #nct scenarios #jaehyun #jaehyun smut #kpop smut #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #nct127 smut #nct 127 smut #jaehyun nct #nct jaehyun #nct127 scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #kpopsmut #kpop fanfic

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gendryaweeklyupdates · 5 years ago

Text

All Updated Gendrya work this week (15-Mar-20 to 19-Mar-20): part 1

1. Near Miss by @sneetchstar

Snippet from latest update:

“Have I been ruining your carpet?”

“Not yet,” she says, walking towards him. “But I can’t help noticing more and more of your things have been gradually drifting over here.”

His eyes widen. “You have things at mine, too,” he weakly says.

21/? as of 15-3-20

Rating: E

2. Fighting to Live by @ladylaurelandash

Snippet from latest update:

...whatever his problems with her, was his sister, if not exactly by blood, but by choice. He had to protect her and there was only one way now.

The queen stared at him for a moment and Jon wondered if she could read his mind. But then, somehow, her face warmed and she smiled so broadly and so beautifully. Something of the old Dany came out.

(Considerable Jonerys content)

2/? as of 15-3-20

Rating: M

3. If the summer of our lives could just come again by TheDameintheRaininMaine

Snippet from latest update:

“Please tell me we’re doing the right thing. We’ve known this was coming for years, and we still couldn’t stop it. They’re still coming.”

Ned makes soothing noises, as if she were still a babe, not a woman grown who could look him in the eye.

“You’ve done everything you could,” he insists. “We are as prepared as we can be. All you can do now is try and keep yourselves safe.”

(multipairing)

28/? as of 15-3-20

Rating: M

4. Careful Fear and Dead Devotion by @elleisforlovee

Snippet from latest update:

“Arya?”

She exhaled and almost rolled her eyes. “Hi,” she gave flatly. The fire before her seemed to swell before falling in height again, the parts that’d once been so crucial to her father and brother, crackling and spitting in revolt of the fever that engulfed them.

“Fuckin’ hell, Arya! Where are you?”

22/? as of 15-3-20

Rating: E

5. Wards of Winter Stags by @wynebceffylarya

Snippet from latest update:

“My sweet, sweet Arry,” he cooed into her hair, “I love you.”

“I love you too, you stupid bull.” She sniffed.

8/11 as of 20-3-20

Rating: G

6. Why can't we hit them? by @vieetsourires

Snippet from latest update:

“Uh, yeah? At first I couldn’t see it clearly, but after a while I noticed the trick.”

“After a while?” Arya lifted one of her eyebrow, because if he figured it out her movements, then he must have really paid attention to her while playing Quidditch. Gendry started to scratch his neck and was looking to the floor when he cleared his throat.

4/? as of 19-3-20 (multiple updates)

Rating: Not rated.

7. The Lost Prince by @psychvamp25

Snippet from the latest update:

“To a quiet night, just the two of us.”

He knocked his glass to hers and took a drink, but when he looked back at her he said, “I hope it won’t be too quiet.”

She blushed and felt that tightening in her core, his eyes held such promise. She finished off the glass of wine, her head feeling fuzzy and free. She placed the glass down on the table, “Is that a threat my prince?”

38/40 as of 15-3-20

Rating: T

8. Don't You Realize I'll Protect You by Assassins_Wolves

Snippet from the latest update:

Where is Arya? Gendry can’t see her anywhere, his stomach twisting into a sour knot. He stumbles over a corpse and looks down to see Kurz’s sightless eyes staring up at him. The knight behind him shoves him forward. Gendry scans the ground in front of him with a sinking stomach, praying to whatever gods are listening that he doesn’t find Arya’s tiny form amongst the corpses.

4/? as of 15-3-20

Rating: T

9. the aches that linger afterwards by @starsandfluff

Snippet from the latest update:

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Brienne adjusted her coat anxiously. “Ser Jaime and I, uh, travelled together for some time in the Riverlands.”

“Yeah, I get that…” Gendry thought back to everything him and Arya had went through. She was his best friend. She was always there for him, fighting for him. Even when Lommy died. Even when Hot Pie left… Even when I was going to leave her.

(Significant Braime content)

13/? as of 16-3-20

Rating: unrated

10. Under my Protection by crtkelly_writes

Snippet from latest update:

Try again, his stare implored her, at least that is how it looked to her as she contemplated her counterattack to convince him that he couldn’t follow her home.

“Gendry, you cannot come,” she finally whispered desperately. “I don’t want…,” she faltered, unable to complete her sentence.

7/? as of 16-3-20

Rating: M

11. When Winter Comes by @onemorenight1996

Snippet from latest update:

"What's it like?" She asked, her voice soft and hesitant. "Being with a man because you want to."

"It's...." Arya sighed and glanced over at the forge. She couldn't see Gendry from where she was standing but knowing he was there was enough for her face to fall into a smile. "It's amazing. It doesn't have to be painful Sansa, I know that's all you've ever known, but it doesn't have to be that way. It can be a pleasurable experience."

3/? as of 16-3-20

Rating: E

12. Repair Broken Hearts by @snapdragon76

Snippet from the latest update:

He’d put on a pair of safety glasses and passed a pair to Arya, which she put on. She had her notebook out, but she seemed distracted and wasn’t writing much.

Once he’d gotten the fire to the right temperature, Gendry took the billet he’d assembled and thrust it into the fire, where the coals were the hottest. Suddenly he wished he’d thought of a different word than thrust…

3/? as of 19-3-20 (multiple updates)

Rating: M

13. A dragon with wolfblood by epicmotherfuckerx

Snippet from the latest update: Author's note

(side-pairing Arya/Aegon)

7/? as of 16-3-20

Rating: M

14. Bad Pick-up lines Work Best by JoPoGirlsKickAss

Snippet from latest update:

He watched her face carefully for a reaction, but she showed none. “I don’t want you to get off yet.”

There it was—the grey darkened, the pupils responded.

“Oh? And when do you want me to get off?”

“Soon.” He said turning back to the climb and continuing up.

18/? as of 16-3-20

Rating: T

15. Head of the River by @everyl1ttleth1ng

Snippet from the latest update:

Gendry grabbed his own glass and hurried after her.

“Arya, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong,” he pleaded.

She was already at the oven, lifting out hot dishes so he was forced to keep his distance.

“Look,” she said, huffing out a breath. “Can you just shut up and let me forget how much of an idiot you are for a moment so we can try to have a nice dinner?”

17/? as of 18-3-20 (multiple updates)

Rating: T

16. here comes a greek tragedy by @aryasbadbenergy

Snippet from the latest update:

“I saw his statement.”

“But he hasn’t said anything to me. Or even Syrio. He talked to the press?”

“I’m sorry, I—I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

4/? as of 17-3-20

Rating: M

17. Heavy Lies The Crown by @onemorenight1996

Snippet from the latest update:

"We are here today in the sight of god's and men to join these two lives together." The High Septon spoke loud and clear, his voice flowing through the room.

"You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

8/? as of 18-3-20

Rating: E

18. Everything We've Done (Is There On Our Faces) by alphayamergo

Snippet from latest update:

Gendry shrugged. “There are some who think I’m mad, but not everyone – and I’m just a blacksmith.”

“Not everyone?” repeated Tyrion.

He didn’t bother pointing out that Gendry wasn’t just any blacksmith: he was a blacksmith that looked just like the king, which had to have some effect.

(Theonsa heavy)

11/? as of 18-3-20

Rating: T

19. Friday By Dice by @dragongoddess13

Snippet from latest update:

“Hey.” he hears the whisper behind him and he looks over his shoulder.

Nymeria is staring up at him, her tiny elf form is barely visible over his shoulder without him turning his body slightly. He’s not sure how he missed how small she is.

“Are you injured?” she asks. Almost involuntarily he looks down at his arm, only just then noticing the red stain soaking through his sleeve.

2/? as of 18-3-20

Rating: M

20. forest love and forest lass by @aryasbadbenergy

Snippet from latest update:

“No!” Gendry shouts.

“Who told you about that?” Barra walks towards his door. He runs a hand down his face. Arya can’t help it but to laugh. She had gone through the same conversation with Rickon far too many times.

“Jenny,” she calls back.

“Maybe Jenny’s dad is getting a phone call later, then,”.....

21/? as of 18-3-20

Rating: M

21. The Ghost of the Red Keep by TheDameintheRaininMaine

Snippet from the latest update:

She does notice his ears. He has the black hair and blue eyes she had come to seek out, but he looks thin, and wane, and that’s not a common look on a noble child at all. At one point during the ride, his horse stills, and he shakes his head, before commenting,

“Sorry about that, I think the cherry tart I had for breakfast didn’t agree with me.”

5/? as of 18-3-20

Rating: T

22. Practice Makes Perfect by @kelleesioverhere

Snippet from the latest update:

To be fair, it also didn’t seem like he really had a ton of belongings. She, herself, had a ton of shit. So of course she would have a more difficult time keeping everything organized. That made perfect sense. It was basic...math? Science?

One of them.

15/17 as of 19-3-20

Rating: E

Continue reading here.

31 notes · View notes

pynkhues · 5 years ago

Note

Howdy! Remember that scene in 2:06 where Annie is going on about Beth's dong fog? Well, she says "I can't stand watching them together" (might be paraphrasing). Had me wondering what they have been acting like in those off camera meetings after the girls found out about them. Head canon maybe?

Anon! This is such an old prompt, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it, but I hope maybe this little ficlet is worth it. Hope you enjoy it :-)

So they’re boning.

Bumping uglies, thumping thighs, rubbing wet spots, doingthe horizontal tango, shaboinking, shagging. Screwing.

Her perfect housewife, total nerd, maybe criminal mastermindsister, and their terrifying, violent, definite criminal mastermind gangfriend,and honestly, maybe Annie should be less surprised. After all, it’s not likeeither of them have been subtle about their eye fucking, and hell, even beforethis latest development she swears she could smell it on them, the pheromonesjust like, radiating off the two of them like a skunk funk.

But god, that bar the other night had been a totally newtype of embarrassing. The way he’d swaggered on over, his eyes on her like he knewexactly what he was doing, a set to his shoulders that was all mating dance –peacock feathers up, and Beth just like, staring right back at him all - - intoit, like she was ready to make a nest and start laying eggs for him or somethingand just - -

It was gross, okay? And Beth had been like, a zeroon the embarrassment scale when she should’ve been a solid 98 million,storming out of the bar like she wouldn’t have murdered Annie for even entertainingthe thought of doing what she’d done, and Annie had spent the night in ateary fury imagining every possible outcome for this - - this development -- and never seeing a situation that didn’t end up with her sister dead or –worse – hurt.

(“And you think dragging her over the coals is going to stopeither of those things?” Ruby had asked her over the phone later that night whenshe’d called to check in, and Annie had frowned, topping up the vodka in herchipped mug.

“Yes,” she insists. Then: “No. Maybe. God, Ruby, you can’tseriously think this is a good idea?”

“Of course not, but making Beth feel bad for gettin’ somewith someone who isn’t Dean for the first time in her entire life is not a goodidea either.”)

Anyway here they are again, sitting in the back of BolandMotors, waiting for Rio to deliver a truckload of unwashed cash to theirdoorstep and blab on about how much he’s looking forward to his sixty percentwhich is frankly bull, because they’re doing all the hardwork and surelythey should be getting a better cut since Beth is like, literally blowing thedude.

And isn’t that an image? Annie scowls, gagging briefly, legjittery underneath her.

She can’t even imagine Beth like - -

Ugh.

She bets he has a big dick.

He’s got that total vibe after all, that energy, and- - huh.

Annie squints at Beth.

She’s always kind of figured Dean had a micro penis, so thatmust be an adjustment and a half.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Beth hisses suddenly, ablush having creeped up her neck, and Annie blinks, folds her arms over herchest, gives Beth the best ‘Beth Look’ Annie can manage.

“Like what?”

“You know like what,” Beth insists, and Ruby groans besidethem at the same time Annie loudly scoffs.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sister, if you’re inferring somethingin my look. You know, maybe that’s more a reflection on your guilty conscience,not my feelings, because I –”

“Yo.”

Beth sits up straight suddenly, pink dusting her cheeks nowtoo and Annie scoffs again, looking sideways at where Rio’s materialised infront of them like he’s just beamed down from the USS Enterprise, or - - no, hewould never get into Star Fleet. He’d be like one of the Klingons or something,sure, the most handsome one to ever exist, but that’s irrelevant.

He’s bad news through and through, and Beth is like somesacrificial virgin or something and just - -

“Is that all of it?” Beth asks, and somehow she’s managed toget the bag off Rio and count it out in the time it’s taken Annie to catch up.She glances quickly over to Rio, at his stupid handsomeness and his sharpfeatures and his raised eyebrow and his eyes all up in Beth’s business.

“Little early to be uppin’ drops, darlin’,” he says, andugh, darling?

Annie scowls, gaze shifting back to Beth who doesn’t even reactto it, just powers through.

“We washed all your cash in record time last week.”

“Yeah, but you were,” he looks at her, purses his lower lipin a way that feels frankly obscene, and adds. “Motivated.”

And yes, Annie thinks with a scoff, motivated by theprospect of the cops finding the body he’d ordered them to kill, but - - wait,is that what he means?

Her gaze flicks between the two of them in horror. Did theymake some sort of sex deal on top of that?

Ugh.

She looks at Ruby, who’s just staring at the ceiling so shedoesn’t have to look at them, and Annie would do the same if she thought shehad it in her to miss this.

“Well, what if we did it again?”

He grins and recollects himself so quickly that Annie almostthinks she’d made it up, the sharp tug to his lips like something he couldn’tquite contain in the moment of it, and it’s enough to make her reel back alittle. To watch the neon security lights catch the angles of his face, andmake him look like some sort of impossibly handsome demon you could hang thenext hit spooky-style franchise on. When he speaks, his voice is husky.

“Well then we could have another conversation, huh?”

“Right,” Beth says immediately, a little breathless, and shepuffs out her chest a bit which is just - - god, mortifying, and Rionods, eyes flicking down to her boobs like he knows exactly what they look likebeneath her grandma’s-curtains-blouse, which he must now, turning on hisheel to leave and Beth watches him, a look on her face that Annie doesn’t thinkshe’s ever seen before, like she’s - - hungry almost, and just - -

“Ugh,” Annie squawks and Beth swivels around, her eyes wide,like she hadn’t been two seconds away from climbing on his dick.

“What?”

“UGH,” Annie squawks louder, waving a hand at Beth before stormingaway towards her car.

The music is too loud.

Which feels, y’know, kind of like a big deal, because Annieloves loud music, but this bar isn’t playing Train or Sheryl Crow, it’s playinglike, cool music, because it’s a cool bar, and absolutely not Beth– the least cool person she knows.

“I hate this place,” Annie says, and she can feel Ruby rollher eyes beside her, taking a sip of her fire engine, which is franklyridiculous, because even Annie is too mature for fire engines, or - -hmm. Maybe not. She eyes it off. Maybe that’s her next drink.

“You’ve been telling us to go here for months,” Beth says acrossthe booth, and Annie gapes, because, okay, she had, but - -

“Yeah, well, that was before gangfriend decided he wanted tomix up our vibe, okay? Whatever happened to the park at midnight, huh? Brunchat Cloud 9? Okay, I know what happened to brunch at Cloud 9, but what about, y’know- - your back patio?”

Ruby snorts at that, waggling her eyebrows suggestively andtaking a sip on her straw.

“Think we know what happened to Beth’s back patio too.”

It’s enough to make Beth turn about eight different shadesof red, and for Annie to spin around to Ruby in disbelief, spilling her own drinka little in the process, which - - whatever, this is categorically more important.

“Was that an anal joke?”

The question immediately makes Ruby’s eyes open dramatically,her lips parting in horror around the straw in her mouth, cheeks flushing.

“No! I just meant those French doors open up onto Beth’sbedroom, oh my god, Annie.”

Annie scoffs dramatically, shoving her drink in Ruby’s face ina theatrical gesture of punctuation.

“Please, you know what you said.”

“Can we please stop talking about this,” Beth saysdesperately, and just - - Annie swivels around in her seat, back towards Beth,squinting at her sister, trying to read her expression, because that insistenceis pretty interesting.

“Did you guys do anal?”

“No,” Beth hisses, furious. “There was no - -”

And because the universe clearly hates them, Rio choosesthat exact moment to slide too easily into the booth beside Beth, and y’knowwhat? The thing is wide, deep even, but he slides in so close his arm is pushedagainst hers, and just - - god, it’s embarrassing, the way Beth’s eyes widen,the way she sort of lurches sideways before steeling herself, and sort of like –half pressing back into him? It’s really fucking awkward, but Rio doesn’t evenflinch.

“Ladies,” he says, gesturing to the bartender for a drink,who apparently drops every other customer in a five foot radius instantly to serveRio, and Annie glares at him because she waited twenty minutes for her drink,dammit. “You good?”

Ruby’s eyebrows are high up her forehead as she stares betweenthem, and god, Annie can’t blame her. Beth’s so red she could be used to stop traffic,and the air just feels weird and thick, and it’s that whole pheromonething again, and Annie just doesn’t even know how to begin to unpack that.

Luckily she doesn’t have to as Beth suddenly grabs the sportsbag from next to her in the booth, pulling it over herself to pass to Rio, onlyRio stops her, drops the bag to her lap and unzips it there, making neat workof counting through the cash, shifting in his seat enough his back can shield whatthey’re doing from prying eyes.

“It’s all there,” Beth says, her voice all girlish and breathyas Rio goes through the bag on her lap. He doesn’t even reply, but Beth jumps suddenlyand Annie blinks because the only explanation for that means that he must’ve gottento the bottom of the bag, which means the only thing between his hands and herthighs and - - vagina - - is the thin waterproof material of the bag itselfand her sister’s jeans.

“Cool,” Rio says suddenly, zipping up the bag and lurchingto his feet. He swings it over his shoulder, giving Beth a final, loaded look,and says: “See you next week. I’ll bring the funny money.”

He’s barely out of the bar before Annie lets loose a long, strangledscream.

She’s been staring at Beth for the last few minutes, tryingto place what’s different when her gaze drops to her sister’s breasts and she justthinks - -

Ah.

“Is that a new bra?”

It’s enough to make Beth spin dramatically around on thespot, her eyes wide, a little wild, her cheeks bright red, and whatever, Anniethinks, rolling her own eyes. That sort of feels like a given these days.

“What? No,” she flusters, flailing her arms, gaze dartingsideways to where Rio’s clambering out of his car a little further down the lot.He looks like he’s on his cell, talking to somebody or other, even as he pullsa bag off the backseat of his car. “How would you even know that?”

Annie just looks at her.

“I know all your clothes, including underwear. Plus youhaven’t worn a push up bra since like – ever – it’s not like you need one – andno offence, but your tits look like they’re about to become sentient, suffocateyou and take over your body.”

Beth just stares at her, and god, Beth really needs to learnto embarrass less easily. She’s like, nine different shades of red right now. Sheexhales sharply, looking irritated, gaze going sideways towards Rio and thenback to Annie, and then - -

“It was on sale,” she says quietly, and Annie snorts, but -- okay, maybe she feels a little bad when Beth slips a hand below the collar ofher shirt and starts surreptitiously fiddling with the strap on the thing. It’sjust the two of them tonight anyway – Ruby had had a shift at Dandy Donuts shecouldn’t quite squirm out of, and Annie had kind of hated the thought of seeingthe Beth and Rio show without her, but at least she didn’t have to deal with Rubyjudging her either.

So instead they both just stand there, watching Rio acrossthe lot, and he must know that they’re watching him, but he doesn’t acknowledgeit. Doesn’t even turn around to look at them, which honestly - - rude. Annieglances back at Beth, ready to basically tell her that she’s managed to landherself another asshole, only - -

Only Beth’s gaze is fixed. Her focus unwavering, her lips slightlyparted, like he has her hypnotised across the parking lot and that hunger’sthere, plain on her face, but there’s - - something different there too. Somethingthat runs a little deeper, that holds a little firmer, and Annie’s mouth closes,her forehead furrowing, and suddenly she needs to look away, uncomfortable, butnot for the reasons that she has been.

She hears the car door slam shut, and glances back up toRio, and the sound seems to have jerked Beth out of whatever had her in it’s griptoo, and well, at least the anger’s easier to hold onto again when Rio’s gazelaser focuses on Beth’s pushed up boobs.

“Hey, ladies,” he drawls, slipping the bag off his shoulder,but not quite passing it over yet. “Gonna invite me in?”

And Annie just watches.

Watches Beth flush, exhale, smile – just a little.

Watches her let him in.

#beth x rio #annie marks #beth boland #annie + beth #annie + beth + ruby #ruby hill #rio #my fic #gg 2.05 #gg 2.06 #welcome to my ama

57 notes · View notes

brandtmax · 5 years ago

Text

welcome back to gallagher academy, soo-yun ‘maxine’ brandt ! according to their records, they’re a first year, specializing in research & development; and they did not go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( sugar-free mints, a messy low bun, wisps of hair alongside her face, the end of a pen between her teeth, the patek philippe calatrava 4897r-010 in rose gold, off-white pants in every fabric ). when it’s the ( virgo ) ’s birthday on 08/23/1997, they always request their japchae from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

henlo it me again i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc i have a new bby named max! i’ve written a lot™️ so brace urself but it’s worth it ( i think ) + trigger warnings: death and alcohol dependency under the cut xxx

the basics

full name: soo-yun ‘ maxine ’ brandt

nicknames: max — just max

age: twenty-two years old

birthday: august 23rd, 1997

gender: cis female

preferred pronouns: she / her

sexuality: bisexual

major: research & development ( formerly a b.a. political science degree from yale university )

known languages: english ( native ) / german ( native ) / korean ( native )

background

nationality: american

birthplace: new haven, connecticut, new hampshire

current location: gallagher academy, roseville, virginia

financial status: upper class

religion: non-theistic

appearance

eye color: brown

hair color: black

height: 5′8.5″

notable features: curly hair on lazy days, rosy cheeks

usual mood and expression: calm, furrowed eyebrows whenever her eyes are on work; lethargic and irritable when she’s overworked ( or without alcohol )

family

birth order: second born

parents: soon-bok ‘ vivian ’ jang and stephen brandt ( d. 2018 )

siblings: min-jun ‘ parker ’ brandt ( b. 1995 ) & georgia ‘ gigi ’ brandt ( b. 2001 )

significant others: chris harmon ( 2013-2015 ) / ava carrillo ( 2015-2016 )

her story so far (this is so long n serious lol)

soo-yun 'maxine' brandt was born and raised in new haven, connecticut, to jang soon-bok ( vivian ), a surgeon, and stephen brandt, a ( n allegedly shady ) criminal justice lawyer.

the brandt siblings were raised like any other blue-blooded, very strict but loving household ( strict = mom / loving = dad )

brandt house rules: get straight a’s, follow the 12 am curfew and don't bring anyone home that you know you’d get disowned for. follow those three rules, and you can do whatever you want.

there was pressure for the brandt siblings to be academically accomplished, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. they were well-tutored, semi-popular, attractive teenagers, which were common in new haven, and everyone knew they were destined for ivy league.

in high school, she dated chris harmon, and it was the kind of relationship that could only be described as the personification of a kinder egg. sweet on the outside, a waste of time and money on the inside.

which is fine; it took max about 2 months to get over it when they broke up halfway through senior year, because neither of them thought of their relationship going far. the joy of getting into yale ( already expected ) trumped the feeling of losing a boyfriend. she even bet parker $5,000 she'd get early admission. she won.

during college, she had an on-off relationship with ava carrillo for a year, which inevitably became a permanent off. it turned out that it wasn't a good idea to throw herself into a committed relationship the minute she stepped foot into yale. max never had the time, and ava didn't have the patience. at least she tried it tho !

things seemed to be on the up and up for their family, and the worst thing max has ever been through is being awake for 24 straight hours to prepare for a final presentation. but ! you know what they say about the calm before the storm.

( tw: death ) on december 18, 2018, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack during a layover flight in new york. the brandt family was at home when they heard the news. needless to say, they had a quiet christmas and new year.

the family tried to move on as best they could, but the siblings knew their dad's death irreversibly changed their mom. they have a rocky relationship to begin with, the siblings always feeling like vivian never wanted to become a parent and only did so for their father. they have absolutely no mother-children bond, and it got worse when stephen died. being the older brother, parker took it upon himself to take care of vivian, balancing that with running the home stretch with his undergrad degree.

on the other hand, maxine still had a few years left at yale. no amount of therapy helped her cope with the loss of her father, the way her mother seemed to become a shell of herself, how parker had to break the momentum of his career to be there for their mom, and the constant pressure to do good academically.

( tw: alcohol dependency ) it started with buying bottled moscow mules because she didn't like how beer tasted, and she wasn't dumb enough to go straight to hard liquor. just one to take the edge off whenever stacks of coursework became too much, or when her mother would send her an email talking about her day, and she didn't have the courage to read it. then it went from a one, two, three-time thing to a whenever-i'm-upset thing, which slid into a whenever-i-feel-like-it thing. after a while, it became a daylight thing where she would add a splash of soju ( or whatever ) to her lunchtime drinks, and she genuinely thought it was just a funny idea at first. max wasn't the only day drinker in her social group, anyway. she found it acceptable, no different than how other people would pound red bull every 6 hours like it's their life force. it was manageable for her since she was able to schedule when she'd be indisposed, and she still can.

parker had ( and still has ) no clue. despite the two being close, max spared him the burden of having another thing to worry about. as long as she can control it ( or she thinks she can ) then nobody had anything to worry about.

eventually, both maxine and parker were offered the opportunity to join gallagher academy, with parker in line to graduate with honors in global affairs and maxine, not far behind with her own impressive academic portfolio in political science.

though really, her acceptance into gallagher has less to do with her published papers ( still impressive, tho ) and more to do with her covertly helping her father win cases by doing some expert sleuthing, strategizing, witness dispatching + discrediting, sexc breaking and entering, and good, old-fashioned manipulation !

it was something they both wanted; to be a part of the bigger picture in the world, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother alone. parker, who chose to make the sacrifice, let maxine go and stayed behind to take care of vivian.

( but if we’re honest, maxine would’ve left for gallagher regardless if parker was coming with her, but she’ll never tell him that )

despite the guilt and telling parker she wasn't going anywhere ( cough ), he insisted on her taking the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something they never knew existed. he knew they were going to end up resenting each other if they both stayed. at least one person in the family should be doing something that made them happy.

and so max dropped out of yale and left for roseville, even though she hadn't thoroughly planned out her career trajectory.

she’s eager not just because of the school, obviously. she can't handle going back to their childhood home and seeing how hollow everything is. plus, the immense anger and denial she feels over her dad’s untimely death has no place in new haven anymore.

she promised parker she'd make it up to him, though. somehow, someday.

who is this b*nch

max is relatively easy to get along with, tbh !

she’s a mood matcher; meaning if you’re nice to her, then she’s nice to you ( and if you’re gonna be a punk bitch, then she’ll be a punk bitch right back )

she’s a lil spoiled, lil sheltered, and lil ignorant but her general friendliness makes up for it, she’s the type to be friends with ( almost ) everyone

internally: perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, first place is the only acceptable place, meticulous, neurotic, workaholic, overachiever, if you’re not useful then what’s your purpose?, slightly egotistical, etc etc

externally: caring, protective, and supportive mom friend who just wants people to get their shit together because inadequacy is unacceptable, fixer, likes to dip into different social circles, consciously makes the effort to be more patient with people

she’s incredibly ambitious ? morally ambiguous ? slightly self-serving and self-involved ? her father’s a criminal “justice” lawyer whose clientele doesn’t exactly consist of the beacons of society so... she learned a lot of lessons about how you can win any case in the courtroom if you’re smart enough to a ) make a good story, b ) get the fitting evidence by any means necessary, c ) discredit and discard the necessary people, and d ) be charming and persuasive enough to rock the jury

she’s actively trying to be more open-minded and assimilate to a diverse group of people because back in yale she was definitely in a wasp bubble, and admittedly there are times where she will come off as super snobby without meaning to and tbh sorry about it

she’s still an extremely sociable person because yale also taught her how to network like a motherfucker, and how it’s important to know / be friends with everyone

honestly, intense people turn her off ( both positive and negative ) a little because she can't handle concentrated personalities in one sitting

even though she’s a little intense herself sometimes but it’s fine, we love hypocrites in this house !

neat freak ? but honestly who doesn’t like a friend who squeegees the shower every day and has a tiny can of lysol in their bag and an aroma diffuser with three ( 3 ) oil blends

she’s like... weirdly aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues ( still in denial over her father unexpectedly passing away and getting stuck with a mom who doesn’t like her own children very much )

but also, she’s just agro in general and has a number of physical hobbies. she’s an ice skater, equestrian, a soulcyclist, and a kickboxer. she can fite.

she’s not the type to make fun of herself because she's not at a point where she sees qualities in her that are okay to laugh at ( unless you’re tight )

keeps her negative juju to herself because she’s a very private person

will prioritize work over play because she'd hardwired like that, but that doesn't mean she's anti-fun ( clearly )

definitely needs to loosen up a little that doesn't involve alcohol... jenga perhaps ? or actually try therapy again ?

very effectively sneaky about her growing alcohol dependency ( sugar-free breath mints, brushes her teeth + uses mouthwash after every meal )

dry sense of humor

at all times: wears a 1-carat, emerald cut, pavé diamond ring ( family heirloom ) + carries her trusty black hydro flask with her ( 24 oz. ) and no one is allowed to drink from it !

her signature scent is le labo bergamote 22 🤍

hmu on my discord @ tin#0697 for plottage !

#gallagher:intro #death tw #alcoholism tw #alcohol dependency tw #ps when u see a typo #just close ur eyes

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wildandsexyjacks · 5 years ago

Text

Maybe It’s a Chicago Thing

I know we’re way past halloween, but here’s Johnny (no The Shining pun intended) + #2 and #56 from this halloween prompts list requested by anon

Hope you like it!

Word Count: 1.9k

“Do I really have to go?” You ask, playing candy crush on your phone while you wait for your friend to finish her make-up.

“Yes!” she shouts from the bathroom of your shared apartment “You promised me, remember?”

You roll your eyes.

“It’s not like you’re gonna miss me, being too busy swallowing Ten’s face and all...”

She laughs and sticks her neck out to look at you through the open door.

“Y/N, come on, you used to love those parties! Is this about Jaehyun? Because that was, like, ages ago. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember it anymore. Probably no one does.”

You throw a cushion at her and even though she actually ducks, it doesn’t even reach the doorway, landing right in the middle of the living room.

“It was literally last halloween.”

She shrugs and turns back to the mirror.

“Just stay away from jello shots or try not to throw up on anyone’s shoe this time and you should be fine.” after applying a heavy coat of red lipstick, she comes out of the bathroom with her hands on her hips “How do I look?”

You squint at her outfit, uncertain.

“Like a stripper dressed up as a nun.”

You have no idea what her costume really is and the comment was supposed to make her mad, or at least a little annoyed, but your roommate smiles brightly instead.

“You know, that’s why we’re best friends. You just.... get me on a spiritual level. Are you ready?”

When you get to your old college friends’ place, the infamous House 127 known to host unforgettable parties, Yuta is at the door, dressed up as Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist. He’s hugging a bowl full of chocolates, surrounded by half a dozen whiny children in cute halloween costumes.

“Come on, little dudes!” he orders, keeping the bowl out of the kids’ reach “Ten push-ups each or no one gets candy.”

Your friend charges at Yuta and punches his arm then takes the bowl from him to give a chocolate bar to each one of the kids. They all thank her very politely and run off to the next house.

“It’s called trick-or-treating for a reason, idiot.” she mutters, handing the candy bowl back to Yuta “They’re supposed to threaten you, not the other way around.”

“And where’s the fun in that? All right, whatever.” he rolls his eyes and gestures at the door “Hello to you too Slutty Nun, nice to see you Jello Shot. Welcome to our house of tricks, ladies, please come in.”

You pass by your friend, bumping her shoulder. “No one remembers, huh?”

The living room is heavily decorated, with purple lighting and spiderwebs and bloodstains on the walls - hopefully fake, but you never know with these guys, Doyoung sometimes takes things a little too seriously. There’s a table with snacks of all sorts and a silver platter with an unholy amount of the jello shots you need to stay away from. There’s also a beautiful jar filled with red wine punch, ice cubes shaped like tiny skulls.

You’re about to go for the punch but your best friend’s boyfriend - Ten - intercepts the both of you, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Then he looks at you and frowns.

“Where’s your costume?”

You point at your black smudged eyeliner and the Chicago Bulls shirt like it should be obvious.

“I’m Pete Wentz.”

“She’s lazy.” your friend corrects “And didn’t even wanna come, can you imagine that?”

Ten, you notice, is wearing a sexy french maid costume, and he looks utterly ridiculous but incredibly funny at the same time.

“I’m actually glad I came, though, otherwise I’d miss this.” you point at his costume “You two really deserve each other.”

“Thank you. Donut?” he asks, offering one of the pastries on the tray he’s carrying as part of his costume.

You’re about to take one but a large hand grabs your wrist. You look around - and then up because he’s super tall - to find a man you’ve never seen before. He’s got brown hair falling in front of his eyes, amazingly beautiful cheekbones, broad shoulders, and looks really good dressed in a black button-up and a white lab coat.

“Don’t take it, it’s a halloween prank. He filled it with mustard instead of boston cream.” he explains.

You want to slap Ten, but the nice-looking stranger is still holding your arm, so you stretch your leg and kick him instead.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

The boy almost drops the tray, hopping on one foot with a pained expression.

“Ouch! Thanks a lot, Johnny.”

So that’s his name.

“Thank you... Johnny, right? Are you dressed up as a doctor?” You ask, looking at his lab coat. He turns completely to you, so you can see the rest of his costume. There’s a tiny Snoopy plushie in his pocket, and you raise your free hand to touch it. “Oh! A vet, then?”

Your roommate sighs.

“Wow, you didn’t even bother, John. Congratulations, you’re literally dressed up as yourself.” She complains. “I bet you even came straight from work.”

Johnny laughs.

“No. If I did, I’d be covered in Mr. Flufflestiltskin’s urine. Big boy was really happy to see me today.”

“Oh, I can’t wait for that demon cat to be adopted.” She rolls her eyes, then smiles, holding onto Ten’s arm with one hand and waving the other to get your attention “Johnny is Ten’s best friend. He’s volunteering at our animal shelter while the construction company is setting up his clinic, he just moved back from... Oh.” staring at your Bulls shirt, she tilts her head to the side, a weird look in her eyes “You guys have a lot in common. You both like sports and suck at halloween costumes... Maybe it’s a Chicago thing, he was born there too.”

You look up at Johnny, and he finally realizes he’s still grabbing your arm, quickly letting go with an embarrassed laugh. Ten and his girlfriend exchange a look you know can only mean trouble and make up a poor excuse to leave, abandoning you to Johnny’s care. He looks around, eyes darting in every direction, not knowing what to say.

“Um... Thank you for saving me.” You say again, just to break the ice. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“No problem.” He shrugs “In fact, you should be suspicious of pretty much everything from now on, the guys have a bet going on and whoever pranks more people gets a reese’s peanut butter cups box and a month free of any household chore obligation. Trust no one tonight.”

“Not even you?”

You frown, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t live here. Besides, I know all their plans, which makes me the safest person to hang out with right now.” offering his arm, he winks at you “Wanna get something to drink?”

There’s really not much to think of. Your friend ditched you to make out with her boyfriend somewhere in the house, the other boys would not hesitate to prank your scaredy-cat ass... And Johnny looks really good. He’s also very nice, with his soft velvety voice and broad shoulders and warm smile. And he looks really, really good.

You grab his arm and take him to the food table. He reaches for the jello shots, but you tell him a quick variation of your sad jello encounter from last year - not getting into gastrointestinal specifics because that’s not something you tell a cute guy you just met -, and after laughing for a whole minute he ends up filling two cups with punch, handing you one.

With a steady hand on your lower back, Johnny guides you to one of the couches, and you sit down side by side. He compliments your shirt and starts a conversation about Chicago, then sports, then your interests. It’s easy to talk to him, he has a nice voice when he talks and seems genuinely interested when it’s your turn to speak. And you do have a lot in common, indeed. You talk about music, movies, sports, not even noticing how much time has passed since your friend vanished with her boyfriend.

A few punch cups later, when your favorite Fall Out Boy song starts playing, you drag Johnny to the improvised dance floor adjacent to the back door. He’s surprisingly good at it as well, especially for someone as tall as him. It makes you wonder if there’s anything he’s bad at, and you ask him just that.

“Flirting,” he replies with a cute laugh. “I’ve been meaning to ask your number for...” he squints at his watch “over an hour now.”

You take a step forward.

“Oh, I suppose it’d be useful.” you joke, smiling “I mean, you’re a vet and I have a goldfish at home.”

He comes closer too, only a little bit, subtly resting one of his hands on your hip.

“It definitely would. Goldfish need special care, it’s very important to have a professional at hand.”

One more step closer.

“It is isn’t it?”

You’re already on your tiptoes, hands on Johnny’s shoulder, and he’s leaning in... Until Haechan comes from nowhere running like crazy and bumps into the both of you, completely ruining the moment and making you jump back.

“If anyone asks,” he goes, barely stopping to talk to you “you never saw me.”

And just like he came in, he goes out with no explanation whatsoever. You and Johnny look into each other’s confused eyes before bursting out laughing.

“What was that?” he asks mid-laugh, shaking his head.

“I have no idea. He’s probably in trouble, but it’s not our problem...” you reach for his hand, a little shy, and clear your throat “Where were we?”

He glances at you, chewing on his lower lip.

“I’m pretty sure you were about to kiss me.”

You avoid his gaze, biting back a smile.

“Really? I think I don’t remember that...” going against your words, though, you move into his personal space, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Well, in that case...” with his hands on your waist, Johnny closes his eyes and leans in again “I was definitely about to kiss you.”

He does so, and it’s unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had before. Johnny pulls you closer, running his hands up and down your back as you thread your fingers through his hair.

“Mmhmm....” he hums after you break the kiss “Just like I imagined.” smiling, he takes your hand, intertwining your fingers “Come on, let’s get a drink.”

You move back to the table at the same time as Doyoung storms inside coming from the backyard, carrying a half-empty reese’s box that was probably meant for the bet and looking seriously pissed.

“Who ate all my candy?!!” He yells, poking random people on the dance floor, looking for the culprit “I WILL find out who did it and WILL kill everything they hold dear, whoever and wherever they are!”

Johnny laughs and squeezes your wrist to get your attention.

“Perhaps we should go somewhere else before he finds out the chocolate thief has left already and things get real ugly... Would you like to go grab something to eat?”

You nod in agreement, and the both of you head for the door, hand in hand and twin smiles on your faces.

The house really is one to host unforgettable parties. This time, however, you’re set to make good memories and you’re very glad you came.

Not nearly as good as I thought it’d be, but here it is. Happy belated halloween everyone, and thank you for requesting, anon!

#johnny seo #johnny suh #johnny scenarios #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct 127 #nct johnny

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